This was the Dream

It was a dream: my wife and I were in a large old auditorium which, instead of theater seating, had a polished hardwood dance floor. There were a few high tables around the room and we managed to snag one near the bar. Gradually, and then steadily, couples and individuals began to come in wearing vintage clothing, with some in modern dress. Very soon the room was packed with people, most well under age forty. We noted that we were among the oldest people in attendance. It turned out that this was a dance of some sort, though we didn't participate. Before the main event, one couple was giving Charleston lessons. The dancers, unfamiliar with the steps, were eager to learn. Eventually, a young jazz band appeared on the stage. The leader, who cut a dapper Bixian figure with his thin mustache and period suit, doubled on cornet and trombone. There was a reed player, a bass sax man, a drummer, and a banjoist. The band played hot. It was easily among the best 1920s-style jazz we had ever heard, and the dancers responded enthusiastically. The bandleader sang melodically in a light baritone, his vocals appropriate to the material being played. At times the music was hard to hear over the din of a hall full of people dancing and talking and thoroughly enjoying themselves. There were some odd moments. At one point a woman came up to us saying that she had never heard a band before—a