tom moody

tom moody's weblog
(2001 - 2007) (2004 - )

2001-2007 archive

main site


digital media tree (or "home" below)

RSS / validator

BLOG in gallery / AFC / artCal / furtherfield on BLOG

room sized animated GIFs / pics

geeks in the gallery / 2 / 3

fuzzy logic

and/or gallery / pics / 2

rhizome interview / illustrated

ny arts interview / illustrated

visit my cubicle

blogging & the arts panel

my dorkbot talk / notes

infinite fill show




coalition casualties

civilian casualties

iraq today / older

mccain defends bush's iraq strategy

eyebeam reBlog


tyndall report

aron namenwirth

bloggy / artCal

james wagner

what really happened


cory arcangel / at

juan cole

a a attanasio

three rivers online

unknown news



edward b. rackley

travelers diagram at

atomic cinema


cpb::softinfo :: blog


paper rad / info

nastynets now

the memory hole

de palma a la mod

aaron in japan


chris ashley




9/11 timeline

tedg on film

art is for the people


jim woodring

stephen hendee

steve gilliard

mellon writes again


adrien75 / 757


WFMU's Beware of the Blog

travis hallenbeck

paul slocum

guthrie lonergan / at

tom moody

View current page
...more recent posts

One of the finest things about Paul Thomas Anderson's psychotic film Punch Drunk Love was the revival of the Harry Nilsson/Van Dyke Parks/Shelley Duvall love song "He Needs Me," from Robert Altman's pretty-much-forgotten Popeye movie. Duvall, as Olive Oyl, sings this ballad of co-dependency (hers, to Bluto) with a meek, charmingly off key voice, and Nilsson's perpetually ascending kiddy-song melody coupled with Parks' Charles Ives-cum-Max Steiner orchestation pretty much guarantee goosebumps. The song was the reason I bought the Popeye soundtrack years ago (but regrettably wasn't enough reason to keep it during a later vinyl purge). I was actually thinking about tracking it down again, so I could play "HNM" obsessively and see if the score contained other warped gems.

But now I don't care.

I heard it again today, in the movie house during the usual interminable string of pre-show ads. Fucking Nilsson estate (or fucking someone) sold it for a commercial, fast on the heels of Anderson's rediscovery of it--hawking what, I don't even know (shoes?); it was one of those concept advertisements where the product isn't mentioned, with a gaggle of teenage girls competing for the amorous attention of a buff tennis pro while Duvall sings sweetly in the background. (The next ad featured the Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want'," selling soda, I think.)

Fucking hell, fucking marketing culture, it wrecks everything it touches. (OK, Popeye wasn't exactly Ibsen, but it wasn't about selling tennis rackets either.) Fucking sellout artists (or their dependents), always needing more to live the lifestyles of "playas," destroying creative legacies and the unique auras of songs. Fuck.

- tom moody 7-21-2004 5:13 am [link] [24 comments]