Bideodromage
Marlon Brando and David Thewlis engage in a mostly courteous exchange of ideas, and find said ideas to be at loggerheads. Various snouts, hooves, and outrageous spectacles are discussed. From The Island of Dr. Moreau, 1996. Both actors are at the pinnacle of their craft.
Led Zeppelin, with eight scintillating live performances. Page, Plant, Bonham and Jones are all in top form. Plant, as always, is as powerful, beguiling, and inventive a lead vocalist as any that exists on this planet, and both Page and Bonham demonstrate why they are legends.
Prime iterations of It-Ness. Dept. of The Communities.
A modest collection of brilliant live performances by Mr. David Bowie, with some studio tracks, plus a wondrous, pared-down demo thrown in for good measure. The constantly auto-reinventing, quasi-androgynous David Robert Jones pioneered his way through the music world, leaving the landscape forever altered—with new worlds and vistas previously undream’t of—in his wake.
In Barry’s prime, he was simply impossible to pitch to, as his almost absurd walk totals indicate. 232 bases on balls in one season. When he did on the rare occasion get a ball to hit, he very rarely missed it.
Bonds really had no weaknesses as a batter. He is certainly the top hitter I’ve ever witnessed, with a compact, lethal swing that had no holes. He actually slugged .863 one season, a record that will never even be approached, in all likelihood. Only Ted Williams and Babe Ruth compare.
Indelible, electrifying performances from giants of the art: Adrian Belew, Robert Fripp, Terry Kath, Jimi Hendrix, Jeff Beck, Allan Holdsworth, John McLaughlin, and Pat Martino.
Dwight Yoakam can simply do the impossible with his voice. See North to Alaska, among many others, for evidence. He steps into the very large shoes of legend Johnny Horton, and…whoa. A transcendent, jaw-dropping, awe-inducing performance. And, the same can be said of his live 2013 reading of the Red Simpson-penned Close Up The Honky Tonks. Even a young, inexperienced Yoakam—in his 1985 performance above, he shyly asks the audience if they like the show—kills it. A not-many-times-in-an-epoch talent.
Few are in the class, charisma-wise, of The Steven Patrick Morrissey. The mononymous one, co-founder of The Smiths, with guitarist Johnny Marr, ventured out on his own, diary in hand, to great fanfare in 1987. As it turns out, he did rather well.
To quote the great man: “I don’t recognise such terms as heterosexuality, homosexuality, bisexuality, and I think it’s important that there’s someone in pop music who’s like that. These words do great damage, they confuse people and they make people feel unhappy, so I want to do away with them.”
In a 1989 interview, he said that he was “always attracted to men and women who were never attracted to me” and thus he did not have “relationships at all”. In 2013, he released a statement that said, “Unfortunately, I am not homosexual. In technical fact, I am humasexual. I am attracted to humans. But, of course . . . not many.”
The Clash formed in 1976, led by the charismatic/titanically intense vocalist/guitarist/composer Joe Strummer. The group cut a swath through the burgeoning punk rock scene, with furiously kinetic performances that whipped all and sundry into a frenzy. World domination quickly ensued.
Let ∰ = “The High Priest of quasi-androgynous Synth-Pop/Electronica, the Impassive Alien Deity, The Gary Numan.” What heretofore had been used to calculate Flux Densities, and whatnot, now is more—much more—much, much more.
He created aural landscapes which allowed access to the unfathomable. His performances have been described in so many ways. Strikingly “robotic”. Otherworldly. Mesmerizing. And moreover, there’s an unease, a disquiet, accompanying his trenchant intelligence; a wariness. Aware of a certain danger we cannot grasp. The ritual held out in the open, hauntingly obvious, yet impenetrable. A language we’ve forgotten; mind-argot beyond our ken.
Bideodromage 