If you’ve spent a decent amount of time reading this blog, you might remember a few posts dedicated to the work of photographer Drew Carolan, specifically his documentation of the early hardcore punk scene on the Bowery in the early 80’s. If not, you catch up on the backstory via the list of links below.
In any case, after a long wait, Drew’s book on the subject -– “Matinee” -- is finally out and available. He was nice enough to send me a copy, and let me tell you — it’s amazing. Even if you’re not an acolyte of this era of New York City’s underground music scene, it remains a striking collection of stark, black & white photographs.
As described in those other posts, Drew resourcefully set up a makeshift outdoor photo studio just steps to the west of the southwest corner of Bleecker at the Bowery (i.e. catty-cornered from the entrance to CBGB). Here, with the help of a plain white backdrop affixed to the north-facing facade, he was able capture a riveting series of portraits. While that sounds like a simple conceit, the resulting images are so much more than just a collection of photos of pose-friendly punks
While today, the corner in question bustles with shoppers, boozey brunchers and — presumably — the affluents who reside in the surrounding neighborhood’s new conglomeration of luxury high-rises, suffice it to say that the byway in question played host to a pointedly different brand of foot traffic in the early 80’s.
A largely avoided backwater of hopelessness and decrepitude, the Bowery was the quintessential Skid Row. There were no posh shops, wine salons or boutiquey bistros. Apart from CBGB, a few dive bars, gas stations, kitchen supply outlets, flop houses and the fleeting Great Gildersleeves, there wasn’t much to attract the masses. As such, it made for something of a sanctuary for the hardcore kids that gathered for the weekend matinees. And many of those kids had precious little else going for them.
The subjects of Drew’s photographs were not the variant of punks with day-glo comedy mohawks you might see on tourist-aimed postcards. These were kids from the streets – some juvenile delinquents and runaways -- often from broken homes, not Fiorucci regulars. For many, what defined this early era of what became more colloquially known as NYHC was not the gritty, inverted glamor, but more a sense of genuine community. This was a tribe of outsiders that bonded together organically and forged their own little microcosm. And from there, it grew.
For his part, Drew treated his subjects with a keen sensitivity. The end results are by no means exploitative photographs. While they indeed unflinchingly portray the tough exterior of the hardcore kids, they also manage to pierce the veil. The wordless expressions and unblinking gazes of these figures say so much more than the slogans and band names scrawled on their jackets and shaved into their scalps. One wonders what directive Drew was feeding them while shooting.
In any case, you can order yourselves a copy here. Or, if you’re in or around NYC, come meet the great man himself at a book release and signing gig at Generation Records, featuring a live performance by period-appropriate proto-NYHC crew, The Mob. I’m going to try to be there, as well, so if you’ve been itching to say hi, air a grievance or punch me in the face, that’s where I’ll probably be.
This is The Mob. I first heard this by way of my friend Richard K., the same gent who force-leant me several crucial slabs of early hardcore vinyl in grammar school, and the same cat I borrowed the New York Thrash cassette from and, er… forgot to return (sorry, Rich).
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Matinee Memories
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