Last Sunday afternoon, eyes half-closed in pleasure while balancing on high heels with a big smile on my face, I found myself in paradise. On the main stage of the fabulous Players Club (on Gramercy Park in Manhattan) The Hot Sardines were working their magic: bouncy rhythms of lively jazz, frisky saxophone and innocent lyrics of a simpler time sung with a charming French accent. As if the music itself wasn’t captivating enough, there added the visual aspect of the event: the beauty of this exquisite 19th century venue, suddenly animated by several hundred equally beautiful young people wearing vintage raiments, formal ties and old-school dresses, completed the spectacular image of “retro nouveau”.
The Sardines’ show reached its climax with a handsome young man named “Fast Eddie” Francisco gracefully and airily tapping his way across the stage right into the hearts (and feet) of the audience. By now, the entire ballroom, packed wall to wall with dancers and other celebrants, was bouncing up and down to the beat, sharing the same rhythm and a truly electrifying energy. The pleasure was dangerously expanding beyond artistic or intellectual. In fact, when “ces petites sensations” as Elizabeth Bougerol would sing, became almost inappropriately enjoyable, I shut my eyes and floated with the music. Scared to open them again, not wanting to lose the magic of the moment, I simply let the spirit in. Eventually I looked around and all I saw from the bottom up were gorgeous black & white dancing shoes tapping the floor, pleated skirts fluttering in the air, and dancers on the wooden dance floor achieving the kind of intimacy that only dancers can with each other: experiencing a beautiful dramatic relationship filled with passion, joy and unpredictability. The ancient chandelier in the back of the Players ballroom, made of actual antlers, almost seemed to serve as a totem of fertility – a kind of marriage, under which none other than His Majesty Swing himself performed the ceremony.
Photo by Anna Yatskevich
Felt like awaking while still dreaming. All the things I’d imagined in my wildest fantasies of what parties and entertainment should be like, suddenly came true. Back home in Ukraine, I’d always felt a little left out with my craving for live sax, top hats, bow ties and suspenders. Having been often told that I was born at the wrong time, last Sunday afternoon I realized with relief – not time, but place. The world of magical music and style that I subconsciously knew must have existed somewhere, wrapped around me here, in 21st century downtown Manhattan. Do you know what it feels like to live a dream in waking life? Truly ecstatic, ladies and gentlemen.
The band to follow was Vince Giordano and the Nighthawks, which somehow astonished me by their traditional set up on stage: all musicians sitting in lines, chequerwise, only standing up in turns while playing solos. This simple and sensible manner fascinated me. I’m new to this kind of events so I’d only seen something like this in the old black & white movies. Even being a hopeless romantic, I somehow thought it only existed in the old black & white movies. Apparently, it still does in New York 2014. I felt happy and excited like a young pioneer at the First of May Parade in Moscow of the early 80s. Overwhelming, loud and festive sound.
All the bands and performers playing for 12 hours straight in three different rooms were absolutely fantastic and contagiously electrifying. Although to me, a truly interplanetary experience provided the divine vocal of a beautiful bird named Tamar Korn, who sang-chattered-trilled-tweeted-and-twittered joyously with the street jazz band “Baby Soda” in the Library upstairs. Cozy interior and a carpet on the tiny dance floor made this trip to the moon a truly intimate journey.
Meanwhile in the Piano Room downstairs, with fresh breeze flowing in from the balcony overlooking the beautiful Gramercy Park, the pianists played, singers sang and dancers danced. Almost impossible to mention all the names of talented people involved in this celebration of life – there were so many and each of them deserves a separate article, or a book. Twelve hours after the start, the main stage was grooved by gorgeous Bria Skonberg and her Brass Kicker band. When the musicians walked through the ballroom playing the triumphal outro, I couldn’t believe the night was over. Twelve hours flew by in a blink of an eye. However, I felt charged enough for the next twelve months of anticipating New York Hot Jazz Festival 2015.
New York Hot Jazz Festival website: http://www.nyhotjazzfest.com/
irinatarantina 