1-23-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #21 (What I did for the Porn Industry in ‘70’s NYC)

Now, don’t get too excited -- or horrified -- by this entry down sweet ol’ memory lane (LOL -- nothing was that pretty back in the day, so it’s ironic). I worked for a few kind of raunchy magazines -- as a writer and a proofreader.

Yes, I created and facilitated content for magazines whose pictorials were beyond suggestive; they were XXX rated. I had to laugh, though, because it seemed so stupid to me that people would fetishize sex to the point of it seeming unappealing and downright disgusting. Sex should be healthy, playful, intense, loving, and pleasurable, in my mind.

At SUNY Purchase, one of my creative writing class colleagues, Mara, told me she was editing copy at a place called National Screw Magazine (a sideline to the National Screw paper and Midnight Blue cable TV Adult show with the very unappealing Al Goldsstein) and wanted me to write for them.

In writing class, we would quietly share a laugh at the instructor, who called hyperbole “Hyper Bowl.” (He was definitely an autodidact). At first, I wasn’t sure it was the same hard-core porno pub that peeked out of the newsstands at Gem Spa and the like, but when she confirmed it she said, wryly, “Gotta find work that pays, and it’s not always easy.”

Later on, when I discovered another friend of mine was secretly turning tricks as an S&M prostitute (she did both/either -- versatile girl!), I didn’t bat an eyelash, either. Somehow, very little surprises me, but I always look at the absurdist angle because, let’s face it, in every predicament, in every bummer, there’s something blackly humorous if you look hard enough.

For National Screw, I wrote “Talkin’ BunkMate Blues,” a semi-fictional story of being a tough chick who shunned living with roommates because of dissenting tastes in music and a need for privacy (to bring over boyfriends and have sex was the implication -- though I didn’t have to write about sleazy sex acts, thankfully).

Then, I was sent on assignment as the National Screw “Punkophile” to write about the great New Wave band, Television. I quoted -- or misquoted -- a lyric from a TV song, “I Don’t Care”: “’Cause when she whispers in my ear/I get so hard, I get so hard. . . “ Was that really the lyric? I don’t care (ha ha). It sounded like the words, and it made sense, and I knew they’d want to bold face that line in the story, so I went with it. Sorry, Tom Verlaine, if that wasn’t right -- maybe it would work, don’t you think?!

My greatest -- and last --job in the porn industry was as a proofreader for a XXX rated glossy mag called Cheri. Diana from New Wave Rock Magazine was the editor, and I think my friend, Fran, recommended me for the position of proofreader there at Cheri.

The receptionist was a sweet girl from Georgia named Rusty, whose alias was “The Cherry Bomb” at Cheri, a cover girl for this really raunchy magazine. She had the hugest tits you ever saw -- just mammoth -- and she would pose any old way they asked her to in addition to being the receptionist at the magazine. One pictorial showed her frolicking with a one-legged also-naked woman who had a pegleg that was strategically positioned on the Cherry Bomb’s ass -- as if pegleg lady was buttfucking her.

As my dad might have sarcastically commented, “Mmm, deLIGHTful!” Other than Rusty the Cherry Bomb, there were a few other characters in the office, though the rest of us looked kind of dorky and we’d NEVER be good pictorial material.

As proofreader for Cheri, I went to the copy editor to ask questions like, “SO, in this story, are we using c-u-m or c-o-m-e?” or “What caption do you want for this sex pirate pictorical, ‘Pardon my buccaneers?. . . ‘” It was surreal. I think I made about $150 per week, net.

That job, as a proofreader at Cheri in midtown, paid all right but only lasted a few months. When they downsized, I was history. Luckily, I was eligible for unemployment and got paid a princely $75 per week, about half of my previous earnings. Oh well.

Unemployment in the 1970s -- another surreal experience. . . NEXT time!!

1-22-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #20 (Shawn gets equal time to make an aside re Nervus Rex in ‘70’s NYC)

This memoir writing is really funny when it’s shared on FaceBook because people who were THERE have different memories. . . and as much as this blog is about ME recounting personal history -- with a twist -- sometimes, I have to agree to disagree and if it’s interesting enough, share what other people say. I’ll include some of my retorts, too.

From Shawn Brighton on FaceBook: “Lauren, here's history for ya - you're not quite correct. That invite (to play a loft party on Mercer Street) didn't occur until we (actually I) already knew the 52's. The first NYC gig they ever did was co-headlining with Rex at Max's and it was awkward. I talked to Kate beforehand and told her that we weren't opening for them but, rather, co-headlining as we had already played there many times. . After that gig, I became good friends with them - took them on a tour of Goodwill stores, thrift shops, and rag bins to find them vintage clothes for their onstage outfits, then we'd hang out at Eno's apartment on 8th Street which they were subletting, and I spent a week getting them acquainted to the NYC scene. One of my fondest memories is of you, I, and Ricky going to Coney Island and riding the Mighty Mouse, a rickety wooden roller coaster. As the thing was chugging up 1000 feet in the air and we were just about to take our first plunge, Ricky turned to me and, in his thick Georgian drawl, said "Shawn, I think we made a mistake." And then we plunged to, what at the moment, we considered our last moments on Earth. Poor Ricky. I was really fond of him. A really decent, unpretentious, giving human being who died way before his time.”

My reply: “Well, Shawn, maybe at this point I have to agree to disagree because I do not remember the B-52's gig, THEN the party (I thought loft party was first, then the gig). . . and I NEVER ride roller coasters; they're much too dizzying for me and I'm terrified of getting a migraine in public from dizziness. But I'll take what you wrote and put in my blog for equal time, OK?? It's certainly interesting, and cool to have different POVs. Love, L. PS - I thought Ricky was a real sweet guy too, but didn't know him real well. We also played the Mudd Club with the B's, right?

Shawn: “YOU didn't ride the roller coaster. It was just Ricky and me. Now I know why.

Ricky was a great guy. It was a tragedy when he died. . . I'm not sure we played with the B's at Mudd. I remember that we played there a couple of times and I remember seeing the B's with, of all people, Richard Lloyd (of Television) hanging around on stage and riffing and screwing up their set. It was like listening to 2 different radio stations at the same time. I wish there was a recording of that. Strangest thing I'd ever heard.”

Anyway, to use another of my dad’s favorite phrases, “That’s the way the cookie crumbles.”

1-21-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #19 (More Roots of “The Rex” -- Second Wave band Nervus Rex in ‘70’s NYC)

Okay, as for the early days of Nervus Rex, we did all sorts of nutty things, but mostly started getting gigs at places like CBGB’s, Max’s, and later the Mudd Club, Hurrah’s, the Peppermint Lounge, and numerous other dives. At the time, Giuliani hadn’t yet busted the mob for running music clubs, so there was a lot of “dirty” money needing laundering, and paying bands $1,000 a night wasn’t unheard of; some even made more.

And since the drinking age was young -- 18 -- kids came out to hear bands in droves. You COULD play the city (Manhattan) more than once a month. You could also do private parties in rented spaces and people’s lofts. The scene was small, but lucrative for musicians.

One such party came to be because I was friends with an otherworldly woman with a lazy southern accent -- Atlanta & Athens, Georgia -- named Judy. Her blue eyes were psychedelically dazzling, and she was a sweet, shy, gentle soul. She asked me, outside CBGB’s one night after Nervus Rex played, if we’d help out some friends of hers. Her ex-husband, Kevin, was guitarist in a Georgia band called The Fans. But this favor wasn’t for them.

Judy’s friends, Danny Beard and Maureen, came with the deal -- but they were so nice, too. They were the band’s record company and management -- and they were all friends. Judy said this:

“Would ya-all mind throwing a party for some friends of mine, a band from Athens? They’re called the B-52’s. You know, after the hair-do.”

“Well, they’re from Georgia? I like people from Georgia. Are they good?”

“MMmm hmmm,” Judy nodded, “REAL good. That would be so nice of ya-all. . . “

Sight unseen and band unheard, I told Shawn we should do this, because it would be a cool thing to do and a fun party, no doubt. Our last party was a big success, and Shawn’s parents seemed OK with us using their loft. At this time, they were probably in their forties, so I’m sure it was fun for them, too.

At any rate, Judy and Danny and Maureen introduced us to Kate, Cindy, Fred, Ricky and Keith a few months later, and they couldn’t have been nicer, as people. When they played music together onstage, they were so tight that you could feel, and almost see, the energy, like a V-shaped wedge or force field. I had a similar reaction to hearing Television on a good night. . . whatever “it” was, they-all had it.

One night, we did a double bill with the B-52’s at Max’s Kansas City, and it was just an amazing experience, when they got into a groove and played “52 Girls,” “Why Won’t You Dance With Me,” or “Rock Lobster.”

I couldn’t even feel envious that they got all the attention and scooped up management and a record deal in record time. They were simply awesome live, and so much fun. Long live the B-52’s, and Ricky, rest in peace.

1-20-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #18 (An aside during “The Rex” -- Second Wave band Nervus Rex in ‘70’s NYC)

Miriam wrote: "Lauren- I remember you lunching on a bowl of cole slaw with Sweet n Low sprinkled atop.. and a cup of tea, of course... at the University Coffee Shop on University and 12th Street. No wonder you maintained that girlish figure! X M"

Of course, I think that sounds totally gross, but at the time, I guess my strange menu choices (and the Sweet ‘n’ Low -- ugh!) were dictated by pocketbook and anorexic disposition. Yup, I was hospitalized for that at the age of 16, and sometimes, old habits die hard. I always wanted to be skinny, and never ever felt skinny enough (even at 79 pounds, in the hospital!). Oh well. Crazy is as crazy does. I am at a sane weight now, but sometimes I miss being the skinniest gal in the room. . . nobody comments on me being thin any more, so being healthy is my lot in life of late. And that’s cool by me.

So, in the late ‘70’s, I made friends with Fran Pelzman and Mary Harron at CBGB’s. Fran was the cutest little gal, very bubbly, whip-smart, short curly reddish brown hair & laughing brown eyes. She was working as a photographer and going out with Billy Ficca, drummer of the awesome New Wavers Television. And Mary Harron, her friend, was also pretty, thoughtful, intellectual, stammered at times, had an English accent (Canadian by way of Oxford education), blonde hair, blue eyes, and was a friend of cool English bands like The Gang of Four.

At any rate, dear Fran Pelzman wrote about my band, Nervus Rex, a lot, and photographed us in the early days. She had a friend, Diana Clapton, who edited this short-lived New Wave Rock Magazine (all of our friends were in it). The fashion editorial called for a lovely “Gamine Waif” type -- and Fran asked ME to pose!

I always wished I could be thin and pretty -- and I never thought I was good enough. But now I was a model! Wow! (or Woe! I dunno.) So for me to pose in color for this really cool ‘60’s tribute fashion spread, I was on Cloud 9. I was in a band at last, and getting recognition for other talents (and looks -- women especially are judged on this and so we sometimes need to know we’re gorgeous). Very cool. Thanks again, Fran.

Now, seeing Diana Clapton’s name and New Wave Rock Magazine makes me remember another really wacky job I had for a few months. . .

. . . But that’s for another blog!!

1-12-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #10 (Patti Smith Weighs in on Education; Sweet Jane Friedman)

All right. In my last entry, I mentioned some musician friends on the scene who earned life experience credit at the alma mater of CBGB’s in the late ‘70’s (Chris and Tina of the Talking Heads, RISDEE grads), and Snooky Bellomo (NYU student).

At CBGB’s – the place I could usually be found on weekends away from SUNY Purchase in ’74 – ’76, I met Patti Smith and her manager, Jane Friedman, through James Wolcott, the hugest Patti fan ever (at least, at the time). Patti had the greatest way of being instantly intimate with people. I thought she might have been pulling my leg about a lot of stuff she made up about her past, but I do admire anybody who can make up a good myth.

She dubbed me “Our new Ninja” upon signing a copy of Seventh Heaven. I was taken aback when she told me I shouldn’t be going to school: “Go out with all the smart guys! Learn from them! Who needs college? It’s bullshit.”

While thinking in my heart how I had an unspoken promise with my father to graduate with a college degree and he had just died a month before I started, I blurted to Patti, “But I LIKE school! I LIKE learning!. . . “ and then, like Mother Superior, she absolved me and my sin of caring about something uncool. Fair enough.

Patti was really nice to my sister Carrie too, when I introduced them at My Father’s Place (a club) in Roslyn, Long Island, when the Patti Smith group played on a double bill with Television in ’75. I recall Patti borrowed a little corncob pipe from my sister for, um, you know. . .

People like Patti – and many other smart musicians I know – weren’t gung-ho for school but were still great learners and had a constant thirst for self-gathered knowledge. These autodidacts are definitely on the right path for them, but as for me, I like a little more structure and focus. I’m kind of all over the place, when left to my own devices. . . but of course, we all learn in life what we need to (and if you try sometimes, you get what you want, too?). There’s still some of that ceaseless autodidact in me, too. I just like having validation, a degree (or 2 or 3!).

Jane Friedman (Wartoke Concern, Patti’s manager) was a great person who treated me kindly and with immense respect. Somebody told me she was the girl Lou Reed wrote “Sweet Jane” about. When I visited Jane Friedman at her family’s in the Village that Yuletide (they were Jewish; what the hey), at a holiday open house, Jane took me aside and made a special effort to make me feel welcome by giving me a palm-sized round mirror backed with a myriad of tiny seashells, in a circle. Decades later, I still consider that little tchotchke one of my prized possessions.