The Doorman’s Diary: 11.26-27.11

It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is not in London that our scene lies), rattling along the warehousetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty light of the neon that struggled against the darkness. We huddled in the jazz joint not expecting much in terms of weary music lovers. An occasional light – like a beacon of hope would play against the wet pavement from a passing automobile. “Would they be slowing to stop in yee publick house for a spirit and a song,” was the question in this darkest of hours. The jazz singer was at the ready with her torch songs of yesteryear. The tender in tie and braces took care of glass care while the waitress in her tiny dress adjusted her mascara. We waited and waited when it suddenly became evident that a respectable-sized throng had thrung and were here to hear the Monk, Sonny, and Miles. With smiles aplenty the band kicked in and the songsheets were flipped and folded to select the best of swing, bebop, blues-jazz, and funk. The drums, piano keyboard, trumpet, and stand-up double bass created the ooh and aah, which whet the appetite while wet shoes, umbrellas, and wind-flung hair dried to debunk the dark and stormy night outside.