The Doorman's Diary 7.27.12

Pleasant breezy Friday eve with front door and windows wide open. Tonight will be pleasant—jazz couple on stage. Singer with incredible voice. When they were getting the mike volume set, she sang “1 - 2 – 3.” Told her, “You can sing from one to 50 and the alphabet, and we’d all be happy.” Her husband is noted and accomplished jazz guitarist who apparently had thoroughly mastered the guitar so he designed and had constructed a three-in-one instrument. Three arms, 18 strings (I think), with bass on the bottom, then guitar, and a mandolin on top. He effortlessly roamed between each layer-cake-stacked instrument—impressive. I think there may be room above the mandolin for a ukulele. I’ll have to start an “Add a Uke” campaign. The crowd was small, because of at least two major events nearby—a big German festival and a gallery night in a nearby arts neighborhood where the artists’ studios, galleries, and two art schools open their doors for the curious public. Gallery night folks who come to the club are in a mooching mode. Filled with free cheap wine, pretzels, and cheese and crackers, they look as though they’ve been asked to explain the chemical structure of matter when a $5 cover is requested. The typical response is “What??” as though they didn’t hear correctly which is followed by a puzzled, hurt look. A couple who had arrived early before the music started was sitting at the bar. When I asked if they planned to stay for the music and then asked for the cover after they said Yes, they got hostile indignant. They demanded to see a written policy and said it’s against the law to request money since they arrived before the show. If I had been thinking, I would have said, “The club policies are all clearly stated and prominently posted outside in back… right above the dumpsters.”

The Doorman's Diary 5.29.12

It is a delightful jazz guitar quartet night—electric guitar, upright, sax, and drums. What I love about top-flight musicians is that a bunch that have never played together, when tossed together, can play together. The guitar leader has three new musicians that he’s never had here before (to be fair, he may play with them all the time and it may just be me that’s never seen them all play together). The tenor / alto man is noteworthy and the young kid on bass (who is actually underage) is daddio cool. The bass player has a velvet sound, which matches the music they’re playing. Several newbies have come tonight to the jazz club. A couple of women from a distant “safe” suburb made a special trip into the big city to hear jazz. A young lone wolf sat most of the night with a goofy grin of jazz joy on his face. “You belong here,” I say to him. “You know it, brother.” On the cusp of closing, a pair of women came in. The vivacious brunette in the pair functions as the fun fairy of friendship warming everyone with her smile. She has California confidence and makes sure to tell everyone that she’s visiting from California. If we sold BEST FRIENDS necklaces at the club, there would be a lot of us wearing half-heart necklaces with ST / ENDS engraved on them.

The Doorman's Diary 6.22.12

Friday nights draw out cheapskates. More than once, people charged through the door and were flabbergasted to learn that there's a $5 cover charge. I tell them that this is a club and we have live music performed by professional musicians. They either have realization and pay or look at me blank faced and eyes blinking as though I asked them to write 500 words about the impact of molecular science on deep-space wormhole research. One cream-color linen sport-coat guy said he just dropped off his date at her condo because she has health issues and can't stay out late. They had passed our club and the unhealthy date had pointed and said: "Jazz club," which peaked his interest. He had stopped in to have a nightcap--a single drink. I waved him in. He said he wasn't from here so it would likely be just the one drink. I inquired as to where he"s from, expecting an exotic locale. He mentions a neighborhood probably seven or eight miles away. He stuck around for several drinks, made numerous trips outside to smoke, and talked incessantly about bringing a large group here and could we add tables here and there since they will want to mingle and walk around. As the night wore on, he wore thin. 

The Doorman's Diary 6-8-12

"Hello... Hello.... Hello..." Three cops on bicycles whizzed around the corner and each chirped their friendly greetings. I was surveying the newly hatching night from my post at the jazz club front door—actually just outside the door. The sunny, blue-sky day was becoming history in the making. With a 50% accuracy record, my prediction is that it will be a slow, relaxing night. There were two couples seated at the bar when I started the night. They were both reluctant to pay the cover charge. My deal: "Relax, enjoy a couple of songs. If you leave after that, no harm. If you stay, do the honorable thing and pay the cover—you'll be supporting live jazz in our city." Both couples left before my voo-doo hex could kick in, so no covers collected. An artist couple who've been in a few times before showed their intense, but friendly faces. I was zippy-thrilled to learn that they had closed on a small commercial building which will become their studio space and home. Now they just need to sell their bungalow located in a leafy suburb. Got my toes crossed for them. The quartet was terrific tonight, as always... even though the traffic was slow, as I had predicted earlier.

   city still life --

the flower planter

tethered to a wall

           - JW, 6-6-12

The Doorman’s Diary: 5.19.12

A warm night where air conditioning serves its purpose. But we were going without. Front door propped wide and windows open to the world. There was a strange vein coursing through the night. A guy with broken logic had beckoned me over and said, “I have a business proposition for you.” Nothing made sense. I excused myself and went back to the door. I was chatting with a cute young woman who had just moved to our city days ago with her boyfriend when I got the signal to go back to the troublesome guy because the owner was clearly having words with him. Now remember, I am The Doorman. I am not a bouncer, so my approach is to calmly convince, not bark orders. The owner was threatening to call the police. I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “Come on… let’s get you out of here before you’ve got cops doing a Rodney King with you.” He left. The bartender said I should have walked outside with him to make sure he moved on, but then the owner said don’t go outside, let him go and don’t touch people like that. The guy was on something – he wasn’t drunk or stoned on grass. I don’t know, nor do I have the interest to learn the typical behavior of the various street drugs. Fortunately these occurrences are rare. I may be at risk, but I got to handle things within my comfort zone.

The Doorman’s Diary: 5.18.12

Tonight was a CD/DVD release party for a jazz duet—guitar and voice. It was an earlier starting time and The Doorman was there to provide a stately appearance. The duet had an entourage of friends who collected the door, sold their CDs, and watched over a table filled with snacks. My professional presence was helpful. At one point, the lady collecting the cover sighed, “I’ve mentioned it twice but that guy has ignored paying.” I said, “I AM The Doorman, I shall take care of it, m’am.” I caught up with the scoundrel at the food table and said: “Excuse me sir, there’s a five dollar cover which goes directly to the musicians who provided you with the complimentary food you’re eating.” I returned with his fiver in time to welcome an older relative of the club’s owner. The oldster and her crew didn’t last very long, leaving after a 45-minute visit. As she was leaving, I joked, “Excuse me young lady are YOU old enough to be in this establishment?” She snapped back, “I am 94 and can go anywhere I want!” The guitarist pulled out a custom guitar of his design. It was a three-fret contraption—mandolin on top, guitar, and bass on the bottom. The guitarist played it expertly and there were only moments when a third human arm could have come in handy. Between each of their sets, we were treated to a jazz harpist. We’re not talking harmonica harp but rather a full size welcome-to-heaven harp. The harpist hobbled on stage with crutches, since she’s recovering from a broken leg. She played beautifully and it was only later I learned that she had modified her play list because there are certain songs requiring the foot at the end of her cast leg to depress a foot pedal. Interesting night corralling the scamp, the feisty nonagenarian, the Dr. Seuss style guitar, and the broken-leg jazz harpist.

A Musical Sampler from Mazatlan, Mexico

Just like the box of Whitman’s Sampler Assorted Chocolates, the album “Mazatlan Sampler” provides an incredible collection of musical talent residing in Mazatlan, Mexico. Keeping with the theme, the album is subtitled “ear candy from Mexico’s Pacific Coast.” Each song is different from the rest, but all are very good. There are 15 songs on the CD performed by as many musicians or groups. There are a few original songs, but most are covers of old American favorites. The majority of songs are sung in English. One gets the feeling that the American expat community in Mazatlan must be vital, which makes sense since Mexico has the largest population of Americans living abroad, with the number reported to be well over one million. The song selection gives the CD a nostalgic yearning… perhaps a longing for a lost American youth? Or maybe an America that was left behind. Even the jewel case design, ala the Whitman’s Sampler box, is a tug at the past. Probably much like the warm-breeze weather of Mazatlan, this CD is best enjoyed on a summer day or night with a cerveza fria or tooling down the highway with the windows rolled down. The musicianship throughout the album is excellent. You’ll hear marimba, wah-wah, and slide guitar. And some incredible vocals. The CD is really ear candy. Click through to the Mazatlan Music Lovers Club page for information about ordering the album, which I recommend that you do. Oh, and don’t be put off by the quoted price of $120—that’s in pesos. The current conversion is a little more than $11 US.

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Thanks to my friends Jim & Marilyn for bringing my very own copy of the Mazatlan Sampler back from their home away from home.