When I first got to New York, I loved Manhattan. I loved the history, the architecture, the crowds, the noise, the sheer brash impetulance of it all. The contrast with the safe, boring, hyper-regulated Canadian city was stark and wonderful.
After all, for most of the 20th century, Manhattan was the global epicenter of musical creativity. Whole world-changing music genres emerged from its insane cultural cauldron (punk, hip-hop, disco, salsa). Per square mile, no place in the world had a bigger effect on music, period.
The trouble is that when you spend enough time down there, you realize that in the 21st century most of it has basically become Disneyland For Rich People. Correspondingly, real creative energy has been heavily drained from the place. Any semblance of permanent community is being continually erased as people are constantly driven out by money and power. And of course, most remenants of the island’s once-vibrant nautical culture have vanished from the lives of ordinary New Yorkers.
Yet even in 1880, the island looked, in places, like this:
That’s the South Street Seaport, where a few valiant souls are still trying to keep sea shanties and nautical music going, at a monthly shanty sing in the Museum. I applaud what they’re doing, but it’s really worth noting that countless shanty sings around the world (which have flourished after the 2021 tiktok Shanty Craze) are held in pubs. Not in museums. And certainly not on Zoom with a hybrid option; after all, because the speed of light is finite, you can’t actually sing along to anything on Zoom. (Ever tried to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ with family to someone on Zoom? Fucking nightmare.)
Manhattan needs a direct, full-on nautical music assault, aimed straight at its heart, at the pubs around glitzy, overpriced Times Square or Grand Central Station. Its ordinary residents need to wander into a pub after work, hear some singing in the corner, head over to see what’s going on, and find themselves tipsy and singing along an hour later. They need to join in a chorus with strangers and sing until they’re no longer strangers. They need to make spontaneous connections, not… register in advance.
Yet, I’m contacting pubs, and literally no-one is returning my calls, despite the fact that I am basically waving thousands of dollars at them. I spoke to David Coffin about these difficulties over a pint in Boston. And he said, point blank: “what you need to do is just go in and start singing. You need to bring some folks, start singing, and watch the bar manager’s eyes light up when they see the beer sales.”
So we’ve been rehearsing. A lot. Something like 20 songs, Dreadnoughts originals and classic trad shanties/nautical songs. Four-part harmonies, five total singers. Lots of work still to do, but right now, it sounds phenomenal. As usual, paid subscribers get to listen to a rehearsal below.
So once we’re ready, by gar, we’re going to follow Mr. Coffin’s advice, head into a pub and start singing until they force us to stop. And if they force us to stop, we’ll move on to the next bloody place. And we won’t stop until we find a home for this thing. And then we’ll start holding a monthly sing, with all Dreadnoughts fans and their friends invited.
Who’s with us?
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