WELL-ARMED

Thanks to latest Casa Carcharodon guests H & C for this extremely bizarre link.

THE CATSKILLS

The lovely Catster arrived on Wednesday with a suitcase full of hula hoops, wheat crunchies, feminax, my preferred M&S underwear and London (which I will get to...). The prepared story on the feminax (just incase she was searched), was that she needed painkillers (lots of them) for her terrible migraines, which were clearly caused by her extreme addiction to hula hoops. Anyway, in the event, she wasn't searched, and ended up with a totally empty suitcase to fill with jeans, kangaroos and CD's. Which she has very successfully done.

We have had much fun doing all the things I never get round to because I now live here, such as the Statten Island Ferry trip, the Empire State, walking over the Brooklyn Bridge and huge amounts of shopping. We've also seen some great movies and gigs - Brad Mehldau at the Vanguard (with wondrous new addition to his trio - drummer Jeff Ballard) and last night Antje Duvekot (a truly talented singer/songwriter) at the Living Room, which is fast becoming one of my favourite venues.

It's cold now (so I'm told), but I'm LOVING it and have started what I am sure will become a huge Autumn fashion trend in the light (or dark) of current fire goblet popularity. The 'Death Eater' look.



But back to London. On receiving the perfect gift - 'London in a bag', I set to work building it, and I'm sure a psychiatrist would have a field day with me immediately constructing my entire past life.....the Archduke, the RFH, the 68 bus, the 'magic' RV1 bus, OVP's flat and my Waterloo cab home (with Vince driving).
London has been hanging around here for 3 days but the TH is clearly feeling much more at home here than I am as he insisted I clear London away this morning, saying it was messing up the living room.

Blurry shot (you don't say!) of Uma and Eddie preparing a kiss scene (for like 40mins). And is that Luke Wilson? 

Stumbled upon the filming of 'Super Ex-Girlfriend' on 10th St on Friday. Eddie Izzard & Uma Thurman. 

Preparing the kiss scene.... 

Blurry Uma Thurman... 

MORE FUN AT THE HARDWARE STORE

'Hi. Do you sell fire blankets?'
'No ma'am. We don't go camping in this city'
Uh?

UNIVERSAL LAWS

1. If a car alarm goes off it is completely ignored. Probably for hours. Car alarms never go off when someone is actually trying to steal your car and only ever go off at night when people are trying to sleep and the car owner is on a 3 week vacation in the Bahamas.

2. If a fire alarm goes off it is probably also ignored. For hours. Fire alarms also seem not to go off when there is an actual fire, but only when it’s over, like a sort of ‘there has been a fire’ type of alarm, (or of course when you’re making toast. In another room.) Apart from toast-making situations, alarms only go off in empty apartments when the owners are on the vacation above, and of course, at night.

There has been an alarm going off continually in someone’s apartment in our block for about 18 hours now, since an hour after last night’s episode. Strangely it didn’t go off when there was an actual fire in the building, presumably because nobody was making toast at the time, which is a perfectly reasonable assumption it being 8pm or thereabouts, although personally I'm quite partial to a bit of toast at that time of night ...Or maybe some folks made toast as a sort of comfort-eating thing straight after the fire trauma, then very quickly departed for their trip to the Bahamas...
Yes that must be the explanation.... unless of course there is another fire occurring, which everyone is ignoring.

3. No matter which country you’re in or which store your furniture is being delivered from, it will always arrive exactly twenty minutes later than your allocated 4-hour time slot. Unless you pop out to the corner shop for some milk. In which case, it will definitely arrive a femtosecond after you leave, and leave again a nanosecond before you return. Delivery people never fall for that trick when you ‘pretend’ to go to the corner shop but are actually only hiding round the corner.

I think that just about sums up my last 18 hours. Yawn.    

TOWERING INFERNO

So tonight, the TH arrived back from work with the usual 'hello honey I'm home', and I replied with the usual 'hello honey you're home'. Save the sickbags, because this is so not tonight's punch line.

So after a g&t we'd decided to go to the movie 'Prime' and then on to see Ari Hoenig at Smalls, and dutifully left the apartment. Now I have a particularly good sense of smell and have on many occasions summoned RFH firemen for suspicious odours, but on leaving our apartment it was obvious even to the TH (with his lack of olfactory awareness) that there was a FIRE of large proportions in our vicinity - the obvious clue being enormous amounts of smoke pouring through the air vent on our landing.

Right. Shark goes into 19 yrs of RFH fire training mode and starts ringing the bells on all the other apartments. Only Mr & Mrs N are in and Mrs N immediately goes into shrieking screaming panic mode.
The TH immediately goes into spiderman mode and runs into the stairwell to assess the situation, leaving me with smoke, a couple of panicking oap's and a neurotic dog/pig. There was much cross examination on this one later let me tell you, but the TH maintains that he was planning our escape route. Anyway, I immediately switched into fire marshall leadership mode (and I think I even shouted), but somehow I managed to get said three into our apartment (which is much bigger and airier than theirs), stash a load of damp cloths incase we had to escape and needed to breathe (which tai chi has taught me is essential to good health) and load towels against the door cracks. Smoke was nevertheless somehow seeping in, but we were basically okay with loads of open windows.

The TH arrives back coughing and spluttering with streaming eyes and had only managed to get down three floors before turning back. At this point all kinds of cinematic and real life alarm bells started ringing in my head and I got a little scared.

Outside it was all happening. 5 fire engines, 4 police cars, 4 ambulances. And the firemen were running - when do you ever see that? For at least half an hour we were in the apartment with major activity happening outside - road closures, ambulances taking at least 2 people away on stretchers (one of whom is critical it later transpired), and all the time Mrs N was having a total freak out that the dog/pig was suffering from smoke inhalation (poor little thing - am actually getting quite fond of the dog/pig...).

Amazingly, and really coming from London this is amazing - it occurred to me as all this was happening that not one fire alarm was going off (largely because there aren't any in the corridors) and even worse - there are no fire extinguishers anywhere here. Not in the corridors, not in the apartments, not anywhere. You actually never see them in NY. (Mental note for tomorrow's shopping list).
Eventually (as fire engines began to pack up) it seemed that the fire was out so we ventured into the corridor - still very smoky. Nobody had communicated anything to us throughout this entire episode, and if we hadn't an apartment on the street side we wouldn't have had any way of knowing what was happening.

It is a couple of hours later now and there are fire alarms going off all over the place as the residue smoke filters into people's apartments, even this long after the event.
We were 9 floors above the fire and I really wouldn't have wanted to be any closer. We were still choking in the corridor from smoke inhalation.

Believe me, it really makes you think when you're faced with a wall of smoke and no escape route. We have fire alarms, as everyone should, but please go out and buy yourself a fire extinguisher and fire blanket tomorrow, as I intend to do. Who knows, if the man lying in hospital in critical condition tonight had had some way of putting out the fire in the first place then maybe he'd be in a better place now.
We hope he's okay...

towering inferno 

serious fire fighting 

burnt out apartment 

burnt out remains 

CAREERING AHEAD

The most accurate and useful thing anyone has said to me since I’ve been in this country was uttered by one of the TH’s bosses at a fairly debauched stag night affair the other evening. (I can only blame the language barrier for the reason I was at a stag party in the first place, since you ask.)
It was also pretty much the only thing I understood of what anyone said that evening because the music was so loud as to render any attempt at conversation totally pointless, but then clearly that’s not what stag parties are about anyway and the gap between mouthfuls of alarmingly rainbow-coloured drinks was only generally enough for everyone to prove that they had reached the oblivious state of consonants-only chat that such occasions demand. But I digress. This very lovely gentleman said to me, in the short space between James Brown and Herman’s Hermits and with the wisdom only ever stumbled upon by the equation
1am + 54% proof x 10
‘Nobody cares in this country where you’ve come from or what you’ve done, only what you’re GOING to do’.

Up until now I had been operating under the misplaced assumption that at least someone I met, at some point, was going to ask me what my career-background is and what I’d been doing with the last 42 years of my life. In truth, not one person I’ve met since I’ve been in this City has asked me about anything further back than yesterday, and frankly I was beginning to think that this was rather impolite. As a consequence of this, I’ve developed very clever ways of sneaking said information into conversations, although anyone has yet to take me up on these starting posts.
To give you an example.
‘What would you like to drink?’
‘I’d like a Sapphire and tonic please, which became my drink of choice whilst I was working at the RFH between 1986 and 2005 in four different arts administration posts’
Expected reply –‘Wow – really? You worked at the RFH!?’
Actual reply -‘Do you want that with lime?’

I’d almost reached the point of getting my CV tattooed onto my arm, which one would hope would be a conversational starter for ten just by itself, but now I have been enlightened into the American way I realise that all I need to do is to write a
CURRICULUM VITAE IN FUTURO QUA EGO ERO IENS ET QUIS EGO ERO EFFECTUS SECUNDUM HODIE (ME PROGRESSUS VERBATIM ET LITTERATIM) PER ANNUM ANTE-MORTEM DEO ADIUVANTI
which, loosely translated, means a document of the course of my life and where I will be going and what I will be doing in the future from this day forth (including my progress word for word and letter for letter), each year up until the day I die. With God’s help. Clearly.
(Actually it doesn’t say clearly, I added that for greater emphasis.)
And once I have a document laying out exactly what I’m GOING to do, everyone will want to talk about it (and me) all the time and I will be offered a myriad of exciting well-paid jobs the moment I receive my work permit.

All of which is very heartening. Especially as I see that the London Jazz Festival is happening without me this year. I saw the ads and everything, but really didn’t imagine for one minute they would actually go ahead……

DEAR CODENAME LIZZY

A few days ago codenamelizzy posted some NY questions for me, so it's only right and proper that I should reply.....

1. Is the new series of Desperate Housewives good?
Yes, but clearly I can’t tell you anything about it or I’d have to go back to work, get dumped by my boyfriend on account of his missing son whilst narrowly avoiding being shot and sleep with my lawyer.
2. Is the position of the moon different there?
Here’s the moon. You tell me.

3. What about the constellations? Can you see Ursa Major, or the Big Dipper as it’s known locally.
New York is a City and there are no stars in the sky. However, there is one in the apartment below. And there was a 'Big' one in the bar I was in last night. I have no idea if or how he dips…

4. Have you used the term ‘bangs’ yet?
No but I was nevertheless ‘banged’ (so to speak) by a hairdresser last week who gave me the worst haircut I’ve had in my life.
5. Does TH make an effort to watch Tottenham on the telly?
No because he is an Arsenal supporter.
6. What is the tea like?
Very expensive.
7. And the cheese?
Processed and only really valid on burgers.
8. And the milk?
No fat, 1% fat, 2% fat, 3% fat, 4% fat…..
9. Can you drink water straight from the tap?
Yes. But not next Wednesday. You learn to love the colour brown.
10. Is Friends on constant rotation?
Yes, but not in this apartment.
11. Do you log onto The Guardian on-line?
I do little else.
12. How do you cope with the gin measures in Bars?
pleeeeezzzze!
How did I ever cope with the gin measures in UK bars without the aid of a magnifying glass?
13. Is there media interest in Kate Moss and Charles & Camilla's trip?
Who they? (Ed)

SHARK'S WORLD

So here's a map thingy courtesy of those switched on bloggers solobasssteve and the marquis who always do these damned thingies first. Respect.
Hopefully this European shark will be swimming in uncharted Japanese and Australian waters next year.....



How well travelled are you?
(Make me feel unworldly little sista......)

A GREAT DAY IN HARLEM

Yesterday I saw two of the weirdest and most extraordinary gigs I’ve seen in my life.

Kenny Young & the Eggplants had been asked to play on the ‘comedy stage’ at the New York Marathon, so the TH and I headed up to 132nd Street in Harlem at 11am to see them.

There was no ‘stage’ as such, (rather a sidewalk with a bit of tape on the ground,) although clearly quite a lot of comedy. For starters, the organizers had thought to provide a PA, but no microphone stands………so a NY marathon volunteer was ‘volunteered’ to become a ‘human microphone stand’ for Kenny for the entire hour long gig.



And then there was the vexed problem of an audience. We are talking deepest Harlem here. The marathon had kicked off, but at this time of day we were at the stray wheelchair phase of it and this was not a spot where anyone in particular was going to come to watch it anyway. A few very bemused locals wandered past looking like they’d seen a lot stranger things going on in their block but were not going to hang around to check this particular one out, possibly on account of the low flying helicopters and heavy police presence.



Not counting the TH and I and a couple of other Eggplant mates, there was in fact an audience of one. And she was loving it. She was particularly loving the song ‘Sweet Home Alabama’, which is not part of the Eggplants set, but which she nevertheless kept requesting approximately every couple of minutes. At the top of her voice.
‘The audience’ was so persistent that at one point Kenny actually performed a couple of bars of said requested tune, which actually only made the heckling situation worse.



Things got a little hairy when Gil launched into his usual ‘break the place up’ mode during ‘Savage Eggplant’. The locals were not at all sure about this. Firstly if anyone was going to smash up their neighbourhood they clearly thought it should be them and secondly they couldn’t understand why he wasn’t getting arrested. Actually none of us could…..



He then scared ‘the audience’ away...



I think these folks constitute what is referred to in marketing terms as ‘potential attenders’. They didn't want to get any closer to the 'stage' though...



Still, all was not lost. The band played really well despite everything and by the end had managed to acquire quite a following……of three.



So we hung out with the Eggplants, had brunch and cheered on the marathon, then headed up to Apartment 3F, 555 Edgecombe Avenue in Sugar Hill (North Harlem). This is the home of Marjorie Eliot, musician and actress, who, for eleven years, has hosted a (free) jazz gig in her front room every Sunday (without fail) at 4pm.
Through the impressive marble lobby, imagining the legendary previous tenants Count Basie, Duke Ellington, Paul Robeson, Johnny Hodges and Andy Kirk (who used to teach Sonny Rollins here) and up to Marjorie’s apartment. We tapped on the door and slipped in.

The place was buzzing. A regular apartment, but with fold-out chairs filling the living room, the hallway and half of the kitchen, lots of chat and maybe 50 people –all ages and nationalities, many of whom clearly knew each other and were ‘regulars’. We somehow didn’t feel out of place though – the atmosphere was warm and welcoming, strangers said hello and we were ushered to the best remaining two seats – restricted view in the hallway.

A few minutes later everyone had sorted themselves out with seating and the gig began. Marjorie played (piano) first, a slow and deliberate ‘Amazing Grace’, almost a prayer. The bass, guitar, and finally a vocalist join in. Rapturous applause. Then Marjorie stood up to deliver the first of what became three small speeches during the afternoon. I want to describe them as sermons, because although not religious and in no way ‘preaching’, there was a sense of worship in the room, heightened emotions, and clearly a group of deeply loyal followers. Marjorie briefly described how she had started these performances, in memory of her musician son, who died aged only 28 in 1992, then went on to thank the audience for making these events so special and meaningful. ‘Everyone who walks through this door becomes part of my family, no matter what colour your skin’. And it really did feel like that.

She went on to apologise for some incident which had occurred prior to our arrival, which had clearly upset the regulars, two of whom were wiping away tears at the mention of it. We never did find out, but I'm guessing someone had caused a disturbance and had to be ‘removed’ from the apartment. ‘In all my years of doing this, nothing has ever happened like this before and I never predicted it’.

And then the music. The gig runs like clockwork – there is obviously a set list, although I can’t see it written anywhere, and Marjorie and another pianist take turns to play and a saxophonist sits in for some numbers. It is by no means a random jam session – the tunes (all standards such as ‘Autumn Leaves’, ‘Body and Soul’ and ‘How High the Moon’), and the line-ups, are all meticulously planned.



An interval and Marjorie hands everyone fruit bars and fruit juice in paper cups. Then she speaks again to introduce the musicians and the second set, and also to mention that earlier this week the BBC had interviewed Elvis Costello in her apartment about the tragedy of Katrina in New Orleans. She spoke with great affection for Elvis, who she had not known previously - explaining that she had been incredibly impressed by his knowledge and understanding of racism, prejudice and politics. ‘You do know who Elvis Costello is, don’t you?’ she asked. ‘Yes, Diana Krall’s husband!’ replies someone in the audience……

The gig runs till 6.30pm and at the end Marjorie says goodbye personally to everyone at the door. She hugs me and thanks us for coming. She is an extraordinary person, wirily small and thin, yet hugely charismatic, dramatic, strong. I feel quite emotional as we leave. This was by no means ‘great’ jazz we had just heard, but the spirit in which the music was played and the event itself was something quite profound. Reminded of Commuter Jazz days at the RFH and how I had always considered that my 'family’, and touched by the enormous power of music to bring people together and communicate a shared spirit of love.

Walking to the subway.
Me: ‘We have a really huge living room…..’
TH ‘Don’t even THINK about it!’

Casa Carcharodon accommodation thankyou from the divine Marquis....I think we passed  

room for improvement though - we clearly need to purchase a piano...... 

TWO FOR THE ROAD

Fantastic gig last night – Kate McGarry at the 55 Bar. Discovered the 55 Bar years ago – a small club with a very friendly listening vibe, and these days almost always full. Love that they don’t charge huge amounts of money for entrance and instead only have a 2-drink minimum. So heard 3 hours of excellent music for the price of 2 not very expensive drinks plus some notes for the musicians ‘tip jar’. It’s also the kind of place where you can’t help but get talking to the folks sitting around you, so by the second set I had a small pile of business cards on the table and a couple of new mates who I’ll probably be seeing again at a gig at the Jazz Standard in a couple of weeks.

There were also a handful of very quirky characters there, not least two middle aged women who became obsessed with my hair in the middle of the gig and were leaning across the gangway (the only access for the bartender and audience) to stroke it for a large proportion of the set, causing a small pile-up situation as people tried to clamber around them. Not quite sure what the protocol is for ‘strangers randomly stroking hair’ in this country so for fear of causing a disturbance I just let them get on with it. It wasn’t unpleasant. But there was definitely something odd about these people.

Kate was on fantastic form. I really love the quality of her voice, with an almost folk-singer purity but a definite jazz delivery and a slight ‘catch’ in her phrasing which is totally unique and so beautiful it almost made me cry a couple of times. Her pitching is also always totally spot on, which (unfortunately) seems to be quite a rare quality in the majority of jazz vocalists these days. Her material spans a wide range of styles from Paul Simon songs, through to Djavan covers, standards and her own material, and in all of them she always tells a story.

I am totally fascinated by musicians who live and work 24/7 with their life partners. Kate’s husband is her guitarist, and the special spontaneous and perceptive communication they have onstage is truly amazing to watch and somehow brings the music onto a totally different level. I’ve often witnessed the same thing between Stacey Kent and her husband Jim Tomlinson onstage, and in both cases sometimes felt a bit sorry for the other musicians in the band who can’t possibly understand or be fully part of that intense musical and personal interaction. And in fact the most inspiring music at last night’s gig was when Kate and her husband played unaccompanied.

But how do any two human beings spend all their time together and invest so much of themselves and their creativity in each other in such a supportive and non-competitive way?
It’s an awesome mystery to me and I am full of admiration.  In my recently married state I still find it almost impossible to share a takeaway or a towel, never mind a career and 24 hours of my day………

NO AMERICAN DREAM IS TOO EXTREME

As I’ve already mentioned ad infinitum, pretty much everything is extreme in New York - extremely small dogs, extremely large meals, ever-changing extremes of weather. But yesterday I stumbled upon the TV programme with which I will rest my case.
‘Extreme Makeover: Home Edition’.
This reality show makes the UK’s ‘Changing Rooms ‘and ‘ DIYSOS ‘ look like your Great Grandmother trying to change a light bulb. Extremely large TVs don’t waste time coming into your life here merely to makeover your room or your wardrobe, your hair or your face. Oh no.

So to cut a long programme short, we are basically given a single mother (who’s had a pretty tough life, which frankly you would) with 8 children, and a house that needs more than a little renovation. So no Laurence Llewelyn-Bowen flouncing around with scissors and doilies is going to get the job done here. Enter the serious contractors, who decide that the best plan is to pull the entire house down and rebuild it from scratch. And that’s exactly what they do - demolish the house.

The new house is about five times as big and has games rooms, (f)utility rooms (with 5 years’ worth of free washing detergent – advertised in the break shortly after), a stuntman room (?), a catwalk, conservatories, ballrooms, beaches….ok I’m exaggerating a little, but it’s more than a fine place to call home. Said family return and there is (obviously) much crying, shrieking and screaming at 40,000Hz.

But that’s not enough, clearly, because we are in the USA. So the family is brought outside and there stands a 2006 Ford Explorer SUV. (Cue more screaming and crying.) ‘That’s surely it?’ I hear you whimper. But oh no. Not enough. The contractor then hands over a hefty cheque to cover the mortgage! I do hate using exclamation marks, but really they were falling out of my mouth as I was watching this total homage to materialism. All cried out now, the mother says how happy she is to finally see her children happy and then thanks God for bringing all of this to her. God? Did I miss something here? I could have sworn I saw a bunch of contractors, advertisers and corporations…….sorry, my mistake.
He most certainly does move in mysterious ways and in variously patterned overalls.

What worries me the most though is that there is also an ‘Extreme Makeover’ show, which gives people makeovers.
Cellulite on your thigh? No matter, let’s just rip off the leg and give you a new one…..
The mind boggles.

(This was brought to you by the Shark with a little help from Sony, Microsoft, AOL, Time Warner Cable and Google).

Live music: Heernt – 169 Bar NY