coffee shop jazz
Of all the sounds a person can listen to, there are none that make me feel more calm, more assured, I think, than a particular type of smooth jazz. Let's call it coffee shop jazz. I'm talking about the kind of jazz that's so unobtrusive, you almost don't notice you're hearing it. A bassist, a percussionist, and a keyboard or wind instrument is all that's needed. From coffee shops to bookstores to late nights downtown, with candles on the tables and romance in the air, this is the sound.
You might be thinking, what about the sounds of nature? What about the chirping of birds in spring, the rustling of leaves in fall, the falling of water on rocks? Yes, all of those sounds are wonderful and uplifting, while also being calming. But to me, they don't speak of humanity, except to remind us how impermanent we are, and that life will go on without us. Society could be falling apart, with people suffering everywhere, and the birds would still sing as if nothing was wrong.
The jazz on the other hand, that's ours. And we play the jazz and write the jazz when things are going relatively okay, decent enough anyway, could be better but we're getting through it. Not many people, if any, are playing coffee shop jazz in the middle of a crisis. The jazz lets us know that everything is okay, and at least for the moment, we can relax. So where ever you hear it playing, know that your troubles, if you're carrying any, will soon melt away.
I'll admit that, because I'm listening to coffee shop jazz at this very moment, I may be biased, so there's a chance that tomorrow I'll change my mind and prefer something else. Life is like that, like jazz music. We never know precisely which notes are coming next, but we usually have a general idea. And when we do hear those notes, they always sound just right. If not, give it some time.
~
October 2026