Sometimes I think that if there were jazzers nowadays who could do this, we’d have people lined up down the block to see it. Everything is so damned intellectual now. But sometimes people need to stop thinking and start feeling. Deep down we’re all emotion, this thinking is all piled on top in our cerebral cortex, but music can get beneath all that, where feelings have no words or concepts, just feel. That warmth you get all over when something moves you, that comes from deep beneath all our modern human cerebral capacity, that’s the connection you make, say, with your purring cat or loyal dog or infant child, there’s no thought there, no concepts, no civilization, no books or college learning. It’s not even something I can explain here, it’s just the sound of Satchmo’s horn coming in at the thirty second mark, and Jack picking up the chorus again with that voice like a Midwest summer night, the air settling in, sultry, slow, and blinking with fireflies.