In 1987, the same year he won an Oscar, a Golden Globe and a Grammy for scoring The Last Emperor, pioneering composer Ryuichi Sakamoto released an interesting LP called Neo Geo, an exploration of world musics and high tech. If the acutely ‘80s pop production doesn’t put you off, it’s a wonderful LP full of great ideas. And it damn well should be—its credits are laden with names like Sly Dunbar, David Van Tieghem, Bootsie Collins, Bill Laswell and Iggy Pop. Here’s the full album:
 

 
It’s Iggy Pop’s contribution that concerns us here. Smack in between his least edifying Bowie collaboration Blah-Blah-Blah and his return to hard rock on Instinct, Pop recorded an amazingly powerful vocal track for Sakamoto’s song “Risky,” which became a single. The award winning video, directed by Meiert Avis, is a lush visual tribute to the art of Man Ray, among others, and features loads of tropes from Ray’s work, notably the words drawn in light to an open camera shutter. Per Wikipedia:

The ground breaking video explores transhumanist philosopher FM-2030‘s (Persian: فریدون اسفندیاری) ideas of “Nostalgia for the Future”, in the form of an imagined love affair between a robot and one of Man Ray’s models in Paris in the late 1930s. Additional inspiration was drawn from Jean Baudrillard, Edvard Munch’s 1894 painting “Puberty”, and Roland Barthes “Death of the Author”. The surrealist black and white video uses stop motion, light painting, and other retro in-camera effects techniques. Meiert Avis shot Sakamoto while at work on the score for The Last Emperor in London. Sakamoto also appears in the video painting words and messages to an open shutter camera. Iggy Pop, who performs the vocals on “Risky”, chose not to appear in the video, allowing his performance space to be occupied by the surrealist era robot.

The video exists in two versions, one for the radio edit…
 

 
...and one for the 12” remix. This version shows loads more skin than the shorter one, so use discretion if viewing at work.
 

 
Public Enemy released It Takes a Nation of Millions to Hold Us Back in 1988. Few albums have made a bigger impression on me or meant as much.

Today, Flavor Flav is a former reality TV star and Chuck D is a former Air America Radio personality and an elder statesman more generally. It’s difficult to reconstruct just how weird and scary Public Enemy once was to White Amerikkka. In 1989, when I first heard Nation of Millions, I was a college freshman who listened exclusively to radio-ready pop music and classic rock, with the exception of the speed metal I had recently gravitated towards—in fact, the inclusion of a snippet of “Angel of Death” by Def Jam labelmates Slayer on “She Watch Channel Zero” was one of the first facets of the album that attracted me to it.
 

 
We didn’t know it then, but 1988 was the heyday of intensely sample-heavy rap LPs before the lawyers ruined everything—other masterpieces using that approximate technique include the Beastie Boys’ Paul’s Boutique and De La Soul’s 3 Feet High and Rising. For a dopey white kid from the suburbs, the texture of Nation of Millions was heady, intoxicating. I could obscurely categorize all the talk of “white devils” for which Professor Griff would soon be jettisoned from the band as “wrong,” but most of the other stances, even the incoherent ones, were far more difficult to rebut. The sound of the album was insistently “hard” and justifiably angry, funky and brainy, an album to drive you to bone up on James Brown and Malcolm X. The purpose of the approach was to change minds, but I often wonder if Chuck D and the Bomb Squad had any notion of the appeal the album might possess for impressionable white kids. I suspect it wasn’t much on their minds.

The densely multilayered nature of Nation of Millions cries out for a deconstruction—preferably one that can be imbibed via the ears. Fortunately, on the Solid Steel Radio Show a few months ago, DJ Moneyshot released a remarkably enjoyable hour-long episode that does precisely that. For anyone who loves the album, the show is a singular treat, nothing less than an aural essay on its sources, of which there are many. Civil rights speeches, immortal soul classics, contemporaneous rap gems, and interviews with the likes of Hank Shocklee are all mixed together, Bomb Squad style, into a delightful stew.

Oddly, I’d learned only days earlier that one of the key opening samples from “Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos” stems from Stevie Wonder’s Innervisions; I also had no idea that David Bowie’s “Fame” was used as the bed for one of Griff’s mottos in “Night of the Living Baseheads.” I’m going to assume that many DM readers, being less ignorant than myself, will still derive considerable enjoyment from this head-scrambling mix.
 

 
Thanks to Lawrence Daniel Caswell!

 
I live right outside of Cleveland, Ohio.  Most of the people in my largely bohemian circle are proud to live and work in the area, and for good reason. It’s a gritty place on a cultural upswing; an amazing, cheap rent, close-knit universe, and a choice locale if you like your world tinged with blue collar, no-bullshit ethics, pierogies, cured meats, bad-ass rock n’ roll and some of realest people on the planet; guys like self-proclaimed “Genuine Nerd,” Toby Radloff.

Toby is perhaps best known for his appearance in the 2003 film American Splendor about Cleveland comic book writer and R. Crumb collaborator, Harvey Pekar. If you’ve seen the film or read the comic book series, you already know that Toby was a friend of Pekar’s and they met in 1980 while working together as file clerks at Cleveland’s VA Hospital. Radloff became a recurring character in Pekar’s American Splendor comic book series for which the film was named.

But the film version of American Splendor was hardly Radloff’s first nerdy experience in front of the camera.

Here’s Pekar on Toby in a 2009 interview:

When he first got on the media, what happened was I had just been on the Letterman show. And MTV sent somebody out to do a story on me at the VA Hospital and I was just taking them around and showing them different things. I introduced them to Toby and after five minutes with him they kicked me to the curb! I can’t compete with that guy!

Radloff was subsequently featured in a handful of vignettes for MTV starting in 1987 and aired, according to Toby, in conjunction with the release of Revenge of the Nerds II.  As an actor, the guy’s a true weirdo, and totally hilarious. He’s appeared in several outsider films, including Killer Nerd and Bride of Killer Nerd made in 1991 and 1992 respectively.  Both are distributed by Troma Films.

Here’s Troma’s synopsis for Killer Nerd:

The Troma Team is proud to present KILLER NERD, a film that stands up for the little guy. It’s every jock’s greatest fear; the nerd you teased in high school is back for REVENGE! Harold Kunkle is that nerd. Teased and taunted by even the paper-girl, he is pushed beyond his meek limits. Harold becomes KILLER NERD! You’ll be in shock when you take witness to KILLER NERD’s bizarre and horrifying ritual of retribution. You’ll be amazed at how a man so dorky could embark on such an orgy of gore. With effects and intensity rivaling that of TAXI DRIVER and Troma’s FATTY DRIVES THE BUS, you’ll be at the edge of your seat… IN FEAR. Starring MTV personality and real-life nerd Toby Radloff, and the stunning Heidi Lohr in her debut performance! This movie is sure to please anyone who has ever been pushed too far. Harold Kunkle is one KILLER NERD who is REALLY out for revenge!

Here you go, make it a double feature:

Killer Nerd
 

 
Bride of Killer Nerd
 

 
In 1999, Toby starred in another low-budget, fringe endeavor called Townies in which he played a necrophylic dumpster-diver, and in 2006, he was the subject of a documentary called, of course, Genuine Nerd.  Both films were created by one of the original producers of the MTV segments, Wayne Alan Harold.

Then, in 2007, Toby appeared with Harvey Pekar on Anthony Bourdain’s No Reservations at Sokolowski’s, a Cleveland staple for oversized culinary delights of the Polish persuasion.  Check it out:
 

 
I’m digressing here, and indeed, Toby’s all over the Internet. But the clip that inspired this whole post in the first place, the one that truly had me laughing my ass off, is from a 1989 Cleveland cable access program called The Eddie Marshall Show.  In it, we find Toby singing a rather goofy number he made up about cocaine to the tune of the “Coke is it!” jingle.  Note that Toby’s quick to point out that he in no way endorses the use of illegal drugs. Also note that the clip starts out with a PSA shout-out from Run DMC! According to Radloff’s own comment on the video, this and other Eddie Marshall Show segments were pitched to MTV but they were rejected. 
 

 
As a side note, my wife Lisa actually worked with Toby years ago in a now defunct Cleveland coffee shop called The Red Star Café.  She says he was one of her favorite coworkers, and absolutely the real deal. I don’t know Toby personally, but his voice is unmistakable, and I’ve seen/heard him and his Nerd Mobile around town on a number of occasions. It makes me smile when I do.

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Harvey Pekar’s ‘Cleveland’ is a splendiferous American masterpiece

 
Here’s a stained glass Iggy Pop night-light for all you hardcore fans out there who want Iggy’s face to be the last thing you see before you go to sleep at night and the first thing you see when you wake up in the morning. Why does something like this exist you might ask? Because Etsy, that’s why.

The Glass Action shop sells the Iggster for $40.00 + shipping.

AND if Iggy doesn’t tickle your fancy, there are Frank Zappa, Harry Nilsson, David Bowie, Robert Smith, Dolly Parton, Glenn Danzig, Bat Boy, Lou Reed, Alice Cooper, Adam Ant and Pee-wee Herman stained glass night-lights as well. 

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Iggy Pop’s tour riders are hilarious

 
Back in August, Richard brought us a glimpse of some fascinating behind-the-scenes footage from one of the most fascinating movie projects in the history of cinema, the movie that we may never see, yet must see, yet maybe it’s better if we continue imagining it and never see it at all! I refer of course to Jerry Lewis’ The Day the Clown Cried, the 1972 movie about a clown in a Nazi concentration camp that Jerry has hidden away and swears will never be seen by anyone.

At the time, Richard urged people to watch the YouTube clip NOW, because it’ll be yanked before you know it. Five months later and the clip is still up ... perhaps a sign that Jerry’s ability or desire to keep this from people is abating? We can’t know.
 

 
What we do know is that a new clip has surfaced with additional behind-the-scenes footage! And it’s tasty indeed, we get an entire scene in the process of being filmed. Jerry’s working with French actors here, so his directorial word of approval is invariably “Bon.” We get a fascinating clip of Jerry in full clown makeup in the middle of an empty big top, looking down at a pile of ashes as “Taps” plays. We also get a minute or two of Jerry working with the orchestra.
 

 
It’s a weird clip, actually. The YouTube “About” information reads in part, “This is the remainder of the footage from the full documentary, you’ve already seen the rest.” I take this to mean that the clip Richard posted in August is “the rest,” and that this second clip now completes the documentary. This YouTube file, unlike the other one, isn’t actually the documentary as much as someone filming a computer monitor that is playing the documentary—you can see the computer monitor clearly throughout, especially in the beginning as someone adjusts the frame. The monitor even has visible fingerprints on it.
 

 
In the clip below, Jerry interacts with an interviewer in a hotel room in Paris, two weeks before the production of The Day the Clown Cried. The date is March 1972. Jerry discusses the choice of Cirque d’Hiver de Paris for the location of the all-important circus in the movie, the ten years he waited before he felt he was ready to shoot the movie, and the casting of the children in the movie, among many other subjects. He also discusses his use of video playback, which (as he says) he invented sixteen years earlier. His mention of the circus as the location for the first day of shooting leads me to believe that the footage in the other two documentary clips similarly comes from early in the shoot. Much of the movie was shot in Sweden.

Interestingly, this interview clip ends with Jerry lighting a cigarette off of a candle, which (they had NO way of knowing this) is reminiscent of a gag from the August footage in which Jerry’s clown is not able to light a cigarette because the flame keeps going out just as he needs it.
 

 
via Cinephilia and Beyond

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Holy shit holy grail: BTS footage from Jerry Lewis’ Nazis comedy ‘The Day the Clown Cried’ surfaces!

 
As most of the nation still tries to stay warm, If you’re casting about for something to watch or even just something to fill the room, you could do a lot worse than this.

Black Wax, Robert Mugge’s 1982 documentary about Gil Scott-Heron is positively overflowing with the legendary talker and musician—“talker” seeming a far apter description of what GSH did than “street poet.” The man was born to talk, and everything he says in this movie has a wonderful, cockeyed, sad beauty to it. The music, supplied by the Midnight Band, has the same marvelous flow.
 

 
This photo is from the start of Scott-Heron’s tour of Washington, D.C., somewhere around the middle of part 1. His angry poem “Whitey on the Moon,” which kicks off part 2, is a particular highlight. Enjoy.
 
Gil Scott-Heron, Black Wax, part 1:

 
Part 2 after the jump…

 
It’s ten years since the actor and writer Spalding Gray disappeared in New York. He is believed to have committed suicide by jumping off the Staten Island Ferry. His body was surfaced in the East River two months later.

Gray achieved international success as a story-teller, who used the events, adventures, traumas and fascinations of his life to create the acclaimed productions Swimming to Cambodia and Monster in a Box. Gray enthralled with his personal tales, told in a direct though intimate style, seated behind a desk, with a minimum of props. He drew an audience in and kept them engaged, amused and thrilled with his unique, moving and often hilarious tales of life.

It was probably a car accident in Ireland, June 2001, that started Gray’s severe depression. He suffered a broken hip, that left his leg almost immobilized, and a horrifically fractured skull that left a jagged scar across his forehead. It was said that during the operation to replace part of his shattered skull with a titanium plate, the surgeon found shards of bone embedded in Gray’s frontal cortex. Thereafter, Gray suffered from a debilitating depression.

He tried various therapies to cure his condition. This included a course of treatment with neurologist Oliver Sacks. On the first anniversary of Gray’s disappearance, Sacks suggested that suicide was perhaps a part of the writer’s “creative” end to his life:

“On several occasions he talked about what he called ‘a creative suicide.’ On one occasion, when he was being interviewed, he thought that the interview might be culminated with a ‘dramatic and creative suicide.’” Sacks added, “I was at pains to say that he would be much more creative alive than dead.”

I met and interviewed Gray some twenty-odd years ago. He was in Glasgow to perform Monster in a Box, and we met in an hotel off the city center. He was tall, friendly, polite, enthusiastic, dressed in his uniform of plaid shirt and back jeans. Though jet-lagged, he entertained with amusing answers to questions he must have been asked innumerable times before. Then for the camera, he improvised about traveling and performing and living in hotels, and how he’d asked for a quiet room, a hushed room, away from the city tumult, and instead found himself perched over a cobbled lane where the click-clack-click-clack of late night revelers and day-time shoppers kept him awake, leaving him sleepless to count down the hours between shows. 

The day he disappeared, Gray said to his wife, Kathleen Russo:

“OK, goodbye, Honey.”

“And I go, ‘You never call me Honey!’

“And he goes, ‘Well, maybe I’ll start!’

So I left for work that day being hopeful that there was a future for us, that he was really going to try to get better.”

When Gray went missing, his disappearance was featured on TV news and America’s Most Wanted. Sadly, the hope he would turn up one day and recount magical tales of his misadventures were all too quickly destroyed.

This is Splading Gray in Gray’s Anatomy, directed by Stephen Soderbergh, in which our monologist talks about his rare ocular condition, and interweaves it with his Christian Scientist upbringing, Elvis Presley, sweat lodges, and his own fears around surgery.
 

 
H/T NPR;

 
When Lou Reed and John Cale’s collaborative tribute to Andy Warhol, Songs for Drella, came out in 1990, I didn’t love it. I didn’t even like it. It felt really forced. Over time it came to grow on me, but seeing the suite performed onstage, in the form of Oscar-nominated cinematographer Ed Lachman’s video documentation of the piece, really brought it alive.

Songs for Drella was part of 1989’s “Next Wave” festival at BAM and if you’ve ever been lucky enough to see something staged there, well, the lighting design and the general production values are usually more on a level of a Broadway show than a typical rock concert. Songs for Drella is essentially a theater piece and the visuals provide much of the enjoyment as well as a vague narrative. The songs are roughly in chronological order as they tell the story of Warhol’s life, from Pittsburgh, his early days in NYC, getting shot and his worldwide fame. The narrator changes from first person (Warhol’s POV), third person descriptions and Reed and Cale’s own commentary, as both longtime friends and collaborators with the artist.

According to a photographer I knew who shot the two of them around this time, Reed and Cale seemed to absolutely loathe each other. He described them as the two biggest bastards he’s ever been hired to shoot, in fact. Hissing snakes. The pair apparently vowed never to work together again, but they did anyway, for the ill-fated Velvet Underground reunion of 1993.

Shot on December 4–5, 1989 without an audience at the Brooklyn Academy of Music, Songs for Drella came out on VHS and Laserdisc, but as yet, has still not come out on DVD. The album itself was recorded in the weeks after this was taped.
 

 
Perhaps safer than overdoing it on the Adderall, some hardcore Chinese students cramming for exams have devised a hair-raising contraption that prevents them from falling asleep while studying.

Photos like the ones posted here, are showing up on the Chinese website, Wiebo. 

Honestly, I could totally use a contraption like this while standing in line at the DMV.
 

 

 

 
Via Kotaku and Nerdcore

 
The godfather of rockabilly, the perpetually touring Jim Heath, a.k.a. Reverend Horton Heat, chose to return to his customary old-school rock ‘n’ roll on his new album, REV, due out January 21st. This is a big deal (okay, not as shockingly big a deal as it would be if someone unexpected like, oh, Sting, decided to make a roots rock album, which is one of the final signs of the Apocalypse mentioned in the Bible), since his last offering, 2009’s Laughin’ and Crying with the Reverend Horton Heat, was a traditional country album he says was aimed to appease the die-hard country fans he plays for in Texas and the Deep South. The Rev says, “The last album really leaned country, and it was fun to do and everything, but we decided to get back to rockin’ on this one. The real epiphany I had was looking around at these country guys, and most of them want to be rockers.”
 

 
In addition to new material, REV includes an older song that will be familiar to fans who have seen his trio—with bassist Jimbo Wallace and drummer Scott Churilla—play live. Since his debut (Smoke ‘em If You Got ‘em) on the unlikely Sub Pop label in 1990, he has managed to outshine headlining artists like The Cramps and White Zombie, or come damn close. He often plays “Longest Gonest Man,” an early song from the mid-’80s.
 

 
The Rev told me during a phone interview last week:

Several years ago we opened up for The Sex Pistols, and I guess this guy named George Gimarc is a famous DJ who lives in Dallas, and he also had a really influential early punk rock/New Wave show [The Rock & Roll Alternative on the University of North Texas’ KNTU and later commercial station KZEW-FM] back in the early ‘80s. I think he was friends with Johnny Rotten and he sent him our first demo tape that we ever did. I had no idea. Johnny Rotten told me about that and was talking about “Longest Gonest Man.” That’s kind of wild, because that song was the first song on the first demo we ever did. It‘s kind of crazy it’s just now making an album.

—snip—

It’s got a rockabilly-country vibe to it, and we had other songs that were fitting the bill in that department at the time, so there just never there was never quite enough room for that one until now.

Speaking of George Gimarc, praise your deity of choice that he is such a pack rat… I mean John Peel-grade archivist, because he has been putting his Rock & Roll Alternative show archives online. During these once oft-taped and traded shows you can hear, among others, Rotten himself, a young Bono being interviewed, and Elvis Costello acting as guest DJ.
 
Early Reverend Horton Heat, “Longest Gonest Man”: