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I always loved Roxy Music and got turned on to them in university. They were the rock band with energy and sex appeal that spills into art and the chic pretensions of anything glamorous. Nobody wanted to study Nietzsche seriously because it probably meant smoking a pipe and speaking in slow, affected tones -- a meandering drawl filled with potato sacks of gravitas. The only other thing for me that can capture this youthful, impetuous attitude is the novel Brideshead Revisited. It is the glorious days and nights of flirting and being frivolous and flamboyant, like a butterfly floating from one beautiful flower to the next. A deeper meaning is out of the question. This is a piece I wrote as a tribute to the sax player of Roxy Music. The tasteful and whimsical Andy Mackay.