It's 1:30 am. I walk past the door of my destination – it's that nondescript. It’s a Wednesday; there's no queue outside.
Push, and the door swings open, walk down some narrow stair – the walls are naturally distressed over time; it looks pretty sexy. There’s a guy at the bottom in a little nook, about 12 steps down, who looks up at my friend and me and politely tells us the cover charge is USD 10. We know this already – we smoothly pass him the cash and step in.
The staircase curves left and opens into one of the best known jazz clubs in New York City and the world – it is ‘Smalls’.
It's almost like a temporary classroom, with a shaggy carpet laid out, covering large patches of the floor, and an assortment of chairs and benches packed in. There's a 12-foot bar running down the length of most of the room on the right. The ceiling is fairly low, the lighting is dim – I anyway prefer basic warm, yellow light for the stage, than colour splashes.
The place is almost full. Out of 60-odd seats, I see about 5 free – fortunately two of those seats are so right up front – I mean right up front – we practically had to play dodge-ball with the trumpet player’s spittle.
These kids from Juilliard are playing. I don't know the tune. As we sit, the piano solo begins. Micah, the pianist, can really play. He plays better than most pianists I've ever heard. He's playing these complex harmonies in so cavalier a fashion that they become easy to digest and appreciate – you know, like ‘Take 5’ made a 5/4 timing more mainstream without people realising it.
He’s playing a beautiful 7 ft piano. For (perhaps), the first time in my life I am so taken aback by the quality of music that I forget to check the make of the piano (I think it was a Steinway).
The stage looks like it wasn't originally designed to accommodate a grand piano. There's a huge, ornately framed mirror hovering dangerously close to the pianist and it allows us to see his hands in action, dancing across the board. Brilliant.
Some acrylic or oil paintings are sitting on the walls behind Micah, and the seats behind him are so close, he can probably smell their breath.
On his right, towards the back of the stage, is the bass player. I didn't get his, or anyone else's name for that matter; I only got Micah’s, because frankly, he blew my mind. (Don't get me wrong, the level of musicianship here was scarily strong). The bass player is playing some tight lines on a beautiful upright bass and there's one bass resting behind him, and there's a third on the benches where the musicians sit.
That’s three upright bases in a small basement – we, back home in Delhi, struggle to find even one playable upright bass every few months when an upright bassist comes to town.
The drummer is sitting to the bass player’s right. The drum kit is very similar to what I have at my jazz club in Delhi, ‘The Piano Man Jazz Club’ – a small kit with an 18” kick – it’s even the same colour.
The drummer is a tall guy. You can easily make that out even while he's sitting, and he has some pretty intense cymbals. And he is super tight – not a phrase out of place.
Soon the saxophone begins to wail – the guy playing it is really good – then again, by now, I wouldn’t have expected anything less.
Then some guy walks in, dressed in a shiny silk red coat and pants, with a skullcap, or maybe it’s a yarmulke. He puts his briefcase down near the musicians and pulls out a little red box – it's filled with jelly beans.
My friend and I are sitting nearest to him – he offers the box to us and I take one and eat it, only to realise later that it might not have been the smartest thing to have done.
He's got a peculiar gait, but he's in his own world; his ears and body are responding to the musical phrases as he walks around the room.
He comes back from his stroll and pulls out his horn. It’s got a shiny red lacquer, and a raised bell, like Dizzy Gillespie’s horn. The stranger starts playing harmonies to the saxophone player’s solo right in the middle of a song. He segues into the song, mid song. But nobody reacts. His harmonies are spot on.
Then he breaks into a stunning solo. The tone of his horn is outstanding, his ideas are crisp, the solo is excellent.
The song ends.
The saxophone player introduces the band – and ends with Roy Hargrove – The Roy Hargrove – Grammy Award-winning American jazz trumpeter Roy Hargrove.
I freeze. I hadn’t recognised him, but there he is all right – Roy – one of the living legends of jazz. And he is standing right in front of me and playing.
I had heard Chucho Valdés at the Blue Note Jazz Club earlier that evening with his band ‘Irakere 45’, and before that ‘The Kennedy Administration’ (a funk/R&B band) at The Groove in New York City’s Greenwich Village, just before heading over to Smalls.
Both the clubs and gigs (before Smalls) were excellent, although I was slightly disappointed with Blue Note. But then again, I had been warned by purists that it's a little ‘mainstream’, which it indeed turned out to be.
The sound re-enforcement at the venues was strange – they had top-notch equipment, but it wasn't balanced or arranged the best, at least to my ears. I especially felt this about Blue Note, more so because we were shelling out nothing short of USD 50 a seat!
But Smalls managed to capture the spirit of jazz in its entirety. It’s a melting pot, the place that’ll give birth to generations of musicians, with legends playing next to budding stars and guiding them. You know this jam session (at Smalls) means business when Roy Hargrove shakes his head vehemently at your piano playing (not mine, I wouldn't even dare after hearing these jazz cats). But you (the pianist in this case) also understand his cues and change whatever it is you are doing, and he nods. Not smiles, just nods. (I don't think he smiles).
The sound is painfully simple, but it has the best sound of the three clubs I visited tonight. Sweet, not too loud and just right.
Each artiste at Smalls is listening and responding to the other, with a degree of nuance that would make a surgeon blush. Their focus is so thick, I think I could slice it with a knife.
There are 4-5 piano players sitting behind Micah waiting to play; 3 bass players are also waiting in line along with a couple of horn players, drummers and other instrumentalists. All in all about 25 musicians are up there, although most don't get to play. Each one who does play is spectacular.
It’s 3:30 am and they’re downing their shutters. I’m still in a daze. I wonder when and how this real, gritty and unbelievable scene will make it to India.
I host a jam session every Sunday at The Piano Man Jazz Club, and we have some great musicians playing. But this scene, where students, who are studying hard and really know their stuff, come out and play for two obvious reasons: a) They want to learn and b) They want to play! This scene is what "arriving" feels like. When this happens, it means that the circle of education, awareness, opportunity, support has reached an advanced stage. And that is what I want India's jazz scene to look like.
(I didn't mention the audience, because I didn't even notice their presence – everyone was listening at Smalls unlike at Blue Note where I actually had to ask someone to shut up.)
There is a community here – amazing musicians of varying capabilities and styles, and all with a desire to learn. It'll take time, but that's what we need and that's what we want for India’s music scene.
At the end of the night, all I can think of is a time when Chucho Valdés, Roy Hargrove and Ron Carter will play a set at The Piano Man.
Today is the UNESCO-designated International Jazz Day, and in keeping with the spirit of jazz, The Piano Man Jazz Club is hosting over 25 musicians from around the world. The club has purposely created groups of artistes as opposed to bands, so that the element of fresh interaction, the element of interpretation – the element that is entirely unique to jazz, shines through.
(The author is a professional musician, Founder-Proprietor, The Piano Man Jazz Club, Delhi and an ex-Fulbright music scholar. This is a personal blog and the views expressed are the author’s own. The Quint neither endorses nor is responsible for them.)
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