Flaming Pablum

Missing No More: Finding Missing Foundation’s Music

I’ve written about Missing Foundation here entirely too many times, even as recently as this past September. In any event… here’s another installment to that saga.

Way back when, while Missing Foundation’s cryptic insignia may have been sprayed, scrawled, scratched and/or angrily carved onto virtually every decaying edifice southeast of 14th Street, actual, tactile documents of the band’s music weren’t quite as plentiful. Given their arguable infamy and notoriety for chaotic performances that frequently culminated in wanton property damage and the occasional riot, many may have suggested, at the time, that any records Missing Foundation produced might have almost been incidental; sonically ugly side-dishes to the malignantly deafening entrée that was their incendiary live incarnation. But whether those records were simply a means-to-an-end or more likely just the victims of shoddy distribution didn’t matter to me. Having had my curiosity piqued by the band’s eerily pugnacious flyer campaign circa 1989, I was determined to find those Missing Foundation records.

Suffice to say, that task was significantly more tricky than just walking into Crazy Eddie’s.

As luck would have it, however, in the summer of 1990, or so, a fittingly-albeit-unwittingly doomed record label called Restless Records saw fit to unleash MF’s third album, the cheerily titled Ignore the White Culture, along with re-releasing the band’s earlier works, Demise, 1933: Your House is Mine (that was my favorite) and their eponymous debut from 1987. In one fell swoop, I’d gone from famine to feast in the MF department.

Pressing play on the first track of 1989’s Demise, that being “A Hunting We Will Go,” was something of a startling revelation. Some months earlier, I remember dropping the needle on Scumdogs of the Universe, the second album by GWAR and being so let down by how comparatively polished the band sounded in contrast to their cartoonishly ultra-violent image. That first airing of Demise was the complete opposite experience. While Missing Foundation didn’t have an image like GWAR’s – or, really, any discernible “image” at all -- they had accrued that afore-cited nefarious mystique of being uber-agitpropagandizers. Opening with the strains of what sounds like actual police action at a riot (punctuated by sirens and a woman’s emphatic scream of “DON’T YOU FUCKING HIT HIM, YOU PIG!”), the music -– such as it is -- kicks in with a sluggish, lurching rumble atop primary instigator Peter Missing’s anguished moaning and semi-garbled invective as barked through a megaphone. While somewhat reminiscent of the similarly user-hostile, equally No-Wave-inspired outpourings of early SWANS, MF lacked that band’s disciplined, slave-ship gait, in favor of ….well….writhing cacophony. Easy listening this was not.

Anyway, long story short, Missing Foundation’s albums fleetingly came back into print for a bit. They released one further uncompromising album, 1992’s Go Into Exile before Restless Records collapsed and Missing Foundation, or that iteration of it, disbanded.

Fast forward almost 27 years later, and the physical manifestation of music isn’t quite as much of a priority as it once was, a development that has both revolutionized and disemboweled the music industry – an apparatus Missing Foundation were never totally on board with to begin with. While there are still folks – like myself – who collect such things with furtive reverence, most people, it seems, stream their music, these days. As such, given the advent of various digital platforms, actually hearing certain music is easier than ever before. Personally speaking, I continue to prefer CD’s and LPs. Whatever.

That all brings us to the point of this long-winded post. While their albums may have been difficult to prize back in the day, through the magic of Bandcamp, you can now pretty much avail yourself to the entirety of Missing Foundation’s discography, including the newly released Hamburg 1984, their comparatively slick (for MF) and entirely listenable collaboration with KMFDM.

Via this handy aggregation, you can hear some of my favorite selections like “Pistol Archive,” the afore-mentioned “A Hunting We Will Go,” the riff-blitzkrieg of “Jameel’s Turmoil” (including a more recent live airing of same), “Kill the Hypnotic Bastards” and, of course, “Burn Trees.”

Find all this by clicking right here. Tell’em Flaming Pablum sent ya.

More on Missing Foundation ...

Missing to Be Clever

Missing in Action

Cocktails for Two: In Conversation with Missing Foundation's Chris Egan

Maron Misses Missing Foundation 

The Life & Times of RB Korbet

'I Will Destroy You'

A Missing Link

Is the Party Back On? 

Missing Foundation Live at the Marquee 1990

Exhuming 'Recent Things'

Back in August of 2008, I posted an entry dubbed “Recent Things.” This was essentially just a series of photographs I’d snapped with my still-quasi-new digital camera (not iPhone) to offset a series of photo posts I’d portentuously titled “Things That Are No Longer There,” and variations thereof. I stumbled upon that latter post this morning, and was struck by how many of those things – a decade later – are themselves no longer there … or at least not how I’d left them, so to speak. Let’s review, shall we?

This, as the sign says, was Bleecker Bob's. I devoted almost as many posts to the slow demise of this storied stronghold of punk vinyl as I did to the untimely vanishing of the Cedar Tavern. In any event, it closed in 2013 and, contrary to original plans, did not turn into a rock'n'roll-themed frozen yogurt emporium, but rather a fair-to-middling Japanese restaurant I dined in in 2015. Read that account here, should you honestly care. 

This is a shot of my then-four-year-old daughter Charlotte standing cherubically in front of what had been the fabled Moondance Diner at the bottom of Sixth Avenue, just north of Canal Street. About year after this photo was taken, the Moondance closed (its physical manifestation moving out west to Wyoming, if memory serves) and a giant, fuckoff hotel was erected in its footprint. I sneer every time I walk by it ... which is daily. 

This is the former exterior of Marty's Cool Stuff on LaFayette Street just north of Bleecker. The shop was a complete, unmanageable mess, but Marty did indeed have the odd bit of genuinely ...er... "cool stuff." The only lasting bit of ephemera I have that I'd prized there is this orange metal sign that says "Smiths Overalls." It hangs just above the interior transom of our front door. Today, this is part of the noxious streetwear flagship, KITH. 

This is the former entrance to 9 Second Avenue, just steps to the south of the Mars Bar (also gone, of course) on East First Street. Largely derelict and abandoned by the time of this photo, the building's significant back history was lovingly told in an amazing documentary called "The Tao of 9 Second Avenue." I wrote about it here, but it's well worth seeking out. Today, the spot in this photo is part of a TD Bank branch.  

 

Fittingly just around the corner from the shot immediately above, this is the north-facing exterior of the old Mars Bar on East First Street between Second Avenue and the Bowery. A constantly shifting and captivating canvas for murals and spontaneous expressions of colorful street art, this strip of East First Street was always one of my favorite spots in Manhattan. It's all gone now. What's in this space now is that TD Bank, a chic condo's chilly lobby and -- last time I checked -- a business called The Alchemist's Kitchen. 

Believe it or not, this is Extra Place on the northern end of East First Street, just steps to the east of the Bowery. Yes, down at the end of that arguably forbidding dead end was the rear of CBGB. Many an atmospheric photo of punk luminaries was snapped in this forgotten byway. Today, it's a comparatively straight-laced and squeaky-clean strip of neatly appointed -- but frequently empty -- storefronts.

This last one probably doesn't need a lot of explanation. That's Charlotte, again.

Prior to the Punks, Years Before the Yuppies: East Village 1967

Next month, I am to cross the perilous Rubicon of my 51st year. I’m not especially enthused about that number, but what is to be done? Arriving, as I did, if my mother is to believed, at “cocktail hour” during the early evening of October 13, 1967, following a harrowing ride in a yellow cab across congested West 14th Street en route to St. Vincent’s Hospital, I was officially born in downtown Manhattan. My family did not live downtown, at the time, which might explain why that cab ride was so fraught, but they made it to St. Vincent’s all the same. My grandfather, a doctor, has practiced at St. Vincent’s, which might be why the decision was made to have me delivered there. Decades later, both of my own children were born at St. Vincent’s. Today, despite my multiple personal connections to the place, St. Vincent’s Hospital is sadly gone, razed to accommodate a new and prohibitively expensive cluster of condominiums. `Cos ya know … those are more important to a community than having a proper hospital in the vicinity. But, I digress…

In any case, in my regular perusals around the internet, I stumbled upon the clip below and let out an audible gasp or two. From the AP Archives, the video below captures scenes from the East Village – including footage of East 9th Street, First Avenue, Tompkins Square Park, St. Marks Place, The Dom and the Electric Circus, among other locales --- circa 1967. In fact, the story accompanying the footage was evidently posted on the very day of my birth. While these hirsute hippies right out of central casting were depicted strolling -– in some instances barefoot -– around the largely-still-recognizable East Village, I was busy preparing my early entry into the world about five avenues to the west.

Anyway, enjoy the trip back in time… and please note that while some footage repeats itself, it’s worth sticking around for the whole 8:26 of it.

Word on the Street

Seventeen Years Later

Today, of course, marks the seventeenth anniversary of the events of September 11th, 2001. It’s hard to believe, but there it is.

You may remember that I wrote about the “Tiles for America” project about ten years ago…if you’ve been following me all this time. The pic below is of one of the tiles in question, of course. Since that post, a whole lot has happened to that particular path of real estate, but some of the tiles still remain … however tenuously.

En route to a much needed haircut, I passed by the remaining tiles over the weekend, and was stuck by this one in particular. “America in Distress” is pretty self-explanatory, but in case you’re not aware, “Title 4” refers to Title 4 of “The Flag Code,” which states the following…

The flag should never be displayed with the Union down, except as a signal of dire distress in instances of extreme danger to life or property.

Were there ever a time to invoke Title 4 of the Flag Code, September 11, 2001 was certainly the day. Even seventeen years later, I can still vividly remember what it was like here in New York City on that otherwise crisp, beautiful morning.

Given the current state of proceedings with Trump still at the helm, it feels like Title 4 of the Flag Code is starting to feel worryingly appropriate once again.

Missing Foundation at The Marquee, 1990

Peter Missing shared this video below — only uploaded yesterday — on the official Missing Foundation Facebook page, so I thought I’d share it here as well, given that footage of Missing Foundation in action from this particular era is fairly hard to come by.

According to the person who originally posted this fifteen plus minute clip on YouTube, this is Missing Foundation in 1990 at the Marquee, then situated on the way western end of West 21st Street. It’s a venue I’ve spoken about many times here — most recently here — but I simply do not remember Missing Foundation ever gracing that particular stage. That’s not to say it didn’t happen or that YouTuber Jess 77714 is mistaken, but I simply don’t remember it, and it surely would’ve been something I’d otherwise have attended.

The first show I ever remember attending in that space was actually the Pretty Hate Machine-era Nine Inch Nails. At the time, the venue was a club called Sonic’s, and had sort of a schlocky “surface of the moon” interior design aesthetic, for some reason. Shortly afterwards (like, within the year?), it turned into The Marquee, and started playing host largely to alternative bands, British indie acts and loads of noise and industrial outfits … like Missing Foundation, I suppose. I guess I’m just surprised MF played there, given their pronounced reputation for inciting riots and inflicting wanton property damage. Still, I guess the Marquee management was either unaware of that, or simply strenuously understanding of MF’s singularly confrontational approach to live performance.

Anyway, this is probably the best footage of the clamorous and chaotic live Missing Foundation experience I’ve seen since that Jane Hotel video from some years back. Turn it way up and brace yourselves.

Summer in the City, 2018

A look back....

 

 

Beirut Daze

Have you ever been in a car driving along and come to an on-ramp to a highway where everyone seems to driving at about 80 mph? You have to assimilate to that speed really goddamn quickly, or it’s curtains. That’s what the past week has kinda felt like.

Since the wife and I came back from Lebanon last week, we’ve both been trying to re-enter and re-acclimate to the blitz of activity involving our respective office workloads, the impending school year for our kids and everything else that comes along with the end of the summer. As such, I haven’t had quite as much time to devote to the blog. Apologies, but I’m sure you understand.

In any case, while I’d originally intended on drafting a long, detailed post about the trip to Beirut, I’m instead simply going with selected highlights, punctuated by my photos. I want to post this while it’s all still relatively fresh in my head, although we’ll already have been back a full week by tomorrow.

Anyway, basically, the wife and I spent a little over a week in Beirut, also spending some days outside of the capital city in the higher elevations like Bsharri to the north (not too far from the Cedar Forest … or “Forest of God”), the quaint fishing village of Byblos and in a region southeast of Beirut referred to as “The Chouf.”

It's hard to encapsulate in a single nutshell, but our trip shattered a lot of my preconceptions about this part of the world. To the last, everyone we encountered was unfailingly gracious, especially when they learned we weren’t there on business but on holiday. The Lebanese are incredibly warm, polite and familial people, happy to help, extrapolate and share. Obviously, theirs is a history rife with a well-documented share of turmoil, but between the factions of the city in everyday life – Christians, Sunni Muslims and Druze peacefully coexist … except, of course, when they don’t, and the visual remnants of those conflicts are still evident, in certain places.

Herewith some other observations....

While largely a good-natured, relaxed and big-hearted bunch, the Lebanese drive like absolute maniacs. Speed limits, traffic lights and even basic rules of the road are all essentially blithely ignored suggestions. Protected turns? One-way streets? No parking zones? These are all sort of subject to an endearingly unbothered “says you” sensibility. I spent our first few trips by car hyperventilating accordingly, but after a while, the Lebanese laissez-faire approach rubbed off on me. That said, you DEFINITELY need to look both ways a couple of times before daring to cross any streets. Oh, those same streets are often completely bereft of any helpful, identifying signage, but that’s another matter entirely.

This probably isn’t limited to the Lebanese, but I was truly struck by the sheer volume of selfie-taking on display. In many instances, certain folks – mostly women – could be observed snapping selfie after selfie after selfie for half-hours on end. If you thought it was bad in New York, rest assured it’s a global problem.

Speaking of gratuitous selfies, though, here's me in a strangely Eighties-ish, David Lynchian men's room of a restaurant in Downtown Beirut...

 

Enough of my yacking. Enjoy the pics.

Incidentally, the woman making the odd cameo here and there, here, is my wife. 

I got excited by the STOP signs, as they were one of the few signs I could comprehend.

While the wife was resting one afternoon, I went out in search of the mythical Chico, arguably Beirut’s preeminent record store, buried deep in Hamra, kind of Beirut’s Williamsburg, if you will. I found it. Nothing too exciting, although I did find this slab of wax from Martin "Youth" Glover's post-Killing Joke outfit, Brilliant.

These next few are from a day spent in Dayr Al Qamar in the verdant hills of The Chouf, truly one of the most breathtakingly idyllic places I've ever been fortunate enough to visit.

M'self & one of my excellent cousins-in-law, Naji

Even in the hilly wilds of the Chouf, no one escapes the portentous prose of Don Henley.

These next few are from the fishing village of Byblos...

Back in Beirut...the mighty Mediterranean...

Three Things That Seem Somehow Connected

As I've mentioned several times here before, while I was too young to ever visit the place during its heyday, I've always been romanced by the story of The Mudd Club at 77 White Street. I've posted about it multiple times of course, everything from spotting James Chance sitting on its fabled stoop last year to tracing back the strange performance by Judas Priest on its comparatively intimate stage to finding out a former neighbor was now living in the iconic building's fourth floor. I routinely walk down Cortlandt Alley on my treks to work (often documenting same), and I'm always searching for that vanishing "sense of place" about the location.

Today, I noticed three arguably alarming developments.

1. While it's always been in a shifting state of repair, the stretch of Cortlandt Alley between Canal Street and White Street is covered with the lattice-work of scaffolding, suggesting a rigorous makeover is underway, and probably one that will further erase the byway's signature mystique
   
   
2. Evidently, there is a fuckin' musical about the halcyon days of the Mudd Club in production. Stop me if I'm wrong, but commemorating the Mudd Club in the form of musical theatre seems like the swiftest possible means of sucking any semblance of remaining coolness out of it. 
   
   
3. It seems that Seymour Stein, the music industry pioneer behind Sire Records and the forward-thinking individual who singularly fostered the careers of Mudd Club-regulars like Talking Heads, Madonna and the B-52s (among many, many others) is out of a job at Warner Bros. after 51 years.
   
   

Baxter Street