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Hal says to me: Michael Brecker has cancer and has made 400 records. I think: but Brecker who? 400 records and I don't even own one? Impossible: "I'm like God, I would remake men with speedy energy, energy will transform you."
I Google, read, and say: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH... MICHAEL BRECKER! Eh, I thought Michael Brecker, not MICHAEL BRECKER. Michele is a great guy, seriously, a great guy.
Take a summer night, take your husband who hasn't given it to you in a month, your sister who's mean to the bone, your new neighbor who used to race in Nascar in the Hot Wheels era, and once you've got them, hold them still, maybe with a seaweed leaf, Japan-style.
Take Joni Mitchell the greatest all-around female artist: hottie, tigress, writes, plays, sings, paints, and minimum at bed she was a demon, not to mention how she plays pool.
Take Michael Brecker at about 30 years old: intellectual beard, soprano sax played with an excellent mix of fine melody and joy, a hunk, a joy for all the gals with good taste.
Take Patrizio Il Metini: my favorite chic-virtuoso (my favorite non-chic virtuoso is of course Giacomo the Marshal) because nobody combines spectacle with melody like he does, without involving those cheesy Italian films that make me cringe.
Take Giacomo Francesco Pastorizzato Terzo, the greatest bass player of all time, all included, if you don't agree, you're either deaf, envious, or an idiot.
Take a bit of Corn, but not the Bònndùèll one, the one that's always with Patrizio, you know Patrizio? He writes a ton of pieces with Corn, but not the Green Giant one, the one with the keyboards.
Take Don Alias, who is neither a priest nor a boxing manager but a well-rounded percussionist, a black man with a constant smile, who plays drums, congas, bells, and Tupperware containers of eggplants, also a cool guy.
Take some songs from Joni, take a lot of people in 1979, take a good bit of Blues keys to slightly review some of Joni's pieces, which are already beautiful, I like them even more in a blues key.
Take a DVD player, a TV, that mean sister of yours and that scoundrel of a new neighbor (never trust neighbors, they're always scoundrels because they're new) and give them the Shadows & Light DVD. You play it and leave them there to watch the DVD, and you go off to sleep with a black man with a club that starts here and ends at Termini station, right in Mauro's mouth known as "Il Golosone".
Then you return home, and your husband will say "damn bagassa of divuddì my love, too much rock assolone by Jaco, damn he even covered Giacomo the Marshal! Not to mention the assolone by Patrizio who always looks like he's about to stop because he's come: what faces does he make?!? Not to mention Joni who looked like Ciac Berri for not speaking..." and you endure the review of the DVD, and you keep quiet as you're still shocked from Hubert's club, 25 years old, Sierra Leone, for friends "Aion laicc e laion in saion with mazza tanta."
...And the mozzarella leaf?
Your mean sister ate it, fat fool who doesn't have another, then complains that the scoundrel neighbor doesn't want to sleep with her, fat fool.
Therefore: Michael hang in there, but if you can't, don't be upset, Jaco is waiting for you for a great concert at the San Pietro Hall, maybe with Mails devis, maybe with Giacomo the Marshal... but maybe not, so hang in there, heaven can wait, as a crappy movie that airs every summer on network four in the afternoon used to say.
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