Kuyashii Gonzo: Blood Visions and Chaos Magic is a Gonzo documentary film directed by Jeff Frumess about trying to make art against all odds, including pandemic, death, and unemployment. It is about acknowledging what feels like failure, dusting yourself off, and trying again. It’s about never giving up.
Read MoreCharliefits and the House of Wolfman
Charliefits and I first met (along with Bobzig) backstage at a Danzig show at Chicago’s beloved Congress Theater (RIP) in 2008. We clicked immediately over our love for “Uncle” Glenn’s music as well as a variety of other shared interests. In the years since, I have watched from afar as Charlie has taken something he excelled at and apply it to all of his various interests in music and film to create gorgeous DIY collectible figurines. So skilled was Charlie in his work that what started as a fun hobby has turned into a full scale business operation with many, many satisfied customers along the way.
14 Likes, 1 Comments - Jeff Frumess (@screaminjfrumess) on Instagram: "#misfits #danzig #samhain #glenndanzig #jerryonly #doyle #doylewolfgangvonfrankenstein #fiendclub..."
41 Likes, 0 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Just in time for Werewolf Wednesday. #lonchaneyjr #wolfman #mummy #kharis #lawrencetalbot..."
Watching this from the sidelines has made my heart gush open, proud as hell for my friend. I am so happy for his success and only hope that it continues to grow bigger and bigger. I think I gravitate to this story in particular because it is a phenomenal example of how investment of time, energy, and love in one’s passions yield success as a byproduct and not the desired end result.
91 Likes, 3 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "WIP. Tis the season for much more Frank. #frankenstein #boriskarloff #glennstrange #maryshelley..."
135 Likes, 2 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Yesterday was Jason's birthday and I forgot! 😱 #jasonvoorhees #fridaythe13th"
557 Likes, 20 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Thinking of October. #halloween #michaelmyers #halloween3 #seasonofthewitch #samhain #ghostbusters..."
882 Likes, 24 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Who loves the 80s? #creepshow #gremlins #returnofthelivingdead #monstersquad #fridaythe13th..."
If YOU reader are into REALLY COOL collectible figurines of your favorite pop culture horror/scifi icons, then go check out Charlie’s ESTY HERE - https://www.etsy.com/shop/HouseofWolfman
Follow him here at @Wolfman138 on Instagram
#SUPPORTINDIEART
#SUPPORTINDIEHORROR
In the words of our beloved band, I only say to you - Charliefits, “GO! GO! GO!….. WHOAAAAAAA!!!!!”
359 Likes, 10 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Just felt like pointing out that Danzig wore a Basket Case shirt during Samhain era. I actually..."
175 Likes, 6 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "Etsy shop is active once again. I added a bunch of new wall plaques and so far, there's just one of..."
189 Likes, 5 Comments - Charlie Lonewolf (@wolfman138) on Instagram: "I'm the wooden mallet, the sharpened stake. I'm the precautions you forgot to take. #tsol..."
Tarantino’s 9th FEETure:
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Tarantino’s 9th FEETure: Once Upon a Time in Hollywood Review
It makes sense that QT is planning to retire after a 10th film (although it won’t last in the long run). He has been slowly evolving over the last 15 years to a point where he is beyond making films and now he is simply working in the wrong format. The change really started with Kill Bill (a flawless masterpiece on every level) and seems to have reached a breaking point with Once Upon a Time...In Hollywood.
Each new “film” he makes feels more like a tapestry of wonderful scenes with phenomenal dialogue that suffers from overindulgence. This is due in part to the possibility that QT is surrounded by too many “Yes Men” who are not going to help him shape and sculpt his work into something that cohesively feels like a singular cinematic movie instead of the sprawling collage of tangled (yet entertaining) structureless narrative.
Initially, OUTIH started out as a novel and it really shows as it feels like a completely different beast from everything else he has done. The dialogue is vastly different, not for the worse - but more of a departure from the signature stylized voice that he is synonymous with. I also found the minimal plot to be far too bare for Tarantino’s usual self-indulgence. Brad and Leo’s “arcs” feel much more like POV chapters in a book. And without a more structured plot to drive us forward, I felt the running time much more than I normally do when seeing a QT film, even The Hateful Eight. Of all his films, Kill Bill truly encapsulates the perfect ratio of plot/running time in a QT movie (after the beginning of this evolution to long-form TV). Not sure if that makes any sense… It does in my head.
Also, that is not to say that the subject matter, individual scenes, characters, setting/production design, scenes (on an individual level) were not enjoyable - but it was not as smooth and easy to digest as the others. I think it will probably take a second or third viewing to further cement these feelings.
Tarantino has said this is his most personal film. My friend “Tony” floated me the idea that Rick Dalton is simply an extension of Tarantino and his anxieties of trying to stay relevant as he obsesses over what his legacy will be. Perhaps this all plays into his planned retirement after one more film?
Partners
Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt as the almost-washed-up-drunk Rick Dalton and his lethal stunt double sidekick Cliff Booth have wonderful chemistry together. Their partnership and underlying characterization plugs right into QT’s obsession with cowboys, cops, and the like from the 50s, 60s, and 70s. And much like Kato from The Green Hornet, it’s the sidekick (and his wonderful dog) who mostly ends up doing the heavy lifting.
Sharon Tate
I personally detest most true crime stuff and was very nervous about what he would do with the tragedy of Sharon Tate. Whatever happened would definitely affect the way I would feel about the overall film. It didn’t help that there was a bunch of controversy surrounding how much screen time Margot Robbie had - which began to fuel my suspicion of the worst: Sharon Tate would be nothing more than an exploited sacrificial “prop” meant to be gutted in the background while QT’s characters (probably Leo and Brad) would be bumbling around in their own storyline, right under history’s nose.
To my great relief, the resulting film couldn’t be farther from that truth and I thought it was a touching gesture considering all of the disgusting reenactments/retellings of this poor (pregnant) woman’s final terrifying moments. Instead, we are given a (pseudo-clumsy) sleight-of-hand magic trick where we think we know where it is going despite knowledge gleaned from the past.
I didn’t specifically read anything into her lack of dialogue. While she doesn’t speak much, she exudes a graceful presence. Margot channeled a living candlelight vigil to the real Sharon Tate and all of her hopes and dreams, the pride she showed in her work, and most importantly allows us to imagine what could have been for her (more on that below).
The sad reality is that many of us, (myself included) casually know Sharon Tate as the pregnant actress who was brutally slaughtered by Charles Manson’s followers or simply as Roman Polanski’s actress wife and nothing more. QT changes that with OUTIH by showing us (the real) Sharon Tate acting opposite Dean Martin in The Wrecking Crew. It was a touching, respectful tribute and a true testament to his intentions of having Sharon Tate in the film. Furthermore, we only see Charles Manson in a brief moment in what could have been (and usually is) all about the twisted life/mind/events of Manson and his “family.”
Bruce Lee
While QT goes to thoughtful lengths to delicately handle Sharon Tate’s subject matter, Bruce Lee (in one of the best scenes in the movie) is kind of treated with clumsy abandon and disrespect. Here, we see one of martial art’s greatest icons reduced to somewhat of an aggressive, cocky, cartoonish fool in Cliff Booth’s fantasy to help himself feel better about not being selected to work on set with Rick Dalton. Within its full context, I don’t think Mike Moh is actually meant to be playing Bruce Lee. Instead, he is playing Bruce Lee as how Cliff Booth imagines Bruce Lee to be. The idea and the scene are brilliant and add to Cliff’s characterization…
Oops
And as I think back to the scene itself, and the recalls to Cliff killing his wife, I am now realizing that perhaps I am wrong and it wasn’t a projection of what would happen but rather a flashback to what had happened before. If that is the case, then it is I who is misunderstanding the scene. Uhhhhh...
Feet
QT LOVES feet. I mean, he really, really, really, loves them. There are marvelous stories about how much he loves women’s feet. OUTIH goes out of the way on a few occasions to remind us of that in a big way. It makes me wonder a whole bunch about the casting process on a QT film. I would not be surprised if they were shoeless auditions.
Slapstick Violence
Tarantino has gotten to a place where he loves to communicate brutality through comedic means. Continuing a trend that also sort of started with Kill Bill, OUTIH crescendos with goofy, over-the-top slapstick violence. So much so that it leads me to believe that Quentin Tarantino would be the perfect candidate to make an Evil Dead (or 3 Stooges) film. If Sam Raimi, Robert Tapert, and Bruce Campbell reigned in Tarantino on a short enough leash, we would wind up with a great fourth entry.
I am not sure if it is QT’s intention, but he always seems to justify his punishment-through-violent-wrath with the lowest common denominator of common sense morality of good and evil. This is not to say that it is invalid or weak, but merely common sense. There is no Walter White nuance here.
I found this antagonistic device satisfying as I watched the hilarious depictions of Chekov’s dog and flamethrower destroy two evil women and one evil man. Is it exploitation? Misogyny? I am not sure, probably on some Freudian level.
Playing with history
Watching the conclusion of OUTIH feels like therapy in a certain sense, by confronting the demons of a real-life traumatic event in our pop culture’s history.
I cannot speak to this experience (and wish to remain sensitive), but I have heard survivors of rape discuss how they have worked through/confronted/dealt with personal trauma by watching movies like Last House on the Left and I Spit on Your Grave. If QT is a purveyor of pop culture mash-up or as I read recently on Facebook, “A Cultural DJ” of sorts, is this his way of dealing with this tragic, traumatic, public historical event as a whole? It might be a bit tasteless/inappropriate to try and compare the two in this analogy, but perhaps the ideas behind both are similar in nature. I’ll leave it at that.
Bottom line, seeing Sharon live and the Mason Family killed in this alternate history left me with a cathartic feeling as the credits rolled. Yes, she died IRL, but this one time, she didn’t and it was beautiful.
Insider Baseball
Regarding the “Cultural DJ” observation gleaned on Facebook, there are oodles of noodles of tasty cinematic easter eggs/nods like all other Tarantino affairs. But QT takes the insider baseball to a (somewhat agonizing) whole new level with OUTIH. The level of care and detail is astounding. I’ve heard various people online essentially exclaim that this is Tarantino letting his geek flag fly loud and proud. But isn’t every Tarantino affair a similar flag-waving? Is it too distracting? I think cine-maniacs (like myself) are so blindly frothing at the mouth over stuff like the fictional filmography/history of obscure spaghetti westerns that they are overlooking a lot of problems with the movie as a whole.
On an individual level, the detailed TV production/Hollywood business scenes featuring Rick Dalton are wonderful to watch but don’t work as well when Cliff Booth’s storyline is far more interesting. Every time we cut back to a long Rick Dalton scene, I found myself pulled out of the movie, wondering where this was all going.
The Big Screen has gotten too Small.
Tarantino ultimately needs to go from the big screen to the small in order for him to continue telling larger and larger stories. With a few heavy-hitter producers keeping him in his lane and a solid TV network that will give him the keys to the kingdom, he’ll be able to make some of the best long-form episodic, serialized television we have ever seen.
Nana watches Game of Thrones Chapter 3
Nana watches Game of Thrones
Chapter 3
Now that our collective watch has ended, my 90 1/2 year old Nana has decided it is time to see what Game of Thrones is all about. Here she talks about episodes 5 and 6 of season 1.
Nana watches Game of Thrones Chapter 2
Nana watches Game of Thrones
Chapter 2
Now that our collective watch has ended, my 90 1/2 year old Nana has decided it is time to see what Game of Thrones is all about. Here she talks about episodes 5 and 6 of season 1.
Nana watches Game of Thrones Chapter 1
Nana watches Game of Thrones
Chapter 1
Now that our collective watch has ended, my 90 1/2 year old Nana has decided it is time to see what Game of Thrones is all about. Here she talks about the first 4 episodes of season 1.
The Pixies
…“On Graveyard Hill.”
The Pixies: On Graveyard Hill
The Pixies have been trying out their newest songs live as they make their rounds touring - in anticipation of their forthcoming studio album in September, 2019. It is called “Beneath the Eyrie” and available for preorder HERE.
Songs played live include: Death Horizon, Saint Nazaire, Catfish Kate, Bird of Prey, This is my Fate, and The Arms of Mrs. Mark of Cain.
All in all, the new material is fantastic, but there is one song in particular that really feels like it could have been written sometime between 1987 - 1988. It’s called “ On Graveyard Hill.”
There is something inherently magical about music and lyrics of Pixies songs. They invoke surreal, visual imagery. “On Graveyard Hill” is a profound addition to their catalogue.
Thanks to Lukretiah 101 and AKF Live on YouTube, I was able to listen to it over and over - until inspiration struck for a music video using the live footage/audio.
This song felt like it needed juxtaposition with silent cinema like the Swedish documentary film - Haxan: Witchcraft Through the Ages (1922). Additionally, I incorporated some shots from the Fritz Lang’s epic Metropolis (1927).
With other cinematic influences like this or that, I’d like to imagine that the Pixies would approve of my choices and until we get the studio version, this tweaked live mix will do.
Lyrics
From the user “yarbles” - rank “Cult of Ray” at the Frank Black Forum:
”GRAVEYARD HILL (aka The Witching Hour, members of the band's crew have confirmed to a couple people that the song is actually named Graveyard Hill)
LYRICS (as best as I can make out)
And when the moon grows smaller
Donna picks out a flower
Gives her a witchy power
In the witching hour
In the witching hour
Donna taking a potion
Eating all my devotion
Fucking up my emotion
In the witching hour
Donna picks out a flower
In the witching hour
On the graveyard hill she's calling out her curse
I'm taking my last breath with each chapter and each verse
and soon I will be killed
In a poisonous forest
Donna lighting her torches
Her eyes are flying saucers
Her hair is black and gorgeous
I see her down at the crossroad
She could lead me to madness
She taking me into darkness
In the witching hour
In the witching hour
In the witching hour
On the graveyard hill she's calling out her curse
I'm taking my last breath with each chapter and each verse and soon I will be killed
On the graveyard hill she's calling out her curse
I'm taking my last breath with each chapter and each verse
and soon I will be killed
Yes soon I will be killed
Other Cinematic Influences
Misfits Reunion? Sometimes April Fools jokes can come true.
All the way up to 3 years ago, if you had said on April 1st, 2016 that Glenn Danzig, Jerry Only, and Doyle Wolfgang Von Frankenstein would reunite as The Misfits and play Riot Fest you would clearly be joking. If someone didn’t look at the calendar, their heart would skip a beat as they read the news. Today, not so much because we now live in a world where Green Hell has frozen over.
It is truly a surreal notion. The next time you think something is truly impossible, just remember that Glenn Danzig and Jerry Only shared a stage as The Misfits after 10/29/83. Anything is possible.
Art by Taylor Love
This is Us:
Peeling Back the Layers
This is Us: Peeling Back the Layers
WARNING: This review contains SPOILERS.
Please do not read or read with caution IF you have not seen the film yet.
There is one thing that is truly undeniable when it comes to Jordan Peele and his filmmaking: His originality. It is so refreshing in a time plagued with endless reboots, remakes, sequels, and homogenized tent pole concepts meant for the masses. It is that originality that gives Peele an endless well of credibility for me as a moviegoer. I will go see ANY genre film this man makes, all you have to do is tell me it is a Jordan Peele film, and I am there - trailer unseen. His brand is that strong, and it continues to outshine any flaws that I have seen in his work.
Peele also possesses an immense pop culture intelligence that has afforded him the ability to subversively weave his influences as well as meaningful symbolism throughout the narratives of his films. Like Get Out, a lot that has been baked into the Us cake.
Things that stood out as I watched:
Shiny objects. The dead twin Tyler girls in the upstairs hallway lie in the same positions as the Shining twins! Considering that Jordan Peele was doing press dressed as Jack Torrance, this didn’t feel like a coincidence.
Froot Brutes. While the Wilson family sits around at the home of Kitty & Josh Tyler (Tim Heidecker & Elisabeth Moss), Jason can be seen eating from a bowl of Froot Loops sans milk. Is this meant to be a nod to the psychotically tranquil scene where Rose Armitage enjoys her segregated “white” milk from “colored” Foot Loops? Does this add further evidence to the crazy Reddit theory about Jason? What kind of psycho eats dry cereal as they drink milk? Scary stuff.
C.H.U.D is MY bud. I LOVED seeing the C.H.U.D tape among the other VHS on the shelf at the beginning. Not only is it a nod to the subterranean on-goings mentioned just before in the opening preamble, but it feels like a little wink from Peele to reassure Horror fans and Genre nuts that they are getting something good. Additionally, I really appreciated seeing the random tape with a written label - Nostalgia City.
All those damn Vampires. Much like the C.H.U.D tape, another one of those winks was using Santa Cruz and its pier as the setting for the story. It too ties into the whole subterranean theme with the cave that David and his coven of Lost Boys hang out in. It is such a magical yet ominous place that laid on a nice layer of dread, especially in the opening flashback. There is even a very brief mention of the filming of some scary movie that Adelaide’s mother tells her father.
Tuned in. The comedic use of NWA’s song Fuck the Police is the perfect button of satire on the eerie juxtaposition of the Beach Boy’s Good Vibrations playing as the Tylers are savagely murdered by the doppelgangers. As I’ve read elsewhere online, it ties into the idea of the police being worthless much like we also saw in Get Out. Peele’s cinematic use of music rivals Quentin Tarantino, Martin Scorsese, and Danny Boyle.
Chiller. The Thriller shirt is another tasty visual treat that really makes us feel the time period, much like the VHS, and the location of Santa Cruz. Just seeing it made me feel the same feeling I felt watching the Thriller video as a lad and added to that same ominous tone. It felt like it was the template for Peele in the same way that Halloween was the template for the opening of Get Out.
Everything went black. I’ve read online that the golden scissors are clearly a symbolic way of revolt by cutting the “Tether".” In hindsight, this is quite obvious. But at the time while I was watching I could only think of the reversal of the silver spoon - a popular expression for those fortunate to be born into wealth. The golden (or perhaps it is brass) scissors (as well as the red jumpsuits) represent a life of endlessly toiling in a garment or sweatshop.
By Steve Dziedziak, Instagram @blackeneddesign
Nobunny loves you. The Tethered are some sort of failed experiment who (exclusively) eat rabbits - kindred spirits who have always been test subjects in one way or another. Did the cloning start off with experimenting on rabbits? This might explain the rabbit surplus. As I talk about below, it just feels too surreal to be explained in any sort of rational way.
Psycho Killer. There is a really fun theory that Jason is a deadite, there is also a theory that Michael Myers is one of the Tethered. It makes sense. Wow! Such a great idea. It’s as if we have retroactively found mythologies for these slashers! I’m digging it, and with those red jumpsuits they wear, I once again wonder if it is meant to be a tip of the hat in some way.
Revenge. It was really great to see all the Black Flag t-shirts! There were 3 in all that in hindsight are pretty self-explanatory, it doesn’t get more subversive than that! First, we see the My War shirt at the beginning, followed by the classic bars, and lastly, Jealous Again. So perfect. I love this sort of thing - a great lesson for any filmmaker looking to add rich, symbolic detail to their film. Before the band, the Black Flag was a symbol of Anarchy. I am surprised that Peele didn’t use the Damaged album cover as well, it would have fit perfectly with the rest.
Parental Advisory. Peele takes the gilded idealism (like “Just Say No”) of Hands Across America from the 80s and just shreds it in the best way ever by turning this empty benevolent gesture from a bygone era into a malevolent focal point of chaos, anarchy, and carnage. It is deeply linked to whatever trauma was felt by (the real) Adelaide Wilson and really says something about how random things can imprint people during horrific situations and become a symbolistic focal point for them.
I feel confused, but I am not sure if it is in that good kind of way.
There are a few tiny gripes. I have too many questions about story semantics. They just could not be ignored no matter how much I enjoyed the terrifying performances, masterful filmmaking, dark comedic flourishes, and spine-tingling suspense.
Normally I want to revel in the mystery. But with Us, I just needed more answers. I don’t know why. When I got out of the screening, it was a bit frustrating and my initial emotions left me feeling unfulfilled, but I realized that it was probably for my own good. Sometimes when it is all on the table, I begin to nitpick and complain about spoon-fed exposition along with the nagging question of “Why everything needs to be explained?”
If I had to guess, it could have been this shift in tone from realism, to what seemed supernatural or surrealism, and then followed by another reversal to realism. When we first met the doppelgangers, I was sure they had to be supernatural in origin. I was a bit shocked (also a tad let down when they weren’t) and that led to too many questions (not always a bad thing). I hate to say it, but the tonal shift feels (to me) a bit too post Sixth Sense “Shyamalanistic” like The Village: A misunderstood film, that should be better seen as a Twilight Zone episode.
I have questions.
Ok, I wasn’t going to dive in, but once I started I could not stop. I am still grappling with the “They” who created the Tethered. Who are they? The Government? Do “They” end up keeping tabs on everyone they have cloned and then pair them up? i.e. The Tyler’s and the Wilson’s Doppelgangers are married to the same people - or is that taken care of through the mental tethering aspect? What about their children? Are they clones? Or did the Tethered conceive those children? Is it possible that they are sterile and the only way they reproduce is to mirror the combinations made above by cloning the children as well? What about the scissors, red jumpsuits, and rabbits? If “They” who created the Tethered happen to be the Government, then these are weird items to include. They feel very surreal and lynchian - elements that do not reflect the scientific/realism of cloning. I could not reconcile their union.
As the film lingers in my thoughts, I continue to glean what is being said online and my brain mellows a bit on the questions. I also realize that because of the brilliant twist ending, I will need another viewing in order to give the appraisal it deserves. Like any good film with a Sixth Sense-level twist, the entire meaning is forever changed when you finish that first viewing. It will never be the same film again.
A sophomoric success.
Overall, Us is a well-rounded sophomoric (sometimes they can be sophoMORONic) home run with some frayed edges. I am stoked for his critical and box-official success. We need A THOUSAND more directors like him. Peele must have felt the pressure as he crafted his second film. How do you follow up a movie like Get Out? It can’t be easy. Especially when the hype machine is constantly shouting hyperbole that “we” as an audience hope is true. Is Us a masterpiece out of the gate like Get Out? I don’t think so (although time will tell). Peele is forging a respectable body of work. He is on a path to solidifying a cinematic legacy like Hitchcock and Spielberg, however, if he is not careful he could go full Shyamalan. And as we’ve already learned, you never go full Shyamalan. Can’t wait to see what you do next Mr. Peele!!!
Post Note: I DO NOT hate M. Night Shyamalan or his films.
I think he is immensely talented and has the capacity to tell great stories (when he does). Left unchecked, we get things like The Happening and... so on.
Loads of Posers - Chasing the Chaotic Image
Long before there were Hipsters,
there existed Norwegian Black Metal.
Originally published at Ghastly Grinning, February 24, 2019
Lords of Chaos opens with some text that perfectly sums up what you are about to watch. “This film is based on Truth… Lies… and what really happened.” Reading that really allowed me to divorce myself from trying to unravel the truth and just enjoy the story. I had a big problem with this in Bohemian Rhapsody. You can’t deviate from the truth with such an iconic, popular figure. I found it to work much easier with a film about an obscure subculture that no one really knows much about.
Lords introduces us to Øystein Aarseth aka Euronymous - the guitarist and mastermind behind one of the first Norwegian Black Metal bands, Mayhem. Euronymous omnipotently tells us the story of his struggles with his extreme music subculture, his troublesome friendships, and ultimately his own death. I haven’t read the book that Lords is based on (yet), but I was familiar with the story because of the Until the Light Takes Us documentary that it came out years before.
Writer/Director Jonas Åkerlund takes true crime material (that he knew at an intimate level, being the drummer of Bathory) and with painstaking detail, crafts it into an excellent heavy metal black comedy/horror thriller. Particularly, the comedic elements that permeate the whole film from beginning to end are brilliant, making for scathing, effective satire. He masterfully distills a tone that can instantaneously jump from being deadly serious to being deadly ridiculous. To invoke Mick Garris’ elegant terminology (by way of Elric Kane on Shockwaves Podcast), the comedy is SO black, that it ends up being as red as all the blood spilled in this film.
Just like the human body needs electrolytes for hydration, so does Lords need this comedy to balance the incredibly grim and graphic violence running through its veins. This is not cartoonish slasher decadence. It is the dark, matter-of-fact reality that occurs when you stab someone with a knife or blow your own head off. The film doesn’t sugarcoat the situation, the camera doesn’t cut away, and it is BRUTAL. BRU-TAL. It is the authenticity of this violence along with a lack of score that pays a sort of respect to these very serious things that really happened to actual people. Despite its content, nothing feels overly sensationalized or exploited. But that is not the case with most True Crime, more on that later.
The story itself is framed by this juxtaposition of wholesome Norway and the true Norwegian Black Metal scene within. It is the very vital foundation needed for this sort of satirical commentary. Several times throughout the screening, I am reminded of the Goth kids from South Park who mirror the perfect symbolic reflection of the goofy tongue-in-cheek celebration of all things dark and evil.
Subcultures tend to be the revolutionary counter-culture reactions to some sort of socio-political turmoil. But with the Norwegian Black Metal scene, you have this really nice place where nothing bad ever happens. There is no crime, no oppression, and everyone has healthcare, but 75% of the population is Christian. And so the disenfranchised youth ends up taking on this extreme reverse ideology as a form of rebellion and expression of individuality. They despise the message of love that Christianity encompasses as a whole. At one point, Euronymous proselytizes his desire to spread things like hatred, sorrow, and evil.
Within this music scene, there is an obsession with purity and authenticity. Universally, in the prison system, one of the worst things you can be is a snitch or a rapist. For any musical subculture, it is being a poser. It is a word that gets thrown around constantly in Lords. For these guys, the music and lifestyle are a “religious” means towards a path of the authentic nirvana that they so deeply crave. As actor Rory Culkin said, ‘They are the hipsters of the metal world.”
Encompassing this cultivated dark image requires full commitment. But it is not so easy when Mom and Dad subsidize your lifestyle by investing in your epic Black Metal record shop or giving you potted plants to take back to your pad. There is a brief moment when Bård Guldvik "Faust" Eithun (who lives at home) is halfway out the door to murder a gay man before Mom innocently calls out to him about his whereabouts. You have to try really hard to be evil, no matter how much Mom loves you.
The seemingly never-ending elitist quest to be the most extreme also comes at the price of everyone trying to outdo one another or impress each other. Swirling in the epicenter is the adversarial friendship between Euronymous and Kristian aka Varg Vikernes. They both want the same thing: To be taken seriously. But they go about it in polarizing ways.
Varg initially craves acceptance from this peer group. His initial awkward attempt to enter their black circle is rebuked by the Scorpions patch on his jacket when Euronymous dismisses him with a contemptible glance. Eventually, he is given an Indiana Jones-like test in Euronymous’ shop where he is told that the real Metal is hidden and that if he wants it, he must find it. His childlike naïveté leads him to think these guys are the real deal, and so he too must prove himself by committing arson.
Rory Culkin is truly a chameleon, losing himself in the role of Aarseth/Euronymous. Jonas deliciously casts Emory Cohen, a Jewish actor to play the very anti-Semitic Varg. Much like the people that portray them, Euronymous and Varg are both actors desperately trying to fit into their Black Metal personas. While Euronymous can turn it on and off (especially when things get illegal), Varg cannot. Underneath it all, Euronymous is a lazy, opportunistic braggart who is more than happy to take credit for these crimes in order to further bolster his carefully crafted image. Despite his superficial foul mood, he is patient and polite when it comes to the proper spelling of his forthcoming album De Mysteriis Dom Sathanas to Kerrang magazine.
Varg seems bedeviled by a soft upbringing that is heavily implied, he is mocked for his “Kristian” name. One can’t help but think that this was a personal barb against the real-life Varg who is an observer of Odinism/Paganism that despises anything Judeo-Christian. Varg’s arsonist motivations are fueled by his resentment towards the institutions of Christianity and how they erased the Pagan/Norse cultures that existed long before. His involvement in this movement is his twisted way of trying to connect with his Viking heritage. In hindsight, their entire scene feels like a backward attempt to connect with this past as these modern-day Vikings. Their strength, masculinity, and machismo are directly connected to their tolerance of generally unlistenable music.
In the documentary Until the Light Takes Us, the real Varg goes into great detail to justify his “moralistic” retaliation (a firefighter perished as he tried to put out one of the church fires). His calm demeanor, well-read intellect, and soothing voice make him very compelling at times. But then you remember he is a piece of shit Neo-Nazi sitting in prison for stabbing his friend to death…
The film portrays Varg in a vastly different sort of way. He is a stocky, nerdy, socially awkward man-child. It is Varg’s stupidity and adolescent naïveté that makes him dangerous, fuel his crimes, and get him caught.
Euronymous’ tragedy is that he is always running from his truth: That he is a poser like all the rest. When the crimes of the Black Circle reach a point of no return, he relents, ready to sort of walk away from it all. After finding intimacy with the photographer he is always trying to impress, he begins to take the steps he needs to embrace who he truly is and does the most UNMETAL thing one could do... He lets his girlfriend cut off his hair. I would love to make an analogy to Samson and Delilah here, but I don’t think it fits because Aarseth never had the strength that he perceives in his Euronymous persona. It was always just a fragile, decorative shell that was capable of cracking at any moment. And now, here he is like a soft gooey lobster waiting for a new shell to harden when Varg comes knocking. Although no one will ever know exactly how it went down, Jonas shows us a very sad, ironic, tragic, brutal ending for our narrator as he begs for his life and for Varg’s friendship.
For me personally, I have never enjoyed the True Crime genre and generally find it tasteless - I say this as a horror film fanatic and gore hound. I think on an ethical, respectful level, 9/10 times it is better left to documentaries. Why do we need to see a reenactment of the horrible things that happened to real people? What about their very real families and their feelings? What purpose does it ultimately serve? Why is Lords of Chaos an exception? Because it creates a very important social awareness in the examination of depression, suicide, and the real violence involved when murdering another human being.
We hear all the time about how people commit suicide, sometimes seemingly out of nowhere, especially with celebrities. Depression is a terrible, deadly affliction that the average person simply doesn’t understand. But the tragic portrayal of Per Yngve Ohlin’s (AKA Dead) suicide takes us behind the curtain. It sums up for us that sometimes there is no rhyme or reason why people do this to themselves. Their brains are not wired correctly and they put themselves in very permanent solutions for (what might be) a temporary state of mind.
Dead’s worship of death while alive seemed to be the only way he was able to really feel anything at all. For when he is not worshiping at the altar of death he is practically catatonic in a purgatory of boredom and dullness. This existence is so painful for him that he rather not be alive.
Even being aware of the infamous story beforehand, nothing could prepare me for the shock I felt as I watched Dead violently end his life. There was something so real and genuine to the horror of it, no documentary could convey it in the same way. When Aarseth finds his friend, he is confronted with the actual reality of the brutality he pretends to encompass as Euronymous and has no idea what to do. How should Euronymous act? Aarseth decides that his alter ego would take pictures of the corpse, eat Dead’s brains (he didn’t), and make pendants passed off as actual fragments of Dead’s skull (he admits later that they were chicken bones). In his pathetic quest for fame, he goes for the lowest-hanging fruit.
In some ways, Lords makes for a great spiritual companion to the punk rock indie classic SLC punk. Both stories circle around two friends in religious/wholesome places, where the main character (who is also the voice-over narrator) finds out that he was a poser all along and falls in love. While the real-life Black Metal nerds and Varg groupies will lambast and skewer this film, I think Lords of Chaos is destined for immortal cult film status. It is a perfect document for its obscure subculture.
Rock Me Joe: An Awkward Pixies Moment
The Pixies truly are one of the GREATEST examples of how to tastefully reunite as a band while trying not to sell out. They play the hits. They make new music. They tour frequently.
In my book, they “cashed in” with the utmost integrity. I never get tired of seeing them live. There is no better feeling at a live show than a setlist where you are gonna know almost every song on a deep, intimate level.
To coincide with the 30th anniversary of their legendary EP and LP Come on Pilgrim and Surfer Rosa, The Pixies released, Come on Pilgrim… It’s Surfer Rosa.
It’s a “Three LP edition with new artwork reimagined by original designer Vaughan Oliver and the bonus disc, Live From The Fallout Shelter - one of the earliest recordings of the band, a radio concert that first aired in late 1986 on WJUL-FM in Lowell, MA.”
The next step in the usual tired, cliche reunited band cycle is to tour one of their iconic albums on its anniversary and play the whole thing in its entirety. The Pixies are no strangers to this ritual, but unlike other bands, they do it with class and consideration.
When they play Come on Pilgrim and Surfer Rosa in their entirety, they replicate the dialogue on Surfer and make sure to play a stellar mini set of B-Sides that no fan in one thousand years would ever think they would get the chance to hear live like Build High, Dance the Manta Ray, Rock a My Soul, and the Purple Tape version of Down to the Well.
That is what I call considerate!
My moment as an awkward Pixies cringe lord.
11/20/18
Rich and I walk up the sidewalk to Brooklyn Steel when I see him. Off to the side, is a bald gentleman in a cabbie hat smoking a cigarette in the cold. He faces the brick wall of the venue. He clearly doesn’t want to be noticed.
I grab Rich’s arm and SQUEEZE as to prevent any verbal expression that would draw attention to who I know it is… One of my all-time guitar heroes . <GASP>
Joey Alberto Santiago. A man whose music I have worshiped for the last 14 years, since that first time I played Doolittle in the tape deck of my ‘94 Toyota Camry, stands before me. He is a magician who can make his guitar speak in a shrieking, tortured, wailing, emotional musical language that compliments the obtuse, subversive, abstract lyrical poetry, and the raw, focused, primal screaming of Black Francis.
Rich understands the squeeze and takes a hard turn with me. In the 7 times I’ve seen the band since 2005, I have never been fortunate enough to see a Pixie outside of the green room/tour bus/backstage in the wild.
Executive decisions have to be made in a matter of precious seconds. It is my ONE CHANCE to talk to a hero of mine. I would regret it forever if I didn’t try. I go for it.
He turns and sees this DERP(me) standing before him. I assess the situation.
The weather report is not good.
(My appraisal of) his face says, “Dude- I’m so just trying to smoke a quick cigarette right now without anyone noticing me so that I can go back inside where it is warm. I gotta play in 30 minutes. Please don’t bother me.”
I really don’t blame him at all. Like any good smoker who can’t smoke inside, it is never too cold to go out and have a cigarette.
A valuable lesson that I’ve learned when meeting people of note: It is important to realize that your special one moment in time with them is just one of a million of their seconds. Who knows how they are feeling in that day, hour, minute, etc? Don’t take it personally.
At this point, I kinda wish I could abort the mission, but it is too late to retreat.
My legs carry me towards him as my brain sends signals to my mouthpiece to speak. My mouth opens and nothing comes out. I have NOTHING to say. I ask my closest companion, my Brain to send me stuff to say. As a die-hard fan, there are a million things to say, and Brain doesn’t send me any of them. Maybe that is a good thing?
He waits for me to talk. Brain scrambles to put a sentence together. He sends me the wrong sentence, “Thank you so much for a great show.” Stupid Brain!
My tongue, the unsung hero, catches it before it can leave my mouth. Cunning Tongue!
Instead, I say, “Looking forward to a great show tonight.” Or some variation of that… Joey nods. I think he says, “Thanks.” I can’t really tell because I know I have already fucked this up.
I walk away. Joey smokes on, not being noticed.
I die, as I try to deconstruct this exchange that probably lasted all of 30 seconds(?)
During the show, in between moments of musical ecstasy, I think about what I could of (or should of) said. As I write this, I think I should have walked up right behind him while he was making out with the brick wall and whispered, “Rock me, Joe,” and just continued on nonchalantly. I don’t really know. It would have made for a much better story than this one. What would you have said?
I still feel like a derp thinking about this. I will remember it forever.
Sorry, I bothered you, Joey, thank you so much for a great show.
Photo By Nile Cappello
Requiem of a Fiend: The Misfits Reunion at Riot Fest in Chicago
(Originally published by That’s Not Current on 9/20/16)
September 18th, 2016. Douglas Park, Chicago.
It is the third and final day.
Everything up until this point is nothing more than an appetizer, a bonus for the reason I am even at Riot Fest in the first place. It is hot, and everyone is wearing black. Not me though, I’d rather be comfortable.
I have never seen so many Misfits shirts and tattoos in my life.
Sitting in the grass by the guest press entrance, I suffer through my first exposure to the Deftones. Sorry to say it is not my cup of tea, but their large draw at the Riot stage would probably disagree. How many of them are here to see The Misfits? Probably all.
The sun sets as I hydrate and eat. Energy is needed, and I try to rest my feet because I know what is coming. My voice is raw and hoarse already, I may be getting sick, so I speak sparingly. It worries me that I may not be able to sing along.
A vow is made: No matter how great the temptation is, I will not take any pictures or videos with my phone. The show must only be seen through my eyeballs. I will let everyone else take pictures and videos for me.
A text comes through from my man on the inside. I migrate towards the center LCD jumbotron screen between the two stages in hopes of getting backstage but I cannot make contact… with my contact. The Deftones crowd is too dense, there is no longer any wiggle room to negotiate. Reluctantly, I retreat.
I meet up with Charlie, Bob, and Sandra, they are posted up by the guest press entrance. We hold a make-shift symposium and study the geography of our surroundings and debate where the best place will be to start the show together and where the best place will be to finish it.
Charlie, Bob, and I first met at the Congress Theater (RIP) at the end of a Danzig show in 2008. At the Danzig Legacy in 2011, we all managed to get backstage and took turns taking pictures with Glenn Danzig, Doyle, Steve Zing, and London May. It was amazing.
And now, here we are in 2016 finally seeing the thing we dreamt of most of our lives. Something we endlessly debated, and probably thought could never materialize. I am glad I am with them. We are together in the moment, this is how it should be. We now all know, that NOTHING in life is impossible if Glenn and Jerry can reunite.
It is mutually agreed that we push forward diagonally stage left (Doyle’s side). Rob Zombie plays next door. All the other bands on other stages finish. Their crowds funnel behind, sending us further forward. To call it a sea of people would be an insult. It was an ocean. We chat with our surrounding “community”. A guy named Karl/Carl waves a flag with Karl/Carl on it. Some drunk asshole thinks he’s Moses and starts violently surging through the ocean of people. He is rough. Everyone near him points and calls him an Asshole. Another drunk asshole trails behind, spilling his beer. To our left, a void opens up. Two behemoths clash. It is probably a territory dispute. It dissipates, and we are all once again left waiting.
I ask Bob the time until the show. It’s negative 5-minutes. There is a hard curfew, it can now only be a 67-minute set!!
The intro begins. It is the kind of music/ambiance you hear on a haunted Halloween CD. A deep, monstrous voice speaks, “I am going to eat you.” The air becomes kinetic over the Ocean before the erupting thrall comes.
Sounds.
Doyle’s guitar. Jerry’s Bass.
The curtain drops. Lombardo’s drums.
Glenn is a ferocious wolverine.
Suddenly, death comes rippin’.
There is a surge.
Everyone fades away, as we are churned by the Ocean’s current. I try to weather this force of nature. The crowd tightens. Shoulder to shoulder. The flank that was just watching Rob Zombie must be pushing from the left. It loosens, and I am sucked forward into the first of many circle pits. I jump around and have a good time, but don’t stay. A rolling stone gathers no moss. Except for negotiating the occasional tall fellow, the closer I get, the better my view. I am a moth drawn to the light.
There are tech issues but the band sounds great. Jerry is right. They are at the pinnacle. Old timers may have seen them back in the day, but never like this. We are at the right place, at the right time to see Glenn, Jerry, and Doyle. Monsters are among us. They play their songs, and it inspires unity among us in the Ocean, and we sing. We don’t know each other. Under any other circumstances, we might not like each other… But tonight, we turn to each other and sing the lyrics like we have a thousand times before – On our iPods, YouTube, CDs, tapes, and vinyl. We put our arms around each other. We are strangers embracing, in disbelief that we are seeing what we are seeing.
Some of the audience don’t know the words. But it’s ok, they know Woah, Go, and No – and that is all they need to join our fellowship.
And then there are ones who frown. They don’t sing. They don’t Woah. They have no clue. They just know this is a historic event, and they are curious to see what all the fuss is about. They’re on their phones. Or watching the show through them, probably thinking about all the YouTube hits they are going to get from their cellphone video, that they will probably forget to upload anyway.
They are here in place of the fiends who could make it out. The fiends who deserve to be here to see history taking place.
Now, I am closer.
We are 138 is about to begin. A girl takes an iPad!?! out of her bag. She starts recording. It blocks her face from the stage RIGHT in front of her. She is happy to watch through the screen. I am not, it blocks my view. I talk to the back of her head,
“Hey, I’d lower that if I were you, it’s 138, and I am about to lose my mind.”
She doesn’t even turn around, instead turns slightly to the side and scoffs.
A loud crescendo of chords.
Silence, and then like a baseball chant… 84,000 people all sing that WE ARE 138. The song RIPS wide open.
I jump in front of iPad idiot and do exactly what I said I would: Lose my mind! From behind I feel punches and slaps on my back. I jump up high like Air Jordan (at least in my mind) and soldier on forward into another circle pit.
A guy who has no business crowd surfing, crowd surfs despite gravity’s insistence otherwise. He is concerned for his well-being. I am concerned for mine, and I try to have nothing to do with it but somehow find myself holding him up with both hands (I do have help) but still, it makes me feel like Superman. He is passed on. Something drops - delicate aviator sunglasses, I try to return them to the surfer by placing them on his face. As he floats away he lets me know they are not his.
Paradoxically, I somehow never seem to completely run out of energy. My onboard reserves may have depleted, but I am now tapped into the music.
Nothing can stop me.
I am closer still. For a brief moment, my vow is almost broken, I almost take a picture.
Layers of various condensed liquids cling to my person. More liquid falls on my head, gross. I smell it. Thank God(s) it is not beer, just water. It is actually refreshing like the cool breeze that occasionally graces us with its presence.
Miraculously, I have found the ability to sing without any voice. Anything less than singing would have been unacceptable. Dehydration headaches (from trying to sing as loud as possible) have begun. Certain sound levels make it momentarily unbearable. I press on, hoping to squeeze every last drop of excitement from the show.
We are close to the end.
We ALL sing Astrozombies. I close my eyes in the middle of the chorus, having ascended to musical Nirvana as I Whoa with one of my all-time favorite bands. Because, when the Misfits play, Glenn doesn’t sing at you. He sings with you. And we sing with him.
Then we sing Skulls. It’s awesome.
The end of the show has come.
Last Caress is everything you could hope for. Danzig and Doyle play a game of chicken to see who is going to false start(?) the song. The band’s whole mood is jubilant and playful, except for the tech stuff.
The set ends and the band walks off for a (hybrid) moment. When they return, Jerry takes a moment to thank the fans with some poignant words. Glenn shares a tidbit about the origins of the Bullet EP cover – how he sent Jerry to “borrow” a picture of JFK from the library. Glenn reminiscences about how they were ahead of their time. They smile and fist bump. The camaraderie is amazing to watch as the crowd picks up on it with some applause.
If you don’t know the name of the next song they played… Then why the fuck are you reading this?
I am now 25(ish) feet from the stage, and it is here that I will remain.
They play Night of the Living Dead. Glenn tells the Ocean that they’ve run out of time.
He asks us all, “What do we think of that?”
And then, “You know that we don’t give two fucks. We’ll play more songs.”
And we all cheer. They launch into She.
Unlike Denver, we bear the fortune of hearing Attitude and the Ocean churns one last time. Jerry throws his bass guitar high in the air and it breaks. Lombardo throws drumsticks. Jerry first tosses the bass headstock with Cyclops skull into the crowd. He then thinks it over only for a moment before tossing the WHOLE bass in afterward.
The show is over. The Ocean calms and recedes, leaving the savage remains of carnage from the brutality witnessed. I traverse the front railing to meet my inside man. People shine lights down to reveal PILES of shoes, clothing, and other various personal effects. The piles of shoes and socks are astounding. People search for their keys, wallets, and cell phones.
I joke about finding a piece of Jerry’s “Devastated” bass guitar. A friend would later tell me that he witnessed six people holding onto the bass headstock with the Cyclops skull. No words were uttered. Just six angry dogs with an equal claim on a bone.
I make it to the barricade and manage to get backstage via my inside man. I touch Glenn’s giant fucking pumpkins. They are light and seem to be made of fiberglass. He is right, they are pretty fucking cool.
I shake Doyle’s hand, thanking him, my friend Sal introduces me to Jerry. I thank him as well for an incredible show. Jerry is warm, friendly, and gregarious. I am amazed that he gives me some of his time despite having just finished the show. He takes a picture and signs my Dave Lombardo setlist. I will be framing it.
The night is complete. I am glad I saw the show from the trenches. Anything else would have been less, as the trenches were the only way to take in.
And so, I leave Douglas Park with an experience that few in the past have had, but for some reason – optimistically, I think more will have in the future.
Charlie and I find each other and I tell him about my backstage adventure. We get Mexican Tortas from a food truck by the California Pink Line stop.
It is a night I will never forget.
And now, I want everyone’s skull…