Bergen Performing Arts Center – NJ October 2008
By Madeline Bocaro ©

It was the perfect way to spend Halloween Eve. The lobby was filled with Alice clones of all kinds; young and old (mostly old), wheelchair-bound Alices, morbidly obese Alices, balding Alices, Alice in a yarmulke… An Alice wrapped in a snake and another with several bloody dolls hanging from his coat broke into an impromptu duet of 'I Love The Dead' as people snapped photos. Alice's daughter Cali walked by without even blinking. This is an every day occurrence for her!

From the minute the curtain rose, the hits kept coming and the blood kept spurting. The first half was the rock show; 'It's Hot Tonight', 'No More Mr. Nice Guy', 'Be My Lover', 'Under My Wheels, 'Is It My Body', 'Feed My Frankenstein', 'Lost In America' and much more. The considerate Mr. Cooper felt a bit uncomfortable singing his anthem 'I'm Eighteen' when he should be singing "I'm Sixty!" so he did it with a crutch in hand. But he is not too mature to play air guitar with it! The only other sign of Alice's 'maturity' was when his head was bent down as he writhed to release himself from his millionth strait-jacket Could it be…??? Yes, it was a bald spot!

In these days of dreadful divas and, bratty teen idols, Alice Cooper is still the greatest female name in rock n' roll! It seemed like Alice had robbed every prop house in Hollywood to fill his trash can arsenal of weaponry and implements of torture. He was always wielding something; a baton, a whip, or a sword on which he shared skewered 'Billion Dollar Babies' hundred dollar bills bearing his image with the crowd.

The lengthy drum solo signaled the start of the show's second half. It's always tortuous, yet it is an absolutely necessary evil to make time for the costume changes and backstage preparations for the nightmare to come. The smoke billows, the stormy night ensues, and 'Welcome To My Nightmare' segues into 'Cold Ethyl', then 'Only Women Bleed'. Cali is Alice's beaten, bruised and bloodied victim, and she has heightened her performance by combining modern dance with a highly evocative twitching, convulsing ballet. It really is quite beautiful.

The baby carriage is wheeled out for 'Dead Babies' and the suspense builds until the end of the song, when Alice reveals what mutant monstrosity is in there this time. He takes out a seemingly normal looking baby doll, and taunts us before turning it around to face us. It's wearing Alice makeup, and vampire fangs. (Not as cool as the two-headed wolfman baby of 2006, but a refreshing change nonetheless). This time, after placing the baby back in the carriage, he hammers a stake through its heart. The mother (Cali) returns to assault Alice, and the usual mayhem ensues.

The sublime 'Steven' and 'Ballad of Dwight' Fry are the highlight of the evening. The guillotine gets a respite on this tour, and the hanging is reinstated as the method of execution. Alice himself says the hanging is in fact more dangerous to perform. However, I really missed seeing the ever-evolving severed Alice head, which is revised each year. Last year's rubber Alice head was not as striking as previous ones, (in fact, it inaccurately had a tan) but it had more glistening guts spilling out of the neck, and it spat blood at a much further trajectory. The hanging was much less of a mess, yet it was quite impressive when the colossal gallows were wheeled onstage, and the floor was pulled from under Alice to the tune of 'I Love The Dead'.

Alice was one of the first rock stars to present a full-blown theatrical stage act. (Wisely, he never relied on his looks to sell records!) Had the original Alice Cooper Group not been so clever, and had the songs not been so well crafted and produced, the stage spectacle would not have transcended time as favourably as it has. Of course a little comedy thrown in for good measure didn't hurt! Most folks take all this fright and horror stuff quite seriously, but Alice brings his own special brand of burlesque to the genre. The guillotine is to Alice Cooper what Henny Youngman's violin was to his one-liner act. Take my life - please!

The bloodied white tails and top hat return for 'School's Out'. Then, the inevitable; on the verge of election day, we were treated to the old standard tune 'Elected'. Obama and McCain duke it out onstage while Alice and Bush cheer them on atop the drum riser. Nobody wins – Alice is 'an equal opportunity satirist'.

Only two songs were performed from his incredible new release Along Came A Spider. Hopefully, Alice will soon construct a stage show solely for this wonderfully creepy album!

By Madeline Bocaro ©

Ziggy was our saviour. He rescued my only friend Lisa and I (two American kids with very British taste in music) from teenage boredom and launched us through outer space to his very own planet, somewhere beyond Pluto. The U.S. TV show In Concert featured the final Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars concert at England's Hammersmith Odeon. It was the first time we would see Ziggy in action (besides the hundreds of magazine photos and posters we already had). The stage was dark, the focus was soft, and the camerawork shaky and evasive. Ziggy was shrouded in mystery. He was definitely from the cosmos; androgynous, surreal and seductive, perfect porcelain skin, unearthly mismatched eyes with a foreign, piercing stare. It was impossible to discern if he was for real, or if this was the most impeccable performance ever. We had found our ultimate icon, and there he was announcing his final performance. Our devastation mounted.

We never got to see him live. When Ziggy landed his space ship on stage a few months prior at New York's Radio City Music Hall I was alone in my room watching the clock, forbidden by mom to attend such an event, yet knowing that he had landed on stage - at the exact moment the second hand reached eight o' clock - in a cloud of smoke with "Moonage Daydream" reverberating throughout the stratosphere, I could swear I heard it faintly from my room twenty miles away.

Although we were into Bowie for a year already, his latest incarnation as Ziggy Stardust was the most fascinating. His final appearance as Ziggy was when Lisa and I saw him in quasi-kabuki drag on the TV show Midnight Special in 1974 (from the Marquee club in London) when we were in our highly impressionable pre-teens. We were now sexually damaged for life. We had no concept of "camp" (except for summer camp) or about gay culture. Our innocent perception of gender was instantly perverted. We didn't know any other way to take this but at face value, and we took it – SERIOUSLY! It was the most impressive sight we had ever seen (in all of our mere fifteen years on earth) and I remain to this very day as I said, damaged. Something cracked my world open that night and the void has never closed. When I watch the Floorshow now on video it's truly hilarious and just as colourful, but back then it was utterly intriguing and so damned IMPORTANT. This glowing, fleeting kaleidoscopic instant in history was gone in a flash with no hope of ever being seen again (in pre-VCR days). I didn't blink once in the entire 90 minutes! We thought this must be the highest form of art or theater (or whatever alien genre it was), and what did the mere boys at school know about art or beauty.

On TV that night, Bowie had an angel beside him dressed all in white - from platinum hair to white platform boots. The way he played guitar sounded so sweet it made me cry. Mick Ronson the icon, the perpetrator of guitar head, the ROCK in Glam rock was later to become a dear friend to me but this was yet inconceivable. For now, he was the most sublime being who ever lived. Mom sat at the kitchen table polishing her nails, exhaustively apathetic. How could she so blatantly ignore this astounding spectacle?! Actually, she had a disdainful look on her face as if she knew how deeply I was mesmerized by such "trash" when in fact it was in direct rebellion to all the corny old-fashioned music she listened to.

History books depict minute details of eras and civilizations long ago, which capture the curiosity of later generations. People are fascinated by,and wish they could have lived in Dickensian England or during the Renaissance, the Gay 90's or Picasso's blue period. We were fixated on the histrionics of the Ziggy period. We had lived in those times but merely as children. We were forever combing the earth for fossils and artifacts (our history books were rock magazines) that could piece the whole story together. England seemed a distant foreign land to us. When Ziggy landed in America we were not yet allowed to attend concerts. Forbidden fruit begat an insatiable hunger for the truth which was slowly revealed in momentary flickerings of the TV screen. The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars was our favourite real-life fairy tale. Just as an excited child would ask for his favourite part of a story to be told again and again ("Tell me the part about when they threw the witch into the oven!!!!) I'd love to repeatedly hear the part about how Bowie got the macho Spiders (Mick, Woody and Trevor) to dress in Glam drag! Mick Ronson looked like George Washington or a pilgrim on-stage at the Hammersmith Odeon with his glittery knickers and leotards, buckled platform shoes and bleached silver hair, yet it somehow worked. He was beautiful, and he rocked!

Alone in the darkness of night so quiet that one could hear rumblings on a distant planet, with mom and dad tucked away asleep upstairs, the intergalactic sounds of Ziggy Stardust blasted through the blackness and static of my stone suburban life. I would imagine there was an amplifier on each planet, beaming this sonic fantasy toward all farthest reaching points of the galaxy. The emotional wailing of Ronson's stellar guitar reverberated in crashing sound waves and wrenched my heart, while Ziggy sang of earth's impending demise. I felt as though everyone in the universe could hear it (I surely played it LOUD enough!). I wished everyone could hear it the way I did, and feel all the glory - yet I was happy to be among the minority of kids in America to be aware of the Ziggy phenomenon. As the planets vibrated and the room mutated into a rocket ship, I'd drift and moonage daydream of the starman who would "like to come and meet us but he thinks he'd blow our minds". Who's to say he wasn't really singing to us on that record? Lisa and I felt like those two kids in the song;

"I had to phone someone so I picked on you
Hey that's far out - so you heard him too!
Switch on the TV we may pick him up on Channel 2
Look out your window, I can see his light
If we can sparkle he may land tonight
Don't tell your papa or he'll get us locked up in fright"

That's how we'd discovered Ziggy - flickering upon TV signals beamed in from Mars late at night - when I phoned Lisa and we both knew that this was special and not of this world. We shared a sacred secret which we were dying to tell the world, but nobody would listen. We could strongly relate to a fictional British rock star from space, but our parents and friends were beyond reach. They foolishly ignored our pleas and warnings that the earth would destruct in 'Five Years'. And we didn't care. We wanted to die before we reached the old age of twenty anyway!

We were drawn to Bowie's music by its fantastic, futuristic nature. Each song had its own landscape and inhabitants like Marc Bolan's mythological songs, only in outer space! Bowie was the storyteller and main character with his double tracked up-front British accented vocals. In headphones it sounded as if he were right there with you in your room. We'd read the lengthy lyric sheets to "Cygnet Committee", "Width of a Circle" and "Quicksand" deeming them pure genius although incomprehensible to our young minds. The lyrics inspired wild imaginings. We thought this was the highest form of intellect, allied with supreme decadence and a bit of flambouyance thrown in for good measure. And the fact that he wore makeup and nail polish clinched the deal for us! We were sold! Later it was revealed that the lyrics were a product of Burrough's cut-up and paste technique which Bowie admits to 'borrowing' which put an abstract expressionist twist on the interpretive end. It all seemed so cryptic and alluring.

Lisa and I began to water-colour our hair red and green, wear glitter on our faces and fingernails and wore various home-made Glam outfits and platform boots to school. Nobody was doing this at the time. Now you can buy all kinds of crazy hair colours and mass-produced rock n' roll clothes, but this was the early 70's - the drab age of denim. All the kids in school had never seen the likes of Glam rock, in fact they were the opposite - messy, sloppy, hairy, pimply Deadheads. Lisa and I would save our lunch money each day to buy records and magazines (we were both rail-thin to begin with, and we got thinner by skipping lunch). We began to resemble our idol with our skinny bodies, anemic complexions and colour-streaked hair. Our teacher came back to class after a 6 month illness emaciated and pale, and we told her how fabulous she looked! We gave ourselves shag haircuts since there was nothing other than old ladies' hair salons at the time who refused to give us the Ziggy cut (layered on top and long on the bottom). They would say, "That's two different haircuts" and we'd reply, "Is there a law against that?" Why wouldn't they just do it for us? Years later, while Suzi Ronson (Mick Ronson's wife, and creator of the Ziggy cut) was doing my hair, I told her that story. She said that the Ziggy cut was actually a combination of three different haircuts!

At the time, we had no idea that Bowie had in part fashioned his image after Marc Bolan of T. Rex, and had written "Lady Stardust" for Marc (we grew to love Bolan too) - or that the name Ziggy was in equal parts derived from the Legendary Stardust Cowboy and Iggy Pop (thanks also to Bowie for my introduction to Iggy!) We devoured every article about the Ziggy phenomenon we could find. The UK papers NME and Melody Maker had the best coverage but were scarce in the states, so we relied on the US monthlies, Circus and Creem. We heard that green Martian cocktails were served at the record release party. Plane-loads of journalists were flown to London to see Ziggy live and it seemed that money was flying in the air around David Bowie. In fact, this was untrue. David and the band had small allowances themselves - the money was all spent on the big hype; the costumes, the limos, the wining and dining of industry people, etc.

Ziggy was always exposed in brief instants. His stage shows were dimly lit, and photographers banned. The more fleeting the images, the more we craved to see. It became an addiction - an obsession. It doesn't take much to enrapture a fifteen year old, and this was over the top. The hype worked beautifully. Less is more.

We were fascinated by all the people involved in the Ziggy star-making machine; the manager Tony Defries who perpetuated the myth by shrouding Ziggy in mystery, supporting him and his entourage of Andy Warhol's freaky friends so lavishly. (Little did Bowie know the financial impact that this would have until decades later, due to the licensing of his music to the controlling Defries and RCA).

When Warhol's play Pork was touring the UK, the cast went to see Bowie perform one night at a small club in late 1971 when David was just a pretty long-haired hippie. David performed "Andy Warhol" and asked the Pork stars to take a bow. Shortly after this, Bowie announced his bisexuality. The gay Warhol stars at once fell in love with David, the fabulous Angie and the beautiful Mick Ronson, and they began to hang around them. A year later the Warhol stars became Ziggy's entourage, employed at his management office MainMan. Tony Zanetta was crowned 'President' and acted as Bowie's assistant. Photographer Leee Black Childers jumped on the bandwagon, capturing the gorgeous, elusive images. Cherry Vanilla was the groupie/secretary. Tony Visconti was the producer. Bowie's wife Angie inspired and encouraged the outrageous costuming, makeup and hairstyles, executed by Ziggy's wardrobe mistress and Ronson's future wife, Suzi Fussey. Ziggy would not have existed without these people.

Strangely enough, I'm now in touch with many of the people who created Ziggy Stardust, who have all settled in New York. It's as if I've gone through the looking glass and all the storybook (magazine) characters I'd read about and admired came to life. Suzi Ronson coloured my hair Ziggy red for years. Mick became my dear friend from 1975 (when I met him on tour with Mott The Hoople's former frontman Ian Hunter) until his death in 1993. Ian was Mick's best friend. Mick gave me an impromptu guitar lesson on his actual Ziggy guitar - the famous unpainted Les Paul! I play entirely by ear and Mick encouraged that. He was against too much technicality and in favor of emotion and impulse. Although he was highly technically proficient, he favoured simplicity. He taught me to play "Starman" and Ian taught me Mott's version of "Sweet Jane" and for a moment, I was Ziggy unplugged! Mick and Ian are the funniest, greatest guys I've even known. Super rock gods, and really nice dudes.

Suzi, Lisa Ronson and I went to see Bowie at Roseland in 1996. It was strange to be standing with Mick Ronson's daughter as Bowie performed "Moonage Daydream" without him. Ronson never got the credit he deserved for fashioning, producing and arranging the entire Ziggy sound. Suzi recently showed me some of Mick's legendary Ziggy costumes. As I held these sacred items in my hands, still glowing and glittering, a great sadness came over me because Mick is no longer here, yet I felt his warmth. I then realized how itchy the glittery material was, especially the knickers! No wonder he hated wearing these things!

Mick's sister Maggi invited me to the memorial concert she organized in on April 29, 1994 (the one-year anniversary of his death) at the sacred site of Ziggy's last gig, the Hammersmith Odeon. At the rehearsals I had lunch with the Spiders From Mars, Woody Woodmansey and Trevor Boulder. Ian Hunter spent many hours with us at the Knightsbridge hotel bar - remembering Mick with tears and laughter. Ian took Mick's death really hard. They were very close.

In 1989 Tony Zanetta asked me for assistance with his Bowie biography Stardust. Z dispelled an illusion; when "Ziggy" wore an eye-patch and one earring (a pretty-pirate look) it was really because he had conjunctivitis in his eye!

Tony Visconti, producer of all the early 70's Bowie and T-Rex albums invited me and a friend who was writing a Ronson biography (The Spider With the Platinum Hair), to his New York studio in 1995. Tony entertained us with fantastic stories and also let us mix unreleased T-Rex tapes on his mixing board - what a thrill! He had several gold Bowie records on his wall. Tony told us that while Bowie and the Spiders From Mars were living at Haddon Hall in the UK, they'd agreed to take turns buying the groceries for the week. Tony would spend a hundred dollars for a week's worth of food, and David and Angie would come back with a bottle of wine and some caviar bought with their week's allowance.

Ziggy's official photographer Mick Rock contacted me about my video collection, and he's such a great guy. Visiting his studio is like being in heaven itself, and his photos wrote the pages of history!

Leee Black Childers is a fascinating guy to hang out with. He was the Vice President of MainMan's New York office (as well as tour photographer), and he tells fabulous stories of the days in Hollywood with Ziggy on tour. The band and entourage would be put up in the best hotels but they had empty pockets. To get money, Leee and the road crew would walk out to Hollywood Boulevard and offer tourists a fine lobster dinner for $50.00 cash, give the tourists their hotel room keys, and tell them to order room service. One of Leee's jobs was to baby-sit the drug induced, out of control Iggy and the Stooges - who were then MainMan artistes - in California after Bowie produced their Raw Power LP. Defries forbid the Stooges to play live, thinking they'd steal Bowie's limelight. Leee learned to swim by repeatedly rescuing Iggy who would daily be found floating face down in the pool stoned out of his mind.

Jayne (formerly Wayne) County is a fabulous transvestite punk rock singer who was also a star of Warhol's Pork. David was fascinated him/her. Jayne was to record an album for MainMan which was delayed indefinitely, yet she was kept on retainer (just like the poor Stooges) after signing a ten year contract. Jayne was yet another MainMan hostage.

Angie is a piece of work! I went to some of Jayne's shows with Leee, and the wild and uninhibited Angie. One night. Angie flashed her breasts at Jayne during his/her show, complaining that Jayne's boobs were bigger than hers!

I often ran into the late Cyrinda Foxe (the girl in Bowie's Jean Genie video). She's the ultimate rock n' roll cool chick. She's in the "Jean Genie" video and is 'Lorraine' in Bowie's "Watch That Man". Cyrinda was married to David Johansen when he was a New York Doll, and later to Steven Tyler of Aerosmith. She was in the Ziggy clique - a girlfriend of David's and Angie's. A vivacious and extremely entertaining girl! Andy Warhol adored her, and I can see why. We had a nice brunch one morning and talked about old times. After one of Jayne's gigs, I was showing Jayne some photos. Cyrinda sat down next to us and asked, "Oh can I see too?! There I was sitting between these two important characters from the Ziggy days, feeling like I was sitting with the March Hare and the Mad Hatter.

Today, these people are more fascinating than Bowie! I'm honoured that they are my friends. 'Ziggy' absorbed all the talents of Iggy, Lou Reed, Marc Bolan, Mick Ronson, etc. That's why he was so great. Bowie was the center of their universe at one time - a true icon. Many people gave Ziggy the gift of life. He was simply the monster they created. Bowie ceremoniously dumped the Spiders that night at the Hammersmith Odeon as if he were simply cleaning out his closet, but those records - especially Ziggy, will live on forever!

Klaus Nomi -
Riding The New Wave
By Madeline Bocaro ©

The transitional period between decades is always highly charged with the excitement of things to come, and of an era coming to an end. The 1970's had their final burst of energy with Punk rock, but by 1979, the New Wave was already upon us. Simmering beneath the deliberate crudeness, realism and rage of Punk was the slick, brightly coloured, cosmetic, futuristic fantasy world of New Wave. The movement's forerunners were fans of British Glam rock, especially of David Bowie and of American disco music. It was time for some fun. The Rocky Horror Picture Show was back in town!

New York City had a healthy club scene in 1979. While CBGB still hosted local bands like Blondie, the Ramones and Talking Heads, Hurrah! was the New Wave dance spot. Danceteria and the Mudd Club were also thriving, and discos like Xenon were going strong. Even Studio 54 hung on by a thread. Music was becoming more synthesized and Euro-flavored, ever since the Giorgio Moroder produced Donna Summer hit, "I Feel Love" (1977) inspired experimentation within dance music. This was usually reserved for New Age, Jazz or space-age music, but now dance music could be taken to the outer limits as well. This new sound was known in Europe as New Romantic. The dawn of MTV forced musicians to be more concerned with visual appearance, and even Heavy Metal became Hair Metal! Soon came the wrath of Madonna.

Meanwhile, a strange, brilliant fellow from Germany had been living quietly in New York City for a few years, developing an act and a persona to complement his extraordinary singing talents. That persona became Klaus Nomi, and his story is short, but sweet (and so was he)! Had he lived, the 80's surely would have been more noteworthy. The musical climate was perfect for what he had to offer. Nomi could see the future clearly – in fact, he was already living in it.

Soon our paths would cross. In 1978, I became a regular shopper at the trendy fashion spot, Fiorucci where the Day-Glo colored clothing was made of plastic and vinyl. Fiorucci was not just a store, but a whole new scene. They sold clothing by new cutting edge designers, and their own Fiorucci brand. Andy Warhol designed some of the window displays and frequented the store, which also sold the latest fashion magazines. The newest, coolest music was always played there; the B-52's, Blondie, Devo, Bowie, etc.

I bought a new Fiorucci outfit each week, and my hair was eggplant purple with flaming pink streaks. A sales person named Joey Arias admired my attire, so we would trade off. He would loan me his Fiorucci clothes. Joey's hair was a different florescent color each week, and once it was stenciled in leopard print!

At Christmas time in 1979, I spotted a strange looking guy on a Fiorucci postcard, which read, "Klaus Nomi." I thought it meant 'Merry Christmas' in German, and bought the card. In December of 1979, I was in the studio for Bowie's Saturday Night Live rehearsal. My dad (a VP at WNBC television) apologized for not getting me a seat inside the studio, but in the control room instead. This was even better, since it was right outside the dressing rooms!

The studio was buzzing with excitement. Jane Curtin and Larraine Newman were jumping around yelling, "Bowie is in the building!!!" I suddenly recognized Joey from Fiorucci in the hallway. He excitedly explained that Bowie had asked him to sing back-up on the show! Bowie stood with a weird little guy dressed in black, and introduced him to me as 'Klaus Nomi' (Joey Arias turned out to be a member of Klaus Nomi's band). I was actually more excited to see my postcard photo come to life than to actually meet the legendary Bowie! I was enraptured by this elfin creature in exquisite makeup, pointed hair style and costume with a German accent. Klaus smiled sweetly and kissed my hand. He wore the softest black leather elbow-length gloves - quite glamorous! I asked who did their fabulous makeup (the meticulous details were not visible on TV). They boasted that they'd done each other's makeup, "Joey did mine and I did his, and we did David's!" Boys will be girls!

First they performed "The Man Who Sold The World." Joey and Klaus carried Bowie on stage because his bizarre Dadaist costume encased his legs. Klaus and Joey sang backing vocals and you could hear Nomi's authentic, immaculate soprano quite clearly. It was a wondrous gift that would evoke emotion and astonishment in any listener. Back to the dressing room…

Bowie emerged for his second song - in a dress! It was refreshing to see him back to his old glam/drag tricks. The trio performed "TVC-15," then rehearsed their 'macho' dance moves for "Boys Keep Swinging."

I accepted Klaus' invitation to see his next concert at Hurrah! and was honoured to see him perform many times thereafter. Each performance begat gasps and rapturous applause. Anyone could appreciate his pop/opera music. It's quite keyboard-laden with melodic guitar, and Nomi's stunning vocals! The classical operatic arias were captivating, especially with the freaky visual juxtaposition. I was never an opera fan, but this was something else - something special.

Klaus came to New York from Germany to become a pastry chef. However, he yearned to use his operatic voice in the pop/rock arena. He would pose in the window of Fiorucci as a mannequin for hours, never blinking his eyes once, and he performed a live concert there. Klaus was an excellent mime and a rare talent. His range from baritone to soprano was beyond belief, coupled with his spiked blue-black hair and matching lipstick, white painted face and his unblinking eyes. In his white gloves, shiny monochrome plastic space tuxedo (he must have frequented the most elegant space places), pointy elf booties and leotards, Klaus looked like a real-life toy - a cross between Mickey Mouse and the Tin Man! He was a really sweet, adorable guy. He would kiss my cheek and leave a black lipstick print every time! I'd see him walking down New York's St. Mark's place in his fuzzy electric blue coat and makeup in broad daylight.

Live shows were his strength; a sort of Kabuki-Cabaret, opening with Klaus emerging fresh from outer space in a cloud of smoke (dry ice actually, which would shower the audience with a cool heavenly mist). His band was hidden behind a curtain while Klaus and his mime troupe - Joey and a couple of exquisitely made-up Martian girls - performed alien theatrics, churning out ditties like "Ding Dong the Witch is Dead", "I Feel Love" (yes, the Donna Summer hit), Lou Christie's "Lightning Strikes" and "The Twist." Klaus' original songs (penned by Kristian Hoffman) were melodic Euro-pop tunes with other-worldly lyrics about outer space, death and the distant future. The Nomi character and his evocative vocals gave warmth to the otherwise cold synthetic sound. Nomi's music was like Kraftwerk with personality. Klaus closed each show with the operatic aria from Samson and Delilah -- astonishing the crowd every time. The phrase, "Is it live, or is it Memorex?" lingered on everyone's mind.

Nomi's performance at Xenon on February 25, 1980 was magnificent. The oblivious dancing crowd was unaware there would be a show at all, and when their precious disco music suddenly stopped and a curtain rose on-stage, they hissed and booed. Klaus immediately entranced them with his genuine vocal abilities and self-created character - and at the end of the forty minute performance, disappeared into the vaporous stratosphere from which he came. Everyone screamed for an encore! First there was the dead silence of disbelief, then cries of, "What was that?!" then a thunderous burst of applause.

Nomi performed a stunning two-night engagement at Hurrah! on March 18th and 19th, 1980. Even the audience was quite glamourous! We all had the distinctive feeling that we had witnessed the beginning of something big.

I last saw Klaus at the Mudd Club in 1982, performing out of costume but still in full make-up. Then he suddenly disappeared from the scene, and my worst fears came true. Klaus died of AIDS in 1983. It's tragic that it all started and ended so quickly. I always think of his sincere smile, how much he loved parties, the many people he touched with his wonderful gift, the sparkle in his eyes, and how happy he was to finally be on the road to success. His golden voice lives on.
See this story with photos here...
Klaus Nomi-Riding The New Wave - with photos!

I JUST WANNA SAY THANK YOU…TO THE RAMONES!
By Madeline Bocaro ©

They were like brothers - brothers to each other - and crazy, loveable big brothers to legions of rock n' roll kids. It was 1976. Coming out of the Glam era and into oblivion, what was out there for us discerning kids in a desolate world of Prog-rock, bordering on Disco? The New York Dolls were silenced by their own outrage. The Sex Pistols were yet to be unleashed in England - anarchy was bubbling underground in a parallel universe, waiting for a kick-start. In New York we were left staring in the darkness at absolutely nothing. All dressed up with nowhere to go…

Then, just as if they heard our cries of despair - up from the subways of Queens, New York (not so far away) came a gangly gang of four guys wearing leather jackets and sneakers who would bring back the fun in rock n' roll, and blast the future wide open! They certainly weren't pretty or particularly talented, but they had a certain weird charm! They showed us that we could take over. We didn't need heroes or idols - we had the power to do it ourselves! The Ramones were a band of approachable big kids…for the kids. They actually spoke to us and were happy to see us. We'd hang out with them at Trash & Vaudeville and all over Greenwich Village. It is said that only 10 people attended one early Ramones gig, and all of them formed bands of their own.

We thought we needed more, but couldn't articulate it exactly. The Ramones said it quite eloquently, "Hey Ho – Let's Go!" That was it! That's what we were pining for – simplicity! As it turned out, we actually wanted less! Something honest and genuine in an era of untouchable mega acts with their endless guitar solos and keyboard ?excursions to nowhere.CBGB's - the Cavern of our time - gave the Ramones a home in New York City, and they spearheaded a whole new music scene. Everyone in New York knew this was the world's best-kept secret, just about to be told, and for now they were all ours! We could see them every week, packed shoulder to shoulder, and get our heads spun around at full speed. When we got home, our heads were screwed on backwards, and we never felt better!

This was no teeny-bopper stuff. It was hardcore - loud, fast, simple and purely original! Each two-minute three-chord song was like a machine gun blast. They'd play 20-minute sets, non-stop (except for arguments about which song to play next!) Joey's voice just got better and better. At first they were clumsy – an amusing spectacle, but soon they were ready for blastoff. We saw them at the launch pad, and now they are eons away with their tail blazing light across the sky. Johnny and Dee Dee's virtuosity is apparent in every photograph – their speedy strumming hands are always a blur. The journalists were confused, yet passionate. Richard Hell told a charming story;
"Dee Dee explained the songs… and he said the first song written was "I Don't Wanna Walk Around With You," and then "I Don't Wanna Get Involved With You," and "I Don't Wanna Go Down to the Basement"… I Don't Wanna this and I Don't Wanna that…and Dee Dee goes, "We didn't write a positive song until "Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue."

It was as if Dr. Frankenstein had created mutant Beatles clones with a colossal lightning bolt, adding far more power, angst and fervor. People were scared of the Ramones as if they were monsters, yet they had heart and soul and only wanted to be loved. Their heads were too big and their jackets too small – just like the poor monster immortalized in the New York Dolls song "Frankenstein"!

As 'brothers', the Ramones took one surname and united for life…for the cause. They at first intimidated, then captivated the Clash and the Sex Pistols with their live UK debut at the Roundhouse on July 4, 1976. Joe Strummer admitted that the Clash were apprehensive about being good enough to play live, but the Ramones told him, "Wait until you hear us! We stink!" They spun the Roundhouse into a frenzy, and Punk got the kick-start it needed.

Although Johnny, the group's steadfast commander kept the ball rolling, the Ramones eventually came apart like most dysfunctional families, yet they persevered for some resolute, irreverent reason…probably a higher calling. Their records didn't sell millions, but they survived financially and instinctively on their sure-fire gigs, and influenced innumerable other bands. Drummers came and went, and came again (Tommy finally returned). C-Jay replaced Dee Dee on bass for awhile, but throughout, Joey and Johnny kept plugging away although they later despised each other (ever since Johnny married Joey's girlfriend). It was their mission to see this thing through, and they did – for 2,263 gigs, 21 albums and 22 years. Their final show was in August of 1996 at L.A.'s Palace. Their earthy mission was then complete. Tommy Ramone wrote in the liner notes to the Hey Ho Let's Go! compilation, "This is art. Sometimes it doesn't sell at first. Sometimes it takes awhile for the world to catch on."

When the Ramones were inducted into the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame in 2002, a year after Joey's death, nobody thanked him. Tommy said, "The Ramones meant everything to Joey." Dee Dee humourously congratulated and thanked himself, Johnny thanked President Bush and America. But our dear Joey is to be thanked above all for his loyalty and sincerity, his sensitivity, his resolve and commitment to rock n' roll, and for all the fun and precious memories he gave us. (And for all the rock nights he hosted in New York after the Ramones ended.) Joey so much embodied New York City that he was like a walking sky-scraper. Now he is a part of the city forever, with a street named Joey Ramone Place on the corner of East 2nd St. and the Bowery - right near CBGB!

The greatest gifts a band can give their fans are devotion, empowerment and a good laugh. Some things do last forever…and the pure spirit of the Ramones will live on in the hearts of rock kids, young and old!! It's strange - we still have Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis & Little Richard, but Johnny, Joey and Dee Dee are gone. They're probably all beating each other up in heaven right now, not wasting any time!

IT'S ROCK N' ROLL WITH LIPSTICK ON!

Remembering The New York Dolls – With L-U-V!
By Madeline Bocaro ©

"It's ten o'clock...Do you know where your children are?" Yeah - they're just sneaking out of the house to hear some rock n' roll! I despised that TV message introducing the Ten O' Clock News - because it would trigger mom's thoughts about my possible whereabouts. I was either in my room listening to the same song or album over and over
in ecstasy, or illicitly out at a rock concert in New York City!

When I should have been playing with dolls, I was rockin' out with the New York Dolls! It was a rare privilege to see the New York Dolls in their glory days - in February 1974. An older neighbor offered to baby-sit a friend and myself, and took us to the show. His name was Michael, and he was very cool. He had long hair, was into Lou Reed and Alice Cooper, and he had a car!

The Dolls concert - billed as The St. Valentines Day Massacre - was a wonderful treat for me in New York City at the Academy of Music (before it was called the Palladium). The lobby was filled with beautiful glittery young boys in drag, glam rags and glitter on their naked, hairless chests, stardust running down their cheeks – a patent leather paradise! Those were the days when transvestites were actually attractive, not the botched up mess they are with today's surgical advances (bearing God only knows what strange combination of anatomy). I loved the Dolls' look; so outrageous, camp and trashy in their Glam parody, but mostly because they were still just adorable mischievous boys in makeup. And can we talk about the hair? The ozone layer's first hole appeared in the early 70's, all to keep some really spunky, high hairdos in place.

We left our 'babysitter' Michael to his misery with his annoying girlfriend, and us kids ran down the aisle right to the front of the stage just as the lights went down. After a newsreel montage of Hitler's army invading France, Bob Gruen's black & white film Lipstick Killers came on the screen, featuring the Dolls as glam gangsters applying lipstick in preparation for their next crime. An usher told us to move aside because the band would be coming down the aisle. We didn't believe it, but soon we had the Doll boys pushing right by us as they approached the stage and leapt onto it! My most vivid memories are of being airborne – jumping on the seats in time to "Jet Boy", the unmistakable pink Dolls drum set, Jerry Nolan's machine-gun rhythms, the simplistic yet heart-wrenching guitar solos by Johnny Thunders in his tight yellow pants and gigantic hair, and the camp, raspy vocals of David Jo. Tres chic! An audience member handed Johansen a sheer black blouse, and he wore it during the
show. Three encores later, we were severely transformed, and our ears rang all the way home!

Besides "Personality Crisis" and "Frankenstein", "Puss In Boots" was always my favourite Dolls song. I always envisioned it being about a rhinestone cowboy in high- heeled boots, because of the lines, 'And now you're walkin' just like you're ten foot tall / Don't 'cha know the shoes are makin' him lame...' Can you picture it?! A glammed up drunken cowboy trippin' on his shiny platform boots while some guy shoots at him!!! I love Johnny's intoxicated, wobbly guitar solos. It sounds like he's tipping over on his platform shoes like the cowboy in the song - as he bends the strings just out of reach of 'in tune'! It's so ridiculous and beautiful at once! Johnny was such a doll! Creem magazine's readers voted the Dolls simultaneously as the best AND worst new band of 1973. The band proudly declared this fact in their tour advertisement!

The debate on who inspired punk rock rages on, but the Dolls must have unwittingly been mainly responsible. After all, Malcolm McLaren literally molded the Sex Pistols after them. And just like the Dolls, the world wasn't ready for the Pistols either! Todd Rundgren's production of the Dolls' debut LP gave it a slightly polished garage sound. It was exactly like John Lennon described Glam Rock; "It's Rock n' roll with lipstick on!" It's a shame that the band only made two studio albums. Their red patent leather Commie look was stunning, and a third Dolls album would have been red-hot!

How wonderful that the New York Dolls re-united in June of 2004 for Morrissey's Meltdown Festival in London. Thirty years on, and only three remaining original members, but it was still a blast. They performed "You Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory" for their lost comrades, not knowing that another would be gone in only a few weeks. – just short of a scheduled gig in New York.

"Time, in quaaludes and red wine, demanding Billy Dolls and other friends of mine. Take your time…" Billy Murcia was the first to go. Then Johnny, Jerry, and now Arthur (Killer) Kane. Die young, stay pretty.

It's amazing that Johnny had nine lives and lived as long as he did, but when he died in April, 1991 at age 38 it was still a tragic shock. I attended Johnny's wake, and he looked so beautiful lying there, like a porcelain Japanese doll with his spiked jet-black hair. His face looked flawless, angelic, serene. Sure, they had to put so much makeup on him to hide the scars (and he was damned proud of those scars – he rocked hard for them)! The multitude of guitar-shaped floral arrangements, banners which read, "You Can't Put Your Arms Around A Memory", and Aerosmith's Steven Tyler crying with his head in his hands sobbing, "This could have been me!" were poignant reminders of what a waste this really was and how sad. Poor Johnny survived New York City and London, but met his fate in New Orleans. Heartbreaker.

When visiting Rome in October of 1993, I saw some interesting graffiti. Spray- painted on the wall of an ancient marble ruin, were the words, "New York Dolls!" The Elvis graffiti all over Europe didn't impress me at all, but this really spoke volumes.

The New York Dolls are reunited every night, whenever I need to hear them, in my headphones, on my iPod, in the photo in front of Gem-Spa wearing tight shiny pants and boots that's etched into my mind forever. And it is pure elation having them with me always – from my childhood to forever. Rock on David and Sylvain! Rest in peace Billy, Johnny, Jerry and Arthur. Take good care of each other.

"Perhaps you're smiling now – smiling through this darkness, but all I have to give is guilt for dreaming. We should be on by now." – "Time"
(David Bowie)

P.S. – Love to Cyrinda Foxe – another beautiful doll who left us 'too much too soon'.
..

Stooges at Terminal 5 - August 8, 2008

By Madeline Bocaro ©

Statistically, they should all be dead. Some of them are. But Iggy and the surviving Stooges prevail. They defy evolution, yet they survive and persevere thanks to their primal instincts. Last week, their equipment was stolen in Canada, leading us to wonder if the reunited Sex Pistols had been in town at the time. If so, this would have been the biggest heist for Steve Jones to date (second only to Bowie's Spiders From Mars equipment which he made off with in the 70s!). Garbage cans and kazoos would have sufficed, but quickly rented equipment was set up and ready for the Stooges in New York City.

The Stooge machine is switched on, all the amps are cranked up to eleven, and the auditory assault begins. Once the Stooges get going, it sounds like the fight scene in Godzilla vs. Mothra repeating on a two-hour loop. We, the audience are the terrorized little people of Tokyo, knowing instinctively that we should run away, but we can't take our unblinking eyes off the astounding spectacle onstage. The translated subtitles in word-bubbles above our heads read, 'WOW!' 'HOLY CRAP!' 'WHAT THE F…?!'

Iggy remains free from the constraints of convention, corruption and clothing. We catch a glimpse of his saggy old butt. He bursts out of the gate with 'Loose' looking sublime with blonde streaked hair (imagine him sitting in the salon with foil wraps on his head, getting his highlights done!) He is tanned, lithe and wild. Within minutes, he's drenching himself in water, climbing the Marshall stacks and diving into the crowd, barking and morphing into The Legendary Wild Creature.

He stomps like King Kong – not the Kong who terrorizes New York City, but the primal beast who rules Skull Island, the earth shaking beneath his feet, where dinosaurs fear him and humans cower in terror and in reverence. Somehow, this small, 61 year old guy with a limp from a leg injury can still pull this off. Why? Because he's NOT KIDDING!

Bodies fly onto and off of the stage. Iggy dives off, moshers dive on, people are upside down, pushing and shoving – it's brutal. BUT…the ideal stance at a Stooges gig is to remain completely still and let the deafening psychedelic buzz / drone vibrate through your body and jiggle you around like a blob of Jell-O while your throbbing brain does the Stooge groove.

During "No Fun" Iggy sings the immortal lines, "C'mon Ronnie, lemme hear you tell 'em how I feel!" Ron Asheton told us 40 years ago on the record, and he's here telling us again now, cranking out the scientifically formulated noise that only he can create. It's a blessing to also have his brother Scott here on drums! Mike Watt is an animal on bass. Iggy invites the crowd onstage, and hundreds r.s.v.p. He leaves them up there, joining us down front, drenching us in bottled water and sharing a drink. Oddly, there are no edible missiles, or smeared condiments in sight this time around (it is legendary that 70s Stooges fans brought their own arsenals). We got through '1969' and '1970' completely food free! 'TV Eye' and 'Real Cool Time' preceded a few tunes from Iggy's Skull Ring album.

Steve MacKay appears on shrieking sax for 'Funhouse' (the blues jam like no other). The ruckus he creates resembles the deafening collective cries of the Earth monsters upon the arrival of giant mutant three-headed lizard King Ghidorah in Destroy All Monsters (also the namesake of Ron Asheton's former band).

They venture into Raw Power territory this time including 'Search And Destroy'. Asheton pulverizes Williamson's guitar bits and boils them into the current Stooges stew. Appropriately, the name of the venue included the word 'Terminal'. This could be fatal. Another feral howl begins 'I Wanna Be Your Dog' for the second time. They've been playing this song twice in their set ever since they reunited, because it's so great that it needs to be played twice! 'I'm Fried' from the Stooges' latest album, The Weirdness closed the show.

I scooped up my brain from the floor, tucked it under my arm and went home to scoff at my entire music collection in disgust, deeming none of it as worthy as the Stooges LIVE! Serious fun!

By Madeline Bocaro ©

Can you believe that 1977 was thirty years ago?! I watched a great documentary on VH1 called NY 77 The Coolest Year In Hell, about the summer of '77.


Wow - it's amazing to see it all now in perspective. Elliot and I were just two spoiled 19 year olds who laughed about everything back then from our safe houses in the suburbs, and we thought New York City was the greatest thing. But seeing the footage and commentary about the extent of the decadence, depravity and danger was really incredible. The aftermath of the big blackout in July with the looting and riots looked like scenes from Iraq! Burning buildings, trash everywhere, gunshots and people scattering...total chaos! Elliot realized it more than I did. I was just so naive. Son of Sam was on the loose. We thought it was all a big joke, but we loved going to the city; me for Max's and CBGB, and him for discos and turning tricks.


There were great stories about CBGB, and the most interesting story about the city (surprisingly) was some rappers talking about the origins of scratching and hip-hop. I always wondered how they had those sound battles with turntables in the parks - like where did they get the electricity for it? He explained that they dismantled the bottom of street lamps, hooked up the electrical wires to several extension cords, snaking their way all the way into the park! Then the most cred was given to the guys with the LOUDEST sound - and they battled, scratching with Queen's song 'We Will Rock You' and blew each other out of the park. Then, the night of the blackout, all the poor ghetto kids who had their eye on the finest amps, speakers, and turntables in the electronics stores, looted and stole all the equipment they'd ever dreamed of having - and that was the night hip-hop was born! Then the sonic battles became bigger & louder. The contraband high-end equipment was all really desirable, so each DJ had to guard all his stuff with a posse of gunmen in the park. Sick stuff!


I remember Debbie Harry & Chris Stein telling us at CBGB one night that we should come uptown to these wild clubs where it's like a party and "people just talk in rhymes over the music - like stream of consciousness." I felt like they knew what was cool and it was probably legit, but I could also tell that it wouldn't be my scene (I was more of a Punk), so we didn't go. I think it was Grandmaster Flash they were going to see.


The documenary also illustrated the graffiti artists' pride in their achievements in leaving their mark on the trains. They would steal spray-paint cans from the stores - pinning the sleeves of their denim jackets closed, putting 4 paint cans down each sleeve and slinging their jackets over their shoulders. They'd descend into the tunnels at night to paint in the dark, after practicing their drawings for weeks in the dark for that purpose. They saw it all as works of art, but the public saw it as garbage. I totally appreciate anyone who is so committed to their art, no matter who or what it is.


There were also segments on Discos like Studio 54, and Plato's retreat where orgies went on every night.


Elliot would always take me to Times Square, where the most prominent letter on all the neon signs was 'X'. There was a huge poster store on some corner there, which had a few rare British Glam rock posters mixed in amongst thousands of movie star posters. I would spend 3 hours in there looking through each and every poster, while Elliot said he was going to the Discomat record store. Years later, he told me that he really went to 53rd & 3rd to turn tricks. My mom thought I was 'safe' in the city going with a 'guy' to protect me!!!


We'd also walk along 8th Avenue lined with hundreds of peep shows, hookers and pimps in alcoves who whistled at me. The 10-block stretch of 8th Avenue from Times Square up was known as the 'Minnesota Strip' because teenage prostitutes flocked there by the busload when Minnesota toughened up its' prostitution laws. There were some book stores there too - with pathetic fat old cigar-smoking men sitting amongst stacks and file cabinets of dusty old glamourous photos of 20s, 30s, 40s 50s movie stars. One of them had old issues of Circus Magazine (1973) with Ziggy Stardust or Mott The Hoople on the cover. I'd go there to search for the magazines. I would have paid $100 for this one Ziggy magazine and when I asked the guy how much, he said 25 cents! I quickly handed him the quarter and got the hell out of there before he would realize that he'd just sold me the damned holy grail!!! He could care less!


Elliot and I would later walk around Christopher Street - a whole different scene, and eat at Taco Rico, watching the gay couples walk by in leather. I loved the drag queens and trannies - they were so committed to the art of being themselves! One walked in dressed in a nurse's uniform with blood all over, dragging a headless doll. We hadn't realized it was Halloween because people looked so weird and fabulous there every night!


I remember being in a NY taxi in 1975 with my mom who had escorted me to a concert in the city. Some women walked in front of the cab, and mom said, "Look at those girls - they're dressed like hookers!" Hey ma - they ARE hookers!! Those were the days!


Now there's a sign near Times Square for the Waterfront Crab House. It says, "The only place in the city that still has crabs!"

Sly & The Family Stone live in New York City
B.B. King's Blues Club – December 7, 2007

BBy Madeline Bocaro ©

When Sly was fly, he was SUPER fly – the original Punk of Funk! He was a natural – a sweet, playful kid at heart obviously having fun onstage, yet he was a serious funk master. With the family Stone behind him, he was a true star, innovatively fusing rock, pop and funk in the 60s. Sly was one of the greatest live performers I'd ever seen when I was fifteen in 1973. He was outrageous in his head-to-toe purple sequined glamtastic splendour. He was wild – all over the place - and that stone classic music that we'd only ever heard compressed into a tiny am radio suddenly exploded into a colourful all-night funky jam party.

And now, 35 years later, I've got tickets online to see Sly at B.B. King's Blues Club in New York City. I can't believe I'm actually writing 'SLY' on my calendar for December 7th!! I hope he remembers to write it on HIS calendar, or that he even HAS a calendar, or that he actually shows up!! In any case, it will be funky!

For decades we've known that Sly was out of commission. First he became infamous for no-shows at gigs, later he was nowhere to be found. Drugs got the best of him. What a waste. What a sin that such a great funkster was silent for so long. The great comeback of Sly was always on my mind. Then it happened! He surfaced on the Grammys in 2006, resplendent in a long shiny silver purple-lined cape and matching foot-high platinum Mohawk wig. I couldn't believe my eyes! He was back! But wait…he was noticeably bent over, and limited in his movements. I began to think it was an imposter. How sad. How bitter sweet. He left the stage in mid-song. You couldn't blame him really – a gathering of unworthy famous musicians were pompously jamming 'I Want To Take You Higher'. How dare they be allowed onstage with the sublime Sly! As much as I hated to see him leave the stage, I had to mutter in solidarity, 'Right on brother!'

And here we are, in 2007, paying our respects to the master – just to be in his presence once again is a truly miraculous historic event. I've lowered my expectations, but still can't stop my heart from racing. The club has removed the tables for this gig, and I'm right at the front of the stage! Will I really be this close to Sly? Oh God – YES!

The Family Stone (including original members Cynthia and Jerry – trumpet and sax) appear onstage. We've heard that the band usually plays awhile before Sly makes his entrance, but WOAH – suddenly there he was! Could it be true? YES! Sly is actually in the building!! He's wearing a white sweat suit with bits of silver glitter, shades and a Mohawk. He shuffles out to roaring cheers - a smiling shadow of his former explosive self, but his gigantic smile is his trademark, proving it's really HIM! He noodles with his keyboard, checking the sound. Then he conducts a run-through audience sing-along of each song. He SLYly grins ear to ear and acts like a complete goofball. YES! He's back!! Amazing renditions of 'Dance To The Music', 'I Want To Take You Higher', 'Sing A Simple Song' and 'You Can Make It If You Try' follow. His voice is incredible - deep, soulful, playful. And he's not stoned! Many of us can't believe what we're witnessing (after many audience mutterings of 'You think he'll show up? I'll believe it when I see it!') Then Sly leaves the stage. He returns for 'Everyday People'. Then he leaves again.

We can't help but wonder if Sly is really happy to be performing again (he looks quite joyful onstage, but he doesn't want to stay). Was it wrong to prop him up on stage for our enjoyment? Not if he feels our true love and appreciation, and takes it to heart! Anyone else would feed their ego on this worshipping crowd, but Sly has no problem walking off.

The little brat has exited, stage left! Heavens to Mergatroid!! The band members are visibly panicked. Poor Jerry receives a message from the wings, nervously looks at his watch, and waits until Cynthia stops blowing to relay it to her. The band start jamming and there is much confusion. Aren't they used to this by now? Shouldn't they just pretend everything's normal? Don't they know the psychological tricks that get Sly back onstage? Perhaps an edible treat to lure him back, like the sick puppy he is!!

The band begins HIS song from Fresh - ironically titled, 'If You Want Me To Stay'. They're almost halfway through it, and I'm praying, "No! Wait for HIM to come back and sing it!!' And back he comes, and he sings it – partly to ME!! I've kept my vow and met Sly again in this lifetime, and he looked into my eyes and sang. What more could I ask for? I just want to be sure that he is happy. There are very few people who make their way deep inside my heart, and this crazy nut is one of them!

With Sly still absent, the band jams awhile on 'Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)'. At this point, some mice and elves on stage would have been a welcome diversion. The mic is handed to audience members to sing into. Sly never returns. One guy grabs the mic and says, 'Get that crack addict back up on stage! I paid $100 for this ticket!' Poor Jerry in defense replies, 'Have respect for the great Sly Stone – this is the longest time that Sly has been onstage this tour!" (It was maybe a total of 30 minutes, topping his usual 20). Quick! Call the Guiness Book of World Records!

Actually, Sly's gig went down as pretty much the calamity I'd expected, but we were all still dumbfounded nonetheless. It probably has nothing to do with his decades of drug abuse. It's just how he is – he's just SLY!

A friend went to the late show, and said it was fantastic. Sly was on stage for over an hour, and it was incredible. It's hit or miss, just like always – Sly is still fly, but only when he wants to be!

Delacorte Theater, Central Park, New York City
September 29, 2007
By Madeline Bocaro ©

'Baby you're a groove – you're like the planets when you move'. That was Marc Bolan - and those are his words, not mine. Whenever I play a T. Rex song, I get sucked into his shiny little world filled with unicorns and wizards, Cadillacs and glitter, and I cannot leave for weeks at a time. No other music is important for a while, and no other world feels more like home.

Marc wore a halo throughout his life – a light that he emitted which followed him everywhere. Some say he was self-absorbed and pompous, but they are just jealous. He disappeared so suddenly, a cruel death at the height of his beauty (after a bout with 'fat Elvis syndrome' – Marc and Elvis died within a month of each other) and at the onslaught of Punk rock, which he embraced, and whose denizens worshipped him.

On the eve of his 60th birthday, New York City celebrated Bolan's life and the music of T. Rex. Feathers, satin and glitter abounded with a constant stream of go-go dancers, and an uber-band which included Blondie's Clem Burke on drums, James Mastro and Steve Conte on guitar, Tony Shanahan on bass, T. Rex producer Tony Visconti also on bass and acoustic guitar, and an array of sax, string and bongo players. The night was hosted by Joe Hurley of Rogues March and Ed Rogers.

A female chorale opened the show with 'Children of Rarn, and the cavalcade of stars began. Patti Smith performed a most fitting song, 'Children of the Revolution'. During her improv, she managed to squeeze in a 'motherfucker' and something about CBGB. Moby's girlfriend bought him tickets to the show for his birthday, and he was 'honoured to play one of the greatest riffs of all time' on '20th Century Boy'.

Robert Gordon, who was born to 'Rockabilly Boogie' did 'Groove A Little', leaving 'Born To Boogie' to Tish & Snooky; Manic Panic moguls and creators of Crazy Color hair products (my favourite shade in the 70's was Aubergine!) Other performers included Television's Richard Lloyd on 'Jeepster', The New York Dolls' Sylvain Sylvain on 'Get It On', Ivan Julian (Voidoids) on 'Ballrooms of Mars', Steve Conte on 'Rip Off', Richard Barone and the Bongos on 'Cosmic Dancer', Willie Nile, Lloyd Cole (of the Commotions) and his son, and many more!

Other songs covered were 'Life's A Gas' 'Solid Gold Easy Action' 'There Was A Time/Raw Ramp', and I sobbed during 'The Slider' ('cos when I'm sad, I slide) but everyone else carried on having a good time.

The stage exploded with strobe lights and a bang when Scissor Sisters' Jake Shears and dragster Justin Bond of Kiki & Herb burst into 'Solid Baby'. It was nice that some obscure songs were included, like 'Rapids' from Tanx, and even some Tyrannosaurus Rex songs like 'Dove' which was beautifully rendered by Icelandic chanteuse Ragga.

T. Rex publicist B.P. Fallon introduced his latest protégé Justin Tranter of the band Semi Precious Weapons (producer of their new album: Tony Visconti) who sang a scorching version of 'Metal Guru'. 'Hot Love' was the finale, with everyone onstage.

Belvedere Castle was eerily illuminated by moonlight and stage light in the background of the proceedings at the lovely outdoor venue where Shakespearean events are often held. I could almost see Marc in the window of the uppermost turret, glancing down with a wink. A gigantic birthday cake was brought out at the end, which gave me an idea. When I get to heaven, I'm going to bring a piece of that cake to Marc's castle. I'll bring along my pals; John Lennon to sing 'Spaceball Ricochet', Johnny Thunders on 'Baby Strange', Mick Ronson can sprinkle his angel dust on the 'Monolith' solo, and the Ramones can rock out 'Debora'. I don't know if this is Marc's idea of heaven, but it most certainly is mine!

By Madeline Bocaro ©

Bryan Ferry is the ultimate image of sophistication. He's European, handsome, suave and elegant, immaculately fashionable, and that crooning voice of his just oozes glamour and style. He wouldn't be so credible if this sickening, syrupy image were all he had going for him. Ferry's ultimate appeal to me is the songs he writes, the covers he chooses to sing, and that he is the absolute worst dancer in the world! Really – the man can't dance, and it's astounding to see him try! It's ironic that someone so prissy and prim would revere someone so scruff and folksy as Bob Dylan, and that the result would be an uncanny blend of such disparate styles.

Aside from his role in the great Roxy Music (a new reunion album is in the works!) and putting the glamour in Glam rock, Ferry's solo albums have always been a delight. Especially delightful were his previous Dylan covers, the first being "It's A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall' on These Foolish Things in 1973. You can actually feel that he's having fun rocking this tune!

On Dylanesque, '"Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues" is spiced up in a similar 'Hard Rain' groove. Unearthing the beauty of Dylan's striking melodies, retaining harmonica yet adding strings and other odd instruments, such as castanets, a soulful backbeat and his own debonair flair, Ferry gracefully transforms eleven of the bard's songs, skillfully illuminating their intimacy. Dylan's pure poetry is showcased and honoured by the complementary arrangements, and by Ferry's sincere smooth and sentimental vocal delivery.

Dylan's nasty little ditty, 'Positively 4th Street' is slowed down, dressed up and disguised as a beautiful, almost loving ballad. The final line 'Yes, I wish that for just one time you could stand inside my shoes - you'd know what a drag it is to see you' now becomes a punch line! How Ferryesque! 'Make You Feel My Love' is now an atmospheric soundtrack to a tear-jerker. These two arrangements are reminiscent of Ferry's gorgeous adornment of "Don't Think Twice, It's Alright" on his 2002 Frantic album.

"Gates Of Eden" is given a gospel-tinged Elvisesque vocal treatment. It's throaty and cool. The Bossa Nova beat of "It's Not For You" is equally as sweet as George Harrison's Beatlesque version. 'Simple Twist Of Fate' rolls along exquisitely with some subtle "oohs", as do "The Times They Are A- Changin'" and "Baby Let Me Follow You Down". The arrangement on "All I Really Wanna Do" is at once modern and medieval.

OK Mr. Ferry, that was a nice diversion. Now hurry up and get back to work on the upcoming Roxy Music album we've been promised!

THREE STOOGES ARE BETTER THAN NONE!
By Madeline Bocaro ©

The Weirdness is certainly not normal. If it's the worst Stooges album as many are saying, then maybe it's the best Iggy Pop album (besides Lust For Life, or The Idiot – but that's another story). We've already read many harsh reviews, and a few politely praising their first album in 34 years. Old timers are complaining, newcomers act as if they know what's missing (drugs obviously), but nobody's really appreciating the fact that we have three living Stooges recording together again in our lifetime! This alone is a miracle! And their sax player has also survived the Funhouse! This time around however, true to form, they have NOT pleased the masses!

Ever since the early 70's, Iggy & The Stooges fathered every despicable new form of rock music to crawl up from the street, and onto the radio. In their day, they were pariahs - highly unmarketable, unfashionable and outcast by the mainstream, yet adored by a cult of rock purists. Music history would have been radically different without the steadfast foundation the Stooges built with blood and guts. There was no calculation in the band's formation. It just happened - a primal force of nature. The Stooges erupted in a loud burst, similar to the big bang that created planet earth. You might call it a natural disaster! They took the pop out of pop, wiped out the sixties, inspired heavy metal and revered soul, rhythm and blues.

Fast forward to spring, 2007. While taking a neighbourhood walk, listening to the new Stooges offering in my iPod expecting the worst, the first song began. I was immediately transformed back into the teenage delinquent outcast I had been almost forty years ago (while enjoying Funhouse on my 8-track)! I now felt a mischievous smirk emerging on my face and my head began bobbing. I reveled in the fact that I'm currently unemployed, and my stride hit a major groove – the Stooges are back! As folks jogged by, I knew for sure that whatever shlock they were listening to was not nearly as fucked up as "Trollin'"! I wish my parents were still alive – not so much because I miss them, but just so I could see their faces grimace when hearing this all too familiar glorious noise once again! That was half the fun, wasn't it?

Track one is encouraging. It gives hope that the rest of this damned album will be a masterpiece. However, we hear very few glimmers of greatness until the final song, "I'm Fried' when Andy Mackay's sax impressively replicates a stampede of irate elephants, hyenas and cows during an air raid, in unison with some sublime Asheton guitar wailing. Somewhere in between the first and last tracks are a few laughs, some kick-ass riffs, classic wah-wahs, and whiny vocal over-indulgence by Iggy. If there is anyone to blame for the flaws on this album, it's the grumpy old front man!

The Weirdness is just as lyrically juvenile (if not more so) than the gems these guys produced in their day, but unfortunately not as pure, exciting and minimal. While yelps, growls or two-word repetitive mantras used to be quite effective, the wordiness here is too much information! They should have stuck to this brilliant method, recently described by Iggy to David Fricke at SXSW; "When Ron started jamming the chords in 'No Fun,' I knew instantly that we would be in the book...As for the lyrics of that track, I always thought that 'no' is a great word. One of my favorite parts of the Rolling Stones' Satisfaction is when Mick goes "No no no." And then, on the other hand, you had the Beach Boys, another great band, who had this song where they kept repeating "Fun, fun, fun", so I thought to myself, "Well, there you go.""

The Asheton brothers (Ron and Scott – guitar and drums) rock out like no one else – no question. Bassist (ex- Minuteman) Mike Watt blends in well. No amount of inane or excessive lyrics can deny the power of the band, but something is definitely lacking…perhaps more cowbell? After all, they used sleigh bells on "I Wanna Be Your Dog"!

Living up to their own incomparable legacy would be impossible, yet considering that The Stooges have actually gone overboard and did too much thinking, it's all pretty ironic. They've become more savant than idiot! That they've learned to play their instruments better doesn't help the situation. The dum dum boys should have just gone dummer!! Fortunately, no track is too long that it becomes uninteresting. Unfortunately, no track is long enough to evolve into a free-form primal beast encompassing blues/jazz and hysteria that was the Stooges' trademark. Anyway, if you really wanna dig this album, you've gotta play it LOUD!

Producer Steve Albini wasn't to heavy handed on the mix, so he is probably not to blame. Yet, we must consider who produced the other three Stooges albums and successfully conjured up their magic; The Velvet Underground's John Cale, (The Stooges) the Kingsmen's Don Gallucci - who played the timeless keyboard riff on the 1963 hit "Louie Louie" at age 15 – (Funhouse) and David Bowie (Raw Power).

I'm torn. It's enjoyable. It's fun. It's actually growing on me. But the Stooges' allure was that they were sick, crazed, dangerous, unpredictable and SERIOUS! Nowadays, everything around us is sick and dangerous - including Britney Spears who has apparently cracked up - so the Stooges now sound somewhat safe. However, seeing them live next week should be fun. They are still the greatest live band around! Three Stooges are better than none!

(There are four extra tracks on the vinyl version of The Weirdness; "O Solo Mio", "Claustrophobia", "I Wanna Be Your Man" and "Sounds Of Leather").

Kimono My House - Revisited
By Madeline Bocaro ©

We have found the missing link between Sparks and Alvin & the Chipmunks! To some, the two groups are considered the most annoying of all time, but that's not it. "Come On-A-My-House" was originally a novelty song co-written by the man - and the actual voice - behind the vermin vocalists, Ross Bagdasarian (a.k.a. David Seville). But whereas the glamourized rats achieved vocal perfection through tape speed manipulation, Russell Mael did it all on his own, speeding his way through his brother Ron's complex compositions. "Come On-A-My-House" became a huge mainstream hit for Rosemary Clooney on Columbia Records in 1951 and has aged gracefully (the song, that is) into a largely unexpected classic. Ms. Clooney kept it in her repertoire right up until her recent passing. An ultra modern 2001 Motiv 8 club mix of the song by Pop Country star K.T. Oslin became a hot dance track favoured by DJs all over the world. (Motiv 8 also remixed Sparks' "Now That I Own the BBC"). What Sparks favoured - and jumbled - was the song title.

Now that Sparks' third album, Kimono My House has passed its 30-year mark, its significance and historical value have been repeatedly praised by many, yet the praises have been heard by few. The album cover alone, featuring two slightly askew kimono-clad geishas with absolutely no mention of the band at all, has been voted among the best album covers of all time in almost every poll taken. Beck recently named it again in the November, 2001 issue of Vanity Fair. The album itself was immediately embraced by Robert Hilburn of the LA Times upon its release, and also by Bjork 25 years on. Britain's NME called it "An instant classic" in their May, 1974 issue with Ron's face beaming on the cover. UK's Sounds wrote, "It's got the musical extravagance of Wizzard, the sophisticated feel of Roxy and the menacing power of the Third Reich."

In 1974, at the crescendo of the Glam Rock era, the Mael Brothers modified their original Halfnelson lineup by going to London and placing an ad for good-looking musicians. Applicants included (the late) guitarist Adrian Fisher, bassist Martin Gordon, and drummer Dinky Diamond. Island Records and producer Muff Winwood became interested, and so did every kid in England. "This Town Ain't Big Enough For Both of Us" was first broadcast on Capital Radio on March 11, 1974, and also on John Peel's radio show that same evening with accolades from both influential DJ's. To meet airplay demand, Island Records had to rush-release the single. The album peaked in the UK at #4, and its second single, "Amateur Hour" rose to #7 just after "This Town…" had quickly jumped to #2 during the week of Sparks' performance on Top of the Pops. (The Rubettes held the top spot that week).

Although the Kimono My House album does not have a title track, we somehow get the feeling that the door to the Mael house is wide open and there's a strange party going on inside, at which you are an honoured and privileged guest. There is music playing but nobody can dance to it. There is an abundance of delicacies and lots of mingling celebrities, including Albert Einstein and his theorizing relatives. The family pets are all running for cover, confused by the high-pitched sounds. You almost hesitate to go inside, but you are transfixed by the keyboard intro to "This Town Ain't Big Enough for Both of Us" and it ain't YOU whose gonna leave!

As you pass through the enormous golden door of the Mael mansion and stand in the ornate entranceway, the beauty of Russell's voice mesmerizes as you try in vain to decipher the words, and wonder what language he is actually speaking. The doorman knows three languages including Esperanto, but he is speechless. You are as relieved to find a lyric sheet inside as a drowning man is to find a raft, and ten years later when you've turned 25 you realize what it all means. Walter Mitty, eat your heart out! The uneven tempos and sudden changes might even classify this as the very first 3-minute opera. The song was later covered by Siouxsie and the Banshees in 1987, and in a duet between Sparks and Faith No More in 1997 on the album Plagiarism. Its greatest exposure was in a 1999 UK TV car advert.

The party rages on, and in the dimly lit pillow-laden paneled den of the Mael house we find several fumbling young couples. Every boy could easily relate to Sparks' manual of teenage sexploits, "Amateur Hour" while entering his teenage years. How many of you guys went to the library and studied books about Yehudi Menuhin?!

The master bedroom is completely mirrored, and here we find Russell romantically singing to himself. "Falling in Love with Myself Again" could possibly be the first rock waltz. This narcissistic little ditty with its sinister organ intro is quite catchy when it switches from minor to major keys without warning. While consulting the lyric sheet again, you discover that the reverse of the inner sleeve has a wonderful photo of the brothers in a spotlight, similar to the one on the back cover!

Out on the moonlit balcony, we find Romeo instead of Juliet. On "Here In Heaven" Russell portrays a deceived Shakespearean hero. This song is a perfect blend of comedy and tragedy. Poor Romeo is tricked by Juliet into a suicide pact in which he goes first. He probably just misunderstood her Olde English! Another gorgeous vocal performance during which you can clearly envision Russell's Adam's apple doing aerobics. The production somehow evokes the sound of an entire orchestra.

"Thank God It's Not Christmas" sounds orchestral at times as well, the soundtrack for our dejected singer, wandering through the hallways among the laughing and drinking guests, constantly looking for distractions to his lonely life. Christmas must be a bummer for some, and where most yuletide songs celebrate the holiday, here is one that most certainly does not. Ron has somewhat of a keyboard solo here, refreshing in its simplicity, when the few piano stars in rock at the time were running rampant like those in Emerson Lake & Palmer and Yes. Unfortunately, nobody could put a stop to them for several years.

Side two (for those youngsters out there, you had to get up and turn the record over in the 70's!) begins with language barriers as the subject on "Hasta Manana Monsieur." Again, the lyric sheet assists while Russell mixes up his Spanish and French in speedy English while trying to romance a German girl out on the vast green lawn. This song contains the world's worst pick-up line, "Kimono my house mon amour!" Some castanets are thrown in for good measure, and the melody sounds somewhat Germanic.

At poolside, we find young Einstein's relatives expounding upon his upbringing in "Talent Is An Asset". The bass line rocks, and the tune won't leave your head for weeks! Children seem to love this one. It was the chosen single release for America. Einstein's brain remains preserved in a jar in New Jersey.

"Complaints" has a killer guitar fade-out that you almost wish went on forever. But what were you thinking?! The beauty of these brief and concise pop masterpieces is that there are no long and boring instrumental solos! As the master Ron Mael said about composition at the time, "When a solo soon will grate, modulate."

On the Mael patio, adorned with marble statues in the form of characters from Citizen Kane, Russell contemplates his heritage. "In My Family" contains the brilliant line, "Gonna hang myself from my family tree." He's probably angry at brother Ron for writing such difficult melodies for him to sing!

You simply can't follow "Equator" so it closes the album. This is the closest Russell has come to singing the blues, and the saxophone he is seemingly battling with is clearly losing the fight. I'm sure that his date was there waiting for him on the equator, he just didn't walk around far enough to meet her! This is the song you put on when a friend has overstayed his welcome. It clears a room within 2 minutes, guaranteed. Coincidentally, the Maels' party seems to be breaking up just about now, as Ron fetches everyone's coats. He hasn't much else to do now while Russell is left contending with the horrific horn (his punishment for eating all of Ron's pudding last night). Nobody has ever been tempted nor dared to cover this song, and nobody should ever try.

Then it's back to side one for another insatiable listen. This perfect, structurally sound 10-song opus of style, speed and melody is the definitive Michelin Guide to Brit Pop, beautifully executed by two American brothers with a special flair. Kimono My House is a true monument to both music and architecture.
Sparks Official Web Site