But nothing so good can last forever. Around 1978 punk was getting trendy, and jet-setters would fly into town, ask what was new and exciting, and be told: go to this weird club on the Bowery. So they flocked to CBGB’s. We had some fun trying to freak out the jet-setters in their jewels and minks, half of whom would leave about 10 bars into the first song. But, following the law of supply and demand, door prices soared til they reached the stratospheric level of $10 (that’s probably over $20 in today’s inflated dollars). So capitalism doth make paupers of us all. The natural result was that the punx went elsewhere.
Mainly to Pete Crowley’s Max’s Kansas City, on Park Avenue South at 17th St., from ‘76 on a competitor and then a worthy successor to CBGB’s glory, it’s sound preserved on THE HEARTBREAKERS Live at Max’s LP. Bands played upstairs and ate at the restaurant downstairs. Other clubs proliferated when the punks stopped going to CB‘s; the celebrity-studded Mudd Club downtown, Hurrah’s uptown, Trax, Tier 3, Irving Plaza (where I saw THE BUZZCOCKS and the GANG OF FOUR together when both were largely unknown to New Yorkers); these places attracted a lot “new wave” trendies and rich kids to punk rock shows, but Max’s was the real punk hangout.
All these clubs were run to make money, and that is an existential dilemma of punx, who have none. In some ways, the best club of all at the end of the 70’s was Studio 10, run by the anarchist Yippies at 10 Bleeker Street, a pebble’s throw from CBGB’s. Admission was $3, the audience practically surrounded the stage, the Yips handed out free marijuana and sold Heineken for .50 a bottle, you could sleep over if you didn’t want to go back to Long Island at 4AM and best of all, a huge balcony was furnished with nothing but an enormous mattress, where you could fuck up a storm while watching a band play 20 feet away. Studio 10’s vinyl monument is on the 7” The Only Record in the World by Mykel Board’s original band ART, where you can hear the band getting booted off the stage in a moment of ironic triumph.
As Max’s and Studio 10 died and hardcore came in around 1981, salvation took the form of little club called A7, owned by Dave Gibson at the corner of Avenue A and East 7th St. A7 was originally a tiny after-hours bar which allowed punx (led by Stephen of the FALSE PROPHETS) to book all-ages, all-hours, 10 bands-for-$5 marathons and wasn’t out to make money off these shows. Most of the kids didn’t even drink! You could hang out there as long as you liked. The band ISM even recorded a song about it, “A7”. Alas, I can’t personally testify to A7’s legendary greatness, since I was in prison during the six months it was going in 1981.
There were problems, mainly fighting and bully-bouncers (the Hell’s Angels were brought in a couple times to restore a semblance of order). Hilly got less and less involved and turned on-site control of the matinees over to his ex-wife Karen (popularly known as The Witch) who specialized in prohibitions and gradually tightened the rules. This was largely in response to lawsuits by parents of injured kids.
By 1986, metal influences were strong, the drinking age had been raised to 21 and strict carding kept out anyone under 16, a girl would get thrown out for taking a bra off, the rent was soaring, beer was expensive, and money was ruling more and more. Several times Hilly ended the matinees because of the violence (most of it actually in front of the club rather than inside) only to resume a few months later. Eventually, even stage-diving was banned. But the end of the CB’s matinee came in November 1985, leaving numerous live recordings to posterity as well as a book, Roman Kozak’s This Ain’t No Disco: The Story of CBGB. It’s worth taking a look at the club today just to soak up the history and vibes of the place, and punx have found the next-door pizza bar to their liking, but punk shows there are few and far between these days, the most recent one being a cozy Xmas Day semi-party with the FALSE PROPHETS and IRON PROSTATE (and me reading “A Visit From St. Vicious”).
There were other clubs in the heyday of hardcore: Irving Plaza, looking like nothing so much as a high school gym, run by Polish war veterans; Danceteria; the old Peppermint Lounge (Sunday nite hardcore show with 3 bands for $5 at W. 45th St.); Great Gildersleeves, a big place adjacent to CB’s doing hardcore shows in ‘83-’84; Tin Pan Alley, a small bar at W. 52nd St., run by a radical lady named Maggie who use to subsidize experimental and politically radical bands, paying them a flat fee of $200 per nite and charging absolutely nothing to get in. Tin Pan was where, of you were lucky enough, to hear about it, you could go see the BUTTHOLE SURFERS play for 2 straight hours, all for free: Club policy was never to advertise. It’s closing in ‘88 was a major loss.
The old Rock Hotel on Jane Street near the Hudson River was the biggest of all the clubs, doing Saturday nite shows for 800 punx in a great setting, starting at $5 admission in 1984, bringing in the best of the touring bands and putting a bunch of headliners on a single bill, with dancing after the bands continuing to 5 or 6 am. Unfortunately, the owner Chris Williamson, was really a money-grubbing metalhead, so when the old joint closed he started renting out the Ritz and the World, becoming just another exploiter with storm troopers for bouncers; he feuded with the Alternative Press and Radio Council and eventually most punx wished him a speedy trip to hell. He’s still luring “punk” bands into doing $25 shows, alas. The only other large club going now is the Marquee, with shows every couple months or so in a decent venue.
PUNK POWER: ABC NO RIO
Now let me tell you about ABC No Rio, at 156 Rivington Street just above Delancey in the Hispanic Lower East Side. In the latter 80’s, Bob Z used to put on “punkture” shows there. I lived a couple of blocks away in ‘87 when I went to a show where 3 bands from punk’s art/ experimental/ noise wing were deliberately trying to clear out the audience. They were making progress in that direction but were still a ways from their goal when suddenly shots rang out; a disputed drug deal upstairs was the reason, but the sound of gunfire was certainly more effective than the punkture bands in emptying the club.
Well, ABC came back in late 1989 under the guidance of Mike Bullshit (now departed for Texas or Iowa), and is still going strong (as this is written in mid-July 92) as a punk-run club with Saturday matinees from around 4 to 8 pm, 3 or 4 bands for $5; all-ages, of course. Neil does the bookings, which vary greatly in quality. Upstairs is an art gallery where kids sell records and zines and Food Not Bombs sell food not bombs (usually cold pasta and brownies); a great conversation place. There’s a backyard with occasional bar-b-ques and an American flag pissing wall (feminists can complain til doomsday, but this target practice is one pleasure especially reserved for boys). Downstairs is where the bands play on a small pillar-infested stage. You can bring in your own beer and go nude if you want; it’s punk-run by an informal collective and has very few rules; no bottles inside or smoking downstairs, no fighting (almost never happens), no racist, sexist or homophobic bands. A great, friendly place. It’s main problem is that most of the bigger touring bands won’t play there since it’s too small to make much money, tho it’s tons of fun.
The artistic group which has charge of the space and lets us punx do our thing on Saturdays does other shit like poetry readings and art happenings on other days. For years they’ve been in a legal fight with the City of New York, which of course is trying to throw us out and turn the place over to the cobwebs. For all I know, by the time this is printed the place will have been closed. So check it out while you have a chance! To find out who’s playing there (and at any other venue in the New York metro area) just call (212) OPEC-SID at any hour. Glenn, my worthy successor as the voice of Sid, changes the 3 minute tape on Thursdays and Mondays. I’m trying to get a punk coffeehouse started there if the city doesn’t throw us all out.
And after ABC? Who knows; all I can say is that the punk energy continues and so far has always found another place to gather. On to Brooklyn?
