miles davis, kind of blue, the whole thing, but especially so what

a second line on a saturday afternoon in treme

my selmer mark vi tenor, serial number 125xxx, 1965

red beans and rice on a monday, the way god intended

the spotted cat music club at midnight

thelonious monk's hands

playing for a room that's listening, really listening

frenchmen street before the tourists found it

my father's record collection, still on his shelves, still in order

a po'boy from parkway, the roast beef, dressed

wayne shorter's speak no evil

the mississippi at sunset from the algiers point ferry

benny golson, who told me to play less and say more

gumbo, my aunt odette's, with okra, never with file

the space in a miles davis solo where he doesn't play

bird's solo on just friends, which i've transcribed four times and still don't fully understand

jazz fest at 4pm, when the sun starts to soften

august wilson's plays

the belief that swing is a moral position

a cold abita amber after a four-hour gig

new orleans after a rainstorm, when the streets steam

sonny rollins on the williamsburg bridge, the legend of it

magazine street on a tuesday, no crowd, just the neighborhood

a well-voiced chord on a piano you've never played before

dexter gordon in 'round midnight, the acting, not the playing

crawfish boil in someone's backyard, april

the way my mother hums while she cooks, always ellington

chet baker's voice, which had no business being that beautiful

john coltrane's sheets of sound, 1957-1958

the maple leaf bar on a monday, rebirth brass band

beignets from cafe du monde, powdered sugar on a dark suit

herbie hancock's head hunters

the idea that tradition is a living thing, not a museum

teaching a kid their first blues scale and watching it click

this city, which has broken my heart and put it back together more times than i can count