This is something I posted last summer, and here it is again, along with a piece from the album.
When I was 21, I spent the winter in Vermont with my Uncle Walter. He was my mother's step-brother and an accomplished jazz musician, songwriter and composer. He had a beautiful house in the mountains, and while he spent his days skiing, I spent mine in his beloved music room. There were shelves from floor to ceiling, custom built to hold LPs, thousands of them, including some of the greatest music ever recorded. Colorful Indian rugs adorned the wooden floors, and a warm tapestry hung over the wood-burning fireplace. There was a big leather chair in the middle of the room, and the wall-sized window exposed a view of endless acres of land and trees, covered by impossibly white and untouched snow. I spent days in that big chair, listening to music in front of the fire, looking out that window, watching deer and sunlight and hours pass. And sometimes I'd fall asleep, always hearing the music in my dreams. I played the jazz greats and stuff I’d never heard, and it was in this room that I discovered Pat Metheny’s New Chautauqua. It became the album that defined my experience there, and as I listen to it now in my apartment in the stifling city heat, I am brought back to Vermont, to the impossibly white snow, to a time when my uncle was alive, and to the room he so generously offered me, day after day of the most beautiful and musical winter of my life.