Fifth Avenue has an unprecedented reputation of elitism. As the bisecting line for a large part of Manhattan, it is perhaps New York’s second most famous artery behind Broadway. Along Central Park, Fifth Avenue is known as the Museum Mile. With copious museums (Met, Guggenheim, etc.), this stretch of land is high-brow, high culture. Hence, a fitting place to purchase an entire block for the establishment of an estate.
Henry Clay Frick made such a purchase in 1910. Acquiring the block at 70th Street and Fifth Avenue, Frick stirred the pot amongst his peers. He was known by critics as “America’s Most Hated Man”. H.C. Frick was a coke magnate. Not that kind of coke. Coke is an essential element in the production of steel, converted from coal. Frick, after dropping out of college, decided he would be a millionaire by the age of 30. And he did it. By partnering with Steel Legend Andrew Carnegie, the two companies forged a stronghold on Steel production in the Northeast. With such a titanic backbone of industrial power, Frick was launched into commercial success.
Thus, Frick had money to spare. His penchant for art created the perfect arena for his millions to be spent on. And with an entire block in a coveted part of Manhattan, Frick had the ideal place to house his art. So there it stands, The Frick Collection. After Frick’s passing, the museum was created, and stands today as an emblem of luxurious patronage.
Anyone familiar with upper Manhattan can appreciate a musical about neighborhood pride. And while many Manhattanites may find it unfavorable to venture above 96th street, In the Heights is incredibly appealing for those who have braved the A train all the way uptown. In The Heights takes place around the A stop at 181st street in Washington Heights. Like most good musicals, it has elements of love, heartbreak, and laughter, with requisite pairing of dancing and singing. However, lead actor Corbin Bleu (of High School Musical fame), adds a vibrant new flavor of slam poetry/rap to the Broadway stage*.
For the last few months I have become increasingly familiar with the A train, crawling my way up to 190th to visit my girlfriend. Technically, I would call that Inwood, but she demands that it is still in the Heights. Regardless of the technicalities, it is apparent that Washington Heights has some attractive flavors. Known most notably as a neighborhood with strong Dominican and Puerto Rican families, Washington Heights has become a haven for low-rent-seeking-New Yorkers who don’t want to cross any rivers into the other boroughs. I can tell you first hand that the trek can be arduous at times. The A train can be maddeningly slow, with unpredictable delays and stops. Yet, it’s express run in Manhattan and the stretch all the way to JFK is convenient enough for me to keep supporting the old blue.
The energy it gives off could light up the George Washington Bridge for a year or two – Charles Isherwood, NY Times
That said, In the Heights is a show for New Yorkers. Although much of it is transparent enough for an audience in any city, the innuendos and references are smothered with scents only a New York resident can pick up. Like an expensive wine, everyone can taste it and enjoy it, but only the connoisseur can pick up the subtleties. The genius resides in the nuanced humor, ranging from what streets to take, to what neighborhoods to avoid. Further, it is a show for 2010. It is not a classic, and in 20 years, who knows if it will even be a memory, but it captures this decade relatively well. I am not sure how this show will be received elsewhere, or for that matter, by people who have never even heard of Washington Heights. However, according to reviews from the tour, it seems to be doing well all over the country.
Avoid a heat wave, and catch the love story of Usnavi, Vanessa, Benny, and Nina; the story of a girl’s homecoming, the story of a neighborhood banding together after a major black out 2003 (blame ConEd). And if you live in NYC, break free of the Lower 96. Emerge, and visit the Heights. Disappointment not allowed.
Hell’s Kitchen. Jets vs. Sharks. If you have a hard time imagining gang wars between scantily robed, rail-skinny dancers, you aren’t alone. Besides the fact that this is a Broadway classic, West Side Story is hard to swallow in light of The Warriors (classic tale of a Brooklyn gang, just trying to get home). However, for years this Tony-winning musical has been a hit. Maybe it’s the catchy tunes like “I’m so Pretty”, or “America”, or, maybe, because it’s a story that is relatable beneath the surface. Turf wars in New York have existed since the Metropolis began. Immigrants moved in, took over neighborhoods, and created little townships of their own. New immigrants came later. Then new ones after that. People came from the East, then back from the West. New York has always had a certain gravitational pull. With that pull comes the divisive nature of humanity: to claim ownership. With time, neighborhoods change; amalgamated areas emerge, new species’ of neighborhoods evolve. DUMBO, BoCoCa, TriBeCa, and now the potential NoMad (north of Madison Square Park). The play makes sense because New Yorkers know the premium for space, the premium for comfort, the premium to feel accepted. A neighborhood of fellow nationals can be the best security in a lonely city.
Beyond the territorial battle, the play is a modern spin-off of Romeo and Juliet. Boundaries are broken, relationships at stake. This particular run has attempted to incorporate more Spanish, which although more authentic, has proven difficult for lay patrons. Yet despite early criticisms, the play has worked itself out to be a reputable new edition.
Extra Credit: There are over 8 million people living in New York City. In 2009, 1,130,818 gained legal residence into the United States from other countries. 189,860 of those were for the New York Metropolitan area. The leading countries were Dominican Republic (around 30,000) and China (around 21,000).
If you are interested in further immigration statistics on New York, or the United States, click here and explore the Department of Homeland Security’s website.
For more information on West Side Story, click here.
It’s amazing what working full time will do to your midweek affairs. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but that rule doesn’t apply to everyone. Regardless, Southern California rockers, the Delta Spirit, took every advantage of the late start last week, and played to the Brooklyn crowd as the clock struck twelve. Surely you are thinking that twelve is not late by any one’s standards, but for the Yupsters making the early commute, anything after 10 starts to hurt.
Unfortunately, the 2 hour train ride home (approximately 11 miles) cut into my concert time, and I was unable to see the finale, but from what I was able to see, Matt Vasquez and company delivered an energetic set, playing songs from their latest album, History From Below, along with the favorites from Ode to Sunshine. Accompanied at times by a horns and percussionists, DS crooned on to the seemingly enthralled crowd. Despite the lead singer asking a man to leave the show, all things continued without any snags.
The five-piece sports an Americana-inspired twang via southern California, and its poppy, direct songs shine in an electrifying live show featuring trashcans and orchestral bass drums – NPR
Perhaps it was the lone prowler that set Vasquez off, or he just didn’t feel it that night, but there was something just a little off about his stage presence. At times, grateful to the crowd, other times distant, and almost annoyed. After seeing him play solo a few months ago, I certainly noticed a difference with the full band.With long stretches away from home, and unpredictably hot weather, it is no wonder that musicians often face frustration. But with Brooklyn as a sort of second home to Vasquez, maybe something else resided beneath the surface. At this point one can only surmise. All attitudes aside, I have been behind this band for some time now, and continue to offer my support. Even if I have to miss the encore for a few extra z’s, or extra time on the subway. Lyrically, you can tell this band is invested in the art, and musically, they deliver something raw.
There are few bastions left, where one can witness feats similar to these. A traveling circus for the modern man. Juggling hats, contortionists by the threes, twirling flags, gymnastics and good old-fashioned disappearing acts. It’s possible that simply living in New York City, one may be exposed to these things, but it lacks the sparkle and shine of the stage. Cirque du Soleil has awed crowds for years, keeping people impressed, breath held. But with this latest run, Banana Shpeel, Cirque du Soleil combines the stunning acts with slapstick comedic relief.
Well, or so they tried. The tricks are still amazing, but the jokes are lackluster and banal. Writing in a sub-plot with audience participation has its place in children’s shows, but when tickets are $100 and up, let’s skip the gags and move right to the magic. All the time spent between sets was filled with flat acting and predictable shenanigans.
When I saw the movie Avatar, I could not fight the feeling that in Pandora, my life was complete, and any scene outside of there was just time wasted until the scenes cut back to the digital world. This was the same way. I loved the acts, hated the filler. And frankly, it’s fatally deficient. Almost half an hour of the show is moot attempts at cracking smiles. If you want the bang for your buck, go to Vegas and catch a more serious Cirque performance. If you are satisfied with mediocre acting and a few shiny tricks, the Upper West Side might just suffice your appetite without the grimy, hungover feeling so familiar to Nevada.
“Ya’ll pay $1800 for your apartments, I pay $2.25. I got air conditioning, and a barbecue (the third rail). This is a ten car mobile home. I don’t come into your home and leave a mess, why ya’ll coming into mine?”says a boisterous man riding the 2 train towards the Bronx in lower Manhattan.
And he’s not wrong. The New York subway system is an intricate, fascinating web of vessels, providing transportation, and at times, housing to the residents of the city. The underground circus pulsates with passive riders, performers, and pickpockets. Like Paris, Berlin, London and Japan, the MTA has made strides to make travel in NYC comfortable, and cheap. There are rules against eating or drinking, and it is against the law not to relinquish your seat to a disabled person. However, there are still unspoken rules that are not being addressed. There is a desperate need for etiquette on the trains, something generations young and old seem to overlook every time they swipe their MTA cards.
The most recent epidemic is the influx of hypersonic ipod levels. People forget how silent the trains are while traveling between stations. Anytime your mp3 player’s volume is set to %50 or higher, everyone around you can hear it. Any high tones cut through, even with earbud style head phones. Songs with horn sections, or urban beats with lots of hi-hat, also come through. But the problem is not the style of music, it’s with the listener. People may be deaf, but I think they are just unaware. They forget that when they enter into a crowded train (or elevator, or library, or airplane), they are not the only person in that space. This a city with millions of people, you would think it would be hard to forget everyone around you, but that is the culture we have created. It’s a “me first” world, and as long as I get to hear my songs, I am fine. Everyone else can taste it.
Understandably, riding the subway for many people takes up hours everyday, and ipods help alleviate the drone of passing stations and “beware of the closing doors” etc. But this is no excuse for forgetting that not everyone wants to hear your music, and we especially don’t want to hear you sing along to it. On a train, everyone is trapped. Whether it’s for one stop, or an hour commute, every time you blast your ipod, you are subjecting everyone around you to the virus of stereo. Yet despite the epidemic, there is nothing we can do to stop it. Nearly every youngster has some mp3 device or iphone, and nearly all of them are half-deaf already from hours of Ke$ha and Miley Cyrus. The future of silent trains is bleak.
Apparently I am not the only one who notices, Katie Couric did a small excerpt, where she cites EU research, which says that listening to your music too loud can cause significant damage (like working in a factory). I am certainly not comfortable listening to Katie Couric without autotune, but this will have to do.
But, keep in mind, I wasn’t in New York in the 80′s. Bernie Goetz had to worry about being robbed or shot. I just worry about too much snare. Sure, it’s a small gripe, but I ride everyday. And many of you do too. It’s not just subway cars. It’ for the guy next to you on your next flight, it’s for the girl across from you at the library, it’s for the dad rocking too loud to Train in the elevator, it’s for the group of 12 year olds, all with different colored ipod nanos, listening to their music, one earbud in, the other ear drowned by all their friends’ music and the latest gossip about which teletubby is the gayest.
My admonition is to fight the urge to drown the sound of rail cars, the louder it is for you, the louder it is for us. Whether it’s on MTA, or anywhere in public, remember that just because your ipod is in, doesn’t mean the world disappears. We are all still here. We can hear you.
Let’s start here: Have you seen Auto-tune the news? If you have, then you know it is a running youtube series, created by the Gregory Brothers, which sets news clips to auto-tune and hip-hop beats. It is quite clever, and often quite hilarious. In light of pop-culture’s embrace of all things auto-tuned, the Gregory Brothers’ project brings just the right amount of parody and skill together, to keep me interested.
Now normally, I am not a youtube surfer, I mostly use it to look up joke songs, or (who’s kidding who?) whenever I want to feel bad about the world. So naturally, I was not sold on auto-tune the news at first pass. Initially I thought, it’s cute, but a little late. Regardless of whether they came before “I’m on a boat,” anything auto-tuned seems like, been there done that. In fact, I think I regarded these guys with disdain; a childish attempt to gain hits in a world of self-absorbed high-school pranksters.
Zack Williams and the Gregory Brothers at Rockwood Music Hall
But then I realized that the Gregory Brothers were real people. I went to see Zack Williams, a Brooklyn based musician, and during the set, he invited four people up on stage. I couldn’t place it, but I I knew I had seen these guys somewhere. Then Zack said, “you owe these guys for auto-tune the news.” Something about seeing them live, in person, changed my mind about their project. Not to mention, the three brothers and one’s wife, all perform in a family band together. After the show, I immediately watched all the episodes of auto-tune the news, and fell deeper in love.
Why do we love celebrities once we see them in person?
