Unlike the presidential candidates, who didn't show up on the screens until well into the first set of the Doghouse Jam, the 7 Mile House might just qualify to represent all things to all people all day. At midday on Sunday, October 9th, the place was packed wall-to-wallby folk with brunch appetites stimulated by a gridiron grapple televised from across the Bay, between the Oakland Raiders and the visiting San Diego Chargers. My teenaged son Nick, who'd helped win his team's tough athletic contest the previous day, on a soccer field on the other side of Oakland, was seeking to tackle the Famous 7 Mile Burger, but not as part of the ongoing competitive chow-down. And I was there to celebrate the culinary crossover between the indigenous Filipino Sissig and Eggs Bendedict, said to have been hatched by a Wall Street stockbroker back in the days of Vanderbilt and J.P. Morgan. We had to take our leftovers home before the Raiders, too feisty to fail, pulled off a 34-31 victory. When I returned to the 7 Mile by myself a few hours later, the crowd had mostly left or morphed into music-lovers waiting for their weekly Jam, and the space and quiet gave me more time to linger in conversation with the lovely waitstaff. "Have they started yet?", asked Dave Bendigkeit, coming in out of the cooling late afternoon, trumpet case in hand. They hadn't quite; the sound system was playing Horace Silver's "Song For My Father", and Ben Stolorow, already seated behind his keyboard with ears big enough for a bunny, metaphorically writing, channeled Horace's silvery voicings and made the song live, with Vince Lateano and Eric Markowitz partnering him promptly on drums and bass. Horace, forever young, would have been squirming with delight. "There Will Never Be Another You" might have invoked thoughts of Andrew Speight, recently seen on Facebook in his native Australia, but Dave kept things shiny, and Eric had his strings singing. Al Molina was the next notable through the door, soon followed by his frequent Tuesday bandmate and saxophonist Todd Dickow. "Just One of Those Things" grew to be seven of those fabulous things as Andrew arrived, his alto not sounding jet-lagged at all, but instead about seven or eight miles high, though the player himself stifled a few yawns between solos. By now, disharmony had become visible, but not audible, on the venue's tv screens, as Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton continued to sound the drear tone of present-day politics. As if to offset the dolor, Dave repeatedly interpolated a quote from "Stranger In Paradise" into a sequence of tunes. Across the way, innocent birds rose up towards already risen small clouds, and as the venerable Noel Jewkes and the vibrant Kay Kostopoulos wandered in out of the dusk, I wandered out, sweet potato fries in hand, to spend the next part of the evening actually listening to the candidates. I'll be glad when we can all, safely, stick with the music.