I didn’t know I cared about jazz. Sure, I’d gotten caught in a “Heavenly” Harry Connick Jr. wave in the early ’90s—my teenage self swooned over his velvety voice and big-band sound—but it wasn’t until 1996, when a crew of chain-smoking college-age hipsters invited me to their poker game that jazz began to rewire my brain.
These dudes were the “cool” kids of Bloomington-Normal, Illinois—the kinds of guys who lived in their own off-campus apartments, with goatees, ironic eyeglasses, and real, live-in girlfriends. The kinds who wore tweed blazers over their graphic tee-shirts and listened to Cake, Tom Waits, and Jeff Tweedy long before he was a household name.
Between hands of Texas hold ’em, Scott, our host, got up to change the vinyl record spinning on a turntable in the background. “Take Five,” the first track of Dave Brubeck’s 1959 album Time Out, came oozing into the room and slowly, quietly, blew my mind.
Rumbling bass, a repetitive piano theme, and punchy, shimmering percussion lay down a hypnotic groove—eclipsed suddenly by an alto saxophone that soared in and swooped around like a swallow catching insects. My toe was tapping under the table and my brain itself felt like it had the hiccups. But it wasn’t the whiskey talking; it was the 5/4 time signature. That “Oom JUNka JUNK boom boom, oom JUNka JUNK boom boom” rhythm, as Brubeck describes it, felt so good, I forgot I was losing the game.
Considered by many to be the most influential jazz album in history, the only thing wrong with Time Out is that you can’t ever hear it again for the first time.
My casual jazz education continued, in Chicago, with a different Scott—a neighbor and pianist whose favorite Charlie-Brown-themed Vince Guaraldi tunes and Scott Joplin ragtime stylings would pleasantly ring through the walls of our shared Ravenswood apartment building. After he and I became good friends, in exchange for the occasional ride to the airport, Scott began trusting me with the use of his car—a little maroon Ford Focus with a hatchback compartment just large enough to carry his keyboard and amp to gigs around the city. What a thrill it was to have a vehicle for a few days, and what a kick it was to explore Scott’s pre-programmed car-radio stations, every last one piping in jazz.
For a time, jazz became synonymous with joy rides, lazy weekends, and good coffee. I’d grab a cup to go from the corner cafe, get in Scott’s car, and drive east to Montrose Harbor to take in my favorite lake-and-skyline view. Sunday morning jazz in no hurry. All was right with the world.
Once in a blue moon Scott’s jalopy pointed its headlights up Broadway toward the Green Mill—a truly historic jazz joint once frequented by Al Capone—boasting a beautiful antique wooden bar and live music on tap nightly. Admittedly, the place was more about the ambience for me; I paid more attention to the men than the music. Weirdly, it wasn’t until I moved back to Fairfield, Iowa, that I discovered the thrill of jazz music played live.
Fairfield Fusion
Scott sold me his car before I left Chi-town, and I’m still driving it around in the name of jazz. Cafe Paradiso, just a short trip across town, has been filling my ears with world-class sounds for a decade now. The pair of long-haired music nerds—musicians in their own right—who’ve booked the shows over the years refuse to bring in anything that’s not excellent and, lucky for me, have a penchant for jazz.
On a regular basis the cafe complements its eclectic folk, Americana, and world-music offerings with cutting-edge jazz acts from around the Midwest and beyond. Recent shows have included saxophonist-composer Shawn Maxwell and jazz-fusion quartet Marbin (both from of Chicago); vibraphone and percussion guru Mike Dillon, who regularly knocks us out of our chairs with various iterations of his New-Orleans based Nolatet; and Fairfield’s own prodigious jazz and funk band, Apocalypso Tantric Noise Choir. Featuring Jimmy Moore, Eric Hurlin, and David Hurlin at its heart, this inventive, versatile trio on bass, percussion, and keys leaves me giddy. Often featured during Fairfield First Fridays, Apocalypso will be treating audiences to a special album release show on Saturday, March 22, at the cafe. You can also catch them on Friday, March 21, at the Black Angel restaurant in Iowa City.
Jamming in Iowa City
Speaking of, Iowa City hosts its annual outdoor Jazz Festival in early July, but the cold months are a perfect time to check out the city’s cozier music venues, among them the Wilder bar and restaurant located inside the Graduate Hotel on the Ped Mall. The first Tuesday of every month during the school year, University of Iowa Jazz Studies faculty members host a monthly jam session at the Graduate, where they’re joined by students, alumni, community members, and even musicians passing through town. Grab a burger and a “creative cocktail,” and enjoy some free jazz.
A Des Moines Cabaret
If you’re Des Moines bound, make a reservation at Noce Jazz & Cabaret, a swanky club just south of the Pappajohn Sculpture Park. Under the direction of jazz vocalist Max Wellman, for the past ten years Noce has been offering outstanding entertainment by both touring acts and top regional talent—ranging from concerts by NOLA Jazz Band, the Des Moines Big Band, and the free Thursday all-night-happy-hour Jazz on the House, to a highly polished cabaret-style “Voix de Ville” series that features theatrical vignettes and jazzy arrangements that span the entire last century.
Noce’s March offerings include pianist-composer Nate Sparks, saxophonist Marvin Truong, the Blake Shaw Big(ish) Band, and Gina Gedler with the Soya Vista Jazz Orchestra. Sip your martini and make a night of Noce’s verrrrry cool vibe dressed in blue lights.
Burlington Brings It
Word on the street is there’s some fantastic jazz action over in Burlington these days at Night Cap Listening Lounge. An intimate downtown hotspot adjacent to the Capitol Theater, Night Cap features regional jazz acts and local regulars like Matt & Emma (a.k.a. vocalist Emma Reynolds and guitarist Matt Landon), a duo of accomplished jazz artists and music educators who have been wooing and wowing Burlington audiences with their lush and lovely duets at least once a month. Though generally known for its relaxed evening ambience, Night Cap is kicking it up a few notches on March 7 in honor of a colorful, no-cover-charge “Mardis Gras Ball.” Come in costume for some New Orleans-style cocktails and King Cake, and stay for lively music a la Bourbon Street. Whatever you’re giving up for Lent, let it not be jazz.
For me, live jazz—especially the contemporary stuff—is where it’s at. I will never play jazz. And I will never fully understand it. The artistic ability and physical demands—not to mention the mathematics—required by this art form are far beyond my grasp. But that’s part of the magic of watching skilled jazz wizards do their thing a few inches away from your face. The mind-melting solos on guitar, keys, or percussion. The seeming psychic abilities among bandmates. And my God, the suspense! Will a rabbit get pulled out of a hat? Or will a swallow fly out of the saxophone? You gotta lean in, and then you gotta surrender it all. Either way, you’re getting reprogrammed by jazz.
