Following in the great cull of musicians that 2016 has revealed itself to be, we lost Tony Conrad a little over a week ago. I’m not going to lie and tell you what a huge fan of his I was, as -– truthfully -– I was only dimly aware of his work and his involvement with avant garde music and film. Hell, the only reason I really know anything about him at all is because of the album he did with those Krautrockers in Faust, Outside the Dream Syndicate from 1973. It was only through that album that I learned of his connections to the Velvet Underground and all the rest of it.
Don’t get me wrong, though. I don’t own that album. I’ve only spied its strange, vaguely forbidding cover glaring back at me from the racks of many an exactingly esoteric record store. I always kinda thought the portrait of Conrad on the cover -– wherein he looks only slightly serial killer-ish -– sort of resembled my friend Tod [A], former Cop Shoot Cop mouthpiece and current Firewater ringleader. They had similar hair, at least.
In any case, the mere sighting of a copy of Outside the Dream Syndicate in a record or disc shop would almost immediately broadcast the message that this was a shop worth spending time and probably money in, as the only people I know who knew, owned, listened and loved this record were individuals of admirably adventurous taste. When I did finally sit down and hear the album myself a few years back, I can’t say it immediately grabbed me (Live at Budokan IT AIN’T), but it’s a dense, layered and compelling listening experience to be sure.
But I’m not here to review an album from fortysomething years ago. No, I’m only writing on this because of the photo below. Herewith we see the youthful Tony Conrad braving the mean streets of Manhattan on a trusty bicycle at some point in the 1960’s. Here’s my question…
What street is he on?
Get to it.
Oh, and here’s Outside the Dream Syndicate. You needn’t go put your dancing pants on.
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