By TROY SHERMAN Five o’clock hits Friday evening for me like David King hits his drums: Startlingly, confusingly, but definitely and reassuringly. I’ve just been stupefied by seminars, rocked around by a Latin test, disheartened by the quality (or lack thereof) of the paper that I just submitted and generally crushed under the weight of a week throughout which I could’ve squeezed out a little bit more effort than I actually did. My brain’s a-racin,’ and I need something that’ll remove me from myself a bit. I can think of a number of disreputable routes down which I could go in such a pursuit, but right about now there’s one thing in particular that I’m pretty sure will be able to do the trick, and legally: jazz. Courtesy of the Bad Plus
Uphill, Both Ways, in the Name of Good Jazz
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