just another story

Normally, a day off work would mean an opportunity to work up a longer and more substanital post, but since this particular day was spent shoveling a couple cubic tons of heavy wet snow, I'm going to take easy way out.

Here's a little gem culled from the "Chatter" column of the November 22, 1982 issue of People magazine (cover story: "Mick and Jerry Split"; the mag's previous owner drew a mustache on Ms. Hall, along with an "I love fat old millionaires" heart tattoo on her arm.)


As a bit of dated celebrity gossip, it's amusing in it's own right. More importantly, it also serves as an appropriately depressing and absurd obituary for the last moribund vestiges of the 60's counter-culture.

You say you want a revolution? Sorry, chum, I'm too busy practicing my backhand swing and moaning about the generation gap. Besides, my portfolio of assets isn't going to manage itself.

The Clash - Death or Glory (from London Calling, 1979) - I struck my bargain with the world for a complete collection of Animotion 45's. I don't want to boast or anything, but it's easy to see who got the better end of that deal.

The Dishrags - Sold Out (from Love/Hate, 1997) - Femvox punk from the early Vancouver scene. Joe Strummer liked them. I do, too.

requiem for a hard workin’ man

Great talent and moral rectitude do not necessarily run hand in hand. Peter Schaffer’s 1979 play, Amadeus, used a fictionalized version of the life of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to illustrate that fairly obvious point, but there are still folks out there who want their entertainers to do more than entertain. They need to support the right causes, whether it’s a well-intentioned, but quixotic quest to “save” Africa or advocate on behalf of hybrid cars, hemp, or homeless wallabies.

I’m pretty strident in my political beliefs. If some rich celebrity wants to shower money and or attention on a worthy cause, that’s more than fine with me. It doesn’t make them better at their craft, however, and it can be downright ludicrous when someone like K-Fed feels obligated to mention he really wants to do something “for Africa” (the current cause du jour, which only reveals to me that most celebrity advocates lack even the most rudimentary sense of historical and geopolitical awareness). From a pragmatic standpoint, it’s great, although it brings to the fore a whole other set of issues about the state of public discourse when celebrity status becomes equated with moral authority. From an aesthetic standpoint, it means jack shit.

Reprehensible conduct by a performer can impact how one views his or her work, of course. Evaluating work solely on artistic merits, and not on the personal credentials of the author, is something every critic should strive for, but it can be exceedingly difficult to accomplish. Artists whose work is capable of totally rising above the less savory aspects of their personal lives are rare indeed, especially in these times of total information awareness where a celebrity can't spit on the sidewalk without TMZ.com uploading a video of the act within fifteen minutes.

James Brown, “the hardest working man in showbiz,” has moved on to that all-star venue in the sky. While his personal “eccentricities” have long been fodder for the tabloid media and jokes of varying quality, there is no denying that few equaled his skills as a musical visionary and consummate showman.

“He made an impact on so many people,” my father said today, trying to explain the man’s greatness to some of my unhip relatives. “Some quite physically,” I deadpanned.

Even though I favored the Stax roster of “Memphis Soul” musicians during my stint as a soul boy in the mid-1980’s, I still maintained a large affection for Brown’s music. This was partially because the DJ’s hired for our junior high dances couldn’t be bothered to make room amongst their assortments of bland, big 80’s pop 45’s for something by Otis Redding or Wilson Pickett, but could be counted upon to have a copy of “Living in America” or “I Feel Good” handy, due to the songs being featured in Rocky IV and Good Morning Vietnam, respectively.

My fondest memory (my only fond memory, come to think of it) of junior high is of the time I got to bust out some of my nerdy, sixties-inspired dance moves in front of an adoring crowd while “Living in America” blared in the background. At the end of the song, I leapt off a cafeteria table and into the hands of my cheering classmates. For a brief moment, all the petty bullshit of junior high life faded away, and I felt invincible.

Because of that, I’ll always feel indebted to the Godfather of Soul. May he funk the hell out of the great beyond.

The Dead Milkmen – RC’s Mom (from Beelzebubba, 1988) – Irreverent? Certainly, but being a self-professed James Brown fan in a crowd of hipper-than-thou art students circa 1988 meant having to hear bits from this track quoted ad nauseum.

L.A. Style – James Brown Is Dead (Original Mix) (from a 1992 single) – True, but he outlived L.A. Style by more than a decade.

James Brown – Living in America (from the Rocky IV OST, 1985) – Rocky IV is the film where Stallone fights an ideological straw man for the Jingoistic Arrogance Heavyweight title of the world. It also suggests that decadently soft Americans need to toughen up in order to face down Communism. Yeah, the country went a little batshit during the Reagan era.

and console you with a big kiss…on the lips

Frank Black: What is going on, Peter? We’ve never backed away from anything. We’ve even faced evil incarnate.

Peter Watts: Evil incarnate can’t sue.

(from Millennium, “Jose Chung’s ‘Doomsday Defense’”)

I was all set with a post celebrating my reasonably successful upgrade to the new beta version of Blogger, when a certain someone lamented that no one was jumping at a recent juicy piece of celebrity gossip. It seems a former 70’s teen heart throb-turned-fading superstar actor was photographed planting a big sloppy mouth kiss on another man. Said heart throb also happens to be a member of a well known religious organization, popular with many celebrities, that is not known for having a progressive stance on homosexuality. Now while the story is ripe with comedic potential, Armagideon Time lacks the extensive legal budgets possessed by the various gossip rags, and so I’ll just let these “randomly selected with no agenda, honest” tracks do the talking.

“Up your nose with a rubber hose,” indeed.