freaking out

dave brubeck. dave freakin' brubeck!!!

i didn't know he was still alive, but there he was. he sat his 75-year old body down at the piano and the music just flowed out of him.

it completely blows my mind. the thing about musicians is that they have this whole other level of being that other people just don't. it's an entire realm of understanding, a knowledge set AND a skill set. i'm not going for flowery artsy talk about it tonight; we'll save that for some other time.

still freaking out. can't— think in full thoug—

you should not need eye candy to promote it if it's good. that's another thing that's amazing about these people. they look like ordinary old folks, like your grandparents, and then they do their thing and what they create in a moment is SO much more excellent than anything you could possibly ever accomplish.

i'm completely... i'm... i can't even write.

lest you think i limit my admiration to the white people in jazz...

wait, i need to explain that. okay, so ode to a white lady was inspired by this little cardiganed church keyboardist about whose skills i was dubious. while waiting for her to put on her glasses i suddenly imagined, you know, what if she were marian mcpartland? that would just show me, wouldn't it? well, our keyboardist, um, so she wasn't the first lady of piano jazz. she wasn't jazz at all. but still. it's important to realize these things. all that to say i had marian mcpartland in mind when i wrote that silly thing.

okay. now. so. lest you think i limit my admiration to the white people in jazz...

i don't.

och, i got tired. antihistamines kicking in. and i'm still freaking out and about to cry, actually cry. so,

dr. billy taylor. billy freakin' taylor!

more later.