The OTHER Max's Kansas City

“Max’s is where you let your Freak Flag fly.”
- Jimi Hendrix.

Located across from the Northeast corner of Union Square, Max’s Kansas City was during the early and mid-Seventies NYC’s trendiest eatery and hangout. Frequently by the likes of Warhol, it catered to the “art” crowd, with owner Mickey Ruskin working the door to make sure only the right folks got in.

That was NOT the Max’s I remember. Upstairs from the restaurant was a small club where anyone who paid the admission could go to hear acts such as the Wailers (featuring both Marley and Tosh), the New York Dolls or that certain up-and-coming singer from Freehold, NJ. According to some accounts, the entire upstairs premises was at Max’s was illegal, although Mayor John Lindsay may not have been aware of this when he visited.

Some friends and I went to Max’s in 1976 to hear Kongress, a band who’s lead vocalist was missing his front teeth. Opening for the evening were the Dead Boys, who struck all of us as loud and crude (and we weren’t exactly chamber music buffs!). Kongress’s act consisted of a continuing series of loud riffs played while the vocalist grunted assorted Gothic phrases and did assorted pyrotechnics inside a caldron. The only lyrics I can recall were “I survived, though I was eaten alive,” which our toothless friend sang while dancing with a fake skeleton.

Several things struck me about Max’s upstairs. First, the waitresses hustled drinks with a ferocity I have never seen elsewhere. You would swear that our hawk-eyed server spent the whole evening with her eyes fixed upon the level of fluid in our beer bottles, ready to pounce as soon as they were empty. None of us were asked for ID, despite the fact that the oldest in our crowd was about 20. And the bathroom was so grungy you wished you wore thick rubber gloves.