CZECH REPUBLIC

CONTINENTAL DRIFTER
15th Installment: Prague, Czech Republic by Elliott Hester
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Walking around Prague in summer is like strolling through a 15th-century fairytale. Gothic church steeples protrude from clusters of trees and seem to prop up a blanket of blue sky. Stone bridges stretch across the sleepy Vltava River, 500-year-old clock towers chime, and Prague Castle (a sprawling complex of churches, convents, courtyards and palaces) sits high atop a hill, presiding over this medieval metropolis.

But from deep below the cobblestone streets, comes the contemporary sound of Chicago blues.

Accompanied by my friend Michaela Vasickova, a Czech lawyer and jazz/blues lover, I spent an evening at Prague's hippest "underground" club. U Maleho Glena (A Little Glen) sits, quite literally, beneath cobblestoned Karmelitska street not far from Prague Castle.

The club's hippness lay in its uniquely intimate atmosphere, and the fact that many local musicians hang out here when they're not gigging at one of a handful of clubs that add to Prague's burgeoning jazz scene.

Moments before the Rene Trossman Band belted out their first blues number of the night, Michaela and I walked through a ground-level entrance, bypassed the U Maleho Glena restaurant and teetered down a cramped staircase. After I paid a $6 cover charge (Michaela got in for free because she knows the musicians), we squeezed into a tiny bar area packed with blues lovers from England, Germany, the U.S, Czech Republic and other points on the globe.

Arguably one of the world's smallest live-music venues, U Maleho Glena conjures up images of a midget submarine that has been chopped in half at its midsection. The narrow bar area was crammed with perhaps 20 standees who mingled like vertically-packed sardines. A slender doorway led to a performance area the width of which barely accommodated the keyboard player, bassist, drummer and guitarist who adjusted their instruments at the back of the room.

But herein lay the beauty of the club. Four or 5 tables, all of them occupied except one, ran along either side of the smoke-filled room. The only available spot was in the front, at a petite table pressed against the keyboard. We inched our way along a hint of an aisle, sat, ordered drinks. Our table fit so snug against the keyboard, however, I worried that my drink might spill on its keys. We sat there, nevertheless, feeling as if we had entered the darkened living room of a musician friend.

The friend in this case turned out to be guitarist Rene Trossman. I found out later that Trossman hails from my hometown of Chicago. In 1994, only 5 years after the "Velvet Revolution" (the Czech Republic's relatively non-violent transformation from communism to democracy), he moved to Prague and has been living here ever since. Using the Czech capital as his home base, Trossman plays gigs in Germany, Russia and throughout Eastern Europe. "I came here because the cost of living is affordable," he says. "And because it gave me the opportunity to form my own band."

The band leader from Chicago took the microphone, welcomed the crowd, and then leapt into a funky blues number that rocked the little submarine along with most of the audience crammed inside of it.

I say "most" because a few Czech patrons sat frozen in their chairs while the rest of us, Michaela included, were swept up in a flood of blues rhythms that bobbed our heads, forced our torsos to gyrate, or at the very least made our fingers tap on the table. When it comes to the blues, Czechs seem to have a difficult time letting loose and expressing their appreciation. But like everything else in Eastern Europe, things are changing.

Czech keyboard player Jakub Zomer, winner of the celebrated "Junior Jazz Competition" in Usti nad Labem, had no problem expressing himself. With each dramatic stroke of the keys, his face contorted into expressions that ran the gambit from ecstasy, to comedy and pain.

The 5th member of the group, Czech singer Veronika Vojtiskova, wore loose-fitting jeans and dark glasses while effortlessly belting out Koko Taylor cover songs. I didn't detect her Eastern European accent until she thanked the cheering crowd at the end of the show.

Ukrainian bassist Taras Voloschuk and Slovakian drummer Daniel Soltis round out the band's international lineup. Their tight "bluesy-jazz" sound, as Trossman likes to put it, rivals that of any good blues band back in Chicago. But the uniqueness of the band and the club's cozy environment, made the night something special.

The next evening I hung out in the brick-walled basement that is Zelezna jazz club. Here, I was treated to the expert saxophone of Beda Smarda, who according to Trossman (he happened to be in the audience) is "probably the best jazz saxophonist in Eastern Europe."

I ultimately made my way to Reduta, Prague's oldest and best-known jazz venue. Founded in 1958 under the yoke of communism, Reduta has played host to jazz greats such as Wynton Marsalis and notable wannabes like former president Bill Clinton. Yes, Big Bill played his saxophone to a cheering crowd here in 1994.

"How was he?" I posed the question to the club manager who also happened to be working that day nearly 10 years ago. "Just okay," he said, smirking.

In the end, I returned to U Maleho Glena. Unlike most jazz clubs in Chicago, here you pay to listen to 1 set and can sit at your table for all 3. After a few nights the bartender, cocktail waitress – even the musicians – knew me by name. Though most spoke with heavy Czech accents, it was the first time in 10 months of traveling that I felt as if I were home.

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Next stop: St. Petersburg, Russia.

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