Next time someone tells you the Beatles are overrated, show them this photo and invite them to shut their whore mouth. “Ahead of their time” doesn’t begin to cover it.
A new short from Chris Ware, this one featuring a recurring character from his Acme Novelty Library series, Quimby the Mouse. This, like his previous shorts, was done for This American Life, in this case for the live performance they did in Chicago. I’m a longtime fan of Ware’s comics and his shorts continue his tradition of excellent storytelling. The fact that it’s set to the wonderful strains of “Eugene” by Andrew Bird is just icing on the cake. Click over to Vimeo if you wish to watch it in its full, HD glory.
The award winning commercial for Luden’s cough drops featuring sound work by the one and only Frank Zappa. The voice over at the end makes it many times stranger than it would be on its own.
I am, admittedly, no fan of Black Metal, Norwegian or otherwise, and yet the genre still holds a certain fascination for me. Here are grown men, people who display an obvious intelligence, living out a perpetual adolescent fantasy, dressing up, giving society the finger, and wearing upside down religious knick-knacks.
I relished, then, VBS TV’s newest documentary on Norwegian Black Metal, specifically the band Gorgoroth and their infamous current lead singer Gaahl. It’s stunning to think that anywhere a band that takes its name from The Lord of the Rings could have become the symbol of evil and yet, here they are in all their spiked glory.
Still, the documentary offers a tantalizing glimpse into the inner workings of this “evil” gentleman and his homeland and, in that regard, it really shines. Things start to click when the crew enters a small, family-owned village, where it has been raining for 76 days straight and only one house has indoor plumbing. The climax, standing atop a snow covered, windswept mountain, in front of the one room shed that was Gaahl’s grandparent’s home is perhaps one of the most revealing locals found in a documentary. That moment says more than almost everything that preceded it.
Daito Manabe’s newest art piece uses a machine which turns music into electrical pulses. By slapping electrodes on his face these pulses cause the muscles to twitch and jerk in a painful looking dance of contorted expressions. I’m not sure what the goal is here, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t find it fascinating to watch.
Mr. P, an older, Dutch gentleman outfitted with a stunning pair of fake ears lights the keys of his piano on fire and belts out a tune about his desire to perform intercourse with an unnamed female, a desire which must remain unfulfilled as access to the aforementioned woman has been denied, presumably by barring her door.
A tribute to Karl Marx — political economist, philosopher, beard enthusiast, and dreamboat — set to the soothing strains of Smooth Jazz saxophone, because nothing says “Workers of the world unite!” like the muzak played in your dentist’s office.
By the third day, you’re pressed against the only stage at Maschinenfest, both hands braced on either side of your own bruised ilia, spanning several bars of black and yellow caution tape with sticky fingers.
The venue is Kulturfabrik in Krefeld, Germany. Krefeld is small, pleasant, and slightly dowdy, sheltering large, serious citizens in shades of beige and blonde. An odd place for this sort of soiree. I’d figure the likes of Maschinenfest for Berlin, but I assume costs in a big city would be prohibitive.
You’re studying the way one of Militia’s drummers lands his blows on his oil drum, knocking the stick exactly into a dent that was pounded into a tailored concavity over years of performance. Nonchalant flicks of forearm land it on this divot again and again: perfect. This is junkyard kodo, and you feel their impacts right in the swamp of your guts. And then, only then, can you write about it.
Behind you, one thousand people sop it up. Men and women self-consciously shoulder historical German military garb, Saturday’s trend. I stare at a nerdy-looking man in a peaked SS officer’s cap. I am obviously Yankee, in my Earheartesque ensemble, and his eyes flicker to the side. We beat you, I think. I find out later that he’s Irish.
The Way is a worldwide, nondenominational Biblical research, teaching, and fellowship ministry headquartered in rural Ohio. It is designed to teach those who are hungering and thirsting for the truth how to understand the Bible.
What the website of this humble, thirst-quenching, nondenominational Christian group fails to mention, however, is the natural ability of their congregation to get down. Luckily, footage from their March 2007 concert series does all the talking. Featuring dope beats and mad lyrical stylings, The Renewed Mind Is the Key is a tour de force of staid, Christian synth-pop. Indeed, if this were the extant of the talent featured, The Renewed Mind Is the Key would do little to distinguish itself from its peers.
However, there is more — oh so much more — to this fabulous, though nameless, trio. That which I refer to is, of course, the aforementioned “getting down”. It takes only a glance at their precision choreography, the fluid moon-walking, the precise popping and locking, for the viewer to realize that they are witnessing a phenomenon, perhaps even, a miracle. Oh what graceful entertainers these be; what awe they inspire. If proof is needed of the existence of a higher power, surely these unearthly entertainers, frozen, rictus grins in place, their souls full of evangelical fire, provide it. Surely.
No one rocks the maroon and white like Neil Grant Vosburgh. Nobody. Yes, when God created Neil he put a kerchief on that bad boy and then promptly broke the mold.
Ah, Canada, that frozen wonderland to the north, with its lush, rolling fields of moose, beer waterfalls, and socialized medicine. Truly, it is a snow covered Eden. This week’s Saturday Morning Cartoons is (mostly) presented by Canada, featuring animators (mostly) from Canada, or films distributed (mostly) by The National Film Board of Canada. If you are so inclined (and you should be) all of these videos, with the exception of the first, can be viewed in a higher resolution on YouTube.
• The Cat Came Back: From Cordell Barker. Mr. Johnson has a yellow cat, which he is desperately trying to rid himself of. His efforts prove…unsuccessful.
• Last Time in Clerkenwell: Russian animator Alex Budovsky’s follow-up to Bathtime in Clerkenwell featuring more mind bending flash animation and infectious music.
• The Danish Poet: Torill Kove’s 2007 Oscar winning mediation on her birth, and the serendipitous events which led to it. Simple, clean lines lend this one a children’s book aesthetic which works perfectly.
• Ryan: Directed by Chris Landreth, Ryan is an animated tribute to Canadian animator Ryan Larkin. Thirty years ago, at the National Film Board of Canada, Ryan produced some of the most influential animated films of his time. Winner of an Oscar in 2005, it’s a film whose visuals tell just as much of its story as its dialogue does.
• How Wings Are Attached to the Backs of Angels: Craig Welch’s fantastic, creepy, surreal, Gorey-esque little film about a scientist’s quest for knowledge that is, perhaps, reserved for beings other than mere mortals. Cross hatching should be used more often in animation.
• Yellow Sticky Notes: Nine years worth of Jeff Chiba Stearns’s To-Do lists, written on sticky notes, animated with, well, sticky notes. Trust me, it works.
• Harvey Krumpet: I’m a big fan of Australian animator Adam Elliot’s work, having first seen his shorts Brother, Uncle, and Cousin through The Animation Show. Harvey Krumpet, narrated by Geoffrey Rush, continues the tradition of Elliot’s intimate storytelling; detailing the life of Harvey Krumpet, from his birth in Poland to the end of his life in Australia.
Presented here, another casualty of the practice of circuit bending. Considered by many to be a lovable, if perhaps slightly hyperactive lightning mouse, this creature has been gutted and run through, his visage now resembling the offspring of an unholy tryst between Pinhead and a member of the Borg. After finally being sodomized with an amplifier cord, the poor creature is finally ready to perform; his modified and truncated cries becoming music for his sadistic torturer. Surely, even this rat, annoying as he can be, deserves a better end than this.
I don’t mind telling you, dear readers, that the past few days have been atrocious. Ensconced in a sputum plastered nightmare illness, I have been limping, hunched and oozing, through this week; the phlegm constricting my chest and vocal chords causing me to sound, by all accounts, like a sniffling, hacking Barry White. The rest of the Ectomo staff has quarantined me to my office, leaving me alone and ignoring my melodious, threatening bellows.
What the current plague I suffer from has to do with this mash-up of Sesame Street and M.O.P.’s “Ante Up”, I cannot be sure. Perhaps in my current state I find myself on the same, depraved wavelength as The Tubes; my fever allowing me some sort of expanded Understanding. It may explain why I find this so funny, the image of Bert and Ernie spitting mad, aggressive rhymes sending me into fits of pulmonary convulsions. For those who may not like it, always remember: nothing despises you or your childhood more than the internet.
Another very popular Pimba artist is Quim Barreiros. […] In most of his songs, Barreiros makes extensive use of ambiguous words, often with obvious sexual suggestions. One of Quim Barreiros’ biggest hits was “A Garagem da Vizinha” (The [Female] Neighbour’s Garage), which is a metaphor for the female genitalia, but he is also known for hits such as “Mariazinha”, where he asks a woman named Mariazinha to let him smell her “codfish”.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.