I planned to spend a quiet New Year’s Eve with my friends Sally and Bill. They live nearby on West 10th Street, and I love hanging out with them. Sally made a fantastic salmon dinner, seasoned with cumin and coriander, spinach on the side. My favorite kind of meal. We drank Kir Royales and played Scrabble until it was time for the ball drop. We were all impressed that we made it until midnight, and after wishing each other a Happy New Year, I headed home.
Or so I thought. I walked along West 10th Street towards Sixth Avenue, but instead of turning right, I kept going straight ahead, to the legendary jazz club Smalls, so close to home, tucked into a cellar just past Seventh Avenue. My feet remembered traversing this path just about every New Year’s Eve that I’ve been in New York, and it was like a homing device suddenly clicked on.
I asked the guy at the door if there was room for me, and he said, “There’s a $25 cover.” He gave me a little slip of paper and I slipped in and sat at the end of a row of folding chairs.
The young woman two chairs over was drinking something pink, so I asked her what it was. “Aperol Spritz.” Perfect. I ordered the same, and settled in.
The vibe was mellow. I think the 10:30 show had just wrapped up when I arrived around 12:30, and now it was time for the classic Smalls jam session. For the next two hours some beautiful human beings took the stage in an ebb and flow of creativity, giving and taking, now in the spotlight, then grooving to the next soloist, then coming together in harmony and dissonance.
A charming chap in a red suit was one of the cats who held it together, and a woman in a kimono who was on piano nudged the collective’s direction now and then from stage left.
Last New Year’s Eve all the jazz clubs were closed. This year, after a few glorious months, some like the Vanguard (maybe it should be called the Old Guard by now) abruptly cancelled their shows in mid-December as Omicron surged. How lucky we are that Smalls’s owner, the pianist Spike Wilner, created this haven in the world for jazz. And that’s no exaggeration—he livestreams every performance from the club around the world. He’s created a home for jazz where everyone knows what to do.
The vibe was relaxed, laid back, warm, and friendly. The players chatted with the audience, and the audience with each other. It was everything a New Year’s Eve should be.
I know, I know, it takes a weird geek like me to enjoy reading the little booklet that comes with any new appliance or toy, from bluetooth speakers to refrigerators.
I actually pour a nice beverage, crack open the book, and read the English instructions from one end to the other, including the legal warnings about no-brainer electric shock hazard info. There’s always a gem in there somewhere that I need to know in order to install successfully. Like how to level the fridge with the little twisty legs on the front. Lefty loosy righty tighty.
Last night on Christmas Eve I was with a group of friends installing a new TV prior to the festivities. The most basic item was not covered in the little manual. And four fairly intelligent people could not figure out how to plug in the TV.
It was mounted on the wall—a very complex procedure, accomplished by my tall and talented friend Jeff, without so much as glancing at the book. Once that was done, we all agreed it was time for martinis. Peppermint martinis—amazingly good and they go down like water—offered by our luscious songstress Dorothy, the owner of the wall and the TV.
After a round of martinis we thought it was time to get something up on the screen. Not a yule log—Dot wanted something more exciting. Perhaps a snowy Christmas scene from New York pre-global warming.
Then the fun really began. iPhones were turned on. The flashlight was employed, from every single angle, by yours truly, and then, in case I had missed the obvious, by our celebrity director friend Tess. To no avail. There was no apparent way to hook the power cord to the TV.
Finally I said RTFM!!! Hapless Jeff located the Spanish version and attempted to decipher powero cordo. Not happening. I suggested we look a little deeper into the small pile of documentation and find the English version. And we turned it over, back to front. Mention was made of turning the power on, but not of how to connect the cord. Finally I spotted a small diagram on the back that seemed to hint at the place to insert the chord, on the bottom at the very back of the TV, hidden once it was installed on the wall. Great design! And such helpful instructions.
Of course Jeff had to take the TV off the wall again, and sure enough—in the most inaccessible spot imaginable—there was a small double-concave hole in which to insert the cord.
How many New Yorkers does it take to plug in a TV? Four. And how many peppermint martinis? At least eight! But if they had just RTFM from the beginning… we would have missed out on a lot of fun. ROTF.
Merry Christmas. Let the electronic yule logs blaze on your well-installed TVs!
Do you love cats or dogs the most? I think it depends on whether you want to adore (cats) or be adored (dogs). Some lovebugs need both.
Here are a few reasons why we love the warm furry creatures of both species.
Let’s Start with Cats!
Andrea’s Bruce in Santa DisguiseAndrea’s Dickie got into the Christmas punch
Tess’s Joan is a classic beauty, aloof and mysterious
On the other hand…
Tess’s Benny (named after Benny Hill) lets it all hang out!
Bruce’s Bengal, Punky, is a gorgeous woodsy cat.My dearly departed Donald (named after Donald Duck) was a city cat—he liked going out on the town in my high heels.
Everyone knows that country cats earn their keep.
Kat’s Lincoln guarding the harvest.
Lincoln’s sister, Princess Peaches, is equally alert.
Dogs Have Their Own Appeal
For example, they can keep you company when you’re working on a jobsite.
Toby the Terror takes a moment to model while Kat transits a site to make sure it’s level.
And then they come home with you and help you chill after work.
Kat’s Rocco after a long day.
Dogs are more likely to have cute friends come to visit.
Rocco’s friend Toby the Terror. He just finished ripping apart the living room.
Some dogs have amazing fashion sense.
Dorothy’s Luther sporting ostrich feathers at a photo shoot.
Then Again
Some people prefer wild cats to domestic.
Val and Garry’s bobcat.
Or they prefer to dress as animals themselves.
After Leopard night at the National Arts Club. That Zebra is toast!
It’s hard to choose, but I think cats are smarter…
This October was chock full of chameleon-like shenanigans all over town.
I costumed for three photo shoots, celebrated at a combination Halloween-birthday party, and attended a 50th anniversary party at the National Arts Club.
I had the chance to become five different people, in addition to everyday Karen!
Harry Potter
Marilyn Monroe
Madcap socialite
Punk rocker
Film noir star
I hope you enjoy this recap.
It’s a Harry Potter Halloween on the Upper West Side.
Dorothy Bishop‘s Halloween show at the Triad Theater was a gas. I loved dressing in drag as Harry Potter. I started reading the series in August, and was psyched to represent Hogwarts on stage! Jessie and Andrew are a deviant dogcatcher duo, and Shawn is the marvellous MC.
Two Marilyns – Amy and me in Chelsea.
There’s a statue of Marilyn Monroe outside Chelsea Guitars on West 23rd Street. I dressed as Marilyn for my October Karen’s Quirky Style column, but Amy rocks the Marilyn look every day!
Standing on the brass rail at the bar, do it! In the West Village.
This is an outtake from a music video I’m working on called “Let’s Do It, Let’s Do Our Nails,” about a socialite who is obsessed with doing her nails all over town. The server at Bar Six looked on, horrified, and moments later told me to put the nail polish away.
Thirties glamour at the National Arts Club in Gramercy Park.
And finally, I was honored to attend Linda and Ralph Zagaria’s 50th anniversary party at the NAC. I knew this gorgeous gown by Engineered by Andrea T would be perfect for the occasion, as Ralph and Linda are living embodiments of the gracious era between the wars.
One thing I love about New York is the constant surprises. I woke up Monday morning with no idea of what the day had in store. I read the NYT and stumbled on the fact that Slick Rick was playing at a free Hip Hop concert in the Bronx. I lucked out and was able to get a ticket for the very same day, and plotted my first ever journey to Orchard Beach.
A latecomer to hip hop, as I described previously, I learned a lot about its history at the concert in the Bronx. Hip hop’s beginnings in 1973 are traced to the rec room of DJ Kool Herc, at 1520 Sedgwick Avenue. DJ Kool Herc invented hip hop and unleashed it on the world on August 11 at his sister’s birthday party, when he played his “break beat” using two turntables with the same record on each, to extend the most danceable drum section of the track.
I was excited and extremely moved to be at this inaugural NYC Homecoming Week free concert in the Bronx, where hip hop began. It seems all the hip hop pioneers from the Bronx performed. I felt so lucky to be there hearing these master artists spin and scratch their beats, rap their rants, and drop their knowledge.
DJ Hollywood (the ur-hip hop artist from Manhattan, who is reputed to have coined the term hip hop) kicked off the show with rhymes to please. He got the crowd dancing from the first lick on his turntable.
DJ Jazzy Joyce was the only female headliner who performed. Remy Ma was also on the bill but didn’t appear, to the disappointment of more than a few fans. But I really dug DJ Jazzy Joyce, one of the most prominent female rap DJs in America, and a producer on New York City’s radio station Hot 97. Born in the Bronx, she has also worked under the name Sweet Lime Pie.
The crowd was mostly over 40, and probably over 50. Folks who were actually around in the 80s and, as some proclaimed, late 70s, and were there at the birth of hip hop. Obviously a very cool crowd. I was surprised when the audience started booing one of the performers. Most of the acts had a 10-minute limit, and one guy just didn’t want to get off the stage so he launched into a raunchy rap, proclaiming he was a sex star. You wouldn’t think it would be possible to rhyme with something even ruder than anus, but he did it. Folks in front of the stage booed and shook their head and yelled for him to stop. I guess there are limits, and the crowd was there for a family-style concert. I liked that.
Headliners KRS-One (Knowledge Reigns Supreme Over Nearly Everyone) and Slick Rick capped off the night, followed by a grandmaster jam that Busy Bee hijacked to end the music in the true spirit of hip hop battle rap. Slick Rick didn’t come back onstage for the final jam, and KRS-One dissed him for showing up at the event in a green car that matched his green outfit and eyepatch. Burn!
Busy Bee buzzed around the stage all night, in fact. He did his own set and kept popping up again, ready to battle and relive the glory days. Born in the Bronx, he started in 1977 and was in the first battle royale, one of the most infamous battles in history, against Kool Moe Dee.
In addition to the freaking amazing hip hop performances that made me dance non-stop for six and a half hours, another highlight was when New York State Senator Jamaal Bailey freestyled with brother politician-rapper, Bronx Borough President Ruben Diaz Jr.
U.S. Senator of New York and Democratic Party Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer talked about saving the birthplace of hip hop, and making it a National Place of History. Schumer declared August 11 as National Hip Hop Appreciation Day (this is legit–he passed a resolution on the floor of the U.S. Senate, and Congressman Jamaal Bowman passed it in the House). He presented a plaque to Rocky Bucano, founder of the new Universal Hip Hop Museum, located at 610 Exterior Street, the Bronx.
Manhattan-born Mayor Bill de Blasio showed us that you don’t have to be from the Bronx to throw your X up! The Bronx is back!!
Inextricable from hip hop, maybe, is graffiti art. Artist TatsCru, featured at the top, did live art throughout the concert.
It was an astonishing day. Can you imagine?! Waking up thinking I’d probably spend the day writing on the computer. Instead, I saw over a dozen Hip Hop legends, state senators, mayors, and the DA! I love NYC!!
P.S. In case you haven’t figured it out, throw your X up means you love the Bronx. XXX
The thing I missed the most during the pandemic was live jazz. From that fateful day in March 2020 when New York City shut down, until May 2021, when the city tentatively began to reopen, no jazz clubs could have live audiences.
Smalls on West 10th Street already had a solid tradition of streaming live jazz around the world since 2007, so they were able to keep this going during most of the pandemic. They shut down on March 16, 2020, but resumed streaming live jazz on June 1, 2020. This was a tremendous gift to homebound jazz fans around the world, but it’s not the same as the magic of being in the room.
Fast forward through a dreary year to June 2021. When I heard that Smalls was open again, my heart raced with joyful excitement. I rushed to buy tickets, and was delighted that one of my favorite jazz artists, Wayne Escoffery, was playing on June 4, a Friday night. I texted my friend Tess, and she was instantly on board the jazz train with me.
It was a thrill descending the familiar carpeted staircase with the 90-degree turn at the bottom. Even before the show began, there was ecstasy in the room. The rows of chairs had been spaced out a bit, with small tables for each pair. (Room capacity was still reduced at that point.) Everyone in the room was vaccinated.
Introduction. Applause. The first saxophone note piercing the air. No worries, just the joy of giving and receiving, playing, listening, grooving. Magic! The band was ecstatic, the audience was ecstatic, and a love affair happened down in that jazz-steeped basement room.
Playbill
WAYNE ESCOFFERY QUARTET
DOORS OPEN AT 6:30 PM
SMALLS
06/04/2021
Wayne Escoffery / Tenor Sax
Dave Kikoski / Piano
Ugonna Okegwo / Bass
Mark Whitfield Jr / Drums
Slick Rick in green eyepatch and monster rapper medallion at Orchard Beach, the Bronx, August 2021. It’s time for Hip Hop in NYC.
I think of myself as a latecomer to rap and hip hop, but last September New York Magazine printed “The City and the Beats: 100 songs that tell the story of New York rap.” It took me a few months but I listened to all 100 songs. I was sorry when I got to the end of the list. Hip hop had become part of my soul.
The Wu Tang Clan’s C.R.E.A.M (Cash Rules Everything Around Me) and Slick Rick’s licks were a couple of my faves on the list that I dial up again and again. Slick Rick’s Children’s Story (1989) and La Di Da Di* (1985) just caught my fancy and I loved this London-born nasal-toned pirate with the biggest bling necklace on the planet.
Here were my other 10 top faves from the list of 100. Click this KQS NYC Beats playlist if you need a lift to your spirits and dance like it’s 1989.
M.O.P. – Ante Up (Robbin Hoodz Theory) – 2000 Broolyn armed
Run-DMC – It’s Tricky – 1987 love it! Obviously a big influence as evidenced by many** who came after.
Salt-N-Pepa – Push It – 1987 this was a cross-over hit that I saw on Much Music in Canada. The dancing, the balls, the rapaciousness. Like I wish you would! And I have to add Shoop – even hotter, and filmed at Coney Island.
Beastie Boys – No Sleep Till Brooklyn – 1986 big surprise for me – I thought they were white wannabies, but they can rap, finishing each other’s lines with a metal backbeat. This one is obviously an homage to Motörhead’s No Sleep ‘Til Hammersmith, and Slayer’s Kerry King is guesting on guitar.
Big surprise, most are from the 80s, when I was a metal head. But I guess it’s the era we come up in that creates the music that stirs our soul.
** I still have the 45 of Funky Cold Medina (1989, Tone Loc), which I used to bring to the biker bar in New Westminster, Rockin’ Tonight, and force the DJ to play 5 nights a week!
This year started off with a bang. I have a new monthly column in WestView News called “Catch and Release,” about my dating mishaps and misadventures. I’m so happy that people have been commenting that they like the story. I can’t wait to tell you what happens next! I hope you get a giggle from it.
I felt sadness and a profound sense of loss that a precious piece of New York is slipping away when I learned that the iconic rink at Rockefeller Center is scheduled for demolition in January 2021. It is classic New York sensory overload to skate here, with the magnificent Christmas tree shining rainbow colors above, and golden Prometheus forever falling to the ice at rinkside. Colored lights flash and bathe the ice in pink and blue, and sometimes the music from the Saks Christmas display across Fifth Avenue is so loud it drowns out the music at the rink, which seems to range between Christmas classics and funk.
When I read the news, I immediately went online and bought a ticket to skate at 6 PM every Saturday from November 21 to January 16. The first Saturday, the splendid 75-foot tall Christmas tree (which weighs 11 tons!) was in place, but not strung with lights. I went downstairs to the skating area right at 6 PM, pasted a yellow sticker from the ticket taker on my right leg, and rushed towards the rink. I was enchanted to see two angelic ice dancers in white costumes with fairy lights walking down the hallway to the dressing room ahead of me. I found a locker, put on my skates, and rushed onto the ice. The ice dancers were already out there, filming a video. They spun and twirled and swooped in the center of the rink for the entire time I was on the ice, which seemed to last only 20 minutes.
It was my first time on skates in a couple years, so it took the full 20 minutes just to warm up and feel less wobbly in the ankles, but still I soared past all the other skaters on the rink. I kept telling anyone who would listen, “I’m Canadian!” to explain my superior performance, possession of my own skates, and knowledge of ice grooming. The ice was a choppy mess, in fact. But I loved the feeling of gliding and tentatively trying out a few of my skating chops—switch to backwards skating for a few seconds, try a twirl in a quiet corner. And secretly wished I could skate like the ice dancers.
Because of Covid, the ice was socially distanced, meaning less crowded than usual, but it was still at the maximum allowed, filled with couples holding hands and trying to keep each other vertical, kids falling and skating in the wrong direction, and packs of people taking each other’s picture and blocking the flow.
Unfortunately, my mind kept finding fault with every little thing for the entire 20 minutes until I was told people wearing the yellow sticker had to get off the ice. Then the problem was that my miserable time had been cut short!
I went over to the skate rental return counter with my litany of complaints. I didn’t have any skates to return, having brought my own (because I’m a Canadian). But I complained about the quality of the ice and the short session, which was supposed to be an hour from beginning to end. After lodging my comments with the skate rental attendant, I waited for a manager, and then repeated the litany. The manager asked to see my yellow sticker, and my ticket, and went to investigate. It was the first day of rink operations, and the manager–let’s call him Tim, since that’s his real name–determined that an error had been made in the color of sticker I was issued. I should have received a blue sticker, not a yellow one. He said I could go back on the ice, but by now I had changed out of my skates. He said they were still working out the system but that next week would be better.
Then we turned to the matter of the ice. “The ice was a mess!” I said. “We cut it every few hours,” Tim said, clearly not realizing that this was completely inadequate. “I’m a Canadian!” I said. “I’m used to better ice.” He appeared to be quite sympathetic to my plight. I obviously knew what I was talking about, since I was a Canadian, and besides, I’d purchased eight tickets in advance.
He gave me the general manager Kristen’s business card, and said to email her on Monday. Which I did. I didn’t mention the fact that I was a Canadian, but my expertise in ice matters must have been convincing; by end of day she had changed my remaining tickets to the 7 PM session, immediately after the ice cleaning, which for some reason they call cutting here. That’s quite a stretch, considering the puddles of water everywhere on the rink. Their ice is not exactly cuttable!
The next Saturday, I knew the drill. I was first in line to go downstairs to the rink. Since I was the only one who brought my own skates (quite probably the only Canadian) I changed into my skates in a flash and was the first on the rink!!! For five minutes I had the rink to myself! I couldn’t believe it. The lights were on the tree, casting a magical glow. There were hordes socially distanced above on 49th Street, waiting for their timed visit to look at the tree. And here I was, circling round and round, the rink and the tree all to myself. I wept at my good fortune and craftiness. Finally I could relax. I had controlled the universe. And when others started to trickle and totter onto the ice, I smiled with fond benevolence. I was the ruler of the rink!
Check out my new video, “Crappy Skaters”!
P.S. They use an inferior ice cleaning machine called “Olympia,” perhaps in deference to Prometheus’s family. Every Canadian knows that Zambonis are the ice machines of the gods.
A seldom viewed deer-populated forest outside the dressing room
I planned to spend a quiet New Year’s Eve with my friends Sally and Bill. They live nearby on West 10th Street, and I love hanging out with them. Sally made a fantastic salmon dinner, seasoned with cumin and coriander, spinach on the side. My favorite kind of meal. We drank Kir Royales and played Scrabble until it was time for the ball drop. We were all impressed that we made it until midnight, and after wishing each other a Happy New Year, I headed home.
