NYHC (then) and NYC (now)

This week my tour schedule drew me back to the land of my birth, my cradle of consciousness, my city-as-muse, New York City. I'm back here at least once a year, and whenever I return to NYC I reminisce a bit, recalling my youth and the New York Hardcore scene (NYHC) of the early '80s. So I thought I'd take you on a little photo tour of NYC (using my camera's phone; sorry for the poor photo quality), and compare NY now to my NYHC scene then. laced with a few stops to recall my teen years as well, also spend in the East Village.

I began by getting off the IRT #1 subway in Greenwich Village, and walking down Christopher Street to Washington Square Park.

Washington Square was once the site of a marshy swamp, and later of a pauper's cemetery. In the days of the Revolution it was used by George Washington as a troop training area, and that's how it got its name. The fountain, above, was built uptown on 59th street, but moved here in the 1870s. Until 1964 the park was simply the arch and the fountain, and Fifth Avenue traffic rambled around it (below). The rest of the park was built in '64. Bob Dylan, Peter Paul and Mary, and Rambling Jack Elliot all played music and sang there in the '60s.

Washington Square before 1964, historic pic from this site.

Being a hot summer day, the fountain is watery and wet, and kids and teens splash around in it. In the fall, winter and spring, the fountain is dry, and becomes a hang-out for skate boarders and hacky sack players. In '82, a lot of Punks would skate there.

I learned to play Bluegrass by playing around the Square with some of the best NY musicians, especially Gene Tambor of the Minetta Creek Bluegrass band. Gene and I played from about '76 through the early '80s in a band called the New York Frets. He taught me nearly everything I know about performing. We would play on the streets of Greenwich Village, either in front of the wrought iron fence around the NYU chapel on MacDougal, or near his house on Bleecker St. There were a lot of weird things going on when one busked in those days. Once while we were playing, a guy began dancing. He took off his shoes and danced barefoot. Then he took off his shirt and danced bare-chested. Then he took off his pants, and danced naked. That wasn't the weirdest part. He then walked away, leaving his clothes in a neat pile in front of the band. (I couldn't make this stuff up...).

Of course people still busk in the Square. Most of it is crappy, but sometimes you hear someone really good. Today was a really-good day. I ran into some of my New Orleans busking buddies just outside the fountain area. Lyle (who plays with me in Odd's Bodkin while in New Orleans), Daniel and Jordan do exactly what I do every year, leave NOLA to tour up north. It was just happenstance that we all ended up in NYC today.

Jordan is playing a musical saw, and she's really good at it. Jason Mankey, who was walking around NYC with me for some of today, asked me "how does one learn to play a musical saw?" I told him that, while I imagine there are Youtube videos about it, one just watches other saw players and learns.

Before leaving Washington Square, I had to walk by 27 Washington Square North...

If you have read my poetry, you know that I've written a ton of poems about a girl named Kate. My CD Little Birds Of Desire is also laced with songs about this mystery girl: Compact, Bonny Kate, and Love Letter To NY are all about her. My reluctant muse Kate grew up right here, on the corner of Washington Square North and MacDougal Street. That was her living room window. The window right above it was that of Luscious Jackson and Moppy Skuds alum Jill Cunniff. The two girls were somewhat inseparable in '81 and '82. My crush on Kate was unrequited, I'm sorry to say. She ended up dating Cro Mags lead screamer/bassist Harley Flannegan, much to my depression and sorrow. Of course, to her credit, I was kind of a jerk in '81.

Jill Cunniff, Luscious Jackson alum, in '82. This was how most of the Hardcore girls looked and dressed, sort of Siouxie Sioux inspired bag-lady chic. Photo by legendary Punk music producer Dave Parsons.

Reluctantly moving on from 27 WSN, I headed down Washington Square North to Astor Place/Cooper Square, home of the Cube. Here are two views of the sculpture that sits at the center of Astor place.

The cube (actually titled The Alamo  and created by sculptor Tony Rosenthal in 1967) is a popular tourist site, and if you push it pretty hard it rotates on its axis, a favorite pastime of drunk NYU students. It's also a popular skateboarding hangout, and in '82 there were always a dozen or so skaters tricking around the thing.

Directly across from the Cube is Cooper Union college, one of the best design schools in America. In '82 Punks used to hold a makeshift flea market outside Cooper Union. Dave Parsons, of Rat Cage Records, would sell Punk records off a blanket on the sidewalk, and Punks would sell their old clothes, belts, and records, books and magazines on the sidewalk.

Today there were two kind of normal-looking girls spare-changing there. (I'm used to spare changers looking like, well, spare changers. Usually Crusties...)

Their sign reads "out of work; boss was a jerk." A sign of the times? When I walked by later there were signs for a poet who would write a poem on demand (a common busking career in NOLA), but I never did see the poet.

I walked down to Saint Marks Place, which in '81 was the hub of NYHC. Here is a pic of Saint Marks in '81, courtesy of Even Worse bass player Rebecca Korbet-Wootton (in center on stairs):

And here's the same street today. The stoop pictured above is just to the left of the Saint Marks Hotel and the Trash and Vaudeville shop (picture below), which was one of the first Punk stores on Saint Marks Place.

Upstairs is Vaudeville, and downstairs is Trash (see below). It was and is an awesome clothing shop, though a bit pricey. Still, if you visit Saint Marks Place, you ought to stop in there. The girl who worked at Trash and Vaudeville in the late 70s was named Angel. She was an early Punk rocker, skinny to the point of emaciated and pretty hyper. She used to rehearse her Punk band in the shop. The first time I ever shopped at Vaudeville Angel made fun of me because I was using my mom's credit card (hey, I was 15!). We became friends after that.

Here's the downstairs shop, Trash:

 The building nest to Trash, the Saint Marks Hotel, is a landmark building, and looms large in the Punk legend. Before the early '70s the building had housed the gay baths. I remember passing the baths in '68 and '69 on my way to shows at the Fillmore East. By the time I moved to the East Village in '72 it had become the hotel. Many Punk notables lived there at one time or another, including Spacely/Gringo, a weird crustie Punk who was often called the "Mayor Of Saint Marks Place." Someone did an indie film about him in around '82, and to promote it they painted a huge billboard of his face over Saint Marks and Third. While there is a legendary Punk presence there, in '82 the Saint Marks Hotel was largely populated by druggies and hookers. There was this one very cute but very strung out little blond hooker with asymmetrical eyes who always asked me if I wanted "a date." Whatever my morality may have been in '82, I never had any money. Poor asymmetrical eyes hooker... Third Ave and Ninth Street was a hooker area then, as was Second and Tenth, so many girls who made a living that way lived in the hotel. Most of the girls were pretty enough (as opposed to street girls since Craig's List made it easy for attractive addicts to hook-from-home). The East Village was pretty squalid back then.  Anyway, quite a few of my NYHC friends resided in the Hotel on and off.

Just down the street from the hotel is the Grass Roots Tavern, a Saint Marks landmark.

When I first returned to NYC after my couple of years in college up at New Paltz, I was looking for the Punk scene. My college friend and Punk princess Nicole hung around the Grassroots, and it was there I first met Bobby Bratz, one of my best friends in the NYHC scene. Nicole and I used to drink there (yes, I used to drink) with my high-school-GF-turned-Punk-buddie Alice.

Nicole died in the early '90s (a lot of my friends died...I'm the only one who isn't either dead or famous these days). Alice speaks to me on occasion.

Moving down Saint Marks, we come to the corner of Saint Marks and Second:

This used to be the Saint Marks Theater. In '73 and '74, you could see three movies there for a dollar (my first date with Alice was seeing Woodstock and the Jimi Hendrix movie at that theater. She left in the middle of the date). I saw a lot of art films there, and by '81 they used to do a midnight show of Clockwork Orange, a Hardcore fave. We would all go on Saturday night, then proceed en masse to A7 (I'll be getting to that in a few moments). 

Kitty corner across Second Ave is the Orpheum Theater. Stomp has been playing there for as long as I've been around the East Village, maybe since '73. I'm not kidding. This is one thing about the Village that never seems to change.

Moving a few yards down Saint Marks, we come to number 74. My teen-aged home!

Today this is the Kaplan House; when I lived here it was the Stuyvesant Residence Home. Long story which perhaps I'll tell one day... anyway I lived here form around '72-76. 

Next door at 78, there lived, in '73, two women who had been former Playboy Bunnies. One had a teen daughter, Kristen if memory serves, who played guitar, so we became buddies. Mom and her friends would throw parties on the roof, and invite the teenaged boys from Stuyvesant residence. Then the women would be topless or nude at the parties. The '70s were a fun era... Kristen's mom would date a lot of the teen boys and move them in when they hit 21 and had to leave the residence home (not me...I was not so lucky. I simply moved in with my girlfriend in the Vassar college dorms).

When you grow up in the squalor and chaos that is the East Village, you really don't know anything else. Now, looking back at my teen years, I often comment to myself "wow, I grew up amidst squalor and chaos!"  It's truly not most peoples' teen experience. I really need to write my memoirs someday...

Across the street from Stuyvesant Residence is the Holiday Cocktail Lounge.

In '81, this Ukrainian bar didn't stand much on legal drinking ages (in the Ukraine there is no legal age limit), so they would serve anyone who could pay. The little Punk girls all drank there, and not one of them was 18 just yet. Next door is Stromboli's Pizza, the best pizza in NYC in the '70s and '80s. I went there today and found that they had built tables and chairs (in '81 we stood outside, eating pizza as we leaned against parked cars), and that the pizza had become a bit mediocre... yet still better than anything outside of NYC and Jersey.

Speaking of food, down First Avenue at 11th Street we come to Veniero's Cafe, the BEST Italian pastry cafe in America!! Really.

Since 1894, this place has served delicious Italian pastries. In '81, the front room staff was all Italian school girls, and the dining room staff was all tall, blond Ukrainian girls.Today I was waited on by a young man of nondescript ethnicity, who served me this:

The iced cappuccino  is iced with coffee flavor gelato ice cream. OMG!!! It's like a cappuccino milkshake. 

Yes, that is a wall of chocolate cake.It extends across the length of the front room, maybe 20 feet. The next case is cheesecakes of all descriptions. Then come the fruit cakes.

Just down twelfth street is my old tenement apartment, where I lived from '79 to about '83. I write about the place a lot...

E 12 st and Avenue A, my home for many years. It was a hideous ghetto then... now it's beautiful. 

Those trees were not there in '81. 

515 East Twelfth Street. The sew-Top Cleaners was a tax service in '80-83. I lived in the back building. There is a courtyard behind this building, and a smaller building in the back of that. It's a nice arrangement, because the front building muffles the noise from the street, and it's quite peacful back there. 

I lived for most of that time with Carol Louderbach. Here's a picture of Carol and her BF Barbara Taylor from around '83:

Carol is the seated six-foot Punk girl. Barbara says Carol's mom was taking the picture, and they couldn't think of anything picturesque to do, so they shook hands. Barbara and I remain friends. She lives in London now with her teenaged daughter. We can't seem to locate Carol. Punks are currently scouring the Earth looking for her, but to no avail. It's a real life mystery. Carol was dating one of the Bad Brains, so I would often come home to find three Bad Brains asleep on my kitchen floor and one in Carol's bed. The Bad Brains were kind of homeless in '82. They mostly lived in the recording studios at 171 Avenue A, where they, the Beastie Boys, the Stimulators and Reagan Youth would all record. Other days it was my kitchen floor.

After visiting 515, I walked across Tompkins Square Park to what used to be A7. On the way I was stopped by this woman. She knew me, mentioned people I knew, that she had just gotten out of jail (intent to incite, I believe, whatever that is), and that she was so glad to see me. I have no idea who this is...

She does have a Baphomet tattoo across her chest... still, I cannot place her.

From the park you can see the building that used to be the center of Hardcore Punk in '82, A7.

The building that used to house A7, seen from the park. A gaggle of Hardcores would hang out here in the park until the doors to A7 opened, usually between midnight and one AM. Then we'd march over in an orderly fashion. Billy Idol used to drink at A7 every night, as did several of the Plasmatics. Bands that played there included the Even Worse, the Moppy Scuds (some of whose members became Luscious Jackson), the Bad Brains, Reagan Youth, the Beastie Boys, the Cro Mags, and the Young Aborigines. I played there regularly with a band called Mara. Here I am in '82 playing on the stage at A7:

Here is the wall art on the building today:

Joe Strummer, immortalized here, was the founder of the Punk band The Clash, as well as a one-time member of Irish Punk-Folk band The Pogues. He was a Punk legend, though he never played at A7. 

The NYHC scene was a time and place in pop culture that will never happen again: the time and place was just right, and when it faded it was gone. I am forever grateful to have been a small part of that time and place. The death of Beastie Boy Adam Yauch this year brought a lot of us Punks together on Facebook, and we all ended up recalling those days and comparing stories (and scouring the Earth to search for Carol). Those of us who survived the era have moved on with our lives, but I think we all cherish that moment in time and our places in it. I still write about it a lot. I have a novel I'm finishing up set in NY in '81. I haven't been able to find a publisher just yet, but Jason Mankey assures me I ought to self publish the ebook. Your thoughts?

I return to NYC each year to see what has changed and what has stayed the same. I'll be hanging around the NY area for another few days, then I'll be heading back to Ohio for Starwood, and to upstate NY for the festivals at Brushwood.

From squalid, chaotic NYC, this is Kenny Klein explaining it all.

NY/HC---my involvement with NYC Hardcore Punk

NYC in the early '80s was not the beautiful city it is today. It was a slime pit. It was cruel, filthy, squalid and rank with the odor of desperation. In the East Village, where I grew up (or actually avoided growing up) the sidewalks were thoroughly dotted with faded globs that might have been chewed gum or dried spit, or maybe something else that I never really cared to identify. There was trash everywhere, and a walk down the street at any time of the day or night involved junkies begging for change and homeless people sleeping on sidewalks. Once I was walking down Eighth Street and I watched a young woman walk into a doorway, pull her pants down, squat slightly forward, and let lose a stream of piss in the direction of the door (her pubic hair was facing me). Another time I watched a disheveled man relieve his bowels between two parked cars as I sat at an outdoor cafe. Once, walking home in the early morning hours, I saw a dog lying dead on the curb. It's ear had been shot off.

To anyone who did not grow up in this type of squalor it sounds horrible, oppressive and disgusting. But I just considered it my home, my world. I'd lived there most of my young life, and didn't really know anything else. Oh, I'd been to the pristine New Jersey suburbs, enough to know I could never live there. New York City, and specifically the East Village, was my bailiwick. At the time, I could not imagine myself living anywhere else.

I'd lived on Saint Marks place throughout my teens in the early '70s. The music scene there was what we would now call Glam Rock or Glitter Rock. It was the time of Iggy Stooge (who later became Iggy Pop), the Velvet Underground, and David Bowie. Men in the scene were androgynous, women were caught up in heroin chic (in their look at least, if not in their use of the substance). Disco raged across the rest of the world. Blocks away in Greenwich Village Hippie Country and Folk were still king; but the East Village was all about The New York Dolls and Lou Reed. It was the earliest incarnation of what by '76 would be called Punk Rock.

Time marches on. I went off to university ninety miles upstate (it was so clean there!), and returned in the winter of '79. I'd missed the early Punk scene in the East Village, the Ramones and the CBGBs bands (Talking Heads, Blondie, Television). I'd been part of that scene at school, but missed the type of immersion in it that residents of the East Village had known. But now it was 1979, turning to 1980, and I was back.

The winter of '79-80 was freezing. Record cold was reported in NYC. I was homeless for a good part of that winter, couch surfing between my brother, a couple of fellow musicians, a neurotic prostitute, an ex girlfriend, and the sister of a girlfriend, and living for a short time in a transient hotel, until I finally got an apartment on 12^th and A (through a Punk girl I was sleeping with who was cheating on her BF, and who had learned from her BF that there was an apartment opening up in his building, so I ended up living down the hall from, you guessed it, her BF...life was simply like that in the East Village). It was a two room tenement that was divided by a wall with a window in it into the “kitchen” (which also contained the bathroom, shower, and a spare bed) and the “not kitchen” or bedroom. I lived there alone at times, and at other times with a gorgeous Punk girl named Carol (my friend and confidant, but never my lover). Rents were not what they are today: I moved in to the place at $135/month. In the four years or so that I lived there it went up to $156 (which I could barely afford). I imagine if that tenement apartment is even still there, it must go for $1200 or more now.

CBGBs was no longer the place by 1980. The club, still a sleezepit on Bowery, was attracting a lot of Bridge-and-Tunnel types after its heyday in '76. The bands now were mostly local New Wave and Reggae groups. Not cutting edge, more like reliving the cutting edge of four years earlier. Some of the scene had moved to Max's Kansas City, a club in Gramercy where Andy Warhol had hung out for most of the '70s. The Ritz on 9^th street, a very large ballroom style hall, had commercial bands on the weekends, but had cool bands on a Monday or Tuesday: I saw Madness, Siouxie and the Banshees, Richard Hell, Lydia Lunch, The Rockats, The Slits, and Bow Wow Wow there, to name a few (and that's Bow Wow Wow, not Li'l Bow Wow, you moron).

But by '81, the real Underground Hardcore Punk scene was centered around tiny after hours clubs. The one I frequented the most was on Seventh and A, called (in what must have been a particularly unimaginative naming session) A7. The place opened after midnight, and showed six or seven bands a night, closing at five or six in the morning. The bands that played there are legendary now, but at the time they were just kids playing music: The Beastie Boys, The Stimulators, The Cro-Mags, The Undead, Reagan Youth, The Young And The Useless, The Misfits, The Bad Brains, The Moppy Skuds (whose members later became Luscious Jackson: photo left), Even Worse, and Agnostic Front. The Plasmatics hung out there, as did Billy Idol (yes, I hung out with them, and no, it was no big deal to do so back then). The place was tiny, smelly, crowded and disgusting. There was a small bar as you entered from Seventh Street, and past that a few booths with the pleather torn and the stuffing coming through. Then there was the stage area, which maybe held an audience of twenty comfortably: fifty would cram themselves in there and do the dance we called HB-ing and you call Moshing.

Like most bars in the East Village in the '80s, age or proper ID were seldom factors in being served. A7 served alcohol to girls I knew to be as young as 13. So did other bars; a Ukrainian old man bar on Saint Marks Place was a common hangout, as was the Pyramid Club on Avenue A. People drank a lot in the scene, but there was seldom any violence or drama. Most people just drank, HB-ed, and listened to (or played) music. I only saw one fight at A7, ever, between Billy Idol and a sort of creepy guy who pretended to have an English accent and claimed to have played with the Beatles (he was from Long Island and was just about reaching puberty while the Beatles were breaking up). Creepy boy spit beer in Billy's face, so I did not blame the rock star for decking the guy. Although I'm sure you can guess who had to take creepy boy home and make sure he didn't have a concussion... yes, that's right, me. Creepy boy was actually a fairly decent drummer by the way, when he wasn't spitting beer in the faces of rock stars. Anyway, after the Hardcore shows we would all go to one of three Ukrainian restaurants for dawn breakfast: Leshkos or Odessa, both on Avenue A, or The Kiev on Second Ave. The waitresses were all cute underage Ukrainian nymphets who hardly spoke English, and the food was cheap. Sunday at dawn Leshko's was a who's who of Hardcore Punk.

In those days I had a sort of double identity (like a secret agent). I would dress in a crisp cowboy shirt and a neatly folded neck bandana at seven or so, and go off to New Jersey to play Country music with bands like the New York Frets. Then I would return to Manhattan at one or two in the morning, change into a torn cowboy shirt and a grubby neck bandana, and head over to A7 to hear The Beastie Boys and Agnostic Front.

On the home front, I was in a band at the time called Mara, who played at A7 with some regularity. Mara did tribal dark Gothic music long before there was a market for it. We had a manic drummer and a guitarist who actually played in tune once. I played bass, and we had a hot singer who I should have appreciated more but who came off a little too suburban for me at the time (I never make any secret about the fact that I was an idiot as a young man). Later the band got a new singer, a blindingly beautiful Punk girl named Diana, who sang about castrating deserving men (she was adorable), and we changed our name to Black Widow (no relation to my Goth Girl song, written a decade or so later). The photo here is of myself and drummer Patrick in Mara, playing at A7 in '82. (Patrick was an awesome drummer, and a great guy).

Around that time ('81-ish) a guy named Dave Parsons and his girlfriend Cathy came to NYC from Boca Raton, Florida. They opened a record shop and distribution outlet at 171 venue A beneath a local recording studio, called Rat Cage Records, and published a fanzine which they named for their former Florida home, Mouth Of The Rat. (The issue of MOTR pictured here shows Janet Whitehouse on the cover, as I recently learned from some excellent follow up e-mail). Rat Cage Records released some of the first and most influential Hardcore Punk records, including the first Beastie Boys EP Pollywog Stew (which was later released on Capitol Records as Some Old Bullshit). Most of the recordings were done just upstairs at 171 Studios. Rat Cage and 171 became the daytime hangout for many the Hardcore kids. You could walk into Rat Cage pretty much any afternoon and find members of the Beastie Boys, Luscious Jackson, The Bad Brains and The Cro Mags hanging out. The Bad Brains often lived upstairs in the recording studio when they were not living on my kitchen floor (my model-beautiful room mate was, um, 'dating' the bassist, and 'dating' is simply a euphemism for 'giving blow jobs to:' I would often come home to find him in her bed with the rest of the band passed out on my floor. All of this happened in the 'other room' of my two-room tenement apartment, which was the kitchen/studio/bathroom).

Rat Cage founder Dave Parsons was a brilliant character, who became well known in the East Village scene not only for MOTR and Rat Cage Records, but also for wearing his GF's dresses while recklessly skateboarding along Avenue A, narrowly avoiding drag queen death under the wheels of speeding cars. (I hear he later became a woman, Donna, and moved to New Orleans).

Speaking of Mouth Of The Rat, Fanzines sprang up all over the Hardcore scene, exhibiting a squalid character only possible in the days before desktop publishing. There were a dozen floating around the East Village: Noise News (left), Cheap Garbage, Big City; the 'zine at the top of this post, Decline of Art, was put out by the local NYHC girls, including Jill Cunniff, Kate Schellenbach, Rebecca Scanlon and Sarah Cox, among others.

For me, this idyllic existence lasted about four years. As I said above, time marches on. Rat Cage Records and 171 Studio were closed down by the health department for lacking fire exits (no real surprise to anyone). The owner of A7 absconded with any and all funds and left the place closed down. The East Village was gentrified, after a police scandal involving “clearing out” Tompkins Square Park by bashing the heads of Punks, homeless people and a few waitresses and reporters (the captain who ordered the action retired on full pension before charges could be brought up, leaving his lieutenant to take all of the heat). My roommate who 'dated' Bad Brains' bassist Darryl married a normal guy, moved to Brooklyn and had a bunch of kids. Her best friend, also a frequent guest at Chez Klein, moved to England and became a well known photographer. I speak to her frequently. I myself went on the road playing original music in '86, and never returned to live in NYC for any length of time.

I sometimes say I'm the only one of my friends from that scene that is now not either dead or famous. I'm sometimes amazed at the number of 'kids' from among our friends that went on to achieve fame. The Beastie Boys broke up, reformed, broke up, reformed, and became the rap group everyone now knows and worships. Two of the underage drinking girls from the Moppy Skuds, and the original founder and drummer of the Beastie Boys, formed Luscious Jackson and became amazingly famous (and still beautiful and stylish, as they had always been). Another Moppy Skud is Arrabella Field, the actress. Yet another of that band was the first solo female to circumnavigate the world. The Cro Mags and the Bad Brains are still touring.

A few did not make it. My close friend at the time, Bobby, was sentenced to life in prison after a drug deal gone bad that involved a murder (which I'm pretty certain was self defense). Another friend, a girl I was kinda sweet on, went to England and got stabbed during a drug deal. She died over there. Heroin killed a lot of Hardcore Punks, as did the lifestyle we led. Johnny Thunders, Stiv Baters, Dave (Donna) Parsons...the list of those that did not survive NYC Hardore is a long and impressive one.

From NOLA, and once upon a time from NY/HC, this is Kenny Klein explaining it all.