‘Boom Boom’ and ‘Hobo Blues’: Great Performances by John Lee Hooker

Like mil­lions of African Amer­i­cans in the ear­ly 20th cen­tu­ry, the blues­man John Lee Hook­er made the Great Migra­tion from the rur­al South to the urban North. Trav­el­ing a cir­cuitous route from his native Clarks­dale, Mis­sis­sip­pi, Hook­er set­tled in 1943 in Detroit, Michi­gan, where he worked at a car fac­to­ry by day and played in the blues clubs by night. In 1948 his first sin­gle, “Boo­gie Chillen,’ ” rose to num­ber one on the rhythm and blues charts and intro­duced Hook­er’s unique style of elec­tric blues, which sound­ed clos­er to the Mis­sis­sip­pi Delta than Chica­go. It was a style that would have an enor­mous impact on rock and roll. Hook­er’s dri­ving, one-chord boo­gie rhythms can be heard in the music of the Rolling Stones, ZZ Top, George  Thoro­good and count­less oth­ers. Today we bring you two of our favorite videos of Hook­er. Above is a per­for­mance, cir­ca 1970, of Hook’s clas­sic 1961 sin­gle, “Boom Boom.” Below is a 1965 per­for­mance from the Amer­i­can Folk Blues Fes­ti­val of his sec­ond, less­er-known sin­gle from 1948, “Hobo Blues.”

Relat­ed con­tent:

Mar­tin Scors­ese Presents The Blues

Mud­dy Waters and Friends on the Blues and Gospel Train, 1964

Lead Bel­ly: The Only Known Footage of the Great Blues­man, 1935 and 1945

Keith Moon’s Final Performance with The Who (1978)

Last sum­mer, we revis­it­ed a mem­o­rable moment from the annals of rock ’ n’ roll — the time when Kei­th Moon, fly­ing high on PCP, passed out at a 1973 Who con­cert in Cal­i­for­nia, giv­ing an unsus­pect­ing fan, Scot Halpin, the chance to take over on the drums. (Watch it all hap­pen here.) It was a glo­ri­ous moment for Scott. For Kei­th, it was the mid­dle of the end — anoth­er exam­ple of the out­ra­geous sub­stance abuse that would kill him five years lat­er.

Fast for­ward to 1978, and we arrive at Kei­th Moon’s final live per­for­mance with The Who. It took place when the band shot live footage for the rock­u­men­tary, The Kids Are Alright. In his recent­ly-pub­lished biog­ra­phy, Who Am I?, Pete Town­shend writes that, by 1978, Moon’s addic­tions had caught up to him. His “drum­ming was get­ting so uneven that record­ing was almost impos­si­ble, so much so that work on the Who Are You album had ground to a halt.… [The Who] had just about enough tracks for a record, with very lit­tle addi­tion­al mate­r­i­al to spare. ‘Music Must Change’ was com­plet­ed with foot­steps replac­ing drums.” When it came time to shoot live footage for The Kids Are Alright, Town­shend “was ter­ri­fied that Kei­th would­n’t be able to hide his dete­ri­o­rat­ing con­di­tion,” but agreed to give it a try.

The ini­tial shoot was appalling. The band was out of prac­tice, and Kei­th could­n’t keep up. So they tried a sec­ond shoot, filmed at Shep­per­ton Stu­dios on May 25, 1978, where they played a lim­it­ed num­ber of hit songs before a small audi­ence. (Watch above and below.) “Kei­th was in a good mood but bloat­ed and unfit,” writes Town­shend, “and he found the repeat­ed takes weary­ing.” Because Moon’s ear­phones kept falling off, they taped them to his head with thick black gaffers’ tape. In the months that fol­lowed, Moon head­ed to Mal­ibu, Cal­i­for­nia where he tried to kick his alco­hol habit and then start­ed abus­ing med­ica­tions to relieve the with­draw­al symp­toms. On Sep­tem­ber 6, Moon took 32 tablets of clome­thi­a­zole, a seda­tive meant to help him cope with the with­draw­al. The next morn­ing Roger Dal­trey, The Who’s lead singer, called Pete Town­shend and sim­ply said “He’s done it.”

For more on this sto­ry, check out the audio ver­sion of Pete Town­shend’s auto­bi­og­ra­phy Who Am I?. It’s read by Town­shend him­self, which gives it a nice per­son­al touch. And you can down­load it for free if you sign up for a 30-day free tri­al with Audible.com. Find the details here. Final­ly you can also watch Town­shend dis­cussing his book and music career in a 90-minute con­ver­sa­tion with Paul Hold­en­graber here.


via Rolling Stone

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Hunter S. Thompson Mocks the Living in a New Short Animation

Dr. Hunter S. Thomp­son is back from the grave to mock the liv­ing in a Gonzo ani­ma­tion by Piotr Kabat. The inspi­ra­tion here is one of Thomp­son’s oft-repeat­ed quotes:

THE EDGE, there is no hon­est way to explain it because the only peo­ple who real­ly know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

Kabat chan­nels the spir­it of the orig­i­nal with an impres­sion­is­tic two-minute run from the Gold­en Gate Park down to San­ta Cruz, no hel­met required. Whether or not this sounds cool to you is like­ly to hinge on expe­ri­ence. Per­haps you went to high school with some­one who did­n’t live to cel­e­brate the wind-burned eye­ball sen­sa­tion of push­ing it to 100…

The Edge more than deliv­ers as a surf-rock-and-testos­terone-fueled lit romp, but still, it might’ve been inter­est­ing had Kabat pushed into unchart­ed ter­ri­to­ry. Per­haps have Thomp­son lose con­trol of his bike around the 80 mark, skid­ding hideous­ly on his bald head for how­ev­er many feet it’d take to turn the greyscale red, and roll cred­its on that.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Hunter S. Thomp­son Inter­views Kei­th Richards, and Very Lit­tle Makes Sense

John­ny Depp Reads Let­ters from Hunter S. Thomp­son (NSFW)

Hunter S. Thomp­son Calls Tech Sup­port, Unleash­es a Tirade Full of Fear and Loathing (NSFW)

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day saw Hunter S. Thomp­son rant­i­ng like a were­wolf loony on a pri­vate uni­ver­si­ty stage. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

 

 

The Very First Film of J.G. Ballard’s Crash, Starring Ballard Himself (1971)

The Collins Eng­lish Dic­tio­nary defines “Bal­lar­dian” as “resem­bling or sug­ges­tive of the con­di­tions described in J. G. Bal­lard’s nov­els and sto­ries, espe­cial­ly dystopi­an moder­ni­ty, bleak man-made land­scapes and the psy­cho­log­i­cal effects of tech­no­log­i­cal, social or envi­ron­men­tal devel­op­ments.” You’ll find no more dis­tilled dose of the Bal­lar­dian than in Bal­lard’s book The Atroc­i­ty Exhi­bi­tion, a 1969 exper­i­men­tal nov­el, or col­lec­tion of frag­ments, or what’s been called a col­lec­tion of “con­densed nov­els.” Sub­ject to an obscen­i­ty tri­al in the Unit­ed States and the sub­se­quent pulp­ing of near­ly a whole print run, the book has earned a per­ma­nent place in the canon of con­tro­ver­sial lit­er­a­ture. Its twelfth chap­ter, “Crash!”, even pro­vid­ed the seed for a Bal­lard nov­el to come: 1973’s Crash, a sto­ry of sym­phorophil­ia which David Cro­nen­berg adapt­ed into a film 23 years lat­er. The movie, in its turn, stoked a furor in the Unit­ed King­dom, cul­mi­nat­ing in a Dai­ly Mail cam­paign to ban it. But as far as film­ing mate­r­i­al born of Bal­lard’s fas­ci­na­tion with the inter­sec­tion of auto wrecks and sex­u­al­i­ty, Cro­nen­berg did­n’t get there first.

Susan Emer­ling and Zoe Beloff drew from Crash the nov­el to make the still-unre­leased Night­mare Angel in 1986, but fif­teen years before that, Harley Coke­liss turned “Crash!” the chap­ter into Crash! the short film (also known as The Atroc­i­ty Exhi­bi­tion). Cast­ing Bal­lard him­self in the star­ring role and Gabrielle Drake (sis­ter of singer-song­writer Nick Drake) oppo­site, Coke­liss crafts a vision almost oppres­sive­ly of the sev­en­ties: the pro­tag­o­nist’s wide, striped shirt col­lar dom­i­nates his even wider jack­et col­lar below the grim vis­age he wears while ensconced in the suit of armor that is his hulk­ing Amer­i­can vehi­cle. “I think the key image of the twen­ti­eth cen­tu­ry is the man in the motor car,” Bal­lard says in voiceover. “Have we reached a point now in the sev­en­ties where we only make sense in terms of these huge tech­no­log­i­cal sys­tems? I think so myself, and that it is the vital job of the writer to try to ana­lyze and under­stand the huge sig­nif­i­cance of this met­al­lized dream.” If this Bal­lar­dian vision res­onates with you, see also Simon Sel­l­ars’ thor­ough essay on the film at fan site Bal­lar­dian.

Relat­ed Con­tent

Sci-Fi Author J.G. Bal­lard Pre­dicts the Rise of Social Media (1977)

Hear Five JG Bal­lard Sto­ries Pre­sent­ed as Radio Dra­mas

J.G. Ballard’s Exper­i­men­tal Text Col­lages: His 1958 For­ay into Avant-Garde Lit­er­a­ture

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

“Joe Strummer’s London Calling”: All 8 Episodes of Strummer’s UK Radio Show Free Online

Icon­ic Clash front­man Joe Strum­mer passed away a lit­tle over ten years ago on Decem­ber 22nd, 2002. He was 50 years old, and died too soon, leav­ing his fam­i­ly, friends, and fans reel­ing with shock and sad­ness. Strum­mer was the kind of rock star who could renounce fame and mean it, who escaped the Lon­don punk scene with integri­ty and health intact, and who was a larg­er-than-life human­i­tar­i­an, yet also an approach­able every­man.  It’s all these qual­i­ties and, of course, the song­writ­ing, the dis­tinc­tive mum­ble and growl, the indeli­ble image, and the writ­ing and act­ing cred that have endeared him to a few gen­er­a­tions of loy­al admir­ers. In addi­tion to all of the above, Joe Strum­mer was also a free-form radio DJ, play­ing an eclec­tic mix of clas­sic punk, reg­gae, folk, jazz, afrobeat, and about a dozen oth­er gen­res, all sequenced per­fect­ly and intro­duced in his dis­tinc­tive, asphalt bari­tone.

Strum­mer host­ed his UK radio show, “Joe Strummer’s Lon­don Call­ing,” through 1998, then again in 2000–2001 (excerpt above). He played his share of Clash songs, as well as—in the lat­er episodes—the occa­sion­al track from his last project, Joe Strum­mer & The Mescaleros.

But aside from the expect­ed punk and reg­gae, there was no telling what he might cue up next; from the Balkan Folk of Emir Kus­turi­ca and The No Smok­ing Orches­tra to the new wave rhum­ba of Zaire’s Thu-Zahi­na, Strum­mer had one hell of an eclec­tic col­lec­tion, which should sur­prise no one who knows his work, but it’s still a joy to hear him spin his roller­coast­er playlists.

And now, you can lis­ten to him spin for eight hours straight if you like. All eight, one hour episodes of Strummer’s radio show are stream­ing free from PRX online radio. You can also down­load all eight episodes as pod­casts, in two-parters, free on iTunes. And if it weren’t already your lucky day: a help­ful gent named Zed has done the inter­net a favor and com­piled playlists for each show, com­plete with links for every artist, from the most notable to most obscure. I would per­son­al­ly rec­om­mend tak­ing a full day off and lis­ten­ing to every show straight through to the end. It may be the per­fect way to hon­or the man who did his lev­el best to bridge music and peo­ple from around the world with his work­ing-class hero per­sona.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Remem­ber­ing The Clash’s Front­man Joe Strum­mer on His 60th Birth­day

The Clash Live in Tokyo, 1982: Watch the Com­plete Con­cert

Mick Jones Plays Three Favorite Songs by The Clash at the Library

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian. He recent­ly fin­ished a dis­ser­ta­tion on land, lit­er­a­ture, and labor.

Woody Allen’s Typewriter, Scissors and Stapler: The Great Filmmaker Shows Us How He Writes

Here’s a fas­ci­nat­ing lit­tle win­dow into the work­ing habits of one our most bril­liant and pro­lif­ic artists. It’s from Robert B. Wei­de’s 2011 PBS film Woody Allen: A Doc­u­men­tary. In the scene above, Allen shows us the machine he has used for six­ty years, the only type­writer he has ever owned: an ear­ly fifties man­u­al Olympia SM‑3. “I bought this when I was six­teen,” Allen says. “It still works like a tank.”

Every com­e­dy sketch, every screen­play, every essay ever writ­ten by Allen was com­posed on the one type­writer. When Wei­de asks Allen how he man­ages with­out the “cut-and-paste” func­tions of a word proces­sor, he pulls out a pair of scis­sors and an old Swing­line sta­pler. “It’s very prim­i­tive, I know,” says Allen, “but it works very well for me.”

“Allen’s per­sis­tence in using the one and only type­writer of his life, and in prac­tic­ing cut-and-sta­ple edit­ing are cer­tain­ly curi­ous, quaint, idio­syn­crat­ic, even endear­ing,” writes Richard Brody in the Front Row blog at The New York­er; “but they’re also proof on the wing of two of Allen’s life­long qualities–untimeliness and hermeticism–as well as of the endur­ing strug­gle in his films between writ­ing and expe­ri­ence.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Woody Allen Answers 12 Uncon­ven­tion­al Ques­tions

Woody Allen Box­es a Kan­ga­roo, 1967

Woody Allen Talks With the Reverand Bil­ly Gra­ham

‘Stairway to Heaven’: Watch a Moving Tribute to Led Zeppelin at The Kennedy Center

Last month the sur­viv­ing mem­bers of Led Zep­pelin went to Wash­ing­ton to receive lau­rels from the pow­er­ful at the 35th Annu­al Kennedy Cen­ter Hon­ors. The most mem­o­rable moment, by far, came at the end of the event, when drum­mer Jason Bon­ham, son of the late Led Zep­pelin drum­mer John Bon­ham, put on a bowler hat like the one his father used to wear and joined Ann and Nan­cy Wil­son of Heart for a beau­ti­ful­ly arranged and very mov­ing ren­di­tion of “Stair­way to Heav­en.”

It was the grand finale of an evening of enter­tain­ment. Jim­my Page, Robert Plant and John Paul Jones sat watch­ing from the bal­cony (along­side the oth­er hon­orees and Pres­i­dent Barack Oba­ma and his wife Michelle) as a series of per­form­ers paid trib­ute to the leg­endary rock band. The full 20-minute seg­ment includ­ed an intro­duc­tion by comedic actor Jack Black (who called Led Zep­pelin “the best band ever”) fol­lowed by trib­ute per­for­mances from the Foo Fight­ers, Kid Rock and Lenny Kravitz. But the scene that real­ly brought down the house came at the end, when the young Bon­ham joined the Wil­son sis­ters to per­form Led Zep­pelin’s sig­na­ture song.

Ann Wilson’s singing was right on the mark. Under the most intim­i­dat­ing con­di­tions, she gave a beau­ti­ful and fault­less per­for­mance. “It was our hon­or to be asked to do it before an audi­ence like that,” Wil­son wrote after­ward on the Heart Web site. “My main goal though was to please Jim­my Page, Robert Plant and John Paul Jones…especially Plant, since all these many years he has taught me so much about singing from the soul and has giv­en me such a plea­sure in his lyrics. What a high that night was. Nev­er to be for­got­ten!”

Gui­tarist Shane Fontayne did an admirable job recre­at­ing Page’s famous solo at the cli­max of “Stair­way to Heav­en.”  But the most stir­ring moment came when a heav­en­ly choir–all wear­ing bowler hats to invoke the pres­ence of the depart­ed Bonham–joined Wil­son in singing the final lines of the song. Look­ing down from the bal­cony, the sur­viv­ing band mem­bers were vis­i­bly moved. Tears welled up in Plan­t’s eyes. It was a fit­ting trib­ute to a great band, and proof that rock and roll actu­al­ly can–in some hands, anyway–age grace­ful­ly.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pres­i­dent Oba­ma Pays Trib­ute to Led Zep­pelin in Wash­ing­ton D.C.

Jim­my Page Tells the Sto­ry of Kash­mir

Jim­my Page and Robert Plant Reunite in Exot­ic Mar­rakesh, 1994

Author Gary Shteyngart Reveals Why He Willingly Blurbs His Brains Out

If you’re an author of lit­er­ary fic­tion, you’d do well to shoot fel­low author Gary Shteyn­gart an advance copy of that soon-to-be-pub­lished mas­ter­piece you’ve got in the pipeline. He won’t just love the book, he’ll blurb it, thus telegraph­ing your insid­er sta­tus to the estab­lish­ment and read­ers in the know. It’s a far from an exclu­sive club. As author Levi Ash­er notes in the video above, Shteyn­gart’s the sort of men­sch who will­ing­ly blurbs his friends. Also friends of friends. Dit­to strangers. (For­mer stranger Karen Rus­sell won­ders if per­haps some agent-deployed fruit bas­ket was respon­si­ble for gar­ner­ing her some of  Shteyn­gart’s “swa­mi mag­ic”.)

The insou­ciant qual­i­ty of the typ­i­cal Shteyn­gart endorse­ment is not intend­ed to tele­graph any insin­cer­i­ty on his part. His mis­sion is secur­ing read­ers for the sort of titles indie book­stores hold dear, and in order for that mis­sion to suc­ceed, he has to gen­er­ate blurbs by the bushel. He may not get to the end of every vol­ume he cham­pi­ons, but he makes it deep enough to get a gen­er­al sense that such a thing might be plea­sur­able.

His high­ly pub­lic will­ing­ness to clam­or aboard oth­er authors’ band­wag­ons has been described as both promis­cu­ity and per­for­mance art. It has inspired a tum­blr, and now the tongue-in-cheek mini-doc­u­men­tary above. Nar­rat­ed by Jonathan Ames, it fea­tures a cav­al­cade of grate­ful New York City-based lit stars, game­ly striv­ing to exude the sort of dev­il-may-care buoy­an­cy at which their hero excels.

Thanks to Edward C. for send­ing this along.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

The Book Trail­er as Self-Par­o­dy: Stars Gary Shteyn­gart with James Fran­co Cameo

- Ayun Hal­l­i­day’s best known book was blurbed by Stephen Col­bert.

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