"What Would You Say, Kenny?"

My brother, Steve Pettit, has posted on his Divine Monkey MySpace site a recent radio appearance where he performed a song I wrote, titled "What Would You Say, Kenny?" Personally, I'm touched that the song means so much to him that he would perform it on a radio show, in lieu of one of his own songs. Since I have yet to record a demo of it, Steve's memory of the song derives from the two or three times I played it for him during a visit to Florida two years ago - an impressive feat of recollection in its own right. In my opinion, Steve is a brilliant song writer and performer whose work springs from a deeply personal, emotional well. I could be biased - he's my brother after all - but his work speaks for itself. Check it out. And by the way, that's me playing bass on "Mane" and bass and backing vocals on "Hold Your Breath."

In keeping with the weird theme of this blog, "What Would You Say, Kenny?" had an unusual genesis. Late one night, after playing a gig with The CoStars, I ran into a few casual acquaintances. An hour of hilarity and drinking ensued, and they invited me back to their place for an impromptu game night. Little did I suspect I was on the verge of being initiated into a Kenny Rogers cult - sounds like the beginning of a Reader's Digest true life adventure, right?

Now this group of people (a shout out to the Word Worms, y'all!) weren't your typical Kenny fanatics. It wasn't about the music, see...or the hairy chest, or his demonic frisbee throwing, or his undeniable sexual magnetism - though certainly these factors played a part. Really, it was all about the Gambler. It was about knowing when to hold 'em, when to fold 'em, when to walk away, and when to run. My companions, and soon to be fellow cult members (Kelly, Melissa, Merv and Jenny), pulled out a cup of dice with a gleam in their collective eyes, and asked me if I'd ever played Ten Thousand. People, let me testify - I was a Ten Thousand virgin. At this point in the night, under various stages of inebriation and exhaustion, the rules were head-spinningly complex. Even now, sober as a judge, I couldn't explain them. But the important thing I came away with that night, the capper that launched the night into the realm of the absurd, was the Word Worm's unique variation added to the rules of Ten Thousand - every time your turn came, you invoked Kenny Rogers as the Gambler before rolling the dice. If he favored you, "Kenny walked with you." More often than not, Kenny was a cruel bitch god.

That night Kelly, Melissa, Merv and Jenny held me down while Kenny filled me with his essence. By the end of that night, I didn't know where I ended and Kenny began. I recall that Kenny and I walked together a lot, though not as much as Merv and Kenny -Merv was Kenny's chosen one. Upon waking the next morning, it all seemed like a crazy dream. Further game nights conclusively proved that it was no dream. Kenny donned his cowboy hat, his best dusty suit, and worn travelling boots, descended to our gaming table and walked among us mere mortals, bestowing a smidgeon of his gambler's luck on his chosen few.

Weeks later, stilled brimming with the essence of Kenny, I got to thinking - what the hell would the real Kenny Rogers think of all this? He wasn't even dead yet, and here we were invoking him like he was the pagan god of gambling. Kenny has always struck me as a down to earth guy. He probably goes to church, drinks moderately, holds no truck with far out supernatural nonsense, and, though women around the world have thrown every conceivable article of clothing at him while he does his thing on stage, considers himself just a really lucky guy. But a god? No way. Not even a demigod.

But why not stretch this basic premise even further? Inspired in a roundabout way by The Archaic Revival, I thought what if I wrote a song from the point of view of a guy who really did believe that "magic breathed" in him (whether inspired by the gambler or not - I'll let you decide), who was able to channel wisdom from the past through the medium of song, opening portals which initiated a program of evolution towards the next stage of consciousness.

While I personally believe in the potential of such a vision, and have spent a good portion of my life travelling such a path, I find the idea of a wide-eyed mystic confronting "everyman" Kenny Rogers with his personal plan for spiritual evolution incredibly hilarious. Despite this humorous premise, this inside joke to myself, I do believe "What Would You Say, Kenny?" is one of my better efforts, successfully fusing folk, psychedelia and mystical/mythical imagery into something...well, magical. Though I think my wires got crossed and I ended up channelling Donovan instead of Kenny Rogers.

Take a listen. Let me know what you think. Let my brother know what you think. Let Kenny know what you think.

Tim Lucas interview

DVD Talk has posted an interview with Tim Lucas, noted film critic, the editor/publisher of Video Watchdog, an obsessive blogger, novelist and the author of a monumental, physically formidable biography Mario Bava: All the Colors of the Dark. Film historian Stuart Galbraith IV discusses with Lucas the challenges encountered during the period it took to write and self-publish his magnum opus, the state of film criticism in print and online, the possible death of the DVD format, and the conditions that an online film library would have to meet before Lucas could be convinced to relinquish his extensive film library.

I can't recommend Mario Bava: All the Colors of the Dark highly enough. It's a one of a kind work, a Proustian biography encompassing the history of Italian cinema as experienced through the life and work of an underrated "genre" director. As Lucas reveals, Bava was so much more - a highly skilled technician, respected cameraman, innovative special effects developer, an artisan, the list goes on. It is profusely illustrated with rare photos, stills and poster artwork. Truly a labor of love on behalf of Tim and Donna Lucas.

I bought my copy seven years ago, grumbling over the steep price of $100. After the book failed to materialize year after year due to Lucas' neverending research and, not surprising for a book of its dimensions, production problems, the running joke in my household was that Tim and Donna would crack under the pressure, run away to Mexico and live off the pre-order proceeds for the rest of their lives - we'd never see the finished product. On that fateful afternoon in September of this year when the Post Office finally delivered my copy, I almost cried as I carefully opened the box it was shipped in. The joy and excitement I experienced could only have been a small fraction of what Tim and Donna Lucas felt when seeing their baby for the first time, and finally having the opportunity to send it out to astonish the world.

If you get a chance to see the book, you'll realize early supporters got a heck of a deal. Copies now run $260 in the U.S ($290 throughout the rest of the world), and to my mind, it's well worth the price.

I will post a full review once I work my way through this monumental work - hopefully it won't take me as long to read it, as it took Lucas to write and publish it.

The education of the horror kids, part 1

One of the joys of the parenting experience, at least for me, is introducing my two boys (ages 4 and 11) to classic horror films.

The ambition of my oldest son, Milo, often exceeds his actual tolerance for the creepy. Two years ago, while on vacation, he convinced me that he could handle watching all four consecutive hours of the made for TV miniseries It. In my recollection, it wasn't all that scary, although Tim Curry's portrayal of Pennywise the clown certainly bestowed the movie its few high points. However I had seen the original broadcast through the eyes of a somewhat jaded twenty-something, one who bore no truck with Stephen King's "lame brand of horror." Milo, on the other hand, was a very impressionable nine year old who now, understandably, hates clowns. He didn't sleep for two days. Lois, my wife, certainly let me hear about it, banishing me to his very small guest bed to provide parental comfort. It was a punishment I accepted as suitably appropriate, even though my back ached for almost a week after. Now whenever I suggest showing Milo a new horror movie, she has to bring up the It incident. Fortunately, I can counter with the time she decided to show him Robocop because she didn't remember it being "all that violent." But that's a topic for another post. And yeah, we really are responsible parents.

Over the years, I've found that awareness of a particular child's sensitivies, what he or she can psychologically handle, is a crucial key to judging whether a particular horror film is age appropriate. It should go without saying that there's no way in hell I would show either of my children psyche-scarring movies like The Exorcist, The Shining, The Texas Chain Saw Massacre or any Italian horror film from the last thirty-seven years... yet. There are a number of great horror films, however, with minimal bloodletting that can serve as "training wheels" for those soul-jarring experiences.

When I took Milo to see a 3-D screening of The Creature from the Black Lagoon, he loved it. The literature major/film critic in me was so proud when he made the astute observation that the creature wasn't really a bad guy, but was just defending his home from human invaders. He wasn't all that impressed with the "crappy special effects" of the original King Kong, until I explained to him how ground-breaking they were for the time (and really, up until the 1970s). He still prefers Peter Jackson's remake, but has a soft spot for the original. Julian, my four year old, was drawn to horror imagery at a very early age. While barely a toddler, he would stare at the cover of the Arkham House edition of Dagon and Other Macabre Tales (in this portrayal, Dagon looks very much like the Creature from the Black Lagoon), growling "monster" over and over again. I've recently watched The Mummy, the original starring Boris Karloff, with Julian. He was fascinated with it, but couldn't understand why "the mommy" was the bad guy. He currently loves Casper the Friendly Ghost, vampires, spiders and black cats. Both boys are big fans of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Hellboy.

As he's growing into puberty, Milo is on the verge of desiring stronger stuff. A few weeks ago, he became obsessed with zombies, mainly from reading video game reviews of Biohazard. I briefly pondered showing him Night of the Living Dead, and tried to find a time where we could watch it unaccompanied by Julian - he's way too young for that kind of terror. That idea was laid to rest when Milo had an apocalyptic nightmare about zombies and begged me not to show him anything featuring zombies. Perhaps, I'll start him out with Val Lewton's I Walked with a Zombie after an appropriate time has passed. There's always next Halloween!

For more reading on this topic, stay tuned. In the meantime, check out this article by New York Times reporter Wendell Jamieson for more "chillers that should scare (not terrorize) the kiddies." For a different perspective, Entertainment Weekly correspondent Christine Spines shares her recollections of being psychicly scarred at a premature age by horror films during the halcyon heydays of the 1970s. Raised by her single mom, who couldn't afford babysitters and was a film buff with liberal ideas of what was appropriate viewing for children, Spines was dragged screaming to theaters, starting with The Exorcist at the age of 5 up until she drew the line after screening The Shining in 1980. Nowadays, I can't say I support exposing kids to such terrors prematurely, but oh, how I longed for such a parent when I was growing up.

Two Human Species?

Science fiction meets science fact (or at least scientific theory) in a recent study on human evolution conducted for the Bravo TV channel. Evolutionary theorist Oliver Curry of the London School of Economics predicts humans will eventually evolve into two distinct sub-species: a superior genetic ruling class whose members will be physically attractive and intelligent and a dim-witted, squat "goblin-like" underclass. First, about a thousand years from now, humans will come to average 6 to 7 feet in height and live for 120 years. By the year 3000, Curry postulates the human race will reach its evolutionary peak. Selective sexual partnering based on physical and mental characteristics will lead to the division of the human race. Curry states furthermore that racial differences will not play a factor in devolution since racial characteristics will be eliminated due to interbreeding, producing a "uniform race of coffee colored people."

Contemporary men obsessed with the size (or lack thereof) of their reproductive equipment can rest easy with the knowledge that, in the future, men will possess larger penises, as well as square jaws, deeper voices and symmetrical facial features. Women will develop "smooth, hairless skin, large clear eyes, pert breasts, glossy hair and even features."

Curry goes on to delineate the decline of the human race, citing over-reliance on technology as a critical factor that will ultimately contribute to the loss of essential social skills and basic human emotions such as love, trust and empathy. Future humans "could come to resemble domesticated animals" (anyone familiar with the "theory" that so-called grey aliens are humans from the future who have lost their emotions due to unchecked scientific progress could have told you that).

While the BBC article linked to above presents Curry's theories in an even-handed, respectful manner, I prefer this report from the Daily Mail. Illustrated with stills from both film adaptations of The Time Machine, the article really drives home the obvious parallels with H. G. Wells' classic science fiction novel.

I can't wait to see the backlash over Curry's work.

Indoor Life - Archaeology

I came across this track while reviewing B-Music: Cross Continental Record Raid Road Trip for the upcoming issue of Ugly Things magazine. Released by Finders Keepers Records, this fantastic compilation is absolutely essential for connoisseurs of Krautrock, world psychedelia, acid jazz, or European soundtracks from the 1970s. For readers possessing the peculiar tastes championed by this blog, the song Archaelogy should be nothing short of a revelation. This tasty prog rock rarity features performances by J. A. Deane, a trombonist and experimental synth musician who pulled a stint with the Ike and Tina Turner Review horn section, as well as DJ/synthesizer wizard Patrick Cowley, a pioneer of electronic dance music better known for his disco collaborations with Sylvester and his 15-minute remix of Donna Summer's I Feel Love. Considering the ensemble's collective track record, this piece is quite the oddity, sounding less like standard disco fare and more like a lost soundtrack nugget from an Italian horror film circa late '70s and early '80s. With its sinister synthesizer motif and howling, elephantine trombone lick, the song would cap off the opening sequence of Lucio Fulci's The Beyond perfectly.

Hailing from an unspecified society on the edge of collapse , the main character seems to be a power-mad villain who looks forward to a future era when archaeologists will unearth the remains of his city and unwittingly set him free to wreak havoc upon the new world. His main motivation is unclear. Does he want to bring about the apocalypse? Summon up the Old Ones? You be the judge. The complete lyrics follow:

They will know who I am
They will recognize me
They will make out my name
by a mark on the street

When the cities fall
Here we will remain
Embedded in cement
with only science to explain

The fated behemoth
The man who tames the beast
will not lie forgotten
never old, ever deep

And dig and dig and dig
the future waits beneath
until they excavate
until they set us free

We will meet again.

The lyrics, delivered in a creepy operatic voice by singer Jorge Cocarras, combine with the previously mentioned synthesizer and trombone parts, another disorienting phased synthesizer riff, and a buzzing guitar which evokes the sound of a giant insect invasion to create an effect that strikes this listener's sensibilities as positively Lovecraftian, and definitely weird. Topping it all off, a chittering sound fades in towards the end of the song. Initially, I wondered whether it was supposed to represent the clattering mandibles of the behemoth. I was reading too much into it. As the song fades, the noise becomes identifiable as a jackhammer! Even better, the jackhammer gets its own solo. Brilliant!

Though I do have to ask - what self-respecting archaeologist excavates with a jackhammer?

You can hear a 30-second sample of the song at the Finders Keepers website or download an .mp3 of the track here for a whopping $0.15.

Fortean Times - A Saucerful of Secrets

The Fortean Times website has posted A Saucerful of Secrets , penned by Andy Roberts, from their current issue. The article explores the connection between the hippie underground in the United Kingdom and the explosion of interest in the UFO phenomenon. Fueled by a burgeoning LSD mystical consciousness, psychedelic music and a conscious rejection of the materialistic values of previous generations, the culture latched onto the UFO phenomenon, viewing it as a harbinger of a radical shift in human consciousness. Sacred sites, especially Glastonbury ("embedded in the public consciousness as a centre of all things strange"), were focal points of sitings, inextricably weaving the phenomenon into a new mythological tapestry blending elements of the holy grail legend, ley lines and other earth power centers, expanded consciousness, and interstellar contact. As the underground was co-opted by marketing forces, the heavy interest in the phenomenon died down and became just another "hip belief to be 'into.'"

Long time readers of psychonaut Terence McKenna, comic book author Grant Morrison, and the literature of UFO encounters will have already noted a connection between the use of psychedelics and UFO spotting and/or contact. I was surprised by the serious interest in the UFO phenomenon expressed by several noted celebrities, including author Barry Gifford, Brian Jones and Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones, and David Bowie, who actually worked for a UFO magazine at one time. Roberts' article is well worth a look at by those interested in the cultural history of the Summer of Love, the hippie movement, and Fortean phenomenon.

You might have to create an account at the site to view the article.

And We're Off...

Welcome to the Journal of Weird Studies. I'm your host Joe Pettit Jr., and I'm a life long fan of things weird, wonderful, cosmic and terrifying. I plan to use this blog as a forum for critically discussing weird, horror, and fantasy fiction, genre films, comics and graphic novels, the occasional metaphysical tomes of both the popular and esoteric kind, fiction and nonfiction authors, music off the beaten path, weird happenings in our material world, and anything else I determine falls under this admittedly wide-ranging umbrella. Entries will range from short, off the cuff items, to longer, developed pieces.

I welcome serious and intelligent discourse and feedback. Please refrain from comments such as "crap," "bollocks," or "it's true because the lizard men from the fourth dimension told me so." The internet is overrun with illiterate, boneheaded pundits who believe they can definitively settle an argument solely with the use of an expletive. Unless you're willing to back your position in a serious, reasoned and respectful manner (which I wholeheartedly welcome), I don't want to hear it. As much as I'm a fan of fourth dimensional lizard men, I want to personally choose which crazy ramblings I read, not have them thrust upon me by someone in dire need of medication.

Thanks for reading, and I hope this will be fun for us all.

Coming soon: a discussion of 28 Weeks Later, a film I can't seem to stop grinding my critical axe against, and a look at Brian Lumley's Necroscope, the first novel in his long-running series.