Me, myself and I

That's all I got in the end
That's what I found out
And it ain't no need to cry
I took a vow that from now on
I'm gon be my own best friend

What happens to a buttwhuppin deferred

Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over—
Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
Like a heavy load

Or does it explode?

What is this thing called love

God is love mercy mercy me

Groovy people

The Eastern Rebellion is over

A busy week, so we did not have an opportunity to note the death of a jazz giant. Let us now rectify that by acknowledging the passing of Cedar Walton.

I didn't really hear about his passing so much as I noticed much more of his music being broadcast in rapid succession. I heard more Cedar Walton music in the space of an hour than you normally hear in a full week and I just suddenly came to an uh oh moment. Nobody had to say a word. But then again, what more fitting way for word of the passing of an intuitive jazz musician to spread.

Cedar Walton was not well known outside jazz circles, but inside the circle he was a giant. As a pianist composer, he was known for infectious boppish tunes. I always heard great similarity between the music of Cedar Walton and the music of Horace Silver.

Cedar Walton led the music the way I want it to go and he will be missed. I'm sure many were influenced by his music and will take up the charge that Mr. Walton so ably led for many years.

RIP

What you call me?

Where would I be

Happy feelings

Rocket love

You're nobody till somebody loves you

I won't last a day without you

Music

My joy

Remember

Bohemia after dark

Jazz ain't nothin but soul

Tight

I pity the fool

Confessin the blues

Well now baby, don't you want a man like me

You better think about your future

and forget about your use to be

Lazy afternoon

Find a way

To be invisible

If you really love me

Then I won't have to be playin around

Reach for it

George Duke could play anything.

He chose to play a lot of fusionist smooth jazz, but he had the chops to play chunky jazz when the mood struck.

And he could fonk it up with the best of them.

...cause the fonk sho will make it stank

RIP

I'm leaving the choice up to you

Out on a limb

Thinking about you

Rumors

Keep the fires burning

I got my mind made up