When discussing the Left Bank or Haight-Ashbury, historians of all persuasions will agree on some basic arteries of truth to the Big Questions. Where and when did it exist? What were the major causes? What were its lasting effects? When the dust is through scattering and settles, early twenty-first century Brooklyn will still emit light to those looking back down the road of time. I can see the talking heads decades before they speak. "Brooklyn" will be in Williamsburg, primarily, but honorable mention will be given to anything serviced by the L or G. "Brooklyn" will be a movement against consumption, a re-imagining of urban America and post-racism running in perfect concurrence with the Obama Era. "Brooklyn" will be the model for new Bohemia's twenty-first resurgence in cities riddled with post-industrial blight.
Of course, the capillaries will be subject to debate. Some will overemphasize "Brooklyn", others will be too dismissive. Some will ascribe certain influences and influencers too much meaning, others too little. Some will think it started in the '90s, others will go with 9/11 because that makes for most convenience.
As for the Final Curtain, this is a rare instance where we know the exact time and place of a cultural touchstone's coup de grace: Friday, September 28, 2012 at the intersection of Atlantic & Flatbush.
I speak, of course, of the Barclays Center, that faux-rusty oval that bathes in the light of the Best Buy at the Atlantic Terminal. The developers convinced the government to kick out the residents, under-deliver on sustainable jobs, and destroyed more than a few neighborhood fabrics along the way. This is already sufficiently documented.
The true meaning of the Barclays Center is Entertainment. "Brooklyn" came about because a generation of the world's best & brightest did not want the friendly sponsors of Must See TV to decide their hours of leisure. Together, they decided that could be done in-house. "Brooklyn" was a back-to-basics with little things like human conversation or witnessing the performance of music in the same room. You met the artist, shook hands with the chef, and read the blog of the person you went to school with. It was still Entertainment and privy to the same critique as being all window dressing and distraction while the rest of the world imploded, but there was some authenticity there. We put a name and a face to our favorite forms of escape.
Now, Brooklyn will have it piped in via the Beast of Convenience. We can buy our season tickets to watch big men run back-and-forth. We no longer have to leave our borough to see concerts featuring elaborate choreography on stage. We can make a quick pass through the mall before going home, just in case we need anything. For the moment, that's not really us. But the people for whom that appeals are coming. And they're likely going to want a parking space.
Does this mean that it wasn't in motion beforehand or that its vestige will entirely disappear? Of course not. Brooklyn (not "Brooklyn") is on the doorstep of being the hub of the entrepreneur and creative professional. Before, "Brooklyn" was the type of place marketers in rimmed glasses and slim cut-shirts would call "edgy" and "hip." Now, Brooklyn will be where those marketers live. The artists and Bohemians are leaving town. Artisanal pickles and bike lanes will be the last remnants of The Circus. I can see the handlers locking up all the tigers and elephants. The clowns are taking off their shoes. It's time I grabbed one more funnel cake and got back in line for the Tilt-a-Whirl, just for nostalgia's sake.
Of course, the capillaries will be subject to debate. Some will overemphasize "Brooklyn", others will be too dismissive. Some will ascribe certain influences and influencers too much meaning, others too little. Some will think it started in the '90s, others will go with 9/11 because that makes for most convenience.
As for the Final Curtain, this is a rare instance where we know the exact time and place of a cultural touchstone's coup de grace: Friday, September 28, 2012 at the intersection of Atlantic & Flatbush.
I speak, of course, of the Barclays Center, that faux-rusty oval that bathes in the light of the Best Buy at the Atlantic Terminal. The developers convinced the government to kick out the residents, under-deliver on sustainable jobs, and destroyed more than a few neighborhood fabrics along the way. This is already sufficiently documented.
The true meaning of the Barclays Center is Entertainment. "Brooklyn" came about because a generation of the world's best & brightest did not want the friendly sponsors of Must See TV to decide their hours of leisure. Together, they decided that could be done in-house. "Brooklyn" was a back-to-basics with little things like human conversation or witnessing the performance of music in the same room. You met the artist, shook hands with the chef, and read the blog of the person you went to school with. It was still Entertainment and privy to the same critique as being all window dressing and distraction while the rest of the world imploded, but there was some authenticity there. We put a name and a face to our favorite forms of escape.
Now, Brooklyn will have it piped in via the Beast of Convenience. We can buy our season tickets to watch big men run back-and-forth. We no longer have to leave our borough to see concerts featuring elaborate choreography on stage. We can make a quick pass through the mall before going home, just in case we need anything. For the moment, that's not really us. But the people for whom that appeals are coming. And they're likely going to want a parking space.
Does this mean that it wasn't in motion beforehand or that its vestige will entirely disappear? Of course not. Brooklyn (not "Brooklyn") is on the doorstep of being the hub of the entrepreneur and creative professional. Before, "Brooklyn" was the type of place marketers in rimmed glasses and slim cut-shirts would call "edgy" and "hip." Now, Brooklyn will be where those marketers live. The artists and Bohemians are leaving town. Artisanal pickles and bike lanes will be the last remnants of The Circus. I can see the handlers locking up all the tigers and elephants. The clowns are taking off their shoes. It's time I grabbed one more funnel cake and got back in line for the Tilt-a-Whirl, just for nostalgia's sake.
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