Twins

[Reposted from 2008]

While visiting my sister in Washington, D.C., I thought it would be fun to go to a jazz club. Now, D.C. is not known for jazz clubs, at least not on the scale of New York or Chicago. But my sister and her husband (I guess he'd be my brother-in-law, huh?) had been to one particular club many times, and had enjoyed it. It's a small club (is there any other kind?) opened by sisters from Ethiopia. As my brother-in-law put it, they didn't know anything about running a club or restaurant, they just loved jazz. So things might not run as smoothly as a more "established" establishment. It was a Wednesday night, so we were expecting a small house, and the artist listed in the paper, a piano trio, was not a "name." But sometimes, those are the treasures to be discovered. And it was indeed a night of discovery.

The music was to start at 8. We arrived at about 7:50, after a half-smoked at Ben's Chili Bowl (look it up). There was a table of 4 next to us, and a tech setting up some mics on the piano. Nice baby grand. Drum set – hmm, no cymbals. And where will the bass player stand? (Welcome to the mind of a musician!) About 5 after 8, the tech comes over and sits with the 4 people, who know him. He's working on a glass of red wine. Dressed in black, 40s or 50s, gracefully balding with glasses and a touch of arrogance. Well, that gives him away – it's not a tech, it's the piano player! And apparently he was just fine-tuning the stage setup. A couple of minutes later he went back up to the stage and skooched the piano about an inch to the right. I guess that made all the difference. He then came back to sit with his friends. It was about 8:15. "What time is the 3:00 parade?" "When does the 8:00 show start?"

At this point the young woman with the revealing dress walks in. Well, not 'revealing' as much as 'suggesting', and she didn't really wear it that comfortably. She has brought his CDs and head shot for the display. As his – girlfriend? – daughter? – talks to the friends (we're seated about 18 inches away, but he never acknowledged us), we learn that she's an endocrinologist during the day, but she's planning on going to the conservatory. Oh, great. The girlfriend (daughter?) sings. We'll be hearing THAT later in the evening!

At 8:25, the piano player saunters up to the piano, saying, "the first song is pretty much a soundcheck anyway." That was a tipoff. He pulled to vocal mic closer. Uh – did it say he was going to sing? And we realize there IS no bass player or drummer. It's just this guy. Uh oh . . .

He starts off with a big flourish, sort of Billy Joel meets John Williams meets The Muppet Show. And as he starts playing some chords, two guys walk into the bar (what is this, some kind of joke?), and one says, loudly, "Boy, this place is empty!" Ahh, friends! The piano player stops, says "I was just waiting for you guys," goes over and repositions a mic, complaining about a bit of feedback. (There are nine people in the audience within 10 feet of the guy – what does he need a sound system for?) He then starts the song in earnest: "Don't Get Around Much Anymore," the Duke Ellington classic. He starts it as a ballad, which, ok, it could work. But the piano playing is a bit . . . how should one say? . . . hackish. Like unto a hack. But we are straying dangerously close to piano bar territory now. If I only knew . . .

By the way, at one point a man walked in off the street and asked if I wanted to buy a rose for the lady. I of course replied, say it with me here, "That's no lady – that's my sister!" Thank you. Try the veal.

And then he hits the fast part. Or, rather, where he goes into tempo. Where I expected swing, I got shuffle. Where I expected jazz, I got piano bar. Where I expected art, I got heartburn. And not from Ben's.

His dau…girlfriend is loving it. His 4 minions and 2 buddies are swaying, bobbing their heads, and smiling. They have no clue. My sister and I look at each other, horrified. Did I mention she's also an excellent musician and pianist? Right. It was loud, harsh, trite, and clichéd. He pounded the ivories. He almost jumped off the bench. He played lots of notes in a short amount of time, which, if you do the math, means he was very good. IN HIS MIND. My sister and I resorted to texting each other as to not make a scene. She suggested he may want to wear a top-hat (think showman). I suggested perhaps blackface (think tasteless showman).

We came up with a plan. My sister would "go to the restroom," pay the bill, and tell the restaurant lady how this was NOT what we were expecting (a trio was advertised, jazz was advertised, etc.). She did that, and basically told her this guy was awful. The owner didn't disagree. However, after Liberace threw in a musical quote of "Dixie" TWICE, I was ready to leave. When he started playing "Heart and Soul," I up and left. (This was all during his 20-minute solo in the middle of "Don't Get Around!" Just think what would be happening in the next 2 hours!)

After laughing all the way home, we checked out the guy's website. The lesson: Do your homework. If we had done that before, we would have never gone to the place! Lots of new-age multitracked vocals, songs for children, a dozen self-produced, marketed, and distributed CDs (want a CD? I'll burn it – give me just a sec!) – this was not what we were looking for. We went by the quotes in the paper (and what show did THOSE people see?)

Anyway, next time you're in D.C., go to Twins. It really is a cute place. I'd recommend the weekend, though!