I think this might be a job for Bob Egan, `cos I'm throwing in the towel!
Inspired by my recent trip around Gramercy Park with my kids to replicate various old timey rock pics, regular reader and fellow blogger MJG196 (who leaves comments on my blog under the nom-de-plume GG Allin) posed an interesting challenge for me, daring me to divine the precise location of the photograph above. Snapped by one David Gahr, this shot finds -- once again -- former New York Doll David Johansen, in the throes of his comparatively clean-cut "Funky But Chic" era, holding court in a NYC doorway. "Hey, Flaming Pablum blog," MJG wrote, "this one's going to be a toughie."
I scoffed. How tough could it be? The building number's actually cited on the door Dave's loitering in front of! It'll be a piece o' cake.
In typical fashion, I was wrong, and I'm stumped.
Peggy and the kids departed today to visit my mother-in-law in Texas, leaving me with an open schedule for the holiday weekend. As such, I grabbed my camera and set off to find the spot this photograph was taken. And lemme tellya, there was no cake involved.
The doorway behind Jonhansen clearly spells out the address 116. The signage the erstwhile Doll is semi-obstructing suggests the establishment was called the "Gramercy Room: Home of Champions." Being that I've seen evidence of Johansen twice photographed in the Gramercy Park/Irving Place neighborhood (see both here), and the fact that this `hood is also the former home of his old stomping grounds, Max's Kansas City, it makes sense that this particular spot is also somewhere in that area.
Well, truthfully, I checked out every conceivable instance of 116 in the Gramercy area -- between Broadway and Third Avenue, from East 14th to East 23rd -- and came up empty. Of course, it's very possible, if not probable, that in the THIRTY-FIVE YEARS (!!) since this photograph was taken, the building in question no longer looks like it did in 1978, if it even still exists at all. If it does, I certainly did not recognize it.
Today, there is a venture called The Gramercy Room, although it's situated at 915 Broadway at East 21st street (which, technically, I don't believe credibly counts as Gramercy -- but I'll let the real estate agents quibble about that). In any case, this Gramercy Room doesn't seem like the "Home of Champions" behind our David.
So, yeah, I'm still stuck on this one. But I did get some confirmation that my initial hunches are correct.
In doing some research, I stumbled upon what looks to be a shot from the same photo session of Gahr's. From guitarist Gary Lucas' homepage, here's a shot of David in the same clothes, hanging with Lucas (a virtuoso string-bender who's played with everyone from Captain Beefheart to Jeff Buckley) and two other dudes I can only assume were band members of David's. Here it is below...
Sure enough, in my search for the 116 photo, I believe I spotted the actual location of the shot with Lucas, that being just off the northwest corner of East 16th and Irving Place (the building in question being the Gramery Arts High School), directly across from my favorite Chinese restaurant, The Cottage.
Just a few steps to the west of the Cottage, there is a 116, but the facade of that entrance is entirely different from the one I'm searching for.
So, yeah.... I'm stumped. Bob Egan of PopSpots....I'm tossing this one your way. Have at it, sir.
Years later, however, I was thrilled to find a different shot from the same session, this one finding our Joe (still with cowboy hat on) lighting up a smoke on the Eastern fringes of 14th Street. I put it up here -- much like Bayley's more celebrated shot -- on one of the anniversaries of the great man's death. The particular strip of real estate depicted in that second shot actually looks pretty much the same today (which normally isn't the case).
Earlier this week, however, I was thrilled to find (on Tumblr) a third take from that same day. This one finds our Joe perusing what must have been a street-side used bookstore. Joe's brandishing a paperback emblazoned with a clenched fist and the title "POWER."
In the fine tradition of these twoposts, I decided to take my kids out for a bite to eat and replicate that shot in the precise location. I think we managed it. What do you think?
I mentioned it fleetingly in this year-end survey, but over the Christmas break, while I was down in Texas visiting the in-laws, I read "Black Postcards," the autobiography of Dean Wareham (he of Galaxie 500/Luna fame). While I'd never characterize myself as a rabid fan, I've always liked both of Wareham's bands, and figured his take on the music scene(s) of the late 80's and 90's that he'd been so actively involved with would make for an illuminating read. Not only was I right about that, but it's just simply a great, well-written and often hilarious book. Wareham's dry wit shines throughout as he discusses the travails of being in a working rock band. Even if you're just a passive fan (as I was), "Black Postcards" is well worth a perusal.
There was a passage in the beginning of the book, however, that I've been itching to address here, but I haven't had the time to piece it all together until now. I'd known Dean was originally a New Zealander, but figured he'd emigrated to Boston (being that that's where Galaxie 500 were ostensibly from, despite their very New York-y sound). Well, as it turns out, Wareham and his family actually moved to New York City around 1977, and lived on the Upper East Side ... where I lived. As a matter of fact, Dean met future Galaxie 500 bandmates Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang at Dalton, a private school just down the road, so to speak, from where I went to school (that being St. David's). The only reason Boston came into their mix was when all three of them attended Harvard University.
Anyway, blah blah blah -- believe it or not, this post really isn't about Dean Wareham, although I do recommend the book. The fact that Wareham and I grew up in the same neighborhood was already resonating with me as I was reading, but then I came across the passage below and really lit up:
We bought our vinyl at King Karol Records on Eighty-fifth street and Third Avenue, where Bryan Gregory of The Cramps worked, or at Disc-O-Mat in Grand Central Station. We would venture downtown to Freebeing Records on Second Avenue (next to Gem Spa) and Bleecker Bob's on MacDougal Street, where I tried to get a job. "Who recorded 'In the Still of the Night'?" asked Bob himself.I didn't get the job.
Obviously, Wareham name-checking haunts like Bleecker Bob's and Freebeing strikes the predictable chords, and I, too, was no stranger to that Disc-O-Mat (it was fairly grubby at the time -- the space it once occupied is now a Banana Republic, I want to say). But it's the King Karol reference -- and the bombshell that Bryan Gregory allegedly worked there -- that caught me by surprise.
I've spent a lot of time rhapsodizing the many, vanished record shops of downtown Manhattan, but as a nascent rock fan during my grade school years in the late 70's and very early 80's (i.e. before I'd had the opportunity to explore all of Manhattan as an older and arguably savvier individual), I made do with the uptown options, and King Karol was certainly a regular stop. Perched, as Wareham cites, between East 86th and East 85th on Third Avenue, King Karol was a fairly straightforward store that didn't go out of its way to cater to any particular type of music fan or demographic. Off the top of my head, I remember buying my first David Bowie cassette there (Diamond Dogs), several 7" singles, and LP versions of Comedy is Not Pretty by Steve Martin and, in later years, Only Theatre of Pain by Christian Death and The Gospel According to the Meninblack by The Stranglers. Those last two selections might seem pretty exotic for a middle-of-the-road chain store like King Karol, but maybe their placement therein had something to do with their supposed former employee, the late Bryan Gregory.
For those who might be unfamiliar with him, Bryan Gregory was the original rhythm guitarist for psychobilly pioneers, The Cramps (I extolled the merits of this mighty band upon the sad demise of their towering lead singer, Lux Interior, a couple of times back in 2009, and more recently tracked down the site of a particular photograph of the band down in the West Village). While I'd certainly spied their name and endearingly creepy album covers over the years, I didn't get to lay ears on The Cramps' inimitable music until my freshman year of college in 1985, when I borrowed a copy of their debut album, Gravest Hits from a senior who lived down the hall. I remember being particularly struck by their high-octane cover of Roy Orbison's "Domino" and their equally bonkers rendition of "Surin' Bird" (also covered in similarly adrenalized fashion by their buddies in The Ramones -- who covered it first?) Below is Stephanie Chernikowski's photographs of the live Cramps experience, which graces the back cover of Gravest Hits. I believe this photo was taken at The Ritz. Click on it to enlarge and marvel at it.
In any case, the characters in The Cramps were completely larger than life. Beyond the celebrated couple of vocalist Lux Interior and Poison Ivy Rorschach on guitar, you had implausibly cool and immaculately bequiffed drummer Nick Knox, and then there was Bryan Gregory. A dead-ringer for a young, more feral Boris Karloff, Bryan Gregory invariably deserves more credit than he's ever received for creating a signature goth look. Slim, savage, sharply dressed and sporting a white, face-obscuring forelock of hair (the pre-cursor to the Misfits' devil-lock), Gregory's monstrous look was matched in equal parts by the furious din of polka-dotted, Flying V Gibson. The perfect fuzzy foil to Poison Ivy's vicious twang, Gregory's guitar-playing packed a modern, punky punch behind the band's more retro-leaning sonic aesthetic. Check out the breakdown on "TV Set" off Songs the Lord Taught Us for quintessential Bryan Gregory.
Anyway, while I became a rabid Cramps fan later in life, during the time that I was regularly patronizing King Karol, I invariably had no clue who they were, much less that one of their members might have been manning the register whilst I was purchasing albums by Kiss, Pink Floyd and Queen. It also boggles the mind to think that someone like Bryan Gregory would be able to stomach working on the staid, sleepy reaches of Yorkville on the Upper East Side, when I’d sooner imagine him working at likelier shops like Rocks In Your Head or something. Still, if Wareham is to believed, I guess Bryan just went where the opportunity was.
Not that I have any reason to doubt Dean's account, but the Wikipedia page about Bryan Gregory suggests that both he "met Cramps member Lux Interior at a mutual job they shared at a record store in NYC." Meanwhile, according to this sprawling article on the genesis of The Cramps, Lux and Poison Ivy first went into jam with Bryan Gregory and his drummer sister Pam Balaam in "the basement of the Musical Maze record store."
Some quick Googling asserts that there was a Musical Maze on 23rd street and Third Avenue, but I also seeeeeeeem to remember (and this is going really far back) that there was a record store on Third Avenue between 83rd and 84th (just a block south of that King Karol) that may have also been called Musical Maze (a spot fleetingly later occupied by a Crazy Eddie outlet prior to opening a bigger location (two floors) on East 86th between Lexington and Third Avenue.
Back to that King Karol, though, I’ve annoyingly had a devil of time finding any pictures of the King Karol in question. I didn’t have the forethought to snap one at the time (honestly, it wasn’t much to look at), but I can’t find any photographic evidence of its existence on that strip, which is a shame (if you have a picture – please let me know!) Today, the building that housed the store (along with a few other stores on that block) is no longer there, predictably replaced by a big, modern condo with brand new businesses on the ground floor. You’d really never know it was the same strip, alas. Here's a shot, prized from Flickr, of the strip King Karol was on (looking south from north side of East 86th).
CRAZY ADDENDUM: Spotted on WE ONLY NEED THREE CHORDS, check out this shot of the late Lux Interior of the Cramps "selling records at Musical Maze on Lexington at 85th." The plot thickens! To my knowledge, there was never a record shop on that strip of Lexington.
Like I said, the Musical Maze (if that's what it was called) that I seem to remember was on Third Avenue between 85th and 84th. My recollections of it are thin, but I recall standing in there, holding a copy of Kiss' Rock and Roll Over and being struck by all these Kiss albums they had that I didn't recognize (there was a reason for this.... they were bootlegs, a concept I couldn't get my head around at the time). I also remember a huge Judas Priest poster.
Okay, as promised, herewith the best bits from the bottom of the lost box (that being the final [?] cache of my old photographs that I stashed into Manhattan Mini-Storage back in the early 00's) As I mentioned in that previous post, these are pics that never "made the cut" the first time around (i.e. that didn't get put into any of my photo albums in the era prior to "upgrading" to a digital camera). I'm putting them up now not because they're fantastic, brilliantly-composed photos (they're not), but because they showcase places and things that are simply no longer there. In that capacity, I find them captivating. Hopefully, you will too.
The shot above is one I snapped somewhere in the East Village. I couldn't give you the address or a backstory if you paid me, but I suppose I was just enchanted that someone would take the time to spell out "ROTGUT" on their front door.
Beneath is the entrance to the late and deeply lamented Cedar Tavern, a joint I've wept repeatedly about on this weblog. Even before it was "my local," it was a favorite of mine, and the hours I spent within its walls were plentiful and fondly remembered. As you doubtlessly recall, it was closed and ultimately gutted in order to accommodate an artless condominium that (a) no one seems to want to live in and (b) is already undergoing a facelift. The ground floor that the Cedar once occupied remains utterly vacant.
Below is the former Laight Street exterior to Wetlands Preserve, a fabled rock club of the 1990s that, while initially a haven for the noodly jam band set, played host to a dizzying variety of music. Be you a burly skinhead, a goateed jazzbo, a bedenimed metalhead, a foppish indie anglophile or a hemp-huffing hippie, one of your favorite artists invariably played at Wetlands at one point or another. It closed, I believe, over "quality-of-life" infractions to the bloating residential community of TriBeCa (once an endearingly desolate backwater, now a hotbed of monied exclusivity). It's now an emporium of bespoke bedwear.
The shot below isn't the greatest, but this is the former facade of Coney Island High on St. Marks Place. From the looks of it, this was taken after the club had been shuttered (notice the Corcoran Group's "for lease" sign). Prior to Coney Island High, the space in question played host to Jesse Malin's GreendoorNYC parties (a weekly punky bacchanalia) before morphing into a two-storied club. If memory serves, I was fortunate enough to see bands like Firewater, The Damned, The Dandy Warhols, The Dickies, L.E.S. Stitches, The Dictators, The Pristeens, Nashville Pussy and a couple of Joey Ramone's annual birthday bills in Coney Island High's intimate staging area. Like Wetlands above, it too was singled out for "quality of life" infractions (I seem to remember a Village Voice cover story about it) and was shut down. It's now a noodle shop.
This is just a quick shot of a tribute to the fallen Dee Dee Ramone that was pasted up between CBGB and the entrance to litigious Muzzy Rosenblatt's Bowery Residents' Committee (the operation that forced CB's to close its doors). This was presumably snapped in 2002.
Below is a weathered flyer for a Firewater/Elysian Fields gig at the Bowery Ballroom in 1999 (and it was a great show) that was pasted up on the exterior to 295 Bowery (otherwise renowned as McGurk's Suicide Hall). 295 Bowery fell to the wrecking ball, and the space where it once stood is now a gleaming condo of glass and steel.
A selection of distressed flyers and street art from a doorway on Bleecker Street between Lafayette and Bowery. I inevitably took this out of my fandom for Missing Foundation.
The silhouetted figure is Andy from Route 66 Records at 99 MacDougal Street. This was the second incarnation of Route 66 (it was first located on a more westerly strip of Bleecker Street). Andy was a great (if entirely excitable) gent. The shop closed and became a variety of eateries in more recent years. Given the Bjork poster on the window (advertising SelmaSongs), I'm assuming this was taken circa 2000. Downstairs from Route 66 was the former home of 99 Records in the 1980s.
Below is the former community center on St. Mark's Place, also referred to as The Dom and the Electric Circus, I believe. If I'm not mistaken, the Velvet Underground performed an early gig there ... as did, er... Billy Joel in the video for "A Matter of Trust." It was later gutted and is now plays host to a Chipotle, a grocery store and was fleetingly home to a CBGB-merchandise outlet that failed. To its left, pricey punk emporium Search & Destroy is still there.
This is, of course, the Astor Place cube. That's still there, of course, but I was struck by this particular photo in that it shows the former Cooper Union classroom building behind it. Notice how comparatively squat and humble it is compared to the monstrous black, sky-obscuring Death Star that currently sits there.
Here's a shot taken from Washington Square Park looking south down Laguardia Place. That is, of course, the World Trade Center in the background. There are more than enough images of the fallen towers out there, but I was struck by this shot as it shows the former NYU center on the right (again.... endearingly humble and low compared to the building that's since been erected in the same spot). During a New Music Seminar event at some point in the very early 90's, I witnessed hip-hop/rock fusionists Urban Dance Squad perform in that space. Likewise, G.G. Allin once performed there (which, in hindsight, is nigh on unbelievable). You can see footage of that event in the endearingly disturbing documentary, "Hated."
Yep....time for a gratuitous shot of a disarmingly tidy-looking CBGB. It sounds like a cliche now, but even when it was open and operational, it was hard to walk by CB's with a camera without feeling the need to capture it. I took piles of photos of it (my favorite probably being the one Bryan K. borrowed for his recent post on the venue). This particular shot isn't especially consequential, but here it is anyway.
Lastly, here's a second, parting shot of the ol' Cedar. Love it.
I know I said I was signing off for a few days, but I spotted two things today that prompted me to want to whip up another quick post before I went.
As I mentioned back on my roundup of favorite new tunes of 2012, so much of what is currently championed as this era’s greatest music just leaves me cold, clammy and filled with seething, palpable contempt. Never was this truer than today, in the wake of the Super Bowl, when practically everyone with access to a computer was feverishly vomiting all over the Internet about what an amazing artist Beyonce is (I believe I hinted at my withering disdain for “Lady Bey” here, in the wake of her global-stability-threatening lip-synching scandal). At the office, I blithely mentioned how I thought she was abjectly lacking in the talent department, and I was met with the sort of bug-eyed stares normally reserved for the pantsless hobo that wanders onto your subway car. Evidently, I’m something of an anomaly in thinking that the sun doesn’t shine out of Beyonce’s over-rhapsodized posterior.
Look, I’m just simply of the opinion that her music isn’t good enough and that she has nothing important to say. That would be fine if she was just your average pop singer, but the fact that she’s positively deified just irks the bejesus out of me. Let’s raise the bar.
But speaking of the raised bar, those unrepentant nostalgists at Slicing Up Eyeballs put up a poll for readers to vote for their favorite LP from 1980 today, and the choices are fucking staggering. Seriously, regardless of your particular cup of tea, the albums that were released in that single 12 month span are unbelievable. To name BUT A FEW…
Kings of the Wild Frontier by Adam & the Ants, In the Flat Field by Bauhaus, I Just Can’t Stop It by the English Beat, Scary Monsters (and Super Creeps) by Bowie, Catholic Boy by the Jim Carroll Band, Group Sex by the Circle Jerks, Songs the Lord Taught Us by The Cramps, Seventeen Seconds by The Cure, Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables by Dead Kennedys, Freedom of Choice by Devo, Crocodiles by Echo & the Bunnymen, Crazy Rhythms by The Feelies, Sound Affects by The Jam, Closer by Joy Division,Killing Joke by Killing Joke, the first Pretenders album, the first Psychedelic Furs album, Kaleidoscope by Siouxsie & the Banshees, Underwater Moonlight by the Soft Boys, Argybargy by Squeeze, Remain in Light by Talking Heads, Los Angeles by X, Black Sea by XTC and Colossal Youth by the Young Marble Giants.
…and those are just my personal favorites. The list is vast.
Honestly, I’m biased, as I was 13 years old at the time all these records came out and only in the beginning throes of my lifelong love of music. Will 2013’s harvest bear as much greatness? I’d wager not, but then I’m a grumpy old poop, so what do I know?
I have to head out of town this week to attend the funeral of a beloved member of my family, but I wanted to leave you with something to whet your appetite for my return.
I've been documenting my ongoing struggle to close my Varrick Street storage space for some time. Some of you might remember a couple of posts from 2010 wherein I described how I grabbed a handful of photographs from a large box of pictures that I'd stashed in that space. Well, earlier this week, I removed that entire box from storage and sifted through it this afternoon, coming up with several striking images of since-vanished places and things that I've never put up here before. I just want to share one with you now to sustain your interest.
Most of the time back then, I was pretty meticulous about noting the precise dates, but unforunately, this current batch have no information with them, and I can only guess when they were snapped.
This particular pic was probably taken in the late 90's. This was in Union Square Park, looking west between 15th and 16th Streets. In that little plaza beneath the statue, there used to be a great set of stalls that sold used compact discs, books, DVDs and other stuff. I scored some great finds there over the years and became quite friendly with the guys that ran it. I'm not sure why they were eventually forced out of there, but they were. One of'em went on to work at Academy, a vinyl shop that used to operate on East 11th street right off 4th Avenue (now gone, of course). The other dude still works around Union Square Park (now on closer to 14th Street, across from the Staples), selling a dizzying selection of martial arts flicks on DVD. I miss this little markeplace they had set up, though.
Also noteworthy is the Nobody Beats the Wiz outlet across the street ... which is now an American Eagle clothiers. I'd totally forgotten that was once a Wiz, not that I'd ever spent money there.
Anyway, if you enjoy crap like this, please come back soon, as there are a lot more comin'!!
You may remember a post I put up back in December wherein I went off on a photo mission with my little ones to try to divine the precise locations of ... and replicate ... certain photographs of notable rock-types loitering stylishly around the streets of the city. Well, this weekend -- with my wife still away on a family matter -- I found myself in need of an activity to fill Saturday with my little kids in-between errands. As such, we found ourselves around Gramercy, following in some fairly fabled footsteps. We'd have attempted more, but it got pretty dang cold after a bit. In any case, here's some of the fun we had.
I only recently spotted this great shot of David Johansen of the New York Dolls by way of this excellent site. This is, of course, our David blocking traffic at the bottom end of Lexington Avenue. Taken by one Gary Green in 1977, this shot finds the erstwhile Doll looking south into what would be Gramercy Park. To his right -- just out of shot -- is the Gramercy Park Hotel, but more about that later. Below David is our take, which was fairly tricky, being that there was a steady stream of cars on the street.
Speaking of Cars, here's Ebet Roberts' take of the fledgling Cars in almost the exact same spot (originally spotted in the amazing collection, "Blank Generation Revisited." Apart from maybe the Chelsea Hotel, the Gramercy Park Hotel was the go-to rock n' roll hotel, given its proximity to the promise of downtown just steps from its entrance. It looks totally different today, but you can catch a glimpse of what it used to look like in the video for the Psychedelic Furs' "Run and Run," a vid I've put up here a few times.
I quite enjoy Oliver faithfully mimicking guitarist Elliot Easton's pose in this pairing.
Here's a newsflash: I've never given a rat's ass about Bob Dylan. Sure, loads of my friends -- let alone musicians' whose work I greatly enjoy -- cite Dylan as a massive influence, but I just can't get into it. Not sure if it's the voice or just the fact that he's so universally deified, but I can't seem to get it. I certainly respect the man, but don't ask me to get excited about his music. That all said, since we were in Gramercy Park, I thought I'd tip my hat to the great Bob Egan (a Bob whose work I have more time for) and pay homage to the cover of Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited. The steps in question are inaccessible today ... but we got up real close.
No rock-informed trip to this neighborhood would be complete without a swing by the former site of Max's Kansas City. Much like the Mudd Club, I never actually darkened the doors of this hallowed venue at 213 Park Avenue South, being that I was only 14 years old when it closed its doors, but its legacy is rich in the annals of rock history. From the Velvet Underground to Bob Marley to Suicide to Devo to Sid Vicious to even KISS (I think) and all points in between, anyone who was anyone played Max's. Today, that storied legacy is sullied by the fact that it's now a friggin' deli.
Back in March of 2012, you may remember, I penned a weepy paean to the idiocy of ever opening a mini-storage space in Manhattan. Almost a year later, I'm still trying to get all my stuff out of it, close the fucker and stop the financial bleeding. But I made a giant step towards that goal recently when I procured a storage space right here in the basement of my building. If I really had any moxie, I'd simply take everything out of my storage space on Varrick and Van Dam, dump it in the street and set it on fire, but that's just not on the menu. So, I'm currently emptying that one, and cramming it into the (pointedly smaller) space downstairs, which is forcing me to ditch stuff along the way. That all said, I am within measurable distance of consolidating everything and closing up the Varrick Street space, so that's a good thing.
In recent days, Peg's had to be out of town on a sudden family matter, to the point where I actually had to take a day or two off from work to tend to our kids and put some affairs in order. In the interim and fleeting moments of downtime, I seized the opportunity to remove a few more crates from the downtown space and haul them up here. These were filled with my hastily packed vinyl from years back.
After the few days of solo parenting, I've been unwinding each night by cracking open the crates and exhuming my old 45s, 12" singles and LPs. Similarly, I've been torturing my friends on Facebook with these pictures, seeing who can name them all. Think you can? (Click on pics to enlarge).
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