sharing the Herb

Written by Cathoel Jorss, published 20 mins ago

Herbie Hancock came to play Brisbane, it was bona fide. He and the band really loved it each other. When he came onstage, spontaneously people in the audience stood up, one by one, until pretty soon we were all standing. We wanted to acknowledge his effort and grace, the effortless grace and hard work. He mentioned a ‘Wayneism’ by his friend Wayne Shorter, who recently died: “Jazz means, ‘I dare you.'”

He told us, Kamala Harris has to win, and a shout went up. The room felt so joyous. Afterwards there was a long queue for the merch counter, at which we could buy not one of his 53 albums but they had assorted t shirts, and hoodies, and tote bags and a baseball cap. At the end, he wouldn’t leave the stage, the band were all gone and seven hundred people standing applauding. Herbie went all along the front row, shaking hands or a fistbump with one after another, and one guy asked him a question and he dropped down to his knees and started talking, and the two of them were talking and we were all just standing there, happy and rejoicing and wanting to be present. And I had this fantasy that the audience would disperse and go home, and the great hall with its vast pipe organ would be empty, and the two of them sitting there, going Yeah, man. The fusion, the half diminished, the monster drummer. The music.