I thought July 6th had been a fairly good day when I returned home about 4 p/m and noticed the blinking light on my answering machine. I wasn't expecting any calls at my residence so I first went to the fridge and popped the top on a cold one, clicked the remote to the cd player, and on my way to the bedroom to change clothes the intro to Miles Davis "So What" filled the room. It was at least another twenty minutes and well into "A Love Supreme" by Coltrane before I went into my office and booted up the computer to check my email and touched the play messages button. The voice was a familiar one I recognized, so I lifted my finger from the delete button and I received the sad news of Al's passing from the voice of his brother Don.

It always sucks to get news of this kind, but for worse or good, it was a voice, a friends voice, not an impersonal sterile concatenation of data via email on a screen. I went into some kind of denial mode and replayed that message three more times. With each replay I became more aware of the inflections and nuances in Dons voice conveying his personal loss and the pain he was feeling. I felt I had let him down because I wasn't here to answer the phone and console him on the death of his brother when he called. And my friend, Big Al Downing, was no longer of this earth.

3:30 a/m on the 7th I found myself in front of 1416 (eye) I st nw DC, the former site of Rands nite club, in the silence of an empty street in the sleeping city with my memories of Al and the rude realization that while many things are possible, the way it used to be isn't one of them. I thought about that era and the diminishing number of alumni from it, and the words of a Cossack toast came to mind; "Posley nas, ni hoodet nas" After us, there'll be no more of us....

How true indeed. The very road that so many take for granted today was paved with the tenacity, sweat, tears, disapointments, heartaches, and sometimes blood, of Al and the other pioneers of that golden era.There is a quote by Hunter S Thompson that accurately sums this observation up;

"The music business is a cruel and shallow money trench, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free, and good men die like dogs. There's also a negative side"

This is a terrible truth that, if we allowed ourselves to know it, would render the making of music impossible in a world of false promises, dark poseurs, and repetitions of verbal schtick.
Not so for Mr. Downing. Al not only survived in this enviroment, he managed to thrive and grow as both an artist & songwriter, and a consumate entertainer in it. Along the way, he inspired and nurtured the following generations (plural) with his personal character and artistic work ethic. And of course that golden voice that was always sincere regardless if the house was packed or not, he always "brought it from the breast"... Res Ipsa Loquitur... (this life) speaks for its-self

I close with the following;
" Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life to everything. It is the essence of order, and leads to all that is good, just, and beautiful; of which it is the invisible, but never less dazzaling, passionate, and eternal form." Plato