Living with Legends: Hotel Chelsea Blog

Tits Suit

Amy Arbus (daughter of the legendary photographer Diane Arbus) opened her gallery show at the Cohen Amador Gallery in the Fuller Building on September 6.  Her new book "On The Street 1980 - 1990" features photographs of New Yorkers who were in the Village Voice's fashion section during that time period. Chelsea Hotel's Susanne Bartsch is featured in Arbus's new book wearing an outfit entitled "Tits Suit."  The photograph of Bartsch was shot in 1987 on West Broadway and Houston Streets. (by Jean Pearson)

Jen Jr. Stops by the Chelsea

An alternate video for Moby's new single with Debbie Harry, "New York, New York" starring celebutante extraordinaire Rev Jen Junior, directed by Saint Reverend Jen, who also shot and edited the film. According to Reverend Jen, to make the video extra special, they pretended that Jen Junior lives here at the Chelsea. We wish that Jen Jr lived here. She'd fit right in!

Acid Flashback or Navajo Voodoo Curse?

I think somebody besides Edie burned his mind out on speed.  The New York Post reports:
”Warhol confidant Danny Fields reveals in the new book “Edie Factory Girl,” by Nat Finkelstein and David Dalton, how the singer visited the rail-thin starlet at the Chelsea Hotel in the mid’60s and was disturbed by the candles she’d bought at a local voodoo shop and put on the mantle.  “This is a very unlucky arrangement of candles” Cohen warned.  “It’s in the Sioux religion or Navajo world, or something.  It’s considered bad luck.”  Sedgwick shot back, “Oh, it’s just a silly superstition.”  Her room burned down the next day."

Yeah, some revelation.  In the 1982 book, Edie: American Girl, by Jean Stein, Danny Fields told a similar tale:

“So I brought Leonard Cohen into this scene.  What was interesting to him was this line-up of candles Edie had on the mantle piece. He was troubled when he looked at them.  He said to me, “I don’t know if you should tell her this, or if I should, but those candles are arranged in such a way so they’re casting a bad spell.  Fire and destruction.  She shouldn’t fool around with these things, because they’re meaningful”  It was very complex.  It had to be someone who had really been into candle-arranging and voodoo Haitian candle number to figure it out.  But when Leonard told Edie, she said she didn’t want to hear about such things, that was silly, they were just candles.  That was ironic, wasn’t it?  I mean, her life was full of warnings, probably.  It was very soon after that the apartment caught fire and the cat was lost.”

The only thing new is the mention of the Sioux or Navajo connection.  But what do Native Americans have to do with voodoo anyway?

The Good Ol’ Days: Norman Gosney’s Guilty Pleasures

            Norman Gosney’s new show, Guilty Pleasures, is quite simply an evening of good, clean—well maybe not so clean—All-American fun.  An old time burlesque show, it apparently moves around from location to location, contributing to it’s air of secrecy and the illicit; the night we attended it was in an old factory building in the garment district.  The door policy, in which you have to be referred by a friend as in a real speakeasy of the Roaring Twenties, is designed to give one a feeling of exclusivity.  Lending a further air of authenticity to the proceedings, you bring your own flask and set-ups are provided. 

         The small room and stage were decorated in old-time bordello chic: candy striped pink and red wallpaper, red stage curtains, with a gold satyr atop the stage, a sentinel overlooking the randy doings to come.  It was pretty much how I imagine such places must have been in the heyday of Burlesque, very authentic, except for the building, which I always imagined as a run down theatre; but I suppose after all such shows have always been run on a shoestring, put on wherever they could find a space.  The chairs were comfortable, important when you’re planning on sitting through a long show.

            Norman himself, our M.C. for the evening, looked every bit the showman, dressed as he was in a long jacket, candy-striped vest echoing the wallpaper, gloves, spats, cane and bowler.  Throughout  the show, Norman was appropriately leering and suggestive, introducing the various acts with humor and practiced ease.  His assistant,  Amelia looked trim and pretty in her Las Vegas showgirl outfit with red and yellow feathered headdress.

            In the first act, Frank Bray sang, appropriately, “The Best is Yet to Come.”  (When we were leaving, carter to the stars Serena Bass remarked that he was so good she thought he was lip-syncing.  “He should be in a Broadway show,” she concluded.)  What followed was a bevy of beautiful girls, starring in a variety of  silly routines, dancing and stripping, though never fully—stopping at pasties and g-string as befitting an old- time striptease.  Miss Harvest Moon, a dark-haired senorita, doffed her black cloak to reveal a red negligee, and then did a suggestive hula-hoop routine.  Miss Sugah, erotic and exotic, balancing a bowl of fire on her head, danced snakelike to Turkish music.  Melody Sweets sang "Come Get a little Slice of Heaven" as she disrobed.  The blond Miss Tickle pranced around in feathers to the strains of Aquarius, and Peekaboo Pointe showed off her tattoos and stuck her fist in her mouth.

            My favorite was Miss Maine, a darker skinned girl. She gyrated in balloons, popping them one at a time, and felated a wine bottle to some funky ragtime.  She was the only one who actually showed her tits.  I thought she was wearing a wrap made of furs, but on closer inspection it turned out to be grapes, like a slutty female Bacchus with a wild Mohawk.  She did the jitterbug, flailing her limbs around wantonly, gyrating her ass, sticking her head between her legs.  At one point she stood on her head and shook her spread legs in a spasm.  She was the most athletic, and the strongest dancer.  Her routine was the most elaborate and best choreographed.

            In case you’re gay, or a straight woman, the strip tease routines are punctuated by comedy sketches, ensemble dances, giveaways and advertisements for bum-wipes.  There’s something for the whole family, so bring the kids.  Nah, don’t bring the kids; that’s going a bit far.  And don’t bring your parents either.  But you don’t need to be a horny guy to enjoy the show. 

            And in case you are a horny guy, the girls are all attractive, which is probably the single most important factor if you’re coming to see girls strip.  The girls in general aren’t too heavy in the boob department—Amelia easily won the prize there—but they have taut, athletic bodies, so hell, who cares?  If you’re looking for full frontal nudity, or acts of extreme, wanton depravity, you’re sure to be disappointed—but if you’re into that sort of thing, why would you be so stupid to come to an old time Burlesque show?

            Unfortunately, it got too late for these old folks, and we had to leave at the intermission, so we missed Miss Amelia’s routine.  She acts a movie voted on by the audience—you get to choose from such titles as King Kong, Dirty Dancing, and Psycho—and on this particular night she by all reports delivered a rousing rendition of Titanic.  Well, maybe next time.  Being from Kentucky, I plan on voting for Coal Miner’s Daughter (“Doo got on top of me sweatin’ like a pig”—remember?!)  Oh, Loretta.
            On the way out somebody in the elevator asked where they got these striptease routines, and concluded that the girls just make them up.  But of course the acts are variations on familiar routines that have been done countless times in burlesque shows and strip joints around the country—and who would want it any other way?  The show was designed to be a blast from the past, and too much originality would have killed it.  Credit Norman with the vision—and the scholarship, for he’s clearly done his homework--to realize this.
            We ran into a few fellow Chelseaites including, Nicky, Jen, Dahlia and her friends, David "the guy who paints in the lobby" Combs, Elizabeth, Rita Barros and a friend, and Jonathan and Susan Berg.  Guilty Pleasures happens each Thursday, but you have to contact Norman and Amelia to get the secret password and the location.  (Ed Hamilton) (Photos of Norman and Amelia courtesy of Linda Troeller. They were shot at a prior performance.  Ms. Amelia has a new costume now!) (Photos of Miss Tickle and Miss Harvest Moon are from flickr)

All Hopped Up and Ready To Go

     There was a clean cut, middle-aged man in a polo shirt and neatly pressed khakis sitting in the Chelsea lobby one evening.  He looked like a Frenchman—though maybe that had something to do with the bottle of wine he was swigging from.

            An old rocker in a tee-shirt and tight, ripped jeans burst through the doors.  Tall and thin with spiky gray hair, his face had the gaunt, drawn look of a heroin addict.  He was wearing huge headphones and dancing and bopping around to the tune in his head.

            To my amazement he bopped straight up to the Frenchman and tapped him on the shoulders: “Hey, you ready to go?  What are you doing, come on!”

            The Frenchman rose wearily from his chair.  He must have been the rocker’s handler.  He followed the rocker onto the elevator.  I got on too.

            The rocker never stopped dancing.  As we went up he was hopping and bopping all around so much that he was really shaking the old elevator.  Between the second and third floors he snatched the headphones off his head and proffered them to the Frenchman, saying, “Hey man, listen to this!”

            “I’m really tired,” the Frenchman said.  He did indeed have a French accent.

            The rocker shrugged and put his headphones back on and continued rocking and bopping.

            “Do you know who died here?” the Frenchman asked the rocker, loudly, so as to be heard over the music.  “I’ll bet you don’t even know that do you?”  He turned to me: “Can you tell him who died here?”

            “Everybody knows that Sid killed Nancy here,” I said.

            “You hear that?” the Frenchman said.  “You didn’t even know that, did you?”  Somehow, I got the sense that they had known Sid and Nancy, or at least run in the same circles.

            The rocker didn’t pay him the least attention.  He kept on rocking, and when their floor came he hopped off the elevator and bopped on down the hall. (Ed Hamilton) (Painting, "Angel of the Lobby" by David Combs)

Michele Zalopany's disIntegration

In disIntegration, Michele Zalopany’s realistic pastel paintings, some in color, some black and white, chronicle the birth and death of the American Dream—in parallel Black and White varieties--in her home town of Detroit, from it’s inception in the boom years of World War II, to it’s last gasp in the deadly riots of 1967.  It was a dream that was dogged from the very beginning by racial strife, and bookended by two incidents of racial violence, each with its own particular character reflective of its time.

            We hadn’t originally meant to attend the opening, or, actually we had, but it had slipped our minds.  Debbie and I were on way out of the Chelsea to get some dinner, when we ran into a couple from the hotel.  They said they were going to Michele’s show, and they had their car there, so we caught a ride over with them.  We figured we could munch on some cheese and crackers and thus stave off hunger for the half-hour or so it took to see the show. (Opening night photos courtesy of Linda Troeller, L to R - Ed Hamilton, Debbie Martin, David Remfry, Lothar Troeller)

            But once we got there, predictably enough, we ran into a lot of our friends from the hotel, and so we ended up talking to them for quite some time.  I kept looking around for the cheese and crackers, or grapes, apple slices, hell, anything, the lettuce plate-liner that you’re not supposed to eat, but apparently the spread was in a different room.

            The gallery was crowded, and I was about ready to pass out from hunger, so I didn’t get a real good look at the art.  When I finally got a chance to talk to Michele, I couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say at the time.  But I wanted to say something positive, so I complimented a nearby painting.

            “Oh thank you,” Michele said graciously.

            “That one’s from an earlier show!”

            So I really put my foot in my mouth there.  I decided it was best not to say anything more.  All  I could think about was getting something to eat.  Where were those damn cheese and crackers?  I think I would have even guzzled some wine at that point--though I stopped drinking a while back—but I couldn’t find any of that either.

            We went back on the weekend, when we could get a better look at the paintings.  The first thing you see on entering the gallery is a larger than life black and white painting of a police line-up.  Three Black men and three Black women stand staring into the camera, their faces animated by looks ranging from surprise, to resignation, to fear.  But the most salient feature of the painting is the people’s clothes, for these people clearly aren’t bums or underworld figures, but seem instead to be solid working class citizens, dressed up for church.  It’s quite striking when you realize this—something that you may not have immediately noticed.  In fact, you may have already formed an impression of the people, perhaps based on their race, and the new realization forces you to confront the sources of that impression (which may be a deep-seated prejudice) within yourself.

            The painting, entitled Line Up, is based on a photograph from 1943, the year of the Belle Isle Bridge riot, in which groups of Blacks, angered by lack of decent housing, squared off against equally murderous bands of Whites who feared that the newly arrived southern Blacks were taking away their jobs on the assembly line.  In fighting across the city, 34 were killed and nearly 700 injured.

            On the opposite wall, a smaller though equally remarkable painting of a black hand protruding from the rear window of a police car, serves, coupled with the larger painting, to bracket the exhibit.  Police Car, in color to underscore the more recent time period, is an image drawn from the 12^th Street riot of 1967.  This riot, even more deadly than the 1943 troubles, with 43 dead and 467 injured, had been exacerbated by white flight to the suburbs and the subsequent overcrowding and redlining of the inner city slums.  What I find most striking in this image is that the black hand is actually one of the lighter things in the painting, and its lightness serves to underscore the truly ominous blackness of the police car and the policemen who sit in the front seat, shrouded in deepest shadow.  While we may be inclined to relegate the black and white Line Up to the distance past of our collective memory, the realistic colors of Police Car draw up back toward the present, imparting to the image a greater urgency and immediacy.

            Many of Michele’s paintings exhibit this same subtle poetry: at first glance you take in the scene, and then, upon more reflective viewing, you’re suddenly hit with a small, striking detail that throws the whole painting into relief, imparting to it a deeper meaning and significance.  You see a painting of a cozy suburban house, Michele’s childhood home, it turns out—and then you see the bars on the windows.  Or there is a painting of a woman—Michele’s mother--her face smiling, her arms raised in celebration of the fulfillment of the American Dream—yet she’s standing in some sort of industrial structure that looks like a large drain pipe.  Similarly, a black and white painting of the Belle Isle Bridge, scene of the 1943 riots, presents even through the gray, overcast pall a charmingly pastoral scene—and then in the background, scarcely noticeable at first, a smokestack rises menacingly, hinting at the dawning conflict.  Michelle’s paintings are rather like haiku, where the scene is set in the first two lines, and then in the third there is movement, complication, challenge, the emergence of meaning.  In perhaps my favorite image, Marvin Gaye, in slick, black vinyl raincoat against a rain-damp background,  is shown smiling, and you think, well, he represents one of the few black people who “made it” in America—but then you notice that he’s looking slightly bemused, as if he sees clearly what’s goin’ on, but can’t quite believe it, it’s just too absurd.

            Michele came of age against the backdrop of these two violent episodes: the first, years before her time, nonetheless coloring and informing the world of her childhood; the second, ocurring just as she arrived on the cusp of adolescence, shattering the fragile order that had been cobbled together in the ensuing years.  It’s clear that she has thought about these issues deeply, and come to a point in her life where she is now able to marshal the quiet power of her art to make a definitive statement on racism and the hollowness of an American Dream that does not extend to all equally.  Her method reveals what realism can do, that it’s not just a competitor of photography.  There’s an emphasis that she is able to achieve through a tight disciplined control of her method: by focusing so painstakingly on the real, she seems to have arrived at a meditative state that enables her to reveal what’s beneath the surface veneer of an image, valorizing the source of a hidden significance that was hitherto diffuse and nebulous in the original photographs from which she worked, tricking out the emotional content that lay dormant in the bare earth of her source material.  For perhaps, as Wittgenstein said, “The world is all that is the case,” but, oh, when you look at it really, really closely, maybe that’s not quite true, or not at all.  The devil, as they say, is in the details. (Ed Hamilton)

[Michele’s show, disIntegration, runs through October 7 at Esso Gallery on 26^th St. in West Chelsea]

Chelsea Facade Finally Full

I can’t remember a time when there were more people in the Chelsea Hotel lobby, must’ve been more than a hundred.  As we munched on sausage strips and potato balls courtesy of El Quijote, long time tenant Merle – remarked that Stanley should have theme parties for the residents and guests every week, since we pay so much in rent.

     Be that as it may, the occasion of the festivities was to honor the filmmaker Shirley Clarke with a plaque on the façade of the hotel.  Clarke, who lived at the Chelsea for 25 years, first in the 60s & 70s, and then, after a stint in California, for a time in the 80s is famous for such groundbreaking works as The Cool World, Portrait of Jason, and The Connection.  Clarke is the first woman to be so honored, joining a roster of male artists commemorated on the front of the hotel.

      Most of the people in attendance last Thursday, September 21, seemed to be from the film world, as most Chelsea residents who stumbled upon the proceedings seemed either confused or annoyed as they fought their way through the lobby-choking crowd.  But we did get to chat with a few Chelsea friends: Artist Judith Childs told us about her recent trip to the South of France, and Jazz Singer Sathima Bea Benjamin told about her fascinating -- though arguably not so recent -- association with Duke Ellington.  The Chelsea never gets boring.
     After some wine and cheese we moved out to the street for the unveiling.  We couldn’t stay out there more than 3 minutes due to NYC regulations (We exceeded that). The speakers were brief, and then a dignitary yanked down the red cloth and we all cheered. “There sure are a lot of words on that,” a lady next to me remarked.  “There’s no way anybody could read that,” an elderly gentleman said.  The plaque was too high up on the building, and the print was too small, but Clarke easily wins the prize for most reading material crammed on a plaque.  (There was no room for her plaque anywhere else on the building, but perhaps another plaque could be moved so it could be brought closer to eye level.)  Filmmaker Barbara Hammer received the first ever Shirley Clarke Avant Garde Film/video grant, and told of riding her motorcycle with Shirley on the back, clinging tight, through the hills of San Francisco.

   Perhaps the most touching part of the evening was the reading of Wendy Clarke’s letter to her deceased mother.  (Read by Howard Weinberg) She wrote of planting Shirley’s ashes in her garden on the roof, and of throwing a handful over the edge, down onto 23^rd St.  It was a tribute fitting to any Chelseaite, and of course Shirley Clarke would have approved.  (Ed Hamilton) (Photo of Wendy & Shirley at the Chelsea courtesy of Howard Weinberg. Event photos courtesy of Linda Troeller. The letter is after the jump. Report from Sept. 20 event is here.)

All Tomorrow's Parties: September 25 - October 1

Tuesday, Sept. 26, 10:30 p.m.
Susanne Bartsch and Kenny Kenny invite you to Happy Valley Tuesdays.  Show: Princess Superstar. DJ Larry Tee. Downstairs DJ Ryan and Kim Ann. Hosts: Miranda Moondust, Kim Aviance, Theodora, Astro, Ladyfag & Amanda Lepore.
14 East 27th St. NY NY

Wednesday, Sept. 27,
"When Fathers Fail," the new exhibit at the Daniel Reich Gallery features work by Tom Burr, Amy Gartrell, Piero Golia, Lise KJaer, Futoshi Miyagi, Paul Mpagi Sepuya, and Jordan Wolfson.
Daniel Reich Gallery, 537 A West 23rd St., NY NY

Friday, Sept. 29
"Writers in the Raw" features Dan Bern among others.  According to the Washington Post, Bern's new album, "Breathe" isn't as funny or as angry as his first work.  However it does feature a new version of Chelsea Hotel.
The Pollack Theatre - Monmouth University - 400 Cedar Avenue, West Long Branch, NJ

Friday, Sept. 29, 10:30 - 9:00
"Bob Dylan's American Journey, 1956-1966" opens today. The exhibition blends historic artifacts— including handwritten lyrics and letters by Dylan, instruments, rare memorabilia, and photographs—and interpretive films featuring rare performance footage and interviews with Dylan and other artists. Listening stations feature selections from several albums of the period covered by the exhibit. The exhibit runs through January.
The Morgan Library and Museum, 225 Madison Avenue at 36th St, NY NY

Saturday, Sept. 30, 10:00 - 5:30
The London Terrace Street Fair is by far one of the best in the neighborhood.  One year, a vendor went back to her apartment and brought down her entire collection of books by Kawabata and sold them to us when she learned we were interested in Japanese writers.  Twenty-fourth Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues, NY NY

If you have an event that you want listed on All Tomorrow's Parties please e-mail [email protected]

Brown Bottle Records Stop By The Chelsea

The video is only 3 minutes and it's worth the wait to hear the review of Les Paul's recent performance.  Plus, it looks like the record company managed to score a pretty nice room.

REMEMBERING SHIRLEY CLARKE

Filmmaker DeeDee Halleck sent us her memories of Shirley Clarke to post on the anniversary of Shirley Clarke's death.  I tried to meet DeeDee at the plaque unveiling so I could thank her in person, but there were so many people there I didn't get a chance to say thanks.

Shirley Clarke was my mentor.  I learned more from her than anyone else I ever knew--  mostly about how to be a mentor-- how to energize people, how to push them to do good work, how not to give up when the technology was failing, the people lethargic or the situation impossible.  Shirley pushed things and people to the edge.  She never gave up.  Altziheimer claimed her about ten years ago, but she held on, tenderly nursed by two of her beloved disciples, Piper and David Cort, who bathed her and tucked her in and smoothed her forehead.  Her daughter Wendy and many of her colleagues were with her during her last days in a Boston hospital.  She died last month in a sweet sleep surrounded by Felix the Cat and Betty Boop, the toys of her youth held tight for all these years.

Shirley was somewhere between Betty Boop and Felix the Cat herself, with a bit of Charlie Chaplin's tramp thrown in.  She often wore a bowler hat and tight smart little suits, like something out of a 1930's chorus line. All she needed were spats to complete the costume.  She had style.  A small woman with the body of a dancer, she had piercing black eyes, like a beady little mouse.  She was witty and bright, and endlessly energetic. 

Shirley started as a dancer.  Her first films were dance films, such as Dance in the Sun (1953) and In Paris Parks (1954), a lyrical look at gesture and movement in a public landscape.  I saw this early work and Bridges Go Round, a piece she did for the Brussels World Fair at the Hunter Art Museum in Chattanooga, Tennessee.  It changed my life.  Seeing her name on the credits and the joy and energy of the images made me realize that women could and should make their own films.  I decided to try to study film in college. 

Her work in the early 60's, The Connection and The Cool World are landmarks of the American New Wave movement.  The Cool World is a New York version of Italian neo-realism, every bit as powerful and poignant.  It remains (with Robert Frank's Pull My Daisy) the best expression of marginal life in that era.  Her film, Portrait of Jason (1967) was one of the first with a gay protagonist in an open and sympathetic (and completely unromantic) manner.  Shirley and Viva Superstar shared the screen as talent in Agnes Varda's Lion's Love, which was always my favorite Varda film.  Somehow Shirley (and Viva) added a New York edge to Varda, who can wax sentimental and cloying. 
(Photo courtesy of Rachel and Just)

In the early seventies I somehow found my way up to her workshop space in the penthouse of the Chelsea Hotel.  Shirley lived and worked there making live and taped video performance, installation and documentation with a collaborating group of artists.  I was lucky to have been a part of that work.  We formed a troupe, those of us who worked with Shirley.  She called us the TeePee Video Space Troupe and the idea was to experiment with performance that integrated video and other technologies.  It was the days before video cassettes and each tape had to be hand threaded into the portapak decks.  Not that it was really about recording per se.  Most of what we did was never on tape: the tape was only one of the elements of the constructions, the happenings, the events.  It was electronic performance in an interactive mode.  The troupe included myself, Andy Gurian, Shirley's daughter Wendy, Bruce Ferguson, Vicki Polon, David Cort, Bob Harris, Parry Teasdale, Shalom Gorewitz, Susan Milano, Shridir Bapat and others.  There were regular drop-ins like Agnes Varda, Shigeko Kaboda, Beryl Korot, Nam June Paik, Skip Blumberg, Barbara Haspiel, Steina and Woody Vasulka, Jori Schwartzman, or neighbors at the Chelsea, Carl Lee, Viva (toting one of her kids), photographer Peter Simon, Doris Chase, Andre Vosnevshenski, George Kleinsinger, Virgil Thompson, Harry Smith, Arthur C. Clarke (no relation).  At any given time there always seemed to be one or two Japanese dancers around.  Sometimes even Andy Warhol climbed that flight of stairs after the last elevator stop, looking for Viva.  Louis Malle came by, as did Susan Sontag, Joris Ivens, Peter Brooks, Jean Rouche and Shelly Winters.  The Chelsea had a certain cachet for visitors from Europe, Hollywood and Japan and Shirley was queen of the Chelsea. 

Around Shirley swirled miles of video cables, cameras, monitors and telephones.  She was wired. Shirley had a new project every night.  We were needed to help make it happen.  It was sometimes frustrating, often exhausting, but it was hard not to trot over there, because you never knew what you might miss if you stayed away.

One time Arthur Clarke somehow got hold of a laser beam.  He unwrapped a long rectangular box with a fat cable, borrowed from some Columbia lab by a fan of 2001 Space Odysey.    This was many years before those red needles of light sparkled on every cashier's counter.  The laser was exotic and thrilling and Shirley and Arthur giggled like kids phoning in bogus pizza orders as they plugged it in and carried it out to the edge of the Chelsea roof, aiming it down at the sidewalk. From that distance it was hard to keep steady, but Shrider quickly screwed it into a tripod tilted over the edge.  Passers-by on 23rd street stooped to pick up the resulting tiny red jewel.  Both Clarke's roared with laughter as they made it jump five feet out of reach.  When we tried using the laser in our performances, it etched intricate patterns on several of our cameras.

One night we all agreed to do dawn.  We broke into five groups and went out to video dawn.  We recconoitered on the roof with stacks of monitors and cued up the five tapes from the five groups.  Shirley rang up for bagels and champaigne and when they were delivered we toasted the pink sky and switched on the decks for a multi channel piece of morning in New York.  Shots of steam rising from the street vents, tracking shots of bottle collectors pushing their carts, shots of pigeons in flight mixed and matched across the screens.  The natural sounds of the live streets below us mixed with the taped steam hisses and pigeon coos to make a city symphony of sounds as well as sights. Behind the pyramid of monitors flickering the black and white visual poems were the pastel sky scrapers, their windows reflecting the rising red sun ball.  One special moment was when pigoens flew right to left across one of the monitors and appeared in the bottom left of the neighboring monitor, as if in one continuous flight. It was one of those synchronisities that we were all sure Shirley planned. We didn't giggle during that event.  Exhausted and emotional we sat in the rosy light with tears streaming down our cheeks, the kind of tears that can punctuate a late Beethoven quartet played well.  When the tapes spun empty at the end we came together and hugged.  Like some Omega circle, just more spontaneous and real. 

I remember one night we set up an elaborate elevator installation: a camera on each Chelsea floor aimed at the elevator door and a Pisa-like leaning stack of monitors on the roof recreating the Chelsea's 10 floors.  Wires ran up the center staircase picking up the feed on each floor.  Then someone would do a performance on the elevator and we would watch the roof TV stack.  We could see the performance only when the doors opened on floor after floor.  It was a great idea.  It never quite worked.  None of Shirley's projects ever "worked" in the conventional sense, but we knew that the ideas totally worked.  It was exhilerating.    It was being high every night.  We were urban guerillas of the Chelsea penthouse, plotting an electronic coup that would liberate the imaginations of the world.

The image of Felix the Cat was one of the very first images to glow from a cathode ray tube in television experiments in the 1930's.   At this moment, high above us on a flickering celestial screen, an implike Shirley in a spiffy bowler hat morphs in and out with Felix in a perpetual soft shoe routine.  Goodnight, Shirley.  May some of us, your students, transmit electric visions as sassy and brilliant as you and Felix, with an edge as sharp and a passion as deep. 

Chelsea Viral Marketing Campaign

Andrew O'Hara said... There seems to be an increase of these self-promoting "blogs" from companies like Penguin, and (my opinion) the tediously name dropping Hotel Chelsea, wanting you to think they're just a few of the good ol' fellas from the company with a burning urge to share some kind of back-door scoop. Cheaper than television ads, I guess.

Andrew is talking about the Hotel Chelsea Blog, of course, rather than the Hotel Chelsea proper, though it’s clear he doesn’t think there’s much of a distinction. This is just the latest accusation of corporate control to be hurled our way, and it will be news to Stanley Bard, who lectures us sternly for not being positive enough about the hotel.  We seem to be besieged on all sides.

We do glorify the hotel, I suppose, though we tend to celebrate its seedier aspects, such as its run-down furniture and equally decayed bohemian denizens.  As to the name dropping, tedious or otherwise, I suppose we must throw ourselves on the mercy of the court.

And yes, Andrew, we do like to think of ourselves as good ol’ fellas – or, well, a fella and a dame – but you make it sound like we work for the mind control branch of the CIA.  Or, perhaps you think you have uncovered some sort of insidious viral marketing campaign.  I think you just haven’t bothered to read the blog.   But you have at least got one thing right: it is a lot cheaper than a TV ad!  Here that Stanley? We are still waiting for you to buy us out.

Shirley Clarke Plaque Coverage Continues

Our undercover correspondent has provided us with a report of last nights event at the National Arts Club.  Stanley Bard doesn't know why he was invited, but, surprise suprise the breaking news was he loves the Chelsea. (Update -- Our neighbor, Rachel Cohen, has just stopped by and given us a copy of an original poster from Ornette: Made in  America. Update II - Rachel and her son Just sent us a better image to post.)

I arrived after the buffet, for the (free) talks and Shirley Clarke film. Stanley was there with his wife and (according to what the speakers indicated--I couldn't tell from the back) Michele and Stanley's five grandchildren. Linda Troeller and her husband were also there. The room was full, but I didn't recognize any of the other people. Most of them were over age 50. The representative from the NAC mentioned that someone from The New Yorker was in the audience. Also Adrienne Mancia, a former film curator at MOMA now at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. A surprise guest was expected, but he wouldn't say who it was.

He introduced Dr. Carole Chazin, the "fire behind this Chelsea program."  It turns out that she was the one who came up with the idea of putting up a bronze plaque for Shirley Clarke, and who saw the entire process through, with a little help from Stanley and others. She was relentless, which is the only reason it's getting done. The idea came out of a conversation she had with Adrienne Mancia.  The two women had agreed that it was ridiculous that there were no women honored by a plaque on the hotel facade, and agreed that one woman who should be so honored was Shirley Clarke.  Carole then turned thought into action. "I think we should all have a legacy of some kind," she said. This plaque was hers.

Carole then pushed Ornette Coleman's new CD, "Sound Grammar" and Ken Burns' documentary about jazz. She pointed out that Shirley Clarke was this month's New York Women in Film cover girl (on their newsletter, apparently). Suddenly, the surprise guest--Ornette Coleman--arrived in person, in a very dapper blue-and-green plaid suit, with a ravishing blond named (I think--sorry, I don't know Ornette's personal history) Michaela. He looked great. Carole was very happy and relieved that he showed up. Everyone applauded. He took a seat in the audience.

Stanley was introduced. Stanley said that he didn't really know why he was invited. But he couldn’t resist a wonderful dinner, because he often skipped meals at work at the hotel. But the real reason he had to come to the event was that Carole promised him that Ornette Coleman would be there.

Stanley went on for quite a while about what a wonderful musician Ornette is. He also said that the National Arts Club reminded him very much of the Chelsea. And, looking back on his life with the hotel, remarked that he had had no idea when his father first asked him to come and work with him that he'd spend his life running the place. He hated it at first. His friends worked eight-hour days and "I can't tell you how much I envied them." But he thought his father was perfect, so he followed orders. Now, he said, he's 72 and should be working a little less. But he loves being in the Chelsea Hotel.

Say No More, Say No More

Jen is Famous, in wonderbra and matching wonderunderpants, honeymoons at the famous Chelsea Hotel, known worldwide for its goats-and-yogurt honeymoon special. 

How'd you get to be so famous?
Well, I don't want to give too much away to the competition, but it involves a blog, a pair of Wonder Woman underpants, and a bite from a radioactive toddler.

Tell us about your Chelsea experiences prior to spending your honeymoon here.

I'd never been in the hotel before my honeymoon, but one thing I do enjoy about Chelsea is the nail salons.  Chelsea is the only neighborhood in which you run a solid chance of getting a pedicure next to a man who's also getting a pedicure -- and wearing more expensive clothes than I am.

What inspired you to spend your honeymoon at the famed Hotel Chelsea?

My husband and I are both Leonard Cohen fans, so I was the one who arranged the honeymoon.  But Lord is a huge rock and roll history buff, so he loved the idea of being at the Chelsea.

How's the honeymoon suite?
Come now, do you really think comedians can afford the honeymoon suite? Seriously, we didn't advertise the fact that we were honeymooning.  No one wants to be subjected to wedding-night-wink-wink-nudge-nudge jokes.

Would you recommend the Chelsea to other honeymooners?

Well, the Chelsea is, indeed, full of history.  But the front desk people were, er... a little disorganized.   Maybe the upside of this is that, if you want to be a rock star and have an all-out goats-'n-yogurt orgy in your room, the front desk might very likely be unable to locate your name, address, or credit card information in order to charge you for the damages.

Shirley Clarke Plaque Ceremony

In response to the calls and e-mails we're receiving regarding the plaque ceremony, according to the New York Women in Film and Television website, the reception and the plaque unveiling will be at 5:30 p.m. Thursday, September 21.

This evening, Wednesday, September 20, Stanley Bard will be speaking at the National Arts Club.  There will also be a dinner and screening of Shirley Clarke's film Ornette: Made in America.

Brian Lehrer Show on WNYC.Org

Is currently talking about the work of filmmaker Shirley Clarke. Click here to tune in.

The Sounds of Bruno Wizard

One of our newest neighbors here at the Chelsea has just launched a podcast series with an interview with rocker Bruno Wizard.  So in case you didn't get enough of him when we published our blog interview--and seriously folks, who could get enough of Bruno--you can go here to listen to more.  Our media savvy neighbor has been talking to lots of residents and tourists and will be periodically placing the interviews online, so be sure to bookmark her site.  We look forward to accompanying Plastic Tourist on her real and imagined adventures at the Chelsea Hotel.

VORTEX OF PSYCHOSIS

            The lobby of the Chelsea Hotel is the vortex of the building’s fabled madness.  I rarely spend much time there, since, well, my tender psyche can’t withstand the heavy spiritual and paranormal onslaught.  But one night I was feeling particularly reckless, and I so I had a seat in the middle of the crowded lobby to wait while my girlfriend Susan was getting ready upstairs.

            None of the regular lobby-sitters—those bold psychonauts who daily venture into uncharted reaches of the collective unconscious of the Hotel—were in attendance.  Instead, it was just a bunch of tourists sitting around.  But what tourists they were.  A man sitting in a chair behind me announced loudly, “I’m writing a book called Women Who Read and the Men Who are Homicidal Maniacs and Kill Them!”

            What?!  I couldn’t resist it; I turned around in my chair to see who had made such a retarded remark.  It was a sixty-year-old man, his eyelids and jowls sagging, bald on top, with long stringy gray hair on the sides.  He glared at me, as if to say: what the hell you lookin’ at?

            I turned back around in my seat, feeling a bit uncomfortable.  A small, tidy red-haired man sitting next to me was talking to a large woman and he immediately said to her, “I have lived in two societies where the dogs and cats run wild.”

            Not one such society, mind you, but two.  The italics were his.  He was speaking rather pedantically.

            “If they were cornered,” he went on, “they would kill you.”

            “Even the cats!?” I exclaimed, chuckling.

            “Excuse me?” he said.

            “Oh, nothing,” I replied. 

            My head exploding with visions of rabid cats shredding my skin, I decided to go stand outside where the metaphysical air was sure to be a bit fresher.  Before long Susan came out and we walked together down the street.  We were going out to dinner, but we had to stop in the deli first to get something, a pack of gum, I think.

            An elderly man who had lived in the Chelsea for years was in front of us in line, fumbling with his change.  One of the deli men from the back came charging up to him and shook an open bag of Oreos in his face.  “Why did you open this bag and eat a cookie and then put it back!?!” he demanded.

            “I only ate ONE!” the old man replied indignantly.

            Yeah, buddy, like, I can see if it was two.  Of course, the cookies were not individually wrapped, so he couldn’t have resold them.  It looked like they were going to argue for awhile, so I jumped in front of the old man and paid, and we left the store.

            Now, I know you’re probably thinking that there must’ve been a shortage of Zoloft at the Duane Reade or a brown-out at the shock treatment facility.  I couldn’t tell you whether there was a full moon that night because the sky was overcast.  But full moon or not, I can assure you that it was business as usual at the Chelsea. (Ed Hamilton)

CHELSEA FAÇADE GETS EVEN MORE CROWDED

            This is the week we’ve all been waiting for.  A new plaque will be added to the front of the Chelsea Hotel.  The place will be crawling with media since another star is being added to the Walk of Fame. The recipient is filmmaker Shirley Clarke.

            Clarke, who died in 1997 at the age of 77, lived at the Chelsea in the sixties and seventies.  She is famous for her cinema verité depictions of street life, such as 1963’s Cool World, about street gangs in Harlem, and 1967’s Portrait of Jason, an interview with a black homosexual (I guess it sounded more shocking in those days).  Clarke will be the first woman to be honored with a plaque on the Chelsea.

            The big question now is, where are they going to mount the new plaque?  In case you haven’t looked at the facade of the hotel, there are already plaques honoring Thomas Wolfe, James Schuyler, Dylan Thomas, Brendan Behan, Arthur C. Clarke, and Virgil Thomson.  Besides these, there’s a general Chelsea Hotel plaque.  That’s a damn lot of hardware a hangin’, and there’s not much room left.  They may have to move or remove one of the plaques to give Shirley a spot.

            So, who to remove and who to add?  We did a Google trend analysis to find out who was the most popular among the possible nominees and those who already have plaques.  Arthur Miller should have a plaque, he blows everybody else away, followed by Dylan Thomas and then, way back, Arthur C. Clarke.  Thomas Wolfe and Brendan Behan get a few hits each, and apparently no one at all has heard of Edgar Lee Masters, author of The Spoon River Anthology. Sorry, Edgar Lee.
 

            

The next question is: who else deserves a plaque?  So many famous people have lived here that it’s difficult to decide.  I say William Burroughs, who wrote Naked Lunch here, but Debbie thinks there’s already enough writers.  Shirley Clarke is also the first visual artist to be so honored.  Among Visual artists, Larry Rivers is a good candidate.  There really should be more women and visual artists, so perhaps Stella Waitzkin, who, though not enormously famous, created perhaps the greatest of all the idiosyncratic Chelsea rooms with her polyster resin books and sculptures.  (One of our neighbors also thinks Stella is a good candidate.)

            Then, of course, there are the enormously famous, the real celebrities: Bob Dylan, Patti Smith, Leonard Cohen, Robert Mapplethorpe, Edie Sedgwick.  Not to mention our beloved Gingie the dog, who wandered the corridors of this hotel for a decade or more until the cold hand of death snatched her from our midst.  (Please note that I am NOT attempting to compare Shirley Clarke to a dog.)

            Or perhaps we should just forget about all of these poseurs, tear down all the plaques that already clutter the facade, and just erect one enormous plaque to Sid and Nancy, the brightest of all the stars in the Chelsea pantheon.  Hell, maybe even a neon sign is in order.

           Who do you think deserves a plaque on the front of the Chelsea?

[There will also be a dinner and a showing of Clarke's movie, Ornette: Made in America on the evening of Sept. 20^th  at the National Arts Club.  Stanley Bard will give a talk before the film.]

Nico Confirms She Is a Chelsea Girl

Imaginary Socialites vs Real Socialites

So it's come to this: An Imaginary Socialite and A Social Climber check into the hotel to pretend they are Andy Warhol and Nico shooting Chelsea Girls. Well, I'm sure it's not the first time.  There is nothing new under the sun here at the Last Outpost of Bohemia.  We're used to fashionistas slumming it, and in fact every week is fashion week here at the Chelsea. But who the hell is that hiding in the closet?  Maybe she can be Edie, who hid in the closet after she started her famous fire.

Hotel News You Can Use

HOW TO set up a cash-money ISP at a hotel
Here's a neat way to make a buck at a hotel. Bring along your EVDO wireless broadband card, use a router to turn it into a local WiFi network, and set the SSID of the network to: "8bucks-a-day-wifi-$YOUR_PHONE_NUMBER_HERE." Other guests call you up and offer to drop off money at your room to get online.

Yes, that's right. Your hotelling neighbors HATE typing in their credit card numbers into an auth screen that messes up their DHCP. So offer them an alternative. When they call you, tell them you only accept cash and give them a unique Login and PW.

You can create up to 10 unique user accounts with an enterprise grade router called the TGMB8000. Armed with an EVDO Verizon Wireless or Sprint Card, and a 3g Router, you are a mobile wifi hotspot purveyor.

Yes, this violates your term of service. Yes, If Verizon caught you, they'd cancel your account. BUT nice part is that if they cancel YOUR account, no $175 termination fee! In anycase, it's all natted so your evdo 3g internet access provider would know what you were up to. So you can just ignore the sentence above in blue. (via boingboing.net & Link )

Another Chelsea Hotel Mystery

Last week's Hotel Chelsea mystery was so difficult it took a professional to solve it. Mystery writer Sparkle Hayter fingered Goodwillie's character -- who else could it be but the famous Chelsea Hat Man ghost! ( And, thank goodness the Lonelygirl mystery was solved.  Now can she just go away?)  Below is this week's mystery. It's a tough one too, as we have sooooo many "models" around this place.

"I was speaking to “a model” one afternoon at The Hotel Chelsea in NYC. We were exchanging the “how are things with you” answers.  She spoke of her “ill” grandmother back home, her new agent, her new toy dog (carried in her purse), the weather, the Chelsea and then….she spoke of having a thousand dollars more than she thought she had. She said, “It’s like, what am I going to do now Andrew?” I didn’t reply as I thought about what she was saying. She continued, “I’ve had my eyes on these Prada shoes that are on sale for like 1000 dollars. Oh my god Andrew, what do you think? Should I go for them or what?”

That's quite a connundrum.  And quite a mystery for us.  So what do you think?  Did she buy the shoes or not?

Linda Troeller Found A Snake and Her Husband At The Chelsea

Art photographer Linda Troeller has lived at the Chelsea Hotel for 12 years.  The Chelsea and its quirky, creative residents have provided excellent subjects for Linda's Hotel Chelsea: Inside Out project, which is garnering attention across the country and in Europe.  A film about Linda's career as a photographer, much of it shot here at the Chelsea, is scheduled for release in 2007.

Why did you decide to move into the Chelsea?
I have a collector, Marion Schneider, who always stayed at the Chelsea Hotel when she visited my loft on 18th Street, so I thought the Hotel might be a good place to consider for a change since I was traveling so often for my photography assignments. I liked the idea to have my things protected and my mail kept for me.

How did you score your apartment?
Stanley showed me a ‘writer’s room on the 8th floor, 832, with a huge closet and to both our surprise there was a caged snake inside!  He blushed and said he didn’t know it was there...”But don’t worry.” he said, “our staff will have the room perfectly clean for you.”

I‘ve lived in two other rooms – 319, and presently on the 9th floor. From 832 I moved down to a balcony room, 319, where I enjoyed an art studio space. When the nightclub below, Serena’s got popular and noisy I wanted to move into the back of the hotel and just about that time a man who had occupied my room passed on after living there almost his whole life.  I have a wide and expansive panorama window view of the Hudson and it was where I saw one of one of the Twin Towers collapse.

Do you think there is a creative energy in the Chelsea?
Yes. Perhaps seasons actually. Brooding, isolation and introspection in winter and in spring when the light flows more strongly down from the skylight, it adds radiance to our halls and drifts in the rooms. The attitude and ether is more buoyant, upbeat.

How has living in the Chelsea affected your creative development?
The hotel provides a safe haven and artistic acceptance that allows me to work as though I might be attending an art colony. Living here is convenient for editors to stop by and has led to publication
opportunities.

My book Healing Waters, on spas and hot springs around the world, Aperture, and exhibition was edited in Room 832; and, Erotic Lives of Women with the Swiss publisher, Walter Keller, was planned in 319. Marion Schneider, the writer/interviewer on that book and I created four shoots with women at the hotel. I also evolved my fashion portfolio here with C4, a photo and model agency, active in the late 90's in the hotel. A regular guest, Klaus Boehm, my collector from Germany, dreams up his creative
projects , such as suggesting me to photograph the design Apolda Award catalogues and his own spa, Toskana Therme. recently praised in the NYT Travel section.

What other creative people at the Chelsea or elsewhere have influenced your development?
I was an assistant for the photographer, Ralph Gibson, who lived  at the Chelsea in the 60's and was a photography teacher of  “Bookmaking” at the Ansel Adams Workshops in Yosemite. While working with him he radically shortened my Leica camera strap, that I had dangling long at my side.
With the redesign I could quickly pull it out to my eye and it had proved useful for shooting my whole career.

Who is the most famous person you've ever ridden with in the Chelsea elevator?
Nina Hagen.

What's the worst/best thing that has ever happened to you at the Chelsea?
The worst experience was when they were renovating the hotel’s façade. I had been away for a few weeks and returned after dark. I didn't know why there was tape on the windows of my room so I opened the window for air in the middle of the night. I awoke with rusty dust on my face about 1/4 inch
thick. It took some hours to hear back from the EPA whether I was exposed to too much dust. I learned that there was nothing I could do to help my lungs, except breathe fresh air. So, I went to the East River and rode my bike and haven't had a problem.

The best thing was the visit of my now husband, Lothar, who I met as my student in my photography class at the Salzburg Art Academy in Austria, 2000. I always told students if you ever come to NYC, look me up. He did. We went to photo openings and he offered to assist me when I was in Europe. Eventually it led to our engagement party at the Chelsea Hotel.

How did you get interested in photography?
My parents gave me the gift of a bus tour to the art museums of Europe when I graduated from high school. It was also my birthday season so they gave me a Minolta SLR with lenses. I took b/w photographs on my trip which started my interest. During college I was a student actress at Ghost Ranch Conference Center in New Mexico where Georgia O’Keeffe had a home. Every year she invited the students for a luncheon and on the wall I saw the Steigliz’s photographs and was enthralled. Later that summer the director of the play gave me his Rollei 2 1/4 camera to take photographs of the
plays and I fell in love with the drama in the viewfinder. I went back to college and changed my major to the School of Journalism so I could take photography courses and got my MFA in Photography from Syracuse University.

Tell us about your Chelsea Hotel book and other projects that you are currently working on?
I was introduced by the bellhop, Timur to Alexander McQueen, the fashion designer from London.  He came to my room and saw my Healing Waters prints and immediately invited me to be among press to shoot his fashion show that night. I returned to the hotel with my camera on my shoulder and a couple in the lobby started up a conversation discussing if I would photograph them. From then on it seemed natural to photograph my life in the hotel. I made portraits of guests and residents in my studio and in their apartments.

In 2000 Stanley Bard had seen my photo books and approached me to take interiors of some of the apartments toward a book that would feature my art photographs and his memoir. We created a proposal and approached publishers with an agent but that book idea didn’t connect with the
publishers.

I have been evolving my hotel images since 1994 and have two upcoming presentations this fall on the project: Hotel Chelsea:InsideOut. They are for the Society for Education Conference, Oct 29, at Metropolitan College, Omaha, Nebraska, "Scanning the Horizon: social, natural, and political landscapes”, and on Nov 11, at Orange County College, Ca. in "Conflict (cultural, interpersonal, political, psychological, spiritual), http://www.spewest.org. Three of these Hotel Chelsea photographs are on view in Arles, France and for which I won the juror's prize selection.

Tell us about the film to come out in 2007?
Winnipeg Genie nominated filmmaker, Jeff McKay, received a Manitoba Arts Council grant to make,  Linda Troeller, A Photographer¹s Portrait. The documentary is a one-hour profile on my photo career. Jeff and his wife, Ruthie, came and stayed in the hotel last summer in the room next to mine
and filmed me creating shoots and portraits with residents Victor Borckis, a writer; Joseph O;Neill, writer and Sally Singer, Fashion Director at Vogue;  David Linter, screenwriter; and Robert Lambert, painter, among others.

What other photo projects do you have?
I will have a revival exhibition and lecture at Ryerson University, Toronto of my TB-AIDS DIARY photo collages, which were first shown in early the 1990's in New York, Havana, Helsinki, Paris among other
locations. This show was created in 1987 to address issues of stigma by comparing the response to TB patients in the 1930’s to AIDS sufferer’s today. I was using TB as a metaphor for the stigma surrounding contagious disease and treating it primarily as a historical artifact. Over the last
few years we have witnessed not only the rapid increase of AIDS worldwide, but also the activation of TB in the homeless, drug users, and now the vast increase in AIDS patients. The project has been shown around the world, translated into fourteen languages and I won Women of Acheivement, Douglass College/NJSFWC.

Plastic Fantastic Bohemia

I can’t believe they didn’t consult us!  The NY Times comes out with a whole issue of their magazine about Bohemia, and there is no mention of the Chelsea.  And we are, after all, the Last Outpost of Bohemia^TM.  There’s something rotten going on here.  The very first thing I noticed is that the issue contradicts itself: First there’s a piece about how bohemia has disappeared from Manhattan – migrating to various places in Brooklyn – and then there two big photo spreads about all the oh so cool “Bohemians” in Manhattan. Can’t they profile some bohemians, and talk about some cool boutiques in Brooklyn ?

But the answer is obvious: Manhattan is where the money is! All the bohemians in the magazine are young, rich kids; they don’t have to worry about the rising rents that have sent so many writers and artists scurrying to Brooklyn. Bohemia is here defined in terms of youth and privilege. Old bohemians are simply bores, I suppose, scarcely worthy of a mention.

Of course, Bohemia needs the young, but it needs older people as well. That’s part of the meaning of Bohemia: It’s a cross pollination among generations. Hence the title of this blog, Living with Legends: our elders, and even the dead, walk beside us and guide our efforts. Bohemians hanging out at Marc Jacobs! And oh my, aren’t they photogenic! The Times presents a sterile plastic vision of Bohemia.  (Ed Hamilton)
(Thanks to S. Mazzocchi for demanding that we write about this. She also wants the readers in Kansas to know that Danny Meyer's Shake Shack is dirty. )

Viral Insanity of Chelsea Claims Yet Another Victim.

Willie Nelson – who never lived in the Chelsea as far as I know – is releasing a new album, titled Songbird.  The album is produced, however, by former Chelseaite Ryan Adams, and contains a song, “Blue Hotel,” which Ryan wrote for Willie. on Oct. 31^st of this year.

Ryan was our neighbor when we lived on another floor back in the 90s.  We didn’t talk to him much, and he mostly just stayed in his room.  Only rarely did I ever hear his guitar. But there was someone living above us at that time who insisted on playing The Willie Nelson Christmas Album over and over ad nauseum at high volume with his window open.  I always wondered if this maddening experience influenced Ryan’s musical development in anyway.  And now I know.  (Ed Hamilton)

Change Your Lock Now!

If you live in 531 you may want to change your lock.  A vintage version of the key to room 531 is for sell on e-bay. The bidding starts at 9.99. 

All Tomorrow's Parties: September 11 - 17, 2006

Monday, Sept. 11,  11:00 - 12:00
Tribeca Radio.net will be broadcasting live today and we'll be the guests on Gerald Busby's show from 11:00 to 11:30.  We hope he doesn't ask us any difficult questions like whether or not we think the Chelsea Hotel has a creative energy.  Tune in to hear us stutter.  From 11:30 to 12:00 he'll be interviewing German composer Cord Meijering.

Tuesday, Sept. 12, 10:30 p.m.
Susanne Bartsch and Kenny Kenny invite you to Happy Valley Tuesdays. Last Nights Party and Gazelle Land magazine launch. SHOW: Kenny Kenny's singing debut, "STILETTO KICKBACK" Hosts: Miranda Moondust, Kim Aviance, Astro, Theodora Ladyfag, Charley & Amanda Lepore.
14 East 27th St. NY NY

Wednesday, Sept. 13, 8pm to late
One of our neighbors keeps promising to show us around Red Hook and now we finally have a reason to go. Edie Sedgwick/Hotel Chelsea fan and struggling young artist, Shena Jones has a show up at Jalopy. (Jalopy is a new contemporary gallery with many services such as instrument sales and repairs, espresso, and live music.) The art show, which opened on Saturday is up all month, includes portraits of Stanley Kubrick and Iggy Pop, and self-portraits from inside the Hotel. Jalopy, 315 Columbia St., Red Hook, Brooklyn


Friday, Sept. 15, 6:00 - 8:00 p.m.
Join Kevin Fitzpatrick at New York City's other literary hotel as he kicks off Parkerfest 2006. Cash bar.
The Algonquin Hotel, 59 West 44th St., NY NY

Saturday, Sept. 16, 11:00 a.m.
Sherill Tippins (she's writing a history of the Chelsea Hotel) will be giving a talk about "February House," after which several actors will read excerpts from the works of some of the February House residents--Carson McCullers, W.H.Auden, GypsyRose Lee and Richard Wright.   Sherill previously told us that she's mainly writing about famous people who have lived at the Chelsea. So, don't miss this chance to go and introduce yourself and make sure that you get in her book. Otherwise we'll have to demand that the publisher release a second volume.
Brooklyn Borough Hall and Plaza,



Saturday & Sunday, Sept. 16 & 17, 5:00 p.m.
Short films by Harry Smith.  Saturday's schedule includes EARLY ABSTRACTIONS (1941-57, 23 minutes); MIRROR ANIMATIONS (1957, 4 minutes); LATE SUPERIMPOSITIONS (1964, 28 minutes)
OZ, THE TIN WOODMAN'S DREAM (1967, 15 minutes). On Sunday, NO. 12 Heaven and Earth Magic screens.
Anthology Film Archives, 32 2nd Avenue NY, NY

If you have a relevant event you want added to "All Tomorrow's Parties," e-mail [email protected]

Hotel Potty Humor

Another Sunday, and time once again to pat ourselves on the back for being the very first hotel blog and for being even remotely interesting to boot.  Now, however, we’re pleased to announce that the field of hotel humor bloggin appears to be entering its golden age, with sites springing up like shit-house mushrooms. 
The sites include:

Hotel Bed Jumping --  Pictures and videos of hotel mattress abuse.

Hotel Bed Headquarters – Pictures of beds overloaded with too many pillows, and mattress brands you’ve never heard of used by various hotels around the world.

Hotel Bathrooms Exposed – Out favorite by far: hotel bathroom throne humor.

Why do these sites succeed where others just bore you to death?  Maybe because they are non-corporate.  Hotel Bathroom Exposed founder, Chris Clarke, recently wrote to us and shared his secret:

I've been a fan of your Chelseablog for a long time now. Actually it's your work that got me thinking about hotel-trade blogging in the first place about six months ago. I've been trying to develop a style that is different from the "regular" hotel press and see where it takes me.

How’s that for making your mark on the blogosphere?  Now all we need is a merger and a blog to book deal: The Best of Chelsea Hotel Potty Humor.  (Photo: Some guy destroying a matress at the rival faux art hotel, The Gershwin.)

Miss Amelia Invites You...

The Countess and the C.U.N.T. Rock Revolution is performing on Sat. @ Mo'Pitkins on Ave A between 2nd and 3rd @ "11" (Really means midnight). That is a Punk-rock-opera-cabaret band I sing/dance/perform with.  I think it's $10.  Go over to myspace to listen to some of their awesome music.

Plus, tomorrow, September 10th, tickets go on sale for the new Twyla Tharp/Bob Dylan musical, THE TIMES THEY ARE A-CHANGIN'.  The box office will open at 10 a.m. at Broadway's Brooks Atkinson Theatre (256 W. 47th Street, between Broadway and 8th Ave.) The first 250 people on line will get a free copy of Bob Dylan's new CD, Modern Times. Dylan's first CD in five years is being called "A Masterwork!" by Rolling Stone.

Chelsea Mystery Lunatic

In his memoir, SEEMED LIKE A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME, David Goodwillie describes a Chelsea character, but we can't for the life of us figure out who it could be.  Below is the excerpt. Any guesses as to who the cigar smoking man who walks into rooms with closed doors might be?

Here he is again, the man from across the hall.  He doesn’t care that my door was closed, that I was working, or trying to.  He comes in, takes a seat in the corner, and produces a cigar from the depths of his crumpled jacket.  It’s one of those skinny hybrid cigars, the type smoked by street kids and men who no longer fit in the world.  He rolls the thing around in his fingers, then lights it and sighs. 

“I’m here to save you,” he says. 

He says the same thing every time.  He talks without breathing, streams of words rushing past thoughts.  Today it’s Edie Sedgwick and the fire.  It was candles, he tells me, candles and coke and too much confusion.  He says he was here in the hotel that night and I believe him.  The names are what get me, so many famous names that I wonder if he ever knew anyone ordinary.  Back when he knew people. 

Arnold at the front desk laughed when I asked about him.  Said he’s some kind of writer, been here almost 40 years, one of their permanent transients.  He’d been a talent once, a voice of his generation and all that.  There were a few published stories in the sixties, heady comparisons, soft fame, but then a book deal went wrong, addictions emerged, and the spotlight moved on.  The requisite poetry came next, bitter and unreadable, and then nothing.  Two decades of silence.  For a while, in the mid-eighties, he’d started work on a new book, a history of everything left unsaid. But then his wife left him for a banker and he withdrew again, became the Joe Gould of 23^rd Street—a sad loner spinning tales that never were. Arnold said I shouldn’t listen.

            But I can’t help it.  The man looks past me out the window and speaks of ghosts. Heroes of that New York.  Leonard Cohen and Bob Dylan, William Burroughs and toothless Gregory Corso.  He was here the night Sid stabbed Nancy, the night Mapplethorpe met Patti Smith.  Leaning forward he describes Edie’s skin, how the pills made it pale, how all that speed had her running in circles.  He talks with his hands, conducts a symphony with every sentence, and when he’s done, when the only story left to tell is his own, he gets up, looks solemnly at the pages piled on my desk, and walks out.

Goodwillie lived here in the early 00s, so this would have to be someone we all know.  Any guesses?  {Remember that certain identifying characterisics may have been changed.}  By the way, Mapplethorpe didn't meet Patti Smith at the Chelsea.  And even more importantly, what the hell is a "permanent transient."