Miles Davis is a gateway drug. For my birthday, my man Mikey gave me the Miles Mono box. Boss. Now if you dig Miles, it's not too long before you get back to Trane. Then Herbie. Down the jazz rabbit hole. I have never been proficient at playing jazz, trust me I tried. I don't speak jazz very well; although I did take a course in college where I did audio projects on Charlie Christian and Theloniou s Monk (who remains an icon to me on a multitude of levels, and whose music I revisit regularly). But no, the hook that Miles has put into me is a mood elevator named Wayne Shorter . Yesterday was Wayne's 81st Birthday. So first off, Happy Birthday, Mr. Shorter. I had planned on penning this yesterday but with our Emmy adventure, I felt it better to wait. Second, the addiction reference is real. You all know how I am about music. Prior to being exposed to Mr. Shorter via Miles' 1960s Quintet (which featured Herbie Hancock), I only knew him as the cat that wailed on Steely Dan...
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