Chelsea Mourning

It's the day after my wife & kids have gone visiting in-laws for a week and my 57th day of "imposed sabbatical" from the office, so being that it was another spectacularly sunny, summer-like day, I decided to again go to some neighborhoods I rarely have the opportunity to visit anymore. Where yesterday found me returning to the Upper East Side and Yorkville to check out some art exhibits, I figured I'd go stroll up through the West Village into the Meat Packing District and then on into Chelsea.

The Meat Packing District -- or what's left of it (they should really come up with a new name, being that nine-tenths of the actual meat-packing businesses have been chased out of the neighborhood) -- was depressing, but that's not really surprising. I grew up on the placidly dull streets of the Upper East Side. When I started discovering and exploring the city as a young lad, I used to routinely visit neighborhoods like the Meat Packing District (and, likewise, Soho and the East Village) because they were so legitimately funky and different. The Meat Packing District used to be this wild, gritty frontier. If you could withstand the smell, didn't mind stepping over actual animal parts that were frequently in the street and weren't afraid of transexual prostitutes, there were many sights to behold in the Meat Packing District's picturesque realm of urban desolation.

That's all gone now, for the most part. The neighborhood now is a ridiculous "Sex & The City" nightmare. The byways are lined with posh boutiques and the streets are clogged with hateful fashionistas and greasy douchebags with dubious tans and expensive sunglasses. The endearingly seedy leather bars are gone, as is my once-beloved Hog Pit (see my earlier lament of same here). The Hog Pit's shell is still there (click on pic above to enlarge), but I gather it's soon to be a Ralph Lauren outlet. Yeah, we need another one of those.

After strolling around this area for a while -- unsuccessfully trying to find the old entrance to The Cooler on West 14th (that strip has changed so much I couldn't recognize it anymore) -- I headed north up 9th Avenue into Chelsea. My blogging comrade Jeremiah Moss of Vanishing New York has posted frequently about it, but the economic divide between the haves and the have-nots has never been more uncomfortably on display than on 9th Avenue between 16th & 18th Streets. On the east side of the avenue looms the ostentatious Maritime Hotel (formerly the home of disgraced Father Bruce Ritter's Covenant House), staring face to face with several rows of low-income housing projects. The local businesses that now dot this strip of 9th Avenue include old school bodegas and check cashing joints rubbing shoulders with incongruously snooty coffee bars and boutiques. The dichotomy is somewhat jarring.

Up a few more blocks, I hung a left on 21st street to go check out another former haunt. The Marquee at 547 West 21st street was a relatively short-lived live venue in the early 90's. It was a regular stop for most of my favorite bands right when I got out of college and was immersing myself in the muddy waters of "music journalism." From my mom's apartment in Yorkville, it was a ridiculously long trek to get to it. Perched at the far end of 21st street (across the street from bondage bar called Zone D.K., also long gone), it was a forever-walk from the 6 train stop at 23rd & Park. But it was a fantastic little venue with great sound and perfect sight-lines. The first time I was there, it was still called Sonic's. The walls were painted like the surface of the moon, and I was there to see a little go-nowhere beat combo called Nine Inch Nails. Once it turned into the Marquee (named after the fabled London club of the same name), I'd later see no less than House of Love, Lush, Birdland, The Wedding Present, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Swervedriver, Julian Cope, The Charlatans, The Fatima Mansions, 24-7 Spyz, Limbomaniacs, Primus, The Sundays, The Wonder Stuff, The Rollins Band, My Dad is Dead, Pigface, Ride, Curve, Chapterhouse, The Butthole Surfers, Mr. Bungle, Pylon,The Senseless Things and Blur all within its hallowed walls. By the midpoint of the decade, however, somebody thought it'd be a great idea to turn the place into a Latino dance club called El Flamingo. The venue later turned into a theatre of sorts, hosting a disco-burlesque re-telling of Shakespeare's "Midsummer Night's Dream" as "The Donkey Show."

Today, 547 West 21st street looks nothing like it's former incarnations (click on pic at left to enlarge). It's now a rather boring art gallery (one of several that sprouted up in recent years after West Chelsea strove to become a sort of New Soho). I'm glad it's an art gallery instead of someone's luxury condo, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't miss those late nights of loud rock in that little space.

Below are some other pics I snapped along the way.

Comments

[hntrnyc]

Great pics but even better memories. You were so fortunate to have seen New York during these various eras.

[m coleman]

thanks for the memories. i lived at 14th & 9th from fall 1981 to spring 1985 and this just may be the Manhattan neighborhood that's changed the most in recent years (along w/Times Square and the LES below Houston).

[robin]

Great post and pics, Alex. I took a visiting friend 'round much this same route last weekend - its pull is kinda irresistible, even as the area changes beyond all recognition (and comprehension).

Sidenote: I ran sound for "The Donkey Show" at El Flamingo ten years ago - it always remained a nightclub, even during the run of the show - we'd commandeer the place for two shows a night, then slowly turn it back over to the regular club clientele.

[jon abbey]

the Manhattan experimental music scene has never totally recovered from the loss of the Cooler. Tonic helped for a while, but now that's gone too.

[Warsk]

I'm staring right now at my Pantera/Wrathchild America ticket stub from 1991 - which of course, was from the Marquee. I was 14 and it was my first non-arena concert. I'm amazed you mentioned it in this posting, as none of my co-workers even remember the joint! Ahh, good times indeed.