Saint James Smokes The Owl Shop

It was 9:30 on Wednesday evening at the Owl Shop on College Street and already the Kevin Saint James Band had relaxed into an easy swing. Plumes of smoke rose in the air, from fans sitting close by, cigars lit. Lou Ianello took a ride on sax across the song’s changes. Steve Donovan followed suit on keys. Victor Ramirez on bass and Derrick Tappin on drums held down the rhythm for the others, until it was Ramirez’s turn. Each had time to express themselves. Each made sure to keep the vibe right. Singer Kevin Saint James then got up on stage, took a seat in the back, and lit a cigarette, like he had all the time in the world.

The Kevin Saint James Band has been performing on Wednesday nights at the Owl Shop since May of last year, when Gil Hawkins and his band stepped down from their regular slot after decades of playing there. Drummer Hawkins and his rotating cast of musicians had always stuck to a small jazz combo sound, one that let them roll out jazz standards while always making them their own. They kept the Owl Shop crackling with energy while also keeping things loose and relaxed. In Saint James’ and his band’s performance on Wednesday night, they showed why they were the natural heirs to Hawkins’ longstanding gig, carrying a tradition forward and, in the process, offering a piece of the past that resonates perhaps deeper than ever.

“Good evening and welcome to the world famous Owl Shop,” Saint James announced as the band wound up its tune. He began by introducing his band, starting with Tappan, who, Saint James remarked, was an alumnus of George Baker’s band. He paused for a beat.

“When I say George Baker, you’re supposed to clap,” Saint James said, and the crowd did, wholeheartedly. Saint James’ gentle jab was good natured, but served a point, too. He was interested in making sure the audience knew its lineage, not just of jazz, or cigars, but of the history of both of those things in New Haven itself. Baker, the legendary guitarist who died in 2019 from liver cancer, tore up New Haven’s stages with a lean, muscular way of playing jazz and blues, and Saint James wanted to make sure that the audience remembered that. He introduced Ianello — another former bandmate of Baker’s — and then proceeded to Ramirez (“el más macho”) and Donovan (“as always”), cementing the connections from past to present, and from band to audience.

As the band slid into its next number, Saint James also made sure to mention their tip jar. ​“I hope you’re enjoying the debut of our gratuitous grotto,” he said, drawing laughter. ​“We’re going to have a statue of the Virgin Mary next week.”

Saint James and band then slid into the sultry verse of ​“All the Things You Are,” with Saint James’s voice — smooth at its core, but wrapped in a warm blanket of raspiness — easily delivering the melody and the message. The band hit the song’s classic introduction, and then all of them were off, swinging. Saint James served as a skilled and emotive guide through the sung chorus, then ceded the stage to his band, letting them stretch out across the song’s deceptively tricky form. Saint James returned to sing the song out, and the room exploded in applause.

The band gained momentum from song to song during its first set while the smoke thickened in the room and I found myself moved to do something I haven’t done on assignment in years: grab a seat at the bar and order a drink, strike up a conversation with an old acquaintance, and take in two easy rounds of my grandmother’s favorite drink (whiskey and ginger) while the Kevin Saint James Band tore up the stage.

That’s the spell of a place like the Owl Shop. I’m old enough to have patronized a string of smoky bars before smoking bans took effect (in Connecticut, in 2003); the Owl Shop’s hazy atmosphere triggers memories of a time when all bars were like that. The bar’s stately interior and its live jazz reach further back in time than that. I ordered my grandmother’s drink because it seemed right; it’s easy to imagine College Street patrons two generations ago walking through the doors.

But the Owl Shop isn’t really a nostalgia trip. It resolutely adheres to a generations-old formula because that formula still works. The swirl of swing and smoke may not be great for our lungs. But it excels at getting people to linger, to talk, to listen. It makes community creation part of the air we breathe.