blue dusk --

 faint memories drift

 in a tenor jive

                  - JW, 5-12-13

The Doorman's Diary: 10.20.12

There’s a 14-word Imagist poem by Ezra Pound that’s apropos of this night.

In a Station of the Metro

The apparition of these faces in the crowd;

Petals on a wet, black bough.

Huh? you say. The story goes that ol’ Ezra is describing a moment in the underground metro station in Paris in 1912 as he descended and saw the massive crowd of people. The faces became indistinguishable and reminded him of glistening wet petals. The same is occurring to The Doorman tonight. We are experiencing the largest crowd ever in my history of doormanship. The faces, people, and personalities are a pleasant blur. The jazz quintet is playing hard-driving jazz to keep the crowd glued to their seats… even the folding chairs we set outside in warmer weather with patio tables have been pulled into action by an enterprising renegade customer. We’re violating fire codes left and right but the crowd is feeding off the energy of the band. Who would dare to argue with a crowd fired up on Grover Washington’s Mr. Magic… the tenor blowing his horn inside out. An old jazz crooner who typically gets invited up to the bandstand to sing Sinatra and other standards has hobbled his way into view of the bandleader with hopes of an invite up. He wants a piece of the action. I think, “Not tonight Jack, it ain’t the right groove.” I’m having no issues at the door collecting covers that will pay the band and keep a good half-dozen lightbulbs burning, until I get a quartet of attractive women who I guess expect to breeze past me. They clearly feel entitled and are startled that I’m asking for the cover. I could see one of them weighing whether to hit me with the wounded fawn or Betty Boop ploy. I turned to her and gave her my best “Not tonight Jackie, it ain’t the right groove” Doorman look and they all swiveled on their high heels and left.

    jazz club --

my cognac snifter fills

with lost bop

           - JW, 6-30-12

   city still life --

the flower planter

tethered to a wall

           - JW, 6-6-12

  back alley walk

I sort through the conflux 

of my thoughts

                       - JW, 5-2-12

The Doorman’s Diary: 4.28.12

The jazz club was rolling Proud-Mary-slow at the start and then suddenly it seemed like Tina Turner’s legs were dancing and kicking people through the doors by the van load.  One large group clogged temporarily at the door as they searched among themselves for cash. They were all in the debit-card generation—under 30. I assured them that they could put their covers on their bar tab but they must have sensed my reluctance. I find that the government’s failure to phase out paper money in favor of coins pretty amusing since the debit / credit card will do it for sure. It started in 1971 with the big Eisenhower silver dollars and then the quarter-size Susan B. Anthony dollar and then the Sacagawea dollar and then most recently the presidential coin series. Because of budget constraints and increasing stockpiles of Sacagaweas and the president series, minting for new dollar coins was suspended on December 13, 2011. The plastic card will triumph, probably followed by retina scans, tattooed bar codes, or implanted points. The new world order. To connect with a couple sitting near the door, I mentioned that the bass player with the exaggerated Italian name had received his over-the-top name after returning from a trip to Italy. They found it amusing and said they themselves are going on a 10-day trip to Italy in three weeks. I was able to connect them with the bass player when the group broke after the first set. Serendipity is wonderful and magical… hip, hip, urrà!

The Doorman's Diary: 4.27.12

The night started slow. We had accumulated around 10 people and the threat started to linger that we'd hover there all night. A couple came and were charging past me when I caught them. They looked incredulous that I was asking for five buck covers from them. They looked around and saw only a few people at the bar and said: "There's no one here, why do we have to pay."  The band was into Duke Ellington’s "Things Ain't What They Use to Be," when I bit hard down on my tongue rather than unleash what was on my mind. Instead, I said, "The crowd arrives later so you may want to come back then," and showed them the door. I hoped I was correct. It was early and the place did start to fill. One couple who entered saying, "This place is great. We've never been here before." They are the kind of people our jazz club dreams about. They were walking past and heard the music, which drew them in. For fun I asked them to give me their life stories -- from birth until now -- in two sentences. With little hesitation, the woman said: "In sixth grade, I faked playing the clarinet when I was in band and I just bought a new super-comfortable pillow-top queen-size bed I plan to snuggle in tomorrow because it's supposed to be raining." The quintet grooved into the Hank Mobley song This I Think of You when I thought,  ahhhh, a hedonistic woman who doesn't reveal her inabilities. The club had filled to that critical point where if anyone left, it wouldn't look full. But the crowd that was there was beautiful and they hung in there to the end.

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.