Xavier made my night, though the girl had something to do with it, too. As I sip my still-cold free-gift-with-purchase and soak in her soothing voice, I appreciate the nocturnal interruption even more. It didn’t start out so good though.<\/p>\n
I figured after going to bed at 9:30 p.m. that I’d wake up in just an hour or two. At first I thought the timing was all wrong. 1:15 in the morning is just about the worst time to wake up in Brussels. I did remember, though, that the Day\/Night store claimed to be open ’til 2 and they had an internet cafe there. So I decided, since I knew I’d be up for a few hours, that I’d walk down there (just a short walk from the hotel) and check my email.<\/p>\n
I checked another internet cafe (just a few steps further) that I had been to before and they were closed. So I went back to the Day\/Night store and inquired about internet access. “It’s shut down.” I asked if there was anything else open that late and she said she didn’t know.<\/p>\n
With all the muggings in Brussels lately (not the safest place on the planet), I figured I didn’t want to quest any further for an internet cafe at 1:30 a.m. I picked up a yummilicious Belgian Waffle to satisfy my sweet (and hungry) tooth and returned to the hotel.<\/p>\n
I heard her voice.<\/p>\n
I had never been to the lobby bar before at this hotel, mainly because its upscale atmosphere (and corresponding price) didn’t appeal to me too much. But I heard voices, and *her* voice. As I did a quick cost benefit analysis in my head, I figured it couldn’t hurt too bad to hit the lobby bar for a beer. Maybe it’d hasten my return to the bliss of night-time sleep.<\/p>\n
At this point, I figured I was just killing time, so listening to her sing to me while I sipped a fine Belgian brew would be better than ‘enjoying’ the jet lag, unwatered, in my room. The bar tender pointed me to the draft menu. He presumed my uneducation about Belgian beer, explaining the tastes of each choice. I selected the dark Leffe, having experienced it before. He said he could only pour it in a Stella glass. If you know the Belgians, you know that’s a problem. But for me, not a problem at all.<\/p>\n
It was closing time so he explained that I could take it back to the room if I so desired. But since her music had my attention, I figured I would prolong the experience as long as need be. When he asked if I was a hotel guest (affirmative), he brought me nuts and some of those Japanese bar snax. I actually enjoy those, dried sea weed and all. I went back and forth, eating the offerings more than drinking (I was still a little hungry).<\/p>\n
I don’t recall who mentioned her name first, but it quickly became clear that our mutual appreciation of her would be a focal point of discussion for as long as he would allow it. Interestingly, as she musically massaged us in the background, our discussion turned to other greats in the jazz world, both old and new. One mention of Wynton got me going for a while. <\/p>\n
As I avoided the inevitable, our conversation turned to beer. Maybe he was impressed that I could name all six trappists. As we weaved between jazz and religious fine-art-in-beverage, punctuated by closing duties, he continued to smile that “I know what you mean” smile.<\/p>\n
She sang to us.<\/p>\n
Of course, the inevitable must come. But to ensure my enjoyment of the evening, and maybe my expeditious exit, he a produced one of our liquid conversation pieces, which I still nurse here in my room as I listen to her voice through my Linux MP3 player. The Westmalle Dubbel is a world-class labor of love, eclipsed by precious few other beers. Tonight, its only competition is her voice. Dollar cost averaging the ‘right-priced’ Leffe and the gratis (but priceless) Westmalle, I came out ahead of my expectations.<\/p>\n
Prior to my departure from the lobby bar, I introduced Xavier, through stories, to another like her, though more jazzy – the woman who I would say paved the road she travels on. On more than one occasion, this pioneer in personal jazz has wrapped me around her little finger for the entire duration of her live performance. Once, I recall, she did it all by herself. She, a piano, and just me, in an audience of 12,000 or so.<\/p>\n
We soon realized neither of us even know what tonight’s attraction looks like. Her almost equally famous predecessor is definitely easy on the eyes, but this almost-mysterious voice wasn’t attached to any mental picture. It was just pure audio candy. Like her predecessor, who still warms audiences with every note, she makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room… the only one in the world.<\/p>\n
And now as I listen to her, delaying my final taste of dark amber sophistication, the essence of her music – the notes, the rhythms, the tone, the pure sound of it – completes my evening…<\/p>\n
Jet lag at its finest…<\/p>\n
V-<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Xavier made my night, though the girl had something to do with it, too. As I sip my still-cold free-gift-with-purchase and soak in her soothing voice, I appreciate the nocturnal interruption even more. It didn’t start out so good though. I figured after going to bed at 9:30 p.m. that \u2026 Continue reading