This evening we are treated by an American jazz musician who has a home in Cuenca.
She slips into the club with her instrument in its case, takes a seat and listens to the band, puts her horn together, finds a reed, and joins the boys for the concluding song of the first set.
She takes the stage and commands it.
Musicians don’t have to speak English or Spanish or French or Swahili. Jazz has its own language, history, theory, super stars. If the girls would have quit gossiping in the corner while she soloed, it would have been even better.
When music is on fire, you shouldn’t be doing things that put it out.
Quality is quality is quality.
Sue swings the whole room.
Her being a gracious lady is as big a treat as her playing.