DJ AM & Kendra Martyn: A Tale of Two Doorpeople

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way -- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only. -- Charles Dickens

Dickens said it better than a knave like me could ever dream to. On one hand is the young beautiful doorgirl with the freshest of looks and perspectives and dreams and hopes -- an it girl thrust into the center of the new downtown. On the other hand, a tragic tale of the last moments of a man loved by all. A talent that reached for the heavens where he surely now resides. We'll start with the sad story of DJ AM, then let the story of Kendra Martyn speak of new horizons.

I didn’t have anything to say about the DJ AM tragedy. I nodded hello to him a few times and listened to his set a few times as well. He was awesome as a DJ and my closest friends who knew him well are all broken up. I got one of those calls and didn’t want to repeat it, but I was told it is indeed relevant and I had an obligation to tell it like I heard it. A doorman of the building where he lived and died wanted to recount the experience he had with DJ AM (a.k.a. Adam Goldstein) on the night before he was found. He wanted me to say it as it happened, and a mutual friend told him I would tell it as I heard it.

This doorman was the second guy that night (the first was on a break) when he got the call from Adam. He called “on the regular phone, not the one by the door. We could tell he must have been in his bedroom.” Adam was “erratic, agitated” and said “come check 7, there’s a problem on the 7th floor, come to 7, I’m in 7A.” The doorman said he was alone and couldn’t come up, but the other doorman was coming back any second. Adam just repeated, “Uh oh, check 7.” The doorman’s relief did indeed arrive only a minute or two later, and he went up to the apartment. “He was like, bugging ... he said children were running up and down the hallway outside his apartment and knocking on the door.” There was nothing going on—indeed, “there are no children in the building ... the youngest kids are like in their twenties ... you know, trust fund kid types.” My source continued, “I knew he was in town, he was always cool, but now he was paranoid, confused, hallucinating like he was on acid or some other trippy shit.” He explained to me that he was never like this—rather, always a cool dude who embraced him and talked about music with him in the past. My source is working on being a producer and has been working on some hip hop tracks. He and Adam talked about it sometimes, and “he was always interested and helpful.” Adam called down again later and spoke to the other doorman and was still confused. The next day, when my source came to work, he saw the cops and the detectives. A glance from the owner, and he knew “something terrible had happened.”

Kendra Martyn is a door girl. She caught my eye recently at the Saturday GBH party at Tribeca Grand, and I watched her for a bit doing her picking and choosing thing. She catches everybody’s eye. She has a charisma, a presence that will soon thrust her into the limelight of the new downtown scene. A thousand freckles (I tried to count them all), an 80s punk cut do, and a style that could launch a thousand ships—I kept running into her everywhere I went. I figured I’d tell you all about her.

She’s from far away but who cares because she left there because of its “limitations,” and anyway now she’s here. She’s studying liberal arts, but not sure why. She likes people, especially the ones “who bring it different, not forced but different, but they have their own way of doing it and looking at it and looking it.” She says “I’m the filter—the difference between the party being bland or a success.” She takes her door job very seriously. All the good ones do. Some a bit too seriously ... but picking people is not as easy as it looks. “Anybody can pick the top 80%, but it’s that top 20% that makes it or breaks it.”

Kendra is getting offers at the hipster parties around town. Mostly one-offs for now, but she loves it and wants more. She knows to look at the shoes and “beyond the obvious to find the interesting.” She knows she’s arrived because she had her first death threat last weekend. She didn’t get angry much, but told the guy, “Dude, I didn’t let you into a bar, chill out.” It’s a meet-and-socialize type of gig, and she wants to embrace a bigger role in the scene. It fascinates her to see some guests come in all sober and prim and dressed, then leave “a mess, totally obliterated.” She’s turning down promoter gigs, “unless they want me at the door, I love being at the door.” I asked her if she assumes a different personality when she’s working the ropes. “I’m acting—I can be many people. Sometimes I’ll talk to the guests try to figure them out.” Although she is often offered compromise money, she says “It’s fun saying no to the money.” She did have a modeling contract, but she thinks there are better ways to spend her time. Spikey Phil, the cool cool drummer of Calypso, hooked her up with the Tribeca Grand’s Tommy Saleh. Tommy is no fool—he saw her potential and put her outside right away. She probes, chats, and smiles, always looking for a reaction, a clue to size up a question mark. If I was to be starting something, I’d start with Kendra Martyn.