When Sonny Rollins died at 95, jazz lost more than a master improviser; it lost one of its clearest examples of artistic courage. Few musicians sounded so unmistakably like themselves. His tenor tone could be huge and playful one moment, searching and severe the next, and through it all came the sense of a mind testing every idea in real time. Rollins did not simply extend the language of modern jazz. He made improvisation feel newly alive—open, risky, and full of wit.

Quincy Jones was more than a musical icon; he was a significant part of the soundtrack of my life, influencing my appreciation for diverse s