Hail to the King.
Happy birthday Jack Kirby!
WAALLLL, I’ll spare you the details, but I am in pretty dire financial straits and I need to open up commissions again. I hate to do this because, um, I’m not even done with the last round of commissions (they’re on the plate for this week, though), but I’ve got to raise OHHHHHH about four thousand dollars in the next two months or so. Neat, huh?
To start off, I’m opening up ten slots for Half-Pint Hero commissions only (those are the little cutesy guys up above) starting at $25, incl shipping. These are black-and-white illos (sometimes with gray marker highlights) on 8.5x11 cardstock, they can be whatever character you’d like, or maybe a little drawing of you, or your friends, or your imaginary friends, or maybe of your enemies and you can use the drawings to taunt those guys. Your choice!
Single figure is $25, $5 for every additional figure, please drop me a line at email@example.com to reserve a spot and let me know what you’d like. Paypal is happily accepted. All commissions will be finished and in the mail by September 15, 2014.
I’ve got a couple pieces by Calamity Jon and I love them all.
Nobody draws like him and he’s got a wicked sharp brain. It’s well worth your dollars to get your fave hero drawn by him.
Mine was Powerman.
I wish I could afford one! Maybe I should open up for commissions so I could get one from Jon…
Happy Birthday, H.P. Lovecraft, born 20 August 1890, died 15 March 1937
- The world is indeed comic, but the joke is on mankind.
- If religion were true, its followers would not try to bludgeon their young into an artificial conformity; but would merely insist on their unbending quest for truth, irrespective of artificial backgrounds or practical consequences.
- I couldn’t live a week without a private library - indeed, I’d part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor before I’d let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.
- Pleasure to me is wonder—the unexplored, the unexpected, the thing that is hidden and the changeless thing that lurks behind superficial mutability. To trace the remote in the immediate; the eternal in the ephemeral; the past in the present; the infinite in the finite; these are to me the springs of delight and beauty.
- I never ask a man what his business is, for it never interests me. What I ask him about are his thoughts and dreams.
- Creative minds are uneven, and the best of fabrics have their dull spots.
- The most merciful thing in the world… is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.
- Contrary to what you may assume, I am not a pessimist but an indifferentist- that is, I don’t make the mistake of thinking that the… cosmos… gives a damn one way or the the other about the especial wants and ultimate welfare of mosquitoes, rats, lice, dogs, men, horses, pterodactyls, trees, fungi, dodos, or other forms of biological energy.
- The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.
- Almost nobody dances sober, unless they happen to be insane.
Lovecraft was an American author. He achieved posthumous fame with his works of horror fiction that include The Call of Cthulhu, The Shadow Out of Time, and At the Mountains of Madness.
Source for Image
Jack Kirby At Home
In FANTASTIC FOUR #10, Doctor Doom visited “the studio of Kirby and Lee, on Madison Avenue,” crashing a plotting session and knocking the two out with sleeping gas. In reality, Kirby only came into the offices about once a week. He worked from a varnished-pine room in the basement of his Long Island home, with a bookshelf of Shakespeare and science fiction for inspiration and a ten-inch black-and-white television for company—and the door shut, to keep the cigar smoke from billowing out to the rest of the house. His name certainly wasn’t on any Madison Avenue door. “That was a lot of stuff that Stan Lee put into magazines, but the artists were all over the island,” Iron Man artist Don Heck told an interviewer. “I could go into the office two times this week, and somebody else could go in two other times…you just don’t cross paths.”
Text from MARVEL COMICS: THE UNTOLD STORY
Maria Mckee - Absolutely Barking Stars (Live)
Happy birthday Ms. McKee!
David Bowie - “Heroes” (1977)
After Low, Bowie wasted no time in heading back to the studio for the recording of “Heroes,” which was released later that same year. “Heroes” is very much a continuation of many of the themes on Low, in particular the experimental processes and the sonic representation of Bowie’s surroundings in West Berlin.
Though the album’s title track, “‘Heroes,’” is largely known today as a triumphant exaltation of the strength of the human spirit, having been featured in Glee and the 2012 London Olympics, its origins are slightly more cynical in nature. The song was never intended to be a feel-good crowd-pleaser, and its inspiration is relatively bleak in comparison to its widespread interpretation. Bowie had looked out the window of the recording studio to witness producer Tony Visconti meeting with his mistress directly under the shadow of the Berlin Wall. Thinking this a strikingly grim place to conduct a romance, Bowie wrote a song about two lovers who attempt to assert their triumph over oppressive forces. The quotation marks in the title reflect the irony in the term “heroes,” as the lovers’ struggle is partially self-made and they are already defeated before they have begun. There is even an element of the existential in Bowie’s shriek of “We’re nothing, and nothing will help us,” suggesting the only heroism is in the very fact of their futile action against the insurmountable, rather than in the ultimate outcome.
“‘Heroes’” is as close to perfect as a song can get. There is nothing that can be improved in terms of its completeness or execution. Though I have included the song’s promotional film for its stark beauty, it is only as long as the three-minute single edit, and I recommend listening to the full six minutes in order to truly appreciate how perfectly the song works as a whole composition. The song’s creation exemplifies one of the multiple experimental techniques Bowie explored during this period, in this case specifically at the suggestion of Tony Visconti. Bowie sang the song live into a system of three microphones set up at different intervals further and further away from where he stood. As his voice swelled in force and volume, the more distant microphones were switched on, giving his performance a very literal depth.
Bowie’s vocal delivery moves from a flat croak that would be at home on Low into a frantic cry of desperation. This gradually mounting frenzy in Bowie’s voice is contrasted with Robert Fripp’s circular, repetitive guitar riff. It is as if Bowie’s vocals are caught in an endlessly repeating cycle from which they cannot escape, no matter how hard he fights or how loudly he shrieks. The song ends in a fade out, that same riff continuing on indefinitely, and all of Bowie’s cries rendered ultimately futile. It is the same futility with which the song’s lovers assert their heroism, and the song is a flawless merging of musical form and artistic meaning.
Ladies and Gentlefolk, today is Terry Adams’ birthday. Have a slice of prime Q.
NRBQ: Crazy Like A Fox