Andrew Huang’s Glitch Music Video

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In the sum­mer of 2012, Andrew Huang teamed up with Side Pony Nation for the release of the sin­gle and accom­pany music video, “Ma Bicy­clette“. Since a good amount of time has passed, Huang decided to give the song a fresh take dubbed the “Uphill Mix”, and pushed out a warped and pur­pose­fully dis­torted glitchy style video.

Brian Butler’s Magick Act


For the Los Ange­les artist Brian But­ler, magic (or “mag­ick,” as the case may be) is as mod­ern as tech­nol­ogy. Cer­tain teach­ings may be ancient, he notes, but that doesn’t make them any less rel­e­vant. “In the mod­ern world of com­put­ers, the same ener­gies are still oper­at­ing,” he says.

But­ler was pre­mier­ing his film, “The Dove and the Ser­pent,” at the LAXART Annex in Hol­ly­wood last year, and a gritty, glam­orous crowd had gath­ered to watch a live musi­cal per­for­mance fea­tur­ing the leg­endary under­ground film­maker Ken­neth Anger.

Ini­tially drawn together by a shared inter­est in Aleis­ter Crow­ley and the occult, But­ler and Anger have worked together for more than a decade, But­ler pro­duc­ing Anger’s last few films and act­ing as cre­ative direc­tor of the trippy short he made for Missoni’s fall 2010 cam­paign. Anger appears with Vin­cent Gallo in Butler’s film “Night of Pan,” and the two also formed the band Tech­ni­color Skull.



The Dove and the Ser­pent is a med­i­ta­tion on alchemy; the title ref­er­ences the Her­metic prin­ci­ple “as above, so below.” Filmed at a cas­tle in Nor­mandy, France, with some friends he rounded up dur­ing Paris fash­ion week last fall, includ­ing Dash Snow’s sis­ter Car­o­line and the cin­e­matog­ra­pher Edouard Plon­geon, whose fam­ily pro­vided the locale, the two-and-a-half minute piece is beau­ti­ful, hyp­notic and vaguely sinister.

Shad­owy fig­ures shape-shift and meld with the ele­ments, occult sym­bols flash and fade, and there is some cov­etable fash­ion on dis­play, includ­ing a Masonic robe and an ivory silk gown by the Lon­don designer Qasimi.

The Bartz­abel Work­ing is a per­for­mance based on a cer­e­mo­nial evo­ca­tion of the spirit of Mars, first writ­ten and per­formed in Lon­don in 1910 by Crow­ley, the rit­ual later became part of Los Ange­les his­tory in 1946 when Jack Par­sons con­ducted his own ver­sion of this rite with the inten­tion of plac­ing a Mar­tial curse on a pre-scientology L. Ron Hubbard.

For his rein­ter­pre­ta­tion of this his­tor­i­cal per­for­mance, But­ler con­jures Bartz­abel, the spirit of Mars, evok­ing on the site that was once home to late sci-fi author Ray Brad­bury and cur­rently com­prises L&M Gallery. And bel­low is also a lit­tle gem of a video by Mr. But­ler for The Black Lips

Sigur Rós – Brennisteinn

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From the upcom­ing Sigur Rós album Kveikur, released world­wide June 17/18 on XL Record­ings, here’s a look at their lat­est visual show­cas­ing some dark psy­che­delic imagery to fit­tingly par­al­lel their lat­est audio “Brennisteinn.”

Those want­ing to see them live, Sigur Rós will launch their North Amer­i­can tour on March 24 at Madi­son Square Gar­den March. Pre-orders for the project is avail­able here, while the video directed by Andrew Huang.


Majical Cloudz

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Maji­cal Cloudz is Montreal-based song­writer Devon Welsh, with pro­ducer and live col­lab­o­ra­tor Matthew Otto. Their intro­spec­tive brand of synth-driven music is char­ac­ter­ized by an almost archi­tec­tural desire for bal­ance, craft­ing songs that are as son­i­cally min­i­mal as they are emo­tion­ally com­plex, equally reliant on neg­a­tive, hol­low space and lush, warm tex­tures. Welsh bares his soul through care­fully artic­u­lated sto­ries, ori­ented around themes of death, patience, fam­ily and desire. Their live per­for­mance is deeply expres­sive and raw, Welsh’s rich bari­tone woven into intri­cate sto­ries amidst washes of white noise, fil­tered synths and sparse thuds.

Synth-driven music at it’s worst, can sound soul­less and imper­sonal. How­ever, Maji­cal Cloudz is every­thing you’d ever want from this genre. Any­time a musi­cian ref­er­ences Minor Threat, in dis­cussing his approach to music, we’ll sit up and lis­ten. The sparse beauty of his music envelops you in a haze of emo­tion and nuance. Hav­ing first drawn our atten­tion thanks to his col­lab­o­ra­tive work with Grimes muse Claire Boucher, it’s not sur­pris­ing that Mata­dor has signed him and will release his next album.

RuPaul’s Can I Get An Amen


The queens test their vocal abil­i­ties as they sing in RuPaul’s 1980s “We Are The World” inspired char­ity sin­gle. This Band Aid/USA For Africa-inspired par­ody is the lat­est viral video to come from “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” star­ring RuPaul along with this season’s top eight queens: Alyssa Edwards, Coco Mon­trese, Jade Jolie, Ivy Win­ters, Jinkx Mon­soon, and Rox­xxy Andrews, Alaska, and Detox, aka “Rolaska­tox.” And they weren’t lip-synching for their lives, here: This singing was live.

This  awe­some faux charity-single does indeed have a lot of heart and humor and is actu­ally not faux at all, since sales of the bizarre song, avail­able now on iTunes, will ben­e­fit a very wor­thy orga­ni­za­tion: the L.A. Gay & Les­bian Cen­ter. Can I get an amen up in here?


RODEO, Way Back Home


Susanna Pat­ten, is an award-winning song­writer, drum­mer and vocal­ist with a music career span­ning almost a decade across three con­ti­nents. She is a found­ing mem­ber of much-lauded Aus­tralian indie band I Heart Hiroshima and has per­formed with the likes of Peaches and Sia. She has toured with every­one from Ratatat and Cat Power, to fel­low Brisbane-originated bands Regur­gi­ta­tor and The Grates.

Together with pro­ducer Dar­ren Jen­son (DJ Down­town) she com­bined the stripped-down indie aes­thetic of her pre­vi­ous work with with dance­able elec­tro beats on songs of a decid­edly per­sonal nature. RODEO was born.


At first the RODEO moniker served as a DJ moniker for shows that took her around Ger­many, Brus­sels and to New York City. Then in 2011 Susie began test­ing her solo work in a live envi­ron­ment. Later that year, she released When It Reigns EP, a five-track col­lec­tion that has been described as “like Nena slowly and sen­su­ally beat­ing Annie Lennox over the head with a key­tar.” Early 2012 then saw the release of the sin­gle Sold Me Out / Turn Back. With her new sound and Euro­pean home she plans to con­quer dance floors through­out the world.

Susie cur­rently lives in Berlin with her cat Oskar. Check out the all new video for the first sin­gle from Rodeo’s first LP com­ing up this sum­mer! video by black cracker.

TV Party: The Sublimely Intolerable Show

Glenn O’Brien’s TV Party blew the dust out of New Yorker’s air ducts for four odd years from 1978 to 1982. The hour-long live, unscripted show took advan­tage of New York’s early-ish cable access world — a world man­dated by a deal that cable net­works could have their lit­tle monop­o­lies as long as the pub­lic was granted free access to a cer­tain per­cent­age of air­time. It’s a deal still going on all across Amer­ica today, and after watch­ing a lit­tle TV Party, you’d be a damn fool not to get involved. You see, TV can be fun, and you can make it! As for TV Party — essen­tially a show­case for what O’Brien and friends thought of as cool — it’s not for every­one. But those who like bizarro tele­vi­sion, the down­town New York scene of the day, or cult movies and TV with a cap­i­tal C (Liq­uid Sky or Robin Byrd’s porno talk-show, for instance) will get a seri­ous kick from this exper­i­ment in ‘social­ist TV’ — the TV show that’s a party, but it could also be a polit­i­cal party.

The Sub­limely Intol­er­a­ble Show aired Jan­u­ary 8th 1979, with O’Brien (writer, Warhol-ite and once New Wave gad­about) loosely hold­ing the reins — flog­ging the horse or let­ting it stum­ble down rocky inclines, how­ever he, his guests, audi­ence or callers saw fit. Aired in black and white, the night’s guests included Comp­ton Mad­dox and John Moses play­ing weird gui­tar tunes, Klaus Nomi singing opera, and Andy Sher­noff cov­er­ing the Beach Boys, (backed by Tish and Snooky of Manic Panic fame). Down­town direc­tor Eric Mitchell plays a clip of his movie Kid­napped while plug­ging the New Cin­ema The­ater, direc­tor David Sil­ver and Kate Simon do ‘White Peo­ple Talk About Reg­gae,’ and finally Deb­bie Harry, Chris Stein (also of Blondie and later offi­cial co-host of TV Party) and Richard Sohl help O’Brien with the viewer call-in seg­ment while pass­ing a joint.

Accord­ing to O’Brien’s TV Party web­site, David Let­ter­man once told Paul Scha­ef­fer on air that “TV Party is the great­est TV show any­where, ever,” and for those of us now corn-fed on the GMOs that are Two and a Half Men and their ilk, it’s hard to argue. The show thrives on O’Brien’s heart­felt dif­fi­dence (hard to man­age, true) and an anything-can-happen dan­ger­ous­ness that’s impos­si­ble to fake. It appears effort­less because in many ways it was, semi-professionals aided and abet­ted, and total ama­teurs did lit­tle things like; oper­ate cam­eras and run sound. In fact the first five or ten min­utes of Sub­limely Intol­er­a­ble have no sound at all, noth­ing but ran­dom pops (as peo­ple scurry to fix the prob­lem) and (also accord­ing to the TV Party web­site) Jean-Michel Basquiat typ­ing super-graphics like “Oh no! No sound! Fuck!” Top-notch scen­ester enter­tain­ment makes up for defi­cien­cies O’Brien encour­aged. Mad­dox and Moses’s pre-ironic ironic num­bers bub­ble dan­ger­ously, with O’Brien and Deb­bie Harry et al danc­ing in lab coats. Klaus Nomi’s unearthly soprano aria and equally alien demeanor are stun­ning and bizarre. Sher­noff is cool enough — while point­ing out how even the most insipid Beach Boys song comes with a super-sharp chord pro­gres­sion — and direc­tor Mitchell seems baf­fled and is baffling.

White Peo­ple Talk About Reg­gae rides a dan­ger­ous edge; the audi­ence mocks, Simon and Sil­ver seem defen­sive talk­ing about the ‘music of uplift­ment,’ and then a joint starts mak­ing the rounds. The joint stays for the ‘viewer call-in’ seg­ment which always closed the show. It’s emblem­atic of the off-the-rails genius of the show. Sure, the tech­no­log­i­cal aspects are junk, and per­for­mances or inter­views hit-or-miss, but let­ting uncen­sored live callers on the air is pure gold. O’Brien and crew are unas­sum­ing in their great­ness — they’re the cool kids at school who’ll actu­ally accept you (even though you know you’re a total geek) just because they’re self-secure — shin­ing as they wade through call after call ques­tion­ing their sex­ual prac­tices and eth­nic­ity. This stuff is not for the eas­ily offended, but it’s a tes­ta­ment to the power of a slick hand will­ing to let the chips fall wherever.

The first 10% of this show sums up what we don’t get on TV any­more. Tech­ni­cal dif­fi­cul­ties. TV Party was live and impro­vised, and this meant casual dis­as­ter. This early episode gets off to an artis­ti­cally ago­niz­ing start–the sound per­son is late, over­dos­ing on drugs or both. Or it was the bro­ken down equip­ment. Once the sound kicks in the show gets lively. Comp­ton Mad­dux, a droll singer song­writer, is backed up by Deb­bie Harry and Glenn; the unique futur­ist soprano Klaus Nomi does one of his post-modern arias; Adny Sher­noff, of the Dic­ta­tors, plays the Beach Boys’ “Be True to Your School” backed up by pom pom girls Tish and Snooky, the Manic Panic design­ers. Down­town leg­end direc­tor Eric Mitchell announces the open­ing of the now famous New Cin­ema the­ater and shows a clip from his film “Kid­napped” with Arto Lind­say, Dun­can Smith and Anya Phillips. Brit direc­tor David Sil­ver and pho­tog­ra­pher Kate Simon do the “white peo­ple talk about reg­gae” seg­ment. Blondie’s Chris Stein and Deb­bie Harry and the Patti Smith Group’s Richard Sohl drop in to smoke a reefer and take calls from all the cra­zies in cable land. Chris explains all this isn’t chaos, it’s art.

Dirty Communist, Queer, Swine”: The Death Of Pasolini

In the early hours of 2 Novem­ber 1975, the body of Pier Paolo Pasolini – writer, poet, film direc­tor and one of Italy’s lead­ing intel­lec­tu­als – was found on waste­land in Ostia, just out­side Rome. Sev­eral hours later, Pino “The Frog” Pelosi, a 17-year-old male pros­ti­tute, was arrested speed­ing along the Ostia seafront in Pasolini’s Alfa Romeo. Pelosi was accused of Pasolini’s bru­tal mur­der. It was alleged that Pasolini had picked up Pelosi out­side Ter­mini train sta­tion, taken him to a pizze­ria and then dri­ven to Ostia for sex. Pelosi him­self claimed that he had killed Pasolini in self-defence after the lat­ter had attempted to sodomise him with a wooden stick, but after a lengthy trial he was found guilty in 1976 and sen­tenced to nine years in jail.

On the night of his mur­der, Pasolini had dined with Ninetto Davoli and his fam­ily at the Pom­mi­doro restau­rant in the San Lorenzo dis­trict of Rome. Davoli had come from a poor Cal­abrian fam­ily and been dis­cov­ered by Pasolini in the Rome slums in the early 1960s. He became Pasolini’s main actor, for a time his lover and sub­se­quently one of his clos­est friends. It was Davoli who had to iden­tify Pasolini’s corpse the fol­low­ing day.

Many peo­ple were unhappy with the mur­der ver­dict. The actress Laura Betti, who had appeared in many of Pasolini’s films, organ­ised a cam­paign for an inquiry into his death. She argued that it had a deeper polit­i­cal sig­nif­i­cance. After all, Pasolini had made many ene­mies. In the weeks lead­ing up to his mur­der he had con­demned Italy’s polit­i­cal class for its cor­rup­tion, for neo-fascist con­spir­acy and for col­lu­sion with the Mafia. In arti­cles for Cor­riere della Sera he had called for Italy’s polit­i­cal class to be put on trial.

Other friends and sup­port­ers of Pasolini, like the film direc­tor Bernardo Bertolucci, used the absence of blood on Pelosi’s clothes and the nature of the marks on Pasolini’s body to cast doubt on the notion that Pelosi alone could have com­mit­ted the mur­der. Bertolucci, who worked as an assis­tant on Pasolini’s first film Accat­tone, spoke of the way Pasolini’s life and pub­lic image had been “sav­aged” in the period lead­ing up to his mur­der. Pasolini’s last film Salo o le 120 Gior­nate di Sodom depicted Mussolini’s fas­cists as sodomites, and he had received death threats from active neo-fascist groups.

A dark coloured car came out of nowhere… and a motor­cy­cle. All in all 5 peo­ple arrived… I saw them drag Pasolini out of the car and they were beat­ing and kick­ing him, they really beat him up. They were shout­ing: “Dirty com­mu­nist, queer, swine”. I was afraid. I went back when it was all over… To kill some­one in this man­ner you must either be insane or be dri­ven by some really strong force: now, given that these killers have man­aged to evade the law for more than thirty years, they cer­tainly can’t be insane. So they must have had a very good rea­son for doing what they did. And no one has ever laid a hand on them. At the end of this incred­i­ble episode, I was the only one that landed up pay­ing the price, and I was only 17 years old at the time. I was used…” Giuseppe Pelosi, in an inter­view on 12 Sep­tem­ber 2008

Video directed by Peter Christo­pher­son in 2008 and included as extra fea­ture in the BFI’s dvd/blu-ray edi­tion of “Salò Or The 120 Days Of Sodom”, a 1975 film by Pier Paolo Pasolini. The song by Coil, mainly Peter Christo­pher­son and John Bal­ance, is taken from the 1986 album “Horse Rotorvator”.