I lost myself in this album cover for many hours, when it first arrived in the late seventies. Now it’s in a frame, lost in a box, tucked away in the basement, momentarily out of reach thanks to one too many moves and my wandering attention. But to be honest, that silver trumpet was always out of reach. I knew I’d never play like Maynard, I doubted I’d even own the brand of trumpet he played (and designed.) I like to imagine that this trumpet was plunged into ice to save it from melting after a concert.