Covid Blues

 

I was hoping my next entry would be about the joys and details of the 2024 Jazz Cruise.  Until….

 

Up until this point, Ann and I had avoided coming down with Covid.  Mostly everyone we know has had the virus in spite of, like us, having the full arsenal of seven shots.  Feeling invincible, we boldly resumed our normal social lives, wearing no masks, although we were about to go on the one cruise we treasure above all, The Jazz Cruise. We went to the theater several times before departure and Ann participated in not one but two Mah Jongg tournaments.  It was inevitable I suppose but the timing couldn’t have been worse, Ann coming down with Covid exactly one week before our departure. 

 

We had a devil of a time getting Paxlovid which was unavailable at the nearest two drug stores and then getting a voucher (for Medicare recipients) from Pfizer to cover the new $1,300 price tag on the prescription.  So within two days she was on medication but still it was a bad bout, the worst being three days of an extremely painful sore throat.  Yet, naively we still waited to pull the trigger on canceling the cruise, hoping, hoping, but two days before departure we had to throw in the towel.  Another experience lost to this pandemic, although luckily, never feeling her life was in danger.

 

Our first Jazz Cruise was right before Covid hit in 2020.  One wasn’t even planned for 2021 as we were all in the nadir of the pandemic. We booked the 2022 cruise as it looked feasible with certain precautions, but then the CDC suddenly advised against cruises because of a new Covid surge at the time. We patiently, no anxiously, awaited 2023 and by then it was considered safe and we had the time of our lives.

So we were looking forward to this year’s festivities until Covid came to visit.  Not living in NYC any longer, and now being only an infrequent visitor, the Jazz Cruise is our only opportunity to see some of our favorite jazz performers live.  My other entries in the links above mention the names of some of the jazz artists we closely follow.  Most are on the present cruise, with the exception of Bill Charlap (he will be on the 2025 Cruise which we have already booked).

 

Still another experience missed, three years out of five, not a very good grade, 40%.  At our age, how many more opportunities?  Besides not seeing family, Covid also canceled our 50^th wedding anniversary, one we expected to celebrate, possibly, in the presence of the great man himself, Stephen Sondheim.

 

Being marooned at home again, gave me more time for my own piano.  Bill Mays, a great jazz pianist who I met a few months ago when I was playing for a Christmas party (talk about being outside one’s comfort zone, playing with one of the greats listening), was nice enough to send me some lead sheets of his music and one by Johnny Mandel who he worked with and we mutually admire although he recently passed.  I thought I had most of Mandel’s music but I did not have the one he sent, “The Shining Sea,” such a plaintive, Mandel signature song.  I love it and will eventually try to record it.

 

Mays’ own “Gemma’s Eyes” is challenging for me, both rhythmically and harmonically and I’ve been practicing it.  I like challenges such as that as it helps one keep moving forward.

 

He also sent me Quincy Jones’ “Pawnbroker,” again a song I had never heard before, the theme from the film of the same title, which more easily fits into in my playing style and is a haunting melody.  From our brief encounter, Mays certainly put his finger on what I would respond to and I’m grateful to him, especially this week as I feel cut loose in a space we had reserved for non-stop jazz. 

 

This leads me another musical observation, a very unlikely one for me.  I just “discovered” Taylor Swift.  I’m not sure what led me to her other than having this void of a week of great music lost.   Whenever I’ve seen her it’s been in the context of her world tour concert, with music blasting, back up bands, strobe lights pulsating, hoards of screaming fans, and, well, essentially the way popular music is presented now, everything geared to overwhelm the senses (“deadening” might be a better word).  Maybe that’s what we need in this chaotic world but I’ve always avoided that scene.  But I’ve also seen her briefly televised at Kansas City football games, cheering on her man, the outstanding tight end, Travis Kelce.  Except for her exclusive seats in the owner’s suite, she seems like just another football fan.

 

As I never really heard her sing, I tried to find her in a more intimate setting without all the over the top fireworks of her concerts and I came across Taylor Swift’s NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert.  It is 28 minutes of her performing four of her well-known (well, not to me) songs "The Man", "Lover", "Death by a Thousand Cuts" and "All Too Well" at the Tiny Desk, indeed an intimate setting where it’s just her and the guitar or piano and a handful, maybe a hundred, standing, adoring fans.  It was so enjoyable to hear her singing solo. 

 

 

It's as if Paul Simon was reincarnated more than 50 plus years after I first heard him.  There are eerie comparisons.   I can see the attraction of today's youth to what she has to say.  (I first heard Paul Simon -- who lived in my neighborhood --in 1957 when he performed “Hey Schoolgirl” with his partner Art Garfunkel. They were then known as “Tom and Jerry,” that recording making it to the national charts at the time.)

 

Swift is a cross over country and folk, a little rock and a lot of pop.  Yet every generation has its troubadour (or in this case a “trobairitz” -- in my generation there were Carole King and Joan Baez).  My generation also had Bob Dylan as our troubadour, singing his songs of despair and political activism.  But most of all, Paul Simon is more relevant to Swift’s music, with his songs of lost love, sadness, nostalgia and of course, loss in general (“hello darkness my old friend”  “and we walked off to look for America”).  When I was going through my divorce in the 1960s, his songs spoke directly to me the way Taylor Swift’s speak to her generation now magnified by social media.

 

Just listen to her sing “All Too Well.” I was touched by her ability to evoke a certain kind of emotion like Paul Simon did with a guitar (or in this NPR concert, her playing the chords on the piano as she sang).  It’s a song about autumn and lost love, a sense of the same emotion in Simon’s “Leaves That Are Green” (albeit, different rhythm, styles, one contemporary and the other vintage 1960’s).

  

In “All Too Well” she writes about a boy who was her love.  She sings:

 

Autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

And I can picture it after all these days

And I know it's long gone and that magic's not here no more

And I might be okay but I'm not fine at all

 

Some of the lyrics from Simon’s “Leaves That Are Green” could be that boy answering:

 

Once my heart was filled with the love of a girl

I held her close, but she faded in the night

Like a poem I meant to write

And the leaves that are green turn to brown

And they wither with the wind

And they crumble in your hand

 

She's the real deal and this intimate NPR setting helped me to fully understand her popularity.   Maybe in these Covid infested times I’ll become a Swifty!  I certainly respect her values, encouraging her generation to vote.  So many of those in their 20s and even 30s haven’t the slightest interest in voting, not caring (or even being conscious of) that my generation is handing off a world where the existential threats are far greater than when I was of that generation.  Shame on my generation, but shame on them to eschew the only possible route to change.  Maybe she will continue to be a force to set that right.

 

So we beat on.

 

Family and a Sense of Place

 

With the “relative” safe COVID travel easing, we ventured once again, six weeks later, by returning to New York City, this time for ten days and then, finally, after three long years, to our former life as boaters in Connecticut for a week.  There we were reunited with the boat we lived on each summer since I retired, mostly at the same dock in Norwalk, the ‘Swept Away’ (now Captained by our son, Jonathan, and his wife/first mate, Tracie).  Our other son Chris and his significant other Megan were able to meet up with all of us at the end of that week.  To be with our four “kids” was the highlight of our trip. 

 

The flight to NYC went flawlessly, thank you Jet Blue, and there was an orderly line to get cabs when we arrived at the gleaming new LGA terminal.  For the following ten days we enjoyed living like the Upper-West-Siders we once were, staying at Jon and Tracie’s apartment overlooking the Hudson River (while they vacationed on the boat).  Ironically one can see part of the West Side Highway from their windows, which I drove each morning in 1970 commuting from our little rent controlled apartment on West 63^rd Street, to where I worked at a new publishing job in Westport, CT, not moving there until a year later.  It was a more civilized drive in those days.  I became the President of that company and was there for the rest of my working life.  I feel deep roots in Manhattan and Southwest Connecticut.  Florida has its merits but the verdant hills of Connecticut and Manhattan’s macadam still call out.

 

Jon and Tracie’s apartment also fronts Riverside Park which on some mornings I walked, especially enticed by a visit to the pier which juts out into the Hudson River and sitting on a bench where I could marvel at the 360 degree skyline.  Manhattan was literally a breath of fresh air, in the 70s, low humidity, a nice breeze.  The juxtaposition of the old West Side Highway and the new gleaming condos reaching for the sky, and the George Washington Bridge to the north in the distance and New Jersey to the west made for expansive viewing, dazzling in the light. 

 

 

 

 

Manhattan people-watching is still so much fun.  I was lucky to photograph a man and his dog enjoying that fresh morning air on the pier, and later, walking with Ann on Central Park West, the sweet mother and daughter strolling in lock step, Mom transporting her child’s roller skates. 

 

 

Or an elderly woman feeding Manhattan's requisite pigeons at Riverside Park in the morning. 

From a cab I saw a flight attendant who noted I was taking photos and stopped to pose as she crossed the street.  My pleasure!

 

Not allowing grass to grow under our feet our first full night we were thrilled to catch our favorite jazz pianist at Birdland, Emmet Cohen.  In addition to his steadfast drummer, Kyle Poole, and a guest bassist, he was joined by Bruce Harris on the trumpet, and Ruben Fox on the sax. 

 

We had a front row table, directly facing Harris, probably one of the leading trumpet performers, but the young Aussie, Ruben Fox did some other-worldly riffs, to such an extent that Harris and I made eye contact, acknowledging what Fox was doing, both wondering, how the heck?  Cohen meanwhile was smiling at his crew and doing his usual virtuosity on the ivories.  We were able to chat briefly with him afterwards, “old” fans that we are, in both sense of the word.  

Another night we were able to see Sondheim’s Into The Woods.

 

There were so many new cast members that it felt like an opening night.  When the curtains opened and the cast came out to perform the “Into the Woods” Prologue, the audience jumped up to a boisterous standing ovation which DID NOT STOP to the point that the performers began to look uncomfortable.  It was a mutual audience/performer love fest all night.  What a high bar for them to clear, but, clear it they did. 

 

Among the almost entirely new cast were several well known performers including Stephanie J. Block, and Sebastian Arcelus of Madam Secretary fame.  But to me it’s Sondheim’s glorious music and lyrics which makes this show a true work of art.  A thunderous wave of ovations concluded the show.  We exited to 8th Avenue and it became a battle to even move among the throngs of humanity in the light rain forcing us to walk blocks and blocks to get a cab or an Uber.  It was some distance until the aggressive crowd filtered out that we finally were able to hail a cab in the rain.  This may be our swan song for an evening Broadway performance.  But never say never!

 

Another theatre event I was looking forward to, not for the faint of heart, is The Butcher Boy downtown at the Irish Rep., a very dark coming of age, absurdist production, a musical no less, based on Patrick McCabe’s contemporary piece of literature.  The book, lyrics, and music are by Asher Muldoon, only 19 years old attending Princeton University.  He has been compared to a young Sondheim, and some of the lyrics and music had a Sondheim quality to it.  Imagine if Sondheim’s Saturday Night was performed as intended when he wrote it in 1954.  I felt that seeing a work by this young artist was a must, sort of getting in at the ground floor.  This piece of theatre, like Sweeny Todd, progressed to a very dark place.  But dark places are where we now live in the world.  Bravo to Mr. Muldoon and the cast!

 

Part of our days and nights were centered on some of the great restaurants of NY but my favorite was the old NYC diners, Greek owned, mostly booths.  There is a sense of comfort being part of that scene and the food is darn good.  That is yet another essential ingredient of the UWS which makes it unique, a village within a great city. 

 

But then of course there were the “finer” restaurants, including this one recommended by our son, a great UWS French restaurant, Cafe Luxembourg.   With a staff like this, how could it go wrong?

 

 

 

Most of the NYC time was spent walking the UWS, visiting its markets (call outs to Fairway, Citarella Gourmet, and of course Zabar’s) and then days at some of our favorite museums.

 

The Jewish Museum was new to us, but it had an exhibit everyone is raving about, NY 1962-64, exactly matching three of our formative years as New Yorkers!  It’s a collection of all art forms of the period, including photographs and artifacts, arranged chronologically, sometimes day by day or weekly. 

 

 

The New York Historical Society -- which we make a point to visit anytime we are in NYC -- showcased The Art of Winold Reiss: An Immigrant Modernist whose book designs captured my imagination. 

 

 

 

Their special exhibit Confronting Hate 1937-52, is a terrifying harbinger of our present times. 

 

 

 

 

The NY Historical Society also has its affiliated restaurant which we love, an oasis within an oasis, Storico.

 

 

I enjoyed the replica of the oval office the the NY Historical Society has created, and I felt very comfortable running the country from there.

 

 

Another beautiful day was spent at the JP Morgan Library Museum which features the Gilded Age magnificence of its interior and the breath taking library of JP Morgan.

 

 

 

The highlight of that visit was seeing their extraordinary collection One Hundred Years of James Joyce’s Ulysses with priceless Joyce documents and artifacts.

 

 

The Morgan gardens were also open, revealing the original entrance to the mansion.

 

 

Then to cap off our wonderful ten day stay in the City, we returned to Dizzy’s Jazz Club at Columbus Circle, for a tribute to Duke Ellington.  Three wonderful singers performed all of his iconic pieces, backed up by the bass, piano, sax and drums.  This Lincoln Center supported venue is unique overlooking Central Park.  It is where we first discovered Emmet Cohen four years ago when he was relatively unknown, just coming up in the jazz world at the age of 28.

 

 

The following Monday we closed up Jon and Tracie’s apartment and headed up to Connecticut for another week.  All I wanted to do at that point was to enjoy our old boat, see family, read and relax, and meet up with a few of our old boating friends we haven’t seen since Covid.  It was strange walking down the dock to our old boat, our summer home for 20 years.  The cool CT breeze and the lovely sunset made it seem like no time at all had gone by.

 

 

 

So many of our boating friends have either moved away or passed away.  Those three Covid years have certainly taken a toll on the health of others that remain.  It was nice to see them but a painful reminder of aging.

 

The following weekend our small but close family was able to get together, the first time since Covid.

 

Jonathan prepared the boat for a cruise to our beloved Crow Island where we spent so much time during our boating years.  Add to that time those at the dock during our retirement years, and cruising to ports as far as Nantucket, with extended stays in Block Island, we figure we have lived on a boat for a total of about eight years.  We miss the waters of the Long Island Sound. 

 

 

So although Jon fired up the starboard engine, the port engine failed to turn over.  The fuel pump failed.  Always something in boating.  By the time the replacement part arrived, we were there with our family for the last day, but just being at the dock was sufficient, beautifully soul-satisfying.

 

We then flew home, just beating a thunderstorm out of Westchester Airport.  How many times remain for such trips?  We wonder, and hope.