”You could play me a hundred trumpet solos and I’d know which one is his.”
”Genie on a ballad will break your heart every time.”
”These guys aren’t even an endangered species anymore — it’s too late. There are no more big bands, no territory bands, no more sixty weeks a year on the road, no more jam sessions till dawn in the Cincinnati Zoo. When they go that’ll be it. No one will even understand what they were doing — a fifty year blip on the screen.”
Bittersweet perfection — that’s Side Man. Clifford, our narrator, pulls back the curtain of his life to show the world he’s leaving behind. A virtuoso jazz man father, idiot savant on jazz trumpet, and when not blowing utterly without a clue, a raging, tormented mother whose last dream died years before, and the extended family of ragtag jazz men, junkies, and club waitresses around which this world revolved is what he reveals. It’s funny. It’s tender. It’s brutal.
Clifford narrates his parent’s story from their first meeting up to the ruin of the present. He slides easily backwards and forwards in time without missing a beat. He breaks the fourth wall as other characters take note. The world he reveals is in its final moment of twilight, just before full dark, yet somehow it never seemed to have a dawn. It’s a tragic story, gently told for laughs and tears, but mostly tears.