Class Act, Cool Cats

(The Village Vanguad, still the vintage jazz-lover's Mecca it always was. Image from I Blog What I Hear.)

Continuing with my appraisal of those places that weathered Greenwich Village’s transition from low-rent bohemia to swank opulence – all while retaining their charm and distinction – I’d like to point out a tiny but internationally-renowned jazz club on Seventh Avenue near Sheridan Square.

To an unknowing eye, the plain red awning and neon sign outside might not seem worthy of much attention, being situated in an area bloated with must-see hotspots. But down the narrow stairs, in a tight basement space, 75 years of invaluable jazz history have transpired, during which countless giants in American music performed, recorded and debuted for the world.

The Village Vanguard, opened by Max Gordon in 1935, is for many musicians a jazz Mecca, having seen nearly every well-known name in the genre pass through its doors and wail on its cramped, barely elevated stage. (Black and white photographic portraits on the walls depict only a handful of the legends that once called it home.) It gives off that unmistakable Old New York vibe – dim, slight, and understated. A bit worn, but with taste, preserving a mélange of grit, class and intrigue that every jazz club ought to have.

And living up to its bold title, it has stayed inarguably relevant. A surprising number of people can squeeze into the main room to sit at the low tables and chairs, but the Vanguard usually fills up on a nightly basis, even when (or especially when) its stellar house band performs each Monday. Patrons should reserve tickets in advance. Shows generally cost $30, which includes $10 toward a two-drink minimum – not a lousy deal, considering the regular cocktail prices. In keeping with the music’s traditional practices, each night offers two sets from the same act – one at 9 p.m. and one at 11 p.m. – which the artist in question will repeat over a tenure of several days.

When the performance begins, be it a long-established luminary or promising up-and-comer, the room fills with a refreshing wave of silence. Popular music lost something over the past few decades, and it has to do with the how the audience receives the art that it pays for. Attend any medium-profile gig or open mic at a lesser-known venue, and bear witness to the sheer amount of talking that goes on while the musicians play. (Once, while checking out an open jam session at HR-57 in Washington, I suffered through a din so loud that it drowned out everything but the highest notes from a trumpet.)

I don’t want bash appropriate socializing, but certain mediums demand a certain degree of reverence. DJ nights allow for loud conversation. Not jazz. But with an ever-shrinking pool of aficionados and traditionalists, many ignorant (thought well-meaning, I’m sure) listeners treat frequenting a jazz club as they would a noisome wine bar.

This does not happen at the Village Vanguard, and I hope that this aphorism drives home the sort of landmark it is. In that dark, enigmatic room, where I imagine a cloud of thick tobacco smoke once hung over crowds of rapt enthusiasts, one pure factor reigns above all else. Even when I once saw Tony Bennett in the audience, checking out a Bill Charlap concert, the humbled, ordinary schmucks held their tongue until after the show. In the Vanguard, it is about the jazz happening right in the moment. And it is only about that.

Coffee, Café Reggio, and What the Village is All About

(Reggio's exterior at night. Image from FLIPIX.)

Greenwich Village reached its zenith as an artistic, intellectual and progressive hub decades ago, and has since met the fate common to many urban neighborhoods of similar character. Traces of its onetime bohemia – notably its dingy taverns and cafés, where coffee and beer were cheap, performers made a living off tips, and oddballs and eccentrics chatted uninterrupted far into the morning hours – have largely disappeared, making way for condos and chain stores and high-end retail.

With the Gaslight gone, the White Horse pricey, and Bleecker Street filled with irksome out-of-towners – not to mention a cost of living unaccommodating to most young artist types – a sad void emerged in the area, though some entrepreneurs have tried their hand at filling it. They open new venues and taverns on the spots where Bob Dylan strummed and Dylan Thomas drank. They try to recall the intensely literate 50s, the fiercely left-wing 60s, the gritty 70s.

Frequently they fail, succeeding in only capturing an ersatz forgery of what the Village once was. The prices just seem too high, the patronage too run-of-the-mill, the bohemianism too contrived.

They cannot compare to the few longstanding Village staples left, like Café Reggio, a European-style coffee shop and eatery on MacDougal Street now nearly 85 years old. Amid the cacophony of bar-hopping tourists, Reggio stands out as a quiet haven with pastries, paninis, and late hours, making coffee in a style predating the ubiquitous assembly-line service popularized by Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts.

The goods here hearken to the area’s past as a settlement for Italian immigrants in New York. Not until Mulberry Street can one find cannolis and sfogliatella like these. A cup of the myriad of teas and coffees (not all of which are European) can cost anywhere from $3-$5 – granted, it’s a comparatively steep price for a single serving. But the fresh paninis don’t run much higher than that, and as a heavy tea drinker, I’ve refilled my cup a gratifying number of times from one order. With both food and drink offerings being top-notch, one can find a satisfying meal with a hot beverage for about $10 or less, and spend hours loitering in an unobtrusive environment besides.

Stepping past the sidewalk tables and quiet green storefront into the dim interior feels like stepping through a time warp to the Jazz Age. Busts of philosophers, composers and other historical figures line the walls along with busy Renaissance paintings. Antiques like a mammoth espresso machine, garish benches and a rustic cash register still in use delight even before any food arrives.

And it may take a while before it does. The one factor that some might consider a drawback is that an old-fashioned European café moves at an old-fashioned European pace – tantalizingly slow. But while the waitresses take their time, they also never hurry their customers through anything, be it a daytime meal or midnight cup of tea. The ambiance remains conducive to lengthy socializing or private thought, to group discussion or solitary time with a laptop and book. Don’t come to Reggio seeking a quick bite at lunch. Expect to linger and relax with an accordingly laid-back staff.