ROCKIN' THE BRONX - A NOVEL & ODE TO BAINBRIDGE AVENUE

 The scene in the Irish Bronx between the 1970’s and the 1990’s was so wild and in-your-face, I figured it would last forever. It never occurred to me that by the end of the century all the temples of intemperance where I used to play would have morphed into nail salons and bodegas.

 

This Irish Bronx stretched from The Concourse up to Yonkers, and from the Hudson River to God knows where. But it definitely contained Kingsbridge and Fordham Roads, and the immortal Braindamage (Bainbridge) Avenue, circa 204^th Street. Only God again knows how many bars thrived on those rugged boulevards, for they changed names and owners with dizzying frequency.

 

I began my Bronx career with Turner & Kirwan of Wexford in the mid-70’s at Durty Nelly’s on Kingsbridge Road. We had been making a name for ourselves down in Greenwich Village and were approached by a rogue with a twinkle in his eye from Carrick-on-Suir. Phil Delaney booked us for Nelly’s and we found our way to Kingsbridge one Indian summer’s evening.

 

The place was jammed, everyone awaiting these “Village Superstars” as we were billed. After a few tokes out in the van for inspiration, we took to the stage and blasted into our psychedelic 20-minute version of The Foggy Dew; we had them Paddies rocking for about 90 minutes until I noticed Phil waving at us like a baseball umpire. 

 

“Will yez, for Jaysus sake, take a break,” he screamed. “We’ve barely sold a drink since yez started playing!” Thus, did we learn that flogging booze trumped all artistic pretensions on Kingsbridge.

 

Back then, the scene was still run by those who had emigrated in the 1950’s. They preferred the showband 3 slow/3 fast dance sets; jiving was still the rage, ladies in dresses, gentlemen in suits, all of whom discreetly disguised their level of inebriation. 

 

As the 80’s rolled in, however, and economic depression deepened in Ireland, a new breed arrived – mostly undocumented who worked long hours for cash on Manhattan building sites; they were joined by many from the North who had gone toe to toe with the British Army. 

 

The tastes of these “New Irish” had broadened to the Punk of The Undertones and the Trad of Planxty. Most of them drank like fish and in the words of a local wag seemed “neither here nor there.” Always looking back at Ireland, but in no hurry to return. I knew what they were going through for I had decided I was never going home permanently again.

 

In my four-hour stints onstage, I had much time to observe the new arrivals, and one night in The Village Pub I had an epiphany: they were enacting a story that no one else had yet dealt with in any literary form. This was around the beginning of the 80’s. Pierce Turner and I had formed a new wave band, Major Thinkers, and were doing well downtown, but money being tight, we’d moonlight up in The Bronx. 

 

The drinking was beyond ferocious and the signs of burnout were all around. I had little doubt I was on the same road to ruin. Why had I come to New York in the first place? To “make it?” That was happening - Major Thinkers were about to sign with Epic Records, tour with Cyndi Lauper and UB40; still, I was uneasy about my life’s direction. I began writing plays and was fumbling around for subject matter.

 

Onstage in The Bronx I wondered about the stories of the young immigrants. I began to question them between sets, and in the long, liquid post-gig hours before I’d head home to the East Village. 

 

Most of my interviewees had left Ireland because in the words of The Sex Pistols there was “no future”. Others had quit from boredom or broken hearts, while those from the North were tired of being second-class citizens in their own occupied country. 

 

Were they happy in The Bronx? Well, they had everything they needed, pockets full of cash, bars where they were welcome, diners with good food, county matches at Gaelic Park on Sundays, the occasional Christy Moore concert, even sex with like-minded others freed from the conventions of home. 

 

Life was full, but there was an emptiness too: they didn’t trust their closest neighbors, the Puerto Ricans and Irish-Americans, and few took advantage of New York’s many opportunities. Why bother? They had their own private universe in The Bronx.

 

The years passed. Major Thinkers got dropped by Epic Records, and Pierce and I parted amicably. I leaped off the merry-go-round of “making it” and became a full-time playwright. I still needed to make money, so I often returned to The Bronx to pick up a gig or two. Everyone had gotten a little older, but I still listened to their stories during breaks. 

 

I was learning my theatre craft, writing, directing, and producing my own plays and musicals. And then one night Chris Byrne and I formed Black 47, and before I knew it I was back full-time on Braindamage Avenue. Our music was not only political but we intended to become a fully original band ASAP. We had need of songs, especially those relevant to our immigrant audience.

 

I drew from the stories I had been told during breaks; the songs were mostly character-driven and told a story. Among them were “Funky Ceili,” “Banks of The Hudson,” “Fanatic Heart”, and “Rockin’ The Bronx.” 

 

One was called, “Sleep Tight in New York City,” it told the story of Sean Kelly who had left rural Ireland to find his girlfriend, Mary Devine, in The Bronx. She hadn’t written and he feared the worst. When he does find her he discovers her problem, and has to change his own life and expectations. He must also accept Danny McClory, a gay construction worker with an IRA past, and rambunctious Kate from County Mayo, the heroine of Black 47’s “Livin’ in America.” 

 

Rockin’ The Bronx was done with some success as a play, but in order to capture the complexities of New York I adapted it to a novel. Some readers may recognize themselves or others in the characters. 

 

One person I barely changed was Brian Mór, the artist and political activist, he’s easily identified as Benny, the bouncer at the traditional bar, The Gallowglass (The Bunratty). Why? Because Brian looked after me in real life, much the way he looks out for bull-headed Sean Kelly in the book; then again, it took me years to realize that I had often based Sean on my own shortcomings.

 

Rockin’ The Bronx captures The Bronx in all its unvarnished glory around the time of the deaths of John Lennon and Bobby Sands. It was something that I’d set out to do on that night of Epiphany in the Village Pub. Fordham University Press recognized the value of the story, and now we finally have a written account of what we were up to in those wild years. 

 

Rockin’ The Bronx went on sale last week. For those who were there it will bring back memories, for those who weren’t, it’s full of laughs, loss, dreams, drink, politics, music and, most importantly, hope.

 

At the book’s end, Sean comes to the conclusion: “The Bronx had been far from easy on me. It had pruned and tempered my expectations. I arrived a boy and was leaving a man, a little scarred perhaps, but a great deal wiser; yet I had no doubt that my years spent on its bristling streets would stand to me down all the days to come.”

 

Rockin’ The Bronx can be ordered at all stores and at Amazon and all digital outlets.
https://www.fordhampress.com/ is offering a discount of 25% off, plus free shipping (paperback and eBook). Use code ROCKIN25-FI   Autographed copies of the book can be purchased at SHOP at www.black47.com