Flaming Pablum

Getting Warmer

Ahoy again, all…

I hope everyone had a nice, long weekend.

Just a quick heads-up: For those patient-but-paltry few of you still invested in my sleepless quest to divine the precise location of that 26-year-old photograph of the Lunachicks –- pictured posing with suitably ludicrous aplomb –- upon an enigmatically distressed patch of Manhattan concrete, please know that FRUITION MAY BE CLOSE AT HAND! Via a confluence of events and word of mouth (or, technically, word of keyboard), I am in touch with the man responsible for shooting the image in question. Details regarding all point of the saga will be forthcoming. So sit tight.

The above image is a clue.

Get excited.

Long Weekend

Happy Memorial Day Weekend.

It's still technically May, but it suddenly feels like the sticky interior of the belly of the beast that is Summer in NYC. If this is May ... what will JULY be like?

Have a Happy! More stuff next week!

EV `93

Hey all. Apologies for the (relative) slow-down, but it’s been a busy week. In any case, I stumbled upon this clip earlier this week and meant to share it here sooner, but time got away from me.

While it won’t blow a new part in your hair, enjoy this brief trip back to the winter of 1993 on St. Marks Place. While I still vividly remember the events of that year, it’s prudent to remember that 1993 was …. Jesus… 23 years ago.

As such, treat yourself to fleeting glimpses of the old Second Avenue Gap, Kim’s Video, the original Electric Circus/Dom building (i.e. before the gutting and Chipoltlization), Dojo, St. Marks Sounds and the original iterations of St. Marks Bookshop and Trash & Vaudeville.

All of those ventures have vanished from this strip today.

At the time this video was shot, I would have been 26 years old, still living on the Upper East Side, just freshly laid off from LIFE Magazine (as detailed here), still writing for a variety of middling music periodicals, still obsessing over a star-crossed office romance and shortly to start working at TIME Magazine. My listening habits would have been dominated by Cop Shoot Cop and the first album by Suede.

ADDENDUM: Same neck of the woods (and beyond), one year later....look for Tower Records, the Great Jones Diner and Gray's Papaya (all r.i.p.)

A Bit of a Stretch: A Lunachicks Photo Update

Since no one’s asking, herewith an update on the location of the Lunachicks’ wall.

We got nothin’.

I’ve literally scoured the pavement, over the past couple of weeks, criss-crossing vast swathes of NoHo, NoLiTa, Greenwich Village, the East Village, the West Village, the Meat Packing District, TriBeca and parts of Chinatown, but I have -– thus far -– not rediscovered that particular, ripped-up patch of concrete. I’ve had a few readers chime in with ideas, but nothing has really gelled as yet.

I’ve shot a note or two out -- via Facebook -– to erstwhile members of the band like Gina Volpe and Theo Kogan, but neither have gotten back to me, which, honestly, isn't entirely shocking. I had half a mind to go check out the Roebling Tea Room in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, the current venture of bassist Sydney “Squid” Silver (pictured above), but, in retrospect, decided against it, as I would really rather not want to inadvertently come across like some kind of weirdo stalker, let alone prompt Squid to beat the crap out of me. I’m sure she’s perfectly reasonable, but … still.

Even if I did manage to momentarily corner a genuine Lunachick, I’d be asking her an inordinately detailed and frankly ridiculous  question about something that fleetingly happened twenty-six years ago. In the strenuously unlikely event that I did manage to talk to any of them, they may not even remember.

More to the point, I’m looking to spot a location. The fact that the Lunachicks are even featured in the photo is almost incidental. I mean, I love the Lunachicks and they completely fuckin' rocked, but I’ve now just become fixated with solving the goddamn mystery … SO I CAN GO BACK TO SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!

With this in mind, I’ve spread the net wider and asked a few groups on Facebook and lauded Lower East Side mainstay Clayton Patterson to see if he might know. But, again, I’ve yet to hear back.

Before anyone suggests it, I’ve also tried both Tineye Reverse Image Search and a Google Search By Image, but neither shed any further light than that original site (which boasts no citation or credit).

I did get some sympathy for my similarly inclined friend Bob Egan of Pop Spots, who postulated with the following…

Food for thought on Lunachix, using stretched photo (attached).

1) It looks like they are taking up a whole sidewalk. Seems to be indication of the street edge bottom right, above right shoe.
2) SInce no sidewalk, rough ground they are standing on is probably a driveway to an empty lot.
3) Seems like an awful lot of empty space at the far right, indicating not in a dense tenement area. Possible water tower far right.
4) Looks like 6 story tenement in back.
5) There is a tree in front of the tenement so probably a lot after the building with the large windows.
6) Odd that those windows would not be protected since so close to ground.
7) At far left looks like horizontal bricks continue behind the fence.
8) I see COST - where's REVS?
9) There is a different graffiti tag to the left of COST.
10) Keep pluggin' away.....
-Luna Bob

Anyway, here’s Bob’s stretched version below…

And here's the band playing live circa 1999 .... nine years after the photo in question was taken.

The Story So Far...

Chicks, Bricks & Kicks: Looking for the Lunachicks
Losing It Over the Lunachicks
NoLita, No Luck and No Lunachicks
When the 'East Village' Isn't the East Village

Devo at Radio City Music Hall, Halloween 1981

I’m prone to proudly tout my first ever concert as being Devo at Radio City Music Hall on Halloween night, 1981 (which was the same night, incidentally, that FEAR wreaked havoc on “SNL” just around the corner at 30 Rock, my old place of employment). It was probably the most prestigious New York City venue Devo would ever play, and remains a truly special, visceral memory for me.

Devo lost another key member of their organization yesterday, as news came down that Robert Mothersbaugh Sr., otherwise known as General Boy, the band’s early spokesman -– and, more significantly, the father of Mark and Bob 1 -- passed away. In searching for video of the great man on YouTube yesterday, I discovered that the someone had uploaded a high quality bootleg of the Radio City show I attended. Here’s the fine print, penned by Ian Weil.

Today I present a very special bootleg - Jerry Casale's favorite Devo show! He says that at the beginning of the show, the crowd could see nothing but an empty stage with the backing track playing. Then, he says, the full Aztec temple w/ treadmill stage rose out of the basement like an aircraft carrier (this explains the long "Nutra Theme" and crowd going nuts). Enjoy this wonderful Nutra show with good quality! Don't you just love Nutra stuff? Pictured are tickets from this show and photos from this show (sorry they have watermarks).

Cool, right?

Like I said, I have nothing but fond memories of this show. I attended with my fellow Devo-obsessive classmate, Walt. We were about 14 years old, and in awe of Radio City Music Hall. I ended up buying both a t-shirt (of course) and a gleaming red Energy Dome. The shirt no longer fits and is long gone, but I picked up an anniversary edition of the same design not too long back. I still have the Energy Dome, and will never part with it.

Here it is, while it lasts….Devo at Radio City Music Hall on Halloween, 1981. Picture me grooving as a gormless 14-year-old in yellow-rimmed, punky sunglasses and a black Pink Floyd the Wall t-shirt under a blue blazer.

Incidentally, the photograph in the video screen grab below was taken by the great Allan Tannenbaum. I actually bought a print of a different image from that same show from Allan a number of years back. He's also responsible for the group portrait of theirs that graces the sleeve of Duty Now for the Future. Beyond his Devo pics, though, his work is spectacular. Check it out here.

Duty Now, Spuds. Rest in Peace, General Boy!

Shortly after the show in question. Those are the same sunglasses alluded to above. And yes, I still have the Yellow Suit...

Desktop Dump

Time for another culling of JPEGs that, for one reason or another, landed on my desktop. These are invariably images I "set to one side" for the purposes of using in posts here on the blog, or simply pictures that caught my eye. Most of them were taken by other folks. The ones of my kids, of course, are mine. Most of these never turned into posts. Some might still. Some might not. 

Here they are in perfectly random order...

Flower Plower: Back to Botany Rock

While it’s more or less true (depending on the age of the person you’re debating it with) that was passes for “punk” in 2016 has been essentially de-fanged, housebroken and subsumed by the mainstream culture, it still doesn’t feel all that long ago that people were talking about it like it was a genuine threat to the very fabric and stability of civilization. Witness that clip from earlier this week of self-appointed arbiter of decency, Doris Lilly, sounding off on the scourge of British Punk that was fleetingly slated to land in New York City like a veritable tsunami of violence and moral decay. It’s all a bit quaint now, but once upon a time, people were kinda bugged out about it. This same class of folks would later fret about "gangsta rap," hair metal and Marilyn Mason and slap stickers on albums, but I digress.

An oft-repeated factoid about the burgeoning hardcore punk scene in the United States is of its resourcefulness. Given that so many venues wouldn’t touch hardcore bands with a ten foot pole (whether for reasons of taste or fears of riot, etc.), the burgeoning network of do-it-yourself ensembles found other ways in. As a result, bands would sometimes cut their teeth at house parties, in VFW halls, in abandoned warehouses and disused spaces in lieu of proper “rock clubs.” As detailed in books like “Get in the Van” and “Our Band Could Be Your Life,” a veritable underground railroad (with apologies to Mrs. Tubman) sprang up to help these bands thrive and the scenes flourish.

Okay, enough preamble.

Earlier today, Flaming Pablum friend, interviewee and former Even Worse vocalist RK Korbet shared an old flyer on Facebook from a gig that found Even Worse opening for the mighty Bad Brains here in RB’s native NYC. There isn’t a date on it, but if I had to guess, I’d suggest 1981 (perhaps RB can correct me on that). What struck me, however, is that the gig in question went down at a place I’d never heard of — specifically a venture named, oddly, Botany Rock on Sixth Avenue between 27th and 28th. Huh?

Neither in the gritty, dangerous squalor of the fabled East Village or the arty desolation of SoHo, this neck of the woods — both in the early `80s and today — is essentially known as the fairly not-at-all menacing “Flower District,” thus dubbed due to its concentration of florists and garden supply outlets. That said, don’t be fooled — the strip of Sixth Avenue back then was hardly what one might describe as “well traveled” in the evening, so you could still get into trouble if your number was up.

In any case, I’m not entirely sure the cleverly-monickered Botany Rock (an obvious nod to the neighborhood’s predilections) was a genuine club so much as an available space as described up top — but I look forward to hearing more from anyone who might know more about it.

Today, 803 Sixth Avenue between 27th and 28th street shows zero sign that it ever played host to a burgeoning strain of NYHC. It remains, at leas according to this recent Google Maps grab, a flower shop called George Rallis.

Apropos of nothing, here are the Bad Brains around that same era — covering Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid.”

‘Paradise’ Found? Even Stranger than ‘Stranger Than Paradise’: A Correction

As much as I may be disinclined to admit it, I am wrong on occasion. This might be why I’m so obsessed with finding the Lunachicks wall with exact precision. I’m really committed to getting it right, if only for my own sake . Honestly, I can’t imagine any of you are quite as fixated with it as I am, despite my repeated posts about it here.

In any case, way back in 2012, I published a post here about Jim Jarmusch’s iconic film from 1981, “Stranger Than Paradise.” In re-reading same, incidentally, I notice I devoted what I now consider to be a churlishly unsympathetic paragraph to Jarmusch’s first effort, “Permanent Vacation.” Sure, that film may have been rough around the edges, but who the Hell am I to take such pot-shots? I was out of line for that, and I apologize to all parties concerned.

Anyway, “Stranger Than Paradise” remains a keeper. If you haven’t seen it, go do so at once. Regardless, at the tail end of that post, I wondered aloud about the whereabouts of the corner where Eva is depicted waiting after exiting her cousin’s apartment. It became my quest to pinpoint it. Here's that iconic image, once again...

One reader suggested it was the southwest corner of Bleecker and Bowery (just steps away from where that Joey Ramone-in-boxing-gloves mural is today and where Drew Carolan shot his hardcore portraits). I didn’t buy that, but I didn’t seem to post anything else on the subject until December of 2013, wherein I blithely asserted that it was the corner of Jersey Street and Mulberry. I’m not sure how I deduced as such, but I certainly seemed pretty sure of myself.

That’s nice and all, but it turns out I was entirely incorrect.

For a start, the brick-face on those respective corners don’t really match up, but I seemed to have glossed over all that. Today, meanwhile, while I wasn’t even looking for it, I found the actual corner. Bear with me on this one, as we have to go back to the Lunachicks’ shot…

For whatever reason, my kids had the day off from school today, so I was relieved of the duty of dropping them off. Even still, I woke up earlier than I might’ve otherwise. Y'see, in the middle of the night, I’d been struck by the notion that the afore-cited Lunachicks’ wall is not somewhere in NoLita as previously speculated (given that I’ve been zig-zagging my way around that neighborhood on my walks home from work, over the last several days, and continually come up empty). For some reason, I seemed to convince myself that the actual spot I’m looking for is somewhere on Carmine Street. I can’t tell you why I suddenly thought this, as there was no smoking gun moment or anything, but I’d felt a convincing hunch. As such, with a little bit more free time this morning, I left a little earlier to go check that strip out before heading to the office. SEE HOW THIS IS DRIVING ME CRAZY?

As it unsurprisingly turns out, it’s not there either. C'mon...like you didn’t see that comin’?

Finding myself on the west side, instead of repairing back to West Broadway, I continued my southbound trajectory, shortly to traverse through SoHo and gradually into TriBeCa.

Even after all these years, I’m still surprised to see TriBeCa transformed into such a genteel environment, when it used to feel so neglected and desolate. Collister Street, for example used to be a narrow, filthy canyon of dirt and graffiti. Today, it’s squeaky clean and bereft of its former character. The similarly slim Staple Street (which I wrote about here) is also a much less ominous byway to walk down. When I reached that end of that street, however, another thought occurred to me. I turned around to examine the southwestern corner. Let’s compare and contrast, shall we?

I’m completely convinced that this is the actual corner used in “Stranger Than Fiction.” The brick-face, however weathered in the ensuing 35 (!!!) years, is a total match, and look at how the sidewalk still slopes down! It’s a perfect match.

So yeah, five years later, I can happily say that one is solved and correct. Yay.

But the Lunachicks’ shot? That one is still out there … somewhere.

Rest in Peace, John Berry

Invoke the name “Beastie Boys” to a layperson (read: not a frothy-mouthed music geek) and they’ll probably think of the goofy videos for “Fight for Your Right to Party” and maybe “Sabotage,” but that will probably be the extent of it.

Obviously, there’s a lot more to the story. I’ve posted innumerable entries about the Beastie Boys here over the past ten years, each laden with reverence. While many may still perceive them as novelty rappers fueled by beer, overactive libidos and cheap nyuck nyucks, their place in the respective histories of Hip-Hop and New York City are unimpeachable (even if Hip-Hop stubbornly continues to have precious little regard for its forebears).

But, as I’m prone to laboriously point out, prior to their transformation into an unlikely Hip-Hop juggernaut, they started off as a nascent hardcore -- or hardcore punk, depending on how old you are -- band. That’s them above circa 1982, as captured by Arabella Field. The young lady in the beret and leather coat is drummer Kate Schellenbach (later of Luscious Jackson and, very briefly, the Lunachicks), while the gent on the left is the band’s original guitarist, John Berry. John Berry passed away yesterday at the young age of 52.

But prior to becoming The Beastie Boys, they spent a gestation period as a band called The Young Aborigines, whose roots lay on the opposite side of the island from all things East Village. Both hailing from the northern reaches Broadway on the Upper East Side, John Berry and bass player Jeremy Shatan were the initial impetus. I’ve become “internet friends” (that never sounds right) with Jeremy over the years, and yesterday, he penned a lovely eulogy to his fallen friend. Read that here.

Rolling Stone, meanwhile, posted their own obit for Berry, appended with the photo below of him performing post-Beastie Boys at what certainly looks like CBGB. I was struck by one crucial detail …

That shirtless guitarist on the left is none other than Norman Westberg of SWANS, lending further credence to the Beasties-SWANS bond I alluded to at the tail end of this post.

Rest in peace, John Berry.

Doris, Johnny, Sid & Nancy

My friend Don sent me a great clip on Facebook today from the archives of local NYC television station WPIX of former commentator and erstwhile New York Post contributor Doris Lilly, whom I vaguely remember from childhood. Doris was essentially a flatulent, loudmouth gossip columnist whose biggest claim to fame was dating Ronald Reagan for a time. In any case, in the clip in question, she’s loudly opining about the scourge of British Punk Rock that was then about to hit New York City in the infernal personification of Johnny Rotten, Sid Vicious and their merry band of Sex Pistols. It’s essentially just another bit of classic, alarmist pop culture propaganda from a “news” outlet that really should have had bigger fish to fry at the time.

Unfortunately, the clip itself is unembeddable (it originates on Facebook), but you can see it by clicking right here and scrolling down on the WPIX Archives Facebook page.

Of course, Doris’ colorful ire was unfounded, as that fateful `Pistols tour imploded messily before it could ever reach New York, culminating in something of a damp, druggy fart at the Winterland Ballroom in San Francisco in 1978. See the bottom of this post for those details.

While none of this is new news, I was struck by one thing. Evidently prior to the tour falling apart, the band had been booked to play in New York City not at, say, CBGB or Max’s Kansas City or even the Palladium, but rather at a venue that rang absolutely no bells called the Elgin Theater.

Unlike my still-unresolved quests to verify the existence of Downtown, Underground and --- WAIT FOR IT -– the Lunachicks’ wall, one tidy Google search revealed that the Elgin Theater was an old movie house that is now the Joyce Theater on 8th Avenue and 19th Street in Chelsea. Here it is in more recent years...

Evidently, as the Elgin, the room played host to “adult films” as well as culty midnight movies like “Freaks,” “Eraserhead,” and “Pink Flamingos.” In that respect, the Sex Pistols would have been something of an appropriate fit. But, alas, `twas not to be.

I HOPE YOU’RE HAPPY, DORIS!

Speaking of ol’ Sid, however, on a totally different tip, I spotted a visual invocation of the late, cartoony bass “player” recently that struck me like a bolt out of the blue.

I’m bound to screw up the specifics of the anecdote, but back in the balmy days of mid-`80s hardcore, I remember being at a gig with my friend Rob D. at the Ritz (invariably as part of the Rock Hotel series) –- might have been the Circle Jerks or the Cro-Mags or even a Bad Brains show –- and Rob running with beery enthusiasm up to a fellow gig-goer in the crowd and rapturously extolling the mirthy merits of said gig-goer’s t-shirt. I agreed that it was entirely funny, but Rob took it a step further and either offered the gent money for the shirt right then and there or they traded shirts or something. In any case, in very short order, Rob was wearing the shirt in question, and beaming accordingly.

That same t-shirt came to pretty much define Rob’s casual attire from then on. He wore it to countless shows after that, along with myriad everyday shenanigans to the point that the garment became as porous and thin as the Shroud of Turin. While I prided myself (and still do) on my richly cultivated selection of dumb punk rock shirts, apparently Rob only needed that single one, and he wore it for a few years until is basically fell apart.

Today, during a random search, I found it (albeit not for sale, sadly). I’d never seen it before on anyone else nor anywhere else until I spied it again today. This is that shirt.

ADDENDUM: Rob still has it....

No Future for you!