The Wax Cylinder Blues
The basement behind the Cotton Room had no sign and no address anyone would give you in daylight. You found it the way you found most beautiful things in Harlem during these years: through a friend of a friend, through a whispered instruction at the end of a telephone call, through a knock at a door that was really a knock at a wall. Marcus Bell was thirty-one years old in 1925, though he...
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