Jazz has evolved in so many ways.  From Billy Holiday to Anita Baker and Al Jareau-it has found a voice and made a statement.

That statement has been lost in a maze of modern jazz fusion however, which seems to be more of an exercise of long winded, worn out ideals and musical acrobatics.

Sure, it is impressive to see a trio or quartet play complicated chords and progressions, but that wonder is the same h kind that is experienced when watching Cirque du Soliel contortionist - it can amaze and somewhat revile simultaneously.

As someone who studied music and know how hard it is for even two musicians, let alone three, four and five, to stay on point throughout a performance, I can appreciate the talent it takes.  The problem is, the average person is not interested in the excruciating details of crafting every note or what it takes to stay on time - all they care about is the sound that reaches their ears.

And this is where a lot of modern jazz has left a lot of people in the dust. In an effort to retain what many would consider to be a purity of craft, they forgot that the lay listener only wants to experience joy.

The kind of joy that happened when Billy Holiday sang flat and a little off key because she was feeling the emotion of the words and not worried about staying on pitch. Or the lovely wonder of rough hewn artists who were more concerned about sharing their perceptions of a common experience, be it love or sadness, wonder or fear than the perfection of music.

Now, to give jazz credit, it does desire to be taken seriously-and it is.  Pop music by comparison will pick up blue eyed, blond hair twelve year, place her in a jail bait costume and make her a singing sensation.

 The greats of Jazz can run circles around most modern players-they are trained and disciplined and can attain heights of perfection that most people can't claim in contemporary music.

But to that end, something is lost, a graininess that is necessary to capture the very essence of the human spirit. As I listen to the perfected notes of jazz I fear that the Billy Holiday type nuances will elude us.

Her lovely smiling yet tragic image is now replaced by a golden mirage of a perfectly coifed vixen whose hair I long to muss up.