Mike Metheny at Jardine's

Okay, I'm getting behind on my pointless little hobby here. I was too shagged out when I got home from Jardine's to even copy the pictures from camera to 'puter, let alone blog it. Then Diz died, then I worked late trying to put Humpty Dumpty (the computer that's the heart and soul the network at my employer, which had a sort of perfect storm of troubles that are not ironed out even after a week) back together, then Theater Camp's play (blog post to come), then Kaleidescope, the Nelson, and an awesome get-together (or dinner party, except I don't think it's a dinner party if there's lots of loud children) and so on.



If you want me to really care about being backed up on my blogging, write a check. I'm willing to give up my amateur standing if you're willing to pay me for my inability to not express myself.



So anyway, Tuesdays at Jardine's are usually dead. Last month, I went to see Mike Metheny at Jardines, but I was a month early. I had the joint to myself. Maybe not quite that, but there were less than ten people if you don't count employees and the band.



This time, when I actually meant to be there, the joint was hopping. Partly this is because Mike doesn't take that many gigs. So all his friends come out when he's got one.



Mike has described himself as the Latoya Jackson of jazz (his kid brother is a Grammy magnet), but I think part of it is he gets pissed off at being treated like a stereo at a kegger. Really, Jardine's is one of the few places in KC I've ever seen 'shut up when the band is playing' cards, but it's not enforced. The Village Vanguard might be able to kick out someone who runs their mouth while Sonny Rollins is playing a ballad, but a supper club like Jardine's with no cover?



This time it was really, really noisy. So loud you couldn't hear a bass solo well when Bowman got one. Mike made a comment between tunes that Karin Allyson would be blowing a column of fire to the back of the room right now. And he's right: that's part of why she moved to New York.

The music was good, though. I think the second set was the best: the band had found its zone, managed to tune out the madding crowd and so on. It probably didn't hurt that other musicians (I saw Max Groove in the room, and I think Tim Brewer) were there. Knowing everyone is tuning you out while they talk with their mouth full of steamed mussels, it's hard to put your soul into what you're playing. Cats do it, but when they know a few people are there who are just there to listen (I can't afford to eat at Jardine's anyway), it's natural for them to step it up.



The new camera proved itself worthy. I still don't get some shots I'd like to, and the 1600 ISO setting is noisier than the crowd at Jardine's that night, but better to have noise and get the shot than not get the shot...



Sidenote: This bartender actually claims to not be photogenic. Bullshit, I know. Plus she made me a black and tan with Stella and Guinness, which turned out to be very good. Those buttery diacetyl notes really complement the chocolatey flavors of the stout. And for the uninitiated: it works because despite the dark color (interpreted by many as heaviness), Guiness is one of the lightest beers on the market and will float on almost any other beer.