I feel down. I feel sad, and this post - which is arguably a memoir - is driven more by my feelings and emotion than any other post I've ever wrote. I remember in 2005 when I visited New York City. It was October and it was very cold. If you know anything about the history of some of the greatest bands in the world (Ramones, Blondie, Misfits to name a few) you'll know about CBGB and OMFUG. At the age of twelve, I knew I had to see it. The musical mecca.
Obviously, being tourists, my parents and I didn't really have any idea where 315 Bowery was located. But I forced my Dad to drive around the alien streets in search of finding such an iconic place. Eventually, I spotted it. Needle in the haystack. The white awning oddly already so familiar to me, despite this being my first (and so far only) visit to the Bowery.
We popped our heads in the door as a few guys were hustling up and down past the bar carrying amps and mic stands - I couldn't help but smile. The smell of booze, stale sweat, puke and piss filled my nostrils; not unbearably, but most would be uncomfortable yet I felt like I was in my element, I wanted to stay forever. This was the aroma of a real venue. We turned to a man with long hair and chunky black glasses sitting at a computer by the entrance. "Hi," I timidly began, "We're English tourists who are huge fans of this place, would you mind if we had a little look around?"
"Oh yeah, go ahead." He replied, smiling broadly, "Yeah of course, come in!" The rest of the staff smiled and said hi as I looked left, right, up, down and any which way I physically could. I was in awe, shocked that I was actually here. I was in the same room where so many sensationally incredible and inspiring bands and artists had once been. Where icons like Joey Ramone or Debbie Harry had sang, laughed, and most importantly, made the history which silly kids from Newcastle wished they'd been apart of.
It was more than I expected it to be. Small, yet not cramped, important, yet not pompous. It felt homely, cozy and comfortable. There was graffiti covering every available space, posters pasted to the walls and then I saw the best bit... The tiny, legendary stage of Country Blue Grass & Blues and Other Music For Uplifting Gormandizers. (Yes, that's what CBGB and OMFUG stands for.)
On the stage were the two men who were bringing in equipment at the same time as we made our appearance. As it turned out, they were two out of three members of the band TON who were performing that night. We got talking to them and they gave us some free CDs, took some photos and then we left.
It wasn't exactly a long visit, and obviously I've not see a live band at CBGB, but it was worth it, worth my whole trip to New York. I've been there. I saw it, smelt it and felt it. I'm content to just say that I've walked through it's doors, sat on a bar stool and stood on the stage. This a memory which I hold dearly because music is so important to me and some bands which started at CBGB are some of my favourites. Visiting the Bowery was such a breath-taking and monumental moment for me, I'm surprised I can partly articulate how I feel. Basically, from what I remember, for the extremely short time I was inside the club, I was possibly the happiest person who is resident to the Milky Way.
Live music is something which will always be close at hand, and the best live music is that which is shared. I personally wouldn't know what to do if I was told that I could never go to a gig again, and I know that there are hundreds of others who feel the same. So a few months after my trip to CBGB, I read that owner Hilly Kristal was in a spot of bother with back rent. ($91,000 to get into financial detail,) and therefore the club may be forced to close... And it did. On 15th October 2006 CBGB closed it's doors for the last time. Goodbye to the music, only your memories may remain.
It's such a historical place. In it's thirty-three years of existence, it's been host to some of the finest musical talent in the world. Ramones, Blondie, Patti Smith, Talking Heads, Bad Brains, Misfits, Agnostic Front, Murphy's Law... I could go on. It's sad that it's no longer here, in it's place sits a high-end men's fashion store. Standing on top of the fallen club, a prime example of the corporate millionaire fat cat. Oh, how very punk rock.
Music NEEDS a venue. No matter how nice your shirts are Mr John Varvatos, you can never replace our favourite one.
