Reading China Miéville’s 2009 novel The City & The City, all I could think about was the Russian & Turkish Baths in the East Village.
The Peril at Delphi is the first in a series of Indiana Jones novels relaying the adventures of Indy as a young man during the 1920s.
The Slow Grind Fever series is a fascinating collections of creepy, crawly R&B for smoky juke joints, rowdy house parties, and dangerous liaisons.
If you turn the horrific cinema lens on the rich ocean of Jewish folklore, you come up with almost nothing. Oh sure, every now and then a rabbi totters on-screen to help out a priest.
When people imitate hardboiled fiction, they’re imitating Mickey Spillane. Every sentence boils with hate. Every thought is of violence.
Until this year, I had not touched a tarot deck since high school. That was a long time ago, and I took very few things seriously back then. I guess I take very few things seriously now, but I am at least a more dedicated researcher.
A mass of hopped-up teenagers stampede onto a dance floor, jerking and gyrating to a driving, twangy guitar rock anthem. This is not the youth of Britain as audiences were used to seeing them.
Every now and then, though, a filmmaker slips one through that doesn’t kowtow to the need to have everyone punished for having sex or a nip of booze. Such is the case with The Pleasure Girls.
Although I’d not heard the broadcast, even at that young age I’d heard of it. Any kid with a decent collection of monster and sci-fi books knew the legend of Orson Welles’ The War of the Worlds.
Before he was “King,” he was Nathaniel Adams Coles. In the 1930, he put together a rowdy jazz trio that was a lot different than the Nat King Cole most people know.
My first exposure to Sun Ra came thanks to a VHS of a film called Space is the Place, a strange amalgamation of blaxploitation, surreal Jodorowsky-esque journey, and concert film.