To the memory of Dr. José Gregorio Hernández
While sitting one night with my friend Eric, a young woman came and sat next to us. She was the next musician to play that night. Her name was Jen. She is (as I was told later by my friend) the descendent of the great American literary theorist and philosopher, Kenneth Burke, whose primary interests were rhetoric and aesthetics. She is also the daughter of the musician Harry Chapin and is a wonderful musician in her own right. Her music explores the intersection of jazz, folk and pop.
Our conversation with Jen was permeated with the music coming from the back room. It was Les Bandits, whose melodies sounded as if a multitude of instruments were in synch creating music of the ‘20s. I was on my own, thinking about the life of Dr. Hernandez known as “Doctor of the Poor.” As a protector of Barbès, his bust sits diplomatically amid the wines and spirits.
“That is a dark place…for a different crowd,” my colleague Joanna says laughingly in reference to Barbès, a bar in Park Slope, Brooklyn. She is right. Barbès is a haphazardly designed establishment through which not much light filters. Its walls have no TV sets and it is difficult to read a book there, but you can still converse with folks like the writer Jean-Vincent as he jots down his impressions of Paris—a fictional account set in modern times, a time that has the aura of the mid-twentieth century. “French people are longing for something new,” he says, as he pauses in his writing. I didn’t inquire about the plot, theme, or characters of his work, leaving him to work alone. I returned to thinking about Dr. Hernandez and of his days in Paris studying medicine.
Live music constantly flows from the back room. It is a fitting complement to a nice evening; Barbès sounds as if it were a giant juke box. If you have read Ned Sublette’s Cuba and its Music you will immediately recognize the songs. Sublette’s book is premised on the idea that the impact of Cuban music on the United States is everywhere to be found. New Orleans, Sublette explains, was the port of entry for what became a unique musical relationship with Havana. The music of Barbès has, indeed, a Latin flavor even when a band called Sherita is playing a fourteenth century Sephardic/ Ladino song. Sublette’s book on Cuban music begins in Cadiz before the time of Christ—a time when the Gaditanos traded with North Africans and were bringing African musical sounds to southern Europe, called by the ancient Greeks “hispania.” Havana and New Orleans forged a unique commercial and musical relationship by the nineteenth century.
“Fifty Shades of Grey,” says Robert, a man from Ireland. We were talking about the erotic book by the British author E.L. James, “Why not Fifty Shades of Green?”, he adds as he enlightens us with the history of Ireland vis-à-vis England. The strong rhythmic groove of a song drowns out our conversation. On any given night it could very well be the Latin American sounds of Guinea’s Mandingo Ambassadors or Cumbiagra, whose Colombian songs interact nicely with other musical styles. The brass band Mexican Band of the Death, likewise, transports us to Sinaloa, and Les Chauds Lapins to French songs of the ‘30s and ‘40s. What is happening at Barbès, other than the music, is a gathering of individuals with similar tastes and ideas. It has become a meeting place, a kind of library where you can find information about politics, books, film, art, and sports, but most importantly, you are talking with people interested in the things other people have to say. And yet, just as we drink our beverages in a capricious way, we delude ourselves into thinking that alcohol drinking and music bring clarity to our reasoning. “Amo esas noches trágicas porque son las mejores…” said the late Peruvian poet Luis Nieto about his time spent on bars and drinking.
“Did you see the Woody Allen movie, Midnight in Paris?” “Yes”, I replied. I am reminded of the Parisian bars in Allen’s movie—Café Le Select, Les Deux Magots, La Coupole—that played a big part in the lives of writers belonging to what was called the “lost generation. Places like Barbès, I am told by a bar regular, allow people to enter a world of illusion and ideas, of solidarity and companionship. Bars are timeless, I am told, as I am reminded of a quotation by Charles Bukowski: “Drinking is an emotional thing. It joggles you out of the standardism of everyday life, out of everything being the same. It yanks you out of your body and your mind and throws you against the wall. I have the feeling that drinking is a form of suicide where you’re allowed to return to life and begin all over the next day. It’s like killing yourself, and then you’re reborn. I guess I’ve lived about ten or fifteen thousand lives now.”
“Would Bukowski drink at Barbès?” I ask Aaron, whom I call the Book-Man for his vast intellectual knowledge. Aaron is, for the most part, a quiet man who prefers to be anonymous… “The whiskey might be too good for him here,” he replies in reference to Bukowski and Barbès’ costumers, who are mainly white and professional and not necessarily Park Slopers. Barbès exudes a kind of bohemian intelligence that is appealing I contend… pre-empting the thought of the new residents to Park Slope feeling more comfortable in a classier and brighter bar environment. Yes. Bukowski’s bar would be located elsewhere, in another part of Brooklyn. Barbès is located in a beautiful brownstone community that is being infringed upon by a recent influx of affluence determined to prettify the neighborhood. Moms, nannies, strollers, and an array of beautiful dogs crowd its tree-lined streets. The bodegas and bars of yesterday are disappearing—Minsky’s, The Gaslight Inn with its pinball machine, etc. In their place, a number of trendy places have emerged with names like Café Dada, Surfish…Those of us who moved to Park Slope many years ago would have never realized that this new manicured Park Slope would emerge and extend beyond Ninth Street and on Sixth Avenue. A Park Slope where nouveau wine and cheese stores collide with the other Brooklyn of endless pressing unwritten stories.
My conversation with Aaron transpires as we look at Pamelia (Pamelia Kurstin with Pete Drungle) playing the theremin. Looking at her, you feel like you are suspended in air; you are looking at a rare musical instrument that you have never seen before. What is suspended in air are her hands and fingers which control the instrument. Are there electrical impulses she controls to create the music? We don’t know for sure. What I saw was a woman manipulating marionettes or playing air guitar. You are mesmerized not only by the eerie sounds of the theremin, but also the desire of the musician to play a dated musical instrument that creates art for us to enjoy.
“Why do we like Barbès?” I ask Jason M, a regular who is reading The Foie Gras Scramble. Foie is about a motorcycle rider traveling from Brooklyn to Montreal. Jason is the author and is re-writing it. This is his reply: “Barbès isn’t a place for misfits (as I’d heard someone else characterize it). Rather, it is a place of serendipitous congruence where people from disparate backgrounds and bents can find areas of common appreciation and complaint. True, the creative types tend to frequent this place, but so do those whose work would cause them not to be categorized as such, perhaps as a salve for this and a chance at lending their voice to the chorus. Barbès is indeed beautiful.” The music of Los Yungas. (“Los Pobres También Somos Felices”) plays amid our bar merriment. The lyrics are reminders of other similar Peruvian chicha songs: “Los pobres también tenemos, tenemos nuestros corazones, somos más felices, sabemos amar…” In the end, the people who come here are the ones who make Barbès an engaging bar. I look around and, indeed, it is people like Jason G. who could be writing his short stories…alone in a corner. Pat, another regular, explains the meaning of a painting titled Wedding Dance by Bruegel. He is an art handler at a prestigious museum in Manhattan. Excited, we hear about the upcoming museum exhibitions. As the beers come and go and the music surrounds us, Peter, a cinematographer, shares his latest cinematography project, Casting By. This documentary film is about the innate talent of casting directors as they discover the right person (an actor) for a role to cast for a film.
The sound from the back room is steady each night. It could be the smooth melodies of blues guitarist Mamie Minch, whose musical sensibility and style sounds as “if she stepped out of a seventy-eight RPM recording.” Or, it could be Matuto’s “Brazilian Carnaval” played with an American bluegrass accent, or Spanglish Fly, which reminds one of the sounds of many Latin countries. So too, People’s Champ, Llama, Slavic Soul Party…whose fusion music is what a sociologist will call “multiculturalism in music”. The music complements our evenings, adding another level of mind stimulant. Dr. Jose Gregorio returns to my thoughts. In June 29, 1919 one of the few existing cars in Venezuela would end his life.
“Por favor, un chilcano de pisco” I ask Claire, the bartender. The drink goes appropriately with the singing by Yma Sumac. Claire apprises me, in a humorous way, of her time in Bolivia and finding chicha as a beer. The bartenders are Viola, Alita, Quince, Angie, Francesco, Geoff, Claire, Meredith, and Hanna. As one listens to them, one becomes aware about their lives as actors, musicians, and writers. Hanna Cheek, for instance, did a gripping erotic monologue as part of The Pumpkin Pie Show at The Theatre Under St. Marks. The bartenders share our conversations, but more importantly, they also have much to say about us, the regulars.
When Mondays arrive, and with them Chicha Libre, the music is that of the Peruvian jungle. The owners of Barbès, Vincent and Olivier, play these songs to the delight of their patrons. On a different day, Olivier’s wife and Las Rubias del Norte (Blondes of the North) play Peruvian “waynos”, which remind me of my own native Andean music. It has a French accent, but who cares if the melodies are inspiring? We are at this bar to hide from the outside world. That is why we are here, in a safe place (a kind of cave) for chatter and laughter along with the image of Dr. Jose Gregorio. The piano music and lyrics like that of Fats Waller (“Bless you for building a new dream…”) also helps, subdues our fuzzy and out of focus vision. It’s swing leads us musically on a different journey. It removes us momentarily from an uneven course of events that is all around us.
NOTE: The author of this paper should be named Jason Cuatro. VR was named an honorary Jason… Barbès has now five official Jasons.
