Though usually namechecked for their involvement in the CBGB scene alongside The Ramones, The Dead Boys, Television and other pioneering New York City punk bands, I believe the first time I’d ever heard of The Dictators was because they’d toured with my childhood heroes in KISS, leading me to assume, having not yet heard their music, at the time, that they were a hard-rock/metal band. To be fair, the Dictators didn’t really look like what people came to associate with “punk rock,” either. But it was really their irreverent approach to proceedings and their idiosyncratic lyrics that set them apart from of the more po-faced “rawk” of the time, earning them a seat at the table with other punk forebears, ... even if they didn’t always get along with those folks either.
As a result, the Dictators’ status as perpetually square pegs in a sea of round holes always captured my imagination, and I wanted to learn more about them. But, back in the early 80’s, when I started seeking them out based almost exclusively on their legend, their first three albums were long out of print and seemingly impossible to find. As luck would have it, though, the ROIR Cassette label – the same indie that had released the seismic hardcore compilation New York Thrash and the barnstorming debut by Bad Brains – had issued a live reunion album of theirs in 1981. I found that cassette, entitled Fuck’Em If They Can’t Take A Joke, in the downstairs tape area of Disc-O-Mat on 58th and Lexington at some point in about 1982 and bought it on the spot, having never heard a single note off of it.
I don’t know if I’d known what to expect, by this point, but Fuck’Em… immediately went into heavy rotation on my Walkman, fighting for incongruous dominance with the Circle Jerks, Venom, Gang of Four, Rush, Devo, Motorhead and the Dead Kennedys. They weren’t hardcore. They weren’t really metal. They didn’t really sound like anyone else, but I grew to love several songs on that tape, notably their cover of the Stooges’ “Search & Destroy” and a song called “Loyola,” which I especially dug, as it was the name of my high school.
Indoctrinated into the faith by Fuck’Em If They Can’t Take a Joke, I serendipitously happened upon a pristine vinyl copy of the band’s second album, Manifest Destiny a few years later in a box of “records for a dollar” outside of the Ronald McDonald House for Pediatric Cancer Patients on East 86th Street (from that same box I also prized a copy of the oft-maligned With Sympathy by Ministry). A more polished affair than Fuck’em…, this album contained studio versions of by-then-favorites like “Science Gone Too Far” and “Young, Fast & Scientific,” as well as a studio cover of “Search & Destroy.”
By this point, however, the band was long over. Lead singer Handsome Dick Manitoba had started a new band called Manitoba’s Wild Kingdom, lead guitarist Ross The Boss had started the very metal Manowar (who I also kinda got into, however ridiculous) and guitarist Scott “Top Ten” Kempner formed the Del Lords, who were perfectly fine, but a bit more rootsier than my usual fare. While I still dug their music, for all intents and purposes, the Dictators were done.
Years went by. I found myself a couple of years out of college and hanging out in a bar on Avenue A and 2nd Street called … wait for it … 2A. It was the latter part of a divisive evening wherein two friends of mine were quarreling. All I wanted to do was have a beer. We head in and who should be holding court behind the bar, but Handsome Dick Manitoba, prompting me to geek out ala Wayne Campbell (“We’re not worthy!”) much to the pronounced embarrassment of Handsome Dick (real name: Richard Blum). He listened to me gush like a fanboy for a while then went on to other patrons. About forty minutes later, Handsome Dick gets into an altercation with a customer further down the bar, marches back over to where I’m sitting, grabs me by the lapels and drags me over to extrapolate about how cool the Dictators were, and I happily -- and laboriously -- obliged.
A couple of years after that -- and here’s where my chronology starts to getting muddled – Handsome Dick opened his own bar on Avenue B called Manitoba’s. Around this time, the Dictators reformed in various capacities with some members coming and going. My good friend Dean Rispler even joined for a long while on bass. I even got to see them perform again a few times at places like Coney Island High and The Bowery Ballroom.
After that, things got complicated. Handsome Dick unwittingly became something of a divisive figure, sometimes alienating people all over the map with some pointed political opinions. Then his bar got some noise complaints. Then some ugly allegations were leveled at him. The band stopped speaking to each other. The bar closed. It was all very unfortunate.
Very recently, members of the Dictators reformed, albeit without Handsome Dick, and started recording music again together. Then something else happened.
I’d heard rumors about it from some similarly inclined friends of mine, but those rumors were confirmed for me by a sad Instagram post from Handsome Dick. Evidently Scott “Top Ten” Kempner has been sadly diagnosed with early-stage dementia. Though estranged from his friend since childhood, Handsome Dick wrote a heartfelt tribute to Top Ten on his Instagram page. Read that here, if you’re interested.
Whether they’ll ever patch it all up remains a mystery, but the reports of Kempner’s tragic affliction and Richard Blum’s anguish for his estranged friend frankly break my heart.
Play it loud…
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