Okay, let's unpack this. So today we're diving
into Mark Spitz and his career is, well, it's
kind of a fascinating cultural paradox, isn't
it? It really is. You look at what he produced
and wow, here's someone who is totally comfortable,
totally authoritative at like the absolute peak
of mainstream rock writing. Right, the big leagues.
Yeah, exactly. But then also at the same time,
deep in the, you know, the... gritty, low budget
world of New York's underground theater. It's
an incredible ability bridging those worlds.
We're talking about an American writer born in
Far Rockaway, Queens. Right. Bennington College
guy. Yeah. And he was a senior music journalist,
but also this this acclaimed playwright. It's
wild. He could get deep access to Mick Jagger.
Uh -huh. The big biography. And then like the
next week, he's premiering some raw punk inspired
play down on the Lower East Side. It's quite
the combination. Yeah, just for clarity, a quick
point for anyone maybe Googling right now. This
is M .A .R .C. Spitz. The writer, the playwright.
Not Mark Spitz, the swimmer. Legendary, but different
guy entirely. Totally different guy. Our Mark
Spitz, he really dedicated his life to documenting
rock and roll popular culture. And specifically.
Kind of where that culture smashed into New York
City. Yeah, exactly. And I think that's the central
theme for this deep dive, that versatility you
mentioned. Yeah, he had this really rare skill
treating, you know, the fleeting stuff, the subcultures,
and then the super famous people, treating it
all with the same kind of critical seriousness.
He could capture the feel, the ethos of these
really niche scenes. But he was still a regular
influential voice in, you know, Vanity Fair or
Spin. High profile media. Okay, so let's start
where most people probably knew him first. Section
one. The big time rock journalist. The biographer.
Yeah, this is where he really built his rep.
His main platform. Huge. Senior writer at Spin.
I mean, that's pretty central to music journalism.
Especially then. Absolutely. But his writing,
it went way beyond just Spin, didn't it? His
reach was pretty massive. Oh, totally. If you
look at where his byline popped up, it's like
a master class in critical access. He was a contributing
music writer for Vanity Fair. Which says a lot,
right? Handling those glossy, in -depth features
on huge stars. Definitely. Yeah. But he also
wrote for the New York Times, Maxim, publications
like Harp and Blender, even the New York Post.
So he could really shift gears. Highbrow critique
one minute, accessible pop coverage the next.
Exactly. He moved between them pretty seamlessly.
And that platform, that credibility, it obviously
let him tackle some major book projects, some
really comprehensive rock biographies. Yeah,
these weren't just like quick cash -ins. These
were serious works that kind of defined these
huge figures for a generation. They really became
standard reading for fans. Can you give us the
main ones? Sure. Well, there's Bowie, a biography,
and Jagger. Rebel, rock star, rambler, rogue,
just those two alone really cemented his reputation,
you know. Capturing the scale, the mythology
of music's giants. The heavy hitters. For sure.
But he didn't just stick with the classic rock
icons. He was also really important in documenting,
like, newer punk history. He wrote Nobody Likes
You, Inside the Turbulent Life, Times, and Music
of Green Day. Ah, interesting. And I remember
he also did that L .A. punk book, right? Co -author.
Yeah, that's crucial. We got the neutron bomb,
the untold story of L .A. punk. He wrote that
with Brendan Mullen. And that shows his dedication,
doesn't it? Capturing the authentic kind of gritty
origins of a scene, not just the stadium tours
and platinum records. Absolutely. It shows he
cared about the roots as much as the results.
So what really speaks to the the authority of
these biographies? How are they received? Well,
the global impact is pretty telling. These books,
they weren't just big in the U .S. They were
seen as definitive international. I will. Yeah.
Translated and published in French, Danish, German,
Dutch. He was genuinely shaping how rock history
was understood, you know, worldwide. OK, here's
where it gets really interesting for me, though.
This shift. How does this same guy, this rigorous
journalist with top level access, the one trusted
to write the definitive story on Jagger. Right.
How does he then spend his evenings becoming
this like essential player in a super niche,
tiny downtown New York theater scene? Doesn't
that. I don't know, risk making him seem like
he's just dabbling, like a dilettante. That's
the tension, isn't it? That's the core of his
whole legacy, I think. And that's what we should
dive into now. Section two, Mark Spitz, the downtown
playwright. Okay, so where did this start? It
really came out of the Ludlow Street scene. This
was starting around 1998, and it centered on
this venue called Totokan Nada. Totokan Nada.
Okay, for listeners who maybe aren't familiar
with that whole New York scene back then. What
does downtown theater actually mean here? What's
the vibe? That's really crucial context. We're
talking Lower East Side, late 90s, early 2000s.
It was the absolute epicenter of raw, low -budget,
often pretty experimental theater. It was completely
disconnected from the polish of Broadway or even
established off -Broadway houses. Right, no big
budgets, no velvet seats. None of that. The work
was often loud, visceral. It spoke directly to
the counterculture of that moment. It was kind
of like punk rock, but, you know, adapted for
the stage. Ah, OK. That helps connect the dots.
So the aesthetic actually lines up with the music
he was covering. Absolutely. It feels like a
direct theatrical extension of the stuff he was
writing about in Spin or Neutron Bomb. Makes
sense. And the play titles themselves, they totally
reflect that raw, rock and roll infused satire.
Things like Retail Sluts, The Rise and Fall of
the Farewell Drugs. Wow, okay. The Hobo Got Too
High, I Want to Be Adored. And then... The perfect
mashup of his worlds. The name of this play is
Talking Heads. I love that. He just couldn't
stop mixing his passions. Yeah. But was this
just him like having fun or did this theater
work actually get taken seriously? Did it get
critical recognition? Oh, it absolutely did.
He wasn't just dabbling. His play, Shyness is
Nice, in particular, got some real. critical
acclaim. How so? Well, it was actually selected
and anthologized as one of NY Theatre's Best
Plays of 2001. Okay, that's significant, especially
for work coming out of such a small, you know,
underground kind of venue. Exactly. It's serious
validation. And it shows the power of his writing,
regardless of the medium. It's enduring life.
How do you mean? Well, the opening monologue
from Shyness is Nice. Years later. It was included
in this applause anthology called One on One
Best Men's Monologues of the 21st Century that
came out in October 2008. No kidding. So the
guy writing about Mick Jagger also pens a monologue
considered definitive for contemporary American
actors. That specific piece of recognition, it
bridges his two careers beautifully, I think.
Yeah. It confirms that whether he was tackling
Bowie's life story. or writing a monologue for
some tiny downtown stage, his critical eye, his
ability to capture a specific voice for a specific
time, it was constant and impactful. Which leads
us perfectly into, I guess, section three, defining
counterculture and legacy. Because beyond the
big bios and the gritty plays, Spitz seemed to
have this knack for trying to, I don't know,
put his finger on cultural movements while they
were happening. Define them. Yeah, he wasn't
just reporting on stuff. He was actively trying
to, like, create a cultural taxonomy. Makes sense
of it all. How did he do that? Well, his memoir,
Peugeot, a memoir of downtown New York City in
the 90s, that's crucial here. Okay. Peugeot.
That book is basically the self -documentation
that connects his journalism right back to the
exact scene where his plays were born. Ah, so
it provides the context, the world of retail
sluts and all that. Exactly. He was living the
culture that he wrote about and that he put on
stage. But then, okay, then he turns around and
writes a book called Tree. The gentle revolution
in music, books, television, fashion and film.
Right. That seems like such a huge shift from
punk chaos to like quiet, earnest, kind of quirky
aesthetics. What was he trying to do with that?
I think it really shows his commitment to giving
historical weight, critical weight to movements
that often get overlooked or just dismissed as,
you know, fleeting trends. By writing twee, he
was basically saying, look, this aesthetic, this
gentle revolution. It's worth serious critical
thought just as much as Stadium Rock is. So it
elevated him maybe beyond just being a journalist
to be more of a public voice on culture? I think
so, yeah. And he clearly had the platform to
use that voice. You see him speaking at universities.
Right. Didn't he speak at Columbia? Yeah, Columbia
University talking about playwriting. And then
DePaul University talking about journalism. He
literally taught both halves of his career. That's
amazing. And you'd see him pop up as a go -to
cultural commentator, right? Like a talking head
on MTV, VH1, MSNBC. Ah, right. The expert voice
explaining things. Totally. He'd really mastered
that multi -platform way of doing cultural critique,
applying his insights wherever pop culture was
being discussed. He also wrote fiction too, right?
A couple of novels. Yeah, that's right. How Soon
is Never and Too Much Too Late. And he popped
up in some anthologies, too, like the Encyclopedia
of Exes and Rock and Roll Cage Match. So writing
across basically all formats. He really covered
the map. Okay. So wrapping this up, what does
this all mean? Mark Spitz, his career, it's a
pretty remarkable trajectory, isn't it? It really
is. You've got this senior music journalist providing
the definitive context for these rock legends.
Bowie Jagger. Mm -hmm. And then, at the exact
same time, he's this recognized playwright shaping
an intimate, specific downtown scene. His legacy
seems to be about a writer who just refused to
let culture be neatly separated into boxes. Yeah,
he provided context and insight across pretty
much every major medium. High culture, low culture,
pop culture. He was there. It's a powerful testament,
I think, to the idea that critical rigor matters
everywhere, whether you're covering the biggest
star on the planet or the smallest, grimiest
little theater. Agreed. And we should mention,
sadly, that Mark Spitz died in New York City
February 2017. He was only 47. So young. Yeah.
Our sources confirm his death, but didn't provide
any information about the cause. But his work
definitely remains. It's like this potent cultural
time capsule, isn't it? Documenting both the
huge narratives of rock history and these tiny,
intense, maybe easily forgotten corners of the
New York art world. Absolutely. Which I think
raises a really interesting question for you,
the listener, to think about. Mark Spitz showed
us that the same sharp critical intelligence
can and maybe should be applied everywhere. So
think about today. Which cultural chronicler
now has the authority, the access, and the inclination
to cover, say, Taylor Swift? The biggest possible
star. Right. And also, in the same year, gives
serious attention to the smallest, most experimental
off -Broadway theater company. Yeah. Who's doing
both with the same kind of depth and credibility
that Spitz managed. Exactly. That model of versatile
engagement, it feels incredibly rare now. Maybe
impossible. And it's definitely worth pondering
why that might be.