Brett Stuckel forwarded me this short fiction piece he wrote. Its wild and very amusing. All fans of the baritone should have a read.
Read the full piece here.
Check out a snippet:
The history of jazz isn’t complete without the story of Lou Palmer. Yeah, yeah, you say, never heard of him. That’s expected. Lou never stepped on stage. Well, maybe, arguably, once—we’ll get to that. He didn’t write, he didn’t run a club, he didn’t sell drugs, he didn’t help guys get clean. Lou was just an average Chicago law clerk who could smell a baritone sax from miles away.
At first, Lou’s talent was a curiosity, a party trick. He could tell you how good a show would be hours before the curtain. If some no-name kid from Muncie showed up in town with a splattery honk, destined for greatness, Lou knew as soon as the kid stepped off the Greyhound. He fed his finds to the highest bidding band leader.
