Saturday, July 15, 2017

“REVIEW: Lancelot Link – Secret Chimp”

In the realm of “guilty pleasure” viewing, I have to put that classic chimpanzee spy comedy, Lancelot Link – Secret Chimp, pretty high up on my list! I found the show in the late 1980s when it aired as reruns on Nick at Night, and although it has some serious issues, I think for fans of WEIRD TV, it might be worth a watch!



Lancelot Link – Secret Chimp – Pickwick Group / Image Entertainment (2004)

Originally airing in the very early 1970s, Lancelot Link was a spoof version of the spy genre, based on the tried and true Get Smart! model, but in which all of the actors were replaced by chimpanzees. The chimps would be put into silly costumes and would be made to flap their mouths (sometimes obviously just chewing on stuff), and then dialog was overdubbed by voice actors doing various impersonations. The voice acting is often unpleasant, especially for the shrill, female voiced characters, and the accents are usually based on terrible, extremely un-P.C. stereotypes. And we’re talking Disney levels of stereotyping here, too, right out of The Aristocats or It’s a Small World ride. (The Dragon Lady, Baron Von Butcher, Ali Assa Seen, Chief Jumping Frog, etc., all with corresponding, offensive accents…) Racially sensitive individuals will find a lot to be bothered by here.

The plots are usually paper thin, the jokes are as corny as you can get, the voice acting is pretty unpleasant, and the cultural insensitivity borders on the outright racist---but I still enjoy watching the show. WHY??? Because chimpanzees are funny. Just watching these guys walk around in costumes and play with tennis rackets and other props is hilarious. I especially love the “musical interludes,” in which the band, Lancelot Link and The Evolution Revolution, play psychedelic power-pop bubblegum tunes while dressed in hippie attire! I genuinely like the songs (I’m a sucker for bubblegum pop), and I love watching the chimps banging away at various instruments and dancing around the room to the music. They seem to be having a great time.

As far as the corniness of the show goes, two of the writers for Lancelot Link were Mike Marmer and Stan Burns, who also worked on Get Smart!, so this show is filled with bad puns and goofy sight gags. If you enjoyed this type of silliness in Get Smart! or on the original Muppets t.v. show, you’ll probably enjoy it here, too. Overall, Lancelot Link is silly and bizarre, and it makes me laugh. (Sometimes, you just need to laugh.) My wife finds the show annoying, and I understand why, AND as I said earlier, people who are sensitive about racial stereotypes are going to be horrified. Maybe, before jumping at buying a DVD set, you should watch a couple of episode on YooToob as see if you can stand the heat! Personally, I think it’s F.A.B.

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/primitiveentertainment
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
http://themuseumofwhatilike.blogspot.com/

“Serialized Novella: ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapters 14, 15, and 16)” by Richard F. Yates

[Rubber meets road. Horror comes home. In the previous section of Allen’s story, he met a couple of monsters and was attacked by a witch. With this section, it all goes to Hell. Read on and see what I mean! ---RFY]

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 14)

Allen grabbed his sword, Kitsle's box, and his bag off the floor. "Just go! Out of the room!" he yelled. "We don't know how long she's going to be paralyzed." Rose pushed her friends out the door. Allen followed, closing the door behind him.

"Kitsle?" he said, holding the box up to eye height. The panel clicked open and Kitsle's sliver head poked out of the opening. "Can you block the door or electrify the doorknob or something so she can't get out?"

The little head swiveled toward the door, looked it up and down, then nodded. It pointed a claw past Allen down the hall.

"Okay, I'll go," Allen said, and the bug hopped over to the doorknob. Allen saw the walls of the hallway glow bright yellow-green, as he raced after Rose and the other girls, who had already dashed down the stairs at the end of the hall.

"Allen, what was that thing?" Rose asked as he jumped down the last few steps at the bottom of the stairs.

"According to Chaz, he's a sprite. At least I think it's a 'he.' Is Kitsle a boys name?" A glittering flash flew down the stairs and landed on the box. It tapped the side panel and slipped inside.

"Oh, God," the girl with purple hair wimpered.

"Jesus, Allen. What's going on?" Rose asked.

"I don't know, for sure, but I think our family is under attack," he said. "I guess we know too much." He put Kitsle's box into his bag and zipped it most of the way closed, then set the bag carefully on the floor next to the couch.

"I don't understand any of this. Why did Krystal go berserk?" Rose asked. Allen shrugged, then Rose’s eyes went wide. "Allen, where's Mom?"

"Mom!?" he called loudly. “The kitchen still?”

Rose shoved her friends out of the way and dashed toward the kitchen. Allen followed. Rose pushed through the door.

Allen saw his Mom standing at the sink, unmoving, her hands resting on the edge of the counter. She appeared to be staring out the window over the sink.

"Mom, are you okay?" Rose said, timidly, and their mother shook, slightly. She turned to Rose and smiled.

"Hey, honey. Dinner's not going to be ready for a bit, yet," she said and turned away from the window. She took a timid step toward the fridge, then staggered.

“Mom!” Rose yelled, and reached out to catch her, but her mother caught herself before she fell.

"Huh," she laughed. "Almost lost my balance. You know, it's the damnedest thing. I thought I saw a huge dog in our backyard---then I spaced out." She looked at the clock.

"Oh my God! Is it that late? I must have taken too long with the shopping! I haven't even started dinner yet, and your father's going to be home any minute! What happened to my afternoon?" She rushed over to the refrigerator and started putting ingredients on the counter for dinner.

"I think she's okay," Allen whispered to Rose.

"I'm going to check on Stacey and Angie," Rose said.

"Two extra for dinner! Oh, Rose, why didn't you tell me earlier!" their mother mumbled something to herself and set a pan full of ground beef on the stove.

Rose went out the door to the living room, leaving Allen and his Mom in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Allen said. He was sorry for a number of things.

"Not your fault, hon'. You didn't bring anyone extra over for dinner and not tell me. Oh, well. We'll make do. Do you have any homework you need to get done?" she said.

"Not really," Allen said, thinking that he didn't know when he'd even be able to go to school again. He walked over to his mom and hugged her, then went back to the living room.

Stacey, the green haired girl, was sitting on the couch crying silently, dark lines from her mascara were drawn on her cheeks. Rose and Angie were standing by the window, talking. Allen heard a scream from upstairs. Krystal must have woken up and tried the doorknob. Allen's chest began to burn, and he looked down at the charm around his neck. The eyes were glowing, brightly. He walked over to his bag and pulled the sword out. He felt the urge to unsheathe the blade and rush upstairs to fight, but fear got the better of him. He stared up at the ceiling where he imagined Krystal was trying to find a way out of his bedroom.

From behind the house, Allen heard a deep, savage yell, and nebulous, hissing screams. He shivered---the shadow creatures were back.

"What was that noise?" Stacey asked.

"I don't know," Rose said, then looked at Allen. His eyes were wide, but he didn't answer. Telling them wouldn't help; it would only terrify them more.

"There's a car pulling up outside," Angie said, looking out the front window. Allen's father had parked in his usual space on the street, directly in front of the house. Allen rushed to the window.

His father stepped out of his car and closed the door. Almost immediately, the air around him began to swim, and Allen saw four Shadow creatures solidify in the street, mere feet from his father. His father, apparently unaware of the danger that hovered so near, took a few casual steps toward the house, whistling to himself and looking through a handful of papers.

"What are those things, Allen" Rose asked.

"What things?" Angie said. "Isn't that your Dad?"

"Oh, God! DAD!" Allen yelled and dove for the door.

Rose watched out the window as one of the creatures floated up behind her father. It raised a dark, misty claw and thrust it through her father's back, bloody nails suddenly bursting out of his chest.

Allen threw the door open and stepped out onto the walkway in time to see his father’s eyes go blank and his body begin to tremble all over. He fell to the ground, and a darkness, a rot, appearing first around the hole in his back, began to spread over his whole body. It grew towards his arms, legs, and head, melting his flesh, turning him into a smoky, shadowy mass, until the man who was Arthur Tombes, Allen's father, became one of them.

There was a deep roar, like a mountain crumbling, as Haro galloped toward the smoky creatures in front of Allen's house. His claws glowing bright red, Haro slashed in huge arcs, tearing through the Shadows, as they hissed and shrieked, then dissolved.

"You must get back in the house!" Haro bellowed, standing over a smoking pile of teeth and claws.

"My Dad..." Allen said, feeling dazed, lost.

"Now is not the time, child. More are coming. Back into the house," Haro said this more softly, but
still with a massive rumble in his voice.

Allen backed to the door. Then, as Haro bounded for the side of the house, Allen slipped back inside.

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 15)

"He's gone," Allen said, softly. "Dad's gone."

Stacey sat, panting, on the couch. Her face was slack, her eyes huge.

Rose and Angie continued watching out the window. Allen could hear Rose crying, but he was too much in shock himself to go over to her.

Angie turned to Allen, her face was a mask of confusion. She looked almost angry. "What just happened?" Angie said. "It looked like your Dad was having some kind of an attack, a seizure or something, then he fell on the ground and just..." she shook her head, "...and then he just vanished."

"She didn't see them," Rose said, sniffing and wiping her dark tears from her cheeks.

"Most people can't," Allen said. "Dad couldn't. He didn't even realize he was in surrounded."

"And what was that other thing, the monster that tore up those ghosts and then yelled at you?" Rose asked.

"That's Haro. Chris sent him to guard the house," Allen said. "He and his brother were disguised as dogs earlier, remember?" Allen wiped his own face with his left hand. His right still held his sword.

"Where is Chris? Why isn't he here?" Rose said.

"I don't know. I talked to him at Chaz's shop, and he sent me home with Haro. He said he'd come here to get me in a few days."

"Come get you? To take you where?" Rose asked.

Before he could answer, Stacey yelled, "What is that sound? What is that sound!?" Rose, Allen, and Angie all jumped. Stacey was staring at the ceiling.

Then Allen heard it, a chanting coming from above, growing louder every moment.

"It's Krystal," Rose said. "She's up to something. I can't make out the words. Angie, can you tell what she's doing?"

Angie cocked her head to one side, listening to the sound, but shrugged her shoulders.

Suddenly their Mom pushed her head through the doorway from the kitchen, making everybody jump again. "Dinner's going to be ready in just a few minutes. Better wash up. Is your father home yet? I thought I heard someone come in the front door."

"No, he's not home yet," Allen said, sharing a look with Rose. He couldn't tell her.

"Are you messing with that sword again!? I told you, it's going back. Giving a fifteen year old a sword---what the Hell was Chaz thinking? And Rose, it sounds like you left your stereo on upstairs. Could you go turn it off?" she said, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Rose, what do we do about---about your stereo?" Allen asked, pointing at the ceiling.

"I don't know. I've been studying with her for almost a year, and she's always been so sweet---until she saw you." Rose glanced at Allen's necklace, the eyes still glowing red, and then at the sword in his hand. "This all seems so wrong," she whispered.

There was a rumble all around the house, like a small earthquake, and the chanting from upstairs stopped. Allen walked towards the stairs. He heard a crazed cackle from above, then the sound of glass shattering.

"I think she's out of the room," Allen said. His throat felt too tight.

"Allen, I think the protective spell is gone," Rose said. "I can't feel it in the air anymore."

"I can't take any more of this!" Stacey yelled. She jumped off the couch, bolting for the door.

"Stacey! No!" Rose yelled.

Stacey pulled the door open, and Krystal appeared in the doorway. Her face and neck were dripping blood from several small cuts, but she was smiling a huge, evil grin again. Stacey was frozen, her mouth wide open and her hand still on the door handle. Krystal, her arm moving in a black blur, stabbed Stacey in the neck. She pulled the blade out, cocked her arm back, and then stabbed Stacey again, this time driving the blade into the girl’s chest.

Krystal shrieked with laughter as Stacey, her eyes still open, fell to the floor.

"Your protection spell is gone," Krystal said, her voice suddenly calm and sweet again. She stepped over Stacey's body. “They can get in now,” she said, still sweet, then her face contorted and she screamed, "And you're all going to die!"

"Kitsle!" Allen yelled, panicking. But before the sprite appeared, Haro dove through the open front door and bashed Krystal with his huge claws. The witch was struck at chest height and flew sideways, slamming into the wall with a bone shattering crash. Her body fell to the floor in a shattered heap.

Rose and Angie both screamed.

"The house is surrounded," Haro said. "Oro is dead. We must hold against the Shadows until your brother arrives with help. Haro whistled a strange, chirping sound, and Kitsle appeared from inside Allen's bag. Haro clicked and popped in Kitsle's language. Kitsle nodded and disappeared in a bright flash.

"I've sent the sprite to tell Christopher that our situation is urgent," Haro said.

Allen heard glass breaking in the kitchen and his mother screamed.

"Mom!" he yelled and dashed toward the kitchen door, pulling his sword out of its sheath. The blade pulsed with a blue-green light.

He burst through the doorway and saw a shadow creature hovering over his mother, who was laying on the floor in a quickly growing pool of blood. Her face and chest were torn open, and blood dripped from the creature’s misty claws, but his mother's body didn't change into a Shadow as his father's had.

Allen raised his sword and rushed at the creature as the Shadow's dark, misty face turned toward him and smiled.

"The boy," it hissed and seemed to laugh as Allen slashed through its head and chest with his glowing blade. The creature howled and gurgled, and then the Shadow's flesh began to dissolve. The teeth and claws fell to the floor.

ALLEN TOMBES – FIRE FROM WATER (Chapter 16)

Haro charged through the kitchen door, tearing it from its hinges and tossing the useless wood out of his way. Rose followed immediately after and saw her mother lying on the floor. She knelt down next to her.

"Allen---she's..." Rose sobbed.

Haro saw the remains of the Shadow melting on the floor and said, "You have destroyed a Shadow. I'm impressed, child."

"Why didn't she become one? Like Dad did?" Allen asked. Rose laid across her mother's chest, weeping.

"Her family line," Haro said, "cannot be corrupted by the Shadows' influence. She was not able to see them, not everyone from her bloodline can, but all three of her children are able to, apparently. That is why the Shadows want your family destroyed, fewer eyes to watch them," Haro said this with a snarl. It was obvious that he had nothing but contempt for the Shadow creatures.

Angie slowly stepped into the kitchen. "Oh my God," she said, seeing Rose laying on her Mom. Her hands shook as she raised them up to her cheeks.

"More are approaching," Haro said. His claws began to glow red again. Allen's charm as well. The backdoor of the kitchen crashed open and the air swam with dark mist. Haro roared and dove into the swirling cloud, slashing with his great claws. Allen saw more shadowy forms pouring through the broken window over the sink and heard hissing from the living room. He raised his sword and stepped between his sister and the Shadows coming through the kitchen window and moving towards them.

"Leave us alone!" Allen yelled, fury in his face, and as he yelled, the blue-green light coming from his sword darkened. His eyes, even the whites, began to burn with a midnight blue flame, and his sword flashed with licks of dark blue fire. Rose looked up from her mother just as the room was filled with a blinding blue flash and a huge, bird-like form, its body smoldering with blue flame, appeared in front of Allen. The bird tore through the air, screaming with a deafening call, engulfing and destroying every Shadow in its path, blowing completely through the kitchen wall, and streaking outside into the backyard. Allen watched it incinerate the creatures massing there, then it flashed back through the kitchen, flew by Angie catching her hair on fire, and off into the living room, consuming the Shadows that had entered from the front as well. It then burst out the front door into the yard.

Rose, seeing Angie's hair ablaze, leaped up and grabbed a hand towel off the counter to smother the flames. All of this happened so quickly that Allen was still holding his sword up as Rose patted the last of the sizzle from Angie’s hair. Allen, his saucer-sized eyes still burning dark blue, turned to Rose, as the fire bird came flying back around the house and reentered the kitchen through the hole where the wall used to be. Rose was holding Angie, and the two were pressed up against the cupboards, shielding themselves from the bird. Allen lowered his sword, and the blue flames slowly left his eyes. The smoldering bird hovered on wings of fire, staring at Allen.

Haro tore into the kitchen from the back of the house, then stopped abruptly. He saw the fire bird and his mouth opened in shock. He stuttered something to himself, then bowed, deeply, to the bird.

"My Lord," Haro said, his eyes on the floor, "we thank you for your protection."

The bird remained fixated on Allen for several seconds, then let out a sharp call, flapped its burning wings and vanished in a blue flash of flame.

The kitchen was silent for a few seconds, then Haro stood back up, although he was still hunched, gorilla-like, and shuffled over to Allen.

"Child, you are full of surprises," he said, growling in a low way that Allen guessed was probably a laugh.


[See!? I told you! This was totally a “not messing around” section. Am I right? Suddenly, Allen and Rose have become orphans, Allen has shown himself to be something dark and dangerous, and we become acutely aware that Haro is a serious bad-ass… For those of you who haven’t read the first thirteen chapters of this wicked adventure, you can find them at the Primitive Patreon Page, where you can also contribute, if you like, to the creation of MORE stories like this one. Thanks for reading! Hopefully, I’ll get back to the regular schedule of one new section per week from here on out! ---RFY]

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/primitiveentertainment
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
http://themuseumofwhatilike.blogspot.com/

Friday, July 14, 2017

“45 and Still Alive” by Richard F. Yates

I turn 45 in a few days---and I still wonder… My dad, when he was in his 50s, said, “I wonder what I’m going to be when I grow up?” I laughed at the time, but I get it now. Time creeps up on you. That---and in our society, you’re kind of defined by your job. “Oh, he’s a banker.” “She’s a senator.” “Yeah, that guy works at the mill.” Income equals identity. I’ve BEEN a lot of things for money: DJ, floor manager of a music store, cashier, pizza delivery guy, teaching assistant, editor, writing consultant… I’ve even made a few dollars from writing and painting (which probably amounted to about 10 or 12 cents per hour, but that’s okay. I can still SAY that I’m a “PROFESSIONAL” artist.)

But what do I WANT to be when I grow up? My wife and I had kids young (probably too young) before we had all those silly, unnecessary things, like security or good jobs or any idea of what we were doing---but the up-shot of starting early is that our kids are mostly grown and doing their own things now, and we’ve still got a little bit of LIFE in us. The older daughter is married, has a good job, several hobbies that she really enjoys, and she seems to be happy and enjoying her life. The younger one is about a year away from finishing her college courses, has a decent job (that works around her school schedule), and is looking at starting her own grand adventure. That leaves the little woman and I (in our 40s) with a mostly empty nest and this weird situation that we haven’t had since we were teenagers: WE’VE GOT OPTIONS.

Mariah (“The Boss”) makes good money at her current job and has a fancy title and everything. She is a “Licensed Dispensing Optician and a Contact Lens Specialist.” It isn’t paradise, but it could be worse. We’ve both worked much, much worse.

I don’t have either of the things that Mariah does (a title or a reliable income…) I just draw pictures and write stories and correct other people’s punctuation and then take credit for their hard work (that’s what editors do.) I often wonder if I should scrap this whole project (the “ARTISTIC LIFE” project) and get a real job loading boxes onto trucks or checking IDs from a little booth before raising the barrier arm and letting whoever drive through. The funny thing is, I’m pretty highly educated, but in the area that I live (and with the social climate in the state that it’s in) being a “smart guy” is at best underwhelming and at worst a sign that I need to be beaten up or chased out of town.

Back when I first started college I quickly became enamored with PHILOSOPHY as a subject, and declared that I was going to be a philosopher---take it all the way to Ph.D. and everything. Luckily, my “Intro to Philosophy” professor (who became a great friend---and who is sadly now deceased) took me aside and said, “Philosophy is great, but you’ll never get a job if you get a degree in philosophy. You need to do something practical.”

So I followed his advice, and I got a degree in HUMANITIES (magna cum laude), with a formal minor in ANTHROPOLOGY, and I went to grad school where I specialized in poetry and literary analysis... A career path GUARANTEED to get me a fat paycheck and fame and a fancy house, right? I’ve written a great deal about Allen Ginsberg and Walt Whitman and the Dada writers and even some of the more poetic fiction authors, like Mark Twain and Thomas Pynchon. I can go toe to toe with Doctors of Rhetoric on obscure subjects, like Rene Girard’s Memetics Theory or Semiotics in Occult Symbology. I am a published academic who has given guest lectures at universities on topics like the history and development of punk and strategies for writing poetry; I’ve taught writing classes for kids at writing festivals; I’ve presided over workshops at museums on zine making; I have over 40 publication credits (poems, articles, and stories); I’ve been the (paid!) poetry editor of a college literary journal; I’ve been the author or editor (or co-editor) of about 10 books that I’ve self-published (many of them still available on Amazon); and I’ve been on the staff of at least a half-dozen independently published zines and papers…. But I’m still broke and basically unemployable.

So here’s the question: IS IT WORTH IT?

[LONG PAUSE…]

Once you get over the STUPID questions, I’d say YES. It’s worth it. What are the “stupid” questions, I hear you asking (in my head.) Here are a few stupid questions: Will I get rich and famous doing this? How will I be remembered once I’m gone? What if someone doesn’t like what I’ve written/drawn/painted? Is this a masterpiece? These are stupid questions because they take the focus off of the IMPORTANT things about ART:

(1) Having fun making stuff. I love to draw and to paint and to write stories and to make weird, indecipherable poetry. I’ve always done these things, since I was old enough to hold a crayon, and I will continue to do them until I drop over dead (and maybe for a little while after.)

(2) Having fun SHARING what you’ve made with other people. My first audience is my wife, who is supportive and usually laughs at what I’ve done---but not always. Sometimes it’s too weird or too creepy or too absurd, and that’s fine. (She is totally wrong about those pieces, but I forgive her.) I also share my stuff with friends and family, both in real life and through social media. (BIG UP to electronic communication!) Before I found the Faceboot or WeirdPress, I was a postal artist and sent tons of hand-made postcards and weird collages and zines all over the world (no exaggeration.) I loved sending and I loved getting stuff back (and I would STILL be a postal artist if I had the money to cover postage.) So electronic sharing is the focus now. Personal victory moment: I was at one of my younger daughter’s bowling tournaments in Everett, Washington, and a great old guy (everyone calls him “Grandpa”) caught me as we were leaving and said, “I just gotta ask---Where do you come up with that stuff? Every day, I turn on Facebook and laugh my ass off!” He hardly ever clicked the “thumbs up” button and never commented, but this funny little guy who lives about three hours north of my town, who I know mostly through the BOWLING community, had been reading my stories and looking at my cartoons and having a laugh. That felt pretty good.

(3) In an age of horror and political garbage and everybody hating everything, I like to think I’m helping make the world a slightly more enjoyable place. Sure some of what I write has a negative edge (especially the Charlie Centipede pieces), and I deal with lots of horror themes---but like Richard O’Brien said to me years ago after spending a few weeks staring at a bunch of artwork that I had displayed on the walls of the writing center we used to work at: “It’s like you’ve taken all of this horror, monsters and zombies and death, and you’ve defanged it by making it silly. You’re dealing with your anxiety and angst by painting it with candy colors, making it less threatening.” I nodded and winked, making him think that this was my plan all along… And he was right, of course---but it wasn’t a conscious strategy on my part. I was just trying to have fun and make the world a little more pleasant. That’s also why I do the music playlists and book reviews and photos of fun or weird things that I encounter: I’m trying to show people that there are enjoyable and interesting sights out there that they too can encounter, and prove that the world isn’t just terrorists and rich people stealing from poor people and religious extremists. It’s also great books and cool music and fun people and interesting things to see and do. You can’t always wallow in the bad---sometimes you’ve got to wallow in the awesome.

(4) As an editor, I also feel like I’ve given a voice to people who wouldn’t have bothered if I wasn’t there encouraging them and providing a platform. Several of the regulars here at the workshop send me their work hand-written, ink on paper, and I type it for them and then post it. And there are lots of people who have created work based specifically as reactions to the materials I’ve drawn or written or published here, and I’m always happy to post their responses, whatever form those responses may take (remixes, rebuttals, snarky comments…) My original intention for most of my zines (particularly PHANTOM CONVERSATION) was to promote the concept of a community of interacting individuals, but the internet has proven much easier and more effective for LINKING that type of community together. I’m thrilled with the number of contributors that we’ve had on this site and shocked at the wide variety of materials that people send my way. To be fair (open disclosure) MOST of the work I post on here comes from people I know in “REAL LIFE,” but not all of it. And even if that were true, it’s still pretty cool. I always love when people DO stuff and MAKE their own things. I’m all for it and I’m happy to share that stuff with the world (the INTERNET WORLD, anyway.)

HAVING FUN.
SHARING WITH OTHERS.
MAKING THE WORLD A MORE ENJOYABLE PLACE.
PROMOTING COMMMUNITY INTERACTION.

Yeah. It’s worth it.

I still wish I had enough money to buy a coffee, though.

Alive at 45 (if I make it through the weekend.) That wasn’t a given, especially if you knew me from back in the late 80s and early 90s (when I was a purple-haired skater punk, hanging out at rave parties, cavorting with degenerates (YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!), sleeping on various people’s floors, and spilling my guts in bathrooms as the party started to wind down... I came close to checking out more than once back then. Kids can be stupid.) Them was some ROUGH years. But I lived through them, and met Mariah, and had two awesome kids, and worked a lot of different jobs, and did that education thing (and have the debt to prove it), and now… Now I’m not sure. What do I want to be when I grow up?

---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
https://www.patreon.com/primitiveentertainment
http://readadamnbookwithrfy.blogspot.com
http://themuseumofwhatilike.blogspot.com/

Sunday, July 9, 2017

“Scary Goth” by Richard F. Yates

I read an article a few days ago that said some interesting and odd things about GOTH. I’m an old-school goth fan, from the 80s, and although I don’t look like a goth, I’ve been a HARDCORE fan of the music since that time. Considering my nearly 30-year love of all things dark and dreary, I thought that the article that I read had some very strange things to say: 1) Kids are no longer getting into goth, 2) a. Nine Inch Nails, b. Marilyn Manson, and c. Ministry were goth (NONE of these bands were goth, in my opinion), and 3) that EBM was born in the 90s as a result of goth fusing with industrial (thanks to the bands mentioned above) and that claim is just WRONG. (EBM, or Electronic Body Music, was a post-punk movement that started in the VERY early 80s with bands like The Neon Judgement, A Split Second, DAF, and Front 242. To suggest that EBM is a post mall-goth phenomena would be like saying that TECHNO started with Steve Aoki’s Dim Mak records in ’96. I’ve been a music guy for a LONG TIME, and I remember goth from the mid-80s, EBM from the mid to late 80s, and TECHNO from ’90 and ’91 when it started to spin out of acid-house and progressive dance culture.) Perhaps I’ve digressed…

So let’s take a look at the article’s points. The third point, I think I already covered, and the first point, that kids aren’t getting into goth any more, I think we need to come back to later. That leaves the second point as my primary focus. I think the argument from that article can be rephrased as such: Goth is heavy music by people wearing black clothes and singing about death and stuff… If this were true, then Public Enemy was a goth band. My suggestion is that an essential element of GOTH is a horror. Look at the progenitors: Christian Death, Virgin Prunes, Specimen, Bauhaus, Skinny Puppy (I’ll give the article credit---they did name drop Puppy)… The look was vampire / ghost / horror show, and the SOUNDS of these bands, though EXTREMELY different, ALSO carried that horror movie mood. Manson looked creepy, sure, but he never really sounded that goth (except when he covered a synth-pop / new wave song, “Sweet Dreams are Made of This,” originally by the Eurythmics. Most of the rest of the time he screamed over loud guitars. Atmosphere, creepiness, horror…these are the building blocks of GOTH. Goth is subtle and mysterious, suggesting something sinister creeping towards you in the fog and hidden in the shadows---no big booms or crazy special effects. It’s a mental game, played with suggestion, in which the listener creeps themselves out. And like the old, classic horror films, some people just don’t have the patience or the desire to let the scariness build.

But I think that’s what’s stopped the 90’s version of goth, that heavy metal / industrial / goth, in its tracks (get it, as in “tracks” on a record…) It was too overt, too heavy, and relied on jump scares and gore. It lacked the subtly and atmosphere that a truly creepy, truly horrific goth experience can provide. There needs to be SUGGESTION, like Hitchcock used in his noir films. It shouldn’t need to BASH the listener over the head, it should slowly creep them out, make them feel uneasy and unsettled in their skin. And that’s what a truly great song by the likes of Laibach or Bauhaus or Current 93 or Reptilicus can do, just give you the all over heebie-jeebies…

Think of it this way: What was the scariest song by Nine Inch Nails? Which songs by Ministry really creeped you out? (Don’t get me wrong, I love both Ministry and Nine Inch Nails, but if they are what most people think GOTHIC MUSIC is supposed to SOUND like, then we’re all in trouble.) I’m not trying to be a heavy GENRE NAZI here, either, I’m just suggesting that MOOD is more important than POWER (or black clothing and pancake makeup) when it comes to music.


Now let’s go back to that first point that the article made, that young kids aren’t getting into goth anymore. I’d argue that this is because of a misunderstanding about what goth is. If you grew up in the nineties or oughts, then you heard this aggressive, thrashy, Manson / Rob Zombie style “spooky” metal music in every horror movie or action sequence that happened for the last 20 years, and you probably thought, “God… All that GOTH music sounds the same.” And, you’d be right. That shit’s boring---but it’s also not GOTH! I think the mall-goths and the metal-goths have all gotten bored and moved on, but that doesn’t mean that DARK MUSIC is dead. Goth, as a MOOD, can be found in about a hundred different genres: punk (45 Grave, Vice Squad, Misfits, Crass and others), old school techno (Physical Motion, Smashing Atoms, Ethan Fawkes, Boogie Times Tribe, Earth Leakage Trip, and even The Prodigy---and Drum & Bass is FILLED with horror), industrial (Skinny Puppy, Click Click, My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult, Lords of Acid, Project Pitchfork, Front Line Assembly), dubstep and modern electronic dance (Grimes, Fake Blood, Drop the Lime, Excision, Zomby, Feed Me, deadmau5, TR/ST…), classic rock (Alice Cooper, Crazy World of Arthur Brown, Black Sabbath), dub and reggae (Scientist, Lee “Scratch” Perry), and even hip hop (Deathgrips, Die Antwoord, djedjotronic and Spoek Mathambo, Gravediggaz) all create gothic moods in their music. There are lots of bands that have scary atmospheres in their tunes, and I don’t see any reason to exclude these songs from the GOTH kingdom, just because they come from a strange source. Kids today may also be LISTENING to gothic songs, but not dressing like Rozz Williams or Bela Lugosi.

It should also be noted that even the original goth bands were often mixtures of various genres. Bauhaus: glam / punk / jazz / psychedelic. Skinny Puppy: industrial / dub-reggae / punk / noise. Virgin Prunes: punk / post-punk / cabaret. 45 Grave: punk / thrash / glam / new wave. Controlled Bleeding: industrial / classical / opera / noise. Alien Sex Fiend: punk / glam / rockabilly / electro-synth experimentation… And ALL of these bands also made goth music! (Most of the REALLY INTERESTING bands in the world don’t fit comfortably into ANY category.) Maybe what people need is a WIDER UNDERSTANDING what GOTH can mean---and I think I can help in this respect.

So for those who are interested in exploring the DARKER REGIONS of the human psyche and in hearing some seriously SCARY music from a wide variety of music styles, come and give my SCARY GOTH program a listen. Maybe you’ll hear something that you enjoy… You might even have a heart attack! (You’ll never know for sure until you give it a try!) (People who have a previously diagnosed heart condition should probably skip right on by…)

Here’s what you’ll hear:

SCARY GOTH (approx. 1 hour and 55 mins)

1. Coil – “Heartworms”
2. Reptilicus – “Anal Duke”
3. Einsturzende Neubauten – “Halber Mensch”
4. Crass – “Birth Control ‘n’ Rock ‘n’ Roll”
5. Psychic TV – “Twisted”
6. Bauhaus – “Departure”
7. Skinny Puppy – “Antagonism”
8. Cabaret Voltaire – “Seconds Too Late”
9. Christian Death – “This is Heresy”
10. Liquid Sex Decay – “Everything Dies”
11. My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult – “Resisting the Spirit”
12. Laibach – “Sympathy for the Devil (Time for a Change)”
13. Attrition – “The Redoubt of Light”
14. Chrome – “Armageddon”
15. Lustmord – “The Boning of Men”
16. Controlled Bleeding – “Crack the Body”
17. Butthole Surfers – “Cherub”
18. Hitting Birth – “Happy Just To Be Again”
19. Kode IV – “Possessed”
20. Virgin Prunes – “New Form of Beauty”
21. Current 93 – “Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus”
22. Ethan Fawkes – “Go Away”
23. 45 Grave – “Black Cross”





---Richard F. Yates
(Commander in Cheap of The Primitive Entertainment Workshop)

https://primitiveentertainment.wordpress.com
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