Johnny Raducanu performance

Johnny Raducanu is back in Paris to promote his recently recorded CD Jazz Bestament of Tescani Productions. On Monday night we stand before the Romanian embassy, a discreet hotel particulier on rue Saint Dominique the tri-colored flag dangling a bit sadly from its pole above the closed doors. We ring, we knock on the heavy wooden doors - nothing. Out of the night steps a man in suit and tie, wearing special glasses clamped on his ears and hearing aids. He looks up at us as though to say what are you doing here? Romanians are always late, he mutters. The doors should open at 7:30, but Romanians are always late, you can count on it. The bell doesn't work any longer. I wonder whether shouting "Dracula, count Dracula!" might get us in. Behind us along the dark trottoir a group of people are gathering, speaking Romanian; excitement is in the damp October air.

You know who I am? the little man says as though he's revealing a big secret, a scoop: my son is Vladimir Cosma. Father Teodor Cosma must be well in his 90s, but he looks ageless, that type of agelessness you see in people whose personal history and culture are so rich, they just beam out a perpetual wealth of knowledge and sagesse. You played with Johnny Raducanu? I ask. He shakes his head, no, Johnny Raducanu played with me! In the 1950s he was orchestra director, a national orchestra that recorded for Electrecord in Bucharest, then the only recording studio around. Johnny Raducanu was a bass player with the orchestra, and he shakes his head in disbelief: now he's playing the piano, and he shrugs his frail shoulders. The doors creak open suddenly and Monsieur Cosma steps forward buttonholing the first security guard in Romanian: always late, n'est pas? The security guard pulls out his mobile phone, lights up the screen that spells out in bright numbers 19:31 - only 1 minute late, - and lets us pass.

The Romanian embassy has Gothic staircases and large halls decorated with XIX century paintings and Empire armchairs. The salon is one marvel of a gilded affair with chandeliers and large gold-encased mirrors, double doors leading to hallways and other large rooms. It feels as though Dracula had just passed through and swept the floor trailing his transilvanian cape, off into the night.

Johnny Raducanu is seated in the conference room at a long empty table next to an empty marble fountain, talking to a Romanian. He's wearing a black skull cap and drinking water. Being received in the Romanian embassy in Paris is a great honor, and the performance he'll give will be one of those private events that go down in history because of its uniqueness.

The salon fills up quickly and the maestro walks in gingerly, the piano being his best friend. He's been rehearsing since eleven this morning, and gives a stunning one hour of his best work, a collection that includes various new pieces where he celebrates jazz and all its influences, from Bach to Gershwin. He's called in for numerous encores, and only gives up after feeling too weak to walk back to the piano, even though encouraged by standing ovations and a large bouquet of flowers. He presents his homage to Teodor Cosma, sort of spiritual father, who's equally applauded by an enthusiastic happy crowd. After all history marks its turning point and apogée in Romanian jazz, having Mister Jazz of Romania perform at nearly 75 years of age on rue Saint Dominique, a few blocks away from the Eiffel tower.