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 10.19.12

Have my starter wedge and am going to touch base at the door before collecting cover charges from the early arrivals. Sitting on the stylish wood bench near the door was a mass of humanity with a mop of long hair that covered his eyes. As I approach him he takes a Sasquatch-size hand and brushes his hair aside. I ask for the five bucks and he says, “I play bass in the band.” We talk and I learn that he recently got back from playing in a trio for the past 11 months on a cruise trip—five hours every evening including Saturdays and Sundays. “So, you’re warmed up for tonight’s gig,” I say. He enjoys the cruise ship lifestyle and is signed up for a three-month commitment on another ship, which departs in a few weeks. As The Doorman of the jazz club I have astute insights. My psychoanalytic assessment from talking with and observing him is that he is a shy, insecure young man. On the ship, he is a recognized celebrity because of his role and size. At sea, he receives praise and admiration. He gets the cake and the girl (the girl may even serve him cake). As I suspected, he is dang good. He played his double bass like his first girlfriend—genuine affection mixed with urgency. The quartet played standards and originals. I enjoyed their version of Miles’ “So What,” which sounded close to the original. I like musicians who respect a piece of musical perfection enough to play it as it is rather than adding their own interpretation. The Miles Davis imprimatur was not violated.