Feature
Originally published at H_NGM_N
A.D. Jameson is a pretty much a monster when it comes to corrupting familiar characters, folding, spindling and mutilating existing forms, and generally bankrupting your appreciation of traditional narrative. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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Fish Cake Attack was written and recorded in a single day for a short film entitled Monkey Hour, about a young woman with a graveyard shift slowly losing her mind and haunted by a strange gorilla. The film was written and directed by Adrianne Jorge as part of Video Salon Night, a semi-monthly experiment from the first few years of the new millenium in which a film was shot and edited in a single day with all in-camera edits. Many of the stories were bizarre pilots to shows would never see the light of day. A divorced couple cop buddy film featuring a senior citizen adoption crime ring for example, or a psychadelic rock group whose music is used as a weapon of mass destruction on the homeworld of an alien posing as their manager, and the Monkey Hour was no exception.
Most of these films included live soundtracks recorded on the premises in the days previous, and we have selected this particular song for its wonderful bone-chilling scream and because it is a prime example of the amateur aesthetic was the foundation for Video Salon Night. Fish Cake Attack was written and recorded by Annie Heringer (lead guitar & vox) and Dalton Eljer (guitar) of the Box Kites, as well as Corey Tatarczuk (bass), and Cathy Cathodic (drums). “My pussy’s black! Fish cake attack!”
To learn more about Monkey Hour and other films made at Exile as part of the Video Salon Night series, go here.
(We here at Mutable originally found the below manifesto in the excellent online journal Exquisite Corpse, put out by Andrei Codrescu and translated from the portuguese by Mary Ann Caws and Claudia Caliman. However, it was first published as Manifesto Antropófago in 1928 and is considered the starting point for the Brazilian modernist movement. It is a cry for return to the soil and freedom from colonial control. To learn more about the contemporary state of Brazil, a good place to start would be the remarkable film, City of God, a crime drama based on real events in the slum of Rio De Janeiro by the same name.)
Only Cannibalism unites us. Socially. Economically. Philosophically.
The unique law of the world. The disguised expression of all individualisms, all collectivisms. Of all religions. Of all peace treaties.
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The Pigeon Game is a documentary on the disappearing culture of homing pigeon racing in New York City made by Mutable favorite, Annie Heringer. Unknown to most people, there are still men and women who raise birds on their rooftops and race them from distances up to 600 miles. The scenes of Marlon Brando at his pigeon loft in On the Waterfront may have secured the sport in the history of the city, but The Pigeon Game proves that the tradition still exists today among a small but dedicated group of fliers.
It’s 1982 and the adult videotape market is just beginning to surge. Stephen Sayadian is in the process of making his second feature film, with the usual complications of the b-movie director: the entire film had to be shot over the course of eleven days in a small studio in the heart of downtown L.A.; electricity was being illegally patched in to power the equipment; and extras were recruited from a nearby blood bank and methadone clinic. The film was Café Flesh, a post-apocalyptic cult pornographic science fiction dystopian satire designed and directed by Sayadian (under the pseudonym “Rinse Dream”) and co-written by Sayadian and Jerry Stahl (credited as “Herbert W. Day”), most famous for his work on ALF, Thirtysomething, and Moonlighting, and later as the subject of the 1998 biopic Permanent Midnight.
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(A D Jameson, author of Amazing Adult Fantasy, out this coming fall through Mutable, talks with us about his influences, his loves, his hates, and his secret horror. His most recent story, Korawik Wattanakul, can be found at Harp & Altar. To read his extended bio, please go here.)
What does it mean to be a writer? Who are writers? What do they do?
For me, writing’s a form of thinking. It allows me to express ideas that I couldn’t express otherwise, because my memory isn’t good enough. And because writing possesses a logic all its own. It’s a meditative activity and a form of discipline that allows me to clarify some thoughts, and muddle others.
There exist more writers than people suspect, including all those whom “real writers” usually won’t acknowledge. There’s a disturbing tendency among high lit folk to not take seriously other writing, even if they enjoy it: genre fiction, commercial television, comics, children’s books, writing by actual children, zines, journalism. Also excluded: slam poets, performance poets, conceptual artists, and many others. This is elitist, short-sighted and unfair, not to mention a huge mistake. The people who wrote G.I. Joe and Star Trek are very much so writers. They wrote all over me! They wrote me!
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Long before the more famous Wizard of Oz starring Judy Garland, L. Frank Baum himself made a series of Oz films with his company, The Oz Film Manufacturing Company. The blow film was released in 1914, and was directed by J. Farrell MacDonald. It was the first film made by his esteemed company, and after its failure, Baum found it increasingly more difficult to find distribution, and eventually his production company went under, but we can still enjoy this amusing fantastical romp with its rectangular cardboard cat, Woozy, and its Lonesome Zoop, seductive statuette, and the loopy Patchwork Girl herself. Enjoy!
L Frank Baum's film of his fairy tale "The Patchwork Girl of Oz"Violet MacMillan...Ojo, a Munchkin BoyFrank Moore...Unc Nunkie, Ojo's GuardianRaymond Russell...Dr. Pipt, the Crooked MagicianLeontine Dranet...Margolotte, his wife, who makes the Patchwork GirlBobbie Gould...Jesseva, his daughter, betrothed to DanxMarie Wayne...Jinjur, a Maid in the Emerald CityRichard Rosson...Danx, a Noble
From: kibo@world.std.com (James “Kibo” Parry)
Subject: THE FUTURE OF THE NET IS AT HAND!
Distribution: world,alt,happynet,secretdistribution
Date: Sat, 2 Apr 1994 09:48:40 GMT
Approved: by all right-thinking persons everywhere!
P R O C L A M A T I O N & M A N I F E S T O
***********************************************
WHEREAS, the computer network named USENET has insurmountable flaws:
=> It is cluttered with thousands of disorganized groups.
=> It is difficult to use due to the various software interfaces.
=> It is infected with viruses, especially in the .signatures.
=> There is no formal rulebook and no official administration.
=> Bozos abound.
Read MoreThe size of this tome makes one think of Wallace’s Infinite Jest, or Stein’s The Making of Americans. Boyer’s iconoclastic style would seem to bear out these comparisons, yet the subject of this book does not pretend to the coherence of Stein’s or Wallace’s. There is no single consciousness bringing the work together, which may be part of the point: the second sentence of the book reads, “I am so many different sorts of people it makes me want to stick my fingers in your mouth.” The surreal, absurd non sequitur here is a consistent feature of a book that is, ultimately, a mystifying miscellany. A Survey of My Failures This Far is seven books in one volume. Each is markedly different in terms of genre as well as style and subject matter. “Chewing in the Land of the Bonobos” is written as absurdist drama in the manner of Beckett; “Shorthand with Periodic Tenderness” is a collection of poems reminiscent of Kerouac’s Mexico City Blues. Boyer’s experimental impulse occasionally yields nuggets of philosophical wisdom or narratological insight, but a large part of the appeal of this work is musical and imagistic. Much of it operates according to the logic of nonsense: even individual sentences plunge us down into a new rabbit hole. In the central book within the book, “The God Game,” Boyer gives us some sense of his method in the form of a playful instruction manual about creation itself: “[W]e are using words in a manner similar to their original meaning, while simultaneously giving a new twist for our purposes. This level of involvement is post-culture creation, or rather simultaneous with culture creation.” Got that? This is Barthian postmodernism on crack, or one man’s insistence that printed narrative may not be exhausted, but it can be exhausting.
Last month we here at Mutable attended a convention at the University of Oregon that focused on the superhero genre in comix, and specifically giving credence to these outlandish figures with their outlandish stories. Herein we hoped to give a few highlights of the weekend. It is perhaps in poor taste to point out that we were in a full-body spandex superhero costume the entire time.
Names that stuck out were Charles Hatfield and Douglas Wolk, the former for his lecture on Jack Kirby and the sublime, and the latter for his talk on eschatology and the Marvel universe, specifically that here’s a world that’s often on the brink of destruction, but never destroyed, even when it is in fact destroyed.
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At the stroke of three-thirty the missile lurches from the ceiling and forcefully imbeds itself inside the giant globe. Only the missile is the prong of a fork, and the globe is a sugar gum-drop. Welcome to the miniature world of THE MICROS, a likeable little people whose adventures are recounted in this amazing series of family films. No more than one centimeter in height, the Micros experience one exciting adventure after another, as they make their way in a world so much larger than they are. Now, experience that adventure and dream about being as miniscule as a Micro. In the first tape, we are introduced to the world of the Micros, in which many of the everyday objects we take for granted are shown to be treacherous hazards for our miniscule heroes, because they are so small. A drop of water is a giant pond, a speck of tin foil a dangerous open blade. We meet various prominent Micro citizens who serve as the major characters in the series. In the second tape, Scrunchy is discovered to be missing, and the other Micros fear the worst. Meanwhile strange new objects keep appearing in Lothar’s hut. In the third tape the Micros confront their murderous arch-foe Pepperton, who has sworn to rid the earth of what he considers “disgusting, disease-causing Micros.” In the fourth tape, the Micros must work in concert to save an orphaned boy from the bitter reality of life on the street. Through their efforts, a new home is found for the boy, but not before many exciting adventures are had. These and other wonderful videotapes form the collection of MICRO films now available for home viewing by you and your family. Welcome to the miniature world of THE MICROS, where the people are small in stature, but big in caring, and in courage.
Recently we here at Mutable were introduced to a website full of all sorts of neat goodies from the image-making world of the past. Above is an example from their collection of prints from the Russian underground, circa 1905-1906, but you can find everything from tibetan anatomical drawings to vintage matchooks. Peruse some of our selections from this wonderworld below.
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A friend of mine once said that Brian Chippendale of Lightning Bolt fame did for drums what Jimi Hendrix did for guitar. And there have been conversations I have overheard in garden parties where people spoke of Lightning Bolt in general as if they were talking of the risen Christ. A Noise duo, bass and drums, with the driving force of a Led Zeppelin but with a minimalist Philip Glass bent and the psychedelic experimentalism of a Sun Ra. I remember a night long ago and myself in a throng of adoring fans pressing against the invisible bubble surrounding Lightning Bolt as they performed in the direct center of the warehouse floor.
But Chippendale is not just a risen brother of Jimi Hendrix on his kit of clouds. He is also a comix illustrator and one of the founding members of Fort Thunder—a warehouse space in the Olneyville district of Providence—a place he moved into with his friend Mat Brinkman in the mid-nineties. The space eventually came to house a number of local avant-garde artists and musicians, was the home to Paper Rodeo, Paper Radio, and of course, Lightning Bolt, until it was shut down in 2001.
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Levi Fuller, who played in the little-known soul band Extra Play with Kevin Micka, Gabriel Boyer, and Malcolm Felder, all members of the Mutable universe, and played everything from stand-up bass to saxophone on A Journey to Happiness Island, has released a new album, Colossal. You can buy the vinyl at sonicboomrecords.com or buy the mp3s from iTunes, or read more at Levi’s website, denimclature.com.
Colossal by Levi Fuller, released 27 October 2009 1. Colossal 2. The Mall of America 3. Pigeon Feeder 4. The Hunter Surrenders 5. Wheels within Wheels 6. Mouse on Fire 7. (God Is) Just Like Santa 8. Seaplanes 9.
Transformers. More than meets the eye. Although in the case of the most recent Transformers film the reverse is true, that everything is in full view, it’s just that there’s so much of it. The camera flits from shot to shot with the agitation of a hummingbird on steroids, thereby leaving the audience no room to question or even think as images wash over them at brainwash speed. It’s like someone’s raping your mind.
Three second cuts with impossibly intricate robot disappearing acts? A bevy of beautiful women? (Every woman in the film is either super-model status or the main character’s mom.) More explosions than I care to count and characters who are always just about to burst an adrenal gland in their excitment? Two gang banging illiterate autobots with large ears and gold teeth who speak in some painfully stereotyped street slang? Welcome to the world of Michael Bay.
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(Below is the second of a two-part conversation we had with Animal Hospital concerning what he [Kevin Micka] has been doing with himself these days, in the distant past, and the elusive future, discussing both his signature sound, and the pivotal part that all variety of metal, from boxes and genres to genres of boxes and boxes of genres, has played on that aforementioned signature sound of his, as well as many other topics of interest. Please do not be alarmed at the shocking content of this interview. Trained professionals were at the ready, as will you be, for this is Animal Hospital as you have never seen him before.)
GABRIEL BOYER: Well, I’m thinking that there’s these two memories, right?
ANIMAL HOSPITAL: Yeah.
GB: You put them together do they? Do they STAY as those memories, but in but in relation to each other, or do they become a brand new thing, or?
AH: Again, I think it was more more like uh an emotion more than a specific, this makes me think of this specific moment.
GB: So, you’re saying at that time you were going through a specific emotion.
AH: Yeah.
GB: You were like swimming through it.
AH: Yeah, I was just trying to get through this.
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On the woman’s first day at work the poet helped her with her boxes, but as he was helping he was looking away.
“Do you know this is my seventieth sick day since I started here?” he asked.
“But you’re here,” she said.
“Yes, I know.” And he went to the bathroom and peed blood.
—from, The Poet and the Philosopher as Roommates
We here at Mutable first heard of Sheila Heti some six or seven years ago, when she went on tour with the event she founded, Trampoline Hall, while promoting her first book, The Middle Stories, put out by McSweeney’s. We were taken by her stories, and she has continued to tickle and tug at our interest both in her own writing and in the projects she involves herself in.
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(Below is the first of a two-part conversation we had with Animal Hospital concerning what he [Kevin Micka] has been doing, what he will do, what he sounds like, metal, and other topics of interest. Please do not be alarmed at the shocking content of this interview. Trained professionals were at the ready, as will you be, for this is Animal Hospital as you have never seen him before.)
GABRIEL BOYER: So there was was was was. What made you decide to start start Animal Hospital?
ANIMAL HOSPITAL: Um. The girl’s dating at the time. We wanted. We were planning a trip. Um. To go to a comic convention and go visit her family.
GB: Mhm.
AH: So we were planning on going to San Diego and Santa Fe.
GB: Mhm.
AH: Um. So. [Clears throat.] Thought I would try to come up with something to do on the tour. On the trip. To play some shows and help pay for some gas.
GB: Mhm.
AH: See some friends and stuff on the way.
GB: Mhm.
AH: So I um. Started booking some shows.
GB: Mhm.
AH: Before I had like a real plan of what I was going to do.
GB: [Enthusiastically] Mhm.
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Dear Balilla Pratella, great Futurist composer,
In Rome, in the Costanzi Theatre, packed to capacity, while I was listening to the orchestral performance of your overwhelming Futurist music, with my Futurist friends, Marinetti, Boccioni, Carrà, Balla, Soffici, Papini and Cavacchioli, a new art came into my mind which only you can create, the Art of Noises, the logical consequence of your marvelous innovations.
Ancient life was all silence. In the nineteenth century, with the invention of the machine, Noise was born. Today, Noise triumphs and reigns supreme over the sensibility of men. For many centuries life went by in silence, or at most in muted tones. The strongest noises which interrupted this silence were not intense or prolonged or varied. If we overlook such exceptional movements as earthquakes, hurricanes, storms, avalanches and waterfalls, nature is silent.
Amidst this dearth of noises, the first sounds that man drew from a pieced reed or streched string were regarded with amazement as new and marvelous things. Primitive races attributed sound to the gods; it was considered sacred and reserved for priests, who used it to enrich the mystery of their rites.
Read MoreI guess 2009 is officially Animal Hospital’s coming out party. I first became smitten (and rightly so) by the release of Memory on the illustrious Barge imprint and apparently this little puppy preceded Memory by a month, so it looks like I am taking in the releases in reverse order. Of course, this matters not at all. A cursory listen to either album would quickly lead a listener to the other release on the basis of sheer goodness. Oh Animal Hospital, will you never stop healing our poor pets and wild Earthly co-inhabitants? Hopefully not. Good or Plenty, Streets + Avenues is a wonderful addition to the Animal Hospital repertoire that was presented on Memory. The album avoids the lengthy, dramatic surgeries displayed on that release and instead focuses on the standard day to day operations of animal hospitalateering: daily check-ups, medicine prescriptions, happy customers. GorP,S+A is a light hearted dip into the joys of healing animals via layers and layers of homespun loops. As a refresher for those who were unable to wade through my lengthy review of Memory (or simply missed it altogether), Animal Hospital is not “Animal Hospitals.” It is a single edifice and as such is the pseudonym designated for a single musician from Boston named Kevin Micka. Micka’s work here is built around his slowly evolving and elaborate looping of guitars, percussion and electronics. Unlike Memory, GorP,S+A steers clear of weighty crescendos and instead offers beautifully intricate character sketches with each track. In a way, this kind of meandering structure is harder to pull off, but Micka proves ownership of a keen ear and adept musicianship by executing each track with the utmost precision and always keeping things interesting. Good or Plenty, Streets + Avenues is one of those rare albums I’ve found that I can always listen to even when nothing else will do. Really solid work.
