(Jazz Alley) I refuse to discuss Jack DeJohnette's fusion period. (Which is his peak. —Ed.) I want nothing to do with jazz's decline into fusion. I want to instead bring up his contribution to one of Bill Evans's last great albums, Bill Evans at the Montreux Jazz Festival. On this record, Evans is, of course, on the piano, Eddie Gomez is, of course, on the bass, and DeJohnette is, of course, on the drums. This is how Montreux Jazz Festival sounds in my mind: The year is 1968 (I can hear that), the sun is out (I can hear that, too), and Evans, Gomez, and DeJohnette have connected to form a circle, from which emerges shimmering, glowing soap bubbles (I hear this perfectly—I also hear the bubble drifting about the Swiss air) of Evans's main mood (beautiful but sad). Nabokov is living in Montreux at this time. He is living off the money he made from the novel Lolita. We can imagine him hearing from his hotel room one of Evans's best renditions of "I Loves You, Porgy," or DeJohnette's delicately firm drumming. Tonight, this legendary jazz drummer performs with Ravi Coltrane, the son of a jazz god.