Saturday, December 20, 2008


"I say nothing to no one. Nothing about what goes through my life, the anger, the wild movements of my body towards that dark, hidden word “pleasure.” I am modesty, I am silence itself. I say nothing. I express nothing. About what is important, nothing. It is there, unnamed, untouched.”

--Margurite Duras, undated journal

Monday, December 8, 2008


this afternoon i read this lester bangs piece about beefheart. there's a lot of deep shit in it, then, there's this:

My second encounter with Beefheart took place in late 1972 - he played Detroit, opening for The Kinks. It was an odd bill in the first place, and things weren't helped any when Ray Davies spiced up his campy patter by dedicating a song 'to Captain Beefheart - one of the best platers in the business'. 'What the hell does that mean?', growled Beefheart when I told him backstage. 'It's British slang,' I explained, 'it means you give blowjobs.'

For the rest of the night I had to listen to him intermittently rant about how he was going to murder Davies. It had been a warm re-union when I first entered the dressing room, although the concert itself was peculiar even by the Captain's standards, not so much for the content of his act as for the atmosphere in the room at the time. The crowd - probably 80 to 90% Kinks fans and / or aspiring glitterites - simply didn't know what to make of this strange Wolfman Jack type character shrouded in a cape which I thought really corny ('Yeah, I wore it to hide the fact that I had gotten fat,' he admitted to me recently). He was snarling and growling into the microphone while a bunch of guys dressed and made up like utter geeks played this incomprehensible, backwards, Chinese music.


you can read the whole thing here.