NINE INCH NAILS: Back in Cleveland in ‘88 Trent Reznor founded the band simply known to many as NIN. To celebrate their decades of music-making, and after eight full length releases, the once ‘alternative’ band hit Portland tonight with an explosive lightshow to a thrashing, grinding barrage of testosterone-fueled industro-rock. It was deep dark and brooding and they played on a host of incredible special effects via video feeds that often used the motif of white noise with technical difficulties. There were also quieter multi-instrumental interludes with vibes and uprights that swayed the crowd through a shift in moodiness. They played from their entire catalogue and the nearly 6000 fans were riveted for the entire two-hour live performance. A wafting herbal scent perfumed the air throughout, and opening act The Bug was a DJ plus singer with a Carribbean hip-hop meets experimental noise thing going on.  I’m one of those people who owned Pretty Hate Machine upon release (circa ‘89) but lost track of the band after Y2K. Perhaps they’re a vintage with an edge that can be both sharp, yet palpable. Check back later.

.meta: Unveil The Whole Picture

On view through tomorrow at Linfield Gallery/Miller Fine Arts Center. In the heart of McMinnville and wine country. Gallery hours are Friday and Saturday, 12-5PM. More information.

[ Above: Details from D.E. May, Jenevive Tatiana, Stephanie Robison, Scanner ]

Femme Fatale | Corporate Cannibal
Miss Grace Jones.

[ Has it really been nearly twenty years? ]

Send me your track

Hey You Get On My Cloud: I’m now a member of Sound Cloud, a new industry standard music/file-sharing program for musicians, sound artists, composers, journalists and more. If you make some kind of noise I want to hear it. Simply click on my DropBox….easy and nice interface.  Try it out.

LISTEN: Mat Jarvis aka Gas
MORE: Microscopics

The Official Site

Yma Sumac, the Peruvian-born singer whose spectacular multi-octave vocal range and exotic persona made her an international sensation in the 1950s, has died. She was 86. Sumac, who was diagnosed with colon cancer in February, died Saturday in an assisted living facility in Silver Lake in Florida, said Damon Devine, her personal assistant and close friend. Bursting onto the American music scene after signing with Capitol Records in 1950, the raven-haired Sumac was known as the “Nightingale of the Andes,” the “Peruvian Songbird” and a “singing marvel” with a 4 1/2 -octave (she said five-octave) voice. “She is five singers in one,” boasted Moises Vivanco, her composer-arranger husband, in a 1951 interview with the Associated Press. “Never in 2,000 years has there been another voice like hers.” Having met her back in the late 80’s and seeing her perform was something remarkable. Her voice will carry on.

Source: Los Angeles Times

To further whet your appetite for the exhibition .meta…

>>Listen to an excerpt<< of Jesse Paul Miller’s work as presented at Linfield College Art Gallery through 11/29. This sound material was recorded between April and earlier this month in Indonesia, Burma, Japan and Thailand.

David Cronenberg speaks of Warhol’s films…

[courtesy of Ubu]

PS: New developments/comments of an earlier Warhol post “Close-up or Mugshot”….

Keep your eye on me. Or ear on them. Weezer is back (oh, this is their brand-new video). If you like nachos and custard pies you’ll per chance dig it. And if you do, come join me at the Rose Garden Arena on Thursday night. OK, I bought their first self-titled record, and with their new ‘red’ album I think they are now all color-coded. Who knows. The tour includes Angels and Airways as well as Tokyo Police Club - so, in essence, it’s the attack of the alterna-quartet men.

Other than that the past week has seen me around town at many new exhibitions and through a lot in the process of moving.  And there will be plenty more this week as I clear my studio some, trading things, letting go, embracing and becoming more zen about everything around ownership. My birthday weekend is coming up, and I basically am keeping things low-key with Rob. Though part of the weekend is also dedicated to the installation of .meta which opens next Wednesday, October 15. And I want to somehow squeeze a podcast in.

IN NW ART NEWS: After culling through 524 applicants, the 30th annual Betty Bowen award, conducted with the Seattle Art Museum, goes to photographer Isaac Layman who shows at Lawrimore Project. The Kayla Skinner Special Recognition Award goes to Eric Elliott, and the PONCHO Special Recognition Award goes to Wynne Greenwood.

Further Reading: A Picture of the Disco Children
New Website: Henry Art Gallery

PS: In reference to the above image by Isaac Layman, a reader sent in this picture of Olafur Eliasson’s Take Your Time which was on view at P.S. 1 this year.

OFFICIAL SITE

SEATTLE - THIS WEEK: I am thrilled to announce that I will once again head up to our sister city to participate in this year’s Decibel Festival, Seattle’s premiere, annual electronic music festival. This year the proceedings take place September 25-28 and I will be seated on an interesting panel. The future of music journalism is the topic of discussion and the panel is stacking up to look like a well rounded group of experts in vast cross-pollinated fields. Should make for a rowdy chat. Here’s what the catalogue says:

PANEL 1 : Wasted Words : The Future of Music Journalism
FRIDAY, September 26 @ 12:30 @ NW Film Forum

We will explore music writing - criticism, reviewing and description of performances and recording processes and ask whether or not they still have any relevance today and if they have a use and audience in the future. Our panel includes musicians, writers, and representatives of record companies engaged in an attempt to find answers to these perplexing questions. When Frank Zappa said; ‘…writing about music is like dancing about architecture…”, he was referring to the difficulty, if not futility of interpreting one art form using the methods of another.

Be that as it may, for as long as people have made music, others have been compelled to talk and write about it; in an attempt to describe, understand and share the experience of music. Up to now, writing about music has been important – critical to spread public awareness of and reinforce music cultures. Does music writing in the “internet era” have the same influence that it once did in the “print era”? Is there an identifiable audience for music writing? Is the role and form of music writing changing? And if so, how and why? Is the emergence of the blogosphere a benefit or just a lot of white noise? Are there benchmarks to measure the effectiveness of using the printed word to describe auditory experiences? Join us as we explore the role and relevance of music journalism, criticism, blogging, performance reviews and more!

Panelists include Dale Lloyd (and/OAR and the Phonographers Union), TJ Norris (ARTnews, Signal to Noise and MIT/Leonardo Magazine), Dave Segal (XLR8R and The Stranger), Todd Burns (NA Editor for Resident Advisor), Robert Crouch (co-director and curator of Bleeding Edge Festival and Volume Projects) and Lusine (Ghostly Recording artist). Moderated by Chris DeLaurenti (The Stranger, Wire Magazine).

This year’s Optical, the visual arts portion of the festival, will be held mostly at the Grey Gallery & Lounge. Some acts included later this month are house favorites like Detroit’s Carl Craig, veteran sound art composer William Basinski, and Mexico’s amazing Fax…but there are over 100 performers involved, so if you are a fan of contemporary music head up to SEA-town for your early Fall dose of aural stimulation.

PS: Recap from and/OAR site…

PPS: Thoughts from Energy Flash.

LISTEN TO PODCAST: Ahornfelder
LABEL INFO

[ TBA:08 ]

As the sun started its drop behind the West Hills TBA-goer’s made it out to the evening’s offerings, and with the slight tinge of Fall in the air tonight all was well in the Pearl and Old Town. Both duo female/male performances offered a hearty, tongue-in-cheek, out loud “f*ck you” (literally) to their audiences tonight.

Things got kicked off within the fine walls of the Elizabeth Leach Gallery, who has been involved with TBA for a few years now, in one way or another. The TIM CROUCH show, England, took on two parts that didn’t quite seem particularly distinct, however, moved from the front room of the gallery where the audience stood, into the back where we were seated. As things begun rather informally the two performers (Crouch and Hannah Ringham) stood among us and started a conversation, or, rather, speaking inner thoughts about partnerships and the space we were standing in, its history, the artist’s work on the wall (I hope Sean Healy actually gets to see this - nudge!). It was a very point blank approach to warming us up - then we were in order to be taken elsewhere. In these travels we visited the UK and other sundry places and learned a lot about an art collector boyfriend who speaks four languages, how art “helps people feel better about their illnesses”, a jam factory, and many references to death and dying (and the high price of heart transplants between varied cultured individuals). The tone of the performers never became melancholy or obtuse, almost exclusively like an inner-narrative spoken aloud. The two are what you might refer to as docents at a museum of sorts, a museum of life. They fill in blank spots, readily telling more about the juicy bits and secrets behind-the scenes than the outcome. It’s pretty up-front, and an interesting piece with plenty of metaphors and references that could connect to the most seasoned viewer. (Note: This performance is for a limited audience and requires advance reservations. Two additional performances this week).

Unabashedly soulful Kenny Mellman and Bridget Everett excitedly brought some sass to the fest stage in Sexercise Live! at the Someday Lounge (for the first of three shows). Conjuring the soulful down-n-dirty diva of disco, soulstress and hitmaker, Millie Jackson, the two sets out to combo-pack longform songs with a baudy edge. Pairing Jackson’s ouvre with a raunchy take on the average joe and jane slacker needing some (s)exercise in their life, they in turn spiced up the nightlife with a fun night of brassy cabaret. Mellman’s piano man and three piece band was nearly balanced but not a complete match for the fiery Everett (the costume change was perfect), whose vocals and antics conjured some mystic cross between Rita Coolidge and Molly Shannon. Her bluesy vocals had just the perfect rasp and growl to take it home. Throw in a “how-to Sexercise” video with Neal Medlyn and voila - instant party!  Pssst - though it’s bright and over-the-top live, if you can’t get in (or afford it) for some reason, you might just be able to watch it online(?). I’m just sayin’…..

[ TBA:08 ]

Monday, Monday…Can a brother get a minute?

Admittedly I showed up at the wrong theater by mistake, yet I was by chance right on time for the North American premiere of Materias Diversos by TIAGO GUEDES. Unsure if bringing this piece all the way from Portugal was a good thing or not, however, this 50-minute piece became something of music concrète at some point. By incorporating ready household, cheap materials like newspaper, tape and sheet plastics Guedes turned the stage into an instant landscape art project. He used his body to morph/form a bridge (or rainbow), burned and watered down his hanging work of art commenting on the death and recycle of nature. His movements were basic, and pretty symmetrical, but the work had very little to do with contemporary dance, and the initial cleverness wore off after a lengthy opening sequence that was mostly jeans and t-shirt mime. One of the low points in the fest thusfar.

Because of my schedule snafu, the performance by Jérôme Bel was what I became a full 40 minutes late for. His Pichet Klunchun and Myself was well underway upon my arrival as a rear row latecomer. I was able to catch about 45 minutes of the piece which seemed drawn from subtle drama that can happen in the face of a conversation between two people talking about themselves. The tone reminded me of early poker-faced Steven Wright, slight movements and comedic undertones - perhaps issuing the fear/questioning of the end of contemporary art in and of itself. I appreciated his comments about such, that had an air of hope for the future while waddling in the pool of flat mediocrity of the everyday. What was being presented on stage was self-indicative to the audience’s transparent understanding. How the gist of movements, and the passion behind music pattern our understanding of where we are in the moment. I most certainly must have missed something and have said too much.

After the discombobulating evening of theater fare it was off to the Leftbank for some sound relief. This was my first chance to peruse the beer garden and many familiar faces lit the crowd. I like the casual cafe set up done by Backspace with cardboard tube chairs and silvery flyaway wallpaper, gently moving in the air as people sauntered by. The night began with a very short set by Ethan Rose (a mere 20 or so minutes). Well worth the time, but not enough to indulge in all his eccentricities of what might have been offered by a full concert, it was more a taster. I kept on thinking how great it would have been to have seen this same work presented in the Winningstad instead. I think that’s where I would have programmed it. As such, there was too much in common with the club scene of say Holocene or Someday Lounge in this informal setting. Having known and seen him and his work over these many years, it was just great to see him taking the TBA stage solo. A weary-eyed Rose played harmonica, flute, player piano, pedals, tambourine and inventions, with a fluid grace and a precise take on improv. Au was up next and we stayed only for a short bit of their warm-up taking the form of a melange cross tween free jazz and rootsy fringe rock.

[ TBA:08 ] How apropos? I opened up my latest issue of Modern Painters and abruptly closed the pages shut after seeing an ad for photoMiami depicting wolfboy. For reasons I will not elaborate, though it did remind me of the barbershop sequence in the 2005 Mike Kelley film Day is Done (Extracurricular Activity Projective Reconstructions #2–32). Now playing as part of the TBA Festival, this near 3-hour pastische drew from wild opposites. Part Cremaster rip-off, part It Couldn’t Happen Here (1987), with inflections of Kenneth Anger-lite and something ala Waiting for Guffman-style community auditions for a local Christian talent show. The opening segment has a trio of dancers who form a mini train (chugga-chugga-chugga) and dance all around what appears to be the hallways of a middle school, all to a cool repetitive rhythm. And sure, Day is Done has more pop culture references than you can shake a stick at, but who wants to be left with the short end? Honestly, for a stalwart LA artist of his pedigree, Kelley has envisioned a lacklustre transition from the sculptural installation realm into performative moving pictures.

Recently I visited the Broad Collection (fantastic website btw) and got to walk through his Gym Interior (2005) which is pretty much a bunkered down version of the same thing, made for museum-goers. Still, here, I found something sorely lacking that embodied the cahones-grabbing stuffed animal manifestos, deodorizers, hermaphrodites or even his works combining a multitude of buttons, bangles and beads. This film poses one too many extracurricular activities (thirty in all!) shmooshed together in one place at one time (nazis, drag queens, gansta-luv), and not enough to make it over-the-top crazy ridiculous. Originally presented as part of a big bad Gagosian expo - and you too can choke on Michael Kimmelman’s original review of the exhibition that helped launch this spectacle. Though I appreciate his riff on educational institutions, classic b-horror films and religion, I just didn’t see anything that could possibly refer back to the Vienna Actionists. And the overall drug-haze lost-in-the-wilderness drone never quite picks up.  There are certainly good moments (hey, I sat through it) though with three hours to endure, even with the built-in ‘Intermission’ its just too much an investment for any typical arthouse cinemaphile (three more shows through 9/14 at the Whitsell).

Mark Russell is obsessed w/Divas*: The day was just getting started (or so I thought), and after a quick slice/salad combo I next ventured over to PSU’s Lincoln Hall (a nice space) to witness Leesaar’s Geisha. These folks, after all, are Guggenheim receipients and have been lauded with accolades aplenty. Perhaps I was expecting a lovely geisha to appear before my eyes, but at third row center none ever appeared. No make-up, no get-up, just a singular half-nude asian lady upon the stage performing what seemed to be mime, and some modern dance. For someone who rarely sees nude women, this dancer had a very interesting, and thin body that was flexible, yet almost robotic. These moves were intersected by well delivered (lip-synched?) Israeli songs performed with all the trappings of a big Celine Dion number. When a second dancer appeared on stage things livened up. A beautifully lithe man, whose moves were fluid and seductive joined the first. When the two danced together on stage something clicked, but suddenly we were transported back to the arena for the whale of another diva loop-de-loop. The work seemed broken and in progress, incomplete somehow. The production is a bit cold and skimpy - something of a stretch from its title. Though their body churning was acrobatic and in sync, most of this movement harkened back to much seen from modern dance over the last couple decades, nothing new, really. [*there is more than a single hint of Beyonce interwoven within this fest]

MILE-HIGH + RISING: I kicked myself for not having seen Seattle-based Reggie Watts last year in this festival, so I was determined to get to the theater early to see Transition. But now, with sore bottom, I recommend you get yours into one of them there seats tonight at 9PM for the final of three shows. This man rocks. Plain & Simple. The stripped-down show uses comedy, video and hip-hop beats that don’t take all too much seriousness into account, and simultaneously never becomes slaphappy or too self-righteous in its delivery. Watts’ transitions from characters are sharp, and the (at times gun-toting) company’s use of technology, movement and innuendo is tightly woven into a fresh production. The spoof on MJF is priceless. And the man has rhythm, presence and a soulful vocal range that is infectious - all the while twisting knobs and sampling away. If I were to have any criticism at all it would only be to double the length of the show, we want more, we want more! So far, this is the hit of the fest.

TEN TINY DANCES: The perennial 4′ square favorite was at SRO last night. My buddy Rob joined me for my first entry into the Leftbank Project - and it left an immediate impression. I am sure anyone there would agree that the lack of air in the space made for a most stuffy (spelled HOT) night to watch live dance performance. The body heat from the audience and lights superceded the cavernous space that seemed to morph for this event - and once the dancers took the stage of 16 square feet nothing else seemed to matter. Though, it made for a strange sense of intimacy given those coordinates, and didn’t steal from some stellar performances. Three of those included Meshi Chavez (sinewy, muscular, intense), Portland Taiko (who needs coffee?) and the phenomenal Hot Little Hands (a trio of square pegs atop the teeny stage). I was also pleasantly surprised that not all of the dancers were perfectly built, nor only youth. And the choices of musical accompaniment was quite diverse - from traditional Kathak (Archana Kumar) to the rigidity of Apparat (Chavez). The audience reflected this same diversity. Due to illness (etc) we were only treated to 8 of 10 dances…perhaps the box office could have refunded everyone two dollars (for tipping…) by importing the ’special guest’ appearing at Silverado just across the river last night (it was reportedly going to be RuPaul, but was a Mary J. Blige impersonator, and 2xist models instead). What can I say - I thrive on culture clash. I was disappointed that there was no access to the visual art installations downstairs as a friend mentioned they were underwhelming, and I wanted a chance to prove otherwise, though maybe next time.

The new CD is called Dirty Ear.

LISTEN TO PODCAST: Brandon LaBelle

[ TBA:08 ]

Antony + the Johnsons make haunting music. Songs like You Are My Sister and Hope There’s Someone are lovely consciousness-etching elegies that only get better upon playback. And they are back in Portland (9/5, 8:30PM) for the first time since PICA’s TBA:05, the same year the band won the coveted Mercury Prize. In concert with the Oregon Symphony this will surely be a special evening to see one of the great independent voices of our time. This is the band’s only North American performance during the month of September before they leave for Milan and just prior to the release of their new EP, Another World, on Secretly Canadian (10/7). Also out soon is Bjork’s (*) latest single (a duet w/Hegarty), The Dull Flame of Desire, (9/29) with several remixes in the works (Modeselektor, Mark “Spike” Stent)!

I’ve been a fan since their Durtro days when they performed concerts with Current 93 and friends. I got my ticket last week, you may want to grab one while they last ($20-75, or included w/Patron Pass). This event will be quite a sneak peek, and a wowzer opener to all things TBA!

* If you’ve never experienced the unofficial Bjork remix site, it’s a must.

There is a hot wind blowing, it moves across the oceans and into every port. A plague. A black plague. There’s danger everywhere. And you’ve been sailing. And you’re all alone on an island now, tuning in. Did you think this was the way your world would end? Hombres. Sailors. Comrades.

There is no pure land now. No safe place. And we stand here on the pier, watching you drown. Love among the sailors. Love among the sailors. There is a hot wind blowing. Plague drifts across the oceans. And if this is the work of an angry god I want to look into his angry face. There is no pure land now. No safe place. Come with us into the mountains. Hombres. Sailors. Comrades.

©1994, Laurie Anderson

In my opinion, one of the most exciting and original pop bands of the last three decades, The B-52’s just keep it froogin’. To be a fan since about “1980″ (when you couldn’t go to a party without hearing this one) and to only now discover this video gem is sublime. Bless YouTube!

The new(ish) disc Funplex kicks it with a fresh Summertime spin. Songs like Hot Corner, Pump and the title track are pure bliss! (not so sure about the back-up dancers…)