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Walking with the Beast: The Gun Club’s Jeffrey Lee Pierce is ‘Preaching the Blues’
01.05.2022
02:21 pm
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Jeffrey Lee Pierce, the long deceased leader of the Gun Club, has been variously described as brilliant, tortured, visionary, even lovable, but mostly he seems to be recalled as an utterly contemptible asshole and colossally detestable fucked up junkie and drunk. This doesn’t mean he’s not one of the finest and most important musicians of the post-punk era—because he most certainly is that, too—just that it’s difficult to find anyone, anyone at all, willing to say something nice about him. Exhibit A would be Ghost on the Highway, Kurt Voss’s 2006 Gun Club documentary. You’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but what if that’s all there is to say about someone?

To be honest, knowing that Jeffrey Lee Pierce was a major jerk does absolutely nothing to change my opinion of the man. It’s got nothing to do with appreciating Pierce’s art. Anyone who has ever explored the recorded output of the Gun Club finds there, if not a criminally overlooked musical and lyrical genius, then a savant who channeled his own authentic, mutant strain of the Blues. I once read that the Texas-born Pierce had an epiphany about marrying punk rock with Marty Robbins’ cowboy songs and that this is what animated the unique sound of the Gun Club. That is an extremely inspired idea if you ask me and that musical vehicle became Pierce’s lifetime muse. You can always tell a Gun Club song from the first few bars. Even if the band’s personnel changed over the years, the signature sound that Pierce and company generated under the Gun Club moniker always remained remarkably consistent. 

The Gun Club (read: Jeffrey Lee) was well known for being magic or tragic live, but when I saw them perform at the Electric Ballroom in London in 1984, it was one of the very best, most memorable concerts that I have ever attended. The group was touring in support of The Las Vegas Story, an especially strong album. It was my 19th birthday and I was extremely stoned and as drunk as a skunk before I even got there. I reckon the only person in the venue drunker than me that night was Jeffrey Lee himself, who sat drinking alone at the upstairs bar while the opening act—the Scientists—played their set. I stood directly at the front and at one point Pierce drunkenly fell off the stage and right on top of me, but neither one of us felt any pain. Kid Congo Powers and Patricia Morrison were in the band then and visually those two, plus Pierce looked really amazing onstage together. Terry Graham’s drumming was ferocious. The noise they made was HUGE, and fearsome. They opened with “Walking With the Beast” and it was awe-inspiring. Considering the heroically inebriated state of their frontman, they were incredibly tight, and notably so. His unintentional stage dive on my head notwithstanding, musically Pierce hit all of his marks and was in fine voice. It didn’t last. Within a few short months, this iconic Gun Club line-up would fall apart. 

It’s been a quarter century since Pierce’s death, but in recent years, it’s become easier for the Gun Club to gain new fans than it ever was during the band’s lifespan. Whether they’re stumbling across them in record stores, via streaming, or through big ups from Nick Cave, Jack White, Debbie Harry and many others, of late there seems to have been a significant uptick of awareness of the profound and combustible talents of America’s premiere Mexican-American post punk Southern Gothic voodoo bluesman. There’s even an official Jeffrey Lee Pierce feature documentary, Elvis from Hell, that’s been in production since 2019. I think he’s an artist who’ll be “rediscovered” every few years.  
 

 
And if you aren’t already a Gun Club fan, dear reader, what are you waiting for? Every canonical Gun Club album is either a masterpiece, a near masterpiece or at least really, really fucking good and although there exists an over generous surfeit of legit, quasi-legit and just flat out bootlegged Gun Club live albums, many of these outings are also fantastic. A new Gun Club box set, Preaching the Blues (Flood Gallery) examines six of the group’s best 7” 45rpm singles issued between 1981 and 1993 along with an extensive booklet, a bonus single from the Miami sessions, there’s even a “Fire of Love” fanzine and a Gun Club badge (for that authentic 80s touch?)

Preaching the Blues is released on January 21st. Preorder here.
 

1983 TV appearance with a blistering performance of “The Lie.”

Posted by Richard Metzger
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01.05.2022
02:21 pm
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‘Eight Songs for a Mad King’ is one of the most insane pieces of music ever written
12.22.2021
02:15 pm
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One day at the record store I saw a used copy for sale of Sir Peter Maxwell DaviesEight Songs for a Mad King and I bought it and took it home. I had gotten interested in the work of minimalist composer Julius Eastman and I knew that he’d sung what I’d read described as basically a weird opera, but I was otherwise unfamiliar with the piece.

The title was intriguing. What would something titled Eight Songs for a Mad King sound like? I was about to find out.

The first time I played the record, I’ll confess, it left me rather puzzled. It’s a difficult listen. I frankly didn’t know what to make of it, but one thing seemed certain, there’s nothing else even remotely similar to Eight Songs for a Mad King in modern classical music. Actually it’s not quite an opera, technically it is musical theater, a monodrama, with just one vocalist. Peter Maxwell Davies—then the enfant terrible of avant garde composers—was inspired to write the score expressly for the extended vocal range of South African actor (and world renowned vocal coach) Roy Hart and indeed the piece takes full advantage of a baritone with a five octave range. The music was arranged for six players on flute/piccolo, clarinet, percussion, piano/harpsichord, and violin/cello.

The “mad king” of the title is King George III, who suffered from acute mental illness. During his rule, George III became seriously deranged, speaking nonstop for several hours until he was foaming at the mouth and constantly repeating himself. He was delusional and hallucinated. It was claimed that the psychotic sovereign once mistook a tree for the King of Prussia. In his later years, the King tried to teach his bullfinches to sing and the players (minus the percussionist who represents the King’s handler) portray these birds musically and enact a dialogue of sorts with the insane monarch. The songs heard in the piece are actually based on the music played by a still extant miniature mechanical organ that was owned by George III that he employed to train his birds. There are snatches of Handel’s Messiah—a favorite of George III—heard during the score. The libretto was written by Randolph Stow and is derived from the words of George III. It takes the form of eight monologues delivered by the King to his bullfinches.

Eight Songs for a Mad King premiered on April 22, 1969 at the Queen Elizabeth Hall in London with Hart in the lead and although it was generally well-received by the audience—which included a 22-year-old David Bowie—there were smatterings of boos, heckling and several walkouts. There is little doubt that the members of the audience had never seen or heard anything like this. Peter Brooks’ Marat/Sade is the only thing even remotely comparable, but musically that play is still somewhat conventional. Hell, Captain Beefheart or the Residents sound conventional compared to Davies’ representation of the drooling mad monarch. This is not classical music for the faint of heart. The timid listener need not bother.
 
More… insanity, after the jump…

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Posted by Richard Metzger
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12.22.2021
02:15 pm
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New ‘visual history’ book celebrates 50 years of the Residents! Sneak peek and exclusive premiere!
12.15.2021
05:18 am
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‘A Sight for Sore Eyes, Vol. 1’
 
For about 50 years now, the Residents have operated in secret, hiding their identities behind masks and costumes. But now you can see the members of the band full nude!

Yes, the Residents are the subject of a handsome new coffee-table book from Melodic Virtue, the publisher of like retrospectives about the Butthole Surfers, Pixies, and Ministry. The Residents: A Sight for Sore Eyes, Vol. 1 collects beautifully printed reproductions of art, photos, correspondence, press clippings and ephemera from the first 13 years of the Eye Guys’ career, opening in their humble San Mateo dwelling in 1970 and concluding on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial before the triumphant 1983 Uncle Sam Mole Show
 

‘Not Available’
 
While their faces remain mostly obscured in these pages, the Residents’ bare genitals are reproduced in black and white in more than one spread, so if you ever run into a pants-less member of the group, you’ll have no trouble recognizing him! That alone is worth the price of this volume. 

But let’s suppose you’re jaded about seeing the Residents’ junk; say you’ve already got enlargements of the Delta Nudes CD cover tacked up all over your walls, and Kinko’s quality is good enough for you. Well, how about a sharp full-color photo of the Mysterious N. Senada’s saxophone and another of its case, bearing the word “COMMERCIAL” in giant red capital letters? Do you have that, Mr. Great Big Residents Fan? How about shots from inside Poor Know Graphics’ design studio circa 1972, hmm? You got pictures of Snakefinger’s wedding? I’m so sure. What about the fucking floor plans for the Residents’ old Sycamore Street headquarters in San Francisco?
 

‘Eloise’ from ‘Vileness Fats’
 
Many of the book’s contents are things I’d hoped to find inside—shots from the set of Vileness Fats, beautiful stills from Graeme Whifler’s “Hello Skinny” film, W.E.I.R.D. fan club papers—but nearly as many are treasures I didn’t know I’d been missing, such as images from a proposal for an Eskimo opera, or screenshots from a prototype Mark of the Mole video game for the Atari 2600, or a snap of a promotional packet of Residents brand Tunes of Two Cities aspirin (to treat “the newest headache” from the band). Old favorites like the black-and-white promo photo of the band shopping for groceries are accompanied by contact sheets and other prints from the shoot. Turn the page, and it’s like The Wizard of Oz: the Residents are standing in the checkout line in Technicolor.
 

‘The Act of Being Polite’
 
Peppered throughout are testimonials from the group’s many-generational cohort of colleagues and fans. Collaborators and Ralph Records alumni like Mole Show emcee Penn Jillette, members of Tuxedomoon and Yello, and all of Renaldo & The Loaf get in reminiscences. Don Preston of the Mothers of Invention tells how he came to play his Moog parts on Eskimo; Patrick Gleeson conveys his delight at the Residents’ “fuck-you-ness”; Andy Partridge of XTC (a/k/a Commercial Album guest Sandy Sandwich) apostrophizes the Eyeballs in verse.

Then there’s Alexander Hacke of Einstürzende Neubauten remembering the Berlin record store that turned him on to The Third Reich ‘n Roll in the Seventies, and Les Claypool takes us to the living room in El Sobrante, California where his teenage girlfriend first played him Duck Stab on her Marantz. Danny Elfman hears a different path his own life might have taken when he listens back. And bringing down the mean age of this all-star gang are some of the Residents’ “children”: Eric André, members of Steel Pole Bath Tub, Death Grips, Sleepytime Gorilla Museum…
 

Handwritten ‘Lizard Lady’ lyrics from the ‘Duck Stab/Buster & Glen Notebook’
 
The book includes a seven-inch of “Nobody’s Nos,” an unreleased song composed for the early masterpiece Not Available. There’s also a signed deluxe edition that comes with a picture disc of “Nobody’s Nos” and a supplementary 24-page book of notes and handwritten lyrics from the making of Duck Stab/Buster & Glen. Mercy.

Below, the band Star Stunted (Sam Coomes, Rob Crow, Zach Hill, Mike Morasky, and Ego Plum, all of whom contributed to the book, along with its author, Aaron Tanner) performs the Residents’ 1972 holiday heartwarmer (heartwormer?) “Santa Dog” in an exclusive Dangerous Minds premiere.

It’s a Christmas miracle!

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Residential: Homer Flynn on the Residents’ ambitious ‘God in Three Persons’ show at MoMA
The Residents’ press conference at the Lincoln Memorial, 1983
The Residents demolish ‘We Are the World’
Take a walk around a masterpiece with the Residents’ ‘Eskimo Deconstructed’
‘Oh Mummy! Oh Daddy!’ The Residents’ first show as The Residents, 1976

Posted by Oliver Hall
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12.15.2021
05:18 am
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Black Xmas: Half off classic cult movie posters sale (for the weirdos on your Xmas shopping list)
12.13.2021
08:05 pm
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‘Black Christmas’ (Canada, 1974)

Every year around this time, Westgate Gallery‘s poster concierge extraordinaire Christian McLaughlin drastically cuts prices for his annual Black Xmas 50% Off Sale.

Anyway, my pal McLaughlin, a novelist and TV/movie writer and producer based in Los Angeles, is the maven of mavens when it comes to this sort of thing. You couldn’t even begin to stock a store like his if you didn’t know exactly what you were looking for in the first place, and if you want a quick (not to mention rather visceral) idea of his level of deep expertise—and what a great eye he’s got—then take a gander at his world-beating selection of Italian giallo posters. Christian is what I call a “sophisticate.”

He’s got a carefully curated cult poster collection on offer that is second to none. His home is a shrine to lurid giallo, 70s XXX and any and every midnight movie classic you can shake a stick at. But why would you want to shake a stick at a bunch of movie posters to begin with? That would be pointless. And stupid.

The Westgate Gallery’s Black Christmas 50% off sale sees every item in stock at—you guessed it—50% off the (already reasonable) normal price. At checkout your poster tab will be magically cut in half.

The selection below is only a very tiny sliver of what’s for sale at Westgategallery.com.
 

‘Acid Eaters’ (USA, 1968)
 

‘Don’t Look Now’ (UK/Italy, 1973)
 

‘Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!’ (USA, 1965)
 

‘Lips of Blood’ (France, 1975)
 

‘Lost Highway’ (USA/France, 1997)
 

‘Master Beater’ (USA, 1969)
 
Many more after the jump…

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Posted by Richard Metzger
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12.13.2021
08:05 pm
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Best album of the year: Scott Lavene returns with ‘Milk City Sweethearts’
12.05.2021
12:51 pm
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All photos by Andrew Leo Photography

Way back at the start of 2020, I already knew that I’d probably end up naming Scott Lavene’s second album, Milk City Sweethearts, as my top album of 2021—just as I named his Broke my favorite album of 2019—because I’d heard nearly every song on the album in demo form long before it was released. The demos sounded like finished songs, and as my long-suffering wife will attest to, I played the shit out of those demos. Over and over and over again, for like three or four months straight. (Luckily she liked them, too. “That fucking love song about amphetamines is now stuck in my brain forever,” she told me.)

Milk City Sweethearts—out now on vinyl and streaming in all the usual places—is a damned fine album. There are no weak songs on it. It’s all killer, no filler, but certain numbers do still stand out. Lucky for you, I’ve posted it below. There is no obstacle whatsoever between you and hearing what I think is just… the very finest example of an up & coming singer-songwriter making music today. I get it, you’ve never heard of the guy, nevertheless I am not wrong. If you like the likes of Ian Dury, Elvis Costello, Nick Lowe, Squeeze—or Father John Misty—you will, I am absolutely certain of it, find much to love in Scott Lavene’s music. Maybe even scroll down and play it as the soundtrack to reading the rest of this post? You won’t regret it.

And it’s not just the music, because he is also a wonderfully charismatic performer. It is impossible not to be charmed by his (often quite elaborate) music videos and easy to imagine The Scott Lavene Show turning up on television one day. Sketch comedy, celebrity guests, a little song and dance… He’s that sort of “old fashioned” performer. You don’t encounter his particular brand of talent much these days, you just don’t.

So yeah, Milk City Sweethearts is my very, very favorite album of the year (the runner-up is Cathal Coughlin’s terrific Song Of Co-Aklan). I think you should hear it. And if you like it (what’s not to like???) you should tell all your friends. Scott Lavene, at this point in his career, is still very much a word-of-mouth sort of artist, so please spread the love and maybe follow him on Twitter?

What more can I say? Time for me to give Scott a chance. I asked him a few questions over email. Below you will find an embedded a Spotify playlist, and several of Scott’s latest videos, including the premiere of “The Toffee Tickler,” directed by the very talented Ryan Anderson, who often collaborates with Lavene.

As you don’t have an obvious fit with the same pop charts that recognize Dua Lipa, BTS or Olivia Rodrigo, how do you and your label go about promoting your music? What is the strategy?

The strategy is mainly banging on closed doors. Sending emails to radio and bloggers and magazines. Sending hard copies of the album when they show up. We have distribution which helps get the record in shops. For this album we had funding for some PR but they did pretty much nothing so we just rely on word of mouth. But, since the pandemic it seems i’ve got more of an audience as more people are coming to my shows and we’ve sold more pre orders. It’s growing. People that like my music really really like it.  Broke wasn’t really doing much until Dangerous Minds found the record so we just crack on and wait for the little breaks. 

Where do you see yourself fitting in?

I’m not sure I fit in anywhere. Everyone I get compared to is from the 70’s. I think of myself as an old fashioned songwriter though I’ve been added to a couple of post punk playlists so I guess I’m also that, which is ok as it’s a bit of a thing at the moment. But, oh my do I love writing ballads. I’ve written a new album that I’m hopefully going to record soon and it’s more of the same odd stories and trying to make pop songs out of mental health problems. Then after that I’m going to make a whole album of ballads. Big stinky, cynical, weepy ones. I guess I don’t want to fit in. A lot of my heroes just made what they liked and didn’t fit in anywhere other than in their own worlds and that’s what I’m aiming for, invites into my delicious environment of bad love and misfits.

Well I have noticed that nearly every single time that I’ve pestered someone to have a listen to what you do—and they actually listen—you make an instant convert. I sent a link to “The Ballad of Lynsey” to a arch rock snob friend of mine and his immediate reply was “You’re right, this guy is some kind of genius.” Bart Bealmear, one of the writers at Dangerous Minds heard about you first via that post I did about you in 2019, and he told me that his wife and also his mother-in-law became big fans of Broke as well. It seems to me that anytime someone with good taste is exposed to your music, you gain a new fan.

Yeah. It seems that when people get it, they really get it. And they get it bad. These are the people that make it all worth it, that make me think I’m not just churning out shit. I’m terrible at networking and getting in people’s faces. I just can’t be bothered, and I’m shy. But, anyway, I feel successful. There was a time when i thought I might not play again. Plus, I’ve made some great music in the last few years, music I’m proud of, music that’s taken years of living to make. Teenagers, the middle aged and oldies buy my records. I love it.
 

 
I think tenacity is the key and that you’ll just have to keep plugging away, and producing new music and eventually the fans will find you, and then they’ll have an deep back catalog to discover. You’re like a one-man version of the Go-Betweens, but eventually people did catch on to them. I think it will happen for you, I really do. Your music is just too good. Now what about your publishing? I can easily imagine your stuff being used in TV and movies.

A one man version of the Go-Betweens is my new favourite compliment, thank you. I think I’m getting better. I thought I’d never write an album like Broke but Milk City Sweethearts is better yet and this next one I’m working on is going to be amazing. And yes, I’ve got a new publisher. A small but great one based in Newcastle called Wipeout Music. They’re working away on that side of things so we’ll see. It used to be called selling out but fuck that. If it means I haven’t got to get a normal job for a while then I’ll sell out in a flash. However it would be ironic to make advertising money from a song called “Broke.”

Much more with Scott Lavene after the jump, including the premiere of his latest video, after the jump…

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Posted by Richard Metzger
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12.05.2021
12:51 pm
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The Electric Prunes’ 4th LP is a rock opera no original members play on—and it’s surprisingly good
12.02.2021
10:09 am
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Electric Prunes 1
 
In the mid 1960s, the group Jim and the Lords inked a deal with producer Dave Hassinger’s production company. After a name change, the first Electric Prunes 45 was released. Their next two singles, 1967’s “I Had Too Much to Dream (Last Night)” and “Get Me to the World on Time,” are excellent examples of American psychedelic pop/rock, and both were Top 40 hits. Those tunes were written by outside songwriters, and so was much of the Electric Prunes’ self-titled debut album (1967), as Hassinger only permitted two group compositions on the LP. While the band successfully lobbied to have more of their own material included on album #2, Underground (1967)—and it’s a better record—there were no hit singles from it, and the LP didn’t do much in the marketplace. Things were about to change for the band in a way none of them could have foreseen. 
 
Electric Prunes 2
 
For the third Electric Prunes record, the trio of Hassinger, Prunes manager Lenny Poncher, and noted producer, arranger, and composer David Axelrod came up with the idea for the group to record an album of Axelrod’s compositions. The LP would combine classical and religious music with psychedelic rock. Once in the studio, the band was slow to pick up the material, as most of them didn’t read music. The pace of the learning curve wasn’t to Axelrod’s liking, so another group, the Canadian outfit the Collectors, was brought in, along with session musicians. In the end, the actual Electric Prunes only play on side one of Mass in F Minor (1968), though a few members, including lead singer James Lowe, appear on all the tracks. The album—a rock opera in which all the lyrics are sung in Latin—is a mixed affair. It’s certainly odd and obtuse. The opening number, “Kyrie Eleison,” is the highlight and the record’s best-known song, as it later appeared in the film Easy Rider (1969) and on its soundtrack. It’s the only track on the album lacking any orchestral accompaniment.

Following the album’s release, the Electric Prunes broke up. Though their moniker lived on.
 
The Electric Prunes 1
 
The Electric Prunes’ name would continue to be used on subsequent LPs, despite the fact the no original members remained. Which brings us to album number four.

Continues after the jump…

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Posted by Bart Bealmear
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12.02.2021
10:09 am
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DEVO’s Gerald V. Casale talks about his new music videos and the vertiginous pace of de-evolution!
11.24.2021
06:07 pm
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Gerald V. Casale and Josh Freese in “I’m Gonna Pay U Back,” directed by Davy Force

With the human species seemingly hurtling toward the center of a body-pulping, dream-pulverizing vortex, Dangerous Minds sent one of its bubble-eyed dog boys from the recombo DNA labs in the Valley for a briefing from Jerry Casale. DEVO’s chief strategist, film director, songwriter, singer, and bassist shed light on our dire predicament as few others could. He also discussed his new solo music video, “I’m Gonna Pay U Back,” and revealed his plans for its upcoming 3D sequel, “The Invisible Man,” news that is balm for our awful hurt. A lightly edited transcript follows.

How was the tour, from your point of view? One of the high points of my year for sure was seeing DEVO again.

Where did you see it?

At the YouTube Theater at SoFi Stadium in LA.

You know, that’s an amazing amphitheater. It’s kind of a replacement for the wonderful amphitheater we had that we used to love playing at, that was ripped apart for Harry Potter rides?

The Universal Amphitheatre.

Up in Universal City. So this one kind of approximates that in architectural style, in the stage, in the sound, so, yeah, good venue. They don’t have their management together, that’s for sure. It’s overbearing; in these COVID times, they had so much security going on, it was like warring kind of TSA factions or something. But I thought the show went pretty well.

Well, for a guy like me, Jerry, I guess it’s the closest thing I have to a religious ceremony in my life, that Booji Boy, no matter how many times he dies, keeps coming back to sing “Beautiful World.”

[Laughs] It was hardly a tour, however. It was three measly shows. So, yeah.

I know. I wish there had been more—

Me too.

—but I’m grateful for what I get.

Well, if it were up to me, there would be a lot more.

Is that across the board, in terms of recording and touring and all that stuff?

Of course, of course. I mean, obviously, I founded the band, and I remain as excited and true to the concepts and principles of the collaboration and the experimentation as I was in 1977.
 

DEVO in the lab, 1979 (via DEVO-OBSESSO)
 
Dean Stockwell just died, and I know he was an early champion of the band, so I wanted to ask about your relationship with him. But I also wanted to ask about this weird phenomenon that DEVO seems always to have been, like, one degree of separation from the Black Mountain poets, and I think of Dean Stockwell as being part of that too, since he was friends with Robert Duncan. So if you could talk about that a little bit.

Yeah. Where do we start there? First of all, with Dean Stockwell, he was part of a group of kind of the outsider artist, [Topanga] Canyon people. I mean, he had been with Toni Basil, they were close friends with Neil Young, Dennis Hopper—there was a whole little universe of people there, actors, musicians. So when Toni Basil came to see us play at the Starwood in the summer of 1977 in Los Angeles, and converted, flipped out, she turned Dean and Neil Young on to us. And they, in turn, became very excited and became advocates, and, you know, insisted that we appear in Neil’s movie.

Neil was in the process of that movie [Human Highway] that kept morphing in terms of what it was, and what the message was, and who would act in it, and what the plot was, and we were involved in scenes in that movie early on, and many of the scenes that were shot were then jettisoned, because the whole idea of the movie changed, and it went on for another two years. And that culminated with us doing this vignette inside the movie of being disgruntled nuclear waste workers in Linear Valley, which was a fictitious valley in the film, and we were singing “It Takes a Worried Man” while we loaded leaky barrels of nuclear waste onto the truck and took them to the dumpsite. And that was an idea I’d thrown out that Neil liked, and he gave me his crew, basically, he let me direct that sequence. He gave me the funds in the budget to do a loading dock set, and used his truck—he actually owned that truck—and he made us the uniforms and the custom helmets with the breather packs that went into our noses.

So it was fantastic shooting 35 millimeter film, doing this whole thing that I thought was going to appear intact inside the movie. But of course, no; it was then decided upon some kind of editing whim to chop it up and make it a through line, and keep coming back to it throughout the movie, so it really made no sense [laughs]. But the movie made no sense. It’s an amazing piece. Certainly had a lot of talent behind it and a lot of budget behind it.

What’s funny is, although this never happens, the subsequent re-editing, re-editing, re-editing, new director’s cut, new director’s cut—the last thing that Neil ever did to it was actually the most cohesive and the best, and worked the best. And he also collapsed the movie so it wasn’t some sprawling, two-hour bit, you know, it was concise. And it just suddenly made more sense [laughs], believe it or not, which never happens when people go back and rework something over and over, they keep going down a rabbit hole. But I actually liked it, and I got to speak at a couple of these screenings he had where there were Q&A from the audience about the making of it. So yeah, it was great.
 

DEVO shine as nuclear waste workers in Neil Young’s ‘Human Highway’ (via IMDb)
 
Back to the Black Mountain thing. It started with a poet, Ed Dorn, who had come to the Black Mountain school, he was a poet that liaised with all those poets that were famous at that time, from City Lights—

Ferlinghetti?

You know, like what was his name, somebody Giorno…

John Giorno.

John Giorno; of course, Allen Ginsberg; all these poets. And they had been part of this cadre of people of like-minded sensibilities that started as Beats, basically, in the Sixties. And Ed Dorn became a professor of poetry, English lit, at the University of Boulder, and he had gotten a, whatever it’s called, a guest professorship at Kent State University on the heels of the killings at Kent State. So he came in the following fall on a visiting professorship, set up in a house off-campus.

And immediately, you know, all the academics and hipoisie intelligentsia that were outsider people at Kent State—‘cause it was a tight-knit group of people who didn’t fit into the MBA, fraternity scene, right? We were the artists, we were pursuing fine art programs, pursuing MFAs in English literature and so on—we, of course, gravitated to Ed Dorn, he was a great guy. And Bob Lewis and I, who was an early colleague and, pre-DEVO the band, had, with me, created these DEVO concepts of de-evolution, and I had been applying it to visual art and he had been applying it to poetry, we hung out with Ed in 1971, ’72, and we were spewing all these theories to Ed, and Ed found us completely entertaining, you know, like, these strident kids think they reinvented the wheel. The ideas weren’t foreign to him at all. So he would say, “Oh, if you think that, here, read this!” and “Oh, well by the way, so and so said this!” And he just egged us on.

So he gave us the ammunition. And then Eric Mottram came in that following year from Kings College in England, and he had been friends with all these people, and he had been teaching their works at Kings College in England, and he was a quote “lefty” intellectual. And he brought in people like Jeff Nuttall, who had written Bomb Culture.

So it was just this big lovefest of wonderful ideas and concepts, where you’d been thinking things, other people across the world had been thinking things, and there was this beautiful synchronicity, right? Who knew this could happen at Kent State University? And half of the reason it happened is ‘cause of the killings, and the reaction to the killings, and people banding together, like as a survival tactic, against this pending fascism and Nixonianism. So there’s a long, convoluted answer to your short, concise question.
 
MUCH more after the jump…

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Posted by Oliver Hall
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11.24.2021
06:07 pm
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Barry Adamson: Up Above the City, Down Beneath the Stars
11.10.2021
03:06 pm
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Photo of Barry Adamson by Mark David Ford

Multihyphenate musician-soundtrack composer-photographer-filmmaker (and former Bad Seed and member of Magazine) Barry Adamson has now added “memoirist” to that list.

Certainly no moss is growing under the feet of the Moss Side, Manchester-born Adamson. His incredibly evocative, highly detailed and sometimes frankly shocking autobiography, Up Above the City, Down Beneath the Stars was recently published by Omnibus Press, he’s got a new digital EP, Steal Away, just out and has completed a soundtrack for an upcoming documentary about London’s legendary arthouse cinema, the Scala Cinema.

Up Above the City, Down Beneath the Stars is an extremely well-written book, one of the best things I’ve read in ages. And I would be remiss in my duties here not to inform the reader that Adamson is either playing on, or created no fewer than six albums that would easily be in my top fifty: The first three Magazine albums, the first two Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds albums, and his own soundtrack for an imaginary film, Moss Side Story.  The man is a living legend.

I asked Barry Adamson a few questions via email.

First, your memory! How are you able to recall such vivid details about your life? It’s extraordinary!

Thanks! Some things are best forgotten, as the saying goes but throughout most of my life I’ve collected snapshots and angles on my own and the lives of others and stored them, committed them to memory like an archive and I never knew why but perhaps now I do. I thought everybody did this and I think to some extent they do. The amount of people I’d say I was writing a memoir to and then suddenly, they would find things stored away in there own archive. There’s also the noir style which helped me put them into a particular context as well.

There’s a very cinematic quality to so many of the anecdotes recounted in the book. Will you be developing this material further, say, writing a script?

I’ve not thought about that but sometimes, borrowing from Dennis Potter, the scenes in the book become ‘film-like’ to almost thrust the sense of that cinematic quality. I needed (in the same way I do with music) to be able to clearly visualise each sentence, so maybe that’s a factor in how the book’s overall filmic structure formed. It was a gamble to try and write it that way but one I think that paid off.

As far as autobiographies go, this one is a very, very nakedly revealing memoir indeed. I don’t get the sense that you’ve held much of anything back. What made you decide to do this?

I put myself as the central character in my life and decided that if it were a film or perhaps a novel, then you would see all the sides of this character; their challenges, struggles, conflict (on many levels) and light and dark and crap decision making and sitting with him throughout the story, so, difficult as it was at times and I make no bones about it, it really was, I knew that holding back would weaken ‘the story’ and that the filmic arc that I wanted to create around those first thirty years of my life could flatten out to a possible blandness which I didn’t want.

You’ve done a soundtrack to a documentary about London’s legendary repertoire moviehouse, the Scala. I’ve been there a few times myself. One time I saw Warhol’s Chelsea Girls and I was the only one in the cinema when it started, but by the time it was over several homeless people had camped out around the room. It seemed like a fairly sleazy place, did it widely have that reputation?

Well, for me, it was a place of refuge where you were fed this… art, art that you didn’t come across anywhere else. Sleazy. Yes. Glamorous. In it’s own way, yes. The all-nighters were events like no others and the fact that those films imprinted themselves so ferociously into my brain is to me, a sign that what was happening there was something special. Interesting that you remember so clearly what film you saw and the homeless scenario. I was possibly one of them!

Below, the video for “The Climber,” the lead track from the new Steal Away EP

 

Posted by Richard Metzger
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11.10.2021
03:06 pm
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‘Scum’: Nick Cave gets his revenge
10.28.2021
03:17 pm
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When Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds finally played the Ritz in New York City during their Your Funeral… My Trial tour, it was a makeup date, rescheduled for a Sunday in February, after an earlier, sold out Friday show the previous October had been cancelled at the very last minute. On that night, when I got to the venue, there was a large crowd of people dressed in black standing in the street outside. Mick Harvey sat atop a huge cube of equipment covered by a tarp. I asked him “What happened?” and he shrugged and threw his hands up. “We don’t know where Nick is.” (The answer, it was later revealed by the Village Voice, was that Cave had been busted copping dope in Harlem and was then sitting in jail. This was in the days before cell phones, and I am reasonably sure that Mick was fearing something far worse might have happened.)

The rescheduled date came some weeks after the end of the tour and the Sunday show was poorly attended, so it was easy to get near the stage. I stood directly in front of Cave’s mic stand. Now, I don’t want to imply that Nick Cave has mellowed out over the years—because he really hasn’t—but my favorite era of Cave’s work is from Mutiny! through Kicking Against The Pricks. “Junkie Nick Cave,” in other words. It was thrilling, almost scary, being so close to someone so seemingly unhinged and angry. Some of it didn’t necessarily seem like an act. His stage presence was fearsome and impressive, in a Keith Richards “elegantly wasted” meets Antonin Artaud sort of way. Larger than life. Cave wore a blue velvet tuxedo with a ruffle collar shirt and cuffs and he looked dead cool. His performance was so energetic and so physical that it appeared to me that heroin must have exactly the opposite effect on him that it has on most people. Or maybe he had just taken a different sort of vitamin? I don’t know, but I will say this, when the band walked offstage, the house lights stayed off, awaiting their reappearance for an encore. They stayed off for nearly ten minutes and when Cave finally staggered back onstage, his eyes were absolutely bloodshot red and he looked and acted very, very high. It seemed obvious what had caused the delay.

If I haven’t gotten the point across that this was one of the very best concerts that I’ve ever seen, it absolutely was. Cave was then, and still is, the best frontman of our time—and this was an incarnation of the Bad Seeds that included both Blixa Bargeld and Kid Congo Powers—but in the first decade of his career, he was more intense, more dangerous, more… fucking evil, basically. Today’s Nick Cave is more akin to a rambunctious revival preacher, but back then he just seemed homicidal. But, you know, in a good way.
 

 
On the way out I purchased the tour program, a black and white glossy fold-out poster with a green flexi disc attached to the front. The song, titled “Scum,” was an incredibly vitriolic and outrageously spiteful diatribe that was clearly directed towards one person, that person being an NME writer who Cave had briefly been flatmates with named Matt Snow. 

A sample lyric:

He was a miserable shitwringing turd
Like he reminded me of some evil gnome
Shaking hands was like shaking a hot, fat, oily bone.

Here’s another:

His and herpes bath towel type
If you know what I mean
I could not look at him, worm

OUCH!

Here’s how it ends:

I think you fucking traitor, chronic masturbator,
Shitlicker, user, self-abuser, jigger jigger!
What rock did you crawl from?
Which, did you come?
You Judas, Brutus, Vitus, Scum!
Hey four-eyes, come
That’s right, it’s a gun
Face is bubble, blood, and, street
Snowman with six holes clean into his fat fuckin guts

Psychotic drama mounts
Guts well deep then a spring is fount
I unload into his eyes
Blood springs
Dead snow
Blue skies

One needn’t wonder how Nick felt about his former flatmate, does one? Apparently what had ticked him off was a lukewarm review.

Imagine what it must feel like to hear yourself immortalized in song? But THAT song? Oh dear…

Well, apparently Matt Snow took it all in stride, and even thought if was funny, At least this is what he told the Guardian in 2008:

In 1980 my old school buddy Barney Hoskyns was writing for NME and wanted someone to go to gigs with. I became his plus one. The Birthday Party (an early band of Cave’s) were just fantastic, incredibly exciting, wild and feral, and we became part of their scene, which consisted of hanging out, playing records, doing drugs and drinking. I had a straight job and by night morphed into a nocturnal creature. It was an exciting scene to feel vicariously part of. It felt like you were living through a Velvet Underground song. I remember Nick [Cave] setting his hair on fire with a candle: everything was part-Baudelaire, part-Keith Richards. But by 1983 the Birthday Party had broken up and Nick was forming the Bad Seeds. He and his girlfriend Anita were asking for somewhere to crash for a while, and the pair moved in with me. He was still doing heroin but he was discreet. He was a good housemate. It was funny because he was always nagging Anita about her diet, yet he was shooting up! They moved down the road and we lost touch.

I raved about his From Her To Eternity album in NME but then, in a singles review, happened to drop in that the forthcoming - second - Nick Cave album “lacked the same dramatic tension”. A year or so later I found myself interviewing Nick formally for the first time. He kept me and the photographer waiting for hours. The PR was very jumpy. I got a very unusual interview. I asked him what the problem was and he said, “I think you’re an arsehole” and mentioned that he’d written a song developing this theme. Weeks later, I bought for £1 a green seven-inch flexidisc called “Scum.” I think it’s one of his best songs, and very funny. Like Dylan’s Mr Jones, I’d rather be memorialised as the spotlit object of a genius’s scorn than a dusty discographical footnote. My wife to be was a big Nick Cave fan—“Scum” is “our song.”

And there you have it. 
 

 
“Scum” is included on the first volume of B-Sides & Rarities, a 3-CD set of Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds’ er… b-sides and rarities, which has now been joined by a sequel, B-Sides & Rarities Part II, a 2-CD compilation that features previously uncollected tracks from the years 2006-2019. Both sets together comprise a special limited edition seven record vinyl box set, which you can enter below to win.

Listen to “Vortex,” a previously unreleased song featured on Vol II.
 

 

 

Posted by Richard Metzger
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10.28.2021
03:17 pm
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Lucky 13: Stream the latest installment of ‘Brown Acid’ featuring long lost heavy rock from the 1970
10.28.2021
10:21 am
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There must be some mythical and hidden cache of chukka-chukka hairy hard rock one-offs from the 1970s, because how else to explain that there is yet another installment—lucky 13!—of the (obviously) long running Brown Acid series. I mean, where do they find this stuff? Or does it find them? And by them, I mean arch crate digging maniacs Lance Barresi—co-owner of the Permanent Records stores in Los Angeles and Chicago—and RidingEasy Records label head Daniel Hall.

Where other archival series like Nuggets and Pebbles eventually got tapped out, Brown Acid is still going strong with their Thirteenth Trip, which is chock full of  long-lost, rare, and unreleased hard rock, heavy psych, and proto-metal tracks from daze gone by.  And they license these songs legitimately and actually pay the artists (who, I would imagine are somewhat bemused to be getting paid for nearly never-heard songs recorded 50 years ago.)

Here’s a stream of the entire thing, featuring never famous names like Dry Ice, Bacchus, Orchis, Good Humore and Max (who were originally called Dawn before Tony Orlando’s lawyers put a stop to that.)

Brown Acid: The Thirteenth Trip will be available to buy on vinyl and CD from RidingEasy Records on October 31. All treats, no tricks…
 

 

Posted by Richard Metzger
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10.28.2021
10:21 am
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