Personalities – ShakeBlog

True West: Billy Miller and The A-Bones hit the PNW

While January 1st is a time for renewal, for a bunch of us old-timers it also brings back memories of what was a traditional event in these parts. Without fail, no matter what show happened the evening before, there was always a gathering the following day at Norton Records HQ in Brooklyn to celebrate Billy Millers’ birthday. And, while those parties themselves can easily fill another post, I thought it would be nice to this year revisit someone else’s memories of our esteemed host.

GirlTrouble is a Pacific Northwest legend. Approaching 40 years of existence, the band has soldiered on. Drummer Bon Von Wheelie, guitarist Kahuna, singer K.P. Kendall, and bassist Dale Phillips still dutifully continue to play both small clubs and larger venues to an ever-faithful group of fans. When I saw the band they not only made me a fan, but I oddly felt that I had somehow stumbled into an A-Bones show. While the female drummer was one component, what really sold me was their choice of material, humor, and willingness to play music they love and have fun. No matter what. So, it was not too surprising to find out later that the bands did know each other. Not only that, GT had often met the Millers on their later PNW excursions. When I learned of this I had to ask Bon Von Wheelie for details. What follows is a wonderful recollection from Bon about her time with Billy that I am sure will charm you as much as we were charmed by them. Take it away Bon! —SSA

Girl Trouble fanzine, Wig Out! Design, Bon Von Wheelie.

Probably like most everybody I first knew Billy Miller through the pages of Kicks. Since I was making a little magazine of my own for my band Girl Trouble somebody sent me one of the first issues and said “Check this out if you want to see how it’s done!” I was a fan of Billy and Miriam before I actually met them.

Just like I expected they were both the coolest people ever and nobody could match Billy’s one-liners. They were both so “East Coast” that to us it was like meeting beings from another planet, way hipper than we were. When Billy and Miriam came to the Hoboken stop on our first US tour at Maxwell’s, we felt like some kind of royalty showed up. That was the start of our friendship with Billy.

1992 Garage Shock poster. Design Dave Crider.

The first time Billy and Miriam showed up in the Pacific Northwest was when the A-Bones made their way West to play the Garage Shock festival in Bellingham. We’d already done a split single with them on the Cruddy label (Take Up the Slack, Daddy-o / Sister Mary Motorcycle) so it was natural that we play extra shows with them. These were gigs to support the official Garage Shock weekend, one in Tacoma and one in Seattle at the Crocodile Cafe. The A-Bones were a lot of fun.

In between those two nights, Girl Trouble got invited to a competition barbeque/party with the Seattle band, The Crows (which included John Bigley and Charlie Ryan who had been members of the legendary U-Men). We knew absolutely nothing about barbequing but that didn’t stop us from trying. Those damn Crows were experts with their pre-marinated meats and specialty beers! All of the A-Bones showed up and luckily when one of the judges had to bail, the organizers quickly picked Miriam as an alternate. We knew she wouldn’t scoff like the other judges did at our third choice of barbequed meat…Spam. And she didn’t. We didn’t win but that was fine with us. At one point some non-invited wise guys squirted water into the party. In amazement, we watched as Miriam jumped over a big wooden fence and disappeared hoping to find the culprits. We could hear the rustling of the bushes and when we asked Billy where she’d gone he just replied, “Oh she’ll be back” like this was normal, and it probably was.

Barbeque of the Bands flyer. Courtesy Bon Von Wheelie.

After the A-Bones tours, Billy and Miriam came here on their own to find material that might be good for Norton compilations. It impressed us that more than anything else they were huge fans first. Excited about everything, they even visited with Kearny Barton who’d recorded many of the old 60s bands at his house/studio. Our friend, PNW historian, and owner of Golden Oldies Records in Tacoma, Jeff Miller (and no relation to Billy) was there to help them connect with all those old band guys who were still floating around the area. Jeff was famous for his jam-session parties and he hosted a big one for Billy and Miriam. We arrived at Jeff’s house to see Jim Valley (Don & the Goodtimes, Paul Revere and the Raiders) come out the door and his brother Steve (Tom Thumb and the Casuals) fall into the hedge off the porch! Oh, this was going to be good!

Some of our favorite old band members like Larry Parypa from the Sonics and Dave Day from the Monks were in and out of the party through the evening. A bunch of old band guys were already in full swing when Billy and Miriam met us. They frantically asked us for ideas of old songs these guys could play from back in the day. The problem was that these musicians were starting to jam to newer songs and we all knew that wasn’t going to be good. We thought of a few they might know but eventually marathon jamming took hold. At one point they were on a long drawn-out version of “Miss You” by the Rolling Stones. While we were in the record room talking Billy poked his head in and said in that New York accent “Yeah, I bet the Puerto Rican girls are just DYING to meet these guys!” We just about peed our pants. Billy’s timing was always perfect.

Portrait of Bon Von Wheelie and Billy Miller. Courtesy Bon Von Wheelie.

Another time that they came out for some PNW mojo at the same time there was a big 60s bands reunion at the Swiss Bar in Tacoma. This show had everybody. The Wailers were there, the Ventures played a few songs with Nokie Edwards (who wasn’t fully in the band at that time), Gail Harris sang “I Idolize You” with the Wailers, Merrilee Rush sang a few songs. It was the first time I’d met Gerry Roslie since he was just about at hermit status before he decided to help re-form the original Sonics for shows and tours.

Billy and I had probably one of our best in-depth conversations that night concerning what it took to work with some of the guest legends we’d hooked up with. My band was working with Granny Go-Go, the 82-year-old local go-go dancer, and Billy was working with Hasil Adkins. We discovered that the challenges of wrangling these stars were very similar; hilarious, difficult, and frustrating at the same time. It was absolutely amazing to see how many situations were the same with both of them.

As we talked we both noticed legendary KJR deejay Pat O’Day, who had been the MC for the night, standing right in front of us. Pat O’Day was instrumental in everything that happened during the 60s including promoting hundreds of teen dances and events. Billy noted what a perfect head of hair Pat had, all white and beautifully styled from top to bottom. It was truly impressive! Billy quietly said, “Bon, we need to think up a name for that hairdo!” Since I couldn’t come up with anything he said thoughtfully “I think we’ll call it The Tacoma”. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Over the years we talked on the phone occasionally and probably wrote letters, because that’s what we did back in those days, but our fondest memories of Billy will always be the times he and Miriam came to hang out in the Pacific Northwest. — Bon Von Wheelie

Thank you Bon! And I encourage all readers of this blog to check out GirlTrouble’s website and give them some love on their social channels. They deserve it. And of course thank you Billy and Miriam for the love and fun you spread. Now back to our regular programming…

A Good Man

While the late 80s/early 90s was a time that defined a lot of things that this site likes to commemorate, none of it would have existed if not for the incredible personalities that mingled during that time.

Sandy Darling was one of those wonderful people who came into the NYC scene like much of us did… via pals. And like most of us, she too found a home away from home within its insular little world. Starting as a young music fan, Sandy gravitated to the garage scene by the early 90s. Even learning to play bass and perform in a short-lived NYC female garage band called Starkist. But mainly Sandy was …just Sandy. Befriending all and being the bright sparkler in a sea of roman candles.

While perusing a social feed last night I came across a small eulogy written by her about the passing of an ex, NYC musician, and artist Charles E. Hall. Sandy penned a wonderful tribute that not only related her feelings but also perfectly described life, love, music, and friendship in the East Village in the early 90s.

With Sandy’s kind permission, I am reprinting it here. A more heartfelt and honest retelling of being young in Manhattan at that time I cannot recall. Her words and feelings not only give life to something many of us experienced but also serves as a wonderful tribute to a person that was dear friends with many in the scene. I’ll leave this in Sandy’s more than capable hands.

SANDY D.: Charles Hall passed away yesterday. Charles E. Hall. He was a kind, smart, and funny man who will be missed greatly. I know this because I already miss him. I would run into him every couple of years, chat for a bit, and later be sad that I didn’t have that pleasure in my life more regularly. But you know…life is weird with exes.

I first crossed paths with Charles in the late eighties. His band regularly played Joey Ramone’s events. We formally met while filming the video for “Merry Christmas I Don’t Want to Fight Tonight“. Charles was wearing the greatest sweater ever – a vintage American flag ski sweater. We entertained each other and shared laughs. He was fascinated by the automated revolving plastic wrap on the public toilet. He talked about it so much that the director incorporated it into the shoot. (Sadly it was cut down to just show Santa puking in the toilet. No motor action!) We had a run-in at Venus Records the following summer and then a date night at a Raunch Hands show.

Charles and Sandy — Charles Hall and Sandy D. selfie. 35mm style. Photo courtesy Sandy Darling.

I fell for Charles the way a nineteen-year-old does anything – completely and intensely. Our shared sensibilities in regards to music, fashion, morality, and more were so meaningful to me at that time in my life. It was not a successful relationship. Inconsolable heartbreak at twenty-one fades into a numb memory by twenty-two. And then the rest of your life happens. The hurt that did stay with me was the loss of Charles’s friendship. I always felt I was at my best when responding to his quick wit. And he offered such a different but comforting perspective on the world. I always came away from conversations feeling enriched.

In many ways, Charles relished his privacy and autonomy, so it’s really odd to attempt to memorialize him here. Nevertheless, I feel that people should know a bit about him.

I remember that he didn’t eat bacon because he had grown up with a pet pig. I heard tales of the guitar store in Portland, Maine that his parents owned. He helped me scare my NYU roommate a bit so I could get the room to myself. He told me that had a Snoopy Club when he was a boy. He didn’t have an answering machine. I was confused by him not caring about the movie Grease because it had meant so much to me as a kid. He explained that while I was a six-year-old freaking out to “Greased Lightning”, he had been running away to see Patti Smith play. He kept a six-foot-long antique musket as protection. He was unfailingly polite.

We used to celebrate our vintage scores and occasionally share clothes. (I even got him to give me the American flag sweater!) I recall patchwork leather jackets (lots of greens & browns), my beloved brown suede platforms, striped vintage flares, square-toed engineer boots, super-wide low sling belts, and a glorious yellow Faces tee. I like to believe (against all logic) that I still have the giant vintage drinking glass festooned with misshapen smiley faces that we both bought. I know I have the stars & stripes goblet.

The East Village was the best playground you could ask for. We’d drink at 7A, Sidewalk, and King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut, eat at Kiev, listen to George Jones at The Village Idiot, meet his vegetarian sister at Caravan of Dreams, buy cheap wine at the store on 4th & A, and so much more. I first started eating Indian food with Charles. Knowing me well, as soon as we sat down he told me, “Don’t even think about ordering the chicken vindaloo.” I believe he painted some lettering on the wall of the Ludlow Street Cafe. When he finally got his storefront apartment, there was no electricity so for months he ran an extension cord up to his neighbor Ed’s apartment. Life was creative and carefree.

Devil Dogs crowd shot — Charles at a Devil Dogs show at Coyote Studios in Williamsburg. Photo courtesy of Sandy Darling.

The soundtrack to those years always featured the greatest rock’n’roll. I cared so deeply about that then! Certain artists will always make me think of Charles. 1910 Fruitgum Company, Slade, Shocking Blue, The Flamin’ Groovies. Being in Charles’s 5th Street apartment (a former storefront that used to store hot dog carts and is now a high-end hamburger restaurant) was an experience for all the senses. It felt like the album “Teenage Head” sounds. Charles taught me to play bass. Well…he taught me how to play “Blitzkrieg Bop” and “Strychnine” which was more than enough to enable me to figure the rest out on my own. And downstrokes! Always downstrokes. I still have the gorgeous Mosrite he sold me for a song.

Cliff Mott and Charles Hall. Photo courtesy of Sandy Darling.

There are so many magnificent and meaningful people that came into my life via Charles. I’m sure I would have encountered most of them on my own at some point, but there’s a sentimentality to the introductions. Foremost are some of the best artists I’m still blessed to know – Mort Todd, Cliff Mott, and Pat Redding. Charles lived with Mort on 7th Street. They had a long and storied history, and I adored soaking it up. There were so many projects from the days at Mort’s Cracked magazine to Mr. A, rock’n’roll comics, etc. Mort might have been one of the most fascinating people I had ever met! One of my favorite memories was going out to eat with Charles, Mort, and Cliff. I mainly just remember the buzz of comic brilliance. They talked art, so Mort wrote it off as a business expense. I ate an appetizer of chilled strawberry soup and couldn’t believe how sophisticated & awesome my life was.

A Cliff Mott Classic — Cliff Mott’s artwork for Ho-Dad Hootenanny.

In a beautiful full-circle way, all these characters turned out to be important in Joe’s (ed- Mighty Joe Vincent, Sandy’s husband) life as well. Cliff is a beloved friend and did art for both The Devil Dogs & The Gotham Rockets. Mort was practically the house artist at Crypt. And Pat designed t-shirts & panties for The Prissteens. I went to Tim Warren’s wedding with that crew. I barely knew Tim and didn’t belong there at all, but was so psyched to be hanging with the funniest coolest folks I knew. As a wonderful turn of events, the woman Tim married became a good friend and wound up at my wedding to Joe. Anyway, there were so many other great friendships forged in those days. The Maine garage rockers (Jon Horne and the Chalmers family) and Venus crew. Certain folks didn’t even work there but were still part of the tapestry. Rory, Howie, RatBoy, Alex, and Whitey are the main characters I recall. Whitey brought the rest of The Stiffs into both NYC and our lives. I wound up dating Donnie and living in Stiff Castle for a bit. And years later, Amazing Cherubs drummer Dee Pop lived with me & Joe. It’s a very insular rock’n’roll world. Anyway, there’s surely much more, but I should wrap up my rambling.

Forgive me if there are any factual flaws in my remembrances. I just wanted to share some of the thoughts rushing around in my brain. My point was mostly to paint of picture of a good man. One that was still incredible to know even after a bout of rejection. But also, perhaps, to encourage others to learn the lesson that I seem to need to be taught over and over again. Fight for the people you care about. Don’t let pride rule your actions. Or over-cautiousness. I wish I had pushed for a more active friendship with Charles. I never wanted to be a burden or make anyone uncomfortable. But I lost out on knowing someone whose presence will certainly be missed. Anyway, hug your friends. Oh right, it’s 2020. Tap an elbow, Zoom chat, send an emoticon. Get what you can.

My Life is Right: Alex Chilton in NYC

Now, while this site’s focus is pretty well defined, I do tend to be a little less strict when it comes to covering stuff on this blog. Case-in-point, a few weeks ago I ran across a live tape given to me by the late John Reinert. John was one of those people that literally everyone who went to a live show in NYC knew. With his ever-present baseball cap, smile, and ubiquitous cassette deck he recorded many local shows from various important bands that would have otherwise never been documented. Not only that, John was always very generous and often carried a bag with copies of his tapes to subsequent shows. Spreading the cheer like a rock and roll Santa Claus.

The tape I found was of the unpredictable Alex Chilton playing at Maxwell’s, in Hoboken. For those who are not aware of Alex Chilton, I implore you to check out this wonderful article written by Lindsay Zoladz that covers his ups and downs much more eloquently than I ever could.

Listening to the tape reminded me of a post I created on an old blog eight years ago, after I first heard of Chilton’s death. As Bar None has recently released some long out of print Chilton material (From Memphis to New Orleans and Songs From Robin Hood Lane) I thought this would be as good a time as any to dig it out.

So, jumping on the Wayback machine, here is a post covering the saga of “Al” in NYC during the latter part of the 80s in NYC. Dedicated with much gratitude and fond memories of John.

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The news of Alex Chilton’s death this past Wednesday came as a huge surprise to many, arriving as swiftly as a sweltering summer thunderstorm and leaving in its wake a collective shock throughout the semi-geeky, underground music world. As many have stated over the past several days, the man that melded pathos with gorgeous harmonies will no doubt be missed. If not just for his legacy but for the tenuous hope that you can carve out a successful creative career and still be fiercely dedicated to carving out your own path. In fact, the most eloquent and touching eulogy of them all was written by his close friend Paul Westerberg in the NY Times Op-Ed section the Sunday following his passing.

Chilton was a faceless entity to me until 1984. At that time I was fervently involved in the sixties garage punk scene in NYC and hightailing it to many performances all over lower Manhattan. So, when one of the city’s seminal garage bands, The Vipers, were slated to play at Irving Plaza, there was no doubt in my mind I was going to find myself there. It was a big show for the band. Having honed their act at a tiny club by FIT called The Dive, they now found themselves headlining this immense venue.

Upon entering the main hall, I came upon the opening band just starting their set. The songs were unfamiliar and when I asked someone who it was, they mentioned that it was the guy who sang “The Letter”. Having that as a reference point I figured he was an oldies act, sort of appropriate for a night consisting of 60s themed music. Camera in hand, I took a few shaky photos of the lead singer and watched. The more I heard, the less I understood how he fit into the whole picture. It was definitely a confusing yet interesting experience. He did close with “The Letter” though.

Fast forward about three years and I’m seriously in the midst of my Paul Westerberg/Replacements worshipping period, having been baptized by a show at CBGBs in 1984, The Mats (as us überfans called ’em) summed up everything my young self had experienced up to that point in my life. Anger, sadness, despair, hope….all in a compact 3-minute song. So, by the time 1987’s “Pleased To Meet Me” came out, us die-hards were all chomping at the bit for some more sonic autobiography.

It was around this time my fellow Mats concert buddy Lisa convinced me to go see an Alex Chilton show. Since the Mats sang about him on “Pleased To Meet Me”…then he MUST be good, the logic went.

Flyer promoting Alex Chilton’s 1987 stint at The Knitting Factory. shakesomeaction.nyc archive.

So we headed to The Knitting Factory (on Houston St at that time) and bought tickets for the early set of Alex’s show. His release “High Priest” had just come out and Chilton was doing a 4-night stint to promote it, two sets each night. The opening band were The Gories, who I was later to find out were produced by Alex. Already fully familiar with the punkier aspects of garage music, The Gories proceeded to deliver a noisy, shambolic set that was itself to become what other groups would revere and strive for years later. This guy knows how to pick his openers I thought to myself.

Chilton, by comparison, was extremely laid back, but just as interesting. Fussing with the sound, turning down requests, he exuded this nervous energy that sort of kept me wondering what was going to happen next. I started to slowly understand why Westerberg and crew were fascinated by him. Here was a brilliant songwriter, basically screwed by the music business, seemingly turning his back to his sudden indie-cred. Very, uh, Replacements-like. Avoiding anything resembling his pop roots, his set consisted of old standards, R&B covers, jazzy covers and a very small handful of decent, if uninspired, originals. Yet, much like The Mats, flashes of brilliance would eek out in spite of himself. His guitar playing was second to none, and if he wanted to, esoteric jazz chords would fly out of his guitar with ease. We stayed for the second set.

Alex Chilton’s November 1987 NYC area gigs. shakesomeaction.nyc archive.

That was the start of a long and amazing journey following the man. After that day Lisa and I caught the next night, and the next. On Chilton’s second trip through the city that same year we returned as well. We ended up catching him at every gig in NYC and Hoboken for the next several years. Even his bass player at the time Ron Easley once mentioned “Oh, it’s these guys again” when he saw us at one show. But, unlike other fans, we never approached Chilton or asked for his autograph. We didn’t want to become his buddy…we just wanted to hear him play. If Lisa and I happened to catch a bad show, instead of lamenting it, we’d stick around for the next set. Sure enough, nine times out of ten it would be better.

Alex Chilton at the Leonard Street Knitting Factory.

Now one could argue that his lack of professionalism was deplorable. A slap in the face of people paying good money to see him. True, but knowing his background of record label letdowns, lost opportunities, and shattered expectations (all before his mid-twenties!) it wasn’t too difficult to see how this came about. Being “professional” not only didn’t work for him but was also a sure ticket to misery. Take him or leave him…your choice.

When you see someone perform over and over again you also tend to see nuances of their personality emerge. It’s very easy to write off Chilton as jaded, surly and difficult. Which I am sure he was. Regardless, small things stick out in my mind about him. Like how once at The Knitting Factory, a music collector friend/roadie, Joey Decurzio made Alex come to him for a light instead of the other way around. Hilariously, the people around me were aghast…but “Al”, as Joey called him, took it in stride…even thanked him. No doubt because Joe treated him like any other guy.

Official CD of the intimate candlelight concert.

Another time a solo show was in danger of being canceled because of a water break in the vicinity of The Knitting Factory (at that time in the Leonard St. location). When I walked into the club there were only candles lighting the interior since the power was out. I felt like I walked onto the set of “Interview with a Vampire”. As I stood around with a handful of hopeful fans, Alex came out and invited everyone into the candle-lit main room. He placed a stool in the middle of the floor and, acoustic in hand, asked for requests. Laughing when he could not remember certain “classic” Big Star songs, he did a short set of mostly covers and thanked the 30 or so of us for coming. Then, to my surprise, we had our admission refunded to us.

A plethora of tickets stubs from Chilton’s NYC gigs. Including the candlelight show. shakesomeaction.nyc archive.

In another instance, I arrived early for a show at Fez, located underneath the Time restaurant in the East Village. Having never been there I wandered around the upstairs eatery before someone took pity on me and informed me the performance space was downstairs. Since the doors weren’t open yet I was told to come back. As I was leaving I turned the corner and ran into Alex Chilton trying to open a locked side door, beat-up guitar case in hand. He sees me and asks me how to get in. I told him I had to figure it out as well and showed him the entrance. Then, taking a page from Joey, I said “Oh, Al, what time are you going on? They wouldn’t tell me”. He stopped, thought carefully about it, and told me he was sorry because he also was in the dark about it. I thanked him anyway and we went our separate ways.

Personal interactions like that filled out my portrait of the person many were all too happy to write off for decades.

Musically, surprises also abounded. Like suddenly deciding to kick out a frantic version of Warren Smith’s rockabilly classic, “Ubangi Stomp”, another night, the Stones’ “Brown Sugar” (with an audience member on guitar), and then one particularly memorable guest spot.

Paul Westerberg and Alex Chilton performing Little GTO at Maxwells. Photo ©Ted Barron.

In November of 1987, a Replacements gig coincided with a Chilton show in Hoboken. Lisa and I naturally bought tickets for both. As soon as the Mats show ended at the Beacon theater we made a beeline for the tiny stage of Maxwells in Hoboken. I still remember Lisa coming up and saying excitedly “He’s here, he’s here” meaning Mr. Westerberg. Sure enough that night we were all treated to a fantastic version of “Little GTO” with Paul sitting in.

Near the tail end of Chilton’s solo tours I lost touch with Lisa for several years but still continued to attend the shows, running into other familiar faces from show to show. When his 60s soul/pop group The Box Tops announced a reunion, I was elated but also a little skeptical, having seen Chilton’s mercurial ways test the patience of even the most seasoned session musicians. I wondered how he would fare with his former bandmates. To my surprise, The Box Tops shows were among the most enjoyable gigs I ever saw. Chilton was smiling and genuinely happy to revisit this part of his past. If he had ghosts of that time haunting him from that period, they seemed to have been finally exorcised.

A flyer from the set of concerts held at the WTC. The Box Tops performed here. shakesomeaction,nyc archive.

Around the summer of 2001, the city sponsored a summer music festival downtown that offered lunchtime music for the financial crowd. To my surprise, The Box Tops were slated to play one afternoon. Having a full-time job uptown though sort of left me wondering how to finagle my way into seeing this show. Finally, the day before the show I told my boss I had an urgent “appointment” and might be gone for a couple of hours that afternoon. The ruse worked and the next day I found myself downtown — at the World Trade Center Plaza. The gig was fantastic and as I looked over the towers looming over the sun-drenched stage I could not help but feel this was a great, great, day. All that would change just a few weeks later.

My flyer from the first Big Star reunion show at Tramps.

By the time the Big Star gigs came around the idea of an intimate Chilton solo gig was less and less likely to happen. The tradeoff though was, we did get a chance to hear those classic old songs once again. Except for “In The Street”, and even less frequently, “September Gurls”, none of the other Big Star tunes were ever performed by him when I saw him solo…at least in NY.

The last time I saw Chilton was November 2009 when Big Star made an appearance in NYC. The price was a hefty $35. A far cry from the $10 sets at the old Knitting Factory 23 years ago. Once my friend Paul and I were inside the large, ornate, Masonic Temple in Fort Greene, we shimmied our way to a good viewing spot. The immense crowds made it difficult to get close, but again, the music was what we were here for.

Alex Chilton of Big Star at the Masonic Hall, Brooklyn NY. 2009.

As soon as the band started you could tell this was going to be a special night. It was a few years since Big Star last played in NY and the anticipation of the fans helped percolate a good atmosphere. As those old familiar tunes washed over me once again, it was as if I was hearing them for the first time. That small intangible thrill you get when something deeply personal resonates was still there. And from the looks of the crowd, I was not alone. Apparently, the band felt it, too, as a haunting, passionate “Daisy Glaze” delivered by former Posie Ken Stringfellow all but confirmed it. It actually earned him a Chilton smile of approval. Impressive.

The closing one song encore (Todd Rundgren’s “S-L-U-T”) was adequate but the lights quickly went up as soon it was over. Alex was done. As we made our way out we passed a sweaty Jody Stephens standing by the exit, personally thanking the audience for coming. No doubt feeling a little guilty. As a Chilton fan, I’d experienced this before, no surprises here. I was just happy to have been transported to pop nirvana for that short while. Besides, I figured they’d be back for another show soon anyway…

-March 2010

The Man Who Started it All — Crypt’s Tim Warren

Tim Warren Berlin — Chatting in Berlin with the Crypt-keeper. Tim Warren. Roky, Tim’s faithful hound, lies beside him.

Life is pretty surprising. If you would have asked me a few years back if this site…or even this blog … would ever have gotten past year two I would have cut you a look similar to the one famed 70s TV sitcom in-law, Aunt Esther used to give to her equally infamous brother-in-law, Fred Sanford. Dated TV references aside though, it truly is a joy to find people kindly giving their time to keep this blog going.

Tim Warren is one of those people. Founder and sole proprietor of Crypt Records, Tim is one of those rare collectors who has dedicated their entire lives to making sure that people around the world share the same excitement that still drives him day-after-day. Working on an almost fanatical level over 30 years ago, Tim single-handedly was responsible for tracking down long-forgotten singles that even original 60s band members had little use for. Crisscrossing the country by car for months at a time, when the only means of communication was a pay phone and a stamped envelope, Tim amassed a catalog of killer songs that truly exemplified the wildest side of mid-60s teen fervor. The iconic Back From the Grave series of compilations were the fruits of his labor. Other comps followed that centered on exotica, greasy R&B, and assorted oddities but always with the Crypt level of quality. Even a stint of “modern” bands such as the New Bomb Turks, Nine-Pound Hammer, the Wylde Mammoths among others saw a home on Crypt Records as well.

Fast forward three decades later and I find myself sitting in Tim’s apartment in Berlin. Alongside us, Tim’s doggie Roky quietly relaxes while a Real Kids test pressing cranks in the background. Apologizing for the volume of the record, Tim quickly pulls the needle off and ushers me into his home studio where we hunker down and listen to some live Raunch Hands material at an equally loud volume. As the cuts whizz by, I can’t help but be drawn in by Tim’s enthusiasm. ‘Ya gotta listen to this…isn’t that CRAZY!” We have a few laughs at the sheer outrageousness of some the tracks and then settle down for a chat.

SSA: Tim, thanks again for giving me some of your time. It took a little work to find you. You know nowadays everyone seems to be on Facebook, which is great for tracking down people but is a bit of a double-edged sword.

Boston’s Unnatural Ax, Photo Courtesy of the Music Museum of New England.

Tim: Everybody is on Facebook, but I’m not. Nevertheless, when I was doing the Real Kids research it became a necessary evil. One of it’s saving graces though was how it enabled me able to track down a guy who made live, reel-to-reel, tape recordings of many classic Boston bands at his loft. Stuff like DMZ, Real Kids, Unnatural Ax, all these bands, playing all the time at this guys loft. Amazing, right?

On Facebook I met this fellow who knew Real Kid Billy Borgioli’s widow. At first, I was a little hesitant of his connection, as many of these music-related friendships are very fleeting. To my surprise he turned out to be the nicest,most sincere fellow in the world. In fact, he had paid Billy’s widow thirty-five hundred for Billy’s old guitar that was only worth only about twenty-five hundred. Just a prince.

The original scrapbook list of the 1976 Real Kids loft recordings. Courtesy Tim Warren.

This fellow had rescued two big scrapbooks from the Borgioli’s (each band always has one guy with a scrapbook.) And within that scrapbook was where I first saw this list of songs. June 21, 1976… June 22, 1976. Two 7 1/2″ reel-to-reels and one 4 3/4″ reel-to-reel. All these live songs on tape. It got me thinking, who had recorded this? That evening I mentioned it to John Felice and he tells me that he thinks the tapers names were Dale and Monica. Unfortunately, he could not recall their last names.

Two weeks later, I’m talking with Jim Felice, John’s brother on the phone. Twenty minutes into our conversation I ask him ‘who are these people?’ I had emailed everybody in Boston by this time. Dale and Monica, loft on High Street, parties there with bands playing. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. Nothing. Then, near the very end of our call, Jim suddenly exclaims “Gabriel! Dale Gabriel. His nickname was Gabe.” Dale Gabriel? Boom!

SSA: You found him.

Tim: I had found him and I immediately called him the next day

SSA: Wow

Tim: “Yup, that was me” Dale told me the next morning “I recorded all those bands on my reel-to-reel deck” blah, blah blah… “a Studer reel-to-reel deck too…great quality.” And I’m eating this up like crazy. Suddenly his tone changes and he reveals that two months ago, he had to downsize from a house to a condo. And as part of his downsizing efforts, the tapes ended up on the curb as trash.

At this point I’m thinking, I re-joined Facebook on April 9, 2017, specifically to reach out to people. Hating myself for doing it all along. And while I did send out requests for info on the mystery taper, I often got wrong information and ended up tracking down people months later that had nothing to do with those tapes. All I kept thinking was if only I had found him in April…

SSA: You would have…

The response to Tim’s reel-to-reel salvage mission. Courtesy Tim Warren.

Tim: I would have flown over to Boston and driven down to his home in Virginia Beach, VA and had Boston rock-and-roll history out-the-ass. I would have had, 20 albums let’s say, 20 albums of unreleased, live, bad-ass, rock-and-roll from Boston from ’76 to ’78. God. And to think that that shit was so casually discarded. I even emailed the waste transfer station with an image saying that this was what the reels would look like and that I was willing to pay a $5000 reward for them. Immediately they write me back saying that everything goes straight into the incinerator. You could have heard me scream in Germany. I just wanted to kill myself. Just fuckin’ kill myself. Cause, Christ, you know it’s history, that’s fucking history in a big way… crazy, crazy, crazy.

SSA: Getting back to the New York scene, can you tell me a bit about The Bad Music Seminar?

Tim: Oh boy, what a disaster! Pete Ciccone (Rat Bastards, Vacant Lot) and I decided to put that one together. As we were both obsessive Milkshakes and Mighty Caesar‘s freaks, our idea was to bring over Billy Childish believing that people would just show up. Yup, (laughs) we lost 45 hundred on that. We flew in The Gravediggers from California as well as outsider artist Jack Starr from Texas. Jack had just had an album released on Norton Records so we had him backed by the A-Bones. Perfect, right? It sounded like the Velvet Underground.

Jack Starr at the Bad Music Seminar, 1988.

SSA: Hahaha.

Tim: I wish I had the live tape of that. We probably have the reel-to-reels somewhere. I remember Billy Childish yelling “Hey, Peter Frampton!” to our sound man. He kept calling him Peter Frampton because the poor guy sported long, golden locks like Frampton.

Anyway, we brought the Caesars in and the idea was to have them come in and record. At the same time, record The Rat Bastards, The Gravediggers Mike Markesich (who authored the TeenBeat Mayhem! book) and The Double Naught Spies. That was the plan, and then as a bonus have these bands play live.

SSA: Right.

Chris Such and the Savages at the Bad Music Festival. Photo by Jillian Jonas.

Tim: Pete chose half the bands, and I chose half. And, then we tried to find a space that ended up being Shelter Studios on W37th St. I had seen this article about Shelter Studios that described it as some sort of large techno loft smack in the middle of the garment district.

NY Daily news article — NY Daily News article on the Bad Music Seminar 1988

Jeff: It was a pretty rough spot. Most of these music studio-type places in that area were not equipped to handle large groups of people. The elevators alone were only made for three or four people.

Tim: It was insane.

Jeff: I had heard a rumor about Thee Mighty Caesars getting ahold of your credit card and going to town with it at Peter Lugers. Any truth to that?

Tim: No, no, no, no, no. Here’s the here’s the real story. This is the funniest shit ever. We had the band recording in Coyote Studios in Brooklyn when two of them, the bass player and the drummer, had to leave a couple days before Childish. Williamsburg back then you know was a wasteland. There was like, one deli in, 10 square blocks.

So anyway, I’m getting ready to drive them out to JFK for their flight home and they come up to me “Ah Tim, you know we’d really like to get a great meal, at a steakhouse, or something …”

I quickly recalled that every time I go to Coyote or went across the Williamsburg Bridge on my way to the pressing plant in Long Island City, I passed this steakhouse sign. It always made me wonder ‘whats this Peter Lugers?’ And as I’m not in that income level, the name meant nothing to me. So I mention this to the owners of Coyote, Albert and Mike Caiti, that these guys want to go to a steak place. They were like “Well, there is Peter Lugers, it’s really good.”

So, I drive them over to Peter Lugers. And I tell them that I have to head back to the studio and I’ll come back about an hour and a half to pick them up and then we’ll head to the airport.

An hour and a half later I come back, and I don’t see them. Great. Here I am, dressed like a bum, still wearing the same clothes for three days because of this frantic schedule, running around looking for these guys. I hesitantly walk into Peter Luger’s in a fuckin’ ripped shirt looking like something the cat dragged in.

Billy Childish of Thee Mighty Caesars, Bad Music Seminar, Shelter Studios, NYC 1988.

“Excuse me, um, I left three English gentlemen here at the restaurant about an hour and a half ago.” “Oh yes. Come with me.” The maitre’d led me in and there they are, sitting in front of a huge plate of bones with grins a mile wide. “Is, everything OK?” “Yeah! Relax, relax!” And, boom, there’s another hundred and fifty dollars down the drain. Another cash outlay, more bleeding. At first, I thought they were going to lead me into a back bathroom where I’d find them washing dishes or something.

SSA: Hahaha.

Tim: So, I laid out a hundred fifty for the meal.

SSA: And they got their steak.

Tim: Yup. So, it wasn’t them maxing out a credit card. It was only me looking like a bum, walking into Peter Lugers.

SSA: And just paying them.

Tim: And, paying the bill LATE. When I get back to Coyote they asked me where I took them. I said, “Oh, this place called Peter Lugers.” “WHAT!!!!! That place is really expensive!” It wasn’t that they recommended Lugers, but from my viewpoint, it didn’t seem like a big deal at first. That area was all prostitutes back then. You’d have the Hasidim getting blowjobs in their cars from the crack whores under the Williamsburg Bridge. I was thinking, it can’t be that posh you know, but it is! Hahaha. But I would not have known because I didn’t live on that income level where I could just go out and eat steak for 50 bucks. We were happy with a dollar slice, you know? But yeah that was the story with the Caesars and Peter Lugers.

SSA: Amazing.

Tim: But the Bad Music seminar thing, was chaos and a cluster fuck. I mean we tried to get some promotion. I did a mailing to all my mail order customers since you know, there wasn’t an Internet.

The infamous Might Caesars’ Sgt. Pepper rip.

In the end, nobody really cared. Nobody. Actually, when Childish got back to England, they recorded there. In reality, the Mighty Caesars had broken up long before the seminar. When I originally reached out to Childish I asked him, “Do you mind just coming over for a one-shot reunion show for two nights in New York?” “Sure.” I followed that up with, “Hey, you guys wanna record an album?” “Yeah, sure.” Boom. So after the gig they went back to England and recorded John Lennon’s Corpse Revisited. Pete Ciccone and I did the Sgt. Peppers dis for the cover with all the serial murders, and put that out

Come October 1988, the Raunch Hands recorded the Payday album. And when the album came out, nobody was buying in the States! Nobody. So I just figured, let’s try out Europe. Hahaha .. twenty thousand dollars later…

Tim and the van in Europe. Photo courtesy Steve Baise.

I lost a lot of money on that first tour because I bought a van in Holland. I also bought a dual back line, bass amp, two guitar amps, blah blah blah blah, drums, all that shit. And shipped it over to Europe.

SSA: Man, good luck!

Tim: But, hey, it gave the Raunch Hands a second life. They were dead on the fuckin’ vine you know. I was glad I was able to resuscitate their career. They weren’t getting anywhere since it was all grunge at that point. 1988 was the birth of all that Soundgarden and Led Zeppelin imitation stuff. And it was bad. I remember there was a deejay on college radio station WNYU, this English guy. We’re sitting there in the studio and I’m hearing this thing that sounds like Led Zeppelin to me. Awful stuff, but the DJ is falling over himself “Wow, did that sound just like Robert Plant?!” I’m thinking to myself, and…this is a good thing? What did punk rock do for the world? Hahaha. It’s all over! So yeah, that was the climate at the time.

Pt. 2 Coming in a future post!

Bleecker Bob Plotnik 1942-2018

The record club gains another member. Word came today that venerable NYC icon and record store owner Bob Plotnik had sadly passed on. Bob’s store, Bleecker Bobs, was known worldwide for many decades for not just having an amazing selection but also for its legendary cantankerous owner. And while the tales spun by seasoned record buyers have centered on their treatment by Bob, surprisingly there are a small handful who did befriend him and dodged the majority of the wrath he inflicted on others.

My own experiences in his store were actually very limited as 1) his stuff was usually overpriced and 2) I was very aware of his rep. Still, it was kind of a kick to quickly pop in, scan his garage punk bins, realize I didn’t want to pay that much and scoot out before you got tagged.

In all honesty, my own interesting Bob moment came many, many years later and had nothing to do with his temperament. On April 15, 2001, Joey Ramone succumbed to lymphoma after a long widely-publicized 7-year battle. Having grown up listening to the Ramones, it was a sad moment for me. One that seriously marked the all-too-real passage of time.

The following evening while wandering downtown, I made a spur of the moment decision to walk by CBGBs. Purely as a gesture of respect. To my surprise, I was not the only one with that idea. Turns out a small group of punks had set up a small altar right in front of the club. I watched people singing, giving offerings and took a few photos for my own files.

Shortly after midnight, a private ceremony inside the club let out and guests began leaving the club. Spotting photographer Roberta Bailey, I quickly ran over and asked her if she minded me taking a photo of her in front of the club. Once that was accomplished I looked around to see if there was anyone else I could cajole into a shot. That was when I ran into friends Billy Miller and Miriam Linna. Having just left the service, they stopped and chatted with me for a short while.

All of a sudden Billy goes “Hey Bob!” and goes over to chat to a leather-jacketed Bob Plotnik quickly making his way through the throng of people in front of the club. Now, as anyone can tell you, Billy could charm the pants off of anyone. This moment was no different. Expecting a curt brush off, I was surprised to see Bob turn around, smile, and extend his hand. Billy being Billy, just grabbed Bob by the shoulder in a playful embrace.

Just at that moment someone to the left of me, also with a camera, pointed it at the two of them. Instantly recognizing a golden photo op, Billy swings Bob toward the camera all the while still embracing him. Within a half a second I also had my camera up and pointed it at this most unusual scene. Clicked the shutter, and wound up with this shot. A testament to the amazing Billy Miller, a man who could tame a cranky record store owner using just his smile. RIP Bob. RIP Billy. It’s getting to be a crazy party up there.