There’s No Bones In Ice Cream: Sylvain Sylvain’s Story Of The New York Dolls
Sylvain Sylvain & Dave Thompson More than just happy-daze tales, rock-musician autobiographies don’t come much better than this.
It seems incredible both that New York Dolls guitarist Sylvain Sylvain is still alive – there are probably more members of the 1930s-founded Count Basie Orchestra alive than there are New York Dolls – and that it has taken him so long to get round to writing his autobiography. Co-written with the excellent Dave Thompson, There’s No Bones In Ice Cream turns out to be one of the best books of its kind. Unlike some of his former bandmates, Sylvain has an excellent memory and the kind of articulacy that can’t just be ghost-written (I once interviewed Johnny Thunders, who helpfully replied either “Yes” or “No” to every single one of my questions).
It does no harm to the reader’s enjoyment of this book that Sylvain had had an extraordinary life even before he became a New York Doll. Born in Cairo, he and the rest of his Jewish family were expelled from Egypt by Nasser, spent a few years in Paris, then found themselves in New York. His discovery of and love for rock is told beautifully, with a fan’s eye for detail, as are his highschool years (like the protagonist of 60s hit Do You Love Me, Sylvain danced his way into girls’ arms).
By the time Sylvain has met
Thunders and childhood friend Billy Murcia, his rock’n’roll future seems certain, and the chronicling of his years as a New York Doll – that brief burst of chaotic energy – is done with relish. Anecdotes spool out, scores are settled, and in general there’s a fantastic mix of pride in the band’s achievements and wry awareness that the legendary band he played in were for a long time pariahs of the western world. They never had a hit, which even the Ramones managed – and also unlike the Ramones they fractured into a thousand junkie solo albums before their reputation could be gold-plated – but the New York Dolls’ influence seeped into everything (during punk, their first two albums are repackaged. Sylvain is not impressed, sneering that the new cover makes the band look like Kiss).
In any great band, it’s often The
Quiet One who has the best stories. There’s No Bones In Ice Cream would be a superb book even if all Sylvain had done was work in a bank. As it is, it’s one of the best rock autobiographies ever.
■■■■■■■■■■
David Quantick