Like many others, I adored the Great Jones Cafe, a funky little hole in the wall on Great Jones Street that served up amazing Cajun cuisine in a cool, relaxed, bohemian atmosphere. It wasn't at all out of question to be enjoying a meal or several beverages within its intimate walls and have, say, Willem Dafoe or Laurie Anderson or Matt Dillon walk in, or to be seated next to the full membership of The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black or The Unband. The place just oozed character.
I snapped the picture above of same circa 1999. It closed in 2018, to much hue and cry, only to be replaced by ventures named Jolene and, well, Elvis. I'd never heard this story, as hipped to me by E.V. Grieve, but The New Yorker just posted an amazing article about the Great Jones Cafe's legendary Elvis bust. Read it here.
Given that the band in question acrimoniously parted ways at the midpoint of the `90s, it’s exceptionally rare that I’m ever able to relay that there’s “new shit from Cop Shoot Cop” in the offing. The last time was probably circa the release of 2016’s live DVD, New York Post-Punk/Noise Series: Volume 1, which captured the band circa 1993, playing in the storied basement of producer Martin Bisi’s BC Studios in Gowanus, Brooklyn. In 2018 and 2019, Martin Bisi himself released two LPs of former protegee bands celebrating his studio’s anniversary, featuring a couple of tracks by EXCOP, a quasi-reunion of Cop Shoot Cop, albeit with former SWANS bassist Algis Kizys filling in for Tod [A], who had expatriated to Turkey. That band even played live at late, lamented St. Vitus to celebrate those record releases, although their set was all-improvisational, kind of like the fabled “jazz odyssey” episode in This is Spinal Tap. Beyond those fleeting instances, new Cop Shoot Cop news, merch or activity of any kind is sadly as strenuously unlikely as the notion of Donald Trump ever credibly paying for any of his myriad crimes (sorry, just trying to keep things timely).
Rare and unlikely, maybe… but still possible.
Some weeks back, a gentleman from a label called Jungle Records reached out to me, looking to locate contact information for the elusive former commanding officer of Cop Shoot Cop, that being the aforementioned Tod [A]. Having noticed I’d posted what is probably the most recent interview with the man back in 2023, Jungle Records thought I might know how to get ahold of him. Evidently, Jungle has acquired what remained of Big Cat Records, the British indie label who first signed Cop Shoot Cop at the dawn of the `90s. I relayed that missive to Tod in Istanbul and things proceeded from there. For my part, I was rewarded with a review copy of the limited “Record Store Day” re-release of Cop Shoot Cop’s proper debut LP, Consumer Revolt, lovingly remastered and newly pressed on blue vinyl, which you can all expect to see hit discerning, RSD-participating shops this coming April.
As a brief aside, regular readers might remember my misgivings about Record Store Day, having previously renounced it as a shallow gimmick on some occasions. I changed my tune last year, you might remember, upon spying a lovely re-release of some Sisters of Mercy material, making me something of a filthy hypocrite. And while the notion of “limited editions” sometimes reeks of a quick cash-in, I firmly support the re-mastering, re-mixing, and re-releasing of any and all music by Cop Shoot Cop, regardless of any associations to Record Store Day or Arbor Day or whatever.
Anyway, I’m happy to relay that the re-release is slavishly faithful to the 1992 Big Cat edition of the album. Of course, the original album from 1990, on Circuit Records, boasted different cover art (featuring a different band logo superimposed over the visage of a deformed baby) and, if I recall correctly, a small poster with the LP. This new edition replicates the 1992 sleeve (“Now 15% More HATE!”), as well as the inner “bag,” replete with lyrics, a designation that “Tracks 4 & 12 were recorded at some piece-of-shit studio and doctored-up later somewhere else. (I mean, who really reads this crap , anyway?)” and that those in violation of copyright reservations “will be hunted down, imprisoned, and suffer a lingering death by torture at the hands of trained mercenaries.”
The vinyl itself is now a striking shade of blue. Why blue? I honestly don’t know beyond a hunch that, well, cops frequently wear blue, but that’s just me projecting.
Sadly, I am unable to report as to how this new vinyl actually sounds, just yet, as my teenaged son Oliver absconded with my turntable, not too long back. Once I’ve remedied that quandary, I’ll let ya know.
I will say this, though. This first full long-player by Cop Shoot Cop, which was prefaced by both the visceral Headkick Facsimile and the literally-blood-splattered Piece, Man (both technically “EP’s”), captured a still-nascent iteration of the band that was refreshingly unbothered by the notion of seeming inaccessible to the layperson. As such, their utilization of untethered noise comes unrestrained by any concerns for appeasing radio-programmers or offending the bean-counting sensibilities of any easily riled middle-management monkeys from the major labels. This is reflected in both the sound and the sentiment of this record. Speaking to my alma mater SPIN in April of 1991, Tod [A] said…
We’re vomiting back all the garbage – the stuff that passes for culture – that the media shove down our throats. It’s a revolt like in-your-stomach revolting. Everything now is preprocessed and predigested.
As such, standout tracks like “Lo.Com.Denom,” “Burn Your Bridges,” “Fire in the Hole” and “Eggs For Rib” (featuring a bassline allegedly swiped from Gilberto Gill’s “Girl from Ipanema”) pull absolutely no punches, but still manage to stay stubbornly musical at their core, despite the whirring, buzzing and clanky caterwaul they come couched in.
It should’ve been the sound of the future. Maybe it still is. Rediscover it now.
This awful day seems like as good a day as any for me to take a break.
Instead of forcing myself to come up with stuff that I'm just not genuinely excited about, I think I'm going to take a little time off.
In a nutshell, I've kind of lost my muse, for the moment. I'm not in a mindset to share anything new. I don't have anything to say. I'm not feeling the need to express myself.
I made a few pilgrimages to Los Angeles in the `90s when a couple of my friends moved out there (specifically to a bungalow in nearby Costa Mesa, as I discussed here). As a lifelong New Yorker, all I knew about L.A. was stuff I'd seen in movies and television, romanced by locales from films like "Repo Man," Penelope Spheeris' "Suburbia" and "The Decline of Western Civilization." I dutifully logged hours in music joints like The Troubadour, the Whiskey A-Go-Go, the Roxy, the Viper Room, the Jabberjaw Coffeehouse and the Rainbow ...specifically to pay homage to Lemmy from Motörhead's perch at the bar. We ate and drank copiously in places ranging from Barney's Beanery to the Formosa Cafe, and hung out everywhere from the La Brea Tar Pits to the arid bed of the Los Angeles river and even tried to reach the Spahn Ranch, where the Manson Family briefly held court. It was all so alternately exotic and sleazy and intriguing and glamorous and historic and beautiful. So, yeah, I was basically a completely insufferable, doe-eyed tourist, but the place left an indelible impression on me that sustains to this day.
Earlier this week, a friend of mine posted a video of the smoldering remains of her home, and then came reports that the flames have reached Sunset Boulevard, where several of the concerns listed above are. To see all this unfurl has been shocking and heartbreaking.
I stumbled quite randomly on the above shot of the Ramones posing behind CBGB on Extra Place, the alley between the Bowery and Second Avenue in 1977. I initially assumed it was snapped by frequent Ramones documenter, Bob Gruen, but it turns out it was actually captured by one Chalkie Davies for the cover of the NME. I did some further Googling, and found this site wherein Chalkie himself discusses the shoot...
In April 1977 Mick Farren and I came to New York to check out the punk scene for the NME. We went to all the well known Clubs including CBGB's, Max's Kansas City, the Bottom Line, Danceteria and the Mudd Club.
Joey Ramone lived close to CBGB'S which was on the Bowery in the Lower East Side of Manhattan. Initially we took photos on the roof of Joey's apartment building but although it looked like New York it did not really have the right feel.
I had spotted this alley when walking over to Joey's place, it was a block from the Bowery and seemed perfect to me, it was full of trash and totally run down, back then huge parts of Manhattan were like this, the money had run out and the city was bankrupt.
I dragged the four Ramones to the location, I did a number of group shots, aided by their Artistic Director the late Arturo Vega. It seemed odd having somebody else telling the band what to do, all they did was stand there in a line, but it made them relaxed so I was happy to let him help.
To me this sums up the American Punk scene at that time, leather jackets, t shirts and jeans was the look they all had, it's a shame the Ramones never had the true success they deserved, but their influence should never be underestimated.
This afternoon, my daughter Charlotte and I were walking around the neighborhood, and we ducked down Extra Place to replicate the shot.
A couple of days ago, I tried to put up one of those collages on Instagram about my favorite albums from 40 years ago, that being 1985. I had to keep taking it down, however, to amend and augment it. I eventually realized that it was a fool’s errand.
The sheer volume of, to my mind, absolutely crucial records from the single year of 1985 is simply staggering. Now, granted, it’s been said that the music you experience during certain formative periods of your youth go on to inform your tastes moving forward, but I’d suggest that these albums are spectacular by any conceivable standard and despite whatever age your ears might be.
I started off 1985 as a senior in high school. The following summer, I split my time between washing dishes at Ina Garten's Barefoot Contessa out in Westhampton Beach on Long Island and working as a runner for a graphic designer in Manhattan. I finished off 1985 as a freshman in college. That's me in my freshman-year dorm room. Steady on, ladies.
Off the top of my head, these were the records that scored those experiences, and I'm sure I'm forgetting a few titles.
Click on it to enlarge.
Here's a taste of same. Note that the brilliant Oil & Gold by Shriekback and the Enigma Variations compilation are nowhere to be found on shitty Spotify, but "Shadowdrive" by the Jet Black Berries is included to represent the latter. Stick with records and discs, kids.
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