Flaming Pablum

Merry Christmas from Flaming Pablum

We at Chez Pablum didn't manage to get our pesky Christmas ducks in order, this year, in time for a proper card. Adding festive insult to yuletide injury, when it came to which approach we were gong to go with, the wife didn't like the fact that we weren't all together in my design, whereas I thought the picture she selected of the kids looked more like placation than sincerity. We did not overcome our creative Christmas impasse in time, so here are both options. Voting closes at midnight on Christmas Eve.

Happy happy to one and all. Stay warm. Be good to each other.

Goodbye, 2022!

Yes, well, I suppose it's time to dust off this inane survey, once again, and take a look back at 2022. Seat-belts on, kids! 

What did you do in 2022 that you'd never done before?

Got myself a “global entry” card.

Did you keep your New Year's resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I don’t think I made any, thus I did not keep any. At this stage of the proceedings, if I make any bold declarations about swearing off anything, I’m pretty much dooming myself to fail. That all said, I could certainly stand to drink less beer, stay on top of my finances and keep my medical appointments. 

Did anyone close to you give birth?

No one in my immediate circle, no.

Did anyone close to you die?

Again, no one in my immediate circle, mercifully.

What countries did you visit?

We went to Greece and Scotland, and I highly recommend both. 

What would you like to have in 2023 that you lacked in 2022?

Oh, I’m not sure. I not inclined to spend time dwelling on the things I don’t have.

What date from 2022 will remain etched upon your memory?

August 20th, the day we left our Charlotte at college in Scotland and flew home to NYC without her.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Staying marginally healthy and gainfully employed.

What was your biggest failure?

My inability to impose some semblance of restraint and willpower.

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I have a continuing grievance with my left foot that I still need to see a podiatrist about. And, yes, I, too, eventually got COVID. 

What was the best thing you bought?

I honestly can’t remember. Well, I bought some concert tickets for my son that made him very happy. That’s always good.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

My kids. They have their moments like everyone else, but for the most part, they are kind, bright, do well in school and are genuinely lovely human beings.

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

Trump, Kanye West, Elon Music, various members of the Supreme Court and Republicans in general.

What did you get really, really excited about?

My daughter getting into college.

Where did most of your money go?

My building’s being assessed, at the moment, and our monthly fees have gone up significantly … and will stay that way until fuckin’ February 2024, hence the comment above about needing to impose restraint and willpower when it comes to all things financial.  

What song will always remind you of 2022?

I don’t know if it’ll always remind of 2022, but perhaps “The Man I’ll Never Find” by Lucius.

Compared to this time last year, are you happier or sadder?

I’d say about the same. I have concerns like everyone else, but overall, I have no right to complain about one damn thing.

Thinner or fatter?

Oh, invariably fatter.

Richer or poorer?

As mentioned above, we’re currently slightly financially compromised, so technically “poorer.”

What do you wish you'd done more of?

Taking care of things in real time as opposed to continually putting them off.

What do you wish you'd done less of?

Spending irresponsibly. I mean, I didn’t splurge, or anything, but in light of our current situation, some self-imposed austerity would’ve been a benefit.

How did you spend Christmas?

Well, it hasn’t happened yet, but we’re planning on spending it out at my mom’s place in Quogue.

Who did you spend the most time on the phone with?

No idea.

Did you fall in love in 2022?

I’ve been in love with -- and married to -- her for over 21 years.

How many one-night stands in this last year?

Zero.

What was your favorite TV program?

I quite liked “White Lotus 2,” “Slow Horses” and crime drama on Britbox called “Sherwood.”

Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?

I still hate most of the same folks – Trump, Trump supporters, key Republicans and various members of the Supreme Court.

What was the best book you read?

“Feral City” by Jeremiah Moss.

What was your greatest musical discovery?

Already discussed on this post.

What did you want and get?

Depeche Mode tickets for myself and my son, but oof were they ever expensive.

What did you want and not get?

Trump rotting in prison for the rest of this miserable fucking life.

What were your favorite films of this year?

Honestly cannot remember. Don’t bode well, does it.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 55, which is not a number I’m okay with.

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Trump’s conviction and permanent incarceration.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2022?

I own way, way too many dumb rock t-shirts for a 55-year-old.

What kept you sane?

Once again, who said anything about being sane?

What celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

I never know what to do with this question, as every answer is going to sound creepy and inappropriate.

What political issue stirred you the most?

January 6 Committee

Who did you miss?

There was already a long list (as mentioned in this post), but Wilko Johnson, Jet Black and this week’s loss of Terry Hall of the Specials really hit me hard.

Who was the best new person you met?

The lovely ladies of Desperately Seeking the 80's, of course. 

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2022

Not everything is worth an argument. Pick your battles.

Song lyric that sums up 2022

I've come here to make a ceramic shoe
And I've come to smash what you made
- Dry Cleaning

Twenty Years Gone

Rest in peace, Uncle Joe....

The Gausten List: All the Musicians I've Interviewed

I’ve never met Joel Gausten “in the flesh,” but we tred in very comparable circles. A kindred spirit in both taste and sensibility, Joel is a fellow rabid music nerd and avid writer who already has a few books to his name, by this point, as well as one salaciously nocturnal memoir. I think I first encountered him, several years back, as I’d picked up a book he’d self-published about one of my favorite bands, Prong, and we’ve been in touch -– largely via social media -– pretty much ever since. Beyond his literary pursuits, Joel is also a musician, having drummed with bands like The Undead, Electric Frankenstein and Pigface. He’s a busy man, our Joel.

I think the thing that strikes me most about Joel is his drive. On the best of days, music journalism is a truly punishing vocation that doesn’t accrue much respect, let alone revenue, from the rest of the world, but Joel is undaunted and ever-busy. Joel splits his time between these passions and, if I’m not mistaken, doing some meaningful, hands-on social work, `cos ya can’t be Johnny Punk-Rock all the time, I guess.

In any case, in revamping his bio, Joel recently posted a list of everyone, off the top of his head, that he’s ever interviewed, and it’s a formidable array of diverse musicians ranging from Gene Simmons of KISS through Dot Wiggin of The Shaggs, and pretty much everyone in between (you might be able to see the first iteration of that list here). The sheer breadth of Joel’s list speaks to his voracious enthusiasm for music and his wide, catholic tastes.

I’d started off on a comparable path as Joel’s, channeling my life-long love of music into something of a career when, upon graduating college, I landed an internship at SPIN (which I’ve mentioned a few times before, most recently here). My time at SPIN led me further to an involvement with a plucky, independent start-up called The New York Review of Records (which I’ve also mentioned a few times here, most notably here). From there, I went onto write and contribute to a host of different periodicals, for a while, including magazines like Creem, the confusingly named Huh! (an offshoot of Raygun) a short-lived project called Exit!. After a while, I succumbed to the allure of a more lucrative aspect of journalism and took a low-level gig at LIFE Magazine which, in turn, led me to a 12-year stint at TIME magazine. After TIME, as some of you might remember, I hopscotched between gigs at The New Yorker (I wrote blurbs for their Goings On About Town section for ten years), MTV News Online, MSN and then TODAY.com. After being aggressively let go from the latter, I waffled in obscurity for a hot second before ditching journalism in favor of corporate communications, where I am now. I’m now a director of content, video and editorial services for the corporate communications and marketing department of a performance rights organization. So, I’m still writing about music, but just not in the capacity of a critic or journalist.

In any case, in looking at Joel’s tremendous list, I started thinking of all the folks I’d interviewed in those early days. And while nowhere near as comprehensive as Joel’s, it was a fun tally to compose. From what I can recall off the top of my head, here’s who I’ve interviewed….

I spoke with Wayne Hussey of The Mission on a brilliantly sunny day on Liberty Island in the shadow of the statue (I believe the idea was that Wayne wanted to replicate a certain famous picture of John Lennon). I chatted with a young Trent Reznor in a cramped backstage room at the New Ritz on West 54th Street, wherein he spent the entirety of our discussion fiddling with his then-newly pierced septum (which he evidently tired quickly of, as he hasn’t sported a ring there since). I spoke with a very amped-up Robert Vincent of short-lived British indie next-big-thing ensemble Birdland in the lobby of a long-vanished venue on West 21st Street called The Marquee. I dined and debated with the full membership of Pop Will Eat Itself at long-vanished Asian drag bar Lucky Cheng’s on First Avenue. I had a spirted conversation with Jeff and Steve McDonald of Redd Kross in a coffee shop just off Times Square. I have protracted exchange in clipped English with Treponem Pal vocalist Marco Neves at another coffee shop on Grand Street on the Lower East Side. I was treated to the full membership of Killing Joke at the Notell Motel, then on Avenue A. I traded war stories with Tod [A] and Cripple Jim Coleman of Cop Shoot Cop at the late, lamented CB’s Pizza & Record Canteen on the Bowery. I listened to John S. Hall of King Missile moan about his record company at Sin-E on St Marks Place. I had a lovely chat with Tim Booth of James in a trailer behind the main stage at a festival in Finsbury Park in London. I had a meandering conversation with Gavin Friday in the charming TriBeCa apartment of his publicist on White Street. I took sweaty dictation in a Harlem brownstone from the translator for Senegalese singer Yousou N’Dour. I had a brief exchange with Dave Gedge of the Wedding Present at Maxwell’s in Hoboken, conducted a discussion with all three members of Material Issue on the disused second floor of the midtown Hard Rock Café, tried to make sense of the full membership of Blur talking at me at once in the cozy confines of the former Yaffa Café on St. Marks Place, had an intense intel-breakdown with Henry Rollins in a loading dock on West 21st street and had the keyboardist and bass player of EMF abruptly leave an interview early after a certain editor of mine had unwittingly showed them a not-so-positive review of their album that I’d written. Yikes.

In stodgy corporate board rooms, I’ve sat across the table with microphone in hand with Mike Berenyi and Chris Acland of Lush, the full membership of Ash, Jonn Penny of Ned’s Atomic Dustbin, Miles Hunt of the Wonder Stuff, Cathal Coughlan of Fatima Mansions, Toni Halliday of Curve, Rob Jones of the Venus Beads, Shaun Ryder of Happy Mondays, both members of A.R. Kane and all four cool-cat wiseacres in Sonic Youth.

I’ve done “phoners” with Bono of U2, Marky Ramone of the Ramones, Kurt Ralske of Ultra Vivid Scene, Shirley Manson of Garbage, Mike D. of the Beastie Boys, action-hero and Hong Kong singing sensation Jackie Chan, Wyclef Jean of the Fugees, Jim Reid of the Jesus & Mary Chain, Andy Prieboy of Wall of Voodoo, Guy Kyser of Thin White Rope, Julianne Regan of All About Eve, Pete Shelley of the Buzzcocks, Matt Cameron of Soundgarden, Andrew Eldridge of the Sisters of Mercy, Martin Atkins of PiL/Killing Joke/Ministry, Salli Carson of Bleach and Jon Brookes of The Charlatans.

For this silly blog, I’ve interviewed Chris Egan of Missing Foundation, RB Korbet of Even Worse, Big Paul Ferguson of Killing Joke, Fran Powers of Modern Clix, Erik Sanko of Skeleton Key, J Yuenger of White Zombie, Don Rauf of Life in a Blender and Brooke Smith, actress and NYHC veteran. For my current job, I’ve interviewed the Flatbush Zombies, Jesse Malin, Amy Rigby and Alice Goddamn Cooper.

I was supposed to do a phoner for my current job with Jon Popper of Blues Traveler who I’ve never. He blew me off and never called.

Whatever.

The Evolution of Bleecker & Bowery

For those of you who are invested in such things, you’ve probably already seen that the next iteration of the mural on the southwest corner of Bleecker Street at the Bowery, which I recently invoked here, is complete. That’s it up above and, yes, it’s another Shepard Fairey piece, this one paying tribute to Bad Brains by way of a rendered composite of images from the photography of my former next-door neighbor, Glen E. Friedman. That’s it above.

Now that this work is complete, I thought I’d turn back the clock to look at what this particular patch of real estate borne witness to, over the years….

In 1982, as I recounted here and here, photographer Drew Carolan set up an ersatz, outdoor film studio on this same corner to capture images of the burgeoning NYHC community, which he’d later compile into a handsome coffee table book, “Matinee.” In writing about this project, I had my kids pose in the exact spot Carolan had used. See that below.

In 1983, Jim Jarmusch filmed an iconic scene of Eszter Balint crossing this particular byway as part of the opening montage of his 1984 film, “Stranger Than Paradise,” which I tried to replicate with my kids as some point in 2012.

Skipping way ahead to 2015, a mysterious mural of Joey Ramone sporting a pair of boxing gloves came up. I speculated as to why, but then it occurred to me, as recounted on this post, that it was ultimately a wafer-thin and frankly misleading promotion for the then-just-opened UpperCut boxing gym, which I continue to think was stinky and lame of them. I was glad when it vanished.

Joey was replaced, of course, in 2017 by Shepard Fairey’s tribute to Blondie, which was completely cool. Despite this, it got defaced, a few times, but shitty taggers because people basically suck.

And now, five years later, Debbie Harry has been replaced by Bad Brains. I managed to capture a quick shot of Fairey himself, in the process.

 

Back Again to The Blue Willow, Just Down from CB's

Here’s a quick follow-up to my last post on the subject in August.

Much as with love, it seems the things you really want only reveal themselves to you when you’re not actually searching for them. In this romantic fashion, another tantalizing morsel about the long-lost Blue Willow on Broadway at Bleecker Street recently dropped out of the sky, and I thought I’d share it here.

It’s usually at this point in the narrative that I point out how strenuously niche this particular concern is, and how I normally doubt anyone is as beguiled as I am by the subject. But upon posting that last entry about it, longtime friend/reader of the blog, Was Proxy, nicely wrote in to share that the Blue Willow had been the location of the first date he had with the woman who later became his wife. I’m taking that as a sign.

In any case, prompted by the recent release of the the 40th anniversary edition of If I Die, I Die by the Virgin Prunes (which I wrote about recently here … and yes, I bought it, making it the fucking fifth iteration I’ve actually bought of this album), I’d been trawling around on the internet looking for pics of the first time I ever saw Gavin Friday perform live, that being from within the iconic confines of CBGB in November of 1989. As long as we’re talking anniversaries, I should note that this past week was evidently the 49th anniversary of the opening of that fabled club. Don’t bother telling Gavin Friday that, though. My biggest takeaway from that evening, beyond it being a brilliant performance — his solo debut, was his remark from the stage about how underwhelmed he was by the stark reality that CBGB genuinely was just a grotty hole in the wall. What exactly had he been expecting?

Anyway, I didn’t take any pictures that night, mostly because I didn’t bring my big, bulky camera (which, as some of you’ll remember, in 1989, was still the only means of capturing photographs). I have very specific images in my head about the show, but have always hoped to find some photographic documentation of the gig. But I’ve always come up empty in that search….

…until today … kinda.

Simply by typing in “Gavin Friday” and “CBGB,” this morning, up popped a link on Google for a website called Concert Archives. While the entry for the gig in question is pretty threadbare, it did contain two images, ironically uploaded by a friend of mine — Greg Fasolino. More about him in a second.

Greg uploaded two sides of a postcard from Island Records that was mailed out in November of 1989 as a special invitation to the gig. Now, during this time, I was still a luckless intern at SPIN (as recently discussed here), and had not yet wormed my way into the good graces of various record-company publicists around town who’d put me on promotional lists like the one Greg was on. That would all come later, but at the time, I’d simply heard about the gig by word of mouth and paid at the door (with my friend Rob B.) for entry.

But the postcard is a puzzle, and I’ll explain why. Here’s the front…

…and here’s the back.

Two things struck me about this. First up, you’ll see that following that November 14th performance at CB’s, there was actually an afterparty just down the fucking street at, appropriately enough, the Blue Willow (which, if you’ve not caught up in your reading, thus far, was the location of the cover shot of Gavin’s debut solo album, Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves, Here that is again.

I didn’t know that, at the time, as I hadn’t gotten a special invitation postcard like Greg had. Moreover, I wouldn’t make the connection between the Blue Willow and Each Man Kills… (as first recounted in my debut post on the subject) until friggin’ 2013. Had I known, I’d have gone down to meet the great man and the significance of the venue would have dawned on me, but `twas not to be. If memory serves, after the show, Rob B. and I repaired to CB’s 313 Gallery next door for beers and I sprang for my first black CBGB shirt, which amazingly still fits today, although it’s currently buried in a drawer in my mom’s house out in Quogue.

But the puzzle is as follows: This postcard is advertising Gavin Friday’s first-ever performance at CBGB in November of 1989. Figuratively turn the card over to the picture side, and you see a shot of Gavin performing next to a cellist, appended with the legend: “Gavin Friday Onstage at CBGB. Photo by Paraic Finnegan.” Has anyone figured out the discrepancy, yet?

How can there be a picture of Gavin allegedly performing at CBGB on an invitation to what would have then been his first-ever performance at CBGB?

Before you recommend it, yes, I’ve started searching for more info on photographer Paraic Finnegan, although my hopes for success are not high.

There is, of course, the possibility that the two images Greg uploaded are NOT from the same postcard. * ADDENDUM: SCROLL DOWN

In later years, I would go onto interview Gavin Friday at the the home of his publicist, then on White Street in TriBeCa, and would go onto see him perform live at Sin-E on St. Marks Place, The Bottom Line on 4th Street and the Westbeth Theatre on Bank Street. As of late 2022, along with CBGB and CB’s 313 Gallery, all of those live-music venues are gone.

Gavin Friday went onto release a string of great solo albums and soundtracks and spent many years being creative consultant to his pals in U2. His most recent project involves writing music for a forthcoming documentary on volatile figurative painter, Francis Bacon. I’m looking forward to that.

As for Greg Fasolino, Greg and I walked very parallel paths. I think he might be a couple of years older than myself, but he was a regular face at many of the same gigs and same anglophilic record shops around town. He also worked for a while at a music magazine called Reflex, which was kind of the rival indie periodical to the one I latched onto while at SPIN, that being the New York Review of Records. Don’t bother looking for either mag today, but that’s a long saga in itself. In any case, Greg and I found each other again on social media, probably a decade ago or so, and have been friends ever since.

In terms of the Blue Willow, meanwhile, as mentioned on that previous post, the douchey menswear concern that previously occupied that lofty space vacated some time ago. The ground-floor space previously occupied by Atrium, KITH and probably several other ventures after The Blue Willow today remains dormant and papered up. But, in walking by that corner the other day, I noticed some rips in the paper and got out my phone, heartened to see that the stately marble trimming that Gavin Friday posed near all those years ago can still be seen…

I also found this. Should have a spare several million dollars lying around, why not treat yourself to a luxury apartment in the building in question (644 Broadway)... they're ....uhhh... quite nice, as you'll see. 

 

More on Gavin Friday & the Blue Willow on Flaming Pablum:

Searching For The Blue Willow

The Blue Willow is Dead

Ghosts of The Blue Willow

Back to The Blue Willow

*ADDENDUM: Shortly after publishing this post, I shared it on Facebook, where Greg Fasolino swiftly replied:

I can clarify all, my friend. The live image is not connected to the postcard at all. It’s a clip from a local NYC Irish-culture newspaper “The Irish Echo.” You can see me in the bottom right of image, watching Gavin perform while sitting at the front table at CBGB.

P.S. I also interned at Spin in 1986-87 and wrote for New (York) Review of Records as well circa 1993-95.

Here's the picture from The Irish Echo, and that is indeed Greg sitting in the very front. The question, then, remains -- what was on the front of the postcard?  Funny you should ask. Greg shared that, too. It's the naked couple from the album cover: 

 

Lastly, here is Greg's own interview with Gavin Friday for the aforementioned Reflex, recorded just two months prior to the gig at CBGB:

Bye-Bye, Blondie, Hello ... Bad Brains?

Walking down the Bowery about a half-hour ago, I looked over at the corner of Bleecker Street and noticed that Debbie Harry's fabled visage was nowhere to be seen. Shephard Fairey's Blondie mural has been replaced by a slick patina of mustard yellow paint. I strolled over and asked the guy with the brush "What's next?" His answer was "BAD BRAINS!"

From TriBeCa to Argentina & Back Again

The latest episode of Iñaki Rojas’ ongoing unspooling of the Modern Clix confluence (most recently discussed here) is out.

In a still-very-complicated nutshell, in 1983, Argentine rocker Charly Garcia had decamped to New York City was recording his upcoming album at Electric Lady Studios on West 8th Street and living in a loft on Waverly Place. He’d already decided on a title for the record, but when he and a photographer spotted a bit of compelling street art just off Cortlandt Alley on Walker Street in TriBeCa, all that changed. The ensuing photo found Garcia unwittingly sitting under one of the late Richard Hambleton’s “shadow men,” along with a tag by local punk rock scenester Fran Powers’ band, Modern Clix. Garcia named this album Clicks Modernos, unaware of these connections. The album in question went onto become, as I understand it, one of the preeminent albums of Argentine rock.

Sadly, Richard Hambleton passed away before ever learning that his artwork ended up on the sleeve of a massive-selling album. But writer/videographer Iñaki Rojas connected the dots (with some fleeting support of some old posts of mine) and reached out to Fran Powers and hipped him to this somewhat bizarre bit of artistic synergy. I’d only gotten to know Fran from recognizing him at a party thrown by Yukie Ohta of the SoHo Memory Project from Brooke Smith's photographs of the early New York Hardcore scene (happening just across town on the Bowery and Avenue A from the neighborhoods where Charly Garcia was hanging around, at the time). Funnily enough, Brooke Smith just released a sprawling coffee table book of these photographs (which I interviewed her about quite recently) and held a book signing at Generation Records on Thompson Street JUST LAST NIGHT, which I, of course, went to, where she was interviewed by Drew Stone, who I spoke about yesterday.  The whole thing is quite bizarre.

Sadly, Fran Powers passed away last year. Charly Garcia, meanwhile, is still with us. He’s 71 and living in Buenos Aires. In the wake of all this, I decided to hunt down his album, and have spent the last couple of days checking it out. Not sure what I was expecting, but it’s actually pretty great — despite me not being able to decipher what he’s singing about.

In any case, here’s Iñaki’s latest installment of the series. You'll want to turn on the English subtitles (just click on the CC on the bottom bar of the YouTube screen). I make a tiny cameo.

Back to A7

Just a quick one to highlight this great "lost segment" from my friend Drew Stone, giving a great, authoritative history of A7 just off Tompkins Square Park, which was basically the flashpoint of the whole New York Hardcore scene. Lots of great history, here, do check it out:

Whole World In His Head

Bear with me, please.

Oliver’s going to hate that I posted this, but I can’t help it. You already know I’m an insufferably proud dad, but this really blew a new part in my hair.

As I understand it, during some downtime during an extracurricular period, Oliver took it upon himself to draw the world map FROM MEMORY. We all have our own thing. When I was his age, it was comic books and punk rock. For whatever inexplicable reason, Oliver latched on to vexillology, geography and world history. You could put a gun to my head and ask me to replicate the correct placement (let alone accurate shapes) of each nation, and I’d have to take the bullet.

I am routinely amazed by my boy, but this is just some next level stuff.