We believe that we invent symbols. The truth is that they invent us; we are their creatures, shaped by their hard, defining edges.
-From The Shadow of the Torturer
Severian is a hero, cast with objects of great power (including a badass sword, natch) upon a path that will take him to great heights and strange places. He may even save his world. Cue swelling music.
But wait; Severian is a torturer. His world is Urth to its inhabitants. The moon is green, the sun old and dying. There are rumors that the great citadels of his ancient city once moved between the stars. What, then, are the angels and holy relics that fill the land?
Such is the setup of Gene Wolfe’s masterpiece The Book of the New Sun, a genre-bending four book epic equal parts philosophical treatise, rich allegory and Romantic odyssey.
Wolfe was one of the leading lights of sci-fi’s Deviant Age; that blazing era from 1965 to 1985 when no concept seemed out of bounds. As with Tanith Lee, he did so much brilliant work throughout that time (and after) that any number would be excellent topics for their own column.
The Book of the New Sun comes at the end of that period, and in it Wolfe melds the shocking innovation of his earlier career with a deep undrerstanding the power of old tales well-told.
With multi-volume works, I usually prefer to pick out the strongest entry. Here, I’ll make an exception. The entirety of Wolfe’s opus is so damn good that I found myself unable to choose a single part. It is, like the best epics, one tale. More on the Gothic adventure to end all Gothic adventures, below.
Nick Cave & Blixa Bargeld announce 120 Minutes for MTV, recorded early 1994.
If anyone here can decipher Blixa’s sinister whisper divulging the 4th circle of MTV hell (”sea of burning lead of … hippie …” something?) please leave it in comments.
*For those of you just tuning in, we three Coilhouse editors share a breathless, bone-deep predilection for all things Nixa. The depth, power and futility of our combined, confused longing easily eclipses the paltry obsessions of even the most twitterpated tween Twilight spastic. (Say that three times fast.) Fear us. Pity us. We are lost.
Be it impossible heels, rib-crushing corsets or extremely tight pants, many beautiful items leave us suffering for fashion. While sadistic sartorial contraptions are a thing of the past for most, those of us from thee Darque Side continue to shun comfort and reason in favor of looking really fucking hot. Sadly, “really fucking hot” takes on a sinister literal meaning with the onset of summer. Only the very brave manage to find the strength to maintain their look in the face of nature’s merciless opposition, and Goths In Hot Weather - a new blog dedicated to “celebrating the Sunshine Goth” has noticed.
With events like Bats Day and costumed picnics popping up across the globe, goths are being continuously lured out and into the cruel, cruel sunshine. Alas, what to do but proudly brandish that parasol, cake on the SPF 75 and face the season in all its scorching ice cream and surfboard glory. I’m currently wishing I had a bit of extra time to dig through my photos for a worthy submission. If your moments of summer fashion victory [or defeat] get posted on Goths In Hot Weather, please link to them in the comments section here!
Issue 01 contributor/photographer Taslimur and Ash
Last Thursday, Coilhouse staff photographer Allan Amato threw a crossdressing party at his studio/loft. For various reasons we ourselves couldn’t make it, and now that we’re seeing the party photos from that night, we’re twice as sad that we weren’t there. To me, these spontaneous, messy party photos are just as powerful as Allan’s most pristine, carefully-composed fashion masterpieces. This series, intended to be only a private gallery for the party attendees until I begged him to let me post it here, is honestly one of my favorite things that Allan’s ever done.
Click after the cut for lots and lots more photos. I identified people where I could, but wasn’t sure of everyone’s name. If you were there, identify yourself in the comments!
In under the wire, we’d like to wish the incomparable Lene Lovich a very happy birthday! The New Wave/Death Disco diva was born on March 30th in 1949. At some point when we’re not all scrambling to meet deadlines, this virtuosa deserves a big, juicy feature on Coilhouse. We’ll get ‘er done, promise.
For now, here’s the “Bird Song” video, feauring Lovich in all her eye-popping, spookylicious glory:
Dontcha love it when we get it right? I love high-budget, haute-goth fashion editorials and seeing big-name designers go dark on the runway, but there’s something especially satisfying about seeing designers “of the scene” really pull off something spectacular from start to finish, from garment to finished photograph. It’s a pleasure when designers not only produce gorgeous garments, but really get involved in presenting them in a certain way. In this case, Tea Bauer, creator of Slovenian fashion label Degenerotika (previously featured here), borrows a page from Vintage Vogue to give us the wonderfully classic, textured and geometric “when-Leeloo-met-Irving-Penn” fashion image above. I love everything about it! More large-size images from this series, after the jump.
Yellow hair? Yum! Coat’s not too shabby, either. Degenerotika is definitely one to watch.
Pictures of last Valentine’s Skate Massacre, from the Wumpskate site.
You’ve not truly experienced the goth/industrial scene until you’ve experienced it on roller skates. The lights, the music, the fashion… at five times the speed, with bone-crunching pain! It sounds like the beginning of that surreal dream that always ends with you driving an ice cream truck in a sexy panda outfit, but here in LA, it’s real. And it’s called… WUMPSKATE (by the way, I’d pay about a million dollars to see Wumpscut’s Rudy Ratzinger on skates). Wumpskate happens once a month, and leaves you energized for weeks to come. The event is held at the ghetto-nouveau World on Wheels, where, for 6 bucks, you get admission and a pair of skates. There are two basic rules: dress up but don’t wear sharp spikes (duh), and don’t get so drunk before showing up that you can’t skate. For pussies who are afeared to step on the rink, there are old-skool arcade games, air hockey and rows upon rows of candy machines.
The best thing about this event is the could-not-give-a-shit attitude. Goth clubs are known for drama, but there’s no time for drama when you’re crashing your ass into the wall at what feels like the speed of light! Everyone is just there to have a blast. Every month, Wumpskate puts on a different theme. We’ve seen Pirateskate, Ninjaskate, Cyberskate, Steampunk Skate, Antigoth Skate, Road Warrior Skate… even SARS Skate (!!!). This upcoming Monday, get ready for… Valentine’s Skate Massacre.
Coilhouse readers in LA, break out your LOLLERSKATES and join us for an evening of excitement and adventure this coming Monday night. The current list of attendees is shaping up to be quite the Issue 01 reunion. The event is all ages, from 9 PM - 1 PM. We’d better see you there!
Kanye West does a lot to bridge cultural gaps, which I’ve always found admirable. This is a man not afraid to say “Balenciaga is one of the illest lines right now”. Between his multi-genre music, popular blog, and innovative videos he’s practically on a holy mission to bring art, fashion and literature into the lives of his fans. However, change is not always easy.
A few days ago the rapper blogged about the new Rick Owens collection. Owens is known for extreme tailoring, using a lot of black materials and being generally spooky as hell. He’s also known for hand-picking divinely alien specimens to showcase his work. This time around at Paris Fashion Week his choices were especially exotic, and Kanye’s fans noticed. Some of the comments his blog post received:
Ahh, growing pains.
As far as I’m concerned, Owens has impeccable taste and these models are top-notch, with potential to fit nicely into both our Preternatural and Alien beauty posts. I adore his clothes and consider him to be one of the best high fashion designers of our time, up there with Gareth Pugh, C.C. Poell and a few select others. It pleases me to see someone with as much much influence as Kanye West sharing this sentiment to some extent. I’m sure he expected a bit of a backlash when he presented images of all those pale, black-clad gentlemen to his public. But do you think he was prepared for this?
Clearly, user gdzhulakidze’s mind was blown to the point of incoherence. He seems genuinely scared and his disdain is palpable. I’d almost say Kanye might have done better with an introductory post before unleashing the Rick upon his followers, but there is plenty of positive feedback to counter the bad. For instance: “No one does black better, except 4 obama… ;)”. Mm. Change is here.
A special thanks to StyleZeitgeist for bringing this matter to our attention.
Mother, I am in love with a robot.
No, she isn’t going to like that.
Mother, I am in love.
Are you, darling?
Oh yes, mother, yes I am. His hair is auburn, and his eyes are very large. Like amber. And his skin is silver.
Silence.
Mother, I’m in love.
With whom, dear?
His name is Silver.
How metallic.
Yes, It stands for Silver Ionized Locomotive Verisimulated Electronic Robot.
Silence. Silence. Silence.
Mother…
Thus opens Tanith Lee’s 1981 future inter-being romance, The Silver Metal Lover, a heart-wrenching exploration of romance, tech and yes, love.
It tells the story of Jane, plain by the standards of her future oligarchic city-state (a combination of Privatopia and Somatopia) and firmly under the thumb of her powerful and rich mother. Seethingly comfortable with her existence, she meets Silver, an entertainment robot, playing guitar and singing in the plaza. She’s embarrassed. Then angry. Then hopelessly in love. Before long she’s thrown her old life to the winds.
Short by the standards of most science fiction, with terrifyingly real characters, it packs a punch that’s not to be underestimated. When the The Silver Metal Lover is called a tearjerker, it’s the blunt truth.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Argh, I know, I’m really late with this one. Slept ’til noon, then had to hop on a train. Fuggit. Let’s consider it a special midnight BTC edition for folks who are working the graveyard shift or traveling/packing/wrapping for the holidays and in need a pick-me-up of the non-denominational, demonic variety, shall we?
Hellhounds are mythical demon dogs from HELL. (Say it wiff meh… HEEEAAGGHHHHHLLLLLLL.)
Video by Brian Boyce, who also made this and lots of other brilliant crap.
Hellhounds carry themselves in an aggressive or baleful manner. They may have glowing red eyes, supernatural abilities, or even the giftof humanspeech. They’re associated with fire (say it wiff meh… FIIIGHHYAAAAAHHHHHH) and endowed with flaming fiery blowtorchy powers or/or appearances. Hellhounds are often designated guardians to the entrance to the world of the dead. Or, in this case, designated guardians of the filthy, dog-hair-encrusted couch you slept on all night after passing out in a puddle of regurgitated egg nog.
(Oh, wait, sorry, that was me. I’d better go wash my hair now.)
EDITOR’S NOTE PART DEUX, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO: Hmm. Just noticed that Better Than Coffee is a bit pooch-obsessed lately. Apologies to all (especially Warren, who loathes dogs even more than I loathe Anne Geddes photos). Just to make sure I get it all out of my system, I’m including twenty-five clips of dogs eating peanut butter after the jump.
