The bass player growls. When he plays his stand-up, he scats with the notes. Very jazzy. Quintessential. His playing perfectly matched the 82-year-old jazz guy sitting at the bar wearing a black beret and sipping Cabernet. With his handsome, lined face, the old jazz dude could be the poster-child for the club. Jazz does soften hard edges. As The Doorman, I see the difference between the faces of people when they walk in and when they leave. The cynic would say: "Yep, that's what alcohol does." But, the jazz club clientele is not of the drink 'till you sink ilk. The music is the magic. Harsh street faces soften and worry lines are Botoxed away with a little Sonny, Miles, and Monk. Case in point: A pleasant-looking woman had entered the club and joined two other middle-aged friends. She joined her friends late and left them early - sure sign of an active, involved person... my kind, one of my peeps. As she left, I said: "Leaving us early..." Her softened jazz face changed back to the intensity of her life as she exited while saying, "Yes, I've got commitments." I thought, yes... commitments.
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