by Manuel Gonzales

Ephraim Owens is smooth. In all things, he is smooth -- as silk, as chocolate, as you know what. He is it. He picks up his horn and out from his lips flows heaven, glorious sun-filled streets paved in gold heaven. He has tone that will melt rock, solid rock stone cold hearts, melt them all down to nothing. His tone is rich and full and swallows you, engulfs you like that cold cold water in Barton Springs on a cold cold morning in the middle of winter. Shocking, at first, it wakes you, opens your eyes, makes your head turn. Then, after you have given in, relinquished all, submitted yourself to his sound like you would to that water, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of his mad trumpet playing, it surrounds you, coats you, slides over and around and through you, and suddenly, you are warm. Inside and out, warm and warmer and warmer till you're all hot and his fingers fly over those valves, jumping through scales to hold, quivering, sustained on one long and sorrowful note. And only then, after that note plays out, after he drops that horn from his lips, only then are you set free. And then he smiles.

You see him walking through town, his black case carrying his bent trumpet tucked under his arm, walking from club to club to club, looking for something hot. A little blues. A little rock. Some funk, maybe. Always jazz. Good, cool jazz. He plays them all and he plays them well.

Ephraim Owens will perform at the Austin Jazz & Arts Festival at Waterloo Park.