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02/24/15 4:14pm
02/24/2015 4:14 PM |

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Hello again friends, welcome to another cold ass week in hell. You think there’s an end in sight to Old Dude Winter’s icy grip around your numbed extremities? Sorry, nope. At least not for the foreseeable future. But if you’re nothing but a whippersnapper now and still planning to live a good long life–first of all, good luck with that. But secondly chill out on this deep freeze, relatively speaking it’s only temporary. Hope you caught that New York City Panel on Climate Change report that dropped like a bomb (rather bombogenesis, remember that scare?) earlier this week, because you’re gonna need it. The report detailed that chya, just as we suspected before the Big Freeze of 2k15, things are about to start heating up. Which means that, despite the spew coming from climate “experts” trying to tell you otherwise, it’s getting hot in here. End times y’all, boom. Time to boogie. (more…)

02/17/15 3:33pm
02/17/2015 3:33 PM |

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The last thing you want to hear right now is another person kvetching about the shit weather. Yeah it’s horrible out–venues are freezing right now, beers turn to slushies before you can sip em, and everyone can see you’ve been crying because your tears turn to icicles before you even have a chance to wipe them off your face. Woe is everyone, y’all!

Best way to stop feeling terrible in this final stretch of winter–seriously, just blink and when you open your eyes, you’ll be paper bagging it at Prospect Park, eating tacos on the curb, and frolicking out at Fort Tilden–is to warm yourself by the fire of these rad performances. I don’t know if you’ve heard of live music or remember what life was like before Spotify, but we’re here to inform you of one of the few real joys earned from subjecting yourself to the painful daily drudgery of living in money city: the long list of great shows happening in your own backyard. (more…)

02/11/15 8:51am
02/11/2015 8:51 AM |

With a mix of unwavering candor and airs of utter silence—save for the spare audibilities of bodies merging with and within one another—Susan Silas photographs coital acts both as they are, on a most personal level, and as they change, indeed mature over time. Pamela Butler, blending notes of rambunctious humor with frank socio-political commentary across a full range of media, emphasizes the complicated virtues of certain aspects of gender identities while underscoring, at the same time, their inherent absurdities. Ventiko employs multiplied selves, fleshy sprawls and the atmospheric mystique of baroque lighting to create dramatic, at times diabolically operatic photographic tableaux of erotically charged pilings of carnality lost somewhere in the rich draperies of atemporal art histories. Rebecca Goyette, in her videos, sculptures and audience-inclusive performances, eschews subtleties and comfort zones altogether in favor of riotously rite-like send-ups of amorous relations in which merely blatant erotica—at times featuring lobsters—becomes the costumed revelry of sexed-up chaotica.

Clearly, sex and gender are fundamental themes in these artists’ creative practices. Their treatments of the same, however, are far from facile. We went right to the sources for the how and the why of all that, and to find out where we can see works by these artists in the coming months.

love in the ruins;  sex over 50  (image 0230) by Susan Silas

Susan Silas

I have been asked if my images are erotic. How can I know if they are erotic for anyone else? I have been asked if my images are pornography. For me, pornography is defined by how an image is used and not by what it depicts. In the Christian tradition, ecstasy is closely associated with death. If ecstasy is a moment of lost consciousness or absence from one’s self, or if full self-presence and absence are difficult to tease apart, then in photography, it is presence before light captured on film that creates the image of the absent subject in the document of their presence in the photograph. love in the ruins: sex over 50 represents a part of my overall preoccupation with the singularity, fragility and finitude of sentient being. My work, THE SPECIMEN DRAWER, will be on exhibit at the University of Miami CAS Gallery in March, 2015. Please also see www.susansilas.com.

 


 

Three Figures by Pamela Butler

Pamela Butler

I see my work not as a direct investigation of sex and gender, but of the relationship of sex and gender to the overall dynamic of how an individual finds agency in the world. I seek out images that expose myths that lurk below our conscious awareness, governing much of our understandings of sex, gender and, beyond that, of cultural hierarchy, agency, and power dynamics. My work is currently focused on sexualized iconic females from the canon of modern western painting, and on how these images play into our overall cultural myth-making and how these myths affect me as a female painter in this tradition. In April I’ll be in a group show curated by Larry Walczak at Schema Projects, in Bushwick. My Good Girl Book is for sale at Printed Matter, Blonde Art Books and online. And there are lots of images and info on my website, pambutlerart.com.

 


 

Goyette as Lobsta Blue in “Masshole Love”

Rebecca Goyette

Artists have always created depictions of sex. Sex is the most fundamental human interaction, yet the sexual image in art is taboo and controversial. I make direct sexual imagery; my costumed porn videos, erotic sculptural objects, and paintings purposely play their sexual hand on first read. But creating these works necessitates negotiation with intimacy, boundaries and trust between myself and my co-conspirators as we push ourselves and the audience’s comfort zone. The inner layers of my works deal with positive/negative emotions that come up from the sex act: ecstasy, self-love, love of the “other,” shyness/bravado, vulnerability/power, and alienation. I do this to tackle our implicit puritanism—to connect with and include our human nature in the conversation of art. I show my work at Freight & Volume Gallery in Chelsea, and I have a lot in the works for 2015. Look me up on www.rebogallery.com, Vimeo and Facebook for updates!

 


 

On Beauty, install/ performance shot by Ventiko

Ventiko

Modifications of behavior, thoughts, assumptions and expectations are most plausible in fabricated realities. I encourage removal of the day-to-day self by using a safe space (on set) to question possibilities of alternative selves through the manipulation of the human body, the use of personas, and the exploitation of both sexuality and sensuality. To further explore this last year (at Select Fair, during Art Basel in Miami), I produced a 28-foot site-specific installation and live photographic spectacle featuring a Real Doll, nudes and live peacocks, titled On Beauty. It was indeed disheartening that most audience reactions reinforced current social constructs of gender and femininity. The resulting images will be unveiled this year during Sanctum Sanctorum, a pop up residency this spring in NYC. I will have more exhibitions, but I’m most excited about my new partnership with Mariposa Foundation for Girls in the Dominican Republic, whose goal is to actively end generational poverty, alter traditional gender roles and reform practices involving child-brides.

 
You can follow Paul D’Agostino on Twitter @postuccio

02/11/15 8:40am

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You might be surprised to learn that speed dating still exists–and not just in limbo somewhere between Missouri, middle management, and web 1.0. In fact, speed dating is still an option for singles right here in our Tinder-addicted metropolis. And lest you think I’m referring to some kind of ironic meet-up during which people put bags on their heads and rely solely on conversation and olfactory senses to determine if doinking is in their immediate future, rest assured, straight-up, no gimmicks speed dating is still alive and well in old New York.

Speed dating was first developed in the late 90s by a Los Angeles-based Rabbi named Yaacov Deyo in order to help busy Jewish singles meet marriage material in record time. The system might seem a little outdated now, and for good reason—who needs face-to-face meet-ups when there’s an app for that? But back at the turn of the century, word got out, trend pieces were penned, and speed dating became a full-blown phenomenon. It’s kind of hard to wrap your mind around in the age of meeting over the internet, but speed dating was once considered a somewhat impersonal form of courtship, something for reluctant people pressed for time.

Now, of course, speed dating feels supremely sluggish in comparison to dating apps. How do I know this? From experience, like, last week’s experience: I attended an event organized by New York Minute Dating.

The process basically entails a series of brief, five-to-ten minute, two-way interviews with a slew of completely random people. I knew time was up when organizers ran a bell. And while generally the conversations were awkward but polite, a few seasoned participants asked “clever” questions. They were not shy about their alumni status.

One of my partners asked me if I’d heard of the psychologist Arthur Aron’s 36 questions that supposedly make you fall in love with anyone. I lied and said, no, I had not. He switched gears and asked the name of the last movie that made me cry, I admitted that a recent episode of Girls was so terrible that I felt like crying. I turned the tables on him: Police Academy II was his answer. So, you know, these conversations can be quite entertaining.

But things started out weird. I was the first to arrive–which was already an unusual thing for me–at a really rather awful dive in the East Village. The drinks were pricey, the crowd… scary, and the place smelled like piss and looked like a well-worn horse stable: ground-down wood, dark and dank, lit only by the glow of sports games and Bud Light beer signs. I could only bring myself to speak in a whisper to the bartender when I asked where the “event” was happening; she pointed me to the poorly-lit and drafty back room.

The hookup corral was exceedingly lonely, silence was broken only by the whir of a space heater. “You’re here for speed dating?” asked one of the organizers, a tall guy with a New York Minute Dating T-shirt haphazardly throw over a button-down. “Yup,” I nodded.

He did a double take: “Really? Are you sure? Speed dating?”

I sat down in a large leather booth awkwardly lit by red and blue spotlights and awaited my inevitable fate. What the hell was I doing in this shame-hole? As a few other women sat down, the guy who had checked me in walked to a mic stand in the center of the room and started reading off instructions, dropping a few terrible jokes in between.

“We’ve been doing this since the 90s,” he said. “Things were way different then. No one had cell phones.” He singled me out: “You, you wouldn’t have had a cell phone. So what would you be doing right now? Playing with a Rubik’s cube?”

No, sir; I wouldn’t have been playing with a Rubik’s cube. If I’d been here in the 90s, I likely would have been pooping in my diaper.

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I actually started to get nervous. My Budweiser was almost gone and I was out of cash. Generally, I enjoy talking to strangers, but the prospect of jamming into a booth with total randoms and having to deflect pick-up lines while completely sober was starting to freak me out.

But maybe I’ve just grown used to the initial anonymity and relative distance offered by dating apps? Maybe I should try something out of my comfort zone? In what other circumstance would I feel so vulnerable? This was so public, so… real. And it would just be for five minutes at a time. How is that suddenly an eternity? I could do this.

I’m not even a regular user of dating apps. In fact, I’m just a sick weirdo who flips through profiles when I’m bored, with absolutely no intention of meeting up with people. But I can empathize with the staunchest critics of Tinder et al, who point to the encroachment of a Silicone Valley-ethos into our romantic relationships and sex lives, which reads something like: The goal is to manage one’s time efficiently so as to maximize work output for the corporate monsters we devote nearly all our waking hours to already. Why risk wasting time at a bar scoping out potential hookups when an app can eliminate all the variables that come between you and a person you consider attractive? You only need to have the smallest degree of mutual attraction and then you’re free to PM. Sex is within reach like never before.

And I have friends that swear by the convenience of Tinder while they trash OK Cupid for being a time-suck, a site to which many of these same people were once devotees. The rate at which dating aids become outmoded these days is nothing short of astounding. Call me a romantic, but when it comes to relationships, expediency seems counterintuitive. Doesn’t this sense of urgency, the quick swipe, go against what relationships and sex stand for: a welcome departure from the daily schlep, the opportunity to enjoy the closeness of another human being? Of course, dating apps can still help you arrive at these ends, but what are we missing in between if the means are so swift and calculated?

Back at the East Village bar, the room was suddenly packed with other women. All were dressed like the “young professionals” the organizers called for—attractive, prim, and fairly adept at hiding any nervousness. Though one girl sat in the shadows brushing her hair repeatedly and glancing over at me.

Another woman who sat down at the booth next to Brush Girl proved to be less reserved. “Would you like anything to drink?” one of the organizers asked her. “Get me a Bud Light and two shots of Fireball–chilled.” Brush girl looked up inquiringly. “Well, if we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do this,” the newcomer said.

Right on! I swilled the rest of my Budweiser and said fuck it.

After all the women were seated, the men began to file in toward the back of the room, sipping beers from plastic cups and milling about, unsure of themselves. The women stayed comfortably seated, shooting out last minute texts: “OMG WTF am I doing here?” “Wish me luck, everyone looks like a loser!” “This is going to be awful FML!”

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The bell rang and the guys rotated about the room, stopping at each table for five minutes of either incredibly stilted conversation, typical small talk, or surprisingly honest exchanges.

My first suitor, we’ll call him K, was incredibly nervous at first. His hands were shaking and he fell back immediately on a list of painful questions he’d obviously prepared in advance.

“What do you do for fun?”

Wow. What do I do for fun, I wondered. I quickly made something up about going to shows a bunch, which I do occasionally but not enough, right? I just conveyed my ideal self, the person that goes to shows three times a week because she’d rather spend her money on supporting local music and touring bands than piss it away on beer and over-priced Negronis.

But apparently K bought it, because he immediately became more relaxed. We had something in common. Turns out K is a DJ and rapper. We talked about shows, the music industry, a record deal he almost had. But while K was defending his poetic integrity as a “lyricist,” the bell rang. He finished his sentence, we shook hands, and K moved on, even though he’d just been really starting to get somewhere.

What followed was a diverse stream of boy-men in finance, guys from New Jersey, a driver for National Grid living in Queens. And unlike the dating pool that pops up on my Tinder, these guys were a bit more of an accurate representation of New York City: one Ukrainian, a Pakistani guy, a very nice fellow from Kenya, and just a handful of white guys in the bunch. Our conversations were mostly enjoyable, but totally platonic. I wasn’t “hitting it off” with anyone. Have dating apps jaded me to the point where this seemed less like some elaborate courtship ritual than a middle school dance?

I then realized, disappointed with my own shallowness, that I would have definitely swiped 90 percent of these guys to the left had I seen them on Tinder. Being young professionals, and mostly polite, respectable people, none of them were exactly “my type.” However multiple studies have shown that our ideal type rarely matches up with who we date in reality.

Consider suitor B— he was probably one of the largest humans I’ve ever had the opportunity to shake hands with. He could have crushed me into oblivion without so much as a sneeze. But despite his intimidating physical presence, B turned out to be the most appealing suitor to me. Our conversation was so frank, so real, so free of bullshit. And it was only five minutes long. Sparks, amirite?

We talked about his work as a security guard, how being nice helps “diffuse the situation” and that being tough and mean probably never helped anyone. I know, I know. But he was being real. I could tell. B’s a chill guy, not much of a partier, he prefers to go out for a glass of wine and watch movies. B was a good listener, a good talker, and had a great sense of humor. In short, a total dreamboat.

But I’m going to be honest here—I deal exclusively in men who are about my size. It’s not a conscious decision, but things have only worked out with people that are within a few inches of me, height-wise. Otherwise, I might have proposed to B on the spot.

For a lot of these guys, whatever “flaw” inspired them to seek the help of a dating service as opposed to relying on the old fashioned pursuit of picking up broads at bars, parties, whatever, was immediately discernible. They were clearly either too busy, not conventionally attractive, not the most socially adept beings, or lived in places that are inhospitable to meeting interesting people (i.e. Jersey City). They weren’t the hippest bunch, and many of them were wary of app-based dating.

The benefit of speed dating is that it gives people a captive audience. Everyone had an opportunity to prevent that knee-jerk swipe, to make their IRL profile linger for just a little bit longer.

That’s not to say that every encounter I had was successful. Very first impressions aside, though, and each encounter for me was less about how someone looked, and more about what they said. For example, this guy D and I spent most of the five minutes discussing the lighting. It was dark and dingy, I said. He argued it was almost too bright, more so than last time at least.  “You don’t want to see someone in full light when you first meet them,” he said. “Brightness is for the second or third time you meet, not the first.” I laughed, he didn’t–that’s when I realized he was serious.

And while the five minute window can protect you from having to speak to anyone like this for too long, it doesn’t necessarily protect you from avoiding any “sensitive” topics (political, ideological, religious, etc.) that could be serious deal breakers. One guy, R, turned to politics in what was maybe record time for a date. He revealed what he thinks about Mayor Bloomberg (loves him) and how he misses him (a lot). It took every bone in my body to resist asking this delivery truck driver these questions: But what about Bloomberg’s outlandish fetish for billionaires? and what the fuck is up with his habit of drinking beer on ice?

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One big, weird problem was that the women were cordoned off at the event in a manner that felt so very 1950s. We were spread out, separated from one another, obligated to sit still, and lie in wait until the men approached us like so many bumbling weirdos. There was little opportunity for camaraderie or exchange amongst the women, but plenty for the men, something that resulted in pretty weird power dynamics.

But positioning aside, based on Tinder numbers, it was the men who were starting with a handicap. If the same selectiveness behavior of Tinder users is proportionate to that of speed daters, the men on average probably thought they were compatible with about half the women. While the women would have considered just 15 percent of the men worthy of a right swipe.

But in a way, speed dating is the anti-Tinder. While dating apps rely on users’ snap judgement of physical appearance, speed dating pushes beyond that. As obvious as it sounds, it’s the face-to-face interaction that changes everything. Sure you might eventually meet up with a match on Tinder, but there are several hoops to jump through way before that encounter. Making eye contact with a person, shaking their hand, hearing them nervously stumble, gauging their sense of humor, noticing them smile or frown, laugh or look confused–all of these hold remarkable clues as to whether or not you have any chemistry with another person. Maybe it’s only for five minutes, but that physical proximity is what makes the whole thing… human.

Dating apps give users time to prepare instant messages. Users could, and probably are scrolling through faces while they’re on the toilet, while they’re drunk and waiting for the bus–these are times of boredom, not excitement or nervousness. Selecting matches is done in your spare time, it’s not an event in itself.

On the flip side, speed dating and face-to-face interactions do leave a lot of room for forgiveness. People are more likely to be frank about rejecting someone behind the anonymous cloak of a Tinder account, or a text message to a stranger. But you also might be more likely to forgive what you perceive to be physical flaws when you vibe with someone in-person, and who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone attractive for reasons other than his or her appearance. 

02/10/15 5:24pm
02/10/2015 5:24 PM |
(Pawns Self-Titled 7")

So normally I’d be all like rah rah Valentine’s Day is for dweebs or something, but to be perfectly honest this year I’m feeling pretty #blessed about being free of romantic obligations. I can legit strip down to a pair of very unattractive underwear, crack a bag of Cooler Ranch, and spread out on my bedroom floor amongst an array of Crunchwraps (Supreme, BLT Slider, Spicy Chicken–the options they’ve got these days are truly mind-boggling) and like listen to records or something. I won’t be disappointing anyone except myself. (more…)

02/03/15 10:49pm
02/03/2015 10:49 PM |
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Wow guys, so I heard some of you actually subjected yourself to the Super Bowl and thus Katy Perry earlier this week. Personally, I’m ashamed. Even if you “just watched it for the ads,” like, gross– I’m still disappointed in you. Redeem thyself not with X number of Hail Marys, spellcasting, or prostration in front of candelabras, but by supporting what most humans would recognize as actual music. And, please, don’t think of this is as a chore, because this week there are two of us bringing you a bulletproof list of excellent music sound happenings.

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Our Top Pick For The Week, Yep

Young Gutted, Show Me The Body, Mannequin Pussy, Heeney

Saturday February 7th, 8 pm @ Shea Stadium, tickets: $8 advance, $10 at the door

If you can only make it to one show this week– first of all, I pity you because this is New York City, baby– but secondly, you won’t be disappointed if you pick this one.

Featuring Show Me The Body, a surprisingly acoustic sludge band led by apparent badasses who ain’t got time for “transplants” and are politically astute to boot. All proceeds are going to the National Lawyer’s Guild. Why on earth would anyone want to give money to lawyers, you might ask? Well these lawyers are chillers because they provide free legal representation for protestors.

Yung Gutted (aka Antonio Hernandez) will tickle the opposite side of your auditory cortex with his deep, rich bass-heavy R&B beats. The Brooklyn-based producer released his first beat tape just two years ago– it’s available on Bandcamp for whatever price you feel is fair but, like, be nice–  however he’s developed a pretty loyal following since then and has garnered the attention of big-deals like Ratking.

Joining the headliners are Mannequin Pussy, a Philly pussy punk outfit that is probably the most badass amongst the pack of pussy bands, and Heeney will bring home the good boy rock n’ roll. [ND]

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Yearn For The Mud

Wolvves, Aeon Rings, We Are Temporary, Skeleton Head

Friday February 6th, 8 pm @ Trans Pecos, tickets: $8 advance, $10 at the door

Do not dismiss these party garage punks for their adult transplant probz: “I’m going  home today/ I can’t think of what to say/ Coz my mom will see all my tattoos and I won’t know what to say.” Wolvves is so much more than that. Juvenile, perhaps, but who’s ever heard a good punk song replete with mature themes? Not me.

We’re not exactly sure what’s going on with the line up here, but lest we choose a slow death alone in the desert of NotCool, we won’t question the lovely people at Trans Pecos. I’m sure they knew what they were doing when the slapped a supremely cheesy goth band, Aeon Rings, on the bill along with another nostalgie de la boue-ish, ’80s outfit, Skeleton Head. Get this stuff while it’s hot because it won’t be around for long, we’re hoping. And that’s not necessarily because we don’t like it, we didn’t say that. It’s because we’ve got money on this. We’ve bet actual cash that this trend is nearing saturation. PM me if you wanna join the betting pool. [ND]

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Act Now, Seriously

Screaming Females, Priests, Tenement, Vacation

Sunday February 28th, 10:30 pm @ Knitting Factory, tickets: $15

Hey! Just because there are like ten million bands participating in the Don Giovanni Records Showcase this weekend does not mean figuring out which show to attend should hurt your brain. We’ve subjected ourselves to brain pain for you. That’s what we’re here for, K?

If it weren’t for recent developments, we might have regretted to inform you that our pick– Screaming Females, Priests, Tenement, Vacation on Sunday night– was sold out. Dang! But something truly amazing has transpired: they’ve added a second show! A later one! So seriously make quick like jack rabbit and get your tickets now. Yeah, yeah we know this show is a couple of weeks off, but trust– we’re doing you a favor by giving you a heads up. If you’re seriously impatient, you can check out what’s happening this weekend instead.

If you’ve been living under a boulder (Or maybe in Boulder? Sorry, Colorado sucks) then maybe you haven’t heard of Screaming Females. This fantastic trio writes catchy indie diddies vaguely recalling 90’s rock, but really by now they are kind of their own institution. Also, the band juuuuust released a new album on Don Giovanni, Rose Mountain, and this show is the official party for that achievement. Priests will bring their fist-pumping sassy punk anthems from D.C., Tenement contributes their Midwest pop punk tunes, and last but not least is Vacation out of the Great State of Ohio, the land of a thousand disgusting punk bands. [ND]

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Hopefully You Didn’t Sleep On This One

Parquet Courts, Future Punx, Eaters

Monday February 9th, 8 pm @ Palisades, tickets: SOLD OUT

Everyone is goo goo ga ga for Parquet Courts. Yeah, yeah they sound like Pavement blah, blah blah. But for reals, these guys put on a fun show. But we don’t have to tell you that, the fact that tickets usually sell out within a handful of minutes probably convinced you already. That’s why we’re hoping you were smart about this one and bought your tickets ahead of time, otherwise you’re plumb outta luck.

Joining The Parkays are their label mates Future Punx, another band with a bunch of good shows under their belts. They seriously tore shit down at Aviv several weeks back, amirite? And the addition of Eaters– experimental minimal electronic meets catchy rawk riffs– to the bill really just emphasizes the need to get to this show at all costs. [ND]

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New Ambience

Stage Hands, Tallesen, Jono Mi Lo, Middle Grey, Dean Cercone

Monday February 9th, 8 pm @ Silent Barn, tickets: $8 at the door

What happens when you combine soothing New Age vibes with a Netcentric outlook? This show, that’s what. You may remember our profile of Jono Milo over at Brooklyn Magazine– we spoke with the current artist-in-residence at Silent Barn about his experiments with algorithmic sampling. Chances are he’ll be breaking that program out at this show, and if you’re curious about what the hell he’s on to, we’re positive he’ll give you a rundown if you ask nicely.

Joining him is ambient act Stage Hands from um wtf where, Pennsylvania, and three local acts on a similar experimental electronic tip– Tallesen, Middle Grey, and Dean Cercone. [ND]

 

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Noize Boyz & Girlz

The Tinnitus Music Series with Vessel, Container and Noveller

Wednesday February 4, 8pm @ The Wick, tickets: $15

YAY. It’s that time again for the down right flawlessly curated Tinnitus Music Series (dedicated to the forefront of extreme noise). Thanks to Blackened Music and Pitchfork’s Show No Mercy we are reminded of at least one reason we continue to live in New York. This week’s pairing of Vessel and Container is about exploring the stomping grounds between techno and noise. Both projects make incredibly human rhythms by pushing their instruments to lumber, crack, and pound forward.

Container’s Ren Scholfield leads you around in ferocious patterns that never settle anywhere long enough for you to stop moving. Sebastian Gainsborough (aka Vessel) comes out of the Bristol techno scene, but has baffled categorization with wandering melodies and grinding drums. Opening act Noveller may not be as pummeling as her bill mates, but the soundscape she builds will sharpen your senses and transport you to a celestial atmosphere, right before you dance your ass off. [Sarah Lutkenhaus]

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Forget It’s Winter

Human Resources, Train Trash, Plebian, Negative Gemini

Saturday February 7th,  9pm @ Bohemian Grove, tickets: $ a few

Jeremy Krinsley, member of Alan Watts, also plays solo as Human Resources. He’s been on the low as of late but for good reason– Krinsley is at work on a new Human Resources release for Godmode, which will be out sometime this year, hopefully soon. His last solo release, Oxyc Woody II (2012), is a collage of sweeping cinematic sounds and fractured melodies which are endlessly listenable. Building on the vocabulary of his previous releases, we can expect something at once modern and nostalgic. You can come see what he’s been up to in this tropical basement, and all but forget that it’s winter. Additionally, Train Trash has spent years hoarding gear and learning to make it work together in unlikely ways. The set will undoubtedly take you through many different dimensions. [Sarah Lutkenhaus]

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Come Get Lost

Hubble, Nick Klein, die Reihe

Sunday February 8th, 9 pm @ Silent Barn, tickets: $8

This is truly a night to indulge in sound. Ben Greenberg (Pygmy Shrews, Zs, The Men, Uniform) is the kind of guy you want to strangle and say:“STOP doing so many awesome things!” Of course, then you would be deprived of a lot of awesome things, so instead we get to  wait and see what he’s gonna do next.

Hubble is the culmination of Greenberg playing guitar for hours upon hours on his roof in the summers. He summons a flood of tones and patterns by tapping his guitar at light speed. This time he is even one-upping himself with a 1-2 hour-long piece with quadraphonic sound. Hear it, and believe.

Nick Klein, too, are you kidding me? So good! His music manages to create rhythmic pulses that are urban and simultaneously isolating. He bends the notes to the edge of comfort and has mastered the use of silence to build tension. Not to be missed. Die Reihe should more than satisfy your appetite for modular synth exploration and insane sounds. [Sarah Lutkenhaus]

Nicole Disser is tweetin’ away on Twitter @mlledisser

01/27/15 8:12pm
01/27/2015 8:12 PM |

bigmuff

Hi, not sure if you’ve heard, but a blizzard happened this week. Doomsday prophecies aside, it’s actually been a pretty chill affair. We have no clue what you’ve been up to, but we’ve spent most of the day lounging horizontal on the couch listening to reggae and sipping Modelos. While working of course! But we’re well aware you can’t get away with living the island life all week long, so when you’re ready to strap on your snow booties and mush out onto the frozen hell-tundra our beloved borough has become, you know where to go. (more…)

01/08/15 4:27pm
by |
01/08/2015 4:27 PM |

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Well, we see you’ve survived the holidays, not to mention the first week back to work; that calls for some celebration. We’re not even really sure how we survived. (Side note: When your extended family asks what you “do for fun,” like, don’t even bother.) But somehow, we made it through, and now, we’re back to another good-ole fog-filled sleepless weekend in Brooklyn. Home is where the fog is, right? This weekend, we have the Long Count/ Minimal Wave behemoth party with techno royalty Silent Servant on Friday, then another big (well, not Silent Servant big, but decently large) secret-location party Saturday with another heavy dose of techno for your soul. Plus lots of other smaller stuff to keep you grooving/convulsing/dancing/whatever all weekend. Welcome home.

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01/07/15 6:03pm
01/07/2015 6:03 PM |
sontag

 

Another year, another pile of reading to get through, amirite? Welcome to 2015, where there’s a big fresh helping of literary events for all you booky people to head to. This week’s line-up includes the launch of Electric Literature’s new online magazine for short, weird fiction, a benefit party for BOMB magazine, and the monthly return of our beloved Franklin Park Reading Series featuring National Book Award winner Phil Klay. Dig in!

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