Spreading the Cheer too Thin

Ever since a long-time reader told me my column was “depressing,” I’m hesitant to be sincere about anything at all. Maybe somebody else’s static would be more diverting than that which buzzes around my own attic—which, I will admit, is at times ominous. (Either that, or I need to look into a way to get rid of the carpenter bees before my joists rot.) Ideally, this column should be all about Cheerleading. I took on this paper in February 2016 with the intention of being a relentless motivator of all things and people syncopated. There is too little Rah-Rah stuff going on here; introspection, sarcasm, and subtle pessimism have taken its place. I have fallen into the delusion that how I feel is somehow important. It’s not. What matters is that this space should be an unremitting Pep Rally for Jazz. I have fallen down on the job and I can’t get up. Never mind that I am a cheerleader in an empty stadium, enthusiastic for the settling of dust. We are all dust and we all need encouragement before we have finished settling. I’m here to raise the spirits of those who have stayed with me on this voyage as well as the spirits of the spirits of subscribers who have gone to join the Saints with no forwarding address. In addition to our print and internet offerings, I’m considering a Ouija Board edition to communicate the tidings of the jazz world to those beyond. In exchange, p