Capítulo 7: Village Vanguard
The spacious four-lane road was congested due to the evening rush hour. Vehicles crowded together like clumsy iron cans, remaining still in place. Watching the throng of people surge towards the subway station, reminiscent of sardines escaping to survive a doomsday event, it was unclear whether this was the laboring masses of public transportation envying the salaried class in their private cars, or vice versa.
At this moment, a young boy on a skateboard glided along Broadway Avenue, deftly navigating the gaps between vehicles and pedestrians, then swiftly weaving through, his shirttails fluttering in the gusty wind, the chaos of his tousled curls exuding the recklessness and freedom of youth. Like a splatter of a different color igniting the ceaseless flow of the crowd.
Unintentionally, whether they were inside the cans or flocking towards the underground tunnels, gazes turned toward that figure. Yet they could only capture a rapidly vanishing silhouette, revealing a touch of envy and reminiscence in their eyes. But they remained unsure about what exactly they were envying and reminiscing about.
Skateboarding was a newfound passion for Renly after he arrived in New York. He quickly fell in love with this widespread sport among the young, as he glided forward, almost chasing the footsteps of the wind. He maneuvered through New York's world-leading chaotic traffic matrix, his mood soaring under the sun.
The streets and alleys of Manhattan resembled an orderly chessboard. The east-west thoroughfares were streets, numbered from south to north, from First Street all the way to 222nd Street. The north-south avenues were avenues, numbered from east to west, from First Avenue to Twelfth Avenue. Among them were a few avenues named unconventionally, like Madison Avenue and Broadway Avenue.
For skateboarding, this was undoubtedly ideal – straight and wide roads, clear and distinct directions, and of course, smooth and regulated surfaces, making navigation effortless.
Leaving the audition venue at the Broadway Theater in Midtown, Renly skated southward to Downtown. The changing heights and diverse architectural styles on either side turned into streaks of light in his line of sight, encapsulating the city's history, culture, and customs, unfolding a grand and magnificent tableau.
Gradually, the scenes of Greenwich Village, rich with exotic vibes, emerged as the streets grew more intricate. The flavor of wandering artists, with elements of gypsy, hippie, and folk rock, permeated the alleys and streets, revealing a mosaic of images distinctly different from Uptown and Midtown. It was like entering a fantastical world of imagination.
Unless immersed in it, it was indeed challenging to depict using the mind alone – the extremes of order and chaos, stark glamour and unfettered nonchalance, all coexisting on this small island of Manhattan, apart from the Bronx and Queens. New York City contained such a historically profound corner.
Crossing the bustling Fifth Avenue and entering the realm of Fourth Avenue, then making a sharp turn at Fourteenth Street, Renly skillfully weaved through the streets and alleys, finally stopping at the entrance of a secluded alley. He lightly pressed the tail of his skateboard with his left foot, effortlessly carrying it in his hand. Stepping into this alley, flanked by two massive garbage bins, he wrinkled his brow slightly at the pungent odor of cannabis in the air. Looking around, he noticed it was just a little past six. Indulging in the sensation of a cigarette this early in the day seemed to suggest that this individual was troubled. Retrieving his gaze, Renly briskly pushed open the nearby door, its silver surface dotted with mud stains, and vanished within.
"Hey, Jack, what's tonight's featured dish? Stanley, how did your date with Brittany go last night? Chuck, did you manage to snag tickets for the Giants' game tomorrow night?"...
It was a kitchen with a vintage style, still adorned with designs reminiscent of the Victorian era. At this moment, everyone in the kitchen was actively preparing for the busy dinner hour. As Renly navigated through the space, the steam-filled kitchen became even more bustling. Passing the changing room, he leaned his skateboard against the door and continued forward. He pushed open a large red partition door, entering the interior space of the bar.
The bar, named "Village Vanguard", was a somewhat renowned jazz bar in Greenwich Village. Established in 1935, it was one of the first jazz bars to appear in New York. Many music enthusiasts and performing artists liked to gather here. Throughout history, several jazz legends had chosen this bar to record their live performance albums. Not only was it due to its rich history and unique ambiance, but also because its audience was irreplaceable. New York's art aficionados were countless, but only a select group of professionals and veterans frequented Village Vanguard to savor the wonderful music.
Of course, the term "jazz bar" didn't solely indicate jazz performances. In the 21st century, the bar also featured folk, bluegrass, and blues, among other niche and vintage music genres. Occasionally, even rock bands gradually being edged out by time found a stage here.
The bar opened at three in the afternoon and operated until two in the morning. The nightly two-hour live performances were its signature feature. Not only did famous singers occasionally perform here, but also lesser-known independent musicians came to showcase their talents. They engaged in face-to-face interactions with New York's most professional audience.
Renly had been working here for almost three months. Due to the flexible working hours and generous tips from customers, his income supported his daily life in New York and allowed him to participate in off-Broadway performances during his free time.
Compared to the flamboyance, restlessness, and pursuit of immediate gains prevalent in Los Angeles, New York shared more similarities with London. Artists here wholeheartedly pursued professional achievements, dedicating themselves to honing their skills and actively participating in real-world experiences. They were willing to learn from each other to make progress.
In this city, daily theater performances, bar and club shows, exchanges in galleries and museums, even the topics of street conversations in Greenwich Village, were all related to art. This atmosphere flowing in their veins was something that Los Angeles lacked.
Like London, New York always harbored resistance against the commercialization and entertainment-driven nature of Hollywood. Of course, does art require commercial packaging and promotion? The answer is yes. However, before turning everything into a commodity, isn't it more valuable to focus on refining the quality and essence of the product? This is why Woody Allen always remained in New York, cherishing it deeply.
Village Vanguard could be considered a microcosm of New York.
Being able to work here was fortunate for Renly. Here, he could exchange professional experiences with genuine artists, engage in passionate debates with true enthusiasts. This artistic atmosphere was beyond measure in terms of value.
Surveying the bar's clientele, Renly walked over to the counter. "How did the audition go?" Neil Tuson, the bartender behind the counter, was wiping freshly washed beer glasses, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. "Waiting for a callback." Renly didn't complain or conceal; he straightforwardly revealed the outcome. He then witnessed Neil roll his eyes dramatically. "Oh my God, are you serious? Did Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg go blind? To miss an actor like you, I don't have high hopes for their project's future." "How can you be certain Tom and Steven were at the audition?" Renly's counter-question caught Neil off-guard for a moment; he didn't know how to counter it. Immediately, Renly burst into a bright smile. "Actually, they were there indeed. But unfortunately, I wasn't able to impress them." Neil chuckled and made a shooing gesture with a beer glass. "As I said before, their loss for missing you."
Renly waved his hand, not intending to continue this topic. "Who's the featured performer tonight?" Having been absent for work the day before and the day before that due to preparing for the audition of "The Pacific", he was clueless about today's schedule.
"Jason Mraz will perform in the second half." Neil's words instantly lit up Renly's eyes. Last year, this artist's song "I'm Yours" had spread like wildfire throughout North America, breaking records for the longest weeks on the singles chart, earning him the nickname "Witcher".
Despite his sudden fame last year, Jason had maintained his trademark low-key nature. Most of the time, he performed in various bars or small theaters, staying close to his audience. In the entertainment world dominated by sensationalism and profit, this was truly rare.
"I hope he won't perform 'I'm Yours"." Renly raised an eyebrow, a hint of disdain in his tone. Neil burst into laughter. "Let's hope no tourist audience sneaks in tonight, otherwise..." True professional audiences appreciated the music, the live performance, and the artist themselves. However, tourist audiences often just enjoyed the familiar tunes.
Renly didn't continue the conversation but raised his right hand, crossing his index and middle fingers in a gesture of prayer. The two exchanged a smile. Renly then turned around, heading towards four customers who had just entered. Another waiter was about to approach them, but Renly gestured to her to stop. Renly's presence meant that the area under his responsibility no longer required her attention.
After eight o'clock, the bar gradually grew busier. This wasn't only due to dinner time approaching, but also because the nightly live performance began at eight-thirty. True regulars always arrived right on time. Temporarily putting aside the audition from the afternoon, Renly slid back into his everyday routine, just like the past three months.
After passing the pepper shaker to Table Eight, Renly noticed the usher leading two customers to Table Fourteen. He quickly retrieved a menu and approached them. "Good evening..." However, seeing Tom and Steven before him, his steps involuntarily slowed, even his words paused for a moment.
REFLEXIONES DE LOS CREADORES 
Shallowman
Shallowman Sorry, in the first iteration of my translation, I left the translation as Pioneer Village, not Village Vanguard. The latter is the real name of a real place, so I will be using that name from now on.
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