2024-08-28 19:06:59
When jazz musicians usually play, it is as if they are throwing a ball at each other. “Milestones” by Miles Davis, from the 1958 album of the same name, is one of those songs that never sounds the same, no matter how many times you hear it. Wayne Tucker’s trumpet sounds like it dances, and when it crosses over to Eric Lemons’ bass, it’s like a flowing, easy flow.
Five musicians stand and sit close together in a living room in the Bedford Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn. It’s actually called the “Chamber”, an elegant room facing the street in which guests were received in bright 19th-century shades. Miles Davis’ birthday is this weekend, said Lemons, the bassist. He stood in front of the old windows decorated with glass ornaments; Sankofa Aban is the name of a house over 125 years old where you can rent rooms and listen to jazz every weekend. In the Akan language from what is now Ghana, the name describes a colorful bird that lands behind but moves forward, energetically, Debbie McClain, who has been organizing jazz concerts for fifteen years.
19th century beauty
Her salon has the charm of the 19th century: thick wooden furniture around large mirrors, open fireplaces, old parquet. The wind crunches on the ceiling, but you can only hear it when the musicians take a break. Guests sit at small tables and in two rows of chairs at the back of the room, where you can look out into the garden during the day. All the seats were occupied, hardly anyone stopped the music by talking quietly. Eric Lemons, Debbie’s business partner, talks occasionally about the stories of the neighborhood. Bed Stuy was, along with Harlem, the second New York city of jazz in the twentieth century. The music is everywhere, Lemons said, people play house concerts and tell each other about the famous people they have seen – Lena Horne, Charlie Parker, and Miles Davis, by whom they play many pieces today.
In between sets, Debbie McClain sat at a table in the back right, even wearing a short red VIP rope that stretched out, held by gold-colored stands. “Thanks for coming!” he called a guest who was heading to the door. In the past, people from the community used to come, he said. Over the years, some newspapers and television channels have reported on it, and today tourists still find their way here. Debbie does not have a liquor license – everyone can bring their own case of wine, beer or spirits. Before the pandemic, every ticket included fried fish, fried fish, and this tradition will be revived soon.
Center for African American Culture
Nowhere in New York are there more intact Victorian brownstone houses like Debbie’s than in Bed Stuy – there are said to be more than eight thousand. Most of them were built by German and English architects. As more blacks from the South came to the area after World War I, most of the whites moved away. For black middle-class families from Harlem, Brooklyn became increasingly attractive because the house sizes offered plenty of space. “Take the A-Train”, a song by Duke Ellington, represents the connection between Harlem and Bed Stuy as centers of African-American culture – even if Ellington wanted to describe to composer Billy Strayhorn how he got to his apartment in Harlem. Debbie’s Brownstone isn’t the only place where you can experience jazz culture in Bed Stuy – there’s Sistas or Bar Lunático, for example. New restaurants like Saraghina or L’Antagoniste also attract visitors from other parts of the city. There has always been culture and good food here, but in recent years white tenants, home buyers, tourists have also been coming – sometimes someone writes that the corner is now hip. Departure: more and more people are leaving, brownstones now cost several million dollars, and the proportion of black residents has fallen from more than 80 to 46 percent.
The neighborhood has not changed all that on his street, says Debbie. He also knows many families on his block and most of the newcomers fit in well with the community. Children can also play outside, said the entrepreneur – he also likes to let them use his small yard, where music often plays in the summer. The brownstone has been in his family for generations, and all the antiques and memorabilia come from his ancestors, some of whom emigrated from Cuba. It is not easy to guess their age – you can be off by several decades and wonder when they talk about more than fifty children and many grandchildren.
He lives a few streets over and will be here regularly now, a man said as he passed. As attendees only paid for the first set break, the late crowd pushed them past them. “Honey, honey,” calls Debbie – two young men are sitting in front without stopping. Debbie stood up and moved them to sit further back. All concerts this weekend are fully booked. When musicians had to go outside during the pandemic and reduced ticket prices, Debbie became worried – the income from the bed and breakfast also fell. But that’s long overdue, and the family is thinking about the future: Maybe they’ll open a real hotel soon, he said.
It’s dark outside now, the night is hot. A piano can be heard briefly through the closed windows, then Eric Lemons’ muffled voice greets the new guests. A rideshare taxi stops, two young women get out, one rushes up the stairs, turns to the other, who follows slowly only on her high stiletto shoes. The second wears a short silver sequin dress, elaborately draped curls, very long artificial eyelashes. “Come on, girl,” her friend called. “Quick, I got you something very special for your birthday!”
#jazz #history #alive #Brooklyn