We caught up with the 59-year-old guitarist—one of two surviving members of the punk progenitors’ classic early lineup—a few days before his band’s first public performance in Las Vegas. (They played a Blue Man Group private party at Tao nightclub in October 2005.)
On Vegas:
We were so Vegas [in the early years]—the way we dressed, our show; it was a little bit controversial and sexy. We would have given Elvis a run for his money.
On the Dolls’ legacy:
What we really accomplished was that we knocked down that virtual wall that was in front of everybody—that you couldn’t get signed unless you could sell records like the Rolling Stones or The Beatles. It was that era of stadium rock, all corporate, and the industry was creating the music. The songs had lost their sex appeal. It was hourlong rock operas, and the guitar player would take 25-minute solos. It was boring. And in that moment, the Dolls were born. It was like the Little Rascals coming together, like, “I’ll get a curtain from my mother’s bedroom, and you get the makeup from your girlfriend’s bag, and I know where I can get a guitar; my uncle plays.” And after we busted down that wall people started writing three-minute songs, and they were rebellious for a reason. And after us all these bands came out in New York, like the Talking Heads and Blondie and the Ramones and Television and Patti Smith. And then it turned out there were pockets of that boredom all over the world, and we were in the centerfolds of Melody Maker in England and the Morrisseys and Joe Strummers opened their eyes to something new.
On getting to perform with Dolls bassist Arthur Kane at 2004’s Meltdown Festival, days before Kane’s sudden death:
I witnessed a miracle. He was so sick, and he didn’t know it. It was like a mind-over-matter kind of deal. He lived his final moments doing exactly what he loved, shaking his tush to those old tunes again. The minute we got up on that stage and started performing those songs the crowd rushed to the front. It was so cool. And he was so happy. There was a reason. It was like, “Thank you Lord!”
On singer David Johansen:
He’s a great performer, a ham, so to speak, and I love it when he camps it up. We used to room together, back in the old days, so we’ve always had a sort of brotherhood, even post-New York Dolls ’75 breakup.
On the band’s current incarnation:
To be honest with you, after Arthur died, I said, “Oh man, here we go again,” because the Dolls have a lot of clouds over our heads. But you look toward your friends, and a very close friend said, “The world needs to know about the Dolls.” And then it’s like, “Hey man, I think I’ve got a good little [new] tune. Let’s try it during soundcheck.” And then we try performing it, and it goes seamlessly between the older tunes, and the kids are singing it just like an old hit. And then the record companies are calling our managers to offer us a contract. And I don’t know if you know, but they really don’t offer contracts to people my age. So that alone was a fucking miracle. And now we’re touring and performing new and old songs, and it’s a groovy thing.
With We Are the Fury, The Skooners. March 8, 7 p.m., $25. Jillian’s, 759-0450.