In the past week, I've spent more concentrated time in New York than I have in a long while. I got to travel down on Saturday to pick up a bus of urban-dwelling high school kids on Sunday morning, then I decided to ride the bus back with them and spend my day off in the streets of Lower Manhattan. It was a good decision.
On Saturday, my friend and I attempted to take a tour at the
Tenement Museum, but all of the tours were sold out. I should have known they would be, as I have gone on all the tours before and that place is always hopping. Whenever I was bored or looking to get myself lost, I would put on my walking shoes and turn right out of my
Broome Street Residence. I would walk until it got dark, or until I felt I had cut it close enough in regards to getting back in time to write my next paper on Israeli subcultures or French Cinema.
Although disappointed, my friend - who is also a history lover - was excited that a museum tour could be sold out. In a lot of places, museums are last resorts for tourists on rainy days. In New York they are one of the main attractions. And that makes me happy.
Because we couldn't buy tickets to trudge up the tenement's wooden steps and preserve the bannister with our oily hands, I led us to
Washington Square Park. Saturday was one of the first nice days out, so I knew there'd be stuff going on. Whenever it's even remotely decent outside, there's this group of musicians that gathers called
UMO. I used to sit with them and "
Write the Essay" during my freshman year before the construction on the park started. One time they even let me lead a song. I believe it was Dylan's "
If You Gotta Go, Go Now (Or Else You Gotta Stay All Night)." Yes, I am kind of an NYU cliche for singing Dylan, but that song summed up (and still sums up) everything I've experienced and I had to get it out of my system!
>>
Is any song worth singing if it doesn't help?<<
In the park that day, we saw a rendition of
Julius Caesar in which everyone wore black formalwear. Caesar was played by a pudgy, effeminate curly haired actor with a purple scarf. It caught my attention, but although Julius Caesar is a personal favorite (The cause is in my will...I
will not go!), I wasn't in the mood to stand through much more than 8 minutes or so. Next up was a sand painter - he was cool, but not active enough for my attention. Then, we found the music! Two middle-aged musicians, a white guitarist and an awesome black bongo drummer were singing The Rolling Stones. They didn't whip out my current favorite jam, "
Beast of Burden," but it was still glorious.
Out of nowhere began Lou Reed's "
A Walk on the Wild Side" and I was sold. We sat there for a while and I bopped around very content-like. The best part of the time spent in the park was watching all of the adorable children and their even more
adorable dads. The father in one such pairing was trying to share a slice of pizza with his daughter who had a blonde head of soft curls poking out of all sides of her bike helmet. In this case, "share a slice" meant that the little girl rode her scooter in circles while the dad chomped away and occasionally stuck the pizza in the girls face every 4th or 5th go-around. The wind blew and the sun was in our faces, but together we all sang "You Can't Always Get What You Want," and felt that collective appreciation for the day which is what I always thought church should be like. (On the
Sunken Treasure DVD,
Jeff Tweedy says the same thing, and I think this is one of the main reasons I love him so).
On Sunday night, I was with a different friend and we found our way via the F and the L to The Sidewalk Cafe, anti-folk mecca. I'm not sure what anti-folk is, and I think that's the point. But anyway, I've gone to
The Sidewalk Cafe a handful of times now, and I've never been disappointed. Always entertaining, always thought-provoking - now, whether that thought is "What the fuck is this?" or "I can't believe they're singing '
John Henry' right now!"...the point is, there's always a thought. I found out later that we stumbled into some kind of
Anti-Folk Festival. On a Sunday night. I forget who the first act is, but they were definitely trying to channel
Neutral Milk Hotel. He wasn't quite there, but a couple songs came close to a comparable visceral tone.
The emcee,
Dan Costello, continually impressed me by his ability to string his personal accounts together with intros to the various musicians that he so obviously admired and respected. Who knew that a story about outside lavatories in Belarus could lead to a warm and welcoming intro to a favorite artist. But it did. He was a really impressive speaker, on the most genuine of levels. I'm getting tired, but the highlights of the night were the random banjo player who sat in lotus position on stage during transitions between acts, the humorous whatever-it-is stylings of
Beef and Jerky, and "
The Adult Song" by
Dave Deporis. I could get into what I liked and loved about the acts but, honestly, you needed to be there in the atmosphere and my words would just kind of mellow it all out.
The last act,
Talking Stick...featuring something or someone called Puppies Holding Hands, and some other things... was definitely anti-folk. As the main guy kept giving a monologue-y reaction to genetically modified food, my friend thought they were just taking a really long time to tune up. Really, that was the act. Noise and instruments and banging and talking. The talking guy reminded me of a combination of a billion Will Ferrell characters. The posture and hair of Harry Caray, a delivery that kind of sounded like a defeated Alex Trebek mixed with a grass roots organic juice commercial with a bit of the high school music teacher who was husband to Ana Gasteyer's character. It was engaging for a while, but my friend and I grew tired of being silent and wanted to get out to the bar to discuss everything that we just experienced.
By the end of the night we had met both Beef and Jerky, Dan Costello (who is from Albany!), and a few others. I forgot how much I love weird people (no, I don't fear offending them because in this case, the "weirder" the more successful, the more entertaining, profound, etc.). I don't mean it in the traditional sense. I have been called weird all of my life and am trying to reclaim the meaning! Own it! Know it! Cultivate it!
Live it. Fly yo' weird flag high.
What would be on your weird flag?
Where the she-whale swims with her calf and never forsakes it, 
Where the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown currents, 
Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance, 
