One evening their band gave a recital to the university jazz society.  The front line all blew very hard, grew very red in the face and produced enough noise to fill a small room, while we stomped our feet dutifully. Highly sensitive to the jazz tradition, they asked whether anyone in the audience wanted to sit in. Somebody did. He was a young, dark-haired man, an English student, and he played the trumpet.  His name was Ian Carr and, in the jargon that attends these moments, he blew the roof off.