From The Desk Of The Waterboys’ Mike Scott: Eating New York

Mike Scott is pop’s only literate lyricist who would dare take on the stately iconography of William Butler Yeats. Forget about the living proof provided by his band the Waterboys as they tackle the Irishman’s prickly poems through a series of 14 daringly diverse arrangements on the new An Appointment With Mr. Yeats (Proper American). You’d know that if you’ve listened to Scott’s richly robust catalog of Waterboys albums made since 1983, or even read his recently released book, Adventures Of A Waterboy. Though imbued with an intellectual curiosity beyond that of the most wizened scholar, Scott has long found himself inspired by Yeats’ vivid world-weary lyrical textures and smartly grammatical manner. On the other hand, he’s a big Twitter fan. Go figure. Scott will also be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our new Q&A with him.

As a man who doesn’t cook, I sure do a whole lot of dining out. When I’m in Dublin I have my favourite raverite restaurant I visit every day (Dunne And Crescenzi, South Frederick Street), and since getting myself a little apartment in the 24-hour non-stop stramash that is known to humans as New York City, I’ve been collecting favourite restaurants here, too, and I have three.

1. Rosemary’s, corner of West 10th Street and Greenwich Avenue, in the centre of Greenwich Village. This brightly-lit, buzzing, upper-class canteen opened last year, and after passing it umpteen times I’ve finally succumbed to its considerable charms. Friendly greeters welcome you at the door, and seriously good Italian food with a twist or two, is served by canny, enthusiastic waiters and gorgeous, dryad-slender waitresses. I’ve swiftly become a regular and even when the place is busy, they give me my favourite table, never mind that I’m on my own and it’s intended for three. The music is jazz-flavoured retro, all great, time-travelling from a dusky 1950s netherworld, the lighting is low, and the coffee good. A winner.

2. Frank, 88 Second Avenue, at 5th Street, East Village. When I have business in or around the East Village/Lower East Side, which is around twice a week, I always eat at Frank. It’s a funky, rootsy joint that looks like a bar from outside. In fact, one of its two rooms is a bar, but in the inner room dining customers sit close to where the chefs are cooking up the action in a low-ceilinged room with vintage stained mirrors on the wall. The food is simple but great—excellent pastas, killer soups—and the atmopshere shabby but cool retro. Th3 music has a tendency to British indie rock. They don’t take credit cards, so have cash.

3. St Ambroeus, corner of Perry and West Fourth Streets, West Village. This chic Italian eatery is expensive and attracts a hip, elegant clientele, mostly grand-looking Italian families, and 20-something dudes busy impressing their gals. I always enjoy walking in dressed in my leather coat, long hair and black fedora, providing the natives with a bit of free theatre. The food is excellent, the service superb, but oddly the music is stale. The atmosphere would suit a background hum of classical music, or jazz. But instead we get what sounds like a random selection from someone’s iPod, and I always seem to hear the same songs, most often, for some reason, the Doors’ “People Are Strange.” Meanwhile visions are experienced: I dined there with Waterboys fiddler Steve Wickham recently. As we left, he said breathlessly, “We were sitting next to the most beautiful woman in the world.” “What do you mean?” I responded. “Liv Tyler, man. She was sitting next to you.”

Video after the jump.