There was a bit of news that came around this morning, and it likely won't make the papers in any other city in the country...which is how it is, I suppose. It's an L.A. story, and it's a sad one.
Brendan Mullen passed away over the weekend.
I'll tell you why he is worth writing about, but if it doesn't come across clearly, you'll have to forgive me.
We're dealing with a modest man; that is my take on him. This is through his writings and in comparison with others from that "old school punk" gang when Trip was but another project in the preemie ward at the hospital. History, being what it is, can lead to many different interpretations. Just as I said to Smiley over the weekend, we'll never see a photo of George Washington in casual wear. I'm sure he had some, likely wore it now and then...but all documentation has been searched and that's all we have.
Punk music, specifically the early days through the 80s, has many fathers. Add in the various "scenes" and you now have a very large horizon. Rightfully or otherwise, the main hubs of punk came from three locations: London, New York, and Los Angeles. London...well, we know that despite the rock stylings that happened in NYC in the early 70s, that scene carved out the sound and (without argument) the look. New York had a bottomless well of talented musicians, ones who have shown to succeed in other genres. Where does that leave L.A.? Well, it might have been late to the party, but it was the last one to leave.
Brendan's want was only for the scene to come together - a place for guaranteed gigs and that music every night. But even that goal came out of something simple - a rehearsal space. In this basement off Hollywood Blvd. turned into The Masque.
You might remember a post I made in December of 2005, where I stumbled onto the location of this actual club...which at the time was being used as a stock room. Little did I know that former Gold writer Dave Snizewski was recanting a recent Wicked Warlords show. We were writing at the same time, and my archaeological dig was covered by someone who should really share his drugs. Fuck, this article isn't about me.
The gigs that occurred at the Masque are important for a myriad of reasons, musical in nature to be sure. Similar to when something like this starts in society, word spreads. John Doe said at the end of 1977, "the Whisky had ten people at their club and there were two hundred people at the Masque" - which lead to those bands being booked at the Whisky. Isn't that always the way?
All the while, Brendan was ducking the cops and city hall officials looking for permits. Graffiti such as "To escape hell you must first bury yourself in it" enclosed The Germs and X (among countless other bands) as they did their thing. Sid Vicious toasted the town on the Sex Pistols ill-fated tour with his cocktail of the moment: Peppermint Schnapps with Southern Comfort, chased with Olde English 800. Bottoms up, Sidnaaaay!
As other club owners would find out, booking punk music might not go over as smoothly as a CSN&Y cover band. The Troubadour (at the time a country rock club) was rightfully trashed. However, when Brendan was forced out of the space, it was back to the hustle to get punk played in a club. Any club. He opened another version of The Masque (along with Masque-esque nights at other clubs) before opening and running Club Lingerie, right down the street on Hollywood Blvd.
One of Brendan's books about that time, which focuses just as much on the L.A. music scene over 20 years as it does just punk, briefly covers those days. Everyone (interviewed for the book) seems to echo the same sentiments: finally, a dive of our own. A basement, off an alley, off a side street...who would have known? Everyone needs a space to do their shit. So many can't because people get in the way. Tonight, we raise our California Gold's to a man who promoted and hosted the explosion of L.A. Punk. It was the watering of a seed that turned into a giant brick of gold...one that will last forever.
