PHLAC

On any day or evening at Fanelli’s in Soho, you’re likely to find a cross-section of Europeans curious to see what one of New York City’s oldest taverns is all about. It’s written up in most of the guide books; the old-world charm and simplicity of the space woos in a steady flow of regulars and tourists. The majority of Euro-visitors are either Brits, Italians, or Germans. A few years ago, a guy from Oxford sauntered in to have a beer and catch a glimpse of the Yankee game in the background. He knew baseball and music well and today I can call Chris a friend. We’ve seen a few concerts together during his travels to New York. It’s what makes Fanelli’s a worthwhile spot—you go there to talk, drink, and maybe eat. That’s about it.

I hadn’t been in for a visit in several months. Paolo sat next to me at the bar. I recognized the accent. I’m partial to Italians sometimes—the genuine ones, at least. It had been thirty years since Paolo last visited New York. A man of sixty now, and recently unattached with a son back home, he found two apartment shares on Craig’s List during his three-week visit—one in Williamsburg, the other somewhere uptown. With only three days of his vacation left, Paolo needed to buy a pickup for his banjo and the only place he could find it was at Mandolin Brothers, which happens to be about ten minutes from my apartment on Staten Island. Paolo plays guitar as well and can sing a bit too. In his hometown of Poggio Mirteto, just north of Rome, he also likes to paint and make photographs.

Paolo found his pickup at Mandolin Brothers, the world-renowned guitar shop in the small tan stucco building on Forest Avenue. The place always reminds me of the time George Harrison, after attending a lunch banquet nearby, made a visit there in ‘91. Within minutes, word had spread up and down the block, and soon, George Harrison got the hell out of Dodge.

I met Paolo at the corner of Victory and Forest, showed him Silver Lake Park, then spent time sifting through each other’s photos online, and talking music, notably his appreciation (and deftly-edited montage) of the accordionist Richard Galliano. We even improvised a little percussive noise together on the conga and djembe.