They Call Him The Breeze

Bon Schmidt: Cut the Tweeze some slack and he takes a melancholy mile--if he wants to divert this flash convo towards the depths of the velvet lining he wears on his sleeve, I wish to restitch and get us back to nows-ville. And while you may not think of George Benson as NOW...one listen to Breezin' and you will remember every brick, every last brak, that he has laid to get us to NOW. Since my last postage all I have been doing is Breezin' through a career flash-cooked by Miles Davis in the 60s, eclipsed by his AM heights in the 70s, to his emergence on the Smooth Jazz charts when they began.
It is raining down on my house right now, but there is a globe of warmth around THIS GUY as Benson's guitar wing-swells blow the air that I need...the air that I breath...all over this black-lit living room. And dig those funky string-pad-laced key slaps. Oooh-we. Try to get the tune out of your head. Try to stop it from letting your body groove into the couch while it takes you up high. This ain't no waxish cover, Tweezer....this is the realio dealio.

DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN WE ALL HAD HAIR LIKE THE KEYS PLAYER? Good times, baby!
George Benson=Apollo Creed?