Jazz Shaw, Rest in Peace

Music Shaw, one of Hot Air’s finest tones, has been silenced by sickness, as you may have read now at his page, on X, or Instapundit. Regular audience might assume that they were as well-versed in Music as any of the Townhall Digital kingdom members who collaborated with him. There’s truth to that, also. Jazz had a writing voice that was as good as it was: strong, without illusion, and with a knowing warmth that made readers feel as though they had been drawn into his dwelling room to talk about whatever was on their minds.

Even if it did occasionally shovel you a little too far. Music was good at that. &nbsp,

He was a strong controller, too. In a company where you have to produce a lot of words on a variety of subjects and visitors with long memories, Dance got it right more often than not. When we disagreed, I often went up to double-check my job.

All of these well-known open facts are why I want to discuss one of those little personal tales that captures the essence of who a man really is.

Jazz’s X page reads, “Editor/writer, Salem Media, Hot Air, The Review. &nbsp, Horseradish producer. Jets lover. Curmudgeon. I have many ideas, and they are my own.

Delay… horseradish farmer? He’s joking, straight?

Nope. I have an idea, but I’m not sure how the garlic planting industry started. My wife, Melissa, planted radish two or three years ago in a persistent part of one of her many flowers. Horseradish is tough because we live in a semi-arid area. The horseradish’s extremely tall leaves were sent two or three feet away, which was what Melissa was hoping would flourish here. &nbsp,

In a single season, a melancholy part of that yard — part of the see from our front cocktail patio — suddenly looked practically… tropical.

I completely understand it now that Music planted his wasabi to add a small tropical flair to his New York home. Not just because Melissa enjoys outgoing curmudgeons and has a healthy appetite for alcohol, but because he and Melissa would have gotten along fantastically. What a pity they always made it to.

.&nbsp, &nbsp, &nbsp, Dance Shaw, Amelia Hamilton, Steve Greene

However, the wasabi account is about my friendship with Music.

More years earlier than I may understand, Music sent me a DM asking if I’d like some organized radish. His garden had exploded, and he did n’t know what to do with all the stuff, so he was making little jars and sending them out to people.

At the time, Jazz and I only knew one another through our work and ( more than ) conferences where we exchanged martinis. I almost gasped when he thought of me for his wasabi gifting project. &nbsp,

In time for Christmas, I received a little jar of perfectly prepared horseradish ( hand-labeled as” Jazz’s Really Bad Horseradish” ) &nbsp, that I spent the next few months slathering on various ribeyes and mixing into various Bloody Marys.

When Music started prescribing me once, this continued for a while. Do I like some of the horseradish I had prepared in his absence and did he have this idea to make a sample of it with vodka? ” Well, duh”! is what I did n’t say but certainly could have. ” Yes, please”, is what I did say. But, for the next few years, I was one of the yet luckier some who got Jazz’s booze-infused products. &nbsp,

There wo n’t be a little jar arriving this year. Or always.

No nearly as much as I miss the man who took care of a distant friend, though, I’ll lose that.

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