The last paragraph is great.

Update: The original source for this is from Miriam Linna’s blog Kicksville 66.

Via WFMU’s FB page

 
Pink Floyd performing (literally) explosive versions of “Careful With That Axe, Eugene” and “Set The Controls For The Heart Of The Sun” onstage at The Dome, Brighton, June 28 or 29th, 1972. Turn your speakers up LOUD, sit back and prepare to be pulverized. This is truly one of the most epic moments of the rock era ever captured on celluloid.

What an insane show this must have been to have attended.

I’ve been an avid Pink Floyd bootleg collector for 20 years and this is one of the best clips of them in concert that I’ve ever seen. It’s fucking mind-boggling. I’ve scoured record stores, flea markets, then eBay and torrent trackers in pursuit of Pink Floyd boots and I’ve got just shitloads of stuff, but this clip is one of the jewels in the crown of the Pink Floyd cannon, capturing the band at the height of their power.

It finally came out as part of the elaborate Dark Side Of The Moon Immersion box set in 2011. Both of these numbers are on the Blu-ray DVD of that set looking even better than they do here.
 

 
Legendary post-punk performer James Chance (aka James White, aka James Black, best known for the classic “Contort Yourself”) features on a fetching new tie print by Vivienne Westwood.

If you are a fan of late 70s No-Wave skronk AND snazzy ties, then this is may be of interest (here’s looking at you Richard!) However, to purchase this tie you’re going to have to hunt for it, as it is not featured on the Westwood website’s “Men’s Accessories: Ties” page.

And while we are on the subject, here’s a clip of the re-formed Contortions playing live in Poland in 2008:

 
Via Michel Esteban.

 
One of the most unappreciated roles in the world is the role of the character actor. It’s a cruelty, since the character actors are the ones with the real personalities and true charisma. Traditional leading stars are so bland in comparison. The Wonder White Bread of acting. Sadly, we have lost one of the best of this wondrous breed, with the passing of actor William Finley. Truly one of the most wholly unique and talented actors, Finley made an impression on me the moment I first saw him in his brief but brilliant turn as drunken carny magician, Marco the Magnificent in Tobe Hooper’s The Funhouse. The shock of blonde hair, half painted Dracula make-up and the way his voice just oozed whiskey-soaked malaise bordering on malice made a mighty impression on my then teenage self. It was love at first sight, leading me to discover some of his better known work, namely with director Brian DePalma.

Both Finley and DePalma were Sarah Lawrence alumni, with a collaboration dating back to the director’s earliest underground works. This includes 1968’s Murder a la Mod and 1970’s Dionysus in ‘69, a film of an experimental version of the ancient Greek play, “The Bacchae.” (Two days before I heard of his passing, I had actually found my long lost DVD copy of this film.) One of his best early roles was in DePalma’s excellent Hitchcockian (right down to the Bernard Herrmann score) Sisters. Playing Margot Kidder’s charismatically creepy Quebecois husband Emil, Finley, with slicked back hair and a thin mustache, cuts an unforgettable figure. Despite all of his borderline villainy, he still infuses enough humanity into the role to make you feel empathy for this weird character.

However, Finley’s best known role, in a very rare leading turn, was DePalma’s rock musical, Phantom of the Paradise. Playing the titular Phantom, Finley is Winslow Leech, a gangly and passionate struggling composer who has written a rock opera based on the old German legend of “Faust.” Life takes a turn for the worse for Winslow as his work gets shanghaied by rock and roll impresario Swan (Paul Williams, who was also responsible for the fantastic score). Life soon imitates art, with the presence of the sweet and beautiful Phoenix (Jessica Harper) to further the potential heartbreak and redemption.

Phantom is undoubtedly one of the best rock musicals ever and Finley is perfect as our unlikely hero, fleshing out Winslow, an awkward genius with a temper, into a poetic, warm blooded, tragic figure. This turned out to be Finley’s only major starring role, though he did follow it up with a memorable turn in Tobe Hooper’s EC Comics film come to life, Eaten Alive, where he gets to bark like a dog and threatens to put a cigarette out IN HIS EYE. There were also smaller roles in the obscure Alan Arkin comedy Simon, DePalma’s The Fury and even the Chuck Norris flick, Silent Rage.

Roles become a little more sparse, with a few parts cropping up, like the Christian zealot/archeologist father in the 1995 Tobe Hooper film, Night Terrors. (A movie notable for Finley, equal gender nudity and Robert Englund as the Marquis De Sade, which makes it sound way better than it is.) Finley was an actor who should have been better utilized by Hollywood and the film industry at large. Like too many artists worth their salt, he did not get his proper due while he was still here.

But instead of wallowing in any past injustice, let’s make a wrong a right and celebrate the strange,stark and superb work of William Finley. The man’s acting legacy deserves it and you deserve to watch some great acting and filmmaking

Recommended Viewing: Sisters, Eaten Alive, Phantom of the Paradise, The Funhouse, Murder a la Mod,

 
As I have continually slimmed down my record collection over the years, the works of certain artists who I knew would never, ever come out on CD tend to be the things that I keep. Translation:  I have a weirdly lopsided record collection that veers sharply—there is no “in between” to speak of, to be clear here—from several dozen live PiL bootlegs to the collected works of one Jeannie C. Riley. I have other records, various and assorted things, mostly autographed records and one off collectibles, but the only two sizable chunks anymore are the PiL bootlegs and my Jeannie C. Riley albums, which are all in pristine, perfect condition.

Jeannie C. Riley? Doesn’t ring a bell? Remember “Harper Valley PTA”?

Of course you do. Jeannie C. Riley was HOT, HOT, HOT—a late 60s/early 70s mini-skirted corn pone minx of the Nancy Sinatra variety—but Nashville-style. She had been working as a secretary in Nashville when country music impresario Shelby Singleton heard her demo and signed her to his label, Plantation Records. Riley’s single “Harper Valley PTA” became a worldwide smash hit in 1968, winning her a Grammy for the Best Female Country Vocal Performance and ultimately becoming one of the best-known country music songs of all time. It was, like many of her songs, written by Nashville great Tom T. Hall.
 

 
In her super-short mini-dresses and knee-high leather boots, Jeannie C. Riley was a staple performer on shows like Hee Haw, The Johnny Cash Show, Bob Hope holiday specials and things like that when I was a kid. I thought she was just mega-sexy and over the years I collected each and every one of her long-playing efforts, each record that sounded just like the ones that had come before it, and the ones that would come after, too. Each trying desperately hard to come up with another hit song, a second “Harper Valley P.T.A.” but never quite succeeding.

But that doesn’t mean she didn’t get close! Several times in fact. The finest songwriters and musicians in Nashville were put to the task of trying to catch lightening in a bottle twice for the lovely Mrs. Riley. Over and over and over and over and over again she—and they—tried. They threw a certain kind of thing against the wall again and again and again.

You could say that Singleton, Hall and Riley took “formulaic” to a new level with the Harper Valley P.T.A. album OR you could choose to see it like she was the first country music artist to record a concept album….
    I’m actually being semi-serious here.  “Widow Jones”, “Sippin’ Shirley Thompson,” “Mr. Harper” and other characters from the original hit have their own songs on the long-player. There are tales of naive and foolish girls (“The Cotton Patch,” “Box Of Memories”), teen pregnancies (“The Girl Most Likely”) and small town hypocrisy (”Satan Place” and the title track). What more could you ask for? Even if it wasn’t intended to actually be a “country opera,” that is in fact how it comes off, so fuck it. Who are we to judge such a musical masterpiece? Admittedly, being a “fanatic” for Jeannie C. Riley is something that’s pretty difficult to justify, but if you will bear with me here and sample the multi-media links both above and below, you’ll either become a fan yourself, or at least you will be highly amused, I’m reasonably sure. Even if she never really made another hit song quite as memorable as “Harper Valley P.T.A.” some of the results that were achieved are pretty great as you can see for yourself. An amazing clip of gorgeous Jeannie C. Riley doing her biggest hit:     After the jump, a ton of Jeannie C. Riley for your listening and viewing pleasure…

Ian MacKaye at the 9:30 Club in Washington DC, 1983
 
Frontman for Minor Threat, The Teen Idles, Embrace, Fugazi and co-founder of Dischord Records, Ian MacKaye turns 50 years old today! So here’s a BIG happy birthday to you, Mr. MacKaye!

Below, Fugazi perform “Bad Mouth” live in 1991 at the Sacred Heart Church in Washington, DC.

 
Ian Svenonius of Nation of Ulysses, The Make-Up and Weird War interviews Ian MacKaye for Soft Focus:

 
After the jump, Fugazi documentary Instrument in its entirety…

 
Watch a young, fresh-faced Robert Smith and The Cure running through seven songs at the “Berg En Bos” Dutch rock festival, held in Apeldoorn in 1980. The band’s line-up at the time was Robert Smith, Simon Gallup, Laurence Tolhurst and Matthieu Hartley.

The set list: “A Reflection,” “Play For Today, “In Your House,” “M,” “Jumping Someone Else’s Train,” “Another Journey By Train,” and “A Forest.”
 

The Mojos
 
Confessions of an unrepentant garage rocker:

I was living in Virginia Beach, Virginia. The year was 1964. I was thirteen. Beatlemania was running wild and millions of kids across the USA were buying cheap Japanese electric guitars, drum kits, and forming garage bands. My dad bought me a set of Kent drums at Sears and I formed a group called the Continentals. We covered tunes by The Beatles and The Stones, of course, and had a set list that included “Louie Louie,” “I Got My Mojo Workin”, “Shout,” “Hang On Sloopy” - a couple dozen three and four chord rockers. We played at local firehouse dances, supermarket openings and, along with groups like The Mojos and The Ascotts, the Princess movie theater’s Saturday morning kiddie show.  We actually performed songs live as opposed to lip-syncing to some Four Seasons or Jan and Dean tune. We were the real fucking deal.

I had a moptop and it got me into trouble at school, where the rule was no hair over the ears and bangs had to be the width of two fingers above your eyebrows. I broke the rules on a consistent basis. A pattern I would follow my entire life. One day I was sent home for wearing madras pants to school. Those were some fucking slick slacks. But, when all the other kids were wearing Gant shirts and Weejun loafers, my madras pants were an affront to the refined sensibilities of the pre-yuppie status quo of the early 60s. In those days, high school had a caste system composed of longhairs, straights, jocks and greasers. I was a longhair. And greasers hated the longhairs. But I dug the greasers. Cause they were rockers. We were fellow parishioners in the church of rock and roll. It took a woman to help me discover this. Her name was, and I’m not bullshitting, Rhonda.

The Continentals were working the crowd before a screening of a cartoon marathon at the Princess. We were tearing through “Eight Days A Week”, “Not Fade Away” and “Gloria,” working up a sweat under our matching lime-green Nehru jackets, as the audience of pubescent teenyboppers bobbed their heads and swayed in mystical union with the almighty power of rock and roll. I felt like Elmer Gantry with drum sticks. We finished our set, took our bows, and walked off the stage.

As I made my way up the isle to the concession stand, there she was: Rhonda, a greaser goddess from the planet Maybelline. She had a jet-black beehive that defied gravity. Marie Antoinette had nothin’ on this home girl. Rhonda’s do was sculptural: a follicle wonderland where Antonio Gaudi and The Ronnettes sniffed hairspray and dreamed of Mayan pyramids. Rhonda had the fairest skin, the pinkest lips and the palest blue eyes I had ever seen. She was graceful and tall and moved with a slow serpentine stroll. She was way out of my league. This was woman in all her archetypal majesty – Shakti with a serious wighat. To my amazement, she was smitten by me. She said she liked the way I played the drums and she leaned over and gave me a kiss that tasted of lipstick and cigarettes. My knees buckled and I felt for the first time that rock and roll was more than music, it was supernatural.
 

The Princess theater is now a church. But in its own way, it always was.
 
This 1967 film footage of a Battle Of The Bands at Pierre Van Cortlandt Junior High School Gym in New York captures that tectonic time when thousands of suburban garages all across America shook, rattled and rolled.
 

 
Thanks to Rick Watson

 
Via KMFW

Bob Dylan and Janis Joplin hangin’ out
 
Oregon -based artist Kay Petal makes these whimsical sculptural needle-felted rock star dolls. Kay says, “Using single, barbed felting needles I sculpt wool fibers into solid felted wool characters with heart and soul. My characters are soft and flexible yet strong and durable.”

And guess what? Kay will even make one of YOU! You can contact her on the website Felt Alive for more information.
 

Johnny Cash
 
More after the jump…