He Cuts, He Pokes! Go! Go! Go!

Took some time out from weird times to go see a really bad/good Japanese monster movie on a big screen...

We thought the 50th Anniversary screening of Godzilla--complete with subtitles and without Raymond Burr--at the Cinema 21 several years ago was pretty nifty (I think the Lad was still somewhat new to the reading thing back then--now he's a major fan of the subtitled monster and anime genres, not to mention a serious reader). But Filmusik's project Gamera vs. Guiron with a live soundtrack was the bee's knees.

By now the lad's well familiar with the Hero Turtle Gamera, but how often do we get to see it on the silver screen of an old theater? The soundtrack was completely live--chamber orchestra, voice actors, foley artists, and the front row turned out to be a planted chorus who stood up and sang the Gamera theme song. Twice. The audience was appreciative and participatory, and at the end of the show we were asked to please rise for a last chorus of the theme song, complete with "follow the bouncing ball" lyrics. Sheer happiness and lots of laughter. Totally Awesome. I can't wait to see what this group does next.

Filmusik: Gamera vs. Guiron from Galen Huckins on Vimeo.

The Horrors - Sea Within a Sea

Another guilty pleasure. This takes me back, but I'm not sure where...

Blue

It was only after finding a big, blue dildo with vibrating capabilities in the overnight drive-through bookdrop this morning did I wonder why more things don't get shoved in there. Not that I'm complaining. Just curious. There's the occasional food mess (which is both gross AND destructive), but nothing like this. I suppose the library is either untouchable or registers too low on the mischievous conscience.

But I wonder...what was the story behind the toy? Who got the idea to drop it off at the library, and what put that idea there?

Some things never change

I don't remember when I discovered music as an escape. I know by the time I was 10, I was already disappearing into my bedroom for hours at a time, listening to hand-me-down records, discarded from my aunt (the beatles, the lovin' spoonful) or retired from the jukebox in the tavern where my mom tended bar. I had a box of 45's (and still do) that contained gems collected by my grandmother, my mother, and my aunt. Someone bought me the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack when that was the big thing. My grandpa bought me an Andy Gibb album. My first record, one that I chose myself, was Blondie's 'Parallel Lines.' The first album I bought with my own money, as much as money was my own at age 12, was Flock of Seagulls (I still think "Standing in the Doorway" is an awesome song).

I haven't felt very sociable lately. That's not exactly it. I just haven't felt very connected lately. When I feel disconnected, I tend to disconnect from my usual social outlets, both "real" and "virtual", which--surprise, surprise--makes me feel that much more out of touch.

But this time, my usual escape--music--does include a slight social aspect. It started with last.fm, where I started cataloging all my records, concerts. I discovered a lot of fantastic stuff there, mostly music that I had somehow missed along the way (like early 80's band Magazine). No socializing (for me) there, but it was almost (kind of sort of...okay, maybe not really) the same effect as going alone to a concert and being surrounded by people who are just as much into some weird band as you are.

Now it's Blip.fm. I like its current limitations. It's Twitter-esque in its mode of communication, although the tweets--blips!--contain songs, sometimes nothing more, sometimes a message, sometimes a reply. I hear songs that I haven't heard in years (someone played the Blow Monkeys the other day, yanking me to some weird spot in my own distant past--no I was never a Blow Monkeys fan, but "Digging Your Scene" definitely has a particular time flavor), songs that are new, songs from other parts of the world that I have little chance of hearing in my own cultural wasteland. I send a song out into the world and sometimes someone hears it. It's like being alone and not being alone at the same time. Kind of comforting, kind of weird. Yeah. Music, the wonder drug, or something like that.

Speaking of music that takes me to a certain time and space, this one takes me back to an apartment on Hudson Street when, looking back, everything was still ahead of me. It makes me happy and sad and wistful and hopeful all at the same time:

Everything Beyond These Walls Has Been Razed

At some point I will get back to writing, get past the posting of videos, but you know...when things get weird, music is the perfect escape. At the moment, I'm curled on my side on the bed, the laptop on its side, and typing in this position isn't conducive to meaningful missives...I heard this particular song a couple weeks ago and it has anchored itself into my brain. Seems to fit the current mood (the song...the video's a bit creepy).

Oh My God

So, yeah, yeah...'I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked' is the one that's getting marginal airplay around here, but this is the song I relate to. Some days, it could even be my theme song, if I didn't already have one...

The Light Pours Out of Me

One Random Thing: Pete Seeger

I am always surprised and happy to hear that Pete Seeger is still alive and busy. I'm not sure why the surprise--perhaps I've been thinking all this time that he's older than he is, or maybe I just never knew his age (he just turned 90 on May 3). While I've never been a major fan of folk music, it is part of my upbringing, Pete Seeger and his company are indelibly linked to my childhood. I guess that's where the happiness comes in...although, I must say, contrary to Steve Martin's assertion, Pete can make the banjo a melancholy instrument indeed.

He's better known for lots of other songs, and I guess I'm most familiar with Malvina Reynold's version, but this is a song that makes me happy, too. If you follow the links on this YouTube offering, you'll be able to see Malvina's performances on the show as well, on her own and accompanied by Pete:



Happy Belated Birthday, Mr. Seeger.