It's Summer.

"The Aesthetic Possibility of Killing Something When It's Already Dead" or "Brain. Still In A Motherfucking Vat".

What is it about Damien Hirst's The Physical Impossibility of Death in the Mind of Someone Living that makes the staff at the Met--a seemingly intelligent group of people--so blindingly stupid? Is the formaldehyde leaking? Are all the thoughts about the physical impossibility of death snapping their synapses like gift shop cinnamon sticks? I don't understand it. I just know it hurts to see the results, again and again and (sigh) again.

I've never been more unhappy to have my camera battery run out, but that's how it went down on Saturday when I went to the museum. What you see above is a slap-dash Photoshop rendering (You're going to have to work with me here.) of what I saw when I turned the corner to enter the room that holds the shark. Inspiring sight, right? Yep. They've posted a "NO PHOTOS" sign stand about 1.5 feet in front of the piece. Similar signs posted on the wall around the sculpture are distracting, but the stand is just downright obstructive, crushing any possibility of finding the heart of the piece.

Last time around, I implored the Met to respect the art, to let it bite its audience with its own teeth. At this point, I'd just be happy if they sent it back to Stamford and let it rot, gums and all.

Intersection.

Rachael Hayes, downtown, wrapping herself around Louise Nevelson Plaza. Hell, yeah! Big ups to the Downtown Alliance. I'm a huge fan of their re:construction program.



Well, hello Louise!

Staring At The Blank Page.

I came across these pastel drawings by Karin Bubas on The Moment (via AFC [Again!]) the other day. I gotta say, I'm not going to be even close to objective about whether or not these are any good. Let's face it. The Hills was the most important TV show of this, our latest crap decade. You know how I feel.

Quote of the day goes goes to Jorge, the first commenter: "I am a Hills fan, and this is too funny! I never would have thought to draw them…" For real, Jorge. For real. You are unwritten.

The Satanic Verses.

This L Magazine piece (via AFC) and all those "Outting Iran" posts over at ASullivan have inspired me to repost this from back in 2007. Metal magazine, Terrorizer did a feature on Death Metal and Black Metal in Iran.

The April issue of the British Metal magazine, Terrorizer, has a feature on Metal in the Middle East. I can't think of a less efficient way to make a living--or to stay alive--than playing Black Metal or Death Metal in Iran. The whole "Hail Satan!" stance must not go over very well with the mullahs, like, at all.
Ahoora
Count De Efrit
Ekoveefrits
Kahtmayan
Arthimoth

Off The Grid and Into The Machine.

Y'all know of my affection for the sound and vision work of Carsten Nicolai here at HAA. Via Philip Sherburne I came across this video for Unitxt. Kind of cool to see Nicolai's grid applied so far outside of itself.

For George Mark.

Maya Lin, Peace Chapel. Huntingdon, PA.

Bahá’í prayers for the departed.

Bahá’í prayers for healing.

Tablet of Ahmad

Reclaiming The Territory.

I know it's a month away, but it's never too soon to start thinking about the new art season! It's gonna be an interesting year.

"maybe she'll snap her wrists doing cartwheels or her ankle dancing drunken at some rave maybe she'll go through a windshield and have twinkling bits of glass stuck in her face she's so pretty in her casts damaged so perfectly she's so pretty in her casts the prettiest thing I've ever seen I only get to hold her when she's injured I only get to kiss her where she's sore"
--Pig Destroyer

Permanent Records.

GREAT record stores are not dead in NYC. They've just moved to Greenpoint.

Saturday night, after checking out the Rubber Sheets group show at C.R.E.A.M. on Franklin I had some time to kill so I walked around the neighborhood. I came across one of the best record shops in NYC, Permanent Records. Trust me. I've been in a lot of great records stores in my life, so my snap judgements on said topic are almost always right. I knew I was in good hands when I came across not one, but three Fleshtones albums. That was followed by the second Graeme Edge Band album , Foghat's Stone Blue, and the Time Zone 12". Then I went on to the used CD bins to find Napalm Death's Smear Campaign, and Keola Beamer's album of Hawaiian Slack Key guitar songs about snow.

As a bonus the people that worked there were totally nice. No attitude, plenty of knowledge, and good prices. And obviously, mad taste. My wallet already hates them.

The Leaving Time.

Screengrab from this.

Repulsion played first on Friday night, and they were so good that I left when they were done. It was legendary to say the least. Pig Destroyer and Brutal Truth could have played the gigs of their lives and it wouldn't have touched this. It's kind of like knowing when to stop looking at art. That one last gallery can kill an entire afternoon. I was out, with nothing but Death and profit.

Oh, and one last note. Predictably, bodies were flying from the first blast beat 'til the last. Whatever. But 35 year old dude, when you stage dive, you gotta get air. Otherwise it's just stage rolling.