Documentary Review: Boys from Nowhere: The Story of Boston’s Garage Punk Uprising

Text and photos © Robert Barry Francos / FFanzeen, 2016

Video from the Internet

Boys from Nowhere: The Story of Boston’s Garage Punk Uprising

Directed by Chris Parcellin

BFN Films

77 minutes, 2016

www.facebook.com/bfnfilms  

Photos can be enlarged by clicking on them.

When it comes to sports, something which I don’t really follow, the New York-Boston rivalry is legendary. But when it comes to the sounds coming out of the clubs in the 1970s and ‘80s, well, yeah, there was a bit of a competition there as well, but both scenes – be it CBGBs or the Rathskellar (aka the Rat, whose denizens I’m sure hated it being called “Boston’s CBGBs,” and rightfully so) had more concurrent and complimentary bands helping charge each other rather than tearing down. While I had my feet firmly planted in NYC, from the late ‘70s to the mid ‘80s I had the opportunity to go to Boston twice a year on Memorial Day and Labor Day weekends, and immerse myself in that wonderful area. This gave me the opportunity to experience many of the musicians mentioned in this documentary.

After a brief opening with a brief historical video of ex-WBCN radio DJ Oedipus (he is also interviewed in the heart of the film), who was both loved and hated by those on the scene for various reasons, the documentary jumps ahead full volume. It’s a notch that this is more about the bands than anything else, so chronology of whom or what came first isn’t as important. For example, if it were presented that way, the Modern Lovers and Willie “Loco” Alexander would have been right off Yaz’s bat (why do I even know about Carl Yastrzemski? Osmosis, I guess. But I digress…), since there were at the forefront as the period unfolded. However, the Real Kids start off the focus.

I first learned about the Real Kids via their abbreviated masterpiece single “All Kindsa Girls” / “Common at Noon” (the full version would be released after), and then by their album on Red Star Records, promoted in NYC strongly by then-Red Star employee and huge Real Kids fan, Miriam Linna (not shown here). The album is phenomenal, even though I like the single version of the two songs more, but that may be because I heard it first, who knows. Using recent and archival footage, all the members of the band are heard from, including lead singer John Felice (who I saw at the Rat in his post-RK group, the Primevals), Alan “Alpo” Paulino (d. 2006), and Billy Borgioli (d. 2015; I had the opportunity to hang out with him a couple of times, thanks to my friendship with his long-time girlfriend Nancy Neon, also not interviewed probably due to time constraints).

John Felice and the Primevals

The Real Kids were quite spectacular, with high energy performances both live and on disk, and top notch songwriting, both of which are discussed here, by the likes of Jonathan Richman. This is key, considering Felice was in the Modern Lovers as a scene newbie. I’m happy to say that the film does not shy away from some of the negatives in the band, such as Felice’s contention about the album (apparently he’s the only one from anyone with whom I’ve discussed it), their more-than-recreational use of substances, and the firing of Borgioli, whose guitar was the backbone of the album. In my opinion, they never really recovered from that loss, though an obviously modified version of the band still plays today.

Again, not worrying about order, next up is the introduction of the Rat, the seminal locus of the scene at its start (the Channel and the Paradise, etc., would come later for promoting it), opening in 1973 (or ’74 as I’ve seen both listed, and closing 1997, where a luxury hotel replaced it), presenting the groups that would help change the world, is discussed through it’s originator, Jim Harold. He is an important hub to the Boston locus, and yet as I am not from the area, I know so little about him. I appreciate the info.

Monoman and the Lyres

This leads to DMZ, a band that would be led by Jeff “Monoman” Conolly, who I would later see numerous times in his next band, the more garage-based Lyres (the last time was 2007). I didn’t realize that he was the last to join the group, rather than it forming around him. DMZ was another band that signed to a major label (Sire, directly by the Danny Fields), yet never clicked with the larger audience. They were a band divided by egos; we even knew then that they would not last, but their LP is just so much fun, even though it honestly didn’t really represent the band as they were live. They rest this squarely on the shoulders of their producers, Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan (aka Flo and Eddie, aka the Turtles). Honestly, I never thought about how bad and misrepresenting the cover of their album was before, but they dissect it quite nicely here. It was their final hurrah. Oh, and as a point of interest, Monoman wrote the song whose title was used for this film.

Willie "Loco" Alexander

Next up is Willie Alexander, the godfather of the Boston underground. The section opens with the sludgy guitar of “Hit Her Wid Da Ax” (being “penis” rather than “hatchet” in this case), which was immediately identifiable. I may not agree with Willie’s politics, but as a musician, I’m a fan. With his Boom Boom Band, he actually does my favorite version of “You Lost That Lovin’ Feeling,” which he made his own. Saw him play twice in the ‘80s, including once at the Paradise, where I had the opportunity to hang out with him a short while before the show. Both performances were excellent, of course.

Jonathan Richman and Modern Lovers

Folded into this chapter is also Jonathan Richman, who would form the Modern Lovers. Most people today seem to know him as “the Troubadour” from the film There’s Something About Mary (1998), but his work has been consistently off-center, which makes him a perfect person to run concurrently with Willie in this piece. There are other similarities other than off-beat vocal styles. For one, both started solo and had a band join them after, but more importantly, both had a relationship with the Velvet Underground. For Richman, he was a mega-fan (as Morrissey was for the Dolls) and friend of the band, and Willie actually replaced Reed after Lou quit the group, to tour with the VU in Europe. Both are unique and yet led to the beginning of that period of Boston garage punk. I’ve seen Richman a few times, including with a version of the Modern Lovers in 1977 at My Father’s Place on Long Island; I’ve also videographed him being interviewed for cable access show Videowave backstage at Maxwell’s in Hoboken in 1996. It is rightly pointed out here that his version of “Roadrunner” exemplifies Boston, but I would add that it is just as much as Willie’s “At the Rat” is about the particular scene. However, to me, the best version of “Roadrunner” is from the Beserkley Spitballs compilation, rather than the eponymous Modern Lovers first album.

Next up is the Nervous Eaters, probably the band I know the least about on this documentary, even though I do have their album with the Elektra “chewed” cover. Again, a fun band with a non-representative release that did not help their career, even with one of the Paley Brothers, Jonathan, as a member (I used to go see the band Mong at CBGBs, with the other Paley bro, Andy). Their sound was more metalish than the other bands mentioned above, sort of like a dirty cross between the MC5, the joyful sloppiness and attitude of the New York Dolls, and that Willie A. way of going up and down the vocal scale on songs in a modified hiccupping way. But like so many of the bands before and after them, and even many on this documentary, they had one shot to record an album, and it never reached its potential either in sound or sales.

Then there is the amazing power trio, the Neighborhoods (reprint of a 1986 interview by me HERE), who I interviewed in the mid-1980s when they played in New York. The lead singer/guitarist, Dave Minehan, was a powerhouse onstage and off, and has become an important studio producer over the years. I first came familiar with them through their amazing singles on Ace of Hearts Records (whose founder, Rick Harte, was prominent in the scene, and also in this film, as is Minehan), such as “Prettiest Girl.” Though they sold over 10,000 records on a relatively small indie label, the Neighborhoods are probably the least known of all the bands here, which is criminal.

After a brief rundown of what some of the musicians are up to now (mostly recording with Rick Harte, it seems), there is a clip of Peter Wolf of the J. Geils Band sharing the stage with Willie Alexander and the Boom Boom Band singing Willie’s classic “Mass Ave” at Willie’s 70th birthday celebration in Somerville (of course). This makes sense since there is a phenomenal amount of music that runs throughout, including rare live clips and recordings.

There are lots of interviews with band members, but also of front-line scenesters, such as Lyn Cardinal (aka Ms. Lyn), the publisher of the most important local fanzine, The Boston Groupie News (met her once in passing), Paul Lovell (aka Blowfish; I also had the good fortune to meet), who put out some topically hysterically funny EPs in the day, scene regular and comedian Dennis Leary, and Johnny Angel of City Thrills (he also had a comic side gig doing wedding band versions of punk songs that I saw him do at the Rat; picture Sinatra doing “Anarchy in the UK,” for example).

By using black and white footage for present day interviews, the historical still pictures and live footage meld together well, making the whole zeitgeist a timeless document that works collectively, rather than putting them into segregated, isolating moments, even with individual chapters for each band. This concept doesn’t always work elsewhere, but Parcellin nails it from the first to last frame. Plus there are some beautifully shot photos that are presented throughout; I was looking to see if my pal, the Barb Kitson-obsessed Rocco Cippilone’s name was there in the credits, but unfortunately not, but that doesn’t take away from the period piece ones shown, many from Robert Post.

My biggest (and probably only) problem with this film is that I wanted it to include all the musicians and bands I liked from there, without losing any of the details that’s already included, which would have made this probably at least three times as long, which is of course totally unrealistic. Just off the top of my head and in no particular order there’s Kenne Highland, the Thrills (who would lengthen their name to City Thrills, whose later version I saw at CBGBs)/Blackjacks/Swinging Erudites, the Count (caught them a few times at the Rat and the Paradise), Salem 66 (saw them in Boston, New Jersey, and NYC), Boys Life (seen at CBGBs and the Rat), Mission of Burma (who blew away Gang of Four when Burma opened for them at Irving Plaza in November 1980, to the point where people started leaving en masse about halfway through the headliners because it was so anti-climactic), Unnatural Axe (also saw them at CBGBs) and Fox Pass, to name just a few. That’s not even bringing up some of the great bands past this period, like the Bristols, the Outlets and the Dogmatics. You can see some of my pix below.

For future documentaries? In alphabetical order...

Boys Life

The Bristols

The Count

The Dogmatics

Mission of Burma

Salem 66

JOHN FELICE: No Kid!

Text by Donna Lethal, introduction by Robert Barry Francos
© 1986, FFanzeen; introductory comments © RBF, 2012
Performance image © RBF; other images from the Internet

The following article on the underrated indie legend John Felice was originally published in FFanzeen magazine, issue #14, in 1986. It was written by then-Boston-based fan Donna Lethal, who used the name Donna Lee at that time.

The first time I heard of the Real Kids was when I was interviewing the Cramps, and Bradley Field and James Siegfried (aka James Black, aka James White), then in Teenage Jesus and the Jerks and then-Cramps drummer Miriam Linna’s one-time co-workers at The Strand Bookstore, were playing a tape of what was to be their first LP in the background. That first, eponymous album, on Marty Thau’s Red Star Records, was amazing, quite frankly. But it was the single, “All Kindsa Girls” b/w “Common at Noon” that really won me over.

I never did get the chance to see the Real Kids play, unfortunately. Stories of their shows were legendary for being raucous, rock’n’roll garage-driven fun. Lead singer John Felice moved on after the band, and I did have the opportunity to enjoy a rousing set at The Rat, on his home turf in Boston (opening band was the Dogmatics). This was also, I believe, the same weekend I had the chance to meet the exquisite Donna Lethal when visiting Kenee Highland, but I digress…

While leading the Real Kids, Felice had a side project called the Taxi Boys, who did some recording. The Primevals followed the break-up of the Real Kids. With another band with that name from Scotland predating them, Felice’s Primevals faded. In Heartbreakers’ tradition, what followed was a series of Real Kids reunions with most of the original members for a large number of years, until the death of Alpo Paulino in 2006, when the band officially disbanded (Billy Borgiloi would form his own band, the Varmints, which is still in existence).

Felice’s current band is John Felice and the Lowdowns. – RBF, 2012

The Real Kids were one of Boston’s “next big things” during the late ‘70s-early ‘80s period. Their now legendary first LP, simply entitled The Real Kids (Red Star Records), still garners airplay on local Boston radio, and the albums that followed (Outta Place, All Kindsa Jerks, Hit You Hard, plus a slew of domestic and import singles) proved what Boston and France already knew – the Read Kids were destined for the top. So what happened? Faced with a changing scene in Boston, and personal and career difficulties, they broke up in ’83.

One cold February evening I found myself seeking refuge in a friendly local Boston bar, Chet’s Last Call [closed in the late 1980s – RBF, 2012]. John Felice’s (Kids’ lead singer) lineup, the Primevals, was the house band at Chet’s during most of February and March, and what ensued was surprising: no rehashed “comeback” band was here, and the Primevals played a tight, rocking set.

“I hadn’t planned on starting a new band,” says Felice, “but whenever Chet’d see me he’d say, ‘When are you gonna get yourself a band?’ So one night, Pete Taylor comes up to me and says, ‘I hear you’re looking or a drummer.’ I hadn’t even said anything to anyone! But that’s how it started. I got Billy [Borgioli, original Read Kids guitarist - DL], and that’s how it all sorta came together.” With the addition of Dave Pedersen on bass, the Primevals were formed.

Studio plans are in the works, and they’ve got one cut on the latest Throbbing Lobster comp, Claws, titled “Lose That Girl,” to their credit. “This isn’t a comeback,” states Felice. “We still play rock’n’roll. We play as hard; we rock as hard as any band in this fucking city. We haven’t changed our approach to music at all.”

FFanzeen: Starting from the beginning, you were with the Modern Lovers. How did that come about?
John Felice: I grew up in the house next door to Jonathan Richman. I started playing (guitar) when I was 15, but those guys were all older than me, so it was sorta like being the little kid in the band. It was me, Jonathan, Ernie Brooks, David Robinson, Jerry Harrison. I left right before they went to LA to record. I could read the wring on the wall and, sure enough, they broke up not too long after.

FF: Is that when you started the original Kids?
John: Yeah. We went through lots of personnel changes. I had given it up for about three months. When Jonathan got back from LA, he told me about a rehearsal space. I hadn’t planned on heading up a band, but that’s where I met up with Alpo and Billy Borgioli.

FF: What’s Alpo doing now?
John: He’s working with a new band, playing harp and percussion. He and I tried it out during the winter, but it just didn’t work. If me, him and Billy played together, it’d be the whole Real Kid thing all over again. It wouldn’t work out.

FF: But you’re still really big in France –
John: That first LP was a legend. But it took so long between the first LP, then the Taxi Boys stuff in-between back there in ’83 – to record, you know, things change. The fans there were great; real enthusiastic and receptive, not what you find here. We’d try out new material, old stuff too, and it went over really well. The last LP didn’t sell that well, though, compared to the cost of making it. I still get royalty checks and stuff, but it didn’t do so good.

FF: Are you going there with the Primevals?
John: I’d like to. We don’t have a contract or anything. We had a lot of problems – personal problems – with New Rose Records on the last tour, and it kinda left New Rose with a bad taste in their mouths.

FF: Isn’t New Rose pretty lenient, though?
John: We pushed them about as far as they would go. We cost them incredible amounts of money. I feel bad about it now. If we hadn’t fucked up, we could probably be there now, playing and shit, but we fucked up bad. I mean, we manage to play every show, we never had to cancel a gig, we played good, but we fucked up a lot of things. Patrick Mathe, the President of New Rose, was real proud to have us there, and we sorta shoved it up his ass sideways by pulling the shit we did.

FF: The fan club is still going strong…
John: The last issue they put out was the final one. They’re not gonna do anything until they hear from me. I’m in the process of assembling a letter and a tape, cuz they don’t even know if I’m alive, let alone my new band. There’s all sorts of rumors of my death.

FF: Rumors of your death?
John: The last time they saw me, I was a fucking mess. They’ve been hearing that we’re all dead, cuz we almost did die over there a few times. I was supposed to have moved to Paris in January of ’84, but it was a good thing I didn’t cuz I was fucked up – really fucked up – in the middle of a really bad drug problem. If I had moved to Paris, I woulda been in worse shape then I ever have been. We left there on bad terms. I didn’t wanna go back there on bad terms and be all strung out, and knocking on Patrick’s door: “Hi, here I am, you gotta support my drug habit now.” Woulda gone over real well. I called him the day I was supposed to be there and told him I wasn’t coming. That was the last I spoke to him. Our manager got in touch with him about making another record, explained to him that, “Felice is all cleaned up, completed his methadone program, etc.,” making me sound like the all-American boy. His response to the tape was hot, but about seeing me, real cool. The letter he sent was like, “This kid cost me; I’m still bailing myself out.”

FF: Were you the cause of all this madness?
John: No! It was our road manger on the tour! He was taking tons of money to buy drugs. They were readily available to us, wherever we’d go. They could tell just by lookin’ at us that we weren’t into smokin’ no grass or nothing. They’d see us and it was, “Have I got what you need.” Anyway, our road manager was going back and forth to Paris and getting money from Patrick, to live on. We didn’t know how much he was getting cuz he’d take the money and buy drugs, then tell us that he only got this much, when Patrick was really giving him twice as much. So he was ripping us off, too.

FF: So Patrick was supporting everyone’s habits.
John: Yeah, it was unbelievable. He’s not rich at all; he’s still paying off our bills. To make things worse, he throws us into the most expensive studios in Europe [RKM in Brussels – DL] to record Hit You Hard. In Europe, they’ve got these little refrigerators in every hotel room, stocked with booze, so every day Alpo was drinking them dry – twice. He didn’t care what it was, he’d just pour all the nip bottles in a glass with some Coke, drink it up. Plus, he smashed a phone to pieces cuz he couldn’t get through to his girlfriend. New Rose is still playing the bills.

FF: Sounds like Fear and Loathing in Brussels.
John: It was a nightmare. I caught Hep, too. The whole time we were recording Hit You Hard, I was really, really sick. I didn’t know with what. I got Hep ‘til I got back to Boston. I didn’t go to a doctor or nothin’. All I knew was that I’d go to the bathroom and piss black.

FF: How did you physically do the recordings?
John: I don’t know. The recording hours were incredible. We’d go in at 3 in the afternoon an be out at 9 AM. I was crawling. I couldn’t keep anything in my stomach. I’d puke it all up. All I know is that I was one sick motherfucker. I’d just lie in my bed and go, “Oh God, gotta record in six hours.” The record dragged on for so long cuz I was fuckin’ dying. We had this enormous hotel bill, bolstered by Allen’s [Alpo] alcoholic cravings, plus there was a bar in the studio. We ran up a monstrous tab, buying whole bottles of vodka and shit, and you’re not even supposed to drink with Hep. I drank even more than ever had, figuring if I got drunk enough the pain would go away. I couldn’t’ figure out why I’d wake up in the morning and want to rip my liver out.

FF: Is that why you look so bad on the cover of Hit You Hard?
John: That was before the tour. When I got back to Logan Airport, the customs guy took one look at me and it was, “You better get going.” He didn’t even bother to check my bags. And Alpo got hip to our road manager; they were all black and blue and shit. We won’t be going back there for a while.

FF: What about recording now, since the Claws compilation?
John: Right now, I wanna record soon. I’d like to do something outside of a local label, maybe for Slash [Slash Records and fanzine was based in Los Angeles and formed by Bob Briggs; roster included the Germs, Blasters, Misfits, Gun Club, L7 – RBF, 2012]. They know us cuz the Real kids moved there in ’79 for six months and generated a lot of interest, but never followed up on it.

FF: Slash has changed a lot since ’79.
John: Oh yeah. Then it was one room, two desks, newspaper and shit all over; but the guy who runs it knows who we are. It’s just – of years people have been saying to me, “You know, your songs are great. You should get some real musicians to play with. You know, you could make a million dollars if you got the right people to play with.” I wouldn’t wanna do that. If other people wanna record them that way, I’d be happy to sell some of my songs. The thing is, the sound that we get, is our sound. I don’t wanna change it. If they’re gonna be made hits, they’re gonna be made by someone else. Like “All Kindsa Girls,” for example. People say, “You coulda done this, get some real musicians.” Yeah, well, I’ve heard it so much. The guys I play with can play. It’s our sound and I don’t wanna change it.

FF: Even under the worst of conditions you put out the best record you’ve ever made.
John: Hit You Hard is about as polished as I wanna get. The Real Kids had such a heavy stigma attached to us – people saying, “Why do you surround yourself with such fuckin’ losers for?” A small label, like Slash, wouldn’t pressure me into changing the sound. Look what happened to the Nervous Easters. They were a rock and roll band; they went into the studio and put out a shitty record under pressure from the label. I just wanna be left alone to record.

FF: Are you recoding with the Primevals yet?
John: We’re working on a tape, and we’ll try to generate interest with it. If not, put it out on a local label and see what happens. I have no idea about Boston anymore. This whole scene is completely foreign to me.

FF: Getting back to the Throbbing Lobster LP. They’ve done well for local bands.
John: I don’t think our representation was that great on that LP.

FF: You got Andy Paley back to produce it.
John: We didn’t. Chuck [Warner] did [owner of Throbbing Lobster Records, 1984-88 – RBF, 2012]. Chuck saw us on a Saturday and had us in the studio by Tuesday. I like Andy, he’s a great guy and all, but I’d rather have done it myself. It woulda sounded a lot different. As our first available offering, I would've wanted something better.

FF: Still, you’re getting airplay.
John: It is? I didn’t even know about it. All they play at work is [W]BCN.

FF: That’s where I heard it.
John: Really? It’s strange cuz they could say shit about the Primevals instead of the Real Kids. I’d much rather hear the new cut instead of that.

FF: What about the Real Kids reunion gig last summer at The Rat?
John: That’s it again; the Real Kids were such a big deal. Nobody knows who the Primevals are. We really need a manager. It used to be so much easier, to get gigs and stuff. You didn’t have to be on the phone all day. Now it’s five days a week, going to clubs at night, and I hate going to clubs unless I’m there to play. I’m through with that shit. On my own reputation as a… a dinosaur [laughs], a fossil, I guess. It’s tough. It’s not a comeback or nothin’. We play as hard, we rock as hard as any band in this fucking city. We haven’t changed our approach to music at all. Our new material is stronger, I think, and I’ve got better musicians. I don’t think I should have to sell myself, but I don’t expect people to come up to me either.

FF: Do you have any plans for the future?
John: I just live day to day. I can’t spend time feeling sorry for myself. I get pissed; then I get pissed at myself for getting pissed. Those assholes aren’t even worth the energy you put into hating them. You know, it’s not so easy. I’m 30 years old. Most people my age don’t even own a guitar. I can’t give it up that easily. I know what keeps me straight. I don’t wanna get back into doing drugs again. Playing rock and roll is my only shot. I‘ve been playing rock and roll since I was 15. I tried to stop before and I saw what happened.

FF: Do you think people are going to label you as a throwback?
John: We still play the same, still play rock and roll. I’ll always sound like me. If I was writing the same songs I used to, same ideas, we’d be burnt out, like the Ramones are. We ain’t trying to be nothin’. I don’t think that we’ve got any identity – you know, you hear the first few seconds of a song: “Oh yeah, that’s one of Felice’s!” We ain’t got that. If you don’t like it, you can always walk out the fuckin’ door, that’s the way it is. I feel lucky to have the guys I do in the band, cuz it’s tough when you’re my age to find guys who are into the same stuff you are, who wanna do what you want. Kids today, they wouldn’t know the real thing if it slapped them in the face. They hear us, it’s “old shit,” you know. We’re just rock and roll. It’s hard to fight a throwback label. I still can’t play guitar.

FF: You can’t play guitar?
John: I never tried to be a great guitar player. I’m a songwriter; that’s all I ever wanted to be. I went back to school last year, trying to kick dope. You know, you get old, you get responsibilities. You can’t live like you do when you’re young. But I could give a fuck about work. The band is still number one.