It happens. By rights the club should be packed, but it isn’t. I like this quartet, plus singer, a lot and was looking forward to seeing them play. The keyboard player / leader is eccentric. He lets the music take control of his body as though he were a tent-revival-preacher testifying that the spirit of God is upon us tonight. In fact, if he yelled that out while being sweaty and bug-eyed, no one would think it’s out of context. I’ve seen him crouch over the keyboard… nose probably grazing the D key as though he’s searching for a lost contact lens and then suddenly shoot up, standing while continuing to play. The weird thing is that his movements in no way reflect the music. It’s not as though the jerking up move reflects a crescendo in the music. It’s reminiscent of watching old, old Japanese horror films where you see 300 guys wearing white collar shirts and black pants yelling and screaming as Godzilla is preparing to obliterate them with his atomic heat-ray breath. The camera will focus on one poor chump who is babbling and WTFing, while the English voice-over comes in calmly with: “Look – out, – there – is – God – zil – la.” In the same way, the actions of the jazzman don’t match the music, but I love watching this guy. The slim-size crowd appreciated the group as well. The pair of middle-aged women who tried to scam their way in without paying, the young couple who became friendlier with the help of shots of tequila between their glasses of Merlot, and the two gray-temple guys with their wives who politely thanked me as they left for “a most enjoyable evening,” were all in the club enjoying the wonderful jazz. Meanwhile, I relaxed at the door and tipped the brim of my handmade, midnight-grey wool fedora down low while enjoying a Miles song which lead into their version of the Les McCann and Eddie Harris classic, “Compared to What.” A most enjoyable night it was.
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