Monday, May 18, 2009
the plimsouls
Sitting, no -- slothing -- on my couch, reading D.H. Lawrence and trying to increase my vocabulary, my phone rang. The screen lit up "jasmine." Who else would you expect? anyways, she asked me to open the gate to our apartment for her. I ran down, pushed the gate open, and what did my little darlin doll face surprise me with? A Plimsouls vinyl. that's right kiddos. The PLIMSOULS! The first album, no less. I swung her around gracefully, albeit violently at times to express my satisfaction with her. I hurried upstairs, plopped my treasured vinyl onto my record player, and nervously and anxiously waited for the stylus to hit. The first popping crackle of the needle finding its way to the groove forced my mouth upwards into a generous smile. I'm having the time of my life.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
OI OI OI
Been listening to this band Milburn for the past few days. Apparently they're from the same town as Arctic Monkeys, broke on the scene around the same time, if not earlier, and have almost the exact same sound - heavily accented vocals, reverb laden guitars reminiscent of dick dale or scott walker, scorching tempos, and a knack for clever word play. They even toured with their townmates. For some reason though, they never blew up -- i guess there was only room enough for one band with that sound. but what the hell!! These guys are awesome, totally deserving of as much credit, if not more. Do your scummy selves a favor and support these now broken up assholes from Sheffield. I recommend the album "These are the Facts." DO IT NOW MY BLOODSUCKING MINIONS!
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Gary Baseman
La Noche de la Fusion: Carnivale meets Gary Baseman
Last Saturday, we cruised over to the Gary Baseman art opening at the Corey Helford Gallery in Culver City. At first glance, the opening seemed more like a rave than an art show -- a sea of hiply dressed scenesters with bottles of Stella in hands danced, mingled, and drank. Techno and House music blared at deafening decible levels while lights flashed with each pulsating beat. A line of hopeful teenagers looking for some kicks on a Saturday night stretched alongside the gallery for a block or so. Indeed, there was a peculiar air about this show.
Baseman wore a long black ceremonial robe, hinting at the finale of the show -- a performance piece that displayed the metamorphosis of his beloved chou chou out of a coccoon. For those who don't know what a chou chou is, here's a picture:
I wasn't too familiar with Baseman's name prior to a month or so before the show, but instantly recognized his work from features in Juxtapoz and even the boardgame Cranium; Baseman exemplifies how an artist's style transcends his name. Baseman's drearily vibrant artwork slaps his viewers in their faces, recalling the best moments of Ren and Stimpy. Baseman reminds his audience that they are never too old to believe in comic book worlds full of wacky cartoon characters and vibrant colors. 10 girls walked amidst Baseman's Tinseltown as props, dressed in wardrobes inspired by his work, physically bridging the gap between our world and his.
Weasling my way through the sea of people, I finally stepped inside the gallery. Polychromatic paintings graced the bare white walls. It was delightful to see sketches and paintings of the characters that roamed outside. A sacred shrine to a chou chou even stood in the corner of the gallery, suggesting that we, like Baseman, ought to worship the whimsical worlds and characters we create.
Back outside, I gravitated toward a set comprised of a fairytale-esque tree, another one of Gary's characters, and a photographer. I happily stood with my girlfriend, struck a pose, and collected a free polaroid.
If this show were any premonition of what's to come from Baseman's imaginitive mind, then I'd rather live fulltime in La Noche de la Fusion than the good ol' U, S, of A anyday. Hell, I don't think there's a happier place on earth than La Noche de la Fusion. Disney CEO Bob Iger could learn a thing or two from Baseman. Screw Disneyland, I'm going to Carnivale this year.
Last Saturday, we cruised over to the Gary Baseman art opening at the Corey Helford Gallery in Culver City. At first glance, the opening seemed more like a rave than an art show -- a sea of hiply dressed scenesters with bottles of Stella in hands danced, mingled, and drank. Techno and House music blared at deafening decible levels while lights flashed with each pulsating beat. A line of hopeful teenagers looking for some kicks on a Saturday night stretched alongside the gallery for a block or so. Indeed, there was a peculiar air about this show.
Baseman wore a long black ceremonial robe, hinting at the finale of the show -- a performance piece that displayed the metamorphosis of his beloved chou chou out of a coccoon. For those who don't know what a chou chou is, here's a picture:
I wasn't too familiar with Baseman's name prior to a month or so before the show, but instantly recognized his work from features in Juxtapoz and even the boardgame Cranium; Baseman exemplifies how an artist's style transcends his name. Baseman's drearily vibrant artwork slaps his viewers in their faces, recalling the best moments of Ren and Stimpy. Baseman reminds his audience that they are never too old to believe in comic book worlds full of wacky cartoon characters and vibrant colors. 10 girls walked amidst Baseman's Tinseltown as props, dressed in wardrobes inspired by his work, physically bridging the gap between our world and his.
Weasling my way through the sea of people, I finally stepped inside the gallery. Polychromatic paintings graced the bare white walls. It was delightful to see sketches and paintings of the characters that roamed outside. A sacred shrine to a chou chou even stood in the corner of the gallery, suggesting that we, like Baseman, ought to worship the whimsical worlds and characters we create.
Back outside, I gravitated toward a set comprised of a fairytale-esque tree, another one of Gary's characters, and a photographer. I happily stood with my girlfriend, struck a pose, and collected a free polaroid.
If this show were any premonition of what's to come from Baseman's imaginitive mind, then I'd rather live fulltime in La Noche de la Fusion than the good ol' U, S, of A anyday. Hell, I don't think there's a happier place on earth than La Noche de la Fusion. Disney CEO Bob Iger could learn a thing or two from Baseman. Screw Disneyland, I'm going to Carnivale this year.
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