PAGE 4 - N.C. ESSAY
Alice Cooper: “Eighteen” sung with Drag- Queen Bravado.
Rocknroll
Beefheart, Alice and The Ig "*//
Safe As Milk (Buddah);
Strictly Personal (Blue Thumb);
Trout Mask Replica (Straight);
Lick My Decals Off, Baby
Straight) Mirror Man (Buddah) -
- Captain Beefheart & his Magic
Band.
Pretties For You; Easy Action;
Love It To Death (Straight) -
Alice Cooper.
The Stooges; Fun House
(Elektra) - Iggy Pop & The
Stooges.
“The only performance that
really makes it, makes it all the
way, is that which achieves
madness.” - Tiu'ner, in the film
“Performance”.
If you’re one of those old-time
rock ‘n’ rollies, you may recall a
song from the early Sixties (or
late Fifties) called “Surfin’
Bird,” by the infamous Trash-
men. Although not considered an
artistic or aesthetic classic, it is
one of the more instantly
memorable “Moldie Oldies” to
cross the airwaves. “Surfin’
Brid” is a crazy song, a wildly
bizarre song, a song that, unlike
so many from that same period,
is immediately recognizable and
distinct, if only because it is so
grossly unusual.
Few rock and roll records have
ever had as insane a personna
(yes, rock records do have
personnas) as this one. “Surfin’
Bird” didn’t talk about high-
school and the prom, or teen
angels and railroads, or hound
dogs or Venus (in bluejeans);
“Surfin’Bird” was direct, to the
point, the medium definetly being
the message: “A-well-a
everybody’s heard about the
bird-iird bird-bird. The bird’s the
word - A-well-a bird bird bird.”
And of course, the chorus:
“PAPA-OOMA-OOMA-OOMA-
OOMA-OOMA-MA-MOW.” Who
were we to dispute that?
Iggy and Alice
I’m not altogether certain why
I dig the above-mentioned
records. Two years ago, in the
midst of my Byrds-Sweetheart of
the Rodeo period, I would have
scoffed at, no banished the likes
of Iggy Pop and Alice Cooper
from earsight. Now, I find their
music interesting, amusing and
essential. Maybe it’s the world
we live in.
Films
First things first: the five
Captain Beefheart Ips listed
constitute the major body of work
by one of America’s most
creative, perceptive and un
balanced rock musicians, Don
Van Vliet (alias Captain
Beefheart). His music is an
unreal combination of
Mississippi delta blues, rock and
roU, and Third World Jazz, all
mixed up, assimiliated, and
equalling one mind-blowing
brand of musical dadism
(almost). From Safe As Milk
through Lick My Decals Off,
Baby, (and then picking up with
the recently released Mirror
Man), Beefteart and his band
display an amazing unawareness
of trends and fads in music and
an incredible improvisational
ability. They play free, un-
pretensious music that flows out
with a sense of wit and in
ventiveness that is so natural and
honest that it seems totally sub
conscious.
On Trout Mask Replica
especially, Beefheart’s organic
comedy reaches classic
proportions. The double-album is
hlled with songs, half-songs and
non-songs that defy description.
They are flashes of insanity,
word games and incongrous
incidents, which blaze past us
and are gone - leaving us
speechless and not a little
disoriented.
Some people can’t listen to
Beefheart. At first, he does sound
offensive. But don’t give up until
you’ve really listened and don’t
listen until you’ve really given
up. And remember, Bob Dylan
sounded like a drunken cowhand
the first time around (and
wonderfully, he still does).
Alice Cooper is-are one of
Frank Zappa’s finds. Alice
Cooper is a man, the lead singer.
Alice'Cooper used to kill (real,
live) chickens on stage. That was
a drag and so was the group’s
first Ip.
But Easy Action is more
tolerable (listenable). It even has
a nice bit where the boys in the
band do a little “West Side Story”
riff . . . hence, “Easy Action.”
Not a bad Ip at all.
Drag-Queen Bravado
Love It To Death is a kiUer.
Included, of course, is that lovely
Wuthering Heights
The task of making a motion
picture of WUTHERING
HEIGHTS is depressingly for
midable. Emily Bronte’s classic
novel of moorland passions
contains so much plot material
that a comprehensive treatment
would certainly require much
more running time than would
seem practical.
The new American-Internation
version of WUTHERING
HEIGHTS seals the story off
about halfway with a trumped-up
Hollywood ending. I suppose this
is the fault of screenplay’s
author, Patrick Tilley. Too bad
Tilley did not redeem himself
with better dialogue and stronger
construction of the adapted plot.
But the main blame should be
placed on the fibn’s director who
failed in evoking what
WUTHERING HEIGHTS is all
about. There is a lot of emotion in
the story but the direction is so
surfacy as to render it un
convincing. The character of
Heathcliff (poorly played by
Timothy Dalton) does not
dominate the picture. He just
snarls and looks ominous and
throws women around. On the
other hand, Anna Calder-
Marshall as Cathy offers a well-
rounded characterization. Her
superb performance gives a fine
representation of the Bronte
“Metallo, Ten-
Cent Monster”
by Jon Thompson
It is becoming unnecessarily
impossible to purchase anything
from the vending machines in the
Commons Building. Those nine
automated bunko artists are
rapidly learning how to ‘bilk the
customer’ and have been
anxiously practicing this skill on
every and anyone gullible enough
to fall for their innocent gleaming
exteriors.
Doubtless there isn’t a student
on campus who hasn’t lost some
money to those fiendish con
traptions. Naturally! A person
has more chance of getting the
jackpot off a one-armed bandit
than he has of receiving a carton
of milk from that hulking metal
blob. Lately, the trapdoor on the
‘Dairyland Delight’ machine (or
whatever it’s called) was broken
opus “Eighteen” (“ . . . and I
LIKE it, LOVE it”), sung with all
kinds of drag-queen bravado by
Alice itself and super-punk rock
and roll backup. The Ip is far
better than an)Hhing the group
ever imagined it could do (they
came along with the first wave of
psychedelia), and by con
temporary standards, it’s some
of the best rock being played.
And finally, we have Ig^ . . .
Iggy Pop, that is, the darling boy
himself. The Stooges are a
frightfully heavy band who jus’
wanna sock it to ya . . . relen
tlessly. The Ig screams and wails
and cries and moans and carries
on so and he’s just so Oh My, I
can’t begin to tell ya. Critics have
ripped the Stooges apart, calling
them ‘loathesome,’ ‘disgusting’
and ‘perverted,’ which they are.
But they also play that good old
rock and roll with the same
frenzied lunatic spirit that made
“Surfin’ Bird” the ah, . . . in
teresting, experience it was.
Oh My!
The Stooges is good, hard rock,
with an absolutely brilliant
production job by John Cale. Fun
House strikes with the power of a
bullet square in the gut. The kind
of music that drives you to the
brink of . . .
Oh My! What a far-out record!
Perhaps it’s unfair to link these
groups together. But it’s the
spirit of the music they play
which is the issue at hand, not the
fact that Beefheart is sooo weird,
or that Alice kills chickens, or
that Iggy is sooo Oh My! These
groups play loud, explosive rock
and roll (a mite unusual). They
play it as freely and as openly as
anyone ever did and I think that’s
healthy.
These are indeed strange
times. Maybe it’s the nature of
the world that makes this stuff
appealling; maybe it’s the nature
of where rock has been and is
going. But when you think about
it, isn’t “Eighteen,” no matter
how much it might quiver your
backbone, just about the most
provocative, interesting song on
AM radio since “Surfin’ Bird.”
Don’t ya just wanna ... when ya
hear it? I mean, doesn’t Alice
Cooper sound just so ... Oh My!
by Alexander March
original and she certainly looks
the part of Cathy. Aside from a
couple of small supporting
players, the other acting is of no
importance.
WUTHERING HEIGHTS has a
slick music score and fair
camera work, (although the
lighting is the best I’ve seen in a
color film for a long time).
All in all, not a complete bomb
(especially when one considers
what they COULD have done to
it). I am anxious to view other
American-International
“Classics” which will include A
TALE OF TWO CITIES, THE
SCARLET LETTER, THE
HOUSE OF THE 7 GABLES, and
LES MISERABLES.
off and the bastard was laid to
rest. But he wasn’t the only of
fender. His brothers in sin ‘The
Coke Machine’ and the ‘Candy
Dispenser’ are also vicious
thieves in their own way. Each
has a cheap trick that works time
and time again. The Coke
Machine will refuse over and
over to take a coin, thus driving a
potential customer to the very
brink of hysteria. Then, without
warning, it will swallow up the
quarter or dime and sit happily
content as the maddended pur-
chasee pounds the selection
buttons to no avail and collapses
in a sobbing heap.
The Candy Dispenser has its
own tricks. It mixes up the
selections. If a ‘Fudgy Bar’ is
ordered, a Peanut Butter Cup is
delievered. A desire for an
‘Almond Stick’ brings forth a
Marshmallow Block (I have
never met anyone with a craving
for an Almond Stick satisfied by a
Marshmallow Block!)
Whatever horrible force is
controlling these demons of steel,
whoever brought the armor
plated terrors into existence, I
hope he’s satisfied . . . (click)
satisfied (cUckj Mt^^^^^ . . .
Continued From Page 2
He was vaccinated with a
gramophone needle, said Jenny.
The nurse turned to Dardin,
and handed him a book.
Thinking that you are are
Catholic, Father Reece
suggested that I give you this. It’s
a freasury of devotion.
On the outside, said Dardin,
and it’s FOREVER AMBER on
the inside. Have you got any
swinging drugs?
Jenny left. The nurse showed
her out.
Look after her, said Dardin to
Klein as he got up, look after her.
She’s ill...very, very ill. I’ll be out
in the morning. Are they asking
for me in the park?
What was the mental-pen like?
asked Lomas when Klein came
back to Jason’s after his visit
wito Dardin.
No different from any other
place, said Klein. No different
from schools, police stations,
prisons...nomalacy on its uppers.
- Lomas stared into his gLass.
They all lie at the end of one
grimy definition. But why did
they put Dardin in there?
Because he likes going there,
said Clapp.
But they don’t know that, said
Lomas. They put you in the
madhouse under a twenty-eight
day observation order to test
your awareness of reality, only
they call it a hospital to suggest
that some corner of reality has
been captured for it and...
Ah, shut up. He enjoyed the
place, said Freddie Klein. It’s
material for the park.
Lomas turned to Clapp.
What did they say to him in
there? Clapp asked.
They said that if he went on
with his drugs he’d overtax his
metabolism and his brain cells
would burn out.
There you see, said Clapp.
They were only trying to help
him.
What did he do all the time he
was in there? said Lomas.
He made jokes, said Klein, but
he did do a piece of writing,
“Dust to Dust.” I have it with me
somewhere...
Read it for us, said Lomas
getting up (for Jason’s was
getting ready to plose).
Here it is. He wrote it in the
Occupational Therapy room.
“Dust to Dust,” by Bobby Dar
din.
“The street of silent night re
echoed its longing for quiet.
These people who live with death
and not life, die before learning
how to live. And a man kissed a
girl and stopped because of me.
(I would not have stopped for
him.) The girl smiled knowingly.
And they passed on and were
swallow^ in the roar of one of
the numerous midnight mad
motor cycles. And still the
maddening roar denied my street
the sleep it was due. My longing
for food made me energetic and
lent wings to my flattering feet.
As my nothingness became all
things, the vibrations grew less
and less frequent; the street
began to doze in a peaceful
repose. For the day had been long
and the foot steps many. Now I
had become the street, and
because I worried, the worries of
the street were transferred lo
me. For I, the street, a man-
made thing of burnt muck, am
made of dust like you. And the
street was made to uplift man
while it remains downtrodden.
Then, if all things be made of
dust, pray then who are you, to
tell a man who is the street, what
he must and must not do?”
The last part of it rhymes, said
Klein when he had finished
reading it.
Yes, said Lomas. Yes...in
teresting... There is a secret
Dardin that we don’t see in the
park.
To Be Continued
D. & P. Cont’d From P. 1
directives were issued after
nearly two full weeks of
rehearsals.
There are, obviously, many
more sides to this story, with far
more detail than could be
remembered or printed.
But what is really at stake
here? Not just a production of
“Uncle Vanya,” not just a much-
needed “lay-it-on-the-line”
statement from the D & P Dept.,
but in actuality, the very quality
and caliber of this institution.
The differences in the
disagreements between Pollock
and Boys are difficult. Both take
positions that are un
derstandable, if not likeable.
In conversations with Pollock,
it seems that he feels that Boys
isn’t facing the realities of the
situation, that he is being an
idealist when the facts call for
absolute realism.
Censorship
Boys agrees that he is being an
idea^t. But, he argues, that
because of this situation - and
who imposed the situation is at
the present not important - he
has had enforced upon him a kind
of artistic censorship. In his first
answer to Pollock, he wrote:
“But - when the ‘criteria’ laid
down in such an arbitrary
manner in and of themselves
militate against the creativity of
the artist, the intentions of the
playwright and the needs of the
students, I must protest in the
strongest terms against what
amounts to no less an evil than
creative censorship.”
And Boys further feels that
Pollock is, in fact, not being a
realist when he refuses to see the
situation of the Drama Dept, and
the school for what it is.
His arguments are not so much
against the realities (or prac
ticalities of the moment) as they
are against an institution that
continues to call itself a training
ground for professionals in the
face of what, in his opinion, is
staggering evidence to the
contrary. What Boys asks for -
and really what all of us are
asking for - is a better situation,
the kind of situation where this
kind of petty nonsense would not
be allowed to interfere with the
process of creation.
The point is, however, that both
men state points which should be
well taken. We can’t dismiss
facts, nor can we go on preten
ding. And worse, we cannot
promise a level of competence
and deliver something far less.
But hopefully, something
positive will come out of this.
Hopefully, those who, need to
know wiU finally be made aware
of the dangerous direction this
school is taking. And hopefully,
perhaps we will all finally learn
the real reality: that great and
long distance between glittering
product and that which has
substance.