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Etchings of Parisian prostitutes and drug addicts portray ‘deadly and delicious passions’
11.21.2016
12:30 pm

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Art
Drugs
Sex

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Édouard Chimot was an artist, editor and writer whose career burned brightly through the 1920s but fizzled out during the 1930s and forties. His artwork was a last hurrah for the decadent world portrayed (and generally indulged in) by many French artists during the 1890s.

Born in Lille in 1880, Chimot studied at his local art college and at the École des Arts décoratifs in Nice. It’s fair to say, not much is known about Chimot during this period—though it has been posited he may have originally started out as an architect before switching career to becoming an artist. This may explain why he didn’t exhibit until he was in his early thirties in 1912.

His first exhibition featured drawings, etchings and paintings of the “jeunes et jolies femmes”—the prostitutes and drug addicts who worked and lived near his studio in Montmartre. Chimot often paid these women to sit for him—as prostitutes were often cheaper to hire than models especially when paying by the night. He was heavily influenced by the Symbolist movement of the 1860s to 1890s—writers Charles Baudelaire, Stéphane Mallarmé, and Paul Verlaine; artists Félicien Rops and the Post-Impressionist Toulouse Lautrec. The success of his first show gained Chimot his a commission to illustrate René Baudu’s Les Après-midi de Montmartre—a depiction of seedy lowlife in Paris’s 18th arrondissement.

However, Chimot’s career was once again halted this time by a far more deadly and dangerous interlude—the First World War. Chimot served for almost five years in French army. One can only surmise what happened to him during this time. Yet, it may be possible to ascertain something of his grim experience from the comments of philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein who once wrote that during war he never felt more alive than when in proximity to death. Wittgenstein’s bloody experience led him to some recklessness behavior—volunteering for several near fatal (if not downright suicidal)  missions.

On leaving the trenches, this intense experience led Wittgenstein to a burst of creativity. Something similar undoubtedly happened to Chimot—who produced a large portfolio of drawings and etchings upon quitting the army. This portfolio formed the basis of illustrations published in books—including Les Après-midi de Montmartre.

Most of these artworks were featured in limited edition books—which catered to the tastes of an exceedingly rich clientele. Chimot’s frenzied burst of activity produced his trademark monochromatic erotica of his favored “deadly and delicious passions”—prostitutes, drug addicts and lost young girls. His work tended to romanticize this shabby world of poverty, disease and addiction—but there are moments when his etchings captured some fleeting awareness at the depths of their despair. All that prostitution and skulls without thinking that men might have something to do with it.

Chimot’s career blossomed. He became an editor of Les Éditions d’Art Devambez—responsible for producing fine quality limited editions imprints of such infamous tales as Les Chansons de Bilitis, La Troisième Jeunesse de Madame Prune, Les Belles de Nuit and Mitsou. He also brought together a group of prominent writers and artists like Henri Barbusse, Collette, Pierre Brissaud and Tsuguharu Foujita.

However, his career came quickly unstuck by two very different forces—the major advances in art (Cubism, Fauvism, Dada, Surrealism and Abstraction) and most damagingly the Wall Street Crash which overnight killed off the demand for high-end exclusive erotica. Chimot carried on—but never to the same success. He moved to Spain where he produced artworks that now looked sadly dated, trite and often the kind of representations seen on sailor’s tattoos or low rent pulp magazines. The glory days of Chimot’s best work were over—the early 1920s when he produced some of the most memorable and haunting images for works of decadent literature.
 
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More of Chimot’s decadent art, after the jump…

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Leave a comment
You need to fail a breathalyzer to enter Amsterdam’s Hangover Bar
11.18.2016
09:35 am

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Drugs

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Late night revelers in Amsterdam now have a destination for recovery for those painful mornings after—if not afternoons after. It’s probably good news that it’s the invention of a mattress entrepreneur. The appropriately named Hangover Bar provides a soothing environment where visitors are encouraged to lounge around and take it easy, but they’re serious about their mandate. Not just anyone can visit the Hangover Bar—you have to fail a breathalyzer test on the way in to prove that you still have alcohol in your system.

The Hangover Bar is the brainchild of a popular Dutch mattress company called Matt Sleeps, so the target audience understands exactly what is meant by its slogan “Dance all night, Matt all day.” The bar is open every Friday through Sunday from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m.

The space has plenty of calming greenery as well as several comfy beds to choose from—each outfitted with a Matt mattress, of course. Every bed has a TV so you can binge-watch You’re the Worst (for some reason that seems the most appropriate show for this place) but instead of being isolated, you can socialize while you recover. The Hangover Bar also offers an oxygen bar and massage therapy.
 

 
The promotional video for Hangover Bar lays out eight essential components (or options, at least) of a successful hangover experience:
 

refreshing environment
hydration
comfy Matt bed
favourite movie
vitamines [sic]
games
fresh oxygen
hangover food

 
In the video, “hangover food” is defined as sushi and pizza. I don’t know how serious they are about the breathalyzer, but the video does show someone hitting .65 on it.

More after the jump…

Posted by Martin Schneider | Leave a comment
Abbie Hoffman’s mournful musings on watching Janis Joplin shoot up
11.17.2016
09:33 am

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Activism
Books
Drugs
Music
Politics

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Abbie Hoffman’s 1969 Woodstock Nation is an essential read for students of the intersections of rock music and politics. Hoffman wrote it in 1969 while he was awaiting the Chicago Eight conspiracy trial in which he was a co-defendant for inciting the 1968 Chicago DNC riots, and it’s a stream-of-semiconsciousness musing on the state of American youth culture, specifically as of the massive and zeitgeist-altering Woodstock music festival.

That festival was famously full of bummers—rain, the brown acid, goddamned Sha Na Na—and Hoffman himself was one of them, too. He worked hard to establish a “Movement City” on the Bethel, NY concert site, intending to try to radicalize concertgoers. But the tent was so far from the stage as to seem to marginalize politics from the festival. Hoffman, in protest, famously took the stage during The Who’s set to scold the audience for having fun while John Sinclair rotted in jail for having two joints. (In fairness there were probably way more than two joints worth of weed per audience member on that site so he maybe kinda had a point, though he was inarguably a peevish dick about making it. Also, interrupting THE WHO for fuck’s sake seems a poor way to win converts.) Just as famous as Hoffman’s tirade was Who guitarist Pete Townshend’s unequivocally disapproving removal of Hoffman from the stage—by swatting him off with his guitar. That move alone earned a huge swell of applause.

Hoffman targets Townshend in one of Woodstock Nation’s more memorable passages, but what concerns us today comes from “The Head Withers as the Body Grows,” an epilogue Hoffman wrote especially for the 1971 Pocketbooks reprint of the book. Excerpts from it were reproduced in the October 1971 issue of Circus under the provocative title “Woodstock: a Tin Pan Alley Rip Off,” and they offer a poignant view of Hoffman’s disillusionment about the failure of the revolution, the deaths of Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, and the ascension to complacent millionaire stardom of most of the other important rockers. And the article opens with a terribly sad, elegiac passage about watching Joplin shoot heroin, and what her death would mean, not to music, but to the music business.
 

 

Somewhere deep inside the bowels of the monster born in Bethel also lay the kernel for its destruction. Perhaps it was the egocentric greed of the Rock Empire itself. Maybe it was the strain of cannibalism inherited from our parents and exaggerated when cramped into railroad flats in the slums or on muddy shoes in front of the gargantuan stages. The rapes, the bad acid burns, stealing from each other, they, too, were part of the Woodstock experience, if not the Nation. Smack and speed didn’t help. “Shooting up” is more than just a casual expression. It is symbolic of the suicidal death trip, the frustration, the despair. It is another way to bring the apocalypse a little closer.

Janis was the heroine of the Woodstock Nation. Bold and sassy, her energy could ignite millions. I saw her perform all over the country. In the funky old Aragon Ballroom in Chicago, in the Fillmores West and East, on TV, backstage where she would line up a row of twenty studs, in the Chelsea Hotel bar and on the street. She used to drop into our place at all sorts of weird hours when we lived around the corner from the Fillmore East. She was the only person I ever saw use a needle. When she popped in a load and pulled out the works, she’d cluck her tongue making a sucking noise and her face would break out into a shit-eatin grin. The very thought of it makes me shiver. You couldn’t know Janis without knowing her death was near and you couldn’t know the Rock Empire without knowing her death would mean a bundle to the horde of enterprising vultures who choose to pick at the corpse.

More after the jump…

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Leave a comment
Nostalgic glass bongs for people of a certain age
11.14.2016
10:11 am

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Amusing
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It’s not like these are the most beautiful bongs my eyes have ever laid on, but I do however, find them dumbly hilarious in a nostalgic way. When I saw the MTV-themed Beavis and Butt-Head bongs I certainly did laugh out loud. They’re ridiculous. The bongs are by an artist named John de Fazio.

The Ren & Stimpy bongs are good, but I much prefer the craftsmanship of the Beavis and Butt-Head ones.

There are no prices for the bongs. I’m not even sure if they’re for sale.


 
More after the jump…

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
‘Pot Brownies’: Texas lawyers’ country song about insane drug laws is actually really awesome!
11.10.2016
10:30 am

Topics:
Crime
Drugs
Music
U.S.A.!!!

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The Waco, TX law firm of Hutson & Harris is a diverse practice, covering personal injury & wrongful death, criminal law, probate, family law, and even immigration (immigration law in Texas must be a lively gig even without the wall we’re TOTALLY GONNA BUILD, HE PROMISED), but their true distinguishing mark is that Will Hutson and Chris Harris are country singers who give legal advice in song on their YouTube channel.

It sounds like this could be highly goofy, but they’re no joke—Hutson & Harris sing and harmonize together very well, and their songs are highly informative, too! For example, here’s a thing I never would have guessed: in Texas, marijuana edibles are considered marijuana for purposes of weight. Since felony possession is 4 ounces (according to NORML), a half dozen pot brownies equals a jail sentence and a ten thousand dollar fine irrespective of how much pot is in the brownies. That Texas penal codes can be draconian is sufficiently well-known that it’s a national punch-line, but putting people away for narcotics felonies based on the weight of flour, cocoa, and eggs is goddamn crazy.

Hutson & Harris have a song about it. Wanna hear it? Here it goes:
 

 
They have songs about other subjects as well, including how not to talk to an insurance company, and an actually totally awesome parody of Waylon Jennings’ “Amanda” called “Miranda.” But they have enough material covering marijuana laws to prompt wonder if they themselves don’t, um, partake from time to time themselves?

After the jump, enjoy the virally popular “Don’t Eat Your Weed”

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Leave a comment
Dispatches from the edge of the toilet bowl: Hunter S. Thompson’s deranged ‘hangover cure’
11.07.2016
12:15 pm

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Amusing
Drugs
Heroes

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Since this is a “hangover cure” prescribed by the good Dr. Hunter S. Thompson I wouldn’t get too excited about it actually working, much less the notion that you’d actually survive the experience of taking Thompson up on his extreme advice on how to rid yourself of a hangover.

In this hand-scrawled letter from Thompson (penned on his Thompson’s own Rolling Stone Magazine “National Correspondent” letterhead) to then-Playboy editor David Butler, Thompson reveals his terrifyingly gonzo solution for ridding yourself of a hangover. Thompson was on assignment for the magazine tasked with writing an article about a fishing competition in Cozumel, Mexico which would become The Great Shark Hunt. In the event that you’re suffering from a hangover right now, I’ve transcribed Thompson’s dubious instructions below. Which in no way should be considered an endorsement of the good doctor’s advice:

P.S.—inre: Qui’s request for “my hangover cure”—it’s 12 Amyl Nitrates (one box), in conjunction with as many beers as necessary. OK H

I’ve had my fair share of hangovers and if you have too then you know how horrible they are, and that while suffering through a particular bad one that you’d consider selling your first-born if it meant this would relieve your self-inflicted symptoms. While there’s really no cure for a hangover (I’m looking at you delicious Bloody Mary) outside of not drinking alcohol I’m here to tell you that the only person who probably ever followed Thompson’s advice is likely no longer with us. Much like the thrill-seeking journalist himself. An image of Thompson’s “prescription” follows.
 

 
More after the jump…

Posted by Cherrybomb | Leave a comment
A book to blow minds: ‘The Day-Glo Designers Guide’
10.28.2016
02:07 pm

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Art
Drugs
History

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Cleveland, Ohio’s Day-Glo Color Corp. is “the world’s largest manufacturer of daylight fluorescent pigments.” They’ve been making their trip-friendly colors since the 1930s. This was right around the time that LSD was first made by Albert Hofmann in Switzerland. Synchronicity is occasionally quite cosmic.

In 1969, the Day-Glo company published a book to illustrate how their paints and inks could be used in commercial concepts. The Day-Glo Designer’s Guide is full of vibrantly psychedelic artwork including some fluorescent takes on Bert Stern’s iconic photos of Marilyn Monroe, a Karlheinz Stockhausen album cover, a Peter Max portrait of Toulouse Lautrec, pop-up flower garden, The Grateful Dead at The Playboy Mansion, Sammy Davis Jr. book cover and a packet of loose Day-Glo overlays and charts for use in lithography printing. It’s amazing how many “straight” corporations jumped on a style of graphics that was so clearly associated with the drug culture of the time. Airlines, banks, the British Commonwealth, food products and department stores jumped into the lysergic pool and hoped that they’d seem a lot hipper than they really were. For most of us hippies it looked like exactly what it was: “the man” was copping our culture. But we were too stoned to care.

In 1978, X-Ray Spex had a UK hit with a celebration of Cleveland’s greatest contribution to psychedelia with the song “The Day The World Turned Day-Glo.” The lyrics absolutely perfect: 

I clambered over mounds and mounds
Of polystyrene foam
And fell into a swimming pool
Filled with fairy snow
And watched the world turn day-glo
you know you know
The world turned day-glo you know

I wrenched the nylon curtains back
As far as they would go
And peered through perspex window panes
At the acrylic road

I drove my polypropylene
Car on wheels of sponge
Then pulled into a Wimpy bar
To have a rubber bun

The X-rays were penetrating
Through the latex breeze
Synthetic fibre see-thru leaves
Fell from the Rayon trees

 

 
So take a little trip down the swirling fluorescent river of Day-Glo with these images from the very rare The Day-Glo Designer’s Guide. I tried buying the book but I didn’t have a thousand dollars to spare. See every page from the guide here.
 

 

 

 
Much more Day-Glo after the jump…

Posted by Marc Campbell | Leave a comment
Party’s over!: Coke party comes to an abrupt end
10.24.2016
09:19 am

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Amusing
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This video has been making the rounds on the Internet since late last week, but I’m just seeing it. Maybe I’ve been too wrapped up reading all the political nonsense online? If you haven’t seen it yet, click play for a good laugh.

This video, the story of an ill-fated tray of gak, is a nice break from reality. I can’t wait until this election is over. You?

 
via Das Kraftfuttermischwerk

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
Giant John Waters head bong
10.14.2016
02:34 pm

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Amusing
Design
Drugs

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Image via NikkiSwarm on Instagram

I completely adore this huge ceramic John Waters head bong by artist John de Fazio. The piece is currently on exhibit in Los Angeles at Venus Over Manhattan. (Looks more like a “pipe” to me, but the Internet is calling it a “bong.”)

Fun fact: During his brief tenure at NYU in 1966, a young John Waters was involved in the first major pot bust on a college campus. University authorities asked the students involved to keep quiet about the incident, but Waters called the New York Daily News the next day giving the tabloid paper an interview about what had happened.

Photo by Nicole McClure AKA Nikki Swarm on Instagram and Twitter

Posted by Tara McGinley | Leave a comment
Anti-drug PSAs by Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and the rest of the ‘Looney Tunes’ gang
10.14.2016
09:23 am

Topics:
Amusing
Animation
Drugs

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According to Discogs, the National Association Of Progressive Radio Announcers, Inc. made only three records. On the first, 72 Vote P.S.A.‘s, everyone from Howdy Doody to Daniel Ellsberg pleaded with you, the 18-21 head so lately enfranchised by the passage of the 26th Amendment, to register and vote in the Nixon-McGovern contest.

NARPA’s other two releases were Get Off (1973) and Get Off II (1975), collections of anti-drug PSAs by practically the whole cast of 70s showbiz: Alice Cooper, the Eagles, Dr. John, Brewer & Shipley, Black Oak Arkansas, Yes, Papa John Creach, Grand Funk, the Dead, New Riders of the Purple Sage, George Carlin, Curtis Mayfield, Stevie Wonder, Frank Zappa, War, the Staple Singers, the O’Jays, Robin Trower, Bill Withers, Carly Simon, James Taylor, Linda Ronstadt, John McLaughlin, Three Dog Night, Dave Mason, and Star Trek‘s Kirk and Spock all contributed. Perhaps it’s no surprise then that the great Mel Blanc appeared on Get Off II as himself and five of his Looney Tunes characters, Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, Foghorn Leghorn, Porky Pig, and Yosemite Sam.
 

 
As you can probably tell by looking at the cover of Get Off II, these PSAs were strictly against hard drugs. Because I grew up during the absolutist D.A.R.E. years, I was relieved to hear that Bugs just wants me to stay away from smack and downers. He doesn’t say a word about pot, acid, or mescaline, bless him!

Blanc’s PSAs start out upbeat and lighthearted. As the band strikes up “Hail to the Chief,” Daffy addresses the nation:

Hello, America, this is Daffy Duck! I may be daffy, but I’m not crazy. I’m smart enough to know that hard drugs like heroin and downers are a bummer. Don’t fool with ‘em! Take it from yours truly—dangerous drugs are despicable! See ya.

But they quickly turn dark. Foghorn Leghorn demands, “What are those red and yellow pills you got there?” Porky Pig sounds like he has been severely traumatized by going to a party where everyone was “m-m-mumbling” and using “hard drugs, l-l-like smack and d-d-downers.” And Yosemite Sam complains that there are no tough guys left because they have all been turned to “mashed potatoes” by the ravages of skag. It’s like a real bummer, man…
 
Listen, after the jump…

Posted by Oliver Hall | Leave a comment
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