ZirZamin

I walked in as The Bridge Trio announced their next tune, “125^th and Broadway,” where I had just come from, a bit flustered that the trains weren’t running on schedule yet again.  Though I was on the fence about attending, I was sold once I learned that ZirZamin served breakfast tacos all night.

The place must be self-service at the bar, because nobody came to take my order at the table.  I didn’t feel hungry enough to get up to order the breakfast tacos so it ended up being an eggless Easter, but an enjoyable one nonetheless.  The entertaining trio bantered, took requests and made the audience feel at ease.  They played tunes with both curious and obvious titles, which bassist Max Moran and keyboardist Conun Pappas took turns introducing.

Joe Dyson, who had been placidly providing rock solid beats behind the kit, ran up to the mic in the blink of an eye and went on a tirade about how he would introduce the tunes too, if only he had a microphone.  I was in pleasant disbelief—it was like seeing a formerly fat person rip through the life-size poster of the before photo.  And if hearing the drummer talk wasn’t surprise enough, Joe even sang a song about salty dogs to close the set.

Hailing from the same high school in New Orleans, the members of The Bridge Trio have played together as one unit and together as sidemen with mentors from their hometown.  It’s great that they have the opportunity to be nurtured by mentors in a city with such legacy and tradition in an era where jazz is becoming increasingly institutionalized and mentorship on the bandstand, a rarity.

To your left before you enter the back music room, you will see two unmarked narrow black doors to the unisex restrooms.  The smallest freestanding restrooms I’ve observed thus far, I got a core-strengthening workout twisting my body into unusual positions to take photos in the claustrophobic space.  Watch out for the steps when you go through the double curtains to the back; I tripped both times in the dim lighting.

Though the venue acknowledges that it can’t be all things to all people, it presents an unclear identity in seemingly trying, with a menu offering Austin-inspired fare, the tagline “subterranean music parlour” using British spelling, and the name ZirZamin meaning underground in Farsi.  Samira from Iran tells us how to say, “Excuse me, where is the restroom?” in Farsi –

Bebakhshid dastshoui kojast?

Garage

A restaurant that touts live jazz seven days a week, the Garage was relatively quiet when I arrived past midnight last Tuesday, technically Wednesday.  The place seemed somewhat like a caricature, a cartoon character’s home with its humongous chandelier, a Christmas tree spinning upside-down from the ceiling and oversized wooden carvings of silverware and handyman tools.  Large glowing orange orbs hung from the ceiling amidst the excessive holiday decorations depicting Santa Claus.

In addition to the upside-down tree, there were five smaller Christmas trees that I could see and more potted poinsettias than I could count.  The Garage also seemed to be counting challenged, billing the ensemble of saxophone, guitar, bass and drums as a trio.  Bassist Dave Baron led the quartet with Francesco Ciniglio on drums, Alex Wintz on guitar and Lucas Pino on tenor sax.

My first time finally meeting Lucas after seeing him around quite a bit, he first introduced himself as a photographer and then revealed that he is a pathological liar.  Well, at least he is honest.  Look out for his Thanksgiving album release—it’s sure to give Charlie Brown’s Holiday Hits a run for its money.

When you pull back the curtain under the restrooms sign, you’ll notice a 2 to 1 ratio of women’s to men’s bathrooms, with the women’s rooms on either side of the men’s in the center.  A large hand sanitizer dispenser and a payphone furnish the dimly lit area.  The storage for paper towels, cleaning supplies and such is located in a closet inside the women’s room on the left side.  The women’s toilets are situated lower than usual so be aware if you sit instead of squat that the drop is greater than you’d expect.

Dave volunteered to be the men’s room correspondent and took photos of the men’s room for us.  Watch out KMac, your “friend” is trying to steal your gig.

On this merry day, I’d like to give a shout-out to my friend Tierney for her sweet gift, a book of photos of bathroom signs from various countries with indoor plumbing.  I received another book from my sister: The Birth and Death of the Cool by our favorite historian Ted Gioia, who deemed JAZZ TOILET the worst of hundreds of jazz blogs.  I may take up my sister’s suggestion and do a book review in the new year.

Pianist Nial Djuliarso, who sat in on a few tunes, tells us how to say, “Where’s the restroom?” in Indonesian –

Kamar mandinya dimana ya?

Fat Cat

It seems like people are always going to Fat Cat to hang out.  Right off the Christopher St./Sheridan Sq. station, the place is bustling with people inside and out on the sidewalk.  Upon entering, you’ll flash your ID and pay a small cover in exchange for a wristband and a Fat Cat stamp, which may stain your hand for days after.

There were too many people for my liking and I tried my best to not get jabbed by anyone playing pool, as I strained to carry on conversations with friends in the spacious basement space abuzz with everyone’s chatter.  It wasn’t so bad once we were able to get a ping-pong table in one of the netted areas off to the side.

The band added to the noise and quite frankly, it made little difference who played what.  Though there was a small attentive crowd on the couches surrounding the performance area, the majority was much more interested in playing games like chess, scrabble, shuffleboard and imbibing great amounts of beer.  Likely because of that last interest, the place had large and clearly marked restroom signs in prominent places.

And while it wasn’t my kind of scene, I was glad to be there to celebrate a college buddy’s birthday.  Many move out here from California for graduate school or work and I’ve a number of good friends from both undergrad and high school out here now.  In densely populated Manhattan, I’ve randomly run into familiar faces from home quite a few times, passing by someone and thinking a moment later, “Hey, that’s the girl from rhetoric class freshmen year.”

The women’s restroom maintained the seedy dive feel of the rest of the place.  The toilet in one of the two stalls was leaking slightly and there was a bit of graffiti on the wall, which surprisingly, I haven’t seen in the other clubs.  I tried to get a peek into the men’s room but didn’t have a chance, as guys kept going in and out.  In fact, in hovering near the restrooms, I noticed that the men’s room often had a line, maybe even more than the women’s did.

Other than the nightlife activities, Fat Cat offers other services, from chess to music lessons.  Growing up, my dad, sister and I used to play ping-pong on the piano bench to determine who would have to do the dishes; I could take ping-pong lessons and show them up this Christmas.

Wojtek from Poland tells us how to say, “Where’s the restroom?” in Polish —

Gdzie jest toaleta?

55 Bar

After an earlier round of hot cocoa at Caffe Reggio, I walked over a few blocks to the 55 Bar.  Greeted by the plethora of “2 DRINK MINIMUM PER SET” signs, I dutifully ordered grapefruit juice, which came in a heavy glass beer mug with a straw.  After that, I didn’t feel that I could handle any more beverages and also didn’t want to run out to the ATM to make sure I had enough cash for the tip jar so I asked to purchase a bottle of water.  The bartender replied, “we don’t sell bottled water—keep jazz alive.”

Keep jazz alive.  I hardly think that the two-drink minimum is keeping jazz alive.  If anything, it may be elongating a slow and painful death.  Sure, the minimum is allowing the 55 Bar to stay open on a month-to-month basis but sustaining jazz through an IV drip is not the answer.  A fundamental restructuring of the organization seems necessary to resuscitate the jazz economy, though I’m not sure what that would look like.  I thought about this between sips of ginger ale, which the bartender poured into the beer mug I was using previously.  I must have contributed a few more cents into the “keep jazz alive” jar by forgoing the labor cost required to wash an extra mug.  Someone please give me a bumper sticker.

I don’t mean to get dark on 55 Bar—it’s a good venue, especially if you remember to sit along the bar so that you can get a full view of the band.  There’s a somewhat festive atmosphere with icicle lights strung all around and a Christmas bow and a St. Patrick’s Day clover cutout behind the bar.  The walls are adorned with many posters, album covers and a charming old clock that displays the wrong time.  With a case of Samuel Adams and a box of Swiss Miss in plain view, it can feel like you are in a giant pantry, decorated by Christmas lights.  This may be the closest you get to understanding how the Indian in the Cupboard felt.

While waiting in line for the ladies room, I couldn’t help but peek into the men’s room to see the urinal filled with ice.  I wonder what that’s about.  Both restrooms are sufficient in size for one person to use.  The ladies has two trash bins and several rolls of toilet paper readily available.

When I visited two Wednesdays ago, percussionist Rogério Boccato’s quartet with Nando Michelin (keyboard), Jay Anderson (bass) and Dan Blake (sax) played sets of music from the post Bossa Nova generation.  In between listening to this ensemble led by the ethnically Italian percussionist from Brazil, I talked to my ethnically Japanese friend Yumi from France about her life back home and in the city.  She mentioned that while she never identified as an Asian in France, she thinks about it all the time here.  On the other hand, while French peers requested an explanation as to how she can be both fully French and Asian simultaneously, New Yorkers don’t require an explanation of her Asian-ness, perceiving her simply as a foreigner.

As I recall looking upon the Japanese façade of a McDonald’s in Liberdade, a subset of São Paulo, Brazil, I wonder if national sentiment and sense of identity will shift on a global level as cultures clash and merge giving birth to things like kogi tacos and cream cheese wontons.  Gulli from Iceland, who is taking Rogério’s Brazilian music class in New York tells us how to say, “Where’s the restroom?” in Icelandic –

Hvar er klósettið? (Kvar er klosettith)

Blue Note

Ten toilets spread among five bathrooms—I knew it would be a busy night and took the team along to cover Blue Note on the opening night of guitarist/singer Lionel Loueke’s CD release last Tuesday.  Joined by pianist Robert Glasper, bassist Derrick Hodge and drummer Mark Guiliana, the music possessed a rare quality that was at once both killing and accessible.  It made me grin just to watch because the band looked and sounded like they were having fun.

It was an amusing night in general.  Perhaps I expected a more corporate vibe from the renowned establishment, but instead a room full of laid-back employees dressed in t-shirts enthusiastically greeted me.  Their office restroom was the best, with a pinball machine by the door you can play while you wait.  Another restroom directly above was similar, though with wall tiles of a varying shade and a different toilet model, and not exactly unisex, but designated specifically for the owner and his guests.

The restrooms for patrons are located up the stairs on the second floor, with three toilets, a urinal and a sink in the men’s room and three toilets and two sinks in the women’s.  The green room and office’s eco-friendly toilets have two buttons for flushing depending on how much water you need.

I would like to thank the Blue Note team for the warm welcome, the exclusive backstage toilet tour and the pinball tutorial.  New York is the biggest little city, where it’s easy to feel like an anonymous nobody as you constantly rub shoulders with countless extraordinary people so I’m grateful for the encouragement.  I must say that recognition as “the toilet girl” is much less pressure than my previous role as somewhat of a North Korean expert, though my current role requires just as much research.  Also, you don’t have to worry about hate mail or being blacklisted when you cover a seemingly noncontroversial topic, such as bathrooms.

In actuality, bathrooms can be highly controversial.  What does it mean when there are exactly two types of restrooms, one marked male and another marked female?  What does the lack of diaper changing stations in men’s rooms signify?  What about the scarcity of water and sanitation facilities in many parts of our world?  There’s enough fodder there for an entire series of books that could be titled The Subversive Politics of Toilets.

But what do I know?  I’m just a music student in a conservatory bubble.

And I hope be fully present my final year in the bubble, not wishing away the weekdays waiting for the weekend.  I am amazed to have become a part of the city’s narrative in the midst of living here for school, as I remember thinking about New York eleven years ago today.

Lionel Loueke who emigrated from Benin tells us how to say, “Where’s the restroom?” in Fon –

Fi tê kpa min ô dé?