I am writing this under subpar, and subzero conditions. There’s no heat. I’m wearing more layers than an onion. Perhaps this will put me in the right mind frame as last night I went to a Nepalese restaurant to hear Nepalese music. As the feels-like temperature was below 0°F I dressed appropriately; that included the aforementioned mittens, and a hat, both from Nepal My theory is that if you dress for extreme weather dress like the people who live in extreme weather. I was positively toasty.
What brought me to Jackson Heights on a night like that, Amy’s band. It has a name. Sunday is in the name. I’m just going to call it Amy’s band. Everyone else in it is Nepalese. Every person in the restaurant other than Amy and I was from Nepal. We were the only ones speaking English. This was authentic. The restaurant is the Himalayan Yak. Guess what I ate; yak sausage. I also had a wonderful shish-kabob that had spices on it I never tasted before. I like Nepalese food.
How did Amy, a Jersey girl trained in classical viola that moved on to Celtic fiddling find herself in a Nepalese Rock band? She visited Nepal and fell in love with the Nepalese fiddle, the sarangi. She found out that one of the best Sarangi players, Shayam, lived in Boston. She met him, moved to Boston with him, and this is his band. She’s the only American and only woman in the band. They sing in Nepalese. I did not follow the lyrics.
People don’t appreciate America’s soft power. Here was a band of people from Nepal playing American Rock and Roll, with a Nepalese twist. In addition to the standard electric guitar, bass, and drums, Shayam played his Sarangi and Nepalese drums. Amy played the violin. Some songs could be American translated into another language, others showed more Himalayan influence. It was a blending of cultures. That’s not appropriation, it’s civilization.
I was not just the only person of western descent in the audience, I was also the oldest. This was a young club crowd. There was dancing. The band that followed Amy’s reminded me of Great Big Sea. Watching the kids dance was like watching Canadians. Some things are universal.
I got to talk to Amy for the first time since she moved. That was as important as the music. She’s one of those people that just makes me happy.
The ride home did not go smoothly. I got on the F train, planning on switching to the D at Rockefeller Center. I got involved in reading and didn’t notice that it was running on the E like. There were no announcements made. So I missed the easy transfer at 7th Avenue and didn’t notice the change till I got to 50th street on 8th Ave. I had to walk over to 6th to get the D. It gave me appreciation just how warm my jacket is. I didn’t put on my hat, just used the hood, and stayed warm. Under the jacket I had on my alpaca sweater from Ecuador, As the name implies, Ecuador is on the equator, so you wouldn’t expect it to be cold, but the Andes run through it and the high Andes, like the Himalayas get cold. There were major delays on the D train for reasons that were not explained. The trip home which should have taken about an hour took an hour and 45 minutes.
Hey, the apartment is warming up. I can take my Ecuadorian mittens off. I wasn’t kidding when I said it was cold in here. Some other layers are coming off as soon as I’m done with this. I took them off. I’m regretting it. I might have to move into the kitchen. I have the oven on and it’s keeping it warm.
My plan was to go out tonight to see Andrea Asprelli but as I got in late I didn’t get much sleep. I’ll have to play this by ear. I have music plans the next two nights.
Wise Madness 