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.

8 BiT VoMiT’s 1° Birthday Party!



8 BiT VoMiT is a series of New Media art and music events founded by Graphic designer, DJ and artist Olya Lev­is­tova and Social Media and Pro­mo­tion enthu­si­ast Tanja Korobka. It has been cre­ated by Lon­don Chip Swarm with a mis­sion to grow chip­tune scene.

Lose your­self in explo­sive elec­tronic beats brought to you by Mind­pi­rates, 8bit Vomit, Chip swarm and DIY Church with a gath­er­ing of DJs and live acts from all over Europe. Dance your heart away and free your soul in a mix of indus­trial, noisy and loud sounds with visu­als by NZNZ, Gab­ifront, and Wario.

Meet the crea­tures of tomor­row to have a night of future fun with: COMPANY FUCK (AU / DE), MIDI MAN, Del_F64.0 & Zus­tand D. (DE), BEN BUTLER AND MOUSEPAD, SANTISIMA VIRGEN MARIA, DR. NEXUS and EYE, DJ OLIO (EE), DJ MICHAEL ANISER (noisekölln/epitaph). VIDEOGAMEZONE BY Qubodup (Joyride­labs).

Free mix­tapes, can­dyfloss, deco, and more. Sup­ported by and MINd­PI­rates


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.

Simply Divine Cut-Out Doll Book

Isabel M. Martinez’s Quantum Blink


Per­cep­tion is a recur­ring theme within my prac­tice, and has become a foun­da­tion for me to explore ideas that reflect on notions of time, space, simul­tane­ity and dura­tion. As an artist, I am inter­ested in the aspects of expe­ri­ence where the real, the known, and the imag­ined col­lide. Spatio-temporal rela­tions, and visu­al­iz­ing the invis­i­ble are pre­dom­i­nant sub­jects. My inter­pre­ta­tions are informed in part by sci­ence, phi­los­o­phy and fic­tion. Exper­i­men­ta­tion and process are at the fore­front of much of my work, at times result­ing in ambigu­ous nar­ra­tives and hybrid exercises.

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In my work I attempt to artic­u­late some­thing in between the freez­ing of time—that so often char­ac­ter­izes photography—and its con­stant pass­ing. I allude to tem­po­ral­i­ties that are fluid, hypo­thet­i­cal, and impre­cise. The pho­tographs in Quan­tum Blink are com­posed of two expo­sures taken instants apart. Each pho­to­graph in the series holds a brief sense of con­ti­nu­ity, almost like an ani­ma­tion, slightly cin­e­mato­graphic. How­ever, though they pro­vide a notion of move­ment and pro­gres­sion, their begin­ning and end is ambigu­ous and indistinguishable.

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Once Upon a Honeymoon

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When our soci­ety went from “buy­ing to replace” to “buy to be happy”, the effect snow­balled over the decades with the force needed to keep from expe­ri­enc­ing a real exis­ten­tial crisis.

Once Upon a Hon­ey­moon is a 1956 musi­cal spon­sored film about a cou­ple wish­ing for a new home. It starts off with a group of angels who decide to help a cou­ple have a hon­ey­moon. The hus­band (Jeff) tries to write a song, while the wife (Mary) day­dreams about a new home, and imag­ines what it would be like to have the lat­est house­hold prod­ucts with the help of the angel. The angel then helps the man come up with a new song called “A Cas­tle in the Sky”.

The film was directed by Gower Cham­pion, and starred Vir­ginia Gib­son, Ward Ellis, Alan Mow­bray, Chick Chan­dler, Veron­ica Pataky and Rus­sell Hicks. In recent years the film has gained a small fol­low­ing, after it was mocked on the show Mys­tery Sci­ence The­ater 3000. It is in the pub­lic domain.

Tales from the Dressing Table

Mar­quis Franz von Bay­ros was born in Zagreb in 1866, as the son of a Span­ish noble­man. He became an artist, stand­ing out amongst his con­tem­po­raries for his entic­ing and del­i­cate graphic style. He drew a series of erotic draw­ings, depict­ing worldly beau­ties in com­pro­mis­ing posi­tions. One of his erotic port­fo­lios, ‘Erzahlun­gen vom Toi­let­ten­tisch’ (‘Tales from the Dress­ing Table’), caused a court­case and made Von Bay­ros famous.

Von Bay­ros was born in Zagreb, in present-day Croa­tia. At the age of 17, he passed the entrance exam for the Vienna Acad­emy with Eduard von Engerth. Von Bay­ros mixed in ele­gant soci­ety and soon belonged to the cir­cle of friends of Johann Strauss II, whose step­daugh­ter Alice he mar­ried in 1896. The next year, von Bay­ros moved to Munich.

In 1911, the Munich police per­se­cuted him because of his illus­tra­tions and forced him into exile from Ger­many. He drew about 2000 illus­tra­tions in all his life, for books such as Dante’s ‘Div­ina Com­me­dia’ and those by Hans Bartsch. His legacy is a won­der­ful col­lec­tion of lovely, deca­dent erotic but ele­gant mas­ter­pieces, with a love for every small­est beau­ti­ful detail, rarely found else­where. Franz von Bay­ros died in Vienna on 3 April 1924.



A one-night stand that becomes some­thing more — an uncon­ven­tional love story between two young men try­ing to make sense of their lives.

On a Fri­day night after hang­ing out with his straight mates, Rus­sell heads out to a night­club, alone and on the pull. Just before clos­ing time he picks up Glen. And so begins a week­end — in bars and in bed­rooms, get­ting drunk and tak­ing drugs, telling sto­ries and hav­ing sex — that will res­onate through­out their lives.

Film Before Film

Opti­cal toys, shadow shows, ‘magic lanterns’ and visual tricks have existed for thou­sands of years. Many inven­tors, sci­en­tists, and man­u­fac­tur­ers have observed the visual phe­nom­e­non that a series of indi­vid­ual still pic­tures set into motion cre­ated the illu­sion of move­ment — a con­cept termed per­sis­tence of vision.

Film Before Film is an exhil­a­rat­ing and amus­ing ency­clo­pe­dic look at the “pre­his­tory” of cinema.

Werner Nekes charts the fas­ci­na­tion with mov­ing pic­tures which led to the birth of film, cov­er­ing shadow plays, peep shows, flip books, flicks, magic lanterns, lithopanes, panoramic, scrolls, col­or­ful forms of early ani­ma­tion, and numer­ous other his­tor­i­cal artiffices.

Work­ing with these for­mats, early “pro­duc­ers” cre­ated melo­dra­mas, come­dies, — as well as lots of pornog­ra­phy – antic­i­pat­ing most of the forms known today.

Nekes probes these col­or­ful toys and inven­tions in a rich and reward­ing opti­cal experience.

Film Before Film is a bewil­der­ing assault of exotic (and some­times erotic) images and illusions.

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”.