One of the fiercest, capsule strangest, cialis sale coolest grand dames of punk rock has left us. Ari Up, free-spirited vocalist for the UK punk band, The Slits (as well as countless subsequent music projects), has died after a long, unspecified illness. She was 48 years old.
Anyone who ever had the privilege of seeing Ari perform –or even just to be in the same room with her and that huge, husky laugh– knows what a tremendous force of nature she was. Her ongoing mission: “to fight for musical expression, women, and cultural freedom.” Love you, Baby Ari. Madussa. True Warrior. The mission continues.
Megumi Satsu, the mysterious chanteuse and hat enthusiast we covered almost exactly one year ago, died in Paris yesterday. She was sixty-two years old. It was also just last year that Megumi Satsu released her final album, eerily titled, Après Ma Mort [After My Death].
Megumi’s representatives have yet to release any details, but we needn’t dwell on them anyway. Instead, let’s wish her a fair journey and remember Madame Satsu as the offbeat, elusive diva and enigmatic muse to Prévert, Baudrillard, and Topor she was until the end. She’ll be sipping cocktails and talking fashion with Klaus Nomi and Isabella Blow in no time.
“Clouds are not spheres, order mountains are not cones, order coastlines are not circles, and bark is not smooth, nor does lightning travel in a straight line.”
—Benoit Mandelbrot The Fractal Geometry of Nature
The visionary, revolutionary mathematician Benoît Mandelbrot has died, aged 85. He was a genius in the truest and most passionate sense of the word. May he rest in peace. Several fractalicious, Mandelbrotastic clips are compiled below for your edification and viewing pleasure:
This is a difficult time in the world, and I would like to ask each of you to find ways to be a part of positive solutions. There is something that each of us can do, and it’s just a matter of searching your own soul to find the way that you can give to others. Some of us can give of our time and talent, and some of us can donate money or items. The trick is to give without looking to receive – to give of yourself to your family, your friends, your community, and the world community with love.”
It’s strange that Solomon Burke isn’t quite the household name that James Brown, Marvin Gaye, Isaac Hayes or Barry White became. Quoting author and musicologist Tom Reed, Burke was a “founding father of what was defined as soul music in America in the 1960s.” He paved the way for them all. The man was just as influential a King of Rock n’ Soul, and an original Blues Brother.
He may be gone now, but listening to dozens of recordings of that huge, kindly voice, it’s impossible to feel too sad. He was a giant who has left behind a giant legacy. (Not to mention 21 children, 90 grandchildren, and 19 great grandchildren.)
He liked to say, “loving people is what I do.” Love you, too, Big Soul. Rest in peace.
A wee bit o’ cheer, courtesy of Marlon Riggs and the Institute of Snap!thology…
… that’s spurring me to write up an overview of something far deeper and more complex. This “Snap Diva” sequence is one of the more lighthearted scenes from Tongues Untied, a powerful independent film by activist/educator/filmmaker/author Marlon Riggs. The clip was sent to me earlier today by an old friend as an offhandedly affectionate “haaaay”, but it ended up triggering intense memories of watching Riggs’ films on PBS over a decade ago. I was bowled over by them at the time; I’m overjoyed to be reminded of them again.
Riggs died of AIDS in 1994 while still struggling to complete his final film, Black Is…Black Ain’t. An intensely personal, well-researched examination of the diversity of African-American identities, Black Is…Black Ain’t was completed by Riggs’ colleagues after his death, and released posthumously in the mid 90s. “His camera traverses the country, bringing us face to face with Black folks young and old, rich and poor, rural and urban, gay and straight, grappling with the paradox of numerous, often contested definitions of Blackness.” [via]
Riggs was a giant of public television during the late 80s and early 90s, and a truly inspiring force for positive change. Via glbtq:
Riggs’ experience of racism began in his segregated childhood schools but continued even at Harvard, where he studied American history, graduating with honors in 1978. He then earned an M. A. in 1981 at the University of California, Berkeley’s Graduate School of Journalism, where he later taught documentary film courses.
Riggs first gained recognition for writing, producing, and directing the Emmy-winning, hour-long documentary Ethnic Notions(1987), which explored black stereotypes and stereotyping. The film helped establish Riggs’ career as a contemporary historical documentary producer.
But most of his later films and writings probe the dichotomy Riggs perceived between the strong, “Afrocentric” black man and the black “sissy” gay man. As a “sissy” himself, Riggs felt deeply his status as a pariah within the black community.
Tongues Untied(1989), Riggs’ most famous film, is an extensively reviewed and critically acclaimed documentary that met with controversy in conservative circles when it was aired on public television. Funded by a National Endowment for the Arts grant, it figured in the cultural wars over control of the NEA and the Public Broadcasting System.
Tonight, I can’t stop thinking about one of the more influential, yet relatively obscure artists at work during the post-Happenings decade. Ana Mendieta:
From Ana Mendieta’s “Body Tracks” series, 1970s.
It’s all too easy to scoff at raw, bloody, chthonic feminist performance art these days. Hell, it’s all too easy to scoff at just about anything that whiffs of pussy power. After all, this is 2010! No need for histrionics, right? We’ve been liberated, reborn. We’re fierce and comfortable, right? We’ve seen it all a hundred times before… rrrriiiiiight?
Then again, what Alice Miller said about scorn holds a lot of sway: “Contempt is the weapon of the weak and a defense against one’s own despised and unwanted feelings.” In light of that assessment, whether one chooses to roll their eyes or not, Mendieta’s (earth-)body of work, and the circumstances under which she died, resonate as much right now as they did in the 1970s and early 80s. (Although, come to think of it, there were plenty of eye-rollers then, too.)
In any case, on the 15th anniversary of her mysterious death, I’m lighting candles for Ana Mendieta and wondering what comes next.
In memory of Satoshi Kon, The FAM presents Katsuhiro Otomo’s Memories (1995), specifically the first episode of three entitled Metallic Rose, directed by Koji Morimoto and written by the late Mr. Kon. Metallic Rose tells the story of a space-faring salvage team who respond to a distress signal (in the form of a recording of Puccinni’s opera Madame Butterfly) emanating from a giant space station in a particularly dangerous area of the galaxy known as Area RZ-3005 or Sargasso. The ship’s two engineers, Heintz and Miguel, are deployed to investigate. Inside they find an opulent, rococo interior and a woman claiming to be an opera singer named Eva Friedal.
The true nature of Eva is something I won’t spoil, but it is safe to say that she is not exactly who she appears to be. Magnetic Rose then, in sci-fi shorthand, is a mash-up of the used, dingy, space-trucker aesthetics of Alien and the psychological mindfuckery of Solaris; and it succeeds admirably. And while it was based on a story by Otomo, it contains many of the themes that would define Kon’s work: the interest in the protagonist’s mental state and subjective reality. Two years later he would go on to write and direct his first feature film, Perfect Blue, and a brilliant career; but the seeds were sown here in the span of 40 minutes. If only that career could have lasted a little longer.
Very sad news out of Japan yesterday as it was confirmed that visionary director Satoshi Kon had indeed passed away, after a long battle with pancreatic cancer. He was 46.
Kon began his career as a manga artist, working with Akira creator Katsuhiro Otomo. He wrote a section of Otomo’s anthology film Memories entitled “Magnetic Rose” and in 1997 he made his directorial debut with Perfect Blue. This was followed by Millennium Actress in 2001, Tokyo Godfathers in 2003, the television show Paranoia Agent in 2004 (featured previously on Coilhouse), and finally Paprika in 2006. At the time of his death he was working on the film The Dream Machine which may be released posthumously.
Jack Horkheimer, beloved TV personality and executive director of the Miami Space Transit Planetarium, has died, age 72. Countless legions of us grew up watching the gruff-voiced, wide-eyed astronomer hosting Star Gazer and Star Hustler on public television. Week after week, decade after decade, he’d walk in front of that green screen and excitedly tell us what we could expect to see in the evening sky. His enthusiasm was deeply infectious. He taught us all sorts of things about the universe, and he made us smile.
Farewell, farewell fellow star gazer. We’ll keep looking up.
One of Cleveland’s great contributions to the world passed away yesterday. Harvey Pekar, curmudgeon and cartoonist, was found dead of unknown causes by his wife Joyce Brabner. He was 70 years old. Pekar was, of course, best known for his award-winning comic American Splendor, an autobiographical work that detailed both his daily life and the city he lived in.
Pekar’s start in comics came via Robert Crumb, the two having become friends in the ’60s after meeting at a swap-meet. Crumb encouraged Pekar’s interest in comics and his first story, “Crazy Ed”, appeared in Crumb’s The People’s Comics. Crumb would also go on to illustrate the early issues of American Splendor.
It’s an intriguing aspect of Pekar’s work. Most autobiographical comics are both written and illustrated by the same person, if for no other reason than than the personal nature of the subject matter. American Splendor, on the other hand, was illustrated by a rotating lineup of artists, including Spain Rodriguez, Joe Sacco, Chester Brown, Jim Woodring, Alison Bechdel, Gilbert Hernandez, Eddie Campbell, and a host of others, including many Cleveland-based cartoonists, his wife Joyce, and writer Alan Moore.
Despite all this contributing talent, American Splendor was Pekar’s in every way – and not only because he happened to star in it. Pekar was unflinching in its depiction of his life. Whether he was detailing his work as a file clerk at the VA hospital or the harrowing year of undergoing treatment for lymphoma, Pekar’s writing managed to be both plain and poetic. It also benefited from at least seeming to be completely unfiltered. It’s honesty sprang from the distinct impression that every neurotic thought, all those feelings of self-doubt, loathing, and anger, all the things most people filter out when relating their stories was there on the page.
