Snowstorm in Brooklyn, my first full day here. The perfect winter-in-new-york welcome. In Max’s bathroom there’s a skylight; if the wind happens to blow hard while you happen to be, er, sitting (for any of the myriad reasons you might be sitting), snow falls on your (perhaps bare) knees.
I went yesterday evening to North 6 in Williamsburg to see Max & the Zagnut Circus Orkestar play. The security at the club was tighter than at the Oakland Airport, no kidding. Frisking, searching bags. Apparently kids have set off fireworks there at previous shows of the night’s headlining band.
The Zagnuts were sounding really good. Paul Brown played bass (a great addition to the band to be sure, in case you don’t know Paul); Timothy made something of a tupan debut & rocked it; Greg was sounding really sweet & soulful; & Max took one of the bluesiest solos I’ve heard on accordion in a long time. Ben Holmes has joined them on trumpet & is doing remarkably well—he didn’t use any charts & has only been playing with them a month or so. Some nice solos too. My only complaint was that he plays a bit smooth & I wanted more rawness. In time that’ll probably come, but he’s a hot club kinda guy & might have to rediscover his inner drunkard for a while.
They opened for two other bands. The first was this extraordinarily loud punk band. The lead singer, in khakis & a buttondown, evoked (to my eyes & Greg’s) an angry yuppie on ecstasy. I hear the lyrics are brilliant, but his over-amplified mumbling was completely unintelligible to me, so I left for falafel.
Returned shortly into the third band’s set, the World/Inferno Friendship Society. They had something interesting there. They too were quite generous with the sound pressure level, but not nearly as grating. Sort of punk/ska mix; some folks kept referring to them as klezmery but I don’t know why. Perhaps because there’s an accordion in the band (along with three saxophones, two drummers, & bass). The singer was an evocative image. An updated 20’s cabaret maître d’ in sharp tan suit & a wry wit that refused to fall flat even when it perhaps should have. One of the drummers was also quite a character, screaming into her microphone as she pummeled her timbales, pausing mostly, it seemed, to correct her deranged appearance when she seemed not quite enough disheveled. She was having an obviously great time.
Escaped with Max onto the G train, which turned out to be an F train for some strange reason, which we rode to Park Slope (i think; the subways have enabled me to develop a horrible sense of the geography of this borough) to the Zen Center, which was hosting an all-night meditation in honor of the Gautama’s enlightenment. After making what seemed a horribly uncouth & incongruent racket taking off our shoes & sipping water from the water cooler (glug!), Max & I joined the lines of awakened minds at 3am. I lasted until about 3:20 before the three shots of vodka from the evening’s previous incarnation reminded me of the state of my depressed nervous system. After convincing myself a few times that I could stay awake & keep my eyes open, I went upstairs for shuteye instead. Just a nap. Of course the nap lasted until 7:30am, right before the closing ceremony & pancake breakfast. Mmm, fresh strawberry syrup.
Next time, though, enlightenment, god dammit.