Showing posts with label DVD Review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DVD Review. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Freestyle-The Art Of Rhyme Coming To DVD

This looks badass beyond belief.

There's a line from the clip below where a man says "You really can't freestyle if you don't know anything." It's completely true, because in order for any razor sharp line to cut, it has to have some element of truth to it And in order to slay with a freestyle line, you are working to intimidate that, no matter what the response, you are going to pull from your vast array of knowledge to come back harder and with more references than what your apponent can even comprehend.

It's an advanced state of warfare, the kind of battle that humans ultimately should be wagering against each other, rather than guns and bombs.

In that kind of army, Mos Def would be a fucking general.

The press:

The world of improvisational rap, is explosively explored in this award wining and critically acclaimed authentic look into the life, music, and history of 1990's underground hip hop culture.

Packed with rare and archival footage of some of the most amazing MC's ever to bless the mic, Freestyle - The Art of Rhyme features the story of MC Supernatural and his quest to become a champion, battling many in his way including his arch nemesis Craig G of the famed Marley Marl Juice Crew.

Made by the creators of the Academy Award nominated film "Murderball" this documentary takes us on a journey through the previously unexamined dimensions of hip hop as a spiritual and community based art form. Combining the best of independent art house cinema within the hip hop mix tape format, it features legendary battles from New York to LA, including The Lyricist Lounge, Project Blowed, and The Wake Up Show!

The artists featured; from Mos Def to Notorious BIG provide insight into one of the least seen faces present in the music: improvisation and creativity. Structured with insights from the Last Poet's esteemed Abioudun Oyweole and jazz & rap historians, Freestyle - The Art of Rhyme connects the dots from the pain and love of yesterday's poets to today's hip-hop innovators. Revealing the art forms stunningly emotional outlet; whether sharing energy in a street corner cipher for block cred or a stadium's commercial rap performance full of 1,000s of fans. Like the Griots of Africa or the wail of Coltrane's saxophone, today's hip-hop MCs all have a similar purpose: to share their experience with others hungry for truth, community and healing.

PRESS:
"If you're looking for tons of rare footage of early freestyles and a new angle into hip-hop history, The Art of Rhyme is not to be missed." - Okay Player
"Reveals how the skill of improvisation helped shape my favorite time period in Rap music history, when wordplay turned into art & science." - DJ Cut Chemist

AWARDS:
WINNER HBO Best Documentary @ Urban-World Film Festival
WINNER Best Documentary & Kodak Maverick Award: Woodstock Film Fest
WINNER Best Documentary & Audience Award @ Pan-African Film Festival
WINNER Documentary Jury Prize @ Florida Film Festival
WINNER Best Cinematography @ Karachi Film Festival
WINNER Best Soundtrack @ Los Angeles Film Festival


Friday, February 1, 2013

Paul Williams Reminds Us That He's "Still Alive" With New DVD

Any chance that I can get to remind readers that Smokey and the Bandit was the longest running film in my hometown for two decades, I take.

But the decision to brag about this very telling statement of my former zip code today is less to do with the mustached brilliance of one Burt Reynolds (get well soon, Rey Rey!) but the overlooked cameo of Paul Williams, the Coors loving Little Enos Burdette who helps dream up a plan to have two dimwitted rednecks risk the lives of motorists throughout the southeastern United States, just so they could bootleg some scab beer that isn't available in their area.

Williams was omnipotent throughout the 70's, appearing in a plethora of variety shows, comedy cameos, and what seemed to be a permanent seat in Johnny Carson's Tonight Show guest line up.

He was unique looking, which made him easy to ridicule somewhat, particularly if you didn't know that Williams was a hugely accomplished songwriter and musician.

I remember my dad cluing me in on this when I got a copy of Three Dog Night's "Just An Old Fashioned Love Song" single, penned by non other than the short dude with blonde hair and glasses from Omaha.

By the 80's, Williams seemingly disappeared. He remained in hiding for many years, popping up ocassionally on an episode of Walker Texas Ranger or collecting paychecks for voice-over work.

His abscence caused one fan to take note, to the point where he actively sought out Paul Williams and filmed the results.

The subsequent film looks intriguing, but judge for yourself from the carefully selected words detailing this look at an Academy Award winning composer, Paul Williams:

Paul Williams was everywhere in the 1970s - on records, the radio, TV and movies - but he suddenly walked away from it all, and a new generation of pop music lovers has no idea who he is. Director Stephen Kessler sets out to remedy that situation in Paul Williams: Still Alive. Kessler's "fascinating" (Entertainment Weekly) and "endearing" (Paste) film about his journey to find his musical hero will bring the songwriting genius to longtime fans and new listeners alike when it arrives on DVD on February 5, 2013, from Virgil Films. 

Even if you don't know songwriter Paul Williams, you know his timeless classics, such as the Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun" and "Rainy Days and Mondays," Barbra Streisand's "Evergreen," Three Dog Night's "Just an Old Fashioned Love Song" and the Muppets' "Rainbow Connection." Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra and David Bowie, among other giants, have recorded his songs. He has won Grammys and an Oscar, made his own hit records, had a busy acting career, including starring in Smokey and the Bandit and Brian DePalma's The Phantom of the Paradise, and made 50 appearances on Johnny Carson's Tonight Show. But where has he been for the last 20 years? Stephen Kessler (Vegas Vacation) wanted to know, so he set out to find Williams. 

The result is an exhilarating film about a fan finally meeting his hero and getting him to open up about his career and why he seemed to simply give it all up. The revelations in Paul Williams: Still Alive will stun and move fans, particularly when Williams opens up about his personal struggles and his triumphant return to the music industry as the president of ASCAP. A wistful musical journey that will reintroduce a new generation to Williams' soulful classics, Paul Williams: Still Alive is the charmingly self-narrated story of what happens when a nostalgic filmmaker finally catches up with his hero.


Tuesday, June 5, 2012

The Story Of Rock 'N Roll Comics


I will confess to following Marvel comics in the mid-70’s, a supermarket habit that I took up while my Mom took our cocker spaniel to obedience school at the local armory. I’ll even admit that I groaned a bit when I learned that she threw away all of those comics-including a first issue edition of Howard the Duck.

That money could have come in handy living in a third floor, one bedroom apartment with my girlfriend as we penny-pinched our way through our early twenties. Instead, I just supplemented my income with used record and cd sales. It became a routine ritual, particularly if I was going to see a band a club later that same day. The extra money meant we could start with an import or two before referring back to the regular Leinenkugel drafts.

It was around this same time when a younger friend of mine began diving into the maddening world of record collecting. The harder the find, the better potential for envy.

Most of our collected purchases stemmed from singles with rare b-sides, import copies with obscure bonus tracks, and the occasional bootleg where earned money was spent on cassette soundboard recordings.

But one day, my friend brought in a couple of comic books. Not just the Marvel or hipster underground fare, but a comic book devoted enitrely to rock and roll bands. I grabbed his copy of the Pearl Jam comic and began to skim through it.

The artwork wasn’t bad from what I recall, but the storyline presented was some glaringly fictionalized account of the beginnings of everyone’s favorite Northwestern rock band, Pearl Jam.

Being a fan of rock and roll writ, I can attest to some basic knowledge about certain rock and roll bands. While Pearl Jam is by no means a favorite of mine-I once owned Ten and now the only Pearl Jam related item in my collection is the single they did with Neil Young-I do know the basic story of their origins.

The comic book version I was reading suggested that during the band’s initial days, the members were struggling with a band name. That challenge ended when a band member presented his bandmates with a Mason jar of some of his aunt’s homemade jam that featured some hallucinogenic properties. The comic book then declares the band settled upon a name after that psychedelic spread in honor of the woman who created it.

The story is total horseshit, but I vaguely remember people suggesting it back during that time when people pondered, “I wonder how Pearl Jam came up with their name?” I stopped caring during the time they were known as Mother Love Bone, and who the fuck wants to figure out that name origin.

I wouldn’t be surprised if that quote from the comic book was completely butchered, but the point is, this is the same kind of research that the comic was working with on this full color spotlight presented in the Pearl Jam edition of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics.

I never bothered to read another copy of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics after that, and my friend also stopped seeking out this fictionalized accounts of other bands that were highlighted.

And the stores that carried Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics suddenly stopped carrying these serials, leaving one with the impression that the company who produced this stuff was beginning to run low on revenue.

Twenty years later, a documentary was released that fully explains the history of that company as well as the story of its eccentric owner, Todd Loren. The Story of Rock n Roll Comics presents Loren as a very divisive man, one who is seen as some first amendment crusader almost as much as he is for financially screwing the artists and writers who helped bring his vision to the comic book page.

Before he became one of the most controversial figures in the comic world, Todd Loren began as a mail-order retailer specializing in hard to find imports and rare musical items. If you were looking for a bootleg of some Roger Waters concert during the Pros and Cons of Hitchhiking tour, then Loren’s company-Musicade-would probably be a great place to find a copy.

Dealing in bootleg records and the like can be a tough racket, but Loren was a tough cookie and he found success at a young age. Musicade adverts could be found in the back of such publications as Rolling Stone magazine at one point, but it wasn’t long after making such progress before Loren decided to pitch the mail order business and combine his own love of music with another passion: comics.

It was a parody comic of Bruce Springsteen that gave Loren the idea of mixing the two art forms, and it was through unsavory business practices that Todd collected a stable of writers and artists to come up with creative ideas at a very low price.

The end result was a cheaply made yet unquestionably enviable idea of taking rock folk lore and using it as the creative fictional spark for a comic story line. My original complaint of the series lack of accuracy is about as pointless as me arguing how there’s no way that cosmic rays are the reason how the members of the Fantastic Four got their powers.

“It’s obviously not real…it’s a cartoon!” as Mojo Nixon wisely points out during one of his interview segments on The Story of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics. Evidently, the two worked together during Todd’s life and Nixon is used as one of Loren’s supporters, both in his business practices and in his advocacy of the first amendment.

It’s that struggle which takes up the bulk of the film, positioning Todd Loren as a true fighter of the right to free speech while the other side presents him as an opportunist, someone who used the notion of the first amendment as a thin cover for Loren’s ultimate goal: to make money.

Nothing exemplifies this more than Loren’s actions when he made the decision to fold Musicade and start Revolutionary Comics, the comic book company he started with some assistance from his father.

Not that Loren needed his old man for financial assistance, it seems, just for moral support. It makes perfect sense that he’d look to his own family for this given the fact that he effectively fired everyone from Musicade, an act that is presented to swiftly in the documentary that it almost seems callous and selfish.
Almost as soon as Loren started Revolutionary Comics, he attracted controversy. He failed to distinguish the idea that bands might want to be in control of the entire aspect of their career, even their visual image.

No sooner than did Revolutionary Comics turn away from things like conspiracy theories, erotic hell ladies, and even sports figures, Loren found a niche within the music fan base who found entertainment and collectability in these very crude publications.

Almost immediately, Loren discovered that the world of rock and roll is filled with lawyers and legal teams who have nothing more to do then look for licensing infractions copyright infringement.  
He wore this conflict like a badge of honor, devoting cover space for the motto “Unauthorized…And Proud Of It!” which probably antagonized his industry foe even more.

What killed them off for good was a court ruling that identified Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics as work that was protected from legal action. After a judge sided on Loren’s side, the company began ramping up production to include everything from New Kids on the Block to Pink Floyd to the Sex Pistols.

He burned many bridges along the way, giving aspiring artists a chance to be published for the first time while systematically disposing of other ones who began to question the financial obligation that Loren offered for their work.

He developed a rubber stamp contact. Literally. One that he used on his payment checks, thereby forcing his contributors to sign away all rights to their work in order for them to endorse their payment.
To his peers, his comics trivialized the work that they sought to legitimize. The professional competition was eager to point out his company’s shoddy layout and amateurish composition.

There’s also room to suggest that some of their complaints were fostered from sour grapes, particularly when you learn about some projects where the rock and roll artists themselves gave Loren verbal permission to proceed with his unauthorized accounts while granting other publications authorized status, for a fee.

Both Jerry Garcia and, surprisingly, Gene Simmons overlooked their own organization’s litigious history and allowed Loren to continue his serialized accounts of their bands. For Jerry, the decision was probably based on some hippie idealism while Gene understood that any minor publication like Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics would do more to help Kiss’ exposure than impact their bottom line.

The Story of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics does little to draw much attention to Loren’s unfavorable image as an explanation for the violent manner in which he died. As the documentary draws closer to its conclusion, it announces how a father who became concerned at his son’s absence from work suddenly turns into a homicide investigation.

Todd seldom missed work, so when he failed to show up one morning, his father went over to his apartment only to discover his son’s body brutally stabbed to death.

The gruesome discovery also provided his friends and family with another shock: Loren was homosexual. His personal life was extremely private, to the point where none of his friends and coworkers knew that he was gay. 

The case remains unsolved, but the killer’s pattern and location match that of serial killer Andrew Cunanan, murderer of fashion designer Gianni Versace. It’s widely believed that Todd was one of Cunanan’s first victims, but with the killer’s suicide in 1997, it became impossible to question him about his involvement with Loren’s 1992 murder.

With this strange twist, the story of Todd Loren and Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics ends almost as immediately as it began. The series continued under the leadership of Todd’s father for a few years after his murder, but the comics failed to find direction without Loren’s unwavering drive and the business folded.

The absence of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics only made them that much more collectible. As someone who remembers the comic’s past and can attest to their questionable worth, I can’t say that I fully appreciate the higher cost these comics command.

What I can appreciate is how The Story Of Rock ‘n’ Roll Comics successfully explores the behind-the-scenes account of this niche business and becomes a more fascinating topic than any of the storylines of their rock and roll inspiration.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Friday, March 16, 2012

From Straight To Bizarre: , Beefheart, Alice Cooper and LA’s Lunatic Fringe

Going back to the first time I ever heard Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica, I remember wondering, “What is going on here?”

The second thought immediately following this was “Who on Earth would release this.”

Even today, Trout Mask Replica stands out as a left-field landmark, an impressive opus that may not sound like a masterpiece upon first listen, but its creative seeds begin to plant themselves immediately afterwards causing each subsequent listen to reveal an additional layer of complete brilliance.

So it goes without saying that the record company that had the impossible foresight to allow such a document to grow to fruition must most certainly be run by a special person.

The label was originally called Bizarre and it eventually transformed into Straight records. The men responsible for these forward-looking labels were Frank Zappa and his manager Herb Cohen. Together, they drew up a contract with Warner Brothers for Zappa’s material, and they secured a vanity label with the company so that Frank and Herb could offer artists an outlet for their creativity.

From Straight To Bizarre: Zappa, Beefheart, Alice Cooper and LA’s Lunatic Fringe chronicles the origins of Zappa and Cohen’s record company all the way to its ultimate collapse amid bad feelings and obligatory lawsuits. It’s recommended to any fan of Zappa or Beefhearts that’s interested in learning more about this very creative time for both of them and the strange business plan that Zappa hatched in turning documents of L.A.’s self-described freaks into recording stars.

What’s striking is how patient Zappa seems to be with these people, some of whom have clear mental issues that far outweigh any attempt at assisting their artistic endeavors. Others are just plain opportunistic, part of the scene because they invited themselves and invented a second-life persona that was either hiding their real history because of how awful it was or how bland it looked on paper.

For some reason not explained on film, (none of the interviews presented in this feature Zappa) Frank felt these enigmatic characters deserved documenting. He began on a quest to transform a paranoid schizophrenic named Wild Man Fischer who spent his days selling his stream-of-questionable-consciousness songs for a dime, essentially panhandling his lunacy for tourists and passer-bys.

For most of us, these characters are minor annoyances on our way to work, but to Frank, Fischer was part of the landscape of this social freak culture he was attempting to document. Fischer thought he’d sound like the Beatles when Frank finished, but when Zappa presented an album with not only Fischer’s primitive compositions, but his crazed existence in the form of field recordings, he got mad.

The Wild Man-true to his name-flung a flower pot too close for comfort at the head of a very young Moon Unit Zappa, trying to process how An Evening With Wild Man Fischer wasn’t as big as Meet The Beatles.

After that event, Fischer was never allowed in the Zappa house again and his debut record has never been re-released to this day because of bad feelings. I verified this online where the lowest priced copy of An Evening With I found on a recent scan of EBay (VG rating) had a starting price of $20 with better quality copies ranging from $50-$100.

The GTO’s get ample screen time on From Straight To Bizarre with Pamela Des Barres and Miss Mercy spouting on about meaningless stories of getting high with the Magic Band and defining what exactly constitutes being a groupie. Out of all of the label’s releases, the GTO’s Permanent Damage may stand as the most unnecessary record ever made, but according to the film, Zappa tolerated their limit talents and unprofessional behavior in the studio.

Thankfully, a great deal of time is spend on Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica and the power that he exerted over the band during this period. It’s clear from Magic Band members John French (Drumbo) and Bill Harkleroad (Zoot Horn Rollo) that the Captain initiated a regime of cultdom that French later referred to as “Masonesque.”

You get the sense that Zappa himself was aware of this treatment, yet gave a wide birth between being concerned with their welfare and allowing his old friend Don Van Vliet to have what he wanted most: total creative freedom. In his defense, Zappa did give the Magic Band a hot meal every so often out of pity.

During the period where they were considered a band, Alice Cooper also maneuvered into a contract with the label based on an audition that Vince Furnier misheard to take place at nine in the morning at the Zappa cabin in Laurel Canyon instead of Frank’s preferred time of nine in the evening.

Frank also caught an Alice Cooper gig that witnessed half the audience leaving in disgust, which meant that Zappa simply had to agree to sign them based on principle alone. By the time of their third album Love It To Death, the band had finally found a new producer who captured their essence into a palatable offering, led by the enormously successful “I’m Eighteen.”

With that record in 1971, the logo of Straight Records was all that was left before the Zappa/Cohen project was phased out of discussion along with Zappa’s own contract with Warners.

I haven’t even touched on signings like the A cappella gospel vocal group The Persuasions, Tim Buckley’s Starsailor release, as well as Mother’s member Jeff Simmons’s solo album. They’re all included in the discussions during From Straight To Bizarre, which makes the film a bit heavy at over two-and-a-half hours in length.

You may get a bit winded by all of the talking heads throughout the feature, helping to assist in the film’s girth and you may get very sick of the original musical music they use each time the conversation focuses on Beefheart. There are samples of some of the label’s artists, but as a matter to save money, the producers must have bargained a lower number to someone familiar with Beefheart’s repertoire to come up with a cheesy facsimile.

Cheap tactics aside, the film does prove to be a good reference point for any up-and-coming Zappa fan looking to see how far his influence extended into the late sixties. It’s also a nice document of one of the most successful avant-garde record companies that ever benefited from a major record label and a reminder of how different the system was when it came to harvesting talent beyond the pool of commercial ambition.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Frank Zappa - The Torture Never Stops

A friend once told me “Every town’s got a Frank Zappa nut.” which is true and probably why I never ventured too far into Zappadom. Most of what I’ve heard or actually own, however, has been received well.

Out of those, I have a fond recollection of Frank’s late 70’s/early 80’s routine, which probably has every town’s Frank Zappa nut in a tizzy.

At the time, it was because this period was Zappa’s most heaviest (Steve Vai is one of the guitarists) and dudes in high school relate to heavy rock more than Ice Cream For Crow.

It’s also his most bawdy, progressive, and jazzy-but we tolerated all of those intricate excursions just to get to “Broken Hearts Are For Assholes” or to hear Zappa solo while sitting on a stool.

Believe me, it sounded like a good idea at the time, but the Zappa Trust’s latest DVD concert release The Torture Never Stops shows the band in precise form while Zappa looks like he’s growing weary of the entire comedy rock shtick.

Filmed on Halloween, 1981 at the Palladium in New York City for a MTV broadcast, Zappa and his band tackle a set heavy on You Are What You Is and other R-rated shenanigans from the aforementioned era.

Also from that era: Zappa in red jumpsuit, Vai in a leopard-skin shirt, band members in various states of funny headdress (it was Halloween, after all), xylophone solos, and lots of overplaying.

Zappa “conducts” the members on occasion, not seeming to notice that nobody in the band is using the maestro for a time signature. Sometimes he’ll pull out his guitar and solo, all of which possess the same tone and some really long phasing that’s present each time his pick hits the string.

The video itself is awash in color saturation with pointless quick editing at some moments, one of them a headache-inducing jump between Zappa singing into a mic while percussionist Ed Mann bashes together a pair of cymbals.

Again, the performances are note-perfect, but from start to finish, Zappa looks disinterested. He only cracks a smile during the encore after a rare mistake occurs when a band member forgets their vocal cue.

The Torture Never Stops is hardly revelatory-something in which the late icon needs in terms of turning on new devotees-but it will most certainly entertain fans of this period of Zappa’s discography and the Zappa nuts who want to steer them to more fulfilling efforts.

This review originally appeared in Glorious Noise.

Saturday, March 3, 2012

The Screamers - Live In San Francisco 1978

The other evening, I spent a charming couple of hours with two guys that are probably half my age. I encourage everyone to spend time with younger people. You get a sense that shit’s going to be ok when you’re dead and gone and it balances out the external forces-like, say the Republican party-that suggest the whole shithouse is gonna go up in flames at some point.

Maybe someday, but not in the near future if the right wing hasn’t dismantled the communication networks these youthful tomorrow makers are utilizing.

Back in the 70’s, a decade that I’m only vaguely reminded of and barely capable of speaking towards, people didn’t have such tools. Yet underneath the suggestion of compromised thinking and suburban entitlement was a group of kids who transferred their disenchantment into music, following a close blueprint from The Ramones and the Sex Pistols and building their own version of punk rock in the states.

I thought I was aware of most of them, but those younger companions I spoke to earlier, actually pointed out a band that I was completely oblivious to, confusing them with another band from the same period.

The Screamers were a synthpunk band from Los Angeles that took shape in the late 70’s. I confused them with the band The Stranglers for some reason, actively suggesting to the younger listeners that their output was not worth further examination.

I will stand by my word that The Stranglers weren’t my cup of tea, but to confuse them with The Screamers-a band that I wasn’t at all familiar with-is simply inexcusable.

One of them went ahead and ordered the Target Video of a Screamers performance while another later advised me that its quality was such that I needed to see it in order to confirm my earlier opinion.

It became clear as the video barely captured the manic performance of Tumata du Plenty as he owned the stage while keyboardist Tommy Gear eeks out massive blasts of noise that’s just as aggressive as any six stringed counterparts are.

Not only do The Screamers count as one of America’s first punk rock bands, they do so with such uniqueness that they ended up creating another genre in the process: synthpunk.

The Screamers Live In San Francisco, September 2nd, 1978 is an accidental document of what be one of punk rock’s greatest performances, it’s one of the band’s few documents available. This was not a band with a substantial recorded output, so the fact that we have one available that covers both their musical and visual prowess.

Tumata is simply eye-catching in what appears to be a bright yellow overalls normally used for work of the wet variety. And while du Plenty certainly generates enough sweat to make such attire needed, it points to his ability to bring theatrics, stagecraft and costumes to a genre that was beginning to suggest conformity in the clothing of its members. Du Plenty suggests that punk rock is wet and potentially dangerous work as he stalks the stage giving audience members a hint of instability.

His eyes lock directly with the crowd, occasionally giving way to a big grin. I’m a big fan of Jello Biafra, but I must tell you that I now know where he got probably 90% of his shtick. As a result, I feel kind of silly taking Biafra’s intimidation tactics seriously as he battled with the Dead Kennedy’s crowd. Now I know that the real threat was with du Plenty and he did battle during a time when most people didn’t even have a name for the shit they were doing.

The other members of the Screamers look helplessly out of place when considering the visual dynamic of what we later would think of as punk fashion. These are young men bound together from a strange bit of faith, knowing that what they are doing may not pay off in commercial or financial gain. Instead, this was music that would probably not be recognized for decades to come.

Even then, there’s no guarantee it would even be fully appreciated. So much time has passed and the Screamers output so small and hard to find that the odds are still stacked firmly against them just as they were in 1978.

Live In San Francisco is not only a bit of divine intervention that someone had the good sense to record the event, but the real blessing is what’s on the tape. It’s a brief document of a band that still sounds like nothing else today, true innovation forged from the basic building blocks of rock music during a time when the genre had become top heavy.

Thursday, February 16, 2012

Devo Live 1980

It’s strange watching younger folks getting into things you discovered decades ago. At the same time, it’s rewarding to know that at least some of the things you held dear to your heart can be just as inspiring as when you were young.

Such is the case for Devo, a band that was incredibly vital to rock music, yet often overlooked because of their image, or more importantly, how their image was received.

The irony is how Devo can be considered a one trick pony by some while being anything but that in reality. As they amped up their visuals, they left their political bent behind which ended up killing any hint of dangerous or subversive behavior.

Because Devo actually started out a bit dangerous and they carried just as much punk ethos as anyone else, but they were just too damn smart for people to believe them.

There is video evidence of this, and the amazing thing is how well it’s documented just at the point where the band found commercial success. Yes, even at the time Devo scored their biggest hit, “Whip It,” they could still lay down a very aggressive and wildly entertaining show complete with costume changes, weird David Lynchian moments, and tight arrangements that are on par with all of their peers, even the ones that may get a critical nod before them.

Devo Live 1980 catches the Spudboys during the Freedom of Choice tour in 1980 in what appears to be a large club filled with admirers. It’s hard to tell, as the video is obviously not something that was documented for commercial release, more probable is that this was just an in-house closed circuit job.

Not that it matters to you; it’s just that there is very little crowd material, which means that every lens is focused on the band as they hit on just about every single highpoint of their first three albums.

The video image is decent but not professional and the sound quality is cut from a mono source, but none of this takes away from the performance that is top notch. I’m guessing that this was a typical show from that tour, and if that’s the case, these guys were a very impressive band. If you’re a fan of Talking Heads Stop Making Sense film, then you should be able to see how Mark Mothersbaugh’s reach went as far as New York City’s David Byrne. It’s like a noisy run through of that critical darling.

The video features Booji Boy turning into a meaty disaster and the bonus features show Devo’s religious alter egos Dove playing some more spiritual spud material.

Live 1980 is a perfect place to get familiar with how good Devo could be left to their own devices and it’s the perfect place for fans to hold as a proud document of a frequently overlooked live juggernaut.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

New York Dolls Lookin' Fine On Television Available Today

Head down to your favorite video store today to pick up the new VHS copy of New York Dolls’ Lookin’ Fine On Television.

It’s also available on Selectavision!

Here’s what the promotional department has to say about the film:

"In the early 70's, Rock photographer Bob Gruen and his wife Nadya purchased a portable video recorder. In a period of three years, they shot over 40 hours of New York Dolls footage. This footage became the critically acclaimed documentary All Dolled Up. For Lookin' Fine On Television more footage has been edited to create fifteen live music video-style clips.

These fifteen clips include footage from the Dolls' early shows in NYC at clubs such as Kenny's Castaways, and Max's Kansas City as well as their West Coast tour: Whisky-A-Go-Go, the Real Don Steele Show, Rodney Bingenheimer's English Disco, and more.

All the fan favorites are here including ripping versions of "Personality Crisis," "Who Are the Mystery Girls?" "Babylon" and more. See the incredible early days of the band that influenced generations of punks and rockers.

Tracklist: Jet Boy, Personality Crisis, Bad Girl, Human Being, Bad Detective, Subway Train, Trash, Vietnamese Baby, Lookin For a Kiss, Who Are The Mystery Girls, Private World, Babylon, Frankenstein, Chatterbox, Jet Boy

Bonus: Ultra rare 1976 Lisa Robinson interview with David Johansen and Johnny Thunders

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Emerson Lake & Palmer Release 40th Anniversary DVD and Betamax

Next Tuesday, Emerson, Lake & Palmer are releasing a 40th Anniversary DVD next week, giving you yet another chance to see Keith Emerson stab his keyboard for the 4000th time.

Seriously, I think he started that thing in Nice.

I'm going to admit that I probably only like the two rock radio songs that most people know, "From The Beginning" and "Lucky Man.:

I think the rest of their output is hot air.

And if you read the comments on You Tube by a couple of former roadies, it sounds like Emerson was a real prick as late as their Emerson Lake & Powell line-up.

So here they are at a festival that seems to feature a Midway and a funnel cake stand.

Karma's a bitch.

The press release:

EMERSON, LAKE & PALMER (ELP) reformed for the first time since 1998 for their final show to headline the HIGH VOLTAGE FESTIVAL on Sunday, July 25th 2010. And what a show it was!

2010/2011 marks the 40th anniversary of the creation of Emerson Lake and Palmer. ELP was a predominant force that laid the foundation for all progressive rock. The band consists of Keith Emerson, the explosive keyboard who came from the Nice, the sultry vocals and extraordinary bass of Greg Lake from King Crimson and the theatrical and extraordinary drumming of Carl Palmer, who emerged from Atomic Rooster.

ELP became the first true prog-rock Super Group and defined an era.

This is a show that brings back the same theatrics that the highly creative and unsurpassable combination of Keith Emerson's legendary keyboards, Greg Lake's extraordinary voice, and the dramatic drumming of Carl Palmer to their core fan base and to the new generation that hails the musical and technical virtuosity that ELP delivered at every performance, and recorded in every album

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Stooges Raw Power Live: In The Hands Of The Fans DVD

Hopefully, this will be better than the first reunion DVD release, Live In Detroit.

Then again, do you really need a DVD of the reunited Stooges?

If you do, the following promotional copy is for you.

Iggy & the Stooges Raw Power Live: In the Hands of the Fans is the visual document of the reformed Stooges' (Iggy Pop, Scott Asheton, James Williamson, Steve Mackay, Mike Watt) Raw Power performance at the All Tomorrow's Parties Festival on Friday, September 3, 2010.



Of the performance, Ben Ratliff of the NY Times writes, "Iggy Pop, now 63, knew that his body language translated into still photographs resembling Mannerist paintings...The Stooges attacked the album's eight songs, in a different order, just about perfectly."



Iggy and the band sound flawless as they rip through the archetype riffage of "Search and Destroy," "Raw Power," "Gimmie Danger" and more.



"Getting this top-notch performance of the entire Raw Power album by The Stooges realized a life long dream," Iggy Pop "This shit really sizzles and we are so obviously a crack band in a class of our own."



MVD Entertainment Group, an industry leader in producing and distributing music-related audiovisual content, launched the In the Hands of the Fans series with the intention of utilizing the energy and talents of fans, who by means of an online video submission contest, win the opportunity to film a performance of their favorite band in HD and then interview the band members after the performance. The result is a high quality, low cost, unique program that is part concert film and part reality TV show.



And here's a link to a review of the cd version of Raw Power Live: In The Hands Of The Fans that pissed off a few Stooges fans.

Saturday, June 25, 2011

The Johnny Winter Bobblehead and Live At Rockpalast DVD

From the same folks that brought you the Roky Erickson bobblehead and the G.G. Allin bobblehead, shield your eyes and witness the release everyone’s favorite white albino blues artists-Johnny Winter-and a faithful reproduction of the star’s 1979 appearance on the German Rockpalast television show.

I’m not sure what the criteria is for these bobbleheads, but jeeselouise, the makers are coming up with a strange catalog of artists that I cannot find seven degrees of Kevin Bacon on.

Thank god they didn’t choose Edgar Winter during the They Only Come Out At Night era.

Here’s the sale pitch:

Johnny Winter Live Rockpalast 1979 DVD

Guitar Gods Limited Edition Collectible Figure Arrive July 26

Live Rockpalast 1979 features Johnny and his three piece band live on Germany's famous Rockpalast TV show in 1979... Straight up blues like only Johnny can deliver, lean and mean. Johnny and the band also blaze through some killer covers like the Rolling Stones' "Jumping Jack Flash" and "Suzie Q."

Johnny Winter had nothing to prove by the time April of 1979 arrived. Thirty-five years old, he was an established international star and already a decade removed from his seminal 1969 debut-a groundbreaking record followed by an unforgettable appearance at Woodstock, scores of sold-out arenas, a well documented stint in drug rehabilitation, and a steady stream of celebrated albums.

But as this performance makes clear, Winter's musical soul wasn't entirely at peace the night he stepped before a massive audience in Essen, Germany, to record a performance for the popular German television program Rockpalast ("Rock Palace"). The Texan, armed with his Gibson Firebird was on a mission to reaffirm for his audience-including millions watching the broadcast across Europe-his devotion to the blues, the music that consumed him as a young man during the 1950s and '60s but was later cast aside as rock stardom beckoned.

The proof can be found in the night's setlist: "Hideaway," the guitar workout made famous by Freddie King, kicks things off. It's followed by "Messin' with the Kid," a staple of Chicago harp master Junior Wells. "Walkin' by Myself," co-penned by another Chicago great, Jimmy Rogers, follows.

But it's not just what Winter plays that tells the tale; it's what he says. "I hope there's some people out there that get off on blues," he offers. "I know we've got a lot of rock and rollers. But you've gotta remember that if it wasn't for the blues, there wouldn't be no rock and roll."

And with that, the master goes deep into the Delta, unleashing a breathtaking, 17-minute reading of Willie Brown's "Mississippi Blues," an undeniable highlight of this unforgettable night. Winter follows up with Sleepy John Estes' "Divin' Duck" before attacking Dale Hawkins' "Susie Q."

Ever gracious, on "I'm Ready," Johnny picks up a bass as his bassist fires away on guitar. The arrangement continues for "Rockabilly Boogie," a joyous performance replete with some crowd-pleasing showmanship. But then it's back to the blues.

"Well I know I'm fighting a losing battle, but I'm gonna to try to do some more blues," Winter says. "I hope there's somebody out there that might understand what that is and might want to hear a little bit of it."And with that, Johnny delivers a master class medley that leads off with Robert Johnson's "Stones in My Passway."

The artist finally throws a bone to the rock enthusiasts with a cover of the Rolling Stones' "Jumpin' Jack Flash." But it's best to think of this offering as a reward, not a concession. Johnny Winter's statement on this night had long since been made.



Also, arriving next month is the first figure in the Guitar Gods series... None other than the legendary master blues guitarist Johnny Winter.

The figure is limited to 1500 numbered units, stands at 7 inches tall, and is made of a lightweight poly resin. Displayed in a window box, here Johnny is not only accurately sculpted right down to his signature black hat, boots, and guitar, but also has movement at both the arm and head, and yells "Rock N' Roll" at the push of a button!

If you'd like to purchase the bobblehead, click on the link here. The same link will also get you to the area that's selling the DVD.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Lemmy

One of the best Motorhead stories I have ever heard came from my cousin. We had both seen Motorhead in an arena setting, and while the set was good, the barking midrange of the band wasn’t conducive to the amphitheater we saw them.

He figured that the band would really shine in a more intimate venue, and at the first opportunity, he saw them at one.

It was the House of Blues in Chicago where he ended up, a nicely appointed venue with good acoustics. To be fair, it’s also a chain-with venues in several U.S. cities, fully attentive to the bottom line of its locations with high-priced beverages and calendars that assured the maximum level of occupancy.

Motorhead filled the House of Blues in Chicago, to the point where he believes the show was oversold. He relayed a first hand account of the venue filled to the rim with fans firmly entrenched in their section of real estate and absolutely no intention of moving an inch. Most of these hard-nosed fans looked like they would straight-up shank you if you allowed yourself to enter into their personal space. It was one of the few shows he had been to where he felt the potential for personal harm.

To make matters worse, Lemmy and company were ambivalent to any notion of personal accountability. Their “free market” approach meant that they focused only on delivering the music that the roomful of ruffians had come to witness.

The music was loud-ear damaging stuff. And while my cousin watched his footing enough to avoid any physical confrontations, he was ill prepared for Motorheads aural onslaught. Having neglected to bring ear protection, he cringed during the moments where Lemmy yelled “Do you want it fucking louder!” and the soundman obliged by turning the volume up accordingly.

So maybe the strategic areas of an amphitheater is the better place, or maybe it should come as common knowledge that if you’re going to a Motorhead show, your ears will indeed bleed profusely if you dare to enter with anything below a pair of cotton balls.

The newly released documentary film Lemmy attests to this infrequently discussed Motorhead truth, but it also discusses the more noted myths of Lemmy Kilmister’s past including the reported tales of heavy speed usage, the number of women he’s bedded, and the reports that he spends a lot of his waking hours playing video trivia at the Rainbow.

To these factoids, Lemmy pooh-poohs the reports of how many women he’s slept with, cautions that he’s known many people who have died from excessive drug use, and admits that his longevity is out of necessity instead of actual talent.

Because when you’re a vital member of the evolution of rock music, your limitations can actually be your strength, and for Lemmy he wanted people to experience what it might sound like if you used a pair of Triumph exhaust pipes as headphones while someone throttles the engine.

For Lemmy, his heroes are the Founding Fathers of rock: Elvis, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, etc. You can tell in his appearance how he relates to their generationally divisive music and you can tell in his performance how he viewed the strength of their output. To match wits them, he knew he had to be louder and faster than their material to appear as worthy enough to respect their legacy. and the rest of those first generation rockers that he identifies with. One could argue that those members were blessed with more God given talent than Lemmy, but they’d also have to accept that Lemmy represents a nearly as vital place directly behind those Founding Fathers.

In that section is Motorhead’s ambiguous blend of punk and metal. The union gave birth to an unruly bastard, an offspring that had no time to tease its hair or compose a power ballad. There seemed to be one speed to Motorhead-no pun intended-and they had to wait until payday before they could afford to repair the breaks on that bad motherfucker.

Lemmy does a fine job of chronicling the obligatory time line of his life, and viewers get a nice overview of his musical output from Hawkwind and beyond.

There are moments in his history that seem to only get a quick glance before moving on; I can’t for the life of me remember if the film discussed much about his work with Wendy O Williams or Girlschool. That’s a shame, as I don’t know much about those periods and his involvement with Girlschools’s Kelly Johnson.

Unfortunately, both of those high profile relationships don’t provide another side of the story; both women have passed away and there’s no archival footage presented. Instead, there’s a parade of talking heads, from hilarious recollections from The Damned to the incessant yapping and nutswinging of the ever-present Dave Grohl. He attempts to say something profound about how Lemmy is more of the real deal than someone like Keith Richards-implying that there is some unwritten rock and roll code that somehow negates integrity with financial success. What makes the entire argument a bunch of hot air is Grohl’s own output of palatable rock that pockets his own wallet.

Meanwhile, Lemmy continues to live in a cramped apartment, stuffed to the ceiling with shit and littered with trash and cigarette butts. I’d be willing to bet that anyone reading this-including Dave Grohl-that if they were presented with either the lifestyle of Keith Richards or Lemmy Kilmister, it would be a landslide for Keef.

We all know that Lemmy is a badass without Grohl or anyone else’s comments, and most of them on Lemmy are merely fluffy praise and little meaningful antidotes.

The film does dig more into the human element of Kilmister, at least as much as he’ll allow. He brushes off any chance to speak about the mother of his son with recollections of how she lost her virginity to John Lennon. There is an acknowledgement of another child who he’s never met, but you don’t know if his ambivalence towards that prospect as an example of his lack of emotional connection or an eerie comparison to a similar path that his own father took when Lemmy was two years old.

The only moment of real human levity comes when the filmmaker asks Lemmy what item in his apartment is the most valuable.

“My son.” He says without hesitation.

His son is seated right next to him when he says it, but you get the sense that Lemmy didn’t just come up with the response for the camera. His son wasn’t prepared for the answer either; you can tell that he’s visibly affected with the response

While these brief moments of emotional content are nice, you get the sense of impending doom with Lemmy, like the subject matter is drawing closer to a close either by choice or by some kind of health surprise.

Yes, much is made about Lemmy’s resilience to controlled substance history and his penchant for a bottle of Jack a day, but he certainly doesn’t seem as mentally sharp as his frequent comparison, Keith Richards.

It’s more than the slurring of words or continual tales of rock nostalgia. The bounce is gone from his movement-the chance of certain danger eliminate. His Los Angeles residency is the retirement village he was able to afford and the parade of visitors and fans his nursing staff.

It’s a bit sad, but it’s reassuring to know that he’s safe and, yes, when that time comes, Lemmy Kilminster will be missed.

Lemmy will be used as a vital part of that eulogy, of course, but it would have been better served with more detailed elements of his musical history to ensure that those who watch it will immediately want to seek out his recorded work as soon as the credits roll.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Who Is Harry Nilsson? (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him?)

I’m not sure how this Netflix Wii feature works, but it’s thoroughly entertaining.

I understand that not all of my Netflix queue movies will work as an immediate download-probably some licensing bullshit issues that I don’t care about-but it seems that some titles appear randomly and then disappear, making the game console feature the equivalent of another movie channel, but with the benefit of getting to play the titles when I want.

And last night I wanted to watch the new movie about Harry Nilsson.

Wow.

It’s one of those documentaries where you immediately want to go out and buy a bunch of Nilsson records, making mental notes of the song samples that come up so you know what to look for later.

For me it’s the song that sings a increasing tally of past years-1941, 1945, etc.-presumably an annual autobiography on events from Nilsson’s past.

And if you know anything about Harry, much of his past was surrounded by turmoil.

Who Is Harry Nilsson? (And Why Is Everybody Talkin’ About Him?) is a detailed glimpse into this criminally neglected artist, providing a refresher course into the man’s repertoire while painting a fascinating narrative of the man’s personal speedbumps that continuously arise.

I was prepared for the drunkenness; Harry Nilsson was the first person I thought John Lennon might have been with when I first learned that he’d been shot. Nilsson’s exploits were well known to me, and I thought that would have been the only explanation why Lennon would have been shot in the first place.

But Lennon as it turned out had found comfort in family while Nilsson continued on his downward spiral.

The revelation to me is pre-Nilsson Schmilsson. It’s an era of his career that I’m not at all familiar with, aside from the obvious hits.

If I was prepared for the shenanigans resulting from his excess, I certainly wasn’t prepared for how beautiful his voice was for that first record.

I didn’t know that he destroyed that beautiful instrument during the Pussycats sessions with John Lennon.

The film has a wonderful variety of interview subjects, from the slightly irrelevant (Robin Williams) to the long-forgotten (Paul Williams). But the most sentimental are the ones from the musicians and producers who worked with Nilsson first hand, the ones that know the real devastation of his passing.

And now, thanks to this comprehensive retrospective on the life of Harry Nilsson, the rest of us can understand that devastation too.

Friday, October 8, 2010

The Promise: The Making of Darkness On The Edge Of Town

I don’t own Darkness On The Edge Of Town.

But after seeing the documentary The Promise: The Making of Darkness on the Edge of Town, I want it.

I don’t have an explanation for not owning it, and radio never really gave it a fair shake except for “Badlands.”

And good luck finding a station that even plays that.

I think that any good documentary-particularly one that focuses on a piece of work like a record album-can measure success by gauging the extent in which you want to learn more about the subject.

After watching the documentary the other night on HBO, I wanted to hear that album immediately.

You get the songs in the documentary, including how they were made, the selection process, etc. They’re good enough to get you interested in the record, but it’s the story of the record that really drove my desire.

I wanted to hear what Springsteen did on this record, an album that came after some heated turmoil with Mike Appel and the long-deserved success of Born To Run. To hear the back story, and how Springsteen approached this record is riveting.

It also sounds like Springsteen was crazy-prolific during this period, and the box set captures some of those tracks that didn’t make the cut in two other additional discs. Since a lot of those cuts ended up on The River, I’d like to hear the other stuff that didn’t make that album either.

And I totally forgot that Springsteen penned “Fire.”

Thursday, July 9, 2009

The Devil And Daniel Johnston

Oh yeah. Just finished The Devil and Daniel Johnston doc. Highly recommended. Two in a row. Here comes the obligatory opine on the subject matter.
I guess I never really had an opinion of Johnston, and still don’t today. I mean, the dude’s crazy. I think he’d even admit that. And I’ve got a thing for the crazies. Something seems so pure about what they do and those moments of brilliance shine a little brighter when you know that someone isn’t really playing with a full deck upstairs.
But Johnston seemed a bit too precious even for my tastes and that includes the period before he went completely bonkers. It’s the period after he went completely batty that bothers me. From Gibby Haynes ridiculous interview with an obviously-off-his-meds Johnston (to his questionably honest response to the question if Gibby was indeed the one that fed Johnston some LSD, thereby escalating his diminishing mental state). To Steve Shelly attempting to put Daniel on some kind of indie-revival, only to discover that Johnston was not the type of person to follow logic, let alone a fucking itinerary. To Atlantic records for attempting to cash in on a bipolar man-just like any other signing-with almost total disregard for creating a contract that considered this man’s mental state. And to us, really, for expecting Johnston to fall in line like any other alterna-idol. Relishing his aloofness. Secretly hoping for a glimpse of his insanity.
I mean really: any decent person would have just said, “Fuck it. This dude needs help. Never mind SXSW appearances. Forget albums. To hell with Jad Fair collaborations.”
It all ended up the same: disastrous. And in watching the car crash, you can’t help but bark out “Leave him alone!” like some Chris Crocker type.
It seemed like only his parents were versed enough to properly address Johnston’s condition. Their patience is unnerving, particularly his Father. This is a man-a former fighter pilot, no less-that should be enjoying his golden years in peace. Instead, he’s battling his overweight adult son for the controls of his Cessna because Daniel decided he wanted to become Casper the friendly ghost. As stoic, patient, and strong as this man is, retelling the story of this frightening event breaks him into tears.
What’s strange about The Devil and Daniel Johnston is that I didn’t immediately want to run out and get his music. I did want to check out some of his art-cartoonish characters that provide a telling glimpse into Johnston’s mind. It’s a tad overpriced for my pocketbook, but it’s refreshing that he has a creative outlet and doesn’t have to rely on events that can trigger mental instability (Daniel has a tendency to restrict his meds before performances).
The film leaves you wondering: what will happen when his parents pass away? Financially, he made have found some stable footing (his family runs his website and his sellable goods) but one has to consider that his two elderly parents are the most stable sources in his life. When they’re gone, how will their absence impact Daniel and his art?
It’s a question that obviously is left unanswered, but one that isn’t is the story of Daniel’s muse, Laurie. There’s a touching bonus feature on the DVD that shows their reunion. Laurie is charming and very supportive of Daniel’s work. Daniel, on the other hand, is decked out in a stained sweat shirt and is obviously still smitten with Laurie.
“Will you marry me?” he asks within the first few minutes of the meeting.
She politely laughs knowing that Johnston is probably serious about his question, but smart enough to know that being out of reach has provided Daniel with enough material to fuel his entire career.
And Daniel’s career has provided director Jeff Feuerzeig enough material for a totally engaging documentary.

Sunday, May 4, 2008

Luna - Tell Me Do You Miss Me

The 1st Anniversary, but we have been together longer and only went through with the legal proceedings because she wanted to.
Three weeks later, we had our daughter.
I started our weekend by forcing her to watch Tell Me Do You Miss Me, the documentary about Luna’s final tour, or the “farewell” tour that they didn’t tell anyone until about half way through it.
She lasted an hour, which is a record of some sort.
I miss Luna, that always dependable and always reliable link to hipster N.Y.C. via the Velvet Underground’s third album through Galaxie 500 as channeled through Tom Verlaine’s clean guitar tone. Sure, I get the notion that Dean and Britta have carried the torch somewhat, but I miss Sean Eden’s guitar heroics and the documentary catches the creative tension between Dean Wareham and Sean Eden quite wonderfully.
Wareham’s kind of an asshole, and his autobiography that I’m reading (Black Postcards) rather reflects that too. I don’t mean “asshole” as in barking orders at everyone, I mean asshole in the sense of a very quiet, sometimes selfish, mindfuck-ready asshole. Obviously, someone I can relate to, with the exception of the “very quiet” part.
I have the very first Galaxie 500 single somewhere in my parent’s attic, “Tugboat,” the one on Aurora Records before they signed to Rough Trade. I didn’t think too much of it first, and it wasn’t until the second album, On Fire, that I really understood what was going on.
When the album came out, I brought it home and about four or five of us huddled in the living room of our big college house, loaded a humungous bowl of pot and smoked it while playing the album for the very first time.
“Who is this?” somebody asked.
“It’s the new Galaxie 500 record”
“It’s really good.”
It is really good, and the follow up This Is Our Music is even better. And just at the point where they released a kick ass single of “Blue Thunder” with Joy Division’s “Ceremony” as the b-side, the fuckers broke up. I just was done reading where Wareham addresses this, and as much as it pains me to say this, I kind of understand why he did it.
I still don’t understand why he broke up Luna, even after watching the documentary. Sure, there’s some tension between he and Eden, but no more than any other band and, apparently, not enough to destroy the creativity that the two shared together. The underlying reason seems to center around the band’s lack of success and inability to go beyond the “we have to sell t-shirts and other merch just to make a profit on tour” reality that is most bands contend with starting out. Luna, however, wasn’t a band that was just “starting out,” and after a decade of sharing the same Econoline, enduring the same jokes, and dealing with the same bullshit, it must have been enough to Wareham.
My reasons for wanting them to stick around were just as selfish as Wareham’s reason for disbanding them.
I met him once, got his autograph (and the rest of Luna’s) when they played an off-night gig at Gabe’s Oasis in the mid-90’s. By “off-night”, I mean mid-week, because we don’t get those kinds of cool gigs on the weekends. I dragged Brad Company with me, but he spent more time hitting on this chick in the crowd than listening. Too bad, because they fucking ruled. When they came back for an encore, I yelled out for “Indian Summer,” their version of the Beat Happening song. The guy standing next to me yelled out for “Ride Into The Sun,” their version of the Velvet Underground song. When Sean heard the other dude screaming for “Ride,” he shook his head and said “Nope!”
They played “Indian Summer.” I was stoked.
I brought my sleeve to the Slide e.p. up to the stage afterwards and thanked Dean for coming to Iowa.
“Yeah….I don’t think we ever played here with Galaxie 500…Thanks for coming out tonight.”
I noticed a dialect, assumed it was Northeastern, but the documentary hints at a New Zealand accent, which I never knew about until reading his book that he moved to the states from there as a child.
Check out the documentary (the book is good too), I recommend it and I recommended that my wife get a schoolgirl outfit like Britta’s in the movie.
Maybe that’s the 2nd anniversary.
Sidenote: as part of the N.Y.C. chicdom that Luna emanates, we spent the night at the Hotel Vetro in I.C., and discovered a bunch of young fucks carrying cases of Coors Light to their room. Apparently, the high-end feel of the Vetro doesn’t prevent them from checking out rooms for high school prom goers and, indeed, we noticed a few drunken squeals throughout the night during our stay. The fucks also started filling up Formosa while we were there for dinner, which, by the way, may be my new favorite place for sushi here in EIA.
Check the clip of the doc.

Saturday, January 26, 2008

The Baker's Dozen Best Rock 'N Roll Documentary Films

Preface: Like other Baker’s Dozen lists, this one is a living document, created only from the movies that I have seen and including none that I’ve heard are good, but have yet to see. I’m sure that once I have seen some of the ones you’re going “What about…” right now, well sir, maybe those fuckers will be added at a later date.
But until that time, feast your eyes and submit to...



The Baker’s Dozen Best Rock ‘N Roll Movies Ever Made-Documentary Style


  1. No Direction Home
    The only way you can successfully create a documentary about one of music’s most important music figures of all time is to commission one of film’s most important directors of all time. Scorsese not only weaves a very compelling account of Dylan ’61-’66, he adds new dimensions to songs that are perfect in their own realm. The other commendable thing that Scorsese does is make you want to go out immediately after viewing the movie and buy a couple of Dylan albums. Throughout it, Dylan himself gives modern commentary that offer little in terms of sage advice but plenty in making Bob Dylan come across as just a regular dude from Minnesota.
  2. The Filth And The Fury
    Julian Temple rebounds incredibly from his other Sex Pistols movie, The Great Rock ‘N Roll Swindle, by focusing on the people in the band rather than spinning the myth that Malcolm McLaren originally weaved. These were not the smartest individuals in the world, but the hyperactive speed (for the time) rise to notoriety made everyone a helluva lot wiser. Except for Sid, of course, who struggled to maintain without the aid of caretaker Johnny Rotten. In one of the most moving scenes, Rotten breaks down as if he failed while trying to protect the dim Vicious. Great filmmaking that captures the excitement of the volatile London ’77 scene and shows the humanity of the band like never before.
  3. Dig!
    I went into this film a Dandy Warhols fan and came out of it a Brian Jonestown Massacre fan. Oh sure, I still enjoy the Warhols a bit, but like head-Dandy Courtney Taylor, I fell in love with Anton Newcombe’s madcap antics and free-fall into self-destruction. And self-destruction to Anton means taking the band down with him. Obsessively documented, this slice of life from two of rocks most notable players in the 90’s underground scene (and the dichotomy of one band hell-bent on achieving success while the other band violently reacts to the prospects of it) is a remarkable sight.
  4. Some Kind Of Monster­
    At the time this movie was released, I was firmly an enemy of the Metallica camp. The Black Album wounded the band’s integrity, but Some Kind Of Monster killed it. At the same time, the fact that they allowed this movie to be released at all makes it the most rocking thing they have done since …And Justice For All. Throughout it, but particularly during the moments with the creepy life coach, you just want to grab each member and yell, “Wake the fuck up!” Apparently, Jason Newstad did, and he left the band immediately before filming began.
  5. The End Of The Century
    They pretended to be four dumb bruthas from N.Y.C., but this documentary shows how they were anything but stupid. The type of film that leaves you feeling like The Ramones were the greatest rock ‘n roll band ever. The shocker: Johnny and Joey spoke relatively little to one another thanks to a lover’s triangle. And now three of them are dead?! That just ain't right, man...
  6. The Kids Are Alright
    It felt like the end of The Who when Keith Moon died, and this documentary from around the same time, felt like a great way to canonize the group on the eve of their retirement. The band picked up Kenny Jones and soldiered on for a few more albums, but this documentary proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the The Who once ruled the world. Probably the only movie on this list that contains pyrotechnics….and not the legitimate kind either. I cannot think of any other lip-synching television appearance as exciting as The Who on The Smothers Brothers show.
  7. The Decline of the Western Civilization, Part 2: The Metal Years
    While it certainly didn’t do much to enhance the credibility of heavy metal, it absolutely showed how entertaining it was. From Ozzy’s scrambled eggs to Chris Holmes drunk and pathetic in his fucking pool, you can’t make that shit up! And to this day, I have no idea what the fuck London had against the Soviet Union. Of course, most of you have no idea who the fuck London even is.
  8. I Am Trying To Break Your Heart
    How lucky was it that the film was rolling while Wilco was making their masterpiece? Pretty lucky, especially considering that they also were going through inter-band turmoil, being dropped from their label, and finding better days at the end of the entire drama.
  9. Westway To The World
    Quite simply, it’s the film that turned me into a major Joe Strummer fan. Sure, I was a fan of The Clash prior to Westway (it’s why I bought it, yo) but hearing Strummer’s Everyman and unimposing delivery, I can’t think of a better hero to have.
  10. The Last Waltz
    Another Scorsese landmark, particularly for implementing a rotoscoping technique to remove a cocaine booger from one Neil Young. I will confess to not fully appreciating The Band and, as a result, this film was actually given to me as a gift. Nonetheless, it’s a very informative and entertaining documentary, even if it fails to answer the question “What the fuck does Neil Diamond have to do with The Band?” It also demonstrates, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Robbie Robertson is an egotistical prick.
  11. The Fearless Freaks
    Wayne Coyne is the kind of guy that I’d like to live next door to. He’s one of those genuine people that views life in a very unique manner and his enthusiasm about living it at the fullest. Even mowing the lawn is provided with a bent perception and his retelling of an armed robbery while working at Long Johns Silver’s is hilarious. All of this is counterbalanced with guitarist/drummer/keyboardist Steven Drozd’s on-camera heroin addiction and bassist Michael Ivins receding hairline.
  12. Ziggy Stardust & The Spiders From Mars
    This was a toss up: T-Rex’s Born To Boogie or this, the last performance of Bowie’s Ziggy character. Two things put the Ziggy movie on the list: the fact that Bowie’s band had gotten so shit-hot that they could’ve performed the set in their sleep and at the moment where David/Ziggy tells the audience to “Shut up” during one of the acoustic moments. After you’ve heard the T-Rextasy frenzy of some of the teenage girls that made up Bolan’s performance, you’d wish he’d uttered the same words too. Oh, and Mick Ronson delivers one of his best solos ever on film too.
  13. Kurt & Courtney­
    Anyone that gives screen time to the Mentor’s El Duce drunken claims needs serious criticism. At the same time, you have to hand it to director Nick Broomfield’s decision from going from a movie about the “murder” of Kurt Cobain to Courtney Love’s manhandling of the Cobain legacy. I remember thinking that the film was a little harsh on her and that she was rightfully protective of her dead husband’s legacy. But now, I think that Broomfield may have been the first person to figure out that Love was nothing more than an opportunistic con, which means that she probably fit in perfectly with a wack job like El Duce. And Rozz Rezabek’s on-camera breakdown, the one where he goes “And a kinder, gentler Charlie Manson is still fucking Charlie Manson…So don’t fuck with me Courtney!” Priceless.
Some honorable mentions include:

Urgh! A Music War
Missed it by this much: there's enough shitty performances here to knock it from the list. At the same time, some of the good performances (XTC, Devo, The Cramps, Wall of Voodoo) are awesome enough to recommend this flick.

Pink Floyd: Live At Pompeii
The performance is awesome. The behind the scenes at the Dark Side Of The Moon recording session is staged. And the director's cut animation that they tacked on is completely retarded. Thanfully, the dvd issue allows you to watch the original version without the retardedness.

Don't Look Back
Another Dylan entry. Another D.A. Pennebaker entry. Dylan before the motorcycle crash and the only reason it didn't make the list is because No Direction Home includes a lot of the same footage, including the parts where Bob freaks his shit on an interviewer.

Stop Making Sense
I used to love this movie and, to some extent, I still do. But the moment I learned that the Talking Heads overdubbed some of the performances during the mixing process, some of the magic was lost for me.

There you go again. Clicking on the comment button to add your own two cents.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Minutemen-We Jam Econo

I can’t tell you how important SST’s “The Blasting Concept” compilation albums were to me growing up. Priced at a mere $3.49, the album provided a glimpse of the SST Records roster. How could you go wrong? Certainly at that price, you’re sure to find a few tunes that you liked.
The album did more than that; it provided a glimpse into a different world of music. Meat Puppets, Black Flag, Husker Du, Saccharine Trust, and other SST labelmates were included on it. Starting it off was Minutemen’s “Paranoid Chant.”
“I try to talk to girls/And I keep thinking of world war three!” barked the singer. Underneath those effectively simplistic lyrics was a curious racket; a power trio that meshed together a unique version of punk rock that managed to epitomize the “paranoid” in “Paranoid Chant.”
For a young dude using a cheap compilation album to discover new music, the Minutemen were unlike anything else on the landscape. For an old dude talking about a new Minutemen documentary, they are still unlike anything else on the landscape.
You need Minutemen’s “Double Nickels On The Dime” in your record collection. It’s that simple. And once you’ve purchased that album, you may find yourself enamored in learning more about this power trio curio. That’s where the new documentary “We Jam Econo” comes in handy. For the novice, you’ll get to hear firsthand the Minutemen’s all-to-brief existence and you’ll learn of the incredible bond between bassist Mike Watt and guitarist D. Boon. If you’re already familiar with the oft-told story of the Minutemen, there are new stories to hear, concert footage to examine, and reminders as to why their legacy is so critical to underground music. If there ever was a band deserving of a documentary, the Minutemen are it.


The key is that even though “Double Nickels” stands sonically on it own, the Minutemen story is almost as critical. Even if the Boon/Watt story wasn’t part of the overall plot, you’d still have an important tale: Three ordinary guys from a blue-collar town whose musical inspirations far outweigh their potential. Their image, their political ideology, their musical lineage, their locale, their intelligence, all worked against them. It didn’t matter. Punk rock changed their lives.
Of course, the D. Boon story ends and begins with tragedy. The very moment this little band from Pedro was poised to go on to the next level, D. Boon dies in a car wreck, leaving his childhood friend Watt to spin briefly into a funk that seemed too deep to escape from.
It’s the magnitude of D. Boon’s death on Watt and how deep their friendship was that’s evident from the first five minutes of the film. Footage from 1985 shows the two talking about how they first met. Watt explains that he was walking along when Boon, literally, fell on him from out of a tree. A more recent shot then shows Watt walking the very same path and points to the exact tree where Boon fell on him. It’s heartbreaking. And it perfectly establishes how, almost twenty years after his best friend’s death, he’s still with him.
The only thing that’s really missing from the movie is an idea of how Boon’s death affected others. Sure, there are plenty of cameos from some of underground rock’s most elite names, but I know firsthand that the Minutemen were the catalyst for hundreds of upstarts and I know that Boon’s death ranks just as tragic as a Lennon, Cobain, or Strummer. We see the actual note that Henry Rollins sent Ian McKaye, notifying him of Boon’s passing. What I would have liked to have seen was a “soldier child’s” perspective too. I’ll never forget a conversation I had once with Dave Diebler about Minutemen. His band, House of Large Sizes, was clearly aligned with Minutemen’s d.i.y. ethos and his lyrics were clearly influenced by D. Boon’s. Diebler would go on about how important this band was to him and at the end of the conversation he shot me a look of sadness with an equal part of anger and said “Do you know that son of a bitch would still be with us if he had just put on his fucking seat belt?” I wanted to see just a few more examples of this in the documentary, for some reason. Some proof that it wasn’t just underground a-listers, art-types, and rock critics that felt something from this band, this artist. Their importance was felt all the way to Iowa, and it was large enough for others to start power trios of their own.
Nonetheless, this is a very good piece of work and there’s certainly more than enough information included to keep those who deem themselves to be familiar with everything Minutemen entertained. I wasn’t aware that “Double Nickels” contains a nod to both Pink Floyd’s “Ummagumma” and Sammy Hagar. I didn’t know that the reason Boon’s guitar was so trebly was because the band viewed the bass guitar and electric guitar as “sovereign states.” I didn’t know that legendary SST “producer” Spot was such a riot (I should have, if I’d only remembered side four of Black Flag’s “Everything Went Black” album). And I didn’t know that both Grant Hart and Richard Hell look like they’re one good vein away from an overdose. Greg Norton, on the other hand, looks pretty good lately.
The bonus material is excellent and I enjoyed almost all of the deleted scenes including Ed Crawford’s telling of how he literally called Watt up from Ohio after Boon’s death and pulled him back into where D. Boon would have wanted him to be: on stage with his “thunderbroom.”
The documentary ends where it should: a modern day Mike Watt driving around San Pedro in a Ford Econoline van. He narrates “So, December 22nd, 1985….” He starts to slowly shake his head, trying to ward off the approaching tears. He clears his throat and continues, “Heavy day for me.”
The shot continues and Watt tries to surmise it all by saying “Big change in my life…meetin’ D. Boon.”
We’ll never have the opportunity to meet D. Boon anymore. The only thing we can have is a chance to hear about him, and “We Jam Econo” is a great way to do just that.