Scott has written the below in response to the entire LP, The Jester. “The pieces l wrote are a response to the overall emotion l felt whilst listening to the whole album. How l felt, what images or ideas came to me, etc.”
Jazz is mortal music, and understands us as we understand it in our shared shelf lives. And it is understood that a sunrise is for the few, for those with enough light to burn the night, and leave behind all those mass-produced men dog collared to the day.
The smoker stands outside the pub, exhaling slowly through his nose, breath swimming through the night like Guinness inside a glass. He turns, as the music calls him back.
He loves the world too much, and so keeps it hidden inside the soul of his shoe, burning bits of it when the need comes.
He wishes to walk barefoot so that the world may tattoo its riddles upon his feet, and let him bypass man to feel the real gospels fresh from the ancient air.
He dreams, and in those dreams he sleeps and dreams again.
Park bench nirvana, the only kind he’s ever known.
For he’s a raw thing, uncarved by others,
Yet there are no fingerprints upon his soul.