Welcome back to the dump! It’s been a second — thank you all for your patience in this busy, busy season. (More on that soon)
I’ve found myself with more than two months of shows to cover. Unfortunately, my appetite for late-night reviewing sessions is at an all-time low, and I think writing about something else might do me some good.
Yes, this month I feel like writing about food, and dear reader, I think I’m going to make that your problem. Many of you know that my life revolves around good music and good eats, usually in tandem. I have standby restaurants near all the major halls, and I’m constantly tasting around for more. So think of this post as prep for the dinner-and-a-show column I've been manifesting. (I’m available, New York Mag!)
Due warning: a disproportionate number of the concerts I’ve seen directly involve friends of various distances. In months with little free time, sometimes you have to combine work and play.
If I cleared the whole backlog in one go, we'd be looking at six thousand words of reviews — I don't think any of us wants to sift through that. So here's the first installment, a bit of what’s been in my ear (and my belly) through late January and early February. More to come as April progresses.
(I think writing about every concert I see may be unsustainable, perhaps it’s time to go back to the drawing board…or to develop a one-paragraph review format…but isn’t it even harder to write 100 words than 300?)
The Performances
Rebecca Scout Nelson and friends at The Bowery Electric (Jan 17). In one word, soul-nourishing. Rebecca, flanked by a cadre of NYC early-music scene regulars, brought new experiments in folk-baroque, plus a few tunes from her recent album Do Not Lament. (The album is gorgeous for reasons best summarized by my friend Jacob Jahiel in his recent Early Music America review.) My faves from the Bowery set: a cover of Gillian Welch’s “Look at Miss Ohio,” which traded Welch’s signature Nashville twang for an earnest indie croon. Cellist Cullen O’Neill’s eerie setting of a witchy, queer-coded text from Victorian(?) England. One or two of Rebecca’s instrumental “consolations” — Baroque in their bones, thoroughly modern in their flesh.
After saying hi to my talented pals, I headed to Gen Korean BBQ House with my new friend Max Keller. Max and I had exchanged Substacks after sitting next to each other at a PROTOTYPE opera a few days prior, and after reading their takes on queerness, historical instruments, and which concert hall seats make for the “cushiest tushies,” I knew we’d be fast friends. (Fun fact: The title of Max’s newsletter quotes cellist Pablo Casals’ grouchy description of Rock ‘n’ Roll: “like poison put to sound.”)
We gossiped viciously over our endless pork belly, brisket, and pig jowl. All-you-can-eat is the only way to do Korean BBQ without spending a fortune, and at $35, Gen’s deal is especially friendly to arts professionals. Our stamina was valiant — the waitress, visibly impressed with our plate count, dubbed us her favorite table of the night. And all the while, Max and I thanked our lucky stars that we ditched our original plans: dense, microtonal piano jazz.
Gen Korean BBQ House, 150 E 14th St (at 3 Av). Open super late. Great for groups. Often has a wait. Drinks available — but the more you drink, the less you eat.
Bill Barclay’s The Chevalier with actors, violinist Brendon Elliott, and the Harlem Chamber Players, presented by Music Before 1800 at the gold-gilded United Palace Theater (Jan 21). Bill Barclay proselytized about concert theater in an interview last September, ahead of his first season programming Music Before 1800’s stalwart uptown series — and after seeing The Chevalier, I’m sold on the concept. Part play, part chamber orchestra performance, the show centered around the life and times of Joseph Bologne, Chevalier de Saint Georges, the violinist, champion fencer, and military general who was also the first composer of African descent to gain European acclaim. Within five minutes, Barclay dispelled the popular, but factually incorrect notion that Bologne is “the Black Mozart” — why don't we consider Mozart le Chevalier blanc?
Concert theater is so much more than the sum of its parts, and a rare point of accessibility for new audiences (as the 1500-person crowd attested). One of the friends I brought, a casual opera lover who daylights in animal cognition studies, said the format made the experience. Chevalier is not a spotless piece — it’s a strong script that trips on a few corny lines — but it’s infinitely more convincing than any lecture-recital I’ve seen before. Bill Barclay is decidedly onto something.
Also onto something: the Chino-Latino restaurant Flor de Mayo, whose three Manhattan outposts have all passed their 25-year anniversaries. New York has perfected the Cuban-Chinese diaspora’s intersection of Latin-American comfort food and Chinese takeout classics — my dish of ropa vieja (literally “old clothes", a tomatoey stew of shredded beef) sat next to a mound of pork fried rice, sopping with sauce. The free bread, fresh from the toaster, was pure cotton in the best way — all the more butter to lather it with — and a cheap bottle of Dominican pilsner rounded out the hearty meal. I’ll be back soon to see if their roast chicken is any good.
Flor de Mayo, 4160 Broadway, between 176th-177th Sts. Additional locations on the Upper West Side. HUGE portions. Full bar. Rarely, if ever overcrowded. TV screens play multiple sports and compilations of cute animal videos.
Once Upon a Mattress at City Center Encores (Jan 24). This show has one of the cast albums that defined my childhood, but I hadn’t seen the full show since my parents played in the pit for my middle school’s production. It’s a great choice for pubescents — the awkward teenage angst is baked right into the book! At the City Center production, the late-’50s script excelled thanks to a facelift from Amy Sherman-Palladino (of Gilmore Girls and Marvelous Mrs. Maisel fame).
City Center Encores casts only rehearse for ten days before public performances start, disclaimed Artistic Director Lear DeBessonet in her curtain speech. If she hadn’t said so, I genuinely wouldn’t have known, perhaps aside from a couple ragged upbeats in the orchestra. DeBessonet’s Once Upon a Mattress production was absolutely delightful, full of chic, updated nods to the show's Golden-Age origins. And I’d never seen Sutton Foster dance, but when she and Ugly Betty’s Michael Urie danced the Spanish Panic — a lively two-step taught, per Sherman-Palladino’s cheeky additions, by a couple from Brooklyn — it was just as crisp as the lead duo’s.
Beforehand, my neighbor, college bestie, frequent concert date, and partner in all things tamale Epongue and I snagged the last table at Bengal Tiger, an Indian restaurant whose sidewalk chalkboard touts a $25, three-course prix-fixe. Anything you’d usually order is covered under the deal, and the flavor-to-price ratio is among the neighborhood’s most favorable. We particularly liked their “kefta kabab soup,” dense meatballs bobbing in a chicken broth so flavorful I drank the last drops straight from the bowl. Traditional? Who knows. But we weren’t seeing Fiddler on the Roof! (Oy vey…I’ll see myself out.)
Bengal Tiger, 58 W 56th St, just east of 6 Av. Wait nearly guaranteed after 6pm — thanks TikTok! Will definitely try to upsell you on naan, but you should take the bait. Vindaloo will kick your ass.
My best childhood friend Sam Friedman’s master’s recital in contemporary trumpet performance at Manhattan School of Music (Jan 26). You surely can’t expect an unbiased review of my bestie’s recital (and I’m sure as shit not going to give you one) but it’s always so nice when your friends give you a reason to gush. Sam began his program in the recesses of deep-fried absurdity with Canadian composer Nicole Lizée’s inexplicably hilarious Televisioniist. Over the course of the evening, his offerings cycled away from the ridiculous — peaking with an atmospheric, uber-serious duo of hardcore Euro-modernist Nina Šenk — before steadily returning to the surreal with works of his own.
I know I’m sort of obligated to, but I love Sam’s music — I have since we were in high school. When I first heard one of his compositions, at our beloved Kinhaven Music School in 2015, I noticed that he has this nonchalant, un-tacky way of working amusing quirks and quips into his scores. Today, that’s evolved into a keen sense for onstage drama, economical but punchy. In one work, a single iridescent orb created campfire-y mystique; in another, trumpet and bass clarinet magnified the tragic story of John Jones, whose dead body remains sealed inside a crevice of Utah’s now-closed Nutty Putty Cave. My personal favorite was the work which ended the program, which displayed its dedication to Dadaist Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven with four singers who dabbled in all manners of shouts, cries, and hoots.
I was staving off a bad case of the stressies after a hectic week at work, so I relished in a luxuriant wine-and-dine with a friend at Pisticci, a charming trattoria on a Broadway-adjacent Morningside Heights block. The ridged imprints of my postage-stamp-sized maltagliati pasta caught every bit of a comforting lamb ragù, profound with tomato and stock, enhanced with a healthy dollop of ricotta. But the meal’s true marvel was a salad of baby kale — my first roughage in who knows how long — tossed in an addictive dressing of honey, basil, and buttermilk.
Pisticci, 125 La Salle St, between Broadway and Claremont Ave. Walk-ins usually get tables, but we cut it close at 6:45 on a Friday evening — be safe, make a reservation. Ample bread available. Super good vibes.
The live debut of Fourth Wall Ensemble (featuring clarinetist Stuart Bogie) at the Power Station at BerkleeNYC (Feb 3). The friends who sang in this concert promised me a collective group improvisation, but the collaborative work which anchored the debut of Fourth Wall, a twelve-person ensemble focused on new experiments in vocal music, had more guardrails than any improvisation I had ever heard. It lacked unfettered freedom: the structure was rigid and heavily planned, the hours of rehearsal were palpable, and the end result, while inoffensive, was not nearly as innovative as Artistic Director Christopher Allen made it out to be. Sure, the half-hour of gossamer, overtone-rich D-major-ish clusters (accentuated by reverb from a high-tech microphone system) scratched a primal itch deep in my brain — but beauty aside, what barriers can one realistically break without straying from D major? And I’m pretty sure no one’s opening any new doors with Eric Whitacre, no matter how moody you make the piano part (which is *ahem* marked for rehearsal only).
I’d spent dinner in Chelsea at Auntie Guan’s Kitchen, a specialist in northeast China’s hearty, wintry cuisine. Neither I nor my friend du jour (founder of the invaluable Live Music Project concert tracker) felt like more than a snack, so we capped our dinner at orders of flavorful lamb and pork-chive dumplings, plus a plate of battered and fried tea-tree mushrooms, their stems dry and crisp like potato chips. I’ve eaten my way through much of the Auntie Guan’s menu — it’s a common stop before concerts at The Stone — and my other favorites include a peasant stir-fry of eggplant, green pepper, and potato, crispy turnovers filled with minced pork, and the sweet-and-sour pork dish which evolved into the bright red Americanized stuff, coated in an oobleck-ish batter and fried to a tooth-dulling crunch.
Auntie Guan’s Kitchen, 108 W 14th St, just west of 6 Av. Never full. Delivery available. Great for large groups without reservations. Order at least one thing with a name you don’t quite understand.
Crossfades Quartet, part of Rebekah Heller’s residency week at The Stone (Feb 7). Since our late-January interview, I’ve been keeping tabs on International Contemporary Ensemble (ICE) flutist and former Big Brother contestant Izzy Lepanto Gleicher in preparation for the launch of All Talk, this platform's interview/profile column — I’m targeting mid-April, but honestly, god knows when I'll get around to it. (Thanks for being chill, Izzy!) So, on a rare night off in the middle of last month’s recording crunch, I took myself on a solo date to harvest some adjectives around Gleicher’s approach to free improvisation.
I’ll save those specifics, but this performance of the Crossfades quartet — Izzy (flutes), Shara Lunon (vocals, electronics), Clara Warnaar (percussion, electronics), and Rebekah Heller (bassoon, vocals) — was some of the most compelling free improvisation I’ve seen this season. It was slow and calm and meditative, the players’ melodies and textures blossoming with warm radiance that never felt too urgent. The ensemble gave my brain a massage it so sorely needed.
The Stone’s 8:30pm showtimes make opportunities for separate, not-necessarily-nearby dinner plans. I’d spent part of the afternoon traipsing around a closed Met Museum with an old music camp friend (easily my favorite job perk), and we found ourselves at the Upper East Side’s Up Thai for a quick bite before parting ways. Up Thai is a couple notches above most other Thai spots in the neighborhood, and the well-rounded flavors justify the slightly elevated prices. My plate of pad thai was the platonic ideal, musty with tamarind and full of the wok’s fiery breath, but it’s hard to go wrong here — from street-style grilled chicken, to fried pork belly that even keeps its crisp under a zippy curry sauce, to a lychee martini that’s remedied many a stressful work day.
Up Thai, 1411 2nd Ave, between 74th-75th Sts. Reservations required unless you’re alone. Lunch specials are a very good deal. Robust delivery operation. Great decor.
The Recordings
For classic musical theater that will stick in your head, come hell or high water: the original cast recording of Once Upon a Mattress (MCA Records, 1959). For some reason, I grew up on the revival album headed by Sarah Jessica Parker, not the far superior premiere one with Carol Burnett. Lesson learned. (Did you know that the composer of Once Upon a Mattress, Mary Rodgers, also wrote Freaky Friday — the book and the Jodie Foster movie?)
For proof that early Italian opera isn’t just arcane sequences of recitative: Le Poème Harmonique’s world premiere recording of Francesco Cavalli’s L’Egisto (Château de Versailles Spectacles, 2021). There is so much boring Cavalli out there, but this cast, studded with the kind of early-music stars who also sing Frank Zappa and Little Shop of Horrors, make an airtight case. Weird flex, I played this opera in college — my very first whirl on a Baroque cello — and I can say with confidence that Le Poème Harmonique’s witty decisions would make our conductor squirm.
For a bit of posh 20th-century Britain that had to stifle its queerness: A Most Marvelous Party with Noel Coward and contemporaries, featuring singers Mary Bevan and Nicky Spence and pianist Joseph Middleton (Signum Classics, 2023). In mid-century Britain, homosexuals were prosecuted and often chemically castrated, but in this recording, Coward’s queer undertones finally get to shine in both glimmers and unabashed peals. Songs by the “English Cole Porter” appear alongside those of his fellow oppressed queers from around the classical music sphere — Francis Poulenc, Ned Rorem, Benjamin Britten — and some cabaret hits by a few token straights. (Mary Bevan’s performance of an inane faux-Straussian waltz by Gershwin is particularly funny.)
For a new interpretation of what might be my favorite Renaissance mass: Graindelavoix’s live take on Antoine Brumel’s Missa Et ecce terrae motus (“The Earthquake Mass”) (Note 1 Music, 2024). The mass movements, laden with the Belgian ensemble’s gorgeous, taffy-pull sinew, alternate with new compositions by experimental jazz guitarist Manuel Mota. When combined with blats of historical brass instruments, his heavy distortion almost evokes a jet engine or a helicopter blade — a bit of post-industrial apocalyptica to fit the mass’s theme.
For a phenomenal fusion ensemble formed under catastrophic time crunch: Les Itinérantes’ Origines (Mirare, 2024). The story goes that, in 2017, the three chanteuses of Les Itinérantes prepared their first performance in just ten frantic days. Now, on their third album, they’ve refined a chameleon vocal style that floats freely among world folk traditions, jazz standards, Debussy preludes, and everything in between. You’ll never love Borodin’s Polovtsian Dances more.
To bring your inner demons out to play: the original cast recording of Dave Malloy’s Octet (Nonesuch, 2019). This fabulous a cappella musical (chamber opera?) from the creator of Natasha, Pierre, & the Great Comet of 1812 sees eight vocalists explain their unhealthy addictions to modern technology. It gets dark and resonates particularly uncomfortably with we terminally-online folk — but the score, heavily inspired by Roomful of Teeth, is so worth it.
Yesss give the people what they want! music AND food writing 👏👏👏