Larry Cassidy, Section 25 frontman. Photo by Yeled.
Ugh. Larry Cassidy, a driving force behind Section 25 –the criminally under-appreciated, completely fucking wonderful post-punk/electronic group from Blackpool, England– has died, age 56. Cause of death is unknown at this time.
Produced early on by Ian Curtis, and sidelined somewhat by their label Factory Records in favor of more “iconic” bands, Section 25 never quite climbed out from underneath Joy Division’s long shadow, which is a shame. They had a haunting, punk/electronic/ambient sound that was unquestionably unique. As musician/writer John Robb recently said in an obit for his old friend Cassidy last week:
[Section 25] were organised and had invented their own sound- a deceptively doomy, powerful, stripped down, bass driven, dissonant, post-punk that combined the nihilism of the times with Larry’s art school cool…
Section 25’s records stand the test of time and they deserve to be re-appraised– please don’t put them down as JD copyists, because they were anything but. They captured the darkness of the period and were psychedelic renegades with freaky music that they somehow shoehorned into a tough disco punk of their own– they were making this sound before Joy Division appeared, and I know that because they were doing it on our local Blackpool circuit.
Another great lost genius- maybe Larry Cassidy’s sad death will wake everyone up to how great his band was.
Indeed, and I sincerely hope that’s true, because Section 25 deserves a whole lot of love and recognition. Quickly culled from YouTube, here’s a sampling of their beautiful songs.
Caitlin Hackett’s work is a lush stew of the beautiful, grotesque, and fantastic; pulling from a wide spectrum of myths and fairy tales. Mostly rendered with ballpoint pens and watercolors, it exhibits a level of detail that I find irresistible.
We’ve gotten a lot of emails asking where to find Issue 04 since it sold out in January on our site, so we’d like to make a courtesy post for all you guys who missed out. While it’s sold out forever here at our shop and at the Wildilocks shop (for Australian residents), and while we don’t see a reprint in the near future, you still have two options for getting this issue before it disappears:
Get thee to the nearest Borders or Barnes & Noble, where it should still be on the stands (but not for long). Here’s the complete list of stores that stock this issue. We suggest calling the stores in advance, because the copies might be gone. Or they might not! My parents just told me that the saw four of them sitting on a shelf at one in Jersey, for example.
Issue 04 does occasionally appear on Ebay. However, that’s not your cheapest option. We’ve seen their price on Ebay fluctuate between $20 and $30 in the past month. We have no control over who sells them on Ebay, or what they set their prices to. But for anyone interested, there’s currently one going for a “Buy It Now” price of $29.99 from seller viciouslyfun.
A lot of people have asked if future issues of Coilhouse are going to be stocked by independently-owned bookstores such as Trident in Boston, Quimby’s in Chicago, Atomic Books in Baltimore, and other mom-and-pop/campus bookshops. The answer is YES! You’ll be able to find our upcoming Issue 05 in all those stores, and we’ll post a list of them as we get nearer to the publication date.
Meryem Yildiz’s world is a prescient place of whispered warnings, subtle secrets and an eerie language of memory, of reveries, of loss. Strange, stark, images of ostensibly quotidian objects – “mementos, hidden treasures, dusty mirrors, nonchalant cats, mason jars, pages lost and found” – are laden with layer upon fragile layer of ambiguous allegory and understated intent. There is a structured discontinuity here; moments fragmented, multiplied, merged yet again, that creates an uncanny whole – broken spaces full and empty, austere and adorned. A Delphian dream, interrupted, repeating itself over and over.
A bit of biography from Meryem’s website provides an intriguing glimpse into how her diverse background has influenced her work, manifests itself in current endeavors, and inspires future projects and collaborations – and the artist has herself kindly answered a few of our questions, elaborating on these points.
Born in Montréal from a French-Canadian mother and a Turkish father, Meryem was exposed to a variety of outlooks at a very young age, driving her to the diversity and malleability of perspectives … self-taught, Mme Yildiz’s work arises essentially from a wise use of unconventional resources. Throughout the creative process and at the heart of her work, Meryem Yildiz never forgets cognition, whether hers or others, nor the messages the human mind wishes to express (or to suppress). It is no surprise then, to learn that she majored in psychology at McGill University and completed a graduate diploma in translation at Concordia University.
COILHOUSE: The duality you feel influences your work - from your background and exposure to different and disparate outlooks – can you expound upon this?
MERYEM YILDIZ: With my upbringing, I was confronted to two different worlds. This duality is a functional one: I love each culture without subduing the other, and without melding them into an indiscernible hodgepodge. When one is removed from the other, my reality and my self no longer make sense. The same applies to how I approach most of my work. By favouring diptychs, I can illustrate two facets of a single story. Whether it is a moment cut in half, a before or an after, or elements of a same narrative: one could not be without the other.
Ahead of Tim Burton’s newest, Hot Topic flavored attempt to completely discredit his career as a director, the British Film Institute has released this restoration of the very first film based on Lewis Carroll’s classic, from 1903 directed by Cecil Hepworth and Percy Stow. At just over nine and a half minutes it is a “greatest hits” version, choosing to frame each scene based on John Tenniel’s famous illustrations for the book. In doing so, it features characters and situations that do not make appearances in most modern versions; namely the events concerning the Duchess. The BFI also points out that, like Burton, Hepworth also cast his wife as the shrill and psychotic Queen (although Burton casts his as the Red Queen from Through the Looking Glass and we can assume that here Hepworth’s wife plays The Queen of Hearts from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland), and even makes an appearance himself as the Frog Footman. Their cat also puts in some screen time as the Cheshire Cat; an effect that is at least up to par with the computer generated special effects found in the upcoming film. It’s a lovely bit of history, though one that requires a knowledge of the material to fully appreciate. Certainly much less to ask of your viewer than enduring Johnny Depp made up like a clown for two hours.
At the risk of offending the Soviets in the audience I present this gentleman to you with limited commentary; instead allowing his melodious singing voice and terrifying rictus to speak for themselves.
This typographical visualization of poet Taylor Mali’s performance of “Totally like whatever, you know?” just knocked me on my ass. Literally. I am sitting on the floor, heart beating very fast, fist in the air, shouting “YES, YES, YES!” because Mali has called my demographic out on one of our most persistent and obnoxious habits: a general lack of self-respect when it comes to the way we talk.
Generally speaking (hurr), American twenty-to-thirtysomethings are a flakey, indolent lot in regards to oral communication. The aptly named Generation Why is suffering an epidemic of infantile intonation, “then he was all/she was all” shortcuts, verbal tics of the “like”, “and um” and “you know” variety, and shamefully poor diction on the whole. We’re all starting to sound like Janice from the Muppets, only less classy.
(Found this snapshot in a random search. Wanted to obscure this gal’s face ’cause it’s all about the shirt. Photoshop blur tool did something… arty. Hopefully she won’t mind.)
I’m certainly not immune! And the more time I spend with peers who replace commas and pauses in oral communication with “like”s and “you know”s, the more prone I am to the same witless fucking verbiage. It’s horribly contagious. In the past, I’ve taken to wearing rubber bands and snapping them against my wrists to break myself of bad speaking habits. After a night out with particularly self-indulgent friends, I find myself listening to the old guard on NPR and the BBC for hours, just to cleanse my own impaired palate.
Bravo, Taylor Mali, for eloquently lamenting, as Roger Ebert puts it, “the decline of talking like you’re intelligent and sincerely care.”
By the way, who else is following Ebert’s vibrant Twitter stream? This gem is only one of literally hundreds of incredible links I’ve followed from there in recent months. I doubt he’ll ever see this post, but seriously, Mr. Ebert, if you happen to read this, thank you so much. These days, you’re not just a top film critic… you’re one of the most important cultural curators on the web. Bravo to you, too. (Fer sure.)
An excellent question and perhaps an unexpected one; but only to those that didn’t know Steve Peterson. The science teacher at Oblong High School and head of the A/V club, Peterson was a regionally-known expert on the subject of ancient cultures — specifically fish people from Sirius. Long after the school day would end, Peterson could be found, alone, recording an extraordinary body of work that cast a critical eye on the accepted theory of the origin of life on this planet. What arose from these tapes was a revelation, a vast series of clues including ancient Egyptian art and mythology, fish hats, the Pope, and Taco Bell. Also, breasts and penises.
Those who would dismiss Peterson as insane or a mulleted quaalude user are misinformed. In the days leading up to his mysterious disappearance, Peterson mentioned to many that he was being followed; his house staked out by individuals in a windowless white van. Peterson was last seen on March 5th, 1987. A student, James Whitlock, passed him on the street and grew concerned, describing Peterson as appearing “spaced out, more than usual I mean.” Whitlock approached him and asked if everything was ok, to which Peterson responded that indeed it was and that he “just needed a burrito.”
It should be obvious, then, that Steve Peterson was no madman. No dear reader, that is merely what they want you to think. The reality is that he was simply too close to the truth and the powers that be had him removed. This is all that remains of his life’s work; his revelation. All we can do know is carry on his memory and continue to ask: Who are these fish people?
In the age of ultra-polished music videos featuring flawless human specimens in various stages of aggressive air-humping, we oft forget the common man. What about that guy behind 7-11, who claims to be a sailor, smells of fish, and gives you the stinkeye? What of uncle Merv, whose gravy-encrusted beard and consistent belligerence have become an almost-comforting staple at family gatherings? I for one, am tired of steely abs and tits on my screen [there are so many, all the time]. In the VonSwank-directed video below, justice is served as Josh Heironymous* represents the intrepid proletarian to the tranquil sound of “Into the Holes” by Lily Fawn. Sit back, relax, get your zen on and enjoy three minutes of a Real Man giving his all to the camera, the way you’ve always dreamed of.
*I note, not without triumph, that Joshua and I shared a Chicago apartment during my one year of college. I got to watch him do this all the time.
Jenyne Butterfly is a bee-YOOO-tee-ful aerialist and pole dancer who lives and performs in Las Vegas, and teaches workshops internationally. A consummate show-woman, she’s won a wide variety of pole-dancing titles and championships over the past several years. Plenty of clips of her live performances are up on the web, all glitter and stilettos and sass. But this is the clip that I love best– Jenyne in casual rehearsal duds, doing a master class demo somewhere in Scotland. She’s especially relaxed and fluid here, the picture of effortless grace, strength… even when she’s melting into peals of laughter because the pole has started spinning too fast. It’s a testament to how sometimes, a performer’s more candid, unguarded moments can be the most mesmerizing. Her joy is contagious.
