by James Richardson
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What a brilliant poem and what a gorgeous use of Bill Evans' jazz riffs. Bravo bravo.

That one took my breath away! Though I'm not a jazz fan and I don't even know who Bill Evans is, I know what Richardson is talking about in this poem.

What a beautiful poem. Bill Evans is my favourite pianist and this captures his lyricism and melancholy touch . . . it's the inexpressible aspect of music and of improvised music in particular that he gets across. And maybe of that era—when musicians were venturing out across "thin ice." Even down to the tinkling glasses and women's laughter—the details that makes those recording from that era really recognizable. I've often thought about that, all those dressed up people in the jazz clubs, listening to this really revolutionary music. Just beautiful.