A quarter century ago there was a cd store on Forbes in Squirrel Hill, half classical and half jazz. I used to go there for the abuse of not knowing anything about both. The jazz guy was older than Egyptian dirt, with a croaky Brother Theodore voice. Working retail—even if he did co-own the place (with the mild-mannered classical guy) was a curse.

Brother Theodore’s nod to humanity was the artist card for St. John Coltrane. No explanations needed. With so many endeavors we’re afraid to look like fools. We don’t want to speak up lest we’re wrong. What is this stuff about without a horizon, or lyrics by Hal David?

I heard the writer, Francis Davis, play this song on a radio show, and it reminded me of THE ICE STORM, of Alex Katz’ autumn paintings. And a forlorn family story in DIRTY DANCING.

The irony, which is why I bring it up, is that the more unified things become the less prized the individual is for their individuality.

Eric Dolphy played the clarinet on ‘Warm Canto’, and it always makes me think of autumn leaves in the dark water on an in ground swimming pool cover. And The Beatles playing ‘Don’t Let Me Down’ on the rooftop of Apple Records.