When Bud Powell left Manhattan for Paris in 1958, his friends prayed that the change of locale might somehow exorcise the demons that had plagued him for much of his life. Instead, Powell sank even deeper into his private inferno. After five years abroad he was a shattered, empty-eyed hulk, a stranger to himself and his music. When friends finally placed him in a hospital outside Paris a year ago, he was suffering from tuberculosis, alcoholism, malnutrition and other legacies of hard living. Doctors said that he would not recover for at...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
