I went off to the kitchen for a coffee refill and asked the robot to play "Saber Dance." She picked a version by the Boston Brass, and it was a good one, the kind of performance that has me idly wondering if they aren't having to rotate valved brass players out to the alley to fan them down while the rhythm keeps plonking along.
Then it segued into something seasonal, doubly familiar and yet not familiar at all. It turns out you can borrow riffs from Take Five and hurl them under the wheels of We Three Kings Of Orient Are, and it works out very well. If you start picturing the wise men from the mystic East arriving in porkpie hats and sunglasses after this, well, I guess you can blame me. Cool, baby, and dig them angelic trumpeters!
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