Flaming Pablum

Back Again to Wetlands Preserve in TriBeCa

Alright, I know I said I was going on vacation, but I technically don’t leave until tomorrow, so thought I’d squeeze in one more.

I’ve spoken about Wetlands Preserve, the long-gone TriBeCa live-music venue that operated between 1989 and 2001, a few times here before, notably here, here and most recently here. I pretty much expressed as much in all of those earlier posts, but it was kind of an extraordinary place. Yes, of course, it was the heroically unlikely flashpoint for a music scene giddily out-of-step with the times when it launched the careers of names like Blues Traveler, the Spin Doctors, Phish, the Dave Matthews Band, Joan Osborne, Widespread Panic and a host of other neo-hippy/jam bands, but there was so much more to the place than that. I mean, personally speaking, I fucking hated that kind of stuff, at the time, yet still counted myself as something of a Wetlands regular, because their booking policy was so all-inclusive. I mean, sure … on one night you’d get nothing but stoner-friendly fare like Grateful Dead cover bands and easy-skanking reggae outfits, but you were just as likely to experience an evening of splenetic hardcore or stentorian metal the next night. I mean, friggin’ Manowar even played Wetlands, at one point.

Anyway, despite it being this great club with an endearingly oddball vibe and a pointedly relaxed posture about the imbibement of alternative stimulants (especially downstairs in its lower, opium-den like chambers), Wetlands was forced to close up shop in the wake of the passing of its founder, Larry Bloch. For more on that, there’s a great documentary from the Sundance Channel that came out in 2008 that’s worth seeking out.

After the venue close, the building which housed the space underwent a major renovation and turned into (yet another) pricey condo, which was certainly in keeping with the economic trajectory of TriBeCa, at the time.

The first venture I remember opening up shop in the old Wetlands space was, I believe, a bespoke bedding and furniture emporium, of some kind. I never walked inside it. That concern closed up in fairly short order, and the space that had seen so much vibrant activity throughout the `90s became a largely dormant storage facility of a sort.

It’s been that way pretty much ever since.

At the tail end of 2015, I landed the job I currently hold basically down where TriBeCa abuts the Financial District. I was suddenly finding myself walking through TriBeCa on a daily basis, frequently passing the once-iconic corner of Laight & Hudson, where Wetlands was perched. I pretty much always glance in its direction upon walking by, never expecting to notice anything new or different. This morning, however, it looked as though a lot of the view-blocking detritus had been cleared away from the windows that now line the exterior of the façade. As such, I climbed up the ramp and peered inside.

It’s very hard to reconcile that it’s the same room, but below is that old Wetlands space in 2022. The intimate stage, such as it was, was in the back on the right-hand side. On the nearer right-hand side was where the “Eco-Lounge” was, along with the fabled VW van. The main bar was on the left-hand side.

Bands I saw perform in this room include: The Royal Crescent Mob, Rise Robots Rise, Life in a Blender, fIREHOSE, Monster Magnet, the Supersuckers, Living Colour, Space Hog, Dread Zeppelin, the Scofflaws, Mephiskapheles, Fishbone, The Machine, Echobelly, Mansun, Second Step, Last Exit, Life of Agony, King Missile, Motherhead Bug, Agnostic Front, Murphy’s Law, the Lunachicks, the Toasters, the Meat Puppets, Ari Up of The Slits and The Damage Manual (these last two were the final show I saw there in October of 2000.

 

"THIS IS ... VACATION!"

Ahoy all. There will probably be another slowdown, for a couple of days, as the Flaming Pablum brood is going on holiday for the first time since the ascent of COVID. I say “probably” as I’ve been asked by my organization to “bring my laptop” (gosh, … thanks) in case something needs doing while I’m away, although — for the life of me — I cannot fathom what that scenario would look like. It’s nice to be thought of as crucially indispensable, but surely one or two of my colleagues could handle whatever mess comes down the pike, no?

If the GIF above didn’t already tip you off, we’re bound for Greece for a few days. This will be my first time in this region of the world, so that should be interesting. Unfortunately, the country is currently dealing with a rash of wildfires, at the moment, and — were that not bad enough — is about to endure a massive heat wave right when we’re getting there. Conventional wisdom suggests that Greece in July is already an ill-considered plan, but the die is cast, alas (sorry, that’s a Roman idiom, not Greek).

When not sweating like a someone stuck in an unventilated Trojan Horse or burning myself lobster-red in the bleaching, Hellenic sun, I’m sure I’ll have a marvelous time soaking up the history, cuisine and natural beauty of the place, while also boring my kids into a stupor with mindless quotes from “300." I’ve even started re-reading Homer's “The Iliad.” I say “re-reading,” but, in all candor, my first experience with that epic poem was having it read to me in 7th Grade. Trying to slog through it on the written page is another matter entirely. I’m about a third in with grave doubts about finishing it. But put me under an umbrella with a cocktail and a view of the Aegean Sea, and we’ll see how far I get.

Expect a full report in a few days.

“It’s a Bit Like Pouring Raw Sewage Into Your Ears”

I have to say, while many might have assumed otherwise, I was absolutely never into The Darkness. For those still unfamiliar, the Darkness are a British rock band who first appeared around 2003 with what can best be described as a schtick. Essentially, The Darkness play a brazenly cliché-ridden brand of hard rock that cribs liberarlly from some of the more hackneyed tropes of 80’s heavy metal and stadium rock. They even managed a big hit single, at the time, that being “I Believe in a Thing Called Love.” But while scrupulously studied in their cheeky homage to the rawwwwwk of eras bygone, it never felt organic, to me. Sure, there have been some truly amazing parody bands over the years – my alltime favorites being the mighty Dread Zeppelin and The Upper Crust – but I just couldn’t endorse The Darkness, for whatever reason. It all seemed so forced. As such, they just irritated me.

So, I’ve pretty much ignored them, ever since.

Two decades and seven studio albums later, meanwhile, the band is still at it (their most recent album, Motorheart, came out in 2021). I have successfully managed to happily avoid all their music, but recently came across the YouTube channel of The Darkness’ lead singer, that being one Justin Hawkins. Over the course of almost 200 videos all captured pretty much over the past year, Hawkins has been ruminating on various musical quandaries, delving into popular songs, parsing of-the-moment trends, discussing divisive figures, dispelling cultural misconceptions and the like, all with a thoughtful approach, an accomplished ear and a endearingly quick wit. In short, he is informative, insightful and almost always entirely hilarious.

It’s almost enough to get me to reconsider his band’s music.

I also love that he has the faces of the four members of Queen from the cover of the much-maligned Hot Space tattooed on his fist.

Here’s a great recent episode. Ride on, Justin, ride on!

Still Out of Step: Seventeen Years of Flaming Pablum

Seventeen years seems like a frankly absurd amount of time to be keeping a blog, doesn't it? 

On the left-hand column, I used to keep a list of other blogs that I found interesting or topically aligned or just fun. After a while, though, most of those endeavors either just ran out of steam or vanished completely. Some of my original compatriots in the once-so-called “NYC Blog Mafia” like Bowery Boogie and EV Grieve are still at it, but several others threw in the towel long ago. Jeremiah Moss, as another example, made the heroic leap from blogging to the printed page, and is now on the threshold of releasing a second book. He still occasionally updates his blog, but he’s understandably got bigger fish to fry, these days. As I’ve mentioned before, the act of blogging itself seems just as laughably anachronistic as, say, buying CD’s and listening to music on an iPod… two of my other tireless habits. I remain out of step.

But apart from periodic slowdowns, occasional self-imposed hiatuses and the odd technical blackout, I have been dependably logging entries here on the still-ridiculously-named Flaming Pablum for seventeen years straight. It started out as an experimental gag, of sorts, and it’s practically turned into my third child. I have no insightful point to make here. It’s just strange.

As always, each time I hit the “publish” button on a new post, I genuinely feel like there’s a strong possibility it could be my last one. I live in constant doubt that I’ll ever have anything interesting left to say, and given the seemingly niche, select and/or outré concerns my posts tend to focus on, I remain fairly amazed I have any readership at all.

In any case, thanks for reading. I don’t believe I’m quite done yet, but we’ll see.

Beach Bop

I spotted this article in VICE, today, and I completely agree with it. While music will always be my greatest pleasure, it is simply not required at the beach, in my opinion, least of all at the expense of others withing hearing distance trying to enjoy nature’s own ambient soundtrack.

But the piece reminded me of an anecdote.

Summer of 1990, I venture to Orchard Beach in da Bronx with my great comrade Brent. It being a hot July day, the beach is teeming with activity. The furthest third of it, however, is declared a "quiet zone" by way of a billboard boldly asserting in block capital letters "NO RADIO PLAYING!" (an activity that is happening with great zeal on the other two thirds of the beach). We settle into the (ostensibly) quiet zone and commence sojourning. A few minutes later, a gaggle of local youths wander in with a heroically oversized boombox (remember those?) cranking the insistent strains of "It Takes Two" by Rob Base & DJ EZ Rock at a volume traditionally reserved for jet engines. A member of the beach constabulary scrambles over to them, admonishing them while pointing emphatically at the afore-cited billboard. One of the youths silences the music and stares incredulously at his accuser.

His retort: "Yo, man, ... it's a tape!"

Where’s The Fire, Iggy?

Someone posted the photo below on Facebook, and it immediately got the wheels a-turning.

This is, of course, the greatest living American, Iggy Pop, louchely perched aside the vehicle of New York’s Bravest. Ig’s looking comparatively young, here, so I’m going to guess this was taken at some point in the early `80s. In any case, when I spied the terraced building on the left-hand side of the photo, I thought of the giant, white-bricked building on the corner of East 9th Street and Third Avenue (where Joey Ramone used to live), which would put Iggy on the northeast corner of St. Marks and Third Avenue, a locale he would have lived relatively close to in that era (for certain spells, Iggy had an apartment on Mercer Street, and then later in the Christadora House on Avenue B). Here’s the corner of St. Marks and Third, more or less, today….

Sure, they look kinda similar, but several things don’t quite add up to make this a lock.

The firetruck Mr. Pop is leaning against is emblazoned with (as far as we can surmise) the legend FDNY 16. According to some quick Googling, the firehouse for FDNY Engline 16/Ladder 7 is on East 29th Street. That’s neither here nor there, really, but what would a firetruck from East 29th Street be doing on St. Marks Place?

There’s a bit of signage at the top of the photo for a concern called “Ernest Lo Nano Interiors.” Further Googling reveals that said establishment was perched at 201 East 67th Street.

Et voia….

It’s partially obscured by trees, but I think this is the corner, although that does not explain why a firetruck from 29th Street (if that’s even accurate) was there, much less why the great Iggy Pop was in that neighborhood of the comparatively sleepy Upper East Sid.

That’s as far as I got.

Back to University Place: Fancy a Pint at Smith's?

The shot above was taken by one Richard Greene in about 1974. It was snapped on my own strip, University Place, just above East 13th Street. Were you to stand in this same spot today, you would essentially be standing in front of the newly-truncated Basics Plus hardware store. The southeast corner, until recently a juice bar, is currently occupied by a new deli.

In 1974, however, that corner was evidently held by Smith's Bar. Personally speaking, I don't remember a Smith's Bar on that particular corner, but I would have been very young, at the time. When I first moved into the neighborhood in the `90s, that space was occupied by a noodle restaurant. As described in this post from 2012, that venture suffered a fire and was then taken over by a Vietnamese restaurant. After that it became a sprawling, two-level hardware store, Basics Plus, with its own corner juice bar. That closed after several years, and the space was divided up again. A new, smaller and markedly less fabulous Basics Plus opened, and that afore-cited new deli took the corner space. 

In 2022, there aren't nearly as many bars along University Place as there used to be. Obviously, the Cedar Tavern is long gone. Jazz-bar Bradley's morphed into the douchey Reservoir which, despite rumors, never left. Our local, the Knickerbocker, is still going, but has kind of lost a bit of its luster, if I'm being honest. I would love to have Smith's Bar back, but I'm not holding my breath. That establishment clearly belongs to another era. 

On that post from 2012, a reader named Mykola shared thoughts about the bar...

On that corner in the late 1960s was Smith's bar, which used to be all over the city. A great place that served you beer or booze but also had a kitchen making corned beef sandwiches, knishes etc. I used to go there for lunch very often when I worked at Grove Press on 11th Street and University. Barney Rosset, the owner of Grove, who had recently passed away, always used to pop in for a pick-me-up drink. Ah, those were the days...

Sounds pretty great, right? Oh well. 

Funnily enough, my next-door neighbor actually gave me a Smith's Bar t-shirt (I have doubts about its legitimacy) several years ago. At that time, I only knew about the Smith's Bar on 8th Avenue in Hell's Kitchen. My friend Rob D. lived in that neighborhood, and we were always taken by its signature neon signage and its refreshingly unpretentious vibe. I have yet to find any other photos of this University Place iteration, but I'd be super curious to see more depictions of it. 

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