Some of you might remember a pair ofposts from 2018 wherein I delved into the curious story of Dave Marin, a fellow traveler on the roads of rock ’n’ roll pedantry.
Dave’s singular quest was to rectify a long-held discrepancy between the memory of his first-hand experience witnessing a specific moment at a Clash show at the Palladium on East 14th Street in the comparatively carefree days of 1979 and the documentation of same on the back cover of The Clash’s celebrated third album, London Calling. That singular moment, of course, was the smashing of Paul Simonon’s star-crossed Precision bass guitar, a fleeting moment of rage prefigured by Pennie Smith’s fateful snapping of a photograph of the instant just prior. While that photograph went onto become inarguably one of the most iconic images in rock history, Dave maintained that the archivists in the Clash camp got the date of the show in question wrong on the back cover, and it had become his mission to amend that particular oversight ever since.
Last night, Dave shared some happy news…
Hi Alex. Just to put this to bed, today “The Clash” official Twitter account sent out the following: “20th + 21st Sept 1979 The Palladium NY Take The 5th Tour. Paul Simonon smashed his Fender P Bass on stage in frustration towards the end of the show. Pennie Smith captured the moment and it became London Calling album sleeve, which dated the image on 21st. In fact it was on 20th!” Take care. D
Today, after being on loan to the deeply dubious Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, the remaining pieces of the bass guitar in question are back with Paul Simonon. The Clash officially disbanded in 1986, in the wake of the arguably abortive Cut The Crap album. Lead singer/songwriter Joe Strummer passed away in 2002. The Palladium was razed in 1998, and a NYU dormitory was built in its footprint. Today, the exact spot where Paul took his bass to task is the produce aisle of a Trader Joe’s that I was actually in yesterday afternoon.
And Dave Marin? Now he can fitfully sleep through the night.
In the wake of my last coupleof posts on “After Hours" — let alone the many posts I’ve devoted to the film over the last fifteen years — a regular reader who posts under a wide array of names posed the following questions…
What was the coffee shop where Paul and Marcy met? Who was the punk girl who gave Paul the flyer to Mohawk Night? I mean backstory (casting, what she went on to do etc.) Any real deal NYHC people in the Mohawk This Guy! scene? I bet Davey Gunner from Kraut and/or Doug Holland from Kraut and Cro-Mags were extras.
Okay, let’s dive in and see what we can answer…
What was the coffee shop where Paul and Marcy met?
Okay, I have two theories about this, actually. In terms of the storyline, Paul resides on the Upper East Side, although I don’t believe his exact address is ever revealed. The interior of the coffee shop looks somewhat similar to a former restaurant on Lexington Avenue between 77th and 76th street, although I don’t believe it is still there.
This all said, it also resembles another spot on Park Avenue South (just a few blocks to the north of the building wherein Paul’s character works), but — 35 years after the facts — these locations no longer look as they did in 1985. There’s a shot when Marcy is speaking that you can see a large-paned window behind her that reveals some detail of the street running perpendicular to the avenue the coffee shop is on. I’m projecting, but it looks a bit like East 25th street. Again, though, I do not have the concrete answer to this question.
Who was the punk girl who gave Paul the flyer to Mohawk Night?
That being this fetching young lady …
I cannot honestly say I recognize her, although several bona fide punk folks from the NYHC scene do appear in the film, so she might be more than simply an actress.
Any real deal NYHC people in the Mohawk This Guy! scene?
I bet Davey Gunner from Kraut and/or Doug Holland from Kraut and Cro-Mags were extras.
I don’t believe either of those gents were, ALTHOUGH the classic A7 t-shirt Doug Holland sports in the video for Kraut’s “All Twisted” does indeed make a quick cameo.
I’m not sure I know a credibly viable way into this post, so I’m just going to write it and worry about that later. But, suffice to say, it’s probably the least consequential/most trivial thing I’ve ever posted here … which is saying something.
I’ve long been obsessed with Martin Scorsese’s “After Hours,” a film he released in September of 1985 in the immediate wake of Paramount scrapping his longtime dream project, “The Last Temptation of Christ” (an ambitious undertaking he’d later go on to release in 1988). “After Hours” was the furthest thing imaginable from a sweeping Biblical epic — a black comedy documenting the tragicomic travails of a mild-mannered yuppie (played by Griffin Dunne) lured into the bohemian wilderness of the downtown Manhattan of the mid-80’s. Comparatively speaking, it’s a small movie with a relatively niche audience.
If you’ve spent any time on this blog, you know what I mean when I say I’ve obsessed over this film. I’d devoted posts to its locations, its score and even minor members of its cast. As a result, I used to think I knew everything there is to know about the film, but as yesterday’s post demonstrated, this is clearly not the case.
I originally started this post back in mid-May. I started writing it with the working title, “Unanswerable Questions About a Certain Scene.” Well, I regret to say that in the ensuing weeks, I’ve all but forgotten what most of those allegedly “unanswerable” questions were, but I do remember one major observation, and it concerns the scene below. Bear in mind that this has more to do with my original perceptions and preconceptions.
In this scene, we see the beleaguered Paul Hackett (Griffin Dunne’s protagonist) entering the Terminal Bar on the far western end of Spring Street in SoHo during a midsummer downpour. In actuality, the Terminal Bar did not exist. At the time — and for several years after “After Hours” was filmed -- this location was a bar called The Emerald Pub, although don’t go looking to have a pint there these days. The Emerald Pub closed in 2015 and the space has been dormant ever since. In any event, Paul repairs to the Terminal Bar to get out of the rain and to try to make sense of the chaos of the evening. Upon entering, he encounters cocktail waitress Julie (one of four pivotal blonde sirens through the film) and bartender Tom. While the scene plays out, a young, hip couple dances in the background to “You’re Mine,” a classic number by doo-wop duo Robert & Johnny.
Again, the rest of this is just about my silly projections, and has precious little to do with the film’s actual content.
In any case, for the longest time, I was ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN that the male half of that young, hip dancing couple was wearing a black, sleeveless t-shirt emblazoned with the back-cover design of Avalon by Roxy Music. Being that Avalon came out in 1982, three years before “After Hours” was released, it fit the chronology. Moreover, a cool, black sleeveless Roxy Music t-shirt seemed like just the thing a hip SoHo scenester might’ve worn while dancing in a downtown bar in the small hours of a summer night. In the event that you’re unfamiliar, the back cover of Avalon — designed by Peter Saville, who also did the iconic sleeves for both Unknown Pleasures and Closer by Joy Division— features some sort of crimson stone embedded in a gold, medieval amulet. Here it is now…
Cool, right? It’s also worth mentioning that Avalon is an amazing record. While not as adventurous as Roxy Music’s first few albums, it marked the high point of the band’s more sophisticated pop era and sadly served as their swan song. During my college years, it was an album that could be found in virtually every dorm room on campus and, like Diamond Life by Sade, its airing within same was sonic shorthand for “don’t come knocking.” Chances are, if you came home to hear your roommate playing Avalon, there was a good chance he or she was doing some very intimate entertaining sans pants.
Anyway, ever since spotting it in “After Hours,” I’d started keeping my eyes out for it, as it seemed like it would be a cool artifact to own, given both its association with my favorite film and my affinity for the album in question.
But I was never able to find it, which always frustrated me.
Fast forward to stumbling on the scene above in YouTube, I was suddenly able to get a much closer look at the garment in question, equipped with the pause button. In doing so, I managed to capture the screen grab below.
Suffice to say, that is very much not the back cover of Avalon. I’d been mistaken all these years. Under closer scrutiny, I figured it out and Googled on a hunch what the actual t-shirt was and immediately struck oil. The dancing hipster in the Terminal Bar is wearing this….
In case you’re unfamiliar, it’s a Sha Na Na shirt. Sha Na Na was (and still is?) a doo-wop revival group who had their own television show back in the late `70s. They even played at friggin' Woodstock.
While not nearly as cool as a Roxy Music shirt, it actually makes way more sense as something a guy voluntarily dancing to a door-wop tune by Robert & Johnny would wear.
I’ve spoken about them a few times here before, notably here, here and here, but I was and remain a big fan of The Cult, dating back to their days as psychedelic goths through their period as hirsute ersatz-metalheads and beyond. Sure, they’ve been entirely capable of being roundly silly on many an occasion, but they’ve also penned a robust amount of unimpeachably great rock songs, regardless of whatever tribal affiliation you choose to adhere yourself to. If you can’t recognize the brilliance of tracks like “Wild Flower,” “The Witch,” “God’s Zoo,” “Rain” and – oh yes do wait for it – “She Sells Sanctuary,” I shall have to ask you to step outside.
In any case, I follow storied Cult guitarist Billy Duffy on Instagram, and today he posted the above photo, shot in New York City in 1983. Of it, the great man writes:
Last of the Mohicans 1983…Back in the Death Cult days I had a mohican for a while as can be seen in this pic taken in New York in August 1983. It was my first vacation in the States and I actually went over there on my own.
Now, beyond my fandom for the great Mr. Duffy, renowned for playing a fat, fuckoff Gretsch White Falcon with stylish aplomb, I was struck by this photo and my inability to accurately pinpoint its location.
To my mind, that looks like Chelsea’s fabled apartment complex, London Terrace on the far left hand side, which would put him somewhere east of Ninth Avenue and several blocks south of 23rd street, but I can’t be sure.
Also check out the ghost sign on the façade behind the tail of his `hawk. It seems to read “Harold & ______, Wholesalers”….
Ring any bells? Weigh in, location-spotters.
Here’s what he would have been up to, as the time, back when they were still Death Cult.
This past weekend, my son Oliver and I found ourselves watching one of my favorite movies of all time, that being “The Taking of Pelham One Two Three,” this being the original from 1974, not that Travolta bullshit from 2009.
Not only is the 1974 version a gripping, well-written and compellingly executed thriller, it’s also a quintessential New York movie. Being that large swathes of the film take place in the enrivons between Union Square and East 28th Street (just a stone’s throw from where Oliver has been going to school for the past decade), it is rife with visual depictions of spots that he and I encounter every day. Periodically throughout the movie, I’d blurt out location-signifiers like “look, there’s that corner where the Pret A Manger is today!” or “See, that’s Union Square, directly across from where Barnes & Noble is now!” or “That cop car is on Astor Place!” The specific sightings are all correct, but in many instances, given how much the topography of the city has changed since 1974, many of the locations were hard to recognize and reconcile.
In any case, this morning, I had to quickly run up to a spot in so-called “Midtown East.” After dropping off what I had to drop off, I started to head back downtown, hanging a quick right on East 36th between Second and Third Avenues. For rock geeks of a certain age and sensibility, this strip has resonance, as it’s the home of Sniffen Court, a bespoke little strip of choice real estate that features a fetching little mews of a type usually found in London.
Presumably preserved as a historic landmark and spared the rampant overdevelopment evident around the rest of the city, Sniffen Court is well known to the afore-cited rock fans because it’s the cover location of the second studio LP by The Doors, that being Strange Days. The suitably surreal sleeve to that 1967 album featured a slew of circus performers doing their thing in the middle of stately Sniffen Court. Personally speaking, while ostensibly a whimsical scene, I’ve always found something about the photograph somewhat sinister. Here it is now. Click on it to enlarge.
I covered both Sniffen Court and my feelings about the Doors back on this post, and don’t have much more to add to that, but as I walked by Sniffen Court this morning, I was relieved to see it looking, for all intents and purposes, more or less completely unchanged from the way it looked in 1967. It helps that the morning was similarly grey.
Here were the Doors in another part of the city … specifically Battery Park.
Spotted these two photos on the Facebook group, Manhattan Before 1990, taken by one Rich Allen, who very hopefully does not mind me repurposing them here.
Snapped in 1975, the photographs show two boys – Jeffreny and Fernando, evidently – playing hooky and messing around on the back of a delivery van. Closer scrutiny reveals the van to be apparently part of a new business concern called CBGB.
For those of us still lamenting the painful demise of the storied venue (though I’ve gone on record saying it’s high time to let go and say goodnight), this begs several questions, the most pressing and obvious one being….
If CBGB owned and operated a delivery van, ….what exactly were they delivering?
Down here in Greenwich Village or – as I’m frequently heard to describe it – the veritable crotch of NYU, there’s a certain ground-floor apartment in the much, much nicer building across the street from mine that has always sparked a bit of speculation. Easily spotted from the sidewalk outisde, one can see a robust selection of handsome electric guitars hung around the high-ceilinged peremeter of a stately sitting/media room. I remember spying it sometime shortly after moving onto the street circa 2002 and becoming immediately curious as to the resident. At the time, I knew of certain celebrities like Julian Casablancas from The Strokes and Chris Noth from “Sex & The City” (and other roles, of course) living in the neighboring environs, but this room looked to be owned by someone at a more elevated level of affluence. The doorman of the building in question has, unsurprisingly, never been forthcoming about it (and, yes, I did ask). Lots of people in the `hood have theories.
“Keith Richards lives there,” is the one I’ve heard the most, although I furrow my brow every time it’s suggested.
For a start, while it had long been said that the storied Rolling Stone guitarist -- captured above by Timothy White -- “kept” a home somewhere in downtown Manhattan, it never struck me that the street-fighting man would have taken an apartment with a street-facing window. That just didn’t add up. He’s a Rolling Stone, for cryin’ out loud. Surely, die-hard Stones-heads would’ve figured it out and set up shop outside his window. But somehow, that theory persisted.
I also pooh-poohed the notion as -- however fun it would be to have Keef as a neighbor -- in the roughly seventeen years I’ve lived on this street, I have never once spotted the Midnight Rambler arriving or departing from the address in question. I’ve never even spotted a vehicle worthy of transporting same parked nearby. The whiff of Richards’ singular brand of louche badassery is nowhere to be smelt on my strip between University Place and Broadway. Given my own preoccupations, I assure you – if Keith Richards was living that close by, I’d damn well know about it.
Now, this not to say Keith hasn’t been spotted around, even if the spotting hasn’t been done by yours truly. As lovingly documented in Christopher McKittrick’s new book “Can’t Give It Away on Seventh Avenue” – which I’m currently reading – the Rolling Stones have an inexorable relationship with New York City, with all the band members having lived here at one point or another. Keith was said to have had a an apartment in the East Village until about 1983, although I’m uncertain as to where. And beyond periodically appearing on small stages across town to jam with certain notables, Keith was said to be a regular customer at Myers of Keswick, the traditional British grocery store over on Hudson Street in the West Village.
I posted this on Facebook today, but I might as well share it here, too, because … well, why not?
According to several reports, notably this recent one in Vulture, certain fans have discovered the location of an evidently crucial scene in “Joker” and started to make touristy pilgrimages to the site in the Bronx. I say “evidently” as I still have not seen the film, and have no real desire to. To my mind, as I may have stated here before, we don’t need another telling of the Joker story, in much the same way we do not need another James Bond, or another goddamn “Star Wars” installment. Shouldn’t we all be bored to tears with these mythoses by now? How about new stories, new heroes and new anti-heroes. Just a thought.
In any case, while I might not give a rat’s ass about “Joker,” I really cannot get mad at folks for getting excited about tracking down those stupid Bronx steps, given the fact that I’ve undertaken countless pilgrimages of similar intent to any number of significant locations from photographs, album covers and films, usually in the company of my very patient kids. Many long-time visitors to this blog may remember same.
Here are some you might remember, should you care….Click on them to enlarge.
Because I’m a fatuously geeky fanboy, I am a member of a group on Facebook devoted to the Sisters of Mercy. This post is not really about the band in question, but I’m just citing this for context.
Over the past several weeks, members of this group have posted a couple of photos of enigmatic Sisters mainstay Andrew Eldritch sporting variations of black t-shirts (shocker!) emblazoned with the logo and legend “The Pit – New York City.”
I was, of course, immediately intrigued.
As an Upper East Side kid, I first started exploring downtown Manhattan during my early high school years. When the parents of my friend Spike (immortalized here, although still not his actual name) got divorced, Spike moved with his dad to an expansive apartment in Greenwich Village, down on Cornelia Street. This particular spot became my preliminary staging ground for acclimating myself with this captivating new (well, new for me, circa 1981 or so) part of the city, having already bored myself senseless looking for comic shops and record stores all around uptown and midtown.
During those early sorties (wherein I discovered crucial locations like Bleecker Bob’s, 99 Records, Subterranean Records, Second Coming Records and It’s Only Rock’n’Roll …. all gone now, of course), I do dimly remember a selection of places that haven’t gone onto become as well-documented as others. For example, I seem to be the only person who remember a heavy metal shop on MacDougal Street between West Third and Bleecker called C.C.& Star. I have vivid memories of the tiny joint, but there’s no evidence on the internet (apart from my own invocations) that it ever existed.
Similarly, I want to say I remember a concern named The Pit, but I may just be projecting.
Some members of the SOM group on Facebook suggest that it may have been situated on St. Marks Place. Was it a shop? A live music venue? A bar? Did the Sisters play there? It’s difficult to discern.
Much like my search for anything to do with C.C. & Star, nothing really comes up, other than the t-shirt design above, although that comes bereft of any info of the image’s true provenance.
Given the Hell’s Angels’ until-recent foothold in the East Village, I’m guessing The Pit might have had something to do with them, given the biker aesthetic at work – something the Altamont-fixated Sisters of Mercy would certainly have gravitated towards.
In any case, while the name rings the faintest of bells with me, I’m fairly certain I never set foot in the place, and probably only walked by it, at best.
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