In a room, by himself, a man plays a trumpet, and I remember how Music, perhaps the most naturally gregarious of the arts, can also be the most solitary of pursuits. It’s said that Eric Clapton, even after some early success as a guitarist, locked himself away for the greater part of a year to further develop his chops. “Practice and practice and practice some more, to bring the Muses to your door.” I also remember my good friend RR, aka Mssr. E. Demi -D’amour, practicing some simple blues scales on his trumpet, deep in his VT woods – a remarkably beautiful listening experience.