Royal Oak Rendezvous

The cold, bleak month of November never fails to stir up a flurry of memories in my mind, some fond and others poignant and bitter; a sort of anniversary effect of another life. It’s that time of year again, so I’m sharing a warm memory of a November gone, a charming night I’ll always hold on to as we begin the slow descent into the deep, freezing waters of the year’s end.

Fall 2012: scanning the Ottawa Jazz Scene website I read an event headlining The Marc Alcorn Duo: 5:30 PM to 8:30 PM, Friday, November 9th at the Royal Oak pub on the corner of Bank and MacLaren. The event described an evening with two jazz guitarists, one Marc Alcorn (who unfortunately took sick and had guitarist Gary Elliot take his place) and Tim Bedner, a guitar instructor I had heard of and seen around the ninth floor of the Loeb building in my days at university but had never had a chance to meet.

The time was around six o'clock in the evening and the city was glowing; the chill November air nipping at my nose and breathing down my neck. After walking into the wrong Royal Oak at first (because there’s one on every corner in Ottawa), I finally found the right one having seen Tim's familiar face sitting just by the window from the street and hearing those muffled, unmistakable jazz guitar tones singing in every booth, nook and cranny at the Oak. They had already started playing and I was looking forward to getting out of the cold and into a good seat so I could enjoy what I came for with the hope that the place wasn't already packed.

Thanks to a great suggestion by a friendly bartender I found a small, round, one-person table at a bench looking directly down the aisle at Tim and Gary who were swinging their way through a number. There was no cover and I couldn’t just sit there empty handed so I ordered a drink and a sandwich from the waitress and enjoyed the music as I waited, attempting to shut out the noisy atmosphere of large groups of people getting together for (too many) drinks after work, dinner parties, the clinking and clanking of plates and glasses and every television in the room set to the same sports channel. But I liked to think that the music was a contributing factor to their having a good time. One very merry passer-by outside showed his appreciation for it with an ear-to-ear grin as he fixed his eyes on the two guitarists through the window before strolling down the street again.

As I watched them play, I counted seven tuning pegs on Tim Bedner’s guitar and tried catching a glimpse of their instrument makes and models, but it was hopeless in the dimly lit room. They looked and sounded as if they were electric hollow body guitars which are appropriately favoured by jazz guitarists due to their warm, resonating, clean sound. But it didn’t matter what guitars they were playing because these two gentlemen could make a broom sound hot.

Tim and Gary's set was based largely on American standards played in swing time. They strummed through thirty-two bar blues played over complex harmonic changes common in jazz, and traded improvisation like a conversation. “I hear your question, here’s my answer."

There were a vast number of tunes played that evening from Latin styles to fast walking bass lines popular in bebop. Among their repertoire were pieces like Frank Sinatra's "I Fall In Love Too Easily" played very sweetly, George Gershwin's "Not For Me", Cole Porter's "What Is This Thing Called Love?" and more. To my adoration, I thought I recognized "That's All", a favourite little jazz melody of mine. Afterwards, I approached Tim about my hunch and he revealed it was possible that Gary had "quoted" it during his improvisation, which is a large part of what they often do; taking melodies from other pieces and incorporating it into one of their own.

In the midst of the evening as I sipped a pint and enjoyed a club sandwich, I fell into a reverie. I thought to myself, here alone I sit and listen to this music. Part of the backdrop, part of the ambience. Part of some remote feeling of life in the 1940s when you’d see Charlie Parker or the Duke at the club, where you went for a drink and the music in its younger years. My brown, leather shoes felt like someone else’s from a forgotten decade tapping away at the hardwood floor and I felt free. More free than I had felt in a long time.