The Cornelia Street Cafe
Greenwich Village, NYC
The quintessential place of verse and song, along with free espresso refills guaranteed to keep you going for 36 hours while on a very tight budget.
The Cafe was on my original lists of places to include on these Thursday musings, written as they are as a writing workout and also to mark places that have been significant in literature, history, music, or surfing. [Those are the things that interest me, along with Christianity and Christendom so, if you're reading this, that's what you're stuck with.]
The Cafe was on my original lists of places to include on these Thursday musings, written as they are as a writing workout and also to mark places that have been significant in literature, history, music, or surfing. [Those are the things that interest me, along with Christianity and Christendom so, if you're reading this, that's what you're stuck with.]
It was at the bottom of the list, though, as I wanted to get to the places that no longer exist or are in danger of disappearing for good. No chance of that happening to the Cornelia Street Cafe, of course, as it has become a fixture in Greenwich Village and the place that started a hundred careers in the arts. Yeah, about that.
In December I learned that the Cafe was closing, another victim of NYC's absurd rents. Let's face it, keeping the graft flowing to pols and unions is expensive, and the Cafe's rent of $33,000 a month was a bit ridiculous. One has to admire the dedication of its owners for keeping it going and even expanding it for over four decades. When I read of its closing, I felt yet another potion of my youth surrender. Is that too melodramatic? Again, you chose to read this.
During my New York years, I knew times of plenty and times when my budget forced me to choose between eating or buying a subway token. I always lived in Manhattan and, save for a period as a hospital chaplain in Queens, always worked there, too. Through all of those changes in attire, attitude, hair style, and artistic taste, the Cornelia Street Cafe was always there and always affordable.
The first time I was there was to hear a local poet recite his works and have what turned out to be my first real cappuccino. That was all I could have as the Cafe's offerings came from a sole cappuccino machine and a toaster oven. Those brioche did smell good, though, but, at $1.50, they were out of my price range [that was the equivalent of two subway tokens].
The first time I was there was to hear a local poet recite his works and have what turned out to be my first real cappuccino. That was all I could have as the Cafe's offerings came from a sole cappuccino machine and a toaster oven. Those brioche did smell good, though, but, at $1.50, they were out of my price range [that was the equivalent of two subway tokens].
The last time I was there it had expanded to the space next door and the space next door to that. It had a bar, two kitchens, and a full menu. There was still poetry, though, and music of all sorts; now with a green room for the performers. As the independent voice in poetry and song became more popular, the cafe appeared to become more prosperous, but still fulfilling its original mission of supporting the local creative community.
From their self-written history:
Singer-songwriter Suzanne Vega started out here, as did Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues; senator and presidential candidate Eugene McCarthy and attorney-activist William Kunstler have read their poetry; Dr. Oliver Sacks continues to read his prose. Nobel Laureate Roald Hoffmann presents a monthly Science Series; members of Monty Python & the Royal Shakespeare Company intermittently perform. Cornelia Street now offers some 700 shows a year, two a night, ranging from science to songwriting, from Russian poetry to Latin jazz, from theatre to cabaret. In 1980 Stash Records released the award-winning album, Cornelia Street: The Songwriters Exchange, a collection of songs born at the café.Through the years, my favorite part of time spent at the Cafe was listening to people of whom you had never heard. It didn't matter, as they all brought some verve to the place. Some were better than others, but all of them were serious and were trying to do something original and entertaining. That's increasingly rare, isn't it?
I left New York in 1986, when there were still a number of the locales that had produced what the rest of the 20th and early 21st century would appreciate in terms of art, verse, music, and literature. One could lean against the same wall by the same sign under which Jack Kerouac had been photographed, listen to The Ramones and Blondie perform live, sit in front of Allan Ginsburg as he recited his latest, hear Joe Walsh give an impromptu performance in the Sam Ash music store when he was looking for a new axe, and wander down Bleeker Street and read the signs in front of establishments that had served as the settings and references in a dozen dozen songs and books.
Now, Greenwich Village looks like an outdoor shopping mall with a disturbing sameness to the street vibe. Ah, well, such it is to live in the stream of history. It seems, with the closing of the Cafe, like I'm trying to listen to the Peter Gunn theme without the bass line.
More may read here and here.