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.

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.