One of my favourite places to go when I was in Paris was a jazz bar called Sunset Sunside. Every Monday night they would have a free show that you could see as long as you bought a drink. So once in a while I would come out and buy a ten euro beer and I would hold it until it was warm. It was a really small place and it would fill up really fast. They had photos of New York all over the walls—as if that’s where they would rather be. There’s probably a jazz bar somewhere in New York with photos of Paris all over it. It would get really cramped and hot and there was only space for one waitress to work at a time. There were signs that read "consommation obligatoire" so the waitress would try to recognize any new people to make sure that they ordered a drink but there was only this tiny row of space between the bar and the front of the stage and it would fill up with people standing to catch a glimpse of the action—and so the jazz energy would sort of build up and everyone is bobbing their heads and tapping their feet and this waitress is balancing a tray of cocktails trying to squeeze past these people who are total jazz zombies and they are really sucked in to the music. It seemed like the worst job ever but also the best job ever at the same time.
The musicians were always super cool looking. They made some lots of grimacing jazz faces and wiped off sweat with a face towel. The word for drums is “batterie”. I remember this one drummer who looked really manicured and really disheveled at the same time. I sort of imagined him as a stuffy French banker by day who beats out his existential angst on some drums by night.
After the regular part of the show the venue would have an open jam session with anyone from the audience. And there was a guy who I would see in the audience almost every week—a really touristy guy with the hokey shorts and everything—but I guess he wasn’t a tourist because every time he was there he brought an african drum with him. And you could tell that this was the highlight of his week. He never came up on stage, he would just stay in his seat and he was a really shitty drummer, he just hit the drum on every down beat. But all of the regulars at this place recognized him and they even introduced him by name at the end of the jam session. He was super happy to just be a part of everything.
One time I was on the bus and I ran in to the piano player who played during the Ahmad Jamal tribute night. Apparently someone stole his motorized scooter so he had to take the bus that day. Getting your motorized scooter stolen is like the most Parisian problem to ever have. But I hope he got it back. And I hope to see him play again some night at Sunset Sunside.