JOURNAL
A CASUAL GIGER

For the first Saturday of the last month of 2011 I opted to hole up in the flat and re-capture some energy from what has been a very busy and stressful two weeks: illness and and the tasks and co-ordination exerted into the preparation of moving to a new flat as well as preparing a new EP in the new year require focus and attention right up to the moving date and then five days after Lyle and myself travel back to Canada to experience the old homeland in the dead of winter. It should be a wonderful, reflective time.

Perhaps there’s a sense of wonder and nostalgia lately. And it would certainly be present upon viewing of a feature from Japanese television about the macabre Swiss surrealist artist H.R. Giger. Although I’m never one to get to super die-hard fan status, Giger’s work has come and gone from focus in my lifetime, probably first discovered when I was a youth in the 80s through random science fiction magazines like Omni, battered VHS covers and album artwork — Perhaps I connected because the aesthetic and motives for his artworks very in tune with some of my own aesthetics and viewpoints on the human race — alienation, over-population,  the “cog in the machine” viewpoint and sort of the dark, um, sexuality of it all. Although somewhat macabre and terrifying many of his paintings have a sublime beauty and oddly a sense of calm (more so on the more abstracted landscapes).

Around a decade or so I had a brief stint, unschooled, with painting. There was some influence of that school of work albeit in a far more primitive, expressionist style. I’ll have to post some of that as I’ve pulled those items from out of three years of storage. We’ll save that for another time and get back to the documentary.

Opening up with a dark forest setting and a typeface worthy of 1970s psychedelic journey to Middle Earth, the documentary already moves in a more experimental direction with the deep space synthesizer sounds apparently provided courtesy by members of the kraut/prog group Brainticket. These druggy musical soundscapes lay a timeline to drape still fades of a great number of Giger’s painting from his Necronomicon series, many already familiar to those who may only have a passing interest in the artist.

What made this film odd I found was the candid nature of Giger’s narrative (in this case, done by a burly voiced American sounding bass-y and somewhat wooden) overlapping footage of domestic aspects of Giger’s life; including hoovering his Siamese cat, serving guests what appears to be lasagna in his garden, brushing his teeth, etc.. The list goes on. It makes for somewhat of a naïve but interesting contrast to the landscapes found in his paintings. Giger’s thoughts and musings on his artwork and philosophy come across quite naturally and seem to be uninhibited as to what others will think.

In addition there’s also some interest inside from some very jet-setting “Euro” patrons, explaining their attraction to his artwork. I certainly think that the pacing of this “feature” is of one that you wouldn’t really see in today’s “cut to the chase” style of television feature. The slow pacing I think adds to the epic feel of consciousness in the artwork.

Anyway, don’t take my word for it. You can view for yourself below. Switch on the lava lamp, get a fondue nice and heated in an earthware crockpot and kick back…

GIGER “Necronomicon” Part 1 of 4

THE ETERNAL LEGEND OF THE LOOPFAX

Junk mail. It’s something most of us receive in the post on a daily basis. Multiply that exponentially and that’s the quantity of email spam that someone on average might receive in that same amount of undisclosed time. I’ve sometimes checked my junk folder with only a month gap to the previous round of mass spam deletion to find that there’s another 2000+ emails in that folder. Weird printing companies that exist somewhere in the far east offering outlandish deals on business cards, overtly formal letters of bank account transfers from purported princes of Africa asking me, a random Canadian in London, if I will take on their wealth in the event of their succumbing to a strange disease. That’s just the tip of the iceberg really.

Receiving junk mail by fax is another phenomenon: bad, dot-matrix style ads spooling painfully to the out tray with garbled graphics of houses to let and tasteless clip-art. An old friend of mine worked at a paint store that made regular use out of the shop’s fax machine. Apparently the percentage of junk mail that that fax machine received prompted my friend to take action against the spam-sending aggressors. The result is where this whole story starts.

“I just took three sheets of paper, penned them up so they were all black, and taped the three sheets together into the fax machine,” he said — or something to that effect. “Once the chained sheets went through and started coming out the other side, I’d tape the three sheets again into a loop.”

From there one would get an infinite fax message; the three sheets constantly rotating and when received on the other side the fax wouldn’t stop until manually stopped. The blacked out pages added more nastiness to the deed, wasting up the recipient’s toner as well as their paper. Yes, harsh revenge for those shameless fax spammers. This trick was what we then called a “loopfax”.

This friend of mine had a knack for telling stories and things that happened in his life and his telling of it was hilarious. As we had also played in a band together, a short time later after a show in Victoria, the loopfax came up again — this time at a small party at a friend’s house. Fueled by a post-gig high, likely lack of sleep and alcohol — the loopfax story struck a chord with those that hadn’t heard of it as it seemed like the most simple yet ultimately damaging form of technology-based office warfare that there was. The conversation started picking up and as we discussed the repercussions of loopfax usage (or mis-use), scenarios worthy of science fiction were discussed. That and a lot of laughing our asses off.

Imagine a future where man is slave to the machine. It is the year 2056 and mankind has deforested the entire planet to make paper to feed into the Giant Fax Machine. It has been receiving and endless fax message for years. Giant monoliths of printed fax paper obscure the sun, standing hundreds of stories high. The sky is polluted with chemicals from pulp and paper mills. All is dirty with the blackness of toner soot. One day our hero steps forward and ends the madness by simply pulling the plug. Mankind rejoices.

Sounds like a plot as goofy as Spaceballs or Darkstar.  And even from there it went on, popping up sporadically over the following years. A friend of mine even did a small blog about it that’s still haunting the internet as a joke, full of suggestions for fax-based revenge and practical jokery — perhaps some modern Dada-style art.

To be honest, I’ve never even tried making a loopfax. If this short piece inspires you, try it at home and send your loopfax related adventures to me by email… or by FAX (scary ending music).

A FLAVOURSOME CRUNK(CH)

CLICK TO ENLARGE

I’d keep telling people about these: a ridiculous “urban-themed” hip hop snack but totally forgot the name and any of the details. It’s sort of like telling a joke but flailing on the punchline. No-one likes a flailing punchline — really.

The first time I came across “Rap Snacks” – as I’ve now found out – was in a non-descript (possibly derelict?) gas station off of the interstate in St. Louis, Missouri. We had spent the evening hanging around a venue in a not-so-good part of town and were now packing up to make tracks to our next destination: Memphis, Tennessee. The initial draw of Rap Snacks were the cartoon-ish illustrations of the endorsing “rapper” on the packaging and the bold colouring made by usage of only a few solid primary colours. There was sort of a Spy Vs. Spy or Dick Tracy vibe going on.

Warren G., L’il Romeo, Pretty Willie… can’t say I’ve heard of these guys. They must have some clout in the rap world to get a snack with their name on it. Perhaps the snack flavour is a representation of their personality. Pretty Willie is a spicy yet smooth personality: therefore Salsa Cheese.

Knowing that ages young and old will pick up a bag, positive messages are printed on the packaging: “Respect Your Elders”“Stay In School”… Looks like they’re taking a cue from Mr. T.

“Worry is a misuse of imagination” – quote by Chopper, a “rapper” that I’ve never heard of. This quote is from a bag of Hot Sauce Pork Cracklin’s.

Maybe this was a smaller, tight knit scene of bonafide rappers getting together and doing something positive? Who knows? The message is sure there. As well as a big potential for advertising. Getting the artists out to the rap music lovers… and lovers of dry, salted snacks.

We know musicians have been tied with food for a while: Greg Norton of Hüsker Dü owns a restaurant in Minnesota, Alex Kapranos of Franz Ferdinand wrote a food book and I know various musicians of the punk/hardcore cannon that have written about food or pursue a career in food in tandem with their musical endeavours. Bands have even made novelty merchandise around food.

Maybe a genre-based snack could be launched on a more microcosmic scale.

EAST LONDON WAVE SCENE SNACKS
Many different variations, each with some sort of active persona on the packaging with a morally uplifting (or nihilistically sarcastic) message on the front of the bag/box.

If I had that bizarre opportunity to put my face on a snack it would likely have cashews in it.

A GENERATIONAL PUZZLE

I was tip-toeing around the background to avoid it but now as of yesterday it’s finally hit me: yes, it’s cold season. It’s where my muscles ache, my eyes water, the body braced for sneezing and in my head it feels like a Jodorowsky movie on heavy codeine. These colds come less and less frequent now, likely due to my adaptation of British strains of the sickness since moving here but no less comfortable when the cold itself comes on.

This makes for using a lot less energy and staying indoors, amongst piles of things. A lot of these things arrived early this summer when a bunch of stuff I had lying in storage back in Canada were shipped over: records, books, clothes, old zines, cassettes, master recordings, photos and other odds and ends. One of the items is a tattered manila FedEx envelope filled with random photos and documentation from when my father passed away, which is now a month or two shy of ten years ago. I never really explored this envelope and for no real reason. It was a mess and always warranted “some time when I had some time” to look in it. I finally did. Odd postcards sent from his stint in the navy to the parents back home, tainted with his trademark humour, a yellowing university thesis, old photos from way back when of unknown men and woman. Some distant Duckworth relative would be my first bet.

I’ve been trying to document a lot of the notes, posters, artwork and other such things I’ve been pumping out on pieces of paper since I was a young school student in the early to mid nineties and posting bits here and there. Here’s a few bits I’ve assembled together from this manila envelope:

That’s it for now. Back to being ill. In these moments I get flashbacks to older times I was sick or just laying around. I seem to remember a long time ago being dazed on some sort of medicine or painkillers listening to this song from the Fugazi “In On The Killtaker” album — back when this album had regular rotation. I currently feel like the track from the 3.00 minute mark onward…

TWO FEATURES ON CLASS

The consideration to submit a brief overview of the following two films to this journal was on the books for today. However, as time today is bit by bit eaten; I’m gonna slip this one quite quickly while it’s still fresh on the mind. By some unplanned coincidence last night’s viewing consisted of two film dealing with issues of class and privilege. These two films are separated by a span of over twenty years and each take place on two different continents.

The first film, The Servant, is a British film from 1963 starring Dirk Bogarde somewhat hot on the heels of his controversial film, Victim. It mainly takes place in the apartment of a foppish and wealthy young man played by James Fox (Performance). Coming from a privileged background and not really having worked in his lifetime, he enlists the services of Barnett, played by Dirk Bogarde to be his “man-servant”. Throughout the film Barnett masterfully turns the tables on his employer and by the end of the film the relations between these two and their lovers become entirely twisted and into threadbare emotional psychosis, playing on a larger theme of class and privilege.

THE SERVANT (1963)

The second is a light-hearted, critically panned film adaptation of The Bonfire of The Vanities by Brian de Palma starring “family-friendly” 80s favourites Tom Hanks, Bruce Willis and Melanie Griffith. While the film has apparently followed Tom Wolfe’s book for the most part, it is somewhat common knowledge that the character of Sherman McCoy is painted in a more sympathetic light in this film — there’s something generally hammy about it but makes for late Sunday night “watch the wealthy white guy fall real hard” entertainment, and touches on some of the political reasonings for the basis of scapegoat type cases.

THE BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES (1988)

The former struck me as a more masterful film and I admit I’m starting to get a Dirk Bogarde kick a stirring. Time to watch Sebastian at some point, Bogarde meets 60s drug movie!

SEBASTIAN (1968)