Peace, Love & All That Good Stuff
As we celebrate Sgt. Pepper's 50th anniversary, here are just a few of the circumstances that led to The Beatles’ most lauded achievement.
The 1960s was a fascinating decade. It’s where all the most lasting modern fixtures in both popular and underground culture were set. This is where we got the free-spirited, free-wheeling, rowdy, c…
dear sprouts 🌱 many people ask if they can get a tattoo based on my art. you can give me $15 ( or more, I will be very happy :D ) and get a tattoo with art! thank you very much for your support and interest https://t.co/rByvQB7Lt2
Break The System By Creating Something New By Countercurrents 02 April, 2014 Countercurrents.org https://twitter.com/OccupyWallSt/status/450003900645789696/photo/1
Anti-war protesters in San Francisco, November 16, 1969. Taken from a new exhibition, ‘The Sixties: Photographs by Robert Altman’, which can be seen at London’s Idea Generation Gallery, July 16-August 29, 2008. Jimi Hendrix with Michelle Phillips and ‘Mama’ Cass Elliot of The Mamas And Papas. Contrary to popular myth, Cass did not […]
Not having been a huge fan of the original stage production of Hair (Gerome Ragni, James Rado, and Galt MacDermot’s legendary “American Tribal Love - Rock Musical”), I think I’m one of the few to find Milos Forman’s screen adaptation—which deviates significantly from the source material in that it actually has a plot—to be a flawed but vastly superior improvement upon the original. The music was always great, but only the movie version got me to care about who was doing the singing. Evolved from the free-form, counterculture, guerrilla theater experience taking place on college campuses across the country in the late '60s, Hair debuted on Broadway to great acclaim and much brouhaha in 1968 (nudity, swearing, hippies…on Broadway?) almost a year after 1967s so-called "Summer of Love" signaled both the pinnacle and simultaneous pop-cultural co-opting of the hippie/flower-child movement. Yet, much like A Chorus Line, Hair, when viewed today, is one of those Broadways shows whose reputation as a groundbreaking cultural phenomenon may be a little hard to fully comprehend. As a 10 year-old living in San Francisco’s Haight St. district in 1968, I was too young to have been a participant in the whole Flower Power scene, but when it came to bearing witness to all the social and political changes afoot, I have to say I had the best seat in the house. Even then it was odd to think of one's neighborhood as the hub of a "movement" the entire nation was talking about. Mostly I remember the poster stores, the head-shops, the buttons with slogans, the streets full of panhandling hippies, and vibrant color everywhere...especially in the clothing. (Sartorially speaking, the hippie movement hit my older sister pretty hard. Once recognizable by her Catholic School uniform, virtually overnight, sandals, love-beads, headbands, tie-dyed tops, and tinted granny-glasses became her standard mode of dress. It was like a Timothy Leary reversal of The Stepford Wives.) Ren Woods (Sparkle, Xanadu) sings the hell out of "Aquarius" in the film's visually explosive opening sequence. Never fully the blissed-out, flowers & freedom era depicted by the nostalgia-prone, I recall the late '60s as a time undeniably colorful and charged with a kind of “winds of change” electricity (each day brought something new in fashion, language, ideologies, music), yet also a time seriously untethered and terrifying. I’ll always remember how confounding it was to be surrounded by so much talk of peace and love while the TV filled my head with nightmare images of Vietnam, the Zodiac Killer, assassinations, riots, and Anton LaVey’s Church of Satan. I suspect the hopeful message proffered by Hair's anti-war themes struck a chord with a disheartened America favoring the promise of a Utopian “Age of Aquarius” over what seemed to be the existing dark specter of Barry McGuire's “Eve of Destruction.” Treat Williams as George Berger John Savage as Claude Hooper Bukowski Beverly D'Angelo as Shelia Franklin Annie Golden as Jeannie Ryan Dorsey Wright as Layfayette (Hud) Johnson Don Dacus as Woof Daschund Had Hair been granted a film adaptation back in the late '60s or early '70s - when Hollywood awkwardly courted the youth market by green-lighting any and every druggy, nonsensical, counter-culture script that came along (Skidoo; Head; Alex in Wonderland; Angel, Angel,Down We Go); there’s a good chance the show’s somewhat meandering free-form structure would have reached the screen intact. Mercifully for me, the passage of ten years and one flop 1977 revival contributed to the perception of Hair as a timepiece too dated for unaltered big-screen transitioning. This precipitated the enlistment of playwright Michael Weller (Moonchildren) to fashion an honest-to-god storyline around Hair’s marvelous score of songs, and, in lieu of the then-requisite bearded twenty-something fresh out of film school to helm the project, we have Oscar-winning director Milos Forman (One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest), a man who was actually making films about '60s youths in the 60s (his 1971 comedy Taking Off is a favorite). Certainly in the late '70s the climate for Hair was right, what with the proliferation of films being released dealing with the '60s and the Vietnam War: Coming Home (1978), The Deer Hunter (1978), and Apocalypse Now (1979). If one goes into Milos Forman’s Hair with any expectation of the film being a faithful adaptation of the Broadway show, watching the movie is likely to be a disappointing experience. The order of the songs has been rearranged, their intent altered, and many of songs are sung by totally different characters. I think the best and most rewarding way to view the film is to look at is as a completely different animal; an artistic expression unique unto itself. Where the play invited us “outsiders” into the world of the hippie tribe onstage, getting to know them through vignettes and pantomimes draped over a thin schematic structure. Foreman’s film maintains the perspective of the outsider and tells the story of Claude Hooper Bukowski (Savage), a naïve Oklahoma farm boy let loose in Manhattan for two days prior to his induction into the army. Depicted as an innocent adrift in a strange land, Claude is taken under the wing of a small band of hippies (their unofficial leader, Berger [Williams] first seen burning his draft card) and introduced to drugs, the girl of his dreams, and, most likely, the most fun he’s ever had. Forman and Weller fashion a very entertaining and ultimately moving film out of what could have been just a timepiece jukebox musical. The film maintains the play's irreverent tone and captures rather well the generation gap conflicts and authority figure clashes that exemplified the era, but (and this is a big plus for me) never resorts to the kind of ageist oversimplification of that whole "don't trust anyone over 30" sensibility. Forman's Hair has an originality that far surpasses most adapted screen musicals, and a powerful and sensitively rendered final act that gets to me each and every time. I Got Life Berger (Williams) disrupts a dinner party to the consternation of all but an admiring Charlotte Rae (seated, dressed in pink). WHAT I LOVE ABOUT THIS FILM The experience of seeing a film based on a musical you’re very familiar with can be like going over a check list. You find yourself subconsciously keeping tally of how the film measures up to what you are already know. Hair destroys all of that from the first frame. It’s one of the most ceaselessly surprising musical adaptations I’ve ever seen. Whether structurally, musically, or visually, Hair consistently goes in directions different from where you think it’s headed. Just as things seem as if they will remain rooted in realism (the film makes great use of Manhattan locations), up pops a surreal or stylized sequence that totally blows you away. And the effect is exhilarating and exciting. All of a sudden the old feels brand new and you’re actually listening and watching, not comparing. In one of Hair's more charming examples of an unexpected twist; an anticipated violent confrontation between loitering hippies and mounted police turns into a challenge dance routine. PERFORMANCES In populating his cast with relative newcomers to film (Savage, Williams, D’Angelo) and those making their screen debut (Dacus, Golden, Cheryl Barnes) Milos Forman succeeds in bringing a kind of ragged freshness to the film that’s perfect for the material. The more experienced do most of the heavy lifting, although newcomer Annie Golden is surprisingly good and a standout in her scenes. John Savage, fresh from The Deer Hunter, sidesteps the obvious clichés and makes his more reactive character into someone a great deal more dimensional than I would have expected possible. Treat Williams, saddled with an unfortunate wig, does the impossible by making an otherwise insufferably smug character into someone sympathetic and likeable. I think perhaps I’m fondest though of Beverly D’Angelo who is always such an offbeat and fascinating comedienne. I always wondered how Robert Altman ever passed her up. She seemed tailor-made for his ensemble pieces. Making her film debut, Cheryl Barnes walked away with unanimous raves for her searing rendition of "Easy to Be Hard." THE STUFF OF FANTASY Of all the numerous delights and surprises in Hair, the film’s one true inspired stroke of genius was in getting Twyla Tharp to do the choreography. An unassailable talent and legend in the world of dance, I’ve never cared for her work either before or since; but here, with her loose-limbed, eccentric, wholly stylized flailings evocatively capturing the look (and, more importantly, the feel) of the era…her work is beyond perfect. Nothing else would have worked. Not jazz, not literal recreations of dances of the era. Tharp's choreography (and whomever was responsible for the clever staging and some of the witty visual concepts) are ideally suited. Ellen Foley(above center) sings the virtues of "Black Boys" while below, Charlayne Woodard, Nell Carter (center), and Trudy Perkins give equal time to "White Boys." The surprise twist given this number is hilariously ingenious and thoroughly audacious. Melba Moore and Ronnie Dyson (members of the original Broadway cast of Hair) perform "3-5-0-0" at an anti-war demonstration staged in front of the Washington Monument. Frequently, musicals have trouble sustaining their momentum through the third act, but Hair is one of the few movie musicals that come to mind that lack any downtime. It's extremely well paced and never lags for me. Even after multiple viewings. For every sequence of note I've mentioned, there are about three others that I don't have room to go into. Suffice it to say that the "Hare Krishna" number is one of those "worth the price of admission" sequences, and that it's more fun to discover the myriad actor cameos and conceptual surprises on your own. THE STUFF OF DREAMS The highest compliment I can pay Milos Forman's adaptation of Hair is that he has succeeded in excising virtually everything I never cared for in the play (chiefly its morally superior proselytizing and romanticizing of the young) and created a film of considerable heart and maturity. More even-handed than the theatrical production, I find in Forman's version of Hair to be a film that sees the past with a clarity born of distance. Sentimental, yes. Idealistic, yes. But the one thing it isn't is nostalgic. I like how it looks at the '60s: it holds both hippies and the Establishment to task, yet still finds it to be an era of optimism and hope. THE AUTOGRAPH FILES Nell Carter - 1980 Copyright © Ken Anderson
Bei allem Verständnis für die Aufregung über die jüngsten Vorkommnisse in der Bundeswehr, der unseligen Flüchtlingsdebatten, dem blinden Polit-Aktionismus, die Zerrissenheit in unserer Gesellschaft wird immer spürbarer. Breite Bevölkerungsschichten fühlen seit langem, dass es in dieser Republik an allen Ecken und Enden brodelt, sich Unzufriedenheit ausbreitet und manchmal auch hochkocht. Die derzeitige Flüchtlingspolitik, unübersehbare Ungerechtigkeiten und Terrorismusgefahren prallen mit voller Wucht mit den derzeitig wahlbesoffenen Politikern und ihren öffentlichen Grabenkämpfen zusammen. Machterhalt statt Arbeit, Siegerposen statt Aufgabenbewältigung. Niemand spricht die eigentlichen Ursachen an, sie sind auch nicht für jeden so offensichtlich. Der über Jahrzehnte anhaltende politische und gesellschaftliche Wandel nahm in der 68er Generation Fahrt auf, dessen Ergebnis man überall in unserer Republik ablesen kann. Wollte man Bilanz ziehen, müsste man das bürgerliche Selbstbewusstsein verbunden mit den uns zugeschriebenen, typisch deutschen Tugenden mit finnischen Polarnächten vergleichen. Tiefe Dunkelheit und ganz wenig Licht… Der massive Wertewandel während dieser Zeit zwingt uns die Frage auf: Wie konnte es beispielsweise dazu kommen, dass sich unbemerkt eine kleine Terrorzelle bei der Bundeswehr bilden konnte? Man braucht keinen analytischen Verstand, um die tatsächlichen Gründe nachzuvollziehen, es sind lediglich ein paar lebhafte Synapsen notwendig. Die Nachkriegsgeneration und insbesondere die damals politisch Verantwortlichen haben nachhaltig dafür gesorgt, Bürgern einen kollektiven Verhaltens- und Bewusstseinskodex zu oktroyieren, die sich in der Wurzel auf die deutsche Nazi-Vergangenheit bezieht. Die mentale Demutshaltung hat sich zur gesellschaftlichen Neurose entwickelt und zu einer Vernebelung der eigenen Identität geführt. Ihre Nachfolger übernahmen die Umerziehung, meist gekoppelt mit hohen Ämtern und schwindelerregenden Rentenversorgungen, während sich die 68er-Generation vorwiegend mit Liebe, Lust und Flower-Power beschäftigte. Dreißig Jahre später sind diese schmerzbefreiten Steinewerfer und Kriegsdienstverweigerer zu Meinungsbildnern, Politiker und Medienschaffenden mutiert, die mit Verve, Sprache und Duktus eine geradezu unterwürfige Haltung zur Vergangenheit predigen, mit der sie selbst nie etwas zu tun hatten. Fleißig biedern sie sich überall dort an, wo es nützlich oder opportun erscheint. Ich erspare mir die Namen. Selbst von unseren Kindern, die erst viele Jahre nach dem Krieg geboren wurden und mit Nationalsozialismus, Rassenpolitik rein gar nichts zu tun hatten, wird immer noch erwartet, dass sie ihre „geschichtliche Schuld“ wie eine Monstranz vor sich hertragen. Dem nationalen Selbstbewusstsein, was in soziologischer wie auch psychologischer Hinsicht für jeden Bürger eines x-beliebigen Staates „normal“ ist, wurde systematisch der Garaus gemacht, obwohl es längst Zeit ist, sich mit gesundem und auch stolzem Selbstverständnis auf einen Staat zu besinnen, der durch die Arbeit und das Engagement seiner Bürger eine bemerkenswerte Stellung auf der Welt eingenommen hat. Rein vorsorglich sei an dieser Stelle gesagt, dass kein Mensch vergangene Verbrechen bestreitet oder gar verleugnet. Im Gegenteil. Die fatalen Folgen des jahrzehntelangen Erziehungsprozesses einer ganzen Gesellschaft jedoch drücken sich in schizophrenen, angepassten Verhaltensweisen und widersprüchlichen Lebenseinstellungen aus. Insbesondere in Sprache, Habitus und Wortwahl. Meinungen werden nur noch geäußert, wenn sie in unserem heutigen sozial erwünschten Kontext stehen, ansonsten droht verbale Prügel, manchmal auch die Knute der Justiz. Begriffe wie Nationalstolz, Korpsgeist, Vaterland, Patriotismus stehen auf dem sprachlichen Index, Termini, die im Selbstverständnis einer Gesellschaft, und noch stärker in jeder Armee vorhanden sein müssen. Verwendung jener Vokabeln dieser Art werden reflexartig als „braunes Gefasel“ stigmatisiert. In meiner Heimat lächeln wir über die gut erzogenen Kriecher auf der anderen Seite der Alpen. In Italien, Frankreich, England oder anderswo weiß man, gerade Soldaten müssen Verteidigunsmotivation aus ihrem Selbstverständnis beziehen, die eine weich gespülte, deutsche Gesellschaft ihrer eigenen Armee nicht bietet. Das hat Frau von der Leyen offenkundig vergessen. Die Bundeswehr braucht positive Anerkennung bei den eigenen Bürgern, um mit innerer Überzeugung, Einsatzwillen und gefestigter Geisteshaltung ihren Dienst am Vaterland zu versehen. Wehe dem, der negativ belegte, bzw. verpönte Begriffe wie Heimatstolz oder Patriotismus öffentlich verwendet. Er wird als „Nazi“ abgestempelt, und das von Menschen, die in der Regel weder den Begriff, noch den Sinngehalt definieren könnten. Die weniger Schlauen, und die sind in der Mehrheit, lassen sich von der so genannten Obrigkeit mit dümmlichen und pseudo-kompetenten Argumenten in den Schlaf wiegen. Stattdessen werden wir auch 70 Jahre nach Kriegsende mit einer glatt gebügelten, öffentlichen Geisteshaltung konfrontiert, aus der mehr und mehr Menschen ausbrechen. Viele still und leise, manche mutiger und offen. Doch die Flüchtlingskrise hat dafür gesorgt, dass latent schwelender Unmut nun offen ausbricht. Es ist evident, die verantwortlichen Politiker haben sich eine herrschende Klasse herangezogen, die gefräßig, faul, rücksichtslos, ausbeuterisch und gierig ist. Heute verteidigen sie in Regierungsämtern - mit weitgehender Inkompetenz - ihre Pfründe, zumal man ihnen einen bequemen Platz am Futtertrog eingerichtet hat. Die große Mehrheit gehört leider zur dominierten Klasse, duckmäuserisch, feige und ohne jede Lust, selbst Verantwortung zu übernehmen. Solange das Einfamilienhaus abbezahlt und die Raten fürs neue Auto beglichen werden können, ist alles in bester Ordnung, man hält den Mund und denkt nicht nach. Murrend und tatenlos ertragen wir die offenen Grenzen unserer Kanzlerin, verärgert nimmt man die Nestbeschmutzerin Frau von der Leyen in Kauf, wütend verfolgen wir sinnbefreite Talkshows von Maischberger und Konsorten und nahezu ohnmächtig nimmt man zu Kenntnis, dass die Kriminalität in den letzten drei Jahren signifikant gestiegen ist. Einzeltäter, wie wir inzwischen gelernt haben. Nun ja, wie sage ich immer: Manchen Redaktionen und Mediengestaltern müssten die goldene Hoftrompeten für besonders willfährige Berichterstattungen verliehen werden. Bald ist wieder Bundestagswahl. Ich richte mich schon einmal darauf ein, dass die Kanzlerin am Ruder bleiben und alles beim Alten bleiben wird, denn wir sind schön angepasst, bequem und außerdem gut erzogen.
Writing this because this ship is adorable and needs more content! Started 6,09,22 I'll try and update it everyday. All in Tighnari pov (some small parts are in Cynos but I'll type it when it does) Visiting me everyday? How strange. Who would have thought someone has high ranked as him would visit myself. I didn't think stalking was his thing? A simple "close" friendship blossoms into a nothing but loving relationship between a token blunt forest watcher and the King of cringe General Mahamatra. Tighnaris journey in learning how to love his newly found boyfriend (Cyno) Guided by their (daughter) Collei (Contains: Cynonari) (Fluff and smut)
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"The artist is the person who makes life more interesting or beautiful, more understandable or mysterious, or probably, in the best sense, more wonderful." Alfons Mucha was one of the most fascinating artistic personalities of the turn of century,...
Because airplanes are scary.
Barbie has introduced its latest style icon, 96 year old Iris Apfel. Following other diverse role models like plus size model Ashley Graham and female Olympic boxer Nicola Adams, Iris Apfel become the latest style star to be reimagined in plastic.
All epigrams created by Michael Lipsey.
Please (don't) come over ★ @itsPeteski on instagram
Remember that toy that you just had to have because it was based on something wildly popular? And then it turned out to really, really suck? It turns out that's been happening as long as companies have been mass-producing toys.
In our delusion, we have come to put a price tag on Mother Earth, all the while forgetting she is the giver of our Life, and she can shake us off at any moment
August has ended, and for true horror lovers, the most wonderful time of the year has already begun. The weather is starting to cool down, and it’s the perfect season to binge horror films, listen to spooky podcasts and embrace the increasingly long evenings we’re starting to have.
