Out Come The Freaks - Freak Show Banner Art

From the 40s, 50s and 60s. What exactly were the 'Strange Little People'? I'd love to have seen the 'Barracuda Ape', and the 'Cyclops Pig'. Conjoined twins as freak show exhibits seems a cruel concept, although despite thinking we're all more sensitive now we can't deny a curious streak regarding 'freaks'. Reality TV programmes still feed that curiosity. TV and the tabloids are awash with modern freaks, most of whom disfigure themselves freely in the name of 'improving' their appearance courtesy of the surgeon's knife.

Collage: You're Only Human

Webern Boulez Bladder Scenario

It's not often you'll see Pierre Boulez and Anton Webern's names in the same sentence as 'Bladder', but that's the kind of crazy place this is. Ha-ha. Truth is I wouldn't have this box set if my bladder hadn't been fit to burst.

I'd got off the bus in Kentish Town yesterday morning and had the tough choice of walking home whilst desperate for a pee or going to the café, where I could use their toilet. I'd had one coffee already, although I do occasionally unleash the hedonist within and indulge in two whilst foraging for kulture in town. I already had a bag full of books but going to the café would mean absolutely having to check out the charity shops nearby. Decisions, decisions...it's not easy being me...in Kentish Town...having spent a fair bit already but faced with more shops...

So I went to the café, where I like to sit watching the dregs of society hobble past (not that I feel superior, of course, but look at the state of her! And why do slobs insist on walking around in tracksuit bottoms?!). One mad man did go by, alerting me to his presence by barking unfathomable words at the top of his voice, thus interrupting the creative flow pouring onto the notepad on the table before me...such lines as: 'Ought to really get LJ to cut my hair tonight', and 'Why am I writing? I have nothing to say' - oh yes, Kerouac's got nothing on me when it comes to spontaneous prose, I tell you....

So of course I went into the charity shop and having looked at the books then went to the vinyl in a fit of optimism because there's never anything there but utter shite and I do wonder if those bastards who share rare electronic music claiming to have done so from albums they found for $2 are just winding us all up because I've never, ever found anything that good for that kind of price. Well, I've found things like this, but they're hardly essential listening, you'll be surprised to learn.

But there sat Webern's Complete Works Opp 1-31 conducted by Pierre Boulez. The sleeve notes state that it's Volume One, but another was never released. I wonder why...it couldn't have been because this box set didn't reach sales expectations, surely. Wasn't the world clammering for Webern records in 1978? No?

The cover clinched it, of course. I mean, look at it - Kandinsky's 'The Black Circle' (1923). Did the Columbia people choose it because that black circle looks like the kind people always used to gain so much pleasure from on their hi-fidelity stereos? I wonder. Was Kandinsky thinking of the 10-inch record in relation to the modernist world and all that Jazz? I dunno.

Oh, and more than that, or at least equal to that, was the price tag. £1.49. Yes, £1.49. The records had to be in a terrible condition for that price, surely, but as soon as I tried to pull one from it's sleeve and felt that gentle resistance immaculate vinyl puts up, as if trying not to be spoilt, I knew I was onto a winner - all pristine, every one of the four discs. A Cliff Richard album would be priced more highly, but then, they've more chance of selling that, presumably. Who wants a box set like this? A man with a comfortably empty bladder, and only slightly emptier pockets, thank you.

Oh, and by the way, Boulez's recording's of Webern were No.1 in The Wire's "100 Most Important Records Ever Made" back in '92.

I Want To Introduce You To Our Visitors From Space: Space Man Comic Album

Space Man full colour comic annual. Issue Number 1. UK edition of the Dell publication, which started in 1962, although I've no idea when this dates from.  The artist is Jack Sparling and the writer is Ken Fitch. It's probably not regarded as a classic for either the writing or artwork, but I thought I'd scan a few panels anyway. 

Sun Ra & Throbbing Gristle Help Children Grow With Good Music

Now here's a program I can get behind. Yes. It's been planned, tested and approved too. Sun Ra and Throbbing Gristle can surely contribute to the growth of a child. They will squeal with delight at the unconventional Jazz of Sun Ra, and thrill to the pulsating electronic rhythms of Throbbing Gristle! Here is another example of correct parenting.

Martians Demand Beech-Nut Gum

Kids in space-age ads... irresistible. This, from Life Magazine, 1958. Terr-ific...

Collage: Now They're Using Chemicals

Musica Elletronica Viva Meet Norman Mailer & Quatermass

Just ate too much chocolate washed down with coffee now I feel a little sick and very high...

...Musica Elletronica Viva's 'Spacecraft' had the same effect on me first thing this morning, which is probably no time to be listening to such a monstrous cosmic sonic voyage, but what the hell, it blew away the fog of sleep real quick and scared away the woodpecker that was on the feeder, so I like to imagine, although he couldn't hear it and it was just me doing that...

...here are just 6mins of the 30min journey and I bet you don't even last that long...

...more spacecraft last night watching Quatermass And The Pit, with Quatermass disgusted that the military have muscled in on his project with a view to using the moon as a missile base. The prof makes an

impassioned speech against the idea of us taking our mass murdering attitude into space, but loses the battle...

...opened Norman Mailer's Advertisements For Myself (good Jonathan Lethem article here) at a random page half an hour ago and read this: '...the hipster, the man who knows that if our collective condition is to live with instant death by atomic war...'. That's from his 1957 essay, The White Negro, which I first discovered in the 1959 collection, Protest: The Beat Generation And The Angry Young Men....

...'One is Hip or one is Square' said Mailer, and I believed him back in the early 80s when I got my copy - yes, it was that simple. It still would be if 'hipster' didn't mean something else, these days. Actually, it wouldn't, because what constitutes Hip or Square is no longer certain, whereas in the late-50s it was: you dug Jazz, Beat literature and didn't want any part of the post-war consumer society...and you would give birth to the Hippy movement, eventually, and all the sins that followed, such as awful clothes, dippy idealism and mostly awful music inspired by LSD...

...someone once said to me 'You need to be on drugs to appreciate that stuff' in relation to Dub - well, he was stupid, musically, and I never smoked weed whilst listening to King Tubby - perhaps that's my loss. I can't imagine what M.E.V. sound like on LSD, they're trippy enough without mind-altering chemicals...

Prof. Pickering's Practical Plan To Signal Mars In 1909

I'm not sure when the term 'It's all done with mirrors' was first used, probably in the late-19th century in relation to popular illusionist acts, but here's Prof. Pickering in 1909 hoping to contact Martians, with mirrors. In case you think his mad scheme reflected badly on him you'll see that 'Many noted scientists' believed there was intelligent life on Mars. What a golden age of science...when boffins still believed...

The Exterminator - William Burroughs & Brion Gysin (Haselwood Books, 1967)

The Exterminator by Burroughs & Gysin has been on my wants list since late last year but it took this long to find one for a price I was willing to pay. It's the second printing...and if you want bibliographic details, history etc etc go here, the source of the cut-up below. Scanned a few randomly selected pages.

'Write your own message that is you..with scissors or switchblade as preferred..'

Film: Lonely Are The Brave (Dir: David Miller, 1962)

It's true, lonely are the brave, as I know from having been to Improv gigs attended by only myself and the musician's wife, listening to him make farting sound through a disassembled trombone. Here is another form of bravery in the shape of Jack Burns (Kirk Douglas), an old school cowboy symbolising the free spirit in a time of fences and signs...
   Jack Burns: "A westerner likes open country. That means he's got to hate fences. And the more fences there are, the more he hates them."
   Jerry Bondi: "I've never heard such nonsense in my life."
   Jack Burns: "It's true, though. Have you ever noticed how many fences there're getting to be? And the signs they got on them: no hunting, no hiking, no admission, no trespassing, private property, closed area, start moving, go away, get lost, drop dead! Do you know what I mean?"

Jack goes so far as to get himself imprisoned just to free his old friend. I wouldn't have watched this film if not for the insistence of a friend who claimed it was one of his favourite films. He lives in Watford. To show my gratification I'm thinking of breaking into Watford and getting him out. That's how brave I am.

En route to jail Jack gets into what turns out to be one of the oddest fights ever screened involving a one-armed troublemaker who he takes on with one arm behind his back because he's a decent, fair-minded guy (well, that and the fact that the rest of the hombres in the bar insist). It's a hell of a bar-room brawl.

The magnificent monochrome cinematography by Philip H. Lathrop is just one highlight here, along with Douglas, of course, who never looked more handsome in a craggy fashion, oozing roguish charm as he rails against the modern world. The notion of free man against the machine is brilliantly illustrated early on as Burns pits his Old West transport against lanes of traffic in order to cross. That's some horse he has there. It's called Whiskey, and proves to be something of a star in its own right, as well as being as free-spirited as Jack Burns (cue comedic scenes involving blankets and who gets to the watering hole first). 

The light moments contrasted with depth and tragedy make this film special. It's warm-hearted and hard-nosed, romantic and ultimately painfully realistic. Although heroic, Burns isn't allowed to get away with simply being a 'walk tall' gunslinger in the John Wayne mode. When somebody else isn't reminding him of his faults, he describes them himself. As he tells his friend's wife (played by Gena Rowlands), who still carries a torch for him: 

   "Know what a loner is? He's a born cripple. He's a cripple because the only person he can live with is himself. It's his life, the way he wants to live. It's all for him. A guy like that, he'd kill a woman like you. Because he couldn't love you, not the way you are loved."

To demonstrate her modernity we see that she paints abstract art ( as shown on the walls of her home), which may seem a little incongruous considering she lives in Smalltown USA, but it's another way of highlighting how she, along with the world, has moved on and Jack, naturally, doesn't understand the paintings either.  

Walter Matthau's Sheriff Morey Johnson has the task of hunting Burns. If he empathises with his prey, it's only hinted at most of the time. This subtlety is well handled where others might signpost the secret yearnings of a jaded cop more obviously. As the hunters close in the mountain scenes are spectacular not just visually, but in some jaw-dropping physical feats by man and horse.

The ending cannot be described without being a spoiler; suffice to say it's extremely powerful and distressing, whilst also being ambiguous. 

Collage: A Private Party

On Not Reading Julio Cortázar

Cortázar keeps nagging me to read him. Not in person, of course, because he's dead, and not because I don't know any famous authors, although I don't. I know a few people who've had books published, but none of them are famous, except, perhaps, in tiny circles, which makes their books cult objects, perhaps.

Yes we all know the common Supposed To Read But Too Difficult list inhabited by Joyce, at the top. And others, whose books may not be difficult, but they are very long. Big books have their uses, mind, as I wrote here. Tolstoy's War and Peace...Melville's Moby-Dick...Cervantes' Don Quixote...actually, I have read the last two, that's how clever I am, and determined to appreciate the absolute classics. I loved both, but no longer read books that are thicker than a couple of centimetres. I can gauge the size at a glance running my eyes across the spines on shelves, of course. When I first made this vow I carried a ruler with me and was very strict. Perhaps some classics were missed because they contained ten pages too many, but there you go. Trouble is, some publishers cheat by insisting on a small point size thus cramming in far more words than I want to read. This irks me, as you can imagine. It's the right size, I buy it, start reading and wonder why I'm only on page 14 three weeks later.

Julio Cortázar, yes, the bastard. I first bought his collection, Blow-Up And Other Stories, a few years back, having learnt that his story was the source of Antonioni's film, which is also, coincidentally, called Blow-Up. That's where the problem began. I didn't read 'Blow-Up', or any other stories in the collection. I kept meaning to, of course, but never did. Then, about a year later, I bought Hopscotch, only because it was very cheap. With two Cortázar books on the shelf, surely I'd start one of them! No. Instead, just recently, I found 62: A Model Kit, well, it was only £1.49 in mint condition. All Cortázar books in second-hand shops are in mint condition because no-one actually reads them! Ulysses, on the other hand, I often see and it's usually worn out to some degree. This is because it's been owned by students, I suppose, whilst others may have thumbed it well, and bent the spine, probably out of spite, before throwing it against the wall and out of the window.

The New York Times Book Review said Blow-Up And Other Stories displays 'a first-class literary imagination at work.'  Aptly, it is only my first-class imagination which keeps me buying Cortázar since I imagine he's an excellent writer, and I imagine I really could enjoy his books. That's the problem.

Well here's a funny thing. The very first lines of 62: A Model Kit are:
   'Why did I go into the Polidor restaurant? Why, since I'm asking that kind of question, did I buy a book I probably wouldn't read?'
   Ha-ha! It's as if he plays a joke with us poor wannabe readers, knowing full well that many of us will not read the whole book. Meanwhile his novels remain, as he also writes on the first page, 'lost forever in the bookcase'. In the same paragraph, he hits the nail on the head by saying 'the enigma was in buying them'.

The Witch Trilogy - Shinjuku Thief (Dorobo)

I didn't know Darrin Verhagen (Shinjuku Thief) until a few days ago - why would I? He lives in Australia, and that's the other side of the world from London. What? You mean the internet stretches that far? Amazing! 

Well, better 20 years later than never. The trilogy runs from 1993 (The Witch Hammer), to 1995 (The Witch Hunter) and 2002 (The Witch Haven). The first two consist of orchestral samples but by the third he had what he calls 'a decent orchestra in a box' and was able to write and recontextualise existing tracks. 

You might get the idea simply by the album titles, or not. There's so much Gothic ambient/devil-worshipping music around, I blame Demdike Stare, for everything, including the current economical crisis. But hold on, the very fact that most of this consists of stitched together orchestral works really makes it stand out. God knows what he sampled, but I don't recognise any of it, which means little since I know next to nothing about Classical music. 

Think Hammer Horror (yes, you would), Vincent Price...Hilary Dwyer...mmmm...sorry, drifted off there. Better still, think Kreng's work for Abbatoir Fermé in a truncated form, and more orchestral. It's all one long soundtrack to witch-burning, black cat-bothering, dreams & nightmares, misty graveyards, spells, the living dead (no, not Mumford & Sons fans, but yes, if you like), hexes, chants, Dennis Wheatley, taverns populated by locals who don't like to talk about that house on the hill...and so on. Good. very good.

The Twilight Language of Nigel Kneale (Strange Attractor)

Countless unknown pleasures await us - if we could count them, it would be weird, and contradictory, yes? How many artists, writers, musicians await our discovery? It's like looking up at the night sky and trying to imagine all the stars...

Nigel Kneale was unknown to me until a friend on Facebook posted notice of this from the publisher's (Strange Attractor) site. I had heard of the legendary Quatermass series but never seen it. Being a child of  the first Dr Who series, this pioneering sci-fi programme somehow seemed beyond me, simply by happening before me. This is odd because so much cinema and music I love also happened before me.

The only other Quatermass I knew was Tod Dockstader's seminal work of the same name from 1964. Dockstader was oblivious to the series when he used the title having seen it on the spine of a book in a library, apparently. He's found out since, of course. It's an apt imaginary soundtrack to the series.

A more direct musical link comes from Drew Mulholland, who's music as Mount Vernon Arts Lab has been inspired, in part, by his obsession with Quatermass, which he writes about in this book. He confesses that it got so bad he 'had to reign it in'. Other highlights are Paolo Javier's 'Kneale Before Zod', a compendium of quotes and coincidences relating to Kneale (he was born on the same day as Charles Mingus), and the ever-dependable Ken Hollings' 'Spaceship UK: The British Space Programme as Musical Exploration'. There's also a good interview with China Miéville.

I must mention Rob Carmichael's design, which is outstanding.

Because I was quick off the mark I got the cassette that comes with early copies, along with the poster advertising a New York event in honour of Nigel Kneale, which strikes me as odd, but we know that cult status breaks all national barriers, so why not? There's some good music, most of it in the retro 60s sci-fi instrumental mode you would expect, except for Mordant Music's 10-minute contribution, which is a pea-souper of a mix so thick yet ethereal that it's quite possible to get lost inside.

All-in-all a fine job's been done by editor Sukhdev Sandhu. Only 250 printed, though, so hurry if you're interested.

Also written by Kneale...

Stewart Lee Talks Otter Rubbish

Guest blogger Gavin Maxwell writes:

Stewart Lee banging on about the disappearance of The Thinker - what's his problem? Thinking's the curse of the educated classes, and I don't mean well educated, as in business degrees, which as you know lead to worthwhile and extremely well-paid jobs in the City, I mean the idiots who waste years of their lives studying Philosophy and Art or some such crap. He moans about universities 'turning into book-balancing business schools or results-driven scientific research centres, treating students as client-customers who deserve to see an investment return in the form of increased living standards and higher salaries in exchange for spending their student loans, and funded by patrons and public bodies wanting to see practical results' - yeah, and? What's learning for if not to get a great job that pays loads so you can attract a tasty-looking wife, have beautiful kids and a nice house? What's Life for if not that?

He should get over the otter fixation as well. He goes on about them in the article and in the 'live' show I've posted below. Only 'live' he takes the piss out of the idea that being able to see them from a house is a great thing. But in the article, he seems to know a lot about the Otter Trust, so he should make up his mind; are otters a great thing, or not? His show's not funny either. Not one joke, except a lame one (geddit?) about a pirate's foot. Rubbish.

He even cropped up on Celebrity (ha-ha) Mastermind answering questions on someone called Derek Bailey, who I had to look up. Turns out he's a guitarist, supposedly, but when I played a YouTube clip he was just an old geezer making a bloody racket!

What's the big deal about Thinking anyway? It's overrated, especially by the likes of Stewart Lee, a Lefty who went to university and thinks it gives him the right to lecture us now. It gave him a column in The Observer as well, I suppose, whereas they'd never give someone like me a column - wankers! Why? Because I didn't go to university and don't do shows with no proper jokes. 

All right, there's been some useful thinkers...like...hold on...well, scientists and that, but who else? Philosophers? Waste of bloody time! How have they improved the world? Lee probably idolises Artists as well, but the type he likes are ones who make piles of bricks and just splash paint around, I bet. Not proper Artists, ones who paint pictures of people and the countryside.

Thinkers never got anything done. Nothing. They might think up things to be built, say, but without us working-classes to build them where would they be, eh? Oh, I bet Stewart loves the working-classes, but wouldn't want to be one, a proper one who builds houses, fixes the plumbing, makes things in factories, oh no. That's not good enough for him, or his kid. Imagine if his kid turned round and said 'I'm going to be a plumber!' He'd shit himself!

Stewart, you're wrong, mate. Telly's great, these days. Top Gear, Come Dine With Me and other shows - all brilliant. Oh, and Michael Mcintyre's dead funny. Unlike you.

Trainwrekz - Ensemble Skalectrik (Editions Mego) - An Album Review?

Are you sitting comfortably on the edge of your seat? Perhaps that's a contradiction in terms. I imply a certain apprehension, or eager anticipation, without knowing you or being able to predict the state of mind or physical position approaching this. You may be restless, fidgety, eager to read and move on, in which case my preamble to what may only be, ultimately, one long amble, is making you more so. I apologise for that.

I apologise, also, for the fact that this may not turn out to be an album review.

Are you lying on a sofa with your laptop? In a comfy chair? More likely hunched over a desk. Perhaps staring intently at a tiny mobile screen whilst on a bus, train, or at a bus stop or station. If so, stop reading now, look up, look around, see that building and note it's age, it's architectural style, the stained stone or brickwork. See the faces of those people...who are they? Where are they going?

If you are on a station platform or train, you are in an appropriate place to read about an album called Trainwrekz but not, hopefully, one which proves to be prophetic. The apparently abstract nature of the album cover, by the way, actually depicts the positions of various carriages after train crashes. I hope, should you be on a platform waiting for a train, that I have not made you nervous.

Why would this not turn into an album review? I have stated (note, not suggested) before that the album review is dead. Yet I subsequently reviewed albums. Why? Because my generation grew up reading album reviews and given the chance to write them we cannot resist. Technology gave us amateurs the chance to express opinions on new (or old) releases. It gave us the opportunity to pretend we were were professional critics, and that our opinions mattered. Some of us wanted to to be professional critics, and may even have applied to papers like the NME, Sounds or Melody Maker. Perhaps we thought we were hipper young gunslingers than Julie Burchill or Tony Parsons.

Ironically, this democratic facility makes album reviewing redundant. Listeners can usually hear the album through various means, and make up their own minds. Many will have downloaded it before a review is even written. Grab a download, listen. There's no need for anything to be filtered through the process of written wisdom from critics who may or may not deign the creation worthy of your attention. Listen to either the whole album on Soundcloud or Bandcamp, or samples on the same page as the review. Yet there are many writing reviews on the internet, like heavy industry workers of old England, slaving away at a job which is doomed to fall by the wayside, eventually.

(An aside? But it is train-related)
In the old days when all we could read were professional critics via the printed word I would frequently get a train to London to watch the Punk bands they were writing about. This was before automated barriers at stations, and we found many ways to get past ticket collectors. Upon returning, we would simply jump out of the carriage on the other side and climb a low fence into a car park. This once cost me a new pair of Levi's when I jumped into an oily puddle and ruined them. It was a small price to pay compared to the savings we made on train tickets.

I'm sorry if you feel you've wasted your time travelling this far down the page. But there are worse ways to spend your time, such as attending a Beyoncé gig, reading a Dan Brown novel, or watching a 'reality' TV programme. The chances are you do none of the above, although, if pushed, I would bet that you do watch 'reality TV' now and again. Why not? As I said in another post, it's a way of unwinding, and we all need to do that. For you, however, perhaps unwinding takes the form of reading Chomsky, or listening to Albert Ayler.

Writing is a form of unwinding, or more precisely, unravelling the tangled strands of thought in here, in my head, where I'm speaking from. I know no other place in which thoughts can reside, but if you do, feel free to tell me.

As I write, BBC Radiophonic Workshop recordings are playing quietly in the background. I should really be listening to Trainwrekz although, at this precise moment, interrupting John Baker's Muzak from Time In Advance is out of the question. Likewise, Brian Hodgson's accompaniment to a Cyberman being brought to life must be left alone. His sounds for the Cyber invasion would run perfectly into Trainwrekz, however, so I switch...

...Pierre Schaeffer's early forays into recording featured trains. I don't know if Nick Edwards is consciously referring to the Frenchman's sound experiments but this album starts with what sounds like a train, rapidly going off the rails. The engine's throb continues, but everything else is dissolved into dub that typifies Nick's sonic philosophy of deranged deconstruction. As the white noise of what sounds like vinyl crackle continues, sounds ricochet around...

...the Radiophonic Workshop's early work haunts this album, as it does so many pieces by modern electronic composers. The BBC studios, Lee Perry's Black Ark studio...places populated by the magicians of tape decks and mixing desks...yet Nick Edwards is striving, not to create a mood which suits on-screen action, or exorcise demonic visions of the anti-Christ by way of herbal assistance (but wait, perhaps he is!). No, he works in an improvisatory fashion for the sake of...what? He works to make sounds that please him. He is on a train which is not bound for Skaville, although, spiritually, it may be bound for Kingston via London and Bristol. The journey he takes us on is a spiral into sonic madness, where the scenery constantly shifts in and out of focus and electronic monsters appear through the mist in front of the train, as in Jacques Tourneur's Night Of The Demon. These sounds are quite capable of possessing us. They are a soundtrack for whatever we choose to imagine...echo-drenched urban paranoia, a night spent in that old house on the hill...a night spent in a dance hall where two sound systems clash...

So this turned into a review, of sorts. Not that Nick needs publicity from me. I give it willingly, however, because if you're not aware of his work, in the guise of Ensemble Skalectrik, he proves once again that the loss is yours.

Editions Mego

Ekoplekz

The Hitchhiker (Red Lights) - Georges Simenon

Enter 'the tunnel' with Steve, a Madison Avenue man of mid-50s America; a family man, but one who's prone to finding himself in a dark state of mind.

Whilst making the long trip out of town to pick up their kids the couple are slowly torn apart with a final, terrible consequence. The motorway becomes a metaphorical track from which no respectable man dare deviate. Each bar en route beckons as Steve seeks salvation in booze, his urge to drink, to be free to do so, driving the wedge between him and his wife ever deeper as the miles roll by and bitterness grows.

The Hitchhiker picks Steve, who sees him as a symbol of freedom, someone not shackled by either office drudgery or domestic strife. The tone is noirish throughout, by which I mean I could see it as a Robert Aldrich film as I read; faces lit by the dashboard and the pulsing light of oncoming traffic, illuminating the tension etched on their faces.

Simenon's prolific output does nothing to diminish his razor sharp prose and probably fuels it when it comes to economy of words applied for maximum effect. One thing he does brilliantly in this short novel is depict the gradual descent into drunkenness of a man in denial of his condition. But as Simenon writes at the beginning, this is a man who, when in that dark, 'tunnel' state of mind, never admits it to himself.

The outcome of the dark journey is powerfully depicted, with Simenon offering only the faintest glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

New York Review Books republished it as Red Lights in 2006, but I was lucky enough to find the Doubleday first edition pictured above. It's distressed condition perfectly matches the mental state of Steve and his wife.

Archives Malanga Vol 4 - Burroughs Photos

Photos falling...

Picked this up in a charity shop last year. 350 printed. 

Some of these were new to me, which doesn't mean to say I think they're not on the internet, more that I haven't spent hours searching for photos of William Burroughs or Gerard Malanga.

Good interview with Burroughs from 1974. I like this quote from Bill:

   'The only real strength, of course, is confrontation of yourself. The only real weakness is being unable to confront yourself.' 

Almost two years ago to the day I was invited onto a Resonance FM radio show to talk about Burroughs. You can listen to it here. Whilst not being a real expert, I don't think I made too much of a fool of myself...

Gerard Malanga 1968

Burroughs on the Brooklyn Bridge 1978

Burroughs & Malanga 1976

Burroughs, Dennis Hopper & Terry Southern 1976

Burroughs in his London flat 1972

From Bach To The Future - Howard Goodall Falls At The Last Fence

In the final episode of his TV series Howard Goodall falls at the last fence - shock! - or not, since Classical buffs think they're being 'hip' (ha-ha) by mentioning The Beatles and Bob Dylan, as if proving that they really have kept up with developments in 20th century music.

Oh, Howard, with your jacket sleeves cut too long as if to look correct when playing your keyboard...even though you spent more time standing, thus demonstrating the sartorial error of your ways...

I had my doubts before watching, but was hoping he would summarise the last 100 years as authoritatively as he did the previous 300. Yet now I even doubt his wisdom on Classical music. That's the trouble with being ignorant on a subject; you tend to believe what supposed experts say. If a historian told me Richard III had a penchant for eating raw eggs off a bed of oak tree leaves, for instance, I'd believe them. Sadly, anyone taking Howard for his word would never know the crucial role electronic music played in the 20th century.

He dealt with Jazz but only as far as Be-Bop. More obviously, he should have mentioned Third Stream, which introduced Classical into Jazz in the late-50s. And if he'd really wanted to create some kind of unity, he could have referenced the Modern Jazz Quartet's Blues On Bach album from 1973. You see, Howard? That would have provided a nice, cyclical feel to your summary. You should have consulted me.

Worse still, he failed to mention another, more important Bach connection, Wendy Carlos' Switched-On Bach (1968), which sold half a million copies at the time. Whether you regard it as proper Classical music or merely a novelty version, it's impact cannot be denied. After all, it put Bach into all those homes. Come on, man! Perhaps he hates the record. He may even be oblivious to the amount of effort required to make it, thinking it was simply a matter of Carlos sitting at a Moog and playing.

No mention of Robert Moog, or the evolution of electronic music. Early pioneers were well acquainted (sometimes schooled in) modern Classical modes, so another connection was missed. Stockhausen? Kraftwerk? He could have dropped in Tangerine Dream since they referenced Classical music. I'm trying to help you here, Howard. I'm offering some much-needed continuity between the electronic and Classical, but it's too late now.

He mentioned Steve Reich's It's Gonna Rain (1965), which supposedly made him 'the godfather of sampling', but Richard Maxfield got there earlier when, in 1960, he looped and totally radicalised recordings of a preacher on Amazing Grace. Poor Howard, did he not have a research team? Perhaps not, due to cutbacks. Imagine him, desperately pestering youngish people in the office next door:
   'Hey, you look modern, what do you know about the evolution of music in the 20th century?'
   (Young Person looks up from their Twitter page) 'What, like Lady Gaga, you mean?'
   'Er, yes!'
   Of course, that Young Person could have found out about early tape looped sampling in ten seconds, if Howard had asked. I think he was fed up with the workload by the time he had to deal with the Modern. He thought, 'Oh, fuck it, I'll just dissect a bit of a Beatles tune on the ol' Joanna like I did in my Channel 4 programme and skip all that computer shit.'

Talking of The Beatles, they were dragged in to represent avant-garde tape experiments on the Sgt. Pepper's album, but where did they get that idea from? Any thoughts? Do you think, along with George Martin, they invented it?

You might say he couldn't cover everything. Yes, but there's a process called editing which, if used skilfully, would have created some time to cover electronic music. Precious seconds were wasted telling us Stevie Wonder incorporated Cuban music into his own, and that Paul Simon flirted with World Music. Since he mentioned sampling, how long would it take to mention Pierre Schaeffer's creation of Musique Concrète whilst playing a snippet accompanied by a photo?

Well, Howard, you proved long of sleeve, but ultimately, short on information about some of the most important aspects of 20th century music.

I Don't Want To Go On (Blogging) Without You

Dedicated to all regular readers of this blog.

I don't want to go on without you...

Why carry on? As William Burroughs said of cut-ups, it's something to do. Or as a friend said recently regarding writing, to work out what you think. Occasionally, I do some thinking 'on paper' via Musings here. Sometimes I wonder: 'Who cares what I think?' So the quagmire of doubt looms, and it's easy to fall in, only to surface when belief, or sheer stubbornness, win out.

At the start of the year I seriously contemplated stopping this thing. Looking around, I noted that many others I followed were actually doing that. OK, most were music sharing blogs, and I can understand why, considering the effort involved, they should do so. Music blogs being purely giving things, they depend to a large extent on appreciation. I work differently and don't rely on comments thanking me for sharing either unique images from books, or my wisdom (ha!). But comments are welcome, of course. They do, after all, represent a clear signal that someone is reading.

Despite having other projects on the go, I realised that this thing wasn't quite dead, yet. Rather, it wouldn't allow me to kill it. For better or worse, it lives. A few recent words of appreciation via private mail have boosted my belief that I'm doing something worthwhile.