Flaming Pablum

Oasis in Manhattan

If I’m being honest, I was never especially blown away by Oasis. I mean, they were certainly quite capable of cranking out a series of perfectly respectable-albeit-derivative singles that were loaded with catchy hooks and reminiscent of various well-established rock motifs, but I couldn’t quite understand why they enjoyed such a robust amount of popularity when – to my mind – some of their more musically adventurous fellow countrymen in bands like Suede, Blur, Pulp, Elastica and several others were stalled on lower rungs of the ladder. I mean, despite what short-lived NYC indie band Thin Lizard Dawn suggested, I never believed Oasis sucked, but I just didn’t think there was anything especially exceptional about them. I also never really warmed to Liam Gallagher’s voice, a sort of whiney amalgamation of Lennon and Lydon. I also never understood his penchant for basically standing stock-still when performing.

But, y’know, what the Hell do I know? Oasis went onto become one of Britain’s biggest musical exports, for a while, until the wheels fell off and the Gallagher brother could no longer stand each other. I’ve frequently suggested that if their music was as entertaining as their endearingly contentious interviews, I’d have been way more into Oasis. At the very least, Liam and Noel were quite handy with their pithy quips.

I’m only invoking their name here for a couple of reasons. I was recently discussing them with some work colleagues, and I came across the shot above. Somewhat famously, Oasis’ New York City debut performance was at Wetlands Preserve down on Laight Street in TriBeCa, a storied venue most renowned for spawning the neo-hippy jam-band scene comprised of bands like The Spin Doctors, Phish, Blues Traveler, et al. To be fair, while that was indeed Wetlands’ whole shtick, most of the bands I went to go see there had nothing to do with that vibe. From ska to funk to hardcore punk, Wetlands’ booking policy was refreshingly open-ended with regards to genre, so Oasis playing there wasn’t all that out of left field. More to the point, one could argue that Oasis’ music was no less retro-philic than the club’s more celebrated acts who were continually invoking the spirit of Woodstock, et al.

Regardless, while it was a decent-sized, bi-level club, the actual performance space was fairly intimate. I seem to always remember it being oppressively loud, as the sound bouncing off the back room’s concrete walls (floridly painted with pastoral scenes of flower-children dancing in leafy glades) had nowhere to go. That said, it was always a fun space to see a band. I never had a bad time there.

In doing research for this post, though, I discovered that the band actually graced the Wetlands stage twice on their debut American tour – first in July of 1994, and a second time three months later in October. You can see their full performance from the October date here.

I’m including the photo above from the July gig not just because it seems like a typical shot of the band, finding Liam in his signature stance, but also because it’s so telling of its era. Not only does no one have their fucking phone out, but I just love the guy pictured in the background just under Liam (the bespectacled gent in the Failure t-shirt). Dutiful rock journalist that he must have been (and given my own involvement in that vocation, I believe I might know the dude in question – Jon Wiederhorn, is that you??), he’s staring intently at Liam and actually taking notes with a pen and pad. That’s some goddamn dedication, right there. Here's another take...

The July gig was actually part of an annual music industry convention called the New Music Seminar, a string of dates every summer devoted to music showcases in various venues around town and schmooze-opportunities and panel discussions at a hotel in Times Square. I attended a few New Music Seminars, but I think I sat 1994’s out. I didn’t go to this Oasis gig, in any case. My former colleague Neil Strauss did, though, and wrote this little bit about it for the New York Times.

Just to bring things up to date as a side note, in the ensuing 28 years since this event, Wetlands Preserve is long, long gone. It closed in 2001, following the death of its founder-owner Larry Bloch. The building that housed the club, 161 Hudson Street, was converted into a luxury condo (of course) in 2004. The ground-floor space formerly occupied by Wetlands became an expensive bedding emporium of some kind for a while. Last time I walked by it, that concern had closed and it was awaiting a new tenant.

Both Jon Wiederhorn (if that's indeed him above) and Neil Strauss went further with their careers. I would later work alongside Jon during my tenure at MTV News Online circa 2006, and he’d go on to pen several books, including an authoritative guide on heavy metal called “Louder Than Hell.” Neil Strauss, meanwhile, who I’d worked with in 1990 at The New York Review of Records, later went on to write – as cited above – for The New York Times and other prestigious outlets. After writing some memorable profile pieces for Rolling Stone (including one where I believe he got into bed with Jewel), Neil was drafted to orchestrate (and presumably ghost-write) the fabled Motley Crue oral history, “The Dirt.” From there, Neil’s career took an interesting turn and he became an accomplished pickup artist, ostensibly for the purposes of writing a book on same. That book, “The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists,” took Neil to a whole new level, so to speak. The last time I saw him was at a Cocteau Twins concert at the (since demolished) Roseland Ballroom. He was wearing leather pants.

Lastly, I stumbled upon this ancient video of Oasis and swiftly determined that it was shot here in New York City, possibly during the same stay as the first Wetlands gig. Herein we see the brothers Gallagher and cohorts playing in the Central Park bandshell, just steps to the south of Bethesda Fountain. There are also several shots of the band glumly burying their drummer in a makeshift public garden of the sort one used to encounter around certain portions of the Upper West Side and Lower East side. Can anyone identify the spot?

From Trash to Posh: The Metamorphosis of Hamilton-Holly House at 4 St. Marks Place

Originally the stately home of Eliza Hamilton, the widow of — wait for it — Alexander Hamilton, the townhouse of 4 St. Marks Place, otherwise known as the Hamilton-Holly House, is rightly considered a historic, designated landmark in the heart of what is now referred to as Manhattan’s East Village, a neighborhood descriptor Mrs. Hamilton’s tenure well predates.

As far back as I’ve ever been able to recall, however, 4 St. Marks Place was the home of Trash & Vaudeville, an enterprise I’ve discussed many times here.

Along with housing Jimmy Webb’s fabled punk clothing shop, the building also boasted an iconic stoop, one that frequently played host to the the local color of the neighborhood, so to speak.

I probably first called it out in the post that led to my interview with RB Korbet of Even Worse. I’d posted the photo below, and she’d gotten in touch to let me know the photographer’s name (Dave “Daze” Parsons). RB is the lady in black looking at the camera.

Over the years, the building has seen a lot of wear & tear, much like the surrounding neighborhood, but in the last fifteen-to-twenty years, or so, gentrification in the East Village (as well as its surrounding neighborhoods) has seen a sharp uptick.

In due course, while that stoop had long played host to any number of denizens of St. Marks Place, it was eventually gated off.

In 2016, meanwhile, Trash & Vaudeville was jettisoned from Hamilton-Holly House. Don’t fret. They relocated over on East 7th and, by all accounts, are still doing well. Webb even opened up an adjunct show further down in the Lower East Side.

Back at 4 St. Marks Place, however, a sidewalk shed was erected and plans were enacted to whip the former Hamilton-Holly House back into shape, so to speak.

Following the closings of St. Marks Sounds and the Grassroots Tavern just down the block for similar purposes, this development didn’t bode well for those who — like myself — who still cling to the idea of St. Marks Place remaining the endearingly chaotic and arguably grubby gateway to the East Village.

Recently, the shed was removed to reveal a newly refurbished facade. A quick Google search reveals that the townhouse is back up for sale (no price listed), and described thusly:

The space was previously occupied by Trash and Vaudeville's since 1975, and has historically been an epicenter of counter culture, bohemia and rock-and-roll. This landmark building is now being gut renovated, modernized and fully restored.

For those used to looking at 4 St. Marks Place during its Trash & Vaudeville days, it’s a slightly jarring transformation. My son and I walked by it yesterday, and I couldn’t stop from taking a picture (that’s Oliver below).

Technically, it’s the same stoop.

But you’d never know it.

Ghost Riding Downtown

The Old New York Tumblr, which I’m quite fond of, posted the below picture today, and it struck a chord for a couple of reasons.

Snapped, evidently, in 1968, the image begs a few questions, foremost among them being what the Hell is that on the back of that motorcycle?

Is it a mannequin? A terrified mime? A cadaver? An evil clown? The little kids in the middle ground seem fairly unfazed, but maybe it’s happening too fast for them to really take stock. I fear we’ll never know the answers, here.

Beyond that, though, I really feel like I know this corner, but can’t slap a location on it. I’m assuming it’s the Lower East Side, but I suppose it could also be Brooklyn. It’s obviously somewhere in the vicinity of the Manhattan Bridge (note sign in center of photograph), but I cannot name that intersection.

Can you? Weigh in.

See, It's Not Just Me...

Circa 1993, I believe...

Where they're standing in this pic:

After Hours AOC

Despite appearances to the contrary, this post is not really about AOC (Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez), but — since I just invoked her — I might as well concede that I think she’s pretty great. Sure, she’s young and probably still has a lot to learn about the office she now holds, but anyone who is capable of speaking truth to power with her level of conviction — to say nothing about causing so much angst and indigestion among key figures on the Right — is a-okay with me. You, of course, may beg to differ. That’s all.

In any case, a friend of mine recently posted the above photo on Facebook of AOC, posing with her signature, unblinking intensity on a weathered New York City stoop, her impeccably sharp, green ensemble creating a striking dichotomy with her otherwise rough-hewn surroundings. At first glance, I found it strangely familiar, but then I realized … there are doubtlessly thousands of stoops just like the one she’s depicted sitting on.

Then I thought back to an evening several weeks back. I was going to meet some out-of-towner friends who now live on the other side of the globe. They were briefly back in the city for a wedding, so we decided to meet up an at age-old favorite haunt, the Ear Inn on the westerly edges of Spring Street.

I’ve mentioned the Ear a few times here. It passively vies for the title “Oldest Bar in New York City” in meaningless competition with joints like Pete’s Tavern and McSorley’s, although — to my mind — it’s way better than either of those over-hyped establishments. Whether it’s genuinely the oldest bar in New York means nothing to me. It’s just a great place to meet friends and have a few beers. Long may it stay that way.

In any case, because I’m deeply neurotic and punctual to a fault, I arrived in the neighborhood ahead of schedule, which left me plenty of time to roam around the surrounding environs before assuming my place at the bar.

Time was when part of the Ear’s charm was that it was in such a remote, desolate backwater of a neighborhood. Apart from a deli or two, a couple of fellow bars (notably McGovern’s and the Emerald Inn) and, later, rock club Don Hill’s, there was practically nothing. The streets were empty and quiet. It’s for this reason that Martin Scorsese chose this patch of SoHo for many of the locations in “After Hours,” because it exuded such an eerily quiet, empty ambiance.

Suffice to say, this is no longer the case in 2019. These days, the westerly edges of Spring Street are a densely populated Emerald City of exclusive condos and monied luxury. Somehow, the Ear Inn has managed to hold on, but the days of it being a remote outpost are decidedly over.

This all said, there are still whispery elements of the neighborhood’s old vibe, if you look hard enough for them. As I circumnavigated the area on foot, I snapped a few pictures, trying to capture that rarified essence of place.

Circling the block on Renwick Street, just a street to the east of the Ear Inn, I came upon a certain stoop at the tail end of the building that formerly housed the Emerald Inn, the bar Scorsese re-cast as the Terminal Bar for “After Hours” (which I wrote about back here). I was struck by how grim and forbidding the stoop in question looked, so, I took a picture.

Sure enough, it’s the same stoop AOC was photographed on. Now, what was she doing there?

Hell if I know.

Gettin' 'Fanky' in The Streets

Yesterday afternoon, apropos of nothing in particular, I posted a video on Facebook by this great New Zealand band called The Clean, that being “Dunes” from 1989. Beyond it just being a great tune, I harbor an affinity for this video -– as richly detailed in this post from 2013 -– because it is rife with Super 8 footage of the band exploring the New York City of the summer of 1989, and visiting various favorite locales like the old Knitting Factory on East Houston Street, CBGB on Bowery, Maxwell’s in Hoboken, etc. To my mind, it just captures a time and a place perfectly.

Presumably inspired by same, my friend Frank R. then sent me a curious clip from the very same era by a performer named Charly Garcia. In all honesty, I initially had no concept who this strangely mustachioed Argentine dude was -- although that would change --  but much like the Clean video, this clip for a tune called “Fanky,” --  whatever that means -– finds Mr. Garcia and cohorts hamming it up in the streets of SoHo, Chelsea, Greenwich Village, Washington Square Park, East River Park and around the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, all circa that same turn of the decade, when downtown still felt cool, airy and arty -– and not staid, overcrowded and avaricious like it does today.

The music is sort of slickly overproduced, but still legitimately funky. Some of the video effects are distracting, but the clip still mercifully allows for some nostalgic viewing. Check it out here…

In doing a bit of further research, however, it suddenly struck me that I HAD indeed heard of Charly Garcia before. In about 1983, or so, he put out a record called Clics Moderno or…. wait for it … Modern Clix. The sleeve for same found Mr. Garcia posing in front of some very specific street art. See below…

Keen-eyed NYC street-art fans will probably recognize the shadowy figure behind Garcia as the work of Richard Hambleton (who I discussed back here). That part, while certainly cool, wasn’t what caught my eye, though. No, what struck me is that the “Modern Clix” tag refers -– presumably -– to my friend Fran Powers’ old band. As close as I can figure it, evidently Charly Garcia must have been photographed somewhere on the streets of downtown NYC and liked the picture so much, he decided to slap it on his album and name the record after it --- wittingly or unwittingly, I do not know.

As detailed in this old post, Fran Powers’ Modern Clix played an amalgam of ska/punk/funk/reggae that is worth checking out. You also might recognize Fran from his cameos is films like "After Hours" and "Hannah and Her Sisters," which he and I discussed here. 

Is he aware that Charly Garcia appropriated his tag for the title and image of his earlier record?

I will have to ask. 

Where The Music Used to Live: The Reboot

As a tireless proponent of the physical manifestation of music , I have devoted what some might consider an inordinate amount of bandwidth on this here silly blog to eulogizing great, iconic and even –- in some instances -– frankly mediocre record and CD shops that formerly speckled the map of Manhattan. Today, if you’re trying to put your hand to a specific compact disc or slab of vinyl here in the city, suffice to say your options are pointedly fewer and shittier (especially if you refuse to subject yourself to the bowel-worrying indignity of shopping at shoddy purveyors of putrid offal like Urban Outfitters). Yes, you could, of course, order whatever it is online, but -– really -– where’s the fun in that?

In any case, following in the tradition of this post, herewith three quick additions to the roster.

I’ve already devoted a few posts to Freebeing Records (notably here, here, here and here), but I spotted this shot and thought I’d invoke it again. It was posted on Facebook and dated as having been taken in 1983, but that’s clearly incorrect, being that the sleeves for the Damned’s Phantasmagoria, The Mekons’ Fear and Whiskey and OMD’s Crush -- among others – are featured in the shop window. All three of those albums came out in 1985. Look a little closer, and there appears to be a Live Skull flyer on far right. In any case, it’s a cool shot. No idea who the dude is. Today, the space that was Freebeing on this stretch of Second Avenue is now a Mexican food joint called Tanqueria Diana

As mentioned elsewhere, before I discovered the fabled network of independent record shops way downtown, I used to routinely avail myself to certain midtown spots like Disc-O-Mat on Lexington Avenue, Crazy Eddie on East 57th and a few spots further down like the one I detailed here and this other one right near the Brooks Brothers flagship store on Madison Avenue (long, long gone). Additionally, there was Record Explosion on Fifth Avenue between 35th and 36th Streets. I have vivid memories of routinely hitting this outlet in the mid-80’s. For some reason lost in the mists of time, I immediately associate this place with the Paul Young’s 1983 cover of “Wherever I Lay My Hat (That’s My Home).” I want to say it’s because I remember watching one of the shop’s clerks emphatically “air-bass” along with that blue-eyed-soul ditty’s signature fretless bass line (played by the great Pino Palledino). In any case, Record Explosion is unsurprisingly very long gone, but see it below on the right hand side of the picture.  Today, I believe it’s footwear place called NYC Sole. 

The last one isn’t a photo but rather a business card. I spoke about Musical Maze quite a while back, notably the one on Third Avenue that was initially – according to Dean Wareham of Luna/Galaxie 500 – the shop where Lux Interior and Bryan Gregory of the Cramps allegedly worked (before the latter decamped to King Karol a few blocks to the north). That Musical Maze location later became a short-lived Crazy Eddie outlet staffed by Brian “Damage” Keats of Genocide and –- fleetingly -– The Misfits who I befriended in the mid-80s.

This card isn’t for that location, but rather for one that was formerly on Third Avenue between 22nd and 23rd Streets. True to the legacy above, this iteration of Musical Maze counted Peter Holsapple of the dB’s as an employee (as documented here). Not sure when it closed -– and I have no recollection of it, honestly -– but in more recent years, it was a venture called The Pizza Bar, and is now, if I’m not mistaken, vacant.

If you're excited by this type of ephemera, do please check out...

Don't Bother Lookin' For'Em: Great Since-Closed NYC Record Shops

Where the Music Used to Live

Where the Music Used to Live: Slight Return

Where the Music Lived: REMIX

 

Lunch with The Ramones

In one Facebook group or another I’m a member of, someone posted the above photo of the late brothers Ramone that I’d never spied before, prefaced with the question: “Where was Jone’s Diner?”

The diner in question is, of course, the former Jones Diner (curious apostrophe placement, though) that was formerly on the southeast corner of Great Jones and Lafayette Streets. I spoke about the place a couple of times here (notably here, here and here), but it was just one of a great network of endearing greasy-spoon joints that has since been all but wiped off the map.

Some might remember the Great Jones Diner from its cameo in the video for “Two Princes” by the Spin Doctors. In later years, its metallic, railway-car-like exterior was removed, revealing a brick-faced edifice beneath. If I remember correctly, it was closed and then razed around the dawn of Y2K (remember that?). These days, there’s a giant new building erected over its former footprint that has yet to define itself as anything other than just another vulgar display of exclusivity and affluence.

Back to the photo, though, I find it striking how the Ramones have now fully crossed over into the realm of the practically mythological. I honestly used to see Joey Ramone walk around my neighborhood (he was hard to miss). I spied Johnny Ramone on Sullivan Street in Greenwich Village, once (I left him alone), and surreally sat across from Dee Dee on a Downtown 6 train (I left him alone, as well). For decades, you just took the Ramones for granted. My friend Rob B. and I had a long-running gag. “Should we go see the Ramones next Thursday?” “Meh, they’ll be back.” And they always were, until one day, they weren’t. And then they started dying.

With great respect to Marky -- and, I guess, C.J., Richie and “Elvis" --  the original Ramones are now all gone. We’re all so used to seeing their familiar stances on album covers, videos and in any number of celebrated photographs by shutterbugs like Bob Gruen, Roberta Bayley, Godlis, and Mick Rock (among many others), that to see a “new,” heretofore unpublished, lost or just plain ol’ less-well-circulated snap of them always stops me in my tracks. Yeah, we’re all used to seeing them pose like ….well, like The Motherfucking Ramones!… that to see them just hanging out or goofing around is just this great reminder that beyond being this iconoclastic, culture-informing unit, they were ultimately just a group of four guys, however dysfunctional.

Desktop Dump

As I've periodically mentioned, I am forever setting images to one side that I've come across in my travels around the information superhighway. Frequently, they end up being used in a post. In other instances, they wallow in a limbo-like state on my desktop before they're either purged without being used, or left to idle in context-free perpetuity on my frequently dormant Tumblr, Get Back to Work. 

Here are a clutch of those images ... all still waiting for their moment.

I'm not sure where I found this, but this is another exterior shot of long-vanished Yorkville comic shop, Supersnipe, which I wrote about in greater detail here. 

This is yet another lovely shot of the old Moondance diner and accompanying Stefano mural that used to sit at the mouth of Sixth Avenue, just north of Canal Street. I've written about both here many times, notably here. 

This is -- I believe -- a rare shot of the interior of Supersnipe with the gent who used to run it. 

This is, of course, the late Adam "MCA" Yauch of the Beastie Boys, taken from a still from the video of "(You Gotta) Fight for Your Right (To Party)." I believe I'd set this to one side for the purposes of composing a post after learning that the whole video was shot in a certain photographer's apartment on Broadway, just north of Union Square. I actually know a guy who lives in that building today, and I was going to try to go check the place out, but it never came to pass, alas.

This is a shot of the former entrance to the second iteration of NYCD, a great compact disc shop on the Upper West Side I wrote about not too long ago here. 

This is a shot of the late Jackie Onassis leaving a King Karol record outlet. Now, is it the same King Karol outlet on the Upper East Side (certainly her stomping grounds) that I spoke about on this post (specifically between 86th and 85th)? Honestly, I cannot say -- I don't remember that particular entrance so well. But, it could be.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. 

 

Return to Dirty Old Fun City

Astonishingly persistent readers here might remember a post from -– Jesus -– five years ago already wherein I documented the doings of an intrepidly obsessed cinephile named Jonathan Hertzberg. Hertzberg took it upon himself to compose something of a master-reel of footage from New York City-centric cinema from arguably the most adventurous era, that being the 1970’s (and into the very early 80’s). This was all culled into a frankly overwhelming video series called “Dirty Old New York a.k.a. Fun City.” The end results were a location-spotting NYC blogger’s dream, …. kind of the cinematic equivalent to the Beastie Boys’ sample-heavy watershed opus, Paul’s Boutique.

When I’d penned that original post in 2013, Hertzberg had only completed, I believe, two installments of the series, and I somewhat churlishly whined that he hadn’t included any footage from Tony Scott’s “The Hunger,” Milos Foreman’s adaption of the Broadway musical “Hair” and a host of films from later in the 80’s. At the time, Hertzberg himself wrote in. Here’s what he had to say.

Thank you for words and space you've devoted to my "Dirty Old New York" project! These are fluid pieces and have been updated already a few times with more planned, i.e. "missing" footage could and likely will appear in the updates, like firmware. It's hard to have every wanted film on hand at any moment. I was a bound a bit by availability, quality of footage (rules I broke a few times), and time frame (which I also stretched a bit). In general, I was going for DVD-quality, 16x9 footage from approximately '66 to '84. But, this has stretched a bit into '85. I had to stop somewhere or it would keep going, and I was looking for the gritty '70s-like years for the most part and not the period when the '80s started to look like the '80s as we remember it.

DOWNTOWN '81 appears for a bit in Part I and returns in Part III. SUSAN will likely appear in III. HAIR and KING KONG and some of the others you mention should be in there as well.

Tellingly, it’s taken me five goddamn years to get back on board. In the ensuing half-decade, Hertzberg not only completed his series, concluding with a fifth chapter, but did some specialized cuts as well, concentrating on stuff like recurring character actors, a Super 8 reel of New York footage his father shot in 1969 and other fun stuff, all very much worth checking out.

For the sake of this post, I’m going to embed Part IV of “Dirty Old New York aka Fun City” being that a passage of it enjoyably concentrates on “punk vs. disco,” cannily juxtaposing the strangely parallel exploits of John Travolta’s Tony Manero from “Saturday Night Fever” with Richard Hell from “Blank Generation.”

 

Cool, right, well, click here to go to Hertzberg’s Vimeo page to watch the whole series and then some. Tell’em Flaming Pablum sent ya.