In a rage of jazz

"On this morning Stanley had stacked the top of the paino with ranks of beer mugs. In a corner was a packing case stacked with bottles. The air around the piano was thick with smoke, lit with stray gleams of reflected sunlight. The three men were isolated from the room in a haze of sun-lanced smoke. Johnnie played, played, played, quite oblivious ... Ted had taught himself music, but he could not play. He would hum snatches from Prokoviev, Mozart, Bach, his face agonised with impotent desire, forcing Johnnie to play. Johnnie played anything by ear, he played the airs as Ted hummed them, while his left hand hovered impatiently just above the keys. The moment the hypnotic pressure of Ted's concentration relaxed, the left hand broke into syncopation, and then both hands were furious in a rage of jazz ...". 

-Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook