Photos — A Floating World

For fun and refuge: a blurred glimpse inside one of my preferred East Village watering holes, a low-key untrendy scene with a distinguished political and literary history, where a small rotation of colorful bartenders scrawl cash-only tabs on post-its and are always ready with a dark quip and a long pour.

Comments

[rootlesscosmo]

There's a lot of irony about the name of that bar. Here's some of the background:

The pre-World War One Socialist Party of America included groups of immigrants who belonged to nationally-identified groups--Finnish, Russian, Slovak, Hungarian, et al.--with their own publications, organizational structure, youth affiliates etc. After the Russian Revolution, while most US-born Socialists stayed with the SP, many of the foreign-language groups left and joined the brand-new Communist Parties (there were two, for a while), supplying much of their initial membership and support. In a lot of immigrant communities, that led to the formation of parallel groupings: until at least the 1970's, there were two Finnish meeting halls in Berkeley, the "Red" one and the "Social-Democratic" one. In Manhattan, the "Red" Ukrainian group acquired that building on East 4th Street (there was a substantial Ukrainian community in the neighborhood into the 1960's) and used it for meetings, social and cultural events, etc.

In 1968, I attended a nine-week cadre training school run by the CPUSA, of which I was then a member, at that building. Every morning we'd climb the stairs, past the portrait of Taras Shevchenko (the national poet) for classes; at lunchtime we'd come down to the bar-café, where older women from the Ukrainian group served us cabbage soup and pelmeni and borshch with sour cream; around 4:30 we'd come back down to the bar and have a drink with the older Ukrainian men who ran it.

It's really unsettling to see the place become a hipster hangout named for the old Soviet secret police...

[Kai]

It is indeed unsettling. Though I might add a little-known secret about the name: it was actually named after a non-political theater group, not the Soviets, but the owner decided to play on the Soviet theme in an ill-fated attempt at irony. Or so the owner assures me; though I'm not sure what to believe, there are so many stories swirling about that place.

[rootlesscosmo]

It gets even odder. I'm fairly sure that in 1959 I saw an off-off-Broadway revue in the basement, a show called "Diversions" (it was very funny, the highlight was Ravel's "Bolero" sung in nonsense syllables, by five solemn cast members); one of the writers was Steven Vinaver, son of the poet Mascha Kaleko

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mascha_Kaleko

who was also a link to mid-century Central European history and politics.

[Kai]

Wow. How many twisted reverse-ironies can you pack into such a modest venue? Thanks for sharing. And despite all that, I still find it a fine secluded location to enjoy a quiet beer with one or two friends, chat with the bartender, listen to music.

[Veronica]

That is excellent bar lighting.

[rootlesscosmo]

despite all that

...or because of it? Maybe some historical phantoms lurk in the corner by the cigarette machine, denouncing Browderism, or scat-singing "Bolero:"

(Shoomp pockety shoomp pockety shoomp shoomp
Shoomp pockety shoomp pockety pockety pockety)
Zoing! Dibby-dibby-dibby zoing dibby zoing!

etc.

[belledame222]

ooh! That's uh, uh, uh...whatsits. with the connected theatre and they give lit'ry readings all the time. yeah. Them.

[Kai]

Veronica, exactly, the lighting is just right...

rootlesscosmo, actually you're right, all those red ghosts probably add to the aura of the place in my flighty imagination...I'm trying to work out which part of Bolero might fit over those lyrics, and what syllables might be used to vocalize the epic horn blasts at the climax of the piece... ;-)

belledame222, hehe yeah you got it, that's the one...

Cheers!

[rootlesscosmo]

The "shoomp pockety" is the snare drum and the "Zoing!" (etc.) is the beginning of the English horn solo. There were five cast members; four sat on stools slightly behind the soloist, Gubi Mann, who stood with her hands clasped across her midsection in the approved vocal-recital style. The whole routine was delivered completely deadpan, which of course made it a lot funnier. The show also included a self-referential ballad calls "Here Comes the Ballad," with lyrics explaining where to change key, etc. Pretty advanced stuff for 1959, or so I congratulated my 17-year-old self.

I didn't comment on Brownfemipower's post because I'm not really competent to make general statements about the blogosphere, but I certainly agree that the white Left has a long-standing tendency to define itself and its activities as "the Left," sin comentàrio, and then wonder out loud where all the people of color are. Meanwhile the most consistent progressive voting bloc in Congress on everything--health care, foreign policy, budget priorities, education, minimum wage, you name it--is the Black Caucus, and a million-plus people, mostly Latin@, marched last May for immigrant rights. Not exactly hard to find.

[Kai]

rootlesscosmo, ah..."shoomp pockety" works well, but I totally disagree with "zoing" because those expansive sounds need to open up into vowels and not be constricted by consonants. But anyway. 1959. Good stuff. :-D

[Yolanda Carrington]

I love a good hangout, even though I've never been much of a barhopper. Diners and cafes are my preferred haunts. There's a diner chain down south called the Waffle House, way better than IHOP. It's the best place here to get hash browns and coffee at 3am.

I'd definitely visit this bar for a heart-to-heart with a friend. It looks like many life-altering talks have been had at that place.