Radegast Does The Right Thing

Radegast Hall in Williamsburg, Brooklyn is not a music venue, per se.  It's a beer garden and restaurant that also happens to feature live music two or three times a week.  There is no cover charge for the music, and the place is most certainly not a concert setting; the house does not own a sound system and -- despite the cavernous environs -- there isn't really much room to actually sit and watch a band there, unless you're lucky enough to snag one of the dozen or so stools at the bar (there is, however, some room for dancing, which is not only allowed, but encouraged).   The music is not the featured attraction for patrons; it's there to provide atmosphere while you sit and drink artisinal beer and eat delicious food (more on that in a moment).

Given the above, it may come as a surprise that not only do I perform here once a month, but it has actually become one of my favorite gigs in town.

I've been playing here with some aggregation of my Biting Fish band, under the radar, for the last year or so -- usually on a Wednesday or a Thursday night. We do three sets, with short breaks, from 9pm until midnight.  Recently, these practically anonymous neighborhood hits in this unassuming neighborhood spot have been a forum for some of the most exciting, adventurous music I've been privileged to be a part of in a good long time.  In fact, a few weeks ago, on a night when the band included Skye Steele on violin, Scott Barkan on guitar, Kenny Bentley on tuba and Dave Berger on drums, the music reached such heights of expression and bravery that, at times,  I was nearly moved to tears.  It happened again just the other nightwith the same band, minus Skye and plus Andrae Murchison on trombone. 

I've been ruminating a bit about why this is, and I think I can safely identify at least one key reason.  I think, like most things, it starts at the top.  I've known Ivan Kohut, the kindly owner, for over a decade now, since the days when he worked the Arts Nights at Europa Club in Greenpoint, presented by the sadly now-defunct New York Arts and Innovations, a terrific organization headed by Marian Zak and his family.  Ivan still likes to remind me of the time that Mr. Zak honored my quartet by having us play a party for the then-President of Poland. 

Ivan is a man of great integrity and good business sense.  He treats the musicians who play at Radegast with respect, it contributes to the quality of the music. Ivan could probably get some schlubs to come in and play for tips if he wanted to.  He could opt not to feed the musicians and/or make them pay for their drinks.  After all, he's running an eating and drinking establishment, not a music venue.

Ivan could also dumb down his food menu.  Have you ever eaten at Radegast?  "A beer hall??", you may aslk.  Let me tell you something -- the food at Radegast is outrageously good, way better than it needs to be.  The menu changes regularly, the chefs in the kitchen use fresh, delicious ingredients creatively (right now they have a winter squash gnocchi that matches anything I've eaten at much spendier, foodie-obsessive joints in the city, and a vegetarian hot borscht that is equally out of this world).

So, yes, could Ivan be forgiven if he chose to lavish less care and attention on the food being offered to people who -- let's face it -- are going to his place to drink beer?  Sure he could.  Could he be forgiven for not paying much mind to the quality of entertainment he's providing for free to the same beer-drinking crew who -- let's face it -- aren't even really there to hear music in the first place? Of course he could.  But he doesn't, and that's what makes him special as a venue owner, and what makes Radegast the delightful, exceptional surprise that it is.

There are beloved music venues in NYC that do not treat their musicians half as well as Ivan treats the people who perform at Radegast.  Those venues shall remain nameless, but Radegast deserves to be named.  If you're local, I urge you to come out and support what's going on here. As of now, I'm there once a month, but I'm starting to wish it were even more often than that. My next Radegast "show" is on Thursday, February 16. Come on over -- you'l be glad you did!

 Photos by Rod Bachar

FOOD THOUGHTS: Vaandag (NYC)

As anyone who knows me well will tell you, I get excited by food.

I spend at least as much time thinking about it -- ethically, nutritionally, aesthetically, culturally -- as I do eating it.  So, why not write about it?  I've been writing here about other non-musical passions for years now (film, theater, books, comics), so indulge me if you may -- I'm going to try writing about food.  I have absolutely no qualifications for same, other than the fact that I love it, I eat out at least once a day in one of the greatest food cities in the world, and I travel a lot for work (which offers even more opportunities for amazing and unusual food experiences than I have here in NYC).  So, let's start with...

 I've wandered past VANDAAG any number of times since it opened last summer, admired what I could see through the large plate glass windows, thought about the day's menu, with its uncomfortable (for me) mix of creativity and delicious-sounding combinations of fresh, local ingredients combined with a puzzling preponderance of dead animals in almost every dish.  I've always passed by.  Sam Sifton's review in The Times last fall did nothing to change my mind. (Truth be told, although he constantly evoked my ire with his constant near-fetishization of said dead animal flesh, I tried never to miss one of Mr. Sifton's columns and miss his food writing dearly).

Last month, I walked by once again, but something was different. It was daytime, just about noon on a Saturday. The sun was flowing into the restaurant's welcoming interior, and the menu featured brunch, with a number of appetizing, unusual, and vegetarian-friendly items.  Even though I was en route to Momofuku Noodle Bar, my at the time go-to food destination in the East Village (that's since changed, more on that another time), something made me deicde to give Vandaag a shot.

I was immediately glad I did.  While I don't have much of a vocabulary when it comes to interior design (see Sifton's review, linked above, for a good description), suffice it to say that the place certainly has an elegant, Scandanavian feeling to it -- clean, austere, simple, airy, a lot of light and wood.  It reminded me of many of the restaurants I ate in when I was lucky enough to visited Stockholm a few years back.  There's nothing fussy here, nothing cute, nothing smacking of anything remotely like the "speakeasy" vibe that's currently played-out everywhere (it seems) in Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Neatly laid out on the bar were the sections of the day's New York Times (including the Sunday supplements).  What a fabulous, underrated service that is to customers who, like me, enjoy the ritual of dining alone on a regular basis as a kind of public solitude.  I eagerly borrowed a couple of sections for my table, and sat down with the menu.

I ordered and ate two things, both astoundingly well-prepared and delicious.  The smoked mackerel scramble was, essentially, what it sounds like, with a few beautiful touches -- accompanying the fluffy scrambled eggs (at least three, I would guess) and the tasty bits of smoked fish were a couple of dollops of yogurt, onions, green peppercorns and fresh dill. This was all served in its own skillet, with a giant piece of the house's hot, toasted, buttered, "Red Ale Bread" -- perhaps the best piece of toast I've ever had, outside of the garlic toast at Tequila Bar in Uzhgorod, Ukraine.

I also ordered the Hete Bliksem, or "Hot Lightning," just because it looked so extraordinary on the menu.  While I am a 99% of the time pescatarian -- and even then, only if the fish is wild, and only once in a while, so let's call it a 75% of the time vegetarian -- I will make exceptions every once in a while if the dead animal being served is an essential part of a dish that I want to try, and if said dead animal is local and free range.  VANDAAG's "Hot Lightning" is described as crisp fingerling potatoes with bacon, apple and stroop syrup.  A dash of hot pepper makes it hot, and the syrup makes it sweet.  It sounded like something fantastic that I had to try on this Saturday early afternoon to accompany my smoked mackerel, and I wanted to honor the chef by ordering it as envisioned which, in this case, meant eating a little bit of bacon. I went for it, and I have to say that the dish is indeed extraordinary and worth getting, but next time I will not feel the slightest compunction about asking them to hold the bacon; while the intensity of the hot pepper and sweet syrup complement the crisp potatoes in an exotic, unexpected way, they completely overwhelm the flavor of the pork, rendering it into little tasteless bits of chewy flesh added for -- what, exactly?  Texture? I don't think so.  More likely to appease the foodie masses who happen to be in love with all things pork at this moment (see: bacon vodka, bacon chocolate, bacon ice cream, ad nauseum indeed).

* * *

I've been back to VANDAAG several times since, and have continued to sample the menu (it changes daily), including the excellent seasonal pickle pot; the outlandishly good roasted chestnut soup (my friend and musical cohort Russell Farhang correctly compared the taste of it to fallen leaves on a chilly, sunny autumn afternoon); the decadent French Toast with pine, cranberry and stroop syrup; and the roasted sunchoke omelet (the only near-miss for me, but that may be simply because I'm neither an omelet guy or an artichoke guy; so why did I order it? I don't know).  I couldn't help but feel that the Stroop Wafel, a small, thin caramel-filled treat, would be even better served warm.

The service is always excellent, and the experience being there in the daytime is just delightful.  I do wish that they'd opt for better music, but I'm aware that this is a disease most eating establishments have -- they simply don't know how to leave a patron's ears alone.  If I'm with someone, I want to talk quietly between bites.  If I'm alone, I want to read.  Either way, I do not need nor want any thumping music, thank you.

I have yet to dine at VANDAAG in the evening, but it's absolutely become one of my favorite daytime places to eat in the East Village. If you're in the neighborhood, stop in. I might just see you there!

EVERYBODY WAS FRIENDLY: Notes From The Road, Sept. 2011

Poster from the Ann Arbor show

Just back from debuts in Michigan and Ohio.

It's true what they say about people in the Midwest -- they're kinder and more friendly than East Coasters.  By and large, everyone we encountered on this trip seemed genuinely happy to talk with us, help out with questions, or was just generally as pleasant as can be.  More than once, I heard members of the band practically exclaim with astonishment: "People are so NICE here!"

I arrived in Ann Arbor a couple of days before the band so I could spend some time with Connie Converse's brother and sister-in-law, Phil and Jean Converse. They graciously offered up their time to me and to documentarian (and fellow Brooklynite)  Andrea Kannes, who synched up her trip with mine to minimize demands on the Converses' time. Phil and Jean spent the better part of a couple of days answering questions, reminiscing, and allowing us unlimited access to CC's papers.  I'm fascinated by the latter's music and life, and have been performing some of her songs at recent shows.

Connie Converse

* * *

The band arrived on Friday, and what a band it was!  People often ask at shows -- "how long has the band been together?"  Anyone who's seen more than a couple of my concerts knows that this is a hard question to answer, since I have --essentially -- a collective of a couple dozen stellar musicians who all know my music and perform with me regularly. Who I have with me at any given gig generally depends on scheduling and availability. This particular version of the group included Mazz Swift, Etienne Charles and Nathan Peck.

Photo By Bianca Garza

Our first show, at the Kerrytown Concert House, was terrific and packed with an enthusiastic, smart audience that made us feel completely welcome in our first Ann Arbor outing.  We can't wait to go back there! 

Of course, it didn't hurt that the venue was just a block away from Zingerman's Deli. Oh man. If you're ever in Ann Arbor, this is a don't-miss. And if you're craving some delciious Korean, stop by Seoul Street, a little hole in the wall in the back of a strip mall that serves up the authentic goods and sources their ingredients locally. Alas, everything is served in not-very-green throwaway plastic takeout dishes, but the staff is friendly and accomomodating, and finding this place open late-night one evening was a godsend.

* * *

One funny aside about the Ann Arbor show -- at the intermission, while people were (literally) mobbing the CD table (who knew that people still buy CDs? They do in the Midwest!), a young woman introduced herself and said she'd enjoyed hearing my songs about Romania, her home. "Oh," I asked, "and what part of Romania are you from?"  "Maramures," she replied. "Wow", I said, since this was the area I was traveling in when I was there. "Where in Maramures?"  "Baia Mare," she said.

Well, that was a first. I've been playing these Romania-inspired songs for a couple of years now, but have never before met someone from Baia Mare (the subject of a song by the same name that I wrote and recorded for the CD "No Further Instructions").  I had to apologize to her in advance -- it's not a pretty song.

The Black Swamp Arts in Bowling Green was the following afternoon and, again, we were received with such warmth and enthusiasm it left us wondering why we don't visit the Midwest more often.  Impresario/presenter Kelly Wicks knows what he's doing...all of the food in the artist hospitality tent was grown and harvested on local, sustainable farms. And the coffee was roasted at Kelly's own local coffee shop, Grounds for Thought.  I think the best part of the Bowling Green festival for me was the fact that there were so many little kids there, enjoying the music with their families.  I love playing for kids, and only wish we got a chance to do it more often.

We drove home after our set on Saturday, a straight ten-hour shot back to NYC, arriving home around dawn.

Next up, the Algonquin!

Talk Radio

I sat down (virtually) for a feature-length interview with WCBN FM Radio host Liz Wason this week, in advance of my show in Ann Arbor on Friday.

Liz was prepared to talk in-depth about my music and projects, and knew quite a bit about my obsessions and quirks to boot.  What ensued was a chat with greater depth and far-ranging topics than usual for these kinds of things.

We spoke for almost an hour and a half by phone and to my surprise, delight, and only mild embarrassment, she didn't edit it down to a neat little featurette, but posted the whole darn thing.

You can stream it right here. Have a listen and see what you think.

Thanks so much Liz!

"I'm Just a Kid From Brooklyn"

SPOILER ALERT:

DO NOT READ IF YOU PLAN ON SEEING THE "CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER"

Okay, let me get the fanboy immediate reactions out of the way first:

The Cosmic Cube!  Bucky Barnes! The Red Skull! Zola! The Howling Commandos! Doctor Erskine! The original shield and helmet! Cap on a motorcycle, packing a gun! References to the 1940s serial! Whoa!!

Ahem.

I've only been waiting for this movie for most of my life, ever since my Dad bought me my first-ever comic book, the treasury edition-sized "Captain America's Bicentennial Battles."  Although I would go on to become a more generalized comic book geek (though heavily Marvel-skewed), Captain America was always my favorite, my hero, the one I most wanted to be. 

Like the kid shown at the end of the new movie I, too, ran around clasping a metal garbage can-top as my shield, pretrending to be the shield-slinger himself.  I enlisted childhood friends to assume the role of the ill-fated Bucky Barnes (obsessed as I was, even then, with back-stories and tragedy) as we prowled the neighborhood, looking for supervillains.  In wintertime, I traded in the garbage pail top for one of those disc-shaped sleds known as flying saucers, and pratciced hurling it around at trees and posts, stand-ins for the Nazis and evildoers in my imagination.  I made my friends call me "Cap."

Why? What was it about Captain America that thrilled me?  Phil Satlof, bass player for the late Tuscadero and one of my oldest friends (we met in kindergarden) asked me that question a few weeks ago in the midst of the pre-release hype for the new movie.  "Why Captain America?", he wondered. "What was it about that jingoistic crap that you were so into?"

It was a good question, and I ruminated on it a bit while watching the film.  It's not that I am Mr. Patriot.  I have a lot of problems with the state of our country today, and the way we do things here.  If you've heard "The Farmer's Song" from "No Further Instructions," you know where I'm coming from.

Captain America was my hero for a number of reasons.  It wasn't just his beginnings as a scrawny kid who was always getting picked on (a ubiquitous ingredient in origin stories throughout comics, see: Peter Parker, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Donald Blake, Matt Murdock, ad infinitum).  I liked that he really didn't have super powers, relying instead on his intelligence, dexterity and physical training. He was kind of like the Marvel version of Batman in this way, without the psychosis or the weird gimmicks.

I liked that he was one of the few Marvel carry-overs from The Golden Age, and that he was once again (at the time) being written and drawn by one of his creators, nearly forty years after his first appearance. Bob Kane had long since left Batman, Siegel and Schuster were decades removed from Superman, but the great Jack "King" Kirby was once again at the helm of Captain America, and that lent the comic real authenticity to me.

I liked that he had some pathos to his story, carrying with him the survivor's guilt of having outlived his sidekick Bucky and also the confusion and mild shizophrenia that came from being asleep for twenty years -- a man out of time.

Most of all, though, I think I liked that Captain America had real dignity -- a sort of unassailable, old world, old fashioned fairness about him, perhaps owing to his membership in an earlier generation.  He had the respect of his peers. He was a natural leader.  He wasn't a loudmouth or a show-off, never sought praise or glory, just did his job, did it well, and left the spotlight to others. If he were a baseball player, he'd be Lou Gehrig.

In the new movie, his alter ego Steve Rogers is asked why he's so willing to undertake the great risks involved in the Captain America experiment.  "I hate bullies," he says. 'Nuff said...that's Captain America, in a nutshell.  He battled unfairness, without the aid of supernatural powers (i.e. Superman, Spider Man) or campy gadgetry (Batman, Iron Man).  If one were smart enough, skilled enough, honest enough, and dedicated enough, it always seemed possible that one could grow up to be Captain America. And when, in the new movie, he says "I'm just a kid from Brooklyn," the words resonated with that part of me that still believes that to be true.

* * *

Are there flaws in the film? Sure.  Chris Evans doesn't radiate the gravitas needed for the part (here's hoping he grows into it as the franchise continues).  The Red Skull bears an uncomfortable resemblance to Jim Carey's The Mask, and is -- alas --  not much more frightening.  In terms of the story arc of the film, it feels too heavily-weighted on the origin tale; Captain America has barely even gotten into action, it seems, before he's caught in the accident that will put him on ice and effectively end his Golden Age career (and, so, the film).  And if you're going to go so far as to give us Bucky (again, Bucky -- hooray!), couldn't you have at least put him in costume for a scene or two?

Still, these are minor quibbles. Captain America is hugely rewarding for longtime fans like me.  It just gets so many things right, from the muted color palatte to the steampunk costume elements, to the fealty to so much of the original comic book continuity (even improving on the latter in at least one instance -- the revisionist costume origin is an inspired stroke of genius).  I mean, c'mon -- the last wide-release attempt at a live action Captain America movie was the 1979 made for TV movie with the transparent shield and the CHIPs-style motorcycle helmet, an attempt so ill-conceived I think I cried when it aired. Next to that, the new movie is Citizen freaking Kane.

* * *

So there, I've officially outed myself as a comic book freak (and you don't know the half of it). Maybe I'll write and record a superhero song cycle one of these days. And, hey Marvel -- if Bono and the Edge are busy and you need a composer for the Captain America musical -- I'm your guy.

The Redemptive Power of Ben Senterfit

Somewhere in the world right at this moment, someone is making great art in front of a select, intimate group of people...someone who deserves more fame, more money, more recognition, but who volunteers his/her time and talent in the face of the immediate unavailability of any one (or all) of these things to be our surrogate on some collective, heroic journey.

On Sunday night, I sat in a small, dark, hot room (The Stone) watching and listening as Ben Senterfit led his fearless quintet through a soulful set of music that was by turns meditative, chaotic, gritty, muscular and prayer-like.  Like all great art, it had a destabilizing effect on my consciousness, calling into question basic assumptions I have about the way I live my life, the choices I make, the beliefs I have, the aesthetics I'm attached to. 

Just as painters push paint around a canvas and dancers move their forms across a stage, great musicians  move feeling; watching this band, tonight, was like watching trees get struck by lightning.  Each member of the group opened himself up as a conduit to the forces of the moment, and transmitted them via sound and emotion through their instruments and back to us.  It was thrilling.

In upending my own assumptions about things, the music also had the power to fill in those newly-vacated spaces with new inspiration, new ideas, new possibilities.  Real art does this.  It makes us look inward, clears out the cobwebs, and gives us back the greatest gift of all: our true selves, revealed, the selves that we can easily let get covered up by unnecessary layers of thought-garbage. Real art cleans us out.

* * *

The band was one unit, an organic machine, working together toward a common goal of truth and (sometimes ugly) beauty.  In addition to double-threat Ben Senterfit's sax and guitar (both played with grace and conviction), there was Jacob Sanders' baritone sax, Kailin Young's violin, and the relentlessly grooving rhythm section of Jarad Astin (organ) and Matt Crane (drums). 

* * *

All of this, for $10. Ten bucks. The price of one drink in any number of NYC establishments.  And how many people were there, besides me?  About a dozen.

How many people in New York City went to see the Yankees and Mets play that day at their respective stadiums? I looked it up: 88,652. 

Twelve people went to hear Ben Senterfit tonight at The Stone. Twelve.  I'm not saying that baseball can't be a fulfilling activity, or that live music somehow has more intrinsic merit.  I love baseball. I follow it closely.  It brings me great pleasure and diversion.

What I am saying is: something is askew here, and maybe it says something about the state of the American psyche.  Imagine a world in which eighty-eight thousand people in NYC went out every night to hear live music.  Or half of that? Or a quarter of that?  What about a world where ten percent of the people who go to sit in the stands to watch millionaires compete against one another on a ballfield instead went to a live performance?  And imagine if half of those people, say 4,000 or so, or half of a half of those people, say 2,000, or even half of a half of a half of those people, say 1,000, felt as inspired as I did after hearing Ben Senterfit at The Stone?  What if 1,000 people every single night felt their assumptions and beliefs shaken, were forced to consider new perspectives, felt humbled by the beauty that art can bring, felt more in touch with themselves and the rest of humanity than they did before they walked in the door?

Of course, that's assuming a lot. It requires every show to be as good as the one I saw. It requires every band to be as talented and fearless.  It requires those 1,000 people to even know where and when the good shows are happening.  Is every live show great? No. Is every baseball game great? No.  Seems to me the odds do not favor either. I'd like to think you're as likely to see a great performance just as often as you're likely to see a great ballgame. Which is to say, once in a while.  Sometimes.  They don't happen every night, but they're what you hope for, and they're why you come back.  When they happen, it makes sitting through the mediocre ones -- and even the bad ones -- well worth it.

I was a fan of live performance long before I became performer myself, and it is the audience member and fan in me that urges you to do yourself a favor and make it a practice to go and put yourself in a space with people who are making art right in front of you.  It doesn't matter whether it's a jazz band, a dance group, an orchestra, a theater company, or what have you .  Go be there and support people like Ben Senterfit, and places like The Stone.

And bring a friend.  Bring ten friends.  Make it an outing the same way you would if you were going to a ballgame.  Have a meal together beforehand, or after.  You may go in thinking you're doing something for the artists by simply being there (and you are), but you may leave knowing that you did something even greater for yourself.

Check out Ben's Community Music Space up in the Hudson Valley...our man is doing the right thing.

Suze Rotolo

"The main thing is you are your own self”

Suze Rotolo started showing up at my gigs about a decade ago, always with her husband Enzo, always waving and smiling on her way out the door.   

Once, at the now-defunct Bottom Line, the club’s legendary impresario Allan Pepper pulled me aside in that inimitable way of his, and said "You know who that is, don't you?"  I did not.  "She’'s a very important figure in the Village scene, she's heard all the greats," he said, sotto voce. "It’s a very BIG deal that she's a fan of yours."  

It wasn't until I watched Scorsese's No Direction Home that I made the connection.  There she was --  the woman who'd been showing up to my gigs all these years:  Suze Rotolo, the girl on the cover of Bob Dylan's Freewheelin' album.

In 2008,  I received an invite from Suze’'s publisher to perform at the launch party for her book A Freewheelin' Time. I felt honored, and I wrote to ask her what role she wanted my music to play, and whether -- given the context -- she wanted me to play Dylan songs at the event.  

She replied: "I always felt, from the first time I saw you hanging out with a bass player in Washington Square Park a number of years back, that you had your own voice, yet there was an alluring connection to all that other stuff that American music is made of. I bought your album and talked it up to friends, who agreed with my take: original yet recognizable and with a great band.  I know you covered the “Bootleg Series [sic],” I haven't heard it and I'd like to, but the reason I thought you would be a good choice is because I like your work, your arrangements, and musicians. I have three albums of yours and think they are really fine. In other words, Dylan covers is not the point– was not why I thought of you– but I was concerned you might think so. What you have to do with me, is simple, I like music that is good and true (it isn't easy to find in the glut), no matter the genre. You are your own self and that is the bottom line, whether you are singing your own songs or interpreting 'Oh Death.'  This is longer than intended, but email does wonders overcoming shyness. I’d be happy to hear what you have to say or if you want input in choosing songs. Otherwise I'm fine with Howard Fishman as is.”

Thus began an all-too-brief friendship that lasted until Suze's untimely death in February.  I played the party, some time after we went together to hear Allen Toussaint at Joe’'s Pub. As I'd hoped he might, Tousaint played his cover of Dylan’s 'Mama You Been on My Mind.'  "Everybody says 'Don't Think Twice' is such a great song, but I like this one better," she told me with a smile.   Sometime soon after, I went to her gallery show to see her work, and we continued to talk over email until not too long ago.

My last correspondence with Suze was about the trilogy of records I put out a few months ago. As usual, she had such perceptive, and such unique things to say about my music, things that I will always treasure.  She wrote about the juxtaposition of my lyrics with my music in the context of color:  "Put red next to blue and the blue recedes, creating dimension: they don't blend, they give an illusion of dimension on a flat surface. So it could possibly be with your lyrics and the music: they don’t 'blend'. The words jut forward, then come the breaks and the music takes over…The main thing is you are your own self” she concluded. “Warm salutes, Suze."

This was her last email to me, and it occurs to me now that, in offering such elevated praise, she could just as easily been talking about herself.  It must have been challenging, at times,  to go through life known to so many as Bob Dylan’s Girlfriend. It’s probably why, until very recently, she kept such a low profile.

For those of us who knew her personally, who read her book, who felt her warmth, who knew her wicked humor and deep feeling and thinking about things, we know that she was, above all else, exactly those words that she honored me with -- her own self.  

Goodbye Suze, and warm salutes.  Your friend, Howard

Heading West with Nellie McKay

I've been asked to come and play guitar in Nellie McKay's band for her upcoming dates at Yoshi's in San Francisco (Oct. 16-18) and at Jazz Alley in Seattle (Oct. 20-21).  This will be my first time performing in San Francisco, and Seattle is one of my very favorite cities, so I'm really looking forward to this!

Here's a clip of Nellie and me singing together at Joe's Pub last year on the Hoagy Carmichael standard "Two Sleepy People"...enjoy!

10th Anniversary Shows

Photo by Brennan Cavannaugh

This month (December 2008), I'm doing something a little wild to celebrate the tenth anniversary of my musical debut.

Beginning on Tuesday, Dec.9th, I'll be performing 10 consecutive shows, with 10 different bands, in (almost) 10 venues (one venue has two different bands over two nights).

It's going to be a little nuts, but I'm excited...not least because I'm bringing back a number of players that have been with me over the years AND bringing back some projects that mean a lot to me.  There will be a brand new showing of a revamped "we are destroyed" at galapagos , a return to the Algonquin where it all began, with my quartet (featuring my erstwhile bandmates Russell Farhang, Jon Flaugher, and special guest Orange Kellin), a new outing for the "Basement Tapes" Project, a Monkey Farm rock show at PIANOS, and a chance to play my newest material (with a string section!) at Joe's Pub.

Hope to see you at a few of them!

One Year Later

A year ago next week I wrote a blog post in which I put out there my intention to make some new recordings.  I optimistically thought there might be one or two full collections of new material ready by the end of the year.

Well, I dropped off the first one at the plant today -- 13 new masters and artwork for my next CD, entitled BETTER GET RIGHT.  It's a recording inspired by and, in some way, set in New Orleans and features the Biting Fish Brass Band.

There are more CDs to come. Two more are in their final stages of mixing -- the first, NO FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS is my "Romania" song cycle.  After that is THE WORLD WILL BE DIFFERENT, a collection featuring primarily guitar, bass and drums on a batch of new songs, most of which I've never played out.

I'm pretty excited about this stuff and I can't wait for you to hear it.  Thanks to all who have been so supportive and encouraging during this fevered year of recording activity. I think you're gonna like the results.

Back Out With Nellie

The lovely Ms. McKay has invited me to join her on her shows this week in Cleveland at a great little jazz club called Nighttown.  Apparently, we're picking up a rhythm section from out there, so the shows (this Monday and Tuesday) should be nice and spontaneous. 

Here are clips of the two of us duetting on Hoagy Carmichael's "Two Sleepy People," and Nellie singing my song "When It Rains," --  enjoy!

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Music You May Want To Hear

ANISTAR is one of the best bands I've heard in a while. Sadly, they played their last show in NYC last night (the leader, Harel Shachal, is leaving the country to raise his family in Israel), but you can get their CD  here, a live recording made a few years ago. I'm listening to it now.  All of the players are ridiculous, but Harvey Valdez on Oud is on another level.

I went to see the band for the first time a couple of weeks ago on the recommendation of my friend and collaborator Skye Steele, who plays in Anistar and also fronts his own mighty quintet that was sharing the bill that night. Skye recently put out his debut CD Late Bloomer, a fine collection of originals, standards and traditionals highlighted (I think) by Skye's vocal debut on "I Don\'t Want To Live on the Moon."  If you haven't heard Skye play with my band, you've missed out. Check him out playing on A Ghost from last December at Joe's Pub.

Someone else I\'ve checked out a few times recently is Sasha Dobson, a fabulous singer who has that rare something between jazz, country, pop and blues that I like so much.  I don't know a lot about Sasha, but she's the real deal as far as I'm concerned. I met her, her beau Richard Julian and Josh Radin a few weeks ago when we all took turns passing around Sasha's guitar and trading songs after her gig at MOTO. The four of us, plus Jon Flaugher and Ian Riggs (each taking turns on bass) hung out till the wee hours playing each other tunes  -- lots of fun.  I don't know Richard's music that well yet either, but I plan to check it out some. 

Sasha plays Sundays at my old stomping grounds Pete's Candy Store -- be sure to stop in and see her.

On The Radio

Tomorrow night (Tuesday, November 17th) I'll be doing a few songs live on the air as part of the WKCR 10th Anniversary Jamboree. Tune in to 89.9 FM in NYC if you're around. I'll be backed by the house band, including a few old and dear friends from way back when. Should be fun!

"YOUR VOICE" : JULY 22, 2009

The July 22nd concert at JOE'S PUB at the PUBLIC THEATER in NYC has become something of a concept evening entitled "YOUR VOICE," featuring a number of friends covering my songs, backed by me and the band. 

Here is a list of confirmed guests, and the songs they are scheduled to perform.  In addition to these folks, there may yet be some unannounced surprises coming to sit in with the band. Hope to see you there!

"YOUR VOICE" : THE SONGS OF HOWARD FISHMAN"

Wednesday, July 22 @7pm sharp

JOE'S PUB @ The Public Theater in New York City.  Tickets and info here.

Marika Hughes: "Someday" (from LOOK AT ALL THIS!)

Susan Oetgen "Anywhere at All" from "we are destroyed"

Sasha Dobson "It Won't Be Long II" (from upcoming new release)

Roland Barber "Want you to Be Mine" from DO WHAT I WANT)

Bill Malchow "Katie La La" (from LOOK AT ALL THIS!)

Skye Steele "In Another Life" (from DO WHAT I WANT)

Sheriff Uncle Bob "Luck" (unreleased outtake from LOOK AT ALL THIS!)

Richard Julian "Dreams of You" (from I LIKE YOU A LOT)

Ian Riggs "Pictures" (from LOOK AT ALL THIS!)

Mazz Swift "Good Times" (from THE HOWARD FISHMAN QUARTET)

Hope to see you there!

Brass Band Video Footage

Videographer extraordinaire Marie Le Claire has posted some new footage of the BITING FISH, from our show last month at (le) Poisson Rouge in NYC. 

Check it out!

The Beguiling Jonathan Richman

At the end of last night's Jonathan Richman show at the Bowery Ballroom, an unexpected thing happened.  After graciously giving two encores, our man put his guitar away, started for the exit, and then came back to the mic. He explained that something didn't feel right to him...that the show had had a lot of ups and downs, but it hadn't felt good to him, somehow.

"We don't play with any kind of plan," he explained (speaking for himself and drummer Tommy Larkins). "And tonight I was really feeling the lack of a plan. We try to keep things fresh...it's like bread: as soon as you take it out of the oven, it starts to get old. But," he explained, "I would rather fail like that than play the same stale thing every night." 

Anyone who's ever gotten on a stage knows what it's like to have an off night...to not be connected to the music, or to the audience, or (worst) to oneself. It happens, and it doesn't feel good.  But witnessing Jonathan Richman's palpable sense of confusion and unrest for not (in his mind) delivering the goods, to see him offer himself up like that in front of a packed house, was really something. One fan suggested he solve the problem by singing his song "Springtime in New York," and yes, he said, that might very well be just the thing.

He called Tommy back to the stage, unpacked his guitar, and performed the song with tenderness and real love for the audience and for the city, and all was well once again in the world.

This guy is unlike anyone else. I've had the good fortune to catch him a number of times over the last few years, and at each show have been completely floored by the intimacy he creates with the audience, by the spontaneity of his performance (the guitar flights of fancy, the lyric ad libs, the off-mic bits, the dancing!), by his total engagement in offering service to the crowd in the form of light, humor, warmth, gentleness and wisdom.  Sure, I could tell he was a little off his game last night. He started strong, but seemed to become preoccupied with his decision to instruct the venue to keep the A/C off. As it got warmer in the room, he began to worry about the audience's comfort, asking us if we were too warm, even as one of his songs railed against things like A/C and new housing developments and things that keep us from "the real."  He seemed to get confused, torn between following his conscience and his concern for the audience, and the show took a noticeable energy dive from there on in. Or maybe it was the decidedly un-Jonathan Richman-like song he sang about being a victim to other people's unkindness and cruelty (I don't the name of it, but my guess is that it was a cover of a Vic Chestnutt song; Chestnutt opened the show).

Whatever the reason, JR lost his groove about halfway through, and struggled mightily to regain his balance.  Seeing this guy, in his late 50's, veteran of thousands of concerts, care so deeply about trying to find his way back into the moment, was a real gift. Hearing his conviction that he'd rather fail in his dedication to the moment than be another nail in the coffin of true, live performance and risk and humanity, confirms for me -- once again -- that Jonathan Richman is a modern-day hero.

Go see him if, and as often as, you can. Tour dates are here.

Two Things You Should See Right Now

People often ask me where I draw my musical inspiration from, and I sometimes draw a blank. Reason being: most of the things that inspire me are not music.  Theater, film, art, literature, history, religion, thought...these are the things that really move me the most.

For me, there are few things worse than being stuck in the audience at a bad piece of theater, but the converse is also true: when theater is really effective, no other art form can touch it for the visceral, exciting, startling feeling it inspires. This week I had the opportunity to see The Goodman Theatre's production of O'Neill's DESIRE UNDER THE ELMS, as good and imaginative a production as I've seen on Broadway in a long time.  Today I read that the show is closing early (May 24) because of bad box office receipts, mainly due to getting shut out of the Tonys (a travesty).  Even if there are some casting issues, I still urge you to go see it before it's gone forever.

In the musical realm (although there was a good deal of theater in this too), I had another opportunity to see Leonard Cohen perform last night in Waterbury, CT.  I caught him for the first time last October in Obernberg, Germany, but Leonard and the show have only gotten better in the intervening months.  He's absolutely at the top of his game: totally present, giving, and fully cognizant of his tremendous power at this late stage of his career/life.  He's in NYC this weekend, then has a few more dates in North America before he heads back to Europe. Amazingly, there are still seats left at many of the shows. Really, if you can, do yourself a favor and go and see Leonard Cohen. You'll never forget the experience.

"we are destroyed" and Thursdays @ Pete's Candy

April is going to be a whole lot of fun in NY. 

"we are destroyed" (which we're now calling an opera, btw -- why not?) is about to go into rehearsals for its next showing, the first time that the piece has had a multi-night run and the first time that there will be movement, staged with elaborate brilliance by Ed Schmidt. You may remember Ed as the host and curator of DUMBOLIO, a very smart and entertaining monthly variety show that, sadly, has been on hiatus for a little while. 

Ed is directing a brand new cast, led by none other than the fabulous Susan Oetgen. "we are destroyed" will be at the ABRONS ARTS CENTER in NYC, on April 24-25 @8pm, and on April 26 @3pm. Tickets are here.

"Donner," by Howard Fishman, oil on canvas

Have a look at a nice piece on the project that just went online. I'm looking a little haggard in it, but the music sounds nice:

The other good news is that since I'll be here all month, I booked myself a residency at none other than PETE'S CANDY STORE, my old neighborhood haunt. I\ll be holding forth every Thursday night @11pm, and bringing in a variety of friends old and new to play with me. Lots of new material.  Week one (4/2) will be a rare outing of the MONKEY FARM, with Jon Flaugher joining me on bass and Dave Berger on drums.

Photo by Sean Gallagher

Meanwhile, work in the studio continues apace.  Stay tuned and thanks for listening.

NEW SONGS, NEW RECORDINGS

People often ask when I'm going to put out a new record, and I think I can finally, safely, say "soon."  Maybe more than one. Maybe more than two. 

There's no shortage of new material -- those of you that come to hear me play live know that there are a number of unrecorded songs that I've been playing out with regularity for some time: "Show Me The Way," "A Ghost," "When It Rains," all of the "Romania songs." 

The issue has been a financial one.  Like a lot of musicians who have their own labels, I often wonder what the point is of making a new record in the current landscape where, let's face it, music is now free.

But there is a point, darn it, -- the point is to make art. I've got somewhere between 40 and 60 unrecorded songs, and more where those came from every week it seems. And I like them.

So, I'm gonna record them, and I'm going to pay as I go -- a few songs here, a few songs there, some with one group of musicians, some with others. I started a couple of weeks ago with some sessions up in Harlem with my brass band, and we got a bunch of really good things down.  The next batch will probably be with a different band.  When there's enough material to make a cohesive album, I'll put one out. But I'm going to keep recording where and when I can. Maybe by the end of the year there will be two or three new CDs of mine.

I recently posted a live version of one of the "Romania songs" on my Facebook page -- it's called "The Pensione Owner's Song," and the recording is from a show at JOE'S PUB in NYC this past December.

There's also an interesting discussion happening on that page about my music and what it sounds like to different people. I'd love to hear from you if you have any thoughts to contribute!

Thanks for listening.