Music is a lot of things–melody, dance rhythm, community, story-telling, good-time party drive—and I’ve often bristled at descriptions of Jazz as “too intellectual”. Listen to Billie Holiday or Coltrane’s “A Love Supreme.” However, I have to admit that much of what I enjoyed at the jazz-guitar duo performance the other night was this jaw-dropping display of brain power. One thing music is, is an opportunity to watch/hear intelligence in action. Sound shapes sculpted on the spot. Narrative improvised in poetic lines, reined in by time, dual rhyme of rhythm displayed to amaze. Yet sweet, like a bee over a flower, sharing the powder (<em>poder joder</em>) of generation and stinging at the stop. We want more. No, go home; leave the flower for another day. What does it take to learn to play that way? Sound asleep on the train going home, now I’m awake at four, in a zone, with my love on my right and my guitar on my left, a pain in my breast; the same old fear of failure to learn … to … be …