…goes doodely-doodely-doodely-doodely-det. That’s exactly what was running through my head last night as we lounged around the softly lit little table in the jazz café down the street from our apartment. I occasionally picked up my glass of white wine to savor its fresh flavor with just a hint of musky overtones, but for the most part, my hands were busy dancing all over to the music, beating out the rhythm on my crossed legs or doing a spastic little air dance more or less close to my body, changing back to whaling away at my legs when I noticed someone looking at me. Maybe I should have been a little ashamed of my antics, but I was just enjoying the live Dixie jazz so much that I couldn’t contain myself. There was an array of musicians and instruments, including multiple guitars, paino, tuba (not susaphone), drums, two saxophones, trumpet, and clarinet, every single one of which was played with mastery and toe-tapping musicianship. The clarinet, though, was by far my favorite, if you couldn’t tell from the first line of the blog – it’s clear tones soared out through the music, with notes and chords trilling out in unmistakable clarity. And during solo breaks…wow. It was superb. There’s really no other word for it. That clarinet went through its paces, showing itself off to the greatest of advantages. I only wish I was more versed in the art of instrumental music, because then I would be able to better tell you how great it was. As it is though, I’m stuck with the simple words of an unschooled observer, one who just can’t seem to find all the right words to fully explain just how toe-tappin’, knee-slappin’, head-whirlin’ awesome it was.