When He rimshots and rolls His eyes upwards...when I hear not even His music, but just the name Art Blakey, I have to quit whatever I was thinking off and dedicate my feelings to the memory of this Gentleman without parents and raised in a orphanege.
Close your eyes..... Imagine your sitting in a back alley jazz bar. Your sipping your last wine for the night.. As you gaze over your shoulder, 2 tables back.. You spot a strange good looking Lady staring back at you with the same gaze....