Nublu
Posted: September 10, 2013 Filed under: East Village | Tags: TUESDAY TOILET TALK Comments Off on Nublu“Ten dollars and ID,” interjected the lady brusquely, as to not interrupt the conversation she was having with her friend on the steps of the entrance to Nublu. I surrendered what she demanded and stepped into the place. Standing on an enclosed square base with each side only as long as the width of an average American front door, I felt as though I was already in the venue’s restroom. I tried one of the doors that made up three of the four sides and pulled back the heavy curtains to enter the East Village club four Fridays ago.
With bassist Joonsam Lee and drummer Sangmin Lee leading their respective trios, their sets were collectively billed a “K-Jazz” night. While Joonsam played an arrangement or two of Korean folk songs with keyboardist Glenn Zaleski and drummer Ari Hoenig, there was little that distinguished the music as specifically Korean. Sangmin Lee’s trio with “Big” Yuki Hirano on keys and Randy Runyon on guitar featured tight rock-based grooves, similar to the first trio in its loud, organ-shaking amplification.
Seeing my buddy/JAZZ TOILET tech support Jack confused about the K-Jazz label, I explained to him that the night was billed as such because there are Koreans involved. On a related note, a Jordanian friend was raving about food she had tried at a popular Korean restaurant somewhere in Egypt, citing the duck in particular. I informed her that we don’t eat duck. It’s possible that less fortunate souls without Korean friends walked out of that restaurant or the show that night, not knowing duck from Korean fried chicken or “K-jazz” from the Korean tendency to claim things their people do, both good and bad, as their own.
I went down the stairs behind the bar to go to the restroom with old Nublu posters plastering the walls and profanities covering the door. It had everything one would need, though the hand soap was difficult to locate, hidden in the shadows inside the large sink. I came back up and was staring at the door at the top of the stairs when I noticed that it said “WC” among the layers of stickers. I opened the door to discover another unisex restroom with the same red glow and cool graffiti.
The venue was filled with the smell of incense and Butch Morris relics, including a large photo of him with his index finger up that seemed a popular photo backdrop for visitors. How did he host his conduction sessions in this club with its disco ball, rowdy people and noise? He was adamant about vocalists not using microphones in a conduction workshop I had the opportunity to participate in before he passed. With so many legends in the jazz community passing away recently, I’ve been feeling more of an urgency to check out the remaining masters while they are still around.
Vinh from Vietnam, a country similar to Korea in its Cold War involvement and its American nail salon workers, tells us how to politely ask “Where’s the restroom?” in Vietnamese –
Làm ơn cho hỏi, nhà vệ sinh ở đâu?
Shell’s Bistro
Posted: August 13, 2013 Filed under: Harlem | Tags: TUESDAY TOILET TALK Comments Off on Shell’s BistroSwinging standards resonate through the walls, providing the best acoustics of any jazz spot restroom I’ve visited. On the bluish green walls hang a couple miscellaneous pieces of art that look like they might have been found at a garage sale, but the music playing as you take care of business has class. Though the trash can’s rusting exterior is uninviting, the toilet handle’s weighted action and sink faucet’s retro charm are agreeable. Reach higher than usual to turn the doorknob, and step out of the restroom to come face to face with the band.
Harlem’s newest jazz venue, Shell’s Bistro felt like an old neighborhood hang even though the demographics inside the place looked more racially diverse than outside. Several blocks North of the main street, it didn’t seem like the venue would turn up as I walked by a deli and a school. And yet, there it was protruding from the bottom level of a residential building, next to a possibly shuttered thrift shop.
I learned that tourists visit each Thursday, as they did the past Thursday, occupying the front half of the small restaurant. If I were coordinating the tour, I would recommend the Village Vanguard or Smalls for the compulsory jazz component of the New York experience. But Shell’s Bistro also checks off the Harlem category and welcomes guests with its cluttered but cozy atmosphere, reminiscent of Wally’s in Boston. The tour group left around half past eleven, whisked away by the guide who said to the bartender as she left, “excuse me, you need some towels for the bathroom.”
The bartender was kept busy through the night, with tasks ranging from a take-out order for pie to a request to put some jazz on when the band went on break. Instead, he put on a live recording of Sade on the television in the back corner. I only recognized the singer with certainty because I’ve been watching her music video “When Am I Going to Make a Living? on replay last week. The song’s message seems relevant as I continue to contemplate this paradoxical life of unemployment, reading leisure articles on my new macbook air and making plans to go eat delicious goods with friends on my iPhone 5. Then I think about my dad growing up in developing South Korea, with nothing but tree bark to eat for sustenance. He used to mention this when I would refuse meat, recalling wistfully the difficulties the tree bark caused for his bowel movements.
I’d be willing to check out this place again; I’m curious about their red velvet waffle and it’s only a thirty minute walk East from where I live. The musicians seemed friendly though leader/bassist Curtis Lundy hardly said anything during the sets except to yell out instructions to drummer Chris Beck while pianist Paul Odeh soloed.
Sunsila from Nepal tells us how to say our usual phrase in Nepali —
61 Local
Posted: July 9, 2013 Filed under: Brooklyn | Tags: TUESDAY TOILET TALK Comments Off on 61 LocalOn the last day of last month, I went to check out the new concert series at 61 Local in Brooklyn. Upstairs to the restaurant, the small yet open-feeling room with exposed brick walls was the perfect space to showcase bassist John Hébert with dancer Angelle Hébert. That is, except for the splinters from the hardwood floors that got into Angelle’s skin.
I was lured to the show partly because its start time at 6pm. I needed to get home early so that I could continue my online search for acceptable orthopedic sandals before retiring to bed. Granny-chic in Birkenstocks was acceptable in Berkeley and heels were fine when I was driving around LA but Manhattan has presented the impossible challenge of looking sharp while walking around for miles in gross weather.
The two bathrooms are located on the first floor past the dining area by the broom closet and a door marked “do not enter” with a skull. The ladies room had that Brooklyn hipster vibe with a mustache painted onto the mirror above the sink. A stick figure girl and boy on signs made of paper towels were pinned to each door.
Having run into the Pride Parade on my afternoon-long detour down from the Upper West Side to Brooklyn, I was reminded that the signs may not be so cute to those who don’t fit within the two-sex system. In fact, if I were intersex, those signs might induce anxiety each time I had to use the bathroom. The restaurant’s restrooms are for individual use though, so it matters less whether you identify with the anatomy depicted on the sign or not.
Sensing the synergy that I anticipated from the brother/sister duo, I was surprised to learn that they had never performed together before. Their performance was full of sonic and motor tics that gave me an indeterminable itchy sensation, similar in that way to Yayoi Kusama’s pieces at the Whitney last summer. Speaking of which, I’m going to check out this year’s hit exhibit, Rain Room at MOMA, and get on the Cronut bandwagon while I’m at it. It’s going to be a long morning of waiting in line but I’ll make sure to wear sensible shoes.
In this period of eating pastries and museum-hopping with friends, I’ve taken up Chinese to feel slightly more productive. While I don’t expect to become fluent, I’ve been enjoying learning about the culture and practicing sounds new to my tongue. ChuánXī from mainland China, who is teaching me Mandarin, tells us how to say, “Excuse me, where’s the restroom?” –
Nín hǎo, qǐng wèn xǐ shǒu jiān zài nǎ lǐ?
Friday Flush, Issue 7
Posted: July 5, 2013 Filed under: Ken® | Tags: FRIDAY FLUSH Comments Off on Friday Flush, Issue 7I hope those of you in the States had a relaxing Fourth of July. Since Ken® is away for the holiday weekend, I’m filling in once again and this time to rally for bidet awareness.
The last time I was in Korea, I pressed the most prominent button on a fancy public toilet to flush and ended up running away in shock when the toilet wouldn’t stop squirting water at me. Having spent a good chunk of my life in bidet-free USA, I was unaware of such a modern advancement, dating back to at least the 1700’s. In fact, I only learned while researching for this post that bidets in many countries, including France where it originated, are actually separate fixtures and not integrated into toilets, like in Korea and Japan.
Here is a SNL clip on the bidet.
Subculture
Posted: June 11, 2013 Filed under: NoHo | Tags: TUESDAY TOILET TALK Comments Off on Subculture“How’s everyone doing—is everyone holding their water? When there’s a long set, sometimes people need a pee break.” Ever the thoughtful one, bandleader Laila Biali surveyed the audience an hour into the last Friday night of her May residency at Subculture, a venue in its debut month. Pressing down on the piano pedals barefoot, she displayed equal freedom in her voice as she sang, joined by drummer Ben Wittman, electric bassist Chris Tarry and violinist Zach Brock.
Downstairs from the Culture Club, the new venue differs from most other jazz-presenting places in the city in that it appears spacious, clean and well-ventilated, despite its subterranean setting. The chairs set up in rows make Subculture feel like a casual small auditorium, laid-back with its industrial, urban interior design. Rather than showcase its name on the stage backdrop, the club drilled a huge sign onto the wall behind the bar, visible immediately upon entering the room.
I also noticed the name engraved into a tile lining the wall of the ladies room, along with tiles holding carefully considered images to match the overall design. The restroom is between the wheelchair accessible and men’s room in the back corner by the bar. Strangely, the door marked with a sign of a stick figure in a wheelchair had little behind it that made it distinctly accessible. It lacked the requisite grab bars, among other necessities. Essentially, it was a nice bathroom for one, instead of with two stalls and sinks like the shared women’s room.
Having just returned from a trip home to beautiful and comfortable Los Angeles, I was in a sulk about being back in this humid and congested city. Seeing that it was a pleasant night out, I decided to walk up a subway stop or two after Laila’s show. On my stroll through Greenwich Village, I ran into a couple guys who were headed to Blue Note to see one of our friends play. Another musician friend then ran into us, on his way to catch the train to Jazz Standard from the Bar Next Door. This happens in LA … never.
I’ll remember why I love New York on the days when I’m walking up to my tiny place, having to step skillfully between a giant cockroach and a condom on the stairs. Seydina from Senegal tells us how to say, “Where’s the restroom?” in his mother tongue, Wolof –