The February 28, 2025, passing of David Johansen compels memories of how joyous an experience it was to see the former New York Doll lead his group through an uproarious set at UVM in February of 1979.
It was a sensation not unlike how stunned I left my UVM classmates by playing the first Dolls album in the autumn of 1973. The same dumbfounded reaction occurred when I slipped Mott The Hoople’s Mott on my turntable: I had purchased both of them based on the reviews of reliably credible writers at the countercultural flagship that was Rolling Stone Magazine.
I went ahead and got the sophomore Dolls LP, too, albeit without either hesitation or reference. And I wasn’t disappointed: the material wasn’t as strong as on its predecessor, but the sound was clearer with more bass (the likes of which was becoming an essential component of my listening taste in those formative years).
As a result, I was one of a small coterie of like-minded music-loving co-workers at the Burlington Vermont record distributor when David Johansen released his first solo album in May of 1978. The music on the self-titled LP lived up to the defiant expression on the man’s face in the front cover portrait: he hid a devilish grin behind the stoicism.
David and his band- alongside notable guests including Aerosmith’s Joe Perry, Scarlet Rivera from Dylan’s Rolling Thunder, and the Rascals’ Felix Cavaliere- made us forget what a fallow period the Rolling Stones were languishing in. Johansen and company further reaffirmed that impression in an opening slot for Southside Johnny and the Asbury Jukes early the following year at Patrick Gymnasium on the University of Vermont campus.
Brash, unself-conscious, and loud, the quintet gave a no-holds-barred performance that moved me to jump up screaming and shouting shortly into the set, aggravating the stodgy couple sitting next to me. Ironically, the male of the pair was a local music critic who praised the Jerseyites to the skies in his review and gave merely short shrift (at best) to the Johansen Group’s forty-five minutes.
Clearly, the writer was unaware of the insouciant attitude that prompted the frontman to flip the bird from the stage. The latter may or may not have been cognizant of the fact that he was in the majority of an audience that did not know quite what to make of this borderline abrasive first act.
From selections off the LP like the braggadocio of “Funky But Chic” to an affectionate but frenzied cover of the Foundations’ “Build Me Up Buttercup,” the fivesome played and sang with abundant soul and style. The leader’s sandpapery voice and fevered delivery suited the rhythm section pumping away incessantly on things like “Cool Metro” and “Frenchette.” Frankie LaRocka on drums bonded with Buz Verno on bass to define the phrase ‘in your face.” Meanwhile, the two guitarists, Johnny Ráo and Thomas Trask, traded licks on a telepathic level, finishing each other’s ideas whether with chords or runs of notes on tunes including “Lonely Tenement.”
Notwithstanding the attendees’ overall disinterest in this provocative fare, my little clique and I were all there that night. We had been primed all for more for the performance by acquiring a promo-only piece of vinyl Blue Sky Records had issued late the previous year. We had mercilessly nagged the marketing guy at our company to get ahold of the limited edition piece, and he came through for us with the rare recording, leaving us forever in his debt.
Nine excerpts from Johansen and company’s performance recorded July 21, 1978 at the New York’s The Bottom Line appeared on the LP, and, miracle of miracles, fifteen years later Epic Records released a CD with the full 18 songs from that concert. Needless to say, it’s now a prized inclusion in my audio collection, equally precious (or more so) as the presence in my photo scrapbook of an 8X10 black and white portrait capturing David Johansen with his middle finger held high on the stage of the Green Mountain bastion of higher learning.
It was less than a couple weeks after the ’79 concert that a photographer from the local independent newspaper–who I only knew by name–walked into the record store I was managing at the time and handed me what is now such a cherished item, saying only “I thought you’d appreciate having this…”
Little did he know.
