Peter J. Hoetjes

I didn't grow up listening to jazz. Nobody I knew ever did. I don't have a favorite uncle, or a kindly neighbor to thank for allowing me to rummage through their album collection as a boy. My introduction to the music started when I was 23. I may have known little about jazz, but I knew from the television that it was enjoyed in smoky rooms, through dim lights and a warm glow from the well mixed cocktails everyone drank. I decided I wanted a little of that scene for myself, even for a night, so I put on my best clothes and convinced an even better girl to take a train to Grand Central, NYC with me and walk to Birdland to see some guy by the name of Coltrane. It was Ravi Coltrane, and once the lights dimmed I got my drink, (and settled for a decidedly less smoky atmosphere) and by midnight that evening I'd learn that not only is he a great musician in his own right, he'd be sending me down a harmonic rabbit-hole. Ever since that night I've been catching up on all the music I missed in the past century, as well as a bit that is still being made. So maybe I don't have that favorite uncle with a record collection. I got a night I'll remember for the rest of my life.