Flaming Pablum

You Didn't Hit Reset, You Hit ERASE!

Sorry, back to politics for a bit.

Over the past several days, I’ve attempted to engage with the various folks in my circle that aren’t quite as apoplectic as me about the current trajectory of the country with Trump at the helm. From reaching out to fellow members of The Gathering (a long-running online cabal of Killing Joke fans like myself), to various friends on Facebook and even with some regular readers and commenters here on my blog, I’ve tried to get to the bottom of how and why they’re seemingly a-okay with everything Team Trump is doing … and un-doing.

I’m not only doing this for the purposes of trying to understand their perspective, I’m also doing my best to keep the lines of communication open in these pointedly divisive times. It’s almost too easy to write people off and stop talking to them. Communication with individuals who seem to espouse ideas and values that are diametrically opposed to your own is not simple, not fun and sometimes entirely futile, but we’re not going to get anywhere if we don’t try. That said, I’m still avoiding the subject with certain family members (as I discussed here). I’m sure you know how that goes.

In any case, most of the Trump apologists I’ve spoken to, it seems, are singing the same song.

The pervasive refrain seems to be that the two-party system is corrupt and broken and that by sending a “non-politician” to the White House, America will finally get the fabled “reset” that vast swathes of the country have been crying out for. That’s usually followed by derisive comments about Obama and Hillary, etc. … neither of whom really matter anymore, at this stage of the proceedings.

Beyond dusting off my increasingly fatigued “lit firecracker into broken toaster” analogy, I respond that I do indeed understand the desire to inject the system with a more fresh approach. That was the very reason I was gunning for Bernie. But, I hasten to point out, while a “reset” may have been in order, Donald J. Trump (to say nothing of the nefarious Steve Bannon) VERY ASSUREDLY AIN’T IT!

Obviously, I took it for granted that Donald Trump is inarguably an idiot. I thought that went without saying. That he’s an abjectly ridiculous imbecile has been common knowledge held by most sentient New Yorkers for fucking decades. I thought we all knew that.

Then, of course, I remembered –- and it’s something his apologists are always super-dupe keen to point out -- New York is not at all indicative of the rest of the U.S. of A. (to which I say: YOU AIN’T FUCKIN’ KIDDING, JACK!)

To those outside of my much-maligned bubble of an island, Donald Trump isn’t the desperate, maladjusted ass-clown we’ve always known him to be; he’s a “successful businessman,” “a straight-shooter” and “reality TV star.” Thus, he ascended to the highest office in the land on the backs of the same people who thought “Celebrity Apprentice” was must-see TV.

Nice going.

Regardless of Trump’s myriad character traits rendering him laughably unfit for the office, the tally of the Electoral College (although not-at-all indicative of the actual number of votes cast) amplified the fact that that enough people – I believe the figure was something like 60 million Americans –- felt gung-ho enough about damning the torpedoes of rational thought and hitting what they perceived as a big ol’ orange “RESET” button to put his fat ass in the Oval Office. It was either that, or they were so repulsed by the notion of Hillary as President, that they didn’t care about the ramifications of their vote, so long as it didn't go to her.

While her part in the narrative is over, here's a quick aside about Hillary Clinton: She may have come with an unduly tarnished reputation, some baggage and you may not have liked her very much, but here are four things she’s isn’t: Thin-Skinned, Inexperienced, Impulsive and Stupid.

Trump, meanwhile, is ALL OF THOSE THINGS, and in his ten days in office alone, he’s amply demonstrated how out of his depth he is.

Between his petty Twitter tirades, his duplicitous cabinet, his pre-occupation with his Inauguration audience, his COUNTLESS conflicts of fucking interest, his disregard for the Constitution and his tone-deafness on the will of the nation he seeks to govern, there is already a list as long as my arm of reasons why we should all be seriously goddamn concerned. This past weekend’s executive order about immigration (that's worthy of several posts in itself) and installment of Steve Bannon as a replacement for both the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff and the Director of National Intelligence are simply beyond the pale.

Beyond venomously suggesting that the press corps should “shut the Hell up” (that’s really not how it works, Steve) and describing himself as a “Leninist” that wants to “destroy all of today’s establishment,” Bannon has absolutely no experience in any relevant capacity to the implausibly crucial position he now unthinkably holds. He’s also a vocal proponent of the Alt.Right, which is just a tidy little synonym for white supremacist.

This is not okay.

This is not normal.

This is not going to end well.

And by the way, it’s okay to admit that you were duped. `Cos that’s what happened. But now, we’re ALL paying for it.

Back ... Again ... To The Pyramid

Since I’ve been largely devoting my posts to the fallout of the election of late, I thought I’d give certain readers a bit of a relief, and get back to this blog’s familiar territory for a moment.

I’ve spoken about the Pyramid Club on Avenue A here a number of times (most recently here). Below is a little mini-documentary I spied on YouTube about what the place was like between `83 and `88. I don’t think I personally set foot in the place until 1989 (I was there to see Fractured Cylinder, Rats of Unusual Size and the Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black). The picture above of skinheads at the Pyramid was snapped by Q. Sakamaki, which I'm borrowing from The Villager.

The Pyramid is still there, of course -- although it's a very different scene from what's detailed below (as it the entire neighborhood, for that matter, but you probably know that).  

 Here’s the official description of the clip below…ENJOY!

Between 1983 and 1988, I shot bands, performance art, art, and other related events at the Pyramid club, in addition to showing my own early video art and computer animation there. I’ve held on to the original videos for decades now, and in 2011 I put together this short Video for a Pyramid event at Howl Festival, where it was originally screened. It was shown again at Howl gallery during the Pyramid show in 2015.

At some point in 1985, Brian Butterick the manager of the Pyramid and I decided to interview patrons for an Anniversary of the Club. The interviewers also included Performance Artist John Kelly and Marlene Mennard. Working with the interview footage from the 1980s, I edited other videos I had of the Pyramid ranging from the Transgendered artist lady Bunny’s disco band, to seminal punk and hard core bands like Butthole Surfers, Gwar and False Profits, and experimental musicians such as Elliott Sharp. Additionally there is footage of performance art pieces and even music videos and a cyber punk science fiction film that I shot there. The line Drag Queens and Skinheads was from Raybies of NYC hardcore band Warzone, who alongside Jimmy Gestapo of Murphy’s Law, attempted to describe what made the Pyramid special. The interviewees included the likes of jazz singer Stephanie Crawford and Sound Man Craig Overbay (who went on to produce Nirvana and other Grunge bands), to East Village icons like Wendy Wild.

The Pyramid’s unique inclusivity across all cultural lines, mixing gay and straight, disco and punk, high art and pop culture foreshadowed the social justice, LBGT and trasgendered civil rights movement in America by decades. As many people point out throughout these interviews from 1985, it was rare for all the tribes of the underground in NYC of the 1980s to mingle so seamlessly together. But mostly it was exactly as Wendy Wild said, “there has never been anything like the Pyramid”, and I agree. I still live in NYC and unlike more than half the people in this video, I’m still alive, and can attest that Wendy was right. After the credits I have created a tribute to all the people who appear in this video who passed away from AIDS, drug overdoses, accidents and cancer/disease, sadly, its many. It’s always hard for me to even look at this, and it was harder to edit it, these were people I loved very much and miss dearly.

I have all the original videos on VHS, and most of the art pieces and the Cyber Punk Science Fiction film (which featured many of the people in this video) as ¾” video. I’ve done my best to keep them in good shape, and will continue to as long as I can. At one point I had all these tapes on shelves in my Canal Street floor through squat, and when people would ask in the late 1990s what are these tapes which I kept separate from tapes of my own artwork, I would say, these are all my dead friends and I have to keep these for them. This is for all of them.

Technical note: all the footage is kept as is, with no stabilization, image or color correction, in attempt to preserve the video’s media and historic authenticity.

In order of Appearance: Brian Butterick, Alan Mace (Sister Dimension), Michael Ullman (aka Kittie), stephanie crawford, Shazork, Lady Bunny, Dimitri, Gordon Spaeth, Butthole Surfers, Craig OVerbay, Dean Johnson, Rat At Rat R, David Rat, Sonda, Ethyl Eicheberger, Happi Phace, Stephen Tashjian (Taboo), Bunny Manhattan (aka Richard Lieberman), Pyramid Float Gay Pride 1986, John Kelly, Marlene Mennard, Bush Tetras, Marjan Moghaddam, Iris Rose, Joshua Fried, Julie Hair, Grace, Natalie Gestapo, Gwar, Raybies, Jimmy Gestapo, Bernard Zette, Tobine Cradle, Bobby Bradley, Keith Streng, Wendy Wild, They Might Be Giants, Margaret Ann Outhred aka Hali Fields, Jesse Hultberg, 3 Teens Kill Four, Doug Bressler, Lefferts Brown, Masters of Reality, John Sex, Animal X and the Amazons, Chris Clements, Jim Fouratt, Joey Arias, Nick Cave, Liquid Liquid, Phillip Overbay, David Crocker, Sapho, Tanya Ransom, Edgar Carson Oliver, Helen Carson Oliver, Anne Craig, Disturbed Form, Bill Milhizer, False Profits, The Archies, Richard Baran,

Also: Barabra Buryak, Bernell Crawford, Brian Damage, Stephen Ielpi, Andrea Poole, Lucille Reader, Winston C Robinson Jr, Rolf Rombschick, Larry Shox, Greg Smith, Louis Williams,

Special Thanks to the following for their help: Jonny Sender, Diane D Streiker, Geordie Gillespie, Sonda Andersson Pappan, Daniel Durning, Nick Zedd

Discourse, Discord & Disgust in The New Age of Trump

Maybe you’re like me.

I don’t mean that you, say, have an unseemly preoccupation with a host of largely insignificant post-punk records from the late 80s, collect ratty rock t-shirts of obscure bands that you’re invariably now too old to wear, or that you wish grave digestive discomfort on people who recline their seats into your laps during flights (don’t get me started). I mean, maybe you do, but that’s not my point.

I mean that maybe you share my predicament — that you have people in your life, or your family or your close circle of confidents who — for whatever reason, fail to see eye-to-eye with you regarding the realities of our collective political present.

It seems like the simple solution to that predicament should be to dust off the old “agree to disagree” proviso. Right? Done and done.

Not so fast.

For some of us, the failure to recognize the gravity of this situation – and by that, of course, I mean the failure to BE FUCKING ANYTHING SHORT OF ENTIRELY OUTRAGED by the antics of that bag of shit currently throwing his corpulence around the Oval Office, to say nothing of his treacherous “cabinet” of ill-equipped and duplicitous appointees – is almost a deal-breaker.

That’s solved easily enough over social media, of course. You can voluntarily unfollow or, more pointedly, unfriend someone on Facebook who you’re clashing with. Nobody wants it to come to that, of course, but sometimes, it’s a necessary step to maintain sanity and decorum.

In “real life,” however, it can be less easily resolved.

To my knowledge, I don’t have too many friends that are Trump supporters – avid or otherwise. Having worked for most of my life in the dreaded “MSM” (mainstream media, for those of you unfamiliar with the derisive truncation), most of my former colleagues and I stand on the same side of the playing field, so to speak. I even know some folks who work for the “other team,” to beat that tired sports analogy into the ground, and they also recognize that Trump’s a joke, a sham, a withering embarrassment and a global liability.

My close friends, meanwhile, are invariably close because we share certain crucial sensibilities, one of them being a pointed zero-tolerance policy for all the abject attributes that Trump embodies (do I have to go through that long list for you again?)

So yeah, I don’t know too many Trumpies or Trumpublicans or Trump apologists, but I do know a couple. And contrary to lazy projection and easy conclusion-jumping, by and large, they are not stupid people … usually.

Moreover, most of these folks aren’t people I can just avoid. So, in most instances, I just don’t bring politics up. I don’t even suggest agreeing to disagree. I just don’t engage in the conversation. Most of the time, that works.

I have a couple of other folks in my circle, however, that insist on discussing it – even knowing FULL WELL that it’s going to result in a fight or, at the very least, an unpleasant exchange of words.

In those instances, I am running out of answers. Despite the best of my intentions, it’s very easy to get me to drop the façade and engage in the fight. But I don’t want that, as rarely are minds effectively changed that way.

Maybe I’m just waiting for events to play themselves out in such a manner that these folks will start to share my perspective. I suppose the egalitarian thing would be to suggest that perhaps it could work the other way, as well, and that maybe I’ll change my tune. But I really wouldn’t suggest holding your breath on that one.

So, where does that leave us?

In my travels across the `net, beyond that amazing open letter on behalf of journalists I highlighted not too long back, one of the best, most succinct pieces I’ve read that sums up how I’m feeling – not just as a big ol’ bleeding heart, lefty liberal, but also as a SENTIENT, COMPASSIONATE AND CULTURALLY COGNIZANT HUMAN BEING -- is this op-ed by Paul Waldman from the Washington Post. It really hits the nail on the head, as far as I’m concerned.

I’ve been very active on Facebook in the venting of my political spleen, but I also fear I’m just adding to the maelstrom of noise. I’m concerned that said maelstrom will just encourage folks to tune out. Now is NOT the time to do that.

I don’t have all the answers here. I’m striving to make sense of it while still retaining hope for solutions ahead. I don’t know where we’re headed, but I don’t like fighting with my friends and my family.

I spotted the sticker below affixed to a very wet mailbox on West Broadway this morning. It’s a message that, overall, I am striving for.

Stay vigilant, but stay human.

Beware The Savage Jaw

I’ve said it before … clearly David saw what was coming.

Timeless AND Timely…..

A Public Service Announcement

The message in italics below has been making the rounds on social media in recent days. I thought I'd share it here for the nine or ten people who still read my blog. I did not compose it, but I think it's worth reading.

Don't worry, I'll get back to posting about lost compact disc shops, forgotten punk records and unjustly maligned pizzerias soon.

If you are puzzled by the bizarre 'press conference' put on by the White House press secretary earlier this week (angrily claiming that Trump's inauguration had the largest audience in history, accusing them of faking photos and lying about attendance), let me help explain it. This spectacle served three purposes:

1. Establishing a norm with the press: they will be told things that are obviously wrong and they will have no opportunity to ask questions. That way, they will be grateful if they get anything more at any press conference. This is the PR equivalent of "negging," the odious pick-up practice of a particular kind of horrible man (e.g., Donald Trump).

2. Increasing the separation between Trump's base (1/3 of the population) from everybody else (the remaining 2/3). By being told something that is obviously wrong—that there is no evidence for and all evidence against, that anybody with eyes can see is wrong—they are forced to pick whether they are going to believe Trump or their lying eyes. The gamble here—likely to pay off—is that they will believe Trump. This means that they will regard media outlets that report the truth as "fake news" (because otherwise they'd be forced to confront their cognitive dissonance.)

3. Creating a sense of uncertainty about whether facts are knowable, among a certain chunk of the population (which is a taking a page from the Kremlin, for whom this is their preferred disinformation tactic). A third of the population will say "clearly the White House is lying," a third will say "if Trump says it, it must be true," and the remaining third will say "gosh, I guess this is unknowable."

THE IDEA ISN'T TO CONVINCE THESE PEOPLE OF UNTRUE THINGS, IT'S TO FATIGUE THEM, SO THAT THEY WILL STAY OUT OF THE POLITICAL PROCESS ENTIRELY, regarding the truth as just too difficult to determine.

This is laying important groundwork for the months ahead. If Trump's White House is willing to lie about something as obviously, unquestionably fake as this, just imagine what else they'll lie about. In particular, things that the public cannot possibly verify the truth of. It's gonna get real bad.

Manhattan Roars Back

We weren't going to be able to make it to D.C. today, but the Flaming Pablum family took part in the Women's March here in Manhattan. I can't say I've ever seen anything like it. In case you missed it, here's a brief taste. It's still happening, by the way. I get the feeling that this is just the beginning. 

ADDENDUM: Listening to apologists on various news outlets spinning on the marches going on across the world, suggesting that it's "uncertain" or "unclear" or "ambiguous" about what these marches are all about. Lemme tell ya... from first hand experience, there is absolutely *NO MYSTERY* about what these marches are singularly about. As endearingly diverse a mix of individuals and sensibilities comprise them, there is a ROCK SOLID point of unity running throughout. It is a *RENUNCIATION* of Trump, his appointees and their threatened policies writ large. Pure and simple. And as sensory-engulfing as the NYC crowd was, I've never encountered a great sense of unity.

 

 

Inauguration Day

I am rarely without something to say, but I'm afraid to don't have much to bring to the table today, other than profanity-laden grumbles of incredulity.

But, as we begin our Great Leap Backward, I feel that -- with apologies to director Roman Polanski, novelist Ira Levin and actress Mia Farrow -- this tidy little clip from "Rosemary's Baby" pretty much sums up how I'm feeling about today's proceedings.

Hang in there.

TRUMP OUT OF NYC!

Full-Court Press Corps

I realize I recently said I was going to scale down the political stuff, but I spotted this earlier in the week, and it’s too good not to share as widely as possible.

If open letters were metal tunes, this one from Kyle Pope of the Columbia Journalism Review would be like "Raining Blood," "War Pigs" and "Ace of Spades” all wrapped up in one. Raise your fists and throw the goats accordingly.

Here’s hoping it’s not just cheap talk.

Stardust Memories

We’ve been back home in NYC for about three weeks now, but everyone at Chez Pablum pines to return to the comparatively carefree week we spent in lovely London (you may remember my somewhat laboriously lengthy photographic summary of same). Honestly, we could not have had a greater time, and we miss our little flat on Hortensia Road. Maybe someday we’ll get back there.

In any case, a friend of mine just posted a photo which bizarrely took me right back. Herewith a great shot of the mighty Generation X paying homage, much as I did, to the cover location of Bowie’s The Rise and Fall Ziggy Stardust & the Spiders from Mars at some point in the late 70’s. They're actually facing the opposite direction from Bowie on the cover. 

And, again, here's me at that same phone box in the background of the Gen-X shot (and on the back cover of the original album). 

What made the above photo somewhat extra special for me, however, was that earlier in the day before my friend Miles and I pinpointed the Ziggy spot, he’d given me a poster I’d been admiring in his Camden Town punk shop, All Ages, that being a reproduction of the original promo poster for Generation X’s first album (which I now display in my office). Yeah, it’s a mild coincidence, but I’ll take it.

Here’s some vintage footage of Generation X playing, I believe, not too far away from this same spot at one of the original locations of the fabled Marquee club. Miles and I actually went to the site of the last incarnation of that club (which is now a T.G.I. Friday’s-type bar called Montagu Pyke), but I’m not sure it was the same venue presented in this clip.

Regardless, it’s cool…

Vintage Video Friday!

Hey all.

I keep expecting things to slow down, but then … why should they? There’s more political news than you can shake an angry fist at, but I don’t want this blog to become consumed by that, so I’m endeavoring to mention it sparingly. That all said, once again, I welcome the dialogue. The only way we’re all going to get through this idiotic fiasco is by effectively communicating with each other.

On other fronts, the book project rolls onward. I’ve been interviewing crucial figures in the narrative left and right, and things are taking shape, but it is a slow process. Incidentally, the documentary film project that spawned this book has recently launched a Kickstarter campaign. Find out more here, should you be interested.

Meanwhile, here are a couple of video items I thought I’d pass along.

I spotted this first one courtesy of a Facebook post by Go Nightclubbing. Honestly speaking, I haven’t the foggiest clue who Samurai Toys might have been (I’m assuming they’re a band), nor do I know what year this particular video may have been shot. Regardless, here we see “Ballistic Kisses,” featuring a somewhat inexplicable cameo by fabled filmmaker, crucial scenester, original punk and former Big Audio Dynamite member, Don Letts. In keeping, I suppose, with the band’s name, Letts is depicted showing off his nunchaku chops on a Manhattan rooftop. I’d be curious if anyone could speculate on the address. It reminds me quite about about the 2008 film, “The Tao of 9 Second Avenue” (which I spoke about here).

Next up, it’s across the river we head to Brooklyn. BC Studio mainstay and longtime Cop Shoot Cop producer/engineer Martin Bisi, who I mentioned here and recently spoke with about the book, posted this video a little while back of Arto Lindsay’s Ambitious Lovers circa 1983/1984, filmed in Bisi’s space. I’ve written about Arto a couple of times before (notably way back here). His stuff is worth seeking out.