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 began 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
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