Standing before a Sherwin-Williams store, Mark Ronson admitted to feeling absolutely nothing. Yet, this unassuming building once housed the legendary Buddha Bar, a pivotal spot in his early career.
Back in the 1990s, as a somewhat uninspired student at New York University, Ronson went to incredible lengths just to play a few records at this very downtown establishment on the corner of Varick and Vandam.
In its heyday, Buddha Bar was the epitome of New York cool – a vibrant lounge where supermodels swayed to the innovative beats of the city’s top DJs, and bouncers meticulously filtered out anyone who didn’t quite make the cut.
Ronson gazed up at the bright Sherwin-Williams sign, a stark contrast to his vivid memories.
“I desperately wanted to perform here,” he confessed. “But honestly, it did nothing for my career. All that effort, and now it means absolutely nothing to me. It’s probably serving a more practical purpose as a paint store now.”
Now 50, Ronson is a world away from those grueling nights of lugging heavy record crates from one gig to another. His journey from electrifying dance floors led him to an illustrious career as a record producer, songwriter, and film score composer. He’s collaborated with music giants like Amy Winehouse, Bruno Mars, Adele, Billie Eilish, Dua Lipa, and Lady Gaga, earning nine Grammys, an Oscar, and numerous multiplatinum successes along the way.
But today, he’s pausing to reflect. His recently released memoir, “Night People: How to Be a D.J. in ’90s New York City,” delves into his formative years with a blend of nostalgia and genuine dismay. He shared more of these memories during a recent walking tour of his old stomping grounds.
“Even now, standing right here, I still feel a spark,” he remarked on the bustling corner of Canal Street and West Broadway.
This very spot once housed the New Music Cafe, an unassuming place that transformed into a packed, sweaty haven during its ‘Sweet Thang’ parties. Today, it’s the sleek Palace NYC, offering an Art Deco ambiance and bottle service.
“Its charm was its lack of pretension,” Ronson explained, noting that the crowd initially consisted of a mix of ‘downtown heads’ and ‘registered nurses,’ before eventually attracting big names like Mike Tyson, Wesley Snipes, and Leonardo DiCaprio.
A truly unforgettable night came when Biggie Smalls, famously dubbed ‘the King of New York’ in Ronson’s book, made an appearance. Ronson, at the turntables, was skillfully mixing Mary J. Blige’s ‘You Bring Me Joy’ with Barry White’s ‘It’s Ecstasy When You Lay Down Next to Me.’ Months later, Biggie returned, this time with Jay-Z in tow.
“It was one of their birthdays,” Ronson remembered, his voice tinged with awe. “They walked in wearing matching white hats, and it was truly incredible. I was there, witnessing the very legends from my record sleeves materialize before my eyes.”
Despite a privileged upbringing in London and Manhattan, Ronson became an unexpected DJ. His memoir reveals he was a “night person” from childhood, heavily influenced by his socialite mother, Ann Dexter-Jones, and music-manager-turned-real-estate-mogul father, Laurence Ronson, who “lived for the party.”
Following his parents’ divorce, Mick Jones of the rock band Foreigner became his stepfather. Their spacious 10-room apartment on Central Park West transformed into a legendary 1980s party hub, “teeming with musicians and eccentrics,” as Ronson describes. Yet, despite this environment, he remained somewhat shielded, only discovering the vibrant club scene at the age of 16.
“I was a fairly well-behaved kid,” he admitted. “I rarely snuck out, and I didn’t get involved with drugs.”
His passion for music was undeniable, and he yearned to experience the Shelter, an exciting all-ages dance club on Hudson Street.
Now, he stood directly in front of what was once the Shelter. Instead of a pulsating nightclub, he found an upscale kitchen remodeling studio, Officine Gullo, its windows showcasing gleaming stainless steel ovens.
“It was absolutely magical to come here,” he shared, “to see a thousand kids, all buzzing with the same excitement, slowly shuffling forward in the queue. In winter, everyone was bundled in enormous coats, and some were already wired and dancing in line, having clearly started their night a bit too early.”
“Since the parties ran until four or five in the morning,” he added, “we became masters of crafting elaborate alibis about sleepovers and other excuses.”
This marked the true beginning of his downtown existence. Today, he resides not far away in TriBeCa with his wife, Grace Gummer (daughter of Meryl Streep and Don Gummer), and their two young daughters.
Our tour continued towards Don Hill’s, another former haunt where Ronson once spun records, now long closed. He reminisced about the cultural shift at the turn of the century, when New York’s scene gravitated towards hipsters and indie rock.
“That was the first time a scene emerged where I suddenly felt like I wasn’t at the absolute forefront of cool anymore,” Ronson admitted. “I found it a bit intimidating. It was all about, ‘Oh, those jeans are really skinny.’”
“I’d been DJing for a decade by then,” he stated, “and frankly, I was pretty burned out on the whole thing.”
The demanding schedule of DJing from 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. eventually took its toll, a reality he candidly addresses in his memoir. “I hadn’t planned on writing such a personal book about addiction and my own drug use,” he explained, “but I felt it would be disingenuous to omit those experiences.”
Transitioning from the turntables, he launched into the next chapter of his career, notably producing Amy Winehouse’s groundbreaking album, “Back to Black.”
Occasionally, while strolling through his neighborhood with his daughters, he catches glimpses of his younger self: a driven hustler, cigarettes in pocket, and arms laden with record crates.
“It feels almost cinematic,” he mused. “Like a scene out of a movie, where you just see all your past selves, in and out of cabs, disappearing into different clubs, always with those heavy crates.”
Our walking tour concluded at 171 Varick Street, the former location of Tilt, another club where Ronson once DJed.
Today, it’s a Dunkin’ Donuts.