Vanished Downtown

I've been fielding a number of very nice e-mails from readers in regards to the posts in the the Vanishing Downtown category and accompanying photo album. Since initially compiling those photos in the summer of 2005, a lot has changed -- or continued to change, I should say. A few of the spots pictured in that album have gone through further transformations and, in a couple of cases, are now virtually unrecognizable. So, to bring things up to speed a little bit, herewith some updates....

CBGB is, of course, now long gone. The space it occupied remains dormant thus far. The surrounding neighborhood, meanwhile, continues to go through a radical transformation. There are now vast high-rises all around. A massive complex of steel and silvery glass now stands atop the grave of 295 Bowery, a.k.a. McGurk's Suicide Hall. Construction is the order of the day up and down the Bowery. Everywhere you look, there are huge, oblong towers being erected. Were Dee Dee Ramone or GG Allin or Klaus Nomi or Johnny Thunders or Wee Gee or Mae West or any other since-departed neighborhood regular to rise from the dead and stroll down the Bowery today, they invariably wouldn't recognize it.

A similar transformation has swept up the area to the Southeast. Ludlow Street now plays host to a pair of towering structures (one occupying the former parking lot across from Katz's Delicatessen and one in the former footprint of the Luna Lounge). The street and its surrounding neighborhood still act as a magnet for young hipsters and the like, but the vibe is immeasurably different. Across town, the area surrounding the fabled Ear Inn at the far west end of Spring Street has gone through the same transformation. Martin Scorsese filmed huge portions of "After Hours" on these streets, handpicked for their aura of spectral desolation, but two decades later, this little pocket just above TriBeCa is a thriving hive of high-end residency and corporate office-space. The Ear is protected, I believe, as a landmark, but over the road a piece, I wouldn't be surprised if Don Hill's gets excised like a sore tooth sometime soon by its new, stroppy neighbors.

Down in TriBeCa, I recently strolled down Vestry Street. In 1990, my friend Sam lived in and looked after a loft owned by his university at 67 Vestry. It was a really cool space, but apart from a somewhat decrepit deli two blocks away, there was simply nothing around there. In her animatedly potty-mouthed memoir, "Paradoxia," No Wave enfant terrible Lydia Lunch claims to have lived down that way as well for a while. In the late 90's, my friend Tod lived in the same building. The neighboring building was an abandoned, burnt-out, rat-infested shell that forever smelled of urine and death. A little over a decade later, those formerly barren, forebiding streets now play host to unbelievably prized real estate. The burnt out building next to 67 now has an upscale cosmetics company and a posh wine store (with tasting room) on its ground floor. My how things do change.

Several blocks to the East, the building that once housed the fabled Mudd Club -- 77 White Street -- was recently purchased by a former neighbor of mine. I ran into him on University Place about a year or so back and he told me about the purchase, but he was completely unaware of the building's storied past. I've been meaning to follow up with him to see if I can take a look inside and see what he's done, but I kinda don't know him well enough to just ring him up. Stay tuned, though. Despite having never been inside it, I'd be very curious to see it now. It must be strange to know that, say, Arto Lindsay & DNA once played discordant skronk-rock in the space that is now your kitchen. I kinda doubt my ex-neighbor appreciates that in the same way I do, though. That all said, I walked by there this afternoon and there's now a freakin' plaque about it (see the pic and click to enlarge). I guess that's better than nothing.

Back here in my neighborhood, the site of the Lone Star Cafe is in a state of steady decline. The Korean deli packed up and left one day and a fire broke out shortly afterwards. The building now sits unoccupied, boarded up and rotting, which is a shame, as it's a fairly choice location. Over on University Place, the spot once occupied by my beloved Cedar Tavern becomes more unrecognizable by the hour, as they cram a giant Erector Set of a building into its footprint. Again, I'm told it will re-open, but the bar as I remember it -- as far as I'm concerned -- is gone forever.

I believe I mentioned it elsewhere here on Flaming Pablum, but my love and nostalgia for downtown Manhattan only digs thimble-deep in comparison to the city's bigger picture. I mean, while I'm busy weeping about scenester bars, cramped little live music venues and rinkydink record stores that were only open for five or six years, there are whole sagas etched on these very streets that date back centuries. I just finished a great book on the subject, actually, by Pete Hamill called "Downtown: My Manhattan," and it's a beautiful encapsulation of the city's history written in an accessible, conversational style. If you are as captivated by New York City as I am, I cannot recommend it enough.

Ultimately, lamenting gentrification seems akin to getting mad at the ocean's tides, i.e. it's an exercise in complete futility. As Heraclitus wrote, change is the only constant. This is especially true in the urban environment. New York City will continue to evolve and transform itself. I just can't help thinking, however, that its losing all its gritty splendor.

Time will tell.

ADDENDUM: For those of you keen on wallowing in nostalgia, re-visiting old haunts or finding out more about places you were simply too young to experience on your own, please do avail yourselves to the Creative Time Page (`twas they who put up that afore-mentioned Mudd Club plaque), for a sonic tour of a lost downtown. Very cool stuff.

Comments

[Bimble]

Wow, that Mudd Club thing is pretty cool.

[MEK]

Thanks for the memories...keep up the good work. Paul's Boutique (the bistro) is gone now, too..I believe.

[paulhw]

I appreciate your research Alex, and have a lot of sympathy for your general perspective. At the same time, there are astounding creative things going on in Brooklyn and parts of Queens. I know that Manhattan has a unique historical aura, but isn't it important to explore and experience the CBGB's of today while they happen? In 20 years people may be nostalgic about aspects of the arts and music scene in Crown Heights, Fort Greene and Greenpoint, and it'd be a pity to say that you were more interested in disappeared buildings in what has been a long-sanitised lower Manhattan.

[Alex in NYC]

Well, cheers, Paul -- but here's the thing: I don't LIVE in Brooklyn or Queens. They simply don't have the same resonance for me. I can only write about what I know and/or care about. This isn't to say that I don't CARE about the new creative frontiers being explored in those areas, but I'm not the one to document them. And I have no problems with my weblog being associated with nostalgia (a dirty word to some people). Let someone who is actively involved with those scenes document their greatness.