This sound, so different, so wonderful,
Came to my ears and mind long ago.
The sound from this man;
Who would stay with me, until the day he died
In December two thousand and twelve.
Take Five, so famous, even now;
Say Take Five and Brubeck is there in my mind.
Those innocent days when Brubeck was alive,
My brother and I listening to that famous quartet,
Brubeck, Desmond, Morello and Wright.
The college recordings, especially Oberlin
Where Brubeck and Desmond argued before coming on;
The argument continued on stage,
The two trying to outperform each other,
Producing some of their best ever music.
The day I saw him, a birthday present from my brother;
On stage came these three young men;
Alto, drums and bass.
And there, after a pause, he came,
This little wizened old man.
He walked oh so slowly to the microphone,
Said good evening and walked again so slowly to the piano,
I though he is going to collapse before he gets there,
But no he sits at his alter ego
Turns, and beams at the audience.
This soft gentle sound pervades the theatre
Like an invisible net, casting it’s magic
Around as all, and pulling us into the world
Of the jazz that Dave Brubeck brought
To my Body and Soul.
He was in my life for fifty plus years;
So wonderful to listen to
Played with absolute ease and mastery;
Showing me the absolute love of his art
Dave Brubeck – gone but never forgotten.