Flaming Pablum

Still Running

In yersterday’s rememberance of the Carmine Street iteration of Freebing Records, I rattled off a list of names of record and CD shops that formerly held court in the immediate Greenwich Villlage vicinty, citing them as all since-vanished. But longtime reader and Flaming Pablum friend Mike Joyce -– no, not the same Mike Joyce that played drums for The Smiths –- quickly corrected me that Record Runner over on Jones Street is still “alive and well.”

To his point, Record Runner is still there. That’s it up top, with my kids, circa summer 2015.

Back in the day, so to speak, Record Runner was a safe bet if you were looking for the latest UK indie releases from bands like Ride, Blur, The Wonder Stuff and such, to say nothing of their impressive collection of collector’s vinyl from `80s pop acts like Culture Club, Duran Duran and Madonna. Despite their location, you may not find a lot of Bob Dylan there (Jones Street was featured on the sleeve of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan), but if you were looking for a rare 12” by Dead or Alive, they’d have ya covered.

These days, while still operational, it seems like they do most of their business by appointment or possibly by mail order. I don’t believe they get too many walk-ins anymore.

In any case, my apologies to Record Runner in wrongly casting them as closed. Run on, Record Runner, run on!

Meanwhile, this is a fine opportunity to extoll the merits of Mike Joyce’s own page, Swissted, wherein he re-imagines gig flyers from the halcyon days of punk, New Wave and hardcore in the style of Swiss typographic style posters. It sounds odd, yes, but the end results are striking (see below). I think they're fucking brilliant, but then, I would, wouldn't I?

 Check out his site -– and buy a print or two -– here.

‘Food is The New Music’: The Looming Threat of ‘Cultural Mortality’

Fresh on the heels of not one but two grumpy old man posts from me (one lamenting how the way music is experienced and consumed has irreparably changed, and another practically weeping over a long-closed record shop), I stumbled upon a very funny and very cutting piece by Deadspin’s Hamilton Nolan titled “Vital Cultural Activity of Our Era is Not Music, But Rather Something I Still Participate In, Says Old Guy.”

In a nuthsell, Nolan came across a somewhat hapless think-piece by stodgy Bloomberg View columist Tyler Cowen about food replacing music as the dominant cultural currency of relevance, a hackneyed assertion in 2017 to be sure (and that’s being charitable). Without hesitation, Nolan set his snark-phaser on euthanize. In exceptionally short, hilariouus order, he giddily vivisects Cowen’s piece, exposing the poor fellow’s desperatley tenuous grasp on the zeitgeist. It’s rough -– and arguably a bit agist -– but Nolan’s not wrong. Cowen’s piece is ultimately dated, bloated, strenuously self-important and laughably out-of-touch. The ensuing rermaks in the comments section pull even fewer punches.

Of course, I caught myself laughing just a little too loud at this, because Nolan’s same, unflinching snark-ray could just as easily slice into my own salt-&-pepper-bearded bloviation. I mean, check out my third paragraph in the afore-cited piece about the reprise of the Lifetime Listening List (the one wherein I bitterly assert that “music-listening has become a piecemeal affair,” and then draw a clumsy analogy to streaming being the equivalent of eschewing a banquet in favor of blithely picking at an array of hors d’oevres). I mean, that’s not too far from the vantage point Cowen was writing from. I can only take some solace that, in the paragraph that precedes it, I admit that my perspective on such matters could invariably be the result of my advancing age and the diminished amount of time I’m afforded to worry about music. At least I’m willing to cop to that.

That said, that doesn’t take the sting out of Nolan’s well-worded indictment of Cowen (and, for that matter, me) as being “ashamed” of our own “cultural mortality.” I don’t know that I’m necessarily ashamed of it, I just think I hadn’t thought of it in terms of it pertaining to my impending death -- which, I suppose, is just a more macabre way of saying “my advancing age.” I hadn’t really considered the bigger implications of my failure to invest in or get excited by the music of, say, Lil Yachty, the Chainsmokers or Future as symptomatic of my own encroaching decreptitude. I just consider that stuff shit I don’t care about. Sadly, the shit I do care about -– music-wise, at least -– is in increasingly short supply.

In my defense, however, I am going out to see live music tonight, and I’m sure it’ll run late. So take that, Hamilton Nolan. Although, if I’m being totally honest (and why shouldn’t I be?), I’m going to see Boss Hog, a band from the same, long-since-graduated class as Cop Shoot Cop (yes, I’m still working on that book) who are on what is ostensibly a reunion tour to promote a new record. Yeah, nothing too clichéd about that. Hell, Boss Hog were even recently profiled in the New York Times with the headline “Boss Hog’s Punk Rock Revs Up as It Hits Middle Age.” So much for the cutting edge.

Whatever. I’ll be there. Look for the guy with the salt-&-pepper beard raging against the dying of the light in the front.

Back to Freebeing on Carmine

Every now and then, when trawling across the `Net, I’ll stumble upon something that prompts an audible gasp. No, I’m not talking about some variant of pornographic ribaldry, but rather stuff that speaks to my own stubbornly nostalgic predilections. Sometimes it’s a video (like one of these), or sometimes it’s a cache of photos. Sometimes, meanwhile, it’s only a solitary photo. Today, I came across one that practically jumped off the screen at me. Here it is now. Click on it to enlarge.

I’ve spoken about the incarnation of Freebeing Records on Second Avenue just south of St. Marks Place before (notably here and here). You may recall, from that first post, my anecdote about briefly working with a lady who claimed she helped get that shop closed because she believed it to be a quality-of-life liability to the neighborhood (she alleged it was a drug front). I can’t speak to that accusation. I don’t remember seeing anything that shady going on in the place, but I do remember it being loud (as I mentioned, we used to refer to it as “Deafwreckastow,” as in the record store you’d go deaf in). I’m guessing that might have had something to do with it not endearing itself to its immediate neighbors.

In any case, after that kerfuffle, Freebeing moved west, occupying a shop on Carmine Street just across the way from the vinyl stronghold, House of Oldies, and not too far from similarly inclined joints like Golden Discs, Subterranean Records, Record Runner, Disco-O-Rama and Rebel Rebel (all long vanished here in 2017…. grumble!) It wasn’t an especially spacious shop, but I vividly remember regularly stopping into the Carmine location of Freebeing, especially during the era captured in this photo (taken by one Peter Astaire in February of 1987). I know that date’s correct given the albums displayed in the window, among them Bete Noire by Bryan Ferry, Box Frenzy by Pop Will Eat Itself, Out of Our Idiot by Elvis Costello, Revenge by Eurythmics, Children of God by SWANS and George Best by The Wedding Present.

While people will invariably sooner lament the demise of the original Freebeing in the East Village, I do genuinely miss the Carmine Street iteration. Today, the space it once occupied is now a venture called Carmine Street Beers -– which is at least better than a vaping emporium, bank, CVS or cell phone joint.

See the rest of Astaire’s great NYC pics from 1987 here.

Twice in a Lifetime: Revenge of the Lifetime Listening List

For whatever reason, the Lifetime Listening List Meme (which I first invoked here) has been making the rounds again, and I -– slave to stupid social media that I am -– have been weighing back in periodically to submit my list. But, of course, my list ended at 2009. As such, I’ve been needled by certain parties to bring it up to date.

To be honest, some selections back on the old list were hard to fill out, as there would be so many pivotal contenders for each year that pinpointing a single title to sum up a whole year was a harrowing “Sophie’s Choice.” In many instances for this bunch, however, I was scrambling to find an album I genuinely got that fired up about. For example, as much as I do genuinely dig Crack the Skye by Mastodon, its impact on my life is in no way comparable to the impact, say, Spirit of Eden by Talk Talk was for me in 1988 or Q: Are We Not Men? by Devo was in 1978. That may be symptomatic of my advancing age and the ensuing deficit in time I’m allowed to devote to enjoying music. Conversely, it might be a statement about how music is no longer the dominant cultural force it arguably once was. Or, simply, it could be that 2009 just wasn’t all that great a year for tunes.

But also, as I’ve laboriously beaten into the ground like the carcass of a long-deceased horse, the manner in which music is disseminated, experienced, digested and consumed has changed so much that I wonder if “albums” are still capable of making those life-changing impacts. By and large, to the streaming majority, the whole concept of albums as complete works with beginnings, middles and ends probably seems like a quaint anachronism. Music-listening has become a piecemeal affair. To use an iffy culinary analogy, albums are no longer sumptuous, multi-course banquets but rather free buffets of hors d’oevres to be blithely picked at, picked apart and taken for granted.

In any case, here's the update....

2009 -Crack the Skye by Mastodon
2010 - Absolute Dissent by Killing Joke
2011 - He Gets Me High by the Dum Dum Girls (“Not a full album” you say? “Fuck you!” I say)
2012 - The Seer by SWANS
2013 - Modern Vampires of the City by Vampire Weekend
2014 – Eagulls by Eagulls
2015 - Pylon by Killing Joke
2016 - Post-Pop Depression by Iggy Pop …. very narrowly beating out Before the Dawn by Kate Bush
2017 - …. ?

The year is not over yet, so I’ll hold off.

Whither the Commerce Kids?

The uncredited photo above was posted on the Facebook group, Greenwich Village Grapevine, and I found it so intriguing that I wanted to share it here. Click on it to enrlage.

Shot from the vantage point of the signature curve of Commerce Street, looking north towards Barrow, this turn-of-the-last-century (??) photo captures a gaggle of children posing in the center of the street.

The Cherry Lane Theatre still holds court right behind where the picture's photographer would have stood. For many years, the building pictured on the near-left became the restaurant Grange Hall in the 90’s. I’m not sure what it is today.

While I love location-spotting puzzles like this, I think the most compelling thing about this photograph is the group of children. Look a little closer, and some of them seem to be eerily faceless and in the process of literally fading away from view. Their ghostly line-up reminds me a little of the cover illustration of Edward Gorey’s “The Gashlycrumb Tinies.” One wonders what became of these little folk.

Today, meanwhile, this strip is a prime piece of very enviable real estate.

Back ... Again ... to the Boutique: Just Down the Block

Paul’s Boutique by the Beastie Boys is one of the greatest albums of all time. There ya go. Let’s get that out of the way from the top.

I’ve spoken about it numerous times (notably here and here).

There’s not really that much more to bring to the table on the subject, but I spied a photo on Flickr recently that made me want to re-address it.

The iconic cover photograph of the Beasties’ second LP, you will doubtlessly remember, is a fish-eye, gatefold panorama of the intersection of Ludlow and Rivington Streets on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. I’m assuming it was taken at some point -- given the recording and release dates of the album — between 1988 and 1989. Bizarrely, I’m actually now friends with the gent who took the photo, so I’ll fly it by him.

In any case, in the late 80’s, this particular plot of Manhattan had quite a different vibe that it does today (i.e. there were fewer brunch-friendly bistros, high-end haberdasheries and hoighty-toighty hotels). It was more of an actual neighborhood than the nightlife-destination it has since become.

Anyway, in perusing through an album on Flickr titled USA 1988 by one Stu Brown, I happened upon the photo below.

Essentially, this is the same strip featured on the cover, albeit looking in the opposite direction, snapped from the northwest corner of Orchard and Rivington looking east (towards Ludlow).

This big clue is the "BAR RESTAURANT” sign on the left, just steps before that arched doorway, which both appear on the front of Paul’s Boutique towards the vanishing point.

At the time Stu Brown’s photo was taken, of course, Paul’s Boutique — nor its album cover — officially existed, so it’s just a coincidence that he decided to take this particular shot.

Check out the rest of Stu’s photos here — there are some good ones buried within.

NYC Graffiti 1976

No Eno York

Honestly speaking, I should probably give more of a crap about Brian Eno than I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I think he’s inredibly cool, but I’m what I’d consider a novice when it comes to his music. I love the stuff he did with Roxy Music, and am a big fan of Here Come the Warm Jets (notably “Needle in the Camel’s Eye” and “Baby’s On Fire”). I listened to Before and After Science quite a bit in college, based on the strength of “Backwater.” I love that he was inspired enough by NYC’s fleeting post-punk phenomenon, No Wave, to attempt to capture it on vinyl as No New York (despite cotentious testimony from some of that document’s participants that Eno was some sort of plundering dilitante). I think his “oblique strategies” approach is intriguing, and let’s face it --- the albums he did with Bowie, Devo, Talking Heads and U2 are arguably each of those artists’ finest recorded moments.

At this point, before you read anything else, I’d steer you towards this exhaustive and informative piece on Eno’s most creatively fertile period in New York City, written by the great Simon Reynolds. The picture above is actually of Eno in New York in 1974 (as captured by Leee Black Childers), but the era Simon writes about is 1978 to 1984.

This all said, so much of Eno’s own work just plain bores the Hell out of me. As much as I want to get into his proto-ambient work and admire its aesthetic, nine times out of ten it just puts me to sleep. Literally.

But there was a passage in Simon’s piece that caught my attention….

Some of On Land’s glinting, diaphanous music soundtracked his first major video work, “Mistaken Memories of Mediaeval Manhattan,” which comprised glacier-slow images of the New York skyline at sunset captured from the window of his downtown apartment. Both the audio and video reflected a desire to slow down the city’s hyped-up metabolism, to transform New York against its will into a more tranquil and ethereal place. The word “mediaeval” was a sideways allusion to an experience of culture shock and stimuli overload in Chinatown, where his senses were assaulted by strange smells and sounds. Eno decided that to survive in the city he needed to imaginatively transform the place into something less overwhelming; after all, he was a Suffolk native raised amid the “aloneness” and “very slow pace of things” that characterized that sparsely populated coastal region of eastern England. The idea of New York as a “strange, medieval, huge complex town in the middle of nowhere... suddenly made the place tolerable for me. You can easily live in New York and just see the mess of it. I wanted to make it mysterious again.”

Curiosity duly piqued, I sought out the video in question, and lo and behold, found it on YouTube.

My favorite part is this directive: “This is a vertical format video. Please turn your monitor or TV onto its right side.”

Yeah, have fun doing that.

Anyway, here `tis. Maybe have some coffee at the ready. 

Back to the Park

My comrade Bob “Popspots” Egan just posted another sprawling entry to his amazing page, and you should go check it out with the quickness. Devoted to album covers and photos of rock’n’roll types loitering around Central Park (like the Rascals above on the steps between Bethesda Fountain and the Bandshell), it’s truly an exhausive collection (over 100 examples). Click here to check’em out.

He did surprisingly miss one, that being the back cover of the debut album by Little Steven & the Disciples of Soul, shot in the same space as the Rascals above.

Steel in the Streets

A lot of my favorite NYC bands – specifically Pussy Galore, Skeleton Key, SWANS, Missing Foundation and -– wait for it –- Cop Shoot Cop, all cultivated their sound via bashing the shit out of pieces of metal. Well, here’s a video from the sepia-toned days of 1970 that profiles an ensemble called The Manhattan Street Band. They, too, made music via using metal as a percussive instrument, albiet with a slightly more meliflluous effect than the bands I mentioned above.

Evidently the winners of some music talent contest sponsored by Mobil Oil, The Mahattan Street Band was a steel drum ensemble led by one Fred Massey. In this endearing, 25-minute film, we see Massey and his co-horts making music all over Mahattan (hence their name), popping up around the Lower East Side, on the East River promenade at Carl Schurz Park (I believe), in Central Park, around Midtown, from the top of the Pan Am building and finally on the walkways of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Whether or not steel drum music is your thing, the film is a strangely compelling, almost hypnotic depiction of a bygone New York City. Yes, things do indeed little a little grittier and grimier (especially around Bethesda Fountain), but not in an especially threatening way.

It’s an interesting glimpse of a very different place.