documentary

Mondo Dogg (It's A Dogg's World)

Gary Lucas — Tue, 01 Jul 2025 22:59:06 +0000

Mondo Dogg (It's A Dogg's World) Gary Lucas July 1, 2025 - 18:59

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"Sittin' on a cornflake
Ridin' on a roller skate
Too late to hesitate
Or even meditate
Always looking up what's down
They've come to get me from the lost and found
But believe me, I'm feeling fine
To the world I'll throw some wine"- Swamp Dogg, "Total Destruction to Your Mind"

Goofy and entertaining new documentary about the legendary R&B artist and songwriter who began his lengthy career as "Little Jerry Williams" and morphed into psychedelic trickster/funkmeister Swamp Dogg in 1970. After years on the fringes of the more trad R&B scene and watching Black music world go all patchouli oil-scented paisley-colored (witness the emergence of The Temptations's Psychedelic Shack, Miles Davis's Bitches Brew, Muddy Waters's Electric Mud, most anything by Sly and the Family Stone, and of course the baddest and boldest of them all, Jimi Hendrix) Williams defiantly changed his image and his sound with his landmark 1970 album Total Destruction to Your Mind. Released nearly simultaneously with George Clinton's 1970 cutting-edge outing Funkadelic (you have to wonder who was zooming who here), Swamp is depicted sitting on a garbage bin in an alley, which started the ball rolling for his prodigious and unclassifiable subsequent album forays into the wacky.

This doc captures Williams in all his imperious glory (he had hits in Nashville writing cross-over country classics!)—and his ragtag coterie (esp. Guitar Shorty and MoogStar) are nearly as colorful and larger than life as the guy himself in this kitchen-sink melange of vintage clips, outtakes, animation, bloopers and studio sweepings. Suppose Ryan Coogler's Sinners posits a Fear of White Musical Appropriation of a Black-created idiom (da Blooze) by the stage-Irish vampiric folk troupe who wander into frame out of nowhere (for me, the weakest part of an otherwise powerful film). In that case, Swamp Dogg Gets His Pool Painted celebrates Williams' musical miscegenation in Nashville with the likes of John Prine. Highly recommended (although sad to say, I was the ONLY attendee at the 2:30 PM show two days after it opened in the big theatre at the IFC, WTF).

Best sequence: Swamp Dogg releases an album of various dogs barking, The Beatles' Greatest Hits, under the name The Barkers.

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Tonight At Noon

Gary Lucas — Tue, 17 Jun 2025 15:11:00 +0000

Tonight At Noon Gary Lucas June 17, 2025 - 11:11

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Jason Robards in “The Day After” (1983, d. Nicholas Meyer)

Television Event–a documentary about the 1983 nuclear holocaust film The Day After

I walked into the lobby of a nearly deserted Film Forum yesterday at noon here in NYC to purchase a ticket to a screening of the documentary Television Event, concerning the watershed anti-nuclear war made-for-TV film The Day After.

I say watershed because this film, depicts the hyper-realistic effects of a nuclear attack on the American populace and its hideous aftermath (and actually pulls its punches in that regard, avoiding any mention of “nuclear winter,” which pretty much would spell the end of all life on earth) was seen by a record 100 million horrified people on Nov. 20th, 1983 when it was first televised on ABC as a two-hour special.. Using state-of-the-art for the day non-CGI effects, audiences bonded closely with the humdrum quotidian life of the appealing cross-section of characters in the first hour and then were pummeled into shocked and awed submission in the devastating second hour, which details the actual attack (who started the war is never made clear) and its ghastly denouement. Never before had the total devastation of nuclear warfare ever been brought so graphically into the living rooms of America. It was an especially traumatizing television event, as the film is set in a typical American town, Everytown, USA, the heartland city of Lawrence, Kansas (so placid and normalized that William Burroughs eventually retired there in 1981 after his tumultuous years in Manhattan).

The brainchild of visionary ABC network exec Brandon Stoddard in 1981, the film was realized over several years with director Nicholas Meyer (Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan) at the helm, a script by veteran tv writer Edward Hume, and outstanding performances by Jason Robards and then relative unknowns Steve Guttenberg, John Lithgow, Amy Madigan, John Cullum and JoBeth Williams. The film still packs a tremendous wallop today (oy) and caused such a publicity furor in the run-up to its broadcast that a special warning was given at the outset for parents to consider not allowing their children to watch the two-hour broadcast. This is nothing next to the public hue-and-cry in the wake of the actual broadcast itself.

Lithgow is especially effective as Professor Joe Huxley, his last name most likely screenwriter Humes’s nod to Aldous Huxley’s bleak 1948 anti-nuclear war book, Ape and Essence. At the conclusion of the final hour of The Day After’s bruising no-redemption narrative where many poignant storylines and characters have either been terminated, cut short, or trailed off into oblivion in the glare of atomic annihilation, the film fades to black with Huxley's urgent, plaintive appeal over his makeshift short-wave radio (a device possibly inspired by Steely Dan's memorable 1973 song "King of the World"):

“Hello? Is anybody there?? Anybody at all???”

To which there is no response.

This 126-minute film—probably the most shocking film to come out of Lawrence, Kansas, since Herk Harvey’s immortal Carnival of Souls (1962)—was brought to you by Orville Redenbacher’s Popcorn. The Day After was not exactly a “popcorn movie,” but what the hey—ABC had great difficulty finding any commercial sponsors at all for their broadcast. Popcorn abounded, though, except for the last hour when the missiles began to fall, which was tactfully shown without commercials.

This was followed by a statement from then-Secretary of State George Shultz, who gamely attempted to reassure the nation that the current US nuclear policy of deterrence would sensibly prevent such a nightmare scenario from ever unfolding. This attempt at a rebuttal was aimed at the very crux of the film (whose message is basically "No More Nukes”)–and was followed by a special discussion panel chaired by Ted Koppel featuring a shaken and clearly disturbed panel of worthies including Eli Wiesel, Carl Sagan, William F. Buckley Jr., Lt. Gen. Brent Scowcroft, and Robert McNamara, who look like they’d all just peered into the Abyss.

A scowling Buckley typically denounced the film as “debilitating propaganda” and essentially anti-American and called into question screenwriter Humes’s motives and ABC’s 7 million dollar investment in the film (a pretty big Bang for the Buck back in the day, come to think of it–mere peanuts by today’s scale of the economy—7 million being the cost now of booking a 30-second spot on the Super Bowl). Planetary scientist and astronomer Sagan sagely pointed out that an actual nuclear war would have much more severe and catastrophic consequences worldwide than those depicted in the film (hard to imagine, as the movie pretty much ends with everyone dead or dying). Author Elie Wiesel, having lived through the actual Holocaust, sounds the most effective and heart-breaking note as to the film’s potential to bring humanity together once and for all.

The film went on to be the biggest “water-cooler” television event of the year. I duly watched it when it aired—and like everybody else was thoroughly terrified by its (literally) ashen-faced denouement. I recall how intensely the film was discussed and debated not only in the media but by my immediate circle of friends. It was eventually shown in 40 countries, and in 1987 was actually broadcast in the then-Soviet Union, the producers demanded it be translated into Russian exactly according to its script and be shown uninterrupted without commentary. In any case, The Day After so disturbed and depressed then-President Ronald Reagan at a White House screening the month before ABC's broadcast that he began to re-think his support for the concept of nuclear deterrence–which eventually led to the 1987 INF Treaty (Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty) co-signed by Mikhail Gorbachev, which banned all ground-launched ballistic missiles and cruise missiles with ranges between 500 and 5,500 kilometers.

I have not revisited The Day After since it first aired in 1983, but this Australian-American doc Television Event, produced and directed by Jeff Daniels, pretty much brings it all back home, with out-takes, production drawings, interviews with many of the principals involved, and snippets of scenes from the film in question. What is thoroughly striking is the fact that no matter what pressures came to bear on the network to edit the film and basically tone things down, the film still resonates as a mass-bummer experience. The passion and righteous conviction of the production team to pull the curtain back and reveal the terrifying outcome of a nuclear war in living color is pretty strong meat still. Some of the production drawings on view look like nothing so much as the explicitly gory and insanely violent 1962 Mars Attacks trading card series inked by Wally Wood and Norman Saunders, which amongst other things depict humans (and cattle and dogs) being rendered into fiery skeletons by the death rays of the atomic weapon-wielding Martians. (Check out those cards here.)

Over the years, the spirit-destroying reality of atomic warfare has been shoved conveniently onto the back burner of consciousness. It is just too much for the human mind to comprehend the sheer finality of it for very long.

There had been warnings from Hollywood previously, of course. The whole grim business, but with an optimistic twist at the end, had been depicted on the big screen in 1962’s Panic in Year Zero!—A survivalist punch to the gut directed by and starring the great Ray Milland. Before that, there was the cheesy red-scare optics of Alfred E. Green’s 1962 Invasion, U.S.A. Most recently, in Christopher Nolan’s 2023 70mm epic Oppenheimer posited the concept of “reaping the whirlwind,” ie, Oppenheimer supposedly quoted the Sanskrit aphorism “Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds” when the Trinity test blast he has successfully masterminded finally goes off.

And, of course, there was the singular jape of Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 Dr. Strangelove, referred to in Television Event, which burlesqued the entire concept of Cold War atomic paranoia courtesy of Kubrick collaborator screenwriter Terry Southern. What could be more cartoonishly ridiculous AND chilling than the indelible image of rodeo cowboy Slim Pickens waving his ten-gallon hat, whooping it up all his yee-hawing glory astride the Bomb as it plummets downwards? This staggering shot, followed by a montage of possibly every atomic bomb test blast ever registered to film, set to the tune of Vera Lynn’s wartime anthem "We’ll Meet Again," renders the whole notion of atomic warfare and arms race militarism absurd. Absurdity is our default mode whenever we ponder the concept of nuclear annihilation. An ironic chuckle is how we deal with it.

"Immediately in the event of a nuclear attack, bend over...

Put your head between your legs…

And then kiss your ass goodbye!"

And so we laugh and move on. Because buried deep inside us is the knowledge that if we dwell upon this subject too long, and truly think through all of its implications, it will probably drive us mad (“mutually assured destruction” a.k.a. MAD).

But The Day After—as glimpsed in the rearview mirror of Television Event—is no joke.

The mood in the Film Forum lobby last Friday was somber. News of Israeli bombs falling on Tehran had been broadcast that morning, and the inevitable retaliation from Iran was heading Israel’s way.

A close friend blurted out to me yesterday: “I can’t believe this war has started. We’re sitting ducks here in New York!” NYC is most likely Ground Zero in the event of a nuclear attack.

An article in the NY Times Magazine, April 10th, 2025, claims that 1/3 of all adult Americans are currently prepping for a Doomsday scenario involving the construction of fortified bunkers—basically, fall-out shelters.

POSTSCRIPT:

About a week ago, I had a very vivid dream.

It’s a sunny summer day in NYC, and I’m walking up the west side of 6th Avenue towards 11th Street with CultureCatch founder, Dusty Wright.

We arrive at that corner, and I point to a grocery store across the street.

“Wait, let’s ask Jima (pronounced Jeema, as in Iwo Jima, don’t ask me why this particular name came to mind, it was only a dream) to go across the street and get supplies for us at the market.

Suddenly, I hear a roar behind me.

I wheel around and look up into the cloudless blue sky over the treetops of leafy 11th Street.

In the center of the empty sky is a huge yellow fireball—a star burning brighter than a thousand blazing suns.

The realization of what’s going down–instant karma, if you will–hits me hard.

And in our last moments together, I shout to Dusty:

“SNEAK ATTACK ON NEW YORK!!”

And then I wake up.

“All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.”

—Edgar Allan Poe

Call it an unpleasant premonition.

But the dream was too real—and given the events of recent days, I just cannot shake it.

In conclusion, this doc should be required viewing by every person on planet Earth who has ever seriously contemplated the fantasy of “nuking” the Other.

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One for the Road, Man

Chet Kozlowski — Sat, 14 Jun 2025 10:18:40 +0000

One for the Road, Man Chet Kozlowski June 14, 2025 - 06:18

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Cheech & Chong’s Last Movie is a sweet surprise, a late-stage rumination on a joint (no pun intended) career that had its highs (pun intended) and lows. Cheech and Chong are old now. In their heyday, their name was synonymous with a brand of stoner comedy that rode the first wave of improv. Their Last Movie takes us back to a tumultuous time.

The film is not plot-driven. It’s two guys driving through the desert, laughing and arguing and reminiscing. Their meanderings thread through a collage of newsreels, live shows, talking heads, interviews, and animations. They also dip into their private stash of never-before-seen footage. We ride along as they careen through the 1960s and 70s, political slash social revolution, Motown, the draft years, hippie culture, Hollywood, MTV and, finally, redemption.

Richard “Cheech” Marin grew up being the only Chicano in school, where he was popular because of his uniqueness. He used humor as self-defense against an overbearing father, who one acquaintance called “the most even-tempered man I ever met: always angry.” Cheech took up pottery, kicked around Canada and wrote for Poppin magazine, their Rolling Stone.

Tommy Chong was born to Chinese and Canadian parents. In his early 20s, he married Maxine and had a family, settling into domesticity. “That’s where I spent my time: raising kids and being happy.” Chong played guitar with Bobby Taylor and the Vancouvers, which led to Motown, popular recordings and eventually ownership of a stripper bar that he turned into an improv club.

That’s where Cheech and Chong’s destinies converged. Comedy albums and live shows came next, then the hit movie Up in Smoke. The rest is history. More risks, more movies, Grammys, worldwide fame.

Cheech & Chong’s Last Movie is a lot of miles to cover. We zip by the likes of Stokely Carmichael and David Harris, marvel at an adolescent Michael Jackson, give LSD guru Timothy Leary a part in a movie, and get grilled by Geraldo Rivera (these interviews are a revelation: in contrast to the oblivious characters they play, we see two confident, ambitious strivers who are clearly enjoying their moment). Ghosts from the past appear in the backseat of their car, like Tommy’s wife, Maxine, and music impresario Lou Adler.

Cheech & Chong’s Last Movie is directed by David Bushell, whose previous documentary was I Needed Color, about Jim Carrey. He produced Sling Blade and, with Judd Apatow, Get Him to the Greek. Here he works with editor Brett Mason and animator James Blagden.

While Cheech & Chong’s Last Movie is a celebration, it doesn’t shy away from the failures and disappointments, the raging egos, bad business deals, and embarrassments, like their bid for film legitimacy, the satire of Dumas’ The Corsican Brothers, after what Cheech calls the “amiable messes” of their earlier movies.

Cheech and Chong’s story is a classic tale of rise and fall, and success built on luck and hubris. They were the perfect comedy voice for the counterculture. And just like the counterculture, they couldn’t last.

The title Cheech & Chong’s Last Movie can be read as a eulogy. It’s poignant to see the two old guys on the shoulder of the highway, bickering, and spot a roadside bar in the middle of nowhere. They walk in arm in arm, two amigos. The place is called The Joint.

Pun intended.

______________________________

Cheech & Chong’s Last Movie. Directed by David Bushell. 2025. Runtime 120 minutes.

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Provoking, Undoing, Starting Over

Chet Kozlowski — Tue, 28 Jan 2025 19:49:00 +0000

Provoking, Undoing, Starting Over Chet Kozlowski January 28, 2025 - 14:49

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For sheer cinematic exuberance, you can't do better than Life as a B Movie. From the start, the viewer is bombarded with vintage images of skydivers, gyrating teenagers, and nudes cavorting in a sea of feathers, interspersed between the title credits. A tribute to pulp impresario Piero Vivarelli, this documentary is a "secret history" of how post-war Italy reclaimed its place on the world stage.

A paratrooper in WWII, Vivarelli routinely plunged earthward on reconnaissance missions, and that disregard for danger informed his life. As one testifier puts it, "He wanted a taste of everything. He was an extremist. It was always a game. Provoking, undoing, starting over." Vivarelli had his finger on the pulse of the new generation as a music publisher, lyricist, screenwriter, film director, and producer. He hosted intellectuals and trendsetters in what his first wife Enza Minervini calls "the Live It Up Club," a.k.a. their Rome apartment, at all hours of the day and night.

He exploited trends. In the rush of foreign cinema—during the 1960s-'70s, Italy produced 350 movies a year—he became known for black and white extravaganzas like Howlers of the Dock (1960), I Kiss You Kiss (1961), and Il dio Serpente (1970). Vivarelli's passions are up there on the screen: speed, rock 'n' roll, the high life, and women. He saw the potential in movie musicals or, more precisely, movies about music and stuffed the burgeoning counterculture with new sensations, churning out no-budget flicks. His closest equivalents in the US were Roger Corman (for economy) and Russ Meyer (for the exaltation of the female form).

His producers, directors, ex-wives, and paramours add spice to the mix. Most of the talking heads are of his generation (and the worse for wear for their excesses). Vivarelli often brushed with greatness: he cast jazz trumpeter Chet Baker in Juke Box Kids (1959) {"he slept all the time") and was a contemporary of Fellini and Antonioni ("he couldn't have made Zabriskie Point without my movies"). He brought Aretha Franklin and the then-new Led Zeppelin to Italy, wielding suitcases crammed with cash.

He flirted with fascism and communism and rubbed elbows with Castro in Cuba. His drama East Zone, West Zone (1962) is set at the construction of the Berlin Wall. He was delighted that the power and diversity of the youth culture "scared the Italian political power" and that he was part of it.

At other points in the film, Vivarelli spars with Quentin Tarantino at the Venice Film Festival in 2004. Franco Nero chats about the script development of the Spaghetti Western Django (Vivarelli wrote it, and Sergio Carbucci directed it). His interest in Black culture spawned a particular brand of erotic/exotic exploitation in films like The Black Decameron (1972) and the Emmanuelle series starring Laura Gemser.

Life as a B Movie is a genre film lover's delight, an avalanche of ideas and memories. This feast of sights and sounds culminates in a ballet of folks flying through the air, contending that Vivarelli's joie de vivre can be traced to his paratrooper roots. "Up there in the sky, totally free. He liked the freedom thing," as one testimonial understates.

Piero Vivarelli took a big bite out of life. He died in 2020. In his most autobiographical film, Nella Misura in Cui (1979), Vivarelli's surrogate is asked, "Really, no regrets?"

"No, none at all. I just made some bad choices."

"At least you have the guts to admit it."

"Yeah, but guts are all I have left." ____________________________________________

Life as a B Movie: Piero Vivarelli. Directed by Niccolò Vivarelli and Fabrizio Laurenti. 2019. From Film Movement. 90 minutes. On digital platforms.

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Elie Wiesel Never Forgot Suffering

Gary Lucas — Sat, 25 Jan 2025 11:59:05 +0000

Elie Wiesel Never Forgot Suffering Gary Lucas January 25, 2025 - 06:59

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Director Oren Rudavsky has done a masterful job in his new documentary Soul On Fire, which played the 2025 New York Jewish Film Festival in capturing the inner and outer man that was the great Elie Wiesel (1928-2016). The Romanian-American writer, Nobel Prize laureate, and political activist became the living embodiment worldwide of the compassionate Jewish conscience and consciousness—bearing witness in his many books and personal appearances to the heinous atrocities perpetrated on the Jewish people during the Holocaust.

This new documentary, which is due to be shown as part of PBS's American Masters series, delves deeply into Wiesel's psyche in many interviews and clips of him speaking, as well as filmed conversations with family, friends, and learned commentators on the Holocaust, and strikingly evocative animated footage of the young Wiesel's childhood and student days in a little town in Romania and ultimate removal at the tender age of 16 into the inferno of Auschwitz.

What is fascinating to learn here is that Elie Wiesel, besides being a forceful voice on behalf of Jewish suffering during the Second World War, was also a strong advocate for Human Rights across the board. He stood up repeatedly for victims everywhere, including persecuted Russian and Ethiopian Jews, South Africans under the yoke of apartheid, Muslims in Bosnia under siege, the slaughter of Sudanese, Rwandan, and Armenian people, the victimization of the Kurds, the incredible tragedy of Argentina's "Disappeared," the suffering of the Nicaraguan Miskito people, and on and on. He acknowledged Palestinian suffering in his Nobel Prize acceptance speech and repeatedly tried to foster an open dialogue between Israeli and Palestinian leadership.

When I was a boy, I read Elie Wisel's searing autobiography Night, a first-hand account of the shocking and brutal acts he had witnessed in the hellscape of Auschwitz before being transferred to Buchenwald, where the American army ultimately liberated him—and for years I've been haunted by his eloquent evocation of these vivid and haunting experiences. I recommend this book as a standard text to be taught in schools across the USA, where a shocking number of young people either have never heard of the Holocaust or are actively denying its existence.

Soul On Fire is an important and timely documentary that takes a measured and methodical look into the making of Elie Wiesel. It concentrates on the historical forces that shaped him into the single most eloquent spokesman for Jewish people and victims of oppression everywhere.

He doesn't come off in the film as a cardboard saint but rather as a very human and extremely personable man in full, who heard the call and stood up to be counted.

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Insurrection of a Million Minds

Gary Lucas — Fri, 10 Jan 2025 23:17:13 +0000

Insurrection of a Million Minds Gary Lucas January 10, 2025 - 18:17

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Fidel Castro and Malcom X in the Hotel Theresa in Harlem

Soundtrack To A Coup d'Etat

Certainly, the best film I've seen in 2025 (so far…I know, I know, we're only a week or so in, but I've seen a bunch of them)—now playing at Film Forum NYC and available to stream for 4 or 5 bucks or so on the usual streaming sites. Sure to be on MUBI one of these days soon.

The most cogent, furious, powerfully framed and edited documentary conceivable about the 1960 CIA-backed covert assassination of Patrice Lumumba—the democratically elected president of the Congo—who was murdered in a cynical maneuver to put an end to the burgeoning decolonization movement in Africa. This film has a far-reaching resonance not only in light of the current ongoing mess in the Middle East but in terms of pretty much all human relationships (life as we live it) on Planet Earth. It covers a vast amount of territory in its 2 1/2 hours, which races by in the wink of an eye—it's that sweeping and that good.

Written and directed by Belgian multimedia artist and filmmaker Johan Grimonprez (hitherto unknown to me, but he has a few highly regarded films under his belt), the musical soundtrack herein comprises an urgent dialogue with the film's timely subject matter courtesy of jazz icons Louis Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespie, Abbey Lincoln, Thelonious Monk, Max Roach, Nina Simone, Miriam Makeba, Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Duke Ellington, Melba Liston, Eric Dolphy, Charles Mingus, and Ornette Coleman (several of whom—Armstrong, in particular—were used as fig leaf cultural/musical ambassadors to Africa via the State Department back in the day to mask the CIA's hidden agenda and black-op maneuvers in Africa)—and African artists Le Grand Kallé, Rock-a-Mambo, Dr. Nico, Marie Daulne, and Eddy Wally.

The film boasts memorable turns by Nikita Kruschev ranting about decolonization (with a straight face) and banging his shoe at the UN; Fidel Castro entertaining guests like Malcom X up in his suite in the Hotel Theresa in Harlem while in NYC to speak at the UN, amidst rumors of obtaining a live chicken and plucking and eating it during his stay; a stricken Adlai Stevenson witnessing Abbey Lincoln and Maya Angelou crash and disrupt the General Assembly of the UN with a posse of "Freedom Now!" activists; plus cameos from Dag Hammarskjöld dissembling before the UN; a "Man who speaks with forked tongue" Dwight Eisenhower; jazz producer and Voice of America host Willis Conover; then UN Representative Conor Cruise O’Brien; John Foster Dulles, Allen Dulles, and various CIA apparatchiks; Col. Joseph Mobutu, who morphed into dictator Mobutu Sese Seko of Zaire, once described by Norman Mailer as resembling "a snake on a stick", who went on to host the Ali /Frasier "Rumble in the Jungle" fight—and other heroes and villains.

This is a jaw-dropping essential documentary that will leave you shaken and stirred—a witness to history in the making as a series of bold individual initiatives, followed by the usual weak compromises, double crosses, and lots and lots of bad faith.

And even if you are only vaguely interested in the subject, you will here be given new eyes to see it all afresh—whatever side of the political divide you might currently find yourself on.

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Musical Mecca Remembered

Chet Kozlowski — Thu, 08 Aug 2024 15:07:22 +0000

Musical Mecca Remembered Chet Kozlowski August 8, 2024 - 11:07

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The space on West 8^th St in Greenwich Village was available. What started out as an experimental nightclub became a world-class recording studio that still bears the trademark of its creator. In 1968, Electric Lady Studios was on the cusp of a revolution.

Jimi Hendrix was at the height of his success and instigated a move into the New York club scene. He had recorded his most commercial (and what would turn out to be his last) LP, Electric Ladyland at a variety of studios. He was seeking sonic perfection to interpret the music in his head. The new documentary Electric Lady Studios: A Jimi Hendrix Vision chronicles the craziness of the creation of his personal recording workspace.

Those who were there—those who are still alive—reminisce about their time with Hendrix and his quixotic quest. Testimonials by John Storyk (architect), Eddie Kramer (recording engineer), and Shimon Ron (chief technical engineer) are augmented by studio president Jim Marron’s nuts-and-bolts talk about liquor licenses and club curfews.

For fans, there are interviews with Hendrix himself, plus footage of him in concert. The remaining members of the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Billy Cox and Mitch Mitchell (Hendrix and Noel Redding both died in 1969), check in, as does rocker Steve Winwood. For audio nerds, there's Eddie Kramer at the console, showing off his back-lit slide faders and isolating vocal tracks. Anecdotes abound, like Stevie Wonder's polite meticulousness and the simultaneous recording of music in one studio while an audiobook version of The Joy of Sex goes on in the other. Plus the tale of flooding when the crew hit a tributary of the Minetta Creek, halting construction.

The film's music is all by Hendrix (including "Freedom," "Angel," and "Dolly Dagger"). It is part of a release that features raw takes and archival tracks in a multi-disk set by the same name.

Electric Lady Studios wasn't just a convenience for its star and owner but a viable business known for unparalleled quality, which continues to this day. Besides vintage acts like Carly Simon and Lena Horne, current clients include Clairo, Zach Bryan, and Sabrina Carpenter.

Electric Lady Studios: A Jimi Hendrix Vision is a trip down a trippy memory lane that fills in much information about an enduring rock icon.

____________________________________________________

Electric Lady Studios: A Jimi Hendrix Vision. Directed by John McDermott. 2024. From Experience Hendrix and Abramorama. In theaters and VOD. 90 minutes.

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British Busker Blues

Chet Kozlowski — Fri, 24 May 2024 10:54:40 +0000

British Busker Blues Chet Kozlowski May 24, 2024 - 06:54

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American Mileage

Cam Cole is a feisty young busker, a street musician from London. He's a one-man band, riffing Blues on a fuzzy guitar while stomping out the beat on a drum he's rigged with pedals. His streetcorner act attracts tourists and passersby who post videos that have gone viral. This has made Cam a social media celebrity. Now he’s taken that and run with it, all the way to America.

American Mileage is a lively road trip in a gypsy RV. Less a documentary than a celebration of self, Cam arrives on American shores and sticks to the South—and the spirit of Highway 49—hitting important Blues landmarks along the way. Remember how, in Lost in America, Albert Brooks wanted to "touch Indians"? Cam Cole wants to touch Bluesmen.

He and his cohort, director Tim Hardiman, blow into a town, looking to jam. Cam just wants to play, mate, and that playfulness and energy endear us to him. He’s fun to watch, especially when bashing away on his guitar and wailing.

Cam shows up at places like the legendary Muscle Shoals Studios (Alabama), Stovall Farm (Louisiana), and The Riverside Hotel (Mississippi). Iconic names are evoked: John Lee Hooker, Howlin' Wolf, Muddy Waters, Sam Cooke, Mavis Staples, and Alan Lomax. He sits in with some of the best and holds his own: at Wild Bill’s in Tennessee, guitarist Chloe Lavender and Cam blow the roof off. He plays in the building where once stood the site where Robert Johnson recorded.

Others have been down American Mileage's road before: U2 made some of the same stops in 1988's Rattle and Hum. In the '70s, a Brit named Mark Bristow toured in a van with Mark's America, a multimedia show shot on Super 8 as he drove.

Tim Hardiman shoots Cam in the frenetic style of an infomercial, with a roaming camera, jump cuts, and snappy graphics. Mr. Hardiman's kitchen-sink style revels in messy moments, like when Cam's Street show is stopped by a freak thunderstorm or when he, Cam, interrupts an interview to take a piss.

For all the miles and all the history, American Mileage all comes back to Cam. Cam jamming. Cam getting a tattoo. Cam sharing wisdom. Cam eating soul food. Cam is front and center the whole time. He gets goofed on. At Greg's Guess House, MS, a guy offers Cam what he tells him is a barbecued raccoon but is actually a cat he hit with his car. "Hmm," Cam says, chewing. "It's very good, mate, very tender."

Cam does some direct narration (i.e., cautioning the viewer that sometimes he'll have a beard and in others be clean-shaven because, you know, shaving), and his soliloquies are shot as if he’s talking to an off-camera interviewer, making us witnesses. It's a popular technique for building credibility. If someone else is listening to him, what he’s saying must be important.

How is Cam received by the Bluesmen? Is he seen as a peer or an upstart? Singer Bobby Rush, who appeared in Martin Scorsese's 2003 doc The Road to Memphis, invites Cam into his home. "You're looking at the Blues," Bobby tells him. "I'm a Black man in Mississippi." Bobby’s cordial and full of stories, some of them horrific, like the car accident he got into while playing with Ike Turner's band. He invites Cam to play with him. He's genuinely pleased to be remembered and respected.

Other guys, not so much. In Bentonia, MS (population 319), Cam inserts himself into a gathering of authentic Bluesmen. These guys are poor and old and still playing. R.L. Boyce slurs and swaggers, then sing like an angel. He tells Cam, "The style I got, you ain’t never gonna get it." Jimmy "Duck" Holmes, owner of the Blue Front Café and a renowned musician, is suspicious and defensive. When Cam extols his own unique style, Jimmy snaps, "Blues is Blues." He accuses Cam of trying to show him up.

These guys have paid their dues. They're still paying their dues. (Has Cam Cole? His backstory is dispensed with quickly; he claims to have not pursued a traditional recording career because the industry is full of "wankers.") Cam purposely placing himself in the midst of the Blues' origins brings up interesting questions.

He asks and answers: "Have white people stolen black people's music? Can a set of chords be owned by a race of people? I don't have an answer to that. I think claiming ownership of anything based on race is starting off on the wrong foot as nothing good can come from that." His predecessors, the Stones and Led Zeppelin, took flack for this, too. They were considered cultural appropriators during the "British Invasion" of rock music. See Keith Richards' spirited dispute with Chuck Berry in 1987's Hail! Hail! Rock n Roll.

But that's the way of the Blues, mate. It’s a continuum. American Mileage is Cam Cole making myth. If he deserves a place at the table, seats will be open soon enough. Maybe he can wedge his way in there after all.

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American Mileage. Directed by Tim Hardiman. 2024. Produced by 7^th Floor Films, Nomad Films LLC, and Black 22 Productions. On digital platforms. 81 minutes.

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Play With Fire

Gary Lucas — Fri, 17 May 2024 17:35:53 +0000

Play With Fire Gary Lucas May 17, 2024 - 13:35

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I went to see the new Anita Pallenberg doc Catching Fire: The Story of Anita Pallenberg last week shortly after it opened at the IFC Center here on 6th Avenue, the first show of the day at the ungodly hour of 11:50 am. About five souls only collected in the lobby before the management opened the doors to the main theater—obvious hardcore fans of the Rolling Stones, more or less from my g-g-g-g-generation, knowledge brothers and sisters. Fellow old souls, we cast a commiserating glance at each other, waiting to go into the main theater when one of them whispered conspiratorially across to me: "Only people of a certain age know who Anita Pallenberg is" (was)—historical memory if not yr basic continuum of knowledge post-iPhone having been fucked into a cocked hat/relegated to the slag heap of history ("Do you remember your President Nixon?" sang David Bowie circa '75, only a year after Nixon resigned. Indeed. Do you remember what you even had for lunch yesterday?).

Then it was time to bear witness to the blazing trajectory of Anita Pallenberg, Rock Chick Uber Alles, in a league of her own you could say, a powerful female shaman in her own right, a Lilith-figure who had Brian and then Keith with a side order of Mick, who even out-did Marianne Faithfull in the Ultimate Stones Bad Girl pantheon, a (dis)Honor Roll whose ranks stretch back to the early '60s and roll on to the last syllable of recorded time and include chanteuse Nico (knocked up and abandoned by Brian), singer/actress Marsha Hunt (knocked up and abandoned by Mick), German tv presenter/left-wing poster girl Uschi Obermaier (who had the signal pleasure of tearing Keith's earring out of his ear with her teeth during wild sex, leaving him and his bloody earlobe glued to the pillow when he came to next morning)—with special mention going to Mandy Smith who began an affair with Bill "Perks" Wyman at age 13—Bill enjoyed his perks!—and finally wed him 5 years later when she came of legal age in a marriage that lasted only 23 months.

This is a very long and comprehensive documentary skillfully assembled by Alexis Bloom and Svetlana Zill, and it's worth a look, especially if you're a fan of the Stones. If not, you may come to gawk and stay. It has a copious amount of (to me) never-before-seen footage of the home movie variety, which looks pretty damned good considering its source, no doubt courtesy of Keith's two kids by Anita—Marlon and Angela Richards. Both come off as very well-spoken, sensitive, and sympathetic people who experienced a real amount of damage growing up in the wake of the Stones juggernaut and their absentee parents's antics and came out the other side intact (phew!).

Now, the Stones have always been my favorites ever since the immortal opening bluesy guitar riff of The Last Time (composed and played by Brian Jones) came wafting over the airwaves and cast its hypnotic spell—and having seen them live in 1965 in my little town of Syracuse I became a stone zealot. Over the years, I've read almost every book about them, beginning with the 1965 Bantam paperback Our Own Story by the Rolling Stones as We Told It to Pete Goodman (UK music journalist Peter Jones in real life). I also sat through myriad HBO live specials and theatrical concert docs, including rarities like British Pathe's 1964 short subject Rolling Stones Gather Moss (I saw it in a movie theater). So yeah, eventually, I kinda knew the whole extended Anita episode pretty well, all the highs and lows. You could do worse by starting here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anita_Pallenberg

PHOTO BY MICHAEL COOPER

Here, her story is fleshed out to the nth degree and—clocking in as it does for nearly one hour and fifty minutes, but it feels like three—they easily could have trimmed twenty minutes from it. Still, I am happy Anita is given her due here at last because she comes off on the face of the available evidence as an even stronger, more willful, and forceful Personality than Messrs. Jones, Richards, and Jagger combined. Certainly, none of the Stones radiate anything resembling real Star Power on the big screen when caught off stage, going back to Peter Whitehead and Andrew Loog Oldham's 1966 live-in-Ireland documentary, Charlie is My Darling, where they come off as lumpen proles in the interview sections (as opposed to The Beatles' individual charismatic sparkle throughout A Hard Day's Night ). The Anti-Beatles, eh? But Anita shines in all her film forays. A real-life force of nature, for my money, she is the best thing about Nicholas Roeg and Donald Cammell's 1970 Performance—she absolutely steals the show from Mick.

The narration here is by Scarlett Johanson, who reads chunks from Anita's posthumously discovered autobiographical manuscript entitled (what else?) Black Magic. Her low-key (some would say flat) American accent doesn't work for me, sorry to say—she sounds way too nice. I would have vastly preferred the dulcet accented tones of Eva Green or the husky vocables of Emma Stone on the soundtrack—or better yet, going for true Bad Girl glory, the voice of Asia Argento or Paz de la Huerta—but you can't always get what you want.

Fun Fact/Most Impressive Takeaway: Anita was the great-granddaughter of Swiss symbolist painter Arnold Böcklin, whose canvases contain as much colorful Sturm und Drang as Anita's own storied life. Böcklin specialized in mythological portraits of centaurs, satyrs, and nubile nymphs at play; some of his tableau seem to predict (or at least are not that far afield of) central episodes in Anita's saga. (I actually discovered a knockoff of Böcklin's 1883 masterpiece Playing in the Waves in a smoky pub in Prague some years ago, which on close inspection, has a horned demonic visage Goat Head's Soup-style painted under the top layer of pigment courtesy of the anonymous forger (see below, right under the centaur's outstretched left arm, this painting now hangs in Studio Faust just across the road from the pub in Prague, an excellent recording facility operated by my old friend Richard "Faust" Mader).

PHOTO BY GARY LUCAS, A KNOCKOFF OF ARNOLD Böcklin'S "PLAYING IN THE WAVES"

True confession: I am kind of burned out on the Stones and their wicked wicked ways at this point in time. I'm told they are still capable of churning out the occasional banger. But I couldn't name one. And I have no desire to sit in a stadium to see them—or anyone, for that matter (well, Paolo Conte—maybe). Can holographic AI performances of the band a la Abba be all that far off?

Basically, "I don't find this stuff amusing anymore" (Paul Simon). I still enjoy their early recordings, particularly the Andrew Oldham-era Stones—but I've stopped actively listening to them. They have become (for me anyway) a tired fossilized cliche, aging poster boys for a decadent rock 'n' roll lifestyle that flourished in what looks now like the Jurassic era, with scant relevance in the current world-historical climate other than as mere entertainment fodder (albeit on a Brobdinagian scale). A nostalgia act, in other words. They're not dangerous anymore. Were they ever, really?? Yes. So dangerous that the UK establishment contrived to try and shut them down by busting 3 of them repeatedly when their influence on youth culture became a perceived subversive threat to authority and the way people thought about things like "petty morals" (to quote Keith in the dock of the Old Bailey in 1967). When their very presence on stages (particularly in Eastern Europe) could provoke riots.

The beginning of the end of my fascination with the Stones began with the Altamont debacle—which, along with Kent State, heralded the death knell of the '60s—and picked up speed right around the time they brought Truman Capote and Lee Radziwill into their entourage on the road with them in '73, when the whole thing became a mega-commodified spectacle—you can get a strong whiff of this sorry-ass rawk 'n' roll circus up close and personal in parts of the suppressed-for-years Robert Frank doc, Cocksucker Blues. Their music stayed strong for a few more albums post-Exile. They could still pump out the occasional world-shaking anthem—but their whole Outlaw persona began to ring hollow. Keith's Life autobiography signaled the end of my Stones infatuation: too many casualties surrounding the group, too much collateral damage, too much bad behavior and by-the-numbers debauchery over too many years. Not impressed. "What else can you show me?" (Dylan).

Still, this documentary is a good start towards shining a light on a powerful female artist in her own right in the Stones menage who was seemingly under nobody's thumb but that of King Heroin—a nasty habit she managed to kick before joining "the choir invisible" (George Eliot). It restores an overall sense of agency (to invoke a current big buzzword) to the "Voodoo Priestess" and "seductive enchantress," as she is referred to in the doc—but it is not exactly a "pretty pretty" (Barbarella) story.

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Mourning in America

Chet Kozlowski — Sat, 11 May 2024 14:54:32 +0000

Mourning in America Chet Kozlowski May 11, 2024 - 10:54

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Our divided nation is the topic of Mitch McCabe’s harrowing new documentary 23 Mile. Set firmly in America’s heartland, the film is a video diary of a perfect storm of events in 2020: the Presidential election in the midst of the Covid pandemic.

The scene is Michigan, from Detroit to Kalamazoo and stops in between. While the state has “long been a hotbed of militia activity,” as one observer puts it, 23 Mile spreads a wide net, documenting tourists, activists and extremists. What emerges is a disquieting portrait of a disillusioned and confused populace.

23 Mile offers no narration or commentary. Its technique is simplicity itself, purely point-and-shoot: press conferences, rallies, protests, fundraisers. It’s a verité collage of the breadth of involvement (and dissatisfaction) that emerges from behind masks and disinfectant. Bleak scenes—bare trees (it’s fall), red MAGA caps, puffer jackets—are punctuated by radio show call-ins, ghostly voices out of the ether, against shots of waves lapping at a tanker, or media microphones awaiting a speaker.

Mitch McCabe is the director/producer of other topical shorts and features, including You Have Been Lied To (2023), Civil War Surveillance Poems, Part 1 (2020), and the 2009 HBO documentary Youthh Knows No Pain.

Though the time for both sides-ism has passed, the film employs it to great effect. The people just speak. Their affiliations are not readily revealed. It’s a canny device: all the complaints sound alike: something’s got to change in our basic political and social structure. One man who hosts an unpopular Biden display on his front lawn says, “Policies are the same. I just want to vote for decency.”

The media is a pariah, called out as “the most effective devil in America.” Most of the dissent is bull-horned or glad-handed. “I cannot do anything unless it’s defensive,” says a middle-aged man in paramilitary garb, as if that justifies his assault weapon. He knows that whoever fires the first shot potentially sets off a barrage. Yet they carry, concealed or right out there.

To watch 23 Mile is to witness the groundswell and experience the monotony of lives left behind. These people take to the streets, waving the flag and mouthing the mantra “We the people/liberty for all” while marching under the shadow of disinformation. In the span of time covered by the film, the plot to kidnap Governor Gretchen Whitmer is exposed. One interviewee is happy to see her unharmed but stung by her criticism of Trump, as if the two acts weren’t related.

It's no spoiler to say that 23 Mile ends first with the election—a lone walker holds up a hand scrawled sign that reads “You lost,” which could be intended for any of us—and then with the first shipment of the Pfizer vaccine from the plant in Kalamazoo. Then the chilling caption “24 days till Jan. 6.”

23 Mile is a searing snapshot of a prophetic time in our history.

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23 Mile. Directed by Mitch McCabe. On VOD, DVD, and Blu Ray. 78 Minutes.