The Doorman’s Diary: 9.30/10.1.11

The jazz quintet was on fire. The keyboard player was exceptional—tickling, pounding, and stroking the keys like he owned them… which, actually he does. But you get what I mean. He was hot! The crowd was super receptive. A couple of tables near the stage were occupied by a half-dozen young women with long flouncy hair who literally squealed when the bass player finished some complex, cat’s cradle-type fingering solo and whipped out his double-bass bow to finish the song. He could have wiped his face with a towel—ala Tom Jones—and tossed it to them and we’d have had bedlam. Close to midnight, a woman appeared at the door. I told her the cover is 5 bucks and she asked, “What do I get for it?” I said, Live jazz and my endearing friendship for life. “I doubt the later, but I’ll take the music.” It’s her last night in town and she had been looking for good jazz, which she found here. She grew up in Watts and “escaped it by using my brains.” She’s a medical auditor, traveling to various assigned hospitals to interview the staff and perform process audits. She contributed to the enthusiasm of the crowd fanning down the tenor as he wailed on his signature Grover Washington, Jr. tune. I trust her audit report on the jazz club would be positive… very positive.