How “new” and influential were Neu? Brian Eno’s ambient music was inspired by Michael Rother’s innovative use of texture in his guitar/electronics and Conny Plank’s innovative use of space in production. Subsequently David Bowie was influenced through Station to Station & Low/Heroes–in fact, “Heroes” was directly inspired by Neu’s song. The “motorik” groove had a deep effect on Joy Division (and on punk and post-punk, in general.) Later Radiohead would cop the Neu style during their own experimental phase (Kid A/Amnesiac).
The most futuristic album ever made. THE perfect driving song.
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Dark, deep, and searching, some of the greatest lyrics ever written. This song captures the modern human condition in photographic intensity.
“Yes, one hand on my suicide/One hand on the rose/I know you’ve heard it’s over now/And war must surely come/The cities they are broke in half/And the middle men are gone/But let me ask you one more time/O children of the dust/These hunters who are shrieking now/Do they speak for us?/And where do all these highways go/Now that we are free?/Why are the armies marching still/That were coming home to me?/The age of lust is giving birth/But both the parents ask the nurse/To tell them fairy tales on both sides of the glass/Now the infant with his cord/Is hauled in like a kite/And one eye filled with blueprints/One eye filled with night”
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Heard those sickeningly sweet Christmas carols too many times in the retail store and had an unending headache? Watched those advertisements for saccharine Hallmark-style TV movies or maddeningly mediocre dumb comedies, romances, and family films at the local multiplex and wanted to tear your hair out? Sick of the holidays already and Christmas hasn’t even happened yet?
Here are five holiday films for those of us who don’t like the holidays.
The Gold Rush
Alaska, 1899.
Thanksgiving is spent eating shoes in a dilapidated cabin on the edge of a windswept cliff. Your cabin mate hallucinates that you are a giant chicken, due to hunger, and tries to take an axe to your head. New Years’ Eve is spent all alone pining for a woman who makes fun of you while you dream of dancing bread rolls.
McCabe & Mrs. Miller
Pacific Northwest, Turn-of-the-20th Century.
You’re just trying to start your small business (the American Dream), a brothel and gambling house in a tiny mining town called Presbyterian Church. The only woman you’re close to is a hooker who ignores you in favor of her opium pipe, and the big businessmen from Sears & Roebuck want to buy out the whole town. You refuse, of course, and the result is that bounty hunters are now gunning for you.
Blast of Silence
New York City, 1960.
It’s Christmastime and you’re in on the train from Cleveland with a straightforward assignment: a hit on a big-wig mobster. Of course, you’d like to live a normal life like everyone else but that’s impossible. One of your only contacts is a greasy fat slob who’s ready to rat on you and the only girl to ever show you attention rejects you. Plus, the Man now wants a hit out on you.
Black Christmas
Montreal, Quebec, early 1970s.
It’s winter break and the sorority is missing one of its members. A young girl has gone missing, as well. While everyone else is going home or leading normal lives, you’re stuck in this town telling your boyfriend that you want an abortion. The relationship is over. Also there’s a homicidal maniac stalking your sorority.
The Ice Storm
New Canaan, Connecticut, 1973.
It’s Thanksgiving break and you’re home from college. Your father awkwardly lectures you on masturbation and is sleeping with the neighbor, your parents’ marriage is on the skids and sliding further downward at a rapid pace, your little sister is sexually experimenting, and your two friends are pill popping. And it’s only going to get worse from there.
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Crawling towards the golden corner
Gramma at the fireside
Whirring of the clock on the mantel
Whistling of the north wind outside
As frost paints silver flowers on the glass
Gramma’s big grin beckons
To her outstretched arms
And your head drops on her shoulder
Softest pillow, no other compares
Snowball the white pomeranian
Barks and sheds his hairs
As you fade off to sleep unawares
Mist on the hill
What’s over there?
So you climb the fence
Stumble through the fog
Into the land of nowhere
Sudden sound above
A faltering wounded dove
That flits from branch to branch
Cooing its last breath
Till it falls to the ground below
A tear rolls down your cheek
Melting the patches of snow
Still remaining beneath
And another teardrop glistens
As the lark sits and listens
To your whispered whimpers
Dampness on your clothes
You reached for the rose
Twining round the trellis
Up and down the catherine wheel
And you didn’t mean to steal
But it was so very glowing
Red in the midst of gray
When you went out that morning
Into Gramma’s backyard to play
Now the wounds in your hands
Trickling blood from your palms
Reminds you of other thorns
Crowning saints’ heads begging alms
In that picture book inside
No place left to hide
You want to disappear
Down the dusty road
Or the dusky corridor
That golden corner of the picture
Where you, the bird, can finally soar
Easter Sunday
You and she
Set out past the daffodils
Searching for eggs
No map in hand
It’s more fun without one
Darting behind hedges
Peering within tree trunks
Like the rabbits
And then
A-ha!
I found one!
Robins chirping on the dewy grass
As you, like them, hopped past
Feet kicking up the worms
Hands flinging clods of dirt
Rounding golden corners of morning sunshine
Hurtling fast, like a flower, out of the earth
They found you
In the neighbor’s garden
Staring at stones
Content to stay there
For hours
All alone
Turning it round in your hand
As if in turning
You too will become stone
And Mother shakes you from your reverie
Daisies and dandelions in her hand
And she gives you a new white sphere
Exhales
You inhale and do the same
Whoosh!
The circle has exploded
Tiny white stars
Floating away down the neighborhood lanes
And you leave the neighbor’s garden for today
Time to go collecting in the creek
Mother guides you to the bottom
Where the oldest rocks stay
Where the water left long ago
Dried up as an apple sitting in the sun
Why is every rock gray?
Until the crack breaks
And your little jaw drops
A chalky sphere within
Same color as your skin
Rolls around between your fingers
And the sandy powder lingers
On the whirls in your fingertips
And a crazy laugh slips
Out from your pursed lips
And the fists that always grip
Loosen up
As you slide away
The fair is out today
School’s out for the summer
And a soft spring shower visits
Blue raincoat, red boots
You stomp through the puddles
Close your eyes
Running towards the skies
But always tripping
Over the cracks in the pavement
No problem
Now you know the secret
Golden corners require payment
That bird outside your window
Greets the warm dawn
So it’s time for you, as well
With magician’s robe on
Open the closet
Treasures be here
King’s sword does appear
Gather together the circle
Boys and girls scamper
Out of doors
Into the street
Out of the heat
Into the den to meet
Let the quest commence!
Jump over every fence!
No school anymore, so hence!
We shall conquer this neighborhood today
Tsk-tsk, you didn’t watch the clock
Evening came too soon
Cuts and bruises from your walk
To some faraway, distant dune
No reward when you return home
“Where have you been?!”
Punishment
Golden corners only last so long
Before they turn back into gray gutters
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Hearing the geese high above in the night sky as they fly south for the winter and November draws to its close. Reminds me of one of my favorite songs.
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“For here we stand–hand to hand/Fighting for the promised land/Then you try to warn me/That there’s only one combination/One new sling/The same old rock.”
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