The summary of the past few days. I’ll start with the Jazz.
Hong Kong is spread into a number of smaller districts, each with a distinct flavor and style (the entire city is spread across multiple islands, so reginal diversdity comes naturally.) Soho, one such region, is the city’s night life and entertainment district, built on a hill and flanked by a giant escalator.
Quite similar to the London neighborhood of the same name, Soho is like a cool Yaletown but with less pretencious yuppies. The area is filled with cafes,
restaurants, art galleries, random shops, and one nostalgic discovery; a jazz club. Although theoretically minors aren’t alowed, they let me in with the
promise that I wouldn’t drink. In that respect Hong Kong is a much more sensible city in terms of regulations and laws. In Vancouver, laws are tight because people don’t know how to party without exploiting the privilege, it’s a vicious cycle for Vancouver: the laws are relaxed and people get to part more; people get all excited by the contrast, go out and part, and eventually someone gets stabbed; the laws are re-instated as a nee-jerk reaction to the incident; and repeat. It’s a vicious cycle that Vancouverites can’t seem to get out of. I’ve noticed that out of all the cities I’ve visited, public alcohol consumption, clubs being open late, and scarce police presence do not necessarily lead to an increase in violence because there is a balance: people are used to the freedom given to them, and therefore don’t piss themselves at the thought of having a beer outside and end up getting someone (or themselves) killed.
In any case, back to the Jazz: the place is dark and with hardly any visitors. Sitting at the bar stool are half a dozen darkly dressed men, sipping drinks from the place’s fully stocked bar.
One thing I’ve noticed is that Hong Kong businesses operate on strict pre-defined schedules; cafes and restaurants closing between lunch and dinner, and business receptions left totally un-staffed during break hours. Not to go off on another tangent here, but if anyone reading this has plans of visiting Hong Kong in the near future, make sure you witness the tide of suits that flood the MTR tubes during at the start and end of lunch hours in HK’s Central financial district. It’s absolutely mind boggling how many people live here. It’s almost as though the scarcity of living space was factored in to HK’s city planning as a way of giving people incentive for their work - life here revolves entirely around the accuisition of space. For HKers, space is priceless - the ultimate and most sought after posession. My apartment is about the size of my kitchen, back in Vancouver.
It’s only after several minutes that I realized that the people sitting at the bar were the owners, employees, and musicians; with only a few real guests - regulars. Oddly enough, the entire mid section of the place is reserved - which just goes to inforce something that I’ve been noticing lately: that HKers who could give a shit about night life and social stuff seem to plan every aspect of their day in advance; getting the best seats and spots in the city.
To keep up the trend of going obscenely off-topic on a whim, another thing I’ve noticed is that Hong Kong actually has a pretty vibrant graffiti scene, with creative writers concerning themselves with social issues that go above and beyond the self promotional tagging and throw-ups that all to often define the public perception of what is graffiti art.
After ordering a sprite/lemonade (truly the manliest drink ever created) and spending a good while staring at the many portraits of Jazz legends that dot the small, darkly lit room’s walls. There is an old man hunched over the bar’s counter, his hair sparingly spread across his head. As I sat in the smoky room, I had created his life story in my mind as a way of amusing myself. He was - I thought - a slightly cenile, aging Jazz fan; tragically abandoned by the modern world and seeking refuge at the bar to drown his sorrows.
Turns out he was the drummer for the night.
After tearing themselves from free dinks and wiping themselves off the bar stool, they congregate behind their instruments - keyboards, base, and the old man on drums. And then the jam starts. At first it’s unispired: the pianist, wanting to lead, ignores the other instruments and sets himself onto center stage as the old man checks out the waitresses behind the counter, uninspired and careless. Soon, their warmup transitions into a piece they all know - “Say What” by Miles Davis and John Coltrane - and the drummer gets behind it, throwing in fills and driving the rest of the band forward. It was all actually pretty cool. The basist was using a small, thin standing base - perfect for Hong Kong’s thin apartments tight spaces. Together they made it happen. Eventually, the pianist got carried away and started playing the piano with his legs and feet; climbing on walls to come down on the keys with a kick or two. It sounds self centered and egotistic, which it kind of was, but it worked in the context.
Apparently Jazz is unpopular in Hong Kong because here, popularity and trends go hand in hand, and Jazz simply isn’t trendy.
I figure if I ever live here I’ll make it part of my hidden agenda to help bring about a Jazz revival in Hong Kong.
New pictures here. (Updated Wednesday, January 30th.)
Part 2 coming soon.
