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I got thisclose to David Bowie’s coke spoon, but I didn’t get to use it
12:44 pm

Pop Culture

David Bowie

Shade Rupe’s post mortem on the “David Bowie Is” exhibit in Chicago:

A cause célèbre for art, film and design institutions everywhere, with breaking attendance records, the Victoria & Albert—curated “Davie Bowie Is” exhibition is a marvel of closeness that zillions of fans through the decades never believed they’d be able to experience. In 1983 when D.A. Pennebaker’s Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars was finally released we could squint through the reddish grain while our alien lord pranced and rocked the stage through multiple costume changes, mime, sucking off Mick Ronson’s… guitar, and admonishing his wife Angie’s makeup suggestions with “What do you know about makeup? You’re just a girl.” But this is different.

Debuting in Paris this month at the Philharmonie de Paris/ Cité de la Musique before then continuing to the Australian Centre for the Moving Image and the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands later in the year, the collection of costumes, outfits, memorabilia, and detritus, is vast as this is only a sampling of what the curators chose after Bowie opened his closets. Bowie’s self-application of color and cream is apparent with even a tissue that once blotted his lipstick is carefully displayed.

For Brits the ‘big moment’ was the “Starman” reveal on Top of the Pops, a moment given further clarity with a crew member shot backup film. While many English teenagers first got gobsmacked by that moment, even younger Americans were similarly blown away after over a decade of Bowie’s starring bursts when he premiered his devastatingly electric art moments during his December 15, 1979, Saturday Night Live performances with Joey Arias and Klaus Nomi on backup for scorching renditions of “The Man Who Sold the World” (in a Hugo Ball—inspired hourglass-shaped tuxedo), “TVC15” (in a school marm’s green dress with Arias and Nomi fending off a pink poodle with a TV in its mouth), and “Boys Keep Swinging,” with a Silly Putty—bodied Bowie unfurling a plastic penis, twice (though only shown on the first broadcast). Both programs make up significant parts of the exhibit.

Scary Monsters unleashed the final throes of Bowie’s magnificent more-than-a-decade of blowing Earth’s minds before settling down with that album that can’t be named (and thankfully is left out of the exhibition entirely). The next decade is skipped until we encounter Floria Sigismondi’s music videos (she’s created four for the Master in total) for “Little Wonder” and “Dead Man Walking.”

Other highlights of the exhibit, beyond getting to get ::this close:: to the Starman’s magic clothing include a gift of a test pressing of the first Velvet Underground album, bequeathed to Bowie’s manager Kenneth Pitt by Andy Warhol then to Bowie who exclaimed “By the time ‘European Son’ was done I was so excited I couldn’t move,” the keys to the underground bunker Bowie shared with Iggy Pop in Berlin which resulted in this writer’s own desert island disc The Idiot, and the Thin White Duke’s trusty cocaine spoon giving the man who fell to earth’s Diamond Dogs tour that extra bit of futuristic oomph.


Posted by Richard Metzger | Discussion
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Vintage purses with bold feminist slogans
11:57 am



This whimsical series by artist Michele Pred bears the title “Promote the General Welfare,” which phrase might ring a bell insofar as it is in the first line of the U.S. Constitution.

Some of the items feature actual neon, whereas others use electroluminescent wire twisted and bent to get a similar, albeit lo-fi, effect.

Pred’s comment on the series is as follows:

Each unique piece is made using a vintage handbag from the 1950s or ‘60s. For me, the use of purses from the mid-twentieth century harks back to that critical era, and reminds us how much has changed and, more importantly, how much has not. The text on each purse is created using Electroluminescent wire that is lit up using batteries and a small electronic driver that can be set to constant or flash mode.  The purses are meant to be carried and serve as small-scale political billboards.

Michele Pred’s work can be found at the Nancy Hoffman Gallery.



This translucent piece includes more than 20,000 expired birth control pills to “express the challenges many women have accessing affordable birth control”

More after the jump…

Posted by Martin Schneider | Discussion
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‘80s ‘sicko, freako’ goth band hilariously hardtrolls this kooky conservative TV host
11:30 am


Radio Werewolf
Wally George

Submitted for your approval are two priceless videos from the cusp of the late ‘80s “Satanic Panic” era which, despite the outrageously ridiculous performances, are an insight into just how seriously some folks took the threat of creeping occultism at the time. Placed in historical context, this was the start of a cycle of hysteria so real that many high-profile arrests were made based on groundless allegations of “Satanic ritual abuse,” most notably the McMartin Preschool and West Memphis Three cases. It was a heavy time for followers of the left-hand path, but these clips remain utterly hilarious.

Wally George, host of ‘Hot Seat’

Hot Seat was a syndicated talk show, running from 1983 to 1992, hosted by over-the-top reactionary conservative commentator (and estranged father of actress Rebecca De Mornay), Wally George, who termed his delivery “combat TV.” The show’s format was a precursor to the popular “shock talk” shows hosted by the likes of Morton Downey, Jr. and Jerry Springer, with a profoundly right-wing posture. Hot Seat‘s studio audience was generally comprised of aggressively out-of-control meatheads, as you will see in these clips.

In the segments, Wally brings ‘80s uproarious cult goth band, Radio Werewolf - led by Nikolas Schreck, onto the program, and is given the treatment.

Since the mid 80’s Schreck has been a major figure in occult circles, having been a public spokesman at times for the Church of Satan, the Temple of Set, and his own Werewolf Order.

Schreck married Zeena, daughter of Church of Satan founder, Anton LaVey, and the two of them together have published several acclaimed books on occult and esoteric subjects such as The Manson File: Myth and Reality of an Outlaw Shaman and Demons of the Flesh: The Complete Guide to Left-Hand Path Sex Magic.


Schreck, pictured here with wife Zeena, who co-directed Radio Werewolf from 1988-93. Both renounced Satanism and occultism in the late ‘90s and today are artists and Buddhist teachers.
I had the opportunity to discuss Radio Werewolf’s Hot Seat appearances with Nikolas, in this exclusive Dangerous Minds interview:

I was initially aware of one appearance Radio Werewolf made on Hot Seat, but your webmaster informed me that you actually appeared on the show twice.

Nikolas Schreck: Well, thank God you turned to me to correct your appalling ignorance on these matters of earth-shaking importance! Now future historians can use your article to confirm that in fact, Radio Werewolf battled Wally George an unholy three times. Our first titanic Hot Seat struggle took place on April 25, 1987. That went over so well that he then invited us on his radio program, where Wally started things off with a bang with a little flattery, introducing me as more dangerous than Hitler, Jim Jones and Manson. The other guest that night was a Baptist minister who officially declared me possessed. Our final Armageddon of the airwaves occurred in the Fall of ‘87, when Radio Werewolf returned to Hot Seat to declare our triumphant return to the stage after the little obstacle of my ear getting cut off during that eventful summer. And that event led to a kind of “Brides of Radio Werewolf” spinoff, since Wally, admirer of the ladies that he was, was so taken with two of my stripper girlfriends who accompanied me to the show that he later had them on as guests so that he could pretend moral outrage at our sinful ménage à trois. If I’d paid Wally to be Radio Werewolf’s publicist, he couldn’t have done a better job.

Wally George’s presentation is so exaggerated that at times he comes off as, what would be known in the world of professional wrestling, a “heel.” Did you ever get the impression that there was any insincerity or fakery to George’s act?

NS: Wally was a consummate showman, no more or less insincere or fake than his showbiz idol Ronald Reagan, who both cunningly played exaggerated roles for their niche Neanderthal audience in the grand old tradition of American populist demagoguery. Offstage, Wally was unfailingly courteous to me, and was actually genuinely supportive of my career, despite his on-the-air hostility. Hard to say which one of us was “the heel” or “the face”. Our encounters were definitely “kayfabe” professional wrestling at its finest though. The difference being that what we did when the cameras rolled was completely improvised. We served each others needs. I understood that Radio Werewolf couldn’t be “The Most Evil Band in the World” without a worthy Van Helsing adversary such as Wally to oppose us. And he needed me to be the “Man You Love To Hate” so that he could be the “Good Guy” for his fans. Really, the supposedly more legitimate network news journalists who interviewed me were all just as contrived and two-faced as Wally.  At least he was honest about it.

In the OC Weekly article on Wally George you are quoted “the audience was whipped into a genuine frenzy. They did not take it as a joke, and it felt very dangerous to be there.” Do you feel there was a closed loop between exploitative infotainers such as Wally George and Geraldo Rivera, and a fearful Cold War era public that created the Satanic Panic of the 80’s? Did you personally experience repercussions as a result of your appearances on Hot Seat?

NS: The live audiences watching the Radio Werewolf appearances on Hot Seat could easily have turned into lynch mobs, but I was as recklessly irresponsible as Wally in feeding fuel to the fire. It’s astute that you place all this in its Cold War context, because looking at these and other wacky ‘80s clips today without understanding the panicky fear of imminent nuclear Armageddon permeating the USA under the Reagan regime, it’s hard to understand the hysterical theological intensity driving the Satanic Panic. Wally and Geraldo were both simply fear-mongering entertainers making a living by giving the terrified audience exactly what they wanted. And I was part of the same closed loop, in that I collaborated with them by consciously embodying their worst fears, since that early phase of Radio Werewolf was designed as a self-parodying, mirroring manifestation of that society’s deepest nightmares about “occult music”. As for repercussions, Wally first invited us on Hot Seat after the horrified reaction in Los Angeles to my public announcement of Radio Werewolf’s “Free Manson” benefit concert at a Friday the 13th performance in March of ‘87. That was immediately followed by many months of death threats, LAPD surveillance and harassment of me and my friends, blacklisting and banning from certain clubs, the need to have security guards patrol our concerts, so I can’t determine how much of these shenanigans were inspired by the Wally vs. Werewolf broadcasts specifically.
More interview and those amazing clips after the jump.

Posted by Christopher Bickel | Discussion
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‘Daddy-O,’ the incredible failed TV pilot that broke the fourth wall 25 years before Garry Shandling
11:13 am



Wow. I recently discovered a show that was up for consideration by CBS in 1961 that was as subversive and as “meta” as anything on the air now, but for understandable reasons never got picked up. Thank god the pilot still exists, anyway. It was called Daddy-O, and that title ought to signal that something was a little “off” about the show. It was developed by Max Shulman, whose main previous credit was consonant with the title of Daddy-O, the beatnik hit The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, which had been a success for CBS since 1959.

The first scene of Daddy-O is by far the most mind-blowing. We start in medias res, as the dopey father of a typical television suburban family, “Daddy-O” himself, seeking to explain to his sassy children what a great foxtrot he was once capable of, strides out into the living room and promptly steps on a carelessly placed roller skate, after which his startled wife drops a meringue pie on his head. Cut to a TV control room, where an executive fervently cries, “No no no, you call that a laugh?” It turns out that HE would prefer “MH-9” at that juncture (“Mad Howl-9”), a tumultuous uproar on the laugh track that will really sell the scene. (If your mind blipped to a key scene in Annie Hall in which the Tony Roberts character does much the same thing, you’re not alone. The whole thing also reminds me of the old Olsen and Johnson musical Hellzapoppin’, in which the hectic action of the movie is governed from decisions made in the projection booth.)

We then get a scene in which a handful of TV professionals tinker with the sequence, including a soundman’s trenchant query “How do you know it’s that funny?” It turns out that Don DeFore, who was best known for playing Ozzie and Harriet’s neighbor “Thorny” on The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet and would later find a home as a key player on Hazel, is here playing “Ben Cousins,” a TV actor paid to portray “Daddy-O,” the castrated father figure in an anodyne TV series in the style of Leave It to Beaver or Father Knows Best. In perfect Brechtian fashion the episode features, in addition to the distancing debate over the laugh track, a lengthy (comic) demonstration of stunt techniques as well as a key character’s removal of makeup.

In the pilot, “Ben” wants to quit his job as the lead actor of the show within the show (because, as he insists, his job is to make “silly shadows on the screen”) and resume his erstwhile career as a master builder responsible for house construction—you know, a real job that actually helps people. Ben whines, “What do you want with me, anyway? The town’s full of actors!” The answer of his buddy Albert, the executive that hired him, is a masterpiece of exposition on the contradictory business of manufacturing a wholesome and mainstream artifact of popular culture:

The town’s full of actors with caps on their teeth, and toupees on their head and noses they were never born with. I don’t want an actor! I want a real guy, like you! Look at that face. People see a face like that on the TV screen, they gotta love you, they gotta believe you! Look at yourself, you wouldn’t hurt a fly! You’re clean, you’re wholesome, you’re pure, you’re harmless, you’re pre-digested!

Exactly, we don’t want toupees or rebuilt noses, we want pre-digested pabulum like you—you know, authentic!!

According to user bgrauman at, whose account, quite apart from being totally plausible, is the best one on offer,

This pilot was produced as a proposed series for the network’s 1961-‘62 schedule. I think even Max Shulman knew CBS was going to pass on it because it made fun of the kind of sitcoms the network (and their competition) were scheduling at the time.

And if there was one thing James T. Aubrey, the network’s president and chief programmer at the time, DIDN’T want on his schedule, was a comedy that “told the truth”...especially about TV {and situation comedies} in general. What HE wanted was the kind of “fatuous” sitcom that “Daddy O” satirized at the beginning of the episode- where Daddy’s a bumbling idiot- or the wife is scatterbrained- and the plot is nothing more involving than, say, “Hubby invites the boss to dinner, but Wifey burns the roast”. In fact, he objected to “THE DICK VAN DYKE SHOW” because he didn’t Rob Petrie to be a New York-based comedy/variety show writer (“Too ‘inside’”, Aubrey told Carl Reiner and Sheldon Leonard,, suggesting “Couldn’t you make Van Dyke a Midwestern insurance salesman, like Robert Young on ‘FATHER KNOWS BEST’?” They refused, and Aubrey [who was virtually forced to schedule the show because its sponsor, Procter & Gamble- CBS’ biggest advertiser- insisted on it] tried to sabotage, then cancel the series by the end of its first season). No, “DADDY O” probably would have been received better as one of Max Shulman’s novels. It’s hilarious, but too far ahead of its time…

While it’s entirely possible that the show was just too radical, another problem is that the show isn’t all that funny, there just aren’t enough laugh lines per minute. Or as user Classic_TV_and_Radio_Fan puts it, “If Adolf Hitler watched TV, This is what he would watch. Being raped is more fun than this crap fest.” Ooooookay…..

What are the later TV shows that Daddy-O reminds us of? The obvious one is It’s Garry Shandling’s Show from Showtime in the 1980s, in which Garry Shandling played “Garry Shandling,” a neurotic comedian who is completely aware that he is in a sitcom. The most famous innovation of It’s Garry Shandling’s Show was direct address to the audience at home, and Daddy-O has that too. Other examples include Chris Elliott’s awesome Action Family, also from Showtime in the 1980s, and last year’s delirious and haunting Too Many Cooks.

Darrell Y. Hamamoto, in Nervous Laughter: Television Situation Comedy and Liberal Democratic Ideology, aptly describes the underlying force of Daddy-O as well as explains where it would have headed:

Daddy-O as a self-reflexive critique of the situation comedy operated on two levels—ideological and structural. This was accomplished by beginning with the premise of Daddy-O being a situation comedy about a situation comedy.  Not only did Daddy-O mock the thematic and ideological conventions of the sitcom, but it did so in a way that laid bare the mechanisms for what usually passes for television realism.


Future episodes of Daddy-O would treat domestic themes such as “homemaking,” “child rearing,” “domestic bliss,” “domestic strife,” “civic virtue,” and “adolescent love.” Unlike other sitcoms, however,  the program would include “inside stuff” about Ben’s show business life complete with behind-the-scenes looks at writers’ conferences, laugh track sessions, music scoring, special effects, agency conferences, and other activities related to producing a sitcom.”

Here, in its entirety, the failed pilot of Daddy-O, passed over by CBS in 1961:


Posted by Martin Schneider | Discussion
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Hysterically funny, deeply sad song about shitty YouTube comments (NSFW)
10:15 am


Trevor Moore

Comedian and actor Trevor Moore—known as the founding member of The Whitest Kids U’ Know—wrote and performs this brilliant song called “The Ballad of Billy John.”

The song is about YouTube comments, but I don’t want to give too much away about this clever piece. It really speaks for itself. The “The Ballad of Billy John” starts out slow, but give it a minute, and then… BOOM.

The ending kind of gets you, too. You’ll laugh until you cry for two very different reasons. The human race is fucked.

Via reddit

Posted by Tara McGinley | Discussion
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Real Horrorshow!: Malcolm McDowell and Anthony Burgess discuss Kubrick’s ‘A Clockwork Orange’

Ken Russell was among the many directors originally touted to direct A Clockwork Orange before Stanley Kubrick. Russell was considered stylistically sympathetic to bring Anthony Burgess’s source novel to cinematic life—he had documented youth gangs as a photographer in the 1950s and made a series of highly influential drama-documentaries and films that had inspired not only Stanley Kubrick but also Lindsay Anderson, Tony Richardson and later Derek Jarman. I wonder what Russell’s version of A Clockwork Orange would have been like? Perhaps more flamboyant, more seedy, more of the end-of the-pier, more human than Kubrick’s aesthetically pleasing but cold and sterile vision. And though the great and the good lobbied to have Mick Jagger play Alex, I wonder if Russell would have opted for his favorite actor Oliver Reed? Oh, what japes they’d have had. Instead Kubrick chose Malcolm McDowell because of his unforgettable and iconic performance as Mick Travis in Lindsay Anderson’s If…
Casting at first sight: director Lindsay Anderson was understandably smitten by McDowell’s beauty, talented and attitude when he cast him as Mick Travis in ‘If…’ The performance that led to his role as Alex in Kubrick’s ‘A Clockwork Orange.’.
McDowell had the blue-eyed, blonde beauty of a fallen angel—he would have been the perfect choice to play Lucifer for Kenneth Anger. McDowell was born in 1943 into a lower middle class family in Leeds, he was never the working class lout as some tabloids like to pretend but a privately educated son to a family who ran a small guest house. He was clever, smart, idealistic, and decided he wanted to be an actor. After school, he found found work as a stage manager on the Isle of Wight before joining the Royal Shakespeare Company. McDowell embraced the cultural rebellion of the 1960s and hated the dominance of the established theatrical institutions, as he once explained to writer Michael Bracewell:

‘The RSC? Horrendous. Middle-class theatre crap…actorly acting with lots of shouting—after [Laurence] Olivier—and soul-searching performances…I mean I saw some great performances—Ian Richardson and Paul Scofield—but it was like being ordered around and told what to do by a bunch of little shitheads. I auditioned for the RSC by reading the Prologue from Henry VIII, for the very good reason that nobody knew it. It begins, “I come no more to make you laugh”, which was ironic, because humour has always been a great mainstay of my arsenal. I mean, A Clockwork Orange was essentially a comic performance. I used to loot my style from Eric Morecambe.’

Eric Morecambe (with umbrella and bowler) and Ernie Wise.
Eric Morecambe was the comic half to the much-beloved double-act Morecambe and Wise, who dominated British television screens in the 1960s and 1970s, which brings a different interpretation to his performance as Alex—one that would have been ideal for Ken Russell.

‘I’ve always had to live down A Clockwork Orange wherever I go, because ever since then, with the exception of O, Lucky Man!, which I made with Lindsay [Anderson] immediately afterwards, I’ve always been cast as the heavy. It used to irritate the shit out of me, and then I just got bored with it, you know? I just wanted to get on, maybe make a few comedies or do something else, but there was Alex…I know that I’ve said some mean things about Kubrick in the past, but thinking back to the actual shooting of that film and trying to forget all the baggage of what happened afterwards, it was an incredibly stimulating experience, even though I got to the point where I hated the film because of the reaction.’

This runs contra to McDowell’s enthusiasm as expounded in this interview about A Clockwork Orange he gave with author Anthony Burgess in 1972, but this was still early days and McDowell had not been hamstrung by his move to Hollywood, where he ended-up making movies for the lowest common denominator. McDowell is an exceptionally talented actor and no matter how dire the film he always gives a powerfully memorable performance.
The book and its Beethoven-loving author, Anthony Burgess.
Anthony Burgess came to hate Kubrick’s film too, which was ironic as the movie made Burgess a bigger star than his writing up to that point had achieved. Burgess is a writer’s writer, a polymath who claimed he would rather be known for his musical compositions than his books. Burgess wrote A Clockwork Orange in 1962, after being mistakenly told he had not long to live. To ensure he left money for his wife, Burgess wrote a series of novels in quick succession, one of which was A Clockwork Orange. It was moderately successful on publication, a cult book, that became a bestseller after Kubrick’s movie. Burgess claimed he took the title from an old East London saying, “As queer as a clockwork orange,” which may or may not be true, as there appears to be no known record of this phrase. Whatever its derivation, it perfectly captured the book’s theme of a hideous artificial will imposed on natural behavior.
McDowell and Kubrick on set during filming.
After Kubrick’s film version of A Clockwork Orange was released in Britain in 1971, it was ironically linked to a series of violent crimes. The first was the murder of a tramp by a 16-year-old youth; the second involved another 16-year-old who, while dressed in the film’s distinctive gang uniform, stabbed a younger boy; the third was the brutal and horrific gang rape of a Dutch girl by a group of youths from Lancashire, as they sang “Singing in the Rain”.

Sentencing the 16-year-old for assaulting a child, a judge described the attack part of a “horrible trend” prompted by “this wretched film”. Following death threats and warnings from the police over revenge attacks, Kubrick asked Warner Brothers to pull the film from its UK release. For a very long time, through the 1980s and 1990s, the nearest place Brits could see A Clockwork Orange was Paris. It was only after Kubrick’s death in 1999 was his ban lifted and the film re-released in the UK.

Previously on Dangerous Minds
Anthony Burgess and the Top Secret Code contained in ‘A Clockwork Orange’

Posted by Paul Gallagher | Discussion
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Cheap Trick’s Rick Nielsen is selling off his guitar collection

Cheap Trick’s two teen idols/two dorks visual presentation schtick probably struck a lot of people as a mere gimmick in the ‘70s, but I will always be grateful to guitarist Rick Nielsen for showing the nerdy kids that one of us could be a for real, high visibility rock star. Cheap Trick were contemporary with punk, but apart from a highly disco-fied Blondie, punk bands weren’t featured in the kind of late ‘70s mass media to which kids interested in music had access pre-MTV, so that you-can-do-it-too ethos had to come from elsewhere, and for me, Nielsen was as close as I found to such a model. When I was a kid, Dream Police was my go-to, but as I got older and started back-tracking through their catalog, I found much to love about the back-to-basics Midwestern RAWK in earlier releases like In Color and the absolutely essential At Budokan.

But while he was an outlier, Nielsen was still always way more arena-rock than punk, and he boasted plenty of unapproachable showbiz flash—namely, his celebrated guitar collection/hoard, which surely cost a small fortune even then and is definitely worth a large fortune now. From agonizingly envy-inducing vintage pieces, to very cool custom finishes and custom builds, to his famous and utterly ridiculous five-necked guitars, Nielsen possesses an arsenal that can make gear-fetishists drool oceans, and as it happens, he’s currently divesting some choice pieces of it. He opened an online shop on in January, and he’s selling off GORGEOUS instruments almost as quickly as he can post them. There’s a great video of him going through the process of thinning the herd here if you want a glimpse into his stash. As I type this, all that remains is a 1956 Les Paul Junior, a stylin’ little Bronson lap steel, and an astonishingly pristine 1959 Gibson ES-330T. And by the time you read this, who knows what’ll be left from that? Reverb lets users set up alerts, so when Nielsen posts more instruments, you can be the first to know via email if he decides to let go of his self-portrait double-neck. But in the meantime, though most of this stuff is sold already, we can still enjoy some gear-porn.

Bronson B35 Lap Steel, ‘50s

Gibson ES-330T, 1959 and not a single goddamn scratch!

Framus Strato Deluxe 1960s Sunburst—SOLD

National Glenwood, early ‘60s—SOLD

Dean Psychobilly Cabbie, 2000s—SOLD

Fender Maverick, ‘60s—SOLD

Fender Floral Telecaster, ‘90s reissue—SOLD

Burny H, ‘90s—SOLD
Enjoy this backstage footage from 1985 of Nielsen explaining his guitar collection to a reporter.

Previously on Dangerous Minds
Germs drummer Don Bolles is selling off his old punk flyers
X marks the garage sale: buy Exene Cervenka’s stuff!

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Discussion
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Tension: Killing Joke live on German TV, 1985
06:01 am


Killing Joke

30 years ago, in March of 1985, Killing Joke released their fifth album, Night Time, an impressive creative leap and commercial success. The band basically jettisoned the tribal drumming and shouted vocals that had made their name in favor of a more accessible sound, though their music retained its anthemic loftiness and inflammatory lyrics. The album spawned the indelible “Eighties,” which somehow still packs a huge punch despite its long-passed expiration date, and the single “Love Like Blood” owed a significant debt to the poppier side of the gothic scene, and sported some mighty radio-friendly production. Their prior album Fire Dances had hinted at the more accessible direction, and Night Time‘s successor, the self-consciously grandiose Brighter Than a Thousand Suns, though quite good, sounds at times like an effort to make an entire album out of “Love Like Blood.”

Also in March of 1985, KJ appeared on the improbably named German TV program Live aus dem Alabama. The show was named for its shooting location, the Alabama Depot in Munich, a long-time military storage installation that received its conspicuously non-Teutonic name when the USA took the facility over after World War II. The program’s musical performances are listed here. Killing Joke’s performance, unsurprisingly, includes half of Night Time.

00:00 – Night Time
04:55 – Sun Goes Down
09:19 – Tabazan
13:42 – The Wait
17:29 – Love Like Blood
22:01 – Tension
25:16 – Change
28:50 – Pssyche
33:31 – Eighties
36:59 – Wardance

Posted by Ron Kretsch | Discussion
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Get high on the down-low: Hoodies with secret vaporizers
05:51 am



Smoke’m if you got’em, but do it discreetly.

At least that’s the idea behind vapRwear, a newly launched apparel brand that makes “Smokable Hoodies.” The collar of each one of these sweatshirts for stoners is outfitted with a cord-like vape system, where the hoodies’ drawstrings usually are. You know, you put your weed in there.

vapRwear hoodie tip
I might be high but shouldn’t the vapRwear logo itself be more discreet?

via Incredible Things

Posted by Rusty Blazenhoff | Discussion
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The artist formerly known as ‘Jock!’ Check out Prince’s Junior high basketball picture!
05:49 am



Ladies and gentlemen, Prince the jock.

Remember that sketch from Chapelle Show where they reenacted Charlie Murphy’s story about meeting Prince with his brother in the 80s? The one where The Purple One and his crew beat everyone from Eddie Murphy’s crew in basketball, and then served them all pancakes? I remember thinking the show had taken some artistic license, not because of the pancakes (I’m absolutely sure Prince is a very hospitable host), because of the basketball detail; Prince is a massive personality, but he’s physically really tiny.

But apparently, he’s got game! Who knew?

Not only was that story, in fact, true, Prince’s athletic prowess has been well-documented since junior high school, as you can see from the Afro-tastic photo above. Yes, young Prince Rogers Nelson was quite the baller despite his diminutive stature, and a recently recovered article from The Minneapolis Star Tribune archives has the quote from his coach to prove it.

I understand the disappointment of not making the starting lineup—especially when you’ve managed to work around that kind of height disadvantage, but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say I’d rather have made Purple Rain.

Posted by Amber Frost | Discussion
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