The Gold Street Suprisarama

Having attended, at a rough guess, 276 jam sessions, I have noticed that you can often tell from the get-go whether a session is going to be average or excellent. Average being a mathematical expression that is rarely supported by fact.

I have also learnt that this is a rule much honoured in the breach. Hortense, be quiet!

Anyhoo, I would have put this one down as a meagre affair, so it was with some surprise that I counted 20 musicians as turning up, tuning in, and doing their thing. It all ended up quite classy, despite my best efforts at drumming at the outset.

Props to Sebastien, who drummed with a sensitivity that one would assume was beyond a Frenchman, to Sonya, for a couple of swinging numbers sung with elan, to George whose bass gets better and better, and particularly to Miss Hayres for singing a couple of numbers with which my acquaintance was somewhere between not much and not at all.

The Captain, after a stressful week of scheduling bands for the jazz festival, rose to the occasion, and Chameleon was a standout – even Colonel T of the Fourth Light Punjab Horse ( I don’t know what happened to the other three) got in the groove, and stayed there ’til cooked. As a general rule, this is a tune that is on a par with waterboarding, watching paint dry and listening to Tony Abbott, possibly simultaneously. but rules are made to be broken: best I have heard it, really.

Ya wouldn’t be dead fer quids. Try The Lunatic Soup Lounge next week.

TW

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