Gregoire Alessandrini
French fashion exec Gregoire Alessandrini has become a de
facto chronicler of 1990s New York, when he was a film student in New
York City and constantly toted around his camera. Having captured a
seedier Times Square before the Giuliani-era cleanup in some evocative
shots on his blog, New York in the 1990′s Photo Archives,
Alessandrini also turned his lens on the Meatpacking District. Before
the High Line, before Pastis and the Gansevoort hotel, before the
designer boutiques and the high-end art galleries, there were simply…
butchers and meat distributors. And lots of litter. And graffiti that
blanketed warehouses, dotted with the occasional lowbrow nightclub.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
http://vassifer.blogs.com/alexinnyc/2012/11/back-to-the-90s.html
One of the greatest aspects about maintaining this weblog for the
last seven years has been connecting with people (readers, fellow
bloggers, artists, writers, filmmakers, musicians, photographers, etc.)
who share the same affinity I feel for New York City and what I would
consider its vanishing (or, at the very least, transforming)
character. Along the way, I've amassed a steady stable of like-minded
archivists and nostalgic folks with keen memories, and it's really been
re-affirming. Every time I'm convinced I'm simply typing away into an
empty void, someone comes along to share their own pictures or recollections. At the risk of getting all wetly weepy, it's really been encouraging.
With my fellow bloggers -- folks like EV Grieve, Jeremiah Moss, Bowery Boogie, Brian K, Yukie from The SoHo Memory Project and
beyond -- whenever one of us stumbles upon a new trove of vintage NYC
pics or a new blog rife with heretofore unseen images of lost elements
from the city, we shout about it from the highest rooftop. Today is one
of those times.
A gent named Gregoire Alessandrini reached out to me yesterday, inspired by my recent post about The Gas Station. Gregoire maintains an amazing, photo-driven blog called NEW YORK CITY 1990's, and when I perused through it this morning, my jaw dropped open. It's spectacular.
I devote an inordinate amount of time here waxing rhapsodic about New
York in the 1980s, a decade I spent being a student. But the 1990s were
just as dynamic. Most of my own photographs date back to this period.
But Gregoire's pictures really, really capture it. As I've said in
various posts along the way, the 90's don't feel that long ago, but to look at these photographs, you'd barely recognize it as the same city today.
Within Gregoire's archives, you'll find images of long-vanished
storefronts, bars, landmarks, street art and other elements of the time
period -- from Billy's Topless on 6th Avenue to the Savoy in Hell's
Kitchen to The Vault in the Meatpacking District and all points in
between --- that just do not exist anymore.
I'm taking the liberty of repurposing one of Gregoire's shots above. I
don't recall the exact address, but the building pictured looming in the
background is one I actually worked in for a spell in the mid-90's.
After tiring of having an army of sketchy freelancers troop in and out
of his apartment on a daily basis, my old editor for The New York Review
of Records (a sadly long-vanished music rag I fervently scribbled for
in the 90s) began a frenetic relocation dance around Manhattan. Circa
1993 or so, this was its temporary base of operations.
As you can see in the photograph, the eastern-facing facade of the
building was festooned with a massive, imaginative mural suggesting that
a higher portion of the building had become detached and was dangling
from a thread. I always loved that. I'm not even sure I could identify
this building today, but suffice to say, the mural in question was
painted over eons ago. When I saw Gregoire's photograph, I was blown out
of my chair. You simply have no idea how long I have searched for an
image that captured it.
Once again, go check out NEW YORK CITY 1990's now! Tell'em I sent'cha.
ADDENDUM:
Well, here’s something that doesn’t happen every day. Yesterday, I
posted the entry below about John Lurie that was admittedly pieced
together with a fairly relaxed regard for substantial fact-finding.
Basically, I forwarded on a bit of gossip and did only a cursory amount
of actual research before posting my thoughts. That’s probably fine when
you’re discussing something trivial, but in this instance, I was
inadvertently partaking in a bit of what would probably best be
described as character-assassination. John Lurie himself
reached out to me to, quite rightly, take me to task for some of the
information I’d passed on. I sincerely apologize to Mr. Lurie for this,
and will learn from this experience moving forward. I have nothing but
the greatest respect for that man, and had no business projecting the
way I did. I do hope he understands, and I feel genuinely awful about
this incident.
I’ve also excised portions from my original post to make amends.
Thanks for reading,
Alex

In the past couple of months, I've had this weird, recurring thing with John Lurie. I think it started back in September, when I tracked down the Criterion Collection edition of "Stranger Than Paradise,"
the viewing of which rekindled my curiosity about the man's legacy in
the pantheon of New York City musicians. I knew he'd formed the
so-called "fake jazz" ensemble Lounge Lizards during the nuclear winter
of No Wave in the late `70s/early 80's (featuring Anton Fier of the
Feelies on drums, Arto Lindsay of DNA on guitar, his brother Evan on
keyboards and a gent named Steve Piccolo on bass), but what I credibly
know about jazz -- fake or otherwise -- isn't much. I did know that
Lurie seemed like an incredibly cool cat, and I enjoyed the snippets of
music I'd heard by him in various films. I'd always loved the lulling
"Bob the Bob," although that particular piece, as it turned out, was
recorded by a completely different line-up from the afore-cited
incarnation of the band.
In
any case, after that, I started searching again with half-an-eye for
that debut Lounge Lizards disc. Again, while I'm normally not a big
saxophone fan (maybe I'm just haunted by FEAR's scathing indictment of the instrument in its association with NYC), I felt it was music I should know about, given my fascination with all the fixtures around it.
In November, meanwhile, you may remember I sang the praises of the new photo blog I'd encountered called New York City 1990's: Photo Archives by Gregoire Allessandrini. If you've not checked it out, you really need to do so at once,
as it's just an amazing trove of images from the era in question. But,
while pouring over Gregoire's shots, I came across this excellent shot
of posted flyers and bills on a wall in Hell's Kitchen, and sure enough
-- there was Lurie's name once again. That's the shot in question at the
top of this post, by the way. I hope Gregoire doesn't mind me using it.
See end of article on original site...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When they razed the block that stood between East 14th and East 13th
street between Broadway and 4th Avenue in the mid-90's, I was living on
East 12th between University Place and Broadway. Strangely, I can only
barely remember what the architecture looked like before that block
came down. When it was all demolished, there was a giant swathe of open
space on the southern tip of Union Square. I remember thinking how nice
it would be if they just put down a simple square of grass, instead of
the mammoth building they were planning to erect. I felt a similar
sentiment last year, when they stealthily tore down the weathered
academic structure on Astor Place that's now the looming, black Death
Star building. I wasn't alone. For a couple of months, there was a
tenuous stencil and sticker campaign that read: "Imagine a park here."
Obviously, that fanciful notion never came to pass.
Just like over on Astor Place, progress on the Union Square site
progressed with great immediacy. In seemingly no time at all, there was a
brand new movie theater (or arena, as it was billed) and --
more importantly for me -- a brand, spankin' new Virgin Megastore.
Tireless champion though I am of independent, mom'n'pop music shops, I
did not lament Virgin's arrival. Though comparatively late in the day,
the writing was not yet on the wall about the impending demise of the
music industry as we know it. In any event, any physical, brick and
mortar outlet that sells music is a good thing, as far as I was (and
remain) concerned. I snapped the picture up top of it shortly after it
opened.
About seventeen or so years later, the theater's still there, but the Virgin Megastore is now long gone (I penned a weepy paean to its demise here). Now there's a -- WAIT FOR IT -- bank branch where Virgin was initially perched.
In any case, why am I blathering about all this now? Well, if you're a
regular reader here, you've heard me sing the praises of Gregoire
Alessandrini's great photo blog, New York City 1990's
before. Well, while re-perusing his site, I found these two amazing
photos of the block in question after the initial structures had been
razed. I thought I'd replicate them here for the purposes of
illustrating this post (and I hope he doesn't mind, as usual).
This top one is basically the view looking south from Union Square Park.
That corner is where the entrance to the Virgin Megastore was. Hard to
picture now, I know.
This
shot is the block as viewed from 4th Avenue looking West. Now, this
space is marked by the lobby of an expensive condominium and a frankly
very pricey wine emporium.