The Doorman's Diary 6.20.14

http://gusstoys.tumblr.com/post/4410897476/jazz-yello

When I arrive the mood of the jazz club is set by an inebriated group courtesy of the boutique brewery a couple of blocks away. We carry their beers so after taking the brewery tour, consuming massive free samples, they are shoved out the door with tokens they can cash in at the club. The concept is to expose people who get plastered for free to a club where you pay a cover to sit quietly and enjoy music. I see flaws in the logic, but what do I know… I’m just The Doorman, a piece of animated furniture in the jazz club. As the band members arrive and ready the stage, the tipsy tour starts to literally stumble out into the street. A cool jazz dude ably sidesteps a swaying guy blathering on about finding a real bar that sells beef jerky. The cool jazz dude sits down at the bar with a clear view of the stage. He removes his summer fedora and casually places it over a 5x7 sketchbook and art pen and orders a burgundy. As the quartet moves through songs by Hank Mobley, Sonny Stitt, Horace Silver, and some of their originals, I can see his appreciation grow. Later I learn he’s from the North Side and doesn’t come to this part of town without cause. The allure of jazz brought him here and his sketch of the bass player confirms that visual artists can see music. His sketch and the Romare Bearden print of Harlem jazz on the wall behind him gets my head spinning around the collision points of art and music….visual jazz.

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.

The Doorman's Diary 5.12.12

The jazz club gets its share of mismatched couples. A 30-something guy wearing what I refer to as a bubba cap (baseball cap typically with plastic mesh back and industrial or agricultural company logo above the curved bill) worn backwards and a plaid flannel workshirt, accompanied by a well-dressed, attractive young woman presented themselves at the door. They settled at a table near the band and enjoyed the first set. During the break they were leaving and bubba-hat-dude said he was walking her to the car and would be back.  He returned, sat at the bar, and we got talking. He works at a drilling rig in rural Montana. A brutal lifestyle of two weeks at the site of hard, all-encompassing work and then two weeks off. He stepped outside for a smoke. After a couple minutes, I stepped outside and saw a bewildered look on his face. He said the woman he was with is smart, fun to be with, and has a good job, but he won’t see her again. Said he’s 31-years-old and with being an oil roughneck there’s no way to establish a long-term relationship. Meanwhile a couple “out on a date” with their 16-year-old son, were celebrating his birthday. They said with six kids, they’ve established this date-with-mom-and-dad idea to ensure that each child gets special alone time with them. They had dinner at an Indian restaurant and then came to the jazz club because he’s learning sax and drums. I cornered the sax player between sets and he gladly talked with the young guy. The drummer acted too self-important to meet the kid. Fortunately, the drummer was cornered by the mom when he walked past and apparently agreed to bless them with his presence. I’ll bite my tongue so as to not be calling him an arrogant turd, or worse.

Creating Miracles from Typewriters

In his Oakland, California studio, Jeremy Mayer takes old typewriters apart. He then creates full-scale, anatomically correct human figures without solder, welding, or glue. The amazing assemblages are entirely cold assembly. There are no parts used in his artistic pieces that were not originally a part of a typewriter. The process takes time. Much of the time is spent thinking… imagining… engineering. It is a process of creative deliberation. Creating anything from the mechanics of old typewriters is laudable. But creating animate forms such as Mayer does redefines miraculous. How much of the souls of the typewriters’ former owners and users linger in the parts? All the memos, business correspondence, invoices, reports, or personal yearnings created… one keystroke at a time. What sort of voo doo emerges with the gumbo of parts from dozens of typewriters used to create a human hand, a woman’s body, a deer, or a large spider? One can imagine… but only Jeremy Mayer knows.