Some people are born to boogie, some to rock out, and some to twang on. But then there are “the others,” the ones with a certain mystique about them that we can’t quite put our finger on.

They are quiet and kind and seem to be always thinking and evaluating. They take care when dressing in the morning. They are hip, Daddy-Os as it were. They are cool cats. They listen to jazz.

If dance music tastes like a spicy Thai rice bowl, and rock ‘n’ roll like a burger and fries, and country music like smoked barbeque ribs, then jazz tastes like lemon peppered chicken. Luckily, you can get some jazz and some lemon peppered chicken from the Captain Daniel Packer Inne in Mystic one night every week.

Locals refer to the joint as “DPI” or “The Packer.” And at 10 p.m. Thursdays, The Packer Trio jazz ensemble owns the room.

Mystic folks know that DPI is a historic and culinary destination, with a rich history dating back to the year 1754. But the jazz happening on Thursdays is kind of a secret, so I made a date to check it out.

I arrived at about 9 p.m. and grabbed the last parking spot out back, walked down an incline, down a few steps and entered an English-pub looking common room. It was packed.

It was warm and cozy inside with a low wood-beam ceiling, stone and brick walls, and a large welcoming fireplace. Back in the 1700s, I can imagine tables of jolly men drinking large stouts of ale, playing cards and gossiping. But in 2017, it was fancy whiskeys, Pabst Blue Ribbon cans and cell phones scattered on the tables.

And lots of men. Ladies, I kid you not, it was raining men.

Anyhow, at my seat at the bar I drooled as waiters delivered platters of food to the tables: clam chowder, lobster rolls, short ribs, burgers, and the aforementioned lemon peppered chicken. Bartenders also doled out hot mulled apple cider and maple whiskey concoctions.

The drummer in the band, Ian Kelly, was having a bite to eat at the bar before the show so we chatted. Sprinkled throughout our conversation he would refer to guys as cats. “Yeah, this cat I know...” he would say. This sort of jazz-speak went on for about an hour as I gleaned the history of the trio, what I was in for, and a word or two about the ghost girl that haunts the place.

“She’s a fun ghost though,” offered bartender Natalie. “She’s 7 years old and just wants to play. People can ‘feel’ her on the stairs and particularly on the third floor.” Goosebumps up and down my arm urged me on to changing the subject.

The Packer Trio, consisting of local musicians Ian Kelly (drums), Freddy Fagan (guitar) and Tom Latawiec (bass), aren’t really a trio anymore as keyboardist Jay Franklin has been sitting in consistently for about a year. Kelly has been playing jazz in the corner at DPI for 16 years. All the musicians have multiple music projects going on but almost always make this gig.

According to Kelly, this little corner is known to jazz musicians as a quick sit-in opportunity if they are traveling between New York and Boston. If someone walks in with a saxophone case, they most likely want to sit in.

“It’s not an open jam by any means though,” said Kelly. “There’s a language to jazz that you simply need to understand. It’s more about the hang,” said Kelly in more jazz-speak.

“In the winter we keep it chill and play wine-tasting tunes as couples sit by the fire. But in the summer, when it gets rambunctious, we play livelier Latin and funk tunes,” Kelly said.

The guys in the band waited for diners in their designated corner to finish their meals. Then they set about moving tables and chairs, salt and pepper shakers, sugar packets and candles. The corner soon transformed into a stage of sorts with drums, amps and keyboards.

The bass player turned down the house lights to set the mood and cracked some windows. The 70s soft rock that had been playing through the house system suddenly changed to jazz.

It was 10 pm. The band was now in charge. And off they went.

None of the musicians said a word “on stage.” There were head nods here and there, a look to the side, a chuckle now and again. It was like telepathy. They all just seemed to know what chord changes were coming, who was soloing next, and how it all was going to end.

They pulled it all off flawlessly. Vigorous applause followed each solo. The audience was definitely there to hear every note from these cats.

I couldn’t believe this was Mystic. I thought for sure I had woken up in New Orleans or New York City, transported to some faraway place with the ghost girl.

A couple songs in, Danny Motta, a local trumpet player, walked through the door with instrument in tow, sat down at a table and adjusted a mute device to the trumpet. The resulting sound was like a Miles Davis wah-wah muted song. He told me he was a drop-in sit-in member tonight.

“I love playing with these guys,” he said. “It’s a mutual admiration society.”

For us locals, when we think of Mystic, we think of the seaport, sea chanties, seagulls and seafood. But lo and behold consider yourself now in on the big secret. There’s some super great live jazz music in these parts.

This new column can only get better with your input. If you know of a great place to hang out, let us know by email at l.howard@theday.com or call 860-701-4356.