Late at night in New Windsor New York...getting ready to go to sleep...after a rotten day...with doubts about my life and the direction it's going...the usual shit someone fifty six years old goes through...I set the clock radio to the Jazz station, WBGO...he says in a solemn tone...I'm sorry to report but Stan Getz has died...I'm in my underwear...shocked...not able to move or immediately react...I remember...I was fourteen years old hearing the original Four Brothers recording...Early Autumn...that incredible group that played Storyville with drummer Tiny Kahn...The Brazilian fusion...The sets with Dizzy and Lionel, Max and Sonny...Chick Corea, Gary Burton...Airto and Jobim...Brookmeyer and Kenny Barron...The beauty that flowed from his horn...he may be remembered as the greatest white jazz musician ever...I feel he did Lester proud...carrying the banner better than anyone...A handsome man with features that were reflected into his playing...and he could swing with a vengeance ...I stood in my room listening in disbelief to his music coming across as a tribute to his genius...Losing him is like losing a piece of myself...never to be replaced again...there is too much sadness in this miserable world...how do we continue?...we're destroying much of the beauty of our planet...and now a memorable sound will be silent for a little while...
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