I was so hyper focused on New York last week that I didn’t get out my regularly scheduled programming so this week is a double edition!
The central reason for the NY trip was to sing with American composer/educator/conductor Doctor Rosephanye Powell. The whole thing was set up by a travel agency that specializes in getting groups together with prestigious musical figures and putting together a concert at a fancy venue—in this case Lincoln Center. We rehearsed Friday and Saturday and the dress and concert were on Sunday. I happen to be a huge fan of Mrs. Dr. Powell (her husband is also Doctor Powell) and was thrilled at the opportunity.
When the choir I sing with, The Northwest Women’s Chorale, was invited to the event, only three of us could get the time away. One member had a timeshare a mile away from the action and offered me free lodging if I brought my own blow-up mattress..… Someday I will set a short story in a time share; there is a vibe.
Skipping our travel day, on Wednesday morning we woke up and decided to spend the day wandering around. My friends are into window shopping and taking pictures of things; I am not. That said, walking around gave me a great opportunity to get the feel of the terrain and weather. The breeze comes up from the river—both rivers—and finds its way between the buildings right into your bones.
One of the benefits of hanging out with church musicians is that they know the best churches to pop your head into to check out organs, stained glass windows, and (if no one is around) the acoustics. New York is filled with amazing church buildings and I could have spent the day just wandering the naves, but we still had to eat dinner before heading off to see The Book of Mormon.
It was fine. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve have the whole thing memorized since the original cast recording came out, but it didn’t have the sparkle I expected. It was the same feeling I had watching Wicked when it came through Portland a decade after Kristen Chenoweth retired her pink dress—everyone was just a little tired.
Thursday was history day! Everyone tagged along down to the financial district to Fraunce’s Tavern—one of the oldest Taverns in New York. It was serving ales long before the American Revolution and became a center for spies when the British occupied New York. Washington said his farewell to his officers there at the end of the war, and they serve a mean chicken pot pie to this day.
We ate in one of the three dining rooms that made up the bulk of the ground floor. There were several bar rooms as well including one dedicated to whiskey. Above the tavern is two floors of museum exhibits and at least one more floor that was cordoned off.
The museum was more a history of the tavern than of the war, with much of the information about the preservation of the building. Still, it was worth the ten dollar admission fee to feel the space. I don’t know how much time my characters will be spending in New York in the future, but I feel as if I have an excellent location should the need arise.
Two interesting research rabbit trails I came upon in the museum are Orderly Books- which were kept by most officers that detailed life in camp, and Regimental Flags. As I am always looking for an opportunity to incorporate “found documents” into my work, orderly books might come into play in my writing future.
One of the more niche things I wanted to see on the trip was Wallabout Bay, where the prison ships were moored. I was able to catch a glimpse as we drove by on the far side of the river, but the area is fairly grown up with construction so it was hard to imagine the space as it would have been. Still, I have an idea of scale and that is something.
Thursday night we saw Hadestown. It was masterfully done, the music was great, the sets were phenomenal, and the story was well crafted; I don’t know if I loved it. I like to be delighted, and while I found Hadestown to be a well told version of two familiar myths, it was about as delightful as a trudge through the underworld is supposed to be. I highly recommend the show; I don’t know that I’ll be seeing it again.
Friday was an 8 am rehearsal 1.8 miles from the timeshare. It turns out that New York isn’t so bad when the crowds are still sleeping. I headed out at 7 so I would have time to settle in at the venue and really enjoyed the 40 minute walk; the cold morning air filling my lungs was joyfully absent of the urine soaked garbage smell that has permeated my previous trips to the city.
The rehearsal itself was amazing. Dr. Powell had a stroke in August and so her husband, also Dr. Powell was there to assist with the rehearsals and conducting as needed. It was a joy to see their relationship, and to work with two masterful conductors. Each time we ran a piece of music was different than the last and yet all hundred singers managed to stay together. It was a hard four hours but I felt like a better musician by the end of it. I also needed a nap.
We had the afternoon off and so I got that nap before we grabbed a bite and then trotted off to the theater to see Oh Mary! A one act play that imagines Mary Todd Lincoln’s life at the end of the Civil War as she attempts to realize her dream of being a cabaret star. It’s an absurdist comedy that did have me laughing out loud at times, and the slow scenes were worth it for the amazing climax and resolution. My only complaint is that Jane Krakowski and most of the cast were so stunningly agile in their comedic performances that they left the one fellow who was obviously cast for his (narratively necessary) great looks, in the comedy dust. The guys next to me had seen the show three times already and I can understand why.
Saturday I spent the morning wandering by myself with little to report except that the Arts and Crafts museum is under construction but has a lovely collection of quilts on display. Our afternoon rehearsal was once again amazing, though we really only spent time on two songs. There was also a considerable amount of topical sharing and bonding over being women who sing. It was renewing in ways I didn’t know I needed.
I was dragging by the evening but managed to have an amazing pasta dish at Bad Roman before dashing over to the Met for the first act of Don Giovanni. It was fine.
Okay, I didn’t want to be there but succumbed to peer pressure. I don’t even like Mozart that much. The acoustics were great, the seats were pretty comfy, but the best part was when we got off on the wrong floor and found walls of historical costumes. I wasn’t sad to leave at intermission. I’d go back for Wagner or one of the Russians who knew how to write for horns. Seriously. There was one percussionist. One.
Sunday was the best day. It was a fabulous day. My director and I met up with another friend and went to Riverside Church, which is an American Baptist church that is inclusive, welcoming, and had three choirs, two organist, and the largest carillon in the country (Fancy name for church bells, but played like a piano only with fists).
It was a lovely service. Then we wandered out and ran into a Vietnamese restaurant and had a lovely lunch, followed by a walk in Central Park. I only wish I had gone there sooner, but I might not have left. We walked through the North Woods and I could almost imagine the world as it was, with the rock shelves and scampering squirrels. In my historical New York, it will be all Central Park.
We made it back to Lincoln Center in time for dress, then the concert, which went fine. I feel like I use that word a lot, but truthfully the space has recently gone through a renovation which somehow feels already dated, and the acoustics were dead on stage, and listening back to the concert video showed there were some balance issues and spotty mic coverage. I didn’t care; the rehearsals were enough for me.
Afterward, I walked with my situational best friend Julia from Connecticut to the afterparty while we rewrote the second half of the concert—a musical stewpot of songs and interpretive readings about breast cancer that felt as if Lurlaine McDaniel and Lawrence Welk had collaborated on something for the Hallmark channel—sung by an impressive number of octogenarians.
The highlight of the reception was the bottomless sautéed mushrooms. That isn’t snarky; they were just that delicious.
And that was New York. Or at least the tea-free version. I’d go back, if only for Central Park and the mushrooms.
Mamasquatch the Writer 
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