#memoirs of a stage manager

[existencebringsonlypain]

ughhhhhh remind me to never ride motor vehicles ever again

[gaskarth]

oh! so we saw yellow face on broadway on sunday while my parents were visiting so here's my quick thoughts on it

daniel dae kim is an amazing actor & gorgeous irl

i love how david henry hwang approached the memoir / autobiography genre and by the end it was autofiction, which put a whole new viewpoint on the whole performance

all of the actors were incredible actually... a very small cast & all of them absolutely were phenomenal

WAYYY funnier than i thought it would be. i knew it was a comedy but i laughed out loud multiple times during the performance

despite it being a short runtime (about an hour and a half with no intermission) it felt longer, but in a good way! not where i was looking for the exit or anything, but where i was so enthralled by the story i couldn't believe it was as short as it was

we were literally like 12 rows away from daniel dae kim. i want to thank the stage managers for making sure his cheekbones looked so sharp onstage with the lighting they literally looked like they could cut glass

i love autofiction and examinations of the asian american experience so it feels like this play was made in a lab for me

anyways if you're in nyc and can see yellow face or can find a copy of the script i'd highly recommend checking it out

[invisibleicewands]

Bringing revolution to Port Talbot - by Michael Sheen

On a recent February morning, I woke up to find I was wrong. Not a particularly uncommon experience in itself, but unusual to discover that on this occasion I was being publicly accused of it by the Secretary of State for Business and Trade. “Michael Sheen has said that ‘the people of Port Talbot have been let down’,” Kemi Badenoch wrote in the Daily Mail. “But he is wrong.”

It was a big day. I spent all of last year directing a three-part drama series for the BBC called The Way, which was to air that night. It begins in my hometown of Port Talbot, where a strike at the local steelworks becomes the spark that ignites a violent descent into national chaos. Clearly, Ms Badenoch had been given a sneak peek of the series before forming quite a strong opinion on it. But no: reading her article, Ms Badenoch admits that she hadn’t watched it at all. Why let a total lack of information prevent a full-throated denouncement, eh? Presumably, she also assumes that we managed to write, film and edit the entire series after Tata Steel announced the imminent loss of some 2,500 jobs at the steelworks mere weeks ago.

While the winds of change have only been blowing in one direction for many years, the events in our story were dreamed up some years ago and act as a fictional catalyst for all that follows. Surely even Tory ministers understand there is no VIP fast lane for making a TV series. This isn’t a PPE contract, after all…

Nothing to see here

After that episode aired, it occurred to me that such shenanigans in the right-wing press could have been about a couple of things. Since the ITV drama about the Post Office scandal, Mr Bates vs The Post Office, caused public outrage, I imagine the government has a new fear of the impact a TV show can have. A pre-emptive strike against a series it perceives to be criticising its actions around the steel industry must have seemed a useful tactic. And, having seen Breathtaking – based on Rachel Clarke’s memoir of how the Covid crisis unfolded in the NHS, which aired on ITV the same night as The Way – I wonder if her piece was an attempt to distract attention away from more dangerous territory.

It gave Ms Badenoch a chance to trot out her line about how the people of Port Talbot should be grateful for all that the government is doing to save the steel industry, not moaning about the impact job losses will have on their community. But the people of Port Talbot have been let down, no matter what Ms Badenoch wants us to think. Not by any single entity, but by years of neglect. That she immediately assumed my comments referred to her and her government tells its own story. In the words of a much older drama than mine: the lady doth protest too much, methinks.

Then and Nye

“This crisis is a privateering racket with your friends lining their pockets!” No, not an accusation against Boris Johnson, but something I currently say to Winston Churchill every night. We opened a new play called Nye at the National Theatre this week. I play Aneurin (“Nye”) Bevan, who attacks the prime minister for turning a wartime crisis into a money-making scheme for him and his cronies. It’s one of many moments in the play that seem to speak to past and present at the same time.

The entanglement of “now” and “then” is heightened by the fact that I am wearing pyjamas. Nye is lying unconscious in his hospital bed at the end of his life, and we follow him through a dream of his past. He wanders from childhood memories of overcoming his stutter in Tredegar library to his meteoric rise through local politics, to becoming the youngest member of Clement Attlee’s pioneering postwar cabinet. And, of course, as minister for health, his tumultuous birthing of the NHS on 5 July 1948. It’s an extraordinary, surprising and moving experience telling this story on stage each night. That shared space between actors and audience, where all is felt but unseen, crackles with electricity.

Once more, with feeling

It seems that exploring the motives of politicians, the uses and abuses of political power, and the quest for justice that saw the creation of the NHS taps into deep wells of emotion. Like the pockets of gas that miners feared within the coal seam, their release brings risk and reward. At a recent show, we had three instances of people needing to be helped out of the theatre, the final one forcing us to pause the show moments from its end. Thankfully, it was nothing more serious than someone fainting. But emotions are running high.

I’m more than happy to invite Ms Badenoch to a performance. But I realise, of course, there’s no guarantee she would make it to the end.

[shelyue99]

Some thoughts about Operation Varsity, which Nix served as an observer and nearly died, portrayed in the Ep 9 of BoB—I’m not sure who actually assigned Nix to be the observer. In Dick’s memoir, he wrote he dispatched Nix, but in Biggest Brother, it seems it was Sink assigned Nix. If it was Dick and if Nix got killed in the operation, I just can’t stop myself imagining what kind of guilt Dick would feel.

The operation was launched on March 23, 1945. Nix returned the next day. The same day Dick wrote a rather bitchy letter to DeEtta. The tone of this letter is so out his usual character, just Dick being sassy and also mean. Dick was exhausted. Nix nearly escaped death and was shaken, withdrawing himself into alcohol. My theory is that Dick was in a bad mood because of exhaustion, and that Nix almost died.

Here is an excerpt from Dick's memoir, Beyond Band of Brothers:

The next evening, March 23, Field Marshal Montgomery launched Operation Varsity, a massive attack across the Rhine at Wesel with his entire 2d British Army. Though Ridgway's XVIII Airborne Corps, of which the 101st Airborne Division was an integral part, had originally been slated to participate in the offensive, changes in the troop list resulted in William (Bud) Miley's 17th Airborne Division being the only American airborne division participating in Montgomery's highly touted offensive. The 101st was allowed to send observers, so I dispatched Captain Lewis Nixon.

Fortunately, for Nixon, he was assigned to be jumpmaster of his aircraft. As he approached the drop zone, his plane was struck by heavy antiaircraft fire. Nixon and three other men made it out of the plane, but the rest were lost when the plane crashed. Nix remained with the 17th Airborne Division for one night and was then returned to 2d Battalion at Mourmelon on a special plane. Nix's brush with death left him visibly shaken, particularly when at this stage in the war, no one intentionally put himself in danger now that victory was at hand. Captain Nixon found his usual retreat in alcohol that evening, but I was glad to see him safe. On a side note, Nixon's jump with the 17th Airborne Division qualified him as one of two men in the 506th PIR eligible to wear three stars on his jump wings: Normandy, Holland, and Operation Varsity.

/

An excerpt from Biggest Brother, the Life of Major Dick Winters:

For his S3, Winters soon reclaimed the man he wanted most. Ever since Lewis Nixon had been elevated to Sink's staff, the colonel had become increasingly frustrated with the man's drunkenness. In late March Sink had assigned Nixon to jump as an observer with the 17th Airborne Division during Operation Varsity, the assault on the Ruhr, the industrial center that still propelled Germany's sagging war machine. Nixon was jumpmaster and in the first seat by the door. On March 24, as the plane lumbered over the drop zone, it was hit by flak. Nixon and three others managed to launch themselves out the door before the plane exploded. A day later Nixon was back with the regiment, and while he was drowning the memory with Vat 69, Sink was visiting Winters' headquarters.

"I have a problem, Dick," he said.

"It's Captain Nixon."

Winters knew what the complaint was, so it came as no surprise.

"Goddamit, the man's drunk all the time," Sink said. "I mean, I certainly tip a few myself at night and when off duty, but with him it's all the time. I can't get any damned work out of him. How did you find him to work with?"

"Captain Nixon and I get along very well, sir," Winters replied.

"That's what I had thought," Sink said. "Do you want him back? Can you use him?"

"Oh yes, I can use him," Winters said.

"You got him," Sink said. "Hell, every time I need him he's always here with you anyway. He may as well stay."

So Lewis Nixon, now the only man in the 101st to make three combat jumps, returned to 2nd Battalion.

/

The letter from Dick to DeEtta on March 24, 1945:

Dear De-

What kind of stuff are you reading nowadays? From the line of icky stuff you wrote about my picture it sounds like 15¢ worth of pulp magazine. Something that would be called "Ten thrilling love stories" or "True confessions." Anyway don't hand me that kind of stuff. I get to look in the mirror about once a day when I shave and when I'm honest with myself, I just say, "Boy, are you ugly." So to be brief I am just glad I don't have to go around all day looking at myself.

Then you talk about my hair being darker. Hell, no, it's just dirty. I don't get a chance to wash it but a couple times a year. Then there's worry muscles on my forehead. My aching back! I've worry muscles all over my face and the longer this war continues, the deeper they'll grow for I've got over 600 big individual worries myself when I get time to think about my future.

Now we come to the part [in your letter] where my "eyes are keen and seem to follow you wherever you go." This is too much for me, I quit! Hell, that's the way I sleep!

Next, my "mouth seems firmer, and my face broader, yet muscular." Naturally, if you'd been beaten around for so long and eaten noth-ing but K rations, you'd need more than a lipstick to look ----

"When I think of what your eyes have seen, I just can't visualize or imagine that much." Have you read these combat stories in the newspapers and magazines and seen these movies on combat? It makes me shiver too. "Do you jump when somebody slams a door, hit the ground if a car backfires?" Well, that's about all there is to it. Once you've seen one French village, you've seen them all, Holland, Belgium, Alsace-Lorraine, Germany-all the same.

So you met a boy from the 511 [Parachute Infantry Regiment, 11th Airborne Division]? Is that outfit in this man's army? Never heard of them doing anything! Gee, that sure must have been interest-ing to hear what the lad had to say about what paratroopers must go through. Terrible, I imagine. I'lljust bet they run him to death. And if his officers don't work him to death, he'll most likely get killed on a practice jump. Did he tell you about the time he killed three Germans with his bare hands? Or about the time he got a letter from his girl and he was so inspired he went out and killed ten more of those dirty old krauts?

Yes, yes, those poor, poor, tired old krauts, just aching to give up. All you have to do is walk over there and invite them to give up. Why, I imagine he told you how a Yank is better than any three, old, tired krauts. Then there's the one about how they can't shoot worth a damn, can't hit a thing. I know, I've heard them all. To be brief, that's about the same grade as the stuff you handed me in the letter I just went over with you.

Sort of tired tonight. This thing of running a battalion can be rough if you want to make it that way.

On the radio they just announced that the 101st jumped east of the Rhine today. Mighty interesting!

Wish they would have told me so I could have gone along.

Well, here's to the end. This letter looks and sounds like I must have been drinking but I am about as sober as a judge. Only just so tired I am too lazy to lift my pen, let alone think.

Well, I'll be seeing you in church-

Dick

[mariacallous]

A theatrical production based on the memoir of an ex-Hasidic transgender rabbi and activist, set to premiere in New York early next year, is scrambling to find a new home after its landlord rejected the script last week.

The landlord? The Roman Catholic Archdiocese of New York.

The production has become a casualty of a dispute between the East Village’s Connelly Theater, which had long staged provocative works, and the archdiocese, which owns the venue. The archdiocese has recently placed the theater under increased scrutiny, exercising a clause that gives it approval of plays shown at its property. The Catholic school that serves as the go-between between the church and the theater said it is “suspending all operations of its theater,” The New York Times reported.

Abby Stein, author of the 2019 memoir “Becoming Eve: My Journey from Ultra-Orthodox Rabbi to Transgender Woman,” was alerted last Wednesday that the adaptation of her book would no longer be permitted at the Connelly Theater.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Stein said in an interview. “I’m not going to come up and pretend, ‘Oh my God, the Catholic Church doesn’t like trans people, I’m shocked.’ I wouldn’t say that. I think we all know that. It’s just extremely frustrating that even in a place like New York, it’s still something you need to think about.”

She added, “It feels like we’re taking one step forward, two steps back. This shouldn’t be something we’re still worried about.”

Josh Luxenberg, the Off Broadway theater’s general manager for the past 10 years, resigned last Friday, telling The New York Times that he was reluctant to serve as a “censor rather than an advocate of artistic freedom.” The theater was built in the 1860s, according to its “About Us” page, which still lists Luxenburg as general manager and calls itself “a home for adventurous independent theater productions.” Its main stage theater seats 200.

The Archdiocese of New York did not respond to a request for comment. Its director of communications told the Times that the decision reflected longstanding norms about its oversight of content shared in its buildings. The archdiocese has previously required public schools renting space it owns to hold sex education instruction off-campus.

“It is the standard practice of the archdiocese that nothing should take place on church-owned property that is contrary to the teaching of the church,” Joseph Zwilling told the newspaper. “That applies as well to plays, television shows or movies being shot, music videos being recorded, or other performances.”

“Becoming Eve” tells the story of Stein’s journey as a rabbi and heir to a prominent Hasidic dynasty who left her insular community in 2012 and publicly came out as transgender in 2015. The book became a bestseller, and she became an advocate for the LGBTQ+ community and for Hasidic Jews who leave their communities. Stein is currently a part-time rabbi at the independent congregation Kolot Chayeinu in Brooklyn as well as an activist on causes including opposing Israel’s war in Gaza.

“I did not expect myself to be at the crosshairs of the Archdiocese of New York,” Stein said.

As an adaptation of Stein’s memoir, the play “centers on a conversation between Abby, her devout father and a young liberal rabbi, as they reckon with questions of gender and faith,” according to Playbill.

“Becoming Eve” is one of at least three shows booted out of the Connelly Theater by the Archdiocese. SheNYC, a summer theater festival for plays by female, nonbinary and transgender artists, said in a statement that it has also been told by the Archdiocese that it cannot use the theater next summer.

“It’s a total shock that somehow, strict conservative ideals are dictating what can happen in a NYC theater,” SheNYC posted on Instagram. “We’re heartbroken by this loss. And we’re not going to lie – this puts us in a tough spot for our 2025 season, which is also our 10-year anniversary.”

The comedy show “Jack Tucker: Comedy Standup Hour,” a solo show by comedian Zach Zucker, who is Jewish, featuring his alter-ego Jack Tucker, was in the works to transfer to the Connelly Theater in early September for a limited run following a successful turn at the SoHo Playhouse. But the archdiocese rejected the show days before it was set to begin. Zucker had to relocate and postpone the show.

In an Instagram post announcing the new dates and location, Zucker said of the Ccurch, “Why’d they do this? We’ll never know. But what I do know is that God will never stop me.”

“Becoming Eve” is written by Em Weinstein, produced by Dayna Bloom and Brian Lee, and directed by Tyne Rafaeli. It will be in previews in March and is set to premiere in April of 2025.

New York Theatre Workshop, which is producing the play, is in the process of finding an alternate venue.

“We remain fiercely committed to presenting Emil Weinstein’s compelling and singular play, Becoming Eve, in our season,” New York Theatre Workshop said in a statement. “We are profoundly disappointed by the Archdiocese’s decision and reaffirm our unwavering commitment to produce this powerful story. We are in talks with a new venue and look forward to sharing the details very soon. We are proud to produce this compelling story and to champion its artists and ethos.”

[hooked-on-elvis]

ELVIS' DEBUT ON TV — 📺 [CBS] The Dorsey Brothers 'Stage Show'

Elvis with Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey at CBS Studio 50, New York, March 17, 1956 [that would be Elvis' 5th appearance on their TV show, out of 6 total.].

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By December 1955 Elvis had still not made an appearance on national television. His manager Colonel Tom Parker negotiated a deal through Steve Yates with CBS's "Stage Show" for four appearances on the show in January 1956 at $1,250 each and an option for two more at $1,500 each.

On the January 28, 1956, Elvis was broadcast for the nation for the very first time, performing "Shake, Rattle and Roll", "Flip, Flop and Fly" and "I Got a Woman".

[ABOVE: the January 28th 1956 FULL PERFORMANCE]

On Elvis' first appearance on American television, Bill Randle, one of the most influential disc jockeys of the time, was the man who actually presented Elvis Presley to the nation. He said:

"We'd like at this time to introduce to you a young fellow, who like many performers, Johnnie Ray among them, come up out of nowhere to be overnight very big stars. This young fellow we met for the first time while making a movie short*. We think tonight that he's going to make television history for you. We'd like you to meet him now - Elvis Presley. And here he is!" — Bill Randle, Disc Jockey, the man presenting Elvis Presley to America for the first time. January 28, 1956.

After this, things would never be the same, specially the society. Such a good beginning for a year, that special day in a January month! ♥

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🎞️THE SHORT-FILM THAT NEVER SAW THE LIGHT OF DAY (for the general public... at least until now...)

The movie short Bill Randle referred to during his introduction to Elvis was "The Pied Piper Of Cleveland - A Day In The Life Of A Famous Disc Jockey" a short film made by Universal pictures about Bill Randle himself. Filmed on October 20th, 1955, at a concert in Brooklyn High School, Cleveland, it featured the stars Bill Haley & The Comets, The Four Lads, Pat Boone, plus the addition of a little-known Elvis Presley.

The original forty-eight-minute film was supposed to be cut down to a twenty-minute "short" for national distribution, but never made it that far. We're in 2024... 69 years went by since this shortcut was produced but the movie remains unreleased.

There is some dispute over whether or not this film actually exists, although it's said it was shown publicly, albeit only once in Cleveland, and excerpts were also aired on a Cleveland television station in 1956. Marshall Lytle, bass player for Bill Haley's Comets, corroborates the existence of the film in his memoir, "Still Rockin' Around the Clock", but he makes the unsubstantiated claim that Colonel Tom Parker, Presley's manager, bought the film and destroyed the existing copies. According to historians, tho, DJ Bill Randle, before his death in 2004, sold the rights to the film to PolyGram (it has been reported that Universal Studios has the negatives of the film in its vaults).

Much uncertainty about this short film, but can you imagine this film being release in Elvis' birthday centenary celebration? We watched, and listened, on Elvis' 89th birthday a few days earlier this year, to them playing during his birthday celebration at Graceland the original "That's All Right" record as it was cut at Sun Records studio in 1954, so who knows? There's always rare things surfacing here and there, so... we better keep our hopes this Bill Randle's 1955 movie, with some new 'baby Elvis' footage, will be release any day now [such as we know there's 'Elvis On Tour' and 'Elvis: That's the Way It Is' never seen before footage coming our way, as confirmed by the "Elvis" 2022 biopic's film director, Baz Luhrmann — finally! We hope it will be released soon].

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But enough daydreaming... Back to Elvis' 1st television appearances.

After the premiere on America's television on January 28th, 1956, Elvis would do five more appearances on 'The Dorsey Brothers Stage Show" for the next eight weeks. Those would take place on February 4, February 11, February 18, March 17 and March 24th, 1956.

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February 4th, 1956 | "Baby Let's Play House" and "Tutti Frutti"

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February 11th, 1956 | "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Heartbreak Hotel" *

* This is a special arrangement for 'Heartbreak Hotel', so good! Jazzy, dramatic, really rarity. I loved this! ♥

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February 18th, 1956 | "Tutti Frutti" and "I Was The One"

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March 17th, 1956 | "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Heartbreak Hotel" *

* This is the usual arrangement for the "Heartbreak Hotel" song. On February 11th, 1956, Elvis performed this same song onstage of 'The Dorsey Brothers Show' but it sounded something more… dramatic (I guess it matched the lyrics after all, but I love the usual arrangement better yet).

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And the last one... the 6th appearance on 'Dorsey Brothers Stage Show':

March 24th, 1956 | "Money Honey" and "Heartbreak Hotel" | [FULL PERFORMANCE]

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We can see how on those first TV shows Elvis still looks quite shy. Although he moves the usual lot, he doesn't flirt with his audience as much as he would on the upcoming TV appearances (and throughout his life, actually). It's funny how he grew comfortable with being in front of the cameras so fast tho. As his photographer Wiliam Speer said, "I guess you must really like being photographed."

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Elvis with Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey at CBS Studio 50 in New York, on March 17, 1956. That would be Elvis' 5th appearance on their TV show. 'The Dorsey Brothers Stage Show' (CBS) was the place Elvis debut in his TV appearances, on January 28th 1956. He would appear on the show for 6 times total, from January to March 1956. ♥

Performing on the 'Dorsey Brothers Stage Show' at the CBS Studio 50, New York City, on March 24th, 1956. His 6th and final appearance on the show.

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EDIT: THE BLUE MOON BOYS

I hate it when I forget to mention such important, trivial, facts — and this shouldn't be footnote info and I feel guilty it is now but I forgot mentioning — The Blue Moon Boys. I love them so much! I watch those footage looking at them as much as I look at Elvis.

Like, I love Bill Black's energy onstage! I love him hollering, vibing to their sound, as loud as Elvis (on occasion). I love how he seem to love chewing gum (Bill is chewing gum in some of those footage), because it makes me look at the Blue Moon Boys and Elvis as a unit, real close friend who look alike, just how it should be. We know although EP for obvious reasons can't chew gum while singing, he loooooved gum and kept this - should I say "habit?" - throughout his life. It's sounding silly what I'm saying, I know, but I think this Elvis habit in fact date from back when he was rocking onstage with Bill, Scotty and DJ Fontana and it makes my heart warm how close and similar they seem to be, as friends, real friends. Bill is actually said to be the one cheering the crowds onstage when they first begun performing, when Elvis was still learning how to be the great leading man he became. When EP was still learning how to act onstage, how to manipulate the audience, creating the mad passionate reactions he learned to create whenever he wanted, Bill was the one heating things up, joking with the audience, cheering, hollering. Bill is amazing! His energy is intoxicating, and we can see it clearly on those first TV appearances performances. ♥

--

I also love how hot Scotty Moore looks! I kinda laughed thinking 'Oh my goodness' ... So this thing about rock and roll bands always having hot vocalists and hot guitar players as a rule, it looks like it all started from the 50s with EP and Scotty! (really, at least the singer and guitar player in most rock bands are hot AF, am I lying? *lol*). I have a thing for Scotty... When he smiles at times on those footage, I'm like: 🤤🥹🥴🫠 And I also love how he's elegant but at the same time menacing looking holding and playing his guitar like the guitar hero he was. Really, if you haven't yet, do yourself a favor and read Scotty's book "THAT'S ALL RIGHT, ELVIS: The Untold Story of Elvis' First Guitarist and Manager, Scotty Moore", by Scotty as told to James Dickerson (1997). Scotty's life story is fascinating and as interesting as Elvis'. ♥

--

And last, but never least, I love how together, calm and concentrated DJ Fontana looks. Ok, unfortunately being the drummer has it's disadvantages. We can't see DJ Fontana as much as we see the other boys onstage, but I listen to the songs until the very last minute and it's amazing how the music always has the closing, the important and dramatic ending, done by DJ's talented hands. I love that guy. ♥

Elvis Presley and The Blue Moon Boys were the best rock and rollers! I love their energy together. As much as I adore 70s Elvis onstage, the TCB Band, the Sweets Inspirations and all, if I only had one performance of Elvis' I could attend, just one to choose, I would go for - undoubtedly - the 50s ones, when those guys, The Blue Moon Boys and Elvis, were playing together.

That's Rock and Roll royalty. ✨👑 ♥

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There you go. All the videos together so you can watch of them easily. ♥

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 8th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 installments of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part III of Chapter 3: “Où pour la première fois, MM. Debienne et Poligny donnent, en secret, aux nouveaux directeurs de l’Opéra, MM. Armand Monchardin et Firmin Richard, la véritable et mystérieuse raison de leur départ de l’Académie nationale de musique” (“Where for the First Time, MM. Debienne and Poligny Secretly Give the New Managers of the Opera, MM. Armand Moncharmin and Firmin Richard, the True and Mysterious Reason for Their Departure from the National Academy of Music”). We also have Part I of Chapter 4: "La Loge N° 5" ("Box 5").

This section was first printed on Saturday, 2 October, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward's translation of the First Edition of Phantom of the Opera (either in paperback, or Kindle, or from another vendor -- the ISBN-13 is: 978-0199694570), the text starts in Chapter 3 at Moncharmin's memoir “Messrs Debienne and Poligny became increasingly agitated” and goes to the description of Richard in Chapter 4, “There is a slightly melancholy cast to his features but this is promptly tempered by the candid, honest look in his eye and a delightful smile.”

There are some differences between the Gaulois text and the standard First Edition text. In this section, these include:

1) Compare the Gaulois text: "dit-il dans ses mémoires" to the First Edition: "raconte-t-il dans ses mémoires"

2) Compare in the Gaulois text: "nous montrer aimables avec lui" to the First Edition: "nous montrer aimables avec celui-ci"

3) Compare in the Gaulois text: "un cinquième alinéa" to the First Edition: "un alinéa"

4) In the Gaulois text, Leroux actually listed the rules set down in the Opéra's document of terms and conditions, in which Erik demanded his 20,000 franc per month salary (it's likely that some of these rules applied to Debienne and Poligny during their tenure, especially in regards to making bad business deals and cooking the books). These paragraphs are highlighted in red above.

Translation:

1. If the Manager violates the provisions stipulated in the document of terms and conditions, in particular articles 1, 9, and 49. In the case, however, where he would not consider it necessary to order the dismissal of the Manager, the Ministry can impose fines on him of one thousand to twenty-five thousand francs, according to the severity of the offenses committed. These fines will be debited from the monthly subsidy due, or from the deposit which, in this case, must be finalized in twenty-four hours;

2. If the theatre remains closed without authorization for three days of mandatory performances;

3. If the house is set on fire;

4. If the Manager is notoriously impecunious or has made bad business deals, as evidenced by the non-payment of artists, employees, or officials, or by active or legal proceedings of a nature that could hinder the freedom of the management.

If at the end of his venture the Manager has not given the number of acts that were required of him by the document of terms and conditions, the Ministry can make him subject to a fine proportional to the average costs of the staging of each act.

5) In the Gaulois text, Leroux gave slightly more description of the section of the document of terms and conditions where Erik had decreed that Box 5 should be at his disposal at all performances. This section is highlighted in red above.

Translation:

And this fifth paragraph, which so strangely appended article 98 — the description of grounds for which managerial privilege could be revoked — said verbatim:

5. If the Manager is more than two weeks late with the monthly payment which he owes to the Phantom of the Opera, a monthly payment which is set until further notice at 20,000 francs — 240,000 francs per year.

6) In the Gaulois text, Leroux included a sentence detailing the use of Box 12, highlighted in red above.

Translation:

Box 12 on the fourth tier shall be given on all performances to the disposal of the Director of the Conservatory of Music and Oration for the students of that institution.

7) Minor differences in punctuation and capitalization.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 2 October, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton on resilience, tackling complex roles and the fight for on-screen representation

The actress took to the stage at the 2023 Bazaar Summit

When Zawe Ashton looks back at her career so far, she’s a little surprised: not at her own success, but at how she’s managed to navigate a notoriously tough industry so well. “When I talk about what I’ve been through, I think, why have I kept going?” the actress and writer told the audience at the 2023 Bazaar At Work Summit, at which she was a headline speaker. “I wonder if, to even become an actor, there needs to be something inside you that is already a little bit fractured. I think there’s something within me that somehow knows this level of crazy. When it gets really hard is when I feel my strongest or most determined.”

Anyone who has watched and loved the cult favourite TV show Fresh Meat will be very thankful indeed that Ashton did keep going. Her character – the straight-talking, drug-taking, chain-smoking and anti-establishment Vod Nordstrom – was a highlight of Jesse Armstrong’s hit series. The popularity of the sitcom-style show (and particularly of Vod) made Ashton a household name and, to this day, it’s a role she’s proud of playing. “Vod was very left-field, free-thinking and probably, I would say, a queer character without that being made explicit,” she said. “Fresh Meat was 11 years ago now, but there’s still a whole new wave of people who come up to me – lots of young actresses, of every ethnicity – who say thank you to me for being smelly, unlikeable, strange and punky, because there aren’t a wealth of women who are doing that on screen.”

Ashton clearly feels passionate about portraying real women in her work. In 2019, she published a fictionalised memoir, Character Breakdown, the title of which refers to the couple of lines an actor will receive with a script, which describe who the character is – for women, these mini biographies are often laughably simplistic and purely aesthetic. “They go from one extreme to another,” Ashton sighed with disbelief. “Where do we draw the line? If you’re not seeing women’s humanity, if you’re not seeing a full human life when you’re thinking about the ways in which you’re putting these descriptions together, then you’re not valuing women. And that’s a much bigger conversation than my industry.”

Throughout her career, Ashton has fought to play complex roles and has always emphasised the importance of making multi-faceted women of every ethnicity visible on screen. When she took the role of Vod, “growing up as a young, biracial girl in Hackney,” she was “willing to do whatever it took to make that character as edgy and authentic as I felt she could be, so that it would invite anyone not seeing that kind of representation to feel really seen”. In 2022, Ashton scored a role in the period drama Mr Malcom’s List, which was a seminal moment for her – and one which she credits to the success of Bridgerton's diverse casting. “I had never seen any actor who looked like me invited to the table to perform [something like that],” she said. “I hadn’t known necessarily that I was hurting so much, until I saw that representation happen and the success of it take everyone by storm.”

Since then, Ashton has continued to push the envelope. This year, she played villain Dar-Benn – a role traditionally written as male – in The Marvels, opposite Brie Larson as Carol Danvers. “The process of learning stunts and fighting is probably one of the most empowering things I’ve done!” she laughed. “But when I thought the film was finished, I got pregnant and had my baby. And then they told me to come back and reshoot basically the whole movie. That has been the biggest journey for me: my physical wellness, my ability to endure, to mentally switch back into that place postpartum and come back to kick some ass again.” Perhaps unsurprisingly, a boundary-breaking superhero feels like Ashton’s best-suited role to date. (x)

[trashforhockeyguys]

Vienna Wait For You -9- William Nylander

Avalyn sat in the green room of the studio, leg bouncing up and down, sweat gathering at the nape of her neck. She’d never been this nervous, but that’s because she’d never had so much to lose before. She was getting ready to out her parents, and immediately following her lawyer, Mr. Jefferies was going to file the lawsuit. After today she’d be free for the first time in her life. 

Jackson sat next to her, refusing to let her do this on her own. She was grateful for him in more ways than she could ever put into words. But all she could think about was the text she sent William earlier this morning, requesting that he tune in to her interview. It was the first time she’d asked him to watch an interview of hers. The first time she wanted him to hear what she had to say, because today would change everything. 

“It’s almost time,” Jacks said from his spot next to her, “Are you ready?” 

She was shaking where she sat. Feeling more like she’d vomit with every passing second. She wasn’t afraid of what her parents might do to her, but more afraid of what they would do to the people she loved. William included, because she did love him. God above, she loved William. 

“No,” She admitted shakily, “But I have to do this.” 

“It’s not too late to bail and just go upstate,” He reminded her, “They can find another way to fill the time slot.” 

“No they can’t,” She shook her head, “This has to be now or it’ll never happen. They didn’t announce that I was doing this, so my parents have no idea, they’ll be blindsided, which is what we wanted, remember?” “I’m just saying, there’s more than one way to do this.” 

“Not with them, there isn’t.”

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat when they came to retrieve her. This was going to happen, now there was no more putting it off. No more trying to find another option that wouldn’t potentially wreck her career. She would wreck it all, if only it meant she would finally be free. 

“Today we’re joined by none other than Hollywood’s favorite young starlet, Avalyn Bradshaw Kreitzbrg.” 

She took a deep breath before plastering on a nervous smile as she walked onto the stage, waving at the crowd a little as she did. She made her way to the seat left open for her, taking another deep breath as she sat down. 

“Thank you for having me,” She said, voice still a little shaky. 

“Now this comes as a shock to all of us, but you’re releasing a tell all memoir today,” the interviewer stated, “You managed to keep this under wraps for, as you said in your book, years. And I have to say, there’s some pretty shocking things in this.” They held up a shiny new copy of her book. 

Avalyn nodded, not making eye contact with the book that would wreck everything, and yet put it all back together again, “Yes, it was incredibly important for me to be able to tell my story in a way that meant I still had privacy while doing it. And that meant keeping it a secret from everyone, so I could tell my truth.” 

“Now, in this book, you say some incredibly harsh, and might I say, damning things about your parents. What does this mean for your relationship with them?” 

Avalyn sat up a little straighter, “I’m hoping it means I can finally be free of them. For years I’ve been nothing more than a source of income for them, not their daughter. I’ve been treated with very little respect, and never any love by them. But that doesn’t make doing this any easier, because they’re still my parents. They gave me life, but that doesn’t mean I should let them control every aspect of it.” 

“You write about being in a fake relationship with Jackson Portland, which comes as an absolute shock to most of the world,” They continue on, “Can you tell us more about that?” 

“We’ve been best friends since we were little,” She shrugged, “But when my parents decided it would be best that we act like a couple, he and I went along with it because it was just easier. We’d be safe with one another, you know? We could protect each other from the world and anyone else seeking a relationship. It was the safest option for both of us to continue the ‘relationship’ as we got older. I only disclose it now with his permission, so we can go on being best friends, but not have to make out with each other every time there’s a camera on us.” 

The interview continued on. They asked more questions about her parents and their treatment of her. Asked about Jackson some more, because he was always a hot topic. Off stage, you could see him smiling at you, beaming with pride at what you were accomplishing by doing this. 

She continued on, spilling her secrets and her pain in front of the audience, and the thousands of people tuning in the second it was announced she would be on the show, very early this morning. She was risking it all, yet Avalyn was strangely happy about it. 

“I want other people in my situation to know that they aren’t alone,” She said at the end, “I want them to know that there is an out, even if it seems like it’s impossible, and that there is freedom. You just have to be brave enough to take the first step towards it.” 

“Thank you so much, Avalyn Bradshaw Krietzburg everyone!” 

She let out a deep breath as she walked off the stage and into Jackson’s open arms. No matter what happened, he would be her family, him and his parents loved her as if she was their own. 

“Let’s get in the car and head upstate, yeah?” Jacks said, kissing the top of her head. 

“Sounds amazing,” She breathed out. 

Because for the first time in years, she felt like she could truly breathe. Felt the massive weight lifted off of her shoulders, and a new life was going to begin. She had two weeks before she had to be back in Toronto, two weeks where she could lay low and just live. 

So she and Jackson headed out of the studio, greeted by hoards of screaming people, and got into the town car before starting the drive upstate. Rose promised to meet them there, saying her family was dying to see both Avalyn and Jackson again. Truthfully, Avalyn was dying for some of the normalcy her family somehow managed to maintain on their little homestead. 

Her phone started ringing half way there, William was calling. He was one of the few people to have her new number. 

“Where are you right now?” He asked frantically. 

“On my way to upstate New York.” 

“I was really hoping you’d say on your way back to Toronto,” He sounded deflated, “How long will you be there?” 

“A week, maybe more,” She replied. 

There was silence for a moment. There was so much she wanted to say, and he had plenty to say himself. But he didn’t know how to articulate any of it. Avalyn didn’t know how to tell him that she loved him, and that they could give this a try now that her parents were out of the picture.

Avalyn could only imagine how furious they must be. Not only losing their best client, but knowing that their other clients would follow because of how they treated their own daughter. She suddenly became very glad she ditched her old phone this morning so they couldn’t call her and harass her. 

“I wish I could see you,” He admitted softly. 

“I have tickets to your next home game,” She told him happily, hoping he’ll see the admission for what it was. 

A declaration of love. 

“Oh you did?” He questioned, “Are you coming with Jackson?” 

“Yes, but only as friends,” She replied quickly, “He is bringing a date.” 

“So you’re really free then?” 

“I am. Finally,” She smiled as she breathed out. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?” He questioned. 

There were, in truth, a lot of reasons why she didn’t tell him. The biggest being that she was afraid that something would happen and the plan would fall through. And then she’d be worse off than she was then. But the plan went off without a hitch, and Mr. Jefferies called to say that he filed the lawsuit just after she left the studio. 

“I’m sorry,” She sighed, “But I couldn’t tell anyone, just in case somehow word got back to my parents. God, they must hate the world right now.” 

“They don’t matter anymore,” He replied, she can hear the hint of his smile, “You’re free.” 

“I’m free,” She repeated, a smile spreading across her face. 

“I wish I was with you,” He admits softly. So softly you almost don’t even hear him. 

“I wish you were here too,” You reply almost dreamlike, “But I’ll be back in a week or so. Just enough time for some other scandal to take over and all of this will be water under the bridge.” 

“I love you.” 

Your heart soars with his admission, because you know he means it. You can feel it in your very bones, and know once you’re back together again, nothing is going to stop you from seeing him. You yearn for him. 

“I love you too, Willy.” 

You can practically see him smiling behind your closed eyes as he replies, “It’s so good to hear you say that.” 

“It’s nice to finally feel like I can say it,” You admit to him, “I’ll be home soon.” 

Because although Toronto wasn’t truly your home, it felt as if it was. The city had taken up residence in your heart, along with the rag tag group of boys and men that made up the hockey team. Your cast and crew had become your family in a way that you hadn’t expected. You were ready to go back to them, after everything blew over. 

“I’ll be counting down the days.” 

You blush, unable to stop it. You feel utterly undone by the blond on the other end of the phone. In utter shambles at the thought that you finally don’t have to hide away. Your relationship can be shouted from the rooftops of Toronto if you wanted. It’s everything you ever wanted for yourself. To be free and have someone that truly loves you.  

“I’ll see you soon, Will.” 

“Don’t do anything else crazy before I see you again,” He laughs. 

She found herself wishing she could save that sound so that she could go back and listen to it whenever she was feeling down. Because nothing made her smile like he did. She ached to be near him, but knew she needed to be off the grid for a little while, just until things settled down. 

“I promise. I’m just going to be hanging out on a friend’s farm for a little while.”

“Good. I have to go, but I love you Ava.” 

“I love you too, Will.”

[justforbooks]

V13 Chronique Judiciaire by Emmanuel Carrère

A chronicle of the largest criminal case in French history from a master of the genre

In the early evening of 12 November 2015, three cars left Charleroi in Belgium, arriving a few hours later at a rented house in the northern suburbs of Paris. The occupants of the cars – or “the death convoy”, as they called it – were Islamic State terrorists who, the following night, rampaged through the French capital. Three attacked the Stade de France, where a football friendly between France and Germany was being played. Arriving late, they were denied entry to the stadium and blew themselves up outside.

At the same time, another group opened fire on cafes and bars in the city centre. Two members fled, while another walked into a restaurant and detonated his suicide vest. Meanwhile, the remaining trio entered the Bataclan theatre, where a crowd of 1,500 were attending a gig by the US rock band Eagles of Death Metal. The attack and subsequent siege lasted two and a half hours and ended with all three terrorists dead. Across the city, 130 people had been murdered and hundreds more injured.

Five years later, in the autumn of 2020, on the eve of publishing his new book, Yoga, and reeling from a difficult few years – mental illness, divorce, legal battles – Emmanuel Carrère was hunting for a subject. The author, who wrote fiction before branching into true crime, unconventional biographies and a string of extraordinary, deeply exposing memoirs, making him one of France’s most highly regarded writers, contacted an editor at the news magazine Le Nouvel Obs putting himself forward for work – “You know the kind of stuff I’m comfortable with: less opinion pieces than fieldwork, maybe a criminal case.”

What the editors of Le Nouvel Obs eventually decided on wasn’t just any criminal case, but the largest in French history: the trial of those accused of involvement in the Paris terror attacks of 13 November 2015 (Friday, or vendredi, 13: V13). Everything about it was unprecedented: it would last nine months, with the plaintiffs’ testimony alone taking five weeks. There were 1,800 of those plaintiffs, a legal brief comprising 542 volumes which, if stacked, would stand 53 metres high; 20 defendants, and nearly 400 magistrates and lawyers, all occupying a 650sq metre, €7m (£5m) purpose-built courtroom at the Palais de Justice.

Carrère’s task was to show up, observe and file a weekly piece, and this book (translated from French by John Lambert) is the result. In 2009’s Other Lives But Mine, he managed to make the workings of a provincial small claims court compelling. The challenge posed by a trial as inherently dramatic as V13 isn’t how to render it interesting, but how to traverse its morass of detail and sometimes contradictory defence testimony. The skill with which he does so is extraordinary. In Carrère’s hands it becomes a lattice of absorbing storylines: will Salah Abdeslam, the sole surviving attacker, break his silence and take the stand? Why did Mohamed Abrini resign his role in the slaughter during the death convoy’s drive to Paris, then fail to blow himself up in an attack on Brussels airport four months later? What happened to Sonia, who tipped police off as to the location of Abdelhamid Abaaoud, the cell’s leader, several days after the attack? Will the three defendants not currently in custody, who need to be resident in Paris for the duration (one of them rents an old woman’s garden shed for €600 a month), be found guilty of criminal association with terrorists?

The first part of Carrère’s book, however, is devoted to the plaintiffs’ testimony, the majority of which comes from the Bataclan. It is hard to read these accounts of the terrible rhythm of death – “A shout a shot, a sob a shot, a ringtone a shot” – of people crawling through “human mud”, or of one of the attackers showering the pit with “a confetti of human flesh” when he blows himself up on stage. Carrère also relates the story of the 131st victim, a young man who killed himself two years after escaping the Bataclan. This ugly litany of violence makes for grim, queasy reading.

There are startling moments of human kindness and generosity, though, and Carrère is ever alive to striking details. The plaintiffs wear ribbons of green or red, which denote their willingness or otherwise to speak with journalists. Some, uncertain, wear both. When a plaintiff’s testimony is particularly good, the sound of clicking keyboards suddenly rises from the press benches (“Such a casting-call attitude is terrible,” Carrère acknowledges, “but how to escape it?”). Early in the proceedings, tipped off by a lawyer, the author slips into a small basement courtroom to briefly watch the trial of another terrorist, Carlos the Jackal, who has lodged a final appeal against the sentence handed down for his grenade attack on a Paris pharmacy in 1974.

As an account of what it was like to sit in the V13 courtroom, a “unique experience of horror, pity, proximity and presence”, Carrère’s book is absolutely gripping. But if there is an area in which it could, on its own terms, be said to fail, it is in the provision of answers. At one point, he reports “an astonishing sentence uttered by Abdeslam at the beginning of the trial and which, to my knowledge, went largely without comment: ‘Everything you say about us jihadists is like reading the last page of a book. What you should do is read the book from the start.’” This statement persists in Carrère’s mind as an encapsulation of what he expects from the trial. But while the terrorists framed their actions as a response to French involvement in Iraq and its bombing of Syria, there is a difference between a political cause and the willingness to do what these young men did (or, in Abrini’s case, didn’t do).

In the end justice is done, sentences are handed down, and at least some of the plaintiffs and the families of victims find closure. Yet despite Carrère’s attempt to imagine his way into the hash smoke-filled space of Les Béguines, the Molenbeek cafe where the attackers congregated to watch grisly IS videos of beheadings and burnings on Brahim Abdeslam’s laptop (and, the defendants claim, videos of IS building schools in Raqqa), he cannot penetrate them, or the fatal decisions they made, to any real depth.

The problem is perhaps one of form: a weekly magazine column isn’t an ideal medium for deep insight, and even if these pieces have been edited, shaped and expanded for the book, this is still fundamentally a collection of reports (as betrayed by the frequent repetitions – necessary in a weekly format, irritating here). There is also the matter of the raw material. Carrère may disagree with Manuel Valls, prime minister of France at the time of the attacks, who said that to try to understand the terrorists’ actions was to justify them. But while he imagined their testimony would be captivating, it turns out instead to be a “poor mystery: an abysmal void wrapped in lies, which one regrets with stunned amazement having spent so much time thinking about at all”.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

Patti Smith Group / John Cale / Television - The Palladium, New York City, December 31, 1976

I finally got around to Sonic Life, Thurston Moore's recent memoir, this month! You can read a few of my quick thoughts about it (along with some other nice recommendations) in the latest edition of the Aquarium Drunkard Book Club. As I mention, I was a little surprised at how much I enjoyed Thurston's memories of his teenage years, way before Sonic Youth was even a twinkle in his eye — A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Fan? From the suburbs of Connecticut, Moore made countless trips into NYC to soak in the punk/CBGB/Max's worlds, catching shows by The Ramones, Suicide, the Dead Boys, Sid Vicious ... and Patti Smith, of course.

Thurston paints an evocative portrait of this New Year's Eve blowout, which doubled as Patti's raucous 30th birthday party. He was dangerously high on mescaline.

"We zombied our way down the street to the Palladium and found our seats, and I sat in a state of tenuous control as Television arrived onstage. I figured if I just maintained my cool, the mescaline's threat of wiping out my sanity would begin to subside and all would be okay. 'A song by Dylan' — were the only words I remember Tom Verlaine saying to the audience as the band began to play a plaintive cover of 'Knockin' on Heaven's Door.' By the time John Cale and his group came onstage, I felt as though I were sliding slowly down the side of a porcelain sink, managing only the barest of friction, my reality threatening to fall into a drain hole never to return. I was gripped by the fear of losing myself completely, another entry on the list of acid casualties. I concentrated on specific thoughts, pinpricks of salvation that I'd cling to, slip from, then hold on to again. I feared that if I closed my eyes, I would be forever vanquished."

Happy new year?! All these decades later we can enjoy the Palladium gig via dusty audience tapes — your call if you want to drop a tab of mescaline while you listen. Interesting to hear Television at this point, with Marquee Moon more or less in the can, playing a much larger venue than ever before. They'd just finished several nights in a row at CB's — which is maybe that's why they sound a littttttle bit tired. But there's plenty of sweet stuff, of course, including a truly go-for-broke "Kingdom Come." Billy Ficca, baby! Cale, meanwhile, happily provides a bad trip soundtrack for Thurston's bad trip — a short but powerful set highlighted by a maniacal "Guts" and an even more maniacal "Fear Is A Man's Best Friend." That guy sure could scream.

And what about the belle of the ball — Patti herself? Let's hand it back to Thurston, who had recovered a bit by the start of her set. Here, he describes the all-star finale with Fred "Sonic" Smith joining the melee.

"Fred and Patti had become an item. Now here was Fred onstage, unassuming and spectral, as Patti howled and whirled. With 'My Generation' culminating in obligatory destruction, all players would eventually leave the stage except for the two Smiths. Like Fred, Patti had a Fender Duo-Sonic strapped on, and she leaned her head on her sweetheart's shoulder as both their guitars emitted a whistling-bird noise of feedback through the amps. How this translated to everyone around me, I couldn't say. For me, it was an emblematic vision of all I would ever desire from rock 'n' roll — transcendence, devotion, sonic love."

[scotianostra]

Happy birthday to singer Lulu born in East Dunbartonshire November 3rd 1948.

Born as Marie McDonald McLaughlin Lawrie in Lennoxtown, young Marie was brought up in Dennistoun, Glasgow, where she attended Thomson Street Primary School and Onslow Drive School.She lived in Gallowgate for a while before moving to Garfield Street, Dennistoun. At the age of 12 or 13, she and her manager approached a band called the Bellrocks seeking stage experience as a singer. She appeared with them every Saturday night: Alex Thomson, the group’s bass player, has reported that even then her voice was remarkable. She has two brothers and a sister, and her father was a heavy drinker.At age 14, she received the stage name “Lulu” from her future manager Marion Massey, who commented: “Well, all I know is that she’s a real lulu of a kid.”

Lulu went on to earn her place in the spotlight in May 1964, with her standout version of The Isley Brothers’ tune “Shout.” At the time, she was part of the group the Luvvers. However, after a few more chart toppers, Lulu decided to venture out as a solo artist. In 1966, she went on a tour with the Hollies that included a concert in Poland, which made Lulu the first female singer from the British Isles to sing live behind the Iron Curtain, as it was then.

A year later, though, was when Lulu really made an international splash as both a singer and an actress. She appeared in the 1967 film To Sir, With Love alongside Sidney Poitier. She belted out the film’s theme song (which had the same title as the movie) in a memorable scene. The song skyrocketed to No. 1 on the charts in America. Lulu also was joint winner of The Eurovision Song contest with Boom Bang-a-Bang, a top 20 song worldwide. She is the only female singer to have appeared on Top of the Pops in the shows five decades.

Back home she continued with more hits and TV appearances and in 1968, she hosted her own BBC 1 TV series, Happening for Lulu. In 1969 aged 19 she got hitched to Bee Gees band member Maurice Gibb, the marriage failed ad they divorced four years later. Lulu attributed in various interviews to Gibb’s rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle and excessive drinking. In 1977, the singer tied the knot with hairdresser John Frieda. Their union lasted 20 years and produced one son, Jordan Frieda. Lulu has admitted in press interviews and in her 2002 memoir I Don’t Want to Fight that she was also romantically linked to the late Davy Jones of the Monkees and the iconic performer David Bowie.

In 2008 Lulu was one of a number of Scottish celebrities that featured in the advertising campaign for Homecoming Scotland and in In August 2014, she opened the closing ceremony of the 2014 Glasgow Commonwealth Games. At aged 69 Lulu joined the cast of 42nd Street in a 16 week run. She has said in the past she “will never retire” and sure looks like living up to that as I saw her on TV just this week, however- she is now doing , what has been called a farewell tour, although it is being billed as a 'Champagne For Lulu' tour. There are ten dates left in the tour which finishes off at The Usher Hall in Edinburgh.

Lulu is also filming i biopic of her life and finishing writing her autobiography, oh she also played Glastonbury earlier this year, I don't think we have seen the last of her yet. Here she is at a Hogmanay show in 2018 into 2019.

[emilieautumnarchives]

Emilie Autumn for Bubblegum Sl-t Zine

Original Link (Archive Post from Author) Last access 3/31/24 Originally Posted: Summer 2010

...I interviewed Emilie Autumn a few times in the mid-00s, although only once for Bubblegum Sl💛t. I think the photo of Emilie and me (seen on the left of the first slide) was taken after an interview for Alternative Magazine. Every time I saw Emilie, her gigs grew a bit grander and more bonkers. Consider that her entry point to the era’s music scene was a violin-and-vocal concept album - which concerned Shakespeare and mental ill health, and arrived accompanied by a semi-autobiographical novel, fusing psych ward memoirs with a Victorian fantasy world – and you get some sense of just how bonkers things got. By the time this was printed in 2010, her shows were bringing cabaret vibes and musical theatre production values to rock venues. Accompanied by the ‘Bloody Crumpets’ (a troupe of burlesque belles posing as asylum inmates), and an elaborate array of handcrafted props and costumes, she was greeted at every show by hordes of adoring ‘plague rats’ in bloomers and stripey stockings. Something I always found both inspiring and a little intimidating was just how hands-on Emilie was with every aspect of her ambitious shows. Right down to handmaking merch, she oversaw every last damn detail of her immersive fantasy world, putting in frighteningly long hours to make it happen. This was a big a theme of this very wordy interview.

Interview and scans below the cut.

Transcription note: this interview is long and EA's comments are interspersed throughout, so I've put her words in bold.

Wayward Woman

Released from her old record contract, our favourite asylum inmate Emilie Autumn has lately let her creativity run. And run. And run.

18 hour day corporate workaholics would be put to shame by the drive that Emilie Autumn exhibits in her many artistic endeavors. With each successive, increasingly grand tour I've witnessed (for which Emilie handles the design and production of lavish stage sets and costumes, the creation handmade merch and the choreography of dance routines and comedy set-pieces with her sidekicks 'The Bloody Crumpets', not to mention violin, harpsichord and vocal duties) I've felt, with crowing certainty, that superhuman powers are the only explanation for her quite extraordinary ability to maintain both the quality and vast quantity of her output. Speaking to the insomniac artist herself shortly after her Spring 2010 tour of Europe and Australia however, I've forced to entertain the more improbable, and frankly frightening notion, that her stamina is actually that of a mere mortal, as she recounts woefully how a throat infection forced her to cancel two shows on this most recent outing. The singer can't claim she wasn't warned; management -- characterized in popular music mythology as the business bods cracking the whip on the backs of their poor, cash-cow artist -- apparently made efforts to talk her out of undertaking such a lengthy tour before she had embarked up it, but inevitably such a suggestion was never given any serious consideration by a women who describes the experience of taking a few days off as "torturous".

"I wasn't allowed to speak," she elaborated on the horrors of her enforced spell of rest and relaxation. "I wasn't even allowed to whisper, so I had to write things down to communicate. As somebody who talks a lot--as you can tell--it was definitely torturous!"

Yes, I can definitely tell you that, amongst a great deal of many other talents, Emilie Autumn can really talk. Figuring out that much in the four previous interview I've got to admit that, while the kind of intense and frank debate and confessions she offers in volumes are a refreshing pleasure over any media-trained soundbite, I approach this latest encounter with as much dread as anticipation; dread that is for the figure that will appear on my phone bill when the receiver eventually goes down and Emilie and Chicago. And on this occasion there's more to talk about than ever before.

See, even within the biography of an artist who is prolific by nature the past few months can be considered a fully of activity. The tour aside, there's been the double dis re-release of Emilie's breath-through album 'Opheliac', while the publication of her long-awaited book 'The Asylum of Wayward Victorian Girls' requires epic discourse by itself. So more -- much more -- of the book later. Firstly, Emilie explains, the starting point for seeing this succession of projects come to fruition was opting to break away from former German-based label Trisol.

"Once all the house clearing went down I found, to my surprise, when the door opened I had a good amount of options," she recalls, swiftly skipping to the part where, having weight these up, she found and offer from New York's The End records the most attractive.

By signing on the dotted line she joined an oddball, distinctly arty roster, which also includes Mindless Self Indulgence, Dir En Gray and Dirty Little Rabbits, and celebrated seeing her music gain a release in her native Unite States at long last. Although "frustrated" by the prior limbo period, when her work languished on record stores' prices import shelves, she has to conceded that there's little evidence to suggest hefty taxes impeded the spread of the 'plague' (as she is wont to refer to the rise of her so-described 'violindustrial', with fans readily wearing the label 'plague rats').

"I was amazed to see the fanbase I have [here] when I first toured the US," she says. "The Plague rats are here, they're everywhere, and it's insane that this thing has spread almost without radio, without videos and without a label until now."

The fresh pressing of 'Opheliac' has also been granted a second release in Europe, where by contrast Emilie has enjoyed strong support from the alternative music media ever since the album was initially issued in 2006. Critics might assume a second coming so soon a little premature but, even without the addition of a wealth of bonus material, a record that can honestly by called a 'grower' -- rewarding revisits by revealing new depths to it's complex sonics and storyline -- makes a good case for being deserving of a second look. For Emilie herself "the 'Opheliac' record is still the most important thing" - the silver lining to the breakdown which followed her separation from musical collaborator turned lover Billy Corgan, traced to the eureka moment at which she began charting comparisons between her own increasingly troubled life and the misadventures of Shakespeare's archetypal 'difficult woman.'

"I think a couple times in your life, if you're lucky, you just get it right," Emilie reflects of the work now. "It's like creating the perfect quote that people will say 500 years later, because it still rings true. When I sing those songs onstage, or listen to that record it still strikes me that there's not a single thing I would change."

Such a definitive statement from the artist herself does rather invite the suggestion that the bonus disc can do little to enhance the piece; only encourage plague rats to pick up the second copy.

"The first disc is completely a concept album, where every sound is a puzzle piece within a big plan and everything relies on everything else around it," Emilie affirms. "So that second disc is like 'here's the mixbox' -- it's a complete jumble of things, like the inside of my head. But it is all very relevant to the suicidal theme of the album."

Specifically, she cites her unlikely rendition of an age-old song Billie Holiday mad her own, declaring "'Gloomy Sunday', - that's like the original suicide song, it couldn't be more relevant." With her version sitting alongside a cover of The Smiths' 'Asleep,' a solo violin rendering of Bach, several original acoustic recordings and samples of the spoken word, performances Emilie has lately been giving in support of her book release, she's not wrong in her assertion that the second disc is a 'mixbox' either. Set in contrast to the main album's heavy, literary study of her own human condition this new component is also reflective of the trademark scatter-brained and impatient intellect she overwhelms with when she chatters mile a minute.

By far the greatest justification for revisiting 'Opheliac' now Emilie excitably gabs is the long-awaited arrival of its companion and sequel, the Asylum book, viewed by it's author as a sort of key to decoding the shorthand hints embedded in the other releases in her catalogue.

A back-burner project in the Trisol offices for more than 2 years, the book looked so sure to be lost to the world for a time that Emilie's reaction when it eventually when into production under guidance of The End was to "go into shock - I've almost been in denial that i was ever actually happening.," she gasps. "I'd got so into saying 'wait for it, it's going to be great!' and not having it materialize that it was a shock when the new printing company put it together. It was torture to keep touring a keep releasing knowing that, even if I have a great fanbase who like what I'm doing, they really had no idea of what they liked was about at the time, They didn't know the full extent of how serious it actually was, how much i actually means and real it is."

Referring to the titular 'Asylum' -- most basically defined as a location in [Emilie's] imagination and art, but nonetheless deeply rooted in historical documentation of the treatment of Victorian madwomen, and the harsh realities of Emilie's own experience of the modern mental health care system -- she tells "there's this thing of assuming it's a fantasy world when, actually, it's for real. That was very difficult," she sighs, "to go on touring, knowing that there were so many things I couldn't do onstage that I actually might have wanted to, but because they were references to things in the book they would never make sense without it."

As much a novel, information manual for those wanting to pick up tips on surviving a mental health ward or swarm of leeches and detailed history lesson as it is an autobiography, the book was a massive undertaking --particularly for an author possessed of the perfectionist tendencies Emilie is. To put in perspective the length of the sentence 'The Asylum..." served in post-production hell, journalists received sample pages from Trisol's PR department, in preparation for an apparently imminent publication, way back in 2008. In the months it took for a released date to pass many other active and breathing public figures saw fit to issue second volumes to their autobiographies. Hence it figures that the finished Asylum on bookstore shelves now is a substantial development of those early previews.

"The story was there but with every day there was another delay and so more painting and ore words would go in just so that the time wasn't completely wasted," confirms Emilie. "If I had to wait I had to make the most of that time and now you have something that wouldn't have been quite as awesome if it had come a day earlier. It's not like the 'Opheliac' record, where I wouldn't add a note or take a note away -- this is the story of my entire life, it goes on -- I could always add another scribble in another corner. 'Opheliac' is a time capsule and this is everything, it goes [from] the beginning to beyond the end... the ultimate ending is still just a massive cliff-hanger because we don't know how it ends!"

Candor and openness being defining traits of the Emilie I've come to know it's surprising to hear that the other "big, open question mark," the book implanted in her head was a wave of self doubt--

"Like, 'okay, you think you know how you're going to react if people read this stuff by do you really ?' And for a couple of days there was this silence, on our sounding board--you know, the internet," she translates. "Everything was really quiet for a couple of days as people were reading it and digesting it and when they came back there was a kind of collective 'holy fuck - we though we knew what was going on by now... maybe not.' There's an increased understanding of me and what I do now - the colours of everything are a bit brighter, because it means more. It's a relief," she announces. " I've said it now, everybody knows all of these things about me now, and if you still like who I am, knowing that this is the life I've lived and things I've done then you like who I really am. It's just a relief to finally tell someone who you really are... like you might have wanted to pretend to be the little queen, or tired to be the good girlfriend, and when you give that up... well, it turns out that pressure is a lot scarier than telling the truth and doing whet comes naturally."

While she's in the mood to share, Emilie reveals the next stage in her grand plan.

"I'll tell you my secret," she relents, after a moments hesitation, reasoning. "I don't know if it's a secret, it's kind of obvious really. My plan, of why the book has to get so very much out there, is because we want to make a movie."

A nanosecond is spared for dramatic effect here before her enthusiasm spurs her on to laying out the blow-by-blow proposal, as though addressing her plague rats en masse.

"Here's what I need you to do," she instructs. "I need you to go buy me these 52 hundred copies of the Asylum book, because then we in the popularity contests--and that's how we get to the top of the bestsellers list. That's very simple, right? Because then, everyone knows, every single book that reaches the top of the bestseller chart is very quickly made into a movie. So if you want to see that movie you've got to help me and purchase that book!"

Emilie is right to think her plan is becoming 'obvious' at this stage. Always theatrical, her stage shows have now grown to a scale that their props are testing the limits of her one-woman workshop, and their stunts are insurance policies of venues only every intended to play host to the humble rock band. A theatre or screen production is the clear next step and, not one to restrict the creative outlets at her disposal, Emilie has not ruled out the former option.

"When we're hitting a new venue every night we have to wonder every night if we're going to be able to do the full show," she sighs. "It's 'are they going to let us to aerials here?', 'are we going to have to leave out the fire-eating because they won't let us do fire here?' It's becoming very clear that, at this level, there are limits to what you can do and the alternative to that is getting a theatre run where you're actually in the same place for 3 months. But there's a part of me that doesn't want tot do that because, however grueling life on the road is, there's that whole thing of the show coming to the people, which I love. SO I think maybe doing both is the ideal. Something I'm quite seriously working on," she impressed, before continuing, "is the possibility of being able to tour with my own venue. Circuses do it, so why can't I? It's a bigger production, and it's expensive, but if you know what you want there's always a way, and I've figured out what we need to do, which is embrace the fact that this isn't a rock show and begin putting it into a setting which reflects that."

Which reminds me, amongst Emilie's many interests is creating music, and between talking books, movies and big tops we've so far neglected to mention an additional iron in the fire, that is 'Opheliac's musical follow-up. Suddenly engaged on another new topic Emilie tells, "I'm about halfway through writing, but nothing has been recorded. It's still being added to because that's the next thing -- making sure that this album accurately represents my life right now. It ties in to the Asylum book, and 'Opheliac', which laid out 'this is the situation you're in,' so this next record is naturally saying 'okay, now what do you do about it?' So that's where it gets a bit more violent and bloody, because now it's about fighting."

Supporting Emilie's often re-iterated line that her seemingly disparate works are, truly, inter-connected and even inter-dependant, recent live shows have started to develop the theme of fighting. Most obviously performances on the Spring tour included a segment in which Emilie and her Bloody Crumpets tool up to become the Asylum Army, marching to a gruffly barked, yet uniquely feminine, drill chant.

"Now there' about 50% guys in the audiences," she notes. "And so when we ask there 'are you ready to fight like a girl?', and every one of them is screaming 'yes'... well, that's amazing. It's about taking that phrase -- that we've heard our whole lives a s derogatory thing, 'you fight like a girl', 'you throw a ball like a girl,' we're taking that and turning it on it's ass completely to make it like the greatest thing possible, knowing that actually, if a girl really has something to defend, there will be no chivalry, no rules, and she will use every tool possible.

For Emilie, these violent developments, as explored more graphically on the next album, represent "part tow of the adventure. It's still completely relevant, it has to be," she says. "When I put [the record] out it has to mean at least as much to me as 'Opheliac' did."

Here the perfectionist standards that her vast ambition demand surface once again, and she tells "I never want to do anything that doesn't have the same impact, on me that is. I want to get it right again. I can't fail, it's just not what I do. I would rather not put anything out. But that's not going to be a problem. I'm already working on the new record and we're gonna be just fine."

[usafphantom2]

Three hundred eighty-nine people experience the thrill of flying Mach 3 in an SR 71, an A-12, a YF 12, or an M 21. This number includes every single blackbird variation. Only one woman was a crewmember of NASA, Marta Bonn Meyer; of the 389, just 284 were assigned as crew members, the pilot and the RSO.

One hundred five people were VIP guests. Chuck Yeager was a guest, and he was allowed to take the wheel. The adversary of the SR 71 is Larry Welch. He got a VIP ride, General Larry Welch, the Air Force chief of staff, staged a one-man campaign on Capitol  Hill to kill the program entirely,” Ben Rich wrote in his book Skunk Works: A Personal Memoir of My Years of Lockheed. “General Welch thought sophisticated spy satellites made the SR-71 a disposable luxury. He did manage to get an SR 71 stick, place it on his desk, and brag that he flew the SR 71. ( as a Major, he applied to fly the SR 71 and was turned down, as 98% of applicants were.)

This includes one woman, Congresswoman Beverly Byron, who received a flight as a VIP, which was often a political move to influence a politician to vote for the SR 71 to stay in the air.

Or a President could order a VIP ride.

President Carter thanked the Roman Catholic priest for his Goodwill accomplishments during a meeting at the White House; he asked the president of Notre Dame University, Father Theodore Hesburgh, ‘Is there anything I could do for you?’ President Carter recalled when Hesburgh asked for the favor: ‘I said, “Fr. Hesburgh, it’s not customary for civilians to ride on a top-secret airplane.”

He said, ‘That’s all right. I thought you were Commander-in-Chief.’

The Father responded I want to fly the SR 71 faster than anyone has done before. He got his wish. SR-71 pilot Tom Allison reported that they got the airplane to Mach 3.5.2.

You could not just walk into the hangar, put on the pressure suit, and enter the cockpit; it took weeks of preparation. Some people did not make it through the preparation. One was an engineer, and later, Skunk Works President Ben Rich. He was so claustrophobic that he started yelling, “Get me out of here.”

The Air Force qualified 93 pilots and 89 RSOs; that’s it! If you know someone who flew the SR-71, remember they are extremely rare. These men definitely have the right stuff. There were more astronauts than there were men who flew the SR 71. Here is the link if you’d like to look at the names of everyone who flew in the SR 71. sr71.us/Supp_BBook.htm

I know all of this because my father, Butch Sheffield, was the first RSO selected for the SR 71 in 1965 ~ Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[sarkos]

Lilly was a sort of Midwestern ideal type of the Lovecraftian protagonist: born in St. Paul to wealthy parents, he studied chemistry and philosophy from an early age. His undergraduate career at Caltech (1933-1938) almost exactly overlaps the period of the alchemist-Crowleyite John Whiteside Parsons’ GALCIT rocketry program there, and both were chemistry students. (Lilly and Parsons almost certainly met, Caltech not being that big a world in the Thirties, but what happened — or Happened — during that Trail of Cthulhu time slot has managed to go un-recorded in their various biographies.) He entered Dartmouth medical school in 1938, then transferred to Penn where he continued his Lovecraftian development by conducting various medical experiments on himself and writing a forbidden text: a book (this was 1942) called How To Build an Atomic Bomb. He conducted postgraduate work under pioneering biophysicist (and putative Majestic-12 member) Detlev Bronk and at the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH), doing research for the Air Force — among other things developing early electro-encephalograms and, in 1954, the first sensory deprivation tank. According to his memoirs, he was approached by the CIA to work on such things as animal-activated surveillance and explosives, and (perhaps) on the MK-ULTRA mind-control project. According to Lilly, he refused, nobly insisting that his work remain open for all. He loudly resigned from NIMH in 1958. Having boldly proclaimed his independence from government control, Lilly founded the Communication Research Institute Inc. (CRII) on the island of St. Thomas in the U.S. Virgin Islands. CRII was, of course, funded by NASA, the U.S. military, and possibly other shadowy figures. Lilly had become interested in the question of dolphin brains: much like those of humans, cetacean brains are very large in ratio to their bodies and have an even higher density of neurons. Lilly set up dolphin tanks and pools, and began to experiment on dolphins, most notoriously when his dolphin Peter fell for researcher Margaret Lowe Howitt while she tried to teach Peter to speak English. It wasn’t all dolphin grabass in the islands, though: Lilly also dissected and probed the brains of the cetaceans, in between drug experiments (on them and himself) and attempts to decipher dolphin communication by floating next to them in sensory deprivation tanks. James Wade’s terrific 1969 short story “The Deep Ones” provides a fictionalized Lilly in the form of Miskatonic hippie guru Alonzo Waite, and in the form of his opposite number, dolphin researcher Dr. Frederick Wilhelm. Most impressively, it casts the dolphins as one more intermediary between man and Cthulhu, cousin or evolutionary stage of the Deep Ones. Wade mentions the ancient Greek myth that dolphins were pirates turned into beasts by Dionysos, tying it wonderfully into the deeper Mythos truths of Dagon and human-oceanic interbreeding of the Innsmouth sort. Any Fall of Delta Green Handler has a whole mini-campaign just lying there between Wade’s fictions and the CRII’s madness. But it doesn’t end there. Wade doesn’t even bring in Lilly’s involvement in SETI, which (likely again via NASA back channels) wound up connecting Lilly and the CRII with astrophysicist Frank Drake, who considered dolphins a template for alien life on Earth. Lilly presented his dolphin theories at the Green Bank astrophysics conference in 1961 where Drake coined his famous equation for the probability of alien life. He was such a hit that Drake, Lilly, a pre-turtleneck Carl Sagan, and biologist J.B.S. Haldane all made up the “Order of the Dolphin” and wore dolphin lapel pins when they were wearing lapels, which wasn’t often in St. Thomas.

Call of Chicago: John C. Lilly, One-Man Mythos – Pelgrane Press Ltd

[houppellande]

Read till end for Byron's memoirs 👀​👀​👀​

Wedding attire of Lady Annabella Byron (nee Milbanke) aka Lord Byron's wife. Yes. THAT Byron. From this simple but tasteful ensemble one can somewhat understand her character (and the fate of the marriage) a bit better.

J. C. Hobhouse, Byron's best man, describes her as such on that day:

[...] Miss Milbanke came in attended by her governess, the respectable Miss Clermont. She was dressed in a muslin gown trimmed with lace at the bottom, with a white muslin curricle jacket, very plain indeed, with nothing on her head. [...]

Miss Milbanke was as firm as a rock, and during the whole ceremony looked steadily at Byron – she repeated the words audibly and well. Byron hitched at first when he said “I, George Gordon”, and when he came to “with all my worldly goods I thee endow”, looked at me with a half-smile – they were married at eleven.

And this Lord Byron's wedding waistcoat, who is said to have belonged to King George the 2nd of England (it was re-taylored for regency fashion), and which Byron wore often.

And now for something completely different! An excerpt from the lost Memoirs of Lord Byron. While the manuscript itself was destroyed, many people read (and copied!) some parts. The editor of The John Bull Magazine (1824, on which the following excerpt was published) has of course made some "mutilations" (aka censorship), but the text seems genuine, and Byron's cheeky prose style manages to shine through. Some (including the Magazine's Author) say that THIS EXACT CHAPTER was the main reason for the burning of the Memoirs.

TW: dubious consent . . .

It was now near two o’clock in the morning, and I was jaded to the soul by the delay. I had left the company, and retired to a private apartment. Will those, who think that a bridegroom on his bridal night should be so thoroughly saturated with love, as to render it impossible for him to yield to any other feeling, pardon me when I say, that I had almost fallen asleep on a sofa, when a giggling, tittering, half-blushing face popped itself into the door, and popped as fast back again, after having whispered as audibly as a suivante whispers upon the stage, that Anne was in bed? It was one of her bridemaids. Yet such is the case. I was actually dozing. Matrimony begins very soon to operate narcotically—had it been a mistress—had it been an assignation with any animal, covered with a petticoat—any thing but a wife—why, perhaps, the case would have been different.

I found my way, however, at once into the bed-room, and tore off my garments. Your pious zeal will, I am sure, be quite shocked, when I tell you I did not say my prayers that evening—morning I mean. It was, I own, wrong in me, who had been educated in the pious and praying kingdom of Scotland, and must confess myself—you need not smile—at least half a Presbyterian. Miss N—l—should I yet say Lady Byron?—had turned herself away to the most remote verge, and tightly enwrapped herself in the bed-clothes. I called her by her name—her Christian name—her pet name—every name of endearment—I spoke in the softest under tones—in the most melodious upper tones of which my voice is master. She made no answer, but lay still, and I stole my arm under her neck, which exerted all the rigidity of all its muscles to prevent the (till then undreamt of) invasion. I turned up her head—but still not a word. With gentle force I removed the close-pressed folds of the sheet from her fine form—you must let me say that of her, unfashionable as it is, and unused as I have been to paying her compliments—she resisting all the while. After all, there is nothing like a coup de main in love or war. I conquered by means of one, with the other arm, for I had got it round her waist, and using all my strength, (and what is that of a woman, particularly a woman acting the modeste, to that of a vigorous fellow, who had cleft the Hellespont,) drew her to my arms, which now clasped her to my bosom with all the warmth of glowing, boiling passion, and all the pride of victory. I pressed my lips warmly to hers. There was no return of the pressure. I pressed them again and again—slightly at last was I answered, but still that slightly was sufficient. Ce n’est que la premiere pas qui coute. She had not, however, opened her lips. I put my hand upon her heart, and it palpitated with a strong and audible beating under my touch. Heaven help it! it little knew how much more reason it would, ere long, have for more serious and more lasting throbbings.As yet she had not uttered a word, and I was becoming tired of her obstinancy. I made, therefore, a last appeal. ‘Are you afraid of me, dearest?’—I uttered, in a half-fond, half-querulous, tone. It broke the ice. She answered in a low, timid, and subdued voice—‘I am not,’—and turned to me, for the first time, with that coy and gentle pressure which is, perhaps, the dearest and most delightful of all sensations ever to be enjoyed by man. I knew by it that I had conquered. 

(Please keep in mind that, while I consider myself a Byron enthusiast, I almost never agree with his choiches/courses of action. If you want my personal opinion, i'll be happy to exchange insights!)