Julia Frodahl is a dreamy dove, a love, a healer, and dare I say, the most precious of precious snowflakes. When I use the word precious, I don’t mean it in a cloying or derisive manner. Julia is truly precious in the incalculably valuable, rare and astonishing sense of that word, like the Baroda Diamond, like a unicorn found wandering the streets of Greenpoint, Brooklyn.
Music video for Edison Wood’s “Last Night I Dreamt I Would Last Forever” directed by Alicia Reginato, 2008
As an accomplished yoga instructor (according to some, she’s one of the best inversion teachers in New England), her serene approach to the yoga asana practice is paired with a deep working knowledge of human anatomy and alignment. As lead songwriter, singer and keyboardist for the chamber orchestra Edison Woods, she infuses her music with a pensive, wintry grace that makes me think of pure white things: falling snow and eiderdown, powdered sugar, frost, pearls.
Listen for yourself. Here’s Edison Woods’ “Shirts for Pennies”:
Photo by Sebastian Mlynarski.
Click through for more photos of the exquisite Mme Julia, and a rave review of Edison Wood’s album Seven Principles of Leave No Trace from All Music Guide.
Awww. Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas. Bless you, Saint Henson. This is one of very few holiday movies I can sit through without wanting to commit Santacide. Sure, it’s as saccharine sweet, maudlin, and sentimental as anything else you’ll see this time of year, but hey, they’re muppets. Somehow that makes it okay. And you just gotta love a Christmas special where the main characters can get that exited about sliding around on a garbage bag stapled to a frozen pile of shit.
You know what might possibly be even better than Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas?
Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band Christmas BLOOPERS:
“Hubba WHA” and a big warm fuzzy good morning to you.
(A couple of musical numbers from Emmet Otter’s Jug-Band and the River Bottom Nightmare Band under the cut.)
Bettie Mae Page (April 22, 1923 – December 11, 2008)
In her own gentle, playful way, she was a revolutionary. Maybe she never meant to be when she started modeling, yet there’s no denying Bettie Page’s impact, resonance, or relevance, even half a century later.
In her portraits, we recognize the purity and uncomplicated joy of nudity. We are encouraged by her bearing, her beauty, her humor, her sweetness (yes, even in those Klaw photos… especially in those!) to regard sensuality as one of life’s purest gifts, rather than something immoral or wrong.
It isn’t just her beautiful body or her iconic style that continues to captivate us all these years later. It’s her spirit. When we look into her face, her eyes seem to tell us that it’s going to be all right; we can relinquish our shame.
It is her smile that sets us free.
(Several portraits and quotes from Bettie Page after the jump. Under the circumstances, I really wish I didn’t have to say this, but…NSFW.)
Happy birthday to Augusta Ada King, Countess of Lovelace, patron saint of computer programmers. “The Enchantress of Numbers” was born this day in 1815, in London, the only legitimate (tch, what an insulting term that is!) child of Lord Byron. Her mother, Isabelle –a math whiz in her own right nicknamed “The Princess of Parallelograms” by P.M. Benjamin Disraeli– separated from Byron shortly after Ada’s birth, and raised her to be unlike her eccentric poet father, emphasizing tutelage in music and math. (Ada never met Lord Byron, who died in Greece, aged 36.)
Ada Lovelace is best known for her work describing the Analytical Engine, an early mechanical general-purpose computer conceived by mathematician/inventor/philosopher Charles Babbage. Today, she’s recognized as the “first programmer” for her work on the computing machine that Babbage hadn’t even built yet. Unlike Babbage or anyone else, she had the foresight to recognize the potential for computers to evolve past simple calculations and number-crunching. Her voluminous notes included predictions for future developments as far-out as computer-generated music! She accomplished this in an era where, to put it gently, noblewomen were not encouraged to engage in such rigorous intellectual pursuits.
Like her father, Lovelace was headstrong, prone to fits of melodrama, and she died young. Her family buried her next to Lord Byron in the yard of the Church of St Mary Magdalene in 1852.
Swiss laptop sampler pop duo Larytta call their schizotypal steez “Difficult Fun” and I couldn’t agree more. It’s smart, cheeky, surprisingly radio-ready electronica. You may find yourself simultaneously shaking your booty (with zeal) and your head (in consternation). This video for “Souvenir de Chine”, created by Körner Union with the help of several dozen furry and feathered friends, has certainly left me feeling conflicted (“awww, those poor critters… OOOH, a living kaleidoscope!”) but I can neither stop watching, nor listening:
Sometimes, the less exposition the better. I’m pretty sure this is one of those times. Let me just say: if you watch this entire video, I can just about guarantee you’ll be wide fucking awake with elevated blood pressure and an increased heart rate by the end.
Good morning, good morning, GOOOD MOOOOORRRRRNIIIIING…
Oh… my. Wayne just memed my ass out with the most astonishing OMGWTFBBQ music video of the year. Imagine what might happen if the rennies spiked your mead with DMT at Medieval Times. It is Epic. It is Über.
Meet Chris Dane Owens. He is here to fuck you, amigo. Fuck you earnestly, somberly, savagely, without the courtesy of a reach-around. For he is Legolas on a meth binge. He is Limahl with brass balls. His “Shine on Me” video is the prodigious, tumescent, chain-mail-piercing, pirate-booty-plundering, Adobe After Effects-abusing, alligator-exploiting, stock footage-pillaging D&D Destructo Dildo to the insidious butt plug of Brokencyde’s “Freaxx”.
Keep watching. Don’t click away. Follow that sparkly green Gretsch all the way to the finish line. Take it to the hilt, paladin.
Forrest J Ackerman: literary agent, magazine editor, writer, actor, producer, archivist, curator, and so much more, too much to pack into a brief obituary. He was a crackpot visionary to the max, to be sure, and deeply loved by millions of fellow freakazoids the world over. Tip o’ the iceberg: he discovered Ray Bradbury, represented Isaac Asimov, Ed Wood and L. Ron Hubbard, founded Famous Monsters of Filmland and is widely acknowledged as the man who coined the term “sci-fi.”
Ackerman cultivated one of the most enormous private collections of science-fiction movie and literary memorabilia in the world, cramming his hillside “Ackermansion” with 50,000 books, thousands more science-fiction magazines, and such priceless collectibles as Bela Lugosi’s cape, actual Star Trek tribbles, and original props from War of the Worlds.
He sold off quite a bit of his collection back in 2002 and moved to a smaller place, but schedule permitting, continued to open his home to strangers every Satuday afternoon to view his remaining treasures. He greatly enjoyed sharing his many colorful stories and anecdotes with fellow Hollyweird aficionados. Speaking to the AP during a lively tour of the Ackermansion on his 85th birthday, Ackerman said “My wife used to [ask] ‘How can you let strangers into our home?’ But what’s the point of having a collection like this if you can’t let people enjoy it?”
After 9-11, that sick, sinking feeling many weary commuters experienced stepping onto a crowded NYC subway car was magnified by the MTA’s stentorian banner campaign, “If You See Something, Say Something.” Artist Caroline Woolard has found a delightful way to strip away the defensive layers of suspicion and dread that can accompany a subterranean commute, replacing default anxiety with spontaneous joy by crafting a backpack that transforms easily into a swing! Using 1000 mesh “L-train grey” cordura, webbing, sliders, hooks, velcro, and snaps, Woolard’s “bag swing” is fitted with sturdy straps that hook easily around the handrail of the subway:
Says Woolard: “I hope that the innocent amusement of swinging on the subway eclipses the current atmosphere of insulation and suspicion.”
Much of Woolard’s creative output seems to revolve around the idea that we should all strive to come into the moment, moving actively through the world rather than shuffling absently through it. Her emphasis on exploring pedestrian space and “cultivating everyday magic” in an urban environment encourages viewers (and participants) to reexamine their relationships with the overwhelmingly massive, immovable urban architecture they live in.
What is the relationship between play and revolution? Creating fissures in reality opens up the possibility for change: change in the everyday/monotonous routine, change in assumptions about ‘facts’, change in the world in general. The act of “making strange” allows a new perspective for reassessment and critique. Nothing is fixed and anyone can make the environment around them better.
Adventurous New Yorkers will definitely want to get on her email list.
Recently, presumably to take her site specific explorations a step further and be even more fully in the present, Woolard has stopped updating her art blog. “My projects are lived and may eventually lose any connection to Art…” In other words, she’s just doing it without defining it. “Many things are happening, but you must discover them in real time.” Bravo, Caroline.
Via the lovable guerilla art wunderkind SF Slim, thanks.
WOOOOOO!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! *hic* SHOW US YOUR KNICKERS!!!
Now, I know it’s quite early in the morning and some of us are still a bit hungover and as greasily stuffed as vat-fried Turduckens, but it’s time we all gathered ’round and sang happy birthday to our darling Nadya, the magical grrrlchild who brought this entire Coilhouse venture into being by sheer force of will, prescience, and love.
Yes, you already know that she’s an engaging writer who emits a quiet sagacity one would not necessarily expect from so young and doe-eyed a dear. You’re well aware that she’s a phenomenal photographer. But just in case we’ve not made it clear to you already?Nadya Lev is the reason Coilhouse exists. Were it not for our scrumptious mastermind, none of this would be here, and Nadya is the one who continues to hold it all together like a tiny, sexy tube of superglue. So take a moment to send her some whelping-day well-wishing, won’t you? I’m sure it’ll mean more to her than my questionable decision to pelt her with obscure indie spaz rock.
