Inside Sunday.

Last Sunday I rode by 5 Pointz on the 7. This Sunday I was lucky enough to find myself on the inside. Check it.

Warrior Bones.

OK. I'm about to swear a lot. Love me anyway.


Sometimes something way beyond magic happens in this city. Fuck limiting it to magic though. This shit is just beyond. Way, way, way beyond.

Last night I went to see Swoon play at R&R. They were sweet. They were good. They were nicely twisted. I chatted with Minnie and crew for a bit after the show, but I really had to get home.

On my way out I heard a song coming from the main floor that demanded my attention. I walked into a room full of people watching a riveting video by a singer/songwriter/seismic fucking event I had never even heard of. I turned around to a woman behind and said, "Oh, my God. Who is this?" "Tamar-Kali," she said with a knowing look that said, "Good luck you poor sod. You're going to be picking your ass up off the floor in about two minutes." She was right.

When the video finished Tamar-Kali took the stage and she brought Nona Hendryx, nûs, St. Vitus, Carcass, Betty Davis, Material, Bad Brains, Led Zeppelin, Nina Simone, and Buckethead/ODB through the door with her. Then she turned around, kicked them all hard, and said . . . "This is my show, fuckers. Go. I'll be juuuuuust fine." She proceeded to lead her devastating band into one of those churning instrumental burns that gets everybody ready to walk through fire. As soon as she started to sing I got chills, and by the middle of the song I was in tears (Hell. I got tears in my eyes just thinking about the show on the way home.). Everything was open and I knew it. I wasn't going home. I was already there.

Her performance only got more potent, more dangerous, more transformative, more fucking galvanizing as it went on. One of the songs she played was Warrior Bones, and like any warrior Tamar-Kali left nothing behind. The bones weren't hers though. They were mine. Absolutely crushed.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I Knew Something Was Happening . . .

I just wasn't sure what. This'll do. This'll do quite nicely. Creative Time + MoMA = LOVE. Doug Aitken at the controls.

Five By Five.

First of all, if you got that reference , I love you.

Secondly, on Sunday I realized what the Mets and P.S. 1 have in common . . . 5 Pointz. In that whenever I'm disappointed by either institution, 5 Pointz cheers me up. I took these from the 7 on the way home from a Mets performance that looked way too much like last season. The sun was not cooperating on the photography front, but 5 Pointz shines through. And check out the reflection of the subway car in the window. Sweet. Five by five, in fact.







NP: Coil: Music to Play in the Dark, Volume One

These Are The Feet That Kick My Ass.

(Sing that to the tune of Metallica's Some Kind of Monster with Kirk Hammett's lead buzzing in your left ear.)


They belong to video artist Kate Gilmore who's been kicking my ass all summer. Both here and here. More to follow, but for now . . . for now . . . well, these are her feet.

Spin Art.

Apologetically late on the post here as this starts in half an hour, but I promise total beat slayage. I've seen it happen before. Do come.

Update . . . DJ Twunt rocked the house with a brittle warmth that would have made bpitch control proud. Slammingly fun. DJ Dekker came through with another erector set of a show, laying low the foundation and building it up at the exact same time. The revelers, in their frenzied response, suddenly found themselves in a house on a hill, safe from the floods and cleansed by the rain. I was really sorry to have to miss DJ Woof's set, but I fail to see how it could have been less than genius given the Garfield costume.

Not Related.

Not at all . . .

I keep hearing that the Alex Katz Paints Ada, 1957-2005 exhibition, opening at the Jewish Museum in October, is going to be a monster. I can't imagine that watching this great painter's heart move over time will be anything but glorious. I'm in.


And speaking of being "in" . . . those of you who followed my lead and picked up one of those Thorns Ltd. / Banks Violette DVDs now own an object more rare than originally planned (Limitation 500). Apparently the band was unhappy with the final product, and the Whitney has destroyed the unsold copies. This seems to be unfortunate, and almost entirely predictable. Either way, Papa gets a new pair of snakeskin boots. When (and if) details follow I'll post an update.

Nothin' Matters And What If It Did.

I never thought I'd be able to review an entire museum show by name-checking John Cougar Mellencamp's 5th album title . . . but I just did. Readymade, baby. Readymade.

Venting.

It was a nice surprise when I ran into installation artist Lisa Hein at an opening last month. A couple years ago, I worked next to the building in the West Village where she and her partner in crime, Robert Seng, have their studio. Lisa sent me two images from their latest project in Williamsburg recently. I was especially sorry to hear that I missed their wall of green jello at Exit Art in 2003. Life is not fair.


This just in from the artists . . . "Double Vent" is in 2 parts, on the street front and back in the courtyard at Supreme Trading at 213 North 8th St (between Driggs + Roebling), Williamsburg, Brooklyn. It was originally part of an Eyewash project, Big Stuff, but has been extended a few weeks--closing date uncertain. Supreme Trading is a bar. It opens around 4 PM and stays that way until late.

So there you have it. Drink, and look up.

This Heat.

I've really been out of it. It's the heat. Or it's the rain. Or maybe it's the heated rain. I don't know, but something's gone awry when I'm not aware of a show like Lustfaust at Frieght + Volume until my man Jason from Chrome Peeler Records tips me to it.

Cassettes have been abused since they arrived in this world, and with good reason. The sound is crap and the medium is most efficient when it comes to falling apart. But that's all the more reason for deviant sound experimentalists to exploit the format. The underground cassette scene has served a number of genres well over the years: metal, noise, garage, and on and on and on into some infinite loop of affordable obsession. Hilariously, Lustfaust is not--nor has ever been--part of this scene. It's made up, but that doesn't make me any less interested in a commentary on a scene so underground that it flies beneath every radar that pop culture has to offer. Buy or die.

If you want the real stuff go here or here.

Studio Visit: Ryan McGinness.

I just posted pics from Creative Council's studio visit with Ryan McGinness over on the Creative Time blog. Seriously. There were moments when I got chills. What a sweet guy, and what a great artist. And I mean it when I say "great." I'm totally comfortable with that label in McGinness' case.

The Magnificent 7.

Here are some pics of my two present public art faves. Jeff Koons' Balloon Flower (Red) and Jenny Holzer's LED work at 7 World Trade Center. I didn't get too far with the Holzer pics due to, um, the maintenace guy. He was on the case, man.

I'm going away for the weekend, but I'll try to post some photos of tonight's Ryan McGinness studio visit on my Creative Time blog before I leave.











Two-shot action sequence. Me getting busted by the maintenance guy. No pics. No love.

Fireworks Are Cool.

Even when they're photographed badly.

Happy 4th