Charlie Parker Jazz Festival, and the magnificent McCoy Tyner

It was late night Friday, and I was still at work, wrapping things up prior to a week of staycation.

The phone rang.  Uncle F calling from Connecticut.

"I've just turned 60, and need to do something to celebrate. I'm coming down to New York for the Charlie Parker Jazz Festival.  I know it's last minute, but do you want to go?"

I'm not usually into jazz, and I knew none of the names he mentioned would be playing.  What I did know is that if you want to do jazz properly, you should go with Uncle F.  He knows everything there is to know about jazz- the big guys, the little guys, who collaborated with whom and when, the personal histories of the musicians.

"Yes!"

Saturday had perfect summer weather-- bright and sunny, not too hot.  We arrived at Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem two hours early, and joined about twenty other fans at a choice spot in the shade.  I was so glad that we arrived when we did-- by the time the show started, the northern part of the park contained, in my estimation, well over a thousand people.

The ticket:

McCOY TYNER, JASON MORAN AND THE BANDWAGON, THE JD ALLEN TRIO and REVIVE DA LIVE

Uncle F provided interesting commentary throughout the concert.  Revive Da Live was fun:

JD Allen Trio was good but my least favorite:

Jason Moran was lovely, both to look at and to listen to:

During a break, Charlie Rangel greeted the crowd, who listened politely.  Signs decorated the park, reminding people that "He Delivers".  No hint of the hot water he's currently in.

But the real star was McCoy Tyner.  I have no photographs of him, as he requested that there be none (though that didn't stop some individuals).  He's 71 years old, and the crowd was absolutely transfixed once he started playing.  I stopped breathing, astonished.  The music roared through the park, and soaked into every cell in my body.

And it was thus that I became a jazz fan.

Friday night at Columbus Circle

I looked forward to Friday evening all week-- I had plans to see Banksy's new film with R.  The evening out was just what I needed after an intense work week-- great company, and entertainment on the way to see entertainment (as always in NY!). 

I moved through Times Square station to change trains, and although I was in a hurry, my steps slowed as I heard the sparkling notes of a hammered dulcimer.  I dropped in a dollar and walked away, but did a U-turn as the music pulled on the back of my sweater, my hair, my earlobes.

I stood in front of the musician, transfixed.  He mixed in percussion with the strings-- you can barely see the cuff he is wearing around his ankle, which rattled each time he stepped with the music.  His name is Paul Mueller, and he is also a member of a band named Mecca Bodega, which frequently plays around town.  I hope to catch them soon.  I bought a CD for $10, and can say that it's the first CD I've bought from a street musician that actually sounds good.  I'm listening to it as I write, the shimmering sounds floating through my living room.

I was eventually able to tear myself away, and finally made it to Columbus Circle.  Anything celebrating Christopher Columbus seems a little old-fashioned to me now-- with the evolving focus on the rights of indigenous people, he's not really in vogue anymore, and the holiday is more often than not seen as optional for many businesses and schools.  Columbus Circle does not shy away from its namesake, though.

From Columbus Circle, you can also see one of the grand gates to Central Park:

I was a little early for the movie at Lincoln Center, and amused myself by looking at the whimsical wares of a hat vendor.  He was very friendly and very dignified.  After talking a bit, we realized we had both lived in the midwest, which made both of us smile and also led to us each congratulating each other for escaping harsh winters.

Finally, it was time for the movies.  I highly recommend "Exit Through the Gift Shop" if you have any interest in street art, or are just in the mood for something quite different than anything you've seen before.

http://www.banksyfilm.com/

http://www.banksy.co.uk/

Revelers, Paper Cuts, and Drums

I am drunk on the city, gloriously so, with not a drop to drink.

This evening started out with a reasonably simple plan: to check out the the exhibit Slash: Paper Under the Knife, at the Museum of Art & Design.  I was particularly interested in seeing a piece by an artist I've recently discovered, Beatrice Coron (see earlier posting: Moving Art).  I had never even heard of the MAD prior to my NY life. 

As I made my way to the museum after work, I passed through some unfamiliar subway stops.  Picking up the 1 train on 42nd/Times Square revealed revelers cheering on passersby:

I took the train to Columbus Circle, and immediately caught sight of little sailing ship mosaics.  Aha, that Columbus.  Ascending the stairs into the evening air was magical.  The deepening, darkening light reflected off the modern shiny buildings, and the Circle featured a huge globe and a majestic column with Columbus' likeness perching on the top.  Central Park's gate is right off the Circle, providing a grand entrance for visitors.

The Museum of Art & Design is situated on the Circle, and I headed straight to the paper exhibit.  It was utterly thrilling.  (I know-- a paper exhibit?  But it's true).  I was enchanted, and spent a long time inspecting each intricate and beautiful piece.  Alas, no photography allowed, and the website does not show the pieces to their advantage.  So I will just say: if you are in NY anytime between this very minute and April 4th, go.  Please.

On my way home, walking through Grand Central, I heard drums.  It took a few moments to locate them, but finally there they were:

The shimmering, earthy, mesmerizing sounds drew people in.  I couldn't pull myself away.  Finally, I was able to head home, senses electrified from the art that was all around me tonight.  Intoxicating. 

Friday Night Delight

It's been a long week. A north-of-60-hours week. I collapsed against a column, yearning for the train. Train arrived, too many people, I let it pass in hopes I could find breathing room in the next one.

Waiting waiting waiting waiting...my right ear perked. Was that a trombone?

Yes.

I scooped up my bags and headed back up the stairs.










I ♥ New York.

Music for the soul

I have been serenaded by subway musicians from the very first day of my NY commuting life. The musician's effort usually reminds me to breathe, to lighten up, to slow down. Occasionally it inspires scorn or horror. At its best, it brings a deep sense of comfort.

Several days a week, I arrive at my station and am immediately surrounded by beautifully melodic and soothing notes from a west African instrument-- I believe it is a kora. I get off at the opposite side of the tracks, and so have not had a chance to ask. As someone who has lived in Africa and is passionate about its music, I am thankful to the Universe that this particular musician has decided to make his home in my neighborhood.

I have long had a rule that I will contribute a bit of money to any street musician that makes me smile. Some day soon, I will pay an unnecessary fare to get to the other side and give the man his due.