Jazz-Sexy

by Stacy Stewart Smith

If you are privileged to stick around long enough, you’ll enjoy each phase of life, and experience several rites of passage. The first change for most is euphoric and often eases its way to prominence eclipsing adolescence. A young man might hear people whisper that he’s becoming more handsome and may tell him that they’ve noticed how he has transformed. He seems to grow taller each day, and inevitably, he discovers that his voice has deepened. Perhaps in the same period, he loses awkward looks and shows forth an attractive quality often with slight facial hair, which causes people to stare in admiration. 

When we focus on the joy of life, beautiful memories manifest. And, while it seemed to take forever to get to the first rite of passage from adolescence to manhood, we cruise into adulthood as if taking a swift sleigh ride from spring to the autumn years of life. Assuredly, the flower of youth fades quickly, and before you know it, other changes appear on the horizon. Thankfully, a few things remain mostly the same. Time takes with it refined aspects of our physical appearance. However, personal style, the music to which we listen, and our sensitivity to the concept of space are often fixed in early development. 

And today, we attire ourselves for much of what we do outside the home, but truthfully the “good life” is measured by how we live inside.

A home is a man’s castle, and the images herein this story consist of photographs in and around a house. The subject, alone yet happy, wears fine wool, linen, and cotton all in a mélange of hues resembling autumn leaves with color accents from the heavens. What is most refreshing about this photography is our witness of a young man seemingly captured at the moment when he becomes an adult. He possesses a visual innocence and appears untouched by the world, which today is rare. The model is purposefully staged in cruciform as a scarecrow; is he mocking Jim Crow before the boundaries of this land? He dances on the walkway and sits in each room to claim it. He drinks from a kitchen faucet with the joy of life, jumps on the carpeted floors, and rolls upon the manicured lawn.  

And so the fairytale goes, that a tall and striking young Black man with odds against him in America finds his way into the right circles as a musician in Chicago. Although he is super talented, people are drawn to his personality and physical appearance, which is more powerful in-person than could ever have been captured in photos or film during his heyday. He is jazz-sexy with a voice that pours out through a microphone like velvet over the back of royalty. His talent makes him a king amongst men, for, against the odds, he is able, by the fruit of his labor, to afford great possessions, and the spotlight of fame is upon his every move. Many people love him, but even more, hate him because of his brown skin. A burning cross was placed on his lawn as a warning to move from his beautiful home. And at one of his concerts, a story’s told about the approximately one-hundred and fifty men who plotted to kidnap this king. I wonder what would have happened to him if they had succeeded; what would they have done to Nat King Cole?

This world adored the tunes that fell from the king’s mouth when he sang but disdained his popularity among housewives because of his skin color. And what would the resulting life have been like during the 1950s and 1960s for such a beautiful king (or anyone with his attributes and fewer resources) existing in a world that both loved and hated him? Well, we can only imagine that such a king would feel like a prisoner in a guarded cage. To his credit, instead of hating the haters—this languid and smoky king had such class that he simplified everything by surrounding himself with music, beauty and love. Thusly, I reference the nursery rhyme from whence Mr. Cole coined his middle name and referenced his jazz ensemble.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three.

Within this story is a message from which we should all take notation. True happiness cannot derive from possessions that we own if the purpose is to showcase them before humanity; however, we can find contentment in our refinement activity spiritually, emotionally, and personally. As it has been often said, “clothes do not make the man, but the man makes the clothes.” And if such personal development creates an all-inclusive environment where we are one with ourselves, our music and the inner-man—then the rest is smooth and jazz-sexy.