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Watch teaser for ‘Lost Futures: A Film About Mark Fisher’ with music by Mark Stewart
07.26.2022
05:44 am
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Photo of Mark Stewart by Chiara Meattelli and Dominic Lee

Mark Stewart on Mark Fisher:
“HE CAME FROM THE PRESENT TO SAVE THE FUTURE AND CHANGE THE PAST.”

The question Mark, is this: Where to begin the discussion of the great free-thinker and theorist that was Mark Fisher – when the object was somebody who dealt with the ambiguity of time itself?

Can I outdo the last intellectual missive on the matter? I very much doubt it. Should I want to? If I learnt anything about Mark, I can wholeheartedly say no, I shouldn’t.  He would much rather I invest my time reaching the audiences, who as yet, are entirely unaware of both him and his work.  Or, better still, devising methods of my own, capable of derailing the deluge of despair, that dictates your cyclical resignation to “whatever will be, will be”, as Doris once sang.  Mark’s switching of the baton to me, is not a position of privilege that I, and I alone hold, you understand? Mark made the case for all to seize it – and in turn pass it on – if we are to achieve what is required to tack through the ill-wind that blows. And that is poignant. For it was Raymond Briggs, who, with his graphic novel When The Wind Blows (pub. 1982), made his much needed anti-nuclear narrative, accessible to children.  Briggs, like Fisher and other great writers, recognised that in order to avert what is seen by some as the inevitable future – one must reach the youngest of audiences.  Far too many of those – now in their 40s and 50s – are fully accepting of all that their political ‘leaders’ feed them. 

Mark’s work, as well as being a call to arms, is an open invitation to be challenged in order to instil agency, and ignite – with a ferociousness like I have never seen before – an anarchical phenomenon that has reached even the eye of Chile’s president, Gabriel Boric. Therefore, proving itself capable of playing an entirely different game, and winning. Which, in itself, brings me to my penning this and contributing to Niall McCann’s forthcoming film about Mark Fisher’s life & work – Lost Futures.  Niall is committed to making Mark accessible to as many and varied an audience as possible. Let’s assist. For every person who’s aware of Mark Fisher’s work, there are infinite others who aren’t.  If his unparalleled discourse is to hold the status of his ‘lasting legacy’, which we, his devotees rightly bestow upon him, then it is us – those already well-versed in his vision – who carry the honour of the arduous task of spreading his word. And yes, it will be arduous, but that’s the least we, who claim to admire Fisher, should be prepared to shoulder, if we are worthy of declaring ourselves to be forever changed and inspired by his work. It’s worth remembering the integral role that the blessing and a curse – that is the internet – has to play, in facilitating these necessary connections.  When Fisher cast his critique of the net, so ably identifying all its holes, he did so in the hope that it would all be stitched up with better solutions. After all, there is no catch to be had, without the means to captivate what lies beneath. He plunged us to the depths in helping us to understand the effects of social media, so as to provide us with the determination to surface, with all manner of attached material coming up for air with us.

Mark wanted everyone to be in on the act.  He was more than capable of disproving his most ardent ‘academic’ critics, but he’d sooner awaken the opposition than rebuke them. He never favoured wallowing in one-upmanship over the wonderment of a new inductee to the cause.  Mark knew full well that the most vital respondents to his cries, were not those with enviable résumés they’d had the privilege of designing themselves, but instead those that had theirs dictated to them. The people who’ve spent a life being underestimated for all manner of reasons beyond their control, but most of all, their lack of access to a formal licence to question EVERYTHING. We need them. 

Mark talked much about his belief of the links between mental health and circumstance, so if little blue pills that help get it up, or surgeries that leave patients feeling fuller, less flat, are made readily available on the NHS prescriptions list, then shouldn’t Fisher’s back catalogue be on it too? He stabs right at the heart of the mental health plague. No amount of therapy slugs or anti-depressants can better arm the depressed with the tools they need to understand their plight, than Mark Fisher, surely?  And where better to reach the afflicted, than the environments that see very little material that speaks to our contemporary natural condition.

I spoke to Niall McCann (director of ‘Lost Futures’) about my writing this piece and he made reference to a quote that Fisher had once said of prisons: “Only prisoners have time to read, and if you want to engage in a twenty year long research project funded by the state, you will have to kill someone.” No greater truth. And right there, lies one of our biggest opportunities, staring us in the face.  For as well as the need to reach the youngest of audiences with thought provoking material to avoid the continuation of the status quo, is it not equally important to reach all – who, by definition of their circumstances – are a ‘captive audience’? Prisoners; long-term hospital patients, mental health ward patients; ATU admissions; care home residents? After all, it is they, who tend to have unrivalled lived experience of the effects of privatisation. None of the settings in which these potential audiences reside are considered hip so get overlooked – and so too does the opportunity to learn from those within. 

Surely this has to change?  How to achieve that? Answers on a postcard to the usual address please, or perhaps better still, a deleted one. See it as a random act of kindness. Remember those? It’s time for retiring ‘radicals’ everywhere, to cast aside the copies of Keep Calm And Colour In Unicorns and instead inundate the mail boxes of anybody and everybody you would ordinarily deem to ‘have nothing in common with’. What’s the alternative? That you continue with a life of blinkered, onanistic self-assurance, immune to the truth of the surrounding landscape? Is this who you want to be? Only satisfied when you’ve fulfilled your own needs, regardless of who or what it denies in the process? It’s time to diversify and digress from the barely tolerated diet, and instead force yourself to swallow your most unpalatable hypocrisies. Break them down with a good glug of acid and permit your imagination to transform them into first class fertile matter, to enable new life to flourish in pastures new. 

I asked Bobby Gillespie and Obsolete Capitalism to summarise what they believe to be the essence of Mark Fisher’s work for inclusion in this piece.

Bobby Gillespie:

“The beauty of Mark Fisher’s laser sharp critique of the destructive effects of life under Neoliberalism, was that it spoke to ordinary people in plain language that went beyond the often-hermetic intellectual world of academia.  He is greatly missed. We need more voices like Mark’s, more than ever.”

So, let’s assist in courting the audience Mark craved to reach the most. In another conversation with a friend I’ve recently introduced to Mark’s work, they said: “It feels to me like there is a feast of fawning over Mark’s theories and a famine of practice out there.” A valid point.  There are people pushing themselves to continue his praxis – one such example that comes to mind is Oneohtrix Point Never. There are numerous others, but why stop there?  What can be gained by knowing much of what is wrong and how it occurred, if we just hoard the horrors in the hope that somebody else will pick up the slack in remedying them? It ain’t gonna happen. Meanwhile, the tendency to promote oneself as one of Fisher’s dedicated disciples to the already switched on, on social media, prevails.  Perhaps a sin we are all guilty of to a greater or lesser degree I expect, but as the expression goes: about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike.  If you’re already familiar with Mark Fisher’s work, by now, you might be vexed that I’ve made little or no reference to Capitalist Realism, or Hauntology…etc. Maybe that’s because primarily Mark was my mate. I miss him. And for me, promoting the generosity of Mark Fisher the person, will always come first before his works. Mark gave you those. They are all available to be devoured and shared. Please do. The last word goes to Obsolete Capitalism, proving that although Mark wanted to appeal to everyone, he had a habit of impressing upon some of us an acuity that felt special, and unique to our innermost thoughts and experiences.

Obsolete Capitalism, June 2022:

“Like other great thinkers of the past – Nietzsche and Deleuze among others – Mark Fisher is a writer with “no mediation”. What is left when he tears away with a simple and definitive gesture, the enveloping screen on which the great epic fable of ‘capitalist realism’ is projected?  Only emptiness.  Instead of living in an age ‘saturated with history’ as Nietzsche wrote, Fisher has clearly and capably described our age as ‘saturated with emptiness’.  While this “emptiness” expands into every corner of capitalism, it also discharges the supposed systemic alternatives opposing it.  Helping us in liberation from ‘horror vacui’ and recognising the emptiness in the false fullness of the Real, is his most generous and enduring intellectual legacy.”

A statement about film-in-progress Lost Futures from director Niall McCann:

The video we have produced for “Storm Crow” is an attempt to visualise Mark Fisher’s ideas and combine them with music which comes from a similar place. An experiment in matching his ideas to Mark Stewart’s music in a playful way, recontextualizing old TV advertisements—which both Marks would have grown up watching—zombie movies, along with pivotal social and political moments which helped bring us to what Fisher called “Capitalist Realism” which is the idea that it is now easier to imagine the end of the world, than the end of capitalism.

The vast body of work Fisher left behind explores capitalism’s unassailable role in our lives, the closing off of any sense of a future different from the present, and the effects of this on us as individuals. His writings lifted up the veil and showed the world afresh to his readers, and that’s the core idea in the music video.

The film itself revolves around something which is central to Mark Fisher’s work: the future. When I was young the future was everywhere. It could be anything, it seemed rife with possibilities, for something better. Now, it’s only talked about as a more terrifying version of the present. This is a film about the futures we have lost and how we might start imagining new ones again.

We will use Mark Fisher’s life and his brilliant ideas as a guide through some of the most urgent questions of our time.

 

 
‘Storm Crow’ by Mark Stewart also features on On-U Sound’s Pay It All Back Vol 8 compilation. Listen / Order Pay It All Back Vol 8.
For more information about Lost Futures, a film about Mark Fisher currently in development, head here.
Niall McCann (Redemption Films)
Mark Stewart Official Website
Repeater Books
Obsolete Capitalism

Words by Mark Stewart, June 2022 ©

Posted by Richard Metzger
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07.26.2022
05:44 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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Jeanne Mammen: The fierce artwork of a woman dubbed a ‘degenerate’ by the Nazis
08.12.2020
01:40 pm
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“Woman with absinthe glass, Moulin Rouge” by Jeanne Mammen (early 1900s).
 

“I have always wanted to be just a pair of eyes, walking through the world unseen, only to see others.”

—a quote from artist Jeanne Mammen from the only interview she would ever do during her career, with art historian Hans Kinkel, 1975.

Described as “artistically gifted” at a very early age, Jeanne Mammen’s family would move from her birthplace of Berlin to Paris when she was five. She immersed herself in French literature—especially that of the great Romantic novelist Victor Hugo and the poet Charles Baudelaire. In 1907, at the age of seventeen, Mammen and her sister Adeline attended Académie Julian. The Académie Julian was an artistic refuge, especially for women who were allowed to enroll and where they had access to nude male models as subject matter. This is important as other art-centric schools had been slow to admit women into their institutions. If they did, women were not allowed to participate in painting or life study classes with their male counterparts.

Jeanne and Adeline would move on to Brussels to continue their studies. Then to Rome, where they attended both the Accademia di Belle Arti di Roma and the Scuola Libera del Nudo dell’Accademia di Belle Arti di Roma (aka “The Scuola Libera del Nudo,” or “free school of the nude,” for the teaching of life-drawing). The sisters would return to Paris in 1912 only to be forced to flee the city with their family. Unfortunately, their successful merchant father, Gustav Oskar Mammen, was labeled a “foreign enemy” and all of the family’s possessions, including their home, were confiscated. By 1916, the Mammen family was impecunious and living in Berlin doing any kind of work they could collectively find to keep financially afloat. After some time, Jeanne and her sister were able to afford to rent a studio apartment. The small apartment would eventually become a place Jeanne seldom left and where she would bring her observations of Berlin to life. Her work was widely published in magazines, as well as her writing. She was finally, once again, financially secure. But as 1933 and WWII loomed, Mammen would once again find herself out of work, but that didn’t mean she stopped working. Here is another quote attributed to Mammen’s lone interview on how she managed to keep creating despite the Nazis’ best efforts to stop her and other artists whom they categorized as “degenerates”:

“With the advent of the Hitler era, a ban on, or ‘Gleichschaltung’ of, all the magazines I was working for. The end of my ‘realistic’ period. Transition to an aggressive painting style, of fragmenting the object (in contrast to the official art world). World War II: no oil paints, no canvas—all pictures from this period are painted with gouache on cardboard. Ration cards, unemployment registration, hard labor, bombing, forced training as a fireman.”

Influenced by artists such as Henri Toulouse-Lautrec and Edgar Degas, Mammen seemed to embrace Figuratism as early as 1908, painting in this style for approximately six years before her work became more aligned with Symbolism. A wildly prolific artist who worked in various mediums, including watercolor, Mammen’s muses included members of Berlin’s queer community, a plethora of women, and vivid interjections of religious imagery and symbolism. Following the conclusion of WWII, Mammen would allegedly tell her longtime friend, Nobel Prize-winning biophysicist Max Delbrück, that “the ruins of Jeanne can be found in the ruins of Berlin.” After seven decades of creating artwork that still refuses to be defined by a singular artistic description, Mammen would pass away in Berlin at the age of 86. Mammen’s long career and artwork have been the subject of a couple of books including Jeanne Mammen: Paris – Bruxelles – Berlin (2017), Jeanne Mammen The Observer: Retrospective, 1910–1975 (2018). Her work is also featured in Splendor and Misery in the Weimar Republic: From Otto Dix to Jeanne Mammen (2018).

Images spanning Mammen’s impressive career follow.
 

 

“She Represents” (1928).
 

“Two Women Dancing” (1928).
 
More after the jump…

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Posted by Cherrybomb
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08.12.2020
01:40 pm
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‘Hell is Empty’ and the Trumps are here: New paintings by Sig waller

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November 2019: Artist Sig Waller garnered considerable praise and caused some controversy when she exhibited a few of her latest paintings at the annual Saarland Association of Artists (SKB) Exhibition in Germany. Waller’s latest work was titled Hell is Empty and featured gruesome, powerful, and bitingly satiric paintings of the Trump family and their associates.

The title Hell is Empty comes from William Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, when the spirit Ariel recounts the events of those shipwrecked on Prospero’s island:

...All but mariners
Plunged in the foaming brine and quit the vessel,
Then all afire with me. The king’s son, Ferdinand,
With hair up-staring—then, like reeds, not hair—
Was the first man that leaped, cried, “Hell is empty
And all the devils are here.”

Waller’s paintings makes reference to The Tempest together with pop culture, the occult, and movies like Rosemary’s Baby. Waller’s devils are very real and they rule our lives through politics religion and the media. These people and organisations we are supposedly meant to trust, but they are in fact devils intent on our subjugation and destruction. Their presence means there is no mercy and they intend to make devils of us all.

Waller was born in Swansea, south Wales. Her father was an American historian “who dressed like a tramp,” her mother a German psychologist and housewife. The family foraged for food, brewed ale, collected driftwood and threw wild parties. At eighteen Waller moved to London where she studied Fine Art and Art History at Goldsmiths College. After graduation, she worked in animation, music promos, and film. In 1995, Waller moved to Berlin where she started painting. After the birth of her son Sky in 2002, Waller moved to Brighton, England, where she studied for another Fine Art degree at the city’s university. Since 2010, Waller’s work has been exhibited in galleries across Europe and America. She currently resides in Saarbrücken, Germany. See more of Sig Waller’s work here.
 
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See more of Sig Waller’s work, after the jump…
 

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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06.12.2020
05:23 am
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King Turd: This absurdist play from 1896 could have been written about Donald Trump!
05.31.2020
01:23 pm
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Poster for a re-interpreted version of Alfred Jarry’s ‘Ubu Roi’ from 2013 in which the tale of Donald Trump’s golf course development in Scotland follows the storyline of the play
 
French absurdist playwright Alfred Jarry’s Ubu Roi (“Ubu the King” or “King Turd”), a pre-Surrealist work, is considered an influential classic of French theatre. It originally premiered in 1896. There were three Ubu plays written by Jarry, but only one, Ubu Roi, was ever performed during his short lifetime. (Jarry died at the age of 34 of tuberculosis. After he beckoned a friend to come closer, his whispered last word on his deathbed was allegedly “toothpick” or whatever it is that the French call them.)

The Ubu trilogy was conceived to employ actors and marionettes in a vicious satire of greed, royalty, religion, stupidity and abuse of power by the wealthy. The two other plays were Ubu Cocu (“Ubu Cuckolded”) and Ubu Enchaîné (“Ubu in Chains”).

The protagonist “Père Ubu” (yes, this is obviously where the band’s name came from) was originally based on the teenage lampooning of a stuffy teacher written by two friends of Jarry’s from school, but Jarry expanded the plays and used the character as a vehicle for his howling critique of bourgeois society’s evils.

People absolutely hated the scandalous Ubu Roi—it was considered lewd, crude, vulgar and low—and its controversial author. At the premiere in Paris, it was booed for a good fifteen minutes after the first word, “Merdre!” (his coinage for “shit,” deliberately close to the French merde and translated in English as “Pshit” or “Shittr!”), was spoken. Fist fights broke out in the orchestra pit. Jarry’s supporters yelled “You wouldn’t understand Shakespeare, either!” His detractors rejoined with their variations on the theme of “shit.”

William Butler Yeats was apparently in the audience that night in 1896 and is alleged to have said “What more is possible? After us, the Savage God.”

Or an idiot racist billionaire babyman put in charge of the nuclear codes who thinks people should drink bleach?

The play was accused of being politically subversive, the work of an anarchist mindfucker or even that it was a “hoax” designed to hoodwink a gullible middle-class audience with metaphorical shit that some of them, at least, would say tasted good.

This seems so freaking familiar, doesn’t it?

Not that an absurdist agitator like Alfred Jarry cared about any of this. Characters had names like “MacNure,” “Pissweet” and “Pissale.” Confrontationally pissing off the audience was practically the entire point for him. Ubu’s scepter, after all, was a shit-smeared toilet brush.
 

A ship of fools in a sea of shit…

Via Wikipedia:

According to Jane Taylor, “The central character is notorious for his infantile engagement with his world. Ubu inhabits a domain of greedy self-gratification.” Jarry’s metaphor for the modern man, he is an antihero—fat, ugly, vulgar, gluttonous, grandiose, dishonest, stupid, jejune, voracious, cruel, cowardly and evil—who grew out of schoolboy legends about the imaginary life of a hated teacher who had been at one point a slave on a Turkish Galley, at another frozen in ice in Norway and at one more the King of Poland. Ubu Roi follows and explores his political, martial and felonious exploits, offering parodic adaptations of situations and plot-lines from Shakespearean drama, including Macbeth, Hamlet and Richard III: like Macbeth, Ubu—on the urging of his wife—murders the king who helped him and usurps his throne, and is in turn defeated and killed by his son; Jarry also adapts the ghost of the dead king and Fortinbras’s revolt from Hamlet, Buckingham’s refusal of reward for assisting a usurpation from Richard III and The Winter’s Tale‘s bear.

“There is,” wrote Taylor, “a particular kind of pleasure for an audience watching these infantile attacks. Part of the satisfaction arises from the fact that in the burlesque mode which Jarry invents, there is no place for consequence. While Ubu may be relentless in his political aspirations, and brutal in his personal relations, he apparently has no measurable effect upon those who inhabit the farcical world which he creates around himself. He thus acts out our most childish rages and desires, in which we seek to gratify ourselves at all cost.” The derived adjective “ubuesque” is recurrent in French and francophone political debate.

Sound like anyone you know?

All that’s missing is his shit-smeared toilet brush, if you ask me.

Continues after the jump…

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Posted by Richard Metzger
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05.31.2020
01:23 pm
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If you like PKD, Burroughs, or Vonnegut then you should be reading Séb Doubinsky

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At the end of March, the writer Séb Doubinsky should have been traveling across America giving readings from his latest novel The Invisible. Picture him in a busy, crammed bookshop wearing a plaid shirt, leather jacket with steel-rimmed glasses and neatly-trimmed beard. He sits at a table with a pile of books to his left, a glass of water to his right, the audience in front. Some sit in chairs, some stand around the edges with arms folded, heads tilted, all listening to Doubinsky’s strong, clear voice. There are questions then a long-line of bright-eyed readers waiting to shake his hand, take pictures, and get their copies signed.

In another reality this all happened. Turn the page, there’s someone at the back, leaning against shelves laden with bright, clean paperbacks asking:

What is your earliest memory?

Sébastien Doubinsky: My earliest memory is actually a patchwork of scenes from my childhood in America, between 1966 and 1968. I can see myself playing with my favorite toys, which were rubber Mattel astronauts, watching black-and-white Spiderman cartoons sitting upside down on the sofa, riding in my father’s dark blue huge station-wagon, going to Space Needle’s fun park and having a blast… Very vivid memories, in color, which have certainly influenced the very way I write, like Pop Art—or rather Anti-Pop Art, as Rosenquist called it—and Punk well, much later.

But a virus stopped all this. Doubinsky is in lockdown at his home in Denmark. If anyone could have seen such a deadly pandemic coming then it was him. He had already written about a similar outbreak in Absinth—the story of the Apocalypse with ancient Gods attempting a new order, the publishing of a new gospel according to Jesus (“Burn all churches”), and an outbreak of Ebola that claims the lives of the President and the Vice-President. There’s hope for us yet! Doubinsky saw it coming.

What the Corona crisis taught us: all useful people are underpaid and all useless people are overpaid and decide who will live or die.

Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider that gave him, in some unfathomable way, arachnid powers of strength and agility to jump great heights, climb walls, and have a tingling spider sense that alerted him to danger. At some point, most kids want to be Peter Parker, but then they give up on their imagination and subscribe to another’s imposed order.

August 1963, copies of The Amazing Spider-Man #3 were in bookshop carousels when Sébastien Doubinsky was born at a Parisian cinema. Spidey was fighting a new enemy the “grotesque Dr. Octopus.” Doubinsky’s parents had been watching a Hollywood western. They never saw the end of it. Celebrating the birth of a son was more important. Arriving at a hospital, Mother and child were doing fine. Father then found some work in America. Doubinsky spent his early years growing-up in the States watching TV and marveling at the unchanging blue sky. What’s your earliest memory? “I already answered that.”

Back in Paris, Doubinsky discovered a copy of William S. Burroughs’ The Ticket That Exploded while visiting his Aunt’s apartment on the Avenue René Coty. It was a weird looking book with a weird sounding title. Doubinsky sat down and read it. He was blown away. He might not have understood it but he knew he loved it. He had discovered his superpowers.

When did you first think seriously about becoming a writer and why?

SD: It’s rather a difficult question to answer, as there were many stages in this decision—at least until it became a rationally formulated one. I come from a very intellectual background, culturally mixed (Jewish and Catholic, but both my parents were leftists and radical atheists) and extremely open to other cultures. What’s more, both sides of my family had been very active in the French Résistance during World War Two, and I therefore inherited quite a strong human-rights ethic. All this to say that literature was not a passive element of my upbringing, but was seen as a powerful object that could serve the best or the worst causes, and that it was important.

Growing up I loved poetry, and for a long time wanted to be a poet (but also a painter, until I discovered I was colorblind…) but little by little, prose seeped in and took more and more space. I began to write some short stories in my late teenage years, but still not really considering dedicating myself seriously. The tragedy that sealed my writer’s fate was the suicide of my beloved cousin Bruno, then, like me, 20 years old. He had introduced me to punk and New Wave—especially The Cure, Bauhaus and all the darker stuff—and in his last note, he told me I should carry on writing “my great stuff.” That’s when the weight of words and the responsibility attached to writing hit me like a runaway train. That’s the day I really became, in my eyes, a “writer.”
 
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More from Sébastien Doubinsky, after the jump…
 

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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05.21.2020
08:25 am
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The Subversive Pop Perfection of the Fun Boy Three: Live in Concert, 1983

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The death of one form brings forth life in another.

Something was going wrong. It wasn’t just with the band, it seemed to be happening everywhere across the country. The Specials were on tour promoting their second album More Specials. It should have been a happy time. But in every city they visited, every gig they performed the tension, the anger on the streets and in the concert halls was becoming more and more apparent. There was a feeling the country was falling apart.

In 1979, the newly-elected Conservative government gave a promise to “heal” the nation “and sow peace” after the failure of Labour’s policies in 1970s which had given rise to three-day weeks, power cuts, endless strikes, a “winter of discontent,” where the dead were left unburied and the garbage piled-up on city streets. But as soon the Tories were elected, they turned true to form crucifying the poor and helping the rich. They closed down factories, destroyed hope, and created mass unemployment. The promise of a better future and the opportunity to achieve was only intended for a select class.

Jerry Dammers the Specials co-founder, producer, chief song-writer and keyboard player thought the new Prime Minister “Margaret Thatcher had apparently gone mad”:

...she was closing down all the industries, throwing millions of people on the dole. We could actually see it by touring around. You could see that frustration and anger in the audience. In Glasgow, there were these little old ladies on the streets selling all their household goods, their cups and saucers. It was unbelievable. It was clear that something was very, very wrong.

While there was something wrong going on in the country, there was also something very wrong with the Specials. When the band got together to record their next single “Ghost Town” everyone stood “in different parts of this huge room with their equipment, no one talking.” Dammers left the recording twice in tears seeing his hope for the band falling apart.

As fellow bandmate Neville Staple recalled the Specials ended “differences of opinions”:

...some wanting to lead things in one direction, some in another. I guess we were such a mixed bag of personalities, with various skills and talents, we just wanted different things and couldn’t agree enough to stay together.

It was probably the wrong move but Staple took “the bull by the horns and got stuck in and just kept going…[..]..never stopped.”

In the summer of 1981, the Specials released “Ghost Town.” It became the band’s biggest hit spending three weeks at number one in the UK Charts. The song reflected the sense of despair that had spread across the country as riots erupted in London, Liverpool, Birmingham, Manchester and Leeds. The country was burning. At the moment of their greatest success, the Specials split.

Staple teamed-up with his fellow bandmates Lynval Golding and Terry Hall. and formed a new band—the Fun Boy Three.
 
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More on the Fun Boy Three, after the jump….

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Posted by Paul Gallagher
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03.16.2020
11:03 am
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‘The Milkmaid’: First look and Exclusive interview with the Director of movie you gotta see

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Sunday morning, flicking through news channels I chanced on a Nigerian breakfast show that held my attention between mouthfuls of cereal. Four women around a table were discussing a new movie called The Milkmaid. Clips were played as one woman said she hoped the movie would get the chance to be screened at Cannes, and have the chance of being seen at the Toronto Film Festival. This was not just an ordinary movie—The Milkmaid was one of the best movies to ever come out of Nigeria.

Every so often there comes along a movie that will change everything. Parasite did it at this year Academy Awards and I’m laying money that The Milkmaid will win awards and do the same at next year’s Oscars. This movie is a game changer—a work of brilliance, a compelling harrowing tale that does what all great works of art should do: make the viewer question what is going on in the world.

It’s inspiration comes from real events. In April 2014, 276 female students were kidnapped from a school in Chibok, Borno State, Nigeria. The girls had been kidnapped by Boko Haram, an Islamist extremist terrorist organization operating out of the north-east of the country. The kidnapping brought condemnation from across the world. After some of the girls were released, the story and interest in the lives of these girls and the people tragically caught in the crossfire between terror and extremism were soon forgotten. Filmmaker Desmond Ovbiagele thought something ought to be done to highlight the psychological trauma, displacement and economic impoverishment extremism inflicts on society. He started writing a screenplay about Aisha, a Fulani milkmaid, searching for her younger sister, who approaches the religious militants responsible for their separation. Ovbiagele has crafted a powerful piece of cinema which he hopes will bring “attention to the present plight of real-life victims of militant insurgency in Nigeria (internally displaced persons, IDPs), to generate support for their economic and psychological rehabilitation and social re-integration.” His film offers a discourse on the very real threats posed by extremism.

Shot over three months in Nigeria, The Milkmaid stars Anthonieta Kalunta in her film debut as Aisha, with Maryam Booth as her sister Zainab, and Gambo Usman Kona as Dangana. Unlike most movies pumped out by Hollywood or Marvel or Disney or whoever, The Milkmaid is an important, complex film, a substantial work of art that addresses issues pertinent to all of our lives. What it needs now is to be seen by as many people as possible.

I contacted writer and director Desmond Ovbiagele to find out more about him and the making of his movie.

How did you start making The Milkmaid?

Desmond Ovbiagele: I completed and released my first feature film in 2014, a locally set (in Nigeria) crime drama. Spent the next three years recovering from that interesting experience. Then early 2017, felt I was ready to get back into the fray, and commenced writing the script for what turned out to be my next feature, The Milkmaid.
 
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What was your inspiration for the film?

DO: Creatively, I find myself drawn to themes that are of contemporary social relevance. Perhaps it’s because I believe that the medium of film is imbued with such amazing power, and the process of realizing a story can be so incredibly daunting and challenging; therefore one needs to tackle issues that justify all the palaver. And clearly the prevailing insurgency and general insecurity in my immediate environment was a natural candidate for attention. Following the much-publicized outcry and placard-carrying by presumably well-meaning international celebrities over the abduction of the Chibok girls in 2014, it was rather disheartening to watch the widespread moral indignation steadily (and surprisingly quickly) vaporize to near-total silence (both locally and internationally), even when the atrocities were clearly still being committed, albeit largely to victims from a different demographic, perhaps. And given that literally millions of survivors are currently wasting away in the makeshift camps for internally displaced people (IDPs) that dot the country, their lives at a total dead-end, I guess I felt a burden to use the craft and my privileged position to speak on behalf of those who lack the facility to make themselves heard.
 
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How did you come into filmmaking? What is your background?

DO: Came from a career in financial services that was materially rewarding but clearly left a gap in the personal fulfilment department. Took me several years to identify how to fill that gap; turned out to be writing and directing. A bit surprising, as I had done practically nothing in either area all my life, although a rapacious reader of novels in my childhood, to be fair.

How did you become involved in filmmaking?

DO: Basically started out as a screenwriter; wrote and submitted several scripts (frequently with international settings) that went absolutely nowhere. Felt I needed to pursue more control of my destiny in order to break through, so accordingly refocused my attention on issues closer to home (literally), whilst simultaneously foraying into producing and directing.

Can you tell me about the casting for The Milkmaid?

DO: The plan from the outset was always to render the dialogue in the prevailing language of the theater of conflict (for authenticity) which is Hausa, and to a lesser extent, Fulfulde (the principal characters are of Fulani extraction). This naturally ruled out a large swathe of the most popular actors in the local film industry (a.k.a. Nollywood) who are predominantly English-speaking, and following a couple of auditions, the cast was largely drawn from the tiny film community in Taraba State in northeast Nigeria where we shot the film. In fact, for one of the lead actresses, this was her first performance in film, short or feature.
 
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What was it like filming? Were there any difficulties?

DO: Difficulties aplenty on multiple fronts. I actually don’t speak Hausa myself, so directing the actors (several of whose English was severely limited) under the typical time pressures was an exercise in patience and endurance notwithstanding the presence of translators. And for aesthetic reasons, we shot a number of scenes on the Mambilla Plateau which features some of the most beautiful scenery in the country, but as the highest point geographically in Nigeria, is also considerably difficult to access, particularly with heavy equipment trucks. To put it in context, a trip just from the Taraba State capital in Jalingo to Mambilla (also in Taraba) takes seven hours, much of that time negotiating up the mountain. And the trucks were coming all the way from Lagos in the southwest, on the opposite side of the country. So additional challenges were encountered when transporting our production materials through southeast Nigeria enroute to location; essentially our crew were literally almost lynched by locals there who were erroneously informed that the our costumes and props were evidence that they were the terrorists who had coincidentally attacked that same community just a few days prior. We lost an entire week of shooting whilst battling to resolve that particular imbroglio. So, yes, a few difficulties.
 
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Director and writer Desmond Ovbiagele.
 
What has been the response to your film?

DO: We’ve held just a couple of private screenings thus far but are very gratified at the feedback; people definitely seem to connect with the story, cinematography and performances, and it certainly helps that it is obviously a very topical issue (insecurity)

How can we get your film to Cannes and Toronto and onto the American market?

DO: Clearly very lofty platforms with a formidable number of films all aspiring to get in, so we would really appreciate as much buzz as can be generated anywhere possible to improve our prospects for
consideration.

Check here to find out how you can help get The Milkmaid to a cinema near you.
 

 

Posted by Paul Gallagher
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02.25.2020
04:39 am
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Grievous Bodily Harm: Punks armed with an ax & skateboards try to destroy a Seattle ferry in 1987
11.27.2019
03:54 am
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A flier for the GBH/Accüsed show at Natasha’s in Bremerton on October 3rd, 1987.
 
The “riot” that went down on the Washington State Ferry M/V Kitsap on Saturday, October 3rd, 1987, made its way to the pages of The New York Times. The paper published a short report on the incident (via the Associated Press), detailing how fans of local Seattle band The Accüsed and British punks GBH went bananas with an ax and skateboards, destroying defenseless tables and chairs during a ferry ride back to Seattle. According to the article, when asked for his thoughts on the destruction at the hands of his fans on the M/V Kitsap, GBH vocalist Jimmy Wren responded he was “quietly proud” of what went down.

Before we get to the story itself, it is necessary to be aware of how the Teen Dance Ordinance (or TDO) passed in 1985 in Seattle contributed to the angst of young music fans during the years it governed the underage music scene. The passage of the TDO required club owners to obtain a $1 million liability insurance policy for any all-ages event. Another requirement was all underage events were to be staffed by two off-duty SPD officers, a sure-fire buzzkill at any party. Nearly every club was unable to take on the insurance policy, so underage shows in Seattle city limits became a rare occasion. Also important to note is the fact the TDO was a response to some very, very bad things happening to kids hanging out at underage clubs. Specifically The Monastery, a club/church run by George Freeman, an accused predator of Seattle’s homeless youth. When the TDO became law, Freeman referred to it as the “George Freeman Law.”

Four months after the TDO went into effect, the SPD showed up at an all-ages gig at Gorilla Gardens after receiving reports of fire code violations. The club was packed and waiting for the Circle Jerks to take the stage. The fire marshall cut the power at the club, and the crowd flipped out. As they poured outside into a freak Seattle snowstorm, they started hurling bricks and Molotov cocktails at the cops. So it’s safe to say underage music fans, especially the punks, were not feeling fond of Seattle during the days of TDO. When GBH and hometown heroes The Accüsed came to Washington during the Panic in the Casket Tour, they opted to play the gig at Natasha’s (aka Perl’s) in Bremerton, where clubs were not subjected to the rules of the TDO. And what could go wrong when 150 or so drunk punk rockers board the 1:50 am ferry for Seattle following the show along with two off-duty Seattle police officers?

Fucking everything.

According to several accounts, it all started with some sort of disagreeable conversation, which led to a female passenger to start stripping her clothes off on top of a table. One of the punks on board then decided to whip his dick out urinating in a planter or on a bench. The rowdiness does not go unnoticed, dicks out in public normally don’t, and a worker on the ferry grabbed the territorial pisser and pulled him into a large utility closet and closed the door. The mood of the crowd changed in an instant, and people started yelling at the ferry worker to release their friend. One punk got close enough to the door to get pepper-sprayed by the ferry worker inside. By now, some of the more level-headed passengers are calling for help to free their friend. The off-duty cops arrived, and then things went completely to shit. Some of the punks began to spit at the cops. The situation continued to escalate rapidly. When someone got the idea to break the glass protecting the fire ax in the wall with a skateboard, the cops retreated to the closet where their friend was locked up with the ferry worker. While inside with their guns drawn, a guy with an ax went full, “Here’s Johnny!” on the door, while others screamed, “KILL THE COPS!!!” KILL! KILL! KILL!”
 

Turn it up, man! It’s FERRY ROCK!
 
Forty-five minutes later, as the M/V Kitsap pulled into Seattle, the rioters had done about $40,000 worth of damage to the inside of the ferry, destroying tables, chairs, and parts of the asbestos-filled ceiling. Word spread through the ferry that as many as a dozen police cars were waiting for the boat to dock in Seattle, aware of the current situation on board. This sent some of the punks scrambling to hide in the trunks of cars to evade arrest.

Continues after the jump…

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Posted by Cherrybomb
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11.27.2019
03:54 am
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‘Its time to act’ Book of Shame release ‘Greta Thunberg Mix’ of ‘Hope & Glory’: A DM Premiere

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One of the stand-out tracks on Book of Shame’s debut album was “Hope & Glory” an excoriating assault on the state of the world, both public and private, written by the band’s renegade duo of Peter Boyd-Maclean and Gary Bridgewood. 

“The song, ” Boyd-Maclean tells Dangerous Minds, “was written in response to a number of issues going on personally and on a more global spectrum. In particular, the way democracy has been hijacked by the rich industrial business looking after themselves and fucking the rest of humanity in the process. Whether this is indifference to climate change, Trump, or Brexit.”

Boyd-MacLean thinks it’s now time to do something to stop the greed and political chaos he sees currently destroying the world. Taking a lead from Greta Thunberg’s speech to the UN , Boyd-Maclean and Bridgewater remixed “Hope and Glory” to coincide with the recent Extinction Rebellion demonstrations in London and across the UK.

“In troubled times,” Boyd-Maclean asks, “is there any hope, is there any glory?  You can be the judge… I think it’s important we all do something to change what is happening in the world. From climate disaster, Trump, the rise of the right, to Brexit. And now as the Extinction Rebellion movement is gathering pace it’s time to act in all forms to change the world for the better for all.”

“Hope and Glory” (Greta Mix) will be released on November 29th, but you can watch the promo exclusively here.
 

 

Posted by Paul Gallagher
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11.06.2019
07:51 am
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