July 9, 2012

Ralph Steadman: Another Freak in the Freak Kingdom – interview by sarah claire picton

Filed under: art,sarah claire picton — ABRAXAS @ 2:37 pm

Mickey and Mallory, Bonny and Clyde, Butch and Sundance… it seems that great murderers hunt in pairs. And so do Gonzo artists. Ralph Steadman was Hunter S. Thompson’s illustrator, collaborator and friend. He captures the essence of Thompson’s words with his iconic cartoons and paintings, adding a visual counterpoint to the dark and sardonic music of the duo’s journey.

Steadman’s award-winning work includes political cartoons, book illustrations and countless examples of his life-long scribbled homage to whimsy. He failed Art at the same school that now has a Ralph Steadman Creative Suite, and unveiled the plaque himself. His life breaks the rules with the same joyful defiance that his art does. He explains: ‘Gonzo is the essence of irony. You dare not take it seriously. You have to laugh.’

Sarah Claire Picton sits down to share a breakfast of champions with Steadman.

What have you been working on ink-wise?

A book of extinct boids of planet oith.

Could you explain the symbolism of reptiles in your work?

Reptiles always seem cunning and unpredictable. I just don’t trust them… but I quite like Kermit the Frog and his lovely song ‘Why are there so many songs about Rainbows and what’s on the Other Side?’

They sell your art and literature but ban your designs for beer. Would that be a Banzo act?

I wrote a poem about that art ban about Raging Bitch India Pale Ale in Michigan:
‘Summink the matter with Michigan
Being a bit of a bitch again
When all I want is to be Rich again
While the people drink the good beer’

Profits are up and wages are down. Will America survive this Depression?

Of course it will! We’ve been on this planet for over 10 000 years already… in one form or another. We are Homo Erectus. We stood up and walked straight. Isn’t that enough evidence?

What’s your take on the ‘Occupy Wall Street’ movement?

They are the new population of Great Britain. Folks have had enough of being pushed around.

You’ve worked with Oddbins and Flying Dog Breweries for many years. Do you have a personal interest in the brewing and distilling process?

I used to grow one hundred vines of Pinot Grigio, but it became another career and thus too much. I love drinking white wine but I love drawing more.

Have you had any feedback from children regarding the classics that you have illustrated, like Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island and Animal Farm? How do you find your voice when illustrating an iconic children’s story?

Funny thing: I’ve never received any child’s correspondence with regards to Alice. I probably treated it as an adult book, which in many ways it is. The parodies and metaphors are sometimes quite alarming, and the Jabberwock is too threatening for a twenty-first century child. Then again, ‘kids’ stuff’ on SKY can be pretty scary. Even Ben 10.

Did you ever imagine that the time you spent and the work you did with Hunter S. Thompson would be so widely followed – even working its way into history books and inspiring as yet unjaded dreamers?

When I met Hunter back in 1970, I knew I had met a weird one… but I reckoned he was the reason I went to America: to find some reason and rhyme for my work. I wanted to change the world… for better or worse… and I am glad there is Gonzo.

What is Gonzo all about to you?

Bill Cordosa came up with the word after our first collaboration in Kentucky. He lived in Sausalito across the Golden Gate Bridge. Of course he didn’t know where it came from… but it needs new troops to re-interpret and push it.

What’s your stance on hallucinogens?

I never used them except for that one time in the Kentucky Derby and in Nigel Finch’s Fear and Loathing on the Road to Hollywood. I was curious about the pills Hunter kept popping. It was Psylocybin. It freaked me out and I never touched drugs again.

Had any Coca leaves recently?

No, but I have some Coca Tea from Peru.

How do you compare drug consumption of today to that of the ‘70s?

Leave the shit alone! Alcohol (or Alcohoho) is good and sociable. You can survive on that… but you can’t survive on nuthin’.

Do you vote?

Yes. For a local candidate when I can see the whites of his eyes.

Does the head pendant that Hunter S. Thompson gave you still hang around your neck and does it ward off evil spirits?

All evil spirits are held at bay and had better not fuck with my piece of mind. I still wear a necklace I bought from a Navajo in Santa Fe. I wear it every day next to Hunter’s gift. And a welsh trinket from my daughter Sadie.

Words like ‘creativity’ and ‘originality’ are loosely tossed about. What do the mean to you?

A whole new generation are just recreating what we did. Fuck those people. It’s time they found something of their own.

Have you been in love and is there such a thing?

Not quite sure… but it fucked up my first marriage.

What’s with the flower in the logo for Hunter’s ‘Sheriff of Aspen’ campaign?

His deep compassion for the human race.

Do you ever feel afraid?

From the moment I wake up.

Do you remember what you were doing when you heard that Hunter S. Thompson had committed suicide?

I was waking up and the phone rang. It was a friend in Kentucky, Joe Petro the Third. They always have to have descendants. He said: ‘Take your phone of the hook. Hunter just put a bullet from a Magnum .44 through his brain. It’s the death of fun, Ralph.’
Hunter always said to me that he would feel trapped in this life if he didn’t know that he could commit suicide at any moment. He was the greatest person I ever met in my life.

You wrote the song Weird and Twisted Nights with him?

Hunter gave me his lines over the phone from Owl Farm in Colorado. ‘Ah… but never mind the nights, my love. It never happened anyway.’ That became the chorus.

Who represented the Savage Beast back then? And who represents it now?

Hunter always thought that I was the ‘crazy’ one. Rolling Stone co-founder Jann Wenner agreed that I was crazier than Hunter. Oh dear.

Do you still write songs?

I have a bunch of songs and occasionally I play this and that on the ukulele, but I rarely touch the guitar now… though I keep looking at it.

What did you and Hunter listen to in the car?

Hunter always drove and chose the music. We both liked Jim Morrison.

Word association time: Red.
My wife Anna.
Picasso and me.
Picasso and other people.

Any last thoughts?

The only thing of value is the thing I cannot say. Wittgenstein.

July 7, 2012

kenyan singers in hate speech trial

Filed under: censorship,music,politics — ABRAXAS @ 3:48 pm

first published here: http://mg.co.za/article/2012-07-04-kenyan-musicians-hate-speech

jitsvinger @national arts festival

Filed under: afrikaaps — ABRAXAS @ 3:41 pm

first published here: http://www.iol.co.za/tonight/music/diverse-sounds-prove-music-to-crowds-ears-1.1334074#.T_g8HHChOGp

July 6, 2012

74. Summer of Sam – Spike Lee

Filed under: film,on murder as a fine art — ABRAXAS @ 2:41 pm

Summer of Sam (1999)
NYT Critics’ Pick
FILM REVIEW; Red Hot Buttons in Lee’s Steaming ‘Sam’
Published: July 2, 1999

Spike Lee’s fiery ”Summer of Sam” has as much to do with the summers of 1989 and 1999 as it does with the tabloid fevers of 1977, which are so electrifyingly rekindled here. It was in 1989 that the film of Mr. Lee’s that ”Summer of Sam” most resembles, ”Do the Right Thing,” arrived on the wave of sensationalism and outrage that continue to swamp some of his best efforts. So here he is fielding complaints about having bruised the tender feelings of David Berkowitz, the .44-caliber killer whose murderous rampage and purple prose brought New York City to the boiling point 22 years ago.

Mr. Lee didn’t make up Mr. Berkowitz’s crimes. And he didn’t make them central to his furiously enthralling ”Summer of Sam,” either. What may surprise anyone following the publicity maelstrom around the director’s latest effort is that its Son of Sam aspects, while fiendishly vivid, are only the backdrop for a film that is much more lurid in other regards. ”Summer of Sam” pushes sexual hot buttons even more emphatically, to the point where it also pushes the envelope for raw talk and raunchy eroticism on screen.

That may be standard practice for the summer of 1999, but it still invites some second thoughts. In a season when Austin Powers has schoolchildren kidding about Swedish penis enhancers and the casual props for ”Wild Wild West” include bondage gear and a severed head, it’s time to wonder how much the traffic will bear. Our notions of prurience require some rethinking when an otherwise routine thriller like ”The General’s Daughter” cashes in on a naked, spread-eagled corpse. That’s an image far more obscene than anything the hilarious, willfully filthy ”South Park: Bigger, Longer and Uncut” has to offer.

Just as ”South Park” earns its smut streak by treating both the foul-mouthed and the self-righteous with a wicked satirical edge, ”Summer of Sam” earns its steam heat. That was, first of all, a legitimate sign of the times. The director plunges his audience headlong into a pre-AIDS libidinous frenzy sweeping enough to encompass disco, punk, drugs, screaming headlines and hysterical prejudices, none of this made any less frenzied by the specter of a killer on the loose. The so-called Son of Sam is used as a deranged catalyst, seen writhing in black socks and boxer shorts as he howls at the dog next door. It’s some measure of the film’s own pressure-cooker madness that David Berkowitz no longer seems like the most tortured soul onscreen as ”Summer of Sam” reaches its savage finale.

Set in a xenophobic, embattled Bronx neighborhood where non-Italian-Americans are regarded with deep suspicion, ”Summer of Sam” shares the ”Do the Right Thing” affinity for local color. That the color is white this time makes surprisingly little difference to Mr. Lee’s approach. These characters roam the neighborhood, affect macho posturing and endlessly shoot the breeze just as the filmmaker’s Bedford-Stuyvesant characters did. And they become embroiled in a story with similar slow-building but unstoppable momentum, as that scorching summer’s craziness starts to tear old friendships apart.

In a raging, startlingly visceral performance, John Leguizamo plays Vinny, a blend of sexual insatiability and status quo. Vinny hews loyally to the community’s provincial attitudes, but he also has a libido that’s spinning him out of control. Like every major character in just about any of Mr. Lee’s films, he is thinly conceived but wildly vibrant anyhow, especially when the story pits him against Ritchie (Adrien Brody), a boyhood friend who has taken on rebellious affectations.

You could say that the tension between them boils down to nothing more interesting than a schism between punk and disco. (Like all of Mr. Lee’s fiction films, this one is steeped in pop cultural references and a hugely effective musical score.) Or you could just sit back and watch two tough, furious actors making their moves.

The film’s interesting if tricky conceit is to give each of them, and many of the other figures in a busy screenplay written by Mr. Lee, Victor Colicchio and the actor Michael Imperioli, some kind of double life. These dichotomies rivet attention even when they’re hackneyed, like Vinny’s Madonna-whore cheating on his wife, Dionna (Mira Sorvino), or farfetched, like Ritchie’s allegedly heterosexual yen for the world of gay porn.

Credible plotting doesn’t always come easily to Mr. Lee, but wild verve does; this film, like the dazzling but many-tentacled ”He Got Game” before it, makes up in fury much of what it lacks in form. It overflows with lurid, posturing characters who define the limits of the small world in which they live.

Mr. Lee’s love-hate relationship with cultural stereotypes remains alive and well. He brings the same jokey familiarity to this film that he has to his Brooklyn stories. And for every blunt, dead-end detail (there is quite literally a ”Dead End” sign here, flanked by the colors of the Italian flag), there’s a sharp one, like the addict in this waterfront neighborhood who tries to sell broken lobsters at cut rates. If many of the particulars and much of the talk here are exceptionally coarse, that too is a well-established part of Mr. Lee’s arsenal. ”Summer of Sam,” which easily accommodates a brief scene at Plato’s Retreat and the knock-down, drag-out marital fight that follows it, is intent on making this a long, hot summer in more ways than one.

Ms. Sorvino is radiant and poignant as Vinny’s disco queen with her own double life as a girlish waitress; Jennifer Esposito makes a tough foil for Ritchie; Bebe Neuwirth turns the local beauty parlor into her personal den of iniquity, and Patti LuPone vamps frighteningly as Ritchie’s slatternly mother. But ”Summer of Sam” unfolds in what is very much a man’s world.

And there are more than a couple of Michaels (Rispoli and Imperioli) linking it to ”The Sopranos,” or to the Martin Scorsese ambience it vaguely echoes. But Mr. Lee’s Italian-American world and the mounting anger that consumes it are consistent enough with his earlier work to be his own more than anyone else’s. Ben Gazzara (as a cool mobster), Anthony LaPaglia (as a detective), Ken Garito and Brian Tarantino are among those who bring it to life, with Michael Badalucco seen briefly as the eerie killer.

”Summer of Sam” is loaded with visual energy thanks to Ellen Kuras’s bold, inventive cinematography, a nonstop array of tricks (time to give those lengthening, distorting lenses seen in ”Crooklyn” a rest), and editing that’s sometimes abrupt, sometimes formidable. Two standout montages edited to suit hard-hitting, emblematic Who songs (from ”Who’s Next”) perfectly capture the blazing chaos of the season in hell that Mr. Lee recalls.

”Summer of Sam” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian). It includes strong profanity, sexual situations, frequent references to oral and anal sex and intermittent brutal but quick glimpses of violence.


Directed by Spike Lee; written by Mr. Lee, Victor Colicchio and Michael Imperioli; director of photography, Ellen Kuras; edited by Barry Alexander Brown; music by Terence Blanchard; production designer, Therese DePrez; produced by Mr. Lee and John Kilik; released by Buena Vista Pictures. Running time: 145 minutes. This film is rated R.

WITH: John Leguizamo (Vinny), Adrien Brody (Ritchie), Mira Sorvino (Dionna), Jennifer Esposito (Ruby), Michael Rispoli (Joey T), Bebe Neuwirth (Gloria), Patti LuPone (Helen), Mike Starr (Eddie), Anthony LaPaglia (Det. Lou Petrocelli), Ken Garito (Brian), Brian Tarantino (Bobby Del Fiore), Roger Guenveur Smith (Det. Curt Atwater), Ben Gazzara (Luigi), Jimmy Breslin (himself), Michael Badalucco (Son of Sam), Spike Lee (John Jeffries) and John Turturro (voice of Harvey the Black Dog).

first published here: http://movies.nytimes.com/movie/review?res=9401E7DB143DF931A35754C0A96F958260

henkjan honing – iedereen is muzikaal

Filed under: music — ABRAXAS @ 12:54 pm

order it here: http://www.musiccognition.nl/x/Iedereen_is_muzikaal.html

July 1, 2012

Classic Albums: Herbie Hancock – Thrust.

Filed under: mick raubenheimer,music,reviews — ABRAXAS @ 7:39 pm

Haters can hate, but that molten decade sprung between the mid-Sixties and mid-Seventies was a smorgasbord of innovation and adventure in music.

While the heady spirit of freedom – and hyper-stimuli of psychedelics – didn’t exactly wreak genius upon the average human mind (whose imaginative reach crested at tie-dye shirts, living in tepees, and emancipating body hair), artists went and dove over the edges of all kinds of edges.

Music, for one, would never be the same; nor, perhaps, ever be as rampantly inspired.

Most of us know what cliffs and rainbows were scaled in the woodlands of Rock music, but Jazz was turning into something of a chameleonic panther – hunting in stark, steaming forests slivered with stars and explosions of light.

As per usual, it was Miles who’d taken the brazen first steps into electric instrumentation (a big taboo at the time). After that, the floodgates heaved open.

Leading the Fusion campaigns were rhythmic polymath Tony Williams’ Lifetime, John McLaughlin’s solar flare Mahavishnu Orchestra, Chick Corea’s Return To Forever and Hancock’s uber-funky Headhunters. The latter was the only one to eschew the electric guitar – that then seemingly crucial part of the electric equation.

Golden flights.

By the late Sixties Herbie Hancock was already a legend in the Jazz world. At the age of 23 Hancock had joined Miles Davis’ new band, which history would dub Davis’ Second Great Quintet. Davis was looking to freshen up his sound again, and in 1963 launched said new band featuring young up-and-comers Ron Carter on bass, 17-yr old Tony Williams on drums, and Hancock on keys.

This rhythm section went on to reach unheard-of sophistication and originality, helping shape the Post-Bop movement. During his period in the quintet Hancock also released solo albums ‘Empyrean Islands’ and ‘Maiden Voyage’, two of the most popular Jazz albums of that decade.

Fired from the quintet in ‘68, “for returning late from his honeymoon” (a rather unsympathetic ground for dismissal, although typical of the sometimes icy Davis), Hancock started focusing on his own music, which would increasingly incorporate mainstream elements into his otherwise challenging compositions.

Following the peak of his experimental thrust, with the three commercially disappointing ‘Mwandishi’ albums, Hancock decided to ground his then-stratospheric explorations, rooting them in the earthy foundation of Funk. It was a brilliant move.

The result, in 1973, was ‘Headhunters’, a hip-swanging, finger-snapping Jazz Funk outing, which crossed over into the mainstream Billboard charts. This was followed by ‘Thrust’, which, across its four monstrously tight, yet galaxy traversing epics, seemed to perfectly meld the alchemic reaches of Jazz sophistry with the dizzying musks of Funk.

Like Darth Vader.

The best of Funk has a lot in common with the best of Cheese (well, for those brave of palate; the others can stick to Fourplay and cheddar) – they contain layers of intrigue, and something almost a little bit off. It’s got Whiff.

If ‘Headhunters’ was embraced by the hip mainstream for its melodic, even rhythmic accessibility, ‘Thrust’ ventured deeper into the vines and stars.

In the cd-reissue’s liner notes, drummer Mike Clark (who created that impossibly groove-infested drumbeat for album opener ‘Palm Grease’, and burns throughout) recalls being invited to join one of Fusion’s most exciting and rhythmically daunting groups, and waxes appropriately lyrical. He speaks of ‘the zone’ and meditation, of telepathy with bassist Paul Jackson Jr. He speaks of ‘higher levels’, and at one point describes Hancock striding into rehearsal with a long black overcoat, looking “like Darth Vader”, before swishing down to sit behind the keyboards and letting ‘em rip.

The four tracks on ‘Thrust’ are blistering sonic events. Even the relative ballad, that gorgeous dream ‘Butterfly’, crackles with energy.

As beautiful and cool as the melodies weaving from Hancock’s hands and flautist Bennie Maupin’s mouth are, it’s the rhythms (inter-clasped/ sidestepping/ inventing beats like some kind of flexible, temporal Rubick’s cube) that both root the album and let it flourish into Space.

Higher level stuff.


June 27, 2012

interactions: a strategy of difference and repetition – south african premiere 1 july during national arts festival

Filed under: 2012 - Interactions: A Strategy of Difference — ABRAXAS @ 1:47 pm

shot, produced, edited, sound recorded & mixed and directed by aryan kaganof
music by afrikaaps and brian eno

book tickets here: http://www.nationalartsfestival.co.za/show/the-bowl-interactions/

June 26, 2012

Eugène’s Dream (3:24 min)

Filed under: anton krueger,poetry,south african theatre — ABRAXAS @ 5:48 pm

by Anton Krueger (2006)

Appearing daily at The Arts Lounge
17a Somerset Street, Grahamstown
for the duration of the festival,
(28 June-7 July, 2012).

Eugène Marais’ seminal poem “Diep Rivier” (1926) is a lyric suffused with lament. Within its unsettling, tortured beauty one finds
clues to the poet’s addiction to morphine. It’s also eerily prescient of his suicide, speaking of his endless longing (“die groot verlange”),
of the blade of love wedged into his heart (“Die lem van liefde wroegend in my hart”), and of the pain which will be eased by the embrace
of the dark river (“In jou omhelsing eindig al my smart”). The last lines exhort the river to rise, to come quickly (“Kom snel”), to wash away
the pain of love.

But “Eugene’s Dream” turns this darkest of poems inside out. Here the murky river seeps through the pores of the individual’s shell, and
flows, brooding, through the valley of a strenuously pixelated Pretoria. Instead of referencing an inner emotional landscape, the poem
becomes about the mass, about the social structure embodied within the architecture of the city. This is a cityscape dominated by the
looming presence of the Reserve Bank, the highest building in the capital city. The building towers over all the other constructions, dwarfing
mosques, temples, and churches.

In this video you won’t see the famous historical sites synonymous with the capital city; no Voortrekker Monument or Union Buildings.
Instead, the viewer is thrown into a wild melange of ugly urban constructions from the 1970’s, juxtaposed with the Hindu temple in
Marabastad and the mosque in the city centre. These images are woven together with scenes from a farm outside Pretoria – the windswept
silhouettes of trees, the dark pit of a barren spring, a sick rose – creating an hallucinatory vision of instability within the shadow
of the tower.

In this way the dark river of dread becomes equated with the flow of money, with the imposing behemoth of the Reserve Bank, flowing
through a multitude of social streams, buffered against a swirling melee of contesting systems of value, over which it, eventually,
presides. A dark tower. Mordor. A temple to Moloch.

With music and voices by Werner Mouton & Brendon Roelofse.


O, Diep Rivier, O Donker Stroom,
Hoe lank het ek gewag, hoe lank gedroom,
Die lem van liefde wroegend in my hart?
– In jou omhelsing eindig al my smart;
Blus uit, O Diep Rivier, die vlam van haat; –
Die groot verlange wat my nooit verlaat.
Ek sien van ver die glans van staal en goud,
Ek hoor die sag gedruis van waters diep en koud;
Ek hoor jou stem as fluistering in ’n droom,
Kom snel, O Diep Rivier, O Donker Stroom.

June 25, 2012

interactions: a strategy of difference and repetiton – south african premiere on 1 july during national arts festival

Filed under: 2012 - Interactions: A Strategy of Difference — ABRAXAS @ 5:20 pm

featuring jerry pooee, artistic director of the windybrow theatre

shot, produced, edited, sound recorded & mixed and directed by aryan kaganof
music by afrikaaps and brian eno

book tickets here: http://www.nationalartsfestival.co.za/show/the-bowl-interactions/

June 23, 2012

interactions: a strategy of difference and repetiton – south african premier on 1 july during national arts festival

Filed under: 2012 - Interactions: A Strategy of Difference — ABRAXAS @ 4:57 pm

featuring ismail mohamed, artistic director of the national arts festival

shot, produced, edited, sound recorded & mixed and directed by aryan kaganof
music by afrikaaps and brian eno

book tickets here: http://www.nationalartsfestival.co.za/show/the-bowl-interactions/


Filed under: anton krueger,south african theatre — ABRAXAS @ 10:19 am

A series of five extraordinary performance art events on the National Arts Festival Main Stage.

Performance Art meets Thinkfest. A collaboration between international artists and local academics.

Includes: historical battle re-enactment with a blazing cannon, a pole dancer, a monk, a boxer, a runner, a blind woman, a child, a geographer, a general, metaphysical traders, live installations, performance games, opera, films, live music, artworks, confessional booths, and loads of innovative inter-disciplinary debate involving leading intellectuals from Departments of History, Politics, Anthropology, Psychology, Economics, Sociology, Drama and Music.

Limited seating: only 45 tickets are available per show. Secure your seat at computicket: http://online.computicket.com/web/

The POLIS Series consists of five completely different events:

Tuesday 3 July 18:00
Arena: Arenas are spaces where forces contend and events unfold. Historical re-enactment, and museum exhibits frame Elizabeth Salt’s pursuit up a pole, as six leading Grahamstonian intellectuals discuss the vexing question of “what is to be done?”

Wednesday 4 July 18:00
Cell: The cell is the arena divided; a place of captivity and meditation. Via the route of, Narrative Therapy, Trudy Meehan finds a way into the personal story of a boxer and an ex-convict, while a monk relates the story of his cell.

Thursday 5 July 18:00
Spring: Springs have always been places of temporary gathering. Penny Bernard, a sangoma with a doctorate in Anthropology speaks on the springs of Grahamstown and the sources of knowledge in the dreamworld as children in hammocks dream our future into being.

Friday 6 July 18:00
Border: The border separates and secures identity. Grahamstown’s past and present borders have created a landscape fraught with real politic. What is the border’s effect on senses of self, mobility and other? Jeff Peires and Julia Wells talk about the fraught borders of these spaces in a terrain criss-crossed by visual and metaphoric conflict.

Saturday 7 July 18:00
Market: Public sites of exchange are crucial meeting points for South Africa’s newly democratized citizens. A real market surrounds the chapel, where some are selling wares, and some trading in more esoteric fare. Inside the chapel a sacred space allows votive symbolic offerings. Economists Gavin Keeton and Geoff Antrobus discuss Grahamstown’s money in the world at large, with a guest appearance by Lesego Rampolokeng.

See the whole series: 3 July – 7 July, 18:00 – 19:00 in the Nun’s Chapel. R40.00 a shot. It’s nothing.


June 22, 2012

interactions: a strategy of difference and repetition – south african premiere during national arts festival (1 july 2012)

Filed under: 2012 - Interactions: A Strategy of Difference — ABRAXAS @ 1:23 pm

featuring moenier adams (afrikaaps)

shot, produced, edited, sound recorded & mixed and directed by aryan kaganof
music by afrikaaps and brian eno

book tickets here: http://www.nationalartsfestival.co.za/show/the-bowl-interactions/

June 20, 2012

The Road Blog – AK & the Bald Spots

Filed under: derek davey,music — ABRAXAS @ 2:53 pm

The Joburg leg of the Sweet Like A Lemon Tour featuring AK & The Bald Spots, the Indie rock band from Mpbombela, takes in two dates. The first is at the Troyeville Hotel on Friday the 22nd June and the second is at Amuse Cafe in Linden on Saturday the 23rd.

Both dates are part of a tour that is the minor fulfilment of a dream I’ve had ever since I became a musician in the first bloom of my squeaky voiced and spiky haired youth.I’ve long wanted to take a band on the road and see the world, town by town, and perform music to different people night after night. A romantic image in my mind that somehow remained that way, until now, that is.

So it was that upon completion of the album that took me a few years to write (no deadline in Indie world), I suddenly was in the position to do the thing that I’d long wanted to do: go on a tour with a few bandmates, get out of Smallsville, get a life, hit the road, live the rock ‘n roll dream. It had to be in a crap van that was crammed to the rafters with equipment, and was just barely legal in terms of roadworthiness. Indie rockers together, us against the world, comrades in arms, pursuing an impossible dream. Fame, fortune, and changing the world! Little by little the dream was forgotten and compromised until it became a mere shell of its former self.. Somewhere in the back of my mind, though, a voice began to nag at me, “This is not enough! There’s so much more!” So I decided to make the dream a reality, hence AK & The Bald Spots on the Sweet Like A Lemon Tour. If this is delusion, its a fantasy that does not come cheap by any means. But oh, what joy! Small time is better than no time, as far as I’m concerned.

Substituting youth for wisdom and experience, we still feel music can change the world and bring a sense of unity to the disparate, antagonistic and various communities in the “New” SA. Even if it is one gig at a time, baby steps for sure, but better than sitting back and just doing nothing while the country slowly gorges and devours itself on the hatreds of old. And let’s face it, rock ‘n roll is the best day job in the world – just a case of maximising income streams, creating a market, supplying it, and living happily ever after. That’s the theory anyway. Walking the walk is just a tad more challenging, as many Indie rockers will attest..That’s why we need you, gentle reader, to get to one or both dates in Joburg this weekend. We promise not to disappoint!

Tito Mgwenya, the drummer on Sweet Like a Lemon, the album we’d just finished recdording, mixing and mastering at Echo Studios in Nelspruit, had purchased a vehicle for just such an occasion. We’d often spoken, in recent months, of “getting a band together, and going on the road”.We both sensed the time was getting near.

The opportunity really presented itself after I received a call from Charles Grass (not his real name), a guitarist from Durban who had moved to the Lowveld recently and was looking to start an acoustic duo, for working small venues such as restaurants, pubs, lodges and corporate events. As I’d been doing these kind of gigs for a few months now to supplement my income as a music teacher, I’d started to find great joy in performing songs that I love, always taking the chance to discreetly add my own compositions into the sets. Time to take it to the next level, I thought, so I started booking dates for the band, which consisted of Tito on drums, Charlie on guitar, and myself on guitar and vocals. Jomo Shongwe joined us on bass guitar, but due to his day-job commitments, was unable to travel with us to Joburg.

Charlie and I started practising in the mornings and pretty soon we had a cooking set of tracks together that was nice and tight, including songs off Sweet Like a Lemon and 2005’s Peace and Love. We also worked on some smoking acoustic versions of classics like Are you Gonna Go My Way, Come Together, Ring of Fire, Have You Ever Seen The Rain and Redemption Song – material that both suits my voice and are guaranteed crowd pleasers. I always feel there’s no reason to ever include weak songs in a set. And doing them acoustically means its easier to control the sound in small venues. The Bald Spots were starting to forge an identity.

Our tour started taking shape once a friend of mine in Joburg, Derek Davey expressed some interest in booking gigs for us in Joburg, and perhaps collaborating either with percussion or bass. He booked us the two dates mentioned above, and I booked the others, including Tonteldoos, Kaapsehoop and White River.. Meanwhile, Derek had been learning the basslines to the songs in our set, and was apparently getting them down . …

The Friday night gig in Troyeville ought to be good, but experience tells me to keep my expectations neutral and let the evening unfold in its own way. Derek has played there with his band Them Particles, and the last time I was in Troyeville was at Bob’s Bar, in ’95, giving James Phillips a hug as I had just returned home from a seven-year sojourn overseas. It was the last time I saw him, as he tragically passed away just shortly after that, so I guess James will be on my mind on Friday night. James, this one is for you, my brother…

Linden, the suburb in the North of Joeys where Amuse Cafe is to be found, is an old stomping ground of mine. We lived there when I was in high school in the late seventies, attending DeLa Salle High, the all-boy Catholic school. I have vivid memories of pogoing to the pipe band as they were rehearsing in the schoolyard, and streaking around the block past the swimming pool, as part of some spotty matric celebrations. It’s sure to be something special on Saturday evening when I return to Linden with the Bald Spots. Entrance is R40 for both events, and includes free shot of tequila. Copies of Sweet Like a Lemon will be given away to anyone wearing anything hideously lime-green, and for any other silly reason we can think of. Copies of the album will be on sale too, music starts around 8pm.

Now we’ve just got to get the brakes for Tito’s van sorted out, and its Joburg here we come!

check out the site: www.andrewkay2.bandcamp.com


Filed under: kaganof short films — ABRAXAS @ 2:30 pm

produced, shot, edited and directed by aryan kaganof
south africa
music composed by michael blake
piano played by ms. jill richards

Reverie is a scroll painting, like the Japanese makemono. The scroll painting genre cannot be grasped by a single glance, unlike most easel paintings in the western tradition. It can only be fully seen if there is time to see all of it as the scroll unfolds. This type of painting becomes a time-based form, like a piece of music. Reverie is analagous to the ancient picture scroll, a ribbon without end, almost like a reel of film of a single shot of the landscape as it horizontally unwinds. Not all of the picture can be wholly understood simultaneously by the eye. This perception has to happen sequentially: a single subject pours into the next subject, a fragment develops into the next fragment. Reverie works as a series of relationships in time (rather than just as a comparison of forms), a principle found in the single tracking shot. These shots in time appear to the eye as a flowing together of separate images, or even sequences. Reverie is a sophisticated and dynamic interpretation of the scroll/film analogy.

immanuel stammelman
problems of meaning in the video work of aryan kaganof

June 8, 2012

flowers for johnny

Filed under: music — ABRAXAS @ 7:29 pm

Artist: Anders Gahnold Trio (with Johnny Dyani)
Album: Flowers for Johnny
Label: Ayler Records (AylCD 017/018)
Year: 1983-1985 ; release: 2003
Format, bitrate: mp3 @ 256 kbps CBR
Time: 2 CDs: 67 + 32 minutes
Size: ~190 MB incl. 3% recovery (2 files)

Following his exile from South Africa, Johnny Dyani spent a few years in London and then Paris before finally settling down in Copenhagen, Denmark. The Swedish and Danish jazz scenes being strongly interconnected (then and now), he eventually met the alto sax player Anders Gahnold, who actually chased him down and invited him to join his trio. Completed by drummer Gilbert Matthews, the trio performed irregularly during the bassist’s last years, but it seems it never recorded a studio session. Flowers for Johnny culls two live sets recorded by the Swedish Broadcasting Company on October 15, 1983 (at the Umeå Jazz Festival) and on September 12, 1985 (at the Jazz Club Fasching in Stockholm). Both are good-quality recordings with some light wear and tear of the master tapes showing. The 1983 set, over one hour long, is dominated by the 17-minute opener, “Sound Check,” a powerful piece that showcases Gahnold’s writing skills as much as his soulful left-field playing. Still very bop in essence, the music is fueled by the energy of American fire music. Honest-sounding, it eschews power for power’s sake and even doesn’t shy away from a touch of romanticism in “Waltz for Kai-Ola,” a highlight. Disc two is much shorter (33 minutes). At its heart stands a gripping rendition of “Summertime.” If the saxophonist remains a bit too respectful of the standard, Dyani stretches out a set of solo variations that revamp it in a way reminiscent of how John Coltrane rewrote “My Favorite Things.” “Jagad” and “Duett,” bookending this second recording, are both livelier and freer tunes featuring some exciting interplay between bass and drums. Gahnold is an underdocumented sax player, but you’ll probably want Flowers for Johnny for Dyani’s work (and he’s not the most recorded bassist in jazz history).
~ François Couture, All Music Guide

first published on the web here: http://jazzbluesclub.com/user/GatoMedio/

June 7, 2012

Jan-Jan and the Fever Scapes.

Filed under: literature,mick raubenheimer — ABRAXAS @ 10:36 pm

There were strange, wobbling people trapped in the two-dimensional planes of the mall’s shiny shop windows. Diluted and warped spangles of people – a female dragging a spilling child; sprawling boyfriends panting; slanted businessmen walking their suitcases; huggles of tweens kissing into gaudy, Facebooked cells.
Jan-Jan knew it had been a bad idea.
“Dude this is a bad idea, the people in the windows are growing. And….. they’re fucking following us…” Jan-Jan attempted to whisper this into Koos’ ear but he’d lost his rhythm and ended up sinistering said information to a highly bemused house-mom of sorts. “Fuck shit sorry who are you!??” Koos plucked him back into trot.
“Dude they’re growing,” Jan-Jan offered to Koos, by way of thanks or apology or explanation. “Vesuvius,” Koos reminded Jan-Jan, his arched left eyebrow splicing into his forehead.
The mall was in full swing. Consumerist orgy.
It was three o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. It was impossible.


Two hours before.

“Chill bra it’s gonna be quick. Quickin quixaut.”
“Dude I don’t even do malls when I’m slowber. This will not end well. I’ll die or expand into, like, somewhere and you’ll be stuck with the body having to explain to the mall cops and the customers with their Jet bags and my mom. My MOM dude. Explain to her.”
Koos rolled his talentedly rollable eyes. “He’s the only one who carries this stuff. 10 minutes tops, and you’re not That stoned. Chi-eeel.”
Jan-Jan nodded knowingly, into the middle distance of apprehension.

On Tuesday, January 13th 1987, Jan-Jan was four years old in the forest of legs and gleaming shoes and giant hands in Checkers somewhere in Kaarlfontein CBD. He had lost his mom but he didn’t know this yet. He awed at the shinily wrapped sweeties and the trousered legs and the mom legs and the dangling or swinging grownup hands; the occasional pram with its flailing occupant. He reached up and took his mom’s hand. The mom dress with its mom legs lowered into a friendly squat and introduced a smiling, not-Mom face. Jannietjie’s eyes grew larger than fearful. “Hello skat, wie is hierdie oulike kleintjie?” Another grownup face, male, joined not-Mom’s into his plane of vision, and chuckled.
“Wie is Hierrie meneertjie Susan? Ag kom ons hou hom.” The man roughly tousled Jannietjie’s petrified hair.
A bulge of tears was swelling the world out of focus.

Are you experiencing mild panic?

People were starting to notice them; them and their ‘Corn’ and ‘Anti-Chris’ tees. An ominous, horizontal dome of space took shape around them. The patrons of Westwood Mall were beginning to give them girth; were beginning to consciously, accusingly, walk around them. Jan-Jan’s face was bigger than normal and breathing in slow motion, on Imax.
“Fokken DRUGGIES,” someone hissed in passing.
“Yo amper daar bra.”
Jan-Jan detected specks of The Fear in Koos’ attempt at a casual aside.


Like fourteen buckets of the stuff.

Outside, on the roof of section D of Westwood Mall, a new bird was cleaning and inspecting its foreign wings. It was a subtle sui generis – there was nothing flashy to mark its difference. The other birds, however, did take note, eyeing it with beady fear. Keeping their distance. Twittering amongst themselves. The zombie throngs below did not notice. Not many an ornithologist frequented this particular haven of commerce.
The new bird concluded its cleaning session. Ruffled its fresh self. Focused its eyes on an aged pigeon ambling along a ledge some 50 meters away. The pigeon’s head snapped dully up. It started feverishly pecking at its own breast, a dull flurry of bits of feather and flecks of blood growing around it as its wings started dementedly flapping. In this fashion it stammered off the roof – a twitchy mess which plonked onto the roof of a metallic orange Corsa four storeys below.
All around the mall various birds took wing – pigeons and sparrows and robins and others all swirling up into elegant avian orbits, intertwining in shifting circles high above.
The only bird still hopping along the segmented roofs was the new one.

Damp Ills.

Behind the Pills counter of PHARMA-Con, Timothy (aka Vesuvius, aka Tim) stood looking at the lost people milling about the pharmacy’s starkly hygienic aisles, desperately seeking cures and anointments and chemical epiphanies – questing the soothing.
He wanted to hop over the counter and randomly hack into them with the rusty panga he had carefully hidden behind the upper shelf of Cyloscentia in the back. A bulge formed in the groin area of his neat white pants at the thought of their pointless alarm.
“Hi, Yes ma’m what can I do for you today?”


“Oh. My. Fuck.” Jan-Jan froze in mid-step. The ominous surroundings briefly melted away. Koos turned around. “It’s. The. Dude they have the new Ampersand!”
Koos knew what this meant. He was not angry. Disappointment did not slacken his face. He didn’t roll his rollable eyes. It was what it was.
“Okay go, but I’m collecting you in TEN MINUTES.”


It took Jan-Jan some long seconds to relocate the nerve to cross the threshold of Musique, the slightly-better-than-Musica cd store; currently pumping some kind of Madonna remixed with Technotronic trip.
He wades into the nightmare of people and shelves, struggles hisself to the nearest counter. Summons the nearest till clerk with glowing forefinger.
“Uhm can I, we, I mean can I listen to the new Ampersand?”
“No erm, just the. Erm..”
“And,” she smiles softly then turns around and walks away.
For a moment which expanded into dejection, then Fear, Jan-Jan realized that this female employee of Musique knew that he was stoned and subsequently disliked him. THEN he realized she was on her way to the manager’s office to call the police. Oh christfuck the police are probably already in there – she IS an undercover Cop!
She turned around and winked in a skyburst of sunny conspiracy. Jan-Jan expanded ticklish all over. The Goodness came over him. And she was about to present him with that mysterious new explosion, that vault of impossible valleys, Ampersand’s ‘New Opticons Astride’.
Jan-Jan’s body became a grin. He pretended to be normal.
This was physically, ontologically strenuous. Attempted to casually note and appreciate the gibberish of products and advertisements draped and bulging like so many neon-furred gargoyles behind the counter and everywhere. Then she was back.
“Oh you’re going to enjoy this.. pink-eyes.”
Her lips were built of yum. Jan-Jan’s eyes sank into them for a bit too long then he tried to smile at her knowing, blessed eyes and then remembered what was about to happen.
“Thanks Twinky,” he managed to purr (it felt like a purr); then initiated the ostensibly simple task of wrapping those nice big scruffy earphones over his question-mark ears with his nice big dumb paws.
Closed his eyes.


All the trees were in light.

For around 87 seconds Koos had been nodding amiably and shit-scared at the frightening assault of accusative and threatening and murderous faces encroaching his otherwise modest trek to shop 317 deeper and deeper and deeper into the mall’s indigestive cistern.
He waved a final ‘Fuck You’ to the circling demons as his legs warbled him into PHARMA-Con.


Easy now.

Jan-Jan’s heart was thumping in slow motion. Thumping pumping schlumping. Its deferred beats framed fantastical, polyphonic short stories and craning snapshots.
In this way his body – his warped rushes of blood – was conducting ‘New Opticons Astride’. With his eyes closed he closed his eyes. Thump. A secret creature was hunting a mole-sized doe, the doe was represented by some kind of flute slinkily slinking ahead of the keyboard/ synthesizer. The lunging and chomping flora crashing past was the bass swelling out of the drums. Thump. A blaring blue sky expands into a drop of squirming blood which hums with electric intent. Thump.
Then the lyrics arrived, and Jan-Jan recognized them.
“Child of gold come from stars away/ You brim with new eyes let them away/ Moonborn one who led the Maya/ to dams of gold ‘neath the lava/ You are come/You are come/ You are come”
Jan-Jan’s heart went numb. The earphones were lying in front of him on the listening booth’s panel. He was shaking his head in denial of this new Fate, his hands held up in supplication or surrender. Lisa/Twinky bounced over, frowning, “Yo, you okay?”
Jan-Jan turned around and tried to remember how to run. Shop 317 shop 317 shop 317.


And Gold was their blood and they drank it to burn the fire and they are return.

When Koos walked out of the bustling nightmare and into the whiteshone haven of PHARMA-Con a calm embraced him. The buzzing faded into gentle, far-off hiss. The place was teeming with geriatrics and blushing teens but all were gentled in clothing of soft colour and quiet design. Even their movements, vaguely indecisive, soothed.
He walked towards the counter in back. The white-clad figure hunched over to disentangle a prescription from its doctor’s arachnid writing straightened up at Koos’ approach. Vesuvius smiled in welcome.
Koos waved shyly, gratefully at the Keeper, and looked around to see that the pharmacy was now empty.
This should have alarmed Koos.

Way out.

Sinking steadily into his oneiric hell Jan-Jan’s urgent mantra ‘Shop 317 shop 317 shop 317’ became overwhelmed by a second voice, now out-clamoring the first. ‘Sunglasses. Must find sunglasses.’ He knew then that if he didn’t hide his terror and illegal eyes from the milling hounds he would be taken outside and destroyed.
Jan-Jan lurched into Edgars, bumped into the unimpressed security guard and almost toppled the Alarm Arcs. He smiled appallingly at the guard and gesticulated what he hoped would be interpreted as a casual apology, but sensed would rather translate as the hyperbolic twitches of a psychopath. He tried to find his way through the thickets of trousers and shirts and socks and patronizing mannequins. Then he was there. Rows of snobbish, unblinking shades. Camouflage! Safety! LIFE!!
When he walked back out – making sure to pass the security guard without undue physical contact – his frantic red eyes were replaced with unblinking, deep shade. Once outside Jan-Jan turned left and slammed fantastically into Koos. “Go. GO!”, Koos suggested from somewhere within the tangle of them. As they went through a kind of reverse epileptic fit separating one from the other, a serious looking 5-yr old held out Jan-Jan’s freshly acquired dark glasses to him. Jan-Jan smiled thanks and took them; winked amiably at the security guard who had followed the commotion outside; nodded at Koos. “Alright, let’s go.”
Outside the mall the birds had ascended to the height of 2 km’s and had synchronized their flights into a perfect, unsmiling circle. The new bird was still on the roof, hopping from crumb to pebble.

When Jan-Jan and Koos exited the colossal labyrinth the bird hopped onto a ledge, peered down. Studied them, turning its head from this side to that, in the manner of the curious.
Inside the car Squarepusher’s Big Loada lent counterpoint to Koos’ relating of Vesuvius’ psychedelic instructions while Jan-Jan daydreamed of exotic jungles bleeding gold, and covert extraterrestrial influence on the vast majesties of pre-Western civilizations.
Trailing the car, unnoted, was a lone bird with ancient gleams for eyes.


May 29, 2012

104. Torso – Sergio Martino

Filed under: film,on murder as a fine art — ABRAXAS @ 9:00 am

Color, 1973, 92 mins.
Directed by Sergio Martino
Starring Suzy Kendall, Tina Aumont, Luc Merenda, John Richardson, Roberto Bisacco
Blue Underground (Blu-Ray & DVD), Shameless (UK R0 PAL), Alan Young (Italy R2 PAL), X-Rated Kult (Germany Ro PAL), Another World (Sweden R0 PAL), Stomp Visual (Australia R0 PAL) / WS (1.66:1) (16:9), Anchor Bay (US R1 NTSC) / WS (1.78:1) (16:9)

The tranquil University of Perugia for international students is rocked by a series of brutal murders in which the female victims have been stripped and mutilated. Daniela (Aumont), a pretty art student, recognizes a red-and-black scarf found on one of the victims… but where did she see it? Meanwhile, a sidewalk peddler believes he knows the killer’s identity but is mowed down when he attempts a round of blackmail. Afraid for her life, Daniela retreats to a remote country villa with three of her friends including an English girl, Jane (Kendall). Of course, the savvy killer follows them, ensuring that their little vacation turns into a nightmarish bloodbath.

One of the last pure gialli directed by jack of all trades Sergio Martino and easily his most influential, Torso was originally shown in Europe under the title The Bodies Bear Traces of Carnal Violence (I Corpi Presentano Tracce di Violanza Carnale), or just Carnal Violence for shot. However, its American title (concocted by distributor Joseph Brenner) ensured its popularity on the drive-in and grindhouse circuit where it played for years hooked up with films like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Not surprisingly, the film lost over three minutes of gore and dialogue outside of Europe, and after years of cut prints and video editions, the DVD era finally ushered in restorations of varying degrees of success.

A perfect example of the necessary elements for a commercial European horror film, Torso throws in every convention of the thrillers perfected by Martino and mixes them with the more recent slasher and sexploitation trends. A veteran of Dario Argento’s The Bird with the Crystal Plumage, Kendall once again makes a terrific scream queen; her cat and mouse showdown with the killer, which comprises the entire final third of the film(!), is not easily forgotten, and her struggle to retrieve a pesky key to open an unlocked door never fails to send viewers through the roof. However, the most noteworthy element of Torso is its stunning musical score by the always audacious Guido and Maurizio De Angelis. One of the best musical contributions from Italy in the ’70s, this astounding soundtrack mixes sultry jazz, chilling percussive suspense music, and funky folk rock without faltering once. It’s still amazing that this remains one of the very few gialli they scored (followed years later by A Blade in the Dark).

As for Martino’s direction, this film is considerably more extreme than his previous thrillers, though visually and thematically it still falls in line, particularly with Your Vice Is a Locked Room and Only I Have the Key which features a similar opening sequence of writhing female bodies as well as another “hippie” party with an uninhibited, breast-baring girl dancing while surrounded by a bunch of heathens, in this case some bikers and dope-smoking college students(!). The schizophrenic structure of the film essentially plays like a Martino greatest hits collection, dolloping on the gratuitous T&A and rapid succession of murders in the first half before switching gears into a more psychological, tension-packed, single-location nailbiters with Kendall taking center stage (like Edwige Fenech in his previous films). At first the presence of Italian hearthrob Merenda as a local doctor seems extrandeous, but he finally becomes a key player in the finale (especially in the longer European version). Horror fans may also be amused to note that this was made just before Bob Clark’s Black Christmas with which this shares some very interesting structural and visual similarities, particularly during their respective climactic showdown scenes.

The U.S. version of Torso altered the entire, nudity-filled credits sequence and the original music theme, but fortunately the European cut presented in every post-VHS home video version preserves this film in its original sleaze-soaked glory. The first DVD of Torso from Anchor Bay was a revelation for the time; the colors looked crisp and vibrant compared to the awful bootlegs floating around, and the level of detail visible in the anamorphic transfer looked fine despite being cropped to 1.78:1 from the original 1.66:1 after the credits. It’s worth noting that this print bears a few discrepancies compared to the original Italian prints and seems to have suffered an odd editing snafu. The opening credits feature a replaced title card which turns the screen black for a moment, and the soundtrack submerges the opening music to a faint muffle while including an Italian-language lecture on art history which should have played out after the credits ended. The general release Euro prints only contained the music before a retracting camera shutter introduced an alternate, close up shot of John Richardson concluding his lecture with the camera panning around the classroom’s students, a gallery of upcoming suspects and victims. The occasional restored Italian dialogue (including an old witness talking about spotting a corpse when he went to “take a dump”) is presented with optional English subtitles (but no subs for the rest of the film, despite the alternate all-Italian audio track), which also includes an extended offscreen dialogue during the last scene. The additional violence here mainly consists of some prolonged but not remotely explicit body sawing during the villa finale. The disc’s menus are accompanied by the film’s soundtrack music (in stereo, unlike the botched Digitmovies soundtrack CD), and the lengthy U.S. trailer and a psychedelic European promo (under the shortened title of Carnal Violence) are included for your enjoyment. (Amusingly, the American trailer kicks off by promoting this as being from Carlo Ponti, the maker of Doctor Zhivago and War and Peace!)

keep reading this review here: http://www.mondo-digital.com/torso.html

May 28, 2012

105. The Last House on Dead End Street – Roger Watkins

Filed under: film,on murder as a fine art — ABRAXAS @ 8:08 pm

Plot Details: This opinion reveals major details about the movie’s plot.

Few horror films hold the reputation of LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET. All the names billed on the prints are pseudonyms, any print of the film is next to impossible to locate, and the quality of any print you’d be able to find would likely be completely inferior.

In May 2002, Barrel Entertainment announced that, to complement their releases of two of German horror director Jorg Buttgereit’s more infamous films NEKRomantik and SCHRAMM, they were going to release LAST HOUSE on a two-disc ultimate edition. Hearing this, I was overjoyed, since I had been looking for this film for quite a while. Some five months later, and after numerous delays in the release date, Barrel finally released the film, and I was finally able to view perhaps the most infamous horror film ever made.

LAST HOUSE, aside from being one of the most infamous horror films ever, is also one of the most obscure. Made in 1972 by film maker Roger Watkins, a protege of British director Freddie Francis, the film was originally a three hour cut entitled THE CUCKOO CLOCKS OF HELL, filmed entirely at the State University of New York using college students and professors in the roles. Unable to find a distributor initially, Watkins was forced to put the film on the shelf until 1978, when a distributor finally decided to pick up the film. Unfortunately, Watkins’s film was marketed to play into the audience of Wes Craven’s LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, and was unceremoniously hacked down to 75 minutes and retitled. The entire film was sloppily redubbed, all the names were replaced (Watkins was billed as “Victor Janos”) and numerous sequences were cut entirely from the film. In spite of all this, the film became an instantaneous cult classic upon release, gaining instant notoriety for its over the top gore and nastiness.

Over the years, time has been hard on LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET. Released on video in an absolutely inferior print, the film continued to build a legacy preaching of its incredible low budget charm. For years, the film was feared to be lost, but now, thanks to the people at Barrel Entertainment, the film is finally available in a good edition in the U.S.

LAST HOUSE involves the story of Terry Hawkins, played by director Roger Watkins himself, a wannabe porno film maker recently released from prison. Terry comes out of the clink with an idea to get back at the people who had screwed him in the past. Finding a suitable location, Terry assembles a film crew and begins work on his ultimate film masterpiece, saying he wants to make “really weird films.”

Weird films indeed. Terry proceeds to murder various trash film makers and acquaintances, recording the killings on a film camera.

So what has separated LAST HOUSE from scores of other films that have sunk into video obscurity? Quite a few things actually.

First, LAST HOUSE is one of the first films to deal with the phenomenon of snuff films. When the first report of snuff was made public by the FBI following the Charlie Manson murders, during which the Manson “family” was reported to have filmed the killings, film makers soon took the initiative and began using this idea to their advantage. Allan Shackleton’s film SNUFF made in the early 1970s was one of the first to use the idea of snuff footage to their advantage, but even before this, Roger Watkins, under the pseudonym of Victor Janos, made LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET, beginning the media fascination with snuff that has continued up to this day with films like 8mm.

The extreme low budget nature of LAST HOUSE also has worked to its advantage. The film, which according to Watkins was made for under $1000, has a sense of low budget charm that few others can compare with. The grainy film stock, nonprofessional actors, poor dubbing that is almost always not in sync with the lip movements, and decrepit locations used for filming all create a feel of grim realism in Watkins’s film. The entire film is also very sleazy, full of nudity and clumsy sex provided by film from the various porno film makers that Terry comes in contact with. All these elements give LAST HOUSE an incredibly downbeat, sleazy feel, a characteristic that can make a bad film good in the bigger scheme of things.

Roger Watkins’s portrayal of Terry Hawkins is another good element in the film. Hawkins is the only character in the film that is developed at all, and Watkins goes appropriately over the top in his portrayal of this character. All the other characters in the film are either member of Terry’s murderous “family,” obviously patterned after the Manson family, or one of their unassuming victims who are dispatched in increasingly sickening ways.

The music score for the film, which was constructed entirely out of stock music, is surprisingly effective, alternating between distancing ambient sound, PSYCHO-like stabs, maniacal laughter, and an ever beating heart. This blend of weird sound solidifies the brooding and eerie mood of the film.

What really has made LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET a cult favorite, though, is a couple of scenes in particular. Near the end of the film a woman is completely cut apart in a scene that is almost an exact copy of the episode of the Japanese GUINEA PIG series entitled “FLOWER OF FLESH AND BLOOD” where a samurai completely skewers a young woman, except that LAST HOUSE occurred some twenty years before the GUINEA PIG episode. In LAST HOUSE, the victim is kept awake by use of smelling salts, to make sure she is conscious as her body is completely flayed apart. The special effects for this scene are incredibly effective despite the lack of any budget. The scene would probably fool some naive viewers into thinking this really happened.

Little touches like the smelling salts are what distinguish LAST HOUSE from the crowd and make this film so completely despicable, i.e. good, evidenced in another scene where a man is forced to fellate a deer hoof. Truly, this is one of the most perverse scenes I’ve ever come across. As he is humiliated, the man is forced to look at his own reflection in a mirror placed right in front of his face.

Aside from these two now infamous scenes, there are a number of other murders and attacks, including one where Terry attacks a sleazy film director declaring “I’M DIRECTING THIS F**KING MOVIE!!!” Indeed, he is directing the movie.

LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET is truly one of the most sleazy, most disturbing, and most memorable in the long line of 70s exploitation/horror films. I think you’d be hard pressed to find a film that comes close to the completely sickening nature of this one, and that is what makes Watkins’s film so damn unforgettable. If you have any interest at all in this type of film, you simply must see this seminal feature film, especially considering the work that was put into the new DVD release.

Barrel’s two disc LAST HOUSE set is no less than one of the special edition DVD’s I’ve ever seen. Not only is the print of the film extraordinary considering the original material (the print does have many scratches on it, but it is far superior to the video prints which, for the most part, looked like they were in black and white and lacked any picture definition), but the disc is packed with bonus features.

To start things off, you have a commentary track from director Roger Watkins and “Deep Red” editor Chas. Balun. This track both reveals extensive information about the film, and is incredibly entertaining to listen to. A second commentary track consist of a radio interview recorded in the mid 70s featuring Roger Watkins and LAST HOUSE costar Ken Fisher where the two discuss LAST HOUSE and low budget film making in general. Next, there is a quartet of early Watkins films, to which you again have commentary from the director. Some of these films are pretty good, some bad, but overall, it’s a nice complement to LAST HOUSE to see some of this little known director’s other work. A TV interview featuring Watkins and LAST HOUSE collaborator Paul Jensen is next, where Watkins and Jensen discus LAST HOUSE and Boris Karloff. A raw documentary chronicling a day in the life of Roger Watkins is screened. This is pretty revealing and candid, showing Watkins and his fragmented real life. Finally, we have alternate credits for the film, billed as THE FUN HOUSE, a theatrical trailer, tribute video from the death metal band Necrophagia, and a 36 page insert booklet featuring thoughts and interviews from David Kerekes. The bonus features included with this disc is just incredible, offering extensive information about the making of the film, and about director Roger Watkins. Simply amazing.

LAST HOUSE ON DEAD END STREET is a film that any admirer of low budget horror simply has to see, especially in the new DVD release. Although this film is definitely not for the squeamish due to extremely intense psychological and physical terror and graphic violence, it is a classic in the proportions of Wes Craven’s LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT, William Lustig’s 1980 film MANIAC, and HENRY: PORTRAIT OF A SERIAL KILLER. It is a definite must see for horror fans, and I would highly, highly recommend it.

this review first published here: http://www.epinions.com/review/mvie_mu-1116485/content_79650000516?sb=1

May 24, 2012

a letter from luzuko

Filed under: luzuko elvis bekwa — ABRAXAS @ 8:17 pm

grand master

last week tuesday i was in town and i happenned to go to african music store . after browsing i happenned to bump against tete mbambisa latest release -black heroes , a solo album.. whaaao!!! the sound , the texture , the every thing in the album is quite mersmering . i mean the information on the album sleeve the rare photos with the late bra duku and chris mcgregor really bring back true golden era of sa jazz scene memories.

well i know bra tete mbambisa just a week before he launched his album i was at his place and we were just chatting, man the man is quite a master . as i was approuching the gate i had this sound of piano it almost sounded like a classical sound , i mean beethoven kind of a classical sound . when i entered the house sis mavuy his wife wecomed me with that always warm and beautiful smile and said ” are you jonathan’s guy ” . i did not know what she meant by that so idid not answer , i just smiled back at her .she just led to to the other room where the master himself was busy playing the music . so it dawned to me that the sound i was hearing from outside was tete playing his music . he greeted me with a smile and told that he was preparing for the launch of the album, singing praises of jonathan for being a kind guy. well that was a week before the album launch.
now just last week i bought the cd at african music and i went to him so that he can bless it with an autograph , boy i had a ball cause the master was present at his house and also he was in a good mood . yuo know artists sometimes can be like monstres especially if you catch them at the middle of their craft, but with tete he is always a ‘staying cool ‘ kind of an artist lucky me . so he shared some of his memories with the late & now living legends of sa jazz talking about how he used to tease bra dollar ( abdullah ibrahim ) his relationship with bra duku and the ‘intlupheko’ gang and lot of other interesting staff.. then he mentioned JOHNNY without saying a word after mentioning HIS name he went to his bedroom and brought a thick book about mbizo’s life . and then played african bass by johnny dyani. boy maan i cannot talk, someone has to just listen to the music to imagine how i feel now.

but TETE , his music , is classical — is a xhosa classical jazz music . you listen to dembese and it takes you to that era of imiguyo nentlombe , then you listen to umsenge still it takes you further back to the era of s.e.k mqhayi and govan mbeki in their youth . without any offence or prejudice this TETE MBAMBISA guy should be bestowed the father of XHOSA CLASSICAL JAZZ.

from disciple

May 21, 2012


Filed under: nicola deane — ABRAXAS @ 11:56 pm

Funny, I was just pushing up the contrast on my anatomised hearts…
chambers for good reason…to hide/bury things in,
to watch the play of light and shadows in,
to listen to music, echoes,
cries and laughter in…
Good night my love

May 18, 2012

Witchboy’s Sonicosmic Seduction: Apocalipstick.

Filed under: mick raubenheimer,music,nikhil singh,reviews — ABRAXAS @ 10:19 pm

The frighteningly gifted and unfairly productive entity best known as Nikhil Singh – writer, reviewer, illustrator, tarot deck manifester, cult Rock demi-god, and all round creature from elsewhere – has just released his alter-ego Witchboy’s soundtrack to the digital apocalypse, prettily entitled ‘Apocalipstick’.

A frantic, fractured, candy-cracked thing, ‘Apocalipstick’ is Singh’s 2nd full-length venture into digital music, following a mere coupla months on the heels of debut ‘Hollymode’. Wouldn’t think it to hear it though. The sonics are as minutely detailed as Oval’s epic cascades, and as trixy limbed as Autechre’s quantum physics.

‘Apocalipstick’ is gorgeously layered, which is not to say it is smooth going. Witchboy knows that whitenoise is the matrix onto which temporary structures like technology and intelligence are briefly projected; that the seemingly organized and structured are mere whispers in an ocean of chaos and seething Otherness. His electronic compositions neatly mirror the fizzle and hiss and binary shudders Inside electricity – the cough and splutter that is ENERGY.

Fans of Singh’s real-time music via The Wild Eyes and solo ‘Pressed up Black’ album will also delight in the occasional flicker of guitar, bass and drums, and the new line of haunted tales and bewitched characters.

A thrilling musical inquisition, and currently available to listen to, or purchase in various audio formats, at http://baku-shad-do.bandcamp.com/album/apocalipstick.


May 14, 2012

ARYAN KAGANOF – Hyper-Literary Fiction: The (meta)Poetics Of Digital Fragmentation

Filed under: kaganof,literature — ABRAXAS @ 3:58 pm

When we think of literature’s future, we always mean the destination it will reach if it keeps going in the direction we see it going in now; it does not occur to us that its path is not a straight line but a series of curves and tangents, constantly changing direction. August Highland’s Hyper-Literary Fiction is one of these tangents. It is a possibility of literature. Hyper-Literary Fiction and its associated genres, Microlinear Storytelling, Next-Gen Nanopoetics and Genre-Splicing – all originated by Highland – are by nature intransigently unfinishable; the process could, in theory, go on and on. Hyper-Literary Genre-Splicing is a practice of diluting, of hemorrhaging the subject in a fragmented, particled language diffracted to emptiness. The atomic unit of Hyper-Literary Fiction is not the sentence, but the fragment, the clump, the volatile conglomerate. Granular, dense and stuck together. Division of this fragment occurs only to produce still another irreducible cohesion.

Genre-Splicing is precisely that act which unites in the same labor what could not be apprehended together in the mere flat space of linguistic representation. Hyper-Literary Fiction reminds us that the rational is merely one possible system among many others: it suffices that there be a system even if this system is apparently illogical, uselessly complicated and curiously disparate.

Next-Gen Nanopoetics has the fundamental characteristic of a denial of development. All one can do with it is to scrutinize it, not to solve it as if it had a meaning, nor even to perceive its absurdity (which is still a meaning). Microlinear Storytelling’s accuracy obviously has something musical about it (a music of meaninglessness and not necessarily of sounds).

Hyper-Literary Fiction never describes: its art is counter-descriptive. A collection of literally “untenable” moments which constitute themselves as nostalgia for the future.

Genre-Splicing constitutes a space of pure fragments, a dust of events; this is because Hyper-Literary Fiction’s time is without subject. One might say that the collective body of all Hyper-Literary Fiction is a network of mirrors in which each mirror reflects all the others and so on to infinity; without there ever being a center to grasp. In Hyper-Literary Fiction, what is abolished is not meaning, but any notion of finality.

In Microlinear Storytelling density of texture frequently obliterates the contours of the original syntactical line. Joyce’s technique of verbal fragmentation provides the essential background to any understanding of the art of the Hyper-Literary Fiction. As in Joyce, fragments, often chosen to represent salient features of the source material, develop a strikingly individual resonance in isolation and combine to generate new and unexpected meanings.

In Next-Gen Nanopoetics, isolated phrases can give rise to new semantic affinities. August Highland poeticizes the grammatical image by emphasizing its musical values (chromatic compositions, assonance and compositional rhyme). Semantic stuttering (loops) galvanizes the source material into nervous life.

August Highland compounds his audience’s estrangement from the structural relations of the source material by presenting different fragments simultaneously, forcing them to grasp at momentarily comprehensible gestures within the general language/vision overload. Thus Highland is fascinated with working at the very limits of coherence.

Massive clusters, dynamic contrasts, aggregate rhythms, layered imagery, chromatic quagmires, major linguistico-visual dislocations: these are the characteristics of Hyper-Literary Fiction.

August Highland is very much like a draughtsman whose aim is to represent all the inter-relations between things. Working on reading Microlinear Storytelling and Hyper-Literary Fiction – like work on philosophy in many respects – is really more a working on one’s self, one’s own interpretation, one’s own way of seeing things. Genre-Splicing ought really to be performed only as a poetic composition.

Next-Gen Naonpoetics is not based on a historical truth; here you have a narrative, don’t take the same attitude to it as you take to other historical narratives. Different interpretations must correspond to different applications. A Genre-Splicer has constantly to ask him/herself: “but is what I am Splicing really true?” – and this does not necessarily mean: “is this how it happens in reality?” Yes, you have got to assemble bits of old material. But into a building.

Wanting to Genre-Splice is one thing; having a talent for Genre-Splicing is another. One’s style of Splicing may be unoriginal in form and yet one’s images and sounds may be well chosen; or, on the other hand, one may have a style that’s original in form, one that is freshly grown from deep within oneself – (like August Highland’s).

A true example of Hyper-Literary Fiction is best regarded as already existing before it has been composed: with editing as the act of deducing its entirety from a single key phrase/sample/fragment that swims into the Genre-Splicer’s mind. August Highland’s literary projects as a whole are called Metapoetics Theatre and therefore have an auto-hypnotic function.

The prime characteristic of the Genre-Splicer is that he does not tell a story. The Genre-Splicer discards with the subject; there is no “I” for the reader to I-dentify with. Hyper-Literary Fiction may be likened to a hall of mirrors, endlessly reflecting its anti-eschatological celebration of form for form’s sake.

Where, then, does the Metapoetics Theatre idea lead us?

This, of course, nobody knows, but it is fascinating to speculate about its ultimate fate. One can imagine a vast network of future Hyper-Literary Fiction covering an ever increasing range of natural phenomena with ever-increasing accuracy; a network which will contain fewer and fewer unexplained features, deriving more and more of its structure from the mutual consistency of its parts.

Hyper-Literary Fiction seeks but does not possess the meaning and substance of the one truth. For Genre-Splicers, truth is not static and unchanging, but endless movement into the infinite. Truth in the world is in everlasting conflict. The literary projects of Metapoetics Theatre carry this conflict to extremes, but disarm it. Hence Hyper-Literary Fiction does not become a creed. It is in continuous conflict with itself. Genre-Splicing makes us fully aware of the various forms of our dependence, but in such a way that, instead of remaining crushed by our impotence, we find, from the vantage point of our independence, the road to recovery.

Hyper-Literary Fiction is the classicism of digital literature: that is, the one formally perfected style which digital literature has elaborated and from which all modern abstract digital literature art that is valid has derived.

A great deal of nonsense has been written about the creation of the Metapoetics Theatre, connecting it with relativity physics, psychoanalysis, and heaven knows how many other complex and remote things. The fact is that the group of digital artists who created the Metapoetics Theatre (August Highland, Cynthia Rice, Paul Mayer, Adrian Ross, Nicole Bloomfield, Pornalisa, Teddy Warburg, Hannah Frank, Akira Gorman, about 60 others) were creating Hyper-Literary Fiction and nothing else. Certainly they were not dealing in ideologies.

The Metapoetics Theatre evolved in a succession of perfectly logical steps out of previous stages of pre-digital literature editing, out of Cubism and Cezanne, and it raised a series of spatio-temporal problems that had to be solved within the medium of digital literature and by digital literature artists working strictly as Genre-Splicers – that is, upon the sample as such.

With the advent of Next-Gen Nanopoetics begins the process of detachment from the object which is the hallmark of modern digital literature art. Even though Hyper-Literary Fiction is a classical and formal style, the writer nevertheless cuts up and dislocates fragments (samples) as it pleases him for the sake of the picture, which is now no longer held up to us as a linguistic representation but as a chrono-visual image with its own independent value alongside that of nature.

The flattening of chrono-pictorial space that is achieved in the Hyper-Literary Fiction is not an isolated fact, true only of digital literature art, but is paralleled by similar changes in pre-digital literary techniques. There is a general process of flattening, three chief aspects of which may be noted 1) the flattening out of all planes. Near and far are pushed together. Past and present are represented as occurring simultaneously, upon a single plane of time. James Joyce’s Ulysses, TS Eliot’s The Waste Land and August Highland’s Hardcore Fiction Collection are examples. 2) More important perhaps is the flattening out of climaxes. In Highland’s alphanumericlabs, a work of power and dullness, beauty and sordidness, comedy and pathos, where the movement is always horizontal, never ascending towards any crisis, and where we detect not the shadow of anything like a climax, in the traditional sense of that term. It is, in fact, the banal gritty thing that we live that Highland gives us, in comparison with which all other digital literature is indeed fiction. This world is dense, opaque, unintelligible. 3) The last and most important aspect of what we have called the process of flattening in the Metapoetics Theatre is the flattening out of values. For Hyper-Literary Fiction breaks with the whole tradition of western sensibility and western aesthetics in showing that all experience is potentially transcendental.

Hyper-Literary Fiction, instead of a mere theory of literature becomes a vision transcending the realms of thought and language; leading out of words and into the world of acintya, the unthinkable.

(A note on methodology; I did not write one single sentence of this article. Every sentence was appropriated from an existing source. Plundered if you will. The idea to compose a theoretical work based entirely out of existing material of others comes from Walter Benjamin who imagined writing a novel in this way. Of course Gertrude Stein and Kathy Acker were inspirations, particularly with respect to the noun replacement system that gives this piece of writing cohesion – a subject. I thought that this method would be more appropriate for the groundbreaking work of August Highland than a traditionally written “review.”)

aryan kaganof

this interview is published in donga, edited by alan finlay and paul wessels, published by bleksem and dye hard press
isbn 978-0-620-52779-8

May 13, 2012

AUGUST HIGHLAND interviewed by Aryan Kaganof

Filed under: dye hard press,kaganof,literature — ABRAXAS @ 4:32 pm

What’s in the name August Highland?
— interview by Aryan Kaganof

“Something is going on and you don’t know what it is, do you Mr. Jones?”
– Bob Dylan

aryan kaganof: Something is very definitely going on and its name is August Highland. A phenomenon. Or should I say a vast collection of phenomena. Because “prolific” does not even begin to describe August Highland. He has more than 80 personae – each of which has an authentic, full-blown style of his or her own. He has published more than 100,000 pages of hyper-text on various web sites of his own creation and design. He has invented five new genres of literary fiction. He is currently working on extrapolating his literary theories into crossover forms in other disciplines, incorporating music, fine art, graphic design and architecture into the forging of entirely unknown territory for which there is as yet no critical lexicon; words fail us in attempting to describe what August is up to. Perhaps he will invent these for us as well. I wouldn’t put it past him. Oh yes, and in between all of this fearless innovation he has the time to organize world’s largest literary quarterly on the web, the Muse Apprentice Guild, with more than 2 million hits per year.

I’d always thought of myself as quite a busy guy until I connected with the extraordinary Mr. Highland. We did this interview by e-mail over a period of four weeks. It took so long because I needed time to think. August had the replies in almost before I had sent the questions to him. His speed is superluminal! (Look that one up).

What struck me after a few days of browsing through your many sites was the extraordinary energy that you must have. Were you a precocious child? Difficult to get along with (for your less intelligent contemporaries)? Did you have an imaginary friend? Lots of them?

august highland: I was not a precocious child at all. I did not display any extraordinary talents or qualities that set me apart from other children. The only trait I had that was uncommon (though not uncommon to other writers and artists) was that I always felt like an outsider. I felt this as early as two-and-a-half years old. I thought I was an adult who was smaller than all the adults around me. During the first week of kindergarten I was walking by myself on the grass during recess and discovered a hole in the chain-link fence. So I climbed out through the hole and walked the three blocks home. When my mother asked me what I was doing home and how did I get home I told her that school was let out early and that I walked. Then I went to the kitchen and ate an orange. This typifies my experience growing up. I did not want to be around other children. I had no friends my age and didn’t feel a need for any. The happiest moment I had in school was in first grade when I was tall enough to reach the top shelf of the bookcase where the teacher (Ms. Canary) kept all the books that she read to the class. I took the one that was my favorite and brought it to my desk to read. I remember Ms. Canary caressing the back of my head when she found me reading her book at my desk. I fell in love with her at that moment. She was the first woman I loved besides my mother.

I was very difficult to get along with. I have two younger sisters. I repeatedly tried to kill my middle sister by kicking her playpen over. And I tortured my youngest sister. I beat them up all the time. Then my dad beat me up. To this day my sisters and I do not talk. My dad has stopped hitting me though.

I was also a thief. I stole from grocery stores and department stores. Usually the things I stole were gifts I wanted to give my mother. I loved my mother very much. She was everything to me. So I stole things that I could give her. She gave me so much and I wanted to give back in return. She always took me back to the store from where I had stolen the gift and made me return it to the manager and ask him to forgive me. I was never caught stealing. They didn’t have video surveillance in those days. But all the store owners knew my face. And they were always nice to me even though I was a petty criminal.

I never had an imaginary friend. Instead I had imaginary father figures. My father worked 14-hour days. He left for work at 4am and returned at 6pm just in time for dinner and immediately fell asleep on the couch after dinner. Snoring in his underwear.

I found my surrogate father figures in books. Beginning in the second grade, I read every biography of great men that I could find. Men like Thomas Jefferson, Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln. Also lengendary figures like Daniel Boone and Davy Crockett. I idealized historical heroes and tried to model my life on their lives. For example, I would turn off all the lights in my bedroom and read using a candle. I was trying to emulate Abraham Lincoln. My parents took the candle away when they found out I was playing with matches. The next day I stole a flashlight from the hardware store.

Even though my father was absent he gave my mother complete freedom to do whatever she wanted. She bought me every book I ever asked for and took me to museums and took me with her to her ballet lessons and her painting lessons. She took me everywhere with her. She even took me to her girlfriends’ houses and I would sit there and listen. Being around women so much only served to distance me from my peers even more, especially from boys.

aryan kaganof: As I delved further and deeper into the labyrinthine complexity of your site two names kept on springing to mind: Joyce and Ballard. Care to respond?

august highland: I can answer this question in a very telling manner. When I was 19-years-old and spending everyday indoors doing nothing else except reading from morning to night my parents became very concerned about me. I had already been in psychotherapy with eight or nine different therapists because of depression, anxiety and nightmares. Summer arrived and my parents devised a plan. They decided to send me to Club Med in Tahiti. My mother convinced me to go by tantalizing me with images of half-naked native girls in grass skirts. So I went. I brought two books with me. James Joyce’s Dubliners and Frederick Wheelock’s Latin Grammar. When I got to the island I associated with no one. I spent everyday wading fifty feet out into the glass-green water which rose no higher than my ankles and stood in the sun reading my latin grammar book or Joyce’s short stories. The transgender bartenders kept flirting with me and I was still pretty naive and almost found myself in an awkward situation from which I was rescued by a very lovely tahitian girl to whom I lost my virginity on the same secluded strip of beach where I spent my days studying my Joyce and my latin grammar.

Although I know longer read Joyce and haven’t for 25 years I am still faithful to Latin. Virgil is my favorite writer.

aryan kaganof: Is your writing medium-specific, that is to say, could this kind of writing have been conceived of without the internet? And could you now yourself ever consider going back to the kind of writing that we knew before the internet?

august highland: My literary work is absolutely medium-specific. There is no possible way in which I could produce my work without the tools and resources furnished by the advent of the internet. I have written seven traditional novels (traditional in the sense that they were written the traditional way without utilizing internet-based tools.) I could never conceive of myself writing in the pre-internet style again. This would be like trying to climb back into the womb. The internet has birthed me.

I do not use the word “birthed” arbitrarily or colorfully. The internet is a technological mirror of our psyche. The internet is an evolutionary medium for consciousness and social and cultural growth. The internet is anything but mechanistic and artificial. Mechanistic is our jobs. Artificial is the food we buy.

There is no appreciable gap between the author and the internet. The process is very grounded and organic. There is nothing virtual or cyberspacy about it. This is a romantic view of the internet. The internet is strictly a facilitator, enabling me to finally produce the work I had always conceived of but never had the specific tools which I needed in order to realize my ideas. The greatest modern inventions in history have been created by Guttenberg, Edison and Ford – and Bill Gates.

For me as an author writing in the 21st Century without incorporating internet tools into my literary work would be equivalent to using candles to light the home instead of light-bulbs and traveling using a horse instead of driving. This sounds like the life of a devout Amish follower or a fanatical and delusional follower of the Unibomber manifesto.

aryan kaganof: Let’s look at the issue of locality versus non-locality. If we take a writer like Robinson Jeffers. His work is unthinkable outside of the context of the Californian coastline. The rhythms of his poetry have everything to do with the landscape he lives in. Similarly the greatest South African writer, Herman Charles Bosman, writes from the Groot Marico bosveld or the Groot Marico bosveld writes from him – the two are inextricably linked. You live in San Diego. But your writing, which is clearly medium-specific, would appear to be coming from non-locality, from no-where? Is there a techno-spatial geography that is operating on or out of your writing? Or does locality play a less important role for you, and perhaps for all web-connected writers in the future (ie. now)?

august highland: San Diego has a neutral atmosphere. That means it does not as a city carry around a strong cultural air or attitude. Los Angeles for example is very heavily influenced by the entertainment industry and it is difficult to escape the pervasive commercialization of that environment. San Diego does not have a centralized mentality. Everyone here is invested in living their own lives and rearing their families. There is not the over-riding feeling here that everyone is invested only in career and ambition for celebrity-hood and excessive material wealth.

I have traveled around the world and lived in many place in the US including the east coast. I don’t think I could work as productively anywhere else. Everything I need is here. Also there are no distractions to pull me away from my work. San Diego is a conservative city and does not accommodate the more colorful pleasures that some cities afford. I am easily sucked into those colorful pleasures. I know this from having lived in New York and from having grown up in West Los Angeles near Hollywood. I have a very addictive nature and if I am in the right (that is to say “wrong”) city I have a very hard time with impulse control. Living in San Diego is for me like being a writer-in-residence in a comfortable art community that has pleasantly maintained grounds and offers all the necessities a writer needs. I have all the essentials here. All the unessentials are unavailable which for me personally is a perfect situation. All of my energies are channeled into my work and do not get dispersed or diffused.

About a “techno-spatial geography”. I would agree that I thrive in the new geographical terrain that has formed in the trans-continental ether. Because San Diego has such clear culturally atmospheric conditions the techno ether saturates the area through very clear receptivity. A city like San Diego has the perfect social climate to admit technoculture frequencies without any filtering or noise. It’s like when you are trying to dial into a shortwave radio and need to make locational adjustments to gain the clearest access. San Diego is positioned in an ideal geo-psychical position which provides clear access to techno-spatial transmissions.

aryan kaganof: There seems to me to be an analogue prefiguration in literature for your project; at least in terms of the personae. In the work of Fernando Pessoa. Indeed, his major project, The Book Of Disquiet, consisting of thousands of loose pieces of paper in a trunk, demands of its reader a complicity in the ultimate narrative formed by forcing the reader to create the narrative in terms of the route he or she takes through the material (which is undirected by Pessoa). One could say the same for the traveller who goes through your site(s). There is a collaborative narrative constructed every time one surfs through the many possibilities you provide. Was Pessoa an influence? To what extent are you concerned (if at all) with narrative?

august highland: Narrative is not solely a contribution that the individual reader makes to my literary work. I deliberately assemble the thematic material and present it in a particular fashion using different literary devices and techniques in order to create a narrative that is open to interpretation depending upon the way in which the reader interacts with the contents of the narrative. Another way to state this is that the finished product that I present to the reader is a pool of information which the reader processes in a way that is unique to that reader. Pessoa in Book of Disquiet bases his major oeuvre on a different conceptual model than me. He makes the ultimate demand on the reader. He delivers the data to the reader to sort through with minimal assistance by Pessoa himself. I participate more intimately with the text and with the reader by deliberately selecting a group of themes and the manner in which I am going to present the thematic material to the reader. In one project I will present work that is very dense and compressed. In another project I will present the material in a rhythmic style. In another project I will incorporate the use of unconventional punctuation to propel the reader forward through the text at an accelerated pace. In another project I will employ devices that interrupt the flow of the narrative and will interpose auxiliary material into the narrative stream. In another project I will utilize devices like repetition and looping to reiterate narrative threads and confer upon them more importance than other threads in the narrative.

I have a very great interest in the readers of my literary work. I want to communicate. But I am not interested in communicating to the reader the same material that a writer like Hamsun or Proust or Joyce or Beckett is interested in communicating. I am not invested in writing about me. I am more interested in writing about the reader. I know that the reader and I share a common experience by virtue of our inter-relatedness and inter-connectedness. I choose thematic source material that touches upon fundamental experiences. Themes like sexuality, military action, spirituality, love and human relationships, the environment, politics, the media, our human feelings, our everyday concerns that are universal to all human beings like money, family, mortality, happiness, meaning, friendship, self-understanding, work, play, etc. I know that by the way I structure my literary work and the way I interact with the source materials and how I modify these source materials, I am presenting literary work that a reader will relate to in the same way I relate to it. Our reading of the text will be different from each other and the experience of the text will be different and the meaning of the text will be different from each other, but only superficially. On a meta-cognitive level or on a metabolic level or on a cellular level or collective unconscious level our readings of the text will have a very unified correspondence. I am not concerned with writing about me. I am concerned with writing about the terrain which I share with the reader.

aryan kaganof: I looked you up on google. Became worried that “August Highland” is a persona too. Thousands of entries for Scottish national games! But isn’t that one of the problems of having multiple personae: that the audience begins to doubt the sincerity of the material?

august highland: When doing a search on August Highland it helps to use quotations around my name to reduce the number of search results that are generated by google. “Metapoetics Theatre” is name I have attributed to my work involving the use of mulitiple personas each of whom produce literary work that is a subgenre of one of the four genres I have originated; they are “Hyper-Literary Fiction”, “Microlinear Storytelling”, “Next-Gen Nanopoetics” and “Genre-Splicing”. Metapoetics Theatre is a literary performance in which the multiple personas play an explicit role. Metapoetics Theatre endorses multiple personas which are an active element in the concept of this literary production. There has never been an attempt by me to disguise the personas or present them as genuine individuals because this would run counter to the fundamental tenets of Metapoetics Theatre which openly presents each member of my simulated literary movements as another extension of myself. There is also a disclaimer in the Muse Apprentice Guild, which is the International Literary Quarterly I edit, that none of my personas appear in the Quarterly. My literary work and editorial work are two separate ventures.

aryan kaganof: Moving on to the “Muse Apprentice Guild.” How do we know that all 600 writers featured are not further extenuations of your multiple persona project?

august highland: The Muse Apprentice Guild is an non-profit organization promoting the international world of letters; it has 35 contributing editors around the world and is the largest and most widely read International Literary Quarterly on the Internet with an annual readership over two million readers.

Here is a quick history of the muse apprentice guild: The next issue (appearing august 31) is the first anniversary issue – on august 1, 2002 the first issue came out with 60 writers including both emerging and established writers – the number of writers tripled in the fall issue and i turned the m.a.g. into a quarterly – by winter there were 500 writers and the m.a.g. had expanded into an international literary quarterly – by spring (the current issue) there were 600 writers and 4,000 literary works – the m.a.g. now has 35 co-editors around the world who act as liaisons presenting contemporary literary work from their respective countries which i publish in the original language with or without english translation – the annual m.a.g. readership has grown to over two million readers making the muse apprentice guild the largest and most widely read international literary quarterly on the internet.

My own literary work (Metapoetics Theatre) is presented under the aegis of “Culture Animal” which is my own literary production company. The M.A.G. and Culture Animal are connected only because I operate both projects. But the connection stops here. There are no hoaxes in my work.

aryan kaganof: There is something dizzying about what you are doing. It leaves one slightly worried, the ground is shaky and what we know of our critical facility, what we have been trained to validate our sense of proportion, of what is “good” in literature, is radically undermined. You must be aware of this process in your readers. Is it intentional? What is to be gained for literature by so radically undermining the status of the author?

august highland: Concerning the criteria we use to judge what is “good” in literature I recommend that readers read the essay by Professor Harry Polkinhorn in the Spring Issue (2003) of the Muse Apprentice Guild entitled “600 Readers?”

At this point we may be in a position to formulate a way to assess the quality of writing or art that is more honest, less dictatorial, more open-ended, a way suitable to our historical period, rather than having to labor under the confusions perpetrated by standards from the past that no longer fit our current realities. In this expanded view whose investment is decidedly not in creating a forced, arbitrary, and deceptive sense of value by starkly limiting the writing it deems worthy of publication, that is, works with the laughably bogus principle of so-called rarity, good writing would be that which gives the reader the most immediate and moving sense of the fullness of the writer’s self. This leaves open what “fullness of self” can mean. As each of us spends a lifetime becoming who we are, uniquely as selves here at the brief, fiery living edge of history, those who are more completely accomplished in this task will manifest that state more immediately, which will flower from their lives in all ways, whether in their personal relations, their artistic creations, their stance in the world.

aryan kaganof: In an interview with Andrew Shelley you talk of a writer’s onus to contribute to “the historical timeline of civilization.” Is this not an extremely conservative, linear conception of how civilizations run their course? Is not the very notion of the literary canon, “tradition” an inherently flawed one, based on phallocentric imaginings of the recta linear form of time and being? Surely the real subversion would be in rejecting the concept of the timeline altogether?

august highland: About the western literary tradition, the canon, the lineage. The lineage of the western literary canon is both linear and cycling. I think of it as a spiral. We continue to return to the same point but on a higher ring in the spiral. So the canon is not purely linear nor non-linear. This paradigm extricates us from the intellectually limiting view that compels us to choose antithetical positions, one being the old-school traditional linearist and the new school subvervise deconstructivist.

aryan kaganof: You describe a process whereby the reader is invited to “infuse the work with his/her own metaphors.” Does this mean that the writing is analagous to a join-the-dots-drawing? You provide clues towards an intellectual region or an emotional tone, and the reader labours to complete that tone in whatever pitch they choose? Can such a piece of writing ever be said to be finished? Are you against the notion of closure? Against ending things?

august highland: Addressing the reader’s need to connect the dots or to labour to input meaning into my literary work, I want to say that I don’t perceive of my work in this light. I perceive it in the light of a different analogy, the analogy of a relationship or interaction. It takes two people to have a relationship. They bring to the relationship all of their self. They also concentrate all of their self on a subject or issue. My literary work is the subject or issue. The relationship is between me and the reader.

I don’t believe that things end. Things are never finished. There are only changes in the state of a thing.

aryan kaganof: I am fascinated by your use of Jungian concepts in terms of the self/selves that are always archetypally at play within the writing. Please would you elaborate.

august highland: Archetypal psychology arrived at the pinnacle of Jung’s contribution to the understanding of the psyche. This was his most important contribution to the understanding of the self. Freud introduced us to complexes. Jung fathomed the psyche uncovering the archetypes. The complexes are personal. The archetypes universal. They are part of our genetic structure. They are engineered into our DNA. The individual self or ego is a construct through which the archetypes are expressed in ways unique to each individual because each individual has a unique set of complexes originating from his/her life experiences. No two people have the same life experiences and so the archetypes are never expressed the same through different people. What makes us different from each other is our complexes. What makes us alike are our archetypes. I was in Jungian analysis for ten years with an analyst who studied under the first generation of Jung’s students. Jung’s contribution to humanity has still not been fully recognized. His concepts are soul-healing and flowered in response to Hitler, Hiroshima, and the Cold War when evil was globally pervasive. He committed himself to the mission of healing the traumatized collective psyche while writers and artists during this time were producing work that reflected the psychological casualites of this period of history.
Beckett is an example of this and Ballard another. Barth another. These writers are engaged in desconstruction and the isolation and fragmentation of the individual. This is because evil in the world was so globally prevalent. Their work was seeded by destructive acts performed by ignorant and criminal leaders. Their literary works are the dark flowers that blossomed in decaying societies.

But now we are rebuilding. Now evil is localized. The superpowers are allies and working together to eradicate evil which is isolated in the form of terrorism. This has happened because our consciousness has evolved and we are becoming more and more aware of ourselves and accountable for our actions. This evolution of the psyche brings into focus the face of evil. Evil is one of the archetypes. Now that mankind as a whole is becoming more conscious, the face of evil is becoming more identifiable, something we can confront and engage with in an open dialogue.
All the personas in my work are representative of the pantheon of archetypes which form the bedrock of human consciousness. I don’t believe at all that the novel or that the author or that God is dead. What is dead (numb) is the awareness of the thinkers who made these statements. The author is alive: his/her role is now one of administrating or managing the multiple voices of the archetypes. The novel is alive: it’s role is now one of engaging the reader as an active participant in the literary work. God is alive: his/her role is now one of revealing himself/herself within each individual as that individual’s consciousness evolves and he/she becomes steadily more mindful.

If there is something dizzying about my work that leaves the reader feeling shaky and worried it is because the reader is confronting the enormity of space. I have produced in one year over 100,000 volumes of literary work. The author is not dead: he/she is immersed in space. The novel is not dead: it is a portal opening onto space. God is not dead: he/she is space. Space accommodates all the archetypes, supplying them with an infinitely extensive stage on which to enact their roles. The internet furnishes me with the raw material which I fashion into literary work that is an ever-evolving epic in which the archetypes describe their patterns in the space-time continuum of human consciousness.

aryan kaganof: The Spanish artist Harkaitz Cano has written, “The umbilical cord, this is the clue. An umbilical cord that now becomes silicon wire or rudimentary wolfram wire, because nowadays communications and embraces are more fragile and we are more susceptible (the homo sapiens sapiens stopped being so to become homo cellophane cellophane)” Your writing takes off where Deleuze & Guattari’s mille plateaux left off. It slices between everything that we already know. It is itself -generically, formally, technologically. But what does it communicate? What do you communicate? Beyond the obvious jouissance of creation that swells from every paragraph (where one is still able to speak of para-graphos at all).
And, getting back to Cano; shouldn’t that read homo cell phone cell phone?

august highland: It is very difficult for a writer to purely abandon the sensual or palpable jouissance of creation when working with words for which a writer by nature has a passion. But this is not my primary aim in the production of my work. It is desirable that the jouissance emotes a response in the reader for this is a form of beauty and communication in itself. But beyond this I have a greater purpose that informs my work. All of my work is monumental in scale. Monumentality in symphonic works and in floor-to-ceiling works of art on canvas is not the exclusive domain of music and painting. Literature has always been a mass production medium. Now I have made it a “massive” production medium by creating tens of thousands of one-of-a-kind literary works. By myself I can out-produce the entire publishing industry. And what I am producing is not cloned and disposable reading material but original, irreplaceable literary works. The value of literary monumentality and originality is one value I am communicating. The other element that I am communicating in my work beyond the expressiveness of language is “structure”. Each of my collections are modeled on a structure/set of instructions/design/formula. The structure of the literary work is what is of primary importance to me. I am a literary architect designing literary structures for the mind to occupy and contemplate. The most interesting dynamic in my work is the convergence of monumentality and structure. This is the fulcrum powering my work because on the one hand I am producing 1,000-page literary works, while on the other hand the structure of the work is identifiable on the very first page or in the very first paragraph. So there is a macro- and a micro-communication co-existing in my work. This is not unlike looking up at a mountain and then kneeling down and picking up a pebble and seeing the mountain in the pebble. The mountain is comprised of an infinite variety of pebble configurations. This is the essence of my work. Each volume is a mountain made up of a infinite number of configurations that all can be reduced to one structure or model.

Meaning is not transmitted alone through connecting words together in narrative form. This is one structure that has dominated literature and handicapped it while the affiliated arts continue advancing and outpacing the world of letters which traditionally lags behind by several decades. This is not the case anymore. I replace the narrative model with new literary structures and forms which replenishes the world of letters and delivers it from constraining doctrines. At the same time I am not rebelling against tradition or abandoning tradition. I am not abandoning conventions and writing subversive material. I am creating new conventions and expanding tradition; I am giving tradition new directions in which to grow and thrive. There is nothing revolutionary or underground or experimental about my work. I am simply creating new literary models that are viable and communicative through new structural design.

I will give one example of a recent new genre I originated called “Next-Gen Nanopoetics”. One project in which this literary form is represented is called “COW Gallery” or “California Online Writing Gallery (www.cowgallery.com). “Next-Gen Nanopoetics” is my first poetic project. What I have done is replaced rhyme and meter with truncated textstrings (abbreviated phrases). I have formulated a schematic design for this project that is based on three phrases that are repeated in the same sequence for each stanza. The sequence is a-a-b-b-b-c-c-a. This comprises the stanza. There are intentional deviations from this sequence thoughout each work but the stanzas always revert back to the primary set of instructions. Here is an excerpt from one of the six series that is called “Nominal Quiescent Current”

Nominal Quiescent Current #0001 (excerpt)
Cow Gallery
going on with.
going on with.
make a greater
make a greater
make a greater
pointing out before
pointing out before
going on with.
which, instead of
which, instead of
a Druid curve; an
a Druid curve; an
a Druid curve; an
Still the man
Still the man
which, instead of
as a result of
as a result of
great book like
great book like
as a result of
and security as
and security as
how a particular
how a particular
and security as
heart. Stooping
heart. Stooping
tight pussy. I want
tight pussy. I want
tight pussy. I want
beforehand with him.
beforehand with him.
heart. Stooping
some means or other;
some means or other;
some means or other;
Whether it was the
Whether it was the
there was truth in
there was truth in
there was truth in
I feel as if I
I feel as if I
Whether it was the
fit.” fit.” and returned,
and returned,
and returned,
he is recovered, but
he is recovered, but
Or were
Or were
Or were
‘Unless there is
‘Unless there is
has she at
has she at
has she at
not have any
not have any
in the spiritual
in the spiritual
she edged nearer to
she edged nearer to
she edged nearer to
I do not apprehend
I do not apprehend
in the spiritual
might mean a
might mean a
is just; and such
is just; and such
is just; and such
mountainous tract

As you see the stanzas conform to the a-a-b-b-b-c-c-a scheme with some interruptions in the pattern. The persona for this project is Alexi Waterhouse. Alexi has produced six series with 1,000 volumes in each series.

Now that you see how structure is the most essential element in my work it will not be difficult to approach any of the other more dense and opaque projects like “Voice of the Village” or “The Hyper Age” which are prose projects. This material at first appears impenetrable and without laws (random). Nothing could be further from the truth. All of my work is based on clear laws and concise structure.

aryan kaganof: One question that also could be asked is “Is your work meant to be read?”

august highland: The simple answer is yes. There are a few exceptions to this. But the simple, unqualified answer is yes. How then is my work meant to be read if structure is the raison d’etre for my work and if that structure is identifiable on the very first page of one of my books?

Since this question was not asked, I will save the answer for another interview :)

“Although Atlas is not a machine built to handle textual materials, he uses the dead hours of the night to get it to print out thousands of lines in the style of Pablo Neruda, using as a lexicon a list of the most powerful words in The Heights Of Macchu Picchu, in Nathaniel Tarn’s translation. He brings the thick wad of paper back to the Royal Hotel and pores over it. ‘The nostalgia of teapots.’ ‘The ardour of shutters.’ ‘Furious horsemen.’ If he cannot, for the present, write poetry that comes from the heart, if his heart is not in the right state to generate poetry of its own, can he at least string together pseudo-poems made up of phrases generated by a machine, and thus, by going through the motions of writing, learn again to write? Is it fair to be using mechanical aids to writing – fair to other poets, fair to the dead masters? The Surrealists wrote words on slips of paper and shook them up in a hat and drew words at random to make up lines. William Burroughs cuts up pages and shuffles them and puts the bits together. Is he not doing the same kind of thing? Or do his huge resources – what other poet in England, in the world, has a machine of this size at his command – turn quantity into quality? Yet might it not be argued that the invention of computers has changed the nature of art, by making the author and the condition of the author’s heart irrelevant? On the Third Programme he has heard music from the studios of Radio Cologne, music spliced together from electronic whoops and crackles and street noise and snippets of old recordings and fragments of speech. Is it not time for poetry to catch up with music?”
— J.M. Coetzee (Youth)

this interview is published in donga, edited by alan finlay and paul wessels, published by bleksem and dye hard press
isbn 978-0-620-52779-8

roberto perpignani – “everything has a cost”

Filed under: music,unga dada — ABRAXAS @ 10:28 am

Morricone is a great musician ‘in assoluto’ (in absolute terms) even if we are used to thinking of him in terms of cinema but he has all his life been involved in research, taking part in a group called Nuova Consonanza. He felt all his life that, in a certain sense, he betrayed his master who said about him that he could become a good musician. One day a friend of mine who was a composer of musique concrete and electronic music, Vittorio Gelmetti, met Morricone and the latter started to complain saying ‘You are free, you are the one’, and Vittorio, who had not a penny said ‘What are you talking about? You have everything you want.You have a house just in front of the Piazza Venezia. Leave me free!’ Sometimes it is difficult to be objective. It is certain that everything has a cost, as much if you are free but poor, as it is if you are a prisoner in a castle.


Filed under: 2008 - sms sugar man — ABRAXAS @ 10:04 am



Writing Additions


Director of Photography

Sound Designer

Visual Effects Editor

Aryan Kaganof


Wallet # 1’s – Son NORMAN MAAKE
Wallet # 4 – RYAN FORTUNE
Wallet # 5 – BILL CURRY

Production Team
Production Manager SHIREEN WILLIAMS
Production Coordinator THANDI ZWANA
Production Accountant BUYISILE KUBHEKA
Production Accountant AMELIA LEA

Director of Photography ERAN TAHOR
Trainee Camera Assistant THABISO MOTLHAKOANE

Technology Team
Continuity / Logger GREG VAN NIEKERK
Visual Effect Editor JURGEN MEEKEL

Sound Recorder & Boom Operator NICO LOUW
Assistant Sound Recorder SANDILE NGCOBO
Assistant Boom Operator BASIAMI SEGOLA

Sound Design, Edit and Final Mix WARRICK SONY

Cross Media Guru CHRISTY DENA


Behind the Scenes Director & Editor GARRETH FRADGLEY


Film Score
Recording, Editing & Mixing Engineer CORINNE COOPER
Music Assistant CLARE LOVEDAY

Trailer Created by Aryan Kaganof

Publicity Stills BEN CORNFORD

Production Assistant ALBERT MAPHOSHO
Production Assistant RAYMOND NKONYANE

DV8 Staff

Legal Representation

Film Insurance



Production Vehicles U DRIVE

Sound Equipment NICO LOUW

Lighting Equipment SOUTHERN LIGHTING

Camera & Grip Equipment SONY ERICSSON

Filmed with
Sony Ericsson W900i Mobile Phone
Cameras and Lenses

The Producer would like to thank the following people
Pierre Rissient, Abderrahmane Sissako, Jacques Akchoti, Doug Allan of Melrose Arch Hotel, All the staff of Melrose Arch Hotel, Sharon Gordon from Lola Montez, Capt. Jagwa from SAP, Inspector Chris Lourens from SAP, Shahn Mott from Helta Skelta, Renier Lambaard, Minah Daweti from Carwash @ Corlett, Belinda Farger, Ewan Burger from Burger Brothers, Mr. Maphalane at The Ridge Hotel, The Bohemian, Fuzigish & Fans, Armin at Lancet Laboratories, Giana

SMS Movies & Reflex Motion Pictures

The story, all names, characters and incidents portrayed in this
film are fictitious. No identification with actual persons, places,
buildings, events or products is intended or should be inferred.
Copyright: 2007
SMS Movies

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