An admitted narcotics addict, Thunders has provided his voyeuristic audiences years of viewing pleasure, giving them a heavy, demystified glimpse into the classic junkie-musician persona, that complex inter-bonding of both the work and pleasure principles.
For years now Thunders’ erratic performances have been viewed by some as a traveling freak show, a junkie punk circus of the bizarre, a place where one’s ultimate standing in life is solely determined by how much of what drug one took, and for how long. And Thunders always came out a winner by those rules, except the stakes kept going up. Because in the real music biz world, he was increasingly seen as a loser – a living, breathing apparition, the ghost of our not-too-recent rock and roll past.
But rock has always been at least 50 percent image and chutzpah, and Thunders was never lacking in those areas. Back in 1971, when the rest of America was sifting through the remains of the 1960’s, the New York Dolls were just beginning their groundbreaking rowdy and raunchy rise and fall, planting the seeds for the music of the next decade. They were a thinking person’s garage band, living out their own private rock star fantasyland of nonstop booze, sex and drugs. They were fun and frivolous, throwing their “do it yourself” attitude in the faces of the newly-serious rock establishment.
As befits innovative New York bands, they failed miserably in the States (except in maybe their home town, LA and San Francisco), but developed sizable followings in England, Europe and Japan. At the helm of the Dolls' "meteoric” career was a guitarist named John Genzale, a.k.a. Johnny Thunders. For future rockologists, the Johnny Thunders sound and style will be viewed as a major influence in the guitar player’s family tree, crossing Chuck Berry and Keith Richards with New York street smarts to create his own raunchy, urban style. His straightforward, no-bullshit rock n’ roll has influenced two or three generations of players, from Steve Jones (the Sex Pistols), to Brian James (Lords of the New Church) to Vinnie Vincent.
Almost as influential (but more legendary) is his “don't give a fuck” attitude towards himself, his career and society in general. Like his fellow musician Sid Vicious, Thunders is hailed as one of the patron saints of the young destructive punks and punkettes of today, who tend to overlook the fact that, unlike Sid, Thunders has actually stayed alive where many have fallen, glossing over his incredible capacity for survival.
Like Keith Richards, Thunders’ main influence, Johnny is more inspirational as one of rock’s baddest boys – the ultimate strung-out guitar-slinging rock n’ roll gypsy. But whereas Keith Richards’ image was created and manipulated by the press after he was already a rock millionaire, Thunders was strung out almost from from the start, and has remained basically locked into low rent celebrity his entire career – internationally famous, but still struggling. And it’s certainly hard to make it happen again these days in the new “improved” drug free music business after you’ve been branded a druggie – as seen recently by the troubled careers of Richard Lloyd (ex-Television) and David Crosby (Crosby, Stills and Nash). The key lesson here is: if you plan to do drugs, make it real big first. Considering Thunders seemed to have made the mistake of starting his career in an addict’s state of mind, it is amazing he’s gotten this far. In early 1987, after years of living in Europe and being relegated to a life of sleazy rock clubs and methadone programs, Johnny Thunders is back in town. But this time it seemed different. And better.
Today’s Thunders may be a rerun – nowhere near as hot as vintage Dolls’ or Heartbreakers’ shows where band and audience were engaged in a mutual exciting act of rock n’ roll subversion – but he’s the best rerun he’s ever been.
Beginning late (characteristic for Thunders, strange for the John Scher-run Ritz), he began with the raunchy instrumental “Pipeline” (the traditional Heartbreaks-era opener), which sounded surprisingly tight and more kick-ass than ever. In a white gangster suit and floppy Keith Richards’ mop, Thunders at first seemed almost respectable. But his guitar playing still had that old raunchy sonic assault, as he wrung screaming notes out of his old Les Paul Special, practically falling over.
The show was loosely billed as a pseudo-New York Dolls reunion, featuring ex-Dolls and Heartbreaker drummer Jerry Nolan and the back-from-beyond bassist, Arthur “Killer” Kane (though the reunion concept was meaningless without ex-lead singer David Johansen, who is currently having great success on his own with his pseudo lounge singer act, as Buster Poindexter). However, three original Dolls are better than none.
Drawing from material from all their former configurations, Thunders and Company played hit after hit, most with tongue-and-cheek titles like “Too Much Junkie Business,” “Pills,” “In Cold Blood” and “Dead or Alive.”: The former Dolls were all in great spirits and looked quite well preserved and in good shape overall, performing with a drive and intensity sorely lacking from recent Thunders;’ shows (and most of today’s music). Johnny’s voice was actually stronger and more self-assured than ever, as was his guitar playing – though, true to form, he still stops to scratch his nose sometimes during solos.
Other Heartbreakers’ classics followed, including “Can’t Keep My Eyes On You” and the haunting ballad, “It’s Not Enough.” Amazingly even the harmonies were in key. “Personality Crisis” was next, sounding almost as good as the Dolls’ version 15 years earlier – joyous, spontaneous, loud and still offensive.
Thunders seemed relaxed and almost cheerful as he did a short solo acoustic set, with “You Can’t Put Your Arms Around a Memory” and “Ask Me No Questions” providing a good example of his wider-then-expected range as a songwriter. Lighting a cigarette, he ran through a few selected ‘60s’ covers, like the Stones’ “Play With Fire” and Barry McGuire’s “Eve of Destruction” (the Thunders’ version: “Eve of Seduction”).
The rest of the band joined in for several more raucous covers including “I Ain’t Superstitious,” “In the Midnight Hour” and “Sweet Little Sixteen.” The stone-faced Nolan faithfully pounded out the driving back-beats, retaining his title as the only drummer in rock who plays while smoking a cigarette dangling from his lips. The group also did some newer songs which sounded as powerful and passionate as the oldies, especially Johnny’s lamentful, poignant 50s-ish blues-rocker about Sid Vicious, “Sad Vacation.” The real surprise was the return of Arthur Kane – the original Dolls’ bassist long given up for dead or drunk – who seems to have emerged from the druggie underground with his chops intact.
This evening had a greater degree of professionalism than, say, Thunders nodding out and dropping his guitar during early 1980s’ performances, but was still far from slick. There was clearly no set list, and the discussions between songs dragged down the group’s momentum and energy. Thunders is not exactly an arena act, but the music still rocked like the best of them.
The band fully redeemed themselves by closing with their two Lower East Side junk rocker anthems, “Born to Lose” and (dedicated to co-author Dee Dee Ramone) “Chinese Rocks.”
Of all the bands participating in reunion fever these days, the New York Dolls are among the most worthy, truly deserving more than a few paragraphs in today’s rock encyclopedias.
Maybe David Johansen should reconsider. I mean, if the Monkees could pull it off, why not them. They were always years ahead of their time anyway, and with today’s MTV’ers and heavy metal children they could possibly have a chance. Like true Rock n’ Roll Vampires, the Dolls and their legacy live on. Long live the Dolls.
Originally published January 28, 1987.
Originally published January 28, 1987.
