Groovy Dada Lounge Revisited

1980 New York: SAMO/Jean-Michel Basquiat

“When I first moved to New York I would see these strange funny phrases painted on walls ending with the tag SAMO©. I was walking home one late night and saw these two guys marking the walls and finishing with the tag SAMO© These two young guys both introduced themselves as SAMO. One of them kept on saying he was the real SAMO. I accepted him as SAMO. I met him many times after that. He was barely making ends meet and I took him out for a late breakfast several times. I enjoyed talking to him. He was funny and full of life. I didn’t see him for awhile. Not too soon after, I started to see the words ‘SAMO IS DEAD’ written on the walls. I didn’t see SAMO for a long time. Late one night, I was walking the same way home and I saw someone walking towards me, who looked exactly like SAMO. He was very well dressed and full of confidence. I called out his name and asked him how he was doing. He said that his name was not SAMO and introduced himself as Jean-Michel Basquiat. We shook hands and said goodbye. This photo was taken after SAMO/Jean-Michel Basquiat made some color xeroxes of some of his art work. He gave me several of the xeroxes. I have no idea what I did with them.” –Robert Carrithers

Currently showing at Prague’s Fotograf Gallery Školská 28: The Groovy Dada Lounge Revisited / Photographs by Robert Carrithers: Basquiat, Haring, the New York scene in the 1980s and the infamous Club 57–curated by Pavel Turek.


“One staircase led to heaven the other to hell” says Robert Carrithers of a building in New York’s St. Mark’s Place Street, number 57. The building whose basement housed, in the late 1970s and early 1980s, Club 57 – a creative laboratory for all non-conformists and free-thinkers from the East Village – actually belonged to the central offices of the Polish Catholic Church.

At that time New York was a city on the verge of bankruptcy and today’s luxurious East Village resembled a war zone. Refined citizens had long ago left the area as part of a progressive suburbanisation. The area with burnt-out brick buildings – a last ditch attempt by desperate property owners to earn some money through insurance fraud – was left in the hands of drug dealers, immigrants and artists. The police didn’t bother to patrol there, which was good for anyone annoyed by having the authorities riding their back, artists and criminals alike. “It was often a matter of life and death. You had to have eyes in the back of your head and constantly watch what was happening in the street. It was so intense that sometimes you would find a corpse lying on the sidewalk,” recalls Carrithers, who moved to New York from Chicago in 1979. He wanted to study photography, film and acting there. The apartment that he could afford to rent was less than a 10-minute walk from Club 57.

The punk and disco scenes concentrated around the CBGB and Studio 54 clubs were losing their sense of novelty and originality, when Club 57 appeared, founded by two vaudevilleans – Susan Hannaford and Tom Scully – and was run by director and performer, Ann Magnuson.

“This place was fascinating in that, while artists had earlier met in bars or at concerts, they chatted and they drank, but in Club 57 they created something together. Here concerts mixed with exhibitions and performances,” stresses Carrithers, when speaking of the community that first made him feel at home. Ann Magnuson thought up theme parties for every other night of the week. She found the decor and the furniture in the streets. Keith Haring had his first installation there and created his signature work, as did Kenny Scharf and Jean Michel Basquiat.

Club 57 exhibited a wild “camp” aesthetic. With a Dadaistic fascination and vigour, it seized on the suburban supermarket culture; stores that had become museums of the contemporary lifestyle and its plastic kitsch. During one evening a country-western evening might take place on piles of hay, the next a burlesque event and an Elvis memorial, then a performance showing John Sex performing with his python snake Delilah or a concert by singer Wendy Wild and her group, The Mad Violets, with hallucinogenic mushrooms thrown into the crowd. Pulsallama also originated here: this was a group of twelve or thirteen girls, who sang in the style of Greek chorales, and when doing so banged on beer bottles, pans, cowbells and shot off kids‘ toy machine-guns. Pulsallama made it so far that in 1982 they were the opening act at several concerts by The Clash.

Even thirty years after its closure in 1983, Club 57 is still a legend that defined a period of pop culture and still inspires it. Robert Carrithers spontaneously documented everything that happened in the club: the performances, the first exhibitions and the backstage area. Thus a unique testimony was created; one that is as unbridled image-wise as the Club 57 program.

Robert Carrithers is an American photographer and film-maker, who lives in Prague. Besides the Club 57 scene he documented the post-November cultural scene in the Czech Republic and has been working for a long time on the series, Bohemian Nude. He is preparing a documentary on the Prague-Berlin-Australian, post-punk band, Fatal Shore. Its members include Phil Shoenfelt, Bruno Adams (died in 2009) and Chris Hughes. Besides their common devotion to music, each member of the band also married a Czech woman.

He also took part in the making of the documentary Autoluminescent about the Australian musician Rowland S. Howard (dir. Richard Lowenstein), for which he shot all European interviews and concert footage. Rowland S. Howard (died 2009), an icon of alternative rock, was a member of bands like The Birthday Party, Crime and the City Solution or These Immortal Souls.

Carrithers‘ next documentary project is dedicated to a woman named, Koy, who for seventeen years now has been living in Japan and working with local musicians there. Due to serious illness she has planned her own funeral for the sixth of May this year. She wants to attend the event herself and say good-bye to all her friends. After finishing these projects, Carrithers plans to shoot an erotic horror comedy, which takes place in Prague.

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