[FIPS Was There...] Farewell 285 Kent

Photo via greatdesign.com

Is there any thing more Brooklyn than the letters D-I-Y? No, Maynard. There sure ain't. When it comes to the Brooklyn music scene, those three letters represent handfuls of venues that're often all ages & often in the Willyburg/Bushwick area & run independent of the Bowery/Live Nation system that lords over much of the city's concert venues.

Over the past few years, one of the more high-profile DIY Venues has been 285 Kent, a claustrophobic, 350-capacity room that's put on shows without the usual permits & whatnot on the far west side of Williamsburg. The venue, curated by Ric Leichtung (founder of Ad Hoc) and NYC DIY-venue impresario Todd P, hosted a mix of local acts, experimental acts & acts who were probably too big to be playing there. They had no liquor license but there was a bar. There were "No Smoking" signs but if you left not smelling like smoke, something was wrong. Sure you had to breathe the same oxygen as numerous hipster stereotypes, but it was always a good time.

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FIPS WAS THERE: Brooklyn's Finest Finds Her Way Home

[Babs singin’ about Brooklyn in Philadelphia. An acceptable video from Barclays is not available at this time, so just deal with it.]

I wish I could say that seeing Barbra Streisand on her “Back to Brooklyn” tour at Barclays Center with my mom was not my idea, but that’d be rewriting history. My mom’s been a fan her entire life and saw Babs on tour in 1994, so when it was announced that she would trot her formidable stuff into the brand new Barclays Center arena just a few blocks from my apartment, I shot a quick email to my mom to see if she'd be interested. I’ve never been particularly secretive about my love for Barbra, but I don’t think I’d have found my way to the concert unless my mom’s interest was high. Turns out, it was very, very high.

The Saturday night concert, a love letter to the Brooklyn that a young Barbra Streisand grew up in, was billed as a homecoming. To me, it felt more like a nostalgia trip. After all, Barbra left the borough to pursue her dreams and probably hasn’t been back since, though she hears Williamsburg is very chic. When cheering for a picture of the street signs at the corner of Newkirk and Nostrand Avenues erupted amongst the crowd, many of whom I imagine are former Brooklyn residents, I felt as though I had stepped in a time machine. The only other photo projection that elicited an equal response was one of Barbra and Judy Garland. Thus I established that Barbra’s core audience (gay men and older Jews) were in full force and ready to take a trip down memory lane with her.

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