May 4, 2017
The famous dance cages of the Limelight, NYC
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seen from United States
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seen from United States
The famous dance cages of the Limelight, NYC
Nothing to see here @gopunksphilly.tumblr.com, unless of course you like witnessing the train wreck, fucked up, batshit crazy life which is that of a punk rock kid on the streets of Philadelphia in 1985....
Rich Cucarese, author of the upcoming, fictional novel ‘PUNKS’
The Rangers-Flyers Wars of Gem and Rob and a Sneak Peak at Gem's Flat In Rich Cucarese's Upcoming Fictional Novel, 'PUNKS'...
Streaks of sun make it through the curtains to begin shedding playful, dancing rays of light across the flats’ contents. Although it’s an older place, it attains a certain elegance with its high ceilings, turn of the century windows, and ornamental plaster moldings. Gem’s space is charming as well. It’s a meticulously kept room; “A place for everything, and everything in its place,” she has a habit of saying with a sense of glee. It’s the spot she’s always dreamed of having, a happy, quiet spot to furnish and appoint with her meager belongings.
Bulletin boards found in an abandoned school, were carefully covered with fabric and adorned with fliers from the many punk shows she’s seen throughout her young life. Two of her most beloved possessions, a beautifully restored, medium blue, 1950’s model Gretsch electric that she calls ‘Robins Egg’, and a well weathered acoustic stand proudly against a vintage dresser that Misty helped her sand and stain, while an old second-hand, durable, tube amp sits on the floor next to it.
A small black and white TV is on the corner of a small dresser. The loop antenna is in good shape but the wand antenna has seen better days; resembling a broken metallic twig after being harpooned by a combat boot when my Rangers beat her Flyers in an exhibition game we watched recently. AN EXHIBITION GAME, FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!! My girl takes her love of Flyers hockey and hatred towards my Rangers very seriously, so thankfully, the antenna took the hit, not me!
Her records and cassettes are stacked in alphabetical order in milk crates adorned with the same fabric as the bulletin boards. The clothes are always in the dresser or hanging in her closet and the many tidbits of literature purchased at the local secondhand bookstore are placed carefully in a medium sized, wooden bookcase that she unearthed from the same school which housed bulletin boards. I still love to hear her recall how she and Lena lugged that piece through the streets of Philly and up to her flat. Trying to envision two totally decked out punk girls carrying a bookcase through South and 4th Streets alone must have been an amusing sight in its own right. But that was Gem, no pretensions, no bullshit. She was a breath of fresh air, a girl of so many sorrows and triumphs in her life already, you just wanted to know everything about her.
The sunlight finds its way over her body, illuminating Gem’s beauty. We were staring deeply into each-others’ eyes for what seemed like forever. If we slept an hour last night, that was a lot, considering most of it was spent entwined in a never ending embrace; talking on and on about everything from her troubled past, to what transpired in the park. She was trying hard to kick all the demons of the past and she admitted her failings. It was a hard road to travel, but she was trying her best and succeeding much more than she was willing to give herself credit for. “You are like my own personal rooting section, Robbs. I will love you forever for that.”
Excerpt from the draft of Rich Cucarese’s upcoming fictional novel, ‘PUNKS’...Chapter 7, ‘What Remains of the Day’.....
The Rangers vs. Flyers Brawl Exhibition from October 1, 1985....Gem’s TV antenna takes the hardest blow of all!!!
A Panasonic TV just like Swan’s before it saw better days....
Gem’s axe!!! A beautiful ‘Robin’s Egg’ Gretsch!!
Much like our Gem another ass kicking punk who just slays a Gretsch.....X’s, Billy Zoom!!!
No Love Lost....No Love Lost....
With the stench of beer, puke, cigs and weed giving the new club it’s break-in stank, the applause started again, begging ‘Crack’ for some encores.
Gem, true to her word when she was at my mother’s house back in February, had the band learn her stirring cover of Joy Division’s, ‘No Love Lost’, which had our punk tribes moshing out of control until Ian Curtis’ spoken verses, utterly wrought tonight through his spirit, by the painful howls of one, Gemma ‘Swan’ Stinson, left the ‘Underground’ hushed and awestruck at that moment.
Excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s( that’s me!!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’...Chapter 34, ‘The Message’...
From the haunting, disturbing movie, ‘Control’.....
Gorgeous Brody Dalle does justice to this cover, summoning Ian Curtis’ haunting spirit...give it a listen...PUNKS FOR LIFE!!!
Never a Dull Moment With Syd and the Girls From 'SKINZ' In Attendance and Of Course Our Resident, Heckle and Jeckle
The girls uninhibited, sexual psychosis, created the perfect segue for ‘Crack’ to come scorching onto the scene with our first set, plowing through the originals of Dilby and Acer’s ‘Crack’ crew, and we added some new covers to the mix, such as GBH’s, ‘Sick Boy’, and Social Distortion’s, ‘1945’.
Of course, Gem heightened the unrestrained lunacy by having us do the Limelight and Dobbs version of ‘I Wanna’ Be Your Dog’ which had me losing my shirt (again) and Gem riding around on my back, with me on all fours singing (again) and a shitload of girls getting onto the stage, with Sammi and Lena doing the honors of kissing me all over this time until Syd, who I guess didn’t have enough fun at my expense by just about stripping me naked in their store the other evening, decided to French my tonsils out tonight.
My Gem was no help here either, laughing and howling demonically while Syd shimmied her way under me, running her tongue across my chest until slipping even further down to the netherworld before I sat on top of her, delaying her progress towards leaving me in a ….gulp…over-stimulated situation, and in the process, sent a hysterical Gem toppling from my back. Ever the trooper, my girl continued playing through a tangled mess of amp and mic cords, drawing some well-deserved applause when we finished.
During the break of our first set, after I unloaded nearly a full bucket of ice water on me to quell the um….heat produced by a certain Sydney, Gem and I jumped up on stage, with her deciding to wow the audience with some old time rock by running her ‘Robin’s Egg’ Gretsch ferociously through Jimi Hendrix’s ‘Voodoo Child’; leaving the crowd jaw dropped at her guitar mastery and Acer and Dil beaming at their rising star’s proficiency.
And if that weren’t enough to make the evening an interesting one, we seemed to have lost Tim and Skate somewhere. Dust, Oren and Steph decided to put together a search party but never got their chance to mount their rescue, when out of the night appeared two guys in ball caps, Schmidt’s coverall’s and close to seven or eight cases of bottled beer.
“Compliments of the Schmidt’s Brewery!” one of the employees exclaimed laughingly before the cap was snatched from his head by Dusty, who could only throw up his hands in utter disbelief when he realized the caper that had just been pulled. “Jesus Bleedin’ Christ….you two cat burglars just pulled off a beer heist!” he exploded in laughter as Tim and Skate beamed from ear to ear when the jig was up.
“Hell, there are so many people working in there, we just walked in like new hires, went to the locker room, grabbed these get up’s, headed straight to the loading dock and tossed all of it onto this hand dolly. Then it was off into the dark streets of the Libs for us!” Skate beamed with pride. All in all it was just another day in the life for our human versions of Heckle and Jeckle.
An excerpt from Richard Cucarese’s upcoming fictional novel, ‘PUNKS’...Chapter 34, ‘The Message’....
Social Distortion interview and ‘1945′ live from CBGB’s!! It was a great concert!!
Schmidt’s Brewery in Northern Liberties, Philadelphia!!!! R.I.P.....
Heckle and Jeckle show opener.... Tim and Skate’s alter ego’s....
After a kickin' concert at the Tower Theater, these Philly, punk 'Misfits' are ready to party hard in Fairmount Park...
Amped up to no end about the show and the ensuing festivities in Fairmount, we bolt to the SS, leaving a trail of smoke and burnt rubber down Market Street once we’ve escaped the concert traffic. Gem’s hand finds its way over mine again, while the other starts moving playfully up and down my thigh. “I love feeling your strong leg muscles,” she whispers loudly over the stereo which is now playing Killing Joke’s, ‘Love like Blood’. I glance into the rearview, catching Yuka in a full lip lock with Otto, while Lena gently nibbles on his neck. It’s nothing for the three of them to share time with each other, even though Otto and Yuka are the mainstays of the relationship. Lena, enjoys playing around but is definitely more into pursuing girls than guys at the mo’; although she readily admits to Gem and Yuka that she’d easily crush with me or Otto, if given the chance. Putting that aside, even with his wild looks, Otto has no trouble getting females to look his way. His pleasant demeanor and boyish face has made many a girl, punk or not, want to be with him.
I regain my focus on the road ahead and Gem’s hand, which has now found its way to my inner thigh. Needless to say, I am enjoying her touch and she knows it by the big smile on my face. I mash the gas pedal, hastily hurtling us onto 61st Street before making a right onto West Thompson, where I roar the SS down towards North 52nd and Lancaster. This big 396, V-8 has a lot of play left in the pedal and I’m more than willing to have some fun with it.
The apartments atop the red awning shops along ‘The Strip’ have started to see better days and you’d better have your wits about you around here, ‘cause this is not the place to be if you lack streetwise presence. Most of the shitheel, douche bag burb’ twats I live around would crap their pants if they drove through here late at night. Get stopped at any corner it’s best to give a nod to the locals, followed by a thousand foot stare.
Pretty soon, we’re away from ‘The Strip’, slowly rolling into Fairmount Park, which I’d heard in its heyday, could easily bear comparison with Central Park as a beautiful, safe experience for the denizens of Philadelphia to behold, but the 1980’s were neither good, nor safe times for many parts of the city and with tensions still high from the MOVE bombing, Philly at times teetered on the brink of an all-out race riot occuring.
Nevertheless, it will not deter us from a night of revelry with our punk tribes, since most everyone leaves us to our own devices mainly because of our wild looks anyway. The only people you really had to watch out for were the drug dealers or the occasional group of Nazi, skinhead assholes who were looking to throw fists. Dusty, Otto and I had rolled a few of the scumbags at a show in Philly this past summer, so we’re constantly on the lookout for retaliation.
I peer into the rearview again and grin, given that Otto basically has both girls in the throes of passion. Gem turns around to see what’s making me so amused but quickly turns away with a gasp, mouthing ‘holy shit’, before we both shake our heads, laughing lightly. “Keep driving to where you see the fire burning, Robbs. That’ll be the place.” Killing Joke’s, ‘Eighties’ was now blaring through the speakers as I bring this awesome piece of machinery to a stop far away from where two metal trash cans full of leaves and branches were keeping everyone warm on this chilly, October evening. “Should we leave the three of them alone?”
“They are not doing that crap in my car,” Gem snorts derisively. “They can grab a blanket from the back and mess around in the park. Yo’ lovebirds, we’re here! Let’s party!”
Excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’...Chapter 6, ‘Fairmount’....
The Philadelphia Water Works at Fairmount Park by the Art Museum fell into major disrepair during the 70′s-80′s but has been wonderfully preserved and restored in recent decades...
The Smith Memorial Arch, leading into West Fairmount Park, Philadelphia...
It’s time to party....Philly ‘Misfits’....’PUNKS’....
Killing Joke’s ‘Love Like Blood’....
Ahh...fall days at college, $1.20 smokes for 60 cents and living the punk life...what could be better in 1985?
. Climbing the steep paths leading us towards the Student Union building, the sun begins its usual game of hide-n-seek amongst the towering blanket of leaves overhead. Fall came a little early this October and the palate of reds, yellows, and burnt orange swirl with the breeze like broken, colored glass in a kaleidoscope.
Through the trails, the wind howls, Sammi nuzzles onto my shoulder, buttoning up her petite jacket against the cold. “So where is my lovely, Bohemian girl today? Is she going to be at the Student Union, in class, or parts unknown?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. You know Gemma, she’s more unpredictable than October weather, I guess. Let’s go check the Union first, I have to get a dark tea and some smokes anyway. Would you like a coffee, Samms? It’s my treat, I got paid this week.”
In between going to school and enjoying my new found freedoms, I picked up a part time job cleaning office buildings, and was still busing and waiting tables at a pub by the school. “Well thank you, my hard working honey.” Sammi remains nuzzled into me entering the Union. “Any chance you can get me some cheap smokes from the machine, babe?”
“As long as they are still a dollar-twenty, hon, sixty cent smokes, coming right up.” Sammi walks into the cafeteria to snarf some hot refreshments; I head to the cigarette machine, waiting for everyone to clear out.
A friendly classmate of ours who worked for a vending company last summer gave a quick ‘tutorial’ on how to ‘purchase’ smokes at half price. Scoping again to make sure no preppy snitches are watching, I grab change out of my shredded jeans…the ones with Sex Pistols lyrics scribed over every inch of fabric with a black Sharpie…. placing the coins in the slot. This must be completed in precise order; dime, quarter, another quarter. Now, it’s time to get ready for the intricate, safe cracker artistry.
Simultaneously, you have to pull out the selector knob under your brand slowly, push down on the change return lever, listen carefully for the selector knob to click, quite the feat in a Student Union full of loud teens and twenty-somethings’. I have a habit of crouching down by the knob and waiting for the click. It should be happening right about… *click*… now, with the lightning speed of Bruce Lee, the knob’s drawn out fully and viola, a fresh pack of twenty Reds appears in the tray.
After repeating the process for Sammi, as a thank you gift for driving here, letting me flirt with her and the like, I repeat the process for an exquisite lovely who hopefully will join in our morning debauchery. Kneeling down next to backpack, I push our prizes into the front pouch, only to hear a familiar clicking sound approaching, accompanied by a familiar song, being played at an eerily moderate volume.
John Mc Geoch’s guitar plays hauntingly; the clicking on the floor gets closer…..Siouxsie Sioux’s voice rolls out like a demonic purr….
“From the cradle bars
Comes a beckoning voice
It sends you spinning
You have no choice,”
The clicking and the music stop directly behind me, replaced by a spellbinding, sultry voice. “What’s in the bag, handsome? You know, stealing cigarettes is a Federal offense. Stand up, turn around slowly, give up the contraband without a fight and no one gets hurt.”
Complying to the voices demands, the boombox volume is killed. Turning to face the judge, jury and executioner, her early morning magnificence; the natural, light olive hue of her skin makes the green of her eyes even more arresting, the hair, which when left to flow freely, almost reaches the center of her back, is pulled up, unlike the other night when it was gelled into what seemed to be hundreds of razor thin pink spikes. The Kool Aid neon has been washed out, revealing natural, deep auburn beauty, save for the dyed, shocked-white streak running through a few long strands.
The ensemble of thigh-high boots with precarious heels, sheer black stockings, short tartan skirt, black “ANARCHY U.K” t-shirt, covered by a short, studded leather jacket creates quite the dissonant effect in this predominantly, white bread, yuppie campus, considering the closest thing you had to “The Look,” was the Duran Duran or Culture Club, ‘New Wave’ posers. Most of these kids never even listened to that music, but the demand in the 80’s of paying a high price to look trendy, existed in spades with this clique.
Excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’....Chapter 2, ‘1985′......
from the Camden side of the Delaware River, looking into Philly, circa 1986....sketch, courtesy of Rich Cucarese
Siouxsie always had me spellbound....
Oh bondage...up yours!!
THE NIGHT WAS PURE FUCKIN’ CRUST….A TOTAL, GOBSMACKED HIT!!! Dilby’s opening night at his official, legit club named, what else, ‘The Underground’, was a smashing success and ‘Crack’ was glad to be a part of it.
Rolling loudly and triumphantly into the perilous depths of Northern Liberties like Roman Centurions on our gas powered chariots of chrome; we took to the stage after our opening act, ‘The Slit Throats’ put on a killer performance of their own. With their sultry, firecracker singer and guitarist, Delia Dagger, thrashing about the stage in full effect, her band, along with our buddy Zip on the sax, shook the windows of this rustic, factory space. She even had Gem join her onstage for a purely glorious, screaming rendition of X-Ray Spex, ‘Oh Bondage! Up Yours!’ that would have made Poly Styrene jump out of her fuckin’ skin!
Of course, during the song, Syd and a few of the ’SKINZ’ girls made it a point to hoist the bound, gagged and dildo violated, ‘Ranger Smurf’, proudly into the air before he was moshed, stomped, unstuffed and beaten silly by the wild, ‘Underground’ punks, while up on stage, the sexual tension between the two spiked haired beauties could’ve sliced Dil’s club to ribbons with a switchblade when the depraved lyrics were spewed through his new sound system….
“Bind me, tie me, chain me to the wall
I wanna’ be a slave to you all
Oh bondage, up yours
Oh bondage, no more
Oh bondage, up yours
Oh bondage, no more
Chain-store chainsmoke, I consume you all
Chain-gang chainmail, I don’t think at all
Oh bondage, up yours
Oh bondage, no more
Oh bondage, up yours
Oh bondage, no more
Thrash me, crush me, beat me ‘til I fall
I wanna’ be a victim to you all
Oh bondage, up yours
Oh bondage, no more
Oh bondage, up yours
Oh bondage, no more…….”
Excerpt from Rich Cucarese’s (that’s me!!) upcoming, literary fiction novel, ‘PUNKS’....Chapter 34, ‘The Message’...
Poly Styrene just kicks ass!!!