The Ramones, a New Punk Band, Play One of Their Very First Shows at CBGB (1974)

“Ramones Reunion Near­ly Com­plete,” announced The Onion just about ten years ago, after the death of the band’s gui­tarist John­ny Ramone. His band­mates Joey and Dee Dee Ramone had each tak­en their leave of this mor­tal coil a few years before, and now, with the pass­ing of drum­mer Tom­my Ramone, all the group’s orig­i­nal mem­bers have gone to that big CBGB in the sky. In the video above, you can see the Ramones play­ing at the small CBGB down here on Earth — way down here on Earth, giv­en the set­ting of down­town Man­hat­tan in 1974. That year alone, after the rev­e­la­tion they brought about after first tak­ing the stage in their bangs, ripped jeans, and black leather jack­ets on August 16, they played the now-his­toric rock club no few­er than 74 times. Show length aver­aged about sev­en­teen min­utes, which means this video, at just sev­en min­utes, includes quite a few songs. The setlist includes “Now I Wan­na Sniff Some Glue,” “I Don’t Wan­na Go Down to the Base­ment,” and “Judy Is a Punk.”

This per­for­mance hap­pened on Sep­tem­ber 15, 1974, six months after their debut at Per­for­mance Stu­dios in March of that year. They would­n’t sign a record­ing con­tract until late the next year, but they would do it because the wife of Sire Records co-founder Sey­mour Stein saw them at CBGB. Though the Ramones always prid­ed them­selves on the raw­ness of their sound, this show catch­es them at a moment when, though they’d already armed them­selves with looks and the atti­tude that made them instant icons, they still had to feel their way through exact­ly what this “punk rock” thing would turn into. You can see their music tak­ing an even clear­er, more dis­tilled form in the 1977 CBGB set we fea­tured last year. They may have lived fast, the Ramones, but they played even faster. Could they have done it with­out the bor­der­line-unpun­k­like skill of their drum­mer?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Ramones in Their Hey­day, Filmed “Live at CBGB,” 1977

The Ramones Play a New Year’s Eve Con­cert in Lon­don, 1977

CBGB’s: The Roots of Punk Lets You Watch Vin­tage Footage from the Hey­day of NYC’s Great Music Scene

Watch the Sex Pis­tols’ Very Last Con­cert (San Fran­cis­co, 1978)

Rare Live Footage Doc­u­ments The Clash From Their Raw Debut to the Career-Defin­ing Lon­don Call­ing

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

Watch The Hire: 8 Short Films Shot for BMW by John Woo, Ang Lee & Other Popular Filmmakers (2002)

If there’s ever a Mad Men: The Next Gen­er­a­tion, count on a 40-ish Sal­ly Drap­er to psych a con­fer­ence room full of BMW execs out of the tried-and-true for­mu­la for lux­u­ry auto­mo­bile ads in favor of a ground­break­ing, night­mar­ish, pre-YouTube web series.

As fic­tion­al sce­nar­ios go, it’s about as like­ly as hav­ing the Hard­est Work­ing Man in Show Busi­ness James Brown place a win­ner-take-all bet with the dev­il (Gary Old­man) that his dri­ver Clive Owen can out-drag peren­ni­al movie bad guy Dan­ny Tre­jo. (In oth­er words, very like­ly.)

The prize?

Anoth­er 50 years of hip-shak­ing, leg-split­ting soul for the God­fa­ther of.

Can’t wait for the soon-to-be released James Brown biopic to find out who wins?

Check out “Beat the Dev­il,” above, the final install­ment of BMW Films’ 8‑episode series, The Hire. One of the new mil­len­ni­um’s ear­li­est exam­ples of brand­ed con­tent, each fre­net­ic seg­ment found Owen’s name­less dri­ver going up against a ros­ter of big name guest stars, includ­ing Don Chea­dle, Mick­ey Rourke, Mar­i­lyn Man­son, and an uncred­it­ed, pee-soaked Madon­na. (You heard me.)

Brown’s episode, direct­ed by the late Tony Scott, quick­ly ven­tures into David Lynch ter­ri­to­ry. Old­man’s Prince of Dark­ness gets laughs with a prop flu­o­res­cent tube and striped sus­pender tights, but the scene’s not with­out men­ace. (Recall Dean Stock­well lip-synch­ing Can­dy Col­ored Clown in Blue Vel­vet…)

The dia­logue calls to mind Jim Jar­musch’s blunt snap.

Dev­il: Stick your face in the hole!

James Brown: My face?

Dev­il: Stick it in the hole!

James Brown: My face?

Dev­il: Face in the hole!

James Brown: My face?

Dev­il: Face in the- oh, shit!”

Else­where, Brown’s line deliv­ery gets a boost from same-lan­guage sub­ti­tles, with­out which one could eas­i­ly mis­hear his con­cerns about aging as an unex­pect­ed, late-in-life racial iden­ti­fi­ca­tion switch. (Say it loud, I’m Asian and proud?)

If the clip above leaves you hun­gry for more, the com­plete BMW series, fea­tur­ing the testos­terone-rich work of such high octane direc­tors as John Franken­heimer, Guy Ritchie, and John Woo is avail­able on the playlist below. 

You can find The Hire added to our col­lec­tion, 4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Rid­ley Scott Talks About Mak­ing Apple’s Land­mark “1984″ Com­mer­cial, Aired 30 Years Ago on Super Bowl Sun­day

David Lynch’s Per­fume Ads Based on the Works of Hem­ing­way, F. Scott Fitzger­ald & D.H. Lawrence

The Coen Broth­ers Make a TV Com­mer­cial — Ridi­cul­ing “Clean Coal”

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, home­school­er and the Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of The East Vil­lage Inky zine. Fol­low her @AyunHalliday

“Weird Al” Yankovic Releases “Word Crimes,” a Grammar Nerd Parody of “Blurred Lines”

When “Weird Al” Yankovic is in the zone, he can spin a par­o­dy that is bet­ter than the orig­i­nal. He took R. Kelly’s pre­pos­ter­ous pop soap opera “Trapped in the Clos­et” and turned it into “Trapped in the Dri­ve Thru,” one of the best por­traits of every­day sub­ur­ban ennui I’ve ever come across. His hilar­i­ous tune “White and Nerdy” got twice as much traf­fic on YouTube than the song he spoofed, “Ridin’” by Chamil­lionar­ie. And off of his lat­est (and pos­si­bly last) album, Manda­to­ry Fun, Yankovic takes Robin Thicke’s bizarre but catchy ode to date rapeBlurred Lines” and flips it into “Word Crimes,” a dit­ty that is bound to delight gram­mar pedants every­where. Watch it above.

Jonathan Crow is a Los Ange­les-based writer and film­mak­er whose work has appeared in Yahoo!, The Hol­ly­wood Reporter, and oth­er pub­li­ca­tions. You can fol­low him at @jonccrow.

Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock (1969)

What must it have been like to have been at Wood­stock? Like, real­ly have been there, not just watched the film or the 2009 movie about Wood­stock, not just have gone to any of the sev­er­al mil­lion mud­dy, drug­gy out­door fes­ti­vals that pro­lif­er­at­ed in Woodstock’s wake, but real­ly been there, man? I’ll nev­er know. The real expe­ri­ence of the 1960s can feel as for­ev­er irre­triev­able as that of the 1860s. But, wow, am I glad for the devel­op­ment of mov­ing pic­tures and live audio record­ing in that 100 years.

Not only can we see the throngs of hap­py hip­pies mak­ing their way across Max and Miri­am Yas­gur’s dairy farm in the ini­tial few min­utes above, but we do not have to smell them! Seri­ous­ly, the footage lead­ing up to Jimi Hendrix’s Wood­stock per­for­mance is fun, includ­ing a brief glimpse of Jer­ry Gar­cia hang­ing out with the peo­ple. But you’re here to see Jimi, so, if you can’t wait, skip to ahead. The crowd cer­tain­ly waited—waited three days for Hen­drix to close the fes­ti­val Sun­day night with his band Gyp­sy Sun & Rain­bows. Then they wait­ed some more, all night, in fact, until Hen­drix final­ly took the stage at 8:00 a.m. that Mon­day morn­ing, August 18, 1969. I imag­ine every­one who stayed would say it was well worth it. Part 2 of the video is here.

The per­for­mances, as you know, are leg­en­dar­i­ly blis­ter­ing and include Hendrix’s famous­ly scream­ing, feed­back-drenched “Star-Span­gled Ban­ner.” See it above like you nev­er could if you were knee-deep in mud and stand­ing behind a crowd of thou­sands in the sum­mer sun. Hear it above in audio from Inter­net Archive, who also have mp3 and ogg vor­bis ver­sions of each song for free down­load. And hear a radio doc­u­men­tary about that per­for­mance below. Enjoy!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

‘Elec­tric Church’: The Jimi Hen­drix Expe­ri­ence Live in Stock­holm, 1969

Jimi Hendrix’s Final Inter­view on Sep­tem­ber 11, 1970: Lis­ten to the Com­plete Audio

Jimi Hen­drix Unplugged: Two Rare Record­ings of Hen­drix Play­ing Acoustic Gui­tar

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Percussionist Marlon Brando Patented His Invention for Tuning Conga Drums

Maybe you knew about Mar­cel Ducham­p’s pas­sion for chess. But did you know about Mar­lon Bran­do’s pas­sion for con­ga drums? Long­time fans may have first picked up on it in 1955, when the actor gave a microwave-link tele­vi­sion tour of his Hol­ly­wood Hills home to Edward R. Mur­row on Per­son to Per­son. Halfway through the seg­ment (above), Bran­do gets into his his­to­ry with the instru­ment, and even offers to “run down­stairs and give you a lick or two” — and the always high­ly-pre­pared pro­gram had cam­eras in the con­ga room ready to cap­ture this “impromp­tu” per­for­mance. While the inter­ests actors keep on the side may tend to wane, Bran­do’s seems to have waxed, and lat­er in life he even, writes Movieline’s Jen Yam­a­to, “enlist­ed the help of Latin jazz per­cus­sion­ist Pon­cho Sanchez while devel­op­ing a new tun­ing sys­tem for con­ga drums.” We can behold the extent and seri­ous­ness of Bran­do’s pur­suit of con­ga per­fec­tion with a look at one of those patents, filed in 2002, for an auto­mat­ic “drum­head ten­sion­ing device and method.

BrandoCongaDesign

As The Atlantic’s Rebec­ca Green­field explains in a post on “Patents of the Rich and Famous,” “tight­en­ing a drum takes a lot of effort. Once the drum head los­es its ten­sion, there are typ­i­cal­ly six sep­a­rate rods that need tight­en­ing. Far too many rods for Mar­lon. Bran­do explains that oth­ers have tried to devel­op mech­a­nisms that would improve the drum tight­en­ing expe­ri­ence but none of them pro­vid­ed a sim­ple or afford­able solu­tion.” Hence his motor­ized “sim­ple and inex­pen­sive drum tun­ing device that is also accu­rate and reli­able and not sub­ject to inad­ver­tent adjust­ments.” And if you have no need for an auto­mat­ic con­ga drum tuner, per­haps we can inter­est you in anoth­er of Bran­do’s achieve­ments? “He had these shoes that you can wear in the pool, that would increase fric­tion as you walk on the bot­tom of the pool to give you a bet­ter work­out,” says patent attor­ney Kevin Costan­za in an NPR sto­ry on Bran­do’s inven­tions. Or maybe you’d pre­fer to sim­ply watch The God­fa­ther again.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­lon Bran­do Screen Tests for Rebel With­out A Cause (1947)

The God­fa­ther With­out Bran­do?: It Almost Hap­pened

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

Johnny Cash Reads the New Testament

The best gospel recordings—by Aretha Franklin, The Sta­ples Singers, The Carter Fam­i­ly, even Elvis—hum with a deep sin­cer­i­ty that can be tru­ly mov­ing, despite the unin­ten­tion­al­ly fun­ny earnest­ness of bal­lads like “He Touched Me” (not to men­tion some of those album cov­ers). You can add to the list of South­ern gospel greats the name of John­ny Cash, who, like Elvis, got his start singing gospel and returned fre­quent­ly to the hymns of his youth. Unlike the King, how­ev­er, Cash also returned to the fold in the 1970s, part­ly influ­enced by his wife June Carter.

Cash would record a total of eight solo gospel albums with Colum­bia Records over his career, and a sort of old-time gospel great­est hits with The Mil­lion Dol­lar Quar­tet (Cash, Elvis, Jer­ry Lee Lewis, and Carl Perkins). He wrote a 1986 nov­el­iza­tion of the life of the Apos­tle Paul called Man in White, and a song of the same name (below), and in 1990, the aging star record­ed the entire New Tes­ta­ment, New King James Ver­sion. Hear the Gospel of Matthew above, and lis­ten to it on Youtube. Run­ning over 19 hours, the record­ing was repack­aged in 2008 as a DVD called Chap­ter and Verse, with a slideshow and a CD of 14 of Cash’s gospel record­ings.

Like his life and career, Cash’s reli­gious jour­ney was tumul­tuous, but once he’d kicked his addic­tion, he became some­thing of a “staunch, con­ser­v­a­tive Bible thumper,” writ­ing in the intro­duc­tion to The Man in White, “Please under­stand that I believe the Bible, the whole Bible, to be the infal­li­ble, indis­putable Word of God.” His the­o­log­i­cal views may have tem­pered over the years, but they remained staunch­ly Evan­gel­i­cal to the end of his life. That said, Cash “was a pri­vate man and pre­ferred to keep his faith to him­self,” once declar­ing, “If I’m with some­one who doesn’t want to talk about it, I don’t talk about it. I don’t impose myself on any­body in any way, includ­ing reli­gion.”

As in every­thing else Cash record­ed, his con­vic­tion comes through in his read­ing above. While he didn’t preach, he did prac­tice what he under­stood to be the val­ues of his faith, stand­ing up for the poor, impris­oned, and oppressed and against the pow­er struc­tures that con­stant­ly beat them down. Cash’s humil­i­ty and com­mit­ment to prin­ci­ple have inspired mil­lions of peo­ple who share his beliefs and mil­lions who don’t. To learn more about this lit­tle-dis­cussed side of the Man in Black, lis­ten to the one-hour radio doc­u­men­tary below from Pub­lic Radio Exchange.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ani­mat­ed Video: John­ny Cash Explains Why Music Became a Reli­gious Call­ing

Two Prison Con­certs That Defined an Out­law Singer: John­ny Cash at San Quentin and Fol­som (1968–69)

The First Episode of The John­ny Cash Show, Fea­tur­ing Bob Dylan & Joni Mitchell (1969)

Har­vard Presents Two Free Online Cours­es on the Old Tes­ta­ment

Free Online Reli­gion Cours­es

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch John Coltrane Turn His Handwritten Poem Into a Sublime Musical Passage on A Love Supreme

On Vimeo, James Cary describes his video cre­ation:

A few years ago, know­ing I absolute­ly adored the John Coltrane album, “A Love Supreme” my wife gave me this incred­i­ble book by Ash­ley Kahn : “A Love Surpreme/The Sto­ry of John Coltrane’s Sig­na­ture Album.” Read­ing the book, I dis­cov­ered some­thing remark­able: the fourth move­ment, Psalm, was actu­al­ly John Coltrane play­ing the ‘words’ of the poem that was includ­ed in the orig­i­nal lin­er notes. Appar­ent­ly he put the hand­writ­ten poem on the music stand in front of him, and ‘played’ it, as if it were music. I imme­di­ate­ly played the move­ment while read­ing the poem, and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. It was one of the most inspi­ra­tional and spir­i­tu­al moments of my life.
I’ve seen some nice ver­sions of this post­ed on the net, but want­ed to make one using his exact hand­writ­ing. I also want­ed to keep it sim­ple. The music and John’s poem are what’s impor­tant. I hope you enjoy this. I hope this inspires you, no mat­ter what ‘God’ you may believe in.

You can find a tran­script of the poem below the jump. And while we have your atten­tion, we’d also strong­ly encour­age you to explore anoth­er post from our archive: John Coltrane’s Hand­writ­ten Out­line for His Mas­ter­piece A Love Supreme. Housed at the Smithsonian’s Nation­al Muse­um of Amer­i­can His­to­ry, this hand­writ­ten doc­u­ment cap­tures Coltrane’s orig­i­nal sketch for his 33-minute jazz mas­ter­piece. It’s tru­ly a trea­sure of Amer­i­can his­to­ry.

via Ellen McGirt

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5 Musical Guests Banned From Saturday Night Live: From Elvis Costello to Frank Zappa

A defin­ing tele­vi­sion moment of my generation—Sinead O’Connor’s infa­mous rip­ping up of a pic­ture of Pope John Paul II on live tele­vi­sion after an a cap­pel­la per­for­mance of Bob Marley’s “War”—was as baf­fling to most as it was offen­sive to many. (O’Connor offered many elo­quent expla­na­tions for the act—most­ly ignored.) Not only did this strange form of protest effec­tive­ly send O’Connor into semi-obscu­ri­ty for the next twen­ty years, but it got her per­ma­nent­ly banned from Sat­ur­day Night Live by pro­duc­er Lorne Michaels. Michaels, it seems, didn’t so much object to her des­e­crat­ing the pope’s pic­ture. In fact, he has said he would have been fine with it… if only he’d known it was com­ing. He has called the moment both “a seri­ous expres­sion of belief” and “on a cer­tain lev­el, a betray­al.”

Michaels has banned many a per­former from the show, for many a rea­son. But most of all, it seems, Lorne Michaels hates sur­pris­es. As we’ve pre­vi­ous­ly not­ed, 23-year-old Elvis Costel­lo pissed Michaels off when he stopped his band dur­ing the intro to “Less Than Zero” and launched into “Radio, Radio” instead (above), a song he’d explic­it­ly been told not to play for its crit­i­cal take on mass media. Unlike O’Connor, Costel­lo would return to SNL when Michaels cooled down, 12 years lat­er, in 1989.

Leg­en­dar­i­ly bril­liant mess The Replace­ments hit the SNL stage in 1986 after the release of their first major-label album, Tim. They put on a respectably drunk­en, out-of-tune per­for­mance for their first song on the show, “Bas­tards of Young” (intro­duced by host Har­ry Dean Stan­ton).

So far, so clas­sic ‘Mats. But between this song and the next, “Kiss Me on the Bus” (above), it’s said they drank close to their weight in cham­pagne, and by the time they took the stage again—wearing each other’s clothes and stum­bling wildly—they were a com­plete­ly soused par­o­dy of them­selves. Fun­ny, right? Lorne Michaels was not amused. Singer Paul West­er­berg returned to the show as a solo artist, but the band nev­er received anoth­er invi­ta­tion.

Long before ston­er-rap­pers Cypress Hill got the SNL boot for smok­ing a joint onstage and trash­ing their equip­ment in 1993, abra­sive punk band Fear was said to have sparked a riot and caused $200,000 worth of dam­age to the set dur­ing their 1981 Hal­loween show appear­ance (above—introduced by host Don­ald Pleas­ance). Guests of John Belushi, who agreed to make a return cameo on the show on the con­di­tion that Fear come with him, their per­for­mances fea­tured typ­i­cal punk show antics, with row­dy audi­ence mem­bers smash­ing into each oth­er and storm­ing the stage. The N.Y. Post pub­lished an absurd­ly sen­sa­tion­al descrip­tion of the band’s appear­ance, cit­ing the $200,000 fig­ure and quot­ing an unnamed “NBC tech­ni­cian” as say­ing, “this was a life threat­en­ing sit­u­a­tion. They went crazy. It’s amaz­ing that no one was killed.” Bill­board lat­er set the record straight, how­ev­er. Appar­ent­ly, the extent of the offense con­sist­ed of “some­body… yelling obscen­i­ties close to an open mike.” Pro­duc­er Dick Eber­sol cut the per­for­mance short, and the show received “all of 12 com­plaints from view­ers.” As for all the sup­posed may­hem, Fear singer Lee Ving said, “all that hap­pened was that a plug got pulled out and a Hal­loween pump­kin was destroyed.” Nev­er­the­less, Fear would not be invit­ed back. Read more about that Fear appear­ance and Belushi’s love of punk rock here.


Belushi fig­ures in the per­for­mance of anoth­er musi­cian banned from the show—Frank Zappa—who served as both musi­cal guest and the show’s host. Zap­pa’s pompous atti­tude alien­at­ed most of the cast and crew in his first, and last, SNL appear­ance in 1978. Nerve names Zap­pa the sec­ond worst host in the show’s his­to­ry, cit­ing his “suf­fo­cat­ing air of smug­ness and uncon­cealed con­tempt for what he’d agreed to do.” Dur­ing the usu­al­ly chum­my clos­ing cred­its, “the cast mem­bers, oblig­ed to join him onstage, clus­tered near the edge as if fear­ing his per­son­al­i­ty might be con­ta­gious.” All but Belushi, who also joined Zap­pa and band onstage as Samu­rai Futa­ba dur­ing their third num­ber. As the clips above demon­strate, even SNL’s sec­ond worst host could still inject a good bit of wit and ener­gy into a show that’s often want­ed for both, not to men­tion the most well-rehearsed band in both avant-rock per­for­mance art and live tele­vised sketch com­e­dy.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Stunt That Got Elvis Costel­lo Banned From Sat­ur­day Night Live

William S. Bur­roughs on Sat­ur­day Night Live, 1981

Lorne Michaels Intro­duces Sat­ur­day Night Live and Its Bril­liant First Cast for the Very First Time (1975)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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