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One concern many locals and residents voiced was the potential nighttime activity it might attract. Great Jones Street on a Friday night is rather empty and dark, save for a few restaurants and homeless people. This type of issue is extremely common in New York City, one that any person affiliated with NYU is sure to understand.

New Yorkers are resistant to change, modernization, and intruders. The 25 Great Jones Street Hotel would bring every one of these undesirable additions and an unsightly exterior. It is unsurprising that certain individuals expressed worry over a giant hotel and an increased number of tourists— they want Great Jones to remain a safe nighttime haven away from the hustle and bustle of the city, a place where families can walk in peace, friends can eat quietly at a cafe, and the homeless can do drugs in the alleyway.

The address E 4th St. The apartment is beautifully furnished and spacious on the inside, a extremely uncommon trait of East Village apartments. As discussed in class, there is a disillusionment that film creates in regard to New York City: The apartment of Elizabeth and her rebound lover are perfect examples: The film contributes to this false idea of Manhattan that, for a foreigner, serves as their reality. I have been studying the street for two months, and I myself was unsure whether the street scenes in the film took place on Great Jones or another nearby block.

Several New York streets seem to blend together, even to locals, and it is definitely an aspect that filmmakers have taken advantage of. The odd buildings are timeless indeed. It possesses a Japanese meat shop, vintage movie prop store, and elevated parking garage, but no grocery store. This map is special because it was created in , only about years after the naming of Great Jones Street, and because it is hand-drawn and extremely detailed.

A visitor could use it to navigate through the streets and a native could mistake it for a modern map. The map also makes the unfamiliar familiar by exposing the timeless structure and organization of New York City. The second image is of a building on Great Jones Street and Broadway. It has the same affect as the map. With a few alterations, the building could easily exist on Great Jones Street and Broadway in It is a small, quirky building situated next to much taller and plain structures—something not uncommon in the city today.

A quick search in the New York Times database proves that Great Jones Street was prone to fires in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Although it was not uncommon for New York City buildings to be at risk, it is astonishing that among thousands of articles, several referenced fires on a short, two-block street. One article references a fire that occurred on January 12, Many inhabitants and businesses, including an umbrella maker and a china dealer, lost thousands of dollars.

What is interesting about the article is its focus on the money lost by each affected individual and its lack of description regarding the scene 1. Two other articles reference a fire that occurred on June 9, in a building on Great Jones Street and Broadway.

Forty people nearly escaped, several of them women, as the building burnt down. These forty people, faced with death as the fire escapes and back stairwell were engulfed with flame, slid down hoses in order to escape. Some unfortunate individuals were forced to jump from the building onto the roof of another around twelve feet to avoid death. These three articles give a small glimpse of the struggles of living on Great Jones Street in the 19th and early 20th century.

The New York Times New York Tribune pg. The New York Times pg. The Great Jones Cafe-- an odd place http: To walk down Great Jones Street with an open mind and wide eyes one notices many interesting details. Firstly, Great Jones Street is unusually diverse. New York City is diverse in general, but Great Jones Street is two blocks of strange establishments that possess little to no commonality. A diner, a Japanese meat store, a discount furniture store that sells human-shaped pillows and machine gun decor , a giant parking structure, apartments, a fire station, a car repair shop, a tailor, and a rather large and expensive Chinese restaurant color this NoHo street.

No building on Great Jones is inherently eye-catching or exciting, so to discover this diversity the walker must deviate from the standard path and closely examine the space they are in. As this space is discovered, Great Jones almost becomes a character— it has life. All of the stores, restaurants, etc. They are all connected because of their location, and in this way the street becomes more than a mode of transportation, but a concept or text as de Certeau discusses.

So the most interesting aspect of walking down Great Jones Street is the dysfunctional diversity that characterizes the space it inhabits. The sign is eye-catching due to its odd placement away from storefronts and billboards as well as its peculiar text. What exactly does this sign mean; who is Michael Andrews and what did he bespeak? The alley is gated and this sign is obviously placed to inform passersby of the whereabouts of a somewhat hidden, but highly regarded, tailor. Great Jones Alley looking North http: Today Great Jones Alley is privately owned and seemingly drug free.

The alley itself is not much to behold but its existence in a mostly alley-free city is interesting to ponder. Both of these signs merely label standard city landmarks, but each leads to rich and informative history. Great Jones is essentially another name for 3 rd Street. Fashion, culture, and class were abundant on Great Jones.

The mayor of New York at the time, Philip Hone, was one of its most prestigious residents. The name Great Jones comes from a man named Samuel Jones. Jones is also notable for his stance against the ratification of the constitution. As a member of the New York State Assembly, at the Constitutional Convention of in Poughkeepsie, he suggested that New York would only ratify the constitution with the promise of a forthcoming Bill of Rights.

Since New York was a large and powerful state, the convention obliged. Since the time of Samuel Jones, the street has undergone significant changes and has lost the majority of its historical architecture. Today it is not a place of class and fashion or wagon and hat makers— its two blocks contain interesting architecture, diverse restaurants, and random shops. It does not contain any shocking or overly distinguishing features but blends in nicely with historic NoHo and the East Village.

You are commenting using your WordPress. You are commenting using your Twitter account. You are commenting using your Facebook account. Notify me of new comments via email. Notify me of new posts via email. Create a free website or blog at WordPress. Aerial view screenshot from Google Earth. L'uomo ha un retaggio di violenza nato insieme al pensiero astratto; quando abbiamo iniziato a pensare in astratto, abbiamo compiuto il passaggio dall'uccidere per mangiare all'uccidere per le parole e le idee.

Per ora siamo alla violenza per il nulla. Nulla a cui aspiriamo, in una quieta e paranoica disperazione: View all 5 comments. Nov 07, Vit Babenco rated it it was amazing. To make the men who made it. To be the sound. I was preoccupied with conserving myself for some unknown ordeal to come and did not make work by engaging in dialogues, or taking more than the minimum number of steps to get from place to place, or urinating unnecessarily. Read your bloody Orwell. The state creates fear through force. The state uses force eight thousand miles away in order to create fear at home.

Set in the early seventies, a famous rock star abdicates and retreats to the dereliction and sanctuary of the titular Great Jones Street,NY.. The themes and ideas are interesting,fame,privacy,freedom,the media etc. The characterisation is poor and the plot descends into the absurd. However the descriptive writing particularly in the opening chapters is excellent. I had higher expectations from a major writer. Two stars,maybe two and a half. Feb 13, Sentimental Surrealist rated it really liked it Shelves: The book that made me understand just what's so disconcerting about DeLillo.

See, the guy writes weird shit, but a lot of writers write weird shit that don't give me the same prickly feeling the best DeLillo does. No, what makes DeLillo such an odd writer is the combination of the weird shit he writes about and his chilly, almost journalistic tone, and this novel combines the both of them to the fullest effect out of what I've read so far. This particular volume ties reclusive rock stars, drugs, The book that made me understand just what's so disconcerting about DeLillo.

This particular volume ties reclusive rock stars, drugs, linguistic theory, and domestic terrorists as though it was casually commenting on the weather, complete with the usual exchanges featuring humor so deadpan it's sometimes hard to tell when you're meant to laugh. And it's a little rough around the edges. The rock lyrics presented don't quite come off as rock lyrics, although they're interesting as both social commentary and examinations of language.

They have a Jim Morrison feel, which will probably send half the people who read this but haven't read Great Jones Street running to them and the other half running from it. There are also moments where DeLillo gets so lost in expressing his ideas and drawing connections that he forgets to tell a story or develop his characters, leaving you with conversations between people about passing underwear all around the country. So and I bet End Zone is the same way , it's in some ways a retreat from Americana , and in other ways an advance.

The characters still need work from a developmental perspective, but he's worked out how to make them fascinatingly strange without tumbling into Ratner's Star 's excesses. You get masters of disguise, writers of porn for children, unscrupulous businessmen, and of course, domestic terrorists and our reclusive rock star. It's no masterpiece, but it sure is a fun ride. View all 3 comments. Oct 25, Nate D rated it liked it Recommends it for: Past or present LES residents and disillusioned rock stars. A quietly unnerving downward spiral.

In his ongoing survey of modern America, DeLillo's third book saw him looking at art and commerce through the lens of rock music and celebrity. One gets the sense that the narrator, rock star Bucky Wonderlick, having fled the stage mid-tour and retracted into a cold, empty apartment in a Lower East Side that was still both of those things compared to its scrubbed, crowded modern counterpart , is somewhat paralyzed by his need to fully consider and understand A quietly unnerving downward spiral.

One gets the sense that the narrator, rock star Bucky Wonderlick, having fled the stage mid-tour and retracted into a cold, empty apartment in a Lower East Side that was still both of those things compared to its scrubbed, crowded modern counterpart , is somewhat paralyzed by his need to fully consider and understand what his actions mean, after years of skirting such introspection in favor of the constant sprint onwards.

But his inactivity itself becomes a sort of action and ideology and an unconsidered one, at that , as well as perhaps another marketing angle in his music career. All of these things twist the book up into a plotline and send it on its way. Despite the fairly direct and active plotting this time around, as with most DeLillo there's a lot of depth and beauty to incidentals, from the sounds of the downstairs neighbor dreaming to a hallucinatory burning fire station. Unfortunately, the bracing austerity of Wonderlick's thoughts and activities as well as of DeLillo's prose, scalpel sharp even without the complete rhythm and poetry of his more recent work are undercut by the steady stream of visitors required to advance the story, a drugs-and-cults-and-paranoia arc which seems far less interesting than the tone and central setting.

This is my second Don DeLillo novel. The first one I read and liked a lot is "Libra. There is something very journalistic about the writing of that book - almost a documentary. I almost feel the same way with "Great Jones Street. Li This is my second Don DeLillo novel. Like why Oswald even exists on this planet, we wonder the same about the lead rock character Bucky Wunderlick.

At first I thought this character is based on Syd Barrett - but I think that is too British for this very American themed writer. Bob Dylan is more likely - especially after his supposed motorcycle accident that seems more myth than true - or We just don't know, or we will never know. The plotting of the book is not that interesting, but the characters are amusing. The whole political gangster aspect is not as interesting as Bucky sitting in his apartment on Great Jones Street, and commenting on his disappearance from the world. Retreating from one's world or going into another world is an interesting commentary on how one lives on our planet.

Mar 24, Lee rated it really liked it. Chicks don't dig it because it's ultra a-emotional, but dudes dig it for the cool response in the face of very good reasons for paranoia re: Worth it if you've read Underworld and Libra, but probably not so hot if you haven't and therefore don't recognize nascent expr ". Worth it if you've read Underworld and Libra, but probably not so hot if you haven't and therefore don't recognize nascent expressions of Donny D. Jul 18, Derek rated it really liked it. Jun 07, Peter rated it liked it. Let me begin by saying that the first chapter of this book is a 5-star chapter.

No doubt about it. And the first sentence And one amazing feat of this chapter--and the book as a whole really--is that, despite how few details he reveals, we believe that our narrator, Bucky Wonderlick, has bathed in the putrid, holy waters of this exces Let me begin by saying that the first chapter of this book is a 5-star chapter. And one amazing feat of this chapter--and the book as a whole really--is that, despite how few details he reveals, we believe that our narrator, Bucky Wonderlick, has bathed in the putrid, holy waters of this excess.

In fact, he has given everything to this excess. He has imparted "erotic terror to the dreams of the republic. But more specifically, I want to listen most when he actually treats the reader like a confidant. While I enjoyed all of Bucky's semantic riddles that he weaves with members of the media, managers, and desperate band members think an even more glib and witty version of Dylan circa "Don't Look Back" I felt a bit disappointed down the stretch that DeLillo never allowed his creation a real sense of human vulnerability.

I can't imagine him actually having had a childhood. It's also impossible to think how he first got to where he is now. In his effort to make Bucky a soul-drained wanderer in a hyper-real media culture, DeLillo might have actually drained the man's soul, which leaves us mostly with a very clever satire, punctuated with moments of entrancing darkness. I can see how this might be enough for some readers. The sentences alone are glorious. Yet, without spoiling too much, our hero has a non-reaction to a very important death, only a passing interest in another very important death, and no interest whatsoever in having an actual conversation with anyone.

Great Jones Street by Don DeLillo

I felt myself wishing to have just a few moments of the kind of x-ray a true rock tell-all promises. Though, in its favor, add a nice drug-related payoff down the stretch, the best band manager in fictional history, and a hilariously sad hack writer who haunts the upstairs of the building.

There was much to like here. It's just hard to fall in love with cleverness and bile. But I suppose Bucky has lost his capacity for love, and it might have been too much to ask to wish I felt a heart beating in his tale. Ironico, visionario, globale e sottovalutato. Si sottrae alla forza risucchiatrice di una generazione che lo ha incoronato icona degli eccessi e che vorrebbe ancora vederlo protagonista sulla scena.

Mar 11, sologdin rated it it was ok Shelves: His voice is not his voice. Everybody under contract has his or her facsimile. This is basic to a sound contractual relationship. At this precise moment in duplicate time, [another guy] is getting his toenails clipped in Waldorf Tower. The focus on privacy extends further to history: Some sort of bodily economy there, I suppose? Recommended for those always emerging from hotels in timeless lands, secret feculent menaces, and readers who think that the bed was having a dream and that the dream was them.

Jan 08, Lucas Dispoto rated it liked it. I think Delilo's writing is beautiful, but I have to say I've disliked his books more often than not. It's perhaps because I'm reading Delilo with the wrong attitude or the wrong expectations. This is the fourth book of Delilo's I've read, and I would only put "Libra" in the ranks of greatness. There is a bizarre paradox by which I love his writing but am strongly conflicted about his books.


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He definitely seems like a writer who demands rereads and the most focused dedication from his fans, so I'll revisit it in a few years, but for now, unimpressed. Jul 19, Jeff rated it liked it Shelves: He is sensitive, but also needy. Needy of the attention he is destined, in his mind, to receive as a rock star. The plot was ok, but the resolution didn't feel quite right. I would have loved more details about Bucky's music and career, but that was not in the cards. Plus, Bucky Wonderlick is a stupid name, lol.

Mix - Luna - Great Jones Street

I was floored by this book. No idea how anybody else will feel about it. The superbly named Bucky Wunderlick is a rock star turned recluse, walking out on his band at the height of their fame, holing up and tuning out in a dilapidated flat on Great Jones Street, New York. Wild rumours of his whereabouts soon start to circulate as Bucky seeks retreat behind his own myth: His sudden disappearance and the attendant rumours also mirror Dylan's own withdrawal after his motorcycle accident.

As one journalist notes: An accident for somebody like you is the equivalent of prison for a revolutionary. In this novel in particular he really lets fly in both directions at once. The below example is typical, with my own commentary in brackets: As for the character of Bucky himself, despite his thinking in the same portentous and powerful yet basically meaningless phrases as Delillo, he is - intentionally no doubt - something of a blank.

Instead, all the noise is made by the various players who can't leave him alone and continually invade his privacy - Globke, his manipulative manager; Azarian, his paranoid co-songwriter; Watney, a cynical English singer who has sold his soul to the corporate machine; Fenig, a struggling writer who lives upstairs; and no kidding Dr. Pepper, a shady chemist.

Those and others compete to secure either his sounds or his silence, spouting the most extraordinary gibberish at him during a plot in which the mountain tapes get mixed up, not withot symbolic significance, with a package of dangerous drugs. I decided to give Great Jones Street a reread after the recent announcement of the much-awaiting official release of Bob Dylan and The Bands beautiful 'Basement Tapes'.

Is it the great rock n' roll novel it sets out to be? Delillo is much too obtuse for anything as straight forward as that, plus his own dummy song lyrics suck for the most part. But it is a great drug novel, full of paranoid images and the insane monologues of highly stimulated imaginations. Ultimately though, too much of nothing.

Sospeso, ma allo stesso tempo rumorosissimo. Feb 08, Byron 'Giggsy' Paul rated it really liked it Recommends it for: Era una calle antigua. Pero no era una miseria terminal. Por los adoquines de la calle Lafayette llegaban camiones viejos retumbando. Me transporta del todo. Eso estaba bien hace mucho tiempo, molaba, era arte. Ahora todo es distinto. Yo hago moverse a la gente. Mi sonido los levanta del puto suelo. Por si acaso no me reconoces. Con el pelo reluciente. Y las emociones baratas que transmiten las letras me dejan hecho polvo. No es mi sonido.

El arte por encima de todo como verdadero catalizador del sentido y de la identidad de nuestras vidas. Sep 05, Billy rated it it was amazing. Not only is this book a remnant of the past, it is a remenant that is achingly birthing itself and has been, in the pop culture since , finding new the voice of nihilism and "the void" to the youth culture. But there was some beauty in it.

There must be, or why would Jennifer Clement's book " Not only is this book a remnant of the past, it is a remenant that is achingly birthing itself and has been, in the pop culture since , finding new the voice of nihilism and "the void" to the youth culture. There must be, or why would Jennifer Clement's book "Widow Basquiat" be interesting?

Or former members of Television be lecturing at the Smithsonian about the Bowery? And, check it out, Houston? This book is, as usual, enigmas and riddles and puns of DeLillo, a brilliant American Etymologist, who reduces Humanity in Time and Space to a specific Species and Studies them, intently and intensely. Plus if you've ever been around this area bordering the East and West Village in NYC, you can see how it tries to stay the same as it ever was, and how this kind of fame and the inevitability of runningoutofspace And if you ever lived in New York, you'll be nostalgic, and if you lived below 14th street, you'll be back in the club.

Understand the man who must inhabit these extreme regions, monstrous and vulval, damp with memories of violation. Even if half-mad he is absorbed into the public's total madness; even if fully rational, a bureaucrat in hell, a secret genius of survival, he is sure to be destroyed by the public's contempt for survivors. Fame, this special kind, feeds itself on outrage, on what the counselors of lesser men would consider bad publicity-hysteria in limousines, knife fights in the audience, bizarre litigation, treachery, pandemonium and drugs.

Great fiction for great readers

Perhaps the only natural law attaching to true fame is that the famous man is compelled, eventually, to commit suicide. Is it clear I was a hero of rock'n'roll? Toward the end of the final tour it became apparent that our audience wanted more than music, more even than its own reduplicated noise. It's possible the culture had reached its limit, a point of severe tension. There was less sense of simple visceral abandon at our concerts during these last weeks.

Few cases of arson and vandalism. Fewer still of rape. No smoke bombs or threats of worse explosives. Our followers, in their isolation, were not concerned with precedent now. They were free of old saints and martyrs, but fearfully so, left with their own unlabeled flesh.

Great Jones Street

Those without tickets didn't storm the barricades, and during a performance the boys and girls directly below us, scratching at the stage, were less murderous in their love of me, as if realizing finally that my death, to be authentic, must be self-willed- a succesful piece of instruction only if it occured by my own hand, preferrably ina foreign city. I began to think their education would not be complete until they outdid me as a teacher, until one day they merely pantomimed the kind of massive response the group was used to getting. As we performed they would dance, collapse, clutch each other, wave their arms, all the while making absolutely no sound.

We would stand in the incandescent pit of a huge stadium filled with wildly rippling bodies, all totally silent. Our recent music, deprived of people's screams, was next to meaningless, and there would have been no choice but to stop playing. A profound joke it would have been. A lesson in something or other. In Houston I left the group, saying nothing, and boarded a plane for New York City, that contaminated shrine, place of my birth.

I knew Azarian would assume leadership of the band, his body being prettiest. As to the rest, I left them to their respective uproars- news media, promotion people, agents, accountants, various members of the managerial peerage. The public would come closer to understanding my disappearance than anyone else. It was not quite as total as the act they needed and nobody could be sure whether I was gone for good.

For my closest followers, it foreshadowed a period of waiting. Either I'd return with a new language for them to speak or they'd seek a divine silence attendant to my own. I took a taxi past the cemetaries toward Manhattan, tides of ash-light breaking across the spires. The cab driver was young, however, a freckled kid with a moderate orange Afro. I told him to take the tunnel.

There was snow on the windowledge. Some rags and an unloved ruffled shirt of mine had been stuffed into places where the window frame was warped and cold air entered. The refrigerator was unplugged, full of record albums, tapes, and old magazines. I went to the sink and turned on both taps all the way, drawing an intermittent trickle. I tried the radio, picking up AM only at the top of the dial, FM not at all. Her mind was exceptional, a fact she preferred to ignore.

All she desired was the brute electricity of that sound. She wanted to exist as music does, nowhere, beyond maps of language. Opal knew almost every important figure in the business, in the culture, in the various subcultures. But she had no talent as a performer, not the slightest, and so drifted along the jet trajectories from band to band, keeping near the fervers of her love, that obliterating sound, until we met eventually in Mexico, in somebody's sister's bed, where the tiny surprise of her name, dropping like a pebble on chrome, brought our incoherent night to proper conclusion, the first of all the rest, transactions in reciprocal tourism.


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She was beautiful in a neutral way, emitting no light, defining herself in terms of attrition, a skinny thing, near blond, far beyond recall from the hard-edged rhythms of her life, Southwestern woman, hard to remember and forget There was never a moment between us that did not measure the extent of our true connection.

To go harder, take more, die first. El ocaso de unos afectos que, tras la cultura expansiva de los 60, volvemos a vivir de puertas adentro.

Great Jones Street

Frases entrecortadas y repetitivas, siempre a la caza de unas sensaciones embalsamadas en el puro tedio, en el fracaso de una juventud que, apenas rascada la treintena, se siente envejecida. Esa a la que siempre volvemos.

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Aug 22, Jacob Hurley rated it liked it Shelves: Book three on my list of nine Delillo books I'm reading this year. This is the first one I came to with some trepidation. It's hard to imagine a good outcome when an author is writing a book about rock music culture but claims to listen to "mostly jazz and classical. Of course, we're talking here. This isn't "Good Golly Miss Molly" anymore. Indeed, protagonist Bucky Wunderlick's group sounds less like the Doors I've heard Morrison or maybe Dylan during his first exile was a template and more like the Fugs. The pummeling noise and howling aggression, aimed squarely at their audience, seems a bit farcical for the time, but not much.

Read after the age of punk and post-punk and no wave and noise, it seems downright contemporary. Only the sheer magnitude of fans seems suspect. Wunderlick ditches the band and hides out in a squalid apartment on the titular street in Manhattan. Above him is a writer, and beneath is a woman with a strange, disfigured child. Wunderlick tries to hide out, to escape his escalating fame and infamy, but people find him soon enough. The outside world spins yarn after yarn about his true whereabouts. The wild-eyed flights of fancy in "Americana" fuse with the close-to-the-vest observations of "End Zone" into the thing we think of when we think of Delillo -- it's muted, funny, profane, incisive, it plays around with the edge of the form at several points, the narrative quits and we get to read excerpts from Bucky's press kit, including lyrics , it pumps in huge quantities of paranoia and plenty of fringe groups vying for control.

The sentences are sumptuous as ever, and I underlined tons of great moments; the difference here was that almost none of the standout lines made much sense outside of the narrative. The ideas needed the context of the story to really pop. I'm not sure if that's an improvement or not. The places where I thought it would stumble, it did. Bucky's "lyrics" aren't profound when either sung of scanned, and, as I said before, they don't even seem like an ultimate parody, as there were plenty of bands at the time trafficking in this very set of concerns.

Delillo's outsider status only ever catches up with him here. Other things, like the supposed "excess" of Bucky's lifestyle, seem almost quaint when put up against the modern era. The opening line, "Fame requires every kind of excess," is great and endlessly quotable, but the excess of our hero is already a distant memory when we meet him. Apart from a few crimes of negligence, his status as a Delillo-cipher is well on its way from page one.