That drives the shoot of music through the soil. (My apologies to Theodore Roethke and the rest of the English-speaking world.)
I'm late to the party, but as I understand it, my new favorite drummer--my new idol of groove--the master professor of my new study of laying the fatback down--the pattern I pin to the fabric of my funky butt to cut out a new, deeper pocket--Joseph Modeliste, is, in the Fraternity of Beat, viewed as a demigod.
This pleases me for one self-serving reason, related to my epicfail at playing to the click, out in the shed, with Mr. Z.--namely the cut from the Meters's album Rejuvenation (of 1974) called 'Jungle Man.' It's the kind of song that you listen to once and grab the little slider in Windows Media Player and drag it back to the beginning as soon as the fade out starts--once you hear it you can never let it end. Although 'Hey Pocky A-Way' is next, and that song should never end even more neverly.
But when you do drag 'Jungle Man' back from the fade out to the beginning, you can't help but notice, so deep are you in Modeliste's pocket, that the cut starts out--unless I'm seriously misunderstanding something--a little bit slower than it ends.
I will follow in my master's footsteps, whithersoever they shall lead.