About the only genre of music that has been fully satisfying my tonal desires recently has been jazz. I flip through my iTunes library until I find that right syncopation of trumpet, guitar, bass, and drums. Sometimes, it's a trombone that slides up and down or fingers that twiddle the keys of a piano, but it's always about the music.

Last Sunday night I had the pleasure of getting to see my first Jazz concert. My buddy Tyrel, my dad and I headed down to the Tulsa PAC to a surprisingly packed crowd to hear Chris Botti. I was a little apprehensive about signing us all up, since my affinity lies more with the likes of Coltrane or Marsalis-- the finger-flying, passing out sort of jazz, that has been immortalized in Jack Kerouac's On the Road. But when he talked about the influence Miles Davis had in his playing, I knew I would be in for a show. He played some ballads and mixed it up with some jumpier tunes and was more than I had expected. Moreover, his band was excellent. His guitarist tore up the neck; the drummer's sticks disappeared in a rhythmic flurry; his bassist played stand-up. Plus he had a phenomenal vocalist and his pianist was 19 and won the prestigious Thelonius Monk Award. It truly gave me what my itching ears were wanting to hear.