Slightly prosse style article about the disappearance of solid jazz clubs within our cities.
Where have all the real jazz clubs gone? I recently visited Ortlieb’s Jazz Haus in Philadelphia. Ortlieb’s used to stand out in my mind as a place dedicated to the music. It was expensive but was still the kind of “hole in the wall” one comes to expect from a place which revolves around funky piano scales, drums hitting on all the off beats and a gnarled old man dawning a fedora ripping his polished sax. This place was the last of the great jazz clubs in Philly and now it’s gone. The same name hangs from the door but with new management came a newer, unauthentic vibe.
I worry that this example is becoming the norm rather than the exception in the jazz world. When I think Jazz club, I think of a room fogged by cigarette smoke, a few musicians on a cramped stage and a chilled out aura at the bar. Feet tap at every table but nobody dances. The crowd claps respectfully after a nice trumpet solo and shouts ring out as the double bass finishes walking all over the drum beat.
These places still exist but they are not easily excavated. On a recent voyage to New York City I dug around and did find a handful of these archaic rooms but finding them took up over half my night. I checked out the spots I found online before my trip and was utterly vexed by the liberal nature in which the title “Jazz Club” is used. I wandered the streets, poking my head into every possible venue. I asked anyone who looked like they could fit the “cool cat” bill, and in the end I barely managed to find what I was looking for.
The places dominating the scene were mainly for the jazz fan looking for the flattest, least edgy sound the genre has to offer. If you’re into this Kenny G type debacle and enjoy a fifteen dollar Martini mixed with pretension feel free to be offended, but this is not jazz. The real clubs took an effort to find.
Perhaps the dissatisfaction I feel when I go into a place like Ortlieb’s is directly linked to the hunt for a good club. This creates a slight conundrum for me though. As much as I yearn for streets packed with good jazz clubs, I am selfish enough to want them for myself and maybe a handful of listeners who can appreciate the sounds within.
If I may wax philosophical for just a moment, I suppose the most rewarding things in life are often the hardest to find. I don’t want a gaggle of primitive new age pop music listeners crowding the precious few authentic jazz spots left. The reward is sweat when the real places are found, but in the mean time, I’m running out of cash to throw down on cover charges just to hear a live version of The Weather Channel’s sound track.
