Saturday, October 14, 2006
Richard Hell and me. We're Like This!
Somewhere in the gloom of late teenage days, when all and every experience was glaumed for its immediate life-changing possibilities, I spent a night and an early morning at the now departed CBGB's. Or, at least I'm pretty sure I did. I recall walking into the club and it was dark. Outside. I remember walking out of the club and it was light. Outside. I don't recall what bands were playing. I strongly believe it was during a summer and am leaning toward 1976 or 1977. But, don't thrust a bible at me and expect me to swear on it. A lot of teenagey stuff was happening and that visit to CBGB's didn't stand out as a jewel, or even a semi-precious stone. We were all at an age where hypopraxia was impossible and getting by, consistently, on 4-5 hours sleep was always possible. We were up, but, I guess we weren't necessarily cognoscent.Richard Hell, writing an op piece in today's NYT, knows and adores CBGB quite well both as a performer there and as a fan. In his piece, "Rock "n" Roll High School", one particular passage struck me. In talking about some of the creativity and expolsion of talent there Mr. Hell (always wanted to write that at some point, Mr. Hell), recalls,"The thing is, we were young there. You don’t get that back. Even children know that. They don’t want their old stuff thrown away. Everything should be kept. I regret everything I’ve ever thrown away. ".
My ever-loving wife and I have been going through intense concversations lately...o.k., not lately, but like, well, forever, about Laws of Physics regarding the inability of the same things to be occupying the same space. In marriage, this is call the Law of Physical Displacement. One spouse will claim Newtonian phsyics to prove the impossibility of mutual space occupation by simialr objects. The other spouse will concoct some space-time continuum thesis that only a Neal Stephenson might appreciate. Anything to slow down, if not miraculouosly stop, the outflow of those items so dear to preserving one's memories of them. Now I have Mr. Hell to quote to the ever-loving wife.
"Dear,
Mr. Hell "regret(s) everything (he's) ever thrown away." And he's, well, famous!"
"Honey,
That's nice for him. Will you be next quoting advice from Keith Richards when you go to trim those tree branches tomorow?"
Guess I'll put on Destiny Street and play "The Kid With The Replaceable Head". Or maybe "Downtown At Dawn " ? Yeah, that might clear up the cobwebs and fire up those memory synapses; I will recall who played that night at CBGB's. Or at least an acceptable facsimile of that night.
Ans it sounds like there will alwys be Vegas, in a few years, when they restructure the icon out there. Possibly right next to the Eiffel Tower.
Comments:
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Yes, it is indeed difficult to discern which of one's collections will be appreciated by the surviving generation, and which will receive the snorts of derision as it they get carried to the post-funeral dumpster. So long as one doesn't fear, and can even embrace, derision, I think it's better to be safe than sorry.
As for CBGB, I thought The Onion "collected" the best comments on the subject of its closing, including:
"The music may be gone, but the historic stench of urine will permeate the site for generations to come."
As for CBGB, I thought The Onion "collected" the best comments on the subject of its closing, including:
"The music may be gone, but the historic stench of urine will permeate the site for generations to come."
That Onion commentary page is the gig I've been shooting for. Same 8-10 folks' pictures, with different professions attached to their pic. You click on the page and these "faces" get a little "gratuity" in their accounts. You could retire on the "clicks" within a year or so.
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