street shots*

STREET SHOTS/HOOKY
New York City Photographs 1970s

Rich Allen

Rhode Island: City Pound Press, 2012

$35

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as an oakland native, when traveling from coast to coast or even overseas -
& all of these travels were done frequently back in the day, i was frequently
asked by those i knew and those i didn't know: 'how is san francisco' and i always
told them 'i don't know' cause i am from the east bay, which is oakland and berkeley.
& don't get me wrong, i adore san francisco, more now than when i lived across the
bay but it was always too damn cold!
but whenever i was away, a city that made a big impression on me was new york
city, and this was from approximately 1977-1985. i visited as often as could be
arranged, usually on the way back to california from europe.
the first stay was in 1977, and i stayed at the tudor hotel for a week......that
glorious 3rd week of august '77...a month after the blackout riots and the week of
the death of elvis...breakfasts were 99 cents until 11 and new york seemed to me to
be the pulse of the world, & this coming back from the first time seeing london &
paris... even tangier.
there is now a bit of nostalgia (of course!) for a broke new york city of the '70s
for many, many reasons.
rich allen's superb book of primarily black & white fotos will take you (hell, it will
take us all) back to a new york that no longer exists. allen found himself in new york
city as an aspiring filmmaker, tho circumstance dictated he take up photography while
working as a bike messenger, and living & loving, fathering a child, & just out there
living. living on the edge...he had absolutely no fear of what made new york interesting
whether its the hells angels (who were his neighbours) or the other somewhat shattered
down & out denizens of fair gotham. no one seemed to object to allen photographing
primarily human subjects, regardless of how they felt that day. a good photographer
gains trust from his or her subjects. allen has succeeded.
the book is divided into 2 parts: 'street shots' and 'hooky' and includes an 11 minute
DVD on the making of 'hooky'. ah yes, the kids of east 3rd street. disagreements with
the angels about the abandoned lot. even a few colour fotos! this book is just too fucking
real and belongs in better book collections everywhere. allen should be given a grant
from then & now for preserving what needed to be preserved. and has now published.
just the other day nick tosches phoned from sophies tavern on east 5th st, ostensibly to
order some 60s rolling stones stuff but really just to talk about old new york city.
the book will leave one wanting more.

notes from art's crab shack

i was due to fly to oakland today but have postponed due to general lethargy, apathy, dreamy presence from melting snow or what have you. the trip has been delayed. and thus the thoughts of those days will continue but for now a few words from the word scramble/collage, recounting in a certain sense those days indeed.....
***
excerpt from 'tropical delusion'
& little recall...as i devour these old oakland pages/& here is a large stack of handwritten notes which i apparently wrote in varying degrees of reality &/or intoxication at art's crab shack on broadway btwn 40th and 41st. gerard lived above art's from 1982-1984 with his first wife godolieve, affectionately known as lief. while the notes are occasionally illegible i have done my best to present some of them here:
certainly nautical mustard fried smoky windows & our hostess sucking off - - those foggy july daze & by late afternoon/ before the fog rolls back in...the doors to art's are open...tobacco wafting until low tide...she sings...bent piano keys crumble...adobe & a pith helmet...shooting up down the corridor...lost up the hill or were we in the piedmont lounge...what was her name...savage succulents screwed to oblivion & a poached omelette to go...'this ain't new york city!'...and the taxi saunters towards chinatown for out of print herbs & remedies. transparent piano keys & the proposition from a muddy haired harlot w/ sweat stained mini skirt & an ink lesion...we sit down day after day...waiting, always waiting & el nino...summer '83...no fog that year my dear!

*spiece grinders for all!* & even then as the heat can quickly dissipate into a significantly milder reality & it may have been dear tatiana who i would often see...just over there...table 6 at art's crab shack in oakland...methamphetamine evenings soon to be mornings warped out sex & a sidecar to go. oh, do cut out another line & we were off...there were never phone conversations of substance...only to arrange for powder drinking & very weird sex/that glorious summer of '85...the forgotten summer...certainly '83 has received a lot more words...& why not...the el nino year...that will never be forgotten...

happy birthday brion gysin!

yesterday was brion gysin's birthday. i probably first came across his name on the liner notes of the brian jones joujouka record, which i purchased early in 1972. the british pressing. and his name would show up every now and again, often in 'rolling stone' magazine, which was quite hip in those days and published interviews with burroughs and gysin, plus paul bowles. the named hinted of a very magical person, and not just because of the unique spelling. by 1975 i wanted to know more and had started collecting books by william s. burroughs. gysin's name was everywhere. in 1977 i went to tangier to see paul bowles,  who gave me gysin's address in paris. in 1979 gysin wrote to me with
information about the festival at joujouka. on may 5th of the next year i was at gysin's paris apartment listening to everything from his tales of moroccan music, to burroughs, to the stones. i wrote a piece about that visit which is in one of these journals over here. the may 5th visit was followed up with a visit in mid june i now realise. the article combined a summary of the 2 visits. oh, most of you havent read the piece, and i will post it in the coming days. in 1982 i started a publishing company called inkblot. to publish my own works plus those of brion gysin. by '84 i was back in europe for 6 months or so and spent a lot of time with brion, mainly in june and september. we were working on a book of his short stories from morocco in the early '50s. later published as 'stories'. brion didnt quite know what to make of me, being young and, uh.....not quite comfortable in my own damn self. but we would drink whisky (american bourbon), smoke whatever he had on hand, and talk of all hither and yon. once we went to 'flunch' for dinner. he showed me some new drawings he was working on. then we would go out for coffee. not too far from brion's place on rue st martin, across from the beaubourg center. was it the rue sebastopol? we got there one nite and the place was closed. 'how will we get to sleep without coffee?' brion proclaimed! we found another joint for an espresso or 3. i went back to my hotel de nevers, near the luxembourg gardens and slept quite well for a change.  heres to ya brion!

welsh rarebit

i first heard of bob cobbing sometime in 1983, and wrote to him at his home in london. inkblot magazine had just begun and i was looking for material for the 2nd issue. sometime that spring cobbing wrote and sent words & pictures. he also mentioned he would be in oakland in july and could he and clive crash at my flat. no problem, as small as it was.  i picked them up at the train station probably in july. they had several performances in san francisco. good stuff! and nice folks! that same week i took them up to kpfa at 4.30 on saturday morning where they performed several sound works. i still have a tape of this. course i didnt sleep much as bob was quite a snoring machine. where did i take them to drink? i just dont recall tho the obvious choice would have been bertolas. we kept in touch and i hit london october 1984, where bob and his wife hosted me at their north london house. each nite we would go to the pub. ostensibly bob had cut down on drinking and was allowed just 2 pints, plus a shot of american whiskey. if his wife was involved in the snooker he would sneak himself a third pint or a 2nd shot. when we returned to the petherton road house bob always cooked something. 'spoiled egg, spoiled fruit or spoiled welsh rarebit' would be his question. i think i often opted for the rarebit, which to my delight is broiled cheese on toast!

those days*

i realise i dont have any pictures of bertolas, outside or inside. they must exist. somewhere! but where? i visited often in the 80s. by october 1990 it was gone. i hadnt gone the last month or 2. certainly it had changed. but in those glorious days of the early and mid 80s i was there often. i miss it to this day. not just the food and drink but the atmosphere. there was a sign out front that must have amused passerby:  'HOW CAN YOU LOSE' with the drink prices which were 50 cents for a single, 75 cents for a double and $1 for a triple!! as mentioned i usually went for a double gin/tonic. by the third one ron is pouring you a triple. this was cash on the bar, no credit card or bar code. this was the real thing. it could be tough to get a slot at the bar on a busy friday or saturday, and thus i would usually avoid those nites. black & white movie posters of bogart and others on the wall. a bar entrance and a family entrance. but on one of those glorious friday or saturday nites, 23 years ago this weekend, i went to bertolas for a few drinks, and then on to the OMNI club on shattuck, which was in the old ligurian club building.....to see jack bruce play, even ginger baker was with him on drums! the mad drummer himself....oakland was a lot of fun then. it probably is now, but it isnt what it used to be, not even my beloved temescal!

bertolas

in november 1980 i moved back to north oakland after being away some 15 years. the apartment was #26 in the canadian arms, 439 49th st, 2 blocks east of telegraph. 49th street was to be home, off and on for the next 23 years. tho of course, it is still home. no one else called the building the canadian arms, but that was and is the name of the building. now i think it is even named on the directory. there was a great restaurant right down the street at 45th & telegraph called bertolas. it probably opened in the 1930s. ed jennings told me about it, tho i later found out some relatives used to eat there. but i had never been until i moved to 49th st. most people would call it an old fashioned italian restaurant: those red & white checked tablecloths, the movie posters, the bar in the middle, and the dim lights. i loved it. a typical meal would start with minestrone soup and then some salad. the salad was just iceberg lettuce with one (1) piece of salami. no tomato or onion. always a lot of bread.  then the spaghetti, which may have been served with the veal. i used to order the veal regularly. if one wanted more bread, they would bring it to you. there were always waitresses. no waiters. of course  there was also a gin & tonic at the beginning, and then cheap burgundy with the meal. later of course i used to frequent the bar, and ron would be pouring the perfect double gin/tonic when he would see me coming in. sometimes i would get a meal to go after the 2nd gin & tonic. if i got the to go meal it would be the soup and spaghetti, not the veal. bertolas may have been the only bar where i was practically a regular, tho i didnt talk to most of the other drinkers. i would eat or drink at bertolas as much alone as with friends.  and one could stumble back to the building in 5 minutes or less, always with a smile and some leftovers.....

blink & its wednesday or the aftermath of sandy

31 october 2012.
for the san francisco giants, adele parker & aleister crowley
confounding all thought remotely revealing common sense or could we possibly be there yet? saturday samarai & sushi to go. hit the p.o. early, or could it have been 11...no one really knows...but returned to the citadel for an early lunch with the circus remnants too chicken shit to leave town & i dont recall just where the fuck they were going...moldova, hoboken or niagara falls...& still havent heard. by sunday obscure gypsies & thieves were circulating in the back streets near the citadel & we found ourselves sharpening the bamboo poles we'd kept around since irene's visit some 14 months prior. back street decadence doesnt arrive until dusk...the pills had worn off as the ice clinked for the dregs of gin or was it vodka with a splash? no one can recall. a damp monday overeasy: drizzle drizzle drizzle & the kitchen window is closed for the first time in months...the usual shenanigans suspended as the rain intensifies...howlin' wind, the blues & a strongly herbed chicken. why werent you here homeboy!?! warm enough tuesday for soul searching, portofino persuasion & a casual porch conversation w/ anyone brave enough for a verbal version of what you are reading now. blink & wednesday rolls in calmly, all in all obscurely, with no demands but to kick out the jams, declare who you are (if you dare) quickly, don your true will & the hat of your choice! may the anrchist gypsy be with you