Jazz has died. Period.

TOKYO, Feb. 7, 2023—Nina Simone’s voice wakes me up, John Coltrane’s saxophone sound in his Love Supreme prods me to pray to God, Ramsey Lewis’ piano jiggles my body and hands to clap, Wes Montgomery’s guitar makes me drive smoothly.
They are among many of my favorite jazz musicians, and few of them are alive.
I have been listening to jazz since I was 16. Art Blakey’s drum beat in his iconic Mornin’ album pushed up my adrenalin to the highest and sweat poured from all over my young body too naive to be exposed to funky, what then was radical tunes.
I listen to the music decades later, albums from the olden – and golden – days of jazz and YouTube and other new media for young players.
I listened to some new numbers young jazz musicians played at this year’s Grammy. They played well, beautiful tunes and voices. They are new real pros, some of them playing better than the musicians of bygone days. Recordings were superior to what were of the past scratchy vinyl disk noise. Maybe I should purchase some by downloading, I told myself. But I have not done that, like I did in the 1970s and 80s. I couldn’t do it, somewhat. Something is different, so much different now.
I’m listening to Nina Simone now.

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