The great Sonny Rollins has left the building. The saxophone colossus, a titan of 20th century music, died today at 95. Westminster reacted with the usual sombre soundbites. But for those who know, this is a genuine cultural gut punch.
Rollins was more than a jazz musician. He was a force of nature. His tenor saxophone could roar, whisper, and dance. He reinvented himself constantly. From hard bop to free jazz. From the clubs of New York to a bridge in Brooklyn. Yes, a bridge. He once stopped performing for two years to practice alone on the Williamsburg Bridge. That kind of dedication is rare. It's the kind of story lobby reporters love: a man against the machine, emerging triumphant.
Downing Street issued a statement. The usual boilerplate about 'a giant of British jazz' (he was American, but never mind). Culture Secretary Lucy Frazer tweeted her condolences. The arts world mourns. But the real tribute will be in the clubs. In the small venues where his records still spin. In the musicians who cite 'Saxophone Colossus' as their bible.
Rollins had a connection to Britain. He toured here often. His 1965 album 'The Bridge' was recorded after that famous sabbatical. It symbolises a creative rebirth. British jazz musicians revered him. He was a touchstone. His improvisations were like parliamentary debates: long, winding, unpredictable. But always with a point.
We lost a master. The polls don't matter today. The cabinet infighting can wait. Sonny Rollins taught us that music can be a liberation. His sound was freedom. And freedom is something we all need more of.
Tributes will pour in from across the political spectrum. But the real applause will be silent. The kind of respect reserved for true greats. Sonny Rollins, 1930-2023. The saxophone is quieter tonight.
