The Late Show

I love the late show. Most of the jazz clubs in New York have two shows a night for the headliner—one usually around 8 and one at 10:30 or 11. The late show is usually not as crowded as the early show (and so can often be booked spontaneously or when the early show is sold out). The audience is filled with people I imagine to be true music lovers, and, if the club serves food, it seems less likely people will be eating dinner in the middle of the show.  It may be a holdover from my experiences years ago, but it seems the musicians are free to let loose at the late show, play a bit longer, really air it out…or perhaps it just feels like a night out listening to music should feel.  Sometimes I go with a friend, often alone, nursing a bourbon on the rocks, lost in the music.

Over the past several years I have seen some really wonderful shows, from Geri Allen, Terri Lou Carrington and Esperanza Spalding one night, Dave Holland another and Cecile McLorin Salvant, all at the Vanguard (where thankfully no food is served), to Trio da Paz at Dizzy’s and Helen Sung at Jazz Standard, among many others.  Occasionally, a spontaneous purchase has turned into a new and exciting musical experience, like the revelatory show by the Colombian jazz harpist Edmar Castaneda at the Jazz Standard a couple of years ago.  Much like seeing a show by a visual artist that reaches you, or an extraordinary play acted by great actors, or a powerful poem read or performed, the level of musicianship and passion of each of those musicians and their bands leaves you feeling astonished and grateful that people can create such great art.

But we get up really early at my house, and I had not been to the late show for a couple of months when I recently saw that the Brazilian composer, singer and pianist Marcos Valle was playing at Birdland, with guest artists Jaques and Paula Morelenbaum. I had seen them before—Jaques is a beautiful cellist and Paula a singer, with long associations with Antonio Carlos Jobim, as well as having groups of their own and in various combinations. So I decided I had to go.  Arriving at 10:30, when the doors open, there were only two people in line. Always worrisome, imagining how the musicians must feel in an empty house.  But over the next 30 minutes or so, the room filled up a bit and it was a respectable crowd for a weekday night at 11—or 11:15 or a bit later.  So I ordered my bourbon with soda back and sat back to enjoy the music.  It was a beautiful show…but at some point, carried away by the music, imagining a warm summer night on a beach in Rio, I was mortified to realize while I had closed my eyes to listen, I had nodded off, sitting in full view of the musicians.  Not only was I appalled but so dejected at the thought that perhaps my late show days are behind me.   The thought has haunted me for the ten days or so that have passed since then.   Am I too old for the late show?  Say it ain’t so!