It’s 12:30 p.m. You wake up, and at 1:30 p.m. you roll out of bed and turn on the radio, then open your local newspaper to check the HELP WANTED adverts. During breakfast, you turn on the television to catch a few minutes of the 24-hour news shows. School shootings. Higher taxes. Immigrants being treated badly. The price of milk has risen considerably. You turn it off quickly, filled with a sense of dread after seeing the latest disappointments the human race has to offer you. Shortly thereafter, you take the bus to roam aimlessly around the megalopolis, collect your UBI check, and contemplate on how to find meaning in your sad excuse of a life. While riding, you decide to escape the routine by listening to THE EXILE HOUR on your iPhone 19.
As you look out of the window at the sea of LCD billboards on the highways that you pass by, the voices of Caleb Jackson Dills and Evan Philip Lipson act as a safety blanket, lulling you into a TRUE sense of security. You hardly notice the dilapidated high-rises and superstructures you are zooming past as you are whisked away into the nightscape that is THE EXILE HOUR. Tonight’s guest has done something his mother probably is not too proud of, and you are finding yourself relating just a little too easily. In fact, you have more in common with this guy than every co-worker you have had over the span of your insignificant life. You excitedly nod along, enthralled at the places you are able to travel while remaining stationary. In fact, you are so captivated you miss your stop. Another hour added to your commute, but you do not mind in the slightest. Next stop: THE EXILE HOUR.
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It’s 12:30 p.m. You wake up, and at 1:30 p.m. you roll out of bed and turn on the radio, then open your local newspaper to check the HELP WANTED adverts. During breakfast, you turn on the television to catch a few minutes of the 24-hour news shows. School shootings. Higher taxes. Immigrants being treated badly. The price of milk has risen considerably. You turn it off quickly, filled with a sense of dread after seeing the latest disappointments the human race has to offer you. Shortly thereafter, you take the bus to roam aimlessly around the megalopolis, collect your UBI check, and contemplate on how to find meaning in your sad excuse of a life. While riding, you decide to escape the routine by listening to THE EXILE HOUR on your iPhone 19.
As you look out of the window at the sea of LCD billboards on the highways that you pass by, the voices of Caleb Jackson Dills and Evan Philip Lipson act as a safety blanket, lulling you into a TRUE sense of security. You hardly notice the dilapidated high-rises and superstructures you are zooming past as you are whisked away into the nightscape that is THE EXILE HOUR. Tonight’s guest has done something his mother probably is not too proud of, and you are finding yourself relating just a little too easily. In fact, you have more in common with this guy than every co-worker you have had over the span of your insignificant life. You excitedly nod along, enthralled at the places you are able to travel while remaining stationary. In fact, you are so captivated you miss your stop. Another hour added to your commute, but you do not mind in the slightest. Next stop: THE EXILE HOUR.
GENESIS AND BEYOND: The Boyd Rice Christmas/Hanukkah Extravaganza
The Exile Hour
2 hours 3 minutes 9 seconds
2 years ago
GENESIS AND BEYOND: The Boyd Rice Christmas/Hanukkah Extravaganza
GENESIS AND BEYOND: The Boyd Rice Christmas/Hanukkah Extravaganza
“Boyd Rice is a black pimp.” —Charles Manson
“Boyd Rice was my mentor." —Marilyn Manson
“Boyd is an iconoclast!” —Anton LaVey, Church of Satan
“Boyd Rice could be the next John F. Kennedy or Jesus Christ.” —Kim Fowley
“(Boyd Rice) is a bad influence.” —Der Spiegel
Referred to by some as “The most dangerous man alive”, Boyd Rice (c. 1956) is a pioneering American artist, occultist, prankster, mystic, social critic, archivist, and provocateur whose impact & influence has penetrated nearly every level of global underground culture; a notably brazen and polarizing figure who has courted endless controversy worldwide over a span of more than four decades. Rice initially came to prominence in the 1970s as one of the founders of the “Industrial Music” genre and as one of the first artists signed to Mute Records. He quickly gained a reputation for starkly ritualistic live performances that were regarded as being the most abrasive, minimalistic, dangerous, and blisteringly high volume concerts ever staged. As early as 1980, he was already being hailed as “The Godfather of Noise”.
Since then, Rice—a high school dropout raised in a Southern California trailer park—extended his creative pursuits to innumerable fields including visual art, film, literature, photography, acting, interior decoration/design, and culinary arts (taking first prize in the 2012 Denver County Fair Jello molding competition) among other things; something of a Renaissance Man for our technocratic age of decadence and decline.
In his own words:
“My life is a testament to the idea that you can achieve whatever the hell you want if you possess a modicum of creativity, and a certain amount of naivete concerning what is and isn’t possible in this world. I’ve had one man shows of my paintings in New York, but I’m not a painter. I’ve authored several books, but I’m not a writer. I’ve made a living as a recording artist for the last 30 years, but I can’t read a note of music or play an instrument. I’ve somehow managed to make a career out of doing a great number of things I’m in no way qualified to do.”
In the 1980s, through his collaborations with Re/Search Publications, Rice further established his position in the underground with recountings of his uproarious pranks and the promotion of “incredibly strange” cult films and “industrial” culture. Rice’s influence on the subculture was further extended through his vanguard exhibition of found photographs and readymade thrift store art, as well as his zealous endorsements and curation of outsider music, totalitarian & military aesthetics, tiki culture (even designing a now defunct tiki bar in Denver, Colorado eponymously named Tiki Boyd’s), and bygone pop culture in general (he’s been an avid collector, outspoken enthusiast, and longtime archivist of myriad forgotten mid-century oddities & treasures).
Rice is also notorious for his public associations with nefarious figures both infamous and obscure, including intimate friendships and associations with the likes of Tiny Tim, cult leader Charles Manson, and Church of Satan founder Anton LaVey (even becoming ordained as a high priest and spokesman for the CoS prior to LaVey’s death), among others. He was the subject of...
The Exile Hour
It’s 12:30 p.m. You wake up, and at 1:30 p.m. you roll out of bed and turn on the radio, then open your local newspaper to check the HELP WANTED adverts. During breakfast, you turn on the television to catch a few minutes of the 24-hour news shows. School shootings. Higher taxes. Immigrants being treated badly. The price of milk has risen considerably. You turn it off quickly, filled with a sense of dread after seeing the latest disappointments the human race has to offer you. Shortly thereafter, you take the bus to roam aimlessly around the megalopolis, collect your UBI check, and contemplate on how to find meaning in your sad excuse of a life. While riding, you decide to escape the routine by listening to THE EXILE HOUR on your iPhone 19.
As you look out of the window at the sea of LCD billboards on the highways that you pass by, the voices of Caleb Jackson Dills and Evan Philip Lipson act as a safety blanket, lulling you into a TRUE sense of security. You hardly notice the dilapidated high-rises and superstructures you are zooming past as you are whisked away into the nightscape that is THE EXILE HOUR. Tonight’s guest has done something his mother probably is not too proud of, and you are finding yourself relating just a little too easily. In fact, you have more in common with this guy than every co-worker you have had over the span of your insignificant life. You excitedly nod along, enthralled at the places you are able to travel while remaining stationary. In fact, you are so captivated you miss your stop. Another hour added to your commute, but you do not mind in the slightest. Next stop: THE EXILE HOUR.
