The Hyatt on Sunset, Silver Screen Jazz club, Los Angeles

If I look like I’m smelling something unpleasant, I may be recalling a fateful night in this jazz club, illustrating the hazards of playing music. The Silver Screen room had no stage—the band set up on the rug with tables all around at the same level. One night we were in the middle of a tune of mine, “Time Remembers One Time Once”, a tender waltz with one bar of 5/4. I was in the middle of my solo with eyes closed, just going into the 5/4 bar when directly into my right ear, an inch away, loudly, I hear: “How about taking a fucking break!? My friends and I would like to talk!” As shocked as I was, I managed not to blow the bar, and kept soloing. Peter Erskine was in the audience close by and grabbed the woman and led her away.