Few are in the class, charisma-wise, of The Steven PatrickMorrissey. The mononymous one, co-founder of TheSmiths, with guitarist JohnnyMarr, 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.”
Go ahead. Choose a realm, any realm. Ian’s not from there; he’s never taken up residence there, and, for that matter, spends precious little—if any—time there. Yes. It’s been proven.
The composer/vocalist of JoyDivision hails from some different locale than do most human beings. Ian’s lodgings come rent-free, and he’s been awarded the keys to The City.
We’re not talking about earth, which he departed many years ago, alas, in 1980. He certainly left his mark here on this planet, but his realm is, and has ever been, elsewhere.
The above constitutes a smattering of incredible live performances by this ensemble, mainly the 1980 iteration, which included guitar maestro Adrian Belew. David Byrne, it could be argued, virtually created “New Wave” {or *something*} with the inexplicable, unpinpointable, wondrous peregrinations of his vocals. Plus, the unusual “dancing”{or Nureyev/??-like movements}. Much more than an iconoclast, Byrne simply brought into the time/space continuum, things that were previously Noumenal, undefinable. An epoch-defining genius.
A few comments on our selections {NOT all of them!!}: Cities {1983, 1982, *and* 1980 versions} *might* be David Byrne’s high-water mark as an “umm, what???” vocalist. The Impossible writ upon a landscape. Pulled Up and Mind, at the very least, are looking uneasily over their shoulders. The “He’s come undone” staggerings/lurchings in Psycho Killer {1983} are also enough to keep one alive for several epochs; the 1979 Mudd Club version is electrifying, mystique-laden; ridiculously brilliant. Both versions of Drugs have an eerie, haunting element all of their own; Dollette McDonald and Adrian B contribute mightily. Crosseyed {all versions} is simply a collective singe-fest.
This masterful, stylish, dominant Swiss athlete, RogerFederer, has achieved such towering heights, in tennis, that he is generally considered the sport’s greatest ever practitioner. He has given many, many thrills over the years…with his nonpareil artistry and creativity; his indomitable will; his uncanny proclivity to produce his best when it matters most, when so many others wilt. Always so aware, so ready to seize command of the point. There’s just an extra gear/dimension to his game we’ve not seen before. An undeniable sense of synergy pervades his shotmaking. He has a unique way of taking time away from his opponent with his feet and timing. Winners from every court position flow from his racquet. His touch is exquisite. At his best, Roger’s game was—and, is—nothing short of poetry, the poetry of a genius…a slightly mad one, at that.
I’ll always recall my first viewing, against American Andy Roddick, in the 2003 Wimbledon semi-finals. His preternatural grace and *feel* for the game I simply found astonishing. Magical. When Federer closed out the second set with, really, something no one had seen—a running, forehand half-volley {usually a defensive shot} utterly whipped into the corner for an uncontested winner—both men had to smile. Commentator John McEnroe, quite capable of producing his *own* magic with a racket, was incredulous. “That’s not possible.”
On a personal note, I was fortunate enough to partake of the Great Man at very close quarters; a practice session. Being at such proximity to Mr. Federer would have to be included in one’s rather intimately scaled coterie of “Religious Experiences”. Plus, he also rather casually did something impossible. He’s like that.
The grace also masked an assassin-like ruthlessness that could torture opponents. NickKyrgios, the temperamental Australian star, has said that Federer is the only player who has ever made him feel like he really did not know what he was doing on a tennis court.
From the great RafaelNadal, on his immortal rival: “If he is playing very good, I have to play unbelievable. If not, it’s impossible, especially if he’s playing with good confidence. When he’s 100 per cent, he’s playing in another league. It’s impossible to stop him.”
A bit of existentialism. MartinRak accounts for the top three images; then Alper Çukor for the succeeding five. Michel Rajkovic has two more, Shane Lyman one, and the final three are unknown. Fittingly.
Noted flâneur, ombudsman, prose stylist, enigmatic recluse, photographer, and soi-disant “Towering genius” Matt Leahy is doing something, something the inner (or outer) machinations of which we can only, well, sit drooling in slack-jawed bamboozlement. At. Yes, “at”. For starters.Call him {me}… Ἀρχίλοχος .
JoeMontana, arguably the greatest quarterback to ever play the game (certainly Tom Brady and Johnny Unitas are in the conversation) (with apologies to Steve DeBerg), is shown here with footage of one of his greatest feats/moments: The Drive to win Super Bowl XXIII. The legendary Genius, BillWalsh, was coaching his final game, which upped the ante, even for a championship contest. There was no room for error. With ever-so-calm, surgical precision, and poetic nuance, The Great One made it happen, as was seemingly preordained by “Heaven Gods”, as commentator (from the “other” Football) Ray Hudson might proclaim. Announcer LonSimmons, one of the best, is featured (!).
Other highlights, including The Catch, are also featured.
Bideodromage 