Living with Legends: Hotel Chelsea Blog

Job Opportunities for Bohemians Courtesy of Ian Schrager

I just read an article in BusinessWeek about how Ian Schrager has declared that "designed hotels" are over.  Schrager has moved on to reinvent the so-called “art hotels.”  Schrager, who gutted the old Gramercy Park Hotel, tossing it’s long-term residents to the curb, is collaborating with Julian Schnabel—an artist associated with the Chelsea Hotel—to create what he calls a “bohemian” spirit, “but bohemian with money.” 

            Apparently, the filthy rich, ever in search of new experiences to re-invigorate their jaded palates, are tiring of these boring “design” hotels like the W chain, with their “hospitality-as-theatre.”  They demand a new sense of “authenticity,” which can be fulfilled only by a sort of “hospitality-as-installation-art.”  Hence, at a place called The Gladstone in Toronto, they’ve hired different artists to design each room--“keeping them in check with a prepared booklet”—while offering live music at a bar peopled with “a crowd of regulars from the hotel’s fleabag days.”

            I wonder if these old-time bohemians know that they’re the entertainment.  Hopefully they’re at least getting free drinks for their performances, though I wouldn’t count on it.  It all reminds me of an episode I witnessed a few years back when the hostess of Serena’s, the hoity-toity club in the basement of the Chelsea, came running into the hotel lobby, yelling, “Oh my God!  Don’t send people from the hotel down to my club!  There’s one standing in line now demanding to get in!  And he’s already been drinking!  And he’s wearing a sweatshirt!”  Bohemia is best in theory.  We’ll see how long this arrangement lasts.

            But I am intrigued by this notion of the prepared booklet.  Stanley Bard should have one printed to keep us Chelseaites in check as well.  Possible regulations could include: Keep your robe closed when shuffling through the darkened hallways at midnight; Wear your best shirt to nod off in the elevator; Keep all cigarette-fires confined to your own mattress; Try not to hit your head on the filigreed iron work when you throw yourself down the stairwell; Avoid profanity when psychotically raving into the airshaft.

            We’ve commented on this art hotel phenomenon here before, but with Blum’s article I suppose the trend is official.  Several other hotels are named in the article as well, I just don’t feel like advertising for them right now.  There’s plenty of indication that at least some of the hoteliers are not so stupid as I have made out.  They just want to get in on the trend and milk it before it plays itself out, make a quick buck and dispose, without too much fuss, of the ruined lives that result.  The good news is, the art hotel trend contains the seeds of its own destruction.  The rich will soon tire of this brand of “authenticity” as well, and then they can get back to ignoring us and we can get back to making art--hopefully sooner rather than later, before we’re all out on the street.

THE PETER PAN COLLAR

            Since the old McBurney Y closed down, I go to the New York Sports Club on the corner of 8^th Ave. and 23^rd St.  I came into the locker room the other day at about one o’clock, and there was a neatly dressed young man of about thirty standing in front of the mirror.  He was tying his red-and-beige striped tie, obviously ready to head back to work after a lunch hour workout.

            Another man came into the locker room; he was maybe in his mid-twenties, dressed in baggy jeans and a t-shirt, a gym bag over his shoulder.  “Hey Dan, what’s going on!” he piped up heartily.

            “Oh, hey Joe,” Dan said, with notably less enthusiasm, as he finished tying his tie.  He seemed to have things on his mind.

            Most of the guys that go to my gym are gay, and of course you never know, but these guys seemed pretty macho.

            “You’re all dressed up today!” Joe observed.  “Dapper Dan!  That’s a Peter Pan collar you’re wearing there, ain’t it?”

            “Peter Pan?!” Dan exclaimed in puzzlement.  “Hell no!  What the hell are you talking about?”

            “Yeah, that’s what it is,” Joe said.  “A Peter Pan collar.  That’s what they call it when it’s rounded like that.  You know, instead of pointed like a regular collar.”

            I noticed then that Dan was indeed wearing a pink shirt with a rounded collar.

            “Great,” Dan said, his voice tinged with disgust.  “Well, I’m sure as hell not wearing it anymore if that’s what it’s called.”  He had finished dressing and was gathering his things into a gym bag.

            “Uh, well,” Joe stammered, “You know, I could be wrong.  Come to think of it, I think that’s just what they call it when it’s a girl’s collar.  For a man it’s just a, uh, rounded collar.”

            Dan slung his gym bag over his shoulder and turned to go.  “Too late now,” he said.  “Thanks a lot.  I’m throwing it out.” (Ed Hamilton)

All Tomorrow's Parties: May 29 - June 4, 2006

Monday, May 29 -- Memorial Day
Searching for something to read on your day off, a new edition of William Burroughs' book, "The Yage Letters," has just been released.  The book chronicles Burroughs' journey through Colombia and Peru, in search of the ultimate yagé fix. Yage Letters Redux makes minor corrections to the text and adds previously unpublished material in appendixes.

Tuesday, May 30, 10:30 p.m.
Susanne Bartsch and Kenny Kenny invite you to Happy Valley Tuesday.
14 East 27th St., NY NY

Wednesday, May 31, 11:00 - 7:30
French Book Art | Livres d'Artistes: Artists and Poets in Dialogue consists of 126 books created by a wide range of artists between 1874 and 1999.  Noted for their striking beauty, unique formats, and variety in size and theme, the artists' books on view are distinguished in their page design, typography, imagery, printing processes, and paper quality. Pierre Alechinsky, whose work is part of the exhibit, had a studio here at the Hotel Chelsea.
New York Public Library, 5th Ave., & 42nd St., First Floor.

Thursday, June 1, 11:00 - 12:00
Join Gerald Busby at www.Tribecaradio.net as he interviews artists of all kinds.

If you have an event that you want listed on All Tomorrow's Parties please e-mail chelblog@yahoo.com

Tourist of the Week:Without the Creativity We'd Just Be Creepy

What do you do? I sell Exotic Cars in Florida

When did you stay at the Chelsea? 5/18/06-5/21/06

What inspired you to choose the Chelsea? Punk Rock Status and infamous history

Do you think the Chelsea has a creative spirit? Definately...without it it would be just an old creepy hotel...which is cool too, but not for 250 a night!

Do you recommend the tattoo parlor next door to the Hotel? Yes, good rep and cool guys, did not get work, but know about them, and they loved MY tattoos...(i came to town for a tattoo convention)

What's the best/worst thing that happened to you at the Chelsea? The maid left my door unlocked ALL THREE DAYS!

What's your favorite Hotel Chelsea story? DEE DEE Ramone and Sid's Room

Would you stay at the Chelsea again? I might...it was a bit pricey for what you get.

Fire in the Chelsea Neighborhood Last Night?

Linda Troeller sent us these photos of a fire which occurred at about 1:30 a.m. Friday, May 26.  The photos were taken from the 9th floor of the Hotel Chelsea.  Who has more details?

THE Y BUILDING: “Y” IS FOR “YUPPIE” NOW

            Susan and I toured the Y Building last Sunday, or at least part of it.  There was a design show in the 11-million-dollar loft condo on the seventh floor—you know, where they used to have the basketball courts and the running track, back in the good ol’ days.
            Since the ceiling was so high, they had split the space up into two levels.  Most of the design stuff looked to be on the second level, but since I really just cared about the living space, I started wandering around on the first level, through small rooms filled with junk.  Pretty soon a design girl came running after me: “Don’t go upstairs!  There’s a naked model up there!”
            “That won’t bother me,” I said.
            “Yes, but the model might not like it,” she said.
            Susan was already upstairs, so I figured they didn’t care what she did.  “I’ll just look around down here,” I said, as the girl went about her business.  I turned the corner and there was the model—not naked, as advertised, but wearing a thong and a bra.  “Excuse me,” I said, though she didn’t seem to mind.  I wish I would have thought to take a picture for the blog.
            At that moment the design girl came running after me again, this time really hysterical: “I meant downstairs!  Downstairs! Don’t go downstairs!”
            Well, ha ha! I thought.  “I wondered about that,” I said.
            The huge space was unfinished, with concrete floors, and they hadn’t cleaned up very well.  There was an exposed steel beam that someone had painted hot pink, and I thought that was a nice touch, about the only good thing about the space, which was split up in an unaesthetic way.  For so large a space, there weren’t even that many windows.
            I really didn’t pay much attention to the design show and none of the people in charge said anything to either Susan or myself about it.  The show didn’t seem to have a theme: just a bunch of disparate, uninteresting crap.  In the high-ceilinged main room on the first level there was a TV showing some kind of boring design images, and a few glass cases containing shiny baubles.
            A scratched-up Plexiglas balcony on the second level overlooked the lower level.  You mounted to the second level on a concrete staircase, and walked right into—the kitchen!  The kitchen was unusable, with vast distances between the requisite Sub-zero appliances, and sported a black lacquer counter that looked as if it was designed to sit thirty people.  I didn’t get it.  It had to have been some sort of ironic demonstration kitchen—though why they’d spend all that money on it is beyond me.  Off to the left of this mega-kitchen were plastic pools of blood and of pitch mounted on white platforms—to what effect I didn’t inquire, though I suppose it was meant to be art.  To the right of the kitchen was a filthy cubbyhole that must have been meant to be an office.  Oh, and lest I forget: lining the kitchen counter were red candles in red holders, and when you got close you saw that the holders were part of the candles, made of wax as well, that is.  Pretty clever, eh?  Trompe L’oeil and all that.  It was the high point of the show.
            Also upstairs, around to the front of the building, there was a dingy and depressing home theatre room, with dirty black couches that looked like they had been drug in off the street.  A narrow staircase with cheesy, wood-paneled walls (which had to be ironic, once again!) led to a cramped and uninteresting sleeping alcove, perhaps intended for a disaffected teen.  Or, better yet, to lock up a mother-in-law whom you really, really hate.
            In short, everything about the place was strangely impersonal, like a residence for robots or androids—and not even androids with good taste.  The space itself was starkly industrial, and reminded me of a discount outlet mall on the order of, say, Filene’s Basement.  It turned out there were good views, but you really had to search for them: the windows were hidden, placed in the little rooms off the main room.  Anyone who moves in will obviously have to gut the whole place to have a chance of making it even remotely livable.  It’s been on the market for a while now, and so far no takers: I’m sure 11 million (plus, say, another few million or so for the necessary renovations) will get you a lot more elsewhere—like on Park Avenue or anywhere else in the world.  Oh yeah, you’d have to be one daffy-assed yuppie to buy this place.
            A back stairwell of rough concrete was filled with moldering food trash for several levels down.  The building should be up and running, but it seems nearly empty.  There was however, at least one resident, as evidenced by the backed-up newspapers in the trash-strewn basement lobby, through which the rich yuppies were apparently intended to scurry into the building like rats.  This one unsuspecting resident is probably looking for a better place.  If I paid 11 million, or even 1 million, I would demand to enter through the real lobby, which is currently home to the David Barton Gym.  All of which makes me suspect that this building is some sort of tax write-off or other scam.  (It also makes me wonder about all those new condo buildings on Sixth Avenue—are they likewise uninhabited?)  The board of the Y should be ashamed of themselves: screwing the community for this!  (Ah, but we’ve all been through that, and moved on.  Anyway, just for the record, may the flames of hell consume them.)
            When we were leaving the young design people made us sit down for a picture, which they subsequently put up on their website—probably to let us know that we will be tracked down and punished if we dare to write bad reviews.  They will probably desecrate our picture with Photoshop now, give me horns and a tail--or something even more obscene--if they are as immature as I am.

Anders Bramsen: Sometimes Less Can Be More

Filmmaker Anders Bramsen's short film "Slough Poem 1" will premiere June 5, 2006 at the Brooklyn International Film Festival. Slough Poem 1 is an anti-drug picture. An electric look at  the silence before the storm. A Cocaine poem. The horrifying experience of mind-altering substances.  The video documents the last hours of the twentieth century, capturing downtown and suburban Copenhagen, Denmark. Footage shot on New Years Eve 1999/2000. 

How did you become interested in filmmaking?
Going to the movies was always something we did in my family and, growing up in suburban Copenhagen with only one TV channels, I really paid attention when films got broadcast on Saturday nights. I remember films like ‘Dog Day Afternoon’, ‘Taxi Driver’, ‘The Godfather’, ‘Fanny and Alexander’, etc. Dad translated and explained.  Watching movies in the theater, on television, and so many others on  video during childhood planted a seed in me.   When I saw ‘Goodfellas’ I was completely mesmerized. It was so penetrating beyond what is superficial or obvious.   And I think that was the first time I thought of trying to make film.

Is there a contemporary filmmaker whose work you admire?
Oh, There are so many … only few truly great ones. Bergman I guess, if you can call him contemporary. The Swedish director Lukas Moodysson is very interesting, I think.   But there are so many good ones and yet so many of my heroes are dead.  Like Stanley Kubrick and especially many of the wonderful European filmmakers, such as:  Luis Malle, François Truffaut, Andrei Tarkovsky, Krzysztof Kieslowski, Rainer Fassbinder and Sergio Leone, off course.   Don’t know if you can call them contemporary either, but they’re part of contemporary film history and I certainly remember their films from growing up.

Slough Poem 1 is portrayed as an anti-drug film, what was your inspiration for creating this film?  I had gone through a period in the nineties when I was surrounded by people who did a lot of drugs. I saw the damage it created, the waste of time and life. I had it rubbed in my face long enough that affected me to write and make a film about it. Drugs can open up minds and be fantastic for some
who can leave them behind after some experimentation, but they ultimately take many people to terrible places.

What do you find most appealing about the short film format?
I think that not always, but sometimes less can be much more.

When did you move into the Chelsea Hotel?
January of 2006

What inspired you to move into the Chelsea?
Well I had been coming around for about a year. I meet this guy in 2005 that lived there, and he introduced me to the whole Chelsea Hotel scene. I immediately felt the strange and wonderful vibe just by walking into its lobby. Seeing all the art on the walls, and then realizing where I was … I had never
been there physically, and the only visual I really had was from the movie: ‘Léon’, (1994) by Luc Besson. I fell in love right then and there. What a funky place, I thought… the people who had lived there over the years, the hotel’s history … it was good. I felt good being there, and wanted more right away. So, when my friend went away on an extended business trip to Los Angeles and asked
me if I could keep an eye on his studio, it wasn’t hard to say yes.

Has your film work been influenced by any former or current Chelsea Hotel residents?
Yes…the poetry in my little SLOUGH films, and much more so in LE MIS POPOTE, (The Erroneous Earth Kitchen), is very much inspired by Rene Ricard’s book ‘God With Revolver’ (1989). I love the poems in that book … there are no lies in them.

Do you think that the Chelsea Hotel has a creative spirit?
Definitely! There is a truly unique energy in that old building … but not always the best one, which suits me just fine when I’m in the right mood.

What’s the best/worst thing that has happened to you at the hotel?
I once had five nightmares in a row over five following nights.

What's your favorite Hotel Chelsea story?
I don’t know … the whole thing ... That you never know with whom you’ll end up having a conversation with in five minutes.

Gary Indiana's Favorite Place in NYC: El Quijote

     I found a booklet called Frank 151 in the Chelsea Hotel lobby last week.  In addition to a ton of ads, it has short profiles of "cutting edge" New Yorkers, including a few former and current Chelsea Hotel residents such as Rene Ricard, Julian Schnabel, Jonas Mekas and Ben Rhue.  It also has a profile of the fine writer Gary Indiana, where he says his favorite place in New York is El Quijote, because it hardly changes from one year to the next. 
     That's what we like about it too, but it got me thinking, just how has the old restaurant changed in the 10 years we've been living here?
      Well, the biggest change is that the longtime owner, Manny, retired about five years ago and went to live in Spain.  His son-in-law, Jose (formerly a bartender, married to Natty with 3 children: Tatiana, Alexander and Victoria) took over, and the first thing he did was put a TV over the bar.  Far from  standing out, however, the TV immediately looked as if it had always been there and complimented the cheesy decor nicely.   Besides that, the only physical change is that they got new etched-glass mirrors behind the bar, and a window with a windmill-theme near the door. The bar, with all the crazy statutes of Don Quijote & Sancho Panza atop it, remain the same. (Photos: Sparkle's Flickr Pool)
     When Jose first took over, the food went slightly down hill, but now it's better than ever.  They have better appetizers and more desserts.
     Our favorite bartender Santi is still there, and a couple of the old waiters remain, but Paco moved to New Jersey and became a longshoreman, and Antonio retired (that's what they told us anyway.)
     In the back of the restaurant, near the bathrooms, you can still see the ancient hotel switchboard.  Stanely is probably holding on to it in case the hotel needs it again someday.  Let's hope they never get rid of it.

Bonnie and the Angel of 23rd Street

            Bonnie Kendall, with her exquisitely coifed red hair and painstakingly-applied make-up, always dressed to the nines to sit behind the desk and answer the phone, was something of an institution around here.  Though she recently left us, hopefully for greener pastures, she’s difficult to forget.  The other day I recalled a conversation that I had with her in April of 2002.

            If you remember, that was when the Japanese guy who dressed like an angel lived here.  When I came into the hotel that day, he was sitting in one of the lobby chairs, dressed in a long white  gown, with white wings and a halo.  He was talking to a conservatively dressed, middle-aged Japanese woman.

            Bonnie was sitting in her chair behind the desk, and I greeted her as I walked up.

            “Between that angel, and Jimbo, and the blond woman who runs around here, it's getting to be like a nuthouse,” Bonnie said.

            The blond woman she was referring to was a woman with Tourette’s syndrome who used to live in the Chelsea.  Jimbo was a desk clerk with whom Bonnie argued constantly.

            “Is this the first time you noticed that?” I asked, chuckling.

            As was her way, Bonnie paid my remark no heed.  “That's his wife he's sitting out there talking to, if you can believe that,” she said.  “Or at least she used to be.  I guess she pays for all this.”

            “All this luxury?”

            “Which makes her crazier than he is!” Bonnie went on.  “He's a transvestite, but he used to be married.”

            “I guess that’s before he died and went to heaven,” I said.  “Hey, maybe this hotel is heaven!”

            “Oh, you're not supposed to notice his wings,” Bonnie said, sarcastically.  “Oh no!  Just act like they're not there.  Well, I'm sorry, but it's kind of obvious.  It's not like he's up on a cloud or something.”  (Ed Hamilton)

Katherine Dunham, 1909-2006

Katherine Dunham, a pioneering dancer, author and civil rights activist who abandoned Broadway to teach culture in East St. Louis, one of America's poorest cities, has died. She was 96.  Dunham, according to the Chelsea Hotel website, (which does include some inaccuracies) once resided here at the Chelsea.  The story of Dunham's career, "Dancing a Life," also refers to the Chelsea.  Florence Turner's book, At The Chelsea, talks about the time that Dunham brought  lions to the hotel to rehearse for an upcoming performance at the Metropolitan Opera.