People you meet in life who arrive older, wiser, and quietly tuned to your frequency, those are gifts. They show up unexpected. You honour them by listening, by catching whatever melody they offer. Everything I ever learned about Buzz Burza felt like a good progression, unforced, a bit luminous around the edges. He had that Paul Newman twinkle, the Cool Hand Luke kind, like he was in on a joke the rest of the room hadn’t heard yet. When I heard he had died, I went back through our correspondence the way you revisit an old rehearsal tape. Half for memory, half for meaning. Like good musical moments, it’s the echo that stays.