The Doorman's Diary 6.28.14

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There’s an edge tonight. Some are on edge; some edgy. Everyone wants to be someplace, but a map and GPS can’t find someplace. Three show up at the jazz club who are the exception. They want to be here. The jazz club is the someplace they want to be. The middle-aged couple have brought her dad here to celebrate his 84^th birthday. A good-looking white-hair gentleman….he enjoys the music. A trio of women enter all wary and on edge. They calm down at the bar. One of them keeps going outside, but not to smoke or chat on her cell. I wonder… Another of the trio steps up to me and asks in a demanding tone if a little man has entered the club. Not that I recall is what I say. She grimaces and returns to her stool at the bar. Moments later, a little man presents himself at the door. He is short, but too tall to be considered a little person or a race jockey. Yet, he’s too short to be any good at table tennis or waxing a SUV. Grimace lady rushes to me waving a five—the little man lucks out. Throughout the night, he stands behind the tables on the floor thoroughly enjoying the music. A highlight for both of us is the delicately-executed solo during the quintet’s version of Freddie Hubbard’s “Little Sunflower.” The saxman sounds like he’s crocheting a lacy brocade doily for grandma’s mahogany side table. A refreshing, unexpected, and tasteful treatment from a tenor and quintet that prides itself in its hard-driving sound.

The Doorman's Diary 6.7.14

There is gravity in the jazz club that pulls certain people to it on a regular basis. For The Doorman, these are the irregular regulars. There is no predicting exactly when they might show, but it will be sometime within a couple months to nine-month window. Cases in point from tonight’s crowd:

·      Carrot Top – A jazz-loving young artist with a wild mop of red hair. She lives six miles from the club and arrives by bus, bicycle, motorcycle, or a recent acquisition… a 15-year-old beater pick up. If The Doorman wins the lottery, a contract with a limo service will be issued so any time she has a yearning to come to the club, she can call.

·      Quiet Nerd Man – My mission is to break his code. He arrives, shoves a crumpled Lincoln in The Doorman’s hand, runs in and to the nearest bar stool, and turns chameleon by blending in as quickly as he can into the scene. He never looks anyone in the eyes—in fact, he may not have eyes, since I’m guessing no one has seen them. A social recluse who truly enjoys jazz.

·      Big Foot – A mammoth man who literally fills the doorframe and then some. Fortunately for The Doorman and the jazz club he has a Big Guy gentle spirit. I know when I sense an overwhelming presence and look up and see an enormous brilliant-white toothy grin that my end could be near—Death By Hug. For some reason this sumo-wrestler-sized guy likes me.

The irregular regulars fit seamlessly into the jazz club’s mix. I added two young women who tentatively craned their necks from the door saying, “We’ve never been here before, it looks interesting.” I said, You’re not going to see much from there…come in and take a look. The quintet, plus a phenomenal guest harmonica player (who can harmonize with the horns and take a solo) were cooking on their version of the Eddie Harris and Les McCann song, Listen Here, when it became evident they were hooked. As they dig in their purses for the cover charge, I say: Not tonight…you’re special guests of The Doorman. At this exact moment in time, there is no better place in the universe than being here in this jazz club, hearing these incredible musicians, and seeing the genuine looks of surprise radiate into beautiful smiles.