By 1970, the hippie dream of the 60s was dead -- the soundtrack of the revolution had become a multimillion-dollar industry. Glitter tried to save music's soul, but was too commercial to be cutting edge for long. Then, in 1974, a rescue movement arrived. Three chords, black jeans, a pair of shades, and a whole lot of attitude made music that matched the facts of life on its home ground, mid-70's New York City's East Village. The initiators of punk, Richard Hell, Tom Verlaine, and Patti Smith had one foot in nineteenth-century French symbolist poetry and the other in the raw sound of their predecessors such as the Velvet Underground. This first-hand account of a little-documented era features luminaries such as Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, David Bowie, Debbie Harry, Divine, Devo, and the New York Dolls, and tells of the gigs at CBGB hitting the news as Warhol and his glittering crew descended. What began as a unique blend of fin-de-sièe ennui and razor-sharp rock became anarchic frenzy and safety pins, overrun by gutter decadence and stupid-chic. With Malcolm McLaren hijacking the scene's momentum, the Blank Generation plunged into excess and eventual ruin, its survivors making the leap into mainstream.
Gary Lachman is an American writer and musician. Lachman is best known to readers of mysticism and the occult from the numerous articles and books he has published.
I thoroughly enjoyed Gary Valentine's memoir about his time in Blondie, his eye witness account of the nascent New York punk scene, and what happened to him over the next few years, which included playing with his own band, called The Know, and a stint in Iggy Pop's touring band.
Gary Valentine's self-deprecating style, give this memoir the ring of authenticity, including his less than complimentary stories about some of those he encounters. It's also yet another musician memoir that makes me wonder why anyone would want to try to pursue a career in music.
This is the juiciest gossip of the best period in rock n roll ever. Yes, Please Kill Me is nice and From the Velvets to the Voidoids is good, but oh my God, Gary Valentine spills all the beans, he has no one's ass to kiss, and it's a great read! Plus he helped shape the New York punk look, way sexier than in other places. You like punk, you buy this book, yeah? Come on, I want to hear you go "Holy shit!" about the dirt he shares. Remember: Blondie screwed him over - he has nothing to lose by screwing everyone over!
There are plenty of books about punk rock, but few capture the scene before anyone realized they were making history. Gary Lachman's New York Rocker succeeds because it isn't trying to mythologize the birth of punk—it simply remembers what it felt like to be there.
Known to music fans as Gary Valentine, the original bassist for Blondie, Lachman writes with the perspective of both participant and thoughtful observer. His account of New York's downtown music scene is refreshingly free of the clichés that often surround punk. Rather than presenting a parade of outrageous behavior, he reveals a community of artists, poets, musicians, and dreamers trying to create something new amid the economic and cultural decay of 1970s Manhattan.
One of the book's greatest strengths is its cast of characters. Debbie Harry, Chris Stein, Patti Smith, Richard Hell, Tom Verlaine, Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, David Bowie, Andy Warhol, and countless others appear not as untouchable legends but as collaborators, rivals, friends, and fellow travelers. CBGB isn't merely a famous venue; it's a workshop where ideas collided nightly, and reputations were built one performance at a time.
Lachman also reminds readers that early punk was as much an intellectual movement as a musical one. References to French Symbolist poetry, the Beats, existential philosophy, and the Velvet Underground demonstrate that the scene's architects were drawing from literature and art as much as from rock and roll. That combination of high culture and raw energy gave the movement a depth often overlooked in simplified accounts of punk as merely loud, fast, and rebellious.
The memoir doesn't shy away from the darker side of the era. As punk became fashionable and commercially viable, many of its original ideals were diluted. Drugs, self-destruction, and excess claimed some of its brightest talents, while others found unexpected success in the mainstream. Lachman reflects on these changes with honesty rather than bitterness, allowing readers to appreciate both the exhilaration and the cost of being part of such a transformative cultural moment.
What elevates New York Rocker above many rock memoirs is Lachman's voice. Intelligent, articulate, and reflective, he writes with enough distance to recognize both the significance and the absurdity of what happened. He neither glorifies nor condemns the past; instead, he invites readers into a world where creativity flourished because the rules had not yet been written.
Having had the opportunity to interview Gary Lachman, I was struck by the same qualities that define his memoir: curiosity, humility, and an ability to connect music, literature, philosophy, and history into a larger cultural narrative. Those qualities make New York Rocker more than a memoir of a particular band or scene—they make it a meditation on artistic creation itself.
Like so many from his time and place, Gary Valentine decided he wanted to be a rock star after witnessing the New York Dolls live at their legendary St Valentine's Day Massacre Show in 1974. Clearly not a natural punk, Gary was inspired to wear make-up and take drugs; just not too much of either. Piercings were certainly out.
A sensitive soul accused of rape after his teenage girlfriend became pregnant, Gary left home, lodged with various friends, learnt the bass and through a friendship with Clem Burke ended up joining Blondie just as they were getting their act together.
What's more he actually wrote their first hit, '(I am Always) Touched by Your Presence Dear'. Great song.
His account eads like the tale of the 'straight' in the land of freaks, but it's no less entertaining a read for all that. He never comes across as a committed punk, his narrative may be entirely glib, but amusingly so.
Valentine actually lived with Chris and Debbie for a while. Although he voluntarily left Blondie the first time around, they certainly misused him years later at an aborted reunion. Yet he never really sticks the knife in.
He couldn't resist a couple of digs. He uses inverted commas when referring to Chris as a 'genius,' and draws attention to how fickle Debbie was towards the whole punk aesthetic, using it or losing it expediently.
But Gary's time in skinny ties didn't quite end there. Moving across country to be part of the Pistols-inspired LA punk scene, he played with his own (unsuccessful) band, The Know (terrible name).
It surprised me to learn about the more violent and confrontational nature of the scene in sun-kissed LA compared to the art-enthused one in New York, likening it to 'mob violence to 4/4 beat'. Petsonally I find the heat enervating.
His last concerted taste of rock and roll was also his rawest and most debauched as part of an Iggy Pop touring party in 1981. With Iggy, indulgence was mandatory, so any sex and drugs he missed out on the first time around are more than made up for.
That was a final blow-out for Gary, who went on to become a respected writer on the occult.
This book read like one long bitch session--dude did not have much of anything nice to say about anyone. There were also a few times people's names were misspelled--he spelled Roky Erickson's name with a ck, to cite an example. Irritating. He also makes repeated snide and spiteful comments about Legs McNeil and Patti Smith. Almost everyone else he writes about receives similar treatment. Basically, the author just sounded like an immature, whiny asshole AND the writing sucked too.
Reading this book is essentially going on a journey through the life of a serious punk rocker who plays and hangs out with the likes of Blondie, Iggy Pop and numerous other characters of the 1970s punk rock scene of New York. Luckily though, the author of this memoir, who used to be a serious punk rocker back in the day, kept his sanity and literate abilities enough to bring us this incredible book. It’s a raw memoir that any avid but also mature punk rock or general music enthusiast should read in order to see what life as a punk rocker in New York was really like during the 1970s.
I was really into it until I got sick of him talking about wearing skinny ties every other friggin page. I gave up, tho, when he belittled the New-Romantic British bands as "just a fad." Gee, you mean like punk?
Informative to hear this story from the view behind the front talent during a seminal period in rock music history. Iggy and Bowie stories added bonus.
"New York Rocker" left me hating the original CBGBs cast. everyone seems like a pretentious douche monster. i knew most of the "artists" (Richard Hell, Patti Smith and Television) to all be pompous self important intellectuals but the Blondie drama and Valentine's sexual bragging and glorification of everything he did was kinda nauseating at times. Still it made for a juicy tell all. his taking credit for the new wave/ power pop fashion and sound is so far off it makes the rest of his claims that much more difficult to fully believe. but his solo work and Know output are still awesome pop.
Interesting perspective from a guy who was there during the NY new wave/punk/whatever you want to call it scene. Gary is a very talented songwriter and smart guy but seems to be telling incomplete stories sometimes. You just get the feeling there were details he may have left out. Worthwhile read for anyone interested in the CBGB's music scene.
New York Rocker: My Life In The Blank Generation is written by former Blondie bassist, Gary Valentine. Well worth a read if you're into the New York punk scene or you want to know what it's like to go on tour with a certain Iggy Pop! x
This was fun. It was a good to see his perspective of what it was like to "be there". Brought back alot of dumb memories. Easy to read and doesnt get into his heavy fascination with the occult.
As interested in this era as I am, I find myself trying to be interested in what he has to say. There are huge gaps, and lacklustre accounts of what must have been wild times.