6-24-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #134 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: The Birth of the Washington Squares)

We didn’t have a name yet, but we definitely had direction -- and a few songs.  Bruce Jay Paskow had written a harmony-filled anthem called “New Generation”:  “. . . It’s time for direction, caring and trust (so) Be on the lookout/for a new generation/Comin’ down strong, filled with inspiration/Be on the lookout for a new-ew-ew-ew Generation.”

Tom Goodkind had written a tex-mex style ballad called “Gestures of Passion” (“Gestures of Passion/They’re all fake/when you kiss her/It’s a mistake”) with pretty harmonies & a descending chord structure.

I had written a folky ballad-anthem with a Joni Mitchell/Steve Stills D-chord shaped lick capoed up on the 3^rd fret called “Charcoal” with a William Blake poem, “Riches,” in the middle. It, too, was harmony-laden (“Some do search for gold/what is the purpose?/Yellow smiles or warm souls/I’ll take the charcoal/melt down that gold”).

When we started rehearsing, we sang old Peter, Paul & Mary songs we remembered from summer camps and our childhoods, like “Cruel War” and “If I Had a Hammer.” We had a natural harmony blend that we just fell into -- although of course sometimes we actually had to work them out, our three-part harmonies worked naturally and well.

We went into an electric rehearsal studio the first time or two, but after that realized we sounded better acoustically, with our acoustic guitars. Our rehearsal space/hangout became Tom & Jill’s small one bedroom apartment in the Village, on 13^th Street between University Place and 5^th Avenue South. Just a few doors down, the Lone Star Café was poised on the corner, a huge Iguana lizard sculpture hanging on the sign and the side of the building.

And the Peppermint Lounge, where Tom worked, was right across the street from that, on 5th Avenue at 13th.  He held that job as long as the club was open (it had moved downtown from 45th - ? - street), but it had to close because of good ol' Rudy Giuliani who cracked down on clubs and money laundering operations (boo hiss -- we hated Rudy).

At any rate, we had a great sound, some cool original songs, and were amassing a repertoire (in our first year) of over a hundred covers, traddies, and originals.  We rehearsed a few times a week, and hung out around the village, kind of like musical terrorists. It was fun.

We had an image (neo beatnik), a mission (the violent overthrow of the U.S. government -- only kidding!  We just basically hated Ronald Reagan and everything he stood for). We had our Ray-Bans, berets, and boatneck shirts. . .

We just needed a great name. . . 

6-23-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #133 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: New Beat-ginnings)

All right, so these two musician-contemporaries -- fellow new wavers -- come into the place, looking to talk to me. They weren’t, as it turned out, hungry & thirsty: they wanted to recruit me. And here I was, thinking they needed something tangible!

“You can be center stage -- you can be our Grace Slick!” Tom enthused, following me as I marched toward the kitchen to place a food order. He knew that it bugged me when I was relegated to the back and side of the stage when I was in Nervus Rex and Shawn needed more room in the middle. . . we started out sharing the stage, then as time went on we set up so that he was THE cynosure.

Do what you will with me but show some respect, OK? Because of stuff like that where I felt slighted, I felt bad about being in a group once Nervus Rex broke up, which is why I tried to go solo -- but it wasn’t such a happening thing. I get nervous as a solo, and I didn’t have the necessary confidence; it’s not natural to me.  ‘Cause, to me, building confidence is a mysterious process that takes years. I’m better now, but still. . . . Funny thing: I have a pretty big ego but not always the greatest self esteem. Now, how those two things can be contradictory is indeed interesting: a funny puzzle I’ll probably always puzzle over.

At any rate, when Tom Goodkind and Bruce Jay Paskow approached me to join them in a band that was a combination of The Weavers (they were huge fans of the documentary, “Wasn’t That a Time?”) and Peter, Paul & Mary (but hipper and more ironic), I was intrigued. The concept seemed to have more substance than just the usual ol’ sex, drugs, and Rock & Roll. Vocal harmonies were my pleasure and forte; folk music was pleasurable, albeit not real cool.

As is my wont with most new ventures and things that sound interesting, I said (in Curly Joe Three Stooges voice), “Why, SOI-tenly (certainly)!”  

Maybe Tom Goodkind also knew that I was a fan of Grace Slick’s. . . though that ended after I read her memoir years later, however. . .

6-11-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #121 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at a hip new eaterie and bar: One U)

OK.  I was making some music, but in a hobbyist sort of sense.  I needed to make money to keep going.  Sure, the rent on my apartment was under $300 at the time, but still. . . I surely had to find me one of them good ol’ “survival jobs.” 

Because I’d been waitressing in London for the best part of a year and a half, I figured it made sense to find a waitress gig.  I can’t recall how I found it -- probably my ex or some other friends suggested it -- but I came to work at a really hip restaurant/bar in the heart of the NYU-ville Greenwich Village.  Just north and east of Washington Square Park, One University Place was the address of “One U,” or Chinese Chance, as it was also called.

“One U” had three owners: Mickey Ruskin, from Max’s Kansas City; Richard Sanders (who’d served in Vietnam and suffered from Agent Orange poisoning); and a less colorful guy who was possibly the most functional, a middle-aged man named Va Hagen.  They were quite the trio.  Are three bosses better than one?  Hard to say. . .

I started out there on the bottom rung of the waitress ladder, with the worst shifts.  The 3^rd and latest shift went from 8 PM to 4 AM, the 2^nd shift from 6 PM to 2 AM, and (probably) the best shift, the first, started at 4 PM and ended at midnight.  I didn’t really care how late I stayed out because One U was only about a ten-minute walk from my apartment.  I was young and energetic -- strong enough to carry a massive 3 by 4 foot tray with six dinners stacked on it, then grab a tray stand and whomp! the tray on it, to serve those dinners. 

I’ve not seen that done in years; I doubt many who are now “servers” could do that.  It was indeed tricky, but I never dropped anything from that big tray.  We also had to carry all drinks on a serving or bar tray, and place coasters under the drinks.  There really were rules, ways to do things.

Musically, the jukebox at One U had lots of cool singles from that time.  The most played song I can remember from the time was by the Pretenders, “My City Was Gone.”  How apropos for me, really. . . because, in a way, I’d returned to a place that was a whole new city after spending 18 months in London.

(My signed Pretenders single from Chrissie. . . Not "My City Was Gone" but a good one, despite.)

At the end of 1982, I spent New Year’s Eve alone and in tears, wondering why I had no boyfriend, no love, a crazy waitressing job, and wasn’t making music.

That was to change in February 1983.  Meanwhile, there are still tales to tell about my server stint at One U. . .

6-10-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #120 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple: love and making music)

(Well, after doing six weeks of blogging about my crazy big brother Tom -- may be rest in peace, and I’ll be working on finishing a book-length version of that story, with his writings interspersed -- I said I’d return to the original blog’s purpose: my survival jobs through the years.  Along the way, many other interesting things happened. . . like living in NYC, being part of the CBGB music scene, moving to England, visiting Paris, etc.  It’s been QUITE the life -- and it’s not even half over yet!)

So.  I returned to NYC in November 1982 with two full suitcases, my guitar, a duffelbag, bittersweet memories, and the hope that my old boyfriend was still crazy about me.  Well. . . he might have been, but he also had another girlfriend that he didn’t tell me about.  How I found out about that one?  I forget.  But, once I knew he was a liar and a cheat, I wasn’t standing for it.  It hurt like hell to be lied to and cheated on, but I was actually the third wheel, so that was even more humiliating.

Don’t know if it’s pride, ego, or self-preservation: I don’t make a habit of taking shit from anyone.  Nope. 

So, I moved on.  To hell with love -- I needed a job, and I needed to make music. 

First, as for the music: I had a not-great old Bacon tenor banjo (not a Bacon & Day or B&D banjo, but it suited my purposes).  I wanted to sing & play songs dressed up as a vintage girl country singer, and I had high heeled cowboy boots and a strange looking frilly dress in two pieces that had ruffles & lace and was bought in London.  I learned a song called “I Didn’t Know the Gun Was Loaded” and went to Folk City for a few open mics.  I was nervous as hell and wore “six shooter” cap guns strapped to my waist that I pulled out and shot off at key moments in the performance.

(below: that same banjo!)

At the time, performance art was starting to hit its stride; the likes of Lori Anderson and Karen Finley were making quite a splash and I thought, hey, maybe I can get into that whole thing.

Whatever.  I don’t remember what other gigs I had, but I wrote a few songs here and there and recorded them at home on my TEAC 4-track, which was cool.  I may not have been the best guitar/banjo/piano player and all, but the harmonies sounded good and I played lots of little parts on various instruments to flesh it out. 

Before moving to England, I bought a cute little studio piano (72 keys) and had it moved upstairs to my 5^th floor walkup. . . four guys carried it up the five flights of stairs.  The piano cost me $600 plus delivery charges, and of course I tipped the deliverymen for all that work. . . like I couldn’t have waited for my building to get an elevator (which we did in the late ‘80’s and was a great help, lugging that piano out in 2008. . .).

(House is not a home without a piano. . . my Harrington studio piano)

1-8-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #5 (Working at the Strand Bookstore, Broadway & 12th Street, in Greenwich Village)

So. I have a rockin’ start to a creative writing career at the tender age of 18. Some wag calls me “The Downtown Joyce Maynard.” I take an instant dislike to Joyce Maynard, as she’s writing for The New York Times and besides getting great gigs, has a rumored affair with writing legend J.D. Salinger. Not that I want my personal life to sully my career or credentials – that would be against my independent nature -- but I do wind up with a semi-secretive relationship (because I wouldn’t want my personal life to sully my career or credentials!) with a fellow Village Voice writer whose intellect and sense of humor were great aphrodisiacs. (His memoir book that came out recently, Lucking Out, mentions none of his ‘70’s flames by name because, “it was a decision on my part to leave my romantic/sexual/personal life as blurred as possible, not only because I didn't think it'd be that interesting to the reader but because I didn't want to embarrass anyone I had been involved in. They might have moved on with their lives, be embarrassed at having the past brought up, you just never know, so I decided to play it safe.” – entirely forgivable, then.)

And even though ol’ Trixie A. Balm wrote for the Voice, Creem, Circus, Gig, and many other fine music publications. . . Lauren still needed another job to supplement income during college. She did what any aspiring writer and junior boho in New York with any sense of history would do: Look for work at the world famous Strand Bookstore, in the Village.

Tom Verlaine of Television (New Wave Art Rock geniuses) worked at the Strand, as did Patti Smith, and countless other infamous and famous alums cut their teeth in that venerable used book emporium. At any rate, to the Strand I went and got a job in the office in the basement, fulfilling people’s book orders sent in the mail (remember snail mail?). We would type up these forms, throw them into a suitably sized box, then send them upstairs to the “pickers” to pick the books and bring them back for us to finish the order (when a title wasn’t available, we’d have to notate that) and then we’d have to look up the price on the inside cover of the book, tally up the order, and add tax and shipping.

Keep in mind this was the era before ANYTHING was automated; everything had to be done manually, though of course accuracy never suffered on that account at the Strand!! Or, at least, it didn’t suffer much.

Anyway, I met one of the coolest people who became a friend and bandmate to me; Miriam Linna, originally from Ontario, was living in New York, and working at the Strand. She had just been given her walking papers (the nerve of ‘em!) the ultra cool retro rockers The Cramps, and was a sad lil’ drummer gal. I had just spent several months brainstorming a new band, Nervus Rex, with Shaun Brighton. We needed a rhythm section, and so it seemed like kismet to have met the fabulous Miriam Linna and be friends with her.

The pay at the Strand was probably minimum wage, like $2.30 an hour, but it was on the books. I worked there for a few months in 1977. . . then one day I was talking in a too-loud voice at my desk when there was a boss-bashing session. Fred Bass, our boss at the Strand, just happened to be standing behind me at the time (who knew?!), so I was canned, pretty much, on the spot. Oh well. Probably taught me a lifelong lesson: to NEVER badmouth the boss on premises – and to keep my voice volume better modulated, generally.