I just got back from the Vanguard Jazz Orchestra Monday night show. It was great. It's probably the closest thing you'll find to big band jazz in New York city these days, what with venus being small and all.
There's really something to be said for jazz musicians. Unless your last name is Marsalis (or Redmond), there's very little money in it these days, it's become a small niche market. As a result, the people who end up playing at jazz clubs are all these sort of grizzled old guys (I rarely, if ever see a female jazz musician for some reason) who are doing it because they love it, and watching them perform and have a great time doing it makes it all worthwhile. My only complaint was that they played a few songs that I would definitely classify as swing, but there was no dance floor, so it didn't quite work.
It reminded me of possibly my best NYC story ever (which you're all about to be subjected to.) Last year I was out with two of my French friends, at a bar in TriBeCa whose name escapes me. Suffice to say - it sucked. They harassed us the whole time we were there, and kept kicking us out of the tables where we were sitting, saying they were "reserved." After a while, we decided we weren't welcome (and we didn't like the place) so we left. Walking up towards the West Village, one of my friends suggested we go to Small's, which at the time (it has since closed down) was one of the premier jazz clubs in the city. We got there - only to find a ridiculous line going out the door and around the block. Forget it. So we walked around for a bit and then decided to go to another jazz club / pool hall called Fatcat a few blocks away.
Fatcat would definitely be classified as a dive bar - though it has good, cheap pool (Kupoking, are you taking notes?
). It has the most disgusting bathroom this side of Scotland, and the manager is a gruff, unfriendly man who will always try to overcharge you on your table. In addition, however, it has a small room (basically made with cheap, shitty dividers) where they sometimes have live bands as well. It's dingy, there's very little seating and the acoustics are horrible. But we went anyway.
We got downstairs (it's all underground) and heard music so we went to go check it out. The guy at the door said it was $15 to get in (and that got you a free drink too.) That seemed a little steep to us. He said "Trust me, go in. You'll thank me after the show." This intrigued me. I finally motivated them to kick down the money and went inside.
After finally finding seats, we listened to the music, which was incredible. Jazz like you've never heard it before. I looked at my friends, they looked at me, and just as we were starting to say how good it was, the MC came on and said "Let's hear a big round of applause for Mr. Wynton Marsalis." No shit - unannounced, unscheduled, Wynton Marsalis had decided to just show up at Fatcat and play a few sets with the band that night. We sat there and listened to him for at least two hours, mesmerized.
During the break I decided that I had to go to talk to him, so I walked up to the stage and introduced myself. He was the nicest, friendliest guy in the world, and kept thanking me for coming out to the show to see him. I couldn't get over it. I told him to please stay and keep playing as long as he could, and he just laughed and said he'd probably stick around until the show was over.
On the way out I made sure to thank the guy at the door.
There's really something to be said for jazz musicians. Unless your last name is Marsalis (or Redmond), there's very little money in it these days, it's become a small niche market. As a result, the people who end up playing at jazz clubs are all these sort of grizzled old guys (I rarely, if ever see a female jazz musician for some reason) who are doing it because they love it, and watching them perform and have a great time doing it makes it all worthwhile. My only complaint was that they played a few songs that I would definitely classify as swing, but there was no dance floor, so it didn't quite work.
It reminded me of possibly my best NYC story ever (which you're all about to be subjected to.) Last year I was out with two of my French friends, at a bar in TriBeCa whose name escapes me. Suffice to say - it sucked. They harassed us the whole time we were there, and kept kicking us out of the tables where we were sitting, saying they were "reserved." After a while, we decided we weren't welcome (and we didn't like the place) so we left. Walking up towards the West Village, one of my friends suggested we go to Small's, which at the time (it has since closed down) was one of the premier jazz clubs in the city. We got there - only to find a ridiculous line going out the door and around the block. Forget it. So we walked around for a bit and then decided to go to another jazz club / pool hall called Fatcat a few blocks away.
Fatcat would definitely be classified as a dive bar - though it has good, cheap pool (Kupoking, are you taking notes?
). It has the most disgusting bathroom this side of Scotland, and the manager is a gruff, unfriendly man who will always try to overcharge you on your table. In addition, however, it has a small room (basically made with cheap, shitty dividers) where they sometimes have live bands as well. It's dingy, there's very little seating and the acoustics are horrible. But we went anyway.
We got downstairs (it's all underground) and heard music so we went to go check it out. The guy at the door said it was $15 to get in (and that got you a free drink too.) That seemed a little steep to us. He said "Trust me, go in. You'll thank me after the show." This intrigued me. I finally motivated them to kick down the money and went inside.
After finally finding seats, we listened to the music, which was incredible. Jazz like you've never heard it before. I looked at my friends, they looked at me, and just as we were starting to say how good it was, the MC came on and said "Let's hear a big round of applause for Mr. Wynton Marsalis." No shit - unannounced, unscheduled, Wynton Marsalis had decided to just show up at Fatcat and play a few sets with the band that night. We sat there and listened to him for at least two hours, mesmerized.
During the break I decided that I had to go to talk to him, so I walked up to the stage and introduced myself. He was the nicest, friendliest guy in the world, and kept thanking me for coming out to the show to see him. I couldn't get over it. I told him to please stay and keep playing as long as he could, and he just laughed and said he'd probably stick around until the show was over.
On the way out I made sure to thank the guy at the door.
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Yeah, LucasArts paid me and nearly everyone else there jack shit. In fact, LucasFilm has a production division called JAK Productions. You can imagine the original and insightful jokes that stemmed from that acronym.