D.A.R. (Delayed Album Review)
 
Bill Evans is a ghost or a shadow, a whispering man, he's a composer of memories, a fragment of an impossible whole, and nobody seems to note that. Everybody note the musician, but not the ghost... nobody seems to listen that the entire milky way lives inside his piano, that a cannonball floats in the air while he plays, a shot from nowhere to nowhere. He's the amazing picture of a man and the man himself, nobody knew him as well as the piano, their monochromatic affaire, their love in technicolor can tell that. Now I'm listening the Sunday at the Vanguard album and I can't stop picture NYC under the moonlight, the small crowd and the silence between notes. I certainly believe in magic when I listen to his music.