JOHN "HOPPY" HOPKINS EXHIBITION FOOTAGE

In case my review earlier still hasn't encouraged you to Hoppy's exhibition - or if you live too far away - here's a short video of the opening night produced by the Idea Generation Gallery. Get along if you can.



John “Hoppy” Hopkins: Against Tyranny is at the Idea Generation Gallery, 11 Chance Street, Bethnal Green, London until 19th July 2009, admission free.

http://www.ideageneration.co.uk/generationgallery.php

NAKED LUNCH 50th ANNIVERSARY at the BEAT HOTEL, PARIS

July 2009 marks the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of William Burroughs’ Naked Lunch by Olympia Press in Paris. To mark this auspicious occasion, this week the city hosted a number of events to pay tribute: Burroughs scholars attended a three day symposium; Naked Lunch @ 50: Anniversary Essays was published; and at the site of the Beat Hotel, a commemorative plaque was unveiled.

The Beat Hotel, home at various times from 1957 to Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, Gregory Corso at el, and birthplace of countless creations from poems to cut-ups, paintings to Dream Machines, closed in 1963 and is now the swanky Relais Hotel Vieux Paris. There’s nothing left of the old interior, save some timber beams and joists the new rooms have been built around. The rooms have been spruced up, decorated in sea of migraine inducing garishness: the same bright flowery pattern on the wallpaper, bedspread and headboard, curtains, cushions and table cloth. In its heyday it was officially known solely by the address of 9 Rue Git-Le-Coeur. The Beat Hotel title, given by Corso, made it sound grander than it was; in modern parlance it would be a shithole. There really was a hole in the floor the residents shat in, and those who didn’t bring their own paper made do with pages of the telephone directory. The rooms were known as cells, some, like Corso’s, you had to crawl on your knees to get in. There was little light and the electricity barely powered a dim light bulb and tiny radio in each room. What it did have was cheap rent, you were left alone, you could do what you wanted and providing the owner Madame Rachou (and her cat, Mirtaud) liked you, you’d have the authorities kept off your case. This freedom attracted the bohemian community of writers, poets, painters, photographers and prostitutes to live and for the Beats – especially Burroughs – to create.

Feeling the heat closing in on sweltering day fifty years later, around 80 people from both sides of the Atlantic and a film crew, gathered outside the hotel in the narrow Parisian alley to witness the unveiling of a “plaque commemorative”. Despite overlooking the Seine and across from Notre Dame, there’s little reason to venture down Rue Git-Le-Coeur so the event was mercifully spared rubbernecking passersby. Speeches and readings reverberated in the street, including lively tributes to Harold Norse, former resident and author of Beat Hotel who died only a few weeks earlier. A champagne reception was hosted in the hotel foyer where the old hotel café once stood and framed photographs of its famous residents looked down. A chap played the mandolin until the sweat and condensation on his glasses blinded him.

For all the beat associations with the site, the most famous is as the place Naked Lunch was finally completed. For years the manuscript was reworked and rewritten and rejected. Then, suddenly, Burroughs and pals had two weeks to type a completed version ready for publication by Olympia Press situated a few streets away.

So what would the plaque look like? What would it say? French artist Jean-Jacques Lebel had the honour of revelling all. On a transparent, rectangular sign, it read: “Beat Hotel. Ici vecurent: B.Gysin, H. Norse, G. Corso, A. Ginsberg, P. Orlovsky, I. Sommerville, W. Burroughs y acheva le Festin Nu (1959)”. I was expecting something about Bill and Naked Lunch, or the Beats in general; I wasn’t expecting to see some of those names but I’m pleased they’re there although that feeling wasn’t shared by some the hardcore Burroughsians. “Peter Orlovsky? Ginsberg’s boyfriend. What did he ever do?” In fact, there was nothing to say who these people were. So an “I. Sommerville” lived there. Onlookers will ask who he was. What did he do? When did he live there? I’m wary of anyone who doesn’t know William Burroughs, yet I wouldn’t expect many to have the foggiest about Ian Sommerville.

From an aesthetic point of view, the font looked a bit crap; the way the names were arranged diagonally that made “Burroughs” out of line looked rubbish; the way the names were listed with initials was disappointing; and why that order? It wasn’t alphabetically, it wasn’t in order of their time there, so I don’t know what it was. Maybe it was a cut-up. It could – and should – have looked brilliant, yet looked like a bit more thought was needed. On the plus side, it’s at least something and a nice way to doff the fedora to a book that’s as startlingly original today as it was fifty years ago.

The Youtube footage I took is here

JOHN "HOPPY" HOPKINS: AGAINST TYRANNY - PHOTOGRAPHS AND PSYCHEDELIC ART FROM THE 60s COUNTERCULTURE

I’ve banged Hoppy’s drum on here before and for Shindig magazine so I don’t propose to list his lengthy achievements again; let’s just say he provided the foundations and the cement for the 60’s underground scene and tell you about his huge new photo exhibition at the Idea Generation Gallery.

Covering the early to mid 1960s these shots document politics, protest, poverty, police, pop, pot, poets, beats, beatniks, Beatles, beboppers and bikers. That’s just for starters. There are copies of International Times (which he co-founded), Nigel Weymouth’s posters from the UFO Club (which he ran with Joe Boyd), a new half hour documentary and grainy archive footage.

Many photos were featured in From The Hip, published last year after a friend accidently discovered the originals stuffed forgotten under Hoppy’s bed, but now he’s added enlightening captions that not only add to the enjoyment of these fabulous pictures but show he’s lost none of that fierce independent spirit nor those quaint old hippy ideals of justice, freedom and fair play. With most flowers from that generation now withered and died, Hoppy’s roots remain as solid as ever. As someone once said, “what’s so funny about peace, love and understanding”?

John “Hoppy” Hopkins: Against Tyranny is at the Idea Generation Gallery, 11 Chance Street, Bethnal Green, London until 19th July 2009, admission free.

From The Hip: Photographs by John “Hoppy” Hopkins 1960-66 is published by Damiani priced £24.99. www.hoppy.de

JUNE PLAYLIST

Nearly forgot this month’s playlist so here’s a rushed glimpse at ten numbers that have lit the moon in June.

1. Milt Trenier – “Flip Our Wigs” (1953)
Best known for “I Gonna Catch Me A Rat” but “Flip Our Wigs” is bigger and bawdier.

2. Bobby Marchan – “Chickee Wah-Wah” (1956)
Instantly recognisable – if slightly oddball - sound of New Orleans.

3. Lou Donaldson – “Sputnik” (1957)
Lou gets in on the ‘57 Sputnik fascination with a ten-minute bebop master blaster.

4. Dorie Williams – “Tell Me Everything You Know” (unknown, circa 1962?)
Cracking rare single for R&B dancefloors. Can’t find out anything about it. Anyone?

5. Little Jimmy Dickens - ”May The Bird Of Paradise Fly Up Your Nose” (1965)
“May the bird of paradise fly up your nose/ May an elephant caress you with his toes/ May your wife be plagued with runners in her hose/ May the bird of paradise fly up your nose”. A US Country number one, naturally.

6. Gram Parsons – “I Just Can’t Take It Anymore” (1966)
Never paid much attention to Gram’s Dylanesque home recording until the Lemonheads covered it but it’s good.

7. Sugar Pie DeSanto – “Witch For A Night” (1966)
A party poppin’, show stoppin’, wig-floppin’, Hammond and horns rave-up.

8. The Seeds – “The Wind Blows Your Hair” (1967)
So many to choose from. Bless you Sky.

9. The Ramones – “Surfin’ Bird” (1977)
Bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word.

10. Jim Jones Revue – “Princess and the Frog” (2009)
Single of the year.

Bonus track. The Lemonheads featuring Kate Moss – “Dirty Robot” (2009)
An electro funk boogie with vocals by Kate Moss. I’m ashamed and confused. Really like this and have no idea why.

CAF! FRIDAY 10th JULY

Hastings! Huh! Yeah! What is it good for? Absolutely nothing usually but on Friday 10th July you could do worse than pop your head into Bar-Celona for some choice tunes to sip your sangria (or Stella) to.

I’ll be dragging a box of Monkey Magic on the train to join CAF resident DJs Rowly and Southern Sam to spin some summery sixties soul and R&B 45s. All the details you need are above.

Feeling in an up tempo rhythm and soul mood myself, with a splash of danceable fuzzed-up blues and a few ever-faithful Motown monsters. Cool as fuck.

THE FLIPSIDE PRESENTS THE ART OF EXPLOITATION: ANTONY BALCH NIGHT

“If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the movies. Don’t even mention them to me”. It’s a Holden Caulfield line I regurgitate with tedious monotony but the chaps at Flipside are causing me to wobble. Their nights at the British Film Institute/National Film Theatre, specialising in unearthing oddities and obscurities (mainly from the 1960s) are rapidly turning into must-do events. This month “The Art of Exploitation: Antony Balch Night”, showed three films; two he directed and one he contributed filming to.

Balch is best known (to me at least) for his work with William Burroughs and a BFI restored print of Towers Open Fire (above), their eleven minute 1963 cinematic cut-up was shown first. Together they made as close an approximation of reading one of Bill’s more challenging books as you could get. It jumps about, it repeats itself, it layers one image on top of another, it jumbles sights and sounds, it blurs, it bleeds, and it leaves the viewer disorientated. Balch also distributed porn films and would show them in his cinemas along with his experimental Burroughs work as the opening feature. Quite what the dirty mac brigade turning up to see The Kinky Darlings made of Bill shooting up and Balch having a Barclays is anyone’s guess, but for Burroughs enthusiasts Towers Open Fire is an invaluable record covering the people, places, themes and activities central to his creative highpoint during the late 50s and early 60s.

Another 1963 short Kronhausen’s Psychomontage No. 1 also mixes sights and sounds; this time “erotic” scenes and scenes of animals and fish with the soundtrack swopped. Unless I’m mistaken, a stocking clad young lady has sex with a dog in the park.

The nearest Balch came to directing a “normal” film was Horror Hospital (1973) starring Robin Askwith as a struggling pop star who books in to a health farm to get straight. Only all is not as it seems. Cue clap of thunder and lightning reflecting off the twisted face of Dr Storm, the knuckle-clicking, wheelchair-bound, evil scientist played by Michael Gough. Ha, ha, haaa. Storm lobotomises his guests and any trying to escape are decapitated by a sword wielding Rolls Royce driven by a dwarf. You get the picture. The acting is thick ham, the script clunky, the plot thin, the budget tiny, and the special effects stretched to a couple of tins of crimson paint. Yep, great fun. More by accident than design it was laugh out loud funny.

The next Flipside is on Thursday 23rd July with the screening of Joanna a full-on swinging London picture from 1968. “Lovely Joanna, doe-eyed and Twiggy-esque in her groovy gear, descends on the Big Black Smoke to take an education in free love, shoplifting and art at the Royal College, her exploits soundtracked by the great Scott Walker song”. Director Mike Sarne will be there for a Q&A session. And finally, get yourself their DVDs: London In The Raw, Primitive London and The Bed Sitting Room, all highly recommended.

www.bfi.org.uk
www.myspace.com/theflipsidepresents

A TRIBUTE TO SKY SUNLIGHT SAXON

When most of your favourite music was made between 40 and 50 years ago you get acclimatised to seeing endless obituaries for artists that left their mark in hearts and record collections. Without wishing to sound disrespectful, most of these I treat with a shrug as they were getting on, they hadn’t made a decent record for decades, and I never even saw them in concert let alone met them personally.

But I’m genuinely saddened to hear the news today of the death of Seeds supremo, Sky Sunlight Saxon. It’s taken as read those Seeds records are bona-fide garage classics; Daryl Hooper’s organ and Saxon’s unmistakable vocals ensured they sounded like nobody else. But it’s that Saxon was still active recently, gigging and recording, that makes this particular passing all the harder to take. I saw him perform three times in the last six years and loved them all, particularly the first one at the Borderline in London, 2003. It was like he’d been living in a psychedelic cave since 1969 only to come out blinking into the harsh modern age to give an amazing performance of classic Seeds songs and new songs about spiders, aliens and fools on Capital Hill. Take a listen to “Seven Mystic Horsemen” from his 2005 LP Transparency for evidence he could still conjure the magic.

I also had the real pleasure and honour of chatting to him a few times and he was such a lovely, sweet, soft spoken man. He was on a totally different planet though, and trying to pin his brain down was like trying to make water run upstream; you just had to go with the flow and see where you’d end up. One moment of clarity did occur when I asked about the Seeds and said I thought they sounded so unique I couldn’t tell where their sound, his voice, come from? “I was trying to sound like Howlin’ Wolf with a piano”. I’ve always listened to them slightly differently since and he's right you know.

The last word belongs to Sky himself with a quote from March 2009 on his website: “I think you could retire when you die. I don't, however, believe in death, so I guess I will retire when I leave my body. But I plan to continue writing and performing in heaven”.