Saturday, May 27, 2017

"To Hell With The Ugly" by Boris Vian (Vernon Sullivan) TamTam Books


To Hell with the Ugly

Et on Tuera Tous Les Affreux

By Boris Vian. Translated and Introduction by Paul Knobloch. Drawings by Jessica Minckley.

First published in French in 1948, To Hell with the Ugly saw Boris Vian's noir-novelist pseudonym Vernon Sullivan take on Vian's own burlesque pop sensibilities. An erotic crime novel with science fiction tendencies, Sullivan's third outing is described by its translator as "a pornographic Hardy Boys novel set on the Island of Dr. Moreau to a be-bop soundtrack." To Hell with the Ugly recounts the tale of Rock Bailey, a dashing 19-year-old lad determined to hold onto his virginity amidst the postwar jazz-club nightlife of Los Angeles-a resolution challenged by the machinations of the demented Doctor Markus Schutz, who has decided to breed beautiful human beings and found a colony in which ugliness is a genetic crime. Vian's brutal depictions of American race relations in his previous Sullivan novels here give way to a frenetic fantasy of eugenics and uniformity-a parodic anticipation of the cosmetic surgery that was to rule Hollywood over the coming decades, as well as a comic-book reflection on Nazi Germany's visions of a master race. With the novel's breathless domino tumble of fist fights, car chases, kidnappings, and murders, Vian here set out to out-Hollywood Hollywood, serving up a narrative cocktail of Raymond Chandler, H.G.Wells, Brave New World and Barbarella.

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"The Death Instinct" by Jacques Mesrine (TamTam Books)


The Death Instinct

By Jacques Mesrine. Introduction by Robert Greene. Translation by Robert Greene, Catherine Texier.

France's Public Enemy Number One from the late 1960s to the end of the 1970s--when he was killed by police in a sensational traffic shootout--Jacques Mesrine (1936–1979) is the best-known criminal in French history. Mesrine was notorious both for his violent exploits and for the media attention he attracted, and he remains very much a public media figure in France and Europe. In 2008 there were two feature-length films based on his life, one of them starring Vincent Cassel in the lead role. Mesrine wrote The Death Instinct while serving time in the high-security prison La Santé; the manuscript was smuggled out of the prison and was later published by Guy Debord's publisher Gérard Lebovici (who briefly adopted Mesrine's daughter, Sabrina, before being assassinated, a few years after Mesrine). The Death Instinct deals with the early years of Mesrine's criminal life, including a horrifically graphic description of a murder he committed early on in his career and a highly detailed account of the workings of the French criminal underworld--making this book perhaps one of the most intriguing and detailed anthropological studies of a criminal culture ever written.

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"The Dead All Have The Same Skin" by Boris Vian (Vernon Sullivan) TamTam Books


The Dead All Have The Same Skin

By Boris Vian. Introduction by Marc Lapprand. Translated by Paul Knobloch.

Vian’s second noir novel under the Vernon Sullivan pseudonym is a brutal tale of racism in postwar New York City, as protagonist Daniel Parker is blackmailed by a long lost brother. Also included is the short story “Dogs, Desire and Death,” and Vian’s account of the controversies surrounding his previous novel I Spit on your Graves.
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Appropriation and racial confusion themselves become motifs; the book reads like the nightmare of a person having an extreme identity crisis.

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"Red Grass" by Boris Vian (TamTam Books)


Red Grass

By Boris Vian. Introduction by Marc Lapprand. Translation by Paul Knobloch.

Boris Vian (1920–1959) was a magnificent jack-of-all-trades--actor, jazz critic, engineer, musician, playwright, songwriter, translator--not to mention the leading social light of the Saint-Germain-des-Prés scene. His third major novel, Red Grass is a provocative narrative about an engineer, Wolf, who invents a bizarre machine that allows him to revisit his past and erase inhibiting memories. A frothing admixture of Breton, Freud, Carroll, Hammett, Kafka and Wells, Red Grass is one of Vian’s finest and most enduring works, a satire on psychoanalysis--which Vian wholly and vigorously disapproved of--that inflects science fiction with dark absurdity and the author’s great wit. Much in the novel can be regarded as autobiography, as our hero attempts to liberate himself from past traumatic events in the arenas of religion, social life and--of course--sex. Red Grass is translated by Vian scholar Paul Knobloch.

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"Lun*na Menoh" A Ring Around The Collar" (TamTam Books)


Lun*na Menoh: A Ring Around The Collar

Introduction by Leslie Dick.

For 14 years, Los Angeles–based artist, fashion designer and musician Lun*na Menoh has been exploring the many unexpected possibilities of the dirty shirt collar, producing paintings, sculptures, music, DVDs, performance art and fashion shows inspired by this lowly, ubiquitous aspect of clothing. The collar is a fashion boundary--the dividing line between what is hidden by clothing and the body that emerges from the cloth--and the stains commonly found there often confound sartorial panache, a fact which Menoh takes as the mischievous starting point for her work. Lun*na Menoh: A Ring Around the Collar documents the paintings included in this series, as well as Menoh’s performance art and fashion shows. Included with this book is a flexi-disc with two songs by the artist’s band, Les Sewing Sisters, and an introduction by acclaimed author Leslie Dick.

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"In The Words of Sparks... Selected Lyrics" by Ron Mael & Russell Mael (TamTam Books)


In The Words of Sparks...Selected Lyrics

Edited by Ron Mael, Russell Mael. Introduction by Morrissey.

Sparks--the long-running duo of Ron and Russell Mael--are among the most respected songwriters of their generation, their songs ranking alongside those of Ray Davies (The Kinks having been a formative influence), George Gershwin, Cole Porter and Stephen Sondheim. Formed in Los Angeles in 1971, Sparks have issued over 20 albums and scored chart hits with songs such as “This Town Ain’t Big Enough for Both of Us,” “Cool Places” and “Never Turn Your Back on Mother Earth.” While their musical style has changed dramatically over the course of 40 years--embracing the British Invasion sound of the 60s, glam rock, disco (they teamed up with Giorgio Moroder for 1979’s “No. 1 in Heaven”) and even techno--their work has consistently stretched the boundaries of pop music and the song form. Sparks continue to break new ground: they are currently working on a project with filmmaker Guy Maddin and are soon to embark on a world tour. Now, for the first time, the Mael brothers have chosen their favorite Sparks lyrics (to some 75 songs), editing and correcting them for presentation in In the Words of Sparks. As James Greer--novelist and former member of Guided by Voices--comments, “Sparks-level wordplay is a gift, and more than that, an inspiration.” This book also includes a substantial introduction by fellow Los Angeles resident and longtime fan, Morrissey.


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"Gainsbourg The Biography" by Gilles Verlant (TamTam Books)


Gainsbourg: The Biography

By Gilles Verlant. Translated by Paul Knobloch.

When Serge Gainsbourg died in 1991, France went into mourning: François Mitterand himself proclaimed him “our Baudelaire, our Apollinaire.” Gainsbourg redefined French pop, from his beginnings as cynical chansonnier and mambo-influenced jazz artist to the ironic “yé-yé” beat and lush orchestration of his 1960s work to his launching of French reggae in the 1970s to the electric funk and disco of his last albums. But mourned as much as his music was Gainsbourg the man: the self-proclaimed ugly lover of such beauties as Brigitte Bardot and Jane Birkin, the iconic provocateur whose heavy-breathing “Je t’aime moi non plus” was banned from airwaves throughout Europe and whose reggae version of the “Marseillais” earned him death threats from the right, and the dirty-old-boy wordsmith who could slip double-entendres about oral sex into the lyrics of a teenybopper ditty and make a crude sexual proposition to Whitney Houston on live television. 
Gilles Verlant’s biography of Gainsbourg is the best and most authoritative in any language. Drawing from numerous interviews and their own friendship, Verlant provides a fascinating look at the inner workings of 1950s–1990s French pop culture and the conflicted and driven songwriter, actor, director and author that emerged from it: the young boy wearing a yellow star during the German Occupation; the young art student trying to woo Tolstoy’s granddaughter; the musical collaborator of Petula Clark, Juliette Greco and Sly and Robbie; the seasoned composer of the Lolita of pop albums, Histoire de Melody Nelson; the cultural icon who transformed scandal and song into a new form of delirium.

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"Evguenie Sokolov" by Serge Gainsbourg (TamTam Books)


Evguenie Sokolov

By Serge Gainsbourg. Translated by John Weightman, Doreen Weightman.

Serge Gainsbourg's sole foray into fiction, Evguenie Sokolov describes an artist who uses his intestinal gases as the medium for his scandalous artwork. What once was a smelly and noisy problem in his social and sex life becomes a recipe for success in the early 1980s art world.

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'Autumn in Peking" by Boris Vian (TamTam Books)


Autumn in Peking

By Boris Vian. Introduction by Marc Lapprand. Translated Paul Knobloch.

Autumn in Peking takes place in an imaginary desert called Exopotamie, where a train station and a railway line are under construction. Homes are destroyed to lay the lines, which turn out to lead nowhere. In part a satire on the reconstruction of postwar Paris, Vian’s novel also conjures a darker version of Alice in Wonderland.
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Beauty and ugliness define the two poles of Vian’s outlook. As a literary writer, the man who moved in the same social orbit as Simone de Beauvoir and Jean-Paul Sartre, Vian wrote absurdist fantasias filled with eccentrics and romantic dreamers. His novels can get dark, but they are full of puns, slapstick, and comedy. Love and weird beauty figure in Autumn in Peking, where a number of people, obsessive types, build a train station and railway tracks in a desert no one visits.

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TAMTAM BOOKS

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Thursday, May 25, 2017

Matthew Edwards & The Unfortunates - "Folklore" (Gare du Nord Records)




Matthew Edwards & The Unfortunates - "Folklore"  (Gare du Nord Records)

Matthew Edwards, I think, is the son or nephew of David Bowie or/and Howard Devoto.   Just the opening song "Birmingham" alone can bring him to the world of champions.  A beautiful song with a gorgeous lyric.  A narrative of sorts, but more of a mysterious Alain Robbe-Grillet plot.  Devoto's Magazine comes to mind mostly due to that Edwards and his group The Unfortunates know an excellent orchestration.  They work as a unit and serve Edwards' vocals and songs.  My type of band.

"When We Arrived at the Mountain" has a Bowie era "Man Who Sold The World" vibe, but by no means is Edwards digging into another's world.  The music here is very much part of his DNA, and he's a great singer and lyricist.  Weary of the world around him, he's romantic, but one gets the feeling that the singer/narrator will get burned again.  It's an album of reflection, but very pop and there lies the beauty of "Folklore."

The playing on the album is very layered, and hearing the organ on "I can Move the Moon" is very Zombies-like in that it conveys a storm among the aural delights that are this song.  The electric organ on some of the songs drives me wild.  This is a very sophisticated world that Matthews is skipping into, which is a landscape of memories, some regret, but the eyes are going toward the future as well.   "Folklore" is easy to the ears, but the tunes will stick in one's head for a long while.  Ten songs that move from one end to the other with economy and taste as if  Marcel Proust made a rock record.    Noir-pop played excellently, and Edwards is going to take his band and music on another plane.  It's a remarkable album.  This and Perfume Genius are the only new music that I love at the moment.




Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Sparks - What The Hell Is It This Time? (Official Video)





Sparks' new video for their new song "What The Hell Is It This Time?"  And yes, we have to be selective in what and when we ask for God's assistance.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

"Kzradock the Onion Man and the Spring-Fresh Methuselah: From The Notes of Dr. Renard de Monspensier" by Louis Levy (Wakefield Press) Trans. by W. C. Bamberger

ISBN: 978-1-939663-28-3 Wakefield Press
Louis Levy's "Kradock the Onion Man" is a fantastic novel. Reads and written as pulp, but has many layers (like an onion - ha) that at the surface seems to be a crazed thriller, but alas, it's very 20th-century angst. In a nutshell, the plot is regarding a doctor in a mental hospital who is looking over a patient with troublesome patterns that leads to violence and surreal overtures to what is and what isn't reality. Our Dr. Renard de Montpensier chronicles the narration, where in essence do we trust his point-of-view? The novel was written and published in 1910, and I believe the novel was serialized in a newspaper or publication. It reads like a serial, where there is a cliffhanger at the end of the chapter. So it is pulp, but I think this piece of Danish literature is picking up the vibes of 1910 Europe. Like all good art, its ears are picking up things that we the public are not aware of. The book is full of surreal horror scenes that are theatrically set pieces, where one can almost meditate on its meaning or how it conveys within the plotting of the novel. It's interesting that both Gershom Scholem and Walter Benjamin were fans of "Kzradock," so they must have picked up on the vibrations that are within the story. The afterword by the novel's translator W.C. Bamberger is enlightening and enjoyable. Thanks to him and Wakefield Press bringing Levy's book to the 21st century. A superb book.

Wednesday, May 3, 2017

"art sex music" by Cosey Fanni Tutti (Faber & Faber)




I have never been a fan of Throbbing Gristle. My sense of aesthetic is entirely the opposite of this band. First of all, I hate their name. It's funny, but I don't think they met it as being funny. It seems Chris (and Cosey's half) always hated the band's name, and I can understand why. There is something juvenile about the TG aesthetic that just makes me feel tired. Saying that I respect them for what they do and all of that, but for me, never an essential band or art group. On the other hand, Cosey Fanni Tutti's memoir is a fun and gossipy read. In no way or fashion can a TG fan ignore this book. Cosey is a fascinating person. I have heard of artists being in the sex adult market before their careers in music/films, but she is the first to have a career of stripping, sex work - while making music and being in a major band like TG. Her writings about the life as a stripper are entertaining but also fascinating, with respect to her interest in making art at the same time.

The one thing that becomes upsetting to me, and frankly tires me out while reading this book is the subject matter of Genesis P-Orridge. Reading Cosey's memoir, and only getting the story from her side of the world, I hate P-Orridge, her, or whatever gender he/she is or not. A terrible person. I keep yelling to the text on the page to kick Gen out of TG! She keeps coming back to him. If the narrative is correct here, Gen is not only creepy but a sadist/girlfriend beater. I have always looked at him with suspicion because I never bought his 'act.' I find Gen's work very obvious and a fan-boy-girl mentality that is obnoxious.

The book is 500 pages long. It's a very long book, and I think her and the editor could have done some more editing. Beyond that, this is a book for anyone who is interested in the subject matter of Throbbing Gristle, Chris & Cosey, Coil, etc. I like Cosey a lot through this book. She goes out of the way to credit other musicians and artists, that may not be entirely known to her fan base or readers. I sense she's a generous person. But I really can't take any more of Genesis.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

"Zettel" by Ludwig Wittgenstein Edited by G.E.M. Anscombe & G.H. von Wright (University of California Press)

ISBN: 978-0-520-25244-8
"Zettel" by Ludwig Wittgenstein is a collection of short writings that were put in a filing cabinet by the author, and later collected by G.E.M. Anscombe and G.H. von Wright. Wittgenstein is probably the most difficult, but yet, enjoyable read for me. As a writer, I often think of him as a role model of sorts. The way he looks at the world is unique, and his thinking of what an image is and what is the thought of that image has a profound effect on me. And again, I may have misread him, and made my own version of Wittgenstein!

I usually re-read his pocket size statements or observations twice. But in the long run, I think it's good to read him straight through, and not worry about getting 'it' on the first try. He's a philosopher where it's best to meditate on his words and the meaning of his sentences through your own dear time. "The limitlessness of the visual field is clearest when we are seeing nothing in complete darkness." That statement stays in my mind the most because I find myself writing in a state of mind that is very much a dark void. I then fill that space with words, that is usually connected to something visual or a sensuality of an object of some sort.

Wittgenstein didn't write a lot. Some of his 'literature' is from his lectures in class. I'm presuming that this book is him working through his philosophy/thoughts. Which is another reason why I love Wittgenstein's work so much is that it's not about the answer, but the journey. He focuses on the senses, and how that communicate to our brain. His writing is not scientific, but almost poetry. In fact, I tend to look at him as a poet than anything else. 

- Tosh Berman

Monday, April 24, 2017

"Roussel Returns" by Mark von Schlegell (Semitext[e])


I pretty much purchase anything that has the name "Raymond Roussel" on its cover. Which means, I read everything that is possible on this fantastic French writer. For me, Roussel is very much the ground zero of avant-garde culture, which is ironic, because Roussel pretty much wanted the mass audience, and by no means did he see his work as being a difficult read. The fact that he didn't have the masses, but instead had every significant avant-garde artist, poet, and writer as fans, well, at least he had emotional backing.

If you dig deep enough in one's favorite literary bookstore or library, you can find books on Roussel in English. What is there not to like about him? He was rich, and he spent his fortune in producing his books as well as doing a big budget theater piece based on his masterpiece "Impressions of Africa." He had a limo/automobile in the 1900s that was probably the first limo, or at least a car where he didn't have to leave to go to the bathroom. He wore his suits once, and then never again. The ultimate dandy in a country (France) full of dandies. But his real brilliance is his writings. Word-play, amazing non-plotting, yet spectacular images of new machines, and even newer locations. One can think of him as an early pioneer of science fiction narrative. Mark von Schlegell wrote a beautiful and fascinating essay on Roussel, where he states the importance of Roussel's work in line with Jules Verne and Edgar Allen Poe. The thing with Roussel, in many ways, he predicted the Internet, and the method of artists who had their fortune, produce work for the consumer.

Schlegell makes interesting sight into the world of Roussel, and how one shouldn't only look at him as a man of wealth (which he was of course) but also as a worker, who could work anywhere in the world. He built his car which is a combination of a mobile home as well as a workspace where he can do his writing anywhere in the world, with the help of a large ship as well. Him being mobile gave him the ability to see the world, but the real travel was always in his head and within the boundaries of his imagination.

A superb chapbook published by Semiotext[e] and well-worth the journey in locating this Roussel-appreciation. Here's the website to purchase "Roussel Returns": http://www.semiotextes.com/shop/rouss...

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

"Paris Scratch" by bart plantenga (Sensitive Skin)

ISBN: 9780996157049 Sensitive Skin
I have a deep interest in Paris. Not only what I imagine is Paris, but other people's Paris as well. It's a city that demands one's attention, especially in the field of the arts. It has a lot to do with its citizens, but it is also a city that is reflected quite often by various foreigners. For me, it is something in the way the city is laid out. I think architecturally first, then how that space is filled by what I think are interesting people. Charles Baudelaire, Boris Vian, the songs of Juliette Greco, the imagery of Serge Gainsbourg - all of this makes intriguing pictures and sounds in one's head. I would also like to add bart plantenga's "Paris Scratch" to that cultural pile as well.

First of all, I don't know if one can look at this book as fiction, non-fiction, a journal - it can be a combination of all three. The way I read it, "Paris Scratch is between a memoir and a travel journal. It is similar to taking a photo by or sketching on paper a scene in front of the author. The book consists of 365 chapters/sections, which in theory can be an actual year. "Paris Scratch" is not a book of lists, but deeply investigations of feelings, places, and people, as conveyed by the author. Various French artists and authors, as well as pop singers, run through the pages, but also foreign writers such as Henry Miller commenting on Paris. It's a city that has a lot of cultural baggage, and there is no way getting around the awesomeness of the place - and plantenga clearly conveys the magic that is or was Paris.

Entirely personal, and one-of-a-kind approach to Paris, plantenga successfully writes about a place that most readers of this book will be familiar with - yet, will discover new sensibilities and sensual aspects of a city well-lived, and reported by exquisite writers, for instance, bart plantenga.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

"Otherwise Known as the Human Condition: Selected Essays and Reviews" by Geoff Dyer

ISBN: 978-1-55597-579-1 Graywolf Press

I'm a fan of a book of essays by particular writers. Not for the purpose of learning something new, but to be able to spend time with an author and his thoughts. If I don't like the author, I tend not to like the essays. I like Geoff Dyer. Therefore I like his book of essays "Otherwise Known as the Human Condition." What I like about him and his writings is that he has a great deal of interest in the world around him.

Besides being a literary critic, he also writes about photography, travel, and jazz. He's a writer who loves jazz. Boris Vian was a musician who wrote about jazz and was passionate about the subject, but far as I know, Dyer is not a musician. He has incredible insight into the music and is an excellent observer in what makes a jazz recording works or not work. The other great thing about his work is his brief memoirs that are towards the end of this volume. Personal, and very enticing invitation to his social world, and how he places himself in that landscape. There are also signs of his sexuality, not only to his attraction to women but apparently his attention to porn. He wrote a brief essay in this book regarding the hotel room, and how sexy such a room is to a gentleman. He also wrote about porn viewing in the hotel chambers. The fact that a hotel room is so clean (hopefully) makes it even more erotic. Nice observation on the nature of hotels.  

The book is large, and usually, I read a book of essays off and on. I tend to read three essays in a row, and put it down, and pick it up a month later. This book, I read from the first to the last page. As I mention, one of his great interests is in photography. And like his love for jazz, he is a viewer of photographs, without being a photographer. He has no interest in taking photos but enjoys writing on the subject. The distance between him and a passionate object is a right approach. At least for him. Nevertheless, Dyer is a fantastic writer. I enjoy dipping into his cosmos.  

- Tosh Berman

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

April 12, 2017 (Tosh's Diary)




April 12, 2017 (Tosh's Diary)


It's Wednesday, and I'm waiting for the mail.  My day is, waiting.  I wake up due to the sun coming up, and I move around the house to avoid the intense and direct sunlight.  It is not until around 7 PM where I feel I can stay still and place my body on the seat facing Waverly Drive.

Once the sun goes down, I feel more alive. Perhaps due to its cocktail hour at that time.   The first sip of white wine drains all my anxiety away.   I feel guilty about spending money on vinyl records, but it's one of the great pleasures in my life where I can sit in front of the turntable, with headphones on, and play an old record, that clearly has a lot of history on it.  The album may have been at the very least in one household, but perhaps two.

 I remember in the 80s I sold my records to get credit to buy new albums.  It was the only way for me to afford in getting a new record.  At that time, it was Aron's Records on Melrose, but I often regret in letting go records that mean a lot to me.  It's mostly an impulse on my part that when I want something new, I just trade in what I feel I can trade in at that moment.  I'm happy to get the new record, but it always comes with a profound sense of regret.



The wine drinking now is very much like the sun moving in a 12-hour day, it's just a reminder that time is moving on.   I sense a significant loss of wasted time, but that comes down to the nature of doing work, and on a schedule.  As I wander around the house to avoid the sunlight, I plan to sit myself down to write.  Within 12 hours I very much want to write something special or original. Or if anything else, something that will bring importance to whoever reads the text.   On the other hand, the truth is, I just want to make a presence within those hours to prove that I can be productive.   Alas, I often fail.



As mentioned, I feel close to Stephen Bannon.  We did arrange a meeting early this year, but we never met up.  Although I don't have proof, I suspect he deliberately ignored me.   I can feel his presence hooking me, and pulling towards his direction.  But then he rejected me, not by words, but by expressing no communication or clearly expressing the fact that I have no meaning in his life.  It's ironic that he's getting the same treatment from President Trump and his family.   They use you for your ideas, and once finished, they throw you back into the ocean.   He and I are like bloated whales, that are stranded on a beach.   I was thinking of approaching him again, now that he has been rejected, but decided that would be cruel on my part.   I sit here and get angry, but what good is it to add misery to his already miserable existence?  This is what I think about, when drinking a glass of Charles Shaw white, and listening to an old Move album on my hi-fi.