Friday 20 March 2015

Tim Mitchell: Sonic Transmission (Chapter 12 - Little Johnny Jewel)


Through July and August 1975, Television continued to play at CBGB and in August Patti Smith began recording ‘Horses’. Verlaine contributed guitar on one track, making only a brief appearance in the studio in the process (producer John Cale recalls having ‘zero interface with him – except via a fleeting Patti entourage’149).There was already more than enough confrontation in the studio, anyway, where the joint presence of Smith, Allen Lanier and Cale (‘I wasn’t sure if (Patti) wanted to bed me or have me record her,’149 Cale says) had already raised the emotional temperature to boiling point. On that song, ‘Break It Up’, Verlaine’s contribution is distinctive but far from definitive, with short, preparatory runs and then climactic surges that almost overload Smith’s vocals. His solo, too – unexceptional and slightly ragged – shows little sign of what was to come from his own recorded work. Once more, he seemed to be keeping his real capabilities under wraps.On the night of August 19th, Television were sitting around in Patti Smith’s rehearsal room, down the hall from the offices of her Wartoke management company, and Verlaine decided that it was time they they recorded their own single. Having saved up some money from their live appearances, they now had, for the first time, enough in hand to make the proposition economically viable. Verlaine had Smith’s recent ‘Piss Factory’ as a successful precedent, not to mention the recording of ‘Horses’ to spur him on – a reminder that, once again, his band were behind the pace.That night, six possible contenders were recorded, with each band member playing in a separate room (‘We’d hear each other through the walls,’ Fred Smith later recalled3), and Verlaine plugging his guitar directly into the four-track recorder they were using, which had been borrowed from Smith’s drummer Jay Dee Daugherty. The band recorded a couple of their older songs, ‘Hard on Love’ and ‘I Don’t Care’, the newer ‘Friction’, ‘Prove It’ and ‘Little Johnny Jewel’ (on which Verlaine overdubbed some piano and organ) and a version of ‘Fire Engine’.‘Fire Engine’, like ‘Psychotic Reaction’, the other cover version in their live show, was a garage-band song dealing with altered states of mind. Both these songs explore the effects of the kind of derangement of the senses that Rimbaud had espoused as a way of finding new truths. Mental dislocation was a subject that Verlaine had already dealt with in ‘Poor Circulation’ and also in ‘Double Exposure’, a dramatisation of what he was later to say was the root of insanity
Due to a publisher’s error, Sonic Transmission was printed without its twelfth chapter, ‘Little Johnny Jewel’

Theresa Stern: Mess with my face and see it split (1973)

Richard Hell
Tom Verlaine

Theresa Stern was born on October 27, 1949, of a German Jewish father and a Puerto Rican mother in Hoboken, N.J., directly across the Hudson from New York City. She still lives there, alone, where all the poems in this book were written over a four month period in the summer and fall of 1971. She has since devoted that of her time not spent in flipping coins to composing a love story, THIN SKIN. It describes the murder, in ten chapters fired by Theresa, of her closest friend.

WANNA GO OUT?
is a question often asked on the streets around the cheaper bars in New York and Hoboken.

First poem in Wanna Go Out?:
STARS I WAS
Stars, why did you describe me?
You could have had a tree for a tattoo.
Why did I have to be these colors?
It's an ulterior motive, this 3-D nothing.
I loved him so much
but I accidentally dropped an electric toothbrush
into my cunt
and fried his johnson.
My box of chocolates start singing "This Is My Father's World" and
I ram a tooth into the baritone nougat.

Last poem in Wanna Go Out?:
YOU STRANGER I'M TIGHT AND JUICY
The stranger and the moon are good buddies.
The stranger is a puddle
and the moon is the moon's reflection in the puddle.
This is as close as we poets can come to life.
I depend upon your mercy as a goose upon a cigar.
Close this book I scream and come look me up so we can fuck as long
as I don't have to talk.
I'm not about to pay any of my debts ever.
Gored by Beethoven, you should know what it's like to be built
inside a little bottle out of wood.
The stranger has a cigar and is observing geese
pass across the moon like an intricate model ship
or symphonic violins, and all I can do is dream of mud, oh mud, mud.
Via
Mary Harron interviews Theresa Stern (Punk #4)

My copy of 'Wanna Go Out?' is autographed by Richard Hell. I really should have taken it down to Hobart when I went to see Television there. I wonder what Tom Verlaine's reaction would have been?

Thursday 19 March 2015

Sherwood & Pinch - Gimme Some More (Tight Like That)

The Pop Group - We Are All Prostitutes (Live @Bowery Ballroom NYC 17/3/15)


Thanks Joly!

Soft Machine - Ce Soir On Danse (Paris 10/67


Kevin Ayers
Mike Ratledge
Robert Wyatt

Daevid Allen, Soft Machine & The New Statesman

For Val XXX

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

Robert Wyatt interviewed by George Galloway (RT Sputnik 20/2/15)


Start at 13:02 to avoid all the wank beforehand

Daevid Allen & Robert Wyatt as extras in ‘Playa de Formentor’ (1964)

Soft Machine - Poem For Hoppy (Live at UFO in 2/6/67)


This was the day after John Hopkins was sent down for 9 months. Arrested for cannabis possession, Hopkins elected for trial by jury. In court on 1 June 1967, Hopkins claimed that cannabis was harmless and that the law should be changed. The judge, describing him as "a pest to society", sentenced Hopkins to nine months in prison for keeping premises for the smoking of cannabis and possession of cannabis, although he served only six months. Hoppy started UFO with Joe Boyd whose voice is heard at the beginning saying to "cut the record"

The Unlikely Story of 'A Change Is Gonna Come'

Wednesday 18 March 2015

WTF?

Skintologists ft Nyusta - Light To The Shadow

Terry Riley on Daevid Allen

...Daevid and I remained friends through that whole period in Paris. I got Daevid into tape loops. I played him this stuff I had done in San Francisco with Anna Halprin like “Mescaline Mix” and pieces like that. Daevid got really interested in that and started doing a lot of stuff with tape loops. We used to jam a lot together in Paris. I’d also hang out on his houseboat on the Seine. It was very funky. He probably got it for $50 or cheaper. It was tied up to a quai and was a very small, one-room space. He lived there the whole time I was in Paris. We had mutual friends down at The Beat Hotel in Paris. We’d go down there a lot. We’d meet people like Brion Gysin and William S. Burroughs there. Our cultural life at the time involved going from the houseboat to The Beat Hotel. We ran into many interesting people.
MORE

Picós: Colombian sound systems


At the end of the 60’s the afro population of the Colombian Atlantic Coast developed an alternative to enjoy, and in turn, locally spread their preferred music; they built hand-made sound systems capable of triggering a huge party. These sound systems are known in the Colombian Caribbean as Picós. These Colombian sound systems were known, among other things, for having their own name (El Timbalero, El Coreano, El Isleño) as well as for their over-the-top appearance, and for having audio components that magnified their sound power to the maximum.
The so-called Picós, as mobile stations, began in the 60’s to create the basis of an urban, popular and contemporary culture that expresses itself through these powerful sound machines. The sound systems became the center of social and economic networks of craftsmen DJs, owners, music sellers, producers and purchasers, which together, on a small scale, make up an informal economy generated specifically to build, transport and operate these "mobile cultural spaces" which were popularly baptized as Picós.
The PICÓ documentary aims to tell the story of the Maury family in Barranquilla, Colombia, who for 40 years have lived in a house in the La Magdalena neighborhood, which in turn they transformed into a place where people gather, known as "La isla del encanto (the Island of enchantment)."
PHOTOS

The Biggest Drug And Gun Market On The Dark Web Just Disappeared And Millions Of Bitcoin With It

Adrian Sherwood:'What doesn’t Evolve Stays in the Realm of Nostalgia'

Bladerunner model shop photos



MORE

Jerry Dammers Allstars ft Hypnotic Brass & Space Ape - Ghost Town

The Spaceape RSD 7"



The Spaceape - Ghost Town (ft Kode 9)/At War With Time (ft The Bug) Hyperdub 7" Strictly Ltd RSD release
LIMITED EDITION OF 1000 COPIES ON GOLD VINYL - GOLD FOIL-BLOCKED SLEEVE WITH IN MEMORIAM CARD INSERT RELEASED IN TRIBUTE TO STEPHEN SAMUEL GORDON AKA THE SPACEAPE, 1970 - 2014, R.I.P.

Sugarmen - Dirt


Produced by Mick Jones

Earl Sweatshirt - Grief

The Irrationality of Alcoholics Anonymous

Andy Fraser R.I.P.


Andy Fraser dead at 62

Swag?


As a divorced atheist...

“This is what educated, comfortable, happy adult atheists fail to comprehend”
?!?

Lee Ranaldo reflects on the Grateful Dead

Tuesday 17 March 2015

moDernisT


Test

V.1

V.2
"moDernisT" was created by salvaging the sounds and images lost to compression via the mp3 and mp4 codecs. the audio is comprised of lost mp3 compression material from the song "Tom's Diner",
famously used as one of the main controls in the listening tests to develop the MP3 encoding algorithm.
Here we find the form of the song intact, but the details are just remnants of the original. the video is the difference between uncompressed and compressed versions of the original tom's diner music video (1987 a capella version). thus, both audio and video are the "ghosts" of their respective compression codecs
The ghosts in the mp3

Atari Teenage Riot - Reset Tour Live Set (2015)


1. Revolution Action
2. J1M1
3. Activate
4. Reset
5. Collapse Of History
6. We Are From The Internet

DC Comics cancels controversial Joker variant cover

Dreamachine Plans

(PDF)

Back In No Time: The Brion Gysin Reader (Edited by Jason Weiss)

(PDF)

Bug Notes (Melbourne 15/3/15)

Tonite in Melbourne was messy, it was raw, dirty, tense & nasty...LOVED IT, despite and maybe because, the lying fuck of a venue owner promised the promoters, his building was 'Fully sound proofed' prior to the event, when the dude was desperate to have the show hire his venue...but then the idiot kept bringin out bigger bouncers over time, throughout the set to try and intimidate me and the promoters to turn down the volume..….which actually just added fuel to my fire...lol. (Although I gotta say I was sorry for the don dadas/show promoters Ben/Tom from ‘Echo Chamber’ who had to feel the heat and were forced to compromise somewhat…)
I made mistakes, tech probs occured, It wasn’t as overwhelmingly loud as our normal sets, it didn’t have the light assault we normally employ, YET it absolutely rocked, cause the good ppl of Melbourne that showed, gave us maximum energy…Big yourselves up indeed……It was a psychotic rollercoaster at the 'Railway Hotel' last night…we dug it, and Manga was almost literally on fire as he rinsed the mic...
Major shout to the 'Echo Chamber' crew for sortin last night's show at 4 days notice, it was an incredible effort, + cheers for fillin the house with a sick crowd & the sweetest reggae/bass/junglegrime sounds...
I guess me and Manga really did fuck up Melbourne...It was pure madness...Crowd were incredible...Max energy. Madman victory !
Hilarious that Manga saw two women literally rip off their bras and throw them in the air, whilst I saw another girl literally clinging on to the bassbins for most of the set..The people they expressed themselves proper...hahaha... Sorry it couldnt have been as intense an experience as we generally like to detonate, but actually it was still a blast..!
And yo, can the fucker that stole my shades, plz return them, as my weakass blue eyes will fry in the sunshine down under...
(Great selfie by Manga)
Via


Monday 16 March 2015

I see you, Jeremy Clarkson. I fucking see you

I see you, Jeremy Clarkson.
I see your gnarled head and your grumpy face, like an elephant's scrotum stretched across the trunk of a haunted tree. I see your thinning perm, like an irradiated Labradoodle fighting to hold on to your face. I see your enormous torso and wide shoulders. I smell the petrol and I hear the engines, Jeremy Clarkson, and I see you clunking around the Top Gear studio like a massive menopausal gibbon. I hear you weirdly emphasising and pausing after every other word, Jeremy Clarkson. The new Lamborghini has a gearbox... like a spaniard... full of hammers, does it, Jeremy Clarkson? I can see why you're so indispensable.
I hear you being a Lad, Jeremy Clarkson, as you banter with your friends by putting them all down. I see you chain smoking and gulping down steaks. I hear you laughing, a great jolly rumble, like a rhino farting across the face of the establishment. You're a maverick, aren't you, Jeremy Clarkson? You're a maverick, and it's fine, because it should be alright to offend people. Everyone's too bloody PC, aren't they, Jeremy Clarkson? All the lesbians and the ethnics and the disableds. God, and the disabled ethnic lesbians. They're just the bloody worst, aren't they, Jeremy Clarkson? They're all too bloody PC, and it's your duty as a phenomenally rich white man who's never experienced real prejudice to take a stand against it.
I see your every controversy, Jeremy Clarkson. I see you and Richard Hammond and James May tearing around the globe, while May shakes his sad hairy head and Hammond hangs on your every word like a shiny-toothed tagnut in the bum-beard of your ego. I see the long day's filming, Jeremy Clarkson, and I see that you're exhausted. I see that you're grumpy and fed up. After all, you drove a Ferrari for three hours today and they only paid you fifty thousand pounds. It's a fucking indignity, isn't it, Jeremy Clarkson? They better have cooked you a hot meal after all that gruelling work. It's just ungrateful otherwise, isn't it?
I see the assistant producer gesture to the catering tables, Jeremy Clarkson. I see the cold ham. I see the cold bastard ham, Jeremy Clarkson. I see the corner of your eye twitch, your rage building. What the hell is this? You drove a Ferrari for three hours today, and they only paid you fifty thousand pounds, and now they have the fucking nerve to serve you cold ham? Disgusting, perfectly fucking edible cold ham? Fucking hell, Jeremy Clarkson. I see that you are angry. And they're not going to like you when you're angry, are they, Jeremy Clarkson?
I see your hands balled into fists, Jeremy Clarkson. I see the veins bulging in your neck. I see Richard Hammond whimpering, bounding away on all fours to hide behind a bin. I see James May roll his eyes and pour himself another glass of red wine.
I hear your clothes stretching and popping at the seams as you roar, Jeremy Clarkson, your frame distorting and growing. I see your flesh turning blue, your eyes turning into shiny brass buttons. I see the stonewashed stitching of your new skin. I see you, Jeremy Clarkson, now twenty feet tall and bundled muscle, a murderous goliath of rage and denim. You are nothing but jeans and fury, Jeremy Clarkson, and that ham-serving prick is doomed. I bet he reads the fucking Guardian.
I see the producer scream, Jeremy Clarkson. I see his knees knocking together as he pisses all down his own legs. I see you towering above him, howling your hot ale-and-fag breath into his terrified face. I see your great blue hands pounding him into the ground. I see his bones shatter and I hear his screams cut short. I see him reduced into nothing but pulp and gristle, Jeremy Clarkson, a soggy puddle of crimson and organs that soaks into the fabric of your trembling Levi fists. I see you flinging his remains into the air, Jeremy Clarkson. I see half a mandible splash into James May's wine glass, spattering him with Cabernet Sauvignon. I see him tut, and carry on drinking anyway.
I see you pounding your chest, Jeremy Clarkson, and I see you crashing around the studio, toppling lights and flipping cars. I see the production team scattering to get out of your way. I see The Stig picking an intestine off his shoulder, his helmeted head shaking in annoyance. I hear Richard Hammond whining behind his bin.
I see you ripping the roof off a Porsche, Jeremy Clarkson, the jagged metal tearing the thick denim of your hands. I hear you howling with sheer, unadulterated rage. You're offended, aren't you, Jeremy Clarkson? And you can't offend a Lad without getting pulped into mush. That's just not how offence works.
Oh well, Jeremy Clarkson. You may have reduced a grown man you've worked with for fifteen years into a bloody puddle just because he didn't sort you out a steak, but I'm sure you'll have your job back next week, once you've calmed down and turned back into a human. After all, what's one murder at the BBC? It's only a fracas. A silly little fracas.
I'm appalled, Jeremy Clarkson, but then I remember that you also punched Piers Morgan once. And even I have to admit that you may have had a point there.
I see you, Jeremy Clarkson. I fucking see you

The Bug & Manga - Live @Railway Hotel Brunswick Melbourne (15/3/15)


Click arrow to download
Firstly BIG up to Jason and the Echo Chamber crew for suggesting and organising this gig at such short notice. Was a real pity that volume restraints were put in place by the landlord of the Railway Hotel but the bass in your face was just what I needed last night. Also kudos to the young woman who held onto the rig last night and just got lost in the sound. Women respond to bass apparently. Big thanks to Kevin and Manga for last night too
Photos: JasonH

Call Me Maybe (WTF?)

Sunday 15 March 2015

Jack Bruce Band - In Concert (OGWT 6/675)


Drums – Bruce Gary
Electric Piano, Synthesizer – Ronnie Leahy
Guitar – Mick Taylor
Organ, Synthesizer, Electric Piano, Mellotron – Carla Bley
Vocals, Bass, Piano – Jack Bruce

Cabaret Voltaire ‎- VPRO including Live @The Paradiso Amsterdam (9/12/83)


Crackdown
The Dream Ticket
Animation
In The Shadows
Gut Level (Version)
Over And Over
Mercy Man
Safety Zone
Just Fascination
Product Patrol
Outro
(VPRO Broadcast)

A 'Girl In A Band': Kim Gordon On Life After Sonic Youth

Veronika Bozeman - Race Jones