Letters to the Editor

London Jazz and Storm Bert

To the Editor,

I write to you, as ever, with a melody of confusion and a rhythm of misunderstanding, compelled by the curious collision of two seemingly unrelated events: the London Jazz Festival and the aftermath of the floods caused by Storm Bert. One might ask what jazz and floodwaters have in common. To that, I say: everything and nothing, depending entirely on how you look at it — or refuse to.

The London Jazz Festival, with its improvisations, syncopations, and delightful disregard for structure, feels like the perfect soundtrack for the chaos left behind by Storm Bert. Consider this: a saxophonist blowing a wild, untamed riff mirrors the sound of gale-force winds howling through the gaps in hastily placed sandbags. A double bass thrumming erratically is practically indistinguishable from the sound of water sloshing against an optimistic bucket in a flooded living room. Art imitates life, or does life simply jazz along to its own unpredictable score?

Meanwhile, the floodwaters themselves have proven to be a master class in improvisation. Rivers burst their banks with the dramatic flair of a trumpet soloist going rogue. Roads have transformed into watery avenues, perfect for an impromptu gondola ride or perhaps an interpretive dance performance. The interplay between natural disaster and artistic spontaneity is, dare I say, poetic — though also soggy.

But what is to be done about this peculiar duet of events? Should the London Jazz Festival embrace the floods, hosting performances on floating stages with rain-soaked audiences wading in rhythm? Or should Storm Bert’s aftermath inspire a new jazz sub-genre: Aquatic Blues in B Flat? Perhaps the flood cleanup could even incorporate live jazz to lift spirits, with volunteers sweeping water to the beat of a lively bebop number.

I must ask: was Storm Bert itself a form of jazz, a meteorological improv session gone a bit too far? Are we all, in fact, jazz musicians in the grand floodplain of life, adapting to the unpredictable and the absurd with as much grace — or as little — as we can muster?

Yours in watery wonder and syncopated thoughts,
A Confused but Slightly Jazzy Observer