The English baroque architecture of New York

The Critic magazine, U.K., September-October 2022

Studio: The English baroque architecture of New York

Climbing around, looking up, and zooming in: the delights of Beaux-Arts architecture in New York

Just as Augustus found Rome a city of bricks and left it a city of marble, New York’s robber barons found a city of brownstones and left it a city gilded in gold. From 1870 to 1930, between the end of the Civil War and the start of the Great Depression, this Gilded Age defined the city in ways that continue to enrich its existence today. Amidst the forest of cookie-cutter high rises that now slice through the city skyline, it can be easy to miss the great Beaux-Arts architecture that resulted from these earlier aspirations. Still, most New Yorkers live for what remains of this age of exuberance, especially compared to the International Style of the last 70 years that has brutally tried to supplant it.

The lavish 412-page book with around 300 new colour photographs in large format folio

New York would be little more than another faceless glass-and-steel city were it not for its Gilded Age buildings and institutions —from the main branch of the New York Public Library and Grand Central Terminal to the many forgotten remnants we delight in rediscovering and now fight to preserve. An American Renaissance: Beaux-Arts Architecture in New York City, written by Phillip James Dodd with photography by Jonathan Wallen, is a gilded embrace of this legacy. Produced by Images Publishing, the lavish 412-page publication with some 300 new colour photographs in large format folio takes us up close and personal with 20 of the finest examples of Beaux-Arts architecture, arranged chronologically, that continue to enliven the city today.

1 – Gould Memorial Library with its rotunda

The book reminds me of my own memorable moments of urban discovery, such as stepping up into the golden rotunda of the Gould Memorial Library [1] (Stanford White, 1899-1901) and walking in the falling snow around the mausoleums of Woodlawn Cemetery (built between 1884 and 1920). I will never forget that feeling of standing inside the small laureled chamber of the Soldiers & Sailors Monument (Charles and Arthur Stoughton, 1902) or looking up for the first time at the celestial vault of Grand Central (designed by Reed & Stem with Warren & Wetmore, 1913) after it was cleaned of decades of cigarette smoke in the 1990s. Or how about settling into a book in the main reading room of the Public Library [2] (Carrère & Hastings, 1911) or having a drink in what was originally the Samuel Tilden House (remodelled by Calvert Vaux in 1884)?

This book collects all of these Gilded Age impressions and suggests we have much more to see. Who knew about the polychromed classicism of the Williamsburgh Savings Bank (George B. Post, 1875) or the Byzantine splendour of the Cunard Building (Benjamin Wistar Morris, 1921)? Climbing around, looking up, and zooming in, Dodd and Wallen have done the job of revealing these delights, ones that might be new to those who live across the pond or even right next door.

2 -New York Public Library’s Astor Hall

Despite living just down the block from the General Grant National Museum [3] (John H. Duncan, 1897), I am ashamed to say I have never set foot inside the building, based on the mausoleum at Halicarnassus, that illustrates the book’s cover. That means I have yet to answer, with absolute certainty, Groucho Marx’s famous question from the 1950s quiz show You Bet Your Life, “Who is buried in Grant’s Tomb?”

Julian Fellowes supplies a foreword for the book. It is clear that Gilded Age architecture has recently been on his mind. Rather than a mere costume drama, The Gilded Age, his new television series, is more like an architectural drama, as architecture and architects are the scene stealers of the show. “In the space of 70 years the city’s population exploded from 123,000 in 1820 to over two million in 1890,” he writes in the book. Reflecting the city’s burgeoning wealth and aspiration, “the Beaux-Arts style came to the United States, and in particular to New York, at precisely the right moment”.

The General Grant National Memorial, based on the mausoleum at Halicarnassus

The architecture was lavish and drew freely from eclectic sources, from Imperial Rome and the Italian Renaissance to the French baroque and farther afield.

“Stanford White based his design for the rooftop at Madison Square Garden II on the Giralda in Seville;” Fellowes writes, “his rotunda at Gould Memorial Library emulated the Reading Room at the British Museum in London; and the façade of the Metropolitan Club was heavily influenced by the Reform Club on London’s Pall Mall.”

Fellowes’s television series reminds us how the city’s great social tension was not so much between upstairs and downstairs as between old money and new—the old downtown Knickerbockers versus the new uptown Industrialists building palaces gilded with the riches (and even the walls) of Europe. To the old guard of Livingstons and Astors, the new regime of Huntingtons and Rockefellers were parvenus building their gaudy McMansions along Fifth Avenue—or make that MacMansions, as in the case of Andrew Carnegie, the son of a poor Scottish weaver who became the richest industrialist in America.

The Alexander Hamilton US Custom House

Such rags-to-riches stories were the norm in this Gilded Age. With an essay by Richard Guy Wilson and informative descriptions by Dodd, the book is full of gilded images and observations. Born in rural Pennsylvania, Henry Clay Frick learned to mine coal, and turn it into coke. He helped found U.S. Steel, and built an art-filled mansion on Fifth Avenue (now The Frick Collection; Thomas Hastings, 1914).

Frank W. Woolworth arrived from rural New York and got the idea of his “five-and-dime” variety store while working as a stock boy, and erected the tallest building in the world on lower Broadway (The Woolworth Building; Cass Gilbert, 1913). Americans “are instinctively in sympathy with the Renaissance,” observed Bernard Berenson, as New Yorkers in particular saw the flowering of classical civilisation in their own lush ascendancy. As Otto Kahn famously told the architect of his own Fifth Avenue Mansion (J. Armstrong Stenhouse with C.P.H Gilbert, 1918): “It’s a sin to keep money idle.”

Just as the old guard resented such exuberance, a corporate chastity took hold of the city following the Great Depression and belted it in steel cages. As new money became old, aging industries gave way to the abstractions of high finance and the poker face of a new ahistorical style. The Gilded Age has always had its enemies. “The golden gleam of the gilded surface hides the cheapness of the metal underneath,” Mark Twain lamented way back in the 1870s. It might have been superficial, but still it proved to be New York’s Golden Age, as these twenty glistening survivors attest.

Zabar's is still thriving

THE SPECTATOR WORLD EDITION, June 2022

Zabar’s is still thriving

on “Broadway’s longest running show”

You might expect Zabar’s, the world-famous “appetizing” store on Manhattan’s Upper West Side, to have become a shadow of its former self. This seems to be the case for most of New York’s other independent specialty shops. Fairway, Balducci’s, H&H Bagels, Dean & Deluca: the food purveyors of my youth have gone kaput. They were bought, leveraged, expanded, overextended and oversold. They expired past their sell-by dates.

But somehow Zabar’s survived. For the Upper West Sider, Zabar’s is our Yale College and our Harvard. Like many I make my way down to 80th Street and Broadway most weekends for continuing education. I head to the appetizing counter and take a number. This is the heart of the operation, where it began in 1934 and where things still move at a historical pace. As I wait my turn, I collect my pickled herring and whitefish salad from a nearby refrigerator. Maybe I dart over to the cheese counter for Oma, d’Affinois, and gorgonzola. If I employ some Zabar’s calculus I could even take a number at the delicatessen counter for meats and prepared foods, such as the creamed spinach and truffled mortadella. Each counter comes with its own seasoned attendant, who collects my order in a waxed bag. They might even give me a sample.

My turn comes up at appetizing, the counter that sells the salted and smoked fish. There was a time in Jewish gastronomy when appetizing stores and delicatessens operated separately, because Kosher customers cannot purchase meat and dairy from the same purveyor. Zabar’s has only ever been “Kosher-style,” but the separation remains in house. My order is a quarter-pound “novie” (Nova Scotia-style smoked salmon, a less salty variant of lox), a quarter-pound sable (a tender whitefish that melts in your mouth), maybe a quarter-pound sturgeon (the king of the sea, flaky and pure), and just maybe a jar of the sturgeon’s jewel-like eggs. Behind the counter they are pros. If I am lucky, my namesake James will be the one to do the slicing. Once you see how thinly these Zabar’s guys hand-slice a fish, you cannot go appetizing anywhere else. When I was growing up, my Italian father placed a similar order most Sundays.

Zabar’s is chaotic by design. Food is everywhere, people are everywhere, announcements are frequent. “The lady who was looking for half a pound of chicken liver please come to the front,” I hear over the loudspeaker. While some items are self-service, many are not. You must line up just right. The aisles can barely fit your own small cart, which is a problem as shoppers press in from all sides. “You are out of Seder plate kits?” “Are we out of Seder plate kits?” “I ordered mine days ago.” “They are sold out of brisket!” From a service door, out comes Saul Zabar himself, the patriarch in his white smock pushing a cart. When his father Louis died in 1950, Saul took over Zabar’s at the age of twenty-one and has worked for the family store ever since, partnering with his younger brother Stanley and their relative Murray Klein. Over the years Saul expanded Zabar’s into the best of everything, including introducing New Yorkers to gourmet coffee. At ninety-three years old, he is still the one to wake me up with his “Zabar’s Blend” each morning. The man deserves a monument.

A few years ago, I found myself at dinner sitting next to an unassuming woman named Lori Zabar. Was she related to the famous store? Indeed she was — Stanley’s oldest daughter. How is Zabar’s still thriving? Because the family never sold out and four generations now work for the business. Please make sure that continues, I begged.

It turned out that Lori, who died in February at age sixty-seven, was well positioned to make the case. The family historian, she cooked up a reserved and at times harrowing new book on her name and the store that bears it. Zabar’s: A Family Story, with Recipes ($28, Shocken) conveys the importance of what her family created.

Drawing on her grandfather’s own testimony taken at the time of his displacement in the early days of the Soviet Union, the beginning was anything but appetizing. In 1920 Cossacks allied with the Red Army were terrorizing the Jewish enclave of Ostropolia, now Ostropol in present-day Ukraine. During the pogrom, a husband tried to defend his wife. The Cossacks stabbed him to death. They shot his wife in the face. They murdered his daughter in front of him in his home. Their surviving son, Mordko Leib Zabarka, then chased the soldiers off with a gun and went into hiding. Two years later, the young man arrived in New York as Louis Zabar.

Louis worked in New York food retail from the bottom up. He married another Ostropolitan exile, Leika Teitelbaum, who became Lilly Zabar. In the Zabar’s origin story, Louis began in fruit and veg but developed an allergic rash to the skins. “As he toiled,” writes Lori, “he noticed that only one thing helped: when he put his hands in a barrel of pickled herring, the brine soothed his rash.”

So Louis became an “appetizing man” and rented a small retail space on Broadway. From this Capitoline Hill between 80th and 81st Street, a food empire was born. At first Louis set out to build a chain of everyday markets. When he died at age forty-nine, it was the vision of the next generation of Zabar partners — Saul, Stanley, and Murray Klein — to consolidate the business and turn it into the gourmet flagship of today. As they watched the gastronomic tide of home cooking rise in the second half of the twentieth century, they floated to the top with the finest fish, the freshest bread and the smoothest coffee.

Lori Zabar serves us a concise history of Jewish food retail. She explains the difference among pickled and matjes and schmaltz herring. She tells of Uncle Eli’s defection to retail on the Upper East Side, where he developed his own appetizing restaurant called E.A.T. and a bakery called Eli’s Bread. She also recalls seeing a carp and a herring swimming in her grandmother Lilly’s Upper West Side bathtub. “They were destined for her delicious Shabbat gefilte fish.”

The joys of watching the “longest running show on Broadway,” as Lori calls her family store, contrast with the sorrows its creators once faced. The Cossacks were but a prelude to the Nazi invasion of Ukraine and the extermination of 1.6 million Jews there in 1941. The terrors of Ostropolia a century ago now seem all too familiar in Ukraine today. In this light Zabar’s becomes a new Garden of Eden. Here on a corner of the Upper West Side, she writes, her family celebrated “personal exodus from religious persecution in the Old World to America — their promised land of freedom and dignity.”

Reaching

THE NEW CRITERION, April 14, 2022

Reaching

On the Dance Theatre of Harlem at the City Center Dance Festival.

New York has an abundance of ballet companies. Last summer five of them took the Lincoln Center outdoor stage for the first time together. The initiative—restoring live performance after over a year of pandemic closures—was called the BAAND Together Dance Festival, an acronym of the New York–based companies taking taking part in it: Ballet Hispánico, Alvin Ailey American Dance Theater, American Ballet Theatre, New York City Ballet, and Dance Theatre of Harlem.

New York’s cultural institutions can be notoriously siloed, often competing for the same donor dollars. The unusual five-day event therefore turned into what I might call a friendly battle of the bands—or make that “Baands.” The evenings exposed both performers and audience members to repertoires they might not otherwise see, with different companies performing alternating works. And on my night, evening number two, the winner in my mind was Dance Theatre of Harlem with its New Bach. Created by the company’s resident choreographer Robert Garland in what he calls “post-modern-urban neoclassicism,” here was classical ballet with street rococo, George Balanchine by way of “Soul Train.”  

Dance Theatre of Harlem in Odalisques Variations from Le Corsaire, by Dylan Santos after Marius Petipa. Photo: Theik Smith.

Founded in 1969 by Arthur Mitchell, the first black principal dancer to join New York City Ballet, and his teacher Karel Shook, Dance Theatre of Harlem has brought classical ballet uptown for over half a century. At the same time, Dance Theatre has incorporated uptown into classical ballet, promoting dancers and works that have expanded the classical repertoire. 

The greatness of Balanchine, the co-founder of City Ballet, can be explained in part by how he incorporated various dance vernaculars into the classical language of ballet. As principal dancer, Mitchell proved to be a particular inspiration for Balanchine, who choreographed the famous pas de deux for him in Agon and the role of Puck in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. When Mitchell then set out to found Dance Theatre, Balanchine gave him the rights to several works and co-choreographed others to add to his new company’s repertoire. 

Billing itself as a “neo-classical ballet company,” Dance Theatre has preserved the ideal of Balanchine in its own luminous frequency. It hasn’t been easy. Mitchell and his colleagues had to revive the company after an eight year financial hiatus between 2004 and 2012. In 2013, founding dancer Virginia Johnson became the school’s new artistic director. In 2019, a year after Mitchell’s death, the company crossed its fifty-year milestone with the dancers, the school, and the repertoire thriving. 

The Dance Theatre of Harlem in Balamouk by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa. Photo: Christopher Duggan.

Recently Dance Theatre returned to the New York stage with four performances as a centerpiece of the first City Center Dance Festival. Anchoring the program was the New York premiere of Higher Ground, Robert Garland’s latest work, set to the music of Stevie Wonder. Also on the bill was Balamouk, by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa featuring live accompaniment by The Klezmatics. Rounding out the run was Passage, by Claudia Schreier with live music by Jessie Montgomery, and Odalisques Variations from Le Corsaire, by Dylan Santos after Marius Petipa, which were presented in alternating performances.

At a time when new ballet seems to be minimal, cerebral, and “forward-thinking,” Garland is an unabashed retrospectivist. He draws on a sincere appreciation of dance history, one that includes both classical ballet and the soul of his youth. He has described waking up as a child in Philadelphia to the clock radio and hearing Stevie Wonder. It is remarkable to consider that this music is now as distant to us as the music of the 1920s was to the 1970s. And the differences between 1970s Stevie Wonder and the music of today can be just as profound. Here was genuine instrumentalism, not electronic sound, performed at a pace and rhythm that is slower and fuller than today’s rapid auto-tuned beeps and bops. Wonder is also anything but cold and minimal. If the music of Stevie Wonder had a color tone, it would be yellow, orange, and red. The songs recall smoggy city summers, the scent of the unairconditioned bus. This music gives heat.

Over the years, Wonder has been reluctant to license this work, but Garland got his hands on six of his songs for a new ballet named after the final number, “Higher Ground.” With six dancers on stage in earth-toned costumes by Pamela Allen-Cummings, bathed in a warm light by Roma Flowers, the ballet could be called Wonder variations. 

The Dance Theatre of Harlem in Higher Ground by Robert Garland. Photo: Theik Smith.

The first dance, to “Look Around,” seems unnecessarily restrained, too withholding of the dancers’ virtuosity. By “You Haven’t Done Nothin” and “Heaven Is Ten Zillion Light Years Away,” the following songs, the energy was up. At times the dancers gestured to the audience, amplifying the rhythm and miming the street poses of the past. “Village Ghetto Land” then connected past to present, with a nod to the illusions of modern culture as dancers posed with smartphones. 

You might not think the “up” direction of pointe work would lend itself to the downbeat of soul, but “Saturn” well deployed its pirouettes for the celestial song. Then for “Higher Ground,” the final number, the company came together in a joyful, spiritual ensemble. Here was ballet with feeling, with the dancer Anthony Santos a particular standout. In the program, Garland describes his work as a “Sankofa-esque reflection on our current times.” What does this mean? “Sankofa” can refer to a mythical bird that looks back—an appropriate symbol for a choreographer who reaches back to what is left behind.      

The Dance Theatre of Harlem in Passage by Claudia Schreier. Photo: Theik Smith

It was something of a disservice for Passage and Balamouk to be programmed after the high of Higher Ground. Choreographed by Claudia Schreier, Passage has its passing moments. This is  especially true for its ominous beginning, as dancers emerge from the fog like three prows of a ship and then fall in acrobatic waves. According to the program, the work is meant to reference “the first documental arrival of enslaved Africans” and reflect “in abstract the fortitude of the human spirit and an enduring will to prevail.” With live music by Jessie Montgomery and costumes by Martha Chamberlain, this ballet was more head than heart, with symbols lost in its treacherous woods. 

If such a ballet would seem too on the nose for Dance Theatre of Harlem, Balamouk should have been a welcome and worldly departure. The work calls for Klezmer music, and a live band called The Klezmatics performed. I did not know they were there until they took their bow. The music was so over-amplified, it was unclear this was live accompaniment. Musicians should make themselves known at a ballet performance. Wave from the pit. Or better yet, have them perform from the stage. This music was wonderful, energy-filled, exotic. We are grateful they are there. 

With choreography by Annabelle Lopez Ochoa, this was the “extended version” of Balamouk. The ballet is a goulash of Slavic movement, with gypsy, Russian, and Ashkenazi influences. The title is Romanian for “house of the insane.” The bright costumes by Mark Zappone and uptempo rhythms by Les Yeax Noirs, Lisa Gerrard, and René Aubry were there to amplify the mania. Even in its extended version, the ballet never seemed to develop, but again here was Dance Theatre of Harlem looking to tradition—even “Tradition!” (as in Fiddler on the Roof)—and making it their own.