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Rating: Introduction, for the many young people visiting this site: if someone tells you - you are a trombone - they are not complimenting you.
Because, after all, a trombone, as the word itself suggests, is not the epitome of... let's say... discretion.
End of introduction.
Jimmy Knepper plays, all his life, with everyone.
He plays the trombone.
But really with everyone. He is white.
And he's not a genius. But he knows what he's doing.
More than anyone, he plays with Mingus.
One day, Mingus punches him in the mouth.
Jimmy loses some teeth. He can’t play anymore, it's a mess.
Charlie, no, sorry, Charles, I have to sue you.
Trial. Defendant Charles Mingus. Plaintiff Jimmy Knepper.
The judge enters and says: you are Charles Mingus, jazz musician.
Mingus thunders: do not call me a jazz musician. Jazz musician means black, means sit at the back of the bus, means second-rate musician. If you really have to call me something? Call me musician. Just musician.
Jimmy approaches the table. Talks to his lawyer. Withdraws the lawsuit.
I also have a Jimmy record. Half, actually, the other half is Mingus. To not disturb too much.
If one day - it ever happens to you - they call you a trombone, think of this stuff here.
To this sweet, sensitive, sensual trombone.
In 2003 Jimmy, after a lifetime, after playing with everyone, Jimmy who is not a genius, Jimmy leaves.
Jimmy and his trombone.
They leave Where Flamingos Fly.
Goodbye Jimmy. Goodbye brother.
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