I’ve got some awesome news on that front.

The CDs have been assembled by Mars Pyramid and are on the way to Contrarian HQ. The inimitable Susan Norton has turned in the comic that comes with the purchase of the physical copy of the album. The liner notes have been written and the lyrics pieced together. All that’s left are the videos (and probably a podcast where I explain what a tremendous pain in the ass it is to do this stuff, but also why it’s fun and rewarding). Look for an official rollout within the next couple of weeks.

But it’s not all about me, me, me. I’ve decided, after six or so solo releases (at least two of which have been successful by modest standards), to put out some stuff by other artists.

Lux Eterna is the name of the label, and the next release will be from classically-trained experimental-Americana guitarist Mark G. Cooley, who has decided to go electric on his new recording. (Go ahead, scream “Judas!” — it always feels good.) So what does this as-yet-unnamed album sound like? Picture Discipline-era King Crimson as played by technicolor gnomes from another dimension and you’re almost there. There’s lots of cool shimmers and shudders for all you noise addicts, too. In other words, something for everyone.

Next, I hope to collaborate on a pop song cycle with Arthur Adams. I’ve long wanted to compose an album in tribute to weirdo rocket scientist Jack Whiteseide Parsons in which bygone California — in all of its bootstrapping, schizophrenic glory — serves as a musical lodestone. Last time I checked with Arthur, he was down. All the way down, even.

After (or perhaps before) that, I hope to release something from The Ten Thousand Things, whom readers will know as our resident Library Scientist, Wes Covey.

By the way, my short story “The Cove,” which was featured as a digital extra for my last record, Eldritch Musicks, is published in the latest edition of Fantastic Horror #16. You can read it online, even.

As you were.

Here is a heartwarming photo project, made possible by the blog era. Everyone make art!

Musicians comment about the new heath care bill. I found Franz Nicolay‘s comments to be very relevant to my own life as a freelance artist. Lord help us.

Side note: I just wanted to mention that this video is extremely gay. And not in the “I’m-going-to-give-you-a-wedgie-you-can-use-for-earmuffs” kind of way, but a “this-video-has-a-penis-and-may-have-interest-in-touching-your-video’s-penis” kind of way. Particularly if your video happens to be wearing assless chaps. I mean super gay. Even for George Michael. It’s awesome.

W.A.G.E., meanwhile, offers information and support for artists who are tired (and hungry) of not getting paid to make the world more interesting. Musicians should pay attention to this, because fine art usually is a little ahead of the curve conceptually — in this case, in the practice of fucking over the creative element.

Working Class Magazine is a great little upstart out of the Lower East Side. I find it very personable and sophisticated at the same time. Keep up the good work, guys.

Meanwhile in Brooklyn, Ry Pepper lends her circumspect eye to arts and crafts reporting in her blog, Arts and Dafts. It’s anecdotal, practical, and warm-hearted. Very nice indeed.

If you want to remember how basic is the need for humans to participate in acts of beauty, you may want to refer to this report from the UK’s Daily Mail to witness what may be the oldest living artistic genre known to man. It will take your breath away, I imagine.

I know that this here love letter sure did it for me. My Beloved, you are the apogee of enchantment.

…But this guy ain’t no chopped liver.

Much Love, y’all.

I just received news that Jeffrey Lyons passed away. To those of us who cut our audiophile teeth in the Burlington area, or dug deeper into the stacks of wax as time went on, Jeff was a most gracious host to our vinyl nerdities.

From 1998 to 2005 he owned Vinyl Destination, Vermont’s largest record store that drew music lovers not just for its unusual variety of recordings but for the great conversation and camaraderie Jeff generously provided. He was a friend to all he met, accepting everyone for who they were and using his encyclopedic mind to connect with them in some special way. He will be missed terribly.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the universe for sharing Jeff with us. Among the Great Record Beards, he was one of the greatest, and I feel so grateful to have witnessed his intelligence, enthusiasm and noble spirit. Well done, Jeff.

Hello lovelies!

While you may be used to seeing kids around Halloween raising funds for UNICEF, this year for Valentine’s Day, please consider sending your loved ones the fruits of my picture-making labors to support needy children around the world. UNICEF is an organization which has helped countless women and children stricken by poverty, famine, and disaster, and in the wake of the horrific earthquakes in Haiti, they need our help more than ever.

I have created a PDF book called “Epistle: Love Letters to the Visual Environment.” It is a collection of eight pages from my collage book, all along the themes of romance, sweetness, delight, and whole-heartedness. Volume One is called “Doo-Wop,” and is appropriate for anyone who likes jukeboxes.

A PayPal donation can be made here:

http://nortonanalog.blogspot.com/2010/02/valentines-day-fundraiser-for-unicef.html

Please donate $5 or more, and your loved one will receive a link to download this PDF book in their inbox on Valentine’s Day, knowing that your affection for them has been forwarded to children in need. 80% of all proceeds will go directly to UNICEF.

Send me a request at nortonanalog@gmail.com. Include your e-mail address, the recipient’s e-mail address, and, if you wish, a personal greeting of up to 100 characters (leave blank if you wish to remain a secret admirer!).

For more information about UNICEF, visit the link below:

http://www.unicef.org/

This morning I awoke to a head full of thoughts — not an unfamiliar phenomenon, I must say. During coffee, something drew me to an online collection of interview snippets about/with Syd Barrett — the late psych-pop acid casualty and leader of the original Pink Floyd. Actually, I know exactly how I got there — I caught a random blog comment concerning Floyd’s onetime manager Peter Jenner, a fellow I happen to know (somewhat) personally and whom I like an awful lot. Summary: there was of fascinating stuff on this page, laid out in forensic detail. Check it out if you have the interest.

After that, I decided to vacuum the house, which for some reason always lubricates my synapses. The soundtrack to this chore was, of course, Piper at the Gates of Dawn. I started thinking about influences, aesthetics and all sorts of other things. I realized that most artists never fully transcend their influences, but the best of us steal flame from our forebears’ fire — Prometheus style — which in turn illuminates our own creative path. This is a natural tradition, as old as art itself, though it does have a tendency to muddy the business side of things from time to time.

Personally, I have begun to retreat from the au courant, the now, the hip, in order to focus more fully on my own craft. And that’s exactly what it is: a craft. Somewhere between a practical trade and extrasensory perception. Some equate it with spirituality, others magic, others don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. My point is this: there’s a time to soak up influences and check your vocabulary against the common tongue, and there’s a time to put aside distractions and simply go about your business. And that’s where I’m currently at.

On the aesthetic side, I’m comfortable in the knowledge that whatever art I produce will naturally be informed by my influences and previous experimentation. Perhaps I actually have learned some lessons — like, it might seem like a cool idea to put Beach Boys harmonies on a Swans-type cut, but it really doesn’t come out all that that well! Of course, I reserve the right to be contrarian. Meaning that, that even when popular taste matches my own inclinations I could — out of temperament or pique — reject an approach that might otherwise suit me. For example, I refuse to chase the current neo-shoegaze/indie-psych movement around hoping to catch a wink. Firstly, I’m too old for that, and the whippersnappers would have me terribly out of breath. Secondly, I think that a lot of today’s expression lacks clarity of vision. Where is your gestalt? What about your work screams out to be heard? So much of the new psych-gaze stuff sounds as shiftless and non-committal as the generation that produced it. Give me danger, give me drama, give me noise, give me melody, give me sensuality. Look, I’m as moon-addled as the next guy, with a profound love of being enveloped in puffy wafts of sound. But The Goddess requires a Consort, and he better be ready to fucking throw down.

Even approaching midlife, I’m game.

Back to influences (and Syd) for a second. It’s clear to me — and anyone with ears — that Robyn Hitchcock is hugely influenced by Barrett. But Robyn’s done the gentlemanly thing and taken part of Syd inside himself, consumed him, if you will. This is the noble tradition that I spoke of earlier. I swallowed Jimmy Page, for example. (And he tasted like velvet dragons!)

Who did you have for breakfast?

As I get older, it becomes more important for me to create. Not out of vanity or the sense that I’ve got to “leave something behind,” but rather because life is indeed short and I abhor waste. Talent should be refined, tested, refined, tested, refined, tested until you run out of breath. If you’re a creator, anyway. If you’re an accountant (and there’s nothing wrong with that), your path and purpose is different. As it should be.

The craft continues to inform, particularly as one gets bolder about embodying it in all parts of one’s life. I am no longer intimidated by the “marketplace.” What marketplace? I engage where appropriate. I consider my (admittedly limited) audience. I challenge myself to find new ways for my ideas to be formulated and disseminated. I trust my instincts, yet work hard at perfecting my ideas. And I hopefully get better.

Perhaps you take a similar approach. If so, I raise my glass of mid-morning Scotch.

Possibly some of you, like myself, have been deeply entrenched in the winter doldrums. January, the nebulous season after the heady trip of Christmas lights, holiday parties, and New Year’s drunken splendor/debauchery, can drop a soul’s morale right on it’s ass when Old Man Winter’s blustering is no longer buffered by December’s pagan hoot-n-nanny.

As of late, I have found the weather dreary, the bank account drained, and my exuberance stemmed. Luckily, I am in a fine position to self-medicate with colored pencils and a large paper bag. Last week I began to circumvent my insomnia and restlessness by creating pictures of the cutest, cheeriest possible creatures (and a couple cranky ones) I could imagine. The following are a sample, and I hope that they make you smile like they did for me. If you like those, check out another fleet at NortonAnalog.

Feel the Love!

Friends,

As an experimental musician and public librarian, my ability to offer financial assistance to those in need is somewhat limited. Therefore, I have a simple offer for you all: if you send me a message telling me that you donated to the Haitian relief efforts, I will send you a link to a free mp3 copy of my new album. You can send me a DM on Twitter (@sacredmusick), on facebook (facebook.com/wesley.covey) or via email (things10thousand @ gmail.com). I don’t need to know how much you donated, or even to which group. I trust that you will not lie to me, and will have made a donation already or will proceed to do so. It’s that simple.

As to what you get, it’s a free mp3 copy of Emerging From the Earth, by The Ten Thousand Things (note: my website has not been updated in years. I’m working on it.). I am pretty shit at self-promotion, but here goes: Emerging From the Earth is musickal alchemy. Working on the idea of combining elements of our natural world into something that transcends everyday reality, forming gold out of everyday lead, I have used guitars, bass, vocals and samples to create an album of spiritual drones. This is aural mysticism, seeking communion with a higher power through meditatively repetitive sound. Samples can be heard here.

May you all be well, and please join me in thinking creatively about how to help.

We just saw the Guy Ritchie-helmed Sherlock Holmes, starring Robert Downey, Jr. as the titular detective. I suppose it was better than I expected, and maybe a bit worse. Better, because it really didn’t alter the Holmes character in any significant ways. Worse, because  — despite revved-up action sequences — it was actually pretty boring.

Although I am a huge Arthur Conan Doyle fan, I haven’t read a Holmes story in at least two decades. But as a kid I devoured every published tale, and took in more than a few cinematic adaptations. I was in a Gifted and Talented program in elementary school, and I still remember with great fondness the PBS-endorsed Sherlock Holmes roleplaying game we got to play in class. I mention all this not to tout my credentials as a Holmesologist, but rather to demonstrate that the character is very dear to my heart.

Which is why I put off watching this adaptation for about as long as I could manage. By the time Bill started tweeting about it, however, I knew I had see the damn thing already.

Like I said, it wasn’t bad. I’m not a Guy Ritchie fan. Like, at all. I mean, he fucking married Madonna, for fuck’s sake. Although, I believe that’s called a “beard.”  And, considering the high level of barely-contained homoeroticism in Sherlock Holmes, I should say he needs one. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The “bromance” is as old as storytelling itself, even if Ritchie does display an above-average understanding of the phenomenon.

The characterization of Holmes was perfectly appropriate. I typically enjoy Robert Downey Jr. (especially in Weird Science and Less than Zero), so when I heard about him being cast as the famous detective, I thought, “OK — he’s a manic ex-cokehead with odd quirks and magnetism… he should do just fine.” And he did, right down to the accent, which is one of the more consistent I’ve heard from a Yank actor. Jude Law‘s Watson was more than serviceable; actually, it was an improvement over the fusty portrayals other actors have offered over the years. The banter was agreeably British and witty, with the two leads trading brainy barbs like a Victorian-era Jack Klugman and Tony Randall. (That’s TV’s classic “Odd Couple” for our younger readers.)

There was one aspect of this new telling that I was particularly keen on observing. You see, Sherlock Holmes evinces behaviors consistent with high-functioning autism, which in more recent years has come to be termed Asperger’s Syndrome. (Though that may be changing again — there’s currently talk of Asperger’s being lumped back into a generic HFA categorization.) I haven’t talked about it here, but I have AS. Which probably explains why I had such a sense of rapport with Holmes as a child. If you want to know more about my adult diagnosis, have a look at Autistic in the District; there’s also these articles I wrote about neurodiversity). There’s been a healthy amount of discussion about whether Holmes has Asperger’s (I know he’s fictional, but diagnosing him is almost as much fun as retroactively applying the label to folks like Nicola Tesla, who definitely had AS.) This recent New York Times article has a lot of cool evidence to support the “Holmes as Prototypical Aspergian” theory:

In Conan Doyle’s portrayal, Sherlock Holmes at times exhibits all of these qualities. His interactions with others are often direct to the point of rudeness. And even when Holmes is speaking to Watson, his closest friend, his compliments are often closer to a rebuke. In “The Hound of the Baskervilles,” when Watson, pleased with his own detective abilities, reports to Holmes the results of his investigation, Holmes tells him that he isn’t a source of light but a conductor of light, a mere aid in solving mysteries only Holmes himself can untangle.

As for his interests, Holmes brags frequently of his detailed knowledge of all kinds of strange phenomena. He is said to have written a monograph on the differences among 140 cigar, pipe and cigarette ashes. He demonstrates what Asperger called “autistic intelligence” — an ability to see the world from a very different perspective than most people, often by focusing on details overlooked by others. Indeed, Sherlock Holmes boasts that he is able to see the significance of trifles and calls this his “method.”

I guess I just outed myself. Oh, well. At least you now understand my affinity for this character. I’m happy to report that RDJ’s performance is in keeping with the idea of Holmes as a high-functioning autistic, particularly during a scene where the detective and Watson are about to dine with Watson’s fiancée. Holmes arrives at the restaurant before the good doctor and his bride-to-be, and there’s a brief shot where he’s overwhelmed by the sounds of the other diners — chatter, glasses clinking, silverware scraping, etc.. This is precisely the same auditory/sensory overload I often experience in public settings. Later in the same scene, Holmes manages to piss off both Watson and his betrothed through what he likely thought was an amusing intellectual exercise. I’ve been there, dude.

It didn’t bother me at all that Holmes wasn’t the staid cerebral detective of previous adaptations. In my reading of Doyle’s works, the character was always a bit dangerous. He’s got a hatred for any kind of hierarchical authority and does not suffer fools gladly. He’s also a cocaine user who’s into pistols and hazardous chemicals. Just your everyday 19th-century Hunter S. Thompson, then. (Or 21st-century me, minus the prodigious gifts. Well, some of them, anyway.)

As far as action goes, let’s not forget that when Conan Doyle attempted to “retire” his character (unsuccessfully, I might add), he did so in a scene where Holmes and his arch-rival, Professor Moriarty, wrestle straight off a waterfall. This is where the term cliffhanger came from, in case you didn’t know.

I didn’t mind the “occult” slant of the film, as Conan Doyle was very much interested in this subject (see the “Hound of the Baskervilles“), and was himself initiated into an esoteric lodge. The plot of Sherlock Holmes centers on a certain Lord Blackwood (perhaps a portmanteau of fantasy novelist Lord Dunsany and horror scribe Algernon Blackwood) — a sinister magus of high breeding who’s trying to usher in a new era of political/theological control. Story-wise, it borrows far more from Alan Moore‘s brilliant comic From Hell than it does the Doyle canon. Still, I was wowed by Ritchie’s attention to detail in terms of the esoteric set pieces. I’d read that the Blackwood character was based on Aleister Crowley (the epitome of loosely), and it does look as though the filmmakers consulted someone from the OTO for tips on what an authentic ritual chamber would look like. I’ve seen a plenty of depictions of this kind of thing, and dare I say this is the first mainstream movie that gets any of it right, straight down to the garish Egyptian/deco frescoes.

Blackwood is deftly portrayed by Mark Strong, who glowers intensely while delivering stock baddie dialogue. (Curiously, Strong looks a like a cross between Basil Rathbone and Jeremy Brett, both of whom played Holmes.) Yet the villain lacks motivation, which in turns undermines the sense of threat. Ultimately, the plot doesn’t amount to much, although it’s unnecessarily confusing. One of Conan Doyle’s gifts was that he could string together a slew of clues that you noticed but failed to put together until Holmes’ connected them in a summarily dazzling and pedantic lecture. In Ritchie’s film, you really have no idea what you’re supposed to be looking out for, other than the next round of fisticuffs.

Worse still is the female lead, played by Rachel McAdams. If you want to get a sense of how little Guy Ritchie understands women characters, here ya go. He seems to go out of his way to make her look unattractive, slathering on garish makeup and costumes and shooting her from the most unflattering angles. Law and Downey Jr., on the other hand, share intimate carriage rides in which they queenily argue over who cuts a trimmer figure in a waistcoat. I mean, why even bother to have a female lead at all? It only gets in the way of the love between a detective and his doctor.

The action was decent, but it would’ve been greatly enhanced if the story was stronger. Or even interesting. I found myself being more drawn to the banter, which was terrific until it had to get back to advancing the paltry plot. Somewhere between the casting and Ritchies’ wonderful depiction of post-industrial London (no, it wasn’t steampunk, just accurate) was a really great Holmes reboot. Unfortunately, I didn’t see it on the screen. But in my mind, it’s awesome.

Maybe the sequel will improve on the formula. Until then, I’ve got my own high-powered mind and baroque obsessions to keep me entertained.

[x-posted at AID]

Thrilling enough to a 15 year-old would-be-rocker, but hardly the stuff art is made of. Right?

I continued to encounter Anger here and there as I made the thrilling transition to adulthood. Maybe one of my industrial-punk pals had a fifth-generation dub of Anger’s work alongside the requisite Skinny Puppy videos, The Decline of Western Civilization Part One and Richard Kern splatter porn. Anger was treasure amongst the trash, yet I never fully appreciated him.

I did, however, finally manage to get my hands on a copy of Page’s unused 20-minute soundtrack to Lucifer Rising. At that point, I was well into experimental music (I was drone before drone was cool), and was pleasantly surprised by the potency of Page’s composition. Of course, it would be years before I was able to see a cut of the film’s intro matched to the soundtrack.

From there, I began researching the Bobby Beausoleil connection, which I won’t bother getting into, as you can read about it all over the internets. Suffice it to say, Beausoleil’s score for Lucifer Rising is the only soundtrack ever recorded in a federal prison. It’s also a great piece of music.

Despite a decade of bumping into Anger’s name in my personal studies, I had yet to make a serious investigation of his films. Sometime after the advent of YouTube, a few enterprising individuals put up portions of his most sensational work, including Invocation of My Demon Brother (synthesizer soundtrack by Mick Jagger), and the aforementioned Lucifer Rising. As far as I could gather from these shoddy copies, Anger’s films were merely dollhouse displays of various Kabbalistic and mythological archetypes. Whoopity-fuck, I thought.

Nevertheless, I ended up purchasing the two-volume DVD collection of Anger’s works — recently released by Fantoma — mostly because I am a collector of Aquarian-age oddities. Still, it took me several months to get around to watching them.

A soon-to-be-published interview with yours truly should make plain my aesthetic orientation, but for now, let me put it thusly: there is a tribe of artists and philosophers to which I am ever more certain I belong. As I had suspected, Anger himself is a member of this tribe (and others; some to which he is the solitary member). That I hadn’t appreciated his stunning, provocative, hilarious, ribald and enigmatic work earlier is a goddamn shame. I’m frankly appalled that you have to go to film school to be exposed to Anger. On the bright side, that’s where a great many filmmakers — including Martin Scorsese and Gus Van Zant — were introduced to his work. Anger’s films have influenced countless acts of cinema, and plainly augured the MTV age. Before John Cassavetes, Anger was the original independent filmmaker. Before John Waters, he was the arch queer director.

Not being able to see quality versions of Kenneth Anger’s films would be like not being able to walk into a bookstore and purchase something by William S. Burroughs. It’s an atrocious wrong that desperately needed righting, and I applaud Fantoma and the UCLA film department for making it happen.

In many ways, I’m glad that my experience of Anger was deferred. Initiation keeps its own timetable.

Here’s Anger’s groundbreaking homo-biker-Nazi-Jesus flick, Scorpio Rising. If you grok its uncouth power, I highly recommend picking up DVD volumes I and II. The restorations are fantastic, as are the insightful liners and essays.

Scorpio Rising:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gDFE9JUT7A

The Films of Kenneth Anger Vol. I trailer:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CHLsN29AEA

The Films of Kenneth Anger Vol. II trailer:

www.youtube.com/watch?v=nBdthTC3w-I

• Let’s go shopping at Voodoo mart! *Caution: if you have cats, you might want to turn the volume down or deploy the kitty ear plugs.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=jIPjoUtY3QI

• Occult news isn’t always amusing.
• Did you know that Henry Kissinger worshiped a 40ft tall owl?
• You know about Scientology, but have you ever heard of the Process Church? Timothy Wyllie has. So had Alistair Cooke.
• I’m not confident in the accuracy of this piece… are these really the 20 most prolific serial killers of all time?
• Meet Dr. Possum.
• “The Five Best Books on Magic” according to the Wall Street Journal.
• Charlie party
• Vampire con
• New activity in the West Memphis Three case.

I love you! Please be good to each other.

Molly