“Smiling and nodding, she said something I couldn’t hear, then shrugged and gestured for Hulmer and me to follow her. We went down a hall, past a living room from which all the noise was coming. Glancing in, I saw four or five colored boys, late teens, hard at work on musical instruments: drums, piano, guitar, saxophone, perhaps one or two more. The sound was so loud you could almost see it filling the room. The boys were playing with such intensity that it was obvious their heads were full of r...ecording-company contracts. At the end of the hall was a swing door. Susan Thompson led us through there, released the door behind us, which cut the music to a bearable volume, and shook her head in resigned amusement, saying, “All those boys do is practice. You can’t hear yourself think around this place.” She had a faint trace of southern accent softening her words, blending well with her cheerful expression and matter-of-fact manner. “Sit at the table,” she said. “You want some iced tea?”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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