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‘Beth, I hear you calling’: The totally made-up, not true story behind the biggest hit KISS ever had
04.21.2020
10:19 am
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Beth
 
Conduct a casual poll of the hardy troops that make up the KISS Army as to their favorite KISS songs; I’d wager you’ll hear a lot more votes for “Strutter,” “Detroit Rock City,” “Rock and Roll All Nite,” or, hell, even “Lick It Up” than you will for Peter Criss’ 1976 ballad “Beth.” KISS fans don’t exactly know what to do with “Beth,” a syrupy piano number (with flute!) about puttin’ in those long hours in the studio that was the biggest his KISS ever had, clocking in at #7 on the Billboard Singles chart. No other KISS song ever cracked the top 10 until 1990’s “Forever” (which I wouldn’t be able to hum for you on a bet).

Director Brian Billow of Anonymous Content brought the song’s backstory to life in 2013, with a short script by Bob Winter, an advertising creative director based in Miami, that asks the compelling question, “But what of Beth’s side of the story?”

As with any undertaking like this, the trick is nailing the details. Beth’s colorful frock and wood-paneled kitchen accurately capture a certain 1970s je ne sais quoi that permits “Beth,” however brief, to be placed honorably alongside Boogie Nights and Almost Famous and The Last Days of Disco and 54 and all those other movies about the 1970s that came out in the late 1990s. The concept of KISS laying down tracks in full costume is just the right preposterous touch—but then again, maybe it isn’t that preposterous. This picture comes from the Destroyer sessions—the same album that “Beth” is on!
 
KISS in the studio
 
For the record (the movie has no credits), Criss is played by Steven Olson, and long-suffering Beth is played by Lilli Birdsell.
 

Posted by Martin Schneider
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04.21.2020
10:19 am
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Listen to The Fall celebrate legendary DJ John Peel’s 50th Birthday, 1989
03.19.2020
02:55 am
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John Peel with his wife Shelia and Mark E. Smith and the Fall at Peel’s 50th birthday bash, 1989. via.
 
When did everything get so shit? The older I get the more I think Philip Larkin was probably right when he wrote every new generation is just a mere dilution of the last. My gauge is pop culture and pop culture just now is shit, utter shit. Music is at a nadir. And don’t tell me, “Oh, but there’s suuuuuupppppeeerrr new bands out there…” No. There are mainly shit new bands out there who think they’re super.

Like take this morning when some vacuous TV presenter was interviewing a boy band pop star who was being feted like he could walk on water and turn it into wine. The singer (if that’s what he was) had a vocal style like cats being drowned and looked like he’d escaped some bide-a-wee home for the criminally attired. This anodyne safe space presenter was all “super,” “lovely,” “great” and “you’re the best.” Had she ever listened to this no-talents back catalogue? If she had—-God help us!!! I would rather go deaf than listen to that kinda shit. Seriously.

Anyway, this insufferable presenter was the kind who would interview a serial killer with: “And you know I was really a bit scared when I heard about my next guest, but you know what, he’s really super, amazing, just lovely. Now, Sid, you strangle people, don’t you? That’s amazing. And it’s all your own handiwork? Super.”

This is where we are at folks. Maybe coronavirus ain’t so bad after all…

Now kids (in my best Grandpa Simpson voice…), once upon a time, young ‘uns could wake up in the morning and there was such an abundance of great music to pluck like ripe fruits from the tree that we never got out of bed. No, sir. We just lay there, smoking weed and listening to PiL, T.Rex, Bowie, the Specials, Joni Mitchell, Blondie, Radiohead, Throbbing Gristle, Public Enemy, NWA, Kate Bush, Nick Cave, Iggy Pop, the Slits, etc, etc, etc…. Of course, it wasn’t all good. There was NSYNC, the Backstreet Boys, Boyz II Men, the Spice Girls, and New Kids on the Block….so maybe things haven’t changed that much…hmmm?

But then again….Let’s go back to your childhood, childhood… says Vivian Stanshall.

It’s 1989. The legendary Radio One DJ is being given a surprise party to celebrate his 50th birthday and 25-years in broadcasting. The party took place on Peel’s birthday eve Tuesday August 29th, and featured a few of his (then) favorite bands: House of Love, the Wedding Present, and the Fall.

Originally Peel’s other favorite band the Undertones were to reform with Feargal Sharkey on vocals but “sadly had to pull out due to one of the members having a family bereavement.” Thankfully, the House of Love stepped in. If the support bands were good, the headliners the Fall were grrrreat.

John Peel, for those who don’t know, was one of the most important British DJs operating out of the BBC from the 1960s until his untimely death in 2004. Peel curated, introduced, and promoted some of the best new bands during these years like T.Rex, Pink Floyd, Roxy Music, the Faces, Joy Division, the Clash, the Sex Pistols to the Fall, the Smiths, Pulp, Nirvana and the White Stripes and many many more like the A. C. Acoustics, Dept. S. and the Undertones. His influence as a curator of good musical taste has never been equalled.

Now back to the surprise birthday party. The Fall played a selection of past tracks and more recent recordings, together with a cover of the Gene Vincent song “Race with the Devil” as it was one of Peel’s favorite songs.

Track Listing: “Mere Pseud Mag Ed, “I’m Frank,” “Arms Control Poseur,” “Fiery Jack,” “Race with the Devil,” “Carry Bag Man,” and “Mr.Pharmacist.”
John Peel joins the band on stage while the crowd sing “Happy Birthday.” Peel addresses the audience and made his famous quip about his fantasy soccer career:

Think my chances of making the Liverpool side are gone now. Might still be able to get a game at one of those London clubs, though.

You can listen to the whole party here but meantime, here’s the meat and two veg: The Fall.
 

 

Posted by Paul Gallagher
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03.19.2020
02:55 am
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Family Album: Lurid lobby cards & promo shots for ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ in B&W and Color
03.09.2020
10:52 am
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I guess there’s not much more to be said about The Texas Chain Massacre that hasn’t already been given. One of the most influential seventies American films after Star Wars and perhaps The Godfather and Jaws.  What I remember of it at the time of its release has little to do with the film but everything to do with expectation and rumor.

I first heard of the movie in the schoolyard. I was too young to go see it and living in Scotland meant if you didn’t see a movie on release then you had to make do with the semaphore of rumor, exaggeration and bullshit. Which is the part that kinda interests me because why would a junior high school kid in Scotland hear about The Texas Chain Massacre unless it was something important? There was no Internet, no Google, no streaming services, no mobile, none of that stuff. Information was read in comics, newspapers and magazines or recieved second, third or fourth hand from friends who had a relative in Canada or went for a holiday to Florida where there was a bad frost and all the oranges on the trees turned into fruit sorbet. That kind of thing.

The first story I heard about this particular movie came (I think) from a guy called John Scott, who claimed some of the actors genuinely died during the making of the movie and there was this guy called Leatherface who was a butcher and he was still out there dancing with his chainsaw in the sunlight.

I had no idea what this meant, but the name “Leatherface” implied something utterly perverse and deranged. Was it a gimp mask? Or, maybe an Ed Gein flesh mask? We all knew about Ed Gein as he was our parents’ bogeyman because of Psycho, a film one relative described to me as “the wickedest movie ever made.” Gein was a real life monster like Ian Brady and Myra Hindley were real monsters. We all knew something about the horrific things they had done. But then again, what we knew of Gein was mainly through exaggeration and myth. In fact, half the stories I heard about the old cross-dressing cannibal had nothing to do with him and more to do with the speaker’s imagination, which in comparison to the actual crimes—or even those of Hindley and Brady—were utterly anemic.

The second tale I heard about The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was a reiteration of the first, that the film was based on a true story. As it turned out this was what the film actually claimed, true events which took place on August 18th, 1973. But as filming on this movie finished four days before the date given in the opening titles this was unlikely, if not impossible. That was director Tobe Hooper’s intention. He considered America during the Nixon years to be riddled with fake news and propaganda pumped out by the government.

The third tale was something to do with a guy who used two teen girls to source young boys to rape, kill and torture. This made the film seem far more debauched and unsavory. We were skeptical about this, which shows you how our pre-pubescent minds had some kind of warped standard where torturing, killing and eating people was okay, but raping, torturing and killing people—especially boys—was a step too far. Go figure. But as it later turned out, this was a tad closer to the truth as co-writer Kim Henkel had:

...noticed a murder case in Houston at the time, a serial murderer you probably remember named Elmer Wayne Henley. He was a young man who recruited victims for an older homosexual man. I saw some news report where Elmer Wayne ... said, “I did these crimes, and I’m gonna stand up and take it like a man.” Well, that struck me as interesting, that he had this conventional morality at that point. He wanted it known that, now that he was caught, he would do the right thing. So this kind of moral schizophrenia is something I tried to build into the characters.

The final story of note was the one where someone said The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was so horrific that it had been banned. This happened to be true, well at least in certain countries, but we didn’t know where and why or how the film had been banned. It was just left to our imaginations to ferment the worst possible scenarios as to what the film was actually about.

It was more than a decade before I got to see the film and thought it well-made, clever, and entertaining. Though I guess I would have paid top dollar to have seen the movie my fevered imagination had concocted all those years ago.
 
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More snaps of the infamous cinematic cannibal family, after the jump… 

READ ON
Posted by Paul Gallagher
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03.09.2020
10:52 am
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How Motörhead became the ‘Loudest Band in the World’ & the fake teen journalist who heard it all
03.02.2020
05:48 am
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A photo of Motörhead used in an article published in SPIN (February 1986) by journalist Scott Cohen declaring the band was “The Loudest Band on Earth.”
 
On the evening of December 2nd, 1984, Motörhead took the stage at the Variety Theater in Cleveland, Ohio. The performance was so decibel-heavy it broke the previous live sound record set by The Who on May 31st, 1976 at The Valley in London. The Who’s appearance at The Valley clocked in at an ear-shattering 120 decibels and got the band into the Guinness Book of World Records. Motörhead’s gig measured 130 decibels, exceeding what is known as the “Threshold of Pain” or, 120 decibels. If you need to know exactly how loud that is, the noise level associated with the Threshold is the equivalent of the sound emitted by a goddamned jackhammer.

Manowar would briefly become the first band to take the title of “Loudest Band in the World” from The Who during a gig in Hanover, Germany, in October of 1984, pumping 129.5 decibels through ten tons of amplifiers. However, that measurement isn’t far off Manowar’s sound requirements in their contract rider, guaranteeing that the band will deliver at least 126 decibels anytime they play live. Still, even on their best day, Manowar wasn’t able to break Motörhead’s record-setting sonic blast so loud it cracked the Variety’s ceiling, while plaster fell on the crowd. To further reinforce how loud Motörhead was that night, a man living near the venue reported he was able to record the show from his living room. This was all witnessed by the packed house at the Variety, including a 19-year-old Motörhead super fan (as well as the adult author of several books of pop culture history) who might have one of the coolest heavy metal brags of all time. And, just perhaps, balls as big as his hero Lemmy Kilmister. His name is Joseph Lanza, forever known as the kid who pretended to be a rock journalist just so he could meet Lemmy. And it’s the kind of scheme heavy metal dreams are made of.

When Lanza heard Motörhead was headed to Cleveland during their Death on the Road Tour, he got the idea he could pass himself off as a journalist and get into the show for free. His first move was to phone Motörhead’s label at the time, Mercury. Amazingly, he got put through to someone who actually bought his story—one he concocted by wildly exaggerating circulation numbers of a publication called Negative Print, a fanzine with a circulation of several dozen copies run by his friend David James. Lanza told Motörhead’s people that Negative Print’s circulation was around 130,000, pretty good for a 10-page zine made at the local Kinkos for free when James’ friends were working behind the counter.

It wasn’t until 72 hours before the show when he was contacted by Mercury telling him he had the green light to interview Lemmy Kilmister, and would be given full press credentials. Lanza’s access to Lemmy and the band included their time at Shattered Records, a headbanger-friendly record store where he hung out with a massive group of fans, as the current configuration of Motörhead (Würzel, Phil Campbell, and Pete Gill) signed albums. He was as nervous as anyone else might have been, and perhaps more so as he wasn’t actually a journalist, just a kid who loved Motörhead. He was becoming increasingly worried that he’d be tossed out at any moment once he was discovered. Lanza tried to look the part without going too far; he had a tape recorder, a pen, and a bunch of notes. Then, just like in a bad dream, moments before he was about to interview Lemmy, the batteries in his tape-recorder died.
 

A photo of the Variety’s marquee the night Motörhead murdered the venue. Photo by Joseph Lanza. See more of Lanza’s images of Motörhead in Cleveland here.
 
A few minutes later Lanza was kicking back with Lemmy and a bottle of Jack Daniels. The notoriously good-natured Kilmister had recognized Lanza’s unease as a byproduct of his young age and inexperience. The vocalist chain-smoked and drank his ever-present Jack and Coke. According to Lanza, Lemmy didn’t even care about the interview, he was having fun just hanging out. After leaving the tour bus to head to the show, Lanza realized that he had lost his pass, leaving him no way to get into the gig. Luckily he spotted Lemmy headed into the Variety and caught up to him, telling him he had lost his pass. Ever the gentleman, Lemmy took off his and handed it to Lanza, telling him to use it as he was pretty sure they knew who he was.

Once inside, Lanza and 1,900 Motörhead fans collectively blew their eardrums out to the punishing sounds of the band. The once opulent theater has stood in the same place since 1927, but had since fallen into disrepair. And Motörhead’s louder-than-fuck performance didn’t help. Nor did the multiple encores that went on and on while plaster fell on people’s heads below. It wasn’t until a maintenance worker for the Variety rightly worried about the integrity of the building due to the ongoing noise level, and went to the breaker box and shut Motörhead down. This pissed off Lemmy, but the band decided to call it a night. The show would help magnify ongoing issues with the Variety, which in addition to the building’s decay, included reports of safety concerns and after-hours loitering by patrons of the club. The Variety would close in 1986, and restoration work to bring the historic theater back to life continues to this day.
 

Footage of Motörhead rehearsing for their appearance on ITV’s Saturday morning kids show “Saturday Starship” in October of 1984. According to Lemmy, people complained because the band started warming up at 8:30 AM in the station’s parking lot. Said Lem: “I don’t know what the problem was. 8:30 AM was the time they gave us to rehearse and they put the stage up in the parking lot for us.”
 
HT: Cleveland.com

Posted by Cherrybomb
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03.02.2020
05:48 am
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Alice in Chains’ Layne Staley slaps the shit out of a Nazi-saluting skinhead in Stockholm, 1993
02.24.2020
12:55 pm
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The late Layne Staley of Alice in Chains modeling the proper reaction to someone throwing up Nazi salutes. Image source.
 
As the world seems to still need a reminder that Slap-a-Nazi-Day should be observed every damn day, let’s take a look at the example set by the late Layne Staley of Alice in Chains when he spotted one in the crowd of an AIC show in Stockholm in February of 1993.

The band was in Stockholm to play a gig at Cirkus during their two-month tour of Europe with Screaming Trees. During the band’s set, Staley took notice of a skinhead close to the stage, acting like a whirling dipshit, creating a one-man moshpit of sorts, beating members of the audience and throwing up Nazi salutes. Once AIC finished up “It Ain’t Like That” (Facelift, 1990), Layne addressed the crowd with the endearing line “We love you fucking Swedish people!” and proceeded to walk to the edge of the stage to speak to a member of Cirkus’ security team. He gestured to the skinhead who had been assaulting people in the crowd and asked him to come up on stage, telling him, “Come on, man. Come join the band—have a good time.” Randy Biro, a contributing vocalist to AIC, was there (as told in the book Alice in Chains: The Untold Story by David De Sola) to see the look on the Nazi numbskull’s mug as he responded to Layne’s invitation asking “Me?”

Staley’s showstopping moment was a puzzle to everyone including the rest of AIC and the Cirkus security team. Biro recalls wondering “why the fuck” Staley was extending an olive branch to a “douchebag” skinhead. During the confusing stand-off, Layne kept encouraging him to come up and join the band on stage, which he finally did. When the skinhead was close enough for Layne, he reached down and pulled the punch-happy asshole up on stage. He then struck him in the face twice so hard the annoying Nazi fell backward into the crowd, who were collectively having a good laugh over what they just witnessed (feel free to insert your “they did Nazi that coming” jokes here). As if Layne’s impromptu romper-stomp of a skinhead’s face wasn’t enough, as the Nazi was being taken away by security, he returned to the microphone and yelled, “Fucking Nazis DIE!”, finishing the rest of their set incident-free.

I wish this was the part where Layne Staley and the band were then shuttled off to the king of Stockholm’s gothic castle to receive the key to the city, but that didn’t happen. And that’s because it’s not actually legal to slap someone (even an aggressive, Sieg-Heiling Nazi) in the face. Layne was in trouble, and he and the band knew it.

After the gig, people were nervously ruminating about the consequences of Layne’s Nazi-slapping incident, and they were right to. John Sampson, Staley’s personal security guard, took the vocalist to a ferry bound for Finland to avoid arrest. As the rest of AIC were leaving their hotel, the local authorities showed up after getting a call from the skinhead Staley had slapped. They confiscated the band’s passports and went to apprehend Layne, who was already on the ferry. The cops boarded the ferry and arrested Staley for the incident at the show. In yet another interesting twist to this story, the skinhead’s brother (who was at the gig), had also gone to the police not to defend his sibling, but to make it clear that his brother had been “picking” on people in the crowd and Layne had stopped him. Since this story really does have a happy ending for everyone except the Nazi, the police congratulated Layne and the band and sent them on their way to the next stop of their tour, Oslo, Norway . Footage of Staley setting a skinhead straight follows.
 

Footage of Layne Staley slapping an aggressive Nazi during an Alice in Chains show in Stockholm on February 8th, 1993.
 
HT: Screaming Trees official FB page.

Posted by Cherrybomb
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02.24.2020
12:55 pm
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That Time They Opened Lord Byron’s Coffin and Found He had a Humongous Schlong
02.20.2020
08:25 am
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05lbbooklb
 
At two o’clock on June 15th, 1938, a truck pulled-up outside the church hall at St. Mary Magdalene, Hucknall Torkard, England. The vehicle was packed with planks of wood, picks, shovels, crowbars and other assorted tools. The Reverend Canon Thomas Gerrard Barber watched from a side window as a small group of workmen unloaded the vehicle. The driver leaned against the truck smoking a cigarette. His questions to the men removing the tools went unanswered. Barber had ensured all those involved in his plans were pledged to secrecy. No one had thought it possible, but somehow Barber had managed it. This was the day the reverend would oversee the opening of Lord Byron’s coffin situated in a vault beneath the church. Once the men were finished, the driver stubbed his cigarette, returned to his cab, and drove back to the depot in Nottingham.

Over the next two hours, “the Antiquary, the Surveyor, and the Doctor arrived” followed by “the Mason.” It was all rather like the appearance of suspects in a game of Clue. Their arrival was staggered so as not to attract any unwanted attention. Barber was concerned that if the public knew of his intentions there would be an outcry, or at worst a queue around the church longer than the one for his Sunday service.

Near four o’clock, the “workmen” returned. Interesting to note that Barber in his book on the events of this day, Byron and Where He is Buried, used the lower case to name these men rather the capitalization preferred for The Architect, the Mason, and those other professionals. Even in text the working class must be shown their place. Inside the church Barber discussed with the Architect and the Mason the best way to gain access to Byron’s family crypt.

An old print of the interior of the Church shows two large flagstones covering the entrance to the Vault. One of these stones can be seen at the foot of the Chancel steps. It is six feet long, two feet four inches wide, and six inches thick. It was conjectured that the other large stone was covered by the Chancel steps, and that it would be necessary first of all to remove the steps on the south side of the Chancel in order to obtain an entrance to the Vault. Before the work started it was impossible to obtain any information whatever as to the size of the Vault, and to its actual position relatively to the Chancel floor.

Barber was a strange man, an odd mix of contrary passions.. He was as the Fortean Times noted, “a passionate admirer of Byron and a determined controversialist: a dangerous combination, it transpired, in a man placed in charge of the church where the poet had been buried.” For whatever reason, Barber believed he had some connection with the great poet. He never quite made this connection clear but alluded to it like Madame Arcati waffling on about her “vibrations” claiming he had “a personal appointment with Byron.” He was proud the poet had been buried at his church but was deeply concerned that Byron’s body might not actually reside there.
 
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Between 1887 and 1888, there had been restoration work at St. Mary Magdalene “to allow for the addition of transepts.” This meant digging into the foundation. Though promises were made (by the architects and builders) that there would be no damage or alterations to Lord Byron’s vault, Barber feared that this was exactly what had happened. This thought dripped, dripped, dripped, and made Barber anxious about the whereabouts of the dead poet.

Early in 1938, he confided his fears to the church warden A. E. Houldsworth. Barber expressed his intention to examine the Byron vault and “clear up all doubts as to the Poet’s burial place and compile a record of the contents of the vault.”

He wrote to his local Member of Parliament requesting permission from the Home Office to open the crypt. He also wrote to the surviving Lord Byron, who was then Vicar of Thrumpton, asking for his permission to enter the family vault. The vicar gave his agreement and “expressed his fervent hope that great family treasure would be discovered with his ancestors and returned to him.”
 
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At four o’clock, the doors to the church were locked. Inside, around forty (where the fuck did they come from?) invited guests (er…okay….) waited expectantly for the opening of Byron’s vault (what else where they expecting…vespers?). According to notes written by Houldsworth, among those in attendance was one name that Bart Simpson would surely appreciate:

Rev. Canon Barber & his wife
Mr Seymour Cocks MP [lol]
N. M. Lane, diocesan surveyor
Mr Holland Walker
Capt & Mrs McCraith
Dr Llewellyn
Mr & Mrs G. L. Willis (vicar’s warden)
Mr & Mrs c. G. Campbell banker
Mr Claude Bullock, photographer
Mr Geoffrey Johnstone
Mr Jim Bettridge (church fireman)

Of the rest in attendance, Houldsworth hadn’t a Scooby, other than he was surprised that so many had been invited by the good Reverend. As the workmen opened the vault, the guests discussed curtains, mortgages, flower-arranging, and the possibility of war.

At six-thirty, the masons finally removed the slab. A breath of cool, dank air rose into the warm church. Doctor Llewellyn lowered a miner’s safety lamp into the opening to test the air. It was fine. Barber then became (as he described it) “the first to make the descent” into the vault.

His first impression was “one of disappointment.”

It was totally different from what I had imagined. I had seen in my imagination a large sepulchral chamber with shelves inserted in the walls and arranged above one another, and on each shelf a coffin. To find myself in a Vault of the smallest dimensions, and coffins at my feet stacked one upon another with no apparent attempt at arrangement, giving the impression that they had almost been thrown into position, was at first an outrage to my sense of reverence and decency. I descended the steps with very mixed feelings. I could not bring myself to believe that this was the Vault as it had been originally built, nor yet could I could I allow myself to think that the coffins were in their original positions. Had the size of the Vault been reduced and the coffins moved at the time of the 1887-1888 restoration, to allow for the building of the two foot wall on the north of the Vault as an additional support for the Chancel floor?

Pondering these questions, Barber returned to the church. He then invited his guests to retire to the Church House for some tea and refreshments while he considered what to do next. The three workmen were left behind.
 
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With their appetites sated, the Reverend and his guests returned to the church and the freshly opened vault.

From a distant view the two coffins appeared to be in excellent condition. They were each surmounted by a coronet… The coronet on the centre coffin bore six orbs on long stems, but the other coronet had apparently been robbed of the silver orbs which had originally been fixed on short stems close to the rim.

The coffins were covered with purple velvet, now much faded, and some of the handles removed. A closer examination revealed the centre coffin to be that of Byron’s daughter Augusta Ada, Lady Lovelace.

At the foot of the staircase, resting on a child’s lead coffin was a casket which, according to the inscription on the wooden lid and on the casket inside, contained the heart and brains of Lord Noel Byron. The vault also contained six other lead shells all in a considerable state of dissolution–the bottom coffins in the tiers being crushed almost flat by the immense weight above them.

Then Barber noticed that “there were evident signs that the Vault had been disturbed, and the poet’s coffin opened.” He called upon Mr. Claude Bullock to take photographs of the coffin. With the knowledge that someone had opened Byron’s coffin, Barber began to worry about what lay inside.

Someone had deliberately opened the coffin. A horrible fear came over me that souvenirs might have been taken from within the coffin. The idea was revolting, but I could not dismiss it. Had the body itself been removed? Horrible thought!

Eventually after much dithering, Barber opened the casket to find another coffin inside.

Dare I look within? Yes, the world should know the truth—that the body of the great poet was there—or that the coffin was empty. Reverently, very reverently, I raised the lid, and before my eyes there lay the embalmed body of Byron in as perfect a condition as when it was placed in the coffin one hundred and fourteen years ago. His features and hair easily recognisable from the portraits with which I was so familiar. The serene, almost happy expression on his face made a profound impression on me. The feet and ankles were uncovered., and I was able to establish the fact that his lameness had been that of his right foot. But enough—I gently lowered the lid of the coffin—and as I did so, breathed a prayer for the peace of his soul.

 
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His fears were quashed, Barber was happy with what he had done. Basically dug up a grave for reasons of personal vanity. The Reverend Barber does come across as a bit of a pompous git. He was also disingenuous as the one thing he failed to mention about Byron’s corpse was the very attribute that shocked some and titillated others.

Barber was correct someone had already opened Byron’s coffin. But this did not happen during the church’s restoration in 1887-88 but less than an hour prior to his examination of Byron’s corpse. Houldsworth and his hired workmen had entered the crypt while Barber and his pals had tea.

Houldsworth went down into the crypt where he saw that Byron’s coffin was missing its nameplate, brass ornaments, and velvet covering. Though it looked solid it was soft and spongy to the touch. He called upon two workmen (Johnstone and Bettridge) to help raise the lid. Inside was a lead shell. When this was removed, another wooden coffin was visible inside.

After raising this we were able to see Lord Byron’s body which was in an excellent state of preservation. No decomposition had taken place and the head, torso and limbs were quite solid. The only parts skeletonised were the forearms, hands, lower shins, ankles and feet, though his right foot was not seen in the coffin. The hair on his head, body and limbs was intact, though grey. His sexual organ shewed quite abnormal development. There was a hole in his breast and at the back of his head, where his heart and brains had been removed. These are placed in a large urn near the coffin. The manufacture, ornaments and furnishings of the urn is identical with that of the coffin. The sculptured medallion on the church chancel wall is an excellent representation of Lord Byron as he still appeared in 1938.

There was a rumor long shared that Byron lay in his coffin with a humongous erection. This, of course, is just a myth. As Houldsworth later told journalist Byron Rogers of the Sheffield Star newspaper the idea came to the three workmen to open the poet’s coffin when Barber and co. had disappeared for tea:

“We didn’t take too kindly to that,” said Arnold Houldsworth. “I mean, we’d done the work. And Jim Bettridge suddenly says, ‘Let’s have a look on him.’ ‘You can’t do that,’ I says. ‘Just you watch me,’ says Jim. He put his spade in, there was a layer of wood, then one of lead, and I think another one of wood. And there he was, old Byron.”
“Good God, what did he look like?” I said.
“Just like in the portraits. He was bone from the elbows to his hands and from the knees down, but the rest was perfect. Good-looking man putting on a bit of weight, he’d gone bald. He was quite naked, you know,” and then he stopped, listening for something that must have been a clatter of china in the kitchen, where his wife was making tea for us, for he went on very quickly,  “Look, I’ve been in the Army, I’ve been in bathhouses, I’ve seen men. But I never saw nothing like him.” He stopped again, and nodding his head, meaningfully, as novelists say, began to tap a spot just above his knee. “He was built like a pony.”
“How many of you take sugar?” said Mrs Houldsworth, coming with the tea.

Whether any of the Reverend Barber’s guests saw Lord Byron’s corpse in the flesh (so to speak) and what they made of it, has never been recorded, other than some of the women felt faint when leaving the crypt, but there may have a light of admiration dancing in their eyes. Barber later returned to the vault on his own at midnight to keep his “personal appointment with Byron” and to most likely to ogle at the size of the great poet’s knob.

Lord Byron—poet, adventurer, rebel, adulterer, and a man hung like a horse.
 
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H/T Flashbak and Fortean Times.
 

 

Posted by Paul Gallagher
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02.20.2020
08:25 am
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Punk magazine’s ‘Patti Smith Graffiti Contest’
02.11.2020
11:58 am
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One of the entries for Punk magazine’s “Patti Smith Graffiti Contest” from 1976.
 
One of my very favorite possessions in my home library is the massive 2012 coffee table book Punk: The Best of Punk Magazine, gifted to me by a punk rock pal of mine. If you don’t already own a copy of it, find a way to part with $20 (or so), buy the book, and I promise you won’t ever regret it. Every so often, I pick it up and start reading from a random entry point and am taken back to the magazine’s heyday and its gritty yet comical approach to covering the punks of the scene when it began its glorious print run in 1975.

Core components of Punk were the comic strips based on the fictional exploits of the punk elite, the photo pictorials used for “The Legend of Nick Detroit” (starring Richard Hell) and another epic punk rock tale, “Mutant Monster Beach Party.” Both pictorial “movies” featured appearances by, well, everybody involved in the New York City punk scene and beyond, like David Byrne, Debbie Harry, Andy Warhol and Joey Ramone. Punk marched to the beat of its own high-hat-loving drum kit, but they also did regular magazine stuff like running contests.

In 1979 Punk solicited submissions from readers for their Patti Smith Graffiti Contest, requesting that they deface a press photo of Patti. When Volume I, Issue #5 published in August of 1976, the magazine noted it was still receiving entries commenting they “maybe” might print more, but they “doubt it.” Eight Graffiti-inspired press photos of Patti were chosen for the three-page, black and white layout and run the gamut from Patti looking a bit like Alice Cooper (pictured at the top of this post), to a topless collage of Patti (with her name spelled “Paty”) with tattooed boobs. It would take three more years for Punk to launch the Shaun Cassidy Graffiti Contest, announcing it in Punk #17 in 1979. Submissions were strong, but sadly, Issue #19 was scrapped, Da-Doo-Womp-Womp. Lucky for us, Punk’s John Holstrom included nine of the brutal illustrations of Cassidy, sent to Punk in Punk: The Best Of Punk Magazine. What a time to be alive. Some of the images that follow are NSFW.
 

Scribbles announcing the winners of the Patti Smith contest. The photo below is the one mentioned, sent in by Bimbo.
 

 

 
More after the jump…

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Posted by Cherrybomb
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02.11.2020
11:58 am
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More cover songs from the man behind Orkestra Obsolete’s ‘Blue Monday’
02.07.2020
10:31 am
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Who are these masked men? That was the question many people were asking when a video popped up on their timeline four years ago featuring band called Orkestra Obsolete covering New Order’s “Blue Monday.” Who indeed?

Little was revealed about this talented bunch of musos other than they were performing “Blue Monday” to illustrate what a classic synth song would sound like without synthesizers. The man behind this classic piece of promo is the immensely talented Scottish musician Angus McIntyre, who is better known as a highly successful TV producer and director.

McIntyre recently uploaded the original uncolorized version of the Orkestra track to his YouTube page where he explained something of the film’s background:

A few years ago I was asked by a BBC producer to make a short three minute film about the synthesiser, and then I thought it might be interesting to do a “what if there were no synthesisers?” scenario. Or something. I roped in my pals Graeme Miller - a skilled theremin and musical saw-ist, and Sven Werner - an amazing artist who has a fantastic studio space. Sound artist and film-maker Nicola Reade and myself worked together on the overall style and approach, and I arranged and directed it using a few tricks I’d learned making Gugug videos.

Gugug videos? More on that later.

For the recording of the Orkestra’s version of “Blue Monday,” McIntyre played drums, ukulele-banjo, tongue drum, piano strings, effects, lap steel, harmonium, clavioline, and sang vocals. He’s a talented little fucker. And an all-round good guy. Also, playing/involved but uncredited on the original were Michael Pappas (camera) and Richard Anderson (double bass).
 

 
More from Angus McIntyre and Gugug, after the jump….
 

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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02.07.2020
10:31 am
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The story behind Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ comedy classic ‘Ripping Yarns’
01.29.2020
08:57 am
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Poor Terry Jones, what a fucking dreadful way to go. Dementia—which sick fucker came up with that one? Death’s a right evil bastard. My old man had dementia and Alzheimer’s and a whole load of other shit, and I tell you it is not pleasant to watch anyone go through that disabling, destructive, and utterly horrendous disease. If that ever happens to me, well, I’ll be getting the shotgun out, so long as I can remember where I put it…

Terry Jones was an immensely talented, genuinely funny, intelligent, cuddly man, who along with his cohorts in Monty Python changed comedy as the Beatles changed music. With his long-term writing partner, Michael Palin, Jones produced some of the best comedy sketches and series and movies of the past sixty years. My word, that’s a helluva a long time.

One of the highlights that Jones and Palin devised, wrote and made was Ripping Yarns. Now, there were three series that came out of Monty Python that had an equal revolutionary effect on television comedy. Firstly, and only in order of broadcast not in order of success, there was John Cleese with Fawlty Towers (co-written with Connie Booth); then Eric Idle’s god-like series Rutland Weekend Television—from which came the Rutles; and thirdly, Palin and Jones’ Ripping Yarns, which planted its flag on the map first long before The Comic Strip Presents….
 
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After the Pythons went their separate ways, there was an idea idly passed around the controllers at the BBC over lunch and in the club that maybe there should be a Light Entertainment show with that lovely Michael Palin. It seemed a winner. Palin was approached but no one had the right idea what The Michael Palin Show should be. Only Palin was certain it should be different, original, and breaking new ground. Though the BBC seemed to only want to work with Palin, he was determined to work with his writing partner Jones. The two writers came up with a new kind of comedy series called Ripping Yarns, with a different story, a different genre every week, and no repeating characters. It was a bold move. The BBC tested out the writers’ idea with pilot called Tomkinson’s Schooldays.

Loosely based on Palin’s own experiences at school, Tomkinson’s Schooldays was a tremendous hit with both the public and critics alike, and the BBC immediately commissioned a series. Each episode presented a mini-comedy drama in 30-minutes. Tales of derring-do from a bygone age, well, really from the Boy’s Own stories popular when Palin and Jones were lads. The first series contained six episodes. A second series was commissioned, but due to production costs the BBC lost its nerve and cancelled the show after three episodes. A great loss, which also had a detrimental effect on the writing partnership of Palin and Jones who drifted apart after the series.

Over ten years ago, I was fortunate enough to produce a documentary strand for the BBC called Comedy Connections, which examined the stories and connections behind classic British TV comedy shows—just like the title suggests. I had a shortlist of what I wanted to make for the series, but had to drop some favorites like Rutland Weekend Television and The League Gentlemen in favor of programs like Sorry! I know, you’ve never heard of it either. Anyway, thank fuck I didn’t have to do Duty Free or The Brittas Empire. However, I did squeeze in quite a few faves, including Michael Palin and Terry Jones’ brilliant Ripping Yarns. Now, run VT.
 

 
More from ‘Ripping Yarns,’ after the jump…
 

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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01.29.2020
08:57 am
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Drinking the Goat’s Blood: Diabolical vintage hazing props from DeMoulin Bros. & Co.
01.27.2020
04:22 am
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An ad in the 1930 DeMoulin Bros. & Co. catalog for a product called “Drinking the Goat’s Blood.”
 
Founded by three brothers in 1892, DeMoulin Bros. & Co. put out their final “side degree” (a term used to define other Masonic bodies or orders) catalog in 1930. The catalog offers a wide variety of sophisticated devices used to haze incoming Masonic candidates before the practice of hazing new initiations was banned some time in the 1930s. According to people familiar with Masonic history, there was a large influx of membership to the Masons following WWI. This influx drove an increase in the popularity of hazing, thus making the business of selling hazing contraptions quite profitable until the arrival of the Great Depression.

Among the hazing accessories sold by DeMoulin Bros. & Co were a trick guillotine and something called “Drinking the Goat’s Blood.” According to well-informed Masons, “Drinking the Goat’s Blood” is culled from the expression “Kiss the Goat,” and the established Masonic acronym, GAOTU, or “Grand Architect of the Universe.” The gag-me gag is basically an amped-up version of the game we all played as kids, daring someone to drink an undisclosed glass full of something, all of it gross, or never live down the fact you wimped out. In the case of DeMoulin Bros. & Co.‘s “Drinking the Goat’s Blood,” they suggest the bucket be filled with all kinds of detritus like old shoes, rags, leaves, sticks, cigar butts, already-chewed tobacco, and presumably anything else that would churn the candidate’s gut. The cost of this tricked out bucket to mindfuck prospective members? A mere $12.50. But don’t trust my endorsement (because it had me at “drinking the goat’s blood”), here’s an actual testimonial about DeMoulin Bros. & Co.‘s blood bucket from Thos. Goughler, of the Amurath Siesta Princes of Bagdad “77” (a side order of the Knights of Malta) operating in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania:

“The paraphernalia that we have received has been very satisfactory in all ways and has proved very successful to this organization. We always look forward to putting it in action, and we have also increased our membership with the articles that we have received from your Company.”

In addition to their proto-Jackass props, DeMoulin also outfitted churches with everything from pews to pulpits; circuses with circus equipment, and so much more, including high school marching band uniforms—and they are still in operation today. Just don’t try to place an order for DeMoulin’s 100-pound guillotine—nicely priced in 1930 at $37.00—which came with the option to add a “cloth spattered with blood” and/or decapitated head (realistic or paper mache) for a few bucks more.

Now DeMoulin Bros. & Co. outfits marching bands and color guards—BOO! If you happen to be in Illinois, you can see some of DeMoulin’s creations up close at the DeMoulin Museum. There is also a book, The Extraordinary Catalog of Peculiar Inventions: The Curious World of the DeMoulin Brothers and Their Fraternal Lodge Prank Machines which has cataloged the vast history of DeMoulin’s existence. Getting back to 1930, let’s take a look at some of the equipment from DeMoulin Bros. & Co. that made hazing FUN. Because nothing says fun like five different kinds of mechanical goats or the 1930’s version of “The Human Centipede.”
 

DeMoulin’s Devil, now fully electrified for your displeasure.
 

DeMoulin’s electrified human-sized bird cages.
 

DeMoulin’s Charleston Girls were life-size rag dolls that came in a range of sizes from “thin” to “fat.” A member from a lodge in Kansas noted in his testimonial (above) “we certainly have had a good time with them and all the members are anxious to use them.” Another lodge in Florida stated their membership had increased 200% since the arrival of the Charleston Girls.
 
Much more mechanical mayhem from DeMoulin Bros. & Co. after the jump…

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Posted by Cherrybomb
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01.27.2020
04:22 am
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