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A decade ago, I interviewed Lorraine Gordon, the owner and proprietor of the Village Vanguard, New York City\u2019s best and longest-running jazz venue, about the club’s 75th anniversary.<\/p>\n
Lorraine, a forceful presence at the club and in jazz in general throughout her life, had assumed the club\u2019s reins in 1989, after the sudden death of her husband, Max Gordon, who founded the club.\u00a0Lorraine told me:<\/p>\n
\u201cI like the coziness of the room when it\u2019s full, when the people seem happy and they\u2019re at one with the artist. There\u2019s just a certain feeling you get because it\u2019s small enough to reach out, and back and forth between the audience and the artists. So, that\u2019s a palpable feeling: I feel it myself when I sit in the corner, and I see everybody\u2019s face is absolutely glued to the stage. It\u2019s like a painting but it\u2019s real life, every night.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Those words have a special resonance right now\u2014tinged with longing, two months since the club closed its doors due to the COVID-19 crisis.<\/p>\n The only other time I\u2019ve experienced the Vanguard’s red double doors shut when they should be open was after the attacks of Sept. 11, 2001. Yet even then, three nights later, Tommy Flanagan was at the club’s piano.<\/p>\n Deborah Gordon\u2014Max and Lorraine\u2019s daughter\u2014began working at the club in 1989. She worked closely with her mother running the club until Lorraine\u2019s deat<\/a>h, at 95, in 2018, when she took over full time. \u00a0When Deborah spoke to me from the house in Pennsylvania she and Lorraine bought nearly 20 years ago, the club had been closed for more than two months.<\/p>\n I can\u2019t believe that I can\u2019t see you at the club right now\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n Yes, it\u2019s still a lot for me to wrap my head around.<\/p>\n Who was the last artist to perform at the Vanguard before you closed the doors?<\/strong><\/p>\n [Guitarist] Peter Bernstein. He had [pianist] Sullivan Fortner, [bassist]Doug Weiss and [drummer] Joe Farnsworth in the band.\u00a0We went through the Sunday, March 15th<\/sup>, we finished the week, and then we closed on Monday. This was before any kind of closure edict came down from the mayor or the governor. But the handwriting was on the wall.<\/p>\n How did it feel to have to shut down?<\/strong><\/p>\n Let me see if I can think of some appropriate adjectives to answer that question. I remember Jed [Eisenman, the club\u2019s longtime general manager] being so clear about it. He had no doubt, in terms of that this was happening and that we had to close the place. I didn\u2019t get it as strongly as he did at first, or maybe I didn\u2019t want to. But I didn\u2019t argue with him or anything. I just said, \u201cWhat do you mean a month? What are you, crazy?\u201d I guess I knew we had to close, but I couldn\u2019t get a sense of any time frame, and a month sounded very long. Now, look at where we are.<\/p>\n I know what you mean. One thing that is very different about this experience as compared to other traumas or crises is that it\u2019s so open-ended\u2026<\/strong><\/p>\n It\u2019s open-ended, and the end gets longer and longer. Also, without any leadership, you know, you\u2019re left rudderless. There is no real sense of process or clarity. I mean, I guess we\u2019ve gotten some from Cuomo, thank god.<\/p>\n Other than following 9\/11, has the Vanguard been closed for any appreciable period of time?<\/strong><\/p>\n Yes, actually, at various times the club was closed but I can\u2019t quite figure out why. I can remember thumbing through the listings book. There didn\u2019t seem to be any rhyme or reason. I don\u2019t know, maybe Max didn\u2019t have the money to pay Con Ed. The longest period was a month, I think. But that was decades ago.<\/p>\n When the club reopened after 9\/11, what was that like for you?<\/strong><\/p>\n [After a long pause.] We just always kind of get back up and running, following 9\/11 or anything. Listen, think about what the Vanguard has been through historically in terms of events like this. The country was just coming out of Prohibition when it opened. Actually, in the original Vanguard spot on Charles Street, it was still Prohibition. It got closed. Some waitress got caught trying to sell booze to an undercover cop. You know, there\u2019s a long list of travesties. This one seems like the sum of all of them because, as you said, there\u2019s no real end in sight. It\u2019s so devastating. The suffering is just so unimaginable. And we may just be at the beginning, we don\u2019t know.<\/p>\n Is the Vanguard\u2019s space rented?<\/strong><\/p>\n Yeah. We have a lease with some time left on it. We have a very good relationship with out landlord.<\/p>\n Did you apply for loans?<\/strong><\/p>\n Yeah. Of course, Right away.\u00a0Finally\u2014after many weeks of paperwork and calls to my lending institution, all of a sudden, without any notice, the money finally just showed up. So that helps.<\/p>\n You know, I really didn\u2019t want this to happen on my watch, that\u2019s for sure. I\u2019d been thinking and researching a lot lately about the history of this room, of the Vanguard. Whenever I think about everything that has passed through here, it has always seemed so interesting and so celebratory. Now, this is casting everything in a very different light. I can\u2019t quite wrap my head around it. It\u2019s made it difficult to think about it, maybe because there is the possibility of an end.<\/p>\n And that\u2019s a new feeling, right? <\/strong><\/p>\n Yes, before it all always felt so endless.<\/p>\n This club has been a fixture throughout your life. It\u2019s part of your family. And at some point, it became your job. That must have changed things, right?<\/strong><\/p>\n February was the 85th<\/sup>anniversary of the club. I started working there in 1989, when my father died. When Lorraine died, I\u2019d been there a long time already. And, yes, that definitely changed things. That feeling of, you know, the protective layer, of having some remove. It\u2019s been difficult in a lot of ways to run this place, but also eye-opening and revelatory in certain ways.<\/p>\n Certainly, my father never thought I would work here. But I remember things he said and wrote in his book that now make much more sense to me.<\/p>\n Like what?<\/strong><\/p>\n \u201cNever say you own the place,\u201d he used to say. \u201cThe place owns you.\u201d I get it now. I was always free to walk away, to change my mind. I was always free not to take responsibility for certain things. You know. Now, I\u2019m owned completely. It\u2019s a very different feeling.<\/p>\n But is it also a loving sense of servitude?<\/strong><\/p>\n Oh, sure. Of course. The place means everything to me.<\/p>\n One thing the Village Vanguard has meant to me is a point of continuity between a past I didn\u2019t live and the culture I have lived for 30-plus years. And I don\u2019t mean that just in terms of staying in business, though that alone is a big deal. I mean in terms of how the Vanguard has embraced change in the music and the culture without compromising the club\u2019s legacy.<\/strong><\/p>\n Yes, and a lot of what sustained it to the present you have to attribute to my mother. She was pretty adventurous in a lot of ways, and definitely in her listening. And Max was, too.<\/p>\n Today, I love having John Zorn one week and Barry Harris the next. Then you\u2019re embracing everything as much as one little place can. Within the 52 weeks that you get each year, I think you try to stretch your arms around as much as you possibly can.<\/p>\n One of the things that really hurt in terms of all the weeks we had to cancel was the pianist Kris Davis. Her week was just coming up. It was a big thing. She had a great group. It meant something important to her, and to us.<\/p>\n