A handful of people sit, by pure coincidence really,
while a jazz band plays covers of music spanning nearly a century.
The band alters the songs drastically to fit their jazz style, but
the lyrics remained the same as those ultimately influential tunes.
The small crowd, mostly of an ethnic majority, parades
themselves in fancy clothes as though it is a fancy night, though
they don't do a tremendous amount to support the band or the
establishment. One couple buys a drink, splits it between the two of
them. Another patron doesn't even turn from the bar to acknowledge
the band's hard work.
A group of friends, though, found themselves here by
chance and begin to thoroughly enjoy the music.
The awkward silence after the first song suspends
in the dimly lit air as though it would last forever, but then the
pianist announces the next song and continues anyway.
The audience hasn't a clue that this fateful night was
not supposed to have a band – this was a special event that had as
much publicity as the homeless person sleeping on a park bench not even
a mile away.
The song's original context of a few minutes extends
well beyond ten in this format and contorts in such a way as to not
even be recognizable if it were not for the lyrical content, which
only interjects itself at random points.
The group of friends are really enjoying themselves as
one of them turns to another to announce that jazz is their favorite
type of music to see live – the way the band members converse with
one another using their instruments as though speaking their own distinct language no one else understands and
taking the conversation in seemingly random ways has always appealed
to him.
The audience finally claps as the song ends, all it took
was that one person to start it all. The pianist announces the next
song, a cover of a famous Beatles song.
The couple sharing the drink looks at one another in
disengagement. The man at the bar still hasn't peered up from the
drink in front of him, now on his third or fourth. The group of
friends seem to to be the only ones engaged in the music at all.
The song ends with the group of friends peering around
to one another, presumably waiting for someone to give acknowledgment
of how good the band played their cover song. The acknowledgment
never came.
Etta James was next on the list of covers. They really
did it good justice, even though the voice was nowhere close. The
guy at the bar turned around, even forgetting about his drink for a
minute or two. The group of friends bobbed back and forth to the
rhythm of the music. The couple, one of which had slipped outside to
smoke on his cigarette, had abruptly put it out and slip back inside
the door and enjoy the pleasantry. The woman declines another drink
as she refuses to take her eyes off the band.
A group of college age kids walk by, peaking through the
windows as they giggle to themselves about how few people are being
entertained. A snide joke is made about how the business is such
shit that it will be closed soon.
The patrons, nor the band, hear any of it. Their
entertainment trumps what they would consider the ignorance of youth.
Etta James' song ends and a round of applause loud enough to be three or four times as many people as there were bursts out as the closing line ends.
The music continues while each of the patrons leave.
The man at the bar walks out slowly and unnoticed. Next the couple of single
drink smokers, not even remotely caring if they are noticed. Finally, all that remains is the small group of
friends, two of which want to stay but know they can't. They
leave, begrudgingly. The bland finishes their last song a few
minutes after the group leaves with no one remaining to applaud their
work.
-Dustin S. Stover
For short stories of varying degree of intellectual stimulation and entertainment can be found on both Nook and Kindle with the links below.
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