January 15, 2021, by Tosh Berman

 

January 15, 2021

As a child of the 1960s, I was raised by The Rolling Stones' sounds, but they didn't roll my stone in the 1970s. A new band came upon me from New York, called innocently enough The New York Dolls. What I look for in an artist or band is the music, but I need their visuals, and even more important, their sense of culture. The Dolls, for me, brought early black rock n' roll (or rhythm n' blues), cabaret theater, cross-dressing, no-gender preference, and brilliant observational songs. The center of the world for The Dolls is New York City. There are thousands of stories in New York, but The New York Dolls focus on a fraction of the town that never sleeps as they turn into a pre-punk Damon Runyon of the early 1970s. 

I came upon them in an article in the New Musical Express in 1972. It was an interview, and at the time, no music was recorded. Still, the small photograph of them in the paper with the article intrigued me. They mentioned they like the early Kinks and the blues. The one picture of them dressed in what I thought was girl clothes made me a fan. Over the months, I read reviews of their live show in The Village Voice, and again, I thought of New York on the same level as the Land of Oz. Also, The Dolls represented technicolor in a very black and white city landscape. They stood out in all of their street portraits against the landscape of the Big Apple. 

When I bought their album in 1973, I was struck by the band's Dead End Kids' imagery. They were the Bowery Boys but dressed more outrageously.  The Todd Rundgren produced album sounded raw at the time. I have to admire Rundgren for not messing with their music or sound, just gave it a sonic platform for them to do their magic. I was totally seduced by the sound and vision. Within that album, I lived in their world, and David Johansen, with the generous assistance of the late Johnny Thunders, Sylvain Sylvain, Arthur Kane, and their second (at the time) magnificent drummer Jerry Nolan. The Dolls were indeed a band, with one voice, filtered through the lyrics (mostly) by Johansen.  I have read that he was influenced by Ray Davies's talent for observational songs. David had the ability to articulate the world in front of him with joy, desire, and biting wit.  

Their second album, "In Too Much Too Soon," produced by the legendary Shadow Morton, the philosopher behind The Shangri-Las and The Vanilla Fudge, added a sense of drama to the cocktail mix supplied by the Dolls.  The production sound is eccentric compared to Todd's work with the first album, and that's perfectly fine. The brilliance of "Human Being," "Babylon," "Who Are The Mystery Girls?" and their superb version of "(There's Gonna Be A ) Showdown"  imagines the taste of the egg creams and pizza off the streets of Manhattan. 

When I think of Rock n' Roll, the definition or not n that goes with that phrase has to be The New York Dolls. The original lineup made only two albums and some live material (that, of course, is essential). Still, the magic that they made together as a team is a remarkable and beautiful thing. It's tragic that young men like Billy Doll, Thunders, Kane, Nolan, and the very recent passing of Sylvain Sylvain, leave the planet at any age in these horrific times that is the 20th and 21st-century.  As long as their music exists, as well as photos and video documentation, I'm a happy man. 

February 3, 2014

February 3, 2014

I was at home listening to Felix Mendelssohn’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream.” when I got a phone call from Violet Shenton, who owns the building that Joe’s studio is in. It seems she was upset, and if she’s upset about anything, then it is pretty serious. I got here as soon as possible, and one can feel the mood of the place just by walking in. Violet met me at the door, and asked me to have a few words with Joe who seemed to be in one of his moods again.


Joe is probably the most intelligent man I know. He was the first guy to really introduce me to the writings of Gertrude Stein and had a crazy love for Carl Theodor Dreyer films. For a guy who looked just like he walked off the canvas of a Norman Rockwell painting, he had a lot of deep inner demons.

I went upstairs to his apartment, I knocked, and found myself facing a rifle barrow. I saw him and said “Joe, I presume!” He laughed and faced the rifle down, and invited me into the apartment. He said to take a seat on the couch, which was covered with empty reel-to-reel tape boxes. I removed a pile of the boxes to sit down, meanwhile he took his seat which was a rocking chair. He placed the rifle on his lap, and asked me what I was reading. I told him that I have been obsessing over Paul Auster’s work in general. Both of us were early fans, but lately we been having trouble getting into his new work. The drag for us, was that there were no major changes and one gets the impression that they are reading the same book over and over again. “Ain’t that the truth” he said to me. I just nodded my head yes, while thinking about that rifle on his lap.

“Joe when we get into our arguments about writers and painters, it would be great if you can place the rifle somewhere else besides your lap.” He stared at me for like 30 seconds and his face broke into a smile. “Well it can finalize our disagreements Tosh.” 

I didn’t like how this conversation was turning into an alley with no exit. “Joe, have you heard the rumors of Kenneth Anger working with Melanie Safka? Many evenings ago, I remembered Joe setting up a really funky old 16mm projector to screen Anger’s “Scorpio Rising.” He was obsessing about the soundtrack and he felt at the time that Anger was using music in a new way to tell a narrative or bringing out a mood. It always struck me odd that Joe and Anger never got together to work on a project. They both had an interest in the Magik world, and I can’t speak for Anger, but Joe had an obsession with the after-life. Often he would force me to take part in a seance and have a discussion with Buddy Holly. I rather talk to Arthur Kane, but never brought up that subject with him because of his utter devotion to Buddy. I brought up Anger’s name due to the rumors that he was about do do a film-bio on the gangster Pretty Boy Floyd, and he either wanted Melanie to do the soundtrack or star in it.

As we were chatting back and forth, he suddenly put the rifle down, got up from his chair, and asked me if I wanted some tea. “Actually Joe, I have to split.” 

He said “are you sure? I can ask Violet to put the kettle on.”

“Nah, but thanks Joe. ”

I got up and walked over to him, and gave him a hug, and as I was hugging him I whispered in his ear “A rose is a rose is a rose.” He laughed and kissed me on both cheeks. That was the last time I saw him.