Flaming Pablum

Catching Up with Squeaky

At some point in the now astonishingly distant early `90s, I was frequently to be found hanging out with a particular cabal of similarly inclined cats from the East Village, most prominently among them a guy named Dean Rispler. Ostensibly, Dean Rispler was the erstwhile boyfriend of my friend Joanne, who I’d met a few years earlier through my writer/musician/roadie friend Steve. But Dean and Joanne had broken up, and Joanne was seeing my friend Rob B. Testament to his big-hearted and congenial nature, Dean wasn’t phased by that, and was still a member of this particular social circle, one that frequently involved drinking a lot and going to see a host of live music all around the Lower East Side. Dean was also shuffling through and working with a number of bands, at the time, including luminaries like The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black (for whom Dean payed bass), Murphy’s Law (ditto), a combo called The Brought-Low and later The Dictators. Beyond all that, he was also a sought-after producer. So, yeah, he was a versatile guy.

At some point, Dean decided to form another band that I’ve discussed here a number of times called The Hot Corn Girls (probably last invoked here). Named after turn-of-the-century Irish prostitutes who sold snackable ears of corn by day and murdered their johns by night, The HCG featured Dean on drums, my friend Joanne on bass and sometimes vocals, a hilarious guy named Bob on vocals and guitar and then a second guitar player named, somewhat enigmatically, Squeaky. They recorded an album called Look at My Bum, and an additional 7”, both released on the evocatively named Stingy Banana records and festooned with suitably pervy cover art by noted photographer Richard Kern (who I also wrote about here, not too long back).

The Hot Corn Girls were absolutely hilarious, and I remember seeing them play at, I believe, The Pyramid and then again at Under Acme. Along the way, I got to know this guy Squeaky better. A somewhat eccentric character with an encyclopedic knowledge of arcane cult cinema, Japanese pop culture and super-obscure punk rock, Squeaky also played in a dizzying host of bands, most notable among them being The Chimpanzees. They’re almost worth a post in themselves.

In any case, while Squeaky was inarguably somewhat left-of-center, he was always entertaining company. I remember asking Dean why people called him Squeaky. Apparently, it was a nickname someone had coined for him as he suffered from Tourette’s Syndrome, and was allegedly prone to periodically making high-pitched, squeaking sounds (although, to this day, I’ve never heard him do so). I immediately felt that was rather pointedly insensitive, but Squeaky never seemed to be bothered by it.

Time passed. The Hot Corn Girls broke up. Joanne and Rob B. got married and moved away, only to later divorce. Steve became a roadie for SWANS, then a guitar player for Motherhood Bug, joined Cop Shoot Cop for two albums and then moved to Texas to become a lawyer. Dean kept on producing and recording and playing in more bands than you can possibly keep up with. In no time at all, that little circle of East Village friends fell out of touch.

I kept up with Dean on social media and, through that, also befriended Squeaky there (real name, Dave Wilentz). Since those days, Dave delved further into his passion for unconventional film, making a completely respectable career out of it, while also still being his lovably eccentric, super-knowledgable self. Imagine my surprise, then, that the Killed By Desk podcast, who I’ve spoken rapturously about here and here, set their sights on Dave for one of their in-depth interview/profiles. True to form, both of the hosts have similarly convoluted backstories involving. Dave “Squeaky” Wilentz, which — evidently — just goes with the Squeaky territory. 

In any case, it's entirely illuminating and equally hilarious. 

Check out here and tell’em Flaming Pablum sent ya.

Back to GG's Last Day ... 28 Years Later

I never went to see GG Allin. My friend Rob B. and I came dangerously close to going when he played the Space at Chase on Third Avenue, but demurred at the last minute. Had we actually gone, we stood the chance of being preserved for posterity on celluloid, as said performance was famously captured in Todd Philips’ documentary, “Hated.” Also, had we gone, we stood the chance of being physically assaulted by the star attraction and/or pelted with fistfuls of GG’s own freshly produced excrement, so you can possibly see why we didn’t go.

I don’t know if he went to the Space at Chase show, but my friend Aaron did go see GG (….and the Murder Junkies …mustn’t forget them) when they played what would be GG’s final-ever show at the fabled Gas Station on Avenue B. I’ve invoked that show several times here before (most recently here, I suppose). Video of the event appears on YouTube with regularity, only to be shortly pulled down for any number of reasons, usually involving nudity, violence and overall depravity.

As recently as this past November, however, someone re-uploaded the footage, and it’s probably the cleanest and sharpest version of proceedings I’ve seen, … not that anyone really needs to see GG Allin in high-definition, mind you.

Once again, the live experience fleetingly provided by GG Allin & The Murder Junkies is assuredly not for everyone, but this footage remains time-capsule-worthy as a telling glimpse of the East Village circa 1993, when the order of the day was significantly less genteel and brunch-centric than it is today.

Today, of course, the Gas Station is long, long gone, its footprint now occupied by an antiseptic Duane Reade. Later on in the day captured here on video, GG Allin would die rather unceremoniously of a heroin overdose.

ADDENDUM: A testament to the clarity of this particular iteration of the video, I'm only now noticing that one of the sycophants hanging around GG in the wake of the abortive performance is none other than the mysterious Squid, who I recently discussed here. 

This all happened 28 years ago today.

You’ve been warned. Enjoy.

Even Yet Still More Vintage C$C

I know this only really speaks to a fairly elite coterie of readers/users/viewers/whatever here, but even though I only just posted that footage of Cop Shoot Cop at CBGB last week, someone else just posted two more archival clips, these both dating back to May 30, 1990 at the recently-shuttered Pyramid on Avenue A. I don’t reall know why these videos are suddnely becoming more frequent, but I’m not complaining.

Enjoy, if you are so inclined…

Punks in The Peppermint Lounge

As mentioned back on this post from 2015, I should preface this by saying I regrettably never made it to the Peppermint Lounge in either of its locations. A storied club dating back to the late `50s, the original venue was on West 45th Street and played host to everyone from The Beach Boys to Black Flag. The second iteration of the club appeared circa 1982 and lasted until 1985. Today, the original spot on 45th street is no more, razed at some point in the `80s, and the second spot on Fifth is currently an empty storefront in the wake of playing host to numerous retail outlets. There is no Peppermint Lounge anymore.

The clip below, meanwhile, dates back to 1981, and was captured in the 45th Street location. This is, of course, the original line-up of the Circle Jerks, one of my favorite all-time bands, arguably at the height of their powers. This performance would have been recorded just three months after Black Flag’s fabled appearance at the same club (with New York’s own Even Worse as opening act). By this point, the Circle Jerks would have also graced stages around town at spots like the Mudd Club, and would later play spots like The Reggae Lounge (formerly the Rock Lounge), Irving Plaza, the 10.18 Club (aka The Roxy), and The Ritz. I don’t know that they ever actually played CBGB prior to the `90s (when they famously performed a cover of the Soft Boys’ “I Wanna Destroy You” with Debbie Gibson on guest vocals), but don’t quote me on that.

As detailed on this post, I wouldn’t actually get to see the band until 1985, playing alongside DOA and Redd Kross, and by that time, original bassist Roger Rogerson and drummer Lucky Lehrer were long out of the ranks. When this video of the original band was captured at the 45th Street Peppermint Lounge – almost exactly a neck-snapping FORTY YEARS AGO -- I would have only recently graduated from 8th Grade, been sequestered out in Quogue, Long Island with my family, very deliberately NOT playing any tennis and otherwise begrudgingly mowing lawns for paltry sums. It would also have been that same summer when I was being lured away from comparatively conventional Punk records by The Ramones, The Clash, Generation X and the Sex Pistols and towards the splenetic strain of Hardcore by my friend Brad’s tireless evangelizing of records like the Circle Jerks’ Group Sex, Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables by Dead Kennedys and the seminal Let Them Eat Jellybeans compilation.

But while I was being indoctrinated, it was already happening, as can be vividly seen here. I think I was so struck by this video as it flies rather squarely in the face of the misconception that Hardcore was somehow a less “musical” variation of by-then-conventional Punk. While, indeed, Hardcore may have been a more feral and streamlined variation that was built for speed, so to speak, even a casual viewing of powerhouse drummer Lucky Lehrer amply demonstrates what a finessed and versatile musician he was.

Such highfalutin pretty talk aside, the band is fucking on fire here.

Enjoy.

Technical Difficulties with Cop Shoot Cop

Someone evidently uploaded this fleeting slice of Cop Shoot Cop having a bash through "Shine On, Elizabeth" and "Hung Again" at CBGB in 1992 onto YouTube, and it's a great one, despite the shaky camera, the frequently black screen and the technical difficulties the band itself is grappling with (broken mic stands, etc.). I was actually at this show with my comrade Rob D., who would have been dancing with great, dramatic aplomb somewhere behind the cameraman here, sadly not captured for posterity. I'd love to know if there is more video from the night than just this. 

In any case, if you never made it to CBGB, here's a taste of what it was like...

'Put Blood In The Music'

If you're a fan of the band, you may have already heard about this documentary, Charles Atlas' "Put Blood in the Music," which is a profile of the New York music scene circa 1989, concentrating on John Zorn and Sonic Youth. You have to wade through about two minutes of needless extrapolation from "The South Bank Show," but the doc itself is well worth your time. 

Enjoy. 

The Things That People Pay For

The concept of worth is an elusive thing. There are things out there in the world, somewhere, that probably mean next to nothing to the individuals who own them, but that I would consider positively invaluable. I’ve mentioned it several times here before, but there’s a certain elusive Cop Shoot Cop gig flyer circa 1990 at CBGB that I would gladly pay a handsome sum for, but I’ve just never been able to put my hand to it. Very recently, I came across a photograph of a lost bit of graffiti that I’ve been preoccupied with finding for literally over three decades, but when I asked the photographer’s representative how much a print of same might cost, the answer was in the thousands (translation: ain’t gonna happen). Why would someone pay handsomely for an old gig flyer? Why would someone pay for a photograph of old graffiti? Why ask why? Why do you like and pursue the things you do?

Then, of course, there are things that I happen to possess and don’t give a great deal of thought to that have gone on to become arguably valuable. I have a couple of books about No Wave and paperback copy of “The Stranglers Song by Song” (as mentioned here) that have gone out of print and strangely since become evidently rarified and summarily pricey artifacts. I have stacks of compact discs that might have been worth more than I’d originally paid for them, but the bottom has basically fallen out of that particular market.

Then there are things that may have once been entirely incidental that have ascended in perceived value to such an extent that they’re now shown in fuckin’ museums and prestigious collections. That will never cease to amaze me.

Another example of that revealed itself to me today when I stumbled upon the website of Gallery98. As I was perusing through their collection of party notices, gig flyers and nightclub invites, I noticed they featured a few of the distinctive cards for GREENDOORNYC. For the uninitiated, GREENDOORNYC was this series of regular parties, back in the mid-to-late 90s, in the East Village and Lower East Side thrown by Jesse Malin of D Generation. Originally, they were held at a variety of different locations until finally coalescing at the space on St. Marks Place that Malin would later commandeer as Coney Island High. These events were well-attended and raucous gatherings of East Village rock’n’roll types and went on for hours on end. I was lucky enough to go on three or four occasions, and always had a damn good time.

As such, I have a number of these silly cards, usually depicting period-specific antiheroes like Stiv Bator, Johnny Thunders, KISS, Iggy Pop, Alice Cooper, Debbie Harry and the like. They formerly adorned my fridge on East 12th street or were pinned up to any number of bulletin boards at any of the several different jobs I’ve had since that era as mementos of my misspent semi-youth. They now live in a selection of battered envelopes of ephemera hastily amassed when I was leaving any one of those afore-cited jobs. They’re no longer pinned up and displayed, but I still have them, buried in the closet.

As a lark, I reached out to Gallery98 to inquire as to how much these cheaply printed and thinly produced scraps of cardboard are currently selling for.

Apparently, they’re currently selling for $100…. EACH!

'Night at Downtown Beirut'

It’s by no means a stretch for any blog that concentrates on downtown NYC, but I’m sure I’ve mentioned Downtown Beirut here a few times, the long-lost watering hole on First Avenue. Don’t bother looking for it today, of course. I honestly can’t remember what’s there in 2021, let alone if said venture is even operational, at this stage. But, in any case, as Downtown Beirut, is was practically a holy site for folks of a certain disposition.

I cannot remember the first time I set foot in the bar, but it was invariably at some point around 1988 or 1989, relatively late into its storied tenure. True to its oft-repeated legend, it did indeed have a robustly adventurous jukebox of the old-school variety, and I remember being fairly gobsmacked to find bands like the Buzzcocks and Modern Lovers on it. It was a favorite spot for my fellow paylessly disgruntled SPIN interns and I to frequent, along with being the first place I ever witnessed my friend Dusty’s star-crossed garage-noise band, The Bastards of Execution, perform.

To my recollection, Dowtown Beirut feels like the place wherein the 80s transformed into the 90s, the decade that would eventually turn the bar's lights out. By 1994 or so, it was but a memory. To this day, invoke its name and watch folks who pair their greying temples with increasingly ill-fitting Lunachicks t-shirts get moist around the eyes. Many of today’s bars try to emulate its singular brand of grimy, punky cool, but like the CBGB, Mars Bar and the Lismar Lounge, it is now the stuff of legend.

It’s precisely for this reason that videos like the one below are so special. While you cannot darken the doors of Downtown Beirut anymore, here’s as close a taste to the experience you’re as likely to find, courtesy of one Mike Enright. It has the loose narrative of a student film, but the visual specifics are fantastic. I especially love the sticker on the jukebox that reads "New Missing Foundation - I DARE YOU!"

Site back and enjoy … “Night At Downtown Beirut.” By the way, the lovely photo at the top of this post was taken by one David Vega. 

Night At Downtown Beirut from Mike Enright on Vimeo.

Rough to The Rock

As mentioned in this recent post, I worked, for a spell, at the website of “The TODAY Show.” In a nutshell, sensibility-wise, it was really not a great fit for me. Essentially, the program and its accompanying website (for which I was a homepage editor) cater to a very specific demographic with fairly mainstream tastes. To put it very mildly, I did not and do not share a great deal of affinity for the stories, subjects and guests we regularly featured. By the same token, it was a good, steady job, paid well and I worked with some genuinely amazing people, many of whom I am still great friends with today.

That said, there was a pronounced sea change within the overall organization during my tenure there and the office culture changed somewhat radically after I’d been there a couple of years. There came a great cleaning of house and a re-org, and I started answering to other managers. In short order, the scrutiny was turned way up. I was out of my depth and a bit overwhelmed, and was basically “managed out” of the organization with a ruthless efficiency. That’s about all I’ll say about that.

As a result, 30 Rockefeller Plaza is very much not a place you’re likely to find me voluntarily hanging around, not just because I don’t work in that building anymore, but because the circumstances of my carefully orchestrated departure were fairly fraught (well, for me, anyway). In the grand scheme of things, leaving the place was the best thing that could have happened, but one generally prefers to leave on one’s own terms, which was not at all the way it went down.

So, when news broke today that Rough Trade NYC – recently unmoored from its airplane-hangar-sized original perch in Williamsburg, Brooklyn --- was relocating to … WAIT FOR IT … 30 Rockefeller Plaza (literally four flights directly beneath the roiling, orange-walled, windowless chamber of trauma that was my former office), my enthusiasm was somewhat muted. It seems like a strenuously unlikely place for a shop that caters rather specifically to indie, alternative and underground music, but hey …. what the Hell do I know?

May they have a thousand times more success than I experienced at that address.

Rockers' Roundup

Hey all. Pardon the relatively prolonged silence, but it’s been one of those weeks wherein I feel like I’m being swallowed whole by a work project. I have some cooler, longer stuff in the works to post here, but that’ll have to wait for a bit. In the short term, though, I wanted to pass on a few things.

I did a number of posts about the Plasmatics here over the course of the last few months, which – in the grand scheme of things – is a bit odd, considering they’ve been dormant since the dawn of the 90s, much less since Wendy O. Williams passed away in 1998. In any case, the estimable Please Kill Me website just posted a lengthy and meaty piece on the band, featuring interviews with guitarists Wes Beech and Richie Stotts (above) and they touch on many great anecdotes from the band’s heyday. Should you care, it’s worth checking out.

ADDENDUM: Were that not enough, the boys also just participated in a podcast/video. See that here. 

Next up, you may remember a couple of posts I put up about singer/songwriter Amy Rigby, whose book “Girl to City” was a real favorite of mine last year. I got to interview Amy during the height of the pandemic, last year, and she and I have since become pals on social media, which is fun. Recently, someone posted a recording of her No Wave band, The Stare Kits, recorded live in 1979 at Tier 3 over on West Broadway. You can hear Amy bashing away on the drums. It’s very cool. Go check it out here.

Lastly, some of you might remember a few posts I devoted to John Lurie, some years back. In a nuthsell, on a couple of occaisions, I posted about the man, his music and his story, and then he, in turn, weighed in. We had a bit of a dialogue going, for a while. Since those days, he released more music under his alter-ego, Marvin Pontiac, and debuted a new series on HBO called “Painting with John.” The latest news is that he has a long-promised memoir about to come out called "The History of Bones." If, like myself, you’re eager to read that, click here for more info.