* Halloween countdown post #19/restored

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* borrowed from Taddle Creek

 

A is for All Hallows Eve, or Halloween. All Hallows, also known as All Saints’ Day, takes place on November 1st. It is a day when Catholics celebrate those who have been beatified. All Souls’ Day is the day after All Saints’. The church decreed it a day to pray for those poor souls in purgatory—spirits suspended between heaven and hell. In the Middle Ages, the days were known collectively as Hallowtide. On the eve of All Souls’, churches would ring bells to scare away the dead. Some churches rang bells all night long.

B is for Robert Burns, the Scottish poet. Burns wrote “Halloween” in 1785. “Some merry, friendly, countra-folks / Together did convene, / To burn their nits, an’ pou their stocks, / An’ haud their Halloween / Fu’ blythe that night.” The poem refers to the Celtic Halloween custom of fortune-telling with nuts and apple peelings. Emigrating Scots brought the custom to Canada. Other Halloween customs carried here by Scots and Irish: bonfires, begging for food door to door, playing pranks on those who would not furnish food.

C is for Caledonian Society. Founded in Canada, in 1855, by affluent Scottish-Canadians, the Caledonian Society held banquets across Canada on Halloween. “We are not divining the future, or burning nuts, or catching the ‘snap apple,’ but [we are] celebrating Scottishness,” a speaker told Caledonians in Montreal, in 1885. In Toronto, George Brown was active in the Caledonians. Halloween here was a night of feasts: besides the Caledonian Society, different regiments of the military held a Halloween dinner, as did colleges at the University of Toronto. A meat market ran this ad on October 29, 1903: “HALLOWE’EN POULTRY. We are having heavy enquiries already.”

D is for Dennison Manufacturing Company. “You would be surprised,” said a young lady in Bookseller and Stationer magazine, in 1924, “how many people give Hallowe’en parties the last two weeks of October.” The young lady worked at a Toronto store. She supervised the crêpe-paper department. Dennison Manufacturing, of Framingham, Massachusetts, was the country’s main maker of crêpe paper. Dennison had a Toronto office in the early nineteen-hundreds. It was located on Wellington Street West. They were the first to sell yellow, orange, and black crêpe paper. They sold crêpe paper printed with owls, bats, jack-o’-lanterns, black cats with arched backs. They published The Bogie Book, the Bible of Halloween party guides. Place cards, Spanish moss, blindfolds, costumes—The Bogie Book told how to make them all from Dennison crêpe paper. Crêpe paper is combustible. The parties were firetraps.

E is for Eaton’s. “Don’t Miss The Hallowe’en Parade,” read an Eaton’s ad in the Toronto Daily Star, in 1929. The Eaton’s Santa Claus Parade involved several floats and many paraders. The Hallowe’en Parade? “A big pompous general will lead Felix, Bluebeard—A gypsy, a Zulu, and other familiar folk in a march around Toyland.”

F is for Frankenstein. Billy Pratt was a British lad. In 1909, he was flunking out of King’s College London. He was studying Chinese customs and languages; he wanted to act. He travelled to Canada and wound his way to Toronto. The Canada Company office found him work in Hamilton. Pratt became a farmer, but after three months, he drifted westward, working as a ditch digger, a tree cutter. Soon he convinced a stock company in Kamloops, British Columbia, to let him join the troupe. He changed his name to Boris Karloff. Karloff was a surname of some of his relatives; Boris was a name he said he “plucked out of the cold Canadian air.” Karloff toured Alberta and Saskatchewan, then he headed to Hollywood. His role as the monster in Frankenstein made him a star.

 

 

H is for Dr. H. H. Holmes. Holmes built himself a hotel in 1893, in Chicago, that boasted, in the words of the crime writer Connie Fillipelli, “iron-plated rooms, secret passages, hidden chutes that ended in the basement directly above zinc-lined tanks, sealed rooms with gas jets, stairways that led nowhere . . . trapdoors, a dissecting table, surgeons’ tools.” The building was a blueprint for every carnival and amusement park haunted house to come. It’s believed Holmes murdered more than a hundred people there. Then he went on the lam, landing in Toronto. He buried more bodies in the basement of a house near Barrie, Ontario. Pinkerton detectives shadowed him. Again he fled. They nabbed him in Boston, tried him in Philadelphia. In 1896 he was hanged.

I is for Isabel Grace Mackenzie. She died in 1917 and was survived by her son, William Lyon Mackenzie King. Mackenzie King became the prime minister of Canada. He hung a portrait of Isabel in his study, and kept it lit night and day. He spoke to her through a Ouija board and a crystal ball. He contacted her during séances. On October 6, 1935, his dead mother communicated the following to him: “Long ago I dreamt that you would succeed Sir Wilfrid Laurier. Long ago I knew God meant you to be prime minister. Long ago I [more than] knew that God meant that you would serve His holy will. Good night.” King was buried beside his mother in Mount Pleasant Cemetery.

 

 

K is for kisses. “Ducking for apples is rather out of late,” said the Everywoman’s Column of the Toronto Daily Star, in 1913. The topic: suggestions for Halloween parties. What did the column recommend? A taffy pull. “For the taffy pull, pull the taffy from buttered plates and save mother’s busy hands next day.” A taffy pull fulfilled two functions: it provided entertainment, and it provided eats. For hosts who didn’t have time to cook candy, stores sold it. At Halloween, a confectioner called Hunt’s sold a “Taffy Sucker, Face on Stand” for a nickel. In 1925, Eaton’s advertised a variety of taffies for Halloween: “peanut crisp, cocoanut and peanut, peanut and butterscotch.” During the Depression, the molasses kiss grew in popularity. No one seems to know why. Maybe molasses was cheaper than the ingredients for taffy? “Just In Time For Hallowe’en Parties,” read an ad from Loblaw’s, in 1933, “HALLOWEEN KISSES.” Fifteen cents bought a one-pound bag.

 

 

M is for David Manners, who played the handsome John Harker in Dracula. Manners was born in Halifax. His real name: Rauff de Ryther Daun Acklom. He studied forestry at the University of Toronto, and acted at Hart House Theatre. He hightailed it to Hollywood, where James Whale spotted him at a party. Whale cast him in his directorial debut, Journey’s End. Manners went on to work with directors Frank Capra and George Cukor. Tod Browning cast him in Dracula. In The Mummy, Manners played opposite Boris Karloff. In The Black Cat he starred with both Bela Lugosi and Karloff. He eventually abandoned the movies. Some suggest he quit, in part, because his studio suggested he marry a woman (Manners was gay). Retiring from acting, he retreated to the California desert. He wrote novels, and died in 1998. Horror movies, he once said, were his “only claim to movie fame.”

N is for noise. Making noise was at the heart of Halloween in its early days. Revellers tossed rocks and mud at windows and doors. They crafted noisemakers from tin cans, wooden spools, roofing tiles. A mid-century Halloween package produced for Canadian schoolteachers included instructions for making a Halloween megaphone. As early as 1900, Halloween noisemakers were being produced in Germany and exported to the United States. Styles for sale included horns, rattles, cranks, snappers, and clappers. “Weird Spirits a-gamboling,” said a 1913 ad for Mason and Risch Limited, of Toronto. “Witch Caps—Pumpkin Heads—Dominoes—Flowing Robes—Holed-Out Eyes. Strange phantasies they are! Yet, who and WHAT are they? Listen, then, they are the phantom witcheries of Hallowe’en!” The ad was peddling the Victor Victrola. “To sit snugly around the open fire, revelling in all the mystic rhythms of this bewitching fairyland of Hallowe’en, conjured up so wonderfully by the little Victrola, will make the evening’s frolics complete!” Which mystic rhythms did the store recommend? “The Dance o’ the Fairies,” “Peer Gynt,” and “Will-of-the-Wisp.”

P is for Philip Morris. In the nineteen-fifties he toured across Canada performing in a ghost show—a magic show with supernatural and horrific effects. His stage name: Dr. Evil. To garner publicity, he’d arrive early in a town and pull stunts. Drive a car blindfolded. Raffle off a “dead body.” The dead body was a frozen chicken. The R.C.M.P. once arrested him for dressing as a gorilla in public. Years later he invented an artificial spiderweb made of cloth. He made a killing.

Q is for Kew Beach. In 1945, Halloween hooligans burnt bonfires on Queen Street East. To feed the fire, they tore down fences and gates. Police were called. When they rode up on horses, they were pelted with stones and bricks. Hooligans blocked fire trucks with piles of concrete blocks. Thirteen troublemakers were taken in. A mob of seven thousand marched on the Main Street police station, hell-bent on springing the hooligans. Police cruisers rushed to the scene with tear gas. Water cannons dispersed the rioters. Five firemen were injured, as were a couple of cops.

R is for rides. Leon Cassidy needed a “dark ride.” In 1928, Cassidy was the co-owner of a small amusement park in New Jersey. Lots of amusement parks had an “old mill” ride: boats floated riders down canals decorated with scary scenery. Cassidy couldn’t afford to build a boat ride. So he put dodgem cars on a twisted track in a darkened pavilion. The Pretzel, he called it. It was a sensation. He started the Pretzel Amusement Ride Company to provide Pretzel rides to amusement parks across the continent. In 1930, he came to Canada. He put down a floor base at the Canadian National Exhibition. He laid tracks on the base, then covered them in a black tent, covered by another tent. It was probably the first cartable dark ride on a midway anywhere.

S is for slogans. “Trick or treat!” It’s what children scream on Halloween. But “trick or treat” didn’t become the customary catchphrase in Toronto until sometime around the Second World War. Before then, kids yelled, “Shell out!” “HALLOWE’EN” said an ad for a grocery store chain, in 1929, “with its joyous merriment. . . . SHELLIN’ OUT to the district cut-ups, guessing who the strange figure is who knocks on your door.” From a Loblaw’s ad during the Depression: “When You Hear the Ultimatum! SHELL OUT. Be Ready with LOBLAW’S HALLOWE’EN KISSES.”

T is for Bill Tracy, a sculptor and engineer from New Jersey. In the nineteen-fifties, he revolutionized carnival dark rides by adding supernatural back-glows, glow-in-the dark stunts, trompe l’oeil to the decor. He created themed rides like the western ghost town and the haunted pirate ship. Sadly, he never invented safety features, like fire escapes. Wiring was makeshift. His rides tended to go up in flames. Very few still stand. The dark ride at Toronto’s Centreville Amusement Park—the Haunted Barrel Works—is decorated in a distinctly Tracy mode. And it is safe.

U is for University of Toronto. According to the historian Keith Walden, spontaneous Halloween celebrations erupted on campus in 1884. Students marched into the downtown core, singing, shattering lampposts, egging Eaton’s. Police dispersed them. Torontonians complained. The parade became an annual event. In 1899 students barged into the peanut gallery at Massey Hall, disrupting the evening’s performance. Veterinary students dangled dead horse parts over the balcony. Medical students banged human arm and leg bones. Some students slit open a political effigy, showering the audience below with chaff, hay, and excelsior. Hector Charlesworth, the future editor of Saturday Night, was sitting in the pit. His suit was ruined.

 

 

W is for whoopee cushion. In the early twentieth century, an American named S. S. Adams invented a plethora of classic pranks: dribble glasses, joy buzzers, sneezing powder. In 1930, a Canadian “rubber concern” approached him with a new novelty—a bladder that made a farting sound when someone sat on it. The rubber concern? The Jem Rubber Company, headquartered in Toronto, on Dundas Street West. It produced parts for printing companies. Adams turned down the fart cushion, so Jem manufactured it on its own. It was green, with a wooden nozzle. Stamped on the face was a picture of a Scottish lad. He sported spurs and a sporran, and carried a rifle. Wouldn’t bagpipes have been the obvious visual pun? The whoopee cushion was a sensation, even during the Depression. Adams ended up coming out with a copy of the Canadian cushion—the razzberry cushion, he called it.

X is for XEPN, a Mexican border-blaster radio station near the Rio Grande. In the late nineteen-twenties and early thirties, Bob Nelson and his brother Larry hosted an astrology show on the station. Listeners sent in a dollar and, in return, the Nelsons sent them a mimeographed horoscope. The Nelsons also operated Nelson Enterprises, of Columbus, Ohio, which supplied mediums and mentalists with fake fortune-telling equipment—mind-reading codes, mechanical crystal balls, two-way radios that could be concealed under capes or in turbans. “Be it distinctly understood,” said their 1931 mail-order catalogue, “that all effects described in this catalogue are accomplished by normal means, and are entirely divorced from any supernatural or supernormal powers.”

Y is for yellow. “Green and red have come [to] be the Christmas colors,” said a newspaper article from 1925, “just as black and yellow tell us of Hallowe’en.” An article in Bookseller and Stationer, from 1925, advised those celebrating Halloween to obtain “yellow and black crêpe paper for decorative purposes.” In 1927, an ad for crêpe paper in that same magazine recommended “Orange and Black for Hallowe’en.” In coming years, orange and black would come to be considered the Halloween palette par excellence. What changed? Why did yellow fade out and orange fill in?

 

 

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How to Build a Fog Machine
by Allen

‘This is our home-made fog machine. It uses the same regular fog juice used in store-bought fog machines. You can buy the juice from Terror by Design, Spencers, or party/theatrical supply stores (check your yellow pages). You can also make your own juice. It’s less expensive, but there may be legal issues if the general public is going to breathe your fog. According to the Halloween-L archives: “For fog juice, mix 15% to 35% glycerin to distilled water. Experiment, the less glycerin you use the cheaper and cleaner your fog will be but it will also be lighter and not last as long.” You don’t have to use distilled water with my fog machine design because there’s no heat exchanger to get clogged. You can get small amounts of glycerin at a drug store, or larger amounts from restaurant supply companies.

‘A piston air pump (bought at the local surplus store for $5) squirts the juice onto an inverted, disassembled iron (bought at a garage sale for $1). The iron is on all the time. It’s held above the juice by long bolts from the bottom of the box. The wooden box is sealed and waterproofed inside with a kind of paint called C.R.A.E. (Corrosion-Resistant Acrylic Enamel.) Any thick, waterproof paint will work. If you build something like this, be certain to keep enough space between the wood and the iron, you don’t want to start a fire! Any device like this should be thoroughly tested before being used unattended. Heat it up without juice in it to be sure it won’t burst into flames when it runs out of juice.

‘The juice is pumped into a metal tube 4 inches above the iron with several pin-holes in it to distribute the juice over the hot surface. The heat vaporizes the juice into fog. Fans (salvaged from an old computer) on both ends of the box blow the fog out the front of the machine. Unvaporized juice runs back down into the reservoir. The intake for the pump is a metal tube glued to the side of the box with water-proof epoxy. It’s bent 90 degrees at the bottom and the end is covered with a screen to keep little bits of junk out of the pump.

‘The pump is mounted on the back of the box so it will be cooled by the flow of air. The fan and pump run on 12v, and the iron plugs in of course. A 15 foot control wire allows the operator to turn the fans on and off and the squirt the juice.

‘We built this machine back when the cheapest fog machines were $300. Today, small machines can be bought for as little as $30. Unless you’ve already got all the parts in your junk box, or can get them second hand, it might not be worth it to build this machine.

‘This type of fog will not hang close to the ground unless you cool it below the ambient air temperature. To create this desired effect, you need to build a fog chiller.’

 

How to Build a Chiller
by Scott

‘Parts: Cooler, Two 4″ dryer ducts (short sections), silicone caulk, tools to cut plastic, screen or netting, Flexible dryer hose, two 90 degree angle ducting, one 4″ to 2″ reduction ducting.

‘I built this out of a $15.00 Coleman cooler I got at Target the whole thing cost about $25.00. I started by marking the holes on the sides of the cooler to the size of the dryer duct and cutting them out. I first drilled holes around the line I marked then knocked out the plastic and foam core then smoothed up the edges until the dryer duct fit snug. I used silicone to seal the duct inside and out, it takes about 24 hours to cure. I then fitted netting around the inside of the dryer duct on both sides to prevent ice from falling out. I then put flexible dryer hose on one end and a set of 90 degree angle ducting pieces on the other. A reducing duct piece (4″ to 2″) will attach to the angle pieces. The 2″ end sits in front of the fogger nozzle and delivers the fog to the cooler and ice, then blows cool fog out of the dryer hose end creating a low lying fog.

‘I use regular ice from the corner liquor store and fill the cooler to the top with the ice sloping from the top to the bottom of the in/out ducts. This takes about three bags. The ice needs to be high enough to cause the fog to go through and around it, but not covering up the ducts. Some people may try dry ice in the cooler, I hear this works well. Enjoy.’

 

Nine Magical Results

 

 

1.

‘This huge casket, which is 20 metres long, six metres wide and six metres high, is decorated with wreaths and dozens of normal-sized coffins. Morbid diners can browse the funeral paraphernalia before ordering from a menu that includes “Nine Day” and “Forty Day” salads – named after local mourning rituals – and an ominous-sounding dish called “Let’s meet in paradise”. The coffin restaurant, called Eternity, is the work of a funeral parlour in the town of Truskavets, in the west of the country near the Polish border. The undertakers hope that their restaurant will be confirmed as the world’s biggest coffin, attracting tourists to a region best known for its mineral-rich bathing waters. “It’s our director Stepan Pyrianyk who had the idea,” said Andri, one of those behind the new enterprise. “He loves his work and reckons the project will bring tourists to Truskavets.”’ — Telegraph.co.uk

 

2.

Vic Fearn and Co.

 

3.

 

4.

‘Vitaly Malyukov, a Russian inventor, has designed caskets outfitted with alarm buttons for those buried alive by mistake. His invention includes a circular device (containing special membranes), which is mounted in a casket. Should a person recover consciousness, he will spot it right away because the device will be glowing red. A person buried alive will have to press that “alarm button” to raise the alarm at a control panel in the office of a cemetery caretaker. The alarm is designed to show which grave have signs of life, so to speak. No word on pricing or availability as of yet.’ — New Launches

 

5.

Joe Scanlan
DIY or How to Kill Yourself Anywhere in the World for Under $399
Gent, Belgium: Imschoot. 2002

Synopsis: Book providing complete diagrams for obtaining ten items from Ikea to be utilized in preparing your own funeral – inclusive of flower arrangements and a coffin. Using simple tools and just about no skills, you too can do-it-yourself for under $399 in just about any major city in the world. Basic hand tools, taxes, cell phone roaming charges, and embalming not included. Highly recomended in these troubled times. Add it to your wishlist

 

6.

 

7.

Vic Fearn and Co.

 

8.

IMPROVED BURIAL-CASE
US Patent No. 81,437
Issued: August 25, 1868
Inventor: Franz Vester, Newark NJ

“The nature of this invention consists in placing on the lid of the coffin, and directly over the face of the body laid therein, a square tube, which extends from the coffin up through and over the surface of the grave, said tube containing a ladder and a cord, one end of said cord being placed in the hand of the person laid in the coffin, and the other end of said cord being attached to a bell on the top of the square tube, so that, should a person be interred ere life is extinct, he can, on recovery to consciousness, ascend from the grave and the coffin by the ladder; or, if not able to ascend by said ladder, ring the bell, thereby giving an alarm, and thus save himself from premature burial and death; and if, on inspection, life is extinct, the tube is withdrawn, the sliding door closed, and the tube used for a similar purpose. . . “

 

9.

 

10.

Dodger Blue Coffin Couch

‘We at Coffincouches.com have the mindset of thinking “Green” and we know it is different but we strongly believe in recycling. Our niche happens to be 18 gauge steel coffins which we collected from local funeral homes primarily in Southern California. It is a health and safety law that funeral homes cannot resell used coffins to the general public. We approached funeral directors with the attitude of recycling. These coffins are not used for burial due to slight cosmetic inconsistencies. They are reconfigured and modified resulting in a finished product – a unique one a kind coffin couch. If you notice (although it may be too small) the six cast iron heavy duty legs are embossed with the universal biohazard insignia. The reason we utilize this sign is because safety is our utmost concern. If you are not aware, once a human body is placed in a coffin it is considered biohazard tissue. The legs have the embossed insignia for precautionary reasons in the event body fluids are exchanged on these coffins. Perhaps you would feel safe knowing that you are in designated biohazard scene.’

 

11.

 

12.

 

*

p.s. Hey. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. From what I can tell, the French reaction to the Pittsburgh massacre doesn’t vary so much from the general left-of-right US reaction. There’s been a problem with anti-Semitism in France for quite a while. I don’t know that there’s been a recent uptick. The recent uptick of note was a sudden increase in anti-LGBTQ attacks, a surprisingly large number in Paris and its burbs over the course of a couple of weeks. Very, very unusual for Paris. There was a public outcry about that and a large solidarity march here, and the flurry attacks seem to have stopped, for now at least. ** Steve Erickson, Hi. Didn’t know about Haneke’s tutelage, but that’s makes sense, of course. Yeah, I remember ‘ItMoM’ kind of drifting by viewers and critics at the time. I figured the meta-, self-reflexive thing Carpenter did in that film was so unexpected from him that critics didn’t know what to think. Because, as I recall, it’s almost a kind of less heady, less structural ‘Providence’ kind of film in its own way. Well, that paranoid fit scene certainly has the potential to function as you wish. ** MakeAmericanKeatonAgain, Ha ha, wow, nice word ramming there. Hm. Huh. Now I’m kind of scared to get that app even though I’m a non-believer. Or … (thunder clap) … am I? Handkerchief mopping the brow-type great news about your test results, man. Good on you from me for the Gillum vote. Paris is semi-freezing cold and raining if you like walking that version of Paris. I do. ** _Black_Acrylic, That’s interesting that you feel you need the title first. I don’t think I do that, do I? I don’t think so. I like that methodology. Your plans sound like accomplishments already. ** Bill, Hi. Well, there probably won’t be anything in the Molinaro post you haven’t seen before, given the paucity, but it’ll have the patented DC’s post arrangement to hopefully gussy it up. Even though it’s somehow fitting that Halloween week would occasion a brutal week, that so sucks, and I wish you related wings of a dove. Wow. ** Dominik,. Hi! Well, I suspect my Halloween is going to end up being me at my computer watching a horror movie or two, meaning it will only differ from many other days of my life in that my screen will hold a horror movie rather than some experimental avant-garde film. But it’s okay. Halloween lives in the heart. (I cannot believe I just typed that, and it’s not even true!) No, no date on the Prague show. I should check in with the curator. Cool you liked ‘Destroy All Monsters.’ It seems like kind of the ‘it’ book of the moment. Whoo-hoo! A weekend full of reading sounds so nice to me whose weekend involved kind of the opposite aka expelling words, and not great ones either. It was quiet otherwise. Some seeming great PGL news, but we’ll see. I went back to Le Manoir de Paris with Gisele last night, and she was crazy about it, as I hoped she would be. You have a great week, and especially a scary, mind-blowing Halloween if at all possible! ** Jamie, Hi, Jamie. I’m good enough. I’m happy the Seidel post was timely and mentally invigorating. So nice when that happens. Hm, I don’t really have a fave of his films. I’ve seen I think four, maybe five? And I found all of them interesting, but none caused the array to form into a hierarchy. ‘Dog Days’ is the most famous, controversial one. Today will occasion the do-or-die Halloween pastry hunt. I’ll give you the thumbs, up or down. Monday was work then, as I told Dominik, revisiting La Manoir de Paris with Gisele. It was just as great the second time, and Gisele was fascinated by it, as I had thought she might be, and now she’s re-excited about this long planned, long dead-as-a-doornail Halloween walk through maze theater piece that we were going to make years ago again. Today is, ugh, script work, and, hm, pastry hunting and, uh, emails, and, err, work on a new gif story that I’ve been slowly fiddling together. Not a biggie. Yours? I can never top your Tuesday wish. It’s definitive. I surrender. However, I still hope your Tuesday buries an axe into the heads of everyone else’s Tuesdays. Except mine. Exceptional love, Dennis. ** Mark Stephens, Mark! Mega-too long no see or speak or type, my dear pal! I thought of you first of all when I read that the Dodgers did their characteristic nosedive. Hugs. Halloween! And me stuck here where there is none, or next to none. Please tell me you’ll mark that occasion with a whomp. Man, no sweat on the missing thing, and I’ll force you out of that hillside joint or barge my way in one way or another the next time I’m there, soon I hope. That is most peculiar and intriguing about The Flesheaters doing ‘Green Manalishi’. And hard to imagine. Which is the where the intrigue comes in. I’ll find it. It’ll surely end up somewhere where I can access it. It’ll have to be something to beat The Melvins’ cover, but apples and oranges, obviously. Man, miss you majorly up the wazoo, buddy. Give J my hugs, cheek kisses, the whole shebang. Let’s talk again pronto, please? Big olde love, me. ** Misanthrope, I forgive you on the haunted house thing. I was projecting myself into you which is always a faulty approach. I saw Johnny Depp in person a long time ago sitting in a French style cafe near my LA pad, and he looked surly. That’s all I remember. I see celebs here in Paris quite a lot, partly because I happen to live in a fashionable area through no wanting of my own. Most of the ones I’ve seen looked essentially like their famous, 2D versions but with less makeup. And shorter. Bono looks like a weird freak, but he kind of does in print too, but not a freaky as he looks close up. Britney Spears looks about ten years older. Kanye and Kim look like giant insects dressed in overly shiny, inexpensive Kanye and Kim costumes. Etc. I don’t think it would be possible for a TV show called ‘This Is Us’ to not be miserable. I can imagine that being in those TC groups would be an interesting way to study the effect of loneliness on the libidos of asocial people and consequently on their use of language. ** Nikolas, Hi, man! Great to see you! As I told someone, I don’t seem to have found myself preferring any films of his that I’ve seen for some reason. I sort of just enjoy his thing’s drift or something. ‘Dog Days’ is the most famous one, maybe for a reason? Very interesting: your non-fiction-blur-fiction aim. Mm, I’ve rarely ever written with the express purpose in mind of enunciating my autobiography, but I do often go for that blur. I sort of set off looking for a fusing from the outset, but I’m not sure how I do that. I feel like reticence is somehow a by-word. Wanting to reveal but not wanting to impose? I’m not sure. Great question. The ARTE script  is proceeding and happening at a sort of steady but extremely laborious and fun-free pace. It’s all about explaining, because that’s what ARTE wants, without seeming to explain, and it’s very hard. But it’s happening. Since Halloween really doesn’t happen in France, I’m a bit stuck about how to celebrate it. How about you? How will you utilise the immediate availability of Halloween’s resources? Big up, pal. ** Kyler, My pleasure, of course. Happy to have been your Spellcheck, a talent I never knew I had before now. Cool. Halloween, tomorrow, whatcha doing? ** Okay. Reposting Derek McCormack’s lovely alphabetised Halloween is an annual affair here at DC’s, and I thought, given that Halloween is tomorrow, eek, I would throw in a couple of extra ghost posts from the past. See you tomorrow!

 

Synopsis:

An epidemic of violence is sweeping the country: musicians are being murdered onstage in the middle of their sets by members of their audience. Are these random copycat killings, or is something more sinister at work? Has music itself become corrupted in a culture where everything is available, everybody is a “creative,” and attention spans have dwindled to nothing.

With its cast of ambitious bands, yearning fans, and enigmatic killers, Destroy All Monsters tells a haunted and romantic story of overdue endings and unlikely beginnings that will resonate with anybody who’s ever loved music.

Like a classic vinyl single, Destroy All Monsters has two sides that can be read in any order. You read one side, then flip the book over and upside down to read the other. At the heart of Side A, “My Dark Ages,” is Xenie, a young woman who is repulsed by the violence of the epidemic but who still finds herself drawn deeper into the mystery. Side B, “Kill City,” follows an alternate history, featuring familiar characters in surprising roles, and burrows deeper into the methods and motivations of the murderers.

 

A gallery of images that were inspirational in writing the novel:

Patti Smith and a friend.

Haunting Bruce Connor.

To write a book as fearless as a backflip by HR of Bad Brains.

“Fire Seeks Its Own Form.” Image by Michael Salerno.

Biting the arrow.

Real hardcore. Hopey and co. on tour in Jaime Hernandez’s “Love & Rockets.”

Iggy Pop and James Williamson circa “Kill City.”

Eliane Radigue, The Queen of Drone.

Eliane again. One of my favorite album covers.

Highest fidelity.

Bruce Connor captures Crime in action.

Pere Ubu circa “My Dark Ages”

Destroy All Monsters, the band

Destroy All Monsters, the magazine

 

Advanced praise:

“Jeff Jackson is one of contemporary American fiction’s most sterling and gifted new masters. With Destroy All Monsters, he has raised the high bar his work already set. It’s a novel that impresses on many levels, with its beautifully hypnagogic, catastrophic story and writing that is a wonder to behold.”
– Dennis Cooper

“At some point, I began to think of it as an ancient folk tale. It’s fine work, with a kind of scattered narrative set within a tight frame. Fast-moving throughout – fragile characters who suggest a bleak inner world made in their own collective image.”
– Don DeLillo

“Destroy All Monsters has a distinct pulse–a kind of heart beat–that comes out of the rhythm of the prose, the inventiveness of the form, and the willingness of Jeff Jackson to engage the mysterious alchemy of violence, performance, and authenticity. This accomplished, uncanny novel is simultaneously seductive and unsettling.”
– Dana Spiotta

“Jeff Jackson’s new novel surges with new-century anxiety and paranoia as it documents a fraught new state of vulnerability in which maybe everything is coming to an end. In other words, it’s a clear-eyed, stone cold vision of what’s to come.”
– Ben Marcus

“Delightful in its use of playful forms—including, appropriately, an A and B side—this taut, atmospheric rock and roll thriller touches a raw nerve with its subject matter. Add the artist’s struggle authentic power and the carrot of fame—Destroy All Monsters is rock enough for anyone.”
– Janet Fitch

“Punk rock in literary form.”
– Booklist

“Destroy All Monsters is like Rashomon meets the underground punk scene. This book is larger than itself and the most ambitious work Jackson has attempted, and goddamn if he doesn’t pull it off.”
– The Big Smoke
Full review here: http://thebigsmoke.com/2018/09/11/book-review-destroy-all-monsters-by-jeff-jackson/

“Jackson artfully eliminates distance between action and the reader, hijacking with a propulsive style into real-time dilemmas of belonging, assimilation, and acceptance.”
– Pank
Full review here: https://pankmagazine.com/2018/07/26/review-destroy-monsters-jeff-jackson/

“Jackson builds an anxious, deeply felt narrative probing a nationwide epidemic of murders of musicians. In opposing versions of the story—there’s an A side and a B side—Jackson follows several residents of the nondescript city of Arcadia who turn out to be both victims and perpetrators of crimes. Infected with this eerie conceit, and expressed through gritty, sharp prose, the novel provides both deep character exploration and a nuanced commentary on music, creativity, and violence.”
– Publishers Weekly starred review : https://www.publishersweekly.com/978-0-374-53766-1?fbclid=IwAR27ePkZ7FJkxYiKKhkmeEapj3LvHyhGN81Ttz76l7691NhC34SDqtwHVb4

“Destroy All Monsters is an inventive and powerful book. It’s my favorite rock novel.”
– David Gutowski, Largehearted Boy

 

Soundtrack for Book Titles:

Destroy All Monsters
Playing their hit song “You Can’t Kill Kill”

 

Side A: My Dark Ages
Early single by Pere Ubu

 

Side B: Kill City
Title track from album by Iggy Pop and James Williamson

 

Consumer Warning Bonus Track
Heavens to Betsy “These Monsters Are Real”

 

 

 

EXCERPT FROM THE NOVEL IN GUERNICA:
https://www.guernicamag.com/destroy-all-monsters/

It’s the night the music comes home. That’s how the concert is billed on the red flyers plastered along the telephone poles that lead into Arcadia. The notices accompany cars through the few blocks of dive bars, all-night diners, and ethnic restaurants that constitute the ragged downtown. Drivers cruise the streets in search of parking spaces, gliding past the ticket holders streaming toward the show and the onlookers loitering under streetlights. Normally people come to make the most of their hours away from jobs at the wheelchair factory, the tire warehouses, and construction gigs, but this crowd has flocked here for the homecoming show of a local band whose songs have gone viral. Their attention is riveted on the theater, its façade lit up like a beacon. A bustling queue of teenagers wraps along the building’s perimeter, bodies pressed tight to keep a claim on their territory. They’ve camped out on the sidewalk for hours, dressed light in anticipation of spring weather that hasn’t arrived, a sampling of what passes for an underground scene in this conservative industrial city. The strip-mall goths, the mod metalheads, the blue-collar ravers, the bathtub-shitting punks, the jaded aesthetes who consider themselves beyond category. Everyone in line has imagined a night that could crack open and transform their dreary realities. This is it.

*
Xenie clutches one of the red concert flyers while she watches the line grow. Teenagers swarm in tense cliques, unaccustomed to seeing one another away from the usual hangouts—the parking lot of the sandwich shop that sells alcohol to minors, the skate park haunted by the spirits of dead twins, the abandoned flag factory that’s the site of ritualistic revels. Only one band could draw everyone here together. A steady stream of newcomers search for the end of the queue that’s vanished around the corner. The overhead marquee doesn’t bother to advertise the Carmelite Rifles. It simply says SOLD OUT.

Xenie smooths her tattered blouse and thrift-store skirt and scans the crowd, knocking her combat boots together for luck. Somebody has to have a spare ticket. She listens to some kids in tie-dye t-shirts and leather dog collars swapping stories about the band’s incandescent live shows. The one where they dressed as the headlining band and played their set note for note. The epic concert at Echo Echo whose encore spilled out into the courtyard.

—I was at their very first gig, she says. They played next to a washing machine in the drummer’s basement.

Nobody replies or looks up. Maybe she didn’t actually say anything out loud.

The sixteen-year-old keeps pacing in front of the theater. The scalpers skulking along the sidewalk keep a lookout for cops while chanting astronomical numbers under their breath. They assess her with sidelong glances both pitying and predatory.

Farther down the queue, she recognizes several faces from other shows, a tattooed girl with sleepy eyes and a blue-haired boy with pierced lips. Not that she’s ever summoned the nerve to speak to them. Anybody got an extra ticket? she asks.

She holds up the concert flyer to emphasize her point, but it’s the wrong side. She stands there facing the line, desperately waving a page of pure red.

*
Two teenage boys linger at the end of the line. They stand slightly apart from the shrinking queue. They try not to act alarmed by the low rumble of the opening act’s set, but it’s obvious the show has officially started. The tall skinny boy frantically empties the contents of his billfold onto the sidewalk. His face blazes crimson. I fucked up, he says. I really fucked up.

He turns to his friend Shaun and displays the empty expanse of wallet where their tickets should be.

—I must’ve left them at home, Florian says. I can call my mom. Maybe she’ll bring them.

Shaun is sunk in thought. He casually shakes his long brown hair out of his eyes. Typically calm and unruffled. Still got the cassette? he asks.

—Right here, Florian says.

The demo tape contains several songs they wrote and recorded together. Their latest batch. The label doesn’t list who played what because they share duties on vocals, guitars, everything. They’ve transferred the music to magnetic tape for maximum retro appeal. The case is spray-painted bright violet.

Shaun nods, then walks straight toward the front of the line, past the people impatiently shuffling their feet and the rows of silk-screened concert posters. Florian stumbles after him with his stork-like steps, barely keeping up as they approach the security guard who clutches a wooden clipboard. The teardrop tattoos inked under his eyes make it even more difficult to imagine him crying.

—Hey, man, Shaun calls to the guard as if greeting an old confidant. I don’t know what name he put us under. Maybe you can help us out.

—Who are you talking about? the guard says.

—You know, Mickey, the bass player. We’re his cousins. Maybe it’s under Mickey’s name, maybe it’s under mine, maybe my brother’s.

The guard looks perplexed as he scrolls through the printed names on the guest list.

—Here we are, Shaun says, peering over his shoulder and pointing to an unchecked name. That’s me, and my brother’s the plus-one.

The guard looks skeptical, but Shaun has already extended his wrist to receive a stamp. Florian follows his lead. He’s used to his friend pulling off these sorts of stunts.

At the theater’s entrance, Shaun notices a girl in a thrift-store ensemble and combat boots pacing the sidewalk. The spiky cut of her blonde hair doesn’t entirely obscure her delicate features. She’s singing one of the band’s tunes under her breath, repeating the chorus in a lilting croon. Her lips barely move, but the shape of the song vibrates in her throat.

 

SOME LINKS:

My website: www.deathofliterature.com

Buying the book –
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Destroy-All-Monsters-Last-Novel/dp/0374537666/
Indie Bound: https://www.indiebound.org/book/9780374537661
Book Depository (for overseas): https://www.bookdepository.com/Destroy-All-Monsters-Jeff-Jackson/9780374537661
https://www.bookdepository.com/Destroy-All-Monsters-Jeff-Jackson/9780374537661

FSG Originals site for the book:
https://www.fsgoriginals.com/books/destroy-all-monsters

Jeff’s band Julian Calendar – their album “Parallel Collage”:
https://juliancalendar.bandcamp.com/releases

 

*

p.s. Hey. This weekend the blog adds its two cents to the general and very deserved outcry of praise and attention to Jeff Jackson’s spanking new novel, in our case via a personal tour of the work by Jeff himself. If you have yet to score a copy, let today’s post be your breaking point. Thank you ever so much, Jeff. ** David Ehrenstein, Hi. And there are unsurprisingly dozens and dozens of hideous Trump monster masks on sale this season. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hi, Ben. That Cerith Wyn Evans work looks excellent, I must say. Have the swellest weekend. ** Jamie, Ha ha, thanks, bud. Aw, so nice to hear that Halloween has made its tactless way to your environs. Paris seems to be giving it the usual cold French shoulder. God would weep. I really don’t think missing a projection of ‘Halloween’ will impact your consciousness on even the most minimalist level. Maybe the script is very slightly inch-and-a-halfing along instead of inching. My weekend? Work. Gisele gets back briefly from her/our touring, and I think she’s dragging me along with her to Le Manoir de Paris for my second go-round, which is not a problem for me really. I’m going to hunt around for any special Halloween-makeover pastries that might be lurking in the cool patisseries. I think I have a bead on one maybe. Uh, but mostly script work. I greatly envy you seeing presumably interesting films and seeing them at the lovely Tramway, you devil. And Hannah’s arriving. Give her my hug. Make it warm and friendly. Ha ha, great weekend wish, thanks. May yours ride the snake, into the lake, the ancient lake. There was a later period Hellraiser villain who did that CD mouth shooting thing, you’re right, and Clive Barker himself told me they were Korn CDs, and he insisted on them being Korn CDs because he loved Korn at the time, which made me question how truly evil his evil is love, Dennis. ** Keatontheapp, Oh, you’re an app. I want to be an app. At least on the weekends. Hook me up. Okay, I’ll check the Petit. It’s about a 15 minutes walk from my pad, so … Whoa, what’s on your blog? I like it. It spooked me out and cozied up to me too. Really, one porn? You’re almost a virgin. You’re so close, damn. I didn’t even like the kills. I thought they seemed like they were tippy-toeing around kills. What’s your weekend? ** Dominik, Hi, D! Here neither, really, hype-wise. One of life’s great inexplicabilities. Turns out Zac doesn’t get back to Paris until the 2nd, so Salon du Chocolat will have to happen post-Halloween on the 3rd, so now I have to figure out a way to have one-person Halloween without a shitload of chocolate to help, shit. Oh, do tell about Prague when you go, yes. There might be some near-future art show there that has one of my gif novels in it, which might finally get me there. I didn’t go the concert. There was a last minute crisis that needed to be solved, and it was, but I missed the show to do that. It was a rare appearance by the great experimental composer Alvin Lucier with my pal Stephen O’Malley doing guitar stuff with Oren Ambarchi as an opening act. I can’t believe you’re still impaired by your foot, but I’m glad it’s fading away. I’m good. Too much boring work, but what can you do? ‘Gravity’s Rainbow’, nice! I’m currently reading galleys of a couple of novels that come out early next year — Richard Cheim’s ‘King of Joy’ and Mark Doten’s ‘Trump Sky Alpha’, both superb, and the Thomas Moore/Stephen Purtill collab. book ‘Small Talk at the Clinic’, which also is great. You enjoy your weekend very maximally! ** Steve Erickson, I did find myself spending even less time with Facebook open on my desktop than even usual yesterday, fearing the worst. Curious about ‘The Fog’. I saw it on release back when and thought it was very weak, but it seems to have accrued a lot of cult love, so I’m wondering if I was an ignoramus or something. Sounds interesting: your script moves. I hope your imagination explodes an ending. ** James Nulick, Hey there, Mr. N! Thank you. I’m good. The TV script writing is laborious but in motion. I ain’t no screenwriter. I’m just building wordage for Zac’s and Gisele’s and my projects as usual, although this script is such a trudge it does feel at the moment like I’m doing it for the money but without the money part. Yes, Mr. Champagne, I think, informed us of said forthcoming book and even about the sweet dedication. Very excited for that, man! I know I’ll like it, James. I ain’t no fool. You go to Japan soonish, yes? Love back at high volume. ** Bill, Hi. I thought so too. Jane Addams Books looks extremely visitable and shoppable. True, Molinaro seems to be kind of lost these days. And there’s so little of hers on the net that making a post will be tricky, but I think I figured it out, and I’m going to give it the old college try this weekend. Speaking of, have a great one! ** XTX, xTx! Holy moly, my dear friend and genius scribe, it’s so, so good to see you! I miss you! What are you up to? What’s happening? Are you doing Halloween in some hugely fun fashion? I’d love to catch up! Can we type at each other or talk phone-wise or Skype or something? T’would be amazing! Tons of love! ** Okay. You know what you have in store locally this weekend, and why don’t you get to it and/or back to it? See you on Monday.