Recently by Missi
Being the third week of August, it must almost be September which means it is almost time for Conflux Festival 2007 in Brooklyn + Manhattan. That means pogo sticks galore, chalk dust outlines in the street, graf and cell phone games. I am so psyched I just couldn't wait to post about it. This year features work from the awesome curatorial collective Metro Color Collision, the cool-as radio station collaborative free103point9 and everyone's favorite tech-art-fag-nerd organization Eyebeam, among many, many others. Check here for a totally dead-on wiki definition of psychogeography that rightfully mentions situationist Guy Debord and the organization I am interviewing with next month, iKatun. See you at the Conflux!
The Rite of Spring by Stravinsky is one killer piece of work. Snaky oboe lines give way to implosive, full orchestral chords of sheerly dissonant weight, flitting toothy flutes chomp into wavering tones and when you see it with Leonard Bernstein conducting, you get a sense of just how tres difficile the work is for the concert players. But in delving even further, as I did upon listening to WNYC last night, I found that the dissonant layers of this work are actually known to cause schizophrenic reactions! Yes, that's right. How does this happen? Well, the brain processes sounds that are consonant in a much more streamlined way than it does dissonant sounds. Because of this tim elapse, apparently a jumble of confusion occurs, as was evident the opening night of the Rite of Spring. On this evening, reportedly, old ladies with cane sbeat each other, boos, hisses and throwing of objects underscored the performance of the work. Now check this out: one year later they performed again. What happened? Well, Stravinsky was lifted out of the concert hall on the shoulders of audience members and critics alike as the sounds they heard were already familiar, the pathways for understanding them had been established. Kooky. Check this decent clip of Bernstein conducting a youth orchestra.
"You're in your living grave, fuck those neon lights. That's just how I behave riding my bike." Had an extraordinarily awesome bike ride through PTown with Zach last nite which involved weaving quickly in and out of tourists who love to jump in front of you to gawk at sea-themed baubles, seeing the drag queen Dina Martina on her bike doing the same, stopping at Town Hall to watch a guitar player busking with backing looped samples, Zach being toppled by John Waters, pizza and booze. Made me think of this song. Made think of how I love playing Name That Tune with friends. I would have completely rocked that game show. Check the live orchestra memebers in the background, and the guy on the right's face when the host says, "Tahiti." Check the unbelieveably arcane references to pop culture lost on us kids today. This show is so rad.
I think a lot about how it must have been to grow up during the political riots in America, and yeah they were hippies or whatever, but it still holds a place in my soft body human heart. Well, the two things I am going to show you today have a lot to do with that sentiment. I am repping these works on paper right now at the gallery and I thought I would share them as my very first thatsplenty offering. Irene Lipton is one of sweetest, most gracious, hard-working artists I have ever met. She lives in an Airstream here on the Cape with her husband Phil and Jack Russell terrier Jake. She also does all the design work for the gallery, to great visual success. Hearts to Irene. 
Untitled (LP 502), 2007, o/c, 54" x 65" Next week, I'll be hosting a screening of the amazing documentary B.I.K.E. on Fountainhead, as in Ayn Rand's novel that I will not talk more about at the given moment. One of these guys in this film came to loft space in NA, MA and ate my cheesy puffs, if memory serves me correctly. I also skipped him in the joint rotation and it was a negative experience for all in the room. But I messed that up, it should have gone joint then cheesy puffs, of course. We’ve since made up and all is well. Bon Appetit!
