Travels. Take a walk on the wild side (The Village, New York City). By Charlie Bravo.

Travels

Take a walk on the wild side (The Village, New York City)

Yo en Soho, NY. Foto Gustavo Valdés

Yo en Greenwich Village, Soho, NY. Foto Gustavo Valdés

Walking on the wild side is like waking on the afterhours Greenwich Village that still survives beyond all the fixing-ups, all the new restaurants, the hipsters, and the recycled hippies from the sixties.

One can very well imagine that in that coffee shop around the corner was where Bob Dylan made his raspy voice into a trademark sound of the second half of the 20th Century, but Café Wah is where Jimi Hendrix rocked the wah-wah for sure, while the world was falling apart for most of us. One can keep on walking, carelessly now, because there are fewer dog turds on the sidewalks of the Village. Where are those mean looking dogs, sitting next to a guy who was busking with a third hand guitar, keeping guard over a few crumpled dollar bills or some blackened quarters?

I would love to think that the singer got a deal with a record company, and that the dog is now in doggie heaven, but honest to God, that seems like an impossibility if one looks at the playlist in the iPod of  a Russian heiress with a little dog poking his head out of her designer purse. Where is the real music? One wonders. One has to wonder.

It’s nice to see guys selling books on the sidewalk. And paintings. It’s also nice to discover that there are some record stores dealing in vinyl as if it were gold. Maybe it is. It is wonderful, one has to say, that there are a few shrines to music, but as churches are everywhere, they seem to be empty of worshippers.

The candy store, which is really a guitar store, seems to be only populated by clerks eager to make a sell. Some tourist wanders about, goes through the other end of the store and leaves. Not far from here lies the park where somebody stole a bass from a sleeping Jaco Pastorius. Is music dead? Hopefully not.
Winter is in its last leg. It doesn’t look like spring, though. It feels like fall, and if winter will start all over again, a cold and gray cycle, a cold spell over the city.

I wish I saw a dog.
I am not that lucky, it seems.
Somewhere, there’s hope.

Charlie Bravo.

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