As time passed, I discovered a tremendous isolated joy in listening to Ahmad Jamal, particularly this composition. It says that he loves music, but it speaks something very, very different. It is erratic, melancholic, grudge-bearing, sometimes clumsy and sometimes satin smooth -- most importantly it is very, very incosistent. Almost humanly, almost superhumanly so. Even when the accompaniment kicks it. It has a very dissonant progression that loops flawlessly without giving the slightest hint how. It's a well-kept secret, a mystical formula that should never work out, and yet it does.
I apologized for criticizing her taste in music. It was never enough, but she accepted it. I hope she has found a peaceful way to life now, after so many years.
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