I have had two such classical music moments. One was during middle school at the Cleveland Orchestra, as they performed Scheherazade (I defy anyone with even an inkling of musical appreciation to hear those luscious and luxurious symphonic tapestries and not leave Severance Hall unchanged). The second was practicing and performing my very first symphonic work with an actual orchestra (Berlioz's March to the Scaffold with the Cleveland Music School Settlement, under the enthusiastic, nurturing and illuminating Liza Grossman).
And then there is jazz. For jazz there was one epiphany, followed by years of a blossoming love and appreciation (as well as months and years at a stretch where I drifted away from jazz, only to be drawn back by a stray cord or syncopated rhythm). The epiphany occurred at the end of my freshman year of high school listening to the school's jazz band perform. It was my first real experience with live jazz and it was a game changer. I am typically drawn to routine, control, predictability and precision. Jazz turns some predilections on their head - though there are themes and motifs, a framework for the music, there is also flexibility, improvisation, surprise. After awakening to jazz there were many moments of renewed wonder, but nothing like that eye-opening experience of hearing jazz live. Which brings me to anime and yet another renewal of wonder for the art of jazz, and the reaffirmation of the greatness and emotional connection I share with that art form. Kids on the Slope began airing on Crunchyroll this month and it perfectly captures that first encounter with live jazz. It memorializes and brings to life a moment I know from personal experience, the you before inspired live jazz and the you after.
Kids on the Slope is as well-crafted, stunning, smartly written, and inspiring as one would expect from the great ShinichirÅ Watanabe. The music blends some very good work by the renowned Yoko Kanno and jazz classics. The first episode features a passionate drum solo by Sentaro (a central characters) followed by the unmistakable opening notes of "Moanin'" (from the album of the same name by Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers). 
That drum solo - exuberant and borderline raucous, just like our irascible drummer - cracks through the main character's (Kaoru's) reserve, and you can see by the look on his face that things have changed forever. His first reflex upon the percussive assault on his ear drums is to cover an ear for protection. But as the solo gains momentum, the music and its driving, passionate source visibly break through to Kaoru. His eyes widen, his hand falls, and he actually listens.
Only two episodes in and my own love of jazz is remembered. I am anxiously waiting for the next episode and filling the time in between with swinging and syncopation, figuratively dusting off my albums (albeit digital) and rediscovering the greats. This series promise is profound and all one can do is sit back, enjoy the music, and look forward to discovering (or rediscovering) jazz with Kaoru.
