“Palpable Love:” Irish Folk Music Thrives at Ridgewood’s Dada

Musicians flocked to Dada, an artist-owned spot in Ridgewood, on February 21. (Photos: Tashroom Ahsan)

An open session in Ridgewood encapsulates the diverse paths that draw New Yorkers to the Irish folk music community.

By Adeline Daab

RIDGEWOOD — “What percentage of Irish folk tunes do you think are in the key of D?”

The question circulated around the group of good-humored musicians gathered on Saturday, February 21, for an Irish folk music open session at Ridgewood’s Dada, an artist-owned music & art space, cocktail club, and espresso bar. Fiddlers, flautists, accordion/concertina players, and a lone guitarist chimed in as they prepared to harmonize in Irish tune. Answers to the question ranged from “75% if you combine D and D minor,” to a conspiracy theory that “100% of Irish tunes are in D but we just moved some to other keys.”

The session kicked off with “Shoemaker’s Fancy,” and danced through dozens of other sprightly and charmingly-named tunes including “Toss the Feathers,” “Humours of Glynn,” and “The Rambling Pitchfork.” The notes fluttered and frolicked in lively rhythm, moving me to tap my toes along with the musicians. These fast instrumental dance tunes are a subgenre of traditional Irish music sometimes called “geantraí,” which means “joy music” more or less. Mixed in with these were some American folk songs, including songs from shape note singing—a participatory singing tradition that originated in New England in the early 1800s and lives on in the American South. A few Irish songs also made an appearance. ‘Songs,’ feature words, while ‘tunes’ refer to instrumental melodies. “Mrs. Gilhooley’s Party,” one of the songs that brought humor to the session, wraps up each verse with “so he picked up the pipes and he started to play until some lads got fooling about, and they cut a big hole in the bag of his pipes and this is the tune that came out” followed by an impressive display of “lilting”—a practice of imitating the sounds of Irish music through nonsense syllables.

As ice melted in the players’ iced coffees and foam disappeared from their once-frothy pints, folk music fans and curious passersby alike stopped to steep in the melodies. They sat as mesmerized as I was, conversations never rising above soft chatter. But the two dozen onlookers present at the session’s peak witnessed a ritual clearly intended not for us, but for the players themselves. There was a palpable love for the music within the ensemble and for the activity of playing it in the company of others. Musicians sat in a tight-knit oval, facing each other. They jovially passed around the opportunity to lead a tune, and the less experienced of the bunch were kindly guided through tough phrases.

‘Songs’ feature words; ‘tunes’ don’t. (Photos: Tashroom Ahsan)

Each participant was drawn to this musical community for a different reason. For the solo guitarist of the group, that reason was a chance encounter between a tipsy girlfriend—formerly an Irish dancer—and a pub emanating Irish folk tunes. She popped in and had so much fun dancing along that she dragged her musically-savvy partner to another session where he was roped into playing the guitar. Another participant, a classically trained flautist and flute teacher turned Irish folk musician, was indoctrinated through the contra dance community. Contra dance is a type of folk dancing — “a mix between swing dancing and square dancing” — that has a lot of overlap with the Irish folk music community.

One of the hosts of the session, Myra Smith, played classical violin growing up and returned to the instrument in the COVID era. “I was drawn to the instrument that I had from my childhood as a tool for making music and for art, and I wanted some sort of way to develop a deeper relationship with the instrument,” Myra told me, “and that timed up nicely with a family trip that I went on to Ireland. That trip was a moment of remembering that traditional Irish music both exists and communities around it are still very active. I had an ‘aha’ moment of like, oh, this is the path I want to go down as I work on playing violin.”

That’s how Myra’s Irish folk music journey began, but the main thing that’s kept her in has been “forming friendships and relationships through making music with people.” She’s also developed a fondness for the melodies as she continually expands her repertoire. She calls herself a “collector of melodies.”

If you are interested in getting involved in the New York Irish folk music scene, Myra suggests you “go out and find places that have regular sessions. Talk to the musicians there and ask them about their recommendations.” There are a lot of great places to learn that are welcoming for people who are just beginning, and Myra hopes her sessions will always be an open place for these curious crowds. A great place to start would be her weekly Wednesday night sessions at The Swan in Bed-Stuy, 7PM!

Clowns Spoof Imperialism in East Williamsburg

Ethan Lindhout, one half of the comedy duo “Ethan & Gigi.” Photos by Andrew Karpan.

An avante-garde show spoofing the Bush presidency makes a stop in East Williamsburg before it embarks on an international tour.

By Andrew Karpan

EAST WILLIAMSBURG — Before they take the revolution to Edinburgh Fringe, local clowns Ethan Lindhout and Gigi del Rosario have been testing it out in the back room of a warehouse in East Williamsburg.

“This is real revolution through the power of theater,” says del Rosario at the start of “The Movement,” the latest show the pair have put together, which played to a crowdy of some twenty people at a three-night run inside Makers’ Space (“A Premier Artistic Hub for Multi-Hyphenates” reads a sign on the door.”) At one point, del Rosario baits the crowd by asking them: “Who here just wants to destroy some property?”

Dressed, and occasionally undressed, in mini-berets, the pair’s enthusiastic, post-Occupy, post-Brace Belden take on the political inanity of the Bush years was moving, funny and sometimes stirring. By the time it ended, a bearded, breakdancing, surprise-entry Osama Bin Laden was hobbling around with an air airplane-shaped balloon around his ankles before picking up a guitar and vigorously sing-rapping “Wake Me Up When September Ends,”  the coda to numerous homages to the 9/11 experienced through endless documentaries and vaguely lived-through as a longstanding dramatic shadow hanging over a generation of New Yorkers. He’s part of a quirked up cast of supporting characters, including Jason Driver, Kiki Milner, Bob Stachel and Siddharth Raj, as a collection of fellow-comrades, secret FBI agents and so on.

But at its emotional center are del Rosario and Lindhout, a pair who have been performing versions of this semi-improvised character work for a while as “Ethan & Gigi,” a comedy duo who have been moving through the city’s clown scene, from spots at Matthew Silver’s avant-clown variety show “The Idiot’s Hour” to regular spots in “Fool Around The Block,” a clown queer clown show run out of the backroom of various bars and coffeeshops in Bushwick. They are clowns who perform without the traditional makeup and, instead, outfit themselves like disgruntled dancers, with moves out of old “Spy vs. Spy” cartoons, dressed like disgruntled mimes, who snap loudly and bicker at each other, are hopelessly in love, if not with each other, than with themselves. 

The clowns performed a political satire called “The Movement.” Photos by Andrew Karpan.

“The Movement” is, perhaps, their masterpiece of immersive and occasionally interactive performance theater, a largely two-man show, centered somewhat on the interpretive 9/11 material, which the pair first performed at the SoHo Playhouse last year, and plan to bring to Edinburgh later this year. A pointedly slapdash – and throughout an extended retelling of Adam & Eve, occasionally nude – meditation on the impossibility of collective action, their energy as performers is infectiously earnest, pointing at everything and nothing with rollicking ease. On their merch table, they sell mugs that read, in lowercase font: “Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my revolution.”

“We are on the precipice of revolution,” del Rosario announces to occasion bursts of laughter.

It make sense, perhaps, that her targets are more theater kid than revolutionary: “Hamilton is pablum propaganda posing as the revolution with the power of theater, but really it’s just little breadcrumbs of the myth of representation while it also distracts us from the fact that America was built on the basis of genocide and slavery,” she says, about twenty minutes before leaning onto ‘Hamilton’-piano chords for an extended rap session about drone strikes. Later, they do a faithful version of “Bad Romance,” too, and with as much fervor and sincerity as any other off-off Broadway Moulin Rouge-style variety show getting by in the outskirts of Bushwick.

At its heart, “The Movement” is about the inescapability of 2000s Iraq war punk nostalgia, which was, in its own forceful, vaguely misremembered, Green Day lyrics way, a kind of political antecedent to indie sleaze. Even the revolutionary berets, an essential part of both del Rosario’s Lindhout’s costumes, feels reappropriated with a sincerity its forebears could never have imagined. They look like they belong in any decade but the present, which is what perhaps makes them belong so firmly in Brooklyn.

The Tao of Margaret Wise Brown

Margaret Wise Brown grew up on Milton Street before moving to Long Island. Photo via the New Yorker.

Born in Greenpoint, the author of “Goodnight Moon” spent hundreds of hours interviewing children before publishing her global bestseller.

GEOFFREY COBB | gcobb91839@Aol.com

Author, “Greenpoint Brooklyn’s Forgotten Past

In terms of book sales, no Brooklyn-born author can compare to Margaret Wise Brown’s classic children’s book Goodnight Moon, which has sold an unbelievable 50 million copies worldwide. Almost fifty years after its 1947 publication, Brown’s beloved tale still sells some 800,000 copies annually and has been translated into at least 25 different world languages. The Library of Congress named it as one of its 88 “Books that Shaped America” for reflecting the nation’s unique literary heritage, yet, amazingly, the New York Public Library almost torpedoed this beloved children’s classic.

Wise, who was born at number 118 Milton Street, is often referred to as the “laureate of the nursery,” and the “queen” of children’s literature, who transformed the picture book into a modern art form. A literary genius with an insight into how toddlers perceive the world and used language, Brown revolutionized children’s books by focusing on the “here and now” of daily life, rather than fantasy.  The author of a slew of other successful children’s books, Life Magazine hailed her in 1946 as the “World’s Most Prolific Picture-Book Writer,” yet powerful adults almost kept her books from the hands of children.

Before discussing Brown’s fight with censorship, let’s get some background on her Greenpoint roots.  She was born and lived the first seven years of her life in a landmark house on Milton Street. Her father, who was an executive with the American Hemp Rope Manufacturing Company on West Street, often fought with Margaret’s mother, creating an unhappy family home. The sensitive, highly perceptive Margaret, sensing from an early age the unhappiness in her parents’ marriage, retreated into language, composing.  even as a young girl, her own songs, rhymes and poems. The family moved to Long Island, but when Margaret graduated from high school, her father refused to pay for her college education, which sparked many heated arguments between Margaret’s parents. Thankfully, her mother prevailed and in 1935 Brown enrolled in Bank Street Teacher’s College children’s writing workshop under the direction of Lucy Sprague Mitchell, an educator interested in the new field of literature for very young children.  Brown spent hundreds of hours interviewing young children, swapping stories with them and learning what they wanted to hear. She developed an uncanny sense of how children communicate and she echoed children’s language in her own works.  Her books were unique and a complete departure from traditional children’s books.

In 1947, Brown conceived and wrote her classic, Goodnight Moon, all in one morning. Her book soon reached the desk of Anne Carroll Moore, the stuffy and conservative, but highly influential head of the New York Public Library’s children’s department. Moore, who also disliked other classics, including Stuart Little and Charlotte’s Web, read it with disdain and dismissed the book as “unbearably sentimental” and a “bowl full of mush.”  She objected to the absence of a moral in the work and refused to add it to the shelves of the NYPL, which led other libraries around the country to reject the book as well. In large part because of Moore’s rejection, Goodnight Moon wasn’t an immediate commercial success; by 1951 sales had dropped low enough that the publisher considered taking it out of print.

The book, though, was saved by the word of mouth of parents, who were amazed by their children’s positive reaction to it. In March 1953, the book featured in Child Behavior, a nationally syndicated parental advice column. “It captures the two-year-old so completely,” the authors wrote, “that it seems almost unlawful that you can hypnotize a child off to sleep as easily as you can by reading this small classic.”

The book’s popularity continued to grow throughout the 50s and 60s as bookstores stocked it. By 1972, the book’s 25th anniversary, Goodnight Moon was selling almost 100,000 copies sold a year. That same year, the New York Public Library finally added it to its shelves.

Brown was a charming total eccentric. She would use entire royalty checks to buy an entire flower stand. She was part of a group that could proclaim any day of the year Christmas.  Although wealthy, she chose to vacation in a house in Maine without running water or electricity.  Her romances were volatile: she was engaged to two men but never married, and she had a decade-long affair with a woman. At the age of forty-two, she died suddenly, in the South of France, after a clot cut off the blood supply to her brain.

Brown’s sudden, untimely death shocked the world of children’s books. Her output during her brief career was prodigious, writing more than a hundred children’s books, many of which are still in print six decades after her death. No author before or since Brown has managed to write books that reflect a natural impulse to amuse, delight and comfort small children.  Thank goodness a stodgy librarian wasn’t able to censor her.

Navy Yard Launches “Opportunity Shop”

Monshe, a keto-friendly dessert business founded by Melissa Groneveldt, will be the Yard Opportunity Shop’s first occupant. Photos by Jack Delaney.

By JACK DELANEY

jdelaney@queensledger.com 

Melissa Groneveldt stood behind a gleaming counter stacked with cookies, as the room filled with gentle chatter.

Outside, it was a grey day: on Flushing Ave, commuters waited for the B69 bus under a dreary sky. But here in the Yard Opportunity Shop (YOS), the Brooklyn Navy Yard’s newest retail space, the vibes were immaculate.

The YOS, which launched on Thursday, February 26, is an incubator program that will provide a rotating cast of local minority- and women-owned businesses with a pop-up location to sell their products without needing to commit to an expensive lease.

Brooklyn royalty attended the ribbon cutting, including Borough President Antonio Reynoso, who said the $300,000 his office earmarked for the initiative was a “small token” of what he’d like to give, and the Navy Yard’s top brass — Lindsay Greene, who leads its economic development corporation, and Board Chair Hank Gutman.

Yet the guest of honor was Groneveldt, founder of the wellness-driven bakery Monshe, who is kicking off a three-month residency at the YOS.

“It means everything to me,” said Groneveldt, a four-time author, certified nutrition coach, and entrepreneur who lives in the Bronx. “This journey has been a lot of sleepless nights, a lot of crying, a lot of second guessing. What pushed me forward was my daughter — wanting to create a legacy for her, something she can look back on and say how proud of me she is.”

Groneveldt first conceived of Monshe in 2020. She was going to the gym four to five times per week, but found that the processed desserts available at her supermarket were nullifying the benefits of exercise. After workshopping recipes for a year, she launched a store on Etsy in 2021 and has now sold over 70,000 of her sugar-free and keto-friendly cookies.

“Here, you’ve achieved the impossible,” said Gutman, thanking Groneveldt shortly before the ribbon was cut. Then he flashed a grin: “You have satisfied my incurable yearning for a good cookie — and you’ve done it in a way that will keep me from getting in trouble with my wife.”

Serwaa and Kenneth Darpoh of Socie-Tea 7. Photos by Jack Delaney.

Monshe owes its name to Groneveldt’s mother, Monshelia, who worked for the city for more than 40 years. “She always told me that whatever you do, own your own,” said Groneveldt. “I took her advice.”

For the grand opening, Groneveldt also invited fellow small business owners who share her mission: Madeleine Defonce of MD Wellness Dynamics, which contributed mushroom-infused lattes, and Serwaa and Kenneth Darpoh, the Bed Stuy-based duo behind Socie-Tea 7.

The Darpohs offered attendees a taste of three subtle but compelling herbal teas. They come from disparate professional backgrounds — real estate for Serwaa, and music and television production for Kenneth — but when he gave her a $500 cast-iron teapot as a birthday gift early into their relationship, having only intended to spend $100, it blossomed into a shared passion.

Also present was Courtney Washington Joiles, an award-winning fashion designer who manufactures his clothes in the Navy Yard and sells them out of a pop-up in Bed-Stuy, off Tompkins Place. His stall showed off his most recent women’s line, which features airy “pucker” fabric tailored for an “elegant resort look.”

Joiles started his imprint, eponymously titled Courtney Washington, in 1998. Back then, it was headquartered on Fulton Street in Fort Greene. When the economy crashed in 2009, he was forced to shutter, but the Jamaican-born designer has revived his operations over the past two years.

“Most of our clients travel, and it travels amazingly. There’s never a need to iron,” said Joiles, holding up a salmon-textured top. “And these items are completely washable.”

Several days before the opening, Groneveldt — who gave birth only eight months ago — received a text from her eldest daughter saying everything she’d been hoping for. Now, buoyed by the support of her family and her mother’s legacy, YOS’s first resident entrepreneur is hoping to give back.

“This is not the only thing I want to do with this space,” said Groneveldt, as she surveyed the L-shaped room. “Maybe a pitch competition — something to show entrepreneurs that as long as you persevere, anything’s within reach.”

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