Outside this cramped bar in Green Point, raindrops on the windowpane are smudging green light from a neon sign: VACANCY. Inside, there’s very little vacant space—but there is something missing. The internet claims that multi-instrumentalist Daniel Carter will perform in this rectangular venue on December 10. But he isn’t here.
The bartender has lank, shoulder-length blond hair and a grandmotherly moustache. He doesn’t know if there’s live music tonight. He doesn’t know what has been announced online. And he doesn’t know the WiFi code because the connection is only used to operate the bar’s digital eToaster. There are four imported beers on tap and twenty people in the building. They’re sporting too-small baseball caps, too-big denim jackets and two-length mullet hairstyles.
Truly, this is Brooklyn.
None of the bar’s patrons are Daniel Carter. The saxophonist, flutist, clarinetist and trumpeter has been performing around New York’s most populous borough since the early 1970s. Carter is also co-founder of Brooklyn-based experimental label 577 Records. In 2025, he will celebrate his eightieth birthday. Tonight, he’s allegedly playing alongside Stan Zenkov (reeds), Keenan Ruffin (electric guitar), Zachary Swanson (double bass) and Dave Miller (drums).
Eventually, we do get some music—from Brittlestar. This trio combines Samantha Kochis’ various flutes with Nick Saia’s guitar and Asher Herzog’s drums. Saia explores single-note lines for much of the gig, embracing a percussive style that neatly fits Herzog’s busy playing. Kochis is hard to hear but occasionally cuts through with trilling, north-to-south patterns.
The rusty door opens in the heart of the set and a slender figure, laden with instrument cases, shuffles inside. Brittlestar is building momentum now. In the eye of a growing sonic storm, Daniel Carter assembles three horns and loops two neck-straps over his head.
When his instruments and collaborators are ready to play, Carter reaches for his trumpet and stands slightly apart from the rest of the group. He is glaring down at the sticky floor. After ten minutes, he attaches a mute to the bell of his horn, plays three notes, then removes the mute and packs it away. This opening section has a get-to-know-you feeling that gradually opens up to something with more friction and provocation. Zenkov adds fluttery techniques on alto saxophone. In response, Carter lays down his trumpet and selects his tenor sax. Swanson’s bass is cajoling and alert. Miller is judicious, keeping a low profile except to jumpstart the group when the ebb and flow requires it. Ruffin is a shape-driven player, tonight, who clings to solid sounds and structures for long periods.
Dusty, dark-orange light gives Troost a warm and almost molten character. Carter seems to breathe it in and exhale it through his revolving range of hardware. With the saxophone to his lips, he stares wide-eyed over the neck and out through the back of the venue. He speaks into the gaps between sounds. But how did he know those gaps would arrive? He strikes in the exact same moment as his bandmates. But how did he know what they would play? Or when?
Switch off the green sign. Daniel Carter is here. And like the futuristic toaster behind the bar, he is connecting to something unseen and unknowable.
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