on my mind

Georgia, Georgia, the whole day through

just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind.

Georgia, Georgia, a song of you

comes as sweet and clear as moonlight through the pines.

I found myself popping in to hear the last set.  It was a small band and the singer's voice was deep and fitting for Georgia On My Mind. 

It's fitting that I'm here talking jazz today.  My father taught me so much about it. 

He taught me to hear the difference in a saxophone and a clarinet by playing Stan Getz and Benny Goodman around the house when I was a kid.  He taught me to hear the difference in great jazz pianists and "rinky-dink" ones.  I learned to tell early Billie from late Billie. 

It was not surprising then, that I actually cried when my dad told me he'd spent a wonderful evening in a Paris bistro listening to Django Reinhardt. 

Oh, if my dad could be sitting with me at this tiny, tall table, I thought to myself as I listened.  I'd tell him all I know about Georgia On My Mind.  I could explain it was written by Hoagy Carmichael and Stuart Gorrell in nineteen-thirty-something and because Hoagy had a sister named Georgia, no one to this day, knows for sure, whether Gorrell wrote the lyrics about Georgia the lady or Georgia the state. 

I could have told my dad all of that. 

Georgia, Georgia, no peace I find

just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind.

I would have told my dad all of that so he'd know; all those years, all those rich, jazz-filled years, I really was listening. 

Happy Father's Day