prurient at public assembly, 6/17/2011

Okay, so Dominick kept his shirt (his leather jacket) on after two years away. But thankfully, last Friday's show proved that his time in the increasingly annoying Cold Cave hasn't softened him too much. Wes Eisold's presence actually helped (note: I'm still not fond of him in any capacity) -- his relatively straightforward, logical playing and pop sensibilities made him a good foil to Fernow's more primal moments. Also, listen to "A Meal Can Be Made" off the upcoming/sorta already here if you still have a cassette player Bermuda Drain. What happened? It's pretty shiny. Borderline music. Is it a dance jam? IT IS A DANCE JAM. In theory.

Iceage, who were on right before Prurient, were good -- I just didn't get to experience anything because I kept getting pushed to the back of the room, and while New Brigade is a killer record, their live performance is still a bit hardcore by-the-numbers. It wasn't a letdown necessarily, just not the mindblowing performance hype (and photos of the bloodied lead singer) had led me to believe.

radio waves have life: omd at terminal 5

concert photos courtesy of kevin bendis
I've never been able to properly answer any question about favorite bands or songs. There's a cluster of about ten bands that have near-equal importance to me; even when you narrow it down to one artist, I'll go down the line of albums and choose at least three songs from each. I'm either indecisive or very, very generous with my love.

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark -- as a combat to all the cheesy reviews of this tour using the "OMD? OMG!" pun, I almost want to write the name out every time in stubborn protest -- was just one band in that cluster. If I were to take on a feature akin to the AV Club's Permanent Records, I could effectively gush about any of the first four albums. (Forced to choose, it'd probably be Dazzle Ships, given the greater context of what led up to it, musique concrete experimentation unlike anything of its time, what it left in its wake for both the band and the industry at large, and the best case of revisionist history ever.)

Then, as mentioned a couple posts below, I had the opportunity to interview Andy McCluskey in anticipation of OMD's first North American tour in 23 years. You can -- and OUGHT to -- read that here. Even through the phone, I could tell that he was one of the nicest people I've ever interviewed; humorously self-aware of his band's reputation, but not in a way that's bitter or insecure. When the subject turned to the then-upcoming gig at Terminal 5, all Andy could tell me was that it was going to be back to basics, mostly due to long-distance tourbus travel and the difficulty of getting fancy equipment around. "This is pure, pure and simple: 'Hi, it's us. It's you. It's our songs. We don't have our projectors and our screens and our lights, it's straightforward. This is what you get, this is what you see.'"


I couldn't hazard a guess what the set list would be; I'd decided not to spoil myself at all by looking at previous gig reviews, and I doubted that the European song choices would have any bearing on the American audience's reception. Indeed, both Andy and Paul told me after the gig that they really weren't sure which songs to choose, which is why for some people -- self included -- it was a bit heavy on the pop side. (For the record, I fucking love "Tesla Girls" and "Dreaming." Considering I have no fond prom memories of it, I'm not too keen on "If You Leave.") It was hard for the band to gauge audience expectations, and Andy admitted on stage that they "might be playing it safe."

That's not to say it was a safe show at all. It's been 23 years since they've been here, they're older and grayer, but this is not a nostalgia tour. The smattering of songs played from History of Modern fit in seamlessly -- even though, after finishing "New Babies: New Toys" to somewhat confused applause, Andy looked out onto the audience and joked, "You look SUPERBLY terrified that we opened with a new song!" ...before promptly diving straight into "Messages," "Tesla Girls" and to my great joy, "Radio Waves." Even before they'd introduced it as "one for the aficionados," I started cheering at the very first two seconds -- instantly recognizable plinky-plonky whirring for you.


My one regret is that I didn't take any sort of video during "Maid of Orleans." Mark my words, throughout what Andy referred to as a "two-shirt gig" due to sweat and heat, he fully proved that he's still got all the flailing, spastic substitute teacher dance moves that would make all white men proud. A few songs earlier in the set, after putting his bass down -- the "good news" -- he announced he would start dancing very badly -- the "bad news." The sold-out crowd was ordered to do the same. "You will be ejected if you don't dance."

All joking aside, it was the highlight of a damn near flawless evening; every time the drums kicked in, the white lights flashed, and Andy let out a mini epileptic fit, I think every heart in the 3000-person audience skipped a beat.

"Enola Gay" bittersweetly signaled the end of an amazing 95-minute set (the same feeling echoed in the encore with "Electricity"), by which point I was looking down on a wall-to-wall sea of heads from the VIP balcony -- did I mention that I thank the MuseBox PR from the bottom of my heart? -- and I was in awe that this was really happening. There was so much fun emanating from that stage; they're clearly enjoying playing together as this lineup again, and the camaraderie between Andy and Paul (goofing off during "Locomotion" especially) hopefully proves that they're in it once again for the long haul. I was wired and shaking -- partly because Terminal 5 FINALLY got its sound system on point and the bass was fucking killer, and partly because I knew I'd be meeting two musical heroes in no time at all.



In a rather stupid move, I hadn't realized that there's a protective film on the back of the iPhone 4 as well...and only just took it off (finally, an answer to the question, "isn't this SUPPOSED to take awesome photos? Why is everything blurry?" Technofear). Hence, the photos have a strange blue tint from the flash, but at least with a bit of tweaking you can make out our faces! Andy, on his third shirt and a G&T, was jovial and friendly as ever; Paul was a bit more reserved (but all too happy to talk about a new Claudia Brücken record), but both were quite patient with the numerous requests for old songs thrown at them! (I put in my vote for "The New Stone Age," which is a very likely possibility, and "Red Frame/White Light." There was a lot of call for "Telegraph," but Andy said his voice couldn't quite reach that...squawking high register anymore. "Only if Paul did it with his balls in a vice grip," he deadpanned.) Thankfully, Andy and Paul wholeheartedly confirmed that they'd be back very soon, sooner than you think -- but mum's the word. Go to their website a lot.

Setlist:
Intro: History of Modern Pt II | New Babies: New Toys | Messages | Tesla Girls | Radio Waves | History of Modern Pt I | Forever Live and Die | If You Leave | Souvenir | Joan of Arc | Maid of Orleans | New Holy Ground | Green | Talking Loud and Clear | So In Love | Sister Marie Says | Locomotion | Dreaming | Sailing on the Seven Seas | Enola Gay
Encore:
Walking on the Milky Way | Electricity

one-week flashback! katie gallagher f/w 2011 BTS

renegade designer + intrepid girl reporter in a quite unflattering candid, photos throughout by corinne schiavone
Last Sunday, Milk Studios did not have their shit together. Capacity issues the night before, leading to crowded elevators and the fire marshall being called, made those in charge extraordinarily paranoid, and all designers showing on the 13th had to un-invite half of their guestlists and inform the rest that, due to tight capacity, their attendance might not be granted.

Katie Gallagher's people very begrudgingly (trust, none of her PR wanted to do it) sent out the email at around 5 PM, so a lot people, feeling fucked over, didn't want to bother with a fight. On the other hand, I was already (im)patiently waiting at Y-3--which was AMAZING and SO MUCH FUN and EVERYONE WORE BLACK and SANDPAPER FLOORS but COULDN'T SEE SHIT--and had planned to meet up with the lovely Corinne for dinner before the show. I wasn't about to shut both of us out.



(As an aside, could someone help me set up a decent cut/jump feature? I have loads of images I want to share, but it's getting to be really cluttered.) So the two of us, armed with excellent makeup, a giant camera, connections, and a touch of moxie, got to Milk at 6:45 for an eight-o'-clock show.


And so went "Gris-Gris," Katie Gallagher's presentation for F/W 2011. She said she was influenced by African voodoo; the titular gris-gris is in fact a magic amulet, “little leather sacs for spells. People would put little bones in there, nails, hair, different things.” That sort of witchy, pastoral influence was felt throughout the entire space, anchored by imposing monolith of wooden grids and crumpled black sculpture, almost like The Wicker Man in scope. The shock of sumptuous mustard yellow leather (can I HAVE the jacket posted above? Please?) went straight back to voodoo: “It’s kind of reminiscent of cornmeal,” Gallagher said. “These tribes would draw little sigils in cornmeal, and I found this really cool leather to match, it’s a really nice mustard. Plus, I wanted a little bit of color to go with the grey."


the opening runway pass, video by me
And let's talk tunes. Katie and her boyfriend, Nikolay, score the presentations to industrial perfection. Last season, it was Einstürzende Neubauten and Front 242 to set an intense, high-energy EBM mood for "Arena;" this season, it was all Death in June (you can hear the very opening strands of "The Only Good Neighbor" in the video posted above--remember when Prada used it too? Sorry, Douglas P.) and Coil (can anyone identify the song in the video? It's really bugging me, I KNOW I know what it is). Even better than sitting at a runway show and recognizing something in utter shock--like the Prodigy seemingly fucking everywhere this NYFW--this almost neurotically perfect blend of sight and sound is just what I like.

mishka nyc x psychic tv

How am I only now hearing about this? (Okay, the news hit the blog circuit only a week ago, but that's an eternity in fashion/post-industrial obsessive time.) Mishka NYC--the people who brought you that guide to GRAVE WAVE--are releasing a capsule collection designed in collaboration with Genesis Breyer P-Orridge, dedicated to Psychic TV.


After the soul-crushing news that Einstürzende Neubauten had cancelled their entire US tour (I still haven't quite gotten over that anger), and the even more devastating news of Peter Christopherson's passing in late November, PTV's show at Europa last December was just what I needed--complete with horror face paint, dirty spoken word, and some mindbending guitar solos. Genesis is truly a fascinating individual, one of the most important and inspirational artists/provocateurs/WRECKERS OF CIVILIZATION~*~ of the past century, leaving he/r impact on music, performance, transformative art, and gender politics irreversibly. (For the record, I'm also really looking forward to Marie Losier's The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye documentary, which hopefully will be hitting the festival circuit soon.)



I think I could rock the hat, if nothing else. Mishka's also put up a really thorough interview with Gen--more like a conversation, following the rather tangential, non-linear trajectory of he/r travels. My personal favorite part so far, with regards to the Myrtle-Wyckoff L stop in Ridgewood:

Do you find the hipster kids annoying?
Yeesss.

Call me self-hating.

martial canterel interview [prefixmag]

It's no secret that the comeback of coldwave and minimal synth has me full of glee--well, as much glee as is appropriate for the genre. Electronic music's always been a major passion of mine, from the Kraftwerk and early Ultravox my dad played me as a kid to the early-morning early days of Methods of Dance at Oberlin, and seeing people who've been plugging away at a dying, unfashionably icy genre (at the time: these were the days of electroclash, mind you) for ages finally come to blogger prominence is pretty awesome.

Say what you will about the "comeback" of "dark media:" say that witch house is bullshit and potentially racist/classist (yes, these are arguments about Salem and the appropriation of screwed music I've read online), say that it's a passing fashion (of course it is, and if a bunch of kids running around with plum lipstick and black hoods bothers you, reassess your priorities. Didn't they tell you that fashion hurts?), give it socioeconomic heft by correlating "grave wave" with the gloom of the recession, but one thing remains: a lot of these bands are really, really fucking good, and a lot of these musicians deserve it after years of playing basements or dive bars.

Credit goes to Minimal Wave Records for naming it and Wierd Records for...popularizing it, I guess. Relatively. Step outside of Brooklyn and no one really gives a shit--perhaps in other pockets of urban America, and perhaps further abroad in the genre's countries of origin, but its prominence and championship is really on the internet.

It's funny to have done these two interviews back-to-back for Prefix: first, Martial Canterel (aka Sean McBride, also of Xeno & Oaklander)--read HERE--who talked to me about the "coldwave renaissance" and its appeal today:

[T]he real attraction, and for me the paramount attraction, is the equipment itself. The last 20 years of electronic music have primarily involved emulating analog synthesis, speeding up and tidying up the process, "stabilizing,” of making a performance of this music akin to someone checking their email. The true materiality of this music is what really appeals, its truly electric nature, the vulnerability of the instruments, the synthesizer as an "instrument with a limit.” All these things purport a kind of humanness to electronic music; something we haven't seen widespread in many a decade.

...and currently, I'm wrapping up a feature interview with Andy McCluskey of OMD, who--in an unbelievably charming, self-deprecating, and fascinating way--waxed poetic on his own influences, why OMD saw it fit to come back now (he's noticed the tides turning in his band's fashion/direction too!), and assessed today's synth acts. I can't reveal all until it's published, but here's a gem of a quote: "Most other bands, if they want to make a comeback album, they just have to sound like themselves. But we had this abject dilemma: we used to be the future! What do old modernists do in the postmodern era? Discuss."


I have a lot to report still when it comes to Fashion Week: not seeing shit except Grace Coddington's flaming red hair at Y-3! Backstage at Katie Gallagher going on and on about how awesome Coil is! Front row at Parkchoonmoo! Sleeping through Rad Hourani! Meeting a really attractive male model from the Jeremy Scott show afterwards--and shaking hands with Kanye, and getting street ambushed--and playing with his gluey hair (all in the name of JOURNALISM)! But...priorities. Will keep them coming!

costume national / thomas engel hart

I'm not sure why I've blogged so much about menswear/men's fashion in the past. Perhaps it's because the things that piss me off about womenswear hit too close to home; even though women's fashion creates a better show and spectacle during Fashion Week, I can't help but think about how impossible half of the clothing is...not just that it's impractical, but it's designed with a narrow spectrum. It's what bothers me a tinge about Rad Hourani's unisex designs; it's not legitimately designed with all genders in mind, rather the sort of androgynous ectomorph that already has his/her pick of the litter for fashion.

So rather than post about pre-fall (which, let's be real, I have no fucking clue what pre-fall is, and it seems there are only two weeks in New York when such "transitional" clothing would work so why bother. It just seems like a supply/demand financial invention to me), I turn back to menswear. Truth be told, I haven't been paying much attention to Pitti Uomo F/W 2011 either. I probably won't until soundtrack lists come out and I discover that Riccardo Tisci used more coldwave or witch house or some nonsense.



costume national a/w 2011
Speaking of a music influence, apparently Ennio Capasa's mood board for Costume National included a photo of James Chance, whose no-wave jazz noise is a decent counterpart to CN's "rebel tailoring" theme.


He's definitely one of the most enduring figures of the NYC scene; the way he and the Contortions (or the Blacks, or when he was with Teenage Jesus and the Jerks) combined real improvisational funk skill with the squawking, punk-rock rhythms of the time--not to mention his penchant for serious concert beatdowns and a mean fist--has stood him in good fresh stead.

Costume National's collection is the only one that I've been really interested in thus far, and I think (for a high-fashion, high-sex label) the tailoring is decently analogous to Chance's music. Classically slim suiting is undone by raw edges, leather lapels, and heat-fused fabrics, and I have a real thing for turtlenecks and mod mohair sweaters. I don't know why; I was obsessed with CN's monochrome-blocked turtlenecks from A/W 2010, and do not get me STARTED on the perfection that was Jil Sander A/W 2008. I guess it's a New Wave, floppy-haired underachievers thing. Chelsea boots? Say no more.


thomas engel hart x underground
Well, actually, say more. As a designer, Thomas Engel Hart--a key figure in NYC's art/club scene in the nineties himself--has a flair for getting my not-so-well hidden punk screaming with joy. He's another who'd better move into womenswear, stat. I love it when designers play off youth cults; the aged cult members themselves (skinheads, mods, what have you) may not appreciate their teenage rebellion being co-opted by a consumer industry, but it looks damn good. TEH designed these boots in collaboration with Underground, pretty much the #1 winklepicker provider on the internet. They were available at Opening Ceremony, but tragically went out of stock before I could get my hands on a Men's size 9. (I have gigantic problem feet; the only sizes still available are the tiny men's sizes specially designed so women could order them from OC.) Mark my words though, they will be mine.

i must above all things love myself

Apologies for the lack of updates. There have been editorials I've wanted to post (Vogue Turkey, for the record, is REALLY rocking my shit), but, more to the point, some great news...

You'll shortly be seeing my writing on Prefix Mag too! I'm so excited to get back into music writing proper; as much as I adore fashion, I miss the music industry dearly. I miss knowing things (beyond my rather sudden addiction to The X Factor this season. Incidentally, how in the hell could they have booted Aiden? He was adorable and hopelessly awkward), and it just so happens that things are pretty darn good lately.

And in my new journey through the music blogosphere--yes, I did indeed just realize it's 2010 and has been that way for 11 months--the sudden success of Oberlin/WOBC peers Teengirl Fantasy confounds me. In a good way. You always hear about Oberlin's music scene and the bands it's spawned: Yeah Yeah Yeahs in a sense, Deerhoof, Tortoise, Liz Phair, etc. But you never quite think that the kids you see in a basement will go on to internet renown so quickly, nor do you expect to open your copy of Dazed & Confused and find them. 7AM is a really good album, although it's more evocative of 3 AM early morning/late night bad party decisions. Hazy, slowed-down house--is this considered chillwave? I damn well hope not--this song features Shannon Fuchness from Light Asylum (another great band) and is as psychedelic as the screengrab suggests. It could be that I've gotten back into early 90's acid house in a big way lately.

Basically, I like this decade. Finally. And what better way to celebrate my delayed 21st century arrival than with a man who's been kicking it since the 1970s?


nick cave, consummate badass motherfucker
Last night was Grinderman at Nokia--er, Best Buy--Theater, and what a show it was! Despite its really awful location in the heart of Times Square, it was a killer venue for the gig; not that it would have mattered, as Mr. Cave could command the attention of any and all concertgoers anywhere. A lot of friends skipped out on this one because they were underwhelmed by Grinderman's second album, and I don't blame them--many of the songs ran together, and the first half of the set was really just a cacophony of indiscernible blues. I was glad that the encore kicked off with the comparatively easier "Palace of Montezuma" to break up the loud monotony.

Again, is this really a bad thing? Not when it's Nick Cave, motherfucker. The man moves like a beast half his age, and the sweaty, sunken chest that peeked out from his unbuttoned shirt still has the power to make me swoon. Rock's greatest murderous, wayward-believer-preacher showman.


I'm also now the proud owner of a Grinderman mug.

holy money, holy love

This past Friday, my friend Maheen and I went to see Swans at the Brooklyn Masonic Temple. I'd heard a lot of insanely positive reviews about this tour, drawing on the sonic assault of the new incarnation's performance and Michael Gira's apparent...er, masturbation during the Montreal gig. (Thankfully, friends tell me he hid it behind his guitar. I guess he was as moved by hearing "Sex, God, Sex" as we all were.)


BMT has been host to a lot of intense shows, Throbbing Gristle and sunn o))) among them; it hasn't earned its reputation as "the loudest venue in NYC" for nothing. In my humble opinion, though, this was one of the most impressive, bone-crushing gigs they've ever had. It was a set heavy on material from Swans' latest album, My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky (incredible, FYI, and one of the best of the year), but it was quite the treat to hear "I Crawled" and other early songs. Quite frankly, for a show so powerful that it rocked your eardrums to the very center, it was actually quite beautiful, almost religious in its scope. Even though I was a wimp two-thirds of the way through and went up to the old-people balcony seats (even with heavy-duty ear plugs, being shoved against the amp at a Swans show is no picnic), staring down at a packed crowd of rapt, headbanging concertgoers was such an epic feeling. It was a definite treat to be at their first NYC show in 13 years.




Also worth mentioning: before the show, Maheen ran into opener Baby Dee in the restroom. She actually changed into a special, fuzzy dalmatian-print pair of pajamas for the concert. Afterwards, we took a brief trip downstairs to catch Sasha Grey, DJ JonBenet, and other folks spin some tunes at the after-party; the music they were playing was right up my street (I heard the Human League's "Being Boiled," for one), but the middle school dance vibe was not. As Meg so eloquently put it on my Tumblr, "a bunch of aging goths hangin’ around the basement like some sort of David Lynch bar mitzvah sponsored by Hot Topic." Indeed. We cut out pretty early.

Oh, and Steve Buscemi was there. Love Boardwalk Empire.

oh, canada

Well, gosh darn it, I'm terrible at updating. For good reasons, though: this past month, I got a day job (thank you oodles, Bloomingdale's!), met Stacey Bendet of Alice + Olivia (who called me a "goth pixie," and all things considered, it was fairly accurate)--her MAC nail varnish makes for a splendid manicure--celebrated my birthday in whiskey-drenched, synthpop style, saw Spiritualized put on an AMAZING, TRIPPY, EPIC performance of Ladies and Gentlemen, We Are Floating In Space at Radio City...



...then saw the Dead Weather at Prospect Park (Alison Mosshart is my new wife, just so you know--right after Freja Beha), and finally found myself in Toronto with my buddy obscurealternatives. We've known each other for about five years now, through--GASP! SHOCK! TO CATCH A PREDATOR!--mutual friends on the Internet. A little over two years ago, she came down to NYC for my birthday and we saw Jarvis Cocker at Terminal 5, which was splendid, life-changing, and a fun time had by all (including Jarvis, who pulled up to the venue in a bike taxi with his kids). We've been meeting up for shows and fashion nonsense ever since. CORRECTION: She's been schlepping it on a ten-hour Megabus to New York, and I've met up with her on the decidedly less intimidating MTA. It's not really fair. So I'm paying her back slowly but surely.

Toronto is a lovely city, and somehow more expensive than New York. ONE trip on its laughably small public transport? Three dollars. That shit ain't right, I'm sorry. But everyone is friendly as you'd expect (particularly the random gentleman who, when I yelled "I'M SO TIRED" and tried to slap myself awake, very cheerfully told me to "WAKE UP!" It helped) and I've got to give a whole lot of worship to Carte Blanche, quickly becoming one of my favorite little boutiques ever.



Ignore how wet I look (seriously, nice random torrential downpour WHEN I AM WEARING A SHEER SHIRT, TORONTO) and how short my legs seem to be--the most recent addition to my wardrobe is a lovely, kaleidoscopic Gareth Pugh top purchased at a third of the original price. Not to mention the coat I'm wearing that OA bought, complete with exquisitely large hood, from Carte Blanche's in-house label. In love.

The two of us very cleverly plan vacations around concerts and/or fashion weeks; this time was no different, and on Tuesday we went to see Peter Murphy at Lee's Palace.


Now, I know earlier this year everyone had a great big existential crisis about Peter Murphy appearing in Twilight. Looking back on it, most of the whining came from 15-year-old girls on Tumblr who considered it a great personal affront and/or a betrayal to the goth community at large (which 1. doesn't really exist anymore, 2. these girls would be very unfamiliar with due to being born in the mid-nineties; presumably they've read about the mystical ~*goth community*~ in fairy tales, and 3. doesn't really give a fuck about what the ex-members of Bauhaus did past 1990). As far as I can tell, personally, he doesn't really know who the hell I am (unless he's got Google Alerts...in which case, 'sup) and has not set out to ruin my day. Mr. Murphy owes me nothing but a tune and some good memories, and I'm very happy with what I've got.


A great setlist which include some new songs, old favorites, and a few Bauhaus numbers; charming audience banter about his underwear, questionable but fun dance moves, and a voice which, unlike many of his peers, has held up 30 years despite all the chain-smoking...I'm a happy camper. He announced that the short, rather scattered summer tour was a precursor to a larger one later on, either beginning in New York or the new year--I couldn't hear very well, but I hope it's the former. OA and I tried to talk with him after the show, but decided against fighting through the latex-clad masses (we take significantly more serious style inspiration from the man). Hopefully if the tour does indeed begin in NY, we'll get a better shot.


My one complaint? The girl behind me who thought it was totally okay to inappropriately fondle me through the whole damn show--stroking my back and grabbing me at the hips--only to call me a "bitch" and a "musical elitist" at the end (presumably because I muttered that the actual title of the Bowie song Peter covered was "Space Oddity," not "Ground Control To Major Tom"). The musical elitist bit doesn't bother me, considering I'm listening to Beyoncé right now and really enjoying it, but the touching? Pardon the pun, but if I ever see you again, I will cut you up.