Jazz Don’t

The emote-emote girls and I were discombobulated (dismayed, shocked, flabbergasted, banging heads against the wall) to discover that the universe had other ideas about our planned jazz date.

We’ve had plenty of jazz dates in the past and they have always turned out to be musical dates of beauty – we’ve trooped from Monk’s Dream (Jupiter) to Monk’s Dream (Rockwell), been present at Jazz Nights at the 70’s Bistro, and have even popped into other obscure jazz places in the metropolis. We have also swooned to free jazz concerts in the malls or at UP, and been to swoon in front of Diana Krall, etc etc and so on and so forth.

So when we decided to bring HH to Merk’s Bar at Greenbelt, we thought we’d be assured of a quality jazz night – after all Merk’s Bar is marketed as a jazz bar in one of the more tony places in town.

But, no. Nooooooooooooooooo.

Their Saturday showband was simply horrible. But I think it was mostly the shock that did us in – the shock of such a band at such a place and in view of the undeniable fact that we have loads of utterly cool jazz groups and jazz singers. We’ve seen them!

So what was this?!?!

Fortunately HH and his unfailing sense of the absurd came to his rescue and he had a hilarious time giggling at the percussionist’s expressions during performance.

As for me, I had vodka.