WTF

You are currently browsing the archive for the WTF category.

Several nights ago sitting at my computer, I was innocently searching for animated gifs of the ‘Clever girl…’ Jurassic Park scene when Angry Jim walked by. “Hey, look up ‘His Master’s Voice‘”, he said. A moment later the screen went from raptors to variations of an adorable little dog looking quizzically into a phonograph. “Do you know that picture?” Why yes, says I. That’s the logo for RCA records, and it’s a cute puppy named Nipper all confused about technology. He thinks it’s people! “Yeah, he’s sitting on a coffin.”

WHAAAAAAAAAAT?

“He’s sitting on a coffin. His master’s coffin. The recording he’s listening to is his dead master’s voice, and he’s confused because he thinks it’s him.”


NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Nooooooooo! This is even worse than that ‘Bayard of Dogs’ plaque at the top of the Kaaterskills! Noooooo!!! Nipper can never understand his master’s not coming back, especially when you play recordings of his voice! This image has now become an icon of the futility of hope and joy!

…A slight bit of freaking out later, further research revealed the sad story behind ‘His Master’s Voice’ to mostly bear out. A stray taken in by set painter Mark Barraud, Nipper was so named ‘because of his love of people’s ankles’. After Barraud passed away, his brother Francis Barraud took Nipper in. Francis noticed the confusion and interest Nipper had in the playing phonograph, particularly in recordings of his late brother’s voice. He decided it would make an excellent subject for a painting, and in 1899 completed the creatively titled ‘Dog Looking And Listening To A Phonograph’.

Francis first attempted to sell the painting to the Edison company, as it was their cylinder phonograph pictured. They passed, and he decided to cheer up the picture with a brighter horn, the kind seen on gramophones. Not having one, he went to The Gramophone Company, Ltd. to borrow one as reference. Upon finding out about the adorable painting, they asked Francis to specifically paint their latest model, and a classic image was born. Apparently if you look at the original painting from an angle, you can see the original, painted-over Edison cylinder player underneath.

It is important (well, important to record nerds) to note that this is a painting eventually titled ‘His Master’s Voice’, something that would’ve only been possible on cylinder recordings, as they could be both played AND recorded at home. That’s how Francis even had recordings of his brother’s voice, because Barraud likely dictated to the machine. Gramophone players weren’t intended for recording, only playing, which would’ve made it unusual for Nipper to hear ‘His Master’s Voice’, unless his master happened to be Sir Harry Lauder or something. Yes, I am familiar with the many Scots-themed songs of Sir Harry Lauder. That’s what happens when you’re pals with a cylinder collector.

In both Francis’ account and the polished PR story on RCA’s website, no mention is made of the dog sitting upon his master’s coffin, probably because people everywhere would start associating RCA with ‘bursting into tears’. It could be the surface is a tabletop, or some other extremely shiny, narrow, beveled dark-wood surface. Sure, that’s it! But the image of a tiny dog sitting atop his master’s last earthly remains, confused at hearing his disembodied voice but not seeing his comforting hand anywhere, is what I’ll now think of every time I see the RCA logo. THANKS ANGRY JIM.

If you’d like to know more about Nipper, here’s a site for and by ‘Nipperheads’.

Tags: , , , ,

TWO CONSECUTIVE THINGS THAT HAPPEN.

Tags: , , , ,

Tags: , ,

I am not a dancer. Not formally, not casually. I have never felt compelled to move to any particular rhythm, don’t want to try, and experience mild terror just walking near a dance floor to get a drink for fear some well-meaning person will drag me in. I should say, try to drag me in, as standard reaction to past attempts has been to twist my arm Judo style and bolt to the nearest exit.

Dancing made me feel awkward and gangly and extremely stupid, like I had no idea how to operate the various limbs attached to me outside of walking and occasionally running. It followed that I saw no point in dancing, as from a nonparticipant’s standpoint it resembled ritualized exercise in the service of mating ritual at best and more active standing around the rest of the time. I went to exactly one dance in elementary school and was shockingly disappointed to realize the only things to do there were a) stand around and b) dance. I assumed they’d have carnival games in the hallway or activities, you know, something to actually DO while you were there. For some reason this lesson didn’t stick as I assumed the EXACT SAME THING when going to prom. And again I was shocked to find no mini-haunted house, no apple-bobbing, just a big ol’ dance with fancier dresses.

The rest of my family, however, had no problem with this strange coordinating of limbs and in fact quite enjoyed it. My mom was a disco diva through and through, with her only prom disappointment being three ‘Stairway to Heaven’ themes in a row, thanks to the stoners running prom committee. My sisters took several years of dance classes- jazz, modern, no ballet though; those kids looked like fierce automotons. I have hazy memories of attending a recital, mostly because my parents bought a video camera to tape the occasion and I was fascinated by the device. The girls grew into champions of the dance floor, absorbing new moves with ease. One sister in all seriousness wanted to be a Fly Girl when she grew up and I thought this a perfectly appropriate and possible job opportunity for her.

To this day they’re still ace, with the other sister working towards her dream of one day becoming Dance Hall Queen of Jamaica (good luck beating that crazy Japanese girl who won in 2010).

I, on the other hand, still flounder. While having vastly improved my Robot skills, the flailing of limbs to rhythmic beats still leaves me slightly panicky and extraordinarily self-conscious. Therefore I was shocked to discover how much I enjoy ‘Just Dance’, a Wii game, over this winter break. My mom, still loving dancing, had purchased the game as an extension of her ‘Zumba’ classes. To this day I am still unsure what Zumba is/means but was nearly driven insane listening to her class remix:

(Skip straight to 1:19 for the majority of what I was hearing. Please imagine your mother driving around shouting these lyrics at the top of her lungs while fistpumping violently).

The game is simple as its title: move along with the dancers on screen while holding a wiimote, and try not to punch your fellow gameplayers out while doing so. Through the same magic that convinced thousands playing Rock Band they were musicians, for the first time in my life I thought, huh! I can dance! And thanks to Mom’s overexuberant buying sprees, I had at my disposal Just Dance, Just Dance 2, Just Dance 3, and Just Dance: Michael Jackson Edition.

As someone with exposure to every iteration of this game in a short span, I noticed an evolution – the first ‘Just Dance’ is merely a ‘Now That’s What I call Music’ compilation brought to choreographized, rotoscoped life, aimed squarely at those who enjoy and enjoy consuming disposable pop culture, ie tween/teen girls and teen girls at heart. ‘Just Dance 2′ takes into consideration the other members of the family with songs by The Jackson 5 and The Rolling Stones for mom and dad, some Beastie Boys and Wham! for older siblings and relatives, Harry Belafonte and Quincy Jones for Nana, and…Boney M, for the historian with an appreciation for rhythm.

‘Just Dance 3′, the one I purchased, is insidious in how it considers those who would normally just sit and watch and LURES THEM IN. What be this madness where a Madness song, not even a radio hit, makes it on?! And there’s an interpretive dance thing to ‘This is Halloween’, yes, from ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’- WHAT?! Even Brahms is represented (well, as ‘played’ by the ‘Just Dance Classical Orchestra’). Well, now I’m hooked. I still don’t want to get on the dance floor, but should I have to I’m less inclined to run as I’ve become acclimated to this strange jiggling of body parts called ‘dancing’ through this silly game. Below is a breakdown of the standout hits (for me) of the game:

Madness – Night Boat To Cairo: The theme’s a little on-the-nose with mummies and a camel. Bonus points for including actual Madness dance moves including the Group Stop & Swoop and Everyone Step Together.


(For your dancing consideration.)

Donna Summer – I Feel Love: This one’s extra sneaky. You think you’re getting a straight disco song only to find they’ve crossed Klaus Nomi with Kate Bush for choreography! Plus a very Björk hairdo! Sooo fun.

Chemical Brothers – Hey Boy, Hey Girl:
This is the closest I ever hope to come to a rave. Still, points for letting me dance inside the head of the glowstick set while being an extra in ‘Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Could See’.

A-Ha! – Take On Me: So…so much twirling.

The Sugarhill Gang – Apache (Jump On It): Thanks to a generation’s exposure to this song through ‘Fresh Prince’, they took the delightful lazy route and went with similar choreography. Best done in groups and surreptitiously filmed.

African Ladies – Pata Pata: Whee! You and a pal get to coordinate easy moves and learn the basics of body rolling!

Scissor Sisters – I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’: for when you DO feel like being sassy.

KISS – I Was Made For Lovin’ You: This song is proof positive KISS sucked at being a rock band (but excelled in self-promotion). The choreography acknowledges this and takes it to another level with line-skipping and coordinated fist-pumpery.

Robin Sparkles – Let’s Go To The Mall: A friend had to explain to me this isn’t a ‘real’ song, but a character from the TV show ‘How I Met Your Mother’s Canadian 80′s pop hit. The strangeness of a fictional character’s actual song appearing in a dance game outside its fictional reality aside, the song is indeed infectious and Canadian. Man, I hope other countries make fun of us with as few tropes as we use to mock Canadians. ‘Eh’, ‘aboot’, hockey, politeness, maybe a mullet. That’s it, that completely covers mocking Canada for the United States.

I recently learned of the existence of ‘Just Dance: ABBA’ and will be purchasing it as soon as a used copy turns up at the Bushwick Game Stop (this may be a while).

Alternate titles: Confessions of a Wii Addict, Apache: Jump On It, Dance Dance (Secret) Revolution, Indoor Jazz Hands, Strange Love or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Just Dance

Tags: , ,

Want to know what they’re looking at? (Thanks to Matt Munro.)

Tags: , , ,

« Older entries § Newer entries »