Dave Kane once gave me a cd of Erin McKeown's, one of her more folksy albums. She can be found in the country section at Real Groovy, though as Wikipedia aptly points out, she incorporates the sounds of pop, swing and funk. Yet another fantastic venue: the Blender Theater at Gramercy certainly has a theatrical atmosphere. And there is a sense of antiquated intimacy in the wooden trestle chairs.
The opening band was Joshua James, an artist of the Bright Eyes variety: trembling and timid. However, his tunes were palatable, in I enjoyed him more than most of Conor Oberst's material. He mumbled where he was from, introduced as a place "you all have probably never heard of" - Lincoln, Nebraska. I almost laughed out loud. Has this guy never listened to Springsteen?
...From the town of Lincoln Nebraska, with a sawed-off 14 on my lap, to the bad lands of Wyoming, I killed everything in my path...
It was good though, he played a banjo.
Erin McKeown played, she wore a men's tuxedo, with cropped hair she was the spitting image of Laurie Anderson. She played a jazz guitar & had a horn section. I'd say she's the female version of Elvis Costello. 
I walked home satisfied. My last night in New York and I was weary enough for sleep. But still so much to do. The prospect of returning to the West Coast & the homeward journey that lay beyond were consolatory enough. Back at 101st & Broadway my Italian pals were out, so I packed and slept.
On Friday morning, my last in New York, Richard from Connecticut, Ahmed from Turkey, Lorenzo & Andrea from Italy & I from NZ sat together in nearby diner on Broadway, eating bacon & eggs, pancakes & coffee, collectively contemplating our futures. It was a poignant moment, sitting with these strangers, sharing a certain affectionate understanding that I think only exists in relationships of the transient; the traveller, the adventurer. An anticipation of the road ahead, & a wistful glance at the figures already beginning to retire into the distance of the past. Ah temporality!
Erin McKeown @ Gramercy
Empire State Building
Those philistine security guards at the Empire State took my dad's Swiss Army knife off me. I was given a ticket to reclaim it on my way out, but it slipped my mind. And the knife was probably an imitation anyway. Still, I remain incensed.
I went up the Empire State Building for the sake of tourism. There are some things one must undergo when seeking to fulfill a certain experience. Fulfilment often necessitates an obligatory deed. If you're a tourist in NY, Empire State's got to be done. Simple. Woe, my alternative counter-culture mentality is ebbing like the tide. I am becoming... mainstream.
I could've gone up the Rockefeller. But who'd want to sanction that faux-philanthropic monopolist? Not I. All those industrialists were the same I suppose: Rockefeller, Frick, whoever built the Empire State...
The view was great though. A bit smoggy, but great. The sun had just gone down, and the Hudson glowed red in the fading light.
The Frick Collection
The Frick Collection is at 1 East 70th Street (between Madison and Fifth Avenues). Not your typical art gallery: the artworks are exhibited in the mansion formerly owned by Mr Henry Clay Frick (1849-1919), one of America’s most successful coke and steel industrialists. There's a huge range of art there, from Italian Renaissance Titian to English Impressionist Constable.
My knowledge of much of Frick's collection is amateur at best. Suffice to say stepping into each room evolved my comprehension of grandeur. I absorbed all I could and when I got tired, sat in the central courtyard by the fountain, thinking of my ontological self in this space which, whilst temporal, accommodates such a wonderful history, and sanctity, that I wish it would be here forever.
Anyway...
The Frick was in the top 3 of Matthew's New York visit. Up there too was Williamsburg and a Vegan restaurant in the East Village called Angelica Kitchen. I forget what I ordered, but I recall one of the most colourful (aesthetically and palatably) salad I have ever witnessed. The meal actually commenced with a bowl of Cauliflower & Cream soup, which I consumed with the refined vigour of a superior Briton. It was very nice. I don't like cauliflower but it's great in soup. Also had coffee with rice milk. Not too bad. The whole thing was cheap too. A read the Village Voice and chatted to the local gentleman opposite me; a very pleasant New Yorker, one I shall not forget. I may go so far to say a 'quiet American'.
If you're ever in New York, go to Angelica Kitchen.
The Brunettes @ Mercury Lounge
My days in New York blur into a glorious amalgamation of sunlight and subways, streetlights and sidewalks. What I remember about Tuesday is the Museum of Natural History, on the 5th Ave side of Central Park.
Remember Holden Caulfield?
The best thing, though, in that museum was that everything always stayed right where it was. Nobody'd move... Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone...
I knew there was a huge model of a whale hanging in there somewhere. I searched and searched for that whale and suddenly, there it was: looming from the ceiling of the great blue hall. 94 feet long, weighing 21,000 pounds, it is based on a female found in 1925, sculpted in fiberglass and polyurethane. It is the largest model of the largest creature that has ever lived on Earth. Amazing.
Underneath the Museum of Natural History runs the Green line: subway trains 4, 5, 6. I headed back to Brooklyn to find Williamsburg and Earwax Records. Brooklyn is the most attractive part of New York to me, especially around Bedford Ave. At Earwax I bought cds: Yo La Tengo & Sufjan Stevens, and vinyl: Neil Young (Tonight's The Night brand new for $7.99!!), Dylan & Cash (Nashville outtakes!), and Van Morrison. 
Tuesday night was a sentimentally & musically nationalistic evening: I went to see Auckland band The Brunettes at the Mercury Lounge on the Lower East Side.
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They were as sweet as ever, a level of bubblegum pop sweetness I believe only they can achieve, especially when the NZ accent sneaks into a line.
Talking to them afterwards was somewhat surreal, as we chatted about mutual acquaintances in Auckland City Libraries etc. Here in New York City. Walking home, leaving fellow countrymen/women, was a blue moment. But my Italian pals in the hostel soon cheered me up.