The Jazz Cafe and Gay Jedi

"I find your lack of faith disturbing."

It's no secret that I was raised in the suburbs, and currently live and work within the sprawl that the local news stations affectionately refer to as Metro Detroit (which, really is just a nice way of saying Not Detroit). My suburbanism, which I will neither apologize for nor advertise, has been well documented on many occassions.

Recently, though, I have begun the process of trading in my green (pansy-ass, suburbanite) lightsaber for a red (fear inducing, city dwelling) lightsaber. In dire fear of misrepresenting myself as a gigantic Star Wars geek, I offer the following analogies:

The suburbs...



And, the city...


Shite. I wish I could do the force choke. I can think of so many practical applications for such a skill. But I digress, as usual.

I am a supporter of the city, and this wasn't always the case. So, what happened? I'll tell you. I left ignorance and apprehension at home, went out, and experienced the city. And no, I'm NOT talking about playing slots at the goddamn casinos, riding the merry-go-round at Comerica Park, or going to the freakin Auto Show. Any frat-boy wannabe from Novi, or baby-popping skank from Roseville can drive down I-94 or I-75 for one evening each year to do those things.

No, I'm talking about the speakeasy D'Mango's (now open on Saturdays, too!), local flavor at The Woodbridge Pub, beer and volleyball at Z's, theater, art and beer at The Zeitgeist Gallery, and pulled pork from Slow's in Corktown. I'm talking about the eclectic offerings of City Fest, the raw, nationally renowned energy exhibited at DEMF, local art at The Russell, and the in-your-face awesomeness that is Dally in the Alley. I'm talking about local eats from Eastern Market, free music and movies at Campus Martius, scenery on The Riverfont, and the hidden attractions on Bell Isle.

And now, I'm adding the The Jazz Cafe to the TOP of that list.

My very anti-suburban, often free-ticket-acquiring girlfriend and I went to the midnight performance on Saturday night at The Jazz Cafe. It. Kicked. Ass. I didn't know a THING about Jazz, but it didn't matter.

The Jazz Cafe is located under the Music Hall, and provides an atmosphere that, if you're not overly mindful of your surroundings, wreaks of big-brother-type cities like the NYC or Chicago. The shape of the room, style of the clientele, and overall vibe of the joint is just, well, smooth as hell. Oh, and they had BBQ chips. I LOVE BBQ chips.

When a guy gets on the mic and introduces a song like this, you know it's going to be a good show: "Yeah, so... I rented an apartment from a Korean guy in L.A., like years ago, man. It was a good apartment. The apartment came with a dog, though. He said I didn't have to take the dog, and that he would give it to a shelter or sumthin... But I told him, no man. I told him, I'll take the apartment, and I'll take the dog. So I took the dog, and he was a good dog... I'm tellin you, that dog, was a good dog. This song, is about that dog..." (I'm paraphrasing because I was just a bit toasty at the time, and can't remember the exactness of his introduction, but I think you get the premise. The guy was smooth, and the song followed suit.)

Soaking in the rhythm was a fascinating crowd that included couples, singles, and dudes just... you know, hangin out, man. It included pretentious jazz-aficionados marked by the token jazz hat and tucked-in scarf, and real jazz fans like the older black gentleman behind us, and the older white woman in front of us, both of whom were sitting alone and moving to the rhythm like they knew how and had been doing for years. And how can I forget the annoying, begging-to-be-punched-in-the-face kids sitting to our left? They had wanna-be-black-jazz-artists-but-instead-play-in-a-shitty-alt-band-in-mom's-basement written all over them. The crowd was as interesting as the performance itself.

I can still hear the music, and I can smell the air in that place. The Jazz Cafe is a must experience. The Jazz Cafe is good times in every sense of the phrase "good times." The Jazz Cafe is real. The Jazz Cafe is Detroit.

That was a good night. If you haven't been, you need to go. Now.

Update: For another, more well-written report on the Jazz Cafe, be sure to go here!