Standing before what is now a Sherwin-Williams paint store, music icon Mark Ronson felt nothing. This corner on Varick and Vandam streets once housed the legendary Buddha Bar, a pulsating heart of New York City’s 1990s nightlife.
Back in his New York University days, Ronson, then a fledgling DJ, hustled relentlessly for a chance to spin records at this coveted downtown hotspot. Buddha Bar was the epitome of cool, a magnet for supermodels and trendsetters, with a notoriously strict door policy that kept aspiring club-goers at bay.
Reflecting on those fervent nights, Ronson stared at the paint store sign. “I wanted to play so badly at this place,” he mused. “It did nothing for my career. All that work to play here, and it means nothing to me. It’s probably more useful to people as a paint store.”
Now 50, Ronson’s record-hauling DJ days are long behind him. His career trajectory soared from making dance floors throb to becoming a celebrated record producer, songwriter, and film composer. With a glittering roster of collaborators including Amy Winehouse, Bruno Mars, Adele, Billie Eilish, Dua Lipa, and Lady Gaga, he’s accumulated an impressive nine Grammys, an Oscar, and numerous multiplatinum hits.
In his recently released memoir, “Night People: How to Be a D.J. in ’90s New York City,” Ronson candidly revisits his formative years, blending nostalgia with stark honesty. He shared these reflections during a recent walking tour of his old stomping grounds.
“When I’m standing here, I still get a charge,” he admitted at the corner of Canal Street and West Broadway. This spot, once the modest yet electrifying New Music Cafe — famed for its sweaty “Sweet Thang” parties — now houses the opulent, bottle-service-only Palace NYC.
“What was cool about it is, it wasn’t overly trendy,” Ronson explained, recalling a diverse crowd of “downtown heads” and “registered nurses” before it began attracting celebrities like Mike Tyson, Wesley Snipes, and Leonardo DiCaprio.
One unforgettable night, Biggie Smalls, “the King of New York,” made an appearance. Ronson, at the turntables, masterfully mixed 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 with Jay-Z for a birthday celebration. “They came down wearing these matching white hats, and it was incredible. I was in this place where the people from the sleeves of my records were coming to life,” Ronson recounted.
Despite his privileged upbringing in London and Manhattan, Ronson’s path to becoming a DJ was unexpected. As he reveals in his memoir, he was a “night person” from an early age, 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 Foreigner became his stepfather, and their Central Park West apartment became a legendary 1980s hub, “teeming with musicians and eccentrics.” Yet, Ronson remained shielded from the club scene until he was 16.
“I was a pretty good kid,” he said. “I didn’t really sneak out and I didn’t take drugs.” However, his passion for music burned bright, driving him to seek out the Shelter, an all-ages dance club on Hudson Street.
“Downtown was so far, and my first girlfriend, my first major girlfriend, lived on Prince Street,” he remembered. “Her mom was an artist, and I remember her telling me how to get there. She’s like, ‘You take the C train to Prince Street,’ and it all sounded like another language.”
Our tour continued to the former site of the Shelter, now an upscale kitchen remodeling studio called Officine Gullo. Peering through the glass at the gleaming stainless steel ovens, Ronson’s mind drifted back.
“It was just amazing to come here and see a thousand kids, everybody with the same excitement, shuffling slowly as the line moves forward,” he recalled. “In the winter, everyone had giant coats, and some kids obviously took their drugs too early and were already jittery and dancing in the line.”
“Because it goes to 4 or 5 in the morning,” he added, “we were starting to construct elaborate lies about sleepovers and things.” This marked the true beginning of his downtown life. Today, he resides nearby in TriBeCa with his wife, Grace Gummer (Meryl Streep’s daughter), and their two young girls.
We then walked toward Don Hill’s, another shuttered club where Ronson once worked. He remembered the shift in New York’s nightlife at the turn of the century, when the rise of hipsters and indie rock made him feel out of sync. “It was the first scene that really came along that I realized I wasn’t part of the coolest thing going on anymore,” he said. “I was a little bit intimidated by it. It was like, ‘Oh, the jeans are really skinny.’”
“I had been D.J.’ing for 10 years,” he reflected. “At that point, I was kind of burned out on all of it.”
The grueling schedule of 10 p.m. to 4 a.m. gigs and the associated drug use had taken a significant toll, a period he addresses candidly in his memoir. “I didn’t intend to write a super personal book about addiction and my own drug use,” he stated, but felt it essential to be honest about his experiences.
He eventually stepped away from the turntables, launching the next chapter of his career with the production of Amy Winehouse’s groundbreaking album “Back to Black.”
Now, while out with his daughters in the familiar neighborhood, Ronson sometimes catches glimpses of his younger self — a determined hustler, cigarette in pocket, lugging crates of records. “It’s almost kind of cheesy,” he admitted. “It’s like a scene from one of those movies, where you just see all your former selves getting in and out of cabs, going in different clubs, carrying crates.”
The final stop on our nostalgic journey was 171 Varick Street, the former home of Tilt, another club where Ronson once spun records. Today, it’s a Dunkin’ Donuts, a quiet testament to the ever-changing landscape of New York City.