She came through my door like a velvet hurricane, eyes ablaze and a gun in her hand. I said, "Put that thing away, you're going to hurt my feelings". She said, "Your feelings are the last thing you need to worry about, Doc". That was the moment I fell in love...
So, I sat here, grinding out original stories. Two a week. Only, I seem to have lost my touch. Maybe they weren't original enough. Maybe they were too original. All I know is, they didn't sell.
FuzzyWuzzy was a? B A spell? Last time someone said that around me it was a long leged redhead but that was 15 years ago. It all started when she stormed in my office and said if you don't help me i'll put a spell on you. Then I said spell? listen sister the only spell that you are going to put on me is your name......
“I’m listening to this on a Tuesday. An ordinary Tuesday. The kind of Tuesday that falls between Monday and Wednesday. No matter how you look at it, it’s just Tuesday.
Excellent, Ben. When I posted this video I was really hoping for some good "noir" story comments, and our listeners have not disappointed! Thrilled you're enjoying it, Ben - thanks for checking in. 😎 ~Dr. SaxLove
"I had 3 shots in me, one was pfeizer, one was Bourbon and one was a bullet the doc never bothered to fish out of my shoulder. And on a night like this, I was feeling all of them."
But in the end the clot got me, but the doc would cover it up by calling it sudden death syndrome. It was a perfect crime with nobody legally liable since I was a guinea pig for an experimental drug. Boy what a sucker I was.
I wandered into the ice cream parlour, however the evening was wet and a little too cold for frozen treats. I paid no mind and acquired the sweet, cold, and delectable cream. That's when I knew, I had no idea how to write a 1940s noir novel..
I was sitting at my desk, cigarette between my nicotine-stained fingers, smoke blinding me in one eye, when we walked through my office door like she owned the place. She stopped, put her hands on her hips, looked me over and said, "Are you him?" I said, "Yeah, I'm him - who are you?" "I'm Marielys Diane" she said, "Here to change your life." I thought for a moment. My life could sure use changing. "Sit down" I said. "Make yourself comfortable." So she did, and that was the beginning of the rest of my life.
I casually entered into Dr.SaxLove's office... without knocking (As I always did) to bring his weakly magazine "Girls & Corpses", but to my amazement he gave me that 'I hope you die soon' look and said nothing.
I looked up as she entered my office carrying my favorite magazine, "Girls & Corpses" and as I looked at her I realized something for the very first time - she was incredibly beautiful! I tried to hide my sudden feelings with a scowl - I hoped I hadn't hurt her feelings...
I could feel the cold silence fill the room, that kind of silence you get when both parties know why the other is there, but don't want to admit it. I exhaled smoke and she caught my gaze with fiery eyes and said "Here is your cappuccino sir, thank you for visiting starbucks. oh and can you refrain from smoking in here?"
"She was exactly the kind of trouble that I was looking for. The kind that would woukd give my life a sense of purpose. The kind that would get me killed."
I suddenly have an urge to go to a dirty, run-down diner at 3 am in the pouring rain for stale coffee, bland soup, and to tell the waitress about my problems.
I know you guys are going for grit, but in my head I'm reading; "I'm going go annoy a tired waitress," "I'm going to sit in the corner and act antisocial," "Some neckbeard in a trenchcoat and trilby will sit across from you and ask if you've got a lead on a rare MLP doll," ...I might write a short screenplay, because it' making me laugh. Thanks for the inspiration!
"Third week of quarantine, holed up in my office. Supply of scotch is almost gone. Tonight I'll be down to my last cigarette. Soon I'll have to brave the streets to stock up. That stimulus money I got from Uncle Sam will keep me in Dewars and Lucky Strikes for a few more weeks, but then what? Why, oh why did I get mixed up with that no good dame, Corona?
"They were all dead. The final gunshot was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger. And then it was all over. The storm seemed to lose its frenzy. The ragged clouds gave way to the stars above."
Pro Tip: Open 3 Browsers online, play this in one of them, do thunderstorm sounds for 2 hours in another, and then play Street sounds in the third and it’s like your actually there.
As a legendary detective, it's so hard to do my job with this music following me everywhere. Anyone know how to tell jazz bands to be quiet during a stakeout？
Between your username and this comment, I'm getting a big Leslie Nielsen vibe. I just want both you and Dr. SaxLove to know, we're all counting on you.
@@danpurdy32 I was trying to make some joke about my being a far more serious detective, but as I thought it up I spilled my coffee grounds all over the floor, tripped on nothing, and fell in my kitchen. I am Inspector Clouseau.
My dad absolutely loved this video compilation! I remember him sitting in his leather chair in the living room with his crooked cigarette that he had rolled, with a tot of brandy, just taking the music in. I miss him so much, see you when I'm at the end Dad! Love you ❤❤❤
Me and my partner spent a night combing the streets of L.Lain '72. Someone said he'd be in a all night movie theater in the not so good part of town at 2 am . we were there alright , but so was the drunk behind us puking his guts up . my partner was half asleep , but even in that state he knew enough to lift his feet an let the flow go past unimpeded. The mug didn't show so when the floor was half dry we shoved off . the cold Grey dawn was trying to break , but it was a real weak try .
The elevator ride felt like an eternity, floor upon floor of ascending anxiety, awaiting the inevitable ding of the final destination. As the elevator went to the top I was getting to the bottom of this conspiracy that had rattled me to my very core... who stole the cookie from the cookie jar? Why? Would their greed be the motivating factor? Or their desire to rob the chocolate chipped goodness from another? Either way, this elevator would bring me to my answers. The elevator ride stretched into eternity past every level, I'd been standing in this box for what felt like forever, and I had plenty of time to plan out my arrest of the cookie thief. It turns out the Elevator was broken, it wasn't actually moving, so I decided to ascend the stairs, which have proven more than once to be my mortal enemy. If every cookie stealing scumbag this city threw at me beat me down, trust stairs to finish me off. When I finally climbed every step to the Olympus that was the corrupt senator "Daddy" Cool's office, it was showtime, and the spotlight was on me.
I steal cookies from the cookie jar because I was born with a silver cookie spoon in my mouth and it's my right and my privilege. Some people can take the cookies, some people can't. My father took cookies, as did his father before him; I'm not going to stop taking cookies out of other people's cookie jar just because some flat-footed, stair-climbing, gumshoe thinks I ought to. I'll be stealing cookies until the day I die and NO ONE WILL EVER STOP ME! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Wait, who are you and what's that in your hand. Don't point that at me! AAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!
In a touch of cruel irony, Dr. Sax gets a glass of milk every morning before hitting the exercise yard. Just milk. I hear he's headed to a halfway house, where, if he behaves, they'll let him lick one side of an Oreo once a week.
The bar's name was "Silver Bullet". It flashed a neon sign in the middle of a dirty dark street. This place opened three years ago and immediately became the abode of outcasts, broken and bored men, and some especially immodest women. Blue-collar pilgrims came to the Bullet every evening for a portion of liquid oblivion. The bartender named Chuck served amazingly bad swill, and the working slaves crushed by the tombstone of the day swallowed it, wincing, and asked for more with husky dead voices. Cigarette smoke veiled the room, mixed with a thick hum of voices and the strumming music on the radio. Good place, just dirty enough to be cozy.
I've been to the Silver B many times, always looking for that liquid "bullet" to the brain. It's a dark and ugly place - it matches my mood and my budget. And every now and then I get lucky and find what I'm looking for - sweet oblivion!
@@OXFOLICIOUS Kinda? That's more about going to war in your youth and then working a beat when you return, only to realize the streets are just as dangerous as any battlefield.
It felt like the worst Monday morning. It was actually Thursday, but feelings don't use a calendar. I poured some coffee, and instantly wished I'd had a cup to put it in. Maybe it was just going to be one of those days. Maybe not. But then again maybe it was, and that was a risk I was just going to have to take. I left the house, and lost my wife in the settlement. Times were hard all round.
Dr. SaxLove I looked up Henny Youngman, good stuff! I like Steven Wright and Milton Jones. Your jazz builds a world for me. Thank you for this, I didn't know I needed it.
I came here because I was feeling some Jazz, I didn't expect hundreds of writers to debut like this. If your book does sell, we got to see it first and that's an accomplishment for me.
It's the same old story. Boy finds girl, boy loses girl, girl finds boy, boy forgets girl, boy remembers girl, girls dies in a tragic blimp accident over the Orange Bowl on New Year's Day...
Boy is actually a girl, girl doesn't want to called a girl, boy wears a skirt, girl has a sex change operation. Wait, this is a script from another movie from a different time. Cheers, Clint!
“The dame’s scream hit an octave usually reserved for calling dogs, but it meant I had a case, and the sound of greenbacks slapping across my palm is music to my ears any day. After all, I’m not an opera critic; I’m a private eye.”
My heart is melting !!! I've always been ABSOLUTELY in love with Noir / 1910-1950s USA - the old billboards and ads, old cars, women wearing dresses and retro gloves and hats, men wearing trench coats or suits, the absolutely stylish and classy hairstyles, this retro jazz music. When I finally move in to my own house I will decorate it like it's 50s.
Very cool, Altair. I totally agree with you, that era was, stylistically, so very unique and interesting and iconic. Thanks for the great comment, and thanks so much for reaching out to me - I appreciate you!
Absolutely - this era was very unique and indeed iconic. It really makes me sad that I did not get to live in that time period to experience it all by myself. I find 50s women to be much more attractive than women nowadays, women back then had real class, were probably more well spoken etc. This whole Noir / 30s-50s thing has become a major fetish for me :) enough of my babbling :) This great music is very relaxing and uplifting, thank you for uploading this, I really appreciate it :-) I look forward to more videos like this (if that's a possibility)
I had the knowledge of the world at my fingertips, but I sat there in the dark listening to old music with a glass of ice tea pretending it was whiskey. That's when she walked in. My amazon delivery. It was exactly what I needed, a cheap fedora. But there was something not quite right. Chills down my spine told me my instinct felt it too. I took a swig of ice tea to set my nerves right and opened a new tab. A quick search and the first result led me to "10 hours of city rain." I laugh to myself now, but I had such high hopes then. I set out to create a vibe and get some likes and I ended up alone in front of a screen, without the vibes and without the likes.
@@carlosguadron410 Carlos, I was sitting at my desk...taking slow sips of my tea, music echoing throughout my room when it dawned on me. You don't need to create the vibe...you are the vibe. 😎, I'll see you around pal.
It was raining, it's always raining in this city, but the night I first saw her ... the rain was different. The rain brought wind like a bouncer with the voice of a brass section, shoving people indoors instead of kickin' them out. But tonight the rain tapped a high-temp Swing song on my window, no brass, setting the pace for passers-by on the street to get indoors. Except her. She defied the tempo. She cut through the rain with her umbrella like a knife. I could see her red dress hug her curves when she walked across the street, shining like a red beacon through the dark, right to my building's front door. I could tell right then and there that this ol' heart in my chest could still beat like a drum, head over heels in love and in no mood to hide it. I knew right then and there, this was going to be a hell of a case. (Aimless detective monologue aside, I love this so much! Thanks for posting it! )
She walked like a goddess, her high heels tapping out a tempo like a too-high drummer in a swing band. As she walked away, she looked back and said, "Next time? There is no next time, mister." That was the last I saw of her... Thanks for the creative writing, BBB - I appreciate and I appreciate you!
"It's been four years after I've been laid off the force... and I still hate myself for being so stupid. But Addiction is one helluva thing, kiddo." "Methamphetamine is pretty methed up, and Cocaine is killing people, sure, but... A crippling addiction Hentai... Now that changes a man..."
Its be like she is dancing around you man. Everytime close I my eyes they are everywhere but even I try push she is coming back.... Sometimes she makes me Happy sometimes she let me cry like a baby. This Lady change d my life and made my to the Person what am i now
Gold huh? I don't know what is it with all the Gold in my life always getting mixed up with trouble. From the those little gold stripes on her dress, right down to the engravings on her little Walter PPK. It seems it's always the most attractive things in life... that make you want to risk it all. I'm not sure i quite have it in me yet, but... Guess we're going to have to find out...
'Hello Lover.' She whispered to me. Smooth and cold. She was like whiskey on the rocks. I heard a hammer being pulled back. I sighed. Never trust a dame with a rod. 'Is this the part where you kill me?' I ask, and took a sip. The liquor tasted metallic, like blood. Her lips found my cheek. She planted a kiss. 'No. I need you to come with me. I messed up.' She pushed the gun harder. 'Well. You've come to the right place.' I felt a sick smile creeping up my mug. 'Trouble is our business.'
"I looked her in the eyes as she asked me once more to help her. I couldn't, not after what happened years ago. The struggle and torment was still fresh on my mind. The horrors and terror that I struggled with every morning when I woke up from a sleepless night with a puddle of cold sweat to accompany me. She shook her head as she left calling me worthless. I told her "For the last time mom I'm not vaccuming grandmas room unless she puts some damn clothes on!""
I couldn't believe it was her. It was like a dream. But there she was, just as I remembered her. That delicately beautiful face. And a body that could melt a cheese sandwich from across the room. And breasts that seemed to say..."Hey! Look at these!" She was the kind of woman who made you want to drop to your knees and thank God you were a man! She reminded me of my mother, all right. No doubt about it.
this collection reveals itself very well on a rainy evening , when you just look at the stream of raindrops falling on the asphalt , and at people slowly going about their business . Thank you author
As I opened up youtube to watch the usual videos in my notification, I spilt my coffee and accidentally clicked a link to a youtube video. As I grabbed a towel to clean the mess I noticed the comment section of this video. As soon as I read the first comment I knew there was trouble brewing, or so I thought. I been around a lot of comment sections in my time but nothing have I seen anything like this before. Little did I know, I was going to be on, the ride of my life.
They were all dead. The final gunshot was an exclamation mark to everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger. And then it was over.
"They were all dead. The final gunshot was an exclamation mark on everything that had led to this point. I released my finger from the trigger, and it was over."
“There was a blind spot in my head, a bullet-shaped hole where the answers should be. Call it denial. I wanted to dig inside my skull and scrape out the pain.”
The place smelt of late hours and failed auditions, a collection of those who had suffered this bleak city life for much too long, and those who still though it couldn't get worse. Maybe I was exposed, being out in public like this, but I figured most people would only remember a blurry image of me, seeing as they were all looking through the bottom of their glasses, the thick stench of cheap smokes blocking the rest of their senses. I slid quietly to the front of the bar, looking at the man behind it while he polished a glass with a rag that had probably seen more action than him. He looked over with his eyes, but spared the strain of moving his head, trying to ask me what I wanted without having to speak. I gazed along the rows of failed men that sat on either side of me, until I found one that looked particurlary unaware of his surroundings, his body half sloped forwards, looking 3 different shades of green, and a couple grey ones too. I gave the bartender a nod in the man's direction, and asked for what he'd had. A minute later, I was presented with a would-be fancy glass (Had it not been for the nicotine stains on the bottom), half filled with lemon juice and ice, the other with a whiskey that looked like it had spent longer under the counter than I had in bed, and both of us for none of the good reasons. "Well well.", I thought, bracing myself for impact, "Atleast everyone can afford the city's national dish." And with that hint of salt still stuck in my mind, I lifted my first glass that evening, wondering if I would be coming home in a taxi, or over the shoulder of another gangster...
She staggered into my room lusting for hot romance. "How about you make a real woman out of me?!" I was too engrosed listening to Jazz and reading comments. Besides, I asked her, "Have you been drinking again Grandma?"
11:08 “You came back...” She said, standing in the rain outside her doorstep. I flicked my cigarette onto the wet sidewalk and set off for her again.. And before my foot could take its first step, she asked “but why.. ?” I replied “my heart has Noir else to go”
I’ve been searching for months for something like this. “Noir Jazz” is such a specific genre that finding that Goldilocks sound feels impossible, until I found this video. It’s funny because I’ve always described it as “That ‘She walked through the door of my office on a rainy November evening, a rose in one hand and a smoking gun in the other’ kind of jazz.” I look to the comments and that’s exactly what I see. I am home.
Sweet, Jones Jones, and welcome to this space. Lots of awesome comments on this video, many hours of entertaining reading! Greetings to you, friend, and much love to you! 🙏
The office was as bleak as a loan shark's office could be, no color or pictures, just the smell of tobacco and a feeling of repressed guilt. He was reclining in his chair, feet on table, gun in plain sight and tobacco in his mouth. An all-seeing eye glinted through his hair, he wasn't an ordinary money counter. That was for damn sure. "I've got a job for you, Mr Harris." he said through the Tobacco. "What? interior decorating?" I asked back, I wasn't in the mood to shake down some punks today. "Nah. I need you to do something a bit more... unusual." he finally looked at me with both eyes, and what he told me shook me to my damn core.
damn man that was a good continuation. He lifted his feet off his, probably thankful, table and said to me "I'm not hearing a no Mr Harris, and I don't really care if you give me a yes. I can get some other sap to do this for me, you were just the first guy in the pages, nothing special. Now tell me, are you gonna find her for me or not?" I looked into his cold, sleazy eyes. On any other day I'd have repeated my previous response but today? It wasn't like clients were rolling into my office nowadays anyway and I needed some money before I ended up on the dole. That taste of greasy sand turned to crude oil as I said "fine, what does she look like?" before spiting on his floor again.
Ah, nothin' beats a good ole' cup-a-joe. Ole' Joe is a jack of all trades, giving you the much-needed pick me up after long days going over the evidence, and bringing the much needed sobriety to the even longer nights... after giving a good twice-over to whatever bottle of bottom-shelf crap I have lying around. Ole' Joe is like an oasis in the desert. It provides you with a short glimpse of relief in the desert that is the life of a detective, yet, when the bottom of the mug reveals itself, you're left with nothing but the grave reminder of how dry and vast your desert is. I look out the window. Nothing but rain. Torrents of rain. I am a fisherman's boat in a tsunami, crashing into each wave with nothing to hold on to, other than the near certainty of my impending doom...like this, so I am, in this diner, in the middle of a downpour. Damn, I read too much into things. I stare down into the mug, not expecting to see anything in particular. Oh how wrong I was. The cream-colored liquid projects a reflection... who's, I am unsure of. A stranger. One who I once knew, but know not anymore. I see a mirror image of myself reflecting from the surface. Yet, his face was brown. Not black. Not white. Somewhere in the middle. And no, I'm not talkin' about race. I mean, a man who was once clear on where he stood. A man who gave his life every day to upholding justice. I reminisce about those days, where everything was clear, where everything made sense. Those days are gone. There is no black and white anymore. Maybe I couldn't keep up with the times. Maybe the times couldn't keep up with me. Maybe the times are just the times, and I...no longer I. Goddamn, I should have stopped before that last shot. Back to the evidence. Papers upon papers laid out in front of me, all pieces to an incomplete puzzle. There is just one damn piece missing. The whole picture is staring me right in the eye, but I'm too damn focused on that one missing piece, that I just can't see the picture on the box. Some call me a pessimist. I say I'm a realist. A man just trying to do his job. Anyway, this case is big. The biggest. One that could make or break the headline. Hell, it's one that could make or break my career. The city. Justice itself. Everything me and the men in blue ever stood for, diminished to rubble by the despicable act of one man. I say its a man... as if I knew. I finish my coffee, pay the waitress, if you can call her that. I've had better service from a 15-year-old house cat. I pop a nickel in the jukebox and play something Sinatra. I take a breather outside, wandering into the dimly lit, rainy alley between the diner and the local drug store. I leave the door open, so that I may hear the music playing from the entry. My first step out the door, my foot cannonballs into the unknown abyss of a sidewalk puddle. Damn it. All over my new shoes. The rain is falling steadier now. Too bad I forgot my umbrella in my other pants. Hell, I'm one optimistic attitude and a pair of tap shoes away from being Gene Kelly. As the rain pours, my feet begin their steady dance down the sidewalk. I never considered myself much of a dancer... but isn't that what walking is? A sort of monotonous dance, one step after the other? An optimist would say yes. I say its a good way to burn off the piece of coconut cream that has yet to reach rock bottom. As my feet perform their choreographed movement down the pavement of the alley, so my mind performs its monotonous dance of thoughts down the back-streets of my mind Who... Who. That's just the question. I don't know. The thought is a hungry Rottweiler, and you're like a juicy tenderloin... Bloody. It eats you up. Devours you. Not knowing is an ever-increasingly familiar sting, but it hurts nevertheless. My mind is a house, and not knowing is an armed burglar, an uninvited stranger. One who is unknown, yet holds an unruly amount of power in the form of a .357 magnum in my face. Some nights I wish he'd just pull the trigger. Of course, these nights were often accompanied by many empty bottles of good ole' Mr. Daniels. My train of thought is derailed by the familiar smell of a dear friend, Joe Camel. Joe always packs the heat, this time, he's accompanied by the sweet taste of menthol. I take a long draw from my cigarette and stand in silence against the alleyway wall. The rain pours off of my lowered fedora brim like my own personal waterfall. Who knew that a Trilby came with an all-inclusive trip to Hawaii? It was right in front of me, yet even then, I couldn't find the time. There wasn't much time for anything anymore. The kids. The wife. Hell, even Hawaii. The stranger of not knowing made himself present in my mind once again... Who? It didn't matter. Just for the moment, it was me, the rain, Mr. Camel, and good ole' Franky.
Because the majority of the commenters think that their comments make for good novels. I wish it would, but as for someone who writes, being cliche makes you little money, if any at all. I don't mean no disrespect.
“I saw her yesterday, I recognized her but she didn’t recognize me. Or maybe she did and she thought she was seeing a phantom of her past. Or maybe she did and just didn’t care enough to acknowledge me. Either way, can’t blame her for ignoring me. After all, she may have the eyes of an angel... But behind those angel eyes lie a head filled with demons...”
Unfortunately Jazz suffers from the same common problem that any other genre of music and every other art form suffers: most is unbearably bad, but on the blessed rare occasion when it's good, it's oh so wonderful. More than other music categories I think. edit: thanks for this upload. I sure enjoyed it.
Sitting next to my window hearing the Raining at 4AM with matches and lighting them on fire to see the fire dim to the dark night with this music on is a vibe
