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 slightlyserial 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 BudokanIT 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.
In the wake of the last twoposts, I just wanted to quickly expound on something, lest I run the risk of seeming oblivious, insensitive, incurious or just plain stupid.
Since about the autumn of 1984, I have had one replication or another of Mike Coles’ iconic cover of the first Killing Joke album adorn my walls. A poster of it hung in my bedroom during my latter high school years. That same poster graced the interior of each and every dormitory cell and off-campus bedroom I occupied throughout my college days (see above). Years later, as an arguable professional, I have a lovingly framed print of it in my office (you can fetch your own here).
I’ve boasted the image on myriad t-shirts over the years, and even fleetingly entertained the notion of getting a bit of it as a tattoo about twenty years back (I demurred from that one, although I have friends who proudly sport that ink).
In a nutshell, the visual representation of that first LP by Killing Joke, as I said in that first post, is inexorable from the band’s music. Those striking images are part of Killing Joke’s entirety.
That all said, of course, their origins --- as starkly captured by Don McCullin in the dark days of 1971 -– are something else entirely.
In taking a step back from the giddy search my comrade dub and I undertook in order to pinpoint the photographs' (both front cover and inner gatefold) locations, I would like to say that we deftly and respectfully side-stepped delving very deeply into the actual events transpiring in the photographs in question beyond surface details. But, in retrospect, I don’t think that’s enough.
Put plainly, the scenes depicted in McCullin’s photographs are part of a much larger and much more complicated story than a bit of provocative album cover art by a post-punk band. While “the Troubles” didn’t play out here in the United States in anywhere near the same capacity they did in Northern Ireland and in England, the story was certainly in the news. To many, the specifics of that narrative may seem abstract or convoluted, but they were very real and very serious.
Even this many decades after the fact, the conflict in that part of the world remains nothing to make light of. Regardless of one’s stance on the subject, blood was shed, lives were lost, and families were affected. For those who lived in the flashpoint of those tumultuous times, I can only imagine the sensations McCullin’s original images must continue to conjure. I sincerely doubt any of those sensations are positive.
Given the stark worldview espoused, at the time, by Killing Joke, those pictures matched their music and their sensibility to a tee, but that doesn’t negate the fact that the photos ultimately mean something else – something that doesn’t belong to anyone other than the individuals depicted. It seems easy to divorce them from their proper context, but it’s that very context that gives them their power to begin with. Killing Joke adopted those visually arresting symbols because they provoke such responses. They’re not supposed to go down smooth and easy.
But it’s somewhat shamefully easy to forget all that and get caught up in comparatively trivial minutia. With all that in mind, while I cannot and do not speak for any of the concerned parties, please understand that in putting together these posts, it was never mine nor Dub’s intentions to appear disrespectful or flippant regarding the underlying (but ultimately indelible) associations of these images.
Neither myself nor my sleuthing friend Dub had any initial inkling that our somewhat hastily assembled quest to divine the exact location of “the Killing Joke Wall” –- i.e. the particular edifice depicted in Don McCullin’s 1971 photograph from the Bogside in Derry (a.k.a Londonderry), Northern Ireland of a gang of rioters fleeing a gas attack -– was going to come together so quickly. As I explained in the original post, I’d started writing about something else entirely, only to get sidetracked by the notion of pinpointing it, and then to have the industriously resourceful Dub pick up that baton and sprint away with it like one of the hardscrabble youths on the cover.
He posted his updates to The Gathering, and then I consolidated them here and whoosh … off we went.
Here’s the thing, though. In our haste and enthusiasm, it seems myself and Dub might have jumped the gun. About a day after I posted, he got back to me. It goes without saying, at this point, that Dub has a pointedly scrupulous eye for detail. As such, he believes his initial calculations were off BY A FEW FEET (cue gasps of shock and horror and the requisite declaration of “Off with His head!”). I’ll let our man take it from here…
Hi Alex,
I took a break at work today and decided to scan through some old photographs in the RTÉ archives, and to my surprise, I came across the following two images..
Stitched together they make a third image...
These images are dated March 1972, so within 6 months of Don McCullin's original photograph.
The old aerial photograph ('72), I was now able to overlay on a Google satellite image, like so...
These new pictures lead me to believe, my first guess at where the wall was/is, was out by a few meters/feet. Instead of inside the gate as I thought, it looks like the wall is outside the gate to the left (lame joke lol). So near enough on the corner of the junction with the road from the inner sleeve. The position for the inner sleeve shot, is more or less on the button.
With that in mind I did these images...
Again due to limitations of Google Street images, I just can't quite get the right angle, to get the correct field of view, but you get the idea.
This is now the "Then & Now"
As you can no doubt see, PhotoShop (or GIMP 2, in this case), is not my forte ...lol . Hopefully someone on the Gathering email list or one of the Facebook groups can offer a better version. All the images required are available on your blog now and should one need it Google Street link here.
Also I found an old picture of City Cabs, William Street, in the archives too. Here.
Anyway, my apologies for the mistake, but all good now. I can rest easy. I guess I could have said nothing, but it would have played on my mind : )
All the best, dub
So, yes.... once again, there we have it. I now put it onto you, enterprising Gatherers, to go mount a pilgrimage to this spot and adorn the wall as you see fit (a nice plaque, perhaps?)
Actually, one more thing. In doing my own reconnaissance for these posts, I came across this striking mural from the same neighborhood, which I found here...
Maybe this is just me projecting, but doesn't the third runner in the background look like one of the original youths from the McCullin/Coles image .... notably this one on the right....?
Lastly, herewith my own homage from a few years back, when I fleetingly flirted with the idea of doing a bit of appropriation of my own ....
This post was initially prompted — I shit you not — by a t-shirt I saw for sale in the window of a posh TriBeCa pilates gym.
In this era of implied irony, misplaced nostalgia and rampant subcultural appropriation, it should no longer be shocking to see seemingly incongruous symbols or iconography employed in circles that have no tangible connection to those images' origins. Fashion waifs sport spikes and Mayhem t-shirts. Kanye West riffs on old Pushead Metallica design motifs for his concert tees. Justin Bieber wears Nirvana t-shirts. People simply adopt what they think is cool without necessarily bothering to do any research. For an insufferably pedantic purist/fanboy like myself, this sort of thing drives me right up the goddamn wall, but most people don’t seem to care, or have bigger fish to fry.
About two weeks back, I was walking home from work and spotted the iconic Misfits logo — that signature grinning skull — on a black t-shirt hanging in a TriBeCa storefront. Only, instead of the legend, “MISFITS” on the top in the old "Famous Monsters of Filmland" font, it boasted another word. That word was “Pilates.”
Both curious and miffed, I stepped inside to ask the remarkably fit young lady behind the counter about the t-shirt. “Yeah, I know — those are cool,” she chirped as I asked to look at one. I then asked if anyone from Glen Danzig or Jerry Only’s respective camps had ever gotten in touch. She looked at me blankly. “Y’know,” I tried to explain, "from the Misfits?” “Who are the Misfits?” was her reply. I said never mind and left.
I suppose it no longer matters that the design in question comes from a band. Things are now so mix-and-matched, sampled, “mashed-up," borrowed, re-imagined and "re-booted," that specific affiliations — to many peoples’ minds — seem outdated and fuddy-duddyish. Silly me for thinking that you should probably know from whence an image originates before you appropriate it for your own ends.
Of course, taking things a step further, the Misfits logo — a.k.a. "the Crimson Ghost” — was itself appropriated, its now-ubiquotous visage borrowed from a schlocky 1946 noir film series of the same name for the sleeve of the Misfits 1978 single, “Horror Business.” If I’m not mistaken, I believe the central obstacle still impeding a full-scale Misfits reunion between founders Danzig and Only is the ongoing dispute over ownership of the trademark. I’ve always wondered, however, what about Republic Pictures, the distributors of the original “Crimson Ghost” series? Don’t they have some sort of stake in it as well?
This question led me to the post below, which — in turn — took off in a different direction….
.... END OF PREAMBLE
Back in about 2004, a sort of middling New Jersey power-pop band called Smash Palace had the temerity to release an album called Over the Top. I never heard it. Musically speaking, it might have been excellent, but I never laid ears on it, so to speak. I was too busy calling for their beheadings. Why? Well, invariably due to some lack of foresight or simple ignorance on their part, they decided to grace the sleeve of this album with a very distinctive image, that being this one….
Ring any bells? If it doesn’t — don’t beat yourselves up. It’s not a crime, although it invariably means you’re probably not much of a music geek (and there’s certainly wrong with that either). For die-hard fans of a very specific and comparatively very established band — that being, of course, KILLING JOKE — said image is as close to sacrosanct as one can possibly get. Maybe you remember if from this rendering….
In a nutshell, Killing Joke released their eponymous debut album in 1980, the cover of same sheathed in this ominously iconic image. While, no, Killing Joke may not quite be a household name, but they have more than cemented themselves in great continuum of contemporary music, to say nothing of the market place. My point is that if you’re a member of a middling New Jersey power pop band, you really should have known better than to have appropriated their album cover art for your own little rinkydink collection of jangly power-pop ditties.
I’d love to say that the backlash was swift and feral, but beyond my fellow bug-eyed zealots in the Killing Joke camp, I’m not sure anyone noticed. I do remember firing off an angry e-mail to the Smash Palace website, but don’t recall if they ever bothered to get back to me. Time moved on. The world continued to rotate. In 2010, Smash Palace released an album called 7which essentially replicated the design of Revolver by the Beatles. That one seemed like less of a coincidence.
Back to the Killing Joke sleeve, though, it should be noted that said design was dreamt up and executed by one Michael Coles, an early comrade of the band, stakeholder in their indie label, Malicious Damage (which he revived and continues to run several years later) and, with most distinction, the creative mind behind most of the band’s most memorable iconography. Not just the collages of another punky-pastiche-practitioner, Mike Coles’ artwork for Killing Joke’s discography was as instrumental in cultivating the band’s palpable mystique as the music itself, steeped as it was in the same brand of disquieting otherness. Were it not for the band’s own oft-cited bloody-mindedness, Killing Joke and — commensurately — Mike Coles would be more celebrated names today. But, alas, they are not. Instead, their work is held dear by a sizable cult following who appreciate their work as if it was a lovingly-prized secret for only a few to share. In a way, it sort of is. That’s nice, but it would have been a bit nicer for Coles to see a bit more appreciation for his work. In the short term, you should check out his website, and if you’re as invested as I in his art, you should order yourselves the forthcoming collection of his design, that being the aptly named “Forty Years in the Wildnerss.” Go fetch.
Coles’ sleeve for the first Killing Joke album is essentially a manipulated version of a suitably jarring image by lauded war-photographer Don McCullin. If memory serves, the original image displays a group of Irish youth fleeing a gas attack in Northern Ireland during “the Troubles.” Coles, I believe, originally discovered it in a magazine. I, meanwhile, first saw the original photograph quite by accident while perusing through a long-since-shuttered photography bookshop in SoHo (one that is today a pricey lingerie emporium). Upon spying McCullin’s picture, I let out an audible gasp. Suffice to say, I was somewhat disappointed to learn that it didn’t actually say “Killing Joke” on the wall in question. Here is that original image.
Quite striking, eh?
This got me wondering if, upon or after the 1980 release of the Killing Joke album, Don McCullin (who is still with us, incidentally, at age 80) ever reached out to Mike Coles or Killing Joke to say “oi, that’s my bloody photograph, that is!” Not too long back, I asked Mike — who I’ve known for several years via The Gathering — if he’d ever heard from anyone from McCullin’s camp. According to the estimable Mr. Coles, "permission was sought and granted before release," although he admits that no one -- band included -- ever thought the sleeve would go on to become such a recognizable icon (albeit evidently not in certain areas of New Jersey). Coles also said he suspects, based on some cryptic hearsay, that McCullin's representatives got back in touch more recently and another payment from the band was settled upon.
This was the point in the original version of this post wherein I was going to launch into the saga of the Misfits' logo (now appended to that preamble above), but upon further ruminating about the Killing Joke sleeve, I started to wonder about something else.
If you've spent any time on this blog, you'll know that I sometimes spend an inordinate amount of hours trying to track down the New York City-specific locations from various photographs and album covers. I'd like to think I'm reasonably proficient at it at this point, but the real master is a gentleman name Bob Egan, who compiles his similarly inclined work on PopSpots.
In any case, I know for a fact that the McCullin image Mike Coles manipulated for the Killing Joke sleeve is not in New York City, but I was wondering .... is that wall still there? Is the wall those hardscrabble Northern Irish youths are frantically running from still standing somewhere? And if so, has anyone ever made the connection?
I decided to take that question to the afore-cited Gathering, hoping that they might be able to shed some light. Here was my question:
Been attempting to compose a longer piece on my silly blog about Mike Coles' iconic artwork for the fist Killing Joke album, and it got me thinking ..... does that very spot (the wall depicted in the shot).... still exist today?
As I understand it (and please jump in if you know more), the original photograph by revered war photographer Don McCullin was snapped circa 1971 in an area known as The Bogside in Londonderry, Northern Ireland. It depicts a "gang of boys" fleeing a CS gas attack .... as one would.
I cannot help wondering if that wall is still standing, moreover if anyone has tracked it down to do a sort "then and now" juxtaposition.
I first spotted the original McCullin photo in a huge book several years back in a photo book store in SoHo, NY (sadly long gone ... now a lingerie emporium) and letting out an audible gasp. I remember being disappointed that it did not, in fact, feature the words KILLING JOKE scrawled menacingly across the brickface.
Are there any Irish Gatherers who might know more?
I didn't necessarily think anyone was going to know, but I figure it was worth asking, no? As it happens, however, a fellow Gatherer named Paul (who goes by the nom-de-plume "Dub") wrote back....
Bogside, Derry, County Derry : ) It comes from the Irish for a line of oak trees, Doire.
Will have a look later and see if anything that stands out and might be able to use Google maps, but to be honest, I would not hold out much hope, as the original picture was from sometime in the 70s, when the troubles were still ongoing, but Derry, as with other cities in the north, has had a huge amount of work done in building and regeneration of areas hit hard, and the Bogside was one place that did get it bad unfortunately. Looks like it was in one of the housing estates (projects) too and them streets are identical for huge parts of the city.
He then followed up with...
On further examination of the picture, the wall itself, looks like footings or foundations for a building.
You can see what looks like bent rebars, on the tops. So would be a substantial building or most likely a block of low flats, 3 or 4 storeys.
A lot of these were built in the 70s, because in this particular part of the city, large amounts of houses were burnt out for one reason or another, will leave that aspect to another day : ) Interesting and long history.
Also, the amount of building materials, particularly roof ridge tiles, on the ground, would lead one to think it was a building site anyway.
The only other identifying parts to buildings are the shutters on the gable of one of the houses. This is possibly a shop, but many such shops in that part of the Bogside, but again may well be long gone. Or may not even be a shutter at all and just a corrugated zinc panel/sheets, they would have been used to shore up burnt out houses. I've looked at other pictures taken by the photographer at around the same time and although features recognisable, they are just other parts of the same area and long since changed.
So sorry, I can be of no help. Best bet would be ask the man Don McCullin, himself. He is 80 and lives in Somerset. He still exhibits, so may well be contactable, a chance to use your journalistic sleuthing skills : )
Only other thing I can think of is ask one of the Undertones, a band formed in that very place, not to many years after : )
Then, gradually, Dub started to get really invested....sending this first image below
Not "the" picture, but from same series and quiet possibly same riot, is this McCullin, photo.
Just out of boredom, I was able to pinpoint it to William St, Derry. The building the soldiers are running past, is gone, just a market stall there now.
The open door is to a company that was called City Radio Cabs and as can be seen in the picture, had a phone number 4466. The company is still there just at the back of where the stall is in the lower picture and called City Cabs now, but still has the same last 4 digits in their number. The A D that can be seen, is from Bradley & McLaughlin undertakers, who still trade on the other corner of the street.
As you can see all the buildings are relatively new, possibly 80s.
So again, to try hunt down the exact position of the album cover photo, would be next to impossible, unless you had been there as such.
I do hope you have more luck though, if you follow it up Alex.
Then, he really struck oil...
I'm not done yet ...lol
I think I have it cracked. With the help of a friend in Derry, Google Maps and perseverance!
I was not able to let it go, so I asked a lad I know, who is an amateur photograpeher and lives in Derry, where he thought it might be. He immediately said "that's up at Little Diamond". We already knew it was in the Bogside area and this is indeed in that area, on the way up to the Cregan and the topography of the area matches. It's a small stretch of road at the top of William Street, where the soldiers running picture was taken.
Bear in mind this picture is from a year later and taken as part of the inquiry into Bloody Sunday, which happened August '72, but still shows a wasteland area. This turns out to be the old sorting office. So today that area looks like this (very bottom on left is where City Cabs is from other picture) ...
I'm not sure when the swimming pool was built, but it could be what was the old sorting office building, which was burnt out.
So fellow Gatherers, without further adieu, I present to you, what will be from this day henceforth, known as The KILLING JOKE wall! or what's left of it ...
...lol Maybe someone with better PhotoShop skills than I, can do an overlay of the Killing Joke, album cover on to the picture, but to my mind it all checks out.
I shall still refrain from giving my own opinion on The Troubles, as it's a pointless exercise, that just stirs up old grievances and emotions. Not something that will go away, but let's just be thankful for things as they are. There is peace in Ireland, for now and long may it last.
I too enjoyed the look back and to be honest was amazed at the amount of photographs and videos online documenting a time in history, that is still hard to believe happened in our lifetime. I'll be up that way in June, as part of this, so will try get a snap at the angle of the original and maybe get a gang of lads to jump off it lol I've also asked the mate, to take a picture too, so hopefully will have that soon, but in meantime Google Maps, will have to do.
If you've not seen the rest of Don McCullin's, photos from Derry in '71, try here, were picture 16/17, confirms the pictures location. Also you might like Clive Limpkin's, pictures from around the sametime. One of which ended up being a mural on a gable down by the Free Derry Wall. Which incidentally looked like this circa '71 (and this). Some other blurb on them here. The movie '71 too, gives a good look at the north at that time and a different perspective, albeit fiction.
Anyway hope this helps you Alex, and rest of Gatherers enjoyed it. I'm not going to bother put this on Facebook, but if anyone else wants too, by all means do. Look forward to reading your blog too Alex 👍
But it didn't stop there....Dub still wasn't entirely finished....
Just a couple of corrections and a bonus 😉
My spelling was never the best (or my grammar for that matter lol) and spell check tends not to catch place names spelled wrong, especially in Irish, but Creggan, is spelled with a double g (my excuse and I'm sticking to it).
Next mistake. Bloody Sunday occurred on the 30th of January, 1972. Not August as I stated previously. August though was always associated with unrest in Derry, as the Apprentice Boys parades take place then, hence it was in my mind.
July 10-12th was also another couple of days unrest was a certainty, all across the North. As the Orange Lodges, would march and the bonfires were lit.
Last mistake, I hope. I'm relearning my left and right again. The City Cabs office, from the running soldiers picture, is of course on the bottom right corner, not left as stated. Here Circled in blue.
Bonus: As I was looking through 100s of pictures, I came across the inner sleeve too, here you go. 😎
With only having Google's and Bing's, satellite imagery to work with, getting the angles and perspective is next to impossible, but you get the idea.
The inner sleeve shot, was taken literally a stone's throw away from the front cover shot location (pun intended 😜). In fact if you look closely at the original shot, you can see a gang of stone throwers in the shadows across the road, to the left of the first lad running away from the wall..
In the next set of pictures, I have shown where I am guessing Don McCullin, stood to take the pictures. Again due to the limitations of the satellite pictures, angles are not 100% correct.
Also an old school photography camera, would have had a lot of settings adjusted, i.e. shutter speed, film speed, and aperture. Lens size to would be a factor. With it adjusted, depth of field, would play tricks with the eye. Also remember, the row of houses, behind the wall were not built then and the top 6 courses of blocks and cap stones, were not there. So he would have had a clearer line of sight. The photos may well have been cropped too. Here it is ...
And finally, while looking at more of his photos, there is one that has a sequence of 3 and was calling out to be made a GIF file. So I did and here it is.
So until I am up in Derry City, this June, or my friend sends me a picture taken at the correct angle, that's all from me on the matter.
As you were....
Anyway, there you have it. I only planted the idea, but boy did our man Dub pick it up and run with it.
I am reminded that we lost Joey Ramone on this day in 2001. I was lucky enough to get to see the Ramones several times over the years, but -- as a New Yorker -- ya did sort of take them for granted after a while. I repeatedly remember my friend Rob B and I saying to each other, "Hey, should we go check out the Ramones again next week?" And sometimes we didn't, as we knew they'd be back again about a month after that.
Until, of course, they weren't.
Here are some shots I took in May of 1998 at Coney Island High of Joey (with the great Jerry Only of the Misfits) for one of his birthday bashes.
It’s been something of a crazy week. While, yes, I did get to go see Iggy on Tuesday, I’m also doing battle with a serious cold and the wife is away on business until tomorrow afternoon. I hope to get some more robust stuff up here soonest, but I haven’t really the time or the energy at the moment.
In the interim, however, I notice this great, oddball documentary is back up on YouTube. It’s made the rounds, of course, and dates back to 1960, portraying the glory days of Greenwich Village as the curious, quirky and affordable bohemian community it once. The soundtrack is also kind of ever so slightly inexplicably creepy as well, I think.
Not going to be a long entry. Suffice to say, last night's show at the United Palace was spectacular. No surprise deviation from the set list, but the goods were still emphatically delivered. New tracks like "Sunday," "Gardenia" and "Paraguay" were excellent. Highlight was probably a high energy performance of "Repo Man."
Other quick observations:
Saw Jim Jarmusch, Bob Gruen and Jimmy Webb from Trash & Vaudeville in the crowd.
Ig's limp and overall gait has gotten pointedly pronounced at this late stage, but that didn't stop him from whirling around for the entire set.
The smoking jackets on the band looked ace.
The United Palace remains truly palatial.
A single cup of Corona beer shouldn't cost nine dollars.
If you have the opportunity to see him this tour -- seize it.
Almost a decade after seeing him in the same exact venue, I’m heading back uptown this evening to the United Palace in Washington Goddamn Heights (which, again, is kinda like travelling to fuckin’ Canada) to see what might be the final tour by Iggy Pop.
Now that all the original Stooges are dead (well, James Williamson is still with us, but he’s gone back to his post-Stooges life, “gone straight” a second time, if you will), Iggy will be largely showcasing material from his surprisingly excellent new album with the Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme, Post Pop Depression, along with re-visiting material from specific albums like The Idiot and Lust for Life (as previewed here). He’s also been gamely throwing in the long dormant title track to “Repo Man.” There’s a lengthy list of songs I’d love to hear him perform – from “I’m Bored” through “Wild America” – but I won’t be holding my breath. That’s cool, though. The new record is mighty good, so it should be an excellent time.
With the obvious exceptions of Killing Joke and Cop Shoot Cop, I think I’ve devoted more posts to Iggy Pop here than any other single artist. Though Michigan-born, Iggy spent a lot of quality time here in NYC over the years, much of it over in the Christadora House on Avenue B (the video of his 1993 tour of his Alphabet City neighborhood is already legendary). As I’ve mentioned before, I once spotted him having a beer at Sin-E (long gone) on St. Marks Place one night. That was unexpected.
Anyway, Iggy hasn’t lived here in New York for quite a while, having decamped to Miami in the mid-`90s. But he’s still all around, if you look hard enough. If you pop in for a pint at the Continental on St. Marks and Third Avenue, I believe their walls are still adorned with a poster from Iggy’s surprise gig there (back when they still featured live music) in 1993 (see pic at the top of this post, taken by Catherine McGann). You can also find framed pics of his Iggness hanging in the interiors of Automatic Slim’s in the West Village, Manitoba’s in the East Village and –- less surprisingly -– John Varvatos’ bespoke boutique at 315 Bowery … which used to be … oh you know.
But much like my favorite street art, my favorite Iggy-remnant totally took me by surprise. Walking to work about two weeks ago, ambling south on the west side of Thomspon Street, I spotted a familiar figure across the way, framed on a second story window just before that deli on the corner of Prince Street.
Yep, it’s a cut-out of ol’ Iggy, a promotional item for the New Values album. Here’s the original photo.
Anyway, watch this space for a possible full report about tonight’s gig.
Here's another song he won't be performing this evening...
I can’t remember why we started talking about it, but a hotly contested theory from my distant youth was invoked again this past weekend, and it occurred to me to bring the debate here that we all might glean something from it … or not.
Perhaps prompted by the title of the new Linklater movie, “Everybody Wants Some,” my friend Rob B. and I were discussing vintage Van Halen on Saturday, when he came over to visit me and the kids while my wife is away on a business trip. While we were remarking how a proper reunion of the band isn’t likely to happen (it won’t –- to our opinion -– really matter unless Michael Anthony is re-instated, his high-piped harmonies being the core of the band’s original sound next to Eddie’s squealing guitar), I took the opportunity to run a particular theory up the flagpole, one that dates back to my grade school years.
Released in 1980, the third album by Van Halen -- Women and Children First -- not only boasted future classics like “And the Cradle will Rock” and the afore-cited “Everybody Wants Some,” but it also featured a compelling group portrait on the cover by photographer Norman Seeff, one finding the band posing in a sort of exuberantly priapic rugby scrum.
While arguably iconic (Weezer, of all bands, once posed similarly in tribute), the photo also had some significance in that I vividly recall hearing a convincing argument at some point in seventh or eighth grade that the band’s depicted histrionic pose is actually meant to emulate the shape of the United States. I know, … it sounds ridiculous (and, frankly, it is), but let’s review, shall we?
So, yeah -- Eddie’s left leg is Florida, Michael Anthony’s head is Maine, the space between the neck of Ed’s guitar and Michael being part of the Great Lakes. Eddie's left hand is the "over mitt" of Michigan. Fittingly, this all makes David Lee Roth’s ass the band’s home turf of Southern California.
I mean, it’s not entirely inconceivable, right? I mean, it certainly made sense at the time.
A couple of years ago, some of you — especially the scribbly rock geekery contingent — might remember an inadvertently contentious new Tumblr site called My Husband’s Stupid Record Collection. As its title suggests, the concept was pretty simple; the blog’s author — one Sarah O’Halla — would listen to each and every LP from her husband’s apparently sizable record collection and document her thoughts and reactions. When I first heard about it, I thought it was it was kind of a fun idea. Personally speaking, I’m always curious as to how non-devout ears interpret stuff that some of us rock nerds find sacrosanct.
The problem, however, was that to many minds, the blog in question unintentionally reinforced certain misogynist stereotypes. I have several female music critic friends who were positively SEETHING over My Husband’s Stupid Record Collection. While I don’t at all believe Ms. O’Halla intended to fan the flames of this debate, I could totally understand why my friends were upset. As in countless other arenas, it seems to have taken a ridiculously undue amount of years for women to be taken as seriously as their male counterparts in the field of music journalism. More to the point, if you spend any amount of time in the company of established rock journalists (sort of an oxymoron, that) of the male variety, more often than not, they’re dysfunctionally insecure pedants who hide a wealth of deep-seated shortcomings behind an imperious arsenal of trivial factoids about silly bullshit. For writers like Ann Powers, Amy Linden, Maura Johnston, Jeanne Fury and Geeta Dayal (to name a small few), the appearance of O’Halla’s blog arguably undermined years of their work and dedication by perpetuating the virulent notion that girls can only appreciate silly boy bands and/or can’t really comprehend a thing about so-called "real music." If you possess any semblance of cognition, you know that’s a total stack of crap, but these are stupid times we live in.
Anyway, in the immediate wake of that furor, Ms. O’Halla posted a few conciliatory entries designed to allay the concerns detailed above, but continued to compose the blog. Two years later, she’s still at it (she’s going in alphabetical order and is only in the C’s). Like I said, I don’t believe she meant to offend anyone or wilfuly portray her gender in a demeaning light. In the wake of the uproar, though, I thought I’d try to appropriate the crux of her initial concept, but put a bit of spin on it.
By this stage of the proceedings, my kids are well aware that their father is an insufferably opinionated music snob. Having now crossed the perilous chasm into tween-hood, both Charlotte (12) and Oliver (10) now have their own tastes, likes, dislikes and opinions about myriad facets of pop culture, but when it comes to music, they sometimes stop short of expressing their thoughts in front of me, lest — to their minds — they incriminate themselves. Despite my repeated assurances that I’d never come down on them for expressing an affinity for a bit of music I might find unfit for human consumption, they’ve heard me wax vitriolic about any number of artists far too many times. Even if I wanted to discourage them from liking a certain band or song, I couldn’t succeed in that venture no matter how hard I tried. My own parents tried to dissuade me from liking KISS and the Sex Pistols — and boy oh boy, did that backfire on them.
I’ve also poisoned the well and sheepishly become THIS GUY. As a result, my kids may not be able to rattle off song titles by Katy Perry or One Direction, but they sure as shit know Devo, Iggy Pop and the fuckin' SWANS when they hear them. A lot of the time, I think they’re just humoring me, but I know some of my tastes have rubbed off. For much of last summer, Oliver’s favorite song was “New Life” be Depeche Mode.
When I suggested to them the idea of doing something along the lines of My Husband’s Stupid Record Collection, they both thought it sounded fun, but Oliver became swiftly distracted by the pressing need to find a certain LEGO piece and recused himself from the proceedings. Charlotte, however, dove right in and got out her typewriter, taking the assignment on with a great amount of zeal.
I thought that going in alphabetical order was sort of a waste of time, as I don’t really think we’re going to do every one of my discs (suffice to say — there are more than a few). As such, I picked out a couple of discs at random and culled those titles down to a tidy handful. The first album I selected for Charlotte — saying nothing about them or the disc in question in advance nor while spinning it — was The Pink Opaque by the Cocteau Twins. Below is what she had to say, taking it song by song. I did a cursory amount of copy-editing, but it’s otherwise all her. I’m obviously biased, but I was very impressed with her observations.
The Pink Opaque by the Cocteau Twins, as interpreted by Charlotte M. Smith, age 12.
“The Spangle Maker”
At first, I didn’t know that the girl’s voice was the main aspect of the song. It sounded like a background singer a little bit. The beginning sounded just like the beginning of any other song today (just pointing that out). It sounded good and I liked it, but I still thought it sounded like other songs I know and it didn’t strike me as “Gosh, this is different from EVERYthing else!” Also, the girl, Liz Fraser, sounded more like a background singer than a “main” singer. I know you might think differently, but I’m only twelve, and that’s what I thought of the song. By the way, it was “The Spangle Maker,” and it actually reminded me of Siouxsie & the Banshees, their song that was called “Il Est Nes Le Devin Enfant.”
“Millimillenary”
Very interesting. I like the beginning (and my dad probably does too, because he’s humming along). I have no idea what Liz Fraser is really saying, but I like the way it sounds (it reminds me of the beach, in a way). Some people might not like the way I’m describing this, but I like the song even though she could be talking about hippo butts and I didn’t know. It’s a tiny bit repetitive, but what song isn’t?
"Wax and Wane”
The beat is a little weird, as in Liz Fraser — in my ears -- isn’t going along with the sound of the guitar, I think? It’s a bit quick. I think I heard Liz’s voice cracking, but i still sounds very nice, if not slightly repetitive. Sounds a little bit sci-fi. I like the way the song fades away instead of going off all at once. I doesn’t sound exactly relaxing, like the last song, but now I am liking the different aspects of the album! (Sorry this description was pretty short).
"Hitherto”
Sounds dark and deep, I guess. I like the beat and Liz’s voice sailing across the sound of the instruments. It doesn’t sound sad, but like it has a darker meaning to it. I hear many different voices and instruments mixing with Liz’s voice. It also sounds like there are other women singing behind her, ever so quietly, though. So, now we’re in the middle and it sounds a little more light-hearted than before. Still sound very meaningful. I think it ended rather quickly, though. Overall, I like that one very much.
”Pearly Dew Drops Drop”
Sounds ….. like the kind of music you listen to on a long car drive. Something that can lull you to sleep or cause you to stare out the window for hours. I like it. I like the voices mixing together and sounding like one. I like how most of the instruments have kept the same beat from the beginning.
It sounds like something that could almost be background music in a video or documentary. I like how she repeats the same (well, mostly) lyrics from the beginning all the way through. Sometimes, you savor part of a song like a piece of chocolate, and you only listen to get to that one part. But, in this song, the one part you’re usually searching for just keeps repeating, and in a good way.
”From the Flagstones”
It sounds VERY mysterious, and Liz’s voice starts almost immediately. Then there’s a few moments of quiet that let you sort of get into the song. It sounds like a song for fighting for your rights or something. Anyway, it’s repeating the same line, then gets quiet, then it says more stuff, and then repeats some more. It sounds like a song you’d listen to while running, kind of like it’s inspirational in a way. I kind of like the way the drums change their beat toward the end. However, I don’t like the way the song ends. Maybe that’s just because I can’t understand it. But it ends so abruptly, compared to the other songs.
”Aikea-Guinea”
Some aspects sound punk-rock-like, here. And Liz sounds more light-hearted and literally because she’s singing with a lighter touch. And the instruments still match the high voice in a weird way, and it sounds very different from the rest of the album so far. But, also so far, I like it. It some parts, her voice changes, almost like she’s singing a duet at certain points. I LIKE THAT SONG!
”Lorelei”
It sounds like a mix of carnival music, sci-fi, Christmas bells and something else. It sounds hopeful and happy. Like end-of-a-movie music. Like resolution music. And Liz’s voice goes up and down in this. It also sounds like many aspect of LIz’s voice are singing this song, and she keeps repeating the same lines, like she’s humming them to herself, then decides to add music. I think it shows a different side to this album, since the cover is all “This Album Is Full of Dark, Disturbing Music Because We Have Places That Are Dark and Disturbing On the Cover!” I think it’s a nice change, and this album might be open to more people.
”Pepper-Tree”
It sounds sad and mournful, a little bit. As in, it’s not something I’d listen to on a warm, sunny day. It sounds like music you put in a dark, sad section of a movie. Wait! Now it seems to be lightening up just a little bit …. well, scratch the whole sad movie thing. This song has so many emotions baked into it. It would definitely steak my attention [Edit note — I have no idea what this means, but it steaks my attention, too.] I also like how there are so many different instruments. First, I thought this was sad, then happy, then both. Out of nowhere, when you think the song is going to end, some instruments I can’t seem to name break out into the song and fill it with anger. Or is it passion? I can’t even tell. It’s so confusing and different, yet simple all at once. I don’t think it’s my kind of song, but it sounds like she put a lot of work into it, and I admire that.
”Musette and Drums”
Very dark. It sounds …. a bit like the end of that last song. At first, I thought I was just hearing the same song again. But it’s sill very meaningful, and sounds like it took a lot of effort. It sounds like music you’d put in a section of a movie where people are scheming something, like a plan and whatnot. I like the drums as well. The was a very heartfelt song, in my opinion, but again, it sounded like the last one a little bit. Also, it sounded a tad short.
Charlotte enjoyed this very much. I’m not sure I’m going to be able to coax Oliver into the project, but Char is greatly looking forward to the next installment. Stand by.
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