If you gave me a hundred dollars, I would be pleasantly surprised.
If someone lives for 100 years that would be miraculous to me.
If I must tell someone something 100 times before they understand they would be very unlikely to live to see 100.
One Hundred in the pantheon of numbers doesn’t hold much meaning, especially with inflation. I mean a hundred of anything doesn’t really mean much anymore.
EXCEPT sometimes.
I think one of those times is this issue of The Syncopated Times. It means something to me and to many others. I dare say over 100 of you! The editor of this paper caters to something so very specific it could easily be pushed aside and others might think “Why? Why bother?” This old timey Jazz is a relic as are a lot of its supporters—so who cares if it all just shrinks away?
Others feel the opposite that because of the love we have for swing and hot jazz we need champions of the music and its makers.
All that is true but there is another reason I take off my fascinator off to our fearless leader Mr. Andy Senior. Not only does he champion the old faithful guard (i.e., white men), but he also searches for involvement from other types of people.
In a time when the boards of jazz festivals are manned by musicians who hire themselves and their friends, I think this paper is truly special. He has his own trickle-down theory of employment, give people voices in t
