There is a decent read on MSNBC about the way our society’s ballooning vanity has affected the post-mortem beautification process. Example: “Silicone implants will explode [during cremation]. They’re like little bombs.” What actually gave me pause was the attached video.
“Everyone in Harlem knows I’m the guy that puts a smile on your face. Other places you just look.. dead,” says Isaiah Owens – owner of a Harlem funeral home. The video itself is a series of stills from his practice. He specializes in post-mortem sprucing, but we’re not just talking the usual wax and paint treatment. No, this man genuinely delights in making the deceased look as cheerful as possible. The slides show Owens romancing a cadaver with his magic until she smiles an almost-Giaconda smile.
There are no demure neutrals for the ladies here – hot pink nail polish, generous helpings of subdermal injections and blush are this man’s passion. Isaiah’s reputation is that of making the dead look better than the living. The funeral home’s website refers to his style at “panache” and calls Isaiah a “rare individual”. After listening to the voice over a few times I have to agree – Owens is invested. There is a touching sincerity to his voice as he describes his work, step by step. To him, death is a beautiful release from earthly pain and he’s helping the dead obtain proper presentation for what lies beyond. Also interesting is the broad array of names he gives the bodies: remains, ashes, people. Despite this dichotomy I find myself liking the way he talks about death and admiring his certainty about what it means and what comes next.
When I die, I want a modest ceremony: my brain [or soul, if you like] is to be transplanted into a superior shell and launched into space. For my body I want a shrine of candles and flowers, followed by a few weeks in a crystal coffin somewhere public and a Viking cremation with my ashes let loose over Moscow. For all the young breathers to choke on.
The future really is here! Not only do we have a black president, but Mattel has finally sanctioned a fishnet-wearing, corseted doll titled Goth Punk Barbie. Here she is. Goth. Punk. Barbie:
GPB (above, left) was released as a $70 collector’s item for Hard Rock Cafe, and makes quite a pair with Black Canary Barbie (right), a version of Barbie based on a comic character that drew fire from religious groups earlier this year for her BDSM appearance. But you know what? I like my Barbies in pink, frilly dresses. I like my Barbies to come with a miniature Easy-Bake Oven. I like my Barbies saying “Math is hard, let’s go shopping!” Because it makes it all the more satisfying to see shit like this:
However, my favorite products of a Barbie vivisection may be these classy adornments by artist Margaux Lange:
I love the idea of wearing little ears as earrings. So precious! Writes Lange, “Barbie has become the accessory instead of being accessorized. I take pleasure in the contrast and contradiction of something mass-produced being transformed and revealed as a unique, handmade, wearable piece of art.”
In the late 60s and eary 70s, the Rankin/Bass production company made a slew of endearingly hokey holiday-themed “Animagic” flicks that I’m just barely old enough to remember watching in early reruns. I couldn’t have been older than seven or eight when the popularity of such saccharine-injected TV specials as Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and The Year Without A Santa Claus had begun to wane. While I’m too sentimental to harsh on any of that star-studded, sticky-sweet fare, only one of their films has really stuck with me all these years later. Tellingly, that movie is Rankin/Bass’s Halloween special, Mad Monster Party, and it’s all MAD Magazine‘s fault.
Classic Mad Monster Party illustration by Frank Frazetta.
Let’s talk for one sec about MAD. Who here read it growing up? Who still does? If you did/do, I bet it’s high on the What Made You Weird list. Founded in 1952 by editor Harvey Kurtzman and publisher William Gaines, this last gasp of the EC Comics line remained one of the most consistently clever, intelligent, and merciless satirical publications in print until at least the late 90s.* Nothing was sacred and no one was safe. Founded at a time when aggressive censorship and Cold War paranoia muted the voices of activists and humorists alike, the broadly grinning face of MAD’s mascot, Alfred E. Neuman, was a cheerfully innocuous “fuck you” to authority, and has remained so for generations. Honestly, I could rant and rave about the importance of MAD for hours, but it’s Halloweenie time, so I’ll shaddup for now, at least.
So! Mad Monster Party. Kurtzman and longtime MAD cartoonist Jack Davis were very hands on in writing and conceptualizing this island of classic horror movie monsters, and it shows. Appropriately, Boris Karloff loaned his voice to the character Baron Frankenstein (his final role). Phyllis Diller basically plays herself in it, which is even creepier than it sounds. One guy I know has claimed that the redheaded, husky-voiced fembot lab assistant, Francesca, gave him his first boner. Obviously, MMP influenced the hell out of Tim Burton. Studded with Forrest J. Ackerman-worthy puns and ridiculous musical numbers –including the song “Do the Mummy” performed by a skeletal Beatlesesque quartet called Little Tibia and the Fibias– MMP is campy, witty, and surprisingly risque for children’s fare… I’m pretty sure this is the only kiddie film that’s ever ended with a mushroom cloud!
Whether you’re revisiting it for the umpteenth time or watching it for the first, I hope you’ll enjoy Mad Monster Party with me on this most darque and spookylicious eve of Goth Christmas.
*I haven’t read the magazine since the late 90s, so I couldn’t honestly say if the rag’s still in top form. A lot of folks have said Mad’s gone downhill since becoming dependent on ad-revenue in 2001. The publication had been ad-free for decades until that time (beginning with issue #33 in April of 1957). It was, by a long shot, the most successful American magazine that ever published ad-free, and of course, by staying independent of ad revenue, Mad was free to tear American culture’s less savory, more materialistic aspects endless new arseholes without ever having to answer to financiers.
So… Zo, Mer and I are in Issue 02 Deadline Hell. Posting’s slowed down until Issue 02 is sorted, with many thanks to our guest bloggers for keeping the fort. Later today, a very special post from copyranter involving Mexican food and toilet paper. For now, a quickie that I’ve been wanting to post for a long time: one of our paper dolls from the magazine’s back page (a tradition that will be carried over to Issue 02), fully dressed. For those of you who didn’t want to cut out the paper dolls but are still curious about how they look in their outfits, here’s 1 of 2, the lovely Juniper Fusion by artist Paul Komoda:
Photographer Chad Michael Ward is known for his visceral photos of haunted hospitals, evil girls with eyepatches and scary priests. Yet somehow, whenever he photographs Mother of London clothing, a completely different side of Chad emerges. All his Mother of London images are delicate and nostalgic, reminiscent in a way of of Paulo Roversi. Ward’s ethereal fashion sensibilities emerged strongly in his first Mother of London collaboration, a portrait of Chinagirl Lily, and appear again in this recent set with the stunning Bad Charlotte.
And yeah, the legendary neck corset in the picture above has made its rounds. I, for one, am never tired of seeing it! That piece manages to look like a completely different garment through every photographer’s lens. Here was my take on it, and here is Allan Amato’s. But this new shoot is not just about the older clothing; there is also a brand-new dress – revealed for the first time on Coilhouse! Behold – and beware of boobies after the jump.
How intricate a mechanism the body, how elegant the curvature of a clavicle! It’s no wonder so many artists find themselves inspired by the wondrous hidden framework of living creatures. Collected below, some curious work by three jewelers, adventurous artisans who believe in extending the life of anatomical construction well beyond the years of its original owners.
Fist up, Julia Deville. Miss Deville’s biography hints at an interesting character I’d love to have over for tea. She is a trained cobbler, silversmith and taxidermist enthralled with nature and its inner workings. Fusing these areas of expertise she created her line – Disce Mori. Inspired by Victorian mourning artifacts and jewelry, Julia’s beautiful website‘s dark clockwork theme is as entrancing as her pieces. Jet is paired with silver cast from animal bones among a selection of cuff links, buttonhole adornments and fob chains alongside necklaces and bracelets. Also here are less orthodox items – a brooch featuring a preserved mouse, for instance. Bold, yet far from costume fare, Disce Mori pieces are as timeless as they are macabre. The “Taxidermy” section is small, but shows a sense of humor with its “Kitten Rug” [exactly what it sounds like]. Viewing her works as reminders to enjoy the present, Julia makes a point to mention that the animals she uses have all died of natural causes.
Follow beyond the jump for two more purveyors of life-affirming adornments.
That’s us up there, around 2am on Sunday morning, jaws stiff from smiling all night. We have you to thank, really – we couldn’t have expected a better turnout. An estimated 300+ people showed up throughout the evening. Familiar faces mixed with new ones, we welcomed several Issue 01 contributors and were delighted to finally meet some of you, as well.
Of course the night wasn’t without its challenges. Mer’s theremin got possessed during setup, Zoetica lost some skin executing parkour moves while jumping 12 feet from her roof onto a balcony during a lock jam emergency, Nadya’s hair interfered with the wireless connection, briefly. No matter, it was all ultimately worth it. The lemonade flowed electric, theremin music filled the air, the strawberries and meringues were sweet, the guests were plenty.
As promised, one of the chief attractions was our photo booth. Filled with Zo and Mer’s prized instruments, toys and inexplicable objects, it attracted a steady stream of thrill-seekers. Light-master Drew and soul-portraitist Lou, our esteemed photo-agents, put forth a herculean effort, the abundant results of which are on display on Flickr for your viewing pleasure.
LastNightsParty.com: Images 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 (the rest are not from the party & NSFW)
If your picture’s up here, feel free to identify yourself in the comments! Likewise, if you took or know of any other images from the evening, do share. Beyond the jump, just a few of our favorite portraits.
I used to work as a receptionist at a chiropracter’s office. I was in it for the swag: spine keychains (used for assembling an elaborate multi-tiered choker necklace), spine lamps (OK, ours weren’t as cool as the Mark Beam version), and one incredible metallic spine chair that looked like it belonged at a Giger bar… which I coveted, but never got to own. Discovering Bjorn Johansson’s lovely spine-inspired letters on the beautiful I Love Typography blog this morning took me back to those glory days.
It’s not a full font, just the designer’s experiment for creating type. Like my Becher font experiment, only a few letters exist. It wonderful to one day see them all. It would look nice paired with Value Pack, don’t you think?
It’s nice to see that “weird shit” is back in style. Above, the latest from last week’s Christian Lacroix haute couture show in Paris (via parlour). Although there were no uniformly mind-blowing collections, there are a few choice pieces here and there, including this 20s-meets-the-future ensemble by Galliano (and from that same collection, these evil-looking shoes!), as well as this sexy number from Chanel. In truth, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before, but that doesn’t make it any less pleasant to behold.
However, the one designer who’s truly been kicking ass this year is handsome devil Gareth Pugh (previously here). What I love most about his Autumn/Winter 2008 collection is the texture. I bet wearing his stuff feels like being a piece of origami. And I have a feeling he’s only getting started. Go, Garteth, go!
Deformed ribs, fainting rooms and OMGDRAMAZ – why should ladies have all the fun? Men wear corsets too! Male corsetry was first popularized in Regency England by Beau Brummell, the original dandy – a man who polished his boots with champagne. Here he is in his pre-insane-from-syphilis days, sporting abs of whalebone. “Sixpack? Don’t need one.”
There’s been a spectacular revival of dandy style in fashion magazines and on the runway, but it’s not until now that I’ve seen a strong new take with a darker tone. Photographer Peter Ashworth (previously mentioned here) recently collaborated with designer Stefán Orschel-Read (who also models in the shoot) to create Orschel-Read’s A/W fashion lookbook, “Mourning for Orlando” – a series that, at various turns, perfectly marries dandy and deathrock. My favorite images are of the streamlined corset/jacket combo; I imagine Mr. Pearl would approve! The collection includes a wider array of unusual pairings, including geisha, punk, Baroque, and, amazingly, the 70’s leisure suit. How do they all combine? See for yourself.
