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Thursday , April 8, 2010
R.I.P. Malcolm McLaren
(Vivienne Westwood and Malcolm McLaren)
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by Liz in In Memoriam
| Permalink | Stumble This! | Digg This! | Right Now I'm Twice The Age I Was When Kurt Cobain Died Which doesn't mean much but it's cool to think about, for a few minutes. Lately I've missed Kurt a lot and I realized yesterday that one of my favorite things about him is how he taught me that it's awesome to love Aerosmith. So here's "Aero Zeppelin":
Tags: Aerosmith, being 32 instead of 16, cat photos, Kurt Cobain
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by Liz in In Memoriam
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Wednesday , March 24, 2010
R.I.P. Jim Marshall
Jim Marshall, my second* most favorite photographer of exciting people from the '60s, died today at age 74. Here's some beautiful pictures:
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Tags: Grace Slick, Janis Joplin, Jim Marshall, Jim Morrison, John Lennon, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones
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by Liz in In Memoriam
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Thursday , February 11, 2010
RIP Alexander McQueen
I like to say that there is nothing innately tragic about death in itself, that the tragedy of death is circumstantial. Alexander McQueen's suicide was, and is, a tragedy, and I know I am not alone in feeling absolutely stunned by the gravity of his passing.
The landscape of contemporary fashion is a fragile realm. I see fashion as a weighty and legitimate art form that has for the most part been perverted by the flippantly wealthy and noxiously superficial. Alexander McQueen was one of the few working designers who remained uncompromisingly true to ideals of beauty, innovation, and innovation within beauty. He consistently worked to reshape, recreate, and deconstruct aesthetic norms; in doing so, he consistently surpassed tired standards of what constitutes "prettiness" or "femininity." He never played the game. He was a true visionary.
Another thing I like to say is that as an artist, the greatest challenge you will face is turning ugliness into beauty. Alexander McQueen was a great, great artist. He was a genius, and a Pisces. The fashion industry is going to be so much worse off without him. This is a horrible thing that happened. Rest in Peace Like Crazy, Mr. McQueen.
Tags: Alexander McQueen, fashion, In Memoriam, Pisceans
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by Laura in In Memoriam
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Wednesday , February 3, 2010
RIP J.D. Salinger
On the day J.D. Salinger died, I prophetically Wikipediaed J.D. Salinger's zodiac sign. J.D. Salinger was a Capricorn, and I came really close to Twittering something along the lines of "Non-surprise of the Century: J.D. Salinger is a New Year's Day Capricorn," but then I decided against it, because I have a high standard when it comes to Twittering, and it didn't make the cut.
The next day, the world found out J.D. Salinger died, and I Twittered, "I came really close to Twittering about JD Salinger being a Capricorn yesterday. I would have seemed so prophetic," and then I Twittered, "It's not that sad that a 91 year old died of natural causes in my opinion," which is still my opinion. In my opinion, a 91-year-old dying of natural causes is about as sad as a baby being born on New Year's Day; that is to say, not sad at all.
Later that day, my Dad e-mailed me J.D. Salinger's New York Times obit. I like New York Times obits, I hope to have one myself someday! It pains me that I'll never get to read it. J.D.'s NYT obit featured the following quote from the also-great John Updike (Pisces): "Salinger loves the Glasses more than God loves them." John Updike then goes on to say some semi-mean shit about J.D., like "He loves them to the detriment of artistic moderation," but I disagree. I would deem such love an advantage.
When J.D. Salinger died, I re-read Seymour: An Introduction and most of Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters, the latter of which is my absolute favourite, of all the books, ever. I love J.D. Salinger's italics-dependency. I accidentally ripped it off from him, over the years. The years. But mostly I love about J.D. Salinger what everybody loves about J.D. Salinger: his specificity, and his remarkable ability to capture, to revere, the dumb-lucky sweetness which underscores the banality of human existence and interactions. Like when Boo Boo Glass just about dies at just about everything, or when the Matron of Honor clutches at her handbag like it's her dolly.
And that's the LOVE. And I think to deny that love is worse than artistic detriment, I think it's artistic DEATH, which is a ton sadder than a 91-year-old dying of natural causes. I love J.D. Salinger, and I don't mind that he died. I get a real kick out of having my heroes be dead; I find it freeing, actually.
I will now spend the rest of my life trying to match the absurd beauty of the following paragraph:
"Let him come out of this a trifle high. But what kind of high? High, I think, like someone you love coming up on the porch, grinning, grinning, after three hard sets of tennis, victorious tennis, to ask you if you saw that last shot he made. Yes."
Tags: artistic death, death, In Memoriam, JD Salinger, John Updike, Twitter, writing
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by Laura in In Memoriam
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Tuesday , January 27, 2009
RIP John Updike: A Heartfelt Goodbye to a Hero
At six-o-clock this evening, while taking an unnecessarily long cigarette break from work, I received a text message from my friend Amy B that read, "RIP John Updike." I put two and two together, then started to cry. I'm crying right now; it is important for me to tell you all that. I am terrified of death (not that anyone isn't, but it seems to be particularly debilitating for me). My terror leads to obsession and preoccupation; as such, I often channel heaps of mental energy into contemplating what I will "feel like" on the day certain celebrities I love die. Lately, I have been stressing like crazy about the impending death of George Martin, which really freaks me the hell out and I can't deal with it.
I only wish I'd thought to dwell on what John Updike's eventual death would mean to me. It punched me in the stomach. I am sad.
To be a writer of fiction is to be invisible. Successful writers occasionally attain a moderate level of fame, but, in almost every case except for that of Truman Capote, who is special, that fame has little to do with them, him, or her. To be a famous writer is to be the name who wrote the books. That is elegant, and perfect. I want it too. As a twenty-three year old fashion blogger, I am cool with making a big showy deal out of my three names and weird clothes. But one of these days, I plan on growing up, and when I do, I want that- I want to disappear behind all the best words, arranged in all the best ways. I want them to be more than me.
John Updike's relevance and excellence are most frequently attributed to his gift for hyper-realistically capturing the sordid underbelly of (often painfully) average American life. I disagree with this. To me, John Updike's talent is for the polar opposite: for making disgusting nothing into brilliant something. I've always guessed that Updike immersed himself into the mind of the common man because he himself was something so separate from that; isn't it so like a Pisces (which he was) to transform revulsion into reverence?
Oh, and will his words live on? I don't know, whatever. I am not okay about John Updike's death yet. I have nothing clever to say. I want to be a writer forever.
PS: Here is the Guardian's Updike eulogy.
Tags: death, dying, George Martin, In Memoriam, John Updike, writers, writing
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by Laura in In Memoriam
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Monday , December 8, 2008
RIP JOHN LENNON FOREVER AND EVER
It's Beatle Death Season. Shit's rough.
28 years ago today, John Lennon was shot to death by a deranged nerd who I wholeheartedly wish I could beat to a bloody pulp every night for the rest of my life. It's the least I could do.
Basically, my entire identity- both on and off nogoodforme.com- revolves primarily around my intense love/obsession/intensely obsessive love with/for JOHN WINSTON ONO LENNON.
I've said it all, a million times. Just search "John Lennon" in our search thing, and you'll figure it out. I don't know who is reading this, and I don't know who even cares one bit. All I know is that my name is Laura Jane, and, for the first time in my entire life, I have an audience, and I am beyond grateful for it. My name is Laura Jane, I have an audience, and John Lennon is dead. I am Laura Jane, and I have an audience, and, My Dear Audience, I just wanna tell you:
John Lennon was killed 28 years ago today. John Lennon changed the world more than anybody else, ever (kind of), and I think that the very least we can all do is remember that today is the day that that terrible thing happened, and reflect upon it.
REST IN PEACE, HOT STUFF:
Seen above is a video from Ready, Steady, Go! of JL meeting Penny Rimbaud of Crass. Which is pretty cool in itself, but my actual favourite part has nothing to do with Crass, and everything to do with John Lennon scrawling "BUY MY BOOK" on the RSG! wall in permanent marker.
Tags: all my heroes are dead, In Memoriam, John Lennon, Laura Jane Faulds, Laura Jane's Dirty December, Laura loves The Beatles, Yoko Ono
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by Laura in In Memoriam
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Saturday , September 27, 2008
R.I.P. Paul Newman
For his obvious beauty as a human being, his understated lifestyle, his humanitarian work and his coolness in general.
(With wife Joanne Woodward, reading a script together)
Tags: Joanne Woodward, Paul Newman, TOO DUDE FOR YOU
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by Kat in In Memoriam
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Thursday , July 3, 2008
In Memoriam: Mark Sandman Mark Sandman, who's probably best known as the frontman for Boston band Morphine, died nine years ago today after having a heart attack onstage in Italy (he was 46). I remember hearing about it on the news in my BFF's living room while we were getting ready to hit the town for Fourth of July; it was just a couple weeks after I started working reception at the Boston alternative newsweekly that published this really sweet tribute to Mr. Sandman. I only ever got to see Morphine once, but I always had very fond feelings for Mark, mostly having to do with his belonging to a certain breed of rock star that possesses a charmingly avuncular kind of quality. Like, for instance, I often think of Bono as "Uncle Paul": He says and does some pretty cringe-worthy stuff sometimes, and he probably thinks he's way cooler than he truly is, but at the end of the day you're way happy to have him around. In real life, as opposed to Liz's Rock-Star-Populated Make-Believe Fairy Magic Land, I've got this warm/fuzzy memory of sitting around my aunt's smoky kitchen sometime in 1987 while my actual Uncle Paul sang along to a really perfect song called "I Think She Likes Me" by Mark's pre-Morphine band Treat Her Right. As far as avuncular rock stars ago, Mark Sandman definitely outcools Bono any day of the week and twice on Sunday: He'd totally be the uncle to let you bum a cigarette when your mom's not around and give you your first swig of whiskey when you're, like, eight or something. It's pretty heartbreaking that he didn't get to live many more years and make lots more records, but here's a little sample of the lovely stuff he left behind: Morphine, "Honey White" (You know this one, right?) Treat Her Right, "I Think She Likes Me" Tanya Donelly, "Moonbeam Monkey" (Mr. Sandman sings back-up. This is probably my favorite Tanya solo song.)
(P.S. I'm really sorry if your download link has naked girls in it. Apparently it's nearly impossible in this day and age to share music without getting naked girls involved.)
Tags: avuncular rock stars, Boston, Mark Sandman, Morphine, music
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by Liz in In Memoriam
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Sunday , June 1, 2008
RIP YSL
As much as I love fashion, I tend to dislike most fashion designers as people. This is generally a knee-jerk reaction on my part; it just irritates me that certain designers (KARL LAGERFELD) use their creative genius primarily as a tool for oppressing women, perpetuating eating disorders, and indulging the shallow desires of a privileged class. I'm not much of a fashion historian or theorist, but I am a dyed-in-the-wool aesthete and lifelong devotee of experimentalism. As such, it has always been clear to me that Yves Saint Laurent exists in a Universe light years away from the jerk-off misogynists (KARL LAGERFELD) that I hate. Beatnik-couture? Mondrian-chic? Le smoking? Loulou de la Falaise? Yes! I mean- mais oui!
YSL took risks, designed hard, made people look cool, championed women wearing trousers (THANK YOU), and wore the hottest spectacles ever. You can tell just by looking at him that he was a really kind-hearted human being, a total sweetheart. I am genuinely sorry and sad that he ended up dying at a relatively young age (71). But at the same time, I know that his passing will encourage and ignite gobs of retrospection and appreciation of his work, which I am personally looking quite forward to.
Yves Saint Laurent devoted his life to making the world more beautiful, and there is absolutely nothing more admirable than that. We will all miss you and your incomparable elan very, very much.
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by Laura in In Memoriam
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