Short Fiction Contest-winning story #16: “Cipher,” by Colleen Anderson

November 1st, 2007

New Short Fiction Award

Three times a year, we award a writer who submits, in our opinion, the best original, previously unpublished work.

Colleen Anderson of Vancouver, British Columbia is the sixteenth recipient of the Jerry Jazz Musician New Short Fiction Award, announced and published for the first time on November 1, 2007.

 

 

 

Colleen Anderson

*

     Colleen Anderson has published over one hundred pieces of fiction, poetry and nonfiction in such publications as Cicada , Amaranth Review, Chizine, On Spec, Talebones, Amazing, Tesseracts 3, The Mammoth Book of On the Road, Dreams of Decadence and the Open Space anthology (Red Deer Press) in which her story, “Hold Back the Night,” was nominated for the Speculative Literary Fiction award, shortlisted for the Gaylactic Spectrum award, and received an honorable mention in the Year’s Best SF, and the Year’s Best Fantasy & Horror.

New work will be coming out in Descant, Prairie Journal, Dreams & Nightmares, and two Cleis Press anthologies. Her book of speculative verse, Ancient Tales, Grand Deaths & Past Lives is available through http://colleen-anderson.blogspot.com.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Cipher

by

Colleen Anderson

_______________________________

     It had been warm all day, the type of day where the heavy air presses into you and makes it hard to move. It didn’t help that her shift had been spent calling customers and listening to endless streams of why they couldn’t make their hydro payments. And they would yell, swear at her as if she had caused their loss of job, their alcoholism, their way of life. She absorbed it all, the words sinking through the membrane in her ear and resonating within the membrane of her mind long after the calls had stopped.

If there’d been a breeze, or a slight coolness to the air, then those words could have lifted from her. They heated her, churning and boiling within so that by the time she got the apartment door open her flesh looked glossy with the sweat.

Brian wasn’t home yet, but she didn’t care. A tall cool glass of water swirled down her throat but it didn’t lessen the heat or dissolve the words that filled her. Instead, it seemed to bloat them till her head throbbed with their need to become a story. She pressed her head into her hands and rocked on the couch. The pounding became a drumbeat thumping against her skull. A primal beat, a heartbeat that pulsated her body as she rocked. Her head reverberated. She was the drum and drumskin; sound formed from the vibration of air and skin to become words.

“What are you doing!” The words cut through her like a blade.

Her eyes, open though they were, finally focused on Brian. He dropped his backpack to the floor and just stared at her, caught between amusement and concern.

She shook her head, then looked down. Swaths of white paper towels bandaged her bare arms, belly, legs. Damp, they clung to her like a cheap remake of some mummy movie. When had she taken off her clothes?

So many words choked her; there were no imprints on the paper towels. All she could say was, “I — I was trying to capture the words.”

 

 

 

* * *

     She stared down at his bare back. It radiated heat in a light flush of pink and brown in the late afternoon light. A light dusting of freckles, the downy hair and the broad expanse of flesh with slight hills and dips covering muscle and bone. It was like parchment, soft and supple, waiting for impressions. Pressing her finger lightly on his shoulder blade, she began to write in long looping curls. His skin seemed to glow incandescent white with each word before it was absorbed into him.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m writing a story.”

She could see the whorl, where his hair began and spiraled over his head. The center of his being, the center of thought. A moment’s impulse and she leaned over to kiss him at that nexus.

He didn’t look up from the book he read, or at least rested below him. The words entered him cerebrally, through his eyes, while hers entered him physically, to his heart. She continued writing and he said, “What is it you’re writing?”

She tilted her head to the side, paused for a moment, then moved her finger across the ridged vertebrae of his back, over the expanse of muscle and down to the ribs. “I’m writing my story, so that you won’t forget me.”

Stillness grasped him for a moment, then he rolled over and looked at her. A small frown between his brows, he said, “Why would you think I’d forget you?”

How could she answer that? It was just a feeling, that their ways would part and she wanted to know he would remember her. Like many conversations, the words dissolved into air, forgotten moments, if not months, after they were spoken. No permanence but what was written. She shrugged and smiled sadly at him. “I just want…well, if anything should happen you will have my story imbedded in you.”

He reached up and pulled her down to the warm plain of his chest, kissed her forehead, his hand ruffling through her short hair. “Why don’t you just tell me your story.”

Softly, muffled by his chest hair, she sighed. “There are…things I can’t say.”

“Then why not write them down? Then I’d know what your story is.”

“No, they’re not meant for paper. You could forget them behind. This way they can’t be changed for other ones. This way you’ll feel them,” she pressed her hand onto his chest, “in here.”

He laughed and forgot his book, kissing his way down her ear and throat, to the soft dip of her collar bone. “You get the strangest ideas sometime.”

 

 

* * *

     She met him dancing. Blue barrettes held her sweaty red hair back from her forehead. Her shirt was unbuttoned to just below her breasts. She asked him to dance but didn’t really notice him from all the others she had asked.

Later he came and sat with her and her friends, easing into their conversation gracefully. He said, “I like your boldness. You ask anyone to dance and then you do that and only that.”

He was right. She danced with a brief glance from time to time at her partner, few smiles, and then a nod of thanks afterward as she made her way back to her friends. He had told her her lack of interest in the individuals intrigued him, how she treated everyone equally.

She never did manage to tell him that she was interested in all the individuals but not one over the other. Dancing was what she came to do and that’s what she did.

Later, when they went on a not-quite-dinner date to a local café they talked. She had gone to talk and that’s what she did. Mostly she asked questions, but leaned into his conversation when he spoke softly, smiled at certain moments, sat back and absorbed what he said. She noticed the particular shade of his glacial blue eyes, and the slant of bone and ripple of muscles over his jaw. She asked him what he did, what he planned to do.

He had to coax answers from her. Small talk escaped her; she could not fathom its purpose. Only matters that interested her gained her attention. When she knew what he did she didn’t ask how or why because that didn’t matter. It was the landscape in which she found herself that mattered and it consisted of words and stories, action and movement, emotions and silence.

Implicitly, she believed everything while at the same time knowing nothing was true. Brian told her he liked someone who didn’t talk too much, who was a person of action, like her. She found her tongue thick and unresponsive when it came to talking about how she felt but she thought her body language was enough. Every move, every gesture mattered and they were never false.

It didn’t take them long to fall into bed. It was where she could communicate best. When Brian too quickly pushed her onto the bed, she would push him back. When his hands skimmed over her breasts and thought that was enough she would grasp them firmly and put them back on her breasts, pinching his fingers together around her nipples. When everything was the right tempo and intimacy she would respond with a passion that never failed to arouse Brian more.

But she could never understand when he didn’t seem to know what she wanted, when he stood there in his underwear and disheveled hair, hands splayed out at the side and said, “I don’t understand you. Why can’t you just speak plainly?”

She said, “I am.”

Brian just shook his head and plopped on the couch, picking at the loose weave. It looked as if all the air had been punched out of him. “You’re like a puzzle. You give me certain pieces and expect me to figure it out from there, but there’s always pieces missing.” He didn’t look up.

At that point she was lost; she neither knew how to tell him more, or what it was he wanted to hear. She was the puzzle, but the pieces were not all words; some were actions, expressions and body language. Why couldn’t he see what was so clear to her?

She went to the kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge. Popping the cap, she took a long swallow from the bottle. Would it impart any wisdom? Most of the beer was gone by the time she had left the kitchen. She drank and stared at Brian, not bothering to sit. He ignored her, then clicked on the TV. When the bottle was empty she dropped it beside the chair and went back to the kitchen for another.

After the third beer, she managed to say, “What do you want from me?”

Without once looking at her, he said, “I want someone who will talk to me.”

 

 

 

* * *

     It was windy and hot when she came through the kitchen door. Her thoughts seemed to tumble and stick in her head, catching her unawares when her mother asked, “Where were you?”

Trying to catch and organize her thoughts she said, “I was down at the empty lot. Then Timmy Johnson showed up and before he saw me he pulled his thing out. He made it grow big.” She’d been fascinated, like a bee to honey. The boy had moaned and wriggled, and the warm pinky flesh in the hot sun was filled with secret hungers. She had watched, knowing she would be shown things she hadn’t known. Secrets were in the outing.

Her mother jerked as if she’d cut her finger. There was a look in her eyes as if the dog had just eaten the neighbor’s child. “What?”

Suddenly she felt that she had walked into a sticky trap like a fly on flypaper, but she didn’t know what it was yet. “He had his thing out. Then another boy joined him and started to kiss –”

“What did I tell you about lying? I don’t want any more of that talk out of you. Come here,” her mother snapped.

“B-but, it’s true. I saw –”

“People don’t do those things; you don’t watch!” Her mother dragged her by her arm into the bathroom. Tears obscured the view but she knew what was coming. The lies had stopped a long time ago, after she’d said the ice cream man had frozen babies in with his popsicles. The punishment had been terrible. But it didn’t seem her mother believed the punishment’s effectiveness. In her large coarse hands she held the smooth white bar of soap.

The bar was so close to her face that the brand impression was quite clear; a little dove. Her mother brought the bar into contact with her lips. She clenched her teeth and tossed her head from side to side but what strength did a six-year-old have against a mother with righteous anger? The bar wormed its way between her lips and then her mother scrubbed it against her teeth, all the while yelling, “I never never never want to hear lies from you again. Do you hear me? Do you?”

Her tears ran trails through the soapy flakes and by the time her mother stopped there was half a bar of white dove soap mortared between her teeth. Crying, saliva mixing with the disgusting bitter, waxy soap, she spit into the sink. Water would not remove it all, brushing vigorously until her gums bled did not remove the taste for hours. What was removed was the taste for words. Scrubbed cleanly away; she was cleansed of tales and cleansed of truths. A conviction rose in her like so many soap bubbles; a dirty lie was more convincing than the clean, well-told truth.

 

 

 

* * *

     At the bar again; the last ship to carry their sinking relationship. The smoke gives a foggy private realm within the noisy room. Brian stares into the crowd at nothing, lifting his cigarette unconsciously to his mouth. She watches him, feeling the distance that has been growing between them, wondering how she can break it. Can the tangible around them reach in and pull them out to see each other? She looks at Brian, wondering what she can say.

The fourth beer flows smoothly down her throat. Its cool sharp taste speaks worlds to her. She suggested they go out and Brian had agreed though he’s said little since they arrived. There is a wall that guards him, a wall of flesh, and she cannot read his emotions through it. It’s not hard to tell what the wall means though. At one time she thought she knew how to open him up with a touch of her finger, a lick of her tongue, but those keys don’t seem to work anymore. He’s changed the locks.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say, “I love you,” but she stops herself. No longer is she sure if that fact is true. She reaches out instead, and puts her hand on his arm.

Brian blows out smoke like a sigh and says, “I can’t relate to you anymore. I don’t know where you’re coming from.”

She can’t stop the sad smile from spreading over her face. “The same place as always.”

He gulps his drink and says, “It’s not going to work.”

Before she can even think to respond he’s tossed some money on the table and pushed his way through the crowd, a stiff back retreating into shadow.

She wonders in fact what she would say that could change anything. She’s tried so hard to communicate all along that she’s no longer sure what the original message was. Will he even feel the story that she embedded in him? How long until he forgets her name?

She shrugs, downing the last of her beer. That story would no longer be hers anyway. She’s not sure which story would be because she’s never tried to read herself.

The bottle’s glass has warmed in her hand, to her own body temperature. But it is not part of her, and even though the alcohol is, those bubbles burst hollowly within her. They have not told her anything. She had hoped to buoy all the words that had moored themselves in her. Borne on effervescent bubbles they would have burst from her. Brian would have heard. Instead, the words swirl sickeningly within her, a whirlpool that sucks her thoughts away.

She hesitates before signaling to the waitress for one more beer. Not fooled by the cool touch of the new beer or the obscurity of the amber glass, she watches the people who thread and weave intricate patterns around her. Three men bend and twist, pause and drink, as they play pool. She absorbs their actions, waiting for their story to come to her.

 

 

 

*

Short Fiction Contest Details

 

Share this:

Comment on this article:

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

In This Issue

"Nina" by Marsha Hammel
A Collection of Jazz Poetry — Winter, 2024 Edition...One-third of the Winter, 2024 collection of jazz poetry is made up of poets who have only come to my attention since the publication of the Summer, 2023 collection. What this says about jazz music and jazz poetry – and this community – is that the connection between the two art forms is inspirational and enduring, and that poets are finding a place for their voice within the pages of this website. (Featuring the art of Marsha Hammel)

The Sunday Poem

painting by Henry Denander
“A Jazz Drinker” by Ermira Mitre Kokomani

Poetry

Proceeding From Behind: A collection of poems grounded in the rhythmic, relating to the remarkable, by Terrance Underwood...A relaxed, familiar comfort emerges from the poet Terrance Underwood’s language of intellectual acuity, wit, and space – a feeling similar to one gets while listening to Monk, or Jamal, or Miles. I have long wanted to share his gifts as a poet on an expanded platform, and this 33-poem collection – woven among his audio readings, music he considers significant to his story, and brief personal comments – fulfills my desire to do so.

Black History

The Harlem Globetrotters/photo via Wikimedia Commons
A Black History Month Profile: The Harlem Globetrotters...In this 2005 interview, Ben Green, author of Spinning the Globe: The Rise, Fall, and Return to Greatness of the Harlem Globetrotters, discusses the complex history of the celebrated Black touring basketball team.

Black History

photo of Zora Neale Hurston by Carl Van Vechten/Library of Congress
A Black History Month Profile: Zora Neale Hurston...In a 2002 interview, Carla Kaplan, editor of Zora Neale Hurston: A Life in Letters, talks about the novelist, anthropologist, playwright, folklorist, essayist and poet

Black History

Eubie Blake
A Black History Month Profile – Pianist and composer Eubie Blake...In this 2021 Jerry Jazz Musician interview, Eubie Blake biographers Ken Bloom and Richard Carlin discuss the legendary composer of American popular song and jazz during the 20th century

Feature

Jamie Branch's 2023 album "Fly or Die Fly or Die Fly or Die ((world war))"
On the Turntable— The “Best Of the ‘Best Of’” in 2023 jazz recordings...A year-end compilation of jazz albums oft mentioned by a wide range of critics as being the best of 2023 - including the late trumpeter Jamie Branch's Fly or Die Fly or Die Fly or Die ((world war))

Poetry

the poet Emmett Wheatfall/via YouTube
In a recent local community event focusing on the environment, the Portland, Oregon poet Emmet Wheatfall – whose jazz poetry has been published on Jerry Jazz Musician – talks about the connection between poetry and the environment, and the impact of climate change on poets and other artists, and the rest of humanity.

Essay

"Lester Leaps In" by Tad Richards
"Jazz and American Poetry," an essay by Tad Richards...In an essay that first appeared in the Greenwood Encyclopedia of American Poetry in 2005, Tad Richards - a prolific visual artist, poet, novelist, and nonfiction writer who has been active for over four decades – writes about the history of the connection of jazz and American poetry.

Interview

photo of Pepper Adams/courtesy of Pepper Adams Estate
Interview with Gary Carner, author of Pepper Adams: Saxophone Trailblazer...The author speaks with Bob Hecht about his book and his decades-long dedication to the genius of Pepper Adams, the stellar baritone saxophonist whose hard-swinging bebop style inspired many of the top-tier modern baritone players.

Poetry

Three poets and Sketches of Spain

Interview

IISG, CC BY-SA 2.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
Interview with Judith Tick, author of Becoming Ella Fitzgerald: The Jazz Singer Who Transformed American Song...The author discusses her book, a rich, emotionally stirring, exceptional work that explores every element of Ella’s legacy in great depth, reminding readers that she was not only a great singing artist, but also a musical visionary and social activist.

Poetry

Trading Fours with Douglas Cole is an occasional series of the writer’s poetic interpretations of jazz recordings and film. This edition is influenced by Stillpoint, the 2021 album by Zen practitioner Barrett Martin

Playlist

“Latin Tinges in Modern Jazz” – a playlist by Bob Hecht...A nine-hour long Spotify playlist featuring songs by the likes of Horace Silver, Lee Morgan, Miles Davis, Wayne Shorter, Ahmad Jamal, and Dizzy Gillespie that demonstrates how the Latin music influence on jazz has been present since the music’s beginnings.

Poetry

[Columbia Legacy]
“On Becoming A Jazz Fanatic In The Early 1970’s” – 20 linked short poems by Daniel Brown

Short Fiction

Christerajet, CC BY-SA 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Short Fiction Contest-winning story #64 — “The Old Casino” by J.B. Marlow...The author's award-winning story takes place over the course of a young man's life, looking at all the women he's loved and how the presence of a derelict building informs those relationships.

Feature

George Shearing/Associated Booking Corporation/James Kriegsmann, New York, via Wikimedia Commons
True Jazz Stories: “An Evening With George,” by Terry Sanville...The writer tells his story of playing guitar with a symphony orchestra, backing up jazz legend George Shearing.

Short Fiction

Defense Visual Information Distribution Service/via Picryl.com
“Afloat” – a finalist in the 64th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest – is about a troubled man in his 40s who lessens his worries by envisioning himself and loved ones on a boat that provides safety and ease for all of them.

Poetry

The poet Connie Johnson in 1981
In a Place of Dreams: Connie Johnson’s album of jazz poetry, music, and life stories...A collection of the remarkable poet's work is woven among her audio readings, a personal narrative of her journey and music she considers significant to it, providing readers the chance to experience the full value of her gifts.

Short Fiction

“Sayir” – a short story by Ron Perovich

Book Excerpt

Book Excerpt from Becoming Ella Fitzgerald: The Jazz Singer Who Transformed American Song, by Judith Tick...The author writes about highlights of Ella’s career, and how the significance of her Song Book recordings is an example of her “becoming” Ella.

Poetry

"Jazz Trio" by Samuel Dixon
A collection of jazz haiku, Vol. 2...The 19 poets included in this collection effectively share their reverence for jazz music and its culture with passion and brevity.

Short Fiction

photo of the Nimrod restaurant/Falmouth, MA/via Patch.com
The trumpet melody glided on a cloud of clarinet and trombone notes. All three instruments dipped and soared over a rhythmical sea of piano, bass, and drums.

Community

Nominations for the Pushcart Prize XLVIII

Interview

photo courtesy of Henry Threadgill
Interview with Brent Hayes Edwards, co-author (with Henry Threadgill) of Easily Slip Into Another World: A Life in Music...The author discusses his work co-written with Threadgill, the composer and multi-instrumentalist widely recognized as one of the most original and innovative voices in contemporary music, and the winner of the 2016 Pulitzer Prize for Music.

Poetry

“Remembering Mose,” a poem by John Kendall Hawkins

Playlist

photo by William Gottlieb/Library of Congress
“A Baker’s Dozen Playlist of Ella Fitzgerald Specialties from Five Decades,” as selected by Ella biographer Judith Tick...Chosen from Ella’s entire repertoire, Ms. Tick’s intriguing playlist (with brief commentary) is a mix of studio recordings, live dates, and video, all available for listening here.

Jazz History Quiz #170

photo of Dexter Gordon by Brian McMillen
This bassist played with (among others) Charlie Parker, Erroll Garner, Nat King Cole and Dexter Gordon (pictured), was one of the earliest modern jazz tuba soloists, and was the only player to turn down offers to join both Duke Ellington’s Orchestra and the Louis Armstrong All-Stars. Who is he?

Interview

From the Interview Archive: A 2011 conversation with Alyn Shipton, author of Hi-De-Ho: The Life of Cab Calloway...In this interview, Shipton discusses Cab Calloway, whose vocal theatrics and flamboyant stage presence made him one of the country’s most beloved entertainers.

Community

Nominations for the Pushcart Prize XLVIII...announcing the six Jerry Jazz Musician-published writers nominated for the prestigious literary award

Poetry

Gotfryd, Bernard, photographer, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
“Devotion” – a poem and 11 “Musings on Monk,” by Connie Johnson

Photography

photo of Mal Waldron by Giovanni Piesco
Beginning in 1990, the noted photographer Giovanni Piesco began taking backstage photographs of many of the great musicians who played in Amsterdam’s Bimhuis, that city’s main jazz venue which is considered one of the finest in the world. Jerry Jazz Musician will occasionally publish portraits of jazz musicians that Giovanni has taken over the years. This edition is of the pianist/composer Mal Waldron, taken on three separate appearances at Bimhuis (1996, 2000 and 2001).

Interview

Leffler, Warren K/Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
A Black History Month Profile: Civil Rights Leader Bayard Rustin...

Community

FOTO:FORTEPAN / Kölcsey Ferenc Dunakeszi Városi Könyvtár / Petanovics fényképek, CC BY-SA 3.0 , via Wikimedia Commons
.“Community Bookshelf, #1"...a twice-yearly space where writers who have been published on Jerry Jazz Musician can share news about their recently authored books. This edition includes information about books published within the last six months or so…

Short Fiction

photo by Thomas Leuthard/Wikimedia Commons
“The Winslows Take New Orleans” a short story by Mary Liza Hartong...This story, a finalist in the recently concluded 64th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest, tells the tale of Uncle Cheapskate and Aunt Whiner, those pesky relatives you love to hate and hate to love.

Short Fiction

painting of Gaetano Donizetti by Francesco Coghetti/via Wikimedia Commons
“A Single Furtive Tear” – a short story by Dora Emma Esze...A short-listed entry in the recently concluded 64th Jerry Jazz Musician Short Fiction Contest, the story is a heartfelt, grateful monologue to one Italian composer, dead and immortal of course, whose oeuvre means so much to so many of us.

Interview

photo by William Gottlieb/Library of Congress
Interview with Alyn Shipton, author of The Gerry Mulligan 1950’s Quartets...Long regarded as jazz music’s most eminent baritone saxophonist, Gerry Mulligan was a central figure in “cool” jazz whose contributions to it also included his important work as a composer and arranger. Noted jazz scholar Alyn Shipton, author of The Gerry Mulligan 1950s Quartets, and Jerry Jazz Musician contributing writer Bob Hecht discuss Mulligan’s unique contributions to modern jazz.

Book Excerpt

“Chick” Webb was one of the first virtuoso drummers in jazz and an innovative bandleader dubbed the “Savoy King,” who reigned at Harlem’s world-famous Savoy Ballroom. Stephanie Stein Crease is the first to fully tell Webb’s story in her biography, Rhythm Man: Chick Webb and the Beat that Changed America…The book’s entire introduction is excerpted here.

Short Fiction

pixabay.com via Picryl.com
“The Silent Type,” a short story by Tom Funk...The story, a finalist in the recently concluded 64th Short Fiction Contest, is inspired by the classic Bob Dylan song “Tangled Up in Blue” which speculates about what might have been the back story to the song.

Book Excerpt

Book excerpt from Easily Slip Into Another World: A Life in Music, by Henry Threadgill and Brent Hayes Edwards

Contributing Writers

Click the image to view the writers, poets and artists whose work has been published on Jerry Jazz Musician, and find links to their work

Art

Designed for Dancing: How Midcentury Records Taught America to Dance: “Outtakes” — Vol. 2...In this edition, the authors Janet Borgerson and Jonathan Schroeder share examples of Cha Cha Cha record album covers that didn't make the final cut in their book

Pressed for All Time

“Pressed For All Time,” Vol. 17 — producer Joel Dorn on Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s 1967 album, The Inflated Tear

Coming Soon

An interview with Tad Richards, author of Jazz With a Beat: Small Group Swing, 1940 - 1960;  an interview with Laura Flam and Emily Sieu Liebowitz, authors of But Will You Love Me Tomorrow? An Oral History of the 60's Girl Groups;  a new collection of jazz poetry; a collection of jazz haiku; a new Jazz History Quiz; short fiction; poetry; photography; interviews; playlists; and lots more in the works...

Interview Archive

Eubie Blake
Click to view the complete 22 year archive of Jerry Jazz Musician interviews, including those recently published with Richard Carlin and Ken Bloom on Eubie Blake (pictured); Richard Brent Turner on jazz and Islam; Alyn Shipton on the art of jazz; Shawn Levy on the original queens of standup comedy; Travis Atria on the expatriate trumpeter Arthur Briggs; Kitt Shapiro on her life with her mother, Eartha Kitt; Will Friedwald on Nat King Cole; Wayne Enstice on the drummer Dottie Dodgion; the drummer Joe La Barbera on Bill Evans; Philip Clark on Dave Brubeck; Nicholas Buccola on James Baldwin and William F. Buckley; Ricky Riccardi on Louis Armstrong; Dan Morgenstern and Christian Sands on Erroll Garner; Maria Golia on Ornette Coleman.

Site Archive