Submitted by Al Kanovsky 8/14/13
R E S P E C T---and the back ups
sing "Just A Little Bit" The lyric continues "That's all I ask of you", and it
ain't too much to ask for. Last night I was invited to dinner at Maxine's. Not
the fancy joint. Max, Jimmy Belize's friend. Steak, salad, crispy French fries,
chilled wine and fresh fruit for dessert. She lives in Boynton and so does
Jimmy. The reason I went North was because we were going to a new-to-me spot to hear,
new to the area, artists perform. The enterprise is named "The Blind Monk" and
it's located in West Palm Beach.
We arrived early to listen to an opening act. The place is small but well appointed. Unusual décor including glass boxes filled with corks and wine cask tops which serve as tables. The room is small, maybe 900 sq. ft. It was crowded which is ok. Except for the crowd. A guitarist was at the mic. singing tasteful folk tunes. You couldn't hear a note or word the poor guy was playing. He soldiered on. I looked around the room. About 50 customers. Broken down to 35 females and 15 guys. You can call me a "male Chauvinist pig" if you care to, but conversation amongst women has an entirely different dimension as that amongst males. Volume, tone and pace. It's quieter in a Navy mess hall. The entertainer would have been better heard in a NYC subway station. Some of them were so loud, you couldn't help but overhear some of what they were saying. It seemed to me that they were trying to impress one another with how little they knew about so much, or how much they knew about so little. The conversations made as much sense as the previous sentence.
We arrived early to listen to an opening act. The place is small but well appointed. Unusual décor including glass boxes filled with corks and wine cask tops which serve as tables. The room is small, maybe 900 sq. ft. It was crowded which is ok. Except for the crowd. A guitarist was at the mic. singing tasteful folk tunes. You couldn't hear a note or word the poor guy was playing. He soldiered on. I looked around the room. About 50 customers. Broken down to 35 females and 15 guys. You can call me a "male Chauvinist pig" if you care to, but conversation amongst women has an entirely different dimension as that amongst males. Volume, tone and pace. It's quieter in a Navy mess hall. The entertainer would have been better heard in a NYC subway station. Some of them were so loud, you couldn't help but overhear some of what they were saying. It seemed to me that they were trying to impress one another with how little they knew about so much, or how much they knew about so little. The conversations made as much sense as the previous sentence.
The featured act for the evening was to be Kaz & Deb Silver. I hoped the audience would quiet down. Kaz opened the show with her brother David on guitar, her husband Stephen on bass a guy whose name I don't remember on keys and a drummer I didn't know at all. Kaz opens with a funky "Knowing What You Know". It doesn't stop a single woman from talking. Oh, I'm sorry, a couple of guys are trying to show they don't know s--t either. "Just a little bit" of respect would have been in order. Additionally on a giant screen they are showing an old James Bond flick. That's a management choice. Kaz sang an original piece written by sister Deb, titled "Picking Up The Pieces". The chatter is now so loud that I can't even hear my table-mates. It is very rare that I leave a live music performance before the last notes of a final set. I love music. It disturbed me that I wasn't allowed to hear it by a boorish crowd of chatterers. Maxine, Jimmy and I left after the first set. Unforunately we didn't get to hear Deb who was a regular at The Zinc Bar in New York.
Tonight, more than likely Jesse Jones Jr. at the Tower where JAZZophiles gather to LISTEN.
Al's Disclaimer:
A short note: The reason I write this is because I love music and words. I do not book acts. I do not promote acts. I do not accept invitations to review artists. I go to venues of my own choice. When and where is not influenced by anything other than who I would like to hear that night or day. If I don't like what I hear, I won't write about it. When I like it I let you all know. I never mention a name without asking permission. "Pardon me, Miss. Would you like to dance?"
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