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David Jo Solo Provides Protection From the Cold
David Johansen at City Winery
Photo: Alex Baldwin
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It was a freezing, windy night in SoHo, the kind of night when you don’t leave your apartment unless the dog needs walking, the couch is on fire or you’re out of beer. But on this particular inclement evening, a fourth option worth braving the 17 degree wind chill was to take the C train down to the rustic, yet refined City Winery on Varick Street across from the little 50 story bed and breakfast Donald Trump will be opening this spring, for a tunefully rocking set of “nice songs” with singer, actor and Staten Island native David Johansen and his subdued yet spirited four piece backing band.
For those not up on their history of 1970s rock ’n’ roll, Johansen is best known as the flashy frontman of the infamous New York Dolls, whose badass attitude, drug dalliances and tranny-hooker fashion sense became the blueprint for every petulant young rocker with a penchant for excess, from the Sex Pistols to Mötley Crüe to a thousand hair bands from London, NYC, L.A. and even Finland (hello Hanoi Rocks whose bassist Sami Yaffa now plays for the newly reformed Dolls).
In 2005 Johansen and guitarist Sylvain Sylvain, the soul surviving original members of the Dolls, reformed the band at the request of Smiths’ singer Morrissey’s request, for what was supposed to be a one off UK festival gig. Since getting back to work after their brief 30 year hiatus, the Dolls have recorded two new albums, toured with renewed vigor and unprecedented sobriety and continue to personify what real rock ’n’ roll is all about, Charlie Brown.
That said, there’s another David Johansen, a relaxed, now bespectacled, but thankfully still not quite respectable, singer/songwriter with a voice deeper than the Holland Tunnel at rush hour, dedicated to keeping the mojo vibe of blues artists like Muddy Waters, Sonny Boy Williamson and Robert Johnson alive. And that is the David Johansen who was on stage this frigid night and made the schlep downtown worth every shivering step.
Clearly advertised as David Johansen and Band and not the Dolls, highlights of the show were seeing David Jo perform material outside his now usual repertoire. Tasteful renditions of “Funky but Chic,” which opened the tight 20 song set; “Frenchette,” which I believe he wrote just to so he could find something to rhyme with “luncheonette”; and “The Rope (the Let Go Song),” all from Johansen’s self titled debut solo album were toasty musical muffs, for ears still thawing from the conditions outside. The casual yet sophisticated mood of the night made for an intimate ski lodge like ambiance that provided even dancing inspiration to a well choreographed couple by the bar. A mid-set version of John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom” got the winery rocking and Johansen off his high-seated perch on stage near his trusty music stand.
Despite all the warm fuzzy feelings, or maybe it was just a healthy pour of the winery’s Malbec kicking in, the one thing lacking in the evening was a taste of classic New York Dolls’ material. Somehow, a Johansen show without at least one chorus of “Personality Crisis,” “Looking for a Kiss,” or “Lonely Planet Boy” just doesn’t seem right. And rowdy requests from the crowd for anything he recorded between 1972 and 1974 were neither accepted nor acknowledged.
Also MIA was the bow tie and pompadour of Buster Poindexter, Johansen’s mid-80s alter ego whose cover of the obscure Santo Domingo dance number “Hot, Hot, Hot” David has described of late as the “bane of my existence” despite the success it brought at a career point when he’d grown tired of the fist pumping concert crowds that had begun to remind him of Hitler Youth rallies.
But despite the lack of references to his stiletto heeled or tuxedo clad past, Johansen was in fine form and fashion, his gravely voice helped along by frequent throat sprays and his cigarette thin silhouette chicly styled in black suit, silk shirt and scarf. Thus making for a night at the Winery if not exactly hot, hot, hot at least as robust and warming as the house pinot grigio, especially considering how friggin’ cold, cold, cold it was outside.