Insects and Rodents Playing Together

Friday, May 30, 2008

I spent yesterday evening at Blues Alley, an institution in live jazz in Washington, D.C.  For the past few years, I’ve noticed some changes at Blues Alley: shorter shows, higher prices, fewer nationally known acts, more patrons talking and fewer listening... everything consistent with a dying genre in a bad economy.  But I had to make the trip because my favorite band was in town, the Yellowjackets... four of the best musicians and the nicest guys you’ll ever meet; and they were joined by two special guests.  The second guest was saxophonist Eric Marienthal, who did a great job subbing for Bob Mintzer.  However, it was the first guest of the evening that drew much of the attention and caused my wife to let out a blood curdling scream that would wake the dead. 

Let me talk about Eric Marienthal first.  If you know music, you know how complex Yellowjackets' music can be.  Marienthal played flawlessly, as if he had been with the band for years.  He played alto and soprano saxes with Mintzer maturity and the enthusiasm reminiscent of Marc Russo in the band’s early fusion days.  But it took some great playing and two complimentary glasses of white wine for my wife to get over the evening’s first guest.

As we sat stage side 45 minutes before the show, my wife let out a scream that surely drew glances from passersby throughout the Georgetown neighborhood.  When I asked her what was wrong, she said she had seen a mouse on the stage and it caught her by surprise.  She seemed to lose her appetite almost immediately and ordered a glass of white wine, the first of three.  It took about 5 minutes for the Stuart Little look-alike to show again.  This time, like a member of the band, he moved across the stage from back to front towards our table; and he moved with seductive precision, as if he were the opening act sent out to warm up the crowd.  This couldn’t be a visiting mouse.  Eric Marienthal didn’t look this comfortable.  This mouse was in familiar surroundings.  “He’s not supposed to be here.  This is a supper club,” said my wife.  I asked her to reevaluate her position given the fact that we were in an alley; and she only spends two or three nights a year at Blues Alley while the mouse obviously lived there.

After spending a few minutes with her feet up in a chair, we switched places so that I faced the stage.  I tried not to let on as the little brown fellow went from left to right and back again across the stage probably half a dozen times before the band came out.  “I’m sorry,” said the waiter.  One waitress said, “We had a problem with them a while ago but we took care of it.”  “Somebody forgot to tell him,” I joked in response while pointing to the stage.  My wife asked to move only after the best seats behind us were taken... figures.  But she knew that moving was not my first choice given we were practically on stage with the band... my favorite band.  

With Russell Ferrante’s first note on the piano, the furry creature disappeared, not to be seen again all night.  A few tunes and a couple glasses of wine later, my wife was moving her head and writing feverishly as rhythms reminded her of some youthful times that she wanted to document while fresh in her mind.  By the second set, her eyes were closed and the mouse was a memory.  I admit, I ate my salad with a bit more care and precision than I was accustomed to.  But that was a small price to pay.  They waived the cover and the minimum for us for the second show.  It was the cheapest night I’ve ever spent at Blues Alley: two shows, a meal, a dessert and four drinks for about $100; and the Yellowjackets were in rare form.  I think I’ll take a rodent with me next time I go... just in case.  On second thought, it’s Georgetown.  I can probably grab one on the way.