Back in the 1920s, this hotshot director by the name of Irvin Willat made the first Technicolor Western for Paramount - "Wanderers of the Wasteland." It was criticized at the time for being ultraviolent, but praised for its wonderful cinematography and decent acting from its leads, one of them Irvin's then-wife Billie Dove.
In 1971, Irvin discovered that his copy of the film - the only extant copy - had turned into an unsalvageable mess of jelly, vinegar, and some bits and pieces of film. He cried for hours, mainly in part in that it was the last thing he ever did with Billie Dove before he was forced to sell her to Howard Hughes and RKO (which practically destroyed his career in Hollywood). Now, had Irvin preserved his film starting with donating it to the American Film Institute or any film-preservation society in the 1960s, we could see more of the 1924 Wanderer of the Wasteland outside of stills and lobby cards. Maybe it would've had mainstreamed violence had we screened it in the 1960s or preserved it from Irvin's reels.
The subtitle of the song refers to a Raymond Carney quote regarding modern canonized filmmakers in that their versions of reality are more fantastical and unrealistic than the works of Frank Capra and John Cassavetes. While a great film historian (and expert on Cassavetes' work), he tends to be a bit on the "I hate symbolism because idiots use symbolism" side. Basically, "a plebeian of the art."
Wow, try telling that to Godard.
lyrics
There she is, my one and only: the last frame of her I recall,
the only thing that I can make out from the decaying reel.
I kept it alive for 40 years - this beautiful Technicolor mess,
just so I can see her face, see her face one last time.
Her glowing radiance sparkles, the green tint in the skin tone,
as she embraces her rugged lover after his search in the wasteland,
wandering like dead lovers do, but not fortunate to have the
sickle guide him through the desert - that two-strip orange desert.
I guess I'm just what the newcomers say: "just a trickster, a plebeian of the art."
But the work I did pleases me because I still can't believe.
Her image gets brittle with every year, despite my best efforts to keep it perfect.
I didn't want anybody else to handle it - only I can bring the story back to life.
40 years my cemented reels have sat, a beautiful set of seven in my basement.
Her wonderful eyes pierce my heart - good ol' girl in Hollywood.
I guess I'm just what the newcomers say: "just a trickster, a plebeian of the art."
But the work I did pleases me because I still can't believe.
I woke up and I couldn't remember, so I went down to the cellar to recall,
and I opened the canisters so I could see her face.
She's gone, she's mush. Decomposed.
The horrid stench of vinegar is the thing I can recall from the day the Lord took my love away.
I mourned, my eyes red from irritation - my wife's face is lost to time, horrible time.
credits
from Schaeffermusic,
released October 26, 2014
Tape-deck manipulation by Shane Smith.
Cardiacs has finally reached Bandcamp. This is genuinely one of my favorite albums, especially with the varied compositional styles, the mixture of psychedelia and prog rock, and Timmy's lyrics. Clicker Records
