BLIND JUSTICE

An Original Tune (click!)

I found myself one morning

 In a court of law and land

Upon that ‘ol worn bible

Did I place there my right hand

I cannot lie I’ll tell the truth

Cause I’ve got no alibi

I’m guilty as the night is long

And now I’ll tell you why 

I woke up without my baby

Oh my heart was filled with dread

He left earlier that morning

Snuck right up out of my bed

He took his moving trunk  away with him

Left nothing but a note

So I set back down and braced myself

And this is what he wrote 

You know I love you baby

But I just got to go

I got to catch the train that’s leaving

I am not your one man show

I been all around this great big world

And I learned a thing or two

And the one thing that I know is this

To mine own self be true

Don’t think too badly of me

I sure meant you no harm

But I threw that letter to the floor

I’d fallen victim to his charm

His promises His poetry

His late night ne’er do well

But I ain’t never had such reverie

He was magic with a spell 

Now I knew for sure I’m not the first

He used so worldly wise

In every state and corner town

You can hear their broken cries  

So I took the matter in my own hand

And raced him to the tracks

And I know for sure there is no doubt

He won’t be coming back 

The judge looked down upon me

The verdict had come in

You’re honor she is innocent

This was no crime or sin

I knew this man and so did I

Each juror said in turn

 

Those cries you hear belong to us

His punishment he earned

So let this be a cautious tale

For those doing someone wrong

For it may not be the law you break

But you’ll pay before too long

There are rules that still apply

For those who steal by night

The fate you seal may be your own

Blind Justice sees it right

Blind Justice sees it right

Blind Justice sees it right

 

 

 



Time Flies!

It is December. How TWISTED is that!?!
(Live link to new music in the blue above!)

 

There are complete gaps in my memory of the days that have gone by simply because of the speed with which the year is flying past.  Yet, I can remember eating a bowl of buttery Olive Oil gelato while reading a New York Times article on Summer Fashion.  That was July 4^th.  

 

Or pushing 12 bags of luggage from 21^st Street to 22^nd Street, dropping my glove and praying no one would hand me a dollar thinking I was homeless, because I sure looked like it wrapped in several coats to keep from the labor of actually carrying them. That was last January. Finding the apartment in February and wandering aimlessly around the Village whose streets I now know as my own neighborhood.

 

Or sometime in July playing a host of decorated pianos in a midtown warehouse which the good people of the project Sing for Hope allowed me to play.  The little memory chip recording of the afternoon is still sitting on a shelf waiting for a compatible program to be downloaded. 

 

Or spending a luxurious weekend with my sisters when we stood at Eataly’s counter eating wonderful cheeses and Italian cured meats, dinner at ABCCocina  where we ate short rib tacos and kale, mushroom tacos.  Then on Saturday standing in line for the latest rage of Umami Burgers, then a quick stop at the Corner Bistro

 before later that Saturday evening to have an absolutely perfect restaurant experience from beginning to end at Union Square Café.  Besides fish and steak for the entree's we ate indescribable polenta with truffle oil walnuts and mascarpone, stuffed squash blossoms and totally enjoyed a stunning bottle of Burgundy. The next day we had  a lovely garden brunch at Palma while drinking a delicate La vie en rose cocktail, took a kitschy but memorable boat trip around Manhattan, enjoyed summer fruit at Morandi, and finally had a perfect farewell Mexican lunch on Monday at the now vanished Mesa Grill. Blues at Terra, Jazz at 55 Bar. The weekend is clear in my mind I just don’t know what weekend it was.   I could look it up, of course, but it was sometime in August or September.  The weather was perfectly warm and clear and the company was clearly perfect.  The girls, including my nieces, have since been back and in fact just left after a wonderful Thanksgiving weekend.  Thanksgiving is already in the past!

 

I've even worked here!  For a short stint I worked at Met Opera in the call center asking opera fans to support the Met.  I met great people there and experienced my first opera, a risqué Rigoletto in a honey comb of a theatre at Lincoln Center.  A quick aside:  I should've realized my days were numbered at Met Opera when on the first day of training the big boss walks into the room to say hello to the new hires and give us an overview of the grandeur which is Met Opera.  It is justifiably world famous.  Well, anyway, he sits down and the first words out of his mouth are "Hello, I am ... Please tell me who you are even though I am warning you, I will never remember  any of your names.  Even if I walk past you in the hall everyday I won't remember your name.  But go ahead, let's go around the table introduce yourself anyway."  So Lily said, "Hello, I'm Lily..."  Jack said, "Hello, I'm Jack..." And I said, "Hello, I'm Lucy McGillicuddy..."  No one got it.  Even the big boss.  I suppose I should've been more respectful but I thought they would get it and laugh and therefore remember my name.  But I think it just put me in his sights to get rid of me on the 89th day before the 90th when full benefits hit. 

 

I write professionally!  There are a couple blogs that I ghost write for, thank you Carol Robinson, and I have also been fortunate to write for WiseTribe, which is the brain child of a fellow New Smyrnan/New Yorker, Jacqueline Botting. 

After many trips to the incredible museums I have stood for the first time in front of Picasso’s 3Musicians, Van Gogh’s Irises, and Monet’s Water Lilies which fill an entire room at MoMA.  Em and I experienced The Warhol exhibit at The Met and I was amazed by the rattan sculpture  of the Cambodian artist Sopheap Chip, an amazing feat. I now know more about the architecture and art of Le Corbusier than I knew possible because his entire body of work and belongings took up the top floor at MoMA.  Em, Mary Katherine and I stood under a blazing sun while waiting to get into the Rain Room, a much heralded and mind boggling art piece, again at MoMA. 

I experienced the Civil War art exhibit at the Met with Mark out of which came one of my best songs.  I will share that one day. 

I made a trip to Florida to say goodbye to our Mother. 

Emily came back to New York after a summer away.

I experienced 9/11 in this city and could only peel away a corner of the painful experience that we all shared, but not like here. 

I’ve met up with friends who have come up to experience the city and gave me a call to join them. Thank you Linda! and Mary Alice and Doug and Danny! 

 

I've eaten the best wonton soup I've ever had and I am a complete nut for Borscht!

There was a very muddy week when several cousins and friends of Emily stayed here for a Tropical Storm whipped Governor’s Ball music festival.  Last May already! I fallen in love with Governor's Island, an island respite only a ferry ride's throw from Manhattan! Em and I went back in time there  at a Nineteenth century French Carnival in September. 

New friends made, music sung, apartment made into a home, and the feeling of becoming a new local, part of the scene of the city.  I absolutely love living here.  It is home. I have experienced all 4 Seasons here now.  Central Park in the Fall is my favorite. 

 

No, I think it's Spring. 

 

I started this chronicle Blonde in Big Town last March and it is just shy of 75 views before it has been seen 4000 times!  The statistics show that it has audiences in Russia, Germany, the Ukraine, Iceland, Venezuela, Serbia, France, Canada, Greece and The Netherlands!  I don’t know how you find it but thank you for coming!

 

If you have an Instagram account check out my photos @klclancy   I twitter too!  Go figure!  @IamKarenClancy (I do realize this is shameless self-promotion!)

 

To entice the push to 4000 views I have recorded one of my all-time favorites, Twisted, written and performed by Annie Ross of Lambert, Hendricks and Ross and also sung by Joni Mitchell.  Now it’s my turn! It’s me on the piano in my 3^rd Street Kitchen.   

Thanks for coming and pull up a chair!

Karen

 

 

 

 

Winter Approaches

as  Autumn Leaves

Amid requests for a post by my niece Liz Clancy, here is the latest from

New York City…it’s cold!! 

It doesn’t’ seem that long ago when my neck felt dirty and gritty in the thick heat of summer.  Now for the first time in my life I pulled all my warm weather clothes off the shelf and stashed them in plastic bags in the cabinet over the closet while replacing them with the few sweaters I will rotate until Spring.  

We had a beautiful, if quick, Autumn.  Em and I spent quite a few hours these past weeks rambling through The Ramble in Central Park.  It astounds me how the city disappears within the confines of the hills, vales and underbrush of the park.  It is a heavenly haven and one of the few places in the city I can look up and let my spirit fly skyward without hindrance.  

Tonight, with temps heading down into the 20's  the radiator clicks away and warms our tiny apartment while I sit in the bedroom writing and Em works in the kitchen with yards of fabric to make that perfect black dress she can’t find on any affordable rack in the city.  

I wanted to get to the Corner Bistro today to see people and have a beer and burger but before I knew it, it was already dark and only 4:30 in the afternoon.  Tomorrow is another day. 

Employment is eluding me.  I keep looking, applying and it appears that well, I better keep looking and applying.  “It will come” is my motto. 

The good thing about having time on my hands is that my piano playing is getting more proficient.  Perhaps that employment will be in the form of what I am actually trained to do, play, sing, mug and use my S’wonderful personality to entertain the glamorous people of New York City.  S’marvelous  if you would care for me!!  I record a lot of music with my iPhone on an app called SoundCloud.  Nothing fancy but it’s real.  My piano is set up on a wall in our tiny kitchen, thus the 3^rd Street Kitchen Session title in place holder.  

Before it got too cold we had fun being a part of the Village Halloween Parade.  Em Steel was a hit as Cherry Garcia and she used her artistic skills to apply my makeup reviving some of my more theatrical days of the 1980’s.  The last time I was part of a Halloween parade was when Em and her little cousins walked Canal Street in our hometown.  The New York Parade was straight up 6th Avenue in The Village which was lined with thousands upon thousands of people.  I have never felt so anonymous in my life but there were crazy moments of connection with bystanders, cops, and marchers.   I brought a bag of Snickers with me and was rewarded with quick eye contact, hand to hand connections and smiles.  I just can’t stand being invisible! 

      In honor of the season I've recorded Autumn Leaves for this Session at my 3rd Street Kitchen.  The video link in the sub-title up above was taken last week during our ramble.

Thanks for stopping by!

Karen

 

Week's End

Wild Is The Wind

 

(D.Bowie)

I've reached the end of a rough week, the weather was ugly sticky hot, it was my first 9/11 in the City in which my stay was uncertain, and two friends in Florida were involved in auto accidents, one beautiful woman is in very serious condition and heartbreakingly, we've lost a woman who was truly remarkable.   I've been alone to live through it. There was no inspiration for music. 

I finally opened up my music notebook and played the piano.

This is what came out.

 

 



What Made Me Turn Around?

I get off work at 9 p.m. and often decide to walk toward home.  Usually it’s when I get on the phone to one of my sisters because we have a lot to say to each other and it takes longer than the six blocks to my station to get it all said.

This happened the other night.  I was talking to my sister Margaret about everything we were both doing and I passed the Columbus Circle Subway Station and kept on walking. 

As usual that time of night I take the busiest street so I can talk and be around a lot of people.  Big city, bright lights are good.

Where does that plan always lead me but straight through Times Square, in my opinion one of the safest few blocks in the world.  The area is dizzyingly bright and crowded with regular people all gawking at the sheer ostentatiousness of the commercial center of the universe.  I can slip through like a breeze in a wheat field.

This night was no different.

I continue to 42^nd Street where I head toward the Bryant Park station.

Down I go and wait for the train.  It’s probably 10:30 by this time.

The train arrives and I get in the last car.  The seating arrangement on this particular train is 3 seats in a row and two perpendicular to those, like the letter “L” with other “L’s” back to back down the car’s length.

I take a seat among the three on the wall, the one closest to the bottom of the “L”.  Seated there is a man I wonder about.  Because of the seating arrangement his knees are almost touching my right thigh so I take a quick look at him to see if it’s cool to be sitting so close.

The first thing I notice is that he’s very thin and pale. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt which allows me the opportunity to study his many tattoos.  Quite a few New York Yankees logos; the script, the NY, the baseball with the Uncle Sam hat, he might’ve had a few more but I had to be a little circumspect in my inspection of him.  A pretty big Cross, and The Doors logo. He had a lot of artwork.

He was wearing a blue NY Yankees ball cap too which was hiding his face as he was bent almost double over an E-book pad which he was reading from intently. It looked like he was reading a novel. His hair was buzz short so I could see that he had a band-aid on either side of his neck, like maybe he got sliced, or maybe new art.

He had shorts on and on his feet were those Vibram rubber barefoot shoes, you know, the weird looking ones with five toes. 

I didn’t know whether to be intimidated by him or marvel at him. If I had no manners I would’ve taken a photo of him because he was so worthy of one.  He was an incredible mixture of culture, and interest, and street, and thought, that I was absolutely intrigued.  He is the only person in the world that looks like him I am sure.

He kept his head down in his reading the entire trip to West 4^th where I got off. 

I hit the platform and headed to the exit but before I got too far from the train I could’ve sworn I heard my name called behind me. I turned in time to see him get off the train.  For the first time I was able to see his face.

With total incredulity I saw that it was my friend Mike who runs security at my workplace.  He sits downstairs and makes sure all is well for everyone in the building. He looks over to see me and gives me a big smile and we end up talking until his transfer train arrives to take him home to Brooklyn.

Mike had just come from The Bronx where he had seen the Yankees play the Royals.  We talked baseball, work, his book which I want to say was le Carré or de Mille (Dean Koontz!), the band-aides which turned out to be a little medical procedure, and mostly enjoyment in that sheer happy happenstance that we were sitting leg to leg on a night that we came from disparate ends of the city and without plan, without clue we picked the same line, same car, same seat.

What a town.

Oh, and I don’t know what made me turn around.  Mike said he didn’t call my name.



 

You Miss Some Things if You Blink

July 16, 2013

Christopher Street, West Village, NYC

After a lovely evening with my dear friend Linda I walked her to the station back to New Jersey.  Leaving her at the subway entrance I headed back to my own neighborhood. 

In one short block I passed through several groups of flamboyant young men bedecked in short shorts and ribbons in their hair.  Then, getting caught behind a very tall African American man in a sleeveless shirt I couldn't help but notice his incredible physique.  He obviously works very hard at maintaining a very cut figure and shoulders that were defined and showed every fiber of the muscles. 

Needing to pass I said, "Hello..."

Jumping aside as though electrocuted he cried in a high falsetto, "Didn't your Mother ever teach you not to talk to strangers?!?" 

I tried to be cool since I apparently scared him and glanced at him with a friendly smile to assure him that he was not in danger but he was cowering toward a building and would not look my way.

Turning away from him I stepped toward the intersection just ahead.  Coming toward me was a man struggling to run while carrying a woman in his arms.  Her face was tucked into his chest. 

"Open the door!  Open the door!" he was yelling.  I realized there was a waiting cab at the curb and stepped back to open the door and let them in.  He yelled to the driver, "My wife is having a miscarriage!! We need to get to the hospital!"

I continued on my way invisible in their frightened despair. 

Two more blocks and I was sitting at an old wooden bar listening to a Jazz Trio of drifting guitar and Senegalese rhythms. 

I've thought of them all all day today.

Walk Along the River....

In a city of 8 million stories the scene changes without a moments notice.

In a space of 24 hours I went from this story:

I sometimes question my sanity living in New York City.  Saturday night I went looking for music. Stopped by a Jazz Club on 10th Street in the Village. For $20 I could go in and hear a band I never heard of. So I asked the guy at the door what kind of music the band played. "We're a Jazz Club." "I'm sorry, yeah I know that. What kind of Jazz does the band play?" "It's Jazz. Would you... even know the difference?"
Before my head exploded I headed toward another club thinking Blues would be more in line with a positive scene. So I headed to a club on Bleeker. For $10 I could hear the band who was on break. "What kind of Blues is it?" "It's Blues." "Yeah I know, Chicago, Delta? Texas?" "I can't help you there I haven't looked at the band." I headed home. Thinking about doing that literally as well.

To this story:

 I decided to walk to my village apartment from work last night. 6pm. I work at 65th St. and live on 3rd street.
Still learning the city I heard that the Hudson River Park and Bike Path goes all the way down the west side of Manhattan to the Battery and then back up again on the East River.
I usually go down the center of the city through Times Square and down seventh avenue until I get tired and get on the subway about 23rd but yesterday I decided I would take the Riverwalk.
It was wonderful; geographically speaking like my hometown of New Smyrna Beach except for the fact that, well it's Manhattan and across the way I can see Jersey City and all the buildings to my left, the Empire State building, Madison Square Garden thousands of buildings I have no idea.
The river was on my right under the late afternoon sun, the city on my left, lots of people walking biking in all sorts of traffic sort of thing it was great the breeze was wonderful it was July hot but I was fine. I carry an umbrella for shade.
As I walked along many things would just come and go from view but at one point I came from behind a building on the right and there in all its glory was the USS Intrepid.

I couldn't believe it! It was larger than any structure I had ever seen before and it was floating on the water.

A Space Shuttle is on deck and so are planes and jets and helicopters.  It's just amazing that this huge machine plowed the waters all those years during World War II  and was the emblem of American might in the oceans of the world and it is Right here in Manhattan!

Just to the south alongside of Intrepid I heard "1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 and twist, turn step step, 5,6, 7, 8. Very good!" There on the banks of the Hudson were a hundred couples learning to swing dance! They were having a blast and all I could think of was how the results of the fighting men on the aircraft carrier in the background enabled this type of life to continue. 

 

 Keeping on keeping on I continued to a place on the right, again on the river, was a giant barge turned restaurant called the FryingPan. Curious I headed on in and there were hundreds of people enjoying the sounds of gypsy jazz and the river breezes in the sunset.  It was kind of like, well JB's Manhattan style.

After a couple hours there it was getting dark so I got back on the path again and thought I would hit the subway at 23rd but I was already past 23rd so I just kept walking and walking then walking through the Village headed home and as I passed the Blue Note who was standing outside but several players in the Duke Ellington Orchestra who had been playing there for the past week.
 I stopped to talk and chat and ask how their week was and they were very friendly and by the end of the conversation I was running home to take a quick shower as I had been an invited guest to their final show Sunday night!
So what a great end to my story from the night before, don't tell me I didn't know what kind of jazz I was going to be listening to, I was going to be listening to some of the greatest American Jazz played by some of the finest musicians on alto and tenor saxes, clarinets, a piano that just couldn't be beat trumpets, trombones, drums and bass...incredible!
I truly felt the spirits of Noble "Thinman" Watts, Harold Blanchard, and
Duke Ellington himself come into that room while that music was being played. What a wonderful experience!

New York City, it's back on!

Coming Back

 

 

The Clancy Family lost our Dearest Mother in June and I have now come back to New York City to continue the life here that I started in January. It has been very difficult picking myself back up and experiencing the same joy that I did before. 

 
As the plane left LaGuardia and circled over Manhattan heading to Florida it was unbearably difficult to say goodbye to the City for the reason I was going.

I knew what I was facing but had no idea what faced me. 
 

Since returning I have been incredibly thin skinned and have been wondering why it is I came back. Emily stayed behind until school at the end of August and so I was alone to face my grief.
 

Nothing was the same.
 
I even became aware of the 'dirt' of the city where as before I was so
in love that I didn't notice any of it. 

One of the things that made me so fall for New York City was the Sing for Hope Piano Project in which I was trying to play 88 pianos before they disappeared from the streets on June 16. That, sadly, was a quest I could not complete and it only added to my grief. I didn't even want to finish writing about the pianos I had played. In fact I haven't wanted to do much of anything since I returned over a week ago.

 

During the quest I played one of the pianos outside of the Chobani Soho café. Chobani sponsored the Sing for Hope Project. 

 

My picture was taken by Micheline, the project manager, and she sent it to me on email. We then started an email conversation back and forth, first with me telling her of my quest to play all 88, then that I was not able to complete my quest and the reason why. She was very kind and told me to get in touch with them when I return to New York which I did.

Micheline got in touch with me this past Monday by email.  Chobani and Sing for Hope have set it up for me to go next Monday to the warehouse in Times Square where all 88 pianos are stored. Each piano is getting cleaned up and prepared before they are given away to nursing homes schools and community centers.

 

I will be able to play ALL of them in one place!

 

Chobani also delivered by special courier a box filled with yogurts and treats and a lovely note saying that their sympathies were with us, the family, and they wanted to spread the joy of life and that is why they are giving me this incredibly generous gift of being able to play the 88 pianos all in one place in here in New York City!
                                                               What a way to come Back to Life!

3rd of 88 Keys to the City

It is time for a haircut so off I go to the East Village to see Michael at Crops for Girls

‘Crops’ is conveniently located by Tompkins Park where my 3^rd piano lies in wait.  Sing for Hope’s Art “U” partnered with P.S. 34 painting a composition book theme into the piano. 

Saturday is blustery and overcast and holds the promise of rain but is mild so everyone is out walking their dogs, riding bikes and holding hands.  

Upon my arrival I hear a very complicated sonata being played on the piano.  My heart sinks when I see it is a boy of about 8 years old on the keys.  

I take my position and lean on the nearby cement ping pong table and listen, wondering how I am ever going to follow this act.  Suddenly a very big dog is at my ear.  His owner has trained him to jump up on the table as part of his obstacle course training.  Having had a very big dog once take a chunk out of my leg I moved away quickly to save my ear. (I’m sure he was very sweet, it is a knee jerk reaction.) 

Having left my post the boy stood up and was quickly replaced by a very robust lady in a big purple dress under red pigtails wearing a big smile.  How could I refuse such effervescence, Play on!  

And she did.  For a good twenty minutes trying to recall those tunes she learned all those years ago at her piano lessons.  With each note my confidence grew until at last it was my turn and I grabbed it.  

I sat to play my now standard Nobody Knows You When Your Down andOut in C and sang and swang a version of Love in Vain.  

The dog was coming back and was approaching the piano, time to move on. 

I headed toward SoHo where I was to meet Em and Cody and her Cousins Mary and Maureen.  When I was last in the East Village for any length of time the snow was coming down and wandering was not really the thing to do.  This day however invited a stroll.   

I passed so many little neighborhood gardens that I slowed my pace so I could grab some pictures.  What a cool little community! It is really wonderful walking everywhere, I see so much.

2nd of 88 Keys to the City

 

Sometimes after work at 63rd and West End I walk toward our 3^rd Street home.  I haven't made it all the way yet as I usually get distracted by something interesting and end up taking the subway the rest of the way from whatever point I tire out. 

After my initial foray into the Piano Quest and armed with my Sing for Hope map I head home on foot, with 42^nd Street and the New York Public Library my target.  

(Little did I know that the flashing lights of Times Square hid from view a piano in plain sight.)  

Since the weather was perfect and there were a lot of people out and about  I decided to cut through Bryant Park.  The huge field of perfectly manicured grass is remarkable when you consider its surroundings of iron and steel skyscrapers and noisy traffic.

If you don’t know already, Bryant Park is home to the cleanest and loveliest public restroom in the city.  If you stop in, feel free to slide the lady there a couple bucks.  It’s not an official practice, it’s her job, but she certainly has earned that type of appreciation. There are even flowers on the counter.

I digress. 

I find the piano but alas, it is behind the barricades of the Library Garden. Not wanting to invite trouble from the NYPD I move on toward Grand Central planning to return another day.

Heading across 41^st Street I become aware of bronze plaques beneath my feet so I turn back to read one.  In turn I decided to photograph them. Turns out there are 96 of these plaques and as it happens there is a website devoted to them as well with all 96 plaques therein.  But there is no fun in that is there!? This is one of my own 96 with a Met Museum pen as guest star.

Since my Library Way Walk carried me back to the steps of the Library from Grand Central I decided to risk arrest.  I head up the Great Stairs past the Lions then walk quietly past the men sleeping in the quiet promenade.  Once I arrive at the end cap garden I am happy to find two lovely young Japanese women sitting by the piano which was a mosaic of pretty yellow and blue glass by the artist Kathleen Ruel. 

The three of us laughed and made conversation with our hands and tones.  It was great fun to play for such an enthusiastic audience that I stayed for nearly an hour playing everything I could think of. They applauded for each piece even though they were having their own spirited conversation. Not only did I appreciate their attention but their company; safety in numbers.

Arigato ladies!