If I could inhabit one moment from Americas musical past, Id plop my time machine down at the grand opening celebration of a tiny bookstore in the East Village during the late winter of 1965.
Spitzs choices with Jagger fall so appallingly short of the mark that it seems a de facto argument for Richardss model: become famous, find a collaborator like James Fox, and then get to work on your memoirs.
To watch NYMPH perform is to witness a group of individuals dissolve into a disheveled, fur-clad mass of primal urgency.
It would be easy to say that the uneven set could have been an off-night for the punk veterans. But to say time or touring had been hard on the original members of the band would be inaccurate. It was more the lack of actual Vibrators on the scene that made the show such a leaky boat.