Fair warning to any and all: This one will not be for everybody. In his film Immersion: Porn, shot for Wallpaper*, artist Robbie Cooper interviewed “active porn aficionados” and then recorded their faces as they masturbated to pornography. The end result is a number of straight and gay men and women describing how they discovered porn, their feelings about porn, why they watch porn interspersed with shots of their “O” faces. Wallpaper is quick to point out that “the film does throw up any number of questions about voyeurism and exhibitionism and makes clear the incredible nakedness of the solo sex act.”
I’ll most certainly agree with the latter half of that statement. There’s something unsettling about watching these people, completely removed from contact with another person as their faces twist and contort, seemingly comprised of half a dozen different facial expressions ranging from pain to fear, that we associate with pleasure. As for questions, I’m not so sure. It always strikes me with projects like this that the artist’s intent is so overbearing that I wind up searching for the specific question that I was meant to ask; and more often than not I cannot find it.
It seems to me that porn in and of itself raises plenty of questions without the help of any outside agents. America, as a country founded by people who banned Christmas, has plenty of incongruous and negative emotions tied up in its cultural attitudes toward sexuality. Those feelings of shame and guilt crashing up against the wall of animal impulse and desire is what makes pornography such a contentious subject. In that regard I suppose that makes the interviews like Kristin’s the most interesting in that she seems to reconcile her views of porn with actually viewing porn. Even if that means not really reconciling the two at all.
I met Larkin Grimm in the springtime: she and her band came over to my house for tea and stir-fry one sleepy afternoon during SXSW last March, after playing the Leafy Green showcase at Emo’s with Vetiver, Sleepy Sun and Kid Congo Powers. The next day, we bravely explored the chaotic, throng-clogged streets of downtown Austin, in search of late night Thai food and transcendent musical experiences. Luckily, we found both, and got to know each other during the hunt.
Photo by Ports Bishop.
Larkin Grimm is an elegant warrior, strong and tall and crowned with unruly ringlets. Her eyes change color, and her calm gaze penetrates even the most fortified defenses with a chthonic wisdom far beyond her 26 years.
Her legendary upbringing tends to precede her: she was raised in Memphis, Tennessee by devotees of the religious cult The Holy Order Of MANS. When she was six years old, her family moved to the Blue Ridge region of Georgia, where, as one of five children of folk musicians, she found herself largely left to her own devices. She was a wild mountain witch child who dropped out of public school at age ten, yet went on to attend Yale to study painting and sculpture. Nomadic by nature, she has rambled all over the world, learning healing arts in Thailand and engaging with entheogens with a shaman in the Alaskan wilderness. She taught herself how to sing and play music during these mind-expanding journeys, locked in dark rooms and deep in the woods, possessed by spirits. She recorded two experimental albums, Harpoon and The Last Tree, both of which were improvisational and intensely cathartic works.
The enchanting LarkinGrimm sings by the side of a lake. Shot and edited by Bow Jones.
After corresponding for years, Michael Gira (of Swans and Angels of Light) signed Larkin to his own Young God label, and was instrumental in the birth of her latest album, Parplar. In her own words regarding their time working together, “…he has this great ability to make me feel comfortable being my flamboyantly perverse Mary Poppins self, and the songs I’ve written under his whip are probably the best I’ve ever come up with, so I am super grateful for this time in my life.” Gira’s appraisal of Larkin captures her aptly:
Larkin is a magic woman. She lives in the mountains in north Georgia. She collects bones, smooth stones, and she casts spells. She worships the moon. She is very beautiful, and her voice is like the passionate cry of a beast heard echoing across the mountains just after a tremendous thunder storm, when the air is alive with electricity. I don’t consider her folk though — she is pre-folk, even pre-music. She is the sound of the eternal mother and the wrath of all women. She goes barefoot everywhere, and her feet are leathery and filthy. She wears jewels, glitter, and glistening insects in her hair. She’s great!
In a time when our culture seems to openly scorn –but secretly craves– magic, Larkin Grimm is an unashamed and forthright power to be reckoned with.
Photographer unknown.
Coilhouse: Listening to your first two albums (Harpoon and The Last Tree), I get the impression that there was something of a strange sea-change in both your music, and your mode of self-expression, kicking off with Parplar. It’s an incredibly powerful album, and it’s clear that you ventured to some fantastic other-worlds while making it. What was that process like? I’ve read that you recorded the album in a haunted mansion: did the ghosts put their two cents in?
Larkin: Well, my first album was incredibly strange. I was still thinking of myself as a visual artist and a noise musician at the time. I had no interest in songwriting back then. There were some elements of folk that came through, though, and on the second album I tried to explore my folk roots a bit, but still avoided song structure. The big change came when I met Michael Gira and we blew each other’s minds and there was a lot of excitement in our exchange of musical ideas. Michael would force me to sit down and listen to these tunes by Bob Dylan and Neil Young and The Beatles, all bands I avoided like the plague before.
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 Twilight tween. (Say that three times fast.) Fear us. Pity us. We are lost.
Somebody’s Daughter is the title anthem for a Christian-funded DVD/CD set, detailing the trials of five individuals attempting to escape the sweaty clutches of pornography. It’s a sweeping ode to innocence, childhood, and the endurance of the human spirit. It is also unaware that the thought of the young, nude, nubile nymphet fellating a dozen men simultaneously being somebody’s daughter is a turn on for some.
Watching this video one is immediately struck by the simplicity of the views expressed here. Certainly this is no surprise, after all one of the main draws of religion is the distinct separation of right and wrong. There is no room for a gray area where porn may not be manufactured using women enslaved by drugs or, perhaps, actual chains.
What’s more prevalent, however, is the 50s-era sensibilities on display. Maybe it’s the way the vocalist enunciates the word “flesh”, drawing out the first three letters before biting down on the last two, but one gets the sense that these people’s daughters don’t enjoy their sexuality and, if they do, then the least you and your filthy, filthy penis could do is refrain from encouraging them. And it certainly leaves no room for the existence of women who enjoy pornography, perhaps even pornography featuring somebody’s daughter.
More than that, though, I must return to the central premise; the idea that the object of one’s lustful desires is “somebody’s daughter” being a functional deterrent for men wishing to sit down with some porn and massage their genitals. The thinking here is presumably, “You have a daughter of your own, how does the thought of some other man massaging his genitals while viewing video of little Sally fisting a man in a rubber suit strike you?” Really, what is this video talking about here? Is it a serenade to the sanctity of our children’s innocence; the preciousness of their safety or merely the thinking that, if someone masturbates to images of my daughter, she has embarrassed me. If this was your daughter, what shame would it bring down upon you, her father? Wouldn’t it be terrible for you and your family if it was discovered that your daughter was a pornstar or a stripper?
OK, so about that interview with Ross the other day. Despite the fact that some of you seem to have found it amusing, we don’t do that sort of thing for shits and giggles. When we ask a man if he prefers sushi or tacos, we mean business. That, friends, was a Coilhouse job interview. And he’s hired. Ladies and gentlemen, put your tentacles together for our newest guest blogger, Ross Rosenberg!*
Few subjects are as tiresome to discuss in a public forum as politics. It is an arena which I make a concerted effort to avoid whenever possible. Indeed, should I have the urge to debate matters of a political bent I do it alone, in the privacy of my own cave. So devoted am I to the idea that I have cultivated a rather well-conceived alter ego; a personage of conservative persuasion who I merely call Dermot. This personality, combined with the hand-puppet I fashioned in secret just for these occasions, provides the perfect foil for my decidedly liberal views and many times I have debated, long into the night after everyone has retired for the evening, in a dual toned, hushed and angry whisper, subjects ranging from stem-cell research, to corn subsidies, to what I should have for breakfast.
The reason for disclosing this tedious and potentially embarrassing information is to assure you, dear readers, that I do not dwell wistfully on this area of our society; that I do not haunt the same vicious corners of the internet as the detestable and frail “political junkie”; and that I certainly do not watch C-Span.
“Raquel Welch is the rudest, most unprofessional actress I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with, and if I could, I would spank her from here to Aswan.” -James Mason, on working with Welch in the murder mystery flick The Last of Sheila.
Well, good MORNING. James Mason quote, meet Stroke Material tag! Go ahead and take a minute to visualize the sexily sinister three-time Academy Award winner taking Welch, undisputed Bikini Queen of the 20th Century, over his knee… preferably while you watch a few of Welch’s most VA VA VOOM performances available on YouTube. We’ll start things off with this 1970 clip of the astronomically hot Ms. Welch and two swishy spacemen dancing in the Ruta de la Amistad public sculpture project of Mexico City:
Moog-a-licious, no? The clip originally aired in Raquel Welch’s 1970 television special. Added bonus to the Barbarella bikini action: her killer Parisian Red Riding Hood steez in that latter number!
Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue: there’s a bit of everything on the “queer” Flickr set, which focuses heavily on vintage images of the gay movement. Gwen at Sociological Images makes some interesting observations about the 1970s protest image shown above:
Given that since the anti-gay-marriage Prop 8 passed in California in November, many people have argued that a) the African American community is particularly homophobic and voted against the bill (so it’s Black people’s fault Prop 8 passed) or b) gay rights organizations have failed to reach out to the African American community and win their support (so it’s elitist gay people’s fault Prop 8 passed), both positions that imply that gay rights and African Americans are at odds, I found this photo from Philadelphia (in 1972) particularly striking as a reminder that African Americans often did and do support gay rights, and the gay rights movement has often actively included them… oh yeah, and also there are gay Black people.
There’s some fantasy mixed in with reality in this Flickr set, too. The set owner tacks amusing observations onto a 1918 Navy recruitment poster, digs up some lurid pulp covers and includes a lot of maybe-queer vintage portraits side-by-side with ones that are undeniably genuine. The set’s a wealth of information, too. The photos are lovingly annotated, so that you can branch off and start learning more. We’re introduced to photographer Grace Moon, dancer Alvin Ailey, comedian Wanda Sykes, and many more. There are hundreds of sets like this all over the web, and I can’t say what drew me to this one in particular enough to blog about it. But I think it’s the warmth. There are so many images here of people who look genuinely happy to be together, a glowing tenderness that runs through almost all the images collected here. At the end of the week – after that horrible “Storm is Coming” anti-gay marriage ad here in the states, and the recent reports of a wave of homophobia-driven murders in Iraq – it’s important to remember that the fight is far from over.
Guys, there’s good news and bad news. Bad news first: our Coilhouse shirts just came back from the screen-printer, and we have a huge problem. The ink had not dried yet when they started folding them. There are smudged, silvery blobs all over all the shirts. O NOES! We don’t feel comfortable mailing these out, and we can’t afford to get another batch printed. With sincere apologies to everybody who ordered a shirt last month, we are unable to fulfill your orders at this time.
The good news is, everyone who ordered a shirt will instead be receiving a limited edition item from our upcoming line of sexytime-themed merch: this embossed tin of exclusive Coilhouse condoms! These actually cost more to manufacture than the shirts did, so you’re getting a great deal. The tin features the original Coilhouse poster child, Stratosphere Messenger, drawn by Zoetica. Our intrepid cyber swashbuckler is carrying a very important message to the boys and girls of Coilhouse: be safe! Use protection! Don’t end up like some people, because this is what will happen to you. Inform, Inspire, but don’t Infect!
I/I/I rubbers are just the first item from CH’s upcoming line of adult-themed swag, which will debut in conjunction with Issue 03. We know our hot readers are gettin’ some AND BY GOLLY, WE WANT TO BE A PART OF IT. We’re thrilled to offer you a line of products as stimulating as they are socially conscious.
Actually, this is all a subliminal plot to make you associate sex with Coilhouse, goading a Pavlovian impulse to buy every time we put out a new issue. Sshhh.
Make sparks fly with our Tesla Coil “Cog” Ring. Tickle your prostrate with the pointy end of one of our Ethics Butthurt anal plugs, (each inscribed with the most asinine comments from certain threads on this blog that just won’t die). We’re developing a line of silicone tentacle dildos, because hey, that’s one fetish we all seem to have in common, as well as restraints made from space age metals, absinthe-flavored latex dental dams, and Shibari bondage rope woven from hair harvested directly from Mer’s scalp.
This range is still being developed, and we’re taking requests. Please post suggestions for products we should carry in the comments. Sorry again about the shirts. We promise, what we’re mailing you instead will be much more fun to wear.
I’ll admit it was my not-exactly-inner lecherous 13 year old that initially prompted me to look up Watchmen the movie’s Silhouette. I’ve always loved this character’s look and story. From the Watchmen wiki:
Ursula Vandt was a Jew who left Austria to avoid the Nazis. In 1939, the Silhouette made the headlines after exposing a crooked publisher who was trafficking child pornography, as told in Hollis Mason‘s book Under the Hood. The article stated that she gave a punitive beating to the entrepreneur and his two lead cameramen. Later that year she read the ad in the Gazette asking for other masked adventurers to step forward, and joined the Minutemen shortly after. In 1946, the press revealed that she was living with another woman in a lesbian relationship, as Mason stated. Laurence Schexnayder persuaded the group to expel her to minimize the P.R. damage.
The actress playing Silhouette was so striking with her severe hair, shiny gloves and stiletto boots that I couldn’t help myself. Of course much of the credit for her perfect appearance should go to costume designer Michael Wilkinson, but the feline grace in every second of Silhouette’s brief screen time is definitely the actress’ own.
I suspected Slavic roots – those cheekbones don’t lie! As it turns out, Apollonia Vanova is a Slovakian immigrant currently residing in Vancouver. She’s also an opera singer, sculptor and a… Fitness model? Indeed. You might recognize her as the Wraith Queen from Stargate Atlantis – just one of a string of sci-fi and fantasy roles she’s played. Vanova has a degree in sculpture from Emily Carr Institute of Art and Design and uses everything from clay to leather, I just wish she had her artwork online! Looking forward for more from this lady, no matter what the medium might be.
Here are a couple of interviews, for those of you who are intrigued: 1, 2. And Michael Wilkinson has a behind the scenes video on his website, here. From the Entertainment Examiner interview:
Silhouette is never seen without a cigarette. While that is totally time and character appropriate, it is not exactly politically correct in this day and age. Any thoughts on that?
I have a cigarette in my hand.
Riffing off a recent explosion of “25 Things” Facebooky-type memes, 25 Things About My Sexuality is a juicy, mysterious new blog that compiles and posts the anonymous sexual confessions of its readers. Some of these entries are hilarious, many are heartfelt, some are absolutely heartbreaking. A few choice excerpts from various confessors:
I once came by licking toes in Greece.
Well into my twenties, every time I’d orgasm, I’d think, “THIS is the BEST orgasm I have EVER had! EVER! WOW!” Sometimes it still feels like that. I’ve grown to appreciate that there are many kinds of orgasms.
Because I am a virgin, every time I’m around a bunch of folks who start talking about sex, I start to panic. I’m a bad liar. I can’t fake my way through a conversation about sex, but I don’t want to come right out and tell folks that I’ve never been with anyone before. It’s just mortifying.
My first sexual crush ever was on Mr. Spock from Star Trek.
I love catching guys off guard with wildly inappropriate pick-up lines. “Your testicles. Hand them to me now.” “I had testicular cancer. See if you can guess which ball is fake. With your tongue.” “I saw you talking to (mutual friend) and I couldn’t help but wonder what your ass tastes like.” “You’re a creationist? Really? I want to debate evolution while inside you.” Those lines all worked.
Titillated? Intrigued? Feeling like ‘fessing? Send your list to [email protected]. No identifying information will be posted.
