I met a nice man at a jazz conference in Amsterdam. He plays the guitar. This is his band.

He told me a story. He’s Norwegian, and lives in Edinburgh. A Norwegian review of his album said that they could almost smell the whisky and heather in his music. A British review explained how much it reminded them of driving through downtown Oslo in a blizzard.

And that’s basically what the conference was all about: Jazz and national identity.

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