Let me tell you something about the earth. The earth is what you pour in your glass. Get it in the right glass, and you can put your nose up to the rim. At first you think, is the glass itself I'm smelling? a known unknown caught somewhere between sand and fresh riverwater? The more it saturates your sinuses, you realize that you are smelling the clay pebbles of some country road in a valley of vineyards. The smell of the earth is so intense you begin to pick small pebbles from your teeth. This reminds you of a definition you read in the OED: [a. F. baroque adj., ad. Pg. barroco, Sp. barrueco, rough or imperfect pearl; of uncertain origin. An etymology of the word. The baroque is not some cathedral in Mexico City or Cuzco, all cherubs leafed in gold. The baroque is the pattern made by a million rough pearls, worn smooth by countless wagon wheels, brushed up by your heels on a country backroad in 17th century Portugal. The blues walked down those roads, too. That's also a description of the sound of Andrew Hill's keys on this record, polished by the wheels of Richard Davis' bass.
Suggested Wine Pairing: For those pebbles in the road, the road best traveled is, without question, the Clos des Brusquières Châteauneuf-du-Pape, 2005.