Ken Burns poem
“There’s no such thing as bop music, but there’s such a thing as progress.”—Coleman Hawkins Although jazz’s sepia, acetates, and lacquers have dipped the black into silver nitrate, and are faded little faders, they inflate like lungs. The pink lung, with its tortoiseshell shellac appears to bulge, and its inseam exhales purity, and inhales spoonfuls […]