‘Lipstick Killers’, The New York Dolls, and the birth of punk
Squinting into the bright lights of a studio in BBC’s Television Centre, The New York Dolls made final adjustments to their makeup before erupting into the unforgettable tones of ‘Jet Boy’. Bringing the guttersnipe glamour of New York’s underground into living rooms around the UK, the Dolls had just changed the face of rock forever, but some remained unimpressed. “Mock rock”, scoffed Bob Harris on the November 1973 broadcast of The Old Grey Whistle Test.
Emerging from the corporate surroundings of the Television Centre into the grey November skies of London, the New York Dolls had unknowingly started a revolution. Their raucous sound had captured the imagination of Britain’s youth, spawning an age-old battle between hippies and punks. Of course, punk rock would not establish itself for another three years, but it had already begun in the hearts and minds of those kids who sat glued to the television listening to ‘Jet Boy’.
An essential aspect of The Dolls was their image, with the band usually appearing in drag. Of course, wild, effeminate outfits were something that the UK had already been exposed to through the glam rock of T. Rex and David Bowie. With New York Dolls, however, there was a certain edge to it. Something inexplicable that questioned the status quo and shocked parents across the land. Glam rock was clean, sparkly, and colourful, whereas the Dolls were dirty, sleazy, and loud – the kind of dolls you might find in a puddle under a bridge.
This daring image, along with their amphetamine-fuelled rock and roll, established the Dolls among the underground scene of New York in the early 1970s. A perfect encapsulation of New York sleaze, their outsider image endeared them towards a disenfranchised generation both in the US and the UK. While the powers that be were concerned with austerity and the Cold War, the sneering tones of frontman David Johansen offered an alternative – a life away from the monotony of the norm.
While Britain’s musical elites were concerned with the complacency and pretentiousness of progressive rock, the country’s youth yearned for something to reflect how they felt. The New York Dolls offered that in abundance; it was ‘live fast, die young’ rock and roll, and if you did not like it, then there stood a very real possibility of getting glassed by one of the band members.
Much like The Third Bardo, New York Dolls were five years ahead of their time. In 1976, three years after the Dolls shook up the scene on The Old Grey Whistle Test, the first official punk single would be released in the UK. By this time, key band members, including guitarist Johnny Thunders, had already left the group. Nevertheless, the New Yorkers were hailed as gods among Britain’s blossoming punk scene. After all, it was them who had kicked it all off in the first place.
Johansen and the New York Dolls did not organise troops; they did not seize control of buildings, capture leaders or publish a manifesto, yet their cultural revolution was among the most impactful the musical landscape had ever witnessed. Sure, many future groups would surpass their image and musical talent, but the Dolls represented something much greater than all of that: an idea that it didn’t matter whether you were successful or respected, just so long as you were living by your own rulebook. “Mock rock”, indeed.
