Source: Aquarium Drunkard.
Sometime in early 2016, I met up with Manfred Eicher in a Manhattan hotel lobby just south of Central Park. It was a dreary day, the air was cold enough that I needed a heavy jacket, but I was overcome with the warmth of fulfillment — the kind you experience when you fail and persist for years, and then one day things yield inexplicably. I can’t recall how many phone calls and emails I exchanged with the publicist for ECM -– the record label that has been the basis for Eicher’s reputation. But it took more than a year, and it required an illogical persistence.