Pizza is a total aphrodisiac. Don’t believe me? Watch a beautiful lady get all worked up over a homemade pie in this new project from German fashion photographer Monica Menez, a video called “Precious.” If you’ve ever underestimated the erotic power that a good slice can inspire in a woman, just check out this one rolling dough with her expensive-lingerie-clad ass and crushing tomatoes with some awe-inspiring high heels. No word as to whether this video was inspired by a certain other Precious and her intimate relationship with fried chicken, but I’m thinking probably not.
Hide yo’ kids, hide yo’ wife! A woman living in Arlington, Virginia named Rhonda Baron recently claimed that her bedroom, where Jim Morrison lived as a child, was visited by Morrison’s ghost three times ten years after he died. She should be so lucky, right? Actually, it kind of sounds like she’s not making it up, based on what she claims Morrison’s ghost did each time he swung by her room: True to form, Morrison, who made a habit out of routinely sexing up his fans as well as female rock stars like Nico and Grace Slick, went straight for her bed.
“The spirit laid down on the bed. Completely laying down and looking at me like this. It was like a haze,” Baron said of the experience, which is hysterical because that probably describes exactly what it was like to sleep with his human incarnation. Doesn’t it make sense that he would just plunk down expectantly on the bed and wait for whichever star-struck groupie he was with that day to service him? Too good. I’m just surprised he didn’t try to get away with the activities so lovingly detailed in “Back Door Man”…now that would make for a hauntingly good time.
No, I’m not kidding. The other day I was killing time around the city, that’s what all the cool kids do here, when I stumbled across one of those bookstores I’ve heard so much about and decided to peruse. After what seemed like hours, having mined every square inch of that establishment for solid material, I was about to give up. Then we locked eyes.
Seth Rogen was gawking at me with his beady eyes, sideways smirk, and that award-winning double chin. Let me stop now and clarify a couple of things, it was, in actuality, a two-dimensional black and white drawing of the tubby actor that I spotted and you can be sure he wasn’t really looking at me, probably just wondering what he was doing on the cover of this zine.
The image had drawn me in, I was about to flip through 32 pages of the stoner comedy hero’s cock and balls. Christopher Schulz, the editor for Pinups Magazine, one of the top gay bear art publications in the beard-osphere, compiled some pretty detailed pencil sketches of the actor, simply titled Seth, in various positions including a full-frontal dick display and backdoor scrotum examination.
Is this somebody’s fetishistic wet dream come to fruition or something for art snobs to leave on their coffee table as a conversation piece for them and their cats? You decide. If so inclined, Seth can be purchased from Pinups Magazine. Try not to sticky up the pages too much.
Boris is one of those bands that constantly deliver off-the-charts sounds without any warning. Their newest album, Heavy Rocks comes right into that stoner-den niche that I admire so much about their sound. As the title implies, it’s heavy and it rocks. So why even bother with a review? Because Boris is never, ever, ever that cut and dry. The small nuances in their albums make for listening experiences, not just experiments in a genre.
But what is a genre anyway? The broad stigmas attached with “stoner doom” and “experimental” limit the experience of Heavy Rocks. You’ve really gotta peer into each track deeply to uncover the true intent of the sound and rhythm. All that is fine and dandy but with an opener like “Riot Sugar”, it’s easy to see how Boris often gets pigeon-holed into the stoner doom genre. It opens up to some trippy-ass riffage and heavy as shit drums, all intertwined with the same dreamy and sedated vocals you’ve come to expect from the band.
So where are those nuances? Turn on “Leak -Truth,yesnoyesnoyes-”. A twangy and idiosyncratic compilation of sounds. This homogenius mixture of riffs and tunes are forced into a blender with some digi synths and viola!, you’ve got a head-scratcher. Where did they come up with this? Atsuo, Takeshi, and Wata are really pushing the envelope here, harkening back to Dinosaur Jr. and the Melvins. Maybe it’s the perfect segue into the up-beat, psych-punk track “Galaxians”. Boris has really tuned into all the little trinkets of radness from the 90′s on this album. But then they throw in a bit of dance-punk, circa early 2000′s with “Jackson Head” and that’s the only only track I dislike on Heavy Rocks.
It can’t be a Boris album without a time-stretcher. “Missing Pieces” is the second-longest track. Coming in at over 12-minutes, it’s hard to tell where they’re going with this one. It’s sedated, cold, dark and ronery, oh so ronery. Coming off that three-legged mutt is “Key”, a quick and beautiful instrumental track. Here’s where it goes all array, lacking any real direction. “Window Shopping” is more of that stoner rock feel. Fuzzy riffs, heavy and fast-paced surfer drums are overlaid with some abstract and distorted vocals. Is it poppy? Sure. Is it catchy? Meh? I dunno how to characterize this one.
From there on out, the hodge-podge and quilted sound continues to throw in curve-balls. “Tu, La La” and “Aileron” are beautiful tracks with the latter bringing in some epic shoe-gazy sounds. Finally, the last track, “Czechoslovakia”, starts out heavy as fuck. This beast means business and it’s a shame that it’s only over a minute. I’m a pretty predictable guy aren’t I? The heavy and fast-paced shit always gets me and hearing Boris do thrash is rad as shit! As a whole, Heavy Rocks is a healthy mixture of influencial sounds that might not behave accordingly as your expectations but still delivers on all fronts. Try to listen to it thinking “if Boris made an album that pulled in influences from all over, what would it sound like?” and that’s my best advice.
You can almost smell the sizzling scent of frying flesh on this forthcoming long weekend. Or uh, tofu if you’re of the vegetarian assort! Whatever it is, hell yeah motherfuckers! Welcome to the pretty much fucking Memorial Day edition of Press Start! The column that spits on the five things in the world of gaming that caught my eye this week.
The list is incomplete, based on whimsy, and structured in a way to encourage your participation. Let’s fucking dance!
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#1) Zynga Is Filing For An IPO. Goddamn Soon.
Zynga currently controls something like 75% of our collective consciousness through their variety of bullshit quick release games. Muffin Wars and Sex ToyVille and whatever consumes all sorts of good people, from soccer moms to procrastinating high schoolers. These motherfuckers are about to even get more dominant by getting poised to to file for it’s Initial Public Offering. This means they’re about to transition from a private company to all up in the public bidness, and this is going to make them rich and powerful beyond sense.
Sense!
And comprehension!
Not just rich though, like really fucking rich. To the point where they’re going to be up there with Activision Blizzard:
[The] company could rival — or handily best — publishing contemporaries like Activision, EA, and Take-Two. The social game publisher’s last valuation pegged it at a cool $10 billion, a number All Things D’s Kara Swisher believes could climb even higher for an IPO. For comparison’s sake, the largest public game publisher, Activision Blizzard, is valued at $13.07 billion as of mid-day today … and that includes the Call of Duty series and World of Warcraft.
Sweet Jesus Christ Allah Guy!, that’s affluent indeed. The motherfuckers behind FarmVille are going to be able to throw down with companies like Activision and EA. That shit is a testament to the profitability of smaller games, and the general restructuring the gaming community is undergoing.
You don’t need some GIANT EXPLOSIONS ACTION SEQUENCE title to make a fucking boatload of ducets. Not these days.
Speaking of those kind of games though…
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#2) Oh Shit, Annual Call of Duty Reveal!
The Modern Warfare 3 reveal came this week, about seven or so days after every aspect of the game was leaked. Check out that motherfuckin’ segue! Thousands of dollars dedicated towards the pointlessness of a degree in literature can pay off! See Mom! Just because I live in your basement and coat myself in my own fluids doesn’t mean I’m worthless! Anyways, as I was saying. Activision rolled out the official trailer for Modern Warfare 3 this week, and it made my nipples perky. Sort of embarrassed when they were still playing Peek-A-Boo a couple of hours later whilst I rolled up to 7-11 for a Big Gulp, but what the fuck can you do.
Now listen.
I don’t blame anyone for hating on CoD or a specific tendril of its Leviathanian body. It doesn’t change much, it’s Frat Boy Meathead Rock type arena, but I enjoy it. Sometimes it’s just nice to spin-down the brainstem and blast the living fuck out of things. Then I log onto Xbox Live and get my ass soundly served by a selection of sixteen and seventeen year-old kids with far better reaction times than myself. All that caffeine and I can’t spin around and squeeze off a clip with any accuracy. Maybe it’s the unrelenting jitters.
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#3) L.A. Noire Could Help Asperger’s Patients.
L.A. Noire sits still wrapped on my coffee table because I’m a douchebag. The girlfriend bought it for me, and I’ve responded to her kindness by choosing to whittle my way through a couple of K. Dick novels before cracking the son of a bitch open. If you’re looking for a review, Whole Milk provides one, assuredly superior to anything I could produce. This shit isn’t about the quality of L.A. Noire though, it’s about the possibility of using it as a teaching tool for people with Asperger’s.
The game is predicated on the notion of reading people’s reactions like a legit detective. Facial expressions and the such. All of this intuitiveness can be a fucking hurdle for people with Asperger’s, who suffer from mind-blindness. Where some people may see a game that is essentially broken to some people, Professor Tony Attwood seems a potential teaching tool. Attwood says “I think those with Asperger’s syndrome would actually find the game quite fascinating as although the player is expected to make a decision on whether someone may be lying, there is the possibility of reviewing and replaying the scene to confirm whether the response was correct or identify the characteristics should a mistake have been made.”
Video games as causes of improvement to society as a whole is pretty neat. Granted this is the conjecture of one Professor who may be way off base, but the potential itself is pretty exciting.
Everybody loves the squishy cuteness of a baby’s mug. It’s potential to turn from a heartwarming smile to a contorted frown has been motivating grannies to pinch and pull cheeks since the beginning of time. Families be prepared to run from your seed because this baby, with muscles and chest hair to boot, knows its feeding time.
A new mask developed by Landon Meier over at Hyperflesh has transformed an infant’s angelic face into a daunting symbol of horror. It’s not that they stuck horns on it or implanted fang-like chompers (I’d probably buy one if they had), the mere realism of detail and size of the wrinkly offspring’s cranium subverts the terror and it doesn’t help that it has the body of a full grown adult.
The heads come with three different expressions to choose from there’s happy baby, cry baby, and, my personal favorite, the disgusted baby. Maybe its just me but these latex molds could make for one of the most freakishly frightening Halloween get-ups. Each mask is handcrafted and comes numbered and signed by the artist. If you can afford the 250 dollar price tag, this is a great accessory for bar-room pickups at the local dive or for paying a visit to the doctor to get a yearly physical.
You guys, I think I’m in love. Superb Polish artist Jan Feliks Kallwejt recently debuted some new work, and it makes me want to commission him to wallpaper my apartment so I can stare at his geometric genius all the time, or maybe just marry him. His work looks like Chris Ware’s seminal Acme Novelty Library series got on top of a SNES and made little illustrated blockhead babies. Since those two things are among the greatest pleasures in the universe, Kallwejt’s designs make for some great-looking offspring.
Alternatively focused on pop culture, naked people, natural phenomena, and tongue-in-cheek domestic imagery, his work covers a range of diverse concepts. His usage of simple colorblocking, which is often juxtaposed with nuanced, blueprint-like structure, makes each piece brightly accessible, even when they skew toward complexity. His approach to artwork is witty and light, but he also frequently makes sincere observations about modern life within his work.
That last design immediately reminded me of Мишка’s own beloved Black Bart, who can currently be seen hanging out all stoney bologna with Nathan of Wavves and Chronic the Hedgehog on this t-shirt. Black Mario also appears to be wearing a Мишка-esque New Era…is it just me, or does it smell like conspiracy in here?
Anyhow, you should definitely take some time to check out more of Kallwejt’s portfolio on his webpage or his tumblr. If only he had his “Ask” feature enabled on the latter…do you think anybody’s ever popped the question that way before? I could have been the first!
While you’ll see “from the producers of Shaun of the Dead” printed on the adverts for Attack of the Block (along with Nick Frost’s schlubby face), ATB is in another league of genre-bending film exported from Britain. What makes ATB shine brighter than other Edgar Wright productions is that it takes its location, characters, and the invasion genre very seriously. It turns increasingly grim later in the film as the stakes are raised. And it works on every level. Bathed in attitude, rapid-fast chav slang, and plenty of humor, it’s an utterly confident debut from director Joe Cornish.
On a dodgy block in the South London council estates, a group of teen hoods are celebrating Guy Fawkes Night by mugging Sam (Jodie Whittaker). During their crime, an alien falls from the sky and into a nearby parked car. Instead of running off, the leader of the gang, Moses (John Boyega), decides to investigate and is attacked by the feral little bastard. The chavs chase the baddie and kill it; parading it’s corpse back to their block like an elk fit to feed the whole village. Unsure what to do with it – but certain it’ll bring a payday from some kind of news outlet – they bring the corpse to Ron (Nick Frost), the block’s drug management middle man. Shortly after, more baddies are crashing in South London and the boys mount up to defend their turf.
At Ron’s apartment the faces and personalities of the boy’s finally come into the light. This gang, that no more than five minutes ago was robbing a defenseless woman, snatching her engagement ring no less, is suddenly charming – relatable even. This is where Cornish gently pokes you with a dose of social commentary. We find that these kids are just trying to get by in the harsh South London cosmos they were born into. They’re young and bored and even admit to being shook when they mugged Sam. There’s a montage when they split up to gather weapons from their flats – bats, kitchen knives, chains – and we’re given brief glimpses into their home lives. Some are humorous, some hard.
Across the board, the kids kill it. This is the first gig for a lot of them so there was some risk involved on the part of the filmmakers, but it paid off in spades. John Boyega, as Moses, is the stoic, older brother figure to the gang, and any harm to the gang falls heavily on his shoulders. This kid’s got a future, believe. Cornish spent quite a bit of time researching the youth culture in South London and it shows in the authenticity of the characters. The way they dress, walk, and especially the way they talk. At first the slang comes at you so rapidly that it can be difficult to understand. But you’ll catch on quick.
A good portion of the action sequences take place inside the flats and hallways of the apartment complex, which gives the scenes a claustrophobia ala Alien. One scene in particular, my favorite in the film, has the gang pursuing an alien after setting off two massive fireworks in a hallway. The colored smoke is thick and makes the hallway seem like an alien planet. The final action sequence (in beautiful slo-mo) is incredibly cinematic and doesn’t show Cornish’s inexperience shooting action one bit.
My only problem is Nick Frost. I understand that audiences sometime need a familiar face before they’ll buy into a film, but his character was completely useless and even obstructed the pace of some of the action scenes. Cornish’s background is in comedy, so that’s always under the film’s more serious surface, but Frost’s tired “I’m confused and naive” act is unnecessary here.
Halfway through 2011 I’m gonna go ahead and say Attack the Block will definitely be in my top 10, probably even top 5. It’s a grimy sci-fi-action-comedy-horror perfect storm and I can’t recommend it to the Bloglin readers enough. Trust.
Our buddy Rodney Torres dropped off 60 tickets to give away at 350 Broadway for the Maloof Money Cup! The Maloof Money Cup is one of the largest skateboarding competitions in the world, and it’s coming back to New York on June 4th and 5th at the Flushing Meadow’s Corona Park in Queens. Come watch some of the world’s greatest skaters compete for fame, fun and fortune!
The tickets are first come, first serve, and a limit 3 per person. We’re open from noon to 8pm today so get your ass over to Brooklyn and scoop up some tix and browse about our shop why don’t ya?
According to Kangding Ray’s David Letellier, Or is meant to reference the English conjunction (choice) and the French noun (gold; power; worth). The album’s a cultural critique, a bleary overview of disillusioned civilizations at large, all glittered up and hungry. Last year’s Pruitt Igoe single had a similar sky-minded mission—that one a thematic for the infamous St. Louis housing project and ostensible nod to the Kooyanisqatsi vignette—and even if you need to be told what these releases are referencing, there’s no doubting the desolation inherent within them. Where some hear solid glitch and staccato beats, Letellier hears global depravity.
But even if the music belies the concept for you (if it does and only a little), this third LP from the avant-minimal mainstay packs a major impact. Treading a similar path to his previous releases Stabil and Automne Fold, Letellier makes mountains out of molehills: cool bass, sharp beats and undulating melodies build with only a flick of the wrist, each of these small gestures combining into an almost overwhelming monolith. It’s a vibe not foreign to Raster-Norton’s digital landscape, but Kangding Ray takes it to the next level: icy made hot, tiny gone epic, minimal turned maximal—but only in concept. Letellier is a master at sleight of hand; what you’ll hear is, somehow, the opposite of what you’ll feel.
And maybe that’s how Or circles back to Letellier’s theoretic comments on consumerism. The privilege we see blazoned across our TV screens (“reality” entertainment or no) is too often in direct opposition to the global experience. The advertising and media sleight of hand. But still, we watch and wait and American Dream our way through the day, hoping the gold will eventually land on our doorstep—and purchasing it ourselves, on credit, on blood-promise, when it doesn’t. We make the choice to consume or the choice to reject. And that choice, our or, is the only thing we truly have.
