Known as Pequeno Pecker, Raul Usieto Aquilue is part of Barcelona’s vibrant indie rock and electro-pop scene. I’m new to his music, but on the basis of this video, I’m rather certain that of all the hula hooping, ukelele playing, cross dressing rockers out there, Pecker has gotta be King.
Pecker’s got a groovy looking Spanish website. Check out his tune “Fun, Fun, Fun.”
Pecker covering The Ramones’ I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend.
Amazing early footage of The Clash during the “White Riot tour,” shot at Sussex University, Brighton, on May 25th 1977. Pity about the crazed speed-freak cutting between cameras and the herky-jerky camera work, but what can you do? Be happy someone thought to shoot it.
In part one they play “Capital Radio,” “Protex Blue,” “Cheat” and “Remote Control.”
In part two (here) they do “White Riot” and “Police & Thieves.”
Back in 1983, Joe Strummer directed a short film called Hell W10. I wonder if Joe was tempted to call it The Clash By Night, a play on Fritz Lang’s noir classic. The film has the right look. With the participation of Mick Jones, Paul Simenon, Kosmo Vinyl, Pearl Harbour and various Clash crew members, Strummer had a bit of fun taking the piss out on himself and his comrades. Clash roadie Barry (The Baker) Auguste writes about the creation of Hell W10 with witty insight in an article for The Daily Swarm.
Some three decades ago this month, the members of The Clash, those of us in their crew, and the band’s closest friends found themselves standing in the freezing cold of Ladbroke Grove, filming a movie entirely directed, conceived, and paid for by Joe Strummer. Hell W10 was a personal project for Joe, which initially plays like a simple, unpretentious home movie. But hidden beneath the surface of its archetypal cops-and-robbers plotline, Joe was cleverly caricaturing the true-life roles of everyone in the band, making the film a prime example of art imitating life. In truth, the “Last Gang in Town” was unknowingly having its last soirée, and that was clear from Hell W10, both in front of and behind the camera.” Barry Auguste.
Ferocious live footage of the Ramones at the State Theatre in Minneapolis from Wylde Rice, a super-hip Minnesota PBS show of the time. Backstage, the boys discuss the punk scene in England, dismiss the notion of punk “politics” and the reporting of violence at punk gigs as overblown.
They start off with a great “Rockaway Beach” and later rip through “California Sun” and “Blitzkrieg Bop.” Shot on January 21, 1978. The Runaways were the opening act!
Rather than actually pay Virgin a licensing fee, el cheapo Spanish record label, Dial Discos hired “Los Punk Rockers” (rumored to be Spanish prog-rock band Asfalto) to cover the entirety of Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols. The point was to basically confuse music fans in post-Franco Spain into thinking that this was the real thing.
The Shit-Fi blog nominated Los Exitos de Sex Pistols for “the most shit-fi album of all time,” adding that it “simply does not get any stupider, stranger, more poorly played, funnier, or nigh-psychotic (and possibly psychedelic) than this record”
Los Exitos de Sex Pistols was obviously recorded in a flash, before the next trend could take hold. The musicians more-or-less learned the songs from Never Mind the Bollocks, but the singer must not have spoken much English, because his approximations of Johnny Rotten are complete nonsense. (Here are “Holidays in the Sun” and “Pretty Vacant”) Even when singing the song title, as in the chorus of “Seventeen,” he seems to be making words up: “I’m a lazy seven.”
He does have the snottiness down pat, though. The vocals are clearly the best part of the record, simply because they’re so hilariously terrible. The guitar sound is thin and fuzzy, quite unlike the multi-tracked wall of guitars on NMTB—actually, it’s a lot closer to what one associates today with DIY punk of the late 70s than the Pistols’ sound. Few punk sleeves are as iconic as that of NMTB, but this album’s sleeve does fit the music well. It’s dumb. The woman on the sleeve appears to be some random person a photographer pulled off the street and dressed in moderately “punk” duds.
Some great interview footage with Iggy explaining why he HATES rock music (he’d rather buy drugs than records) and the self-financed New Values tour he was engaged in at the time. There’s also a record signing for fans.
This is primo Iggy. Only 68 views on YouTube? What’s that about?
Below, the actual handbill from the gig, a part of the Minnesota Historical Society’s collection:
While 1983 may feel pretty late to “break” punk as a cultural phenomenon, Los Angeles Fox affiliate KTTV put together their five part feature covering the recent onslaught of California Hardcore as a bold new movement, and understandably so. Like every generation of olds before them, the historical patterns of youth culture were suddenly forgotten, since apparently this was the first time kids ever got rowdy to music their parents didn’t understand.
The initial event covered was a riot at an overcrowded show with The Exploited (who they just call “Exploited”), and LA legends Channel 3, The Vandals and Youth Brigade. “Did the punkers start the battle, or were local Hispanic gangs at the root of the problem?” (Was that some sort of popular racist rumor surrounding punk?) And yes, they say “punkers.” Over and over again.
It. Is. Adorable.
It’s unclear just how self-aware the actual copywriters of the story were. At times, they seem to be placating older audience, acknowledging that these kids are downright out of control; at other times they insist they feel the riot was an isolated incident, borne of poor planning. Later, as they start trying to chronicle the evolution and trajectory of punk, it becomes fairly obvious that they’re making a concerted (if ham-fisted) effort to treat it with legitimacy and gravity, rather than sensationalism. What do you know? WTTV cares about the kids?
Ah, the mysteries of punk! What can we know for sure? Only that this reporting is predicated on the existence of a media that appears to have never been young in their lives!
The more things change, the more they stay the same
The picture above is from a book called The Moment After the Show, a coffee table volume from photographer Matthias Willi and journalist Olivier Joliat, specializing solely in the sweaty, post-coital afterglow of musicians.
The photography feels almost invasive—and not just because we’re a centimeter from James Osterberg’s junk. The little details like unzipped flies, running make-up, and visible sweat-spots are so akin to pulling the curtain back. Looking at them offstage at a moment when they’re supposed to be human again, feels almost invasive.