Flaming Pablum

Friedman Unfiltered

You've heard me shamelessly namedrop his moniker here many times before, but my friend, ex-neighbor and endearingly tireless agitator, Glen E. Friedman recently was the subject of an interview with Paradigm. Here he is discussing his work, his beliefs and his convictions whilst walking around town. Is he brash and obstreperous? Absolutely, but ya gotta love his unfiltered candor. He's also an incredible nice, thoughtful dude. Please enjoy, and go visit Glen's own weblog here.

Paradigm Magazine presents: Rear Window with Glen E. Friedman (2012) from Burning Flags Press on Vimeo.

Slay It Forward

Just prior to departing for the airport last Monday, I jogged over to Shakespeare & Co. on Broadway to grab something to read for my five days at DisneyWorld. I didn't have a huge amount of time to peruse, so I went right for the selection of Continuum's 33 1/3 series. I've spoken about this series before, but I completely love these books. Having already read their editions on My Bloody Valentine's Loveless, the Rolling Stones' Some Girls, Television's Marquee Moon, AC/DC's Highway to Hell, Led Zeppelin's IV and the Beastie Boys' Paul's Boutique (among a few others), I settled on D.X. Ferris' trek through Slayer's watershed thrash opus, Reign in Blood. It was arguably an incongruous choice of reading material to complement a trip to "the happiest place on earth," but I relish such dichotomy.

First published in 2008, Ferris' account of the birth of Slayer's stealthy, stentorian masterpiece goes into loving detail about the enigmatic working practices of then-fledgling producer Rick Rubin and percussive juggernaut Dave Lombardo, as well as some surprising insights about hirsute guitar abuser Kerry King (initially a subdued non-partier) and bassist/vocalist Tom Araya (a staunch Catholic, surprisingly). Founder Jeff Hanneman remains the most mysterious, given the bleach-blond guitarist's private nature. My favorite quote about Jeff comes from Kerry who, speaking about his bandmate's distinctive penchant for discordant guitar chuggage, says Jeff "plays notes that are just angry to be together." Indeed.

The book also delves into Slayer's rise from obscurity, their slavishly devout fanbase (the worryingly-nicknamed "Slaytanic Wehrmact"), their uneasy membership on the Def Jam roster (rubbing shoulders with the Beastie Boys and Public Enemy), the album's uncompromisingly grim album cover, the band's debt to hardcore punk and more. If you're even a passive fan of the album, Ferris' take is an illuminating read.

As I said back on this post, I was initially skeptical of Slayer (having already sworn my allegiance to Metallica, my local heroes in Anthrax and thrash metal's grandaddies in Motorhead and Venom), but my first hearing of Reign in Blood in 1986 (I believe it was "Altar of Sacrifice" which came screaming out of my friend Jeff's dormroom, specifically Araya's emphatic command to "PRAISE HAIL SATAAAAAAAAN) made me a true believer. Sadly, I've never seen them live, and I fear that the time to have done so has long-since-passed. I'm dead sure they're still a force to be reckoned with in that capacity, but I wish I'd caught them at this stage of their development (like, say, at this fabled show at the Ritz). Alas, `twas not to be. Nowadays, they're older, beefier and, in Kerry King's case, balder. King looks more like a professional wrestler these days. I'd rather remember them as they were below....

 

In Godlis We Trust

I got a bit of treat while I was off in DisneyWorld with my kids last week. You may remember my recent post wherein Bob Egan of PopSpots NYC landed the plane for me in pinpointing the exact location of a certain photograph of Television. Well, my blogging comrade (blograde?) Tim B. of Stupefaction (and founder of the undersung New York Nobody Sings) reached out of the mighty GODLIS (the photographer behind the image in question) to hip him to it. Not only did Godlis weigh in on the comments, but he blogged about the whole thing himself! Click here to read that. 

I should point out, at this stage of the proceedings, that I have been completely in awe of this man's work for ages. Godlis, like my friend and former neighbor Glen E. Friedman, is one of those photographers who truly had an uncanny knack for being in the epicenter of something that was brewing well beneath the radar. His pictures synonymous with all things NYC Punk, Godlis managed to capture images of future luminaries in a truly distinctive style that is all his own. In all seriousness, the list of legitimately ICONIC photographs taken by this man is too unwieldy to cite (but you can check out his work here).

In any case, I'm completely thrilled that Godlis was psyched about the whole thing, and I totally share his admiration for Bob Egan's unblinking eye for detail.

Tim B. posted this as well, but below is a quick montage of some of Godlis' celebrated photographs. Enjoy.

Out of the Mousetrap

Hey gang...

I have returned from DisneyWorld. Please excuse the temporary lull in activity here. I'll be back up to speed shortly. Thanks for your patience.

Into the Valley of the Shadow of the Mouse

I mentioned it in passing not too long back, but tomorrow I depart New York City for a week at DisneyWorld with my wife and children. If truth be told, it's not the first vacation destination I would have chosen, but then -- I wasn't the one doing the choosing. Through the loving beneficence of some family members, we are being whisked to the Orlando stronghold of all things Mouse as a combined birthday present for my two kids. Like I said, I would have preferred about a quadrillion other places, but none of this is about me, which is fine. I am indescribably grateful for the opportunity to treat my kids to this trip, although the notion of visiting DisneyWorld does strike me as a somewhat odious affair. At the very least, it will be an interesting sociological experience.

I was actually taken to DisneyWorld as a child myself, although that was in 1979 when it was still a quasi-manageable affair. Even the slightest perusal of the DisneyWorld website now is enough to induce a crippling headache. Not including a pair of water parks (which I'm strenuously hoping to be able to side-step), there are now four major parks; the Magic Kingdom, Epcot, Disney's Hollywood Studios and Disney's Animal Kingdom. Put simply, the place is fucking VAST.

Being that my little folk are only 5 and 7, I'm thinking we're going to cross Epcot and the Hollywood Studios right off the list from the get-go. I've heard amazing things about a "Twilight Zone" ride at the latter, but I'm sure I'd be the only member of our foursome to want to go on that. So, that's out.

The kids, meanwhile, can barely contain themselves. I'm concerned that they might be a bit overwhelmed by the enormity of the experience, but then, I'm afraid for myself in that capacity as well. At the end of the day, so long as they're kept happy and giggling all day, it will be an easy mission to accomplish.

In any case, I've been steeling myself up as best I can for the coming days. We're staying literally on campus at the Magic Kingdom (which, I worryingly gather, is entirely "dry," which might make unwinding at the end of a long day of Disney's "imagineering" a tad challenging). At least it'll be warm and there'll be a pool. Looking forward to that.

Beyond that, I'm trying to keep my sharply-fanged cynicism in check, because -- again -- none of this is about me. Maybe I'll luck out and find one of those since-cancelled Joy Division shirts left (or, better yet, one of the Crass ones), but I'm not holding my breath.

Stand by for updates.

Forbidden Broadway

Change has come to the northwest corner of 12th and Broadway once again. That corner is particularly dear to me for a couple of reasons. For a start, I lived on that block between 1996 and 2003. More to the point, though, that corner served as the original home of a place I've sung about a few times here already, that being the New York flagship outlet of England's sci-fi/comics stronghold, Forbidden Planet. To a slavish comics geek in the `80s like myself, Forbidden Planet was practically sacred ground. It ended up moving across the street to the corner of 13th and Broadway some time at the dawn of the `90s, which I thought was a damn shame. There was actually a second NYC location of Forbidden Planet in the East 50s for a short while, but that's long gone. 

In any case, after Forbidden Planet, the space on 12th street was nothing for a great while before becoming a shoe store in the late `90s of no great consequence called No Difference. As it happens, No Difference has since closed (or simply changed its name and moved to a smaller space a block to the south). Personally speaking, I'd LOVE to see Forbidden Planet move BACK to that original location, but that's probably not going to happen (although rumors abound that it's looking for a bigger space).

In any case, I found the top picture below of the corner in question in this sprawling collection of NYC photographs from the `70s. I have no idea when it was taken (nor who took it), but it's a cool shot. Beneath it is a shot I spoke about on this post, featuring Fobidden Planet circa 1989. Last is the current Google Maps take on same.

What will be there next, one wonders.

 

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Trying to Tell a Vision

He's done it again.

Back in the Spring, you may remember, I posted a little photo quiz wherein readers were implored to guess the exact locations of several images of various rock types loitering about NYC. Collectively, we managed to track them down (I had an encouraging bit of help from several loyal regulars), but there were a couple that still left me stumped. One of them was of the The Cure, and the other was of NYC's own Television (the photo above).

The mighty Bob Egan of PopShotsNYC who, as I've mentioned before, is no stranger to scrupulous attention to detail, handily tracked down the Cure's location quite recently. Well, today, he's solved another puzzle for me by pinpointing the precise location of the photograph of Television.

With a keen insight for slight architectural nuance and historical context, Egan places Messrs. Verlaine, Lloyd, Ficca and Smith on the southwest corner of East 9th Street and 1st Avenue. Here's Bob's own take on it....

While on your site I saw you quiz and saw you were looking for a certain Television photo. So I surfed up and down the avenues using Bing but could not find it.

I did however see the word "City" on a sign in the background of the photo and while at the library today I looked in the 1977 phone book microfiche for "City (Something)." in the East Village and LES. The second one I came across was " City Curtain" at 141 1st Ave.

Putting that in Google Maps, resulted in an orange arrow midblock on 1st between 8th and 9th. SO I checked out the building one in from the corner of Ninth (since the cars are going North) and saw it had the same distinctive lintels as in the Television picture. The building now has a fire escape. I guess that's what's thrown us before from thinking that was the place.

See Bob's meticulous detective work below. Click on each to enlarge.

DisAstor Place Redux

Back in 2008, I penned a weepy little paean about the changing face of Astor Place and St. Marks Place, appended with the photo above, taken – presumably – from one of the Zeckendorf Towers on Union Square looking south (I don’t know, I didn’t take it … but it’s lovely, isn’t it?). I thought I’d exhume that photo today in light of the recent, disturbing disclosure of details about the forthcoming abomination to blight Astor Place. I don’t remember the initial designs for the coming building looking quite so imposing.

In the short term, my kids and I have been greatly enjoying the sudden vast expanse of light and space of Astor Place. I can’t help from commenting every time I walk by the flattened ruins of the frankly rather dull NYU building that formerly stood between 3rd and 4th Avenues how nice it would be if they simply put down a wide, green lawn instead of another soulless, giant glass Rubik’s Cube. Fat fucking chance of that.

In any case, dear reader, take another moment to glance at the photo above and savor the Astor Place of yesteryear. We shall not see its like again.

For another view of an unspoiled Astor Place, click here.

Valentine's Day

Which Way to the Rock Hotel?

It's never a stretch to get me feeling nostalgic about the old Ritz on East 11th Street (see these posts, for just a few examples), but yesterday's rumination about Guns N' Roses found me pining for another old incarnation of the place, an uneasy residency made known by a once-ubiquitous flyer campaign (photo at left courtesy of amolho4).

The original Rock Hotel was a dilapidated basement-level ballroom in an eroding hotel over in the West Village. The promoter of same was this dude named Chris Williamson, a curiously hirsute gent who seemed to single-handedly maintain an iron grasp over New York's then-thriving punk/hardcore/metal/crossover scene, largely thanks to his involvement with the Cro-Mags (whose Age of Quarrel he produced). For one reason or another, Williamson ended up moving the Rock Hotel from its Jane Street location to the Ritz over on 11th Street, a larger venue that would serve as a greater staging point for the percolating hardcore/metal community. You can read a little more about the Jane Street location here. Ironically enough, that space later morphed into "The Jane."

Back at the Ritz, the Rock Hotel seemed to hit its stride. For rabid fans of all things punk, metal and hardcore like myself, "New York's Only Rock Hotel at the Ritz" served up a seemingly non-stop menu high-decibel fun. Williamson's distinctive flyers -- basic black with bold, block capital white letters, usually framed around a signature skull -- were literally everywhere. Given my habits, I started to amass a formidable collection of same (although unlike in most cities, NYC's flyers seemed to get glued to lampposts and walls, instead of stapled, which meant prizing them intact required a good deal of fine-fingered finesse). At one point, the Rock Hotel even started shilling t-shirts (yes, that's me looking unfortunate in one circa 1987).

Somewhere, something snapped. By the end of the 80's, the Rock Hotel shows seemed to completely cease. The 11th Street incarnation of the Ritz closed and a new operation opened up several blocks to the northwest in the space of the old Studio 54. The 11th Street space later re-opened as Webster Hall (its original name, by the way), a venue that initially eschewed live acts in favor of hosting dance club events (which continue to this day). They do still host bands, but it's no longer THE spot, so to speak.

Today, I only have about three of of my old Rock Hotel flyers left. I have a deeply distressed one for a Dead Boys reunion show circa Christmas `88 (featuring a Santa hat on the skull), an ancient Circle Jerks one, and comparatively pristine one for a Venom show with Voi Vod and the Cro-Mags (you can read another fan's account of that actual show here). I did a bit of sniffing around on the web, and these were a few others I came up with. Do you have a stash of your own?