Flaming Pablum

Forbidden Broadway: The Sequel

Here's a bit of an update to this post from 2012.

As I mentioned there, I've always been a big fan of East 12th and Broadway. Yes, it was the original home of Forbidden Planet, and later my own corner when I lived there between 1996 and 2003, but I also just love the visual aesthetic of the corner. If you approach it from the east (say, on the southeast corner), the building on northwest corner looks like the bow of a vast ship.

In any case, I found a couple of interesting pictures that I thought I'd add to the equation.

Here's that corner today in 2014. It's an immaculatey clean if cripplingly characterless Pret A Manger.

Here it was back in 2003. I took this shortly before I moved off the block. The corner business at this point was a shoe out called No Difference. Obviously, there was a massive protest going on about the Bush Administration's decision to go into Iraq. 

Here's a shot of the corner when it stil played host to the original Forbidden Planet in 1989. This was taken by Andrew Buckle. See more of his work here.

Below is a shot from a vantage point slightly more to the east. No clue what year, but I'm guessing the `60's or early `70s.

Lastly, here's that same corner in 1913...

Trying to Tell a Vision: Slight Return

Regular readers might remember a photo quiz I put up back in February of 2012 wherein I tried to pinpoint the exact location of a fabled Godlis portrait of Television (see above). Flaming Pablum comrade Bob Egan of Popspots, of course, named the spot with a surgeon's precision as being the southwest corner of East 9th and First Avenue. Some time after that, Stupefaction's Tim B. hipped Godlis to the quiz and even he weighed in. I hate to sound like the late Chris Farley, but that was awesome.

In any case, I can never pass that particular plot without thinking of the incident. This evening, I meant to take my kids to dinner at our beloved Veselka on on the corner of 9th and Second Avenue, but it was mobbed, with a 25 minute wait (not an option with two little kids), so we strolled deeper into the East Village. As soon as we hit the corner in question, I couldn't help but replicate the shot once again.

Up on The Roof

A completely ridiculous collection of music videos shot on New York City rooftops. Enjoy, and get yourselves outside.

Am I missing any? Weigh in. 

 

Six Years in New York City

In terms of things that really make my heart race, as pathetic as this may sound, there are few things that can compare with discovering a new cache of vintage photographs of New York City. I’ve found a couple in my day, and brought them to share with you here. It doesn’t happen too often, but every now and then, I strike oil. And it happened again today.

Given the recent amount of insane bullshit going on University Place (sudden closings to make way for luxury condos, etc.), I was scouring around the `Net for some old photos of the neighborhood that pre-date the bespoke influx, so to speak. That trail inevitably lead to Flickr, and suddenly to the work of one Patrick Cummins.

A Canadian archivist specializing in photographic, cartographic and architectural records, Mr. Cummins displays an exhaustive array of impressive photos on his Flickr page, but it’s the set dubbed “NYC 78-83” that really blew a new part in my hair.

Everyone talks about how “gritty” New York City used to be, and it’s almost become this quaint little descriptor that people blithely toss around, but Cummins’ photographs hit you like a sooty, graffiti-slathered stone. His remarkably composed black and white shots of various city spaces can be chilling and stark, revealing a great city in decline. Suddenly, your eye fixes on some random architectural flourish or landmark, and you recognize the location. More than a few of these pictures had me positively gasping.

Herein you’ll see some evocative shots of Harlem, Chinatown, Coney Island, SoHo and Times Square, but he also stole a few moments of Flaming Pablum favorites like the exterior of CBGB or the interior of Bleecker Bob’s.

For this post, I’m respectfully repurposing his shot from April of 1983 of Stromboli’s Pizza on University Place (which just closed after 47 years to make room for that luxury condo I was groaning about). I also couldn't resist posting the photo below. Recognize it? That's the corner of East 4th and Broadway. Today, that corner spot is occupied by the MLB Mancave, but it became Tower Records only a few years after this shot was taken in 1979. I also, of course, love the "Blondie" and "Rock Lobster" graffitti.

Set some time aside to spend with Mr. Cummins’ images. They’re well worth it.

No Escape from the Funhouse

Some of you might remember an epic length entry I posted back in 2005 wherein I recounted my sorry saga of procuring Rhino Handmade's lovingly limited box set, 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions by the Stooges. In a nutshell, after having been a devout fan of both the band and, more specifically, Funhouse, the original album in question, I was easily taken in by the shiny promise of this seven-disc box set's ultimate Funhouse experience. As described in that weepy post, however, I found 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions to be a sobering exercise in needless excess and a painful revelation of the folly of we so-called "collector scum."

As its title suggests, 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions contains virtually every single recorded take that went into crafting the Stooges' seminal second LP. I bought the box set in 2000, and probably only played in all the way through once, if even that. I mean, I don't care how big a fan you are of a particular album, no one needs to listen to thirty consecutive takes of any song. Even if you're curious, you're not likely to revisit the thing too often.

As such, I didn't. In our previous apartment, the Stooges box lived on a high dusty shelf, only to be spied at from afar. When we moved in 2002, the Stooges box --- along with several other box sets by bands like Iron Maiden, Queen, the Velvet Underground, XTC, Motorhead, U2, Kiss, Black Sabbath, The Stranglers and a few others -- was relegated to my cramped front hall closet. In fact, I don't think it's even seen the light of day until this past weekend, when I dug it out from the behind a bag of cassettes and piggy bank shaped like Space Ghost.

Maybe it seems poorly timed -- or even disrespectful -- in the wake of the untimely demise of stoic and burly Stooges drummer Scotty "Rock Action" Asheton, but on this past Sunday, I decided that it might be the right time to finally part with the thing.

In the spirit of spring cleaning and motivated by a sudden need to fire up some cash, I removed 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions from my closet. You see, in an effort to be efficient and responsible, I'd been a little over-diligent in paying some of my bills, and had recently fired off a particularly big check a little too early. And as they are perfectly entitled to do, the recipients of that check went ahead and cashed it upon receipt. In doing so, they'd effectively liquidated my cash supply for a few tight, nervous days. Prompted by same, I looked around my apartment to see what might be transformed into a wad of bills, and being that I'd paid such a handsome pile for it upon its release, I thought the sale of the Stooges box might get my wallet back where it needed to be. I'd seen the box set fetch some respectable sums on eBay, but I didn't have the time or patience for that. I carefully placed it in a backpack and walked out my door.

Now, time was when there were literally scores of used record shops and hives of furtive rock geekery that would have been happy to entertain the notion of buying 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions from me, but as evidenced in several tear-stained, melancholy posts here, most of those places are long out of business. I decided that my first stop was going to be Academy on West 18th Street. Staffed by a savvy crew and stocked with an ample supply of rare discs, I figured they would at least recognize my offering, respect it, and maybe offer me an appropriate amount of money for it.

Indeed, while carefully examining the discs from the box, the hirsute gents behind the counter couldn't help but remark how "unloved" (translation: largely unplayed) they looked. Restoring all seven discs to the box and punching a few keys on a computer, they turned to me and said. "We'll give you $70.00 for it." It took a couple of seconds for that to sink it. I smiled, thanked them, told them I'd think about it, and put the Stooges box back in my backpack.

Being that I paid over twice that amount for it initially, I couldn't really justify (or tolerate) parting with the thing for under a hundred bucks, and even that would have stung. Here's the thing, though. People just don't buy discs anymore. I mean, sure,...idiots like myself and a paltry nation of other deluded die-hards still do, but not enough to meaningfully sustain the used compact disc market (or at least not like the vinyl market, which gets way more respect). Bloodied but unbowed, I walked back downtown to look for another potential taker.

I didn't check out Second Hand Rose on East 12th because, well, they suck. They're surly, expensive, they don't know what they have, and I resent their existence, so fuck'em. I found myself darkening the door of the new incarnation of Bleecker Street Records (now on West 4th ...in the spot formerly occupied by Disc-O-Rama a million centuries ago). Unlike the scene at Academy, the guys behind this counter had no idea 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions had ever existed. I found that dispiriting and a very bad omen. After blithely examining it, they offered me twenty bucks, which felt like a steak knife to the heart. Suffice to say, I didn't take them up on it.

Stepping out into the rain (of course), I started to realize the futility of my quest. Sure, if I'm determined to part with 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions for a respectable sum, I will have to hit Craig's List or eBay or whatnot. It was naive of me, I suppose, to think I could still find a buyer in a NYC brick'n'mortar establishment that is invariably struggling to meet its rent, let alone in an era when no one seems to care about the tactile artifacts of music anymore.

As such, 1970: The Complete Funhouse Sessions remains with me.

Altogether now....