Take Five — a Soulful Night at Tokyo’s Coolest Jazz Club
Saturday jam sessions at Intro go until 5 a.m. (Photo: Brittany Jones-Cooper)
I walked down a brightly lit street with 20-somethings smoking in doorways and laughing at jokes I couldn’t understand.
The GPS on my phone said I had arrived at my final destination, but this noodle restaurant was not the jazz club I was looking for. Then, as I scanned the doorway, I saw a small sign that read simply “Jazz … downstairs.”
As I descended the staircase, I started to get nervous. The familiar smell of fried oil signaled that I was entering a kitchen, and I immediately started to draft an angry letter to Google Maps in my head. Soon I approached a door marked Jazz Entertainment: Intro, which looked like a storage closet. I felt like turning back, but I had traveled all this way, so I opened the door and walked into the darkness.
I was in Tokyo … alone.
I had planned to spend two days exploring the city on my own, but I must admit, I was a tad overwhelmed. Like many Americans, I’ve seen the movie Lost in Translation, but little prepared me for the feeling of walking down the busy Tokyo streets, unable to order off a menu that didn’t have pictures.
After spending the day hitting up tourist spots, I craved a social outing. Unfortunately, my Japanese vocabulary consists solely of the words “hello” and “thank you,” so sitting at a bar just seemed like a frustrating exercise.
The entrance to Intro doesn’t look like much, but it’s what inside that matters. (Photo: Brittany Jones-Cooper)
Then I thought about my dad. At Christmas, my father told me about his visit to Tokyo when he was in the military. We both share a love of jazz music, and he told me that one of his fondest memories was listening to jazz in the city — he encouraged me to do the same. I nodded and agreed to check it out but doubted that I actually would. I know that Japan has introduced some great jazz musicians, but my father is 81 years old and visited Tokyo more than 50 years ago when jazz in the city was at its height after WWII. Tokyo has drastically changed since then, and honestly, I didn’t know if jazz was still popular.
But there I was, bored and lonely in a foreign city, so I Googled “Jazz + Tokyo.” I found a spot that sounded interesting, so I jumped on the train and headed to the neighborhood of Shinjuku.
The white walls and the fluorescent lighting in the restaurant stairwell didn’t feel very jazzy. Neither did the empty beer bottles in crates positioned outside the door.
“Konichiwa,” said the bartender as I walked into the club.
He was a smiley man with kind eyes and a bow tie. Sensing my Americanness, he said hello again in English and offered me a menu. “You come to play?” he asked.
“Um, no, just to listen,” I replied, a bit shocked.
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From beginners to pros, all take turns playing jazz standards. (Photo: Brittany Jones-Cooper)
I handed the bow-tie bartender 500 yen for admission and a beer and smiled at the woman next to me as I took a seat at one of the empty tables.
The entire club could have fit inside my New York City apartment. The front of the room had a piano, drum set, and bass leaning against the wall. There were four round tables, a few seats at the bar, and a bathroom in the back. This place could accommodate 12 people … max.
After a few sips of my Kirin, a shaggy-haired musician strolled though the door and made his way to the front of the room. When he pulled out his saxophone, I assumed he was going to play a solo set — after all, there didn’t seem to be any other musicians in the room. Then the woman sitting next to me, who I had assumed was also there for a night of easy listening, casually stood up and sat at the piano. The two men at the next table followed her up and started to tune their instruments.
The quartet played in unison, focusing on jazz standards, many of which I grew up listening to. They played enthusiastically, communicating with only eye contact, along with head nods when it was time for someone to take a turn at an improvised solo.
I peacefully swayed to the music, excited that I had found this hidden gem in a foreign city on the other side of the world.
To put it simply, this bartender is doing what he loves. (Photo: Brittany Jones-Cooper)
Then, as the quartet wrapped up their song, the bow-tie bartender made his way to the front of the room. Instead of holding a bar rag, he was holding a shiny gold saxophone, which he fidgeted with before hooking it to the strap around his neck.
He played with passion, tightly closing his eyes as he strained for the high notes. His body moved like an ocean wave, bending back and forth as he lost himself in the music. Then, as the bassist started in on his solo, the bartender calmly pulled his sax from his mouth and strolled back behind the bar, grabbing empty beer bottles along the way.
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This guy ran the bar and played music whenever the moment struck him. It was a dream job if I’ve ever seen one.
It turns out that I had stumbled into the Saturday-night jam session, where anyone can get up and play. The room was filled with amateur musicians, students, and a few pros who get to hone their craft by playing jazz standards in a small, supportive atmosphere.
Everyone gets to take a turn, even foreign travelers just passing through. That night, the only person who didn’t get up to play was me. There was a drunk guy sitting in a corner, who spent most of the evening with his eyes closed, letting the music wash all his troubles away.
But even he got up at one point, grabbed some drumsticks, and banged on a snare.
As the night went on, the crowd grew, with more musicians joining in the rotation. I didn’t talk to anyone the entire evening — but I never felt lonely.
It was a place where the only language that mattered was jazz.
WATCH: The bow-tie bartender hard at work.
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