As a chef might say, I have absolutely zero idea of the true provenance of the clip below, but I randomly stumbled upon it while searching for Modern Lovers ephemera on Tumblr. I wrote a needlessly lengthy piece on the great Modern Lovers here a while back, but in a nutshell, I’m solidly of the opinion that their first album is one of the greatest examples of primal rock n' roll ever recorded. I realize I’m not going off on any limbs by asserting that, but I’d suggest that it bears repeating. Stop listening to that yawnsome bullshit you call rock n’ roll and go buy it.
Anyway, whether you’re a fan of Jonathan Richman’s seminal band or not, the clip below – a striking, black n’ white hodgepodge of storied NYC locales ranging from Max’s Kansas City on lower Park Avenue through to Madison Square to CBGB on the Bowery and over to the Chelsea Hotel all circa the gritty mid-70’s (not unlike the Stones’ clip for “Rocks Off” from a couple of years earlier) – is well worth a look. Not sure how much the actual Modern Lovers have to do with it (being ostensibly a Boston band), but whatever.
Plus, “She Cracked” rocks like no other. Turn it up.
No great backstory here, but I stumbled upon this on YouTube, and thought I'd share it. Here's some footage of a concert in Tompkins Square Park circa 1981. Bands performing at the long-since-demolished bandshell: Pierce Turner, Essential Bop, Liquid Liquid, Science, and Certain General.
You know me – I can’t say no to a picture of Manhattan in the bygone 1980s. This is the northeast corner of Broome Street and Broadway (otherwise known as the Haughwout Building) circa the early part of that decade. These days, this building is freshly scrubbed and plays host to a Bebe outlet (whatever that is). It’s a predictable sentiment coming from a nostalgist such as I, but I do prefer the days when SoHo looked like this.
In any case, I spotted this image on this blog, New York History Walks (tagline: I walk around New York City and wonder about its past). It doesn’t look to have been updated too recently, but there are some nifty things to be learned therein.
As I mentioned in my last post about Missing Foundation, former band member-turned-photojournalist Chris Egan, a regular reader of Flaming Pablum, had taken to weighing in on occasion. More recently, he'd suggested tracking the ever-elusive Peter Missing down for an interview. While the thought of interacting with the band's primary instigator seemed like an unlikely concept (or so I thought...see below), I asked Chris if he himself would be game to discuss his days serving in the ranks of Missing Foundation. Chris agreed, and I fired off a round of hastily-composed questions to him. Below is what the man came back with.
It should have occurred to me to reach out last year, as 2012 marked the twenty year anniversary of the release of Missing Foundation's swan song (or that incarnation's swan song), Go Into Exile, but y'know... things don't always work out so conveniently.
FLAMING PABLUM: Chris, you're listed on the credits of those first few Missing Foundation albums. Can you tell me what role(s) you played in the band? How'd you get involve initially?
CHRIS EGAN: I met Pete through his wife Jen in 80/81. She was studying art at SVA. I was in the photography program. They lived in Hoboken, where Pete and Jeff started a band called Drunk Driving with Bob Bert [later of Sonic Youth, Pussy Galore and Bewitched] on drums. Not sure what drama took place but Bob left. So Pete asked me if I wanted to play drums and my friend Tama to play bass. 10 days later we played our first gig at Tramps. It was a lot of fun. We went on to put out a cassette. Soon after, the band imploded and Pete moved to Hamburg to make art and music with Florian Langmaack. That's when he started MF. On his return to NYC, we started getting serious about playing and recording.
FP: What was the hierarchy in Missing Foundation? Did Peter call the shots? Was it that organized?
CE: It was pretty democratic. Pete was non-stop when it came to working on the project. But everyone had a voice in the process. The project really came to together when Mark Ashwill joined. He hooked us up with his friend Jim Waters, who became our recording engineer and live sound tech.
FP: Musically-speaking, there were some other NYC bands around the same era – SWANS, Cop Shoot Cop, Pussy Galore – mining arguably similar ground (to say nothing of the whole hardcore scene with bands like Agnostic Font, Bad Brains, Cro-Mags, et al.), but MF always seemed apart from all that, and a good deal less conventional and significantly more confrontational on an entirely different level. Did you feel any affinity for any other bands or scene?
CE: I was into Swans, Cop Shoot Cop ( we were pals with [former Undead/Virus/BlackSnakes and Cop Shoot Cop bassist] Natz ) etc. We didn't want to have to suck up to club owners and bookers for gigs, where you got riped off no matter how many people you brought in. (Thats why we tore up CBGB) We where very D.I.Y. We identified more with the squatters. We knew how the L.E.S. would end up and what it would mean for artists and families that lived in the `hood.
FP: In all the furor over Missing Foundation’s reputation as a “dangerous” live act and the graffiti element, it seems Missing Foundation’s actual music takes a backseat in the discussion. Does that bother you? Which was more important to the band? The message, the art, the execution?
CE: I've met many people who really loved the music. We never made it easy to listen to. The message, art and execution were equally important to us.
FP: What was your initial reaction to CBS News’ expose on your guys, “Cult of Rage”? Shock? Anger? Laughter? [See the clip in question above]
CE: 'Oh shit! What's my mom gonna think!' I loved how we fed them tons of disinformation, which they just put out.
FP: As the story goes, Missing Foundation imploded after Peter started getting targeted by the FBI. Is that true or merely the stuff of legend? Did you have any problems like that?
CE: That's more legend then fact. The feds were on Pete for sure, but that didn't stop the band. We made Go Into Exile after that. The end of that incarnation of MF had why more to do with group members' personal issues. My phone was tapped for a few years, but they had nothing.
FP: Was MF’s notoriety a help or hindrance? Did you sell any albums via the deal with Restless Records?
CE: It helped. We never did it for the money. The Restless deal paid for the recording of Go Into Exile. We made more money selling our t-shirts on tour than we ever did from record companies.
FP: Do you ever listen to those records now?
CE: Still listen to MF music. Some of the best times ever working with those guys.
FP: How does the New York City of 2013 compare to the New York City of Missing Foundation’s era?
CE: The city was way more interesting before it became a mall. I feel for the young artists who will never have a $325.00 rent I had back on 12th street.
FP: Looking back, 20 years later, are there any misconceptions about Missing Foundation that you’ve been wanting to clear up?
CE: No, I enjoy all the rumors.
FP: Any regrets about Missing Foundation?
CE: No regrets! I miss the guys that have died. I always wonder what it would have been like if we had the info tech we have today.
FP: Do you stay in touch with Peter Missing today?
CE: Pete never has a phone, so it's hard to get to talk. But we e-mail.
FP: To bring your story up to speed, what are you doing now? How did you get into photojournalism?
CE: Always loved shooting pictures from an early age. Still shoot but more for myself. 7 years ago I got into the New England Studio Mechanics, so I work building sets for major motion pictures, shooting here in Massachusetts.
Back when I posted that entry about John Lurie and the Lounge Lizards a few weeks back, I alluded to a strange set of coincidences wherein I kept coming across Lurie's name in seemingly random sets of circumstances. Similarly, I had relatively no reason to post about Missing Foundation just a few weeks ago, but once I did, I started seeing their name mentioned again in various places, somewhat randomly. This past Saturday afternoon, meanwhile, it was a nice day, so I grabbed my camera and found myself walking around the East Village. By the time I got to Avenue B, I was surprised to spot a couple of fresh, recently-scrawled replications of the fabled MF insignia, which seemed strange in 2013 (especially after I'd initiated the above exchange with Chris Egan).
On my way home, as I was walked West on 8th Street between Broadway and University Place, I spotted a strangely familiar figure approaching, walking East. I looked again, met his stare, and whipped around as he passed me. "Peter?" I asked. Warily, he turned, his arms filled with a bundle of posters and canvases. "Peter Missing?" I repeated. The guy smiled and turned to shake my hand. Sure enough, it was Peter Missing himself.
I'd never met the man before, but recognized his face. We chatted briefly about his current doings. He was only in town for a fleeting couple of days (he's still based in Europe), and had just been back in NYC showing his artwork. He mentioned that he's recorded some new music with his new band, Missing Zero Hazard, and alluded that he had some new projects in the works.
I didn't really have the chance to give him the whole back story of this blog and my chat with Chris, unfortunately (and he savvily-but-graciously side-stepped my request to take his picture). To his credit, Peter Missing doesn't seem especially interested in exhuming the past, and is more focussed on moving forward with his art and his music. He did, however, manage to sell me a piece of his art for $20, which I was all too happy to buy from him. I wished him well, and off he went.
For a man renowned for striking terror into the heart of the city, he was a completely affable gent.
You may have heard about it already, but evidently Beyonce lip-synched her inauguration rendition of “The Star Spangled Banner” yesterday, much to the moist-eyed hue and cry of a thousand apologists who strenuously try to assert what a blazing talent she is. As far as I’m concerned (not that anyone asked), Beyonce may have a talent or two -– but singin’ ain’t one of’em. My lack of enthusiasm for her music really shouldn’t take anyone by surprise.
In any case, while the story was making the rounds at The Job, I couldn’t help dabbing the wound with a little salt with the thoroughly unsolicited observation that Iggy Pop’s never lip-synched. Being that I think Iggy’s pretty much the greatest living American, he seemed like a suitable vocalist to cite. In short order, I was busily dis-ingratiating myself with my colleagues by detailing my disdain for the slavishly overhyped Beyonce.
Here’s the thing, though. Iggy Pop has lip-synched. Granted, it wasn’t at any stuffy, gala spectacle witnessed by quadrillions like the inauguration yesterday, but watch the clip below as Ig rather pointedly demonstrates how not actually singing he is (while still delivering an incendiary performance) for some inane Australian chat show.
Also check out how the venerable Mr. Pop is rather …umm… alert during his pre-performance interview. Enjoy!
I've pointed it out before, but while I'm a native Manhattanite, I didn't grow up downtown. Of course, once I was let off my leash, so to speak, I explored all that this island had to offer, but my formative years were spent on the decidedly un-gritty and thoroughly un-cool Upper East Side. My family hopscotched around the neighborhoods north of East 86th Street a few times when I was in my low, single digits, usually hovering between the areas of Yorkville and Carnegie Hill. When I finally moved downtown, I probably shook my fist and vowed I'd never return to these staid, characterless streets. That was still the 90's, though. Downtown still seemed like a very different city.
Anyway, I've softened on the old Upper East Side since then. While so much of what I adore about Lower Manhattan has completely vanished, there is a small modicum of solace I feel when I go back to my old stomping grounds and see it relatively untouched (or at least compared to the radical facelift downtown is undergoing). I don't get up there all that often, but when I do, I can't help but feel pangs of comfortable familiarity.
Yesterday, however, Peg and I decided to take advantage of the relatively balmy temperatures and brought the kids uptown so they could run around Central Park. We also spent a bit of time walking around my old neighborhood on East 93rd street. As I was pointing out various banal details of my grade school years ("here's where I used to buy comic books, there's where my favorite pizzeria was," etc.) I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks when we got to Park Avenue. A certain silhouette was pointedly missing. The hulking brown sculpture that had proudly stood in the center of the avenue (on the mall .. I took that shot of it above in the late 90's) at East 92nd street since practically before I can remember was inexplicably...... gone.
Erected sometime in the early 1970's, this massive metal sculpture -- which, I've recently learned, is/was called "Night Presence IV," not that it would have meant anything to me at the time -- served as a sort of anchor to my neighborhood. As a child, spotting it on my way back from somewhere was akin to spying the inviting color of my front door. It was a visual signifier that I was home. In the spring, my friends and I would actually climb on it. In the winter, we'd pelt the thing with snowballs, a firm shot resounding with a satisfying, echoey BOOOOONNNNNGGGG when we struck our target squarely.
I did a bit of Googling when I got home and came upon this recently composed blog entry by one Lindsay Gellman that pretty much answered all my questions. Evidently, "Night Presence IV" by Louise Nevelson was dismantled in haste in February 2011, as it was gradually eroding into a state of disrepair.
Gellman's excellent post pretty much answers all the remaining questions but one, that being whether or not the sculpture will ever return to its longtime perch on the upper reaches of Park Avenue (that being contingent on private donations towards an unwieldy sum). Until it does come back, though, I can't say it'll ever truly feel like home again.
When they razed the block that stood between East 14th and East 13th street between Broadway and 4th Avenue in the mid-90's, I was living on East 12th between University Place and Broadway. Strangely, I can only barely remember what the architecture looked like before that block came down. When it was all demolished, there was a giant swathe of open space on the southern tip of Union Square. I remember thinking how nice it would be if they just put down a simple square of grass, instead of the mammoth building they were planning to erect. I felt a similar sentiment last year, when they stealthily tore down the weathered academic structure on Astor Place that's now the looming, black Death Star building. I wasn't alone. For a couple of months, there was a tenuous stencil and sticker campaign that read: "Imagine a park here." Obviously, that fanciful notion never came to pass.
Just like over on Astor Place, progress on the Union Square site progressed with great immediacy. In seemingly no time at all, there was a brand new movie theater (or arena, as it was billed) and -- more importantly for me -- a brand, spankin' new Virgin Megastore. Tireless champion though I am of independent, mom'n'pop music shops, I did not lament Virgin's arrival. Though comparatively late in the day, the writing was not yet on the wall about the impending demise of the music industry as we know it. In any event, any physical, brick and mortar outlet that sells music is a good thing, as far as I was (and remain) concerned. I snapped the picture up top of it shortly after it opened.
About seventeen or so years later, the theater's still there, but the Virgin Megastore is now long gone (I penned a weepy paean to its demise here). Now there's a -- WAIT FOR IT -- bank branch where Virgin was initially perched.
In any case, why am I blathering about all this now? Well, if you're a regular reader here, you've heard me sing the praises of Gregoire Alessandrini's great photo blog, New York City 1990's before. Well, while re-perusing his site, I found these two amazing photos of the block in question after the initial structures had been razed. I thought I'd replicate them here for the purposes of illustrating this post (and I hope he doesn't mind, as usual).
This top one is basically the view looking south from Union Square Park. That corner is where the entrance to the Virgin Megastore was. Hard to picture now, I know.
This shot is the block as viewed from 4th Avenue looking West. Now, this space is marked by the lobby of an expensive condominium and a frankly very pricey wine emporium.
By this point -- especially in the wake of his now legendary appearance on Piers Morgan's program -- picking on bug-eyed, conspiracy-crazed gun-nut Alex Jones seems like, er, shooting at an easy target. But, one of my colleagues posted the clip below on Facebook recently, and it made my blood boil anew, so I'm sharing it here.
The sad and scary thing in this instance is that a large swathe of the American people thinks like this man. Granted, it's not a particularly bright swathe, but still. On a purely surface level -- subtracting his requisite, frothy-mouthed alarmism from the equation -- the mere fact that he's reinforcing the demonization of kids who aren't jocks -- let alone kids who possess even a modicum of intellectual curiosity -- is irresponsible enough. Don't we already have enough of a bullying problem?
He's right about one thing, though. We nerds ARE dangerous.
Spotted this on the Facebook page of the New York Rock & Roll Explorer and thought I'd share it here (though I spoke about it back here). This is a rare ad for the 1980 Blondie album Autoamerican, featuring a larger depiction of the cover painting (click on it to enlarge).
As I said back on that earlier post, this album's never been my favorite Blondie record (which would either be Parallel Lines or Eat to the Beat), but I've always loved the painting on the cover. I've also always wondered why guitarist Frank Infante is depicted brandishing a rainbow-colored broadsword.
Now, granted -- it's a painting, so there's a bit of artistic license involved, but I've always tried to glean where the band is supposed to be standing. My estimation, based on the proximity of the landmarks behind them is that they're on the roof of 108 Leonard Street (the home of the Clocktower Gallery in TriBeCa). This is the building as it looks from the street.
I've also suspected this address to be the same location for the video shoot of the Ramones' "We Want the Airwaves" video. See below.
Of course, all of this is entirely speculation. Anyone know the real stories?
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