The New York Dolls created a sound that didn’t exist before
they made it. Sure they had some influence from the Stooges and MC5,
but by flashing a lethal dose of stripped-down, dirty glam rock spat
out by a cross-dressing bunch of misfits in 1971, they get the title of
the Empire State’s first punk band, beating the Ramones to it by three
years. They flamed out after two albums and multiple overdoses, but
they left a lasting scar, like a smoldering cigarette burn on the
musical landscape that hasn’t yet faded.
David Johansen—one of the two surviving members of the band
(guitarist Sylvain Sylvain being the other)—is an unlikely
renaissance man who can pick and choose his projects, from acting gigs
to singing with legendary blues guitarist Hubert Sumlin, writing
classical music for the Staten Island Composers Project, or re-forming
the New York Dolls and going on tour. So how does one re-create a band
when most of the original members are dead? “When we put this band
together, we were going to do one show,” Johansen explains in his
gritty Staten Island accent. “If we had said, ‘Okay, we’re gonna make a
run with it,’ then I’d probably still be looking for a guitar player…
because you know if you think too much, all you’re thinking about is
thoughts.”
Musically, the Dolls’ roots were decidedly un-punk. “In the early
days, [the Dolls] sounded like Big Brother and the Holding Company; of
all the bands that ever were, that was the fucking band I loved,” he
says. “All this stuff is there but it busts out of the border, it’s not
like, ‘Okay we’re going to take this canvas and fill it up with paint.’
There’s paint on the wall!” This is where the genius of innovation
lies, and it’s a perfect analogy for the Dolls’ music and more
particularly, their live shows.
“I remember when I was like 14, I went to the Murray the K Show and I saw Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels. He came out
and just destroyed the place. When I saw him I went, ‘That’s what you
fucking do!'” And they did. They destroyed rooms, speakers,
instruments, and ultimately themselves.
So when does someone, who by most calendars might be living on
borrowed time, decide it’s time to step out of the spotlight? “It’s not
something that I sit around and get neurotic about,” he says. “The
beautiful thing about this band is that there aren’t any plans, except
where we’re going next.”
But Johansen seems to be of two minds on the subject and admits that
the key to longevity lies in a form of moderation. And clearly, he’s
taken lessons from the past. “The first time we were together, we had a
lot of pressure and lack of support, and it would have been nice if
someone had said, ‘Why don’t you boys go home for a couple of weeks and
then come back and talk ’bout this?'” he says, referring to the
infamous demise of the band in their youth, which raises the question
of what presence those ghosts still have in the band and his life
today. “Well, they’re there, because they’re always being referred to
by somebody. I don’t know if you can miss them if they won’t go
away.”