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How do so many people confuse trumpet with saxophone? What, is it that they're the same color, made from the same metal? Nobody confuses a knife with a spoon. Talk about pet peeves!
Second night in Bangkok, I phoned around for live jazz on a Saturday night. I harbor a strong bias for brass instruments, especially trumpets, so naturally I ask about instrumentation. You can imagine this leads to communication issues when I'm abroad. On top of that, many of the bars I called didn't actually have jazz, just a DJ or in one case a Beatles tribute band. I do love the Beatles, but I'm not going out of my way to hear their songs performed live in Thailand. No, I chose the Bamboo Bar, an upscale bar in a posh hotel. The woman on the phone told me the band has five members. Is there a trumpet, I asked. Yes, she said. I head over there.
On my way I met two of my breakfast friends, an Aussie James Blake and an Asian South American Jazmín, to grab dinner at a rooftop in my direction. Beautiful views, many plants, cheap beer, good grub, live songs (English covers) by a pair of Thai men with a guitar. It felt a just little ritzy, not at all lavish, if that makes sense. I welcomed the change in atmosphere after sunset, before which I had little motivation to explore.
I parted ways with my dinner companions, continuing on to the Bamboo Bar. I get there and what do I see?
A fucking saxophone. That pisses me off more than the ridiculous drink prices. I mean it's a good band, all Thai except for an African American singer, and my one drink tasted good in the lovely hotel bar ambience. Whenever I hold a somewhat specific expectation, I feel extra frustrated when reality fails to measure up. I'd say, in general, it's best to hold no expectations. But that makes it tough if not impossible to seek a specific outcome. Why even attach to a specific outcome? Pride. If I weren't so proud of trumpets and the way they make music generally better, I'd be content with a piano/bass/drums trio. Maybe there's an Asian Bill Evans Trio that I can happen upon. Silly speculation.
There's another bar I wanted to visit with some trepidation as it has an expensive reputation. Madame Choo's is a 1930s Shanghai style speakeasy or something. I don't know anything beyond what you can find on Google. I gave up on even taking a look when the doorman wanted to take my Nalgene. I mean, yeah it might contain vodka. Pulling from Jimmy John's playbook, I offered a free smell to prove it's water. But man, I ain't giving my vessel of drinking water to some stranger in a strange land. I ain't trying to get roofied.
Get wrecked!