study in scarlet

Happy birthday, Mr. Sims! I tried to get the Baroness, but she was already booked to appear at a John McCain fundraiser.

808 State - In Yer Face (from Ex:El, 1991) - Techno grooves that hit like unto a thing of iron...or a thrown car battery.

Lalo Schifrin - Main Titles (from the Enter the Dragon OST, 1973) - Facekicking it up old school.

he's out to get before he's got

He's one with Xenu now.
Isaac Hayes, the legendary Zen master of soul, funk, and cinematic bad-assitude, has passed away at the age of 65. He was the man who made "You shut yo' mouth!" a household expression, and therein lies the problem with eulogizing him.

The popcult resonance of Shaft and the film's Hayes-penned soundtrack has reached Pythoneseque levels of oversaturation in the past three-and-a-half decades. What ought to be appreciated as sublime aesthetic and historical achievements has been reduced to a facile macro employed by mayo-and-white bread fanboys and comedians looking to add a little funky flava into their clumsy attempts at humor. Does anyone want to guess how many times the theme to Shaft or "Chocolate Salty Balls" have been or are going to be spotlighted on the various music blogs in the recent past or immediate future?

Before South Park, before Shaft, before Hot Buttered Soul, Hayes and David Porter teamed up to write some of the finest tracks to come out of the Stax Records stable. Stax soul duo (and perennial AT faves) Sam & Dave were major beneficiaries of their talents, with Hayes and Porter penning such powerhouse hits as "Hold On, I'm Comin'," "I Thank You," and this gem, which has retained its luster even after years of rough handling and rougher reinterpretations...

Sam & Dave - Soul Man (from Soul Men, 1967) - Socially aware Memphis soul, written by masters, sung by the best, backed by both Booker T. & the MG's and the Mar-Keys, and served sizzling hot. If that isn't a recipe for pop music perfection, such a thing simply doesn't exist.

Adios, Truck. When you were hottest, you were the coolest.


When you were baddest, you were the best.

Issac Hayes - Main Title "Truck Turner" (from the Truck Turner OST, 1974) - Whether you're busting heads in a dive bar or busting moves on the dancefloor, you couldn't ask for a finer soundtrack than this.

birthdays ought to be tubular

The World's Most Adorable Comics Blogging Bull turns six today! In honor of the joy that Bully has brought to a venue often frought with aggravation and stupidity, I offer this fine slice of punk pop whimsy that touches upon the Blessed Bovine's known interests...

The Valves - Ain't No Surf in Portobello (from a 1978 single) - From one of the lesser known lights of Britpunk High's Class of '77, this track is an Anglocentric predecessor to The Gremies' "No Surfing in Dorchester Bay," and further proof that the lack of surfability is not restricted to a single geographic location.

Sorry, my little stuffed pal, but you'll have to shoot the curl elsewhere...

that rises above

Actor John Phillip Law passed away last Tuesday at the age of 70.

In honor of his memory, let us pay homage to his unparalleled cinematic legacy, specifically the trio of 1968 films that cemented his place of high esteem within my personal retrological pantheon...

Danger: Diabolik
Ennio Morricone - Deep Down (from the Danger: Diabolik OST, 1968)

Barbarella
Bob Crewe and Charles Fox - The Angel Is Love (from the Barbarella OST, 1968)

...and Skidoo.
Harry Nilsson - I Will Take You There (from the Skidoo OST, 1968)

Farewell, Mr. Law, and thank you. May a flight of blind space angels sing thee to thy rest.

"It's not unlike ancient dental equipment on Earth - not that you'd know anything about that!" - John Phillip Law (as Kalgan) in Space Mutiny, 1988

he is legend times two

In honor of the late Charlton Heston, here's what may very be the greatest scene ever committed to film, at least from a purely retrological standpoint.

Heston. Vincent Price. John Derek. Flagellation. A fight to the death. If the actual scripture hewed closer to what Cecil B. DeMille presented in The Ten Commandments, I might not have discarded my faith.

"His...powers...of hammy acting...are greater...than...my own...aarggh!!!!"
Rest in peace, Chuck. Fuck Conor Oberst, you'll always be the one true Bright Eyes in my book.

Jerry Goldsmith - Main Title (from The Planet of the Apes OST, 1968) - The disconcerting minimalism of Goldsmith's score sounds downright avant-garde after decades spent listening to John Williams's signature bombast and Danny Elfman's whimsical gothica.

(See also this post.)

I find it kind of sad

Those among you who follow the comics internet must have heard that Steve Gerber, legendary comics writer and the creator of Howard the Duck passed away last Sunday at the age of 60. Instead of rehashing what other internet comics commentators have covered (and will cover) with more detail and eloquence (Mike Sterling has a nice rundown of the man's contributions), I figured I'd pay my respects by spotlighting a story of his that made a strong impression on a young Andrew and illustrates Gerber's particular talents.

The Guardians of the Galaxy were Marvel's answer to rival DC's Legion of Super-Heroes in the futuristic super-team stakes. Where the LSH's 30th Century setting was a populuxe sci-fi paradise, though, the Guardians' version of the future was considerably bleaker, with Earth and the rest of the solar system enslaved by the alien Brotherhood of the Badoon. The Guardians were a team of freedom fighters composed of sole survivors of various Badoon-ravaged worlds and led by Major Vance Astro, an 20th Century astronaut who had been sealed into a protective bodysuit and sent on a milllennia-long sublight trip to Alpha Centauri...only to find out that FTL travel had been discovered centuries before he arrived. (He did acquire some telekinetic powers during the trip, though that's a small consolation prize for a thousand years needlessly spent in solitude.)

The team debuted at the tail end of the Silver Age (in 1969's Marvel Super-Heroes #18), but the property remained fallow for half a decade until Gerber plucked them out of semi-obscurity to appear in his Marvel Two-In-One and The Defenders runs, which led to the team taking over the lead slot of Marvel Presents from Bloodstone, the immortal caveman monster hunter (why I love comics -- right there in five words), with issue #3 and continuing through the title's cancellation with issue #12. Gerber handled the writing duties up through issue #9, and what a short strange trip it was, replete with cosmic sex, giant space frogs, the family dynamics of male-female gestalt beings.

Which brings us to "Planet of the Absurd!" from Marvel Presents #5 (June 1976), written by Gerber with art by Al Milgrom and Howard Chaykin (more of the former than the latter is evident, unfortunately). I picked up my copy (along with the rest of the series) sometime in the early 80's from a quarter bin at one of the local flea markets, and it has stuck with me to the present day.

After freeing Earth from the Badoon (by calling the aliens' womenfolk and asking them to retrieve their wayward males), the members of the Guardians come to realize that they are tempermentally incompatible with the post-war status quo and decide to look for trouble adventure amongst the stars. An encounter with a unstoppable energy-devouring being severly damages their spaceship, and the need for replacement parts forces the team to beam down onto a nearby hellworld...a nightmarish place which bears a startling resemblance to mid-1970's Manhattan...

SPACE-PRESIDENT F'RD TO CITY: DROP DEAD
(It would take another couple of dec-phases before the megalomaniacal R'Dee G'ewlee'anee would impose order with his spiked iron fists.)

The team decides it would be more efficient if they split up in their search for the equipment they need, which provides an opportunity for each member to come face to face with some of the bizarre aspects that make up this strange yet familiar world.

Native Centauri tribesman Yondu stumbles across a curious ritual featuring a symbiotic dance between the false promises of the ringleaders and the jaded apathy of the spectators...

Yondu: Obama suporter?
Major Astro, on the other hand, get offered a chance at unspecified fuzzy consciousness-raising...

Do alien New Agers believe that the space pyramids were created by ancient human visitors?
After a fracas with the local constabulary, Jovian militiaman Charlie-27 learns that the quality of mercy on this world is not strain’d, but droppeth as the gentle plea bargain from the district attorney's office, depending on mandatory sentencing laws and prison overcrowding...

Remember kids: It's easier to reinstate the death penalty than to fix the flaws in the system. Plus, executions are great crowd pleasers.
Meanwhile, Mercury native Nikki discovers the wonders of spirituality...

Okay, who let the NARAL member into the Huckabee campaign rally?
Having pissed off every faction on the planet, the Guardians find themselves besieged by an angry mob. Surrounded and cut off, their prepare to make their final stand...only to find themselves rescued by the perfectly timed arrival of a strange shuttlecraft. The ship's pilot explains that the world the Guardians has stumbled upon is actually a mental asylum set aside for the sector's "most hopelessly neurotic specimens." That's all well and good, but Astro, who had previously wondered about the planet's Star Trek-esque parallels to 20th century Earth, is still wondering about one thing...

PWNED!
ur homeworld is teh crazee, d00d.
"Planet of the Absurd" is not especially inspired as comic stories go, and certainly nowhere near Steve Gerber's best work. The satire is wielded like a blunt instrument and the twist ending telegraphed with a tight-channel lossless signal, yet it manages to typify what I consider the essence of Marvel's non-flagship output in the 1970's -- that combination of lurid weirdness, social awareness, and tongue-in-cheek humor that Gerber was a unparalled master in delivering.

The society seems to have accepted the notion that by simply becoming oblivious to what's happening in the world outside our skins, the horror will go away. It's not going to go away. - Steve Gerber, from a 1978 Comics Journal interview

Yeah, he knew the score.

Tears For Fears - Mad World (from The Hurting, 1983) - Such a promising start, where did it all go wrong? (My answer: With the release of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World".) For some unexplained reason, everytime I hear this song I expect it to turn into The Who's "Behind Blue Eyes" halfway through.

go tell Chief Brody

Actor Roy Scheider has passed away at the age of 75.

He was of that rare breed of "regular guy" working actors (see also James Caan) that helped make 70's cinema the wonderfully unique beast that it was. Over the course of his film career, Scheider tangled with Marseillais drug smugglers, two killer sharks, a fugitive Nazi dentist, an alien monolith, and the introduction of hack sci-fi elements and the DeLuise brothers into the seaQuest DSV universe -- only to succumb to complications related to his recent struggle with myeloma.

It's a damn shame, really. You'd think that having survived a Jeannot Szwarc film and the machinations of Universal (by itself and with its tag team partner, NBC) executives, cancer of the blood plasma would have been small potatoes.

Adios, Roy. As the wife put it, "The Mayor of Shark City is dead? Summer is over."

Roy Scheider & Ben Vereen - Bye Bye Love (from the All That Jazz OST, 1979) - The coda to Bob Fosse's 1979 semi-autobiographical musical, which netted Scheider (in the role Fosse's fictionalized avatar) an Oscar for Best Actor. Using the song that launched the Everly Brothers as a springboard, the piece weaves together the complementary strains of self-indulgent excess associated with both the musical genre and the Me Decade. Clocking in at just under ten bombastic minutes, the track falls well outside the boundaries of casual listening material, but it serves as an excellent reminder (if you lived through the era) or perfect illustration (if you came of age afterward) of what set the 1970's apart from any decade before or since.

Arthur B. Rubinstein - Main Title/Crook Dusting (from the Blue Thunder OST, 1983) - I'd make a witty comment about how the paranoia-laden militarization of law enforcement theme of this 1983 Scheider/assault helicopter buddy flick seems oddly prescient, given the path American society has taken in the past quarter-century, but I'm too busy massaging my temples and trying to get my jaws to unclench.

Friday Night Fights: I've Kissed Mermaids

As I was putting together yesterday's musical tribute to fallen minor comic characters, two thoughts occurred to me:

1. I'd have bought a monthly Aquagirl comic drawn by George Perez without hesitation.

2. For a character that was essentially a sidekick of a sidekick (and a halfhearted attempt to expand one of DC's less successful superhero franchises) who only appeared (mostly in minor roles) in a couple dozen stories during the eighteen years between her introduction and her death, Aquagirl (a.k.a. Tula) had the best-developed personality of all the Aquaman Family of characters. Granted, the most introverted sea slug would have seemed positively gregarious in comparison to Aquaman's befuddled surliness and Aqualad's agressive blandness, but even outside that shallow grading curve, Tula was pretty remarkable.

She was a "gawky pig-tailed kid" who matured into a strong-willed young woman who was unafraid to cut loose and enjoy herself...


...regardless of what the more staid men in her life thought about such behavior.


It wasn't just a case of being a flighty party girl, either, but was rooted in a sense of self-confidence...

...expressed (not frequently enough, sadly) by a willingness to dive in fist-first...

...and do whatever it took to get the job done.


Not that those qualities helped Tula much when she was caught in a spray of Chemo's toxic puke, but that's comics for you. One minute you're doing the sea-frug in Dr. Dorsal's Deep Sea Discoteque or throttling evil henchmen, and the next you're sucking up a lungful of caustic liquids sprayed into the Upper New York Bay of a parallel earth.

For the musical portion of our program, I need a song that incorporates oceanic imagery as well as the theme of tragic death. Something melancholy, yet oddly playful...

I've got it:

Pixies - Wave of Mutilation (from Doolittle, 1989) - There are only two songs by the Pixies I can bring myself to listen to. This is one. Feel free to try and guess what the other one is.

(Senseless? I think not.)

moola moola moola

Today is Jim Backus Day here at Armagideon Time.

Why? Why not? The man was a legend, up there with Paul Lynde and Vincent Price in the class of actors whose voices and trademark mannerisms are immediately recognizable to folks in my age bracket. I wouldn't pigeonhole Backus as a character actor, per se, as he did excellent work (Rebel Without a Cause, Deadline U.S.A) outside the parameters usually associated with that label. It was his knack, however, for portraying old money patrician types that would bring him the most fame, specifically his role as the jovial yet shifty uber-capitalist, Thurston Howell III, in the syndicated juggernaut that is Gilligan's Island.

Backus's talents shone bright in that loathed and adored legendary sitcom, where he provided a rare source of wit amidst the stock gags and gimmicky slapstick (not that I'm opposed to that sort of humor, but it does get tiring after a while) that dominated the series' three-season run. "A Howell never runs in the face of danger...he walks very fast." Yeah, it's nothing that Oscar Wilde would have lost sleep over, but Backus's skill in delivery made even such comedic coal sparkle like diamonds. Plus, there are few things that can bring a smile to my face like Thurston Howell's faux native warchant -- "Moola moola moola!"

Backus's other claim to popcult immortality, as the man who provided the voice for the optically challenged Mr. Magoo, has largely faded from the public consciousness, partially (and justifiably) due to the cartoon's insensitive treatment of ethnic minorities and the visually impaired. (The irredeemably awful live-action movie starring Leslie Nielsen based on the property didn't help, either.) That said, I consider Mr. Magoo's Christmas Carol, which almost completely dispenses with the near-sightedness gags, to be the finest adaptation of the Charles Dickens classic ever made, and the best animated holiday special, too. (Angry fans of the Peanuts Christmas special, please form a line on the right. Angry Rankin-Bass cultists please from a line on the left. All complaints will be resolved via my steel-toed left boot.)

Toward the end of his career, Backus dwelled in the standard character actor ghetto of kiddie fare, voiceover work, and lesser roles in even lesser projects. He set the precedent for harassing (as a prospector in the Grand Canyon) vacationing Brady brats which Vincent Price would later follow (as an archeologist in Hawaii). He played a comically inept white separatist militia leader in Greydon Clark's T&A cash-in feature (and future MST3K fodder) Angels' Revenge. And most importantly, he served as the villainous foil to a robotic crimefighting dog in C.H.O.M.P.S., which I bring up because it was a frequently-played favorite of mine in those bizarre early days of basic cable. (I saw it again recently on one of the Encore channels, and wept openly over my younger self's poor sense of judgement. Great theme song, though.)

He was also in Crazy Mama and Friday Foster, so it wasn't all bad...

A talented man across many venues -- stage, screen (large and small), radio -- Backus also recorded a couple well-received novelty singles in the the late 1950's.

Delicious! (from Golden Age of American Rock'n'Roll: Special Novelty Edition, 2003) - A Dr. Demento favorite, this dipsomanical delight is credited to "Jim Backus and Friend." There's been much speculation over who the friend in question actually was, with Hermione Gingold's and Phyllis Diller's names being put forth (and rebutted) as possible candidates, and it's more than likely the real truth has been lost to the ages.

As wonderful as "Delicious!" is, it doesn't hold a candle to Backus's follow-up effort..

Cave Man (from a 1959 single) - This has made the music blog and bootleg compilation rounds already, but if you haven't heard it already, here's your chance. Backus grunts, quips, and puns (and I strongly suspect is mostly ad-libbing) his way through prehistory backed by some good ol' fashioned 50's pop music. Bizarre and highly entertaining in the way a good novelty record ought to be.

------------------------------------------------------

I'd also like to mention that Progressive Ruin, "the swampiest comics blog since 1969," is celebrating its fourth anniversary today. "PR" or "ProgRu" or "that one blog by the guy who runs a comic shop, no, not THAT guy, the other one" is a consistently entertaining example of comics blogging done right, and Mikester is the closest thing the scene has to a Johnny Carson.

To extend that analogy:
Dorian Wright = Dick Cavett
Kevin Church = Steve Allen
Dave Campbell = David Letterman
Bully = Jack Paar
Chris Sims = Arsenio Hall
bitterandrew = Thinks he's Conan O'Brien, but is actually Chevy Chase

Anyhow, a big congrats to Mikester for hanging in there and keepin' on keepin' on when so many others have fallen by the wayside.

The Super Stocks - Ventura (from Surf Route 101, 1964) - Inspired by the So-Cal paradise where Mikester maintains his hidden lair.

I don't know why

Having grown up in a blue collar suburban neighborhood in the early-to-mid 1980's, my pre-adolescence was strongly touched by the cheesetacular power of pop metal in its pre-glam (or, as I've come to call it, "ugly metal") incarnation. I perfected my air guitar skills. I scribbled poor reproductions of band logos in ballpoint on my book covers. I flipped through second-hand copies of Circus and Hit Parader, marveling at the full-page photos, lame efforts at mythmaking, and especially all the cool rocker gear being hawked in the backpage ads.

That was my life, that was my song. I paid no heed to the warnings that metal health will drive one mad, because -- day in, day out, all week long -- things just went better with rock.

Looking back on those times, I feel neither the rosy glow of nostalgia nor the rosy cheeks of embarrassment. It was what it was, a childhood phase shared with many other lads (and lasses) in my socio-economic demographic which I later dumped in favor of 60's soul music. Maybe it would have been cooler if I had discovered punk rock five years earlier instead, but you can't fault an eleven year old for grasping the low-hanging subcultural fruit, especially when it perfectly captured the stuff quasi-pubescent boys' dreams are made of.

All the above is just my long-winded way of explaining why I felt a touch of sadness upon discovering that Quiet Riot frontman Kevin DuBrow passed away at his Las Vegas home last Sunday.

Quiet Riot - Cum on Feel the Noize (from Metal Health, 1983) - I just wish they kept the opening "Baby, baby, BAY-BEH!" from Slade's original version...

who do you think you are

Mikester's post on a book of pre-Crisis Superman trivia got me to thinking about the awesomeness that is Steve Lombard. A sportscaster and co-worker of Clark Kent's at WGBS-TV, Lombard was the Superman mythos' answer to "Flash" Thompson, an obnoxious jock adversary-slash-rival whose purpose in life is to make life difficult for the hero's civilian identity, thus providing a more readily reader-identifiable conflict than rampaging super-gorillas or old men dressed as carrion birds could.

I'd like to see Luthor try and get away with something like that. (Also, what's up with the perspective in that panel?)
The world was introduced to Steve "The Slinger" Lombard in the pages of Superman v1 #264 (June 1973; story by Cary Bates with art by Curt Swan and Murphy Anderson), where Lombard, then the star quarterback of the Metropolis Meteors, struts his stuff before the big game...

The Joe Namath/Austin Powers look never fails to wow the sexy ladies.
Lombard's deep thoughts are interrupted by a falling baby -- an astoundingly common occurrence in Metropolis, where the citizens have chosen to put their faith in Kryptonian intervention over child-proofed windows -- and he rushes to make the interception. He succeeds in saving the child, but alas...

I suppose they'll blame this on Bill Belichick, too...
Lombard passes out from the pain, and upon awakening discovers he has been taken to the laboratory of one of the many misguidedly overeager scientists that populated (73% of the total residents, according to the 1970 city census) Metropolis in those wild and woolly days. The scientist heals Lombard's bum knees with a highly experimental device that channels the sun's UV radiation. (No mention is made of what happened to the baby, but I'm sure the kid did just fine after being abandoned on a street corner.)

Unbeknownst to the doctor and patient, however, high levels of sunspot activity have led to an unusual side-effect -- the creation of an energy doppelganger of Lombard, which acting under the QB's subconscious commands, takes Lombard's place on the gridiron and single-handedly wins the title for the Meteors.

Lois Lane and Clark Kent are given job of conducting the post-game interview with Lombard, who is willing to take the credit for his doppelganger's victory. (Hey, there's nothing in the NFL bylaws forbidding substitutions by mentally controlled sunspot-generated duplicates.) After taking a shine to Lois, Lombard engages in some roughhousing with Clark so as to prove his status as Alpha Male and worthiness as a potential mate. Clark, on the other hand, does his best not to give into the impulse to backhand Lombard's vertebrae into trans-Saturnian orbit.

Isn't traditional masculinity grand?
Of course, nothing is ever cut and dried when dealing with physical manifestations of the Id, and while Lombard continues to work his overcompensating mojo on Lois, his other half rampages through the city. The creature's solar-based physiology plays havoc with Superman's own sun-powered abilities, leading to a standoff where the Man of Tomorrow has no choice but to turn to his own repressed feelings of rage in order to gain the edge.

If I were a psychologist, I'd be more than a little concerned about how Superman refers to his alter ego as a separate entity here.
Fortunately for all concerned, the creature is highly susceptible to commands shouted at it when clutched by the ankles, and flies off to harmlessly dissipate in the sun's chromosphere.

Get back, Johnny Unitas! Your mother's waiting for you!
His secret exposed, Lombard decides to do the right thing, and confess his duplicity (or is that "duplicasicity") on national television. Exposed, disgraced, and barred from his chosen profession, there's only one option left for Lombard...

For those generations born after the concept became extinct, this is what "taking responsibility for one's actions" looked like.

...a job in broadcast journalism.

Forget graphic violence and lewd content, fanboys. I got your "realism in comics" right here.
Thus began an illustrious decade-long career of bugging the shit out of Clark Kent, a career which was tragically cut short by the post-Crisis revamp of the Superman mythos. The back to basics approach of John Byrne's Man of Steel had no place for an obnoxious jock foil, and even as decades passed and subsequent creators reintroduced much of Superman's deleted backstory, their fixation tended to be upon nonsensical Silver Age Kryptonian trivia and the convoluted relationship between Lex Luthor and Last Son of Krypton rather than reestablishing Steve Lombard's presence in the franchise....

Steve likes to watch.
...until Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely saw fit to rectify that error in the pages of All-Star Superman with the glorious introduction of Ultimate "All-Star" Steve Lombard. Sporting some seriously broad shoulders, a Jheri-curl mullet, and a wardrobe inspired by the oiliest of 70's lounge lizards, Ultimate "All-Star" Steve Lombard, in light of the rationale behind the series, could be seen to represent the purest, most platonically ideal incarnation of what a Steve Lombard ought to be. Long may he reign.

Jean Knight - Mr. Big Stuff (from Mr. Big Stuff, 1971) - Proving once again that it's not the size that matters, but rather the technique.

The Freeze - Go Team Go (from Land of the Lost, 1984) - Boston hardcore's finest? I'd say "yes." (The band actually hailed from Cape Cod, which somehow makes them even cooler.)

Halloween Countdown: October 19 – to brighten up even your darkest night

In the pantheon of horror movie icons, one man stands head and shoulders above the rest, and that man is Vincent Price.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not dismissing the popcult influence or impact of Chaney pater, Lugosi, Karloff, Cushing, Lee, or Carradine, all genre icons in their own right. But more than anyone else, Price served as unofficial spokesperson for all things spooky for generations of impressionable children, including yours truly, with an unrivaled media presence over the course of several decades. (Boris Karloff came closest, at least in the North American market, but he passed away not long after the wave of 1960's monster mania hit.)

While other actors and actresses worried about being typecast, Price seemed to seize his mid-career shift from suave leading man to the horror genre's to-go guy with gusto in everything from advertisements to films to voiceover work to teaching those damn Brady kids a well-deserved lesson. (Oh, Oliver...) Because of his popcult ubiquity, Price's unmistakable voice, urbane yet menacing -- with just the right hint of wryness -- ranks up there with Paul Lynde's in recognizability for folks in my age bracket.

I'd have a hard time deciding which of Vincent Price's films I enjoy the most. The Raven (co-starring Karloff and Peter Lorre), The Haunted Palace (a solid adaptation of Lovecraft's The Case of Charles Dexter Ward), and Theatre of Blood (with the lovely Diana Rigg) are all high on the list. Witchfinder General is also a favorite, if a bit too grim for casual viewing.

I'm especially fond of the two Dr. Phibes films, with their trippy Art Deco-inspired art direction and dark comedic undertones, but if push came to shove, I'd have to go with Tomb of Ligeia, one of the lesser films in the Vincent Price/Roger Corman "Poe Cycle." It's a flawed film (even by Roger Corman standards) in many respects, but Price looks so damn cool in those anachronistic wraparound sunglasses. (The BoingBoing kids would call them "steampunk," but then they'd also call a pot of geraniums with a copper coil stuck in the dirt "steampunk.") It also features the best two lines of dialogue ever spoken in the history of the dramatic arts:

I tried to kill a stray cat with a cabbage, and all but made love to the Lady Rowena. I succeeded in squashing the cabbage and badly frightening the lady.

I feel your pain, brother. I've been in that same situation more times than I care to count.

Seriously, is there anything in 30 Days of Night that could possibly top that?

Vincent Price & The Muppet Monsters - You've Got a Friend (from The Muppet Show, Episode #1.19; October 19, 1976) - In which the hidden connection between Carole King and the gothic rock scene is finally revealed.

(Special thanks to Mikester for providing the scan of the Shrunken Head ad.)

on this day

Today is September 11, which means...


...it's the birthday of actress Virginia Madsen. While her role in 2004's Sideways may have earned Madsen some long-overdue recognition from the critics and the studios, it's her earlier work, replayed ad-infinitum on mid-afternoon basic cable, that I'll always most fondly associate her with. That, and her excellent job voice acting the role of Roulette on the much-missed Justice League Unlimited cartoon.

In tribute to Ms. Madsen's birthday, here are a selection of tracks which appeared in some of her earlier films:

From Electric Dreams (1984): A love triangle between a woman, a man, and a personal computer. How does a guy compete with a luxurious monochrome display and a whopping 4 kilobytes of RAM?

Phil Oakey and Giorgio Moroder - Together in Electric Dreams (from the Electric Dreams OST, 1984) - Another case of a song outperforming the movie (or TV show) it was composed for. See also: "I Can Dream About You" by Dan Hartman from the Streets of Fire OST and David Naughton's "Makin' It."

From Fire With Fire (1986): Good girl meets bad boy, they fall in love, then flee into the wilderness to escape those who would come between them. A perfectly functional melodramatic premise, but after seeing male lead Craig Sheffer's all-too-convinicing performance as the asshole ex-boyfriend in Some Kind of Wonderful, it's impossible to see him as anything other than villainous (and certainly not worth getting covered in mud and deer ticks over). There's a term for that sort of typecasting: The James Spader Syndrome.

Brian Ferry - Slave to Love (from Boys and Girls, 1985) - Love slavery (of the non-Gorean sort) is rarer than you'd think these days. Many people opt instead to be Indentured Servants to Love, working off their passion debts over a fixed period of time and then moving on to a form of Free Agency for a while.

From Modern Girls (1986):

Depeche Mode - But Not Tonight (from Black Celebration, 1986) - For a more in-depth write-up of Modern Girls, the controversy behind "But Not Tonight," and a really disturbing scene from the film featuring Madsen, please refer to my previous post on the subject.

From Heart of Dixie (1989): White southern college students find their content of their characters tested against the backdrop of the 1950's civil rights struggle. Dear privileged white folks: No matter what you think, it really isn't all about you.

Gogi Grant - The Wayward Wind (from Her Very Best, 2002) - The film's soundtrack features modern rerecordings (by "The Snakes") of period songs. Maura has the soundtrack CD around here somewhere, but I decided to go with the real deal, even if it gives me unwelcome flashbacks to the radio station my grandma used to listen to while driving.

From Candyman (1992): Candyman was a rare spark of intelligence at a time when horror films had descended into increasingly stupider reiterations of the tired (more like "totally exhuasted") slasher movie subgenre. It's not a perfect movie, and has moments of excessive pretentiousness and token lashes of gratuitous gore, but you're not going to find Sophoclean "Lite" tragedy or the Uncertainty Principle as applied to urban folklore in Dr. Giggles or a Witchboard sequel.

Phillip Glass - It Was Always You, Helen (from The Music of Candyman, 2001) - Probably one of the best scores ever composed for a horror film, Phillip Glass's minimalist tapestry of electronic, piano, and choral elements is an essential part of what makes the film so effective.

(For my thoughts on the other, darker significance of this day in history, last year's post pretty much sums it all up.)

the great one is coming

Today would have been Jack “The King” Kirby’s 90th birthday. For an eloquent tribute to the man and his prodigious legacy as a comics creator one couldn’t do better than checking out Kevin Church’s essay on the subject. This being Armagideon Time, I’m just going to indulge in some autobiographical meanderings accompanied by half-formed thoughts and some music.

My first comics purchased as an active consumer (rather than handed down by adults) came from a stall at a flea market in Reading that my parents attended one Sunday each month. The dealer kept a small collection of high-value books under a glass case, but his bread and butter were a dozen long boxes of unsorted, unbagged comics sold for thirty-five cents a pop, or three for a buck. It was a veritable cornucopia of comics of all genres and stripes from the early to late 1970’s, with the occasional beat up Silver Age title or more recent (as in 1980-1982 “recent”) castoff thrown into the mix.

I was more concerned with characters and “cool-looking” covers than with the works of certain creators, though the range of the material meant that Jack Kirby’s stuff was pretty well represented. New Gods (and other “Fourth World” titles), The Eternals, Devil Dinosaur, his bicentennial era run on Captain America were are present in abundance, and being a typical eight year old kid, I avoided them like the plague.

What can I say? It was a time when the detailed styles of John Byrne and George Perez were in ascendance, and charms of Kirby’s unique vision were lost on a child who hadn’t outgrown the notion that Wolverine was the coolest character ever. I was also fairly ignorant of comics history at the time, as well, and my first inklings of The King’s singular importance to Comics as We Know Them wouldn’t come until I picked up a cheap paperback reprint of the early Captain America stories which originally ran in Tales of Suspense during the 60’s. To young Andrew, Kirby’s stuff just seemed off-puttingly weird -- weird art, weird characters, and weird concepts that I was unable to appreciate in light of the then-contemporary standards of cool.

I didn’t stay young and stupid forever, however. The scales did eventually fall from my eyes, though the process took the better part of a decade. I grew to understand the pivotal role Kirby played in the history of the comics medium, even if I still puzzled over the Kirby-illustrated entries for his various DC creations in the original Who’s Who in the DC Universe directory. They seemed as if they belong to a world unto themselves, which in hindsight, they pretty much did. (With the exception of Kirby’s Fourth World mythos’ incorporation into the Legion of Super-Heroes’ “Great Darkness Saga” arc, his DC creations were never done justice by other creators, especially ones who claimed a special insight into his original vision.)

In the end, it was the camp factor that sealed the deal. The sheer oddness of Kirby’s dialogue (staccato beat poems of ellipses, dashes, and exclamation marks) and more bizarre concepts were repeatedly singled out for good-natured razzing in Kitchen Sink’s World’s Worst Comics Awards miniseries in the early 1990’s, and the WTF factor was too great to ignore. It was a time when my interest in comics was at its lowest ebb, but I was able to convince my more enthusiastic brother as my proxy. Something happened, though. We came for some cheap laughs, but instead went away with a deep sense of respect for the man’s work, but not necessarily for the reasons one might expect.

Now that the pendulum has swung completely the other way, and Jack Kirby has become a highly revered figure in comics enthusiast circles, I find myself wondering if idolatry has trumped nuanced appreciation. Kirby is most often cited as an “ideas man,” someone who was able to make manifest more high concepts in 22 pages than most creators do in an entire career, but I think to just point to Devil Dinosaur or Granny Goodness and say “Wow, that shit is insane! Woo!” is incredibly reductive. It’s true that Kirby had an unparalleled flair for ideas, but that alone isn’t what makes him important.

(That’s not discounting his contribution his artistic impact, which was immense. His innovations in layouts and composition were as radical and dynamic a quantum leap in the comics medium as the use of multiple camera angles and setups were to film, but that’s pretty much established knowledge at this point.)

The current of the zeitgeist runs pretty close to the surface for many of Kirby’s ideas, and it’s pretty easy to figure out the inspirational material for much of them. Future Shock begets OMAC and “The World That’s Coming.” Planet of the Apes begets Kamandi, the Last Boy on Earth. Popular science articles on genetics beget Cadmus and the DNAliens. Chariots of the Gods? leads to The Eternals. One of the later issues of his Fantastic Four run included a thinly veiled homage to The Prisoner. Of course, it’s not the inspiration but what one does with it, and Kirby had a knack for reimagination beyond recognition that eluded his peers and would be imitators, but the real thing that set him apart was his underlying idealism and faith that good will triumph.

For me, it’s best embodied by one of the core elements of Kirby’s Fourth World mythos. To seal a truce, the leaders of two factions of warring gods, one good and evil, agree to an exchange of sons. The child of the good leader, Scott Free (aka Mister Miracle), rises above the crushing despair of the hellworld orphanage to which he is sent off to, and manages to retain his fundamental sense of decency. The child of the evil leader, Orion, grows to embrace -- however tenuously -- the righteousness of those who have raised him. It’s the old nature versus nurture argument, but where all paths lead to redemption.

Sure, summarized in this manner it may sound a bit corny and overly simplistic, but in light of how goodness is currently presented in the superhero genre as an extended holding action against overwhelming evil, it’s both refreshing and uplifting to witness in action. In Kirby’s world, evil by its very nature is inevitably doomed to failure. All of Darkseid’s (the leader of the evil gods) plans are destined to come to naught because he cannot grasp the virtues of friendship, compassion, and noble sacrifice…

…and that’s worth a zillion Devil Dinosaurs or Paranex the Fighting Fetuses in my book. (Though I really, really do love Paranex the Fighting Fetus. Seriously, if I ever get a tattoo, it’s going to be of the little guy.)

The Thompson Twins - King for a Day (from Here's to Future Days, 1985) - THEY ARE NOT TWINS!!! -- YET THEY COME -- COME FROM AN ISLAND ACROSS THE SEA -- TO DELIVER "POP MUSIC" FOR THE PURPOSE OF --- ENTERTAINMENT!!!!!


Another reason Jack Kirby will always be tops in my book is that he created the Forever People, a Fourth World title about a group of cosmic hippies. Even if he kind of flubbed the execution, the fact that a man of my grandparents’ generation was willing to present the youth counterculture in a sympathetic, non-caricatured manner not too long after the 1968 Democratic Convention and the Kent State shootings counts as nothing short of revolutionary.

Shamen - Phorever People (from Boss Drum, 1992) - I always imagined them as being more into aggressively mellow singer-songwriter stuff myself... (Actually, whenever I read the Forever People, the "Yay, Eden!" song from the space hippie episode of Star Trek loops in my head.)

where do we go from here

Nine consecutive boss battles -- four cakewalks, four tedious grinds, and one absolute pain in the ass -- with nary a savepoint in sight. Lose one, and it's time to start all over again at the beginning.

FUCK YOU, ROGUE GALAXY. If I hadn't already invested three days of my life in playing the game, I'd have snapped the disc in two.

Soft Cell - Frustration (from Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret, 1981) - Marc Almond feels my pain. Why do I find that so disturbing?

-----------------------------

I seem to know a lot of August babies. Is there something about November that makes it especially conducive to human fertility?

If I remember correctly, friend and fellow blogger Dave Lartigue of Dave Ex Machina celebrates his birthday today. Since I know Dave is a big fan of games (boardgames, that is) and music, I gathered together a handful of relevant tracks in honor if the occasion.

Rubella Ballet - Games of Life (from At Last It's Playtime, 1985) - The fun side of anarchopunk.

Pop Will Eat Itself - Games Without Frontiers (from Peace Together, 1993) - I'm still waiting on the grebo revival movement, complete a new line of mass-produced cyber-pirate-yeoman wear available from Hot Topic.

The Cardigans - My Favourite Game (from Gran Turismo, 1998) - I was this close to posting the bemani cover version of this track, but I was able to pull myself back from the Eurodance abyss just in the nick of time.

three times ten plus three equals cake and ice cream

Friend Kevin Church celebrates his thirty-third birthday today. I'm not exaggerating for the sake of praise when I say that BeaucoupKevin.com was a major source of inspiration behind my creating Armagideon Time. As someone who specializes in convienience and complacency, I find myself dumbfounded by the attention to detail and drive toward aesthetic excellence that Kevin puts into his site. The written content ain't bad, either.

Kevin also collaborates with the also-awesome Benjamin Birdie on The Rack, a mighty fine webcomic, updated multiple times weekly, and through some unnatural ability to manipulate temporal currents finds the time to also maintain Very, a blog dedicated to the pop music institution that is Pet Shop Boys. There's this, too.

Happy birthday, Kevin!

Cibo Matto - Birthday Cake (from Viva! La Woman, 1996) - A song with a strong message, and that message is "You really ought to go back and play Jet Set Radio Future again."

Underworld - Tin There (from the WipeOut XL OST, 1996) - Because Mr. Church digs the Underworld, and "Born Slippy" would have been too predictable.

Decoder Ring - Ether (from Decoder Ring, 2002) - Every party needs favors. This Decoder Ring comes from Down Under to impart sweet communications of rock-inflected electronica (or vice versa).

the king is dead

(This is a slightly tweaked version, featuring different songs, of last year's tribute to The King. I'm not reposting it out of laziness, but because I found myself writing the same damn thoughts down on this year's anniversary of his death. I also have a dentist appointment today, and while being doped up on painkillers might give me insight into the man and the legend, it's not really conducive to well thought out writing.)

Today marks the thirtieth anniversary of Elvis Aaron Presley’s death. On August 16, 1977, the King’s heart, weakened by years of drug abuse and too many deep-fried sandwiches, gave out as he squatted on the toilet in his palatial estate; an absurd yet mythic death for an absurd yet mythic figure.

It is Elvis’s role as a mythic figure that fascinates me. It is a tragic tale of celebrity and success, ruin and rebirth set against the backdrop of the American Century and the concurrent rise of mass consumer culture. A talented poor boy makes it big, only to fall prey to his own voracious appetites, the destructive counsel of self-interested handlers, and a hunger for wholeness that could not be sated by conspicuous consumption. Elvis’s story serves as the Platonic form embodying the distorted sense of perception which accompanies the loftiest peaks of celebrity status and amassed wealth.

I wonder how things would have turned out for the King he hadn’t spent over a decade tied up (thanks to his predatory manager, Tom Parker) making progressively awful films with even worse musical numbers. Set free from the stifling confines of his marketing-dictated persona and given access to some the first-rate songwriters and innovative musicians of the sixties, who knows what direction his career could have taken?

While he had no particular love for the Beatles (and bitched about their “anti-American” attitudes to Richard Nixon), Elvis saw Welsh crooner Tom Jones and Brill Building alumnus Neil Diamond as his rivals in the mid-to-late 60’s, suggesting grand pop inclinations consistent with his marvelous post-Hollywood output (“Suspicious Minds”, “Burning Love”). Despite being the seminal figure in the creation of rock’n’roll, Elvis never inextricably locked himself into the genre that way other early rock’n’roll and rockabilly artists did, preferring to see himself part of the broader tradition of pop vocalists.

Today's featured musical selections feature The King at his trancendent best and embarrassingly worst.

Elvis Presley - Trying to Get to You (from The Sun Sessions CD, 1990) - The Sun Sessions is the Elvis album, as far as I'm concerned. It's a series of historical moments (and outstanding songs) captured on acetate, refreshingly free of the foul dust that floated in the wake of his dreams.

Elvis Presley - Dominic the Impotent Bull (from the Stay Away, Joe OST, 1994) - "Milkcow Blues Boogie," it ain't. Hold it, fellas. That don't move me. Let's get real, real goofy for a change.

There's some question as to the actual title of the song. The soundtrack to 1968's Stay Away, Joe remained unreleased until 1994, when the film's songs were tossed onto the collected rerelease of the music from Kissin' Cousins and Clambake, where "the Impotent Bull" (really, the best thing about the song) was shed in favor just plain "Dominic."

muay thai birthday

Darn, I almost forgot what day it is. Chris Sims, karate bear-kick Zen master and the man behind the always entertaining ISB, celebrated his birthday today.

In commemoration of this blessed day, I called in a few favors and scheduled a celebrity command face-kicking performance. Mr. Sagat, will you do the honors?



When he's not kicking Japanese schoolgirls in the face or plotting vengeance on his hated enemy Ryu, Sagat has been known to cut the occasional novelty rap single.

Sagat - Funk Dat (from a 1994 single) - I think it's the same guy. It's not like there are dozens of dudes running around with the name "Sagat", right? Though I always imagined him having a deeper voice for some reason.

the passing of a factory man

Factory Records founder Tony Wilson shuffled off to the great Hacienda in the sky today.

I'm certain that the serious-minded music bloggers will have detailed obituaries, tributes, and analyses of the man's life and legacy up shortly, but given my areas of interest I'd figured I ought to post something in honor of the man...even if 24 Hour Party People the most mind-numbingly boring movie I've ever made the mistake of watching.

My ambivalence about Joy Division is well known, and any interest I had in the "Madchester" scene was because the cute art students I was attracted to in my freshman year happened to love that stuff, but I can't think poorly of a man (and label) that set loose all sorts of wonderful postpunk music on an unsuspecting world. Plus, Wilson did it with a Situationist's tongue-in-cheek elan, and I can admire that with no qualifiers whatsoever.

So, thanks, Tony, for your part in shaping and presenting a musical genre that has never lost its appeal or been shuffled to the bottom of the musical queue since I first stumbled upon it two decades ago.

Rather than take the predictable Joy Division/New Order/Happy Mondays route, I went with a selection of some other postpunk favorites from the early years of the factory label. They run the gamut from the beautifully atmospheric...

The Durutti Column - Sketch for Summer (from The Return of the Durutti Column, 1979)

...to the hauntingly sublime...

A Certain Ratio - All Night Party (from a 1979 single; collected on Early, 2002)

...to the downright terrifying...

Cabaret Voltaire - Baader-Meinhof (from A Factory Sample, 1979; collected on The Original Sound of Sheffield '78/'82, 2002)