Flaming Pablum

The Way Things Used to Look

You may remember a little while back I posted an entry about stumbling upon the weblog of former White Zombie guitarist-turned-producer J. Yuenger. He'd found a photo of mine and added it to his ongoing collection of Found Images. Ever since, I periodically check out his blog, as we seem to have similar interests. While perusing through it today, I noticed he'd put up a series of striking photographs of NYC taken by one Francisco Hidalgo. Here are a couple of my favorites -- notably West Broadway, obviously shot sometime in the mid-70's (before billboards replaced the murals) and one from the East Village. Be sure to check out the rest of the shots by clicking right here.

Greenwich Avenue in Crisis

Yesterday afternoon, Jeremiah Moss posted a quick little headline regarding the closing of Alphabets on Greenwich Avenue, a great, cheeky little gift shop where you used to be able to procure everything from Fred Perry shirts to Jesus action figures and all stripes in between. I was saddened to hear of its demise, and almost couldn't fathom it. Like many of its fellow boutiques and businesses up and down that strip, Alphabets seemed like a pretty successful, attractive and lucrative venture. It had stood there for about sixteen years. But then, of course, as Jeremiah extrapolated, since the closing of St. Vincent's hospital, things on that avenue have changed.

I was incredulous at the news that St. Vincent's was closing. It was a historic locale. It was on the front-lines during the rise of the AIDS epidemic and it served as the first hospital to help victims and first responders on September 11th, 2001. On a personal level, my grandfather practiced there. I was born there (although I'm told I was almost born in the back seat of a taxi on 14th street), and both of my children were born there. As a parent, the notion of losing the neighborhood hospital made absolutely no sense at all. Regardless, St. Vincent's hospital is now all but a memory, leaving behind hulking, currently empty facilities.

Jeremiah linked to this compelling article (with accompanying slideshow) of Greenwich Avenue in the wake of St. Vincent's departure, and it struck me how many of those businesses I hold dear. From Johnny's Bar to Flight 001 to Partners & Crime Books and my beloved Elephant & Castle, there are so many destinations on that avenue that I count as favorites. I'm very sorry to see it all threatened.

I snapped the photo of the strip in question at the top of this post from the window of my wife's room when she was about to deliver my son Oliver back in 2006. Unfortunately, the window was a little dirty, so it's not exactly a pristine photograph, but it still demonstrates what an active little byway Greenwich Avenue was. Two years earlier, right after the birth of my daughter Charlotte, we'd had to rush back to St. Vincent's for a slightly hair-raising overnight session to combat my infant daughter's jaundice. We stayed overnight while they put our little baby in tiny goggles and inserted her into an container under bright florescent lights. In retrospect, we've learned that it's a fairly common treatment, but being newly-minted parents at the time, we were both terrified. At one point in the proceedings, I popped out to get us some food and ran down Greenwich Avenue to find something. I stumbled into Tea & Sympathy, and I must have been visibly shaken. Nicki the owner took one look at me, sat me down and asked me what was going on. I spilled my whole story about how we'd only just gotten Charlotte home before we had to rush back and were frankly really worried. She put together a lovely care package of food and goodies for us and didn't even charge me. She whisked me out the door, directing me to get back to my wife and daughter and not to worry. I'll never forget that.

I gather the remains of St. Vincent's are to be turned into -- wait for it -- pricey condominiums. Here's hoping, at least, that said development will spare Greenwich Avenue from the hard times it's currently facing. Until then, why not go down there and help out the businesses that remain? They'll assuredly thank you for it.

Two Sevens Clash

I talked about this documentary back on this post from ... gulp .... 2007 (doesn't seem that long ago). And now, it's on YouTube:

Moving Through Midtown

Hello, all. Sorry, it's been a crazy week, and we're only at Wednesday. In the last several days, BOTH of my kids AND my wife have contracted the flu, so business as usual has been put on hold. In any case, the household is very slowly on the mend. In the interim, here's an interesting little clip by an electronic artist called Eskimo, featuring a fresh little take on commuting through midtown Manhattan. Enjoy.

Rain Upon The Rez

I spotted the below image on Tumblr earlier today and immediately fell in love with it (the original shot, by one Fulvio Pellegrini, can be found at his website here). If you grew up on the Upper East Side like I did, you'll immediately recognize these towers from the runner's path that surrounds the Jaqueline Kennedy Onassis Reservoir (here's another great shot of it courtesy of Urban Search). I never knew it was called that, honestly, until fairly recently. When I was grade school, we just called it "The Rez," as in "That bastard, Coach Kilkeary, made us run around the Rez three goddamn times this afternoon." In any case, I just thought this was a lovely shot, so thought I'd share it here. Enjoy.

Happy Valentine's Day

Taken by James Jowers, right in my `hood. Thought titled Waverly Place, the photograph actually depicts the cross section of Mercer and 4th Streets (as seen more recently right here). To the left is what was once The Bottom Line ... and is now some antiseptic NYU facility. 

Regardless, it's a lovely photo. Happy V-Day, everyone.

I Remember How The Darkness Doubled

It's the Friday night at the end of a long goddamn week. This clip is partially a sonic shout-out to my friend, Brian W. Crank it way up. As I added back as an addendum to this muddled post from ... cripes ... 2006, I never meant to knock Marquee Moon. I'd like to point that while I initially bought Television's debut somewhat out of obligation in high school (after reading of its seismic significance to the gestation of Punk Rock), it didn't really mow my lawn. It wasn't until I started listening to it on the strength of its own merits (as opposed to trying to de-code it) that I finally gleaned why it's so rightly praised. It also remains my favorite album to walk around rain-slicked East Village streets by. 

Here's Tom Verlaine, exhuming the title track in 1985:

Fake Out at 82 University Place

Yesterday morning, as I was walking to work, I noticed that the "Retail Space for Lease" sign in the window of the permanently dormant 82 University Place (the former address of the storied Cedar Tavern) had come down (see picture at left). I've been shaking my fist for so long at the empty space ever since the Cedar closed its doors in 2006 that my arm is thoroughly tired, but at this point in the proceedings, I'd sincerely welcome a new burst of activity at that address. The fact that it's still an ugly, empty shell of a yanwsomely utilitarian workspace in the wake of it replacing a beloved neighborhood institution is still an untrammeled insult. Hell, even if it suddenly became a Pret A Manger (not just a remote possibility), that would be preferable to its present, depressing incarnation. Or maybe not.

Well, turns out these ruminations are all for nought. When I passed by it again just now after dropping my kids off at school, I noticed a new "For Lease" sign had been put up (the adhesive must have finally surrendered on the last one).

Regardless, weather like this always makes me think of warm evenings inside the Cedar's lovely interior. Inspired by same, I found this lovely old set of photographs by Whittlz on Flickr (that's one of them below), memorializing the old place. Alas, we shan't see its like again.

Henry's Half-Century

My first introduction to Henry Rollins came via a mixtape sloppily compiled by my grammar school pal Rich sometime around the summer after we'd just graduated from eighth grade. Sandwiched with endearing incongruity between "Too Hot" by the Specials and "Do You Believe in the Westworld?" by Theatre of Hate, Rich had inserted the incendiary "Rise Above" by Black Flag, and I believe I nearly wore down the rewind button on my crappy boom box from overuse. Suffice it to say, it was immediately evident that it was a song that could SIMPLY NEVER BE PLAYED ONLY ONCE! Punctuated by Henry Rollins' feral vocals and Greg Ginn's untethered guitars, it was quite possibly the most exciting two minutes and twenty-seven seconds of music I'd ever heard. In a fleeting instant, it made my then-favorite records by the Sex Pistols and The Ramones sound positively polite. Welcome to hardcore!

Ironically, I'd unwittingly met an early bandmate of Henry's the summer before at a dude ranch in Wyoming ... of all places. Wendell Blow, the bass player for Henry's original band, S.O.A., came to the Elkhorn Ranch with his family just as I'd been taken with mine for a week of wholesome Western fun in the saddle. Wendell was a little older than me, and cut a somewhat intimidating profile with his shorn scalp and Clash t-shirt. If memory serves, I believe he spat at my feet at one point upon sight of the "Pink Floyd The Wall" t-shirt I was sporting at the time. He wasn't exactly in a rush to make friends. Little did I know that the obscure combo he was a member of (whose cryptic initials he'd scrawled all over his jeans) would go on to be the stuff of hardcore legend.

After splitting S.O.A. to take over vocals for Black Flag (the band's fourth singer after Keith Morris, Ron "Chavo Pederast" Reyes and Dez Candena), Henry Rollins arguably cemented Black Flag's status as the American hardcore band. Oddly, however, just around the time myself and other latecomers discovered them, Black Flag seemed to go well out of their way to alienate their own following. Not that their records up through Henry's debut on 1981's Damaged had been exactly "catchy," but from that point on, Black Flag's music became particularly inhospitable and unwieldy. Those expecting more infectious choruses and well-defined riffs just weren't going to get'em.

I got to see Black Flag during my freshmen year of college at The Newport Music Hall in Columbus, Ohio. It's nice to be able to say that, but truthfully, it wasn't that great a show. I believe they were promoting the Loose Nut album at the time which, as far as I was concerned, really wasn't their finest hour (although I do still like "Annihilate this Week"). More to the point, Henry had been apparently bitten by something a few days earlier and hobbled around the stage like Long John Silver as opposed to the enraged panther he was normally comparable to.

The band fell apart acrimoniously shortly after that, freeing Henry up to pursue a solo trajectory. Years later, I actually got to interview him circa the release of 1990's Fast Food for Thought, an album he recorded with then Rollins Band bassist Andrew Weiss under the name Wartime. I met up with Henry outside of the (now long defunct) Marquee on West 21st Street. For the most part, Henry was as curt and impatient as I was nervous, but eventually we both relaxed and he let down his guard a little. I even brought my copy of the No Policy e.p. by S.O.A. for Henry to sign (on it, he scrawled "One Old Record!").

Years after that, Henry became a bona fide celeb, a label he doubtlessly still wrestles with today. From Gap ads through movie roles, Henry is now something of a ubiquitous public figure, but has admirably stayed true to his convictions and channeled all his energy back into his own projects. While his famous ire may be harder to take seriously at this stage of the proceedings, his dedication and single-mindedness remain hard to discredit, as far as I'm concerned at least.

This past Sunday night, as I was running outside to take care of a few late-weekend errands, I turned the corner onto Broadway and almost walked directly into Henry Rollins. Completely grey and decked out in sweats, Henry was bounding south with a typically determined stride. I couldn't stop myself from exclaiming "Henry!" He turned and smiled unenthusiastically and offered a wave. I was going to follow up with "Did you hear about Gary Moore?" (the death of the storied Thin Lizzy guitarist at age 58 had circulated earlier in the day, and Rollins has frequently cited what a massive fan he is), but I didn't want to sound like more of a sycophantic fanboy than I already did (y'know, like those people who insist on calling Elvis Costello "Declan McManus" when they see him).

As it turns out, Henry was probably on his way to the studios of WNYC, where he was being interviewed on the occasion of his 50th birthday! Here's that interview in its entirety. Rise above!

ADDENDUM: Take a moment to check out the amazing collaboration between my friend Glen E. Friedman and Shepard Fairey in honor of Henry's 50th. If you're interested in getting a print of same, click here.

Jacked Up

This is a little after-the-fact, being that the 30th anniversary of the great Big Takeover has already come and gone, but I stumbled across this clip on Review Stalker this morning, and had to share it. I've had the pleasure of knowing the great Jack Rabid since about 1990 or so, when I was writing, editing and doing inconceivable things for the late, lamented New York Review of Records. Much like photographer Glen E. Friedman, Rabid's someone who's had his finger on the pulse of what's worth paying attention to from the get-go. Also like Glen, he's never been an elitist about it. Although the passion with which he expresses his convictions might put some off (see below), he's actually one of the genuinely nicest guys out there. I last ran into Jack at Killing Joke's show this past December, and he proved to be as amiable as ever. If you're not familiar with The Big Takeover -- go check it out at once!