Quaz Q&A: Gabriel Aldort

* Welcome to the 39th installment of The Quaz Q&A. This feature—a question-and-answer session with a person from sports/entertainment/politics/whatever—will appear every Thursday on jeffpearlman.com. If you have any suggestions/ideas for people to speak with, hit me up at anngold22@gmail.com. I’m listening.

A couple of weeks ago I was walking through Grand Central Station, rushing to get somewhere for some reason by some time before I had to go somewhere else for something more.

Then I heard it. Coming from one of the hallways was an absolutely haunting version of Elton John’s “Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters,” as New York a song as has ever been written. I walked toward the sound, almost instinctively, and saw a scruffy man sitting behind a keyboard.

Enter: Gabriel Aldort.

I stood and listened for, oh, 10 more minutes, and—without exaggeration—I could not have been happier. It was one of those moments where the sounds merged with the setting, and all I wanted to do was absorb it all.

Alas, I had to leave—but not without getting the business card of one Gabriel Aldort, New York City street musician and a man loaded with talent.

Here, Gabriel talks Manhattan, playing in 30-degree cold, homeless sex proposals and why he likes John Oates more than the mayor. You can visit his website here.

Gabriel Aldort, hit it at the Quaz …

JEFF PEARLMAN: So I stumbled upon you a few days ago, walking through Grand Central Station, playing Mona Lisa and Mad Hatters. I know so little about your background, so I’ll ask straight up: How did you get here? What’s your path—musical? Geographic?

GABRIEL ALDORT: I was born in Chicago, and grew up in Topanga, California, which is where my dad started teaching me piano on our old funky upright at the age of six. I went through a handful of teachers through the years, but never really took it seriously. I guess when I got to the point where I could entertain people with my playing and singing, I realized it was a talent I wanted to continue to develop—which I did through my formative years on the west coast. Fast forward to 1988, we had moved coasts to Northport, Long Island. A lot happened that year—I went into my senior year at a new high school, I got my first paying gig playing a baby grand at a Japanese restaurant. It was also the year my dad introduced me to New Orleans Blues, the style that would later come to define me as a player. I finished high school, sampled college, then at 23 left home for Atlanta to work at a music store.

Down there I hooked up with a great Jazz piano teacher, and caught up on some of the theory I’d blown off over the years.  Some 3 1/2 years later, in 1999, I was back in New York, and shortly after, I moved into Manhattan and got a job at Manny’s Music on 48th Street, selling keyboards. A couple years later I started working as a manager of a blues club, Terra Blues. I also started working for YAMAHA as a trainer of music technology. In 2008 I met my future fiancée, Jennifer, at the club. In the spring of 2010 I finally got up the nerve to audition for Music Under New York, and thankfully got chosen to participate. (Right around that same time I started working with HAI, (Hospital Audiences Inc.) performing in care facilities.). For MUNY, I started playing in the subway three times a week, which I still do today; always in the morning for the commuters. This was a huge breakthrough for me musically, and spiritually. Later that year I left the blues club, turned 40 and got cast as a voice actor on a Turkish television show. On March 31, 2011, we welcomed our son Leon into the world. At the end of 2011 I finally started writing my own material. I’m going into the studio at the end of this month to record my first CD! My path musically is to continue to develop my music and performance, and to write some great songs. We plan on staying in New York City for at least a couple more years, after that … who knows?

J.P.: You’ve clearly played a lot of public places in the city. It strikes me as a rough gig. People walking by, oftentimes paying you no mind, ignoring you. What is the experience like, playing a subway station or a park?

G.A.: I find the experience of playing in public places very liberating as an artist. Before I started performing in the subway, I always had a certain level of performance anxiety. This quickly dissipated when I started playing for thousands of strangers. I think because I finally learned to start performing for myself … from myself, instead of being concerned with how the audience perceived me. It took a long time for me to figure this out.

J.P.: I’m sure you’ve  probably dreamed of playing MSG or the Staples Center, a stage, a piano, 50,000 screaming fans. Do you view this as a path to your dream? Or is this who you are—a street performer? A guy playing wherever there are people?

G.A.: The idea of performing for thousands of people seems like a dream at this point. I have fallen in love with performing in and around the subway, as well as all the parties and events I’ve booked over the years. Now with the songwriting component in my life, as well as a basic passion for life, I just dig performing anywhere. I think it’s because as I continue to blossom as a musician, just the simple concept of expressing myself through music is enough. So yeah, an arena, a subway platform, a living room—it all works for me.

J.P.: Highlight of your musical existence? Lowest moment?

G.A.: The highlight of my musical existence would be when I played with Stevie Wonder at Manny’s Music. He came in on a Sunday when I was working, and while another salesman was helping him, I started playing one of his more obscure songs, “As if You Read My Mind” from the “Hotter than July” album. A couple seconds later, I feel this hand on my shoulder … it was Stevie. He leaned over and said, “That’s real good, but you got the left hand all wrong.” He then proceeded to show me the correct syncopation of the left hand notes, after which we played the song together; him on the right, me on the left, while he sang it into my right ear. Heaven …

The low point would be … Hmm, probably most of the times I was asked to sit in, and wasn’t comfortable with the key the song was called in (cue the performance anxiety …).

J.P.: I’m fascinated: What are you thinking while you’re playing. I mean, literally: you’re in Grand Central. It’s cold and drafty. People are rushing by. A homeless man smells like tuna. You’re singing a Billy Joel song for the 8,532th time in your life. What is running through your head?

G.A.: When I’m playing, most of the time I’m in the zone, because I’ve learned that if the performance isn’t sincere and doesn’t come from deep inside, people can somehow sniff out the insincerity. I try to play every song as though it’s the best version I’ve ever done. My mind inevitably will drift from time to time to the circus in my head, but I notice that if I’m not fully engaged with my performance, my tips diminish. I always dig, however, just people watching. Ah, the characters …

J.P.: I interviewed Travis Warren, the lead singer of Blind Melon, and he railed against American Idol … saying “singers need to struggle and ride for hours on buses and the like.” Do you agree? And when you see some mediocre talent like Justin Bieber or Jojo making millions, do you burn?

G.A.: I used to be a lot more judgmental about performers, or people in general. I’m settling more into the idea/belief that everyone has their respective paths, and who am I to judge them for their successes or failures. Time brings to light all things, and this life can be a long and interesting one. I guess the bottom line is, if you feel like someone who’s not as talented as yourself is reaping success, then what are you gonna do about it? This subject (as well as the general state of the music industry today), to me has multiple branches; unfortunately way to many to get into here. I will say this, though: The music industry has always had a history of producing material which mirrors the times … sad to say, but these days, times aren’t so hot.

On a brighter note, though, with the advent of the Internet there’s never been a better time or better tools for an artist to promote their material.

J.P.: You have a view of New York City that many people lack—and certainly a viewpoint. What do you see? What can you tell me about New York’s makeup that people perhaps miss?

G.A.: I think New York City is on the cusp of the evolutionary scale. The highest diversity of culture in the smallest square footage—how can one not be inspired by that? It’s also is a recipe for tremendous stress as well.

It creates a kind of emotional callus, but I think that’s why New Yorkers have the reputation that we do. We’re all thrown on top of each other and expected to just deal with it. I think this develops an exceptional trait in all New Yorkers—survival.

Over the years, I’ve heard various New York City residents complain about tourists. I’m always quick to point out the wonderment that one experiences when they go to any major foreign city for the first time. I keep that in mind when I’m strolling through Times Square and seeing the looks on these tourists faces as they navigate New York City for the first time.

J.P.: According to your website, Your first CD, Thanks for Today, is about to come out. What was this process like for you? Where did you record it? How long did it take? Was it an expensive project? And, besides selling it out of your case, what do you hope to do with it?

G.A.: I’m recording my first CD in the studio next week, and I’m super excited about it. I found a great engineer/producer, and after auditioning a couple studios, I settled on Pyramid. I just love their funky old Baldwin grand, as well as the vibe of the place in general; it suits my style. I’ve got 10 hours to record as many songs as I can, just me and a piano. I guess we’ll all find out how it turned out in February.

J.P.: It’s 15 degrees, dark, gray, people aren’t feeling the music and you’ve made $2. Are you ever thinking, “fuck this—I’m gonna do [blank]?”

G.A.: I actually love the environmental challenges! Schlepping my cart through the snow, sitting on my hands after every song because there’s a grate above me blowing down freezing air. I still love it! It’s all part of the challenge. I’m an optimist, though, so I’m always looking for the good in every situation. Oddly enough, during those trying times, I get what I would call, “sympathy tips.”

J.P.: Why do you think people respond so powerfully to music? I mean, technically, it’s just sound entering our ears. What’s the magic?

G.A.: Well, besides the fact that we’re all homo sapiens, the only other thing that EVERY human being on the planet has in common is our love of music. Whether it be dark and loud or soft and tranquil, everybody digs music. Music is all about frequencies, like the radio. Some people dig the frequencies you’re transmitting on, others might wanna change the channel. Psychologically I think it taps into something primal, something that’s hard to quantify. It helps us to express ourselves in ways that only music can. It helps us relate to people in a way that’s more easily digestible. I mean, you can talk to somebody till you’re blue in the face about an issue you’re passionate about, and they still might not get it; but convey it through music … and you could just sneak it in there. Once again, another vast topic of discussion for another time.


QUAZ EXPRESS WITH GABRIEL ALDORT

• Five favorite performers of all time: Stevie Wonder, Ray Charles, Billy Joel, Elton John, Dr. John.

• Would you rather cut out your tongue or spend the next three years watching an endless video re-run of Styx’s Mr Roboto video?: Definitely the Mr. Roboto video, I’ve found my tongue to be a great asset.

• Rank in order: Michael Bloomberg, Rex Ryan, Dick Clark, Ryan Seacrest, Celine Dion, John Oates, Meatloaf (the singer), meatloaf (the food), new socks: John Oates, Michael Bloomberg, Celine Dion, Meatloaf, (the singer), Dick Clark, meatloaf (the food), new socks, Ryan Seacrest, Rex Ryan.

• Most overrated and underrated instrument: Most overrated, the Kazoo, most underrated, The Zeusaphone.

• Five amazing things to do in your hometown of Topanga, California: Hiking, relaxing, trap door spider hunting, skateboarding, hitchhiking.

• Worst bathrooms in New York City?: It’s been my experience that the worst bathrooms are usually in the hottest clubs.

• Have you ever thought you were about to die in a plane crash? If so, details: I’ve hit some some pretty bad turbulence over the years, (Grew up with a Mom for a flight attendant), but never so bad that I thought we were going down.

• More likely conspiracy: The US government planned 9/11, Lee Harvey Oswald didn’t kill JFK or Michael Jordan retired for gambling debts?: Oswald didn’t kill JFK.

• Strangest thing you’ve ever had someone say to you during a performance?: A homeless woman at Grand Central offered to make love to me.

• What’s your best joke?: Guy walks into a bar with a giraffe and they both proceed to get wasted. The giraffe passes out on the floor, and as the guy is stumbling toward the door the bartender says, “Hey man, you can’t leave that lyin’ there,” to which the man replies, “That’s not a Lion, that’s a giraffe!”

QUAZ DATABASE:

Quaz 1: Wendy Hagen

Quaz 2: Chris Burgess

Quaz 3: Tommy Shaw

Quaz 4: Russ Ortiz

Quaz 5: Don McPherson

Quaz 6: Frank Zaccheo

Quaz 7: Geoff Rodkey

Quaz 8: Meeno Peluce

Quaz 9: Karl Mecklenburg

Quaz 10: Amra-Faye Wright

Quaz 11: Phil Nevin

Quaz 12: Jemele Hill

Quaz 13: Drew Snyder

Quaz 14: Roy Smalley

Quaz 15: Michael Shermer

Quaz 16: Kathy Wagner

Quaz 17: Travis Warren

Quaz 18: Scott Barnhardt

Quaz 19: Chris Jones

Quaz 20: Cindi Avila

Quaz 21: Crystal McKellar

Quaz 22: Dan Riehl

Quaz 23: Prime Minister Pete Nice

Quaz 24: Glen Graham

Quaz 25: Dave Coverly

Quaz 26: Marie Te Hapuku

Quaz 27: Christian Delcroix

Quaz 28: Jack McDowell

Quaz 29: Jake Black

Quaz 30: Brian Johnson

Quaz 31: Craig Salstein

Quaz 32: John Herzfeld

Quaz 33: Jenny DeMilo

Quaz 34: Tina Thompson

Quaz 35: Seth Davis

Quaz 36: Dave Fleming

Quaz 37: Mike Sharp

Quaz 38: Kathleen Osgood

Quaz 39: Gabriel Aldort

Vindication

 

The text came from my friend, Paul Duer. Suppoedly Chris (Mad Dog) Russo, the XM Radio host, was bashing me this afternoon.

I called Paul a few minutes later. Turns out Russo dismissed Sweetness, a book he almost certainly didn’t read, because—according to him (and some NFL book)—I was wrong in identifying Garin Veris as the man who caused Walter Payton’s fumble in Super Bowl XX.

One problem: I wasn’t wrong, and I knew I wasn’t wrong. I probably watched a tape of that play, oh, 30 times. I interviewed multiple Patriot players, almost all of whom discussed the play in detail. Reporting, reporting, reporting.

Anyhow, after confirming Russo’s mistake (and unfair slashing of moi), I Tweeted him.

This was the response I received:

God is good.

Vanessa Hudgens: This won’t end well

So I was watching TV a couple of days ago when I happened across a commercial for a new movie, Journey 2 (Serious question: Was there a Journey 1?). The films stars The Rock, and looks absolutely, positively dreadful, in an absolutely, positively dreadful type of way. In short: The Rock runs around, big animals attack, he’s tough, blah, blah, blah. Oh, and it’s in 3D—so add on another $3 or $4 for 90 minutes of sludge.

Alas, I was surprised to catch Selena Gomez in the background of one of the scenes. Gomez, after all is the flavor of the month—a pretty, young singer/actress who even dates Justin Bieber. Why, I wondered, would someone like Gomez play third fiddle in a shitbag Rock action flick.

Then I looked a little closer. It wasn’t Selena Gomez at all.

It was Vanessa Hudgens.

Sigh.

Six years ago, Vanessa Hudgens was it. Like, It It. She was the star of High School Musical, a film my then-3-year-old daughter couldn’t get enough of. That was followed by two more episodes, each one a little crappier than the original. The final High School musical came out in 2009, and since then Hudgens has appeaed in, according to IMDB, Bandslam, Beastly, Sucker Punch and Cool Baby-Lame Baby.

Uh … yeah.

I’m not writing this to mock Vanessa Hudgens. For all I know, she’s a solid actrss. It just always amazes me how the world of American entertainment lifts people to astonishin heights—then drops them on their heads. A few years ago, there wasn’t a mall in American Vanessa Hudgens could walk through without being swarmed. She was a superdooper star; a hero to young girls; a sex symbol to teen boys; the heroine of three blockbusters.

Now, she’s standing behind the Rock.

In ugly shorts.

Allen Berman

A couple of years ago a friend’s grandmother died.

She was in her early 90s, so he was—predictably—”comforted” with the cliched words of, “She lived a long life” and “God was good to her” and the like.

Comfort? To hell with comfort. For a very understandable reason, we humans struggle with the deaths of others. We’re not sure how to react so, generally, we react by spewing the same mindless (yet well-intended) blatherings that our ancestors spewed. If someone died young, “he’s with God.” If someone dies while in the military, “he passed with honor.” If someone died old, “he lived a long and fruitful life.” What’s missing here—what’s too often missing here—is that, even if one dies in his 80s, 90s or 100s, it’s still sad and still heartbreaking. We’re talking about the completion of one’s journey; the end of consciousness and existence. That a person ceases to be is a hard, harsh, truthful thing, and it hurts—circumstances be damned. It hurts.

I digress. A couple of days ago Allen Berman, 82, passed away. He was, among other things, a Korean War veteran, an engineer, a father, a grandfather, a great-grandfather. He loved fishing, dancing, jokes and making figures from hot dogs.

One of Allen’s grandsons, Chris Berman, happens to be my sister’s boyfriend. Chris is a truly kind and decent guy; smart, funny, hard-working, endearing in every sense of the word. And while I could try and spew off a bunch of cliches to try and numb my friend’s pain, I’d rather go with an absolute truism: In Chris’ life, Allen would be very proud.

The bane of my morning

Every morning I give my kids breakfast.

Every morning, at about 8:20, I scream, “We’re late! We’re late! Get your shoes on!”

Every morning, we all rush out the door.

Every morning, those damn cereal bowls greet me back home.

Boy, do I loathe those cereal bowls. Half filled. Mushy, 70-percent eaten product. Warm milk, just floating there. I mean, I just wanna jump in the shower and go about my day. But I can’t, because the damned bowls must be taken care of first. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds. Pour them in the sink, an inevitable clogging of Honey Nut and Kix takes place. Dump the whole thing in the garbage, then forget to take out the garbage, and the house inevitably smells of rotted milk. Hell, the bowls themselves are pains. They’re my kids’ favorites, but those plastic straws have to be cleaned, or else there’ll be inevitable mold.

By the time the whole process is completed, it’s been, oh, 15 minutes.

I hate those bowls.

PS: And don’t get me started on the price of cereal, the massive amounts of sugar in cereal and the decreasing size of the boxes. Ugh.

On Kyle Williams

Over the past few days Kyle Williams, the 49ers kick returner who had the two key turnovers against the Giants, has been receiving tons and tons and tons of hate.

Hate on the radio.

Hate on TV.

Hate on blogs.

Hate on Twitter.

To these people, the haters, I offer this message of love and peace: Get a friggin’ life.

I mean it—get a life. The 49ers are a football team. They play a game with a ball, and snazzy uniforms, and colorful helmets. Nobody dies, nobody is making political decisions, nobody should be scarred for life. It is just a game, even with all the money and attention. It’s. Just. A. Game. So if you’re one of these people who thinks it’s OK to tell someone he should die, or he should be ashamed, or he should go f%$# himself, well, go f%$# yourself.

Really, go f%$# yourself.

And, along those lines, look yourself in the mirror. Do you never make mistakes on your job? Never, ever? I know … I know—football players make a lot of money and blah, blah, blah. That’s garbage. There is no excuse for this sort of reaction, and it continues to sicken me.

Whew. I feel better.

Chris Dessi comes of age

Back when I was a 14-year-old kid growing up on the mean streets of Mahopac, N.Y., my father self-published a book. It was titled “Conquering the Corporate Career,” and to say I was dazzled is to delve into great understatement. My dad wrote a book! A real book! And there it was! In our nearby Waldenbooks! Wow! Wow! Wow! (Side note: This is where I first learned the art of taking a book from a back-of-the-store shelf and discreetly relocated it to the Best Sellers section).

In many ways, I remain more impressed by the self-published author than someone like myself, who—by virtue of working at Sports Illustrated—lucked his way into being published by a big house. Self-publishing takes discipline and determination and a belief in the product. It’s a giant step, and it blows me away.

Which is my way of saying—Christopher Dessi blows me away.

A couple of months ago Chris, who was a younger classmate of mine at Mahopac High School (I used to beat his older brother in all sorta of sports in the playground—though Mark might remember things slightly differently), mentioned that he was trying to write a book about social media, and using it to advance yourself (professionally and, to a lesser degree, personally) in the modern era. I told him I’d be happy to give it an edit, then—truth be told—I couldn’t put the damn thing down.

Well, today Your World is Exploding was officially released on Amazon—and I couldn’t be happier. It is a fascinating, riveting, unique viewpoint on how the internet changes everything …absolutely everything. And that, if one doesn’t adjust and take advantage, he is doomed to flounder. I can’t recommend it strongly enough. Hell, I triple recommend it.

I know what it feels like to have a book published. It’s a euphoric moment; one where you can’t stop looking at the finished product; can’t stop floating on air.

Mazel Tov.

My damn brother

I was probably 5-years old. My brother David was 7.

We were sitting at the kitchen table in our Mahopac, N.Y. home. The newspaper was open—I vividly remember this. Nobody in my family cared about sports, but somehow David said, “I like the Giants!”

I countered with, “Well, then I like the Jets!”

That was nearly 35 years ago. Here I sit, at my laptop, damning my brother once again. The Giants will be playing in the fifth Super Bowl of our lifetimes. The Jets—a big, fat zero. And here’s the worst part: David doesn’t care. Hell, odds are he has yet to learn the Giants made the Super Bowl. He lives in Florida, works for a cruise ship line, pays attention to sports like I pay attention to Nigerian political races. He wouldn’t recognize Victor Cruz from Victor Conte. I’m not even sure he knows who Phil Simms is.

Meanwhile, I’ve suffered through … dear God, so much. Browning Neagle. Rich Kotite. Anthony Becht. Dave Cadigan. Mike Haight. Loss after loss after loss. Now, the whole Rex Ryan thing has completely worn out, and I’m left wondering—truly wondering—whether the Jets will ever reach another Super Bowl. Meanwhile, I look at the Giants not with scorn or envy, but appreciation. Their quarterback is breathtakingly good. Their coach is vastly underrated. They draft wisely (JPP at No. 17?!) and find these free-agent nuggets, a la Victor Cruz. They are a fantastic organization, one where trash talk is seldom required.

My brother … my friggin’ brother.