E.A.R. #2: The Age of Adz

Today's Expedient Album Review is brought to you by...

I'm not hip, gang.

I don't own a pair of neon green Ray-Bans. I don't sip Pabst Blue Ribbon. I don't have a single ironic tattoo of ALF, or the Flipper logo.

All I've got is perspicacity. And man-tits.

Let's talk about Sufjan Stevens!

Oh, for fuck's sake. Now I don't even want to do this.

What was my point? Right. The Age of Adz.

Released in 2010 on Asthmatic Kitty Records, Adz is indie sweetheart Sufjan (Soof-yan) Stevens' weird transition to electronic pop rock. Best known for 2005's highly listenable Illinois (and the aborted Fifty States Project -- one album based on each US state -- from which it originated), Stevens had been on a decidedly folky, vaguely Christian trajectory for the majority of his celebrated career.

The album opener: "Futile Devices", a tender, stripped-down ballad sung in near-whisper, serves as the bridge between Illinois-era Stevens and his bizarre metamorphosis into a Jesus-y Peter Gabriel, which is immediately evidenced on the record's second cut, "Too Much". The track begins with gurgling electronics that struggle to birth a neck-cracking industrial drum track and, perhaps most unlikely, drive-by synth-stabs.

Like light cycles. From Tron.

Soon, the song opens up into fashionably retro, unfashionably romantic "adult rock" territory -- a sound that could've easily boombox-assaulted Ione Skye's bedroom window circa '89.

But, for all my rude 'tude and obvious distrust of Sufjan Stevens -- who reminds me of a pious teenaged pothead on an Emmaus retreat who will totally try to fuck your kid sister after the chill "Kumbaya" jam and share session -- I have to admit that "Too Much" is pretty gorgeous. The bombastic string-drenched bridge nearly made me drive off the road on first listen.

You know, in the good way.

That's pretty much par-for-the course on The Age of Adz. Beauty in spades. I mean, I can't pretend that I'm 100% comfortable with a track like "Get Real Get Right" with its "You know you really gotta get right with the Lord" admonitions. Though, what kind of double-standard flaunting dickhead would I be to deny Stevens his religious passion... when I unabashedly relish the R&B/soul greats of the 1970s? Those artists were far, FAR more psyched about God than Stevens is on his sunniest Sunday.

Have you heard What's Going On? Apparently Jesus is what's going on.

The Age of Adz isn't "church rock". And it isn't fucking Stryper. This is an earnest, cohesive statement coming from whatever happy-place Sufjan Stevens needs to visit in order to get through the day. It's hard to fault him for that when the result is a disarmingly positive, post-ironic, and theoretically danceable collection of superlative pop music.

Right on.


Check it out.

Issue #9: Kinnikuman Manga

Hey, gang. Just a quick one.

 Due to my recent interest in M.U.S.C.L.E. -- and a renewed desire to explore its origins -- I've tracked down online fan translations (a.k.a. "scanlations") of the original "Kinnikuman" manga.

Created by the artist/writer duo Yudetamago and first published in 1979, "Kinnikuman" was conceived as a parody of tokusatsu (i.e. "special effects") TV series like "Ultraman" -- and, so far, it's really fucking charming.

Anyway, here's a link to 300+ (phew!) translated stories. Enjoy!

See you soon!

M.U.S.C.L.E. of the Day: April 16th

Today's M.U.S.C.L.E. is...

US Name: (Unknown)
Japanese Name: JAWSMAN

"It is as if God created the Devil... and gave him: Jaws."


Jawsman comes from Australia.

Jawsman is a (very) minor "Kinnikuman" character.

Jawsman has nice boots.

Jawsman is, you know, pretty cool.

Expedient Album Review (E.A.R.) #1: Betty Davis

"C.P. of 'Mozart Brand Hot Dogs' is thirsty for the black bitches like Clark W. Griswold is thirsty for family fun." - Robert De Niro

Jesus, De Niro, that's wildly misogynistic! But you would know.

This is a new feature I'm adding to the blog, gang. It's the E.A.R., or Expedient Album Review.

This morning we'll be talking about...

That's the debut album by Betty Davis.

Released in 1973 on Just Sunshine Records, the self-titled Betty Davis was kind of a flop. Apparently god-fearing citizens weren't ready for an aggressively sexual (black) lady singing songs like "If I'm in Luck I Might Get Picked Up" and "Game Is My Middle Name".

Also, those thigh-high silver boots probably caused a cultural panic.

Betty, as you may already know, was briefly married to jazz giant Miles Davis. Legend has it that Betty threw old Miles over for Jimi Hendrix, causing their marriage to end in divorce after only one year.

However! In that short period of time, it is corroborated by pretty much everyone that Betty had a massive, MASSIVE influence on Miles' musical and aesthetic tastes. Yes, without Betty, it's feasible that there never would have been such radically progressive works as In a Silent Way, or Bitches Brew.



Incidentally, jazz traditionalists hated those albums back in the day. Betty was like the Yoko Ono of jazz fusion... which is funny on a couple of levels.

As for the Betty Davis album itself -- it fuckin' rocks!

Syrupy, ultra-thick grooves (Larry Graham on bass, people) presided over by a down-and-dirty, Nubian-hippie babe who, really, just wants to lick your eardrums.

These are hot, coked-up rock/funk boudoir anthems of the nastiest kind! At least, you know, within the confines of what was permissible in the early '70s. This isn't a Foxy Brown album.

It's really too bad that Betty Davis went unappreciated for so long. Her discography was mostly unavailable until 2009, when the albums were re-released. In fact, her final album: Is It Love or Desire? was shelved for thirty-three years before finally being issued! That's fucked.

One has to wonder if Davis' fate would have been different had she been less intensely focused on rocking so completely. Perhaps a ballad or two ("In the Meantime" comes close).

Or, you know, maybe America should've just pulled its collective head out of its collective butthole and accepted Betty's bad-ass soul in the same light as Sly Stone or Isaac Hayes.

Oh, well. You're aces with me, Betty. And "Come Take Me" is the jam.

Check it out.

M.U.S.C.L.E. of the Day: April 15th

Today's M.U.S.C.L.E. is...

US name: TERRYMAN
Japanese name: (Same)

What up, Terryman!

Terryman is one of the truly classic "Kinnikuman" characters (and best friend to the star of the series, Kinnikuman himself).

Hailing from Texas, Terryman is based on wrestling legend Terry Funk -- often considered the godfather of "extreme wrestling". (Many "Kinnikuman" characters were based on real-life counterparts.)

Apparently the "star emblems" on his shoulders are where his fighting spirit comes from!


Check out Terryman's Wiki page for the real scoop!

M.U.S.C.L.E. of the Day: April 14th

Today's M.U.S.C.L.E. is...

US name: TERRI-BULL
Japanese name: BUFFALOMAN

It's kind of amazing that my all-time favorite figure would be the first one I (blindly) pull from the bag. Oh, I don't really know anything about "Kinnikuman" or M.U.S.C.L.E. mythos, mind you -- I just dig the horns and tasteful perm.

Interestingly, this particular sculpt of Buffaloman (there were MANY) was only available in the US. It came with the "Hard Knockin' Rockin' Ring" accessory.

But I never owned that toy -- so I have no idea how this got into my collection. (Theft.)

Anyway, check out Buffaloman's Wiki page for the real scoop!

Special Dispatch: Kinkeshi/M.U.S.C.L.E. Intro

Hey, gang.

Some history!

1985: Mattel licenses a Japanese toy line, Bandai's Kinkeshi: tiny, monochrome PVC figures based on the "Kinnikuman" manga and anime series. They dub them M.U.S.C.L.E. ("Millions of Unusual Small Creatures Lurking Everywhere").

Mattel markets the statically-posed figurines in random assortments, including 10-packs...

Sold in translucent plastic garbage cans.

The toys are originally marketed in "flesh pink" only, and later re-colored to spur renewed consumer interest.

The line is moderately successful and it continues until 1988, when it is canceled.

2012: Hey, I still have some!

Dig 'em.

In fact, I appreciate the ingenuity displayed in all vintage Japanese toy-making. I especially adore those classic vinyl Gojira and/or Ultraman monsters (kaiju) with their garish metallic paint jobs and unlikely sculpts. (But that's another post.)

And I love kinkeshi, too.

So, the plan is, I think, to profile one randomly selected M.U.S.C.L.E. figure from my modest collection each day.

Let's see how that goes.


See you soon!

Issue #8: So Timely

Hey, gang.

Even the early '80s weren't safe from exploitative parody films made by people who didn't understand what it took to sustain feature-length satire.

My assumption is that the money people -- e.g. Vito "Champagne" Roccaforte of the Secaucus, New Jersey sanitation industry -- saw Airplane! and figured, "Ey, dat's not so hard... it's just a bunch of fuckin' gags! And look at the MACARONI those [enter racial slur of your choosing] made off dat PASTA FAGIOLE! MARONE!"

 Now let's talk about this movie!

Wait, starring Richard Benjamin and Paula Prentiss? Jackpot, guys!

Saturday the 14th  was directed by Howard R. Cohen (the ladies' choice) and produced by Roger Corman's shrewd wife, Julie Corman. She was best known for producing a series of T&A flicks from the early '70s involving night call nurses, young nurses, student nurses, and/or candy stripe nurses.

So many nurses.

Hey, Jeffrey Tambor played a vampire in this movie, which is dope.


Roberta Collins, the best-looking B-actress who ever lived [see site banner], was in it, too -- but barely. Which is stupid and wasteful. Did you people think she was going to make movies forever? Selfish, gang.

Selfish.

Oh, and the eldest daughter from TV's "Gimme a Break!" did this:

There's actually a pretty drawn-out "gettin' naked" sequence leading up to that bubble bath, and I didn't know what to make of it, as the actress (Kari Michaelsen) looked like she was about thirteen years-old. And while child concubines might be legal (encouraged) in the frozen wastelands of Canada, it's definitely frowned-upon here in the States.

Thankfully, Michaelsen was, like, nineteen at the time of filming -- so that's a crisis averted for both New World Pictures and my ambivalent pee-pee.

By the way, Saturday the 14th is a parodical horror movie about a cursed book that magically makes rubbery monsters appear and cause TRUBBA for a suburban family who've just moved to a creepy new house.

Guys like this:

I really like The Creature from the Black Lagoon. Some might say too much. But I don't really know what to do with this (charmingly) ghetto hydrocephaloid clone: THE CREATURE FROM THE WACK LAGOON, HAH-HAH.

Right, kids?

Then there's this little guy, too:

He's really familiar, and I can't place it. I want to say he was in that one Billy Ocean video.

(I hear he's hard to work with. The monster, I mean. Not Billy Ocean.)

Also, my brain draws some parallel between that suit and Reese's Pieces. And it has nothing to do with E.T.

Or maybe it has everything to do with E.T. That's the logical conclusion.

That or an aggressive brain tumor.

See, the thing is, Jeffrey Tambor and his vampiric wife want the cursed book for themselves, because... that's what monsters do, I guess... and there's this flabby Dr. Van Helsing who thwarts them, but then it's revealed that...

OK,  I don't want to talk about the very spoofy (laff!), very cheap Saturday the 14th anymore -- and I have no exit strategy -- so here's another picture of Kari Michaelsen in the tub!

Lucky duck. HA-HA, I'm a joker, you guys!

And jokers are WILD.


See you soon!

Issue #7: Jason Voorhees Is a Terrible Goalie

Hey, gang.

Today is FRIDAY, THE 13TH.

Amazingly, it's already the second Friday the 13th this year (we had one in January).

And there'll be another in July.

Ooooh, baby...

OK, this one time at a Fangoria convention, I was waiting in line to get Sean S. Cunningham's autograph. There was a couple in front of me: a doughy middle-aged man and his much-younger girlfriend.

And when this guy handed Cunningham a Jason Voorhees action figure to get signed, the Friday the 13th creator growled, "I don't play with fuckin' dolls."

Flustered, the fan laughed, "I don't either, but..."

"But-but-but... grow a pair of balls, you fat shit... you shit monkey," Cunningham stuttered mockingly.


Before the humiliated convention-goer could reply, the director lunged over the table and pawed one of his girlfriend's breasts. Mortified, the woman recoiled violently -- causing Cunningham to tear her blouse.

The air went out of the crowded convention hall in one collective gasp.

Upping the ante, Cunningham started rocking back and forth on his feet, drunkenly screaming:

"Last House on the Left, 
Deep-Star-Six,
That bitch's pretty mouth
Was built for suckin' dicks!"

That was pretty much when security closed in, and hurriedly escorted the filmmaker out of the stunned room before a riot broke out.


See you soon!

PS - Obviously, NONE OF THAT EVER HAPPENED. Sean S. Cunningham is a kind and gracious guy who happily signed my DVD copy of the original Friday the 13th.

Issue #6: In a Beautiful Place

Hey, gang.

Do you like music? Me too.

Here's a picture of Neil Sedaka:

So, a musical project that I'm kind of passionate about is Scotland's Boards of Canada. Brothers Mike Sandison and Marcus Eoin (that's "Owen") started using tape machines and sampling to compose their own works when they were still children, and by 1995 they had released their first collection of experimental electronic music: Twoism.

Since that time, Boards of Canada have gone on to release three hugely-acclaimed albums and a handful of EPs. Thanks to utterly unique output like 2002's Geogaddi, their reputation has reached nigh-mythical status in the realms of ambient and IDM (though, they maintain that they have never been purveyors of dance music).

Unfortunately for everyone with ears, the brothers Sandison haven't released a single note since the Trans Canada Highway EP in 2006...

And they've all but vanished.

At least that's my understanding of it. I mean, they've never exactly courted the press. I'm sure they're perfectly happy on the moors somewhere... eating goat bladders, sipping wolf's blood, or busting coconuts over Jimmy "Superfly" Snuka's head. Whatever the Scots do in their downtime, I'm sure their dance cards are full.

Now, let's take a trip back to the year 2000, shall we?

That's the cover art for In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country, an EP released by Boards of Canada almost twelve years ago. And it's not hyperbole to declare that anyone who doesn't love it is a stupid asshole, and probably a serial pedophile.

I'll rephrase that.

In a Beautiful Place is, in my opinion, the Boards' finest work. A four track sequence of transporting sample-heavy electronic grandeur that touches on themes as diverse as the Branch Davidians of Mount Carmel and... well, it's pretty much just about Waco.

I'm not going to get into the horrors of 1993's infamous siege at Waco because, frankly, I'd rather talk about John Candy's monster pancakes in Uncle Buck, or that awesome "Gossamer" monster from Chuck Jones cartoons -- but suffice to say that it was sad and awful, and probably completely unnecessary.

It made for great music, too.

Most notable, to me, is the title track: "In a Beautiful Place Out in the Country". Ethereal synth-organ notes of icy sorrow mesh with a waxing, waning drum loop to seamless effect. The vocoded (?) refrain of "Come out... and live in a religious community in a beautiful place out... the country..." ensures that the point isn't missed, as the spliced home-movie laughter of small children fills in the blanks and makes the track's six minutes ghostly-beautiful and, ultimately, damning of everyone involved in the tragedy.

Check it out.


See you soon!

Issue #5: Ducks

Hey, gang.

Fantagraphics recently released Donald Duck: Lost in the Andes, the first in a series of hardcover books dedicated to the Disney comics of Carl Barks.

If you're roughly the same age as me, you grew up with "the Disney Afternoon": a syndicated programming block consisting of shows like "TaleSpin" and "Disney's Adventures of the Gummi Bears". These shows represented Disney's first venture into TV animation, and held children in thrall every afternoon for almost a decade.

Tuskernini, motherfucker!

Now, it almost goes without saying that the most important of these shows was the beloved "DuckTales", which ran for 100 episodes (plus a movie!) between 1987 and 1990.

"Life is like a hurricane..."

Look, if you're 30ish, and the conjured memories of giant-robot high fives; Huey, Dewey and Louie getting chased by angry mummies; or Gyro Gearloose's stylish pince-nez don't give you some kind of heart boner -- then just kill yourself.

I mean it.

Alright, now that those idiotic boobs are dead we can get down to bidness.

This is Carl Barks...

As you can see, Mr. Barks (1901-2000) was a big fucking nerd -- but he's also one of the only reasons you had a decent childhood. So, stop laughing.

Between 1949 and 1966, Barks wrote and penciled what are arguably the most cherished and important comic book stories of all time. And the amazing thing is... that's almost an understatement.

Things that Carl Barks invented, go!

1) The giant boulder trap in Raiders of the Lost Ark.

2) Uncle Scrooge McDuck.

3) The color yellow.

4) Short-sleeved dress shirts.

5) The Beagle Boys.

All hijinks aside, the man was hugely important. Everything great about "DuckTales" is probably attributable to Barks' inventiveness, and the children of the '80s owe him a debt of gratitude. Sadly, he did most of his best work anonymously thanks to Disney's draconian publishing practices. It's inconceivable in 2012 that an artist could single-handedly raise a comic book's circulation to 3.5 million per issue... only to have his name appear NOWHERE within its pages.

I am exhausted by the folly of man.

OK, just buy Lost in the Andes. It's a wonderful, inexpensive edition that contains both the foundation of Barks' work and some of the most influential adventure comics ever written.

See you soon!

Issue #4: Rich Kids

Hey, gang.

1979 was an awesome year. Walter Hill's The Warriors had hoodlums shooting each other dead in crowded movie theaters. Seminal English post-punk band Wire released their magnum opus, 154. A couple of ill-matched neurotics got drunk at a Columbus Day party and accidentally conceived another baby.

Me.

Also, Robert Altman executive-produced a movie that no one ever talks about.

Boy, that lobby card sure doesn't pique your interest. Fuck.

So, right, the movie was Robert M. Young's Rich Kids. It's the story of Franny Philips (Trini Alvarado), a 12 year-old girl whose well-meaning parents (John Lithgow, Kathryn Walker) are dancing around the issue of their pending divorce. Unfortunately, Franny understands perfectly well what's going on thanks to the insight of her sympathetic classmate, Jamie (Jeremy Levy). As the situation at home worsens, Franny distracts herself with pre-adolescent sexual curiosity and recurring visits to Jamie's father's incredible bachelor pad. Lessons are learned, parents eat shit, and life goes on.

It's not a stellar movie, but I'm mildly obsessed by it.... Let's explore that.

  
#1: The Location

Rich Kids is set entirely in Manhattan. And this isn't post-Disney, post-9/11 Manhattan -- this is fucking 1979, son. The locations used are jaw-dropping. Franny's Upper West Side brownstone; a neighborhood Italian restaurant with built-in bocce ball court; the posh progressive school the kids attend, or the aforementioned (Asian-themed) bachelor pad -- the film is seemingly built to stir envy in anyone whose childhood wasn't spent among the upper-class environs of '70s NYC.

Ralph D. Bode's cinematography seals the deal, and ensures that Rich Kids is, if nothing else, an amazing document of retro urban privilege.

#2: The Stewardess

This one is easy. There's a hot actress named Diane Stilwell playing a manipulative stewardess who's dating Jamie's dad (Terry Kiser).

She's cute, that's all. (I like the bangs, OK? Fuck off.)

#3: The Heart

Well, I'm kind of a sucker.

Yes, Judith Ross's script is a little rigid (though, kudos for the legit use of profanity); Lithgow doesn't exactly have to flex his acting chops; and Jeremy Levy comes across like "Silver Spoons"-era Jason Bateman's effete Jewish clone. All that aside, there's an old-school earnestness here that, frankly, provides a welcome 100-minute refuge from modern life.

Really, you know, I dig that Franny's parents unabashedly love her... just like I dig that the kids share their first kiss in front of a giant advent screen that's tuned-in to some shitty "late show" B-horror flick.

Plus, Jamie's dad has pet piranhas. I'm only human. 

Rich Kids is currently available on Netflix's streaming service. Check it out.


See you soon!

Issue #3: Godzilla Is Real

Hey, gang.

Godzilla haunts my dreams.

That's the original theater poster for Toho's 1954 masterpiece, Gojira.

Thanks to 50+ years of (awesome) bullshit, a lot of people don't realize that Godzilla's first adventure was actually, you know, a serious movie.

Here's a synopsis:

Japan gets butt-fucked by a nuclear-powered, fire-breathing dinosaur. Some awesome dude with an eye-patch invents a big metal ball called the oxygen destroyer that... destroys oxygen, but also dissolves flesh like that Mad Scientist Monster Lab toy from the late '80s. That thing was fucking cool!

When I was little, I had a re-occuring nightmare involving a day at the beach with my immediate family. Our picnic was routinely interrupted by ground tremors, followed by roars, followed by this EXACT sight:

Well, there weren't any Japanese peasants in my dream -- usually it was just my parents, my siblings and an Igloo cooler full of Five Alive juice and Hydrox -- but you get the gist.

I was terrified!

Not as terrified as Easter '85 when I peed the bed and woke up at 2 am to find that there was a Masters of the Universe figure in my egg basket that I'd never seen before.

Spikor.

My mom made a pretty fucked-up face when, pee-drenched, I suggested that maybe she should let me stay up and open the toy. And she probably could've handled the situation better than wringing her hands in convulsive despair and screaming, "Shit on my life!Shit on YOU!"

Kidding! She just hit me, and then made me take a bath while she changed my sheets.

By the way, Spikor looked like... this!

Pretty dope, but those boots are really clashing with that loincloth.


See you soon!

PS - Did you notice the blonde kid in that Monster Lab ad? Yeah, he was in both Return of the Living Dead, Part II AND the 1988 remake of The Blob. Rad!

Issue # 2: Straight Outta Hawthorne

Hey, gang.

You ever think about Sandahl Bergman? I do.

I also think about the Beach Boys.

Thanks to a dominating, manipulative father, the Wilson brothers (Brian, Dennis, and Carl) were emotionally retarded and utterly unprepared for life. Mercifully, they happened to be musically gifted, as well.

So, have you ever heard their 1965 release, Beach Boys' Party!?

Legend has it that each copy came with a free bag of official Beach Boys potato chips. I guess that was all you needed for an instant party in 1965.

Some chips.

Beach Boys' Party! was a "live-in-the-studio" LP featuring twelve tracks of raucous... fun. Girlfriends and well-wishers filled the studio, laughing and participating in a loose (possibly drunken) "jam session". It wasn't really spontaneous, but it was a reasonable facsimile of spontaneity.

Among the tracks were three (!) Beatles covers, which is excessive considering that the Beach Boys had two #1 singles and a dozen other hits by '65. Obviously, the record didn't require a Lennon/McCartney homage to garner interest.

But supposedly Carl and Brian were huge Beatles fans.

Oh, and they covered Dylan, too.

See, the album's true highlight, aside from Mike Love's receding hairline, was the inclusion of a medley: "I Get Around" and "Little Deuce Coup". The boys were able to shift effortlessly into their trademark dick-melting harmonies, thus cutting through the inherent campiness of a giggling white bread nerd-orgy -- and the result is magical.

Check it out.

I have more to say about the Beach Boys and Brian Wilson, but it can wait.


See you soon!

Issue #1

Hey, gang.

My name's C.P. and this is a blog. I think I'm probably a decade late to this party, but that's never stopped me before. I'm a fucking wild man.

And here's a picture of Kristy Swanson.

Some things that are important to me:

- Getting 10+ hours of sleep.
- Allergic to cats.
- Rowdy Roddy Piper action figures.
- Tension headache.
- Music.
- Genie pants.
- Proofreading.

I'm really into Donald Duck right now, too.


See you soon!