“Now this cat’s house was full of photos on the wall of Bird, Trane, all of them. He’s the best saxophone technician in the Midwest, for sure. But he’s got a big photo of Sonny Rollins right in the middle of the living room. And I say, ‘Man, Sonny Rollins, he’s my idol.’ And he says, ‘Well, yeah, I knew him, back in Chicago. He used to blow with Babs Gonzalez, who I knew. Babs passed away in ‘80.’ And so anyway, while we’re talking, the phone keeps ringing. And I say, ‘Man, why don’t you answer the phone.’ And he says, ‘Man, I don’t want to talk to nobody right now.’ And so the answering machine picks up, and I hear, ‘Man, pick up the phone, I know you there, it’s Sonny.’ And I say, ‘Shit, man, is that Sonny Rollins on your phone?’ And he says, ‘Yeah, yeah. Man, I talked to him this week already. Why’s he always callin’?’ So I say, ‘You pick up that phone, man! You pick up the phone if Sonny Rollins is callin’!’ And so he does, and he puts me on, and I say, ‘Is this Sonny Rollins?’ And he says, ‘Yeah, yeah, man.’ And I didn’t even know what to say, because the guy’s my idol, you know? And then my friend says, ‘Man, gimme that phone.’ And him and Sonny talk. And that’s the time I talked to Sonny Rollins.”
From an overheard conversation between two apparent jazz musicians sitting in front of me on the 21A this morning. I am pleased to report that jazz musicians have the exact same kinds of conversations you’d hope that they would. This isn’t verbatim, obviously. But it’s pretty close.
