10/11/2010

Supah Akpan

EVERYTHING IS EVERYTHING



Sonny Akpan, Nigeria's greatest Conga player, recently suffered quite a severe stroke. Who'd know from seeing the footage I shot last night - here instructing students on how to split the atom in his Dalston studio. They were having a few problems keeping up with him as you can probably detect.

If you don't know who Sonny is, he featured on the Rolling Stones Let It Bleed -- percussion on "You Can't Always Get What You Want"-- and pretty much all the way through Beggars Banquet and Sticky Fingers on congas, credited on all three albums as "Rocky Dijon" (so the fuckers didn't have to pay him royalties - Mick, Keef and co. get your frigging cheque books out and weigh the man in for a few bob! "Can't You Hear Me Knocking" is my favourite, pretty much all Sonny, and soundtrack to Scorcese's awesome mayhem montage in Goodfellas). He played on Phil Manzanera's Diamond Head (was paid for that one!) was a member of African Headcharge and Eddie Grant's band. He was core founder of Nigerian group The Funkees. He's performed with James Brown, the JB's, Fela Kuti, Vangelis and Roy Ayres. Sonny is up there with Earl Palmer as one of the greatest rythm meisters in my ever so humble.

Cheeky sod borrowed me forty notes off me last though. 

As if I'd ever ask for it back ... I named my son after him.

Good deal all round I reckon.

01/07/2010

Chirps!

CAGNEY CHARMS



"You'd look good in a shower curtain"

If only it was still 1949.

26/06/2010

Is Anybody Out There?

WHO GIVES A MONKEY'S ....

Me, actually.

There's nothing worse than a Marie Celeste blog. So, by virtue of the very existence of this post: NOT GUILTY YOUR HONOUR. My missus said, "It's not like a diary, it haunts you."

And it has. I've had at least THREE people tell me how "interesting" they find my mouse'n'keyboard output when applied to this format. I haven't posted for ages. Very busy, see.

So just in case you do give a monkey's, here's something mildly diverting – Judo (did it for three years as a kid. Green belt.)



Did I say mildly diverting? But yep, he's OK.

Next ...



Man alive! "Choke From Another Camera. Thanks Jamie!".

If that was my daughter being taken out, I'd kidnap the opposition and neutralize her on an exclusive 8-year diet of Percy Ingle sausage rolls, White Lightning and Mayfairs. Then hand her back.

Next ...



"Cool! Someone nearly died! I told ya this'd be s-i-i-i-ckkk!!! Did'n I honey?! Now where did I park the car? Gotta be stealthy and get out before the rush ..."

Sport's changed a lot since I was 13.

Think I need a shower.

06/05/2010

Cheer Up!

DEATH? NO FUN.

It'll hit you right in the stomach as "The-the-the-the-that's all folks!" goes reeling through your neurons.

You'll be lucky if it comes fast.

When realizing the lie of a "peaceful death" after witnessing the screaming, contorted, rigamortized faces on the dozens of cadavers being wheeled out daily from the shitty French hospital he was confined to as a young man, George Orwell angrily reflected that, "... it is a great thing to die in your own bed, though it is better still to die in your boots."

Which makes his death all the more sad because, according to Malcolm Muggeridge, "he passionately wanted to go on living, and there was no sense of peace or relinquishment in him."

Damien Hirst, because he's a rich, lucky, cosseted, egotistical tosspot, entitled one of his works, "The Impossibility of Death In The Mind Of Someone Living".

Not in my mind, buddy - I'm constantly, grimly aware of it. And like most people, I'll probably go the way Orwell did.

http://www.george-orwell.org/How_The_Poor_Die/0.html

Newsflash!!!

ONLY IN GERMANY

"The topic of German spelling reform (Rechtschreibreform) has been a hot topic of debate in recent years. Even before the current rules, issued in 1996, went into effect for schools and government entities in all the German-speaking countries in August 1998, there had been court cases and official protests. Despite a generally negative attitude from most German-speakers, the German media in Austria, Germany and Switzerland almost uniformly adopted the reforms in August 1999. With rare exceptions (FAZ in 2000), the reforms remain in effect today. The "complete implementation" of the rules went into effect on August 1, 2005.

But in all the wrangling over how German should be properly spelled there has been one prominent sacred cow: the capitalization of all nouns. German is the only language in the world that requires the capitalization of ALL nouns. There are only a few fringe groups calling for German capitalization rules similar to those in most other languages. Headquartered in Zurich, the Bund für vereinfachte rechtschreibung (note the spelling of the BVR's name, "Federation for simplified spelling") dates back to 1924. While there are a few rebels who write their German email like e.e. cummings, most German-speakers still cling to their sacred Großschreibung (capitalization). Although Kleinschreibung had its advocates, the framers of the 1996 German spelling reforms felt it was simply not politically feasible to call for the elimination of noun capitalization. As it was, they had quite enough controversy without adding Groß- und Kleinschreibung to the list."

Cribbed from another website.

Here's Charles Wilp ...

14/02/2010

Selected Book Jackets 1956-1976

NICE  










12/02/2010

Monks

TRANSATLANTIC FEEDBACK

Finally got my hands on a DVD copy of Transatlantic Feedback.

Here's an article I wrote about the the documentary's Berlin premiere for Lodown Magazine a few years ago:

MONKS

YOU ARE LEAVING THE AMERICAN SECTOR 
Five ex-servicemen taking a gap year in their former posting of the Federal Republic of Germany are playing in a Bier Keller with their band, The 5 Torquays. In walk two local wannabe advertising executives who, being well versed in all things Dada, Fluxus and Situationist, are captivated by the sight of a bunch of American GIs wearing candy-striped frocks and ankle boots singing a song entitled Boys Are Boys'.

After the performance, the ambitious young men approach the band and offer them a management deal, which is immediately accepted. Presently, the group are given a new name, a new sound, new costumes, an arty manifesto and alarming new haircuts - short back-and-sides, pudding basin fringes and the killer touch, crowns shaved bald like, well ... monks.

Yes, Monks were a truly strange proposition. Born of a wonky configuration of circumstance, culture and sensibility, this oddball phenomenon were, for a brief moment, part of the soundtrack of a country that had jolted from the nightmare of WWII and thwacked its head right into the Iron Curtain. 

Billed as the 'Anti-Beatles', singing songs about hate, complication, constipation and Cuckoos, the Monks' sound was as unique as their message was confused. Dressed in abbot's cloaks and bootlace ties made of rope and fashioned to resemble hangman's nooses, they drank, drugged and sonically bludgeoned their way around the dives, auditoriums and TV studios of Cold War West Germany. For them, the immediate future of pop was going to be hard, spikey, spiteful and hateful. They believed they had the new rock'n'roll formula - beat driven, discordant, with minimal chords and few lyrics. But in 1966 and with the Summer of Love just around the corner, their timing couldn't have been worse.

 I’M A MONK 
Earnest chin-stroking types like to credit them with inventing Metal, Punk, Industrial, Techno, all sorts. Maybe this is or isn't  true, but what should be remembered is that Monks had as much in common with Freddie and the Dreamers as they did the Velvet Underground. Their act was in equal measure polished Vaudeville shtick and fuck-off weirdness, a wonderfully haphazard German-American concoction of yin and yang, frat-house and Avant Garde, dissonance and Schlager, Three Stooges and 4th Panzer Division.
 

Monks were mainstream, leftfield, pretentious, unaffected, profound, preposterous, utterly serious and deeply dumb all at once. That’s why I’m a Monk.

YOU'RE A MONK 

The Volksbühne, Berlin, Germany, 39 years later. Audience seated. Anticipation. Long pause. Lights dimmed. Single spotlight on arty-faced gentleman wearing a nun's habit. Speaks interminably – or so it seems to the militantly monolingual among us [i.e. me] – in measured, slightly nervy German. This is Peter Hein, of twenty years loyal service to the Xerox Corporation and Fehlfarben, 'the German Gang Of Four'. Never heard of 'em! Get on with it!
 

Relief and the English language follow, both spoken and subtitled, provided by the new Monks documentary, Transatlantic Feedback. Focusing on heartfelt testimonies from the band, with stunning archive footage which alone probably cost the producers a fortune – plus contributions from Faust's Joachim Irmler, Jon Spencer and Genesis P Orridge among others, it's ace. Go and see it. A particular highlight is German beat band, The Lords of Kensington; rubbish, ersatz and probably a big influence on Boney M. Best of all, though, is the stupendously potty Charles Wilp, director and 'Artonaught' who, in the '60s, tried to get the Monks involved in writing music for his semi-pornographic Afri-Cola commercials. Sadly, this proved even too much for the company's marketing department, who decided to stick with Wilp's tried-and-tested ‘sexy nuns simulating orgasm’ approach.
    

Intermission. Beer.

IT'S MONK TIME 

They're here. The Anti-Beatles are in front of us, back in Germany after nearly forty years [well, three of them anyway; Gary, Eddie and Dave with two stand-ins on keyboards and drums]. Now it really is Monk Time ...
 

The combined forces of taking two days off work to be in Germany to spend four days wages on three days drinking, plus the five blokes on stage, hurl me to the front of the auditorium. The two girls we're with, not Monks enthusiasts, retroists or Wire readers by any stretch, are similarly wrenched into this gravitational vortex. Monk music pulls everything into its orbit.
    

The performance and sound is mesmerizing. So much so that when the first guest vocalist Mark E Smith appears ten songs in, the trance dissolves. As has Mark's face. You can't take your eyes off it. Is that a mask with a real tongue stuck to it? He opens his mouth to rant the first lines of 'Higgle-Dy-Piggle-Dy', and yeh, it's him. Brilliant, pissed, totally incomprehensible and bloody disturbing.
 

From then on it's Monks vs. guest vocalists: 'Blast Off' and 'Shut Up' - Monks / 'Complication' - Monks and Scorsch Cameroon of Die Goldenen Zitronen [Nice shoes. Bryan Ferry demeanor. Also never heard of him] / 'He Went Down To The Sea' - Monks / 'Monk Chant' - Monks and Silva and Gina Birch of The Raincoats [Nice ladies. Never into their band] / 'Oh, How To Do Now' - Monks / 'We Do Wie Du' - Monks and Peter Hein [I know who he is now]
 

It's spectacular. The hits, the rare material, the barely recognizable guests and all.
    

They encore with 'I Hate You'. Then it's over. We all jostle to shake their hands dementedly as they take their final bows. We'll probably never see them play together again.

WE’RE ALL MONKS

Alec Empire on the 1s ‘n’ 2s,  looking less nerdy and far more cherubically suave than my mind’s eye had bargained for, plays some selected recordings of cutlery being scraped across pensioners teeth, plus the odd DAF tune to the oddments and off-cuts gathered in the foyer post-show. Dave Day, elated and touchingly effusive in a Marlon Brando ‘Monks’ cap, poses for my phone-camera with his handsomely faded Southern Belle wife, Irene. Mark E Smith is nowhere to be seen. thank God. His earlier amphetamine-lager-lizard turn was enough to scare the beejesus out of the most hardened or plain fucking hard Fall fan. The silver-haired bloke in the pink Seersucker jacket [reckon he’s from Neu or Popol Vuh or some-such] is now urbane and debonair, his composure regained after an hour-and-a-half of rockin' like a chicken with shingles. The rest of the punters, in varying stages of superannuity and intoxication, seem to represent every conceivable period and movement of youth and counter-culture since 1956.
 

Momentarily as I look around me at this marvelous cavalcade of humanity, I think, "We're all Monks."

The Monks official website is at: www.the-monks.com

Details of screenings of Transatlantic Feedback can be found on: www.playloud.org

Black Monk Time, the album, is on Polydor. Available at all good record stores.

Black Monk Time, the book, is available from: 

Carson Street Publishing
P.O. Box 5985
Reno, NV 89513
(775) 624-0990
carsonstreet@sbcglobal.net

Genuine Monks merchandise is available from: http://the-monks.com/merchandise.htm


Below - original spread from Lodown Magazine 53 - Design by Robert Green, Illustrations by Will Sweeney.  
Click on image to enlarge:


06/02/2010

Mother's Little Helper

الأم المساعد قليلا

Found this in the Narrow Way, Hackney - Valium packaging from Egypt?

Click on image to enlarge

05/02/2010

This Machine Kills Fascists

THIS VALENTINE'S DAY, SAY IT WITH ...

As part of Darkroom's Valentine's Day mini show Love and Haiti, to raise money for the earthquake appeal, I produced this limited edition block-print. We were briefed to make an image or piece using a heart-shape in black and white (2nd colour optional).

Entitled "This Machine Kills Fascists", 10 are available from Darkroom for £125, with a portion of each sale (£50) going to the Haiti Fund.

Dimensions 16" x 21".

27/01/2010

Good Song (Slight Return)

HOMICIDAL RECORD COLLECTORS ON ACID

The story of "The Fly"/"Pow Wow" is continued (see post: Good Song, 09/01/2010) courtesy Miriam Linna's amazing liner notes for Norton Records' 2008 compilation, Mad Mike Monsters Volume 3.

In her exhaustive 7000 word thesis on influential Pittsburgh DJ, Mad Mike, which spans three flaps of the LP's gatefold sleeve and takes an hour-and-a-half to read, Linna interviews Ed Salamon, who says, "'Pow Wow' ... was another Mad Mike Monster ... I'll always remember how the girls would dance on the runway at Danceland to that song, as we guys just stood there and ogled."

Dave Bennett continues, " ... we called up Manny Corchado in New York City and told him we all loved the record and he goes, 'You're shittin' me! You're shittin' me!' He didn't even have a copy of the 45. They were going for a hundred bucks here back then. It was booted as 'Spanish Fly' (sic) by The Mosquitoes on Spear."

So there it is. Until last year, a '60s bootleg was the only way to get this tune on 45 and acquiring it cost money  - someone just dropped £117 very recently for a vintage 7" on eBay - but you can be pretty sure it never caused anyone any physical harm ... here's a tale of the dangers of record collecting, as described to Ms Linna, again by Dave Bennett:

"I used to go to Mike's house with this real big fat kid who started taking acid pretty heavy, early on. He got it off a guy we got records off of, too. One time, I went over to his house. He was gonna tape some stuff off me and was gonna give me a couple of records in exchange. We got to his house and go in the garage. Garage door closes and he says, 'Dave, I'm having a problem with my car.' And he starts the motor and leans out and says, 'Go under and see if that thing moves.' Looking back now, my name should have been Bennetinski. Watch that thing move!? So I bend over to look and suddenly, I feel this hard punch in my back and I try to get up. I reach my hand up, hear something hit the ground, and I bring my hand back and it's covered with blood. I go 'What the hell are you doing?' 'You just got a knife in your back, Dave,' he says. I grab my box of records, slam him in the face, and run toward the garage door. It's like one of those Venetian blind things, I get stuck halfway, then he grabs a flashlight and slams me over the head. My adrenaline is going haywire. I have a reputation for switchblades from the time I'm thirteen and here I'm thinking, all the time I spent in reform school for switchblades, all the time I was thrown out of school for switchblades; I have fifty of them at home and the time I need one the most, I don't have one! ... So I run through the yard to a neighbor and ring the bell. They see me bleeding and call the cops to take me to hospital. I didn't feel the pain until they go to drain my lungs of blood and there's this Oriental doctor coming at me with a big long needle. It was close ... You know, I can understand killing somebody over a record, but how did he think he was gonna get away with it? Cut me up at his parents house? He got off saying he got the urge to kill on LSD. Him and his father in court, both counting rosary beads. We all needed records, all the time. Mike made us that way."

Listen to Miriam Linna talking to Rex about Mad Mike here on WFMU's Fool's Paradise.





13/01/2010

Do Not Seek Out Trouble - Go In Peace

HAP-KI-DO: KOREAN FOR "THAT-FUCKING-HURTS"

"There are many forms of martial arts being taught, but Hap-ki-do is ideal for women. It requires no great strength nor does it take years of training to perfect the techniques - which are both sneaky and vicious"

So says the blurb on the back cover of HANDS OFF! Hap-ki-do Self-Defence for Women by Frederick Adams & Gillian Webster. Published in 1986, this paperback mainly consists of easy-to-follow, stiff but effective demonstration tableaux, featuring assorted ladies a-jabbin'-twistin'-gougin'-pinchin'-kneein' an-a-kickin' at the various body-parts of some unfortunate bloke who vaguely resembles Ian Curtis. The grimly comic ultra-violence is communicated through a lovely asymmetric layout, shot on what looks like Technical Pan stock, with type - elegantly filmset "solid" in Raleigh - lending the text a "cookbook" tone-of-voice. The overall effect is of a fem-friendly instruction manual, full of semi-pornographic photo-stories showcasing the sadistic, barbarous talents of some badly-dressed receptionists who keep duffing-up the same poor knobhead.

All of which is testament to the slightly potty editorial policy at the now defunct imprint, Jarrold Colour Publications. Jarrold & Son - founded in 1810 by John Jarrold and erstwhile home to Norwich's finest printers and book manufacturers - sold off this, their publishing arm, to the History Press in 2007 thus ridding themselves of an increasingly unprofitable "mad aunt". Turning their hand to buying-up and managing swathes of the city's real-estate - while retaining a multitude of other concerns including East Anglia's only independent department store - their reputation as the provincial powerhouse is now peerless. Ask anyone from Norfolk and they'll tell you, the Jarrold family are Norwich...

Content aside, heritage is the clue as to why the book's design and production values exhibit brilliantly skilled executions of such arcane techniques as photocompositing, paste-up and (non-Mac assisted) technical illustration - courtesy of Parke Sutton Limited, a sadly long-lost Jarrold affiliated art-studio. Just a few years after this project, the studio was itself subsumed into Jarrold's expanding mega-brand as part of a streamlining/downsizing strategy during the DTP revolution. From what I can tell, they briefly relaunched as Jarrold Parke Sutton, going on to co-publish a handful of non-fiction hardbacks by the likes of the BBC's John Timpson and, most notably, green-fingered shag-meister himself, Alan Titchmarsh.

As well as the throw-down scenarios for empowered '80s laydees, HANDS OFF! contains beautiful diagrams detailing the human body's multitude of "strike points", a paragraph or two of "in-depth" legal advice (just in case you really do fuck someone-up) and two whole pages of long-winded, weirdly unrevealing author biogs: Adams, a former British Army rifle champion, was the first European to be trained in Hap-ki-do and a black belt in 16 other Korean martial arts. Webster, who studied journalism at LCP and wrote for the Guardian and Look & Learn, describes herself as, "a participator, not a spectator(?!)". Both shared a keen interest in archaeology and either would doubtless pulp any motherfucker who so much as gave their knee a friendly squeeze.

Selected wisdom includes:

"Remember, skin is more painful than muscle."

"By applying more pain you can walk him anywhere."

"If your attacker has a moustache, all the better."
 

"Try this on yourself and see how painful it is."

and my favourite,

"If his mouth is open, you'll probably dislocate his jaw."


Click on images to enlarge





09/01/2010

Master Of The Mystic Arts

All children over the age of 8 or 9 could do worse than learn to draw the human form by looking at American comics. Apart from teaching me a certain level of draftsmanship (favourite comic-book artists included John Buscema & Neal Adams, in turn massive fans of the Renaissance masters) my obsession with Stephen Strange - this one, not the camp 1980s Welshman - was definitely a very significant mid-seventies weirdness portal into my future teen-year-olds ... a partial blueprint for much unwholesome post-pubescent drug experimentation, from whence my immature mind received "well heavy" glimpses into the true nature of the sometimes beautiful, but mainly lonely, horrific & godless universe!

Cheers.

Complete issue to be posted. Artwork by Gene Colan

Click to enlarge images




Good Song

Also available as "The Fly" by the Mosquitoes, there's some debate as to what this record was originally released as - it can be found on the Spear label for around $50 as "Fly" (which is how I got it. OK, I'm a mug), has been re-pressed as "Pow-Wow" on 45 and is available here on this 1967 Decca album.

Anyway, now it's been around on re-issue for a few months, reckon you'll be sick of hearing it by this time next year ... but like the bloke said, why wasn't it a hit 43 years ago?

08/01/2010

JAP DIY

RAZORS EDGE | MAGICAL RAW FLYERS | CAP-48

Japanese Thrash merchants, Razors Edge book & CD-EP. Really beautifully produced 124pp booklet, containing facsimiles of the band's fylers since 1999, which doubles as the CD packaging. In the absence of vinyl, this makes owning compact discs a more aesthetically pleasing proposition than crappy plastic jewel-cases containing poxy 4 page leaflets.

Flyer artwork by Kenji Razors

Thanks Kei.

Click on images to enlarge






Frequencies

Fed up with listening to "Thank God it's Friday!" conversations at work?
•••••••••••PLUG-IN HERE••••••••••• or >>>>>>>>MAYBE HERE<<<<<<<< 

06/01/2010

1960s / Early 70s Italian Film Posters

BEAUTIFUL ITALIAN POSTERS FOR TRASHY EUROPEAN MOVIES

L'Abate Nero
(The Black Abbot)
Printed by "La Rotographica (Rotograph), Roma"

Inginocchiati Straniero ... I Cadaveri Non Fanno Ombra!
(Kneel Stranger ... Corpses Leave No Shadow!)

"Prima Edizione Italiana 1970 / Printed by Rotograph, Rome"

Lesbo

(Lesbo)
"Prima Edizione Italiana Anno MCMLXIX / (Printed by) Vecchione & Guadango · Pomezia"

All posters bought in a great junk shop, near the Cathedral in Cefalù, Sicily.

Click on
images to enlarge



The Cramps Tour Programme

FROM 1986 EUROPEAN TOUR COINCIDING WITH RELEASE OF A DATE WITH ELVIS

Part programme, part fanzine designed by Nick Garrard - contains lyrics, articles by Lux Interior & Nick Garrard, biography, discography & band member's top tens. Sample:

Nick Knox
My Ten Favourite Things
1 Me
2 My Girl
3 Myself
4 My Mother
5 Your Mother
6 My Reflection In My Mirror
7 Sleeping
8 Waking Up
9 Going Places
10 Eating Things

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The Tubes Tour Program

GLAM FUTURE-RETRO COCKTAIL GRAPHICS

The Tubes "Remote Control" Tour 1979 - from The Tubes Official Site

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images to enlarge