We long ago established in this column that black people are hipper than other people, particularly if they are American, over 40 and don't listen to crappy hip-hop (although some under-40 black people associated with hip-hop to one degree or another can be very hip as well; witness, say, Snoop, "Pretty Boy" Floyd Mayweather and Dave Chappelle).

Too, we long ago established in this column that smooth jazz or acid jazz or crossover jazz or contemporary jazz or whatever they call it this week is not really jazz at all, and is, in fact, often very nearly as crappy as crappy hip-hop, and in worst-case scenarios can indeed be adjudged as even crappier.

And so I was stunned – stunned! – when one evening not long ago, I spent an evening at Humphrey's Backstage Lounge and found it crammed to sardine can proportions with exotically hip black people, many of whom appeared to be well over 40 and smelled of pricey perfumes and colognes and sported marvelously posh-looking threads in rainbows of gorgeously luminescent pastel colors and brushed beaver retro-Stetsons to render the hipper-than-everyone-else-on-the-planet Delroy Lindo green with envy.

Stun Factor No. 1: This awe-inspiring assemblage of hipster elite had descended upon Humphrey's in support of a self-advertised smooth/acid/contemporary/crossover jazz reedman, a sullen-looking but extraordinarily handsome youth named Jason Weber, who is white, well under 40 and wearing a very casual, perhaps Target-purchased wardrobe with the top shirt buttons undone and surfer-dude beads around his neck.

Stun Factor No. 2: Despite the fact that Weber looked like someone who might possibly hang around trendy L.A. clubs listening to crappy hip-hop in the company of Colin Farrell and Paris Hilton, when I closed my eyes I might have sworn it was 1970 and I was listening to Quincy Jones up on the bandstand, conducting an all-star combo featuring Cannonball Adderly, Eddie Harris, Herbie Mann, Pepper Adams and Herbie Hancock. There was nothing smooth or contemporary or crossover emanating from that stage, and if it was acid, it was a damned good trip; a flight of fantastic, first-class, full-fashion funk; I'd even go so far as to frame the fuss as "far out." The kid can write, the kid can blow, and he can blow soprano, alto, tenor, baritone, flute and keys (although tenor is his main ax).

If ya don't believe me, check him out with your own optic organs: Weber's new CD, "Can U Feel Me Now," is available at his Web site and his entirely fly combo makes a return engagement at Humphrey's Sunday night, a concert you ought to attend even if you're not a cool, middle-aged black person.

Meanwhile, I placed a call to Weber's Lake Elsinore home to ask him two questions:

Q: Why do you call your music "smooth jazz" when it's really better than that implies?
A: "I hate labels and I agree that a lot of smooth jazz in insincere and unmusical, but you have to call yourself something for marketing purposes to get people to pay attention."
Q: Why do all these cool, middle-aged black people in fancy threads love you so much?
A: "I don't know."