ERNIE BROOKS: A Lover Looks Back at the Roots of the Modern Lovers

Text by John Morace, intro by Robert Barry Francos
Interview © 1981; RBF intro © 2010 by FFanzeen
Images from the Internet

The following article about Boston-based bassist Ernie Brooks was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #7, in 1981. It was written by John Morace.

By the time I saw the Modern Lovers in 1977, Ernie Brooks was no longer in the band. I did see him play a couple of times backing up other musicians, but never really got to know him personally, or as an individual musical entity. He certainly has had quite the career so far, as the list below will attest, as it is only partial. – RBF, 2010

Catfish Black Bassist (1969-70)
The Modern Lovers Bassist (1971-74)
Elliott Murphy Bassist (1976-)
David Johansen Bassist (1982)
Jerry Harrison Bassist (1990)
Gods and Monsters Bassist (1994-)
Gary Lucas Bassist (1994-)

[The original Modern Lovers; Jonathan Richman, Ernie Brooks, David Robinson, John Felice, Jerry Harrison]

FFanzeen: This is Ernie Brooks, formerly with Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers, and is now with the Necessaries.
Ernie Brooks: Yes, and you could also add formerly with Elliot Murphy, formerly with the Love of Life Orchestra [LOLO], and formerly with what was pretty much my own band, the Flying Hearts, which included Dave van Tiegham, currently of LOLO, Larry Salzman, who now plays guitar for Peter Allen, and Arthur Russell, who’s been making disco records. The Flying Hearts played about. We played at the Ocean Club a few times… (The Ocean Club) was on Chambers Street. It was owned by Mickey Ruskin [d. 1983]. He’s a famous New York character. He was the one who started the original Max’s (Kansas City) and made it the hang-out for everybody. The back room at Max’s in the late ‘60s was where the Velvet Underground and the rest of Warhol’s super stars used to go. Plus artists, poets, scenemakers of all descriptions. Mickey was great. He was almost a patrol of the artists and musicians, letting them run up tabs. Painters could sometimes settle their bill by giving Mickey a piece of their work to hang on the wall. He runs One University Place, but it’s not the old Max’s. Anyway, the Ocean Club had a lot of Tribeca artists and musicians hanging out, just as the whole punk-New Wave thing was starting. He used to occasionally have bands play there.


FF: So you used to hang out at Max’s.
Ernie: Yeah, when I used to come down here from Boston. In fact – it was before I knew him – Jonathan (Richman) was a bus-boy at Max’s, but I think he dropped so many things on people that he got fired [laughs]. Before starting the Modern Lovers, he used to come to New York. He’d hang out with Lou Reed, sleep on his sofa, and listen to the Velvets rehearse.

FF: So he goes way back with them.
Ernie: Oh, yeah. It’s interesting because in a way, Jonathan is the other side of Lou Reed’s coin. I mean, Lou was always very openly into drugs and every kind of sexuality and perversity. Jonathan’s thing was that while he borrowed a lot from Lou in terms of musical style – in his guitar playing and vocal phrasing – in his lifestyle he took an opposite course. He never touched drugs as far as I know, including alcohol and cigarettes. He was against casual sex. He put girls on pedestals and worshipped them, and met them more on the astral plane than in the flesh. It’s interesting, a stance of innocence, of purity like Jonathan’s, can seem perverse when it’s taken to an extreme as it is in some of his newer songs, the ones about how beautiful everything is and how beautiful he is. I mean, something about songs like “Ice Cream Man” bothers me. He's repressing the dark side of his nature. Why is he writing all these songs for children? In a way it’s neat, so maybe it’s just a matter of taste that I like the old songs better.

FF: When did Jonathan first get a band together?
Ernie: Ah, it must have been about 1969. He started it with David Robinson as the drummer and a bass player named Rolf. Soon after, John Felice, a long-time neighbor and friend, joined as a second guitarist. He was in and out of the band for years, finally leaving to start his own group, the Real Kids. Jerry (Harrison) and I joined the group a couple of months after it started; I think it was 1971. It’s hard to remember. It was when Jerry and I were in our senior year at Harvard.

FF: How did Jerry Harrison hook up with Talking Heads?
Ernie: There were the three of them, and I ran into Chris (Franz) at a place called the Local near the Bottom Line (in NYC). Mickey Ruskin ran that place, too. Well, we started talking and they were considering adding a keyboard player at that point. I was with Elliott (Murphy) and Jerry wasn’t really doing anything besides going to architecture school. So they sort of got together. That’s when he started commuting to New York to try and work it out… and jamming and it worked out, so they got together.

FF: So the Modern Lovers played around Boston.
Ernie: Yeah, we used to play at all the college dances, and all the so-called mixers. We could always get a job once; then they found out what we were really like [laughs]. We had a great song called “The Mixer.” It was like “Hey girls, do you notice the smell?” Things like that. It pointed out to the people at the mixer all the ridiculous things about a mixer, which was like a lot of guys and girls standing around pretending that they were having a good time.

FF: How many songs did you have? About nine of them made it onto the Modern Lovers album.
Ernie: We had lots. We recorded some stuff with Kim Fowley, which I assume is the stuff they might release. That was about another 10 songs. Plus, I have some, and David Robinson has some tapes. Two songs, “I’m Straight” and “Government Center” have been released on a Warners' discount LP called Troublemakers.

FF: How did David Robinson hook up with the Cars?
Ernie: I don’t know exactly, but I do remember the bass player and Ric Ocasck were around Cambridge for a long time. I had met them before. They had a band called Milkwood, a folk-rock band. I remember when the Cars were getting together. It was funny, David said this was the last band he was ever going to join. He was so fed up, he’d been in so many bands.

FF: And it worked.
Ernie: It worked; it worked incredibly. They have been one of the most successful bands in the last couple of years. Their albums are just… You see, they’ve made a perfect combination of somewhat New Wave, somewhat quirky lyrics with really simple, basic pop formulas, in terms of their hooks. They’ve taken their hooks and they’ve twisted them just enough and put in a bizarre synthesizer like here, a bizarre word or two there. It’s a perfect combination.

FF: Do you think it’s contrived, or is it just what they feel like doing?
Ernie: It’s not… Yeah, I think it’s contrived. But in a good sense. I think it’s really well-crafted. I really respect it. It doesn’t move me a lot. But I love the way it sounds. It has an incredible sound.

FF: One thing about rock music that’s different from other kinds of expression is that for it to be successful it has to generate an audience to pay to support it because of all the expenses involved in touring, equipment, and albums. That, of course, has an influence on the music.
Ernie: It’s always a compromise. But at least in rock’n’roll, there is something very honest about the fact that you’re doing what you’re doing; nothing else. In a certain sense, it’s very ironic because on the one hand rock’n’roll is the most commercial, most compromised of arts, and on the other it’s the most honest and has the most integrity of the modern art forms because it’s so direct. You’re there in front of your audience. Either you turn them on or you don’t; you’re not supported by state grants. You’re not kissing the ass of some humanities foundation so you can get a grant and go off into a cabin in the woods and write poetry. You’re not involved in the university system, making friends with a professor so he’ll make you a teaching assistant so you can survive to write your novel. Ya know, that’s what I like about rock’n’roll.

FF: But some people are contrary to that opinion, such as the Copeland brothers on IRS, who are distributed by AM. They say that the size of the act depends upon how much A&M likes them and not the act itself.
Ernie: I think that’s partly true in the sense that a group can be hyped by a record label and the record label can put a lot of money into advertising and promotion and stuff like that, but unless the goods are there and people like it, it’s still not gonna sell. Kids can only be hyped to a certain extent. Not to say that kids always have good taste. There are some really good groups that are really big, but you can have groups like Styx and Foreigner, who I find really boring. But you understand that they are competent. Copeland, I think, likes to paint himself as the adversary of the big record labels.

FF: Getting back to Jonathan Richman, I notice that some of the songs are about people who are intellectually recognized; Pablo Picasso or Cézanne, for instance. The way he treats them is very different from the way most people treat them. He is very casual about them.
Ernie: Yeah, in a way it was a self-conscious thing, to take Pablo Picasso and describe him in very weird terms. Ya know: “Pablo Picasso would walk down the street / And girls would turn the color of an avocado / And girls could not resist his stare / And Pablo Picasso was never called an asshole” [See video below – RBF, 2010]. But I think he really believed that. He used to think these guys had some real incredible magical quality. Obviously, he never met Picasso, but I think he sort of got his vision of him walking down a street and this is his description of him. I the case of Cézanne, he used to go to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts a lot, and he was really into that.

FF: It think that’s very different from rock people, outside of Factory people like Andy Warhol and John Cale, who were into all kinds of art forms.
Ernie: It’s true, and that’s where Jonathan’s work was really seminal, in a way, for a lot of the art-rock bands like Talking Heads. They deal with issues, artistic or literary. It opened up the concept of a rock’n’roll song as being able to deal with a whole range of issues that it never dealt with before. Of course, a lot of people did that; Dylan certainly did, and the Velvet Underground. Jonathan was just another person who helped open it up.

FF: How did John Cale get involved in producing the album?
Ernie: Well, the Velvet Underground was sort of looked up to by the band. And Cale had produced albums, like the Nico album and the first Stooges album, which were really important.

FF: Or the Patti Smith album.
Ernie: Yeah, but this was long before that. The first Stooges album was in ’69. Iggy’s been around for along time. He was someone who totally gave himself to an audience, even to the point of hurting himself. He’d jump into the crowd, offer his body to the crowd. He’s great; he’s one of the best.

FF: I remember reading about a Velvet’s show at Farleigh Dickinson (University) – one of their multimedia presentations – and people just freaked. They started throwing bottles at the stage.
Ernie: Sure, I remember in the Modern Lovers, we played with Lee Michaels and Tower of Power in San Bernardino, in California, in this huge arena. A real redneck town. People driving their El Caminos up and down the street outside. People went crazy. There was just this angry roar from the crowd and all of a sudden this stuff started coming up on the stage; bottles, cans, all sort of trash.

FF: That must have felt great.
Ernie: Yeah, right. Warner Bros. had also brought all their people out to see us, their great new group. It was great.

FF: Was that John Cale’s doing?
Ernie: Yeah, he was an A&R man, and a producer for Warner’s. But that didn’t last long.

FF: Who did the record finally come out with? Not Warner’s.
Ernie: Beserkley Records, a small label that has been through every conceivable distributorship. It’s run by this genial madman named Matthew Kaufman. He was the guy who wanted to manage the Lovers when the original band was still intact. And he had the idea, even back then, of starting his own label. And Jonathan always really liked this guy. After the band broke up, he started managing Jonathan and issued a Beserkley Chartbusters record with a few songs of Jonathan’s on it. Then he had the idea of putting out an album of the original Modern Lovers, which was just a demo tape we made for Warner Bros. He came to us and asked if he could buy the tapes from Warner Bros. No one else was really interested in them then, so we said OK – which I realize now was probably stupid. If we had waited and held on to them we could have made some real money off the tapes, I suppose. I’ve never gotten any royalties… When I get rich enough to afford a lawyer, I’ll sue them.

FF: How did the band break up?
Ernie: Well, it was philosophical differences about the music; Jonathan wanted to go in a more acoustic direction. He started thinking that electricity was too weird… At various points he decided he didn’t want any guitar. He didn’t want anything besides voice because that was the thing that was – real. Voice came from your soul and everything else was just trappings; extra. And we wanted to keep it a real rock’n’roll band. After all, David played drums, I played electric bass and Jerry played keyboards. And that’s what we wanted to do. And so we had these big arguments about that. Ya know, we were all living in this big house, just off Sunset Boulevard. It was big with a red-tiled roof; one of those Spanish palazzos. We were out there and we were totally dependent on Warner Bros. We’d have to go down to Burbank every couple of days and get some money from them. There we were, all these hardcore Easterners in LA, and I sort of loved it in a way, but it was also disorienting and crazy. Too many beautiful mindless people out there. We were all just crammed together in this house and had nothing else to do but get on each other’s nerves. It did make me realize the importance of just being together as a band. When you have to deal with the record company, when you have to deal with the business part of rock’n’roll, you really have to be together or you can be destroyed very quickly. That was really one of the problems. If we’d had a manager that we could have trusted, that would have made a big difference. Warner Bros., already worried by what they'd heard about Jonathan’s changing musical ideas, would call our house every day to talk to him. They really freaked out when he told them, “Yeah, we’ll make a record, but when we go on tour - if we go on tour – we won’t play any of the songs on it.” As his ideas about the sound of the band changed, he also changed his mind about the songs we were recording, decided most of them weren’t valid anymore.

FF: They must have loved that.
Ernie: Oh, yeah. That’s just what a record company wants to hear when it’s spending a lot of money on a band. Again, if only we had a manager at that time to mediate between ourselves, and between us and the record company.

FF: Where did the name Modern Lovers come from?
Ernie: That was Jonathan’s invention. The idea was to do modern love songs. Almost all of the songs that we did, in one way or another, involve girls and are about relationships that always involved, somehow, with the modern world of suburbs, shopping centers, beltways – a bleak but often beautiful landscape. That was part of it. Also, Jonathan always had the idea of being, along with the rest of us in the band, a “modern lover,” a modern romantic believing, as the song says, “I don’t want a girl to fool around with / I don’t want someone just to ball / I want someone I care about / Or I want nothing at all” [“Someone I Care About” – Ed.]. Of course, that wasn’t a modern idea, but expressed in a rock song and combined with the image of the group, it was at least different.

FF: Did Jonathan find what he wanted?
Ernie: I don’t know. Maybe he has. Maybe that’s why his new songs seem happier. This ties in with and half-contradicts what I said earlier: maybe the old adolescent pain and sexual frustration are resolved; maybe he has really exorcised the darker side of his character. Maybe I like the older songs better because I’m still adolescent at heart or maybe it’s true that repressed sexual energy sparks the best art [yawns].

FF: I notice all the songs on the first album are really simple, or repetitive. Even I can play “Roadrunner” on guitar.
Ernie: Sure, it’s two chords: A and D.

FF: Why was he doing that?
Ernie: Well, it was partly the fact that he picked up a guitar and didn’t know how to play it and he just started doing what he could do. And also, he believed there was a virtue in simplicity. Again, that’s certainly something the punk thing picked up on, because the whole idea, in a way, of New Wave was that technique didn’t matter. That it was the emotion and the feeling. If you did something with confidence you could do it. That’s always a part of rock’n’roll. What really mattered was the emotion, not the technique.

A Portrait: LEEE BLACK CHILDERS

Text by Nancy Foster, intro and photos by Robert Barry Francos
Interview © 1982; RBF intro © 2010 by FFanzeen

The following interview with musical impresario Lee Black Childers was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #9, in 1983. It was conducted by Nancy Foster, credited under “NanSuzy Foster.”

Back in the ‘70s and ‘80s, Leee Black Childers was everywhere, but where I encountered him the most was Max’s Kansas City (introduced to me by Nancy). Before anything about the man, I must say that I so coveted his leather motorcycle jacket, which had an amazing painting of Eddie Cochran’s face on the back.

Childers has had an astonishing carreer behind the scenes to levels that have changed the scope of the music world. When he wasn’t running David Bowie’s MainMan empire, he was managing the Heartbreakers (with Johnny Thunders), or he was photographing living icons into household memories with shots that were published worldwide.

I liked Leee the first time I met him, and though he probably doesn’t remember me, well, I still want that jacket! – RBF, 2010

/www.leeeblackchilders.com/


FFanzeen: When was the first time you came to New York from down South?
Leee Black Childers: Well, I kept leaving and going back. The first time was the Summer of Love, 1967. Me and this girl from England, who was down in Kentucky – the Israeli war happened and she got all crazy and decided the world was gonna end and we’d have never seen New York, so we got on a plane and come. I arrived with eight dollars in my pocket at Kennedy Airport, didn’t know a soul in New York; a solider picked us up and took us to the “Y” and paid for our rooms and everything for a few days. He could see that we were helpless. He housed us until we made friends with someone and we moved in with him.

[Wayne County, Max's Kansas City, 1976]

FF: When and how did you connect with people like Cherry Vanilla?
Leee: Well, Cherry was back in the old underground theater days. There’s this brilliant director named Tony Engrassia who did Off-Off-Broadway shows like La Mama and New York Theater Ensemble, and the day the men landed on the moon, Jackie Curtis got married. Do you know who Jackie Curtis is?

FF: A transsexual; an Andy Warhol starlet.
Leee: Sort of. Whatever. A drag queen. She got married on a rooftop that same evening. She was supposed to marry Eric Emmerson, but he didn’t turn up, so she married someone else.

FF: A publicity stunt?
Leee: Yeah, you know, it was just a joke. And everyone was up there, so we got invited up to that, me and Wayne County. Wayne County was my roommate at the time, and at that thing up there we met Tony Engrassia and Holly Woodlawn, and all those people. So Tony invited Wayne down to start being in the plays, and I became stage manager. And that’s when Cherry Vanilla turned up for the one Wayne wrote, called World.

[Cherry Vanilla, Max's Kansas City, 1976]

FF: What year was that?
Leee: ’68 or ’69; I guess ’69. Yeah, it would be ’69, because then the most successful one (play) was Pork, which went to London in 1970, with Cherry in the title role. [Laughs]

FF: Could you tell me a little bit about your work with MainMan, and how you got associated with Tony DeFries, David Bowie –
Leee: Right. That comes through Pork. I was stage managing and Cherry was in it, and Wayne County was in it, and Tony Zennetta played the Andy Warhol figure in it, and we took it to England. Cherry and I were pulling this scam at that time in England, saying that we wrote for Circus magazine. She was supposed to be the writer and I was supposed to be the photographer and, in fact, we didn’t write for them, of course, but who’s to know? We were loud Americans. They believed us, so we got into all the rock shows free.

FF: Love it!
Leee: Right, so one day I was reading this thing, and in a little garage behind a shopping center in Haberstock Hill, was David Bowie. So I say, “Oh, I read about him somewhere. He wears dresses and things. Let’s go see him.” So Cherry, and Wayne and I went to see David and, of course, David was entranced ‘cause we were doing an Andy Warhol thing. So David came to see the opening when Pork opened up and he came to see the show, I don’t know, eight or ten times. When the show closed, we came back to New York and we all said we’d keep in touch; then we hadn’t heard from David in about a year. Then Tony DeFries called up Tony Zennetta and said that David was planning his first American tour. In that year, David had become a big success in England. And so Tony said he was planning his first American tour and he didn’t want the normal sort of crew that you get – you know, a bunch of hippies and everything; he wanted us, would we be the crew? I was working at 16 Magazine at the time, Tony Zennetta was working in a photo lab, Cherry Vanilla wasn’t working at all and was deeply in debt – so of course we all said yes – of course, we’ll be MainMan – and so we were. We had no experience, which make it work out, because we were able to ask for the impossible because we didn’t know you couldn’t get it. So we’d walk into the record company or into the club where we were going to perform and make all these impossible demands, and just because we didn’t know that you couldn’t ask for things like that, we’d end up getting it. When I was in St. Louis, we were at this strange little hotel and I was on the phone with Lisa Robinson, who was in Los Angeles, ‘cause we were going to Los Angeles next. She said, “Where are you staying?” – and I forget where it was, somewhere weird – and she said, “Oh, that place is awful, you can’t stay there,” and I said “I’ve never been to Los Angeles, where should I stay?” She said the Beverly Hills Hotel, so I said, okay, and I called up RCA and I said switch our reservations to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Forty people. In the Beverly Hills Hotel. The bill there alone was, like $60,000 or something.

[Holly Woodlawn, set of "Good Night America" with Geraldo Rivera, 1975]

FF: Bless their abuse.
Leee: I didn’t know what the Beverly Hills Hotel was; RCA couldn’t say no to me, so they booked us in. I don’t know why they couldn’t. The roadies would go down to Hollywood and pick up tourists and say, “Come back to the Beverly Hills Hotel with us, you can have a complete Beverly Hills Hotel dinner for five dollars a head.” All these people would come back with them, they’d collect the five dollars, and the tourists would order anything they wanted.

FF: That’s incredible!
Leee: So these tourists would get $250 meals for five dollars. The roadies, in turn, would make fifty dollars a night, plus tips. Now, if RCA reads this, they’ll know what happened.

FF: Around ’75 or so, I joined the Wayne County Fan Club, and I was in touch with this guy named Eve Emmerson, and he said that David Bowie thwarted Wayne’s musical career by saying Wayne was an actor, rather than a singer. Was there any truth to that? Did David Bowie sort of encourage Wayne to concentrate on acting?
Leee: Yeah, a lot of people say that. Even looking back now over the years, it’s really hard to remember exactly what happened. Because those were really peculiar times. There was an incredible amount of money, which none of us had ever had before, all of it really stemming from David. Tony DeFries was such a charismatic character; everyone thought everything he said and did at the time was just perfect. We thought he was a genus. So he moved us out of this crummy apartment on the Upper West Side, where in the bathroom, when we went to the toilet, we had to open an umbrella because there was a constant leak. We moved from that into an Upper East Side duplex, with a balcony and the whole number; you know, got us video tape machines, gave us anything we wanted. We had charges at restaurants all over town; we had American Express cards and MasterCharge. And then, Tony DeFries announced to Wayne, “Now you won’t work.” ‘Cause Wayne had been playing a lot, you know. He said, “The idea is to sit. And wait. And not make you available.” In the course of that, he said, “So you wont’ be doing nothing, we’ll concentrate on some acting and we’ll make a movie and stuff like that.” It could have been David’s idea, ‘cause now we know that 90% of those brilliant ideas we thought Tony DeFries was having had really been coming from David, who was in England at that time. And so we sat. And nobody complained much. He wasn’t just doing it to Wayne, he was doing it to a girl-singer named Ava Terry, he was doing it to Dana Gillespie, he was doing it to Amanda Lear; everybody was getting huge salaries, living in style, and being told to do nothing.

FF: Where can I get a job like that?
Leee: Now there are people who say that David did that particularly to all those people to keep them out of the limelight while he, you know, did his number. And he’ll be the first to tell you he used all of those people’s ideas. Periodically, he would either visit, or the people would be sent to England and live with him for a while. He’d pick their brains and he’d get ideas for songs and concepts and everything, I mean, Tony Engrassia wrote a play named Fame a year before David Bowie wrote a song named “Fame.” And Tony spent, like, two months with David, supposedly working on a script of a play about 1984, and in the course of it, of course, he told him all about Fame and his concept, you know, of the whole idea of the destructiveness of it. Out came the song. What can you do? David would say, “Yes, I got the idea (from someone else),” but David’s great genus is knowing which ideas are the good ones. So, we sat, and Wayne couldn’t do a thing, not even acting for that matter. Every once in a while a film crew would come around and point a camera at us, at whatever we were doing. I’d love to see that film now – I don’t know where it is – ‘cause they spent thousands on it. Finally he went crazy and demanded to be allowed to play. So then they did this one show, which was Wayne County at the Trucks, which cost a fortune to put on. Which wasn’t really Wayne. Wayne would put on garbage and would dance around in the back room of some slezoid dive. Suddenly they had this theater down on West Street, that Arts Center, and Tony Engrassia staged and directed it, and they had dancers and they had lights and costumes, and it cost fortunes, and it was an all-invited audience. Nobody could get in who just wanted to play. Champagne and all kinds of stuff that costs fortunes and only the wrong people saw it; a bunch of snobs and businessmen, and people like that. And then he was told to sit again, so then he stared going crazy. Flipping out, you know. And so that’s when Tony (DeFries) said, “I don’t think we can work together,” and that was the end of the relationship. And, of course, as soon as all of the money was cut off and Wayne was back on the Upper East Side, and had to fend for himself, then everything was fine and he wasn’t crazy anymore. Before, he was out all night, taking pills like crazy. He’d come storming into the house at six in the morning with a string of the most dreadful people hanging on him. I’d be throwing them out, you know, and Wayne would be shouting, “Theah mah friends, theah mah friends.” “No, they’re not, get them out; out you go.” And as soon as he was back working for himself, well then, everything went back to normal. He was fine; puttin’ on shows for $25, making $35, and being very happy, and it was great again. It was very peculiar times and we’ll never know how much of it was Tony DeFries megalomania, how much of it was David.

FF: Tony was probably the hatchet man.
Leee: Right. [Laughs] Perhaps David meant well. Perhaps he really thought Wayne shouldn’t do anything. The other thing that’s nice is since that time – all those people got dropped at the same time, Amanda, Ava, and everybody – they’ve all gone on to great success.

FF: I’m being a typical gossip mongering reporter here, but can you tell the story of how David Bowie’s “Space Oddity” single first got played on New York radio? Or is that too risqué?
Leee: You’ll have to ask Cherry that! [Laughs] I think everybody knows!

[Johnny Thunders, Irving Plaza, 1978]

FF: When and where was the first place you saw the Heartbreakers, and what was your first impression?
Leee: Well, the same thing everyone said. Actually, it was Tony Zennetta who went to see them somewhere – CBGB’s or somewhere – and I hadn’t gone. Tony went crazy, and he was on the phone with me and he said, “You can’t believe how completely destroyed these people are. If they manage to live to another set you must go.” And, of course, that’s what everyone then said, and everyone still does. “Catch them before they die.” A thousand shows later, they’re out-living everybody; they’ll out-live us all. It was very macabre, but that’s what I went for at first, to see how physically destroyed – Johnny (Thunders) and Jerry (Nolan) were old friends of mine and I wanted to see what sort of shape they’d fallen into. But then, of course, I really liked the music. It really, immediately, got me. “Blank Generation,” I thought was brilliant. I remember once, at CBGB’s – Cherry Vanilla had this boyfriend named Michael Linder who was a radio talk show type person, and he did reviews and things. Very, very straight: Brooks Brothers suits and this naturally blond hair cut perfectly and all. Clean fingernails and the whole number. So she brought him down to CBGB’s. They were sitting sort of at the back, and the music was going on, but they couldn’t really see anything, and he liked the music. So then, I was so gun-ho on it at the time. I gave him the speech about this music is the future of rock’n’roll and it’s finally getting rid of guitar solos and all this Eric Clapton shit, and I went on and on an on, and I got him real excited, and he said, “Oh, do you think I could talk to one of the Heartbreakers?” And I said, “Sure, sure, I’ll go get one.” So the set was over and I got Richard Hell and brought him and set him down, and then Cherry and I both realized what we’d done. Here was this perfectly groomed person talking to Richard Hell. His (Hell) lips were all cracked and chapped and he had scabs on his face, and his hair was cut in all different directions and he was dirty and his clothes were falling off, and one eye was closed and he was sitting there. And, of course, Richard was adoring it; he was putting it on as much as he could, to see how horrified he could get this poor man. Michael Linder was sitting as far back in the booth as you can get. It was great. I didn’t start managing (the Heartbreakers) until Richard left, unfortunately, ‘cause I adore Richard. I guess it’s just as well, though, ‘cause I hear he’s suing Sire Records and everything, saying Sire destroyed his career. If any of us look back, if anybody could get anything in edgewise as far as destroying with, Richard was doing a very good job himself.

[Billy Rath, Irving Plaza, 1978]

FF: Could you give us a few words on the personalities of each of the Heartbreakers?
Leee: Yeah. It’s funny to do it now, not working with them. Probably this is the best time to do it. Johnny (Thunders) is totally adorable. He could be a great con man if he weren’t so self-destructive, ‘cause he’s a very good con artist. But he’s too greedy, so he gets you madly in love with him – and this is anyone – everybody he meets just thinks he’s so sweet and wants to protect him. And to help him. And he is; he’s very good-hearted. But he’s greedy and so he’ll get a little bit. Someone that he could con out of $500,000, he cons him out of $500 instead, and rips him off and then ruin the relationship. He goes for the moment. He over-indulges everything, you know? When we first started recording [the album L.A.M.F. – RBF] for Track Records in England, I told these people – they were all well meaning, I guess, but they were used to the Who and everything, and you’d think they’d have known better – “When we get in the studio, it’s nothing but Coca-Colas and no drugs and not anything that’s destructive.” So they said, “Okay, Okay.” I said, “Please trust me, that’s the way it must be.” Of course, we got in the studio and Johnny said, “I don’t want any drugs or anything, I want to work, but c'mon, I gotta loosen up. How about some Scotch? Just Scotch.” And I was saying, “No, no, no,” right? The record company people, Chris Stanton, they though I was crazy. “We can’t turn him down for that,” so they went out and got him a bottle of Scotch, which he downed instantly, and then fell on the floor. First day of recording. All I could say was, “See, I told you.”

[Jerry Nolan, CBGB's, 1979]


FF: No moderation.
Leee: No moderation, which, I guess, helps make him an artist. Walter (Lure) is possibly the most talented one, creatively, in the group. I don’t want to say the most talented, but creative. Because he always had new ideas, he was already ready to try new things, and he didn’t realize, and probably still doesn’t, that he had become a really big star in England. There were as many kids imitating him and cheering for him and freaking out over him as there were for Johnny. He always acted like it was Johnny and assumed it was Johnny. I don’t think he ever really realized that if he ever went back – Johnny has since been back to England a few times. Walter’s never gone back – he’d be a big draw; he was really a big star. The kids loved him ‘cause he’s a psycho.

[Walter Lure, CBGB's, 1980]

FF: That might be what the Heroes (Walter’s group) have to do because in New York, it’s Johnny, and Walter will always be in Johnny’s shadow according to, like, the club owners and stuff, and the Heroes really get a hard time.
Leee: Really not so in England. In fact, Walter might be even more fashionable ‘cause England has gone very psycho right now. And Walter has the look and delivery to go with that. I think he’d really do well.

FF: Maybe if he gets a record deal they could send him over there. There’s this real anti-rock’n’roll backlash in New York right now. But I think the rockabilly here’ll knock that right out. That’s gonna be the pervasive thing. It seems like it’s the most healthy branch of the music right now. It’s alive.
Leee: That’s why I got into it. That’s why I was first working with Levi (Dexter), and I realized I couldn’t work with both him and Johnny. I talked to Johnny about it, and I said, this is fun for me. I enjoy every (Levi) show, I enjoy touring, and much to Johnny’s credit, he completely understood. He said, yeah, he could see that that would be much more what I would enjoy than working with him, so we parted on the best-of-friends.

FF: Levi’s like a big breath of fresh air; he’s so anti- that junkie jadedness that pervades New York.
Leee: After two years with the Heartbreakers, you can imagine what it was like to suddenly be with little sixteen and seventeen year-old kids who were saying, “Ohhh, can we really play? Can we really do a gig?? Two gigs in one night? What fun! [Laughs] With Johnny, I’d have to slap him and say you will do this show. “No, I’m not getting out of bed.” And we’d have a rough ‘n’ tumble and eventually he made every show but one in two years, which is fully to his credit, really. Because sometimes he was in no shape to, but he did. He always made it while I was working with him.

FF: What about Jerry (Nolan)?
Leee: I can’t talk about Jerry.

FF: What was your most memorable thing about working with the Heartbreakers?
Leee: Oh, well, besides them, generally, which was some experience, I guess that whole period in England when we did the Anarchy Tour [1977 – Ed.]. It came as such a surprise to us; none of us knew what was going on over there. From playing Max’s (Kansas City), it had become very routine here. Then three days later we had to run with our coats over our heads while photographers were trying to get our pictures, and keep our hotel room locked. There were people meeting us at the edge of town with pickets, turning us away, not even letting us in the town. It was such a weird experience. It didn’t know that much anti-rock’n’roll feeling – which is what it came down to – existed anymore, and there it was. It was really such a strange experience. That’s why I told everyone in New York to come to England. Cherry Vanilla sold everything in her apartment. She put a “for sale” sign on her door and sod everything – everything –to get all the money she could to come to England. She was there in a month. Wayne was there in a month. They came fast and cashed in.

FF: Where did the Heartbreakers get the best response?
Leee: Well, I guess in London. Pretty well all over England. There was a lot of hysteria in Scotland. Scottish audiences are dangerous. Liverpool, they go crazy for ‘em. They built a very, very good following in Amsterdam. It’s much more hysteria there, and in France, then they ever got in New York because half the people in the audience in New York had slept with them. Some of the glamour isn’t there, where kids in Leeds had only ever seen their pictures and heard the rumors – and suddenly there they were on stage in front of them. It was fantastic to them.

FF: They still had that aesthetic distance.
Leee: Yeah, right.

FF: Do you ever go see the Heartbreakers any more?
Leee: Do the Heartbreakers play any more?

FF: Yeah. Tony (Coiro) from the Knots plays bass because Billy Rath went to Cape Cod and became a father. He moved in with his girlfriend, Marsha. He got hepatitis in, like, December (1980), and that sort of turned his head around. He said, “Enough of that.”
Leee: He’ll probably be a lot happier. He was never really happy doing that (music).

FF: He’s supposed to be really happy getting up six in the morning and doing farm chores, and that kind of thing.
Leee: He got very self-destructive, too, but it always seemed sort of imitated, like he thought, “Oh, well, I might as well be self-destructive, too, otherwise what am I gonna do? Read a book?” So he’s probably very happy and Marsha probably is, too. Good, I’m glad. Sure, I’d go see them (the Heartbreakers). It would be a great experience.

FF: Have you seen the Heroes yet?
Leee: No, but I haven’t –

FF: Mucho upbeat. Walter’s my favorite dresser and comedian, too. What did you do between managing the Heartbreakers and managing Levi? Or was it straight to Levi?
Leee: Straight from. I was in England, and the punks / Teddys war started, and I’d see pictures of Teddy Boys in the papers and they looked awfully glamorous to me – more glamorous than the punks. So I began going in disguise to Teddy Boy shows. It would always be dark so they never knew. Although my hair was quiffed, it had an electric blue streak through it. But they never knew. So I started going and eventually the show where I met Levi the lights went on and I was about to be killed, but I met him. He just got up – it was a Shakin’ Stevens show – and did a couple of songs and I thought he was great, so I asked him to come around to the office. He didn’t have a band and didn’t know anything about starting a band, so I started working with him while I was still working with the Heartbreakers. Then all the trouble with Jerry started. That was in July, when I met Levi, and by about September, Jerry Nolan was pulling his numbers and quitting the group and then going back when Johnny would cry, “Come back for a week.” Then he’d come back if we’d pay him $1,000 a show and things like that, and I was going crazy with all that anyway. So eventually then, Jerry left. And we did whole tours with other drummers – Terry Chimes (of the Clash) and people – and then it really began getting crazy until it was clear the Heartbreakers were gonna break up. So Johnny asked if I’d continue to work with him as a solo artist, so I said yes. But by then, Levi had begun playing, too [with the Rockats – Ed.]. In fact, the very first show Levi ever did, it was the worst show you ever saw in your life. [Laughs] Johnny Thunders did the greatest thing: it was at the Royal College of Art, and Dibbs (Preston) didn’t even come on stage, you only saw a guitar cord go off-stage to nowhere for him to play; and Smutty (Smiff) wasn’t plugged in because he couldn’t play the bass at all; Levi was off-tune on nearly every song. The rhythm guitarist we had at that time jumped off-stage in the middle of the show to dance with his girlfriend – he just laid his guitar down.

FF: Oh, wonderful.
Leee: The drummer couldn’t drum. It was just awful! We were on supporting Steel Pulse, and it was a big show at the Royal College of Art, you know, and our agent had just bragged us into it. So everybody was just ready to die, and you could see Levi was just mortified. He was so terrified, he felt so horrible. So all of a sudden, Johnny got on stage – and Johnny could hardly stand up – grabbed a guitar, and he started playing, and he did this, like, Chuck Berry thing, a medley. And soon as he finished one song he’d go into the next one, and he forced Levi to sing along with him, and he forced the band to keep playing and it went for, like, twenty minutes solid. And the audience, of course, by then was going completely crazy, cheering and screaming. When they came off and were back in the dressing room, Levi said, “Oh, Johnny, thank you, thank you. You saved the show. I was horrified.” Johnny said, “I just did it to teach you one thing: it’s impossible to make a fool of yourself on stage.” It was great. We loved him for that. Levi still adores him.

FF: That is a wonderful story.
Leee: Yeah, and it was so good of him. So by then, Levi was touring a lot. We did the whole tour with Wayne County – the Eddy and Sheena Tour – all over England and Scotland, and everywhere. A lot started to happen. It was then that Johnny and I mutually realized that I was better off working with Levi.

FF: Which person or persons have you enjoyed photographing the most?
Leee: Oh, Lord! Probably the most fun I’ve had taking pictures were (of) a lot of people you probably wouldn’t know. A lot of the early drag queens and everything. They’re all dead now, or old. And also I really enjoyed a series I started and will someday finish photographing people as – I don’t want to say my favorite movie star as much as the movie star they would have been if they had been a movie star, instead of whatever they are. And that’s when I did that Wayne County session of Wayne as Thedda Bara, that picture that’s up at Max’s.

FF: Oh, yeah. When I was in the Wayne County Fan Club, they sent me that one for Christmas.
Leee: Yeah? Great! And that picture of Cherry that’s up at Max’s is Cherry Vanilla as Clara Bow. And that was fun ‘cause we’d build whole sets and create characters, and it was really fun. Some day I’ll finish the series. Do Levi as Rudolph Valentino [Laughs].

FF: If you could photograph anyone you haven’t yet, who would it be?
Leee: Who are still alive? There are a lot of people I feel very –

FF: They don’t’ have to be alive now.
Leee: ‘Cause there are a lot of people I’m really sorry I missed. Great, classic people like Tallulah Bankhead, with brilliant faces. Even when she was old and ravaged – you know, she drank spirits of ammonia for eight years. She gave up booze during the war. She swore she would never drink another drop of booze as long as Hitler was in Europe, and so she drank spirits of ammonia instead.

FF: I would imagine that wouldn’t do very much for your skin.
Leee: Right, so she was real ravaged by the time she finally died, but still amazing. I’d love to have done her. Of people that are around now, I wonder who would be really good. I can’t think. Old people still, I think. The real classics, like Estelle Winwood and James Cagney, and people like that. I’d be astounded just to be in their presence. And would like to photograph them. Other than that, probably my next favorite sort of people to photograph are completely unknown. You know, really young kids, because you can do anything with them because they’re excited at being photographed. People like Robert Redford or something; think of how many times he’s been photographed. What more can he do? But you get somebody like – another one of my favorites was a Debbie Harry session I did, you know, when she was just starting, and I don’t know if it was the very first time, but it was one of the first times she had ever been in a real studio with full lights and, you know, seamless paper backdrop, and the whole thing, so she just went bananas. She was wonderful to photograph ‘cause she was living her fantasy.

FF: Like Cinderella. \

THE NEW YORK DOLLS: Trash on the Dolls

Text by Alan Abramowitz as told by Michelle Piza; introduction by Alan Abramowitz
Introductory comment (italics) by Robert Barry Francos
Images from the Internet
© 1981, FFanzeen; introductory comments © 2010, RBF

The following was put together for FFanzeen No. 7 in 1981, by Alan Abramowitz, with memories by Michelle Piza, who was Jerry Nolan’s girlfriend throughout the New York Dolls years. The graphics that were used in the original piece was chock full of rare photos (such as Michelle and Jerry in Halloween costumes) and flyers. There is a picture of Michelle in a famous Vanity Fair magazine piece (on the right) where the caption reads, “an unidentified friend.” That was Michelle, folks. Each of the paragraphs represents a different memory. Yes, some of what is said is now well known thanks to numerous band biographies, but when this was published, it was pretty new to those who were not insiders. Personally, I wish Michelle would just write a memoir on those years, but that’s me. Michelle is an acquaintance of mine, and I am thankful to say that, as she has one of the best laughs I know. For a while during the ‘80s, she was doing interviews for Alan’s cable access show, Videowave.

I had the good fortune to see the Dolls twice: one at the opening night of the club On the Rocks in November 1976 (post-Johnny and Jerry), and once a special show at Tower Records when they reformed in 2006. – RBF

Alan Abramowitz introduction:
To this date, it is questionable who is the most influential band to today’s rock’n’roll / New Wave nee punk scene. Some say Iggy or Bowie or even the Beatles. Well, they were all influential to the New York Dolls, but what the Dolls have passed along has over-shadowed all that went before them. No, I’m not saying they are another Iggy or Bowie or even another Beatles; what I am saying is what they presented as their music was seven years ahead of their time, and what they represented just started to come into fashion in 1975.

They hit the tail end of the glitter era and tried in vain to latch on, hence their outrageous makeup on the cover of their first album, The New York Dolls. They joined the movement in its death-throngs and as it died, the Dolls slowly died with it. As a group. But as a force, the Dolls are more powerful now than when they were performing at Max’s, Club 82 or Mothers. What they represented was the fresh breath to the stale sound of 1971 rock’n’roll.

Much as been written over the years about the New York Dolls in almost every paper across the nation. To print it again may prove to be repetitious, but for those who weren’t around at that point of time, or have not read that information when it was around, it is a necessary, and yes, still vital story. An outlined history of the New York Dolls follows.

Michelle Piza:
Guitarist Sylvain Sylvain always wanted to be in a band called “the Dolls.” This was a dream / idea he had confided to his good friend, drummer Billy Mercier. Returning from a European vacation, Syl found that Billy had formed a band with bassist Arthur Kane and guitarist Johnny Thunders, and called themselves The New York Dolls. Syl joined and later came David Johansen as lead singer. They practiced in old store fronts and by playing Lower East Side loft parties. Later on came gigs at the Hotel Diplomat and the Mercer Arts Center, these two being places where they could practice their live act and gain a following.

An immense cult following grew and spread by word-of-mouth, and with extra help of mini-ads they placed in the Village Voice. At least an ad a week appeared in 1972 and attracted a curious audience who were looking for more than what was available at the time, such as concerts by heavy metal bands as the Grateful Dead, etc. This was a time of much stagnation and wide-open room for transition.

Being eye-catching and very fashion conscious was part of the Dolls’ mystique. It was also a vulnerable target for idle criticism and misconceived ideas about their sexual preferences. This was emphasized to some degree by the natural audience they were attracting and more strongly by the first album cover photo showing them in extreme hair and make-up styles. The cover was just an extension of their own campy style taken one step further, but solely created by make-up artists and hair-dressers on the assignment of the album cover shot. The idea was conceived, shot, and sold in one single session – and later confused the masses. They were actually believed to be “fags in drag.”

1973 saw the passing of Billy Mercier by accidental death by choking. By this time, having toured England, the band had developed the artful sophistication of live performing. Press coverage had become widespread. Taking time out to recoup and gain forces, they replaced Billy with drummer Jerry Nolan. Jerry had been a great fan of the band and possessed the natural rock’n’roll feel to fit in and accent the band. Getting back on track, they were soon to be coined the “Most popular unrecorded rock band” by nearly every rock’n’roll tabloid. They were also commonly termed “punks.”

In the song “Pills,” with the phrase “Give me a shot,” David Johansen pantomimed the act of giving himself an injection, spontaneously followed by the audience. In another crowd pleaser, “Great Big Kiss,” the Dolls parodied the Shangri-Las. David asked the question, “Gee, what color are her eyes?” and Johnny answered coyly, “I dunno, she’s always wearing shades” …”Well, how duz she dance?” “Close; very, very close.” … Then together they would sing, “When I see her in the street / My heart takes a leap / It’s gonna skip a beat / I’m gonna walk right up to her / And give her a great big kiss / Mmmmmwwaaa” (later, Johnny would incorporate the same song into the Heartbreakers, exchanging the questions with Walter Lure). David would throw a tremendous kiss and gays looking for a real life characterization of Corporal Klinger from M.A.S.H., in beard and full drag, could be seen throwing back kisses to David. [Note: there is a typo in the last sentence in the original article with some words obviously missing – RBF, 2010]

The first album was a moderate success, doing well among devout Dolls fans, but failing to attract more than a novel interest. At this early time, it could not make the crossover by bringing rock’n’roll to Top-Forty and win the MOR audience. As a result, they lost key momentum and most needed creative energy. Disappointed with the outcome of the album’s production by Todd Rundgren, they picked Shadow Morton to handle the second album [Too Much, Too Soon], thinking that his ‘50s background would save them. Unfortunately, it didn’t, and they were dropped by their label, Phonogram.

They were filmed by Ralph Bakshi with the intent to animate them into a rock’n’roll movie, but [instead] he went on to do Fritz the Cat, Wizards and American Pop.

The ‘50s and early ‘60s had a lot to do with influencing the Dolls’ music and fashion. Everything from Buddy Holly, Eddie Cochran on up to the Shangri-Las were an inspiration. One of their main goals was to reflect the early rock’n’roll purity into the future, and somehow integrate all that came in-between for a modern individuality.

They were now packing the larger back room of the Mercer to capacity. Faithful fans were frenzied, knowing all the words to the songs, singing along with gestures mirrored back to the band with peak energy and enthusiasm. One art form nurturing another. The Dolls were campy, crazy, exciting and different, and the audience complimented their style. They were the ideal fantasy rock’n’roll band – dressed to kill and dying to play the night away. Their energy was at its peak at this point. David Bowie was known to have said the Dolls were his real life “Spiders from Mars.”

The Dolls, at the height of their stardom, attracted a cult of L.A. Lolitas (groupies) who frequented the Rodney Bingenheimer Club. The queen of the cult was sultry blonde Sable Starr, who, no more than 15 years old, set her sights on Johnny Thunders. Her fantasy was fulfilled when they landed in L.A., and she became Johnny’s girlfriend. This led to other problems, such as outrageous demands that she be flown to gigs on the spur of the moment anywhere in the world or he would not play, expensive airfare inconsequential. It was times like these Johnny was set straight by the famous left hook of drummer Jerry Nolan on mutual consent of the rest of the band.

On tour in a remote part of Europe, drug-induced strains at one point caused Johnny to imagine that there were “snipers out there.” A very creative man, and very demanding, his image on stage could well be jerky, but compared to the beautiful romp of a wild pony.

Each member actually had their unique style of dressing before ever becoming a band. For instance, Syl used to walk around Greenwich Village in make-up, sort of how he looked as a Doll; the clown-like pouty look, which was a fashion then. Johnny was always a flagrantly wild dresser and loved to use eyeliner and Keith Richard hairstyle. When they became a band, they shared the art of thrift shop hopping for a chic look at a reasonable price. They were also known to accessorize with charms, such as rabbit feet, dice, World War II memorabilia (i.e., swastikas), and ‘60s nostalgia. Leopard jersey stretch pants, plenty of spandex, pink, turquoise and red thick marshmallow belts, cowboy gear, motorcycle jackets, and wild color matches were also typical Dolls fashion.

The Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf Astoria was the setting for the Halloween Costume Ball, one of the Doll’s most memorable performances. The crowd was wild, being a cross between just wild and crazy-looking and total transvestite. Naked people in nothing but gold and silver skin paint, people in clear plastic or cellophane and anything you could fathom in feathers attended. It was the first and only rock performance of its kind to be held there. The management swore they would never hold another rock’n’roll event in the hotel.

At the Waldorf gig, the Dolls went on their customary three hours late, mostly because David took his time about getting into his white tie, top hat and tails. His light brown locks had to be perfectly coiffed before he could set foot on stage and the necessary socializing had to take place in the reserved suites the guys shared to dress and entertain their guests. They were introduced on stage by a little boy dressed in matching tails to David. The same little boy posed with them in the Gem Spa photo on the back of their first album cover. His name was Shoo Be Doo; he died soon after in a fire.

To see the Dolls live at one of their favorite places, like the Mercer Arts Center, Hotel Diplomat, or Max’s Kansas City, was much more than a trip to a club – it was an invitation to a party.

On their second European tour with Jerry Nolan, they acquired two dotting fans: Malcolm McLaren and cohort Vivian Westwood. These two were such wild dressers they hardly went unnoticed. They loved the Dolls and followed them to Paris. At a gig there, the crowd grew so wild and frenzied that fist fighting and vulgar spitting on them caused them to leave the stage before finishing the show. The roadies were left to fist-fight the audience.

Malcolm McLaren became the Dolls’ manager. By this time in 1976, Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan were tired of the Dolls. McLaren had given them a red leather / communist look. Again, the Dolls were misinterpreted, as they were when they were in drag. Arthur Kane, burnt out and an alcoholic, couldn’t play bass any longer. He was replaced by Peter Jordan, who was never considered a Doll. When Johnny and Jerry quit, Tony Machine filled in on drums. The band evolved into a David Johansen back-up, but he couldn’t hold it on his own without the multi-creative Johnny and Jerry behind him.

Great site: www.fromthearchives.com/nyd/chronology.html

GET WET, Wild and Wonderful

Text and photos by Robert Barry Francos; interview by RBF and Alan Abramowitz
Interview text © FFanzeen; Photos © RBF; cover sleeve image from the Internet

The following article originally appeared in FFanzeen Number 5, which was issued in 1980. The intro and outro text is from 2009.

I do not believe it would be accurate to say that I had a crush on Sherri Beachfront, the lead singer of the group Get Wet, but I will admit that I thought she was an amazing and exotic looking woman. In the times I saw the band play, I don’t think I’ve ever taken a picture of her that was factual enough to capture her looks. In fact, I’ve never seen any photo that did that honor.

Alan Abramowitz joined me the first time I saw the band, at a co-gig with Brenda Bergman, a shared bill these friends would often partake. And frequently, Alan and I would be in the audience.

It was the music that kept us coming back, though. Get Wet’s songs, written by co-member Zecca Esquibel, had a strong pop backdrop with a mixture of Motown and Connie Francis, if one can picture that. Their songs ranged from happy (“Lucky You”) to sad (“Lonely”) to downright desperate (“Morton Street”), to a powerhouse encore of Sherri in crinoline doing a cover of “Where The Boys Are.” Sherri could belt out a number that could be felt on a Richter scale.

Alan and I interviewed Sherri and Zecca at their apartment in the West Village, before we all headed out to the opening night party at the Ritz on 11 Street, which became known as Webster Hall.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
GET WET, Wild and Wonderful (Issue 5, August-September 1980)
By Alan Abramowitz and RBF; original intro by AEA (not included here)

FFanzeen: Zecca, what’s your history – before you were a member of Cherry Vanilla’s back-up group a few years back, the Staten Island Band?

Zecca: That’s a long story. I played piano as a kid. I did a lot of piano competitions ... and always with a sharkskin suit.

FF: Was this in America?

Zecca: This was in the States. I came to the States [from Brazil – ed.] when I was seven. And when I was 14, I just OD’d on this classical piano trip and left home, hitchhiked to New York a few years later, goofed around ... I joined a band called the Jimmy Castor Bunch. I was very unhappy with that. And a friend of mine said Cherry Vanilla needed a piano player that played rock’n’roll. I didn’t know what their kind of rock’n’roll was about, so I went to the audition and just faked what I could remember hearing off their record.

FF: How did you eventually evolve into Get Wet?

Zecca: Well, the Staten Island Band dissolved only a month after I joined, so it was just me and Cherry. There was nobody else. We lost all our musicians. I think they’d all gone to [David] Johansen. So we had a howling gig up in the mountains and we had three days to come up with a band. We picked up Manny Mancuso, Jay Napp – who is now with the Boyfriends – Louis Lapore and, in three days, we had a band. From that we fragmented even further. Me, Cherry, and Louis were from New York and eventually met Howie Finkel. And out of that band, we have Howie Finkel on bass and Manny Mancuso on drums. The first three out of the five members of the Cherry Vanilla Band that’s on the first album [Bad Girl on RCA, 1978 – ed.] formed Get Wet.

FF: Sherri, what’s your rock’n’roll history?

Sherri Beachfront: My rock’n’roll history is very small. I was just singing backup in two groups for three months in, unfortunately, what was a real job gig. That’s where I met Zecca and that was my first rock’n’roll stage scene. First time, I was in Max’s Kansas City. I had taken vocal training before that and stopped, and that’s it. And I had a job singing on a tape. I invited [Zecca] to the studio because he thought I could only sing backup vocals. “I could do it; really, I can sing, I can sing.” So I invited him down to Electric Ladyland to [let him hear me] tape for certain producers and lead vocals for what, ten hours?

Zecca: Eight hours.

Sherri: Yeah, one song for eight hours, and finally we finished. And Zecca walked out and said, “Yeah, you can sing – you can sing real shitty songs real good.” And then we decided that we have something worth it because I knew we did. I didn’t believe it took so much work. After that, he spent Labor Day weekend writing tunes for Get Wet, but that time it was for my voice. Get Wet wasn’t even a name yet or anything. It was just, “Play tunes for Sherri and what I had in mind for Sherri,” and he saw me getting my vocals out the same way I do. He saw I always wore gloves and had a lot of physical gestures on stage.

FF: How did you finally get around to picking the name Get Wet?

Sherri: We’d finally decided that after a week or something. We didn’t have a real concept or visual or anything, so we just tried to figure out a way something would relate to the group as much as we could discover, and what we discovered was that we were drenched (with sweat). We were really very wet. So we said, “Wet.” Then we said “Get Wet” so we might have the audience participate with the band – and it was final.

FF: I see advertisements all over the place for Wet magazine that reads, “Get Wet.” Has anything erupted from that?

Sherri: They were a little irritated with us. They got in touch with Interview magazine, and they gave them our phone number. The first phone call wasn’t all that irritated; it was just “We know you’re alive.” The posters uptown were getting scratched (by our fans) ... “Magazine” was being scratched out. They got in touch with us and we met each other. Then we did posters (for a club), but our “W” was the same as the magazine’s “W” and we got another phone call from them telling us not to use that “W” anymore. We told them it wasn’t our idea; it was the club’s.

FF: You seem to be very influenced by rhythm and blues, sixties rock, and the Motown sound.

Zecca: Well, I grew up in Washington, DC, and that is a predominantly black city. To be white in Washington meant one of two things: you live in the affluent corridor from Georgetown Northwest – that slice of Washington – or you were a white in a black neighborhood. I grew up sneaking in the back of places like the Howard Theatre and the Loew’s Palace Theatre to see eight soul bands back-to-back in a soul show. And that was the music I fell in love with. Gladys Knight, the Temps, etc. All those kinds of bands and a lot of times, six, seven, or eight (bands) in one night. A Soul Spectacular. The first record I remember hearing was “Baby Love.” I heard a neighbor play it. Now, that’s not that far back. It’s just that until that time I listened to nothing but classical music, so I didn’t hear too much of anything else besides that, unless I snuck out of the house and went somewhere.

FF: How have you incorporated that into what you do today? Do you have any trouble getting a transition going?

Zecca: No, I remember hanging around with Bruce Foxton from the Jam, and he was talking about what the Jam were doing, about getting back to the roots of the music; that that was the most important thing. They loved to play that kind of pop music. I couldn’t understand why his kind of roots didn’t make any sense to me. Then I realized that his roots were totally different. I didn’t grow up on the Who; I grew up on Otis Redding and James Brown. So the minute I realized that, everything was easy, everything snapped right. It was a natural groove. It was not, “How come my group sounded different from everyone else”; this was the natural groove where I belong.

FF: Have you ever seen The TAMI Show?

Sherri: What is it?

FF: It’s a film of, like, great rock’n’roll groups in 1965: the Dave Clark 5, the Rolling Stones, Barbarians, Jan and Dean, the Supremes, James Brown – the best I’ve ever seen him. He throws himself on the floor and fights with the Flames (his backup group) to keep possession of the stage. They play it at Max’s between sets. They show the same clip all the time of the Supremes singing “Baby Love,” and it’s a little off-sync.

Zecca: You mean that clip that they’re showing at Max’s is from The TAMI Show? We were tuning up while they were playing it. Behind the curtain, we wanted to really see this. We couldn’t go out and watch because we were busy backstage. That whole kind of show is ... the word “show” is weird because in the punk bible it could almost sound like an insult. “It’s not real, man. You’re putting on a show. A show is not real.” But those are some of the most realistic theater experiences I ever saw as a child – watching the show of James Brown singing a ballad; singing, “It’s A Man’s World.” The guy really reached inside himself in some incredible way that was not cheapened by the fact that he did it the best he could.

FF: What gave you the idea of doing “Where The Boys Are” as a finale?

Sherri: I just started singing it one day and he said do it.

FF: Everybody goes crazy when you do it.

Sherri: It still shocks me when they do this. Either they think it’s a new song that’s really good or it’s trippy because nobody’s done it but Connie. It’s a beautiful song. The first line in that song really grabs you.

FF: I knew the set was over when you did that.

Sherri: It’s good for a closing ... I like it; it’s a real sum-up of the show.

FF: What impressed me is “Which Window.” The chorus has a great hook that, two or three days after hearing it, you catch yourself singing it.

Sherri: That’s the one that seemed to go over well on WPIX-FM. When they played (our demo) tape, we got a phone call to play “Which Window” again.

Zecca: That’s what a pop tune should be.

Sherri: Ya know, the first time I sang it like if I had to sing with the notes I’d fall apart. All I did was pretend I was in a movie. That was the first way I could get myself into it. It’s a very emotional song. And I used myself as a vehicle for the song. Because it as a weird song, all the hard rockers were there and I was afraid for my neck what would happen to me.

FF: People are opening up. It’s not like, “Gonna kill, gonna kill.” Now that’s settled down a little and people are getting more to the pop side of things. And songs like “Where The Boys Are” are starting to catch on. And people are dancing again.

Sherri: Seems like there’s an obvious change going on here. It’s like disco broke New Wave in. It was just a passageway to what we have now. Like when Get Wet gets a break, we don’t have to do anything that’s disco-related. We’ll be accepted as rock’n’roll you can dance to. We won’t have to do a disco-beat song in order to get a good deal or to get a popular record like “Which Window.” It certainly is good to get ahead in rock’n’roll, but we won’t settle for something out of the disco crowd.

FF: It’s a bigger catch-song than “My Sharona,” which is not meant to insult you.

Zecca: It’s a funny thing. Someone yelled at me when we were playing at the Meadowbrook. This guy was decked out like 1977 and he leaned over the railing, all in black – really punked out – and made a face using a beer can, and I thought, he must have seen this in a movie. And he’s yelling, “Your ears are governed by the charts.” And I was thinking, so are Paul McCartney’s. Charts are a totally irrelevant thing. Your ears ... you hear what makes you happy. When I started writing these tunes we decided we’d risk making the music we really like, no matter what anybody said about it. And it was weird to get the most negative reaction from the most negative people.

Sherri: To our music?

Zecca: Yeah.

Sherri: We didn’t get a bad reaction.

Zecca: No, the first night we played, no.

Sherri: Max’s, we had a great reaction.

Zecca: It’s weird to know that there’s this whole system that preaches belief in negativity. When something positive comes around it can’t give it enough freedom to exist, because being negative is hip: “positiveness should be stamped out.” I noticed that at a lot of places.

FF: Have you had any trouble in the places you’ve played?

Sherri: The only place is the New York Connection; we were three months old and punk was so popular that there was no way you could do anything but that. But Max’s always loved us. The only time Max’s was bad to us was this last time – we had three really shitty ... punks. Shootin’ up dope in the bathroom. With some slob of a girl who comes over to me and says, “This isn’t music, your show sucks,” so I squirted her in the face with my squirt gun [laughter]. She threw her scotch on me and I told the bouncer that I didn’t want her near the stage, but that was the only time I got a bad reaction in a club. And then there are just people that like to make noise ... Jordache punks/drunks. There are people that like to make noise about everything – sort of frustrated souls.

Zecca: And we’re going to continue doing the positive music because it’s what everyone needs.

FF: Do you feel that having a woman fronting the band really changes its appeal?

Sherri: You mean as an asset? Well, this is a very anxiety filled lot because Blondie broke it for women in rock’n’roll. Then you have solo artist like Ellen Foley, Pat Benetar ... and the Pretenders. I love Chrissie Hynde because she’s female and a total musician and I really respect that. And for me, I want to be a member of the band. I don’t want to come out as Debbie Harry and get a little upset at the thought of, “There I am a female singer who doesn’t play any instrument,” but my roots and my feeling is to act – I perform my songs. I don’t just use my voice, I use my heart and I use my vision as a total instrument and, of course, there’s a lot of focus on me, but I still want to be a person in a band. I wanna be Get Wet; I just don’t want to be Sherri Beachfront. I got plenty of time for Sherri Beachfront.

Zecca: I don’t think it’s much of a turn-on to be on stage with musicians who are so far behind you that they deserve to be your backup musicians. It’s much more of a turn-on to know that the people on stage with you are your equals.

Sherri: It took so many years that I wanted to do this. I wanted to be a singer and I went through musicians and musical directors. I didn’t have this kind of relationship with (Zecca) – not that he was my boyfriend – on a musical level. There was reason to work with him because we had the same tastes, which is very hard to find. We have the same ability to communicate, intellectually and musically. We have a very good musical marriage.

FF: Any offers to sign with a label?

Zecca: Yeah, we got a couple of offers. I don’t know what to say about that.

FF: Would you rather sing or have your own independent label?

Zecca: We thought about it, but not too seriously.

Sherri: It seems so unfeasible.

Zecca: We’re still worried about fixing notes on the piano. It’s kind of absurd to think about scraping together enough money to put out a single. So basically, we’re looking towards the big record labels.

Sherri: We have been going to managers and checking out all sorts of leads. We’ve been giving out our tapes like crazy.

Zecca: We’re looking for managers more than anything else at the moment. We’re looking for that fifth Beatle; that team member who’s going to feel like a team member. It’s very important to do it on vibes that rate as well as every other one. To really find someone that you feel is your buddy, is in your team with you and is not somebody strapped on just to help smooth out some rough places. He’s going to be another one of us. And we’re looking for that person.

FF: Do you want people to dance to your music or listen to it?

Sherri: Dance! We want them to be part of it. That’s why we’re called Get Wet; it’s an action.

FF: How do you feel about playing at places where people can’t dance?

Zecca: When I was a kid, the best thing I could say about a band was that I didn’t sit down all night. That was the most exciting thing. The minute that guy in the wings was coming out from behind and when that band or that act or that man or woman hit that stage, I was up there standing and dancing all night. That was the highest point, the best thing that could happen. That’s what I dream of, too. Putting a band together that, the minute we walk out, everyone’s dancing. And then when we leave they want more.

FF: Is there any one band now that you like a lot?

Zecca: We used to see Brenda Bergman a lot. We’d be dancing all night to that. The last time we saw her was at the Mudd Club. She’s got both a Motown and pop song beat at the same time. Irresistibly delicious.

FF: She used to work for the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Sherri: I can’t imagine that. I can just see her posing in one of the cases in the fifties section doing cheesecake.

Zecca: Calendar pix.

FF: What’s your message, quote-unquote?

Sherri: Death to negativity.

Zecca: Yeah, death to negativity.

FF: Yeah, I think that a good ending. And besides, it’s five to nine and the show starts at ten.
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They finally did get a record deal with Boardwalk Records and put out their one and only eponymously titled album. It did not succeed, mainly because it did not present an accurate picture of the band’s sound. As with the Nervus Rex album, the production on the Get Wet release, produced by Phil Ramone, was in high-gloss form (as was the modus operandi of the larger record companies caught between the disco and Brit synth-pop periods), stealing whatever energy, roughness, and spark made the band unique. There was still some power left in “Morton Street,” but most of the other songs, including the showstopper, “Where the Boys Are” and “Which Window?” were left limp through no fault of the artists. The record got lost in the glut of the major’s vision of the New Wave zeitgeist, which was actually tied more to the wallet than the music.

Sherri and Zecca are divorced now, with Zecca involved in a same-sex relationship, and Sherri an AIDS activist on the West Coast.

Meanwhile, thanks to singer/chanteuse Kathy Zimmer, I have managed to hoop up again with Zecca, and thereby Sherri. Here is what Zecca recently “Facebook’d” me, in part, in a manner to catch up:

“I was just in D.C. with my lover Tom Smith, for the HUGE National Equality March where, coincidentally, Sherri was the MC for the Fight AIDS Rally on the Ellipse in front of the White House! 48 hours earlier, my Tom held a press conference on the steps of Brooklyn Borough Hall with Borough President Marty Markowitz, re. Tom's founding of the multi-million dollar Brooklyn LGBT Community Center (like the one on 13th street in Manhattan). Can I pick 'em or what?! Meanwhile, after five years touring with Garland Jeffreys (ending 2007), I've basically left the rock stage for the theater. I was just in San Fran. with John Kelly and have a show coming up at the Gershwin Hotel with Hattie Hathaway on Nov. 10th. My life now is as a music director for radical nightclub and the kind of theater that, in the ‘60s, would have been called "avant-garde", so I don't work on original CDs.”