Thursday, December 18, 2008

Lou Reed Reading last night in NYC and this is what I have to say....

Lou, please leave the poetry to gutter punk luddites and Hallmark. Seriously, I don't want to go as far as saying you are presently maladapted for the prose.....okay, I'm saying it!!!! Stay off the verse. You've done it, those who have brains paid attention and are passing on their records to the young ones. I was way to old and cynical to be there. Last night I endured what was my first and probably last poetry reading I will ever attend for the rest of my days. Lou Reed read from his new exhaustive book, weighing in at 1.1 lbs, full of every lyric the man has written. He read a bit, answered questions such as "what is cool?" and "what's your favorite modern R&B?", sighed, then read a bit more. Some bullshit hipster in the audience with his "Alice's Restaurant" hat and comic irony mustache (A.E., thx) felt the need to make Lou regret asking the audience to answer a question. This dipshit took this moment to yell out his thoughts to ol' Lou, bypassing query at hand and ignoring all the folks who followed the rules by writing their thought down on paper and placing it in a fish bowl to be approved by the moderator. I wanted to truly kick this kid in the teeth. Anxiety set in and I knew, if I moved towards the exit, everyone standing behind me would curse my rested tush and lust for the wooden chair I abandoned. It was standing room only and I was in the thirdish row to the right of the stage. The man is a legend, I am well aware of his historical significance. He is one to respect, and, one to stop listening to after you turn 18-20 years old. Please, do not put his record on unless you are alone, it has some serious personal significance you want to attempt to share, or if you are writing some research paper. For seriousness. He looked banging, very healthy. He oozes cool. Perpetual ooze, a pool of insatiably cool ooze from his pores no band aid can hold back. That description kinda made me nauseous. I felt honored to see with mine own eyes someone who lived through the factory years, Warhol, heavy drug use, and not be a vegetable. It's a feat, no doubt. Now I knew I could actually push that ol' envelope a little harder and deeper. If Lou is breathing, my heart will stay beating. jokes. The two Dudes sitting in front of me, definitely two dudes from the same dude cloth, felt badass just being there. You could tell if you paid attention or have a lack thereof such as myself. One had an incredibly distinct balding hairline and the other wore a tattered red bandana to probably cover his Daddy Warbucks crown. Lou delivered a line about having a "one night fuck" and, of course, the Dudes nodded in accordance that a passing screw by the Hudson in the wee hours of the morning would rock their world, or, 'they've been there'. I honestly doubt they've been there. Unless they paid for it. Even then and if, they missed the whole point of what the words were about. One of the Duderstein's got up and helped himself to an Old Hollywood Celebrity photography book for sale during the reading!! This guy needs to remove himself from my view. Take Arlo Guthrie with you, douchebag. I'm not saying I dawdled my time away. One can learn something from anything, and, as anyone knows, I am up for ANYTHING! I'll try anything twice. maybe. So, I did. So what if I wanted to disappear when Mr. Reed began his rewritten version of The Raven by Poe. I cannot help it. Made me wonder if his next choice would be a Macbeth or Bukowski rework. I must be an awful person. The closing words did come and chairs were moved out of the way. My body began to move, not to the exit, but, to the front. Did I want to meet him? My body did. He still made me feel okay, like he did when I was a young Candace. He still let me know that things were gonna be alright, and, I sincerely wanted to thank him. The line of people waiting for an autograph was entirely too long. I did not need to tangibly know that I was there. I would not forget being there. If I did, I could read this ridiculousness I'm writing now.

Gotta go, laundry day.

Sunday, December 14, 2008

What I want for christmas.....



Please, somebody get me this!

New York Times review.....

Another artist in the confessional tradition is David Heatley, whose first book, “My Brain Is Hanging Upside Down,” seems to encompass every uncomfortable thought he’s ever had about sexuality, race and his family.

The section “Sex History” is just what it says it is: Heatley’s nearly complete sexual history, from childhood games onward, documented in more than 700 tiny, doodly, wobbly-lined panels (although he draws a discreet veil over his relationship with his wife). It’s riveting for prurient reasons, of course, but also for its apparently comprehensive honesty: he’s perfectly willing to come off as a callow jerk.

“Black History,” a much longer application of the same technique to his relationships with every black person he’s ever known, is a little more coy — he tries to make his internalized racism shrivel up by exposing it to harsh sunlight, but he’s also trying to reassure us that he’s down. (Padding the story with hand written commentary on his favorite hip-hop records was probably a bad idea.)

But the final third of the book, devoted to his family tree, centers on a beautifully unsettling mosaic of comic-strip jokes that seem to be at his parents’ expense but inevitably end up ridiculing his own dealings with them. The book culminates in a lengthy piece about the birth of his children in the context of the generations before theirs: Heatley isn’t the only one, he knows, who’s ever heard a woman gasping and a newborn crying.

I made it.

Thank you, Memphis. I'm out to the bright lights of New York city.

I've been here for a little over three weeks. The cats are adapting just fine. What the hell am I going to get into here, other than trouble? Not sure. Future foggy. This is a quick post. I come with the promise to write more often, draw more comics and get myself involved in my surroundings. I'm destined for super stardom.

I've recorded several new SHM tracks. Give a listen if you have a few minutes to waste.

www.myspace.com/superhatemotel

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Friday, August 15, 2008

Two Lane Blacktop

does drop his tough guy persona a few times. Dennis Wilson is his sidekick on the ride and The Mechanic. A chill and laid back dude with his eyes on the road race at all times. Did I say that James Taylor was bbbeeaauuttiiffuull in this flick? I would have totally jumped in the car with them. The driving scenes were sensual enough for me. He shifts gears like nobody's business. There is nothing sexier than a man driving the shit out of a car. I am so serious. Maybe it's my inclination to fall head over heels for complicated, confident men. Real men. Thankfully we don't see him fall for the only chick around. The Girl, Laurie Bird, is 18 in this film, a youngin' who fucked the Mechanic then made a poor attempt to woo the Badass. He kissed her on his time, not hers. Hot. A section of the film happened in Memphis at an old racetrack my dad enjoyed as a young man. He told me where it was, so, I immediately jumped in the car. I found what was left, a bit of blacktop battered by neglect, riddled with abandoned keg party crap. Kids starting fires and drinking beer. I had to walk pretty far into nowhere with no end in sight. Yikes. It was an eerie scene, battered old sofas scattered in the woods. I thought someone was sleeping on one under a blanket at one point. Fortuitously, only trash and no scary dude. I have a bunch of pictures. You can also go to www.lakelandraceway.com if you are a total geek like myself. Pics will be on blog. Later days....

Thursday, July 31, 2008

I am on local tv being a smartass

http://www.myfoxmemphis.com/myfox/pages/Home/Detail;jsessionid=1AC4B9CECAF94D1F5A8B25A03C68D8A7?contentId=7100551&version=2&locale=EN-US&layoutCode=VSTY&pageId=1.1.1&sflg=1

glad they didn't use the other expounding vomit I gave them. it was funny. Mojitos will get me on tv. At least my hair looks pretty fly.

Thursday, July 03, 2008

OA reply!

dear Miss Mills

Thank you for the very thoughtful message.

The good thing to come out of our mess is that it galvanized us and, we think, has made us stronger. Luckily, we have been given a second chance and we intend this time to be more alert--and effective.

I look forward to listening to Andrew's record which I read about somewhere.

One of the OA issues you missed--on the subject of "Home"--turned out to be one of our best (I say this as somebody who at first would've voted against this theme and as somebody who didn't like the other issue you missed, on "Sports," all that much). You should track the Home Issue down. The upcoming Best of the South III issue may top it though. INcludes a DVD that features a number of Memphis-based films including the debut of a Big Star "video," edited (expertly by our DVD editor) from footage shot by the band during the making of their first album.

Thanks again for the understanding and good words.

Good luck to you too.


Marc Smirnoff

p.s. I never saw the Tweedy connection...but those OA girls sure did.

Monday, June 30, 2008

My first letter to the editor

I guess last Saturday morning cartoons, overwhelming stress, random moments of disparagment and staying home with my cats 89% of my evenings hasn't been so bad. I watch movies, either putting all my chips in on an On Demanded one and losing $4.50 or getting a dvd from Netflix. I'm quite proud of that queue. All hand picked and searched. I keep a notebook in the purse to make notes of films/ music I know I'll forget to look up. The short-term doesn't hold up like it once did. Presently, I've taken on the exhaustive undertaking of catching up on all my magazines. They're looming at me by the bed. Oxford American was first, the May issue of this year. Reading that they recently indured a money embezzlement, my heart broke. It's a hard one to endure, especially when other parts of your life decides to fall apart. A letter-to-the-editor was born in this mess. Well, here it is:

please edit if you print. i am a painter, a history student, not a writer. andy earles was my boyfriend you met. he has a new cd out on matador. a comedy cd. and, it's funny. thankfully. cc

Salut Marc,

Sadly, I've missed the last two issues. I promise to not let that happen again. We met one another in Memphis at a party before our Indie Film fest last year. You and your OA entourage thought my boyfriend at the time looked like Jeff Tweedy. No, you guys actually thought he WAS Jeff Tweedy. Not so surprisingly, he gets that often. We were confused for about 5 minutes, but, it all came together. I'm not here to reminisce, though. My concern in writing you is that I can empathize with the embezzlement the OA experienced recently. I own a business based in Memphis I started seven years ago. I created it's operating system, oversaw the handbook, live every moment of my life for it...everything. It's growing, ethical and successful, monetarily and environmentally. I hired a close friend when I needed an office manager to help with the bookkeeping. All was well for several years, but, quickly headed south. I tried to make it work. My naivete did not allow me to even consider she was to blame for the biz losing thousands suddenly with a forged signature and some checks. Not a friend, someone I thought was one of my best and who vocally praised being part of a 'green' company. Never. Don't say 'never', ever. Did she not consider others while pilfering the back account, putting in jeopardy almost thirty jobs and my livelihood? I will never forget the overwhelming shock, feeling of inadequacy and ineptitude. Doubt, depression, double chocolate ice cream. Repeat. I jumped out of the haze and knew this history student would not allow this (enter obligatory four-letter word) to happen again. Instantly, I knew my first mistake was to trust her without checking over the work. There needs to be trustworthiness in an office as well as a leader. At that time I was not as involved as I should have been in the daily operations of my office. I admit it. I didn't pay close enough attention for the last three months of her tenure. I'm an entrepreneur and we learn a lot through experience, right? My heart broke when I read that the OA endured a similar travesty. I promise to never feign loyalty to the OA. I know that I am a mere reader in Memphis, but, we can all make a difference by making just decisions based in ethics and piety. My dad always says, "you wake up in the morning and you have the choice to make the wrong decision or the right decision. Make the right one". It's not always that black and white, but, now I think of that quote every morning. Maybe we will all meet again. I will say hello, and, maybe you can introduce me to the real Jeff Tweedy one day. No substitutes for the real thing.
cheers, Candace Mills
Memphis, TN

Friday, June 27, 2008

Friday Night movie. Play by play.

Super High Me

Obviously, I'm home on a friday night with my cats and an on-demanded film. After looking through their list of paltry choices, eighties hits and recent favorites/ ridiculous, I chose Super High Me. And, obviously, it's in the recent ridiculous category. Doug Benson made this film, looks like it played at SXSW this year. I was there for the music week, attempting to survive 3 nights of rock shows and Andy's comedy performance. Doug is a comedian out in LA, once involved with UCB and presently involved with Best Week Ever, Paul F. Thompkins has a cameo as well as other funny dudes. Doug was High TImes Magazine's 'Stoner of the Year' in 2006. Yep. He is abstaining from marijuana for 30 days. One of my favorite moments is his stand up joke wondering why a mildew cleaning product hasn't been called Mildon't. Funny. I own a cleaning biz, hello... Snippets of other stand up pot ha-ha's, Doug doing stupid stuff to rag timey music, Los Angeles is Los Gangales.. you follow me, brah? Oh, and he makes fun of the Vagina Monologues and the women who have protested the stand up performance he co-wrote, the Marijuana-logues. Why am I watching this? Not sure. I like to watch movies in my small amount of free time. Oh, I am looking at the largest bong I have ever seen. Dougie's chilling with the 'Prince of Pot'. the Prince is totally high. Zach Galifiankis just showed. He is my comedic crush. Adorable. More play by nonsense later.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Friday, May 09, 2008

Saturday, March 08, 2008

me

kate

Odessa Memphis

Odessa is an art space collective Andy and I have decided to join. I had my first art show there February 14th. We have a show tonight and another Monday. If it's possible, leave your egos outside and stop in. Both of these shows are free of charge. We must be doing something new and different to already have haters. It's great. Ahhh, jealousy makes people say the darndest things. Anyways, we don't really care what these folks say and the show will keep going on. Some simpletons just don't have anything else to do, ya know. It's just a space bringing bands and hosting shows we want to see in Memphis. Those that don't likey can start one on their own to get their own group together. Or, pick up a book and learn something. I am a proud Chick of my hometown and love seeing Memphians collaborating and creating to do something different. Anything. Just watch your words and don't waste my time with mindless chatter and destructive criticism. Don't move, improve. Thank you. Here's our lineup:

Saturday, March 8th:
Neptune from Massachusetts with White Creeps (Wolf Eyes-style power
noise from Jonesboro Arkansas. Yeah, I'd wanna bum people out too)

NEPTUNE!
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Active now for close to 14 years, Boston band Neptune has crafted not
only a formidable array of releases that document their squalling,
post-industrial noise punk, but an awesome arsenal of home-made
instruments they they've used to etch each and every one of their
tracks. Though beginning life as the extension of a sculpture project
by Jason Sanford, the band has shunned the austerity of art galleries
in favor of cranking out high-octane, oft-visceral exercises in
disruption.


Their discography stretches to around 20 releases, but Gong Lake,
their debut for Table of the Elements' Radium imprint, is the first to
be widely available outside of Neptune's own merch table. Five
full-lengths in now, and the band is nothing if not tightly wound – no
hesitation, no faulty missteps. As such, Gong Lake presents a solid
half an hour's worth of the trio's finely detailed improvisations and
galloping, percussive punk, bounding from the queasy loops and
pounding drums of "Grey Shadows" to the more carefully considered and
ominous oscillations of "Black Tide."


While Neptune's penchant for homemade instruments is well known, they
wisely avoid reducing their work-shopped creations to kitsch levels.
Instead, they spend the whole of Gong Lake blending a number of
different homemade synths and effects boxes with more tradition drums
and baritone guitars. The results are slyly alien, invoking a creeping
sense of the bizarre and unfamiliar that's effortlessly meshed with
exceedingly familiar rock dynamics. Thus, while "Paris Green" may
start with commonplace guitar strums, it quickly gives way to the
chunky low-end of a synth of unknown provenance, one that battles for
space with a rising tide of screeching oscillators. Elsewhere, "Yellow
River" ricochets with the effected sounds of a mutated thumb piano,
opening up spaces for echoing synths to shoot past the percussion's
insistent rhythms.


As much as a seemingly unkempt aggression is Neptune's hallmark
throughout Gong Lake's 10 tracks, these three are no ordinary brutes.
Time and again, their dedication to expanding a familiar rock lexicon
with instruments of their own creation calls to mind the work of folks
like This Heat. Much like those Brits attempted the use the basic
palette of punk rock as a spring board for deeper experimentation, so
too does Neptune work a similar trick, obliterating the familiar
structures of rock and punk with otherworldly timbres and tones that
are wholly of their own design.

MONDAY (3/10):

SUNBURNED HAND OF THE MAN!
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Sunburned Hand of the Man is a band in the loose sense of the word;
it's better described as a banner under which a collective of musical
freaks have gathered. Based in Boston, Sunburned Hand of the Man grew
out of trio which called itself Shit Spangled Banner and featured John
Molony and Rob Thomas who would later become anchors of the Sunburned
coterie. According to Molony, Shit Spangled Banner was conceived as "a
cross between the Melvins and Sonic Youth," but the group was fast
picking up a host of like-minded dropouts and musical wanderers who
would show up at their loft, and their sound soon began to incorporate
everything from early American folk music to drone, free jazz, space
rock, and funk. After one release, 1996's No Dolby No DBX (released as
part of Ecstatic Yod's Ass Run series), the group changed it name to
Sunburned Hand of the Man. A string of self-released CD-Rs followed,
including Mind of a Brother (1997) and Piff's Clicks (1998). With
2001's Jaybird, Sunburned reached a new pinnacle, forging their
disparate elements into a distinct (if not complete) sounding
collection. By this time like-minded groups such as Jackie-O
Motherfucker, Tower Recordings, and the No-Neck Blues Band (who are
somewhat of a sister group to Sunburned) were also coming into their
own and gaining critical applause. The term "free folk" started
popping up in an attempt to describe these bands and Sunburned were
seen as leaders (or at least co-leaders) in a musical movement of
sorts, a movement which had its antecedents in Harry Smith's Anthology
of American Folk Music as much as in avant-jazz and noise groups.
Sunburned Hand of the Man continued to refine and expand their sound
on CD-R and vinyl-only releases such as 2001's Wild Animal, 2002's
Headdress, and 2003's Trickle Down Theory of Lord Knows What. Each
release was a rough but often brilliant indicator of where the band
was headed, rather than finished statements of where they had been. In
August of 2003 the profile of the band raised considerably when they
were featured on the cover of the respected British music magazine
Wire, appearing above the headline "New Weird America."


BLUES CONTROL!
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Blues Control might just be the missing link between Van Halen and
Henry Flynt. They are a duo. Lea Cho plays swank but grounded
atmospheric keyboard parts [think Harold Budd] for guitar player and
manipulator of assorted junk-on-table Russ Waterhouse to cut through,
whittle and lay waste to. It's a hazy, spaced world that exists
between fuzzed distortion, jabbering electronics, a lazy stay-in-bed
psychedelic glaze, with rhythmic keyboards pulsating below it all a la
a guy named Florian-and you can choose which one you want. Oh yeah,
did I mention the humid bikini-vibe that permeates the entire album?
So is there a blues angle to it? Yeah, but you've got to bury yourself
in it or dig your way in. Come out stinking if you want.

My very first polyvore. www.polyvore.com