Mark Mulcahy strummed his guitar on the stage of Lyric Hall on Thursday, midway through a string of older songs after performing his new album, The Possum in the Driveway, in its entirety.
“What else?” he asked the band around him. Someone in the audience shouted a request.
“Not that what else,” he said. “Don’t yell out songs” he said, in a soft and kindly manner, “because the band might not know them and then they’ll feel bad…. If you went to someone’s house and they offered you apple pie, you wouldn’t yell out ‘cherry pie’, would you?”
After nearly three years spent convincing Westville, Edgewood and Dwight neighbors of the benefits of a two-way cycle track stretching from Forest Road to Park Street, city planners found one group left to convince: Republicans.
Alex Dakoulas, owner of Strange Ways in Westville, had been enjoying the weekly underground movies being shown at Lyric Hall on Whalley Avenue, down the street from his own shop every Tuesday. Coincidentally, Dakoulas had begun holding Flair Fair, a market for vendors of pins, patches, and other wearable art, in Lyric Hall.
So he approached Joe Fay, the curator of Lyric Hall’s film series, with the hope that they could “combine our powers” and “get people together for a unique event” — to not only shop, but to also see, as Fay put it, “slightly offbeat films.”
In Mayor Toni Harp’s New Haven, violent crime has fallen nearly 75 percent in six years. In challenger Marcus Paca’s New Haven, bullets still fly in struggling neighborhoods, with victims shot “even in their own homes.”
Young people are flocking downtown for walkable living and a startup-friendly culture, in Harp’s city. In Paca’s, economic development hasn’t touched the Westville, Grand Avenue or the Dixwell main drags.
For the third time in 16 minutes, Elm City Express was gaining on the New Jersey-based TSF FC‘s goal. Anthony Assante extended his left leg and kicked, giving the ball a solid spin. TSF goalie Mateo Zabala watched it carefully. With a thump, the ball fell squarely into his gloved hands.
Alice McGill carefully placed squirmy ladybugs, which she thought were “pretty cool,” on the flowers in the garden of the Mitchell branch library. She helds out her hand as to present the red ladybug for a photo. Then, when she lifted her hands, Alice squealed in surprise as the bug took flight.
The theater space at Lyric Hall was only a quarter full when the Jellyshirts were ready to play. Through the doorway to the hall, the bar, and the front of the building, voices trickled, a sign that the people who’d come to hear the music didn’t know it was starting.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are the Jellyshirts,” said vocalist and guitarist Bret Logan. With a quick signal to the rest of the band — Nick Appleby on bass and Scott McDonald on drums — the began to play. And the people came from the rest of the building to listen.
One recent morning Katie Kowalski was helping get people with disabilities back on bicycles. She had her hands midway up my right calf, working it into a black attachment that was half-bike, half-ankle foot orthotic. She tightened a gear with a blue-headed wrench, then secured velcro straps and double-checked my helmet. With her nod of approval, I hit the pedals hard and headed onto a path at Edgewood Park.