Please remind me to write about this
I’m letting everyone know that what I buy or receive I intend to write about it because I believe in it. I’m saying this because I bought an album from band camp and I still have not received the album. when normally its an immediate download. Has BAND CAMP changed? Do I blame a mercury in retrograde?
all I know is if I believe in it I will talk about it.
I also find it odd On twitter there is a account for Electronic Music Age now I stopped following that account because I felt they only represented people who get too much press as it is. are they people? yes of course.. Do I hate them? No I just find them not so interesting and over exposed and over exposed people bore me. I want to know what new artists are doing. I want to know The latest Synth, I feel with a name like Electronic Music Age. One must live up to a cool name like that. Why Convolute an advantageous platform with stories about hair styles and Celebs turned DJ’s.
I believe today the final Sin we could commit is to live a life without substance.
I want the strange and unusual I want classic I want the fantastic. but most importantly I want to be inspired.
COULD SOMEONE PLEASE WOW THE FUCK OUT ME?????
When I When I listen to Alphastare, to get the full effect I have to have headphones on because there is so much going on. Its likes an emotional Spaghetti Western, Ennio Morroricone. It has a nice drift both acoustically and electrically Its easy to get lost in it. Even if you’re just doing something like typing.
From his website
Musician/Artist/ Silk screener. I spend my free time painting and rabidly searching out and discovering new/old music. Big vinyl collector, but I still partake in the digital world when I have to.
I grew up in Buffalo, moved to LA in ’96′ and played with seminal punk band The Flesh Eaters (recorded as well as co-wrote some of the album ‘Ashes of Time’ (2000). Also worked with my band The Alphastares which disbanded when I moved to San Francisco in 2004.
In San Francisco I’ve continued playing music and I’ve printed a zillion t-shirts for various shops until branching off to start my own print shop called The Little Black Egg.
My final assessment of this album is that I feel like I’m traveling somewhere in aviary in South America, it’s late at night and something is laughing at me. I think the physical copy of this is numbered with art work that sounds amazing in limited quantity. I remember a day when musicians would send me discs with copper foil and intricate layouts and sounds, the things would be hand painted. Those were the days. I’m glad to see people are still with an attention to small details. Its things like this is what makes a guy like me stop listening to radio. Craftsmanship seems to be gone..
Check out ALPHASTARE you won’t be disappointed.
One of the pleasures of daily immersion in a film festival is appreciating the wildly different audiences you can be part of during a day. A couple of hours after watching “Wanda,” made by Barbara Loden in 1970, introduced by local novelist Rachel Kushner, as one of a serious group of cinephiles that didn’t exactly fill the 1,400-seat Castro Theatre, I returned that evening to be part of a capacity crowd of fun-loving fanboys and fangirls of Guillermo del Toro whose excitement and enthusiasm was so palpable as to be contagious. That’s when a festival is festive indeed.
The witty and fast-moving clip reel reminded me that I haven’t seen everything. And, of course, the way I’d like to see what I’ve missed, and re-see what I’ve seen, is just like this: beautifully projected on a huge screen. (Note: one plus of the digital revolution is that clip reels are now things of beauty indeed, crisp and bright and seductive. Farewell to the shabby prints of yesteryear. But one negative of the short-attention-span crowd: faster is not necessarily better.)
Noah Cowan, executive director of the San Francisco Film Society, made a superb interlocutor, given his history as programmer of the Toronto International Film Festival’s revered and influential Midnight Madness program. He reminded us that del Toro is one of the great imaginative thinkers of cinema, as well as being able to scare the crap out of you. Del Toro arrived to tumultuous applause (the theater seemed close to levitating), and lowered his alarming, Wellesian bulk (like later-day Welles, he’s dressed all in black) into a vast leather armchair.
He told us that he remembers seeing monsters in his crib — “I saw my first corpse, like a good Mexican, at age four: a guy without a head at the side of the road” — and he finds monsters endearing. His house in Los Angeles, which has secret rooms and passages, is “devoted to the history of crap” — it sounds like Forrest Ackerman’s (the publisher of Famous Monsters) famed Ackermansion. “I’m like the least focussed ten-year-old you know.” But he said his influences came not from films, but painters, illustrators, and comic book artists.
Another great influence was the 1998 kidnapping of his father, which lasted 72 days — unimaginable for most of us, but a part of life for many wealthy or influential Mexicans. Del Toro says that, with the exception of “Blade II,” he’s only made movies that wouldn’t have been made without him. It seems that Mimic, his second feature, made for the Weinsteins, and not the movie he hoped to make, is still a sore point with him. But Pedro Almodovar, who produced “The Devil’s Backbone,” “taught me everything I know about producing,” and “I’ve done it — I’ve paid it forward.”
When asked if he “lifts anything” from other movies, he says “Not anymore!…for me, it starts with the image…in ‘Pacific Rim,’ it was the little girl with red shoes.” He cites the “awful horrible fucking images” (del Toro is nothing if not profane, delighting the fanboys) of Bosch and Goya. “It’s almost like puking, and then you organize what comes out. It has to come from inside! All the movies I’ve done are for me.” And now, like the Jimmy Durante song that goes “Did you ever have the feeling that you wanted to go, and then you have the feeling that you wanted to stay?,” I have to leave before the special reel of del Toro’s upcoming “Crimson Peak,” and the screening of “The Devil’s Backbone,” in order to rush across town and catch the only Festival showing of another unique auteur’s work: Guy Maddin’s “The Forbidden Room.”
And that night they both haunt my dreams.