Harry Smith is the kind of guy who makes me feel guilty. Guilty for not going out and making art and documenting the human experience every minute of every hour of every day. Watching a folk music documentary on the Ovation channel tonight, I was reacquainted with the genius of Harry Smith. Harry Smith compiled (from his own collection) the legendary Anthology of American Folk Music, which was released in 1952 on Folkways Records. In 1965 he went on to record and produce the first record by avant folk/rock pranksters, the Fugs. Not only that, he was at one time “the greatest living magician” according to the godfather of experimental cinema, Kenneth Anger. Because even before Harry was capturing magical music, he was making magic with film. Check this piece out:
The life and work of Harry Smith is severly interesting. Visit his website here. And though I have only started this bad boy, here’s a hefty and heady analysis of Smith’s films, entitled Alchemical Transformations: The Abstract Films of Harry Smith (Jamie Sexton). Now, go make art.
I discovered Afri-Cola (German brand of cola) last night during the Monks documentary: The Transatlantic Feedback. Many years ago an Afri-Cola commercial was supposed to feature music by the Monks, but that’s not even the strange part. My friend saved me some effort by eloquently blogging about Afri-Cola here. Feast your eyes on what is perhaps the finest, and surely most German, cola commercial ever (sort of NSFW):
Here’s a mental health break for the holidays: a hilarious clip from that mediocre Ricky Bobby movie Will Ferrell came out with a couple of years ago. I mean, it’s kind of Xmas-y. It’s all about the baby Jesus…
This world has lost yet another great talent! What a man: achingly handsome, amazing wife, brilliant actor, entrepreneur, philanthropist extraordinaire. Here is a killer YouTube clip (along with Johnny Cash score and Roger Ebert quotes) describing Newman’s ascension as the anti-hero is his films:
The first thing is one of my very favorite works by Kurt Vonnegut, a short story from 1961, Harrison Bergeron. In my opinion, this mega-short work is one of the finest modern short stories. Harrison Bergeron is up there with Flannery O’Connor’s excellent Everything That Rises Must Converge, but much, much different. Although both stories are based around the theme of equality and both works comment eloquently and without cheesy sentiment on the nature of the human condition.
On a much different note, here’s a great clip by the Black Lips where they come off sounding more like the Stone Roses, with Veni Vidi Vici:
I can’t believe this extensive collection of experimental film and video works the fine folks at UbuWeb posted. Streaming media and downloadable files too:
I want to do subsequent posts highlighting a few select works, but there are so many to choose from! Hours of enjoyment and education, my friends. There is also a sound section that I’ve yet to peruse:
In other news, I know it’s the lamest thing ever to update friends and acquaintances on your status via your blog, but fuck it. Friends if I’ve been a bit remiss at communication lately please forgive me. I’ve been slightly under the weather, both physically and mentally, but am now on the mend. I went to the doctor today, got some pillz and should be feeling better soon. Also as many of you know, I have a great uncle who was recently committed to the nursing home in Texas. He has the beginnings of Alzheimer’s disease (among many physical ailments including lymphoma) and yesterday tried to escape from the home. It’s all pretty sad and I’ve been dealing with beaucoup de family drama lately. So if any of you out there believe in good vibes, please send some to my uncle Charlie. He could use it.
A couple of years ago an internet friend reacquainted me with the writings of Carlos Castaneda. I hadn’t thought much about the new age guru Castaneda since lifting one of his books from the public library in about 9th or 10th grade. I didn’t mean to steal it, I think I just checked it out and forgot to return it. Anyways, the little I read of The Power of Silence in high school didn’t leave much of an impression on me at the time. I think I checked it out mainly because I’d heard there were drug references within. Around this time I also read On the Road and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, the first books that made me want to squeal with joy: “Drugs, drugs! They’re writing about drugs!”
I’ve since had my fill of drug-related literature (ok, maybe not), anyways that’s not why I took to reading Castaneda again a couple of years ago. Basically I read a few book excerpts sent to me by aforementioned internet friend and the shit blew my mind. Concepts like using the first and second attention and stopping the internal dialogue as a means to experience separate realities fascinated me. CC’s books were originally published as anthropological works, but are now generally agreed upon as fiction. I say if a “Weird Psychology” section existed at the bookstore, Castaneda’s works would help fill the shelves. Click here for a little example of Castaneda’s language and ideas, made manifest through the literary device of his Don Juan character.
Carlos Castaneda was a weird guy: ambitious, short, and bubbling over with charisma. That seems to describe so many of history’s fascinating men, now doesn’t it?! I’ve read varying personal accounts of him — some say he glowed with good vibes and oozed charm while others describe him as morally ambiguous and emotionally sadistic. I think he was a complicated man. He liked to fuck with people’s heads, and was apparently very good at it. So good in fact that he may have inspired several women of his inner circle (the “Witches,” as they were called) to commit suicide upon his death from cancer in 1998.
It’s hard to dig up much solid info on Castaneda because in 1973 he withdrew from public view to shack up with his Witches in a large home in West Los Angeles. Nary a picture exists of him, as he was all about “erasing personal history” and refused to let photos be taken of him after a certain point in his life. The following Salon.com article is the best I’ve found thus far on Castaneda, his shady life and the Witches who may have joined him upon his departure from this earthly plane. Enjoy:
PS: It’s kind of weird the first time you access the Salon site. Bypass any opening Flash sequences, then click this link again if necessary. It’s a great, juicy article and worth the trouble!
“The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To him… a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, his very breath is cut off from him. He must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency he is not really alive unless he is creating.”
I LOVED all things Sid and Marty Krofft as a kiddo, so naturally the following clip is one of my faves. “I declare this pizza to be AWESOME!” Effin’ brilliant if you ask me:
