Winton Marsalis — rightly called a national treasure — playing his heart out for us. Well, even if “us” was a few hundred people in the garden of a Hamptons estate, Wynton played as we had never heard him play before.
My favorite was “Comes love, nothing can be done” – you could hear the words flowing from his mouth through the trumpet. “Nothing can be done” he repeated mournfully, staccato, wistfully, forcefully, whispered, trumpeted . . . Jazz at its best.
It all began in Anacapri a few weeks ago.
One evening we strolled along the promenade, gazing at an outdoor art exhibit. One piece in particular riveted my attention:
I snapped it and texted it to Wynton. (We know each other in a casual way because we lived in the same building for years.) He answered right away; we went back and forth, and I found out that he’d be in the Hamptons later in the summer.
And so . . . Last night was very special. Intimate. We watched him and he was looking at us. And the music . . . indescribable. The benefit was for Jazz At Lincoln Center.
Listen to Wynton play variations on a traditional Neapolitan song: