You haven’t lived till you’ve seen a policeman dressed in a bobby’s hat and a pair of pink shorts. It is a sight you will not forget in a long time. The experience doesn’t require a visit to a Gay Pride parade in San Francisco or a hedge-fund leaving party in the City. All you have to do is meander along the highways and byways of Bermuda for this is where the cops rock, and it’s par for the course too as the place is a rock after all. Discovered by a flotilla of off-course sailors exactly 400 years ago, the cosy little group of islands is little short of heaven. Living as I do in Manhattan, I can fly there in less than two hours, and, if I have the nerve, I can don my singular shorts in double quick time.
No, I don’t work for the Bermuda Tourist Board, but having spent an idyllic few days there just recently I am determined to spread the word. The key reason for my visit was to be present at the opening of the brand new Port Royal golf course. Now I am no Tiger Woods - more Puppy Dog Irons to be precise - but I can appreciate the sweep of a finely-cut fairway and the beauty of a sweetly-curving green. This is patently what attracts those who can cut it. In addition to the premier, Dr. Ewart Brown, the guest list at the opening ceremony included sporting celebrities such as football hero Boomer Esiason and basketball legends, Bill Russell and Dr. Julius Erving. To say the least, it was quite an event.
Aside of the golfing chatter, the main topic of conversation at the party turned out to be the island’s annual Music Festival which takes place at the end of October. It was a pleasant surprise therefore to learn that the organizers, no doubt looking for something different, have been inspired to book Quincy Jones to be this year’s headliner. The timing couldn’t be better as 2009 happens to represent the man’s fifth decade as a recording artist in his own right. So if there is any justice, the occasion should stand as more than just a celebration of the Jones boy and his friends.
Quincy had already graced his fair share of podiums before signing with Mercury in 1959, namely through seasons with Lionel Hampton, Art Farmer and Dizzy Gillespie. When you add to that a cornucopia of freelance gigs with the likes of Count Basie, Ray Anthony and Clark Terry, it’s not difficult to deduce that Quincy Jones was born with a modern jazz spoon in his mouth. Why then, might you ask, did he go on to produce Little Richard, Chaka Khan and Michael Jackson? Well, it’s called diversity, and imaginative diversity at that. Of all the notches on his musical belt, it’s Quincy Jones’ talent as an arranger that has secured his lasting reputation.
Ironically, it’s this area of musical input that is sadly lacking in today’s music scene. It’s no wonder that so many stellar recordings of the past that keep cropping up in our everyday lives, were veneered by Quincy and his kind. Call it dumbing down or a reflection of the economy, but these days the make-do equivalent would be little more than a programming whiz-kidd with two riffs and a drum sampler in his back pocket. Don’t get me wrong, technology will always be essential to ensure that the future is tailored with care. But, as with Bermuda, if a pair of pink shorts fits the bill better than synthetic polyester, then I say let the material speak for itself.
