Friday, December 31, 2010

Watch “A History of Horror with Mark Gatiss” on Psychobabble

Psychobabble has long had a soft spot for British actor Mark Gatiss because of his role in Steve Coogan’s adoring Hammer Horror tribute “Dr. Terrible’s House of Horrible” and Julia Davis’s macabre comedy “Nighty Night”. Soft spot turns to full-on crush as Gatiss presents “A History of Horror with Mark Gatiss”, which debuted on BBC Four last October. Gatiss reveals himself to be “totally crackers over horror films” in this superb multi-part documentary series in which he pores over an “unashamedly selective” handful of classic horrors. Fortunately, Gatiss’s taste is beyond reproach, beginning with Chaney’s Phantom of the Opera to cover Universal’s Golden Age before moving on to Hammer’s reign and beyond. He takes archival journeys that unearth Chaney’s original make-up kit complete with the life cast of his own head he used to develop his creations, the oversized phony bat from Browning’s Dracula, and other treasures. He also chats with such horror luminaries as John Carpenter, Barbara Steele, recently deceased Gloria Stuart, and Carla Laemmle, niece of Universal head Carl Laemmle and bit player from Phantom and Dracula. Watch episode 1, “Frankenstein Goes to Hollywood”, in its (near) entirety below. The episode is divided into four parts, the last of which couldn’t be embedded.



Thanks to Zombo’s Closet of Horror for turning me on to this excellent doc!



















Watch Part 4 here.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Psychobabble’s 2011 Wish List

1. Island of Lost Souls on DVD

Generally considered the greatest adaptation of H.G. Wells’s The Island of Dr. Moreau, Island of Lost Souls (1933) has never received an official US DVD release for reasons that aren’t entirely clear. The reason certainly can’t be lack of interest since this is one of the most demanded unavailable horror classics. Rumors abound that Universal, Paramount, and Criterion have considered releasing the film, yet we’re still stuck with inferior VHS copies if we want to thrill to Charles Laughton as Moreau, Bela Lugosi as the Sayer of the Law, and Kathleen Burke as Lota the Panther Woman. The wait for this DVD has been a torture worthy of the House of Pain.



2. The Best of the Cool Ghoul

I’m too young to have ever seen Zacherley hamming it up on “Shock Theater”, the late-night horror-movie program he hosted in the ‘60s that introduced my dad to The Cool Ghoul’s brand of horrific humor. While Spook Along… remains available, there is precious little documentation of his TV work. I would love to see some sort of “Best of Zacherley” collection make its way to DVD. During its earliest days, television was not as enamored of its own history as it is today, so there’s a good possibility that such footage was never archived. If it was, this would be a terrific project for a groovy re-issuer of classic TV, such as Shout! Factory. Start writing your letters, cool ghouls!



3. The Rolling Stones Anthology

My memory might be failing me (as it often is), but I seem to recall rumors of some sort of “Rolling Stones Anthology” project along the lines of “The Beatles Anthology” around the time the Stones’ ‘60s catalogue was refurbished in 2002. I’d need a vat to contain my drool if ABKCO or Universal or whoever green-lit a multi-part documentary of the group accompanied by a series of nicely mastered sets of the band’s best unreleased material. And there is a lot of it, kids: titles such as “Diddley Daddy”, “I Can See It”, “Highway Child”, and “Living in the Heart of Love” are as well-deserving of release as any of the oddities on the Beatles Anthology albums. The Stones’ 50th Anniversary is approaching in 2012, so 2011 would be a good time to get a jump on such an involved undertaking.



4. The Rolling Stones’ Remaining Unreleased UK LPs and EPs

Less ambitious but no less necessary than a “Rolling Stones Anthology” is the release of all though Stones LPs and EPs on CD that did not happen in 2002. For reasons beyond me, The Stones’ debut album, The Rolling Stones No. 2, the UK versions of the “Big Hits” albums, and their two EPs, The Rolling Stones and Five by Five, have never been issued on CD. This is a real shame since No. 2 and the “Big Hits” are considerably different from their US counterparts. Just a month ago, remasters of these records were included in the limited edition Rolling Stones 1964-1969 vinyl box set, so the heavy work is obviously done. Now all we need is for them to gain release individually on CD. Come on, ABKCO, it’s not like they won’t sell.



5. The Big TNT Show on DVD

The first official release of the great 1964 concert film The TAMI Show was one of the most high-profile DVD reissues of 2010. Although TAMI—with its spectacular performances by James Brown, The Rolling Stones, Marvin Gaye, The Beach Boys, and a multitude of others—is obviously the greater film, its follow up, The Big TNT Show (1966), is no heap of jive either. Ray Charles, The Byrds, The Ronettes, Bo Diddley, The Ike & Tina Turner Revue, The Lovin’ Spoonful, and Donovan were on the roster to present the year’s best in pop, folk, R&B, and R&R, all with Phil Spector producing. So let’s get a spiffy remaster of this one on the streets in 2010, Shout! Factory. I promise I’ll even pay for it.



6. Deluxe Editions of The Who’s A Quick One and Odds and Sods

After being remixed in the ‘90s, The Who’s back catalogue finally started to receive more respectful treatment this past decade when double-disc deluxe editions of My Generation, Sell Out, Tommy, Live at Leeds, and Who’s Next presented some of the band’s greatest albums in superior fidelity but with their original mixes (mostly) intact. But why stop there? With the recently released, 40th Anniversary, 4-disc box set of Live at Leeds, the Powers That Be are already backtracking when they could be putting together deluxe editions of the others. We Who fans are also desperately in need of a deluxe edition of Odds and Sods that reinstates the original running order, includes a mix of “Under My Thumb” that actually includes Pete’s guitar solo and a mix of “Postcard” with Entwistle’s original bassline, and gives us all those tracks that did not make it onto the ‘90s rereleases: the superior versions of “I’m a Boy” and “The Magic Bus” from Meaty, Beaty, Big, & Bouncy; the non-Pete B-sides “Here for More”, “Wasp Man”, and “When I Was a Boy”; and ideally, never released Who tracks that may or may not exist, such as “Do You Want Kids, Kids?” and “Mary”. That would make my year.



7. A Damned biography

How has there never been a proper biography of The Damned, one of the foremost UK punk bands of the ‘70s, the band that gave the genre its first 45 and LP, helped spark the Goth movement of the ‘80s, and continues to tour and release good records in the present? They were hilarious, anarchic even by the standards of the ever-overrated Sex Pistols (who’ve been the subjects of countless biographies), and made incredible records— never mind Bollocks, Damned, Damned, Damned, Machine Gun Etiquette, The Black Album, and Strawberries are all infinitely better. Plus, Dave Vanian, Rat Scabies, Dave Vanian, and the rest were and are fascinating, engaging, colorful personalities. The liner notes in The Damned’s CDs provide a nice overview of the guys’ career, but some writer needs to finally give them their just respect and tell their tale in a much more complete fashion.



8. Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me with deleted scenes

Some predict they will never be released, some contend that they no longer exist at all, but the possibly feature-length glut of deleted scenes from Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me are David Lynch’s fans’ lost city of gold. As the oft-told story goes, Lynch cut scenes featuring beloved “Twin Peaks” characters—such as Sheriff Truman, Ben and Jerry Horne, Josie Packard, Lucy, Andy, Hawk, and Pete Martell— from the film to keep the “Last Seven Days of Laura Palmer” plot more on target and to better maintain the film’s intense, grim tone. He made the right decision, but we’d still love to see all of those deleted scenes included as bonus footage on a spruced-up FWWM DVD. Lynch is holding out for the funding to master and score those scenes the right way, so Peaks Freaks have been waiting as patiently as we can for about a decade now. I’d say the 2008 “Lime Green” box set, which includes most of Lynch’s work up until Fire Walk With Me and a ton of bonus material that includes similarly lengthy deleted footage from Wild at Heart, is just about due for a sequel focusing on the second half of the man’s career and including those deleted scenes from FWWM.



9. New David Lynch movie

Greedy I may be, but I won’t be satisfied with just those deleted scenes. Four years have passed since the release of Lynch’s last feature film, Inland Empire. During that time he has been generous with the meditation seminars and the coffee and the books and the music and the documentaries and the weather reports, but the thing for which fans are surely longing more than anything else is another movie. With Inland Empire Lynch got acquainted with shooting on digital video while piecing together a vast, demanding, experimental work of art. I likes art just fine, and Inland Empire is one of my favorite films of the past decade, but I’d love to see how Lynch would use DV in the context of a more straight-forward work, such as Blue Velvet or Mulholland Drive (we’re talking “straight-forward” relative to his body of work, of course). Naturally, I’d be perfectly happy with another avant garde experiment. Just gimme something, Dave! Gimme gimme gimme! If you haven’t been able to tell yet, that’s pretty much the theme of this list.



So what Retro-Rock and Horror happenings would you like to see in '11?

Thursday, December 23, 2010

And All Through the House...

Well, evil elves, the holiday season has descended upon us like some massive, garishly decorated bird of prey once again (in the case of most department stores, it descended sometime around mid-August). One might think the season of good-will-toward-men (just men? Typical) is anathema to the ghouls, gremlins, and sundry grotesques lurking in the Psychobabble vaults. But then one would be wrong. Psychobabble is a big fan of the season’s lights and tinsel, if not all that Jesus stuff. And though the December holidays may not offer the monstery delights of Halloween season, they are not exactly devoid of scares. Just take a look at A Christmas Carol. Lest we forget, Dicken’s deathless tale is actually quite frightening. At its heart, A Christmas Carol is the story of an old crab terrorized by a bevy of ghosts, who threaten him with nothing less than an early death if he doesn’t get with the hall decking. The better adaptations, such as Brian Desmond Hurst’s 1951 version with Alistair Sim as miserly Scrooge or Clive Donner’s 1984 take starring George C. Scott, embrace the story’s horror elements readily. I took in the Donner version for the first time in twenty or so years recently and was surprised by how chilling its overall air of gauzy decay and its depictions of Jacob Marley and The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come remained. Even The Ghost of Christmas Past, played with withering detachment by Angela Pleasence—daughter of classic horror mainstay Donald!—creeped me out. The film is only missing the terrifying sequence from Dicken’s novella in which Scrooge looks out his window to see a tormented torrent of tortured phantoms in the snow.
                                     Creepy Angela Pleasence being creepy.

There have been a number of other feature length holiday horror films, ranging from the genuinely creepy (1974’s Black Christmas) to the delightfully deranged (1984’s Gremlins) to the out-and-out campy (1980’s Christmas Evil) to exploitative, slice-‘em-up-Santa shit (1984’s Silent Night, Deadly Night). The latter genre actually has its roots in one of the season’s best fusions of sleigh bells and slay hells. “And All Through the House” appeared in the February/March 1954 issue of The Vault of Horror. Johnny Craig’s tale of an escaped psycho in a Santa suit is unusually layered for an E.C. comic.



Most such stories would give us one weapon-wielding loony, but Craig cleverly made the stalkee a housewife who committed her own murder just moments before evil Santa closes in on her house, threatening her and her daughter. It’s among the most memorable stories in E.C.’s all-too brief history, so memorable that it was treated to two direct adaptations. The first of these appeared in Freddie Francis’s superb 1972 portmanteau, Tales from the Crypt, and starred Joan Collins as the housewife double-tasked with disposing of her husband’s freshly killed corpse and avoiding Saint Nick’s crazy clutches.



Even better is the version that appeared in the debut three-part episode of HBO’s “Tales from the Crypt”, which may be the series’ best half hour. Director Robert Zemeckis gives us a more shadowy environment and a more monstrous Santa (the wonderfully weird Larry Drake), as well as the authentically gorgeous X-mas tableau that opens the episode, only to be wickedly and ironically shattered by its first murder. Zemeckis’s ex-wife Mary Ellen Trainor does a terrific job as the frazzled housewife, especially when she loses her shit in the episode’s concluding moments. Holiday horrors get no better: (Sorry, the first part of this episode was unavailable on You Tube):



Happy Horrordays!

Monday, December 20, 2010

The 10 Best Old Horror Movies That Were New to Psychobabble in 2010

I may purport myself to be some sort of authority on classic horror movies, but in reality, there are lots and lots and lots of them I’ve never seen. Nevertheless, I’m happy to say that I’m still discovering great old flicks that are new to me, whether I’ve long heard about them but have yet to give them a look-see or I’d never even been aware of their existences. Here are the ten finest retro Monster Movies that were new to me in 2010*, presented in terrifying chronological order...

*3% new material!

1. I Was a Teenage Werewolf (1957- dir. Gene Fowler Jr.)

When I was a kid, the image of Michael Landon with his facial pompadour, bucky fangs, and letterman jacket as Tony the Teen Werewolf glowered back at me from many a library book about monster movies. But that was as close as I could come to seeing the movie because it almost never played on TV. It still remains unissued on DVD, so it has taken me about thirty years to finally hunt down the movie often used to illustrate the junk proliferating drive-ins after the end of horror’s 1930s/1940s golden age on You Tube. No one is going to argue that I Was a Teenage Werewolf is a work of monstery art on the level of Bride of Frankenstein or Mamoulian’s Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but as far as ‘50s drive-in junk goes, it’s top-drawer stuff. Tony is a sullen rebel-without-a-cause getting heavy slabs of jive from his high school peers, his perky blonde girlfriend, and the fuzz. A possible cure to Tony’s teenagerness arrives in the form of geeky shrink, who employs a radical treatment of hypnotherapy and hypodermic drugs to stop Tony from obsessing about fighting and fucking. But it backfires, and in a nutso departure from the usual mythology, the treatment causes Tony to transform into a murderous teen wolf. Landon brings a disarmingly complex combo of unruly darkness and little-boy vulnerability to the hormonal lycanthrope. The music and daddy-o dialogue are a hoot, and the wolf make-up is memorably cheesy, but the film avoids diving into the camp deep end.



2. Jigoku (1960- dir. Nobuo Nakagawa)

This very early Japanese horror film takes a while to reveal it’s horrificness, but once it does… yow! Shigeru Amachi plays Shirô Shimizu , a theology student with the worst luck in the world, starting with his involvement in a tragic hit-and-run accident. The supernatural element of the film’s opening half is limited to a general air of uncanny unease and an encounter with a doppelgänger. In the second half, Shirô has his own fatal encounter, after which he is demoted to Hell where he is set loose in a surreal, disorienting, grotesque environmental straight out of the right-hand panel of Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights. Jigoku is a masterpiece of horrifically graphic images and mesmerizing artistry.



3. Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors (1965- dir. Freddie Francis)

Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors is the horror portmanteau that launched Amicus Productions’ legacy as the home of horror portmanteaus. On board the terror train are Hammer all-stars Christopher Lee, Michael Gough, and Peter Cushing as tarot-reading Dr. Terror. Donald Sutherland’s along for the ride, too. The five tales feature a werewolf that sleeps in a coffin like Dracula (dull but decent ending), a murderous plant (decent but dull ending), a voodoo god who takes vengeance on a thieving jazz musician (Great music! Great fun!), a killer disembodied hand with designs on Lee (not bad), and a sexy vampire who shacks up with Sutherland (Terrific twist!).



4. Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny, and Girly (1970- dir. Freddie Francis)

Mumsy, Nanny, Sonny, and Girly is another terrific film from Freddie Francis, yet one that couldn’t be more different from Dr. Terror’s House of Horrors. This demented British satire about a murderous family reminded me a lot more of the B-classic Spider Baby, but the sardonically sugary tone is straight out of one of the nursery rhymes school kids Girly and Sonny cackle incessantly at their victims. The portrayal of the breakdown of the 1950s nuclear-family ideal is amusingly gleeful, but the movie works best on face value as a series of intriguing and deadly games between the crazed family and their latest acquisition.



5. The Vampire Lovers (1970- dir. Roy Ward Baker)

Hammer screams “Fuck it… bring on the boobs!” from the mountaintops with its first full-on, unapologetic fusion of sexploitation and vampiresploitation. You know you’re in for a non-stop boob fest when the recently departed Ingrid Pitt gets top billing. Fortunately, Pitt transcends that limited image with her energetic presence and committed acting. She plays a lusty vampiress who goes around biting and bedding everyone in sight. Well, everyone but Peter Cushing. That would be gross. The depiction of a predatory lesbian vampire is homophobic, but Pitt plays her with such humanity that she earns our empathy much more so than her vacant-eyed victim, whom she genuinely seems to love. Hammer execs probably would have been happy if The Vampire Lovers was nothing more than a static shot of cleavage for 90 minutes, yet it still manages to house all the atmosphere, color, production values, and fangy fun that made the studio great in the first place. In fact, with its black and white inserts, imaginative use of shadows, and fine sound design, The Vampire Lovers is more aesthetically creative than most Hammers. Check it out; then check out the brilliant parody “Vampire Lesbian Lovers of Lust” from Steve Coogan’s series “Dr. Terrible’s House of Horrible”.



6. Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires (1974- dir. Roy Ward Baker)

Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires is a blast, an audacious blend of two totally distinct yet totally different genres. In the Hammer horror corner we have a black-caped Dracula, striking color, strident music, and Peter Cushing as Van Helsing. In the chopsocky corner we have a longhaired Kung Fu master, nonstop hand-to-hand combat, and some requisite bad dubbing (although, in this case, it is a perfectly sensible plot device). The interracial romances are unexpected in an early 70s B-movie such as this—and quite refreshing. I bet this movie gives Quentin Tarantino a boner.



7. Let Sleeping Corpses Lie (1974- dir. Jorge Grau)

Let Sleeping Corpses Lie is kind of a precursor to more contemporary cheeky zombie flicks like Shaun of the Dead and Black Sheep. It definitely seems to have influenced those two movies, not just in setting and humor (although it’s not a comedy), but in its emphasis on character over killing. The cast of potential victims includes a wiseass rogue, a creepy photographer, a bastardly police detective, a junkie, and her pretty sister. Much fresher and more satisfying than most of the zombie movies that seem to plague cinemas on a near weekly basis these days.



8. Hausu (1977- dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi)

After Toho, the studio responsible for all those terrifically cheesy Godzilla movies, approached Nobuhiko Obayashi about making a Japanese answer to Jaws, the advertising filmmaker took a rather novel approach. He recalled seven of his school-age daughter’s worst fears and crammed them into a haunted house movie that plays like Suspiria reimagined by Sid and Marty Krofft. A severed head flies from a water well and bites a schoolgirl on her bottom. A piano consumes human flesh and disembodied fingers pound on its keys. A girl gets into a kung-fu brawl with some firewood. A cat’s eyes glimmer with cartoon sparkles. And there isn’t a single shark in sight. The film plays out with the logic of a weird dream, so don’t go looking for a plot. The scares are on the level of those in Wizard of Oz, which means they will be particularly effective for youngsters even as kids of all ages recognize how disturbing some of the occurrences in Hausu are. The special effects are non-stop, ranging from primitive video manipulation to “How the Hell did they do that?” magic, as evidenced by those ivory-tinkling fingers. You may step out of Hausu scratching your head, but you surely won’t step out bored.



9. The Changeling (1980- dir. Peter Medak)

The Changeling begins as if it’s going to be a moody exploration of grief along the lines of Don't Look Now, but it shakes that off pretty quickly and gets down to being a less emotionally complex but still very good ghost story/murder mystery. The picture begins with composer John Russell’s (George C. Scott) wife and daughter getting calzoned by a big truck. Four months later he moves into a creepy old mansion where he intends to start writing music again but gets sidetracked by a ghost he thinks will give him information about his lost loved ones. The Changeling takes some rather interesting twists during its fourth quarter. I particularly liked the wronged ghost, which behaves in a far less passive manner than most wronged ghosts do in contemporary wronged ghost stories.



10. The Monster Club (1981- dir. Roy Ward Baker)

The Monster Club, a remorselessly silly portmanteau based on the stories of R. Chetwynd Hayes, is also remorselessly delightful. John Carradine plays Hayes and Vincent Price is a vampire in the goofy wraparound story set in a nightclub stocked with dancers in rubber monster masks and a surprisingly good line-up of pop acts, including Psychobabble favorites The Pretty Things! Price narrates a trio of quite good tales about a beauty and the melancholy beast who loves her, a boy who learns his dad’s a vampire, and a movie director who provides sustenance for a village of ghouls. The makeup budget is three dollars; the nonstop fun is priceless. Plus the animated skeleton striptease is a gas.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Farewell, Don Van Vliet

Long suffering from multiple sclerosis, Don Van Vliet died yesterday at the age of 69. As Captain Beefheart and leader of the Magic Band, Van Vliet laid down one of the skankiest, fattest, most eclectic blues-rock records of the ‘60s with Safe as Milk before following the more avant garde muse that led to him recording the album for which he is best known. With its crazed structures, cartoonish lyricism, and freaky fusion of Rock & Roll, blues, and free jazz, Trout Mask Replica (1969) has to be the most demanding record widely regarded as a Rock classic. He continued recording with the Magic Band through 1982 before retiring from music to pursue expressionistic art. Van Vliet left behind an incomparable legacy that influenced artists ranging from John Lennon to Tom Waits to PJ Harvey.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

CBGB's Biopic on the Way

According to Wikipedia, the criteria for designating a national historic landmark is as follows:

· Sites where events of national historical significance occurred;
· Places where prominent persons lived or worked;
· Icons of ideals that shaped the nation;
· Outstanding examples of design or construction;
· Places characterizing a way of life; or
· Archeological sites able to yield information

Assuming we can agree that its infamously and literally shitty bathroom could be considered some sort of “outstanding example of design or construction,” CBGB’s, the primordial scuzz hole that birthed up the most important musical movement of the ‘70s, fulfills every criterion on this list. That still wasn’t enough to convince former Secretary of the Interior Gale Norton to designate the club a national historic landmark. Yet another reason to despise the Bush administration. Hilly Kristal’s punk Mecca closed for business on October 15, 2006. Dead but not forgotten, CBGB’s will soon be the subject of yet another of those Rock biopics that seem to get announced on a near weekly basis.

The yet untitled film will follow Kristal’s opening of the club originally intended to service those in need of a little country, blues, and bluegrass, and it’s inevitable metamorphosis into the venue where Talking Heads, The Ramones, Television, Richard Hell and the Voidoids, The Dead Boys, Blondie, and countless others broke out. The movie is to be produced by the Randall Miller & Jody Savin, the team also responsible for a Dennis Wilson biopic called The Drummer scheduled for release in 2011. First-time director Savin plans to begin shooting the CBGB’s film this coming summer.

Read more about this upcoming project at Hollywood Today.net.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Review: 'Vampire Circus' (1972)

Unable to compete with the more sophisticated chills of films such as Rosemary’s Baby, Hammer Studios high-dived into high camp in the ‘70s. The new Hammer got off to a ripping start with the Ingrid Pitt vehicle The Vampire Lovers in 1970. Within a couple of years Britain’s greatest producer of lush monster movies had fallen into a comfy groove for better or worse with stuff like Countess Dracula, Blood from the Mummy’s Tomb, Dr. Jekyll and Sister Hyde, Dracula AD 1972, and Vampire Circus. The latter film finally makes its DVD debut today, and it’s one of Hammer’s goofiest. Studio execs must have given screenwriter Judson Kinberg three specifications: lots of sex, lots of blood, vampire circus. Kinberg then dashed off the script in 45 minutes.



The plot is thinner than milk stew: a band of circus performers take revenge on a village where a vampire had been put to death fifteen years earlier. There are some pretty far-out sequences swimming around that spindly storyline: a woman screws a vampire while her daughter’s bloody corpse lies a few feet away, the circus presents the villagers with such acts as a totally naked woman simulating sex with a lion tamer and a guy removing a mask that looks like a painted face to reveal his actual painted face, and an absolutely ridiculous-looking fake panther gets shaken around a bit to create the illusion it’s chomping someone to death. The performances vary in their levels of hysteria, Thorley Walters emerging triumphant with his portrayal of the wackadoo Burgermeister with Anthony Corlan coming in second as the eye-rolling vampire/panther man, Emil. Adrienne Corri of A Clockwork Orange gets top billing, even though she brings little to the film aside from a perpetually shiny puss in dire need of a good powdering. The film does a fine job of delivering a pleasing quantity of silliness and phony baloney gore, but it never rises above camp because it lacks characters worth caring about. The Vampire Lovers had that, thanks to a memorable performance from the recently departed Ingrid Pitt, plus an all-you-can-eat banquet of campy gore and silly fun. It’s a better use of your 90 minutes than Vampire Circus, but Hammer completists still shouldn’t miss either of them.



The new Vampire Circus disc is a blu ray/standard DVD combo that includes lots and lots of bonus business: a new documentary, a retrospective on circus/carnival themed horror productions, a retrospective on the British horror/comic publication Gallery of Grotesqueries, a poster and stills gallery, and a Vampire Circus interactive comic book. All that sounds good, but I can’t say for sure because I only saw the movie using Netflix’s “watch instantly” option. Find out for yourself by buying Vampire Circus on Amazon.com here.

Monday, December 13, 2010

The Ten Best Old Albums That Were New to Psychobabble in 2010

I may purport myself to be some sort of authority on classic Rock & Roll, psych, pop, and punk records, but in reality, there are lots and lots and lots of them I’ve never heard. Nevertheless, I’m happy to say that I’m still discovering great old albums that are new to me, whether I’ve long heard about them but have yet to give them a spin or I’d never even been aware of their existences. Here are the ten finest retro-rock records that were new to me in 2010, presented in glorious chronological order...

1. We Are Ever So Clean by Blossom Toes (1967)



Having long read about We Are Ever So Clean, a real cult favorite of British psychedelia, I was a bit disappointed on first listen. “When the Alarm Clock Rings”, which concludes Rhino’s Nuggets II box set, was all I knew from Blossom Toes prior to hearing their only LP, so I was a bit taken off guard by how thoroughly daffy, and often cacophonous, it is. I’m glad I gave the record a number of additional spins. Now it sounds perfectly conceived, and that includes the more insane tracks, such as the borderline grating “The Remarkable Saga of the Frozen Dog” and “Look at Me I’m You”, which sounds like William Burroughs diced up the master tapes of Revolver, and reassembled them willy nilly. Still, the album’s best songs are its most straightforward. There’s the rousing “When the Alarm Clock Rings”, “I’ll Be Late For Tea”, a marvelous Kinks pastiche that fuses that band’s early heaviness with their mid-‘60s pastoralism, the groovy “Telegram Tuesday”, “What’s It For”, with its chugging cellos, and the Move-esque “I Will Bring You This and That”. Definitely the psychedelic find of the year.

“I’ll Be Late For Tea”



2. Pandemonium Shadow Show by Harry Nilsson (1967)



I probably wouldn’t have given Harry Nilsson his fair shake if my friend and occasional collaborator Jeffrey Dinsmore hadn’t insisted I do so. I like “Everybody’s Talkin’” and “Coconut” (more because it was used to great effect at the end of Reservoir Dogs than anything else) well enough, but “Daddy’s Song” and “Cuddly Toy” are not among my favorite Monkees songs and “Without You” makes me barf. Because Jeffrey was a former Nilsson skeptic, himself, I agreed to check out Pandemonium Shadow Show. This is a terrific vaudeville record, much closer in spirit to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band than a lot of records to which The Beatles’ album are often compared. Really, the predominant sound of Pepper’s is not psychedelia but old-timey music hall, so Pandemonium Shadow Show sounds much more Peppery than, say, Their Satanic Majesties Request. And not only did the Fabs inspire Nilsson, but he pays direct tribute to them when he covers “She’s Leaving Home” and cheekily mangles a variety of their songs in the hilarious mishmash “You Can’t Do That”. “River Deep, Mountain High” has been covered by too many people who aren’t Tina Turner, Nilsson’s version of “Cuddly Toy” is just marginally better than The Monkees’, and “Ten Little Indians” was neither a good song in the hands of its creator or The Yardbirds, who recorded the most famous rendition during their Jimmy Page period. The rest of the album is phenomenal though. “Sleep Late, My Lady Friend” is the lullaby Bacharach and David always wanted to write. Gil Garfield and Perry Botkin’s show-tuney “There Will Never Be” is an instant standard. Sparsely arranged with cello, bass, and flute, “Without Her” is a haunting melding of baroque and jazz balladry. The masterpiece of this collection is “1941”, an elegiac lament about Nilsson’s abandonment by his father (a recurring theme in his work that did not prevent him from pulling the same shit on his own first born). The album’s ultimate endorsement is that it won Nilsson a quartet of Liverpudlian super-fans, three of whom personally called him to tell him how much they loved his latest record.


3. The Natch’l Blues by Taj Mahal (1968)

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Review: ‘The Velvet Underground: An Illustrated History of a Walk on the Wild Side’

Is there something inherently wrong about a coffee table book covering the history of The Velvet Underground? Glossy, colorful, souvenir books like Jim DeRogatis’s The Velvet Underground: An Illustrated History of a Walk on the Wild Side seem more befitting a group with a cuddlier reputation, such as The Beatles, who have been the subjects of many coffee table tomes. Yet, wasn’t the VU initially promoted as Andy Warhol’s latest pop art project, an entity not terribly far removed from Warhol’s style-over-substance soup cans or Edie Sedgwick? And didn’t Warhol essentially force them to perform with Nico because she looked good? And— let’s face it—didn’t the Velvets look pretty great all on their own, decked out in their matching, too-cool-for-uptown wraparound shades and black togs? And can’t the content of dope and S&M celebrations such as “Sister Ray”, “Heroin”, and “Venus in Furs” be deemed cheap exploitation on some level? And let’s also not forget that the drugging, womanizing Beatles were hardly as sweet as the toys, cartoons, and coffee table books they inspired ever suggested.



So DeRogatis’s book doesn’t violate what The Velvet Underground represented, just as the band’s more exploitative aspects don’t dull the keenness of Lou Reed’s gutter poetry or the completely organic wildness of the band’s noisy attack or the stark beauty of their ballads. But is it necessary? The band’s tale has been told many times before in far more complete form, particularly and definitively in Richie Unterberger’s White Light/White Heat: The Velvet Underground Day-By-Day. A lot of the photos in An Illustrated History of a Walk on the Wild Side, which are the real selling points of any illustrated history, can be found in Unterberger’s book. However, “1966: The Year the Velvet Underground Went Pop”, Warhol’s personal memoir about his band’s earliest days, is only excerpted in White Light/White Heat. It is presented in its lengthy entirety in An Illustrated History… and is an absolute must read for anyone who missed out on attending The Exploding Plastic Inevitable him/herself. There’s also a good interview with Sterling Morrison conducted by the guitarist’s former bandmate, Bill Bentley, some fabulous shots of Reed’s original sheet music for “Heroin” and “Venus in Furs” (Jesus Christ, the guy fucking wrote out those songs like he was Cole Porter or something! How many other Rock & Roll songwriters did that?), and an amazing photo of Warhol silk-screening the legendary banana. I also love the totally tacky faux velvet wraparound banner included with the book. It reminds me of Kramer’s coffee table book about coffee tables that actually turns into a coffee table. Warhol would surely approve.

Buy The Velvet Underground: An Illustrated History of a Walk on the Wild Side at Amazon.com here.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Get Quiet/Get Loud: The Day ‘Rubber Soul’ and ‘My Generation’ Were Released

45 years ago today was a hell of a time to have five pounds in your trouser pocket. That’s about how much it would have cost a Brit to pick up two newly released records that would have immeasurable impacts on Rock & Roll for many, many years to come. The Beatles made the next leap forward in their seemingly endless evolution with Rubber Soul, the record often cited as ground zero for the pop album as art. At the same time The Who finally detonated their long-awaited debut, My Generation, an apparent celebration of Rock & Roll as destructive, demonic anti-art. Both of those reputations are accurate and both aren’t. Although no less of an artist than Brian Wilson was so moved by Rubber Soul that he imagined himself in direct competition with the Fabs and made the supremely artful Pet Sounds as his riposte to the Rubber Soul challenge, there’s no civilizing the fuzzed out funk of “Think for Yourself” or the venomousness of “Run for Your Life” or the down-home swing of “Drive My Car”. And though the deafening squall of My Generation was infinitely influential on The Velvet Underground, The Stooges, The MC5, and an entire generation of garage, freak beat, and punk bands, stuff like “The Kids are Alright” and “La-La-La Lies”—songs Roger Daltrey dismissed as too “sweet”—are as harmonious and melodic as anything by The Beatles or The Beach Boys. Pete Townshend’s declaration that his band’s onstage instrument massacring was inspired by the auto-destructive art of Gustav Metzger was not exactly what one expected from a purported Shepherd’s Bush thug.



Yet when we think of Rubber Soul we think of its acoustic delicacy, and when we think of My Generation, we think of its electric anarchy, and rarely do we reverse the application of those terms when discussing The Beatles and The Who. But consider where The Beatles went next. In 1966, they released their loudest, hardest, wildest single to date with “Paperback Writer”/”Rain”. That year Paul McCartney declared that the band's two biggest influences were Dylan and The Who. And could Paul have whipped off those mad, improvisatory bass lines without the direct influence of John Entwistle’s work? And would Ringo have cut loose as he does on “Rain” and “She Said She Said” without having listened to his future best-buddy Keith Moon? Famously, Paul McCartney cooked up “Helter Skelter” after reading that The Who’s “I Can See For Miles” was the loudest, most devastating Rock record ever made and being disappointed that the results did not live up to how he’d imagined the record would sound.

Typically sullen Townshend was less complimentary when discussing the competition. During an appearance on the BBC’s “A Whole Scene Going” an audience member asked him about the “quality” of his music, to which he grumbled that Rock & Roll isn’t supposed to have quality. He was then asked whether or not he thought that applied to The Beatles. After a moment of contemplation he explained that he and Entwsitle were recently listening to a stereo Beatles record (most likely Rubber Soul, which had just been released a month earlier) in which the vocals come out of one speaker and the instruments come out of another, and when one listens to The Beatles without their vocals, “they’re flippin’ lousy!” Yet, Townshend doesn’t really seem convinced of his own words, and the influence The Beatles would continue to have on The Who bears this out. Those lousy Beatles are all over The Who’s next album, A Quick One, with its massed harmonies, jangly twelve-string guitars, cleaner pop sound, and adventurousness. Would Who manager Kit Lambert and Townshend have conceived of stringing together song fragments to create a “mini-opera” if The Beatles hadn’t opened the door to such experimentation with Rubber Soul? Would they have encouraged Daltrey, Moon, and Entwistle to start writing songs if The Beatles hadn’t set the standard for such democracy (albeit, limited democracy)? And after The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows” introduced avant garde sound collage to Rock’s bag of tricks, The Who were free to record “Armenia City in the Sky”, and when Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band made room for ambitious pop concept albums, Townshend and his gang made their pop-art pirate radio tribute The Who Sell Out.

The relationship between The Beatles and The Who ran deeper and more personal than their influences on each other’s music. Keith Moon, who’d gently mocked his scouse peers on “I Need You” from A Quick One, became fast friends with Ringo Starr and a notorious drinking buddy of Lennon during the former Beatle’s legendary “Lost Weekend” of the mid-‘70s. Moon paid tribute to his friend with an atrocious cover of Rubber Soul’s “In My Life” on his sole solo album Two Sides of the Moon. Years earlier Lennon jammed on “A Quick One, While He’s Away” to lighten the mood when Harrison temporarily quit during the tension-fraught “Get Back” sessions. Decades after Keith Moon’s death, The Who employed Ringo Starr’s son Zach to perch on their drum throne.

Uncannily, The Beatles and The Who also developed Rock & Roll in parallel on Rubber Soul and My Generation. The Beatles’ “Think For Yourself” and The Who’s “My Generation” are the first Rock & Roll recordings in which the bass is used as the lead instrument. No earlier British Rock album could compete with either in terms of compositional quality, either. Amidst all the thunderous drumming and seething feedback, Townshend explores themes typical to pop music in completely sophisticated, atypical ways, whether dealing with relationships (the comic divorce song “A Legal Matter”), rebellion (the confrontational, revolutionary “My Generation”), identity (the wittily defiant “It’s Not True”), or community (“The Kids are Alright”). The Beatles explored similar themes with similar insight on stuff like “Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)”, “Nowhere Man”, and “The Word”. Not even Jagger and Richards or Ray Davies had come up with an album’s worth of material that could yet match the sophisticated lyricism of Rubber Soul or My Generation. Only Dylan’s recent albums and The Beach Boys’ Today! were in the same league.


Ringo and Moony in The Kids are Alright



The following fifteen or so years of Rock & Roll can be viewed as two streams diverging from these two records: by begetting Pet Sounds, which begat Sgt. Pepper’s, Rubber Soul ultimately led to the self-conscious artsiness of Prog Rock; My Generation spawned the Punk Rock movement that in many ways was a reaction against the kind of music that Rubber Soul directly inspired. But in December of 1965, these two albums—so unlike in many ways, so similar in others—were of the same swinging London scene, two sides of the same shilling. Perhaps nowhere else has their influence convened more explicitly than on the next album recorded by Rock’s most creative sponges. The Rolling Stones’ Between the Buttons is a gleeful playground of Rubber Soul inspired folk rock, evident in the pseudo “Michelle” chanson “Back Street Girl or the intricately rolling “Yesterday’s Papers”, and Who-esque freak-outs like “Please Go Home” and “All Sold Out”. The Stones sussed that the new territories laid out by The Beatles and The Who were equally accessible and equally important, tantalizing invitations to get quite and get loud.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Review : ‘The Replacements: All Over But the Shouting: An Oral History'

OK, so Paul Westerberg was an exceptional songwriter, but it’s hard to read Jim Walsh’s oral history The Replacements: All Over But the Shouting without thinking the moral of the story is that anyone can play Rock & Roll. The ‘Mats were a people’s band who pursued fame with one hand and scorned it with the other, a sloppy drunk quartet of Minneapolis dirtbags who won a following because they were unpredictable, outrageous, loutish, insane. That Westerberg emerged as a tremendous power-pop composer in the tradition of Pete Townshend, Alex Chilton, and Rick Nielsen was beside the point.

That combination of stage infamy—Westerberg deciding the band would eschew their greatest hits in favor of appalling Chuck Berry covers, Bob Stinson lifting his skirt to present his balls to the audience, teen brother Tommy Stinson dropping jaws simply for being so fucking young—and spectacularly ragged records made The Replacements cult heroes. They could get prestigious opening tour slots for Keith Richards and Tom Petty but couldn’t bring themselves to appear in anything as crass as a music video. A pal of the band from way back when, Walsh drew together a cast of nearly 150 friends, family members, fans, and fellow Minnesotans to tell this often hilarious, often harrowing, often exhilarating tale. The band members are mostly represented by a trove of quotes from old interviews.



On paper, The Replacements story is not much different from any other band’s: they rose from middle-class ennui to enjoy a degree of popularity, engaged in heated Rock & Roll rivalries with other local groups (particularly Hüsker Dü), over-indulged in a variety of substances, and didn’t all live to tell the tale. The big differences are the vehemence with which they refused to play the Rock & Roll success game, the respect and loathing they earned (famed asshole Steve Albini often had choice words for the guys), and their confounding paradoxical status as ordinary legends. Punks like Joe Strummer, Johnny Rotten, and even Joey Ramone were larger than life, either as cartoon characters or political way-lighters. The Replacements were the cretins demolishing classic Rock & Roll tunes in the garage next door, and like Spinal Tap’s keyboardist, they just wanted to have a good time all the time, often at the expense of their fans, their critics, and themselves. They weren’t gods. They were me and they were you. You can’t say that about many Rock stars, can you?

Anyone who loves The Replacements has no excuse for not reading All Over But the Shouting. Hell, anyone who loves Rock & Roll has no excuse either. I’ve been reading a lot of Rock & Roll books lately, and this is the first one I’ve read in a long, long time that made me want to join a band, get stinking drunk, and moon a room full of gawkers. Any takers?

Get The Replacements: All Over But the Shouting: An Oral History at Amazon.com here.

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Review: ‘Hausu’

After Toho, the studio responsible for all those terrifically cheesy Godzilla movies, approached Nobuhiko Obayashi about making a Japanese answer to Jaws, the advertising filmmaker took a rather novel approach. He recalled seven of his school-age daughter’s worst fears and crammed them into a haunted house movie that plays like Suspiria reimagined by Sid and Marty Krofft. A severed head flies from a water well and bites a schoolgirl on her bottom. A piano consumes human flesh and disembodied fingers pound on its keys. A girl gets into a kung-fu brawl with some firewood. A cat’s eyes glimmer with cartoon sparkles. And there isn’t a single shark in sight.



Naturally Toho was baffled by Hausu (House), as were critics. But the 1977 film became a huge hit in its homeland because kids instantly recognized the candied horrors and psychedelic flights of fancy as reflective of their own whimsical imaginations. As gruesome as this story of seven schoolgirls who meet varying fates in an old dark house can be, the delivery is more cartoonish than your average episode of “Scooby Doo”. Teeny-bop pop chirps cheerily on the soundtrack, and the actresses play their parts as though they may break out into The Partridge Family’s Greatest Hits at any moment. Those characters are just as transparently farcical as their adventures, each one named for the stock stereotype that dictates her every move: there’s Fantasy, Gorgeous, Kung Fu, Prof (as in “Professor”), Mac (as in “Stomach”…she’s always eating!), Melody (the musician), and Sweet. Collect them all!

The film plays out with the logic of a weird dream, so don’t go looking for a plot. The scares are on the level of those in Wizard of Oz, which means they will be particularly effective for a certain age group even as kids of all ages recognize how disturbing some of the occurrences in Hausu are. The special effects are non-stop, ranging from primitive video manipulation to “How the Hell did they do that?” magic, as evidenced by those ivory-tinkling fingers. You may step out of Hausu scratching your head, but you surely won’t step out bored.



The new Criterion Edition of Hausu comes with all the bells, whistles, and delightful doo dads one can expect from a Criterion disc, including sharp picture and sound, an enlightening and even moving interview with Obayashi and his daughter who inspired the film, a somewhat interesting interview with Hausu superfan and House of the Devil filmmaker Ti West, and “Emotion”, a bonus short film by Obayashi.

Get Hausu at Amazon.com here.

Monday, November 29, 2010

Review: ‘The Who Live at Leeds: Super-Deluxe Edition’

In some parallel universe Who freaks have been listening to Live at Hull for the past 40 years and thinking, “Gee, this could be a lot better.” Fortunately, we all live in the Live at Leeds world, and everyone with a pair of ears knows it’s Rock’s greatest live album: adventurous as your average avant jazz record but as corrosive as the fiercest punk. The Who had been on tour in support of Tommy for months when they played that Leeds University gig and were confident and exceptionally tight. The audience was as receptive as audiences get. Equally important, live-recording technology had advanced to the point where a vinyl record could adequately capture the volume and depth of a live Who performance—well, as long as you turned your hi-fi up all the way and shoved your head inside the speaker cabinet.



The night after The Who’s triumphant Valentine’s Day stand at Leeds they headed to Hull’s City Hall for their next performance. Like the Leeds gig, the Hull show was taped for a potential live album. However, technical problems (John Entwistle’s bass was absent from the first five songs of the set), sloppy playing, and a relatively sedate audience guaranteed that the Leeds show would be the one to make the transition to vinyl and history. The record featured three Who originals and three classic blues and Rock & Roll covers. 25 years later, Live at Leeds received its first expansion and audio upgrade. That 1995 edition featured The Who’s entire non-Tommy set and one bonus track from the Rock Opera, as well as all of the guys’ hilarious onstage banter and the audience noise that had been scrubbed from the 1970 original. In 2001, Leeds doubled in size when the full Tommy set was appended to it. Now it has doubled again to include the entire Hull set, as well as vinyl copies of the 1970 version and the accompanying “Summertime Blues”/“Heaven and Hell” single.



The Live at Leeds: 40th Anniversary Super-Deluxe Collector’s Edition will surely appeal to Who completists. The package is lavish, the audio quality is top notch, and the price is quite reasonable for a set of this sort (compare its $80 list price to the absurd $180 tag of the recently released super-deluxe edition of Exile on Main Street, which contains roughly the same amount of material). The less obsessed should be perfectly happy with their 2001 double-CD sets. I doubt that many fans will feel the need to listen to Live at Hull more than once. What’s the point when Live at Leeds contains the same exact set (plus “Magic Bus”) played with much more vim and skill? There’s also a significant drawback of hearing the Hull set at all: considering how completely The Who recreated their performance from Leeds, it makes that show sound less spontaneous. I always wanted to believe all of the shenanigans at the tail end of “My Generation” were improvised on the spot. They weren’t. The most significant difference between the performances is when Daltrey tosses a bit of “Spoonful” into “Shakin’ All Over” during the Hull set. Otherwise it’s essentially an inferior clone of Leeds.

Universal Music probably intended the two-discs of Hull performances to be the main hook for record buyers, but the real boon of this set is the inclusion of the single and the heavyweight vinyl LP Although the tracks added in 1995 improved on the 1970 release tremendously, it’s still fascinating to hear the album as it originally appeared.

So this package is the fourth, and I’m assuming final, word on Leeds. Hopefully the Powers That Be can now get on with putting together deluxe editions of A Quick One and Odds and Sods. Those are the releases we Who freaks really need.

Buy Live at Leeds: 40th Anniversary Super-Deluxe Collector’s Edition at Amazon.com here.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

Farewell, Ingrid Pitt

Ingrid Pitt only starred in a handful of horror films, but she made such an indelible impression in The Vampire Lovers, The House That Dripped Blood, The Wicker Man, and Countess Dracula that she is rightfully remembered as the definitive actress of British Horror. Pitt is primarily regarded as a vampiric sex symbol, but she was also a nuanced actress who brought liveliness, wry wit, and a disarming lack of self consciousness to her performances. Born in Poland, she survived the concentration camps to become the face of Hammer Pictures in the '70s as Elizabeth Bathory in Countess Dracula and Carmilla Karnstein in The Vampire Lovers. She was as adoring of her fans as they were of her, hosting an annual gathering of her fan club at a restaurant in London's Polish Centre. Pitt died of heart failure on November 23, two days after she turned 73.

Monday, November 22, 2010

Review: ‘Whole Lotta Zeppelin’ & ‘Neil Young: Long May You Run’

Whole Lotta Led Zeppelin: The Illustrated History of the Heaviest Band of All Time by Jon Bream

Judging Whole Lotta Zeppelin by its cover, I expected it to be as puffy as 1991’s Led Zeppelin: Heaven and Hell or the booklet in the Led Zeppelin box set. Such illustrated histories are generally more intent on delivering lush photos and drooling fanaticism than true insight and warts-and-all history. Whole Lotta Zeppelin has all those things. Assembled by Jon Bream with a host of guest commentators including Rock journalists and a wide range of famous fans, the book is geared toward a somewhat specific reader. Its partial modus operandi is to take some of the wind out of Zeppelin. This will be unappealing to the worshippers who continue to shrink in awe of the Hammer of the Gods, and the din of the hordes, and the rest of the flatulent mythology. As someone who loves Zeppelin’s music for its power, atmosphere, inventiveness, and cosmic funkiness, yet realizes that the boys in the band can be real jerks and never bought into all the Dungeons and Dragons fantasies or macho super hype, I think Whole Lotta Zeppelin hits the right note. Plant, Bonham, and Page are treated with all due honesty, both as the phenomenal musicians they are and as the creepy misogynists, serial statutory rapists, thieves, and thugs they were during their younger days. Quotes illustrate how unapologetic Page and Plant were about plundering the catalogues of poor blues musicians. An anecdote by Grand Funk Railroad’s Don Brewer captures manager Peter Grant—the so-called fifth member of Led Zeppelin—at his most casually ruthless. Journalist Ellen Sander relays a scary encounter with a couple of unnamed band members that should lose the group some fans. John Paul Jones, of course, emerges unscathed. Even the most demonic Rock band needs its nice guy.



Whole Lotta Zeppelin will also turn off some of the devoted because a good chunk of it is recycled from previously published books and articles. Because it sports so many voices telling the same story, there’s an irritating amount of overlap in the new content too. However, the army of commentators also keeps the telling fresh and the perspective wide ranging. Despite the impression I may have given above, Whole Lotta Zeppelin is not a hatchet job. In fact, some of the “Rock Star” commentaries are tediously fawning; you won’t learn a thing from Heart’s Ann and Nancy Wilson or Aerosmith’s Joe Perry. But The Hold Steady’s Tad Kubler contextualizes Zeppelin’s music in a fascinating coming of age story that reads like a scene from Over the Edge. The essays on the band’s albums—each written by a different journalist— are thoughtful, lively, and invigoratingly varied. An interview legendary junkie William S. Burroughs conducted with legendary junkie Jimmy Page for Crawdaddy! in 1975 is beyond bizarre and beyond valuable. But the defining commentary arrives as a coda via New Musical Express and Mojo writer Charles Shaar Murray, who expresses all the exasperation and astonishment of Led Zeppelin fandom as well as anyone ever has. The lush photos are awful nice too.

Buy Whole Lotta Led Zeppelin: The Illustrated History of the Heaviest Band of All Time at Amazon.com here.

Neil Young: Long May You Run: The Illustrated History by Daniel Durcholz & Gary Graff

Unlike Whole Lotta Zeppelin, Long May You Run is essentially written by two authors, which makes its overlapping information less acceptable. The problem is the structure. This illustrated history is told as a chronological story regularly interrupted by stand-alone essays focusing on Neil Young’s pre-fame period playing in a band with Rick James, his dad, the circumstances behind CSNY’s “Ohio”, a condensed history of Crazy Horse, etc. The main biography and these essays often contain the same material, which is more significant here than it was in the Zeppelin book because Long May You Run doesn’t even break 200 pages, and the abundance of photos means there’s probably only about 100 pages of text. As such, this is more of a traditional illustrated history than Whole Lotta Zeppelin, even though it’s similarly even handed. I’ve never read a proper biography of Young before, so I found Long May You Run to be a perfectly adequate primer. More long-running fans will be more interested in the book on a coffee table level. Like all the Voyageur Press books I’ve perused so far, this is a beautifully designed hardcover that not only has great (and, I’m assuming, rare) photos of Young throughout his various stages (so often we forget that the flannel-swathed one had a bevy of phases to rival Bowie) and his memorabilia, but also sports some really cool illustrations by underground comix-style artist Peter Pontiac.



Buy Neil Young: Long May You Run: The Illustrated History at Amazon.com here.

Friday, November 19, 2010

This Is a Thriller: “The Hungry Glass”

New Feature!

I’m currently watching the Boris Karloff-hosted horror anthology “Thriller” for the first time and will be writing about stand-out episodes as I step over their graves…



Episode 16: "The Hungry Glass" (original air date: January 3, 1961)

Because it was never in regular rerun rotation, the early ‘60s horror anthology “Thriller” has long flown way over my radar. I had heard of “Thriller”, but for some reason it never quite lodged in my head. I even read Stephen King’s superior tome on all things horrific, Danse Macabre, in which the maestro declares the Boris Karloff-hosted anthology “Probably the best horror series ever put non TV…” That recommendation still wasn’t enough to keep me from failing to even mention “Thriller” in the brief history of horror TV I posted last year (for some reason, the same goes for pretty much every witch-related program, so my apologies to “Bewitched”, “Sabrina the Teenage Witch”, and “Charmed”).

Now that “Thriller” is officially available on DVD for the first time, my brain-cloud has finally been lifted, and with a little help from Netflix, I’m rolling up my sleeves and diving in to its two seasons of murder, mystery, and monster tales. Well, not so much “mystery.” For its debut fourteen episodes, “Thriller” was basically a so-so “Alfred Hitchcock Presents” rip off, albeit one bolstered by good direction and strong guest-star spots from the likes of Mary Astor, Everett Sloan, Rip Torn, Alan Napier, and a pre-buffoon Leslie Nielsen. The stories are rarely exceptional, though, and the fact that they’re stretched out to an often interminable 50 minutes makes them all the more of a chore to get through. I’m also not a huge fan of “Alfred Hitchcock Presents”-style mysteries, so that bias may be a factor in my lack of enthusiasm for those early “Thriller” episodes.

Things start to pick up in episode 15, when “Thriller” finally dips its toes in supernatural swamps. “The Cheaters” seems to be regarded as a classic episode of the show. I’ve read a lot of references to this adaptation of Robert Bloch’s yarn about a pair of monstrous spectacles in reviews of the “Thriller” DVD set. King gives it special mention in Danse Macabre. I certainly liked “The Cheaters” more than the shows that preceded it, but the first “Thriller” that really thrilled me is episode 16, “The Hungry Glass”.

As a “Twilight Zone” fanatic, I was tickled by the cast as Karloff announced each actor during his inimitable introduction, all of whom did time in the zone: William Shatner (“Nick of Time”, “Nightmare at 20,0000 Feet”), Elizabeth Allen (“The After Hours”), Russell Johnson (“Back There”, “Execution”). I can’t really be blamed for not recognizing Joanna Heyes since she played one of the hideous and heavily made-up alien nurses in the “Eye of the Beholder” episode of “The Twilight Zone”. Her resume is pretty short, which doesn’t really surprise me since her primary acting decision in “The Hungry Glass” is to shout all her lines. I wonder if the fact that Douglas Heyes directed this “Thriller” had anything to do with her casting. Although Karloff doesn’t mention her in his intro, Donna Douglas (also “Eye of the Beholder) features prominently in this episode as well, inspiring further “Twilight Zone”-stoked glee. Director Heyes did a lot of time in the twilight trenches, as well, directing nine episodes including the absolute classics “The Invaders”, “Eye of the Beholder” (ah-ha!), “The Howling Man”, “The After Hours”, and “The Chaser”. With so many fine “Twilight Zones” under his belt it’s no wonder that Heyes is the MVP of “The Hungry Mirror”.

Karloff introduces Shatner in "The Hungry Glass"

Like “The Cheaters”, “The Hungry Glass” is based on a Bloch story. Also like “The Cheaters”, it’s a bit on the flimsy side: vane Laura Bellman (Douglas) becomes so enamored with her own reflection that she is sucked into the glass. All who subsequently stand before her massive collection of mirrors suffer grisly fates. A young couple (Shatner and Joanna Heyes) moves into the woman’s old dark house, and much creepiness ensues. Bloch’s story is actually a nice, little ghost story, but probably more appropriate for a half-hour program. Brevity is key to the campfire yarn, but Heyes handles the tale so deftly that this episode only occasionally drags. His script (which he adapted himself) smartly crosses time, giving us a break from Shatner and shrill Joanna Hayes and their contemporary setting to see how Laura Bellman’s initial tragedy went down all those years ago. Had the episode only been 30 minutes, Heyes might not have had the time to give us these flashbacks (“The Cheaters” spans generations similarly). The flashbacks break up the episode nicely, but it’s still the time spent in 1961 that provide the most unnerving moments when the couple envision ghostly figures reaching out for them from the house’s mirrors. Brilliantly, Heyes only gives us impressionistic views of these figures, which play on the imagination far more effectively than the graphically depicted, and rather silly looking, monster from “The Cheaters”. The final minutes of the show—which entail a genuinely tragic mistake and a character’s utterly haunting exit—creeped me out as much as the scariest “Twilight Zones”. My initial viewings of “Thriller” felt a little like homework; I’m a horror-nut who writes about horror and adores Karloff, so I felt obligated to watch “Thriller” even though it had yet to really grab me. Looking into “The Hungry Mirror” has made me genuinely excited to see what’s next.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Will Joe Strummer biopic be the right profile?

Screen Daily, a site that requires you to subscribe to read their content so I had to find this out via The AV Club, announced Monday that filmmaker Paul Viragh is working on a Joe Strummer biopic. Viragh recently made an Ian Dury biopic called Sex & Drugs & Rock ‘N’ Roll starring Gollum, which I have yet to see partially because I only first heard of it moments ago while reading the AV Club article and partially because I'm not that interested in Ian Dury. The Strummer film is currently going by the title Joe Public and will no doubt detail Strummer's rise from the unglamorous hardships of being the son of a foreign service diplomat to the time he danced around his living room with Mick Jones while first hearing "White Riot" on the radio to his inevitable bouts with grotesque self absorption and drug addiction. Because, you know, it's a rock biopic.

Review: ‘Robert Florey’s Frankenstein’ by Philip J. Riley

One of the better-known nuggets of horror-flick history is that Bela Lugosi was originally intended to play the Frankenstein Monster in Universal’s second great monster picture of 1931. Why Lugosi did not end up donning the flattop and neck-electrodes in the original feature-length Frankenstein is a matter of much debate—he either exited the role because he objected to playing a sexless, silent brute, or he was fired from the project much like Robert Florey, who was originally slotted to direct. Florey and Lugosi went off to make the less impressive Murders in the Rue Morgue (1932) together, and James Whale was hired to helm Frankenstein with Boris Karloff starring as the Monster.

When Florey and Garrett Fort wrote the Frankenstein screenplay, they did so still under the impression that Lugosi would be monstering it up as the Monster. Philip J. Riley now brings us this original draft as part of his “Alternate History to Classic Film Monsters” series, which I’ve often praised on this site. Robert Florey’s Frankenstein is not as impressive as the previous installments in the series, although that is hardly Riley’s fault. The problem is that this script really isn’t that drastically different from the one Whale filmed, making it less historically valuable than totally unique works such as Nina Wilcox Putnam’s Cagliostro or Bernard Schubert’s Wolfman vs. Dracula.



Although a 170-page script should be bursting with revelations, considering that the released film was a mere 69 minutes (the rule of thumb is that a single screenplay page equals one minute of screen time), it only reaches such epic length due to Florey and Fort’s tendency to over-describe their scenes. The climactic hunt for the Monster creaks along for nearly twenty pages. The boldest difference between script and film is a sexually charged scene in which the Monster stalks a peasant couple tussling in their bedroom. The relationships between Elizabeth and Victor Moritz, and Frankenstein and Dr. Waldman, are also more complex in the script. Much to the script’s detriment, the scenes in which Fritz culls a madman’s brain for his boss and the Monster has a fateful encounter with a little girl by a riverbed are far more simplistic than what wound up in Whale’s film. Furthermore, the Monster is far less sympathetic and the script is decidedly humorless with a completely downbeat ending that might have kept Bride of Frankenstein from being born. Satisfyingly, a lot of these problems are acknowledged in the rather insightful script notes included as an appendix at the end of Riley’s book. A second appendix finds Fort defending his script, even though he didn’t really have a leg to stand on. Fans of Riley’s series will certainly want to add Robert Florey’s Frankenstein to their collections, even though it is a relatively unenlightening read. Hey, not every lost script can be R.C. Sheriff’s Dracula’s Daughter.

Buy Robert Florey’s Frankenstein at Amazon.com here.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

Review: 'The Beatles vs. The Rolling Stones: Sound Opinions on the Great Rock ‘N’ Roll Rivalry' by Jim DeRogatis & Greg Kot

In his introduction to The Beatles vs. The Rolling Stones: Sound Opinions on the Great Rock ‘N’ Roll Rivalry, Jim DeRogatis acknowledges that his and co-writer Greg Kot’s opinions may “make you curse one or the other of us as you consider hurling this book across the room...” Indeed I considered hurling their point-counterpoint on various aspects of Rock & Roll’s two biggest acts across my room more than once. But I refrained from doing so because this book is just too damn beautiful to treat with such violence. In an era when more and more people are reading books on creepy little handheld devices, Voyageur Press has made the real thing that much more attractive by creating a lavish package. In homage to the Satanic Majesties Request album jacket, the book cover features a neat hologram that reveals the faces of either the ’63 Beatles or the ’68 Stones depending on the angle at which you view it. Within that cover you’ll find loads of wonderful full-color and lovely B&W photos of the Fab Eleven (that’s Misters Lennon, Jagger, McCartney, Richards, Harrison, Watts, Starr, Wyman, Jones, Taylor, and Wood) and their related memorabilia. A great deal of these pictures was new to me, and I’ve read my share of books on The Beatles and The Stones.



I may seem to be spending undue space here going on about the design of The Beatles vs. The Rolling Stones, but it really is a major attribute of a book that can basically be read in a couple of hours. DeRogatis and Kot are the co-hosts of the music chat show “Sound Opinions”, and their book is apparently a lot like a transcript of one of their programs (admittedly, I’ve never listened to “Sound Opinions” because talk radio puts me to sleep). I really liked the format: a couple of Rock & Roll geek pals argue about whether The Beatles or The Stones were better conjurers of psychedelic rock or if McCartney or Wyman was the superior bassist (no contest, of course), etc. Theirs is certainly a fresh approach to two bands that have been written about and written about and written about and written about. The problem is their tendency to be dismissive without really supporting their opinions. If McCartney’s “Blackbird” is one of his definitive performances while “Oh! Darling”, in DeRogatis’s words, “just sucks,” I’m going to need a little more explanation. And good luck finding a Beatles fan who won’t be completely turned off by DeRogatis’s opinion that the Yellow Submarine film is “a turd” or a Stones freak who isn’t confounded when he writes off the amazing “Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus” as nothing more than a “cheesy Big Top conceit.” DeRogatis’s opinions are particularly difficult to take seriously when he regularly makes sloppy errors that even the most novice fan of these bands will spot. He mistakenly credits a line in “Getting Better” Lennon wrote to McCartney, states that “Day Tripper” and “Paperback Writer” appeared on either side of the same single, and most embarrassing of all, rates “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” among Charlie Watts’s five greatest performances. Anyone who has ever perused the inner sleeve of Let It Bleed knows that Jimmy Miller played drums on that track. Kot pulls a couple of boners, too, when he applauds Brian Jones for playing the oboe on “Ruby Tuesday” and the recorder on “Back Street Girl”. DeRogatis’s suggestion that “She’s a Rainbow” is “about oral sex with a woman who’s having her period” is simply bizarre. Equally bizarre is when he holds up “You Gotta Move”—Jagger’s most outrageously mannered blues performance— as a rare example of the singer’s sincerity. Huh?



Regardless of the quality of their criticism, I liked the fact that DeRogatis and Kot seriously discussed topics that generally get overlooked in a lot of books about these bands, such as Wyman’s bass playing, Harrison’s guitar skills, and The Stones’ psychedelic phase (and I must doff my pointy Merlin cap to DeRogatis for having the guts to say what we've all known for 40-odd years: Satanic Majesties is better than Sgt. Pepper's). And though the book does suffer from its errors, offhand criticisms, and weird assertions, it’s a quick, breezy, and generally fun read. Any fan who already thinks “The White Album” is a better record than Exile On Main Street will not change his/her mind after reading the guys’ contrary argument, but that fan may next find him/herself sprinting to the turntable to hear those records with fresh ears. And that’s exactly what DeRogatis and Kot intended when they wrote this book.

Buy The Beatles vs. The Rolling Stones: Sound Opinions on the Great Rock ‘N’ Roll Rivalry at Amazon.com here.
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