There are artists out there who specifically set out to define a new zeitgeist, planning and plotting their moves carefully and with labored thought, working the angles and doing whatever edgy or enticing things they need to do in order to get their names out there, but being careful not to step over too many lines in their pursuit, so as to enable them room to become supermegaultrastars---though their influence was no less powerful (and, arguably, much greater), the New York Dolls were expressly not that kind of band. That being said, there are also plenty of artists out there that don’t really give a fuck about what they do, they just want to avoid having to get a “real job”, masquerading as creative and far too lazy to take things to a level where they would be wholly called out for their fictitious craft---once again, the New York Dolls were absolutely not that sort of ilk either. The Dolls just fucking WERE man, they happened, in living color, from moment to moment & gig to gig; if ever there was a group who truly espoused the notion of art imitating life, it was the Dolls. Now, I’m not saying that they didn’t try, because they definitely had a drive to be rock-n-rollers, and they practiced their trade (all that makeup didn’t just magically appear on their faces); gimmicks aside though, much of their ambiance was simply the result of being broke, drug-crazed deviants, surrounded by tramps and hustlers, but basking in the debauchery rather than fleeing from it. Unlike fellow NYC shock-rockers of the same era, KISS, the Dolls’ drag-hooker-inspired look practically ensured them miserable record sales and a small touring radius; as I’ve mentioned before, glam rock never worked over here, and what the Dolls were doing took things to a whole other level of sleaze and abandon, guaranteeing them hatred from virtually the entire non-ocean-touching portion of our lovely nation. Another limiting factor (to some of us, a sparkling & charming aspect) was the group’s general lack of musical ability, relative to other rock bands of their time; frankly, the band was pretty goddamn sloppy, and singer David Johansen’s delivery wreaked of working-class, east-coast apathy & off-pitch snarling attitude---Johnny Rotten aped this guy to near-hilarious effect due to his cockney drawl, and the Sex Pistols would never have existed without the Dolls’ trailblazing example in front of them. They were often slammed by music critics as Rolling Stones rip-offs, but the Stones were only imitating the life the Dolls really led; remember, there is a big difference between becoming a rock star and thus a druggie on one hand, and a druggie becoming a musician on the other. The New York Dolls were the real deal: scars, track marks, bugs, women’s clothes, smeared makeup and ALL. Having just lost their original drummer and band co-founder Billy Murcia to an accidental drowning (reportedly due to being left in an ice cold bathtub after overdosing on Quaaludes and beer), the band was high as kites in mourning when this album was recorded; their slapdash approach to music practically foretold, and completely informed, the punk era which was to follow a few years later; albeit, punk rockers seemed much angrier. In retrospect, this chorus portends the misery and cries of most classic rock bands in the wake of punk’s revolution, “…jet boy’s so preoccupied, he don’t care ‘bout before; that’s why, jet boy’s fly, jet boy’s gone, jet boy stole my baby; flyin’ around New York City so high, like he was my baby… …”
