Tidbits

Strange coiffures

Last night, after a late night trip to Kroger, drove past the local no-frills barber shop only to see a man getting a haircut at 11 at night.

The Connoiseur's Guide to Carnivorous Cadavers (or He Rambles On Again)

PART ONE: THE BACKGROUND

?

I already know what you're going to say, so just say it and get it over with.

What the heck are you talking about now? Why must you torture us with this nostalgic cinematic minutia?

Answer: because I must!

Let me say this, not as disclaimer, but as something to keep in mind as you read this: there are people who are even worse about this than me. In fact, it is almost a cult.

FACT: There is a fairly strong cult-like following of the horror movie subgenre-zombie movies. So strong that Hollywood and other less powerful filmakers have taken notice and subsequently, films of this genre have been to sprout all over.

I saw Night of the Living Dead (1968) when I was kid living in rural Pennsylvania on the late-night Chiller Theatre on channel 11 out of Pittsburgh. I have blogged about this before, so I skip those details, but imagine a ten or eleven year-old watching this stuff. I was scared out of my mind. This was commercial TV in the 60's, so no ratings for TV programs back then. What would this film get now: an R? PG13?

Romero and company not only created a NEW genre of horror film, but they broke new ground both artistically and the whole gore-violence thing. The premiere was met by outrage, controversy and conversely with undying, unconditional love by the new fan base that Romero had now created.

The real point of this was that this film, the genesis of all zombie films, was made by hometown (Pittsburgh) hero George A. Romero. The film was not only produced by Romero, but shot around Pennsylvania as well, making it a true homestate project and elevating Romero's status among his fans. In fact, people make trips to see the graveyard which opens the film and post their pictures online. It is now a cult.

Then Romero released Dawn of the Dead (1978) which I saw with a few of my college friends. Back then, Dawn freaked me out. We all just spoke in broken phrases on our way back to our dorms. Today it looks a bit comical and low budget, but like Night, it broke new ground in the gore department and truly sealed Romero's status as a cult figure, an icon of international stature. In fact, people take trips to the Monroeville Mall, still in existance, as some kind of baptismal journey-wanting to be just a little closer to the magic of film and history. Long before this cult status, this mall is part of my personal history and was just as surprised as anyone that people would actually view it as such a cult landmark.

YES, you read that correctly-international stature. Romero now has four films in the zombie genre with the last being Land of the Dead in 2005 and since that first film in 1968, each new generation has discovered these films and claims them as their own. Not just in America, but Germany, UK and Italy, there are fanatical followings. Italy's Dario Argento was involved with the making of Dawn and even cut his own version of the film which was revered by the lucky few to get a copy of it (Anchor Bay released a definite FOUR DISC version of this movie because of all the versions floating around.). Italy also has director Luigi Fulci who has come out with his own set of zombie films-all of which owe great debt to Romero.

PART TWO: You must believe

Yes, I include myself among those who call themselves fans of Romero films and all things zombie, BUT you have to go here to really understand the absolute fanaticism that is out there for this stuff:http://www.homepageofthedead.com/

There you will find forums that have virulent debates over the origin of the outerspace virus that caused the outbreak of the living dead. Heated arguments over the detailed knowledge of Dawn of the Dead, the value of the new movie versus the older ones and on and on and on until you log out for fear that you may lose your mind or otherwise permanently lose all sense of reality. The information is vast, mostly accurate and highly subjective because these people are real fans: fanatics of highest order.

There is one point they can ALL agree upon though: They all love George Romero.

And his flesh-eating zombies.

Thanks, guys.

Don Knotts.





Darren McGavin.
Dennis Weaver.

Am I Sensing a Theme?

Tidbits: I think a theme is emerging here.

A trip to the local drugstore proves interesting.

The man in front of me was dropping off a perscription. He had "that look" about him: racing flames knit cap and dark sunglasses. As he walked by, the familar sweet smell of bourbon. "Kentucky bourbon?" I wanted to ask him. Oh well, it was around 4PM.

Walking towards the front of the store, I am greeted by a large cutout of Elvis who is now evidently hawking his own line of fine (gasp) wines. "Jailhouse Red"? I'm not kidding here.

I'm in line again. The man in front of me purchases no less than three quarts of beer and then proceeds to place them neatly in a handy padded carrying case. Well, the man was prepared at least.

Tidbits

Nursing home hallway sounds:

"Jesus, help me. Oh Lord, help me."

* * * **

Faulty logic:

After finding out his sister was hiding some contraband for a friend, the brother went ballistic. So ballistic that the police were called to the scene. When they arrived, the brother was armed with a knife about to do harm to his sister.
Police: "Put down the weapon, sir."
Brother: "Don't worry buddy, I ain't coming for you. I'm goin' after my sister."

* * * **
Public perception

Local news team pounces on eclectic guy, outside his home, concerning local dispute over two gambling parlors being within 100 feet of each other. All said and done, eclectic guy loved the camera [even though camera does not like eclectic guy], the microphone and the reporter who knowingly kept hitting him with questions.
Final cut: E-guy looks like he's angry with his neighbors, pointing at their house, saying:
"They were dead-set against it."

Leaving for work today, neighbor conveniently hid behind the tree to avoid talking to me.

Seeing Anew with Old Eyes

I am not a saint.

Big surprise there, yes?

The church is not considering giving me an award for my charity work, nor for my admirable record in helping the poor. No civic organization is planning a dinner in my name for my steadfast community work or a medal for my outstanding involvement in helping the homeless. Alas, no plans for that stained glass window bearing my agreeable likeness.

Flying under the radar is not quite adequate to describe me. How about: not even in the air, let alone near the airport. Succinctly: he avoids mainly and ignores mostly.

I have mused about going down to serve food to hungry people, but have I do so? Nope. The closest I have come to charity is that for the past few years, during the cold months, we wander down to the men's shelter and get rid of some of my clothes and jackets that are no longer of use. With this act, I placate my guilt by clearing a space in my closet. That's close to sainthood, yes?

I shy away from the collection plate for the most part. Occasionally, a worn greenback will depart for something that is urgent and important.

Whye doth he tellth us this stoof?

Because I think that I'm changing my viewpoint on these things. Thus I quote the Saintly Zimmerman:

And I've never gotten used to it I've just learned to turn it off

Either I'm too sensitive or else I'm getting soft.





I realized something was changing inside of me when last I watched A Clockwork Orange.

Background story: Back in late high school/early college we (me and my droogs) first discovered Clockwork on HBO-the early days when nudity on cable was still a bit shocking- even to young men whose thoughts rarely ran anywhere else. We watched it every time this came on (You see, young people, VHS players and the like were just coming into households, so we had no videos yet.) *My memory might be a bit hazy on this point because I do recall watching a tape from HBO me thinks. Oh well. I'm losing it.

Then we got the book by Burgess and went over the top with it. Reading it aloud, using the proper "Little Alex" imitation, memorizing the lines and even getting a good grip on the slang , we mastered that book.

For myself, I admired the film, the book and the characters for different reasons. The film was so different from anything I had ever seen. From the first time I watched it, the images burned into permanent memory. Forget what day it is? Sure. Forget any of the scenes throughout the entire film? Nope. Never gonna happen.

But it was the characters that I admired for their absolute fearlessness. These guys were not afraid of anyone or anything. I have always been a big chicken, afraid of my own shadow. Anything can make me jump. For a soft boy like me, growing up in a good neighborhood, this was a way of being vicariously unafraid.

Afraid? Terms to describe Little Alex and friends like sociopath or psychopath were not in my thinking at that time. Little Alex wasn't afraid because he felt nothing but his own savage desires. The "savagery of youth" is how a colleague of mine describes it and this is so true. Just read the newspapers or watch the news.

We watched with delight the scences of "Ultra-violence". This is, ironically, some of the best violence ever filmed-it is almost visual ballet, it is so skillful. Kubrick was a master, after all.

One scence involves the beating of a homeless man, obviously intoxicated, in some kind of causeway. [That sounds so phony politically correct, even to me. Let me continue, please.]

Back then, we all laughed at the poor guy being pummeled, pounded and kicked, but when I watched this recently, I found myself cringing. I thought "that poor devil didn't deserve that." That is a total 360 degree turn, people. [In fact, we didn't finish The Devil's Rejects because it is so depraved in its indifference to human life. It's a sick film about sick people doing sick things.]

Here, a film that is practically memorized and certainly an all-time favorite, has become more difficult to watch. I began to ponder my reaction. Why cringe? Is it the wisdom of age?

Maybe.

What does this add up to, this wisdom of age? Is it like Eliot wrote:

What was to be the value of the long looked forward to,
Long hoped for calm,
the autumnal serenity
And the wisdom of age?
Had they deceived us
Or deceived themselves, the quiet-voiced elders,
Bequeathing us merely a receipt for deceit?

Sometimes when I'm talking to the young people that I teach at the local college, I often get a sense that my words are failing to reach. They fall to the floor in a tangled mess, useless and without point. I am imparting nothing. No golden chalice nor wisdom of age, but educated gibberish. Then, there are moments when I realize that they'll be ok, they'll find their own way and I am only here to shine a flashlight along the way. Anyway, they absorb more by example than any other means.

Perhaps there is no wisdom in getting older, but experience. Experience only blunts the enthusiasm for things we have already experienced and that is not wisdom, that's only knowledge. So I say, without pomp or circumstance, not from so faraway pillar of superiority, that I am getting softer and stronger with the knowledge that life is to be saved, preserved, sanctified and it is a divine gift. Regardless of your faith, this is the central truth behind the Golden Rule, the Sermon on the Mount, etc. This is the only truth we know because regardless of whether there is a light at the end of the tunnel (and whether that light is, in fact, a train) or whether a rich reward awaits us after the proverbial and inevitable mortal coil shuffle, we can only know for sure one thing: there is only this life. All else is hope and speculation.

So, am I going to watch violent flicks or have I sworn them off? Nah. I'll watch endless zombie carnage and gore and not even bat an eye. It's pure stupid fantasy- an easy line of demarcation. But this other stuff, senseless violence against others, that's causing a change in this old guy.

Other positions on the dial

OTHER RADIO THINGS

(Left. Jerry Waters doing his thing.)

Not to jump ship or root for another team, but I have to confess to turning on AM talk radio in the am (on those rare occasions) for a source of amusement. It's not all amusement on Supertalk WVTS's Jerry Waters show, M-F 10am to noon, but it sure amuses me. No political beast am I, but Waters and ever-present sidekick Pete Thaw (Why does he make me think of a crustacean? Crusty? Curmudgeon?) keep me informed on Charleston and WV politically comical (and sometimes downright nasty and even tragic) happenings.

I have been let in on the nasty fights with the Nitro City Council, debates with the folks pro and con regarding the Charleston Police officer who killed a woman at a KC intersection, in short, this uninvolved old boy feels like a little better citizen-better informed. Waters comes to radio with this to say about it:Later, the talk show host position was offered to him for a couple of reasons: He had been a fill-in on several talk shows in the past. He had hundreds of "Letters to the editors" published in the past 20 years and had become somewhat of a lightning rod in Charleston by discussing topics that others avoided. Not everyone agrees with him, and he doesn't expect them to.

You can't make this stuff up and that speaks volumes. I do not view myself as part of the radio-DJ brotherhood and look not for envy as a subtext here, but those are rather ambiguous qualifications, yes? I had no radio qualifications, so I applaud the man getting the gig.

The best part of this show is the often loony banter that goes on between Jerry and Pete. Clearly, between the two of them, Pete Thaw better knows the facts and often gently puts Jerry, who may be right in the middle of an angry rant, back on a factual track. All sincerity and good intentions aside, I promise the readers of these pages one thing: I will record some of this banter and create an "Omage a Waters". Perhaps if I feel evil enough, it might be mailed to them for a reaction.

Another guilty pleasure gone away: Art Bell. Nobody gets "out there" like this guy. Aliens in our skies? Sure. Art is ready. Creatures we can't see because the exist on other dimensions? "Talk to me", says Art. Apocalyptic, castastrophic global interplanetary taxation without representation? "Fine. You're on the Wild Card line. Go ahead."

Art retired. Shite. This is the first I've heard about it. Sure have been wondering what happened to the show as I drive home every Sunday night.

Cheap Thrills and Memories For the Old Guy

I am a cheap date.

I have been reliving my childhood via old horror/sci-fi movies and I've been having a ball doing it. I'm all for the Time Marches On-Never Look Back Brigade, but sometimes looking back is just fun. I don't want to live in the past because it's over and done, but looking back helps to ground a person I believe.

I bought this little sci-fi gem thru Amazon at an obscenely cheap rate: $3.75 In fact, the shipping was almost as much. Good price for an old classic.

People today talk fervently about how young people's minds are being ruined by violent content on TV, video games and the internet and I'm not here to debate such a complicated subject, but I will tell you that these movies permanently ruined any chance of me having a normal outlook on life.

The first thing that ever messed me up was Mad Magazine. Then it was Chiller Theater, hosted by cheese-in-a-tux Bill "Chilly Billy" Cardille, and that dealt the next blow to my mental health.
From the web:
Chiller began in 1963 when Cardille, Pittsburgh TV station WIIC's wrestling announcer and host of the kiddie show Tip Top Time, was approached to host Channel 11's new afternoon horror movie showcase, called Chiller Theater from the beginning. The films Cardille had to choose from were the great bumper crop from Univeral's heyday — Screen Gems' famous Shock Theater package — plus a few select classics from the Atom Age fifties. The program finally came into its own after a time change to 11:30 p.m. in the mid-sixties.

Now that I'm a broadcaster, I wonder how Cardille felt when the station approached him first about the horror film host spot and then the move to the late-night gig. His family, his wife especially, was probably thrilled.

Me? Now? You wouldn't have to ask me twice.

In fact, I know that when Freaky Music Month comes, it is an attempt to create a similar fright into our listeners that I experienced those late nights with WIIC.

Because my memory for some things, especially dates, is often mush, I have to rely on the recollections of others. For instance, I have learned from the above web site that I was all of nine years old when I first watched The Crawling Eye on Sunday, January 22, 1967 at 1:05 AM. Even some 38 years later, I can remember quite vividly a few images from the film.


This movie, and so many others like it, burned images into this brain of mine at such an early stage of my development that they can not be erased, even by time. Ask me what I had for lunch yesterday and I'll scratch the back of my head and you can see me fish uncomfortably for the answer. Talk about Attack of the Crab Monsters or The Last Man on Earth and I'm there with every detail.

Watching The Crawling Eye now, even with all of it's unsophisticated production values, makes me realize that it's still a good movie. There are some cornball stereotypes like the pontificating-through-his-glasses scientist, a wacky over-the-top psychic, the overly swaggering, confident American(this is a British film by the way) played by Forrest Tucker who spouts "DO WHAT YOU'RE TOLD!" to these hapless villagers. And then
there are those monsters. These pictures speak for themselves.

Watching the film recently I yelled, "Now that's what I'm talking about! Why don't they have monsters like that anymore?!" I have the same insane, irrational enthusiasm for monster movies that most sports fans have for their favorite teams.

Speaking of that, there is still more entertainment value in these hopelessly cheesy eyeball octopi than most CGI creatures (Spielberg excluded, of course) with their billion dollar budgets. Why ye ask? Because of imagination.

My wife calls this movie "stupid". Of course it is, that's why I love it.
Don't expect me to defend this films on any intellectual or cinematic level. Hell no. I won't force you to watch a single frame. Just leave me alone when I want to, ok?

You see, I recognize that there is that warm buzz of nostalgia that comes with these films. Life was a lot simpler then. So clear, so easy to understand. It was a time that I can also remember my father. We spent a few nights watching old Chilly Billy's Chiller Theater. I suppose he got the inside wink-wink jokes that Bill Cardille and his cast of corney characters. My father passed away when I was 13 and so those memories are sacred to me. It is just a way to remember.

Ray Bradbury said that, as a kid, once he discovered dinosaurs, that his whole world changed. In a preface to one of his books, he says even today that he'll always keep his dinosaurs. I say a hearty amen to that.

You all can keep your reality. I'll keep my monsters.


And I'll betcha I live in a much happier world.

Forgot this one (recent great CDs)

Huun Huur Tu

Look at these cats and then reflect on my next statement.

Ready?

These cats rock. Hard.


I have their new live album: Live 1


Tuvan throat singing, Asian rhythms and instruments that sound medieval, but of all these the singing is absolutely the best.

It is the deep subconcious song of the universe. It's that heavy and wonderful.

Buy it and become the OHM.

Seriously Creative Albums (Recent), Part ONE

Imagine that you are living in turn-of-the-century Paris and plan to attend a concert that evening. On the program is a new work by a composer whose last work was premiered to great approval just three years ago. A solo bassoon emerges. Rather high in its range, modal, but still melodic.


Then, all hell breaks loose.

In Stravinsky's words: “the curtain rose on a group of knock-kneed and long-braided Lolitas jumping up and down.” Human sacrifice in a primitive culture? Jarring, ever-changing rhythms, a churning repetitive chord. The choreography, costumes and sets boldly dispensed with grace and beauty to emphasize awkward, primitive starkness. At first there were a few boos and catcalls, but then a storm broke as the outraged audience reacted by yelling and fighting. Diaghilev tried to quell the disturbance by switching the house lights on and off while Nijinski tried to sustain the performance as best he could by shouting out numbers and cues to the dancers, who couldn't hear the music, loud as it was, over the din. Stravinsky was furious and stormed out of the theater before police arrived to end the show. The police? Is this a political rally gone haywire or a concert? Sheesh!

Welcome to May 29th, 1913 and the premiere of The Rite of Spring in Paris. And the beginning of the 20th century and the ongoing and ever accelerating resistance of listening audiences to move forward in music.

If you are reading this, let me compliment you. You are one of those rare music afficionados that constantly looks for not only new music, but music that is different, creative, and downright interesting.

The following is a list of RECENT CDs that have inspired me to recognize their brilliance.

1. uakti-aguas da amazonia, music of Philip Glass
Basic facts:
Style-Glass meets world drums and homemade instruments that are beyond description in sound.
End result- very dreamy at times, very powerful in a quiet way, sounds like a classically trained European composer got lost in the rain forest and went tribal, but retained harmony of the West.

Uakti (wah-ke-chee) is a Brazilian group that make their own instruments ( long before the Blue Man Group, et al) to create a sound that is both earthy and ethereal. Very hard to classify.

I have only two other Uakti releases, but this 2000 collaboration with Philip Glass always seems fresh. Glass' music lifts the ensemble out of the mere "world" catagory and even elevates their odd sounding instruments beyond being short-term curiosities. Somehow Glass' music also serves to organize the album, creating a unified whole beyond the obvious theme of rivers of the Amazon, and those idiosyncratic arpeggios and repetitive figures propell the music ever forward until the last track.

I can't make up my mind whether the music is powerful or delicate. Perhaps it's both.
SIDEBAR: I played this music for some high school students during a class. Some liked it and some were totally mystified.

2. Ekova- space lullabies and other fantasmagore

Basic facts: A Californian, an Algerian and an Iranian walk into a bar and order an electronic cocktail.
End result: Electronic world that's so different.

Take an improvised language, Middle Eastern percussion with oud/guitar and blend in electronics and you have the recipe for either something really interesting or in the wrong hands, something in the dull new age catagory. Ekova makes it work and creates something new.

ekova ("Its roots are in echo, and ova, signifying the feminine side," singer Dierdre Dubois explains. "But it's not supposed to have a literal meaning, just a beautiful sound. I wanted a word I'd never heard before.") are a trio based in France, but none are natives. Dubois is from California, and Iranian percussionist Arach Khalatbari and Algerian guitar/lute player Mehdi Haddab round out the ensemble.

Dubois sings in a language of her own creation. I say language because it transcends the typical nonsense syllables like la-la, lo, lay, etc., and sort of sounds like a French-Latin hybrid.

Why does this work? Nobody know. I only know it works for me. Some people might find this approach annoying, but somehow I really enjoy the sound of the words without having to have meaning. Call me simple-minded. It's ok.

The overall effect of these disparate elements is one of lightness and deft music making. The electronics make the music veer towards laptop techno, but the colors and the mood never darken like Monolake or the vast tribal darkness of Robert Rich.

An excellent companion CD is Dierdre Dubois' first solo effort-One. It's more of a club-oriented album, but Dubois' voice is one of the best. Therefore, the 21st century disco dancey cuts like Firefly are forgiven.

This album has a cover of the classic Nights in White Satin which is absolutely sexy and then some.

And then some.

Dubois' voice is pure smoky silk. Try not to love it.

You will fail. Resistance is futile.

3. four tet- everything ecstatic

Basic facts: Everything but the kitchen sink approach to techno-ish.

End result: You'd better be in the mood for joyful chaos. This is not background music.

four tet, aka Kieran Hebdan, has made one of the freshest electronic albums to come down the pipe in years. Before I sing the praises, let me come clean.

This is a relatively new style for me. I am, after all, quite ancient compared to the age group that listens to this and similar artists. I have not heard the two previous releases which are described by reviewers on Amazon as "folktronica".

I only know one thing: me likey. I have heard those electronic artists who mimic John Cage using his random-radio-Williams Mix-chance operations approach to music making (there is nothing new under the sun, people) and sometimes those artists think that creative randomness MUST equal nihilistic darkness. Sayeth the posing artiste:
To be profound, one must be dark.

Nope. Not buying that one.

This "random" (nothing random and imprecise on this CD) approach feels so free that the thought of the wearily sincere singer-songwhiner makes the body convulse and the mind spin out of control.

No darkness here, just a roller coaster ride of random musical and "found sounds". Can chaos be more fun? Sort of like reading Dylan's Tarantula while drinking a pitcher of Mimosas.

Other awfully good records:

1.Tom Waits-Real Gone.

The shortie: Tom's on fire artistically right now leaving burning buildings in his wake.

2. brazilectro session 7-Various artists.

This series is a snapshot of one of the most exciting trends in music-the latin/electronic fusion. Never have heard a bad compilation from these people.

3. Tosca- J.A.C.

These Vienna cats have got a smooth approach to chill out that never gets formulaic or old. Electric bass and keyboard grooves are status quo, but I haven't heard a bad album yet. Tosca is a fav for sure.

4. Kraftwerk- minimum maximum

A live album from the Gods of Dusseldorf featuring the hits and more. I was very surprised when I heard Kraftie Ralf Hutter tell the BBC that playing their music before a live audience was "the ultimate for us." Me thought the studio was the place for these innovators, but these guys are having FUN doing that Krafty thing.

More to come.

You need to relax now.

Stare at this for one minute.

the "Insidious" Approach to Life

insidious
Main Entry: in·sid·i·ous

Pronunciation: in-'si-dE-&sFunction: adjective

Etymology: Latin insidiosus, from insidiae ambush, from insidEre to sit in, sit on,
1 a : awaiting a chance to entrap : treacherous b : harmful but enticing etc., etc.,

Have a blog? Been getting those "comments" from people who have no profile and no blog, BUT a commercial website?

Here's a few examples I've gotten:
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Vermin. Complete vermin.