When I think of 'the Jazz Bar' I invariably have visions of a smoky blue, dimly lit basement, little round tables with candles and wine, gravel-toned musicians and of course, a stage full of musical instruments. In my head, 'the Jazz Bar' is always in the 1970s or, having never been there myself, how I'm positive the '70s must have been. Bearing all these romantic fantasies in mind, imagine my delight when I got the chance to visit a real life '70s jazz bar! But it wasn't in the '70s! It was in this very decade! Coma awakeners and the forgetful, it's 2010. The Thelonious bar in La Paz has it all from the razor throated waitress right down to the hangover inducing cheapo table wine. Hooray! On our first trip to Thelonious there was a band comprising two silky voiced ladies, a hyper-enthusiastic guitarist, bass player and a keyboard player whose lack of a thumb on his left hand failed to impede his fabulously frenetic performance. Also present was a man with a table upon which was a vast array of instruments. Maracas, the triangle, a washboard. It was as if he's raided the music room cupboard at my old primary school. As he played each item in turn and seemingly at random, it became clear that this fellow had The Dream Job. The resulting sound of the band's collective effort was a kind of 'elevated elevator music', easy listening speeded up with an upbeat Bossa Nova rhythm. We returned to Thelonious after our trip to Uyuni. The Salt Flats, whilst offering their own unique brand of saline entertainment, were a musical wasteland. Thus, the aurally deprived Uyuni contingent all hot footed it sharpish down to the jazz bar.
This time our performers were two men, one large, one smaller, the latter bearing a resemblance to Lionel Richie. Both proved to be breathtakingly accomplished guitarists and surprisingly emotive vocalists. Lionel had a wind chime that he ran his hand along for that lounge room ambience. His guitar also had a CD for a fret board. I know not why, but it seemed to work. We found from our Canadian friends that we'd arrived just too late for the Buena Vista Social Club medley. Obviously gutted, we were cheered by the rapid and adept guitar duo as they stirred the audience with their impassioned, intense and typically Latin singing. Only one member of the audience remained unmoved. Having had, I can only assume, a tiring day at the office, to say nothing of a few too many drinks, a man sitting in front of us kept dropping off. Mr Snooze's buddy, meanwhile, danced around furiously. Aghast at the napper's apathy to such uplifting music he occasionally slapped his friend on the back of the head in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
When I think of 'the Jazz Bar' I invariably have visions of a smoky blue, dimly lit basement, little round tables with candles and wine, gravel-toned musicians and of course, a stage full of musical instruments. In my head, 'the Jazz Bar' is always in the 1970s or, having never been there myself, how I'm positive the '70s must have been. Bearing all these romantic fantasies in mind, imagine my delight when I got the chance to visit a real life '70s jazz bar! But it wasn't in the '70s! It was in this very decade! Coma awakeners and the forgetful, it's 2010. The Thelonious bar in La Paz has it all from the razor throated waitress right down to the hangover inducing cheapo table wine. Hooray! On our first trip to Thelonious there was a band comprising two silky voiced ladies, a hyper-enthusiastic guitarist, bass player and a keyboard player whose lack of a thumb on his left hand failed to impede his fabulously frenetic performance. Also present was a man with a table upon which was a vast array of instruments. Maracas, the triangle, a washboard. It was as if he's raided the music room cupboard at my old primary school. As he played each item in turn and seemingly at random, it became clear that this fellow had The Dream Job. The resulting sound of the band's collective effort was a kind of 'elevated elevator music', easy listening speeded up with an upbeat Bossa Nova rhythm. We returned to Thelonious after our trip to Uyuni. The Salt Flats, whilst offering their own unique brand of saline entertainment, were a musical wasteland. Thus, the aurally deprived Uyuni contingent all hot footed it sharpish down to the jazz bar.
This time our performers were two men, one large, one smaller, the latter bearing a resemblance to Lionel Richie. Both proved to be breathtakingly accomplished guitarists and surprisingly emotive vocalists. Lionel had a wind chime that he ran his hand along for that lounge room ambience. His guitar also had a CD for a fret board. I know not why, but it seemed to work. We found from our Canadian friends that we'd arrived just too late for the Buena Vista Social Club medley. Obviously gutted, we were cheered by the rapid and adept guitar duo as they stirred the audience with their impassioned, intense and typically Latin singing. Only one member of the audience remained unmoved. Having had, I can only assume, a tiring day at the office, to say nothing of a few too many drinks, a man sitting in front of us kept dropping off. Mr Snooze's buddy, meanwhile, danced around furiously. Aghast at the napper's apathy to such uplifting music he occasionally slapped his friend on the back of the head in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. zzzzzzzzzzzzz.
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