Dienstag, 5. November 2013

VENUS IM PELZ ///


Ludwig II. war ein Schöngeist, Träumer und Masochist. Der Märchen- könig von Bayern fühlte sich leidenschaftlich hingezogen zu Leopold von Sacher-Masoch und erachtete den österreichischen Schriftsteller gar als seelenverwandt, zu dessen Werken namentlich die Novelle »Venus im Pelz« zählt. 1870 erschienen, konzentriert sich die Handlung auf das Liebesverhältnis zwischen Severin von Kusiemski und Wanda von Dunajew. In seiner Abhandlung »Psychopathia sexualis« von 1886 analysiert Psychiater & Gerichtsmediziner Richard Krafft-Ebing diese spezielle Beziehung und begründet in Anlehnung an den Autor, wie auch im Falle des Marquis de Sade, die Begrifflichkeit „Masoch- ismus“, von der sich Sacher-Masoch Zeit seines Lebens distanzierte: Die Auffassung seines Textes als sexuelle Abweichung und darin die Interpretation einer Perversion waren ihm persönlich zuwider. Beabsichtigt hatte der Verfasser die literarische Darstellung wie Verarbeitung einer komplexen und tabuisierten Form der Lust, zu deren Gleichgesinnten beispielsweise König Ludwid II. zählte; öffenlich war dies jedoch nie bekannt.

In ihren Memoiren beschreibt Wanda von Sacher-Masoch, wie ihr Ehe- mann „in den ersten Novembertagen“ den ersten von mehreren leiden- schaftlichen Briefen erhält, allesamt unterzeichnet mit dem Namen Anatol. Es entwickelt sich eine schwärmerische Briefkorrespondenz zwischen den Sacher-Masochs und dem unbekannten Absender, der einem persönlichen Treffen nur auf mehrfaches Drängen des Ehepaars hin zustimmt und ferner die Bedingung stellt, dass Zusammenkünfte nur an geheimen Orten sowie im Dunkel stattfinden dürften: „Es war augenscheinlich, dass der Briefschreiber von einer Indiskretion viel zu fürchten hatte – und sie fürchtete.“ Weiters dürften sich die Eheleute nur voneinander getrennt mit Anatol treffen; nach Leopold schildert Wanda ihre anatol'sche Begegnung folgendermaßen: „Die Person, die an mich herangekommen war und jetzt neben mir saß, war entschieden nicht der Anatol, den Leopold gesprochen hatte; denn dieser hier war klein und, wie ich trotz der Dunkelheit wahrnehmen konnte, verwachsen, auch seine Stimme hatte den fast kindlichen Klang, wie ihn Bucklige haben, nicht tief und voll, wie die, die meinen Mann an Anatol so entzückt hatte. Wer war nun das wieder?“

Der (Brief-)Kontakt währt nicht mehr lange. Einen letzten, an- klagenden Abschiedsbrief von Anatol, worin er ihnen vorwirft, sie hätten nicht verstanden, geistig zu lieben und dadurch den Zauber zerstört, lässt das Ehepaar unbeantwortet; Jahre später entlarvt ein Zufall die Person, die sich hinter Anatol verbirgt. Im Sommer 1881 lernen die Sacher-Masochs in der Nähe von Passau einen gewissen Herrn Dr. Gandauer kennen: „Er war Arzt, praktizierte jedoch nicht mehr und war am Hoftheater in München als Regisseur angestellt. Er war ein großer Kunstkenner und Forscher (…). In einem Gespräch über Kunst erzählte er uns, was davon in den bayrischen Königsschlössern vorhanden ist, kam dabei auf die Kunstrichtung des Königs Ludwig II., von da auf die Seltsamkeiten desselben, die er vom Standpunkt des Arztes beurteile, sprach von dem Verhältnis des Königs zu Richard Wagner, von ihrem seltsamen Briefwechsel, der Scheu des Königs vor dem Verkehr mit Menschen, seiner Abkehr von den Frauen, dem Suchen der Einsamkeit, dem leidenschaftlichen, nie befriedigen- den Sehnen nach einer idealeren Ausgestaltung des Lebens. Wir lauschten gespannt auf alles, was Dr. Gandauer erzählte – es klang uns so bekannt – wir schauten uns an, und ein Name schwebte auf unseren Lippen: Anatol. Als der Doktor eine Pause machte, frug ich auf gut Glück: „Und wer ist der kleine verwachsene Mann, der, wie man erzählt, der Freund des Königs ist?“ „Ach, Sie meinen wohl den Prinzen Alexander von Oranien, den ältesten Sohn des Königs von Holland? Ein armer Schlucker, der.“

(Aus: »Meine Lebensbeichte«, Wanda von Sacher-Masoch)


„Ah, you know, it's some kind of trash novel“, kommentierte der kürzlich verstorbene Velvet Undergroundler Lou Reed einst den Hintergrund zum Lied »Venus in Furs«. 1969, zwei Jahre nach dem Bananenalbum, nahm sich auch der spanische Filmregisseur Jess Franco der Novelle an und verfilmte den Stoff unter dem Titel »Venus in Furs/ Paroxismus«. In den Rollen beispielsweise mit Klaus Kinski und Manfred Mann, der den Soundtrack zum Film schrieb, gilt die Ver- filmung heute als Francos Meisterwerk. In der Literaturadaption recht frei, wirkt das Werk weit über seine Vorlage hinaus: Im Film trägt die Protagonistin den Namen Wanda Reed.

Montag, 21. Oktober 2013

NO BONUS VI/VI

By JAKOB SNOREWELL

I II III IV V
And then, just from thinking about it, weak me, I couldn't help to pass a giggle, so in fact I didn't say anything, I just giggled, and the door opens and as he walks by me and into a huge room full of half-built sofas Bono touched me with this look that I can only describe as benevolent, as if he actually was forgiving me for being nervous in his presence, as if he was saying, "It's ok my child, it's ok to be nervous, after all, I am The Bono", and he goes out first, followed by the girl, who looks at me with a funny smile while twisting the corners of her mouth downwards and moving her plucked eyebrows up and down like Groucho Marx, and then the fat guy, who blinks at me and presents me an accomplice smirk, like saying, "Yup, all in a New York minute! (now you can go and die!)" and the door closes and opens again one floor up and I'm out into the Colombian upholstery shop and, oh boy, am I excited, and I say, "Hola señoras" (because it's an all-woman shop full of Colombian and Mexican ladies in their mid-fifties) "You wont believe whom I've just met in the elevator!", and they all look very interested, because, who knows, maybe it was Vicente Fernández!, but nope, what I say it's: "Bono!", and they all look really puzzled. "Bono Vox!", I say, and they start looking at each other, twelve or fifteen of them ladies, looking disconcerted, as if my riddle was something they were supposed to know about but just don't (which is Ex-Act-Ly what's happening): "Bono Vox from You-Too!"... "El Bono de Ooo-Dos!!!". Nothing, there's no reaction but some sideways head shaking. They just don't have a single clue about who the Bono is Vox, have never heard of the band, and that's all.
Another time I saw Willem Dafoe buying a pint of celery juice on Houston; another time I saw Iggy Pop paying for a package of noodle and a box of tea at a Chinese super- market on Canal, and pretty much that and an apartment lease with a ten year-old price tag on it is all I've got for spending all these many millennium years of nonsense in that shithole town that never dreams.

Montag, 7. Oktober 2013

NO BONUS V/VI

By JAKOB SNOREWELL

I II III IV
And then it happened, when I suddenly remembered, from all the Bono scheißstock we involuntarily keep in our heads and from the myriad of bad jokes my friends and I had made about it, none but the South Park episode where a perfect rendering of Bono –looking like a carbon copy of how he does at that very moment– temporarily impedes Randy Marsh (another unimportant character, like Bono) to remain holder of the world record for the largest bowel movement (which means, yes, he has dropped the biggest crap-pile in the history of the fever to keep records on world records) and demand the title back to him after interrupting the official awarding ceremony –held by the American govern- ment on the lawns of the white house– and coprophilias/ phobias apart maybe the funniest part comes when Bono's own pirate TV signal appears onto the two huge screens showing the ceremony over the heads of a cheering crowd and he says, "Hello, I'm Bono" and the mere sound of his name seems to be attached, and followed, by a mini video edit –really just a couple of seconds long– of apparently all of those Bono images we've had to see over and over for the burnzillionth time and over, as the fly, the cowboy, the space guy, the upside-down dude, along the Pope, Greenpeace, Gorbachev, Bishop Tutu, Winnie Mandela, Mother Theresa, George Bush, Lula Da Silva, The Queen, Sting –you name it!– and always behind the glasses (for he says "he's allergic to flashes”, he-he, "he's got very sensitive eyes") in pink, yellow, baby-blue et cetera, and, because I remember in the end of the show it turns out Bono had set the record in 1960, his year of birth, and through an outlandish South Parkish twist we learn Bono is actually a turd (I like much better the word kakkewurstli) which has being raised as a boy, being that the ultimate reason why through all his life, in spite of his reach of fame and the performing of all his humanitarian campaigns, he's been able to remain looking "like such a piece of shit" (!) and I thought of telling him –as the elevator started breaking for his exit on the sixth– "You were great in South Park!"

Montag, 16. September 2013

NO BONUS IV/VI

By JAKOB SNOREWELL

I II III
So I'm in the elevator with this short guy who, as expected, is wearing oversized transparent pink shades, a long trench coat, just long enough to let visible some hideous suede color combination rockabilly creepers, and who now suddenly happens to be just a human, while fifteen years of derision of his persona parade through my head and with a shake the elevator starts going up and I know I only have a very limited time to say something to him, something unforgettable (like the fire), something that will show my deep contempt for anything/everything-U2 while keeping him politely unaware (after all it's new-yoke, and probably there is a way to had me sued if emotional damage onto The Bono gets proven) and I'm thinking, yet not fast enough, as their talking distracts me from my task, and Bono says, "How late am I?"... "Don’t worry, you're perfect, you're fine", says the blond woman... "But how late am I?", asks Bono again... "They were expecting you to come in at 2, so don't worry", says the fat guy... "Yeah, ok, but really, how late am I? Two hours?", demands a rapidly-cum-bossy Bono, and then the fat guy gets all serious and says "It's noon now, and your appointment was for 11, so you're one hour late, but it's totally ok"... "Oh so it's not so bad! I thought I was...", says Bono, while the other two melt into a simultaneous rapid-fire sea of "Oh no/yes/don't worry/ fine/all good/no problem/he-he/ the only important thing is that you're already here, now", and my time is running out as we pass through the fourth floor... fifth floor... and they have pressed the 6th floor button, I saw that

Mittwoch, 11. September 2013

The United State of Artistry


In "Touching from a Distance", der Biographie von Deborah Curtis, rekonstruiert die Witwe des Joy Division-Frontmanns folgendermaßen jene Selbstmordnacht zum 18. Mai 1980: Ian Curtis erhängt sich zur A-Seite von "Idiot" (Iggy Pop), zuvor noch führt er sich den Werner Herzog Film "Stroszek" aus dem Jahre 1977 zu Gemüte; David Lynch, der sich zwecks Dreharbeiten zu "The Elephant Man" zeitgleich in England aufhält, sieht die Übertragung im Fernsehen ebenfalls: "I had missed the beginning of it so I thought it was some real documentary. I was just captivated in the first two seconds, I had never seen anything like it."

Im Zentrum des Filmes steht Straßenmusiker und Multiinstrumentalist Bruno Stroszek, welcher nach zweieinhalb frisch hinter schwedischen Gardinen abgesessenen Jahren beschließt, nach seiner Entlassung ein neues Leben zu beginnen. Es schließt sich ihm die Prostituierte Eva an, gemeinsam wollen sie der Halbwelt Berlins entfliehen und wagen den Schritt in Richtung unbekannter Zukunft. In Amerika versuchen die beiden Fuß zu fassen, doch augenscheinliches Glück währt nicht lange und die idyllische Fassade beginnt bald zu bröckeln: Ihre Vergangenheit ist als blinde Passagierin mitgereist, die Annäherung zwischen Stroszek und Eva schlägt in Entfremdung um, die Freiheit entpuppt sich als ein Gefängnis, dessen sich Eva befreit, indem sie durchbrennt. Stroszek erscheint nur noch der Freitod als Ausweg: Durch die Schrotflinte küsst ihn die Ewigkeit.

Als unehelicher Sohn einer Prostituierten 1932 in Berlin geboren, verbringt Bruno Schleinstein seine Kindheit und Jugend in der Obhut von Heimen, Besserungsanstalten und Heilstätten, wo an vermeintlich geistesschwachen Kindern Experimente mit Impfstoffen durchgeführt werden.* Im Alter von 23 wird er als erfolgreich geheilt entlassen, zeitlebens als geistig Zurückgebliebener von der Gesellschaft verstoßen. 1970 portraitiert ihn „Bruno, der Schwarze – Es blies ein Jäger wohl in sein Horn“, eine Dokumentation über Berliner Außenseiter. Durch Zufall sieht Werner Herzog das Format und findet in Bruno S. den Hauptdarsteller, den er für sein nächstes Projekt sucht: „Jeder für sich und Gott gegen alle“, ein Historien- film um den „rätselhaften Findling“ Kaspar Hauser. Herzog engagiert Bruno S. trotz gänzlich fehlender Schauspielausbildung, worin wiederum seine Stärke liegt: Schleinstein besticht durch jene Erfahrung, welche durch das auferlegte Studium des Lebens vermittelt wird und immerzu präsent ist in Blick, Bewegung, Aussprache, Aussage; im Ausdruck gleichermaßen fern wie nah.

Herzog verpflichtet Bruno S. daraufhin auch für seinen nächsten Film, die Literaturverfilmung von Georg Büchners "Woyzeck", einem Meisterwerk der deutschen Literatur. Im letzten Moment jedoch entscheidet sich Herzog für eine Umbesetzung der Hauptrolle: Klaus Kinski erscheint ihm in der Rolle des Protagonisten geeigneter als Schleinstein, sodass er die "Woyzeck"–Verfilmung direkt an die Dreharbeiten zu "Nosferatu" anschließt. Stattdessen bietet Herzog Bruno S. die Hauptrolle in "Stroszek Eine Ballade" an, dessen Drehbuch er ihm auf den Leib maßschneidert: Diverse Episoden wie Drehorte besitzen biographischen Hintergrund ("In den Heimen fing es an, in den Gefängnissen hört es auf!"); der Name "Stroszek" selbst stellt eine Reminiszenz an Herzogs "Lebenszeichen" von 1967 dar. Zum damaligen Zeitpunkt vielmehr aus Projektnot entstanden, gilt der Film heute als ein Klassiker und Bruno Schleinstein, „der unbekannte Soldat des deutschen Films“ (Herzog), als Kultfigur.

Bruno S. is a man to me
You're just some dude with a stilted attitude
That you learned from TV
Elliott Smith, 'Color Bars'

Mittwoch, 4. September 2013

NO BONUS III/VI

By JAKOB SNOREWELL

I II
I couldn't really say why (still I really couldn't give a monkey's crap about finding an explanation for my U2 allergy) and ever since that first introduction to pop music I've searched and tried many sounds and acquired a penchant for many different –often rather difficult– musical styles, and still, I've never felt the need to review my contempt for U2, and further on, this big parenthesis must extend to the fact that during the early nineties, while running the god-blessed hallways of some art school, I met a Swedish guy who then became a close friend and who genuinely thought U2 was the greatest band on earth –and he was using this ridiculously exaggerated moniker way before the actual band started using it as their slogan, wherever they may have got it from, those douchies– and in the end it wasn't because they were anything else than, in the words of that loyal Swedish fan, "Very simple", as he considered the fact that their music was "So sincerely boring and simple that anyone can play it", some sort of... how to say it? –is it valid?– democratic approach?... and that was what made their music "So honest" and finally "So likeable", and anyway, although I may now understand his point (quite incontestable after all: U2 is a rather simple musical outfit –although not free of ostentation) then we had The Edge in his woolen hat, oh boy, "One of the greatest guitarist of all times", whatever that means, and maybe he has a loose wrist, if that is a plus, and I just don't know what the point is at all, and then they made "Numb" and, that was it, it became plain laughable, we sang that song with a hundred different lyrics, and maybe it was catchy, but we thought it was just silly, and meanwhile the whole world of the living surrendered to U2, and us, my weirdo music fiends and a humble servant started using U2, particularly the always annoying presence of Mr. Bono, why not, as kind of an insult: "Wash your face and go listen to some U2"... "Don't be such a Zooropa"... "Even better than the real thing"..., and now I started making it up, because it happened twenty years ago, but really, there was a time in my life when "Bono" meant nothing else than mockery towards the mainstream as a whole, and, let us face it, there was plenty of material available, and we've been bombarded with it for too many years, with "Lemon", "The Fly", "Rattle & Hum", "Achtung Baby!"... (oh and please don't forget to mention the 2000 live-from-Mexico album: "Hasta La Vista Baby") and it's all so very amusing, not.

Freitag, 30. August 2013

NO BONUS II/VI

By JAKOB SNOREWELL

I
Here I gotta make a parenthesis in this story to state I was born in the early seventies, and by 1986, aside of classical composers (what my mom had brought to my plate, quite systematically since I was a toddler) and The Beatles (which was what my younger aunties had in store for me, all the original vinyl’s –including the forbidden meat-and-doll-parts cover of a rarities collection named "Yesterday And Today", which, when e-bay got invented I saw priced in many many many moneys but by then may the devil know where my evil aunties or the record were– and which my dad had the patience to record on tape for me), and as actually most all the eighties pop-music from the radio ran like water off a duck's back from my brain because I was, back then, seemingly immune to the embrace of muzak, I had listen to no pop until an Argentinean guy in who's restaurant I ended up working (I was 14, the restaurant opened in the corner of my house, and I was a nosey teenager, specially around an Argentinean parrillada, so I ended up being some sort of joke-spewing mascot and catching pieces of beef as reward) had been introduced to British pop music by a friend he had made, of all places, fighting the Falklands War against England in the Patagonia, took me to his home and showed me The Cure's Pornography, The Smiths first album, Depeche Mode's Speak & Spell and U2's The Unforgettable Fire (then he also taped them for me, although not as professionally as my dad had taped The Beatles) and from that first batch of pop music I ever heard, the only item I didn't immediately engage with –not at all– was U2.

Dienstag, 13. August 2013

NO BONUS I/VI

By JAKOB SNOREWELL

I was in New York and had to make a delivery of a roll of fabric into a Chelsea building where there is a few floors of upholstery businesses –you know, the kind of shop where they use fabric to wrap furniture in it, that's called upholstery. It was late autumn of 2010 –and at this point in the story you must be told I've got a thermostat problem with my body and so have been known for my saying, albeit not-so-true: "Will wear a jacket when it snows"– so I'm walking around mid-November in windy-town-Chelsea with a 60 yard roll of fabric on my shoulder and wearing no more than a t-shirt and jeans, about to get into the building when I see this cute blonde and a fat man smoking a cigarette outside the main entrance, and the fat guy's wearing nothing but a short-sleeve Hawaiian shirt and the girl, also, is looking a bit underdressed for the weather, but neither one seems cold, and instead they seem excited, smoking, trying to be cool, looking summery, and anyway, what they were wearing is not important except for the fact that it made me notice them before entering the building, the cute blondy and the big fat guy. Then I go in, say hello to the doorman –a Caribbean guy with awful machete scars all over his head and part of his face whom, later I got to know this, also writes love poems to the good-looking Colombian woman who runs the upholstery shop I was delivering to, on the seventh floor– and head for the elevator, door opens, I walk in, push seven and, as the door closes, retreat into the far corner, but then the door does not close: two hands in a weird reverse-clap position enter the gap between the metallic doors just before the two sides meet, it's the hands of the fat guy in the Hawaiian shirt, who then proceeds to push the doors back into the open position, enters the blond, Bono from U2, the fat guy and the door closes.

Mittwoch, 12. Juni 2013

My First Time with Jay Reatard...... V/V

By King Khan

I II III IV
When we arrived at the airport he bought me some water and a beer. We went to the bathroom where he threw up standing with the door of the toilet stall wide open, i was blowing my nose so hard it sounded like a trumpet and looked like an abortion had come out of my nostril. We were the only two guys in the bathroom and then in walks this old Brazilian man who must have been like 70 years old. He was in slow motion. When he opened the door he took one look at us, me with bloody slimeball in hand, and jay vomitting. He just turned around and left. We erupted into very loud maniacal laughter. We flew into Buenos Aires, checked into a luxurious hotel, and went swimming. We sat by the pool and talked about how great things had turned out for us. We went for a bite to eat and walked around the city for a few hours, he spoke of how he had made peace with his dad and was really stoked about that. We sat down and ate a nice meal and he got the check.

Later that night we played in a soccer club house for a strange party of people who may or may not have really got what we were doing, but whatever we had a shit load of fun. I saw him piss in some soccer trophy backstage, it was a real hoot.

I miss him everyday and I know that wherever he may be right now he is surrounded by all the legends that made us who we are. Jay Reatard was a real rock n roller, a true death cult champion and the first and only male lips that have ever touched my penis. There I said it.

Dienstag, 14. Mai 2013

My First Time with Jay Reatard...... IV/V

By King Khan
I II III
We watched a porn movie that was filmed entirely in heat sensitive UV. It was incredible. You could see how the blood rushed into body parts as they got hotter and the cum shot looked like an erupting volcano. I mesmerized Lemmy in a studio in Frankfurt ten years later describing this exact porn film, I still don’t know what it was called.

Despite his hatred for everything in Memphis, Jay loved it and was proud of all the scum.

And that was the beginning of what became a great brotherhood for life. 

Jay loved showing class and painted his face with pride when the Death Cult first rolled into Memphis, and he was by far the wildest of the bunch. All the times we shared after this were as insane as you probably have heard, lots of nudity, burning money, drugs and pure mayhem, but there is no need for me to get into all that cuz when i think of the Jay who lives permanently in my heart I see a big hearted lion who just loved to entertain us, sometimes shit got real out of hand but it was all a part of the fun.

The last day i spent with Jay was very different from the first time we met. We were playing a show together in Buenos Aires and had spent the night before in Sao Paolo getting utterly obliterated. We shared a cab to the Sao Paolo airport, we both hadnt slept the whole night. He was telling me about this Geto Boys song that he loved so much about a guy who kills his girlfriend, it was really scaring me how much he loved this song.

Mittwoch, 1. Mai 2013

Questionnaire with Ocelote Rojo

what is your motivation for making music?
I'm pretty curious on how people interpret the songs. I think my main motivation is driven by that curiosity. Are people listening music just because they want, or they do that because they want to evade the reality we live? In some kind of way, I like making music that lets you disconnect from the world and makes you breathe a little cleaner air. That's a reason why I like traditional worl-music. I'm into a lot of music genres and always try to listen everything I can, but if I have to choose a specific kind of sound, I would choose world-music, why? Because it varies in every corner of the world; you will always find different rhythms, melodies, instruments and content in general. Listening traditional music helps you to learn about their history... it's not all about music, it's about cultures. Indirectly, that is one reason why I love hitchhiking and traveling to different places, doing that you can know the people and their histories, their traditions, which helps you to be a little bit more conscious of the world you are living in.

what drives you in / off music?
I love folk music, the "la nueva canción latinoamericana", trova, flamenco; also, classical music, tango, rumba, african music, jazz, among others. In general, my main inspiration is the nature, I always try to escape from this city and go to nice natural places. Here in Chile we have beautiful landscapes: a large and arid desert, big mountains, a long coastline, huge forests, volcanoes, glaciers, etc... I think that's the main inspiration for human beings! We all have to watch our main source of inspiration!  

please introduce your baby ocelote rojo!
My name is Francisco Javier Aravena Riveros and I'm a 26 year old law school graduate from Santiago, Chile. The little red ocelot was born in January 2010 when I was playing guitar in my room... It was a painless birth. The ocelot is a small and mysterious animal whose habitat is in America. In pre-hispanic cultures, It was associated with warriors, It was a symbol of courage. I associate it with my music project because I want my music to express a subconscious desire of fight against those who do not respect the pristine roots of their culture, against those who deny their inception and against those who do not respect the traditions and rights of native communities. Also, the ocelot is a symbol of unity, since, as an native animal, it is a common denominator in many latin american cultures.

would you care to explain the concept of pacarina?
I have a great respect and interest in native cultures. About the EP, you can find some of that interest in some songs, for example, “Kaykay Filu” refers to a mapuche myth explaining the origin of this community; it is a snake fight between good and evil. “H'ain”, was an ancient rite of male initiation of the peoples of Tierra del Fuego (Selk'nam or Onas). The name of the EP, “Pacarina”, comes from an ancient belief of peruvian pre-columbian people; pacarinas were caves and underground springs regarded as inception of this civilization.  

is this a bukowski reading you're using in tenochtitlan sunbeam gun?
Yeah! It's a Bukowski poem called “Dinosauria, We”. I used that poem because I love how he expressed his dissatisfaction with modern society and human attitude and because I wanted to spread that idea of unconformity. I really like reading, all kinds of literature, but my favorites are novels. Maybe my favorite writer is Dostoyevsky... I love the way he works the psychology of his characters.

any chilean love you would like to spread?
Music: Los Jaivas, Violeta Parra, Inti Illimani, Roberto Bravo, Claudio Arrau, Manuel García, Los Tres.
Literature: Pablo Neruda, Gabriela Mistral, Nicanor Parra, Gonzalo Rojas, Pablo de Rokha, María Luisa Bombal.
Movies: Machuca (Andrés Wood), El Chacal de Nahueltoro (Miguel Littín), La Batalla de Chile (Patricio Guzmán), Coronación (Silvio Caiozzi), La ciudad de los fotógrafos (Sebastián Moreno).
Art: Roberto Matta, Claudio Bravo. 
what do you associate with;
innocence? Childhood. As we grow, we lose it... it's sad, you know, we should keep at least some of it. We live in a world where everyone is thinking that the other has bad intentions... that's not possible!
spirit? What gives us individuality. Sometimes our brain makes us aware of that individuality.
sacrifice? The correlative of success.
the written word? Analysis, interpretation, synthesis
thunder? A natural music instrument. I love noises; noises and silence! Both are good for making music.

Dienstag, 23. April 2013

My First Time with Jay Reatard...... III/V

By King Khan 

I II

Within a few seconds he collapsed into a foetal position screaming his head off. He had emptied a can of Easy off oven cleaner on to his junk. Could you just imagine the facial reaction of the doctor that had to examine him later, finding this 16 year old naked boy covered in motor oil with the first two layers of skin off his penis burnt off? It really felt like I had found a lost twin, two exhibitionist punk kids who loved to fuck shit up and get fucked up. 

He told me he went night swimming with some buddies and this girl whom he couldn’t stand but who used to follow him around like a puppy. When they got to the “lake” he got butt naked and jumped in. When he came out he was covered in shit, he had jumped into a cess pool. The first thing he did was go up to the girl and sit right next to her and put his arm around her. 

In the wee hours of the morning Jay wanted to sneak into Alicja’s room to show me something. We were giggling like little kids and he went straight to a little night table next to her bed. He pulled out this cherry cola flavored body gel that Hustler magazine had just put out. He poured some into my hand and told me to rub it it on my wrist. I did and my wrist got hot. We giggled some more and he told me about how when he was a kid he used to take a can of Pam to school and huff it with girls “cuz it made your privates hot”. It was funny cuz I had never met Alicja before and it felt like we snuck into Jay’s big sister’s room. 

So what’s next? “Wanna watch a UV porno?” Ofcourse!!!!!

Mittwoch, 3. April 2013

My First Time with Jay Reatard...... II/V

By King Khan 
I/V 
After hours of unsuccessful attempts Jay seemed fed up of searching and told us we could go to his mom’s and get some weed. So we showed up at her house at around 3 AM, sure enough his mom was awake watching TV and his little sister was sitting in the cutest mini lazy boy chair i had ever seen. His mother was so kind and invited us in and was thrilled to have some Canadians in her house. It felt so timeless like it could have been afterschool but it was actually 3 AM. His sister was adorable, she looked like a little Shirley Temple. At one point his step dad, poked his head out and basically looked just like what jay had described earlier as a real “pinhead.” We hung out and smoked some dope with his mom and then proceeded to Alicja’s house where he had just moved in.

When we got there he showed us some crazy analog organs and we had a little jam (this was all years before Lost Sounds). It was so amazing to see how into space sound he was already at that age. Carson passed out in the corner on a rug like the pigmonkey (a nickname his Japanese girlfriend gave him years later) that he is. 

Jay and I stayed up till the wee hours of the morning and swapped tales about total debauchery. He told me about how he played a show in a mechanic’s garage where he got naked and dumped a can of motor oil over his head. He was literally slippin’ and a slidin’ everywhere and could hardly even play a note on his guitar. Then some douchebag rolled a spray can towards him. Jay didn’t even look at what was in the can, he just opened it up and sprayed it all over his balls.

Dienstag, 19. März 2013

My First Time with Jay Reatard...... I/V

By King Khan
I first met Jay when he was 17 years old. He booked us a gig at Barristers, the line up was The Spaceshits, Deadly Snakes and Reatards. When we showed up in Memphis it looked like a ghost town. Skid Marks (drummer of the spaceshits) has always  been a magnet for scum bags and immediately befriended a one armed man who had just come out of prison. They disappeared in search for some weed. 
When Jay showed up he told me that he had just gotten engaged to be married. He also apologized about the lack of people at the show in advance, the reason was simple... “everyone hates us in this town.” There were 4 people in the audience that night, Greg Oblivian and the dudes from Impala. But the show went on and it was great fun. Later that night everyone went to Greg’s house to hang and listen to records and Carson Binks (Legend of San Fran), Skid Marks and I decided to go for a Memphis adventure with Jay.

We drove around crazy ghettos in search of drugs. All we wanted was a little weed, none of us wanted any of the countless crack offers not even Jay. We parked at a gas station for some cigarettes and when we were getting back into the car i remember all these crack heads coming out of nowhere asking me for a smoke. They were crawling towards us like true zombies and even continued to follow the car in slow motion as we drove away. It really felt like George A. Romero was somewhere around the corner. Jay spoke of these crackheads with a sense of pride which was followed by pure hatred. He was really into showing us the nitty gritty of his city.