From Yoga Moves with Alan Finger (1983)
Do not over exert they say, as the dynamic, gyrating figures on the screen make impossible shapes at a pace so rapid that it warps the variables of light and colour, space and time. Tantric and Kriya Yoga Master Alan Finger has a lot to answer for. I will be calling him to account.
Suggested calisthenic routine from The Rheumatism School booklet. Come on, get to it.
The Rheumatism School is a 45 record that pairs pleasant, upbeat music with the soothing and persuasive voice of Renate Braasch. I don't speak German but, judging by the title and the accompanying booklet, it seems to be encouraging listeners to do some exercise, or gymnastikübungen.
I'm not a Doctor, but I certainly wouldn't recommend the sort of activity pictured on the cover for anyone with muscular-skeletal issues, but then the record was produced by big pharma company Nordmark, premier producers of painkillers.
I don't know why, but I'm obsessed with this publicity photograph of Dirk Bogarde and a parrot. My wife says there's something wrong with me, and I can hardly disagree. What I like to do is to put it up in different places in the house and see how long it takes her to discover it. It's a form of psychological warfare, really, and I feel bad about it, I really do, but I won't stop because I can't.
What do I like about it? First and foremost, it's the forced, fake nature of the thing. Secondly, because I know that Dirk was waspish and acerbic in real life, I'm sure he hated every second. Third - I'll bet the parrot disliked it too and, in a best case fantasy scenario, told Bogarde to 'fuck off out of it' after a few snaps of the camera.
I have been working on a Dirk Bogarde impersonation for a while, and, after an enormous amount of work, have finally managed to sound simultaneously posh and tremulous and sardonic and tired and angry and arch whilst reciting a couple of key lines. The house is dropping to bits, my hair is falling out, the world is on fire but, on the plus side, I'll be able to do a passable rendition of this dead British actor by 2027.
I've always had a keen interest in the mechanics of popular music, and, as I've grown older, that has led to short, intense obsessions with certain songs and artists, what my friend Ian calls 'rabbit holes' - things you disappear into, occasionally ill-advisedly. Where appropriate, I'll share some of my findings here. Naturally, I find what follows fascinating - other viewpoints may apply.
Amoureuse is a song that was written in 1972 by French singer-songwriter Veronique Sanson. Sanson was inspired by staying out late with her boyfriend. As she drove home early in the morning (she still lived with her parents) she realised that she was, for the first time, in love, with all the excitement and uncertainty that brings - amoureuse is a feminine noun meaning 'a woman in love'. It's a great song, and Veronique's version of the song is sung well, but is a little matter-of-fact - the backing is quite flat and doesn't build anywhere near enough tension as it moves to the chorus.
In America, songwriter Patti Dahlstrom was asked by Warner Brothers to rewrite the original for an American audience. She dispensed with the original lyrics, and instead simply wrote down what came into her head as she listened, concocting a scenario about a woman in a tenuous and frustrating relationship who, nevertheless, is unable to break away because of the passion of the affair. Retitled 'Emotion' (which perhaps sums up the less nuanced nature of the lyric), it was a US hit in 1974 for the engaging and hugely successful American based Australian singer Helen Reddy.
This take is poppy, slightly lightweight, occasionally verging on being a country ballad. It has its charms ('then you stumble in - and I am tumbling back to where it begins' is the highlight, I think), but it lacks the depth of the Osborne version or, indeed, the original.
Sanson has said that Reddy's perky take was her favourite version of the song, but it could be that a. it is different enough from the original to be admired with detachment and / or b. it made her the most money.
'You're not just a number with God. HE knows your name'.
1970s Television advert for the Christian Reformed Church.
The Responsive Eye was an exhibition of optical art held at the Museum of Modern Art in New York from February to April 1965. Some of the artists represented included Josef Albers, Bridget Riley, Frank Stella, Victor Vasarely and the French collective Groupe de Recherche d'Art Visuele.
Curator William C. Seitz said "unlike most previous abstract painting, these works exist less as objects to be examined than of generators of perceptual response, of colours and relationships existing solely in vision; of forms, presences and variations often entirely different from the static stimuli by the artist'.
The first night audience, captured in a short film (one of the cameraman was Brian de Palma), is clearly drawn from the upper echelons of Manhattan society (the men are wearing black tie; the women evening gloves), and seem largely indifferent, being far more interested in themselves and each other.
Some medical professionals are on hand to talk about the physiological effects the pictures and objects might be having on the viewer, and the curators and the artists work hard, talking about concavity and convexity, transience and translucence, perhaps trying to ensure people understand that this is ART, not a set of fairground mirrors.
David Hockney says that he detests some of the work because it 'makes my eyes blink', a statement he thinks very clever indeed, but then he's always been an obnoxious little prick.
Strong glare: screen eyes as shown to combat sunlight reflecting from snow / water / sand.
Use these protective measures even when the sky is overcast as harmful rays can still penetrate and hurt your eyes.
People differ in reaction to fierce light. Even though you may not seem troubled always wear eye protection in areas of brightness. Penalties for not doing: you will be unable to see far; judgement may falter; night vision affected; partial or total blindness, temporary and permanent; death.
From The Book of Survival by Anthony Greenbank (1967).
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