A trove of free historic artists films by Kenneth Anger, Luis Bunuel, John Cage, Guy Debord, Marcel Duchamp, Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, Robert Morris & Stan VanDerBeek, Isidore Isou, Man Ray, Robert Rauschenberg, 37 short Fluxus films, Hans Richter, Harry Smith and Jack Smith.
Barring a Dwarves-like PR prank, the news seems all over various garage boards that Hideaki Sekiguchi, a.k.a. Billy, a.k.a. Bass Wolf of Japan's legendary Guitar Wolf has passed on of a heart attack. He died in Tokyo yesterday and was only 38. In a mountain of garage punk combos hitting the road these days, few have totally risen to the bar set by these guys, whose basic Ramones/MC5-inspired formula became a mere tip of the iceberg of the pure insanity one was sure to experience at each and every show attended. Besides being the live rock equivalent of a screaming monkey being put into a boiling pot, their first album sounded like someone playing through gauze down a hallway, and the "quality" of the production over on ensuing LPs on Matador, Narnack etc. dipped and rose to confound you even more.. I wish I saw them more than I did over the years; my fondest memory is from a 1996 Mondo Kim's instore back when I was a buyer there where the leather-clad maniacs in full force with Billy tattooed up and holding it all down while guitarist Seichi was leaping off of display counters and racks, going totally ballistic before busting into the back office and collapsing under the desk as if completely dead. Today's news is sad indeed. Here's an interview from Motor City Rocks, and a Real Audio snippet of a track from their Loverock CD, played on Stefan's Belly of the Beast. Sure hope they carry on.
I was born at Brunswick Hospital, in Amityville, on Long Island - so I feel a special affinity for the town, victim of “America's Most Famous Haunting”. Since 1977, when the book “The Amityville Horror” - subtitled “A True Story” and purporting to relate the tribulations of George and Kathleen Lutz and family - became a best-seller, the town has been subjected to periodic swellings of the armies of the asinine. They find their way to Montauk Highway (Merrick Road, to the locals), then to Ocean Avenue and number 112 (or what used to be 112 - the address was changed years ago, along with the iconic “eyes of evil” windows) and gape slack-jawed at the place where the Lutzes supposedly spent 28 days fending off buzzing flies, creepy priests, hovering pigs and demonic voices.
Let us presume you are a gent of distinction who does his jet-setting in this, the post-Richard Reid era, and your name is, say, Mohammed Asif (or perhaps it is Ted Kennedy). Or mayhaps you simply cannot abide the increasingly gauche aspects of what was formerly called airport hospitality, such as the tackiness, nay, the sheer unsporting tenor of the boorish requests to doff your footwear at the behest of the Transportation Security Administration. Well, fret not, gentle reader, for the skilled assemblage of fine cobblers at Johnston & Murphy have managed to extract every last ounce of worry from your sky-travel experience with a revolution in foot and flight protection. (Please continue reading this announcement to learn how you can assist our government, with no sacrifice on your part, by purchasing a mere pair of shoes. But to mislabel these shoes mere is tantamount to referring to the Hope Diamond as "an old bauble" or to the Colossus of Rhodes as "a cute little statue.")
Perchance the Caldwell Venetian (pictured above) catches your keen, discriminating eye? Or is the Hopkins Side-Gore more befitting a man of your rarefied tastes? Both these models, and many more lovingly displayed in this caring company's Spring 2005 Catalogue, are vouched for by Messrs. Johnston and Murphy with the following seal (pictured right) digitally affixed in proximity of the appropriate shoe depiction, guaranteeing comfort, safety and convenience to both you, the weary traveler, and your distinguished compatriots traversing the wild blue yonder. So keep this handy tip in the forefront of your mind: The acquisition of just one pair of these finely wrought slip-on shoes (one daren't call footwear that works this hard loafers), available in a vast array of sizes, styles and colors, a few within the reach of even the somewhat common man, strikes a victory blow to skyway terrorists lurking on our airships and jet clippers as well as to those who choose to instead hijack fashion.
Admit it, those awful screen
captures from the leaked Carrot Top sex video are not an appropriate desktop
wallpaper. Don't blame yourself, I too question Microsoft's decision to ship
them with XP, but there is hope! Listener Jeff here with some desktop wallpapers
that could easily make you the most popular person on your network.
First off, beavers are not friends
with squirrels, they're far too smart to be seen with them. Secondly, just for
the sake of argument lets say the beaver was “a little slow” or something and
decided to befriend a squirrel, they wouldn't value a flower like we do. They
are incapable of understanding it’s fragile beauty. That's really what separates the
human from the squirrel. Unlike these filthy rodents we've got a little thing
called civilization and it doesn’t matter how often they keep me awake all
night with there constant scratching and chittering, they ain't never going to
be the top dog. You hear that Tufty? NEVER. Maybe if they stopped stuffing
their cheeks for a couple minutes they could make something of themselves like
their relative the pigeon. That's an animal that had the good sense to quit
chittering and do their duty overseas like a true patriot. Countless carrier
pigeons lost their lives fighting the Nazi war machine making sure today’s lazy
squirrels have the freedom to spend all day jumping from tree to tree, ignorant of the harsh reality of the real world. Notice I didn't mention thieving seeds from bird
feeders? That's because incase the name “bird feeder” didn't clue them in,
those seeds are FOR BIRDS.
Thanks to John Neilson for alerting us to the hot rappin', crotch-grabbing sounds of the Mongol Hordes, carrying the frontline in Mongolia's continuing hip-hop scene that sprung up around 1991 upon the Soviets' exit. Along with democracy, Mongolians apparently also re-embraced Genghis Khan as a national icon and the group Black Rose especially waved GK's freak flag pretty heavily. Here is a bit where the group's leader Amraa professes his admiration for the historic figure, right down to the hairstyle. Lots of MP3s for download here.
For five years running now, WFMU has closed out our annual fundraising marathon
with a cavalcade of singing DJs, each performing a song of their own
choosing while backed up by the Hoof & Mouth Sinfonia -- a live
karaoke band comprising even still more WFMU DJs. To paraphrase the great Scott Williams, (seen here taking a much-deserved break between sessions) who
acts as Hoof & Mouth organizer and band leader supreme, this event
is the source for our most animated water-cooler discussions in the 364
days that precede each annual performance of the band. Recollections
of whose performances were the best, most drunkenly delivered, or most
juxtaposed to that particular DJs playlists are all elements that figure into these discussions. (Efforts to convince Fabio to perform
"True" by Spandau Ballet have consistently failed, year after year.)
We're gluttons for tradition around here, and tradition clearly dictates that this mess takes place not only on the
airwaves of WFMU, but on a webcam feed as well, effectively delivering these
hastily rehearsed renditions of the classics live from our main studio
and into the hard drives of FMU listeners scattered across the globe. This
year, ace listener Jeff T not only captured and recorded the entire
thing, but has edited it down into convenient, DJ-sized chunks, which we are now pleased to
present for your horror/amusement here.
Some of us at WFMU are getting worried about losing our edge. In honor of falling behind the times, I bring you a review for a video that first surfaced years ago...
Now that rock stars are documenting their sexual conquests
via cell phone video clips, don’t you just wish for the good ol’ days when a
fistful of quaaludes and a camcorder did the trick? Yeah, so do I. Luckily my
local video store had this puppy in stock.
Three high and boozy Go-Go’s tease and torment a completely
wasted groupie in this bootleg. Poor video quality doesn’t matter since you’ll
be fast-forwarding through most of it. Trust me, this is the painless route to
experiencing legendary footage without enduring 30-plus minutes of innane
slurring conversations. I’m sure there are a few sound-bite worthy nuggets to
be gleaned, but, oh, it hurts.
For thousands of years, when elderly Eskimos outlived their usefulness, they were ceremoniously cast out to sea on ice floes. In the world of Show Biz, when our musical elders outlive their usefulness, we force them to record Duet Records... then the ice floe.
Typically, these cheeseball outings trot out a Night Gallery of Rock's Has-Been Royalty to overdub their magic sauce (and all-important cred) onto the recordings. Even some mid-period sensations, like Kid Rock or Moby, seem to exist only to add their smathering of talent to this corny show biz hat-trick.
The sessions are usually marred by sub-par performances of the artist's classic repertoire. However, if the ingredients are all in place, and everyone's payed off the right way, this exercise in musical euthanasia can hit it big. Our hero gets a pat on the back, a push toward the Exit Sign, and thank you, goodnight. The suits ride home with armfuls of posthumous Grammies and a rich back-catalog to play with. Everyone wins here–except for the fans who have to listen to this crap.
Presently, Jerry Lee Lewis has one foot solidly in a Duets Record. Will The Killer outlive the Duets Record Curse? Stay tuned...
For years, your girlfriend has been going to Yoga class on Tuesday nights. No problem, right? A bunch of people laying around in sweatpants, stretching, listening to multi-kulti CDs, going "oooohhhhmmmmmmmmmmmm" and then talking about "energy" -- what could possibly be more wholesome? Then again, have you ever asked her for more specific details? Do you really know all that yoga can entail?
Listener Zaphod brings us just one horrific possibility. Click here to view the .WMV movie file.
Florida bill aims to control "leftist" profs ... Could let students sue for untolerated beliefs.
Republicans voted 8-to-2 along party lines to pass "The Academic Freedom Bill of Rights" that aims to stamp out "leftist totalitarianism" by "dictator professors" in the classrooms of Florida's universities.
Students who believe their professor is singling them out for "public ridicule" - for instance, when professors use the Socratic method to force students to explain their theories in class - would also be given the right to sue.
Rep. Baxley suggested a student should sue if a professor asserts that "Evolution is a fact."
Rep. Gelber warned of lawsuits from students enrolled in Holocaust history courses who believe the Holocaust never happened.
Suits could be filed by students who don't believe astronauts landed on the moon, who believe teaching birth control is a sin, or by medical students who refuse to perform blood transfusions and believe prayer is the only way to heal the body, Gelber added.
On Friday night's Wise Up program I announced the April 1 launch of my new bi-weekly podcast - Chris T.'s Communication Breakdown. The show will be a mix of monologue, vox populi, field recordings, music and more. I'd also love to incorporate phone calls into this new program but I'm still figuring out the best way to do that. One stopgap solution: if you're having difficulty getting yourself heard and would like to be interviewed on Communication Breakdown, e-mail your phone number to firstname.lastname@example.org, along with the best time to reach you. I know this seems a little clumsy but I'm determined to keep the listeners involved. We'll figure out another arrangement further down the road...
Due to adult content, Communication Breakdown will not be suitable for youngsters or in a work environment.
Inspired by the glut of MP3 blogs that I've been trowling of late, I spent the other night rifling through my own records on a quest to dig out some bits of musical esoterica from my past that might make for interesting reading. Naturally, I do this every week to some degree in preparation for my radio show, but there's a large chasm dividing music that's sonically pleasing and music that also has a decent story attatched to it. Suffice it to say, it was hard to decide exactly what I'd end up making you all come sniffing around the curb for. After I'd torn apart the record shelves, scattered picture sleeves across my kitchen, unearthed 45s from under the bed, and otherwise generally destroyed my apartment for the purpose of a decent blog post, I settled on a small stack of 45s by a monosyllabically wonderful late 80s band from NYC called GO!