NEW YORK -- It's called the Tribeca Film Festival, but often I spend most of my time here in Chelsea.
There's a theater on 23rd Street where they hold press and industry screenings during the day, which aren't open to the public and are rarely half full. So it's OK to throw your backpack on the seat next to you, pull out your laptop and connect to the Wi-Fi. You can even take out the steamed bun your wife bought for you at Taipan Bakery on Canal Street and enjoy it without worrying about the theater staff busting you. They're cool at 10 a.m., and the concession stands aren't open yet anyway.
I like this theater. It's on the same block as Chelsea Hotel, the famous fleabag where Leonard Cohen hooked up with Janis Joplin, where Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen hung out. Dylan Thomas was staying there when he died of pneumonia in 1953. Jack Kerouac wrote On the Road and Arthur C. Clarke 2001: A Space Odyssey there.
We stayed in the Chelsea six years ago before it was shut down for renovations that are ongoing. When it re-opens, they say in 2018, it's going to be a swankier boutique hotel. Some people are upset by that; they liked it like it was back in the day when Patti Smith could trade a poem to Stanley Bard for a week's residence. They think it's sad that this great symbol of bohemianism has succumbed to capitalism, but the fact is the city's always recycling its ruins. It becomes a different place every seven years or so.
Yet after nearly 30 years, Chelsea Guitars is still here though, because of the renovations and maybe the rent, it's moved about 50 feet to the west. The showroom is smaller. But Dan Courtenay's shop is hanging in there.
I've walked past it hundreds of times, looked in its windows, thought "what a cool store"--shorthand for my wonder that such a place could remain viable into today's box store economy. Chelsea Guitars specializes in vintage instruments; it's not where you'd go to pick up a made-in-Mexico Telecaster or a new Taylor electric-acoustic. But if you're looking for a 1963 Danelectro with a faux wood finish or a 1969 Gibson Les Paul Personal (of which 146 were made), this is one of the places to look.
But I never have a lot of down time at a film festival. And guitars are like puppies; you start looking at them, you're going to want to take one home.
So while I knew some of the history of Chelsea Guitars I've never been inside.
And it is charming, packed with hanging wonders. The first item that catches my eye is a 1954 Martin 000-21 in remarkable condition for an instrument that's obviously been played a bit. I don't ask the price, and there's no tag on it, but it has to be north of $10,000. (I was right, on the Internet it's listed for $11,000.)
Dan, the owner I recognize from a BBC documentary, notices me noticing and tells me he's got a similar guitar, a 1938 000-18 behind the counter if I'd like to see it. (The chief difference between the models, besides 17 years of seasoning, is that the back and sides of the 18 are made from mahogany while the 21's are made from Brazilian rosewood. Some people prefer one tonewood over another; I am a mahogany man.) I decline, mostly because I don't want to fall in love with what has to be a $15,000 guitar. (The Internet confirms I've named the asking price.)
I'm sure glad you're not around the corner from my house, I say. I wish we were right around the corner from your house, Dan says.
(There are plenty of pickers in Hillcrest but G.E. Smith, Kevin Bacon, Anne Hathaway, Elvis Costello, David Crosby and Billy Gibbons wouldn't be as likely to drop in. Noel Gallagher isn't likely to show up to go fetch coffee.)
Meanwhile a young lady from the neighborhood has wandered in. She's looking at what I take for the only new guitar in the store, a parlor-sized Luna with a zebrawood top. She strums a few open chords, asks the price. A guy who introduces himself as the store's luthier quotes her $350; that's probably higher than what she'd pay at the Guitar Center over on 14th Street.
She nods and says that she really just came in for some strings.
The luthier asks for her preferences--80/20 or phosphor bronzes, does she want lights or extra-lights--and she says she really only needs one string, can she buy just one string?
The luthier starts to explain that's not how it works, that they come in sets of six or 12, and while some people like to mix and match, it's really kind of impractical ....
But Dan the boss says sure. He'd sell her a single string. How's a dollar sound?
They have a deal. She peels off a bill in exchange for a glassine envelope with a high E coiled inside.
That's the way it goes with small business--to compete with the big guys you have to offer a little extra service. Keep your overhead down, squeeze into a smaller space, keep the website up to date and try to make friends with whoever wanders in from the wild world. And 23rd Street is one of the world's weirder thoroughfares.
It's time to head to the next movie, so I say good-bye. I step out and come back to give them download cards for the album I've just recorded. I feel a little guilty leaving without buying anything.
But I'll be back.
pmartin@arkansasonline.com
www.blooddirtangels.com
Editorial on 04/30/2017