Category Archives: Drew Greaves

The 10 Silent Film Actors You See at, like, EVERY Summer Music Festival

by Drew Greaves @Blackjfk
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Shep Houghton

The 102 year old Hougton, not to be confused with the Shep who stood in for Curly in The Three Stooges or Shep “Bird Dog” Hundley, the noted character actor of post-WWII “C” movies who often portrayed helpful immigrant Italian Ice vendors, can usually be found wandering around whatever iteration of the Silent Disco is set up making sure just such confusion is avoided. “Who am I?” “What in the hell are you kids dancing to with those earmuffs on your heads?” and “Do you know where I’m from?” this self-absorbed fuckwad prods incessantly. Yeah, we get it dude.  You’re THE Shep Houghton.  We’ve all seen Flying Down to Rio.  “Are you my nephew?” Jeesh, get a big head much?  We’re not ALL your nephew, buddy.

 

Dickie Moore

One would expect Moore, the 87 year old child star of 1932’s Oliver Twist, to be far less spry than he’s shown in his appearances at 11 of the summer’s 13 largest fests, but after a long battle with lupis/crone’s disease/torso cancer his regular physician recommended him to the renowned Dr. Argus Gomes, who specializes in the “fuck it they’re dying” philosophy of medicine and gave Moore access to an unlimited amount of prescription drugs.  Since that time Moore has hit the festival circuit, rebranding himself as Dickie the Drug Fairy, and festival goers have lived in constant fear of his prancing, emaciated frame skipping past and slipping an anonymous handful of pills into their $11 dollar beers, his terrifying, massively globular pupils making eye contact with their’s ever so briefly before he guffaws and disappears into a crowd.

 

The Hologram of Minnie Madern Fiske

LiveNation’s decision to have a digitally created version of the long deceased Maddern Fiske introduce Sigur Rós at last year’s BadWarlock!Fest was initially mocked after the hologram veered off script, announcing, “I’d like to welcome Sugar Rose to the stage.  They seem like very nice young men, but I really don’t get their music.  In my day we had simpler musicians who wrote songs people could sing along to, like Cole Porter and Irv.. ZAPBZZKRRRr1010001”, but after a reworking in which developers gave her Christina Hendricks’ holographic boobs and a pair of Warby Parker shades, the Tess Of The D’Urbervilles star has been a ubiquitous presence at this summer’s round of festivals, showing up on stage with everyone from Drake (“One time for the homie DJ Screw!”) to The Gaslight Anthem (“Let’s get ready to rock the fuck out! And don’t forget to pick up some of the refreshing new Mountain Dew Mauve after the show!”).

 

Lupita Tovar

She’s at The Shins show hollering that the CIA put a tracking device in her titanium shin replacements.  She’s at the Belle & Sebastian show asking if you knew that Belle was an undocumented immigrant and Sebastian was a close personal friend of Rachel Maddow.  She’s at the Sky Ferreira show wailing that the holocaust was a hoax. She’s – Hey! Goddamnit Dickie Moore! Fucker just sprinted by here and.. Fuck did he get my drink? Uh where was I, um right –  Not sure if it’s the three hits of acid she had for lunch or just standard decagenarian lashing out at a world that’s long since passed her by (it’s both, plus late stage dementia), but we’d all be a lot happier if you would just chiilllllllllllll (die).

 

Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle

There was a time when Fatty Arbuckle fandom was limited solely to hardcore comedy heads, who, going through their inevitable Bob Hope Stage, came across the story that Arbuckle gave Hope his initial break in the entertainment industry and dove headfirst into what they deemed to be “slapstick source material” or, in the parlance of the trade, “slourcestick”.  Sadly, this time has ended, with the full blown meme-ification of this stout silent film star making it impossible to show up to any summer music festival without running into at least a dozen people sporting t-shirts emblazoned with his headshot, hoping to affect the image of a cultural outsider much in the way that (often, the same) people pretended to “get” Kate Bush or be really into that Atoms for Peace album.  The proper response when encountering any one of these clowns is to ask, “Oh, you must have loved the ol’ Fatster in 1909’s Ben’s Kid, right?” to which they’ll respond, “Loved it.  Totally one of my top 5 Arbuckle faves” to which you’ll then rerespond “Ha! No existing copies of Ben’s Kid exist, obviously, as early film stock was chemically volatile and it was common for prints to be lost in fires or decompose in storage.  Fuck you.”

 

Rudolph Valentino’s Heavily Decayed Corpse

No one’s quite sure how the putrefied remains of this 1920’s sex symbol continually keep continuing to uh, appear, at the, the star of The Sheik and, hey! Is that you Drug Fairy?  You crazy son of a bitch get over here!  Refill?  Does the pope shit in the woods? The star of The Son of the Sheik and, well he’s dead. Like Duncan Sheik. Or The Iron..  He’s just, a corpse what were the blue ones were again? Glue ones… a CORPSE is HERE that’s FUCKED UP

 

Diana Serra “Baby Peggy” Cary

BAY-BE PEG-GY. BAY-BE PEG-GEE. BAYY-BEE.  PEEHHHH-GE. HOW CAN IT BE A BABY AND A PEGGY AT THE SAME TIME WHO MAKES THESE THINGS UP LIKE A HORRIFYING PERSON NAMED… PEGGY WHO IS ALSO …A GIANT BABY IN LIKE A BIB OOOO GODD O GODDD FUUUUUCK ME THIS BAND IS LIKE A WHOLE BAND OF GIANT BABIES AND HOW IS IT THAT BABIES AND OLD PEOPLE ARE BOTH SO WRINKLEY DO YOU THINK THEYRrrrrrr aa……………………….

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January 2013 Playlist

To conclude January, we have collectively put together a list of tracks that caught our attention this month.  We’ll probably do this monthly until we inevitably forget about this blog 6-8 months from now.

Here’s how this is going to work. All songs that hadn’t been added to Spotify will be embedded in this post for your listening pleasure.  Everything that I was able to find has been assembled on a playlist that can be found HERE

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This “The Black Brad Pitt” Video is Breakin’ All the Rules

It’s a well established fact that the best music videos are literal visual interpretations of the songs that they’re for.  Get in, shoot some stuff that you sing about in your song, get out, collect your VMA, as the the old saying goes.  Simple.  With that in mind, I could’t have been more pumped to see a new music video for some song with Danny Brown on it called “The Black Brad Pitt”.

 

Woah.

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Santigold Releases Perfect Music Video, All Other Music Video Directors Go Back to College to Be Accountants or Something

The song is called “Girls”.  The music video shows girls.  Lots of girls.  Of different ages, races, and probably shoe sizes.  Nothing but girls.  Singing the song “Girls”.  It really isn’t that hard to make perfect music videos guys.

How many of 2012’s “best” music videos can we now turn around and label as complete artistic failures?  Frank Ocean’s “Pyramids” had very few pyramids in it.  Those two awesome El-P videos were about a fucking puppet.

“Oh well our song is called ‘Dark River, Mango Skies’ and it’s about the gap that exists in the human soul between selfishness and love.  I was hoping to make a video that really explored those themes, and how Western culture can influence this dark type of desire that leaves you lost in that gap.  I was thinking high contrast light filters, shots in alleyways, masks, and..”  No.  Shut your fucking mouth.  Get a camera, film a muddy river, preferably at night, and, well I don’t know how you’d shoot footage of a mango sky, so maybe rename your song.  Either that or make a music video that just shows Aubrey Plaza walking around looking amazing.  But at least have the integrity to rename your song, “Aubrey Plaza Walks Around and Makes Me Want to Buy Her a Wedding Ring” (what?).

“Girls” was directed by the production group Weird Days, who have done work with groups like Das Racist, Real Estate, Lemonade, and Tanlines which I previously thought included some of my favorite music videos.  I now realize they were garbage, mere crumpled sheets of paper lying in a wastebasket, the sadly unaborted attempts of working to perfect an art form.

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Tell Us What You Really Think, Kevin Seifert; What is This Blog?

Hey, Matt Bailey, can I really just write anything I want on this blog? *Scrolls down* “The Top 5 Best Numbers”.. some obscure Four Tet thing… a short story about Big Boi.. a novella about trends in NBA hair styles.. Yep!  Totally coherent stream of content going on.  I give this blog seven Confused Hilljacks.

So, the Chicago Bears hired Marc Trestman as their head coach today, and Kevin Seifert, as ESPN’s NFC North Blogger, was forced to write things about it.  Mostly hilariously subtle insult type things.  Also, wildly opposing, hyperbolic prediction type things.  Let’s examine:

In the middle of a cold January night, the Chicago Bears hit a brilliant home run. Either that, or they struck out wildly.

Or possibly a single.  Or an infield fly.  Or maybe they’ll reach third on an error and a blown call by the third base umpire.  Why don’t we have replay for that in baseball yet?

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JUST GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY ROOM, BIG BOI!

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I’m sorry, look it’s been a long night, OK?  I’ve been at Jennifer’s and we got into this whole thing about –

No, this is tea.

Chamomile.

No, honestly I don’t really feel like sippin’ yak with you right now.

I just… do you ever wonder what it’s all for?  Like all these thoughts and emotions we have and just.. I mean.. what do you think our brains are made for, are they just –

What?  Great, that sounds great.  You did the “grossest, most beautifulest things on a bed of roses”. Well I’m glad you had a good time tonight. I wish I could say the same. Fucking Jennifer dude, I just don’t know what to do.  When we’re together it’s cinematic.  The lights dim, and it’s like we just fall into each other.  I’m starting to worry that it’s all just physical though, and I respect her to much to.. I mean what is a woman?  Just some fucking container for a child?

What?

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