Exit Through the Whoopie Cushion

I recently saw the Banksy film, "Exit Through The Gift Shop." A thought-provoking film, which left me wondering if it were a documentary, satire, or a clever prank. Given that Banksy is involved, I have to think the answer is "D," all of the above. The anti-hero of the film, a weird little Frenchman called Thierry Guerra, is also a subject of speculation. Did he really think that following artists around for 10 years gave him license to become an artist himself? Did he actually create any of the art in his monumentally vainglorious debut show? Does Thierry Guerra (aka Mr Brainwash, or MBW) even exist?

I've done a bit of intersnooping, and have come to the conclusion that, while Thierry Guerra is a real person, and really did film ten years of street artists, "Mr Brainwash" is a prank conceived by Banksy. In this article from 2008, there is a rather long comment from a guy named Juan Rodriguez, who was on site during the installation of MBW's big LA debut. He mentions rarely seeing MBW creating any art, and that very few crew members spent more than one day there during the entire install. However, there was one person there every day, who painted, screen-printed, and tagged constantly. His name was Roman Lefeburte. In Banksy's Wikipedia entry, there is speculation that his real name is Robert, Robden, Robin Gunningham or Robin Banks. Robert/Robden/Robin or Roman? Coincidence? I think not.

How I Started Worrying and Learned to Loathe Oil

Last week, there was a group of protesters at the Arco gas station across the street from my house. The were urging the boycott of BP and it's subsidiaries, Arco being one. Problem is, there's a gas station around the corner, and another directly across the street. The oil spill that is replacing the Gulf of Mexico could have been caused by the parent companies of either of those stations, and surely the same vitriol would be spewed towards any company that was in the same situation. Blaming BP is not the answer- a systematic and fundamental shift in the lifestyles of every person in every Post Industrial country in the world is.

Weaning the planet off of oil will not be easy, or fast, or easily distillable (I made that word up) into 30 second soundbites to insure politicians can keep their jobs. On the other hand, JFK asked congress to put a man on the moon in '61, and 8 years later, Neil Armstrong was setting up Alan Shepard's lunar putt-putt course. Unfortunately, the pragmatism of the 60's has been replaced by 21st century duelism (made that one up, too). In our society, no one can say anything without someone else calling that person an idiot and starting a Facebook page, "One million strong against that one thing that somebody said which I don't actually know anything about but since (insert left or right wing mouthpiece) says it won't work I believe it." So, just like Live Strong bracelets, Obama's presidential campaign, and the concept that people pay attention to Lady Gaga because of her "music," change will have to start from the bottom up. But, how?

As I was considering the futility of protesting a gas station, I thought about my family in middle America. It takes half an hour to walk from their house to anywhere that isn't another house. Living as I do, in an urban city, it's easy to not rely on a car, but for them, it's not possible. Another thing to worry about is the city planning, infrastructure, and business that is based on having a car. Mass transit and bicycles are also not viable options for families, the elderly, and infirm. What we need, is to build a better engine. In about a hundred years, communication has gone from telegraphs to iPhones, but in about the same time, the automobile engine has gone from the combustible engine, to... the combustible engine.

...And We're Back With This Weekend's Box Office

First off, I don't care how long it's been, I don't want to hear it. OK?

I was just reading the estimated box office receipts for this weekend in the NY Times, and was taken aback by the lackadaisical phrase, " In third place was "Date Night (Fox), with only $7.6 million."

Only.

I don't know about anyone else, but I can't imagine putting the word "only" in front of 7.6 million dollars. I get an unemployment check of 7.1 hundred dollars and get a little giddy- 7.6 MILLION AMERICAN DOLLARS IS NOT "ONLY."

Let's go a step further: "Date Night," after four weeks of release, has taken in $73.6 million. Where does that money go? The studio fronts the money to make the movie, so everyone from Tina Fey to the caterers has been paid months ago. So, the studio recoups it's investment, and then builds schools for underprivileged children in Darfur, right? OK, maybe not- but with a movie like "Avatar," which made 2.something BILLION dollars, I want to hear that something is being done with at least a little bit of that money that has nothing to do with any individual or corporate account.

I've had this pipe dream for years, that Hollywood would take a cue from the music industry and make a "We Are the World" style movie. The biggest actors, directors, producers, writers, cinematographers, FX houses, etcetera, would donate their efforts into making an epic film, with all the proceeds going to various charities, causes and relief efforts around the world. I admit to being a bit of a romantic, but how cool would it be to watch a movie that was literally saving the world?

If only a little bit.

Kool Aid in the Cult of Personality

Hugh Grant, Bill Clinton, Eddie Murphy, Britney Spears, Michael Jackson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Christian Bale, Kobe Bryant, John Edwards, George Michael, Pitt & Jolie, Rihanna, Magic Johnson, Gary Hart, Charlie Sheen, Whitney Houston, Robert Downey Jr, and now Tiger Woods.

The list goes on and on and on. Not everyone on this list has acheicved the same level of scorn and/or righteous indignance of the masses, but this list still will continue in perpetuity, and five minutes later, no one will care. Right now, we're in the middle of a traffic jam, rubbernecking at a celebrity car wreck with Tiger Woods at the wheel. He can hit a little ball with a stick really well- is that any reason to hold him to a higher standard than any of the people I know that sleep around just as much? Since when did fame equal heroism? We no longer live in a culture that provides heroes for the masses to worship, only idols to be ogled. When those idols prove to be no more beatific than everyone else, they are torn down and either repaired or replaced, for no better reason than "yes, we can."

Behind the Music

Last night, I made the trek out to Oakland (which has become an almost weekly thing) and went to my new favorite venue, the Fox Theatre. Last month, I had the pleasure of seeing Sonic Youth there, and found the place to be pretty damn decent. Quality, even, as they say inland. The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs were performing, and having heard good things about their live show, I had reasonable expectations. It's a funny thing, because I usually have no expectations. People tend to think that as a musician, I always want to go see live music, check out bands I've never heard of, and just generally hang out in the scene.

Nothing could be further from the truth. When I go to show, it tends to be work. Not that I have an agenda, but I can't help analyzing everything that happens from how efficient the tech crew is, to the lighting, stage presence, the flow of the setlist, audience reaction... How long do they wait between songs? Is the FOH actually paying attention? How would I do things different? It isn't easy to sit (stand) back and have a good time with a constant commentary in my head.

There were two openers: the first was totally forgettable ironic indie hipster noise that annoyed me for the entire twenty minutes I had to slog through. Next came a band that I'd recently read about in the Guardian. I probably read about three sentences before deciding that it was some sort of detached satirical tripe that writers working for independent weekly newspapers take for cool, and I find to be a steaming pile of koala crap, air-lifted fresh from down under.

I was right.

There's a quote from author John Lawton, who said the "irony of the information age is that it has given respectability to uninformed opinion." Well, modern technology has given respectability to the bedroom producers who shouldn't have gotten out the front door. Of course people should be able to pursue any hobby they like, but there is a sharp, clear line between hobby and career. Anybody who is computer saavy and not completely tone deaf can program something that sounds like music, and then can jump around pretending to sing to it. Those people are free to do it all they want, but I prefer they don't ask me to be around when it happens.

Enough about all that. My whole point of writing this post is to proclaim that Karen O has the potential to become the biggest star of her generation. When I watch a show, I pay attention to everything (see above), and it is truly rare to see someone play a crowd the way she does, and clearly enjoy it. It was obvious from the start that it was her show, that no matter what went into making the music, she was the focal point on stage. It was rock and roll at it's finest- majestic, dirty, grandiose, and in your face. My fear over the years has been that MTV would ruin the live show. That bands would either try to recreate their videos to the point that there would be no point in paying to see it done up close and personal, or the other extreme- they eschew any artifice and just stand there in t-shirts, staring sullenly and looking like they want to be anywhere other than on stage. Karen O struck the perfect balance, knowing that some things that happen on stage are stupid, but people pay to see SHOWS as opposed to performances.

Stunday, July 12, 2009

I guess one could say that my uncle M was the gray sheep of the family. He wasn't the Crazy Uncle, or the Uncle In Jail, he just had bigger horizons than Louisville. Growing up, relatives would talk about how I seemed to take after him. How I would probably just up and leave when I grew up, just like M. I had always wanted to meet him, then one day out of the blue, he'd moved back to KY, gotten my number, and called me in SF. We talked for two hours. He told me about touring Europe, playing with Al Green, living the free life of an Artist. He'd returned after 20 some odd years with absolutely nothing to show for what he'd accomplished in life, and wouldn't have changed a thing. He told me not to let anyone tell me how to live, because anyone who isn't driven by the passions we share, won't understand. A couple years later, we finally met. There wasn't much talking this time, we just went into his studio and played for a couple hours. It was rough, sloppy, even cheesy at times, but there was more communication going on than anyone else who was watching would know. I'm glad we got to meet that one time. There won't be another, because my uncle died Saturday night.

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Being the fan that I am of balance, there was a flip side to the loss of a kindred spirit. You, faithful reader, may remember R, the woman with whom I share a bond so strong that we allowed each other to live our passions separately, rather than compromise ourselves to be together. I haven't seen her in 11 years, or spoken to her in 6, and not for want of trying. Well, thanks to the addictive miracle of Facebook, I saw a picture of her, taken less than a week ago. Seeing that picture, and feeling what I felt- I truly understand love. Not the lusty giddiness of romance, not the dizzy, whirling dervish of a crush, not even the Emily Bronte thumping chest of unrequited love, but embracing the simple thought of another as the most important thing in the world. The problem with this, is that someday, somewhere, someone is going to read this, and think that she will have to compare. I have no illusions here; R has been happily married with a daughter for most of this decade. This is the totally selfless love that has nothing to do with attraction or even emotional attachment. It's what Rilke was talking about, the ultimate, perhaps that for which human lives are as yet barely large enough.

The United States in America

I used to live on Dolores Street in a flat that had been rented by the same woman for 50 years. She grew up in Colombia, and came to the States in her 20's. We were talking one day, and she asked me what country I was from. When I told her I was American, she told me that she's American too, America is more than the United States.

I'm not big on holidays in general. For most of my adult life, I've been ambivalent about Independence Day, but after living in the Mission for 3 years, I had come to actively dislike it, and now, it actually scares me a little. The active dislike is because I live far enough from gang territory to not worry about it, but close enough that I hear "fireworks" year round. Nerve wracking.

Now here's the scary thing that I realized this weekend: this is a holiday to celebrate the psychotic, sociopathic, and immature nature of government. The idea that were the government a person, it would be institutionalized for life is lifted part and parcel from The Illuminatus Trilogy. I'm not just referring to the US government, in fact, I'm thinking of North Korea, Iran, The Xinjiang province in China, Honduras, Mexico, Darfur...

Anyway, when we have problems with other people, we're supposed to talk them out (at least that's what my parents taught me). Use logic, philosophy, humor, whatever is best in diffusing the situation. The governmental notion of humor is, "do what we say or we will execute you." (A Chinese official really did threaten execution to anyone who dared to protest). For logic: "We don't think you are right , and if you don't agree, we'll kick you out and not listen to you (see Honduras). You get the idea; the point is, every July 4th, we celebrate the fact that our government has been kicking other governments in the nuts and stealing their lunch money for two-hundred thirty-whatever years. Pretty sad, if you ask me.