The Jazz Bar

Last night we went to the The Jazz Bar on Chamber Street. The red lighting was appropriately swank, the crowd dapper (I played "I spy" for fedoras, vests, and a Spanish Nancy Sinatra). I was having a great time even before the joyful discovery of abandoned birthday cupcakes on the bar (complete with chocolate musical notes adorning their red-glazed keys).

We managed to hoard an impressive number of candles on our small table and Richard, the man behind me explained his brilliant idea of how to make a cat float,

"You know how cats always land on their feet?"

"Right?"

"And how buttered toast always lands the buttered side down?"

"Oookay..."

"Well, it's easy, see? You butter the cat on his back, attach a knife to his tail, and teach him to modify the amount of butter in order to raise or lower his position mid-air."

"That is insane."

"No. That is a great way to make him a butter hunter."

"What?"

"A better hunter."

"You said 'butter'"

"Oh."

We missed the main show of the Tony Monaco Organ Trio, but got to hear the Ohio native on his Hammond B3 in the late night jam session. Tony Monaco is a genius; the instrument wailed, moaned, and jazzed something beautiful underneath his skilled hands. Even more exciting was watching his face: mouth open, mustache dancing, skin beaming, eyes squint shut or open, winking and grinning like a kid-caught-in-the-candy-dish when he extended his solos for the pleased “ahey-yeah!” of the crowd.

Musicians are blessed with the ability to speak in universal languages no matter where they go, and the open jam featured among others Italian Giuseppe on the guitar, Scottish Alan on the slide-trombone, another American, Willy, on vocals…an entire UN convention of jazz. “You understand me man!” Willy nodded, smiling across all his 32, at Tony.