With the familiar chords, bashing drums and amateurish vocals, the bands go through the motions in bad bars all over the world. The lyrics are usually just "Fuck Obama" or an unintentional swipe from "Climb Every Mountain" (ford every stream, walk every desert). Maybe it'll be Ozzy-type shit or some "Game of Toilets" fantasy about the Prince hoping to find his princess after slaying the dragon of doubt. People get drunk and don't pay attention unless the lead singer is a slut, or some guy with racoon mascara or warts and tattoos. Not a numb-voiced 50 year-old virgin with a hanging gut that would embarrass a hippo.
All's well: most bar music is free. You just drink your beer. At best, an unknown band in some "pay to play" club will set you back $10. But what if you want to at least hear a SIGNED act? Or rather, an act that was signed back when you were in school and bought vinyl? Well, in NYC home of insane rents, a club MUST charge a pretty ridiculous amount. The City Winery is the most likely venue for your B-List (or Middle C) band that you didn't even know was still together.
ANY of those your idea of a good time? Wanna wait for a lame old singer-songwriter like Graham Nash? Wanna be loyal to high-pitched DAVE Davies? Or maybe you're waiting for a wan female vocalist and her band. Let's see what the PRICING is like...
Lovey, you can sit on a fucking bar stool for $35. For an act whose CDs are $2 in a thrift shop. If you arrive EARLY, and like getting bombed on wine, you might snag a fairly good seat for $42 or $48, and if you add the cheapest transit (a bus to a train or a train to a bus, with free transfer, back and forth) that only adds $6. Plus your drinks. Oh yes, and unless you ate VERY EARLY, you might be hungry. Clubs like this make their money on the drinks AND the Yuppie food items. THIS place won't even tell you what the charge is. Until you get there.
Take a look at the pretentious food items intended to appeal to health-conscious members of the upper class, or rich snots who expect exotic fare and not just the burgers or chicken (with fries) the Bottom Line used to serve.
OK, this is for your B-Lister (or Middle C) singer-songwriter or has-been rock band. The joy is you can "support" them by buying a t-shirt, or maybe their latest self-pressed CD. Or you can Hoobastank them with that "can I get a photo with you" request, and strut away saying, "How nice he was," and "I really made him feel like people still care. Why, I'll go again next year, or two years from now..."
A current act or A-list nostalgia (like Billy Joel playing one monthly gig at Madison Square Garden) will set you back a day's pay, easily. If not two. Elvis Costello will play a big venue like the Barclay Center (inconveniently located in Brooklyn) where $100 gets you a nosebleed seat. Randy Newman might play Town Hall where, yeah, $100 gets you a nosebleed seat.
As I mentioned the other day, while the average unknown Shauna or Snigger Lolly plays a local bar that has "live entertainment" as a hook to get people to just walk in for a beer (artists unpaid), there's a much more ambitious breed of singer out there. It's the "cabaret" act. Or the "Jazz" performer. No Taylor Swift covers for her!
She's somehow been influenced by old Barbra Streisand records, or maybe some fucking Billie Holiday GooTube video, or she saw a documentary on Nina Simone. Maybe she recalls how Carly Simon and Linda Ronstadt extended their careers by singing "the classics." This aspiring twat would like to be a Broadway actress like Audra McDonald or Marin Mazzie, who not only stars in musical revivals, but takes her fame to the top nightclubs where everyone rejoices to her versions of Sondheim.
Where does this ambitious bitch do her pay-to-play, or take a percentage of the door while the club makes a fortune on drinks and food? A place like THIS. It's not located in a ritzy area at all, but they charge like they do.
Reasonable? $24 for a seat SOMEWHERE? Maybe it's not too humiliating for yourself, but what if you're bringing a date? Why, then you'll want that $95 "deal" where you get to "skip the line" and be treated like a human, and even have a drink or two.
You noticed the name for the April 19th show? You might well ask, WHO the fuck is that woman I'm seeing? That's the wife of a certain lovable curmudgeon who used to write and record dark, sarcastic and mean rock/pop tunes in the early 80's. SHE will be doing the Joni Mitchell songbook for you. If HE plays a gig, it'll be at the much more budget Bitter End, where it'll only be $10 to get in, and a beer or "sparkling water" might only be $6.
Who else plays this joint? Oh, so glad you didn't ask. I'll show you a sample from the website anyway.
Here's this week of tourist-trap and vanity acts, with some nights having an early evening and late evening performance for an hour or 90 minutes, and a Saturday or Sunday having daytime gigs as well.
Rich people have no shortage of friends and relatives who want to be STARS and need to be SUPPORTED.
And as a certain Salty Mort used to say about GAYS, "nobody's starving in that group." Meaning, there's always a goddam flock of campy DRAG ACTS in clubs like this. But mostly, it's would-be divas (with actual vaginas) who figure they'll be the next Kristin Chenowith or Liza Minnelli, singing the "American Songbook." They have CDs out via "small jazz labels" and their set will somehow involve torturing "Send in the Clowns" or strutting around defying God to "rain on my parade." Well, not inside a fucking expensive club for pretentious dopes who want to pretend they're true sophisticated New Yorkers, and they're seeing cutting edge performers.
You'll note there's actually only ONE performer who anyone may have heard of, and that's Annie Ross, a 70-something authentic legend (didn't she once fuck Lenny Bruce?) who gives the club some cred. I wouldn't be surprised if they pay HER to appear, or at least, give her a much better deal than the others. And if she sings "Love For Sale," oh, wow. She sang "Love For Sale." I almost feel like Cole Porter is still alive!
Oh, of course. Two drink minimum. $15 for a fancy coffee.
You get hungry from the stress of taking the bus to the train or an Uber cab, and waiting in line, and then seeing the FAB act, so you'll want to empty your wallet completely and have some food, too. Especially if you have brought along your lady friend, who EXPECTS this to be a NIGHT OUT, and will remind you that YOU wanted to see the act not HER, so SHE should be compensated by as much FOOD and DRINK as she WANTS.
This is part of being a true New Yorker, isn't it? Having the pomposity to fake your way through a wine list, or non-chalantly ordering a fancy mixed drink hoping it doesn't arrive looking too faggy with toy paper umbrellas in it? $16 for a "Cocktail." How SO FIZZ TICATED. You did note that one cocktail was named after the fabulous Annie Ross her own self.
That's $17 for appetizers...bits of sliced cheese or celery and olives...things any nitwit waitress can prepare. Oddly enough, there's only one main course that everybody's supposed to have: MEATBALLS. I suppose this is to discourage people from ordering an actual meal and instead, spend a lot more on several skimpy platters of appetizers. It's expensive hiring a chef, so why not just have a few people who can arrange stuff on a plate, and one hapless fool shaping and cooking up MEATBALLS for whatever classless, messy moron might want 'em?
No wonder most people stay home. But the Seniormole assholes will sniff and say, "Oh, music should be free, you support the artist by going to the show ($24 to $48 to get in, minimum) and buying a t-shirt (and being forced to pay the two drink minimum as well)."
It can be a pretty expensive night out, Mr. Mole. Much better to be able to order a fucking CD by mail order. Back in the old days when the music business was healthy, and the Bottom Line was still around, you could buy the music AND see the show for not all that much more than a movie or an evening of bowling. GONE are the days..."
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