Club Evans in Hongdae, second floor. A small stage, barely elevated and sparsely lit, equipped with a good number of instruments. Most tables in the room have been removed, only chairs are lined up, facing forward. Wooden ones and ones made of metal, some have arm rests and some have back support. They all look different, but they all serve the audience who slowly take their seats.
The lights are dimmed, the glasses refilled. People are bobbing their heads to the rhythm that fills the room. One guy punches the keys of the piano, the eyes behind his thick glasses closed. Another one on the saxophone, his cheeks filling with air like the lungs of a small whale. A guy on the bass, his fingers slapping and grinding the strings of his lady like a thoughtful pimp. Then a break.
A quiet guy on the drums, his drumsticks busier than traffic outside. In front of him the deejay, wearing sun glasses, chewing gum as if he didn't care. Now the emcee grabs the microphone. He talks fast, mostly about himself. A change of gears and the jazz tune turns into a clean boom bap beat. To my left I see Jeunes and Giwoun. We clink our Imperial glasses and nod along in silent agreement.
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