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.”
Recent Comments