Coffee Talk #31: Giant Steps

The Saturday is in full laidback swing. A typical rainy and gloomy setting keeps the outside world moist and unappealing to venture into. In sheer contrast, the inside world is filled with jazz, coffee, fruits, crayons, pencils, colouring books, and paint utensils. My soon-to-be-four-years-old daughter is her happy usual self; part Tasmanian devil, part smart-ass, part Wu-Tang Clan fan, for the most part the sweetest girl in the world, hugely stubborn like both of her parents, and known to raise smiles with her radiating laughter. She’s a riot, a ruckus, and skilled in the trade of leaving affectionate havoc in every room she enters. I’m in awesome company.

The smooth and soulful sounds of John Coltrane’s Giant Steps are filling the living room. I’m not sure if I’m planting the jazzy seeds for my daughters musical taste palet this way, but I’m imagining it can’t hurt her development. Judging by the way she’s happily nodding her head, crayon in her right, pair of scissors in her left, and a sheet of formerly white paper in front of her. The receiving end of a crafty chaos in progress is evident. She doesn’t seem to mind the jazz I picked at all.

It’s the first jazz record I bought, and consequently really got into. The genesis of where the Coltrane spark came from is something that’s completely lost on me, but my estimated guess would be that it came from a certain alternative radio station. One that broadcasted on a frequency close to a commercial station, making sure that only those who mastered their FM dial with a surgeon-like precision were able to tune in and receive their carefully curated goodness. I still have the CD I bought over two decades ago, stored in a box somewhere in the shed. I have a copy on vinyl too, which regularly finds its way to the deck. This afternoon however, we settled on a more modern approach and streamed Giant Steps digitally.

One of those records I’ve listened to so much, it gradually transformed into being part of my DNA. The opening song of the record, Giant Steps, can still be often heard on alternative radio and jazz radio, and just as easily it can be heard in series and movies. Its subtle smoothness, profoundly present throughout the album, complements the ambiance of many bistros and restaurants with a supernatural ease. It doesn’t matter where I pick it up, a crowded bar where it’s blasting through the speakers, or a barely audible snippet edited into a movie scene that’s over before you know it, my brain instantly fills in the blanks for not only the remainder of the song, but for the entire record.

And while the Saturday is in full swing, gradually working our way through Giant Steps, I am admiring the attitude and demeanour of my little one, and how quickly she has grown and developed into being herself. From where I was standing, I could closely observe and be in complete awe. Time, often relentless, was skipping a few beats nearing a standstill. The room was filled with Coltrane’s soulful approach delivered in his signature timing on the song Naima. Like a revelation dawning on me, I suddenly realised I’m surrounded by Giant Steps.

Not that long ago, she discarded diapers as a whole, blatantly refusing to ever use them again. Giant Steps. After summer she’ll start Elementary School. Giant Steps. Recently she started to ride her bicycle without needing to be pushed. Giant Steps. At dinner, she no longer wants the kids plates or small sized cutlary. Giant Steps. Making jokes. Memorising songs. Recognising numbers and letters. Not needing a hand when walking up or down a steep staircase. Extending her vocabulary. Mastering grammar. Picking up English on the side. Giant Steps. And it doesn’t end there. Last month her brother had his 8th grade Camp Week. A rite of passage for every school attending kid in the Banana Republic, marking it the year before attending High School. Giant Steps.

I settled for another coffee, effortlessly enjoyed it while contemplating which Giant Steps the kids are onto next.