Manhattan Me

You know that one-sided conversation you sometimes have with your friends, where they tell you so-and-so is performing with his band at some venue in which the name escapes you because you stopped listening after the word "band"? I had that conversation, and I got through it by the classic "Smile And Nod," which unknowingly set me up for a night at Bill's Jazz Place. I happen to be a real jazz lover, so I went in good spirits (of the Grey Goose variety). As we were in the cab I heard bits of scattered conversation.

"I hope we're not late. They start at eleven."

"Let's just have the driver drop us off at the corner, since it's in a brownstone."

Did I just agree to go to someone's HOUSE and watch them play a rusty alto sax from their glory days? Great. We found the brownstone on 133rd Street and hurried inside, immediately met with staff (yes, staff, not someguyplayingthesax and hisfamily) who took our coats and gave us some cups. The owner, Bill Saxton, took us back to a table and welcomed us as if we were family. The place was BYOB so while my friends deliberated over which bottle to open first, I took the place in.

Dimly lit and with nothing but paint on the walls, the place seemed pretty boring. There were odd tables and mismatched chairs strewn about, with little buckets of peanuts spread around. When we walked in we were ushered through a narrow room with a low platform to the left and wooden chairs to the right. I did a double take and realized that platform was the stage, complete with a sleek black piano, an old drum kit, and a double bass. Oh, how I love the double bass. An interesting group of people surrounded us, varying from young to old, hip to nerdy. I sort of did feel at home. We toasted with our first glass and shortly after, the music started.

The place literally transformed from a regular brownstone to a bona fide jazz club, circa 1925. The walking bass line of the double bass transfered me back to a time where my friends and I would have been clad in fringe dresses and my glass would have been filled with moonshine. The sprinkling notes of the piano and the brushing of the cymbals completed the picture. And then Bill's sax filled the room and I was in what I'm quite sure can only be described as musical heaven.

The band played until 2 o'clock in the morning. I could have stayed all night and decided to linger until it was absolutely necessary for us to leave. Bill came back over to our table, and told us that this particular brownstone had in fact been a speakeasy during Prohibition and was a popular jazz haunt on what was known as "Swing Street." He even sat down and shared out last bits of Riesling with us.

Bill's Place is the kind of place that makes you whisper to yourself "I love this city" practically everyday. And it does pay to venture off the beaten path every once in a while.