Nt1310 Unit Six Creative Writing

The worn brass saxophone buzzed with arcane energy as I picked it up for the first time. Verdigris and rust crept out from underneath the joints binding the horn together and pockmarked the body of the instrument. Dark pits and long, deep scratches, like scars on a battleworn samurai of the Yamaha clan, covered the keys. The lacquer had been stripped off the body of the horn, but not the keywork, which created an odd, slightly unsettling contrast between the matte and shiny finishes. I almost thought that a vigorous rub would cause a genie to unfurl from the bell.
I did not know it yet, but I had discovered a portal into a new world. I tentatively gripped the mouthpiece with my lips and blew. The note rang clear and true, and the vibrant fullness and clarity of the tone caught me by surprise. “That one’s a steal” opined the lank-haired owner of the shop behind me. “We had a guy drop it off for some repairs and

It happened while I was practicing improvising on the blues. My playing started awkwardly and clumsily -- the notes plodded out of the horn in a lazy line. I felt my body begin to move with the rhythm of the music, the syncopation coursing through me as my eyes closed. I snapped into consciousness. I was playing better, but disconcertingly, half an hour had flown by without me realizing it. I felt like I had temporarily left the practice room and traveled to another realm. I can never remember what happens after I cross over, and the only real glimpse I get of that world is at the threshold. As I close my eyes and let the groove I am playing possess me, I swear that I can hear voices. No, not voices -- music. Gliding across Girl from Ipanema, the airy sound of Stan Getz tickles my ears. Swinging through Take Five, I delight in Paul Desmond’s lyrical, languid harmonies. Tearing through a snappy bebop tune like Au Privave, the raucous voices of Charlie Parker and Sonny Stitt vie for my