Here’s the infamous American commercial from the 1980s about a superb soul music collection that ends with this immortal passage:
Man 1: This is a FANTASTIC album, man. Let me borrow it …
Man 2: No-oh, my brother, you’ve got to buy your own.
All kidding aside, I actually wish I had a copy of “Hey Love.”
Andy Kaufman’s best friend and co-conspirator Bob Zmuda had plenty of great stories when he sat down with Marc Maron for his WTF podcast. But arguably the best story Zmuda told was about the three weeks he worked for legendary screenwriter Norman Wexler (“Joe,” “Serpico,” “Saturday Night Fever”) in the early 1970s. Kaufman apparently got a lot of ideas (especially for his obnoxious Tony Clifton character) based on Zmuda’s tales of working for Wexler. Zmuda reveals how Wexler really got his knack for writing intense, gritty dialogue. Hilarious, jaw-dropping stuff, especially the tale about Wexler and Zmuda terrorizing a bakery. This incident sounds like it was lifted from a Lars Von Trier film starring Sacha Baron Cohen, but it really happened, according to Zmuda. Not safe for work. If you like what you hear, you really need to read Zmuda’s terrific 1999 book “Andy Kaufman Revealed” which delivers more Wexler tales, as well as tales about Kaufman.
This was always my favorite track of the Stooges’ legendary out-of-control 1970 masterpiece “Fun House.” When I first heard it, it reminded me a lot of early 1970s Alice Cooper, only much heavier and darker.
I swear that this next story is true, but I heard this album for the first time on the night of my first actual “date.” I didn’t have my first date until I was 17, because I had braces on my teeth until that age and felt very self-conscious about them. When I got them off, my self-esteem rose enough to the point where I felt like I could ask someone out. Let’s forget the fact that I rocked a Ron Burgandy “Anchorman”-do back in the day (sans pornstar ‘stache), but for argument’s sake … without the braces, I started to feel like Warren Beatty. Anyway … the girl I asked out said “yes” and I decided we’d go see a movie. Considering my favorite movie at the time was “Blue Velvet,” I felt that anything resembling what I was actually into would send the wrong message. I mean, God forbid, I should actually “be myself.” So … I overcompensated by picking a Bette Midler-Shelley Long “buddy” film called “Outrageous Fortune.” OK … I swear I’m not a homosexual, but back in the day, I could do a really good impersonation of one without even trying. Considering the fact that during that period I was impressed when goth girls said I looked like Morrissey, I’m sure you can predict that this potential “romance” was doomed … You can read more about that here:
Being nervous about my first date, I left the house incredibly early and killed time before I was supposed to show up at a local record store. I had heard about The Stooges for years, but all of their stuff had been out of print in the U.S. for a long period of time. So … when I saw a lone, dusty cassette of “Fun House” on the shelves, I immediately threw down by $7 and went back to the car. I drove around for almost an hour locked into the sick, intense jams of “Fun House.” Considering the fact that I was wearing my finest Cosby sweater and khakis, I felt that I was in the right mode to put on the charm.
Fortunately, I was wise enough NOT to play my new musical find after I picked my date up. And … despite my best efforts … the date went pretty well. My date ignored the film and made out with me. But … she never returned my calls after that evening … leading to some confusion as I was not yet familiar with how these “date” things sometimes worked … but, as they say, that was that.
But the evening wasn’t a total loss. I still crank “Fun House” at inopportune times almost 25 years later and still get sucked into the pure insanity of Iggy at his most demented.
Australian comedian Jim Jefferies provides a profane, but hysterically funny analogy of the inconsistencies of Biblical dogma by discussing God walking into a party and throwing his weight around like a drunken, power-mad Frank Sinatra in Vegas during the 1960s. Not safe for work, little ones, or for anyone who takes their religion too seriously. From his already classic comedy special “Fully Functional.”
This legendary and infamous opening credit sequence to director David Fincher’s classic serial murder thriller “Se7en” may not seem particularly innovative in 2003. But in the fall of 1995, this completely blew we away (and I must say, still does to this day). This credit sequence told you all you needed to know about how different this film would be from all other detective / serial killer films before it.
“Se7en” is one of the most influential pieces of pop culture in the past twenty years. However, most of its impact has arguably been on TV. Without it, we would never have had shows like “CSI” and “Dexter,” or even “24” and “House.” I distinctly remember seeing this credit sequence on a huge screen with booming digital sound that was so bass heavy I felt it in my bowels.
Extremely creeping and unnerving. Probably not safe for work. Major credit should be given to Harris Savides, who shot the sequence, and Angus Wall who edited it. The music is remix of Nine Inch Nails’ classic “Closer” by the band Coil.
The rap version of the Dead Boys’ “Sonic Reducer.” This is a song about someone whose self-worth is based on how loud he can play his music. It may be annoying, but it’s just someone who needs to show the world they matter. It may be misguided, but it’s sincere. Fortunately, this song (like “Sonic Reducer”) is awesome to crank in any way you see fit. From the classic 1985 album “Radio.”
The signature song from the premiere Cleveland bad boys of punk. This is a ferocious performance captured live at NYC’s legendary punk club CBGB’s in 1977. I’m not quite sure what this song is about, but I’ve always thought it was about someone who felt small in their life who felt bigger by blasting music from their car, their home, etc. as a way to show they’re significant and that they mean something. I try to remember this every time I get annoyed by someone who’s pumping their bass a bit too loudly when I’m stopped at a light. It’s just someone who needs to show the world they matter. It’s misguided to be sure, but it’s sincere. Probably the same reason Pearl Jam relentlessly covered this song for several years in concert.
Post-breakup songs can sometimes be mature and beautiful. “If You See Her Say Hello” by Bob Dylan and “I Remember You” by Steve Earle are probably the best of the “mature and beautiful” part of this genre.
And then … there’s this song by Sam Kinison … recorded for the conclusion of his legendary and infamous 1987 HBO comedy special “Breaking the Rules.” As you can imagine, not safe for work or little ones. But hysterically funny.
http://shelf-life.ew.com/2013/06/20/book-excerpt-chuck-klosterman/
The link above will direct you to a sample chapter from the upcoming Chuck Klosterman book “I Wear the Black Hat: Grappling with Villains (Real or Imagined).” (What?! You haven’t preordered it yet?) This chapter is about all the musicians Klosterman hated from 1984-2003 and how he came around on some of them … or just didn’t care anymore. Like most of Klosterman’s criticism, much of it is funny and provocative. However, a particular passage stands out:
“Somewhere in 2003, my ability to hate the Eagles (or Coldplay, or Dave Matthews, or Mumford and Sons, or whoever) just evaporated. I could no longer construct antipathy for random musicians, even if they deserved it. My personality had calcified and emancipated itself from taste. I still cared about music, but not enough to feel emotionally distraught over its nonmusical expansion into celebrity and society. And this was a real problem. Being emotionally fragile is an important part of being a successful critic; it’s an integral element to being engaged with mainstream art, assuming you aspire to write about it in public. If you hate everything, you’re a banal a–hole . . . but if you don’t hate anything, you’re boring. You’re useless. And you end up writing about why you can no longer generate fake feelings that other people digest as real.
There needs to be more awareness about the cultural impact of reverse engineering, particularly as it applies to fandom and revulsion. It’s the most important part of describing the day-to-day import of art, which is ultimately what criticism is supposed to do. But there are no critics who can admit to their own reverse engineering without seeming underinformed. It’s like arguing that the greatest Russian novel ever written happens to be the only one you ever finished.”
The link above takes you to the full chapter, as opposed to the small excerpt of the chapter that’s in the print edition of Entertainment Weekly this week. And if you like what you see, be sure to check out any of Klosterman’s non-fiction books, especially “Fargo Rock City” and “Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs.”
This is the title track from John Cale’s elegant solo album, released in 1973. Backed by members of Little Feat, “Paris 1919” feels like an album for a lovely summer afternoon, light and airy and a big departure from his highly disturbing (but brilliant) next three albums he recorded for Island Records. One of the few musicians who can glide so seamlessly between the sacred and the profane and neither side seems out of place.
Dave's Strange World 