Dear Mr. God,
Can I “dream a little dream of me” being in the audience at the Savoy during the Roaring Twenties listening to the greats? Tonight?
Benny Goodman. Duke Ellington. Ethel Waters.
Can I watch Josephine Baker dance and “twerk” with elegance and body in Paris?
Can I wear the fashion?
Can I fly across the floor?
I wouldn’t mind diving back to the depressed thirties and forties if it meant listening first row to the Lady Sing the Blues or Ella Fitzgerald.
Ella Fitzgerald. Her voice is satin. Effortless. My favorite. I can hear her sing and scat all day long.
Also, Louis Armstrong! What I’d do to hear that man play!
Just for tonight in a sweet dream let me experience the heart of jazz.
An entire era in eight hours.
There’s nothing like the real deal. Living in the radio with them. Feeling the pulse of his instrument, the climax of her tune. The energy of it all. Being in their existence.
I just want to lay my head and shut my eyes then fall deep. Deep in a decade. The jazz age. Like no other. And wake up in the morning inspired and unforgettable.
Pretty please, God.