Henry Cow was one of the most distinctive (okay, difficult) of England’s ‘70s prog-rock groups. They are impossible to categorize and are totally an acquired taste, but once you “get” their music, you come to see how Henry Cow fills in several boxes of the “everything that can possibly be done with the popular music artform” grid all on their lonesome. If you’re a Zappa-head or a Sun Ra fan then Henry Cow might be up your street.

For about three years in the late ‘70s, I saw the same Henry Cow album, In Praise of Learning, sitting pricey and unsold in the “Imports” bin of a Musicland store in a St. Clairsville, Ohio shopping mall, where artists like X-Ray Spex, Renaissance, Suzi Quatro, New York Dolls, King Crimson, the Velvet Underground, Fairport Convention, The Damned, Tangerine Dream, Nektar, Klaus Schulze, John Cale, The Stooges, Gentle Giant, Magma, Gong, and The Sweet were all placed in the context of a catchall “foreign music”/out of print in America/expensive category. “Imports” covered a lot of musical territory, even bringing In Praise of Learning to a town where not one single, solitary person even cared.

There was a quote on the back, from the Scottish filmmaker who coined the term “documentary,” John Grierson: “Art is not a mirror – it is a hammer.” The lyrics seemed smart and mysterious, and I wanted to understand them.

One of the clerks there told me, “If you’re into groups like Genesis and Yes, Henry Cow is supposed to be like a weirder version of that.” I don’t think he’d ever heard them either—the record was still sealed—but that was sort of their reputation.

Despite the fact that I loathed both Yes and Genesis, it was that quote, “Art is not a mirror – it is a hammer” that eventually made me so curious about what was going on in the mysterious grooves of that record, that I finally succumbed and bought it. I think I paid $12 for it at a time when domestic LPs cost around $5.98 list.

I fucking hated it. The cool Marxist lyrics aside, it did nothing for me, but then again, I doubt that the band members of Henry Cow were sitting around in 1975 thinking “Hmmm, you know, how do make our unorthodox experimental music appeal to a teenage dickhead living in rural West Virginia?”

It would take several years, in fact, before I ever listened to In Praise of Learning again, after those first few bewildered spins, and then I began to appreciate the sheer bloody-mindedness of what these musicians were trying to do. Eventually I got really obsessed by it, especially the song performed in the clip below.

It’s not an album I pull out often. Would I ever, say, decide to listen to In Praise of Learning in the car? Well, no probably not. If you ask me, the way to appreciate Henry Cow, if you are approaching this work for the first time, is to look at them as a group of Marxist poets creating together. It’s certainly musical, but there is an “extra-musical” component that I appreciate about In Praise of Learning, especially in the epic polemic, “Living in the Heart of the Beast,” with lyrics by Tim Hodgkinson:

Situation that rules your world (despite all you’ve said)
I would strike against it but the rule displaces…

There I burn in my own lights fuelled with flags torn out
of books, and histories of marching together…
United with heroes, we were the rage, the fire.
But I was given a different destiny - knotted in closer despair.
Calling to heroes do you have to speak that way all the time ?
Tales told by idiots in paperbacks; a play of forms
to spite my fabulous need to fight and live.

We exchange words, coins, movements - paralysed in loops
of care that we hoped could knot a world still.
Sere words, toothless, ruined now, bulldozed into brimming pits
- who has used them how? Grammar book that lies wasted :
conflux of voices rising to meet, and fall,
empty, divided, other…

Clutching at sleeves the wordless man exposes his failure :
smiling, he hurls a wine glass, describing his sadness twisted
into mere form : shattered in a glass, he’s changed…
How dare he seize the life before him and discompound it in
sulphurous confusion and give it to the air?
He’s rushing to find where there’s a word of liquid syntax
- signs let slip in a flash : “clothes of chaos are my rage !”
he shrieks in tatters, hunting the eye of his own storm.

We were born to serve you all our bloody lives
labouring tongues we give rise to soft lies :
disguised metaphors that keep us in a vast inverted silliness
twice edged with fear.
Twilight signs decompose us
High in offices we stared into the turning wheel of cities
dense and ravelled close yet separate : planned to kill all encounter.
Intricate we saw your state at work its shapes
abstracted from all human intent. With our history’s fire
we shall harrow your signs.

Now is the time to begin to go forward - advance from despair,
the darkness of solitary men - who are chained in a market they
cannot control - in the name of a freedom that hangs like a pall
on our cities. And their towers of silence we shall destroy.

Now is the time to begin to determine directions, refuse to admit
the existence of destiny’s rule. We shall seize from all heroes and
merchants our labour, our lives, and our practice of history: this,
our choice, defines the truth of all that we do.

Seize on the words that oppose us with alien force; they’re enslaved
by the power of capital’s kings who reduce them to coinage and
hollow exchange in the struggle to hold us, they’re bitterly
outlasting… Time to sweep them down from power
- deeds renew words.

Dare to take sides in the fight for freedom that is common cause
let us All be as strong and as resolute. We’re in the midst of
a universe turning in turmoil; of classes and armies of thought
making war - their contradictions clash and echo through time.

This was music made for the coming revolution that never came, but the artists involved successfully freed their heads. No, this music isn’t for everyone, but it’s heroic, man!

Below, Henry Cow: Georgina Born – bass guitar, cello; Lindsay Cooper – bassoon, oboe, recorder, sopranino saxophone, piccolo, piano; Chris Cutler – drums; Fred Frith – guitar, violin, xylophone, piano, tubular bells; Tim Hodgkinson – organ, alto saxophone, clarinet; Dagmar Krause – voice—performing “Living in the Heart of the Beast” in Vevey, Switzerland for the Swiss TV program Kaleidospop on August 25, 1976. The entire 75-minute concert can be found on Henry Cow’s 40th Anniversary Box Set.

Stay with it. Some of you might not be able to take it, but if you can go with it, by the end it will make total sense. Fred Frith’s guitar solo in the latter half is utterly mind-blowing and it’s amazing to watch Christ Cutler in action.
 

Not a real product, sorry Deadheads.
 
As if the title of this post wasn’t strange enough, before a toilet that once resided in Jerry Garcia’s master bathroom was stolen, it was purchased at auction by online casino Goldenpalace.com for $2,550. After beating out a dozen other bids for Garcia’s commode, Goldenpalace.com announced its latest acquisition would join actor William Shatner’s kidney stones and a grilled cheese sandwich with an image of the Virgin Mary on it in a traveling exhibit. It was also said people would be able to actually sit on Garcia’s old master-bathroom toilet and pose for pictures—for a price. Because nothing says “throw away your money here” more than a traveling exhibit sponsored by an online casino full of kidney stones, an old grilled cheese sandwich, and a funky toilet once used by the King of the Deadheads, here’s a little bit more about Garcia’s throne from its description in the auction:

“Located in Garcia’s master bedroom suite on the second floor of 55 El Mirador Dr. in Nicasio, CA! Overlooking the pool with a view of Mt. Tam and Mt. Diablo! Salmon color! 25″ deep x 19″ wide x 16″ high!”

In total, Goldenpalace.com purchased four of Garcia’s crappers spending a total of $5000 on the bathroom items from Garcia’s former home in Nicasio, California. Also offered in the auction (held to benefit a now-defunct charity assisting children and families in need, The Sophia Foundation), was Garcia’s stereo, his two-person jacuzzi, a bidet, and his kitchen sink. The salmon-colored toilet in question was outside former Garcia homeowner Henry Koltys’ house in Sonoma, California, waiting to be picked up by representatives from the casino when it disappeared. As far as the theft of this costly used toilet was concerned, the police had almost no clues or leads to pursue. Here’s a statement from Sgt. Greg Miller on the great/gross Garcia toilet caper of 2005:

“If somebody tries to sell it as Jerry Garcia’s toilet, there’s a possibility we could get it back. Frankly, I wonder if they even know what they have.”

To date, Garcia’s lavatory has never been recovered, which may be reason enough to believe that someone knew exactly what they were swiping and the latrine is now part of some sort of Grateful Dead/Jerry Garcia shrine, where Deadheads gather to pay their respects. On the other hand, it might be residing in less lofty conditions in the home of a toilet thief.

Below is a recording of “The Weight” taken from the soundboard during a Grateful Dead show on July 18th, 1990 in Deer Creek.
 

“The Weight” with shared vocals by Jerry Garcia, Phil Lesh, Bob Weir, and Brent Mydland. This would be one of the last live appearances of Brent Mydland, the longtime keyboardist for the Grateful Dead, who would pass away eight days later on July 26th, 1990.

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Headline: ‘Ozzy Pleads Guilty to Killing Jerry Garcia’
Read a sweet 1982 love letter written by Jerry Garcia to Vogue cover model
Dead to Dan: Steely Dan’s amazing guide to giving up the Grateful Dead and becoming a Steely Dan fan
The Grateful Dead guide to dealing with a bad LSD trip

 
After 43 years, the scorching hard rock record by New York group, Stonewall, has been given a proper release. First issued in 1976 as part of a tax shelter deal—and without the knowledge of the band members—the LP languished in obscurity for decades before becoming one of the most sought after “tax scam” albums. Various unauthorized editions of the self-titled platter have been put out since the ‘90s, but the new reissue from Permanent Records marks the first time the recordings have been officially licensed from the band.

*****

Last week, Dangerous Minds shined a light on the shady Tiger Lily Records, the tax shelter label owned and operated by the infamous Morris Levy. We explained that the albums released by the company were meant to lose money, resulting in higher tax breaks for investors. We also told readers about some of the musicians that willingly signed deals with the label. Part two of our Tiger Lily exposé will focus on the artists who were wholly unaware—for decades—that an album of their material was released by the company. In each instance, just a few known copies of each LP are known to exist. Why so few? Well, that’s one of the mysteries surrounding the label, but it’s believed Levy shipped the majority of the Tiger Lily stock to the local landfill.

In record collecting circles, one of the biggest stories in recent years was the eBay listing for one of the rarest and coveted of all the Tiger Lily LPs. The 2014 auction of the album, credited to a little-known group by the name of Stonewall, ended with the winning bid of $14,100 (no, that’s not a typo). Incidentally, the seller found the record at a Goodwill store in New Hampshire; the purchase price was $1.
 

 
Stonewall were a heavy rock quartet from New York City. The band members were Bruce Rapp (lead vocals/harmonica), Bob Dimonte (guitar), Ray Dieneman (bass), and Anthony Assalti (drums). In 2017, Assalti did an in-depth interview with the magazine, It’s Psychedelic Baby, in which many of the unknowns surrounding the band were revealed. As Assalti tells it, in 1972, Stonewall were put in touch with Jimmy Goldstein, the proprietor of a Manhattan recording studio. Goldstein offered the group free studio time, if they’d be willing to record after normal business hours. Before the evening sessions, the Stonewall guys would smoke a ton of hashish, then show up to the studio, where they’d smoke even more with Goldstein. Then, with Goldstein on keyboards, they’d start recording.

Stonewall and Goldstein would jam for hours, then use the best sections as the basis for songs. After half a year of experimenting and recording, Goldstein and the band’s manager took hold of the tapes, telling the group they would shop them around to prospective record companies. Eventually, Goldstein told them there were no takers. The band would soldier on for a period before breaking up.

Years later, after Assalti had relocated to Florida and started a family, he received a phone call from a European collector who had questions about the Stonewall album—which Assalti hadn’t known existed. He was stunned. “It’s kind of sad,” Assalti confessed during the It’s Psychedelic Baby interview. “We were four young guys that were ripped off and never got the recognition I believe we deserved.”

Jimmy Goldstein is credited as the copyright holder of the tapes—a strong indicator he was Tiger Lily’s source. The Stonewall LP came out in 1976, the only year the label issued records.
 

The back cover.

So, what does a $14,000 record sound like?
 

2019 remaster.

Like the rest of the album, “Try & See It Through” finds the band balancing the heavy blues rock of Led Zeppelin with the heavy metal riffage of Black Sabbath. Goldstein’s organ is featured prominently in the mix, so there’s an added Deep Purple element, too. Rapp’s raw vocal comes off like a cross between Robert Plant’s guiding light for Zep, Terry Reid, and the raspy singer from Black Oak Arkansas, Jim Dandy. The highpoint of “Try & See It Through” is when Dimonte steps up and throws down an eye-popping guitar solo.
 

 
Assalti is now a grandfather. He doesn’t play the drums much anymore, telling It’s Psychedelic Baby, “Seems like most of the bands around here rather save the money and use a drum machine.”

*****

Sadly, guitarist Bob Dimonte didn’t live to see the reissue of the Stonewall record; he passed away last year. The remaining members of the band are still with us, though, and it’s very cool they are around to witness a formal release of their incredible work. Finally.

We’ll leave you with another killer track from the Stonewall LP.
 

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
What’s Up Tiger Lily?: The wild story of the tax scam record label run by the notorious Morris Levy
Tiger Lily Records: The wild story of the tax scam label run by the notorious Morris Levy (Part II)

‘Pay It All Back Vol. 7’ on On-U Sound
 

In a secret world of forbidden knowledge,
power comes at a terrible price.

A tour of every department of our media saturated society,
the most explosive conspiracy ever conceived,
the people shapers at every turn
we see ourselves as they want us to be.

Immersed in their options,
surrounded by their representations,
reality melts.

                            —Mark Stewart, “Favour”

The latest installment in On-U Sound’s Pay It All Back series of compilations, named after William S. Burroughs’ demand in Nova Express, gathers new music by Gary Lucas, Lee “Scratch” Perry, Roots Manuva & Doug Wimbish, Nisennenmondai, African Head Charge, Coldcut, Ghetto Priest, Sherwood & Pinch, Little Axe and Horace Andy, among others. Best of all, side three of the double LP kicks off with “Favour,” the first new solo material from Mark Stewart since 2012’s The Politics of Envy and its ghostly dub twin Exorcism of Envy.
 

Adrian Sherwood and Mark Stewart, London, 1985 (photo by Beezer, courtesy of Mute)

The video for “Favour,” directed by Stewart and Ruth Perry, sets the song’s opening lines, about emerging from a coma, deep in the sidereal void. Parched after his long sleep, the singer asks for a soda and receives dynamite—a better deal than Howlin’ Wolf got.

Everything in “Favour,” from the symbols of circular time suspended onscreen to the drum the size of New Jersey reverberating on the soundtrack, suggests a vast mental space where all that is solid has melted into air. The only landmarks are memories that vanish as soon as they surface, represented here by footage from Tøni Schifer’s documentary On/Off: Mark Stewart (Pop Group to Maffia). Perry and Stewart have processed these images from the singer’s life to resemble the “Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite” sequence of 2001.

Mark Stewart told DM in January that he’s got “like two or three albums worth of new stuff” in the can, so keep your eyes on the stars.

Pay It All Back Vol. 7 is available from On-U Sound and Amazon.
 

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Mark Stewart talks with Dangerous Minds about ‘Learning to Cope with Cowardice’
A short film on the making of Mark Stewart’s ‘Learning to Cope with Cowardice’ (a DM premiere!)

 
The director Nicolas Roeg wanted to cast David Bowie as the lead in his next film The Man Who Fell to Earth—the story of humanoid alien called Thomas Jerome Newton, who comes to this world in search of water. A copy of the script was sent to the singer and a meeting arranged. Roeg arrived at a recording studio in New York where Bowie was working on his next album. “David will be finished by ten, so if you come round about nine-thirty….” Roeg wanted to cast Bowie after seeing him in the BBC Arena documentary Cracked Actor. There was something ethereal about him, something alien, he seemed isolated in the world around him, traveling in a limo, drinking milk from a carton, watching the world go by. As Roeg later said:

“[Bowie’s} actual social behaviour was extraordinary—he hardly mixed with anyone at all. He seemed to be alone—which is what Newton is in the film—isolated and alone.”

Roeg waited, drank a couple of Martinis, met some exotic people, and wondered what was going on? Ten o’clock. No Bowie. Another call came through: “David will be finished by eleven.” Half-past eleven, no Bowie. Twelve, no Bowie. “He’ll be with you by two.” Five in the morning Bowie arrived. He was pale thin strange looking. Roeg started talking to him about the film. Did he want to do it? What did he think about the script? What about that scene where…? Bowie seemed keen, agreed with most of Roeg’s points, but was also nervous. He said he would do the film, yes, he’d be there. But he seemed more in a hurry to get Roeg out of the studio. Bowie was worried that if the director asked any more questions he would get wise to the fact he hadn’t as yet read the script.

Bowie was writing his own film scripts. He moved to L.A. with some vague idea of getting into movies. “Me and rock-and-roll have parted company,” he told Tina Brown from the Sunday Times.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still make albums with love and with fun, but my effect is finished. I’m very pleased. I think I’ve caused quite enough rumpus for someone who’s not even convinced he’s a good musician. Now I’m going to be a film director.

“I’ve always been a screen writer, my songs have just been practice for scripts.”

Bowie read the script and watched one of Roeg’s previous films Walkabout—a movie based on a fourteen page screenplay by playwright Edward Bond. He liked both and signed-up to play Newton.

Filming took place over eleven weeks in New Mexico starting in July 1975. According to Bowie, he was “blasted” off his tits on cocaine, snorting ten grams a day. This runs counter to what his co-star Candy Clark claimed. She said Bowie gave a vow to Roeg he would take “no drugs.” Bowie was focussed, on the mark, and “luminescent.” Though Bowie later fessed up:

“I just learned the lines for that day and did them the way I was feeling. It wasn’t that far off. I actually was feeling as alienated as that character was. It was a pretty natural performance—a good exhibition of somebody literally falling apart in front of you. I was totally insecure with about ten grams a day in me. I was stoned out of my mind from beginning to end.”

Whatever the truth, Bowie gave (arguably) his best performance. Bowie liked Roeg, they got on well together, with the singer desperate to please the director. The New York Times noted:

Mr. Roeg has chosen the garish, translucent, androgynous‐mannered rock‐star, David Bowie, for his space visitor. The choice is inspired. Mr. Bowie gives an extraordinary performance. The details, the chemistry of this tall pale figure with black‐rimmed eyes are clearly not human. Yet he acquires a moving, tragic force as the stranger caught and destroyed in a strange land.

When Roeg delivered the finished film to Paramount, the studio refused to pay for it, saying it was not the movie they had agreed upon. It was eventually distributed by British Lion Films. Critical reception was mixed. Some thought it “preposterous and posturing” (Roger Ebert), others (Richard Eder) thought it “absorbing” and “beautiful.” From its initial release, The Man Who Fell to Earth gained a cult status, and a fanbase that has grown to the point where the movie is now considered one of Roeg’s and Bowie’s best work.

In February 1976, Films and Filming magazine gave a sneak preview of Roeg’s latest “masterpiece,” which was followed by a four star (“not to be missed”) review in the May issue from that year.
 

 

 

 
More pages of Bowie and ‘The Man Who Fell to Earth,’ after the jump….
 

 
The cleverly named All The Young Droogs collection is a must hear anthology of the so-called “junk shop glam” subgenre of the glitter rock era, i.e. the obscure non-charting also-rans to your better-selling groups and performers like David Bowie, T.Rex, Suzi Quatro, Sweet, Slade and Roxy Music. These groups would fall to the diminishing side of the “even more obscure than Jobriath?” divide, which is to say pretty obscure indeed, with a few obvious exceptions.

To use its full title All the Young Droogs: 60 Juvenile Delinquent Wrecks, Rock’N’Glam (And a Flavour of Bubblegum) From the ’70s is similar to earlier volumes that defined junk shop glam like Velvet Tinmine, Boobs and Glitterbest, but I would argue that it’s even better than any of those prior stone cold classics. Velvet Tinmine introduced—or rather reintroduced—Brett Smiley’s amazing “Va Va Va Voom” to the world and you’re telling me this one is better still? As a matter of fact, yes I am, and there is even some never-before-heard Brett Smiley on this one, too. Not only that, with it being a three CD box set, it’s much longer and far more comprehensive than its thematic predecessors. Able to stretch out this time, the subgenre is put into further silos of niche classification. Each of the discs features a distinct (or at least a distinct-ish) further sub categorization of junk shop glam: the mascara-wearing pre-punk hard rockers; the simplistic shouted rock and roll tropes of the platform boot-wearing “tubthumpers & Hellraisers” (the “losers and the bruisers” according to co-producer Phil King); and on the third disc, the elegant and effete decadent dandies, New York City pretty bisexual boyfriend thieves and wannabe rock superstars.

I favor the gender-bending third disc with contributions from the likes of Doctors of Madness, the Spiders from Mars, and Woody Woodmansey’s U-Boat. John Howard‘s “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” will captivate anyone exposed to it here first and I was instantly sold on Rococo’s crazily catchy “Ultra Star.” I have to admit, one of the stronger attractions for me was hearing “Night Creatures” by Be-Bop Deluxe again. It might be the sole song by them that I’ve ever heard, or at least that I can remember, and I will admit to immediately purchasing a used copy of their Postcards from the Future CD to see what else I’ve been missing.

Listen after the jump…

Tony Iommi and Eddie Van Halen in 1978.
 

“Without Tony, heavy metal wouldn’t exist. He is the creator of heavy! Tony is a legend. He took rock and roll and turned it into heavy metal.”

-–Eddie Van Halen telling the world how he feels about Tony Iommi.

Not long after the second departure of Ronnie James Dio (as well as drummer Vinnie Appice) in 1992, Tony Iommi began formulating his plan to re-assemble Black Sabbath. In his revealing book, and in this fan’s estimation, one of the best rock bios ever, Iron Man: My Journey Through Heaven and Hell with Black Sabbath, Iommi discussed in detail his experience of rebuilding Black Sabbath yet again. In the process of auditioning new UK-based timekeepers, Iommi got a call from a fellow former bandmate of Dio’s, Brooklyn native Bobby Rondinelli, who was very much interested in the gig. According to Iommi, Rondinelli flew out to play for the guitarist, and Iommi hired him on the spot. With Tony Martin back on vocals (for the first time since 1990), long-time Sabbath keyboardist Geoffrey Nicholls (RIP) and Geezer Butler firmly in place on bass, this version of Black Sabbath began the process of writing and recording their seventeenth album, Cross Purposes, at the Monnow Valley Studios in Wales. While Sabbath was busy working, Van Halen (or Van Hagar, as it was 1993) was close to wrapping up the European leg of their Right Here Right Now Tour, stopping at the National Exhibition Centre on April 25th,1993. This time, when Iommi’s phone rang it was Eddie Van Halen on the other end, asking Tony if he had time to hang out while he was in town. And this is where one of rock’s riffiest rumors got its start.

Since Tony Iommi is a class act, he personally drove to Eddie’s hotel to pick up the guitarist to bring him to Sabbath’s nearby rehearsal space, just outside of Birmingham. On the way, they stopped at a local music shop to pick up a guitar for Eddie to play, setting the stage for the possibility that Eddie Van Halen might somehow become a part of Cross Purposes. Ever since this particular meeting of the twin guitar titans, there have been persistent affirmations from fans and websites that Eddie’s signature shredding appeared on the song “Evil Eye.” And why not? If Eddie Van Halen asks if he can come over and “play” with you, not only do you say “yes,” but anyone with good sense would also be sure to capture the moment in some way, shape, or form, or as they say, “it never happened.” So here’s the story straight from Iommi on Sabbath’s jam session with Eddie Van Halen one Sunday evening in 1993.

Noted in the book, on their way to the rehearsal space, Eddie asked if his new BFF wanted to pick up some beer. Since Iommi was driving, he declined to imbibe, but the seemingly very thirsty Ed grabbed a case of beer to bring along with him anyway. Before Eddie became, in Iommi’s words, “legless” (you know—when your legs stop holding you up because booze somehow broke all your leg bones), Eddie played a solo over Iommi’s original riff for “Evil Eye.” What happened next would echo back to Sabbath’s problematic “let’s do all the cocaine” days in the 70s when they were completely fucked up all the time, including while they were in the studio laying down music for an album. In an interview with High Times magazine in 1994 with both Iommi and Ozzy Osbourne, Ozzy recalled, quite remarkably, that the band would constantly “forget” what they were doing, including not remembering to hit the “play/record” button in the studio for hours on end! This time (noted in chapter 71 in his book), Iommi put the blame squarely on his own stone-cold-sober self—and the band—for not recording his and Eddie’s epic riff/solo collaboration:

“We (Eddie, Iommi, and Sabbath) had a jam, and he played on “Evil Eye.” I played the riff, and he played a great solo over it. Unfortunately, we didn’t record it properly on our little tape player, so I never got a chance to hear it! That was a funny day.”

Much more after the jump…

The 180 Gs’ ‘Commercial Album’

When Negativland’s DVD Our Favorite Things appeared a dozen years ago, it came with a bonus CD called 180 d’Gs to the Future! The Music of Negativland as Performed by the 180 Gs. Negativland claimed the disc’s astonishing a cappella interpretations of “Christianity Is Stupid,” “The Playboy Channel,” part of Helter Stupid and other catalog classics were the work of a “talented posse from inner Detroit” known for its gospel, R&B and doo-wop stylings.

Naturally, I suspected these were lies. While I marveled at the technical skill of the 180 Gs’ performances, the expert blending of their vocals and the creativity of their SATB arrangements of essentially unmelodic material, I thought Negativland had probably hired some guy for scale who records call signs for radio stations, or maybe processed and layered the honeyed voice of Richard Lyons using some 21st century harmonizer as yet unknown to me. The novelty record seemed to be another Negativland hoax, along the lines of their supposed role in a multiple axe murder in Minnesota, or their supposed discovery of a new primary color.

Even today, the 180 Gs’ Manhattan Transfer-ized rendition of “Christianity Is Stupid” sometimes gets stuck in my head, but I hardly thought about the group until last month, when the excellent Klanggalerie label associated with the Residents released the 180 Gs’ Commercial Album, an a cappella performance of all 40 one-minute songs on the Residents’ 1980 LP. A Google search led me to the Bandcamp page of one David Minnick (who actually does, it seems, hail from Motor City), where the 180 Gs’ cover of the Cardiacs’ Sing to God also resides in its double-CD entirety.
 

The 180 Gs (via Soundcloud)

The Residents covers are a gas, as Homer Flynn of the Cryptic Corporation affirms in his liner notes for the 180 Gs’ Commercial Album:

WHY? What inspires someone to take on such a monumentally demanding and difficult job, especially one so highly unlikely to escape the shadow of the original. After tossing this question around for a couple of days, I could only come up with one answer - FUN! And it sounds like fun, making me smile again and again, hearing their voices imitating synthesizers, guitars and basses, whistling to re-create keyboard parts and beating their bodies as mock percussion. But the thing that’s most impressive about the album is that the Gs are not merely imitating the Residents’ masterpiece of minimalism, but reinventing it, while staying completely faithful to the source material. Like the originators, the 180Gs are creating their own alternate musical universe, just as curious and original as that of The Residents. […]

Listening to the 180Gs singing Fred Frith’s singular guitar solo, while imitating Andy Partridge’s eccentric phrasing on Margaret Freeman is a delight, not unlike their mimicking of Snakefinger’s vocal and Frith’s bass playing on Ups and Downs. And sometimes they add their own little twists, like making Give It to Someone Else a bit less sinister while creating a curious exercise in joyful voyeurism.

Below, I’ve embedded the 180 Gs’ take on “Frownland,” the first cut on Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band’s Trout Mask Replica, and further down is the entire Commercial Album. Find more at David Minnick’s Soundcloud and Bandcamp pages.
 

 
Longmont Potion Castle is the alias used by an anonymous—and infamous—prank phone call artist. LPC has been releasing recordings of his strange, hysterically funny calls for decades, yet has largely remained an enigma. A new, appropriately off-kilter documentary shines light on this mysterious figure.

When I was first exposed to Longmont Potion Castle, his style reminded me of the absurdist prank calls made by Gregg Turkington (better known as his character, Neil Hamburger) that were included on the 1992 album, Great Phone Calls. Even more so than Turkington, LPC incorporates technology into his work, using tech to further confound his already confused “victims.” An example of this approach is heard on “Nash” (from Vol. 4), one of LPC’s most famous calls, in which he pranks his local record store.
 

 
The documentary, Where in the Hell is the Lavender House? The Longmont Potion Castle Story, is currently making the rounds. Here’s the IMDb synopsis:

Two filmmakers attempt to make a documentary about an anonymous phone-work artist called Longmont Potion Castle who’s been releasing albums of surreal and hilarious pranks for over thirty years. In spite of a semi-successful crowdfunding campaign and the involvement of celebrity fans, the filmmakers succumb to their own infighting and bad luck leaving an unpaid camera operator to finish the film.

Okay, while it IS a documentary on LPC, is what’s presented in the movie—as cited above—really what’s going on? From the get-go, there are moments that will make viewers wonder if they are being duped by the filmmakers. Considering the subject of the doc, it’s all very fitting.
 

Probably not Colin St. John.

One celebrity fan, actor Rainn Wilson, appears in the film, and is most certainly in on the joke. Wilson has described LPC’s blend of surreal artistry and improvisational comedy as “Salvador Dali meets Adam Carolla,” perfectly summing up the modus operandi of the legendary prankster. 
 

 
Eventually, the filmmakers meet up with Longmont Potion Castle, who gives unprecedented access to his world, though his face is always obscured. In one sequence, LPC creates an elaborate crank call for the cameras. Dangerous Minds is pleased to have the web premiere of that segment…

Watch after the jump…

 
October 5th 2006: Sparks played the ABC, Glasgow, an old cinema that had at one point been known as the venue for Hengler’s Circus. In the basement assorted wild animals (bears, giraffes, lions apparently) had once been kept for what was then considered entertainment. Legend has it these animals were on occasion given a day out, led up Garnethill to the famous Art School for the students to draw. Both buildings have since, sadly, been destroyed by fire.

That fall evening, Sparks played a blinder. One of the best concerts I’ve ever seen. I wasn’t alone in that thought. A young lad dancing dementedly beside me in the packed arena said it was the best “fucken concert” he’d seen.
“Seen a lot of concerts?”
“Aye, hunnerds, fucken hunnerds, man. Ah didnae ken who these cunts were, Ah only came wi’ ma mate, but fucken hell they’re fucken brilliant, man, fuc-ken brilliant.”

He was too young to be Irvine Welsh, tho I wondered if he could sell me some E’s, but still I knew what he meant. There was something special that night—even Ron Mael smiled and seemed to be having fun. Maybe it was because the fifth was Russell Mael’s birthday? Maybe. It could explain why he put so much energy, passion, and artistry into his performance—but then again that could just be great talent. Before the show finished, the whole auditorium erupted in a rousing version of “Happy Birthday to Russell” as he was presented with a candle-lit cake. Maybe. But more likely, or at least what I like to think, this was Sparks, Ron and Russell batting a new century into touch by producing some of their best, nay greatest, and most original work to date.

It all kicked off in 2002 when Sparks released one of their best albums Lil’ Beethoven. This was a record like nothing that had come before. Though to be fair, there were some hints in their album Gratuitous Sax & Senseless Violins in 1994 and the single “Wunderbar” in 2001 anticipated elements of this epic work of sheer artistic brilliance. From the opening track “The Rhythm Thief” we ain’t in Kansas anymore, Toto, the album’s like a John Adams opera meets the Beatles meets repetitive, hypnotic, minimalist electronica all filtered through the talents of Ron and Russell.  Take a listen to tracks like “I Married Myself,” “My Baby’s Taking Me Home,” and “Suburban Homeboy,” and you’ll see what I mean. Lil’ Beethoven was a massive critical success, but not so great commercially, alas. Then in 2006, the brothers Mael released Hello Young Lovers, another album of show-stopping songs which deservedly brought the brothers their biggest commercial success in quite a few years. A single off this album “Dick Around” was banned by the horse’s arses at the BBC who were offended by the word “dick.” Which says more about the minds that work there than what the term actually means.

But the Maels weren’t finished or even sitting on their laurels. While other bands start treading water or retiring when they hit their sixties and seventies—which in a sidebar moment always makes me wonder do these dark-haired septuagenarians dye their pubes to match their hair? It would look odd if they didn’t…—Ron and Russell Mael were putting out one masterpiece after another.

Following on from Hello Young Lovers came Exotic Creatures of the Deep in 2008, which proved as successful as the previous release and was notable for the singles “Good Morning” and “Lighten Up Morrissey.” This was great, catchy, leftfield pop but nothing compared to the utter brilliance, nay genius, of The Seduction of Ingmar Bergman in 2009. Here was a pop opera about the famous Swedish film director invited to Hollywood to make movies. The storyline about Bergman’s artistic integrity in battle with commercial success—or selling out—applied as much to the filmmaker as it did to Sparks. Commissioned by Sweden’s national broadcasting service, Sveriges Radio, the brothers were at first reluctant to accept the gig, but eventually did accept thinking it might be something to work on between albums. As it turned out, The Seduction of Ingmar Bergman proved to be much bigger than that.

Yet again talent is an asset, but doesn’t always bring the rightful rewards.
 

Sparks and audience, O2 Glasgow, May 2018 (I’m in there somewhere….hidden by hands)
 
Sparks in concert, after the jump…