Hospital
Part of my No Fun Brooklyn experience had to include a visit to the world renowned, Hospital Records, located in the cellar/basement of Jammyland, a reggae record store. You don't get more dirty, grimy, and harsh than that my friend. Two years ago Dominick Fernow (Prurient) opened up Hospital in the cellar of the space with the intention of it being somewhere neat for he and his friends to hang out. According to Dom, Thurston Moore, Lee Ronaldo and Sutclifee Jugend are regulars. Oh you know, now big deal. A year later, I was at a show at the Warehouse and was talking to one of the Mouthus dudes and he told me that it's become much more than that--that Dom is actually making a living off the record store and the mailorders he gets from various customers (such as myself).

So like I said, Hospital is located in the cellar of a fucking Reggae Record store. It's hard to find and it's location--once again in a cellar--basically ensures its literal underground status. It's location also ensures that anyone that comes into the store has done some research, knows about the type of music that is sold there and is looking for something in particular. Dom has done something really unique with this store and he has made a literal mecca for noise kids and anyone else who is just curious. I mean half of the fun is finding the place and basking in its dingy awesomeness. I mean God forbid someone fart in that room. I shutter to think the smells that perculate from there during summer. But it's no big deal being that the record store above it smells like a Damion Marley concert.

So Saturday Frank and I woke up after a somewhat decent sleep and decided we would head over to Hospital before doors opened for Day Two. The night before at No Fun Frank had gotten into a haggling argument with Dom over whether or not Frank wanted this Nicole 12 7" that was just put out on Freak Animal.

Dom: You were the guy asking for the Nicole 12 7 inch. I got it. I found it. But you don't want it.
Frank: I think I want it.
Dom: Believe me, you don't want it.
Frank: No, I really really want it. And now that you say this, I definitely want it.
Dom: Just be prepared for the price. You have to ask yourself "am I willing to spend this much on a 7 inch".
Frank: I don't look at it as 40 dollars for music. I look at this Nicole 12 purchase as an investment with rewards.
Dom: Okay, fine. But it ain't going to be pretty.

So the next day we drive over to Brooklyn and park way far away from Hospital and spend half an hour trying to find it. We had planned on being there around two but due to the night before we needed an extra two hours to recoop. So we got there around four. Located just east of the Bowery we find Jammyland with the shitty Hospital sign hanging in the front. We've found it. As I walk in there the stench is heavy of weed and incense. I see a dude in dreads restocking stuff and another plain looking white dude handling things in the back. "Is Dom there," I asked. "Yeah he should be. He hasn't left yet."


The sights. (some dude took this)

We follow the signs that point down and say "To Hospital" as if directing us towards an actual haven for the wounded--as if we were actually heading to an real hospital. I see the shoddy looking step ladder leading down to a cellar and Frank instantaneously climbs down. I take a few more seconds as my first step on the chair is a little heavy and I feel the piece of shit wood buckle and sway underneath me. I can hear the wood crack and the ladder creaking as if it is about to snap and take me down with it to the cold hard cement six feet below. Basically, Dom also ensures that Hospital is inaccessible to the disabled and coordinatedly challenged as well. I guess Dom just hates cripples.

There is an element of danger to going to Hospital, almost as if you realize you are risking some part of your will being. Climbing down a dangerous and old step ladder into a small room that is nothing but concrete and cement has got to have some hazardous elements, but I think the element that is most hazardous is the mental element that comes with going to this place. There has to be something a little wrong and a little sadistic in a person's mind to go so far as to risk their well-being to find a record store. People come here every day and in their own masochistic way enjoy the danger of possibly hurting themselves just to find and enter this place. Simply put: the people that come here--there has to be something wrong with them. I mean the man who runs it has put out such albums as "The History of AIDS" "Cocaine Death" and "Troubled Sleep". That says it all. If he runs it, then there has to be a level of emotional and metal instability for patrons to frequent such an establishment. Hence: Chris and Frank.


Dom & Hospital(taken by some dude a long time ago when Dom obviously still had boyish charm)

As I make my way down the ladder into the tiny room I immediately recognize Dom and the two men he is talking to and hanging out with. Oh no big deal, Frank and I just walk into Hospital and find Dominick Fernow, Philip Best, and Mikko Aspa all standing around drinking beers and paling around. No big deal, just three of the biggest names in noise in THE ENTIRE WORLD. It was so surreal to just walk into a place like that and find these men just standing around joking and drinking. Dom was razzing Philip on his choice of black metal albums. "Oh--oh you want that guitar center shit--we don't sell that shit here MAN." Meanwhile I look over at Frank and he is gushing at the mere prescence of Mikko Aspa, his hero, his icon--the man behind Deathspell, Grunt and of course Nicole 12. Dom immediately recognized us, "oh you guys, well look what I got." He pulled out Mikko's 7 inch from Nicole 12 disturbingly titled "Braces", one of a very few left in the world.


The actual layout (almost true to size).

Dom: Do you want to pay for it now and get it over with?
Frank: No I want to look around.
Dom: Okay, well be prepared it's going to be painful.

Frank spent forty dollars on the album and it was extremely worth it. To listen to one of the last pressings of an album so disturbing, so vile, so fucked up, so offensive, so insulting, so angering on so many levels that it has been banned in certain areas--it was well worth it. I picked up a couple of things and paid for them and talk to Dom a little bit about what was going down for tonight. As we were leaving, Frank turns to Mikko and turns bright red. Holding his new purchase in hand Frank walks up to him.

Frank: I just--I just--I love everything you've ever done.
Mikko: *Stupid dumb retarded-kid look on his face*
Frank: I just wanted to say that
Mikko: *Blank mentally challenged smile on his face*
Dom: You'll have to excuse him, he's a little um--he's a little slow.
Philip:...and he's been drinking so he's slower.

Holding our new purchases in a conspicuous looking black paper bag we walked up the ladder and back to the car, simply amazed at our encounter. I was just floored completely. This was definitely part of the weekend I HAD TO EXPERIENCE. It WAS part of the No Fun experience. Seeing them all in one area and talking to them. It was beyond amazing. We looked pretty suspicious with our black paper bags and I guess that's kind of the point of the bags. With each purchase, they kind of urge you to get a bag. When you walk out of there you have this suspicous looking black paper bag with stuff in there, almost as if what you just bought was like pornography. It is not meant to be seen by other eyes, only yours. THere is some sort of sadistic enjoyment you get in listening to this music. And it is a purchase for your own self-satisfaction so in a way, you really are buying porn. And that is the final piece to this Hospital experience. Not only do you have to be a little sick to seek out and frequent the joint, but the experience leaves you a little ashamed as you walk out and people stare at your bag thinking the worst thoughts of you and judging you based on the gross, disturbing, and perverted things they think you have in your bag. The funny thing is, you actually do.



More from Brooklyn later!

- More-anal