Solar...... a debate for the summer months ....

[aka Calum Da Jazbo]

journo 1

Ethan blogs

Larry Applebaum blogs

Marc Myers blogs

[aka Calum Da Jazbo]

a take by Pat Metheny

[charles t]

Speaking of PM, I guarantee if you click on Secret Beach (w/Brad Mehldau, Larry Grenadier, Jeff Ballard) (fill-in-blanks)

[charles t]

And

[Gordon]

Silly me!! I thought this thread was about poor solar panel power returns this bad, wet summer!

[charles t]

Silly me!! I thought this thread was about poor solar panel power returns this bad, wet summer!

Greetings, Gordon. Why not stop by and hear some tunes, eh? [Canadian version]

[aka Calum Da Jazbo]

way to go chas t .... how is the weather in Ca?

[charles t]

Funny you should ask, Calum...hit 107 degrees F, yesterday (and, even at that - not a record.)

[aka Calum Da Jazbo]

phew that's warm chas ......

not been back to LA and no plans at present, the lad now lives out Silver Lake way and i do intend to get there again .... lets brunch again like we did last summer .... [i am walking better now]

[handsomefortune]

oh goody - can i come too..... i need a break from the rain!

[aka Calum Da Jazbo]

don't we all handsome fortune and of course!

[Tenor Freak]

Ain't no sun in Blighty so off to Quebec we go for a Metheny chestnut:

[Tenor Freak]

Herbie's suit by Tommy Nutter of Savile Row, Herbie's keys sponsored by Southern Electric as he uses as much juice as a small town judging by the hardware on the back cover:

[Tenor Freak]

Couldn't resist this one....

[aka Calum Da Jazbo]

Shearing came out, blind, led by the hand to his keyboard. He was a distinguished-looking Englishman with a stiff white collar, slightly beefy, blond, with a delicate English-summer's-night air about him that came out in the first rippling sweet number he played as the bass-player leaned to him reverently and thrummed the beat. The drummer, Denzil Best, sat motionless except for his wrists snapping the brushes. And Shearing began to rock; a smile broke over his ecstatic face; he began to rock in the piano seat, back and forth, slowly at first, then the beat went up, and he began rocking fast, his left foot jumped up with every beat, his neck began to rock crookedly, he brought his face down to the keys, he pushed his hair back, his combed hair dissolved, he began to sweat. The music picked up. The bass-player hunched over and socked it in, faster and faster, it seemed faster and faster, that's all. Shearing began to play his chords; they rolled out of the piano in great rich showers, you'd think the man wouldn't have time to line them up. They rolled and rolled like the sea. Folks yelled for him to "Go!" Dean was sweating; the sweat poured down his collar. "There he is! That's him! Old God! Old God Shearing! Yes! Yes! Yes!" And Shearing was conscious of the madman behind him, he could hear every one of Dean's gasps and imprecations, he could sense it though he couldn't see. "That's right!" Dean said. "Yes!" Shearing smiled, he rocked. Shearing rose from the piano, dripping with sweat; these were his great 1949 days before he became cool and commercial. When he was gone Dean pointed to the empty piano seat. "God's empty chair," he said. On the piano a horn sat; its golden shadow made a strange reflection along the desert caravan painted on the wall behind the drums. God was gone; it was the silence of his departure. It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night. Dean was popeyed with awe. This madness would lead nowhere.

chuck wayne eh ....