Superheroes stormed the NYC Chocolate Show! Among the rooster were Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Iron Man, and Xena.Great pics by the City Sweet Tooth here.
Showing posts with label nyc. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nyc. Show all posts
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Chocolate Superheroes!
Superheroes stormed the NYC Chocolate Show! Among the rooster were Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Iron Man, and Xena.Great pics by the City Sweet Tooth here.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Give the people what they want?
In all honesty, I can't STAND "Take the 'A' Train."It grates on me almost as much as "Satin Doll," which is my #1 most hated song. I love me some Duke, but I could honestly live out the rest of my life never hearing either one of those two tunes again!
I was just raging about "A Train" the other day to Joseph. Which is why I sat in complete shock, giving him my dirtiest teacher glare, when the other night at his Garage hit, near the end of his second set, I heard the iconic piano intro to "Take the 'A' Train." "WTF?", I glared with my eyes. He gave me a "give the people what they want" shrug and launched full on into the opening melody.
"Yeah! Take the A Train!" exclaimed the boyfriend of my friend whom I was sitting with.
"Excuse me," I muttered, deciding this was the ideal time for a bathroom break.
A few minutes later I returned to the bar, and became cognisant of an increase in noise level. Why are these half drunk trendy twenty-somethings sitting next to me all of a sudden so rowdy? And my awareness was shifted back to the band, where the pianist, Brooks Hartell, was banging out a 6 chorus, perfectly crafted, fantastically inspired stride piano solo, and the people were actually cheering him on!
I shut my eyes and for half a second felt transported back into "the day." The day when the unknown pianist sat at the out of tune piano at the local speakeasy playing for the non-musicians who actually liked the blues licks and improvised solos, inspiring them to dance and become rowdy, giving "jazz" the reputation of being devil music. This is what is must have been like, when people liked jazz and appreciated jazz, and the music was more about the sounds as they happened and less about the harmonic analysis or intellectual composition techniques.
We jazzers certainly like to (dare I say) over-think our music. There has been a lot of discussion recently regarding the place of vocabulary (read the comments) and education (IAJE's bankruptcy) within the vast, yet vague world of jazz. These are complicated issues with circumstantial answers. And yet I can't help but feel that we as jazz musicians, whose very nature is intrinsic to making order out of chaos, bring on the complexities of our genre ourselves. Our world is very small, very young, and currently very under-appreciated. It's hard for us to just let music be music, be it bebop, third stream, dixieland, big band, avant garde, or any other sub-genre of jazz. We feel the need to understand and define every aspect of the creation of the music, the social impacts of the music, the education or "street cred" of the music, and the category that the music falls into. Our egos are easily bruised and we look to one another for validation.
It is because of this jazz trait that I can't let "The 'A'' Train" go. I can't help but ponder the popularity of the song. Is it because it's about a subway line (an unreliable one at that!) in NYC and everyone (including New Yorkers) are fascinated with anything NY? Is it because Duke did an exceptional job of promoting this song back in the day so that it became ingrained in everyday life? Perhaps it was the educational system who chose this song as it's token jazz tune, thereby brainwashing America into thinking it is the only good jazz tune. Or maybe it's because that opening line is just so damn catchy?
Why? WHY! my over analytical brain screams! Duke, and others, had so many great songs, why was THIS the one that is recognizable by almost every non-musical person out there?
And then I think...
What does it matter? Aside from perhaps wanting to discover a magic formula for making my own tunes so popular, does it really matter why audiences love "Take the 'A' Train?" At least it's a Duke tune and not some crap like "Yakkity Sax."
And the thing is, it does work like magic!
For the first set and a half, Joseph and his quartet played a great balance of standards and originals. It was wonderful playing, but they really could have been up there reciting scales over and over for all the patrons of the restaurant cared. No one applauded after solos, and no one acknowledged the band when they were introduced at the end of the set. That's not so abnormal, as the venue is after all a restaurant and bar, not a jazz hall. However, after hearing "'A' Train," the now drunk twenty-somethings were all into the music, cheering for all the tunes, and even staying for all 4 sets. All of a sudden the music was alive to them, and there was an energy and communication in the room. Isn't that what we as musicians, any musician regardless of genre, strive for? A connection to the listener?
Now I think it's safe to guess that the drunkards did not stick around because they were instantly transformed into active jazz listeners, eager to interpret the improvisations and arrangements of the tunes to come. But it is highly likely that the music created such an energy and vibe that fit the mood of the pending hook-ups, that the crowds stayed, if not for the genius of the music, but for the environment it created. I think we need to realize that our music does still serve that function. While we with our educated compositional minds do yearn to express and communicate various personal agendas with our music, we need to remember that if we want to call our music jazz, then we need to embrace the historical roots of jazz as (deep breath)... entertainment.
The word "entertainment" has a negative connotation these days. I hear "entertainment" and I think Britney Spears, cheesy chick flicks, and rag mags. But entertainment is defined as "something affording pleasure, diversion, or amusement, esp. a performance of some kind."
Our music is amazing in that it has the ability to be intricate, multi-layered, and in need of a (musically) intelligent listener to fully grasp the fullness and genius of the music. At the same time, the music can appeal to those who simply want to be diverted, pleased, and amused. We need not always have both goals within the same song, set, or performance. I do think there is a time for a more serious concert performance, and a place for the "lite" set. I also think it is possible to achieve both at that same time. Regardless of the your intent as a musician, I don't think we should value one goal above the other.
It is because of this jazz trait that I can't let "The 'A'' Train" go. I can't help but ponder the popularity of the song. Is it because it's about a subway line (an unreliable one at that!) in NYC and everyone (including New Yorkers) are fascinated with anything NY? Is it because Duke did an exceptional job of promoting this song back in the day so that it became ingrained in everyday life? Perhaps it was the educational system who chose this song as it's token jazz tune, thereby brainwashing America into thinking it is the only good jazz tune. Or maybe it's because that opening line is just so damn catchy?
Why? WHY! my over analytical brain screams! Duke, and others, had so many great songs, why was THIS the one that is recognizable by almost every non-musical person out there?
And then I think...
What does it matter? Aside from perhaps wanting to discover a magic formula for making my own tunes so popular, does it really matter why audiences love "Take the 'A' Train?" At least it's a Duke tune and not some crap like "Yakkity Sax."
And the thing is, it does work like magic!
For the first set and a half, Joseph and his quartet played a great balance of standards and originals. It was wonderful playing, but they really could have been up there reciting scales over and over for all the patrons of the restaurant cared. No one applauded after solos, and no one acknowledged the band when they were introduced at the end of the set. That's not so abnormal, as the venue is after all a restaurant and bar, not a jazz hall. However, after hearing "'A' Train," the now drunk twenty-somethings were all into the music, cheering for all the tunes, and even staying for all 4 sets. All of a sudden the music was alive to them, and there was an energy and communication in the room. Isn't that what we as musicians, any musician regardless of genre, strive for? A connection to the listener?
Now I think it's safe to guess that the drunkards did not stick around because they were instantly transformed into active jazz listeners, eager to interpret the improvisations and arrangements of the tunes to come. But it is highly likely that the music created such an energy and vibe that fit the mood of the pending hook-ups, that the crowds stayed, if not for the genius of the music, but for the environment it created. I think we need to realize that our music does still serve that function. While we with our educated compositional minds do yearn to express and communicate various personal agendas with our music, we need to remember that if we want to call our music jazz, then we need to embrace the historical roots of jazz as (deep breath)... entertainment.
The word "entertainment" has a negative connotation these days. I hear "entertainment" and I think Britney Spears, cheesy chick flicks, and rag mags. But entertainment is defined as "something affording pleasure, diversion, or amusement, esp. a performance of some kind."
Our music is amazing in that it has the ability to be intricate, multi-layered, and in need of a (musically) intelligent listener to fully grasp the fullness and genius of the music. At the same time, the music can appeal to those who simply want to be diverted, pleased, and amused. We need not always have both goals within the same song, set, or performance. I do think there is a time for a more serious concert performance, and a place for the "lite" set. I also think it is possible to achieve both at that same time. Regardless of the your intent as a musician, I don't think we should value one goal above the other.
It is for that reason that I feel a bit ashamed of my elitist reaction to "the 'A' Train." My snobbery doesn't help the cause of jazz, or the essence of music for that matter. I won't quit trying to perfect the high level of expression and storytelling I hope to achieve through my compositions, but when it comes to playing for a young crowd, on a Saturday night, at a bar, after a long work week, isn't it okay, especially if it helps reel listeners in, to just count off a swing beat, and give the people what they want?
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Celestial Bodies
I got my first Lois Greenfield calendar back in 2001, I think.I never tire of seeing each month's amazing depiction of dancers caught mid-movement in a sort of immortal expression. I find the strength and poise of the dancers' bodies frozen by Greenfield's quick eye to be an inspiration of creative expression, and motivation to get back in the gym!
I was quite saddened this year when I could not find the 2008 Breaking Bounds calendar and have been with out my monthly dose of awe. So I was very excited when I received an email from Dance New Amsterdam announcing an exhibit of Greenfield's work.
Celestial Bodies opened last night in the gallery at Dance New Amsterdam, my favorite dance studio in the city. DNA, as we like to refer to it, has really remade itself in the last few years. When I first started taking class there in 2004, they were located in SOHO in a run-down converted factory on Broadway, and was called Dance Space Center. The place had an established, gritty feel to it that will never be replaced by its new shiny and polished studios, now located in the Financial District. But with the location and name change, many new opportunities have presented themselves to the dancers of DNA. The current location offers a theater, studio and office space rentals, a pilates and wellness studio, performance opportunities, and now, an art gallery.
Joseph and I arrived to the opening night reception fashionably late. We barely managed to snag the last two glasses of the obligatory free wine before the drink table closed. I was a bit disappointed to see that there were only two walls of photographs on display; we made our first round in under 5 minutes. With our second lap, wine securely in hand, we lingered and were more comfortable whispering impressions of the photographs. Not unlike listening to a new CD for the first and second times, far more detail and emotion stood out on this second walk through. Words such as "discomfort," "sensual," and "biblical" were exchanged in a pseudo-intellectual attempt to see more depth in what at first glance are simply mostly naked, really fit men and women. We marveled at the use of fabrics and mirrors to create a multi-dimensional image. We had fun playing (if not geeky) games of "what sounds/music do you hear looking at this picture" and "which photos would you collect in a set for your living room wall."
The space is rather small and I scanned it religiously on the slim but possible chance of seeing someone I knew. My presence in the dance world was too short lived, but several dancers that I went to school with and others that I met during my three summers at the American Dance Festival are here in NY working professionally and are affiliated with DNA. I am constantly yearning to resubmerge myself into the world of modern dance, both as a musician and a dancer.
As expected, after attending this exhibit, seeing the beautifully photographed dancers as well as the living, breathing dancers who were also in attendance, my motivation to return to dance is renewed. Chambers Street, where DNA is located, is quite a trek for ten or so photographs, but if you have some time, or happen to be in the area, a stop into the gallery will yield nothing if not an awesome appreciation for the dancers' sculpted bodies, and perhaps elicit an emotion or two to inspire and motivate you toward your innermost aspirations.
"Celestial Bodies" will be on exhibit until Aug 31. Dance New Amsterdam is located at 280 Broadway, 2nd Floor (entrance on Chambers). Gallery hours are 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., Monday–Sunday. 212.625.8369
I was quite saddened this year when I could not find the 2008 Breaking Bounds calendar and have been with out my monthly dose of awe. So I was very excited when I received an email from Dance New Amsterdam announcing an exhibit of Greenfield's work.
Celestial Bodies opened last night in the gallery at Dance New Amsterdam, my favorite dance studio in the city. DNA, as we like to refer to it, has really remade itself in the last few years. When I first started taking class there in 2004, they were located in SOHO in a run-down converted factory on Broadway, and was called Dance Space Center. The place had an established, gritty feel to it that will never be replaced by its new shiny and polished studios, now located in the Financial District. But with the location and name change, many new opportunities have presented themselves to the dancers of DNA. The current location offers a theater, studio and office space rentals, a pilates and wellness studio, performance opportunities, and now, an art gallery.
Joseph and I arrived to the opening night reception fashionably late. We barely managed to snag the last two glasses of the obligatory free wine before the drink table closed. I was a bit disappointed to see that there were only two walls of photographs on display; we made our first round in under 5 minutes. With our second lap, wine securely in hand, we lingered and were more comfortable whispering impressions of the photographs. Not unlike listening to a new CD for the first and second times, far more detail and emotion stood out on this second walk through. Words such as "discomfort," "sensual," and "biblical" were exchanged in a pseudo-intellectual attempt to see more depth in what at first glance are simply mostly naked, really fit men and women. We marveled at the use of fabrics and mirrors to create a multi-dimensional image. We had fun playing (if not geeky) games of "what sounds/music do you hear looking at this picture" and "which photos would you collect in a set for your living room wall."
The space is rather small and I scanned it religiously on the slim but possible chance of seeing someone I knew. My presence in the dance world was too short lived, but several dancers that I went to school with and others that I met during my three summers at the American Dance Festival are here in NY working professionally and are affiliated with DNA. I am constantly yearning to resubmerge myself into the world of modern dance, both as a musician and a dancer.
As expected, after attending this exhibit, seeing the beautifully photographed dancers as well as the living, breathing dancers who were also in attendance, my motivation to return to dance is renewed. Chambers Street, where DNA is located, is quite a trek for ten or so photographs, but if you have some time, or happen to be in the area, a stop into the gallery will yield nothing if not an awesome appreciation for the dancers' sculpted bodies, and perhaps elicit an emotion or two to inspire and motivate you toward your innermost aspirations.
"Celestial Bodies" will be on exhibit until Aug 31. Dance New Amsterdam is located at 280 Broadway, 2nd Floor (entrance on Chambers). Gallery hours are 9 a.m. to 9 p.m., Monday–Sunday. 212.625.8369
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Mariposa
My favorite lesson that Fran and I do with kindergarten involves the second track of the Putumayo World Playground CD called "La Mariposa." Go here to listen to the first minute of the tune. It's about a Bolivian slave dance called the Morenada. It's fun, catchy, and I like singing along because I feel like I'm speaking Spanish. The syncopated chorus of con las manos, con las pies, la morenada, gets pleasantly stuck in my head all the time.That, however, is not the reason I have once again committed blog negligence.
I really have no excuse this time around. No looming deadlines, no marathons, not even a big copy job. I've had nothing. In fact, it's been that nothing that I've greatly enjoyed the past month or so. So much that I have not blogged, or even kept up with my blog reading (so my apologies to my sudden lack of commenting!). My Google reader shows over 500 unread entries.
And speaking of Google reader... I'm not sure I prefer using a reader to just visiting a blog. I can never access comments, and I enjoy looking at the writer's blog format. Perhaps I'll use the reader just to alert me to new entries, then click directly onto the blog of choice for a change.
And speaking of change... in the spirit of reentering the world of productivity, I have lofty goals of undergoing a slight reorganization and refocusing of this blog. But more on that later (if I can get around to it, that is).
In the meantime, I am leaving the apartment for the afternoon to enjoy New York in the spring, which, by the way, is simply enchanting, and to lie in the sun and daydream of mariposas.
Saturday, January 12, 2008
No Pants Subway Ride
Today is No Pants Subway Ride day!!!
Organized by Improv Everywhere, this NYC based group frequently "causes scenes of chaos and joy in public places" - over 70 missions to date!
The No Pants Subway Ride is exactly as it sounds. Volunteers meet, board assigned trains, then on cue take off their pants and continue to ride the next couple of trains sans pants. When asked about the bizarre before, they respond with "I was getting a bit uncomfortable" or "Yes, I am a bit cold," or my favorite "I guess I forgot my pants this morning."
Only in New York? Not at all! You can be pantless in Boston, DC, Portland, San Fran, Chicago, Adelaide (Australia), and Toronto!
If you are NYC local, they start at 3:00 today and will be pantless on the 6 train running from the Brooklyn Bridge up to 125th, back down to Union Station.
What to volunteer? Check out their website and the rules first!
Guess the Manor House Girls aren't the only ones who enjoy hanging out sans pants.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
She ain't heavy, she's my sister
Go see my sister, Jessica L. Fenton, who is only heavy in bizarro world, play a night of original acoustic duo music at Googie's Lounge this Thursday, November 8 at 9:30. No cover, one drink minimum. Why support this nepotism? Because this city makes it incredibly hard for good music to be supported, and her music deserves to be given a chance by those eagerly sought after fans who come to the gig purely out of musical curiosity, not because they want to sound cool recapping their weekend at the water cooler on Monday morning or harbor a sense of obligation (not that we musicians don't appreciate the support from our friends and family who are often the only patrons at our shows).
If you know anything about my music, expect to hear quite the opposite from Jessica. While I like to think it was the many hours I slaved with my alto over the Bb Blues Scale along with Jamey A. and the play-a-long crew back in high school that influenced Jessie's musicality, the real credit should be given to my mother. We grew up hearing her play the baddest folk guitar in church those catholic priests had ever heard! There's no doubt that hearing my mom play every Saturday night for the "folk" mass as well as around the house occasionally, though not nearly enough, both Jessie and I, as well as our two brothers, were given a deep sense of the functionality of music- I don't think any of us really minded going to church those Saturday nights. It was worth it to hear my mom play and her friend, Carol Hayes, who had the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, sing. While I chose the academic route, Jessica followed my mom's path, and learned to play by ear. Her music is a prime example of why knowing all the music theory in the world can not make up for having an incredible ear.
When you come on Thursday, expect to hear a slight departure from her loud, full band "alternative pop rock" sound. This set will feature Jess on acoustic guitar and Jonathon Roberts, of her band The Stairdivers, on Googie's beautiful white baby grand piano. Those familiar with her music can look forward to hearing her more popular tunes, "What were you expecting," and "Wool." I am looking forward to hearing her lesser known tunes, "Hey, It's Ok," and "Routine Continuing." Jessie is looking forward to the beautiful white baby grand.
Check out Jessica's website and myspace, and we'll see you on Thursday.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Rave Run
In Runner's World, there's a column called "Rave Run" where people can send in a picture of themselves running their favorite routes. I love pouring over these 2 page spreads of varying landscapes and locations, daydreaming about what it would be like to run in these favorite places, discovering the magic the route holds for each stranger. Does the runner feel inspired when running here? Is it the simple challenge of the route that holds the allure? Does it offer peace, or a desired loneliness? Or is the view so breathtaking that the runner felt compelled to photograph it and mail the print into Runner's World?Last Wednesday, I had a Rave Run.
I met with Kate, much later than intended, and we headed over the Reservoir. We were both a little nervous as we cut through Central Park to darkening skies. Scenes from Law and Order and CSI:NY of cops bent over dead girl number 1's body in the park flashed through my mind as did my mother's warnings to "not go out after dark in big, bad New York City." But then we crossed over the W 94 Reservoir Bridge, and all changed.
The reservoir's 1.6 mile loop, which is usually crowded with runners, walkers, and extremely annoying space taking tourists, was sparse with just enough runners to make us feel safe. By now it was flat out dark, but the run was amazing. Kate kicked my butt with a slightly faster than normal pace. Extremely peaceful, the loop was a nice juxtaposition to the streets that lay a half a mile to either the east or west.
Kate and I did the usual girl chat on the first lap, but fell silent on the second as we worked to keep our pace. This silence taunted me to return alone, knowing my introvert self would be in heaven in the darkness. But despite my Donna Troy alias, I think I'm not quite brave enough to venture back there alone. (Well... maybe if I entered from the East Side, but who wants to go there?!)
Sadly, I only had my 1.something mega pixel cell phone camera to capture my Rave Run, and I will not be mailing the print into Runner's World.
Instead, I share it here.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Two nights of very different music
Sunday Night:
Happy Birthday Mingus- Celebrating 85: Music of Love & Protest
Mingus Big Band & Mingus Orchestra with Gunther Schuller, Conductor
Lincoln Center Out of Doors, Damrosh Park Bandshell, 8 PM, Free
Mingus Big Band:
Saxes: Ronnie Cuber, Wayne Escoffrey, Abraham Burton, Vincent Herring, Jaleel Shaw
Trumpets: Ryan Kisor, Kenny Rampton, Lew Soloff
Trombones: Ku-umba Frank Lacy, Early McIntyre, Andy Hunter,*
Drums: Jonathon Blake
Bass: Boris Kozlov
Piano: George Colligan
*the name of the bass trombonist/tuba was left off the program and I regret I did not catch it during the acknowledgements
Mingus Orchestra
Alto Sax/Flute: Craig Handy
Tenor Sax: Wayne Escoffrey
Bass Clarinet: Douglas Yates
Bassoon: Michael Rabinowitz
French Horn: John Clarke
Trumpet: Kenny Rampton
Trombone: Ku-umba Frank Lacy
Guitar: Jack Wilkins
Bass: Boris Kozlov
Drums: Donald Edwards
Conductor: Gunther Schuller
Sunday night was a beautiful night for outdoor music. Cool and breezy, the sun set gracefully behind the concert shell, which Nadje pointed out, looked with it’s white arc as if it had been removed from the Sydney Opera House and sent north. Sue Mingus emceed the evening.
Contrary to the billing, the Mingus Orchestra played first. Most impressive was Gunther Schuller’s plaid jacket- cool in the 70s, still cool today. Actually, it was very exciting to watch him conduct. I am not too familiar with Mingus’s works for chamber orchestra, but after hearing the 5 or so tunes that they played, three from his acclaimed “Epitaph” (arrangments made of, course, by Schuller) I am most definitley going to check them out.
Highlight: Douglas Yates’s bad ass bass clarinet solo on Pithecanthropus Erectus.
After a short pause and set change, the big band came on. They picked up where the orchestra left off with more excerpts from “Epitaph” before kicking it up with my favorite of the evening, “Freedom.” Ku-umbra Frank Lacy outdid himself on the vocals and while up to this point the concert had been enjoyable, a new energy rippled through the audience during this tune. The set ended with the equally charged “Song with Orange.” Solos by Wayne Escoffrey, Jaleel Shaw and Vincent Herring made me happy.
Highlight: The grayhairs dancing in the audience to “Song with Orange.”
_____________________
Monday Night
Dharmashakti in Heavan
Integral Yoga Institute, 6th Floor, 7 PM, $20
Deian McBryde (Dharmashakti)- voice
David Freeman- percussion
Nadje Noordhuis- trumpet
Christian Pincock- electronics & valve trombone
Ursel Schlicht- keyboard
Adam Simmons- tenor sax, flute, & shakuhachi
Attendance to this show began as simple friend support. Nadje was playing therefore I was attending. However it only took a few chants for me to be fully engaged in this very out, but very enjoyable evening.
Until last night, I was a Kirtan virgin. I didn’t know it, in fact I had never heard the term Kirtan. In fact, I thought I was attending passively a concert of free jazz, not participating in the chanting of Sanskrit. I must say, chanting was a hell of a lot more fun than listening to free jazz for what turned out to be almost 2 and a half hours!
The kirtan was held in a yoga studio in what is technically the West Village (W. 13 St) but may as well still be Chelsea. I arrived early and was herded to the rooftop garden to wait, which I found even more relaxing than the Nag Champa burning in the gift store. Like any good jazz show, this one started a good 20 minutes late. It took another 20 minutes after the first “om shanti” for me to finally be able to look at Nad without laughing.
Overall, I was very much enjoyed the evening of Sanskrit and jazz. Deian did a magnificent job weaving between audience participation with chants and instructional listening (watch the recorder as it is held in front of the person creating the idea for the group improvisation). There were enough solos to satiate my snobby jazzer taste and there was even a tune in which Adam conducted the entire room in a group improvisation (this was quite interesting!). I thought the horn arrangements were great and won’t lie and say I didn’t feel a sense of connection and energy as the entire room engaged in singing (myself included). If nothing else- it was great ear training (when there is a drone going, it’s a constant game of what interval is this?).
One slight inconsistency blocked some of my happy-peace-energy. Deian welcomed the audience with smiles and patience as we responded on the wrong beats and wrong pitches to his undoubtedly deliberately thought out arrangements. But he did not treat the band with the same warmth. You could sense a perfectionist need for control as he communicated sans smiles with the band members. This definitely did not jive with the love yourself and the world vibe he so successfully created with the music.
Note to self: Stage presence is of equal importance, if not more important than the music. Alternatively, love your band members and don’t be afraid to let the music escape your grasp and develop into its own, uncontrolled entity.
Highlight: When Deian asked who in the audience passionately loved free jazz and a few people actually raised their hands!!
…
Two consecutive nights of completely different music; this is why I love NY.
Happy Birthday Mingus- Celebrating 85: Music of Love & Protest
Mingus Big Band & Mingus Orchestra with Gunther Schuller, Conductor
Lincoln Center Out of Doors, Damrosh Park Bandshell, 8 PM, Free
Mingus Big Band:
Saxes: Ronnie Cuber, Wayne Escoffrey, Abraham Burton, Vincent Herring, Jaleel Shaw
Trumpets: Ryan Kisor, Kenny Rampton, Lew Soloff
Trombones: Ku-umba Frank Lacy, Early McIntyre, Andy Hunter,*
Drums: Jonathon Blake
Bass: Boris Kozlov
Piano: George Colligan
*the name of the bass trombonist/tuba was left off the program and I regret I did not catch it during the acknowledgements
Mingus Orchestra
Alto Sax/Flute: Craig Handy
Tenor Sax: Wayne Escoffrey
Bass Clarinet: Douglas Yates
Bassoon: Michael Rabinowitz
French Horn: John Clarke
Trumpet: Kenny Rampton
Trombone: Ku-umba Frank Lacy
Guitar: Jack Wilkins
Bass: Boris Kozlov
Drums: Donald Edwards
Conductor: Gunther Schuller
Sunday night was a beautiful night for outdoor music. Cool and breezy, the sun set gracefully behind the concert shell, which Nadje pointed out, looked with it’s white arc as if it had been removed from the Sydney Opera House and sent north. Sue Mingus emceed the evening.
Contrary to the billing, the Mingus Orchestra played first. Most impressive was Gunther Schuller’s plaid jacket- cool in the 70s, still cool today. Actually, it was very exciting to watch him conduct. I am not too familiar with Mingus’s works for chamber orchestra, but after hearing the 5 or so tunes that they played, three from his acclaimed “Epitaph” (arrangments made of, course, by Schuller) I am most definitley going to check them out.
Highlight: Douglas Yates’s bad ass bass clarinet solo on Pithecanthropus Erectus.
After a short pause and set change, the big band came on. They picked up where the orchestra left off with more excerpts from “Epitaph” before kicking it up with my favorite of the evening, “Freedom.” Ku-umbra Frank Lacy outdid himself on the vocals and while up to this point the concert had been enjoyable, a new energy rippled through the audience during this tune. The set ended with the equally charged “Song with Orange.” Solos by Wayne Escoffrey, Jaleel Shaw and Vincent Herring made me happy.
Highlight: The grayhairs dancing in the audience to “Song with Orange.”
_____________________
Monday Night
Dharmashakti in Heavan
Integral Yoga Institute, 6th Floor, 7 PM, $20
Deian McBryde (Dharmashakti)- voice
David Freeman- percussion
Nadje Noordhuis- trumpet
Christian Pincock- electronics & valve trombone
Ursel Schlicht- keyboard
Adam Simmons- tenor sax, flute, & shakuhachi
Attendance to this show began as simple friend support. Nadje was playing therefore I was attending. However it only took a few chants for me to be fully engaged in this very out, but very enjoyable evening.
Until last night, I was a Kirtan virgin. I didn’t know it, in fact I had never heard the term Kirtan. In fact, I thought I was attending passively a concert of free jazz, not participating in the chanting of Sanskrit. I must say, chanting was a hell of a lot more fun than listening to free jazz for what turned out to be almost 2 and a half hours!
The kirtan was held in a yoga studio in what is technically the West Village (W. 13 St) but may as well still be Chelsea. I arrived early and was herded to the rooftop garden to wait, which I found even more relaxing than the Nag Champa burning in the gift store. Like any good jazz show, this one started a good 20 minutes late. It took another 20 minutes after the first “om shanti” for me to finally be able to look at Nad without laughing.
Overall, I was very much enjoyed the evening of Sanskrit and jazz. Deian did a magnificent job weaving between audience participation with chants and instructional listening (watch the recorder as it is held in front of the person creating the idea for the group improvisation). There were enough solos to satiate my snobby jazzer taste and there was even a tune in which Adam conducted the entire room in a group improvisation (this was quite interesting!). I thought the horn arrangements were great and won’t lie and say I didn’t feel a sense of connection and energy as the entire room engaged in singing (myself included). If nothing else- it was great ear training (when there is a drone going, it’s a constant game of what interval is this?).
One slight inconsistency blocked some of my happy-peace-energy. Deian welcomed the audience with smiles and patience as we responded on the wrong beats and wrong pitches to his undoubtedly deliberately thought out arrangements. But he did not treat the band with the same warmth. You could sense a perfectionist need for control as he communicated sans smiles with the band members. This definitely did not jive with the love yourself and the world vibe he so successfully created with the music.
Note to self: Stage presence is of equal importance, if not more important than the music. Alternatively, love your band members and don’t be afraid to let the music escape your grasp and develop into its own, uncontrolled entity.
Highlight: When Deian asked who in the audience passionately loved free jazz and a few people actually raised their hands!!
…
Two consecutive nights of completely different music; this is why I love NY.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
$20 to talk
Last night, I went with Janelle down to Smalls to hear the Gilad Hekselman Quartet. With Gilead (guitar) was Orlando Le fleming (bass), Ari Hoenig (drums), and Joel Frahm (t. sax). Now I'll be honest, I'm not always that into guitar, but I had never heard Ari before and I always enjoy hearing Joel. So I decided that despite how incredibly tired I was from this long week of teaching (more on that soon), I would go ahead and cough up the $20 to hear the show.
We got there at the end of the first set. As we descended the stairs and turned the corner into the bar, we were immediately hit with an insane amount of notes coming out of Joel's sonorous tenor, as well as an insane amount of... talking! Aghast, I scanned the room and sure enough, everyone in the back of the bar was chatting away, completely oblivious to the incredible music that was being created at the front of the room.
As the night went on, this obnoxious behavior continued. Even during extremely sensitive parts of the music, when it was just Gilead picking out a beautiful, melodic arpeggiation, the crowd at the back continued to talk, laugh, and be completely disrespectful. I was not the only one annoyed as several times members of the audience banded together in loud "Shhh"s and evil stares.
I found myself shifting through several emotions as I listened. First, I would become entrapped by the music. It was a really good set. Gilead's compositions were beautiful and it never came close to the smooth jazz line that I often begrudge guitarists for getting too close to. Ari was completely and pleasurably out. I found myself focusing on his playing all the time (even during the sax solos!) trying to anticipate where he'd go next. I just had to try not to look at him too often as, I'm sorry to say, his facial expressions reminded me at times of Steve Martin's portrayal of Ruprecht, the "clinically-barking brother," in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels ("you've been banging on your pots again, haven't you" ...hee hee). Joel, as always, sounded beautiful. I truly love his tone and his ability to not always play the million notes he is capable of all the while carefully inserting his deep-seated blues licks where appropriate. Janelle and I both agreed it was fun to hear him in this non-standard vein and that it was his playing that added a certain element, an aesthetic grounding almost, to this group that would skillfully avoid time, off in their own practice rooms, just to spontaneously (so it sounded) come together and land precisely on 1.
As I became absorbed in the music and my listening became more acute, I continued to pick up the ridiculous amounts of talking in the back. I simply cannot stand talking during live music. I find it to be one of the rudest activities possible. I consider it such an offense that I literally spend the first 10-15 minutes of each music class I teach (with the exception of band) having the kids practice "formal listening." Every class I remind them of the difference between "casual" and "formal" listening and we discuss when it is appropriate to talk or sing along to music and what we should be listening for when practicing "formal" listening. I take it very seriously and lower grades when students talk or act up during the formal listening.
The patrons at Smalls clearly had no understanding of "formal" listening. Try as I might, I just could not mute them out and became incensed by it. How dare they come to a jazz club and spend the whole time talking. I mean, this was not some cafe with recorded music in the background. They had to pay a whopping $20 to even get through the door! And come to think of it, so had I! Now I was getting mad at the establishment. How dare they allow this talking! I did not pay $20 to hear people talk! It certainly made me more appreciative of the clubs that enforce a no talking policy.
Not that this behavior is limited to expensive clubs. It's everywhere. At my elementary school's Spring Concert the talking amongst the parents was insane. It was so bad by the end that Francesca, the director of the Chorus and Advanced Keyboard Program literally stopped her performance and addressed the audience, requesting them, in essence, to shut the hell up.
Why is this such a problem? Why do people pay $20 to sit in the back of jazz club and talk? Why do they willingly attend live music just to not listen? And why must those who are listening be disrupted by these barbaric offenders?
We got there at the end of the first set. As we descended the stairs and turned the corner into the bar, we were immediately hit with an insane amount of notes coming out of Joel's sonorous tenor, as well as an insane amount of... talking! Aghast, I scanned the room and sure enough, everyone in the back of the bar was chatting away, completely oblivious to the incredible music that was being created at the front of the room.
As the night went on, this obnoxious behavior continued. Even during extremely sensitive parts of the music, when it was just Gilead picking out a beautiful, melodic arpeggiation, the crowd at the back continued to talk, laugh, and be completely disrespectful. I was not the only one annoyed as several times members of the audience banded together in loud "Shhh"s and evil stares.
I found myself shifting through several emotions as I listened. First, I would become entrapped by the music. It was a really good set. Gilead's compositions were beautiful and it never came close to the smooth jazz line that I often begrudge guitarists for getting too close to. Ari was completely and pleasurably out. I found myself focusing on his playing all the time (even during the sax solos!) trying to anticipate where he'd go next. I just had to try not to look at him too often as, I'm sorry to say, his facial expressions reminded me at times of Steve Martin's portrayal of Ruprecht, the "clinically-barking brother," in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels ("you've been banging on your pots again, haven't you" ...hee hee). Joel, as always, sounded beautiful. I truly love his tone and his ability to not always play the million notes he is capable of all the while carefully inserting his deep-seated blues licks where appropriate. Janelle and I both agreed it was fun to hear him in this non-standard vein and that it was his playing that added a certain element, an aesthetic grounding almost, to this group that would skillfully avoid time, off in their own practice rooms, just to spontaneously (so it sounded) come together and land precisely on 1.
As I became absorbed in the music and my listening became more acute, I continued to pick up the ridiculous amounts of talking in the back. I simply cannot stand talking during live music. I find it to be one of the rudest activities possible. I consider it such an offense that I literally spend the first 10-15 minutes of each music class I teach (with the exception of band) having the kids practice "formal listening." Every class I remind them of the difference between "casual" and "formal" listening and we discuss when it is appropriate to talk or sing along to music and what we should be listening for when practicing "formal" listening. I take it very seriously and lower grades when students talk or act up during the formal listening.
The patrons at Smalls clearly had no understanding of "formal" listening. Try as I might, I just could not mute them out and became incensed by it. How dare they come to a jazz club and spend the whole time talking. I mean, this was not some cafe with recorded music in the background. They had to pay a whopping $20 to even get through the door! And come to think of it, so had I! Now I was getting mad at the establishment. How dare they allow this talking! I did not pay $20 to hear people talk! It certainly made me more appreciative of the clubs that enforce a no talking policy.
Not that this behavior is limited to expensive clubs. It's everywhere. At my elementary school's Spring Concert the talking amongst the parents was insane. It was so bad by the end that Francesca, the director of the Chorus and Advanced Keyboard Program literally stopped her performance and addressed the audience, requesting them, in essence, to shut the hell up.
Why is this such a problem? Why do people pay $20 to sit in the back of jazz club and talk? Why do they willingly attend live music just to not listen? And why must those who are listening be disrupted by these barbaric offenders?
Friday, June 22, 2007
Marathon Man
Dean Karnazes is an Ultrarunner. Meaning he is crazy. He has completed running feats such as running 50 marathons, in 50 states, over 50 consecutive days, concluding with the NYC Marathon (lucky!). He's run across Death Valley as well as the South Pole. He's famous in the running world for his extremely long run runs and the severe conditions in which he runs them.
Now he's done it again. This time, on the Summer Solstice, he ran for 24 consecutive hours on a treadmill suspending in the air in Times Square!
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Missed Marathon... AGAIN
Once again I am missing out! This time I do refer to a running marathon: the ING New York City Marathon, my running nemesis.
This will be the third year in a row that I have failed to be drawn in the lottery, the NYRR's system of keeping the number of participants from completely taking over the city.
The good news is that when a runner such as myself has lost the lottery three years in a row, said runner is given guaranteed entry for next year's marathon.
So ING NYC Marathon 2008, HERE I COME!!!
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Missed Marathon
No, not another running marathon. This time I refer to Bang on a Can's annual Marathon. It was this past weekend and I had no idea. I am so sadly out of the loop.
As it turns out I wouldn't have been able to go anyway as I was up in Mount Vernon the whole weekend playing in the what had to be the world's most bipolar high school production of Dreamgirls. I say bipolar because the incredible lack of organization in the production which enabled the pit band to sometimes play, sometimes not, sometimes start just to stop halfway through a number did not matter to the audience who was there only to hear these quite talented high schoolers belt their way American Idol style through the plot. While a bit painful at times to play, it was mostly likely a pleasure for the community to watch.
While I did somewhat enjoy getting paid to play a continually out of tune flute (that auditorium was SO hot and I just could NOT control the pitch!) and smooth jazz saxophone licks (I actually prefer the out of tune flute!), I do wish I could have partook in the all night music down in the Financial District.
Lucky for me, Darcy James Argue chronicled the entire event. If you too were absent, check out his write-ups and photos here, here, and here. You'll be sad you missed it, too!
As it turns out I wouldn't have been able to go anyway as I was up in Mount Vernon the whole weekend playing in the what had to be the world's most bipolar high school production of Dreamgirls. I say bipolar because the incredible lack of organization in the production which enabled the pit band to sometimes play, sometimes not, sometimes start just to stop halfway through a number did not matter to the audience who was there only to hear these quite talented high schoolers belt their way American Idol style through the plot. While a bit painful at times to play, it was mostly likely a pleasure for the community to watch.
While I did somewhat enjoy getting paid to play a continually out of tune flute (that auditorium was SO hot and I just could NOT control the pitch!) and smooth jazz saxophone licks (I actually prefer the out of tune flute!), I do wish I could have partook in the all night music down in the Financial District.
Lucky for me, Darcy James Argue chronicled the entire event. If you too were absent, check out his write-ups and photos here, here, and here. You'll be sad you missed it, too!
Monday, May 7, 2007
If London is a beautiful china cup of tea…
…then New York is a disposable paper cup of coffee, with a wad of napkins instead of a coffee sleeve.
London completely charmed me. I’ve posted pictures ACN-style to prove it. It’s streets were clean (despite never being able to find a trashcan for my gum), the buildings beautiful and old, the MTA workers nice and helpful! The Tube had cushioned seats and was devoid of beggars. I was as captivated by the lineage of Kings and Queens as I was mesmerized by the variations of British and French accents.
One of my first observations in the NYC vs. London game was that London was not as diverse as NYC. But then I opened my ears and heard many different, some unidentifiable languages and realized that London was diverse, just with other Europeans who couldn’t help their light skin.
As Julie, Jason and I sat over our first cream tea in a little café outside of Covent Garden, we all agreed that we loved London, but debated whether or not we personally could live there. Those who know me know that I loathe when people say “I love New York, but I could never live there” as if they are this independent self-thinker who goes against the popular grain of aspiring to live in NY. Don’t they know everyone says that?! Well, Julie and I both agreed that we would love to live in London while Jason declined based on the financial logical that is clearly absent from both mine and Julie’s decision making skills. Julie asked if I would rather live in London than NY and without hesitation I responded “no!”
Why? What is it about NY that has its barbed claws in us, keeping us from leaving?
When we arrived to JFK after our glorious week abroad, the Homeland Security person in customs was tightlipped, coarse and rude. No cute smiles there, unlike the customs guy in Heathrow. Welcome to America, I thought, the cynicism already creeping back in. As I rode the airbus out to connect to the E train, the scenery of a dirty, low-income, barren Queens contrasted with my recent tube ride into London which showcased the quintessential quaint, English landscape. Welcome to NY, my mind bittered away. What must people think of America as they experience this for the first time? Later, I as disembarked the 1 train and had to carry my heavy luggage down the non-working escalator then up 6 flights to my apartment, I was exhausted, starving, and turning dark. But damn, it felt good to be back in New York. I immediately called Nad to get some V&T Pizza. It had been too long!
New York is like coffee. It’s bitter, dark, and each experience can vary between shitty and weak to strong and bold. Why do we love NY? Why do we love coffee? I mean, lets be honest; coffee (especially NY coffee) is not the best tasting thing in the world. If it were about pleasing the taste buds, I’d drink a chocolate milkshake over a cup of black coffee in a second! But coffee is not about the taste buds, and neither is NY. NY does not set out to charm, to be beautiful, to have clean streets. NY is about bitter reality. It encompasses all ends of the economic, cultural, artistic, ethnic, culinary, crime, education, etc, etc. spectrums. It can be very, very dark. But then, running through Riverside Park on Saturday, the gardens and trees in full bloom, the Hudson reflecting the blue skies, families playing and couples sunning in the grass, old folks chatting on the benches, it, like London, can be just as charming and beautiful. This past weekend I heard 4 sets of very different but all wonderful music, within 3 nights. I had croissants and knitting with 2 good friends at the HPS. And I’m enjoying an incredibly satisfying cup of coffee as I write this.
New York is like coffee: it’s addictive, satisfying and can be to you many things at any given time. London is like a delicious cup of tea: light, invigorating, charming, and consoling.
I loved London, and could totally pull a Madonna and move there in the future, career permitting. I’d love to delve into it’s many layers knowing that so far I have only scratched the shiny touristy top coat. But like Carrie, I think my heart will always have its place in NY.
My new plan: to find a tall Englishman (possibly of half Indian descent?) to marry so that I can live half in NY, and half in London. …I’ll keep you posted.
London completely charmed me. I’ve posted pictures ACN-style to prove it. It’s streets were clean (despite never being able to find a trashcan for my gum), the buildings beautiful and old, the MTA workers nice and helpful! The Tube had cushioned seats and was devoid of beggars. I was as captivated by the lineage of Kings and Queens as I was mesmerized by the variations of British and French accents.
One of my first observations in the NYC vs. London game was that London was not as diverse as NYC. But then I opened my ears and heard many different, some unidentifiable languages and realized that London was diverse, just with other Europeans who couldn’t help their light skin.
As Julie, Jason and I sat over our first cream tea in a little café outside of Covent Garden, we all agreed that we loved London, but debated whether or not we personally could live there. Those who know me know that I loathe when people say “I love New York, but I could never live there” as if they are this independent self-thinker who goes against the popular grain of aspiring to live in NY. Don’t they know everyone says that?! Well, Julie and I both agreed that we would love to live in London while Jason declined based on the financial logical that is clearly absent from both mine and Julie’s decision making skills. Julie asked if I would rather live in London than NY and without hesitation I responded “no!”
Why? What is it about NY that has its barbed claws in us, keeping us from leaving?
When we arrived to JFK after our glorious week abroad, the Homeland Security person in customs was tightlipped, coarse and rude. No cute smiles there, unlike the customs guy in Heathrow. Welcome to America, I thought, the cynicism already creeping back in. As I rode the airbus out to connect to the E train, the scenery of a dirty, low-income, barren Queens contrasted with my recent tube ride into London which showcased the quintessential quaint, English landscape. Welcome to NY, my mind bittered away. What must people think of America as they experience this for the first time? Later, I as disembarked the 1 train and had to carry my heavy luggage down the non-working escalator then up 6 flights to my apartment, I was exhausted, starving, and turning dark. But damn, it felt good to be back in New York. I immediately called Nad to get some V&T Pizza. It had been too long!
New York is like coffee. It’s bitter, dark, and each experience can vary between shitty and weak to strong and bold. Why do we love NY? Why do we love coffee? I mean, lets be honest; coffee (especially NY coffee) is not the best tasting thing in the world. If it were about pleasing the taste buds, I’d drink a chocolate milkshake over a cup of black coffee in a second! But coffee is not about the taste buds, and neither is NY. NY does not set out to charm, to be beautiful, to have clean streets. NY is about bitter reality. It encompasses all ends of the economic, cultural, artistic, ethnic, culinary, crime, education, etc, etc. spectrums. It can be very, very dark. But then, running through Riverside Park on Saturday, the gardens and trees in full bloom, the Hudson reflecting the blue skies, families playing and couples sunning in the grass, old folks chatting on the benches, it, like London, can be just as charming and beautiful. This past weekend I heard 4 sets of very different but all wonderful music, within 3 nights. I had croissants and knitting with 2 good friends at the HPS. And I’m enjoying an incredibly satisfying cup of coffee as I write this.
New York is like coffee: it’s addictive, satisfying and can be to you many things at any given time. London is like a delicious cup of tea: light, invigorating, charming, and consoling.
I loved London, and could totally pull a Madonna and move there in the future, career permitting. I’d love to delve into it’s many layers knowing that so far I have only scratched the shiny touristy top coat. But like Carrie, I think my heart will always have its place in NY.
My new plan: to find a tall Englishman (possibly of half Indian descent?) to marry so that I can live half in NY, and half in London. …I’ll keep you posted.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Is New York darker, or is that just the smog?
As I walked through Penn Station towards the uptown 1 train, shedding my southern drawl for a more comfortable NY hurried pace, the soundtrack of classical music being pumped in creating the usual surreal landscape as what I hear clashes violently with the trash, sleeping bums, and broken tile my eyes observe, I am welcomed as always by an intangible darkness, fighting it's way into my being and expunging the flowering-tree lined streets with sunny sidewalks of a place where I could be in the house that I owned, kissing my babies goodnight. In the crowded train, next to men arguing loudly accompanied by JT's "What Goes Around" busting someone's eardrums, instead of the cool leather interior of my once owned 1999 Volcano Ash Audi A4, radio tuned to the country station, I rode, balancing my luggage bulging of my newly cleaned clothes and Accent On Achievement Beginning Band Conductor's Book. I passed friends on the street just below Toast-Sorry I couldn't make your gig tonight, train was late-Amtrak?-That's the one- before entering my building to ascend my Mt. Everest. Victory is the 6th floor but oh no, there's pissy cat hanging out on our travel gnome welcome mat (he better not spray again because my bedroom still smells like tom cat domination wars). My roommates greet me nervously; the Luke's Diner Shelf holding my precious coffee mugs fell breaking my brand new tea pot and favorite Easter mug, a reminder of the Manor House Days. Don't worry, we'll replace it-No worries, it's cool. Damn walls, too thin- won't hold anything.
...
Sorry Dad, I'm not moving home anytime soon. But thanks for always leaving the door unlocked.
...
Sorry Dad, I'm not moving home anytime soon. But thanks for always leaving the door unlocked.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
