A heads up to anyone with a hankering for some really fantastic “practical” steampunk worldbuilding and storytelling who isn’t yet familiar with FreakAngels: the first story arc of Warren Ellis and Paul Duffield’s groundbreaking webcomichas been collected in a scrumptious 144 page trade paperback. It’s available today in North America, and tomorrow in the UK and other territories. Meanwhile, all past installments of FreakAngels will remain online as a free serialized weekly. You can check them out, starting here.
As far as how it works: it’s the TV model. FreakAngels is free-to-air, but the eventual collected editions will cost money. I can watch pretty much any TV show I want, on the box or on the net, but for something I like, I’d rather have the complete DVD handy.
There will be many posts like this across the Web now and tomorrow and for weeks to come. This is just a minuscule speck of human experience, brought to you by the overwhelming pride I feel tonight. What I want to do is just say thank you. Thank you for restoring what little faith we dared to extend to our ailing country.
I spent tonight with my mother in a Russian restaurant, drinking pepper vodka and hoping. Trying to not think, trying to shake the jitters that woke me at 5am today and sent so many of us flying to the polls well before they opened. When the television showed us your power, it was almost instant – the tidal wave of joy. Just as I was saying I was afraid to believe it, the screaming started. Outside, on Santa Monica boulevard, right in the heart of boystown, people were cheering and car horns were going off in the most beautiful cacophony I’ve ever heard. Mom and I stepped outside to absorb it all, along with the cold night air. She turned to me in all that wind and noise to say: “Do you believe it now?”. I almost began to cry.
What happens next is uncertain. Whether Obama will come through, whether we will finally begin to heal – none of it is clear in this moment. All we do know is our fate has been changed profoundly. This was our chance to prove we have evolved and we didn’t blow it. So thank you – to everyone who cast aside their cynicism, to everyone who made their voice heard along with ours. History was made tonight and we can only hope our faith will be justified. Celebrate, people. You’ve earned that right today.
You can keep track of propositions’ progress here.
It’s a given: many of us will be prone to spontaneous fits of hysterical laughter and/or tears today. On that note, Amanda “Gams” Palmer has just released a grim-but-hilarious new music video promoting her solo album. Directed by longtime Dresden Dolls collaborator Michael Pope (a man who always manages to make micro-budget videos look like a million bucks), “Oasis” is a vicious little slice of tongue-in-cheek indie pop featuring Amanda as a ditzy teenage wastrel, producer Ben Folds as her stricken boyfriend, and various chums of Amanda’s as abortion clinic nurses and pro-life wingnuts. “Never again will you be able to see me get drunk, date-raped AND get an abortion ALL IN ONE VIDEO!” Appropriately, she’s dedicating it to Sarah Palin.
I have to say, I give major props to The Edison for opening its doors to various influences beyond the typical bar crowd. The Edison could’ve easily stayed a high-end bar for Hollywood Douchebags and done just fine financially, but instead it has, ever since it opened its doors almost two years ago in February of 2007, invited performance freaks (Lucent Dossier), film geeks (for the Jules Verne Film Festival), belly dancers, photographers and musicians into its midst. I cannot think of any place so fancy that’s so inclusive anywhere else in the US. There really is no place on Earth like the Edison. If you’re in LA, don’t take it for granted. And if you’re not in LA, this panoramic tour will give you a chance to experience it like never before.
Yeah… in Russia we had none of that Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey shit. Penned by Pushkin in 1833, the Russian version of the classic fairy tale, morbidly titled “The Tale of the DEAD PRINCESS and the Seven Knights,” had the princess living with seven “lusty” bogatyrs. I’m sure that many a girl who grew up with this fairy tale thought to herself, “yep, this is how life should be.”
Scanned for your viewing please are some illustrations from my childhood copy of this tale – a well-worn hand-me-down originally printed in 1970 and bought for 18 kopeks (that’s 10¢), with gorgeous illustrations done in 1954 by Tamara Ufa.
There are many similarities between the Russian version (full translation of the poem here) and version that most of us grew up with, including the poisoned apple and the glass coffin. One of the most interesting differences is there’s no kiss, a far cry from the one of the earliest versions of the tale, in which the princess is actually raped and abandoned by the prince, only to be awoken by newborn children. In the Russian version, the grief-stricken prince simply throws himself onto the coffin, and the shattering of the glass is what wakes the princess. Also, it’s interesting that the princess (or Tsarina, in Russian) doesn’t have a name. In fact, the only people in the story who have names are the Tsarina’s suitor, Prince Yelisei, and Smudge, the evil queen’s chambermaid.
There was also a 1951 cartoon by Ivan Ivanov-Vano, “patriarch of Soviet Animation”:
That’s right my dearest squidlings, if you’re in San Francisco tonight, it’s your chance to see our own Meredith Yayanos perform a special set with the only living mermaid herself, Dame Darcy. Held at Isotope Comics, APE Aftermath is the one party you don’t want to miss, sure to thrill and inspire.
Comics legend, artist, author, doll-maker, celebrity, musician. Is there nothing the amazing Dame Darcy can’t do? The Isotope will be celebrating the launch of Darcy’s new book Gasoline and she will be enthralling the masses with a massive live pickin’ show on the Isotope’s world’s highest stage.
See it all for yourselves at 326 Fell Street, at Gough. The show is to begin at 7pm, so don’t delay!
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.
I’m, yes, a bit obsessed with bowel-related advertising. I blame three things for this: the scary, sailor-suited Lilliputian Ty-D-Bol man of my youth; the fact that I grew up occasionally having to crap in outhouses (I’m the son of Appalachian Trail hillbillies); and IBS. Now that your mind’s in the shitter, let’s focus our attention on one of the most feared places in all the world: the toilet seat. Because that’s the focus of these extremely strange ads by Grey Hong Kong for Kiwi Kleen (a Sara Lee product!) toilet cleaner. The tagline is “because you never know who else has been sitting there.” That’s true if you carry a bottle KK with you to bars and such. But you almost certainly would know who’s been shitting there in your own home. Like say, above, if a Mexican wrestler stopped by to use the facilities? I know I’d make a mental note of it.
Frankly, I was unable to pull an explanation out of my ass for the second ad in the campaign. It appears to present a man in a bunny outfit eating a large carrot, while the nightmarish, through-the-looking-glass scenario is another man in a pig outfit eating a large rat. Go ahead, smarty-farty Coilhouse readers, give me a read on this. And then, jump for the third execution which makes the most sense of the three. It features the above/below combo of a dapper man and an unshaven, nose-picking woman. (images via Coloribus)
Wode, the revolutionary art fragrance from Boudicca explores further the myth around Queen Boudicca [or Boadicea]. Legend has it she and her tribe wore a cobalt blue paint on their skin that gave them a ferocious and mythical look when advancing into battle. When finally defeated by the Romans Queen Boadicea killed herself by swallowing hemlock, an extract of which is included in Wode. When Wode is sprayed a vibrant cobalt mist appears and settles on the skin and clothing. Whether touched or not the ‘Wode Paint’ begins to fade and disappears completely leaving the scent behind.
That’s the official story. However, after watching the painfully seductive concept video below, my imagination went entirely elsewhere.
Perhaps half-dreaming before my daily dose of caffeine, I was whisked away to another time, where countless mermaids were enslaved and sacrificed for a wicked queen. Something of a Countess Bathory, she soaked in their cobalt tears to gain a mystical quality that made her irresistible in every way. With each bath, her skin would glow an opalescent blue, her voice would hypnotize and her eyes would leave you breathless. Alas, the magical effects of the tear potion were short lived and the slaughtering of mermaids went on until none remained on Earth.
There was another, Hentai-friendly scenario, best left to your own imaginations. Now I will have my coffee and try to make peace with spending $200 on this beguiling squid spray.
If you’re in the UK, Wode can be acquired here, otherwise consult the stocklist for a purveyor near you.
Laurie Lipton’s work reminds me distinctly of two artists who terrified me as a child. There was my parents’ Brueghel book, in which Triumph of Death broke my brain at age 5, and my 3rd-grade discovery of Stephen Gammell’s ink drawings in Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. (Gammell also illustrated a children’s book about the Holocaust called Terrible Things, which I’ve never read, but the very idea of Gammell illustrating such a thing frightens me already.) Lipton’s hyper-detailed images of lace-wrapped ghost brides, gloating war profiteers and haunted dollhouses are mixed in with images of “ordinary” scenes such as this old man (or woman?) dining alone. In context of the other works (or perhaps, even by themselves), these images hold just as much mystery.
As if Lipton’s work isn’t scary enough, selecting images of hers for this post from her MySpace page led to the most uncanny ad moment of my distinguished internet-surfing career. Even without the corresponding image, the rectangle ad below looks more like an anorexia PSA or a Caryn Drexl photo, but finding it next to Lipton’s depressing Mirror, Mirror drawing takes it to a whole new level of creepy. Click here for the larger version. After seeing it on that one page, I never saw that ad again. Can internet ads become “possessed” by the content that surrounds them? Someone in Japan, make that movie, please.
