The main thing to know about the Jazzhaus is that there's no jazz. Ever. Under any circumstances. There's "horn-section funk," and "hippie jamgrass" and shitty watered-down blues, but jazz just doesn't go over with the crowds there. Jazz makes people concentrate on the music, and the Jazzhaus does not want people to concentrate on the music, but simply to get drunk...and dance...by candelight. Indeed, the Jazzhaus has always seemed untainted by the hipsterism of the Replay, the Jackpot, and the TapRoom. Jazzhaus crowds want to get drunk and then get laid and that's it. Simple. And sometimes they have a "shitty beer" night (Hamm's, Old Style, Schlitz, cans for a buck).
At the bar last night, Cl.thier and Richard discussed the passing of George Carlin, with Cl.thier providing a poet's perspective, marveling at the amount of time and care that likely went into the ordering of the "seven words" ("Shitpissfuckcuntmotherfuckercocksuckertits"). "I sincerely hope," Cl.thier said, "to write something that beautiful one of these days." During their discussion they were treated to covers of O.A.R and Sinead O'Connor by various local troubadours. Cl.thier himself had been granted the prime 1:02 to 1:17 a.m. slot ("People are at the peak of their drunkenness right about 1:12"), but Richard called it an evening before the time came.
But where was Kip? Rumor has it that he's attending the Country Stampede in Manhattan, where he's the only person there who enjoys tennis and has a full set of teeth.