Flaming Pablum

Fermenting New Firewater: Tod [A] Looks Ahead

With the possible exception of Killing Joke, I don’t think there’s a band I’ve scribbled more about here than Cop Shoot Cop, the former NYC-based, clangy noise-rock ensemble of one Tod [A], who bowed out of said band, in the mid-`90s, during the recording of what would have been their fifth studio LP. Upon leaving C$C under arguably not the most amicable of circumstances, Tod turned his attention to forming Firewater, a loose collective of musicians who’d go onto to explore, over seven diverse albums, a far broader vista of musical styles than Tod’s previous band was ever likely to dare. Largely jettisoning Cop Shoot Cop’s full-frontal industrial assault in favor of a sinuous amalgam of influences from klezmer to ska to Middle-Eastern folk music to Romani to bhangra to sea shanties to Russian drinking songs to straight-ahead punk fucking rock and virtually all points and ports of global call in between, Tod’s inherent sense of wanderlust became deeply imbued into the music he was making. Putting his money where his mouth was, by the band’s sixth album, 2008’s The Golden Hour, Tod pulled up stakes and set out on a formidable trek across the imposing terrain between New Delhi, India and Istanbul, Turkey, recording with local musicians along the way. This experience not only fueled that album -– arguably Firewater’s finest -– but also served as fertile fodder for his first novel, “Banging the Monkey,” which surfaced in 2019.

I’ve been friends with Tod since the very early `90s, when I was tasked with writing up a cover story for a local freebie news weekly about “a hot new band that typifies the New York sound and sensibility.” Without skipping a beat, I chose Cop Shoot Cop, having become enamored of their wilfully chaotic live performances, their boldly unconventional approach (two basses, no guitars), their dark sense of humor (lost on large swathes of their audience), their unwieldy aesthetic and their cryptic poster campaign. Over the course of Cop Shoot Cop’s tumultuous rise and fall and then into the Firewater years, Tod and I have spilled many gallons of beer and ink about our respective trajectories. Now ensconced full-time in Istanbul, Tod only gets to New York City every so often, and he and I only get to convene in person every couple of years or so, usually around the holidays. The last time he was in town back in December, we caught up for a drink at an old favorite, the Ear Inn on the westerly end of Spring Street, and it dawned on me that I’d never subjected the poor guy to the Flaming Pablum Interview. So now, joining the estimable ranks of Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, Chris Egan of Missing Foundation, RB Korbet of Even Worse, Erik Sanko of Skeleton Key, Fran Powers of Modern Clix, J Yuenger of White Zombie, Brooke Smith of Sunday Matinee, Don Rauf of Life in a Blender, and Andi Harriman of Some Wear Leather, Some Wear Lace, here with the Flaming Pablum Interview with Tod [A]…

FP: You’ve now been living in Turkey for almost 12 years. How’s that going? Of all the places you’ve lived, how does Istanbul compare?

I've lived in NYC, Denpasar, Phnom Penh, Calcutta, Surat Thani and now Istanbul. Though I didn't expect to be here quite so long, I can't complain about the city. Istanbul is the NYC of Turkey: it's a port city, which means it's quite multi-cultural. The cost of living is far less than NYC, and the town has public transport that doesn't reek of urine. It has a lot more cats and a lot less rats (do the math). I guess I feel as at home here as I have felt anywhere else, though the current Turkish government leaves much to be desired. Hopefully the people of Turkey will get rid of He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named in the upcoming 2023 general election.

It’s been eleven years since you released International Orange, but now, I gather, have new music demoed and ready to be recorded — can you give us an update?

Having decided to procreate, I took some time off from recording and touring to concentrate on raising my daughter. I didn't want to be the father who was never there. In the meantime, I wrote fifty songs. I am now a free agent and I think I'm almost ready to get back to recording and touring. We shall see who winds up releasing these records.

Firewater has counted many illustrious names in its ranks, over the years — are you in touch with all those players? Might we hear from them again on the next LP?

Yes, we are mostly all still buddies. It's quite possible there will be some appearances from old friends once it's time to go into the studio and begin touring again.

If you had to characterize the direction and sound of the new material, how would you do so?

My itinerant lifestyle has certainly colored the new batch of songs, melodically, sonically, and rhythmically. There is a Turkish flavor to many of them. But somehow I can't seem to scrape all the American mud off my boots. I feel like my time abroad has given me perspective to write about the country of my birth.

Your first novel, “Banging the Monkey” was published in 2019. Are there more books in you waiting to come out?

Yes. I am working on a few new books at the moment: a novel (for adults), and some others for children. But I take my time. They will be done when they are done.

You were recently back in the States and in New York City for the first time in a while. How does your former home turf feel to you in the wake of all that’s happened?

I still love NYC. But as I told you when I saw you last, I feel safer raising my daughter in a quasi-dictatorship like Turkey where almost nobody has a gun, than in America where everyone seems to own multiple firearms.

In 2016, you joined some of your former Cop Shoot Cop bandmates for the commentary track of the live DVD New York Post Punk / Noise Series 1. Are you still back in contact with those guys today?

Yes, I am in touch with Jim Coleman and Phil Puleo and we are on good terms. During the lockdowns, we made some sporadic attempts to collaborate from afar, but nothing seemed to catch fire. Jim and Phil seem to be doing quite well with Human Impact, so more power to them.

Is there any Firewater (or, for that matter, Cop Shoot Cop) material left “in the vault,” so to speak? Stuff that was never released? If so, will it ever see the light of day?

Yes, there is quite a bit. But tracks get left in the vault for a reason, usually because they weren't quite ready.

What’s your take on the music of today? Are there any new artists you’re particularly enthused about? What have you been listening to?

When I was a young punk I thought the way to move forward was to obliterate the past. Now I'm much more interested in the historical continuity of music. I'm trying to catch up on the homework I should have done when I was 21, learning the musical secrets of all the songs I love. I'm delving back into the past: jazz, the birth of rock 'n' roll. I listen to a lot of early blues, jazz, folk and psychedelia. Mainly I'm focused on developing as a songwriter and composer. I've been studying soundtracks (Morricone, Elfman, Zimmer), and I try to learn from the lyricists I admire (Dylan, Waits, Bowie).

Of all the spots you lived around New York City, which was your favorite, and why?

It was definitely fun living in Williamsburgh in the late 80's – early 90's. The rents were incredibly cheap, and there was much fun to be had exploring the empty buildings. I remember setting fire to an abandoned car in a vacant lot and watching it burn. Neither police nor the fire department ever came. That's how much of a no man's land it was at that time.

…which was your least favorite, and why?

By the time I moved to Bushwick, I had already pretty much had it with NYC. The locals weren't too enthused about the bohemian gringos encroaching on their turf, so there was quite a bit of aggro. Also, I was arrested for drinking a beer on the street outside my building, about 20 feet away from the corner where a bunch of jackasses had been selling smack and crack for years. So once I got out of jail, I was off to Thailand.

Where in the world is the food the best?

Italy, of course. I have worked there a lot, and the Italians really know what they are doing. But I also love Thai street food. Such an amazingly subtle combination of flavors. And usually $1 a plate. Indian and Mexican. Turkish food is also amazing.

What’s your favorite Firewater album?

The Golden Hour certainly was the most fun to make. The adventure of recording it, in India, Pakistan, and Indonesia, combined with working with my buddies in Tel Aviv to complete it. Everything seemed to come together on that record.

What’s your least favorite? Why?

International Orange was a nightmare to make. My record company didn't support the concept, so I had to cut a lot of financial corners. As a result, even though the songs were as good as those on The Golden Hour, the sound quality on International Orange suffered because of budget problems. I would love to re-record those songs someday. My ugly experience making International Orange also made me want to wait until I could afford to record in the right way.

What’s your favorite Cop Shoot Cop album?

Release. At that time CSC was firing on all pistons, and we had producer David Sardy at the controls. After that record, everything went rapidly south for the band.

What’s your least favorite? Why?

White Noise. It just hasn't aged well.

The irony here is the White Noise continues to be my favorite album by the band. It’s aged just fine, to my ears.

Why do the vinyl re-releases of Get Off the Cross... and Golden Hour have different cover art?

When Scott Schaefer approached me about doing vinyl releases of the Firewater catalog, I saw it as an opportunity to make something special. So I decided to re-make all the covers by hand. It's been really fun to re-imagine the art. The vinyl series will be continued in the near future.

Beyond from family and friends, what do you miss most about the United States?

A genuine NYC slice, and a real bagel. And not much else.

What sort of music is your daughter listening to?

I knew going into this parenting thing that I had a window of maybe four or five years in which I could vet the music my daughter would hear. Being a control freak, I took full advantage of those years. I wanted her developing brain to get a solid grounding in classic melody and song structure before she was exposed to bullshit musical 'content' from off the internet. So I made her tons of mix tapes: nursery rhymes; classical stuff like Carl Orff, Peter and the Wolf, and the Nutcracker; plus kid-friendly songs from folks like Raffi, the Beatles, Donovan, Ivor Cutler, Monty Python, Spike Jones, Woody Guthrie and the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

Yeah, well, to answer your question, the window has closed. You don't want to know what sort of music torture I am subjected to now. I can't wait till she's a teenager, and will start hitting me with some cool sounds.

What was the best concert you ever attended?

I can't name just one: Black Flag at some bowling alley in New Jersey circa 1984, Nirvana at the Reading Festival circa 1992, Tom Waits at the Beacon Theater 1999, Bone Machine tour, Motorhead in Istanbul, 2011. Plus any Jesus Lizard show. 

What five albums can you not live without?

Ramones - Ramones
Tom Waits - Rain Dogs
The Doors - The Doors
David Bowie - Diamond Dogs
Bob Dylan - Highway 61 Revisited

The best songwriter is….

There are seven: Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, David Bowie, Robyn Hitchcock, Leonard Cohen, and Ivor Cutler. (and me.)

The Soft Solution

Hey again, all … we’re still doing some tinkering at the back end, trying to parse the comment-leaving problems. We may find a solution, or we may not. I’ve reverted back to the old design, as I personally prefer it, and it’s got sort of what I project as an established identity. If I have to change it, I will, but not sure we’re there, as yet.

In any case, I do have some stuff coming up, including a Flaming Pablum Interview with Tod [A] of Firewater/Cop Shoot Cop and a rumination on Ungano’s, a fabled, long-vanished rock club in the unlikely environs of the Upper West Side. I’m looking forward to unleashing that one.

In the short term, however, please enjoy this live recording of The Soft Boys performing at the Portland Arms in Cambridge, England in 1978. This is, of course, Robyn Hitchcock’s first band (since we’ve been discussing him, of late), and it’s both an amazing recording and entirely hilarious. If I’m not mistaken, the Portland Arms is still there in 2023.

Enjoy. Back Soon.

Point It at Daniel Ek Deux: The Hitchcock Kibosh?

In the wake of posting my curious Spotify quandary yesterday, I reached out to a number of different folks -– one a former colleague who now works within the Spotify organization. That individual didn’t immediately know what the answer was, but vowed to “look into it.”

Another colleague of mine, meanwhile, used to work for a indie label to which Robyn was fleetingly signed and has remained somewhat in touch with the great man. She said she’d fly the story by him, but he’s allegedly notorious for taking ages to answer texts and emails (which isn’t entirely surprising). That said, I have faith that he will eventually respond to her, so watch this space for that.

On top of all that, however, a regular reader named S. Norman (a cheeky allusion to a fabled Monty Python sketch involving a gargantuan hedgehog named “Spiny Norman”) helpfully wrote in with a very plausible explanation -– that it’s all Robyn’s doing.

Spiny cited two bits of evidence to back up his theory, the first being this 2020 Tweet from Robyn himself…

And the other being the following passage from this Brooklyn Vegan piece from August of that same year…

Robyn Hitchcock, who has been selling his paintings online to supplement income he would've made touring, says he's actively trying to get all his music off of Spotify and other similar services. "Needless to say, once I’ve clarified the digital distribution situation with my former label, all my past recordings and those of the Soft Boys that we have control of will be removed from exploitative streaming services."

Hitchcock's partner, Emma Swift (whose music is not on Spotify), broke the situation down with Robyn as the example. "Some math, brought you by hacking into @RobynHitchcock’s Spotify for Artists app. Based on these stats, RH would bring in 1.4 million streams per year. Which is about 5600 dollars. 50 percent which gets paid to his record label. In Robyn’s case, he is a prolific artist with more than 20 albums on there. He’s written over 500 songs. It has been his full-time job for 40 + years. He’s been playing guitar since before Daniel Ek was born. Mr Ek seems to think Robyn and artists like him don’t work hard enough. Record labels have made Mr Ek believe artists are utterly replaceable, when the fact is each artist is unique and special. We’re not iPhones. We have individual talents and gifts to offer." She adds that with an artist like Robyn, who had been on major and independent labels, getting off streaming services is not as easy as pushing a button. "It’s not as easy for signed musicians to boycott."

With all this in mind, I’d suggest that Robyn sounds like he’s in the process of doing all in his power keep his new music off Spotify and to remove all the music of his that’s already accessible there. That might conceivably include putting impediments towards his songs being put in playlists, right? Sounds possible. 

Personally speaking, while that somewhat thwarts my original intention of turning my son onto Robyn’s vast catalog of unique and vibrant music, I am 100% in support of Robyn’s position here. To further put my money where my very big mouth is, I’m also endeavoring to indoctrinate my burgeoning-music-fan son into the faith of the tactile artifact. With my daughter now sequestered back at college, I’ve offered to exhume from storage a portable turntable I bought a couple of years back at a school auction, set it up on his temporarily absent sister’s desk (they share a room) and give him full access to my unwieldy collection of vinyl LPs.

Once again, fuck Spotify.

Point It at Daniel Ek: My Mysterious Spotify Quandary

As previously mentioned, while I abhor the platform in question, I've started using Spotify more often, lately, as a means of evangelizing music to my kids. Charlotte doesn't really give a rat's ass, but Oliver's been fairly receptive, thus far. In any case, I started making him a playlist the other day of one of my favorite songwriters who's coming to town in a few weeks and who we hope to go see perform live. He's got a sprawling catalog, so it took a little while, but before I could complete it and send the link to Oliver, I got a “takedown notification” email saying: "We have found the following content to be in violation of our content policies, and we have removed it. Please see our Spotify Terms and Conditions of Use for more information."

Now, while it’s certainly true that I’m an avowed fan of several bands who trade in the brazenly objectionable, this was not a playlist packed with selections by naughty bands like the Revolting Cocks, Cop Shoot Cop, the Murder Junkies, Butthole Surfers, Pussy Galore or the Strangulated Beatoffs – this was simply a collection of songs by British singer/songwriter Robyn Hitchcock.

At first, I assumed this was a scam, but then sure enough, I looked at my Spotify account, and the title of the playlist had vanished. The playlist itself was still there, but there was a blank space where my title had been. I had called it– oh so imaginatively -– Robyn Hitchcock for Oliver. Beyond the fact that the word "cock" happens to appear as part of Robyn's surname (and, yes, it’s his actual name – no relation to Alfred), I cannot imagine what the problem might be.

As they’d voided that playlist title, however, I assumed that that was indeed the case, so I simply re-titled the playlist as Robyn H for Oliver. This morning, however, I woke to *another* takedown notice with the same reprimand. I mean, seriously, Spotify, what the actual fuck?

I perused the Terms and Conditions of Use page, but nothing really jumped out at me. While taste is all relative, I can roundly assure you that nothing in Robyn Hitchcock’s catalog – either with his bands The Soft Boys, The Egyptians or as a solo act – is really anything anyone could genuinly consider offensive, unless whimsical psychedelia and surrealist wit are now considered obscene.

Then, I consiered another explanation – however abjectly ridiculous. The opening track on my playlist is a Robyn rarity that I’d first heard on the great man’s collection of “leftovers and outtakes” called Invisible Hitchcock. Incidentally, don’t bother looking for Invisible Hitchcock on Spotify as, like these awesome nine albums, they don’t seem to have it, but that’s another matter entirely. While not the version I’d first to come to love, I used the version from the I Wanna Go Backwards box set of a song called “Point It at Gran.”

Is that what’s bugging Spotify? Do they deem that title as too aggressive or triggering?

Listen to it and you tell me if this is worthy of a takedown notice that says I violated their terms of service. The offending playlist, meanwhile, can be experienced beneath. You'll notice it has no title. Enjoy, if possible. 

Assault in Greenwich Village III: Another Update

The New York Post ran a story yesterday, appended with a photo of the "suspect." And so did CBS, who provide intel about two other comparable attacks in the neighborhood, diminishing my doorman's theory that the maroon-hooded rage bro was after the victim's bag and more that he was just beating him up for the sake of beating him up. 

Be on the lookout, folks!

 

Assault in Greenwich Village: Update

Just circling back on this one. As I lamented at the tail-end of that post, the frustrating thing about witnessing that attack on Saturday afternoon, is that I’ll probably never get the whole story. The middle-aged victim (I should probably come up with another name of him) purportedly lives on my street, somewhere. I actually saw one of my fellow “good Samaritans” just yesterday, but he looked to be in a hurry, so I didn’t engage.

A doorman in my building, meanwhile, said he and the super took a look at the video from the security camera aimed at the down-sloping driveway adjacent to my building where the maroon-hooded assailant sprang out of. By his account, the video shows the attacker sitting with his back against the westerly-wall, sort of readying himself, the narrative being, then, that his target wasn’t chosen so much as simply the unlucky person who was next to be walking by. According to my doorman, maroon-hooded assailant guy went right for the middle-aged victim’s bag, so it does look to have been an attempted robbery (and not just a random attack without clear motive). My doorman also feels that the reason the middle-aged guy got beaten so badly was because he was trying to simply hold on to his bag, as opposed to letting the guy have it or dropping it and fighting back. His arms were engaged by trying to keep his belongings and, thus, could not cover his face or punch back. I’m more inclined to suggest that he was probably just in complete shock that it was happening that he didn’t know how to react, but whatever.

Thus far, I have yet to learn any further details about the status of either the victim or the assailant.

At the risk of being coy, I should point out that all this happened on East 9th Street between Broadway and University Place, a comparatively sleepy stretch of predominantly residential buildings, bookended by Knickerbocker’s Bar & Grill at the western end and a Bean coffee shop at the eastern end.

Vaguely related, here’s a birds-eye view of the westerly portion at University Place looking north. This was shot in 1939 by one Marion Post Wolcott and evidently appears in the book “Around Washington Square” by Luther Harris. Suffice to say, it looks pretty different today. 

The Sounds of "After Hours": Redux

By this point, my adoration for Martin Scorsese’s “After Hours” from 1985 hasn’t so much been established as it has been beaten into bloody submission and into the cold, hard ground. What more, might you rightly ask, could I possibly have to say about it?

Well, the more patient among you might remember a post from way back in 2010, wherein I attempted to cull together all the music from both Howard Shore’s score and the various songs that should have otherwise appeared on the soundtrack album (which was never released). I put those up as YouTube clips and, as such, many of them are no longer live. With that, I thought an update was in order -- so here we are.

While I continue to bash Spotify at every opportunity, I did take advantage of the platform yet again (ooh, that warm smell of hickory-smoked hypocrisy) to build the following playlist, which showcases as much of the film’s original sounds as I could track down.

I say as much of because there is one key selection from the (again, non-existent) soundtrack of “After Hours” that is crucially missing. Somewhat ironically, it’s by an artist that, if I’m being honest, I fucking hate -– that being Joni Mitchell.

Some might remember the kerfuffle in January of 2022 when, in what seemed at the time like a bold act of defiance, iconic rocker Neil Young dramatically strippped his music off Spotify in protest of the platform’s continuing support of the irresponsible-idiocy-espounsing Joe Rogan. I wrote about it here and here, should you care. In a show of solidarity, meanwhile, some of Neil’s famous pals like Crosby, Stills & Nash and, once again, Joni Mitchell followed suit and removed their catalogs from Spotify, too. It seemed like legions of artist were poised to do the same and hit the preeminent streaming platform where it really hurts, but… they didn’t. Spotify, for their part, decided that Joe Rogan was more valauble that Neil Young & pals, to their business, and basically said “Suit yourselves, fuck-o's.”

Very quietly, after a short while, some of Neil’s music and pretty much all of CSN’s music sneakily crept back onto the platform. But did Joni blink? LIKE FUCK SHE DID! Joni Mitchell may make music that routinely sends me scrambling for the remote, but ya gotta respect the great lady for that.

Anyway, blah blah blah, as a heroic result, I cannot put “Chelsea Morning” on my “After Hours” playlist because, like all of these albums, you just can’t get it on fuckin' Spotify. I suppose I could use Neil Diamond’s version, but, really, no one will benefit from that.

So, for those of you besotted with the minutia of all things “After Hours” as I am, please enjoy The Sounds of ‘After Hours’ below.

Incidentally, the amazing poster up top is an alternative iteration I’d never seen before. I would slap that shit in a frame faster than you could say “Surrender, Dorothy!,” if it were up to me. I found on this site – check it out.

 

The Dueling Delis

During what I think I can still safely call an era of uncertainty, here in New York City, if not the world, it is not at all uncommon – Hell, it’s actually frequent -- to notice any number of age-old, revered businesses that have been operating for decades suddenly vacated, gutted and boarded-up. Whether because of spiraling rents, the rigors of the pandemic, the faltering economy or the changing sensibilities of a neighborhood, certain shops, restaurants, bars, bistros, outlets and/or local services that you’d pretty much expected to always be there will suddenly vanish. No business is safe. Nothing is sacred.

I can’t count the number of times during the last two or three years (to say nothing of the seventeen plus years I’ve been keeping this silly blog) that I’ve been blithely walking down the street, only to suddenly see a beloved neighborhood spot I’ve cherished for ages suddenly and without any warning …. not there. Sometimes it happens like a thief in the night, leaving no trace or explanation. Other times, there’s a weepy note.

This morning, I decided to take a more westerly approach to my office in TriBeCa, veeering off the main artery of West Broadway in favor of the side streets of the Village and SoHo. With my ears filled by the latest episode of Marc Maron’s WTF podcast, and my mind otherwise engaged by the impending duties of the day, I didn’t notice the change right away, but right as I was crossing the intersection of Thompson and Prince Streets in the heart of SoHo, I was stopped dead in my tracks by something.

This intersection has always been a favorite of mine. Up the street to the east just a few steps used to be Rocks in Your Head, a hugely important independent record shop for me which factored greatly in my development as a truly insufferable music snob. It’s long gone now, of course, replaced for a few years by a glum real estate agency and now a bakery that exclusively sells pastry shaped like genitalia. I’m not making that up. On the southeasterly corner of the intersection, meanwhile, was Milady’s – initially an unpretentious neighborhood bar with a pool table wherein I spent many a beery evening thoughout the late `80s and `90s. It vanished in 2014 and the space became a short succession of aspirationally upscale restaurants. More recently, however, it’s reverted back to Milady’s, but with a bit of a bespoke reboot. The jury’s still out on that, for me.

Sure, those spots are significant for me, but the thing that always struck me about the crossing of Thompson and Prince were the dueling delicatessens. With one perched on the southwest-facing corner mirrored by another anchored on the northeast-facing corner, I always marveled at how these two comparable ventures managed to peacefully co-exist in a perpetual state of neighborly détente, like two obstinate nations refusing to recognize the legitimacy of the other or like The Zax is Dr. Seuss’ “The Sneetches and Other Stories’ (look it up). I have vivid memories of myself and two friends stumbling out of Milady’s, one snowy night in the late `90’s, and one pal going to the south deli to buy smokes while the other went to the north deli to buy a sandwich. It was entirely nonsensical, but I loved that about it. It was SoHo … it was unconventional, like that.

But this morning … something was different.

Instead of the southwest corner deli --officially named H&H Kim -- bustling with its usual deliveries of flowers, crates of fresh fruit and cartons of dairy products or patrons popping in and out for cups of coffee and a newspaper, the door was shut and the windows were all papered up. My heart sank.

In the center of the door was taped the inevitable note.

The major difference with this story is that practically for the first time in my recollection, the parting missive is not one tinged with tragedy or regret. While I am saddened by the departure of this longtime business, at the very least, the tale has a happy ending.

Regardless, support your local businesses.

Broadway Boys

I hate to keep mining the Facebook group Manhattan Before 1990, but there’s so much gold to be found there. In any case, this morning a participant named Ino Yoon posted the photograph below by O Yoon (a parent, maybe?) from 1982, and it instantly rang a bell.

This immediately recalled a photo search I’d done back in 2011, looking for the location of a photo of the Beastie Boys that first appeared in SPIN, snapped by Josh Cheuse. Here’s that photo now.

The band later used a shot from that same session as the cover of this hits compilation...

In any case, this is the southwest corner of West 26th and Broadway, which is right around the corner from the St. James Building, wherein the Beasties had one sort of business arrangement or another.

Here's my then-still-very-little Oliver in that same spot in 2011. Today, this corner is occupied by a restaurant called La Picora Bianca Nomad.

Back ... Again... to Charly's Corner at Cortlandt & Walker

For those of you valiantly trying to follow the tangled thread that is the saga of the origins of the Clics Modernos wall on the corner of Walker Street and Cortlandt Alley (just to the right of where my little son Oliver was pictured heading towards in the above photo from 2014), I am happy to report that friend-o’-the-blog Iñaki Rojas has just released the fourth installment of his video series on the subject.

Let’s see if I can quickly condense, for those not interested in reading the last update: Preeminent Argentine rock star Charly Garcia, around 1982, was in New York City, renting a loft on Waverly Place and recording at nearby Electric Lady Studios of West 8th Street, when he went out for a walk with a photographer. While he’d already had an idea for the title and cover image of the album he was working on, when he spied some compelling street art in TriBeCa on the aforementioned corner of Walker and Cortlandt Alley (just down the way from the Mudd Club), he posed for a shot with it — and then decided to use that shot for the album cover, taking the title, meanwhile, from a tag scrawled on the wall — Modern Clix (translated into Spanish as Clics Modernos).

Unbeknownst to Garcia, the art in question was the handiwork of two individuals — street artist Richard Hambleton (renowned for his “shadow men” all around downtown Manhattan — ghostly black silhouettes) and local punk rocker Fran Powers, the then-lead singer of the band, Modern Clix.

Released in 1983, the resultant album went onto become a huge milestone for both Garcia and Argentine rock in general. From Wikipedia: "It was a decisive work to consolidate the modern trends that would mark the profile of Argentine rock during the 1980s,” and to this day is widely revered.

Back here in New York City, meanwhile — Richard Hambleton passed away in 2017 purportedly without ever knowing his work graced the sleeve of such a sacrosanct piece of music history.

Fran Powers, meanwhile, another comrade of the blog’s (after befriending him at party in for Yukie Ohta’s SoHo Memory Project some years ago, I interviewed Fran about his involvement in the local hardcore scene as documented by Brooke Smith, his music and his fleeting cameos in movies like “Hannah & Her Sisters” and my all-time favorite film, Martin Scorsese’s “After Hours” — you can read that here) — had been aware of his graffiti being lifted for Garcia’s landmark album, but didn’t really know much about it. Sadly, Fran passed away in 2021.

Here’s where it gets (even more) complicated.

I honestly cannot say if I was the first person to unwittingly figure this out, but after spotting some photographs on a Facebook group taken by a tourist named Bo G. Eriksson in 1984 of my beloved Cortlandt Alley, I typed up a post, in 2021, about it (somewhat brazenly lifting Eriksson’s photos without his express consent — sorry about that, Mr. E) and asserted that the location of Charly Garcia’s album cover — which, at the time, I had no idea was such a big deal — is the corner of Walker and Cortlandt in TriBeCa.

I probably didn’t give the matter another thought, but word somehow quickly spread. in short order, I was fielding missives from an Argentine writer named Iñaki Rojas alerting me of the significance of all this.

As I now understand this, this tiny little patch of downtown real estate had been a hotly speculated location. Now that the secret was out, there were people making actual goddamn pilgrimages to it. More about that in a second.

This whole saga is not at all unlike my series of posts wherein I tried — with the help of my Irish pal Dub — to pinpoint the exact location of the wall featured on the cover of Killing Joke’s first iconic record, or when I tried to divine the location of that one photo of the Lunachicks, or when I tried to determine the address of Plasmatics World Headquarters. Equally obsessed with this quest, Iñaki Rojas was clearly my brother, and started writing both a novel about it all, and a compelling video series.

The fourth installment of that series is now up, and I am sort of hilariously all over it. See that here….

I viewed this latest episode on the train back from Pennsylvania with my family, earlier this week, and immediately felt I needed to stroll back down to that fateful corner to get Iñaki some updated pics. I ran into my neighbor and fellow music freak Mac and after a quick stop at the Bad Brains mural on Bleecker, I started unspooling the whole Clics Modernos tale (which is exceptionally difficult to encapsulate). From what he understood of what I was babbling about, he was intrigued, so down we both bounded to Cortlandt Alley, once again.

Right as we were approaching the corner in question, I spotted a cryptic little scrawl on the wall. Sure enough, it was related.

It reads, I believe, ...Clics Modernos Started Here...

As relayed in the fourth episode of Iñaki’s series, people now come to this spot as if it was the Argentine equivalent of Abbey Road or, to use my analogy, the Killing Joke wall in Derry, Northern Ireland.

I had Mac try to replicate Charly’s sleeve with me. I apologize profusely for being a fat bastard. Time for those New Year’s resolutions to be fiercely observed, eh?

Iñaki promises a final installment of the series soon. Watch this space.