Ai and I enjoy the incredible talents of various singers and musicians that parade in and out of the Red Rooster jazz club in Harlem. It's Monday night and the place is rocking, with people spilling out from the building and on to the sidewalk.
The atmosphere is laid back, the menu of food and drinks is affordable and everyone is open, warm and personable with one another, as we squish together in the small space, all intent to let the music move us. And move us it does, from our hearts to our souls, our hips to our feet.
The Red Rooster is so casual that the singers and musicians spontaneously appear from within the crowd at regular intervals. One moment all eyes feast on a singer at the front of the room and the next, all heads turn to the back area, where a man steps out from the dark corner and in to the light, belting out a hot melody on his trumpet.
Weaving their way to the stage through the throngs of dancing, gyrating, swaying and swooning onlookers, the singers, trumpet players, saxaphone players, guitar players and harmonica players feed the masses with their soul food, and Ai and I are entranced.
We agree to stay for just one more song, but with these entertainers, there's no break, and one song becomes 45 minutes of pure heaven. Eventually, we look at one another, gather our things and slide our way out in to the warm evening air, bouncing to the steady rhythms of the saxaphone, drums and bass guitar.
We find a light snack and then make our way to the subway station, where Ai naps, and while my body is tired, my mind is wired, still grooving to the beat of the call of the Red Rooster.
The atmosphere is laid back, the menu of food and drinks is affordable and everyone is open, warm and personable with one another, as we squish together in the small space, all intent to let the music move us. And move us it does, from our hearts to our souls, our hips to our feet.
The Red Rooster is so casual that the singers and musicians spontaneously appear from within the crowd at regular intervals. One moment all eyes feast on a singer at the front of the room and the next, all heads turn to the back area, where a man steps out from the dark corner and in to the light, belting out a hot melody on his trumpet.
Weaving their way to the stage through the throngs of dancing, gyrating, swaying and swooning onlookers, the singers, trumpet players, saxaphone players, guitar players and harmonica players feed the masses with their soul food, and Ai and I are entranced.
We agree to stay for just one more song, but with these entertainers, there's no break, and one song becomes 45 minutes of pure heaven. Eventually, we look at one another, gather our things and slide our way out in to the warm evening air, bouncing to the steady rhythms of the saxaphone, drums and bass guitar.
We find a light snack and then make our way to the subway station, where Ai naps, and while my body is tired, my mind is wired, still grooving to the beat of the call of the Red Rooster.
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