Blue Note

My driver shoved through the mess of cabs outside Blue Note-- many empty--waiting-- for live jazz buffs to shuffle out of the West Village venue. I entered to be immediately interrogated by a bouncer, in what appeared to be his grandfather's hand-me down-suit, "You meeting someone or you have a reservation?" I ensured him my company was at the bar, to which he escorted me to the tiny space that had be procured for us in the standing room.

I sipped Maker's on the rocks (always bourbon with jazz) and took in the crammed tables, 80's style geometric mirrors to the back and doorman shhhhing patrons who dared above a modest whisper. I suggest venturing upstairs to use the loo, where cases of kitschy souvenirs will stir up nostalgia of roller skating rinks from childhood.


The club is noted for outrageous cover and policies (you pay a steep admission per set), New York Magazine writer Peter Landau explains:

The sole reason to endure this pseudo high-class torture is the Blue Note's exclusive booking practices: Certain artists, like John Coltrane's powerhouse drummer, the late Elvin Jones, wouldn't play anywhere else within city limits. At least they pay the industry's workhorses well.

I would suggest having an evening at Blue Note, then moving on to other venues such as Terra Blues where delicious Delta style blues is cover free- given that you're securing your table by ordering drinks



Images: NYMAG