Ian Hunter
Bowery Ballroom, New York (June 2, 2000)
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Ian Hunter
Bowery Ballroom, New York
June 2, 2000 |
That's right, I paid $20, drove 150 miles, slept at some weird hotel on Wall Street, all to see rock's elder statesman give a one-off, kick-ass performance in New York's Lower East Side hole-in-the-wall club the Bowery Ballroom. No, it wasn't a Mick Jagger solo show, nor an overpriced Neil Young acoustic performance. It wasn't even Bob Dylan. It was, however, a guy who's raspy voice has earned numerous Dylan comparisons. It was the perpetually shaded rocker whose best-known rock band put glam rock on the map almost 30 years ago.
That's right, it was Ian Hunter.
Who, you may ask, is Ian Hunter? Well, here's a brief primer. The man is better known by the bands that have covered his tunes and gained superstardom, though briefly. You've all heard Great White's "Once Bitten, Twice Shy." And I suspect you've heard the Drew Carey Show theme "Cleveland Rocks" as butchered by the Presidents of the United States of America. Maybe you've even heard Barry Manilow's "Ships." Well, if you have, than you know Ian Hunter. All were minor hits during his commercially inconsistent solo career. "Once Bitten" was his first solo single, hitting the charts in 1975, while both "Ships" and "Cleveland Rocks" came just after the punk era, in 1979.
Ironically, the man best known for writing other group's best songs scored his biggest hit in 1972 with the David Bowie-penned "All the Young Dudes." Ian's band Mott the Hoople quickly became unlikely, and unwilling, poster boys for the British glam rock scene shortly thereafter. But it was a label that did not fit the band that was put together in 1969 by legendary Island producer Guy Stevens, the maniacal madman who in 1979 produced The Clash's landmark London Calling.
So you see, Ian Hunter has had his influential hands in quite a few musical genres since he was first brought to the stage at age 30 in 1969. After Bowie helped Mott reach the heights of fame, Hunter broke up the band in 1974 and teamed with Bowie guitarist Mick Ronson for a series of solo albums. Hunter's last album came out in 1996, and contained his moving tribute to Ronson -- who died of cancer in 1993 -- called "Michael Picaso."
And its been nearly 10 years since Hunter headlined a show in the states, and boy did he make up for lost time. Simply put, if I have 1/10th of the energy when I'm 50 that he has now at 61, I could run a fucking marathon. The man played for over two and a half hours, just performing hit after hit after hit. Well, maybe more appropriately, cult favorite after cult favorite after hit for somebody else.
He opened his set with "Boy," a stirring eight-minute number from his 1975 debut. Ian's aged Dylan drawl obviously needed some warming up, so the song came off a bit rough. But not looking back, he quickly sped things up with a nod to the NYC home crowd with "Central Park N' West," a song co-written by the Clash's Mick Jones. As if he even needed to play to the crowd, the audience exploded when he hit the familiar, if not repetitive, refrain: "I think, I think, I think, I think, I think it's the best / Right in the middle of New York City in Central Park N' West / I know, I know, I know, I know, I know it's a mess / But you've got to be crazy to live in the city / and New York City's the best."
The show consisted of updated versions of old Mott classics like the soothing "I Wish I Was Your Mother" (now being covered live by Wilco), the glammy "Honoloochie Boogey" and the blistering 1971, pre-punk punk anthem "The Moon Upstairs," complete with its join-us-or-die line "Well I swear to you before we're through you'll feel our every blow/ 'cause we ain't bleeding, you we're feeding you, but you're too fuckin' slow."
But the bulk of the show was focused on Ian's solo career, as spotty and inconsistent as it was (and, I guess, still is). He debuted a new acoustic ballad called "Death of a Nation," about the rise and fall of Britain from the World War II era. He also played his piano-driven favorites "Just Another Night," the aforementioned "Cleveland Rocks," and the autobiographical moving "Irene Wilde," which documents Hunter's decision to "be somebody, some day" after being burned by his school days girlfriend.
And, of course, what Ian Hunter show would be complete without the biggest one of 'em all, "All The Young Dudes." I've heard this song live more times than I can count, but I've never seen him perform it, nor have I seen the audience reaction. I tell you, you have to see it to believe it. It was during this song that I realized what was so amazing about the man. It wasn't so much that, at 61, he was still performing. It's that at 61, he still wants to perform and still wants to reach and relate to the audience. And he performed with the passion that convinced me that he still needs to reach the audience. Being 24 years old, I missed all of Ian's heyday in the 70s, but for one night, I felt like I joined a new brotherhood. Some kind of queer fraternity.
Yeah, it sounds weird, but if you were there, talking to strangers who traveled from Philadelphia, from Florida, hell, even from England, you'd understand. As some drunk guy wending his way to the bathroom whispered to my friend, "Isn't this the best rock and roll crowd you've ever been a part of?" Hell yeah. And it helped that we had one of rock's true blue-collar heroes delivering a sermon none of us will ever forget.
RODEO ROB | An expert on all things "alt," Rob spends his days covering the energy industry and his nights covering the DC-area bars. Raise yer glass especially high to this man, for he has contributed to this site constantly since its creation four years ago.