Imagine a world where, I don't know, the most
rebellious, the most game changing music of the
60s and 70s just didn't quite ignite the way
it did. It's hard to picture, isn't it? those
sounds that just cracked everything open. Exactly.
Sounds that inspired, well, whole generations.
And behind so many of those raw, iconic, often
really controversial moments, there was this
singular force. Right. Not the person on stage,
not the one with the guitar. No, but someone
absolutely essential. working behind the scenes,
often totally unseen, but making it all happen.
The hidden architect. Precisely. Yeah. And today
we're doing a deep dive into the life and frankly
unparalleled influence of a man whose name you
might not instantly know, but honestly his fingerprints
are everywhere. Danny Fields. That New York Times
quote really nails it, doesn't it? It really
does. Let me find it again. You can make a convincing
case that without Danny Fields, punk rock would
not have happened. That's a huge claim. A global
music revolution resting in part on one person.
It sounds like how turbly I know, but our mission
today really is to unpack why that statement
might actually be profoundly true. Okay, so where
are we drawing from for this? What's the source
material look like? We've got a really rich mix.
There's a detailed biography covering his whole
life and career, lots of interviews he gave over
the years, cultural commentaries, basically trying
to trace his journey, you know, from this super
bright student to this absolutely pivotal figure.
A manager, publicist, journalist, author. He
wore a lot of hats. He really did. So the goal
is to understand how his taste, this incredible
tenacity, and just this almost prophetic ear
he had. How that didn't just spot talent, but
actively shape whole movement. Right. Cultivating
it, promoting it. Yeah. We'll dig into the connections
he made, the crucial calls, and the lasting mark
he left on the Sound of Rebellion. OK, so let's
start at the beginning. Who was Danny Fields
before he became the Danny Fields? Because his
early life, it offers some Uh, some really interesting
clues, hints of that curiosity and maybe that
rebellious streak. It's fascinating, isn't it?
Because his origin story, you could say, it sets
him apart immediately from a lot of the, you
know, the raw street -level artists he'd later
championed. How so? Well, he was born Daniel
Feinberg, November 13, 1939. Jewish family, Richmond
Hill, Queens. But the thing is, he wasn't, like,
immersed in that gritty culture from day one.
He was incredibly bright. exceptionally so. Okay.
I mean, he didn't just go to college. He graduated
Phi Beta Kappa from the University of Pennsylvania
in 1959. Phi Beta Kappa. Wow. Okay, for anyone
listening who isn't familiar, that's that's serious
academic achievement, right? The oldest, most
prestigious honor society in the U .S. Exactly.
It signals major intellectual horsepower. Real
curiosity. Not just smarts, but a drive. Pen
phi beta kappa. That's Ivy League excellence.
But then the story takes a turn, doesn't it?
It gets even more interesting. It really does.
Because after Pen, he goes to Harvard Law School.
Harvard Law. I mean, for most people, that's
it. The set path. Success, security, the whole
deal. The conventional dream, right? Yeah. But
astonishingly, he leaves during his first year.
Gone. Just like that. Yeah. Which really makes
you wonder, doesn't it? What does that tell you
about him? his character, his priorities back
then. Right. To be that academically gifted,
clearly capable of nailing the conventional route
and then just walk away from Harvard Law. It
wasn't just changing majors. It feels like a
fundamental rejection of expectations. Yeah.
You know, like there was this powerful internal
pull towards something else. Something more authentic,
less structured. Maybe. Something maybe more
exploratory. It suggests this restlessness, this
creative energy that couldn't just be channeled
into law books. Yeah. It feels like a foundational
moment, looking back, like he was already starting
to carve out his own path even then, rejecting
the institution, trusting his instincts. Definitely.
Setting the stage for the cultural renegade he'd
become. It speaks volumes, like he was searching
for something bigger. more connected to culture,
something law school just couldn't give him.
And he found it pretty quickly. After leaving
Harvard, which must have been a huge decision,
he moved straight to Manhattan, Greenwich Village,
1960. The village in 1960. Wow. Yeah. He apparently
enrolled briefly at NYU, maybe just to, you know.
land somewhere. But it seems pretty clear the
real education wasn't happening in classrooms.
No, it was happening on the streets, right? In
the coffee houses, the art spaces. Exactly. He
just dove headfirst into the burgeoning downtown
arts and music scene. It was already buzzing.
A real hotbed. So this immersion in the village
atmosphere, how crucial was that? Oh, absolutely
critical. You have to picture it. 1960 Greenwich
Village. It's the heart of the counterculture.
You've got... beat poets like Ginsburg roaming
around, folk musicians like Dylan just starting
out, avant -garde artists pushing every boundary
imaginable political activist. A total melting
pot. Completely. It was dense, exhilarating,
a place where norms were actively questioned,
debated, where new art forms weren't just tolerated,
they were celebrated. So being in that environment.
It would have totally primed him for working
with boundary pushing artists later on. He wasn't
just living there. He was absorbing this chaotic,
vibrant energy. It must have shaped his perspective,
given him this gut feeling for what was real,
what was revolutionary, and what was just, you
know, noise. It set the stage, aesthetically
maybe, gave him a different kind of framework.
Definitely. An unconventional one. He learned
to trust his instincts in a place where instincts
were maybe all that mattered. And what strikes
me is how fast he pivoted from Ivy League Harvard
Law, straight to the absolute core of cultural
commentary and the underground art world. Yeah,
it wasn't like a slow drift, was it? It feels
like he was just pulled towards where the action
was. He knew where the energy was shifting. Exactly,
and an innate understanding. And his early career
steps, they're kind of surprising too, aren't
they? Adds another layer. Before the music biz
proper, he had jobs at places like Liquor Store
Magazine. An outdoor advertiser. Right. Not exactly
the glamorous rock and roll origin story you
might imagine for the guy who helped launch punk.
It's a bit of a contrast, yeah. But, you know,
those seemingly mundane jobs, I think they're
actually quite telling. Maybe they hone some
crucial skills. Like what? Communication? Yeah,
think about it. Working for trade publications
like that, you learn the mechanics of media,
how to craft a message, target an audience, get
info out effectively, even if it's just about
beer or billboards. Gives you an insider's view
of the mainstream, so you know what you're rebelling
against later. Perhaps. It sharpens your perception
of what's outside that mainstream. It definitely
shows it wasn't an overnight thing. He was learning
the ropes, the mechanics of communication, maybe
from a pretty practical, even cynical angle.
That would have been invaluable later. OK, that
makes sense. He's learning the tools. And those
tools quickly found a much more explosive outlet,
right? 1966, that's a key year. Huge year. He
becomes managing editor at Datebook, teen fan
magazine. And he makes this decision that just
sends shockwaves everywhere. He's the one responsible
for shining a spotlight on John Lennon's more
popular than Jesus quote. He didn't just report
it passively, he amplified it. took something
simmering in the UK and threw it right into the
heart of American teen culture. An absolutely
explosive moment. And Fields, this young editor,
basically lit the fuse. Totally. The quote itself,
you know, Lennon saying, the Beatles were more
popular than Jesus, Christianity was declining.
It was from a British interview, maybe a bit
off the cuff. But publishing it in a date book.
That put it in front of a massive American teenage
audience. And crucially, a much more conservative
audience in many parts of the country. The reaction
was instant, seismic. Yeah, the uproar, especially
in the Bible Belt, record burnings, protests.
Radio stations boycotting Beatles music, threats
against Lenin. It was a massive cultural clash,
youth culture versus traditional values. So again,
he's not shying away from controversy. He's leaning
into it, maybe even shaping the discourse. It
definitely shows that early knack for spotting
and amplifying stuff that was culturally significant,
even if it was provocative. Or because it was
provocative. He wasn't afraid to push buttons,
challenge norms even then. No, that willingness
to stir the pot, to use media for impact, even
if it meant backlash. That became a real hallmark
of his career, didn't it? He understood the power
of an idea and he wasn't afraid to unleash it.
Absolutely. And that same instinct, that willingness
to dive into the heart of the counterculture,
it also leads him to Max's Kansas City in the
60s. Right. The legendary New York club. And
that's where he plugs into Andy Warhol's factory
social circle. The absolute epicenter of avant
-garde everything. Art, film, fashion, lifestyle.
Max's was more than a bar, wasn't it? It was
like a sanctuary, a stage, a crucible where artists,
musicians, writers, provocateurs all gathered
and collided. Anything felt possible there. And
he wasn't just like hanging out observing. He
was in it. Deeply. The sources say he occasionally
shared his loft with Warhol actress Edie Sedgwick.
Which is just an incredible detail, isn't it?
It paints such a vivid picture of his immersion
in that world. He wasn't a tourist. He was part
of the fabric. Sharing living space with Edie
Sedgwick? That puts you right inside the factory
bubble. Blurring those lines between professional
and personal. Which was very much the factor
ethos. And his involvement went deeper. He was
chronicling it too. He wrote an account of the
Warhol sponsored Velvet Underground during their
early years. Capturing that raw energy when they
were just starting out. Groundbreaking stuff.
Totally. And then later, he penned the liner
notes for the band's album live at Max's Kansas
City, recorded in 70, released 72 after they'd
broken up. So this period puts him right at the
intersection. Art, music, counterculture, the
factory was that crucible. Like you said, creativity
and transgression all mixed up. And his direct
link to the Velvet Underground, a band we now
see as massively influential, way ahead of their
time. It just underscores how early he could
spot that groundbreaking talent. stuff that defied
easy labels. So what does it mean for a future
manager to be that embedded? Sharing a loft,
writing the liner notes? It means he wasn't an
outsider trying to figure it out. He was breathing
the same air. He understood the heartbeat of
what was new and radical because he was part
of it. It gave him this deep, almost visceral
empathy for the artist he'd champion later. He
got it. Okay, so here's where it feels like things
really kick into another gear. He moves from
documenting the underground to actively shaping
the mainstream. even, and this is wild, with
artists he didn't personally like. Right, but
just before Electra, there's another interesting
stop, Freeform Radio. WFMU in New Jersey, 1968
-69. Ah, yes, the groundbreaking Freeform years.
What was so revolutionary about that? Well, compared
to most radio back then, which was super formatted,
strict playlists, commercials, Freeform was like
the Wild West. DJs had incredible freedom. Play
whatever they wanted. Pretty much. Entire album
sides, weird experimental stuff, deep cuts, challenging
sounds commercial radio wouldn't touch. It was
about curation, connecting with listeners on
a different level. So that experience must have
sharpened his ear even more for unique sounds.
Absolutely. And it put him in a position to discover
tons of new music, but also importantly to be
discovered. People in the industry were listening,
looking for someone with that kind of antenna.
And discovered he was. He gets hired by Electra
Records. Now, Electra had been mostly folk, right?
But they were hitting big with rock, thanks to
the Doors. Huge success with the Doors. And Fields
was brought in specifically to publicize them.
A massive but also pretty controversial band
by then. Okay, but here's the kicker. The part
that really shows his professionalism. He admitted
quite openly in interviews later that He and
lead singer Jim Morrison disliked each other.
Not just disliked, mutual antagonism apparently.
A real personality clash. Which makes what he
achieved even more incredible. It's a fantastic
example of his effectiveness, isn't it? He didn't
let the personal friction get in the way. He
was hired to do a job. And he nailed it. Despite
the antagonism, he got Morrison on many key teen
magazine covers in 1968. Which was huge for cementing
Morrison's image as this rock icon, this rebel
figure for young audiences. It wasn't just about
shifting units. It was about building the myth.
So what does that say about him? His ability
to market talent, even with that personal friction?
It underscores his focus on the potential. The
music. the persona, the cultural impact, not
his own feelings. He could compartmentalize,
separate the art from the artist, the business
from the personal. That's rare, especially in
an industry full of egos. He saw the bigger picture,
understood his role in shaping that cultural
current no matter who he was working with. Exactly.
A rare discipline. A strategic mind. But his
impact at Electra went way beyond just managing
existing stars, even difficult ones. It was about
discovery, that instinct for the next thing.
Yes. September 1968. This is crucial. He acts
on a tip from two WFMU DJs he trusted, Bob Rudnick
and Dennis Frawley. Goes out to Detroit and Ann
Arbor based on their recommendation. Yeah. And
that trip, absolutely instrumental because based
on what he saw and heard there, he recommended
Electro sign two bands, the MC5 and the Stooges.
Wow, MC5 and the Stooges in 1968. If you connect
that to the bigger picture, this wasn't just
signing bands, this was laying the groundwork
for a whole musical revolution that would explode
years later. Because both bands became massive
inspirations for punk, right? US and UK. Totally.
The MC5, politically charged, high -energy, raw,
protopunk sound, confrontational live shows,
a sonic assault. Garage rock meets radical politics.
And the Stooges. Even Roar. More primitive, viscerally
aggressive, Iggy Pop out front, just completely
unhinged. They basically wrote the blueprint
for rock stripped down to its primal core. These
bands sounded like nothing else at the time,
did they? Psychedelic rock, folk rock was big.
Completely out of step. They were loud. aggressive,
unapologetic, and Fields heard it. He had this
uncanny ability to hear the future, that raw,
untamed energy that would redefine everything.
He wasn't just signing bands. He was investing
in an idea, a raw, vital idea. Right. And he
also got David Peele, the New York Street musician,
signed to Electra around then, too. Another unconventional
choice. It wasn't just one sound he was after.
It really cemented his reputation then, didn't
it? As a talent scout with this ear for the raw,
the authentic. Think about it. How many major
label execs back then would hop on a plane based
on a DJ's tip? go digging in the gritty scenes
of Detroit and Ann Arbor. Not many, I'd guess.
It shows his proactive grassroots approach. He
wasn't waiting for demos to land on his desk.
He was out there seeking it, finding the unpolished
gems. That's the mark of a real visionary, isn't
it? He knew where culture was heading before
almost anyone else. So, OK, he's got this track
record, spotting the revolutionary. What does
this mean for punk rock as we know it? Because
for a lot of people, the story of punk really
ignites with one specific discovery in a specific
club. Right, a moment of serendipity maybe, but
also pure prescience. Fast forward to 1975. Fields
is still totally plugged in, writing a column
for the Soho Weekly News covering downtown art
and music culture, his fingers right on the pulse.
And then he walks into CBGD. CBGD, legendary
dive bar in the East Village. Originally meant
for country, bluegrass, and blues, hence the
name, but it accidentally became the absolute
cradle of punk rock. The scene there in 75 must
have been something else. Raw, visceral. A total
contrast to the arena rock and disco dominating
the charts. And then in walks Danny Fields, and
he sees the Ramones. Leather jackets, bowl cuts,
songs under two minutes long, played incredibly
fast. And Fields got it. Yeah. Instantly. He
recognized that raw Pure energy, the stripped
down aesthetic. He understood that rejecting
guitar solos and complex arrangements wasn't
about lack of skill, it was a statement. A primal
scream against prog rock excess? Exactly. He
saw something totally new, totally vital. And
crucially, he helped get them signed to Sire
Records, gave them the platform they needed.
His eye for authenticity again, that rejection
of anything too polished, it just meshed perfectly
with the Ramones sound. Completely. But his role
didn't stop there, did it? He wasn't just the
discoverer. No, he became their co -manager with
Linda Stein and played this crucial strategic
role, especially in taking their influence global.
This is key. It wasn't just about breaking them
in the U .S. Field saw the bigger picture. He
made the pivotal decision to bring the band to
England. And the impact there was just enormous.
A cultural exchange that basically lit a fuse.
It was absolutely unequivocally pivotal, a masterstroke.
They arrived in England July 1976. The UK scene
was just simmering, ready to boil over. Kids
were tired of Prague, tired of glam. They wanted
something raw, rebellious, something that spoke
to their reality. M. Ramones provided it. Their
speed, their aggression, the three -quart attack,
even their look. It just galvanized all these
nascent British bands forming in pubs and art
schools. Like the Sex Pistols, the Clash, the
Damned. They all explicitly said seeing the Ramones
was like an awakening, a direct inspiration.
Joe Strummer said, this is it. Steve Jones realized
you didn't need to be a virtuoso, you just needed
attitude and energy. So without Fields making
that move, bringing them over then? That spark
might not have ignited in the same way. The timeline,
the whole character of British punk could have
been drastically different. It really highlights
his global vision, his understanding of cultural
exchange. He wasn't just managing a band. He
was facilitating this cross -cultural explosion,
midwifing punk, essentially. That New York Times
quote again, punk rock would not have happened
in the same way. It starts to sound less like
hyperbole. It really does. It's hard to overstate
how important that transatlantic connection was.
And under his management, the Ramones recorded
those absolute classics. The first album, Ramones,
then Leave Home, Rocket to Russia, foundational
albums, cornerstones of the genre. Albums that
influenced countless bands for decades. Just
pure punk energy distilled. But maybe the most
personal testament to his influence comes later,
right? 1980, the end of the century album. Produced
by Phil Spector, famously, and it has the track,
Danny says, a song explicitly about Fields. Which
is pretty amazing in itself, and that song gets
covered later by the Foo Fighters by Tom Waits.
Which just shows its enduring appeal and how
Fields became part of the Ramones mythology,
part of music history itself. It makes you think,
doesn't it? What does it say about a manager
when a band like the Ramones writes a song about
you, a song that lasts? It's more than just a
tribute, isn't it? It speaks to the depth of
the relationship, his influence, the mark he
left on them personally and professionally. He
was just the money guy. or the strategist. He
was part of their story, their identity, their
struggles, their triumphs. The lyrics of Danny
says they talk about the grind of touring, the
ups and downs, and Danny's there through it all.
It's a rare honor. It speaks volumes about his
character, his connection. It's his legacy literally
woven into the fabric of punk rock. You hear
the song, you remember the man. And the thing
is, Danny Fields wasn't just a punk rock guy
who faded out after that initial explosion. He
wasn't a one trick pony or even one era manager.
No, his knack for discovery, that commitment
to raw talent, his ear. It just kept going for
decades, which is remarkable in the music business.
He kept finding that authentic spark, even as
sounds changed. Totally. Like in 1990, 15 years
after finding their own, he discovered singer
-songwriter Paleface in New York. Paleface. Anti
-folk scene. Right. Different sound, but still
that raw, quirky, authentic thing. Exactly. Defined
in its own way. And Fields managed him. helped
get him signed to Polygram and then Electra,
a return to Electra. A full circle. And then
even more recently, like 2015, Fields is well
into his 70s by this point. He discovers this
East London punk band, False Heads, in Camden.
Still scouting in London clubs in his 70s? Incredible.
And he's been super influential in their career,
apparently. You even call them the future of
rock and roll in interviews. Wow. Coming from
the guy who found the MC5, the Stooges, the Ramones.
That's quite an endorsement. It's unbelievable,
isn't it? It just shows this consistent ability
to spot talent across generations, continents,
genres. He wasn't stuck on one sound. He was
tuned into an energy and authenticity, that spirit
of rebellion, whether it was Detroit protopunk
or London punk revival or New York anti -folk.
His eye and ear just stayed sharp. He never lost
that instinct for the next thing, however underground
it seemed. Remarkable longevity of taste. And
when he eventually did step back from full -time
management, his versatility shone through again.
He moved into writing. Write authorship. He co
-authored Dream On, the biography of Serenda
Fox, Warhol actress, married to Steven Tyler
for a while. Which brought him back to that factory
world, that intersection of rock and art, offering
that insulator perspective. And then he wrote
Linda McCartney, a portrait. which became a TV
miniseries. Yeah, on CBS. A pretty successful
pivot, moving from shaping history to documenting
it. It makes sense, though. His experience writing
about the Velvets early on, his deep connections
to the factory, it flows naturally into chronicling
those figures and scenes. He wasn't just researching,
he was drawing on lived experience. Giving insights
few others could. But beyond the professional
achievements, there's a personal aspect that's
really significant too, isn't there? You mean
him being openly gay in the business early on?
Exactly. He was one of inescapably the first
people in the music business to be openly gay.
And you have to remember the context, that era.
Being out, especially professionally, was way
more challenging. Huge social stigma, potential
career suicide for many. So it took courage.
Absolutely. It makes him not just a music pioneer,
but a quiet social pioneer too. It highlights
his personal bravery, his authenticity. He carved
out his own space. Influencing culture, not just
through the music, but just by being himself
in an industry that wasn't always welcoming.
Right. That quiet defiance probably resonated
with the outsider artists he championed. He forged
his own path, personally and professionally.
And he's still living in New York City, the city
he helped shape. So it's just abundantly clear,
isn't it? He left this huge, multi -faceted mark.
And his story, it's compelling enough that it
keeps being told. He's not just a footnote. He's
recognized as this vital voice. Absolutely. He's
been interviewed in tons of documentaries. He's
the go -to guy for firsthand accounts of those
pivotal scenes. Like Nico, Icon, the Ramones
docs. Like, we're out of here, end of the century.
MC5. A true testimonial. Warhol docs. Like a
walk into the sea. The list goes on. 25 years
of punk. He's always there. His presence in these
films just underscores his role, right? As a
witness, a participant. He's the one connecting
the dots for historians, for fans, offering that
personal insight only someone who was there can
give. He's like a living archive of counterculture,
providing that texture, that context. And it's
not just documentaries. He's a central character
in some really key books about the era, too.
Huge books. Gene Stein's Edie. An American girl.
That definitive oral history of Edie Sedgwick
in the factory. His recollections are crucial
there. And maybe the biggest one, Legs McNeil
and Gillian McCain's Please Kill Me. The uncensored
oral history of punk. The abs - For his gorgeous
taste in music, his generous intellect, and his
killer sense of humor, this book is dedicated
to Danny Fields, forever the coolest guy in the
room. Forever the coolest guy in the room. I
mean, that's not just a polite thank you, is
it? No way. It's this powerful assertion of his
legendary status among the people who lived it,
who created punk. It speaks volumes about his
taste, sure, but also his personality, his intellect,
his humor, his impact as a person. He wasn't
just a suit. He was seen as this guiding spirit,
a mentor, a friend, that kind of dedication from
your peers. That's profound. And there's more.
His cultural background got specific focus too.
In Stephen Lee Bieber's book, The Heebie Jeebies
and Ceebie Jeebies, a secret history of Jewish
punk. Right, there's a whole chapter on him called
A Nice Jewish Boy. Which highlights that intersection,
his Jewish background of punk rock, adds another
layer to his identity in these movements, challenges,
stereotypes maybe, shows rebellion comes from
all sorts of places. And then finally, the ultimate
recognition perhaps, his own feature length documentary.
Danny says, premiered at South by Southwest in
2015, chronicling his whole life. The existence
of that film just cements it, doesn't it? His
influence, the richness of his story, it brings
his behind the scenes genius right out into the
spotlight for everyone to see. Hashtag tag tag
outro. So what a journey, huh? We've gone through
Danny Field's incredible, often unexpected career
from academic brilliance. pen Harvard Law dropout.
Straight into the thick of the Greenwich Village
art scene. Then that bold move at Datebook with
the Lenin quote. Showing that media savvy early
on. Then Elektra. Discovering the MC5. The Stooges.
Laying the sonic foundation for punk. And then,
of course, the Ramones. Finding them, co -managing
them, taking them to the UK, which was just monumental,
seeing them through those first iconic albums.
Yeah, we've really seen how his taste, that sharp
mind, his absolute willingness to embrace the
unconventional, the authentic, how it all made
it indispensable. He wasn't just managing bands.
He was a cultural connector, wasn't he? A tastemaker
who just knew where things were heading way before
others did. He didn't just follow trends. He
seemed to catalyze them. He understood the pulse
of the underground. He really was the unsung
hero behind so many sounds that defined generations.
Always listening, always looking for what was
next. Seeing the future in that raw energy, that
defiant sneer, and having the guts to push it
forward, often against the mainstream. His story
is such a great reminder that sometimes the real
revolution starts quietly behind the scenes.
with conviction. Definitely. So as you think
about Danny Field's story, this life lived right
on the edge of cultural innovation. Maybe consider
this. How many other architects of cool might
be out there right now, quietly shaping things
behind the scenes, away from the spotlight, waiting
for their influence on the next big wave to be
recognized? What does it take to spot that future
when it's just a glimmer, just noise to most
people? Yeah. And are you paying close enough
attention to those hidden forces connecting the
dots for whatever's coming next?