It was an odd night, which doesn’t say much. Every night at the jazz club is different. An early couple balked at the cover, paid it, had a drink, then left before the music started. I offered a refund, but they refused it. Oh kaaay? The band started and was especially loud. Sharpened No. 2’s in the ears would have been preferred to some of the notes the trumpet was hitting. Several customers left. When I tactfully pointed it out to the club owner, who believes loud music creates a party atmosphere, it was blamed on someone unnecessarily fiddling with the controls. Oh kaaay? The drummer in the jazz quintet took a solo—not unusual. But what was fun is that he was playing only cymbals. Rhythmic, but furious, splish-splash sounds were filling the club. It was going on record as the first cymbal-only drum solo until the lure of the skins possessed him and he hammered away. To balance it out, he returned back to the cymbals and finished to a rousing applause. Expertly executed. Interesting customers included two different couples trying to maintain long-distance relationships—one dark-haired beauty from the Dominican Republic, the other black haired beauty from Chicago; an old guy with penny candy as his economic reference who snarled “five dol...LARS!” at the cover charge as though it should be 50¢; and a group of young folks dressed in thrift shop finery—two of which are opening an art gallery in a transitional neighborhood. All in all an odd night… oh kaaay?
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