never supposed to be for the rich. It wasn’t played for tourists
and aspiring aficionados. Jazz is American music—peoples’ music to
loosen up your average stiff. Back in the day, (whenever that day came and went),
a place like Smalls on 10th St. and 7th. Ave. So. would be considered a neighborhood
treasure, and for almost 10 years, the regulars here have certainly believed
Ari Roland has played Smalls more than 2000 times over the past eight and a
half years. He has joined players such as Zaid Nasser on alto sax in a steady
rotation of up to 18 different groups a week. These groups get paid—fair
wages—and then many of these same players, along with you-never-know-who,
come back later to jam from three to six in the morning.
now enrolled at Oberlin, has been coming down from Riverside ever since high
school. She’s sitting next to a fellow sketching the trio performing what
I think is a Joe Jackson number, only in 7/8 time. The $10 cover, late hours
and sit-anywhere, bring-your-own policies are what first drew her and her schoolmates.
They come back for the music.
weekend lines around the corner, the place is shutting its doors in a few days.
Blame it on the economy, the smoking ban, the fire department, the limited capacity
or the tourists—it still sounds like another piece of social science shit
news, as it were, is that this has happened before. It happened to the Knitting
Factory and it happened to Cafe Wha?, and both survived with their basic souls
intact. They may not be as cozy as before, but most of the old acts returned,
often to their benefit in the new spaces. It’s something of a fact and
irony that whatever stays clandestine around here for more than a couple of
weeks will either go broke, or some long arm of the city will drive it so far
underground nobody can ever find it.
jazz isn’t like promoting a rave. You don’t see much guerrilla marketing
for a jazz gig. You can’t cart around a sound system and wheel in a DJ
to a different warehouse every week. Nitrous oxide balloons might still sell
to some of the crowd, but you need to provide the little things, like chairs
and good acoustics.
Smalls owner Mitchell Borden is looking a little bit further down the road to
Fat Cat at 75 Christopher St., primarily a pool bar offering tables by the hour.
The side of this larger space was opened to musical acts from Thursdays through
Saturdays. Capacity is about 150 and the cover is usually $15. The sound is
surprisingly close, and the pool hall is forgotten with the first chords.
known for leading his big band at Smalls on Mondays, added Fat Cat to his schedule
with ease. This is no doubt due, in some measure, to the fact that his electric
sextet had the chance to develop at Smalls. Borden is well-known for supporting
players with rehearsal time, steady gigs and even monetary help. His philosophy
is simple and functional: The more you play, the better you get. How much better
Lindner can get is anyone’s guess. He’s a fascinating virtuoso and
a generous band leader. His players keep working on a modern-day big-band sound
that requires plenty of musical space.
regulars making the move to Fat Cat include Mark Turner, Kurt Rosenwinkel, Seamus
Blake and Chris Potter.
Ari Roland seemed optimistic
despite the closing. "These days it will be hard to replace somewhere like Smalls,
where a kid from Jersey or from the Island could take a train into the Village,
then sit down, get a little buzz going and feel a part of the scene—take
it all in. A place where players can really work on their chops. But there will
always be another place to play—because this is New York and that’s
what we do. We play and we listen."