Yet another album from Brad Mehldau, Live, and a double too. A bone-shaking version of Coltrane’s ‘Countdown’, with what sound like Charles Ivesian super-chords detonating every other beat in the left hand and a shudder and judder like waiting (it’s coming, it’s coming) for an elephant to sneeze.
If he and I hung out I would say to him, as I waved this eleventh or twelfth album of his that I’ve bought in his face, Brad Mehldau, you were born one week after me (23 August 1970) and have spent your whole life over-compensating.
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