Just when I thought it wasn’t possible to adore this gentleman any more than I already do, here is Tom Waits holding court at a recent “live press conference” to inform the public of his upcoming Glitter & Doom tour:
Waits hasn’t announced any new recordings. Bloggers are speculating that the tour is in support of actress Scarlett Johansson’s album of Tom Waits covers, which comes out later this month, and which I am about as likely to purchase as Chester Cheetah is to burst forth from my chest cavity in a scabby, florescent orange flood of processed cheese while singing “Jockey Full of Burbon”.
Tom Waits’ Glitter & Doom Summer Tour:
6/17 - Phoenix, AZ @ Orpheum
06/18 - Phoenix, AZ @ Orpheum
06/20 - El Paso, TX @ Plaza
06/22 - Houston, TX @ Jones Hall
06/23 - Dallas, TX @ Palladium
06/25 - Tulsa, OK @ Brady Theatre
06/26 - St. Louis, MO @ Fox Theatre
06/28 - Columbus, OH @ Ohio Theatre
06/29 - Knoxville, TN @ Civic Theatre
07/01 - Jacksonville, FL @ Times Union Center Moran Theatre
07/02 - Mobile, AL @ Saenger Theatre
07/03 - Birmingham, AL @ Alabama Theatre
07/05 - Atlanta, GA @ Fox Theatre
Question: How do you say “oh fuckballs, I think I took the brown acid” in Telugu?
Answer: “Idhi Oka Idi Le!”
Just kidding. “Idhi Oka Idi Le” is merely the title of an exuberant duet between classic Tollywood stars Radha and Chiranjeevi. Actually, I have no idea what “Idhi Oka Idi Le” means. What I do know is that I’d rather eat a live centipede than watch the “Idhi Oka Idi Le” video while tripping.
Embedding’s been disabled on this, so make with the clickies (provided you’re not on any hallucinogenics right now).
I recently saw this at the National Museum of Modern Art in Tokyo and was floored, immediately. The presence of a telescope in such a traditionally-executed piece was remarkable enough; it’s an infiltrator, hard geometric lines clashing with soft strokes of the figures. But it was the main observer’s fixed gaze that drew me in. Hands firmly gripping the mechanism, she seems completely removed from the rest of the group, lost in stars.
We’ve never met, and your ashes have long since been scattered above Manhattan, so I guess it’s pretty weird for me to be writing you this letter. Then again, everyone always says you seemed to hail from another planet. Let’s pretend for a minute that you didn’t die alone in a hospital bed in 1983. It’s comforting to imagine that you simply returned to your home world and maybe, somehow, you can read this.
If you were still here, you’d be 64 years young today. No doubt your friends would be gathered around you at the piano to sing Kurt Weill and Chubby Checkers tunes. Perhaps you’d share some of your delicious homemade pastries with them and spend hours reminiscing about those hazy, crazy post-punk days in NYC.
Ruff and ready.
I wish I could fold time and space to sit in the balcony at Irving Plaza the night your brief, bright star ascended during a four night New Wave Vaudeville series. It was 1978. Up until then, you’d been supporting yourself as a pastry chef for well-to-do Hamptons types. They say that you emerged from the fog machine vapors like an alien from another planet, stiff and somber in a silver space suit and clear vinyl cape. My old friend Jim Sclavunos was there, manning the spotlight. He once told me that when you opened your Clara Bow mouth and sang, no one believed it was really you. The MC had to keep assuring the audience that you were not lip-syncing…
This sexatronic fan-made cover for Janet Jackson’s single “Feedback” has been taunting and circling the Internet for a couple of weeks. Now the video is out, YouTubed and miss Jackson is back in full fetish fashion force. This look has become Janet’s signature, though few things could ever top the purple latex bustle+pants number she wore in 1999 for Busta Rhymes’ glorious, if a bit confusing, hyper-futuristic “What’s It Gonna Be?” video.
In Feedback Janet slithers around a tiny planet in domme gear - gloves, knee-high boots and hooded catsuit. There is even a dance sequence toward the end and Janet still has it, though the moves are more fluid than the mechanical Rhythm Nation style we love. But there are also shiny face shields, hair-pulling, floating in open space, and a giant bowl of what I can only hope is milk. Michael would approve.
As for the song, eh. So mute the video, play something thumpy and click below.
Hey, remember when Disney didn’t suck and blow simultaneously?
Deep down, most of us suspect that ol’ Uncle Walt was a sexist, racist, feeb-informing Machiavellian rat king. (Still, who doesn’t love Pinocchio?) And while there’s no doubt Disney’s recent corporate merge with Pixar and subsequent shakedown (leaving prodigies Lasseter, Catmull and Jobs steering the ship) will bring back much of the first company’s long lost artistry, the question bears repeating: have the past 20 years of Disney output have blown epilepticpygmy goats,or what? Wtf happened?*
Never mind. Let’s focus on the semi-positive and take a look Disney’s chaotic neutral, pre-sucky years. I know I’m not the only one with fond recollections of the many offbeat live action flicks Disney produced in the late 70s and early 80s. Uncle Walt was in cryogenic deep freeze and the company’s heyday was fading, but gems like TRON, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and most poignantly their ridonkulous sci-fi space epic, The Black Hole all have a special place in this gal’s personal What Made Me Weird lexicon.
Yvette Mimieux gets some much-needed laser surgery.
Produced on the heels of Star Wars’ popularity, The Black Hole is one of Disney’s last gasps of cornball genius. Sure, it’s got problems. No originality, for starters. As one reviewer put it “[this is] nothing but a ‘creepy old house’ movie set in space.” Also, the screenwriters seem to have been unsure what demographic they were writing for, resulting in a plot that insults adult viewers’ intellects while still managing to scare the ever-loving crap out of children (and making The Black Hole the first PG-rated film in Disney history). Hokey dialog and unfortunate wardrobe choices abound. But if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times; you can’t go wrong with Ernest Borgnine. If that’s not enough to entice you, there’s John Barry’s amazing score, the incredible scale models and sets, scene after scene featuring beautiful, richly colored matte paintings of deep space, and Anthony Perkins getting the Cuisinart treatment.
Best for last, the Maximilian <3 Reinhardt 4-Ebber (In Hell) ending:
What will you wear in space? It may sound unrealistic now, but consider this for a moment anyhow. Will you be trapped in the classic mattress of a suit with a fishbowl for a helmet, or something a little more flattering? Instead of stiff bulky padding would you prefer a space suit which allows to explore weightlessness to its full potential?
At one endlessly fascinating end of the space-wear spectrum is the function-oriented second skin BioSuit envisioned by Professor Dava J. Newman at MIT. Intended for actual extravehicular cosmic exposure, it’s sleek, beautifully functional, and structurally sophisticated, providing pressure and elasticity. And there’s a backpack!
Dava is involved with a remarkable amount of research on topics ranging from human performance in outer space to “Powered Assistive Walking Devices” for use by the handicapped on Earth. Admiration. Awe.
It happened well over a decade ago, but the memory is crystal: my best bud Gooby Herms, fellow purveyor of All That Is Wackadoo, leaped up from the threadbare couch bellowing “holy crap, you’ve never seen the Billy Nayer Show?!” With a table top drum roll, he popped his scuzzy bootleg of The Ketchup and Mustard Man into the VCR and pressed play. My jaw hit the floor… repeatedly. I’ve been an idolator at the shrine of BNS ever since.
When bandleader Cory McAbee and company released The American Astronaut in 2001, I knew the world was in for it:
Space travel has become a dirty way of life dominated by derelicts, grease monkeys, and hard-boiled interplanetary traders such as Samuel Curtis… this sci-fi, musical-western uses flinty black and white photography, rugged Lo-Fi sets and the spirit of the final frontier. We follow Curtis on his Homeric journey to provide the all-female planet of Venus with a suitable male, while pursued by an enigmatic killer, Professor Hess. The film features music by The Billy Nayer Show and some of the most original rock n’ roll scenes ever committed to film.
I still don’t understand who I am: the first human or the last dog in space. - Yuri Gagarin
It was on November 3, 1957 - fifty years ago today that Laika took flight. Her ship circled the Earth 2,570 times, burning upon re-entering the atmosphere on April 14, 1958. She didn’t see the stars or the moon, as Sputnik 2 was not equipped with windows but she felt, if only briefly, what humanity had longed for so desperately.
Today, I want you to take a moment and think of her out there; stray mutt picked off the streets of Moscow, in her little capsule. Paving the way for us all.
