« January 2005 | Main | March 2005 »
February 14, 2005
The Super Lowery Brothers at the Five Spot
On Saturday me and my homegirl, Quita, excuse me, my homegirl and I went to the Five Spot (our version of a spa)-to hang out, grab some grub and have a few drinks. We had no idea we'd be in for such a fabulous treat.
When we arrived, a jazz band was already in session. At first, I was distracted by the very-loud over-animated mc; I couldn't hear the band. After the mc got off the mic, I breathed a sigh of relief and Quita and I moved closer to the stage for a more intimate experience. We made the right move. The pianist, who we later found out was a colleague of neo-soul, supermusician, "Bilal", was making magic on the piano. His hands moved back and forth across the keys so fast all you could see was a blur moving back and forth, you couldn't even see his hands touch the keys. But we know they did. We could hear it, and we could feel it. He hit us with some crazy chords. He provided the perfect rhythm for the band to follow, and they were in perfect tempo. The trumpeter and saxaphonist were brothers and if there was any sibling rivalry between them, you couldn't tell. They played very well together while the percussionist did his thing keeping everyone on time to a smooth, steady beat.
The only thing that was missing was some strings. How I longed for the riff of guitar, or some bass, or cello...but won't complain. The band was definetely a perfect side dish for those super strong Remy Martinis we were drinking.
Quita told me that they band describes themselves as a "future" jazz band.
I can definetley dig it-it's a fitting name for them. They were able to take classical jazz-and improvise-flipping it-like Tribe Called Quest did with Low End Theory, for those who may have never experienced or understood this classical American music we call jazz and enjoy it. I know that I did. I'm looking forward to hearing more from the Lowery Brothers in the future...(no pun intended!)
To be continued...
Posted by renee at 6:03 PM | Comments (2)
February 5, 2005
Reviews
Fabulous Uptown Originals At The Five Spot
Last Wednesday, I decided to step out of my shy self and take in a show at the Five Spot restaurant/bar/lounge in my old neighborhood of Clinton Hill, otherwise known as Bed-Stuy, depending on what side of the bed you woke up on.
It’s a great neighborhood spot, where the bartenders are friendly, (most of them-two of them aren't. they know who they are) the drinks are cheap; 2$ drafts and after you spend 5 bucks, you can drink yourself silly from 8-9 at the open rum bar.
I know I can always count on the five spot to deliver quality entertainment. I met DJ Evil Dee (Boot camp click dj extraordinaire) and I will always cherish that night for the rest of my life.
I'll kill the redundance-and spare you the details about how I love hanging hanging out at the five spot, or how great it is that the owner of the bar is such a sweetie-making sure all his customers are well taken care of, and we most certainly are-what with the fully stocked bar, almost a mile long, complete with top shelf liquor.
Needless to say, I took full advantage of the open rum bar; c'mon, what else was I supposed to do while waiting for the band to arrive? By the time they arrived, I was good and ready to be entertained. The entourage included a dj, trombonist (is that what you call them?) sax, guitars, tambourine, drums (note to Gerrard: that's what our little band is missing)and if I'm not mistaken-but of course I could be-there may have been a keyboardist. (Don't blame me, blame the rum)
At first, I wasn’t impressed, and that says a lot, especially after all that rum! It wasn’t that the band wasn’t tight…well maybe a little too tight, they needed a little juice in the joints. It’s just that something was missing…
The more I sipped, the better they began to sound. I have to shout out the guitarist, he was on point with that solo. Maybe I’m biased-it’s my favorite instrument. I always feel guilty giving one band member more props then the rest because I know that they all have to be good in order to sound good-but he impressed me the most. Just when I'm ready to get out of my seat and start to groove, I know what’s missing...the band needs a vocalist! Their sound needed some smooth sultry songstress with a velvet vocals to spice up their act.
Well, that's it. My first review. The band took a break at this point, and it's just about time for my refill.
Posted by renee at 4:35 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
What's Goin On?
I was listening to Power 105 this afternoon-and the host (I don’t know who she was, but her whiny nasaly voice annoys the hell out of me!)said something that pissed me off. She's always staying stupid things-it should be illegal for some people to speak in public, let alone host a radio show.
It's irritating when radio announcers talk ish because you can’t challenge them right away-they give their stupid opinions and bounce; leaving their stupid thoughts lingering on the airwaves, which eventually make their way into the minds of the young and impressionable and because they aren't challenged, they manifest into ugly ideas and concepts which become acceptable. Well, thank God for my Blog and the fact that I have too much time on my hands. It's time for a challenge!
The announcer was expressing her shock about Nicole Dufresnes' (the young woman who was shot and killed by some punks on the Lower East Side a few days ago, )killer being a kid.
She started whining and whining, her voice squeaking and squealing bout how kids these days are out of control, and she asked the question, "what's going on?"
Then, she starts rambling on and provides her dj philosphy 101 and attempts to get serious for a minute, talking about how we need to get together as a community and start taking responsibility for these kids actions. She sounds like she means what she says, but her giggling in between sentences and brief interjections about her dating woes, betrays her sincerity.
I don't expect commercial radio hosts to give a damn about violence, sexism, racism and all the other crap that's promoted in the music they spin-I'd be a hypocrite to condemn them, because I like to listen to it every now and again to-although, this damn announcer's voice makes it quite easy for me to flip the switch. Anyway, before I lose my train of thought, let me get to what was irking me.
After the host's starts berating the youth for whilin' out, in the next breath, she is promoting a party hosted by 50 cent, at his house.
Now...Ain't 50's audience in the same age group of the kids that shot that girl in cold blood? This is the age of the kids that will be attending the party, I'm sure. Then she rests her mouth for a while to play some music. Of course, she plays the new 50 song. I'm not going to quote the lyrics-if you know 50's music, you know the lyrics are less then warm and cuddly.
I rememember that when I was about 15 or 16, violence in music existed, but we didnt' take it so literally. It was innocent bragadocio-boasting and bragging about being the baddest mc,getting girls, or guys, and playing basketball. A far cry from the gang-related, do-or die, bullets fly, no remorse attitude prevalant in rap lyrics today. It wasn't about taking shit to the street and threatening the lives of enemies. We listened and admired the lyrically gifted with the metaphors they created, and the things they made you think about. The beef pretty much stayed in the studio, or on wax. Today, these kids take this shit to literal...they hear a lyric in a song and actually believe that it's as harmless as as a rhyme, so they act on it.
I can't front, a lot of that violent shit is hot. Thank God I'm old enough to know better than most of these kids who can't separate fantasy from reality. "The community", that our annoying announcer friend speaks of, includes radio personalities, record executives, rappers and artist as well as the parents and kids that are listening to the music.
Sex, violence and drugs are popular past-times now-and the music that inspires it is big business now, with it's main consumers between the ages of 13 and 21 years of age. Promoting a party at a gangster's crib and endorsing a culture of violence, by constantly running tracks with catchy beats and murderous lyrics will inevitably promote more violence! What the hell do you think is goin on?
Despite what most of these entertainers have deluded themselves into believing-they are, in fact, role models. If no one looked up to them, they'd have no audience and they couldn't afford the luxury lifestyle they were living.
It's time that the "community", which includes everyone kids and parents, artists and record execs, promoters, producers and dj's and partygoers-in other words, all of us- gotta take responsibility for this shit. We're all affected. I have enough shit to worry about I don't want to be scared of 12 year olds on the street who are packing, and won't hesitate to pop me if I bump them or something. It's not like we don't know what's going on. The question is, what are we going to do about it?
Posted by renee at 2:23 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack
Sorry it took so long...I'm experiencing technical difficulties
A lot has happened since we last spoke. The Tsunami, which was a natural disaster which claimed thousands of lives, and the second inauguration of George Bush; a man-made disaster which has also claimed thousands of lives, and of course tons and tons of snow.
I swore that I wouldn’t watch the inauguration, but I couldn't help myself, and, I have an excuse. I was watching as a sympathetic (and proud) Canadian. My dual citizenship sometimes causes an identity crisis which I’m trying to nip in the bud but now that I’m back in New York, I’m an angry American, standing idly by while elected officials in the city, state and federal government continue to waste and spend, while we become increasing impoverished and suffer, helpless. I feel like I'm being attacked!
The C-train fiasco almost pushed me over the edge and then I heard that our president is asking for 80 billion more for the war in Iraq, while the whole country is crying broke and the American dollar is decreasing in value, millions are out of work (myself included) and insecure about their futures because of Bush's proposed social security changes. It’s a rough time out there for millions of us-this economy continues to spin out of control and it’s taking me with it. Thank God I was able to cool out in Toronto and nurse my wounds for a while eh?
The Inauguration....
“America…I gave my best to you”…The song sung at the Inauguration was fitting in ways that our "beloved" president could never comprehend. I was in my green room in the basement of my mom's house in Toronto writing the first draft of Canadian Bacon II-the action packed sequel to Canadian Bacon I.
This time our beloved American protagonists visits the tdot, and is kidnapped by the lovable Canucks whom you've come to know and love in Canadian Bacon I.
I was not planning to watch the inauguration-it was just too tragic, but forces beyond my control, lifted my butt from that hard ass chair and guided my lazy feet into the living room where I finally sunk my frozen, half-asleep butt cheeks in my father's couch and settled in to enjoy the show.
I must say something about American politics. The pomp and circumstance associated with this ill-fated drama was truly mesmerizing. As the African American soprano sang "America, I gave my best to you.." found it bitterly ironic.The reason was that soon after the opening ceremonies we were taken to the luncheon where Trent Lott was addressing guests from what he boasted was an hundred -year-old podium, which once belonged to the Daughters of the American Revolution. As history sadly reminds us, The Daughter’s barred Black female contralto Marian Anderson from performing at the White House in 1939, 6 years ago, which to many of us, is not that long ago. Of course, it should be no surprise that Lott would boast about this podium, Lott makes it no secret how he feels about the good ol’ days in this country when racism was experiencing it's heyday.
“America, I gave my best to you”…her sweet voice lingers on after she is off the screen. I envision thousands of American soldiers risking their lives; and I think of the one's already dead. It's too much to bear...They surely gave, and continued to give their best-their lives for a war that they should not be fighting.
Now, the National Guard is boosting bonuses so that it can send more poor, young men out to replace the thinning ranks.
“America, I gave my best to you”…Citizens who gave their blood sweat and tears in the workforce, only to find out that the social security they expect may not be there when they need it...
America, we gave our best to you… yet, our civil liberties have been eroded, a woman’s right to choose is threatened and we live with the constant threat of terrorism, worse than it's ever been before. The funny thing is, the government is just as scary as the terrorists we are supposedly fighting.
I love America. I believe it is the home of the brave, I believe it yearns to be the land of the free, yet we are a nation that is sore afraid.
I empathized with the Bush protesters who came out in large numbers (I don’t remember so many angry people during Clinton’s presidency) They were holding up signs that read, “I want my country back” and “Not my America”. I agree. Our country is being sold to the highest bidder, without regard for the working-class people who are the blood coursing through her veins, and keeping her alive. Things are truly getting out of hand if the presidential helicopter, which is traditionally serviced by an American company, is being outsourced to Europeans. I know i'm making a conservative argument, and I'll admit, part of me leans a little to the right sometimes, but that's another argument, and I believe it's addressed somewhere on this blog. I'm not going there now. What I do want to say is that the economy is in the worst shape it’s been in years, social security is under attack, and regardless of all the money spent on Homeland Security, I'm sure most of us agree that we are no more safer than we were prior to 9/11.
Adding Insult to Injury
It's Saturday night, and the Canucks are taking their time to kidnap me. I'm getting bored, and it looks like I'm not going anywhere, so I settle back into my dad's couch and cover up. It's 11:30 (yes, Canadians are on Eastern Standard Time too.)and time for Saturday Night Live. Now we all know, SNL ain't nothin' like it used to be, so I'm not expecting to piss my pants laughing or anything. In fact, I wanted to cry when I watched the following skit:
The Euro, the Peso and the Pound were hanging out at the park or something. All of a sudden the lonely American dollar comes out and the Euro, the Peso and the Pound begin to gang up on our fallen hero. They taunt him about his former glory, reminding him of the good ol' days when he was at the top of the world. After they have their fun, they start pounding the shit out of him until he falls to the ground and can no longer defend himself against the attacks. So they all run away and leave the defeated and despondent American dollar to fend for himself. While he struggles to his feet, out walks the Canadian looney (dollar) and being the true peace-keeper that we Canadians are, offers his hand. “Oh well, looks like it’s me and you, Canadian looney," says the beaten and bruised American dollar, and they hold hands and skip off into the sunset...I didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, and now I'm suffering with an identity crisis.
And now...Stay Tuned for Adventures from the 49th Parallel
Canadian Bacon Part II
My trip to Toronto was only supposed to be a Christmas vacation, but Soni put something in the New Year’s brownies that made me sick to my stomach. (Incidentally, but with no coincidence, someone put weed in the cookies a the Celestica Christmas party. This is a confirmed rumor. My girlfriend works for the company, and it was all over the Canadian news. Needless to say, he was fired. Anyway, as I was saying, each time I tried to leave, I couldn’t. The night before my train was supposed to leave, a band of thugs and their sexy brown leader came to my house, duct-taped me and threw me in the trunk. They kidnapped me and brought me to some place called Lot 332 in the downtown club district.
I never did get into Lot. The line-ups were always crazy; (we tried twice) and it looked like an MTV video shoot! People were dressed to kill, and some, to maim. I felt bad for the chicks who came out in summer clothes in the middle of winter-and had to wait in the freezing cold for hours. (No I didn’t.) Both the VIP line (which I was fortunate enough to be in) and the regular line were crazy long. E Bloc* (Serbian Ice Princess and ringleader of the thugs) knew someone “on the list” and we would get in no problem…well…after standing in the pouring rain, (the first night) and the freezing cold (second attempt) when we finally reached the front of the line we were informed that the club was “at capacity”. I was still duct taped at this point, and helpless. I was totally at their mercy, and I couldn’t take it anymore, so with a burst of Brooklyn energy, I ripped through the tape and cursed the bouncer out. He told me to “watch my mouth” and “step back please.” They put the duct tape back on my mouth and escorted me out of the line. Canadians are so polite.
We ended up at the Joker. Right next door to Lot 332. No line up, no cover! When we arrived inside the club, we understood why. Not a problem for the holla back crew, which included myself, E-bloc, Lindsay and Juleen were determined to have a good time, especially after the Lot 332 fiasco. Once inside, we went straight for the bar where we were greeted by a bunch of smelly boys, who claimed to be practicing good pick-up lines. E Bloc the ice princess got rid of ‘em immediately. We waited for the bartender to hand us our Smirnoff Ices, (In Canada, they use real vodka-not malt liquor.) and we were off to cause some damage. After my fourth Smirnoff, I began to really enjoy myself…(Thanks again Lindsay-wink, wink, nudge nudge.)
Well, it’s about 3:00 or something, and the party’s over. The crew is hungry. Next stop: 7 West. It’s open 24 hours. It’s a trendy restaurant/ with a club/lounge feel. The ambiance is tres chic! It has three floors, is dimly lit, and they play loud music. I totally dig it! They have a great menu, the music’s pretty good and the grub ain’t bad. In fact, it’s pretty damn good-and reasonably priced. It was exactly what I needed to soak up all that Smirnoff. This wasn’t my first time at 7 West, actually I’ve been there a few times, and I’ve never been disappointed. Except for the last time, the waiter/waitress wasn’t very friendly. I ordered the prosciutto pannini, side salad and an espresso, and was quite impressed. (They have a great vegetarian menu too-their grilled veggie sandwhich with fresh mozzarella is awesome! I like that they use chick-peas (garbanzo beans) instead of boring old croutons to top their salads, which they toss in a tastefully tangy balsamic vinaigrette. It’s a great place to chat, scope and chew, (and for those who were unlucky at the meat-market, the party continues at 7 West… I highly recommend 7 West it’s a classy place to sober up after a night of debauchery. It’s also dark enough to continue the debauchery if you really want to.
Part II
Toronto is known as Hollywood North, the place where many movies are made because of Toronto’s resemblance to many urban areas in the United States. One of Toronto’s newest starlets happens to be my beautiful sister Olivia and I felt quite privileged to attend a couple of cast parties with her, rubbing elbows with local celebs. It was a nice taste of things to come…anyway, one particular party we went to, was hosted by “Chicken Shit”, her castmate from the play, “Don Juan, Ladykiller of Seville”-(my sister played Thisbee, a voluptuous fisher woman) The party was not as friendly as a New York party, until the host brought out the “party favors”. In the meantime, I found myself looking through the host’s music collection for something that would bring the party together. I found it in Damien Rice, and of course, there’s a story behind this…
One night, many months ago, when I had cable, I could not sleep so I had my t.v. on MTV 2. As I was drifting in and out of sleep, I heard a song that made me jump out of my sleep. The song was called Volcanoes and the artist’s name was Damien Rice. I had never heard of him, but the song was hot, so I quickly got out of bed and added his name to the list in my “cd’s to buy” book. I closed the book and shut my eyes, forgetting all about Damien Rice until the night of Chicken Shit’s party. I noticed the cd and remembered that night. I immediately asked the host if he could play it. He agreed to, but only after rocking out to Gwen Stefani’s cd. (Holy stuck in the eighties-but I won’t front, the cd had my head nodding) At this point, the party has become a big circle in the living room. I was talking to Canadians about life in New York, when all of a sudden, we’re overcome by this voice…I look around the party and everyone else was in a trance as well. There was a general feeling of love in the room. Chicken Shit had his head on his roomate’s shoulder, I was bonding with another roommate, an Irish young lady who told me all about Damien Rice. I asked to hear Volcanoes again, and I promised it would be the last time for the night…But right after Volcanoes comes the song, “The Blower’s Daughter…(from the movie “Closer’) and we were all sucked back in again. Nobody seemed to mind. As corny as this may sound, I know that everyone was in their own space and time, experiencing his words, and music in his or her own way-and we were all connected by it. His music is sad and comforting at the same time, full of depth and sincerity. Volcanoes will always have a special place in my heart and I will never forget that night. My sister and I headed to HMV the very next day to purchase the cd, “O”. (The guy who rang up our purchase told my sis and I that he was impressed that two Black chicks were purchasing “real” music, instead of the mass- produced pop/rap crap that scores of teens were purchasing. We held up the line discussing how Damien Rice affected our lives. I do believe that things in life happen for a reason; like you stumble on a book or a song lyric, or meet a person who changes your life. I know that I was at that party that night to find Damien Rice- My spirit required it. I cannot explain what “O” means to me…You have to hear to believe…
Friday Night at the Reverb-DAGGER
It’s Friday night, and I’m leaving in two days. But before I have to leave, we’re going to check out a friend’s gig at this club called the Reverb. It’s Queen and Bathurst, the area reminds me of the West Village. No, the Lower East Side. It’s seedy, but in a trendy, chic, and expensive way.
The Reverb club is a little off-putting at first, the picture of Charles Manson with Nazi insignia on his forehead, which greeted me at the door, didn’t make me feel all warm and tingly inside. The bouncer at the door wasn’t exactly friendly. He had the nerve to card me, (the one time I forgot my id!) when we both know I was old enough to be his mom. But, I wasn’t about to argue. Thank God my sister saw someone she knew and he begged the bouncer for mercy on our behalf. He told him I was from New York and he grudgingly let me slide. We were in! There was already a band playing. I’m really sorry that I don’t know their proper name, but the lead singer/guitarist had a great voice, and the band was awesome. When they covered INXS’, “Never Tear Us Apart”, I was touched. That song was on heavy rotation during my formative years, and it brings back specific memories. The video, the violins…and Michael Hutchense…. The next song they performed was a beautiful ballad, which blew me away-I wish I could have found out whether they wrote it or not…
As soon as they were off the stage, hoards of twenty-something-year old university students, dressed in uggs and eighties retro-ware, were closing in anxiously awaiting Daggers arrival.
I have seen Zack and the band perform before, so I already know what I’m in for. I wanted to find out how the band defines it sound before I wrote about them, so I asked Zack Sheilds, lead vocalist/rapper, originally from Rochester, and he said he didn’t know. We were supposed to hook up to talk about it, but a snowstorm prevented that from happening. So I went ahead and labeled them myself. If I could compare them to anyone, I would say they’re a cross between “Brand New Heavies and the Beastie Boys.” The band is made up of a bassist, drummer, flautist, saxophonist, and trumpeter and of course, frontman Zack Sheilds. I’m pretty sure the flute guy gets taken for granted, but I wanted to take some time out and give him some props. Finally, Zack comes to the front of the stage, leading the crowd into their first song-“Wake Up,” they didn’t need an invitation and before the bassist drops a note, heads start to nod, arms and legs begin to flail and bodies begin to move. The breakdancing begin as people begin to rock out to their favorites, like “Tough Guy” (my personal favorite, about the wanna-be-hard-by nice guys who take their girls to lunch) and “The Clap”. I always forget what a hard-core lyricist Zack is, because he’s so damn adorable. Lyrically, he weaves and bobs around beats like a boxer, and when you least expect it, an incredible rhyme sneaks up and catches you right in the jaw! I don’t know what else I can say about Dagger except they are another one of Toronto’s best kept secrets that won’t be kept for long.
Back to Brooklyn-Hollywood Bound…
As my sister drives me downtown to the train station, I’m fighting back tears, not really wanting to leave my “home”, but knowing that I have to. The bumper sticker in front of me reads, “Toronto, You belong here,” and I wonder about that. Despite my mom’s constant urging, and the fact that I haven’t thought about death or felt ill since I’ve been home, I realize I have left some business unfinished in New York and I can’t just leave it behind… It’s 9:35 when we finally arrive at the station and my sister and I run to the gate. There’s no one in line. Secretly I hope that somehow I’ve missed the train. I haven’t. While the attendant attaches my ticket to my bag, I turn to my sister. Her eyes are brimming over with tears. Her voice cracks as she tells me she loves me, and she’s going to miss me. I’m struggling to keep my tears inside, because once they start, that’s it, they’ll never stop and I don’t want people staring at me on the train. Despite all of my efforts, a couple of tears manage to escape, but I manage to keep it together. We hug for the last time. “You’re gonna be fine,” she gives me one last hug before she walks away. I watch her walk down the corridor alone as I make my way up the escalator and I know she’s right.
Posted by renee at 2:09 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack