Fair warning; This one is kind of long and a story about a night from a few months ago. Click the photo for the link to the song if you don’t feel like reading.
Anyway, I’ve reached the age, apparently, that all boring dudes do at one point or another where I’ve begun to dive head-first into all things Ken Burns. In a world of stresses and quick-hits its nice to sit down, zone out (or in), and watch 15-19 hours of history programming and slow zooms of black and white photos. The legendary doc director has a way of stringing you along in a tedious yet enthralling manner that leaves you feeling both entertained and educated.
These days I’ve been deep into his Jazz documentary from 2001. Often focusing on what Jazz became after rising out of the south and finding its footing in New York, it got me feeling falsely nostalgic for a time of smoke-filled bars, live music, baggy suits, and short little ties; where everyone had a cool, albeit slightly insulting, nickname and booze seemed to spill out of the art deco doors and into the streets. Now, its undeniable the whole thing was looked at with the rose-tinted glasses only a white dude in 2023 could even pretend to see things with, but nonetheless it got me imagining.
So one rainy Friday evening, at around 7:30 or 8, after promising myself I’d stay in and catch my breath a bit, Ken Burns got the best of me and I ended up making my way over the The Flying Lobster, a tiny seafood jazz bar on Union & Hicks in Carroll Gardens.
As I walked in I was immediately greeted by everything I was hoping to find.
A dimly lit bar room with minimal seats lay before me, behind me the neon sign buzzed. The walls looked old and yellowed, the ceiling tin and painted red, racks of dusty wine adorned nearly every wall save a few open spaces for posters and pictures of jazz legends someone might expect to see. At the piano on older man was seated, comfortably playing some familiar jazz tunes. The bar room was sprinkled with a few patrons; a couple enjoying oysters, another finishing a meal, a pair of older men sipping wine.
I made my way to the bar and said hello to Noah, a young bartender who was eager and helpful. I got a beer and took a seat.
The beer was a beer. cold. crisp. sure. I sipped and sat.
Inspired by some old men next to me, I went back up to the bar and ordered a glass of the house red and the lobster bisque. Noah informed me that tonight it was actually crab bisque. I was fine with that. Not long after I took my seat Noah came over and corrected that it was actually clam bisque. I was fine with that too.
I sat and listened to the musician. He played effortlessly and would sometimes sing a chorus or line. At one point he sang a song entirely a cappella. It was cool and somehow not corny. It felt like we were in his living room and he just does this for the fun of it. There was no sense of urgency but rather the playfulness of a musician with nothing to prove.
My soup arrived and I ordered another glass of the house red.
The soup was good. It was a bit chilly that night and between the warm soup, red wine, and comfortable music I felt calm and at home.
At one point a dog from outside pulled hard on his owner’s leash to try to get inside the bar. One of the old men next to me got up and walked over. I assumed it was his dog but the second old man informed me instead that every dog in this neighborhood does this, because he has dog treats and gives them out to any dog that comes in.
It seemed that everyone besides me in this bar seemingly lived there. Even the dogs were regulars.
So is The Flying Lobster really everything Ken Burns had promised? of course not. This was nothing like the liquor-soaked, sexed-up, swinging clubs of New York past. But that’s fine. It was sleepy and nostalgic in a way that let you take the good parts of the past and say “fuck it” to the rest. It was familiar and warm. It wasn’t trying to impress anyone, it isn’t on the forefront of popular music, and it will most likely not make it into any documentaries (even if they are 15-19 hours long).
I went up to the bar for a final time and settled up. Noah asked me how I liked the wine. I said it was great. He admitted to me that they didn’t actually have a house red, so he had just given me something nice.
I don’t have a sophisticated palate but it was, to me, very nice indeed.
I tipped Noah, tipped the musician behind the piano, and left.
I don’t know any of the songs that played that night. And this isn’t even the type of music that was played that night.
But I love this song because it feels cozy in the rain. And it reminds me of old bars that feel cozy in the rain.
Thanks for listening,
Will