By Donald True Van Deusen
Watching two of the finest jazz musicians anywhere go through some
exciting wide-ranging renditions from bop to bosa nova and standards in one
of my favorite Philadelphia jazz clubs the other night became a trial of
patience. My joy was severely dampened by an intrusion from the jazz
jabberwocky. That's the fan who has to demonstrate his jazz expertise and
talk at the top of his voice all through the set
The club was Chris' Jazz Cafe, which I have described as the closest
thing to the great NYC 52nd Street clubs of my youth but it could easily
have been any of the top jazz clubs in Philadelphia these days--such as
Ortlieb's Jazz Hauss or Zanzibar Blue. The musicians this night were: Bootsie
Barnes, tenor sax; John Swana, trumpet; Lucas Brown, organ and Dan Monihan on
drums.
The night was billed as celebrating Bootsie's 64th birthday, but he still
plays with the verve of a youngster while drawing on a lifetime of experience
as a major jazz figure. John Swana is one of the finest young trumpet players
working today who can dazzle you with pyrotechnic changes and yet back a
vocalist like silk. The organist Brown and drummer Monihan looked young
enough to be in high school, but played superbly.
There were so many people in the club I felt I had them sitting in my
pocket, but crowds listening to great jazz were not an unknown phenomena
during Swing Street's glory days. The jazz jabberwocky this night was
exploding with expletives of how much he loved what they were playing and
sometimes imitating the chord changes.
Club owners often are reluctant to get too strict with the maxi mouths
because keeping tables filled is sometimes a matter of survival. Zanzibar
Blue often start s a set with the announcement of it being the quiet time for
the patrons, but there have been nights there that various tables were
anything but quiet. The same is true, of course, at Ortlieb's, the oldest
continuously running jazz joint in Philly.
People talking at movies, plays and even at concerts are not, of course,
an unknown phenomena, but they seldom reach the decibel level of jazz
jabberwocky's. This is doubly puzzling because presumably the whole purpose
of these people attending these clubs is to HEAR the music they are
professing to love so much.
A certain inevitable flow of some conversation is inevitable at any club.
Not all the people going over the top with table talk, of course, are
pedagogic jazz lovers. Some are just fascinated by the sound of their own
voice. I sat next to one girl recently who never paused to take a breath and
used the word "like" as if it were a comma. She said, "he was like, the kind
of you know, person, like you don't want to be near, but like I said, there
are times when like you don't feel like explaining it to like just anyone""
The striking thing about this motor mouth is she never seemed to breathe out.
She just breathed in like a vacuum cleaner.
I remember seeing Harry Belafonte at the Empire Room in New York's
Waldorf Astoria when they would not serve drinks or food during the show. You
had to order beforehand to keep noise to a minimum. No one is suggesting we
have to go that far to keep the mighty mouths quiet. Anyone can reorder a
drink, just by pointing at their glass when the waiter comes by. I did it
successfully for years as my doctors can attest.
Philadelphia, contrary to many outsider views, is not exactly a city
defined by the Main Line decorum depicted in various plays and films. It has
a population that can be bombastically enthusiastic as anyone attending an
Eagles-Giants game can tell you. This loud-mouthed sports cheer leading is
clearly inexcusable in a jazz club where fine music is being not merely
played, but created.
These jazz jiving table talkers ought to consider what very reasonable
proposition: When you have the chance to hear great jazz performers such as
Swana and Barnes, or Larry McKenna, Tony Williams, Eddie Green, Brian Pastor,
Jimmy Bruno, Wendell Hobbs, Mickey Roker, Tyrone Brown and any of the many
fine singers working in this city the very least you can do is try listening
to what you just paid to hear. Surely, someone must have told them sometime
in their lives that silence is golden.
