Allen Lanier, RIP

When I was 14 or so, the only famous Allen I knew (though his name was spelled slightly differently from mine) was Allen Lanier, and based on that, I became attuned to his contributions to the Blue Öyster Cult and perked up to see his name mentioned on John Cale, Patti Smith Group and Jim Carroll Band records. He was an Allen who rocked, so maybe I could too! I haven't heard much about him in years - he retired from the BOC awhile back - but 66 is far too young to die.

This reminds me that 66 is also the age that a Ouija board once told me that I would die. Say it ain't so, Ouija! And rest in peace, Allen Lanier.

Bus gripes: bus transfers not to work on Skytrain

My girl and I have an ongoing conversation about why I don't write a letter to Translink about problems I've perceived with their system.

My most enduring gripe, as someone who commutes out from Maple Ridge, is that the 160 Vancouver - absolutely the best bus to catch if you're travelling downtown - is routinely scheduled so that it leaves Coquitlam Station about two minutes BEFORE the 701, the connecting bus from Maple Ridge, arrives. This means that you spend 40 minutes riding from Maple Ridge, enduring the digression the bus takes through Pitt Meadows - the 701 is by no means a direct, efficient bus - and then get to the bus loop to discover that the 160 just left, or is, in some cases, pulling away as you pull in. You can catch various buses instead, but none that go directly downtown. The 97 - supposedly a B-Line bus, supposedly synonymous with efficiency - takes you on a long digression through the back ass of north Coquitlam before delivering you to the Skytrain. The 177 hauls you through the hilly grounds of Riverview Hospital and plies its own circuitous route before getting you to Braid Station. The 169 is pretty good for getting to Braid Station quickly, but it's still only Braid Station, one of the most remote commuter hubs this side of Surrey. Any one of these routes, compared to the 160, adds a half hour to any trip downtown you may have planned - pretty much the same half-hour you're forced to wait at the bus stop for the next 160, when you miss it by two minutes.

This sort of poor planning doesn't happen by accident. My theory is, they build a half-hour wait (or a half-hour's worth of back ass digressions) into the trip for the simple purpose of making sure any transfer they give you is useless by the time you arrive in the city: to make you pay more money, in effect. The 160 would be perfect for getting downtown, and your transfer would still have some life to it, IF they designed the connections so that you could get on it as soon as the 701 arrived... it would be easy enough for them to offer a nice direct line from Maple Ridge, with a nice direct transfer onto a nice direct line at Coquitlam, if that's what they WANTED. That it is NOT set up that way must surely be glaringly obvious to all parties; if it were a mere mistake, it would have been fixed by now.

In defense of my cynicism here, take this article: with the upcoming compass card "upgrade," your bus transfer will no longer be valid for the Skytrain system; you'll have to pay an entirely new fare. This is obviously not good for consumers and commuters (or visitors to the city!) - but who the hell cares about them? It's not like this is a public service we're talking about... With this much bad faith on display, it's pretty hard to believe that complaints would make any difference. Bend over, bus riders: Translink has an upgrade for you...

Happy 30th anniversary, Melvins!

Unless someone gives me tickets, I probably am going to miss this show - I have no money whatsoever - but the Melvins are an incredible band.

The Melvins were among my most-seen bands when I was a grunge fan attending shows at the Cruel Elephant in the early 1990's - I saw them two or three times, once in the Gluey Porch days, and then again with Lorax, and maybe one time after that. Aside from the Jelvins at the Croatian Cultural Centre a few years ago, I haven't made it to any of their recent shows - though I tried a couple of times: I sold my tickets to their Commodore show because I had a chance to go jam with a then-buddy (I don't play music very often, am godawful and untalented, but they needed a bassist and I could occasionally pretend I knew what I was doing). Then sold my tickets to their last show at the Rickshaw when I couldn't find anywhere to sleep in the city that night (I hadn't brought the requisite ID for a hotel stay). All the same, the Melvins are one of the greatest American rock bands now active, and I wish them a very happy anniversary...! Should be an amazing show...

More on Zev Asher

Two separate downloads have been put online of Zev Asher's music since his passing: one by Keith Parry, here, and one by his friend Jen Morris, here.

There's also an obit of Zev on the Straight site, with a photo that Bev Davies took of Zev when he was in Vancouver for 2011's Noise Night.

Anyone who knows what's happening re: Zev's movies, please let me know. When last he and I corresponded, he had plans to release his films on DVD, was talking about recording commentaries and so forth; I've been sitting on an interview since 2011, with plans to put it into the world to correspond with that release. It would be a shame if all that got scrapped now - his films are too interesting, too unique to lapse into obscurity.

Bobcat Goes Bigfoot: Willow Creek

It's high time for a serious, well-made cryptozoology movie. The whole concept of bigfoot, in particular, is sorely in need of a reboot and re-branding, lest the Sasquatch become nothing more than the stuff of stoner comedies, unseen Z-quality horror movies, and beer commercials - dismissive and superior, tacky and tasteless, or just plain silly. Whether bigfoot exists or not, children growing up without a local woodland monster to enhance their senses of wonder, awe, dread and curiosity - growing up in a world with Santa and the Easter Bunny, but no believable bigfoot - are growing up impoverished, deprived, cheated. Bigfoot belongs on the big screen, in a scary, sincere movie made by someone with the talent to do the story justice and a healthy respect for the mythos, regardless of whether they buy into it themselves...

Happy as I am, given these feelings, to hear about Willow Creek, I was not expecting that Bobcat Goldthwait would be the man to take up the cause, frankly. The trailer for this new, non-comedic found-footage bigfoot movie, and the poster, have appeared online recently. The poster is better than the trailer, which makes the film seem a bit too Blair-Witchy (and doesn't seem to do justice to the film's documentary elements), but still, I'm definitely curious (this review seems pretty positive, though I'm reluctant to read more about the film than I already have, since I already know I need to see it. Noted Ufologist Nick Redfern also gives it a thumbs up on Cryptomundo). It helps that I've liked every single Bobcat Goldthwait film I've seen (now at three: World's Greatest Dad - which I liked better on second viewing than first; Sleeping Dogs Lie, which no one nowhere should watch with their mother; and the rather terrific God Bless America). No word of a Vancouver screening as yet. Maybe it'll make it to the VIFF?

Note: there is a helpful, but not exhaustive, IMDB list of bigfoot movies here, in case you're wondering about Willow Creek's competition. You will note that, Harry and the Hendersons aside, not many of the films on it are widely known, nor do many seem that promising. As far as I can recall, in fact, the best bigfoot film I've seen to date is The Creature From Black Lake, if only because it boasts great performances from Dennis Fimple, Dub Taylor and Jack Elam. The competition is slight enough that Bobcat might just have made the best bigfoot movie ever...

EDITED TO ADD: oh BOY do I want a Squatchit. Somebody give these guys some money for me, okay?

Sorry, Werner; plus internet ennui

I am sure that Werner Herzog's spot on the dangers of texting while driving is far better than the average public service video, but frankly, I find the whole idea somewhat underwhelming. Plus I have a pretty good Michael Connelly novel on the go; was thinking of re-watching District 9, since I liked Elysium; and could always make good use of the night by taking a bath, or cleaning my kitchen, or going to bed early.

Sorry, Werner...

I've been having this feeling lately that more and more, the internet is not so satisfying lately, you know? I mean, it's great for work - for contacting interview subjects, for researching projects, doing job searches, and so forth. It sure saves on the cost of buying porn magazines (do they still even exist?). And there's always an abundance of idle entertainment to be found on Facebook, Herzog-related or no. But on the other hand, there's also the sense that I waste a lot more time sitting in front of the computer than is justifiable, and the number of personal emails that I get is probably down to a dozen a week (and could be eliminated altogether, since I can always connect with my friends via cellphone or text message). Unless my writing work picks up, I'm actually considering giving up the internet at home... It's not cheap, and there are definitely more rewarding ways to spend my time...

Elysium: a worthy, smart blockbuster for SF fans

To be absolutely honest, at the expense of seeming to criticize a film I mean to praise, I didn't get that emotionally involved in Elysium: its characters are too one-dimensional, too straightforward, too like thematic elements in a parable about inequality and class warfare to really invite investment or identification, and the experience of seeing the film is more like watching the working through of ideas than the telling of a story... All the same, God bless it for HAVING ideas, for having something to say; and God bless Neill Blomkamp for proving that his singular vision, so successfully captured by District 9, is not the stuff of an anomalous indy one-off, but can endure the travails of big budget filmmaking, can more-or-less survive the journey to the megaplex undiluted. It's not that easy to do! I've seen a few summer blockbusters this year - Pacific Rim, World War Z - and while I enjoyed them enough as they passed before my eyes, I felt strikingly hollow afterwards, and somewhat ashamed to have actually spent money on fundamentally empty experiences - like I'd been suckered; Pacific Rim was singularly disappointing insofar as so little of Del Toro's personality, so rich in his other films, seemed to have made it onto the screen. It coulda almost been a Michael Bay movie; Elysium could only have been made by Neill Blomkamp. The design of the spaceships and technology, the way the slums of Earth are filmed, the ways in which the hero has to undergo a painful personal transformation (this time more into cyborg than prawn-thing) in order to achieve redemption all resonated against his earlier film and spoke of a personal vision at work, rather than a corporate boardroom, a gigantic budget, and an astonishingly huge special effects team... though no doubt all of those were in play behind this film, as well...

Truth is, the bigger and louder movies get, somehow the more disposable and of-the-moment they seem, such that it becomes hard to imagine anyone caring about them in years to come; since there is less and less room for individual idiosyncrasy, thematic richness, or authentic personal passion behind them, how can they hope to linger in the memory (or the marketplace)? Now that people have all but given up on DVDs and Blu-Rays, with less and less money to be made from repeat viewings of a film after its theatrical run has finished, maybe staying power is no longer a priority? One suspects that in twenty years time the blockbusters of the moment will be as forgotten as films like Sly Stallone's Cliffhanger are today...

For its idiosyncracy, Elysium is a rare enough experience - at least in the megaplex - that I'm willing to overlook the film's flaws. And it's nice to know that there's a film in the theatres that actually invites discussion, analysis, that has things on its mind other than getting as much money as it can out of as many viewers as possible, before the corporate entities behind it move on to the next spectacle. Elysium isn't perfect, but it gives you hope that mainstream cinema isn't entirely worth abandoning just yet. I bet it'll have a nice following in third world countries, too... 

Zev Asher, RIP

Photo by Jen Morris,  not to be reused without permission! 

This is very sad news. I have been informed by email from friends of Zev Asher's that he died recently (earlier today, I believe), at the age of 50. Obituary and funeral details are here.

Zev was the first real interview I gave, for the final issue of Terminal City, to promote a screening of his at the Cinemuerte festival in 2005 (that interview is on my blog here). We finally met in 2011, when he came to Vancouver for a noise event and screening of his film, Subcultural Revolution: Shanghai, at my invite, and we did a big interview at that time, which has been pending publication; the idea was to publish it to correspond with a planned DVD release of some of his films. He had been battling cancer for some time at that point, and was recuperating, but when last I heard from him, in November of last year, he had anemia and was not doing so well. It seemed to be a back-and-forth battle, dragged out over a long period; but when emails I sent began bouncing back a few months ago, I began to suspect something was wrong. 

I was not close to him, but I greatly enjoyed the afternoon we spent in Vancouver, talking about his days in Nimrod and sharing our experiences of Japan. We walked around the downtown eastside and visited Scratch Records, his former label, which still existed back then (Keith Parry's touching and funny obituary of him is online here). After he left, I enjoyed his correspondence; the last email he sent, he pointed out that Jim Carrey had appeared in the Dirty Harry movie The Dead Pool. This I did not know. 

If anyone has pictures of Zev onstage or with Nimrod that they would like to see used to illustrate an article on him, sometime this summer, I'll be putting a big one into the world, based on our interview, in Zev's memory. As I say, I did not know the man well, but I liked him, and value both his music and his films. See his website or his Youtube channel for more information about (and examples of) his work. Rest in peace, Zev; my condolences to those who knew you.

FLAG vs Black Flag

Doing some comparisons on Youtube. Here's a full FLAG set (note: an awesome version of "My War" begins at 9:45). Bill Stevenson's drumming really stands out here - he's still pretty amazing, and the band in general sound lean and mean and hungry. FLAG profits from having two guitarists, too; they really make the most out of some very brief, fast, simple songs. Then there's a full set from Black Flag, here - a much longer show, but with video and audio a bit rougher, alas. It's a little hard to tell with the audio the way it is, but it sounds like the new drummer's got nothing on Stevenson, and the songs sprawl a bit - see in particular Greg Ginn's solo in the middle of  their new song, "The Chase," starting around 8:30; the song borders on falling apart, can barely contain his tendency to spazz out. Still, the overall energy is dark and menacing and credible, and leans towards the new (it would be hard to imagine FLAG writing new songs and still being FLAG; good as they are, they're a cover band, right?). The bassist kind of disappears, as bassists are wont to do. The big difference lies in Ron Reyes; I think I like his vocals better than either Keith's or Dez's, and I definitely like his stage presence, stalking like a panther, menacing. A cool version of "Can't Decide" starts around 46:50, which accomodates Ginn's style much better. (Attentive readers will be able to guess what my favourite Black Flag album is).

Both bands sound pretty good to me, actually...

A bar of chocolate for Lizabeth Scott: on The Cinematheque's film noir series

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Bad week for rock'n'roll: Black Flag lawsuit, Motörhead stops show short, Sharon Jones' tumor, Tim Wright dies

Apparently Greg Ginn is suing both Flag and Henry Rollins for trespass against his ownership of the Black Flag brand. Not sure how I feel about it. On some level it makes sense that he'd be upset by some of the shenanigans described, since - at least according to Ginn - Keith Morris and Rollins attempted to trademark the Black Flag name and logo last year; but on another level, isn't it like pouring a cold pitcher of water across the crotches of people you're planning to have sex with? Having TWO versions of Black Flag out there was kind of hot, after all; surely a "the more the merrier" attitude would have been the more magnanimous, rock-positive move, contributing to an atmosphere of infectious enthusiasm for the Black Flag back catalog: enthusiasm which the suit puts rather a damper on. But then, Ginn doesn't come across particularly well in the book on the Negativland lawsuit, either. Rock 'n' roll is best served without litigation... more from Black Flag on the matter here (and hey, the new Black Flag song is pretty good).

Also not great news: Motörhead went ahead with a performance at Wacken open air recently - their first time back onstage since they cancelled a bunch of shows due to Lemmy's health issues. It was intended to be a one-off show, but Lemmy still wasn't feeling up to snuff; he had to bow out after six songs. Half of their set is circulating on video - it actually sounds pretty good, considering. Lemmy seems the sort of guy who would perform himself within an inch of the grave, so if he had to stop, he must have been feeling pretty goddamn lousy. One wonders how the Wacken crowd received it: I remember nasty chants of "bull-SHIT" when Cradle of Filth ended a Vancouver show without an encore because their singer was feeling ill, but I somehow imagine the Wacken crowd, who, unlike the Cradle of Filth fans, were doubtlessly in the know about Lemmy's health concerns, would have been kinder and much more worried. I imagine 85,000 metalheads trying to rush backstage to ask "is Lemmy okay?" Rather than wishing him a speedy recuperation, it seems best to wish him a nice long slow one - because no one wants to see him drop mid-concert; the band still has shows scheduled for November, but jeez, guys, at this point you've got nothing to prove to us, and we will wait for you... (official statement on Lemmy here).

Finally - this is news from awhile back, and more of a soul/ funk thing than rock, but anyone wondering why Sharon Jones hasn't had an album out lately can find the answer here: she's being treated for bile-duct cancer (and expected to make a full recovery). In fact, the Dap-Kings new album is complete, but will be shelved until the band are able to tour behind it. Meantime, Daptone fans can go see the documentary about Charles Bradley at the Rio tonight, and/or see him at Deer Lake Park this weekend... if I were in Vancouver, that's where I'd be tonight.

Edited to add: Tim Wright of DNA (and the original lineup of Pere Ubu) died at age 61 this week...! That sucks!

Of extended technique, plus Darren Williams and Francois Houle at the Kozmik Zoo, Monday

Darren Williams by Femke van Delft, not to be reused without permission

A confession: when it comes to reed instruments, I'm not at all clear how extended technique works. Listen to THIS, for instance - start with the first track, off Darren Williams' new solo album, Reed. I know that there's a trick as to how he can continuously play for long stretches - that he's actually inhaling and exhaling at the same time, which allows for the seemingly limitless playing you hear. (I want to call it "breathless" playing but obviously breath is involved, it just appears to be one long endless breath, unlike the normal human inhalation/ exhalation thing). But my understanding is a matter of merely understanding the words; I have no actual grasp of how to do what he's doing, no physical sense of it, and I have lots of questions, like:

a) How long exactly can he keep this manner of playing up? It seems to so transcend normal human limitations as to appear infinite, but surely he needs to stop and inhale sometime, no?

b) Are there health consequences of playing this way? My recollection of seeing Francois Houle and Evan Parker do this sort of thing is that they get a bit red-faced and puffy-cheeked, so is it actually, um, dangerous to do? Can something, um, burst?

c) Alternately, are there benefits? Is being able to breathe this way useful for singing, swimming, cunnilingus, or other applications? Surely Williams' vital capacity must be enormous. Can he blow out a birthday cake from across the room?

d) Is he actually taking new breaths when he is playing in this manner, or recycling the same breath? If he's recycling, is he getting less and less oxygen each time? Does he get light-headed? If he's recycling, it requires him to breathe in eventually, RIGHT? If he's actually taking new breaths, which orifice exactly are they coming through?

e) Does playing this way have other limitations? Can he only play "so hard" when he's working on inhaling while he exhales? Does it require massive amounts of exertion or concentration, or does it get easy after time?

f) Is this something *anyone* with the right amount of training can do, or is does it require some particular genetic profile or body type or...?

Darren Williams (saxophone) and Francois Houle (clarinet) are playing the Kozmik Zoo this Monday. Both are masters of extended technique; Houle, in fact, is one of Williams' teachers. Perhaps some answers can be found by attending...

Ray Harryhausen tribute begins tonight!

Starting tonight at the Pacific Cinematheque: a double-bill of two of the best-loved Ray Harryhausen films, The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad and Jason and the Argonauts! Great stuff (though the above image is from neither, but The Golden Voyage of Sinbad. Gary Floyd has me thinking of Kali lately, what can I say...). When I was a kid, no one instilled in me a sense of the wonder of cinema like Harryhausen (though Forrest J. Ackerman, also departed, helped immeasurably). I recently revisited both of these films and was pleased to see how well they held up, not just as effects vehicles, but as storytelling...

Only God Forgives is a must-see

Only God Forgives is remarkable cinema; anyone concerned with film should rush to the Rio Theatre tomorrow (Monday, at 7:30 and 9:30) to catch it on the big screen before it goes away for good.

I've been a slow study when it comes to Nicolas Winding Refn. I had no great fondness for Refn's previous film, his North American breakthrough Drive; I watched it once, shrugged, and no longer have a strong enough remembrance of the film to fairly comment on it, save that Refn seemed to wear his influences on his sleeve (Michael Mann, Walter Hill, maybe a bit of Kubrick), and that I am no great Ryan Gosling fan (though I did like him in Fracture, which takes his apparent smugness and runs it through the mire a bit: by pitting him against a better, if hammier, actor, Anthony Hopkins, who plays his nemesis, the film almost stands as a metaphor for itself - the on-screen cat-and-mouse game figuring the clash of talents behind it). Though I've been told Refn's Pusher trilogy is great, and was impressed by what I saw of Valhalla Rising, the only other Refn film I have seen to completion is Fear X, his ambiguous Hubert Selby Jr. collaboration, starring John Turturro as a man whose pregnant wife has been murdered, who may or may not get justice for himself, having followed an obscure lead to a different town, where he confronts the vigilante responsible for her death (James Remar - best known these days as Dexter's ghost-dad). It's a remarkably visual film that at times is very gripping, but it leaves just enough unexplained that for me, it seemed (on first viewing, anyhow) to be kinda unfinished and unsatisfying.

Nothing of the sort can be said for Only God Forgives: while it does refrain from spelling things out, and gives what appears to be competing "objective"/ real and subjective/ hallucinatory versions of its action at certain points, sometimes not tipping its hand as to which is which - the film offers a morally complex, psychologically rich drama that DOES arrive at completion, while still leaving the viewer lots to discuss and/or ponder. It's also beautifully shot, by Fear X's Larry Smith, who also worked on Refn's Bronson and three Kubrick films; Refn tips his hat to Gaspar Noe in the credits, and you can see why (the more commented-upon hat-tip to Jodorowsky is more oblique, though it presumably has more to do with the themes of the film, which take in troubled mother-son relations and a young man's rise into maturity, than it does with its look. There's also quite a bit of business involving hands and their severing, which resonates a bit against Santa Sangre...). The Thai locations and various beautifully-filmed set pieces, such as the slow, lovely tracking shot in which Chang (Thai actor Vithaya Pansringarm, below) practices his swordsmanship, keep the film visually compelling for those with a hungry eye; Kristin Scott Thomas steps miles outside of her usual neurotic, stuffy Brit role to play a fierce American blonde Mom-from-Hell with various crime connections; and Cliff Martinez provides a terrific score, mostly consisting of overtly-Tangerine-Dreamy analog synth stuff, which is not shy in taking center stage at a couple points. Gosling is pretty good, too; maybe I just like seeing him get the shit beat out of him! Far as I'm concerned, Only God Forgives is a must-see, though be warned: the violence in it is brutal and unpredictable and may cause the odd flinch and/or gasp from any less-desensitized girlfriends you happen to talk into coming along. I speak from experience on that one.

Only God Forgives appears to end its Vancouver run on Monday, so make sure you get out to catch it while you can...

First come the pigeons, then the Chinese handymen....

Apparently there was a reason I dithered and fucked about for hours in the apartment today: just now, while I was on my hands and knees naked in the hallway hand-picking lint from my carpet, an older Chinese man unlocked my door and proceeded to come inside... until he saw me, sticking my head and shoulders around the corner at ankle level, asking him what the hell he was doing (he was in no position to return the question, fortunately). He is one of several handymen doing renovations in the building, and merely had the wrong suite; I suspect this is a mistake he will not make again.

L'affaire Spiderbaby

In case you've missed it, this is a pretty fun rabbithole to dive into: Quentin Tarantino's girlfriend, a Canadian who publishes under Lianne Spiderbaby, and who contributes to a variety of horror mags, including Video Watchdog (for whom I have also written), has been busted for what appears to be some pretty overt plagiarism. See here and here for more; the latter is the site of former Super Happy Fun guy Mike White (interviewed here). White was the one who famously outed similarities between Ringo Lam's City On Fire and Reservoir Dogs back in the 1990's.  (that's a very entertaining video, if you've missed it). Oh, and apparently Quentin Tarantino is a foot fetishist: that's a pretty trashy article, but it's also pretty damn entertaining, I must admit. Besides, I've sucked me some toes over the years - it's not like I'm holding him in judgment...

Never, however, have I plagiarised...

The X Files and Gabrielle Rose

Stumbled across the first season of The X Files in a thrift store today and picked it up almost out of curiosity, because, given the hours I invested in the show in the 1990's, there's a curious void left in my mind, a lack of impression, like I've forgotten why I ever followed it devotedly. Watching the first two episodes tonight didn't do much to enlighten me, though for light entertainment, it was certainly not much worse than, say, watching an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Part of my amusement  - besides trying to pin down Vancouver locations - was seeing how goofy and naive the series seems, how it's not much more sophisticated than the monster-of-the-week exploits of Carl Kolchak - a silly, slight thing, nowhere near as gripping as I found it twenty years ago; post 9/11, the conspiracy theories they roll out all just seem so innocent, so childish, so lacking in gravitas or believability that one can only chuckle...

The highlight of the evening was watching the second episode, "Deep Throat," and discovering it co-stars Vancouver actor Gabrielle Rose, as a woman whose husband - an experimental jet pilot - suffers a strange breakdown and is mysteriously "taken" by government agents. She gives an intense, memorable performance, which I nonetheless had completely forgotten, though I knew who she was when I first saw it. After she turns to Mulder and Scully for help, her husband is returned in a changed state, and - the meat of the role, acting-wise - she presents the familiar Invasion-of-the-Body-Snatchers "that's-not-my-husband" trauma in such a way that you believe her character, Anita Budahas, is on the edge of a breakdown. Acts the hell out of the part, she does - a neurotic powerhouse performance that goes so far in eclipsing what's around it that it borders on being too much. (She also manages, with all her twitching and quivering, to be quite sexy; or maybe that's just me). I was surprised that I'd completely forgotten her appearance; fans of hers should check the episode out (no doubt there's a way it can be watched for free online somewhere). Note that Rose also appears in Season 2, Episode 2, "The Host", in an entirely different role, so apparently the production team was impressed by her, too; that's the episode with the human flukeworm, and I actually do remember her appearance (if only slightly)...

When Moms attack

(She's just playing, though she can get quite rough!)

Gorgo cache discovered!

 Photo courtesy of David M.

(Edited to add the above picture and a few asides. Just read the whole thing again, okay?).

Unlike pretty much anyone I now know, aside from David M., I have actually eaten Gorgo. 

Back in the 1980's, as a suburban teen and an aspiring (if infrequent) participant in the Vancouver scene, after seeing a No Fun sponsorship spot for the "delightful lime-green toffee chew bar" known as Gorgo on Soundproof, I sought out a bar. We had it at the Maple Ridge 7-11 where I once worked, and I remember that my big-haired Goth female friend and I both tried it. As I recall, we agreed that it was kind of revolting - one of those "is this food?" foods, screaming its artificiality with every bite - but it was definitely lime-flavoured, unique, and a challenge to chew. We presumed at that time, after trying the stuff, that any appreciation No Fun had for Gorgo was ironic; I am no longer so sure, since irony and sincerity are complex matters when it comes to No Fun. If one is ironic about an ironic gesture, for instance, does that produce a double negative and make one sincere again, or does it merely result in a meta-irony? (And if one can be meta-ironic, can one be meta-meta ironic? What about meta-meta-meta irony? This seems a perilous path to tread, so I try not to think on such matters at length). 

In any case, Gorgo disappeared, as far as I know, before the decade was out, not just here but worldwide, so one of the amusing things about seeing David M's solo Chapters gigs (when I still lived in Vancouver a few years ago) was that, well into the 21st century, some twenty-plus years after the worldwide demise of Gorgo, he was still doing the odd Gorgo spot (often by request). One of the top things on my list when my girlfriend and I went to the first of the Werewolf T-shirts records garage sale events the other week was to get David to show her his Gorgo.

As you might imagine, after so much time and use, David's surviving Gorgo is not in great shape. Green and black slime appears to have oozed out of the packaging of his few remaining bars, then hardened again - I am not sure by what chemical process such things happen - and the wrap is quite wrinkly, making it hard to see the lime-green monster cartoon that graces it.

But here's the news: I am delighted to learn that David, in planning his move, has discovered an apparently mint-condition cache of Gorgo, wrapped and secreted away by his late Mom. So rooted in obscurity and lost in time is Gorgo that no other image of it can be found online; the above display was newly assembled  by David M., and marks the internet debut of the green Gorgo monster (who bears no resemblance to the prehistoric Godzilla-ripoff that is his apparent namesake). Yes, you saw it here first -- unless you're connected to the David M. or No Fun Facebook pages, in which case, you saw it there first.

Personally, I think, this calls for a No Fun reunion and Gorgo-thon, where a few of the remaining bars can be auctioned off to the highest bidder along with a limited edition CD of No Fun Gorgo spots. I would go to that. These may be some of the LAST REMAINING BARS OF GORGO IN THE WORLD - which is kinda appropriate, when you think of it, for a candy named after a movie about a resuscitated dinosaur. Surely there is someone out there who would pay big money for a bite of Gorgo again, even if it has been unrefrigerated and subject to untold chemical processes for twenty-odd years...?

Those unfamiliar with No Fun's Gorgo spots are directed to Youtube, for this clip.... There is a wealth of other No Fun material on Youtube now, though I have yet to stumble across another Gorgo ad... Pico singing a narcotized version of "Smoke On The Water" (while David plays "Sweet Jane," I think) is pretty special, though... I remember Pico...

For more, see "Gorgo Slumbers (and Awakens!)" on Facebook...

The continuing story o' John Furlong

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