first post from prague:
got in yesterday, having sat in the last row, last seat of the plane i could see the surly and generationally diverse cleaning crew come up through the back of the plane - all in stretch pants, taking turns kicking the roller vac around the runway while waiting for the mobile staircase to get wheeled into position. welcome to the czech republic.
got a ridiculously expensive cab to my new apartment in karlin, prague 8, just north and a little east of tourist prague and just north of hipster prague, yes hipster prague, because gosh darn it this place is bangin' more than ever - the dollar is worth only 23 korun and boutique hotels abound, but don't let me jump the gun, let me brag.
MY APARTMENT IS AMAZING. amazing. well, i was welcomed by my landlady's friends, who had been there prior to me, and didn't speak a word of English. never one for cliches, i would call this simply ' trial by fire ' and put it at that. They spoke very quickly, and like all adorable over-60 couples, both at once each taking turns to shout over the other. Through a door, a courtyard, another door. the world's smallest elevator (warning: this elevator breaks frequently - yikes!) to the top floor.
one bedroom, elegant, packed to the gills with books in czech, french, english, german and russian - i sublet from a professor. The words 'absolutni vule' total bull, run through my head: a Plastic People of the Universe song, a lace outline of a bull framed in glass over the retrofuture living quarters. Bits from Ikea NJ/Pittsburg abound - collapsed retro chic in the post-soviet international summer student renter paradise. Not one but TWO balconies, full of plants, comfy chairs and yes, yes yes, tchotches! but like, cool kitsch. Something endearing about a picture of the building of the Brooklyn bridge framed on the front porch overlooking the Vltava. This is where my friend Chris would insert the 'sentimental' snark.
Well, okay. Got up, did laundry (I don't even have laundry AT HOME!) and made tea, read the paper and listened to czech news about how an illegal rave caused at 15 km traffic jam and got shut down by the police, then stepped out to find school since I have to be there at 8:45 am and, my brave readers, I don't even know what time I'm on - night day, sleep no sleep, anxiety fright fear expectation, what drugs! - so I need to make sure I know where I am if I'm a zombie.
Speaking of zombie, I went straight to the internet cafe I used five years ago - Bohemia Bagel, which still is playing hilarious breakbeat/jungle international signifier of coffeehouse kool as before, just better computers and more veggie food selections to be had. Good thing, since my rohlik s sunkou (breadroll with ham) left by the adorables this morning was a sad disappointment. They pretended to not understand (nerozumim!) when I said, "jsem vegetarianska!" - I travel halfway around the world to be treated just as my mother would, me.
*i CAN get mail, even have key (I don't even have a key AT HOME!) so send me love if you dare.
7.31.2005
7.29.2005
felt and fat
greetings from london, pt. 1 of 1:
Long standing curse of my inability to get back to Prague made for all plan-mind going to that leg, leaving London as the three day layover with no map and no agenda whatsoever. Result, lovely of course, if you look the other way from the gallant bobbies in the tube stations, standing four-abreast looking at EVERYTHING with distrust. NYC since I returned: the subway disembodied voice saying 'any possessions left will be destroyed...' and all this, but here, man you leave your bag or even stop looking at your bag a second and other people on the train start asking, 'who's is this?' Trains run so much more smoothly in general in London that the random detours and temporary closings feel like just another day waiting for the J train. Life during wartime indeed.
Well well, I stopped by the MOJO offices to chat with old pal Jenny and found myself explaining what 'crunk' was to the befuddled posse, feeling really, well, it's how I imagine K. must feel every day at the Times, actually, and then I tried to find someone to go see Lady Sovereign tonight with me - no takers. Actually, only the youngest hire knew who she was, if that's any indication to you of the status of grime in the UK media.
Normally I got to shows alone, but wasn't feeling it today and made it a visual art day, stopping at this place The White Cube, which was in Hoxton square, feeling very much what Williamsburg wishes it could ever become - a post-industrial greenland utopia of small shops and artist lofts. the Cube is in the square itself, a big corrogated metal building open to the air and full of paintings by Anselm Kiefer, weird huge canvases caked with waves that kind of lashed against the rusty metal ships attached by wires.
The modern is pretty impressive: a converted electricy generator that literally buzzes from its former use. Art is arranged by subject - loosely, ahistorically, sort of brilliantly - allowing you to think about a subject from a lot of angles. of course, it also sort of digests the art in advance for ya, but there's a lot to see and if you're going to do it once, that might be a good plan of attack. will be interesting to see the works restructured and shifting into different ideas over time. joseph beuys totally dominated my mind today, an homage to the ex no doubt, and i spent a good deal of time wondering about the art star/rock star crossover. Celebrity.
Wandering the streets as tourist with no desire to spend or capture is pretty great - I was determined to spend only 25 pounds and I've done that. Am headed to Prague tomorrow and will be moving in to a one bedroom apt. for the month of August. Email me if you want to send me a letter, or want me to send you one! I'll be collecting Czech music too, so if anyone wants a taste, let me know and I'll start thinking of tracks to put on a CD comp for my Sept. return.
Long standing curse of my inability to get back to Prague made for all plan-mind going to that leg, leaving London as the three day layover with no map and no agenda whatsoever. Result, lovely of course, if you look the other way from the gallant bobbies in the tube stations, standing four-abreast looking at EVERYTHING with distrust. NYC since I returned: the subway disembodied voice saying 'any possessions left will be destroyed...' and all this, but here, man you leave your bag or even stop looking at your bag a second and other people on the train start asking, 'who's is this?' Trains run so much more smoothly in general in London that the random detours and temporary closings feel like just another day waiting for the J train. Life during wartime indeed.
Well well, I stopped by the MOJO offices to chat with old pal Jenny and found myself explaining what 'crunk' was to the befuddled posse, feeling really, well, it's how I imagine K. must feel every day at the Times, actually, and then I tried to find someone to go see Lady Sovereign tonight with me - no takers. Actually, only the youngest hire knew who she was, if that's any indication to you of the status of grime in the UK media.
Normally I got to shows alone, but wasn't feeling it today and made it a visual art day, stopping at this place The White Cube, which was in Hoxton square, feeling very much what Williamsburg wishes it could ever become - a post-industrial greenland utopia of small shops and artist lofts. the Cube is in the square itself, a big corrogated metal building open to the air and full of paintings by Anselm Kiefer, weird huge canvases caked with waves that kind of lashed against the rusty metal ships attached by wires.
The modern is pretty impressive: a converted electricy generator that literally buzzes from its former use. Art is arranged by subject - loosely, ahistorically, sort of brilliantly - allowing you to think about a subject from a lot of angles. of course, it also sort of digests the art in advance for ya, but there's a lot to see and if you're going to do it once, that might be a good plan of attack. will be interesting to see the works restructured and shifting into different ideas over time. joseph beuys totally dominated my mind today, an homage to the ex no doubt, and i spent a good deal of time wondering about the art star/rock star crossover. Celebrity.
Wandering the streets as tourist with no desire to spend or capture is pretty great - I was determined to spend only 25 pounds and I've done that. Am headed to Prague tomorrow and will be moving in to a one bedroom apt. for the month of August. Email me if you want to send me a letter, or want me to send you one! I'll be collecting Czech music too, so if anyone wants a taste, let me know and I'll start thinking of tracks to put on a CD comp for my Sept. return.
7.28.2005
kylie and red wine
jammed an awesome goodbye for Amy Phillips and said self on Tuesday at 12 inch bar - thanks for coming out! I had a retro DJ set all worked out, but things chilled out around quarter of one and I was ouuuut. So out, of course, that I left my cell phone and had to back in a mad dash the next day, after rollicking in the brutal surf of Jones Beach. Was great to be at such a clean beach but I missed the madness of Coney Island.
7.24.2005
the blob!
A departure from the regularly scheduled programming, to bring you:
Blob tales from Ohio, pt. 1
Dear readers,
I am home, one a.m., stood up by my high school prom date and instead having watched Sideways with my mom. The clerk at the grocery store said, "like, everyone who returns this movie says that it's totally boring" after I had just said, "mom all my friends parents loved this movie." This is of course after getting shot down about Hotel Rwanda. It mentioned minority conflict, and the minority weren't (obviously) from outer space.
The movie sucked, of course. But I'm in Ohio, so I still consider the woman at the register to be a total birdbrain, which is a term I actually love. Birdbrain. Not very feminist, the term. I can use it because today I spent 2.5 hours floating in my neighbor's pool with my mom telling her why a) disco doesn't suck. and b) contemporary gender theory is really quite helpful when thinking about what it means to be an individual in society. These things are related in my mind, of course. Gay men, dancing, liberation, the end of monogamy, what lies beyond marraige as 'commitment.' trust, respect, truth. Ha! I got a sunburn, but only on the front.
Last night I said "I'm here for the party," to my cousin and her mom, who are in town for what can be called 'a hillbilly wedding' with some reservation. We met up at a roadhouse hidden from the highway by dozens of parked semis. My uncle, who most commonly resembles a prison in-take photo for his severe countanance, was also in attendance, as well as my mom, who refused to take the bacos off the cheese fries although even though they are apparently vegetarian, I still think they're gross. Didn't matter. A huge pack of huge Ohio dudes near us kept like, buddy wrestling and bumping in to our table. I fired one off about 'homosensual lust' and my not-aunt (said potential marriagables at table are long divorced) laughed. Love that, who doesn't believe in progess, you know? And then they started playing "Doin' the Butt," which put everyone in a great mood.
Yesterday I visited my aunt in the hospital. A doctor came in and gave her one of those monologues you only ever see in a movie. She's going to die, you see. But when? He weighed the options, gave statistics, reminded her that she was 'well beyond her years' and almost even said 'slash' when referring to god/nature taking her last breath. You couldn't want for more, really. All the family there. Me recounting what the PaceMaker specialist said about 'the dyes' that could 'put her into kidney failure,' because well "Daphne is the smart one," so she follows what the doctors say. Other people don't follow what the doctors say? Other people, let me tell you, do NOT follow what the doctors say. And from the past three years of losing three aged charmers, most of the time it's the people who need to know the most who hear or understand the least. "Listen loudly" is a song written aptly by a band called Love Life: a band I love, thought Loveless I love more but could do less with such sentiment. Said said, you should listen loudly, not only because you never know when it's them talking to you or when you need to really talk to someone else.
Enough with this 'you' and 'me' bullshit, aren't blobs about technology? "Daphne I have a question for you," my other aunt, mid-80s, asked today at lunch. "Whats an ipod? Is it a computer?" Well, I said. You know what a walkman is like? It's like that, but just it works a lot longer and with more songs. Oh. "I asked your mother what a blog was. They talk about all these things on the t.v. and then I ask your mother about them." Dear me.
My mother, doll that she is, just let me know that she discovered my 'blob' a few weeks ago. I was like, "mom, you can't SAY something like that about my career in music journalism, it totally has a shape. I've worked HARD for that shape." {bad joke, like writing such a long missive on my blob in general, which I'm merely carrying out like a bad writing exercise cause I just watched the laborious and stupid Sideways ferchristsakes and am in that kinda mind}. This would be a boring-er story if it weren't for the fact that my mother printed out the whole freaking blog (that's three years, folks) and put the thing in a three ring binder to like READ IN FULL LIKE A NOVEL. As pitchfork would say WTF?!? Does this mean I go through the blob and delete everything errant, freudian (my dad reads my blog, but he's like 'not into emotions' (hi dad!) so I don't think my drama or escapades would phase him), but my mom, she's all..all. looking for ammo? wanting to show interest? searching to see if i'm secretly gay or on drugs? I can't tell really. Typical Sideways response: Your writing has gotten better on the blob in the last three years. And here I am to blow it all with a long personal narrative about rednecks and death.
THE MUSIC ISSUE
Dudes, tonight I went to this freakin weird Russian folk concert in Warren Ohio with my mom. Five small girls calling themselves 'Golden Gates' sang while a Cleveland-based Russian trio called Moscow Nights backed them up. They wore costumes and played traditional folk music and talked about well-meaning ethnomusicologists going into villages and collecting songs, although they didn't mention the falling sky, one could tell clouds were gathering in that distance.
It was very charming, but most charming was that whenever the girls would hit a chorus, a very heavily synth-ed backing track would come on adding drums, tinkling bells and either a chorus of angelic women or a male harmony part with endless amounts of reverb. It was somehow triggered from the accordion player's mixer and well, it was not unlike the backing tracks in disco polo. Maybe I'm a city slicker ethno asshole, but I don't think many other people noticed they were sorta 'phoning it in,' and in the yet unwritten book I'd love to do about everyone's favorite logical fallacy "If my mom does it, everyone uncool in the world must too" said monolith of the home and hearth said, "now you've ruined the whole concert for me" when I started singing the angel part. She always wanted me to be in the chorus, you know. Anyway, I hope this was so boring that she didn't get to the end cause if so I'm going to have to answer for calling her a monolith. Then again, I just saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: the White Stripes years, so I have monolith on the mind, and if you've made it this far and think I'm going to write more on that subject, well buddy you're just going to have to keep reading.
Blob tales from Ohio, pt. 1
Dear readers,
I am home, one a.m., stood up by my high school prom date and instead having watched Sideways with my mom. The clerk at the grocery store said, "like, everyone who returns this movie says that it's totally boring" after I had just said, "mom all my friends parents loved this movie." This is of course after getting shot down about Hotel Rwanda. It mentioned minority conflict, and the minority weren't (obviously) from outer space.
The movie sucked, of course. But I'm in Ohio, so I still consider the woman at the register to be a total birdbrain, which is a term I actually love. Birdbrain. Not very feminist, the term. I can use it because today I spent 2.5 hours floating in my neighbor's pool with my mom telling her why a) disco doesn't suck. and b) contemporary gender theory is really quite helpful when thinking about what it means to be an individual in society. These things are related in my mind, of course. Gay men, dancing, liberation, the end of monogamy, what lies beyond marraige as 'commitment.' trust, respect, truth. Ha! I got a sunburn, but only on the front.
Last night I said "I'm here for the party," to my cousin and her mom, who are in town for what can be called 'a hillbilly wedding' with some reservation. We met up at a roadhouse hidden from the highway by dozens of parked semis. My uncle, who most commonly resembles a prison in-take photo for his severe countanance, was also in attendance, as well as my mom, who refused to take the bacos off the cheese fries although even though they are apparently vegetarian, I still think they're gross. Didn't matter. A huge pack of huge Ohio dudes near us kept like, buddy wrestling and bumping in to our table. I fired one off about 'homosensual lust' and my not-aunt (said potential marriagables at table are long divorced) laughed. Love that, who doesn't believe in progess, you know? And then they started playing "Doin' the Butt," which put everyone in a great mood.
Yesterday I visited my aunt in the hospital. A doctor came in and gave her one of those monologues you only ever see in a movie. She's going to die, you see. But when? He weighed the options, gave statistics, reminded her that she was 'well beyond her years' and almost even said 'slash' when referring to god/nature taking her last breath. You couldn't want for more, really. All the family there. Me recounting what the PaceMaker specialist said about 'the dyes' that could 'put her into kidney failure,' because well "Daphne is the smart one," so she follows what the doctors say. Other people don't follow what the doctors say? Other people, let me tell you, do NOT follow what the doctors say. And from the past three years of losing three aged charmers, most of the time it's the people who need to know the most who hear or understand the least. "Listen loudly" is a song written aptly by a band called Love Life: a band I love, thought Loveless I love more but could do less with such sentiment. Said said, you should listen loudly, not only because you never know when it's them talking to you or when you need to really talk to someone else.
Enough with this 'you' and 'me' bullshit, aren't blobs about technology? "Daphne I have a question for you," my other aunt, mid-80s, asked today at lunch. "Whats an ipod? Is it a computer?" Well, I said. You know what a walkman is like? It's like that, but just it works a lot longer and with more songs. Oh. "I asked your mother what a blog was. They talk about all these things on the t.v. and then I ask your mother about them." Dear me.
My mother, doll that she is, just let me know that she discovered my 'blob' a few weeks ago. I was like, "mom, you can't SAY something like that about my career in music journalism, it totally has a shape. I've worked HARD for that shape." {bad joke, like writing such a long missive on my blob in general, which I'm merely carrying out like a bad writing exercise cause I just watched the laborious and stupid Sideways ferchristsakes and am in that kinda mind}. This would be a boring-er story if it weren't for the fact that my mother printed out the whole freaking blog (that's three years, folks) and put the thing in a three ring binder to like READ IN FULL LIKE A NOVEL. As pitchfork would say WTF?!? Does this mean I go through the blob and delete everything errant, freudian (my dad reads my blog, but he's like 'not into emotions' (hi dad!) so I don't think my drama or escapades would phase him), but my mom, she's all..all. looking for ammo? wanting to show interest? searching to see if i'm secretly gay or on drugs? I can't tell really. Typical Sideways response: Your writing has gotten better on the blob in the last three years. And here I am to blow it all with a long personal narrative about rednecks and death.
THE MUSIC ISSUE
Dudes, tonight I went to this freakin weird Russian folk concert in Warren Ohio with my mom. Five small girls calling themselves 'Golden Gates' sang while a Cleveland-based Russian trio called Moscow Nights backed them up. They wore costumes and played traditional folk music and talked about well-meaning ethnomusicologists going into villages and collecting songs, although they didn't mention the falling sky, one could tell clouds were gathering in that distance.
It was very charming, but most charming was that whenever the girls would hit a chorus, a very heavily synth-ed backing track would come on adding drums, tinkling bells and either a chorus of angelic women or a male harmony part with endless amounts of reverb. It was somehow triggered from the accordion player's mixer and well, it was not unlike the backing tracks in disco polo. Maybe I'm a city slicker ethno asshole, but I don't think many other people noticed they were sorta 'phoning it in,' and in the yet unwritten book I'd love to do about everyone's favorite logical fallacy "If my mom does it, everyone uncool in the world must too" said monolith of the home and hearth said, "now you've ruined the whole concert for me" when I started singing the angel part. She always wanted me to be in the chorus, you know. Anyway, I hope this was so boring that she didn't get to the end cause if so I'm going to have to answer for calling her a monolith. Then again, I just saw Charlie and the Chocolate Factory: the White Stripes years, so I have monolith on the mind, and if you've made it this far and think I'm going to write more on that subject, well buddy you're just going to have to keep reading.
7.20.2005
she certainly can can-can
My Hockey Night q&a is up - long live Paul Sprangers and the Red Wing pop posse. This is the second time I've written something about someone I know, the first time being a story about how my cousin was obsessed with Rick Springfield, which was maybe on some kind of online version of Hit It Or Quit It a few years ago. Writing about the familiar makes me itchy.
Dear blog friends, I was recently sort of darkly thinking about desert island discs (sigh) and came to the sick conclusion that Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space might actually be mine. How grossly trad whoa-is-me first year of college. I'm happy to report to you tonight, however, that when I am feeling sad I now turn more appropriately straight to Robert Wyatt. So basically, now the pity party just has better drum sounds.
Bought in prep for trip: new excepter, mickey newbury, that acid house soul jazz comp, and a chocolate overdose album (ahh, the wrong 'pop' record from rune g. who was telling me about something on that label that was girlie, weird?).
Dear blog friends, I was recently sort of darkly thinking about desert island discs (sigh) and came to the sick conclusion that Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space might actually be mine. How grossly trad whoa-is-me first year of college. I'm happy to report to you tonight, however, that when I am feeling sad I now turn more appropriately straight to Robert Wyatt. So basically, now the pity party just has better drum sounds.
Bought in prep for trip: new excepter, mickey newbury, that acid house soul jazz comp, and a chocolate overdose album (ahh, the wrong 'pop' record from rune g. who was telling me about something on that label that was girlie, weird?).
7.16.2005
sad news on a day when we're all looking to chicago rock
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/aplocal_story.asp?category=6420&slug=IL%20Crash%20Charges
Police say suicidal woman caused crash that killed three others
Saturday, July 16, 2005 Last updated 7:37 a.m. PT
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
SKOKIE, Ill. -- An allegedly suicidal woman accused of causing a
high-speed crash that killed three Chicago rock musicians has been charged
with first-degree murder and aggravated battery, and is being held under
guard at an Evanston hospital.
Bond was denied Friday for Jeannette Sliwinski, 23, of Morton Grove, who
allegedly told investigators that she had been in a fight with her mother
before the crash and wanted to take her own life.
Police said Sliwinski was driving at least 70 mph and had run three red
lights when her car rammed the musicians' car at an intersection in this
northern Chicago suburb early Thursday afternoon.
The victims were identified as Michael Dahlquist, 39, John Glick, 35, and
Douglas Meis, 29, all of Chicago. Officers said the three were on their
lunch break from their day jobs at an audio equipment manufacturer and
were stopped at a red light when their car was struck from behind.
Skokie police said both cars were flipped over by the impact of the crash,
and the musicians' car struck another vehicle, causing two injuries.
Friends and family members said Friday that Dahlquist, who moved to
Chicago from Washington state five years ago, was the drummer for a band
called Silkworm. Glick, a Boston native, was a guitarist and singer with
the Returnables, while Meis played drums with Glick's wife in a band
called The Dials.
Cook County Assistant State's Attorney Colleen Daly said prosecutors might
seek the death penalty against Sliwinski.
Police say suicidal woman caused crash that killed three others
Saturday, July 16, 2005 Last updated 7:37 a.m. PT
THE ASSOCIATED PRESS
SKOKIE, Ill. -- An allegedly suicidal woman accused of causing a
high-speed crash that killed three Chicago rock musicians has been charged
with first-degree murder and aggravated battery, and is being held under
guard at an Evanston hospital.
Bond was denied Friday for Jeannette Sliwinski, 23, of Morton Grove, who
allegedly told investigators that she had been in a fight with her mother
before the crash and wanted to take her own life.
Police said Sliwinski was driving at least 70 mph and had run three red
lights when her car rammed the musicians' car at an intersection in this
northern Chicago suburb early Thursday afternoon.
The victims were identified as Michael Dahlquist, 39, John Glick, 35, and
Douglas Meis, 29, all of Chicago. Officers said the three were on their
lunch break from their day jobs at an audio equipment manufacturer and
were stopped at a red light when their car was struck from behind.
Skokie police said both cars were flipped over by the impact of the crash,
and the musicians' car struck another vehicle, causing two injuries.
Friends and family members said Friday that Dahlquist, who moved to
Chicago from Washington state five years ago, was the drummer for a band
called Silkworm. Glick, a Boston native, was a guitarist and singer with
the Returnables, while Meis played drums with Glick's wife in a band
called The Dials.
Cook County Assistant State's Attorney Colleen Daly said prosecutors might
seek the death penalty against Sliwinski.
7.14.2005
lady sovereign's massive debut
In the latest chapter of Knitting Factory ingenue debuts, Lady Sovereign kept the crowd waiting until midnight to come out on stage and rap over skipping CDs with backing vocals last night, blah blah-ing the blog and critic nerd posse (who were out in FULL EFFECT, tho I leave it to someone else to list cause 'i'm a girl and i don't make lists, even about sublebrity spottings) and otherwise crunching her possibility of anything beyond the back Fader cover. "Yo! I'm so sick rioght now, I ate some McDonalds - I'm going to barf, brahahahaha' Okay, she might have actually had some skills had she not been crazy hung over (K reports 'she was at starfoods last night' I mean, don't these yuppie punk bars CHECK ID!).
She seemed uncomfortable on stage - running through all the 'hits' (how weird is the world when someone has never released a record, only import 12"s and the whole front of the room is singing along?) Cha Ching, Random, Blah Blah and parts of "Sad Arse Strippa," a diss song that I had the idiocy/genius to put on my Pazz&Jop 2004, which was done over the beats to Gwen's summer jam - coulda been okay, was - ehh. She also did what was new track to me about how it's too late to turn back on her fame - umm, 'xcuse me, miss? the coach car is one back - i think you're in the wrong seat.'
She seemed uncomfortable on stage - running through all the 'hits' (how weird is the world when someone has never released a record, only import 12"s and the whole front of the room is singing along?) Cha Ching, Random, Blah Blah and parts of "Sad Arse Strippa," a diss song that I had the idiocy/genius to put on my Pazz&Jop 2004, which was done over the beats to Gwen's summer jam - coulda been okay, was - ehh. She also did what was new track to me about how it's too late to turn back on her fame - umm, 'xcuse me, miss? the coach car is one back - i think you're in the wrong seat.'
7.13.2005
douglas made me do it too
As per Wolk and Matos, here is some q&a when I should be doing something...else?
What is the oldest article of clothing still in active use in your wardrobe?
T-shirt from Cape Hatteras, NC. I have a photo of myself in it when the thing came down to my knees. Now it is an adorable mostly see through shirt-like rag with a dop of orange paint from when I painted my Ten Eyck apartment. It's okay though because the sun is orange. It's like a scratch on your favorite record - it's part of the shirt now.
If you were to pass along to a child (offspring, godchild, favorite young person you hope to influence for the better) a lifelong passion for one thing, what would it be?
Living in truth, like Vaclav Havel said.
What's the one website or periodical that you read which nobody would expect you to?
Well, I used to have a subscription to Old News, which was this paper that just printed old headline stories from history. I'd get a copy and it would say, "Titanic sunk!" but if you know me well, you would know this sort of thing amuses me.
Does there ever come a point when [insert interviewee's occupation] becomes kind of arbitrary to you?
I had to reread this question, and look at Matos and Douglas' responses to get it. So, re Douglas' response: I mostly interview musicians, and that makes that part of their life sort of an even playing field. Since I believe that the act of creating is beautiful and worthy of thought (the anthro side to my critical product mind), I am endlessly fascinated with motivations, which are the hardest thing to be honest and thoughtful about, I think.
Re: Matos' answer. I went through a big 'wtf rock criticism' phase a few years ago, known as THE DARK YEAR of living in Philadelphia. Grad school, great jobs and being around good people has changed that. I love what I do, mostly, and want to go forth and prosper. And I'm good at it, mostly, which makes it not so arbitrary. I once served Polish Water Ice on the Jersey boardwalk, now that was a random job (but hey, I can make a perfect swirl on top of an ice cream cone, so...)
What is one album/book/movie you have not heard/read/seen but which you really should to be doing what you do, and how do you work around that?
Craig Marks once publically shamed me for not having seen Heathers. Honestly, there are so many things I haven't seen/read/listened to - it makes it hard to sleep in. and Yes, I did go rent Heathers.
What superstitions do you follow or have you made up for yourself?
This was my question. I have so many I've thought about making a handbook to being my friend, with lists of bizarre things to expect. Have to eat the left half of the fortune cookie, read the fortune and swallow, then eat the rest of the cookie. No one has noticed before, that it's a system.
What happened the first time you danced?
Who knows? I'm sure I was too little. I remember two early dancing things. Jazz lessons, step ball change to Janet Jackson. Wouldn't go to the recital because I looked scrawny in tights. Also, seventh grade mixed middle school dance, wearing a purple button down long sleeve shirt and ruffle skirt I bought at FASHION BUG, looking very Amy Grant and wanting to dance with somebody to End of the Road, when my arch enemy got up and lip-synched "Welcome to the Jungle" and the whole gym applauded his performance - being like wtf, he's so punk rock. He died in a car accident in high school, leaving me on a quest for worthy enemies ever since.
What was the first piece of art (book, song, film, painting, building, etc.) that changed your life? What happened? How do you regard that work now?
Soluble Fish. ha ha ha. Language is arbitrary, words have meaning that involves context, but they also have sounds and feelings. Holy shit! I haven't read that stuff in years, but maybe I'll take it to Prague.
If you could choose to understand one thing in much greater depth than the other, what would it be -- your roots or your current surroundings, and why?
Oh, current surroundings. Who cares about 'my roots'? This is an unbalanced question, and I believe history is in the present, so the present no doubt.
How do you like your eggs?
I just started eating eggs when I lived in Providence, so I haven't had all the ways in a toque. I'm being scientific about it, but for now I'll just say a veggie garbage omelet.
What is the oldest article of clothing still in active use in your wardrobe?
T-shirt from Cape Hatteras, NC. I have a photo of myself in it when the thing came down to my knees. Now it is an adorable mostly see through shirt-like rag with a dop of orange paint from when I painted my Ten Eyck apartment. It's okay though because the sun is orange. It's like a scratch on your favorite record - it's part of the shirt now.
If you were to pass along to a child (offspring, godchild, favorite young person you hope to influence for the better) a lifelong passion for one thing, what would it be?
Living in truth, like Vaclav Havel said.
What's the one website or periodical that you read which nobody would expect you to?
Well, I used to have a subscription to Old News, which was this paper that just printed old headline stories from history. I'd get a copy and it would say, "Titanic sunk!" but if you know me well, you would know this sort of thing amuses me.
Does there ever come a point when [insert interviewee's occupation] becomes kind of arbitrary to you?
I had to reread this question, and look at Matos and Douglas' responses to get it. So, re Douglas' response: I mostly interview musicians, and that makes that part of their life sort of an even playing field. Since I believe that the act of creating is beautiful and worthy of thought (the anthro side to my critical product mind), I am endlessly fascinated with motivations, which are the hardest thing to be honest and thoughtful about, I think.
Re: Matos' answer. I went through a big 'wtf rock criticism' phase a few years ago, known as THE DARK YEAR of living in Philadelphia. Grad school, great jobs and being around good people has changed that. I love what I do, mostly, and want to go forth and prosper. And I'm good at it, mostly, which makes it not so arbitrary. I once served Polish Water Ice on the Jersey boardwalk, now that was a random job (but hey, I can make a perfect swirl on top of an ice cream cone, so...)
What is one album/book/movie you have not heard/read/seen but which you really should to be doing what you do, and how do you work around that?
Craig Marks once publically shamed me for not having seen Heathers. Honestly, there are so many things I haven't seen/read/listened to - it makes it hard to sleep in. and Yes, I did go rent Heathers.
What superstitions do you follow or have you made up for yourself?
This was my question. I have so many I've thought about making a handbook to being my friend, with lists of bizarre things to expect. Have to eat the left half of the fortune cookie, read the fortune and swallow, then eat the rest of the cookie. No one has noticed before, that it's a system.
What happened the first time you danced?
Who knows? I'm sure I was too little. I remember two early dancing things. Jazz lessons, step ball change to Janet Jackson. Wouldn't go to the recital because I looked scrawny in tights. Also, seventh grade mixed middle school dance, wearing a purple button down long sleeve shirt and ruffle skirt I bought at FASHION BUG, looking very Amy Grant and wanting to dance with somebody to End of the Road, when my arch enemy got up and lip-synched "Welcome to the Jungle" and the whole gym applauded his performance - being like wtf, he's so punk rock. He died in a car accident in high school, leaving me on a quest for worthy enemies ever since.
What was the first piece of art (book, song, film, painting, building, etc.) that changed your life? What happened? How do you regard that work now?
Soluble Fish. ha ha ha. Language is arbitrary, words have meaning that involves context, but they also have sounds and feelings. Holy shit! I haven't read that stuff in years, but maybe I'll take it to Prague.
If you could choose to understand one thing in much greater depth than the other, what would it be -- your roots or your current surroundings, and why?
Oh, current surroundings. Who cares about 'my roots'? This is an unbalanced question, and I believe history is in the present, so the present no doubt.
How do you like your eggs?
I just started eating eggs when I lived in Providence, so I haven't had all the ways in a toque. I'm being scientific about it, but for now I'll just say a veggie garbage omelet.
7.09.2005
criticism and the fop with the monocle
Lots of talk about this article about literary folks jumping into the music criticism game.
Funny, cause yesterday while I was poking around the Grad Center getting all my gear together for Prague, I got into a chat with Aaron about how he wants to write a book about the 'curation of culture,' which got brought up because I was ranting about how much I HATE when people use that word outside of a museum context (see All Tomorrow's Parties, every DJ night in the world now, etc) and he said 'well my book is going to be more about rock criticism,' which of course terrifies me, but I see his point.
There is a professionalism to the craft that has been hard won, while few have (ahh, the desk/staff job - I have three and STILL couldn't live off it) the security to say that they are 'professional critics.' But the branches and outlets, the ways obtaining a career, while ever changing, are pretty standard. Intern, slog, work for crap, work up to better pubs, get offered a job somewhere, get there and then...What? What do you do after you have a desk job? Write books. Become a public intellectual/VH1 pundit? There's a ceiling to it, and it's pretty low as far as the writing world goes.
So if you want to be a REAL writer, you do criticism as a part time thing, a side passion, and when you're famous, you rekindle this skill and hop through the early stages of slogging and go straight to the New Yorker. Brilliant! I applaud thee. What I don't applaud is nostalgia/sentimentality of otherwise ambitious or interesting writers because they think they can just blabber on about how awesome X album was to them in 1981 when they were a senior in high school, as if this were the universal experience. Cha cha, it is - but only if you draw outward instead of in.
Okay, that was an unintended rant. Go play Asteroids on the website of a band I just did a Voice Choice for. He. There's the level of discourse for you.
ALSO - just bought an issue of Heeb for my dear Amy Phillips, who's Best Of-ing the thing but couldn't find it around (me, I have to go to the MASONIC LIBRARY for my best, yikes!). There's a photo spread of gentiles donning yarmulkes for random public ceremonies, and literally every person next to me on the subway in my 3 train Columbia/Williamsburg commute said something about it. Also, a guy tried to pick me up on the platform while I was reading the mag. WTF?
Funny, cause yesterday while I was poking around the Grad Center getting all my gear together for Prague, I got into a chat with Aaron about how he wants to write a book about the 'curation of culture,' which got brought up because I was ranting about how much I HATE when people use that word outside of a museum context (see All Tomorrow's Parties, every DJ night in the world now, etc) and he said 'well my book is going to be more about rock criticism,' which of course terrifies me, but I see his point.
There is a professionalism to the craft that has been hard won, while few have (ahh, the desk/staff job - I have three and STILL couldn't live off it) the security to say that they are 'professional critics.' But the branches and outlets, the ways obtaining a career, while ever changing, are pretty standard. Intern, slog, work for crap, work up to better pubs, get offered a job somewhere, get there and then...What? What do you do after you have a desk job? Write books. Become a public intellectual/VH1 pundit? There's a ceiling to it, and it's pretty low as far as the writing world goes.
So if you want to be a REAL writer, you do criticism as a part time thing, a side passion, and when you're famous, you rekindle this skill and hop through the early stages of slogging and go straight to the New Yorker. Brilliant! I applaud thee. What I don't applaud is nostalgia/sentimentality of otherwise ambitious or interesting writers because they think they can just blabber on about how awesome X album was to them in 1981 when they were a senior in high school, as if this were the universal experience. Cha cha, it is - but only if you draw outward instead of in.
Okay, that was an unintended rant. Go play Asteroids on the website of a band I just did a Voice Choice for. He. There's the level of discourse for you.
ALSO - just bought an issue of Heeb for my dear Amy Phillips, who's Best Of-ing the thing but couldn't find it around (me, I have to go to the MASONIC LIBRARY for my best, yikes!). There's a photo spread of gentiles donning yarmulkes for random public ceremonies, and literally every person next to me on the subway in my 3 train Columbia/Williamsburg commute said something about it. Also, a guy tried to pick me up on the platform while I was reading the mag. WTF?
7.07.2005
london, subways
*was going to blog about the city going around in shame today, taking down all the olympic 2012 stickers from the subways*
but, thanks to the neverending wrath of human selfishness and hate, there are better things to talk about, and I'm sure that if I were nihilistic enough to get in the subway today, there would be better things to worry about than this city's olympic loss.
7.01.2005
annie get your gun
My interview with David Barker ran on Stop Smiling Online yesterday. It was supposed to run print, but alas..
am a madwoman of writing, interviews and shows.
david byrne at central park: a little lackluster in the opening, amid the pouring rain which never stopped for more than a minute the entire evening. sprinkling of soundtrack, old material, newer work: played 'psycho killer.' not too terribly much of stage antics, more seemed like a somewhat whismical but stately middle aged man leading a small army of dedicated but hired hands.
Annie: yikes. a Andy B. said something like 'color me wary' when I asked if he'd go with me to Hiro Ballroom with me to see my 2004 crush of the year. Went with Caryn and Amy, as per more in the monitor, and was mortified by the amateur nature of the performance, the sound, her singing. It was like the karaoke scene in "My Best Friend's Wedding," only, there wasn't really room for pathos.
TRAVEL ADVISORY: Am flying out of NYC to London on July 26, laid over for two days then on to Prague. Haven't been since 2000 and need suggestions for great shops, sites and other stuff to check while there.
Also, am going to C/O festival in Cologne from August 26-28. Exciting.
am a madwoman of writing, interviews and shows.
david byrne at central park: a little lackluster in the opening, amid the pouring rain which never stopped for more than a minute the entire evening. sprinkling of soundtrack, old material, newer work: played 'psycho killer.' not too terribly much of stage antics, more seemed like a somewhat whismical but stately middle aged man leading a small army of dedicated but hired hands.
Annie: yikes. a Andy B. said something like 'color me wary' when I asked if he'd go with me to Hiro Ballroom with me to see my 2004 crush of the year. Went with Caryn and Amy, as per more in the monitor, and was mortified by the amateur nature of the performance, the sound, her singing. It was like the karaoke scene in "My Best Friend's Wedding," only, there wasn't really room for pathos.
TRAVEL ADVISORY: Am flying out of NYC to London on July 26, laid over for two days then on to Prague. Haven't been since 2000 and need suggestions for great shops, sites and other stuff to check while there.
Also, am going to C/O festival in Cologne from August 26-28. Exciting.
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