He is the Hemingway of horn players, plays only the notes that need playing, plays of a lived life. His dialogue with the drummer, the bassist, is to the point, informs the truth and nothing but.
His beauty is not in the florid display of a million brilliant notes blooming in the hothouse of ego, it is a single, honest rose, mature in it's own time and place. He feels no need to embellish his richly coloured, delicate petals, he knows they will fall and become dust in their own time.
He speaks between tunes, his voice a bell, resonant of the tune before, the tune to come. It is his voice, everything he says and does, on stage and off, is his voice, speaking in simple, beautiful, truthful notes.
He is the Hemingway of horn players.