Brandon Schaefer

Here is another Berberian poster for the US. There's also an article here on the Berberian-related work of both Brandon Schaefer in the US and Julian House in the UK, along with the latter's better posters for the film, which still deserve more exposure.

Here's a blog featuring many wonderful posters by Schaefer including a rejected one for Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Whoever said no to that is nuts. Still, great to see Messrs House and Schaefer keeping aesthetics alive in the cautious world of film marketing.

Kunst ist Tot

My bedroom label, Peripheral Conserve will be releasing five records this year. First in the queue is a surge of robust electronic angst called, Kunst ist Tot by Xylitol, the nom de guerre of Mr. Jim Backhouse, also known for his disc jockeying at London’s Resonance FM and Kosmische.

This will come out as a 45 rpm 7” single in an edition of 300 copies. The track is flanked by three instrumental pieces, Lull, Glass and Dom. 

The front and back pin-ups are by Babs Santini. Distribution will be by Essential Music. The record is currently being pressed, so it should be out in early August. Hopefully it will come with a download code too.

The next four records will be by:

Roj – 7” single

én – CD album

remixes of én by James Cargill, Sculpture, Jonathan Coleclough, Colin Potter and Andrew Liles – 12” mini-album

Jean-Hervé Péron and Zsolt Sőrés – double 12” album

(all in editions of 300 or 500)

The Roj single and én album are also at the factory. A couple of posts about them to appear soon. The én remixes and Péron/Sőrés records are completed, but the artwork is not ready. 

A Field in England

The Strange Colour of Your Body's Tears

Berberian US

'Berberian Sound Studio' will open in America on June 14th through IFC Films.

New York Times Taylor Mead Obituary

Great obituary here.

Taylor Mead

Here's a small tribute to a wonderful poet, performer, actor and raconteur who was gloriously at odds with the world, and who sadly left it today.

I first met Taylor Mead through the filmmaker Gary Goldberg in 1997. I don't remember too much from that night apart from his insisting that I go and see Harmony Korine's 'Gummo' in spite of the intolerable feline abuse featured in the film. I returned to New York in 1998 and spent more time with Taylor, even featuring on his internet 'chat show', which I think was called The Convertible Taylor Mead Show. We attempted to do a short film called 'The Punk from Puerto Rico' with Kid Congo Powers from The Gun Club and The Cramps, but only got as far as the photo I took above after a swim on a rooftop. We used it as publicity to raise money in the UK, but nobody gave a damn.

I lost touch with Taylor after that aborted attempt to make the film. I only returned to New York last year after a fourteen-year gap and made some attempts to find his lost phone number through some of the film people I know now, but in vain. Some even queried, "who is Taylor Mead?" But perhaps that was part of his charm: never loud, aggressive or self-promoting, at least during that very brief period when I knew him. He didn't strike me as the kind of underground 'star' that could be appropriated by the mainstream the way some of them were and he paid a heavy price for it when one saw how he lived. I only knew a handful of people connected with Warhol or the New York Underground, but from the ones I briefly worked or drank with, I had the softest spot for Taylor - incredibly affable, approachable, gentle and funny. Given the stories I recently read about his battles with his landlord, they only exemplify how there is less and less space both physically and metaphorically for artists who don't conform. What is troublesome about his passing is that the torch doesn't seem to be passed on. It's not just that Taylor Mead has gone, but also the type of person he was seems to have gone into extinction. Hopefully I'm wrong, but that seems to be the nagging concern.

Here is a piece by Jim Hoberman on Taylor Mead, which is fitting since his 'Midnight Movies' book with Jonathan Rosenbaum got me into the New York Underground. All cats will mourn tonight. May the great man be remembered.