Nico's NYC

New website!

2010-06-10T05:08:00.001-07:00

Dear readers,

Please visit my new blog at http://www.nicolevelasco.com.

Thank you,

Nicole

Mostly Mozart

2010-04-15T05:24:00.000-07:00

In glamorous gowns and dapper attire, the Pikes Peak Wind Symphony of the Colorado Springs Youth Symphony Association sat with reeds ready. For the first portion of the Distinguished Concerts of International New York (DCINY) presentation "Mainly Mozart," Pikes Peak lifted the audience through an aural quatrain featuring Julie Giroux's "Khan," Robert Sheldon's "Art in the Park," Eric Whitacre's "Cloudburst," and James Barnes' "Danza Sinfonica." Under the direction of Richard Kusk, Pikes Peak filled Carnegie Hall and presented a refreshing take on the classical aesthetic san-strings. Fluid notes from oboes, clarinets, flutes and more scaled the tiers of the Perelman Stage.

A well-crafted program, "Mainly Mozart" rooted the exhilaration of Pike Peak's performance into a bombastic delivery of Mozart's Vesperae de Dominica and Vesperae solennes de Confessore. Four featured vocalists raised le bon mots above the harmonious foundation provided by the Distinguished Concerts Singers International and the Distinguished Concerts Orchestra. Within six movements of each vesper, DCINY demonstrated the rigid liturgical requests made of these compositions as expressed through Mozart's dramatic passion. Arias fluttered and horse-hair bows see-sawed as the audience sank into contemplation of spiritual things and beautiful music.

You dropped your pick

2010-04-13T04:48:00.000-07:00

Fret-jumping, kneeling solos, and occasionally lighting the guitar on fire; these are the signs of a captivating rock god. Yet in the era of Guitar Hero, there are poseurs who fancy themselves 'experts' of colorful buttons and plastic whammy bars ("It's a tremolo arm," they might dare). So what happens when you take away the talent AND the instrument?

US Air Guitar Championships 2010.

Let's cover the particulars: A handful of sweaty contestants vying for a seat in the second round for a real shot at the New York title and a chance to represent the Big Apple, the fulfilling scent of Blue Ribbon grub wafting over the lanes of Brooklyn Bowl, BK's finest brews on tap, and three "celebrity judges" (yes, there are criteria) even though real celebrities like Drew Barrymore and Mac-tastic beau Justin Long were in the house.

To make a long story short, this year was thin on talent and big on hair; chest hair. There's nothing more distracting than a shag rug framed by a vest originally designed for a small child. The good news is that a winner was chosen and he is aptly nicknamed, "Ricky Stinkfingers." With all that stage presence and swagger, it is no surprise that Mr. Stinkfingers is a Wall Street guy; making post-trading hours dreams come true one riff at a time.

Shred, baby shred.

Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba

2010-03-23T21:12:00.000-07:00

Bassekou Kouyate, often called the Prince of Strings, has defined and redefined the way the world sees and hears the ngoni, a string instrument made of wood, animal skins pulled taut, and assorted filament. The progenitor of the American banjo, the shape and expression of the ngoni is familiar to Kouyate who has played the instrument since age 12; his heritage being that of the griots, notable musicians and storytellers of West African communities.

In the 1980s, a teen-aged Bassekou Kouyate challenged tradition and literally elevated the on-stage presence of the ngoni when he raised a strap over his shoulder, boldly stood up, and walked forward, front and center. Conventional musicians questioned Kouyate's decision to place the ngoni at the focus of musical performance by standing up, a mode of playing previously reserved for acoustic and electric guitars. One spark led to another and soon Kouyate formed Ngoni Ba, a quartet of the eponymous instrument.

In their latest album, "I Speak Fula," Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba craft twelve musical tracks that display instrumental versatility and technical dexterity. From the dizzying plucks of "Musow," an homage to women, to the deliberate undulations of the ngoni in "Falani," Kouyate's latest release layers tradition with modernity. In "Jamana Be Diya," the illustrative voices of Kasse Mady Diabate and Toumani Diabate weave a narrative of unity and harmony with lyrics like, "Let's all be as one. Can't you see that Americans united to vote Obama into power? If we join hands, our country will go forwards." Years later, in the same way he elevated the ngoni, Bassekou Kouyate and Ngoni Ba's "I Speak Fula" is bridging gaps and raising a generation of acceptance, openness, and compassion.

Bassekou Kouyate & Ngoni Ba

Zankel Hall @ Carnegie Hall

Friday, March 26

10PM

Euphony, baby.

Not Quite Thom Yorke's "Creep"

2010-03-23T21:01:00.000-07:00

Creeps.

They're everywhere in NYC. One can expect to encounter a creep on the subway around 3:30AM. Or during happy hour down at that dirty dive you go to because you saw it on myopenbar.com.

But at the office around 4:50PM during business hours? Incroyable!

Friends, this is a special type of creep we're talking about. The NYPD calls these folks "building creeps": low-life crims who troll office buildings often posing as messengers to gain entrance and STEAL YOUR STUFF! I regret to inform you that my office was "the vic" of such a predator.

The moral of the story: be that in-your-face New Yorker that you always dreamed of becoming. Ask every person who walks in your door to state his/her purpose. If they don't have one, take a note from Chatroulette and send the rando away.

Lock it up, baby, lock it.

Interview with UK Composer Karl Jenkins

2010-03-05T11:08:00.000-08:00

Notable composer Karl Jenkins holds a Doctor of Music degree from the University of Wales and has been made a Fellow and an Associate of the Royal Academy of Music. In 2004 he entered Classic FM’s ‘Hall of Fame” at no 8., the highest position for a living composer. He was recently awarded an honorary doctorate (music) from the University of Leicester, the Chancellors Medal from the University of Glamorgan and two Honorary visiting Professorships at Thames Valley University/London College of Music and the other at the ATriUM, Cardiff.He was awarded an OBE, by Her Majesty The Queen, in the 2005 New Years Honours List “for services to music”. (cite: http://karljenkins.com/)

-You've been deemed one of the most popular composers in the UK for your contributions to music. How do you feel about this fame?

Well it's gratifying of course but it's not the fame, if one can call it that, but the fact my music seems to reach and move people emotionally. My The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace has been performed well over 800 times, including several times in the USA, which is about twice a week somewhere in the world since it's premier.

-What has been your most fulfilling contribution to music thus far?

It's not for me to say but Adiemus was the most popular and the Armed Man the most rewarding.

-What inspires your work?

If there is one trait in what I do, it is that of my being a "classical" composer who usually adopts influences and techniques from ethnic cultures. These can be texts or instrumentation, usually percussion. The Armed Man has a hugely diverse text, my Requiem & Stabat Mater uses, apart from the established Latin, Japanese and Arabic texts and instrumentation respectively while Adiemus was a true classical/ethnic blend. In a practical sense I think 'inspiration' is an irrelevant term since it's a question of getting down to it and writing and the more one does the more the ideas flow.

-Given that most young people can identify your composition, "Palladio," with DeBeers commercials, what are your thoughts on being known through advertising?

I don't think any composer is known through advertising since it's a totally anonymous role, known only to industry people, with no visual "credit". In fact, I have not written ad music for a number of years and Palladio was an exception in that it was a piece that existed and then adopted, much like one can hear anything on an advertisement, from Mozart to Miles.

-Do you view and approach advertising projects differently from personal projects?

As I say, I no longer do it but it is different, yes, in that someone is dictating what needs, in his or her view, to be done. Ads are also very, very short which, of course, has implications.

-Where do you think music (particularly classical) is headed in the future?

Don't know since if we knew we'd be doing it now. I think hard core 20 century classical kind of imploded and now there's a return to tonality. From my perspective it's looking at other musical cultures and exploring them. These cultures have been ignored by the snobbish element in 'classical' music.

-What are your thoughts about avant-garde/atonal music? Electronically derived music?

...Same as anything else really. When it's good it's good and when it isn't it isn't. Lots of scope for the "Emperor's New Clothes" here though.

-I read that you began your career in jazz/jazz-rock. What was the deciding factor for crossing over into classical music?

When one arrives at one's career, people assume that's where one started. However, I had a thorough academic classical upbringing, reading music at the University of Wales and the Royal Academy of Music, London before I embarked on life as a jazz musician. My life has had three main phases really, jazz and jazz fusion, media composer and what I'm doing now.

-How did an early establishment in jazz help the rest of your music career?

As a kind of musical tourist it's all gone into the melting pot and resulted in what I do now.

-Do you still engage in jam sessions? or other improvisational engagement?

Only as a solo pianist in my own space.

-What are your thoughts regarding the pedagogical imperative of musical improvisation?

As a breed, jazz musicians are the best musicians I've met. This entails aural perception, instrumental ability, creativity. I also believe that improvisation cannot be taught much like composition cannot be taught, in the core sense of creativity. None of the jazz 'greats' were [other than instrumentally of course], and far too much of it is taught today. Nowadays everyone sounds the same, like all tenor players sound post-Coltrane.

-What are your thoughts about music as a form of cultural diplomacy?

Music is an international language and can bring people together, if they have an appreciation of it that is. With all the conflict in the world that is unending, one must conclude that many do not appreciate culture of any kind.

(also on shortandsweetnyc.com)

Quintessential New York

2010-03-02T20:12:00.001-08:00

In the considerably short time I've lived here, I've had a variety of what may be known as "New York experiences." From Fashion Week and banging concerts to cab-rides-to-the-'hood and temporary homelessness, I've hit the city hard and she smacked me back before ashing her cigarette on my forehead. "Builds character," my father would say to me. Each abysmal low balancing supremely euphoric highs.

Yet despite all of these experiences, there was one NYExperience that (thankfully) eluded my grasp: mice. However in the balance of life, I should've seen it coming. Life has been pretty damn good lately...

...but two nights ago I entered my kitchen to refill my Serendipity mug with more hot water when: Lights flickered on to reveal the escape route of a tiny gray mouse; no face identified, just the debilitating sight of its hind-parts and sinewy tail disappearing into stove range. Paralyzed, I stood in the entrance of my kitchen, eyes fixed. Though more immobile than when I practice zazen, I had a very non-Buddhist thought, QUICK! Turn on all four ranges and burn the muthaF*%!. Neither humane nor practical, I knew that such action was not the way. After all, what would become of the charred mouse in my stove?

Instead I stood there, ripping through the Rolodex of supposed solutions I never knew I had up in this ol' dome of mine. Top contenders included: Rub orange rinds all over the kitchen (presuming rodents, like some animals, do not appreciate citrus), use our long-handle (critical) wok to bang against the stove (read: shock therapy), or stand there waiting for it to reappear while contemplating the irony that my favorite mug (in hand) is from a place that got shut down because of health violations (read: rodents and such feces everywhere). le sigh.

Then I thought, "WWJD?"

...as in What Would Justin (Bieber) Do?: let real men take care of it. And so I returned to my room, shut my door, stuffed up the space with a beach towel, and concluded that I deserve full-membership to the New Yorker frarority.

Not anyone can cook, baby.

2/14: Federico Aubele @ Joe's Pub

2010-02-15T14:32:00.000-08:00

A portrait of love, Federico Aubele and his wife Natalia Clavier personified harmony and compassion. Together they played an assortment of tunes from Aubele's past albums as well as a couple of Clavier's melodies. Each time, the Argentinian born singer-songwriter coaxed sultry sounds from his acoustic guitar. Vocals often included both Aubele and Clavier, an intimate union which best displayed the natural expression of romance inherent in Spanish language. This type of music was made for Valentine's Day. Joe's Pub brimmed with couples edging closer and closer to each other as Aubele's set continued. Attending an Aubele show is a privileged glimpse into the natural way he blends dub, bolero, reggae, ambient, rock, and tango. The results are an enticing melange that engages all parts of the human experience with music and, on this particular day, with love. “It’s such a vast and huge theme, love. You can approach it in different ways," said Aubele in an interview with ESL Music. "Love is such an important thing for every human being, whether we notice it or not. We all experience it at least once in life."

Love, Lust, and Light @ Carnegie Hall

2010-02-15T09:52:00.000-08:00

A flock of love birds flooded the lobby of Carnegie Hall for Love, Lust, and Light: A Valentine's Day Concert. Scheduled for 2PM, the concert just barely started on time due to the Will Call shuffle and the slow movements of couples with their heads in the clouds. Hand-holding and butterfly kisses ceased when the show opened with Morten Lauridsen's Lux Aeterna, a 27-minute exploration of sacred Latin texts containing references to light. Guest Conductor Nancy Menk's skillful guidance allowed the orchestra and chorale to seamlessly traverse Lauridsen's unusual blend of chants, renaissance, polyphony, canons, and modern dissonance. The cohesive intermingling of unified voices and classical instruments resembled the dalliance of light itself.

After a brief intermission, the musicians returned to their places and the chorale members rearranged themselves. When the boom-crack of Carl Orff's Carmina Burana erupted within the gorgeous confines of Carnegie Hall, some audience members were physically taken aback. This was the love and lust portion of the program. Sinister yet cinematic notes quickened the pulse while provocative lyrics were thrust forward by racy percussions. Derived from a manuscript of 250 medieval poems discovered in 1803, Orff's inspired Carmina Burana explores the inherent human need for nature, wine, and sex. Varied like the text itself, scenes of Carmina Burana oscillated between light and playful to dark and brooding; Conductor Laureate Vance George demonstrated Orff's foundation of melodic motives and rhythms instead of harmonic development. Usually a 65-minute foray, George broke up sections by addressing the audience. Though a woman sitting nearby expressed her discontent for this "interruption," many more took comfort in George's comments on the arts and request, "I ask you to dedicate this performance that you are enjoying to a special someone who is close to you. Wish that they be happy, be well, be safe, and live with ease. And wish it for yourself!"

Love, baby, Love.

Once you go black...

2010-02-11T08:56:00.000-08:00

This is a quick shout to my new favorite friends: Black Sesame Seeds (NB: the actual food product, this is not a parody band)

A more flavorful bunch compared to their bleachy counterparts, black sesame seed is the soft serve ice cream flavor du jour at Cafe Zaiya Midtown. I sampled the goods the other night and WOW. No wonder some cultures feature sesame seeds as a symbol of immortality. Black sesame seed ice cream is an incentive to keep kickin'.

If you don't Zaiya, you should. I've joined the growing cadre of Cafe Zaiya worshippers who flock to this haven for Japanese bento boxes, don buri bowls, onigiri, sushi, baked goods, and desserts. "I eat for $5 or less," replied a friend when I asked him why he goes there so often. The hype is true. A $4.99 "Zaiya Meal" consists of a bento box (main, rice, pickled/assorted veggies) and a beverage of your choice (water, coffee, green tea). After 6PM, sandwiches and selected sushi are 30% off. The perception that "pricey = better quality" gets a ninja backhand from Cafe Zaiya.

Favorite items include: Spicy Chicken Sandwich, Green Tea Pudding, Sweet Potato pastry, Mahbo Eggplant bowl, dorayaki (sweet bun filled w/ azuki), and the list keeps growing...

If you happen to be of the "I don't eat anything but American food" set, what are you doing in NYC?! You should save on rent and move to somewhere more affordable and with fewer culinary delights like...Wisconsin.

I digress. Do note that Zaiya has non-Japanese options like egg salad sandwiches, ham & cheese, and other items.

Black attack, baby.

The Beats of NYC

2010-02-07T20:12:00.000-08:00

"All performing arts have some sort of relation to jazz," said Lincoln Center Orchestra drummer, Ali Jackson on the inspiration for his showcase titled The Beats of NYC: Jazz, Dance, Poetry, & Spoken Word. "Music, dance, and poetry thrive with so much variety in New York City. I've learned that the 'beat' of my chosen instrument, the drum, serves as the core of all forms of expression. Whether it's the 'beat' of someone's voice or the 'beat' of a classical orchestral work, the impact that percussion has had on art, and artists alike, is undeniable."

For two nights, The Beats of NYC brought together Hope Boykin of Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater and her dance company HopeBoykinDance, pianist Marc Cary, guitarist/vocalist Lionel Loueke, bassist Ben Williams, percussionists Andrew Daniels and Adewole Love, spoken word artists Latasha Nevada Diggs, Shelell Freeman, David Jefferson Jr., and Jessica Care Moore, and tap dancer extraordinaires Dormeshia Sumbry-Edwards and Derick K. Grant. "It just made sense to put all of those art forms together to make a new kind of program that no one expected, not even Jazz at The Lincoln Center," said Jackson.

Set to the visual staccato of street lights in Columbus Circle, sound, movement, and message formed the fuse ignited by 16 original compositions developed by Jackson over the past year. "There was no finite setlist but I knew I wanted to feature as many people; showcasing the significance of each artist," said Jackson of the variance between each of the four performances.

"Sideways Blues" demonstrated how a set of beats can be uniquely expressed through different styles of dance: the graceful movements of modern dance and the vibrant boom of tap. A melange of beats designed for "Homage to Influence" shook the firmament as lyricist Shelell Freeman recited "Our Vision is Our Voice" by notable poet, Dr. Sonia Sanchez. Freeman followed her recitation with an inspired original work. The softness of Jackson's brushes on the drums contrasted with the escalating roar of the tap dancers; aural support for Freeman's fiery message. Soulful singing by Rev. David Jefferson Jr. in "Sermonette" transported the program beyond the typical by transforming the space into one of worship and inspiring a collective hand-clap.

The high level of production and the cohesive quality of the program belied the fact that the cast and crew of Beats had only two days of full rehearsal and one soundcheck run-thru. "I can only wonder at what we could've done if we had more time. It was hard to manage everyone's professional schedules but we still put on a great show given the time we did have," said Jackson. As for the future of The Beats of NYC, Jackson hopes to develop the program further and take it on tour, "It would be great to expose more people to the project so they can see how the arts are tied together." Inspired by each other, the performers of The Beats of NYC whipped up a visual, aural, and spiritual feast.

In My Hood: Baked

2010-02-07T19:44:00.001-08:00

If Oprah says 'jump,' you jump. If Oprah says Baked makes the best brownies, well then you hightail it to Red Hook to confirm.

On a wayward trip to IKEA, I detoured and stopped off at Baked. Walking up to the orange and brown woodsy-cute storefront, I recalled my mother saying, "Oprah says there's a really cute bakery in Brooklyn that makes her favorite brownies." Oh yeah, Oprah? My grandmother mailed me a article cut-out featuring Baked in O Magazine with a note that read, "You should go here!" Ya going to Red Hook, Oprah? Though the ubiquitous hype piqued my curiosity, I hadn't justified hopping the B61 for the sole sake of noshing a square just to prove or disprove...How silly of me.

The verdict: Oh, Oprah, you were right.

The spicy brownie was a 2"x3" square of chocolate cloud with just a little jolt by the devilish Cayenne. Not too sweet. Not too bitter. Some might even call it 'perfect.' Other brownies include a Sweet'n'Salty concoction, Peanut Butter, Peppermint, and an Original Deep Dark...available only if you arrive before all the other fiends pillage. Should you prefer other forms of sweetness, your needs are sufficiently provided for with a variety of cookies, cakes, pies, scones, tarts, and even gourmet marshmallows. Comfy seats provided to break your fall from the sugar crash.

Oprah, you win. Again.

Brown town, baby, brown town.

What's your story?

2010-02-06T06:05:00.000-08:00

Despite all the distractions of New York City, a good book (and a hot cup of tea) will always pull me towards my reading chair. Is it nerdy that I'll opt out of a ticketed gala in order to suss out the issues between two main characters? Yes, it is...but it's also more fulfilling than watching automatons kiss ass. And unless I claim my book as a fashion piece like Vivienne Tam's Hewlett-Packard Butterfly Laptop/clutch, I can't exactly bring it with me.

Or can I?

To all the book worms and ravenous readers, put your itty bitty reading lights down and applaud Out Of Print Clothing, a NY-based print shop delivering old school book covers on the only garment you can truly "dress up or dress down": the t-shirt. Read below for a refreshing Q&A with OoP's founders Jeff LeBlanc and Todd Lawton.

What's the story behind Out of Print Clothing? How did it all begin?

If you want the long story…Out of Print began when we (OoP founders) met during elementary school in a suburb of Portland, OR. The shorter version and the real catalyst for our story is that the world of reading is changing. Paper books may be replaced by digital books faster than any of us can imagine. It made us think about what this could mean to the experience of reading as we know it. One of the things we felt we would miss is all the wonderful book art that has been our visual connection to great stories for years and years.

Which Book was the first OoP tee?

1984, which coincidentally was the year we met.

What determines if a cover will become an OoP tee? Aesthetic? Design?

A lot of things are important when we design our shirts. The story and how it relates to the world, the art, and how the art looks on the t-shirt. Covers featured in our line range from classic to curious.

Is there a most popular tee so far?

Catcher in the Rye has been popular, but there has been very good response to the entire line. We’ve had many people say that it’s hard to choose. A lot of our orders so far have been for 2 or more shirts.

Will OoP expand beyond tees? What are future goals for OoP?

We want to keep exciting and surprising our customers. We think that there is a lot to be said and shared about the world of literature, and we are going to build a platform for book, fashion, and art communities to talk about it.

What books do you select to send to Books for Africa?

We work with Books For Africa on that. It depends on the groups the shipments are going to. Some communities need general reading; others need reference material or textbooks.

What are your favorite books?

Both of us consider Catch 22 to be one of our all-time favorites.

Anything else you'd like to share with the world about OoP?

We have many more surprises the future. If you want to hear about them sign up for our newsletter and follow us on Twitter (www.twitter.com/outofprinttees). What’s your story? Wear it proud.

Books, baby, books.

http://www.outofprintclothing.com/

http://www.booksforafrica.org/

Soba So Good

2010-02-02T21:05:00.001-08:00

Waiting for a friend to arrive at Soba-ya tested my social mores. As each minuted passed by, trays and trays of tempura, soba, udon, sushi, and other delectables sauntered away from me. I silently bartered with myself, "Well....I could order the maguro don now and then order the yubatoji soba when he gets here." Right? Wrong. There's nothing more sinister than breaking social code in a Japanese restaurant filled with natives and pseudo-natives who would quickly point out my violation. So I waited...

and waited...

...then realized that Yankee Candle would make so much more money if their products smelled like yakitori or dashi-based broth.

When my friend arrived, we started with the sukui tofu: delicate soft tofu served in a 2"x2" wooden box, a tiny conic of wasabi balancing on a corner. I spooned my share onto a small plate and relished every creamy morsel. To follow, he had the iwashi soba (cooked sardine) and I had the "seasonal special" yubatoji soba (bean curd skin, egg drop, and dashi broth). Each steaming bowl of hot soba was served on a simple tray with a small plate of finely chopped green onions, soup spoon lay in waiting. The soba noodles were just right; just enough chew to engage but soft enough to submit.

Chopsticks cracked, we dug into our bowls, slurping just loud enough for the soba-chopper dude to hear us (that's right, they pull, roll, and chop their own soba noodles right in front of you). Refills of green tea kept the conversation going until the noodles were gone. Then we set our sights on dessert: the Soba-ya manju, a buckwheat based bun filled with slightly sweetened red azuki beans served on a tray with a little bowl of the best green tea ice cream I've ever had...and I've had a lot of green tea ice cream in my day.

If you plan on going to Soba-ya for dinner, definitely get there a touch before 6:45PM. Waiting til 7PM means, well, a lot of waiting. If you can, limit your party to two since most tables are for dos caminos. Larger parties should arrive well before 6:30PM as booths fill up faster than the Shinkansen.

Soba so good, baby.

Go to your ROOM!

2010-02-01T20:25:00.000-08:00

I'd gladly comply if my room was the room, a candlelit Soho sexytime.

Even better, The Room is actually TWO rooms: 1) a well-curated bar with a variety of vino and beer taps built into the wall (points for preserving the space!), and 2) a veritable love lounge with low tables that knock at your knees in preparation for other such 'knocking.' Music selections range from easy jam bands to upbeat DJ favorites, all set to the right volume thus requiring you to sidle up and get reallllllll close because you "just wanna hear better."

So if I see you and a date at the room, I won't blow up your spot and make humping motions in jest. I know we're all just there for the tasty Rioja from 2006.

Happy Valentine's day, baby.

globalfest 2010

2010-02-01T20:21:00.000-08:00

There's no better way to lengthen the road of your mind or widen the prairies of your soul than by traveling, seeing the world, and melding with people unlike yourself. Yet many New Yorkers-myself included- are reinventing the 'stay-cation' since a glimpse of life far beyond the East River doesn't come cheap. Fortunately, on January 10th, the world came to us when globalfest 2010 shook the Big Apple to its multi-ethnic core. The latest foray into world music included Celtic vocals, gypsy blues-rock, Zydeco, and the ever-popular jams West Africa. Early in the night, Alif Naaba brought Burkina Faso to the intimate stage of The Studio @ Webster Hall. Strums of the ngoni and rips of the guitar drew steam from a slow-growing dance circle steeped in the call and response. This was a sign of great things to come.

Up above, the soul-wrenching croon of Namgar, whose name is shared by her Siberian/Buryat band, ambled gracefully onto the main stage of Webster Hall. The gold accents of Namgar's brightly colored satin dress paled in comparison to her extravagant headpiece: a metallurgical feat that spread outward to either sides, thin sheafs of long black hair wrapped around, and a center protrusion that rose phoenix-like from her head. Though too proud to outwardly appear "uncultured," the New York crowd silently marveled, tickled pink that globalfest had once again delivered the goods. The 9-person band was no less impressive with its ecletic derivation: part-Russian, part-Tibetan, part-Mongolian, all-soul. The band opened with "Tunka," a song that begins with the stereotypical twang-and-strum aesthetic that had me convinced that I had already seen this Bruce Lee movie. Yet as the calligraphic strokes of the chanza quivered alongside Namgar's vocals, the dam broke and a cascade of heavy metal beats and edgy riffs flooded the venue. A nearby group of grease-scented headbangers threw out some expletives of approval and began breaking necks. I couldn't help but agree. There's nothing cooler than traditional Buryat shaman rock.

Cursed by tight set times and my inability to teleport, I missed a lot of notable performances: the electro jazz of Caravan Palace (France), the footloose Zydeco of Cedric Watson (USA), and the bolero-cumbia-electro downtempo of Federico Aubele (Argentina/USA). I did manage to salsa to La Excelencia, groove with Francois Ladrezo & Alka Omeka, and marvel at the possibilities of global solidarity displayed by Nguyen Le's pan-Asian jazz trio Saiyuki; what a treat to hear the Japanese koto, the Indian tabla, and an electric guitar woven through a musical loom!

At the end of the night, the doors of Webster Hall unveiled a satiated crowd. We flowed into New York City's streets nourished by transportive music that not only took us around the world but, more importantly, took us outside of ourselves. We danced and sang and left globalfest 2010 with a full satchel for the road ahead.

(also on shortandsweetnyc.com)

NYC Winter Jazzfest 2010

2010-01-30T19:42:00.000-08:00

For two frigid January nights, jazz music coursed through the veins Greenwich Village. Syncopation and improvisation overflowed at major pulse points the likes of Le Poisson Rouge, The Bitter End, Kenny's Castaways, Zinc Bar, and Sullivan Hall. Designed as an aural buffet for the attendees of the Association of Performing Arts Presenters (APAP), Winter Jazzfest 2010 drew crowds of 1,200 on Friday and 2,500 the next night. These impressive numbers reflect the potency of the otherwise latent enthusiasm for jazz; the $30 two-day ticket clearly too difficult to pass up when 55 notable jazz acts are rounded up in two-block stretch.

Warming the Friday crowd was the Nicholas Payton SeXXXtet, Bobby Previte's New Bump Quartet, Eric Lewis/ ELEW, and Mark Giuliana's Beat Music. When LPR and Zinc Bar tucked in at around 10PM, the go-to jazz guys of Search & Restore kept the jams flowing to a full house at Kenny's Castaways. Entry by exit only, the line outside Kenny's had the usual bums of Bleecker Street wondering what party caused the front windows to fog up. Inside, a motley crew of old and young, hipster and straight-laced crammed the awkward layout and questionable balcony forming one appreciative amoeba.

Friday's frenzy led to Saturday's melee. With double the amount of revelers and new jazz heavy hitters sprinkled throughout the venues, foot traffic proved an issue. Like any good festival, conversations were replete with comments about this or that amazing performance as well as compromises about where to head next. As the flagship venue, the deep inhalation of people filled Le Poisson Rouge to capacity for acts like the Occidental Brother Dance Band International, the Vijay Iyer Trio, and Bitches Brew Revisited. Exhalation commenced for performances like Dr. Lonnie Smith (Sullivan Hall), Mike Reed's People, Places, and Things (Kenny's Castaways), and the Todd Sickafoose Tiny Resistors (Bitter End). Though jazz has a ways to go before you hear it on the subway blasting from some youngthing's headphones, Winter Jazzfest 2010 proved that the genre is very much alive.

(also on shortandsweetnyc.com)

The APAP Smear

2010-01-07T05:51:00.000-08:00

Every year, I wait for the APAP 'smear'; one glorious weekend in January when the Association of Performing Arts Presenters hosts its conference in the Big Apple. What does this mean for non-members like us? Music. Glorious, glorious music EVERYWHERE. APAP folks are the people who find talent and book shows which the artist(s) hope will translate into widespread appeal. Consequently, musicians flock to NYC to play during this fabled weekend. But what to choose? I'm already overbooked to cover a number of shows, but here's what I'd go to if I had no less than three clones:

FRIDAY Jan. 8th:

Winter Jazz Fest (2 nights at various venues, $30 for 2-night pass)

EarthRise Soundsystem CD Release party "The Yoga Sessions" (Nublu, 11PM, $10)

SATURDAY Jan. 9th:

Winter Jazz Fest (2 nights at various venues, $30 for 2-night pass)

Mondo Mundo Festival (Highline, $15/$18)

EarthSync Showcase (Drom, talent from electronica/Indian label,

SUNDAY, Jan 10th:

globalFEST (Webster Hall, 3 stages in 1 night, $40, BUY early as last year sold out fast)

Will be adding to the list as the day goes on....

Risk. Opportunity. Now. Baby.

Going Green

2009-12-23T14:00:00.000-08:00

It's hard to say whether the new Poland Spring Eco-Shape bottle is reaaaaalllly all that green. "Smaller Cap = Less Plastic." Sure? Except if my office keeps ordering bottles and bottles by the cases then the smaller cap doesn't matter much.

The truth for New York City is that there are few things that are actually "green." Trader Joe's raffle rewards for bringing your own bag is pretty cool. Saving a tree(!)- except that tree you just saved got turned into a fatty roll of raffle tickets. All the hullaballoo for city recycling is awesome except when you're in a subway there are no recycling bins. And then there's Greenhouse, the most un-green club that still touts itself as New York's first "green" club (pictured). Sure the club boasts its LEED-ness but I used to date a guy who mussed numbers in order for buildings to be LEED-certified. Greenhouse's full-wall coverage of intelligent lighting is almost as efficient as carbon credits. Almost.

So instead of going crunchy and telling you to "think before you print this blog entry," I'm going to give you a better way to go green.

Absinthe.

It has been some time since the Law opened its stingy little arms but the need for true herbal refreshment is ever strong. The best part about this 'green' movement is that everyone can get in on the fun: including but not limited to omnivores, locavores, herbivores, people with 'gluten allergies,' vegans, and hipsters. Children should consult their parents unless their parents are alcoholics. I digress.

To fulfill your green certification, consider the sugar-drips at White Star or the theatrical hurrah at Apotheke. Claim you make a better chalice? Then top yourself off with some local hooch from the only stateside distillery of the mean green: Delaware Phoenix Distillery manned or rather womanned by Cheryl Lin. Nestled in the Catskills, Cheryl makes each batch, bottle, label, and shipment of the stuff to bars and specialty shops dotted about the city.

With two types of absinthe, Walton Waters and Meadow of Love, Delaware Phoenix Distillery will help you feel twice as green. Sure, drinking isn't the most direct way to save a tree but perhaps if you drink enough absinthe the little green faeries will help you reduce your carbon footprint by helping you 'fly' home... instead of taking a cab.

Fly on, baby, fly on.

Live Aloha

2009-12-23T08:13:00.000-08:00

Read: Clyde Haberman's NY Times article New York Ranks Last in Happiness Rating

Then read below....

Dear Clyde,

A nostalgic friend who recently visited Hawaii sent me your article on New York's sorry rank on the happiness scale. I am a kama'aina transplanted to the East Coast five years ago. I will have lived in New York full-time for a year come January 1, 2010. At the end of your piece, I asked myself, "Born Hawaiian, but living in New York. What does that mean for my happiness?"

Two weeks ago, my mother flew in from Honolulu International Airport. Upon her arrival at EWR, she called me to exclaim, "IT'S SNOWING!" I challenged her ooh! with my ugh! and asked her when her train would arrive at Penn Station. As our week unfolded, I noted various moments in which her sense of wonder and general warmth pervaded every action. Warning a passerby of a puddle. Commenting on the beautiful displays at a holiday pop-up shop to the weary workers. Pure relish of the hustle and bustle of my corporeal hell: Times Square. Where I would regard strangers with the same sentiment as a NY Ranger to a NJ Devil, my mother forwarded what can only be described as true Aloha Spirit.

At the end of her visit, I took her out for expertly marinated beef summer rolls in the West Village. She asked me why I couldn't "live aloha" in the city. "Well, Mom, 'being nice' is like announcing that you can be stomped on or messed with," I replied, chopstick to fingers delicately pulling apart the thin marbled fat in the beef. She peered at me, puzzled.

When NJ Transit rolled her back to the airport, I stood on Track 4 waving good-bye to my mother and my former self. I used to be just like her. After all, she made me. Could one year in New York really undo the last twenty-two? A sobering thought, indeed.

Yet all is not lost. Her short visit took a defibrillator to my chilly New York heart and jolted me with the realization that the Aloha Spirit is within. The world around me is only as warm or cold as I allow myself to be so this year, despite the most monstrous snow storm in recent history, I'm choosing warmth. Real hold-the-door-open-and-shake-your-neighbor's-hand warmth. Since this is the city that never sleeps, I'm pleased to say that I'll be spreading the warmth 24/7.

Me ke aloha pumehana,

Nico

In my 'hood: Kili me softly

2009-12-22T05:32:00.000-08:00

Last night I came home after midnight smelling like smoke. Not the kinda ciggy smoke that one endures when, say, you are standing next to a hipstery faux-James Dean at a club that touts its "intimacy" even though it's just mad cramped. No, I came home with the woodsy afterglow one can only achieve after a bon fire...or a hot spiked cider and the opportunity to make gratis s'mores with friends at Kili, a cozy ski-lodgey beaut in Boerum Hill.

First, I'm not concerned that writing this entry will kill Kili. Most of you don't even know where Boerum Hill is and I know many of you develop geographical hives when beckoned to leave la citta for the Brook. But oh, for those of you who relish the adventure of finding the kind of place that doesn't check your ID at the door because, hell, they want you to drink with them at any age, then hop the train and meet me. I'll be sitting next to the fireplace, creating the perfect mallow: crispy on the outside, oozy on the inside, and a little hint of smoke.

Burn, baby, burn.

Remember

2009-12-08T08:07:00.000-08:00

Imagine there's no Heaven

It's easy if you try

No hell below us

Above us only sky

Imagine all the people

Living for today

Imagine there's no countries

It isn't hard to do

Nothing to kill or die for

And no religion too

Imagine all the people

Living life in peace

You may say that I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will be as one

Imagine no possessions

I wonder if you can

No need for greed or hunger

A brotherhood of man

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world

You may say that I'm a dreamer

But I'm not the only one

I hope someday you'll join us

And the world will live as one

John Lennon (Oct. 9, 1940 - Dec. 8, 1980)

Love Life, baby, Live Love.

Schmoke and a pancake?

2009-12-03T14:16:00.000-08:00

(cue loungey, spoken word vibration)

I've got this old school feeling. ::snap snap:: The kind that makes me wish I could turn back time with a quick tip of my Trilby. ::snap!:: I wanna kick up my heels and knock back a couple of highballs with my compatriots while a nice fella rolls me a cigar. Ohhhhhhhhhh. ::snap snap::

If you're thinking, "???" then blame my recent trip to JJ Hats for this swanky wave I'm riding. The only thing missing from my day right now is...well...the Trilby, the whiskey, and the cigar. But LO! If I can hold out til Monday, I'll scat and scoot to Cuba NY for gratis cigars, hand-rolled for your happytime. Although the resto's link is dead (c'mon, really?), the smooth times live on:

Cuba

Mondays 630PM-10PM

222 Thompson St, 212-420-7878

Viva, baby, viva.

11/22: COUGAR @ Mercury Lounge

2009-11-24T12:22:00.000-08:00

Like a good stretch after a long workout, COUGAR's Sunday jam at Mercury Lounge smoothed out a raucous weekend. Chiseled out of wintry Wisconsin in 2003, COUGAR is the latest prog-rock outfit worth a listen. These five Madison natives meld two guitars, a bass, various electronics, and a drum set to create what they describe as "Emergency Rock": what happens when you take the efficiency and purpose of an emergency procedure and apply it to music. Yet the colloquial understanding of the term "emergency" does not suit the uber-chill nature of a COUGAR show. In one line across the stage there is no 'front man' in this sociocracy; an open format that treats the audience to an equal view of each band member. In one vignette, drummer D.H. Skogen is a-flutter with flailing arms, hand towels draped on parts of the drum kit, and the shudder of light bouncing off the cymbals. In another screen shot, Aaron Sleator jolts songs like "Rhinelander" with loops, defibrilator beats, and other assorted sounds emanating from his table-top setup of electronic goodies. Memorable moments include the crowd's exuberance when COUGAR played "Stay Famous" as well as the band's throwback to an older recording in which bassist Todd Hill roused his upright bass, unsheathed his bow, and rowed the crowd into audible bliss. The only real emergency is that the Mercury Lounge show marked the end of their six-week tour. Ring the alarm.

http://www.cougarsound.com/

My Dog Has Fleas

2009-11-20T06:20:00.000-08:00

While Macbook Pros may be getting a lot of air-play, the humble ukulele wins in the "Cool Again" category. Experiencing a bit of a renaissance, this chordophone is actually a permutation of a smallish guitar brought to Hawaii by Portuguese immigrants in the 19th century. Relatively inexpensive and easy to play, the ukulele became a popular instrument among locals. Support and promotion by King David Kalakaua (yes, Hawaii used to be a monarchy) aided the usherance of the uke into Hawaiiana, as is commonly perceived today.

In light of the UKULELE CABARET happening this evening at Banjo Jim's, I thought I'd list relevant links:

Notable Ukulele Manufacturers:

Kamaka Ukulele (handcrafting some of the world's most beautiful ukes)

CF Martin & Company (most of the ukulele models are inactive and thus coveted)

Close cousins of the uke:

Banjolele

Tiple

Uke-tastic musicians (quick and dirty list):

-Israel Kamakawiwo'ole (Hawaiian legend whose music shaped Hawaii and has been used for commercials and feature films)

-George Harrison (no introduction necessary, this Beatle was a huge advocate of the uke...and the banjolele)

-Jake Shimabukuro (Uke master whose shred of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" belies the simplicity of 4 strings)

-The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain (humorous 8-person ensemble. Check out their rendition of "Shaft.")

-Beirut (great Balkan folk band. Watch Elephant Gun.)

-Dent May & his Magnificent Ukulele (recent indie act clearly infatuated with the uke. Review of his last NYC show)

Did I miss someone or something pertinent? Holler and I'll add the stuff.

Wolfmother "Cosmic Egg"

2009-11-19T11:54:00.000-08:00

For the past two weeks, I've been having "Cosmic Egg" for breakfast--the latest delectable from Australia's rock group Wolfmother. Originally a trio, the band broke apart (read: creative differences) and re-invented itself under the guidance of Andrew Stockdale, the group's original guitarist/vocalist. Hatched in January 2009, Stockdale assembled a new four-man band to bring his brand of bluesrock to life. Named after a yoga pose that tickled Stockdale's fancy, "Cosmic Egg" is a 12-course meal that jolts harder than any cuppa joe. Replete with riff-driven tunes and a healthy dose of 60s/70s psychedelia, songs like "In the Morning" recall a time when the Counterculture meant much more than the ironic haircuts and skinny jeans of today. Still, you can expect the expected from this band--often ridiculed for its mirror-visage to rock heavies like Led Zepplin and Steppenwolf--as each savory track includes the requisite guitar shred-session smackdab in the center. Fresh and playful, Wolfmother drops a couple surprises like the tastefully delicate piano accompaniment throughout "Sundial" and at the end "Far Away" for a grandiose finish. Overall, the album is easy listening for a new generation hungry for vintage metal.

Over easy, baby, over easy.

Also on Short & Sweet NYC.

Fat Freddy's Drop "Dr. Boondigga & The Big BW"

2009-11-12T14:59:00.000-08:00

Kia ora!

Aotearoa has given the world a lot of things: the most delicious lamb meat, The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, intricate tattoo designs, and my personal favorite: Fat Freddy's Drop.

Known for their funky horns, old school beats, and lead singer Dukie's smoooove vocals, the band's sophmore album gets a jolt and a zap from more synthy-sounds and electro-beats.

To be honest, I can't do the album much justice right now because it's hard to write while dancing and groovin'. The past two weeks have been full of my fave tracks which include: Shiverman, Boondigga, and The Raft.

Have a listen and wish upon a star for a North America tour.

Album just dropped today. Buy here.

Arohanui, baby, arohanui.

The Cuppa Chronicles

2009-11-12T08:14:00.000-08:00

In the same way that some people say 'I only smoke when I drink,' I will admit that I only drink coffee when the temperature drops in NYC. There's just something comforting about walking through the city chill with a steaming cuppa. But as one drunk Dutchman told me while watching the last game of the World Series, "American coffee sucks!" Yes, Baz, American coffee does usually suck--save for the occasional Kona blend (no ka oi!).

This city is replete with java options and so I refuse to patronize Starbucks. That being said, I have encountered technical difficulties with finding the perfect cappuccino or even a simple tall one. I believe if you have it on your menu, you better have it. Silos Cafe will not agree with me as I went in to get a cappuccino and the gaggle of useless employees simply told me, "No." Fine. I'll simply uncheck you from my list.

So that you are never turned away, I deliver what will become a running list of decent places to get your bean buzz:

FIKA (another reason to love Swedes at this Murray Hill joint)

Rocco's (true it's a Village staple for cannolis, but this semi-tourist spot also packs a delicious coconut latte--picture above)

Keko Cafe (quaint sandwiches and a wide selection of teas and coffee)

The Mud Truck (from the MudCoffee people, now in transit in the W.Village)

Cafe Habana (forgo the long lines for the cafe, go next door, get your cafe con leche and smile)

Buzz, baby, buzz.

So you think you're a foodie?

2009-11-06T09:13:00.000-08:00

I'm always surprised by how many New Yorkers are self-proclaimed "foodies," especially the chopstick-thin chicks who look like they might fill up on a thimble's worth of broth.

Saying you're a "foodie" has become a euphemism for "I once trekked to the almost-ghetto in Chinatown for hand-pulled noodles." Daring? Not so much. It just means you're hungry.

So how do you know you're a real blue-blooded foodie? Take this test:

Go to Daniel Boulud's DBGB for head cheese from France.

Eat it and report back to HQ...or come to grips with the fact that you'll have to reserve the term for real foodies.

Hold the cheese, baby.

Justin Nozuka @ Webster Hall

2009-11-06T08:46:00.000-08:00

Following the opening performances of Elizabeth and the Catapult and Sam Bradley, fresh-faced twentysomething Justin Nozuka melted a largely female crowd at Webster Hall with his soulful crooning and easy-on-the-eyes looks.

Born in New York but raised in Toronto, the music of this half-Japanese and half-American wunderkind is a veritable melting pot: sometimes neo-soul and bluesy, other times folky pop. Nozuka's knack for blending --not burying--these styles together creates an understated aesthetic that is all his own. While acoustic performances are his apparent strong suit, popular tracks from Nozuka's debut album, like "Golden Train," benefitted from his talented bandmates.

Distinct and expressive, Nozuka's vocals maintain the crisp integrity found on his debut album, "Holly." One soulful track titled "Supposed to Grow Old" highlights Nozuka's humane lyrics brought to life by an unexpected emotional tonality. Nozuka's sincerity makes his music that much more enjoyable for an audience whose sing-along tendencies boasted for the humble and talented musician.

Bia garden

2009-11-01T19:22:00.000-08:00

Part of me doesn't want to talk about Bia because I know this place is going to get packed once people actually recognize the obscure down-below entrance to this delightful restaurant/beer garden.

Despite a clearly online-advertised location at 154 Orchard street in the LES, I walked past the joint a total of three times. On the third go-around, I finally found the rickety stairs that lead to a simple glass panel window; the perfect portal for Bia's employees to watch the struggle of finding their restaurant. Jumping on the speakeasy train CAN be fun.

Upon entering, I found myself in an ante room of sorts. "Here for brunch?!" asked a particularly chipper man who gestured to us that there was indeed a place to sit. Through the beer cooler-cum-hallway, patrons enter a covered "garden" with delightful wooden tables, a bench-lined perimeter, and empty cans of Cafe Du Monde chickory coffee doubling as utensil holders and centerpieces--hence his peppiness.

Turns out that New York brunch is an all-day event warranting a start time of "open to 4PM," at least at Bia. A spartan white cup of mahogany coffee sat on its saucer as I poured over a simple brunch menu: eggs in various styles, pancakes, steak and eggs, Etc. "Where's the rice?" asked my NYC-marathon friend. "I need the carbs!" He settled for a delightful omelette bedecked with Chinese sausage and a heaping side of yucca fries.

The meal was simple, delicious, and sunny (thanks to the translucent overhang). The only downside is that the place is cash only and while they'll tell you that the ATM across the street works, it doesn't. Turn left and walk to the corner falafel joint.

Have a Bia, baby.

Going Colonial: Rockin' Raw

2009-10-26T12:25:00.000-07:00

Note to reader: "Going Colonial" will be a new section about Williamsburg. Other such names like "Hipstery Haven" and "Ironic Bangs-burg" struck no chords.

After a sunny but snoozy jaunt to Greenpoint for the Oktoberfest (cue: good excuse for beer outside), I strolled back into the Billyburg and passed Rockin' Raw, a cozy joint self-described as "live-vegan-raw-organic-peruvian-new-orleanian-creole-cuisine-with-soul-from-williamsburg-brooklyn-to-you." And it's true: not a single animal product will touch your puckered lips. Thrilling!

Sucked in by the promise of a backyard, I sauntered through the well-decorated dining area and out of the backdoor. You'll be pleased to know that Chef Mama Rosa keeps her word: the backyard is small and quaint with glass and mesh tables speckled about the off-kilter brick pavement. The daily specials looks delish and I had my heart set on the Lentil Chili but, sigh, they were out. So instead I got the house salad with fig-balsamic dressing and a "Maca-licious" Smoothie (Maca, Ginger, Apples).

The salad was a simple melange of celery, romaine bits, slivered tomatoes, and purple cabbage. It was tasty but not particularly mind-blowing. The fig-balsamic did give it a boost...or perhaps that was the effect of the Maca in my smoothie; a Peruvian herb whose compounds of macamides and macaenes make this a "libido-boosting" remedy. Heyyyyyyyy.......

The smoothie was the most memorable and I plan on replicating the deliciously libidinous qualities at home.

...in the blender, ya dir'y devil.

Maca, baby, Maca.

Tilda Swinton on 'Making work'

2009-10-19T12:10:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to lie.

I felt culturally snooty in my seat at City Winery, waiting for Tilda Swinton to begin her parlay with Hilton Als, theatre critic and contributor to The New Yorker's "Talk of the Town" section. The event? The New Yorker Festival's personal chat with Tilda about her career, which she repeatedly preferred to call "making work"--suggestive of the idea that she is not her work and that work is not her life. Sassy, no? Jealous? Oui.

If it were not for my gleaming glass of rose and particularly erudite friends, this event would've sunk my battleship in full. Mister Als opened with an air of false humility, commenting that neither Tilda nor himself enjoyed being on display for everyone else thus they "did not know why they agreed to do this." Really? REALLY? That's how you start an event for which a full house paid hard-earned recession dollars to attend? Oh Hilton....That's NOT hot.

Between defibrillator-like clips of "Orlando" and "Female Perversions," Swinton and Als went tete-a-tete. The crowd occasionally laughed when a quippy whip lashed from their tongues, but the room shuddered, silent otherwise. A faint snore emanated from stage right.

Or was that me?

Either way, I think I do regret not buying the ticket for James Franco's chat instead.

Make work, baby, make work.

The Japanese Smorgasbord @ Ichi Umi

2009-10-14T14:18:00.001-07:00

The Japanese have done for the smorgasbord what they've done for everything else: Take notes then make it a million times better. Such is true of the all-you-can-eat buffet at Ichi Umi, a popular spot for double-decker tour buses of old Asian people as well as famished foodies. Though misplaced in the Asian nation that is K-Town, this Japanese joint faces no identity crisis with 50 made-to-order fresh items and a buffet the length of a million paper cranes strung together.

The experience is glutinous yet prim as oval serving plates sit side by side with tapas-portions just asking to be plucked from the stage. With my dinner plate in hand, I began at one end of the buffet and piled on morsels of crab cake, popcorn shrimp, teriyaki salmon, rincon chips, vegetable tempura, a baked clam, shrimp tempura, baby bok choy and mushrooms, a bacon-wrapped scallop, okonomiyaki, and the mental affirmation that I'd be back for another round. After all, I barely made it half-way through the buffet!

The food is delicious and freshly prepared since turn-over is high. After the first round, I skipped back to the buffet and started at the fry station at the middle. I picked up a thin slice of fried veggies, bypassed the noodle bar featuring 6 different types of made-to-order ramen, and sashayed through tray upon tray of sushi, sashimi, and other assorted rolls. Perfect bed-fellows, I placed the Dragon Roll next to the New York roll next to the other roll whose name escapes me but not the memory of its wakame-infused rice and decadent chunk of tuna. I waddled back to my table, grabbing a piece of tuna tataki on the way.

If the price of a flight to Japan cuts too deep, take the moolah you save to Ichi Umi and indulge. Strolling down the endless catwalk of delectables will send you on a trip.

Oishii, baby, oishii.

In my 'hood: You mean that wasn't the entree?

2009-10-06T08:23:00.000-07:00

For a long time, all I knew about Yemen Cafe was that its workers enjoyed catcalling while on their cigarette breaks. Day after day, I'd walk to my apartment (a hop-skip from this culinary curiosity) and peer into the large glass window. Patrons always appeared well-fed, steeped in conversation, and mostly male. "Come! It is warm inside. We can warm you up," a bus-boy once yelled at me. I turned my head and mentally reassured myself that I preferred the cold when all I really wanted was whatever mound of deliciousness sat in those shiny metal bowls.

Though I moved out of that particular apartment, my desire to dine at Yemen Cafe remained. Thanks to the willingness of a Manhattanite friend, I finally trekked back to that alcove on Atlantic Avenue. On our way there, I explained to my friend that his presence made this whole adventure possible because I always felt it inappropriate for me to dine there alone as a single female. As we walked up the steps, I had to laugh as he proceeded with caution, "Are you sure we're gonna be allowed to eat here?" Then we spotted a white chick with her father and all was well. Phew! Good thing we could throw the stereotypes out the window!

We sat down and a friendly waiter took our order of Fassolia to start, Massloug Lamb, and Chicken Curry. Before anything, we were served lamb soup: a flavorful broth with small chunks of onion scattered about. The Fassolia arrived as a brick-red colored mound atop an oval dish with a large tray of flatbread--light and fluffy in some spots, perfectly burnished on the others. We tore off chunks of the stuff and dug into the white bean stew of cilantro, garlic, tomato paste, pepper, and other transportive spices. Our conversation became as colorful as our Fassolia.

When the waiter brought the lamb and curry entrees, I looked back at the Fassolia and said, "You mean that wasn't the entree?" Though we certainly could've ended our Yemeni sojourn with the Fassolia, we got to work on the succulent lamb chunks and the perfectly seasoned chicken curry; both came with a side of delicate white rice. A once-upon-a-time vegetarian, I was a bit jarred by the hunks of lamb before me. Yet with each row of my knife, the meat fell like a blossom from a stem. No gamey taste, just bliss.

I shall return very soon...even if just for the Fassolia.

Yemeni love, baby, Yemeni love.

Lebowski Fest 2009: The Dude Abides

2009-10-06T07:36:00.000-07:00

Like a beautiful rug that ties the room together, Lebowski Fest 2009 forged a bond between fans from all walks of life. I got a message on my machine telling me that they were showing the picture on the big screen at Terminal 5 so I got on the subway because those damn kids took my car for a joyride then soiled it before they left it who-knows-where. I hear they have some promising leads. Anyway, I got to Terminal 5 but they wouldn't let me in. The tough guy at the door took one look at my poncho-slipper combo--a fine look if I may say so--and told me that I was out of my element! He even asked me to pay 25 bones or clams or whatever you call them. He couldn't be serious! So I looked him in the eye and said, "I'm the Dude, man!" It seemed to work because we didn't split anymore hairs on the issue. Then I walked into Terminal 5 and I realized that I was late because the places was darker than a steer's tookus on a moonless prairie night and I could barely see anything except for picture on the big screen and two giant bars glowing like amber oases. I got myself a beverage and took a seat in the second tier of the VIP floor. I'll tell ya, Terminal 5 is huge, man! There's no way I'd pay the rent on time for this place--it must be big enough for at least 1,000 rugs. I will say this though: the big screen was pretty righteous and it was a chill experience overall except when some folks would say all the lines before the picture could say 'em or laugh before anyone else. I guess that's the way the whole darn human comedy keeps perpetuating itself.

The next day, I woke up in the middle of my living room and I found a message on my machine about going bowling at some ten-pin joint. I called Walter to come along and he said he couldn't come because he had to walk Cynthia's rat-dog. I don't know why he didn't just bring that thing along like he did the last time. So I went by myself to place and I said, "Hey man, is this the ten-pin joint for the festival?" He looked at me and said, "'Ten-pin joint' is not the preferred nomenclature. Lucky Strike, please." I threw my hands up in the air and said, "Okay, man, Lucky Strike." I strolled in and was immediately confronted by, well, me.

Lucky Strike was lit all posh and swanky and there was a holy glow around my doppleganger. I wasn't sure if he was real or if I was having the occasional acid flashback. I looked at him and he looked at me and he said, "I'm not Lebowski, man, I'm the Dude!" I squinted twice thinking that might clear the noggin but then I looked behind The Dude and I saw another Dude. Then I saw Maude, and then two more Maudes: one dressed as a saucy viking and the other wearing that dark green robe she wears when she's not throwing paint around. Then I saw the Nihilist running towards me with those damn big scissors and I yelled, "I need my johnson, man!" Then a really nice woman looked at me and said, "Welcome to Lebowski Fest 2009! Would you like to bowl?" I told her I didn't rent any shoes but the nice lady gave 'em to me anyway so I strapped up, grabbed a ball, and went golfing. Pretty sharp--the other folks at the festival. Some were dressed up as me, Duderino, some as Maude, some as the Nihilists, I saw Walter walking around, and I even saw the marmot. Jerk.

I shimmied past while the marmot watched me with those beady little eyes and I sat myself next to some upstanding bowlers starting a new round. When I got up to bat, I couldn't figure out how I was supposed to mark the boards but the young man wearing Larry's homework on his teeshirt told me everything at Lucky Strike is, as they say in the parlance of our times, "high-tech and automated." Larry's Homework assured me that the balls were glowing because of the fancy black lighting system and not because of any funny stuff slipped into my Caucasian. Relieved, I tossed that globe down the lane and struck luck. I went drink for drink and strike for strike and I noticed the fellow wearing Jackie Treehorn's notepad on his chest was getting a little y'know and he whispered, "If you throw the rest of this game I will compensate you to the tune of eighteen dollars." I thought about what the money could do; how many more bits of rolling paper that could get me. But no, man! This isn't 'Nam! It's bowling! There are rules! I ignored the candy-man, marched ahead, and threw whole turkeys down the gullet; taking out all ten hens so everyone at the festival could feast while We (yes, the Royal 'We') celebrated Lebowski Fest 2009. I dedicated my perfect game to Donny, in the great alley in the sky, and I wept sweet tears because strong men also cry...Strong men also cry.

Fashion Week Summer 2009: Vivienne Tam

2009-09-20T06:14:00.001-07:00

I don't consider myself to be fashionable at all. A tee and jeans are alright by me. Yet when your French friend invites you to Vivienne Tam's Fall show at Bryant Park, you go--you do your hair, you put together a badass outfit, you wear those 4-inch death heels, you glam up, and you storm the scene like you know the difference between tulle and chiffon.

The Fashion Week tents enveloped Bryant Park which looked like an austere airplane hangar from the outside. Inside was another story. As we stepped up the stairs, I looked back and saw a bunch of people crowded around; seemingly expectant and hopeful that entry would be granted. Nothing is ever worth waiting for hours, my friends, I said to myself as the pulsating music and cicada-like buzz of conversation drew me into the tent.

The scene was straight out of Sex & the City (a referential guide to NY for most of my young adult life): freakishly tall models, the paparazzi, and the fashion cognoscenti expertly dressed in whatever the eff they felt like wearing because HELL(!) this is fashion, baby. I enjoyed the visual array; like MOMA come to life.

What I didn't enjoy was the poor event production. Instead of separating high traffic areas, somehow the gratis booze bar and Check-In were right next to each other. The result? A mish-mash of glam'd up individuals becoming more and more intoxicated and thus more and more perturbed that security wasn't aware that "I'm on the list!" Thanks to my heels, I was able to see the reception table and so I herded my petite friend through the crowd, pushing our way through and saying in an affected tone, "Isn't this just madness! My goodness!" We skated through, signed in, received a piece of paper with a "ST" written in big black markers, and then got herded into another voluminous line.

After confirming that "ST" stood for "Standing," I knew I had to find a seat. My 2-hr death shoes were FIERCE but deadly. I sat next to the fountain revamped with floral drippings and expertly placed spotlights. We people-watched for a good 45 minutes before the show tent opened to let patrons in. Those lucky folks who got to sit went in first and then the rest of us shuffled our well-heeled feet, clutching our "ST," and flooding all other available pockets of space inside the show tent.

Vivienne's show was a flowy, flirty, floral array of clothing--err, um--art pieces that I could actually see myself wanting to wear. Hair and make-up consisted of long, "natural" hair and easy make-up that brought the focus to the eyes. To be honest, I was more interested in the faithful fashion following that made up the audience. I look around and thought that all those seeking egg-donors should've posted up outside because smushed in this tent was one helluva aesthetic demographic....but back to the fashion.

Actually no. What I thought was pretty clever was the incorporation of Tam's edition of the HP Mini (pictured) as the perfect accessory: a clutch. My inner nerd mentally applauded this unique incorporation of electronics and, as if the fashion hadn't already done so, I became a VTF: Vivienne Tam Fan.

If given a chance to sit, I would certainly go to another fashion show. All the waiting and foreplay of the pre-show made me weary and just as the actual fashion show started it was instantly over like a most beautiful quickie. It was a great experience and I'm very glad to have seen the scene of Fashion Week.

After enduring the glares that come with being overdressed on the subway, I got home and changed into a tee and a pair of jeans.

The perfect fashion statement, baby.

Riding the Elevator Into the Sky

2009-09-17T10:23:00.001-07:00

I got an email with this poem enclosed. A poem about NYC. It's a suitable poem for my latest sentiments about NYC:

Riding the Elevator Into the Sky

By Anne Sexton (1975)

As the fireman said:
Don't book a room over the fifth floor
in any hotel in New York.
They have ladders that will reach further
but no one will climb them.
As the New York Times said:
The elevator always seeks out
the floor of the fire
and automatically opens
and won't shut.
These are the warnings
that you must forget
if you're climbing out of yourself.
If you're going to smash into the sky.

Many times I've gone past
the fifth floor,
cranking upward,
but only once
have I gone all the way up.
Sixtieth floor:
small plants and swans bending
into their grave.
Floor two hundred:
mountains with the patience of a cat,
silence wearing its sneakers.
Floor five hundred:
messages and letters centuries old,
birds to drink,
a kitchen of clouds.
Floor six thousand:
the stars,
skeletons on fire,
their arms singing.
And a key,
a very large key,
that opens something —
some useful door —
somewhere —
up there.

Pork Belly Battle

2009-09-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

I'm torn. I don't know how to proceed. Which pork belly is better?

The mound of meat and succulent pudge at Zenkichi or Chiyono ???

Zenkichi:

a youthful Billyburg brasserie bustlin' with here-and-then-gone waiters that respond to a simple call-button when you need that tip of sake

Chiyono:

an E.Vill oasis of home-cooking just the way Obaachan makes it...actually I think Obaachan is in the kitchen. Honest.

Take the challenge. Help me decide.

Belly, baby, belly.

8/28: Jonah Smith @ Bowery Ballroom

2009-09-02T09:13:00.001-07:00

The definition of success is different for every musician. At some point amid the thicket of gigs and press releases, he will ponder the quality of his sound, his style, and whether or not anyone is listening...and if people are listening, do they like it?

It's safe to say that Jonah Smith's latest album Lights On is the manifestation of positive answers to those very queries. After leaving Relix Records in 2007, Smith turned to his fans for the funding required to bypass the need for a label and drive the production of Lights On from idea to fruition. A credit to Smith's popularity and humility, online donations and support overflowed from all ends. A group of D.C. fans even threw a fundraiser that raked in thousands more for the Brooklyn-bred artist and his fervent desire to create "a tribe and deeper connection" with his audience.

Last Friday, The Bowery Ballroom became the town hall for the tribe called Smith. All eyes were on the soulful crooner enveloped in the halo of light from overhead as he sat behind a dark gray Wurlitzer proportioned to his smallish frame. A number of tribe members emulated Smith's simple attire of tees, flannels, and tastefully worn-down caps. The set list was an amalgam of tunes weathered and fresh; the ripest fruits picked from Lights On.

Attentive and loyal, the crowd fed on delectable morsels of lyrics accompanied by the ubiquitous tang of the steel guitar. Favorites like "I Feel More Like I Did Back Then" and "When We Say Goodnight" whet the appetite for Lights On soon-to-be-favorites like "Mrs. Cooper," "Cabin Fever," and "Gold & Green." Track by track, Lights On tells tales of a cross-country adventure from the Dust Bowl to Brooklyn. Each story shared is a collection of highs and lows, good and bad, love and war--transcending boundaries much like Smith's unique reservoir of American blues, country, folk, and soul.

Aside from his amazing lyrics and synergistic compositions, it is Jonah Smith's humility and quiet confidence that makes watching him a treat. "Now's the part of the show where I get up and pretend like I'm going to leave so you clap louder even though I'm just going to come back," he said just before is encore. "Thank you for coming out tonight."

If all it takes is clapping loudly to bring Jonah Smith to stage time and time again, then let that rumble turn into a roar.

8/13: Karsh Kale & The MIDIval Punditz

2009-08-25T20:40:00.000-07:00

In the belly of Le Poisson Rouge, hypnotic techno beats suckled on the traditions of the tabla. Mixing old with new, Karsh Kale and the MIDIval Punditz unfurled a night of music made for time-traveler inside all of us.

Karsh Kale, a New York native, showed great promise as a drummer and tabla player during his childhood. With astute technicality, the breadth of Kale's talent emerged when he began to meld the traditions of his Indian heritage with the edge of his electronica upbringing. The results created an opportunity to hone in on each genre as separate styles as well as one cohesive musical entity. This bold fusion propelled Karsh Kale to the forefront of creativity.

To kick off their short NYC-run, Kale teamed up with Guarav Raina and Tapan Raj, the two Delhi-based wunderkinds that comprise MIDIval Punditz. Together these craftsmen made music by bringing together seemingly disparate items like the tabla, a synthesizer, a drum machine, a drum set, and two Macbooks. On stage stood a guitarist and a singer whose voice cradled the crowd and lulled our eyelids to half-mast only to be awaken by the heady gush of electronic beats.

NOMO

2009-08-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

Cold Michigan winters can't stop the afro-beat heat of NOMO. The Fela-inspired band brewed up it's musical magic in Ann Arbor, Michigan at the eponymous university. Off the label of Ubiquity Records, NOMO's latest release is a synthesis of sound titled, "Invisible Cities." And what instruments get left behind? None. The six-man band utilizes textures from all instruments, which even include the Conch shell. The songs are compositionally complete and Kuti's influence can be felt in every splice of the sax, zing of the electric kalimba, and the soul of the drums. Deep grooves and hearty repetitions are the norm but NOMO adds a dash of futuristic funk, spells of avant-garde jazz, and rock vibrations. Like its contemporaries, NOMO holds true to its main musical influence and yet they are stretching afro-beat's muscle; cultivating the groove into their own organism.

Long day, longer noodles

2009-08-12T20:47:00.001-07:00

After a 12-hour day at work, I wanted to be hugged by the warmth and soul of the chicken broth at the famed ramen mecca, Ippudo.

On this particular visit, I went for a glass of Otokoyama sake (dry and light at $8) and the Wasabi Shoyu Ramen special (pictured, $13). The Otokoyama arrived sitting in a small wooden box soaked in its own lush liquid. The first sip featured a slightly sweet top with a delicate bitterness to follow. The bowl of ramen arrived in a bulbous bowl and as I wafted the flavor, my nostrils burned from the vaporized wasabi.

Despite the waitress' concern for the "very spicy dish," I abandoned all decorum and dug in (hey it was a long day at work). At first chomp, I noticed that the noodles were NOT wasabi-noodles as I had thought; the kick was not in the noodles but rather in the broth (the chicken lost this battle). Even still, my tolerance for heat seemed as fervent as ever...that is until I dug deeper to the bottom of the bowl, scooped up a ladle of broth, and knocked it back so fast that the concentration of wasabi from the depths below hit my taste buds and shot straight up my nose. I hurt. I felt the burn the way a Swedish person feels the burn after a full day of sunshine without the SPF.

The sting of the wasabi was so potent that I reveled in its strength; who knew horseradish could kick one's arse? The accompaniments of nori, scallions, bamboo shoots, small rice puffs, and Berkshire pork made my bowl of noodles one divine masquerade of flavor. The Berkshire pork could be an entree on its own and yes, this once vegetarian would buy it in bulk. This impromptu dinner trip made me re-appreciate the way Japanese people do things: from education to libations, the Japanese don't skimp when quality is concerned.

At the end of my meal, a bus boy whisked away my dishes while I sat sipping the last of my sake. Then a cute waiter came by and dropped off my check along with a restorative cup of barley tea. Now this is my idea of a meal: noodle ninjas in the kitchen, a delicate glass of sake, and a cute guy delivering my tea.

Mmmm good, baby, mmmmm.

More Lovin to go around

2009-08-12T20:04:00.000-07:00

You hear about Central Park, Hudson Park, Prospect Park, East River Park, and all the parks that fill their bandshells with big names and even bigger budgets that allow you and I to skirt the $5 suggested donation. But in the heart of Central Brooklyn, the Wingate Field transforms into a musical melange. In its 27th year, The Martin Luther King Jr. Concert Series has hosted some pretty big names so far: Keyshia Cole, Anita Baker, and Robin Thicke; an act that "brought out more women to Wingate Field than ever," said Brooklyn Borough President, Marty Markowitz.

This past Monday, the dull sun frayed through the humidity and suspended moisture in the air. I was to meet a good friend at the Winthrop subway stop so when I got out I called him and he said, "Oh you're here! Great! Meet me on the corner at the Fried Chicken and Pizza place. I'm just a block away." As this was my first time riding past the Franklin subway stop, I quickly scanned the urban landscape for the fried chicken and pizza place. To my delight, such a place was located a short jaunt from the subway exit.

I stood there for a good eight minutes before it hit me and I thought, "Maybe this is the kind of 'hood that has more than ONE fried chicken and pizza place." I called my friend and sure enough, he was standing at the OTHER fried chicken and pizza place on the opposite end of the block. Once reunited, we moseyed over to Wingate Field.

When we arrived, it was clear that this wasn't exactly Summerstage. There were shirtless men doing pull-ups and push-ups, mothers corralling their flocks of children while dragging coolers of drinks to the field, an unprecedented amount of police officers, and even more individuals selling bottled water for $1. As we entered we got some great seats in the front and we waited patiently for Ruben Studdard.

This teddy bear of 2003's season of American Idol, opened Monday's show dressed in a light grey suit. Backed by a drummer, a guitarist, a bassist, and two back-up vocalist, Mr. Studdard proved that his big smile and big voice may even be as big as his heart. Singing songs from his first album Soulful and reminiscing on his hit "Sorry for 2004," Studdard had the crowd groovin'. It has been a while since I listened to music so focused on love for the sake of love alone and I found it quite refreshing. Ruben's fourth release is an album titled Love Is; a fitting title for a man who just celebrated his first wedding anniversary.

Love is all you need, baby, Love Is.

Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival (8/8)

2009-08-10T20:45:00.001-07:00

The 2nd annual Brooklyn Electronic Music Festival (BEMF) was a real life yin-and-yan experience: daytime and nightime, indoor stage and outdoor stage, PBRs/Booze (dehydrate) and Zico Coconut Water (hydrate), one-man shows and full-on bands, hi-tops and low-cuts, clean cut and just plain ol' dirty. Enveloped in the brick-love of The Old American Can Factory in Gowanus, BEMF ripped the crowd apart at what felt like 540 bpm.

I arrived just in time to catch a Prince cover by Jupiter One, a Brooklyn-based band reared on a carton of green apple Pop Rocks; deliciously interactive yet saccharine. Between sets a good friend and I roamed the festival quarters, peered down the alleyway to find a small subset of 21+ folks dabbling in the makeshift hooch, then we shimmied past gyrating boys and girls dressed alike, and even sampled the fresh baked goodies from local shops in the area (so BK!). At some point, the roving RUDE bear got on stage and roused the crowd by getting involved with cans of beer, thus proving that four claws and minimal use of an opposable appendage will never stop the party.

Notable acts included Designer Drugs, Juan MacLean, DJ Ayres, Anton Glam (no ka oi!), Awesome New Republic (poor name but Top 40-bound), and Purple Crush (leotarded gal with moves to make a staccato series jealous). To be honest, I couldn't really tell the difference between this DJ or that DJ. Alls I know is that I shook a leg and woke up with sore feet. See below:

photo by Camden Rains

All Points West (Sunday)

2009-08-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

To be perfectly honest, Sunday was somewhat marred by the rain that had dumped on Liberty State Park even after a perfect Saturday. Doors to the festival did not open until 4PM thus multiple performances were canned without question. Seething musicians? Of course, but perhaps it's that kind of anger that makes for better songwriting. After all, there's always APW 2010, right?

Walking the muddied sidewalk from the PATH train to the festival entrance gave little promise to what lay ahead. Not only was the two mile walk longer than I could recall from the other days, but the feeble vocals of La Roux squished like the muddy mess between my toes (flip flops proved futile footwear).

Once inside, I hedged my bets and plowed through the swampland to the main stage where I endured Echo & the Bunnymen for Coldplay...except Coldplay decided to have a full hour between Echo and their Viva set. Slowly but determined, I made it to the Bullet stage and caught the bushy-faced, flannel-clad, mountain-loving music of The Black Keys. From the stages of Akron, Ohio, The Black Keys brought back soulful rock to a festival largely populated by skinny headbands, ironic tees, and wayfarers (maybe those folks were just there waiting for MGMT's set that followed?).

With one last resounding riff, The Black Keys wrapped up and the exodus moved towards the main stage. Maybe it was Chris Martin's blue eyes or the band's pseudo-Sergeant Pepper outfits? Whatever it was Coldplay was a treat to watch, even during those moments when Chris Martin would fall to the ground and feign extreme exhaustion. Really? I was there when they kicked me out of the backstage area to make way for the luxe rockers.

Crowd favorites such as Yellow, Clocks, Viva La Vida, and Politik roused the sea of fans into one giant sway. Intelligent lighting and props made Coldplay's show seem almost as dynamic as Jay-Z's killer sesh on Friday. To their credit, Coldplay threw out a Billie Jean tribute to MJ and a "You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Party" trib to The Beastie Boys.

Although every song was as wonderful as the last, I held out until the encore so that I could hear the purest form of my favorite Coldplay song: "The Scientist." With simple piano chords and lyrics that ring true, the live rendition of "The Scientist" will forever be my favorite. With legs plastered in crackling mud, I rode back across the river happy and mellow yellow.

All Points West (Saturday): Here comes the sun

2009-08-04T05:59:00.000-07:00

And the sun shone overhead on the second day of All Points West......

Though Liberty State Park remained a muddy muckfest (good luck getting your deposit back, APW), better weather improved overall morale at the festival. Benefitting from this wave of happiness, a slew of comedians yucked it up at the Queen of the Valley tent. Though primarily music and art, APW featured a host of comedians including Christian Finnegan, Janeane Garofalo, and Jim Jefferies, who had jokes dirtier than the mud wrestlers nearby.

At 5:15, The Artic Monkeys shook their wavy hair as they brought their brand of garage rock from across the pond. St. Vincent's front-woman Annie Clark shared her coquette-cum-possessed rocker appeal at the Bullet Stage just as Gogol Bordello gushed 50-minutes worth of gypsy punk excess, complete with two silver-suited dancers (one with cymbals, one with an upright drum), a fiddler, an accordionist, and a lead singer with more energy than a twentysomething on uppers. True to form, My Bloody Valentine was, well, loud--REALLY LOUD-- and pleased fans at the Blue Comet main stage as well as fans all the way back at the Queen of the Valley tent.

The members of Tool were being tools and postponed their start time so many folks headed over to catch the end of Crystal Castles before The Ting Tings pop-rocked the crowd through the rest of the night.

All Points West (Friday): Highlights and HOVA

2009-08-01T10:25:00.000-07:00

Friday's revelers at All Points West know full well that when it rains, it pours. The mini-monsoon began during the Fleet Foxes' jam at the Blue Comet main stage, continued to cool during The National and called it a wrap as Vampire Weekend crooned about commas. An eclectic crowd bedecked in mud and joviality featured middle-aged men shaking off their corporate skin, tipsy twentysomethings dancing about, and even a sprinkle of tiny tots sitting atop shoulders. Musical highlights aside, crowd goers appreciated that the lines at the multiple beer tents, or 'refueling stations' as deemed by some, were wildly shorter than last year.

...and even shorter as the crowd rushed the main stage for The Yeah Yeah Yeahs.

The rain clouds parted and a feeble sun paled in comparison to Karen O. as she towered tall in a black and white kimono-esque mini dress, multi-color marbled leggings, fringed kicks, and her iconic eye make-up, seemingly inspired by Jackson Pollock. With her team in tow, Miss O. erupted with high notes and catchy crowd pleasers from the band's recent release "It's Blitz!" and other album "Show Your Bones." The Yeah Yeah Yeah's latest hit single "Zero" had the crowd mashing Liberty State Park into a muddy swamp one minute and the next minute Karen O.'s hypnotic vocals for "Soft Shock" morphed the Blue Comet crowd into one big noodle dance (cue wiggly arms and collective swaying).

The Yeah Yeah Yeah's ended their set with a sentimental shout to their stalwart and water-resistant fans. Then the band dedicated a pared down version of "Maps" to "Yeah Yeah Yeah's family and Yeah Yeah Yeah's loved ones!" Wait, they don't love you like we love you.

Ten days before the curtains were to be drawn, APW coordinators announced that Jay-Z would replace The Beastie Boys as Friday's headliner due to Adam Yauch's recent diagnosis of throat cancer and subsequent surgery plans. Though Beastie fans lamented, hip hop fans revved up for the stage return of HOVA on American soil thus answering the question, "Is he or is he not retired?" Always classy, Jay-Z paid tribute and opened his throwback set with The Beastie's "No Sleep Till Brooklyn." He followed with his rendition of "Brooklyn (Go Hard)."

Jay-Z's 80-minute set featured hits past and present; "99 Problems," "Can I Get a Wha What?,"Dirt Off Your Shoulder," and "DOA (Death of Autotune)." HOVA dripped lyrical gold backed by a full band and captivating visuals on the big screen behind him. In the middle of his rips on posers and declarations of personal greatness, Jay-Z delivered a resonant remix of "My President is Black." Images of Barack Obama and the phrase "Yes We Did" floated behind the fervent hip hop artist. After a short tease, the encore came and set the crowd over the top with "Big Pimpin'." Though many festival goers streamed out for the glacial ferry and the light rail, many more stayed and enjoyed Jay-Z's appreciation shouts to the crowd, "I see you over there in the yellow, jumping up and down. You in the Beyonce shirt! Brother over there in the blue, I see you!"

The night continued with a set from MSTRKRFT on the Queen of the Valley stage though most people poured out of the park, muddy and happy they didn't let a little water rain on their parade.

Also on ShortAndSweetNYC.com

This Bud's for You

2009-07-31T13:06:00.000-07:00

Though unrelated to NYC, I must say that the frenzy over the "beer summit" is remarkably reminiscent of another ridiculous media blitz regarding one particular moonwalker.

Dearest 'journalists,' give it a rest and get back to the real issues...none of which include exploitation of Bud Light.

Brouhaha, baby, BREWhaha. :)

Popsi-booze

2009-07-07T14:40:00.001-07:00

You like popsicles. You like booze....and now your inner-fat kid can have both.

Visit Counter for a Blueberry Lemon Verbena Vodka pop, a Raspberry Prosecco pop and a Strawberry Mint Rum Daiquiri pop. (get all three and feel like a champ, not a lush...it's a popsicle after all)

Finally someone realized that you CAN actually freeze alcohol...and make money off the rest of we minions.

Get that chemistry, baby, get it.

Counter

105 First Ave.

The Harlem Shakes @ Bowery Ballroom

2009-07-07T14:35:00.000-07:00

Go to college. Get a degree. Become a rock star. This is not your grandmama's formula to greatness, but it is the path through which indietastic band The Harlem Shakes graduated to popular appeal.

Founded upon a nucleus of three Yale graduates, The Harlem Shakes recruited two more astute musicians to round out their "Am Pop" sound: a meld of the 'Great American Songbook' with noticeably modern textures. Based on the crowd's deafening sing-along at the Bowery Ballroom on July 1st, one may assume with accuracy that the Shakes' songbook must be on the reading list of America's slightly over-educated yet rousingly upbeat generation of twentysomethings.

The lilting vocals of Lexy Benaim dripped manna into the lobes of a full house hell bent on jiving to orchestrated horns and peppy drum beats. Unlike other concerts, this crowd wasn't too blitzed to notice the fervent bass line alone--they were tuned into the Benaim's lyrical musings, perhaps the byproduct of his past life as a Literature and Writing major.

Such smart content requires a hot rod to deliver it and the Shakes' combination of latin percussion, jazz, classic rock, and indie sugarpop, make for the right set of wheels. The Harlem Shakes drove the crowd into a frenzy with songs from their older album as well as their latest ear candy titled "Technicolor Health."

Shake it, baby, shake it.

Also featured on Short & Sweet NYC

The City that Never Sleeps...

2009-06-24T06:42:00.000-07:00

You love New York. I love New York. We love New York so much that we all rep New York even though most of us aren't originally from New York.

And while New York usually loves you back (with a high-class cocktail in her hand and cigarette hanging from her lip), sometimes she takes you by the ear and smacks you across the face.

Sad news, baby, Sad news.

Darla Farmer

2009-06-24T06:00:00.000-07:00

Listening to a band like Darla Farmer will invoke that feeling of being eight years old and tragically lost at a creepy carnival. You're repulsed, intrigued, and hopped up on adrenaline. In its debut album, "Rewiring the Electric Forest," the seven-piece band spits visitors on a Tilt-a-Whirl that oscillates from scatter-shot to bizarro-pop to ska-cum-rockabilly-cum-venom.

The spectacle begins with "The Apology," a deceptively mild-paced tune pared down to the basics: simple drums, crisp horns, and eccentric lead vocals. A bit scraggly, a bit airy, and stocked with ambiguity, I foolishly assumed that the vocalist was a chick--a bit homely with a wild rock streak. Not so: Darla Farmer is a misnomer, a name cleverly lifted from a real-life bank teller in Nashville. Instead the conductor of this house of mirrors is Clint Wilson, an expert lyricist and savvy guitar player whose licks drip with sanguine salivation.

The oscillation eventually scoops to a track titled "Dirty Keys," an up-tempo collision of frantic piano, screech-singing, and ominous horns. Wilson's vocals are so intense that the lyrics become secondary to the audible expression of raw emotion. No laffy-taffy here. "Dirty Keys" takes the creative risk of combining truly violent vocals with astute orchestration to create a push-pull with the listener; you don't want to see the car crash...but you do.

Curtains are have already been drawn and the album is available here.

Also featured on S h o r t A n d S w e e t

Brooklyn Bowl

2009-06-22T05:16:00.000-07:00

Back in May, I called Brooklyn Bowl and asked them how much it would be to reserve 4 lanes for my bday jam session:

"Oh I'm so sorry! We don't open until late June!" said a sprite phone-answerer.

Well now 'late-June' has come and since it's so G-dang rainy, you might as well stay indoors and check out the latest in Billyburg tomfoolery: BROOKLYN BOWL.

16 lanes, tipple and nibbles from Blue Ribbon, and HD flat-screens abound at this I'm-sleek-but-still-gritty ten-pin joint. Not only will B-Bowl allow you the opportunity to strike out your foe, but various bands and live acts will provide the soundtrack to your smackdown. If you're secretly super-competitive, B-Bowl will have a league opening up (see the website for all the details you're dying to know about).

An additional benefit is that it's located right near the Brooklyn Brewery so you can drown your losses in some local hooch.

Strike, baby, strike.

Hey, June! This is how I feel about you...

2009-06-18T07:01:00.000-07:00

Buy here

LeWhif

2009-06-17T10:00:00.000-07:00

Eating is so passe; an act reserved for chumps and other court jesters disinterested in achieving that pseudo-eating-disorder physique (can it even be called a physique?).

Introducing LeWhif, the latest in 'non-consumable' consumer products. Ironic, yes. Developed by a Harvard professor, LeWhif is essentially flavored air designed to tap into our olfactory receptors to deliver satiation.

The inaugural scent? CHOCOLATE.

Satisfaction guaranteed? Unlikely.

Coming to a Fashion Week swag bag near you soon....

Anthony D'Amato: "Shades of the Prison House"

2009-06-16T20:21:00.000-07:00

With nimble guitar-playing and pertinent lyrics, Anthony D'Amato sits among the cross-hairs of the indie and folk aesthetic. In his sophomore effort titled "Shades of the Prison House," D'Amato confirms his prowess as a multi-instrumentalist, songwriting extraordinaire, and creative conspirator as this is the first album to feature collaborations with other musicians (i.e. fiddler Brittany Haas on "Skeleton Key" and "Hank Williams Tune").

For all the musical talent contained in "Shades of the Prison House," humility pervades earnest lyrics about the peaks and valleys of human interaction. The mixture of D'Amato's reminiscent voice and catchy riffs enliven each episode and allow the listener to truly relate. It's clear that attention was paid to the compositional aspect of all ten tracks which naturally ebb and flow alongside the emotional content.

Get your hands on this refreshing album then catch Anthony D'Amato at one of his many gigs throughout NYC.

Myspace

What the Truck?!: Mud Coffee

2009-06-09T07:03:00.000-07:00

It still boggles my mind that despite the plethora of adorable cafes and cuppa-joe options, many people still patronize Starbucks. How do those sirens lure even the edgiest of New Yorkers into their lusty java jails? Is it the challenge of ordering a venti-mochaccino-skim-no sugar-extra shot of espresso-hold the whip-my name is Kitty-thanks? I hope not. "They're everywhere, Nico. They are convenient," said a good friend and ethical violator.

Now if it is all about location, location, location, then I rally to park the MUD truck in front of each 'Bucks. This persimmon-colored truck (as pictured above) can often be found in the vicinity of the Astor Place subway stop by St. Marks. While waiting for some friends, I decided to buy a large iced coffee from a friendly tattooed fellow. At $3.25, my iced-cuppa cost me more than I had hoped. Still, the thrill of holding an unmarked cup suited me just fine.

Get muddy, baby, get mud.

*The MUD truck can also cater any event, any where. Yay for portability.

Nibble at Negril Village

2009-06-09T06:05:00.000-07:00

The June Gloom has nothing on the vibrant heat that emanates from this soulful gem set in the ho-hum street that is West 3rd. By the bidding of a good friend, I went to Negril for dinner and what I got was a memorable culinary vacation.

On your way to Negril, don't let the drab-and-shab bars of West 3rd confuse: you ARE going in the right the direction. Keep walking until the pulsating baseline hits your ears--then you'll know you've found this urban paradise. Let the music lead you inside where the walls are awash with vivid citrus hues and colorful conversation.

While the clientele and wait-staff are enough eye-candy to satisfy, it's the food that makes Negril a hot-spot destination. We started our culinary vacation with some island-inspired beverages: the Dance Hall Queen (Bacardi limon, champagne, guava) and the Mango Mojito, which whet our palates in time for the appetizer of coconut shrimp doused in Red Stripe batter, toasted coconut flakes, and accompanied by a mango ketchup.

For the main event, my friend got the Jerk Rubbed Chicken (a Negril specialty served with rice) and I ordered the Mojito Grilled Lamb Chops (served with sweet potato mash and veggies). The jerk chicken was spiced to such perfection that I would've swapped entrees...that is if my lamb chops were not as succulent as they were. We cleaned our plates in no time.

Though stuffed to the brim, we couldn't turn down the offer of dessert which turned into a glutinous display of chocolate cake and Sweet Potato Pudding. The rich chocolate ganache sat prim and proper next to a healthy scoop of chocolate ice cream. The Sweet Potato Pudding had a delightfully granular texture with just enough sweetness derived from the whipped cream on top. The soundtrack of laughter from the ladies next to us made dessert even more enjoyable.

My jaunt to Negril ended like all good vacations do: a little bit of wistfulness, a lot of contentment, and the definite decision to one day return.

Mango-a-go-go, baby.

NEGRIL

70 W. 3rd St. (near Thompson)

Tag it.

2009-06-02T06:52:00.001-07:00

Nowadays "to tag" something is to link a friend's Facebook profile to a photo (usually of the tag-ee engaging in some form of bacchanalia).

But back in the day when high tops were standard and long hair a must, "to tag" meant to leave your mark in a way that made you memorable.

Starting today, the Hellenbeck Gallery hosts "Whole in the Wall," an exhibition of European & American street art from past and present taste-makers: Victor Ash, Banksy, Blade, Blek le Rat, Crash, Daze, Ikon, Jonone, Nunca, Plateus, Quik, Lee Quinones, Rammellzee, Sharp, Sozyone, Henry Chalfant, Martha Cooper, Jamel Shabazz, Silvio Magaglio.

Now get thee to the gallery and up your street cred.

Directions

Word on the street, baby.

What the Truck?!: Wafels & Dinges

2009-05-08T13:25:00.000-07:00

Waiting for the 6-train during the morning rush is like standing among vultures...vultures who are probably already late for work. This makes for a rather hostile environment so instead of becoming a part of the foliage of furrowed brows, I went above ground and walked to work from 23rd. And I'm so glad I did...

Perched like a mustard-colored beacon of Happy was the WAFELS & DINGES truck. This cheery truck features fun of the Belgian persuasion: wafels (waffles, duh) and dinges (toppings/Etc., not so 'duh'). W&D also makes a pretty cool cuppa (iced or hot) for an even cooler $1.5/$2. Toss two quarters at the sonny behind the counter and you get a jolt of flavored syrup.

If I hadn't had breakfast at home, I would've followed suit and gotten a WMD (Wafel of Massive Deliciousness) like the guy in front of me. The WMD is a rectangular slab of wafel with whipped cream, strawberries, and choco sauce drizzled about. Is this breakfast? Is this dessert? It's both. That's how we do in NYC: we even multi-task the $#!% out of our meals.

Check the site and find the truck. Or visit certain venues that feature Wafel & Dinges' delights.

So good it's awful wafel, baby, just awful.

Do you Ippudo?

2009-05-04T18:46:00.000-07:00

Japanese hospitality and noodle badassery live at Ippudo located on 4th Ave between 9th and 10th. On a plum Saturday, two friends and I waited outside of the unassuming glass and wooden door front of this ramen wonder. Having noted the 5PM open, we positioned ourselves second in line; excited but not overzealous. The anticipation mounted and I noticed the sidewalk caked with other noodle-nerds ready to bury their faces into steaming bowls of broth and ramen. When the doors opened, the dam broke and everyone poured in. The decor at Ippudo is stunning: bamboo reeds tied with red rope plume overhead, sliced-right-out-of-the-tree wooden tables speckle the dining floor, die-cuts of Japanese characters line the walls like binary code, and the cooks bustle behind glass panels. Each patron that enters gets a truly deafening, "IRASHAIMASEN!!!" <--which means 'welcome' in Japanese.

A lovely woman took our orders: deep fried Japanese peppers, chicken karaage, and the Hirata buns. Two bowls of the Akamaru Modern (pictured) and the Classic.

Every item ordered impressed us: Two Japanese and one Okinawan. We ate everything, spooning the fresh-cut noodles, clearing the bowl of the heavenly broth, and wondering how they got the pork so tender that it melted like butter.

My additional recommendation: Leave no room for dessert.

Do the Ippudo, baby, do it.

Wakey! Wakey! - "The War Sweater"

2009-05-04T18:39:00.000-07:00

Born beneath a baby grand, Wakey! Wakey! frontman Mike Grubbs pours out his heart and soul into five piano-driven tracks on his latest EP titled The War Sweater. Complete with lyrics that combine youthful simplicity with weathered wisdom, Grubbs' fourth release totes power ballads for a new generation too old to be angsty and yet too young to recoil from romance. The first track aptly titled "War Sweater" seers when the vocals harmonize--the initial struggle of the back-up vocalist jars on the ascent then soothes as she meets Grubbs on the plateau of his pitch singing, "You wear your religion like a war sweater..." The strings supplied by Antony & The Johnsons screech and soothe like the pain and pleasure of emotional lyrics. In "LGA," a lively lick referencing Laguardia Airport, Grubbs employs once more the art of the yell-sing: that particular style of yelling in a melodic fashion. Towards the end of "LGA," his vocal tinny suggests that Grubbs is not in his key of strength. However with a second listen, the yell-singing seems apropos and rather transporting. In contrast to his pseudo-pop punk yell/sing/scream/whisper aesthetics, classical intentions become even clearer with the lush pianoforte intro of "Brooklyn." Here the piano is so fervent that the yell-sing seems superfluous and although Grubbs doesn't need to yell-sing to be heard, the song does not suffer. The compositional complexity of "Brooklyn" audibly illustrates what sounds like a rocky patch of road in a relationship once sweet. The last two songs are pleasant but pale in comparison to the front-load of this promising EP. Fans will be glad to know that this fresh crooner will be back in the NYC-neighborhood at the Roosevelt Live Festival on August 8th, 2004.

Also on jezebelmusic.com

In my 'hood: SHAVED ICE IS HERE!

2009-05-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

It's officially "summer" now that Carroll Garden dumpling/noodle hot spot ETON now serves "Hawaiian Shaved Ice" in various sizes and with a myriad of syrup choices (although the li hing mui is not on par w/ the goods from HI). Definitely get the rainbow with ice cream AND condensed milk...if you dare!

ice, ice, baby.

Emanuel & the Fear

2009-04-15T17:19:00.000-07:00

Sometimes too many cooks spoil the musical pot. Fortunately, such is not the case with Brooklyn's 11-member band, Emanuel & The Fear. Out of Ishlab Music Studios, Emanuel & The Fear released its self-titled EP, a collection of five explorational tracks--two of particular mention.

The polyphonic intro of the first track, "The Rain Becomes the Clouds," contrasts with the melodic string and horn sets that pepper this synth-heavy song. Within its four-minute confines, this easy-listening tune demonstrates the astute blend of compositional complexity and modern pop aesthetic that pervades the entire EP. Frontman Emanuel Ayvas playfully applies enjambment to soothing lyrics at the ready, each word spilling over the orchestral terrain.

"Jimme's Song" opens with a lovely whistling bit that quickly evolves into concise Lou Reed-like lyrics ontop of a hip hop beat derived from program drums and different samples. Distinct from the other tracks, "Jimme's Song" is a modern take on the anti-establishment anthem featuring a pointed chorus: "I don't want to do nothing but be in a rock band. I don't want to get a job. I don't want to be a man[...] I don't want to do nothing at all." A synth hypnotizes before receding into the whistling bit this time accompanied by a short monologue: "There is a Burger King going up down the street and nobody cares. In a couple of days when it's finished, everyone will think it has been there forever. We treat animals badly. We treat children badly though we don't eat them." Manipulation of the left-right balance gives the song a bout of vertigo that only bolsters the ominous final mash-up of strings, samples, vocal clips, and the pulse of a heavy-hitting drum beat.

Emanuel & The Fear's eponymous EP takes listeners on a vast audible journey from synthy sound-waves to the prim tones of a Kawai Baby Grand piano (through which Emanuel traverses the final stretch on the last track titled, "Two.") Overall, this five-track EP gleams hopeful, promising, and suggestive that a bright future is ahead of Emanuel & The Fear should continue to explore the varied terrain of their collaborative sound.

Also on Jezebel Music

KAIJU BIG BATTEL

2009-04-15T17:15:00.001-07:00

3:45PM Friday April 3, 2009

Coworker: "Big plans for the weekend?"
Nico: "Uh, nothing too crazy. Chilling for the most part. Going to some crazy wrestling thing in Greenpoint."
Coworker: "Like WWE?"
Nico: "Yeah, kinda. Uh. It's called KAIJU BIG BATTEL."
Coworker: "What?"
Nico: "I don't know really how to explain it."

In my hood: Choco-crack

2009-04-08T06:58:00.000-07:00

No no no. The place is called THE CHOCOLATE ROOM (not choco-crack, though it might as well be as such). For those of you legit addicts, come hither to Brooklyn for a proper fix of chocolate. This dainty establishment hosts a display case-full of edible jewels from chocolatier Fritz Knipschildt. Ganache-galore and bars a-plenty, I ambled to The Chocolate Room with a buddy who does not like sweets (the better for me!). We sat down in the warmly-lit backroom and had individual pots of lavender-chamomile tea; the best way to prep for the desserts that are of Willy-Wonkan proportions (at least with regard to flavor).

We "split" the brownie sundae, a tender square of chocolate brownie supporting a hefty scoop of fresh mint ice cream with fresh whipped cream and a liquer cherry on top. Divine, even for a person like me who doesn't eat a lot of chocolate generally. But generally speaking, no one goes to The Chocolate Room for tea. You go for the eponymous treats that abound in a variety of organic, hand-crafted, and fair-tradeness forms.

I've been looking for a hobby...but I think I've just developed an addiction.

Chocoholics unite, baby.

The Chocolate Room
Park Slope and Cobble Hill locations

The ROOTS

2009-04-08T06:54:00.000-07:00

Illadelphia-bred and Grammy award-winning hip hop tour-de-force THE ROOTS refreshed a full-house of fans at the Highline Ballroom last night, April 6. As the progenitor behind the union of hip hop and live instrumentation, THE ROOTS brought in a number of guests to join in the jam session. Emcees, trumpets, trombones, bassists, keys, and Questlove delivered well-crafted beats with a side of conscious lyrics. The crowd sunk into a groove so cohesive that it belied the speckled nature of old and young, urban and crunchy. Tariq 'Black Thought' Trotter did well with his words, fashioning an intelligent message and solidifying the existence of informed Hip Hop. Though you'd be hard-pressed to scrounge a ticket for the jam session at Highline, you can always snag a comfy spot on your futon to catch THE ROOTS as they raise the street cred of The Jimmy Fallon Show.

Also on Short&SweetNYC

The New Deal

2009-04-05T13:56:00.000-07:00

Rave geeks and ganja-smugglers alike grooved to the instrument-derived 'electronica'/house music of The New Deal at The Music Hall of Williamsburg on April 1 (no fools here!). Despite torrents of rain, Toronto's The New Deal drew a vivacious crowd die-hard fans keen to gyrate for both sets at 2-hours a piece. Unlike regular ol' electronica music, The New Deal relies on Darren Shearer for the heavy-hitting beat which is, if you've ever attempted to produce an electronic-sounding beat by hand, an impressive feat. Even more impressive was Shearer's spontaneous beat-boxing ON TOP of his drumming. Keys player Jamie Shields and Bassist Dan Kurtz provided hypnotic riffs and sufficient scaling necessary to spin the crowd into a sweaty mess.

Also on Short&SweetNYC

Micachu & The Shapes

2009-04-05T13:53:00.000-07:00

21 & so much fun. That's Micachu (born Mica Levi), the lead of the freshest band of the season, Micachu & the Shapes. The group's first studio album Jewellery features 12 tracks so catchy that you might want to call it 'pop music' --but watch your step: Micachu's music veers away from the mores of pop which require noticeable choruses, universally accessible lyrics, and identifiable instrumentation. Known to maximize the musical potential of broken glass, vacuum cleaners, and assorted hardware, this UK-born-and-bred musician successfully layers sound bites to create the fertile field necessary to sprout the quips of Micachu's lyrical whips in notable songs such as "Just In Case" and "Turn Me Well." Raisa Khan and Marc Pell add to the wall of sound on keyboards and drums, respectively. M&tS' affinity for whoops, wollops, and other coquettish electronic yelps afford each song sufficient microtonal complexity to create dimension needed to keep soothing vocals alive, highlighted in the dance-worthy "Curly Teeth." Throughout the Jewellery, the disparate elements and unique composition of Micachu's style demonstrate how electronic noise-pop can be a successful audible pastiche.

Also on Short&SweetNYC

Pull my Noodle

2009-04-04T08:06:00.000-07:00

It's true. I'm on a noodle kick. What's more true is that I'm on a noodle-on-the-cheap kick. Still, don't confuse my perusal of the skint as a sign that my standards for taste have fallen faster than the global community's faith in American economics. No no, I bring you only the good stuff...and today I deliver to your web-step:

Lam Zhou Handmade Noodle

A dear friend of mine brought me to this tiny joint with the promise of pleasure derived from their hand-pulled noodles and to-die-for dumplings. Although part-Chinese myself, I am generally skeptical of dining in Chinatown. Will I really walk away happy, well-fed, and free of food-poisoning? Fortunately at Lan Zhou the answer is a resounding: YES!

Despite my better judgment (and my friend's warning of 'big ass portions'), I ordered a bowl of noodles WITH dumplings. He got noodles with egg. Our noodles arrived hot and fresh, perfectly gummy and with the crunch of baby bok choy. The veggie broth was light enough to incorporate my whopping dash of Sriracha sauce.

The dumplings in this soup were simply divine. The flavorful meat melds with the right amount of green onions. The doughy pouch is delicious.

Don't be afraid to walk to the edge of the ghetto for these noodles and dumplings. Like I said, this food is to-die-for.

Get your 'pling on, baby.

Lam Zhou

144 E. Broadway (btw E. Broadway and Pike)

Take the F to East Broadway, walk west

In my 'hood: ETON

2009-03-29T20:16:00.000-07:00

My 'hood has it all. Tons of restaurants, tons of shops, tons of amenities, and the only Trader Joe's in Brooklyn (at least for now). What my 'hood doesn't have is "Hawaiian Shaved Ice." However on April 22nd, dumpling-and-noodle joint ETON will have this manna dew on site for all to enjoy. (*Note to Hawaiians: Eton Chan himself told me that he will have the same equipment and materials as the famed Matsumoto's Shaved Ice joint on the North Shore. This warms my heart.)

My first pass at ETON was actually during my walk back from Defonte's (see below). Too full from the hero that was, I noted ETON's location and vowed to return. This fine Saturday proved to be the perfect day for a short jaunt and a long lunch.

FCI-educated Chef Eton Chan is the man behind the "plings" (<--Brook-speak for 'dumplings') and fresh hand-pulled noodles. The joint itself is austere but the efforts of Chan's team of three (Chan included) yield a panorama of flavor. One batch of noodles takes roughly an hour just to create the dough, work, and re-work. It takes about 15 minutes to scarf down those delicious noodles served in veggie broth with baby bok choy. Add Sriracha sauce to kick up the broth OR add a spoonful of Chan's homemade plum sauce. The dumplings come five-for-$3.50 and chock-full-o-flavor. I had the veggie/tofu while my friends had the chicken and mushrooms and the chicken/beef dumplings. It is possible to go to ETON hungry, order just one serving of dumplings, and leave satisfied. These ain't no dinky dumplings. In fact, the dumplings were larger than expected and made finishing my noodles difficult. What is most endearing about this place is its neighborhood appeal. While my Manhattanite friends and I discussed the texture and complexities of our dumplings, Carroll-Guardians (<--a name I devised to express their preservation of the 'neighborhood') strolled in and out for their midday fix. No hubbub just noodles to go and plum sauce on the side. Additionally exciting for Hawaiians and foodies alike is Chan's upcoming "plate lunch" menu. Inspired by his honeymoon to Hawaii, Chan decided to bring back a few 'local kine grinds' to the Brooklyn. Traditional plate lunches will be replicated with an ETON spin (a.k.a. the beef teriyaki will grace your plate lunch in dumpling form). I wonder if he'll be making mochiko chicken dumplings?

Whatever the answer may be, let it be known that a slice of awesome sits primly on Sackett Street in Carroll Gardens. While the shaved ice doesn't start until April 22nd, I will surely be back to ETON for more dumplings and more kanak attacks.

ETON
205 Sackett (at Henry)
Brooklyn (Carroll Gardens)
*Bring Cash

It's onolicious, baby, onolicious.

Big Bites at Defonte's

2009-03-21T14:28:00.000-07:00

Put down that stale sandwich from Cosi and run over to Defonte's for a hero that lives up to its name.

With a dear friend in tow, I headed to Defonte's this afternoon. To clarify, I went to the original Red Hook location. There is also one in Gramercy. Anyway, after a short ride on the B61 bus, we turned the corner and found Defonte's seafoam-green shop beaming in the Saturday sunlight. Upon our entry, it was clear that we just missed the lunch rush: "Wait some minutes. No heros right now," said a kind woman. With more than a New York-minute to spare, we waited patiently. About 8 minutes later, a young guy came in with a huge bag of hero bread...and then the games began.

My friend ordered the classic sausage and peppers ($8.50). I ordered the Valentino's special ($8.75); a gargantuan helping of fried eggplant, provolone, and peppers. Divine. Standing at their counter, we ate to our hearts content, satisfied that we got way more bang for our buck (these are HUGE heros). You have the option to order a small (1/3 hero) or a large (1/2 hero). Awesome people order the large and we, my friend, are awesome.

In an effort to counteract the onslaught of deliciousness, we walked back to the subway. Needless to say, we'll be back to try the Nicky's Special (a whammy of a sandwich with virtually everything)...which we'll probably have to split.

Defonte's (Red Hook)
379 Columbia Street
Brooklyn, NY

Mangiamo, baby, mangiamo.

Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele

2009-03-21T14:18:00.000-07:00

The experience of going to a Sunday night concert can go one of two ways: 1) it may suck because the band/musician sucks, OR 2) it may knock your socks off because the band/musician do NOT suck and everyone at the show is there because they want to be. Ah the dedication of those willing to sacrifice Monday-morning coherence for the sake of good music! Fortunately, Option #2 was in full swing at AC Newman's concert at the Bowery Ballroom this past Sunday. The opening act was a breezy four-man crew called Dent May & His Magnificent Ukulele. By the astute strum of the eponymous stringed instrument, May sailed the crowd into the tropical nostalgia found on his album release The Good Feeling of Dent May and his Magnificent Ukulele. Catchy tunes like "Meet Me in the Garden" and "Pierce Avenue" wafted island-kitsch while more upbeat numbers like "You Can't Force a Dance Party" highlighted Mr. May's eclectic lyrical stylings. With a steel guitar for a voice, May's capricious vocals were reminiscent of islands and California girls--a hop, skip, and a plan ride away from his origins in the belly of Taylor, Mississippi. These mellow-mood merry-makers set the tone for the power pop to follow.

AC Newman's latest solo album Get Guilty is a testament to Newman's riff-producing, lispy-lyric talents. Backed my a leggy violinist, a dressy bass player, a "Silver Fox" of a guitarist/keys, a well-booted tambourine gal, a Will Ferrell look-alike drummer, and a prepster multi-instrumentalist, Newman's tunes snap-crackled-and-popped. While the band's consistency makes them an easy listen, it also causes things to feel a bit too safe thus rendering the live performance as just one long-lasting piece of power pop. Still yet, Newman's music is a worthwhile chew.

previously posted on Short & Sweet NYC

Eat Eat Eat!

2009-03-18T05:08:00.001-07:00

We all know that NYC will not forgive you for eating that second serving but who gives a hoot? A life unfed with a bevy of delicious eats is a life not worth living (sorry Fashion Week). Thus I give a short list of places that have recently rocked my casbah:

The Outpost Cafe
*sweet as coffee, pastries, a garden, and artfully clothed clientele

Building on Bond
*decorated in a industrial-cum-cozy cafe manner, deliciously simple endive salad, beer readily available in case it's too early for coffee.

McSorley's Old Ale House
*grit, dust, weathered wooden tables. This place is the oldest continously operating bar in NYC...luckily for me, they decided to allow entry to the fairer sex in 1970. Hooray! Now you can take your girlfriend for a pair (two glasses of their two choices: light or dark).

Cafe Habana
*2 words, 1 happy time: cafe con leche. I don't know what it is about it, but that cuppa is love.

Wild Ginger (the Brooklyn satellite)
*vegan without that vegan pretention (--> "Oh I would NEVER eat that!")

The Chip Shop
*this little gem features all the artery-clogging delights one could ever ask for! FUSH AND CHUPS!

E-Mo
*no need for tight, emo-kid jeans...this small shop is located in K-Town and serves up the freshest kimbap (-->korean version sushi type of deal) recommending the jalapeno set.

Miracles of Modern Science

2009-03-18T05:00:00.000-07:00

In a single-file line, the Miracles of Modern Science (MOMS) jogged onto the stage at the Mercury Lounge; the shimmer of silver-and-white space suits humbling the halogens overhead. By the looks of their intergalactic gear, one might suspect MOMS to be a futuristic, electronica band...that is until they pick up their instruments of yesteryear. In this age of the Mac-toting, Serato-dependent "musician," all became good again as a violin, a double bass, a cello, a mandolin, and a drum-set shook the stage to its analog core. Crowd favorites like "Eating Me Alive" and "MR2" prove MOMS' ability to embrace the tradition of their instruments, allowing them to become the captain's wheel of this self-proclaimed 'civil war string band shot into outer space on a disco ball spaceship.' Strings are plucked and frets are batted with timely fingers, building up to orchestral peaks so catchy that you'll replay them in your mind days after. Alongside the hearty strings and astute arrangements, well-written lyrics tell stories of everything from the Wild West whistling battle of "524," an unfortunate amputations (thanks to gangrene) in "Didit," and "Space Choppers." This is versatility at its best.

The unpretentious renewal of these classic instruments combined with smart lyrics creates an antique portrait with modern brushstrokes (or rather bow-strokes). For this reason, the Miracles of Modern Science are uniquely accessible.

Visit their myspace to download their EP for free.

previously posted on Short & Sweet NYC

Bell X1

2009-03-18T04:50:00.000-07:00

Bell X1, the critically-acclaimed Irish import, shamrock'd the stage at the Highline Ballroom this past Saturday. Lead singer Paul Noonan spasmodically jumped, jived, and cooed the crowd into a collective mush; the result of his vocal integrity combined with clever lyrics. Vocal harmonies were tastefully bolstered by David Geraghty (guitar/piano) and Dominic Philips (bass). Bell X1 played a smattering of songs from yesteryear as well as songs from their celebrated fourth album Blue Lights on the Runway released earlier this March by Belly Up Records.

While Bell X1 performed each song to the utmost (no studio kings here!), one song noticeably soothed a crowd sweaty from the Harlem Shakes's opening performance: "Blow Ins," an empathic ballad off Blue Lights on the Runway, which addressed the idea that if the whole existence of the world were compacted into 24 hours, humans would be a 3-second blip in the operation. Lyrics like "We're just blow-ins on the storm of time" highlight the brevity of human life thus reminding us that while we shouldn't sweat the small stuff, we must evaluate our intentions and actions lest we become "those horny dogs of church and state." A bottleneck added to the ethereal nature of Noonan's vocals (and the latter humbling concept), creating continuous transitions in pitch softly primped by easy piano--a melodic representation of how all else will continue long after mankind has given its final note.

Also posted on Short & Sweet NYC

Eff You

2009-03-09T05:22:00.000-07:00

No matter how many times I troll the InterWeb for upcoming music shows, I still can't find 'em all. In a more useful mashup of Google Maps and some other savory search engines, some good souls created

EffingMusic.com

The beauty of this site is that it will give you a smattering of live shows going on in the area you designate. Even more beautiful is the fact that Effing'll also provide ample links to press coverage necessary for allowing you to up your esoteric-cred and sound like you ACTUALLY know these bands...even though you probably don't.

It's good to get eff'd up, baby.

Al di La

2009-03-06T13:24:00.000-08:00

Dear Chef Klinger and crew,
Thank you for one of the most memorable meals I've had in...well, since I can last recall!

The asparagus antipasti was a perfect combination and I appreciated the restraint you took with the parmesan: not too much to overpower, but just enough to complement the melange of flavors.

Though divine, I'm not writing about the asparagus antipasti but rather the ravioli with the winter squash and sage in the butter sauce. It was perfect. So creamy, so delicate, so heart-warming. I sopped every bit of it up with the incredible bread.

Thank you,

-Nicole

(*Chef Klinger actually wrote back, thus proving that Al di La is a superior place)

Eeetsa Pizza Pie

2009-03-04T06:14:00.001-08:00

Though my college days are long gone, I will still feel the clinching need of a good slice from time to time (without the 4AM post-party craving, for better or for worse). But I would be damned if I recommended that you simply schlep to whatever saucy spot you find near you. NO.

In fact, I give to you PizzaShare.

I'm a personal fan of Grimaldi's in DUMBO, Brooklyn but you can run your own search and then give me a run for my pepperoni.

When the moon hits your eye, baby.

Peace, Love, & Harmony

2009-03-03T12:26:00.000-08:00

They say you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes. If this be true, then what can be said of Lee "Scratch" Perry's red high-top waffle stompers bedecked with Rastafarian appliques, shells, beading, and other DIY designs? Perhaps these shoes tell the eclectic evolution of a self-made man who began as a record salesman in the late 1950s then became a producer/performer notable enough to score a spot on Rolling Stone's 2004 list of the "100 Greatest Artists of All-Time."

At the Highline Ballroom, Lee Scratch's command of the stage belied his smallish frame. Always an entertainer, even his attire performed a task as his chapeau served as both an incense-holder and light-refractor (thanks to the bevy of shiny, hand-sewn decorations). For the most part, his between-song banter was incomprehensible. Other times Lee Scratch became wildly entertaining as he yelled about love, life, and his upcoming 73rd birthday. It was incredible to see one of the main founders of dub reggae still going strong and holding his own among a band of young sprites on sax, drums, bass, and the MacBook Pro. More importantly, the jams were just as good as they once were at The Black Ark; Perry's studio of which he is slated to have burned to the ground to rid of a Jamaican hex. With his music still pulsating through the airwaves, he did right to burn it down. No hex here.

This show was largely refreshing due to its reggae nature, an underrepresented and under-celebrated genre in New York. What's good to know is that reggae thrives in NY in the folds of Brooklyn with bands like Meta & the Cornerstones who opened for Lee Scratch. The 7-piece band spoke of life as realized by frontman Meta Dia, a born-and-bred Senegalese humble soul.

Crooning for "peace, love, and harmony," Lee Scratch and Meta represent the past, present, and future of reggae. Good times are ahead.

Ragga, baby, Ragga.

(*originally published at Short & Sweet NYC)

In my 'hood: $9 nails

2009-02-13T14:52:00.000-08:00

Sometime last weekend, I looked in the mirror and I discovered that my eyebrows looked all too much like two shaggy dogs supine above my eyes. Okay, fair, they weren't that bad but their wayward state tipped me off that it was time to remedy this situation.

I found a couple of places in my chi-chi nabe (=neighborhood) that looked really great but really costly. Then I stumbled upon Cozy Nail, a small no-frills joint that is sure to please your shallow pockets.

When I arrived, I felt like I had just stepped into the nail salon I used to frequent back in Aiea, Hawaii: a minimalist shop with a bevy of Asian women clipping, sloughing, and waxing their fellow females to a more acceptable state. At the Cozy Nail, I was pleased to see that they weren't too busy to usher me to a back room. I laid down and allowed my non-English speaking 'stylist' wax, pluck, and trim my eyebrows to a shapely state. She was very attentive and willing to fashion my eyebrows just the way I wanted. For $7, this eyebrow wax couldn't be beat.

On my way out, I decided to get my nails done as well. I normally do my own nails (even French manicures), but today I was feeling the need to pamper myself and so I did. She took care to reshape my cuticles and smooth my nail beds. Needless to say, within one hour I got my eyebrows and my nails done for $16.

Tomorrow I'm giving myself a Valentine's present and getting a pedicure.

Pretty, baby, pretty.

All that glitters is BLACK GOLD

2009-02-05T21:22:00.000-08:00

At the Red Bull Snowscrapers event, I had the pleasure of interviewing the dynamic frontmen of the band Black Gold, Eric Ronick (keys/lead vocals) and Than Luu (drums/vocals). After chowing on the backstage buffet of Chipotle and other Mexican treats (Dos Equis and pico de gallo), I cornered Eric and Than:

Nico: So I noticed that in addition to being a full-time musician, you also run your own studio in Dumbo, right?

Eric: Actually, that studio basically got trashed like last year when there were tornadoes in Brooklyn and it rained for days. The studio flooded and that was it—it was gone! But it was a good thing, you know, because it forced me to get my ass in gear and really focus on [Black Gold]. If forced me to just make it happen.

Nico: Yeah, I guess there’s nothing like a sign, or a flood, to make you realize what you are meant to do.

(Than Luu joins interview)

Nico: Congratulations on a great show tonight and on the release of your album “Rush” this past Tuesday. From a linguistic standpoint, “Rush” has a very strong lyrical foundation. What are your influences for writing and from what or from whom do you draw material?

Than: We worked really hard to create an album that works on more than one level; something both deeply personal and universal at the same time. You know, we both came out of five-year relationships that ended pretty poorly and so we draw from our lives: the joys, the sadness, the pain, and then the renewal and the growth.

Eric: We also draw from the lives of those around us. We listen to our friends and their stories about their lives and we incorporate that into our writing.

Nico: Like “After the Flood,” the last track on your album. I listened to that and thought, “Holy shit, I know what you mean!”

Than: Exactly, “After the Flood” is a great example of how our lives make it into our music.

Nico: The sequence and progression of your songs are refreshingly organic. For example, in “The Comedown” you start in a calm place then end up in belting it out. When you’re writing a song, do you know at the outset just how the song is going to build?

Eric: Yes and no. Sometimes when we already know what the song is going to look like as a whole and other times we don’t—it’ll just happen as we’re writing.

Than: With “The Comedown,” it’s all about that painful reality check. So the song starts out serene and then gets all agitated. You 'wake up to the morning sun' in your eyes and it’s like, “Awwww man!” (laughs)

Nico: So when the morning sun isn't in your eyes, where do you do most of your writing?

Than: Anywhere really. Eric lives in a canyon and it’s so peaceful and quiet but then we’re also in these big cities like New York and Los Angeles. You’ve got both worlds that bring so much diversity to what we’re doing.

Nico: So you guys started out in Brooklyn but now are in L.A.?

Than: We’re kind of bicoastal now. We’re spending more and more time in L.A.

Eric: Yeah, I was born in Long Island and I used to live in Brooklyn but I just bought a house in L.A. I’m working on opening a studio with one of the members of Panic [at the Disco] so we’ll be in L.A. a lot more now.

Than: I was born in Vietnam but I grew up in California. Where were you born?

Nico: I was born and raised in Hawaii.

Than: No way! I lived in Hawaii for a year in Kailua and Manoa. I lived right up the hill from Punahou [School].

Nico: That’s crazy because I went to Punahou!

Than: That IS crazy. You must be freezing!

Nico: Not as much as you guys must’ve been during this show! How did you deal with that?

Eric: It was REALLY cold but I think we rocked it. You know, the instruments don’t want to stay tuned and your muscles tense up but we knew what we had to do to get it done.

Nico: Welcome back to the cold! Now when you come back to New York, are there any Brooklyn spots that you check out or remember fondly?

Eric: I like to play ping pong at this place that is on 5th Ave. and 15th or something. It’s fun. Oh, and Buttermilk. I used to live right near Buttermilk.

Than: There’s so many places.

Nico: One last question since I know you got a lot of people here for you: If you could live the rest of your lives in any era, which would it be and why?

Eric: Oh wow.

Than: I already know mine. (turns to Eric) You should go first.

Eric: I would probably live in the Sixties. Music was so good across the board: jazz, rock, R&B. Everyone was coming out with great music.

Than: (to Eric) And I’d join you there. I’d definitely live in the Sixties except— if only it was not so fuckin’ racist! It was a time of such racial conflict. That’s the only thing about it that sucks.

Nico: But maybe that’s what made the music so good?

Eric: Music was a unifying force that brought people together saying, “Fuck all this bullshit. This is ridiculous.” It made people realize so much. I feel like the same thing is kind of happening now.

Than: Yeah a lot of things seem to be turning around for the best.

Eric: I mean, in my lifetime, this is the first time that people are looking beyond the bullshit and coming together to make a change. A real change.

Catch Black Gold in NYC at the Mercury Lounge on March 5th.

Curry Hill jewel

2009-01-29T19:59:00.000-08:00

Was it the expertly coordinated color scheme? The delicious cilantro dip? The sumptuous samosa? The mango lassi that rocked my world? Yes, yes, yes, yes!

Dhaba is a tiny delight on 28th and 5th delivering tidbits of Punjabi awesome.

Go there. Stay late.

Shake your lassi, baby.

"Give your Valentine the BIG ONE"

2009-01-27T18:03:00.000-08:00

Fellas. The moment is nigh and the time is almost here for you to give your love-bunny more loving'. (Ladies you can also take notes)

For a lot of folks, Valentine's Day is like Columbus Day in the sense that you only care if, well, you care at all. I'm not a cynic and I actually think V-Day is great because it reminds all of us that love will keep us together as couples and communities (cue: FREE HUG DAY).

Now if you have a special person(s) in your life, PLEASE plan at least a little something for him/her/them. There's nothing worse than dropping the ball and forgetting to AT THE VERY LEAST send an e-card (<-which is free and you don't even have to leave home to send it...geezus).

Here are some ideas that are more interesting than dinner at Tavern On the Green and then your typical schmoozefest at the Gramercy Hotel (although I'd gladly comply):

-make him/her dinner from scratch (this means buying fresh produce or at least having FreshDirect do it for you...MICROWAVE anything doesn't count)

-make him/her a card or some other creative expression (try using felt instead of paper...this will be most impressive)

-customize anything on Etsy.com

-make him/her a mixtape (...wait maybe that's just me...)

-give him/her an 8 ft teddy bear (<-saw this in NYMag and damn near died laughing...but for some people this will be a hallmark of his/her life)

-compile a box of his/her favorite things: anything from his/her favorite fruit or a fave magazine or things all in his/her fave color

-plan a full day of fun: breakfast, bicycle ride, afternoon delight, meal, movie, makeout

-go to a book store and buy each other a book that you want him her to read (be cute about this and don't go picking something from the How-To section)

-indoor picnic (i'd say outdoors but there a "wintry mix" headed our way according to Weather.com)

-write a song about him/her, draw his/her likeness, replace something he/she once lost (<--all sweet things)

Ah love. Now if you don't have someone to shower incessantly, fear not. There are tons of bars out here in NYC and I promise that you will be able to find someone keen to find someone else who can keep the other half of their queen-size bed just a little bit warmer.

Love, baby, love

In my 'hood: The Last Exit

2009-01-26T21:23:00.000-08:00

A mere 24 large-scale steps from my apt. front door is a quaint little cove called The Last Exit. After about a month of passing this spot, I finally ordered some hooch from the surly she-devil of a bartender along with my friend in tow. For various reasons, I like this place a lot.

For starters, my inner fat-child is thrilled to know that a cool spot is virtually next door. You can count on my showing up in PJs once winter thrashes us come mid-February. Ah to think that I can drop off my laundry at the wash-and-fold then go next doors to grab a Red Stripe or a heiny (cue Hawai'i nei).

With its boggle-eyed art-work and beaded curtains, one might suspect that this place is like that girl in your book club, you know, the one who secretly dresses head-to-toe Urban Outfitters and carries Nietzche because it ups her book club cred. This is only partially true. The Last Exit is superbly cleann despite the Sharpie-pen graffiti in the bathrooms. This is great because my inner-germaphobe can finally take a rest.

Beers and cheers, baby, beers and cheers.

Magma

2009-01-26T21:20:00.000-08:00

On a particularly frigid January evening, I trekked through the desolation of S. 2nd Street in Billyburg looking for Hot Lava, the latest electropop indie-rock to hit the saturated scene. The venue was a drafty two-room plot called Death by Audio (DbA), easily recognizable by the blaring noise seeping through the unmarked door at 49 S. 2nd St. When I entered DbA, there was not a soul in the place except for the bands themselves and the old guy selling Pabst in the corner. In rock-n-roll fashion, the opener (Hologram) started horrifically late and, much to my chagrin, did not do the female-drummer-with-guy-on-guitar genre proud (check out Schwervon instead). The next band, Math the Band, was a fun indie trio-cum-duo since their drummer got stuck in Washington. Add two helpings of synth to a gallon of sweaty stage-presence and you get Math the Band. By this point the crowd developed into a bopping bunch, adding dimension to the random rasta colored zig-zag painting on the wall. With Hologram marking a valley and Math the Band designating a peak, one would expect this zig to zag, however... ...Hot Lava did not disappoint. Without the abuse of a studio flanger, I was able to hear the crisp croon of lead singer/guitarist Allison Apperson which was quite pleasant. Though the band has cycled through a myriad of guitarists and drummers, Hot Lava played a tight set with their most recent semi-permanent acquisitions the likes of Jared Sosa (drums) and Matt Deans (keys/guitar). "Blue Dragon" was a delight with lyrics of veganism and spinach. My particular favorite is a little bit called "Apple+Option+Fire," a clever ode to 21st century fatal attraction (to Mac products and humans alike). With a background of drunken lyrics and GarageBand loops, Hot Lava is perfectly suited for success.

No Ka Oi

2009-01-19T14:56:00.001-08:00

I rarely ever get "political." I rarely ever brag.

However...
-a Hawaiian is about to become President (and he's hapa)
-a Punahou graduate is about to become President
-a Princetonian is about to become First Lady

I am proud.

Obama, baby, Obama.

globalFEST NYC 2009

2009-01-15T19:08:00.000-08:00

“Music doesn't lie. If there is something to be changed in this world, then it can only happen through music.” ~Jimi Hendrix

At a time when headlines are muddled with numbers—the market is down 126 points, thousands flee as flood kills eight, twelve people wounded by two improvised explosive devices, polar ice caps shrink by 20% in thirty years—New York refreshed itself with a large turn-out for twelve international bands playing on three stages for one night on Sunday, January 11, 2009. In its sixth year, globalFEST upheld its reputation as a veritable smorgasbord of musical talent hand-picked by festival directors Bill Bragin of Acidophilus: Live & Active Cultures and Isabel Soffer of World Music Institute.

Expertly timed to coincide with annual Association for Performing Arts Presenters conference, globalFEST transformed Webster Hall into a hive of auditory bliss with acts ranging from big band fusions to diamond-in-the-rough traditions. Determined to catch as many bands as possible, I began my sojourn in the Main Ballroom with the Hot 8 Brass Band, a soulful group of NOLA's finest musicians merging jazz, marching band, funk, hip hop, and R&B into a tasty gumbo. Propelled to recognition by Spike Lee's 2006 documentary When the Levees Broke: A Requiem in Four Acts, the Hot 8 Brass Band represents the enduring soul of the people of Louisiana. By the boom of their collective voices and a bevy of brass, Hot 8 kicked off les bons temps.

With my dancing shoes well-primed, I left the main ballroom and went below to the Studio to catch the Occidental Brothers Dance Band International (OBDBI). At the helm of this multi-faceted band is indie-rock guitarist Nathaniel Braddock from Chicago and Kofi Cromwell, the lead singer of Western Diamonds, one of Ghana's leading highlife bands. Together Braddock and Cromwell solder Central and Western African dance styles of soukous, highlife, and rumba with Chicago's deep dish of jazz, house, and rock. For their New York debut, OBDBI spared no expense with Cromwell's crisp voice balancing the strength of the guitars and horns that are characteristic of highlife music.

As the emanation of OBDBI's infectious sound lured festival goers below, I returned back upstairs to the Marlin room for the Shanbehzadeh Ensemble, a duo led by Saeid Shanbehzadeh and his teen son Naghib. Based out of France, this father-son team transported the crowd to the neglected province of Boushehr in Southern Iran by way of the Neyanbann (double reed bagpipe), the Neydjofti (double flute), the Dammam (two-sided drum), and the Zarbetempo (percussion). Part multi-instrumentalist and part dancer, Shanbehzadeh whirled with the bulbous bagpipe snug in his arms, raising the instruments high just before scooping down towards the stage with dexterity. With talent in his genes, son Naghib brought out African and Indian-influenced beats on the zarbetempo which punctuated the trance-like wheez of the neyanbann. Together, the Shanbehzadeh Ensemble revealed the unexpected musical traditions of the Persian Gulf.

"RUMBA!" exclaimed frontman and accordionist Juan Garriga of La Troba Kung-Fu, Spain's unsuspectings seven-piece rumba Catalana band--now throw in some Latin, Dub/Reggae, and Folk for good measure. By the bidding of my good friend, I spent a full hour in the Main Ballroom absorbing the high-energy display of the individual and collective talent that is La Troba Kung-Fu. Never before have I seen an accordion played with such alacrity for more traditional gypsy-like rhythms then slowed down for soul-moving dub. During a few improvisations, guitarist and self-proclaimed "keeper of la rumba Catalana," Muxaxu strummed the acoustic guitar into a frenzy as he and Garriga played off one another. The crowd took its cue from Garriga who encouraged clapping of various speeds and rhythms and in no time the entire ballroom became a hand-clapping, hip-swinging happy time. I was particularly impressed by the way all members of La Troba Kung-Fu maintained the integrity of the music even as the tempo quickened and as impromptu dance battles broke on-stage. NOTE: This band does not have a U.S.-based agent so if you are interested you should certainly check out their website www.latrobakungfu.net. You can also download their one and only album "Clavell Moronet," a treasure trove of 14 tracks that are sure to get you groovin'.

From Catalonia to India, the Main Ballroom filled with the raw and high-pitched croon of Kailash Kher and his band Kailasa. Kher's Bollywood fame belies his humble beginnings in the small village of Meerut where he learned to sing by listening to his father chant Indian folk songs. As an adult, Kher's business career tanked just before he decided to try his hand at singing in Mumbai. There in the midst of other musical talents, Kher rose above the rest with his first album recorded in collaboration with composers Paresh and Naresh Kamath; two brothers who also form the foundation for Kailasa. Donning a bolero-styled jacket bedecked with colorful fabrics and ornate details, Kher's larger-than-life voice emanated from the main stage as his six-piece band doled out contemporary rock sounds bolstered with traditional appeal from instruments like the tabla and dhol.

For a mellow mood I returned to the Marlin room where I caught the last few songs of L&O, a French quintet fronted by husband and wife Olivier and Laure Slabiak. An operatically-trained chanteuse, Laure sang sweet nothings to the enraptured crowd that drank her in like a steady glass of wine. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow, but always with that delicate air, Laure's expressions told the story of each song just as much as the lyrics themselves; most of which were about love and butterflies.

While the event did not end until 12:10AM, I wrapped up my evening with the Marcio Local and his troupe. Forming the crux at which samba intersects with soul music (as derived from African-American blues), Marcio Local and his band personified the essence of globalFEST as they fused together Brazilian techniques, polyrhythmic African beats, hip hop elements, and even the melody of a humble ukulele, an instrument that hails from Spain by way of Hawaii. While clearly Brazilian, these refreshing inclusions advocated the intention of globalFEST as an evening of worldly awareness. A true entertainer, Marcio Local returned the love to his audience by repeatedly exclaiming between each song, "I LOVE NEW YORK!" And New York certainly loves you too, Marcio.

When I left Webster Hall that night, I felt hopeful that maybe one day all people can be more like music--connected just the way that rumba Catalana rolled with hip hop originally based upon blues derived from the African beats that double as the foundation for soukous and highlife. Now this would make Jimi smile.

If the cold kept you locked in your bite-size apartment, fear not: Beginning Friday, January 16th, full recordings all of the artists' performances will be available on-demand by globalFEST media sponsor WNYC at www.wnyc.org. In addition, during the week of January 19th, select performances will be highlighted on WNYC's Evening Music and New Sounds with John Schaefer,which air nightly on WNYC 93.9 FM. And, as always, we have hi-res JPGs and background info online at www.globalFEST-ny.org.

Haircuts: Dids and Don'ts

2009-01-09T10:27:00.000-08:00

It's 2009 and you're trying to figure out how to get fine in a quick fix...Hmm, forgo the pocket-draining membership at THAT gym and start turning heads by chopping your follies (<--"cut your hair" for those of you not up on the latest salon jargon).

BUT

before you become a head-case (in the worst way), take some time to learn from my experience:

As a recovering hair-dye addict, I took an '09 oath to be better to my hair and maybe give it a rest from the peroxide and "ammonia-free" concoctions which have helped me to become (at one time or another) a blonde, brunetter, and an orange-head. Unfortunately, swearing off the dye meant that I didn't have a fast way to satiate my eternal need for change. This is the point at which I rediscover the joy of the haircut. After a great cut from Rea at ARROJO salon, I thought I'd always be down with spending $68 bucks to get my hair did. However after another salon chop from someone less stellar than she, I decided that $68 was too much to spend on a possible gamble.

On the prowl for a cheaper roll of the dice, I found out about Astor Place Hairstyling on yelp.com. Now I love yelp for its informative reviews, however I clearly did not read enough reviews about Astor Place Hairstyling (APH). After missing an appointment at a Japanese salon ($45 a pop) I decided that a $20-chop at APH couldn't be so bad; nearly every review on yelp.com read of comfort and savings. When I arrived at APH, I discovered it's sweat-shop like nature and the sinking feeling that I came on an "off" night...but I was pressed for time so I continued on this little sojourn.

Here's what went wrong:

First of all, they don't wash your hair, they spray it with a water bottle. This leads me to believe that sanitation isn't high on APH's list which might seem really cool in that gritty-NYC-indie sort of way, but it's still kind schnasty. I also found it peculiar that the first question I was asked was, "Do you want a ladies cut?"...Perhaps my hips DO lie. Of course, I wanted a ladies cut--given that I have been a lady for twenty-some odd years.

The worst thing about APH wasn't that it was a gigantic basement of sweatshop style hair care, it was the utter complacency of my russian chopp-ist, Annie. She hacked away with such gusto that I knew she didn't understand me when I said "layers." I think she heard "machete chop" and I know this to be true because after the hacking subsided, I noticed a sizeable chunk of hair missing on the left side of my head. Maybe I can make this rock-n-roll? Maybe not.

For the ladies, you'll also be disappointed to know that if you want a blow-dry, APH takes your $20 haircut and bumps it up to $40 just to blow some hot air. I opted out of the $20-hike and Annie put some CVS-brand "hair smoother" then 'kindly' put me under the hairdryer for me to muss myself. The gunk in my hair was so thick that it weighed down my forlorn locks. I still tipped (because I'm not a jerk) but I left knowing that something more than my hair was missing.

SOLUTION: Aveda Institute.

If you need a cheap cut, consider going to any number of salon schools. I've gone to ARROJO and Aveda for this type of deal...which it is at only $20-$30 a pop. The best part is that you get a salon cut for cut-rate AND there's tons of supervision so you don't have to worry about your junior effing up because they certainly don't want to send you away unhappy (= bad grade).

I had a lovely stylist named Regina who helped me remedy my hacked-up hair by giving me a sensational bob...yes, a bob. yes, my hair is MUCH shorter but, you know what, I love it.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

-pay the extra cash to get a great cut, or book yourself at the schools for Aveda, ARROJO, and BUmble & BUmble.

-if it looks like a russian roulette, it is.

hair care, baby, hair care.

You've got a (Tom) Freund in me.

2009-01-05T18:11:00.000-08:00

Like a smooth drive down a coastal highway, Tom Freund's latest album "Collapsible Plans" combines the perfect amount of salt and sweet. Travel through all ten tracks of his latest release and you'll find Freund worthy of such praise from people the likes of Ben Harper, his friend, producer, and former bandmate, "I have been moved by Tom's music since the first note we played together in my family's music store after closing time -- just he and I with two guitars until the morning hours. Tom is an extraordinarily talented multi-instrumentalist." A true tour-de-force, Freund supplies each soothing track with nothing than his best on the upright bass, the guitar (electric and acoustic), and his original lyrics come to life by his vocals--throw in a Wurlitzer or an ukulele for good measure. A particularly notable track is the sweet and sentimental "Copper Moon" for which Jackson Browne supplies more honey-for-the-ear with piano and background vocals. Sometimes melancholy, sometimes happy, but always thoughtful, each song crafts an idea of what life is like when love is (and isn't) present. Fortunately, Freund's sophistication doesn't include any saccharine sap--the possible result of Freund's native New York sense with his California sensibilities, a winning combination for an album to which we can all relate.

Have some tea with IRAN

2009-01-05T17:11:00.000-08:00

Listening to Iran's third album "Dissolver" is like discovering bits of gravel in your bubble gum...then finding that you don't mind the crunch all that much; The now-Brooklyn-based band appropriately describes itself as part rock, part experimental, and part "melodramatic pop song;" the perfect genre for songs that cover that particular sentiment you might have when you discover your latest relationship is only tolerable when you're both high (cue track 5: "Baby Let's get High One more Time"). Compared to previous albums, "Dissolver" sips rather than gulps on Iran's lifeblood of screechy guitars, high-hat obsessions, and other such noises one might associate with a number of kitchen appliances. The result? A recipe for aural deliciousness.

Happy WaleDays!

2008-12-31T07:57:00.000-08:00

Dec.9/2008:
With it's ample upper-tier seating, two huge bars, and gigantic standing room only, the Highline Ballroom proved to be the perfect stomping ground for breakthrough rapper Olubowale Victor Akintimehin, otherwise known as Wale. What makes this D.C.-bred artist revolutionary isn't his swagger, or his infectious rhythms, or even the sheer fact that he reminds us that cooler things can come out of the nation's capitol (si, se puede). No, what makes this son of Nigerian immigrants revolutionary is that he combines the street cred and lyrical prowess of his fellow 'college drop-outs' without the pretention (which is an incredible feat when your producer and opening act is Mark Ronson). Backed by a thirteen piece band, Wale hit the Highline stage with guitars wailing, horns blaring, and vinyls whirling. A true man of the people, he sated the crowd with shout-outs and some D.C. go-go music, easily noted by the incorporation of African drums and cowbells. Wale is truly D.C.'s first rapper to get mainstream attention and be worth a closer listen...and when you do, you'll find that Wale's lyrics might deliver an ode to Nike boots, a jab at college football coaches, or a rant on business suits. He mixes pop references with obscure details--most of which relay some story about his own life cleverly redone for universal appeal. A great example of his storytelling is a mixtape released in 2008 title, "The Mixtape About Nothing," a disc of original rhymes set to the backdrop of audio clips and jokes from Wale's favorite sitcom, "Seinfeld." Whether by mixtape or live concert, the moral of this story is that Wale is no joke. Instead he's the kind of rapper we've been waiting for: someone who is astute, determined, and unabashed about serving up rhymes that are stone-cold.

*Jay-Z and Leo DiCaprio were also chilling out at the show