For nearly 40 years, Judy Garland was the icon of the Hollywood life and classed as one of the greatest entertainers of her generation. She was performing on stage and in movies from a very young age and at 16 she brought The Wizard Of Oz to life on the big screen. She followed this with many movies and a staggering amount of concert appearances that broke box office records.
Behind the scenes it was a different story. From an early age, MGM Studios had been plying its young actors with ampthetamines and barbiturates to keep them going through the back to back filming schedules required to keep new movies being released. This went hand in hand with the glitzy lifestyle and constant rotation of work/party/premiere/work that made up the backbone of Hollywood.
Despite a hectic work schedule and much critical acclaim, Judy Garland's personnel life was a shambles. By the early sixties, five marriages and a life long battle with alcohol and drug abuse had taken its toll on her. In a bid to get her back into the public's eye it was decided she would write an autobiography. Enter her agent, Irving "Swifty" Lazar. He supplied the ailing star with a reel to reel tape recorder and got her to use it as a way to get the book started as well as maybe come to terms with her problems.
What follows has become known as the "Judy Speaks" tapes. Still mainlining pills and a ludicrous amount of gin, she sobs and screams at ex-husbands, film executives, her complete distrust of the recording device and pretty much everyone who she believes led her to this point in life.
Bear in mind that its pretty heavy going at times. Her booze soaked rendition of Somewhere Over The Rainbow is pretty heavy. As legend goes, these tapes got confiscated after her death in 1969 and ended up locked away in a publicist's vault before getting a public release some years ago. Judy's family actually petitioned for them to be denied a release but the court ruled otherwise.
Its pretty heavy going stuff at times. Some brief moments of cohesion and happiness are soon washed away by Judy's gin soaked anger and vitriol. Be warned.
The joys and awesomeness of movie montage music have been extolled many a time here on Illcon. From the awesome Blood Bros mix-tapes to Cobra's in-house work out mix, we all know how hard they rule as well as the obvious mental and physical benefits that can be attained from listening to such down right manly, life affirming and brutally cool tunes.
Now, your probably wondering what all this is leading to? Well, as a sucker for soundtracks in general I routinely go through my collection and realised that out of everything I have, there is one actor who seems to have dominance over the rest of my OST shelf, that one man is Mr Sylvester Stallone.
On closer inspection I realised that he also seems to have the most relevance when it comes to pump up montages ( as well as more often than not having soundtracks that are far more entertaining than the actual films they correspond to). I mean, Rocky is the main culprit when it comes down to it. In fact, the first 4 Rocky films possess enough sweaty working out set to awesome rock music footage to power a small country. Eye of The Tiger, case in point. The ruling Kingpin of montage riffary. So in the Illcon spirit of educated the uneducated, I have pulled out my personal picks of the Stallone OST library for you good people to enjoy, kick back, work out and be cool to.
Starting of with the undisputed king of pump up soundtracks, Rocky IV. The first Rocky film I ever saw also possesses the best of the series music. Of course Eye of The Tiger is here, but so is No Easy Way Out, Sweetest Victory and Hearts On Fire. Not to mention Vince Dicola's two instrumental ass-kickers. Pure montage fury. I'm also pretty sure the film has more montages per reel than any other film.
I don't think anyone knew where Stallone was going with this film, I am pretty sure he didn't either but he made damn sure the soundtrack was solid. Ignore the stinkers from his brother Frank and the limp effort by Kenny Loggins, just focus on Sammy Hagar's timeless Winner Takes It All. Asia's Gypsy Soul, Larry Greene's Take It Higher and Giorgio Moroder's instrumental The Fight. Need a soundtrack for your next Tuesday arm wrestling meet up? Here you go.
Can a buddy cop movie go wrong? Even with Kurt Russell involved? I am afraid so. Case in point, Tango & Cash. Despite a pretty okay chemistry between the Kurtster and Stallone, Robert Z'dar swinging his giant chin around and some pretty sweet cowboy boots with a gun hidden in the heel, this was a surprisingly lumpen affair. The same can't be said of the classy score courtesy of the main man Harold Faltermeyer though. Combining the upbeat, streetwise sounds of his Beverly Hills Cop score alongside the more brooding work he cultivated on The Running Man, Mr Faltermeyer pulls another winner out the bag.
Believe it or not, this was originally what Beverly Hills Cop was going to be like. After being pushed off the project, Stallone vowed he would make the film he intended. The result was Cobra. Awesome for being so lame on so many levels. The soundtrack is worthwhile for Jean Beauvoir;s Feel The Heat, Gary Wright's lost classic Hold On To Your Vision and the instrumental efforts by Sylvester Levay. Perfect music to soundtrack some rogue policing.
You decide to make a movie about Billy Dee Williams and Stallone chasing a crazed, European bomber as he blows up innocent people. Who would you get to soundtrack it? How about organ destroying, keyboard pioneer Keith Emerson? Superb idea. Emerson crafted a pretty solid score with this one. In a very similar way to Lalo Schiffrin approaching his work on Dirty Harry from a jazz background, Emerson approached Nighthawks with a head full of prog keyboard noodling and worked unhindered until it was complete.
All this awesomeness has made me wonder when the montage actually came into use? I remember Rocky from being a kid but did such a thing exist in the 60's or 70's?
It's no secret that we here at Illogical Contraption have had Renrock, Renaissance Faires, Ritchie Blackmore, and bad prog on the brain this week. I myself have something of a love/hate relationship with the Renaissance Faire, and apparently so do some of our readers. Thanks to Illogical Bro Lord Kabballash III (as well as an anonymous commentator), I now have concrete visual representation of the aforementioned love/hate relationship. Here are a couple of videos to help me explain. The sweet always comes with some lame, just as a good party always comes with a hangover.
Enough talk. Behold the SWEET:
The video you just watched featured a group of freaks known as Corvus Corax, who I have deliberately avoided researching because their reality could never possibly match the backstory I have created in my head. From their elaborate dress and stupid haircuts (up to and including the percussionist's shaved head/mullet braid combo shown at left), it is fairly reasonable to assume that Corvux Corax are Burners. And they're dishing out some sort of techno/classical/Riverdance hybrid that I really can't get into. But I'm totally into THE CONCEPT. And here's why:
A) Corvus Corax consists of what appears to be about 400 people onstage, all at once, freaking out and banging on shit. I am OK with this. B) Check out the choir of weird psuedo-Druid guys over there. Something tells me if you pulled one of their hoods back, you would totally be staring into the eyes of one of those creepy bald albino eunuch dudes from The DaVinci Code. Again, I am OK with this. C) Right when things are at their strangest and most unsettling, A FUCKING CHARIOT FULL OF DUDES rolls into the concert hall. Needless to say, this doesn't happen at most concerts. +10 points.
D) The fucking Star Wars Dancers over here. I don't give a fuck who you are, if you can mash up Riverdance, German Homo-Rave, Medieval Times Restaurant, Princess Bride, AND Jabba's Palace.... Well, my hat if off to you, sir.
All in all, Corvus Corax has their shit together and knows how to put on a proper fucking show. Again, I don't really know anything about them and don't really want to, but to me they represent the kick-ass side of the Ren Faire set. Also, they play venues that look like this:
Also of note: This video from Russian "Beer Folk Metal" band Troll Bends Fir. Awesome name, awesome song, awesome puffy shirts, awesome piccolo solos. If Renaissance Faires were more like a Troll Bends Fir concert, I would be far more inclined to attend one. Renmetal FTW.
Thanks again to Lord Kabballash III for the videos. I totally forgive you for your British ancestry.
And now, the LAME:
Q: What could possibly be any more embarassing or strenuous to your sense of common decency and shame than a Renaissance Faire? A: The FUCKING FAIRY FEST, bro.
Here is everything BAD and WRONG about Renaissance Faires and those who attend them boiled down into 2 minutes of agonizing glory.
(Thanks to the anonymous reader who sent this one in as well.)
That's right. A goddman motherfucking FAIRY FEST (in South Elgin, Illinois of all fucking places). And this isn't the only one. They're everywhere. Everywhere! EVERYWHERE! EVERYWHERE! There's not much I need to say about this video that isn't readily apparent at the outset. That "Malice of Forethought" guy disturbs me just as much as he does you, but I guess the narrator of the video puts it best:
"Malice might be fey, but then again he might not be. He might be a CHANGELING".
And yes, I tried to find "Malice of Forethought" on Myspace or whatever. No dice.
Don't even get me started on the Pirate Pickle Man and the phallic $1.00 treats he's dishing out to the kids at the Fairy Fest. Yeesh.
So yeah, I guess what it all boils down to is PRODUCTION VALUE. If you're going to Ren out, get a corporate sponsor and some decent costumes. And steer clear of changelings and the fucking PICKLE PIRATE.
Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get back to my Garfield fanfic.
Well, it's Friday afternoon again. Time to slack off. You guys know what that means, right? Another shitty tattoo post, duh! IC readers made it abundantly clear after the last crappy tattoo post that they aren't above laughing at someone else's mistakes -- in fact, it seems they can't get enough of it. Today, though, I'm going to change things up just a little. Using my unparalleled skills in both MS Paint and GIMP, I will be altering pre-existing tattoo photos to make the bad good and the good bad. That's right: WIN will become FAIL, FAIL will become WIN, and quite possibly, WIN will even become FUCKWIN.
Indeed, the 'Sweet/Lame' post rises again! Behold:
Down here on the left, we have a fine example of what I would consider a pretty "sweet" tattoo. Sure, it's a fine line, but "ME" having sex with "YOUR MOM" while flipping the bird just barely lands on the "good tattoo" side of the fence. To the right, you will find my masterfully-rendered "lame" version. This tattoo crosses the line. Are we getting the idea?
Conversely, we have the LAME full-body piece shown below. I mean, sure, this chick is dedicated to feline body mods or whatever, but if you're going to "go all the way", you might as well "GO ALL THE WAY", right? How 'bout some prosthetic teeth, facial piercings, and plastic surgery? Don't half-ass it.
SWEET:
Another close call: This dude's WAL*MART tramp stamp. Ballsy, yes, but this piece pretty much qualifies as nothing more than an unfunny party favor.
LAME.
Add potty humor and outdated internet slang... GOLD.
SWEET.
We've all seen this guy before, am I right? Textbook example of a SWEET fuckin back piece, possibly the SWEETEST EVER. What could ever cause this epic collection to turn sour?
Bradley Nowell, bro.
LAME.
Similarly, we have this dude (below) and his amazing Judas Priest/Mount Rushmore tat. I know what you're all thinking: "FUCK! THAT IS QUITE POSSIBLY THE SWEETEST INK I'VE EVER SEEN!" But I'm gonna have to blow your mind and call this piece 100% LAME. Why?
Where's the drummer, bro? This tattoo DEMANDS 100%, and you only gave it 80.
Scott Travis has been with Priest since 1989. If you don't consider him a full-fledged member of the band at this point, I think it might be time to rearrange your priorities.
SCOTT TRAVIS. 100%. SWEET.
HTML joke tattoos? LAME as fuck. With the exception of LOL*FART up there, internet-themed ink is an unequivocally BAD idea. But I have a surprise for all of you: This tattoo is actually on the neck of Hollywood hunk Jonathan Rhys Meyers, best known for his appearances in 1996's The Disappearance of Finbar and 2005 made-for-TV movie Elvis. The HTML "end head/start body" tattoo seems dumb and tasteless until you consider Rhys Meyers' follow-up move, the forehead tattoo shown below that he recieved right after filming From Paris With Love with Scientologist John "It's about TERRORISTS!" Travolta.
SWEET.
Okay, I get it. "Stay Gold". Golden Girls. Ha. Ha.
LAME.
It's a corny play on words, and conjures images of The Outsiders rather than the heartwarming cameraderie shared by elderly women in the early 90's. Whatever happened to OLD PRIDE (below)?
SWEET.
Below left: Bicep tattooed on bicep? "Meta", but not meta enough. LAME. Below right: Bicep within bicep within bicep tattooed on bicep? Now THAT's "META". SWEET.
Again: If you're going to "go all the way", GO. ALL. THE. FUCKING. WAY. Elaborate Warhammer 40K back piece? Sooooo close, dude. But LAME.
This is how it should be done.
FUCKING. SWEET.
I have a sad prediction to make: This is NOT the last Twilight tattoo you will ever see. It fucking sucks, but it's reality.
LAME.
But I have a question for Team Edward over here: What's up with the hair? I mean, does dude's wig actually look like that? I thought guys stopped doing that shit with their bangs in the late 90's, am I wrong? Of you're going to get a Twilight tattoo, you might as well give credit where it's due.
Sweet: David Schwimmer, you are my life now.
Dumbass. Why would you get a tattoo of some fleeting internet/social networking fad that no one will even remember in 5 years? Tattoos are FOREVER, dude. Myspace IS NOT. LAME. If you're going to get inked, go with something that will never go out of style...
SWEET.
Then again, we have tattoos like the one shown below. What could I possibly add or take away from this piece that would make it any SWEETER or LAMER than it already is?
Nothing, that's what. You win, Bob Seger And The Silver Bullet Band back piece.
OR: THE HERBERT FAMILY SCHISM - SWEET/LAME, VOL. 7
Above: Fuckin' SWEET - Frank Herbert, Master Ecologist and Science Fiction Author, 1920-1986.
Listen, asshole. If you've never read Dune, you need to stop reading this right now. Either go directly to Amazon and buy it immediately, or get it from your local used book store, or steal a copy from the library. I don't care. Just do it. When you're done reading it, then we can talk. I'm not going to write a post about the vast intertwining plots of this book, or its profound insights on planetary ecology, or even the brutal battle techniques of the Fremen or Sardaukar warriors. I choose not to underestimate the intelligence of my readers. You've ALL read this book, several times, or else you wouldn't be here. Correct? I thought so. First published in a serialized version in Analog magazine in 1963 and 1965, Dune snatched up both the Hugo AND Nebula Awards immediately following its appearance in novel form. It is widely recognized as one of the great masterpieces of the sci-fi genre, outselling anything by Asimov or Bradbury. When I first read this book at around 19, I saw it as something of an instruction manual for life, basing my actions around the Fremen desert-ninja code of conduct. Maybe that sounds nerdy to you. That means you haven't read it, poser!
Left: Frank Herbert at Octicon, 1978 - Santa Rosa, CA.
Simply put, Dune is an AMAZING fucking book; one of the greatest literary achievements EVER in the sci-fi genre, often compared, in significance, to Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy in the fantasy realm. I plan on foisting this book upon my own son (who has shown a voracious appetite for sci-fi in recent years) very soon. It's a great coming-of-age tale for imaginative teenagers, but it's way, WAY more than that, too. It's about war, it's about revenge, and it's about the environment, but what really sets Dune apart from its peers is its focus on humanity rather than technology. Sure, it's got space travel and atomic explosions and lazer beams, but Herbert focuses more on the human elements of the story, making it as much a study in psychology and philosophy as it is a swashbuckling adventure epic. Although he published many other books and short stories besides Dune (The Destination: Void Quadrilogy, the short story collection Eye, and The White Plague - whose plot was ripped off by the 2006 movie Children of Men - being my favorites), Herbert was best remembered for this colossal epic, and for good reason. Although he followed it up with five sequels (Dune Messiah, Children of Dune, God Emperor of Dune, Heretics of Dune and Chapterhouse Dune), the book functions best as its own entity, a complete lesson on life, society, power, and ethics all bundled up into one tidy space opera. By all means, if you love the original, read the sequels. But things get pretty goofy around God Emperor. Just a friendly warning.
For an awesome Australian butt-rock album featuring a song titled "Dune Messiah", click here. To check out a now-defunct grindcore band based primarily on the mythology of Dune, click here.
David Lynch's 1984 movie version of Dune must be mentioned here as well. I have mixed feelings on this one, as I felt that Lynch may have taken one too many artistic liberties with the film. He is, of course, a legendary director, with credentials aplenty under his belt. And while I do enjoy this movie (the "director's cut", of course), I must question certain choices that he made, such as the scene in which Patrick Stewart (as Atreides War Master Gurney Halleck) marches into battle with a poodle cradled in his arm. Obscure, Lynchian nod to off-kilter absurdity or monumental artistic swing-and-a-miss? Who knows? But one of the film's major highlights (for me, at least) was the uncharacteristically awesome Dune soundtrack, from pathetic soft-rockers Toto. It's actually REALLY good, and you can get it here.
Above: Another point of interest in 1984's Dune was that it was the only David Lynch film to feature a tie-in toy line. Can you imagine action figures for Eraserhead or Blue Velvet? The mind reels.
As I also mentioned here (in a post written on the first day of Illogical Contraption's existence), plans for a Dune movie initially surfaced in the 70's, brainchild of Chilean avant-garde director Alejandro Jodorowsky (creator of, among others, El Topo, Holy Mountain, and Santa Sangre). The film was set to star Salvador Dali (right) as the Emperor, Orson Welles as Baron Harkonnen, Jodorowsky's own son as Paul, and Mick Jagger (ugh) as Feyd Rautha. It's sucks that this never happened.
16 years after Lynch's version, we got the Sc-Fi Channel's 2000 mini-series adaptation of Dune, which, despite surpassing my tremendously LOW expectations, was still a flat, boring interpretation of Herbert's work, too "modern/CGI" for my tastes. To make matters worse, word around the campfire is that another film adaptation is on the way in 2010, helmed by director Peter Berg (the guy responsible for Friday Night Lights and Hancock, also a co-star in TV's Entourage, which I have fortunately never seen). So there's that.
But I digress. This was supposed to be a 'Sweet/Lame' post. Let's get to the REAL shit-talking...
Above: Fuckin' LAME - Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson, tarnishers of the Dune legacy.
Unfortunately, Frank Herbert's OWN SON decided to come along in the late 90's and, with the help of co-author Kevin J. Anderson, shit all over the reputation of the Dune series. Thirteen books have either been published or are currently being written by this pair of unqualified hacks, which run the gamut from tales of Robot Jox-esque machine battles (remember THAT movie?) to fantasy-tinged love stories. WHY?!? I mean, Paul of Dune?!? Really, guys? REALLY!?!? In a rare show of utter masochism, I actually slogged through two and a half of these abominations before giving up FOR GOOD. The worst part isn't even that they're tacking on a bunch of half-cooked prequels and sequels to an established classic, it's that these books are just plain POORLY WRITTEN, coming off as some sort of attempted Terminator: Salvation novelization. It's just BAD sci-fi, uninteresting and offensively amateur.
According to the authors, these completely unnecessary chapters were products of Frank's own notes on Dune, which weren't found until ten years after his death. He had planned a Dune 7, but passed away before he could start. It's truly a shame that they were ever discovered, as Anderson and the younger Herbert's treatment of the storyline is tantamount to a couple of infants finger-painting with the brushes and paint of Michaelangelo himself. Yes, they're THAT BAD. Sorry to be such a dick about it, guys. But I just can't stand by and watch as another cornerstone of my literary upbringing is hacked apart by money-hungry opportunists. You can have The Dosadi Experiment. You can have The Godmakers. You can even have The Green Brain. Consider it your birthright. But give us back Dune.
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