THE BUZZ: 'Pec plays on consistency
Change.
Have you ever said a word over and over in your head so many times that it eventually seems to lose all meaning? By the time you read this, I imagine you'll be in this camp; at least, I know I'm there now.
Change. A mantra leaked out of the sides of so many mouths, it's evident that the word doesn't mean anything - a collection of consonants and vowels that may as well be blrrghfaegle. Or plxyltoph.
The country's changed. The last decade or so, everything's changed. Denver's changed. Here I am, standing on the corner of Market and 20th streets looking at an inescapable tidal wave of change - an influx of faces from all over the country, maybe even the world - into bars and clubs that aren't old enough to be served themselves, were they little more than doe-eyed college girls looking for a thrill in the city on a Saturday night.
But not the 'Pec. The 'Pec hasn't changed a whit, least not as far as I can tell. Chris Harris stands in the side door, half in and half out of the joint, playing bass like a fiend possessed, a groove thick enough for a man to walk on without snowshoes.
Chad Aman's fingers dance over the keyboard balanced on top of the rickety piano a few feet away, a small bar lining its side, separating the stage from the johns. A couple jazzbos, perched at the rail, nod their heads to the rhythm, alternately whooping and hollering their appreciation for the solos that Jon Hegel and Dave Dinsmore barrel through on the sax and trombone, respectively, calling and responding to Chad's riffs and Dan Lorhing's rat-a-tat on the drums as he finds himself slowly edging up the tempo a notch at a time. Intentional or not, it's certainly organic, and they all feel it.
The consistency of the scene at the 'Pec may be its own curse, as there's actually enough room to move inside the shotgun space; there are too many distractions in LoDo, too much change over the years. There was a time when coming to the 'Pec meant braving a darkened warehouse district and belligerently drunken transients looking for a fix or an easy smash-and-grab for any car not parked directly underneath a street lamp. Today, it's at least enough to bring smiles to the faces of those traipsing by - even though the jazz styles Cocktail Revolution blows through inside are definitely a leap forward from the dusty standards so often heard on this stage - on their way to someplace where it seems the dress code is tube tops and high heels.
It's a cash-only joint, and I have to pop next door to the Giggling Grizzly to borrow their ATM before I head inside. I drop the $5 at the door - assuming it goes to the band of hard-working players inside. It's still stifling inside, and though there's been a two-drink minimum here as long as I can remember, no one's enforcing it tonight. Normally, I'd be only too happy to oblige, but the music's captivating.
Indeed, while almost nothing has changed at the 'Pec since I stood outside almost 20 years ago, too young to get in but able to hear every note, one thing has - and the band tonight is just enough evolution that, suddenly, change has some meaning again.
And it's good.
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