Solo Pursuit: A Night of Jazz
Last weekend, while thumbing through Baltimore Magazine, I stumbled across something that made my heart skip: a brand new Jazz Series at a restaurant just down the street from me. It felt like fate. Hours before, I had been walking along Light Street, watching the buzz of the younger crowd and imagining a cozy jazz spot for the middle-aged residents like myself—something intimate, with good wine and better music. And here it was, unfolding right in front of me, like a dream I hadn’t quite finished. The series was being held at the Hemingway Room in Little Havana, a Cuban-inspired restaurant. As I read through the article, the name of the opening artist caught my eye—Imani-Grace. Her face felt familiar, but it wasn’t until I saw a picture of her in a striking green dress that it clicked. She was the singer I’d been seeing on PBS recently. That was all the convincing I needed to buy a ticket.
Friday night arrived, and with it, my first official solo pursuit in Baltimore. I took a Lyft to the event, arriving just after the doors opened at 6:45 p.m. The room was already filling with the hum of conversation, and I secured a seat at a table in the back with a clear view of the stage and an easy escape route to the restroom if necessary. The space was intimate, designed for around 60 people, and lit with that perfect soft glow that makes everything feel like a private affair. The tables were decorated with peacock feathers in a vase, adding a touch of whimsy to the evening.
I ordered a French 75, a cocktail I had never tried before, along with a basket of hot, crispy fries to nibble on during the show. The paella would have to wait; for now, I wanted something light to keep me company as I soaked in the music.
The room was a mix of small groups and couples, with a few other solo attendees like myself scattered throughout. A woman approached me, asking if she could sit at my table, then decided she wanted to be closer to the stage. She mentioned how she hated interrupting people who might be on a date, to which I smiled and reminded her that these were ticketed seats—no couple had a monopoly on a table tonight. The crowd was mature, mostly over 40, and dressed in smart casual attire. I felt right at home. This was exactly the kind of social scene I had envisioned.
As the band prepared to start their set, I found myself enjoying the rare moment of solitude after a long day at work. I hadn’t had any conversations apart from the brief one with the woman who asked to join me, but that didn’t bother me. There are times when you go out alone and end up engaging with other people, and there are times when you don’t—and both are perfectly fine.
Before the music began, I scrolled through my phone for a bit, catching up on social media, allowing myself to unwind. It felt like the perfect transition from a busy workday to an evening of jazz. I even jotted down a few notes for this very post, just capturing the moment and how I felt in real-time. But while I was occupied with my phone, I wasn’t using it as a crutch. There was no sense of discomfort or the need to hide behind the screen. In fact, I felt entirely at ease in my own company, surrounded by others but not feeling out of place or awkward.
There are times during solo outings where I might choose to put my phone away and just take in the atmosphere—the music, the conversations around me, and the ambiance of the room. But that night, I welcomed the chance to be both connected and disconnected in my own way. There was no pressure to interact, no urge to fill the silence. It was a quiet contentment, just sitting there, waiting for the music to start, completely comfortable in my space and in the moment.
The music started around 7:30, and for the next hour, I was wrapped in Imani-Grace’s voice. Her set was a balance of playful and pensive, moving seamlessly between original pieces and covers. There were touches of gospel, R&B, and even a little Gladys Knight. Her rendition of "Neither One of Us" was the highlight of the night for me, a perfect mix of nostalgia and fresh emotion. The pianist was incredible, his fingers dancing across the keys in a way that made the music feel alive.
By 8:30, the show was over. I had planned to stay for paella, but the night felt complete. I caught a ride home, still humming the music in my head, and was back just before 9 p.m., content and grateful for the night I’d spent with just myself.
