You often hear the expression "end of an era". Well...This was it. It really was. CBGB's closed its doors. After 30 some-odd years, this shrine, this temple of Rock n Roll existed no more. It makes me sad. It makes me angry.
I remember clearly some of the nights I spent there - first as a young fan, watching mid-70's NY bands like The Shirts; then, as a roadie for a number of local bands opening for the likes of The Ramones, The Cramps, and The Dead Boys; then as an established NY soundman, mixing bands on the incredible sound system designed by Norman Dunn and usually operated by Charlie Martin. I also remember some not-so-clearly. There are undoubtedly other nights I don't remember at all.
I recall the nights I would just hang out, never having to pay a cover because I was part of the incredible and magical NY underground rock scene that existed at that time, as the house soundman at the infamous Mudd Club. Sure, I may not have been a musician in any of the bands. But, what I did was just as important, if not more so. I recall many a night where I made a band sound better than they were. Granted, you can't polish a turd. But, you can make it smell a little better.
But, enough about me. I'm writing about this magical place. This Wonderland. This Oz. This CBGB's. It was an incubator. A petri dish. A Frankenstein's lab, where rock n roll legends were born, hatched, cultivated, and created. It's alive!!!! It's alive!!!
Without CB's, there would be no Ramones. No Talking Heads. No Blondie. Where did the Cars first play when they came down from Boston to NY? CB's. Where did The Police play, when they first came to America? CB's. Where did countless musicians and audience members do lines of coke off the top of a toilet tank? CB's'
Who can forget standing outside, cigarette in one hand, beer in the other, talking to your buddies as the bums in the fleabag hotel above the club (I mean homeless gentlemen in the shelter) would yell down at you, asking for cigarettes and money? And, back then, we didn't go outside to smoke because we had to. We CHOSE to. It was perfectly legal to smoke in bars and nightclubs, something that has only recently changed in NY due to having a candy-ass for mayor. But, I digress.
I cannot talk about that amazing downtown music scene without also mentioning Max's Kansas City, long since closed, and the venerable (and venereal, I might add) Mudd Club which is forever preserved in the amber of rock n roll history by it's inclusion with CBGB's in the Talking Heads song, "Life During Wartime". Those two clubs also possessed a certain magic, and deserve a special mention in the history of NY rock n roll.
There were other rock n roll clubs during that era, some great, some not-so-great: Hurrah, The Ritz, Irving Plaza, Heat, Privates, Danceteria, Peppermint Lounge, The Cat Club, Great Gildersleeve's (only one block over from CB's, yet miles away at the same time), and the aforementioned Max's and Mudd Club.
Thankfully, some still exist: Irving Plaza still has shows, and Webster Hall is in the old Ritz location. It's not as good. But, it's something. The old Roseland Dance Hall, one block over from David Letterman's Ed Sullivan Theater, has been having rock shows for many years now. So, rock is not dead in NY, thank god. (The god of sex and drugs and rock n roll, not the god of profit.) But, none match the storied history of dearly departed, and soon-to-be sorely missed CBGB's.
Rumor has it that Hilly Krystal, CB's owner, was planning on taking CB's to Vegas. I don't know. Seeing the physical remnants may bring back memories, stir up long lost emotions. But, it will also be sad. Sad to see this monument to rock n roll history, this incredible landmark of New York City, this major part of my life and memories reduced to a Hard-Rock-Cafe-style theme restaurant where white trash tourists, hard-bodied Angelenos, and Euro-trash hipsters come to gawk at the quaint memorabilia. I'm not so sure I would go. Apparently, Hilly thought better of it, and chose to die rather than see it come to fruition.
I wish I would have visited the real CBGB's during my last trip to NY. (I may have videotaped the facade while driving by, though. I must go search for the tape. If I find it, I plan to watch it while listening to Blitzkrieg Bop on "11".)
American Idoltry
Recently, a comedian friend of mine, who is also a radio personality and voice over artist, added another hat to her collection - That of a journalist. She wrote an article about our so-called fascination with American Idol, and Reality TV in general. I felt I had to respond.
Not everybody is obsessed with Reality TV. In fact, many people hate it. I, myself, do not care for it so much. And, by not care for it, I mean that I loathe it with every molecule in my body, the hatred deepening with each successive beat of my heart.
Unfortunately, my wife loves American Idol. LOVES it. LOVES IT! Luckily, I have a DVR to record the episodes, which can then be watched by her when my eyes are not pointed directly at the TV. Unfortunately, during these painful early audition episodes, my ears can still hear the insane howlings of the raving lunatics. (I don't mean the judges. But, Paula's definitely missing a few cookies from the package. )
These early audition episodes are painful to watch. I find no joy, humor, or entertainment value in watching mentally disturbed people making fools of themselves, and then being insulted for it. Make no mistake. These people are seriously mentally and emotionally ill. (Not all of them. But, you know the ones.) Watching them compete in a talent contest is the equivilent of watching children with Muscular Distrophy playing basketball, and then watching them being yelled at by the coach, or worse yet, an arrogant British fop berate them for their poor ball-handling. (Not the first time Simon and "Ball-handling" were mentioned in the same sentence, I'm sure.)
For the sake of our relationship, I will eventually sit with her and watch Idol, but not until after they're down to the final 10 or 12 or whatever number it is where they start taking audience votes, and most of them can actually sing. I will put up with it at that point just to be able to spend time with her. (Not nearly as bad as actually attending the awful live show at the Pavillion each year. YES. I go to that. EVERY YEAR. I should get the "absolutely best spouse in the world" award for that, or at least be allowed to have an affair once a year as compensation. But, noooooooooo. I just get to have an $8 beer and a cold pretzel.)
I think I need to start chanting (a Buddhist thing) for an end to this stupid show. If it works, "The Bachelor" is next. No. I do not watch The Bachelor. I draw the line at Idol. But, its very existence causes me great pain and anguish, like the existence of biological weapons. My only hope is that Americans are somehow waking up from their stupor, and becoming just a teeny tiny bit less stupid. After all, there was the last election. Maybe the Neilson families will start voting smarter with their little set-top electronic voting machines as well, and we can see more quality programming and less Reality TV and its bastard cousin, the dumbed-down-game-show-hosted-by-has-been-comedians. (Just when you thought the world was safe from Howie Mandel and Bob Saget...)
Until then, I'll always have HBO.
Not everybody is obsessed with Reality TV. In fact, many people hate it. I, myself, do not care for it so much. And, by not care for it, I mean that I loathe it with every molecule in my body, the hatred deepening with each successive beat of my heart.
Unfortunately, my wife loves American Idol. LOVES it. LOVES IT! Luckily, I have a DVR to record the episodes, which can then be watched by her when my eyes are not pointed directly at the TV. Unfortunately, during these painful early audition episodes, my ears can still hear the insane howlings of the raving lunatics. (I don't mean the judges. But, Paula's definitely missing a few cookies from the package. )
These early audition episodes are painful to watch. I find no joy, humor, or entertainment value in watching mentally disturbed people making fools of themselves, and then being insulted for it. Make no mistake. These people are seriously mentally and emotionally ill. (Not all of them. But, you know the ones.) Watching them compete in a talent contest is the equivilent of watching children with Muscular Distrophy playing basketball, and then watching them being yelled at by the coach, or worse yet, an arrogant British fop berate them for their poor ball-handling. (Not the first time Simon and "Ball-handling" were mentioned in the same sentence, I'm sure.)
For the sake of our relationship, I will eventually sit with her and watch Idol, but not until after they're down to the final 10 or 12 or whatever number it is where they start taking audience votes, and most of them can actually sing. I will put up with it at that point just to be able to spend time with her. (Not nearly as bad as actually attending the awful live show at the Pavillion each year. YES. I go to that. EVERY YEAR. I should get the "absolutely best spouse in the world" award for that, or at least be allowed to have an affair once a year as compensation. But, noooooooooo. I just get to have an $8 beer and a cold pretzel.)
I think I need to start chanting (a Buddhist thing) for an end to this stupid show. If it works, "The Bachelor" is next. No. I do not watch The Bachelor. I draw the line at Idol. But, its very existence causes me great pain and anguish, like the existence of biological weapons. My only hope is that Americans are somehow waking up from their stupor, and becoming just a teeny tiny bit less stupid. After all, there was the last election. Maybe the Neilson families will start voting smarter with their little set-top electronic voting machines as well, and we can see more quality programming and less Reality TV and its bastard cousin, the dumbed-down-game-show-hosted-by-has-been-comedians. (Just when you thought the world was safe from Howie Mandel and Bob Saget...)
Until then, I'll always have HBO.
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