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April 1998 It was only a simple matter of time and fate till NY Rock met up with Sylvain Sylvain, former co-founder and guitarist of the glam-rock pioneers the New York Dolls. After a substantial sabbatical from the Rock & Roll limelight, Sylvain has recently tossed his hat back in the ring, with his new album titled (sleep) baby doll. We recently had the opportunity to talk with Sylvain about his latest release and to reminisce about his experience as a member of one of Rock’s most influential acts. | ||
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With all the new independent labels out there today, do you think there's more freedom for artists to experiment and be creative? |
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That, and also the advance of digital tape recorders which brings down the price. Before, it was so expensive to make an album. You needed these huge companies to finance it, and then the artist never really makes a penny until they recoup. When I had my two RCA albums, they were a little bit contrived, having that formatted thing that every record company goes after. I never really had much luck making albums that went out nationally in the '80s, but I've always made my own little cassette albums, and just spin them for myself. I've always created music, no matter what, even when I didn't have a deal, or a shot in the world to even think that I was going to get another record out. So that's how this album came about. |
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The title track is about three of your former bandmates who have all since died. |
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It's basically a lullaby, Doo-Opish kind of thing, dedicated to the three guys that are no longer around, Johnny Thunders, Bill Murcia, and Jerry Nolan. Chuckie, a friend of mine in California was telling me, “Why don't you do a song like Eddie Cochran did for the Big Bopper, Richie Valens and Buddy Holly when they crashed in the plane?” So it kinda stayed in the back of my mind, but I'm not that kind of a writer. It's really got to come out of my gut and be inspired. And sometimes you run into things just by mistake. I ran into a couple of chords and just kinda came up with it. |
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You rose to fame during the time of Andy Warhol and the Ramones, when New York was the focus of the entire world artistically and musically. What was that like? |
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Do you think that New York has the potential to ever have that type of scene again, or is that sort of thing like lightning: it only strikes once? |
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Well, the first time it happens, it's the most beautiful because that's the purest; but I think different things happened. I lived in New York through the early eighties, and I saw the whole thing going from Break Dancing to Hip Hop, and that was the most revolutionary new thing I had ever heard in my entire life. With the Grandmaster Flashes, Afrikka Bombatta. To me, they were geniuses. So I think it's happened already, but in a whole different kind of a thing. They maybe weren't the musicians and the theater kind of people, but I think it happens all the time, especially in places like New York. | ||
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A lot of people might not know that when things weren't working out with the NY Dolls, Malcolm McLaren sent you a letter, begging you to be in the Sex Pistols. |
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That's over at the Rock & Roll Museum; I found it when my mother died in 1991. I was looking through my old drawers and I found the letter, which was seven pages, written in 1975, of him going, “I can't stand that David Johansen. I don't like him. Come here now. This is your band.” He sent me those little quarter booth photos, “We're thinking about this guy, calling him ‘Johnny Rotten.' He can't sing but he's better than Johansen.” He knew how devastated I was and kept on telling me, “Hey, don't worry, there's this bunch of kids that hang around in my wife's store in London and I'm sure you could put a band together with them.” And little by little that became, “I'll give you my guitar,” which was the wide custom Les Paul that the guy [Steve Jones] from the Sex Pistols used all through that whole time – that was my guitar. And I told [Malcolm], “Take my piano, sell it, and send me back an airplane ticket and I'll come.” That was the plan. Basically, I'm still waiting for the plane ticket. [Laughs] | ||
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This “David Johansen” you keep referring to, most people today would know him under his new stage persona, “Buster Pointdexter.” According to legend, things have been pretty spotty between you two. |
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Johansen was probably the most popular out of all of the NY Dolls. He's up there singing. He's the frontman. But him leading the band was self-appointed. He was not the leader, but he took it on like that, and his fame got bigger, and his ego matched it. He really believed everything that they said about him. We [the whole band] were staying at Jerry Nolan's mother's house, and Johansen was getting lushy drunk. He was sort of an abusive drunk. He would tell you that you didn't matter, and he was the singer, and he could go on his own, and he didn't need your hang-ups and your bullshit. Basically, he said that to us one day after dinner, and Johnny and Jerry, after they heard they could be replaced again and again, just walked out. And I drove them to the airport.
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What's it like being more famous for inspiring countless imitators than ever having achieved that type of success yourself? You now see bands like Aerosmith cranking out safe commercial crap, towing the corporate line, and Kiss squeezing into their old costumes to make a quick buck. |
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I think it's more the business than those actual bands that convinces them to get back out there, to be wishy-washy, and to do it for the money. But the thing is, the music sucks at that point, because it's not worth anything anymore, or it's very trendy and you won't even remember it. I mean, there must be somebody right now, in some record office, pulling their hair, going, “Where are we going to get the next Hootie and the Blowfish!” or whatever those guys were called. Now, no one even knows them. And that goes on, over and over again. That's the way it is in the business. It's like, who's behind you. In case you fall, the guy behind you is really going to collect at the bank. It really is like that, unfortunately. And the audiences could be very ferocious. If you advertised that you were going to kill yourself that night on stage, it would be sold out, before they even heard a note. And then, after you did it, they would give you a standing ovation. The only thing is, when you're floating up to Heaven someplace, it was a great act, but you can only do it once [laughs]. I met Michael Stipe [of R.E.M.], and the first thing out of his mouth was, “Man, I saw you in 1978 with David Johansen! That was so great, but I'm sure you're sick and tired of hearing that.” And I said to him, “Are you kidding? I have no money. If it wasn't for the occasional autograph, or somebody coming up to me, and saying that, what else would I have?” [laughs] I think it's been a blessing sometimes. I made the history books, but my banker still doesn't know me. But I guess that's kept me on the ground somewhat. 
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