Max’s Kansas City, CBGB, and Martin Scorsese: Debbie Harry on the prime of New York
The fascination with New York only grows. As a city, it’s been mythologised endlessly. Perhaps even more so than the tales of London or Paris, New York’s history is eclectic, infusing glamour and grit, history and poetry, politics and punk into each sidewalk. Sure, there were the flapper days of F. Scott Fitzgerald’s city, and the swinging jazz scenes were ruled over by the 1930s mafia. But enduring as an unending source of inspiration and obsession is the New York of the late 1960s and ’70s, where Debbie Harry was just getting started as a witness to history about to take her place in it.
It must have been a magical moment to be a part of. All the stories from the era paint New York as the home of just about everything as the city overflowed with decade-defining art, movies, writing and music. There was one area in particular that Patti Smith once dubbed the “Bermuda Triangle” for artists. The Chelsea Hotel on 222 West 23rd Street was home to generations of vital artists like Smith, Janis Joplin, Leonard Cohen, Allen Ginsberg and Nico. A few blocks away, Andy Warhol’s Factory was buzzing and busy with his celebrity-packed scene. In the day, they’d all work away on masterpieces. At night, they’d meet in the middle of 213 Park Ave, where Max’s Kansas City sat.
In the early ’60s, Warhol ruled over Max’s back room like it was his personal court, with Edie Sedgwick to one side as his queen. It was frequented by just about everyone who was anyone in the city. The Velvet Underground regularly played there, drawing in the music crowd of David Bowie, Marc Bolan, The New York Dolls and beyond. Debbie Harry was there too, but not yet as a star, simply as a waitress.
When The Guardian asked who the most famous person she served was, Harry replied, “It’s quite a long list: Steve Winwood, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jefferson Airplane, Andy Warhol… Miles Davis, I served once. He didn’t really talk.” While Harry was bringing them their drinks and salads at that point, Max’s was her entry point to New York’s prime moment.
Max’s was simply one of the many jobs Harry held while trying to find a band that would stick it out and work. In 1973, performing in a group called The Stilettoes, she met Chris Stein. The year after, the couple jumped ship to start their own act, Blondie. Some of their earliest performances saw the singer back in her old workplace, now as the star instead of the server.
Along with Max’s, there was another point to note within the same small circle. A 20-minute walk away stood the CBGB, a new venue that provided the perfect stage for the new scene of louder and wilder bands to come up. Quickly after opening its doors, the venue welcomed the likes of the Ramones, Television, Talking Heads and The Cramps. Blondie was a regular fixture, figuring out their sound and style on that stage.
Harry said of the scene, “We were probably as antisocial as they come”. It was a dirtier and rougher spot than anywhere Warhol’s crowd used to frequent, so as he retreated to his studio after being shot, the New York City scene continued to evolve into its riotous rock glory. Even though the ’60s were in no way luxurious or plush for the city’s artists, the ’70s dropped the pop art shine for something grittier.
That’s where Martin Scorsese comes into play. While he’s now the king of the major motion picture, in the 1970s, he was still just a kid from New York with a camera and a darker view of the world. Just as the CBGB was rough and ready, Scorsese’s breakout pictures didn’t shy away from the city’s grime. Flicks like Mean Streets or Taxi Driver put violence, corruption and carnage on tape without a touch of glamour. As he made friends with actor Robert De Niro, the pair helped define a new era of NYC filmmaking that added to the myths of the city without painting it as a slick and seductive picture. Instead, much like the music, the grit was the gold. Where does Debbie Harry come into all this? Scorsese clearly thought the singer was a vital enough figure of the city to star in his short film Life Lessons, as part of the New York Stories anthology he made alongside Woody Allen and Francis Ford Coppola.
In reality, the era we romanticism the most is a dark one. The late 1960s and ’70s in New York are heralded as the golden days of film, art and music, but they weren’t easy. So many of the most influential figures didn’t make it out alive, which Harry knows well. She’s reluctant to reminisce on it too strongly as she said, “I don’t know if I miss all of the violence and danger.”
But the energy and atmosphere is hard not to be nostalgic about. “Although because it was such a creative period, I do miss that,” she added. She said of the period, “It’s like the wild west or the gold rush, those high exciting periods of discovery.” The thing about history, though, is that it always repeats itself. Despite living through an era that the whole world seems to look back on with wonder and jealousy, Harry is always looking forward as she concludes, “Who knows what will happen next that will fire people up.”
