R.I.P., Dave Brubeck

Dave Brubeck died last week.  He was one of America’s treasures.

I do not believe that music is intrinsically better than sex*, but I have a list of musical pieces that, if I had to choose between them and physical intimacy, celibacy would look awfully tempting:

“Rhapsody in Blue,” by George Gershwin.
“Appalachian Spring” and “Rodeo,” both by Aaron Copeland.
The bridge between “Polythene Pam” and “She Came In Through the Bathroom Window” in the song cycle on the Beatles’ Abbey Road.
And, increasingly, “Sunday,” sung by the chorus, and “Move On,” sung by Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters, both from Sunday in the Park With George, by Stephen Sondheim.

“Take Five” is on high on that list.**

It seeps into your veins, into your soul.  Cool and sinuous, and yet exciting at the same time. So, so wonderful.

Thank you, Mr. Brubeck, and rest in peace.  I will certainly remember you when it is time to set out for the deserted island.

*It depends entirely upon the music, and the sex.
**Although “Blue Rondo a la Turk” is pretty great, too.

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