Few things are more romantic than a late, dimly lit Valentine’s Day dinner set to the sound of some smooth jazz. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the reason I found myself at Jojo Restaurant and Bar on Saturday, Feb. 15. Early that evening, it dawned on me that I had procrastinated a Jazz History assignment—one that required me to attend a live concert—so severely that I had just one day left to complete it. I quickly searched “free jazz concerts near me” and, with limited options, ventured to Jojo alone. I had hoped the couples’ parade would have ended by Saturday, but much to my dismay, I was wrong. The restaurant was still drenched in Valentine’s Day decor—paper hearts strung from the ceiling, flickering candles at every table, and a red and pink color scheme so overwhelming it felt like stepping inside a greeting card. I took a seat at the bar, flanked by couples on either side, and turned my attention to Herb Scott’s Quartet at the front of the restaurant.
The space was crowded and narrow, lined with tables for two. The music, smooth and romantic, played loudly enough that couples had to lean in to speak to each other, making for an intimate yet bustling atmosphere. There’s something about a jazz accompaniment at a restaurant that I love—the way the space itself becomes part of the music. The chatter from patrons acts as the vocals, rising and falling like a chorus. On this night in particular, that chatter was hushed, with soft laughter folding into the symphony of Herb Scott’s band. The clinking of silverware on plates added a percussive element, while the occasional clatter of a glass or the murmur of a waiter rounded off the composition. It was as if the entire restaurant was essential in completing the songs—so immersive that, for a moment, I was pulled into it completely, forgetting how gaudy and overwhelmingly romantic the whole scene actually was.
Scott and his band had curated a setlist of quintessential love songs, ranging from classics like Nat King Cole’s “L-O-V-E” to more contemporary R&B songs like Daniel Caesar’s “Best Part.” Scott and his band’s performance of the songs, however, was far from quintessential; their ear-catching improvisational riffs transformed the predictable, unapologetic romance into something far more complex.
On drums, Dana Hawkins had a cool aura, biting his lip as if playing were as natural and easy as twisting the lid off a jar. His playing was soft, focusing on hi-hats and snare; the bass made an appearance sparingly. Dave Manley on guitar played with his eyes closed, his head bobbing gently with the tempo, punctuated by soft nods. He tickled the strings with an effortless beauty reminiscent of a harpist. On bass, Arthur Carneiro was having a romance of his own, swaying his shoulders rhythmically and shaking his head as he gazed upon his bass with love. Each pluck provided a perfect undertone to the symphony of guitar and drums, engaging in a gentle conversation with Herb Scott’s saxophone.
Starkly contrasting with the cool, casual demeanor of his bandmates, Scott’s saxophone felt like a wailing lament—pushing back against the overwhelmingly romantic, almost suffocating (for me, at least), atmosphere of the restaurant. As his solos began, the couples' loving gazes into each other's eyes broke as they turned their attention to him, momentarily pulled away from their candlelit conversations by the sheer intensity of his playing. His tone was like a beautiful scream, the furrow in his eyebrows evoking a sense of pain. It was so striking and overwhelming that I found myself making a “bass face” so severe there was no chance I would be chatted up at this bar. Scott’s playing was expressive, weaving between the melodies with a sense of longing, his saxophone crying out in a way that felt almost human. In the midst of a room full of love, his saxophone told a different story—one of yearning, or heartache, or maybe something else entirely.
The performance made me think about how jazz is often associated with love and romance more so than other genres. Why is that? Metaphorically, perhaps it’s the inclination towards improvisation during performances. The spontaneity—while simultaneously maintaining the integrity of a song—mirrors the thrill of unpredictability intertwined with the comfort of familiarity in romance. If love is a jazz performance, then improvisational riffs symbolize the excitement and individuality of each relationship. And yet, that’s precisely what makes both jazz and love so valuable and unique. Maybe that’s why, despite being alone at Jojo Restaurant and Bar, I felt content—lost in the music, reminded that jazz, like love, is just as beautiful solo.
Rating: INDY
Zoha Khan is a Junior in the College majoring in Economics with minors in Math and Performing Arts.
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