Blue Note Jazz Festival: Michel Camilo

I sat down to dirty looks from the gentleman and lady on either side of me as I squeezed myself into a table at Blue Note. The house looked nearly packed for Michel Camilo’s first set on Tuesday so it’s not like I could have chosen to sit elsewhere but I guess they wanted to make their discomfort known. Save the occasional jab, I was able to divert my attention to the music once the charismatic pianist walked on stage.

Of the shows I have covered this month for the Blue Note Jazz Festival, Michel Camilo is the only artist whose music I was familiar with beforehand and knew what to expect. I used to listen to his solo album because it was mysteriously on my old computer but his voicings and harmony sounded crunchier than I recalled. And I hadn’t realized the incredible extent of his percussive playing until I saw him live. I think he may be one of my favorite piano players.

I figured there wouldn’t be much new information since I had previously reviewed the restrooms but I had missed at least a couple crucial attributes. The black floor tiles in the women’s room are reflective; I could see more than just the silhouette of the person in the next stall. I suggest not peering too closely into the tiles to respect people’s privacy.  It was on this visit that I also noted that the restroom doors are smaller than standard interior doors.

Upon exiting the loo, I had to wriggle through the line of fans by the green room and heard a man walking up saying, “This doesn’t look like the men’s room line.” You should check that you’re not accidentally in line to greet the musician, if you find yourself at the end of a suspiciously long men’s room line at Blue Note.

It’s been an enjoyable but exhausting month reviewing four times as many venues as I usually do, while my routine workload remains constant. On weekdays, I go to my full-time day job, where I do bookkeeping, keep toilet paper stocked and draw flies on my whiteboard, before heading uptown to work on my indie band’s EP at night. The last session, I discovered blood on the white coconut bar I snatched out of my bandmate’s freezer, confirming my suspicion that my gums were bleeding.

On weekends, I make an extensive list of the work I need to get done for myself then do nothing but nap and run outside while thinking about grammar. I often stay up into the wee hours on Sunday nights, editing radio segments with tissue in my nostril to stop my nose running from my New York allergy, since I work faster with both of my hands free. More than one friend has applied the word glamour to the work I do but I might call it something else.

I need a vacation and while I won’t make it as far as Europe this summer, below are travel tips from my Hungarian friend Andrea, who is doing research on international law here and in the Netherlands. You should know that it is customary to exchange three kisses on the cheek in the Netherlands but only two in Hungary. Andrea also explained that while the Dutch would ask for the bathroom in a direct way like “Where’s the toilet,” Hungarians would be inclined to say something more like “Which way do I find the restroom?” —

Merre találom a mosdót?