So what do you do when you’ve opened a brand new, fuck-off boutique hotel at the edge of Covent Garden and suddenly find you have a basement you never knew was there? You turn it into a Jazz Club, obviously. Its what you do with basements. Unless you want a prison, torture chamber or crypt. They considered all those options and decided that as a potential income stream, Jazz Club works better. But how do you get people in? Ahhhh, there’s a website (big fucking surprise) which offers tickets to jazz clubs very cheaply, late-ish, which ‘The Twin’ has used before. And we randomly selected this place, the QT Bar, and splashed out a fiver each on entry.

We went to the early set at 7.30, because the later one, at 10, would leave me grooving to the groove next to two sleeping twins. And I hate that because one might fall off her chair. This early start was a great sacrifice as Spurs were playing Preston in the Cup at six o’clock and you can’t get WiFi on the tube. You can in a jazz club, particularly a really stunning, posh one like this, but its rude.

There were abundant staff. Who were really lovely. And very smart. We were greeted by Wojciech (never asked his name but that one fits the bill) who was delightfully exuberant and ‘charming’ in that overly flirty way. Don’t know if he was some outlandish maitre d’ or a waiter but he brought us the bottle of wine we ordered, so I asked for a food menu. Five minutes later I asked him again. 5 minutes later I asked the mistress d’, and then again, five minutes after that. And five minutes later someone different just offered us one. About 20 minutes later the mistress d’ came to tell us that one of our food choices was not available. “But you only have 4 things on the menu”. Yes, and that one’s off. Sorry. What came was fine and beautifully presented as we listened to the ‘jazz’.

Which wasn’t ‘jazz’ as I know it. And I do know it a bit. I’ve been to Ronnie Scotts, I know what jazz sounds like. Its sounds… random. It can sound all sorts of things but generally its 7 brilliant musicians all playing different things at the same time but sounding ‘together’. This wasn’t like that. This was 7 musicians, certainly all capable of playing jazz, but playing re-arranged covers of very popular songs. Everything from Careless Whisper to Uptown Funk. And all done really well. But not jazz. This was more ‘barmitvah band’. But one of the good ones that people with much more money than sense fly over from Paris, or Tel Aviv, so that Auntie Fay can zimmer her way round to Hava Nagilla and then get taken to hospital. And they were fantastic musicians and singers with unusual and good arrangements. But it weren’t jazz.

Though what it was was happy music. And audience participation. And songs everyone loves, albeit in a different way. A really happy, lively, fantastic evening. But not a jazz one. And normally, going to a barmitzvah costs you much more than a fiver and you have to wear a suit.

What I missed was Spurs beating Preston thanks to the incomparable Son Heung Min scoring two goals of the highest class available. They weren’t jazz either, but we’ll take ‘em.

Happy Sunday

A xxxx