I can’t say that I’ve ever been to a supper club before. Years ago I went to the Dakota which was a jazz club over into St. Paul as you leave Minneapolis. It was more of a bar that specialized in live music than a club. But a supper club, that’s different. It conjures up movie clips of mafia-looking men with women companions in tight dresses and hair-sprayed updos. The smoke is thick. The stage lights are bright.
At Crooners, which is in an unromantic suburb to the north of the downtowns, the stage lights are also bright. But not a whiff of smoke is present to offend. The tables are tight and the table lights are dim. The audience is slightly staggered upwards as the seating moves to the rear of the room. It’s just the little nudge you need to still have a decent view of the stage.
Agile wait staff maneuver through amongst the guests. They must undergo training to elevate their voice level just to the point of being audible but no more. Many people were enjoying drinks and appetizers. We ordered dinner. Might as well be fed then come home to the chore of cooking.
The atmosphere was a big plus but we came for the music and it did not disappoint. Jazz is like a whole bunch of musical voices barking at each other just to come together in these tremendous cacophonous surges. There are quiet moments too. The pianist had a wonderful soft accompaniment to the bass player. I’d give the trumpets the prize for having the most fun. And the saxaphonists and the trombones came through with tremendous solos.
It was fun! Here’s a taste.