Resolutely lefty NYC protopunk original, Tuli Kupferberg of the Fugs died today. Tuli was a proudly outspoken, radical punk before they had a cool catch-all tag for such things. I briefly got to see him perform at a celebration of Abbie Hoffman (hosted by Billy Bragg) several years back, and he was as sharp-tongued, irreverent and witty as ever.
The Fugs certainly weren't for everyone. Musically rudimentary, the hirsute band played a low-frills approximation of folk-rock rife with deliberately provocative, button-pushing lyrics. Choice Fugs selections include "Kill for Peace," "Boobs a Lot," "Group Grope" and several others. Here's but a small taste. Pour one out for Tuli.
Happy Monday, y'all. I just thought I'd take another opportunity to highlight some of the truly amazing pictures I've uncovered recently over on Flickr. Above, you'll see another shot (this time in color) of the Soho mural that formerly loomed over the Moondance Diner. You may remember me talking about it in this post. Both the mural and the diner are long gone, of course. This photo was taken by one Elissa Malcohn. Here's a different shot of it, snapped by Swatch Trm. At the risk of repeating myself, I truly miss the days when massive stretches of exposed facade could be utilized for art (as opposed to ubiquitous advertising).
To that same end, I culled together selection of other photos of murals around NYC.
Here's a latter-day shot of the Gringo mural (which I've invoked here numerous times). Note the "space for rent" sign blocking his signature blonde quiff.
This one took me back. I want to say that this mural of a top-hatted magician brandishing an apple on the Brooklyn Bridge graced a north-facing wall on the western side of Houston back in the day (the photographer didn't cite the specifics). Ring any bells, anyone?
Here's a compelling shot from 1983. The photographer says it's on St. Marks Place, but I can't necessarily place it (although I dimly remember the painting of that face). Can anyone give more specifics?
Here's a shot – also from `83, by the same shutterbug – of the mural space on Houston (currently occupied by Shepard Fairey's beleaguered piece).
Beyond that invariably long-since-painted-over mural of Wendy O Williams I mentioned just a few days ago, there is one more forgotten Manhattan mural I've been trying to find a picture of. It graced the western-facing side of tall building in Hell's Kitchen somewhere in the 30's or 40's way over on the West Side. It was painted to look as i the top of the building had been detached and was dangling from a tied ribbon. Sound familiar? Write in if so.
While sequestered out in the wintery wilds of Ohio in 1986 during my sophomore year of college, my high school chum Rob B. sent me a curious videocassette in the mail. Presciently titled "British New Wave: Ready for the Eighties," it was apparently a hastily patched-together documentary with Japanese subtitles, replete with a suitably smarmy English narrator who fleetingly profiled a slew of then-up-&-coming artists like The Clash, The Jam, The Pretenders, Gary Numan, Madness, The Boomtown Rats and several others. While rife with omission and some breezy errors in chronology, the tape made for some entertaining viewing and went into steadily regular rotation on my roommate Dave's VCR.
Probably my favorite parts of the tape, though, were the profiles of the lesser-known bands that evidently failed to vault themselves into international stardom. Six or seven years after this artifact had been released, for example, no one I knew had ever heard of, say, Secret Affair, but check out their segment from the documentary (listen for that narrator). Given their sound, it's not really surprising they never crossed over.
But the hands-down favorite part was the profile of Spizz (a.k.a Spizzoil, Spizzenergi and/or Athletico Spizz 80). I'd briefly heard their signature single, "Where's Captain Kirk?," courtesy of the its placement in the outstanding "Urgh! A Music War" (still criminally not on DVD), but the version captured on this tape was rawer. Dave and I even devised a way of recording this particular version right off the VHs tape. Here it is from that same program in all its silly, frenetic glory.
On my next trip back to the New York, I wasted no time in snatching up the original 7" at Bleecker Bob's. I also chased down the soundtrack album of "Urgh" to have the live version capture therein on vinyl as well. In turn, I went on to regularly punish listeners of my college radio station, WDUB (91.1 FM in Granville) with needlessly frequent airings of both versions. Whenever I hear this single nowadays, I'm instantly transported back to those blissful, beer-soaked college days.
So why am I blathering on about this ancient band in 2010? Well, because I stumbled upon a clip of Spizz playing "Where's Captain Kirk?" that was shot this year. It's somewhat striking how a couple of decades ages one. Check that out here.
Something tells me that if sporting Guess Jeans genuinely provoked this type of scenario (spotted in the window of a new Guess outlet on 47th & Fifth Avenue), you'd see a lot more guys wearing them.
Hey all. If you haven't felt it as yet, summer is definitely upon us. As such, I'll once again be reprising my regimen of bouncing back and forth between the city and my mom's place out on the Island of Length (where Peg and the kids are holed up to escape the rigors of sweltering Manhattan). Here's hoping everyone has a lovely weekend. In the interim, here are a few items that caught my eye.
There are now even more details about that impending SWANS reunion album, including a suitably bizarre album title and album cover design. Phil Puleo (ex-Cop Shoot Cop) does indeed play on it, however bassist/badass Algis Kizys apparently does not. A bummer, that.
Apropos of seemingly nothing in particular, my buddy John over at Metal Dad wrote a nice little piece regarding my now-quite-old and not-just-a-little-nasty piece about Patti Smith's Horses. Thanks for that. In all honesty, in the ensuing years, I often catch myself wondering if maybe I was too harsh. Being that Smith has been tirelessly lionized by leagues of folks whose opinions I greatly respect, I can't help thinking that maybe I've been missing something all these years. Then, I throw on Horses and realize how fucking awful it is and how fucking right I was. I had the honor several years ago of meeting Smith's guitarist/collaborator Lenny Kaye, and I have nothing but respect for that guy (he being the Nuggets archivist and rock scholar, after all), but I just can't get behind Patti's music. Sorry, gang. In any case, cheers, John!
Lastly, though Eddie Cochran's classic rock 'n roll staple, "Summertime Blues" has been famously covered by the storied likes of everyone from The Who, Blue Cheer, Rush and Van Halen through Joan Jett, Motorhead and the Black Keys, I have to say that my favorite version remains this one by excitable Japanese garage punk combo, Guitar Wolf. Play it really fucking loud and have a nice weekend.
I hate to invoke it yet again, but for that infinitesimally tiny gaggle of readers who also fondly remember the old Forbidden Planet when it was on 12th & Broadway (which I waxed rhapsodic about in this post), check out this video of same from 1986. I stumbled upon this last night whilst in a YouTube stupor. The video in question is low on frills & thrills (and it's only one of seven chapters!!!), but it clearly depicts the old exterior & interior of the fabled hive of uber-geekdom. Today, this place is the decidedly less interesting No Difference shoe outlet, and Forbidden Planet is now on 13th street (and somehow much less interesting itself). Enjoy.
For no readily apparent reason, writer Nick Rombes reached out to me earlier in the week to see if I'd like to participate in a chat he was conducting for The Rumpus's Mini-Interview project. Those with keen eyes for detail will doubtlessly recognize Rombes as the man behind the entirely excellent book, "The Cultural Dictionary of Punk," which I wrote rapturously about here last summer. My curiosity piqued, I said yes. During our online exchange, Nick instructed me to hit the "random article" button on Wikipedia to steer our discussion. I did, and we ended up fleetingly discussing an incongruous array of topics ranging from exotic fish and exalted cricketers through a long-forgotten solo record by erstwhile Hanoi Rocks vocalist, Mike Monroe (pictured). Hilarity ensued. Click here to read the full interview, and click here to check out Nick's own weblog.
And here I was thinking I was being so original! Whilst glancing at Gothamist this morning, I noticed that they were linking to a new-ish site called Dino's NYC Then and Now. Dino doesn't seem to be quite as anal retentive as I am about replicating the precise angles of the original photographs, but the site makes for some interesting viewing all the same. Check it out. For my own Then & Now pictures, please click here and scroll on down.
You may remember a post from about a month back wherein I weepily wondered if there were any photographs out there on the `Net of a variety of since-vanished Manhattan spots like the original Forbidden Planet and a few other locales. I wasn't exactly inundated with replies, but I fielded some like-minded responses from similarly-inclined individuals. In any case, I've recently remembered another thing from the past that I wonder if anyone even remembers -- let alone ever captured on film. Suffice to say, it's pretty unlikely, but here goes.
I'd have to say that it could not possibly have been any later than 1983. I don't recall the specifics of the excursion, but I was on my way back from a high school trip in the rear of a big yellow school bus driving south down Park Avenue. This was way above 96th Street, though, which – at the time – acted as a veritable Checkpoint Charlie between the posh Upper East Side to the south and Spanish Harlem to the north. For the non-New Yorkers out there, the expansive byway of Park Avenue is split at 96th street by a Metro North tunnel that feeds into Grand Central Station fifty-four blocks to the south. The two sides of the avenue then splay like long, thin cables on either side of the train tracks and run deep into Spanish Harlem and beyond. So, I was on that school bus heading south on the western side of that divide.
I was looking out the window, watching the passing sights of a neighborhood that I was, shall we say, rather less inclined to explore at the time. In the early-to-mid 80s, it must be remembered, the environs north of 96th weren't exactly the most welcoming (or at least not east of Madison Avenue). In any case -- then as now -- my imagination was fired by graffiti and street art, and there was a lot more of it to be wowed by at the time. This was arguably the golden age of the medium. Anyway, I was staring out at the window when suddenly we pulled up next to a garishly painted wall that immediately struck a familiar chord with me. Depicted on the wall was a caricature of Wendy O. Williams in front of a towering replication of the Plasmatics logo (the slashed font used on the sleeves of New Hope for the Wretched, Beyond the Valley of 1984 and Metal Priestess). Resplendent in black leather and requisite mohawk and brandishing her signature chainsaw, this cartoony image of the then-infamous "shock rock" hellcat seared itself into my brain. I couldn't believe I was seeing a garish street mural of one of my favorite bands sprayed on a wall in Spanish Harlem. It didn't make any sense. Was it a joke? Was it a promotional thing? I pressed my face against the glass to study it, but before I knew it, the light had changed and our bus continued on back down the avenue. I tried to make a mental note of the location so I could come back and maybe capture it on film.
The following weekend, I remember hopping on my bike and sheepishly pedaling across the border of 96th to try to re-locate the Plasmatics wall, but to no avail. Whether because I was too worried about being mugged or hassled or I was simply disoriented, I never did manage to find the mural in question. I biked back home despondently, but I never forgot about it.
Decades later, I see collections of vintage NYC graffiti pictures all over Flickr all the time, but I've yet to find any documentation of that mural of Wendy O. Williams, and I absolutely swear I didn't imagine it. As I said at the top of this post, this is a total long shot, but does this anecdote ring any bells with anyone out there? Does anyone else remember a huge Wendy O. Williams mural somewhere in the upper 90's or 100's on Park Avenue back in the 1980s? Anyone? Anyone?
Please let me know if so. Here's a bit of vintage Plasmatics video to jog your memory. Incidentally, by no means am I asserting that the band in question made timeless, important music (as is amply demonstrated in the very silly clip below), but they played a role in my distant youth, and I'm curious to see if anyone can exhume this bit of incredibly arcane minutia. Humor me.
I'm not someone who generally embraces change. Witness the fact that huge swathes of this weblog are devoted to decrying change in New York City. This, of course, is an exercise in futility much like King Canute commanding the ocean waves to recede before him*. Change is inevitable. It's going to happen whether I want it to or not.
In any case, TypePad, the blogging service that graciously facilitates Flaming Pablum, has undergone a change. They started warning me about it a year ago. They unveiled new processes and a new layout for composing and publishing. I, of course, was having none of it, being that I was quite comfortable with the old procedures and the old templates. I sniffed around on the new version, but everything seemed needlessly wonky and non-intuitive. I went back to the old version and didn't look back. Time passed. They continued to implore me to switch over to the new version. I refused, resisted and blithely continued to use the old version. Then they started issuing vague ultimatums. Finally, they gave an end-date, after which the only option would be their new version. That end-date, it seems, is today.
Now, when I sign into TypePad, everything looks different. Perhaps they've honed some of the finer points that I had quibbles about, but I shan't know until I find my sea legs with it. As a result, there may be a slight dip in the dazzling brilliance you've naturally come to expect from this weblog. If so, go ahead and blame TypePad. It wasn't my idea.
*I should probably point out that good ol' King Canute didn't honestly expect the ocean to stop rolling for him. Rather he was trying to teach a lesson to his sycophantic handlers that even a king's word doesn't mean shit in the grand scheme of things.
Much to the pointed chagrin of some of my friends and several members of my long-suffering family, I still loves me an embarrassing amount of some strenuously juvenile heavy metal. You're more than likely to encounter several posts dedicated to same here on Flaming Pablum. But for all my goat-throwin' fandom, I'm still largely behind the times in terms of what's cool, contemporary and currently crushing the craniums of today's metalheads. In that capacity, might I steer you to Gun Shy Assassin, the new blog by my friend and former colleague, Chris Harris. When I was toiling over at MTV News Online back in the dark days of 2006 & 2007, youthful Mr. Harris brought me up to speed on the newest & rulingest of the metal realm, from the cartoony barbarism of Watain through the feral explosiveness of Mastodon and all hirsute points in between. Chris is a font of metal in all its hoary permutations and his enthusiasm for his favorite subject is nothing short of infectious. Go check it out & tell'im I sent'cha. Rock.
Recent Comments