Suede, the darkly glamorous combo who kicked off the Britpop trend in the early 1990s are back with a new video from their upcoming release, Bloodsports.
Bloodsports will be Suede’s first album of new material since 2002’s A New Morning and reunites the band with producer Ed Buller, who worked with Suede on their first three albums. Lead-singer Brett Anderson told the NME that the album will sound like cross between their classic Dog Man Star and Coming Up. Anderson also described the lyrics as being “about lust, it’s about the chase, it’s about the endless carnal game of love.”
Some things never change, I suppose. Bloodsports drops some time in March. The album’s first single is “Barriers”:
Here’s the video for “It Starts And Ends With You”—admittedly, at first I was skeptical, but by the end the undeniable catchiness of the number won me over:
For the record, that’s not “Rearden Metal,” it’s made of aluminum
The Atlas Shrugged jewelry line was not just inspired by the Ayn Rand novel—the pieces are actual reproductions from the ill-fated Atlas Shrugged film! What? You didn’t know there was a two-part Atlas Shrugged movie?!? That’s because it bombed horribly! (They spent $20 million on the first installment and didn’t even earn back $5 million. On the second they spent $10 million, and didn’t earn earn back $3.5 million.)
But, for a mere $159.00, you can warm the blackened cardiac lacuna of your very own Dagny Taggart and help the producers pay their investors back…
This pendant goes for $129.95 in silver, or $489.95, if you want to spring for the gold. You can even special order it for a Valentine’s Day arrival, but like anything with value, only a limited number are available for the rush delivery!
And if you’re shopping for the man in your life, snag the “Who is John Galt?” necktie, for a pittance at $79.95.
At least it’s actually silk
In some ways, merchandising the ever-living hell out of this commercial failure seems like the most intuitive thing one could possibly do to dig oneself out of a $15 million hole, but sorry, if I’m going to reward true free market innovation, I’m holding out for slutty Objectivist lingerie.
After a flood of letters from Star Trek fans, NASA named its first Space Shuttle Orbiter “Enterprise”. On September 17, 1976, Enterprise made its’ media debut at the Rockwell’s plant in Palmdale, California, as the Air Force band fired up the Star Trek theme music. The show’s cast was naturally invited, although somehow William Shatner missed it.
Surely he owned a fabulous leisure suit? He’s Bill Shatner!
From left: James Fletcher; NASA administrator, DeForest Kelley; George Takei; James Doohan; Nichelle Nichols; Leonard Nimoy; Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry, George Low; NASA deputy administrator, and Walter Koenig;
Below, Leonard Nimoy recounts the events that led to the Space Shuttle’s name.
Bob Marley and The Wailers at The Sundown Theater in Edmonton, England. May, 1973
“Stop That Train”
“Get Up, Stand Up”
According to reports at the time, most of the audience at this Wailers gig didn’t “get” the group. Marley was still somewhat of an enigma and the Wailers were sonically much more adventurous than some of the other acts on the bill that day. In his book Wailing Blues: The Story of Bob Marley‘s Wailers, author John Masouri experienced something extraordinary:
Marley is a vibrant, charismatic figure with his wild hair and tight trousers. He’s full of smiles as he strikes rock poses, playing around with the phrasing of certain songs and joining Tosh on a highly charged, semi-acapella version of “Get Up Stand Up”. Livingston is again hunched over his congas, and Lindo’s playing is more free form than Bundrick’s studio embellishments. It’s a joy to see him dancing behind his twin keyboards as the Barrett’s anchor proceedings with transcendent drum and bass. The sound quality is good too which must have made a welcome change.“
To me, this is Marley at his nitty grittiest and I love it.
Director and Kinks fan, Julien Temple beautifully captures Ray Davies’ wistfulness in his excellent documentary on the former-Kink, Ray Davies: Imaginary Man. Davies is allowed to gently meander around his past life, talking about his childhood, his family of 7 sisters and 1 brother, his early days with The Kinks, the development of his writing skill (the quality and consistency of which now makes him seem at times better than, if not on par with Lennon & McCartney, Jagger & Richard), and onto his life of fame, of parenthood, of growing-up, all of which seemed to happen so fast.
It would seem Davies has always lived his life with one eye on the past—from the nostalgia of The Village Green Preservation Society through to his film Return to Waterloo, Davies takes solace from the past. It gives his music that beautiful, bittersweet quality, as Milan Kundera reminds us that:
The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.
But it’s not just about wanting to return to some mythical past, it’s also about loss—whether this is the loss of the past, of opportunities, of career, or, even of memory—for without memory we are nothing. Memory keeps us relevant, and all artists want to be relevant. Throughout Temple’s film, Davies makes reference to this sense of loss, from the remnants of Hornsea Town Hall, to the changing landscape of London, or the songs he has written. And put together with the brilliance of the songs, the wealth of archive, and Ray Davies’ gentle narration, Temple has created a clever, beautiful, and moving film, which leaves you wanting to know and hear more.
Simon & Garfunkel live on NBC’s The Kraft Music Hall, as originally broadcast on January 3, 1968.
They perform “A Poem On The Underground Wall,” “For Emily Whenever I May Find Her,” “Overs,” “Anji,” “Patterns,” “The Sounds Of Silence” and “The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin’ Groovy)” joined by Nancy Wilson and Victor Borge, host of The Kraft Music Hall that evening. They’re also joined by Paul Simon’s brother, Ed, on guitar during “Anji.”
This was obviously sourced from a scratchy 16mm kinoscope, but the quality is fine. It’s not like there’s a lot of live Simon & Garfunkel material from the 1960s, so this is a treasure.
For over 30 years, the so-called First Transmission video from Psychic TV, has been the stuff of, well, “snuff film” legend. It used to be that you couldn’t see this except through a fair amount of effort and now look, it’s on YouTube… like everything else. Just like normal things.
First advertised in the back pages of Thee Grey Book—the curious philosophical tract that aspiring members of Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth got through mail order via a postal address listed on early PTV album covers—The First Transmission was an ultra weird touchstone of the underground VHS tape trading scene of the 1980s. (I dubbed my copy from the one they had for rent at the Magickal Childe occult bookstore, probably the sole copy anywhere in Manhattan and although it was a “legit” copy, acquired directly from TOPY I’m pretty sure, this was still a handmade item.)
Eventually I think there were three or four volumes of this material going around under the First Transmission title (this hour-long clip represents just a portion of it). Some of the participants were Genesis P-Orridge, Paula P-Orridge, Derek Jarman, Monte Cazazza, Peter Christopherson and David Tibet, with video of Brion Gysin and one of his Dream Machines, Jim Jones and some way fucked-up, er… “medical footage.”
A warning, this video is really not something that you want to watch at work. Maybe if you work at an S&M dungeon where ritualistic blood-letting is the norm... Don’t say you weren’t warned. The really gruesome parts, are, of course, faked, but they don’t look fake. The pissing, the blood enemas, the ritual scarring, they don’t look so fake, do they? I think those bits are, you know, real.
A secondary warning is that it’s a bit… slow moving. Still shocking after three decades, but a tad on the dull side. In defense of the project, Genesis told me that this material was more or less something that was conceived of to air on New York’s notoriously sleazy cable access station Channel J. The idea was for this weird, dreamlike footage just to appear on TV sets, sort of randomly, late at night, with no explanation whatsoever! On that level, and in the context of 1983, it becomes a minor prank masterpiece of sorts.