Jiminy jee! Last week the New York Dolls played our block. All the way from across the sea, with the CREEM seal of good quality and bad taste; American’s latest singing sensations. And pretty shitty they were. It was a publicity job, a quick rush by Mercury to give the boys a second nibble at the English cherry. Fill the empty spaces on gig sheets, bags of ads and maybe this’ll be the group to make Mercury a world-) wide sales force to reckon with.

Yeah and they wuz the only people who stayed enthusiastic, as they pushed their press pictures of the NY perves (tight dresses and lipstick, sporting highheeled shoes) and got their knickers in a twist, flinging transfers, shouting for the encore (they was spaced in the audience very cunningly, a nice white sweater every fifth row, clapping their neighbours on the back: “Aren’t they great, man! More!! Huzzah!!”) None of the hype helped* A large made-up mob showed, expecting a drag-act tnore revolting than anything in their wildest teen dreams. Instead they got, for three hours, nothing. “They boys have left their hotel.” Boo! “They’re on the M.I.” Boo! “They’ve reached the car park.” Boo! “They’re in the changing room.” Boo! “And here they are, all the way from New York City, the NEW YORK DOLLS!!” BOOOOOOOO!!!!