One of the things I admire most about the jazz community is the zeal with which it embraces its elders. Unlike the pop, TV and film industries where 30 might as well be 90, the jazz world maintains a healthy suspicion of youthful genius while according veterans their due. Not in that trumped-up Oscar or Emmy or Grammy night way (the “troop ’em out for a lifetime achievement award then put ’em back in mothballs” routine), but with genuine, club-filling, album-buying interest in what they’re up to. Consider Abbey Lincoln, still going strong and sounding great at 73.
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