Pangea (Manhattan, NY, Restaurant)

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    Reports of Cabaret’s Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated

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    The art form has faced challenges as nightlife norms shift — and as its audience ages — but it has also evolved. Five figures from the New York scene discuss.Cabaret has been integral to New York nightlife for more than a century, but every so often, reports of its death — however exaggerated — cause a stir. The singer and educator Natalie Douglas, who arrived from Los Angeles in 1988 and has performed steadily at the storied jazz club Birdland and other venues, figures the premature mourning started “at least 70 years ago — as soon as people moved from the cities to the suburbs and had room to entertain at home.”Douglas (age: “Not as young as I look”) is noted for her tributes to Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone and the great Stevies of pop (Wonder and Nicks). Recently on a brisk afternoon, she arrived at a loft in Bed-Stuy, Brooklyn, for a confab with four other veterans of the cabaret scene. Tammy Lang, 57 — who has earned a devoted following through her titular comedic persona as Tammy Faye Starlite, an evangelical country crooner, and through her homages to Marianne Faithfull and Nico — perched beside her on a sofa.Jennifer Ashley Tepper, 37, the creative and programming director of 54 Below — a Midtown hot spot known for showcasing Broadway stars, cult heroes and aspirants — joined, along with Lance Horne, 46, an Emmy-winning composer, arranger, singer and music director whose collaborators include Liza Minnelli and Kylie Minogue. Horne holds court Mondays at the East Village’s Club Cumming, playing piano for singalongs that stretch into the wee hours. Such late revelry is less common than it used to be, pointed out Sidney Myer, 73, who, as longtime booking manager of Don’t Tell Mama near Times Square, has nurtured careers for decades and is a performer himself.“I don’t appear onstage with all-white bands anymore because I can’t be the only Black person onstage, especially since my shows are so political,” Douglas said.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesMyer mused that when he got his start in cabaret, some 50 years ago, “the whole culture was different” in a few key ways. “People didn’t have a thousand channels at home; they didn’t have the world in their hands in the form of a phone.” And, he added, “They weren’t as health-conscious; there was smoking in all the rooms, and people weren’t watching their alcohol intake as much, or thinking about getting up to jog.”Since originating in Europe, cabaret has accommodated both traditional and experimental artists; here it has encompassed comedy, drag and burlesque alongside curated American songbook compilations and more contemporary and quirkier musical fare. In New York, venues range from the tony Café Carlyle to downtown “alt-cabaret” spots such as Joe’s Pub and Pangea. At 54 Below, where Tepper programs some 700 shows a year, guests can catch rising composers and performers or the cast of a musical on its night off; Myer noted that award-winning stars were born at Don’t Tell Mama — “even a Pulitzer Prize winner.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      in Music

      Raven O, a Nightlife Fixture for Four Decades, Takes a Final Bow

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      Since the ’80s, Raven O has choreographed, directed, hosted, danced and sung on many New York stages. After three final shows, he’ll return to Hawaii.For a stage artist who has made gender fluidity a cornerstone of his career, Raven O isn’t especially picky about pronouns. “When people ask,” he explained recently, “I say he or she, or both.” (“They” is out: “That just doesn’t make any sense to me.”)Acquaintances often use the first, but while growing up in Oahu, Hawaii, he was frequently assumed to be female: “People would say to my mother, ‘What a beautiful girl.’” The truth was more complicated, he discovered. “In Hawaiian culture, there is the mahu — the two-spirit personality,” he said. “They’re the healers and teachers and spiritual guides, revered, but colonialism and white supremacy turned it into something bad. I thought it was an insult. Then I learned it was a great thing. I identify as mahu — he/she.”Downing a large bottle of water on a brisk December afternoon, Raven O — he prefers to always be called by his full show-business moniker, which retains only the first letter of his given last name — exuded a relaxed charisma that defied all gender stereotypes. Turning up at the East Village alt-cabaret spot Pangea, where he has frequently performed, Raven O, 59, sported vinyl pants and a turtleneck sweater, both black, his naturally silver-white hair cascading down to his shoulders. His jacket was designed by the glam rocker Patrick Briggs, one of numerous collaborators and friends whose projects he would plug. An anarchy sign was stitched on one sleeve, the Japanese translation for a profane command on the other.Neither adornment matched Raven O’s vibe, which was warm and wistful as he traversed a range of subjects, among them his apparently imminent retirement from live performance.Since the ’80s, he has choreographed, directed, hosted, danced and sung — in a warmly dusky, rangy voice that eventually became his primary asset — in storied venues such as Boy Bar, the Box, Bar d’O and Joe’s Pub. After spending the Covid-19 shutdown in Hawaii with his husband, John Deutzman, a retired investigative television reporter whom he proudly called “a badass,” Raven O had hoped to resume appearances on a regular basis.But Deutzman worried about his spouse’s increasing struggles with severe osteoarthritis — a condition that plagued Raven O’s father and grandfather and currently affects his older brother. An athlete and fitness trainer in his youth, he also suffers from spinal stenosis and bone spurs. “John said, ‘You can’t work. You can’t even walk,’” Raven O said. “I told him I could do this another 10 years, but coming back into the colder weather taught me that, no, I can’t.”Three farewell shows are now scheduled before Raven O returns to Oahu, where he plans to begin stem cell therapy. He’ll appear at Pangea for two sets on Saturday; on Sunday, he’ll join fellow nightlife stalwarts Joey Arias and Sherry Vine at Indochine, for the latest and likely last anniversary of their Bar d’O collaborations in the ’90s, which fused bawdy and elegant drag — or “showing my female mahu side,” for Raven O — with soulful singing and spicy banter.“I said I would never give up performing,” Raven O said, “but here we are.”Hunter Abrams for The New York TimesArias, who worked with and championed Raven O for years before that decade-long stint, said Raven O’s last chapter is far from written. “I think Raven’s going to reinvent himself without even knowing it. The body may retire, but his mind won’t, or his love of music and art and dance and people,” Arias said. “I think his legacy is in being honest — not wasting time with trivial questions, being very direct, being able to shock people with his use of language.”As a fledgling performer, Raven O had two roommates undergoing gender transitions, and considered following their lead. “We had a band called FDR Drive, and one day at rehearsals I realized I was standing to use the bathroom, and trans women don’t do that. I had a moment of clarity: I was doing this for the wrong reason — because I got more positive attention as a woman than as a male.”One can expect similar candor in an upcoming memoir about Raven O’s New York adventures. “Kate Rigg, one of my hanai sisters, is writing it with me,” he said, using the Hawaiian term for friends essentially adopted as siblings; he has a bunch of them. Raven O arrived in New York at 18 and, by his account, spent most of the ’80s and early ’90s homeless.“When it got cold, I’d find a place to sleep, usually by picking up a guy,” Raven O said, with a matter-of-fact smile. “I was a hooker, too; I sang for my supper, but if I needed money I did what I had to do. Usually it was, I’ll have sex if you let me sleep at your house and feed me and maybe give me some money.” Then drugs became a factor — crack and crystal meth. He gradually began partying less; he and Deutzman even swore off alcohol two years ago. “We just decided, we’re done,” Raven O said. “My big weakness now is sugar. And I do have a fried chicken fetish.”There will likely be fewer personal revelations on an album Raven O recently recorded with the bassist Ben Allison, another longtime collaborator. It will be titled “Piece of Sky,” he said, after one of two original songs; the other tracks include standards and “some surprises, contemporary songs we made into jazz songs.” Painting, an old hobby that Raven O picked up again while hosting the Cirque du Soleil show “Zumanity” in Las Vegas, will provide another creative outlet. Arias had originated the Cirque part, “and Joey said, ‘If you ever give up performing, you should paint.’ I said I would never give up performing, but here we are.”Should the stem cell therapy work well enough, Raven O wouldn’t rule out a return to the stage. “But I’d never do it as intensely,” he said. “In Hawaii, I can let nature take care of me. My older brother told me, you have to come home and let the aina — the island — heal you. And he’s a badass, too.” More

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      in Theater

      With Venues Reopening Across New York, Life Is a Cabaret Once Again

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      “Thank you all for risking your lives by coming out tonight,” Joe Iconis quipped, welcoming a socially distanced crowd to the June reopening of the cabaret venue Feinstein’s/54 Below in Manhattan.Iconis, a composer, lyricist and performer beloved among young musical theater fans, was joking, but before diving into an alternately goofy and poignant set with the actor and singer George Salazar — a star of Iconis’s first Broadway production, “Be More Chill” — he added, earnestly, “It’s the most incredible thing to be able to do this show for real human beings, not computer screens.”Moist-eyed reunions between artists and fans have been taking place across the city as Covid-19 restrictions are gradually relaxing. “I hope you’re prepared for how emotional it will be when you’re onstage, because it will be emotional for us, supporting artists we love again,” a fan told the band Betty. In the intimate spaces that house these shows, interaction between artists and those who love them is integral to what the downtown fixture Sandra Bernhard called “the in-the-moment, visceral experience.”Storied establishments like the jazz clubs Birdland and Blue Note, newer spots such as the Green Room 42 and City Winery at Hudson River Park (which both reopened in April), along with the East Village alt-cabaret oases Pangea and Club Cumming are once again offering food, drink and in-the-flesh entertainment, as cabaret veterans — along with other jazz and pop acts, and drag performers — return to the work that is their bread and butter.Fans at Feinstein’s/54 Below snap a selfie before Joe Iconis and George Salazar took the stage.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesAn emotional Salazar onstage at Feinstein’s/54 Below.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesSalazar mingles with fans after the June show.Justin J Wee for The New York Times“To see people physiologically responding to music again — toes tapping, heads bopping — that’s almost better than applause,” said the pianist and singer Michael Garin, one of many who used social media to stay connected with fans during the pandemic, and among the first to resume performances for live audiences.But, Garin noted, “It’s not like we’re flipping a switch and bringing everything back to normal.” Particularly in the spring, not everyone was ready to pick up where they left off. “There were some musicians who were ready to book as soon as possible, and others who said, ‘Let me see — I don’t know if I want to be in an indoor space right now,’” said Steven Bensusan, the president of Blue Note Entertainment Group.The producer and host Scott Siegel, creator of the virtual “Scott Siegel’s Nightclub New York,” said that trepidation is still shared by some patrons: “Everybody’s hopeful, but I hear people say they’re nervous. There are also many who come in from outside the tristate area, and it’s more of an effort to get in.”Iconis rehearsing for his return to the live stage.Justin J Wee for The New York Times“It’s the most incredible thing to be able to do this show for real human beings, not computer screens,” Iconis said.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesWith regulations still in flux, both vigilance and adaptability are key. Before Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo’s mid-June announcement that the state could almost fully reopen, Birdland had planned to return at just 50 percent capacity on July 1. Instead, all 150 of its seats have been accessible from the start, with returning variety-show hosts Jim Caruso and Susie Mosher featuring theater and cabaret luminaries such as Chita Rivera and Natalie Douglas in the first week back. (The club’s downstairs space, Birdland Theater, will remain closed until September.) The Blue Note, which reopened in mid-June at roughly two-thirds capacity, has since made all of its 250 seats available. Proof of vaccination against the coronavirus is not required at either club, though masks are recommended for the unvaccinated at Birdland.By contrast, at 54 Below, where the plan is to build gradually back to a full crowd of about 150, proof of vaccination is necessary, as it is in the 60-seat cabaret room at Pangea, still limited to 80 percent capacity. Both venues were among those that developed streaming series while shuttered. “We originally got into it to remain active, but it became a way to pay staff, and expand the audience,” said Richard Frankel, one of the owners of 54 Below, which will kick off the new series “Live From Feinstein’s/54 Below,” offering live streams direct from the venue, on July 11. “Right now we’re focused on reopening live, but it’s definitely something to continue exploring after the dust settles.”Streaming a performance “broadens the spectrum of who’s able to see things, and that’s so important,” said the singer and actress Lilli Cooper.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesRyan Paternite, director of programming at Birdland, has been similarly encouraged by the response to “Radio Free Birdland,” though he added, “My feeling is that people are pretty burned out on watching shows on their computer or phone — especially if they have to pay for tickets.”Artists generally remain bullish on the opportunities posed by technology. “I’m very pro-streaming,” said the Tony Award-nominated singer and actress Lilli Cooper, who is set to appear at 54 Below on July 28 and August 15. “It broadens the spectrum of who’s able to see things, and that’s so important.” Caruso plans to continue streaming his “Pajama Cast Party” weekly; he noted that the virtual program has allowed him to diversify both his audience (“It has become more colorful, literally and figuratively”) and his talent pool (“I’ve delved into TikTok and Instagram and discovered some thrilling new artists”).Many are hopeful that diversity and inclusivity will be further emphasized in an art form that counts artists of color like Mabel Mercer and Bobby Short as historical icons. “My art is often based on what I’ve gone through, and being a Black man is part of that,” said the Broadway veteran Derrick Baskin, who packed R&B classics into his set list for recent dates at 54 Below.Garin, seen from above performing at the piano at the Roxy Hotel.Justin J Wee for The New York Times“It’s not like we’re flipping a switch and bringing everything back to normal,” Garin added.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesJustin Vivian Bond, scheduled to reopen Joe’s Pub in October, said, “The brilliant thing about cabaret is that you can react, if you’re capable, to what’s going on in the world.” For Bond, the pandemic posed challenges as sobering, albeit in a different way, as those faced by the L.G.B.T.Q. community during another plague: “When AIDS was happening, even when people were dying, you could be with them. What we’ve just been through was a very isolating trauma. I don’t know if I’ll have any brilliant insights about it, but hopefully what I’ll say will resonate with the audience.”Bernhard, who will return to Joe’s Pub in December for the annual holiday engagement she had to skip in 2020, still isn’t sure what insights she’ll be offering. “The head space that I’m in, I don’t even know what the next two months are going to bring,” she said. “I just want to perform, like everybody else does right now.”“My art is often based on what I’ve gone through, and being a Black man is part of that,” Derrick Baskin said.Justin J Wee for The New York Times“I cannot imagine any artist now taking any moment of what we do for granted,” Michael Feinstein said.Justin J Wee for The New York TimesPerformers and fans will be greeted with renovations at certain venues, and other enticements. Birdland has reduced its ticket price to 99 cents in July, the fee when the club originally opened in 1949. 54 Below is offering a new menu, created by the “Top Chef” winner Harold Dieterle. The West Bank Café’s Laurie Beechman Theater is getting a “face lift,” said its owner, Steve Olsen — fresh paint, new carpet and bar equipment, upgraded sound and lighting — in preparation for a reopening after Labor Day. The Triad Theater also used its forced downtime to “improve the furnishings, repaint and get new equipment,” said the booking director Bernie Furshpan.But it is the love of performing itself, and the perspective gained after a year of lost shows, that is driving many artists’ emotional responses to returning to the stage. Michael Feinstein, the multitasking American songbook champion and namesake for clubs in San Francisco and Los Angeles as well as New York, believes “that anyone who is a performer is coming out of this in a very different place, with a deeper sense of connection and joy and gratitude.”“I cannot imagine any artist now taking any moment of what we do for granted,” he added. More