If this is the book then I never finished it, either. It just didn't live up to my expectations– expectations set by other great books on the same period like "England's Dreaming," and "Please Kill Me." But that's another conversation, for another Sunday afternoon.
Nor had I watched this documentary. I assumed that it would be unbearably sad. And while it was a
little painful it was so incredibly beautiful and– dare I say–
positive. But I'll save that for my outro…
In case you are unfamiliar, Arthur "Killer" Kane
was one of the original New York Dolls. Johnny Thunder's poison had
been heroin. Arthur Kane's demon was alcohol. By 1975 Thunders and
Jerry Nolan (the Dolls second drummer) had left to start the
Heartbreakers with
Richard Hell. Thunders died by either overdose or foul play in 1991.
Nolan died in 1992 of stroke.
After the Dolls self-destructed in '75 David Johansen and Sylvain
Sylvain continued to kick around in bands performing some of the Dolls'
songs. Kane spent several years working in bands that remained
marginal. He and his wife took on film extra jobs to make ends meet.
At the nadir of his despair Arthur allegedly saw David Johansen/Buster
Poindexter on television and lept out a third floor window. To no
avail. Doctors patched him up and he began a slow and painful
year-long recovery. (Not mentioned in the film is an incident that may
be "urban legend:" he was mugged and beaten, resulting in serious head
injuries. Can anyone address the verity of this?)
Arthur
found a new life as a single guy, living in an apartment in LA, working
in the genealogical library at the Temple of the Church of the
Latter-Day Saints. As he sums up in the film, "Demoted from rock star
to schlep on a bus."
"From driving around in limousines and playing in the Olympia Theater
and living some type of truly magnificent… um, the type of life that
most people don’t get to live on this earth, to having that and then
loosing that—loosing that because of our bad behaviour and out use of
drugs and all of that stuff. We lost the NY Dolls just a few years
into the Doll whole thing."
In
2004, after years out of the spotlight, Arthur gets a call from
Morrissey. He wants the three surviving Dolls to reunite for the
Meltdown Festival in London. It's a little ironic considering that the
Doll's first visit to London was the beginning of the end for them;
Billy Murcia, the original drummer, died in his hotel room bathtub
before they could open a show for Rod Stewart.
The film "New
York Doll" is the work of Greg Whiteley who was crafting a documentary
about Arthur Kane from the point of view of his life in the LDS. When Morrissey provided the opportunity for the Dolls to
reunite, Arthur's friends within the church raised the money for him to
get his bass out of hock. He reconnects with David and Syl, travels to
London, and mounts the stage to pound out the bass lines in a
celebrated performance. Soon after he revisited his dream Arthur Kane
suddenly died of leukemia.
"N.Y.
Doll" is lovely posthumous salute to Arthur Kane from Robyn Hitchcock
and the Venus 3 inspired by this film, which debuted at Sundance in
2005. According to Mr. Hitchcock Arthur's story is an "example of how precious
a life becomes when it's over."
Or, as Johnny puts is here: You can't put your arms around a memory. Don't try.
I
promised that I'd come back to the positive effect New York Doll had on
me, and I shall. Throughout the film, I was holding a big ol' lump in
my throat. There were times when I was really angry– with Johansen,
with Morrissey's whiney ass, with Syl for wearing that damn hat. But
when it was over, I felt like a huge weight had been lifted from me.
It was like an after school-special for dissolute middle-aged people.
Small triumphs can redeem and heal a lot of shit. Sometimes
perseverance really does pay off. There were also some moments that
were just plain fun: a balding and bucktoothed Mick Taylor remembering
trying to grow his hair like Johnny Thunders; Don Letts' discourse on
Crusty McFuckrick (not his real name) of the Old Grey Whistle Test;
sweet little-old-ladies in the LDS library giggling about being
"groupies."
Don't forget that you indeed cannot put your arms
around a memory, so put your arms around the ones you love now. I
said, "NOW!"
Sixbucks' Sad-Sack Hotel 