A few years ago, my girlfriend and I were poking our noses around a CD shop near my office, making the most out of our lunch hour. It’s something we are quite fond of, a refreshing brew of window shopping and getting updated on what’s happening in the music world.

Then, in her nonchalant way, she stopped by a pile of novelty Jazz albums and popped a huge pair of headphones over her tiny ears and invited me to listen to the track she had selected. It was unlike anything I had heard until that day, but felt embracing and womblike

like warm tea

like Miles playing flutes in Tibet

like open plains washed with dust

like brass rivers flowing in mantra patterns

like closing my eyes and floating on the beach, the sun warming my face and small waves breaking on the background

like tears of peace

I looked at the brightly colored though bare cover and somehow knew I HAD to buy the album, the girl had struck a chord that would, eventually, develop to a full music reflection.

The funny part is years later my wonderful girlfriend commented that she hand’t even liked the music that much, but she felt it would appeal to me.

And that’s a bit what love and Jazz are: novelty and feeling at home at the same time; being alert for a loved one’s wavelength even if different from one’s aesthetic.

“Chiaroscuro”, by Arve Enriksen, is one of my favorite all time contemporary Jazz albums. So is the story of its finding.