I LIKE TO WATCH
NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS, The
Videos (2004, Mute Video DVD)
This
collection by everyone’s favourite maybe-misogynist and murderous conflicted
Christian ranges in production values and aesthetics from the lushly
photographed, almost iconic riverside-death scene of “Where The Wild Roses
Grow” to the uncomfortably masturbatorial “Henry Lee” (just picture PJ
Harvey and Nick Cave together in general, leaving alone the
intensely close-up shots in this very stark production – much like Bianca
Jagger and Mick or Angela Bowie and David, the notion
of making love to a mirror comes to mind…), with stops at the frantic rush of
“Deanna” and the oddly choreographed
implied violence of “Stagger Lee” (a literal enactment of that song’s
lyrics would almost certainly have gotten the banned status “Where The Wild
Roses Grow” oddly obtained…).
In
between, the almost precious “Ship Song” proves one really ought not to appear
in videos with children and “What A Wonderful World” (yes, that one)
demonstrates that one ought not to appear with a Pogue who was probably
at least 2.7 sheets to the wind when filming BEGAN. All told, twenty videos of varying approaches and emotional
states, and “Mercy Seat” may be one of the few songs that might influence
people on EITHER side of the death penalty argument…
JAYNE COUNTY AND THE ELECTRIC CHAIRS, Man Enough To Be A Woman (2005, Cherry Red Films DVD)
Miss
Jayne comes out storming in this video, and dominates the stage with
exhibitionism and sheer nerve, though it must be frankly stated that her voice
does start to suffer towards the end of shouting over the crude (in a good
sense) garage/metal backing of her young ensemble during this concert taped in
August 1995. Since this was her set as
part of a tribute to punk, one presumes there may not have BEEN more than 41
minutes, which is a shame (I once ventured up to Toronto in hopes of seeing a
concert by our diva; however, sadly, death in her family sent her home before
the show…).
Along
the rapid way, though, fine renditions of “Night Time” and “Wonder Woman” are
spat out at the crowd, and everything is fine until after “Are You A Boy or Are
You A Girl?” (an apt cover for the chanteuse), at which point all of the
exertion and projection seem to render the voice a bit hoarse. However, that only seems to contribute to
the snarkiness of “Fuck Off” and the realism of “Rock and Roll Resurrection”.
Some
may find Jayne’s “look at me” theatrics a bit much, but, unlike Dawn
Davenport in Female Trouble, this bitch does not demand that
you DIE for her art. Rather, she wants
to live to her fullest and exhort you to do the same. Obey!
It
is something of an accomplishment to make a documentary that never shows its
subject in any contemporary spontaneous pictures or video. But, then, that’s the kind of person Jandek
(possibly aka Sterling Smith) is – though he might otherwise have
nothing in common with Marlene Dietrich (other than an odd voice), he
would appear to hold with publicity being generated by NOT doing press. He seems reasonably approachable in terms of
correspondence, and, since he started doing concerts in 2004, after 26 years of
albums, is not unfriendly to fans that manage to waylay him or speak to
him. In terms of formal press, though,
one un-interview in a newspaper (short version – reporter meets person who may
be our hero, they talk about anything BUT music and the gentleman says: ‘Fun,
but let’s not do this AGAIN.’) and an audio interview around 1985 would be the
canon to draw from.
As a result, this documentary is full of artistic shots of landscapes, seascapes and houses, accompanied by the eerie alien blues of Jandek’s tunes. While some of the mystery is now resolved by the fact that the person who appears on stage is the man on the albums, both sonically and in terms of the photographs on several of his releases (unless he has found an evil twin who perverts guitar and sings like he does…), it is still both visually and emotionally a moving and bizarre experience.
Throw in endorsements by the likes of Calvin Johnson, and you have a work of love (for a man who can express sentiments in his music that might encourage you to send restraining orders rather than valentines) and Art (in tribute to a fellow who has some pretty odd ideas about photo editing). It might be added that the gentleman himself was involved in the DVD, in terms of contributing photographs and clearing permissions – just not in any more direct fashion.
As one of his cryptic notes to his fandom states: ‘You may not get all the answers you want. It’s better that way.’
For the ignorant, imagine that Michael Moore at his silliest were crossed with the most superficially unctuous (but really satirical) nerdy talk-show host you can imagine (dare we say Jerry Springer?) You would get our loveable Nardwuar, who is also the lead singer of the garagey Evaporators when he is not on MuchMusic or recovering from a serious stroke (which he had a few years back as a very young man – something about all that jumping around, squeaking and general hyperactivity may have shook something loose perhaps – but he’s almost back to full strength…).
He specializes in interviews of varying briefness with celebrities of variable brightness (in both senses of ‘brightness’). He is immortal for cornering Dan Quayle and making it obvious the man did not know the name of Canada’s Prime Minister. The piece with the cartoon-art-metal band Gwar is also amusing (if only because of the way the lead singer drops out of character as a giant Arctic monster (if I recall the back story properly), revealing a nebbish beneath…).
These two CDs are jam-packed with interviews, invasions (of the good kind – only the guilty or pompous are unsettled) and, most importantly, shots of Nardwuar’s super-furry chest (yes, superficial, I know – but it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t work my fetish in SOMEWHERE…). 5.5 hours of a man some people would chew their leg off to avoid 5.5 SECONDS of – how could I not LOVE!?
NEW YORK DOLLS, All Dolled Up (2005, Music Video
Distributors DVD)
Brief
version for the uninformed (how many times I gotta tell you, baby, it’s too
late?) – group formed circa 1971, NYC.
Protopunk, attitudinal boys with bad habits (which would kill some of
them – in the case of one member, before they really got revved up – not that
they got much beyond the starting line…).
Crudely recorded and performed anthems to low life and high aspirations.
In
line with which, extremely early video recordings, mono and black and white,
from 1972-1975, capturing performances, interviews, backstage footage and
amusing walkabouts (Arthur Kane, with his blond locks and extreme
height, would have been notable enough without platform boots and a fashion
sense combining glam with what one imagines Frankenstein might have put
together by stealing from a Las Vegas clothesline – so he certainly got
attention – and Johnny Thunders’ (even more) wasted Keith
Richardsisms and David Johansen’s most enthusiastic embrace of
androgyny/camp drew stares as well…) serve as an excellent document of their
moment in posthumous rock fame (since their records did not sell and they were
not well loved in their time by most).
Throw
in a photo gallery, twelve complete performances in addition to parts of
others, commentary tracks and an interview with Bob Gruen, one of the
videographers (along with his wife Nadya) and you have a vital
historical document (especially as an interview/TV special done on the Dolls
in, of all places, Montreal at the time seems to have vanished
into the ether (it was never aired, and has not surfaced)).
On
which point, they have reunited and are about to put out a new album – well,
the two surviving players plus new recruits.
It is now official – no one is left from the Seventies to regroup…
NICO, Heroine & An Underground
Experience (2000, Visionary DVD)
Though she bears little
resemblance musically to their work, Nico had some common roots with the
New York Dolls. Both worked in
the Big Apple in bands with a somewhat seedy, yet artistic, vision. Both developed something of a following in
the punks that emerged some five to ten years after their heyday. And then, of course, there’s the unfortunate
heroin habits and early death.
These two short films could not be much more different if they tried. Each was clearly not shot by professionals, and is grainy, and the transfers are not perfect (there is some flutter and clear poor edits in the latter).
Heroine, filmed during a concert ca. 1985 in Manchester, is
beautiful and lit almost as dimly as the candles the singer was evidently fond
of lighting her living quarters with (though that had a little something to do
with having no money for electricity), and, when Nico smiles
after a fond reception for her song “Afraid”, one gets a brief glimpse of the
person women and men swooned over in the Sixties, as opposed to the somewhat
dark and forbidding shell she became.
She seems both lucid and intense during that program, and the minimal
setting (voice, harmonium, the occasional bit of keyboard or percussion from
musicians who mostly lurk back in the shadows) is ideal for her deep drone.
An Underground Experience, from around 1983, with her
backed by a rock band, is a bit dicier.
Frankly, the woman looks junk-sick in some of the performance, and,
though she does the occasional bit of exasperated interaction with the band and
even occasionally jokes with the crowd, it is sonically, visually and musically
not very thrilling. However, it is
still a document of her in concert, and her voice is still a deep roar from out
of time.
The extras, consisting mainly of interviews, show a
playful wit and somewhat flirtatious/ironic approach one would not guess at
from her music, though she does seem a little stoned (but not on heroin) here
and there.
Start with the a cappella version of All
Tomorrow’s Parties from Heroine, and, if not completely
satisfied…well, you would have some insight into what this diva’s life was like
much of the time.
THE
RESIDENTS, Commercial DVD (2004, Mute DVD)
Another potted history. Enigmatic musical/theatrical/visual artists, who’ve been around for somewhere between 39 and 35 years, never revealing their true identities. By what little can be gleaned by the sort of people who rummage through trash and ASCAP/BMI files, there seems to have been some turnover, with perhaps one or two core members remaining.
This is a document based on the notion of making a
‘commercial’ record. The original LP
had 40 tracks, each exactly one minute long.
At one point, The Residents purchased time on a San Francisco
radio station (40 minutes of commercial time) and played the record. This led to some discussion about payola vs.
clever promotion.
This DVD takes the 6 videos the group made back then
in 1980, adds 10 more by the merry eyeballed pranksters, and also has 40 other
clips, ranging from sick twisted cartoons to what can best be described as
rubber porn to horrific collages, made by ‘guest artists’. Though I’d avoid the maze interface, because
it will drive you mad, even watching in sequence is entertaining or scary or
vaguely disturbing.
I’m hardly going to give much away, because the band
certainly does not, but it’s rarely short of interesting, and, to my ear, most
of the tunes are catchy (especially those with special guests like Lene
Lovich and Andy Partridge).
THE
VELVET UNDERGROUND, Velvet Redux Live MCMXCIII (2006, Rhino DVD)
Not a very exciting document. Shot fairly dead on, without fancy edits or
abrupt leaps. But, then, the band
doesn’t really move around much either, except for Moe, who beats the
drumskins like a madwoman, and maybe John, who saws away at his viola
manically. Lou pretty much
stands there, an improbable figure of health and mulletry, and Sterling
doesn’t look well at all (and, in fact, he would be dead within two years).
Also, it’s not as though the whole 2CD version of
the show could not have been put on here, instead of the one CD rendition,
since it would have been neat to see “The Gift” done live (surely it could
not have been done often back then – what audience would have had the patience that the passage of time and reverence lend now?)
However, though Lou plays the stadium rocker
a bit much here and there, the music is what matters, and “Pale Blue Eyes”,
with John’s expressive solo, will make you cry as much as “Sweet Jane” will inspire you to shake your
thing and “I’m Waiting For The Man” will cause you to wish John had
performed it then (and cause you to realize just how simple and yet demanding
the drum part on that song IS) . The
haunting “Coyote” – oh, for an alternate universe where the egos could have
found a compromise and produced another album…
X, Live In Los Angeles (2005,
Shout Factory DVD)
Another vintage band that has a certain amount of
reverence and certainly time on its side, which gets together occasionally for
shows these days, since John Doe has his solo stuff and acting gigs, Exene
runs a store and puts out poetry, DJ Bonebrake percusses here and there
for others and Billy Zoom…well, he has God to work with.
However, this band MOVES, and you will be unable to
resist bopping along either, if you like speedy rockabilly punk improbably
fronted by what could be described as a kewpie doll witch and a dreamboat
mechanic (and accompanied on effortlessly flashy guitar by a smiling Christian
greaser and flailing drums by a fairly nondescript middle-aged man). Exene hollers and cries and wails
and, well, she’s either very comfortable and quite quirky on stage or just a
little bit tipsy – but still excellent and a powerful little figure. John Doe – well, he has the more conventional
voice, and he’s pretty cute for a relatively trim and hairless straight
guy. Billy Zoom – such a benign
presence for a guitar assassin – the casual way he wrenches out leads and
chunky rhythms is breathtaking. And DJ
– well, he bangs, he bangs…
All the classics are here, including “Johny Hit And
Run Paulene”, a song the band avoided doing for years, since, much like “Final
Solution” by Pere Ubu was misinterpreted as being about a certain famous
historical doctrine, they found it disturbing that the audience were cheering
along with its tale of rape and murder and kidnapping. It’s quite depressing that the ennui of “The
New World”, with its ho-hum complaint about the bars being closed because
they’re voting for the new president or something, is still more than
justified.
Still, dynamic camera work capturing a performance
that drives the needles into the red, both from volume and excitement. Since they don’t seem to play much outside
of LA or the occasional gig at a House of Blues here and there, at this point,
it may be the closest you get to seeing this still-thrilling band…
Bear Cub (2004, TLA
Releasing, dir. Miguel Albaladejo)
It’s
yet another Spanish film about a gay Bear dentist who takes care of his
sister’s child while she is off traveling for two weeks. Of course, the two weeks, for various
reasons, ultimately expands until he has become the boy’s caretaker, though not
without objections from the kid’s grandmother.
As has often been said, there are no new ideas for movies anymore. J
Yes,
it’s a family comedy, complete with Bears and an opening scene that…well…this
film had what amounts to an AA or possibly even a G in Spain – and I’m
STUNNED. Let’s just say I couldn’t
stand
for a few
minutes after watching it (and, were it not simulated, I’m not entirely sure
the actors could have either…).
Heartwarming,
though, for those who insist on saints as role models – well, the Bearish gents
herein are not. A nice bunch of druggie
sluts, for the most part, actually. However,
sainthood is boring, and, well, you pretty much have to be DEAD to make it to
that list, anyway…
So
sit back, enjoy the subtitles and the ursines, and set about destroying the
family in your own special way. After
all, this has been released by a company that tends to distribute mostly
pornography!
A Dirty
Shame (2004, New Line, dir. John Waters)
I
confess part of the reason I wanted to see this movie was because of the
trailer with the Bears in it. Horribly
superficial, I know (sticks and stones may break my bones, but whips and chains
excite me). Then the movie never showed
in my town, nor, indeed, did it seem to get much distribution anywhere in
Canada (Cecil B Demented suffered much the same fate).
To
some extent, John Waters is treading water here, with his usual reversed
sensibility in which the ‘virtuous’ are truly evil and nasty, while the ‘good’
are, of course, bad, rotten, filthy and degenerate (I mean, I tend to throw in
my lot with the latter group on most days, but it really is kind of stacked –
given the choice between, say, the polarities of Joyce Carol Oates and Karla
Homolka, the former wins…). The
Bears were fun (though, of course, since some of my fellow ursines are stern
guards of the gender border, the fact that they are named Mama, Papa and Baby
and are a bit fey here and there, they were not well received by many of the
woofing crowd), especially in their threat to cause a Bearquake (shake me,
boys).
Plot?
Come on – in a John Waters movie? The usual stuff. The battle between good and evil, played out this time over sex
and decency and dubious bodily enhancements (not to mention, well, a rendition
of “The Hokey Pokey” I will need battery acid to wash the images of from my
eyes…). Patty Hearst confessing
to being a frotteur – I can’t help but wonder what this nice Republican
housewife sees in John Waters’ work that she keeps playing parts in
them.
The
end, which I’m not going to reveal, was the typical over-the-top, strangely
fairy-tale-like conclusion several of the director’s recent works have had (try
as he might to deny it, there is clearly some Disney in the boy (direct
references have appeared in two of his pictures, and the colour splashes in
‘Pecker’ look more than a bit like the magical fairy dust explosions Tinkerbell
would set off on the TV show from my childhood)). While his satirical edge has blunted a bit with time, this work
is still going to offend some neuters out there – and maybe turn a few of them
out… J