[an error occurred while processing this directive]
[WARNING CONTAINS A LOT OF SWEAR WORDS AND SEXUAL REFERENCES]
A pianist with Tourettes Syndrome is walking the streets of Soho. In Dean Street he sees a cocktail bar with a sign saying: 'Jazz pianist wanted'.
"Fucking hell, get in there, you cunt!" he says to himself, and enters. "Get the fucking manager of this turdhole, you bollockbrained cocksucking cunt!" he says to the barman, who obliges, and the manager comes upstairs. "Can I help you?" he says to the pianist. "Yes you can, you fat piece of shit! I saw your poxy ad in the cunting window and I'm here to audition. Bloody tosser!"
The manager is put off by the man's rather discourteous manner, but his urgent need for a pianist forces him to agree to an audition. The first tune is a very uplifting jazzy number, and at the end, the barman says "Wonderful! What's that one called?"
"That's called Excuse Me Sir But I Just Jizzed In Your Wife's Eye".
"Oh! Very well..." says the manager "Can you play something a little less lively?"
"Motherfucking twat!" says the pianist to himself, under his breath, before playing a ballad which leaves the manager in tears, as he asks him the title.
"That one's When You Do A Bird Up The Shitbox You'll Get Crap On Your Nob-End".
"I see..." says the manager, "And, er...do you have any songs with less offensive titles?"
"Well, you stupid cunting prick...", he says, "there's always my mellow jazz number "Do You Want Me To Split Your Ringpiece?"...or even "I Don't Fucking Care If You're Sixty, You've Still Got Very Nice Jugs, Grandmother".
"Look..." says the manager, "You're a superb pianist, but your titles are a bit racy. I'll hire you on one condition...that you don't introduce your songs, and don't speak to the audience at all".
"Oh fuck it..." says the pianist, "Why not!".
The first night, everything is going superbly, and all the crowd are lapping up his repertoire. The only thing putting the pianist off is a quite utterly gorgeous blonde lady in a little black evening dress with a split up the side, revealing the top of her silk stockings, and a plunging neckline showing all her ample cleavage. At the break, the pianist has such a stonking hard-on that he goes to the john and knocks one out. Just as he comes, he hears himself being re-introduced, and so rushes back and finishes his set.
After the show the blonde comes over. "Hi!"' she says. "Hello" he replies...and she whispers in his ear "Do you know your cock is hanging out and spunk is dribbling onto your shoes?"
"Know it...?", he says, "I fucking wrote it!"
Stevie Wonder is playing his first gig in China, in Shanghai, and the place is just packed to the rafters. He plays 'Part Time Lover' and 'Ebony And Ivory', but to only lukewarm, awkward applause. In a bid to break the ice, the soul legend asks if anyone has a request. One Chinese fellow jumps out of his seat in the first row and shouts at the top of his voice: "You play a jazz chord!"
Shocked that this guy knew about the Fifties/early Sixties influences in his career, the blind musician nods, and starts, with gentle keystrokes, to play a sweeping E-minor scale on the piano with a moody, ethereal fretless bass accompaniment, then subtly swaying, goes into a beguiling, bluesy Ray Charles- style melody for about ten deliriously intense minutes, interspersing it with abstract reggae-tinged harmonic counterpoint, unusually-intricate myxolydian scales, excerpts from 'Songs In The Key Of Life', 'Talking Book', etc. When he finishes, the whole place goes wild. However, when the thunderous applause dies down, the Chinese chap jumps out of his seat again and shouts: "No no! You play a jazz chord!"
A little bit cheesed-off by this time, but being the true professional entertainer that you know he is, our sightless genius and his superb band dive straight into a staggeringly difficult, free-form improvisation with Stevie on the harmonica, based around 'Superstition' in the B-flat diminished-seventh chord, gradually segueing into 'Uptight (Everything's Alright)' and other chart- topping tunes from his back-catalogue such as 'Masterblaster', a tender 'My Cherie Amour', a keen 'Living For The City', and a raucous, boneshaking 'Sir Duke' on his huge Yamaha synthesiser...and Stevie really tears the place apart, the multi-coloured beads in his hair swinging around in the spotlight.
The exuberant crowd go bonkers again, but still the little Chinese guy jumps up yet again and shouts, more frantically now, "No no no! You play a jazz chord!"
By now, Stevie's utterly hacked-off, and cantankerously shouts "Hey you! Misstra Know-It-All! Enough's enough, OK! Why don't you get right up here and show me how to do it better yourself, you annoying little slanty- eyed yellow-skinned chinky monkey?"
"Sure!" says the Chinese guy. He gets up onto the stage, takes the microphone, and says "No, rook! Rike this, you see...", then starts singing:
"...a jazz chord, to say, I ruv you..."