Flaming Pablum

Hearing & Heilung

I can’t remember who first hipped me to Heilung, but it might’ve been via a highly entertaining review by former “Noise the Show” shouter Tim Sommer of their gig at Webster Hall several months back (y’know, before everything went completely kablooey). In any event, I found the notion of a gaggle of warpaint-slathered, spear-brandishing Danes wearing antlers and stomping around somewhat compelling, and their videos were both intriguing and not-just-a-little endearingly ridiculous. I immediately lamented not attending the show in question.

Further investigation bore out that the enigmatic Heilung occupied a strange, musical middle ground between, say, Dead Can Dance and GWAR, despite the fact that they seem to take themselves quite seriously, and despite some elements of their audience mistakenly getting the impression that there was some white supremacy bullshit at their core — there isn’t.

Then, further capturing my imagination, I watched this interview with members of the band, who suggested that fans had claimed that the live Heilung experience had purportedly relieved them of their tinnitus. As someone who has grappled with Tinnitus (in my right ear) for two decades, I was all for it.

On a lark, I picked up their live album, Lifa, and spent the next few weeks listening to their immersive brand of hypnotic whatsis.

Richly ripe for a meandering strolls in deep, primeval forests, Lifa by Heilung — which means “healing” in Danish — did absolutely fuck-all to relieve my tinnitus in any capacity, but it is some pretty remarkable stuff.

Here’s a helping….

Listomania

Spend any amount of time on Facebook, these days, and you’re sure to be buried in a veritable avalanche of lists, “challenges,” album covers, thoughtful (albeit unsolicited) rumination, movie posters and the like. These sorts of things have always made the rounds on the platform in question, but since the advent of the pandemic, they are now essentially inescapable. And, yes, they’re slavishly indulgent, trivial and probably largely ignored, but that’s not the point.

Sure, you can spend fifteen minutes reading someone’s deep dive about how and why Tago Mago by Can is the finest album to put on when your in-laws are over for dinner, but unless you’re of a very specific type, you’ll probably keep scrolling. Whomever composed that post won’t take it personally, either, because they probably wrote it more for themselves than anybody else. Yes, it’s a waste of time, but that is the point.

With so much time on our hands, there is a minuscule modicum comfort in this variant of time-wasting … it’s a welcome distraction from the travails of our current collective conundrum and a break from tireless barage of bad news. And if one’s ridiculously precious dissection of the finer points of, say, Pet Sounds by the Beach Boys resonates even fleetingly with like minds and a larger, communal discussion ensues, all the better. Who is anyone to begrudge another person’s silly predilections in this season of both literal and figurative division? Personally, I’d much rather read a sprawling tally of someone’s favorite horror movies than hear another slackwitted conspiracy theory.

Unsurprisingly, I have been entirely guilty of clogging up countless feeds with these things. My former colleague Conor, who I discussed here, spearheaded a series called the #HighFidelityChallenge, and I dove in headlong, composing endless lists of albums and songs specifically tailored to any number of frankly ridiculous scenarios. It’s been huge, meaningless fun (and I might re-purpose and post them here after a while, if things get dire enough, so consider yourself warned). Has anyone apart from a select hallelujah choir of friends paid any meaningful attention? Probably not. Hell, I’ve probably been roundly unfriended by droves over them, but whatever. I launched a wide-scale discussion earlier this week — endeavoring to settle a debate between myself and a former college classmate and fellow WDUB d.j. — about whether it was accurate to characterize the Charlatans’ 1990 single “The Only One I Know” as Britpop (it’s not). I’m dead sure that sent many scrambling for the “unfollow’ button.

Anyway, another slavish music geek friend of mine, Ned T., posted the below list today, and I thought I’d tackle it in one go. Feel free to stop reading here, should you be disinclined to learn what I might have to say about a robust section to meaningless questions about music.

Here we go…

#Alternative30SongChallenge

1. A Song to Wake Up To
During my junior year of college, I had an early morning radio show on Sunday mornings and a late show on Thursday nights. I never thought it was particularly prudent to to start the morning shows off with anything too volatile. I’d usually aim for something mellow and, ideally, uplifting for any early risers who were tuning in. I mean, sure, it would have been hilarious to kick off the day with, say, “L Dopa” by Big Black or “Stigmata” by Ministry (too big faves, at the time), but usually felt that would alienate more than it would recruit. As such a frequent first selection was “Running Up That Hill” by Kate Bush, which arrives gently.

2. A Song with Whistling in It
Not something I normally look for in my music, but there are exceptions. I’ll go with “Robert Mitchum” by Julian Cope.

3. A Song by a Band You Don’t Like
“The Way It Is” by Bruce Hornsby & The Range — Horrible shit, to my ears.

4. A Song with Bagpipes in It
This one took me a second, as I wrongly assumed “When the Tigers Broke Free” by Pink Floyd featured bagpipes (it doesn’t). Then I was going to pick something by Big Country, but those were just guitars that sounded like bagpipes. Then I remembered “Under the Milky Way” by The Church, which has a strenuously unlikely bagpipe solo right in the middle of the song. Boom, solved.

5. Favorite Song from Your Parents’ Music Collection
I’m going to go with “Mas Que Nada” by Sergio Mendes and Brazil `66, which my mom used to play quite regularly.

6. The Oldest Song You Can Think Of
I went to Catholic school, where we were routinely subjected to any number of somber hymns every morning, so I’m going to go with “O Sacred Head Surrounded” which comes with choice lines like ‘Death’s pallid hue comes o’er thee, the glow of life decays….”

7. A Song With a Fruit in the Title
Hmmmm. How about “Peaches” by The Stranglers

8. The Best Song for … you know … Smooching
This really depends on the person you’re smooching and the particular circumstances, but how about “Memories of Green” by Vangelis from the original score to “Blade Runner.”

9. The Best Song for Breaking Up
“When I Burn This Place Down” by Firewater, a gloriously celebratory kiss-off if ever was there one.

10. A Song They Always Played at Parties When You Were Growing Up
Hmmm. This depends on which stage of “growing up” we’re talking about. If we’re talking high school, it would probably be “Rock Box” by Run-DMC.

11. Your Favorite Bee Gees song (you know you’ve got one)
I have several, as I happen to know that the Bee Gees were fucking brilliant. I’d go with either “Lonely Days” or “Nights on Broadway.”

12. A Song from the First Album You Bought
“Love Her All I Can” by KISS off of Dressed to Kill

13. A Song From The Last Actual Physical Album You Bought
I never stopped buying physical albums. “Consequences” by Human Impact

14. Your Favorite Instrumental
I have several, but today I’ll go with “Waltzinblack” by The Stranglers

15. Your Favorite Band, Their Worst Song
“Stay One Jump Ahead” (Extended Mix) by Killing Joke. The “rap” bit was, is and ever shall be … unforgivable.

16. A Song Nile Rodgers Had Something To Do With
Nile Rodgers is a goddamn genius, so anything would really work here. I’ll go with “Original Sin” by INXS.

17. Your favorite No.1
Most of my favorite songs have never made it that far, but I’ll go with…”Tainted Love” by Soft Cell. I don’t think it made No.1 in the States, but that’s because most Americans are deathly stupid and have no fucking taste.

18. A Song That Changes Your Mood
It didn’t specify how, but I’ll go with “Rain” by The Cult, as it never fails to raise my spirits.

19. A Song That You Used to Like by God help me if I Ever Hear It Again…
Hmmm. Been a while since that’s been the case, but I’ll go with “Mi Gente” by J Balvin. It’s not really something I’d normally listen to, but I used to in a corporate video for my organization. At first I dug the insistent percussion, but after a while — it’s a bit like a car alarm.

20. A Song That You’re “Too Old” to Like
I’m old enough to decided that I’ll like whatever I choose to like, thanks very much.

21. Jazz!
What about it?

22. A Song You Can’t Understand Why Everyone Else Seems to Love
Way, way, way too many to name.

23. Something from a Soundtrack to Something
The entirety of Neil Young’s score to Jim Jarmusch’s “Dead Man.”

24. Let’s Do the Show Right Here!
I don’t know what this means.

25. A Religious Song You Didn’t Realize was Religious
The latter two albums by Talk Talk revealed primary songwriter Mark Hollis to be deeply spiritual, which I’m not sure I gleaned until well after the fact. “New Grass” even earnestly mentioned Christ by name.

26. A duet
J.G. “Foetus” Thirlwell and Lydia Lunch on “Serpentine”

27. “Play Something Country”
If I must … let it be “A Boy Named Sue” by Johnny Cash

28. A “comedy” record
That’s Not Funny, That’s Sick by National Lampoon.

29. A Song with a Place Name in the Title
“Detroit Rock City” by Kiss.

30. A Song to Go To Sleep To
I don’t generally do this, as it means whatever device is playing the song is going to remain on while I slumber. This is pointless and inefficient.

Where We Are

"(Don't) Come Together ..."

Developing The Damage

As a fan of both their respective bands — Japan and King Crimson — I was certainly aware of David Sylvian and Robert Fripp’s collaboration in the early 90’s, which resulted in two albums, The First Day and the live Damage, but didn’t really give it a lot of thought until discovering the title track off the latter several years later.

As a brooding slice of acute melancholy, “Damage” could be construed as slavishly overwrought, but still imbued with a stirring beauty, if you’re in the right mood. To my ears, it owed more to Sylvian’s post-Japan project, Rain Tree Crow than to Fripp’s exhaustive body of work.

In any case, some years after that, I stumbled upon the clip below, which I assumed was an official video for the song — its stark visuals seamlessly meshing with the sound and sentiment of the track in question.

Again, one might consider it a tad heavy-handed but also pretty compelling, should you be in the right frame of mind.

Well, as it turned out, that wasn’t an official video at all, but rather the result of someone’s inventive splicing, the finished product working remarkably well, considering the complete disparity of the source material.

The visuals come from "Le Révélateur,” an experimental — and ostensibly silent — film from 1968 by French director Philippe Garrel. Cinema website MUBI synopsizes the film….

In the words of Bernadette Lafont, who stars in the film with Laurent Terzieff, “a couple and their child flee in the face of an unknown but still considerable menace… In a desolate landscape, full of humidity and humiliation, we see the weakest of beings stage his revolt: a child.”

Here’s a fragment of the original…

They Filmed Bands

Some of you might remember a post or two from 2017 wherein I discussed stumbling upon the video archives of one director Charles Libin, a trailblazer in the field of music video, being one of the first bona fide veejays. For a while, there were several of his clips on YouTube, showcasing a trove of period-specific footage of live music and conceptual video. Check out this post for more details, although the videos themselves are no longer embedded therein.

Well, recently, the daughter of Mr. Libin reached out to me with something really cool. Here’s what she had to say…

I’d love to share with you Charles Libin (my dad) and Paul Cameron’s series WE FILM BANDS. Libin+Cameron made conceptual music videos and shot live punk, post-punk, and no wave performances by iconic bands in the 1980s, many of which have never been seen. Fortuitously, I also began directing in my early twenties, the same age my dad and Paul were when they made these videos. In my music video for Princess Nokia’s Green Line, I included their footage of the Bronx breakdancing crew Floor Masters, from their Melon video After the Death.

We felt that, in celebration of the 40 year anniversary, their collection would be a cool discovery for people stuck in their homes.

And here’s a bit more info from the press release:

On March 3, 1979, Charles Libin and Paul Cameron gathered fellow film students from SUNY Purchase and shot the B-52s’ now legendary performance of Rock Lobster at the Hurrah nightclub in NYC. Libin+Cameron’s filming of the B-52s kicked off a series of live performances they captured, including The Cure's first NYC appearance, Gang of Four, Suicide, Polyrock, James White (aka James Chance) & The Blacks), Debbie Harry, Defunkt, Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Kid Creole & The Coconuts, The Plastics, and other ground-breaking bands. Libin+Cameron designed and programmed an immersive video experience with monitors throughout Hurrah. “A fair-haired, soft spoken 22-year old named Charles Libin is credited as the first veejay.” – Daily News, Sept 4, 1981

Friggin’ cool, right?

Anyway, you can check out all this stuff on WE FILMED BANDS.

Auf Wiedersehen, Florian Schneider

Florian hat das Gebäude verlassen. Rest in peace. 

Where We Are

Being stripey is lethally stupid.

Satie Night Fever

As time goes by, I’m often more intrigued to discover older music I’d never previously known about, heard of, listened to or appreciated before more than discovering genuinely new music, as, y’know, “young people…..HURRUMPH!”.

Case in point, what I credibly know about French avant-garde composers from the late 19th century really ain’t much. But, strangely — two different musicians whose tastes I completely respect and admire — namely Michael Gira of SWANS and my friend Tod Ashley of Firewater/Cop Shoot Cop — both posted bits of music by one Erik Satie on Facebook, recently, and while absolutely nothing like the sonic outpourings of either of those gents, I’m finding it entirely compelling and contemplative stuff.

Stick with it long enough, and your’e bound to recognize certain passages (as I’m dead sure whole portions of this have been used in myriad films). It’s lovely, stirring music.

If you're not already familiar, see if you agree.

ADDENDUM: I was correct. Satie's music has been featured in several films, among them "My Diner With Andre," "Man on Wire," "Being There," "The Royal Tenenbaums" and a few others.

Rest in Peace, Dave Greenfield

Boy, did I love the Stranglers.

Outcasts within a scene comprised of outcasts, the Stranglers didn’t fit in snugly with the rest of the British Punk crop. Whether it was their age, their facial hair, the pugnacious demeanor, their none-more-black sense of humor or their choice of instrumentation, the Stranglers were never afraid to blaze their own trail, alienate people and also write and release some of the most incendiary records of their era. Evolving where many of their peers ran aground, the Stranglers went out of their way to buck punk convention and become a band for the ages, not just a fleeting trend.

They also had an inimitable sound that was entirely their own, largely thanks to the singular bass playing of Jean Jacques Burnell — aggressively pushing an instrument normally relegated to the background right up in front — and the swirling keyboards of Dave Greenfield, broadly adding an element of musical sophistication to the band’s attack.

And if you’re still caught up about “punk,” what could be punker than vintage Dave Greenfield — a dude with a mustache, prince valiant haircut smoking a pipe while playing keyboards while the rest of the world was spiking its hair?

Dave Greenfield died last night at age 71 from COVID-19.

Rest in peace, Dave. You were inimitable and irreplaceable.