Scalding propulsion and revivifying flames

After a recent viewing of the documentary JOE STRUMMER: THE FUTURE IS UNWRITTEN, I pulled down my copy of Lester Bangs' PSYCHOTIC REACTIONS AND CARBURETOR DUNG and re-read his long article about touring with the Clash in the early days. And, in doing so, I came across this paragraph, which might be the best thing I've ever read about why, even though concerts can be annoying and expensive and an all-around pain in the ass, they're still worth taking a chance on every now and then...

The politics of rock 'n' roll, in England or America or anywhere else, is that a whole lot of kids want to be fried out of their skins by the most scalding propulsion they can find, for a night they can pretend is the rest of their lives, and whether the next day they go back to work in shops or boredom on the dole or American TV doldrums in Mom 'n' Daddy's living room nothing can cancel the reality of that night in the revivifying flames when for one if only then in your life you were blasted outside of yourself and the monotony which defines most life anywhere at any time, when you supped on lightning and nothing else in the realms of the living or dead mattered at all.

Pretty good, eh? There's a reason Lester Bangs is considered my many (this guy included) the greatest rock writer of all time, and it's not because he told lil' Cameron Crowe to go on the road with the Allman Brothers. It's because, in his prose, he managed to sum up and somehow viscerally convey the elusive energy of rock 'n' roll.

By the way, thanks to my old college buddies Frank and Mike, who basically dragged me to the bookstore and forced me to buy a copy of a book by a guy I'd never heard of, except from that REM song. It was more than worth the initial $19.95 investment, I'm happy to say.

The American Way

Since it's election day, here's one of my favorite political cartoons. I've been hanging onto it since 1992, when the whole Ross Perot movement was semi-capturing the nation's attention, but if anything, it seems even more timely now.

Sadly.

Thunderbirds are go go go!

Here's one of the strangest things I've seen on the internet, something so unbelievably, pop culturally amazing that I have a hard time believing it even exists: a vintage spoof of THUNDERBIRDS (and related shows) from Peter Cook and Dudley Moore...



And, if that leaves you with the urge to see the genuine article, why not check out this musical bit from the THUNDERBIRDS movie* featuring Cliff Richards and The Shadows?



* No, not that live-action monstrosity from 2004. I'm talking about the genuine article -- THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO, which hit theaters back in 1966.

Halloween Thrills, Day 31: The terrifying twist ending

Ten years ago, when THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT hit theaters, people were amazed how scary it was -- especially for a movie where, for the most part, nothing really happened. You had three foul-mouthed slackers lost in the woods, some local legends about evil doings and a couple of sticks tied together. And somehow, those elements -- all filmed through a then-pretty-revolutionary handheld camera -- terrified millions and made the movie one of the most profitable films of all time.

I wasn't terrified, but I was unnerved by THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT, and by the final moments, when we got that memorable shot of one of the kids facing a wall before the camera went dead, I felt that invigorating rush of fear that a horror movie can (but rarely) delivers.

But there was something else in that movie, something that was shown for a split second in the opening minutes that surprised me and might have put my nerves slightly, almost subconsciously on edge for the whole film. Remember the grave you glimpse at the beginning, while the legend of the witch is still being set up? No? Well, to be honest, there's no reason you should. But I remember it. In fact, I've never been able to forget it. And do you know why?

Because it was MY GRAVE!

Just kidding, of course. After all, I wasn't around in 1907.

Or was I?

Happy Halloween!

Halloween Thrills, Day 30: One last serving of spooky cheesecake

Here are a few more selections to add a bit of vintage zing to your Halloween...

Halloween Thrills, Day 29: Minnie the Moocher

This vintage Fleischer Studios cartoon doesn't have a Halloween theme, but there's no denying that it's wonderfully creepy in that way only a vintage Fleischer cartoon can be. Cab Calloway's signature tune, it goes without saying, is a work of genius, but the Betty Boop treatment makes it even more brilliant.



The song itself doesn't kick in until just past the four-minute mark, but even before then, "Minnie" is plenty strange. Betty's dad changes form, and there's that great little moment when the lipstick print on her handkerchief sings back at her. (Plus, Koko the clown has a cameo!)

And then, when Cab himself shows up -- yowza! I don't know whose idea it was to make him a ghostly walrus, but the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences needs to fire up the time machine and give that man an Oscar toot sweet. Best of all, that rotoscoped Mr. Calloway is only the beginning -- you also get skeletons, ghosts, those singing reflections of Bimbo in the well, a triple electric chair execution and kittens who suck the life from their mother.

By the grand finale, the cartoon just goes crazy, with ghostly apparitions flying out at the viewer (including one with singing tonsils!) and driving poor Betty back to her folks' place. It's jazzy, it's jaunty and yes, it's even a bit spooky. Forget all those toothless Halloween specials and show this one to your kids this year. Believe me, they'll thank you for it.

Halloween Thrills, Day 28: Comics that Creeped Me Out as a Kid, Part 2

It's easy to blast the Overstreet Price Guide for putting all the emphasis in comic book collecting on the almighty dollar, but when I first got my hands on a copy of the ninth edition, it was a revelation. Suddenly, I had decades' worth of comic book lore in one place. There was an article about Wertham's SEDUCTION OF THE INNOCENT, and the usual thumbnail history of the medium (stretching only up to the late 1970s). And, of course, there were all those titles and covers and, yes, prices.


But the centerpiece of the 1979 Price Guide was "Good Lord! Choke...Gasp...It's EC!," a history of the EC Comics line by E.B. Boatner. It stretched from the early days of Max Gaines up through the final, Code-approved death-spasms of the company, covering the science fiction books, Kurtzman's war comics, the crime and suspense titles and, of course, MAD. But what really got me was the section on the horror titles -- specifically, the discussion of and these panels reprinted from THE HAUNT OF FEAR issue 19 ...


Yes, it's the infamous Al Feldstein/Jack Davis ending to "Foul Play!," the story where a baseball team seeks revenge on a murderous opponent by luring him to a ballpark late one night and then taking him apart and playing ball with his body. It's a story I've written about before, and one so notorious that the good Dr. Wertham reprinted these exact panels in his own book (they're the first images in the picture section, in fact).

Now, looking at them after decades of reading comic books and seeing plenty of horrific images that were much worse, I can appreciate them as being so wildly-over-the-top that they're actually pretty funny, an especially gruesome example of the sort of jet-black humor EC Comics excelled at. I can appreciate Davis' exquisite linework and even enjoy the nostalgic vibe of that distinctive EC Leroy lettering.

But back in 1979, huddled in a chair somewhere, absorbing all that ancient, ominous comic book history in one great rush, those panels -- reprinted in black and white, and damned small on the page -- really struck a nerve. I couldn't stop thinking about them for days, and wondered what sort of twisted mind could conceive of such a thing. Now, of course, I know exactly what sort of mind concieves of such a thing -- the best sort of mind. It's not easy to explode a cultural time bomb twenty-six years later and from hundreds of miles away, but Feldstein and Davis did it, sending an innocent Midwestern kid on a lifelong pursuit of twisted four-color thrills and other oddball pop culture.

And, since they're both still alive, in the extremely unlikely event that they're reading this blog, I'd like to take this opportunity to say "thank you" to Misters Feldstein and Davis. Thank you, gentlemen, thank you for going above and beyond (and below and beneath) the call of duty just to warp my young, impressionable mind.

In all honestly, I don't think I can ever repay you.