We're selling these catalogue books of the SPECTRUM Polaroids at-cost. They're really beautiful--put together by Katie Shapiro. The book preview on the Blurb site only shows red, orange, and yellow. There are 2 polaroids of all 11 colors. We sold out of soft-cover books at the opening.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
"SPECTRUM" PHOTO SHOW TONIGHT! & free MAE SHI show!
Tonight! 6-9pm
The art collective I work with, From Here To There, is having a opening tonight. The work is from 11 people and is all polaroids, in celebration of the iconic discontinued format and its framing of our everyday life & extraordinary occurrences.
2 loud bands are going to be playing, the Mae Shi, and Ghiant, and it will be a noisy and fun party.
Sugar Salon/Azucar Gallery, 3022 Sunset Blvd, 90026, right next to the Silverlake Lounge. 323.666.7000
Sunday, June 22, 2008
thoughts: Today is the 64th anniversary of the GI Bill
A little bit of trivia: today is the 64th anniversary of the GI Bill. I wonder what all the vets dropping out of Cal State L.A. due to lack of government-subsidized tuition funds are thinking about these checks...? Food for thought..
Here are some photos of that proud moment:
Franklin Roosevelt signing the GI Bill, aka “The Servicemen’s Readjustment Act of 1944”
Veterans in New York City wait for school counseling on the last day to file papers under the GI Bill, July 1951. In a new book political scientist and historian Ira Katznelson argues that the GI Bill, along with Social Security and New Deal labor laws, were racially discriminatory. (Bettman / Corbis Photo)
Thursday, June 12, 2008
MOCA & TARGET VIDEO event review
Link:TARGET VIDEO @ MOCA, 6.7.08, LA WEEKLY
Target Video screens a 2-hour compilation video at MOCA's Geffen Contemporary, as part of the CineMOCA festival.
Photos by Rena Kosnett.
Blood brothers: Germs drummer Don Bolles and the night's music programmer, Henry Rollins.
The turn-out for the Target Video screening was solid, mostly 30 and 40 somethings fanning the flame of the old mohawk spirit, but there were younger curious people as well, many of whom, when asked, had never heard of Target Video. The Gun Club portions of the screening were what really captured my attention, as Jeffrey Lee Pierce's haunting wail has always occupied a chamber in my heart; but I couldn't shake the distraction of the odd setting. On one end there was a film playing highlighting 1980s punk kids and their battle to tape up homemade flyers, and on the other end was an Infiniti for sale.
And an Infiniti salesman.
Talkin' shop.
Not to mention $8 Heinekens, and $6 hot dogs. And the chips? I think they were $2.50. Punk rock.
A confusing mixture of endorsements. Hypocritical? Perhaps. Oxymoronic? Maybe. But it definitely sucked all of what was left of the revolutionary appeal of those Target videos right out. Why hold a screening to pay homage to a certain time when the very thesis of the movement in question is being negated by the surrounding corporate sponsorship? There's nothing wrong with getting paid, and the arts are definitely underfunded in this country--it's just that when you hold the purpose up to be something it isn't...I hate to use the words "douche bag," but if the shoe fits...
More photos:
Target Video founder Joe Rees.
Videothing gets Jim Freek's take.
These kids were saying they're in a band...parents, please stop them or they'll end up like these guys:
But that actually wouldn't be so bad. These people were sweet as hell.
COMMENTS
There are 3 comments posted for this article.
Target Video got zero for this show. Henry Rollins got zero for the show. MOCA made no money from "the bar." It was run by a third party. Nothing would have happened with out sponsorship of the MOCA series. Yes, the arts are indeed under funded. What was your contribution?
The hypocrisy seems to be when one spouts on about something without facts.
Posted on June 12, 2008 9:55 AM by Jackie Sharp
Re: Jackie
One $8 Heineken.
It was Target Video's choice to have the screening at MOCA. There are numerous other "punk" venues around Los Angeles where a screening would have been monumental, and uncompromised, and Target Video may have even been able to walk away with some cash- 6th street warehouse, 1830, The Smell, Tiny Creatures, etc.
I also would have loved to talk to Target Video about the current museum attention, but this reporter's attempts at communication went unanswered. Before the screening, Mr. Rees said it was important to spread the word about DIY art, and punk roots, etc. Kinda hard to take that seriously when chattering about "horse power" and "miles per gallon" are heard over your shoulder.
Museums are institutions. And institutions are antithetical to the very basis of what punk and the subjects of Target Video were about. WIth the clear hand that corporate sponsorship had in the event, I felt I would be remiss to not point out the pink Infiniti in the room.
I appreciate your comment, though. It's hard for the arts right now.
Posted on June 12, 2008 12:21 PM by Rena
Constitutionally, the MOCA and punk rock have very little in common.
Punk rock – and I mean if you want to use Marcus and Kuenzli’s thesis, which I agree with – is rooted in the modernist negation known as dada. (Henri Lefebvre made a similar comment – not about punk rock but stating current events occurring in the negation were indebted to happenings in a Zurich Café in 1916.) Dada – as described by Hugo Ball -- was about anarchism of the spirit. Or it was about nothing (Tristan Tzara), take your pick. The ethos of punk rock -- whether participants are consciously or subconsciously aware of it -- is rooted in this movement (dada). Dada provided a possibility for punk rock to exist; it gave it its lexicon, and without a precedent, without people having the faculty to say “no,” punk rock would not exist: the concept wouldn’t have been born. (Similarly, Surrealism and the situationists would not have occurred without dada, just as dada most likely would not have occurred without the help of Marx and Bakunin.) These events – dada, punk rock, whatever – took place outside of consumer culture (i.e. in the negation). So, as Rena pointed out, having them at the same place – punk rock and consumer culture -- is a paradox. Then again, this gets back to Herbert Marcuse’s theory that capitalism will eventually engulf people/events/happenings on the periphery. In this case, it took Target video about 25 years to get there.
And I mean look at the more conspicuous: Jeffrey Lee Pierce’s mug on a screen in the Getty? Come on. The dude was as iconoclastic as they came. And broke as hell his whole life.
Also, your statement: “The hypocrisy seems to be when one spouts on about something without facts,” is foolish. There are facts there. Beer was $8. That’s goes in someone’s pocket. (Book a show at the artist collective the Cog in Echo Park. Beers are $1 or you can bring your own.) Also, there’s a fucking Infiniti at the gallery. Now, please explain to me the nexus between Jeffrey Lee Pierce and an Infiniti. Because the night relied on some of Pierce’s groundbreaking as a musician, and I can tell you secondhand that Jeffrey Lee Pierce owned one car in his life (a mid-‘60s Mustang) that he drove straight to hell and left abandoned on the 101. He never owned another one. (But not knowing that the 12-year-old kid here might somehow build a connection between "Gun Club and Infiniti," which was the latter's intention.)
And I mean this argument goes back to Marcel Duchamp trying to do away with things like trustees (which the MOCA has) when he was working with Katherine Dreir. He failed in that respect (the institution of the museum is still constitutionally the same – reflecting middle class/upper class culture and ideals).
It takes a lot to stand up and write a critical piece like this. Contrary to what you think, this is one person’s opinion stacked up against many peoples’ who hold this exhibition up as some sort of success. Which it wasn’t. It sucked.
(Although I want to say that people like Henry Rollins and Don Bolles depicted in it certainly do not. I hold their accomplishments in high regard. Target Video in its heyday captured some amazing things – notably the Screamers. Then again, this article had nothing to do with Target as entity but the stupidity of the event.)
Posted on June 12, 2008 1:21 PM by Ryan Leach
Target Video screens a 2-hour compilation video at MOCA's Geffen Contemporary, as part of the CineMOCA festival.
Photos by Rena Kosnett.
Blood brothers: Germs drummer Don Bolles and the night's music programmer, Henry Rollins.
The turn-out for the Target Video screening was solid, mostly 30 and 40 somethings fanning the flame of the old mohawk spirit, but there were younger curious people as well, many of whom, when asked, had never heard of Target Video. The Gun Club portions of the screening were what really captured my attention, as Jeffrey Lee Pierce's haunting wail has always occupied a chamber in my heart; but I couldn't shake the distraction of the odd setting. On one end there was a film playing highlighting 1980s punk kids and their battle to tape up homemade flyers, and on the other end was an Infiniti for sale.
And an Infiniti salesman.
Talkin' shop.
Not to mention $8 Heinekens, and $6 hot dogs. And the chips? I think they were $2.50. Punk rock.
A confusing mixture of endorsements. Hypocritical? Perhaps. Oxymoronic? Maybe. But it definitely sucked all of what was left of the revolutionary appeal of those Target videos right out. Why hold a screening to pay homage to a certain time when the very thesis of the movement in question is being negated by the surrounding corporate sponsorship? There's nothing wrong with getting paid, and the arts are definitely underfunded in this country--it's just that when you hold the purpose up to be something it isn't...I hate to use the words "douche bag," but if the shoe fits...
More photos:
Target Video founder Joe Rees.
Videothing gets Jim Freek's take.
These kids were saying they're in a band...parents, please stop them or they'll end up like these guys:
But that actually wouldn't be so bad. These people were sweet as hell.
COMMENTS
There are 3 comments posted for this article.
Target Video got zero for this show. Henry Rollins got zero for the show. MOCA made no money from "the bar." It was run by a third party. Nothing would have happened with out sponsorship of the MOCA series. Yes, the arts are indeed under funded. What was your contribution?
The hypocrisy seems to be when one spouts on about something without facts.
Posted on June 12, 2008 9:55 AM by Jackie Sharp
Re: Jackie
One $8 Heineken.
It was Target Video's choice to have the screening at MOCA. There are numerous other "punk" venues around Los Angeles where a screening would have been monumental, and uncompromised, and Target Video may have even been able to walk away with some cash- 6th street warehouse, 1830, The Smell, Tiny Creatures, etc.
I also would have loved to talk to Target Video about the current museum attention, but this reporter's attempts at communication went unanswered. Before the screening, Mr. Rees said it was important to spread the word about DIY art, and punk roots, etc. Kinda hard to take that seriously when chattering about "horse power" and "miles per gallon" are heard over your shoulder.
Museums are institutions. And institutions are antithetical to the very basis of what punk and the subjects of Target Video were about. WIth the clear hand that corporate sponsorship had in the event, I felt I would be remiss to not point out the pink Infiniti in the room.
I appreciate your comment, though. It's hard for the arts right now.
Posted on June 12, 2008 12:21 PM by Rena
Constitutionally, the MOCA and punk rock have very little in common.
Punk rock – and I mean if you want to use Marcus and Kuenzli’s thesis, which I agree with – is rooted in the modernist negation known as dada. (Henri Lefebvre made a similar comment – not about punk rock but stating current events occurring in the negation were indebted to happenings in a Zurich Café in 1916.) Dada – as described by Hugo Ball -- was about anarchism of the spirit. Or it was about nothing (Tristan Tzara), take your pick. The ethos of punk rock -- whether participants are consciously or subconsciously aware of it -- is rooted in this movement (dada). Dada provided a possibility for punk rock to exist; it gave it its lexicon, and without a precedent, without people having the faculty to say “no,” punk rock would not exist: the concept wouldn’t have been born. (Similarly, Surrealism and the situationists would not have occurred without dada, just as dada most likely would not have occurred without the help of Marx and Bakunin.) These events – dada, punk rock, whatever – took place outside of consumer culture (i.e. in the negation). So, as Rena pointed out, having them at the same place – punk rock and consumer culture -- is a paradox. Then again, this gets back to Herbert Marcuse’s theory that capitalism will eventually engulf people/events/happenings on the periphery. In this case, it took Target video about 25 years to get there.
And I mean look at the more conspicuous: Jeffrey Lee Pierce’s mug on a screen in the Getty? Come on. The dude was as iconoclastic as they came. And broke as hell his whole life.
Also, your statement: “The hypocrisy seems to be when one spouts on about something without facts,” is foolish. There are facts there. Beer was $8. That’s goes in someone’s pocket. (Book a show at the artist collective the Cog in Echo Park. Beers are $1 or you can bring your own.) Also, there’s a fucking Infiniti at the gallery. Now, please explain to me the nexus between Jeffrey Lee Pierce and an Infiniti. Because the night relied on some of Pierce’s groundbreaking as a musician, and I can tell you secondhand that Jeffrey Lee Pierce owned one car in his life (a mid-‘60s Mustang) that he drove straight to hell and left abandoned on the 101. He never owned another one. (But not knowing that the 12-year-old kid here might somehow build a connection between "Gun Club and Infiniti," which was the latter's intention.)
And I mean this argument goes back to Marcel Duchamp trying to do away with things like trustees (which the MOCA has) when he was working with Katherine Dreir. He failed in that respect (the institution of the museum is still constitutionally the same – reflecting middle class/upper class culture and ideals).
It takes a lot to stand up and write a critical piece like this. Contrary to what you think, this is one person’s opinion stacked up against many peoples’ who hold this exhibition up as some sort of success. Which it wasn’t. It sucked.
(Although I want to say that people like Henry Rollins and Don Bolles depicted in it certainly do not. I hold their accomplishments in high regard. Target Video in its heyday captured some amazing things – notably the Screamers. Then again, this article had nothing to do with Target as entity but the stupidity of the event.)
Posted on June 12, 2008 1:21 PM by Ryan Leach
I SEE HAWKS IN L.A. photos
Link:I SEE HAWKS IN L.A. WITH THE CHAPIN SISTERS @ THE ECHO 6.8.08
Photos by Rena Kosnett.
Los Angeles' own country heroes, I See Hawks In L.A., celebrated the release of their 4th album, Hallowed Ground, at the Echo. The Chapin Sisters proclaimed their love for I See Hawks by singing a few numbers with the quartet before the guests of honor wrastled the mic. The first number that vocalist Rob Waller sang, "Yolo Country Airport," had the opening lyrics: "Well I'm drunk, I'm stoned, and I'm tired." Of course I immediately thought, "Me too!" That's the nice thing about I See Hawks--they make you feel right at home. Couples were swirling around the floor, grinning from ear to ear and two-stepping their hearts out. And their senior superfans were right up front, singing along to all the lyrics of the NEW songs! Awesome. If anyone lives in Los Angeles, is a fan of country music, and hasn't yet discovered I See Hawks In L.A., now is the time. They are a county treasure, keeping up the spirit of Gram Parsons and Dillard & Clark.
Photos by Rena Kosnett.
Los Angeles' own country heroes, I See Hawks In L.A., celebrated the release of their 4th album, Hallowed Ground, at the Echo. The Chapin Sisters proclaimed their love for I See Hawks by singing a few numbers with the quartet before the guests of honor wrastled the mic. The first number that vocalist Rob Waller sang, "Yolo Country Airport," had the opening lyrics: "Well I'm drunk, I'm stoned, and I'm tired." Of course I immediately thought, "Me too!" That's the nice thing about I See Hawks--they make you feel right at home. Couples were swirling around the floor, grinning from ear to ear and two-stepping their hearts out. And their senior superfans were right up front, singing along to all the lyrics of the NEW songs! Awesome. If anyone lives in Los Angeles, is a fan of country music, and hasn't yet discovered I See Hawks In L.A., now is the time. They are a county treasure, keeping up the spirit of Gram Parsons and Dillard & Clark.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
LANGHORNE SLIM record review
Langhorne Slim record review, LA WEEKLY
Langhorne Slim | Langhorne Slim | Kemodo
In a recent Razorcake interview, Greg Cartwright of the Reigning Sound theorized that nowadays, musicians who are trying to emulate roots music aren’t capable of delivering effectively because they’re too good. This statement may seem like a grave impropriety, but alas, it proves true: The presentation, the production value, the musicianship are overly perfected and therefore don’t capture the original home-fried palette of the greats being echoed. This Langhorne Slim record falls into that category. He is a damn good musician, but akin to bands like Old Crow Medicine Show, the music is too tame; lovely but bootless. It is easy to envision Langhorne Slim accumulating fans with this record, as tracks “Rebel Side of Heaven” and “Oh Honey” especially have catchy hooks, but as the lyrics in “Restless” state, “I felt restless and I felt soft/I didn’t know anymore who I was ripping off.” Agreed. “Oh Honey” is the gem of the album (also the shortest track), an antilove song in the tradition of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” but sans the stinging poeticisms that make Dylan’s 1963 classic indispensable.
—Rena Kosnett
Photos: Drew Goren : splendidzine.com
Langhorne Slim | Langhorne Slim | Kemodo
In a recent Razorcake interview, Greg Cartwright of the Reigning Sound theorized that nowadays, musicians who are trying to emulate roots music aren’t capable of delivering effectively because they’re too good. This statement may seem like a grave impropriety, but alas, it proves true: The presentation, the production value, the musicianship are overly perfected and therefore don’t capture the original home-fried palette of the greats being echoed. This Langhorne Slim record falls into that category. He is a damn good musician, but akin to bands like Old Crow Medicine Show, the music is too tame; lovely but bootless. It is easy to envision Langhorne Slim accumulating fans with this record, as tracks “Rebel Side of Heaven” and “Oh Honey” especially have catchy hooks, but as the lyrics in “Restless” state, “I felt restless and I felt soft/I didn’t know anymore who I was ripping off.” Agreed. “Oh Honey” is the gem of the album (also the shortest track), an antilove song in the tradition of “Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right” but sans the stinging poeticisms that make Dylan’s 1963 classic indispensable.
—Rena Kosnett
Photos: Drew Goren : splendidzine.com
Thursday, May 15, 2008
DAVID HINNEBUSCH feature
Santa Monica painter David Hinnebusch profiled in the LA Weekly 2008 People Issue
Photo by Kevin Scanlon
David Hinnebusch
The outsider
By RENA KOSNETT
Wednesday, May 14, 2008 - 12:00 pm
For Santa Monica painter David Hinnebusch, artistic exploration has evolved over his 43 years mostly as a solo endeavor. Although he says he has been blessed with amazing friends and supporters throughout his life, he will be the first to tell you that he’s always felt like an outsider.
As a burgeoning African linguistics scholar, Hinnebusch’s father moved his wife and three children, of which David is the eldest, from Pittsburgh to Tanzania, back to Pittsburgh, then Kenya, and finally accepted a professorship at UCLA. Hinnebusch recalls growing up in Africa with mixed emotions. “I was one of the only white kids, and European kids were picked on. It was always ‘Yank’ this, and ‘Yank’ that.” However, traveling back and forth between the United States and Africa during the political tumult of the late ’60s did serve to develop David’s worldly and inquisitive nature at a very green age. He remembers a question he posed to his father at Uganda’s Entebbe International Airport. “I was about 4, and while we were waiting to get on a plane, I went to my father and asked ‘Dad, who’s crazier, Idi Amin or Richard Nixon?’ I think he was stunned.”
As an outlet between the ages of 5 and 11, young David wrote and illustrated his own stories, creating a collection of books filled with the kind of words and imagery that make child psychologists salivate — particularly one storybook written in Nairobi, the title of which reads as a testament to the teasings of his youth: The War Boys of U.S.A.
This brand of heavy introspection followed Hinnebusch through his teenage years as a student at West L.A.’s University High, and manifested in depression, eventually leading to heavy drug use. Bad drugs. The kind of drugs that his professor father and microbiologist mother would not tolerate. From his account, his parents finally broke through their parental denial and confronted him in 1986 on the day the Challenger shuttle exploded. “I was fucked-up and had no reaction to this gigantic, horrific disaster. That’s when they really saw what was going on.” With their help, Hinnebusch struggled through many relapses to eventually reach sobriety in 1989.
Since then, he has been dedicated to his painting. His work can be likened to that of Jean-Michel Basquiat, if Basquiat had lived on the West Coast, been white and succeeded in kicking his heroin habit.
For a brief stint in the late ’90s, after attending the Santa Monica College of Design Art & Architecture for two years, Hinnebusch could be seen selling paintings on the Venice boardwalk, but skin cancer and peer annoyance drove him out of that arena, which was probably for the best. Enough people had already been exposed to his work, however, to generate a strong word-of-mouth following. When reviewing this year’s L.A. Weekly annual biennial, coagula.livejournal.com, wrote, “Even David Hinnebusch was there, so you know it was a scene.”
His projects are numerous, and his thought process scattered — evident in the way he’s built his Web site, fakeart.net, which has a haywire, John Forbes Nash–like layout and equally vexing navigation. But Hinnebusch has put tidbits of most of his endeavors online, in some form or another. He designs a line of clothing adorned with his illustrations, and is the proprietor of a custom surfboard company. He still sings (screams?) in Sunset Strip nightclubs with Entropy, the skater-hardcore punk band he formed in 1983, named after Jeremy Rifkin’s controversial 1980 book Entropy: A New World View.
Most importantly, Hinnebusch adds to the landscape of Santa Monica simply by being part of it. His wide, exceptionally charming grin can be seen from across the room at gallery openings, and he possesses such on-point charisma and impressionable confidence, one could imagine he acquired his magnetism almost as a survival trait (he does seem to have many admirers belonging to the fairer of the sexes).
I asked Hinnebusch if he has any enemies, a question that made him pause and sit back in his chair. His answer included his signature lemons-to-lemonade spin: “Well, there was this one guy who really hated me. He would always walk past me on Venice and yell out, ‘How’s it going with your fake art?’ But I actually liked that phrase so much, I took it as my trademark. So it all worked out.”
Photo by Kevin Scanlon
David Hinnebusch
The outsider
By RENA KOSNETT
Wednesday, May 14, 2008 - 12:00 pm
For Santa Monica painter David Hinnebusch, artistic exploration has evolved over his 43 years mostly as a solo endeavor. Although he says he has been blessed with amazing friends and supporters throughout his life, he will be the first to tell you that he’s always felt like an outsider.
As a burgeoning African linguistics scholar, Hinnebusch’s father moved his wife and three children, of which David is the eldest, from Pittsburgh to Tanzania, back to Pittsburgh, then Kenya, and finally accepted a professorship at UCLA. Hinnebusch recalls growing up in Africa with mixed emotions. “I was one of the only white kids, and European kids were picked on. It was always ‘Yank’ this, and ‘Yank’ that.” However, traveling back and forth between the United States and Africa during the political tumult of the late ’60s did serve to develop David’s worldly and inquisitive nature at a very green age. He remembers a question he posed to his father at Uganda’s Entebbe International Airport. “I was about 4, and while we were waiting to get on a plane, I went to my father and asked ‘Dad, who’s crazier, Idi Amin or Richard Nixon?’ I think he was stunned.”
As an outlet between the ages of 5 and 11, young David wrote and illustrated his own stories, creating a collection of books filled with the kind of words and imagery that make child psychologists salivate — particularly one storybook written in Nairobi, the title of which reads as a testament to the teasings of his youth: The War Boys of U.S.A.
This brand of heavy introspection followed Hinnebusch through his teenage years as a student at West L.A.’s University High, and manifested in depression, eventually leading to heavy drug use. Bad drugs. The kind of drugs that his professor father and microbiologist mother would not tolerate. From his account, his parents finally broke through their parental denial and confronted him in 1986 on the day the Challenger shuttle exploded. “I was fucked-up and had no reaction to this gigantic, horrific disaster. That’s when they really saw what was going on.” With their help, Hinnebusch struggled through many relapses to eventually reach sobriety in 1989.
Since then, he has been dedicated to his painting. His work can be likened to that of Jean-Michel Basquiat, if Basquiat had lived on the West Coast, been white and succeeded in kicking his heroin habit.
For a brief stint in the late ’90s, after attending the Santa Monica College of Design Art & Architecture for two years, Hinnebusch could be seen selling paintings on the Venice boardwalk, but skin cancer and peer annoyance drove him out of that arena, which was probably for the best. Enough people had already been exposed to his work, however, to generate a strong word-of-mouth following. When reviewing this year’s L.A. Weekly annual biennial, coagula.livejournal.com, wrote, “Even David Hinnebusch was there, so you know it was a scene.”
His projects are numerous, and his thought process scattered — evident in the way he’s built his Web site, fakeart.net, which has a haywire, John Forbes Nash–like layout and equally vexing navigation. But Hinnebusch has put tidbits of most of his endeavors online, in some form or another. He designs a line of clothing adorned with his illustrations, and is the proprietor of a custom surfboard company. He still sings (screams?) in Sunset Strip nightclubs with Entropy, the skater-hardcore punk band he formed in 1983, named after Jeremy Rifkin’s controversial 1980 book Entropy: A New World View.
Most importantly, Hinnebusch adds to the landscape of Santa Monica simply by being part of it. His wide, exceptionally charming grin can be seen from across the room at gallery openings, and he possesses such on-point charisma and impressionable confidence, one could imagine he acquired his magnetism almost as a survival trait (he does seem to have many admirers belonging to the fairer of the sexes).
I asked Hinnebusch if he has any enemies, a question that made him pause and sit back in his chair. His answer included his signature lemons-to-lemonade spin: “Well, there was this one guy who really hated me. He would always walk past me on Venice and yell out, ‘How’s it going with your fake art?’ But I actually liked that phrase so much, I took it as my trademark. So it all worked out.”
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
TIM & ERIC'S AWESOME SHOW live review, photos
Tim & Eric's Awesome Show live @ the Echoplex 5.5.08, LA WEEKLY
more disgusting yet amazing photos from the show here
They're so sweet and innocent. Photos by Rena Kosnett.
Writing about the experience of seeing Tim & Eric’s Awesome Show Great Job! live on tour would be akin to dancing about architecture—some weird, fucked up architecture. It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.
One certainty is that the live show is a thousand times better than seeing Tim & Eric on TV, or watching videos on Youtube, because in addition to watching and hearing them, you can smell and taste Tim & Eric as well. Some highlights: an instructional video about properly poisoning your child clown slave, Papa John’s email upgrades, a prayer for Robin Williams, enlarged testicle bodysuits, a video with John C. Reilly eating paninis prepared with horse grease and then saying "Ooh, it smells like horse."
Tim & Eric did indeed kiss. They did indeed throw pizza and hot dogs into the audience, so if you’re planning on going to the encore performance tonight, go hungry (and early, as the Echoplex was entirely sold out). They did indeed vomit. They did indeed physically abuse their stage crew and curse at the audience. There was a naked guy (some of you may recognize his genitals from his one night performance as the naked guy at LA Weekly’s Third Annual Biennial). Awesome show, guys! Great Job. Here are some photos.
more disgusting yet amazing photos from the show here
They're so sweet and innocent. Photos by Rena Kosnett.
Writing about the experience of seeing Tim & Eric’s Awesome Show Great Job! live on tour would be akin to dancing about architecture—some weird, fucked up architecture. It was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen.
One certainty is that the live show is a thousand times better than seeing Tim & Eric on TV, or watching videos on Youtube, because in addition to watching and hearing them, you can smell and taste Tim & Eric as well. Some highlights: an instructional video about properly poisoning your child clown slave, Papa John’s email upgrades, a prayer for Robin Williams, enlarged testicle bodysuits, a video with John C. Reilly eating paninis prepared with horse grease and then saying "Ooh, it smells like horse."
Tim & Eric did indeed kiss. They did indeed throw pizza and hot dogs into the audience, so if you’re planning on going to the encore performance tonight, go hungry (and early, as the Echoplex was entirely sold out). They did indeed vomit. They did indeed physically abuse their stage crew and curse at the audience. There was a naked guy (some of you may recognize his genitals from his one night performance as the naked guy at LA Weekly’s Third Annual Biennial). Awesome show, guys! Great Job. Here are some photos.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
YEASAYER live review
Yeasayer at the Ukranian Culture Center, 4.25.08, LA WEEKLY
I can’t freakin' wait until Yeasayer come back to Los Angeles. I feel itchy knowing that last Friday's show at the Ukranian Culture Center on Melrose was their only L.A. engagement.
Yeasayer is one band that requires you to hold your impressions until you’ve seen their live performance. As interesting as the single “2080” is for the dooming lyrics and the ethereal use of chant-like synthesized vocals, it can seem a little Ren-fair. And that’s totally why many people like it; it’s the Peter-Gabriel-trying-to-perform-like-David-Byrne throwback. Also, during the song “Sunrise,” I just can’t stop thinking of Traffic’s “Low Spark of High Heeled Boys.” The music could easily slip into the realm of, well, dorky. Compared to their oft-likened kindred spirits TV On The Radio, “Final Path” makes Yeasayer seem like TVOTR’s extremely smart, pimply, Magic: The Gathering little cousin.
But Yeasayer were crowned Ukranian Kings Friday night in that crazy (and really cool) hall, for two reasons. 1) the keyboardist and lead singer, Chris Keating, is a gifted performer, and confident as hell. His face and body contort under the dense pressure of their music and lyrics, almost to the point where he looks pained. It’s hypnotizing. If he hadn't been as entrancing, the live show would've been completely different. And 2) I haven’t seen such an stupendous light display feat since I was 12 years old and went to the observatory to watch the Pink Floyd laserium show. Straight out of Big Brother and the Holding Company. When I saw A Place to Bury Strangers powering through their “Ocean” finale a few months ago, I didn’t want to bob my head or blink because I was afraid of missing something. During Yeasayer, I may as well have been dipped in carbon freeze.
Yeasayer. Go see them. Go to the ends of the earth if you need to. Their music would be perfect along the way.
Groovy. Photos by Rena Kosnett
I can’t freakin' wait until Yeasayer come back to Los Angeles. I feel itchy knowing that last Friday's show at the Ukranian Culture Center on Melrose was their only L.A. engagement.
Yeasayer is one band that requires you to hold your impressions until you’ve seen their live performance. As interesting as the single “2080” is for the dooming lyrics and the ethereal use of chant-like synthesized vocals, it can seem a little Ren-fair. And that’s totally why many people like it; it’s the Peter-Gabriel-trying-to-perform-like-David-Byrne throwback. Also, during the song “Sunrise,” I just can’t stop thinking of Traffic’s “Low Spark of High Heeled Boys.” The music could easily slip into the realm of, well, dorky. Compared to their oft-likened kindred spirits TV On The Radio, “Final Path” makes Yeasayer seem like TVOTR’s extremely smart, pimply, Magic: The Gathering little cousin.
But Yeasayer were crowned Ukranian Kings Friday night in that crazy (and really cool) hall, for two reasons. 1) the keyboardist and lead singer, Chris Keating, is a gifted performer, and confident as hell. His face and body contort under the dense pressure of their music and lyrics, almost to the point where he looks pained. It’s hypnotizing. If he hadn't been as entrancing, the live show would've been completely different. And 2) I haven’t seen such an stupendous light display feat since I was 12 years old and went to the observatory to watch the Pink Floyd laserium show. Straight out of Big Brother and the Holding Company. When I saw A Place to Bury Strangers powering through their “Ocean” finale a few months ago, I didn’t want to bob my head or blink because I was afraid of missing something. During Yeasayer, I may as well have been dipped in carbon freeze.
Yeasayer. Go see them. Go to the ends of the earth if you need to. Their music would be perfect along the way.
Groovy. Photos by Rena Kosnett
Thursday, April 17, 2008
PORTISHEAD live review, SCOTLAND
Live review from the Edinburgh Corn Exchange, LA WEEKLY
Portishead at the Edinburgh Corn Exchange, 4.12.08
Photos by Rena Kosnett
Claiming that I just happened to catch a Portishead concert during my recent visit to the UK would fashion me a liar. The trip was pretty much planned AROUND the Portishead show in Edinburgh. I probably wouldn't have gone up to Scotland at all if not for the concert; so for that reason, I thank Geoff and Beth and their booking agent. Scotland was gorgeous and friendly and aside from one little incident involving a chemical plant and my camera, which, through no fault of my own, almost got me branded a terrorist, everything there is glorious. Even the policemen are foxy and nice.
Portishead’s album Dummy was very significant for me 10 years ago (typical for many girls). Every single track is a fantastic duality of the glasslike, pristine vocals of Beth Gibbons and the ultra-styled programming, sampling, and string arrangements of Geoff Barrow and Adrian Utley; therefore, I was somewhat fanatical in the days leading up to the show—I refused to listen to any of their new material online (as my laptop wouldn’t be able to effectively present the songs), or watch any grainy digicam videos. I wanted to see them in a pure state, overzealous as that seems.
The New York Times calls the new material “propulsive” and “harsher.” Those are good words. I would also include "melodramatic."
I almost hesitate to write anything along the lines of a critique for this band because they are getting truckloads of skyscraper press. The buzz is deafening. We all remember loving them so much and now they’ve finally come out with new material and we’re all so excited and Coachella Coachella Coachella.
This attention is not undeserved, as Third reaches the outer limits of creative admittance and has a far more diverse make-up than either of their two previous studio albums. As I walked outside the Corn Exchange, though, there was a young man smoking a cigarette who approached me with the following words: “Did you just come from the concert? I’ve never been more depressed in my life.”
I wouldn’t go that far, but my main critique is that the band takes itself too seriously, which manifested in their performance (as well as the title and certainly the very delayed release of Third). It doesn’t seem like they’re having fun. I know that life can’t be all teacups and moonbeams and Apples In Stereo, but there were reels of what looked like old home movies of the band members as frolicking children projected on the back wall during quieter, serious numbers, without irony.
Beth performed “Wandering Star,” which is actually a lighter, moderately bouncy track off of Dummy, without accompaniment, seated, in a white spotlight, with the rest of the stage black, totally bereft of the stellar musical breaks that Geoff arranged for that song originally. Funnily enough, the audience started clapping at a faster pace during this song, seemingly to encourage the band to pick it up a little.
In early April, Pitchfork compared Beth Gibbons to Ian Curtis, and basically asked Geoff and Adrian if they had to be on suicide watch during the making of Third (“Third is sometimes incredibly bleak, lyrically. Did you ever feel the need to check if Beth was all right?"). It’s easy to understand why.
But Beth’s voice is otherworldly, and her powerful delivery during “Machine Gun” and “Glory Box” pushed my heart rate into greyhound pace and started the pounding in my chest. The “Numb" vocal solo was effortlessly monumental, as Beth stretched out the closing phrase “A lady of war” to its crystalline shattering point. Being able to hear that song alone made the entire trip decidedly worthwhile.
Portishead at the Edinburgh Corn Exchange, 4.12.08
Photos by Rena Kosnett
Claiming that I just happened to catch a Portishead concert during my recent visit to the UK would fashion me a liar. The trip was pretty much planned AROUND the Portishead show in Edinburgh. I probably wouldn't have gone up to Scotland at all if not for the concert; so for that reason, I thank Geoff and Beth and their booking agent. Scotland was gorgeous and friendly and aside from one little incident involving a chemical plant and my camera, which, through no fault of my own, almost got me branded a terrorist, everything there is glorious. Even the policemen are foxy and nice.
Portishead’s album Dummy was very significant for me 10 years ago (typical for many girls). Every single track is a fantastic duality of the glasslike, pristine vocals of Beth Gibbons and the ultra-styled programming, sampling, and string arrangements of Geoff Barrow and Adrian Utley; therefore, I was somewhat fanatical in the days leading up to the show—I refused to listen to any of their new material online (as my laptop wouldn’t be able to effectively present the songs), or watch any grainy digicam videos. I wanted to see them in a pure state, overzealous as that seems.
The New York Times calls the new material “propulsive” and “harsher.” Those are good words. I would also include "melodramatic."
I almost hesitate to write anything along the lines of a critique for this band because they are getting truckloads of skyscraper press. The buzz is deafening. We all remember loving them so much and now they’ve finally come out with new material and we’re all so excited and Coachella Coachella Coachella.
This attention is not undeserved, as Third reaches the outer limits of creative admittance and has a far more diverse make-up than either of their two previous studio albums. As I walked outside the Corn Exchange, though, there was a young man smoking a cigarette who approached me with the following words: “Did you just come from the concert? I’ve never been more depressed in my life.”
I wouldn’t go that far, but my main critique is that the band takes itself too seriously, which manifested in their performance (as well as the title and certainly the very delayed release of Third). It doesn’t seem like they’re having fun. I know that life can’t be all teacups and moonbeams and Apples In Stereo, but there were reels of what looked like old home movies of the band members as frolicking children projected on the back wall during quieter, serious numbers, without irony.
Beth performed “Wandering Star,” which is actually a lighter, moderately bouncy track off of Dummy, without accompaniment, seated, in a white spotlight, with the rest of the stage black, totally bereft of the stellar musical breaks that Geoff arranged for that song originally. Funnily enough, the audience started clapping at a faster pace during this song, seemingly to encourage the band to pick it up a little.
In early April, Pitchfork compared Beth Gibbons to Ian Curtis, and basically asked Geoff and Adrian if they had to be on suicide watch during the making of Third (“Third is sometimes incredibly bleak, lyrically. Did you ever feel the need to check if Beth was all right?"). It’s easy to understand why.
But Beth’s voice is otherworldly, and her powerful delivery during “Machine Gun” and “Glory Box” pushed my heart rate into greyhound pace and started the pounding in my chest. The “Numb" vocal solo was effortlessly monumental, as Beth stretched out the closing phrase “A lady of war” to its crystalline shattering point. Being able to hear that song alone made the entire trip decidedly worthwhile.
THE DODOS record review
Review of The Dodos new full length, Visiter, LA WEEKLY
The Dodos |Visiter | French Kiss
The magic and the intelligence behind the Dodos’ newest release lies in the clear faith Meric Long and Logan Kroeber have in their audience. Several tracks off Visiter follow a pattern: They begin with a deceptively simple guitar strum and graceful lyric, then build in momentum and percussive elaboration to end up overwhelmingly, powerfully, mind-fuck gorgeous, administered in the realm of S.F. Sorrow’s storytelling operatics and effected with the trademark grace of Liege and Lief. I wasn’t sure that the Dodos’ studio recordings could come close to matching the power of their live performance, the way 2006’s Beware of the Maniacs has a few great tunes but tended to lose steam from time to time. But Visiter tracks “Joe’s Waltz” and “Jodi” are relentless epics, as is “Paint the Rust,” a work that solidifies Long’s compositional genius. The one loose link comes with “Park Song.” Stuck between more intricate tunes, seemingly for filler, it’s definitely unnecessary. But the one track aside, Visiter has already been cleared, stamped and filed in the “Why I’m so damn proud of my generation’s musical accomplishments” archive — a truly special work that demands analysis and attention. (Rena Kosnett)
The Dodos |Visiter | French Kiss
The magic and the intelligence behind the Dodos’ newest release lies in the clear faith Meric Long and Logan Kroeber have in their audience. Several tracks off Visiter follow a pattern: They begin with a deceptively simple guitar strum and graceful lyric, then build in momentum and percussive elaboration to end up overwhelmingly, powerfully, mind-fuck gorgeous, administered in the realm of S.F. Sorrow’s storytelling operatics and effected with the trademark grace of Liege and Lief. I wasn’t sure that the Dodos’ studio recordings could come close to matching the power of their live performance, the way 2006’s Beware of the Maniacs has a few great tunes but tended to lose steam from time to time. But Visiter tracks “Joe’s Waltz” and “Jodi” are relentless epics, as is “Paint the Rust,” a work that solidifies Long’s compositional genius. The one loose link comes with “Park Song.” Stuck between more intricate tunes, seemingly for filler, it’s definitely unnecessary. But the one track aside, Visiter has already been cleared, stamped and filed in the “Why I’m so damn proud of my generation’s musical accomplishments” archive — a truly special work that demands analysis and attention. (Rena Kosnett)
Monday, April 14, 2008
BILLY CHILDISH live review from LONDON
Billy Childish and The Musicians of the British Empire, live review from London's Dirty Water Club, LA Weekly
Billy Childish at London's Dirty Water Club, 4.11.2008
by Rena Kosnett
April 11, 2008 8:08 PM
Photos by Rena Kosnett
Taking 4 late night buses from Camden down to Brockley, yelling at one stranger who sneezed into my hair, standing for 45 minutes in the rain with a sore throat, and staring helplessly at one of the worst public (drunken) fights I’ve ever seen, are all the unpleasantries I had to endure in order to get home after seeing Billy Childish play tonight. And I'd do it again..... well, I would pay £40 for a cab if I had to do it again, but I would definitely want to see Childish play a second time if given the opportunity.
I’ve been loving my trip to London, but the emphasis on pixilated music here has been drying my eardrums out; so bouncing around at this rough and tumble 60s garage rock palace in North Camden, the Boston Music Room’s Dirty Water Club, made me feel a little homesick. And when Childish and his new band, the Musicians of the British Empire, played the opening chords for The Who’s “A Quick One While He's Away,” I really teared up. Never mind that Childish was in the wrong key and had to start again. I actually enjoyed hearing the beginning exclamations “Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang” more than once.
Childish led his bass player Nurse Julie and his drummer Wolf Howard through garage rock classics (“Lie Detector”), as well as newer material (Nurse Julie sang a tune off their upcoming album that concerns her boyfriend’s adulterous mix tape making, aptly titled “He’s Making A Tape”), but what amazed me the most was Childish’s not one, but TWO a capella performances: Leadbetter’s version of “In The Pines” and Son House’s arrangement of “John the Revelator.” I was told, before making the trek up to Camden, that Childish’s live show has the tendency to disappoint—but I can’t imagine this to be true. After his 100 albums and perhaps as many artistic manifestos, Childish seems to be clearly at home while performing, heckling drunker members of the audience, muttering self-deprecating references to his guitar tuning, and offering a dose of dirty Thee Headcoats brand grit to offset the rest of London’s drum and bass campaign.
Los Angeles' Lily Marlene diggin Billy Childish at the Dirty Water Club
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There are 3 comments posted for this article.
Nurse Julie is actually Billy's wife, seems like the person who wrote this may not have known that. Whoever said that Billy's live shows are disappointing was talking out of their arse.
Posted on April 13, 2008 1:30 PM by Jesse
You're absolutely right, as it clearly states on the Damaged Goods band bio. They keep up a convincing act. The person who made that comment is a Brit, so perhaps he's accustomed to seeing Billy play... I, on the other hand, was ecstatic...and relieved. Cheers.
Posted on April 13, 2008 2:39 PM by Rena
Well, there's no accounting for taste. I'm a brit too, and have seen Billy about a billion times now, I'm always at Dirty Water every month for my fix of Mr Childish and his band. I never get tired of seeing him though. The only reason I wasn't there on Friday was because I had no money. Good to see him still getting good reviews from different parts of the world.
Posted on April 13, 2008 2:48 PM by Jesse
Billy Childish at London's Dirty Water Club, 4.11.2008
by Rena Kosnett
April 11, 2008 8:08 PM
Photos by Rena Kosnett
Taking 4 late night buses from Camden down to Brockley, yelling at one stranger who sneezed into my hair, standing for 45 minutes in the rain with a sore throat, and staring helplessly at one of the worst public (drunken) fights I’ve ever seen, are all the unpleasantries I had to endure in order to get home after seeing Billy Childish play tonight. And I'd do it again..... well, I would pay £40 for a cab if I had to do it again, but I would definitely want to see Childish play a second time if given the opportunity.
I’ve been loving my trip to London, but the emphasis on pixilated music here has been drying my eardrums out; so bouncing around at this rough and tumble 60s garage rock palace in North Camden, the Boston Music Room’s Dirty Water Club, made me feel a little homesick. And when Childish and his new band, the Musicians of the British Empire, played the opening chords for The Who’s “A Quick One While He's Away,” I really teared up. Never mind that Childish was in the wrong key and had to start again. I actually enjoyed hearing the beginning exclamations “Bang, Bang, Bang, Bang” more than once.
Childish led his bass player Nurse Julie and his drummer Wolf Howard through garage rock classics (“Lie Detector”), as well as newer material (Nurse Julie sang a tune off their upcoming album that concerns her boyfriend’s adulterous mix tape making, aptly titled “He’s Making A Tape”), but what amazed me the most was Childish’s not one, but TWO a capella performances: Leadbetter’s version of “In The Pines” and Son House’s arrangement of “John the Revelator.” I was told, before making the trek up to Camden, that Childish’s live show has the tendency to disappoint—but I can’t imagine this to be true. After his 100 albums and perhaps as many artistic manifestos, Childish seems to be clearly at home while performing, heckling drunker members of the audience, muttering self-deprecating references to his guitar tuning, and offering a dose of dirty Thee Headcoats brand grit to offset the rest of London’s drum and bass campaign.
Los Angeles' Lily Marlene diggin Billy Childish at the Dirty Water Club
Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)
Trackbacks
TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://mt.laweekly.com/mt-tb.cgi/55148
Comments
There are 3 comments posted for this article.
Nurse Julie is actually Billy's wife, seems like the person who wrote this may not have known that. Whoever said that Billy's live shows are disappointing was talking out of their arse.
Posted on April 13, 2008 1:30 PM by Jesse
You're absolutely right, as it clearly states on the Damaged Goods band bio. They keep up a convincing act. The person who made that comment is a Brit, so perhaps he's accustomed to seeing Billy play... I, on the other hand, was ecstatic...and relieved. Cheers.
Posted on April 13, 2008 2:39 PM by Rena
Well, there's no accounting for taste. I'm a brit too, and have seen Billy about a billion times now, I'm always at Dirty Water every month for my fix of Mr Childish and his band. I never get tired of seeing him though. The only reason I wasn't there on Friday was because I had no money. Good to see him still getting good reviews from different parts of the world.
Posted on April 13, 2008 2:48 PM by Jesse
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