The great RB Korbet posted the video below on Facebook the other day, and it dates back a few months, but I figured it was well worth sharing here.
Regular readers here might remember a couple of posts I dedicated to the band Lubricated Goat here back in 2016 and 2019. In a nutshell, the band – led by the inimitable Stu Spasm – were Aussie ex-pats and NYC contemporaries of favorites of mine like Cop Shoot Cop and Foetus, even sharing members from personnel of both endeavors here and there over the years. As mentioned in this recent post, meanwhile, after a comparatively brief stint in a band called Crunt in the `90s with his then-wife Kat Bjelland of Babes in Toyland and, following that, another iteration of Lubricated Goat in the early 2000s, Stu – who now trades under the nom de guerre Art Gray -- has since channeled his musical impulses into an outfit called the Art Gray Noizz Quintet, featuring “Bloody” Rich Hutchins of Live Skull on drums and Ryan Skeltonboy of the band Woman on bass. They make a glorious racket, but seem to only release their music on vinyl and …er… cassette. Check out their site here, and their YouTube channel here.
Suffice to say, however, Art Gray’s musical oeuvre enjoys the adoration of an audience that can be best described as niche. Coupled with the crippling compromises put on touring musicians by the pandemic – let alone the artist-hostile, streaming-dominated music business of today – Art has sought out other ways to make ends meet. Boasting a distinctive aesthetic and keen eye, Stu/Art had always handled the design aspects for his musical projects and has since embraced studio art.
I realize I said I wasn’t going to post again until Thanksgiving, but I just spotted this, so thought I’d quickly share it.
Back in 2019, some might remember a quick entry about a long-lost concern called The Pit, which was — if my memory correctly served — a tiny boutique that sold gear for biker types. If you were in the market for leather duds, a black t-shirt with a skull on it or some ominous sartorial invocation of the superiority of Harley-Davidson motorcycles, the Pit had you covered. My memory of it was triggered by some photographs of one of my favorite bands, the Sisters of Mercy, sporting some finery they’d evidently procured at the Pit.
Well, as it happens, the Greenwich Village Society for Historic Preservation has a photo of the Pit during its tenure on St. Marks Place. See it below, and read more about the photo right here.
Today, the spot that had been The Pit is, I believe, now a Chinese noodle shop.
It’s almost hard to fathom the sheer volume of Mick Rock’s work. From Syd to Lou to Bowie to Iggy to Debbie to Queen to The Ramones … His images have become very literally iconic, transforming (pardon the pun) the photographer into just as significant an artist as the storied subjects he captured and immortalized.
I’ve spoken about Second Coming Records on Sullivan Street several times here, most notably and recently here, wherein I consolidated all the pics I’ve ever found of the place. Well, as it happens, this morning, someone surfaced this photograph, allegedly from 1989, by one Walter Leporati. At first glance, I was stopped dead in my tracks, as not only did it feature my beloved Second Coming, but I would have sworn on a stack of rare, imported vinyl that the figure in the foreground was my friend Steve H. (immortalized here), but he says he never owned sneakers like that. Ah well.
In any case, given some of the sleeves pictured in the window — South by Shona Laing, Tunnel of Love by Bruce Springsteen, Hot Animal Machine by Henry Rollins, Lovesexy by Prince — I’m more inclined to say this picture was taken in 1988, but y’know … whatever.
Incidentally, whenever I hear an invocation of Sullivan Street, my mind instantly starts playing “Movin’ Out (Anthony’s Song)” by Billy Joel. While I was never a fan, Joe’s stranglehold on the tri-state area’s rock radio since the `70s has ensured that his music has been nigh on inescapable. In the song in question, Joel invokes a restaurant called Mr. Cacciatore’s “down on Sullivan Street, across from the medical center.” For a start, there has never been a medical center of any discernible kind on Sullivan Street, although I cannot speak about a Mr. Cacciatore’s. But, y’know, Billy Joel is certainly no stranger — pardon the pun — to the concept of poetic license.
In the enduring saga of the Age of Quarrel-era Cro-Mags, much is often spoken about the primary players, those being band-founder and bass player Harley Flanagan and vocalist John Joseph. Powerhouse drummer Mackie is also frequently invoked, not least for his jazzy versatility. Insufferaby pedantic trainspotters like myself will also quickly cite rhythm guitarist Doug Holland, then-fresh from the ranks of proto-NYHC band Kraut. But one member seems frequently overlooked, that being guitarist/co-founder Parris Mayhew. Back circa the release of Quarrel, despite Parris’ blazing guitar chops, he appeared like the least-likely guy to be backing up burly skinheads like Harley and John, sporting a clean-cut, low profile behind all the movement at the front of the stage. That’s him up top on the far right, behind Mackie's replacement, Murphy's Law drummer Petey Hines. Last spotted playing with the Cro-Mags on 2000’s Joseph-less Revenge album, Parris evidently had a falling-out with Harley shortly thereafter and went onto pursue a career in video direction.
Well, as it turns out, Parris has resucitated his musical pursuits in the form of Aggros … an “instru-METAL” (geddit?) ensemble, although judging from the video below, it’s all Parris.
In this just-released, epic-length clip for “City Kids,” we see Parris pulling a card from Paul McCartney’s “Coming Up” video and portraying all the band members himself (as well as showing off some seriously stylish sneakers), all filmed around downtown spots like the L.E.S./Coleman skatepark and various subway stations and platforms. It all gets a bit “extreme sports”-y, but it’s still really well done, if occasionally a bit over-the-top.
I’ve spun this yarn a bajillion times here, but I used to be next-door neighbors with noted photographer Glen E. Friedman. In case you’re unfamiliar with him, I last described him on this post as "the incredibly prescient and endearingly outspoken photographer that documented the crucial gestation period of skateboarding culture (seek out "Dogtown & Z-Boys" if you're unfamiliar with same) and some of the most iconic photographs of the then-still-percolating eras of hardcore punk and Hip-Hop. You've doubtlessly seen his handiwork on album covers by Public Enemy, the Beastie Boys, Slayer, Minor Threat, LL Cool J, Ice-T, Suicidal Tendencies and countless others.” He’s also just a super cool, funny and thoughtful guy and a fellow New York City dad.
These days, while we don’t live down the hall from each other any more, we are still both in the same neighborhood, and do periodically run into each other and catch-up. Given our similar interests, Glen’s usually got something compelling to report. I ran into him today on my way back from running a couple of stupid errands, and true to form, he had coolness to share.
Glen recently stumbled on some video of a Minor Threat show at CBGB in 1982. He took some amazing photographs at that show — some of them now legitimately iconic images of the band. But the video acts as a striking testament to Glen’s skills as a photographer, as it demonstrates the complete chaos of an early `80s hardcore show. It's frankly astonishing that he was able to frame such distinct, singular, isolated moments during the complete mayhem that was doubtlessly swirling around his lens. Here’s what Glen had to say…
I made photos of Minor Threat during this show. It’s total bedlam… can’t believe I did.
The quality of the video is pretty horrible, but still worth checking out. I never saw it before today. It’s incredible how it brings my mind and body feeling right back to the intensity of the moment.
Check out the video below, and Glen was nice enough to allow me to share a couple of his pictures from that day underneath.
Earlier this week was Julian Cope’s 64th birthday, a sort of unbelievable number for such an ageless figure. I mean, sure, in more recent years, Julian has seemingly gone well out of his way to hide his fabled physiognomy behind a beard worth of Odin, but his mind and his muse seem as hyper-youthful as ever.
I last invoked him here and here, but he’s always been a big favorite of mine, even given his more indulgent forays into music that seems light years away from the stuff that first drew me to him (check out his sprawling discography, if you don’t believe me). While I’m personally partial to his Peggy Suicide phase from the early `90s, which found him balancing his growingly adventurous penchant for far-out experimentation with his preternatural gift for absolutely perfect pop, I was indeed a big fan of his early solo records like Fried and Saint Julian, which were indeed a bit more comparatively polished.
The excellent blog Dangerous Minds already did a magisterial post about this video — an MTV-recording of Julian’s show at the Ritz on East 11th Street in 1987 -- I figured it was worth re-surfacing with my own spin on it. Here’s the great man running through a set of his then strongest material, not to mention flailing about on his signature bendy mic stand. It’s great stuff, especially his cover of "Non-Alignment Pact" by Pere Ubu.
I only got to see Julian Cope perform twice — once at the Marquee on way West 21st street (gone) on the tour for Peggy Suicide and then again, a few years later, at the tiny Westbesh Theatre in the West Village (since bricked up, I believe) as a one-man show when he was promoting his album 20 Mothers. He’s still maniacally active, but I wouldn’t hold my breath for another Stateside live appearance.
Even if you’re not versed in the man’s stately oeuvre, it’s a nice taste of what a show at the Ritz was like. Enjoy….
Mondo Kim’s on St. Marks Place was a multi-tiered funhouse of geekily esoteric music and cinema that was truly a great place for those inclined towards that sort of stuff (i.e. me and my friends). But, of course, it was not to last. It had to leave that storied space in 2009 and relocate over to smaller plot over on First Avenue, where it lasted for another five years or so. When it was announced that the St. Marks iteration was closing, I wrote a couple of misty posts about it. Since it’s departure, that massive space has become a boozy arcade, if memory serves, but I’ve never stepped inside it as such, nor do I have plans to.
Photographers James and Karla Murray posted the below shot from 2001 on Facebook today, and it sent a jolt of nostalgic reverie right through me. I so miss this place. Click on it to enlarge.
Tumblr is a platform I don’t find myself using, too often (although I do still maintain my own space there, that being Get Back to Work). That said, there are a few specific Tumblr users who cotinue to raise the bar. One of my very favorites is OldNewYorkLandia, which is an astonishing well curated aggregation of archival images from eons past, mostly all responsibly credited. The one below is one such image, taken by Leonard Freed in 1954 or 1955. This is, of course, Jersey Street in what was then technically known as Little Italy but is now perceived more as just part of SoHo. Indie cinema heads might recognize it from the opening scene of Jim Jarmusch’s “Permanent Vacation” or from the video for “Down By Law” by Madball.
For more amazing vintage New York City pics, definitely check out OldNewYorkLandia, but be warned … it’s easy to get sucked in and spend hours scrolling.
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