The man was a vessel. The sounds he made were direct from his soul to yours.
His fingers were only complete when connected to the black and white keys – ivory, wood, plastic – no matter.
His hands rested in chordal patterns. They twitched in brilliant half-steps. Fingerless gloves covered the paws of genius.
A crooked and friendly smile made it all right.
His contemporaries, if there are any, come from millenia — Monk? Chopin? Bach? Beethoven? Ellington? Debussy? Miles?
Or is it Bootsy, George, Eddie, Garry, Kidd, and the rest of his funkateer cohorts?
One of the finest composers, arrangers, and performers of the 20th & 21st centuries died the other day.
Expired after a thankfully short battle with cancer.
Expired before he could deliver even more wonderful music.
George Bernard Worrell.
The Wizard of Woo.
Bernie Baby We Miss You Already.
If anyone can make music in the post-earth life it’s this man.
