Henry Threadgill Interview

Source: BOMB Magazine.

One spring day, twelve or more years ago, we sat at opposite tables on the café terrace—on the sidewalk, that is, but I like the snobby European twinge of “terrace.” He wasn’t reading. I felt that I could no longer stand wondering who he was, and I finally approached him.

He was Henry Threadgill, a musician, he said. And I was me, a writer. We had never heard of each other. After a while of little stuff, I asked who his favorite writer was. “James Joyce, for Ulysses,” he said without hesitation. “And you, for music?” he asked.

“Bach,” I said, “for everything.”