30/12/2025
I apologize in advance — and retroactively — for Larry’s refined vocabulary and somewhat assertive manner of expression. Larry is a creature allergic to daylight; he knows only the dim glow of neon signs in jazz clubs, casinos, 24-hour bars, and forgotten roadside motels. His origins are as murky as some of his altered dominants: his mother worked in a night establishment, he never met his father, and he was raised by her colleagues in a discreet little red house on the edge of town.
Despite his passion for alcohol in all its forms — and his life motto, “every drink tastes best before lunch” — Larry is above all a respected connoisseur of jazz harmony. He can explain it with clarity and simplicity, though occasionally prone to choleric outbursts, as he doesn’t like repeating himself.
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Larry finishes dancing with a girl who sways like a bossa nova chorus and looks like she could be his niece — if he had a sister. The guitarist has just wrapped up the coda of “Days of Wine and Roses,” but suddenly starts tuning his G string, which seems to have developed a will of its own. No one minds — it’s a half-empty bar where the music blends with a loudly playing sports channel on TV.
Larry slumps into his seat before his dance partner, smooths his jacket, takes a sip of martini, and with a look of solemn interest at the screen — as if there were something profound in a tennis serve — he says:
“Tell those geniuses to finally learn C7 and its drop 2 inversions. What do they think — that I’ll dictate every note like it’s first grade? Ha! Let them grease their gears a bit — preferably with Irish whiskey, it’s the best lubricant.”
He winks at the waitress, who brings him another drink without being asked.
“Alright, alright… I’ll write them that pathetic little guide. But only because I’m in a good mood today and that damn guitarist finally stopped tuning like a drunk watchmaker.”
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“1. Forget open strings. Jazz ain’t country. Muting is essential. Otherwise it sounds like a harp after a thunderstorm.
2. Green = root note C. I know, it’s like painting numbers on doors, but I’m thinking of the sweethearts who haven’t memorized the fretboard yet.
3. Of course the number means fret — unless the shape is in first position.
4. Since some folks thought my smileys weren’t smiley enough, I replaced them with beer bottles. Hopefully it’s clear that means the chord is playable, comfy, and even after ten drinks you can still nail it — and disarm any lady who happens to pass by.
5. Vertical = strings. Horizontal = frets. If that’s news to you, I suggest starting with a guitar-themed jigsaw puzzle.
6. Drop 2 voicings are a gift from the heavens. Every note on a different string, different finger, different direction. Sounds like an orchestra, plays like butter. Left to right — it’s a symphony. Top to bottom? Still great, though one note clings on like an ex on Messenger.”
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“You’ve gotta have these grips down cold. Even if a waitress wakes you up at noon — the one who only remembers you by your cologne and the minibar bill. No excuses. Jazz is a tough love. But if you master it, it pays you back with interest. And don’t let anyone tell me otherwise.”
