Contents

Information Page

Acknowledgements

Introduction

   1 Baby Dolls

   2 The Babylon Beat Goes On

   3 Too Hot to Handle

   4 Death Trip

   5 Notorious

   6 Little L.A. Women

   7 A Hard Night’s Day

   8 Lipstick Killers & Dolls’ Molls

   9 Lady Chatterbox’s Lover

 10 Trailer Trash

      Aftermath – Broken Dolls

      Afterlife – The Mythic Link

      Afterwards – It’s All Over Now, Baby Doll

      Cast List

      Discography

Acknowledgements and Sentiments

My gratitude goes out to everybody who agreed to be interviewed. I would especially like to thank Peter Jordan and Sylvain Sylvain.

I would also like to acknowledge the contributions of the following: Mariann Bracken & family, Chris Charlesworth, Randy Chase at Fishhead Records, Tom Crossley, Rob Dimery, Eve & Neil, George Gimarc, Clinton Heylin, Olga Larrett, Freddie Lynxx (for his discography), Pedro Mercedes, John Perry, Phyllis Stein. And of course, my dear Severina.

This book is dedicated to the memories of Billy Murcia, Johnny Thunders and Jerry Nolan, for whom it is too little, too late.

Introduction

The New York Dolls put the Chaos Theory into rock’n’roll. Like the butterfly that rippled against an oncoming storm, causing a momentary rift in the flow of the universe that subsequently built up into a fearsome hurricane, few remember or even refer to the original creature of chaos, they just recall the consequences.

The New York Dolls were the Bowery butterflies that irrevocably altered the course of rock’n’roll. Their actual moment, 1971–1975, was brief but their influence, whether acknowledged or not, spans two decades. At various times during their fabulous reign heinous attempts were made to suppress their career by a conservative core within the music business. The Dolls appeared to prevail but they weren’t dancing, they were falling.

One boy’s ‘good time’ is another’s booze-fuelled pill-popping endless party. The New York Dolls were a high time, high-wire act without a safety net. Their music reflected perfectly both the New York of the early Seventies and their own high intensity dramas: tom-toms beat over Manhattan, guitars wailed like cop car sirens, the vocals were guttural street corner captions, emphasised by sloppy kisses and wolf-whistles, silenced by a gun shot. Dirty angels with painted faces, the Dolls opened the box usually reserved for Pandora and unleashed the infant furies that would grow to become Punk. As if this legacy wasn’t enough for one band, they also trashed sexual boundaries, savaged glitter and set new standards for rock’n’roll excess.

The Dolls’ nonchalant acts of artistic vandalism and liberation have long outlived them but their monument, if there was one, would surely stand on unhallowed ground, for they came in the end to represent all that is considered debauched in rock culture. In the twenty or so years since their demise, the Dolls have become a perpetual reference point as the archetypal, hedonistic rock’n’roll band. For their sins, The New York Dolls have been constantly ostracised by the guardians of the mainstream but are nevertheless revered by a legion of devotees and recognised by the media cognoscenti. Over the years a series of bands have covered Dolls’ tracks. Fragments of details rise to the surface in occasional documentaries. A car rips around a corner to a blast of the Dolls in a recent television commercial, yet the band isn’t credited for it. The New York Dolls have pervaded contemporary culture but they do so in a glamorous semi-obscurity which is pretty much how it was when they were still together.

1
Baby Dolls

The New York Dolls may have looked like they just stepped right out of Manhattan Babylon as fully formed teenage transvestite hookers with street manners but they were not children of the inner city. They came from refugee, migrant and exiled stock, and they came of age in New York’s outer boroughs where their families had settled in the Fifties.

Of the five principal boys, Sylvain Sylvain, christened Sylvain Mizrahi, travelled the furthest, from Cairo to New York via Paris. Following the Suez Canal crisis in 1956, Sylvain’s father lost his job as a banker in Cairo and, as Egyptian Jews, the family were forced into exile and obliged to relinquish their home and most of their possessions. Regardless of the political traumas, little Sylvain was enriched by a childhood spent in Cairo. Sylvain: ‘There’s an Arab instrument called the oud, it looks like a guitar but it’s got a round back. The Arabs make them by hand and my father bought me a child-size one. I’ll never forget the beat of Arabic music, it’s got an incredible rhythm.”

Sylvain, his elder brother and parents boarded a Greek merchant ship bound for France, then journeyed to Paris where they lived in a hotel room in the artists’ quarter of Montmartre. With the help of a Jewish resettlement scheme, the Mizrahi family applied to go to the United States, crossing the Atlantic in 1961. Sylvain: “I remember when we cruised into the harbour, it was rainy and cloudy. Me and my brother were on the deck and we saw the Statue of Liberty. To me the whole image of the United States was tall buildings, like New York. I was really taken in by the commercials of the time. I thought that every girl would look like Marilyn Monroe and that for breakfast you’d have Bazooka bubblegum and then Coca-Cola for dinner!”

Sylvain and his family were housed in Buffalo, which they were shocked to find was closer to Niagara Falls than New York city. They hastily relocated to Brooklyn before settling down in the borough of Queens, a largely family orientated district that boasts Shea Stadium as one of its most famous landmarks. The lawns of Queens are mowed with efficient regularity and the cars on its streets are polished to perfection. It’s enough to turn any kid with a rebel streak towards rock’n’roll.

Sylvain was dispatched to Van Wyck junior high in Jamaica, a Queens neighbourhood, where his non-existent grasp of English made him an easy target. Sylvain: ‘The first words I ever learned in English was ‘Fuck you’. The other kids would come up to me and say ‘You speak English?’ and I would say ‘No’. They would go ‘Fuck you’. He quickly learned to adopt a wily self-protective attitude which was put to the test when an older boy, Alphonso Murcia, challenged Syl to a fight with his younger brother, Billy. When he issued the playground challenge Alphonso didn’t realise that Billy and Syl were already acquainted, and the ensuing scrap was largely a put on. Sylvain: “We weren’t friends but we weren’t enemies either. Billy was like ‘C’mon, let’s go.’ He had a lot of surly moves. We scuffled a little, kicked up some dust. It was more like a cartoon than a fight. Then we said, ‘Why the fuck are we fighting?’. We became the best of friends.”

Their two halves of broken English made a whole and they rapidly became inseparable. From a distance, the two boys resembled a romantic notion of gypsy twins with their dark features and wild corkscrew hair. Up close however, Syl looked like an exotic relative of Marc Bolan while Billy was slightly more muscular, with a defined, angular face and large plaintive eyes that more often than not were obscured by a curtain of ringlets.

Billy and his family’s flight from their home in Bogota, the crime-ridden capital of Colombia, had been no less dramatic than Sylvain’s flight from Cairo. Papa Murcia was an inventive businessman with a penchant for racing cars and speed boats. Unfortunately, he ran into trouble with hostile bandidos after opening an ice-skating rink with the wrong business partner. Putting his family’s safety before everything else, Mr Murcia gathered up his three offspring, Alphonso, Billy and Heidi, and their mother, Mercedes, packed as much as they could carry and high tailed it to America. They took up residence in a large old house in]amaica not far from where Sylvain’s family had settled and made ends meet by renting out the spare rooms to other immigrants. Sylvain was practically adopted by the Murcia clan and even moved his bed into the spacious wood panelled basement where he and Billy established a den.

The two boys left Van Wyck for New Town High, also in Queens. In the corridors or out in the playground, they kept catching glimpses of a striking looking Italian-American kid with daringly long black hair. Even though they didn’t hang out with]ohnny Genzale, they’d heard that he was a mean baseball player and figured that he must be pretty cool.]ohnny was such a quiet, shy boy, his demeanour almost masked his emotional instability. It was as though he had a slow burning fuse that would ignite when something bothered him and more often than not that was the school’s rules and regulations.]ohnny: “I hated school. I always did terrible, couldn’t wait to leave.” Although he’d been spared the trauma of the geographical displacement suffered by his grandparents when they left their native Naples and Sicily in favour of a new life in America, he was still insecure. His father, Emil, an attractive lady-killer who preferred slow dancing in smoky clubs to pram pushing in the park, walked out on his mother when]ohnny was just a baby. With no financial assistance, Josephine Genzale had to work two jobs to support]ohnny, who was left in the care of his elder sister Mariann.

By the time]ohnny reached his early teens, the past was just a dull ache, that is until he became a prominent figure in the neighbourhood Little League baseball team. Johnny: “I used to play baseball from eight in the morning till eight the next night and loved it.” His passion almost paid off when he was scouted by the Philadelphia Phillies. However, in those days it was a requirement of the Little League that all fathers, without exception, should also be involved in team activities and Johnny lost his place. He would later cover up the truth by telling journalists he quit baseball when the coach demanded that he cut his hair.

What was baseball’s loss became rock’n’roll’s gain. Johnny threw down the bat, picked up a bass guitar and recruited some high school pals for a band. When Mariann got a job with a small catering firm, she started to get her little brother bookings for barmitzvahs, birthdays and weddings. Amidst the crepe paper and confetti, Johnny and The Jaywalkers débuted wearing matching non-crease nylon suits, belting out standards in the back of a church hall. They would later change their name to The Reign.

Of the original nucleus that made up The New York Dolls, there was one other founder member, Arthur Harold Kane. A tall blond of Irish descent who came from the Bronx, Kane was a complete physical contradiction to the Queens contingent of petite brunettes. There is something faraway about Arthur. He has the presence of an apparition with the tiniest voice you’ve ever heard, like a talking toy with the wrong batteries. Arthur Kane was a loner and a straight A student until circumstances flipped his dials. He had not yet acquired George Fedorcik as a best friend but they shared an English class. George: “I didn’t like him at first, he was a very quiet and a very smart student and he was really serious about school until his mother died, then he seemed to totally lose it and got involved in drugs and drinking.”

After his mother’s death, Arthur dived head first into rock’n’roll and started playing rhythm guitar in a band with George. He also burned any of the bridges that could possibly have led him back to a straighter, safer life. George: “I considered Arthur to be my brother. He was just the coolest guy that I knew, he was way ahead of his time as far as fashion went. He was the first person I knew who wore bellbottoms. The other kids in high school used to really break his balls about the way he looked.”

For nearly all kids, the mid-teens are the crucial turning point when the world suddenly expands beyond the immediate vicinity. The boys in the Dolls were no exception, but the fact that they all looked to New York City as the centre of adventure meant they got street sophisticated faster than most.

Arthur graduated to the arts based Pratt College to study hotel management, perhaps he’d had Bates Motel in mind when he signed up for the course. He dropped out in early 1970 and embarked upon a head-spinning spree with George, fired up on glue, acid and alcohol. George: “We both got really heavily into acid but I can’t believe that at 18 we were still doing glue. We used to get big quarts of rubber cement glue and sniff it. It really messes you up. Arthur was always very quiet, he really never had much to say on anything. He would just go along with things or do stupid stuff.”

Their biggest turn-ons were near miss auto incidents and psychedelic surfing. George: “One time in the middle of winter, we drove to Times Square with the top down on the car, and we got into an accident with a cab. The cab driver wanted to kick my ass. As he was trying to pull me out of the car, Arthur was just sitting there going ‘Everything’s cool, everything’s cool’. Arthur was a terrible driver … when he got his licence he had five accidents in one week and wrecked his father’s Tempest. We used to go surfing all the time … we never were any good at it but it was cool on acid and pot. I remember once we were on the parkway and the surfboard went flying off the top of the car and caused a big crash, everybody was swerving to a halt. I wouldn’t get out of the car and I said ‘Arthur, go out and get the board’. Then we got a Volkswagen van together.”

The highlight of being a cool kid in the city was the Sunday afternoon promenade that took place around the fountain in Central Park. Outwardly a casual gathering, it was an opportunity for the teens to preen. Although he didn’t say too much, hidden by his long teased hair that resembled raven’s wings in a storm, Johnny Genzale and his girlfriend Janis Cafasso talked volumes when it came to style. Arthur: “We’d all get dressed up to the teeth and go to Central Park on a Sunday. There was nothing else to do. It was after the Sixties when there had been love-ins and be-ins and everyone was on LSD, taking their clothes off and going crazy in the same place in Central Park, but it had become a little more sedate. People were there to look at each other and I saw Johnny around that time with his girlfriend, Janis, who dressed up like a Raggedy Ann doll, she had this long red curly hair and red rouge on her cheeks. Johnny had all that hair and the first time I noticed him he was wearing a green velvet suit. Then I saw him a couple more times in these other outfits that you just couldn’t find, ‘cos I tried, I went to thrift shops and rooted everything out. Then I discovered that Johnny was buying his clothes in women’s shops, downtown on Orchard Street and his mom or sister would tailor them for him, so he was wearing these customised suits all the time. Very impressive.”

After quitting school in a deluge of bad behaviour reports, Johnny pleaded with his mother to send him to a private, liberal establishment called Quintanos. Located in the back of Carnegie Hall and just two blocks away from Central Park, the aim of Quintanos was to groom students for careers in the performing arts. However, even classes held in the park with a steady supply of reefer weren’t enough to keep Johnny G interested. He left home and Quintanos at sixteen and began to do the rounds of the rock’n’roll circuit. There was the Action House, a rock club out on Long Island, Nobody’s bar on Bleecker street, a favourite groupie haunt populated by British bands passing through town, and the Fillmore East for live rock shows. Arthur and best buddy George were on nodding terms with Johnny. George: “We used to see Johnny at the Fillmore every time there’d be a British band playing. We were totally into the English scene – The Stones, The Yardbirds. We never really spoke to Johnny but we’d always say ‘Hi’ because of the way he looked. We thought he was the coolest thing in the world.”

Someone else who thought Johnny looked pretty good was Janis Cafasso. Along with her cousin, Gail Higgins Smith, Janis would drive into the city from Long Island every weekend to catch the bands at the Fillmore. Johnny and Janis embarked on a big romance. After checking out San Francisco together, the three of them found an apartment between 9th and 10th street in the East Village. Janis, who was heavily into fashion and would find a future in design, further exaggerated Johnny’s appearance, introducing a feminine element to his look. In between all the dress-up sessions, there were gigs to go to. Gail Higgins Smith: “Me, Johnny and Janis were big rock’n’roll fans. We went anywhere to see a rock’n’roll band and to meet rock’n’roll people. Somehow, because we were brazen, we’d always end up meeting them. When we went to the Newport Jazz festival we ended up sitting in a hotel room with Rod Stewart drinking beer. We met Janis Joplin, and the MC5 who were Johnny’s heroes. He was so excited when he met Keith Richards. He would talk about him all the time. We met him at a bar on 5th Avenue and 13th Street. People like Jagger, Richards and Lennon used to go there and one night Keith Richards was there. We sat around this table, having drinks and meeting Keith. Johnny used to say, ‘I want to be a pop star, I want to be like Keith Richards’. He even kept Keith’s cigarette packet.”

Despite the widespread belief that The New York Dolls were all street urchins with little or no sense of what lay beyond Manhattan – “Wha’choo mean? Dere’s more to Englan’ dan da Stones” – all the founding Dolls visited Europe at a time when the dollar was particularly strong. Johnny: “A friend of mine in New York was working for a magazine so I got to borrow their press pass and when me and a girlfriend came to England we just kinda went around checkin’ out all these bands for free, I saw mustabeen fifty or sixty bands. I saw Tyrannosaurus Rex, stuff like that. It wasn’t long after I went home that I got into music myself.”

Arthur and George set off for Amsterdam where they tried to get a band together but failed to find a vocalist who could sing in English. In spite of their long, straggly hair, there was no way Arthur and George would have classed each other as hippies. They modelled themselves on the English rock star look, and bought their clothes in Jumping Jack Flash and Granny Takes a Trip in New York. They got by in Holland selling ‘keef’, a particularly potent strain of hashish. In Pamela Des Barre’s autobiography I’m With The Band, the celebrated groupie and former member of Frank Zappa’s GTO’s chronicles her brief spell in Amsterdam, where she worked up the fare to England by selling keef for some hippies. Arthur and George had been happy to help Miss Pamela and her friend, Renee, but would’ve cringed had they known that one day she would refer to them as ‘hippies’ in her memoirs. Pamela Des Barres: “The hippies sold keef, a crumbly, potent ochre-coloured substance, stronger than hash. I was flat out of dough, so Renee and I went to a sleazy club called the Milweg (Milkyway) and sold a ton of it to the locals. For a few days we made the rounds of the hostels, selling it to the travelling students, and one afternoon I decided to try a dab of the merchandise. I landed face down on another planet.”

George returned home after their money and keef supply dried up. Not long after his departure, Arthur was arrested and deported. Kane had been mooching around a flea market when he spied a second-hand motorbike for sale. As he rode the motorbike out of the market he was stopped by the police who discovered that the bike the American had just purchased was stolen property. On further investigation they discovered that Arthur’s visa had expired and that he was in possession of a small amount of hashish. Arthur Kane was promptly escorted to the airport.

Back in New York, Arthur and George rented an apartment on 10th Street and First Avenue. Arthur started working for the telephone company while George took a job with the post office. Not content with regular paychecks that suit regular guys, they got serious about the band thing they were always talking about. As a mark of his rock star intentions, George Fedorcik began calling himself Rick Rivets.

The only boys who had thus far got any real mileage out of their rock’n’roll dreams were Billy and Syl and they hadn’t got much further than a block or two, with their first group The Pox. After splitting school, Billy took up playing drums and was tutored by Sylvain who taught him to swing sticks along to The Surfari’s hectic instrumental ‘Wipeout’. For Murcia, once described as ‘a cool drink of water with a hot head’, playing drums was like throwing a tantrum, a natural outlet. The Pox broke out when Syl and Billy hooked up with Mike Turby, a local hero who had gained neighbourhood notoriety with The Orphans – Queens answer to The Rolling Stones. Turby, an accomplished guitarist, put Billy and Syl through their musical paces, giving instruction where before there had been only enthusiasm.

In 1968 The Pox signed a contract and cut a demo for would-be record tycoon Harry Lookofsky, father of keyboard player Mike Brown from The Left Banke. Lookofsky had been responsible for the baroque production on ‘Walk Away Renee’ which gave the Left Banke a top ten US hit in 1966. Sylvain: “The Pox was a three piece, we were a little like the early Who with the influence of the music that was coming out of Detroit back then, like Iggy and The Stooges. We used to play ‘No Fun’. We did a gig at the Hotel Diplomat on 43rd Street. It had a grand ballroom that they used to rent out to hippies once a week and we supported this band called The Group Image. They had a girl singer called Barbara who eventually married Arthur Kane. We opened up for them, Michael Turby was playing bass, Billy was on drums and I turned my amp right up and started riffing. The audience went nuts, then we started our repertoire with this song ‘Epitaph’ and Group Image pulled the plug on us. Billy kept on playing and the kids kept on cheering. That was our introduction to the cut-throat business of rock’n’roll!”

When The Pox failed to reach epidemic proportions, Mike Turby left for San Francisco while Syl and Billy did time in Quintanos school. Taking their cues from the two things they loved best, rock’n’roll and cool clothes, the dandy duo got busy with their own fashion outlet, Truth & Soul. Sylvain got his retail experience working at the happening men’s boutique The Different Drummer on Lexington Avenue and 63rd Street. Across the road from the store was a fixed sign on the front of an old brownstone building which read The New York Doll’s Hospital. A million of the city’s brokenhearted children had tramped up the scuffed stairs carrying their damaged dolls into this toy ER, and as he gazed at the sign Sylvain wondered if Billy would think it was as great a name for a band as he did.

One afternoon Syl watched his future walk right past The Doll’s Hospital like a trailer for a forthcoming movie. Sylvain: “I saw Janis and Johnny go by, holding hands. Now, this was the time when Gimme Shelter was playing. Me and Billy were in love with that movie and Johnny is in it. He’s fooling around with his hair, sitting on one of his friend’s shoulders. It’s in the sequence when the lights get turned on the audience and Mick Jagger say’s something like ‘New York, let’s look at you, now.’ We used to see it every other day and we’d go ‘Hey man, there’s that fucking guy we used to go to school with!’”

Sylvain quit The Different Drummer to concentrate fully on Truth & Soul. Inspired by the brightly coloured and patterned woollens that are traditionally worn in Colombia, Billy and Sylvain set about making psychedelic sweaters on a hand loom. Orders started coming in from the ultra-hip Betsey Johnson, and the duo also made psychedelic bikini tops for Paraphernalia. As the orders piled up, Mercedes Murcia brought over a master loomer from Colombia to expand the operation. Following a complimentary write-up in the prestigious Women’s Wear Daily, Truth & Soul sold their designs for mass production to the Nausbaum knitting mills in Brooklyn. Splitting the ample proceeds between them, Billy went to Amsterdam and Syl to England.

For close on a year, Billy and Alphonso Murcia bummed around Holland. When all their money had gone up in smoke in Amsterdam’s hash cafes, Billy took to busking with his bongos. Sylvain managed to track down his pal and found him hunched up, cross-legged on the street, fighting with his older brother. Syl promptly whisked him off to England. He’d had a ball in London and the only serious money he’d spent had gone on three Marshall amps, which were shipped back to the Murcia’s basement. Sylvain had shopped till he dropped, and hung out on The King’s Road until he’d absorbed every retail detail of the pop couture promenade. He’d struck up an acquaintance with Trevor Miles, who specialised in groovy vintage threads and had a shop on 430 King’s Road called Paradise Garage. The following year Miles would turn over the premises to Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood.

By the close of 1970, Syl and Billy were ready to return home, stocked up with new clothes and a classy car. Sylvain: “We came back with a grey Jaguar that we bought for £300. We got it just to go to Kensington Market in, where we’d have tea, smoke hashish and buy boots all fucking day long. Remember the Mickey Mouse T-shirts, they were so popular? We brought a million of them back with us.” Clothes and hash weren’t their sole motive for visiting Europe: they needed a vacation from the things they couldn’t change. While the more radical English hippies were incensed by the establishment’s attempts to bring down the counter-culture by targeting the editors of the influential underground paper OZ and hauling them off to court to face obscenity charges, a far more real obscenity was being perpetrated against the young by the establishment in the USA.

The Vietnam war was raging and while old generals discussed strategies over the dinner table, the Vietnamese people were being massacred, and thousands of American sons were sent home in bodybags. The boys who would become the Dolls were of the atomic generation who endured nuclear air raid drills at school but were just young enough to avoid being drafted. Sylvain: “Vietnam was something that was just horrible going on around us. That war was screwed up, it was really the old against the young. Billy and me, we were so anti-establishment. I still wasn’t a US citizen and neither was Billy.”

One of the first recipients of a Kensington Market Mickey Mouse T-shirt was Johnny Genzale, with whom Sylvain and Billy had finally got on speaking terms when they returned to The States. When he first brought his bass down to jam with Syl and Billy, Johnny was particularly impressed by the stack of Marshall amps in the basement. Johnny Genzale was never meant to be a bass guitarist, he was jumpier than a kitten and far too erratic to pace anything evenly but Syl and Billy needed a bassist and wanted Johnny in their band. Nonetheless, Sylvain was pleased to pass on some of Mike Turby’s musical methods. Sylvain: “When it really started between us three, we became like a family. Johnny started coming down to the basement and I taught him all the riffs I had learned from Mike and the things I had picked up on my own. I basically said, ‘Look, if you know those scales and you go like this, instead of doing the whole fucking bar chord, just hold it with two fingers and you can make a little power chord.’ Johnny took to that, baby! We’d all sit on the bed with these cheap guitars and do Marc Bolan songs, as well as some blues and instrumentals.”

Sylvain, Billy and Johnny became the Dolls but they didn’t get much further than the bed rehearsals before Syl nipped back to London to join Mercedes and Heidi Murcia, who were making sweaters and selling them to Kensington Market. Johnny was already started on his routine of losing apartments on a regular basis and was crashing at the Chelsea Hotel after one too many dramatic fights with Janis, while a disregard for boring stuff like contributing to the rent had forced Gail Higgins Smith to ask him to move out of their East Village place. One evening as Johnny was hanging out on Bleecker Street, he noticed two very drunk and shady dudes in the process of trying to steal a motorbike, which was half hanging out the back of their battered Volkswagen van. When they suddenly dropped the bike and started towards him, he really wondered if he ought to run for it but his high platform boots were not designed for flight. As they drew closer he realised he’d seen them around at the Fillmore and Nobody’s. Arthur: “I was with Rick Rivets when I saw him outside a pizza place. We were across the street and I said, ‘Okay, here’s that guy, why don’t we go over and find out what’s going on with him?’ I went over and said, ‘I hear you play guitar or bass or something, do you want to get together?’ “

Rivets and Kane played lead and rhythm. When Johnny showed up the next afternoon, bass in hand, they thrashed around, checking out their musical compatibility. After a couple of weeks of rough rehearsals, Arthur gave Johnny the final go-ahead to take up the lead guitar. Arthur: “I was the one that promoted him from bass player to guitar player and put myself on bass because I knew that if I played bass with what he was playing on guitar, we would have something.”

It was during this period of transformation that Johnny Genzale changed his surname, first to Volume, then settling on Thunders, after the DC cowboy comic book hero Johnny Thunder – Mystery Rider Of The Wild West. When a drummer called Ossie came on board, they rented a studio and riffed through a selection of Chuck Berry, Rolling Stones and Yardbirds covers. Ossie was swiftly replaced by Thunders’ choice of drummer, Billy Murcia. Rick Rivets: “Billy was very wild, very up all the time. He had a lot of energy, he’d always be running around here and there. He’d always be dressed up, you never saw him look like crap. He’d always have his hair done and be wearing all the right clothes.”

Once Billy was in the line-up, the action switched back to Queens. Arthur took a room in the Murcia’s house and the band began rehearsing in the basement. This stage in the band’s development is often referred to as their ‘Actress’ phase. Arthur: “We didn’t really use the name Actress, it was just a suggestion by Johnny’s girlfriend, Janis. It was all a part of the glitter thing, we had the first platform shoes and boots in New York because Billy’s sister was in London and she knew where to get them. Also I had seen the Alice Cooper group, when they were all wearing silver jump suits and I knew we had to look wilder than that. We were the wildest looking people in New York, all we had to do was get some more clothes and we were set.”

It became a drag for Thunders to keep lugging to Queens from the city every time the band got together, so they began looking for a rehearsal place in Manhattan. Off Columbus Avenue and 82nd Street they found a cycle shop with a couple of amps in the back whose owner, Rusty, was nicknamed ‘Beanie’ by the band on account of the funny little knitted caps that he wore. For their nightly rehearsals, Beanie would lock them inside the shop and to keep them going, Kane and Rivets would always pick up a quart of vodka which they split with Billy. Thunders, who steered clear of liquor, would provide pot and downers for everyone. He also brought in some of his own material and began to establish himself as the front man.

In October ‘71, Rick Rivets bought along a cassette player and recorded a typical Actress session, which was now almost entirely comprised of Thunders’ numbers. ‘That’s Poison’ is an undeveloped blueprint for ‘Subway Train’ featuring Johnny’s near miss fretwork slipping and sliding all over the rails. All the downers and vodka had taken hold by the mournful ‘I Am Confronted’, an extended blues jam given some much needed structure by Murcia’s insistent drumming. Many years later, Thunders would rework ‘Confronted’ into the epic ‘So Alone’. The foundation of ‘It’s Too Late’ was also laid down with a Stonesy swagger that pre-empted the release of Exile On Main Street. ‘Oh Dot’, a Kane/Rivets composition, opens with catchy potential before collapsing through lack of support, while ‘I’m A Boy, I’m A Girl’ is reminiscent of Iggy Pop and James Willamson during their ‘Kill City’ period, minus the venom. ‘Coconut Grove’, also a Kane/Rivets effort, and ‘Take Me To The Party’ are a couple of good time rockers indebted to Chuck Berry but ‘Why Am I Alone’ reverts back to Johnny’s melancholic tendencies with its drawn-out, sweeping guitars.

Although Thunders possessed a plaintive reedy voice that would have sufficed, he was more interested in being a lead guitarist than a front man. Rick Rivets: “Johnny wanted a singer. I don’t know if he felt comfortable doing the vocals and playing. I remember we tried out one singer, he was wearing silver cowboy boots and a leather jacket, he was really terrible. Then David Johansen came down.”

The connection with David Johansen was made through Rodrigo Soloman, a former tenant of the Murcia family, who moved into the city and took an apartment in the same building as David and his girlfriend Diane Poluski on East 6th Street. David Johansen: “There was a Colombian guy who lived in my building and he was friends with Billy and me. He told me that he knew these guys who were looking for a singer in their band. One day Billy and Arthur came to my door. I’m kind of exaggerating here, but Billy was like four feet tall and Arthur was eight feet tall and they both had these really high boots on and were kind of dressed like Marc Bolan. I just saw them standing there and liked them right away. I thought ‘Oh God, this is great, what a pair of lunatics!’ “

What Billy and Arthur saw was a lanky kid resembling the unlikely offspring of Mick Jagger and the French actress, Simone Signoret. In fact, David Roger Johansen was the product of a large working-class Catholic family from Staten Island, presided over by a Norwegian insurance salesman and his Irish wife. David grew up with a tantalising view of the New York City skyline that seemed to him like a stage set of miracles in which one day he would make a fabulous début. In the meantime he poured his frustration into a notebook, filling it with poems and lyrics. He began singing with a local outfit called The Vagabond Missionaries before graduating to Fast Eddie and The Electric Japs, an art rock band who actually made it to the city, doing support slots and playing small gigs at The Cafe Wha and Cafe au Go Go in Greenwich Village.

David would later pep up his past by telling journalists he had appeared in a couple of skin flicks prior to joining the Dolls, specifically Bike Boys Go Ape and Studs On Main Street, but this was merely an early indication of Johansen’s irreverent sense of humour that got taken too seriously. David Johansen had been around the same circuit as the rest of the boys that became Dolls, the only difference being that his taste in music had more of a soul edge. David: “I’ve always liked a lot of different kinds of music, R&B, Cuban and Puerto Rican. I liked Howard Tate a lot, he was a soul singer with a short career, he OD’d on heroin. I liked Otis Redding and Archie Bell and The Drells ‘cos they had a really good sense of humour. As a kid, I followed Janis Joplin, I was big on her from when I was 16 until she died. I used to go a long way to see her sing. In 1969 I went to San Francisco and stayed in Berkeley. I used to go to the Fillmore West and see all the bands that came into town. In New York I used to go to the Fillmore East practically every night in the late Sixties, early Seventies.”

Pursuing his interest in drama, Johansen gravitated to the artistic underground and landed a small part as a spear carrier in one of Charles Ludlum’s avant garde Ridiculous Theatre productions. He then met and moved in with a former model, Diane Poluski, who was several years his senior. Part of the Andy Warhol scene, Diane Poluski had played Holly Woodlawn’s pregnant sister in Trash and introduced David to some of the main participant’s in the world of Warhol. Whereas Johnny, Billy, Arthur and Rick liked to soak up the rock ambience at Nobody’s bar, Johansen preferred the company of the art and drag crowd at Max’s Kansas City. Social tastes aside, once Johansen had trekked to Rusty Beanie’s, where he roared his way through a couple of covers and wrapped his lascivious lips around a harmonica, the band knew they’d found their singer. The Dolls moniker was reactivated and Arthur tagged on the New York prefix. Arthur: “I wanted to add the ‘New York’ because in New York you would always be hearing on the radio and television like … New York Jets, New York Yankees, New York Vets, New York this and that … and I thought we’d get an immediate local following if we called ourselves The New York Dolls, and also it sounded like something from a 1930’s Broadway show.”

The final link in the chain happened when Sylvain returned from Europe at the end of 1971. He found a very different band to the one he left behind and was put out that they were calling themselves The New York Dolls, the name he’d first seen on the sign above the toy hospital. Sylvain: “I got upset at that and gave them a little bit of my French ‘cos I was pissed off. It was a fucking groovy name and I wanted to have it.”

Once he’d cooled off and returned to speaking English, Sylvain began to jam with the band on a fairly regular basis although he missed out on The New York Dolls’ rowdy début as the dance band at a city sponsored beggar’s banquet. The welfare workers in charge of The Endicott Hotel, a crumbling refuge for the homeless across the street from Rusty Beanies, had organised a Christmas party for the impoverished Endicott residents. The group originally booked to play cancelled at the last minute but an enterprising member of the welfare committee stopped on the street to listen to the late night racket coming from the cycle shop and approached the band. On Christmas eve, Johnny, David, Billy, Arthur and Rick dragged their equipment over the icy road and set up in the decaying ballroom of The Endicott. The city’s welfare department picked up the tab on a sudden surge of electricity as The New York Dolls plugged in and got the audience dancing to a vintage jukebox’s worth of R&B covers.

Rick Rivets had always looked on being in the band as casual fun, a cool excuse to get bombed and make some noise with the guys. He had no expectations for them beyond Rusty’s and a couple more gigs on the same low level as their Endicott début. Rivets: “I thought it was just a lark ‘cos no bands from New York ever got signed. I thought you had to be real professional, great guitar players. Me and Arthur, we didn’t have any idea about being in a band.”

While Arthur was most certainly a disconnected character with little real knowledge of the music business, as were the rest of the Dolls really, he was sure that he wanted to stay in the band. Kane had a private chat with Thunders. Rick had started to skip rehearsals and was rumoured to be playing with another outfit anyway. Johnny: “Rick Rivets started fucking around, coming to practise late and stuff like that, so we canned him and got Sylvain in.”

Rivets departure thus allowed Sylvain to swan back into the line-up and take his rightful place as a New York Doll.

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The Babylon Beat Goes On