The Doorman's Diary 6.13.14

Calamity and lunacy could reign…it’s Friday the 13^th and a full moon. Technically, we’re a couple of ticks beyond the official full moon night and as long as I keep thinking that today is merely the tomorrow of Thursday the 12^th, everything should be fine. And a fine glittery night it is. To celebrate the impending season change, the Latin jazz band plays their version of Summertime, which sizzles in a pan of congas, guitar and deep bass played by the biggest brown bear found south of the Canadian border. The sauce is further stirred by a guest tenor whose horn adds just enough pepper. At one point, a few songs later after their frenzied take on Willie Bobo’s Haitian Lady, the band leader steps out from his drum set and in front of the congas to invite what appears to be a random, nondescript woman to the stage. “She will sing a beautiful song to us in Portuguese.” With every step to the stage she dramatically transforms into the likeness of the Lisbon-born stunner singer Teresa Salgueiro and her voice is equally beguiling. She caresses the quintet and transforms the club into Hot Clube de Portugal in a cellar in Praça da Alegria, one of the oldest jazz clubs in Europe, since 1948. Tele-transportation occurs and we’re in the dark, comfort of this Lisbon jazz club. The proof: left on the side of the congas was an old time travel decal—Portugal—just like the ones travellers in the last mid-century would affix to their hard-body luggage and travel wardrobes as souvenirs of their journeys. I’m convinced. We were there… if only for her smoldering sensuous song.

The Doorman's Diary 6.1.12

It is a jazz lounge night—piano and vocals. The duo is good; but shouldn't I be eating a meal or carrying on an intimate conversation while sipping a martini, red wine, or cognac? Our big-sound club venue doesn’t seem right. When they play—and they play quite well—I yearn for a stand-up bass and maybe a horn. Previously there’s been an alto angel in the audience to judiciously toot on a couple of songs. It has helped. Tonight a conga player was asked to play his tumbadoras. During a break he retrieved his drums from his car. They sat on the stage with him back at the bar. The duet played a couple more songs that could have benefited from the conga. It was torture to see the pair of drums gleaming in the stage light but no one playing. Finally the conguero was called up and masterfully thumped a rhythm that blended beautifully with the song. The club was packed so when he finished, there was thunderous applause (much like in the past when a sax player stood in). He was allowed just one song, even though the crowd would have enjoyed more. Frustrated like everyone else I watched another scenario of frustration unfold. A young couple had entered the bar and sat at the bar. The young woman’s face was illuminated… not by romantic candlelight or the flush of love. She literally spent the entire time they were in the club intently gazing… not into the eyes of her companion but into the enthralling glow of her smart phone. The poor chump could not compete with the seduction of her text messages.