Out this week is the new multi-disc compilation, Surrender to the Rhythm: The London Pub Rock Scene of the Seventies. The collection is an excellent overview of pub rock, a phenomenon that helped paved the way for British punk. Before we get any further, though, we need to address a question many of our readers are probably asking themselves: What the hell is “pub rock?”

Pub rock is a British genre and movement that lasted for a handful of years in the early to mid seventies. Pub rock bands played a back-to-basics style of rock-n-roll that was loose and unassuming. Though very much a London scene, pub rock was kick-started by an American group. In the spring of 1971, Eggs Over Easy were in London recording, when they convinced a local pub, the Tally Ho, to let the band play there on a regular basis. Their subsequent performances at the bar were a popular attraction, and other musicians and pub owners took notice. By 1973, a scene was thriving.

One of the earliest and most popular pub rock acts was Brinsley Schwarz, a group fronted by Nick Lowe. In addition to Lowe, many future punk and new wave players got their start in pub rock bands, including Ian Dury (Kilburn and the High Roads), Joe Strummer (the 101’ers), and Elvis Costello (nee Declan McManus of Flip City). The Jam also got their start playing the pub rock circuit, which is where they were first spotted by Polydor, the label that would sign them.
 

Dutch picture sleeve, 1973.

By the time 1976 rolled around, pub rock had petered out. Though it didn’t last long, pub rock bands established a circuit for local groups, demonstrating to bar owners that hosting live music was profitable. Punk bands would come to reap the benefits of the successful pub rock circuit, and the stripped-down style of pub rock influenced the sound of punk.
 

The Razorbacks at the Brecknock.
 
Surrender to the Rhythm, new from Cherry Red Records, is a three-CD overview of pub rock, containing 71 songs and a 48-page booklet. It spans the years 1970-79, so there are acts on the collection that weren’t part of the scene, but do have some connection to pub rock. An example is the fantastic, new wave-y 1978 single “Driver’s Seat” by Sniff ‘n’ the Tears, a group that spawned from the ashes of pub rock band Moon. A few of the groups on the comp, such as Status Quo, Thin Lizzy, and Mott the Hoople, were so popular they never would’ve played in pubs, but have a similar sound and approach, so they’ve been included. The aforementioned Eggs Over Easy, Brinsley Schwarz, Kilburn and the High Roads, the 101’ers, Flip City, and the Jam are all represented. Surrender to the Rhythm contains a number of previously unreleased recordings, and Dangerous Minds has the web premiere of two of those tracks, Roogalator’s chugging, greasy “Ride With the Roogalator,” and Byzantium’s “It Could Be Better,” which sounds like Badfiner/Abbey Road-era McCartney. They’re on a playlist that Cherry Red has created, which has a few additional highlights from the set. Check it out at the end of this post.

But first, a few more images of pub rockers.

Brett Marvin and the Thunderbolts.
 

Chas & Dave aboard the HMS Belfast, 1975.
 

Byzantium with friends backstage at the Roundhouse, 1975.

Order your copy of Surrender to the Rhythm: The London Pub Rock Scene of the Seventies via Cherry Red’s website or Amazon.
 

“The Plague” by Wolfgang Grässe (2004).
 
Four Allied air raids conducted from February 13th to February 15th, 1945 destroyed the German town of Dresden, reducing it to rubble.

Future artist Wolfgang Grässe, just fifteen at the time, survived.

Following the bombings, he would find his way to Italy to study art with his grandfather Friedrich before returning to Dresden. Upon his return, Grässe was arrested and sentenced to death when, while crossing the border in Germany, his possessions were searched revealing his anti-Soviet cartoon of Joseph Stalin swinging from a gallows. However, instead of hanging the then eighteen-year-old, they changed his sentence to 25 years in one of Poland’s many gulags, where he spent eight long years. Grässe had seen and learned a lot in his short time on earth, and while a prisoner, he would use his artwork to help bargain with his captors, offering to draw them anything they wanted, which he would trade for food and perhaps a little extra looking after. As you probably know, “life” in a labor camp meant non-stop work for those deemed useful, such as physical labor or the production of oil and other industrial materials. Grässe’s horrific early life was nearly impossible to shake for the artist, especially his eight years in the gulag.

At some point, Grässe became a Christian, and his paintings contain religious imagery, which is often combined with images associated with death, the day of reckoning, and vibrant displaced erotica. Here’s Grässe shedding some light on his darkness:

“I paint objective, figurative art with high technical perfection to create beautiful, valuable, and qualitative works with interesting visions. My art is called Fantastic Realism (of the Viennese school) influenced by French surreal and Japanese artists such as Hokusai (Edo period), (Utagawa ) Kunisada, and (Utagawa) Hiroshige.”

Grässe’s work has been associated with Surrealism, but that is not the house he lived in as an artist. He is also clearly inspired by the work of Hieronymus Bosch. However, those familiar with Fantastic Realism will quickly recognize his dedication to this genre. In order to reinforce the distinction between Surrealism and Fantastic Realism, let’s allow Grässe sum up the differences between the two artistic pursuits:

“Fantastic Realism cannot be compared with Surrealism as a garden can’t be compared with a jungle. The fantasy of the Surrealist comes from the subconscious without formal order or relation, whereas the Fantastic Realist uses his images selectively. He uses old and new symbols to express his art purposefully and to show that the human situation never really changes its eternal truths. The automatism of images of the Surrealist are a sharp contrast to the meaningful symbolism of the Fantastic Realist.”

Life & Death: The Metaphysical Art of Wolfgang Grässe was published in 2000. It contains approximately 60 full-color images of the artist’s work, if you can find this rather rare volume. In addition to his artwork, you can also watch a short segment below on Grässe from Australian television. The artist lived out his days painting and exhibiting his work in and around Australia after moving there in 1996. He died in 2008.
 

 

1991
 

 
Much more after the jump…

 
There is a very good reason why you’ve probably never seen—or even heard of—a 1997 film titled The Brave that was both directed by, and starred, Johnny Depp: It’s one of the worst films ever made. I mean like as in one of the very fuckin’ worst movies ever made, okay? How else to explain why a feature directed by one of the then most bankable movie stars in Hollywood, and that features a soundtrack by Iggy Pop and one of the final film roles of Marlon Brando, has never been released in the United States, either theatrically, on cable TV or even on DVD? Yes, it’s that bad.

The Brave is an appalling and horrendous piece of shit that apparently left audiences at the Cannes FIlm Festival slack-jawed and saw Depp’s “people” swoop in to make sure that it wasn’t about to ruin their cash cow’s reputation. If The Brave had an odor, it would be lethal and take a hazmat suit with a gas mask to deal with. The film has only ever seen the light of day in ex-US territories, mostly Asia, where it was immediately bootlegged. Trust me, they did Depp a major solid by trying to bury this turd as deeply as possible. (For fun, put yourself into the shoes of the manager or agent who had to put it to one of the world’s biggest movie stars that he’d made a film that was unreleasable! Depp probably looks back on it now and thinks “Thank god I listened to them.”)

Now, be aware that I say all of this as somewhat of an enthusiast, even a connoisseur of “bad films,” myself, but they have to be of the “so bad they’re good” variety, not films that are just… shitty, misguided and boring. The Brave is all that and a lot more. It’s awfulness is special. One of a kind.

The Brave is Depp’s The Day The Clown Cried.

I first read about the film’s existence in Jane Hamsher’s book Killer Instinct, about the insanity she experienced during the of filming of Oliver Stone’s Natural Born Killers. There is just a paragraph or two describing the plot of The Brave in the book and after reading this, I just had to see it. However, this was approximately 1999 when I read it and sans bit torrent, it wasn’t going to be that easy to get my hands on it. A few days later, I figured out that a friend of someone I knew invested in the film and I got him to ask for a copy. The reply came in the form of a suspicious question: “Why does he want to see it?”

Why do you think?!?! Nevertheless, I got a copy with the extracted promise that I wouldn’t say where it had come from. Seemed fair.

So what is it that’s so freaking bad about this film, anyway? God, where do you start?

Okay, first the plot: Depp play a Native American guy named Raphael who lives with his wife and catatonic children in a shantytown near (in?) a garbage dump. He’s an alcoholic and sees no hope for ever being able to pull himself and his family out of their abject poverty. Raphael, who is illiterate, is told of a sinister man named McCarthy who is willing to offer $50,000 if Raphael will agree to be brutally tortured, dismembered and murdered for a snuff film. Raphael sees this as a last ditch way to lift his family from the life they are leading. After a scene of Brando acting as psychotic as you’ve ever seen him, delivering a ridiculous (obviously improvised) wheelchair-bound soliloquy about how the snuff movie will allow those who see it to face death more honestly, and how Christ-like Raphael’s sacrifice will be (it’s Island of Dr. Moreau-worthy stuff), Raphael is given a bag of cash as an advance and signs a bogus contract consisting of gibberish that he thinks will secure his family’s future after he’s gone. If Raphael skips out on the contract, he is told by one of his henchmen, McCarthy will find, fuck and eat his wife and kids

Raphael is supposed to return at the end of seven days to McCarthy’s seedy bunker to be killed in the snuff film. Most of the rest of The Brave shows him showering gifts on his wife children (such as hiring in a small fun fair) and dealing with the fate he’s signed up for. On the seventh day, Raphael returns to the fortress where McCarthy makes his films and The Brave ends (thank god!).
 

 
On a technical level, the film is well-shot (by frequent Terry Gilliam collaborator Nicola Pecorini) and edited. Clearly Johnny Depp would have access to the best “below the line talent” money could buy. It’s a technically competent film. The biggest problem with The Brave—the fatal problem, in fact, and precisely what makes it so incredibly bad—is Depp himself in the lead role. Casting himself as “Raphael” was a major, major miscalculation for several reasons, with Depp’s movie star looks being the primary culprit. As I understand it, the original novel/script called for the character to be brain-damaged from alcohol abuse or somewhat mentally handicapped. Had the role been played by a Native-American actor who was dumpy and monosyllabic, it might have worked (or at least not turned out to be the atrocity it did). The audience just never buys pretty boy Depp (looking like a Silverlake hipster) in the role for even a single second and scenes that might (I said might) have otherwise been moving with a different actor in the part, are instead just fodder for loud guffaws, sideways glances, and mucho eye-rolling. It’s a mawkish mess. It tries to manipulate the audience’s emotions, but only elicits… boredom, disgust and pointing and laughing at the screen.

Everyone I watched it with HATED IT, just fucking hated it, and unless you’re a weirdo with shitty taste in films, you will probably hate it, too. When it’s (finally) over, you just want to take about twenty showers and try to scrub it out of your mind. Which. Is. Not. Possible.

Of course, I realize that to some of you reading this, that even this negative review sounds like an endorsement of some sort—perhaps of the “this smells like shit, take a whiff” variety. After all, when I secured my own copy of this gargantuan awfulness 20 years ago, it was certainly my firm expectation that I would be seeing a colossally bad film (and I did). This is not to say, however, that having had that experience, that I’m now recommending watching The Brave to others (to be clear, I am not). If you don’t care and want to see it anyway (it’s all over the web now, just search for it on Google) do yourself a favor and do what I didn’t do and turn it off after Marlon Brando’s scene near the beginning of the film. It’s the only, uh, “good” part of it and as I wrote above, truly one of his single most most berserk onscreen moments.

The rest of it, trust me (no really!) you really, really, really don’t want to see. Not only is it a complete waste of 90 minutes of your life that you will never, ever get back, it’ll just make you feel icky. For days.

And who needs that?

Marlon Brando’s big scene:
 

 
RidingEasy Records is the label behind the legendary—and ever growing, there’s a brand new one out—Brown Acid compilations of heavy psych and proto-metal. You have to hand it to them, they really know how to find obscure records and have performed some exemplary subcultural archaeology in the 70s hard rock department. Where do they keep finding these gems you wonder?

In the case of Indianapolis quintet Ice, RidingEasy head honcho Daniel Hall happened to be in a nightclub when the DJ played a test 45 they’d made—it wasn’t even issued properly, or under their own name, that’s how rare it was. Soon Hall was in touch with the band about using the song on Brown Acid: The Ninth Trip, when it was revealed that they’d recorded a never completed full album’s worth of original material in 1970. It just had to be mixed, but the group parted ways soon after the tracks were laid down and the 2” master tapes had been sheveled and long forgotten before Hall reached out to them.

Half a century later, The Ice Age, their ten-song album of 70s FM radio-ready rock will finally see light of day. The hard-driving midwesterners sound like Grand Funk Railroad meets The Guess Who with a definite influence from the Move. Imagine recording an album in 1970 that doesn’t get released 2020? Talk about a bomb with a very long fuse.

The Ice Age will be available on LP, CD and download on July 10th, 2020 via RidingEasy Records.

 
I’m the guest on this week’s installment of the That Record Got me High podcast. I joined co-hosts Barry Stock and Rob Elba to discuss an album that I like to listen to a lot while I’m high, Jefferson Airplane’s lysergically-soaked 1967 longplayer After Bathing at Baxter’s. I think it’s one of the defining albums of the 1960s. I also think it’s an album that all too many people keep flipping past in the used record bins—dirt cheap Jefferson Airplane albums are ubiquitous in any American record store—and this is a shame. There’s quite a vast difference between the Jeffersons Airplane and Starship, but commercial dreck like “Play on Love” and the horrific ear-bleeder “We Built This City” has all but insured that the Jefferson Airplane albums are unfairly ignored. I wanted to try to rehabilitate their rock snob bona fides in my own small way.

One thing that I had intended to mention on the show but forgot about, is the album’s distinctive cover. It was drawn by underground cartoonist Ron Cobb who would go on to design the Mos Eisley cantina in Star Wars a decade later.
 

Front and back of a 1993 Topps ‘Star Wars’ trading card
 

Counter culture icon and Editor of Dangerous Minds (www.dangerousminds.net), Richard Metzger, dove into the psychedelic deep end of the pool to discuss a record that STILL gets him high: Jefferson Airplane’s darker, heavier follow-up to Surrealistic Pillow, “After Bathing at Baxter’s”. Coffee was consumed, minds were expanded, and by the end the Summer of Love felt more like a hazy hangover.

 
There are certain things you don’t know you’re missing in life until you’re exposed to them, right? EXP TV just might be one of those things. It’s got an aesthetic that hovers around the same territory as Everything is Terrible! and Vic Berger, it even reminds me of Mike Kelley’s stuff, but that’s only going to get you in the ballpark. Which is good enough, but you just have to click on the link and see for yourself. It’s a barrage of strange imagery and is really quite an inspired—not to say elaborate and work intensive—art project. And just in time for a pandemic. Bored with Netflix? Have enough Amazon Prime? Maxed out on HBO Max? You need to tune in, turn on and drop your jaw to the floor at what’s screening on EXP TV.

EXP TV the brainchild of Tom Fitzgerald, Marcus Herring, Taylor C. Rowley.  I asked them a few questions via email.
 
What is EXP TV? What should someone expect to see when they get there?

EXP TV is a live TV channel broadcasting an endless stream of obscure media and video ephemera from our site at exptv.org.  We stream 24/7.

The daytime programming is called “Video Breaks”—a video collage series featuring wild, rare, unpredictable, and ever-changing archival clips touching on every subject imaginable. Similar to how golden era MTV played music videos all day, daytime EXP TV streams non-stop, deep cut video clips filtered through our own distinct POV.

What treasures would reward the loyal Video Breaks viewer?  Ventriloquist dummy sales demos, Filipino Pinocchios, LSD trip-induced talking hot dogs, Liberace’s recipe tips, French synth punk, primal scream therapy seminars, Deadhead parking lots, empty parking lots, Israeli sci-fi, scary animatronics, teenage girls’ homemade art films, Belgian hard techno dance instructions, Czech children’s films about UFOs, even Danzig reading from his book collection. And that’s all in just one hour!

We’ve been collecting obscure media for decades, but we’ve sorted through it all and cherry-picked the funny, the bizarre, the relevant, the irrelevant, the visually stunning, the interesting, the infamous, the good, the bad and the fugly.  We’ve done all that so the viewers don’t have to.  They get to kick back and experience the sweet spot without having to dig for rare stuff themselves or sit through an entire movie waiting for the cool part.

Our Nite Owl programming block features specialty themed video mixes and deep dives on everything under the sun: Bigfoot, underground 80s culture, Italo disco, cults, Halloween hijinks, pre-revolutionary Iranian pop culture, midnight movies, ‘ye ye’ promo films, Soviet sci-fi, reggae rarities, psychedelic animation and local news calamities. On any given night you could watch something like our Incredibly Strange Metal show followed by a conceptual video essay like Pixel Power—our exploration of early CGI art.

Aside from our unique tone and deep crate of video materials, one thing that really sets us apart in 2020 is our format.  We are *not* on demand, we are *not* interactive—just like old TV!  You can tune in anytime and something cool will be on. 

That’s EXP TV in a nutshell.  It’s funny, it’s art, it’s music, it’s infotainment, it’s free and it’s 24/7.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by EXP TV (@exp.tv) on May 18, 2020 at 11:57am PDT

It’s 24/7?

Yes.

What does EXP stand for?

EXP stands for…experimental, expanded, experiential, expert, exploration, expressive, expounded, exposed, explained, expeditionary, unexpected, exponents, expatriot, expedited, expectorant, exposure, expelled, expendable, expensive, express, exploded, expired…EXP TV!

We have a little bumper on our Instagram @exp.tv that illustrates this

How much material did you have in the can, ready to go at launch?

We had been quietly working on the channel for over a year so we had quite a bit of material.  When the pandemic hit, we decided to launch early as a beta so people could have an alternative to the big streaming channels - something totally different.

In this modern world of all these different streaming platforms, it feels like you spend more time deciding what to watch than you do actually watching something.  We wanted to make something you could just turn on and leave on for hours—days even—and you’d be guaranteed to catch something interesting.  We basically just made the channel we wanted to watch.

Right now, we have about 60 hours in rotation and we are regularly adding new material—new Video Breaks, new episodes of our ongoing series, and hatching entirely new concepts for shows. Stay tuned for Kung Fu Wizards coming soon!

More after the jump…

 
In 1977, King Crimson founder Robert Fripp—who’d left the world of music in 1974 when he dissolved the group—moved to NYC’s Hell’s Kitchen (and then later a place on the Bowery) and immersed himself in the city’s punk and new wave music scene. Inspired by New York’s frantic energy and wanting to combine the new sounds he was hearing with “Frippertronics,” the droning tape loop system he had developed with Eno, the final product was his solo record, Exposure.

The ambitious Exposure is one of the ultimate art-rock documents of late 70s New York, a classic album that sadly seems to have fallen through the cracks for many music fans. It’s a brilliant and underrated missing link between what was to become King Crimson’s next incarnation, the “Berlin trilogy” of David Bowie and Brian Eno (and indeed Fripp and Eno’s own collaborations), Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel and believe it or not, Hall and Oates!

That’s right, Exposure was meant to be seen as the third part of a loose trilogy that included Daryl Hall’s Sacred Songs and Peter Gabriel’s second album (both produced by Fripp). Daryl Hall’s management threw a wrench in the works, concerned that Hall’s decidedly more esoteric solo material might confuse his fan-base expecting catchy, “blue-eyed soul” AM radio-friendly pop tunes and that this would harm his commercial appeal. Additionally, they insisted that Fripp’s own Exposure album be credited as a Fripp/Hall collaboration. As a result, Fripp used just two of Hall’s performances on the album, recording new vocals by Terre Roche and Van Der Graaf Generator’s Peter Hammill.

Sacred Songs didn’t come out until 1980 and sold respectably well. Both albums include the snarling buzz-saw rave-up, “You Burn Me Up I’m a Cigarette.”:
 

 
The first voice you hear in the “Preface” is Eno’s and the voice before the phone starts ringing is Peter Gabriel’s. The vocal however, is obviously Daryl Hall, but not as we’re used to hearing him. Fripp later described Hall as the best singer he’d ever worked with and compared his musical creativity to David Bowie’s. High praise indeed.

Another highlight on Exposure is Peter Gabriel’s amazing performance of his “Here Comes the Flood,” perhaps the best version of the many he has recorded: Gabriel disliked the orchestral arrangements for the song on his first album, considering it over-produced. He did a different version on Kate Bush’s Christmas TV special in 1979 and still another on on his Shaking the Tree greatest hits collection. The rendition heard on Exposure is sparse, haunting and moving. I think it’s one of his single greatest vocal performances. Eno, Fripp and Gabriel are the only musicians on this track:
 

 
Continues after the jump…

 
Like their masterpiece Eskimo, the story of the Residents’ new album starts with a cryptoethnomusicological discovery: in this case, the complete recorded works of an albino bluesman from western Louisiana named Alvin Snow.

Under the stage name “Dyin’ Dog,” the story goes, Snow cut ten agonized electric blues originals with his band, the Mongrels, before falling off the face of the earth in 1976. Whether the last straw was the death of his pet dog, the death of his elderly ladyfriend, or the death of Howlin’ Wolf, no one can say. Only these screams of rage and shame remain.

(There’s a mini-documentary on the Residents’ YouTube channel about Dyin’ Dog, and Homer Flynn of the Cryptic Corporation discussed the legend of Alvin Snow with us last December.)
 

The Residents’ new album, out July 10

Dyin’ Dog’s songs about sex, death, death, sex and death came out last year on a now quite scarce seven-inch box set released by Psychofon Records. On the new album Metal, Meat & Bone: The Songs of Dyin’ Dog, the Residents interpret the Alvin Snow songbook with help from the Pixies’ Black Francis, Magic Band and Pere Ubu alumnus Eric Drew Feldman, and other high-quality musical guests. The album also reproduces Dyin’ Dog and the Mongrels’ demos in full stereo abjection.

John Sanborn’s video for the Residents’ take on “Bury My Bone,” exclusively premiered below, is mildly NSFW. Then again, in time of plague, work itself is NSFW. And this is a blues song about a dog looking for a hole to bury his bone in, for fuck’s sake.
 

Previously on Dangerous Minds:
Residential: Homer Flynn on the Residents’ ambitious ‘God in Three Persons’ show at MoMA
Take a walk around a masterpiece with the Residents’ ‘Eskimo Deconstructed’
Exclusive video and music from the Residents’ new album, ‘Intruders’

 
I’m a big fan of irreverent ‘60s pop band, the Turtles. This fabulous and underrated group doesn’t get much respect, but they had lots of great, catchy tunes, though they are essentially only remembered for two hits—“Happy Together” and “Elenore.” The latter song was the lead single from their brilliant, tongue-in-cheek concept LP, The Turtles Present The Battle of the Bands (1968).

Following the massive success of the “Happy Together” single, which went to #1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, and the popular LP of the same name, the Turtles began planning their next album. Inspired by Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, in which the Beatles envisioned the record as a performance by an imaginary group, the Turtles came up with the ambitious idea of portraying not one, but twelve fictitious bands. In turn, these made-up acts would go up against each other in a comic “battle.” The project was the perfect vehicle to showcase the group’s particular brand of humor.
 

The Turtles appear as the bands in the album’s gatefold sleeve (click to enlarge).

For Battle of the Bands, the group recruited their former bassist and current Monkees producer, Chip Douglas, to produce the record. Each member of the Turtles, which included two lead singers in Mark Volman and Howard Kaylan, would contribute material, but they would also seek assistance from outside songwriters to fill a few of the slots on the LP. Through Douglas, the Turtles had met Harry Nilsson, and the group asked him if he’d write the opening number. Credited to Nilsson and Douglas, “Battle of the Bands” functions just as “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” did, perfectly setting the stage for what would follow.

For the next track, the Turtles (as “The Atomic Enchiladas”) emulated the Beatles on “The Last Thing I Remembered.” The psychedelic track begins with the sound of a harp, signaling to listeners that they’re headed into a dream. The group would satirize a number of genres on the record, including country (“Too Much Heartsick Feeling”) and bluegrass (“Chicken Little Was Right”), as well as other groups, like the spot-on Beach Boys sendup “Surfer Dan.” For this number they were billed as “The Cross Fires,” a nod to the Turtles’ previous incarnation, the Crossfires, who were a surf rock band. The Turtles even spoofed themselves on “Elenore,” though the song wasn’t originally meant to even be considered for the album—quite the opposite, really. Frustrated that their record label, White Whale, wouldn’t stop pestering the Turtles for another hit on par with “Happy Together,” Howard Kaylan penned what he thought was a ridiculous parody. I’ll let Kaylan take it from here.

I had gotten so pissed off that I had decided to show White Whale, once and for all, what dicks they were. So I took the song “Happy Together” and mutated it, just for Lee and Ted [the founders of White Whale]. Every time the melody took a cheesy turn, mine took a cheesier one. Then, to sweeten the deal, I threw in handfuls of pimply teenage hyperboles: “pride and joy, etcetera” was originally “fab and gear, etcetera.” “Your folks hate me” and “I really think you’re groovy” were meant to inflame the wrath of these L.A. lames and I couldn’t wait to sing this new ditty for the band, hear their cynical laughter, and forward it on to our slave-driving masters in the West. But instead, something else happened.

Everybody liked it! Humor? What humor? This just what we’ve been looking for! Chip was nearly orgasmic. We worked out the harmonies right then and there. Chip called the label to tell them that we had the hit they had been looking for. We came back to L.A. to cut “Elenore” at Gold Star and it was a monster hit, not only in America but in Canada, the UK, even Australia and New Zealand. (from Howard Kaylan’s autobiography, Shell Shocked)

So, there you have it. What was intended as a means to get their label to stop bothering them, ended up becoming one of the Turtles’ biggest and most-loved songs. 
 

Japanese picture sleeve.

“You Showed Me,” another hit from the album, was brought in by Douglas. It’s a tune the early Byrds had demoed, and at the time was unreleased. Written by Gene Clark and Roger McGuinn, the Byrds rendition is mid-tempo and sounds like the Beatles, circa 1964, while the Turtles take is much slower and has a ghostly quality.
 

Italian picture sleeve.

“Food,” about the joys of eating, is the most outrageous number on the LP. The middle section features “The Bigg Brothers” reciting their recipe for special brownies.

More Turtles after the jump…

 
Tony Stark (aka Iron Man) once said that “Heroes are made by the path they choose, not the powers they are graced with.” Artist Butcher Billy chose a path which eventually allowed him to use his superpowers to their greatest potential. Like all superheroes, Butcher Billy balanced a dual life of graphic designer by day, and iconographic pop artist by night.

Born in Brazil, Butcher Billy (aka Billy Mariano da Luz) started drawing pictures from the day he first picked up a crayon and waxed blank paper with art. He grew up in a world of unnerving political turmoil which he filtered through comic books, TV cartoons, and eighties pop music. He grew up and studied and became a graphic designer. But somehow creating art for others was not enough. In the quiet of the night, he started drawing pictures that revealed his true identity. Pictures of pop icons as comic book superheroes, movie stars as subversive heroes. Butcher Billy was born.

He started sharing his work online. His pictures were soon picked by sites like the Guardian, Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, and of course, Dangerous Minds.

As a longtime admirer of Butcher Billy‘s artworks, I dropped him a line and he very kindly replied. Now in an exclusive interview with Dangerous Minds, Butcher Billy discusses his background, his artwork, his inspiration, and his favorite artist.

Okay, let’s start with the easy ones: Can you tell me something about yourself? Where were you born? How did you get into art? When did you start drawing?

Butcher Billy: I was born in south Brazil in 1978. My childhood scenario was the last few years of a decades-long military dictatorship. Although the difference between that and a full democracy was hardly noticed by a six-year-old introvert kid, I do remember watching everything live on TV—the news reported rights movements, protests on the streets, military police everywhere. That ended up mixed with all the goodies the 1980s had to offer: pop music, blockbusters, Saturday morning cartoons, comics, fantasy books, video games etc.

So as much as I couldn’t understand, there was a sense that the world was going through uncertain, turbulent times—while also I was getting exposed to all these exciting new discoveries as a child. That dual feeling is something that I carried through life. It even reflects on my body of work now, in which you can often see two (or more) different concepts clashing.

I believe I started drawing as soon as I was able to hold a crayon with my own hands. I have always felt the need to express myself through art.

What happened next? What inspired you? How and why did you start creating your own artworks?

BB: My teenage years in the 90s were absolutely immersed in pop culture, while I observed the world going through all the changes in politics, religion, society, technology etc. So of course pop art caught my attention early on, for the use of popular everyday symbols, and comments on any of the aspects of society and human behaviour through irony and parody.

However, when the time came to go to college, graphic design ended up being my choice—the concept of becoming a full on artist as a way of earning a living was too subjective to me at the time (that clash of feelings again).

After college I worked for years as a graphic designer in ad agencies, becoming increasingly frustrated. That’s when I decided, just for fun, to start playing on my sleep hours with all of those early creative influences in cinema, music, comics, games, art, politics, religion, history etc. By releasing personal art projects online, I began to spread my name and ideas out there, until I felt secure enough to let go of everything and finally become an indie artist.

I wasn’t even thinking about working for brands. What I wanted was to create a body of personal work by developing my own ideas, without interference. And through that decision I indeed found that freedom, in which now I’m actually able to choose if I want to work for a brand or not, when I want, and only if it’s the right fit for me.
 

 
When/why did you take the name Butcher Billy?

BB: I still had an agency job as a creative director back in 2012 when I had my very first pop art series ready to be released. As I said before, I decided to do it as a way to just have some fun and relieve work frustration. I had a bit of a local rep in advertising, and as much as I didn’t have any ambitions on a side project, I thought it was important to create a persona to separate that from the corporate work I was doing, which was very different in concept.

So that’s how I came up with Butcher Billy—at first I thought it would be a great way to stay anonymous, and kinda worked initially. However, soon after when the artworks began to go viral, the fact I was using a pseudonym actually helped to make people even more curious about who that guy was. “Nobody cared about who I was until I put on a mask” (saying that with a ridiculous Bane voice)
 

 
What has the response been to your work?

BB: I try to achieve that state of collective mind where art communicates ideas all over the world, often without words, for people of distinct languages and cultures who understand the same message. In that aspect it’s always great to see how far an art piece can go when I release it on the internet—considering how different the concept of popular culture can be in some places.

Also spreading your own ideas and style means that people will approach and hire you because they want you to do your own thing for them. In that sense I’ve been invited to collaborate with brands from Japan, Scotland, EUA, England, France, Germany, Netherlands etc. Projects can be as different as TV series props, beverage packaging, movie posters, vinyl sleeves, book covers… I was even asked to design a pizza box for a record label, as merchandising.

Versatility is exactly what I aim for as a pop artist—I don’t want to be known as a t-shirt designer or whatever. I want to make art, and art that can be applied to anything.

It’s funny that my work seems to be a lot more recognized overseas. I’ve never been invited to exhibit in my own country. However, I had pieces showcased in cities all over the world like London, Dubai, Lisbon, New York, Paris, San Francisco, Birmingham, Chicago, Miami etc. Also I’ve had 2 art books released in France. Pretty sure that after I die they’ll hold an exhibition in Brazil—that’s how it works around here.

Who is your favourite artist?

BB: Hard to say! I admire so many people for different reasons—painters, designers, producers, musicians, directors, photographers, actors, activists, composers etc. But if I have to say just one, it would certainly be David Bowie. The man embodied everything, to the point of actually becoming art through his personas. He paid the price, and managed to remain down to earth. He also planned his own death to be an art instalment.
 

 
See more from Butcher Billy, after the jump…