In recent weeks, Vulture.com, an off-shoot of New York Magazine (which I was arguably maligning not too long back), has been really bringing it with some great interviews. First came a hard-hitting and astonishingly candid chat with the great Quincy Jones, followed shortly by a frankly ridiculous exchange with erstwhile Strokes lead singer Julian Casablancas. Earlier this week, meanwhile, they published an amazing interview with Mike D. of the Beastie Boys that, if you share the sensibility of this blog, you should truly enjoy, being that he touches on myriad subjects dear to my heart. As I brazenly humblebragged back on this post, I had the distinct pleasure of interviewing Mike D. for TIME Magazine for a special issue on music, back in 2001, and he could not have been cooler. You can read my actual interview here.
That's Mike up top on the right, incidentally, as captured by Arabella Field circa 1982. He's sitting, of course, next to the late Adam Yauch within the former confines of Dave's Luncheonette on Canal Street on Broadway. That space is now called Café Bari.
It's a long story that I won't bore you with (this time), but suffice to say -- YES, I still use an iPod. I resent streaming, I don't stream, and I basically think less of people who do, so suck on that.
Anyway, to make a long, potentially argumentative story short, with my more recent 160 GB iPod Classic on the afore-mentioned fritz, I exhumed an older one that I'd retired for some long forgotten reason from my desk and made do with that, this morning, although its contents cannot be updated. As such, since I couldn't listen to anything new, I just selected a random shuffle of the songs that were on it.
During the course of same, the propulsive strains of "Krupa" by Apollo 440 filled my headphones just as I was crossing the expanse of Houston Street, almost instantly providing a purposeful bounce to my steps into SoHo. Part of the same generation of largely electronic British outfits from the mid-to-late 90s like Basement Jaxx, The Prodigy, The Propellerheads, Fatboy Slim, The Lo-Fidelity Allstars, The Chemical Brothers, et al., Apollo 440 made beat-heavy "dance music," for lack of a better term (I believe they were calling it "Big Beat" over there and "Electronica" over here, at the time), but with way more personality than the EDM bullshit that today's horrible douchebag-youth listen to (Deadmau5, Chainsmokers and their vile ilk). The first track I heard of Apollo 440's was "Ain't Talkin' Bout Dub," which gave one of Eddie Van Halen's more celebrated riffs (from "Ain't Talkin' Bout Love," duh!) a frantic drum'n'bass-y makeover. That may not sound promising, I realize, but it worked really well, at the time.
Based on our appreciation of that single, my friend Rob and I went to go see them, on a lark, perform a semi-secret gig at the Bowery Ballroom at some point in the late 90's. Not entirely knowing what to expect, we were surprised to see that Apollo 440 was a fully-functioning, multi-piece band, not just a couple of dudes pushing buttons. They had two drummers, a bass player and a guitarist I recognized as Noko, formerly from Howard Devoto's largely abortive post-Magazine band, Luxuria. An added surprise was the addition of Mary Mary Byker (a gentleman), the curiously named former lead singer of erstwhile "grebo" ensemble, Gaye Bykers on Acid (Mary Mary also served in the ranks of Martin Atkins' anarchic Pigface, for a spell). In that line-up, Apollo 440 launched into a genuinely entertaining set, with Mary Mary often just dancing around and grinning like a loon, given that a wide swathe of their material was purely instrumental.
I vividly remember the song below, "Krupa" from that set. Performed live, I recall Rob and I both remarking that it sounded a bit like a happy version of Cop Shoot Cop. The studio version didn't really bear that out, although it does indeed cook (as you'll hear below). I was also chuffed to find that it features a suitably New York-centric video. See below. Recognize any locations?
The main vocal sample throughout the song, incidentally, is a line of passing dialogue from Martin Scorsese's "Taxi Driver." The invocation of "Gene Krupa's synchopated style" is uttered by an actual gentleman named Gene Palma, formerly a fixture on these Manhattan streets, who held court on variety on midtown corners, demonstrating his drumming skills. That's him above circa 1975, courtesy of a photograph named Ernie Viskupic.
Anyway, go put on your dancing pants and push play.
Following up on a post from last week, I came across another clip from Footage Farm from their "Greenwich Village 1970s" series. You might remember that I was all excited last time, as this seemingly random bit of archival film contained vintage footage of The Cramps practicing at CBGB. This time, I immediately recognized the face in the thumbnail and got newly excited, but here's Footage Farm's typically clinical description:
CU & zoom back from singer in punk band at CBGB (with sound). VS band playing. Lead singer w/ open black shirt; then shirtless w/ scar across chest. Very dramatic aggressive performance. Shot of open pants & groin of lead singer. Lead singer lies down & pours something on his body, wrapping cords around his neck, pretending to hang himself. Much shouting. Audience shots. VS Backstage w/ band. Someone asks how they feel about Jimmy Carter.
Even if the thumbnail image doesn't give it away, that description should. This is, of course, an enjoyably ribald set by The Dead Boys, finding Stiv Bators, Cheetah Chrome, Jimmy Zero, Jeff Magnum and Johnny Blitz in suitably feral form. Unfortunately, you only get sizable-albeit-not-especially-high-fidelity chunks of "Sonic Reducer" and "All This & More," as the rest of the set is comprised of frustratingly brief snippets. I assume the idea was to capture the antics of the gestating punk scene, and the Dead Boys do more than deliver, in that capacity.
I'm not sure when I first heard the music of the Dead Boys, but I do have a vivid memory of being in a car somewhere in Lower Manhattan, as a child, and seeing their moniker scrawled ominously across the brick façade of a derelict building, like some scene out of "The Warriors." Shortly after that, I remember my preternaturally cool grade-school friend Zach (the first kid to get into all things punk, having introduced our little gaggle to the joys of the Ramones and the Jim Carrol Band) clutching one of the band's LPs as if it were some top-secret weapon of mass destruction. Inspired by same, I remember forking over five bucks for a cut-out-bin copy of Night of the Living Dead Boys, the band's posthumous sorta-live document, after which Bators joined the comparatively restrained Lords of the New Church, a frowny ensemble that largely provided the score to the lop-sided John Hughes opus that was my high school experience.
Reportedly doctored in the studio for maximum impact -- as opposed to filigree-laden finesse -- Night of the Living Dead Boys is a feast of feedback and chaos, peppered with profanity, piercing screams and a clutch of not-ready-for-Casey-Kasem classics like "Son of Sam," "Caught With the Meat In Your Mouth" and "I Need Lunch"… an indelicate little ditty which was purportedly about the obliging Dead Boys acolyte who became Lydia Lunch. My personal favorite on the album was the opening number, "Detention Home," which, to my mind, belied guitarist Cheetah Chrome's slovenly demeanor, discreetly revealing him to be a more versatile player than one might expect.
In any case, while the sound and continuity might be patchy, this clip below is an otherwise priceless rendering of the Dead Boys during their pummeling prime.
Today, of course, Stiv Bators, has been dead for a sobering 28 years, after being struck by a car in Paris and dying from internal injuries. I haven't a clue what became of Jimmy Zero and Jeff Magnum, but Cheetah Chrome and Johnny Blitz formed a new version of the Dead Boys and somewhat needlessly re-recorded the band's studio debut, Young, Loud & Snotty last year.
CBGB, meanwhile, is now a John Varvatos boutique for exceptionally silly people with too much disposable income and not a lot of imagination.
Late last year, comedian Louis CK was revealed to be not quite the nice, funny guy everyone seemingly perceived him to be, as accusations of predatory and roundly confoundng sexual misconduct came to light as part of what became the #MeToo movement. To his credit, CK admitted to those instances and publicly apologized with a written statement, although his apology felt a bit aneamic … and featured entirely too many invocations of the words "my dick." In the wake of all that, CK's career has, for all intents and purposes, stalled. As far as I know, all his projects have been shelved across the board, and he's now something of an exile ala Harvey Weinstein, Kevin Spacey, Bill Cosby and the rest of them.
Personally speaking, I was never a fan of Louis CK's, which is to say I didn't really follow his stuff. It's not that I didn't find him funny, but more that I just didn't routinely tune into his shows or follow his trajectory. I'm certainly a fan of lots of comics of his generation, like Marc Maron, Patton Oswalt and the like, but I was late to the table with Louis CK, and while certain bits of his I heard here and there were certainly funny, I didn't scramble to catch up, tune into his sit-com or whatever. I guess my point is that I didn't have enough invested in him to know whether the antics I alluded to in the first paragraph were out of character, although from what little I knew about him, I assumed he was smarter than that. I also thought he was a little more sophisticated, but maybe not.
Upon hearing what he did and how he did it and how he tried to apologize for it, I can't say I feel too much sympathy for the guy. It's a serious matter, and he's presumably now dealing with the consequences and ideally adjusting his life accordingly.
It's a serious matter. The rest of this post, I should take pains to point out, is not, nor is it especially important, but it got me really mad, so here goes.
I have no idea of when it was recorded, nor really of its true provencance (a radio broadcast? A podcast? Who knows?), but as part of one of those things, Louis CK, c-lister Jim Norton and shitty shock-jocks Opie & Anthony (one of whom was also recently disciplined for inappropriate bullshit) took to the airwaves ostensibly to discuss the death of Paul Raven, who'd evidently been a guest on their show circa his stint with Ministry. From there, they lapsed into a twelve-minute screed about how little they think of Killing Joke, based primarly on how little they know of Killing Joke (the rationale being… if a band isn't well-known and hasn't had a record in the charts… they can't be any good?) It's madness.
If you're keen on listening to twelve minutes of a gaggle of douchebags celebrating their own sizable ignorance, please avail yourselves to the play button below.
I was already glad Louis CK was paying the price for his actions, but now he can pretty much go right to Hell, as far as I'm concerned.
I'd call it a "spring cleaning" of my front-hall closet, but I didn't really get rid of stuff so much as re-organize it. In any case, along the way, I stumbled upon a cache of old photographs, and thought I'd share the one above. This is University Place looking north from the southwest corner of East 11th Street. Click on it to enlarge.
I can't exactly say what time of year I took this, but I'm guessing sometime in the spring of 1996. Much like the Nelson Sullivan video I put up yesterday, this image probably won't really turn a lot of heads, but for folks more familiar with the current iteration of this patch of real estate, there are a few interesting nuances.
Obviously, the Lemongrass Grill, the Cedar Tavern, Wholesome Foods, University Restaurant and Bowlmor Lanes are all gone (while El Cantinero soldiers on), replaced by a bank, a waxing salon, a Vietnamese restaurant, a SweetGreen and a mammoth eyesore of a condo, I'd say the biggest difference would be the overall cityscape.
Twenty-six years after this photo was snapped, that patch of sky depicted in the background has been largely blotted out by numerous priapic developments, effectively decimating the low-building aesthetic that formerly held sway over this part of lower Manhattan.
I have no big, profound takeaway here, only that the University Place captured in this photograph doesn't seem so long ago, but so much has indeed changed.
I've spoken about Nelson Sullivan's videos here a number of time (see links at the bottom of the post), but -- for the uninitiated -- Nelson was this video pioneer, of a sort, who painstakingly documented his doings -- however ordinary -- with a big, honkin' camcorder. Without the comparatively streamlined technology of today, he managed to capture the sights, sounds and scenes of downtown Manhattan throughout the 80's, encapsulating his meanderings in a candid, laissez-faire manner that was in keeping with the more relaxed posture of the pre-Dinkins/Giuliani/Bloomberg eras of the city. In terms of why he was doing it, I'm afraid I cannot say, but -- y'know, why not? Thank God he did, as his work has provided a telling glimpse back at a city that is barely recognizable three decades later. Sadly, Nelson passed away in 1989, leaving his extensive catalog of archival clips to NYU.
In any case, if you curious about the NYC of that era, you'd do well to seek his stuff out.
The clip I'm highlighting in this post probably won't blow a new part in anyone's hair unless they're from around here. In it, Nelson captures a leisurely stroll from an apartment on East 9th Street, east of Tompkins Square Park in Alphabet City, to a destination across town in the West Village on a sleepy July 4th in 1986.
Now, again, if you're not a New Yorker, this is probably going to seem like some pretty tame shit, but viewed from the vantage point of 2018, there are some notable points to take in.
On a purely surface level, yes it's cool to see several since-vanished landmarks like the old Aztec Café in the East Village, the Lone Star Café on Fifth Avenue (replete with signature roof-reptile) and Bowlmor Lanes on University Place, but I was more struck by the fact that these three dudes --- evidently a pop band called The Pop Tarts, whose work I must confess to not being at all familiar with -- are all depicted casually sipping from open containers of Heineken, a stunt that would invariably not fly in the NYC of today.
Beyond that, though, witness how refreshingly rough-around-the-edges the neighborhoods they pass through still look. The walls are covered with flyers and street art. The businesses, by and large, are all independent, mom'n'pop affairs. Moreover, the byways of Manhattan look practically deserted. The streets and sidewalks are almost empty of traffic.
Suffice to say, that city is gone. Have a look, as it's probably not coming back.
If you're a sucker for archival NYC footage like I am, you've doubtlessly disappeared down a few YouTube rabbit holes, watching either endless reels of super-8 home movies of people's shitty vacations, or those compilations of stock footage. I've put several up here, over the years. They're usually compelling, but fairly banal. Still, I can't stop myself from watching them, always hoping to catch a glimpse of something out of the ordinary, or something that speaks directly to my own experiences.
I found one such clip today. Yawnsomely titled "Greenwich Village 1970s," this nine-plus minute video does pretty much exactly what it says on the packaging, showing undated footage of downtown Manhattan. Upon hitting play, I didn't expect anything too exciting.
In reading the description, though (find that here), I was struck by the following blurbage….
03:01:06 Inside CBGB club. VS Punk band practicing (w/ sound). Man talking about music groups, money. Footage is dark here as people talk at bar. Pan audience & bar to band. CU drums. Guitars warming up & sound check.
My curiosity piqued, I sped to that section to check out who the band might be. Expecting just a gaggle of nobodies, imagine my surprise to spot none other than an early iteration of The Cramps (there's absolutely no mistaking Bryan Gregory). You don't get a complete song, but you get snippets of "The Way I Walk" and "Domino," which is pretty goddamn amazing, if you're into this sorta stuff.
There's also plenty of footage of the old West Side Highway scene, well prior to any semblance of gentrification.
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