The South Shore Needs a Venue: Part 1
In the first of three installments, Brian Buchanan explores the music landscape of Staten Island and advocates for a venue to serve South Shore audiences.
My favorite description of Staten Island is that it is, at once, both an exile and a refuge. This rings true — at least to this native Shaolinite — in part because it speaks to the dual nature of our isolationism. We are an exile because of our physical separation from the rest of New York City. The island’s four bridges each come with hefty tolls, making it expensive to get here and difficult to leave. The Staten Island Ferry—our one, free option off this cursed rock—is excruciatingly slow. The word ‘exile’ also brings with it connotations of punishment. I often wonder if the wild turkey population is stuck on the island with us or if we’re trapped here with them.
Concurrently, the island is also a refuge. In fact, many world populations have made the borough their second home. No resident or visitor to Staten Island is ever far from a park or shoreline, and our bagels are the envy of the Earth. There is rich history to be found at every corner. And we have a thriving creative scene. RZA put it best in his epic tome The TAO of WU: “Many cultures consider an island to be the ideal home […] because you’re isolated from the masses, which allows you to find yourself, to develop inner strengths you couldn’t find anywhere else.”
Now, are we more exile or refuge? Depends who you ask. Staten Island appears to exist in two states at once, like a quantum thought experiment: “See, the thing about Staten Island is… we’re a disgusting spit of land that deserves to be sunk out at sea AND the last bastion of moral and social decency in a city gone to hell.” We only collapse into one of these states once we’re observed. Maybe a better analogy, then, is that Staten Island is a Rorschach test: there is no right or wrong, per se, there’s only what gets projected onto it. The question becomes, then… what do you see?
I’d wager that framing Staten Island as an exile and a refuge is just as apt at describing the island in and of itself. Put another way: our internal geography. Anyone living here can clearly recognize that there is not one, unified Staten Island. If not for our physical oneness, we might be better thought of as The Staten Archipelago, with figurative pockets of islands instead. Pockets… or perhaps bubbles, operating as their own self-sustaining ecosystems of island life, rarely to be left in order to interact with others.
Take Tottenville for example, Staten Island’s stubby toe and my hometown. The part of town not surrounded by water has but three roads out: Arthur Kill, Amboy, and Hylan. At the foot of Main Street is the Tottenville train station, which is the SIR’s last stop, the end of the line. The looming Outerbridge Crossing cuts over Richmond Valley and Charleston, leading drivers to either the West Shore Expressway or towards the Mid Island. Put plainly, no one ‘passes through’ Tottenville—the only reason to go there is to go there. And more people ought to, if only to spend an afternoon at The Conference House Park or to try a bagel at (the aptly named) Tottenville Bagels. In other words, Tottenville is its own exile and refuge.
Tottenville is an admittedly extreme example of village solitude, but is this notion so far fetched when applied to the whole island? How often does someone living in Richmond Valley take a stroll through Port Richmond? How many times this summer will the folks of Pleasant Plains walk the Midland beaches? And when winter rolls around, will Clifton kids sleigh down Mt. Loretto after a snowstorm? The betting man—if they’re wise—would take the under on each of these scenarios. And the heart of the problem is painfully apparent: Staten Island is difficult to navigate.
We are not without options, to be sure. Staten Island has a thorough bus network and the free SIR. In the last decade, bike lanes have cropped up from shore to shore. Each of these pale in comparison, however, to the way in which we worship the all-mighty automobile. We are a car-dominated suburbia, and therein lies the rub. In a recent interview on the vlogbrothers YouTube channel, the Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg said, “We don’t experience distance in miles, we experience it in minutes.” This sentiment could not more perfectly encapsulate the Staten Island travel experience. Consider a trip along the whole of Hylan Boulevard, from The Conference House to the Alice Austen House. At best, this mere 13 mile drive—which is very nearly a straight shot—takes the better part of an hour. That’s assuming, too, that the weather is perfect, there are no construction zones, and it isn’t rush hour.
And this isn’t even the Worst Transportation Offense on Staten Island; that title belongs to the one and only Staten Island Expressway. To understand the impact this structure has had on the island, one need only to invoke the name Robert Moses, the mastermind behind its design and construction. Moses—who was famously skewered by journalist Robert Caro in the Pulitzer winning biography The Power Broker—disrupted, divided, and displaced New York communities as a result of his urban planning in the mid 20th century. Shaolin was not spared, and so we’ve endured irreparable damage from the Staten Island Expressway ever since. By any measurable standard, Staten Island is split along this stretch of turnpike by race, socioeconomics, and politics. The Staten Island Expressway—which, mind you, is not for us, but serves chiefly to connect New Jersey to Brooklyn—also separates the North and South Shores in a manner that is quite difficult to quantify: they are set apart artistically.
Brian Buchanan is a physics teacher by day and, by night, a masked vigilante versatile artist. His passions span the realms of football, guitar pedals, & the law of large numbers. Brian finds beauty in the patterns of the universe, and his artistic soul is reflected in both his music and writing, where he weaves melodies and stories that touch the heart. At home, he finds inspiration and comfort in the company of two pups: Boo & Jem. Brian's gentle spirit and insights leave an enduring mark on everyone he meets (hopefully!!), making Shaolin a more beautiful place through his diverse talents.