Happiness at Murray's Jazz Club

My friends and I hurried into Murry’s Jazz Club on a rainy Wednesday night, trying to avoid the thirty-five-degree Missouri air. Walking in from the cold air, I was immediately struck by the calming, warm feeling that enveloped me. I found myself in a dimly lit room, with warm lighting filling the space just enough so that you could see what was going on. A scattering of people, old and young, filled the restaurant, filling up all but a few tables. They chatted next to jazz posters and paintings plastered all over the walls. A television was mounted on the wall in the corner of the bar with a sports game on, looking out of place with the surrounding decoration.

We were led to our table, luckily in perfect view of a lonely grand piano that was set distinctly apart from two tables. It was soon to be filled by jazz pianist Tom Andes, but for now, we had to wait.

I poured over the menu, hungry and enticed by all the options. Eventually I ordered, deciding on a French dip with a side of mashed potatoes. Soon, Andes came out to play. He was an older white gentleman with balding white hair, dressed casually in a V-neck sweater and jeans.

He started with a soft, cheerful melody, easing the piano into the flow of conversation happening around us. The piano added to the chatter in a calming way, filling the room, but not overpowering it. In a bebop-like style, the songs had a fast tempo, with rapid high notes being the leading sounds of each of the pieces. The notes stayed in the middle range of the keyboard, with occasional high and low notes thrown in.

I found myself often wishing the piano was louder. High notes were able to pierce through the noise of the crowd, but the low notes seemed lost in the drones of conversation within the restaurant. However, I sometimes felt like this was the point. The jazz club experience was not centered around the music itself- it was supposed to be a culmination of everything there. The food, the people, the mood, and the music. And nothing was supposed to dominate. The chatter of the room sometimes felt like a part of the music, a constant undertone to what Andes played. It was a solid baseline of human voices, something that could only be felt with live music.

As Andes continued to play, conversations started to lull a little as more people listened for the music. Andes effortlessly glided over the keys, picking up the intensity of the playing as conversation dulled. Notably, Andes hit the lower notes harder as the chatter decreased, trying to make up for the drone that was lost.

Eventually, Andes even branched into some covers of different songs, like “Clocks” by Coldplay, which got him the loudest claps of the night. He seemed to stick very tightly to the original structure of the songs, not adding many solos or other jazzy elements to them. I was disappointed and would have loved to have seen more jazz interpretation of them than solely playing them.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed the jazz club experience. I found myself feeling some of the happiest I’ve ever felt, and I realized it was because of the good food, good music, and good friends that surrounded me.