‘Syphilis: L’Hecatombe’ (“The Mass Slaughter of Syphilis”) by Louis Raemaekers, 1922. Dutch soldiers returning home from the front with “The French Pox” caused a massive spike in STD-related deaths in the years following the war.
My pal Thomas Negovan owns the Century Guild gallery. Originally founded in Chicago in 1999, in December 2012 he opened a location in the Culver City Arts District of Los Angeles. Tom specializes in Art Nouveau and Symbolist works from Germany, Austria, France, and Italy done between 1880-1920, and includes the lithography of significant artists such as Gustav Klimt, Egon Schiele, Alphonse Mucha, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec; important Symbolist Artworks; and artifacts from the silent film era and German cabaret. Works from his collection are on permanent display in The Art Institute of Chicago, The Detroit Institute of Art, and The Metropolitan Museum of Art.
This Christmas season, the gallery has selected some of their most macabre and fantastic posters to be printed as limited edition Patronage Prints. Priced under $50, they’ll certainly make… unusual presents for all the weirdos (and drug addicts) on your shopping list…
‘Shadows and Light’ by Walter Schnackenberg is a 1919 Munich cabaret performance depicting a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ theme.
Fritz Lang wrote the silent film script of a woman leading men to their demise in ‘The Dance of Death’ (1919).
A poster advertising the The Grand-Guignol theater, a legendary landmark of terror. Performances there ran the gamut from horror to comedy, stimulating both extremes of human response.
Although back home in New Zealand—and Australia—Split Enz are YUGE, and agreed upon by all as THE seminal Kiwi pop act, everywhere else they’d be considered a cult band. Formed in 1972—although many of the band members had known each other for even longer—the group was started by Tim Finn and Phil Judd and were, at first, an all acoustic ensemble. Their sound incorporated a whimsical Beatles-influenced skiffle pop sensibility along with an often frantically complex song structure and twitchy vocals. They could be described as “music hall meets prog rock meets a circus act” although this is only kinda/sorta in the ballpark. The music of early Split Enz was uniquely unique. But I don’t have to describe it to you, that’s what YouTube is for, isn’t it?
And no other band looked like they did, either. Even during the glam rock era, with their angular clothes and makeup—inspired by German Expressionist cinema and Surrealism—Split Enz stood out. I mean here was a band that looked as weird—or weirder—as even Alice Cooper. Or Sparks. Or Lou Reed. The New York Dolls, you name it. Their seriously oddball art-directed look during the earlier phase of their career predated Klaus Nomi’s similar getup by several years. The same can be said for how their shtick comes a few years prior to Richard and Danny Elfman’s similar-ish Mystic Knights of the Oingo Boingo. These guys were doing something incredibly odd for forty plus years ago. And incredibly forward-looking, too. It’s no wonder their music still sounds so fresh today. They never really were “in style” save for a few years where a toned down Split Enz reached worldwide cult status during the “New Wave” era, first with their immortal hit “I Got You” and then with songs like “Six Months In A Leaky Boat,” “History Never Repeats” and the albums True Colours, Waiata and Time & Tide. After the end of the Enz, Neil Finn would go on to form the even more successful Crowded House. From time to time there’s a Split Enz reunion.
Here’s a selection of some of my favorite early Split Enz videos.
First up is the group’s debut Australian single, 1975’s “Maybe,” which was a conscious effort to do an “I am the Walrus”-type thing. How great is this, I ask you, my rock snob readers?
In 2013 Paris Photo LA purchased a collection of photographs taken in California prisons between 1977 and 1993 for $45,000, a price that startled a good number of observers. In 2011, a collector named Myles Haselhorst had paid “a low four figure sum for the collection—which includes two photo albums and numerous loose snapshots totaling over 400 images.” In the space of two years the collection changed hand several times. Haselhorst “doubled” the money he’d paid for them; Harper’s Books, the final seller of the collection, paid $20,000 for it.
Here is an excerpt of Harper’s description of the collection:
Taken between 1977 and 1993. By far the largest vernacular archive of its kind we’ve seen, valuable for the insight it provides into Los Angeles gang, prison, and rap cultures. The first photo album contains 96 Polaroid photographs, many of which have been tagged (some in ink, others with the tag etched directly into the emulsion) by a wide swath of Los Angeles gang members. Most of the photos are of prisoners, with the majority of subjects flashing gang signs.
The second album has 44 photos and images from car magazines appropriated to make endpapers; the “frontispiece” image is of a late 30s-early 40s African-American woman, apparently the album-creator’s mother, captioned “Moms No. 1. With a Bullet for All Seasons.”
As a quick aside, and for the purposes of thinking out loud, might it be that polaroids that reference Southern California African American prison culture are – in the eyes of collectors and cultural-speculators – as exotic, distant and mysterious as sepia mugshots of last century? How does thirty years differ to one hundred when it comes to mythologising marginalised peoples? Does the elevation of gang ephemera from the gutter to traded high art mean anything? I argue, the market has found a ripe and right time to romanticise the mid-eighties and in particular real-life figures from the era that resemble the stereotypes of popular culture. It is in some ways a distasteful exploitation of people after-the-fact. Perhaps?
-snip-
If the price tag seems crazy, it’s because it is. But consider this: one of the main guiding factors for valuations of art is previous sales of similar items. However, in the case of prison polaroids, there is no real discernible market. Harper’s is making the market, so they can name their price.
Whether the art market is fetishizing African-American gang members or not, the likely result of the exorbitant price for these photos will be to incentivize owners of similar collections to make them public, which is good news for purchasers of art books and readers of websites like Dangerous Minds.
Well what do we have here? Benjamin Mackey, an artist over at Society 6 had the good sense to create a line of Tarot card-style mini-art pieces based on the 1990 cult television series, Twin Peaks.
The Log Lady as The High Priestess Tarot card
The demonic Bob as The Devil Tarot card
Leland Palmer as the Death Tarot card
Each card measures a mere 7” by 10” and as you would expect features a different character from the series. The demonic Bob is of course, The Devil, The Magician is agent Dale Cooper (holding a piece of cherry pie), the Log Lady plays The High Priestess and the Death card is reimagined with the image of Leland Palmer. Images of the rest of the 22 cards (that will run you $15 bucks a pop) follow after the jump…
Nobody ever claimed that the Italians were prone to stinting on style, and you can see ample evidence of the country’s flair for both in Rome’s retail mecca for discount clothing and a recent documentary celebrating the store’s unique status and popularity in the country’s capital city.
Located at Via dello Statuto 11 in Rome, Magazzino allo Statuto is universally referred to as “MAS.” The store has had a colorful history of three broad chapters—punctuated by periods in which the store was literally closed for business—first as a luxury store in the pre-WWII era and then as a symbol of the country’s postwar economic boom in the 1950s.
In 1974 Gianni Pezone re-opened MAS in its third incarnation, as a fashion emporium catering to “everyone,” to people of all income levels—it is this most populist iteration of the store’s history with which Rä Di Martino’s 30-minute documentary “The Show MAS Go On” concerns itself. In 2013 it was announced that MAS would be closing its doors, a fate that it apparently averted, but the scare was enough to spur Di Martino to action, spearheading a loving documentary about the store that started out as a crowdfunding project but was eventually financed by Gucci, of all possible companies (once you watch the movie, the strangeness of the juxtaposition will become clearer) who decided to bankroll the movie. It premiered at the 2014 Venice Film Festival.
In New York City the functioning analog would be Century 21, but even that important store fails to capture the tacky centrality that MAS seems to enjoy in contemporary Roman life. The playfulness of “The Show MAS Go On” is already signaled in the title, and however you may feel about it after 5 minutes, I can say with confidence that you will not foresee where the movie intends to take you. (Among Di Martino’s creative appropriations are the episode of The Twilight Zone titled “The After Hours” and Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day.”)
The viewer will hear a lot from Pezone’s voluble daughter, who makes flamboyant claims of MAS’ importance, as well as get acquainted with the fellow responsible for the store’s distinctive handmade signage. We also learn that MAS was (and probably remains) a favorite of Italy’s many hardworking costume designers working in movies and TV. But one of the documentary’s greatest pleasures is the ample footage of the diverse clientele of MAS wandering through endless aisles and piles of discounted jeans and polo shirts.
If you haven’t sent out your holiday cards yet, might I suggest these nifty metal hero Christmas cards instead? Confuse the Hell out of your relatives with ‘em. Each order contains all three cards with colored envelopes. The watermarks will not appear on cards.
Uriel Valentin is the talented Argentinian-based doll maker and artist behind a massive line of plush, hand-painted dolls that are about to send you running for your credit card. I often blog about these kinds of collectibles here on Dangerous Minds but didn’t know until today how much I needed a plush Robert Smith doll clad in look-alike pajamas like the ones that he wore in the 1989 video for “Lullaby.” Did you?
Robert Smith of The Cure in his “Lullaby” PJs
Frank Zappa in his iconic “PIPCO” shirt.
Among the illustrious and eclectic inhabitants of Valentin’s cool world are plush versions of everyone from famous punks like Elvis Costello, director Jim Jarmusch, Charlotte Gainsbourg (covered in blood clutching the disemboweled fox from Antichrist), Andy Warhol and Jean Basquiat (wearing boxing gloves and attire no less, as in the poster for their 1985 collaboration), Iron Maiden’s “Eddie” (as well as Maiden bassist Steve Harris, squeee!), two delightful versions of Robert Smith of The Cure and every member of fucking KRAFTWERK.
Valentin’s figures stand about fourteen inches tall, are hand-painted and sealed with a transparent acrylic varnish, and have wire inside of them so they are able to be put into posed positions. I’ve included over 40 (!) images of Valentin’s dolls for you to digest after the jump that will run you around $100 (including international shipping). The talented Argentinian also does custom orders (which are $115) - contact him via his Flickr page for more information.
Jim Jarmusch
Bette Davis and Joan Crawford from the 1962 film, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
Hedwig as played by actor James Cameron Mitchell from Hedwig and the Angry Inch)
Way more of these amazing handmade dolls after the jump…
10cc’s pedigree was perfect. A pop star lead singer of The Mindbenders, Eric Stewart who had reached global success with “A Groovy Kind of Love.” A songwriter, Graham Gouldman whose back catalog included sublime pop hits for Herman’s Hermits “No Milk Today,” and The Hollies’ “Bus Stop” and “Look Through Any Window.” And two anarchic art students Kevin Godley and Lol Creme who had earned their spurs in a variety of bands before teaming up with Stewart to form Hotlegs.
Hotlegs was the first intimation of the sheer bloody genius that was to become 10cc. There had been earlier collaborations—when Gouldman’s band The Whirlwinds recorded Creme’s song “Baby Not Like You” in 1964 or when Godley joined Gouldman in the Mockingbirds—but Hotlegs was the first conscious bringing together of their disparate talents into powerful focus. Their debut single and only UK Top Ten hit was “Neanderthal Man”—an earworm that burrowed deep in the membrane after just one playing. The song was the fortuitous result of trying out recording equipment at Strawberry Studios—the studio set up by Stewart and Gouldman in Stockport, England—when Godley wanted to lay “different drum beats down that he hadn’t recorded before.”
As we laid down the drum tracks, Lol was singing in the studio with Kevin keeping time – and after we’d laid four drum tracks down Lol’s voice came through at a very high level, sounding like something none of us had ever heard before on a record. It really sounded very strange, so we carried on working on the number, adding little bits of piano to it.
Once recorded, the trio played the song to Dick Leahy of Philips Records who was visiting the studio for potential business. Leahy declared “Neanderthal Man” a “smash” and offered to release it. The song reached number two and hit number one across Europe. An album followed (Thinks: School Stinks) but though highly influential Hotlegs never made the breakthru the trio’s talents desired—that was to come after Gouldman joined in the recording sessions.
This as yet unnamed band played their latest recording “Little Donna” to another visitor—this time pop impresario Jonathan King, who declared “Little Donna” to be a certifiable “smash.” It was the kind of enthusiastic response Godley/Creme/Stewart/Gouldman needed—but they still had no idea what to call their themselves. Then King said he had dreamt last night about standing in front of music venue the Hammersmith Odeon where hoardings announced “10cc The Best Band in the World.” It seemed a perfect fit. The name stuck, a record deal struck and 10cc were born. (An alternate version of where the name came from, disputed by both King and Godley, but confirmed by Creme and Gouldman, is that the band name er… cums from the volume of semen that would be more than the average amount normally ejaculated by most men. Potent!)
Of all the bands that appeared during the 1970s, 10cc was the one that directly followed on and progressed music from where The Beatles left off. 10cc eponymous debut album is their Rubber Soul, while Sheet Music was Revolver, The Original Soundtrack their Sgt. Pepper with How Dare You being their Abbey Road. Not that these albums were copies—they were far, far too good to be that, rather they were innovative progressions that came to shape and influence other bands—from Sparks Queen, XTC, Pulp—and to point towards the future of pop music.
A new Charles Bronson book and a slew of DVD releases seem to indicate the cult of the macho movie tough-guy is ever-growing. Twelve years after his death, the actor’s legacy shows no signs of fading.
Bronson’s Loose Again! indicates that the cult of Bronson initially took hold in Europe and Asia, while he was still largely unknown in the United States. According to the book, Bronson had passed on three Spaghetti Westerns which ended up making Clint Eastwood a huge star. It was then that Bronson finally agreed to appear in the European films Farewell, Friend (1968), Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) and Rider on the Rain (1970). These three films were virtually ignored upon initial release in America, but made Bronson a huge megastar throughout the rest of the world.
He became one of the highest paid actors in the world by the time he went on to shoot Violent City (1970), Cold Sweat (1970) and Red Sun (1971).
The Bronson phenomenon was so huge in Japan that his face alone could sell a movie—or anything else, for that matter.
From Bronson’s Loose Again!:
Red Sun unspooled in one Tokyo theater for nine months and broke the house record set by the recent reissue of Gone with the Wind (1939)—which had played for a mere four months. Nearby, a massive billboard displayed a lone image: a painting of Bronson’s cracked, mustached face. There was no text, just the visual promise that the latest movie with the nation’s favorite star could be seen locally. In 1971 Bronson collected $100,000 for four days work shooting (in Colorado) a series of TV ads for a new cologne from the Japanese firm Mandom. These clever spots by director Nobuhiko Ohbayashi (who went on to do the 1977 cult horror film Hausu) perfectly captured the rugged Bronson mystique. A few weeks after the first commercial’s broadcast, Mandom’s product was the best-selling cologne in Japan. A rival company decided to not even bother airing its own Bronson-less ad.
The hyper-masculine Mandom ad must be seen to be believed:
Bronson didn’t really break through in the United States until Death Wish was released in 1974. The controversial vigilante film cemented his stardom both in the United States and abroad. The squinty-eyed, gun-weilding, middle-aged man with the weather-beaten features became an unlikely archetype for American badassery.
Strangely, the one person unaffected by the cult of Bronson seemed to be Bronson himself. Bronson, quoted from Talbot’s book:
“I’m not a fan of myself. I wouldn’t go to see me. I don’t like the way I look and talk. I like the way I walk, but I don’t like the way I stand. I hate the way I stand. There’s something about the way I stand. I’m embarrassed at myself. I’m not embarrassed at what I’m doing. I’m just embarrassed at myself.”
We wrote about 10 To Midnight back in October here at Dangerous Minds, calling it the weirdest, “most fucked-up, underrated, ‘80s slasher horror movie.” It’s a MUST-WATCH for either fans of Bronson’s “cop not playing by the rules” antics or fans of homocidal maniacs in a proto-American Psycho vein.
If you’re unfamiliar with Bronson’s canon of work, or have any lingering doubts about him being the ultimate movie badass, after the jump, I invite you to bask in the testosterone of the brilliant “Ultimate Charles Bronson Movie Trailer” supercut. It’s a thing of glory…
John Lennon was just 40 years old when he shot 35 years ago by Mark David Chapman in the archway of The Dakota building on the Upper West Side of New York City on December 8th, 1980. Lennon and Yoko Ono had just returned home that evening from working at the Record Plant when Chapman approached him. The former Beatle sustained four fatal gunshot wounds and was declared dead on arrival at Roosevelt Hospital.
They say people who were around then can always remember exactly where they were and what they were doing when they first heard that JFK or Martin Luther King had been assassinated. I was 14 when John Lennon was murdered and I first heard about it via the headline in the local paper, the Wheeling News Register and Intelligencer the next morning. I always read my neighbor’s paper every morning while waiting for the school bus. There had been an intense snowfall in my hometown of Wheeling, WV early that morning and I was standing about calf-deep in fresh snow which was falling all around me. Just the night before I had begun “going steady” with my first serious girlfriend and we’d spoken for hours on the phone. I woke up high on life due to this exciting new development in my fledgling teenage love life. I was in an especially great mood.
Then I opened the paper and was smacked in the face with the shocking news that John Lennon was dead.
The world—well American football fans at least—first heard of Lennon’s death when it was announced by Howard Cosell on ABC’s Monday Night Football, a show on which Lennon himself had appeared in the past. He and the famous sportscaster were actually friendly and Lennon had been a guest on Cosell’s radio talk show as well.
“Remember, this is just a football game, no matter who wins or loses. An unspeakable tragedy, confirmed to us by ABC News in New York City: John Lennon, outside of his apartment building on the West Side of New York City, the most famous, perhaps, of all the Beatles, shot twice in the back, rushed to Roosevelt Hospital, dead … on … arrival. Hard to go back to the game after that news flash, which in duty bound, we have to take.”
Stevie Wonder broke the terrible news to an audience at the Oakland Coliseum (flanked by, among others, poet Gil Scott Heron):
Here’s a YouTube comment from a woman named Laura Agigian, who was there that night. Sure enough her memory of the event was as strong as if it had just happened:
I was there. I was at that concert. It was at the Oakland Stadium on December 8, 1980. During the concert, I remember feeling disappointed because Stevie seemed to be “off,” disconnected from the songs he was singing, and just going through the motions. He played many of his songs back to back in a medley, as if to get it over with. At the end of the concert, I knew why.
Even now, in 2014, I remember almost every word of that speech, which left me speechless. I remember getting more and more worried as he started to talk. I remember the collective “gasp” upon hearing the name of the artist who had been shot, and the incredible silence for a few moments afterward. The stadium, filled with thousands of people, was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
I was so overwhelmingly shocked, I could not speak. I couldn’t believe that most of the audience were singing along with Stevie after that. I don’t remember if he sang, “Give Peace a Chance” or “Imagine.” I was just crying my eyes out. When I got home, I turned on the radio and they were holding an all night call-in vigil. I called in and told my story of the Stevie Wonder Concert. I stayed up all night with all the other callers, trying to make sense out of it, or even to believe it.
Wow. I never, ever, ever thought I would hear this speech again. I feel like I was there all over again. Wow. And it is almost exactly how I remembered it.
