An October Afternoon in DUMBO

It's been a year or so since I visited DUMBO—one of our numerous city acronyms, this one for for "Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass"—in Brooklyn to see the work of artists living and working there. They open their studios, concentrated in this formerly industrial area, to visitors. As a nearly lifelong New Yorker, I am ashamed to say that visits to Brooklyn have been sparse and mostly confined to attending performances at BAM, the Brooklyn Academy of Music, that hosts many of the world's great performing arts groups. DUMBO was a revelation, combining Greenwich Village–like conviviality and charm with marvelous water views and vistas of Manhattan. And there's the gorgeous Brooklyn Bridge, too. Like many beauties, this bridge doesn't have a bad angle, as this quickly taken camera-phone shot from Water Street, in front of St. Ann's Warehouse, attests.

My purpose in visiting DUMBO this time was to see a performance of the much-admired National Theatre of Scotland production of Black Watch, and this totally original piece of theater certainly lived up to its reputation. Here's Ben Brantley's reprise of his review from last year, when they first brought the show to Brooklyn:

Theater Review - 'Black Watch' - From National Theater of Scotland, a Unit Back From War but Without Peace, Returning to St. Ann’s Warehouse - NYTimes.com

In ‘Black Watch,’ a Band of Brothers With Camaraderie Forged on the Boards - NYTimes.com

So, Black Watch was a thrill, but I also encountered, inadvertently, a bonus. Practically next door to St. Ann's Warehouse is Jane's Carousel, also pictured above, which is a treat indeed. You can't ride on it, only look at it, but this is quite enough for me, as readers—if there are any—of this blog note that I love the Bryant Park carousel as well but am too embarrassed actually to get on it. More info about Jane's Carousel, which was also featured on CBS Sunday Morning, can be found on its own Web site:

(- JANE'S CAROUSEL -)

Make sure to click on "About Us" on the site in order to see other great shots (better than mine) of the carousel. Now I have to see how the one in Central Park is looking these days. I hope it's still in operation and that they still have that good, old-fashioned merry-go-round music.

Update: It is still in operation, and they have music from the original Wurlitzer! Must check in while the weather is still nice!

Hearing Air(s) at the Opera

Last night's Metropolitan Opera performance of that lovely old chestnut, Donizetti's wonderful Lucia di Lammermoor, was a revelation. I thought I'd heard enough performances of Mad Lucy by most of the major interpreters of the 20th century to last the rest of my life, but I was wrong. The incredibly talented young German soprano Diana Damrau had absolutely everything in the role: vocal beauty and accuracy spiced with expressive variety, theater-worthy acting ability, grace, and personal charisma. She was ably seconded by the fine Polish tenor Piotr Beczala who, unlike most Edgardos, received almost equal kudos after the Tomb Scene. And people stayed around after the Mad Scene to hear him, too! We were given a bonus view of Lucia herself, as, in Mary Zimmerman's extremely creative Victorian-style production, her ghost appears to embrace the dying Edgardo. Bravi tutti!

An otherwise nearly perfect evening at the opera (where everything is almost as beautiful as at the ballet) poses a question worthy of Randy Cohen, who writes "The Ethicist" column in the Sunday New York Times Magazine: What do you do about an elderly gentleman sitting behind you who is apparently wearing some kind of breathing apparatus (not visible) that makes a steady hissing on-and-off sound during the entire evening? You can't ask the old guy to stop breathing, can you? Does such a person have the right to attend the theater at all and disturb others as much as does the ringing of cellphones or the whistling of improperly adjusted hearing aids? At least those can finally be silenced (after much effort on the part of audience members and theater staff). Well, my solution, and the solution of a neighboring couple, was to find other seats. I had to wait until after (hiss, hiss) Act I, although they, sitting on an aisle, were able to do so directly after the prelude. Lucky that there were a few empty seats (your loss, absentees!), perhaps because it was Yom Kippur eve. Some years ago a Carnegie Hall lieder recital by the great Belgian bass-baritone José Van Dam was marred by someone's whistling hearing aid. And there was no way to tell where the noise was coming from; there was no escape. I was more fortunate last evening.

I feel sorry for the poor breather and suppose he should be allowed out at public events, but maybe not at straight plays or classical music performances. What is to be done? With the advent of podcasts, DVDs, and DVRs, perhaps he can find it in his heart to stay at home. I wonder what Randy would say? But I'm not going to ask him, because his answer would probably be the same as mine.

Seventh Avenue Bizarre

As a teenager, I had a temporary summer job selling handbags in a department store in my hometown. It always amazed me that even the ugliest bag could find a buyer. I know that one cannot legislate taste, but it was still frightening to think that anyone could find certain items attractive.  In an issue of The New Yorker, some years ago, there was a cartoon by the wonderfully wry Roz Chast that showed a shop window that was typical of some small stores around town. The displays were of the most hideous dresses and accessories imaginable, and the caption read something like, "Who shops in these places?" On my way along Seventh Avenue to experience beautiful ballet at City Center, I frequently pass tourist shops like the ones pictured here and wonder the same thing: Who buys this stuff anyway? Especially in these parlous economic times, who is going to spend money on tchotchkes? And yet they do. These places have been in business a long time. It remains to be seen if they'll stay alive in the coming months and remain an endless source of amusement, at least to me.

Bryant Park Charms

A touch of Paris can be found in Bryant Park behind the Public Library. I suppose there was a touch of Paris anyway over the past couple of weeks because it was Fashion Week, and there were tents and runway shows galore obscuring the attractions of this charming space and depriving happy lunch goers of room to open their brown bags and log on to wi-fi with their laptops or iPods. Anyway, since they installed the carousel in 2005, I have been a happier person, even though I'm too self-conscious actually to ride on it myself. I'm especially delighted that "Le Carrousel," as its sign proudly proclaims, was built in Brooklyn, also on the sign. It's quite captivating to see "Le Carrousel—Brooklyn, New York." 

Was going to be a Lady Who Lunches with a couple of friends today at nearby Lord & Taylor and had some time to kill, so I sat near Le Carrousel and listened to the music, which, while I was there, consisted of something by Kurt Weill (I think) and then some French chansons aimed at children. It's just a small-size carousel, but utterly charming, even if the horses are of fiberglass instead of wood. 

Belle Viste, NYC Style

I've blogged a bit before about the wonderful Chrysler Building, where my dentist has his office in the Tower Suite. Unlike the Empire State Building or the  Top of the Rock, one can't go up there as a tourist, so the fabulous views on clear days are a special treat for those having business in the tower. So here's what New York Harbor and a bit of New Jersey looked like on August 26, 2008.

 Chrysler Building - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

But great views aren't found only from skyscrapers. I got a nice shot of Union Square from Filene's Basement's big windows. Actually, I had better luck that day taking a picture than I did finding anything to wear at Filene's. The "basement" is a misnomer, dating from the original historic Filene's in Boston. The name was sold some time ago, and this "basement" actually is on the fourth, fifth, and sixth floors of a building on Union Square South.

In another part of town, Shakespeare in the Park, after an unsuccessful Hamlet, at least according to all the reviews, has a winner in the Public Theater's spectacular revival of Hair. Wonderful how good the songs are; had forgotten how good. People wait in line for hours to obtain free tickets. This year, though, the Public has a new idea as well: A very limited number of tickets are put into an online lottery, which they call their "virtual ticket line." And, amazingly enough, after trying my luck for a week or so, I obtained two tickets for last Saturday evening. Not only were the seats fine; it was a gorgeous New York City summer night—neither too warm nor too cold. At the end of the show, the audience is invited onstage to dance with the performers. They are hoping to move it to Broadway in the fall. Guess they'll have to put ramps from the apron of the stage down to the orchestra floor. But it won't be the same. Hair is supposed to be taking place on the Great Lawn in Central Park, and it really almost does in the present production. It won't have quite the authenticity indoors, but it's still a great show. Incidentally, although Hair itself is not by the Bard, of course, one of the songs, "What a Piece of Work Is Man," is a setting of one of Hamlet's great soliloquies. So the show does qualify to be performed under the banner of "Shakespeare in the Park"!

Theater Review - 'Hair' - ‘Hair’ - Letting the Sunshine In, and the Shadows - Review - NYTimes.com

Balzac? Dvorák?

On my way downtown this afternoon, I passed this street sign. We have a lot of these on various corners, commemorating notables who have lived or worked in a specific neighborhood. One of my favorites is "Señor Wences Way" in the theater district. (If you don't know who Señor Wences was, you can Google him.) I also like "Leonard Bernstein Way" at Lincoln Center and "Thelonious Sphere Monk Place" on the far West Side. It reminded me of a casual date I once had—and I guess it was our one and only date—in this East 17th St. neighborhood. The young man and I were walking around, and he remarked, "I think Balzac once lived around here." "Balzac?" I wondered, "I didn't know he ever came to America." "Well, it was someone like that," said my friend. Suddenly I realized, and then commented, that Antonín Dvorák had lived and worked in New York and later, famously, in Spillville, Iowa. The house where he was in residence had been on the East 17th St. block between First Avenue and Avenue A, and the building is now an AIDS hospice. There is a plaque on it, commemorating the great composer. Not wishing to sneer at my date's lack of cultural awareness, I blithely tossed off, "Well, Balzac, Dvorák—what's the difference?"

Honoré de Balzac - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Antonín Dvořák - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Free-associating, as is my wont, I was reminded of my own lack of cultural awareness, though I was only a college undergraduate at the time. A revered English professor, in a class on Victorian literature, mentioned that some prominent Victorian or other had some sort of association with the House of Domecq sherry company. No one in the class had ever heard of Domecq—or probably any other brand of sherry. He sniffed and remarked, "Insufficiently worldly, all of you!"

Wine: A Profile of The House of Domecq Sherry, on StarChefs

Le Quatorze Juillet dans la rue Soixantième

O.K., so it's only the thirteenth, not "le quatorze," but there is a Bastille Day street festival on East 60th Street between Lexington and Fifth Avenues, passing, not surprisingly, right in front of the French Institute. And people are having a Great Time! Sure, not everything is French; I saw one stand selling knockwurst in addition to French délices, and there were also Belgian waffles (or, as they spell it, wafel), though I suppose that's close enough. There's even someone playing an accordion! Shades of the Funny Face era. Good spirits abound; it's hot out, but not unbearable, and people seem in a merry mood.

The happy crowds on East 6oth are much more enthusiastic than the dutiful strollers at another nearby street festival, on Madison Avenue between 42nd and 57th Streets. This is the type of project that drives me nuts most weekends, three seasons of the year. They all sell the same T-shirts, souvlaki, sunglasses, tube socks, and suchlike. I hope that the City gets a decent fee for permission to sell stuff at these fairs because they are a huge nuisance to us residents who try to get somewhere. It's of some help that Time Out New York publishes a list of street fairs and festivals each week so that one can plan one's moves. Taking the subway helps, though I don't like to go down there in the hot weather. But anyway, the Bastille Day celebration is fun, even if we already had our own fireworks on a somewhat rainy Fourth.