Cinema Notes From All Over

So the other day, as is often my wont, I found myself immersed in the great warm bath that is the New York Times' Arts & Leisure section, when I chanced across interesting and alarming news, of the upcoming New York Film Festival, that had at least some glancing relevance to the mission statement of the blog you're currently perusing.

To wit, premiering at the festival will be a restored director's cut of Michael Cimino's controversial 80s mega-flop Heaven's Gate, a film that I have been insisting -- for years, to anyone who would listen -- is a misunderstood masterpiece.

What is NOT controversial about the film, of course, is that it features an absolutely gorgeous Americana score by former Bob Dylan collaborator David Mansfield (seen below as the fiddler).



Also premiering at the festival (which begins Septmember 29th) is the director’s cut of Frank Oz’s adaptation of the off-Broadway rock musical hit Little Shop of Horrors, including the original, apocalyptic, talking-plants-eat-the-world ending (plant voice courtesy of Four Tops lead singer Levi Stubbs). To which I can only say -- woo hoo!

And, most intriguingly, look for the world premiere of a restored version of Charlie Is My Darling, Peter Whitehead’s documentary of the Rolling Stones’ two-day tour of Ireland in 1965.

Really crappy video prints of that one have been circulating for years, but apparently the restoration -- supervised by the same folks who did the Stones' Rock and Roll Circus film -- is pretty impressive, and includes previously unseen footage.

Tickets for all of the above go on sale (on-line, obviously) on September 9th; we are informed that the Stones themselves may attend the opening night screening of Charlie.

I should also add, for those of you outside the New York City area, that both the restored Heaven's Gate and the Stones documentary will make their DVD and Blu-ray debuts in early November, the former via Criterion and the latter courtesy of ABKCO.

The Way We Were

Ollie and some old guy, in happier days.

God, I miss the sweet little fella so damn much.

In any case, regular music posting resumes tomorrow. And thanks to everybody who had kind words for me and Wendy and Ollie this week.

Our sweet little friend Ollie has passed on.

Our hearts are broken, obviously, but it's something of a consolation to remember that he had a really great life and that he enriched ours immeasurably. Really, when all is said and done, you can't ask for much more than that.

The Gentlest, Most Loveable Pussycat in the World...

...is still hanging in, against the odds. But here he is from a happier time.

That's Ollie being an absolute champ at the vet, in November of 2010, in preparation for the radiation therapy that gave him almost two extra years of a rich full life.

I should add that during the week he stayed at the clinic, he was live on a webcam for eight hours every day, and he became something of an internet video cult figure. I would get early morning e-mails from people all over the country saying "He's up! SHOWTIME!!!"

In any case, regular music posting by me won't resume around here until my heart starts to break a little less than it's breaking at the moment.

But I just want you guys to know that both Wendy and I really appreciate all the good thoughts you've been sending Ollie's way since last week.

I Hope Neil Young Will Remember...

In case you missed it over the weekend.

Apparently NBC News has the same non-existent fact checkers that also don't work over at Newsweek.

That's Harvest Moon, obviously.

Our Talented Readers (An Occasional Series): Special My Poor Rheumatic Back Edition

From 2006, please enjoy long-time Friend of PowerPop Stephen Lawrenson with an absolutely drop dead gorgeous cover of my personal favorite Ray Davies/Kinks song of all time, the ineffably sad, funny and nostalgic "Autumn Almanac."

Steve tells me he did it for a covers EP that was included with an album release on Kool Kat some years ago, mostly as an exercise to see if he could reproduce certain 60s production styles; I'd say he came up with something a bit better than that mission statement suggests. His album pictured above is of more recent vintage and you can find out more about it, and check out more of Steve's music, over at his MySpace page here.

Have I mentioned that we have some really talented readers?

Loud Noises Say So Much (Part Deux)

Okay, having alerted you guys yesterday to the thirty year old efforts by my early 80s rock band now being peddled over at Amazon, iTunes and CD Baby, and having thus fulfilled my quotient of embarrassing self-indulgence for the rest of the year, I feel duty bound to note the arrival of some new music by one of my favorite contemporary local bands (or at least members thereof).

But first a little backstory, as in when I wrote about them two years ago.

Okay, as anybody who's read the poor scribblings here for any length of time knows, I am, essentially, older than dirt. In many ways, I remind myself of that geriatric wreck in Stephen King's Salem's Lot who tells a younger character "Rock-and-roll? Wonderful stuff. At my age, it's the only music I can actually hear."

Anyway, as a result, my forays into the stygian underground clubs and low dives where (presumably) real rock-and-roll continues to gestate have of late been few and far between. In fact, I now mostly, necessarily, depend on World's Most Irksome Rock Critic Jon Caramanica of the NY Times to keep me up to date on what is hep and happening. Or as a character in The Big Sleep says, "it's a nice state of affairs when a man has to indulge his vices by proxy."

But I digress.

All the above notwithstanding, however, a couple of weeks ago I found myself in attendance at an old fashioned local Battle of the Bands, hosted by some NYC radio station. This was at the Highline Ballroom, a newish Manhattan club that is actually clean and comfortable, with great sound, unobstructed sight-lines no matter where you sit or stand, and very good and reasonably priced food; I strongly recommend the Kobe burgers.

But I digress again.

I actually forget what group some friends had dragged me there to see (I do recall that they made little impression on me, whoever they were) but my eyes and ears definitely pricked up at the group that followed.

A drummer dressed as a Chinese coolie. A bass player who looked like a member of Love had he been abducted by George Clinton's Mothership. A guitarist (quite a purveyor of hot licks, incidentally) wearing Mel Gibson's old costume from The Road Warrior. And two singers. The first wearing a three piece suit, smoking a stogie, and basically doing Ron Perlman in Hellboy. The second in traditional leather-pantsed metal drag, with a slight gut but otherwise so alarmingly thin that one presumed a stiff breeze could break him in two; imagine your high school guidance counselor living out a fantasy of being Rob Halford from Judas Priest, and you pretty much have the idea.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Brooklyn's Finest -- King Hell.



As a rule, King Hell's brand of metal/funk hybrid isn't my cup of tea, but their show that night was just so smart, kinetic and funny that I was totally won over (although it's at least possible that the flashing-light red plastic devil horns they passed out to the crowd clouded my judgement). In any case, they had lots of original songs as cool as the one in the above video, and near the end of their set, they did to Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf" what I have always hoped somebody would do to Duran Duran's "Hungry Like the Wolf." And when the show was over, I knew for a fact that the band had completely rocked my socks off (or would have, had not my garter belts been tightly affixed).

All in all, then, I can only paraphrase what Jack Nicholson once said of Bob Dylan: These guys are a riot.

And a final word for anybody out there who toils at a major record label: Sign these guys right now. They're practically a license to print money.

Well, no record company took my advice since I wrote the above, but I stand by every word. Meanwhile, I received the following missive from King Hell's estimable frontman Sam Walters (a/k/a Samael):

This Thursday, DRIVEN MAD (successor to King Hell) will unleash the first two tracks from their upcoming EP Disorder! The tracks will be streamable on the DRIVEN MAD Facebook page, also launching Thursday. This has been a loooooong time comin’, and we appreciate your support and patience while we got this shit together. We don’t think you’ll be disappointed… well, except those of you who were hoping we’d go in a lighter, kinder direction. You people are fucked.

The last two tracks from the EP will be released the following week--and we plan on consistently pummeling you with new music from here on!

\M/\M/
Samael
Motherfucker
Dundon

I'd take him up on that if I were you. Satan only knows what he might do to you if you don't.

Oh, and if you e-mail me nicely, I'll be happy to send you an mp3 of that King Hell version of "Hungry Like the Wolf," which is, frankly, a work of genius.

You're welcome.

The Day the Earth Stood Still

Words fail me.

Floor Your Love, the album my early 80s skinny tie band The Floor Models would have made had somebody been nuts enough to sign us back in the day, is now available for digital download at Amazon. And iTunes (momentarily).

Compiling this project has been a labor of love on my part going back for almost two years and swear to god, I can barely breathe now that it's come to fruition.

A couple of points before I pass out.

The songs on the album were recorded between 1982-88 under various and sundry circumstances (studio, live, primitive home demos, etc) and there are two covers amongst them -- a blistering club version of The Records' power pop classic "Hearts in Her Eyes" and a semi-live take on ABBA's "S.O.S" that we did at WBAI-FM. I'm prejudiced, obviously, but I think all the stuff holds up rather well.

We're also in the process of pressing 100 actual CD copies of the album (with a back cover, detailed credits and a disc graphic pushing the retro 60s LP shtick even a little further)...

...and they'll be available, gratis, for friends and press ASAP. Assuming there are more than 100 people crazy enough to want a copy, we'll run off another batch as soon as we can.

Also, you'll note that you can purchase each of the 19 tracks individually. This makes little economic sense, of course, so I suggest you buy the whole thing as a package. Especially given that we're selling it for a lousy $8.99.

Or to paraphrase Chico Marx in A Day at the Races, don't be a crunger for nine bucks.

I would also like to say to my bandmates Gerry Devine, Andy "Folk-Rock" Pasternack and Glen "Bob" Allen: You guys were and are the best, and I look back on our time playing music together as the most fun I've ever had with my clothes on. Plus -- a big shout-out to the beautiful and brilliant Wendy Cohen (for the album art and title concept) and to the irrepressible and debonair Steve Schwartz (for an amazing job of audio restoration on some very dicey old tapes); it is probably worth noting that both of them worked extremely cheap.

Finally, I should add that when I say this is the album we would have made back in the day had somebody been nuts enough to sign us, that's actually an interesting story. Let's just stipulate that I still haven't forgiven Paul Simon for poaching producer/engineer Roy Halee for some crappy project called Graceland at the last minute; get me drunk sometime and I'll tell you the whole sad tale.

Disgusting is as Disgusting Does

Wow -- this story just keeps getting better and better.

From his second (1970) album -- and the soundtrack to the astounding 2012 documentary Searching for Sugar Man -- here's recently rediscovered singer/songwriter Rodriguez and his hilarious and poetic "A Most Disgusting Song."

Unlike the first Rodgriguez LP, which was produced in his home town of Detroit by Dennis Coffey, of Motown's legendary Funk Brothers fame, this one was recorded in London with some amazing Brit session guys. Including -- on this cut -- the remarkable Chris Spedding on guitar.

As in Chris Spedding who played on records by everybody from Donovan to the Sex Pistols.

In any case, I'm still trying to figure out why Rodriguez never got airplay on FM rock stations back in the day.

Seriously -- in New York City at least, can anybody tell me why Rosko or Alison Steele (The Nightbird) didn't play this stuff?

"There Are No Second Acts in American Lives"

And showing just how full of shit F. Scott Fitzgerald was on occasion, here's a guy having a triumphant THIRD act.

Making his American network television debut on the Letterman show last week, it's 70 year old(!) singer/songwriter Rodriguez -- star of that Searching for Sugar Man documentary I bugged you about recently -- with the quite amazing "Crucify Your Mind."



Has a real Forever Changes vibe, now that I think of it.

In any event, if Searching for Sugar Man is playing anywhere remotely near your neighborhood, run, do not walk, to see it; it's very rare that a music film also doubles as a brilliant real life mystery story AND an affirmation of the human spirit.