Here's an extremely rare treasure, a 78 rpm recording of The Rocket Ranger March from the 1953 TV series Rod Brown of the Rocket Rangers These may be the the first internet performances of The Rocket Rangers March, performed by the Rocket Rangers Chorus, and also an instrumental version of the Rocket Ranger March, performed by the Rocket Ranger Philharmonic Orchestra of Zagreb.
We occasionally mention of some of the classic films that are shown in The Janus Museum's Fellow's Lounge - here are links to the webmaster's capsule reviews:
Recent photographs, commentary,
and links from The Janus Museum's webmaster, Tibor Szégy-Légy
Every now and again you stumble on a weblog that seems to perfectly encapsulate a way of life, an environment, people, characters, whatever (although the Janus Museum is not all it seems, we think).
Last year, Gus was joined in the patriotic salute by buddy William Van Camp. This year, the ranks may swell to three with a representative from the Leib Hornbostel Institute - it should be thrilling, or disastrous, or both.
This one is available through June 15; here's the translation of the inscription, as supplied by the seller:
We were on the beach when a gigantic octopus came out from the sea and it was going to hug Mariana with the tentacles but thanks to the Virgen de Guadalupe the music of my guitar seemed to distract it and to calm it and it was listening and we, little by little, were going away without stopping to play the music that had charmed to the octopus.
And so we learn that (along with sunscreen and beer) one should always take along a guitar when one goes to the beach, for to ward off the octopi.
In Flann O'Brien'sThe Third Policeman, bicycles suddenly disappear in an odd, sinister way. We're having the opposite problem around here - I got a note from the local Post Office that a large parcel was being held for me. Went over, picked it, got back to the Museum and opened it up:
... which was sort of odd, 'cos I hadn't bought a folding bike. I thanked my friends at the Janus Museum, but none of them had bought it for me - no surprise there, the cheapskates. Called my brother Granville - he, also, had not bought it for me, though my birthday is coming soon, actually. I sent a message to the eBay seller who shipped it - have not heard back from him, yet. I'm not going to do anything with it 'til the situation's clarified a bit - may have to ship it back to the seller, if he ponies up the shipping money. Damn thing looks like a suicide waiting to happen, anyway...
Another noir-ish moment down at the gazebo in Wallingford Park: Natasha plays "Maxine", a reckless brittle tough moll with an unexpectedly vulnerable side and a bit of a hairball problem, as she peers out at a brute uncaring world from behind the bars of the big house - "Laugh while you can, you dirty coppers! There ain't no gazebo in the world can hold me!" Great film, saw it on the Late Show, once - man, we were stoned... What's the title, again? Oh, yes - Farewell, My Tabby.
Most wonderfully, though, there's an account of the world's first parachuting cat written by the cat himself. Part of a balloon ascension from Vauxhall Gardens, London and conducted by André-Jacques Garnerin (1769-1823), it took place on August 5th, 1802. The cat belonged to his wife, Jeanne-Geneviève Garnerin, who accompanied her husband on the ascent; Tom, the cat, insisted on coming too, as he reveals in his elegant account of the exploit:
Hearing of my mistress's intended ascension, and
having learnt, from my master's late experiment, the
turbulent nature of the English atmosphere, I who
had been a quiet spectator of her aerial flights in
more peaceful skies, determined on sharing the danger
of her new voyage...
Tom Cat was not content to be a mere passenger:
The very first moment I found myself buoyant, I felt disposed
not`to be an idle spectator, but to take an active part in
the boat. My mistress, however, near whom I was
seated, in a neat wicker basket, patting me gently
upon the head, and smiling irresistibly, said it would
be of dangerous consequence, and requested me to
sit still. Ever obedient to the call of beauty, I complied,
and instantly began to purr a little tune, to
prove at once the placidity of my temper, and the
total absence of all fear and apprehension...
He even skips the inflight meal to devote himself to science:
My companion thinking this a good opportunity to take
a snack, and feeling the effect which exposure to
the pure air generally produces upon my constitution,
I prepared to gratify my appetite with a leg of
cold chicken. Mr.Garnerin here interposing, assured
me that such gross food would infallibly obtund
my intellectual faculties, and requested me to reserve
my appetite for the milky way, which would
afford pure and safe nourishment. I readily acquiesced;
and while the rest were disposing of several
hams, and a dozen of chickens, I devoted myself
entirely to physical observations.
Tom gallantly volunteers to make the leap:
I had now attained the greatest elevation ever reached
by any of the feline race, and Mons. Garnerin proposed
that one of us should descend in the parachute;
we were exactly over Milbank, where the storm and
tempest of the late elections had not reached, and all
was calm, while the sky was rent and torn all over
Maidstone and Brentford. Madame Garnerin expressed
an inclination to make the experiment. I was
musing upon the use to which balloons might be
applied by cats in pursuit of the feathered race, when
my mistress's danger roused me from my reverie. I
instantly claimed the honour of this hazardous mission,
observing, that I had nine lives, and was ready to sacrifice
one of them for so much beauty. I was accordingly
placed in the basket of the parachute, and
gave a mew as the signal that I was ready. My companions
cut the rope which attached the parachute to
the balloon, and I began to descend...
Read the exciting complete account here. The Janus Museum Press once offered an elegant printed edition - maybe, if there's any interest, we'll reprint it after we get our tragic computer problems sorted out.
In other blogs, there's a fascinating post in AirSpace, the National Air and Space Museum's new feature, on the heroic space monkeys Able and Baker - their historic mission took place fifty years ago this week.
I mentioned a while back that our maintenance man Gus tends to leave patches of the Janus Museum's lawn unmowed out of brute uncaring sloth. Not so, he claims, it's his prairie restoration project, a very green and beautiful thing to do. However, when we discovered that the cats enjoy hiding in the prairie - some mysterious atavistic longing for the savannah, no doubt - we decided to keep one of the prairies. Above, the Prairie Tortie meditates in her lair.
Oh, here's a video of prairie cats being observed carefully by a careful prairie cat observer, Martha Norbeck-Wallingford.
Very pleased to pass on the news that the National Air and Space Museum has started a blog, AirSpace. I especially liked a post on an obscure photographic genre to be found in the Museum's Archives Division, that of images of people standing or sitting on aircraft wings. The photograph shown above illustrates a sub-genre that might be designated "Babes on Wings". Very interesting and informative - could be a book in it, I reckon. There's another fascinating post on a haunting photograph of a B-24 tailgunner reflected in the glass of his own turret.
Of course it's very cool that Air and Space has started blogging, and I wish them luck. Of course, the Janus Museum's been at it for a while already... let's see... oh, it's been six years, now - just saying. Maybe in return for the blurb and link the Air and Spacers will put in a good word for us with their Hollywood buddies so we can hop on the gravy train with Night in the Museum 3: Ungodly Mess at the Janus Museum. I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. Zanuck...
Here is an absolutely riveting video of the Let's Pizza, the magnificent vending machine that makes delicious fresh pizza from scratch before one's very eyes, mentioned here back in March. Tragically, the machine is not coming to the States, which is very sad. Watch the video, and weep.
Thinking still on the subject of Folksong Day - May 14th - it suddenly came on me that the events of the tragic ballad Willie Moore took place on May 10th. Listening to the song (the fine version recorded by the Rhythm Rats), I realized that the balladeer, J.R.D., left himself a bit of wriggle room:
It was about the tenth of May,
The time I remember well;
That very same night, her body disappeared
In a way no tongue could tell...
So Sweet Annie died around May 10 - it could very well have happened on May 14, couldn't it? Well, maybe not; but the fact remains that early May is a hell of an auspicious season for folksong.
Normally, I'd post an example of the song as a streaming MP3, but our continuing server problems tragically prevent me. Luckily, Amazon has a good selection of performances - besides the aforementioned version by the Rhythm Rats, I can suggest the famous version recorded by Burnett and Rutherford. And I really like the performance by Hesperus and Bruce Hutton, but it doesn't look like there's an available MP3.
The charming woodcut above is by the great Newcastle artist and chapbook revivalist Joseph Crawhall II (1821-1896) and is from the Joseph Crawhall II Society web site. Oh, and have a look at the Crawhall exhibit on the Newcastle University Library Special Collections site.
And yesterday was Folk Song Day, too - the date on which at least three songs in the British tradition take place: The Bonny Black Hare, When I was on Horseback, and Cod-Banging. Normally, I'd post links to audio files of the songs, but tragically, our server problems continue yet. But next year, for sure, maybe.
After P Street, Kathleen moved on to a spacious location at Dupont Circle - 'twas there that she generously allowed me to hold a book-signing for Animals Aloft. The last location was a cozy space again on P Street. Now Kathy will carry on back at her house in Cleveland Park - real Wheel of Life stuff, beautiful in its way. Wherever it was, Kathy's gallery was always a hang-out for DC's photographers, and the openings were always good opportunities to see exciting new work, catch up with your buddies, and have a good deal to drink. I especially recall the picnics out back behind the first P Street location - will have to dig up the ambrotypes I made of them...
Oh, well... The Washington Post has a nice article on Kathleen and the gallery today:
"All of us thrive on the rich photographic community we have built here," says Sarah Greenough, senior curator and head of the Department of Photographs at the National Gallery. "Kathleen was one of the people who started the ball rolling, who decided at a very early point to stand up to the Washington art community, which had little or no interest in photography.
"It was a brave act."
The article even mentions Allan Janus, though it makes the all too common mistake of characterizing him as a contemporary photographer.
