Jonathan Parker

The kid downstairs plays the same few notes over and over again on the saxophone. You'd think, in the two years I've lived here, that he'd have progressed some.

But nope.

Same couple of notes. Every day. I kind of want to help him but I don't know the first things about saxophones.

In fact, I don't know the first thing about playing jazz.

And that's what makes the fact that I love Jonathan Parker's Interloper so surprising. We accept music submissions here at Syffal. And believe it or not, we don't get very many straight-up jazz submissions. A lot of goth rap, synth pop duos, indie folk, and post rock bands. But almost no jazz.

I was half-assedly perusing our unsolicited music submissions, a wasteland of vaccous turds, my eyes basically looking backwards in my head I was rolling them so hard. I get all Tumblr girl when it comes to this shit. And boom, Jonathan Parker. At first I thought it was a submission from rapper Parker, formerly known as Dumbfoundead. When the jazz sounds wafted from my speakers, I was both piqued, as evidenced by the tightness in my jorts, and surprised. A jazz dude with the ballsac to submit to Le Syffal? 

After having exerted the minimalest of efforts, I decided to take a listen.

Holy shit if I didn't come back in five minutes, like who the fuck are these guys!? I went from the floor of my living room of my two-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles to wandering the streets of San Francisco. I went from being disgusted with peoples' delusions of grandeur to Jackson Square in my hometown of New Orleans. I went from a grounded mellow Saturday to afloat on notes and sky fucking high! 

The music was so full. So well-recorded. So upfront and urgent. I immediately lit a cigarette. The world went black and white. I instinctively found my first edition copy of the Subterraneans and nodded to the beatnik gods. I howled, bros!

Jonathan Parker made me forget how much I missed good jazz!

I went through a jazz period. Charlie Parker, Mingus, Monk, Max Roach. Bitches Brew, Take Five. Gillespie, Armstrong, Ornette Coleman. I had vinyl of them all. I remember buying an old copy of Bird's Now's the Time (I think because I'm pretty sure Max Roach is on drums) in a record store in Seattle's Pike Place Market. I was always on the hunt.

I read Central Avenue Sounds. Learned about Los Angeles' lost jazz history. Learned to worship its deities of DAMN! Horace Tapscott, the Watts Prophets. It got political. Cointelpro. The dirtiest trickster.

Jonathan fucking Parker brought all that washing back over me in a euphoric rush like the first drag of a cigarette in the morning. With songs averaging eight minutes, I let it play all afternoon. I replayed it. I replayed it again. I wrote a poem. I poured a glass of whiskey. No ice. I danced alone to his driving, prodigous saxophone.

I almost went downstairs and pulled that fucking kid out of his malaise by his earlobe and dragged his ass upstairs and made him sit and listen. No talking. Just shut the fuck up and listen. The very soul of SYFFAL.

It's been a while since I've emerged from the jazz rabbit hole. Kind of forgot where the entrance was. That period of my life lived in the smog-clouded, noir past. One day I'm going to find Jonathan Parker and shake his hand. Interloper is a stunning record.

It's an octet so tight you could hold a piece a paper between its ass cheeks. This is a talented guy, and upon reading about his credentials and education and world-traveling I understood what I was allowing to sex my ear holes. Dude is like the Ryu of saxophonists. This records swings, waltzes, gets bluesy, and kicks you in the dick, then kisses it and makes it better.

I feel lucky we received this submission. And in our world, of pretentious hacks, intentionally misleading labels, over-inflated egos, shitty rappers, and narcissistic indie bands, INTERLOPER WAS AN ADRENALINE SHOT IN THE ASS OF MY LIFE! And for that, Mr. Parker, I am grateful.