Greetings. Last time I was singing the praises of the poet — the late poet — Philip Larkin. In 1970 I had belatedly discovered he was a jazz devotee, and that he had written a book on jazz (“All What Jazz”). Which I hastened to read, and was hugely impressed by his Introduction in which he explained, with glistening prose and crystal clarity just why the jazz that I and he had both loved had virtually disappeared.
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