Sunday, November 11th, 2007



I was intrigued and renewed by watching a man, alive for 80 years, sliding fully into the world of his music while onstage, totally enlivened, as though each song is another old friend with whom he’s giddy to have a few minutes to shoot the breeze with. He sculpts his set order as he goes, eagerly calling the songs to his musicians by number, and barely rests during the hour except to briefly cite song credits in his Mississippian drawl, or to watch the drum solo with squinted eyes and an occasional amused head tilt, before over with the melody again with his still-limber fingers and a voice that still sounds effortlessly-1950s-swingin’-cool. When the music finally stops and he stands up from the piano and collects his sweater and squints into the spotlights to nod in the direction of the applause, he looks quietly kind but a bit weary… back with the rest of us in the far less certain world.

(Sent from mobile phone.)

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I was privileged to watch Mose Allison perform on his 80th birthday at the Jazz Standard on 27th Street. BBQ arrived at our table just as he started playing his Mississippi-meets-Long Island blues, and for a few minutes, all my senses were in a rare and awesome kinda harmony.

(Sent from mobile phone.)