Just a quick one. I was originally going to write a long rumination about this closed shop (until very recently a t-shirt place on the corner of Christopher and Greenwich, just west of Sixth Avenue), but considered that maybe not everyone is as hung up about t-shirts as I am. Yes, they sold pre-faded rock tees, but they had some curious items from time to time. The last shirt I’d picked up there as a gift for someone — a brown t-shirt with the old IRS Records logo.
In any case, after at least a couple of decades of holding on, the shop is evidently now gone for good — along with several other little businesses up and down Greenwich, to say nothing of the Village in general.
It’s becoming a ghost town.
It’s not that the t-shirt shop was necessarily a crucial contributor to the fabric of the community, but I can’t think of another independent shop like it left in the city, and it will doubtlessly be replaced by a chain of some kind.
Give your favorite independent shops your patronage now … while they’re still standing.
Sophie Bramly - Afrika Bambaataa & Crew, E. 12th Street, Greenwich Village, NYC, 1983...Sidenote...That is the famed Asti Italian Restaurant across the street behind them. Asti was unique in that many of the waiters were professional Opera Singers who routinely performed for the restaurant guests. Asti first opened in 1924, and was open for over 75 years before closing in early 2000.
I actually used to live just east of this spot for about six years. Asti was still there when I moved in in 1996. After it closed in 2000, the space re-opened as a frankly gaudy steak joint called The Strip House, largely lacking any of Asti’s charm and character.
One night in the mid-90’s, as I was walking home from some event in the West Village, a matronly lady came swanning out of Asti, asking me if I could help her open the front door to her apartment building. The entrance of which was accessed via the same vestibule that led in Asti. Being the helpful chap that I was, I obliged. She’d indeed gotten her key stuck, but I swiftly managed to get the door open — only to find her zealously groping me. I politely declined her advances and was on my way. Ahh,.... youth.
Other observations: This would have been taken right in front of Cinema Village, and Mike D. of the Beastie Boys used to live pretty adjacent to this spot, if memory serves.
And Afrika Bambaataa, of course, is a goddamn legend.
I’d intended to post the clip at the bottom of this post upon the 25th anniversary of the release of “Groove is in the Heart,” but couldn’t seem to find it when the time came (and went). But, Flaming Pablum comrade and disarmingly loyal reader Miles B. re-unearthed it on Facebook, so I’m dutifully revisiting.
The video I mean, of course, is Deee-Lite in all their kitschy glory, performing “Groove is in the Heart” at Wigstock, under the (since razed) Tompkins Square Park bandshell in 1990.
Though this might seem like yet another “oh, things were so much better in my day” rant (guilty as charged, your honor), it has to be said that the very early 90’s were such a great, fertile time in music. I mean, — yeah, there was grunge, but that was only part of the landscape. At the dawn of the decade, Hip Hop was blowing up, with Public Enemy in their full stride, having just released Fear of a Black Planet (arguably their last crucial record), and the whole Native Tongue scene happening, with A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, the Jungle Brothers, Monie Love and more. British indie rock was completely exploding as well (which found me regularly attending the Marquee to see bands like Pop WilL East Itself, the Wonder Stuff, The Wedding Present, Lush, Ride, Curve, Chapterhouse and many more). Meanwhile, NYC still had its own roiling underground of noisy bands like Pussy Galore, the Unsane, Prong, Helmet, Surgery, Foetus, SWANS and — WAIT FOR IT — Cop Shoot Cop keeping things interesting. There was no shortage of great stuff.
The early 90’s was also the final stretch of New York City’s love affair with the concept of “the big club,” with venus like the Limelight and The Palladium (to name but two) still in full swing. And out of that frenzied scene, of course, sprang Deee-Lite.
It sounds like rose-tinted hyperbole now, of course, but I didn’t know a single soul around that time that *didn’t* like “Groove is in the Heart.” I mean, sure — there had been a few monster dance numbers that had made the rounds like Technotronic’s “Pump Up the Jam,” Rob Base and DJ EZ-ROck’s “It Takes Two” and Soul II Soul’s “Back to Life," but “Groove is in the Heart” seemed to make an impact on an entirely new level. Deee-Lite had style, panache and were an organic entity with personality (something sorely missing in today’s EDM scene, if you ask me). Regardless of one’s preferences and genre affiliations, “Groove is in the Heart” was undeniable. Let’s review, shall we?
The track is built around an sinuous sample of Herbie Hancock’s “Bring Down the Birds,” a suitably funky slice of the score of Michelangelo Antonioni’s “Blow-Up” (my second favorite film of all time, after “After Hours.”)
Contributors to the proceedings include a middle-eight rap from Q-Tip from A Tribe Called Quest (who I’d seen perform a year earlier at a private party at Nell’s, thrown by my then-quasi-employers at SPIN Magazine) as well as funk legends Bootsy Collins and Fred Wesley of Parliament’s Horny Horns.
There are lyrical allusions to both Succotash and Dr. Seuss’ “Horton Hears a Who.”
Lady Miss Goddamn Kier!!
I remember getting a copy of the single as a freebie in the promo swag-bag for the 1990 New Music Seminar. It was a split with a British band called The Heartthrobs (they had a minor hit with “Dreamtime” in 1990, before splitting in `93). It seemed like overnight, this record went from underground hit to global smash.
Strangely, it was not to last for Deee-lite. They released some other singles, and at least a second LP, but failed to sustain the momentum (they got kinda eco-conscious, if memory serves).
I wasn’t at this Wigstock, alas, and never saw Deee-Lite live, although I did run into DJ Dimitry in an eye-glass shop on St. Marks Place. I also bought DJ Towa Tei’s first solo album, which had the excellent “Batucada” on it.
Today, the Tompkins Square Bandshell — which played host to everyone from Deee-Lite to Nausea to Missing Foundation to the False Prophets and beyond — is long gone. Wigstock still happens, of course — not that I’ve been in a while.
Regardless, enjoy this trip back through time. More pics of Deee-Lite at Wigstock in 1990 (like the one above) can be found here.
My friend Susan Fensten posted the below image on Facebook this morning, and it pretty much blew a new part in my hair, given my preoccupations with Astor Place.
Summer's just about finished up. Soon, we'll be packing up the kids and the gear and heading back to the city. In the interim, things have been happening. Hopefully I'll have some official news to report soon of a positive variety. Regardless, I do hope you're all making the most of your summers.
Above was a shot of Oliver I took about two weeks back as a half-assed tribute to Neil Young's On the Beach (see below).
I had a job interview earlier this week, and after our discussion, the representative from the outlet asked if I could send them some examples of my writing. I dutifully responded with a clutch of relatively recent pieces I’d composed for The Mid, TODAY, MSNBC and MTV News, along with a link to the blog you’re currently reading.
Just to be thorough, though, I decided to dig a little deeper and include some pieces I’d done during my days at TIME, notably Bono’s eulogy for Joey Ramone (I didn’t write it, obviously, but I orchestrated it and interviewed him for it, as I recounted here). I was also pleased to find that several interviews I’d conducted for a special music issue of TIME back in 2001 were still to be found online.
Here’s the backstory. TIME decided to devote an entire issue called “Music Goes Global,” which went out of its way to highlight artists from a wide array of genres from all corners of the planet. While I was technically still just a News Desk Editor, my reputation as a pedantic music fiend had managed to open a few doors, and I was asked if I’d like to contribute. I said yes, of course, and spent much of that spring and early summer working on it.
My assignment was to conduct interviews for a series of sidebars they were going to call “Postcards.” The directive was to choose distinctive artists from major areas. To represent Europe and the British Isles, we chose Shirley Manson of Garbage. To speak for Asia, I chatted on the phone with martial arts action hero Jackie Chan (who is also a singing sensation in his native Hong Kong). For Africa, I spoke with Senegal’s Youssou N’Dour. I spoke with former Fugee Wyclef Jean about Haiti and the Caribbean. Lastly, I selected Mike D. of the Beastie Boys to talk about New York City.
The interviews were all pretty memorable for me. Shirley Manson was affable, chatty and hilarious. My phoner with Jackie Chan was something of a nightmare, being that Jackie’s English wasn’t all that hot, and without being able to see him face to face, transcribing the conversation was a true chore. For my interview with Youssou N’Dour, I had to travel to a strangely clandestine destination in an unassuming brownstone up in Harlem on a swelteringly hot day. N’Dour was a little standoffish, and used an interpreter, despite the fact that I believe he speaks English fluently. By contrast, Wycleft was an amiable chatty-cathy, giving me much more than I’d ever need.
The Q&A I was most excited for, of course, though, was Mike D. As a dyed-in-the-wool fan of the Beastie Boys and fellow native New Yorker, there was plenty I wanted to chat with the founding Beastie Boy about, and he was game to oblige.
Given prevailing themes of this weblog (NYC and music, basically), I thought it was ripe for inclusion. I remember being surprised to learn that Mike was an early fan of Elvis Costello. I’m not sure if his project with Bhangra artist Bhagavan Das ever saw the light of day. I sought some of his music out on YouTube, and it’s not really my thing.
Anyway, I was quite pleased to find it online, despite the fact that the preamble I'd penned for it (and each of the surviving "Postcard" interviews, for that matter) was strangely excised.
CODA: Unfortunately, the “Music Goes Global” issue had something of a anticlimactic fruition. The tactile issue of the magazine hit newsstands on September 15, 2001. Four days earlier, two planes slammed into the towers of the World Trade Center, changing New York City — and the world — forever. In the immediate wake of that tumultuous event, no one really gave that much of damn about a TIME special about music. Such is life.
Fourteen years later, the interviews with Youssou N’Dour and Jackie Chan didn’t make it online, but you can read my Q&A’s with Shirley Manson (that's her above) and Wyclef Jean here and here.
Pretty much apropos of nothing at all, I was combing through ILX last night and found a link back to an excellent essay by Jess Harvell regarding the indisputable truth that the Misfits (we’re talking, of course, about the Danzig-era… captured above by Bill Daniel at the Ritz on East 11th Street in January of `83) were “the most mythic of all New Jersey artists.” Even though it was penned back when the earth was young and the skies were practically filled with pteradactyles (well, 2009), it remains entirely on the money.
As if you needed any reminding, the Misfits are one of the precious few bands whose music just makes me full-on, uncontrollably smile. As such, I hastily compiled a list of what I’d consider to be their twenty greatest tracks, … so you can smile along with me.
Like it matters, these are in order, but that order is subject to change depending on mood. Of course, there are also numerous recordings and different versions of several of these tracks, but I'm not getting into that ... or we'd be here all day.
It’s sobering to realize that we’re already in mid-August, eh? Again, I’m sorry for the relative slowdown in content placement here, but it being the summer — as I’ve been laboriously explaining — I’m currently bouncing between NYC and my mom’s place out on Long Island. Once the summer comes to a close, I suspect my activity here will pick back up.
I’m back in the city at the moment, here for a job interview. Once done with that, I’ll zip back out to the Island. But as I wait for the appointed hour to arrive, I thought I’d check in here and toss something your way.
Below is a curious collection of clips by filmmaker Anton Perich of Max’s Kansas City. At this stage of the proceedings, I should point out that I am far too young to have ever darkened the doors of that hallowed establishment, but its place in the history of the music of New York City cannot be overstated. Today, of course, Max's is long gone. The space it occupied is now a nondescript deli called Fraiche Maxx.
A series of short clips from Max's Kansas City by Anton Perich. This is the edited version of the video in the Max's Kansas City exhibition held at the Steven Kasher Gallery from September 15, 2010-October 9, 2010. See more images from the show here: http://stevenkasher.com/html/exhibres….
Addendum: Regular reader, ace photo sleuth and Flaming Pablum friend Chung Wong had a little context to add on Facebook...
This is a photo of Andrea Feldman by Anton Perich. Pretty sure that is her in the footage. She died Aug 8, 1972, after summoning all her ex-boyfriends including Jim Carroll to witness what she called her "final starring role. ” She then jumped out of her 14fl apt at 51 Fifth Ave.
Enjoy the video. Back soon. Be good to each other.
As mentioned recently in this post, I’m currently winding my way through Sean Egan’s collection of interviews with ol’ Ziggy, “Bowie on Bowie.” I was struck yesterday by a particular passage. During a chat circa 1989 with all the members of the star-crossed Tin Machine, Bowie unleashed this somewhat surprising revelation.
Q: Have you listened to very much hardcore?
Bowie: Thrash metal I *LOVE*. Or Speed Metal. It's actually been around America for a while. It kicked off in about `78 or `79 in California. It's become the California sound in a way. Now New York has picked up on it. Actually, I say I love it, it depends on who the band are.
Seems like ol' Dave might have been confusing his chronology and his terms (although, to be fair, with so many sub-genre qualifiers like "hardcore," "thrash," "speed-metal," one might forgive him). And if he's talking about "thrash" or "speed-metal," I don't believe that really got started until about 1981 or so. If it's hardcore -- as in "hardcore punk" -- he's referring to, he may be correct, although some might strenuously quibble with his assertion that it "kicked off" in California.
I wonder if this was inspired by his then-recent stint of sharing camera time with Cro-Mags founder Harley Flanagan and other members of the NYHC gang during the video shoots for that first Tin Machine album (as I discussed here). Regardless, I love the notion of Bowie “loving” all things thrash, as much as it’s sort of a mental disconnect.
To be fair, Bowie’s always been a remarkably open-eared individual. Several years back, I remember spotting the great man himself grinning approvingly from the balcony at Webster Hall during a rafter-shaking performance by the Secret Machines (as I documented on this prehistoric post).
Bowie was also usually pretty clued into what was happening at the moment, whether consciously or not. Witness his early championing of Devo, his dalliance with Klaus Nomi, and Bob Gruen’s shot of him below of hanging out at the Mudd Club with the late Linda Stein, Danny Fields and the brothers Ramone. One wonders what sort of chat Bowie had with Dee Dee.
Inspired by that quote, I tried of find any evidence of Bowie checking out any thrash bands, but came up largely empty (although I did find a fairly amusing cover of “Let’s Dance” by funereally Teutonic metal band, Atrocity). If Bowie ever went to check out anyone like Anthrax or Exodus or Slayer, I couldn’t find any pictures of it.
Perhaps he was just trying to beef up Tin Machine’s wafer-thin cred with the metal crowd at the time (who largely ignored Tin Machine, as did most of the rest of the world). Personally speaking, I still really like that first record. Can’t say I ever heard its sequel.
Regardless, this seemed like a good excuse to exhume both Bowie’s Tin Machine turn at the Ritz on East 11th Street (featuring fleeting cameos by New York hardcore alumni Harley Flanagan and Stephen from False Prophets). It would be in this very same room pictured sixteen years later that I’d spy Bowie in the balcony at that Secret Machines gig.
And, lastly, here’s Bowie and Trent Reznor doing “I’m Afraid of Americans,” paying homage to Scrosese films like “Taxi Driver” and — WAIT FOR IT — “After Hours.” This is one of my most favorite NYC-centric videos ever.
Recent Comments