Where the sermons are music
by Darius Dixon
October 1, 2009
Photo credit: Darius Dixon
The words jump out at every passerby: Black United Fun Plaza: ‘God Gets the Glory.’
Actually, the aluminum embossed letters are so large and reflective that they’re hard to miss from the opposite side of Adam Clayton Powell Boulevard.
“There’s no religion here,” said Sivan Baron, 35, when asked about the Fun Plaza logo. Baron is one of the owners of “Shrine,” the actual name of the restaurant and musical one-stop-shop tucked into 2271 Adam Clayton Powell near 134th Street. No matter how much glory there was to be got, preaching is not a Shrine specialty. Unless the sermon has a powerful beat.
Shrine’s décor is a visual kaleidoscope of music history: Quincy Jones’ “You’ve Got It Bad Girl,” Sarah Vaughan’s “Murder Inc.,” Stevie Wonder’s “Hotter Than July.” The walls and columns—and the ceiling—are decorated with dozens of old records sleeves (and a few records themselves). The makeshift tiling of album covers shares the space with several wooden African masks that hang on an exposed brick wall and over the bathroom doors. Wooden people mind over the beer taps.
Posters are not in short supply. Homage to Bob Marley and other musicians adorn what little naked paint is left of Shrine’s interior.
Baron said she and her husband, Abdel, 35, a fellow owner, decided on the name “Shrine” as a tribute to the late Kuti. Kuti’s famous nightclub in his native Nigeria, where he and his band played for over twenty years, bore the name Shrine as well. That is, until it was burned down by government soldiers in 1977.
A floor-to-ceiling poster of Kuti’s iconic photograph—bare-chested and face-painted with both fists launched into the sky like Superman while concert lights peek out from either side—confronts customers as soon as they step through the front door.
“It speaks to me as an artist,” said Lottie Porch, of Hackensack, N.J., said in describing the character of Shrine. Porch, a writer and performance artist, was finishing up a meal with a friend, Ann Bennett, when she said she enjoyed the “Afrocentricity.” “Things here are part of my history,” she continued, pointing to different album covers on the wall. “See that? That Moms Mabley album? My parents had that album.” Just like home. Porch also appreciated the food. She lobbied for the salmon burger and suggested the frozen margaritas.
“This is an intelligent place,” said Danny Hamilton, 52, a local filmmaker. “I like the international crowd,” he added. Hamilton said he appreciated the décor partly because he collects records himself. Shrine doubled as office space for Hamilton, albeit one that serves drinks and plays “eclectic music.” He left his laptop at home on this particular day. But it’s not all about work either. “For whatever reason,” he said, “some of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen have been here, in Shrine.”
Baron handles Shrine’s event bookings. “We’re totally kids friendly here,” she told the manager of the Afro-Puerto Rican music group Alma Moyo, as they made arrangements to use the Shrine stage. About ten minutes later, during the interview, Baron’s daughter, Alma, three-years-old, burst into Shrine in an explosion of energy.
Alma has been written into Shrine’s two-year history, literally. An “Alma” costs $9: greens, tomatoes, scallions, cucumber, pepper, olives, feta cheese, grape leaves and artichoke—an entrée salad. A Sivan is a brunch sandwich, also $9. Kalizeta are grilled lamb chops, and also the name of Abdel’s mother.
Baron deciphered a few of the trickier items on the menu: “Ouaga Salad” and “Tlv Toast”? Abbreviations for Tel Aviv, Israel and Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso, major cities in Sivan and Abdel’s respective home countries. “The ‘Muslim Jew,’” a cocktail at Shrine, “is popular,” Baron said. It also refers to Abdel and Sivan’s differing religious faiths. Everything has a personal touch, especially the music—almost all of which is live.
“Music brings people together,” said Abdel, in a phone interview. Logically, with more music there will be more togetherness. Monday though Saturday, Shrine opens at 4 p.m. Afternoons tended to start off slow, with musical rhythms that complement polite conversation and a modest dinner. But Shrine closes at 4 a.m.—everyday.
Though they don’t like to have anyone play more than once every six months, “anything goes [in terms of style],” Baron said. Shrine is open to all sounds; Morrocan traditional, punk, reggae, Cuban jazz, gospel. Locals, and groups on tour. Any favorites? The response was a wide-eyed look of astonishment, “There are so many,” she said, but then conceded a preference for Afrobeat, especially bands with six or more members because, she added, they create a more communal atmosphere.
The event schedule, available online, was a dizzying sight. On any given Wednesday through Saturday, three bands are playing, back to back. Lottie Porch, the customer from Hackensack, hopes to perform on the Shrine stage herself. Tuesday nights are “Soul 4 Real Open Mic Night.” The evenings here are capped with dancing. “Funky Samurai Soul” every Thursday from 11 p.m. until closing.
Sundays operate a little differently. Shrine opens at 9 a.m. for brunch. Secondly, from the moment Shrine first opened in March 2007, Lu Reid, 52, and his band, the Jazz All Stars, had played almost every Sunday. Reid said he first approached Abdel about playing at Shrine well before its grand opening. Without much to offer the All Stars as payment, Reid suggested, “let me put the ‘menu’ on stage,” and if you like what you hear, we work something out.
Reid said the wanted the Sunday routine to be a homage to the, “old days, when, on Sundays, people would go to church. Eat. Then, go to the jazz club.” Although the band recently went on hiatus, Reid, a trumpet player, said he liked to remind people that jazz was “a world music.” One to also be preserved, in some form, in his native Harlem.
When asked why they chose to set Shrine in Harlem, Abdel said, “Harlem spoke to us.” Harlem may have called for Shrine but it’s the music that calls the people.
