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I am a fan of classical jazz that keeps me in humility; I have learned to listen well enough to appreciate it when it is obscure or hard to get into and I've learn to respect it enough to know when to admit I'm not getting into it (think Henry Threadgill's "Too Much Sugar for a Dime" album) but wished I could. I got tired of thinking I should shun Herbie Laws for his more soulful brother Ronnie.Everybody has been given a soul to express. Raised on Dinah Washington, who we of course loved but played endlessly at the expense of leaving Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughn and Nina Simone vinyl LP's in my uncle's closet collecting dust.Early exposure to fine art accounts for a lot. Motown soul mesmerized me in the 60's as it did seemingly everyone who grew up at this time. That Motown-sound-got-around and drowned out Chitown's important lyrics ala Curtis Mayfield and blinded us to the true wisdom of the Aretha that Nikkie Giovanni gave speeches about. And I couldn't help thinking how different life would be if we had listened and followed the the likes of Herbie Hancock and other notables to the Blue Notes of that era. Growing up Black as I did meant fighting to overcome mindless limitations on appreciation of diversity in music and art. This reflection on my life is inspired by 2 Chronicles 5 and books like David Dark's Everyday Apocolypse and Donald Miller's Blue Like Jazz.
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