I, the inveterate lurker on cooperative blog, must post this evening to share my excitement about, of all things . . . the Grammys. Herbie Hancock just won best album of the year for his tribute to Joni Mitchell’s music. In Hancock’s acceptance speech, he said it was the first time in 43 years that a jazz album has snagged this prize. He won over the younger and far flashier contenders, Kanye West and Amy Winehouse. He won as a jazz pianist (you may know him from his funk album of the ’70s, Headhunters) covering the music of a woman best known for her folk singer-songwriter success in the ’70s. And yet both he and Mitchell are regarded by critics and musicians from all genres as the cream of the crop in their field for decades.

As you might guess, I am a big Herbie Hancock fan and an even bigger Joni Mitchell fan. Catching a glimpse of the album for the first time in Borders stopped me dead in my tracks, requiring Brett to entertain himself with computer literature while I skipped through snippets of tracks. And yet snippets did the music no justice. I quickly realized that this album required a contemplative listening as you were slowly drawn in and fed each new layer of each piece. It was meant to be a rich experience. In the day and age of three-and-a-half minute tracks that grab you, pull you in, hold you, and release you, I am estatic that my old-fashioned, out-of-date music tastes made a momentary blip in the popular music world.