#giallo disco

[libriaco]

Gesù Bambino non è molto buono

Era Natale. Attraversavo la vasta pianura. La neve era come vetro. Faceva freddo. L'aria era morta. Non un movimento, non un suono. L'orizzonte era circolare. Nero il cielo. Morte le stelle. Sepolta ieri la luna. Non sorto il sole. Gridai. Non mi udii. Gridai ancora. Vidi un corpo disteso sulla neve. Era Gesù Bambino. Bianche e rigide le membra. L'aureola un giallo disco gelato. Presi il bambino in mano. Gli mossi su e giù le braccia. Gli sollevai le palpebre. Non aveva occhi. Io avevo fame. Mangiai l'aureola. Sapeva di pane stantio. Gli staccai la testa con un morso. Marzapane stantio. Proseguii.

F. Dürrenmatt, [Wienacht, 1942], Natale in Racconti, Milano, Feltrinelli, 1996 [Trad. U. Gandini]

Immagine: Bambinello, Abbazia di Monte Uliveto Maggiore, Asciano (SI)

[cipheramnesia]

Giallo films are a whole fucking mood with everyone's emotions and all the color contrasts dialed out to huge extremes, groovy swinging sixties and seventies disco jams for everything, everyone is naked, you have never seen eyes this huge, breathing doesn't happen unless it's a pant or a whimper. It's a whole panic attack in movie form but somehow pushed into such excess that it comes out the other side to a kind of soothing trance state. Giallo feels as if the greatest terror and height of human anxiety got translated into color and sound then translated back through cinema.

[lucyfishwife]

First Omen is not 100% an Omen prequel, it's a HUGE Dario Argento style "novice nuns in the throes of young adult hormonal stress" tribute to post-Fellini giallo horror with a big fat Italo disco 70s portion of soundtrack. Plus an "it's all for YOU!" moment and some priests added on to tie it to the franchise

So if you like all those things, and are a fan of gruesome, get in

[goodbysunball]

The hard blues

Perfect timing, right in the midst of list season. There's a lot waiting in the queue, though these records seem to have made the most impact. More in the line soon, a bunch of 7"s and cassettes and maybe a few more LPs, and eventually the obligatory look back. Mounds of plastic await:::

Anadol & Marie Klock, La Grande Accumulation LP (Pingipung)

Debut collaboration between Turkey's Anadol and France's Marie Klock, and it's an inspired one. I was familiar with Anadol's work from two prior LPs, but Marie Klock's intentionally absurd, voluble electronic music I've only recently discovered. On La Grande Accumulation, Anadol's kosmische-jazz comfortably sidles alongside Marie Klock's mostly spoken, sometimes sung stream of consciousness vocals, and the effect is deliciously intoxicating. Sometimes MK swims against the current of the music, as on the opening title track, and sometimes the pattering drums and synths pull her in, resulting in the bangin' disco-lite of "Sirop Amer (La Goule)" or the chanson-meets-giallo soundtrack on "Sonate Au Jambon." The first five tracks glide almost frictionlessly despite the sometimes frantic sing-speaking, but the final track throws a wrench into the proceedings, something that happens on every Anadol album (check out "Adieu" on Uzun Havalar, for example) and almost undoubtedly welcomed by Marie Klock. "La Reine Des Bordels" begins innocently enough in washes of synthesizer, but shifts into a double-timed square dance, then blaring ominous church organ music, and finally a demented waltz, Marie Klock breathlessly covering the proceedings throughout. It's sort of a fitting end to the record, something jarring to tie together a record which at points can feel like an ASMR exercise and even meditative. Gotten a whole lot of mileage out of La Grande Accumulation, a record greater than the sum of its parts, immediately satisfying without sacrificing the avantgarde leanings of its makers.

Bilders, Dustbin of Empathy LP (Grapefruit/Sophomore Lounge)

Patois Counselors, Limited Sphere LP (ever/never)

Rarely bundle reviews together but these two seem of a piece. Both are loquacious, expansive, lyrics-first records, and both artists have graduated from biting, angular post-punk to a more relaxed sound. 

Bill Direen's long-running Bilders dropped an LP and cassette this year, and he seems to have found the sweet spot between the songs and the poetry presented in recent live performances. The band backing up Bill on Dustbin of Empathy mirrors, catches and gets out of the way of his vocals, their music consisting mostly of brushed drums, softly strummed guitars and the occasional keyboard or organ. At first blush it's almost definitely too slight to appeal to a broader crowd, but Bill Direen is nothing if not a captivating showman and engrossing storyteller. His lyrics cast a wide net, spanning the globe and touching on war, age and morality with the light, deft touch enabled by his 60-some odd years of life experience. His delivery is usually muted, but he occasionally breaks out a caricature or odd pronunciation, as on "Scaribus" or "Caprice and Nemesis," and "Obedience" is as worked up as he allows himself to get. Direen's lyrics feel wise and matter-of-fact, and are unobtrusively slipped in, like the lines "Some voices I will never hear again/Did not live, as long as I do" leading off "Comrades." As a good documentarian, the facts are presented but the margins are, inevitably, colored in with his own feelings. Repeat listens turn up more lyrical gems, and in the end Dustbin emerges as a quiet triumph against the attention economy.

Patois Counselors' Bo White possesses a similarly keen, sharp eye for detail, and if anything Limited Sphere seems to partially claw back any notion of "skewering" detected on previous PC records. There's a sense that White is equally charmed, intrigued and bewitched by the ecosystem of any given local underground arts scene, including the outsized forces restricting and suffocating them. The band plays things with a softer touch and wider palette, ending up somewhere like The Art of Walking-era Pere Ubu crossed with the National's quieter moments across Alligator and Boxer (see: "Fountains of UHF" or "Wrong Department"). The drumming across Limited Sphere is the engine, crisp and busy, deftly navigating and directing sheets of guitar, synths, woodwinds and piano throughout. White's low, nasally delivery make the lyrics tough to make out at first, but the utterance of "Is this what we like?" on "Accoutrement" feels apropos to a world ever more excited by Spotify Wrapped. More natural and less tense than The Optimal Seat, Limited Sphere feels like a collection of short stories, the complex-yet-smooth music a Trojan horse for Bo White's lyrics to be fed inside your skull, lingering and rattling for weeks. Sounds like homework to some, but I'll happily be revisiting, untangling and piecing together Limited Sphere for months.

The Body, The Crying Out of Things LP (Thrill Jockey)

A new LP by the Body, sans official collaborators, is generally a shoo-in for mention as one of the best records of the year around these parts. But, to be fair, the last few "solo" records on Thrill Jockey feel somewhat uneven with age. The most recent, the torrential grey-out of I've Seen All I Need to See, felt like the serpent eating its own tail, a powerful but defeatingly cynical record that seemed to serve as an endpoint. After a number of collaborations, the band returns and sounds refreshed, even bright amidst its shockwave-emitting cymbal crashes and tortured howls. There is a clarity across The Crying Out of Things not heard since I Shall Die Here, resulting in a lean 36 minutes that flies by, dexterously shifting between hard, distorted beats, mantle-cracking chords and samples caked in static. While it's hard to improve upon a track like "End of Line," the Body's contributors more than leave their mark: Ben Eberle's searing vocal contributions feel especially caustic on "Removal," and the back half of "The Building" bursts through Felicia Chen's quietly powerful turn in a way the trio didn't really allow themselves on Orchards of a Futile Heaven. Things still feel dark and cavernous, at times even bleak, but the overall effect is that of the band blasting down walls and letting some light slip in. As usual, the duo turns in one of the best records of the year, but this time it feels invigorating, a call to arms or at the very least a shot in one. If you're unfamiliar, here's your entry point.

Dead Door Unit, Abandon CD (Tribe Tapes)

I last checked in with Philly's Dead Door Unit (one K. Geiger) back in 2022 with Laugh at the Devil, a more than compelling suite of creaking, looping noise in the vein of Modern Jester as I recall, but this year's Abandon is on a whole 'nother level. On Abandon, Geiger's not necessarily shedding the influence of Dilloway, Hanson Records and any number of Midwestern noiseniks, but using it instead as a jumping off point to create these lingering, unsettling long-form tracks. Some in-track transitions, especially on "Clutter (Until the Flies Gather)," can unintentionally jar the listener from a trance, and the relative dearth of blistering noise across most of the CD may leave some looking elsewhere. But if you strap in for the duration, the album becomes increasingly engaging from start to finish. Somewhere between the last few minutes of "Christmas Alley" and the beginning of “Windmill Hypnosis” is where the immersion begins, and the looping, chattering, scratching noise begins to induce either a fight-or-flight response or a sort of fever dream, the listener wrapped up in isolation by sweltering noise. Occasionally the music startles and sears, like the first third of "She Knows How to Reach Us," but Geiger uses the remainder of the track to masterfully pull apart that noxious cloud of static and slowly put it back together again. The one-two of "She Knows" followed by the lonesome piano loops on "Melrose (Street of Dreams)" is one of the high points for my listening this year, a real trip within 26 minutes that's surprisingly affecting by its end. Abandon is a towering, lengthy statement, but one that signals Dead Door Unit's arrival as a potentially generational talent.

Die Verlierer, Notausgang LP (Bretford/Mangel)

Leather jacket garage rock is usually something that I avoid, unless, apparently, it's delivered in a different language. Those Pierre & Bastien LPs still hold up, and now Germany's Die Verlierer deliver another strong take on their second LP, Notausgang. The record, completely sung-shouted in German, also sports a perfect crunchy-warm vintage production, yet still raw enough to generate friction. Tracks like "Das Gift," "Attentat" and "Adrenalin" capably rip, but the production makes the songs feel like some recently unearthed singles from the late '70s/early '80s. Better yet is when the band keeps the intensity but practices restraint with the guitars: the motor-mouthed vocals carry "Allesfresser," which already sounds like a future classic, and the raw "Made / D.M.A.IP" oughta kill live. Notausgang delves even further, slowing things down and drawing in the listener on the tense title track, and even throwing a day-dreamy guitar line into the languid "Stacheldraht," one of the best songs here. The track sequencing is a bit jarring, especially across the first three tracks, but that's a criticism that doesn't hold a lot of water for music best experienced in person. Works in the recorded setting, too, and I'm still a little surprised how much Notausgang was and continues to be played this year. Die Verlierer's open-ended approach to scuzzy rock 'n roll very much transcends the notion of a Crime cosplay act, resulting in a more restrained, durable record that appears primed to reward for years to come. Killer cover art, too.

Septage, Septic Worship (Intolerant Spree of Infesting Forms) LP (Me Saco Un Ojo)

Denmark's gore-obsessed death metal trio Septage returns after two solid EPs to drop a full-length, one that's completely mowed down expectations. A lot of death metal fixated on gore, or merging with goregrind, can safely be dismissed. Too often the bands are trying too hard to be the sonic equivalent of a shocking B-movie horror film, or often even worse. Septic Worship nimbly sidesteps that trap, and delivers 20 minutes of blistering and crushing takes on goregrind without taking itself too seriously. The respective barrages that open up each side of the record are hair-raising, teeth-clenching moments, and from there the record's sides glide from full-on grind to lumbering death metal drops with ease. "Emetic Rites," which opens up the second side, packs everything Septage does so well in just over two minutes, though almost 2/3 of the tracks are left smoldering within 90 seconds, which makes differentiating songs a real challenge. It's not like you put on something like Septage to analyze the nine seconds of "Septic Septic," though; it's there to blast the cobwebs out, chip a tooth or two, and help you come out on the other side reinvigorated, if a bit raw. This is easily my favorite metal or metal-adjacent record of the year, an uncompromising yet ridiculously fun record. Clearly the lyrics out this as something not necessarily apropos to the moment, but Septic Worship is powerful enough to drown out the constant buzzing, grandstanding and distracting faux-outrage that makes up 90% of modern existence. Consider it a bit of self-preservation in an absolutely mad world, or just strap in and let it knock you around - either way, it's a strong antidote to endless doom scrolling and pointless anger.

[bitter69uk]

Join us to watch one of the most notorious mega-flops of 1980s cinema on Thursday 19 September when the FREE monthly Lobotomy Room film club (devoted to Bad Movies for Bad People) presents slasher flick The Fan (1981)! Starring the fiercely glamorous Lauren Bacall (pictured) as a celebrated mink-clad stage diva pursued by an obsessive homicidal admirer (Michael Biehn of The Terminator (1984) and Aliens (1986))! In fairness, The Fan isn’t as terrible as its reputation suggests. It certainly isn’t low-budget schlock. The production values are high. The film-making is competent and even occasionally stylish, with effective flourishes of suspense (at some points it suggests an American giallo). The milieu (disco-era show business glamour-meets-gruesome violence) isn’t dissimilar to the 1978 thriller The Eyes of Laura Mars starring Faye Dunaway. The Fan offers vivid glimpses of the lost grungy New York of the late seventies and early eighties. There’s (mostly) good acting from the A-list cast. Bacall is simply magnificent. And full credit to the distractingly handsome Biehn for attempting to breathe some credibility into the murderous psycho fan! But hey - judge for yourself (over cocktails!) at Fontaine’s bar in Dalston! Reserve a seat NOW by email: bookings@fontaines.bar

[ravenkings]

i’m always in the process of casting my imaginary giallo-style mini-series about the julio-claudian dynasty with an italo disco soundtrack and i think i’ve found my augustus

[mente-forte-arte-audace]

Fin dall'antichità, la margherita é legata a significati di purezza e nobiltà d'animo. Si tratta di un fiore con i suoi petali candidi di colore bianco e il suo centro giallo che ricorda un sole, ricorda l'innocenza e la positività. Per la forma del fiore, con i petali a raggiera attorno al disco centrale giallo, la margherita infatti allieta come se portasse il sole nella vita delle persone. Non a caso gli anglosassoni le avevano dato un nome appropriato: ‘daisy’, che derivava da ‘day’s eye’ che significava ‘occhio del giorno’, visto che si apriva al mattino e si chiudeva di notte, e da questo ne aveva indotto anticamente di utilizzarla per lenire i problemi agli occhi. 🌼☀️👁

[nitrateglow]

Halloween 2023 marathon: 9-11

The Slumber Party Massacre (dir. Amy Holden Jones, 1982)

A serial killer breaks free from jail, but the local high school population could not care less. There's sex to be had and joints to be smoked at the latest slumber party. Anyone not invited to the party either aims to crash it (the horny high school boys) or stay at home trying not to think about how uncool they are (the new girl who's better at basketball than her catty peers). All will be drawn together once the killer makes his way into town with a handy power drill that totally won't be used inappropriately.

I saw this movie for the first time earlier this year and immediately fell in love with its goofy charm. Apparently, it was written to be a parody of slasher tropes. The movie isn't played for broad comedy, but the humor is ever present in both overt and subtle ways. There's also a blend of cattiness and affection between the female characters that reminds me of the sorority house dynamics of Black Christmas, and the dialogue is often hilarious.

However, for all the humor, there are some creepy moments. The Driller Killer's "love" monologue is skin-crawling-- even if it is followed by a glorious parody of "the killer should be dead but isn't" trope.

This is one I love showing to other people. Everyone usually falls over laughing by the end, so it's a great group movie, but even alone, it's a fabulous time. You can currently catch it on Tubi for free.

Eyes of Laura Mars (dir. Irvin Kershner, 1978)

Controversial fashion photographer Laura Mars starts having psychic visions of the murders of her associates right as the crimes are being committed. She and everyone she knows become suspects of the slayings. The police find it particularly interesting that Laura's photos, which pair high fashion with images of murder and violence, resemble the subsequent crime scenes. Confused and feeling guilty, Laura teams up with cynical investigator John Neville, hoping to track down the killer before she or anyone else she loves becomes the next target.

This is a new-to-me horror film I caught on Tubi. All I knew about Eyes of Laura Mars is that it was directed by Irvin Kershner, a journeyman filmmaker best known for The Empire Strikes Back, and written by John Carpenter (though tampered with by many before shooting began). The movie is essentially an American spin on the Italian giallo genre. You have the familiar setting of the fashion world, sexy models who become murder victims, a hapless protagonist drawn into the mystery, and some very nasty kills.

There's a lot I like about this film, but in the end it didn't completely work for me. Maybe it's because unlike the best giallo, the movie doesn't have that otherworldly, psychedelic vibe that makes an audience able to swallow the sillier parts of the story. This is a very grounded, gritty presentation of New York City, making the more outrageous things in the film (like the unexplained psychic powers) stand out and not in a good way. Faye Dunaway's performance also verges into unintentional camp, with her wailing like she's in a 1940s melodrama much of the time. And I love melodramatic 1940s movies with appropriately overheated performances, but when the rest of your story is trying to be more realistic, that approach just takes me out of it because it doesn't gel. (Don't even get me started on the final twist, which I can't decide if I find laughable or clever.)

And yet, this is hardly a bad film. What frustrates me so much about it is that there's a lot that's pretty great. The supporting characters aren't the deepest in the world, but they are likable, so when they got picked off, I actually felt something. The movie also has an appealing time capsule element in its presentation of NYC during the height of the disco era. The fashions and the music are dated in the best way.

Despite my complaint about Dunaway's campy moments, Laura Mars is an interesting protagonist. She takes her art very seriously despite the derision she receives from her critics. She doesn't allow anyone to push her around, be it her boozy ex-husband, hostile reporters, or the police. She clearly loves the models, make-up artists, and other associates who work with her, and Dunaway does well lending a genuine sense of bereavement to the character as her social circle gets picked off one by one. However, I feel like the movie doesn't do much with her and she doesn't really have an arc.

I just really wish this film were a better version of itself. However, I can definitely see myself rewatching it someday, so maybe knowing the twists will make me better appreciate what is there. I don't know.

The Curse of Frankenstein (dir. Terence Fisher, 1957)

From adolescence, Baron Victor Frankenstein has had one dream: to cheat death. He and his research partner Paul Krempe delve into the mysteries of life, managing to reanimate a dead dog. Paul is satisfied with this achievement, but like a Disney Princess, Victor wants more. Like, creating a superbeing from bits and pieces of corpses more. This does not end well. At all.

It isn't spooky season without some Hammer Horror. I really have a hard time picking a favorite Hammer film, but The Curse of Frankenstein is definitely up there. Peter Cushing is so perfectly amoral and charming as Victor Frankenstein. I love Colin Clive in the Universal movies, but Cushing is my favorite in the part.

I've always admired how this movie sets itself apart from the Universal series without overdoing the opposition. The Universal movies were influenced by 1920s German expressionism, whereas the Hammer films go for more of a Victorian gothic meets explicit (by 1950s standards) sex and gore vibe. The sets and costumes are always wonderful in these films. I really love Cushing's glorious jackets, particularly the emerald green one.

<spoilers down below-- beware!>

Curse is also interesting for its frame narrative with Frankenstein telling the story from prison the hour before he is to be guillotined for his crimes. No one believes there was ever a creature and Victor wants everyone to know that, hey, he didn't commit ALL the murders. What's most fascinating about the frame story is the way it presents Paul, Victor's former tutor and research partner. Throughout the story, Paul is an unheeded voice of conscience tormented by the crimes Victor commits to achieve his goals. It's also implied Paul is in love with Victor's fiancee Elizabeth, and that this passion ignites further resentment against Victor on Paul's part because Victor clearly does not care about Elizabeth at all but is going to marry her anyway.

The film ends with Victor begging Paul to tell the authorities about the Creature, but Paul acts as though Victor is insane or just making it all up. He doesn't want to save Victor-- but is that because he wants to see justice done? Or is he also tight-lipped because he wants to secure Elizabeth for himself and knows she'll feel too duty-bound toward Victor (who supported her and her destitute aunt during Elizabeth's childhood) to break off the engagement unless the groom-to-be is, well, headless? It's a wonderfully ambiguous touch and it makes Paul more than just a nagging moral center.

<spoilers over>

Anyways, this is a perfect Halloween movie. Don't miss it if you've never seen it!

[turuin]

Piccola review sui vinili comprati a Bologna:

Ocean Colour Scene - Painting; interessante, ma troppo british per questo mercoledì mattina.

Boygenius - EP reissue (vinile giallo) - quasi meglio del disco intero che poi hanno pubblicato. Spettacolare.

X - Los Angeles: uno dei dischi più belli della storia del punk.

[susieporta]

Gli schemi di pensiero non abili non sono insiti nella condizione umana.

Da piccoli nasciamo ignoranti, è naturale, ma quell’ignoranza può essere dispersa dall’istruzione e dall’apprendimento.

Allo stesso modo possiamo isolare mentalmente gli stati non abili e ridurli; in seguito, quando nasce la felicità, gli stati non abili non hanno più alcun fondamento valido».

La scrittrice Barbara Kingsolver parla di questa possibile trasformazione, anche quando la nostra vita di prima è andata in pezzi:  

Ognuno di noi è chiamato, forse più volte, a cominciare una nuova vita.

Una diagnosi che spaventa, un matrimonio,

un trasferimento, la perdita di un lavoro o di una persona amata, un diploma, il momento in cui si porta a casa il bambino appena nato: non si riesce a pensare fin dall’inizio come sia possibile.

Alla fine, quello che spinge avanti tutto ciò è quel flusso di marea sotterraneo che è l’essere vivo fra i vivi.

Nella mia stagione peggiore ho fatto ritorno dal mondo senza colori della disperazione obbligandomi a guardare fisso e a lungo una cosa sola, gloriosa:

il rosso fiamma di un geranio fuori dalla finestra della mia camera da letto.

E poi un’altra: mia figlia in un vestito giallo.

E ancora un’altra: il profilo perfetto di una sfera compatta e scura dietro alla falce di luna crescente.

Fin quando ho imparato a innamorarmi di nuovo della mia vita.

Come la vittima di un ictus allena nuove parti del cervello per recuperare capacità perdute, sono tornata mille volte a insegnare a me stessa la gioia.

È una scoperta liberatoria, quella che possiamo passare dalle nostre storie non salutari al benessere.

Oggi possiamo scegliere che musica far suonare al lavoro, o mentre guidiamo, parliamo, facciamo la spesa, facciamo attività fisica o ci prendiamo cura del corpo: sarà un disco rotto del passato, che porta amarezza o dispiacere?

O lasceremo andare quei pensieri e lasceremo via libera alla meraviglia e ai potenziali della vita?

Trasformando il panorama dei nostri pensieri possiamo rivoluzionare per intero il nostro mondo.

di Jack Kornfield

(insegnante buddhista statunitense)

da: “Il cuore saggio”

🩵

Unskilled thought patterns are not inherent in the human condition.

From small we are born ignorant, it is natural, but that ignorance can be dispersed by education and learning.

In the same way, we can mentally isolate the non-able states and reduce them; later, when happiness is born, the non-able states no longer have any valid foundation".

Writer Barbara Kingsolver talks about this possible transformation, even when our earlier lives fell apart:  

Each of us is called, perhaps several times, to begin a new life.

A diagnosis that scares, a marriage,

a transfer, the loss of a job or a loved one, a diploma, the moment when you bring your newborn baby home: you can not think from the beginning how this is possible.

In the end, what drives all this forward is that subterranean tidal flow which is the living being among the living.

In my worst season I returned from the world without colors of despair forcing myself to look fixed and long one thing, glorious:

the flame red of a geranium outside my bedroom window.

And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress.

And yet another: the perfect outline of a compact, dark sphere behind the crescent moon scythe.

Until I learned to fall in love with my life again.

As the victim of a stroke trains new parts of the brain to recover lost abilities, I have returned a thousand times to teach myself joy.

It is a liberating discovery, one that we can move from our unhealthy stories to well-being.

Today we can choose what music to play at work, or while we drive, talk, shop, exercise or take care of the body: will it be a broken record from the past, which brings bitterness or displeasure?

Or will we let go of those thoughts and give way to the wonder and potentials of life?

By transforming the landscape of our thoughts we can revolutionize our entire world.

by Jack Kornfield

(us buddhist teacher)

from:"The wise heart”

[still-single]

new HEATHEN DISCO (show no. 348, 13 August 2023)

Do you know I've been DJing for 30 years? This is what that sounds like (I guess):

HOUR 1

Bowery Electric – Slow Thrills

Godflesh – Veins

Adulkt Life – Future Cops

Pleasure Forever – Neolith Nonce

Drop Nineteens – Scapa Flow

Gaadge – Nanty Glo

Lifeguard – Tell Me When

Jim O’Rourke – Here Is Where I Seem to Be / The Good Lord Doesn’t Need Paperwork

Lewsberg – A Different View

Rodriguez – Sugar Man

Gordon Jackson – Song for Freedom

Tim Rose – Morning Dew

Sopwith Camel – Fazon

Space Project – Mission to Lyra

Spiral Dub – Orgy of Swans

HOUR 2

Happy Mondays – Tart Tart

The Fall – Spoilt Victorian Child

Your Old Droog – Help

Lotti Golden – Who Are Your Friends

Cath Carroll – Jimmy’s Candy

Dippers – Comment’s Grip

A.R. Kane – The Sun Falls Into the Sea

V/Z – Caffe Giallo

Ellen Allien – Fensterbrettmusik

Pole – Tanzboden

Galcher Lustwerk – Proof

Steve Hillage – Earthrise

Ben Chasny & Rick Tomlinson – Waking of Insects

Daniel Villareal – Rug Motif

HOUR 3

Spirogyra – The Duke of Beaufoot

Horn – 72

Non Plus Temps – Hide Away

Mark Imperial and Dennis Ramirez – Rock This House (House Nation Club Mix)

Intersperse – Haunting Winds

The Osmonds – I, I, I

Resavoir – Inside Minds

Damon Locks and Rob Mazurek – Flitting Splits Reverb Adage

Blue Dolphin – Ida

Johnny Moped – Incendiary Device

Embrace - Past

The Wipers – So Young

Current Affairs – Her Own Private Multiverse

The Clientele – Lady Grey

[gazellefamily]

BODY DOUBLE (1984) "I like DePalma. I do. But I'm not sure I get DePalma. These movies are supposed to be funny and not really make much sense, right? He's a demented Hitchcock cover band who doesn't think the whole story through (but makes it as beautiful as a DeBeers commercial). 27 minutes spent on wordlessly "following a person", and 1 minute spent on "getting cast in a porn movie". Imagine Jimmy Stewart fucking a replicant-haired dominatrix to Frankie Goes to Hollywood in front of a camera crew. Naw, for that we need a whooshed dork who is the weird merging of Bill Maher and Andrew McCarthy. MelG: never been a fan but now I see it's just bad hair timing... if DakoJo had been born sooner I'd feel the same way. This movie is where disco met New Wave, and where dog fangs and power drills met human flesh." -Sonny Gazelle

"DeP is a legend. I DEFINITIVELY get him, because he's basically like one of those sleaze ball Italian slasher guys like Fulci but with super elevated production values and access to A-List stars (though Craig Wasson is basically replacement level). He makes giallo in Hollywood blockbuster clothing, and is happily obsessed with his obsessions. Script? Man who cares. My man straight up wanted to cast porn star Annette Haven in this but the studio stepped in. When I watch DeP, I recognize a fellow creep who probably has a sketchbook full of drawings of girls with their tops ripped." -Tommy Gazelle

[amf-369]

"Ho scelto questo ritratto di cuore di Marsha P. Johnson, scattata dal fotografo Alvin Baltrop, come copertina del mio disco"MY BACK WAS A BRIDGE FOR YOU TO CROSS." . Quando sono arrivato a New York nel 1990, gli anziani del Village mi hanno parlato di Marsha. Vivevo vicino alla West Side High Way, e a volte vedevo Marsha in Christopher Street. L'ammiravo, e il destino ha decretato che il giorno di sole prima della sua morte, alla parata del gay pride, l'ho ringraziata, le ho detto che l'amavo, e le ho baciato la mano. Lei sorrise dolcemente e disse: "Oh, ti amo anch'io, bambola".Una settimana dopo, il suo prezioso corpo fu estratto dall'Hudson. Ho organizzato alcuni amici per camminare da Sheridan Square fino a quel punto vicino al bordo dell'acqua dove era giaciuto il suo corpo. Indossavo un abito da sposa. Alcune anime hanno parlato a questo monumento. Poi ho dipinto il suo nome con lo spray sui moli e ho coperto il villaggio con poster di Marsha che indossava un diadema, e la parola "S.T.A.R". Tutto questo ha appiccato un fuoco dentro di me che non capivo.Ho cercato come artista di aiutare a portare il suo nome attraverso una divisione della notte e nella luce più ampia della cultura. Nel 1995, abbiamo ri-interpretato il suo viaggio nell'Ascensione di Marsha P. Johnson. Ho cantato River of Sorrow più e più volte. Nel 2006, ci ha sorriso dallo schermo durante TURNING. Nel 2012, quando mi sono esibito al Radio City Music Hall, ho visto il suo nome sul marchese. Sembrava un trionfo, ma era pur sempre un segreto, il suo lavoro ancora invisibile.Negli ultimi 6 anni Marsha è stata finalmente riconosciuta da molte fonti come Rosa Parks dei movimenti per i diritti civili trans e gay, insieme a sua sorella, Sylvia Rivera.Per me è un onore rappresentare Marsha qui, che Agosto Machado una volta descrisse come un bodhisattva. Questa copertina record, la più importante della mia carriera, commemora il ripristino di connessioni e percorsi neurali tra generazioni, passato e futuro". ANOHNI"MY BACK WAS A BRIDGE FOR YOU TO CROSS".il 7 luglio, sarà disponibile su vinile giallo da Rough Trade Records e Secretly Canadian webstore più vinile bianco presso indie retail e vinile nero massimi ovunqueFoto di Marsha P. Johnson di Alvin Baltrop ©2022 Tenuta di Alvin Baltrop / ARS, NYPreordine: https://anohni-johnsons.ffm.to/mbwabfytc