Vanishing New York by Jeremiah Moss (second read) The Fire This Time by James Baldwin Soccer Vs. The State by Gabriel Kuhn Ragtime by E.L. Doctrow Peter And The Wolves by Adele Bertei Like Dreamers by Yossi Klein What Unites Us by Dan Rather The Good Lord Bird by James McBride Football Against The Enemy by Simon Kuper Playing Bass With Three Hands by Will Carruthers I Hear Your Voice by Young-Ha Kim We Fight Fascists: The 43 Group And Their Forgotten Battle For Post-War Britain By Daniel Sonabend Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem The Revolutionary Ideas Of Karl Marx by Alex Callinicos So Many Roads by David Browne High-Rise by J. G. Ballard.
“So much of Didion’s writing is about the formless nature of our lives and the inability of ‘thinking’ to get us anyplace new. The way the days accrue without any inherent purpose, how the possibility for cruelty simmers under our intimate relationships. The gap between our archetypes and reality, the dreamy songs of true love and white dresses juxtaposed with the black eye. … There are no good guys, no heroes, and whatever meaning we find is entirely self-imposed. What to write in the face of that chaos? If trying to think herself out of it didn’t work, what else for Didion to do than pin down the world as she saw it, follow the images that have that internal urgency, what she called a ‘shimmer’? How else to make sense of a world without any intrinsic narrative, no teleological release?” -Emma Cline, Joan Didion's Specific Vision
“[Bed Stuy] is not changing. It’s already completely changed. I’m not a big fan of a lot of that. I feel like they’re erasing history. If you renovate apartments and if you have nicer stores that’s cool. But when you get rid of historic places or things that mean a lot to the people from there I think that’s wrong. I can’t take my kids back and show them certain things because they’re gone.” -Big Daddy Kane
“I worked last night slinging drinks to entitled douchebags, getting out of the bar at like 5am, so I woke up feeling like shit at around noon. Made myself a pot of Bustelo, turned on the TV to NY1, zoned out and thought about what I wanted for breakfast. Seeing as I was pretty hungover, I decided on Chinese from the spot up the block with the bulletproof glass. Walking back home I picked up the Daily News and a bottle of Manhattan Special (on Sundays I figure I deserve a treat). Back home to the couch to eat my food out of the carton and read the sports pages. Napped for a while. Woke up, counted my tips, and watched a western on TCM. I skipped lunch, napped some more, and ate what was left of my Chinese for dinner. I read the book I've been trying to finish for six months, showered, and crawled into bed... That's my Sunday Routine™." -bartender Marco Floyd, 47
We Fight Fascists: The 43 Group And Their Forgotten Battle For Post-War Britain (Verso) is the story of the Jewish World War II veterans (and their allies) who took to the streets to fight the resurgent fascist movement led by Oswald Mosley and others. This is a lovingly researched book (going back to pre-war UK), peppered with fantastic stories of espionage and violent direct action. Still a timely read, and a must for anyone who questions the use of violence against fascist scum. It's also interesting to note how The 43 Group were labeled as "political" (i.e. reds) as a way to tarnish and weaken their public support, when in fact their one unifying trait was being anti-fascist. (Sound familiar?) Also, who knew Vidal Sassoon was a total bad-ass?
Fare thee well to “the father of grass-roots organizing” educator, civil rights activist, and true American hero Bob Moses. May his memory be a blessing and an inspiration. Rest In Peace.
"To be happy in this world, especially when youth is past, it is necessary to feel oneself not merely an isolated individual whose day will soon be over, but part of the stream of life flowing on from the first germ to the remote and unknown future."
Words: Bertrand Russell from The Conquest of Happiness, 1930
It’s a massive historical oversight that 1969's Harlem Cultural Festival has never gotten its due... Until now. (The list of performers who played the multi-weekend fest is pretty mind-blowing: Nina Simone, B.B. King, Sly & The Family Stone, David Ruffin, Mongo Satamaria, Abbey Lincoln, Max Roach, The 5th Dimension, Gladys Knight & The Pips, Stevie Wonder, and Mahalia Jackson, to name a handful.)
Playing The Bass With Three Hands is one of the best new memoirs I’ve read in ages; Will Caruthers is a hell of a storyteller, his voice lifting off the pages and flowing into your mind's eye with crystalline clarity. His tale is dark, laugh out loud funny, insightful, inspirational, druggy, and brutally honest. It's also nearly impossible to put down.
There’s really no need to be a fan of any of Cartuthers’ bands to enjoy the book — though it’s a must-read for Spacemen 3 fans, if only for the brilliant and hysterical chapter on the Dreamweapon concert, aka “A Night Of Contemporary Sitar Music” — as it’s much more than just a look back at a “career” in music. Anyone who grew up in a go-nowhere town craving escape, be it via chemicals, music or otherwise, will be enthralled, as well as anyone who spent any time working a shit job (there’s one particularly horrifying chapter on that). The book also works as a perfect primer on the grim realities of how commerce corrupts art, and how unglamorous life on the road in a band on a limited budget can be.
If you’re of a certain age and grew up in NYC you know the thrill of seeing a fully painted train car pulling into the subway station. There’s nothing else like it. FUTURA 2000 was taking things to another level well before graffiti was in any way respected as true art — or commodified by companies looking for street-cred — rocking this classic top-to-bottom full-car back in 1980. He went on to do stellar work for The Clash and others, and produced the stone-classic Phillies Blunt shirts (with SHARP, if I’m not mistaken). To see a corporation which attempts to portray itself as a “street” brand ripping him off (and writing off his legacy), is disgraceful.
Spread the word: boycott The North Face and all affiliated brands (Vans, Supreme, etc.) until they do the right thing and pay the man. And fuck ‘em, boycott them after that too.
Tim Buckley season is here. This cut is taken from the newly issued archival release from Owsley "Bear" Stanley's vaults, and it's pretty damn glorious. I love that there's still sonic documents like this out there just waiting to be found and released.
"I cherish my memories of those first few days of freedom in NY [in 1943], especially my sense of liberation from not having to submit to any authority, and knowing that I could go anyplace and do anything at any time. One night I went to Washington Square and got drunk for the first time. I fell asleep on the sidewalk and nobody bothered me. It was ecstasy sleeping on the sidewalk realizing I had no commitment to anything or anyone." -Marlon Brando
•
Over the last few weeks the police have been clearing Washington Square Park of regular people for doing little more than enjoying the park as it was intended. A few blocks away in the East Village, the privelleged transplants (bros and woo woo girls) can act the drunken loud fool to their hearts' content.
Anyone who grew up in New York City, or is a student of the city's history, knows Washington Square Park has always been a destination, a cultural center, and a hub for activism (way back in 1834 the city's stonecutters rioted in the park in protest of NYU's use of prison labor). It is the people’s park.
Photograph: The Face Of The Village by Weegee, circa 1955
"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones..."
Fare thee well to Josep Eduardo Almudéver Mateu, the last known survivor of the International Brigades. Born in France to Spanish parents, Almudéver was only 16 years old when he lied about his age to join Spain's republican army during the outbreak of the Civil War; he was tossed out when after being wounded his real age was discovered. Not giving up on the fight against fascism, he joined the International Brigades with whom he proudly served until they were disbanded in 1938. He remained in Spain, but was imprisoned by Franco in 1939 and sent to a concentration camp where he was forced to watch his comrades be murdered one by one ("Never, in all my life, will I forget the screams of the people who were shot"). After spending years in various Spanish prisons, in 1944 he joined guerrilla forces to continue the fight against Franco, eventually going into exile in France. He returned to Spain in recent years, where in Valencia he was hailed as hero.
Josep Eduardo Almudéver Mateu passed away in France on May 23rd at age 101. The world lost a true hero, and an inspiration to all that continue to stand against fascist tyranny. Rest In Peace.
The first, very intimate live performance of "Abandoned Love," a song so perfect that the birthday boy tossed it aside.
"On a Thursday night in July 1975, I headed out to see Ramblin' Jack Elliott at [The Other End] in New York City. Because I wanted to learn his technique, I got there early enough to get a seat near the front so I could watch him play guitar. After the first set, a P.A. announcement told us we were welcome to stay for the second set if we honored the two-drink minimum. As the lights flashed on and I got up to leave, I glanced around the club and was stunned to see Bob Dylan seated toward the back with Jack, wearing the same striped tee shirt and leather jacket he had on in a photo with Patti Smith on the cover of the then-current Village Voice.
Naturally, I sat right back down. There was absolutely no way I was leaving at that point. Soon, others began to notice him, too, so Jack and Bob left their seats and went backstage. But when the engineer set up another microphone, we knew Bob was going to sit in. The electricity in the room was tangible as the club began filling up with more bodies. Finally, Jack came out and started his set. After a couple of songs, he began "With God on Our Side." After the first few lines, he turned his head toward the back of the stage and said, "Bob, you want to help me out on this?" The place went nuts as Dylan walked onstage. I can still see that shy look on his face as he nervously squinted out into the audience. He was so nervous, in fact, that he didn't notice that the capo on his guitar was crooked and buzzing badly.
Their first song was "Pretty Boy Floyd," with Bob singing harmony and his guitar buzzing right along. Then Jack started "How Long Blues." After the first verse, he looked at Bob in a way that seemed to ask him to sing a verse. Bob simply shook his head and mouthed something inaudible. When the song finished, however, Dylan began strumming his guitar. But since it was still buzzing, he asked Jack to trade instruments with him [this can be heard in the video at . At that moment, everyone in the room was in a trance; it's not every day one gets to hear an impromptu Bob Dylan performance in a tiny club. After a couple of lines, we realized he was performing a new song, with each line getting even better than the last. The song was "Abandoned Love," and it still is the most powerful performance I've ever heard.
Ramblin' Jack started strumming along in the beginning, but he soon realized the rarity of the moment and stopped and stepped to the side. As Bob sang, the nervousness so evident earlier vanished completely. He was so moving. There he was, hitting us with new material, with everyone hanging on his every word. It was an incredible feeling to be in that small club listening to Bob Dylan perform a new song. We all felt we were watching history in the making. After he finished, he returned to his seat near the back of the club and quietly watched the rest of the show. Jack appeared so speechless and overwhelmed by Dylan's performance that he started his next song with Bob's buzzing guitar.
Later, as we began filing out into the night onto Bleecker Street, we could see Bobby Dylan through the outside windows, leaning over his table and deep in conversation with someone, the candle in front of him highlighting his face. It's a moment I'll never forget."
"To approach a city, or even a city neighborhood, as if it were a larger architectural problem, capable of being given order by converting it into a disciplined work of art, is to make the mistake of attempting to substitute art for life. The results of such profound confusion between art and life are neither life nor art. They are taxidermy. In its place, taxidermy can be a useful and decent craft. However, it goes too far when the specimens put on display are exhibitions of dead, stuffed cities."
It blows my mind when bands record a song this fucking fantastic and decide to leave it off their album. Tough as nails, and the guitar solo from Jorma is simply scorching.
Two bands that are totally polarizing: the Grateful Dead and Steely Dan, both of which I've loved both since I was a little kid, and through all the stages of my life. I do understand why people don't dig 'em though: with Steely Dan the slickness is usually the turn-off, but the songs, playing, and especially the lyrics transcend the overly-polished production for me. In fact, the gloss of the recordings doesn't bother me in the least. With the Dead it's usually the fans and their often awkward dancing, extended jamming*, and a lot of false perceptions: lyrically the Dead are not really a "peace and love" band — tell me "Black Peter," "Wharf Rat" or "China Doll" isn't some seriously dark shit? (I do think a lot of people get off on saying that they hate the Dead without giving them a deep listen).
In my early DJing days I'd often spin "Cream Puff War" and without fail some garage-punk acolyte would eagerly ask me who it was. Their face inevitably changed to horror when I informed them.
* It baffles me when someone tells me that don't like the Dead due to the jamming, yet they're big jazz fans (particularly Coltrane or Miles Davis, both of whom happened to be a big influence on the Dead's vision of how far out music could be taken).
"But what is the philosophy of this generation? Not God is dead, that point was passed long ago. Perhaps it should be stated Death is God. This generation thinks – and this is its thought of thoughts – that nothing faithful, vulnerable, fragile can be durable or have any true power. Death waits for these things as a cement floor waits for a dropping light bulb. The brittle shell of glass loses its tiny vacuum with a burst, and that is that."
I'm very selective when it comes to free jazz — having a homebody roommate in the '90s who played Peter Brötzmann on what felt like a constant loop dimmed my appreciation — but I recently discovered this stunning D.I.Y. private press release* from 1969 and am truly blown away. There's a real balance between chaos and melody, played with passion by what sounds like a full group not a trio. And despite it being instrumental there's a real lyricism in the grooves.
The album was reissued in 2020, with a recent repress by Gotta Groove.
"The state can only be what it is, the defender of privilege and the exploitation of the masses, the creator of new classes and monopolies. Whoever does not know the role of the state does not grasp the essence of the current social order and is incapable of showing humanity the new horizons of its evolution."
Fare thee well to the great Yaphet Kotto. He had a long career with so many memorable roles, but the one that sticks with me was Al Giardello on Homicide: Life On The Streets, one of my all-time favorite TV shows. He also cut this fantastic 45 (produced by Hugh Masekela!) in 1967. Rest In Peace.
I don't know that there's a single invention that had more of an impact on my life and the directions it took than the cassette tape. And that's no exaggeration. My love for tapes started in the early '80s with live Dead shows passed on to me by older cats from uptown and my own recordings of DJ Red Alert and Marley Marl's weekend radio shows (as well as my endless quest to capture a complete "Hey Hey What Can I Do" off of WNEW), and the game-changing homemade hardcore and punk mixes that seemingly travelled across the five boroughs in increasingly lower quality. Then came the bootleg hip hop tapes I'd cop in Times Square, and most importantly the mixed tapes I made for friends, pen-pals, and of course, my crushes (I miss the long afternoons in front of the stereo, dropping the needle and hitting record at just the right time, naively thinking about how the songs I chose would change my life ). In the '90s my love of a good mixed-tape was still going strong, with the international punk-rock and 1960s rarities mixes I'd eagerly wait for, obsessively checking the mail. Thanks you Mr. Ottens for your life-changing invention.
Wonderful 1973 cover of the Small Faces soaring mod classic. The album the single was pulled from was produced by Alice Cooper producer Bob Ezrin, in time for Flo & Eddie's opening slot on Cooper's Billion Dollar Babies world tour. (The album also features a beautiful cover of the Kinks' "Days.")
"I think our overriding message is one of hope even in the darkest of times, which we all suffer from at times. An amazing amount of people have told me over the years how our music has helped them through really difficult times." -Mark Wilson, The Mob
During the pandemic I discovered a handful of blogs that were compiling and posting their own albums for download, with music culled from across the spectrum of genres and ranging from singles collections to rumored "lost albums." Thus inspired I decided to create a few collections myself (under the Create To Exist moniker*), starting with a band that surely wouldn't mind their old sounds being shared**, The Mob (UK). To my ears, their music is the perfect soundtrack for a global pandemic and shutdown.
The Mob formed in 1977 and within a few years were part of England's anarcho-punk/peace-punk movement of the early '80s, but their sound was slower and drew from darker post-punk sources. Despite not sounding like the bands they often shared stages with (Crass, Conflict, Rudimentary Peni, Dirt), they still embraced radical politics, played loads of benefits, and in a proper D.I.Y. vein released all but two of their own records via their All The Madman label.
This collection, which I dubbed No Doves Fly Here (named for most famous song), includes all of their singles in chronological order, including their remarkable comeback from 2013. The singles are followed by two alternate versions, most notably the original stunning take of the aforementioned "No Doves Fly Here," an apocalyptic classic in the vein of Bonnie Dobson's "Morning Dew." The collection is completed with their primal Ching cassette from 1981, which features a clutch of songs not heard elsewhere.
If you dig these sounds, be sure to track down their sole proper long-player May The The Tribe Increase, a timeless classic which has been reissued a few times over the years.
"Like conceptual art and pop, graffiti questions the context in which art is appreciated. It renews the dream of work for its own sake, the idea of creation as a democratic process — in short, radical humanism."
Photography: Steven Mark Needham
Words: Richard Goldstein in The Village Voice, 1980
"As I listened, leaning over the amps with my jaw hanging agape, trying to comprehend the forces that Miles was unleashing onstage, I was thinking, 'What’s the use? How can we possibly play after this? We should just go home and try to digest this unbelievable sh!t.' This was our first encounter with Miles’ new direction. Bitches Brew had only just been released, but I know I hadn’t yet heard any of it. In some ways, it was similar to what we were trying to do in our free jamming, but ever so much more dense with ideas, and seemingly controlled with an iron first, even at its most alarmingly intense moments. Of us all, only Jerry had the nerve to go back and meet Miles, with whom he struck up a warm conversation. Miles was surprised and delighted to know that we knew and loved his music."
Words: Phil Lesh from Searching For Sound: My Life WIth The Grateful Dead
It's agreed upon by those in the know that Bob Seger's output with the System and The Last Heard is uniformly great, but this 1971 single should also be considered a classic. The swirling '60s keyboards matched with anti-authority lyrics sung with that voice which oozes attitude, all makes for a true gem of a song.
As of February 22nd, the United States reached the horrific milestone of over 500,000 dead from Coronavirus. That's 500,000+ sisters, brothers, children, parents, grandparents, uncles, cousins, best friends, co-workers, and on and on. It's impossible to wrap your head around that much loss.
Illustration by Joe McKendry, from Visualizing 500,000 (National Geographic)
Judas And The Black Messiah is an important film, especially in light of the recent news of the complicity of the FBI and NYPD in Malcom X's murder. That said, the movie is flawed, mostly due to making William O'Neal too sympathetic of a character at the expense of the depth Fred Hampton’s character deserves. (Hampton's political awakening and activism started at a young age, and he was only 21 when he was assassinated.) There's a powerful scene with Hampton talking about his time in jail, yet it doesn't have the impact it should. There's also a rather glaring historical omission, but I'll avoid pointing it out as it would act as a spoiler. Still, the acting is superb all around, it's well filmed, the soundtrack is perfect, and again, the story is an important and sadly timeless one.
Barbara Dane is an artist I've been championing for years, though folk is a hard sell to a lot of my friends. Her album with The Chamber Brothers (from before they recorded on their own) and her own uncompromising I Hate The Capitalist System LP are favorites, and her work behind the scenes releasing music of struggle and resistance worldwide is truly inspiring (as is her own lifelong personal commitment to fighting for change). I am thrilled to learn that she's been working on her memoir via this excellent recent profile on her in the New York Times.
Brooklyneeze is a living/loving archive for the County Of Kings. The people and the places; history, art, and culture; life and death. Then and now. Curated by a fourth generation Brooklynite. Dig it here.
Sad to hear of the passing of Chick Corea. One of the albums that I used to lose myself in when I was young was Miles Davis' In A Silent Way, which he played a major part of. The album gets the dreaded fusion tag, but to me it's really psychedelic jazz, in particular the absolute masterpiece that is "Shhh/Peaceful" that makes up the entire first side. I can recall many evenings kicking back while slightly altered, listening with headphones on and feeling my mind being transported in a way that only music can achieve. Rest In Peace.
One of my pandemic obsessions has been "reaction videos" from this cat Jamel aka Jamal. I've truly enjoyed watching him get turned on to new music with a real open mind. If you watch in order you can see him discover bands that are new to him, and then they become his favorites; so great. (He also seems like the nicest guy in the world.) This reaction to "Heroin" is particularly heavy and beautiful.
On this date 44 years ago Marquee Moon was released, a sonic masterpiece that's up there with my most listened to albums of all-time. I can still vividly recall when I finally got to see Television live in 1992 at one of the shows they did for their third album (which was released more than a decade after their sophomore release).
One of the things I miss most in the world these days is hopping the subway and taking a solo trip out to The People’s Playground. Eagerly waiting to leave the tunnel and then riding along looking out the window at the city kid engraved rooftops, feeling my age peel away. (This always brings back a flood of memories of visiting my grandparents in Brighton Beach.) Once at Stillwell, it's a speed walk down the ramp and across the street, passing Nathan's (which gets hit up later), to the Wonder Wheel to buy a ticket for one of my favorite views in the world. Exhale. A paper plate of clams and a cold beer at Ruby's is next, followed by a stroll to the end of Steeplechase Pier to lose myself in thought... And then the day begins.
One of the rare joys to come of this pandemic and shutdown is my renewed hunger for the written word. I've always been a huge reader and bibliophile, but since early in the pandemic I've been reading books at a pace I've not experienced since my 20s. And now that Trump is somewhat insignificant, I am no longer doom-scrolling for every single news story about what horrific thing he's done, and in turn missing out on precious time when I could be learning or just escaping to other worlds. I've been trying to catch up on classics that for some reason I never read; most recently I devoured The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin and Ragtime by E. L. Doctorow; both of which were mind-blowing, albeit in very different ways.
Dylan threw away better songs than most artists record during their entire careers, and here's a perfect example: this masterpiece was recorded in '75 and remained unreleased until the Biograph collection in '85. This is a stellar take by two of the finest voices in American music history (produced by the great Dave Edmunds).
"My philosophy? Have fun, make a buck, and when the DA says 'not guilty,' don't applaud..." Jerry Brandt "discovered" Chubby Checker and Carly Simon, was responsible for bringing the Rolling Stones to the States, and worked with Sam Cooke, Muhammad Ali, and countless others as a talent agent. He also opened famed NYC clubs The Electric Circus, Spo-Dee-O-Dee, and The Ritz, and managed the career of Jobriath. Brandt was yet another victim of COVID-19.
I didn't bother with a 'best of 2020' list this year, but Can't Stop The Dread may well be my favorite reissue of the year. 35 tracks from Sonia Pottinger's High Note vaults, and nearly all of them real gems. The double-disc set includes big names like Justin Hinds & The Dominoes, I-Roy, Ansel Collins, The Kingstonians, and Mikey Dread, along with a bunch of lesser known artists (mostly backed by the crack Revolutionaries band), all recorded / released between '75 - '79. Doctor Bird Records has been knocking it out of the park as of late (nearly all their releases have been pretty much essential), but this one is straight-up stellar; my only complaint being that it was only released on CD.
While I'll shed no tears over the closure of a McDonald's, I have a lot of memories tied to this particular shit-hole, including trying to help a now deceased friend when he got vicked for his umbrella there in like '87 (and it wasn't even raining outside). He also got a soda poured over his head as an extra dose of humiliation. It was an oasis of filth on many city adventures, the perfect spot to kill time, or use the bathroom, before hopping the subway at West 4th back to Brooklyn after a night out on the town. This quote from TimeOut sums the spot up well: "NYC loses one of its greatest 3am fight venues."
Achilles In The Alleyway is a journal of art, prose, poetry, photography, politics, philosophy, life, death, and all the sounds that lie in between, over, under, sideways, and down.
All writing herein is copyrighted by Mr. Lee, unless otherwise credited.
All MP3s are posted for educational purposes and will be removed if there is an objection from the holder of the original copyright.
I'd love to hear your thoughts, so please leave a comment on any post you see fit. (Note: the comments are moderated, so any spam or hateful BS will be promptly deleted.)
"When I was very young, I admired hardened criminals locked behind prison doors; I visited inns and taverns they frequented; with their eyes, I saw the blue sky and the blossoming work of the fields; I tracked their scent through cities. They were more powerful than saints, more prudent than explorers — and they, they alone, were witnesses to glory and reason!"
AITA's interview series with people whose activities outside of the mainstream — be it in art, design, music, writing, photography, or activism — inspires us. Click the image above to dive in.
