A musician asked his mother if she liked free jazz. His mother looked at him cock-eyed for a moment and responded "It beats paying for it."

If you ask most educated musicians what music they wish they could play all of the time, the answer would most likely be jazz. But musicians must make a living playing what people want to here, so they end up in cowboy hats pattering out country western licks, or wearing matching plaid outfits and jump around to ska, or wading through oldies, or covers, or watered down blues, or whatever gets them paid.

That's why what I witnessed this week was priceless. Every now and again when they are in town, a bunch of young jazz cats get together at someone's house and play until late in the night. The musicians had names like Rob, Justin, Matt, Andrew, Mark, and Elliot. Names as normal as they come.

Without the pressure of an official "gig," the musicians dissolved the pressure of playing in front of an audience winding in and out of unpredictable jazz grooves. The solos lasted until members were out of breath or fingers cramped. The mood was lively and free. The crowd sat either gawking in awe or gaping without a clue. You either felt it or you didn't.

I still remember back when I sat next to the alto sax player, Rob, in High School All-State Band for two years. We were both played the saxophone, but there was something different in each of us. He played his licks with a passionate desperation, always wanting to improve. I played my licks with unfocused abandon, always wanting to be done. As Rob continued his training into college, I put my alto in its case to rest for long spans. Rob learned to improvise immaculately while I learned how to express myself through words. Rob is in grad school now playing in the elite North Texas jazz band. I sit hunched over my computer trying to flesh out a two-act play in solitude. History will decide where our improvisations take us.

And the true genius of jazz is in the improvisation. The solid certainty of being uncertain. Everything played on feeling, blending yet unique.

The skill does not come overnight. Every musician in the room has had to lock the door to the outside world for long periods of time, so they could learn this tune or that. Each time, they come back to the world a little less normal, no longer able to express as well verbally. But the music speaks for them.

The musicians I saw were mostly still in their twenties, and if you dare to complement them on their incredible abilities, they grudgingly answer with how much they still need to learn. The journey towards perfection is never-ending.

In a country full of "I just want to be rich" citizens, it's refreshing to know there are some exceptions to the rule. There are some people who actually want to hone a craft and do nothing else but improve on it. There are some people who are willing to play in one half a of darken room with only one red light on, creating without permission whether anyone is listening or not.

Most of the talent of these musicians will go unnoticed or unappreciated by the general public who anxiously await the next attractive woman to sing about wanting to be held close in her lover's arms. But I sat there on a Saturday night, soaking it all in, wondering when I would ever witness such spontaneous musical creativity again.

It didn't even cost me anything. And nothing beats free free jazz.

Chris Jungle is not sure what key he's playing in.