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Words fail me on this one. Forwarded to me by my friend John who knows I count Kubrick's classic take on Stephen King's "The Shining" as an all-time favorite. I don't want to give too much away, but please click here to see the film "re-imagined," as Tim Burton might say. If it doesn't play, try changing browsers.
This particular snippet of cinematic blasphemy comes courtesy of the damaged minds at PS 260. Give'em a click, won't you?
So, even though I've already sort've addressed Don Letts' new documentary, "Punk: Attitude" here on this weblog, those keen on seeing how deftly I can re-word the same thoughts should check out my review of Letts' film on Dusty Wright's recently re-designed, entirely ass-whuppin' site, Culture Catch. In the interest of keeping things visually lively, I've included the cover image of the British edition here which refreshingly doesn't pander to ancient punky stereotypes as on the American cover.
As anyone who knows me well can heartily testify, I have a very low tolerance for inconsistent and/or unreliable technology. When some gadget or appliance I regulary use decides to malfunction, my first response is generally to punish it for letting me down, as opposed to simply addressing the problem in a mature way. As our lives become increasingly reliant on a host of electronic doodads like laptops, cell phones, palm pilots, digital cameras, TiVo and blackberries, I'm finding the pressing need to curtail my rage against the machines and to adopt a less Luddite-like approach. While I've made significant strides in this pursuit, I'm still flummoxed by the odd techno-quandary.
One such problem has reared its head in recent weeks, and it concerns a gizmo I use -- ill-advisedly -- on an almost daily basis. Around the time of the birth of my daughter, Charlotte, in early 2004, I decided to splurge and spring for the then-newfangled iPod with a whopping 40 gb of space, purportedly enough to house 10,000 Songs. While that might seem excessive to the layperson, I should point out that I own somewhere in the range of 2,500 compact discs. Please do not intrepret this comment as a boast. If anything, it's become an embarassing burden, and I'm actually trying to sell off, donate to charity and even put into storage large swathes of my CDs (see an earlier, needlessly histrionic accounting of my collecting problem here). In any case, rightly assuming that I wouldn't be able to play music with voluminous abandon in the apartment upon the arrival of our first born, I thought that an iPod would be the perfect solution. I could rip'n'burn all my essential discs to iTunes and essentially carry most of my otherwise unweildy music collection with me as I traversed the city, given that my listening time would now be relegated to trips outside the apartment.
It all worked swimmingly for a while. But in keeping with advancing technology's penchant for designed obsolescence, my fleetingly-trusty iPod started to cough and wheeze like an asthmatic octagenarian after a while, unable to keep up with both the music load (I've maxed out the song limit, I'm sad to say, invariably with music I'll never actually get around to listening to, but God forbid I don't have it on my iPod just in case) and the seemingly ceaseless flow of "software updates" that Apple would constantly lob at it.
Quite recently, my computer has started to reject certain iTunes updates. I've downloaded iTunes 5.0.1 onto my iMac (OS X), but now when I launch my beleagured iPod, a smarmy little box pops up that reads...
You will not be able to copy songs purchased from the iTunes Music Store to the iPod "Alex's iPod" because your iPod software is too old. Go to http://www.apple.com/ipod to get the latest iPod software update
Being that I've bought no less than 206 songs off of iTunes (`cos, y'know, evidently buying CD's isn't enough for me), that's kind've a substantial problem (i.e. is it so much to ask to be able to hear the tunes I've purchased?) I've been to the page they direct me to, but the only option is to download iTunes 5.0.1..... which I've already done and installed.
I've tried everything. I posted my problem on the all-purpose ILX boards, and some very nice, tech-savvy folks suggested that I download yet another iPod updater, which I did. I downloaded it, installed it and re-booted and guess what....no dice. The problem continues. In the wake of that, someone suggested that I petition the geeks at purportedly super-knowledgable iLounge. Popular consensus seems to suggest "restoring and resynching," so I'm gonna give that a try. But if anyone has any brighter ideas, please e-mail me before I take a hammer to it.
By now, you probably know the drill. In this week's "Goings On About Town" listings, I penned the blurbs regarding America, the Posies, The Electric Six, Brendan Benson, the amazing New Model Army and...er...Ashlee Simpson. Should you be a fan of the tactile artifact, please avail yourself to the issue via your friendly neighborhood news stand. Failing that, you can read my contributions by simply clicking here.
I love feedback. And by that I don't mean the shrill whistle of amplifiers (as best heard on Night of the Living Dead Boys by the Dead Boys....which is a veritable feedbackapalooza), I mean hearing from folks who've taken the time to read whatever drivel I've posted. In response to this post of a few days ago, reader Jon writes...
But you lost me on the Ramones t-shirt thing, I just think the whole "authenticity because I heard it first and have the t-shirt to prove it" thing needs to just go away. I mean, I'd rather see my kid brother wearing a Ramones t-shirt than a Linkin Park t-shirt any day. Anything that can keep great music alive isn't entirely a bad thing. And besides, I'm sure those who were there for the Ramones shows in '76 would have laughed at you and your 1983 shirt for "not getting it maaaan". It's all relative.
A cogent point. Let me first point out that I am not above the odd bit of hypocrisy. Last Christmas alone, for my fledgling rock fan of a nephew, I purchased a slew of rock t-shirts, including ones by the Clash, AC/DC and Led Zeppelin (his faves of the moment). He couldn't have been more chuffed. Now, I should point out that he's only eleven. With the exception of AC/DC (still trudging along today, bless'em), these bands were long defunct before my nephew's mother had even graduated high school. But, as Jon states above, I'm heartened that he's taken an interest in bands like these as opposed to the dreaded Linkin Park, etc.. That said, he does harbor an unfortunate fondness for Good Charlotte, but even my heavy-handed brow-beating can't cure him of that (probably a good thing).
And yeah, by the standards of a Ramones fan in `75/`76, I was a complete johnny-come-lately to the band....but, y'know, at least I saw them. At least I could tell you who was in the band and could name more than five songs by them. It's not that the Ramones are especially esoteric, but my youthful championing of them wasn't just a fashion statement (as it seems to be today). Granted, your average snot-nosed kid on a skateboard wearing a Ramones t-shirt does probably like them, and does know who they were and does actively listen to their music, even if he wasn't alive when they were a going concern. It's the trucker cap-sportin' folks who wear rock t-shirts as either purely a fashion statement or as some sort've ironic gesture (dismissed eloquently by his eminence, Bruce Dickinson of Iron Maiden here) that get my oft-gotten goat.
Anyway, clearly I've got a needlessly sanctimonious hang-up about it (as has been laboriously expressed on the ILM boards.)
(The author captured being an abject poseur in October of last year. Not because he is not fan of Motorhead [quite the contrary], but because he decidedly loathes wine).
It is with great sadness that I report -- if you haven't already heard -- that Don "Maxwell Smart" Adams (a.k.a. the voice of Tennessee Tuxedo) has passed away at the age of 82. They're saying it was a lung infection, but I somehow suspect KAOS was involved.
Couldn't help overhearing on NPR this morning that today, September 22nd, is Nick Cave's birthday. Being that I consider Mr. Cave to be a high ranking member of that elite pantheon of individuals who are effortlessly way cooler than just about everyone else on the planet, I thought I'd take a quick moment to sing his praise.
There are too many albums to cite that singularly demonstrate the greatness of Nick Cave. From his days as a frightwigged hellion fronting the ferocious Birthday Party in the early `80s through his more sophisticated incarnation as a sharp-dressed crooner with the Bad Seeds today, Cave's oeuvre runs the gamut between feral confrontation and poignant balladeering. If I had to pick one single album, however, I'd probably choose The Good Son.
Purists might balk. "B-b-b-but Alex, surely you mean From Her to Eternity or The First Born is Dead...or maybe Tender Prey, right?" Nope. My favorite album by Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds is The Good Son. I first heard it as an advance cassette in the Spring of 1990. I'd been working paylessly at an independent music magazine which shall remain nameless alongside a slightly bedraggled veteran British music journalist named Kris Needs (himself a huge Cave fan). Kris would hoist many a 40 ounce of Olde English and play this tape on a constant rotation while we did our best to piece together the magazine. I'd been a passive Cave fan by way of Tender Prey and earlier tracks like "Tupelo", but this album was different, revealing a calmer and gentler Nick Cave. Sure there were still moments of harrowing exhortation and hellfire, but for the most part, The Good Son was more steeped in smoldering atmospherics and understated elegance rather than bug eyed savagery (as typified Cave's earlier stuff with the mighty Birthday Party). At first came the scoffs. "Ooh, Nick's lost his balls", etc. Wrong. Nick simply grew up. But he could still whip things up into a hellbent frenzy (notably on "The Hammer Song" and "The Witness Song"). While I adore those tracks of foaming-mouthed fury, it's the quieter, more cinematic pieces like the elegiac "The Ship Song" and the quietly mournful "Lucy" (later covered sloppily by Shane MacGowan on a split single with Nick) that bring this album home for me.
From The Good Son onward, I became a huge Cave fan, going back to his earlier records with the Bad Seeds and discovering the rollicking, teatherless rampage of the Birthday Party, a strikingly original gaggle of post-punk pirates well worth seeking out. I regret to say that I've failed to keep up with Nick Cave following the somewhatt dreary No More Shall We Part in 2001, which found the Aussie bard spinning his wheels. He's put out a couple of more records since then, but I've yet to catch up. While I'll continually cite The Good Son to the uninitiated, I'd also heartily endorse the live album, Live Seeds, recorded on the tour for the 1992 album, Henry's Dream. Many of the performances on Live Seeds actually improve on the album renditions, notably the explosive treks through "Papa Won't Leave You, Henry", "John Finn's Wife" and the pounding "From Her to Eternity". The Birthday Party are similarly worthy of seeking out (as I mentioned above), though pointedly less accessible than the Bad Seeds. A fine place to start would be with the ironically titled compilation, Hits. It might not be music ripe for every occaision, but if you enjoy plumbing the darkest depths of squalid human depravity, you might just fall in love with it. In any case, crack open an Australian beer and hoist to the birthday boy.
Having now spent a couple of months maintaining this weblog and perusing others, it strikes me that most of the folks with enough idle time on their hands to read weblogs are webloggers themselves. So, in that tradition, I'd like to direct my readers towards the latest entry by my estimable colleague and flagrant pants-dropper, Hot Johnny. You can generally have a chuckle or two on his site, but this latest entry regarding moon landings, Cameron Diaz and robot overlords is a cake taker. Or at least I thought so. Results may vary.
In the latest issue's "Goings On About Town" listings, I wrote the blurbs regarding Stryper, Supergrass, Helmet, The White Stripes, Thunderbirds are Now!, Wolf Eyes and Paul Weller. Buy two copies and give one to your Mom. Can't afford that? Okay, then, read'em here.
Bizarrely coinciding with my reading of Simon Reynolds Rip It Up and Start Again , partially devoted to documenting same, it seems that someone has finally seen fit to re-release No New York, Brian Eno's infamous compilation of tracks by a clutch of bands from New York's fleeting 'No Wave' scene of the late `70's. Formerly a highly prized (and highly priced) artifact of a most elusive nature, No New York had previously only been available on compact disc as a pricey Japanese import or in its original form as a rare vinyl LP (I don't believe it was ever officially released on cassette or, for that matter, as an 8-track tape). Regardless, much like, say, Tago Mago by Can or Y by the Pop Group, No New York has become a bit of a benchmark of music snobbery.
If I remember correctly, I believe I'd first heard about No New York after listening to some beret-wearin' dropout at my college rave about it as if it were the veritable Rosetta Stone of insouciant cool. I managed to dig out a weathered but long-neglected copy of the vinyl from my college radio station's record library ( WDUB, 91.1 FM, a station whose normal idea of sonic adventurousness at the time usually involved a rock block of the Allman Brothers) and borrowed it for the weekend (correctly assuming that none of the stoners and Edie Brickell fans at the station would miss it). I remember being so utterly disarmed by even my first cursory listen that I ended up having to play it in its jarring entirety several times just to try to get my head around it (much to the considerable, wide-eyed chagrin of my house mates). Wilfully discordant, rudely rudimentary, aggressive, raw and primal, the sheer, ugly otherness of No New York haunted me. From the retarded, sax-strangling funk of James Chance & the Contortions and the harrowing staccato dirges of Teenage Jesus & the Jerks to the avalanche of gibberish-babbling cacophony of Mars and the scraping, disjointedly broken sounds of Arto Lindsay's DNA, No New York spastically writhed out of the speakers like some horrific deep-water fish that was never meant to experience air and daylight.
What sort of tortured souls could make music like this? What dank, impenetrable depths of the human condition were these sounds wrestled from? From a Punk Rock perspective, the bands captured on No New York made records by the Ramones and the Sex Pistols sound about as bold and different as the Steve Miller Band. Only James Chance's selections really approached anything remotely akin to conventional (specifically the actually tuneful "I Can't Stand Myself"), and even those tracks sounded like the work of dangerously unhinged individuals. Even the cover art implied a stark wrongness. The front cover looks like some inescapable hospital ward for the psychologically maimed. The back cover features a collection of mug shots of scowling, dispossessed bohos glaring at the camera with a cold intensity normally reserved for serial killers.
Despite being captivated by the record's creepy inaccessibility and back story, I returned it to WDUB (and played a track or two from it on air on a couple of occasions, usually met with hostility from rural Ohio listeners who were bothered enough to call in). A few years later, I noticed the record steadily getting name-checked again and again, prompting me to want to get ahold of my own copy. Trouble was, the only folks who seemed to care enough to issue the compilation on disc were the Japanese (the record had originally been released on a subsidiary of Island Records, who invariably didn't think there'd be a huge demand for this arty dalliance, despite it being Brian Eno's brainchild). Eventually, I succumbed and shelled out a handsome sum for the Japanese edition (on Off Note/Cut Out Records) from one elitist collector emporium or another, kidding myself that I couldn't bear not owning this crucial and bracingly life-affirming album. This Japanese edition even came with some nifty circular lyric cards (printed in Kanji) that would make for excellent coasters if I ever stopped caring.
(DNA)
The trouble is, in retrospect, I find I'm more interested in the concept of No New York (and 'No Wave' in general) than I am in the actual music. While romanced by its aura of uber-punky iconoclasm, I find that No New York is actually a bit of a chore to listen to, much less enjoy. While I do like the afore-mentioned Contortions track and some isolated moments by DNA (notably the limping march of "Size"), I find myself scrambling to the stereo every time I get to Mars' headache-conjuring "Helen Forsdale." Similarly, "I Woke Up Dreaming" by Teenage Jesus just makes me want to cut my ears off and set my speakers on fire. This is probably by design, I realize, but at these points, it stops being compellingly arty and just becomes irritating.
So, here we are almost thirty years after the fact, and No New York is being re-released by a maverick label called Lilith. I'm not sure if it's being re-mastered or not, but this really isn't music that begs for such a treatment. Simon Reynolds probably said it best when he suggested that 'No Wave' was probably best experienced at excruciating volumes from within the smokey confines of long-gone downtown venues like the Mudd Club. Despite the fact that this new edition will come appended with a "detailed booklet," I think I'm going to hold off on picking it up. I already have that Japanese edition that spends an inordinate amount of time on my shelf, slavishly unplayed but curiously cherished.
('No Wave' Class of `78 photo by local photographer legend Godlis.)
If, like me, you are similarly lured by the arcane mystique of 'No Wave,' there are other albums and compilations worth checking out. Most of James Chance's stuff is fairly easy to find. In 2003, Ze Records issued this compilation , which offered a wider sampling of the 'No Wave' scene (though still omitted selections from Glenn Branca's Theoretical Girls, oddly). There's also the authoritative DNA on DNA (which similarly rendered a Japanese DNA compilation I picked up in 1993 somewhat obsolete). Lydia Lunch's material is still reasonably easy to find, but I'd suggest seeking out her Widowspeak compilation, Hysterie, which captures her involvement in Teenage Jesus, Beirut Slump, Eight Eyed Spy and the charmingly named, Slow Choke. Like No New York, it's ugly, scary, unwieldy and supremely irritating, but it's all you'll really ever need from Ms.Lunch.
Morphing out of 'No Wave' came a another fleeting phenomenon (some called it 'mutant disco') that, in my opinion, that was a bit more interesting. Cross-pollinating the 'No Wave' skronk attack with fledgling Hip Hop and propulsive dance beats, this scene provided an unlikely, parameter-flattening common ground for punks, b-boys and avant-garde envelope-pushers alike. Soul Jazz Records released an excellent compilation of this material in 2003 dubbed New York Noise that I quite recommend. The soundtrack to Glenn O'Brien's slightly messy Downtown `81, starring artist/scenester, Jean-Michel Basquiat, also provides a taste of this scene. There was also an interesting German compilation called Anti NY that featured another handful of these bands, including future filmmaker Jim Jarmusch's excellently named ensemble, The Del Byzanteens.
In 2003, a compilation dubbed Yes New York surfaced, aspiring to invoke the no-holds barred, frontier mentality of No New York, but featured a slew of perfectly respectable albeit comparatively conventional, retrophillic bands like the Strokes, Radio 4, Interpol and the Witnesses (among several others). A novel idea, I suppose, but the projected comparison is a moot one (no greasy, friendless record geeks will be spotted feverishly foraging through music shops of the future for Yes New York). The notion of a scene comparable to 'No Wave' and its 'Mutant Disco' offspring is a nice one, but we live in different times, and NYC is a very different city than it was in the late `70's. I dare say we shan't see the strikingly original likes of these musical phenomena in this city again.
Fellow ILM'r, Stevie Nixed has an entry devoted to No New York on her weblog, which you can read by clicking here.
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