Tosh's Journal: July 27, 2023

 

Tosh's Journal: July 27, 2023

John Lennon (1980 - 2020)

 

I was 26-years old when John Lennon was murdered. I remember I was half-asleep when I heard the news over my little black and white TV set with the rabbit ears. The reception was bad, and the news came on at 11, and my first thought was 'Dead, like dead, dead?" I thought for sure he would be wounded, and kind of near-death, but would recover, due that he was Beatle. A Beatle dying was unthinkable to me at the time.

I was a mega-Beatles fan during the 1960s, but once they broke up, the spell was broken. When Lennon sang, "I don't believe in the Beatles," I thought that was it. The point-of-no-return. As a teenager, it was like your parents were splitting up, or they were arguing in the next room. You don't want to hear it first, but then once announced to the world, life goes on. I was devoted to all four of them for the first year of their solo albums, but afterward, I became obsessed with glam and punk, and the Fab Four, although extremely well respected for their work and personalities, I moved on to other music. When Lennon retired from the public's view for five-years to raise his son, I thought that was a good move. It also gave room for others to come out and make meaningful music. I was, of course, curious about what he was up to. I think at the time, I even respected and liked Yoko more than Lennon.

The great thing about Lennon is that he was changing, and that was part of his character. He evolved in one way or another. Nothing was set with him. If he lived, I think he would have made music that I would be passionate about. Their last record, "Walking on Thin Ice" (Yoko), was and is incredible. I was happy that he didn't forget to make noise in the perfectly thought out pop songs of his later years.

It's strange to read people criticizing him from another generation. Lennon was candid with his struggles and successes. I have always felt from day one, songs like "All You Need is Love" "Give Peace a Chance" was directed toward himself first and then to his audience. He was a Liverpool lad, with all the goodness and horror that goes with growing up in a shakey world. His mom's death was horrific, yet he went onward as an artist and accepted the new world and all it had for offer. Nothing hesitant for our John. He either went full-throttle for it or ignored it. A remarkable 20th-century figure. Much love to his family, friends, and fans. -Tosh Berman

Tosh's Journal - September 10 (Georges Bataille)

TOSH'S JOURNAL

September 10

I have weekly meetings with the College of Sociology, which usually takes place at lunchtime at various cafes and from time-to-time, in people's homes. We had a meeting last week, which took place in my living room. The one thing we all have in common is that we strongly disagree with the theory of Surrealism. We all feel that the surrealist's focus on the unconscious privileged the individual over Society, and therefore ignores the social dynamic of experiencing the human that works in various social groupings. As a group, we're interested in "Sacred Sociology, and we study all manifestations of social existence where the active presence of the sacred is quite clear." We have studied and critiqued the army, Marquis de Sade, English monarchy, literature, sexuality, Hitler and of course Hegel. Each one of us must present an essay or a lecture every week.

Within this group, there is a secret society where we meet on a monthly basis, always late at night, in the nearby forest. Our meeting place is by an oak tree that was once struck by lightning. The "acéphale" (greek for headless) Society is devoted to performing certain practices, including nudity and eating raw meat of some sort. Using a flashlight in the pitch blackness of the forest, we read aloud passages from Sade and Nietzsche. We see these two writers as liberators of the human spirit, and therefore in great secret, we celebrate their thoughts as it is written in their books. For purity, we read the works in its original language: German and French (for Sade). We all discuss carrying out the human sacrifice, but we couldn't agree on who the executioner should be. Every one of us in the group wanted to be sacrificed, and none wanted to be the executor.

We were fascinated with the art of "slow slicing," or better known as "death by a thousand cuts." It was a type of torture and execution used in China from AD 900 until it was banned in 1905. During the execution, a knife is placed on the body, where the executors would cut pieces of the flesh, till the prisoner dies. Opium would be applied mostly to prevent fainting of the criminal. The criminal must be conscious of his or her body being stripped slowly. In general, these executions took place in the public square, where the citizens can watch the drama that is taking place in front of them.

"We have in only two certainties in this world - that we are not everything and that we will die." The ritual of death is fascinating and sharing our thoughts within this group, is something that I treasure greatly. "Sacrifice is nothing other than the production of sacred things." We tend to stay by the oak tree till the lightness of the dawn, and then we wander back to our homes, thinking it was just a dream. Alas, we know it isn't because we all shared as series of moments reflecting on death.  Therefore becoming more alive knowing that the moment will happen eventually. A good friend of mine told me once that "work is making a living out of being bored." Thinking of death somehow frees me from boredom, and knowing that, makes living way much more intense. And on top of that, I don't have a job; therefore, I'm never bored.

Steve Wolfe (1955-2016)

I'm very sad to hear about the death of Steve Wolfe, an artist that I greatly admire.  I saw his show about five years ago at the Whitney.  As a book and record geek, how can I possibly not love his work. 

The Sunday Series: Sunday November 22, 2015

The Sunday Series
Sunday November 22, 2015

52.  52 years ago, on this date, was the first time I saw my teacher cry in front of her students.  In fact, it was the first time she showed emotion besides hatred or approval of her classroom students.  They announced the news over the school PA system, and I can see it startled her, and then the tears flooded her face.  I don’t know if it was the shock of hearing the news over the PA system, or the effect it had on my teacher's behavior that early morning on November 22.   Up to that date, and just 9 years old, I never experienced death, either by a human or animal such as a pet.  Nothing died in my life at that time.   Even cowboys didn’t die on TV.  The worst that can happen is someone would knock the hero’s back of his head with a gun butt, or the hero may shoot the gun out of the criminal's hand, but that was the worst that can happen.   After getting knocked on the head and gaining consciousness, the cowboy hero would rub his painful head up and down, and get back to business, which is to fight crime.

As I got older, I did experience death.  But what is strange is the news of hearing a famous person dying compared to someone you know who died.  The death of a friend or an acquaintance is much more abstract than a famous person’s death.    I don’t think I have ever been shocked by someone’s passing, except my dad, but everyone else it seemed not real to me.  Yet, when it happens to the famous, the death is more prominent for some reason.  When someone dies that is close to you, one can’t really share that feeling.  Yet a famous death is often shared in great detail.  If they are even really famous, one can buy a magazine or book devoted to that person’s life and more likely death.  The key thing in these publications is the last photograph of the deceased.  There is an obsessional need to know that there is such a document in place.  The last living presence of that being, as he waves to an audience in the back seat of the car, is shocking enough.  Many years later, I saw a photograph of him in the morgue, and even then, I couldn't believe I was seeing what I was seeing.   To see a body when there is no life in it, is truly shocking to me.   As for a musicians’ death, one hears music being played on the radio, and there may be various tributes being played out on various media mediums, but the death of someone in the family or friend, there is never a PA system announcing that.  

To this day, when I hear “Walking On Thin Ice, ” I think of it as the last recording by this famous musician.  Of course, his passing, brings a certain intensity to the work.   One can even feel that this was the artist’s intent, to have this song as the final message.  The truth is, the artist didn’t know what would happen that night.  It is not always fate, sometimes shit happens for no reason. And like the other individual who was shot, he looked shocking in the morgue photograph as well.  I looked at it, like the others, but I wished I didn't really see that image.  I rather think of him as being alive, not dead in the morgue.  

On November 22, and over time, it looks like a complex series of incidents happen.  There are many theories, and all of them sound possible.  But then again, it sometimes just takes one individual to aim, and shoot, that changes everything.  How big can that change be, due to one man shooting another dead.  The narration needs to be larger.  At the time of the shooting, it was bigger than life. The violence of it was the star attraction that day.  I knew the victim, but only on black and white images printed in the daily newspaper.  I don’t even remember seeing him on television, and I know he is one of the first figures to use that medium for political as well a communicative purposes.

When he was killed 52 years ago, they played out all the angles.  They talked about what direction the bullets came from, and even hinted that it came from more than one location.  It didn’t seem real.  There were so many narratives running through the act of an assassination.   A family member or friend just dies, and that is the end of the story.  But a star or a public figure, the death process and the action is always complicated for some reason.   It is almost like death is too personal, so we need a famous person to die, so we can examine the why, what, where, and how it was done.  It’s not polite to do that when a person we know dies.  We just quietly accept it.

The second time I experienced death on a personal level was when the accused assassin himself was assassinated in front of live TV.  Now that was a real death, and as they re-played the moment he was shot over and over again, one thought “oh wow he was alive at this point, and then when he’s down, he’s dead.” I felt I was watching a bridge between life and death, but I couldn’t make out the architecture of that bridge or walkway.  With respect to the first assassination, I wanted to see it over and over again, in the hopes, I get a glance of that string, road, or whatever it is from life to the other side.  When he was in his car waving at the crowd, he was so alive, and then a few seconds later he wasn’t. That shocked me.  It really disturbed me.

When my dad told me that a friend of the family died, and even though I really like this person, I didn’t know how to react to his death.   I felt like it didn’t really happen because I didn’t see it on TV.  My father’s words were not enough evidence to me that he died.  Especially since we didn’t go to a memorial or funeral for this person.  The shocking thing is that he was perfectly fine the last time I saw him.   He didn’t give out any death vibes at all.  It was really confusing.

As one gets older, more famous people die.  That is the weirdest aspect of age, is that you make note of all the TV, movie or music stars are dying on a regular basis.   Each death of a TV series actor from the 1960s or 1970s immediately takes you back to that time when you were in front of the TV set.  Due to the fact that their character, which I didn’t know was any different from their actual lives, was projected on your consciousness due to being in front of the set, seems to have more meaning for some reason.   Often on Facebook someone posts a notice a certain actor or singer has passed, and I automatically put a “like” to that post, not due to the fact that I like that they died or they’re dead, but to acknowledge that person’s observation on that star, as well as a tribute on my part by ‘liking’ that post.  It’s a strange thing to acknowledge one’s death by just liking a post.  But there you go, a passing of time is often shocking in itself.

November 17, 2014

November 17, 2014

Some years back I was approached by the filmmaker Russ Meyer to help him with a script that was written for him by the now-famous architect Rem Koolhaas.  His script is called “Hollywood Tower” and it is about a group of rich Arabs  who buy up the rights to a Hollywood archive, with plans to build a giant computer, which they can choose any dead (or live) star and put them back on the screen.  The second level of the narrative is about the Nixon administration who focuses on getting out-of-work actors, including Lassie, get jobs in the movies - and the last is about Russ Meyer shooting a porn film.   Meyer thought it was too large of a project, especially the first and second segments.  He felt that it should only focus on the part of him making a porn film.  I convinced Russ that he should forget the part with the Nixon administration, and focus on both the first layer of the film and the part of him making porn.  I convinced him that we could use the narrative about movie stars replacing the porn stars in his erotic romp.  He loved that idea.  Of course we didn’t have the rights, and as far as I know there is no giant computer that can use stars who were in specific films and put them into the new Russ project.

Nevertheless he suggested using specific stars, but we can’t (of course) mention their names.  I did research and I came up with two possibilities, or use both in the film: Frank Fay and Peter Cook.   I also wanted to add Rem’s point-of-view as well.  I find architecture sexy, and there is something very seductive about Mr. Koohaas’s approach to his favorite subject matter.  I even began to think that perhaps Prada can provide production money for this film.  I remember reading a quote from him which he stated that “a building has at least two lives - the one imagined by its maker and the life it lives afterward - and they are never the same.” Which I think is the basis for his first part of the Russ Meyer film.   To re-cycle a building as something else, why not also make stars into porn actors?

But really, it is not the actual footage of the stars, or the film itself that is in question, but the subject matter of memory and what is true and false.   Last night I had a dream of my deceased father, where I acknowledge in a sense that he died.  The truth is (my truth mind you) is that I never accepted his death.  I just feel he left and went out to get a newspaper and didn’t come back.   In other words, I’m still waiting by the window to hopefully take a view of him walking back home. It won’t happen of course, and I intellectually know that, but emotionally I don’t accept his death.   So putting a ‘dead’ star in Russ’s film is sort of like denying death.  Architecture is the same.  When I walk around Downtown Los Angeles, and look at old buildings like the Bradbury, Mayan, Brockman, and the Biltmore Hotel, I think I’m seeing death, even though the buildings are in use, to me they’re dead.

Peter Cook, the great British humorist, and Frank Fay, the vaudeville comedian, were both, even when they were alive, sort of death-in-waiting.   One can sense that their life is really an act of an instinct, where eventually it will burn down, and then out.  So I thought it would be interesting to “cast” these two in the Meyer film.  Frank Fay is of interest, because he was married to Barbara Stanwyck, and it has been reported that their lives together were the inspiration for “A Star is Born.   The wife’s career went up, while at the same time the husband’s goes into sharp decline.   The film didn’t happen, because I think the subject matter of the script was too bleak for Russ, but nevertheless it was the only time that I really dealt with the subject of death in my work and life.  Meanwhile, before I go to sleep at night, I still look out the window hoping to get a glance of my father coming back home to me.