The cats in the band could play the blues [1950's]... If you can't get nasty and grovel down in the gutter, something's missing. It's not that the blues are complicated. They're not; they're basic. There are hundreds of versions of the same blues--the same changes, the same patterns--just as there are hundreds of versions of the same spirituals. The music is simple. But the feeling--the low-down gut-bucket feeling--has to be there or it's all for nothing. My cats could also play serious jazz. Donald Wilkerson… could kick the ass of almost any tenor player in the country. For my money, he's one of the best saxophonists of the century. Fathead was right there next to him, playing with a lyricism and a sweetness which Donald lacked. Fathead didn't have Donald's speed and maybe not as much fire, but he could make his sax sing the song like no one else. In this period, I loved to watch Donald attack Fathead on the stand. Course that was good for David, and it brought out the best in both cats. When someone tries to stomp on you, naturally you're going to respond. And together--blowing out in front of the band--they'd be burning up the place << less