Before coming to a cineplex near you, and racking up millions in album sales, Jones was like any other struggling New York City musician who wanted to be heard. Well, almost like any other: her father is sitar legend Ravi Shankar, after all, but she still made the rounds, playing at small clubs before she signed a record deal. One of those small clubs was a Jewish cultural center on Manhattan’s Upper West Side called Makor, where, if you can imagine, she had to play above the din of conversation of the uninterested crowd. It was as if she was the entertainment in the lounge of a Howard Johnson’s. She wasn’t Norah Jones, Megastar then—her massive debut wasn’t released until 2002—just a chick at the piano playing a few songs (“Come Away With Me” and “Don’t Know Why” among them). But another spot was the aptly named the Living Room, a former fried chicken shop, where she and a gang of musician friends would get their share of the donations when it came time to pass the bucket for the entertainment. It was the music venue equivalent of “Cheers,” where everybody did know her name, because the venue was a hub in New York City’s tightly knit musical community, where friendships were formed over similar tastes in music and beer—and not, say, MySpace and Facebook. The cozy vibe was exactly what you’d expect from a place with that name: intimate and casual, a handful of tiny tables and chairs, Christmas lights for ambiance. And Jones at the piano, with her friends—musicians like Jesse Harris (who wrote the superhit “Don’t Know Why,” among others on her debut) and bassist and songwriter Lee Alexander, who was playing with her then and still does.

Sporting a new Mia Farrow-style short hairdo and recovering from a case of hives brought on, she said, from drinking Dr. Pepper and eating Cheetos as part of her birthday celebration the night before, Jones took the stage alone at midnight and played Hank Williams’s “Cold, Cold Heart” on guitar (red, like her cowboy boots); she remarked that it was the first time she’d done the song solo, without her band. And while she clearly is the main event when she’s onstage, you get the feeling that she’d rather not always be. “I’m bringing in the professionals,” she said after a couple of songs, and with a flick of her head old friends Richard Julian and Jim Campilongo on guitar, drummer Dan Rieser and (former boyfriend) Alexander joined her onstage, forming their side project known as the Little Willies, which came together in 2003 at—where else—the Living Room. Rip-roaring through Willie Nelson (“I Gotta Get Drunk”), as well as a few more Hank Williams covers and a few originals (notably the song about Lou Reed going cow tipping), Jones and company performed and paid tribute to the spot that brought them all together a decade ago.

In the six years since Jones became a household name, the music industry has changed dramatically. Tomorrow’s stars no longer take off from coffee houses and Living Room-like launch pads anymore, but from bloggers, TV shows and commercials. Jones went from downtown to Hollywood and skipped all that Web-buzz business in between. Judging from the smile on her face as she played to a packed room filled with friends, family and fans, she wouldn’t have had it any other way.