Not Even Black

On Friday night I had a huge treat planned. I had arranged to go out with a woman I used to work with. As well, she'd invited along her best friend, the best friend's sister, and the best friend's flatmate, to a little Jazz place in town. A cheap meal and band. Plus cheap booze. Sounded great to me!! I'm no longer a social-gathering-goer-outer, so this was a rare enough occurance that I had looked forward to it all week. I adore my friend. She is open and caring and spontaneous and we laugh until tears don't just roll, but stream down my face.

So the group of us went along to this little basement room; down the stairs we trundled, and before us were long trellis tables, with a bar at one end , the kitchen at the other, and the band prominently positioned roughly in the centre of the length of the room, along the wall. It was a two course meal deal. Not expensive at all. But potentially lots and lots of fun. We were seated in a good spot, and the band was fantastic! Probably in their early 20s, and although I'm not knowledgeable about jazz, I do know muso's, and these guys were tight. Really, really good players. And the singer's voice was like something warm and sweet effortlessly gliding through the air. Close your eyes and your ears thought they were in heaven. Beautiful.

Unfortunately... yes, you all knew there was an unfortunately... my friend's friends that came along were not so gracious. *insert whining voice* The music is too loud. It's too crowded. The cake isn't nice enough. And I will admit that as this whining increased, so too did my alcohol intake. I was still determined to have a good time!

Well, we left not long after 9pm. On a Friday night.

As some sort of apology for walking out of the room halfway through the band's set, I bought a copy of their CD that they sold at the door. I've played it a few times now, and still think they are really good players.

It seems we had to walk one of 'the friends' back to her work's carpark, and then we were driven to another car park for the other cars. As we were walking along I realised I was in the company of an unfortunate type of person -- the kind that has to denigrate others to boost up themselves. Every fault they could imagine about the evening was tossed around in that echoing concrete buttressed car park. And the laughing was beginning to sound like cackling to my wine-sodden ears. The absolute corker for me, though, came when one said... "Why was I paying money to see white uni students play. They weren't even black!"

Who were these people? What planet did they come from? Pretty, blonde, 25, middle-classed, and not an idea between them. Honestly, I just don't have people like this in my life, so the whole attitude to... well... everything! was a shock. I don't regard myself as the world's most positive person, but for fuck's sake girls, get a grip! If the worst thing in your day is the fact that you were disappointed with your chocolate cake, then I'd say it's be a pretty fucking good day! Mental note: Remind myself to not go out with the girls who aspire to be a "Jessica Simpson crossed with the Heathers".

Anyway, fear not -- my evening was not a complete waste.

As I was being driven home (I was told there was no way I was catching the train) I insisted they pull over as we passed my local Blues pub. I got out (amid much protesting that it looked too dangerous). And off they drove.

I had a fantastic time in that small crowd. The two guys playing were brothers who had once been a part of a top rock band in Australia during the 1980s (the Brewster Brothers from The Angels, for anyone out there that may recall their heyday). They played with just an acoustic guitar, an electric guitar, and the occassional harmonica thrown in. Smoky. Smelly. Dark. The patrons looked a little rough around the edges. And they cheered and clapped for every song. And I felt right at home.

I'll be going back to that little jazz place in town some time, but rest assured, it will not be with that same group of women. Ever. Life's simply too short.