Living with Legends: Hotel Chelsea Blog

It's All About The Snakes

Just like we said last week, everybody remembers the snakes!  Peter Sanford interviews Rebecca Miller about her film, The Ballad of Jack and Rose, which is opening in the UK this week.  The article briefly mentions the Chelsea.
Rebecca's childhood was, in her recollection, 'very normal' - loving parents, growing up on a farm, going to school, no limos or first-class flights. But it took place in a context that was anything but normal. So a visiting Henri Cartier-Bresson would read to her as a baby next to the Roxbury pond from the memoirs of an 18th-century French courtier. And for part of it, she lived with her parents in suite 614 at the fashionably rundown Chelsea Hotel in New York, home also to Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, Norman Mailer and 'a man with a very large snake who lived upstairs'. 

Slapped Down By Prize-Winning Novelist

A while back I posted that I was planning to read a book called Stuart: A Life Backwards, which I remarked was a "non-Chelsea related" title.  But, Whitbread prize-winning novelist Joan Brady (Theory of War) has just written to tell me how wrong I was:

In re Alexander Masters, he is in fact the great nephew of Edgar Lee Masters, who lived at the Chelsea for many years. I am his mother. His father was Dexter Masters, Lee's nephew. That is, he is not unrelated to the hotel at all.  Furthermore, all three of us stayed at the Chelsea for over a month in 1970 or 1971. Alexander's book Stuart is scheduled to come out in the US on 30 May. You will find it listed at amazon.com.

     It just goes to show: everybody who's anybody has stayed at the Chelsea.  (If you've read Stuart, which is about a schizophrenic homeless man, you might think it's likely that he's lived here too.  Certainly we've had many like him.)

     Anway, check out Joan Brady's new novel, Bleedout as well.

Listen to Patti Smith

Listen to journalist Adam Phillip's recent interview with Patti Smith. Smith also reads from her recently published collection of poems, Auguries of Innocence.  (Source: Voice of America)

Our Paris Correspondent Posts an Exclusive from London

The Chelsea blog’s sparkling Paris correspondent takes us behind the scenes to the Resurrection Blues opening night after party.  She apologizes for the lack of photos, but she was too busy partying.  Seeing how that’s the case, all is forgiven.

Transatlantic glitterati came out in strength to see and support former Hotel Chelsea resident Arthur Miller's play Resurrection Blues at its debut at the Old Vic in London March 3.

Among those who attended the performance and the party afterwards were Maggie Smith, Daniel Day Lewis, Aidan Quinn, Katherine Helmond, Richard E. Grant, Emma Thompson, Emily Watson, Greta Scaachi and Charles Dance, in addition to the old Vic artistic director Kevin Spacey and the play's stars Maximillian Schell, Neve Campbell,  Matthew Modine, James Fox, Jane Adams and Peter Macdonald.  The Altmans, Bob and Kathryn, left the party after a few hours to board a private jet to LA, where Bob was to receive his Lifetime Achievement Oscar on Sunday.

Producer, and long-time Hotel Chelsea resident, Scott Griffin, who was entrusted with this play by Arthur Miller before his death, had a large contingent of fans and friends in attendance.  Pals from North America and Europe travelled to London and included opera singers Lauren Flanagan and Catherine Malifitani, renowned doctor. Marcia Gordon, actress Katherine Helmond, philanthropist Mary Kaplan, writer Maggie Paley and the Chelsea Hotel's Caroline Hansberry.  Caroline's Partner, Sir David Remfry, was unable to attend, but hosted a dinner for Scott and a few friends at the legendary Chelsea Arts Club in London.

The absence of Arnold Weinstein and, of course, Arthur Miller, who died within months of each other in 2005, was profound.

The Algonquin Gives Writers A Break

If you've got writers block, skip the Hotel Chelsea and go straight to the Algonquin.  If you stay here at the Chelsea, the block will probably get worse, since the "Do Not Disturb" sign will put a lot of extra pressure on you.  (It says: Do Not Disturb.  I'm Writing The Next Great American Novel.)

The Algonquin, New York's other historic literary hotel -- home to the Round Table of the '20s and host to guests such as Dorothy Parker, E.B. White, James Thurber, John Updike, and William Faulkner -- offers a "writer's rate" to anyone claiming writer's block. The deal is a $20 discount on a classic room, when available, Sunday through Thursday.  (via Newyorkology)

HE'S BACK

We thought we were rid of Ethan Hawke when he moved out a few months ago.  But the creative spirit of the Chelsea has apparently sucked him back into our vortex of insanity.  He was in the hotel earlier this week, filming the movie version of his brilliant debut novel, The Hottest State.  We were on the elevator, packed full with a group of his minions last night.  A female member of his production crew was screaming into her cell phone: “I’m almost there!  I’m two seconds away!”  To our horror, the elevator slowed to a crawl, then stopped entirely, between floors.  Luckily, we were able to pry the elevator doors open and step off on the first floor, or we would have been in for a rough night indeed.

Here’s wishing Ethan luck in his filmic endeavors; we’re praying he doesn’t turn out another Chelsea Walls.

Valentine's Day at the Chelsea Hotel, 1977

     I was a senior in college, invited to New York for a long Valentine's Day weekend by a young man a few years older than I, who lived in a small apartment on Avenue A, with the bathtub in the kitchen. Next to it hung a vintage robe, a debonair manly number in purple wool twill, with white piping around the lapels and a heraldic crest on the pocket.  It was mine to keep, and keep it I did, for a very long time.
      We visited his grandmother, who lived in a mansion on the Upper East Side, where a maid served us cocktails in the library amidst first editions of books published in Paris in the 1920's. The grandmother had acquired these books in Paris in the 1920's, because her friends were writing them, and she kindly, and modestly re-told first-hand stories about legendary writers because I was an English major, writing a thesis on Virginia Woolf, and hung on every word.
      Our weekend also included dinner at Lady Astor', a restaurant on Lafayette Street, which I don' t believe exists any more. Too bad, as the table in the front, which could be completely enclosed by heavy green velvet curtains with gold tassels (just like the curtains Scarlett O'Hara desperately fashions into a cap and dress), was very romantic. And the young man also invited me to a party, a Valentine's Day party, given by some friends of his who lived at the Hotel Chelsea, about which I knew not much. I learned though.
      The lobby and the stairway walls were entirely painted with murals by residents. I seem to recall my date pointing out to me works by notable residents, but I can't remember the artists' names. I recall riding up in a creaky elevator, perhaps with an elevator operator, and I believe that its walls were decorated too.
      The party was given by a couple of guys who were recent graduates of Yale, but I have long forgotten their names. Their apartment was just a room or two, and jammed with party guests. As we entered we were handed paper hearts, and instructed to write our names on our heart twice, tear it in half, and deposit one half in a large pickle jar, and hold onto the other half of the heart. There would be a drawing later, for a door prize.
       Only slowly did the word circulate through the party that the door prize was in fact a hustler, a man as handsome and blond as my date, but much more muscular, a bit older, and wearing more leather. He mingled like a guest, and I had to ask exactly what a hustler was. And then I wondered what my date (who liked boys as well as girls) would want to do if either of us won him. I love to win even the smallest little prize, a magazine subscription, a to-go mug--but loosing the drawing that night was fine with me. The guy who did win dropped everything, and left instantly, all smiles, victorious and proud, with his prize. I felt pretty cool to just be a guest at a party where something so decadent could happen. I've never been back to the Chelsea, and that handsome hustler comes to mind whenever I hear or read of it. I hope that he survived the incipient epidemic that we had no inkling of, that deliciously licentious Valentine's Day.
       As for me and my date, we went back alone to the apartment on Avenue A, where I was told that the ornate carved bed had been a gift from the Baron von Rothschild to the grandmother, his paramour, once upon a time.

Cynthia Baughman lives on a farm in Douglassville, Pennsylvania with her husband, dog, and three goats. She writes short fiction, journalism, and media criticism. She is currently working with filmmaker LeAnn Erickson on a documentary about women mathematicians involved in a secret ballistics project during World War II.

F. Paul Wilson Doesn't Believe in the Chelsea's Creative Energy

Author F. Paul Wilson has been generous enough to send us an excerpt from HOSTS, which features the Chelsea Hotel and El Quijote in a couple of scenes.  HOSTS features a recurring character known as Repairman Jack -- a name given him because he will, for a price, fix situations that can't be remedied through official channels -- blackmail, for instance. He lives under the radar with no Social Security number and no official identity -- a ghost in the modern machine. The woman he meets in the Chelsea lobby turns out to be the older sister he hasn't seen in 15 years. She wasn't a lesbian when he left her, but she is now. 
What you do? I'm a writer -- novels (thrillers in all sorts of genres) and short stories. 2006 marks the 35th anniversary of my first publication.

Do you live in the Chelsea neighborhood? No, but I went to high school here. I was a Joisey kid who commuted daily to a Jesuit military school -- Xavier on West 16th. The military part was mandatory then and we were known citywide as Subway Commandos. I came of age in Chelsea -- I learned where to get fireworks in Chinatown, how to get a mug of porter in McSorley's (men-only then), all sorts of cool stuff. I fell in love with New York then and have continued the affair ever since. The city is very much a continuing character in the Repairman Jack novels.

What inspired you to set a scene in El Quijote? I've eaten there quite a few of times. I love their shrimp in green garlic sauce -- you can't close-talk to anyone for the next six months, but it's worth it.

Do you think that there is a creative energy in the Chelsea Hotel? No. I don't believe in any of that stuff. Creativity isn't some sort of astral goo you can leave behind. This is a bring-your-own world. But if you have a few creative bones in you, the idea of staying in the same place -- maybe the same room -- as so many icons of whatever field your working in might spark you to greater achievement. I mean, come on -- Gregory Corso lived here!

What's your favorite Hotel Chelsea story? Well, being into crime and mayhem -- evidenced by the subject matter of my fiction -- the Sid and Nancy story sticks out. But my love of the place goes back to my high school days when I used to wander the city looking for cool buildings. I started making a list back then (still have it) and the Chelsea was near the top. Still is. I simply love the look of it.

What's your favorite El Quijote story? Don't have one...besides the food.
An excerpt from HOSTS: A Repairman Jack Novel © 2001 by F. Paul Wilson
Somewhere in Chapter 5 . . .
            Not going to happen, Jack told himself as he headed down the stairs for the street. 
            He’d do whatever it took to keep this one lousy incident from disrupting his life and his business.
             His business . . . he hadn’t checked his voice mail in a while. 
             Walked over to Broadway, found a phone booth, and tapped in his codes.  One call.  From a woman who said she’d been referred to him as someone who could help her with a problem involving a friend and a cult.  Left her cell phone number but didn’t say who’d referred her or any details about the cult or her problem with it.  Decided she was worth a call back.  An indefinable something about her voice appealed to him, made him want to work on her problem.
               Glanced at his watch: 11:20.  Might be late to call her, but he needed something to do and this could be it.  A new customer with a new fix-it job would occupy his mind and time while waiting for the fallout from tonight’s fiasco.   
              Dialed her number.  When she answered he said. “This is Jack, returning your call.”
            “Oh.  I didn’t expect you to call back so soon.”  A nice voice; soft and mature.  Not too old, not too young.
              We’re off to a good start, Jack thought.
              “Some problems can wait,” he said, “some can’t.  You didn’t say anything about yours.  I can meet you tonight if necessary.”
              “Gosh, it’s late but . . .”
              “Where do you live?”
              “I . . . I’d rather not say.”
              “Not your street address, your section of the city.”
              “Oh.  It’s called the Flower District.  It’s—”
              “Know it.”  Upper Twenties around Sixth, above Chelsea.   “I can meet you anywhere you want down there in about fifteen minutes.”
              “Tonight?  Gee, I don’t . . .”
                “Lady, you called me.”
               A pause during which he swore he could hear her chewing her lip.
              “Okay.  But someplace public.”

Someplace public . . . could meet her on Forty-second Street. Few places in the city more public than the Deuce since Disney moved in.  Maybe too public.  Better to make it closer to where she lived . . .
              Considered the Seventh Avenue Papaya on the corner of Twenty-third, but that was usually a madhouse this time of night.  He grinned.  Maybe he should freak her out and suggest La Maison de Sade, the S-and-M supper club next to the Chelsea Hotel.   Wait—that was it.
              “How about the Chelsea Hotel?”
              “Where’s that?”
              Something not right here.  “Thought you said you lived in the Flower District.  You live down there and don’t know the Chelsea?”
             “I’m visiting.  I’m from . . . from out of town.”
             “Okay then.  It’s right down Seventh from you.  On Twenty-third.  I’ll meet you in the lobby.  Is that public enough?”
              “I don’t know . . . this is so strange.” 

Poet Gerard Kuc Visits the Chelsea

Gerard has sent us an excerpt from the last half of his novella, RED SEX, white drugs, Blue Rock n Roll, a fictionalized account of his trip to New York and his stay at the Hotel Chelsea. He has a tip for tourists: It's easier to score a room if you stay in the middle of the week.  He also had some advice for Stanely Bard: please sell a list of who slept where -- that is, of their room numbers.

What do you do?  civil servant

How long did you stay at the Chelsea? only spent one night; this was in early September of 2005

Why did you decide to stay at the Chelsea? When I've read about all who have lived and passed thru there, I knew I wanted to be a part of that in at least some small way.

How did you score your room? made sure to order for the middle of the week to better get a room; ordered a month in advance over their website

Do you think there is a creative energy in the Chelsea? I have no doubt there is an osmosis-like effect between the building, its history, and the current residents. The Chelsea is like a huge collage of life and livelihoods.

How did staying at the Chelsea affect your creative development? Helped me finish my novella! : )

What other creative people at the Chelsea or elsewhere have influenced your development? Bukowski

Who is the most famous person you’ve ever ridden with in the Chelsea elevator? the guy that showed me my room; I  always took the stairs after that to see all the art

What’s the best/worst thing that has ever happened to you at the Chelsea? my room wasnt ready when I got there; gave me time to see all the works in the lobby

Do you know if any famous folks have lived in your room? no- they should sell (or give) a key/directory of who stayed where at the front desk; that would be very popular.

Excerpt from RED SEX, white drugs, Blue Rock n Roll,

“What’s the good word?” the cabbie asked.

I told him to go to the hotel in Chelsea.

I thought the people in Los Angeles drove bad and reckless.  This guy was like the Road Warrior.  I tried to avoid looking straight in front of us during the trip.  Thankfully, the trip wasn’t too long, and I arrived at my hotel in one piece.  I paid and tipped the cabbie and went into the lobby.

The lobby was much smaller than I thought it would be.  There is an ornate fireplace and several large paintings hanging on the walls.  One of the resident artists was also here at the time of my check in: chair, stand, easel and all painting something.  I’ve heard that some of the artists give one of their works as payment for rent.  Somehow I didn’t think it also applied to writers.

I go to the front counter where two elderly but active gents were working.  Between them yaking at customers, the phone, other employees, and each other they were busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy.   But they did managed to get to me eventually.  I checked in and followed an employee up to my room. 

From the outside it looked like this hotel should be on life-support, and from the inside you realized that it already was.  If it was any other hotel, it would be written off as a fleabag or a glorified flophouse.  But this was where Dylan Thomas lived till the night he died.  This was where Sid Vicious committed murder as part of an alleged suicide pact with his then girlfriend.  This was where Bob Dylan wrote a song, and where Jackson Pollock and William De Koonig made art.  It was the place for Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, and Dee Dee Ramone.  No, the hotel’s rich history and legends were its paint, plaster, and plumbing: holding it altogether.

The main interior reminded me of the Bradbury Building in downtown Los Angeles.  The white marble floors, rot-iron stairway, and ceiling-wide skylight were shared by both buildings, but there were lots of characteristics which were solely the hotel’s own.  Practically all of the halls had artwork on them. It was like staying at a museum.  Later, I noticed that the doors and doorways to the various rooms were all of different sizes.  Some of them were even painted and decorated by its inhabitants.

Each floor otherwise looked more or less the same: from the central staircase, a swinging door at either end which opened up to a main hallway with doors on either side then the sudden narrow hallway on either side which ended in a cloister of apartments or rooms.  Some of the doors would be ajar for ventilation.  On more than one occasion, I noticed the strong presence of   Maryjane at a wing of the 8^th floor.  When I first got to my room there was loud music playing just around my corner.  Through the crack I spied an artist working on the floor.  Perhaps he was working on paying this months rent.

I got to my room: # 402.  The first thing I noticed was, when I closed the door behind me, I could no longer hear the music.  The units, I was told, were very soundproof.  The ceilings were high, the floor wood, and the whole room of mine has been whitewashed.  An old fashioned radiator occupied a corner.  There was the bed, dresser, end table, small desk, clock radio, and a few old lamps.  There was also a TV and a mini-fridge: the latter of which I didn’t use.  There was also a separate bath in an art decco style and checkered tile.  One thing I further noticed was, in the halls and especially in my room, it smelled of musty cigarette smoke.  Maybe Bobby thought he’d surprise me.

My plan for New York was simple: go out and make the scene during the day and write at night.  After I unpacked, I got my desk set for making out like a foreign loan.  I didn’t waste even my first night as I sat down and started filling my notebook.  I made sure to introduce a Kelly character and certain things like what Gracie said that one time.  I must admit it was a very productive night.  The only drawback was, without a girlfriend around, I was self-employed in my ‘business’. I went to the bathroom, relieved myself, and went to bed.

One of the few modern conveniences in my room, a clock radio, woke me up to Cypress Hill’s  Valley of Chrome.  I already had an idea of what I was going to do throughout the day.  I got up, took a shower, and got dressed.  I took my small bag filled with pens, small notebooks, and a tour guide and split.

Victor Bockris called Patti Smith an Asshole

From an interview with Patti Smith published last week in Slate.

"When we (Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe) moved to the Chelsea Hotel in 1969, I met a lot of poets and writers and developed my poetry more. In Brooklyn, I had worked on drawing, but in the Chelsea Hotel I saw Allen Ginsberg or William Burroughs every day. Gregory [Corso] was there, Jim Carroll—so poetry was a very strong force then," she said. One day, she asked the guitarist Lenny Kaye to plug in and add some musical accompaniment during a reading she gave in St. Mark's Church. Her performative gifts were self-evident, and she became a rock star almost instantly. In the oral history Please Kill Me, an early publisher of her poetry, Victor Bockris, recalls thinking, "She's an asshole, but she's really good."

Featured E-mail of the Week -- Call for Materials About Artist Ray Johnson

William S. Wilson has written several articles on Ray Johnson and is interested in hearing from people  who knew Johnson or who have any archival material by or about him. (Photo: David Hockney's Mother's Potato Masher, Ray Johnson, 1970)

Mr. Wilson is the son of artist May Wilson. Valerie Solanas stored the gun that she used to shoot Warhol underneath May Wilson's bed. May lived at 208 West 23rd Street, next to the Chelsea Hotel. (She also resided in the Hotel briefly.)

William S. Wilson: "Valerie asked to keep her laundry, not her gun, under my mother's bed, but believe me, May Wilson not only knew that the cloth bag did not contain laundry, she sometimes pulled it out to show people, the gunshipness of the gun being obvious when the cloth of the laundry bag was pressed against it."

If you have any information about Ray Johnson, please email [email protected]

Casanova Craze

Among the big movies that I won't be seeing today is Casanova.  Instead I'll stay home and read a book which promises to be much more entertaining. "What Casanova Told Me," was written by former Hotel Chelsea resident Susan Swan.  However, there appears to a Casanova Craze going on and Susan tells us why she thinks interest is at an all time high.

Writing my latest novel about Casanova, I discovered that I wasn't alone in sharing a fascination with the legendary eighteenth-century Venetian lover.  This Christmas, a BBC movie starring Peter O'Toole will be shown in the UK on Dec 21 and 23. A Hollywood movie about Casanova starring Heath Ledger will be released Christmas Day. And in the last five years, at least ten other male and female writers have published books about Casanova (1725-1798).

Why are so many women and men writing and making movies about him now?
Do we feel starved for sensual enjoyment in the 21st century? Certainly, we live in a culture where new technologies like email mean that many of us work almost a month more a year than we did in the 1970's. I came to the conclusion that Casanova is the Dionysian figure whose interest in freedom will redeem us in a work-obsessed Apollonian age. The master of self-invention, he enjoyed performing whatever role the situation required and he showed little interest in acquiring power or wealth.
Eloquent, self-confident and fashion-conscious, Casanova spent most of his life outwitting social controls of any sort. He appears to have become a symbol of liberty for contemporary writers and readers because he lived as if pleasure and adventure are as worthy of our time as money and fame, believing that the greatest aphrodisiac of all is happiness.

Susan always stays at the Hotel Chelsea and often in Thomas Wolfe's old suite on the 8th floor.  If for some strange reason she decides to try another Hotel I've found the perfect fit.  The 8th floor of Manhattan's Library Hotel features a Casanova room.

Andy Warhol's Ghost Haunts the Elevators

Stephen Creagh Uys tells us what it was like to stay here at the Hotel Chelsea back in the late 80s.   He also shares a ghost story.
What do you do?
I am a novelist, my latest book is The Last Generation of Chainsmokers.
It has been described as a cross between Catcher in the Rye and Leaving Las
Vegas. It takes place in the East Village in the art years.

How long did you stay at the Chelsea?
I stayed there for a couple of months in 1987 0r 88. I can't recall.

What inspired you to move into the Chelsea?
I was broke and I had hooked up with this girl from Washington who was
buying a condo. While she waited for it to close etc, she got a room in the
Chelsea for three months. It came through in two days and lo and behold I had a
squat.

Do you think there is a creative energy in the Chelsea?
Yes. I was an excited twenty two year old. I would drink at the white
horse, go to the lions head and pass out in the Chelsea. I was living the
alcoholic dream of a young writer. The Chelsea had a magic that was undescribable.

How has living in the Chelsea affected your creative development?
It has added to my personal mythyology. It is part of the rites of passage I
endured while becoming a writer.

What other creative people at the Chelsea or elsewhere have influenced your development?
So many. Keroauc. Bukowski. Fitzgerald. Satre. Basquiat. Iggy. H.G. Wells.

Who is the most famous person you’ve ever ridden with in the Chelsea elevator?
Andy Warhol, almost. see below.....

What’s the best/worst thing that has ever happened to you at the Chelsea?
I was living there the week Warhol died. It was all over the papers and as I
staggered upstairs two days after he died, there he was resplendent in a black
turtleneck. I freaked out and ran to get my girl and call the desk. All he said
was "hello dahling."  Ghost story.  Not quite. It turned out that one of new yorks
best known Warhol impersonators was also living there, and he had been
booked solid all week doing andy grams or whatever. I will never forget this
event!

Serena Cooks Up A Book

The Chelsea's creative engery must also flow into the basement.  Serena has a book, "Serena, Food and Stories."  Well-known caterer Serena Bass's “first book is a rare mixture of good food, great stories and truly unique style; just the right combination to make it a big hit with cookbook fans.” This book looks like not only would it give you some wonderful inspiration, but also feed your curiosity for the rich and famous!

In addition to her successful catering business, she is the namesake behind Serena, the bar/lounge in the basement of the Chelsea Hotel, which she opened in 1999 and has since sold.  Here is Serena's menu recommendation for that dinner party you're planning.

THE 'RED AND GINGER' -- GINGER VODKA, CRANBERRY
AND FRESH LIME SERVED ON THE ROCKS

SALAD OF WARM GRILLED FENNEL
SALTED WALNUTS, BITTER GREENS
AND APPLE CIDER VINAIGRETTE

BRAISED SHORT RIBS OF BEEF,
BEETS ROASTED WITH OLIVE OIL
AND TELLICHERRY PEPPER

CELERY ROOT MASH

EXTRA-THIN CHOCOLATE TART
TOPPED WITH WHIPPED CREAM
AND CRYSTALIZED MINT LEAVES

BLOOD ORANGE GRANITA
SPRINKLED WITH POMEGRANATE SEEDS

Did He or Didn't He: Stay at the Chelsea?

Does this guy look familiar? Famous French philosopher Jean Baudrillard used to "always stay at the Chelsea," according to an interview in Rita Barros' book "15 Years at the Chelsea."  Baudrillard was in town recently to promote his new book, "The Conspiracy of Art."  He was interviewed by Deborah Solomon for the New York Times Magazine, but he doesn't mention his beloved Hotel Chelsea in the interview. However, he did declare: "There are no more French intellectuals." 

Patti Smith at BAM

A blog reader was kind enough to send us this report of last night's sold-out Patti Smith performance at BAM.

She and her band performed her "Horses" album (for which she wore her usual white shirt, tie, black pants, boots), took an intermission, then did a second set. So the concert began with, "Jesus died for somebody's sins / But not mine," from her version of "Gloria"--which was absolutely fantastic--and then just kept getting better. The band--Lenny Kaye, Jay Dee Daugherty, Tony Shanahan, Tom Verlaine and Flea, outdid themselves.  The concert ended with a song Smith wrote for Robert Mapplethorpe for his 40th birthday, as a nod to all the people who have died in the years since "Horses" was produced.
At one point she ushered a ten-year-old boy up onto the stage from the front row to play electric guitar with the band, facing an opera house full of dancing, shouting, very enthusiastic grownups.
She had to use reading glasses to read her poems and she just about lost her voice, but she still has all her moves, and she reminded the audience that even if it turns out that the forces of evil win in the end, we can at least make their lives miserable while they're doing it.
Most of the proceeds are going to aid Katrina victims. (Photo: Patti in her room at the Chelsea.)

Literary Cooperation Among Former Chelsea Residents

Archivists at Harvard's Houghton Library recently discovered an unpublished short story in Gore Vidal's archives. When they called Vidal to ask about the story he replied, "'That doesn't sound like my kind of material, that sounds like Tennessee Williams's territory."'  As it turns out, Vidal was half-right. The story, which he eventually recalled having written, was based on an anecdote that Williams, a friend of his, used to tell at cocktail parties.

According to Vidal's biography, Vidal checked into the Chelsea Hotel with Jack Kerouac and "attacked" the beat poet "from behind," as a red neon light flickered through the shadeless window.  Perhaps that was a more memorable experience than writing a story based on a Tennessee Williams' anecdote.

Another Best Seller Written at the Chelsea

And here I thought that this blog was the Chelsea's foray into the digital world.  According to a recent article in AdBUMb, "F'd Companies: Spectacular Dot-Com Flameouts," was written by Philip Kaplan while he stayed here at the Chelsea.  F'd Companies started out as a website tracking dot com failures. This just goes to show you, anything written over the course of three months here at the Chelsea will be a bestseller. 

During these glory years, Kaplan parlayed F***edCompany’s success into a bestselling spinoff novel: 2002’s F’d Companies: Spectacular Dot-Com Flameouts, written during a frenzied three-month stay at the famed Chelsea Hotel. “The reason why I did that was so that every morning when I woke up, I’d remember why I was there,” he explains. “I would roll out of bed, write the book for twelve hours, and roll back into bed.”

The result of his hotel labor? F’d Companies landed on bestseller lists from Amazon.com to the LA Times.

Literary Lights Burn Bright in Former Hawke's Nest

Former Hotel Chelsea resident Sparkle Hayter recently played host to Paris in the Chelsea, a party to celebrate the release of Jeremy Mercer's book Time Was Soft There.  A good time was had by all.  One unexpected highlight of the party for a few Chelsea dwellers was the opportunity to check out the Hawke's Nest now that it has been vacated.  The one memorable feature was a mural on the ceiling of what is now a bedroom. The mural depicts Jesus Christ and one of his disciples. JC holds a knife in his hand and the disciple has either a bong or a keg tapper in his hand. Don't ask me.

The hostess in red chats with Victor Navasky, former editor of The Nation. Navasky seemed to enjoy himself despite the recent announcement about his job change.
Ed chugs a budweiser in the background.


Hotel Chelsea Dwellers Caroline Hansberry and David Remfry.





Joan Morris, Maggie Paley and Bill Bolcom. Joan and Bill are former Hotel Chelsea Dwellers




Colin Asky and Jeremy Mercer.  Jeremy is great.  He donated a signed copy of his book to the 8th floor library.

Colin has a film showing Friday, Nov. 11


Ed and Thad Rutkowski
Thad has a book launch party Friday, Nov. 11




Syd Straw




For more photos, visit Sparkle's Flickr group.

The New Hotel Chelsea: Too Expensive for Pornographers

Bob Coulter’s earlier book, “Crazy Babe,” featured photographs taken at the Hotel Chelsea, but unfortunately we’re now too upscale (it’s the new management), so he shot his latest book, “Bad Girls Hotel,” at the Carlton Arms.  I have to confess that I have something in common with Coulter.  In the late1980’s, I also thought that the Chelsea Hotel was too damn upscale.  On two separate occasions I stayed at the Carlton Arms.  I will not bore you with my Carlton Arms photos.  Here are the photos from Bad Girls Hotel.  (Photo: Room 11B at the Carlton Arms, which was painted by former Hotel Chelsea guest, Dan Bern.)

Portraits from Eternal Bohemia

Artist Elizabeth Peyton held her first major solo exhibit here at the Hotel Chelsea in 1993 (Room 828).   She has just published a book of paintings, "Elizabeth Peyton Paintings." A review of the book in the recent issue of Publishers Weekly notes, "...Her portraits—whether of Edwardian poet Rupert Brooke, Prince Harry or her friends—seem to emerge from the same timeless, eternal bohemia that the (Chelsea) hotel exemplifies."

Rita Barros - Saved by New York's Bravest

Rita Barros must have landed at the Chelsea at a very young age because she has been here 21 years!  If you haven't done so yet check out her book Fifteen Years: Chelsea Hotel.  You can see more of her work at http://www.ritabarros.com/
Photo: Rita at home on the 10th floor.

What do you do?
I am a freelance photographer and right now I am also doing a Master’s Degree in Photography at NYU.

How long have you lived at the Chelsea?
I have been living here for the past 21 years.

Why did you decide to move into the Chelsea?
I really did not decide to move in. I stayed here with my ex - when we returned from a long trip to India and Nepal - while looking for an apartment in the city. But somehow we stopped looking and stayed here.

Describe your initial interview with Mr. Bard?
My ex was the one who dealt mostly with Mr. Bard who was very nice and funny.

Do you think there is a creative energy in the Chelsea?
There is a very laid back and friendly atmosphere that is somehow conductive to creative energy.

How has living in the Chelsea affected your creative development?
I photographed here for many years ( the book Fifteen Years: Chelsea Hotel), and  met incredibly interesting and accomplished people who have had, for sure, their impact in my development.

What other creative people at the Chelsea or elsewhere have influenced your development?
People like Arnold Weinstein at the Chelsea who was extremely generous with his time and ideas. The early books of Salman Rushdie, the purity of vision of Agnes Martin, Becket’s genius, the poetry of Koudelka’s images and the brilliant lightness of Fred Astaire.

Who is the most famous person you’ve ever ridden in the Chelsea elevator with?
I  would say Courtney Love.

What’s the best/worst thing that has ever happened to you at the Chelsea?
A big fire. By the time the firemen came and got me I thought I was already dead.

Don't miss next Thursday's interview with the guy who paints in the lobby, David Combs.   He's new around here and is filled with spit and fire.

News Round-Up

A reader forwarded me this link to an Op/Ed piece by Hotel Chelsea Resident Michael Rips.
So Much for Freedom, NYTimes, Oct 2, 2005.

Sally Singer comments on the Russian style invasion and the influence of Dolce and Gabbana.

In case you're wondering what happened to "formerly in the basement of the Hotel Chelsea Serena," she has moved on to the more glamorous environs of the meating packing district.

The Dream Palace

In a couple of years there will be a new book to add to the "Fiction & Non Fiction Set in the Chelsea" book roll.

Author of February House (a book about a group of fabulous bohemians living in Brooklyn)Sherill Tippins' INSIDE THE DREAM PALACE, a history of New York's legendary Chelsea Hotel, to Deanne Urmy at Houghton Mifflin, for publication in fall 2007, by Gail Ross at the Gail Ross Literary Agency (world English). (Source: Publishers Marketplace)

I'm already on pins and needles.  By fall 2007, my nails will be bitten down to a quick. I wasn't able to score an interview with Tippins, "I'll have more to tell you later," she said.  Over at Books I Won't be Reading Blog they ask, "Who, outside of NYC, will buy this book?"  Now that sounds like a question Stanley Bard would love to answer.  We've all heard him say it a hundred times "This Hotel is the most important building in the world." Therefore, everyone will buy this book.

In the meantime, I could add another category to the blog "Unpublished Manuscripts Set In and Around the Chelsea (The Broken Dream Palace)," but I'm afraid the list would be too long. 

OK, So I Don't Watch Martha

And here's what I missed, Chelsea resident Nicolaia Rips, appeared on a cooking segment with Martha last week.  Nicolaia is the daughter of author Michael Rips.  Here's full coverage in The St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

Tonight's Party -- Drunken, Careening, Writers

Thursday, September 15th, 7:00 p.m.
Chelsea author Ed Hamilton reads as part of the Drunken! Careening! Writers! series at KGB Bar.  For a fine example of Hamilton's drunken prose visit Modern Drunkard magazine. Other readers include Thaddeus Rutkowski and Kathleen Warnock.
KGB Bar
85 East 4th St., NY NY (4th at 2nd Ave.)
The L Magazine's "Pick of the Day"

Dreams Come True

According to writer Jose Padua, Dan & Mary, two characters in his novel in progress, Undercover Angel, are based on people who did move to New York and score an apartment in the Chelsea Hotel. You can read a longer excerpt on his blog.

"...Mary and her boyfriend, Dan Thompson, were both from Charleston, South Carolina and met when they were in college there. Mary—a tall, slim woman who dressed like a mod Londoner from the sixties—didn’t look at all like a southerner. When I first met her I was astounded to hear the slow Southern drawl that seemed to float from her mouth when she spoke. On the other hand, her boyfriend, Dan, looked exactly like I thought a Southerner should look: tall and paunchy and dangling a thick beard from the bottom of his face. I knew as soon as I saw him that he was also one of those people who needed at least two six packs of beer to make it through the day..."

"...Mary and Dan’s dream was to leave Washington and move up to New York where they’d work their way up to a swank apartment in the Chelsea Hotel..."

Dumbest Writer Ever Visits the Chelsea

I've been ignoring Chuck Klosterman's book, "Killing Yourself to Live," and the hundreds of cookie-cutter reviews it received.  Finally, Ed Champion writes an inspiring review. 

"...but the hell of it is that Klosterman is too dumb and too indolent a writer to actually do the legwork. He doesn’t bother to call up the Hotel Chelsea in advance to find out what happened to Room 100 (the room where Sid Vicious stabbed Nancy Spungen), let alone track down any of the surviving employees who might have had some insight into how the infamous couple lived. Instead, he berates Chelsea manager Stanley Bard for politely telling Klosterman that the Cheslea didn’t want to be involved with Klosterman’s story (perhaps because Klosterman is utterly dumb, ignorant and tactless in his approach, asking the desk clerk point blank if anyone has stayed in Room 100, a room that was long ago turned into an apartment). So what does Klosterman do? Like a small child denied his second scoop of rocky road, he badmouths both Bard and the Chelsea."

Ed's review gave me an ideal.  All of those other important blogs have had their "Hot Babes This" and their "Hot Babes That" contests all summer long.  Now, that Fall is fast approaching, it's time for us to have a contest: The Dumbest Writer to Ever Visit the Chelsea.  Send your nominations along with a short reason stating why that particular writer should win the title of DWEVC to "chelblog at yahoo.com."  I"ll post a list of nominated writers on the blog.

Virgil Thomson's Secret Coq au vin Recipe

Last Friday (August 19), Hotel Chelsea resident and composer Gerald Busby, premiered a large scale piece interspersing monologues (“Who to Thank” and “Tomorrow’s Butter”) and music (Rhapsody for Cello, Nocturne for Piano, Hop In, and Bullet Proof Bikini) as part of the ComposersCollaborative’s Serial Underground.

In an intimate and informal setting at the Cornelia Street Café, The Monologuing Composer took the audience on a tour that began in Tyler, Texas and wound its way to the Chelsea Hotel. Gerald shared amusing stories about the major influences on his career including: his mother, his English teacher, Baptist minister Angel Martinez, his German piano teacher, Mildred Baker (another former Chelsea Resident), leather bars, and finally Virgil Thomson.

To hear Gerald tell it, his relationship with Virgil was more like an apprenticeship than a relationship.  The two obviously had something in common, besides music, and that was the love of good food.  Gerald has worked as a cook at some of New York’s finest restaurants and according to Gerald, Virgil had a very refined palate.

Gerald recalled Virgil calling him on the house phone and in his nasal voice request that Gerald, “run me up a Crème Brule, Philip Johnson and his wife are coming over for dinner.” (A reference to the architect and his partner I presume.)

One of the many food highlights of the evening was when Gerald shared Virgil Thomson’s coq au vin recipe.  Here it is, handed down from Virgil to Gerald and now to you!

1. Cut up the chicken into eighths.
2. Braise chicken with a rendering of beef suet.
3. Add a cup of shallots and a cup of your best Burgundy.  Simmer until done.
4. Serve with the rest of the Burgundy.

Afterwards, the audience was buzzing.  “The recipe sounds so simple and delicious, but what exactly is beef suet?” a theatre critic in attendance asked. Unfortunately, there were no foodies in this crowd of avant garde music lovers who could answer his question. After much discussion amongst ourselves we felt pretty confident that it was some sort of FAT.   Needless to say, we all went home hungry!  Later, I looked in the dictionary and discovered Beef Suet is raw beef or mutton fat, especially the hard fat found around the loins and kidneys. Word on the street is that Gerald has a cookbook project in the works.

Enough about food. You can purchase Gerald’s CD online.

Country Is Cool at the Chelsea

Holly Williams, daughter of Hank Williams Jr., says: "...But my favorite place to write is the Chelsea Hotel in New York. Some of my favorite songs have been written there, and it's truly inspiring."