Check Out These Vintage Photos of New York City’s 1970s Punk Playground
Two new photobooks offer a visual romp through the underground art and music scenes.
Two notable recent books from Glitterati Incorporated take readers deep into New York City’s 1970s punk underground. Playground: Growing Up In the New York Underground by Paul Zone, with Jake Austin (of Roctober fame!), features photos and firsthand accounts from a foot soldier in the rock and roll wars waged in the city’s now infamous clubs, including Max’s Kansas City and CBGB. White Trash Uncut, meanwhile, comes out of Andy Warhol’s factory scene and, as you might expect, takes an artier look at the New York scene.
Given that my tastes tend more towards the Ramones/Dead Boys/Dictators and less Warhol/Waters, Playground hits a real sweet spot. Zone’s photos pull back the curtain on that time and place in a way few other books on the ’70s NYC scene have done. Being in a band at the time (The Fast), Zone was in the thick of it from the beginning. Sure, you get plenty of (mediocre) performance photos. But that isn’t why you’re here. Where Playground shines is in its casual photos of friends—famous and not—behind-the-scenes, after hours and off guard, almost 240 pages of them. It also brings Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain’s awesome oral history of the early New York punk scene, Please Kill Me, to life. It’s a perfect companion.
With the recent passing of Tommy Erdelyi/Ramone, Playground is particularly timely. It’s an exciting visual romp through a unique period in the history of rock and roll. Looking through the photos, it’s hard not to notice how many of the people featured have died, many way before their prime: drugs (too many to list), AIDS (which also took Zone’s brother, Miki), cancer (three of the original Ramones) and weird car crashes (Stiv Bators). How the hell are all the Stones still alive and the Ramones all dead? Here are some samples from that book:
Originally published in 1977, White Trash Uncut, by Andy Warhol Factory devotee and one time Interview staff photographer Christopher Makos, quickly went out of print and became something of a collector’s item. Finally reprinted, the book consists of a mix of artier photos—close-ups of body parts and portraits of players in the art and music scenes, focusing on that point of intersection between the two in venues like Max’s Kansas City. It leans heavy on photos of the well-known, if not outright famous: Richard Hell, Andy Warhol, Mick Jagger, the Dead Boys, Debbie Harry, Grace Jones, David Bowie, Divine, Man Ray, John Waters, Marilyn Chambers and plenty other luminaries of that era. The reprint includes 25 photos not included in the original book. Here’s a sampling:
In the late ’60s, after the assassination of both Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, the civil rights movement in America gave way to a more militant breed of activists who were demanding greater self-determination for the African-American community and the right to defend themselves against a system they felt was stacked against them. A number of journalists for Swedish television were fascinated with the rise of the Black Panther Party and the larger Black Power movement, and on several occasions sent film crews to the United State to interview major figures in the African-American militant community. Filmmaker Göran Hugo Olsson has used some of this archival footage as the basis for the documentary The Black Power Mixtape: 1967-1975, which includes vintage interviews with Angela Davis, Eldridge Cleaver, Huey P. Newton, Stokely Carmichael, Bobby Seale, Louis Farrakhan, and other key figures in the Black Power movement. The newsreels are accompanied by recent interviews with artists, activists, and cultural historians who discuss this volatile period in American history, including Harry Belafonte, Abiodun Oyewole, Melvin Van Peebles, and many others. The Black Power Mixtape was an official selection at the 2011 Sundance Film Festival.
Acquired Tastes From Candyland
Southern California artist Brandi Milne was born and raised in Anaheim. She grew up happily, surrounded by a wealth of inspiration as a child, taking pleasure in classic cartoons, crayons and coloring books, Sid and Marty Kroft creations, toys, candies and kitschy fabrics and notions of the times. Self-taught and emotionally driven, Milne’s work speaks of love, loss, pain and heartbreak in the first person. She decorates it oddly with a wink of humor and a delicious candied-coat finish – a combination that can be considered highly addictive to viewers around the world. Milne’s work is celebrated and supported in fine art galleries across the US, and has been featured in both print and online publications such as Hi-Fructose Magazine, Babyboss magazine and Juxtapoz. She published her first book “So Good for Little Bunnies” in 2008 with Baby Tattoo Books and Milne has collaborated with notable companies including 686, Hurley and Billabong. For more information please visit brandimilne.com
“One of the characteristics of the dream is that nothing surprises us in it. With no regret, we agree to live in it with strangers, completely cut off from our habits and friends.” ― Jean Cocteau
Nicoletta Ceccoli is a San Marinian Artist who is known for her richly detailed, dreamlike work. She was born in and still lives in the Republic of San Marino and studied animation at the Institute of Art in San Marino, Italy.
MISERY IS A BUTTERFLY
Dearest Jane I should’ve known better
But I couldn’t say hello, I didn’t know why
But now I think, I think you were sad
Yes you were, you were, you were
What I say, I say only to you
Cause I love and I love only you
Dearest Jane, I want to give you a dream
That no one has given you
Remember when we found misery
We watched her, watched her spread her wings
And slowly fly around our room
And she asked for your gentle mind
Misery is a butterfly
Her heavy wings will warp your mind
With her small ugly face
And her long antenna
And her black and pink heavy wings
Remember when we found misery
We watched her, watched her spread her wings
And slowly fly around our room
And she asked for your gentle mind
by Blonde Redhead
Banksy is an anonymous English street art Artist and activist who has become a cult hero for his anti-establishment and rebellious artwork.Unlike someone I know, who stays in his house all day drawing comics and watchingSimpsons reruns, Banksy is a REAL artist who challenges the status quo, forces people to think and puts himself in danger, all while remaining a complete mystery to the world. I mean think about it, he’s one of the most famous artists on the planet, his work has been popping up in major cities for the past 10 years and sell for millions of dollars and no one knows who the hell this guy is! I take my hat off to the dude.
If you haven’t seen it, I recommend the documentary Banksy directed, Exit Through the Gift Shop. What was meant to be a film about Banksy instead turned into a movie about the man who was obsessed in trying to meet him. Although many have claimed that it’s a ‘mockumentary’ and the plot a set-up, it’s still a brilliant film. It not only documents the street art movement, it also deals with the meaning of art, and whether or not an artist actually needs any talent or can just survive on hype alone. Two thumbs up!
This quote was taken from Banksy’s 2004 book Cut It Out. Some of the passage was inspired/appropriated from an essay by artist Sean Tejaratchi. I rearranged the last couple of sentences for this comic.
The Way They Were
Old Punk documentry from Granada TV on Channel 4. Features (in order):-
Sex Pistols, Elvis Costello, Buzzcocks, John Cooper Clarke, Iggy Pop, Wreckless Eric, Ian Dury, Penetration, Blondie, Fall, Jam, Jordan, Devo, Tom Robinson Band, Johnny Thunder, Elvis Costello, XTC, Jonathan Richman, Nick Lowe, Siouxie & the Banshees, Cherry Vanilla & Magazine….. The tape fails there!
I have left the adverts in for historical reference – TSB, Once, Cluster, Coke is it, Roger Daltery in American Express, Ulay, Swan, Our Price, Gastrils, Cluster & Prestige.
All content remains the copyright of the current holders ~ I claim none.
The Punk Rock Movie
A revealing look into the bands comprising the 1978 London punk-rock scene, and a peek back-stage at the lives behind the facade. Includes performances by Sex Pistols, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Eater, and other concurrent bands.
Most of the bands were filmed at the Roxy club in London, where Don Letts worked as a DJ. Letts filmed the bands very simply with a Super-8 camera, and also filmed on the tour bus and at shows with The Clash and The Slits. The Sex Pistols were filmed at Screen on the Green in London on 3 April 1977, Sid Vicious’s first show with the band.
CRASS | There Is No Authority But Yourself
There is No Authority But Yourself is a Dutch film directed by Alexander Oey documenting the history of anarchist punk band Crass. The film features archive footage of the band and interviews with former members Steve Ignorant, Penny Rimbaud and Gee Vaucher. As well as reflecting on the band’s past the film focusses on their current activities, and includes footage of Rimbaud performing with Last Amendment at the Vortex jazz club in Hackney, a compost toilet building workshop and a permaculture course held at Dial House in the spring of 2006.
The title of the film is derived from the final lines of the Crass album Yes Sir, I Will; “You must learn to live with your own conscience, your own morality, your own decision, your own self. You alone can do it. There is no authority but yourself.”
There is No Authority But Yourself premiered at the Raindance Film Festival at the Piccadilly Circus, London Trocadero in October 2006 and was part of the Official Selection film programme at the Flipside film festival in May 2008.
The Art Of Punk – Crass – The Art of Dave King and Gee Vaucher – Art + Music – MOCAtv
On the next installment of The Art of Punk, we tear into the art of Crass. From the assaulting black and white photo-realistic paintings of protest, anarchy, and social satire, to their legendary adopted brand and two headed snake and cross symbol. We head up to the Anarchist Book Fair in San Francisco to meet up with Gee Vaucher, and founding Crass member, writer, and activist, Penny Rimbaud. We discuss the art and the lifestyle stemming from the infamous Dial House, where they have lived, worked, and crated their own brand of anarchistic beauty, for more than 3 decades. We have a sit down with artist Scott Campbell, at his own New York tattoo shop, and talk about how the art of Crass, and one single t-shirt created a fork in his own road of life. Owen Thornton talks some shit. Finally we hang out with British graphic designer Dave King – the creator of the infamous snake and cross symbol, and discuss post war England, hippies, punk, graphic design, and more, that led him to the creation of the symbol made legend by Crass.
Created, directed, and Executive Produced by writer/author of ‘Fucked Up + Photocopied’, Bryan Ray Turcotte (Kill Your Idols), and Bo Bushnell (The Western Empire), The Art Of Punk traces the roots of the punk movement and the artists behind the iconic logos of punk bands such as: Black Flag (Raymond Pettibon), The Dead Kennedys (Winston Smith), and Crass (Dave King).
In addition to profiling the artists, the series includes intimate interviews with former band members, notable artists, and celebrities who have been heavily influenced by the art of punk rock including Jello Biafra, Tim Biskup, Scott Campbell, Chuck Dukowski, Flea, Steve Olson, Penny Rimbaud, Henry Rollins, Owen Thornton, and Gee Vaucher.
The filmmakers Bryan Ray Turcotte and Bo Bushnell take a unique approach to exploring the rich histories of these three seminal punk legends by focusing on the influential imagery and seeking out stories that have not been told yet through the artwork, which is integral to the importance and influence of each band.
BRYAN RAY TURCOTTE
In 1969, a Boy Snuck into John Lennon’s Hotel Room with a Recorder. It Went Like This.
In 1969, a 14-year-old Beatle fanatic named Jerry Levitan, armed with a reel-to-reel tape deck, snuck into John Lennon’s hotel room in Toronto and convinced John to do an interview about peace. 38 years later, Jerry has produced a film about it. Using the original interview recording as the soundtrack, director Josh Raskin has woven a visual narrative which tenderly romances Lennon’s every word in a cascading flood of multipronged animation. Raskin marries the terrifyingly genius pen work of James Braithwaite with masterful digital illustration by Alex Kurina, resulting in a spell-binding vessel for Lennon’s boundless wit, and timeless message. I Met the Walrus was nominated for the 2008 Academy Award for Animated Short and won the 2009 Emmy for ‘New Approaches’ (making it the first film to win an Emmy on behalf of the internet).
Actors: Jerry Levitan, John Lennon
Director: Josh Raskin
Producer: Jerry Levitan
Scenario: Josh Rankin
Release Date: 2007
William S. Burroughs, F.F. Coppola – 1993 Short
Danny, a poor unfortunate junkie who reveals his last remains of selflessness and humanity despite his urgent physical predicament. Directed by Nick Donkin and Melodie McDaniel. William S. Burroughs wrote the story and narrates the film; he also appears in live-action footage at the beginning and end of the film. The story originally appeared in the 1989 collection Interzone and the recording of Burroughs reading the story was also released on the CD Spare Ass Annie and Other Tales.
NEW YORK CITY IN 1977: A BEAUTIFUL ROCK AND ROLL HELLHOLE
by Marc Campbell in Dangerous Minds
Punk, disco, hip hop, the blackout, Son of Sam, Tony Manero, CBGB, Studio 54, Max’s Kansas City, Show World, Paradise Garage, cocaine, polyester and leather—1977 in New York City was exhilarating, a nightmare, fun, dangerous and never boring. It was the year I arrived in downtown Manhattan with a beautiful woman, no money and a rock and roll band. I hit the streets running and never looked back…unless it was to watch my back.
I was living in the decaying Hotel Earle in the West Village when NYC went black. The power failure of July 13, 1977 knocked the city to its knees. I was sitting on the window sill of my room keeping cool or as cool as one could keep during a sweltering summer night in the city. I was drinking a nice cold beer and listening to the music of the streets when at around 9:30 p.m. everything suddenly went completely dark…and I mean dark, dark as Aleister Crowley’s asshole. It was the strangest fucking thing you could imagine. One moment the city was there, then next it was gone. The only illumination came from automobile headlights lacerating the night like ghostly Ginsu knives. My girlfriend and I clutched hands and felt our way down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. We walked to Bleecker street in spooky darkness. We weren’t alone. The avenues were teeming with the dazed and confused. Not that unusual for the Village, but the confusion was different. Was the world coming to an end?
By midnight the streets were mobbed with people who had figured out that civilization wasn’t ending, it was on vacation. There was a festive vibe in the air. It was like Mardi Gras for the blind. The bars and pubs that stayed open were candlelit and booze was flowing for free. Refrigerators weren’t working and there was no way to keep perishables from spoiling so instead of facing the prospect of throwing food away some joints were feeding people for free. A few cabbies got into the spirit of things and maneuvered their taxis in such a way as to shine their headlights into the cafes providing diners with surreal mood lighting. It was a prison break theme park. And this wild night was bringing out the best in New Yorkers. But it didn’t last. As the blackout continued through the next day and night, things started to change. The novelty of the crisis wore off and it got ugly. What had started out as a party turned into looting and violence. An unexpected payday for the poor and desperate.
The blackout put the whole gamut of what makes New York marvelous and miserable on display: the “I got your back, brother” slamming into the “fuck you!”
These were times when the city was an unseemly beast, a scabrous, moulting fat rat that was exciting to look at but terrifying. Part of the excitement came from the ever present sense that things could go haywire at any minute. I lived intensely in the moment, acutely aware of everything around me, jacked up in a state of heightened consciousness that was both Zen and manic. Being in the here and now of New York City in 1977 wasn’t a hippie thing, it was survival. And when I got inside the safety zone of Max’s or CBGB, among my tribe, I was ready to get fucked up, to get high, to dance and celebrate.
In the city of night, we went to bed at dawn and rose at dusk. We were vampires before vampires became hip.
NY77: The Coolest Year In Hell is a terrific documentary that captures a pivotal moment in the history of a city and its pop culture. Here’s the whole beautiful mess.
I got believers – believing me
Title: Revolution (1968)
Release Date: 1 July 1968 (USA)
Produced & Directed & written by Jack O’Connell
Co-Written with Norman Martin
Music by Various artists
Primarily filmed in the Hippie Hill and Panhandle areas of Golden Gate Park, this “60s San Francisco Hippie Scene” documentary features interviews with those who call themselves hippies, or identify with hippies. The counter-culture is revealed in discussions about sex, drugs, philosophy and lifestyle. Casual sex and marijuana use is the main activity of one group. A nun who has left the order reveals her decisions to join the counterculture. Others decry the dehumanization of the modern industrial world. Communal living, psychedelic light shows, love-ins and diverse fashion statements accompany the hippies. Discussions about the liberating effects of LSD and being a free spirit.
Although most interviewees are not named some of them have been identified, such as Kurt Hirschhorn, Frank Jordan, Cecil Williams and Herb Caen. Daria Halprin appears nude in the film as herself.
The soundtrack features Ace of Cups, Country Joe and the Fish, Steve Miller Band, Quicksilver Messenger Service, Mother Earth, and Dan Hicks.
Jack O’Connell would go on to direct Swedish Fly Girls (1971)
REVOLUTION (1968) was subsequently revived with added reminiscences filmed in 1986 and released in 1996. “The Haight, Yesterday and Today / Ex-hippie recalls starring role in documentary” article by PETER STACK, Chronicle Staff Writer Published Monday, July 1, 1996. It was a sequel made to check up on Today Malone and see where those hippies are now, it’s called THE HIPPIE REVOLUTION, from 1996. Avoid it! Who wants to see a flower child get old? If you must witness such tragedy, check out my tale of time traveling psychedelic gumshoes and the desire to return to that high water mark when LSD almost changed the entire world overnight for the better — HIPPY IN A HELLBASKET.*
by Phil Weaver
I’m a huge fan of Victor Bockris’ book Beat Punks, a collection of interviews and photographs documenting the relationship between the Beat generation and the punk movement in the 1970s downtown New York scene. The book does a great job of illustrating the cross-pollination of two generations (’50s Beats and ’70s punks) that resulted in one of the most extraordinary cultural flowerings of the 20th century. I recently talked to Bockris about some of the ideas behind the book, and I was pleased to hear he’s about to begin work on a follow up with interlinking prose. He didn’t want to give away too much about the forthcoming book, so I proposed a general interview on the history of the counterculture’s clashes with the establishment in the mid-to-late 20th century. Burroughs was the through-line in a cultural revolution that began in the ’50s with the Beats, blossomed in the psychedelic explosion of the late ’60s, peaked in the ’70s with the Beat-Punk fusion, burned out in the neoconservative revolution of the ’80s and was briefly revived by Kurt Cobain and the alternative wave of the early ’90s. Throughout this era many of the leading figures of the counterculture found themselves the targets of harassment and campaigns of repression, yet they still managed to produce some of their best work. I wanted to trace this multigenerational struggle for the liberation of the human spirit with the great author and raconteur Victor Bockris, biographer of William S. Burroughs, Andy Warhol and Keith Richards, and the man dubbed the “poet laureate of the underground.”
PHIL WEAVER: Describe the counterculture’s confrontation with LBJ.
VICTOR BOCKRIS: Key point: the counterculture changed dramatically in 1965. Before then it had been populated by a relatively small, international collection of avant-garde artists in every form, left-wing political activists, civil rights activists, academics and members of the clergy. With the appearance of the electric Dylan and semi-radical songs by the Beatles and the Stones (“Satisfaction”), an enormous new group became countercultural enthusiasts overnight: college students listening to Simon and Garfunkel, and high school long hairs known as folkies now folk rockers. Consequently, demonstrators grew in numbers of younger enthusiastic girls and boys. Johnson had been popular in 1964, even into ’65, but he was forced into supporting the Vietnam war to a ridiculous extent. The brutal, burning napalm dropped on the civilian population, and the well-oiled anti-war machine did a good job of dramatizing the suffering of women and children. Johnson was a far superior President than Kennedy, but his classically Stetson-hatted good old boy image was easy to turn into a bogeyman.
By 1966 the demonstrators rarely gave him any peace. Their “Hey hey LBJ, how many kids did you kill today?” chant wafted into the White House from Lafayette Park across the street. Every time he left or came back they were always there. In his mind, they became the voice of the youth. He had been a rebellious youth himself, and it began to drive him nuts. This was greatly exacerbated by his fear that the country really wanted another Kennedy in the White House and the seething hatred of Robert Kennedy. The irony was that the arrogant Kennedy brothers were incapable of getting any bills passed, because they did not know how the Congress really operated, where Johnson was a master politician – probably the best we’ve ever had as President. Johnson tried to explain how the Senate worked, but Kennedy just didn’t want to hear anything from that “old galoot.” That kind of name calling might be funny in high school – not when you’re running the country (and too busy fucking badly to pay attention). Think of how successful the Kennedy administration could have been if they’d used Johnson like a cruise missile. This is a naive thing to say, but if memory serves this is one of the corners of history where the truth was of no importance – image took over. This initially benefited the counterculture. When Johnson refused to run for President in 1968, he later wrote that the hawks of war on his right and the anti-war demonstrators on his left gave him no room to further contribute to the well-being of the nation. It is shocking (does that word still exist?) to see only recently the outpouring of reverence for John Kennedy, despite everything written about him since his death, while Johnson fades in the nation’s memory. This embracing of huge lies is what allows us Americans to go on supporting just the kind of atrocities by our nation we fought so hard to erase in World War II. Bombs, genocide and unbelievable lies shower down upon us daily. It seems that we live in an increasingly immoral nation. Where is the peace movement? Where are the heroes who stood up against all the power of the United States to reveal the elements of control? People like William Burroughs and Andy Warhol. People like Muhammad Ali, who turned his back on many millions and almost destroyed his life by standing up against the war machine when everybody told him he was crazy?
That’s only to mention the world famous. But this is what happens, I believe, when the education system writes the counterculture out of existence. Does anyone remember that it was the first time in history that an international population of a non-military people, with no political or religious base, played an unquestionable role in changing the way we live by bringing down one American President and creating an atmosphere in which the next was driven from office? Also, please note the appropriation of many of the counterculture’s key practices, which have been manipulated into today’s mainstream. Any humanist interested in the well-being of our nation’s history could see the counterculture as one of the greatest, most imaginative, most nurturing contributions we have ever made to the world. The media always finds violence – often created by the media itself – to undercut the best things about this country. New York Punk was not a violent movement, it was very loving, but once one Yobo, (in persona of poor dumb manipulated Sid Vicious) believed he had murdered his murdered girlfriend, punk was all about violence.
Change is always dangerous for its agents, but anyone who watched the carefully managed police and FBI undercover riots in Chicago must find it hilarious to see the peace movement turned into Sodom and Gomorrah, when the shoe was really on the other foot. We still live with the extraordinary conflict of the Catholic Church threatening endless pain to those advocating the joys of love from behind a logo of a guy nailed to a piece of wood. My favorite example of robbing the beautiful truth from the population was, and still is maybe, the image of Jack Kerouac, who wrote the most loving, tender and exemplary celebrations of the beauty of America, being hounded to death by the establishment. America is a beautiful place, but it’s hard to see sometimes because of the waters of slaughter.
WEAVER: Can you talk a bit about William Burroughs’ clashes with the establishment in the 1970s?
BOCKRIS: Bill was very active in the early 1970s; he was still living in London. He published The Job, The Wild Boys, The Last Words of Dutch Schultz, Exterminatorand Port of Saints. Of these books The Job is the most political. In terms of clashes with the establishment, everything he wrote and said in interviews continued his attempt to reveal their attempt to control the population. But to be specific, you have to look at the reaction to him in different countries. In England he was protected by his relationship with Lord Goodman, a powerful behind the scenes financial lawyer for many powerful government figures.
He did not have such connections in New York, but after trying to move back there in 1965, and again in 1972, he had been threatened by the police who were trying to set him up for a bust. By the time he did return, the fall of Nixon had turned him into a prophet, and he was embraced as a king returned from exile. So I think he avoided any particularly overt confrontation during the 1970s, due to his desire to find a new life and continue writing.
His clash with authority came in more subtle ways than marching in the streets as he had in Chicago in 1968. His “Time of the Assassins” columns in the rock magCrawdaddy! would have been read by teenagers and college students, and his appearance at the many readings he gave across the country would have been very influential.
He was also interviewed by the still existing underground press. The name Burroughs was a clash with the establishment. When I knew him in the late seventies he was virulently critical of U.S. foreign policy, but I recall him definitely not wanting to draw attention to himself in public.
WEAVER: Describe the relationship between William Burroughs and the punks.
BOCKRIS: Burroughs’ relationship with the punks was, as I see it, a vital connection which drew attention to the vitality of his writing. This happened on two levels. First Patti Smith and Richard Hell were both Burroughs fans before he moved back here. She was the first to note his presence.
The Nova Convention was the big turning point in terms of his recognition, the first time he brought together several new subcultures based in the punk ethos. Then over 1977-1982 I introduced him to Lou Reed, Blondie and The Clash among others; they were thrilled to meet him. He appreciated their interest and enjoyed their company. They were his children.
However, there was a strange disconnect. Every beautiful punk girl I knew had a copy of Junkie on their table, but they were all taking heroin. It was like they had not understood the book, which was an indictment of being a junkie. It had nothing to do with Bill that a 24/7 heroin supermarket protected by the police suddenly emerged blocks from CBGB’s, but there were bags called Dr Nova. Heroin decimated the New York punks. When he made all those spoken word records, a number of punks contributed. Burroughs’ profile grew considerably during the 1970s. The support of punk, and his inclusion in the punk press, had a lot to do with it.
WEAVER: In what ways was the punk rock ethos inspired by the Beats?
BOCKRIS: The New York punks came out of the same ethos as the Beats. I can only speak for the New York punks. That is to say, there were three generations of American artists operating under the umbrella of a shared reaction to WWII (for civil rights against genocide and the bomb): the Beats (1950s); the artists of the ’60s personified by Warhol (including the Rolling Stones, Goddard and Truffaut, Antonioni etc); and the Punks of the 1970s, with the whole thing coalescing in the late seventies.
I mean, Elvis was punk; Lennon was punk; Richards, Dylan, Reed were all punks. Punk is Beat speeded up, like the Stones are Chuck Berry speeded up. Blondie, Patti Smith, Television, later Richard Hell, Iggy Pop and on and on were all influenced by Rimbaud and Celine and the surrealists and comic books – just like the Beats.
They were all influenced by Warhol. The difference between Lennon and Richards, and NY punk was the Warhol influence. My book Beat Punks should have been called Beat Warhol Punks, it just doesn’t read so well.
WEAVER: Describe some of the tactics the establishment used to repress the counterculture in the 1970s.
BOCKRIS: Nixon’s administration targeted the counterculture from both ends. They put the IRS on famous counterculture artists like Warhol, Mailer, etc. They hounded Terry Southern, a great writer (author of Candy, Dr. Strangelove and Red Dirt Marijuana), nearly to death.
Warhol was audited every year until his death. The IRS were vicious. Meanwhile the FBI infiltrated the yippies and hippies and caused riots at demonstrations by manufacturing violence. They also sowed rumors like Allen Ginsberg was an FBI snitch. The overall effect was to bring the counterculture to its knees by 1973. Groups like the Stones, Lennon and Dylan rose above the corruption and carried the flag. Burroughs’ return to New York in 1974 took on a larger importance just because he returned to take his rightful place as the King of the Counterculture on the fall of that great yahoo demon, “Tricky Dick” Nixon.
In fact, 1974 was a great year for the counterculture: Ginsberg won a National Book Award for The Fall of America (poems); Ali regained the World Heavyweight Crown he lost in 1967 after refusing to be drafted; Warhol won an MLA Award and moved to a new upscale Factory. In 1975 he published The Philosophy of Andy Warhol. If you pause to ask, who else could have used such a title and been taken seriously by the New York Times, you can gauge a sense of how far the counterculture had come. Don’t forget this was a worldwide movement, so these American artists were being given credence as the leaders of the new way of life that would find its terrible climax in 1983.
WEAVER: Describe WSB’s involvement with magick. Did he use it against the establishment?
BOCKRIS: Bill’s involvement with magic dates back to the time he spent in Paris with Brion Gysin. Read The Beat Hotel by my favorite writer Barry Miles, or pick up his brand new bio Call Me Burroughs. It’s great. In “The Electronic Revolution” (essay in The Job) Burroughs explains the ways he used the tape recorder to change reality. I remember one night he read from the Necronomicon in an attempt to call up Humwawa, but several people there were on verge of flipping out so he canceled it. They really thought Humwawa was gonna sweep them away! Bill believed in magic. He certainly practiced magic everyday. To him writing was a magic act.
WEAVER: What effect did the Reagan-era 1980s have on the counterculture?
BOCKRIS: The counterculture in New York was delivered a knockout blow by the combination of the heroin epidemic and AIDS in 1983-1985, which I consider to be the end of the counterculture as we had lived it.
Of course, Reagan was the great yahoo, but I think the counterculture was too exhausted to confront him, as they had President Johnson. There’s much more to that. Reagan oversaw the great theft of the rich that changed the way America operates. He was a murdering corpse, a kind of Edgar Allan Poe version of Howdy Doody. I remember Burroughs telling me in 1991 that we were looking at a very grim decade. He was always much more aware than most of us of what was really happening.
WEAVER: In what ways did Kurt Cobain revitalize the “Beat Punk” ethos?
BOCKRIS: Kurt Cobain’s image revitalized the Beat Punk Ethos:
1. Because his real being suffered as a result of the straight world, and his music and words like “Rape Me” were consequently a universal howl of rage, which captured the attention of teenagers around the world.
2. His awareness of Burroughs and desire to collaborate with him were similar to Patti Smith’s homage to Burroughs in 1974. Cobain became the agent of Beat Punk continuity who connected his generation to the Beats. Mind you, there were many other musicians, filmmakers, writers doing the same. By 1995 the U.S. literary establishment recognized the Beats far more widely and positively than ever before. There was a great revival of Kerouac in 1995. All his books are now in print and sell. College reading lists are not complete without at the least Burroughs, Ginsberg and Kerouac. I think it’s pretty much established by now that the Beats began the whole cultural revolution of the late ’50s to early ’80s. Burroughs had his vision of a love generation in 1958.
Each decade seems to have a pivotal celebrity death which becomes a turning point and an international gathering place. I remember John Belushi’s death in 1982 was heard in New York, and around the world, as the shot that announced the beginning of the end of the counterculture.
I remember Kurt Cobain’s death a decade later was eerily similar, the difference was that there was no deep audience for it, there was no counterculture to pick it up. So the question is what happens then? When the young civil rights worker Medgar Evers got murdered in the 1960s, his death catalyzed the people to rise up. When Brian Jones was found dead in his badass swimming pool at midnight (a great fantasy) in 1969, it made the Rolling Stones the most pain-stained suffering band, at a time in America (early seventies) when the more pain you were in, the cooler you were.
I called Burroughs when Cobain died, and it turned out we were both in the middle of reading a short, recently published mass paperback bio of Kurt, which I still have. Bill chuckled in a Burroughsian manner and said he thought it was pretty good. Bill used to get really upset when certain special people he would meet in relation to his work died. He would recognize them.
Of course Kurt Cobain was a Beat Punk. I knew many people who had stopped following the latest music in 1991-1992, but they all had Nirvana’s first LP. And we all got it; you didn’t have to say anything about it it was totally accepted as part of us.
So Kurt Cobain broke through the surface with his music and his band, but he also spoke loudly with his songs. I’ll never forget hearing him sing “Rape Me” over and over again in the subway, in the streets, on the radio, in the deli, in the cab, “Rape Meeeeee, Raaape mee!” I thought it was so brave.
He backed those songs up with his body and his behavior. Cobain was one of those stars (like James Dean) who can almost play their way into your intuition.
Everything he did was a confrontation with the establishment.
Most rockstars do that from the comfort of protection. You felt Cobain was never protected. He was so drawn, he got to look like he was bleeding on the cross. That’s how far he got. Seems like Jesus Cobain crossed a line… oh Lord, where is this taking me?
Interject: Could the above description of Cobain be applied too William Burroughs? No. They each had their own trips. Cobain’s life was the most vivid line of connection to the beat punk movement at the time, but people did not make as much as they could out of it. Sid Vicious got a film and endless fucked up books celebrating his stupidity. There is also a beat punk connection between Sid and Kurt. They both received the same out pouring of pain from all those little girls chasing them in their black mini-skirts.
Originally filmed in 1922, this version was updated in the mid 1960’s to include english narration by William S Burroughs while he was in London. The writer and director Benjamin Christensen discloses a historical view of the witches through the seven parts of this silent movie. First, there is a slide-show alternating inter-titles with drawings and paintings to illustrate the behavior of pagan cultures in the Middle Ages regarding their vision of demons and witches. Then there is a dramatization of the situation of the witches in the Middle Ages, with the witchcraft and the witch-hunts. Finally Benjamin Christensen compares the behavior of hysteria of the modern women of 1921 with the behavior of the witches in the Middle Ages, concluding that they are very similar.
“Strange memories on this nervous night in Las Vegas. Five years later? Six? It seems like a lifetime, or at least a Main Era—the kind of peak that never comes again. San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run . . . but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant. . . .
History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of “history” it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.
My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder’s jacket . . . booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) . . . but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that. . . .
There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda. . . . You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning. . . .
And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. . . .
So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark—that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”
Favorite Quotes by H.S. Thompson:
-The hippies , who had never really believed they were the wave of the future anyway, saw the election results as brutal confirmation of the futility of fighting the establishment on its own terms. There had to be a whole new scene, they said, and the only way to do it was to make the big move — either figuratively or literally — from Berkeley to the Haight-Ashbury, from pragmatism to mysticism, from politics to dope… The thrust is no longer for “change” or “progress” or “revolution,” but merely to escape, to live on the far perimeter of a world that might have been.
-Myths and legends die hard in America. We love them for the extra dimension they provide, the illusion of near-infinite possibility to erase the narrow confines of most men’s reality. Weird heroes and mould-breaking champions exist as living proof to those who need it that the tyranny of ‘the rat race’ is not yet final.
-Bush is a natural-born loser with a filthy-rich daddy who pimped his son out to rich oil-mongers. He hates music football and sex, in no particular order, and he is no fun at all.
-There are times, however, and this is one of them, when even being right feels wrong. What do you say, for instance, about a generation that has been taught that rain is poison and sex is death? If making love might be fatal and if a cool spring breeze on any summer afternoon can turn a crystal blue lake into a puddle of black poison right in front of your eyes, there is not much left except TV and relentless masturbation. It’s a strange world. Some people get rich and others eat shit and die. Who knows? If there is in fact, a heaven and a hell, all we know for sure is that hell will be a viciously overcrowded version of Phoenix — a clean well lighted place full of sunshine and bromides and fast cars where almost everybody seems vaguely happy, except those who know in their hearts what is missing… And being driven slowly and quietly into the kind of terminal craziness that comes with finally understanding that the one thing you want is not there. Missing. Back-ordered. No tengo. Vaya con dios. Grow up! Small is better. Take what you can get…
-Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish — a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow — to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested…
-Like most of the others, I was a seeker, a mover, a malcontent, and at times a stupid hell-raiser. I was never idle long enough to do much thinking, but I felt somehow that my instincts were right. I shared a vagrant optimism that some of us were making real progress, that we had taken an honest road, and that the best of us would inevitably make it over the top. At the same time, I shared a dark suspicion that the life we were leading was a lost cause, that we were all actors, kidding ourselves along on a senseless odyssey. It was the tension between these two poles – a restless idealism on one hand and a sense of impending doom on the other – that kept me going.
-But with the throttle screwed on, there is only the barest margin, and no room at all for mistakes. It has to be done right… and that’s when the strange music starts, when you stretch your luck so far that fear becomes exhilaration and vibrates along your arms. You can barely see at a hundred; the tears blow back so fast that they vaporize before they get to your ears. The only sounds are the wind and a dull roar floating back from the mufflers. You watch the white line and try to lean with it… howling through a turn to the right, then to the left, and down the long hill to Pacifica… letting off now, watching for cops, but only until the next dark stretch and another few seconds on the edge… The Edge… There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over. The others- the living- are those who pushed their luck as far as they felt they could handle it, and then pulled back, or slowed down, or did whatever they had to when it came time to choose between Now and Later. But the edge is still Out there. Or maybe it’s In. The association of motorcycles and LSD is no accident of publicity. They are both a means to an end, to the place of definitions.
-But speaking of rules, you’ve been arrested dozens of times in your life. Specific incidents aside, what’s common to these run-ins? Where do you stand vis-à-vis the law?
“Goddammit. Yeah, I have. First, there’s a huge difference between being arrested and being guilty. Second, see, the law changes and I don’t. How I stand vis-à-vis the law at any given moment depends on the law. The law can change from state to state, from nation to nation, from city to city. I guess I have to go by a higher law. How’s that? Yeah, I consider myself a road man for the lords of karma.”
-Going to trial with a lawyer who considers your whole life-style a Crime in Progress is not a happy prospect.
-In a closed society where everybody’s guilty, the only crime is getting caught. In a world of thieves, the only final sin is stupidity.
-The TV business is uglier than most things. It is normally perceived as some kind of cruel and shallow money trench through the heart of the journalism industry, a long plastic hallway where thieves and pimps run free and good men die like dogs, for no good reason.
-A man who has blown all his options can’t afford the luxury of changing his ways. He has to capitalize on whatever he has left, and he can’t afford to admit — no matter how often he’s reminded of it — that every day of his life takes him farther and farther down a blind alley… Very few toads in this world are Prince Charmings in disguise. Most are simply toads… and they are going to stay that way… Toads don’t make laws or change any basic structures, but one or two rooty insights can work powerful changes in the way they get through life. A toad who believes he got a raw deal before he even knew who was dealing will usually be sympathetic to the mean, vindictive ignorance that colors the Hell’s Angels’ view of humanity. There is not much mental distance between a feeling of having been screwed and the ethic of total retaliation, or at least the random revenge that comes with outraging the public decency.
-Sometimes at dusk, when you were trying to relax and not think of the general stagnation, the Garbage God would gather a handful of those chocked-off morning hopes and dangle them somewhere just out of reach; they would hang in the breeze and make a sound like delicate glass bells, reminding you of something you never quite got hold of, and never would.
-Anything that gets the adrenalin moving like a 440 volt blast in a copper bathtub is good for the reflexes and keeps the veins free of cholesterol… but too many adrenaline rushes in any given time span has the same effect on the nervous system as too many electro-shock treatments are said to have on the brain: after a while you start burning out the circuits. When a jackrabbit gets addicted to road-running, its only a matter of time before he gets smashed — and when a journalist turns into a politics junkie he will sooner or later start raving and babbling in print about things that only a person who has Been There can possibly understand.
-I sat there for a long time, and thought about a lot of things. Foremost among them was the suspicion that my strange and ungovernable instincts might do me in before I had a chance to get rich. No matter how much I wanted those things that I needed money to buy, there was some devilish current pushing me off in another direction- toward anarchy poverty and craziness. That maddening delusion that a man can lead a decent life without hiring himself out as a Judas goat.
Suicide (?) note
* Football seasons over. No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun — for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax — This won’t hurt.
All quotes by Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005) RIP (try at least…)
Simply stunning vintage handbills for Detroit’s historic live music venue The Grande Ballroom. The majority of these trippy handbills and postcards were designed by Gary Grimshaw (who died in January of this year) and Carl Lundgren. Historically significant, yes, but from a design perspective, these are just jaw-droppingly, face-melting goodness, aren’t they?
The long, strange trip that began in X’ed Out and continued in The Hive reaches its mind-bending, heartbreaking end, but not before Doug is forced to deal with the lie he’s been telling himself since the beginning. In this concluding volume, nightmarish dreams evolve into an even more dreadful reality…
The series centres around a troubled young man, Doug, in a non-linear narrative interspersed with dream-like sequences, varying levels of reality among a man who has overdosed, a weird world of worms where a reverse Tintin named Nitnit is finding his way, and angsty drama that will be familiar to readers of Black Hole.
Burns has been producing this work at a slow rate of 64 pages every two years so it hasn’t exactly been a quick ride but who cares. This is one of my favorite comics of recent years—despite the low page count, every panel is filled with allusions, color-coded mystery and a complete world that it takes many readings to unpack. And of course, perfect cartooning. I can’t wait to see how it ends.
“You have no idea how incredible this is going to be,”
Travis Louie’s paintings come from the tiny little drawings and many writings in his journals. He has created his own imaginary world that is grounded in Victorian and Edwardian times. It is inhabited by human oddities, mythical beings, and otherworldly characters who appear to have had their formal portraits taken to mark their existence and place in society. The underlining thread that connects all these characters is the unusual circumstances that shape who they were and how they lived. Some of their origins are a complete muster while others are hinted at. A man is cursed by a goat, a strange furry being is discovered sleeping in a hedge, an engine driver can’t seem to stop vibrating in his sleep, a man overcomes his phobia of spiders, etc, … Using inventive techniques of painting with acrylic washing and simple textures on smooth boards, he has created portraits from an alternative universe that seemingly may or may not have existed.
Abandonned Parisian Nightclub Hijacked by Street Art
The site of a stunning 1885-era Parisian municipal bathhouse, HOME to the previous Les Bains Douches Nightclub, is now set to be revamped into a Luxury Boutique Hotel. Earlier this year, a group of 50 Art practitioners filled it up with their own art, creating their very own pop up art gallery from it.
Built as a municipal bathhouse in the late 19th century, Les Bains-Douches would eventually become one of the hottest Night Clubs in Paris known simply as Les Bains, a destination for the likes of Kate Moss, Mick Jagger, Johnny Depp and even Andy Warhol. Due to some faulty construction in 2010 the building was declared a safety hazard and is now slated for complete RENOVATION in just a few days to pave way for La Société des Bains, a new space that will open in 2014. In the meantime, owner Jean-Pierre Marois turned over the building to 50 street artists commissioned by Magda Danysz Gallery who have been working since January to turn the decaying building into an endless canvas of amazing Artwork.
With the discovery and digitisation of a cache of his personal polaroids, we gain access into the luminous world of Andrei Tarkovsky…
Russian auteur Andrei Tarkovsky is often cited as the greatest cinematic artist of all time. His roster of just seven films – including Andrei Rublev, Ivan’s Children and Solaris – have made him one of the most lauded directors in history, awarded a Golden Lion, the Grand Prix du Jury at Cannes and, posthumously, the Lenin Prize – the highest accolade in the Soviet Union. One of his heroes, Ingmar Bergman, stated, “Tarkovsky for me is the greatest, the one who invented a new language, true to the nature of film, as it captures life as a reflection, life as a dream.”
Veneration for Tarkovsky has not dimmed since his premature death in 1986, making the recent discovery of a cache of his polaroids a thrilling find. Taken between 1979 and 1984, in the years before his death from a cancer supposedly contracted on the set of Stalker, they span his last months in the Soviet Union and the years he spent researching and filming in Italy. Very much in the spirit of his moving image work, they capture nature, individuals and light in images that shine with the singular humanity which imbues his films. He once pronounced that “the director’s task is to recreate life, its movement, its contradictions, its dynamic and conflicts. It is his duty to reveal every iota of the truth he has seen…” In these vignettes from his personal world, populated by his dog, his children, his garden and the view from his window, we are left spellbound by a quiet and captivating insight into the world of a man who rendered dreams reality, creating worlds of wonder and truth that have never been equalled despite all the bombast of modern technology.
Text by Tish Wrigley
© Андрей Тарковский/Ultreya, Milano
See the full array of polaroids here.
Just click on image to view documentary
DETROIT, Michigan — With all the troublesome legal questions now firmly resolved, the highly regarded “MC5 – A True Testimonial” documentary film is finally poised for release.
Having screened to SRO crowds and widespread critical acclaim at international film festivals around the world, the much lauded MC5 documentary had been poised to make a major splash before it’s derailment in early 2004. The highly anticipated film had a full schedule of nationwide theatrical screenings in place, followed by a DVD release, before the curious decision was made to deny the requisite synchronization license for the MC5’s music publishing.
That decision, initiated at the behest of Wayne Kramer, one of the two guitarists in the legendary but long-defunct band, ignited a firestorm of controversy. Kramer had long supported the film’s production, having once said “The filmmakers have done a fabulous job of telling the story of the MC5… the story is finally getting told and told right.”
Having successfully blocked the film’s release, the guitarist would later file suit in federal court in November 2005 over a purported “music producer” position and alleging a variety of copyright infringement, fraud and breach of contract claims against director David Thomas, producer Laurel Legler and Future/Now Films.
After hearing extensive testimony and reviewing the evidence presented during a week-long trial held October 2006 in Santa Ana, California, United States District Court Judge Andrew J. Guilford dismissed all charges against the filmmakers, concluding there was “insufficient factual basis to establish any claim” against them.
In a decision rendered March 31, 2007, Judge Guilford found “no terms specific enough to form an enforceable contract were ever agreed upon,” that neither Thomas or Legler “had made any actionable false representations” to Kramer, and that the dispute arose only after Future/Now Films “demonstrated that the film they were crafting could be successful” adding “The MC5 is historically significant and its music and story merit being heard today. The film had and still has the potential to spread the music and story of the MC5.”
The families of the late Rob Tyner and Fred “Sonic” Smith have been fully supportive of the film’s release from the beginning; Patti Smith has been unequivocal, saying “They were a great band and they should be remembered. And they should be remembered together. This film is a very good opportunity to give them recognition.”
With authorizations from the surviving members now in place, Vincent Cox, attorney for Future/Now Films, has declared “the disputes are water under the bridge, and there’s no point in rehashing them.”
One could argue that, had the film come out as scheduled, it would have boosted the MC5’s profile enough to propel the band into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame; the band’s sole nomination came in 2002 when the “MC5 – A True Testimonial” festival tour was in full swing. Whether or not that time has now passed remains to be seen.
Nonetheless, as USDC Judge Guilford noted in his decision, director David Thomas and producer Laurel Legler were “first-time filmmakers who spent eight years of their lives trying to create a documentary film that would be historically truthful, a documentary that would celebrate the talent and creativity of the MC5 band, a documentary that would say something about the 60’s, and would say something about the present. They succeeded, and the film merits wide distribution for the enjoyment and edification of the masses.”
In other words… “KICK OUT THE JAMS, MOTHERFUCKERS!!!”
William S. Burroughs by Charles Burns
Exerpt from ”El Borbah”“Are the El Borbah stories actually, you know, important? Hell no. This is Burns pop recycling at his manic and hysterical best. For all his later work, it’s sometimes easy to forget that Burns is, you know, a really funny guy. And never has this been more on display as through El Borbah’s adventures, vague detective tales where our hardboiled antihero is a misanthrope in a Mexican wrestling outfit, unraveling mysteries with equal doses of contempt and fisticuffs, like every weird television moment of the fifties and sixties exploding onto a page. El Borbah is a giant book with beautiful stuff inside. Well worth it at twice the price.”
– Matt Fraction at www.artbomb.net
Big Baby is a particularly impressionable young boy named Tony Delmonte, who lives in a seemingly typical American suburb until he sneaks out of his room one night and becomes entangled in a horrific plot involving summer camp murders and backyard burials. Burns’ clinical precision as an artist adds a sinister chill to his droll sense of humor, and his affection for 20th-century pulp fiction permeates throughout, creating a brilliant narrative that perfectly captures the unease and fear of adolescence. “At once alluring and grotesque, Burns’ imagery has been eagerly embraced by the counterculture, mainstream media, and a recalcitrant art world without ever compromising his strikingly singular aesthetic.” – Juxtapoz
“The work of Charles Burns is a vision that’s both horrifying and hilariously funny, and which he executes with cold, ruthless clarity… It’s almost as if the artist… as if her weren’t quite… human!” – R. Crumb
“These comics are brilliant, loaded with humor and a love of B-movies, pulps, and old comic books. ‘Curse of the Molemen’ is a classic of modern cartooning, and alone would make this book worth buying.” – John Porcellino
Click here and there for put in links!!! (watch for the hand)
All Images courtesy of Ray Caesar/Gallery House
For his latest show, “The Trouble with Angels” coming up on February 14 at Dorothy Circus Gallery in Rome, Ray Caesar takes viewers into an icy queendom where a sense of foreboding belies the pristine beauty of his characters and their surroundings. Caesar works digitally to create a haunting world inspired by the Rococo period, specifically the time before the French Revolution. The title of Caesar’s latest show speaks to the duality he sees in the worlds he creates as well as within himself — it is an allusion to the struggle between good and evil. “Making art is a way for me to get in touch with that inner angelic guide that instinctively knows what is right and not right for me, even when I disagree,” said Caesar. “Sometimes that path is hard and challenging so that inner angel can also be a bit of a troublemaking demon.” The February 14 opening of “The Trouble with Angels” will be followed by a retrospective of Caesar’s work opening on the 15th at the Palazzo Saluzzo Paesana in Turin.
“The Past is just a Story we are telling ourselves. ” -Her
Still from ”Stalker”, Andrei Tarkowski
En mars 1967, Jimi Hendrix est pratiquement un inconnu lorsque Jean-Noël Coghe l’accompagne en tournée en France et en Belgique. Cet album constitue un témoignage sur le vif réunissant une foule d’anecdotes et de documents.
À partir de photos inédites, Moebius (alias Jean Giraud) réalise une série de dessins qui projettent Jimi Hendrix dans l’imaginaire et propulsent à l’infini cette épopée. Il révèle un univers cosmique, féerique.
Jean-Noël Coghe évoque avec passion et émotion la fulgurante carrière du plus célèbre des guitaristes. Il nous fait côtoyer les principaux protagonistes de l’époque. Nous assistons au début d’un mythe que seuls quelques anonymes ont pressenti.
Titre exact : Jimi hendrix. Emotions électriques
Catégorie : Art, architecture et photo
Date de parution : 1 février 2000
Éditeur : Castor astral
ISBN : 9782859203863
Auteur : Moebus/ Cogne, Jean-noël
One-off events being held in the U.S., Canada, and Europe before album’s September 23 release
Aphex Twin’s rollout for SYRO, his first album in 13 years, has been fairly unconventional, what with the blimp teaser, deep web announcement, and barely legible autobiography. But now the “fartist” born Richard D. James is giving some lucky fans the chance to hear the new songs in a more traditional matter. Starting September 5 in London and Paris, with subsequent events in the U.S., Canada, and other European countries, SYRO will be played in its entirety at listening parties, with tickets available to the public via a lottery. According to Warp, the contest “begins on Sunday, August 31 at 4AM PST / 7AM EST / 12PM GMT / 1PM CET and closes Tuesday, September 2 at midnight in each time zone.” There’s no other information given about the events, so we’ll just assume they’re going to feature some surprises (a la Karen O). The full dates are below, and Syro is due out September 23.
Syro, the first full-length album from British electronic artist Aphex Twin since 2001’s Drukqs, is streaming online and available to buy two days before its scheduled release.
It looks like the days of lying low are over for Aphex Twin, whose real name is Richard James. The artist has been teasing the album with a track listing released via the deep web, a blimp, and now a rare interview with Pitchfork. “It can be quite impenetrable for most people, because you can’t latch on to something,” James says of the songs’ shifting structures. “It sounds quite random at first.”
The album is also streaming on Spotify in the UK.
Listen to Aphex Twin- Syro 2014 Full Album
Yes I have been nominated for the Liebster Award by my dear friend J.Gi Federizo and her blog The End Jusatrifies the Journey and it is my first award (no surprise there since I only been blogging since the very end of April of 2014. I am writing foen here in what terms I have been nominated cuz it made me really happy and proud and honored by her kind words for me and in the terems she used to support her nomination. So here it is:
”Hi! I have nominated YOU for the Liebster Award. As said there, “I am nominating people with whom I have had very insightful and educational discussions with, who care about their followers and whose sites I really enjoy visiting…if you’ve done this already and do not wish to participate anymore, kindly give us a link to your Liebster Award page — I really do want to read your answers! If you can’t answer because it does not follow your blog’s strict format, or you simply just don’t want to, no biggies, we understand.”
I just want you to know I appreciate you and your blog. You can find your award here: Rock, Liebster!” – J.Gi Federizo.
Now that made me feel like a million dollars!!
So with great honors comes great responsabilities and here are the rules and reuqirements to the Liebster Award:
1. Each person who is nominated must post 11 things about themselves.
2. You must also answer the questions that the tagger set for you in addition to creating 11 questions for the people you nominate to answer.
3. Nominate 5 – 11 of your favorite bloggers and link them in your post.
4. Go to your nominees’ pages and tell them.
5. Thank and link back to the person’s blog who nominated you.
11 things about myself:
1- My mum had me very young 17-18ish
2-She left my dad and left with his best friend and me for a town very far from where all my friends and family tie were (5hours drive) they got married and are still together :). My father did the same while I wasn’t around with a very kind woman.. I love them all very much but it is hard at times as they are completely and totally different so I guess I learned to be 2 different person depending on whith which family I was when I was young.
3-I did not saw my father for 4 years but was so very happy to see him again when I did and my mum and stepdad left for Hawaii for a couple of years and I was left with my father.
4-I have a girlfriend I have been with for 7 years now and I love her to bits. We are soulmates. Fact.
5-When I was young I used to run away at a very young age and my parents would find me several blocks away chatting with some neighbors I have never met before.
6-My grandfather was a war hero. He received the medal of courage cuz he carried his friend on his back through the battleflied as he was hit by a grenade and lost the use of his legs ( his friend not my grandpa of course!) He never talked to me about war stuff. He truly though that war was the ugliest thing in the world and never talked about it. If you go in the about me section there is a picture of him and a short story about him.
7-My grandmother and grandpa on my mother’s side raised me for the most part when i was between 1 and 5 with the help of one of my aunt and unclke on my father’s side.
8-I am an only child. And I if my parents would not have been remarried I would not have feared to have a brother or sister that would be loved more than me as I already felt I was already not wanted (and it was the case as I was boirn because a condom broke off and abortions were out of the question from where I came from.
9-I tried to get a birth certificate once and all I could get was an apology letter from the condom company!
10-I love hot pecan pie with ice cream and strawberry cheesecake. They are my favorite deserts.
11-I always wanted to be a writer but I am afraid that if I do not succeed at it there is nothing I will be really good at other than that.
11 Questions for Me:
1. What inspired your blog name?
I just wanted something that screams out and in your face and I like the band Alien Sex Fiend and so it just came up to me just like this.
2. Who do you consider as your hero(s)/heroine(s)?
William Seward Burroughs because he managed to always go ahead, never loose faith and kept writing and trying out new things no matter what life brought him or no matter if the results made him hit the floor and bite some dust..
3. Do you have a weird habit? Give at least one that you have.
I cannot stand a door closing and locking behind me when I leave a place where a friend lives or Gf or family or anyone I know in fact. . It gives me chills of fright. As if I won’t ever be able to come back. It just creeps me out and makes me very sad. So I always kindly ask people to wait until I’m gone to completely close the door and lock it. I know it’s weird and I have no idea why.
4. What is the best thing you like about yourself? Don’t be shy or humble. Just spill it out. ;)
I’m me. And I’m me more and more as time goes by.
5. Is there a question that people usually ask you ? Kindly share and (hopefully) give us the answer as well
Do you try to walk like a some black hip hop guy? NO It’s not my fault I have been operated in my left leg several times because of a childhood accident and it never quite came back to normal so I know it looks kool but it is not intentionnal at all!! I walk funny cuz one leg is kinda lagging behind and its very subtile. Most people won’t notice but will think I intentionally do this but like I said it’s not. When I’m physically tired it gets even worst but most people think it looks kool so I don’t complain.
6. Star Trek or Star Wars?
7. What are you currently reading? (Not original but…)
Call me Burroughs A Life by Barry Miles wich is oif course a 700 hundred page biography of Willliam S. Burroughs
8. Any hidden talent? Of course, please share.
I’m a good photographer and pretty good writer cuz I have a lot of imagination. Of course I am better in French. I also speak 3 langages and a fair carpenrter.
9. Iron Man, Thor, The Hulk or Captain America?
Silver Surfer but let’s say Captain America cuz its the closest thing to Silver Surfer
10. What do you collect?
11. Facebook or Twitter?
11 QUESTIONS FOR MY NOMINEES:
1-What made you start your blog
2-What inspired your blog name?
3-What did you want to be as a child?
4-Did you have a happy childhood or is it a subject you prefer to avoid?
5-If you could goback in time. Is there an era you would like to experience? the Renaissance? The ’70s, the 60’s? the 50s? if yes what for and where? (ex the 70s at the beginning of the CBGB in New-York or the Renaissance in Italy or Paris, etc..)
6-What event is really engraved in your memory. Good or Bad.
7-Who is your best friend, since when and why and do you still see each other?
8-You can answer one of those three depending on your age: Do you prefer Led Zeppelin 1 or Led Zeppelin 2? SGt Pepper or The White Album from the Beatles? If you can’t relate what is your favorite(s) band(s)
9-What do you prefer: Architecture? Design? Painting? Dancing? Cinema? Sculpture? Music? Litterature?
10-If you could be reborn as an animal, which ne would it be?
11-Tell us one thing that you think it is important for your readers to know about you?
And the 11 NOMINEES are:
The Brilliant Diary of Mary Rose, Truthteller
AN ADDICT YOUTH’S TELL-ALL FOR A NEW GENERATION FROM LEGS MCNEIL AND GILLIAN MCCAIN. “I THINK FOR PARENTS WHO ACTUALLY TALK TO THEIR KIDS, THIS BOOK IS A GREAT CONVERSATION STARTER. FOR PARENTS WHO DON’T TALK TO THEIR KIDS, THIS IS GOING TO BE A TIME BOMB.”
authors via Jonathan Marder + Company
What lies at the intersection of the best years of your life, the best writing some of you may ever do, and abject humiliation? Ladies, you already know the answer. Gents, you may only have experience taking a knife to its cheap little lock.
I’m referring, of course, to your diaries.
There is a lot of fun and misery to be had when you crack one open after, say, 30 years of closure, and have a read. That’s some good shit right there.
“I wish I had a dick, so I could tell the world to suck it,” is one of co-editor Legs McNeil’s favorite lines in Dear Nobody: The True Diary of Mary Rose (Sourcebooks), the new book under discussion today with McNeill and co-editor Gillian McCain.
Perhaps the modern batch of teen solipsists will quit the microblogging and go longhand, for a change.
A diary can equal some dollar signs, if you’re so inclined. There’s Lesley Arfin’s Dear Diary from 2007. In it, she looks up the players who starred in her entries during her ‘tweens to twenties and tries to find out what they remember. The original entries and the updates play side by side in her book. Doesn’t that kind of pervert the purity of the diary, though?
Diaries don’t even have to be real in order to sell. They just have to reek of a lurid tell-all. When I was devouring the classic Go Ask Alice back in my wasteoid salad days, I assumed the entries from a nameless good girl gone way bad in the late 1960s were all real. It turns out the author (billed as Anonymous on the book cover) was a novelist named Beatrice Sparks. Knowing this now turns the diary writer’s death by O.D. at the end of the novel into a cheesy cautionary tale: One more “drugs are bad” rant.
Good thing I had my own real diary going, where the drugs were very, very bad indeed. That is, when they weren’t being gooood.
An addict without a diary is sorry indeed. For the junkie and boozer who cheats death every day and gets amnesia almost as soon as anything happens, the diary is a way to remember – or to rewrite history, if the first version didn’t suit you.
It’s also a message to whomever – or whatever – follows in the wake of your certain death.
Which brings us back to Dear Nobody: The True Diary of Mary Rose, a teenage girl’s collection of diary entries written in the late ’90s. Unlike Go Ask Alice, the entries are real; unlike Arfin’s Dear Diary, the entries stand alone without the author’s present-day meddling.
Mary Rose couldn’t meddle even if she wanted to. She died of cystic fibrosis when she was 17. As she journaled, she knew the disease would eventually kill her. And if the cystic fibrosis didn’t get her, her boozing and drugging – including heroin – may have finished the job. According to McNeil, Mary Rose didn’t bother sobering up because she knew she didn’t have long to live. Her illness “makes it kind of moot,” he says. “‘Oh, you should stay sober, you shouldn’t do drugs.’ Why? Why not.”
BOREDOM AND BAD HYGIENE
Mary Rose owes a lot of her style to McNeil, who co-founded Punk, the seminal ’70s magazine dedicated to soft-spoken, marginalized people who make loud music; he was also a founding editor at Spin and currently writes for Vice. She also owes a debt to McCain, the New York-based writer and poet who was at one time the president of The Poetry Project. The duo’s Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk is unarguably the definitive book about the culture of Punk.
Which turned out to be one of Mary Rose’s favorite books. This isn’t surprising; the spirit of Please Kill Me’s players in the seminal days of punk – by turns sweet and nihilistic – is mirrored in Mary Rose. Her writing has a gleeful “I don’t give a fuck” mentality without any preachy overtones.
“What I found remarkable about Mary Rose was that she knew she was an alcoholic and drug addict at such a young age and she wasn’t in denial about it,” McCain says. “I think that’s pretty rare.”
No, Mary Rose wasn’t in denial, and she was very funny about it. “My life has become a dormant haze of boredom and bad hygiene,” she writes at one point. In that one sentence, she captures all of the squalor of being young and fucked up.
One facet of Dear Nobody‘s inception is that while McNeil has an affinity for much of this material, his partner in crime McCain is coming from a somewhat more prosaic perspective. “Legs has had a much more wild past than me,” she says about the process of co-editing Please Kill Me and, perhaps, of their current project. “And [he has] first-hand experience with addiction. But i think it was beneficial to have someone who hadn’t been ‘there’ at the time to partner in the book. He was the seasoned professional who had lived the life, I was more like the wide-eyed girl who moved to the city in order to meet all of these people. And to write a book like this!”
Dear Nobody could have been consigned to the closet or the couch if McNeil hadn’t asked his postmaster’s daughter what she had been reading lately.
“She listed the popular titles of the day but then she said ‘but the best thing I’ve ever read were these diaries that my best friend’s older sister wrote,’” he says.
McNeil and McCain began reading the diaries and they were enthralled. Working with Mary Rose’s piles of spiral bound notebooks – filled with 600-plus pages of short stories, schoolwork, poetry, and diary entries – they edited the work down to 330 pages of teen joy and misery compressed: abuse, pleasure, fighting with her mother, being wasted, coming to terms with the reality that, in her words: “I will never be the happy, healthy girl with the nice boyfriend and the perfect home. This is my reality … I awake to the bitter veneration of nauseating medicine as the taste of a ‘treatment’ fills my mouth and lungs.”
“You could really see her experimenting and trying to become a better and better writer,” McCain says.
Would Mary Rose have wanted her diary to reach the public? McCain thinks Mary Rose would be tickled by it.
“She was such an extrovert,” McNeil adds. “She liked having all the attention.”
It’s true; at the end, Mary Rose writes that she hopes her death is mourned with honor and respect. She doesn’t want to be forgotten.
Or, as she whiplashed between the poles of love/hate about a boyfriend: “God I love him. It’s just like every once in a while, he’ll say something really brilliant and pretty … [t]hen he’ll say something really stupid and I’ll think he’s fucking retarded.” And her parting salvo to him, shortly before her death: “You’re a loser and a dickhead fag asshole. There is no life after Mary Rose. You’ll be sorry babe. Goodbye.”
And yet this is the same girl who could write “I’ve just got to remember to be nice and warm-hearted in my overall relations to people.” But of course.
AND HOW WILL YOUNG ADULTS RESPOND?
Dear Nobody is being marketed to a young adult audience; this is a population that doesn’t get a great deal of non-fiction. Or they get something that looks like a memoir, like Go Ask Alice. It’s a “convoluted” terrain, McCain points out: some readers don’t know the difference between fiction and nonfiction.
So when Dear Nobody drops into a kid’s grimy hands, what will happen? Will this be the book that sends the kid down the vodka and heroin highway? The book that doesn’t glamorize addiction and abuse -but still makes partying in the woods, and being incoherent and angst-ridden, seem like the best solutions to the problems at hand.
“I think for parents who actually talk to their kids, this book is a great conversation starter. For parents who don’t talk to their kids this is going to be a time bomb,” McNeil says.
He didn’t think Dear Nobody would send anyone down a path they hadn’t already chosen.
“If kids are going to get fucked up and get high they’re going to find an excuse,” he says. “It’s like people who went and read Burroughs so they could do heroin. And all the people who read Bukowski who wanted to go drink. I think the kids that are not gonna get high are not gonna get high from reading this book. And the kids that are gonna get high – who have the genetic predisposition for alcoholism and addiction – will get high, sure.”
However, a good drug book may be found, not coincidentally, at the bedside of a dead addict.
“People died from heroin overdoses [while] reading Please Kill Me,” McNeil informs, adding that he believes Smashing Pumpkins keyboardist Jonathan Melvoin was reading the newly released book when he died of a heroin overdose in 1996.
Every generation needs its Go Ask Alice. Hopefully Mary Rose, with her big loopy girly handwriting (“she almost had hearts over the “is” but didn’t,” McCain says) and her sweet spirit in a damaged body will speak to a new generation of addicts, near-misses, or teen addicts-to-be. Perhaps the modern batch of teen solipsists will quit the microblogging and go longhand, for a change.
“Maybe this will spur other kids on to keep old-fashioned journals,” McCain says.
Along with Go Ask Alice, maybe Dear Nobody will be a Naked Lunch or Fear and Loathing for some other unsuspecting slob: It will be the book that sent you on your junkie boozer way. The manifesto for a very different and dirtier way of life. Perhaps it will be like Please Kill Me was for Mary Rose and so many of us.
“You surround yourself with things that make you happy,” McNeil says. “And if heroin makes you happy, then you surround yourself with Please Kill Me, you know?”
Jessica Willis, a former editor at Time Out New York, has written for the New York Press, New York Times and Black Book among others.
ORIGINAL ARTICLE HERE
BUZZFEED posted these great pictures by photographer David Godlis who was one of the primary documentarians of CBGB’s punk/new wave music scene throughout the mid to late ’70s. He recently launched a Kickstarter campaign in hopes of publishing a photography book dedicated solely to the iconic people and images he captured from that time period.
17 Awesome Photos That Captured CBGB’s Iconic 1970s Punk Scene
The legendary New York club has been to referred to as the “dank incubator” of some of the most influential bands of all time.
1. Outside shot of CBGB, which was located near the intersection of Bowery and Bleecker in New York’s East Village.
2. The club’s owner, Hilly Kristal, stands outside among the crowd waiting to get in (1977).
3. Patti Smith, one of the first artists booked to play the club when it opened, arriving (1976).
4. Sylvia Morales (who would go on to marry Lou Reed) and downtown scenester/ Mudd Club co-founder Anya Phillips strike a pose (1977).
5. Psychobilly/Garage punk band The Cramps standing outside the club (1977).
6. Music journalist Lester Bangs (1977).
7. Singer-songwriter Alex Chilton (1977).
8. Patti Smith performing with the Patti Smith Group (1977).
9. Punk innovator Richard Hell performing (1978).
10. The infamous bathroom stalls (1976).
11. Punk magazine co-founder Legs McNeil enjoying (?) a drink.
12. The Talking Heads performing (1977).
13. Blondie performing (1977).
14. Richard Manitoba, lead singer of the Dictators, and a friend stand beneath the awning of the club.
15. No wavers (which was a short-lived subculture for people who rejected the new wave music/art movement), waiting outside the club (1978).
16. Dee Dee and Joey of the Ramones arriving at the club (1977).
17. The Ramones, who are arguably one of the artists most closely associated with the CBGB, performing (1977).
And a little extra to end it well…Bowery 4 am, 1977
LL PHOTOS BY DAVID GODLIS !! ! VIISIT HIS KICKSTARTER PAGE BEFORE OCTOBER 1ST PLZ! (CLICK ON LOGO!)
by Legs McNeal and Jennifer Osborne with Peter pavia
This compulsively readable book perfectly captures the pop culture zeitgeist. It doesn’t hurt that the history of American pornography is inextricably intertwined with all the subjects that captivate us: sex, drugs, beauty, fame, money, the Mafia, law enforcement and violence. McNeil (Please Kill Me ) focuses on the industry’s dark underbelly: suicide (Savannah), fratricide (the Mitchell brothers), Mafia hits (John Gotti whacked Robert DiBernardo, the mob’s point man in the porn business) and gangland slayings (John Holmes). But beyond the scintillating subject, it’s McNeil’s skillful technique that elevates this oral history, coauthored by journalists Osborne and Pavia, above the tedium of a courtroom transcript. Most chapters contain multiple story lines, which McNeil cleverly weaves together by the end. And the book’s two most fascinating stories—about the making of Deep Throat and the Traci Lords child pornography case—involve unreliable narrators, which gives them a Rashomon -like quality. In the case of Deep Throat , the movie that catapulted hardcore pornography into the mainstream, its star, Linda Lovelace, claims she was forced to perform in the movie, though everyone else connected to the film contradicts her. As for Lords, her detractors make a compelling argument that far from being the victim she portrays herself to be in her book, she deceived the industry about her age so she could make a fortune and leverage her sob story into a mainstream Hollywood career. Whether recounting high-profile scandals or answering trivia about the origins of porn films and lap dancing, this is a relentlessly gripping read.
The great Charles Burns will exhibit his art this weekend at SPX in Maryland, and Pigeon Press will have a signed print for sale there.
Charles Burns will at the Pigeon Press table (W 51-52) throughout the weekend. We’ll have advanced copies of Sugar Skull, the final volume of the Nit Nit trilogy (X’ed Out, The Hive – for sale along with many other rare out of print books from the artist. Come early and be the first to get this book!
**The first 200 copies of Sugar Skull sold will include a limited-edition signed and numbered Gicleé printed bookplate made especially for SPX along with a Pantheon Books promotional Nit Nit mask (while supplies last)**
Burns will be on 2 panels during the weekend:
SAT — Alt-Weekly Comics Roundtable — Noon – 1:00pm (White Oak Room)
SUN — Charles Burns Spotlight/Q + A — 2:00 – 3:00pm (White Oak Room)
Iconic set design: The Shining’s Overlook Hotel
The Shining’s Overlook hotel remains one of the most disturbing locations in horror. Ryan looks over its history, and how it tells Kubrick’s story…
Cinema is full of set designs so beautiful, you almost wish you they were real. Fritz Lang had vast chunks of city built forMetropolis. Joseph Mankiewicz nearly brought 20th Century Fox to its knees, so huge and sumptuous were his sets for 1963’sCleopatra.
Thinking back over the course of movie history, how many films can you think of where the set itself is as big a star as the actors that emote within it? In Alien or Blade Runner, perhaps. The impossibly creepy motel and Victorian house of horrors in Psycho, maybe. The set in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, I’d argue, towers over all these.
In no other film has an interior felt so mundane and yet so palpably evil – Jack Nicholson may rant and rave spectacularly as unhinged writer Jack Torrance, and Shelley Duval may act convincingly exhausted and terrified as his beleaguered wife, but it’s production designer Roy Walker’s set design that constantly dazzles.
Credit must also go, of course, to John Alcott’s prowling cinematography, aided Garrett Brown and his wonder invention, the Steadicam, which allowed Stanley Kubrick, ever the technician, to pull off some of the most striking long takes in all cinema.
Nevertheless, it’s the Overlook Hotel, at the time the biggest indoor set ever built, that bears so much of the film’s dramatic weight. This is partially because The Shining has such a simple story to tell. Pared back even by the standards of Stephen King’s source novel, the movie contains none of the rampaging elephant-shaped hedges or infernos of the original book. Instead, Kubrick’s film presents us with little more than embittered, failed writer, Jack, slowly growing crazy in a remote hotel. His wife Wendy (Duvall) and telepathic son Danny (Danny Lloyd) can do little more than look on in horror.
At first glance, Kubrick and Walker appear to have created the perfect fusion between exterior and interior shots. At the start of the film, the outside of the Overlook we see is actually the Timberline Lodge, located in Oregon. The rest of the film’s exteriors and interiors, meanwhile, were immaculately constructed back at Elstree Studios in the UK.
A world away from the dusty, peeling interiors usually seen in horror movies, the hotel interior envisioned by Kubrick is spacious and modern. The set generates tension not through claustrophobia and dark spaces, but with high ceilings and lonely expanses. Characters are frequently dwarfed by gigantic columns or huge windows. Even the carpets accentuate the how small and vulnerable Danny and his mother are; one shot shows the little boy playing on a carpet whose huge geometric patterns surround him like a cage.
As he did in 2001: A Space Odyssey and A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick uses violent contrasts of colour to heighten the feeling of unease. There’s a key moment, where Grady (Philip Stone) ushers Jack into a bathroom and urges him, rather unsubtly, to “correct” his family. The acting in this scene is so intense that it’s easy to miss just how striking the actors’ surroundings are; unlike the warm, boozy golds of the ballroom Jack was drinking in seconds before, the bathroom is bathed in stark artificial light. The pure white ceiling and floor merely accentuate the startling crimson of the walls.
The room is utterly unlike any other in the hotel – it’s as though it’s a direct projection of Jack’s violent mind, which it almost certainly is. It’s but one example of how Kubrick uses colour and design to reflect the mood of his characters.
As an example of how The Shining’s set takes us through those moods, take a look at the manager’s room, where Jack is interviewed at the beginning of the film – it’s a typical 70s office, its ugly salmon-coloured walls festooned with framed pictures. It’s vastly different from the supernatural ballroom or evil-looking bathroom seen in the film’s final act.
When Walker set about designing the film’s rooms, he took inspiration from real hotel rooms from around America, and went all over the country photographing different interiors. On his returm, Kubrick leafed through the pictures, chose the ones he liked, and had his production team construct rooms that looked exactly the same. The director described the process of designing the film’s sets in aninterview with writer Michel Ciment.
“We wanted the hotel to look authentic rather than like a traditionally spooky movie hotel,” Kubrick said. “The hotel’s labyrinthine layout and huge rooms, I believed, would alone provide an eerie enough atmosphere. This realistic approach was also followed in the lighting, and in every aspect of the decor it seemed to me that the perfect guide for this approach could be found in Kafka’s writing style. His stories are fantastic and allegorical, but his writing is simple and straightforward, almost journalistic.”
Writer Rob Ager made an exhaustive and brilliant examination of The Shining’s set design, and suggested that Kubrick deliberately built anomalies into the hotel’s layout in order to confuse the viewer’s spatial awareness. (It’s a fascinating piece of work, and you can read it, and watch an accompanying video, here.)
From a plan view, as one might see in an architect’s drawing, the Overlook’s layout doesn’t make any sense; hotel rooms open out straight onto balconies; what should be internal windows appear to have light coming from outside; corridors lead to abrupt dead ends.
Not everyone agrees with Ager’s thesis, but I’d argue it’s too plausible to dismiss entirely. While it’s possible that Kubrick and his designers may have cut a few corners to cram their already enormous sets into the space available at Elstree, it’s unlikely that a director as meticulous and obsessed with minor detail as Kubrick would make so many glaring errors.
Besides, Kubrick makes it obvious from the outset that the hotel’s architecture is vital to his story. His use of Steadicam isn’t merely a gimmicky use of new technology – it allows him to lead us around this weird interior landscape, across horrid carpets, polished floors and rugs, through its sprawling kitchen and storage rooms. He wants us to know how gigantic and dehumanising this place is – before the psychological wargames begin, he shows us the battleground on which they’ll take place.
In the Overlook, Kubrick created a hotel that acts as a kind of psychological torture chamber, trapping its victims in a labyrinth of impossible corridors and rooms. Its design mirrors that of the hedge maze outside, cunningly built from a wood and wire mesh frame, with foliage threaded through it. This maze, with its eight-foot high walls, was complex enough for the crew to get lost in.
Kubrick’s daughter Vivian shot a candid documentary of The Shining’s making, and the director and his crew are seen consulting maps of the maze’s layout. It’s been said that, at one point in The Shining’s year-long shoot, Kubrick had the maze walls rearranged, without telling certain members of the crew. When they became lost in its new layout, their cries for help were met with peals of laughter from Kubrick – laughter that, disconcertingly, seemed to becoming from all directions at once.
The Shining is the perfect example of the use of set design to enhance a narrative. Combined with its cinematography, the viewer is left with the impression of a building that isn’t merely haunted, but alive, and actively observing its occupants’ every move. No other set in cinema is quite so oppressive, or so convincingly depicted – we barely notice the spatial anomalies that Ager points out, but it’s likely that on some subconscious level, our brain notices, and shudders.
The Shining’s shoot was long and arduous. In his quest for perfection, Kubrick went through take after take. Scatman Crothers and Shelly Duvall clashed with the director. The latter even collapsed, exhausted, which was caught on camera by Vivian Kubrick.
The film’s extraordinarily realistic lighting also took its toll: the pale sun shining through the vast windows in the main room was achieved with a bank of powerful studio lights – so powerful were these, the set eventually caught fire. Rather than work with the footage he’d already shot, Kubrick, perfectionist to the last, had the set rebuilt from scratch.
Kubrick’s maniacal approach to filmmaking resulted in one of the most unusual entries in the horror canon. Its performances are desperate and sometimes bizarre, its images wavering violently between the starkly real and the surreal. And then there’s the Overlook itself, watching, waiting – it’s entirely unforgettable, and perhaps the most striking haunted house in all cinema.
Some little extras I found on Youtube…Enjoy!! I did!!
odditiesoflife: The Real Abandoned Overlook Hotel Unlike the fictional Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, this hotel is really named the Overlook. The abandoned hotel is located in the small, wine growing town of Bernkastel-Kues in Germany. Other than it has been unoccupied for about 13 years, there is no information as to why the hotel was closed. All of the furniture remains and it looks as if everyone there simply left. There are rumors that the hotel is haunted. According to urban explorers who frequent the spooky site, cameras malfunction, sounds can be heard throughout the premises and items seem to move around the hotel by themselves.
The Real Abandoned Overlook Hotel
Unlike the fictional Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, this hotel is really named the Overlook. The abandoned hotel is located in the small, wine growing town of Bernkastel-Kues in Germany. Other than it has been unoccupied for about 13 years, there is no information as to why the hotel was closed. All of the furniture remains and it looks as if everyone there simply left. There are rumors that the hotel is haunted. According to urban explorers who frequent the spooky site, cameras malfunction, sounds can be heard throughout the premises and items seem to move around the hotel by themselves.
20 Best Gangster/Gang/Skinheads Movies
Click on title to see the trailer.
5-Gangs of New-York
8-American History X
9-The Pusher Trilogy
13-Once Upon a Time in America
16-This is England
17-Green Street Hooligans
19-Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
My 50 Best Horror Movies
I really tried to stick to what is strickly defined as horror movies, excluding sci-fi or fantastic or movies that are more a suspense than horror. Therefore I ruled out most of what is called “Monster movies” . So in no particular order..
Click on title to see the trailer.
4-Possession from Andrej Zulawski
6-In My Skin
9-Let The Right One In
11-The Texas Chainsaw Massacre
13-Jeepers Creepers I
14-The Devil’s Reject
15-The Midnight Meat Train
16-REC(Original from Spain)
17-Evil Dead 2
20-The Wizard of Gore
24-28 Days Later
26-Funny Games(The original)
27-28 Weeks Later
33-Drag Me to Hell
34-The Cabinet of Dr.Caligari
36-House of 1000 Corpses
37-Halloween IIRob Zombie
40-Diary of the Dead
43-The Last House on the Left 1972
47-Interview with a Vampire
“There was a cover-up. It’s not a crackpot theory, it’s what happened.”
THE ROLLING STONES’ BRIAN JONES was killed by builders working at his house in East Sussex, who escaped the attentions of the police after the band’s minder, Tom Keylock, orchestrated a cover-up, claims a book published on the 45th anniversary of the guitarist’s death.
The updated edition of Brian Jones: Who Killed Christopher Robin? also links Jones’ death to the attempted murder three weeks later of Joan Fitzsimons, an alleged witness to the crime. “[Brian Jones] was definitely murdered and there was a cover-up,” asserts the book’s author Terry Rawlings in the new issue of MOJO, on sale in the UK on July 29. “It’s not a crackpot theory, it’s what happened.”
Mystery has always surrounded the death of the guitarist, who drowned in the swimming pool at his Cotchford Farm country home on July 2, 1969, a month after he was sacked from the Rolling Stones. Jones had become isolated from the other band members, drinking and drugging to excess.
Several of Rawlings’ revelations follow the death in July 2009 of Tom Keylock, the band’s driver/minder, who admitted to the author in a videotaped interview a year before he passed away that he was, indeed, present at Cotchford Farm at the time Jones died. Previously he’d maintained that he had left the property earlier that evening to collect a guitar for Keith Richards.
The book – the original 1994 edition of which first identified builder Frank Thorogood as the primary murder suspect – also sheds more light on who was at Jones’ home on the day he died, and how police failed to act on information that could have brought his alleged killers to justice.
Read more in our interview with Terry Rawlings in the 250th Edition of MOJO magazine
Plus Jamais Seuls
Empalé vivant sur l’antenne satyrique des demi-dieux
Organes glissant sur le métal rougi et froid
Minutes volées- Une célébrité précieuse et idyllique
Afin que puisse percuter sur le “Quoi”
Une Planète ou les femmes maigrissent pour pouvoir mieux disparaître
Andy craque une allumette mais ne peut refuser de se soumettre a de multiples maîtres
-”Essaie très fort d’oublier Pourquoi…” (en plusieurs exemplaires)
Toute ces matières viscérales sincères
Valeurs singulières qui macèrent
Dans la salive d’une foule impudique qui bave, voyeuse,
De se croire si belle en ce miroir, la rend indiciblement joyeuse
Caricature d’elle-même, grotesque et incongrue
Se complaisant dans l’observation continue
De son image reflétée a l’infini
De bête tondue qui malgré tout sourit
Alors que l’abattoir se trouve, sans nul doute, au bout de ce chemin
Qui nous semble pourtant sans fin
Le Saigneur attend….
Just how powerfull our mind can be??
Originally posted on Rhino's Horror:
Hammer Films’ upcoming supernatural chiller The Quiet Ones is yet another horror film that prides itself on being inspired by “true events”. The John Pogue-directed haunter recently found a spot on my “Most Anticipated” list so I decided to do a little digging to find out just what the film’s inspiration was. Now this one is a stretch, guys. The movie bases itself off of a little experiment that a group of scientists conducted back in the 70’s where they set out to create a ghost of their very own. Now that’s quite the twist on your typical ghost story isn’t it? We all know someone who claims to have experienced a supernatural event, or maybe even you yourself have have seen a ghost. But do ghosts actually exist, or is it something that our very mind manifests? Can we actually be the ones creating the ghost? That’s the question…
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Damnation (Tobe or Not To Be?)
Je suis pris dans un cercle plus Vicieux
Qu’un film porno amateur cheap
Plus dégoûtant qu’une vulve infecté
D’un virus qui la fait cracher
un venin infect qui m’étouffe
Me prend a la gorge et me fait vomir sur mes couvertes
C’est pris au fond de ma gorge
Ça goûte méchant
C’est un liquide jaune-vert épais
C’est comme si mon cœur était menstrué
D’une morve venue de mon cerveau malade et pervers
Pis ça me sort par les gencives d’en arrière
Avant de se ramasser sur les draps fleuris
Que m’a achetés ma maman chérie
Ca finit pu de recommencer
C’est un sempiternel refrain venu de l’enfer
Qui joue sur une radio qui griche
C’est une série de sons incohérents
Qui ne se rejoignent jamais
Qui ne forment pas une mélodie
Qui façonnent nos indifférences
Rétroactives et réciproques
Maladies des époques
Provoquant les larmes sèches
Qui giclent dans mes draps pleins de dèche
Qui me triture les couilles
Comme un médecin malveillant
On dirait qu’ils se sont tous donné les mots
Pour m’empêcher de vivre
Sans me tuer tout a fait
Ni me guérir non plus
Sans que je puisse crier
Sans que je puisse m’enfuir
Sans que je puisse courir
Je ne peux que ramper
Et vous supplier
D’arrêter de me torturer
Quand je ne fait qu’essayer
Comme tout le monde de marcher
Du sperme collé en toiles d’araignée
De la pisse qui coule le long de ma cuisse
Pis d’la marde au cul.
Dédié a Feu Denis Vanier (1949-2000)
Publié dans le Steak Haché Anthologique ”La Vérité se Passe un Doigt”, publié en Novembre 2000 , page 115, sous le titre ”Le Petit Cochon” et sous le pseudonyme de Mister Sparky
Revu et corrigé le 2 Octobre de l’an 2012
Vanier Pizzeria, coin Dorion pis Ontario
Le jour du lancement du l’anthologie de Steak Haché, peu après la mort de Denis Vanier, les gens montaient sur le stage pour lire des poèmes que j’ai tous trouvés très beaux et pleins d’émotions sincères. Moi je voulais pas réciter de poème. J’avais juste le gout de raconter une petite histoire qui datait du temps ou Denis et Josée étaient mes voisins de palier, coin Dorion pis Ontario. Pas besoin de dire que ça fait longtemps pis que j’avais a peu près 19 ans a l’époque pis pas mal sur la go.
Je vous dis donc sans ambages ni gants blancs que j’étais sur un gros down de coke pis je feelais borderline suicidaire-paranoïaque-schizophrène comme toujours dans ces moments la et je croise Denis dans les escaliers qui me demande comment je vais. J’ai pas l’habitude de tergiverser avec Denis alors je lui résume assez vite la situation, non sans quand même une certaine gêne… Il m’invite derechef a venir chez lui me calmer le ponpon pis fumer un gros bat. J’accepte avec empressement. On arrive chez lui, il ouvre la caisse de bière qu’il était aller cherche, s’en prend une, m’en offre une que j’accepte avec gratitude. Il roule un bat qu’on fume en discutantben ”relax”. Ça fait un peu de bien mais bon, c’est pas le Pérou (!). Sentant ma détresse il me demande alorsce qui me ferait du bien.. -” Ya tu kekchose qui te ferais plaisir? ” et moi de répondre après mure réflexion, sans trop de conviction, (j’ignore d’ailleurs encore pourquoi aujourd’hui) – ”Une bonne pizza pepperoni fromage!” Dieu seul sait pourquoi, c’est la seule chose qui m’est venue en tête et m’a semblé d’un certain réconfort même si je n’avais pas vraiment faim. Soit dit en passant je n’avais même plus le gout de faire une autre ligne, je voulais juste que ”ça” s’arrête….. Denis, sans rien dire, après avoir échangé un court regard avec Josée (regard dont je suis d’ailleurs incapable d’interpréter la signification sur le moment), il roule alors un autre joint qu’on fume en silence mais je me sens encore trop mal pour imposer ma présence a Denis pis Josée qui, selon moi, ont surement mieux a faire que se préoccuper de mon état d’âme horrible certes mais somme toute passager. Je décide alors comme je faisais souvent dans ces cas la d’aller faire du ménage dans mon bordel d’appart et je m’éclipse promptement après avoir réussi a balbutier quelques excuses a peine articulées. Je descends donc l’escalier qui mène a mon appart et entame alors un ménage extrêmement méthodique de mon bordel étant donné que l’heure matinale déjà avancée me permet le bruit que provoque cette activité pour le moins frénétique vu les circonstances.
Environ une demi-heure plus tard, On cogne a ma porte. C’est Denis. Il me dit simplement: ”Hey le gros ta pizza est arrivée”.
C’est la pizza la meilleure que j’ai jamais mangée…littérairement. Tellement reconnaissant pour ce geste…. Merci Denis! Merci Josée!! Vous êtes et serai a jamais dans mes pensées….Dans mon cœur vous avez un petit coin bien spécial, avec des chaines suspendues a l’entrée qu’aussitôt on écarte pour vous voir tous les deux comme vous êtes vraiment, des durs au cœur tendre… tellement tendre…