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dhbelzinone · 5 years ago

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𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 (ᴬⁿᵈ ᴬˡˡ ᵀʰᵃᵗ ᴶᵃᶻᶻ)

𝓞𝓞𝓒 𝓘𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓼𝓽

Hi hello I’ve never done anything like this before but it looks like there’s a blog specifically for ooc intros so here’s my best. ♡

Hi my name is Sal, I go by they/them/theirs, and I’m a med school reject turned gender studies honors student. I’m currently working on a thesis about sex worker rights so I’m balls deep I can be in the industry without the good money and devoting the rest of my undergrad career to fighting for their right to make theirs. I’m also an artist and run an indie if y'all wanna see more of my muse’s roots. Bel’s been my emotional support muse for a good while and has gone through more character development than I have my entire lifetime, so although she may seem like a big softie compared to the rest of the muse crowd here, here’s hoping she can hold her own!

Bel Zinone Abridged: Devil’s Highway Vers.

Her mama is an undocumented immigrant who fought tooth and nail for her piece of the American dream. Much of this was due to the help of a vigilante organization that helped her flee from Europe, but her reputation was volatile enough to charm them into seeking out her membership.

Thanks to their international influence, she was able to keep running with the Wallflowers across the continental U. S. She soon settled down with her husband, a high profile (albeit black market) doctor, and raised her two children beneath the protection of the empire they built all the way from the city underbelly up to the high class elite.

Bel and her older brother Beau were relatively spoiled children until he left for the army and the family secrets started to leak. Adolescence was already hard on her, with her elusive sexuality and growing dysphoria yanking her identity chains, but as soon as she discovered her parents’ reign over the criminal underground, Bel doubted the authenticity of her upbringing and fled to the southern inlands with the resolve to make it on her own.

Little did she know that she’d find herself right smack in the middle of a gang war of the very nature she tried to escape. However, this time was going to be different. She wasn’t going to be at their mercy.

They were going to be at hers, for she offered one of the few medical resources in the entire desert that didn’t come with the liability of a paper trail.

In the meantime, she floats between bunny ranches, strip clubs, and the odd burlesque show. When she’s not working, she can be found frequenting bars, on Instagram, streaming her cam, tinkering with her Widowmaker, or looking for a good meatball sub.

Whereas she would’ve used her earnings to run as far away as possible from her past, Bel ironically finds solace in the lucrative lifestyle, calling a cozy studio apartment home and splurging on the occasional odds and ends that make the closeted queer life she embodies just a bit more bearable.

Relationships for her? I’m not gonna lie: despite the past rancor she’s had for her parent’s occupations, she genuinely wants to help and support people, patching them up so they’re good to go back to whatever they were doing without judgement. Her view of the life’s changed and she’s come to understand the institutions (as well as will) that brings people to commit and run with crime. She’s yet to make peace with her family, but she’s come to terms with the blood she’s from and wants to make a difference in peoples’ lives. That being said:

Give her your tired, your poor, your horny

A job @ Paradise, maybe? Maybe she could learn about the surrounding gang activity from other dancers / affiliates or Kimi when she applies?

Maybe she could’ve known Esmeray from medical school?

Seeing other muses in the medical field are inspiring some joint black market clinic potential~

Maybe she could’ve known Rodrigo from when he was doing his work, possibly from Backpage before it got shut down?

On this note, maybe Nikki too? (Hello~)

If there are any other queer muses around, maybe they can shine a community light on her? Potentially while she’s yanking a shank out of their shoulder?

If there are any single muses too, I’d love to develop a ride-or-die boo or friend for her.

Last but not least, if we still need prospects and other make characters I’d be game af to have Beau go AWOL and trade his fatigues for a potential patch (maybe through the Mexican border with Nikki, if she’s gonna hate Bel asdkjfnaks). ♡

𝓐𝓹𝓹𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION: Sal (24) they/them/theirs ; PST ACTIVITY: I'm in my last year of undergraduate study and will have class three days a week on average. I'll be online at least once a day and will be able to devote most of my week to nitty-gritty writing as well as plotting. PASSCODE: angel wings and/or crown MISCELLANEOUS: I've been running an indie oc rp blog for almost five years (same character @belzinone) and this will be my first group/skeleton/rl fc rp. I'm worried about being ignored/left behind/largely uninvolved in threads and plotting because that has largely been my experience in discord server rp groups, but y'all seem to have good administration going on so I'm not feeling so worried anymore. I look forward to the experience if you'll have me. :)

IN CHARACTER

NAME: Bel Zinone DATE OF BIRTH: (March/08/1991) (28) PLACE OF BIRTH: San Francisco, California GENDER/PRONOUNS: demifemme｜she/her/hers AFFILIATION: N/A RANKING: N/A OCCUPATION: freelance sex worker, hitwoman, & black market physician FACE CLAIM: Antonia Thomas

BIOGRAPHY

triggers: domestic violence, murder, abuse, misandry, severe burns, sex work Her mother was an undocumented immigrant, fleeing from her orphaned past and domestic abuse in the Italian slums. A headstrong, promiscuous, and violent woman, it wasn't long until she found sisterhood amongst a like-minded gang of vigilante women with international influence called the Wallflowers, well-versed in her infamy and coming to her aid while she was pregnant with her son and escaping prosecution for murdering her husband. Risa Zinone, codenamed La Eglantina, docked in New York city, giving birth to her son Beau Zinone and raising him with the rest of her sorella while continuing her bloodthirsty occupation of murdering abusive men and liberating survivors from their regimes of terror. However, one could only run with the Wallflowers for so long before beginning to challenge their belief system, however righteous it claimed to be. The murderer mother fell in love with the black market doctor who saved her life and once again fled across the country and retired so she could live a peaceful life with him, safe from the constraints and watchful eyes of the sisterhood, but not without heavy cost. She suffered major burns to her entire body by a fire and had to undergo near total facial reconstruction, a miracle performed by the love of her life. In exchange for her life, she'd no longer bear resemblance to her children. Thus Bel Zinone was born on the opposite side of the country as her brother, hilly San Franscisco. She was a wildly rambunctious child, calmed only by the sounds of her brother's guitar strings and a profound interest in her father's work. Little did she know, her living was earned via the illicit means of her parents and their continued association with the country's underbelly. Shambled by the loss of one of their most valuable members, the Wallflowers had undergone a civil war. A near complete overhaul of organizational structure and creed had taken place, leading to an abysmal divide between the matriarchal supremacy of days past and the new order. Enemies of the new regime all around the world were sought out, assassinated, and replaced with a stronger, more diverse membership. During that witch hunt, Risa was reinstated into the Wallflowers with her husband Dmitri and the power couple ruled the pacific branch. The Zinone's hid their criminal affiliations well. Dmitri, a renowned surgeon specializing in the central nervous system, Risa, an uptown socialite who moonlighted cabaret clubs as a jazz singer. Their children had a generous, almost spotless adolescence until Beau graduated high school and joined the military. He was an upstanding, self-righteous man, yet his fatigues all but killed the respect his little sister had for him. As the Zinone siblings grew up, their parents had to try all that much harder to hide their criminal affiliations, often leaving the two with ample bonding time and hiding various criminal survival skills (like how to fight and use firearms among other things) under the guise of "street smarts". Combined with her surfacing struggles with her sexuality and gender identity, Beau's abandonment was very hard on Bel. Her high school antics began to resemble those of her mother during her youth, starting fights, finishing others' fights, and getting dress coded nearly every day. If not for physical altercations, the young lady spent most of her time in the principal's office for getting into arguments with teachers and staff over technicalities in her STEM courses and exposing discrimination in curriculums and attitudes throughout. If not for her parents' powerful influence, she never would've dodged juvie, let alone made it to college. Fortunately, she found her calling and started settling down as soon as her father invited her to his workplace in the hospital. College was a breeze for her, even as a fierce insistence to be independent led to her paying her own tuition. She was no party animal or sorority sister, but the continuing troubles she had with her sexuality and gender identity pushed her towards casual sex work and the porn industry when work-study wasn't enough. Bel was steadily making her way through adult life, planning to devote the rest of it to medicine like her father. However, as she started having to use her special "survival skills" more and more, she slowly began to realize there was more to her parents than she thought. The Wallflowers were growing in influence, and La Eglantina's daughter was growing a bounty on her head as well. By the time she cornered her parents with the truth, she was already well into medical school and bore nods of her mother's pseudonym and her father's occupation on her back. The betrayal she felt when her brother left her resurfaced as she uncovered her parents lies, spurring her to cut her familial ties and live her own life exclusively by her own means. Bel rejected her father's footsteps in favor of sex work, something she pursued entirely of her own volition, and eventually found herself amongst the "bunny ranches" in Las Vegas, where her life in the crossfire between the Sinners and Jokers would begin. CHARACTER QUOTE: "Do no harm but take no shit." CHARACTER ANTHEM: Half God Half Devil｜In This Moment

EDIT: Risa Zinone fled from Europe as a result of Romani persecution.

P.S.: I reiterate that this is my first group/skeleton/rl fc rp. This is all pretty overwhelming so please have patience with me and for those of y’all who have a lot of experience with these things, please help me out <3

#info

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cinema-tv-etc · 6 years ago

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Nevertheless Eartha Kitt persisted.

Ms. Kitt, who began performing in the late ’40s as a dancer in New York, went on to achieve success and acclaim in a variety of mediums long before other entertainment multitaskers like Julie Andrews, Barbra Streisand and Bette Midler.

With her curvaceous frame and unabashed vocal come-ons, she was also, along with Lena Horne, among the first widely known African-American sex symbols. Orson Welles famously proclaimed her “the most exciting woman alive” in the early ’50s, apparently just after that excitement prompted him to bite her onstage during a performance of “Time Runs,” an adaptation of “Faust” in which Ms. Kitt played Helen of Troy.

Ms. Kitt’s career-long persona, that of the seen-it-all sybarite, was set when she performed in Paris cabarets in her early 20s, singing songs that became her signatures, like “C’est Si Bon” and “Love for Sale.”

Returning to New York, she was cast on Broadway in “New Faces of 1952” and added another jewel to her vocal crown, “Monotonous” (“Traffic has been known to stop for me/Prices even rise and drop for me/Harry S. Truman plays bop for me/Monotonous, monotone-ous”). Brooks Atkinson wrote in The New York Times in May 1952, “Eartha Kitt not only looks incendiary, but she can make a song burst into flame.”

Shortly after that run, Ms. Kitt had her first best-selling albums and recorded her biggest hit, “Santa Baby,” whose precise, come-hither diction and vaguely foreign inflections (Ms. Kitt, a native of South Carolina, spoke four languages and sang in seven) proved that a vocal sizzle could be just as powerful as a bonfire. Though her record sales fell after the rise of rhythm and blues and rock ’n’ roll in the mid- and late ’50s, her singing style would later be the template for other singers with pillow-talky voices like Diana Ross (who has said she patterned her Supremes sound and look largely after Ms. Kitt), Janet Jackson and Madonna (who recorded a cover version of “Santa Baby” in 1987).

Ms. Kitt would later call herself “the original material girl,” a reference not only to her stage creation and to Madonna but also to her string of romances with rich or famous men, including Welles, the cosmetics magnate Charles Revson and the banking heir John Barry Ryan 3rd. She was married to her one husband, Bill McDonald, a real-estate developer, from 1960 to 1965; their daughter, Kitt Shapiro, survives her, as do two grandchildren.

From practically the beginning of her career, as critics gushed over Ms. Kitt, they also began to describe her in every feline term imaginable: her voice “purred” or “was like catnip”; she was a “sex kitten” who “slinked” or was “on the prowl” across the stage, sometimes “flashing her claws.” Her career has often been said to have had “nine lives.” Appropriately, she was tapped to play Catwoman in the 1960s TV series “Batman,” taking over the role from the leggier, lynxlike Julie Newmar and bringing to it a more feral, compact energy.

Yet for all the camp appeal and sexually charged hauteur of Ms. Kitt’s cabaret act, she also played serious roles, appearing in the films “The Mark of the Hawk” with Sidney Poitier (1957) and “Anna Lucasta” (1959) with Sammy Davis Jr. She made numerous television appearances, including a guest spot on “I Spy” in 1965, which brought her her first Emmy nomination.

For these performances Ms. Kitt likely drew on the hardship of her early life. She was born Eartha Mae Keith in North, S.C., on Jan. 17, 1927, a date she did not know until about 10 years ago, when she challenged students at Benedict College in Columbia, S.C., to find her birth certificate, and they did. She was the illegitimate child of a black Cherokee sharecropper mother and a white man about whom Ms. Kitt knew little. She worked in cotton fields and lived with a black family who, she said, abused her because she looked too white. “They called me yella gal,” Ms. Kitt said.

At 8 she was sent to live in Harlem with an aunt, Marnie Kitt, who Ms. Kitt came to believe was really her biological mother. Though she was given piano and dance lessons, a pattern of abuse developed there as well: Ms. Kitt would be beaten, she would run away and then she would return. By her early teenage years she was working in a factory and sleeping in subways and on the roofs of unlocked buildings. (She would later become an advocate, through Unicef, on behalf of homeless children.)

https://medium.com/aginginbeauty/nevertheless-eartha-kitt-persisted-ffe27d10f79b

#Eartha Kitt

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absinthehq · 5 years ago

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RHYS FIORI

THIRTY ONE. BARISTA AT ABSINTHE.

trigger warning for LGBTphobia, death.

please note this character is genderfluid (they/them).

The secret keeper of Absinthe, Rhys is also known as the lone wolf. They usually work alone, late at night and they don't mind the solitude: they're surrounded by happiness anyway, something which they couldn't afford to have until late on in life, when they were introduced to the life of cabaret actresses and actors, singers and cocktail servers alike. They didn't get to call any place home until Cesare introduced them to Absinthe -- the place where all dreams and deaths come true.

But between the easy smiles and the great cocktails lie secrets of their own, not just others'. Beneath the facade of a reliable persona, there's a desperate person dying to just be. Rhys remembers the first time they came out to their parents, feeling so unwelcome and so unwanted that they had to leave home at eighteen, living with a friend of theirs for a good amount of time. They began their career in the sex work industry at twenty-one, and whilst it wasn't Rhys' ideal way of life and they were very much shamed from it, they knew they had to pay their pills somehow, and doing webcam sex work wasn't nearly as humiliating as some people had actually pegged it to be -- it was the stigma attached to it that was. Rhys was smart and knew how to keep themselves safe, but they knew this wasn't meant to be forever, it was only a means of survival.

The lone wolf dreamed of a different world. They dreamed of being a barista at a famous Vegas club, or perhaps a stripper in the world of the Sin City. So they left everything behind in New Jersey, being welcomed by Vegas with open arms. Its crime rate was dangerous, but Rhys was very much self-reliant and street-smart. In a world of binaries, they thrived as the outcast, the lone wolf. And in a world full of the same people and the same personalities, Rhys was different.

At twenty-five, they began working as a cocktail server at a stripper club in the heart of the Sin City, until they met Krishan Seth. The doctor swept them off their feet, their gentleness pulling Rhys closer and closer, until they got engaged. It came as a surprise to Rhys themselves to find someone who understood them so well, someone who wanted them, calmed their soul and made them feel happy. It was Krishan who introduced Rhys to Absinthe and its owner, Cesare, who was impressed by Rhys' cocktail making skills. Despite being relatively unexperienced, it was Rhys' passion: they were good at it, there was no denying.

Working at Absinthe at twenty-six was a dream come true. They met different, interesting people like never before, and was soon introduced to Cesare's mafiosi. Rhys wasn't afraid -- they had seen much worse than their bloodstained hands: prejudice and hatred. Rhys knew how to keep secrets, theirs included, and when later on Cesare would die, it came as no surprise. However, Rhys believes it to be a murder other than anything else, and if there's a killer on the loose, it shall be them who'll find out... after all, some of Cesare's most trusted secrets lie in Rhys' hands, and they're a reliable asset that nobody owns. They know better than to affiliate themselves with the mafia, but they also can't help but get a little curious sometimes... A little too curious for their own good.

GLORY AND GORE GO HAND IN HAND…

Zachary Welsh: They’re best friends. Zachary is also a good secret keeper himself, but it’s Rhys’ cocktails that gets Zachary to talk -- ironically, the two don’t mind sharing secrets and scars. They’re very much close, and Rhys never judges Zachary’s choices. They can only hope that Zac stays safe amidst the chaos of being involved with the mob.

Krishan Seth: Krishan and Rhys met at a bar, and whilst Rhys is pretty good at predicting things, they could not have predicted falling in love with Krishan so easily. They had trust issues of their own to deal with, but Krishan was patient and caring, loving and calm. They couldn’t help but fall harder and harder, and it was thanks to Krishan’s connections in the mafia that Rhys got their job as a barista at Absinthe.

Carlo DeLuca: If there’s something Rhys remembers, it was Cesare who said he had another child with a different woman. Rhys knows that it’s Carlo -- or is, at the very least, 90% sure the name Carlo had been mentioned at some point or another during that night when Rhys had a couple cocktails with Cesare and he ended up spilling more secrets than he should have. Rhys will keep it. But at what cost?

Pedro Costero: Pedro smells trouble. Something about him makes Rhys cautious, silent. They know Pedro is not to be trusted, and it’s only a matter of time until the facade slips and Pedro truly reveals who he is. It’s certainly not the person he’s making himself to be, though. Rhys has made it their mission to find out whatever is it that Pedro is up to -- even if they put themselves in serious trouble, the life of Absinthe could be at risk.

THAT’S WHY WE’RE MAKING HEADLINES!

✉ SENT @ 2:54pm → KRISHAN: i miss you ✉ SENT @ 2:57pm → ZACHARY: are u sure ur ok? ✉ SENT @ 5:32pm → PEDRO: don’t worry, i’m a good secret keeper.

available. faceclaim: nico tortorella (non-negotiable)

#nico tortorella fc #mafia rp #crime rp #mature rp #lsrpg #rhys fiori #taken: all #taken: nb #taken: absinthe

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suzylwade · 3 years ago

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69 Witch Eyes “Like Joan Crawford, Gloria Swanson had made the transition from silent films to talkies, they both lived through the Spanish Flu pandemic and the depression and made strong comebacks in their later years. I wanted to know how. How do we survive the dark times and muster the resolve to remain in or at least return to the light? When Billy Haines, a successful young movie actor in the early 30’s refused to deny his gayness his contract was dropped and he was out of work. Instead of giving up he became an interior decorator and Joan Crawford became his champion, commissioning him to do her home and promoting his talent whenever possible. Truman Capote and Joan Crawford - however problematic their legacies may be - were both defenders. Gloria Swanson and Billy Haines adapted! Adaptors and defenders are the people I’ve been studying and gaining strength from for most of my life. - Mx Justin Vivian Bond, cabaret performer, singer-songwriter, author, transgender activist and visual artist, talking about their exhibition ’69 Witch Eyes’. Mx Justin Vivian Bond considers the left eye to be both magical and meditative. Following the 2016 election, Bond began calling their left eye paintings “witch eyes” and selling them as talismans. Initially, Bond’s left eyes were only of women. The artist uses photographs or images from film to capture the nuances of the subject’s left eye. Why create a set of 69? “Because the numbers 6 and 9 look a little bit like eyes to me. Also, the number 69 is evocative of yin and yang.” Bond considers the images of Joan Crawford’s and Truman Capote’s left eyes to be key works in the show. The ’69 Witch Eyes’ exhibition took place in 2020. #neonurchin #neonurchinblog #dedicatedtothethingswelove #suzyurchin #ollyurchin #art #music #photography #fashion #film #design #words #pictures #cabaretperformer #singer #songwriter #author #transgenderactivist #visualartist #artist #kikiandherb #icons #lefteye #witcheye #69witcheyes #mxjustinvivianbond https://www.instagram.com/p/CbHthxBsZjt/?utm_medium=tumblr

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pargolettasworld · 3 years ago

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youtube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V3Y7ygOUm1A

Yankele Hershkovitsh was a Holocaust survivor. Of course, in order to achieve that particular status, you had to, you know, live through the Holocaust. That included surviving ghettos, deportation, and camps. Hershkovitsch’s finest moment in all of this was probably the four years (1940 - 1944) that he spent in the infamous Łódź ghetto in Poland. He was a street singer and cabaret performer, who composed a whole book-ful of songs that satirized the ghetto and all of the privations of ghetto life.

In particular, Hershkovitsch was one of the people who immortalized the unfortunate Chaim Rumkowski. Rumkowski was the head of the Jewish Council of Elders put in place by the Nazis to do the day-to-day “running” of life in the Łódź ghetto. In practice, this meant that the Nazis would tell Rumkowski to do things like decide who was going to go on which particular deportation transport to Auschwitz, and Rumkowski made the decisions. The Nazis hated Rumkowski for obvious reasons, and the Jews of Łódź hated him for being the face of the Nazi decisions, and Hershkovitsch immortalized that hatred in songs like this one.

The singer dreams of rumors that went around Łódź claiming that, in the city of Kielce, about a hundred miles away, Jews still lived free and had All The Food to eat (something everyone lacked in Łódź). The singer wishes to run away to this magical land where everything is good, you can get carrots and beets and eggs and radishes and cream -- why, things are so good in Kielce that even Rumkowski would be your friend.

The great irony of all of this is that Kielce was the site of an infamous pogrom in 1946. You read that right. 1946. Barely any Jews survived to return to Kielce. But when they did, the Poles of Kielce were waiting for them, murdering 42 and injuring about 40 more. Why did the Jews ultimately give up on living in Poland? Honestly, Kielce is a large part of the reason.

#jewish music

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blackkudos · 6 years ago

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Fredi Washington

Fredericka Carolyn (Fredi) Washington (December 23, 1903 – June 28, 1994) was an accomplished African-American dramatic film actress, one of the first to gain recognition for her work in film and on stage. She was active during the period known as the Harlem Renaissance (1920s-1930s). She is best known for her role as "Peola" in the 1934 version of the film Imitation Life, in which she plays a young light-skinned black woman who decides to pass as white. Her last film role was in One Mile from Heaven (1937), after which she left Hollywood and returned to New York to work in theatre and civil rights.

Early life and education

Fredi Washington was born in 1903 in Savannah, Georgia to Robert T. Washington, a postal worker, and Harriet Walker Ward, a former dancer. Both were of African-American and European ancestry. Fredi was the second of their five children. Her mother, Hattie, died when Fredi was eleven years old. As the oldest girl in her family, Fredi helped raise her younger siblings, Isabel, Rosebud and Robert, with the help of their grandmother, whom the family called "Big Mama." After their mother's death, Fredi was sent to the St. Elizabeth's Convent School for colored girls in Cornwells Heights, near Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Her sister, Isabel, soon followed her. At some point her father, Robert T. Washington, remarried. His second wife died while pregnant. He later married a third time and had four children with his last wife. Fredi had a total of eight siblings from her father's two families.

While Fredi was still in school in Philadelphia, her family moved North to Harlem, New York in the Great Migration for work and opportunity in the industrial North. Fredi followed her family to Harlem, where she graduated from Julia Richman High School in New York City.

Early career

Fredi's performing career began in 1921, when she got a chance to work in New York City, where she was living with her grandmother and aunt. She was a chorus girl in the hit Broadway musical Shuffle Along. She was hired by dancer Josephine Baker as a member of the "Happy Honeysuckles," a cabaret group. Baker also became a friend and mentor to her. Washington's friendship with Baker, as well as her talent as a performer, led to her being discovered by producer Lee Shubert. In 1926, Washington was recommended for a co-starring role on the Broadway stage with Paul Robeson in Black Boy. She was very attractive, as well as a talented entertainer, and she easily moved up to become a popular featured dancer. She toured internationally with her dancing partner Al Moiret; they were especially popular in London.

Later career

Fredi Washington turned to acting in the late 1920s. Her first movie role was in Black and Tan (1929), in which she played a dancer who was dying. She also had a small part in The Emperor Jones (1933), based on a play by Eugene O'Neill and starring Paul Robeson.

Her best-known role was in the 1934 movie Imitation of Life; Washington played a young mulatto who chose to pass as white to seek more opportunities in a society restricted by legal racial segregation in some states and social discrimination in others. As Washington had visible European ancestry, the role was considered perfect for her, but it led to her being typecast by filmmakers. Moviegoers sometimes assumed from Washington's appearance–her blue-gray eyes, pale complexion, and light brown hair–that she might have passed in real life. In 1934 she said the role did not reflect her off-screen life, but "If I made Peola seem real enough to merit such statements, I consider such statements compliments and makes me feel I've done my job fairly well." She told reporters in 1949 she identified as black "Because I'm honest, firstly, and secondly, you don't have to be white to be good. I've spent most of my life trying to prove to those who think otherwise ... I am a Negro and I am proud of it."

Imitation of Life was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Picture, but it did not win. Years later, in 2007, Time magazine ranked it as among "The 25 Most Important Films on Race". She also appeared in the 1939 film Mamba's Daughters, along with popular singer Ethel Waters. In an effort to help other black actors and actresses to find more opportunities, she founded the Negro Actors Guild in 1937; the organization's mission included speaking out against stereotyping and advocating for a wider range of roles. Washington served as the organization's first executive secretary.

Despite receiving critical acclaim, she was unable to find much work in the Hollywood of the 1930s and 1940s. On the one hand, black actresses were expected to have dark skin, and were usually typecast as maids. On the other hand, directors were concerned about casting a light-skinned black actress in a romantic role with a white leading man; the film production code prohibited suggestions of miscegenation, so Hollywood directors did not offer her any romantic roles. As one modern critic explained, Fredi Washington was "too beautiful and not dark enough to play maids, but rather too light to act in all-black movies." She also tried to find work in radio, where most opportunities for black performers were as musicians in bands, or as comedic sidekicks, such as Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, in his role as Jack Benny's valet.

Washington had an important dramatic role in a 1943 radio tribute to black women, Heroines in Bronze, produced by the National Urban League. But there were few regular dramatic programs in that era with black protagonists. Washington wrote an opinion piece for the black press in which she discussed how limited the opportunities in broadcasting were for black actors, actresses, and vocalists, saying that "radio seems to keep its doors sealed" against "colored artists."

In 1945 she said:

"You see I'm a mighty proud gal and I can't for the life of me, find any valid reason why anyone should lie about their origin or anything else for that matter. Frankly, I do not ascribe to the stupid theory of white supremacy and to try to hide the fact that I am a Negro for economic or any other reasons, if I do I would be agreeing to be a Negro makes me inferior and that I have swallowed whole hog all of the propaganda dished out by our fascist-minded white citizens."

She played opposite Bill Robinson in Fox's One Mile from Heaven (1937), in which she played a mulatto claiming to be the mother of a "white" baby. Claire Trevor plays a reporter who discovers the story and helps both Washington and the white biological mother who had given up the baby, played by Sally Blane. According to the Museum of Modern Art in 2013: "The last of the six Claire Trevor 'snappy' vehicles [Allan] Dwan made for Fox in the 1930s tests the limits of free expression on race in Hollywood while sometimes straining credulity."

Washington was also a theatre writer. She was the Entertainment Editor for People's Voice, a newspaper for African Americans founded by Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., a Baptist minister and politician in New York City. For a time he was married to her sister Isabel Washington. It was published 1942-1948. She was outspoken about racism faced by African Americans. She worked closely with Walter White, then president of the NAACP, to address pressing issues facing black people in America. Her experiences in the film industry and theatre led her to become a civil rights activist. Together with Noble Sissle, W.C. Handy and Dick Campbell, in 1937 Washington was a founding member with Alan Corelli of the Negro Actors Guild of America (NAG) in New York.

In 1953, she was a film casting consultant for Carmen Jones, which starred Dorothy Dandridge, another pioneering African-American actress. She also consulted on casting for George Gershwin's Porgy and Bess, an opera performed in revival on Broadway in 1952, and filmed in 1959.

Marriage and family

Washington dated Duke Ellington for a while but, realizing he was not going to marry her, she started another relationship. She married Lawrence Brown, the trombonist in Ellington's jazz orchestra, a relationship which ended in divorce.

Washington later married Anthony H. Bell, a dentist. Bell died in the 1980s. Washington died after a series of strokes on June 28, 1994 in Stamford, Connecticut, aged 90. According to her sister, Isabel, Fredi never had children. One of Washington's sisters, Isabel Washington (May 23, 1909 – May 1, 2008), was a singer and nightclub performer. She married Adam Clayton Powell, Jr., the first African American elected to Congress from New York state. They later divorced. At her death, Washington was survived by her sisters Isabel Washington, Rosebud Smith and Gertrude Penna, and a brother, Floyd Washington.

On "passing"

Throughout her life, Washington was often asked if she ever wanted to "pass" for white. Washington, a proud black woman, answered conclusively, "No." She said this repeatedly, "I don't want to pass because I can't stand insincerities and shams. I am just as much Negro as any of the others identified with the race."

"I have never tried to pass for white and never had any desire, I am proud of my race. In 'Imitation of Life', I was showing how a girl might feel under the circumstances but I am not showing how I felt."

"I am an American citizen and by God, we all have inalienable rights and wherever those rights are tampered with, there is nothing left to do but fight...and I fight. How many people do you think there are in this country who do not have mixed blood, there's very few if any, what makes us who we are, are our culture and experience. No matter how white I look, on the inside I feel black. There are many whites who are mixed blood, but still go by white, why such a big deal if I go as Negro, because people can't believe that I am proud to be a Negro and not white. To prove I don't buy white superiority I chose to be a Negro."

Legacy and honors

1975, she was inducted into the Black Filmmakers Hall of Fame.

Wikipedia

#Fredi Washington #12-23 #06-28

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dustedmagazine · 3 years ago

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Dust, Volume 7, Number 6

Shannon McNally

We’re halfway through the year now and, aside from a disconcerting proliferation of double albums, things seem to be returning to normal. Some of us have been to in-person concerts. Most of us are at least thinking about it. After all, things seem pretty safe now, and if 2020 taught us anything, it was do it now, or you may not be able to later. But meanwhile, the flood of new music continues, from wild free improvisers and mind-turning droners, from doom-death metal outfits and gritty country singers and the assortment of hard to classify experimenters. We knock off another batch of worthy recordings in this mid-year Dust with contributors including Bill Meyer, Bryon Hayes, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Justin Cober-Lake, Chris Liberato and Jennifer Kelly.

Alberto Braida / Giancarlo Nino Locatelli — From Here From There (We Insist!)

from here from there by alberto braida, giancarlo nino locatelli

Pianist Alberto Braida and clarinetist Giancarlo Nino Locatelli have been performing, sometimes as a duo and sometimes with additional associates, for 25 years. And while their partners have included such uncompromising figures as Gino Robair and Peter Kowald, in spirit they’re closer to Steve Lacy and Mal Waldron. It’s not so much the straight horn and piano parallels as the deep jazz roots spiked with studiously applied dissonance, all shared with a congeniality that clues you in to the fact that you’re listening in on a friendship that runs quite deep, and no matter how deep it goes, the warmth persists. This performance was recorded in Lodi, Italy in 2012, and one suspects that the record might still be on a hard drive in someone’s back shelf if the lockdown hadn’t landed when it did. After all, why spend your time editing and mixing when you could book a gig and have another tete-a-tete as rewarding as this?

Bill Meyer

Chora(s)san Time-Court Mirage — Blues Alif Lam Mim (Blank Forms Editions)

Blues Alif Lam Mim by Chora(s)san Time-Court Mirage

This is the fourth emanation from Blank Forms Editions of Catherine Christer Hennix’s music, and it mines a vein that is more contemporary than past releases, which focused on archival recordings from the 1970s. Presented on vinyl for the first time, this pair of platters reveals the inaugural 2014 performance of the Hennix composition “Blues Alif Lam Mim in the Mode of Rag Infinity/Rag Cosmosis.” With this piece, the Swedish musician and composer sought to locate the origins of the blues in the musical traditions of Indian raga and Turkish makam. It was performed by her ensemble Chora(s)san Time-Court Mirage, which included live electronics, a brass section, and multiple vocalists singing a hymn written by Hennix in Arabic, praising Allah. The music unfolds similarly to how multiple wafts of smoke eventually fill a room. Many simultaneous tonal colors combine into a multi-dimensional sonic organism, becoming a voluminous drone. It feels as if the infinite frequencies and timbres of the universe are weaving themselves together. This immensity causes the listener to become entrained within the sound itself, feeling like part of the proceedings. The vocals add additional hallucinatory sensations to the already vortex-like drone cloud. Getting lost in these sounds is easy, such that when they disappear at the end of each side of vinyl, the sudden shift back to reality is jarring.

Bryon Hayes

Coffin Lurker — Foul and Defiled (Sentient Ruin Laboratories)

Foul and Defiled by Coffin Lurker

The title pretty much says it all, but just to be clear: If the words “filthy,” “cavernous” and “suffocating” are meaningful to you in relation to death doom, then you’ll know what you’re in for. And even if they aren’t, and hence you don’t, spend a few seconds considering the terms’ semantic baggage and you’ll be at least halfway there. Where? Somewhere chin-deep in a moist hole in the ground. Do you really want to dig these sounds, to unearth them from their tomb? Should you? Does the prospect of moping with a vague sense of menace in your local boneyard’s fetid shadows hold any appeal? If not, why the heck are you still reading this? For those of you still slogging along (or sliming or sleazing — Coffin Lurker is a death-doom outfit, out on the grosser, grimier end of that spectrum), the players involved might further pique your interest: Rene Aquarius is one half of Cryptae, whose Nightmare Traversal was one of the most interesting death metal records released last year, and Maurice De Jong hopefully doesn’t need any contextualizing introduction. The combination of the men’s sensibilities is quite effective, and perverse as it may sound, all the unhappy gruesomeness ends up constructing a really good record. Songs like “Crypt within a Crypt” and “Cadaverous Odor” sound massive and simultaneously oddly muffled, as if all their weighty, woeful noises were attempting to rumble and blast their way out of a sarcophagus, up through rock and clay and beyond the grave. That may be the idea — but songs this doom- and deathstruck might be better off following the hopeless endeavor suggested by the band’s name. Dig it, dig down, dig in.

Jonathan Shaw

Emily Duff — Razor Blade Smile (Mr Mudshow Music)

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Emily Duff brings a healthy dose of New York grit and attitude to the ten tracks of classic country rock on her latest album Razor Blade Smile. Duff has a raspy lived-in voice that calls to mind Bonnie Raitt and particularly Maria McKee as she inhabits songs of loves troubled and true. The twang is there but never overplayed and her lyrics play with the tropes without resorting to cliché. She is well-served by her band, especially keyboard/accordion player Charlie Giordani who adds Garth Hudson like flourishes to tracks like “Done And Done” and “Feelin Alright.” Duff’s songs are hooky, toughly defiant and tenderly bruised odes to longing and survival. While Razor Blade Smile doesn’t reinvent the wheel, it is the work of a gifted songwriter backed by a very good band. It’s an excursion with much to enjoy.

Andrew Forell

Paul Dunmall & Mark Sanders — Unity (577 Records)

Unity by Paul Dunmall and Mark Sanders

Unity may bear only half of the name of Albert Ayler’s E.S.P. debut, but it’s by no means music of half measures. Paul Dunmall hoists three horns from his big bag o’ saxophones and plays each with equal measures of grace and muscularity; Mark Sanders balances his partner’s sonic heft with drumming that makes a virtue of airiness. These two English musicians have played and recorded together many times, including on the little big band records Dunmall made for Cuneiform a dozen or so years ago, but they’ve never waxed a duo. It’s probably a good thing that they waited, because younger, less confident musicians might not have been so willing to let their singing and swinging be complemented by so much blank space. As it is, Dunmall’s calory-rich tone and each man’s fluent management of undulating sound shapes say all that needs to be said.

Bill Meyer

EXEK — Good Thing They Ripped Up The Carpet (Lulu’s Sonic Disc Club)

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Effectively melding and updating sounds from late 1970’s inner Melbourne, EXEK’s new album is a terrific blend of spacious, snarky electronic post-punk that mixes the cerebral jazz funk experiments of Clifton Hill bands like Asphyxiation and Equal Local with the more anarchic sounds of Little Band Scene stalwarts Whirlyworld and The Primitive Calculators. Good Thing They Ripped Up The Carpet runs on dubby bass, bleepy synths, flashes of sax and guitar, fractal drumming and leader Albert Wolski’s sardonic half-sung, half-spoken lyrics, all disaffected put-downs and dismissive observations of lives lived by remove. There are echoes of better-known bands — Cabaret Voltaire, The Pop Group, Tuxedomoon — but this is a record steeped in the eclectic dissident spirit of Melbourne’s avant underground. Well worth your time and if it leads you to explore some of EXEK’s progenitors even better.

Andrew Forell

Exhumation — Exhumation – Opus Death (Transylvanian Recordings)

EXHUMATION - OPUS DEATH by EXHUMATION

Indonesia’s punk and metal scenes can appear endless: so many tapes, so many records, so many bands. That’s not surprising, given how endless Indonesia itself seems: so many islands, so many cultures, so many languages. It can all be a bit daunting — where to start? This reissue of Exhumation’s 2014 Exhumation – Opus Death, originally released as a small-batch cassette by Morbid Bastard Records, may be as good a place as any to locate some listening. Exhumation refuses, with an unyielding attraction to the atavistic, to move on from the sounds of mid-1980s. The band’s musical touchstones are pretty apparent, especially early death metal records like Macabre’s Grim Reality (1987) and especially Possessed’s Beyond the Gates (1986); Exhumation’s extended piano interlude “The Sleeping Darkness” even sounds like a lo-tech tribute to the bombastic synth “Intro” to that crucial Possessed record. Old school stuff, indeed. But Exumation’s music also feels sort of timely: while the death metal vibe runs deep, there are also blackened edges, a punk production sensibility and thrashy riffs that respond to our current moment of endless sub-sub-subgenres and cross-pollinations. That last metaphor might be the wrong figure to invoke in relation to a tape that includes tunes like “Labyrinth of Fire” and “Death Dealer”; life-sustaining biological processes are less important to Exhumation than soul-destroying sonic violence. “Opus Death,” indeed.

Jonathan Shaw

Flanafi with Ape School — The Knees Start to Go (Boiled)

The Knees Start To Go by Flanafi with Ape School

Flanafi is the musical moniker of Philadelphia’s Simon Martinez. On this new collaboration with Ape School (Martinez’s former university tutor, Michael Johnson), there’s a decidedly hazy, whirlpooling quality to the songs, as hushed vocals turn circles offer muffled beat-work, pitch-shifted guitars and washes of keys. Though the ingredients suggest they might melt into the background, the way they’ve been treated brings them to the foreground to jostle and tumble amiably. One of the songs is called “Birds Toss and Turn in Their Sleep,” which is an apt image for the atmosphere created: small and appealing creatures dreaming fitfully. At its simplest, such as the nylon-string guitar and vocals of the lovely, meandering “Habra,” it could almost be a soft-focus singer-songwriter record. Elsewhere it feels like Boards of Canada have had most of their high-end gear stolen and are woodshedding with what’s left. Though these 36 minutes pass by easily, while the album’s on it’s like being gently massaged while wearing a well-worn jumper: warm and fuzzy, mostly lovely and comfortable, but also, at times, a little itchy.

Tim Clarke

Paul Haslinger — Exit Ghosts II (Artificial Instincts)

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Austrian composer and former Tangerine Dream member Paul Haslinger follows up 2020’s Exit Ghost with another collection of piano-based compositions augmented with strings and occasional electronic touches. While it pushes no boundaries, this is a quite lovely collection of short pieces that radiate cautious optimism and hope for better days after long months of darkness and fear. Haslinger moves easily from the Phillip Glass-like chordal progressions of “Cambium” to the kaleidoscopic string arrangements on “Meristematic.” His music is stately, considered and calm. Elsewhere he references the beguiling simplicity and unselfconscious eccentricity of Satie, as well as literary figures like Dostoyevsky’s impossibly selfless hero Prince Myshkin and Goethe’s lovelorn Werther as he explores reactions to isolation and trepidation about the new social realities. Exit Ghost II offers consolation and prompts questions: “Who were we?” “Who are we now?” “Who do we want to be?” The latter is as vital as the former, the answers perhaps more so.

Andrew Forell

Intersystems — #4 (Waveshaper Media)

#4 by Intersystems

The Toronto-based multimedia art experience called Intersystems rubbed elbows with many counter-cultural figures during its brief existence in the late 1960s, but never did get much renown during the Flower Power era or afterward. It wasn’t until 2015 when Alga Marghen reissued the three LPs that comprise the totality of the group’s recorded output that many heads became attuned to their consciousness-altering sight and sound productions. The quartet combined poetry with elaborate stage setups and exploratory electronic sound into what they referred to as “presentations,” which must have been amazing to experience first-hand, but are just as intriguing when absorbed via the eardrums. In the decades since, musician John Mills-Cockell has enjoyed moderate success in Canada, and poet Blake Parker passed away. Artist Michael Hayden and Mills-Cockell have reignited the flame, creating new material which is captured in this recording. Dik Zander, who rounded out the original quartet, was not involved. Parker appears as a spectre, his poetry delivered by a computer programmed to utter language in a variety of eerie vocal temperaments. Coupled with Mills-Cockell’s brooding synthesizer soundscapes, #4 continues the pattern that the first three LPs established back in the 1960s. If you were into the pan-generational experiments that William S. Burroughs was doing near the end of his life, this record will certainly appeal.

Bryon Hayes

Charmaine Lee / Zach Rowden — Butterfly Knife (Notice)

Butterfly Knife by Charmaine Lee and Zach Rowden

For music on the cutting edge, this stuff sounds quite antique and better for it. Vocalist Charmaine Lee’s electronics tend towards sounds people once wished their CB radios would not make when they aren’t nicking tonalities from the songs insects sing on overheated summer afternoons, and her mouth sounds are resolutely pre-linguistic. If no one told you he plays double bass, you might wonder how Zach Rowden got away with slapping so many contact mics onto a functional galleon’s rigging. But their interactions are undeniably in tune, albeit in a manner closer to the gravitational push and pull of cosmic bodies than the to and fro of the well-schooled improvising musicians they happen to be. Sometimes you want music to stir your feelings; this is for when you want the music to feel like something.

Bill Meyer

Magic Tuber Stringband — When Sorrows Encompass Me ‘Round (Feeding Tube)

When Sorrows Encompass Me 'Round by Magic Tuber Stringband

Magic Tuber Stringband is a pair of fresh-faced North Carolinians who share a birth month, if not year, with Tony Conrad, John Cale and Angus MacLise. Since the stars are not to be denied, they’ll pour more than a couple fingers of raw drone into your glass. But since they’re also true to the earth, they churn up enough happy hoofing cadences to make you salt the ground with your sweat. It’s tempting to compare guitarist/banjoist Evan Morgan and fiddler Courtney Werner to the Black Twig Pickers, but they seem less concerned with receiving and re-projecting the elders’ wisdom into ongoing decades than they are with the practical application of this music to keep one’s joints loose. So set your tape player on repeat and proceed to trample the ground.

Bill Meyer

Magda Mayas’ Filamental — Confluence (Relative Pitch)

Confluence by Magda Mayas' Filamental

Concept dictates content on this concert recording. Pianist Magda Mayas has long aspired to assemble a string ensemble of size. When the Music Unlimited Festival in Austria gave her the chance, she chose the geographic circumstances of another Alpine burg to guide the paired cellos, reeds, harps and single violin that accompanied her prepared piano. She used a series of photos of the confluence of the Rhône and Arve rivers in Geneva, Switzerland as a score that proposed degrees of resistance and surrender to the inevitable convergence of their flows. Sighing harmonics, agitated whorls and drizzling metallic tones swirl and splash, forming vectors that arc around each other and never completely combine. This music rewards the active spotting of eddies and rippling currents more than the passive drifting; consider it a present to your pattern-seeking brain.

Bill Meyer

Shannon McNally — The Waylon Sessions (Compass)

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The idea behind Shannon McNally's The Waylon Sessions makes it sound like it's an academic experiment, an exercise in recontextualization or a feminist statement. The singer-songwriter's plan to cover a record's worth of Waylon Jennings songs does, of course, do those sorts of things, and it's hard to hear the album apart from the current conversations about women in country music (particularly on the radio). Fortunately, the album does something more. McNally digs into these songs with the enthusiasm of a long-time fan and then performs them with the skill of a stellar artist. Although she gets help from guests like Buddy Miller, Rodney Crowell, and Jessi Colter (Jennings' widow, but not only that), McNally makes each of these tracks her own. If we find more nuance here and there (“a feminine perspective hidden” in the songs, according to McNally), that's a tribute to Jennings and the songwriters behind the cuts, but it's also a comment on McNally's own artistry. This album could be a statement in a variety of ways, but mostly it's just a set of great songs performed wonderfully.

Justin Cober-Lake

nubo — Nu Vision (Western Vinyl)

Nu Vision by nubo

Japanese electronic artist Yuji Namiki, working as nubo, taps into an idealized, transcendental vibe. These compositions blend traditional Japanese percussion with serene patterns of synthesizer. “Rain Won’t” begins with sharp thwacks of percussion at odd intervals, bells, shakers, a bit of space age satori in the wandering bits of flute. “Ennichi” runs a bit faster, alluding, perhaps to the time nubo spent working on hip hop beats. It clatters and frolics with a middle eastern swerve in its whistling melody, a polyrhythmic intensity in its tonal percussion foundation. “Thinking With Your Soul” glimmers and glitters in edge-less, timeless calm, making space for meditation and wordless, still-centered calm.

Jennifer Kelly

Rambutan — Parallel Systems (Sedimental/Tape Drift)

parallel systems by Rambutan

Eric Hardiman, who records with Michael Kiefer as Spiral Wave Nomads, spent the pandemic months soliciting original music from some 69 well-known and less well-known collaborators, then working the source material into 33 distinctive collages, collected on this two-CD set. The pieces vary a good deal, one to another, though they share a certain open-ended willingness to experiment, a disdain for the straight-jacketing qualities of structure and an appreciation of natural and found sounds. “Parallel 32,” for instance, opens with a Scottish-accented voice proclaiming, “I’m listening to the stork” and the birds’ squawks layered over striated sounds of bowed violin (Jenifer Gelineau apparently, though the cut also credits Ali Robertson, Euan Currie, Holland Hopson, Pete Fosco and, as always, Eric Hardiman.) “Parallel 3” starts with the domesticated sounds of water pouring, as Karen Schoemer, a poet who plays with Hardiman in Sky Furrows, declaims “with spineless scales/with pyramidal whorls” amid a mess of birdsong and Loren Connors-ish guitar frame (that’s Jeff Barsky from Insect Factory). Jon Collin, whose last album emphasized the sounds of water and stone, turns up for “Parallel 10,” conjuring a pastoral atmospheres out of languid guitar licks juxtaposed with the buzz and twitter of the natural world. Not all these cuts are quite so bucolic. Mike Watt makes one of two appearances in “Parallel 4,” laying down an ominous bass mutter, while electronic whistles and melodic tones grow up around this resonance. Sound artist Gayle Brogan who records as Pefkin and Glasgow experimental guitarist Andrew Paine conjure an eerie mesh of ringing tones and moody atmospherics around the steady progress of Watt’s bass. Hardiman’s Spiral Wave Nomads partner, Michael Kiefer contributes to a number of these tracks, adding surging drum rolls to the stately “Parallel 2” and thoughtful, introspective bursts of clatter to “Parallel 5,” which also features Glenn Galloway, once of Trumans Water. Elsewhere Fugazi’s Guy Piccioto, Mission of Burma’s Peter Prescott and Blues Control’s Russ Waterhouse chip in, though none of them sound much like their other projects. The point is that every track is its own world and none relate too closely to places you’ve been before. The pandemic left all kinds of artists with unexpected time on their hands, and even Hardiman might have been surprised by how many people decided to participate. At 33 tracks and two and a half hours, Parallel Systems is just too unwieldly to appreciate as a whole, but taken in small doses, bit by bit, it does the trick.

Jennifer Kelly

Rivet — On Feather and Wire (Editions Mego)

On Feather and Wire by Rivet

Rivet’s music vibrates with chilly intensity, edging right up to the hedonism of body-moving techno but never going over the line. “Ordine Kadmia,” for instance, rides a denatured rock and roll beat — the same boom cha boom foundation that Phil Spector used— but chilled and reserved to an extraordinary degree. Synths construct something like a syncopated guitar scramble atop it, but again, it is nothing like guitars. There is a blooping, looming keyboard melody, the notes slippery and changeable. Crank the heat up just a few degrees and you’d have a triumphant dance floor celebration, but that is not to be. A bit later, a voice declaims in clipped, echo-shrouded fragments, sputtering a harsh, consonant heavy language. That makes sense since when not recording as Rivet, Mika Hallbäck records and produces records under the Grovskopa name. He’s the head of Kess Kill, a label influenced by 1970s German new wave and post-punk. And so, while there are certainly references to punk, dance and techno in these artfully constructed rhythmic meditations, that energy has been diverted into unreal, electronic channels. When you hear a voice, as in “Pearling Woes,” it sounds like a wounded animal, wordless, moaning, penned in pixelated captivity. Not that Of Feather and Wire isn’t enjoyable. “Mag Mich” rumbles and clatters like machinery rolling downhill, a deadpan chatter narrating its progress. “Sooty Wing Flecks” hazards a wobbling treble line across rattling wireframe beats. The synth sounds gain shape and confidence as they go, now blurting like a sax, now playing tag with a reedy keyboard line. There’s something precise and contrapuntal about the way different parts move together, slipping into the chilly interstices left by the other’s silences.

Jennifer Kelly

Theodore Cale Schafer — It’s Not a Skill, It’s a Curse (Longform Editions)

It’s Not a Skill, it’s a Curse by Theodore Cale Schafer

Every month or so, Longform Editions releases a handful of pieces of music intended to be conducive to immersive listening. While what any particular listener wants to rise above their ears may vary, most LE contributions meet the criteria for ambient music. In other words, they’ll satisfyingly tinge an environment if you run them in the background, but they’ll also justify your attention if you choose to tune in. The contributors are split between people that you’re fairly likely to have heard of, and names that’ll be new to most. Detroit-based composer and musician Theodore Cale Schafer is new to this correspondent, but he sounds like a guy who has been at it long enough to have found his compass and to know where he wants it to point. “It’s Not a Skill, It’s a Curse” starts off in chamber music territory, with quicker, higher pitches sighing over a denser, unhurriedly evolving sound field. But as it progresses, one can hear voices conversing behind the strings. They never get too high in the mix, but their presence invites the listener’s ears to prick up, so that when shimmering electronics overtake the strings, you’ll be sufficiently tuned in to perceive the gently tectonic nature of their passing.

Bill Meyer

Cicada Waves by Ben Seretan

Ben Seretan — Cicada Waves (NNA Tapes)

Cicada Waves is the sound of adaptation. While recording at an artist’s retreat in rural Georgia, with the noise of the natural world competing with the sound of the Steinway, Ben Seretan only saw one option: In classic “if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em” fashion, he threw the windows open wide and let the outside in. The result is a set of sparse and tentative piano explorations that marries the approaches of the Jewelled Antler Collective and Morton Feldman. On “Cicada 1” Seretan’s playing slips softly forward through the unblazed field of sound that is the insect’s pulsing song. The album’s six other tracks — mostly named for the environmental accompaniment and time of recording — follow a similar approach, with Seretan’s musical ideas acclimating to storms of bugs and rain. By the final song, “Fog Rolls Out of Rayburn Gap,” his playing has been noticeably affected by his surroundings. When a songbird joins Seretan for a duet midway through, his phrasing mirrors the sound of the rainwater dripping, or maybe the dancing sparkle of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds post-storm. In our everyday lives, the sounds of the world around us are not always so complimentary to the task at hand, though, and in this regard Cicada Waves provides solace. Note to my neighbor: there’s a reason that none of the tracks on this album are called “Homicidal terrier mix, 7 am.” My response during little Charlotte's remarkably slow walks around the neighborhood is to pull a reverse-Seretan, shut my windows tight and turn Cicada Waves up. I’m “adapting.”

Chris Liberato

The Van Dammes — Finally There (Rockstar)

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As of today, June 10th, Finland’s national soccer team is one day away from its first-ever appearance the European Championships. The team qualified for a berth in Euro 2020 in November of 2019, but after generations of misfires, close-calls and heartbreaking squeakers, the Finns were again delayed for a year by COVID-19. They will be playing Denmark on Saturday, and after that who knows? (Ed. Note: The Finns won a bizarre opener against Denmark, in which one of the Danes had a heart attack and nearly died, but then were eliminated in the first round.) But if you’re asking, instead, who cares, allow me to introduce you to the Van Dammes, a gleefully bare-bones garage punk band with much owed to the Ramones and a big crush on the Finnish team. The Van Dammes care so much that they have recorded a three-song EP for the occasion, which is, footy fan or no, 100% fun. Its centerpiece is “Finally There,” a blistering romp of punk pop, pummeled by drums and manic guitars and some sort of antique keyboard. The main verse insists that the band doesn’t care whether the band wins or loses, because they’re “finally there,” which is probably untrue but charming, nonetheless. Go Finland!

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists—DJ Amir Presents Strata Records: The Sound of Detroit Volume 1 (BBE)

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Strata Records only released 10 records in its 1974 to 1975 heyday, but the label, run by Kenny Cox shepherded a diverse array of jazz, funk, soul and world music artists in its brief run, defining a mid-1970s Detroit sound. The label’s archives have been in the hands of 180 Proof since DJ Amir (aka Amir Abdullah) of 180 Proof struck a deal with Cox’s widow, and over time, 180 Proof has been re-releasing Strata’s catalogue. The project got a boost in 2018 when Amir discovered a long lost recording of the Charles Mingus Quintet laid down at Strata’s Concert gallery in 1973. For this set, Amir has selected 23 tracks representing the full spectrum of Strata artists, starting with founder Kenny Cox’s infectious, Caribbean-flavored “Island Song” and running through two extraordinary selections from the Mingus concert, “Pithecanthropos Erectus,” and “Dizzy Profile.” Along the way, Strata mainstays like Detroit Artist Workshop founder Larry Nozero and Afro-Cuban organist Lyman Woodard take the spotlight, and Elvin Jones protégé Bert Myrick leads a rendition of “Scorpio’s Child” (written by Kenny Cox) that cool enough to induce shivers. It’s not all jazz either. Sam Sanders croons a quiet storm up in torch song “Face at My Window,” and a little known outfit named the Soulmates gives Curtis Mayfield a run for his money. There’s quite a lot of different music here, but it fits together remarkably well for continuous listening.

Jennifer Kelly

Various Artists — Pick ‘N’ Mix, Volume 1 (EEG Recordings)

Pick 'N' Mix, Volume 1 by EEG Recordings

This benefit compilation for the Climate Emergency Fund intersperses space-age guitar drones with folky meditations from mostly six-string up-and-comers of various stripes. Adeline Hotel’s “Untangling” unfurls flurries of acoustic picking while Toby Oler’s “Doubles to Dozens” (one of a couple with vocals) tips a hoedown guitar riff into dark and ominous territory. Tarotplane’s PJ Dorsey is, as always, intriguingly open-ended, his “Allowing for Space” doing that, but also bending it and time in mystic, reverberating ways. Not all the cuts are guitar-centric. Petridisch, from Boston, kicks in a blippy, twitchy, techno-operetta in “In the Red,” while the Modern Folk’s eerie, echo-shrouded, “Don’t Let My Heart Grow Cold,” gets its point across with keyboards, voice and electronic effects. Ragenap’s “A Nod Is as Good as a Wink to a Blind Horse (Long Version)” is, as the title implies, extended, but nicely conceived out of gentle guitar licks and hovering after tones. It’s a nice mix of sounds, and a bit of the entry price goes towards saving our beleaguered planet. What’s not to like?

Jennifer Kelly

Mike Uva — Are You Dreaming? (Self-Released)

Are You Dreaming by Mike Uva

Mike Uva, long one of my favorite unjustly overlooked songwriters, spent some quarantine time with the bedroom recording set, distilling a year and a half of nothing much into sleepy, low-key pop. “I’m wandering around these halls, bouncing off the painted walls, I see Tina and she laughs at me, did you have a couple drinks or three?” asks Uva on the next-to-opening “Safety Zone,” encapsulating as well as anything a COVID year spent in sweatpants and stupor. These eight fuzzy meditations are even more homemade and loosely put together than usual, made of offhand guitars, some keyboards, a rattle of programmed and actual drums. And yet, there’s a Sebadoh-ish flare of melody in the chorus, a bit that lifts off briefly before sinking back under the surface. The title track ambles in on scratchy, waltz-time rock guitar strumming, a bemused survey of cobwebby interior landscapes. “When the day doesn’t measure to much in events, anything to remember of how it was spent, do you paint a wild painting or take to your bed?” croons Uva, and somehow the answer is both.

Jennifer Kelly

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phanfictioncatalogue · 5 years ago

Text

Originality / Unique Masterlist

A Match And A Fuse (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: Phil is twenty six years old and stuck in a dead end life. He works at Starbucks and may or may not be carrying a torch for his best friend of eight years. He doesn’t know who he is or what he wants–or how to go about figuring it out.That all starts to change when he happens upon the resume of a certain law school grad named Daniel.

Aria in the Snow (ao3) - Eavans

Summary: If you asked most people of Daniel J. Howell’s lot in life, they’d tell you it was pretty good. A small career writing for a fashionable magazine, the heir to one of New York’s most prestigious hotels, the convenience of youth and an ailing millionaire father… what more could an 18-year-old ask for?

So when a night at the symphony turns into the start of a whole new double life in the city’s queer underworld, the heir to New York’s most fashionable hotel will have to learn what is what when you're dating a cabaret singer, and who is who when that singer becomes a troubled star.

So it’s nothing but fate to blame when things start to fall apart. The catch? It’s the last half of the 1920s—

And this romance is illegal.

Closed Eyes (ao3) - Phanallamallama

Summary: Dan thought that brushing those few hairs out of Phil’s eyes would be nice, maybe placing their lips together and just lying with him as more than friends would be good too. But then he remembered Phil wasn’t there. Now those feelings felt bitter and the side of his bed that used to be owned was empty and colder than he remembered.

Curiosity - placingglaciers

Summary: In which Phil is an amateur urban explorer/photographer/YouTuber who encounters Dan, an amateur graffiti artist, in an abandoned hospital by surprise. They decide to explore together and find a lot more than just empty rooms and random chairs, if you know what I mean.

Don't Trust A Song That's Flawless (ao3) - The_Blonde

Summary: "Dan surveys their menu. It’s in Comic Sans and all lower case. Only one drink has a description because (1) he got bored halfway through and (2) left the menus until last so they got rushed out opening day. The description is “coffee and foam?” with a question mark that he forgot to take out but now maybe creates some mystery. Add “update menus” to the to-do list. Phil’s drinks all have descriptions, detailed ones. The descriptions also have cat puns."

Or: Awkwardness Squared - A Love Story.

Exogenesis Symphony (ao3) - SpectralNyx

Summary: Many things can change in the course of a few years, but Dan Howell finds much more can occur in the span of a single evening when a fateful encounter wth the impossible hurtles his life into a new and startling direction that will take all of his willpower and strength to survive.

Of all the possible transformations he thought his life could take he never expected the savage world he's suddenly thrust into and forced to make sense of all on his own. However, when Phil returns from a family holiday Dan must confront a greater threat and try to find a way to protect them both from the creature he's become.

In The Half Light (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: A storm appears over England and 98% of the population disappears.

I Sing The Body Electric (ao3) - nokomisfics

Summary: prompted genderfluid!phil university flatmates au.

Let The Salt Dry (ao3) - dandrogynous

Summary: 2009 except Dan is a trans boy.

Love Is In The Air (Please Make It Stop) (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary In which Phil works in a coffee shop and Dan's a customer who may or may not have been cursed by Cupid. Either way, there are an awful lot of kissing couples around...

Misplaced - jilliancares

Summary: Phil wakes up in an alternate universe. And then Phil… wakes up in an alternate universe. Both Phil’s try to navigate back to their own life while simultaneously trying to deal with each others’. (AKA YouTuber!Phil tries to deal with the fact that he’s in a band and he and Dan are enemies, and Band!Phil tries to understand how in any universe he and Dan could be lovers.)

Teeth (ao3) - lvckyphan

Summary: The story of a broken marriage between a retired writer and his manic husband, and their twisted capabilities to make language bleed.

The Best I Can Be (ao3) - mollieblack

Summary: "We never talked about it."

"What?" Dan asked, raising his head from his laptop to see Phil immersed in his own computer screen, slowly sipping coffee as he spoke without turning his gaze.

"We never talked about it."

"About what?"

"Our deal. If neither of us were married by thirty... well I'm thirty. We never talked about it."

The Bookshop That Has (Almost) Everything - phanlight

Summary: Phil works at a bookshop. Dan buys a book one day, and, in a ploy to see Phil, keeps returning with more and more obscure requests so Phil has to spend more time searching. After Dan leaves with ‘cactus maintenance: a memoir’, Phil starts to suspect something’s up.

The Neighbors Upstairs (ao3) - Riddle

Summary: Through videos and live chats Dan and Phil have told the story of their eclectic and sexually active downstairs neighbor, but this story looks at the lives of Dan and Phil--all of the ups and downs in their lives, going through the major events since they moved to London--through the eyes of their own downstairs neighbor who doesn't quite understand what these two boys do with all of that filming equipment upstairs for money...

To Intervene Between Me And This Monster (ao3) - PoisonedMind

Summary: Phil gets assigned to Dan, a lonely human child. In theory, Phil has no reason not to fulfill his duty of being the scary monster under the bed. In practice, however, Phil has always been a little special and as it turns out, there might just be something about Dan that makes Phil not feel so alone himself.

And Dan? Dan just knows there’s something under his bed.

Virus (ao3) - Lackless

Summary: Set in a dystopian future, Dan is a super-smart, super-lonely hacker who discovers an old piece of tech and gets swept into an intrigue that will change his world...

When I Sing, You Sing Harmonies (ao3) - The_Blonde

Summary: Witch Phils and the Piano Playing Dans that they just want to make happy (with a sprinkling of magic).

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #unique #unique masterlist

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flanneljammies · 4 years ago

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Lots of Listens in 2020

As I winnow things down to my Top 20 and, ultimately, AOTY, I’ve come up with quite a few great records that didn’t quite make it into the top echelon...

All Fell Silent - An Autumn For Crippled Children These Dutch practitioners of black-gaze have moved even further into the the “gaze’ side of things by pushing their drums (machine) even further into the background -- sometimes threatening to become ambient music.

10 Years Gone - Deafheaven Speaking of “black-gaze,” this live shit rules. All the hits form all their records with enough rawness and grit to drive the whole thing home.

An Offering - Deterior Apparently this is one dude from Columbus OH. Its fantastic blackened post-metal with plenty of crusty sludge to gum up the proceedings.

Lincoln Hall 2020 - Facs Another live album. This time from Chicago’s ultimate purveyors of fugue-state. A well curated collection of songs from their three records performed with their characteristic aggression/ennui.

Sawtooth EKG - Flust Ex-Twelves singer, Michael Groome, churns out a sultry album of Depeche Mode-inspired make-out tunes. It’s the 80s all over again and I feel fine.

Revisionist - June of 44 The actual title is Revisionist: Adaptations & Future Histories In The Time Of Love And Survival -- ha! It’s remixes and rerecordings of some of the venerable post-rock outfit’s later material. While it doesn’t really hang together as an album, its nice to hear these versions and experimentations. Reminds me of their In The Fishtank record, now that I come to think of it...

Boss Chill - Killer Tame Brendan McGinn is probably best known as the frontman of Lincoln NE’s emo wunderkinds, Her Flyaway Manner. Here, under his beat-maker moniker, he creates inventive and addicting trip-hop than clearly owes a debt to Ninja Tune or Mo Wax.

s/t - Luxor Beam These London lads seem intent on trying to recreate Revolution Summer emotional hardcore. They sorta miss the mark, but by adding noise-rock and post-hardcore elements, they come up with something at least as interesting.

Itch - Mammock Weirdo, mutant noise-rock from Greece. They, mercifully, often stray from the Jesus Lizard-template and veer into math-jazz territory of folks like Oxbow.

Zero Zero Zero - Mogwai Mogwai continue their triumph over movie soundtracks. Here for a show about drug trafficking. It’s got all the somber-yet-catchy piano riffs that we’ve come to expect, but also a fair bit of synthy swells and kraut-rock rhythms. I watched the first episode on Amazon Prime and fell asleep...

Ghosts V-VI - Nine Inch Nails Trent continues his Ghosts series which, I guess, is just song sketch pads that he may or may not go back to later. V reminds me a whole lot of side two of Bowie’s Low and VI sounds like the soundtrack to demented horror movie.

Demo - Rijeka Some cool textural screamo (by way of hardcore) that, while not earth shattering, is extremely satisfying and visceral. Not sure why a band from France names themselves after a city in Croatia...

s/t - Seaxes There can be no doubt that this band hails from Chicago. The ghost of local noise-rock giants hover over this EP like a spectre. Cool shit though, with nods to both The Jesus Lizard and US Maple without ever really aping either of them.

Three Gates Dub - Tara Bulba British dude doing trippy dub shit in the style of Bill Laswell. More of this please.

The Twilight Device - Theta Beach Ambient swells and drones -- the soundtrack to a non-existent movie. Turns out it’s the perfect soundtrack to white knuckling it on country roads in a blinding snow storm.

Now Wait For Last Year - Things Falling Apart Yet another live record (this time on the radio). The long-running post-rock band leans into the “post” with two songs running 19 and 13 minutes. FULL DISCLOSURE (lol): included in the download is a remix I did for Adama under my Bell & Circuit moniker.

Another Life - Twin Siblings Ex-New Cowboy Builders and current Sugar Horse guitarist, Jake Healy, continues to spellbind with his solo project. Less dark than previous outings, here he delves into dubby kraut-rock, Eno-esque swirls, and Cabaret Voltaire-style electro.

#best-of

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coldlipsmag · 7 years ago

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PHONELESS IN BERLIN

Words: Kirsty Allison

All photographs by Martyn Goodacre, except images of Danielle De Picciotto’s art, and Alexander Hacke’s studio…and the portrait of Morgan, by Kirsty.

Clouds’ shadows camouflage the sea. Sardine boats dodge the lifeboat wind farms. I jet-trash over last night’s cab, and the phone left on the back seat.

SCHONEFIELD AIRPORT

“Yes,” with an ‘of course’-face, “It has all the streets on it.” The tourist board office give me a map with the VisitBerlin travel card – 41E for 6 days, generous. I like free travel, and I like maps. Not Maps that rhyme with apps. I see the island of West Berlin – I put all the streets in my long black woollen notebook pocket.

U-BAHN/S-BAHN

Map in a glass cage – no index – I’ll take a photo – look at it when I’m moving – I can’t take a photo. My cogs shift from the cybernet dimension.

Alone. Letting go of my infatuation with being monitored, I feel an analogue glitch, a slip of fortune as I enter the low-rise city, uninterrupted with pings.

A watch. I could buy a watch – to tell the time.

I could walk rather than do the connection.

THE HORRORS / Synästhesie Festival / Volksbühne

“The people putting this festival together told me this granite floor was from Hitler’s Bunker,” says Anton Newcombe of the Brian Jonestown Massacre and A Records, DJing in the green room, two floors of sweeping staircases up in the People’s Theatre of Mitte’s Rosa-Luxemburg Platz – once the centre of East Berlin’s GDR.

“Do you believe them?” I ask, of the 8MM Bar promoters who put the festival together. We consider the plausibility, the Nazi star, in dirty creams and blood reds.

Mark Reeder later confirms it to be from the Nazi Vice Chancellor office. And of the cenotaphs stashed beneath the KuDamm – the Nazi spikes. Close enough. Anton is a hero – DIG! the film he stars in aside spars, The Dandy Warhols – an essential on the rock n roll rites-of-passage Reading List. Between his selection of classic psychedelia: “I was born in 1967, in California, of course I’m psychedelic”, with highlights such as Fabio Viscollios 7”, he sets the record straight on all kindsa connections that zip around my references of the night – the stars that guide us, the magnets who form us.

Arrival in Neukölln

So 90s, no blue arrow locator. Without the digital psychographic veils of my screen, the meaning of wrong direction changes – I love to travel, to feel on top of the globe, wherever you walk, with only the weight of the identifiers you carry.

Natural order leads me to Stroke Order – my faux-god-sista, of the Sacred Sound Club – her haus is pink. Y3 shoes, high ceilings, dribble shower, CK mirror. She’s a costume designer for films, but has been hiding out here for a year. Making minimal techno – using autonomous sensory meridian response samples – sounds that turn us on.

Our mothers are pretend godmothers to me and her. She grew up in Vancouver. Dad is a motorcycle racer and ballet dancer in Japan.

Synästhesie Festival / Volksbühne

CAMERA take to the main stage of seated theatre hall. Brutalist fractal collage films of matrix shifting cities, juddering with intent. Projections of you watching me watching you – perhaps being shot live in the auditorium – full scope. Beaming around the physical force of a standing drummer triballing out for a 20 minute set on a bass drum, snare and cymbal. The centre-piece. Astral simulacrum to The Egg who I played with earlier this year. The standing drummer keels in sweat, throws a death white sheet over the drums as though he has beaten them dead, only to dampen their noise, and continue hitting and hitting. Keys, 2 x guitar, sitar bass, different genereration radical on sax – elf dancing.

I’m reminded of the need for parameters – the ones we invent to live inside. The significance of numbers plays on the screens – another hallucination. A replacement for seeing everything through snapshot Insagram lens. Abandoning our digital religion – is so FKK (freikörperkultur – the GDR East Berliners act of rebellion was to strip on Sundays around the lakes – to rip off the communist soaked nylons of identikit clothing*). So naked.

TANGERINE DREAM

A violinist in black – modular synth Memotron on one side – a bank of other buttons on the other side. One life. One nerve shatters and then rest follow. First they twitch, and glitch the matrix…

I catch a bit of THE PINS – all girls – superhot, riot grrrrl electronica.

THE HORRORS

Violent Lenin Uber Alles track shatters across the increased scale of the stage for this headline performance – punk anger of East Berlin, red deco chandeliers of alles Ku-damm Cabaret glory. Waiting for Faris Badwan, the singer who I first interviewed for Dazed and Confused, making a film about his illustration – and exhibition, I wonder about the symbolism of genre/sound/music/art as signs of the times – about resonance – of what we are creating and producing – of X Factor sounds as the capitalist panacea – of our art resonating our environment – or us gravitating towards it. Stroke Order making techno in Berlin.

The futurism of white noise perfection – the dystopian values, four albums in from when I first met Faris – he was maybe 23 then. Unsure if he was going to carry on at St Martins art school. By the time I interviewed him again for Vogue, he was not going back.

And here, seated in the very front row – I witness the evocation of destiny – he’s become less of the shy frontman, but someone who is commanding the respect of the universe – he violently whips the mic lead – he hails the pulses of front row screamers, bonding their necks with rubber wire – he in black PVC – guitarist in red lipstick – beautiful rockstar boys. Lyrics are lost in the Elritch reverb – Faris is crown stealing. Volatile black energy of goth industrial – contemporised by Tom Furse – and his techno pyramid synths. Ice sweat dripping Hackney vampire bassist Rhys Webb. Faris has become storming iconic balearic, striding over theatre seats, in smart city shoes. It’s cosmic goth, it is power – it is owning the depth of Poe hell to Blakean heavens. From voyeurs to submission, the audience leave satisfied.

WEDDING/NW multi-cultural reaches of the city.

Fire station studio. Danielle De Picciotto walks us across a courtyard in twilight. Pyramid of flowers, split by stairs to a below-sea-level, waiting buddha, draped with beads. Left and right basement of Californian security doors, co-joined studios, His and Hers. Drums on the male side, Alexander Hacke, Einsturzende Neubatten – poles of metal to hit. Next door: paintings of black and white folklore S+M dolls with tripped out wings, and photograph reflections. Hers. With tea. Laughter. Discussion. Love. She is love.

***

Lost – ghetto kid guides me and Stroke Order to the ambient dinner in a bar beneath a block in Wedding: soundproof triangles of three-tone pastel shaved hardwood. Clean vegetables, and a series of performances from three post-Akai-ists. Poetry, soundscapes layering paranoic schizophrenic voices – a DJ girl in from Seattle. The residents, ex-pats, from across Germany, and the world – carrying less ego than London. A wholesome intellect carries through, it gets lost in the whirl of London survival. I think back to hanging with the man commonly known as Rodent, the Sex Pistols’ sound tech – he was saying everything is lost in our digital times – the lack of ability to hang out together, they had to live frugally, himself in the studio of The Clash. The intensity of art. It’s easier here. To get involved in your creativity – away from the grab.

SUNDAY

Home jukebox, coffee, and Okay Cafe cinnamon swirls at Jason McGlade and Anne-Cathrin Saure’s (the art director/photographer, and designer of Cold Lips II, and co-createurs of the Shedville font). They moved back here recently – but Jason’s back and forth to London, working on an incredible analogue Polaroid project.

Stroke Order and I head out to Berghain – but instead collide with a very old friend who’s been living in Thailand for 14 years – Martyn Goodacre. He took the most iconic picture of Kurt Cobain, and many more. We tried doing music together when we worked on magazines. We go to a bar, meet with a midwife – talk about the horror show of birth, the guidance into the world, policed by the womb and the channel to birth and the rejection from the vulvic eye. The propulsion.

MONDAY MORNING COMING DOWN FROM AN EMAIL THAT IS CHANGING MY LIFE

Space, China – coffee with Mark Reeder. His vinyl of Mauderstadt is out now. I’ve just run a trilogy of stories on him in DJ Mag, explaining his part in Berlin, from being the Factory rep in Berlin in Joy Division days, through to putting on punk gigs in East Berlin, recording the music in gay bars to play to New Order – thus Blue Monday – and since, from inventing trance music with his label MfS – getting Paul van Dyk on the map – he’s the man. His uniforms. Rare light.

“Danielle [De Picciotto] and Katia – Love Parade would never have started without them.”

[Love Parade was the street party that began in the ecstatic reunification of East and West Berlin. The wall came down in 1990. The old GDR was a wild land. Read Danielle De Picciotto’s Beauty of Transgression for more…or watch Mark Reeder’s B-Movie…and his forthcoming E-Movie.]

He realises he’s late for his lunch…

Alone, back on the Neukölln streets, I look into the door of a Moroccan cafe – get called in by a round-faced Muslim woman, grey jumper, jeans – trainers – Tangiers market vibes, enter – beans – good – no English – point at a box – I don’t know if she knows I don’t want a tagine but takeaway – they waterfall me mint tea – the door slams shut. There are stickers on the wall tiles – plastic table cloths. Am I about to be drugged? Locked in – I have few Euros and no phone to be stolen.

I sit, read the Unspoken Berlin I’ve picked up – and wait for either the drugs to kick in, or to relax. Oh, some brot on the table – no it ain’t Gucci Bloom sea hedgehog fennel and jerusalem artichoke, chestnut puree and scallop, purple watercress like the exquisite experience of Lokal where local ingredients will dance on plates for us later – nor is is it as refined as the Techno sauna we’ll meditate in around the bar – but it is E2.50 and beautifully wholesome – the chickpeas are larger than London.

—-

Neurotitan have taken Cold Lips and my last 3 copies of Unedited. Stefi there is lovely. It’s somewhere that’s always called me on previous trips to Berlin. Many putting a film together that became impossible, about Manuel Gottching, of Ash Ra Tempel – and E2:E4 – the most sampled record – inventor of ambient – before Eno, before the HANSA recordings of Iggy and Bowie. I tell Stefi of my gig last night with Whisky and Words at the Keith bar – where Stroke Order – her pals – and Jason McGlade come by – and Mark Reeder. And Rasp Thorne [post coming to Cold Lips soon, or buy the second edition for total spread]- the consumate performer – lighter over here – my lips are still red from the wine. Stephen Crane. Rasp’s performance of Crane. He’s so good.

Everytime I get on a train here the stasi black jacket ticket checkers are on the same carriage. It’s happened to Morgan 3 times in her year here – and 3 times with me in as many days. I am able to fight my usual paranoias from the top of my Maslow pyramid – the email from a publisher – saying he wants to publish my novel – the one I have had two agents hawk around in 11 years – during which time, I have changed, and so has the story. It is the best email I’ve ever had. Here, lying in bed on the Monday morning after meeting with Anton Newcombe and front row for Faris – Faris frow.Two days later, I’m still flying, as I hit EchoBucher, back in Wedding – they’re taking some Cold Lips…I drop into Potsdamer – meeting… No fucking way. Ticket checkers.

Zug Fallt aus!

You have amazing eyes – you look like Madonna said the guy from Milano – I’m hoping he means old skool hot Madz. En route to the airport – delays – nerves shot / triggering towards Parkinsons and spiked dreams. He calmed me – so did the guy who was also travelling to Stansted – as we ran for the plane, and vice versa. Detoxed from the phone, train home, to the temple – travelling with Alice A Bailey. Nanobotic karmic overide. More ticket inspectors – haunted by the stasi – on plane now – could do with some extra O2 from the overhead locker after running in a coat I just bought which I think I may be allergic to. But it’s so warm.

*German born LA-resident, Benedikt Taschen, the art collector and publisher, has directed the content of the new EAST GERMAN HANDBOOK. An encyclopedic collab with Wende Museum, a place of Cold War artefacts in Culver City. It’s a compendium of communist porn – picture-led, masonically-charged graphics of the whole nine yards of life behind the wall – from ideal weaponary to food, fags, appalling vodka, and the requisite communist shit shoes. It’s got 50s utopian vision written all over it.

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