Jazz

We are in the changing rooms at Shōsenji temple. For some reason, Miy-san mentions that she likes jazz. Mis-san stands out because of her beauty. Stunning in an unassuming manner. Her actions are graceful like sunbeams dancing in a birch forest, and her smile could open up a tree full of slumbering cherry blossoms. Her comments about jazz prompt me to mention that I am quite a fan of jazz myself. She invites me to a concert in Kobe next Monday. These are the most popular jazz performers in Kansai, and the place is class. It is a restaurant called Sone, and it is the oldest jazz establishment in Japan. Of course I will go. I’m training aikido on Mondays as well, but I can come after that. We exchange phone numbers and e-mail addresses.



One day before the concert, Miy-san sends me a text message saying that she can make a request to the band if there is a song I like. I tell her I like “Cheek to Cheek” but I will be quite happy to listen to whatever songs they want to sing.

The next Monday, 26 February, I train aikido and, after that, take the Hankyu Kobe line to Sannomya, the same station that has brought Manager and me to Nanking-machi only one day earlier. I arrive rather late, and am hoping I will get to hear some jazz that stretches across a long enough time to allow me to lean back, let small amounts of cool alcohol seep into my tongue and flow down my throat, and relax. Liquid and sound equally permeated by the bitterness of life turned sweetness of feeling. Art.
Miy-san masters a rare feat and sends me perfect directions in a mobile phone message. I only have to ask somebody where Benetton is, then I see DoCoMo on the other side. These two shops mark my entry into Kitazaka, an ascending road lined with ramen bars and other restaurants, that leads me across a big street, and after another ten yards, reveals Sone Restaurant on the left.
When I enter, the place is almost empty. Only three or four small groups of people are sitting on the old, elegant chairs on old, elegant tables, on top of old, elegant Persian rugs. The place’s atmosphere gets a 1A, managing to fit perfectly into my European sense of cultural homeliness, while being in the middle of Japan. It is old and elegant. The waiters are well groomed and dressed, and handsome. They walk upright, only bending at the waist with straight backs, but effortlessly like the brilliant bass player plucks his strings. They whisper in my ear while the band is playing, the singer singing, the world swinging. I order ume-shu, but they do not serve that. I've ordered it mainly because I thought it would look prettier in this place than a pint of beer. But, swinging away, the place itself forces me to turn my order into a pint of “super-dry”, cold, sparkling lager.
I am surprised to find Miy-san alone. I assumed she would be going with other friends. But, back straight, legs elegantly crossed, her wavy hair falling across one shoulder, she is sitting all by herself, on a tiny round table, sipping a glass of oulong tea after she has finished her beer. She smiles at me. There is a piano, a big bass, a set of drums, and some energetic female vocals, with eyes beaming like stars, and a body moving like a young cat with the swing of the music. When I sit down, she looks me in the eyes for while, welcoming and greeting me with their sparkle and achieving relaxation on my part within seconds. Her voice is clear and has soul. Rare, bell-like, versatile, with a wide range in which every note swings. And so does the body moving along with it. She is Phillippino but speaks and sings with an American accent.
“We got a request on the telephone,” she says, and the bass player launches into a virtuoso solo that makes me want to jump in my seat. “Look at them,” remarks Vocals fittingly, “They are so in love with you! You are so sexy!” She is absolutely right. His bass play is breathtaking. She starts singing. The song continues as a bass and vocals only performance that takes everybody’s breath away and stops hands holding pints in mid-air, on the way to the mouth. It is “Cheek to Cheek”.
Touched, I thank Miy-san for making my request. She smiles and drinks a sip of oulong tea. After listening to the shimmering lights of Manhattan, and the happiness found dancing cheek to cheek, Vocals introduces her musicians. The young drummer wears glasses that make him look astute and friendly, in teamwork with his winning smile. “I love him,” she says. “He’s young, he’s handsome, AND he’s good at drums.” She makes everybody else in the room fall in love with him, too. Her bass player. Well, we’ve all seen how sexy he is with his bass, and she tells him and us that she wants to dance with him all night long, while he continues making everybody dance and fly from one cloud to the next, puffing out every single one of them, up to number nine, with his smooth, feathery bass pay. Finally, the wonderful man on the piano. She hopes she will get to dance with him next time, and she loves him, too. Ladies and gentlement, there’s a whole lot of loving going on in this room!
Piano launches into a sparkling one for the road, full of accelerating and decelerating notes that tickle the stomach and give rise to goose bumps, leading into a bass-round, piano-polished, drum-brushing finish. We are happy. People leave, and Bass comes back out to clean his instrument. Miy-san knows him, and he comes to our table. We chat comfortably over the rest of our drinks. He performs in all sorts of places, but this one is his favourite. He goes and gets a schedule for us that has all Sone acts on it. Then, Miy-san and Bass get into insider details about scheduling, and I drift off into the atmosphere of the place.
Murakami Haruki is from Kobe. Murakami Haruki loves jazz, too. I can’t help thinking that he, too, used to spend the odd night of ecstatic relaxation time here at Sone Restaurant, and I’m surprised there are no photos to be seen that claim the presence of famous people in the past. But the place doesn’t need it. It is its own best advertisement. And yes, we will come again!
But before that, we will meet up at Miy-san's house and sing together, aspiring to the sounds we have heard tonight, with the aid of Yamaha and whatever we may find inside ourselves that will kindly turn itself into voice. And JAZZ.