It’s the rhythm, it’s always the rhythm. It’s the sound of Desomnd’s sax traipsing back and forth with Brubcek’s piano while Morello tapped his way into your foot.
That’s the thing, Strange, the brilliant motherfucker aint gone, he can’t be, I know personally nearly a hundred people who played all the Brubeck they have today while hundreds of thousands of others did the same.
There’s a reason Duke Ellington never dies—the rhythm. Brubeck’s a Duke creation and when you listen you find yourself wandering, half-stepping and slip-sliding your way through a task.
Jazz is the voice of humanity and amid the screeching and wailing, the relentless noise of life as strident and rasping and grating as it can be, there is the rhythm.
It’s the rhythm, my brother, the motherfucking rhythm.
Comment by HumboldtBlue on 12/05/12 at 08:15 PM