Everything. Just everything about this book.
It probably helps to be into jazz but even if you’re not, the language is intoxicating:
That was how he had always played and always would. Every time he played a note he waved it goodbye. Sometimes he didn’t even wave. Those old songs, they were used to being loved and wanted by the people who played them; musicians hugged them and made them feel brand-new, fresh. Chet left a song feeling bereft. When he played it the song needed comforting: it wasn’t his playing that was packed with feeling, it was the song itself, feeling hurt. You felt each note trying to stay with him a little longer, pleading with him. The song itself cried out to anyone who would listen: please, please, please.
Reading this added so much to the music for me. I don’t know who reads my blog, but whoever you are, just read this book.