I for one can’t walk out of my front door without falling over somebody’s bloody new ‘jazz beats to study/relax to’ video, or some pissant trying to sell me pills to widen my swing-beat. 

Undeterred by these infidels, Slater, Poundy, Coventry, and I will endeavour to orchestrate two hours of what might often be construed as Jazz, but which we’d prefer to think of as music.