David Johansen’s the only Doll left.
(And, yes: This is an unfortunate photograph.)
Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To
Tag: new york dolls
New York used to be a place, hell of one. You came from there, or moved there, or got stabbed there. Lotta stuff could only be found in New York.
Everything changes, nothing lasts.
Got me taking this junk against my will.
…she’s makin’ it worse.
Aw, man. You were doing so well.
No, I wasn’t.
Yeah, okay. Leg again?
Fucker’s not a team player.
Did you at least try an alternative?
You think I should’ve asked for vicodin instead of percs?
No. Like hot baths or meditation or exercise or OTC analgesics.
Ahhh. That worked yesterday. Today, it feels like someone is peeling my femur like a banana. Advil won’t do it.
Well, at least follow the dosing instructions.
I am. “Take 1 handful every six hours.”
That’s not what it says.
Beg to differ.
Goddamned dope fiend.
Nah. I’m a warrior on a journey of healing. Gonna keep on keeping on, muchacho. Ain’t nothin’–
Please don’t.
–gonna break-a my stride. Ain’t nothin’ gonna slow me down.
Oh, no?
Oh, no! I gotta keep on etc., etc.
At least post the original Bo Diddley version of the tune. Provide some value to the Enthusiasts.
Done.
Best band that only made one record? (And, yes, I know that the Dolls technically made two records, but I do not recognize that Malcolm MacLaren-influenced piece of shit album as extant.)
PRO: They let the New York Dolls on teevee.
CON: The other thing.
It doesn’t pay to try
All the smart boys know why
It doesn’t mean I didn’t try
I just never know why
Feel so cold and all alone
‘Cause, baby, you’re not at home
And when I’m home
Big deal, I’m still aloneFeel so restless; I am
Beat my head against a pole
Try to knock some sense
Down in my bones
And even though they don’t show
The scars aren’t so old
And when they go
They let you knowYou can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
Don’t try
Don’t tryYou’re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
‘Cause you’re living with me
We’re one and the sameAnd even though they don’t show
They scars aren’t so old
And when they go
They let you knowYou can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
Don’t try
Don’t try
They couldn’t play
their instruments
all that well.
But the songs
sounded pretty good, y’know?
It was something to do.
Try not to look at Arthur Kane.
Others will say that the Dead are self-indulgent, droopy-looking stoners noodling away aimlessly, and that rock and roll songs should be played for three minutes at a time by junkies in the tightest trousers allowed by nature.
They’re right, y’know. Everyone’s right about everything.
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