Beka Gochiashvili: Where freedom is restricted, jazz cannot exist
He stepped out of the school into the Times Square neighborhood, which, as always, was noisy and crowded. What else might one expect mid-day in mid-town Manhattan? Walking along Eighth Avenue, he was beating a steady rhythm in the air with drumsticks and thinking about Herbie Hancock – turning over in his mind shots of that Hancock video he needed for his personal collection. “They may have that DVD in here,” he thought as he entered a video store. Before he even had time to open his mouth, a big guy towering over him was demanding to know “What are you doing here, boy?” Hearing the boy’s answer, the big guy grabbed him by his collar and threw him out into the street. A sex shop is no place for a teenager or Herbie Hancock.