Iggy laying on the floor asking Clive Davis to piss on him.

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Peter O’Toole came into the back room one time and was just sitting there drinking and the usual crowd was there. Ingrid Superstar was doing some number and there was a photographer in the room taking pictures and the flash would go off. Peter O’Toole was getting visibly crazier and crazier and started to appear very irritated. Mickey walked into the back room and Peter O’Toole called Mickey over to his table. “Excuse me, but could you tell those photographers enough is enough. I am here privately and do not wish to be harassed.” Mickey said, “You’re here privately, what does that mean?” He said, “Those photographers, they keep taking pictures of me.” Mickey said, “They aren’t taking pictures of you, they’re taking pictures of Ingrid.” He said, “But I’m Peter O’Toole.” To which Mickey replied, “Oh, are you a painter?”

Parents bothering you, kid? Blow out their ears with Chuck Berry

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I mean I have seen unusual performers, but this kid Iggy Stooge, this former high school valedictorian and most-likely-to-succeed was like nothing else. He bent over backwards and nearly touched his head to the floor. He massaged the mike stand. A photographer standing there remarked that Iggy was incredible because everything he touched turned into a cock! He was on his back writhing on the stage singing about not having any fun. No fun! Autoerotic rock and roll! Iggy scratched his chest and belly with a drum stick and then with his fingernails, and he was singing about fucking you, and doing this to you, and he was pointing at a girl a few feet from the stage. A kid behind her, with short hair and a college jacket, gives Iggy the finger! Iggy stops singing, crouches. Then he springs into the audience, and lands on all fours in front of the kid, who now is wondering why he is here. Iggy is staring at the kid, and slowly begins to walk on all fours. The kid begins to sweat and look around for friends. There is shouting and much pushing and all 2,500 people are standing, straining to see. The crowd is aflame, for reasons they do not know. Iggy is challenging everything they have come to accept about concert relationships, and about male sexuality. The males with the short hair and the Corvettes feel it and they don't know what to do with the feeling. Some of them are throwing containers of orange drink at him. Rock and roll! What is going on? There is more screaming and pushing. Everyone is trying to see, jumping to see. You can't see. Iggy crawls back out of the audience onto the stage, finishes the song and the group walks off. They have been onstage only about fifteen minutes.

I pulled his pants down and began to suck him. He had a small- to medium-sized one. I have never seen a British musician who had a decent-sized cock. I guess it's all that tea they drink and the smog. He got hard right off and I asked him if he wanted to come. He said, later, and I sucked him for a while longer and then he pulled me up and took off my clothes. He was good, sort of. While we were fucking I kept hearing his song. I didn't come but he did, and grunted, just like at the end of the song. He said he was sorry I didn't come and he ate me until I did. He was good at that. I have never seen a British musician who wasn't. They must build up muscles in their tongues, having to talk like that all the time.

He’d thrown rocks at the Beatles when they played Shea Stadium

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Forest Hills was starting to make me nervous as well. It got so bad that I had to take a couple of reds and drink a pint of Gallo wine before I took the walk down 108th Street to Richie's parents apartment in Lefrak City. I was completely happy when I sniffed a tube of glue or a bottle of Carbona - it took you out as far as you could go. When I was high I would call special phone numbers to listen to the beep beep beep. Things would go buzz buzz buzz. sometimes, someone would come back from the supermarket with stolen cans of whipped cream. We used to huff the gas from the whipped cream cans to heighten the effect of the Carbona and the glue.

a suction-cup head that put the vibes where they were needed.

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a typical 1969-1970 rock concert — it smells. The hall until recently functioning as a triple-X porn movie house, attracting odors closer to the dead-fish than the fresh-popcorn end of the spectrum. The promoter hasn't seen fit to have the bathrooms cleaned before the show, so beneath the scent of stale semen you have an olfactory undertow of ancient urine, sharpening as the show proceeds and your stoned-senseless brethren migrate through the bathrooms, doing their business in every conceivable way but straight down or forward. Incense may be burning, and of course almost everybody is smoking cigarettes as well as dope, and almost everybody (particularly in Britain) is in serious need of a bath, new sweat over old sweat under long-worn hippie threads being pretty much the personal-hygiene hallmark of the psychedelic era.

DRINKING in bars, VOMITING on stage, RIDING horses

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The Stooges were a bunch of drunken, stoned nuts. We were a bunch of very ultra aggressive, mean, spiteful, lazy people and we wouldn't have succeeded anywhere on the face of the earth ... I'd rather be a failure than a success because all the successes I know are such boring little cheeses ... When I first met David Bowie in New York, he was saying how great I was, how much he loved my singing, but I thought his work stunk and I told him so ... "

The kids don't need anything but the craziest, insanest, raunchiest shit

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T: The problem is that rock and roll and politics don't mix because you reach a point where you have to give up one for the other. I just think they're all going to reach that point and it'll be interesting to see which side they go for; especially the Dils, because they really do believe in that bullshit . . . it may be bullshit but they really do believe in it .

NO: What do you think they would do if they started making a lot of money, if they started getting really famous?

T: Well, that's what I mean . Their Politics become hearsay ... it doesn't mean anything after a while. They 're rock and roll. It's entertainment.

C: The point was made clear to me when I went to see the Dils at Base's hall and there were posters on the wall saying "Welcome to the workers paradise" and it cost $4 to get in.

Paul Morrissey: I like fantasy & entertainment but it seems nobody puts real life into films. There was a friend of mine who was manager at a porno theatre in New York & they were just showing porno. It was the first early full porno they were having in Manhattan & he had some friend of his who was sort of a poet or something, who was the ticket-taker. Somehow this guy who had no business running a porno theater got the job. So he was the manager, and his friend the poet didn't come in one day to sell the tickets & he said 'Where'd you go yesterday, you didn't come in,' & he said, 'Oh, I had to go to that new film that just opened EASY RIDER.' And I was there and I said 'You went to see what? Why did you go to see that?' … He said 'Oh, I wanted to see my generation on screen,' and I thought that was preposterous, because that film really had nothing to do with even the ten year period within it was made … maybe 10 or 15 years earlier … the beatniks or something. But it just dawned on me. I said 'If you want to see your generation on screen, go inside the theater, in that porno up there, that's your generation.'

They were weird and different and didn't play songs like everybody else

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Lester Bangs: Rolling Stone had flown me up to San Francisco to check me out, since I had been writing for them for about six months. I guess they wanted to see if I was executive timber. I guess I wasn't, because not only did I get moved from Greil Marcus's to Langdon Winner's house after about two days, but I thought it was as curious that they sat around, not even smoking pot, but listening to Mother Earth and Creedence with absolute seriousness, as they were bewildered by my penchant for guzzling whiskey all day while blasting 'Sister Ray' at top volume ... to make a dismal story mercifully short, I discovered a magazine in Detroit called Creem, whose staff was so crazy they even put the Stooges on the cover. Of every issue! So I left my job and school and girlfriend and beer-drinking buddies and moved to Detroit, where my brand of degenerate drool would be not only tolerated but outright condoned, and over the five years I worked at Creem we used our basic love for it to exploit the punk aesthetic and stance in just about every way humanly possible.

THE MAGAZINE THAT DOESN’T KNOW WHEN TO QUIT!

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Slash: Tell us about the clubs in N.Y.

Lux: CBGB's is really the only club.

Slash: What about the "downtown bands"?

Lux: My personal opinion is, I think it's a good thing to keep those damned art-rock bands separated some place where they can drop out of art school and work out their neuroses! They don't know anything about rock 'n' roll. You can't dance to their music and I couldn't care less about it. I'm not interested in music you can't dance to. Get them out of the bars and put them in a loft!

Ivy: There are a lot of bands trying to get in at CBGBs but the art bands are keeping them out, they're cluttering up the place. They should call their music what it is. They should play for the artists in Soho. 

Lux: This "new wave," I don't know what it is. When rock 'n' roll changed to rock, it became acceptable. When punk rock changed to new wave it became acceptable and all these muck people started moving in.  Robert Christgau from the Village Voice despises us, so he won't write anything about us except snotty remarks and put-downs. He does not understand a goddam thing on what this band is about in the least. A hundred people told me the show we did at CBGB's was the best they'd ever seen and the review in the Village Voice called it "calculated ... sterile ... boring ... "

TV, 60's garage punk, comic books, jungle movies, deep-ghetto R&B

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The Cramps' first 45 was just about as gonzo as their second, and hoisted them as a mutant compliment to the Ramones & Dictators' corner of the New York underground. "Surfin ' Bird" was the band's five-minute mutilation of the Trashmen frat fave, commonly called "the worst song of the 60's" by squares who didn't know any better. Ivy and Brian Gregory create a dense aural cave for Lux Interior to wail and cry in, and the Cramps again proudly exhume the corpses of their rock heroes - bones, worms and all. The treatment given to Jack Scott's "The Way I Walk" is more reverbed, rollicking and loose .... the rockabilly hustle of the original is slowed down to a leering, sexed-up and fuzzed-out swagger. They continued this winning streak for quite a few years, cashed in (relatively speaking) on their own image around '85 or so, and were last spotted playing as Camel cigarette sponsors at kool niteclubs nationwide.

All of us drop-outs and fuck-ups got together and started a movement

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The rockabilly thing was huge from about ’72; The White Hart and the Lyceum on a Sunday night, it was wall to wall teddy boys. You had young kids coming in asking for ‘graffiti rock’. They all had their copies of the American Graffiti album and they wanted more of it ...

The songs they did before they went political were much better than the ones they did afterwards: ‘How Can I Understand the Flies’, that was my favourite song, and ‘I’ve Got a Crush on You’. They were like a proper sixties punk band. An American Nuggets-type group. But when they started that political crap, I went right off them. There wasn’t any need for it, really ...

People think that the early days of punk were all banging along at Sex Pistols gigs, but the early days for me were camping it up down Park Lane with a gang of trannies, and looning about. When me and Tracie hung out, we were going off down Park Lane, getting hold of some Arab and not doing anything apart from ripping him off of a whole heap of money.