We're Back Baby!!

Due to the popular demand of my fans, this blog is in the process of being resurrected. Expect A Real Rival (v2.0) to be even more awesomer than v1.0.

Expect surprises like special guest authors, weekly polls, and just all around coolness. Cache. Yeah.

Review of I'm Not There Concert (Beacon Theatre, 11/8/07)

Last night's show at the Beacon was an odd experience all around. For a movie that probably doesn't have an enormous audience (e.g., the movie is opening in NYC at one of the smaller filmhouses), and for a soundtrack with a lot of bands that aren't exactly mainstream, this show sort of flew under the radar. And so it was, when the lights went down, and half the theatre (if not more) was empty. Literally empty seats. An echo in the theater. Completely bizarre.

Todd Haynes was there to speak a bit about the movie. As was Heath Ledger to introduce a couple of the bands. But as the night wore on, and band after band came out, I was struck by the seemingly haphazard way with which this was all put together. Not that pulling off a show for 15 bands could possibly be easy. But acts didnt know what microphone to go to. Some performers needed to hold sheets of paper with the lyrics to get through songs and kept getting lost (I know this is Dylan, and the songs are long, but really??). The sound mixes were (predictably) off for many of the songs -- it took a good 30 seconds into many of the songs for the vocal levels to be adjusted properly. Some songs, like All Along the Watchtower, you couldnt hear the vocals at all until the 3rd verse.

And then, when all was said and done, most of the evening was a pretty faithful reproduction of the soundtrack album but without the best bands from the album. I feel like this is a pretty negative review, but I have to admit that there was never a real flow to the evening. Too many different styles and breaks between songs to get bands set up. There was never any real juice. Except for two parts (and I will get there).

Calexico did a good job -- they were out there for the first few songs as a backing band (e.g, Joe Henry took the lead vocals on Senor) but it was a pretty sleepy afair. Yo La Tengo did I Wanna Be Your Lover and 4th Time Around and were solid but not spectacular (and no one is a bigger fan of theirs than me). The two members of Gomez did a really nice job with Don't Think Twice. The Million Dollar Bashers with Lee Ranaldo and J Mascis were also quite good. The several performances by John Doe, Joe Henry, Mark Lanegan and Dan Hicks were just not that inspiring or interesting. Al Kooper was fine. Cat Power never showed up. Neither did Michelle Shocked or Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova.

But the real highlights of the night were, without a doubt, not even close, Jim James/MMJ and The Roots. Jim James stole the first half of the show with Goin to Acapulco – he hit every note and everyone’s jaw hit the floor (Calexico backed him up). It was even more sublime in person than it is on the album. Simply beautiful. Then, later in the night, MMJ came out and played Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here With You and rocked it out. They made the song their own while staying true to it. And it was spine-tinglingly good. I gained a whole new level of respect for MMJ last night. I had been lukewarm on them until that point. The first standing ovation of the night.

But then, there was The Roots. They would have made Bob Dylan proud. And they made everyone else look like amateurs. They came out and played/sang Masters of War to the tune of the Star Spangled Banner – breathtaking and frankly, awe-inspiring. Then they segued directly into a Masters of War (or what remained of it) in a machine gun like intensity rock out. ?uestlove beat the crap out of his drumkit and the guy on tuba was running up and down the aisles. And the guitarist blew me away – held up his guitar like he was firing a machine gun and sprayed the crowd with notes. They played with a fire and an intensity that the night lacked. And they saved the show. The 2nd standing ovation of the night -- and the only one where everyone stood. The Roots were what we were all waiting for.

In all, to be fair, a trainwreck of a night, but a fun trainwreck for most of the night. I am glad I went. All hail MMJ and The Roots.

Review of Neon Bible (Arcade Fire)

8.7 out of 10

If a band’s new album is to be judged against the album that preceded it, then Arcade Fire faced an almost impossible task when recording Neon Bible (released today). Neon Bible, the follow-up to 2004’s Funeral, was competing with an almost mythically high bar that was set when Win Butler and co. captured lightning in a bottle and electrified the indie world and critics everywhere with Funeral’s seemingly simultaneous understated and overstated opus on life, love, youth, death and coming of age.

Arcade Fire is more anthem than song. And this trend continues with Neon Bible, another coming of age story, but this time it’s a story set in the contradictions of today. The stories we see on TV and the explanations we hear from our elected officials. The final throes. Mission Accomplished. Terrorists quoting their bible and the good guys quoting theirs. The government restricting rights in the name of liberty.

This is a dark album. A concept album of fear and paranoia, against the backdrop of someone that can’t wrap his head around what he sees around him and how his instincts translate those events. The guilt of the father that works to earn money to put food on the table without questioning what his job accomplishes. The guilt of the fair person that gets on an airplane and fears the passenger in 3B because he looks different. The paradox of the God-fearing Christian that perishes on September 11. Did his God abandon him? Or not? And what are the implications?

The album opens with Black Mirror, a musically and lyrically dark Snow White-type fairy tale, where we close our eyes and see an evildoer (pick which one and which side) looking into his black mirror for guidance (“mirror, mirror, on the wall, tell me where the bombs will fall”). Images of security cameras capturing our every move. Names never spoken. Curses never broken.

Cut to the next and poppiest track on the album – Keep the Cars Running – a hard driving song with distorted electric guitar mimicking planes flying overhead in the protagonist’s dreams. This would be Back in the USSR if the stage hadn’t already been set. Keep the Car Running just in case we need to get out quick.

"Every night my dream’s the same
Same old city with a different name
Men are coming to take me away
I don’t know why but I know I can’t stay
Keep the Car Running"

The album continues in this fashion – musically and lyrically playing on themes of religion and paranoia and the average man’s struggles to internalize and rationalize them (“a vial of hope and a vial of pain, in the light they both look the same”). The music matches the mood – sounds of storm, sounds of chaos, sounds of dark alleys and empty streets. Win’s soaring vocals matched with Regine Chassagne’s haunting background moans. Eerie violins, powerful church organs, and piano notes that you haven’t heard since you were a kid and banged on the lower register notes of the keyboard.

If the album suffers from anything, it’s that it may be a bit too much. It’s a mood album similar to Radiohead’s OK Computer – the listener may be worn down after listening to this. There are no easy rockers on here and each song deserves undivided attention. That attention is rewarded with a carefully crafted and beautiful album, but it’s also an album that can be preachy. It’s not an album making the rounds in the Republican Party.

It’s unclear to me whether this dark story ends the way we desperately want it to by the end – with hope. Perhaps it’s more accurate to describe the final emotions of the protagonist as a steely determination to change himself and the world around him in the only ways he can (“My body is a cage, that keeps me from dancing with the one I love, though my mind holds the key”). The penultimate track on the album, No Cars Go, is a song of youthful rebellion – “us kids know” where “no cars go” and “no planes go.” And at the end of the song, the singer implores “Let’s Go!” It’s unclear where we are going, but it sounds like the protagonist knows something I don’t, and it’s clear that we’re in this together. If Arcade Fire is going there, then I am going too.

Tuesday

Yesterday I found a letter you wrote
in a random drawer I never open.
I was cleaning the apartment.
But its not really cleaning, is it?
When you move paper piles
to other spots to deal with later?

Which is probably why I found it
when and where I did.
It rained yesterday and
I must have put it there
the last time I cleaned on a rainy day.
Assuming I’d deal with it later.

And Tuesday was christened Later.
The paper was yellowing and rough.
Ok, so maybe I didn’t put it there
the last time I cleaned,
or the time before that.
The ink is fading too

Then I saw the date
in the top right hand corner.
And as I read your blue pen
cursive manifesto,
your youth jumped off the page.
And I was embarrassed for you.

So I put the letter back
in the drawer and I closed it slowly.
And went back to what I was doing.
But I can’t stop thinking about what you wrote
And how young you were
But how old you pretended to be.

I didn’t have the heart
to shred it or throw it out.
I suppose I am trying to hang onto
the naivete that I was embarrassed to read
in the voice of your letter.
And I have to admit that part of me wonders

if I will still be embarrassed for you
when I stumble across it again
15 years from now on another rainy day.
It rains pretty frequently here.
But I don’t clean all that often.

(c) 2007

Review of this Diet Coke I Am Drinking Right Now

3.2 out of 10.

Tasty. Bubbly. I can’t help thinking that it’s not a regular Coke though. And Coke has made some real strides recently with the ground-breaking but underappreciated Coke Zero. Cherry Coke is delicioso too.

If I had to rank them, it would be:

1. Coke
2. Cherry Coke
3. Coke Zero
4. Diet Coke
5. New Coke

This Diet Coke is better than most Diet Cokes of the past because it is icy cold. Diet Coke is undrinkable if it is not icy cold. Nice work by the trusty refrigerator. Gotta tip the cap to the refrigerator. Good work, buddy. This diet coke is totally taking credit for the hard work that the fridge put in. Lame.

Review of Arcade Fire (Judson Memorial Church, February 14, 2007)

… and, if the snow buries my Neighborhood …

Arcade Fire, 2:14

I have seen many things at the hundreds of concerts I have been to. A band flying to the stage at Madison Square Garden in a giant hot-dog had been the most surreal. Until last night.

Last night, I drank a Heineken and watched Arcade Fire turn their amps to 11 in the chapel of the Judson Memorial Church on Washington Square Park South in NYC. An upside-down neon bible and a giant stained glass window with an imposing cross adorned the backdrop of the stage. A giant church pipe organ made its home stage right. The second level of pews became the seated VIP section for the night. And the cleared out floor of the chapel – a cavernous stained glass decorated room – became the destination for the common folk. The congregation, if you will, that came to hear the message of Arcade Fire.

This was no fold-your-arms choir-boy event. Early on in the evening, Win Butler, the band’s leading preacher, made clear to everyone to forget that we were in church. He even dropped some f-bombs to let people know that, tonight, blasphemy would be turned on its head. This was going to be a different religious experience.

Neon Bible is the title of the soon to be released and much anticipated album by Arcade Fire as a follow up to 2004’s Funeral. Funeral turned the indie world on its head generating ebullient praise from David Bowie to U2 to hipsters everywhere. And with good reason. It was a concept album of love and pain and youth and fear with the music and emotion to match (e.g., ice is gathering on my parents hands; don’t have any dreams, don’t have any plans).

Last night’s show – one of 4 straight at Judson Memorial Church in Greenwich Village – was the city’s most recent proverbial “toughest ticket in town.” Tickets were being offered on craigslist at $2,000/pair and the bartering offers (some hilarious) were all over the map. Alas, a lucky few got in. RZ and I happened to be two of them.

The band has generated a nice reputation for itself as one of the best live bands around and it was easy to see early in the show why. Nine people took the stage – two horn players, two violinists, and the remaining five members switching instruments like it was musical chairs. Guitar, Electric Bass, Keyboards, Drums, Mandolin, Second Guitar, Standup Bass, Cymbals, Harmonium. The mosaic of sound was played with an energy rivaling any other show I’ve seen. Arcade Fire’s songs are more anthem than song, and being at church was the perfect venue to bear this out. Backing vocals were powerfully choir-like, the organ was eerily church-like, and I was awestruck. Preaching to the converted.

Eight of the first nine songs were new songs, but they were lively and interesting and moving. As anthemic as anything on Funeral. The band seemed particularly tight and proud of the new songs. A band that opens a show in this fashion – with this much energy and such a heavy dose of new material – is a confident band. I loved the new stuff.

Win Butler, the lead singer, made several comments throughout the night that the crowd was not loud enough and didn’t seem to be enjoying itself. I found this to be odd, and frankly, disappointing because (a) I disagreed and (b) it takes the energy out of the room (for me) when the performer isn’t enjoying himself/herself. Notwithstanding the fury with which they were playing, Win made it clear that he was disappointed with the crowd; even going so far as to suggest that the band would stop playing if people didn’t make more noise. The congregation wasn’t seeing the light, apparently.

In response, the band launched into Power Out and Rebellion from Funeral. These songs got the best response of the night – they were songs that everyone was there to hear. And in the band’s defense, Win’s comments notwithstanding, if they were disappointed with the crowd reaction, they weren’t showing it when they played. The crowd was sufficiently stirred up and raucous at the end of Rebellion and I knew it was getting close to the end of the night. Instead of taking everyone one notch higher – with (the appropriately named?) Wake Up – the band came back down and played a slower new song (Win on an acoustic Gibson guitar) to end the set and walked off the stage.

The crowd heartily cheered, but didn’t break the sound barrier, and the band came back out to play an uninspired first song in the encore (new) and the first track from Funeral – Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels) before leaving for good. Tunnles was the perfect end to send us out into a snow-covered NYC. The crowd was excited and happy, but also disappointed that other gems from Funeral were omitted. We never got that Wake Up call that Win was hinting at.

In all, it was a great show. A bizarre venue. The band sounded great and incredibly tight. From where I was standing, the lead vocals were muddy at times, but this show was as much about the energy of the band as anything. And that carried the day for me. I was disappointed with Win’s critiques of the crowd. I have always been a quiet listener at shows and don’t feel the need to scream like a schoolgirl to show my appreciation. If I didn’t want to be there, I would not have stood in 10 degree weather outside waiting to get in. I am going to let other folks/bloggers debate about whether the crowd was good/bad/indifferent. Instead, I will remember the night that Arcade Fire preached from the altar and reminded me why I see live music. A top 10 concert experience for me, if not top 5. I can’t wait for Neon Bible to be released.

Setlist:

No Cars Go
Haiti
Black Mirror
Keep The Car Running
(Antichrist Television Blues)
Black Waves/Bad Vibration
My Body Is A Cage
Windowsill
The Well & The Lighthouse
Power Out
Rebellion (Lies)
Intervention
---------------------
Oceans of Noise
Neighborhood #1

Review of Wincing the Night Away (The Shins)

7.7 out of 10

The opening notes to Wincing the Night Away by The Shins tell you right off the bat that this album is going to be different. A departure, if you will, from the glorious shining pop gems that James Mercer and Gang gave us on their first two albums (2001’s Oh! Inverted World and 2003’s Chutes Too Narrow). Excited listeners are greeted with Sleeping Lessons’ spacey synthesizers and Mercer’s lead vocals run through an echo box. Instruments slowly build upon one another to a climax, when, two minutes into the first song, all is right with the world again. It’s rollicking fun as we tumble over ourselves down a grassy hill giggling all the way down. Grass stains on the knees of your jeans serve as evidence. Blast off. The Shins are back.

Or are they? The album itself jumps back and forth from song to song and occasionally within each song between the old Shins you loved and the new Shins you are trying to figure out. Gone are the guitar driven pop songs from the first two albums; replaced by songs with the same simple structures covered up with those spacey synths and strings mentioned earlier. The album debuted at an astonishing #2 on the Billboard Top 200, but reviews from the establishment have been decidedly mixed. Some like it, some don’t. This is The Shins’ new “mature” album.

Evolution is the inevitable calling of most bands. Artists get bored and critics and fans want something new as a measure of authenticity. The Beatles, and more recently, bands like Wilco and Beck, have been lauded as successful examples of rock bands unwilling to rest on their laurels – always pushing the envelope and making new sounds. This is The Shins’ attempt to do the same. They are tired of being stuck in the time warp of new slang created by Natalie Portman and Zach Braff. The problem is that songwriters too often mistake “different” with “evolution.” They are not synonyms. Is this fooling anyone else?

It’s hard enough to write the perfect pop song. Or a hook to hang a grin on. Or dylanesque lines that don’t seem to make sense when you first hear them, but lead to epiphanies a week later when you are watching the countryside pass by on a commuter train to work (e.g., “A tool redevised to make sinking stones fly”). And that’s what James Mercer has always done best. As a result, the highest highs on this album, at least to this listener, end up being the moments when the Shins sounds like the Shins of old (e.g., Phantom Limb, Red Rabbits, Turn on Me and Australia).

This is an album of great songs by a band that is clearly comfortable in its skin. James Mercer sings with more confidence than on either of the previous two efforts. You can tell that Sub Pop Records gave them lots of knobs to turn and buttons to push in the studio. It works in many cases; falls a bit short in others (e.g., Sea Legs, Spilt Needles and Black Wave).

The best songs on this album are bigger. There is more room to throw elbows. You can close your eyes and float away with these songs. Especially on the George Harrison-esque vocals in “A Comet Appears.” This last song on the album is the perfect combination of old and new – “the wind from a wasp could blow them into the sea, with stones on their feet, lost to the light and the loving we need” – followed by the fluttering of guitars lifting you high above. A bird’s eye view of longing, virtue, and a forest of bygones.

This is a good album. A very good album in fact. The album only suffers from the near perfection of the two that preceded it. Not the place to start for new converts, but the perfect place for veterans of The Shins to crawl under a blanket on a cold winter's day. Throw on some heavy wool socks. Close your eyes. Have fun.

Review of Strip House

As an avid steak lover, last week's first trek to Strip House on 12th Street and University Place was something I had been looking forward to since the reservation had been made two weeks earlier. In the interests of full disclosure, I am a Luger's and Sparks lover. Friends told me that Strip House had the best steak in the city. So I went in with high, but tempered, expectations. In my world, notwithstanding the occasional hiccup at both, no steak can approach Luger's or Sparks. But God put me on this earth to eat red meat. Or make music. One or the other. For the sake of this review, let's assume it was the former.

I walked up to an amusingly unassuming white storefront on 12th st (where is the Sparks pomposity?) with a tasteful neon sign hanging above. The neon sign said RIP -- the other letters were burned out that night. High cholesterol be damned. RIP? This could be omninous.

Upon stepping into the restaurant, I noticed two things immediately: (1) This is not your great grandfather's steakhouse; and (2) Those RIP letters might be prophetic. Let me explain:

(1) This is not your dark wood, white haired waiter, angry service, rush you in rush you out, steak joint (a la Lugers/Sparks). It's an elegant and relaxed room. A nice bar area in the front. You could be stepping into any nice restaurant in the city with a bit of downtown character. This room does not smack of steak house. Reminded me of the not-so-recently demised Hi-Life on 72nd and 1st Ave.
(2) The room has cushioned walls and a red tint. I loved this. The red aura of the room with the RIP on the sign outside -- it was like you stepped into Hell. But the good kind of Hell. This was going to be an evening of misbehaving -- unhealthy food (see below), lots of wine (see below), raunchy humor and guys being guys. We were seated at the time of our reservation exactly (7pm) and I was in the perfect frame of mind for the meal to come. I was ready and, judging the proverbial book by its cover, had high hopes that the meat would live up to expectations. I was able to ignore the (bottle of) beer I had at the bar (I was early) for $8. Ouch.

As we walked into the room I noticed that the elegance of the room should be tempered a bit - it should not be compared to any elegant restaurant in the city. This is a man's room -- so let's say its an elegant version of a postmodern steakhouse. Whatever that means. Loud, busy, a guy's room.

I have found that often the hint as to whether a steakhouse is up to par is the quality of the mandatory raw bar appetizer. Not always. But usually. My expectations were soaring after the raw bar sampler was brought out. Great blue point oysters (melt in your mouth), huge juicy shrimp, tasty crabmeat. Disappointing scallops ceviche, but that's ok. Does everything have to be ceviche these days? Minor complaint: I like my oysters with horseradish and tobasco -- none was offered. The bread that they brought with the seafood was so stale that I almost (literally) hurt myself trying to eat it. Normally this would put me in a foul mood, but to this point, I was high as a kite. The seafood was great, the service was attentive but not overbearing and the steaks were coming. I was psyched.

Out comes the entrees/sides: bone in ribeye (signature cut), goose fat potatoes, creamed spinach and fried onions. RIP. I will do the best I can to describe the steak: It was fantastic. Cooked to the perfect temperature. I asked for medium rare and I got medium rare. And let's be honest, this is the most important factor of the evening. I noticed that there was quite a bit of seasoning on the steak. As compared to Lugers, which has none, and Sparks which has some. This had more than Sparks. Much more. I don't like my steaks in sauces, but I can live with seasoning/rub/etc if it works. This worked. Very tasty. Melt in your mouth. Were there fireworks? Yes. Were they July 4th fireworks? Sadly, no. These were "the Mets are on the road for July 4th so Shea Stadium is celebrating July 4th on July 1st and setting off fireworks then." In other words, I was thrilled, I was loving my steak. But I wasn't quite in heaven -- I was approaching it. This steak was fantastic. But it wasn't the perfect Sparks or Lugers steak. This is hardly a criticism.

All I need to say about the potatoes is that they are cooked in Goose Fat. Amazing. Creamed spinach was stellar. Fried onions were the perfect greasy salty comfort food that cut the cream and butter of the potatoes/spinach. These were the best sides of any steak house I have been to. Not to be dismissed with a sleight of hand. Sides are very important. Best ever.

The wine: I didnt order it and it was ok, not spectacular. Two merlots for four people. Didnt see the breakout on the tab and dont know how much they were so I cant comment on value. I prefer a good cab with a steak like this.

We were all too full to attempt dessert. I am getting wiser in my old age. I usually force a dessert down at steakhouses (nowhere else I have noticed) and end up ill for the rest of the night. Not this time. I walked out full but not ill. That's a nice feeling.

This place is expensive if you go all-out. With the (I am guessing very expensive) seafood platter, and other items I mentioned, you should expect to drop approx $300 on two. I'd say its worth it.

In all, 4.5 out of 5 stars. Definitely go. An evening of bliss. Everything fits well together. There is a nice vibe in the joint. And I can't say I have given a 5 out of 5 to more than 4 or 5 meals in my life. The best night at Lugers or Sparks *might* get you a 5 out of 5, but more often than not its a 4.5 out of 5 and sadly, the 4 out of 5 is becoming more and more frequent. Strip House is definitely in the same league as the big boys. Go now. RIP.

Review of Cafe Gray

Cafe Gray

10 Columbus Circle
New York, NY 10019

Dinner: 2/6/07

To quote one of the people I was dining with: it's not a cafe and its not gray inside.

The first step to enjoying your evening at Cafe Gray is to get past the fact that you are smack dab in the middle of a mall. The time warner center, to pick up on my sourpuss complaints from yesterday about how the city is being ruined left and right, is one of the worst man-made inventions since 'NSync. When I was a kid growing up, malls were places in the burbs. The City was the City. And you went to the City because you could find places that couldnt be found anywhere else. So laments the corporate lawyer that hates corporate america.

Assuming you can get past the ambience of the building, you should be in for a nice treat. The room is big and open and the kitchen is in the room with you. This is a touch that is becoming cliche'd around the city, but its still one that gives me a good chuckle. There is something cool about being able to see the kitchen and smell the foods cooking while you wait and discuss the ins and outs of dividend swaps and collateral movements under your ISDA with the broker that is taking you there.

I have to recommend going during the day, however, because the room looks out on central park (from the 3rd floor mind you). And all you see is a reflection of yourself when you look out the windows at night. Normally this is not a problem for me, but I think we can all agree that Central Park probably is more fun to look at than me.

Minor complaint about the room: a few too many mirrors for my taste. Bordered a bit uncomfortably on a 1984 bar mitzvah at a country club on Long Island, but it toed the line carefully and didnt quite cross the line. I suppose it was an elegant room. But it's close.

On to the service and food: service was slow but impeccable when it was there. I had three people clearing plates, filling water glasses, etc. This is a bit much for me, but obviously some places are like this. Another thing: apparently fancy places now think that "tap water" means bottled Fiji water. There are no pitchers there. The guys walk around with plastic bottles of Fiji water and pour them into your glasses. Now, I like Fiji water but this is not environmentally sensitive and its not my thing. Do other people like it? Probably. And Fiji water is pretty darn good.

For food I started with the risotto which I tend to find too buttery and creamy at most places. This risotto worked though and started the meal off with a bang. I started to get excited because notwithstanding the 600 word treatise above, obviously, the food is why i am there. A little buttery, a little al dente, incredibly fresh mushrooms, and booyah a great start. Next the entree: the short ribs. This is their signature dish. I think they need to find a new signature dish. Uninpsired frenchy tower of ribs. I suppose I am letting my blue collar show, but i like my short ribs braised and the way nature intended it. I know. I know. How can I complain about frenchy style when I went to a frenchy place? I really cant. This was not a steakhouse. But that being said, i dont think French has to be synonymous with overly drenched in sauce and butter, does it? And thats what these short ribs were. The ribs underneath were incredibly tender and delicious, so its clear that the food is good here. It just becomes a question of whether you can dig on the sauces. Maybe a different night in a different mood it would have worked for me.

The wine was fine. We asked for suggestions. Got a red and a white. Nothing great. Didnt handle the ordering so I dont know if we went completely overboard on the bottles (which would have been disappointing) or if they were reasonably priced (which would have been about right for the wine we drank).

I did not eat dessert because sauce complaints notwithstanding, I eat whatever food you put in front of me and by the time desert came around I had devoured everything on the short rib plate and thought I would explode. Check came and we left.

In all, a nice evening. A nice dinner. I didnt pay so I didnt pay close attention to the prices and so I dont know how highly i would recommend a trip out of the way to this place with your better halves. I assume it is your standard expensive NY place where you drop 250-300 if you go with your wife and all things considered (room, food, service) I would say its worth it to check it out. Don't forget on the way out you can stop at Banana Republic to pick up some blue dress shirts and white blouses. An obvious plus.