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.
I cannot say I’ve ever knowingly watched NYCTV, let alone been aware of its existence. But I’ve been spotting this new ad campaign of theirs in the subways, of late, and am both compelled and repulsed by it. On the surface, I think the concept -– “Why I Love New York In 25 Words” -– is kind of a fun, novel little exercise. It’s their execution that has depressed me.
Polling a variety of celebrities and public figures -– like, say, one Bridget Moynahan below -– the answers they’ve fielded to their little challenge have been, to my mind at least, somewhat dispiriting. I mean the notion of citing “Sex and The City” as a fundamental reason why you love New York City upsets me more than I can put into words. But, to be fair, if I’m not mistaken, Miss Moynahan was in fucking “Sex and The City,” so that contextual qualifier makes it slightly more forgivable, I suppose. Still, … hurrumph. Also, who would honestly still cite the High Line? I wonder when the last time was that she tried to walk down it.
Anyway, judgmental vitriol aside, I thought it might be fun to take a crack at this little challenge myself, given my deep well of adoration for my home town. Whilst strolling to work one morning this week, I started tallying up suitable citations to include. In typical fashion, however, I started over-thinking it, wondering if I should cut my unwieldy list in half, given the fact that so many of the words I’d chosen represent aspects of New York City that no longer exist. Then, I thought, should I make two lists, one for stuff I love and one for stuff I miss?
No. I decided to jettison the words that represent things that have vanished -– The Ritz, Rocks In Your Head, Danceteria, CBGB, SoHoZat, NoHo Star and the Cedar Tavern, to name but a small few –- and stick with what’s still current. I’m keeping the names of bands, as even if those bands no longer exist, the music lives on.
Here is why I happen to love New York in 25 words. What are yours?
Ear Inn
Beastie Boys
Central Park
Lower East Side
Yorkville
Kraut
Courtlandt Alley
Knickerbocker’s
Cop Shoot Cop
NYHC
The Strand
“After Hours”
Bowery Ballroom
Veselka
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.
I must cop to stealing the title of this post from my friend Chuck Eddy. He's great -- go read his books.
The Clash are getting a London Calling stamp. I'm wondering if our friend Dave M. (see backstory) has seen this? What say you, Dave?
Click on it to enlarge.
I stumbled upon this old interview between PopMatters and my estimable comrade Tod [A], and since I’m currently waiting for a string of crucial emails to arrive -- and a watched inbox never populates -- I thought I’d purloin the questions and address them myself as a rapturous exercise in self-indulgence. Like anyone cares.
1. The Latest Book or Movie That Made Your Cry
By and large, I don’t do a lot of crying, and -– if I do –- it’s usually prompted by something a little more personally impactful than a bit of literature or cinema. This all said, I do remember getting very misty through portions of Adam Gopnik’s “Through the Children’s Gate,” which is a collection of essays about raising children in New York City in the immediate wake of September 11, 2001.
2. The Fictional Character Most Like You
Cripes. I’m inclined to say Holden Caulfield, although that comes with a weignty share of baggage, being that “Catcher in the Rye” has been cited as some sort of primer for certain, infamous killers and assasins. I’m probably closer to Nick Hornby’s protagonist Rob in “High Fidelity.” Or maybe Howard the Duck.
3. The Greatest Album, Ever?
Just one? An impossible thing to pinpoint, but today I’ll say Funhouse by The Stooges.
4. “Star Trek” or “Star Wars”
I lean towards “Star Wars,” but I am experiencing a pronounced bit of fatigue with that whole scene. I’ve never lost my adoration, meanwhile, for the original “Planet of the Apes” series.
5. Your Ideal Brain Food?
At this stage of the proceedings, I think it’s ill-considered to only get your information from a single outlet. As such, I sample from as wide a spectrum of sources as can be accessed. Of course, viewing-wise, I have more time for MSNBC than for CNN, and the only FOX I watch is the local FOX news at 10pm, and that’s just for the weather. Reading-wise, out of loyalty, I still have a lot of time for TIME, and despite what certain parties may have to say about it, you cannot go wrong with the New York Times.
6. You’re Proud of This Accomplishment, But Why?
I would say I am tremendously proud of how well my kids have turned out, but I feel remiss asserting that said outcome is the result of my own efforts. At the very least, it was a group effort, and the lion’s share of the kudos deserves to go to my wife.
Otherwise, I would say that landing the job I currently have is something I am very pleased with myself about. After being unceremoniously discharged from my last gig and plunging headlong into long bout of crippling unemployment, I was feeling lost, broken and humiliated. So, to have found and earned a place at this new gig -– some eighteen or so months later, if memory serves -– that is such a better fit and that I love and have excelled in was, to my mind, a monumental achievement for me.
7. You Want To Be Remembered For…
Not sure I know how to answer this. I’ll take the cheeky cop-out route and say my high standards, impeccable taste and unsolicited outspokenness.
8. Of Those Who’ve Come Before, The Most Inspirational Are…
My grandfather on my mother’s side, probably. He was a lovely, big-hearted, razor-sharp gent with boundless curiosity and a kind word for all. He is sorely missed.
9. The Creative Masterpiece You Wish Bore Your Signature?
It’s not that I wish I’d written anyone else’s book. I mean, I can rattle off a list of favorites. It’s that I wish I’d written my own book. I’ve come very close, but it hasn’t worked out. Not yet, at least.
10. Your Hidden Talents…?
I’m a surprisingly adept bowler, I used to be able to draw quite distinctively and I can grill a reasonably decent steak.
11. The Best Piece of Advice You Actually Followed?
Always be on time. It’s efficient, professional, saves you extra stress and demonstrates respect.
12. The Best Thing You Ever Bought, Stole or Borrowed?
Bought? Probably the engagement ring I bought for my wife, being that she said “yes.” Stole? Probably the vinyl LP of It’ll End in Tears by This Mortal Coil from my college’s radio station. I was invariably the only disc jockey on the staff playing it, so I kinda doubt they missed it. Borrowed? Probably a black-leather motorcycle jacket from my friend Charlie. Charlie actually owned and rode a motorcycle for a while, so had a credible, practical reason for owning it. But, then he stopped riding it, for whatever reason, and no longer wore the jacket. I thought it was cool, so exhumed it from his closet one evening back in the late 80’s/early 90’s …. and never returned it. In 2018, it seldom leaves my closet, as there are arguably fewer things more tragic than a 50-year-old dad trying to look like a Ramone, but I do still have it.
13. You feel best in Armani or Levis or …?
I don’t think I’d know an Armani garment if you tried to smother me with one. I get my jeans at The Gap, usually, but more out of convenience than any brand loyalty. I do like Ben Sherman stuff, I must confess, but that’s only because I still naggingly feel obligated to dress like members of my favorite bands.
14. Your dinner guest at the Ritz would be?
I’m assuming they mean the hotel in London and not the since-shuttered NYC music venue. In any case, so many likely candidates have since passed on. I imagine dinner with Spalding Gray might have been something special.
15. Time Travel: Where, When & Why?
Well, as chillingly detailed in the Ray Bradbury short story, “A Sound of Thunder,” going back in time and messing with stuff has radical ramifications, so I’d be disinclined to do that. In terms of the future, why rush it? We’ll get there, ….hopefully.
16. Stress Management: Hit Man, Spa, Vacation or Prozac?
Hiring a hit man to alleviate stress would only cause further stress. Spas are nice, but expensive. Vacations are indeed great, but then they end, and you come home. I’ve never been a Prozac guy. Personally, in stressful times, I like to do a lot of walking (which I do anyway) and surround myself with the people who care about me.
17. Essential to Life: Coffee, Vodka, Cigarettes, Chocolate Or…?
Coffee and Beer are my biggest vices, although I remain perpetually concerned that I consume way too much of the latter. I don’t believe I drink enough coffee for it to be a genuine problem. Beer? I could really stand to cut back. I don’t drink any hard alcohol. I don’t smoke. I do eat chocolates and sweet stuff, but not as irresponsibly as I drink beer. I could probably stop drinking coffee today and be totally fine. Beer? That would be boring and sad, honestly. But, we’ll see.
Things I absolutely could not function without? Wife, Kids and MUSIC.
18. Environ of Choice: City or Country, and Where on the Map?
I’m a born and bred New York City guy, full stop.
19. What Do You Want to Say to the Leader of Your Country?
“RESIGN IMMEDIATELY AND TAKE PENCE WITH YOU!”
20. Last But Not Least, What Are Your Working On Now?
At work, I have three major events looming in the next three weeks that I’m orchestrating video/editorial coverage for. At home, I’m working on getting my kids ready for the new school year (as detailed here).
Hey there, all….. I am indeed back from Downtown Beirut.
No, sillies, I don’t mean the long dormant Downtown Beirut pictured above circa 1990 (replete with tattered Cop Shoot Cop flyer affixed to its front door), I mean the formerly decimated area of the capital city of Lebanon, which I was coyly alluding to in a couple of the previous posts.
We only just got back late last night, so I’m a little bleary, but look for a full report soonest.
Back on the NYC tip, though, some of you will remember the old Downtown Beirut bar on First Avenue just north of East 9th Street (although, I want to say it had a brief incarnation somewhere else after it closed up in the mid-90’s). In any case, it was a loud, sludgy dive of a variety that basically just does not exist in New Yok City anymore, so-named after the hardest-hit neighborhoods of the former Paris of the Middle East during Lebanon’s civil war. Sure, it sounded menacing and suitably combative for the East Village's punky patrons of the late 80’s and early 90’s, but having now traveled to the definite article and heard first-hand stories of the bombing and the snipers and the rubble (elements thereof still visible in certain parts of the city), it was assuredly no joke.
Somewhat ironically, the actual downtown of Beirut today is a teeming mass of immaculate, modern development, although reminders of the city’s fractious history are never far from the surface.
Last I looked, the former site of New York City's Downtown Beirut was an Asian foot-rub joint called .... I shit ye not ..... Yu's On First.
More to come shortly.
Apologies for the relative slowdown in posting here, but I’m afraid I’m currently sick as a dog. Who, exactly, gets sick in the middle of July? This idiot, evidently. I’ll spare you the details, but suffice to say, they’re not pretty.
In any case, over the course of the weekend, there was a development that prompted a flurry of outrage all over my social media platforms, with lots of folks tagging me for, I imagine, the sole purpose of triggering my frothy-mouthed incredulity.
I’m talking, of course, about the new Target on Avenue A lamely appropriating the surface-level iconography of CBGB for their grand opening. You can read that whole sorry story here.
Now, once again, I’m currently achey, feverish and wheezing like an asthmatic leper, so summoning the energy, over the past few days, to furiously slam away at my keyboard about this affront was just not on the menu. More to the point, however, we’ve all been here before, and as recently as this past February, when the same new building, I believe, branded its residential complex EVGB (“East Village’s Greatest Building"…..dicks). What I had to say in that instance is pretty much the same as what I have to say in this instance. Just leave it alone, already.
Appropriating CBGB and/or other vestiges of the East Village’s former character/sensibility/cool cache is assuredly nothing new, and I totally get why people are upset about it. I certainly know why it bothers me. But as the story started making the rounds, I was struck by some of the different reactions. Over on Facebook, I’m friends with Bliss Blood, the former lead singer of the Pain Teens, who had this to say:
CBGBs was a dump. Why act like it was cool? It was shitty and filthy with terrible sound and their policy of booking totally different bands to get "turnover" on the door is one reason why there was little scene cohesion in NY. I've toured the world and practically any other venue anywhere was better than CBGBs. And their policy of not having a backline and making all the drummers set up their kits in the hallway leading to the bathroom—stupid!
Now, in my particular tenure of darkening the doors at CBGB, I was never more than a patron, while Ms Blood was a performer (and a feral one, at that — check her out on that very stage, below), so I cannot speak to her grievances about backline and drum-kit concerns with any authority, although don’t remember ever thinking the sound was that bad. But, I tried to counter her statement by suggesting that there were really two issues at play here.
Regardless of the actual, arguable merits of CBGB (versus its rhapsodized legacy), the club itself was indicative and symbolic of a place/culture/sensibility/aesthetic that has been wiped off the map by gentrification. While Target is certainly not the first entity to lamely exhume its signature trappings (see also John Varvatos, Daniel Boulud, etc.) its failure to appreciate why the appropriation might upset a few people is telling. It essentially makes mockery of something generations of NYC folks hold sacrosanct. If that feels histrionic, so be it. Dump or not, the place was signfificant. It's not for Target to trivialize.
In terms of her point about CBGB being a “shitty,” “filthy” “dump,” I really do think one would be strenuously hard-pressed to make a credible argument to the contrary. But, of course, for many, that was part of its charm. I do vividly remember seeing certain acts play CBGB for the first time and make a few telling remarks on the state of the place. I remember Gavin Friday making his solo debut in 1989 there and being particularly uncharitable. That always struck me as odd, though. I mean, the place really was a rundown hole in the wall. That’s not praise nor vilification — that’s just an observation. What had they been expecting?
The by-now-belaboured takeaway, once again, is the recognition of what CBGB launched, and what it came to represent, regardless of its sorry state of affairs towards the end of its tenure at 315 Bowery.
But in pedantically parsing and reverently re-hashing all this for the umpteenth time, I realized something pretty vividly.
I am getting kinda bored with talking about CBGB.
I don’t mean the bands and the stories and the amazing music that still sounds so vital today, but I’m tired of having to take umbrage every time something like this happens. Yes, I’ve devoted countless, weepy posts to the place here on Flaming Pablum over the past thirteen years, but let’s remember — it’s now been gone for, what, twelve years? I would indeed like to see the corporate entities trying to cheekily mine its enduring cool to cease, desist and fuck off, but also — maybe it’s time we ALL just left it alone.
It was great. The scenes it fostered, the careers it launched and the music that came out of it were all legitimately the stuff of legend. But, things changed, and mistakes were made. The club, arguably already in a downward spiral, closed. It’s gone, and it’s never coming back. It should be celebrated, yes, but let’s also look to the future.
Of course, this could all be the Tylenol talking.
Here, meanwhile, are the Pain Teens at CBGB in 1992.
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.
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