致敬坚守的歌声｜从多莉·帕顿到纽约曼哈顿东村的爵士老灵魂

《纽约的另一面》系列 · 第二篇

文 / 王国权（Prince John）

【系列导读】
上一篇，我带您走进了纽约最被忽视的角落——斯丹顿岛（Staten Island），那片被大桥遗忘的宁静之地。今天，我们把镜头转向曼哈顿的下东区，在霓虹与夜色交织的东村深处，遇见一群用一生坚守爵士舞台的老灵魂。

当全美为乡村音乐女王多莉·帕顿降下半旗一周，这份礼遇显得格外不寻常。在美国传统礼仪中，如此时长的全国致哀通常用于副总统层级的国家要人，一位流行歌手能获此殊荣，堪称极其罕见的破例。特朗普在"真实社交"平台上写道："她独一无二，后无来者。"

多莉·帕顿一生持守基督徒信仰，自少年时便在教会歌唱。信仰滋养着她的创作，也塑造了她宽厚善良的品格，那力量流淌在每一段旋律之中。她的离去，让无数人想起一个问题：当一位巨星陨落，那些从未登上头条、却在城市角落里数十年如一日歌唱的老灵魂们，是否还有人记得？

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图注：2026年，全美降半旗悼念乡村音乐传奇多莉·帕顿（1946–2026）

今天的美国乐坛，乡村音乐在流媒体上声势浩大，却渐渐褪去旧日本土的醇厚质感。行走在纽约，再难捕捉到那份传统的乡村气息，想来唯有纳什维尔那条灯火不息的酒吧街，还能留住一部分属于这个流派的灵魂。而在曼哈顿下东区（Lower East Side）东村的夜色里，另一群与她同代的老音乐人，正守着另一片即将被遗忘的爵士阵地。

初遇：东村夜色里的爵士即兴
那是去年，我第一次走进位于德兰西街（Delancey Street）的 Sour Mouse。这家藏在曼哈顿东村深处的酒吧，外表毫不起眼，推开门，却像跌进了另一个时空——昏红的灯光、老旧的皮沙发、墙上投影着模糊的影像，空气中弥漫着威士忌与岁月混合的气息。
每周日晚上，这里有一场名为 "Jazz by Jorei" 的爵士即兴演奏会。组织者是一对默契的搭档：Johnny Johnson 与 Katherine Joyce-Reilly。Johnny 留着灰白的胡须，眼神里有一种历经沧桑后的温和；Katherine 戴着一顶浅色的帽子，嗓音浑厚，台风稳健。他们身后的鼓面上印着 "SUGAR MOUSE NYC" 的字样，那是这个场地的灵魂标记。

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图注：Johnny Johnson（左）与 Katherine Joyce-Reilly（右）在 Sour Mouse 的绿色霓虹标志前，他们是 "Jazz by Jorei" 的灵魂人物

图片

图注：每周日晚，"Jazz by Jorei" 准时开场，东村深处的爵士即兴夜

我作为一名来自中国的歌手与主持人，抱着一颗谦卑的心坐在角落。没想到，当夜的气氛热烈到让我无法只做观众。在乐手们的邀请下，我走上舞台，与他们同台演唱。没有彩排，没有预设歌单，只有即兴的和声与彼此眼神里的默契。

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图注：Katherine Joyce-Reilly 在舞台上，她是这个周日爵士夜的灵魂人物之一

我演唱了一首经典的西班牙语情歌——那是我走到哪里都带着的保留曲目，深情而婉转的旋律在酒吧里流淌。那一刻，语言、国籍、年龄，统统不再是障碍。音乐是我们唯一需要的护照。

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图注：在 Sour Mouse 的舞台上，“情歌王子”Prince John王国权演唱那首走到哪里都带着的西班牙语情歌《Besame Mucho》

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图注：一曲完毕，掌声雷动。即兴的夜晚，没有彩排，只有音乐作为唯一的护照

演出结束后，Johnny 告诉我，他年轻时曾是 The Fabulous Af-tabs 的成员，为 The O'Jays 和 The Delfonics 开场，还在传奇的 Apollo 剧院演出过。Katherine 则曾与 Stevie Wonder 和 Martha Wash 合作。这些名字，任何一个都足以在爵士与灵魂乐史上留下一笔。而他们选择在这个小小的酒吧，每周日晚上免费为社区举办即兴演奏会，只因为——"想回馈一些东西给社区。"

临走时，我握着 Katherine 的手说："我一定要写篇报道，让更多人知道，在纽约还有这样一群人，还在坚持做真正的音乐。"他们笑着点头。然而回国后，事务繁杂，这份从东村夜色里带回上海的承诺，竟在不知不觉中搁置了。

重逢：四月夜色里的一声"你回来了"
今年四月，我再次踏上纽约的土地。一个周日的晚上，我推开 Sour Mouse 那扇熟悉的门，心里忐忑——一年了，他们还会记得我吗？

灯光依旧昏红，音乐依旧流淌。我刚在角落坐下，Katherine 的目光穿过人群，直直地落在我身上。她愣了一下，随即绽开一个大大的笑容，快步走过来，张开双臂：
"Prince John！你回来了！"
那一刻，我几乎说不出话来。在这个每天有成千上万陌生人擦肩而过的城市，在这个连邻居都互不相识的时代，一群只与我有过一面之缘的爵士老灵魂，竟然在一年之后，准确地叫出了我的名字。

Johnny 也走过来，用力握住我的手，灰白的胡须下是掩不住的笑意。那位常在台下聆听的白发女士——我至今不知道她的名字，却记得她去年跟着节奏轻轻摇摆的样子——也笑着向我点头。还有那位戴帽子的萨克斯手，他举起酒杯，远远地向我致意。

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图注：演出结束后，像老朋友一样坐在一起，红光里满是重逢的温度

我们像老朋友一样坐在一起，聊着这一年各自的经历。他们问我中国的听众喜欢什么样的爵士，我给他们看我手机里在联合国、在时代广场演出的视频。Katherine 说：
"你看，这就是音乐的力量。它让我们在世界两端的人，在这里变成家人。"

那天夜里，我再次站上那个小小的舞台。我依旧演唱了那首经典的西班牙语情歌——那是我走到哪里都带着的保留曲目。这一次，我没有了去年的紧张，取而代之的是一种归家般的踏实。Johnny 的萨克斯风响起，Katherine 的和声加入，我们唱了一首又一首。

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图注：这个舞台从不拒绝任何一颗热爱音乐的心，优雅的老艺术家同样在这里绽放光芒
台下的老客人们——有在附近住了三十年的退休教师，有从西雅图慕名而来的年轻乐迷，有每周准时出现的 DJ Lamon Fenner——跟着节奏拍手、微笑、摇摆。

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图注：舞台定格——"SUGAR MOUSE NYC" 的鼓面前，音乐让我们在世界两端变成家人
尾声：不同的流派，同样的灵魂
多莉·帕顿走了，全美为她降下半旗。而在曼哈顿东村这个不起眼的角落，Johnny、Katherine 和他们的伙伴们，依旧在每周日晚上准时开场。没有聚光灯，没有热搜，没有总统的悼词，只有一群年华老去却初心不改的音乐人，用即兴的旋律守护着爵士乐最后的体温。
乡村与爵士，旋律流派各不相同，而忠于音乐的灵魂，以及信仰赋予内心的力量，永远共振。多莉在教会开始歌唱，用信仰写就了《Coat of Many Colors》；Johnny 和 Katherine 在社区的酒吧里坚守，用即兴演奏传递着"回馈社区"的信念。他们都在证明：真正的音乐从不需要华丽的舞台，它只需要一颗愿意坚守的心。
离开 Sour Mouse 时，夜色已深。我回头望了一眼那扇不起眼的门，里面依旧传出萨克斯风的低吟。我知道，只要还有人在听，只要还有人愿意走上那个舞台，这些老灵魂就永远不会真正老去。

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图注：多莉·帕顿与降半旗的星条旗，乡村与爵士，不同的流派，同样的坚守与信仰
致敬所有不曾离开舞台的人。

【作者简介】
王国权（Wang Guoquan-Prince John），纽约州参议院与纽约市议会授予"情歌王子·国际主持人"官方荣誉证书。国际主持人、歌手，联合国妇女地位委员会大会（CSW）官方论坛主持人及官方代表，"国际妇女之友"。曾与艾美奖及格莱美奖得主合作演出，并受邀在纽约林肯艺术中心、卡内基音乐厅、纽约市政厅、哥伦比亚大学、耶鲁大学等世界级文化殿堂与顶尖学府担任主持及演唱嘉宾。2026年4月，与伦敦奥运会闭幕式演唱者、英国BBC顶尖主持人拉塞尔·布兰德（Russell Brand）一起作为重量级嘉宾出席第56届世界地球日时代广场音乐会。多年旅居欧美多国，致力于跨文化交流与传播。足迹遍及纽约、巴黎、布鲁塞尔、上海等地，以歌声与话筒为桥梁，连接世界。

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图注：本文作者 情歌王子国际主持人PrinceJohn王国权在卡内基音乐厅钢琴演奏会——以歌声与话筒为桥梁，连接世界
敬请期待本系列后续篇章。

ENGLISH VERSION

The Other Side of New York · Episode II

The Voices That Stayed

From Dolly Parton to the Jazz Elders of Manhattan's East Village

By Wang Guoquan (Prince John)

[Series Introduction] In the previous episode, I took you to Staten Island, New York's most overlooked corner. Today, we turn our lens to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where deep in the East Village—amid neon lights and nocturnal shadows—we meet a group of old souls who have spent their lives holding fast to the jazz stage.

When the entire United States lowered its flags to half-staff for a full week in honor of country music queen Dolly Parton, the gesture was extraordinarily unusual. In American protocol, such a prolonged national mourning is typically reserved for vice-presidential dignitaries. For a pop singer to receive this honor was a rare exception. Trump wrote on Truth Social: "She was one of a kind, and there will never be another like her."

Dolly Parton held fast to her Christian faith throughout her life, singing in church since her youth. That faith nourished her songwriting and shaped her generous, kind character—a force that flowed through every melody she created. Her passing raised a question in countless hearts: When a supernova fades, who remembers those who never made the headlines, yet sang decade after decade in the quiet corners of the city?

图片

Today, country music dominates streaming platforms with thunderous presence, yet it has gradually lost the earthy authenticity of its roots. Walking through New York, one can scarcely catch that rich, traditional country scent anymore. Only the ever-lit bar strip of Nashville seems to preserve a fragment of the genre's soul. Meanwhile, in the nocturnal shadows of the Lower East Side and East Village, another generation of musicians—her contemporaries—guard a different frontier on the verge of being forgotten: jazz.

First Encounter: Jazz Improvisation in the East Village Night

It was last year when I first stepped into Sour Mouse on Delancey Street. From the outside, this bar tucked deep in Manhattan's East Village was utterly unremarkable. But pushing open the door felt like falling through a portal into another era—crimson lights, worn leather sofas, blurred projections on the walls, and air thick with the mingled scent of whiskey and time.

Every Sunday night, a jazz jam session called "Jazz by Jorei" takes place here. The organizers are a perfectly attuned duo: Johnny Johnson and Katherine Joyce-Reilly. Johnny sports a graying beard and eyes that carry a warmth tempered by experience; Katherine wears a light-colored hat, her voice rich and resonant, her stage presence steady and commanding. Behind them, the drum head bears the words "SUGAR MOUSE NYC"—the soul mark of this space.

图片

I sat in the corner as a singer and host from China, my heart humble. I hadn't expected the atmosphere to grow so electric that I could no longer remain a mere spectator. At the musicians' invitation, I stepped onto the stage and sang with them. No rehearsal, no setlist—only improvised harmonies and understanding exchanged through glances.

I sang a classic Spanish love song—a piece I carry with me wherever I go. Its deep, tender melody flowed through the bar. In that moment, language, nationality, and age dissolved entirely. Music was the only passport we needed.

图片

After the performance, Johnny told me that in his youth he had been a member of The Fabulous Af-tabs, opening for The O'Jays and The Delfonics, and had performed at the legendary Apollo Theater. Katherine had collaborated with Stevie Wonder and Martha Wash. Any one of these names would be enough to secure a place in jazz and soul history. Yet they chose this tiny bar, hosting free jam sessions for the community every Sunday night, simply because—"We want to give something back."

As I left, I held Katherine's hand and said, "I must write about this. More people need to know that there are still people in New York making real music." She smiled and nodded. But after returning home, the bustle of life intervened, and the promise I had brought back from the East Village night to Shanghai was quietly set aside.

Reunion: "You're Back" in the April Night

This April, I set foot on New York soil once more. On a Sunday evening, I pushed open that familiar door at Sour Mouse, my heart uncertain—would they still remember me after a year?

The lights were still crimson. The music still flowed. I had just settled into a corner when Katherine's gaze cut through the crowd and landed directly on me. She paused, then broke into a wide smile, walking quickly over with arms open wide:

"Prince John! You're back!"

In that moment, I could barely speak. In a city where thousands of strangers brush past each other daily, in an age when neighbors no longer know one another's names, a group of jazz elders who had only met me once had, a year later, called out my name with perfect accuracy.

Johnny came over too, gripping my hand firmly, his gray beard unable to hide his delight. The white-haired lady who often listened from the audience—I never learned her name, yet I remembered how she had swayed gently to the rhythm last year—smiled and nodded at me. And the saxophonist in the hat raised his glass in a distant toast.

We sat together like old friends, sharing the year's experiences. They asked what kind of jazz Chinese audiences preferred; I showed them videos on my phone of performances at the United Nations and in Times Square. Katherine said:

"You see? This is the power of music. It turns people from opposite ends of the world into family, right here."

That night, I stood on that small stage once again. I sang the same classic Spanish love song—the one I carry with me wherever I go. This time, there was none of last year's nervousness; instead, I felt a grounded sense of homecoming. Johnny's saxophone rose, Katherine's harmony joined in, and we sang song after song.

The regulars in the audience—a retired teacher who had lived nearby for thirty years, a young fan who had traveled from Seattle, DJ Lamon Fenner who appeared every week like clockwork—clapped, smiled, and swayed to the rhythm.

Epilogue: Different Genres, Same Soul

Dolly Parton has gone, and the nation lowered its flags for her. Yet in this unremarkable corner of Manhattan's East Village, Johnny, Katherine, and their companions still open on time every Sunday night. No spotlights, no trending topics, no presidential eulogy—only a group of musicians growing old but never growing weary, guarding the last warmth of jazz through improvised melodies.

Country and jazz: different melodic languages, yet the soul devoted to music, and the strength faith bestows upon the heart, resonate eternally. Dolly began singing in church and wrote Coat of Many Colors from her faith; Johnny and Katherine hold fast in a neighborhood bar, passing on the belief of "giving back to the community" through improvisation. Together they prove: True music never needs a grand stage. It only needs a heart willing to stay.

When I left Sour Mouse, the night was deep. I glanced back at that unassuming door, from which the saxophone's low murmur still drifted. I know: as long as someone is still listening, as long as someone is still willing to step onto that stage, these old souls will never truly grow old.

To all who have never left the stage.

[About the Author]

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Wang Guoquan (Prince John) holds official commendations from the New York State Senate and New York City Council as "Prince of Love Songs · International Host." An international host and singer, he has served as official forum moderator and delegate for the UN Commission on the Status of Women (CSW), and as "Friend of International Women." He has performed with Emmy and Grammy Award winners, and been invited to serve as host and guest performer at world-class venues and institutions including Lincoln Center, Carnegie Hall, New York City Hall, Columbia University, and Yale University. In April 2026, he joined Russell Brand (London Olympics closing ceremony performer, CNN and BBC top host) as a heavyweight guest at the 56th World Earth Day Times Square Concert. Having lived in Europe and America for many years, he is dedicated to cross-cultural exchange and communication, connecting the world through song and microphone across New York, Paris, Brussels, Shanghai, and beyond.

图片

The Other Side of New York · Episode II
The Voices That Stayed
From Dolly Parton to the Jazz Elders of Manhattan's East Village
By Wang Guoquan (Prince John)
[Series Introduction]
In the previous episode, I took you to Staten Island, New York's most overlooked corner. Today, we turn our lens to the Lower East Side of Manhattan, where deep in the East Village—amid neon lights and nocturnal shadows—we meet a group of old souls who have spent their lives holding fast to the jazz stage.
When the entire United States lowered its flags to half-staff for a full week in honor of country music queen Dolly Parton, the gesture was extraordinarily unusual. In American protocol, such a prolonged national mourning is typically reserved for vice-presidential dignitaries. For a pop singer to receive this honor was a rare exception. Trump wrote on Truth Social: "She was one of a kind, and there will never be another like her."
Dolly Parton held fast to her Christian faith throughout her life, singing in church since her youth. That faith nourished her songwriting and shaped her generous, kind character—a force that flowed through every melody she created. Her passing raised a question in countless hearts: When a supernova fades, who remembers those who never made the headlines, yet sang decade after decade in the quiet corners of the city?
Caption: In 2026, flags across the United States were lowered to half-staff in tribute to country music legend Dolly Parton (1946–2026).
[](https://media-cdn.socastsrm.com/894617cbc163bc5aac0194b83a1ed219f2ca4093.png
Today, country music dominates streaming platforms with thunderous presence, yet it has gradually lost the earthy authenticity of its roots. Walking through New York, one can scarcely catch that rich, traditional country scent anymore. Only the ever-lit bar strip of Nashville seems to preserve a fragment of the genre's soul. Meanwhile, in the nocturnal shadows of the Lower East Side and East Village, another generation of musicians—her contemporaries—guard a different frontier on the verge of being forgotten: jazz.
First Encounter: Jazz Improvisation in the East Village Night
It was last year when I first stepped into Sour Mouse on Delancey Street. From the outside, this bar tucked deep in Manhattan's East Village was utterly unremarkable. But pushing open the door felt like falling through a portal into another era—crimson lights, worn leather sofas, blurred projections on the walls, and air thick with the mingled scent of whiskey and time.
Every Sunday night, a jazz jam session called "Jazz by Jorei" takes place here. The organizers are a perfectly attuned duo: Johnny Johnson and Katherine Joyce-Reilly. Johnny sports a graying beard and eyes that carry a warmth tempered by experience; Katherine wears a light-colored hat, her voice rich and resonant, her stage presence steady and commanding. Behind them, the drum head bears the words "SUGAR MOUSE NYC"—the soul mark of this space.
Caption: Every Sunday night, "Jazz by Jorei" opens on time—a jazz jam session deep in the East Village.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/55B9CA2D-EA8F-44F8-8A25-EA8D9258B8F8.jpg
I sat in the corner as a singer and host from China, my heart humble. I hadn't expected the atmosphere to grow so electric that I could no longer remain a mere spectator. At the musicians' invitation, I stepped onto the stage and sang with them. No rehearsal, no setlist—only improvised harmonies and understanding exchanged through glances.
Caption: Katherine Joyce-Reilly on stage—one of the soul figures of this Sunday jazz night.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/D92C04AE-61AD-4AA7-99EE-410474F3AED2.jpg
I sang a classic Spanish love song—a piece I carry with me wherever I go. Its deep, tender melody flowed through the bar. In that moment, language, nationality, and age dissolved entirely. Music was the only passport we needed.
Caption: On the Sour Mouse stage, singing the Spanish love song "Bésame Mucho"—a repertoire I carry wherever I go.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/23E38929-8A18-4F8D-B55D-53018560C641.jpg
Caption: An improvised night—no rehearsal, no setlist; music is the only passport we need.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/6FBFB461-8A5D-496B-BB2F-E515C117C23A.jpg
After the performance, Johnny told me that in his youth he had been a member of The Fabulous Af-tabs, opening for The O'Jays and The Delfonics, and had performed at the legendary Apollo Theater. Katherine had collaborated with Stevie Wonder and Martha Wash. Any one of these names would be enough to secure a place in jazz and soul history. Yet they chose this tiny bar, hosting free jam sessions for the community every Sunday night, simply because—"We want to give something back."
As I left, I held Katherine's hand and said, "I must write about this. More people need to know that there are still people in New York making real music." She smiled and nodded. But after returning home, the bustle of life intervened, and the promise I had brought back from the East Village night to Shanghai was quietly set aside.
Reunion: "You're Back" in the April Night
This April, I set foot on New York soil once more. On a Sunday evening, I pushed open that familiar door at Sour Mouse, my heart uncertain—would they still remember me after a year?
The lights were still crimson. The music still flowed. I had just settled into a corner when Katherine's gaze cut through the crowd and landed directly on me. She paused, then broke into a wide smile, walking quickly over with arms open wide:
"Prince John! You're back!"
In that moment, I could barely speak. In a city where thousands of strangers brush past each other daily, in an age when neighbors no longer know one another's names, a group of jazz elders who had only met me once had, a year later, called out my name with perfect accuracy.
Johnny came over too, gripping my hand firmly, his gray beard unable to hide his delight. The white-haired lady who often listened from the audience—I never learned her name, yet I remembered how she had swayed gently to the rhythm last year—smiled and nodded at me. And the saxophonist in the hat raised his glass in a distant toast.
Caption: After the show, sitting together like old friends—the red glow warm with reunion.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/7172DE10-5FA7-460C-B791-AE80A5DD1FBE.jpg
We sat together like old friends, sharing the year's experiences. They asked what kind of jazz Chinese audiences preferred; I showed them videos on my phone of performances at the United Nations and in Times Square. Katherine said:
"You see? This is the power of music. It turns people from opposite ends of the world into family, right here."
That night, I stood on that small stage once again. I sang the same classic Spanish love song—the one I carry with me wherever I go. This time, there was none of last year's nervousness; instead, I felt a grounded sense of homecoming. Johnny's saxophone rose, Katherine's harmony joined in, and we sang song after song.
Caption: This stage never turns away a heart that loves music. The silver-haired singer shines here just the same.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/8350DD19-8C28-4A3A-9514-96EAAA64D357.jpg
The regulars in the audience—a retired teacher who had lived nearby for thirty years, a young fan who had traveled from Seattle, DJ Lamon Fenner who appeared every week like clockwork—clapped, smiled, and swayed to the rhythm.
Caption: A moment frozen on stage—before the "SUGAR MOUSE NYC" drum kit, music turns strangers into family.
[](sandbox:///mnt/agents/upload/74104E5A-EAC7-436F-B7BD-0A051C51B796.jpg
Epilogue: Different Genres, Same Soul
Dolly Parton has gone, and the nation lowered its flags for her. Yet in this unremarkable corner of Manhattan's East Village, Johnny, Katherine, and their companions still open on time every Sunday night. No spotlights, no trending topics, no presidential eulogy—only a group of musicians growing old but never growing weary, guarding the last warmth of jazz through improvised melodies.
Country and jazz: different melodic languages, yet the soul devoted to music, and the strength faith bestows upon the heart, resonate eternally. Dolly began singing in church and wrote Coat of Many Colors from her faith; Johnny and Katherine hold fast in a neighborhood bar, passing on the belief of "giving back to the community" through improvisation. Together they prove: True music never needs a grand stage. It only needs a heart willing to stay.
When I left Sour Mouse, the night was deep. I glanced back at that unassuming door, from which the saxophone's low murmur still drifted. I know: as long as someone is still listening, as long as someone is still willing to step onto that stage, these old souls will never truly grow old.
Caption: Dolly Parton and the half-staff Stars and Stripes. Country and jazz—different genres, the same devotion.
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To all who have never left the stage.
[About the Author]
Wang Guoquan (Prince John) holds official commendations from the New York State Senate and New York City Council as "Prince of Love Songs · International Host." An international host and singer, he has served as official forum moderator and delegate for the UN Commission on the Status of Women (CSW). He has performed with Emmy and Grammy Award winners, and been invited to serve as host and guest performer at Lincoln Center, Carnegie Hall, New York City Hall, Columbia University, and Yale University. In April 2026, he joined Russell Brand as a heavyweight guest at the 56th World Earth Day Times Square Concert. Having lived in Europe and America for many years, he is dedicated to cross-cultural exchange, connecting the world through song and microphone.
Caption: Carnegie Hall Piano Recital—bridging the world through song and microphone.
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Stay tuned for upcoming episodes in this series