Lou Williams sat in his apartment, brand-new saxophone in hand.
“Lou Williams is a really jazzy name,” he thought to himself as he looked at the shiny bronze instrument. “I must live up to the jazziness of my name by learning how to play jazz saxophone, and then I will be Lou Williams, famous jazz saxophonist.”
Putting the mouthpiece to his lips, he blew. The sound that emanated from the bell of the instrument sounded like the squawking of a diseased duck, but he continued without hesitation, depressing random keys at his own whim. Ten seconds of continuous blowing later, he ran out of breath, and the cacophony ceased.
“That was pretty good,” he thought. “I could probably perform at any jazz club in the whole city.” Still, he decided to give it another go, just to make sure that he was ready.
This time, the saxophone produced an abrupt blare of noise before falling silent. Readjusting his embouchure, he blew again, this time producing a single clean note before breaking it up with some rapid fire notes up and down the scale. “Scale” was not the correct term, however, as the notes he played had no semblance of order or melody.
Stopping again to regain his breath, Lou placed the expensive instrument back in its case. “I am Lou Williams, jazz saxophone soloist,” he again thought to himself. “And I am ready to take the Toronto jazz scene by storm.”