A comment on "Jass" music
Katharina van Seethinbottom reports her first harrowing encounter with "Jass" music
As my heart pounded and I covered my nose with my handkerchief to prevent inhaling the miasmatic air, we passed a row of insalubrious establishments. And then a strange noise wafted into my ear from one of the drinking-halls. I daren’t even call it music; rather, ‘twas a series of sounds and – oh, I despise the very word! – rhythms strung together without heed to form or development.
“Whatever is that heinous noise?” I asked the driver, momentarily ceasing the beating.
“They call it jass, madam,” he whimpered in his brogue, “Please, madam, please stop whippin’ me.”
Tavern on West Seventh Street east of Randolph, possibly Michael Leirich Saloon, 949 West Seventh, St. Paul.