live fast, die young
bad girls do it well.
(Source: giffylubed, via monkeyknifefight)
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!?!
i am…but also dying of second hand embarrassment.
You’d think that after several week and about a million watches this would get less hilarious to me. But actually it only gets better. So if you don’t have the Russell Crowe music video for Weight Of A Man in your life I suggest you take a moment to CHANGE YOUR LIFE.
ITA Jan. :(
Karen O, Trent Reznor, Atticus Ross | Immigrant Song
oh i see where the $100 million went…wait, no i don’t.
full length acoustic versions of Baby Says, The Last Goodbye and Pots and Pans filmed for the Blood Pressures short film.
so excited to see them again in August.
music video for “Satellite” by The Kills, directed by Sophie Muller. great song, great aesthetics.
via neighborhoodthreat
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
“Sabotage”
Beastie Boys
Ill Communication
this post would be incomplete without the Spike Jonze-directed music video (now with extra footage):
still my favorite Madonna video. and i love that she used it as an ‘audition’ vid to get the role in Evita.
via monkeyknifefight
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
“The Way”
Fastball
damn. upon retrospect, the music video looks so ’90s (and it was also directed by McG):
Sue Sylvester’s send up of Madonna’s Vogue video…amazing. can’t wait for next week’s Madge-fied glee!
also, Groff and Menzel? fuck yeah!
an old green Chevrolet truck used in the Queens Of The Stone Age music video for the single Make It Wit Chu, in Joshua Tree national park, California. photographed by Matthew Field.
in 1988, James Cameron directed a music video called “Reach” featuring current ex-wife and Oscar rival/The Hurt Locker director Kathryn Bigelow as a sexy cowgirl for Bill Paxton’s short-live band Martini Ranch. also in the vid are Judge Reinhold, Lance Henrikson, Paul Reiser and Adrian Pasdar.
and you thought you got your weekly fix of wtf from Lost.
i didn’t realize it existed but here’s the music video for Wham!’s “Last Christmas”. i miss hitting the slopes…and i probably won’t get to ski this season. but on the flip side, i am going to Machu Picchu.
“And I clicked and slipped backwards. The Clash were filming a video for London Calling …
The Baker and I had turned up at Battersea Park at midday. A bright spark at the council had thought of installing sleeping policemen in the park road, presumably to slow down runaway wheelchairs. It was murder manoeuvring the Clash’s atomic pink flight cases of amps and speakers over them to the floating jetty, grandly called Battersea Pier, which bobbed up and down with the tide. Don Letts, who was doing the filming, turned up on a motor launch, dreadlocks flying, with the film crew. We set up the backline as if we were playing at the Lyceum—amps, leads, mikes, stands, PA to roll back the sound. And we waited and waited for the band to arrive. We buttoned our coats against the growing cold of the afternoon and even Letts’ good humour began to wane. Cold hours passed and the sun set. It began to rain and the Clash turned up. All the band’s equipment was standing in the drizzle getting soaked. Don had sent out for some lights and I sent out for some Remy Martin. I wanted to pack up and go home. The boat pulled out, riding the swell of the river, and Letts was shouting instructions to the band through a megaphone, like he was at the Boat Race…
The band ran through it again and again, patiently and professionally, looking urban and urbane, and wet. It was as if they had known it was going to rain, and known it was going to be filmed at dusk. Joe wielded his faithful old guitar, with its `Ignore Alien Orders’ sticker. Paul sported a wide-brimmed gangster hat; Mick was in a dark suit, with a red tie and handkerchief sending off flashes of colour. Every time Topper hit the drums spray bounced up into his face, sparkling in the artificial light. Between takes I mopped at their rain-soaked guitars and faces with towels in a little wooden hut nearby, as they slugged Remy and hugged each other against the cold.
Finally, it was done and the band pissed off in a cab. Baker and I, cold, wet and starving, were left to pack everything away, without even the roar of the crowd to see us home.
Baker whinged. `Look at this stuff — it’s soaked. How are we going to dry it off? It’s ruined.’
I grabbed a mike-stand and dumped it into the water. Anger welled into strength, and I picked up a wedge monitor, hired from Maurice Plaquet, and with a roar hurled it into the Thames. To our surprise it floated, and, rocking with laughter, we watched it bobbing under the fairy lights of Chelsea Bridge.”
-excerpt from A Riot of Our Own, a memoir by former Clash road manager Johnny Green.
