FRANK 43: Bug Out!

Vans 106 Vulcanized in Jungle Green/Rifle

Š 2010 Vans, Inc.

[LIFE AFTER SKATE]

2010

WeA c t ivis t LA DY TIG R A SHOT BY C H ERY L D U N N w w w. w es c . c om

Contents 12 14 16 40 46 50 58 66 72 84 92 102 110 120 142

Letter From The Editor Ricky Powell 101 PhD…Push here Dummy Zooted in Xanadu Chances with Wolves Ralph McDaniels Andre Torres Creature Janette Beckman Edan Portnoy Scoopin’ Golden Boogers Tom and Abby Joe Conzo Colorful Characters Roberta Bayley

Mark Welsh photos. coalheadwear.com

Phil in the Frena Solid.

Frank151 / Bug Out! FRANK was founded in 1999 by Mike and Stephen Malbon in Atlanta, GA, USA. Publisher Guest Curator Editor In Chief Associate Editor Photo Editor Art Director Production Director

Stephen Malbon Ricky Powell Adam Pasulka Caitlin Levison Collins Craig Wetherby Nicholas Acemoglu Anton Schlesinger

Interns

Benjamin Boas, Siva Haffenden, TzuCheng Ho, George Leonidou, Ryan Mayle, Hanako Sasaki, Shaquille Serieaux-Halls, Sam Tolman, Axelle Zecevic

Legal Affairs FRANKRADIO US/Japan Ambassador Far East Operations Directors Far East Logistics

Brian J. Marvin, Dan Tochterman Domingo Neris Daisuke Shiromoto Lyntaro Wajima, Takayuki Shibaki Yosuke Nakata, Tomonori Mitsuo

Advertising Inquiries Creative Submissions General Information Apparel Inquiries

advertising@frank151.com content@frank151.com info@frank151.com apparel@frank151.com

In loving memory of DONDI and Sam Kellerman.

All words and photos by Ricky Powell unless otherwise noted.

FRANK is published quarterly by Frank151 Media Group L.L.C. “Frank”, “Frank151”, and “Frank151.com” are trademarks of the Frank151 Media Group.

All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without permission is strictly prohibited.

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Letter From The Editor Photo Craig Wetherby Aaaay, how ya doin’? Welcome to the 43rd chapter of Frank. It is truly an honor and a pleasure to be tabbed as Guest Curator. I’ve worked hard to formulate a collection of ideas and peoples that I believe constitute a time capsule of infinite relevance, to bring artists up who are very talented but don’t network per se, to give props to people who I personally know, and to express myself in a forum larger than my local street corner. This is a privilege that I hold in high regard.

Two thousand and ten is a special year for me in that it is my silver anniversary of “taking professional photos on a hang-out tip.” It’s also the 20th anniversary of my ol’ public-access show, “Rappin’ With the Rickster.” I’ve been touring all over the place with my World-Famous Slideshow, sharing all kinds of experiences and thoughts with audiences who appreciate my Dean Martin style of delivering anecdotes, each and every show being a unique experience.

I would like to send out a stoopid large Thank You to the staff at Frank151 as well as all the peeps who got down on this project. Much love and respect. Y’all makin’ me look good!

Yours Truly,

Ricky Powell (The Lazy Hustler)

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Ricky Powell 101 Words Ana Bananas Ricky Powell is the kind of guy who works to keep the spirit of basketball greats like Pistol Pete Maravich and Mr. Clutch Jerry West alive. He always rocks an ice potato in homage to Bill Bradley.

He is often approached by strangers who ask, “What are you?” to which he replies, “A horny dog walker, illy funskster, lazy hustler, cool substitute teacher, and bummy sophisticate.”

Bummy, that is, with the coffee- and pizza-stained vintage Knicks warm-up jersey. And sophisticated with his custom-made Puma suede hightops, emblazoned with his zodiac sign (Scorpio, just so you know).

A huge fan of Hammond B-3 organ players such as Jimmy Smith, Doctor Lonnie Smith, Jimmy McGriff, and Brother Jack McDuff, Powell allegedly receives electromagnetic waves to his frontal lobes when standing in front of landmark jazz club the Village Vanguard.

He is the Charlie Chan of Charlie Sheens, because Powell, too, is never far from his radio.

As his alter ego, Professor Pumpernickel, Powell schools disciples in his unique brand of street photography, often using his home sweet home the Village as a backdrop.

During daylight hours Mister Powell calls Washington Square Park his office, where he conducts most of his high-profile business meetings.

Currently he is accepting applications from young, attractive women to either pose fully clothed, or clean his apartment...in the nude.

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PhD‌ Push here Dummy I started taking pictures as an artful way to express myself alongside playin’ ball and bike messenging. I figured I could do photography forever. All I had to do was leave the house with my camera and the number of images to preserve would be infinite, just like the playlist on my trusty transistor radio / Jewish boombox.

The following is a time capsule of the last quarter century according to me and my bummy laziness. It serves as a frozen-moment parfait of diverse flavors and ingredients. I hope you find it somewhat intriguing.

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PhD...Push here Dummy (Clockwise from top left)

16 - 17.

28 - 29.

These guys were a staple of the East Village in the ’80s - ’90s.

Run-D.M.C. by the United Nations.

Summer 1988.

18 - 19.

30 - 31.

Sofia Coppola. Ave. A. 1994.

Public Enemy. Bleecker St. 1989.

Graff legends ZEPHYR and REVOLT. 1985.

20 - 21.

FUN Gallery owners Bill Stelling and Patti Astor. 1985.

Cruller-head.

Kaves, Lordz of Brooklyn. 2007.

Bike man of Alphabet City. 1998.

22 - 23.

On the set of the video “You Must Learn.” KRS-One, one of the best.

24 - 25.

Atlantic Records founder Ahmet Ertegun. 1989.

Art-world gods Keith Haring and Andy Warhol. 1986.

Cindy Crawford in the girls’ bathroom at Club MK. 1989.

26 - 27.

One of the kids in the after-school program where I was a counselor.

1986.

Laurence Fishburne, corner of St. Marks and First Ave. 1989.

Director David “Shadi” Perez, Cypress Hill, and photographer Sue Kwon on the set of “Just Kill a Man.” 1991.

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Spike Lee at the NY premier of Do The Right Thing. 1989.

Sandra Bernhard. Orpheum Theater, St. Marks and Second Ave. 1988.

Actress Debi Mazar. West Village.

Summer 1990.

32 - 33.

Schoolly D. Latin Quarters Club. 1988.

Eddie Wolfgang. The World Club.

1986.

Graff Legends FUTURA 2000 and LEE Quinones working it at an art opening. 1987.

34 – 35.

Rick Rubin. 1986.

My “Mona Lisa”: The last genuine bum on the Bowery. 1986.

Rakim,,,moves the crowd. The Apollo.

1988.

36 - 37.

Maceo Parker. SOB’s. 1993.

Jean-Michel Basquiat. West Broadway. Summer 1986.

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“The audience turned up Sunday afternoon to see Ricky Powell’s famous hiphop photos, but the pics weren’t nearly as memorable as the shutterbug’s don’t-givea-sh*t dialogue. For two-and-a half hours, Powell—a fixture of New York rap and art scene—downed tequila shots while he gave a first-hand account of hip-hop’s ’80s rise, dished about the celebs “on his d*ck” (Cindy Crawford, Chris Rock), and told outrageous stories about the “freaky bitches” he met during his weed-dealing days. Powell grew more “open” (as he put it) as the event went on, and only ceased his tirade when the mic was forcibly removed from his hand.”

“ATP NY 2010: 10 Reasons It Rocked” Billboard.com September 10, 2010

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Zooted in Xanadu All Tomorrow’s Parties 2010 ATP Festival...wow, what an experience, both in England and Monticello, NY. My part in Monticello went down at my ol’ Shangri-La, Kutsher’s, the last of the old-school country-club resorts up in the Catskills. I used to go there on my day off when I was a waiter at Camp Greene Hollow in the summer of ’77. It’s always been mythical, especially with the famous annual Maurice Stokes Basketball Games that featured the cream of the crop in the ’70s. So I was pleasantly surprised to hear that film director and that year’s ATP curator Jim Jarmusch tabbed me to do my slideshow. I was psyched and I just went ape shit from the get go.

My crew came up with me for the show: Trixy Rock; DWELS, my personal DP; Brooke, my punk-rock accountant; and friends of theirs. We smoked a huge blunt before we went into Kutsher’s, and then it was on. I felt like Joe Namath entering Bachelors III. The room was packed and immediately buzzing about my dope bummy sophisticate outfit: a 1970s Knicks warm-up top, a Cadbury navyblue blazer with subtle pinstripes,

and a dope pair of (accidentally) mismatched sneakers.

I remember starting off well, and then the tequila shots came. Like 15 or 20 minutes into my slideshow I started to get kinda raunchy with the anecdotes.

By the time they pulled me off—literally pulled—I had been venting for like two-plus hours, but I felt like I was getting cut off 20 minutes in.

I don’t remember much, but I do remember Sonic Youth god Thurston Moore tapped me on my shoulder in the middle of my Redd Foxx-style stories and said he heard I had something for him, which was true. I pulled out a pair of purple size 14 canvas high-top PRO-Keds and handed them to him. He bugged and everybody in the house broke fool. It was a charged moment.

Thurston later told me I brought the house down for the first hour, but then I got ill...like dark ill, talking about wildin’ out and my philosophies on life. I apparently drank like a dozen

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shots of the evil truth serum. I got Bukowski-like. I heard later on that people were cringing.

After the slideshow I started raging all through the lobby and corridors of Kutsher’s like a lunatic. Apparently I hopped up on stage during Raekwon’s show, bulldozing through the crowd with my Paper magazine press pass from 1986 and my Run-D.M.C. all-access laminate from 1987. Rae looked at me like, “...What the fuck?”

I could’ve gotten caught out there by one of his crew on stage, but they could tell I was down from my Pistol Pete Maravich T-shirt. They just booted me off and called me names… nothing too bad.

I’m lucky I had my crew picking up all the shit falling out of my messenger bag. Brooke pulled six of my slides out of a shot glass but I still lost $400 cash,

my digital voice recorder, and my ID (temporarily). I was saying vile, smartass (but witty) snaps on doofuses. I was out of control.

The next morning I was afraid that I jeopardized my payment, but the main producers said they loved my show and invited me back for the next ATP fest. Go figure.

I ran into Jim recently at a fancy dinner party and I was curious to know his reaction to seeing me at ATP… and he was cool! We had some good laughs and conversation with his lady, Sarah. She was maaad cool. She said she saw me jump up on stage with Raekwon and said that I was dope. I love pleasant surprises.

My only regret from ATP is that I heard I only showed like 30 of the 200 slides I brought. Me and my big mouth.

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Chances with Wolves Pumpernickular Funkulations 46

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CwW is an Internet radio show on EVR (eastvillageradio.com) consisting of three dudes who are into exploring the outer limits of music and playing songs that are obscure as well as funky, specializing in dope covers.

I met Mikey Palms first. He’s a native Brooklynite who co-owns the club Southpaw in Park Slope. I did a slideshow there last year and he said I should come through to the radio show, and I gladly obliged. The other DJs, Kenan Juska (another Brooklynite), and Kray DioBelly, greeted me with open arms and graciously / jokingly dubbed me “The Fourth Wolf’’ after seeing my custom-made Pumas with the photo of this husky I used to walk back in 1985.

I go semi-regularly on Monday afternoons. It’s like a rejuvenating booster shot of positivity. If I’m feeling foul or down, I know taking that trek across the Village to the show is a sure thing to uplift my mood and perception of life. They’re a cool crew and I want to big them up / let people know about this unique trio of music anthropologists.

Ricky Powell: Mikey Palms. Mikey Palms in the Hamptons. Chances with Wolves interview. How are you?

Mikey Palms: I’m chillin’. Me and Uncle Kray. What up, Kray?

Kray DioBelly: Yo, what’s up, Ricky?

We are in the Hamptons. In the Lamptons.

RP: I can’t believe I’m out here in the Homptons.

So tell me, the three of you have interesting, unique personalities, but you blend euphorically. How did you guys get this together and how long have you had the show, Chances with Wolves, as a unit?

KD: We’ve had the show for about a year-and-a-half now. Mikey Palms approached me and Kenan and was like, “We’re gonna do this radio show. We gotta make this demo.” So we went through our illest records together and threw some wolf howls all over them.

RP: How long have you guys been doing the show now?

KD: Well, right now is episode 113.

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RP: Wow. KD: So about 113 weeks we’ve been doing it. One hundred and fourteen, actually, ’cause there’s a zero episode.

We played some reruns and took some breaks in there, but, yeah….

RP: What is it with you guys and coming up with these covers out of, like, oblivion? Is that a signature maneuver of yours?

MP: Sometimes covers are just better than the original—no offense to the original composers and songwriters and instrumentalists. It’s a different interpretation.

RP: I love that. That’s one of the things that stand out to me.

KD: My favorites are Beatles covers, ’cause the songs are so good, but the Beatles are played out a little bit.

You’ve heard them a million times, so it doesn’t have that magic. The only way you can recapture the magic of the first time you heard that song is by finding some weird cover that takes that song and puts it in a different context. It’s familiar but brand-new.

RP: I love your team—great individualists, and great as a unit, kinda like the 1970 Knicks.

KD: Oh, Rick…

RP: Kray is like the Bill Bradley, Mikey Palms is like Willis Reed, and Kenan is like Walt Frazier.

KD: I feel you on that, and maybe I’ll go into politics afterward.

RP: And that’s not a diss, ’cause I know Bill Bradley looked doofy in his shorts.

KD: He was nice, though.

RP: Real nice, dude. He was one of the best players in the nation when he was coming out of Princeton. He scored 55 in the championship game against Cazzie Russell. But if you watch game seven of 1970, you can see how dope Bill Bradley finished fast breaks. He would catch the ball from Frazier on a dead run and finish— which is huge—instead of slamming it off the backboard. He was dope.

How did you guys group up to make this phenomenal team?

KD: Well, we all grew up together.

RP: That’s remarkable. And you stayed friends?

KD: Well, they were older than me.

I used to be a little kid to them, and then they took me under their wings.

You know what I mean?

RP: Love that.

KD: And Mikey Palms hooked it up.

He got the show and then he asked me and Kenan to come up with some shit. Mikey Palms came up with the name, Chances with Wolves.

RP: It’s a good one.

MP: Wolves are really interesting animals. They’re pack animals. They’re monogamous.

RP: Like you? Right.

KD: They’re beautiful, noble creatures.

RP: Well put.

KD: No, never. Just a stack of shit and then we feel it out. That’s why sometimes it’s really good, and that’s why sometimes it’s not so good, if we’re not feeling it in the moment. But when it comes together? Beautiful.

RP: Any specific plans, or are you just gonna keep doing the show for the love?

KD: Well, we do the show for the love, and then, hopefully, the people that love it hook us up with more gigs. We already got more gigs lined up off of that shit. It’s different doing the radio and throwing a party, you know? It’s fun to do both.

Do you prepare your sets before you come over to the station?

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Ralph McDaniels The Funky Uncle Ralph McDaniels is a New York institution. He’s known for his classic hip-hop TV show “Video Music Box,” but he reminds me of the cool kids I goofed with in junior high school, like Carlton Shine, Buckshot Bailey, and Seymour Swan.

Ralph and I always have good laughs at sports references like Tommie Agee and Jerry Grote. I admire his humble candor, and who can resist that smile? I asked him to meet me for an iced cappuccino at Caffe Reggio, like in Shaft (the original one).

Ricky Powell: What up, Ralph?

Ralph McDaniels: Ricky, what’s good, baby?

RP: I was actually thinking of you recently. As a child growing up, what did you think of Ralph Kramden when you saw “The Honeymooners,” and the name Ralph, specifically?

RM: There were a lot more people named Ralph back then [laughs], so it wasn’t that bad. As time went on parents stopped naming their kids Ralph, so Ralph Kramden—because “The Honeymooners” has lasted so long— became an association. So by the time I got to junior high school probably, it was a pain in the ass and— RP: You’re like, “No! Like Ralph Carter, jerkoff!”

RM: Exactly, exactly.

RP: It is kind of a White name.

RM: It’s a very White name, but my father’s name is Ralph, so I’m Ralph, Jr. RP: Oh, what?!

RM: So how can you beef with that?

RP: Interesting from a sociological angle.

Next question. “Video Music Box” is an institution of both hip-hop and New York City. You just celebrated a silver anniversary a couple years ago.

What’s up with it these days, and what is the future of “Video Music Box”?

RM: We’re still on NYCTV. NYCTV is a gift and a curse. You can get creative, but at the same time it’s run by the City, so the Mayor appoints who’s running the station. And then you got people there who wanna be somebody and they’re making a transition.

They’re not necessarily there for the long run, like I’ve been. We get people from other stations that got cut off and they’re trying to recreate their careers.

RP: And the dude that conducted interviews naked in that living room, on the carpet, with the beard….

Remember that dude?

RM: Yeah, exactly. So you’re dealing

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with all kinds of different energy. You try to find the right energy that represents what we’ve been doing for a while in New York City. It’s not necessarily hip-hop, it’s just street.

RP: Sometimes when I look at ball players’ stats—someone like Tim McCarver who played in four decades—I always look at that like, he started when crew cuts were still in, and then he ended his career during the psychedelic-soul era.

RM: You see different things. To me it’s almost like in 2010 we’re back to 1979…1980. Hopefully we can get that creative blast that we had around that time. I think that young people are into all kinds of shit. They’re not just into hip-hop.

RP: You have directed videos, yes or no?

RM: Yes. I’ve directed about 400 videos. All of the stuff from Cold Chillin’ [Records] days: Big Daddy Kane, Biz Markie— RP: You directed all those?

RM: Well, I produced ’em, me and my boy Lionel. Lionel “The Vid Kid” Martin.

RP: I love that show “The Bridge.” I’m a weird fuckin’ almost-50-year-old groupie of that show.

RM: [Laughs] Thank you.

I’m working on this thing now called “Emcee to Emcee.” It’s kind of a play on “The Bridge.” It’s a new artist that nobody’s heard of that we like—like we did this group called Triboro, which they all represent a different area in New York City, and then we put them together with Cold Crush.

RP: Mixing and matching.

RM: Right. For me, the new cats gotta respect the old cats, and the old cats gotta show a little bit of respect.

RP: Or openmindedness.

RM: Exactly. That’s what it’s all about,

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trying to find that combination and create an energy. The right beats, maybe a live band, whatever it is just to get that vibe.

RP: How about bringing back Little Anthony and the Imperials and putting some beats to it?

RM: [Laughs] That would be crazy right there.

RP: You know where I hear some of the best music? Washington Square Park.

RM: How does it always go back to this place downtown, man? I was born in Brooklyn, I moved to Queens, and then we were like, “We’re going to the Village.” And that’s where we ended up, in Washington Square Park, and I never really wanted to leave.

RP: I grew up here in this neighborhood. My first girlfriend lived down the block on MacDougal Street—Susan DeFranco. Her brother was a toughguy. Him and his two cohorts would stand and drink 40s of Miller on the corner and charge a tax for people if they wanted to walk on their sidewalk in front of them. They were like, “You wanna pass? Up a quarter.” But I had a free pass ’cause I went out with his sister, and he liked me, thank God. RM: You probably played ball pretty good. That’s why he liked you.

RP: Yes, that actually saved my ass a couple of times. That was my shit growing up—playground ball.

Since we’re sitting next to Mamoun’s, the Mecca of falafel, name me three or four people you’d like to sit on a bench with in Washington Square Park with a couple of falafels and shoot the shit while you’re watching a little jazz group do their thing.

RM: Because I’m a Met fan, I’m gonna go with a Met player.

RP: Interesting. Fascinating.

RM: I’m gonna say Tom Seaver.

RP: Wow. He was mad cool, right?

RM: Yeah. Just from the outside looking in.

RP: How about like, Geoffrey Holder?

RM: Well, I’m gonna meet with Geoffrey, who’s my mother’s first cousin.

RP: What?!

RM: [Laughs] We’re gonna meet. I spoke to him yesterday.

RP: The Un-Cola Nut man?

RM: The Un-Cola Nut man.

RP: Oh my God! Somebody hold me up. He’s incredible. I’ve seen him. He’s a little frail with the cane, and he’s tall, so the gravity is working on his spine.

RM: Geoffrey came from Trinidad. My grandmother and Geoffrey’s father are brother and sister. So in order to come to this country from Trinidad you need somewhere to stay, and they stayed at my grandmother’s house in Brooklyn, 404A Hancock Street.

RP: And this is when?

RM: Maybe the ’50s. Geoffrey was a dancer, of course, and his brother was—

RP: Maurice Hines?

RM: [Laughs] No. His brother was a painter. You had the painter and you had the dancer. As a little kid, there was a lot of artistic shit going on, people coming in, like, “Oh, those are Geoffrey’s friends.”

RP: Now, this is when you lived in Brooklyn as a kid?

RM: Yeah, when I was born they were still around. I was born in ’59.

So that’s going on, and then Geoffrey moved out and started doing his thing, and it was like, “Oh wow, he’s become somebody really important.” I didn’t know how important at the time.

RP: And what was he getting into at that time do you think? Broadway?

RM: No, probably like Lincoln Center and shit like that.

RP: And then Live and Let Die came out, and you were like, “Whaaat?!”

RM: Yeah, the movies.

RP: Wow! He was dope in that.

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RM: He loves hip-hop. I don’t think he quite understood it in the beginning. I used to talk to him about hip-hop and he was like, “Huh?” RP: What did he think of LL Cool J? RM: He probably didn’t get it at all.

RP: Really? ’Cause I’ve kinda been looking at “Going Back to Cali” and the “I’m Bad” video and I thought he was very impressive as a young man. Real superstar-type qualities.

RM: He might have. He looks at everything from a dance perspective.

RP: I bet he used to tune into “Soul Train” just to watch the Soul Train lines.

RM: Right, exactly. He did that.

RP: He would kill that. Imagine! That’s my new fantasy vision in my head: watching Geoffrey Holder go down the Soul Train lines with Judith Jamison.

the movie Juice with Tupac, I’m the Associate Producer.

RP: Yeah. I showed up to that premiere…with a cup.

RM: Oh, OK [laughs].

RP: Did you conduct an interview before or after he performed?

RM: Before. He got there early. He was setting up his keyboard and shit.

RP: What year was this?

RM: It had to be like late ’80s or early ’90s. And he was cool, he was in a good state of mind that day.

RP: I know how it can be—one day you change from the next.

RM: So he sat down and I was like, “Yo, can you perform ‘The Revolution Will Not Be Televised’?” And he looked at me like, “What?” He said, “Look, that’s a whole ’nother energy, man” [laughs].

Can you name anyone else you’d like to have a falafel with while watching a groovy jazz make-up group in Washington Square Park?

RM: Nate Archibald, because he was such a legend. He wasn’t a big guy.

RP: Still the only dude to lead the league in scoring and assists in the same season. He did that in like his second or third year.

RM: NBA legend and a Rucker legend. Guys that can do both, I got respect for.

RP: I love that. Now, wait. I heard somewhere that “Tiny” Archibald and Gil Scott-Heron played on the same squad at DeWitt Clinton.

RM: Really? I didn’t even know that Gil Scott played ball.

He’s a dude that’s made a big impact on me. When I used the interview in Juice, he called me the day after it premiered and said, “Brother man”— that’s what he would call me, that’s how I knew it was him—“Did you put me in a movie?”

RP: Uh-oh.

RM: I was like, “Um, yeah…but you really don’t see you; it’s just kinda like your voice.” He said, “Brother man, that’s really all I got, is my voice” [laughs]. I said, “…Is that a problem?”

He said, “Just let me know next time, because my daughter is telling me she just went to see some movie and I’m in it, and I don’t know nothin’ about it.” He said, “It’s cool, man. It’s cool. I just didn’t know what the hell she was talking about!”

RP: Whew!

I did an interview with Gil Scott.

RP: Yeah?

RM: This was right here at the Blue Note before a gig. I think I might have caught him somewhere and I was like, “I’d really like to interview you, man.” I did the interview and it’s in Juice, the movie. If you ever watch

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Uncle Ralph McDaniels, you are one of the classiest dudes / New York natives I have ever met and am pleased to know personally. You are pivotal in being in this chapter of Frank.

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Andre Torres Yo! Ain’t he that guy…?

There are only a few magazines in the world that get me buzzed about who’s going to be in the next issue, the way I felt as a kid when I was seriously into SPORT magazine, edited by Dick Schaap, in the early / mid-’70s. As far as music magazines, Wax Poetics is in a class all by itself, and founder Andre Torres represents correctly. Here’s a little excerpt from a chat we had at his office in Dumbo, BK. Ricky Powell: OK. Here we go.

Finally, the interview with Mr. Andre Torres of Wax Poetics. How are you on this beautiful fall day?

Andre Torres: I’m lovely, very lovely. A little rough around the edges. Long night last night. But yes, I cannot complain.

RP: How would you describe Wax Poetics?

AT: Wax Poetics is a magazine about the history of contemporary music. It puts into context everything that we listen to, coming from a hip-hop perspective. It’s about where the foundations of that came from.

RP: On YouTube the other night I clicked onto a thing on the Village Vanguard, and they were worried that the younger generation is losing touch with jazz as time goes on.

AT: I’d agree. Jazz was some revolutionary shit when it first hit. It was like whorehouse music in New Orleans.

But now you need a tuxedo and $120 in order to see some jazz, more than likely, because it’s been canonized

as “America’s only true artform.” And with that comes its loss of life, really.

There’s nobody breathing anything into the music now. There’s been a thousand other forms that have come since that was the thing. The youth are attracted to the new.

RP: With hip-hop, do you think anyone is doing anything innovative at this point?

AT: There are very few individuals who are trying to push that artform.

Hip-hop, probably even worse than jazz, has had the life sucked out it by everybody jumping in to try and cash in and not really bring creativity to the table. It’s a way out the ’hood, and that’s really all it has become now for anybody trying to get in the game.

RP: Yeah. I lost interest like a decade ago.

AT: [Laughs] RP: When I was taking a bath today— maybe that’s too much info—I like to leave the oldies station on, and they had Bob Shannon on as a special treat.

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He was with WCBS-FM 101.1, the oldies station, for decades, and they still got him on like a token old-school dude.

He played a string of top-ten hits from 1968. I was living near Union Square park in the late ’60s / early ’70s as a young lad, and it’s still a very strong reference point for me to go to.

AT: I was born in ’69, so it wasn’t like I was at the clubs or even hearing a lot of this stuff on the radio, but my father owned a record store in the Bronx called the Stump. I was surrounded by this music.

Hip-hop fed off all of that music: top 40, funk…whatever it was that was being played on the radio. At the time, the radio was the joint. You heard everything, especially as sounds changed, whether it was yacht rock, classic rock, to some of that stuff coming from the UK in the early ’80s. They could throw it all in the same bag with some regular Smokey Robinson, Motown stuff. You

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wind up having a wide variety of flavors to draw from, which is what made hip-hop so creative early on—that’s what these kids were growing up listening to.

Now the music’s been marketed, segmented, and broken down into bite-size capsules. Kids who are listening to hip-hop—even trying to make hip-hop—have got no real reference point. All they’ve listened to is hip-hop. They never got a chance to hear Cindy Lauper, or Culture Club, or Commodores. It’s all regurgitated shit at this point. But I do love that varying amount of sound. I’m really getting into that blue-eyed soul.

RP: Oh shit! I heard that term today on the radio.

AT: It’s all these White cats that were doing that smooth, mellow rock in the late ’70s, like Benny Mardones and Player.

RP: You know that group Rare Earth?

The White group on Motown?

AT: Oh yeah. They even had their own label where they signed a couple other acts.

RP: I like how they had the lead singer playing drums up front.

AT: Yeah, that’s hot.

RP: Do you get some downtime to yourself where you can just go on YouTube? Do you get a kick out of that?

AT: Oh, most definitely. For me it’s a huge resource because I’ll be working on an article on some cat I never really knew much about, and I can’t find a lot of this stuff—I don’t have the album, a lot of it ain’t on iTunes, you might not even be able to cop an illegal download. So sometimes the only way I can hear something is on YouTube. Especially once I get into that little hole and start digging, and then you see all the joints on the side, that’s why you end up on there for two…three hours.

RP: Personally, Andre, if I may, I am a

freelance hustler / bohemian, but I never categorize myself into one thing—I never call myself a photographer. I’m an individualist. That’s my title.

AT: I’m right there with you.

RP: I’m just going to stay true to myself. Maybe it’s the way I grew up, being an only child. I had a lot of freedom. My mom kicked me out of the house a lot and I did what I wanted. I don’t really take well to strict authority. I can’t work a regular job. I couldn’t even work being a substitute teacher, a six-hour day. The last job I had was working for a pot delivery service. That gave me freedom.

AT: That’s not a bad gig.

RP: I loved the freedom of riding around, but too many kooks were ordering in. I couldn’t deal with them, being in their house, getting weird looks.

AT: Yeah, that’s gotta be strange.

RP: Did you play any instruments growing up?

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AT: Drums.

RP: Oh yeah? Natural drummer?

AT: Kind of unnatural. I took lessons for a little bit, and I never really got to the point where I had my own drum set and all that. But I can do a little something. Even when I picked them up a couple years ago, I just kinda got on and people were like, “I didn’t know you knew how to play the drums!” And I was like, “I didn’t either!” So it must have been something that stuck. I’m actually trying to get my kid a set so I can get down on them.

RP: That’s cool. Love that.

AT: I used to make a lot of beats— MPC, Roland joint, a lot of keyboards….

I put a couple of records out, actually, back in the mid-’90s…late ’90s. Some stuff on comps.

RP: Some contemporary avant-garde stuff, at the time [laughs]?

AT: Yeah, yeah. I guess that’s probably about the category it would fit in!

It was a mess, is what it was. It was basically me and my boy too zooted.

I had a bunch of records, he had a sampler, and I’d be like, “Yo, here… sample this. Put this over here.” That really led to the magazine, eventually.

RP: Really?

AT: I came up here to be a painter. I came up to New York to go to grad school. I was working at the Met as a security guard. People coming up to me all day, “Where’s the bathroom…

Where’s this…Where’s that?” And everybody was an artist. I just got tired of the whole scene.

ing software. I cut my dreads off and was wearing a suit and tie every day. I started stacking a little paper, and then I got bored with that. I was still buying a lot of records, and that’s when I got the idea to start Wax Poetics.

RP: What year was that, about?

AT: It started to germinate probably the summer of 2000. By the holidays, I was like, “I’m gonna do this for real.”

RP: And you got investors and whatnot?

AT: Nah, man. I had two partners. I was unemployed. They fired me from the World Trade Center on August fourth, 2001.

RP: Just in time.

AT: I got out, I had some unemployment, I was taking writers out and trying to woo them to write for free, and then I dumped whatever little money I had, and my two partners did, too.

They hollered at their pops, moms, maxed credit cards, and we just kind of rolled with it.

RP: And how was the feedback on that first issue?

AT: Oh, man. I had collected all the material by the time I got fired, then the Towers went down, and then I was sitting around for a couple of weeks. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. I was like, “Fuck it. Let’s just put it out. We’ll see what happens. Because I could be dead right now.” I was like, “I’m here for a reason. I’m supposed to put this magazine out.” So we went ahead and popped it off, and just printed like 5,000 copies.

At the same time I was digging a lot and trying to make beats with my man. So I kinda faded out of the art thing and moved more into the music side. Then, eventually, when I realized, “I’m not really gonna make beats for a living. I’m no Premo,” I was like, “The hell with all of it,” and I went and worked at the World Trade Center sell-

I was dealing with Amir at Fat Beats at the time. He was the only distributor I had. He picked up a couple hundred copies and then he called me a week later like, “Do you got anymore of those magazines?” And next thing you know, it was like every couple days… every week, “Yo, you got more? You got more?” Between what he was

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Chairman Mao, Danny Rudder, and Ricky Powell at WKCR’s “Across 110th St.” show. 1996.

doing and what I was doing on my own, driving around and hustling them myself, we sold them out. But then I didn’t realize the game with magazines is you gotta wait like six months before you get your money back.

I was trying to be quarterly, but I had to wait like six months to put the second issue out. We didn’t have any more money. It was like I had to wait till I got all that back to print another one. So we just kind of took it slow like that and got more credit cards, maxed some more joints out, and just tried to push it little by little. We’re going on ten years next year.

RP: I really commend you. The Philly issue, I have that up in my house as an art piece. I love that short period of psychedelic soul. I listen to Jazz 88 a lot and KCR, ’cause I like the jazz shows.

I’ve been on some radio shows. I was on Across 110th Street…KCR. That was a good one.

AT: For me, that was a huge part of getting to this stage with a magazine, because when I came up [to New York] looking for records and coming from Florida where I didn’t really know anybody else who was digging, I’d turn on the radio on a Saturday afternoon, and you’re on the radio. I think [Chairman] Mao was on one.

RP: Oh yeah, I brought him on!

AT: I had that show taped, and I would play it over and over. For me, those were the records that I was trying to get.

Y’all already had them, and I was like, “Damn!” So I would be taking notes.

RP: Well, I just want to say, I’ve got a mad love for you.

AT: Thank you, sir. It’s a mutual admiration.

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Creature The Matt Snell of Hustling I met Creature on Sixth Ave. in front of Bagel Buffet. He was a regular fixture on that mini boulevard / promenade of street traffic, where he would engage people in spontaneous conversations using his eclectic magnetism. I found him to be very interesting and captivating with his comments and inquiries to passersby. He was always very witty and positive. It was inspiring, the way he could draw in potential buyers of his various self-produced hiphop CDs and books.

I refer to him as Matt Snell, a workhorse on the legendary 1969 Super Bowl Jets, because of his fortitude and perseverance. I love talking with him; he’s philosophical and says things that really stick with me.

Ricky Powell: Well, the reason I come to you, Mr. Creature, my good friend, is that I’m very interested in culture. How would you say you live, work, and do your thing?

Creature: I’m like an urban social worker. I deal with people on a constant basis in high volumes. Many types— from working class to poor to wealthy.

So it’s my job to converse and dialogue with people—I find it interesting.

RP: Good.

C: Yeah. It’s alright.

RP: Yeah. Definitely a classic dude.

We were talking about how you gotta be open to how the music is changing and try different combinations of things, with new and old and bah bah bah, and I was like, “Yeah, I guess you gotta stay open-minded, because if you stay stagnant, or you just stay set in a certain way, I think you’re going to get left behind.” There could be good music that doesn’t do well commercially, because it’s mostly junk they put out.

RP: I just hung out with Ralph McDaniels.

C: I grew up on McDaniels’ stuff. Classic New York.

I watched this Warhol documentary last night, and they were talking about how he was getting dissed for making the cans, and then it changed,

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and everyone was on the dick. And there was this line, “Perception is just as important as the content,” meaning it depends who’s looking at it, the different things that go into someone’s mind, and how they see it.

C: Right.

RP: I thought, it ain’t a test—whether you make it to being a money-making performer on a high-scale TV gig. It’s not pass or fail; it’s, if you get a shot to do something, how many people are drawn into you? That’s what the name of the game is. Numbers. I hate to put it like that, but as far as being commercially successful or having money and generating income, you gotta be in it to win it.

C: Absolutely. But it really depends on what you deem to be success, because a lot of people are very famous and it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re financially secure. I look at it as, I pay my rent by doing music. I live off of my art and something that I love, so I feel like I’m successful.

“Boom boom boom, percolating, baby. Look how good I look.”

As far as embracing new music and new ideas, it’s essential. You gotta think about this: no matter what, you always have your classics. If you listen to new stuff and if you don’t like it, you can always go back to the stuff that you grew up with and love. You might as well give something else an opportunity, because you might be missing out on someone that has something exciting to say.

RP: Good.

So, do you want to make any comment about how I admire your interre-

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lations with people? What would you call what you do on the street when I see you?

C: I’m an independent artist-preneur, meaning I sell my music, I sell my books, I sell my shirts…I sell various art. I’m in the business of getting my art out to as many people as possible for financial gain.

RP: Let me interject. I love standing in front of Bagel Buffet with you. It’s just a good meeting spot, saying, “Oh, who’s out? Nobody to hang out with. Maybe Creature is over at Bagel Buffet.” I always marvel at your positive candor with passersby. You’re very talented.

Very witty, and you have mad fortitude in your projects that you put yourself into. I have a lot of respect for that.

C: I appreciate it.

RP: You got to be in it to win it, because if you’re not in it, then you have no chance whatsoever. You’re still young, too. Mad young.

C: I’m old enough to remember New York for what it was. I’m young enough to still be creative.

RP: Look at me. I’m like you, and look what I got. See, me and you are the same.

C: [Laughs] RP: Me and you, we’re down. I’m down with you.

C: You’re down to come up.

RP: Listen, I’m bouncing off a very dark period in my life.

C: Right.

RP: So I’ve exhausted everything.

Now? Hopping. I’ve got 12 shows coming up this season. Twelve.

C: Nice!

RP: Boom boom boom, percolating, baby. Look how good I look. So to all the ones that were hating and hoping that I fucking crashed like the rocket ship on Planet of the Apes, “Sorry, bitch! Now watch.”

C: Rick, the saying I always tell you is, “Success is the best revenge.” Some-

times even putting your energy into people, it’s a waste of time. Do what you do and be creative.

RP: You’re so wise for your young age. That’s exactly the thing to do. I applaud it.

C: Not to say that you’re not going to be upset, or disappointed, but the big thing about it, a lot of time it’s not even about people; it’s about bettering yourself and doing what you need to do.

RP: Damn. See, that’s why I love this young buck. You have a blurb on the back of one of your books where I say, in essence, “Creature, I look up to him, and he’s younger than me.”

C: Yes. Thank you.

RP: Well, listen, man…you hungry at all? Can I get you something to share with me? I got you. You better catch me on a good day.

C: Why not? Let’s get something to eat.

RP: Alright. Tremendous.

OK. This is Rickford J. Powell and Creature…what’s your name? Naseem Jones? Hector Delancey?

C: Yeah, Hector from Delancey Street!

RP: OK. C: Man, just “Creature.” Rebelmatic, Coffee Grind Media, New York City.

RP: PS…bonus: How’s the music group you have doing?

C: My band is good, man. We’re working on new music. We got an album out called Pray for the Vulture. The band’s called Rebelmatic.

We’re working on a new EP, working on a couple of projects, a new solo record…. I’m just working, man. I’m staying productive, staying positive. I can’t complain. Life is good.

RP: Love that.

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By appointment only.

70 19 Essex Street | New York | New York | 10002 | 212.228.7442

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Janette Beckman Janette Beckman is Official Janette’s a good one. She’s always been on a high level as far as skill and professionalism. She shot the punk scene (and other genres) in the ’70s and the early hip-hop scene in the ’80s.

I wanted to include her in this chapter as a significant female. Peep her shit. You’ll be like, “Whhhaaattt?!”

Ricky Powell: I got called a curmudgeon recently by two different people.

Janette Beckman: I can see that.

You could be curmudgeonly.

RP: Really? I like it.

JB: It’s a tough word to spell. It’s a little Old English.

RP: I texted my boy Edan Portnoy. I was like, “Yo, how do you spell that word ‘curmudgeon’?” He sent me back the info just now. It sounded a little fudgy, but…

JB: No, it’s nothing to do with fudging.

Sorry.

RP: What does “fudging” mean to you? Because you’re from England.

You’re across the pond.

JB: You want me to really explain it?

RP: Uh-oh. It’s about to get open.

JB: I know what you want me to tell you, but I’ll tell you something else just to shut you up.

RP: You’re a dirty old lady.

JB: No. RP: You’re a legend— JB: I haven’t finished yet.

RP: —but you’re dirty.

JB: “Fudge” is this brown chocolate or caramel candy made often by old ladies in England.

RP: What, you mean at the Cadbury factory?

JB: Something like that. So I know that’s not what you think it is, but we’ve got to keep it clean, Rick.

RP: No, we don’t. Fuck that. This is an

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Mods. Streatham, London.

Photo Janette Beckman

LA gang girls.

Photo Janette Beckman

inside, intimate conversation.

JB: If you’re a woman in hip-hop, you have to keep your reputation. Like the time when NWA wanted me to do a reading on one of the songs they were recording.

RP: No shit. They brought you into the studio?

JB: They were recording and I went in to take a picture and they said, “Oh,

we like your English accent.”

RP: Ooh shit. That’s ill.

JB: Yeah. That’s ill. And I was like, “Oh, OK. You want me to read something?

That’s so cool.” Then I read what they wanted me to read, which was their idea of instructions on how to do the perfect blowjob—that was going to be read in my English accent—at which point I stood up. “I got my reputa-

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tion to keep as an upstanding British woman.” But in retrospect perhaps I should have done it. That was way back in 1990.

RP: Looking back, you should have done it. But that’s alright. I hear where you’re coming from.

JB: Was that your first question?

RP: We have no formulation.

JB: Oh, I thought you said you had questions. Anyway…go ahead.

RP: I do. Look what I have at the top of the list: “I love your style,” and, “You’re an award-winning photographer.”

JB: Thank you very much.

RP: And I’m attracted to the street shots especially, how you hooked them up, and who you got to pose for you. Just to name a few off the top: Pete Townshend, Sex Pistols, the Clash…. Was it strictly a music love of yours, or did you stretch a little bit to like Vivian Westwood and the fashion and art or whatnot?

JB: It wasn’t just the bands; I always liked to take pictures of the fans, the kids that were hanging around. That was the most important thing for me.

RP: Very genius! I used to film a lot of fans at Beasties shows.

JB: They’re the most interesting people, right?

RP: Outrageous.

JB: Yeah, at Beasties shows they must have been incredible.

I used to like looking at the fans and the way people dressed. The culture, the dancing, the art, all of that stuff, as well as the bands. And let’s face it, the fans could be in the bands in five minutes in those days, because that’s the way it went, right?

RP: Explain.

JB: Well, one minute you’re watching Madness, the next minute you’re up there dancing on stage, and the next minute you’re traveling with the band and you’re the dancer or whatever.

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And then maybe you had your own band. You didn’t really need to play music because it was punk. You’d pick up a guitar, you’d start thrashing around a little bit. You were making it up as you went along.

RP: One time I jumped up on stage with Trouble Funk at the Palladium in ’85. They looked at me like I was out of my mind. I didn’t even get close to anything. The big fat dude playing bass on the end, he looked at me like— JB: —“What the hell are you doing?”

RP: Yeah. I just kind of meekly went down.

Are you from London?

JB: Yeah, I’m from London.

RP: And would you say you grew up in the ’70s, or part of the ’60s as well?

JB: Well, it depends what you call “growing up.” I’m still growing up.

RP: OK. Good point. Were you cognitive of the music?

JB: Well, yes. I was cognizant of the music. And in fact, one of the first LPs I bought from my local Woolworth’s— RP: Was Earth, Wind & Fire?

JB: Actually how about Geno Washington And The Ram Jam Band? Do you remember them? Geno…you don’t? Whatever. It’s a soul thing. Then I had Cream. Remember Cream?

RP: Dope. Love Cream. I took Ginger Baker’s picture once.

JB: Ginger Baker’s a genius.

RP: How about the psychedelicsoul era?

JB: Psychedelic soul? Yeah. I loved that, and when I was in art school, I was really into disco America, and soul and— RP: That’s a little later. I’m specifically asking about psychedelic soul, like “Papa Was a Rolling Stone.”

JB: I grew up loving soul music. And I loved disco. I used to go out dancing…amyl nitrate— RP: Oh, shit. Too much info! TMI.

Shane MacGowan.

Photo Janette Beckman

JB: Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry. That’s what you did in these clubs back in the day.

RP: How about coke?

JB: Oh, a little bit. Not so much.

RP: I used to do coke at Zenon’s in 1980. Summer of ’80…with quaaludes.

JB: I think you probably did more drugs than I did.

RP: I used to dance on speakers. I was a hot tamale.

JB: You danced on speakers?

RP: I was that good. I had moves back then.

JB: So you were perfect to go with the Beastie Boys, who had those girls dancing in cages?

RP: Different dancing. This was disco.

That was more hip-hop with them.

JB: Disco was great, though.

RP: I like some disco. I like the funky ones, though, not the cheesy disco.

Bohannon. “Dance Across The Floor.”

I like that shit. I still remember that.

“Love to Love You Baby” will always be on the eternal “get busy” mixtape.

JB: So then after that, punk came along. Very anti-disco. I loved the punk stuff. Very anarchistic.

RP: You had problems with the Queen?

JB: I had problems with the Queen.

The Queen had problems with me.

When you’re in England you grow up in that class society, where there’s the rich people and the middle class and then poor people, and the rich people have been running things for a bit.

We all felt very revolutionary about that stuff.

RP: There was a lot of community.

JB: Yeah, there was a lot of community, and it was all around on the streets, just like hip-hop was when I came here.

RP: Or like in San Francisco in the mid- to late ’60s?

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Run-D.M.C. and posse.

Photo Janette Beckman

JB: Kind of. I don’t know because I wasn’t there.

RP: That’s what I heard. You know, a lot of kids got beat down by the cops at the universities.

JB: People were scared of the punks.

RP: Were you wearing Doc Martens?

JB: I was wearing Doc Martens.

RP: Not flip-flops?

JB: No. And also those brothel creep-

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ers. And Converse. Still wearing them.

So the punk thing was really good. ...All those great ska bands: Madness, the Specials…

RP: What’s that called specifically, that type of music?

JB: Two-tone.

RP: That’s reggae influenced, right?

JB: People loved reggae. Clash…

RP: Oh, let me ask you that. Did you

have any kind of professional relationship or any kind of vibes towards the Clash?

JB: Well, I used to have a bit of a crush on Paul Simonon, because he was just gorgeously handsome.

RP: Really? I don’t think so.

JB: Well, I got up close and took a picture of him, and he’s gorgeous.

RP: You know, I smoked mad blunts with Mick Jones.

JB: I think the Clash were very cool.

RP: Were you down with them?

JB: I wouldn’t say I was best friends with them.

RP: I didn’t ask if you were best friends.

I said, “Were you down with them?”

JB: Yeah. You could say I was down with them. I took some pictures of them from time to time.

RP: Cool. They like, posed for you and shit?

JB: Yes. RP: On the street? Did you set up a shoot, or you’d run into them?

JB: I actually went to Milan with them.

RP: Whaaat?

JB: It was in a bicycle stadium. We were downstairs in the dressing rooms hanging out. I was taking their pictures and they were all smoking this hashish—as one did in the English days—rolled up with tobacco. I was an extremely lightweight smoker, so I got a little bit out of control. I was on the side of the stage when the band went on. So I pop my lens cap off, I’m concentrating, I’m looking at Joe Strummer, he comes on stage, everybody’s going bananas, and I’m a little bit out of it. I just start to walk across the stage, towards Joe Strummer, until…whish! I get dragged off by a bouncer going, “Get that woman off the stage!” This is why I don’t do too many eccentric, exotic drugs; I’m a lightweight.

RP: OK. Thank you for sharing that.

That was a very exciting story.

Sex Pistols, you were down with them?

JB: Yeah, I knew them. I’ve been to Johnny Rotten’s house, hung out with him a little bit.

RP: What was that like? Chaos?

JB: A lot of overflowing ashtrays from what I remember. Cans on the floor….

It was kind of messy.

RP: What time period was this?

JB: Nineteen eighty…’81-ish.

RP: Did any groups at that time have any beefs? Did you ever see any groups fight each other? Or kick each other…with the creepers?

JB: Well, don’t forget there were a lot of skinhead groups, and they were more into fighting, because it was all part of that soccer mentality where you beat the shit out of people who supported the other team. So yeah, there were some fights.

RP: That must have been nasty. Were you ever standing on stage shooting the group and you’d see like a fight right down below you?

JB: Yeah. Skinhead kids. They wear those big Doc Marten boots and kick— RP: They should all be in jail.

JB: I wouldn’t say— RP: That mentality is wick-wick.

JB: It’s a great look, though.

RP: Alright. So yo...hip-hop. This is what I’m really impressed by. Punk rock, alright…whatever.

JB: “Whatever.”

RP: No, just kidding. You’re a White girl, came here in ’82, you start shooting groups like Grand Master Flash.

Who else?

JB: Pretty much everybody. First picture of LL Cool J. RP: Really? Shut up.

JB: The first pictures of Salt-n-Pepa.

RP: How did you get those opportunities?

JB: I got them because I was still working for those English magazines that I used to work for, like Melody

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Maker and The Face. Brits are always a little bit ahead. They always want to know, not what’s happening, but what’s happening tomorrow. They want to be ahead. They have to be first and cutting-edge with the music.

So they were always saying, “There’s this group we heard of called RunD.M.C. They’re out in Queens. Here’s the address. Take a picture. Off you go.” And I’d go off with my Hasselblad on the train. I got out there, there’s Run waiting for me.

RP: Whaaat?

JB: It was all very relaxed. That’s how I got to do Salt-n-Pepa. Same thing.

I think Bill Adler was the one who brought LL Cool J to my little studio.

RP: Those were pretty trailblazing days. Did you go uptown to the Bronx to do shoots?

JB: I did. I went with BDP because not too many people got to photograph Scott La Rock before, sadly, he…RIP. I guess that’s the South Bronx, too. I spent the day hanging out with them.

The thing is, because I wasn’t from here I didn’t know how bad it was supposed to be.

RP: Yeah. I didn’t even go up there.

Me and you share that street photography.

JB: Yeah. I love the real people.

RP: “Environmental portraiture,” I’ve heard it referred to as.

JB: Oh, “environmental portraiture.”

That’s us. I think it’s nice, don’t you, to photograph people, and you see where they are at that point in time?

Signage, what was on sale at the deli that day or whatever is behind them.

RP: Yeah, it’s like a fuckin’— JB: A painting.

RP: Yeah. Set up.

JB: Go and look at portraits in the National Portrait Gallery in London or wherever, and you see some portrait painted in 1658 of some nobleman

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standing in front of their castle. You see what it was like all around. It’s not just a picture of them on a white background—you see the environment. And you’re right, that’s kind of what we’re doing in our own style.

RP: Anywhere you walk there’s just infinite backgrounds.

JB: And isn’t it great? Because then you go back and look at the picture ten years later, and you’re like, “Oh shit, I never noticed that kid taking a pee behind the bike” or whatever.

RP: How has business been for you throughout the years, dealing with record companies and the like?

JB: I did pretty good with all those little record companies back in the day, like Sleeping Bag and Profile. They were all really very nice to me—maybe nicer than the bigger record companies.

RP: Has it changed today? Do you get some newjacks who think you don’t know what’s going on and they try to fuckin’…

JB: You probably get this too, “Oh, we need such and such picture for a book.” Then they’ll send you some contract that says, “We own this picture in perpetuity around the world and we can use it for anything.”

I think things have gotten much worse for photographers as far as getting paid. And also all these new magazines, they want you to take a picture for the same amount of money you got paid in 1980, and they own it.

RP: Listen, I’m going to buy you a burrito if you want one.

JB: That’s so sweet of you, but I just had lunch. I appreciate it.

RP: No, I’m going to get you extra large.

JB: Really?

RP: Extra large. That will last you into tomorrow. That’s how we do it.

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England. 2009.

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Edan Portnoy The Jewish Big Daddy Kane I met Edan last year through our fellow product maker, Traffic Entertainment, at a lunch at the Waverly Diner. Edan was wearing a hat that was like new-wave Elmer Fudd or something, but he was quiet and polite.

Then we got paired up last December for a two-week tour through England and Ireland. I would do my slideshow and he would follow with a DJ set. I must admit I was taken aback by his vocabulary and taste in music. I always got a kick out of the golden nuggets he came with. I was really blown away when he finally spit fire on the mic at the last show in Dublin with his rendition of “Johnny the Fox.” His etiquette is very proper so I had to include him into this parfait of eclectic personalities.

Ricky Powell: Here we are, interview with Edan Portnoy, AKA the Jewish Big Daddy Kane—to me—and the Socrates of hip-hop. How are you?

Edan: I’m feeling good.

RP: That’s awesome. Beautiful day.

EP: Gorgeous.

RP: Optimum.

EP: Not a cloud in the sky.

RP: You have this crazy dialect. Do you know Walt Frazier’s dialect and his euphemisms?

EP: I don’t. Honestly, that’s your department to the full.

RP: Oh, alright. Thanks.

Boathouse with if you wanted a nice evening.

EP: Like, living?

RP: Or non-living.

EP: James Brown.

RP: James Brown! Excellent one.

EP: I’d say…Jimi Hendrix.

RP: Wow, I like that.

EP: And for the living…

RP: How about some chicks? Throw one in there. Debbie Harry?

EP: Let me think about this for one second.

RP: Billy Paul?

EP: Get the fuck outta here [laughs]!

RP: “Me and Mrs. Jones” [laughs].

Let me ask you this. Name me like three of four people you’d like to have outdoor dinner at Central Park at the

How about Betty Davis, the singer?

She’s bad.

EP: I’ll agree with you on that. You

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know she was messing with Hendrix and Miles Davis, right?

RP: That’s crazy heavy, dude. She was a lady pimp.

So what’s up, man? You’re live performance rapping is very good. You get the crowd hyped. When we went on that European tour I just stood next to you in Dublin, but when you did it in San Francisco, I was right in the mix with the kids. You were rocking it. You really come off with that rapid fire. You’re much better than Eminem.

You’re much more interesting.

EP: Maybe aesthetically.

RP: You need to get hit off—paid, paid, paid.

EP: I would appreciate that.

RP: We did some cool shows in Europe last December. Six shows in England. The ATP fest was dope.

The two in Ireland that were illy buck nutty. And you still bring the wax, even across the fuckin’ lake, as they say.

EP: You see the dedication?

RP: What do you think about switching to the…what do they call that shit?

EP: Serato. It’s good. I just don’t have the patience to make that switch and digitize all the records one by one. It’s like paying taxes, or paying for something twice.

RP: It’s a monumental task. I have a similar thing with photos, getting all my negatives scanned. I don’t even like to look at my shit. I dread having to go through my shit looking for requests.

My shit is jumbled.

Have you been catching any nuggets, surprising ones, on YouTube? Do you like YouTube?

EP: Yeah, no doubt. Always.

RP: What do you click on? What do you look for?

EP: I like that James Brown clip when he’s doing “Get Up, Get Into It, Get Involved” with Bobby Byrd.

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RP: Oh, I love that clip.

EP: He looks like the Darth Vader of soul and shit. That one, he’s just rocking all black.

RP: Yeah, his pants are knickers.

That’s the thing I noticed about it.

He’s bad in that one. Both of them are dope. I love Bobby Byrd.

EP: I met a hero of mine recently.

RP: Who was that?

EP: Alejandro Jodorowsky.

RP: I should’ve figured you were gonna say a crazy name like that.

EP: They were doing a retrospective of his cinema. He’s a director, among other things. I went to a screening of his film Holy Mountain and Debbie Harry was actually there introducing the film. I met him, got him to sign my little record of a play that he made back in like ’69. Anyway, Jodorowsky is a surrealist, he can read your tarot, director of great films—films that were funded by Allen Klein at the behest of John Lennon.

RP: I’ve been very inspired by watching interviews with John Lydon lately.

Him on the “Tom Snyder” show in 1980 and one on “Jimmy Kimmel.” It was hilarious. He’s out there, dude.

EP: They played at a festival I was just at, Public Image Limited or whatever.

RP: Really? I love it. I’m a Johnnycome-lately to it.

[To squirrels] I wish I had some food.

I’m sorry! I’m sorry, bubbie! I gotta get some peanuts.

EP: Ricky, you have a rapport with the animals. I seen it.

RP: Cool, thank you. I appreciate that.

EP: That means, on a deeper level, you’re at peace.

RP: Animals, I got compassion for them. They’re just out here. They got no one looking out for them like we do.

EP: You don’t have a pet currently, do you?

RP: No, I miss it. If people needed to find homes for them I’d get them, but the last one died, Blackberry, in 2003.

EP: The cat?

RP: Yeah, the black one with the lion hairdo. He was such a character, dude. I miss him.

EP: You ever had a dog when you were living on Charles Street?

RP: Never had a dog, always cats. I don’t wanna pick up shit.

EP: I understand.

RP: I barely take care of my own.

You come up with a lot of golden nuggets in your record selections. Where are some of your little oases of auditory pleasure?

EP: Around here, the East Village is quite nice. There’s a cluster of shops all in a small vicinity, which is enticing to a record buyer; you can hit up a lot of spots with ease. Within that vicinity are spots such as Big City, Good

Records, Tropicalia In Furs—which is a Brazilian record shop that you’ve been to—Academy Records on 12th, and A-1. Can’t forget A-1. I went in there the other day. I really enjoy the unpretentious atmosphere. I mean, most of these shops are all run by cool people.

RP: Most of them.

EP: But A-1, it’s still got that messy cheap bin underneath.

RP: You turned me on to them. You connected us. It’s been a good bond.

EP: I’m happy to hear that. You are also a facilitator of friendship.

RP: Yeah, I like that.

Wait, this card just fell out of my notebook. Who is it?

EP: It’s Craig Nettles.

RP: Not “Craig”…“Graig.”

EP: You’re right. It’s “Graig” Nettles. I’ve never seen “Graig” spelled that way. It just shows that I wasn’t of the time.

RP: He was big when I was in high

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Art Edan Portnoy

school, for the Yankees.

EP: Let me see the stats....

RP: Dude, what an incredible third baseman. Really good hitter. Really cool player. I love Graig Nettles, one of my all-time favorite Yankees, so I carry his card.

EP: So who are some of your other favorite Yanks?

RP: Horace Clarke, Bobby Murcer was my idol growing up—rest in peace. Roy White, Tom Seaver…

EP: He played for the Mets, Tom Seaver.

RP: Right. Jerry Grote, Bud Harrelson, Cleon Jones, Tommie Agee, Donn Clendenon, those are the dudes I love.

EP: Alright. Let’s flip it. Who are some of your favorite wide receivers of all time?

RP: Oh shit. Don Maynard of the Jets, Fred Biletnikoff, Otis Taylor of the Chiefs, Elmo Wright….

[To squirrels] Look at the little cutie

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critter! See, it’s hungry. We should go to the store and get some peanuts for them and hook them up.

EP: That’s cool. I’m with it.

RP: Alright. Let’s do that.

RP: Do you have things in the works?

How’s your albums doing?

EP: I’m working on a guitar singersongwriter album and a rap thing with the posse, like basically— RP: Oh, there’s squirrels!

EP: …So I’m working on two records.

RP: Right…so what? Let’s go feed the squirrels! No, I’m sorry. I’m kidding.

EP: I like that. I like when you ask a question and then dismiss the answer and then change the subject.

RP: Ha. You love it, don’t you?

EP: Can we both feed the squirrels?

RP: Yeah.

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Eazy-E gave me this signed 8 x 10 when I interviewed him for SECONDS magazine in NYC in 1993. Of course I brought my still and video cameras.

He lit up a primo blunt and I dubbed him the Black John Cassavetes.

Scoopin’ Golden Boogers Excavated treasures from the hovel, er, um...the museum known as Apartment A When one enters my single-room estate, it can be perceived as a hovel or a museum (I choose the latter). It’s chock full of memorabilia from the ’60s through the ’80s, because I’m stuck in that time period. Chicks dig it. That’s all that matters to me.

What follows are relics luckily found underneath a pile of photography books, Kleenex boxes, and Sports Illustrated back issues.

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Lily Munster obit. She was one of my childhood fantasy chicks.

(Yvonne DeCarlo RIP.) I used to wonder what she looked like “downstairs in the dungeon.”

ABOVE

Nineteen seventy-one TV Guide cover of “The Odd Couple” from the garbage room of the building I grew up in.

OPPOSITE

Oscar Madison was a role model for me. Bummy Sophisticate stylee.

Chicks dig stains on sports writers.

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Some jewels from my card collection from the early ’70s.

I still carry these in my notebook as conversation pieces—especially my Pistol Pete card.

OPPOSITE

ABOVE A

relic from my days of rolling with the Beastie Boys as unofficial / official photographer. My erotic shenanigans that year became legendary.

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THIS LITTLE LIGHT OF MINE

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Tom and Abby The Sonny and Cher of Funk 45s I peeped their steeze as a double team at a party one night and I liked the selections they were serving up, and I said to myself, “Hmm, that’s an interesting pair.” I met up with them a couple of weeks later at La Taz’s on Eighth Ave. Ricky Powell: Hello. We are here with Tom and Abby. We’re at La Taza de Oro, one of my favorite Spanish restaurants on the planet, on Eighth Avenue between 14th and 15th. I’ve always believed eating and conversating go together.

Tom: That’s why I was like, “Let’s go get dinner.”

RP: Genius.

T: But that would have been cool, to sit in Washington Square Park.

RP: Either way. I thought maybe we’d get the vibe. A lot of musical people out there at night. Have you noticed?

T: We might have seen somebody throw up, too.

Abby: [Laughs] RP: Stop. That’s more for “Rappin’ With the Rickster,” the video show.

That’s a visual thing.

T: That’s my favorite part.

RP: You’ve seen that scene on my show? Oh…my…goodness. OK. Well, there goes my intellectual façade.

So let me give you guys a nickname somebody threw at me: “The Sonny and Cher of Funk 45s.”

T: [Laughs] A: Is this like a Rucker Park thing?

T: Abby doesn’t have that many funk 45s.

A: I have a really big reggae collection.

A lot of reggae 45s, but a lot of LPs, too. Funk 45s I actually don’t have that much of, compared to some of the people I know who have really sick funk 45 collections. You’ve got really good funk 45s though.

T: Yeah, man. I got rid of a lot of ’em, though.

RP: Really? You know about the signed 45 I have up on my wall, right?

T: Who’s that?

RP: Jimmy McGriff—“The Bird”—signed it to me at SOB’s, ’93.

T: Fresh.

A: That’s hot.

RP: So, what do you guys, live together?

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T: Yeah.

A: We live together with a lot of records.

RP: And you work together, do gigs together? What?

T: We actually don’t work a lot together. When we do gigs together it’s usually for friends. You know, if a friend’s getting married or something we’ll do something together ’cause it takes the stress out of it. But if it’s for money, we tend to keep that separate. You know?

RP: Almost like roommates living in a communal residence?

T: No. A: No, we’re definitely not roommates, Ricky. I mean, we’re roommates, but— RP: Roommates deluxe…with the extras…fringe benefits. Nice.

T: It’s just like, keep the professional shit separate from the relationship so that money doesn’t get mixed up.

A: ’Cause when Tom comes to my gigs he tries to take over.

T: [Laughs] It’s true. She’ll go to the bathroom and she’ll be like, “Can you hold it down real quick?” And I’ll like— RP: Alright. That’s too much information right there.

A: [Laughs] You said that I went to the bathroom and you had to “hold it down.”

RP: Please. That’s not relevant.

“Shaft? Man, I never wanna hear that again for the rest of my life.”

Any influences in DJ or radio shows growing up?

A: Definitely. DJ Red Alert, first of all.

RP: Oooh! Wow! Very good choice.

I’m very impressed, young lady.

A: Actually, one of my recent mix-

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tapes, my intro was an homage to DJ Red Alert. He did a mixtape that I had a cassette of when I was a kid called We Can Do This. It came out in about ’87. I used to play that tape through the mid-’90s, until it busted. So I tried to do the cuts and the intro exactly like he did on that mix. But then, also, I’m from Philly, so there’s a lot of great DJs there. There was always DJ Ren. I have no idea what happened to him.

He was on the radio…incredible. Baby DST…. There were so many Philly DJs—not even on the radio—when I grew up that were incredible, too.

But without a doubt, those DJs were definitely my first influences.

RP: I don’t know if Jimmy McGriff is from Philly, but he was a cop in Philly for 20 years.

A: Oh, for real? I had no idea.

T: I grew up hearing a lot of Philly DJs, too. I grew up in DC, but they were coming down and playing in DC. Like Cosmic Kev and Jay-Ski—they used to come down. I used to hear them on the radio. Cosmic Kev was the dude in Philly. And then I met my friend Cosmo Baker. Cosmo and Abby grew up together, and Cosmo introduced us.

A: He’s an incredible DJ. RP: I met him. He was on the Chances with Wolves show one episode.

T: I like Mr. Dibbs, too. I gotta throw Mr. Dibbs in there. I always listened to his tapes when I was younger and I thought they were real different and real unique.

A: Also Evil Dee. RP: Oh, I remember him.

A: He put out his breakbeat tapes before Ultimate Breaks and Beats were as successful as they are.

RP: Yeah, he was big. What about KRS? Did you like early KRS records?

A: Oh yeah. Of course.

T: Hell yeah. How can you not? I mean, come on.

RP: Well said.

T: Sex and Violence.

A: Return of the Boom Bap. I remember where I was at the moment I got that and how great it was. Then that actually made me buy BDP albums that I was too young to enjoy from years before, so then I got really into Criminal Minded.

T: KRS was like a superhero when you were a kid.

RP: Well put.

How about soundtracks?

A: Well, I love all the Quincy Jones stuff. You know, In the Heat of the Night and all those things.

RP: Cool.

A: Love the James Bond stuff. Saturday Night Fever—it’s a huge top 40, but…the Bee Gees. Incredible.

RP: I remember when that came out.

I was in high school. Tenth grade.

T: Coffy’s real good.

A: Roy Ayers.

RP: Black Caesar.

T: I was about to say Black Caesar.

That’s the one. That’s really the one.

A: All the blaxploitation soundtracks…

Foxy Brown.

T: I kept a sealed copy of Black Caesar, because you never find it with the cover together, ’cause it always has a gatefold and it gets ripped up. I found a sealed one and I just left it sealed, on some put it on ice shit, you know?

A: When I first started really buying a lot of records, all the blaxploitation soundtracks were a must. You know, the Willy Hutch Cleopatra Jones and the James Brown Black Caesar.

Everything…Shaft.

T: Shaft in Africa, man.

RP: I remember I was in junior high school—three blocks away—when that shit was coming out. I was walking around with one pant leg rolled up.

T&A: [Laugh] A: I had a turntable that would do

repeat, so I would put on Shaft, “Do Your Thing,” the 19-minute version, and then just let it repeat over and over and over. I could have listened to that song a million times.

T: Shaft? Man, I never wanna hear that again for the rest of my life.

A: Ricky, where do you hang out nowadays?

RP: Nowhere. Just the Village Vanguard and the local deli. That’s it. And Washington Square Park. One or two coffee shops. I just walk around. …Oh, different stoops. I’m a vagabond with stoops.

A: I was sitting on the stoop having an ice cream and Donald Fagen from Steely Dan walked by. He actually was walking with a woman his age, introduced me, and her name was Margaret. I’m never star-struck—you know, it’s New York. But I was definitely talking to Fagen about how amazing he was and how I love Steely Dan. He walked up the street and I was like, “Holy shit! His friend was named Margaret. I wonder if that’s ‘Peg,’” like the chick, Peg, that he made the song “Peg” about, ’cause that’s a nickname for Margaret. But I’ll never know [laughs].

RP: That’s riveting.

Do you ever think about making a “get busy” mixtape, from Tom and Abby?

T: Actually, yeah. It’s in the works. All those songs with girls moaning. It’s gonna be called A League of Their Moan.

RP: A League…of Their Moan.

T: Yeah. You know, like A League of Their Own, like the movie?

RP: I could see it work. That’s a good one.

We’re gonna say Adios. Puerto Vallarta. Oh, and peep the movie Night of the Iguana. Anywhos…check please!

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A We S C COLLA BORATION W/ RICK Y POWELL S H OT BY RICK Y POWE LL www.wesc.com

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Joe Conzo The Tito Puente of Photography I only really started to take note of Joe Conzo’s name and photography like five years ago (we had actually met before that at some photo opening but, from what I recently saw in a photo, I was way too zooted).

When I arranged to meet up, we shared some chuckles and an inspiring mutual respect. His shots are museum level, but there’s something even more riveting to me: by goodness, the man works as a paramedic! What does that tell you about him? Very selfless.

I love the pairing of the two worlds that he lives in.

Ricky Powell: Washington Square Park, a little convo with Joe Conzo.

Joe Conzo, in my mind…the epitome of the epitome of photographers, because you do it for the love. When did you start shooting?

Joe Conzo: Honestly, Ricky, I picked up the camera when I was in school at Columbia University. I went to a private school there from like kindergarten to third grade. I recently found my report card from 1972 that said, “Joey is excelling in photography,” so if that’s

’72—I was born in ’63—that makes me nine years old?

RP: “He can’t divide three into nine, but what an incredible photographer.”

Where’d you grow up?

JC: Born and raised in the South Bronx. I live up in the North Bronx now, the Norwood section. My heart and my roots are in the Bronx, Ricky.

Born there, I’m gonna probably die there. I’ve seen the Bronx through its good times, bad times, and I love

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South Bronx.

Photo Joe Conzo

it. The Bronx is the epitome of what we call the melting pot of New York City—Black, Latino, Asian, Irish, Jewish, Siberian, Mexican…you name it.

Everybody’s in the Bronx.

RP: How come you’re so nice?

JC: How come I’m so nice? I guess when you’ve been through my life experiences, nice is all there is to be.

I’m an ex recovering drug addict. I’ve been clean 19 years. I was homeless at one time. I almost got killed in 9/11—my ambulance was the first ambulance from the Bronx to get downtown, and that was a humbling experience. Life is too short to be angry and pissed off.

RP: You are my new guru.

JC: [Laughs] Now, don’t get me wrong, I do get angry from time to time, but Ricky, listen, 18 years as a paramedic with the Fire Department, I’ve seen people’s lives cut short in an instant, from kids to adults, and it’s like,

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“How did you live your life?” I want to live my life as humble as I can and I’m a true believer that you should treat people the way you want to be treated.

RP: I hear that, but that’s why I’m always screaming. I try to come correct, and then some jerkoff— JC: Then you know what, Ricky?

Walk away. Fuck them. That’s it. It’s their loss.

RP: I saw some clips from the movie 80 Blocks from Tiffany’s.

JC: …Which was a documentary done in the ’70s about the gangs.

RP: Do you have footage in there that you shot?

JC: No, and I take that as a compliment. A lot of my work is indicative of that time period.

RP: What happens when you look at that movie?

JC: I look at 80 Blocks from Tiffany’s, I look at Style Wars, I look at From

Mambo to Hip Hop, I look at all those documentaries from back then and I’m glad it was documented. I grew up in that era in the Bronx when the Bronx was burning. The way I like to say it, the Bronx was burnt. A lot of gangs, a lot of drugs.

RP: I’m sure you knew a lot of dudes that were in gangs. What do you think kept you from going in that direction?

JC: I had my little crews that I associated with, but nothing big like the Ghetto Brothers, the Savage Skulls, or any gangs of those types. I’m the grandson of the late Evelina Antonetty, who was called the Hell Lady of the Bronx. She could have been mayor of New York City. She’s responsible for bilingual education in the public schools. She’s responsible for the summer breakfast programs for inner-city kids. My playgrounds growing up were demonstrations against the Board of Ed, demonstrations against City Hall, demonstrations against movies like Fort Apache that depicted the Bronx as nothing but pimps, whores, prostitutes, and drug addicts. I guess that was my shield, so to speak.

RP: She was a huge influence on you?

JC: Oh, big time, and my mother continues my grandmother’s legacy, but I guess that’s what insulated me. My father’s an ex heroin addict. We used to get high together.

RP: I thought I was kooky for smoking joints with my mom.

JC: All my trials and tribulations, Ricky, made me who I am today.

RP: What does the name Tito Puente mean to you?

JC: Tito Puente is like my other father…my uncle.

RP: Oh my God! JC: My dad was Tito Puente’s righthand man, so when I wasn’t taking pictures of the guys I went to school

with—the pillars of hip-hop like Tony Tone, AD, Bambaataa, Kool Herc and all those guys—I was hanging out with my dad in the ’70s, going to salsa concerts. Did you know that Tito Puente played on Sugar Hill Gang’s first album? People don’t know that shit. That’s how great that man was.

RP: I told you one time I took a leak next to him at Magique.

JC: I was probably in the other urinal, because I went to Magique a few times and shit [laughs]!

RP: I’ve seen film footage of him, the whole park jam thing, him bringing his orchestra into playgrounds.

JC: Central Park, 52 Park up in the Bronx. Here is a man—the King of Salsa, well known worldwide—who would walk into a park with no bodyguards, shake everybody’s hand, and sign autographs. You don’t see that today. You see these knuckleheads like Marc Anthony and all these guys with 50,000 bodyguards. Give me a fucking break.

RP: We’re lucky we caught the tail end of the ’70s. It was a different world we grew up in.

JC: Every time I speak to you, more and more, I see that our lives are parallel. The way I was with the Cold Crush Brothers is the way you were with Run-D.M.C. RP: That’s a very interesting point. I was gonna ask you, what groups did you do some group shots for, either live or posed, because you were down with them?

JC: The majority of my hip-hop images are of the Cold Crush Brothers, because they took me under their wing. But through them I got to meet Afrika Bambaataa and the Fearless Four, Kool Herc, the Treacherous Three…

RP: And where would you meet or go hang out?

JC: Either at the clubs or different

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shows. Harlem World was a very popular place back then.

RP: What was that club, the one that everyone used to go to in the Bronx?

JC: The Fever.

RP: Were you like a house photographer?

JC: Not a house photographer. I went when the Cold Crush were there, and I photographed their shows and stuff.

That’s the only time I went. The Fever, the Ecstasy Garage, Skate Key, those were popular back then for shows.

RP: How about Roxy’s?

JC: Roxy’s was my hangout place.

RP: Friday nights?

JC: Friday nights.

RP: Whooa! Whaaat!?

JC: I’ll tell you a quick story. RunD.M.C. opened up for the Cold Crush Brothers one time down there.

RP: No! JC: Yes. RP: No. JC: Yes. RP: Wow. JC: When their hit, “It’s Like That,” just came out, it was Cold Crush and Run-D.M.C. RP: Dude, you know what kind of juice I had there? I used to work at the 8th Street Playhouse movie theater.

You remember it?

JC: Yeah, I saw Rocky Horror Show like 20 times there, tripping on acid and shit like that.

RP: You were one of them? Well I was the dude from the theater trying to keep people on the sidewalk beforehand. I used to bang the chick who dressed like Frankenfurter. I’d bring her to my house around the corner.

So anyway, this chick who used to work the ticket booth, Clara, she quit, and then she ended up being the ticket girl at Roxy’s in ’83. So I had mad juice, which was huge, to have juice at Roxy’s on a Friday night. I’d bring hip-

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pie chicks. They thought I was big willy.

That was a real collection of scene right there—the downtown graffiti writers who were kinda cool, like DONDI, ZEPHYR, FUTURA, Keith Haring….

And then Danceteria, which was close to my house—I lived on Ninth and Fifth. I could walk up to Danceteria in my bathrobe if I wanted to.

JC: Remember the Starship?

RP: I had my little Latina crew from high school who used to take me there.

JC: I tell people I was into disco and got kidnapped by hip-hop. I was a disco head, going to Bond’s International and all those places.

RP: Oh, that club was huge. You could get lost in there.

JC: Yeah, and that’s what we did, we got lost—dropped some mescaline that we picked up on 116th Street on the way downtown.

RP: That’s the way to go out. I love your style!

JC: Dance all night, come out nine o’clock in the morning, go eat some breakfast, and go home…or go to work, because back then we used to go partying and go straight to work and shit.

RP: Oh my goodness.

What does the name Celia Cruz mean to you?

JC: Celia Cruz was like my titi.

RP: Your who?

JC: Titi is Spanish for “aunt.”

RP: Oh God, get out of here!

JC: All these people I grew up around.

RP: They’d be in your house and shit?

JC: I’d be in their house, and I’d be photographing them, again because of my dad’s relationship with Tito Puente.

RP: How’d they come up?

JC: They started in the music business around the same time in the early ’40s and ’50s. Celia was born and raised in Cuba, and she came over here. Tito

Celia Cruz and Bill Cosby.

Photo Joe Conzo

grew up in Spanish Harlem, did a stint in the Navy, and went to Julliard. He was called a child prodigy at 13 years old, and it was just in that era where they put bands together—Machito, Tito Rodriguez and all those guys— and you could see them playing at the Palladium, any clubs here, up in the Catskills....

RP: That’s dope. I loved in Henry Chalfant’s Mambo to Hip Hop that it went into the little thing about the clubs hiring the band leaders. I thought that was interesting.

JC: When I met Henry for the first time about seven years ago in Crotona Park— RP: Hold up. You just met Henry for the first time?

JC: I knew of him, and I followed his work, but I actually went up to him, showed my work to him, and he was like, “Wow.” It was Henry who started the snowball effect with my photog-

raphy, because he was the first person to license an image from me for Mambo to Hip Hop. That started the snowball effect where MTV, VH1, and everybody and their mother started calling me for images.

RP: Let me just ask, if you saw my house, my room that I live in…I had an original slide on the table of the Beastie Boys from ’88, and there was a joint on it; it was being used as an ashtray.

My shit is retarded in my house. How did you always keep negatives and slides in your house?

JC: Ricky, I didn’t. When I was dealing with my drug issues and being homeless, my mother kept my negatives.

Her and Easy AD kept my work. If it wasn’t for them, you and I probably wouldn’t be sitting here.

I got tired of seeing my images in movies like CB4, in books like Yes Yes Y’all…

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Cold Crush.

Photo Joe Conzo

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RP: How did that happen? She’d give them out?

JC: No. As a kid I was throwing my images out. That’s what the Cold Crush Brothers did at shows; we would throw images out.

RP: Ah, OK. JC: So one day I got tired of seeing all my images appearing in all these books and movies—no photo credit, no fuckin’ compensation. Right after 9/11, doing two years of therapy, what pretty much came out of that was it wasn’t my time to go, and I still had a lot to share with the world. I got all my images back from my mother and AD and took control.

RP: It’s interesting that your photos from early in your life came back later in your life to propel you into another phase.

JC: Yeah. It’s destiny.

RP: You know what got me into photography, right?

JC: What?

RP: Spite.

JC: Spite?

RP: Yeah. I had a girlfriend that dissed me for a dude with tie-dye yoga pants, and I said, “I’m gonna make her sorry!

I’m gonna take this camera she left at my house, and I’m gonna use it to become somebody.” That was part of it. I mean, I like taking pictures, but— JC: So I guess you have her to thank, right?

RP: Sort of. It’s weird, but anyway, let me ask you this….

JC: I love your notes.

RP: I did this last night. I was dusted.

JC: You still smoke dust?

RP: No! It’s a figure of speech. Grass.

The first and only time I smoked dust was in Oakland. I was backstage in the bathroom with Russell Simmons and two freakazoids broke out a pin joint and we started smoking. I was like, “Oh, that shit don’t taste like….” Then

Russell was like, “This is good shit!” He didn’t get dusted. Me, I started walking around in circles in front of RunD.M.C. in the dressing room, and then I had to go shoot Public Enemy, and I remember walking into the arena. It was packed, it was dark, everyone was screaming—I thought I was in the middle of like a Black Power rally. I was like, “Oh, my God.” JC: How did you hook up with RunD.M.C.?

RP: Through the Beasties. I knew Ad-Rock. He was five years younger than me. In ’85 I went to their gig at Cat Club when they just got off tour with Madonna. I was like, “Let me go check out these kids.” And they blew me away. I loved it: the 808 bass drum, slinging beer, cursing, and then I started hanging with them.

JC: Do you think us photographers get the respect we should get?

RP: Yeah, you know, it comes in different, weird ways. I like it when I get a waiter or a bartender who knows who I am and throws me a freebie.

JC: Yeah. That’s nice. What I try and tell people is, “You love this culture so much, but imagine this culture with your eyes closed. What do you see?

Nothing. Open your eyes. That’s what we bring.” I’m just tired of people stealing my work. All you gotta do is ask.

RP: Common courtesy.

JC: Exactly. I’m one of the easiest people to find. Why the fuck would you want to take something that doesn’t belong to you to make profit?

RP: I can’t put it any simpler.

You are one of the class acts of photography, of New York City, and that’s it. I just wanted to put you in this time capsule.

JC: Thank you.

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120

Colorful Characters The following is a collection of cool and interesting peoples, or just simple folk who I dig because of their chill demeanor. They’ve helped me keep up my craft of “street photography.”

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122

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126

127

128

129

130

131

132

133

134

135

136

137

138

Colorful Characters (Clockwise from top left)

120.

Ana Bananas, photographer / writer / artist.

122 - 123.

132 - 133.

Johnny from Washington Square Park.

Dr. Lonnie Smith, organist.

A-1 Records crew.

Jessica Davidson. Camp Greene Hallow. Accord, NY. Summer 1978.

Brighdie.

Mordechai Rubinstein.

Dave Kaplan.

Raye C. Levine.

134 - 135.

124 - 125.

136 – 137.

Girl and friend.

Ned Otter, Greenwich Village historian.

Cornell Edwards, florist.

Jerry Dean, actor.

Monk-One, DJ.

126 - 127.

Tiffer and Olga.

Peppy, the shady waiter.

Hottub out of Oakland.

Michael Schools.

Ben Perowsky, drummer.

Mikey Avedon, photographer.

Tak, bike messenger / photographer.

Lady fan at West NYC sneaker store.

Kimmy Matalova.

The Pigeon Sisters.

Kunle AKA EARSNOT. Monihan Monihan, director.

Tigga Calore.

Jimmy Gestapo.

Ariana.

Locals.

A-Ron. Michael J. Fox Tony Arcabascio.

Little A-Ron from the Bookstore.

138.

Japanese girl.

Jun Bug. Mel D. Cole, photographer.

Dante Ross.

128 - 129.

Dogs.

Dog. Dog.

130 - 131.

Martian, music producer.

Godlis, photographer.

Louis, street photographer.

Maria Marquez, model.

Cheryl Dunn, film director.

Queen Majesty, DJ. Jay Strauss, West Village restaurant owner.

Bonz Malone, writer / actor.

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ENTER THE DUBSTEP VOL. 2

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Roberta Bayley Official Punk-Rock Photographer I just got hip to Miss Bayley’s photos of the ’70s / ’80s New York music scene. I was peeping some of her books and I was like, “Daamn! I gotta track this lady down.” I got her phone number (still a 212) and she was very cool and granted me an interview over at Café Orlin, another fixture of the East Village.

Ricky Powell: Here we are, Ricky Powell interviewing the legendary Roberta Bayley at Café Orlin. Hello young lady.

Roberta Bayley: Hey Ricky. How are you?

RP: Good. Loving this meeting. It’s a privilege. Being a Village kid, I love people who photograph the Village, especially in the ’70s, and that’s one of the things that drew me towards you.

One of the things.

RB: One thing I want to mention, because here we are in Café Orlin, I just recently saw Smithereens—which stars Richard Hell—that Susan Seidelman of Desperately Seeking Susanfame directed. And there’s a very hilarious scene of Richard taking a free meal off this annoying publicist while he’s chomping down the food, going, “Uh-huh…uh-huh…uh-huh,” and it’s filmed in Café Orlin.

RP: Really? Wow. Speaking of Richard Hell, I looked at your website last night and it looks like Richard Hell was your homeboy.

RB: It’s funny, because we lived together briefly in 1974, but I wasn’t taking pictures then. It was after we broke up, in late ’75, that I bought a camera. We’d maintained a great

relationship so he always called me to do the pictures.

RP: Wow. That’s dope.

RB: I did most of his record covers— his singles, his LPs, and we just did a collaboration of the rerelease and rerecording of Destiny Street, which he’d made in 1982. He rerecorded a lot of the album because at the time he was pretty much on drugs and he didn’t like a lot of the music.

RP: I saw on your website you graduated from San Francisco College in California.

RB: I didn’t graduate. I dropped out of San Francisco State University in ’71 and I moved to England where I lived for two or three years off and on.

RP: When did you pick up the camera and decide this is what you wanted to do?

RB: I did it in high school a little bit.

RP: Where was that?

RB: That was in Marin County, which is 20 miles north of San Francisco. I took two semesters of photography. I really liked it. We used a little Yashica view camera. But then when I went to college it was next to impossible to get into the photography program in San Francisco State. This was ’68, ’69, ’70.

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Debbie Harry and Chris Stein.

Photo Roberta Bayley

I was there during the heyday of the student riots. We were second only to Berkeley and Columbia in terms of all that closing down of the campus and that political stuff, which I wasn’t involved in. I was very sympathetic, but I wasn’t really political at that point and I certainly wasn’t violent. It really upset me going to school and seeing a lot of students being beaten by the police.

RP: How about the hippies and the beatnik scene on Haight and Ashbury? Did you cover that, as well as live it?

RB: I didn’t. My sister lived in San Francisco and I used to stay a lot with her. She had an apartment just on the edge of Haight-Ashbury and the Fillmore District on Oak and Divisadero.

We went to all the Be-Ins, we went to the Monterey Pop Festival, we— RP: What?! You were at that concert?

RB: Yeah, all three days.

RP: Wow.

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RB: It was seven dollars a ticket.

RP: Did you have a camera at that point?

RB: No. Isn’t that silly? I was 16. When I was like 14 and following the Beatles, Rolling Stones and all that, I did have a little camera, like an Instamatic, so I actually have pictures of the Rolling Stones from 1966 from the front row.

They’re crappy.

RP: At what venue?

RB: The San Jose Civic Auditorium.

I saw the Beatles at the Cow Palace three times. I saw the Rolling Stones I think six times.

RP: Whaaaat?! Were your parents cool?

RB: “Cool” wouldn’t be the word.

They were kind of oblivious. But my father was really into the whole Beatle thing and he actually rented a room for us in the Beatles’ hotel in 1964, so we were on the floor below the Beatles at the Hilton in San Francisco. It was $24

a night, so it wasn’t a big splurge, but it was pretty exciting at the age of 14 to be staying near the Beatles.

It was an exciting time, and that melded into the Byrds and Buffalo Springfield, which melded into the psychedelic bands.

RP: So you had a good start, as far as like a track record from that scene going into New York in the ’70s.

RB: Because I knew the late, great Jim Marshall, who is—along with David Gahr—I think one of the greatest rock ‘n’ roll documenters ever.

RP: You knew him personally?

RB: Oh, he asked every 16-year-old girl in San Francisco to marry him. I mean, Jim was a letch. I interacted with him more recently. I saw him at Bob Gruen’s wedding and we met in New York a few times, and I’m not sure if he remembered me, but he certainly inspired me. He was a crazy man and very cool guy when he wasn’t on drugs and shooting guns at people.

RP: That reminds me of me…without the guns. A lot of girls have certain things to say about me.

RB: We were in that world and it was free love, and so you’d take your chances. I told him when I met him more recently that he’d asked me to marry him, but the offer wasn’t good still.

RP: What do you think about his Allman Brothers cover-shot for At the Fillmore East?

RB: It doesn’t come to mind ’cause I wasn’t—I hate to say—an Allman Brothers fan till quite a bit later. But he did all the San Francisco bands and of course he did the Bob Dylan pictures and the folk pictures, and all of that was really part of his repertoire. I didn’t know how great he was at the time.

Actually, we thought he was kind of annoying, but it turned out, if you look back, he was one of the greats.

RP: I wrote a list of things here. Let me just say them and see what you say, alright? Blondie, Deborah Harry, Chris Stein.

RB: It’s amazing how much I still totally love that band. They’ve been playing live a lot in Europe, especially.

RP: Maybe she’s having a renaissance.

RB: She’s 65, she looks amazing, and they’re still coming up with great tunes. I love Debbie and I love Chris and Clem and all the Blondies, but their music resonates, and when you hear “The Tide is High” or “Rapture” it still sounds really good.

RP: Didn’t you shoot them at Max’s and CB[GB]’s?

RB: A little at Max’s, a little at CB’s. As you can imagine, they attracted a lot of crowds, mainly for Debbie, so it was hard to get near the front. I shot them at a few sound checks, but mainly I went on tour briefly with them in 1979 when they were having the hit with Parallel Lines, “Heart of Glass.”

RP: You were on tour with them?

RB: Yeah. I worked for them.

RP: As what? Doing luggage?

RB: Publicity. They were already big in Europe and Australia and those other countries, but they hadn’t broken into America until “Heart of Glass,” so they weren’t selling anything here. I was also the stills photographer on the “Heart of Glass” video.

RP: Wow. RB: I actually think Debbie might be at her peak of beauty now, but in 1978 a blind chimpanzee could not have taken a bad picture of her and I was lucky enough to have a lot of access to the world’s not only most beautiful, but most photogenic woman, right up there with Marilyn. On top of that she’s just a really good person. That’s shocking, but it makes a lot of sense because it’s her heart that made that success continue.

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Joey Ramone.

Photo Roberta Bayley

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RP: How did you connect with them?

RB: I worked the door at CBGB’s from 1974 off and on through 1978. I was the person that, if you went to CBGB’s, I said, “Give me your two dollars. It all goes to the band. No guest list.” Well, there was always a big guest list. At the early days of CB’s all the money did go to the band, and the band would bring in extra people who would drink, and that was the arrangement, which changed later, obviously.

RP: Hilly Kristal gave you that job?

RB: Initially Terry Ork, who was Television’s manager. The band Television was one of the first, but not quite the first, to play at CB’s. They wanted the place to almost rehearse live in front of people, so they got the door, and they played Sunday nights, two sets. And Terry said, “Roberta, why don’t you do the door?” because he somehow felt that to have a cute female on the door was less confrontational and more people would wanna give me their money than if he sat on the door.

RP: Interesting psychology.

Ramones. The Ramones.

RB: It’s funny because just two days ago I did an interview for a South American documentary where they’re filming in New York all the places that the Ramones are known for having been in, gone to, etcetera. So I took them to the place where I shot the Ramones first album cover, which is on East Second Street just off the Bowery.

It’s now called Joey Ramone Place. It’s a community garden and has been since 1977. We went in and were able to determine exactly where the photo was taken. It’s been built up by at least four feet to accommodate the dirt and the bricks and everything for the garden, but it was like an archaeology expedition to find and trace the steps of the Ramones from February 1976, when that picture was taken.

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Richard Hell.

Photo Roberta Bayley

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RP: You met them on the scene?

RB: First I went to see them at Performance Studios in 1974 when they were just doing little showcases. It was a recording studio where Tommy Ramone worked, and that’s where they first started rehearsing, and then they’d do little showcases for their friends during the afternoon. Debbie Harry would be there, Richard Hell… different people would be checking them out because the scene was very, very small then. They’d been in the glitter bands around that scene for a long, long time. There weren’t a lot of people, so everybody knew each other and they’d check everybody out as they were coming up.

RP: And how’d you do these famous photos with them? They asked you to take pictures of them, or you offered, or it was a mutual thing?

RB: That was for Punk magazine. For the third issue they wanted to put the Ramones on the cover ’cause that was one of their very favorite bands.

The cover of the magazine was a drawing of Joey by John Holmstrom, the editor and publisher. But we wanted to do an inside interview with a lot of photos, so I went and shot all the pictures. Then Sire Records hired a “professional” photographer to do the album cover, and the pictures absolutely sucked. Everyone hated them. The record was coming out in like six weeks and they didn’t have a photo, so they freaked out. Their manager, Danny Fields, was calling everybody, “Bring all your pictures of the Ramones! We’ve gotta find a picture! We’ve gotta find a picture!” They saw my contact sheets and they said, “That’s the picture we wanna use, but we can only pay you $125. Take it or leave it.” So luckily I took it. It was a good decision.

RP: I hear you.

Do you remember, the East Village was kind of raw dog back in the day.

RB: Oh yeah.

RP: Do you remember that gang the Dynamite Brothers?

RB: No. RP: Did you stay away from Alphabet City?

RB: I went there later, probably. It would be a scary thing we would do.

We’d all decide, “We’re gonna put all our keys and all our money and lock it in the mailbox, and then we’re gonna go over and try to cop something.” We’d give a little kid our money and he’d run away, and then he’d come back and he’d have something, and we thought that was exciting. But I wasn’t into heroin and I was not really into coke in that way, but sometimes you just sorta do that for a little cheap thrill.

RP: Did you ever get down with any of the photo agencies?

RB: My best experience was with Redferns, which was an agency in England that specialized only in music, run by David Redferns. He’s in his 70s and he retired and sold to Getty, so now I’m with Getty.

RP: He must have made a nice penny.

RB: Yeah, and he deserved it ’cause he had a real good agency and they were very on top of it and sharp.

RP: And not shady at all?

RB: No. RP: That’s big.

RB: I have never had any experience like that. So I’m with Getty now, but because Getty’s so big, my checks have gotten so small.

RP: Well, we’re gonna wrap up this interview.

RB: It’s been an absolute pleasure. I think we’re on a lot of the same wavelength, which is a cool thing.

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Funky Dope Maneuvers (First-time collaborators)

44.

Mike Tyson by Kenan Juska.

45.

Elvira by Harif Guzman AKA Haculla.

56.

91.

The 57’ Woman by Delphine Ettinger AKA Ashes 57.

100.

Bernard King by CHINO.

Me by Curtis.

Basquiat and Warhol by 2ESAE and SKI.

101.

57.

Honey Rockwell by Toofly.

Christopher Walken by Ana Bananas.

64.

Jam-Master Jay by KLASS.

106.

107.

Bobby Byrd by Lexx Valdez.

Stretch Armstrong and The Alchemist

by REDS.

65.

118.

Billy Preston by Ian Johnson.

82.

Busgirl by VIK.

83.

Hifalootin’ Freak by Stephen Malbon.

Blunt Freak by Dr. Dax.

119.

Beastie Boys by Liz Ronk.

150.

Marv Albert by Z Behl.

90.

Big Daddy Kane by DWELS and BOOTS 119.

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By appointment only.

19 Essex Street | New York | New York | 10002 | 212.228.7442

A barbershop for the modern bohemian of leisure.