By Robert Beck, West Side Rag
It was cold last year, just above freezing and breezy. We came fifteen minutes early to Dante Park in case there were a lot of people. A lot MORE people, I should say, as Dante is in front of Lincoln Center, where there is already plenty of traffic without a procession of Frost Giants.
It turned out there was no huge crowd, and it looked so normal that those who came for the Solstice WinteRamble were asking each other if this was the right time and place. The notice said it was starting at an undisclosed location and would go around the Lincoln Square Neighborhood, which is pretty vague. If it was your first time (and it was), you didn’t know what to look for.
Like I said, it was cold. At twenty after the stated time, my wife went home. About ten minutes later, I heard the sound, and the first tall, buoyant puppet figure emerged from a side street south on Broadway. It headed north at a slow walk, accompanied by six others like it and a flock of ice lanterns surrounded by a fair-sized crowd of celebrants.
The audio accompaniment was an artistic recording of thumb pianos—the small plunky instruments with metal tabs you flick with your finger. It was played loudly to compete with the ambient New York cacophony, greater than the portable system could handle, and came across more as a distorted rhythmic roar than music. That seemed appropriate, however. These were Frost Giants, and the sound was very winter weather-ish.
Solstice is an astronomical event, but celebrations through history reflect ancient rituals and beliefs. Our ancestors were smart enough to notice what was happening but lacked the means to determine why, so they made up good stories. We know why now, but we don’t always know better. We still enjoy the mysticism and the party.
There is just enough human-like articulation to the Frost Giant figures to play with your head. The idea behind puppets is to have you forget that their life and spirit come from without, and the point of the Ramble was fun and diversion, and there was plenty of that. The participants had a good time snarling traffic on a clear December evening, and the Frost Giants were pretty nifty, if unspecific in their duties. The solstice may be a phenomenon of exacting times, measurements, and consequences spanning thousands of millennia, but it’s a niche celebration on Broadway. The change to longer days and our moment of maximum tilt away from the sun only means so much to Upper West Siders. The majority of Thursday evening New Yorkers pouring out of the Lincoln Center subway station merely glanced at the block-long-plus procession without breaking stride or interrupting their phone conversations. The cab drivers stuck on the cross streets just shook their heads at one more thing.
