A New Swan Lake in Black, White and Intriguing Shades of Gray

March 6, 2014, 9:24 am

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The story ballet is back. And next week, one of the most beloved of all time is swooping into New York -- with a bold, new interpretation by Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo.

Directed and choreographed by Jean-Christophe Maillot, Lac is a pithy remix of Swan Lake that keeps the central story intact, but dares to rethink many of the ballet's sacrosanct conventions. The result is a provocative reimagining of the 1877 classic, updated to reflect our times -- not completely black and white, but also various shades of gray.



Maillot is one of several renowned choreographers who are contributing to a narrative renaissance in contemporary ballet, after more than half a century dominated by abstraction. In his 20 years at the helm of Les Ballets, Maillot has also created works inspired by The Nutcracker, Sleeping Beauty, Romeo and Juliet, Cinderella, Faust and A Midsummer Night's Dream. His latest narrative work, based on The Taming of the Shrew, will premiere at the Bolshoi this summer.

Over the last decade, Alexei Ratmansky, Christopher Wheeldon, Jean Grand-Maître and Pontus Lidberg are just a few of the ballet notables who have also tried their hands at classical narrative. Mats Ek and Matthew Bourne have been at it even longer.

Cynics might suggest that the resurgence of the story ballet has had less to do with real creative inspiration, than with selling seats in tough economic times. Since Darren Aronofsky's film Black Swan was released in 2010, Swan Lake has been particularly popular.

However, these stories don't belong to ballet alone; they are part of a deeper cultural heritage. Embedded in every fairy tale are symbols of society's values, norms and beliefs. As times change -- and as the arts evolve -- it's only natural that these stories should evolve as well.

So what inspired Maillot to take on Swan Lake? Last year, I had the chance to speak with him about this in person, following a home-season run of Lac at Monaco's Grimaldi Forum.

Here is an edited transcript of our conversation:

Story ballet seems to be making a comeback. Why this renewed interest among contemporary choreographers?

I think people are realizing that human beings love to have stories. But what makes a lot of story ballet a bit boring and old-fashioned is more the way it's acted than how it's danced.

The problem in the past was that the dancing and the acting were split. They would act, most of the time pretty badly, and then they would dance. The dancing was all very nice, but it was so far removed from the story that when they acted, the rupture was so strong that it always looked ridiculous.

But if you systematically link the steps to the reason why you are doing them, then you melt the acting into the dance. I don't see why you can't combine the intelligence of searching for new forms and shapes, while telling your story at the same time. In a way, the story becomes a pretext for developing a new way to choreograph.

Anja Behrend as Odette, photo by Alice Blangero


'Swan Lake' is arguably the most beloved ballet of all time. What inspired you to take it on?

I'm pretty obsessed with the relation between men and women. I love to study the permanent confrontation between femininity and masculinity, which is for me the essence of dance. There is this very strong, double action in every single human being, especially in dancers. So I'm always searching for stories that can actually give me the chance to go further in that relation.

Swan Lake is this extreme study about what men are attracted to in women. The black swan has to do with the flesh, with desire, with sensuality, with vibration -- with desire that you cannot control. And then the white swan is the absolute purity of love, in the philosophical sense. It's an ideal, a desire that has more to do with the brain than with the body.

In the classical Swan Lake, one ballerina performs both white swan and black swan. Why did you choose to have different ballerinas for each role in 'Lac'?

I have always been bothered by the fact that it's the same girl doing the two roles, even if I believe all people have those two sides. I thought it was more interesting to split them, to show how the prince's body could be going with the black swan, while at the same time his desire for something more ideal and pure is also very strong.

In most versions of 'Swan Lake', the swans just flutter their arms to suggest wings, but yours wear feathered gloves. How did that idea come to you?

I wanted to capture one of the most beautiful things about the story, which is that Odette is swan by day, woman by night. All the other versions -- the classic Petipa, Matthew Bourne, Mats Ek -- the swan is always the same from the beginning to the end. I never see a difference between animal and human.

So I started thinking, what could make this difference? And I thought it was the hand. Because with the hands, you can talk, you can greet, you can caresser and you can hit. With the hands, we connect with our humanity.

I really wanted to show the audience how frustrating it would be for this white swan not to be able to touch the prince, because she has these awful things that oblige her not to be sensual with her hands. So when she transforms, I want people to feel that something is changing. When she gets her hands back, she can have a love story. She can finally have a relation as a woman.

Matthew Bourne made the ultimate gender-bending 'Swan Lake', but your version also plays with gender. For example, the evil Rothbart character is a woman, and women also perform some of the strongest male variations.

Bernice Coppieters as Queen of the Night, with Asier Uriagerika, Asier Edeso, photo by Alice Blangero

I'm a big lover of women. I don't believe in the idea of the dominated, sweet, little woman. I have a deep, deep conviction that there is much more strength in a woman than in a man.

For Rothbart -- The Queen of the Night -- Bernice [Coppieters] was my muse. She has this extremely high femininity, but also this strong physicality that can appear like a man's. I'm always inspired by the dancers I work with, because as a choreographer, I do not exist without them.

As for the suitors in Act 1 -- of course they're aggressive! They have come to seduce the prince! Here in Monaco, we have a lot of princesses, and I see how they behave to get attention. All the time! It's a reality. You don't just meet someone by accident and then fall in love. It's a decision. You have to know you're special.

Many associate Swan Lake with its second act, with its neat formations of pristine swan maidens. But your Act 2 has a darker, more menacing feel.

Redoing Act 2 was one of my main attractions to this project. I had no desire to make fun of it or be ironic, like Ek and Bourne, because I love the original version. On the other side, there's this idea that Act 2 is holy. John Neumeier and Rudolph Nureyev, they redid the first and third acts, but they didn't touch the second.

When people today watch the second act of Swan Lake, they may be seduced by its purity, but it's difficult to relate to it if you're not connected to dance. There is something that doesn't work in today's world, with its strict organization, lines and structure.

So I thought, how can I use the idea of a female corps in a way that reflects how things are today? In a way, the world now is much tougher, much more real. We're no longer in a bubble where everything is sublime. There is something much rougher about the way people express beauty these days. So in approaching the second act, I wanted to rethink how we could adapt the same story, in a way that today's audiences could connect to.

Anja Behrend and Stephan Bourgond, photo by Angela Sterling


Something else you alter is the score. How did you go about abbreviating and reconfiguring it to tell the story you wanted to tell?

I was raised as a musician, so for me the music is the base of everything I do. My idea was to avoid using any music that wasn't necessary to the dramatic situation. In all these scores, most of the time there is only an hour and a half of real music; the rest is divertissement that is just there to please.

I wanted to also make the point, from the beginning, that I will not use the music the way it's used normally. I know it disturbs some people, especially when they see the black swan in the first act. But that's actually the way it was in the 1877 version!

Were there any versions of Swan Lake that you used as a point of reference?
Not really. I have my knowledge of Swan Lake. But I will never pretend that I have this knowledge that some people have from studying this version or that version -- I have the knowledge of a dancer who danced it a lot and who's seen it a lot. Like any dancer in the world, it's part of my genetic code.

There are some blinks to the original story. But that's just to say, "I know. I know where this is coming from." I'm not pretending to recreate something; I'm doing something else. I'm telling more of a story than there is in the real Swan Lake -- because in a way, it was one of the first abstract ballets, where the story didn't really matter. But if you do look at the story, it's actually pretty ridiculous!

For me, if I want to tell a story, then let's really tell a story. Let's try to get into it so people can get excited -- almost like they're watching theater.

You do tell more of a story, but the ending also leaves room for doubt. Without giving away too much, can you comment on how you chose to end it?

I left it open, because I don't think that evil or the good is ever really winning. I like that the ending of Lac leaves people with a question -- was it good or bad? There is no big hope at the end -- more of a tragic feeling, but it's not definitive. It is possible to think that a little light could come back up. And I believe that's always the case.

'Lac (After Swan Lake)' is running March 14-16 at New York City Center. For more information, visit www.nycitycenter.org.

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The Wheel of Time: Old Songs and Tunes from Folk Alliance 2014

March 6, 2014, 10:10 am

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Larry Hanks and Deborah Robins. Used by permission of Larry Hanks and Deborah Robins.


The wheel of time turns, a year goes by, and once again I'm writing about CDs that people put into my hands at the annual conference of the Folk Alliance International. The meeting has moved to Kansas City, land of strip steak and burnt ends, and it's added a music camp, where people learn everything from songwriting to banjo-picking. But the core of the meeting is the same as ever: folk musicians, venues, agents, labels, and journalists meeting, mingling, playing, and listening for hours while the wheel of time seems to stand still.



Which brings me to The Wheel of Time by Larry Hanks and Deborah Robins, the first CD in this rundown of old-time music I picked up there. Hanks and Robins make music halfway between the old-time stylings of Jody Stecher and Kate Brislin and the straightforward folk of their hero, Michael Cooney. Their material here ranges from earthy old ballads ("The Farmer's Curst Wife") to modern tales of the folk scene (Tom Paxton's "Did You Hear John Hurt"), and from no-nonsense stories of crime and punishment ("The Rambling Boy" and "Duncan and Brady") to the hazy-eyed mysticism of old spirituals ("Ezekiel Saw the Wheel" and "Turtle Dove"). Even the humorous songs hit in a variety of registers, from the black comedy of "The Whiskey's Gone" to the wide-eyed innocence of "The Log Driver's Waltz." Covers of folk and country classics by Woody Guthrie ("Vigilante Man") and the Carter Family ("Winding Stream") round out the set. Hanks and Robins don't play a zillion instruments, but they make the most of their two guitars and two voices with pretty harmonies, overlapping call-and-response singing, a variety of fingerpicking and strumming approaches, and vocal styles ranging from a deep bass to a high yodel. Best of all, it's all done with taste and grace and humility--nothing flashy, just what each song needs to sparkle its brightest. Any fan of old songs should have a great time with this disc. Here's a taste of their approach...it's not on this album, but it's fun!





A few years ago, a couple of the members of a band called The Tillers dropped by my day job at the American Folklife Center in the Library of Congress en route to a gig at one of our nearby institutions, the New Deal Café in Greenbelt, Maryland. They were interested in hearing some of our field recordings and getting advice on venues they might play. My colleague and partner in crime Jennifer Cutting and I helped them until it was time for their gig. I can't remember what they heard, but in Kansas City when I saw a big display of their new album, Hand on the Plow, I looked at the song titles and thought I recognized some familiar pieces. "Five Hundred Miles," "Long Summer Day," and "Weary Soul" are all the names of songs in our archive, so I assumed they'd recorded some versions of our field recordings, as many artists have done before.


The Tillers. Used by permission of Hearth P.R.


Well, dang! It turns out the whole album is original songs as far as I can tell. But they're great songs, with that road-weary dust-bowl feel you'd expect from a group steeped in field recordings and commercial 78s of ballads, blues, and breakdowns. Fiddle, banjo, guitar, and bass make up most of their arsenal, with occasional spoons, harmonica, accordion and dulcimer. They play all these instruments with facility and verve for an all-around impressive and enjoyable disc. A few tracks stand out for me: the fiery "Tecumseh on the Battlefield," based on a wild fiddle tune; 'Shanty Boat," about lazy days on the river journey from The Tillers' native Cincinnati to New Orleans (which used to be common stomping grounds for such vessels); and "Willy Dear," a ballad with a tragic ending that could come from Shakespeare or Greek myth. Here's a video of another nice track:




If you like traditional folksongs and tunes, never fear: the album the Tillers were touring with when I first met them, Wild Hog in the Woods, is also very much worth hearing. Joined by Kentucky fiddler and singer Uncle Mike Carr, they work their through a treasury of great old music: hoary ballads like the title track, which goes back to medieval sources; American classics like "Omie Wise," "Sail Away Ladies," and "Sugar Hill;" material gleaned from old commercial 78s like "Going Down the Lee Highway;" and lots of unusual fiddle tunes from Carr's deep repertoire. It shows off the more traditional side of the band beautifully, and it's a fun listen all the way through!


Billy Strings and Don Julin. Used by permission of Don Julin.


I'd heard Don Julin's name around the scene for years--as a mandolin player, composer, and the author of Mandolin for Dummies--but his partner, Billy Strings, was unknown to me until this year, when I picked up the duo's new disc, Rock of Ages. A youngster of twenty, Strings turns out to be good beyond his years, a soulful bluegrass-style lead singer and guitar player who gets nicely inside the songs, making you believe he's sung the Cocaine Blues, shot Wild Bill Jones, seen the Rock of Ages, and clucked over the Old Hen. His talents are well complemented by the mandolin mastery of his partner, who can solo out in front of any tune, weave his way around a song, or strike well-timed chunky chords behind a guitar solo. The duo's playing has bluegrass drive, and on tunes like "The Red Haired Boy" and "Soldier's Joy" they take turns soloing like bluegrass pickers. But because they're a duo the sound is more open and loose, like an old pre-grass string band. The notes reveal that they did this whole disc in a basement with no effects but natural room reverb and no overdubs; the impressively full sound and professional results suggest we'll be hearing a lot more from them in the future. Here's a video of one of their FAI showcases:





Old Buck is the debut album from a great conglomeration of young but seasoned pickers, who also sing: Riley Baugus (banjo), Emily Schaad (fiddle), Debra Clifford (guitar and mandolin), and Sabra Guzmán (bass). Readers might know Baugus's flawless clawhammer banjo from his work on the movie Cold Mountain and on Alison Krauss and Robert Plant's Raising Sand. The others have been successful in the old-time scene, winning contests and touring with bands like Old Sledge and The Lonesome Sisters. The disc is sixteen tracks of high-energy, old-fashioned string-band music. It's got haunting versions of old vocal chestnuts like "Soldier's Farewell," "Chilly Winds," and "Rose Connolly," and ends with a sweet version of Hank Williams's honky-tonk anthem "You Win Again." Mostly, though, this is a tune album, chock full of such fiddle and banjo fare as "Fisher's Hornpipe," "Nancy Ann," "Highlander's Farewell," and "Black Jack Grove." There are no notes to speak of, so tune-heads may wonder where they got their versions. But the fiddle and banjo tear up the tunes, while the guitar and bass keep everything bouncing along merrily. It's relaxed, fresh, and exuberant from start to finish. Who could ask for more? Here's Old Buck rehearsing outside the studio where the album was recorded:

These Two Artists Are Living Together in a Gigantic Hamster Wheel

March 6, 2014, 11:45 am

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If you thought sharing a small apartment was difficult, imagine being these two artists sharing a gigantic hamster wheel. Taking the challenges of co-habitation to a new level, Ward Shelley and Alex Schweder have taken up residence for 10 days on a giant 25 foot wheel furnished mostly with orange and red Ikea furniture... that matches their hip orange and red jumpsuits. Shelley is living inside at the bottom, because he's afraid of heights, and Schweder is living outside on the top, some 30 feet off the ground. The piece is called In Orbit.




As if the bizarrely oriented space wasn't challenging enough, the duo must synchronize their movements around the wheel to keep it in balance... mostly so Schweder doesn't go rolling off the top. Together they orient their day around which of the matching furnishings they want to use: beds, desks, chairs, dressers and kitchen-bathroom combos (yuck). Each is aligned so they must use them at the same time. Gotta pee? Me too.




Schweder and Shelley will be occupying In Orbit at The Boiler in Brooklyn until March 9, 2014. Check out the video of the wheel in action below, then see more pictures at Gothamist.













via gothamist

Written by Benjamin Starr for VisualNews.com

Listen to Music Like a Teen: A Guide for Grown-Ups

March 6, 2014, 11:55 am

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Remember that uniquely teenage feeling of hearing a song for the first time and knowing it had just changed your life forever?

If you are of my vintage, that memory is rooted in the seventies, a sublime moment for rock, early punk and popular music. Who was not devastated by the tragic father-son quid pro quo of Harry Chapin's "Cat's in the Cradle"...and inspired to parent differently? Who could fail to be shattered by the candor and heartbreak of Janis Ian's "At Seventeen?" Whose mind was not utterly blown by Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb," whose depiction of a drug-induced stupor seemed a metaphor for my very existence?

Naturally, I felt the same way about books -- having been catapulted into higher consciousness by Portnoy's Complaint, Fear of Flying, The Bell Jar, Go Ask Alice, Call it Sleep and the vast literature of my adolescence.

But the transformative power of books entailed a considerable commitment of time while songs delivered a speedy shot of mutation. Listening to David Bowie's "Rebel, Rebel" turned me -- a rabbi's girl from New York -- into an glamorexic, androgynous fashionista who could suddenly dance in a slinky, emotionally detached way. Tuning into the Talking Heads made me smarter and endlessly cynical. The music of The Moody Blues gave me goose bumps and a glimpse into a realm that was shimmering and mystical, liberated from concepts like kosher food, SAT scores and my virginity.

A year ago, I wrote a one-woman play about growing up as a rabbi's kid in the seventies, shaped by the glorious cacophony of Jewish liturgical music, Israeli pop and British and American punk, funk and rock.

In the course of writing my play, I was able to examine the extent to which my worldview was shaped by these competing cultural influences. Juxtaposing Shabbat prayers and pioneer songs of the State of Israel alongside, say, Elton John's "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" or the Beatles' "White Album", I beheld my unique musical heritage...and found it both rich and hilarious. In the opening of act of my show -- "The Rabbi's Girl Presents: Songs of Religion and Rebellion," I call out the crazy stew of conflicting influences:

During the seventies, the music of mainstream culture came crashing into our Jewish home, clashing and colliding with my parents' 1950's values, forming a crazy cacophony with the profusion of prayers and religious songs.

I was a brown-eyed girl in a psychedelic world. Leah in the sky... with diamonds.

I wanted Hot Stuff but settled for hot pastrami.

I was Born to Run but shackled to the synagogue.

My life was totally schizophrenic. One minute I was singing "Am Yisrael Chai," and the next, "Love to Love You, Baby."

On Friday night I blessed the Sabbath Queen but on Saturday night I worshipped the music of Queen... from my home in Queens.

My life was a meshuggeneh mash-up I like to call "Gefilte Groovy."

Writing "The Rabbi's Girl Presents" returned me to the musical mindfulness of being a teen, the belief that a single song can change your life.

But I must credit my teenage son Jude, with inspiring me to enter the palace of musical memory in the first place.

The youngest of my three children, Jude is a singer/songwriter who plays seven instruments. The only one of my three kids with a driver's license, Jude is my fellow road-tripper, helping me clock thousands of miles of highways, conversation... and music. Now a freshman at Muhlenberg College in Allentown, PA, I've had the privilege of having Jude curate the songs he loves on our trips to and from Manhattan, introducing me to bands I had overlooked or simply never heard of.

In our mobile sound booth, I've also had front row seat at performances of Jude's original music, premiering new works I have heard him composing at home, getting a glimpse into my son's soul through lyrics that are startling and surprisingly sophisticated.

Hearing Jude speak about what a particular song means to him -- "Miller's Angels" by Counting Crows; "Leaving on a Jet Plane," by John Denver; "Brandon's Death Song" by the Red Hot Chili Pepper or his newest original song, "This Dirty City," -- has opened up that channel within my fifty-something self that was shuttered by the process of becoming a grown-up.

While I like to credit myself with introducing Jude and his older brother and sister to the great music of my childhood and adolescence -- thus providing them with a solid foundation and essential seventies cultural literacy -- the stream of influence has reversed itself. While I will periodically introduce a new find to my kids, it is they who are my new music mentors.

It is not just new songs or artists that they lead me to. They are the guides to my former self.

Now, for the first time in over thirty years, hearing a new song -- or a beloved familiar one -- makes me break out in goose bumps, causes tears to cascade down my cheeks, blows my mind and fills me with the happy conviction that my life has been changed forever.

If You Let Them Color, They Will Come: The FLAG Art Foundation Baby Art History Program

March 6, 2014, 12:16 pm

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On Saturday morning the alarm went off at 8am. I had a renewed respect for people with kids. Getting out the door by 9am on a Saturday isn't a regular occurrence in our household. But, on March 1, fortified by coffee, I headed into Chelsea for the FLAG Art Foundation's Baby Art History Program coloring party.



The coloring party was another in a series of educational events hosted by the FLAG Art Foundation as part of its Baby Art History Program -- the brainchild (pun intended) of founder Glenn Fuhrman, an avid art collector, philanthropist and father of a toddler. Past events have included studio visits, talks by artists and goodie bags with a Jeff Koons-inspired toy inside.

The coloring party scene at the FLAG was as vibrant as any opening reception, despite the early hour. As they settled in, enthusiastic toddlers colored with crayons on large swaths of white paper covering the gallery floors with a show of Roy Lichtenstein's nudes and interiors as their backdrop while their parents looked on -- in some cases, coloring along with their children and chatting with the other adults.



Fuhrman hosted the party with his wife Amanda and their daughter. Always a good-natured host, he offered up crayons and cheer, in his kid-friendly sweater with an image by Keith Haring of what looked like an alligator DJ'ing. When asked what was his most surprising discovery as host of the Program Glenn noted, "Nothing too surprising so far, but it's been a great time seeing these kids enjoying the art and each other. I have hopeful visions of some sub-set of these kids going to galleries, museums and artist's studios together for the next decade or two."

Many of the people I met at the party were there because it gave them an opportunity to enjoy art in a kid-friendly space. Ira Sachs, a filmmaker, was there with his husband and their twins. He noted that it was a great opportunity to expose their children to gallery culture at an early age -- something that can be intimidating, even for adults.



The FLAG's Baby Art Program is open to the public, but what if you're not near the heart of Chelsea and are looking for something similar? Many museums have early education programs you can check out or you can make your own class out of a solo trip.

Even if museums or galleries aren't your thing, Rebecca Streiman, assistant director of FLAG, made a great point -- art is all around -- from your local cafe to a billboard to the way the sunlight hits a nearby building or body of water. Kids are great at reminding us of that. People want community and art is a good way to build it. Says Streiman, "Send out an email and you'll be surprised by how many responses you get."

By 11, the drawing party was coming to a close. I joined the strollers and scooters in the elevator and headed out into the morning. A few intrepid families seized the opportunity to wander into nearby galleries. Thanks to the early start, I was able to enjoy a baby art party and do a Chelsea gallery hop -- all before lunchtime.

Mardi Gras: Parade Dance Krewes

March 6, 2014, 2:55 pm

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In the wake of Mardi Gras, I still have a lot of thoughts and experiences to process. As it is every year, Mardi Gras 2014 was a huge experience, filled with sights, sounds, music and art that one remembers for months, years, even decades.

When I posted my piece last week on the Krewe of Muses parade, Krewe of P. U. E. W. C. captain Midori Tajiri had this comment:

Kenny, I really like how you showcase the smaller dancing groups and artist groups. It's this kind of year round parade culture environment that defines a part of New Orleans and makes it like no place else.

I agree with Midori (who I interviewed a few weeks ago, here). While the huge parades with tractor pulled floats and celebrity guests attract tourists and cause a wonderful commotion, we locals are involved year-round with the dance troupes, artist groups and DIY parade sub-krewes.

Many of these groups are krewes-at-large, meaning they do not belong to a specific parade krewe, but march/dance/ride in one or several parades throughout the season. Some put on small, local parades, that fly way under the radar, but are a huge attraction to locals. Let's look at a few groups that I happened to catch this year (or even last year, or the year before).

Dance Groups:

Many parades use dance groups at large, and these range from very conventional dancers, to the completely absurd, sexual and hysterical.




Above and below, Xtreme Voltage is an example of a conventional dance krewe. These photos were taken during Choctaw, a day time parade.







Above and below, another great conventional dance team, the Dance Connection, marching (and posing during a stop) at the Krewe of Nyx parade.







Above and several below, the Sirens are a less conventional dance group. They are daring, weird and beautiful.










Above and below: An allusion to a very awkward fashion faux-pas, the Camel Toe Steppers are seen here during Krewe of Muses 2014.











Above and several below: the Bearded Oysters, another tongue-in-cheek sexual allusion. Most of these dance troupes are DIY: they make their own costumes, arrange their own hair and make-up, and express themselves individually and as members of these amazing dance groups.

















The Muff-A-Lottas, above and several below. We have very delicious local sandwich called a muffaletta. This dance troupe is, again, a sexual reference to that sandwich and to a very delicious anatomical part... I love the campy '50s outfits. I was lucky to have the parade stop for a few minutes so I could get some great shots of these women.














Above and several below: Hey, it's New Orleans. The sexual innuendos never stop. The delightful, lovely Pussyfooters.















Above and below, as much as I do love beautiful women, I am not forgetting the guys. The awesome 610 Stompers, whose motto is "Ordinary men, extraordinary moves."




Other Krewes:

Beside dancers, tons of other awesome DIY krewes are involved in our parades. Here are just a few.




The Ninth Ward Marching Band appearing this year in the Krewe of Orpheus. The Ninth Ward is a New Orleans neighborhood that became famous for taking terrible damage during Hurricane Katrina. The area now attracts many artists and musicians.











Above and several below, Drumkart is an amazing, creative krewe that marches in a couple of parades. Fitting in with the theme of this year's Krewe of Proteus, they portrayed fantasy and mythical beasts, and...um...fish.














Above, it wouldn't be a New Orleans parade without Midori.





Above and below, the Laissez Boys. This is the way to roll through a six mile parade route!








Above and several below, the Disco Amigos.











I'm not even sure of these three were actually in the troupe. I just really like red heads.


DIY Parades:

Way off the beaten track of the parade route are DIY parades, where krewes make their own costumes and contraptions.





Above and several below, the Red Beans parade, which rolls each year on Lundi Gras (the Monday before Mardi Gras): Monday in New Orleans is traditionally a day to serve red beans and rice as dinner. All costumes and contraptions in the Red Beans parade are made of, well, beans.























Arguably the most popular DIY parade among New Orleans locals is Krewe Du Vieux. The parade, which involves several sub-krewes including Krewe Delusion and Krewe Du Jieux, is known for its raunchy sexual humor and political satire. Because of an out-of-town gig I missed this year's Krewe Du Vieux, so above and several below are photos from Krewe Du Vieux 2013.














Above and below, the beautiful Krewe of Goddesses marching in the 2013 Krewe Du Vieux parade.








Above, the Krewe Du Suess playing amazing DIY instruments.





Above, the hyper-sexual Krewe Of Spermes caught the attention of the television show Tremé during its first season.





Of course, the only reason Krewe Du Vieux's popularity as foremost among locals might be arguable is because of the Intergalactic Krewe Of Chewbacchus, seen above and several below.


















I could not even begin to list all of the amazing DIY krewes, troupes and dance groups that make up the enormity of parades, but this should give you an idea of the ways in which local artists, crafters, costumers, dancers and musicians stay busy year-round preparing for this incredible adventure that we call Mardi Gras.

All photos by Kenny Klein. Please visit my site at kennyklein.net.

'Grey's Anatomy' 'You Got to Hide Your Love Away' Recap: Yang and Owen Back in the Sack

March 6, 2014, 7:14 pm

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Note: Do not read on if you have not seen Season 10, Episode 14 of ABC's "Grey's Anatomy," titled "You Got to Hide Your Love Away."




Sorry, Stephanie and Leah. You can't take the love out of the hospital. Just as Owen announces a non-fraternization policy, everything about everyone's relationship starts to get a little messy.

And it all unfolds as the whole crew tries to figure out a rare, tricky tumor in a teenage girl and tend to the nasty leg wounds on another woman who dove into a trash chute to avoid her married boyfriend. Theme of the evening? Love is blind and makes you stupid. Not great qualities for doctors, but these guys have always managed hanky panty in the on-call room, natural disasters, rare diseases and come out on top. Sort of, at least.

Owen and Emma decide to move in together. Emma's talking about picking enough rooms for future babies. But Owen sleeps with a drunk Christina, who shows up at the trailer with a bottle of Derek's wine to ramble about window treatments. It was actually pretty awesome. Until Owen breaks up with Emma because she would give up surgery for kids. Has he finally come around to Yang's side? I thought Owen wanted valences and babies.

Webber is on 'panty police' duty -- his dorky words, not mine. In fact, I wish no one said the p-word ever. Let's all make a pact to stop now. Anyway, he tries to give Shane a pep talk about coming back to work too soon, but it seems like Shane is just trying to get back on track after being 'distracted' by sex with Yang.

Webber walks into a storage room to find Jackson, Jo, April, and Alex in various states of undress. Jo and Karev faked a messy breakup in front of the whole hospital so people would get off their back. And April and Jackson debate coming out as married. What happens in the storage room stays in the storage room?

Luckily, Karev calls everyone out on the hypocrisy, but Jo might still be in trouble. Looks like everyone's cover is blown.

Including Leah's. Who, it turns out, was the one who filed the complaint with HR in the first place. But her little do-good plan backfires, because the residents are fighting amongst themselves anyway and unfocused on medicine because of the new policy. They try to rally, focus, and come up with a surgical plan to save the cancer patient. But she bleeds out in the OR just as they pull it together. Too little, too late. Just go away, Murphy, you ruin everything.

Callie gives Arizona a ring and proposes a 'fresh start' in their new house and the two can't stop skipping around in love. Did I miss something? I know #calzona are fan faves but I just can't root for them. Way too whiny and dependent for my liking. I don't buy commitment-phobe Arizona's cheerfulness about it all either.

To top it all off, Derek not only got the job with the White House, they want him to run the brain mapping project. That means Meredith might have to give up her research (which she sort of has to do anyway). I'm ok with that if it means we get more Twisted Sister girl talk and screen time.

How long till Owen realizes Yang probably just wanted a one night stand? Do you think Callie and Arizona are really going for happily ever after? How do you get prawns in your leg, really? Tell me what you think in the comments or @karenfratti.

"Grey's Anatomy" airs Thursdays at 9 p.m. ET on ABC.

First Nighter: LBJ Bio All the Way With Bryan Cranston Goes All the Way

March 6, 2014, 8:53 pm

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Missing for deliberate reasons or reasons of chronology from All the Way, Robert Schenkkan's sure-fire hit at the Neil Simon, are Robert Kennedy, Sam Rayburn, Lynda Baines Johnson, Luci Bird Johnson, Jacquelyn Bouvier Kennedy, chroniclers Robert Caro and Doris Kearns Goodwin.

Otherwise, nothing that happened involving Lyndon Baines Johnson, here several times calling himself "the accidental President," seems to have been overlooked in the fast-paced coverage of events from the post-Dallas assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy on November 22, 1963 through election night, November 3, 1964.

The mission Schenkkan has set himself in this action-packed, verbiage-loaded two-acter (The Great Society, a sequel is due on the West Coast this coming July) is to demonstrate with no shilly-shallying exactly how sly-dickens Johnson (Bryan Cranston, having completed Breaking Bad's 60 hours) eased his way around Democrats and Republicans alike whenever he set his mind to it--which was always.

The first All the Way half is a head-knocking-after-head-knocking account of Johnson's fighting for the 1964 Civil Rights Bill Act by cozying up to anyone in his way. There were plenty of the living and thinking obstacles, including bill-naysayer Southern Democrat Sam Russell (John McMartin) and pro-bill-but-conflicting-needs Martin Luther King (Brandon J. Dirden), Roy Wilkins (Peter Jay Fernandez) and Stokeley Carmichael (William Jackson Harper).

What the first act really is a series of confrontations Johnson has--interrupted only a few times by the King group arguing among themselves--during which he knows what buttons to push on his demurring colleagues and pushing them as if it's with the index finger he regularly uses to poke men in the chest.

In the second act, it's the election he's after. Having to deal with complications that are affecting his popularity and Barry Goldwater's concomitant gains in the polls, he has to work his politico magic in the same manhandling way. Compounding his worries are run-ins with J. Edgar Hoover (Michael McKean), who has various threats up his sleeve, many as a result of surreptitious taping of the gal-on-the-side type he also has on Reverend King.

The most mesmerizing of these manipulation scenes are his dangling the vice president slot before the very liberal Hubert Humphrey (Robert Petkoff), his heavy-tread waltzes with Senators Everett Dirksen (Richard Poe) and James Eastland (James Eckhouse) and his cunning Hoover one-on-ones.

At these charged exchanges, Cranston triumphs. Not really resembling LBJ--although something may have been done to enlarge his ears, or maybe it's an illusion--he raises himself to the accidental, and then deliberate, Texan's height. He also takes on the standing and walking and sitting postures, the guffaw when joking with friends, enemies and frenemies alike and the obscenity-spouting glee, the joy in progress-achieving pragmatism.

It's a towering performance in a couple senses of the word and directly in line with how Johnson has been depicted by journalists, historians and biographers. (Maybe Caro and Goodwin aren't as absent from the stage as they seem.)

Effective as Schenkkan's opus is, there's something about it that makes it effective in a questionable way. There's no doubt that director Bill Rauch--artistic director of the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, where All the Way was first performed--collected an extremely capable cast of 20. Many, if not most of them, are doubling and tripling. (The putting on and taking off of Paul Huntley's wigs must be some backstage sight to see.)

They deserve acknowledgment individually, especially the venerable McMartin, Dirden, McKean, Poe, Eckhouse, Fernandez, Christopher Liam Moore as the Prez's mainstay aide Walter Jenkins, Roslyn Ruff as Coretta Scott King and Fannie Lou Hamer, Betsy Aidem as ultra-understanding Lady Bird Johnson and Rob Campbell as George Wallace. It has to be said that many of the actors, dressed in Deborah M. Dryden's '60s fashions, don't convincingly look a great deal like the boldface names they impersonate. But Campbell is the startling exception. He plays five parts, but he's a dead ringer for beetle-browed Governor Wallace.

While the actors can be thanked, Rauch's demands on them may occasionally be questioned. Probably to get the fascinating rhythm and decibel level of Johnson's encounters going and just as possibly sensing the need to move a heavy-on-the-word-count script quickly, the scenes are revved up. Frequently (too frequently?), such speed and volume gives an over-the-top feel to the production. It's as if the audience is invited to scan a string of Herblock editorial cartoons. An additional development is that Johnson's any-means-to-an-end approach appears throughout to be ruling him more than his sincere beliefs in the radical changes he's pursuing.

Rauch receives commendable help for his lickety-split tempo from Christopher Acebo, who's designed a courtroom-like utilitarian set that with the addition and subtraction of various furnishings can be the Senate floor or the Johnson's bedroom, can be DC, Atlanta or Mississippi, can be a Congressman's lounge or George Wallace's soapbox arena. Equally impressive are the projections of every sort of environment, climate and television news hour provided constantly by Shawn Sagady and consultant Wendell K. Harrington, who was in on the ground floor of the present projections-everywhere movement.

Just a few parting words about Schenkkan's title. It's taken, of course, from the then ubiquitous "All the way with LBJ" slogan. So why not use the slogan in its entirety for the play? (Is there some legal knot?) Conversely, why choose a title already employed for another biographical item, the 1957 movie about comedian Joe E. Lewis from which the Oscar-winning title song emanates? The Sammy Cahn-James Van Heusen ballad isn't rendered here, but "Happy Days are Here Again" and the memorable alteration of Jerry Herman's "Hello, Dolly" to "Hello, Lyndon" are.

Well, well, well, hello, Lyndon again.

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WATCH: These iPod-Based Magic Tricks Are SO. MUCH. FUN

March 7, 2014, 6:00 am

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What if deception is in the eye of the beholder? And what if lies can help us tell the truth? Enter into the multimedia world of magician Marco Tempest and decide for yourself.

Ideas are not set in stone. When exposed to thoughtful people, they morph and adapt into their most potent form. TEDWeekends will highlight some of today's most intriguing ideas and allow them to develop in real time through your voice! Tweet #TEDWeekends to share your perspective or email tedweekends@huffingtonpost.com to learn about future weekend's ideas to contribute as a writer.

The Brainchild Of The Riyadh Writing Club

March 7, 2014, 6:09 am

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This story is the second installment of a three-part series on the Riyadh Writing Club, a group of young female writers in Saudi Arabia. Read the first part here.

I'm sitting in Caribou Coffee, one of my favorite places to escape in Riyadh. The capital of Saudi Arabia is teeming with Western restaurant chains--KFC, Starbucks, Chili's. In the U.S., I rarely go to these places. But the good news about these eateries is they are "family" friendly, which actually means female friendly. Most local, Arabic-style restaurants are "singles" only, meaning male only. Leave it to corporate America to open their doors to women.

I'm here to meet Hala Abdullah, a creative and courageous Saudi woman in her 20s. She is responsible for starting the first writing group in her country, called the Riyadh Writing Club. It began with two members. Now there are more than 40. And the idea has spread to neighboring Kuwait and Dubai.

It has been exactly one year since I happened upon her first live event at the Sheraton Hotel. Women amassed in a female-only ballroom to hear the club's poetry and prose. As creative and intelligent as the performances were, I was troubled by the English-centric event. It wasn't only the fact that everything was written in English. The themes, places, and even names were American and British. I contacted Hala to find out why.

Hala rushes into the café and finds me quickly. In fact, there's only one other customer in the entire family section. We sit by a window. She decides not to order anything. She is sans headscarf. Her lip ring reflects the overhead light.

Hala jumps right into the conversation. She tells me she fell in love with writing in English at age 15. She was attending an English-language school and decided to process her teen traumas through poetry--in English. She wrote on scraps of paper or the sides of books. Her written words were things she could not discuss. So writing became her confidant.

"It saved me," she says.

"Why English, though?" I ask.

Although she has always loved writing in Arabic, she finds it easier in English. Her family expresses their disappointment in her worsening Arabic. You're Saudi! they cry. She calls her dilemma negative bilingualism. Although she feels bad about her imperfect Arabic, she doesn't apologize for her love of English.

Not totally satisfied with her explanation, I let it go for a while and ask her how the club began.
Hala founded the club during what she calls her "gap year." She had graduated from college and was taking a break from school. She wanted to be surrounded by other writers and forced herself to share her own writing.

"I know I'm not bad but I'm very self conscious about my writing so I make myself push it out there," she admits.

So she and her best friend, Meshael Alblehed, started the club as a way to get their writing heard and seen. They invited two friends, and the Riyadh Writing Club was born in 2011 with four members. Potential recruits email a piece of writing. Hala mainly checks for language skill because as the producer of the club's blog, she doesn't want to be burdened with editing.

Hala believes that writing is a form of expression and should never be censored. She encourages members to pursue topics and styles of writing that deviate from the norm. She also wants the writers to search deep within themselves for things they don't often feel comfortable communicating.

"I will be most impressed if they talk about what they're not supposed to," she says. "There are so many barriers here... We should have the freedom to imagine whatever we want to imagine."
The club's blog posts the members' writings under both real names and pseudonyms, depending on the author's preference. Hala is not concerned about being shut down by government watchdogs because there is nothing political in their postings.

The only backlash the group has received was from a high school teacher who came across the blog and approached one of the members--her student. The student had used the word "boobs" in one of her pieces and the teacher asked her if she meant to say "boots" instead. The teacher went to the principal of the school to complain.

Yet, the young women refuse to be reticent. They carry on with their club meetings every month, and typically they meet at public cafes, like this one. Hala describes their meetings as exhilarating.

"You get to be in that safe environment for a little while," she says.

"Can I attend one of your meetings?" I ask, doubtful that the members will accept my intrusion.

"Absolutely," Hala says with a grin. "The next one is at my house, actually."

I jot the date down in my calendar and we stand and say our goodbyes. Three kisses, right cheek first.

Stayed tuned for the third part of this series.

Eddie Shapiro's Nothing Like a Dame Profiles 20 of Broadway's Most Iconic Divas

March 7, 2014, 7:43 am

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The 1927 Broadway musical Show Boat introduced the memorable line, "Life upon the wicked stage ain't ever what a girl supposes."

Eighty-seven years later, that sentiment still rings true for the 20 performers profiled in theater journalist Eddie Shapiro's engrossing new book, Nothing Like a Dame: Conversations with the Great Women of Musical Theater. The 349-page tome, which hit bookstores in late January, includes in-depth interviews with some of Broadway's most beloved female stars, from newly retired Elaine Stritch to five-time Tony winner Audra McDonald and Wicked icon Idina Menzel (not to be confused, of course, with "Adele Nazeem").

For theater devotees, Shapiro's book is a veritable treasure trove; the author doesn't paraphrase his subjects' thoughts, presenting each interview in a question-and-answer format that wouldn't feel out of place in a Playbill. With minimal introduction, Shapiro's non-expository format assumes audiences will have a working knowledge of musicals, and might discourage readers for whom the performing arts is more of a fleeting interest. By his own admission, Shapiro writes for the musical aficionado who bolts out of the theater at curtain call to secure a prime spot at the stage door in hopes of snapping a coveted selfie with their favorite star.

Take a look at the 20 stars featured in Eddie Shapiro's Nothing Like a Dame, then scroll down to keep reading.


Shapiro's admiration for his subjects is palpable, and he keeps their discussions focused on each star's artistic endeavors rather than reaching for personal gossip. Still, there are some gritty backstage moments, like Donna McKechnie (A Chorus Line) recalling the sting of Ethel Merman's off-color diss during rehearsals for Call Me Madam in 1968. Others share their warts-and-all experiences working under the direction of Bob Fosse, Arthur Laurents and Hal Prince, among others. But the book's most compelling revelations are moments of insecurity and self-doubt expressed by many of the powerhouse performers; despite years of critical accolades and Tony Awards on their mantels, Chita Rivera, Patti LuPone and Laura Benanti say they continue to question the longevity of their performing careers.

These are surprising admissions from artists typically classified as "divas," and fortunately, Shapiro came prepared to delve into delicate areas like these with the upmost respect for theatrical craft. "Growing up, I would go home and listen to cast albums all day long," he said, speaking by telephone from Los Angeles. "I was completely, completely hooked and not especially popular for it ... I remember the first time I heard a full orchestra play the overture to Gypsy in a Broadway theater, I cried, because nothing felt as right to me in the world."

While there's nothing patently queer about the book, Shapiro, who also wrote 2009's Queens in the Kingdom: The Utlimate Gay and Lesbian Guide to the Disney Theme Parks is aware that Nothing Like a Dame will have a built-in audience of gay men. "There is sort of a Pavlovian gay male response [to female musical theater performers] that I don't even want to try to put my finger on," he said with a laugh. "I just sort of acknowledge that it exists."

Ultimately, Nothing Like a Dame: Conversations with the Great Women of Musical Theater is an engaging peek behind the curtain of Broadway, as told by era-defining female stars. Shapiro casts aside much of the superficial glitz associated with the stage in favor of a no-nonsense, true-to-life look at these women and their varied careers, bravely emphasizing their struggles as much as their triumphs. Readers whose iPods are filled with cast album playlists will surely appreciate Shapiro's passion for his subjects, as well as his willingness to probe.

The Chainsmokers' Bring Cheeky Smash "#Selfie" to SF March 8

March 7, 2014, 8:45 am

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It's been a good week for The Chainsmokers! As the New York-based DJ/production duo embarks on its inaugural North American tour, including a March 8 stop in San Francisco, the act's infectious, innocuous first single "#Selfie" became the top debut on Billboard Magazine's current "Hot 100."



"It's pretty surreal," admits Alex Pall, one-half of The Chainsmokers. "As an artist, you obviously want this to be happening -- it's an incredibly special moment in anyone's life -- but I've got to say, it hasn't really hit us yet."

Marked by spoken verses following a vapid, self-obsessed woman's night at the club -- highlighted by her stopping everything to snap photos of herself ("But first, let me take a selfie...") -- The Chainsmokers' "#Selfie" has become a bona fide viral sensation. The video, which features the likes of Baywatch star David Hasselhoff, well-known DJ friends, social media celebrities and hundreds of fan-submitted images, has amassed in excess of five million views and growing.

This week, "#Selfie" burst onto the Billboard "Hot 100" singles charts at #55, impressively earning the magazine's "Hot Shot Debut" honors. Though it's all a dream come true, Pall says things have been so hectic, neither Chainsmokers partner Drew Taggart nor he has been able to soak it in.

"It's like we're going through the motions every day," he shared during a recent telephone interview. "We know something incredible is happening, but we can't even stand back and see it happening. It's very strange!"

"We're also the type of personalities that, once we get something, we already want something else -- which is kind of a blessing and a curse," he continues with a laugh.



This go-getter mentality marks The Chainsmoker's rapid rise. Pall and Taggart came together scarcely 18 months ago, with the duo's remixes of artists from Ellie Goulding to The Wanted quickly gaining the attention of top names in the electronic dance music (EDM) world. Soon they were signed to Republic Records with "#Selfie" making waves worldwide.

Riding a wave of popularity for "selfies" -- photos taken of oneself and posted to social media -- the song continues to gain momentum. While Pall attributes a portion of the song's success to "luck" -- "It couldn't have come at a better time in terms of the relevance of the trend," he acknowledges - surely the pair must receive credit for infusing the track with a fun, playful spirit he says encapsulates The Chainsmokers.

"It's totally our personalities in a nutshell," Pall says.

"With '#Selfie,' we're hoping it brings people to our brand, because we have this really great back catalog of music," he explains, "We're pretty confident that anyone who listens to that song, then comes to listen to our Soundcloud, will be a fan for life."

Meanwhile, the benefits of being artists on the rise are obvious. Pall and Taggart kicked off a massive club tour March 6 in Montreal. On Sat., March 8, they play San Francisco's Vessel Nightclub (85 Campton Place). According to Pall, these live performances are fans' true opportunity to see what The Chainsmokers are all about.

"The thing about a lot of the big stars today, when you go to their shows, you feel like you're a guest going to their show," he notes. "With us, we want to feel like a guest at your show.

"I think if you come to our show on Saturday, you'll see we really want to be part of the crowd," Pall explains. "We're not there to entertain them. It's like we're all there to party together. It's their party and we're the guest!"

For more information about The Chainsmokers March 8 show at Vessel, click here.

High and Dry

March 7, 2014, 9:05 am

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Vast expanses of California desert remain largely defiant to human trespass. While awed by the natural splendor of this rugged, inhospitable terrain, Photographer Osceola Refetoff is particularly drawn to forsaken remnants of human habitation that lie strewn about like so many forgotten dreams.

Standing in the shell of an abandoned dwelling he is filled with both curiosity and sadness. What hardy souls inhabited these structures, and what events led them to abandon their homes? Did they lock the door before walking away?

With this series, he attempts to put himself in the shoes of the people who previously lived in these spaces and examine the environment from angles which they might have observed. In so doing, he is capturing the hope, faith, love and despair of those, now gone and forgotten.

His March solo show is at Gallery 825 starting Saturday March 22.

Brick Sculptures Built Piece by Piece

March 7, 2014, 9:15 am

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When you think of bricks, you're probably thinking of LEGOs or house building materials, but probably not a medium for making sculptures. Brad Spencer is setting the record straight, using the red earthen blocks to create sculptures in a method he says dates back to the ancient Babylonians. The use of this common building material makes his pieces highly unusual, while the results play tricks with the eyes.

Each example has the signature brick and mortar lines running through them, giving each piece the bizarre appearance of being one solid block overlaid with brick texture. Many people try to figure out the method behind Brad's work, and are surprised to find that he carves each of his sculptures from individual bricks before assembling them. You can find more of his very different work on his personal website.















via amusingplanet & Avax News

Originally written by Benjamin Starr for VisualNews.com

Diplomacy

March 7, 2014, 9:18 am

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As I prepare for the world premiere of my Violin Concerto "Al-Andalus", a work that is rooted in medieval Arab history, my thoughts are squarely focused on the present day. Current events have been disturbing to say the least. The reports from 40 foreign ministers at the Geneva II Conference on Syria told of over a hundred thousand people dead and over ten million displaced. The figures are numbing. Whats more is that we are hearing warnings from the United Nations that these figures are going to spike tremendously unless the most basic assistance is allowed to reach those affected. And just as it seems clear that the global community is unable to sustain another war, tensions are bending the Ukraine in that direction.

It may seem strange in this context that I've created a violin concerto that has turned out to be my most consistently optimistic and upbeat work so far. The whole piece is in celebration of the best aspects of the human spirit from our audacious attempts to defy gravity and take flight to the sensuous duets depicting the play of erotic love. The work even ends with a wild dance party. But I'd like to think that this is not escapism. Works of art in dark times have often reminded us of our best. It is important to document and reinforce the human spirit when there seems to be so little of it in the world.

In his poem September 1st 1939, W.H. Auden could easily have been writing about 2014 (about the world of Edward Snowden and the NSA, Bashar Al-Assad and John Kerry, Crimea and Sergey Lavrov)when he spoke of "the international wrong". But the most striking line of that poem is also the most direct and true: "We must love one another or die".

This line is truer now than it was in 1939 or than it was at any other time in the history of the human race. The past hundred years have brought us into closer quarters as a species than the millions of years that preceded them. Our technology allows us to traverse the globe in less than 24 hours. Our advancements have also enabled us to create and proliferate weapons that make us more capable of destroying all humanity more swiftly than ever before. Our cultural, artistic and humanistic awareness has not grown to match our propensity for self-destruction. But it needs to do that.

In the end, it is our poems, songs and pictures that are our easiest ways to love one another. Our works of art sensitize us to one another. It is impossible to dehumanize another person or culture if you are moved by their art. It forces you to acknowledge the humanity of your would-be enemies and, by extension, the shared heritage of all humanity. It makes war much more difficult.

Our artists may be our most potent diplomats but that's not to begrudge those 40 foreign ministers and diplomats at Geneva II. Some of the statements stood out for their constructive potential (Fumio Kushida, Frank-Walter Steinmeir, Saud Al Faisal) while others did not (Sergey Lavrov, Ban Ki-moon, John Kerry). What they all had in common was a somewhat narrow focus on the immediate socioeconomic and geopolitical concerns of their respective nations. But they can't be faulted for that. They are foreign ministers after all and those concerns are their responsibility. It is the role of the artist to focus on the human aspect of this diplomacy and to ensure that we never forget that the numbers coming out of Syria and other world-wide crises have a human face.

This gives us even more of an incentive to rebuild broken links and invest in the revitalization of the creative sharing of ideas that typically characterizes a golden age such as the medieval golden-age of Al-Andalus that I celebrate in my new violin concerto. Our inability to come together as a human race is not only stifling; today, it is also highly dangerous. After all, do we want to build artificial walls of separation and sustain a dark age in our time of increased potential for human communication and understanding? Or do we want to usher in a golden-age that future generations can celebrate just as, today, we can celebrate the accomplishments of Al-Andalus?


Al-Andalus receives it's world premiere with Rachel Barton Pine and the Alabama Symphony Orchestra on March 8th 2014

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Insiders Are Not Outsiders: A 2014 Whitney Biennial Review

March 7, 2014, 9:18 am

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Thirty years in the art world and I had never been to a Whitney Biennial. That was actually something worth bragging about and especially after having been to one I can unabashedly lament that I will never be able to say it again.

The Whitney Biennial carries immense weight in the art world. There is almost nothing in visual art that exists as a gauge, a standard, a benchmark or just a simple "this is more advanced than that". No matter what artwork you are looking at, accomplished or ridiculous, there is always a nattering nabob who will remind you that any discussion of the work in terms of it being "good" or "bad" is taboo. One of the scant retorts available at all these days is to point out that the artist one is examining had been in a Whitney Biennial. To say "So What" to that is to risk a charge of philistinism. The fear of being asked "Are you the biggest idiot ever?" is too great - nobody can dismiss inclusion in the Whitney Biennial as anything but an accomplishment. In the land of the jaded snob, extending one's palm open near an artwork and saying "This artist was in the Whitney Biennial" is as close as it gets to being a bearded wizard uttering "Behold!".

And yet trudging through a Biennial is a time-honored pulling back of the curtain hiding the Wizard of Oz. The art world respects the Whitney Biennial artists and the market-gain they receive from inclusion, but badmouthing each Biennial is as predictable a ritual as champagne on New Year's Eve; nobody can resist using critical pontification to masquerade their envy over not being included or not having their allies represented in a Whitney Biennial.

The 2014 Whitney Biennial is a pile of unadulterated shit. There is supposed to be a celebration because a lot of Los Angeles artists have been included, and indeed the show is less New York-centric than ever before. But it is not a show that represents the Los Angeles art scene as much as it represents Los Angeles art school insiders (art schools in Los Angeles ARE the establishment, the bubble that protects what status quo there even is connecting L.A. to the internationalist "big art" conformity machine). But that is no surprise - the Biennial is the ultimate art world insider exhibit. It is just that this exhibit sees so many insiders pretending to be outsiders. The language of outsider art is present in about half of the artworks (the other 50% are my two least favorite branches of conceptualism: dry conceptualism and conceptualism masquerading as rotten formalism). One could call it an outsider art show except that it is the ultimate insiders navigating the art world ladder of success with outsider visual strategies.

OUTSIDER BULLSHIT


The trick to being an "insider outsider" is to make it look more obvious than a thrift store. There is macrame, knit sweaters, bric-a-brac chandeliers, sloppy ceramic and lots of wood scattered about the Whitney Biennial. There is an insidiousness lurking in the simpleton charm of this work. "Oh hey that looks funky..." is what the impulse thought of a viewer is when one encounters this work, but sadly, IT'S A TRAP! Most of this work has a tsk-tsk tongue-clicking pretention to being about something other than it is - you see, if the work were about interesting-looking art that incorporated an outsider aesthetic (or heaven forbid were made by a an actual art outsider), then it would be accessible and engaging - something that is not taken kindly in the cold art world climate of rarifying the shit out of every human experience into academic-objective "re-presentations" of phenomena. So this is never outsider-informed art, it is outsider-embellished stances, analyses and deconstructions. The Mike Kelley impulse to soul-killingly crush any joy out of the visual language of the non-elites was the most insidious twist to the worship of irony in the late twentieth century. It stands victorious (and resiliently unattacked) as the mainstream default approach to art-making practiced by the insiders atop the shit heap called contemporary art at fifteen years and counting into the twenty-first century.

And speaking of Mike Kelley, the Laura Owens painting in this exhibit is so derivative of Mike that it reveals a new level of curatorial naiveté that has to be singled out. Owens is long out of ideas so you cannot shame the washed-up, but a curator's first job is to spot a cheat. Just nasty.

CONDESCENDING CONCEPTUALISM


The stark message about conceptual art in the 2014 Whitney Biennial is that the anything goes as long as it has an art history referent. Every time you turn around there is some terrible speck of nothing teetering on a curatorial insistence that it is art and justifying it by having some tepid construct about other art, artists, art criticism, art history or another construct unnamed by the academy as of yet but definitely involving the word art. The great Semiotext series is given a vast gallery for its archives and the curatorial impulse is to make its legacy as unappealing as a library trashcan - a feeble attempt at "artifying" the installation with silver wallpaper on one wall is a cowardly curatorial act of "Warholizing" an institution with no allegiance to something as presently mainstream as "The Factory". Even when they dumb it down, the Biennial makes sure to do it obtusely - the silver wall of Semiotext pages is not half the embarrassment as is the including of David Foster Wallace journals as "artworks" by the late author - most of them are exhibited closed or open to indecipherable pages, totally uninteresting after the connection with the author. Celebrity stands in here as a substitute for curatorial rigor, hiding behind the glamor of their names and nothing else.

A BLOODLESS MAINSTREAM


Amidst the hubbub there are plenty of forgettable paintings, installations, videos that would be elevated if they were simply relegated to YouTube and too much sculpture that vacillates between appearing to be a mainstream object performing an art function or an art object performing a functional function. The aesthetic of the day is either proto-minimalism with some clever twist to make it commentary or outsider integrity as an alias for downright sloppiness. And of course, no major art exhibit these days is incomplete with out the myriad twaddle taking place "outside the institution's walls". The Whitney brochure for the show was chock full of detritus that will be screening on inconvenient dates and times, almost as a reflex to ensure the Biennial can never really be experienced completely, and thus, can never be ripped apart in its entirety. Well fuck it, I cannot wait. This is a gargantuan turd that, if the art world need to be re-plumbed in its entirety to flush, so be it, call the god damned plumber immediately or just give up, set the whole institutional art world on fire and at least we can get some nice marshmallows out of the deal.

DEATH AS CAREER STRATEGY


There were four artworks in the show that made me think. Artworks that stayed with me... that made me take to google for all of twenty minutes to ponder.

All four of these artworks had death, in one form or another, as their central theme. Some were weirdly, perhaps unintentionally, poetic but the curators made sure to kill as much of that potential as possible. The four pieces were:

•The "art group" Public Collectors present a synopses of Malachi Ritscher, a musician and music-compiler who took his own life via self-immolation in Chicago in 2006 to protest the US war in Iraq.

•The late Gretchen Bender had a 1988 artwork "People In Pain" completely refabricated as an artwork by Phillip Vanderhyden. The original artwork, exhibited in the 1989 museum show "A Forest of Signs" had totally disintegrated.

•Joseph Grigely discovered a caché of personal effects from art critic Gregory Battock, hidden in a studio space for decades. Battock was murdered, stabbed to death on Christmas Day in 1980 while vacationing in Puerto Rico in a crime that was never solved. Battock had an interesting life and a career in the art world that intersected with many art world luminaries.

•A "sub-curated" gallery presented a few paintings by the late Tony Greene. Richard Hawkins and Catherine Opie had been classmates of the artist in the early 1990s at graduate school. Greene passed away from AIDS complications years ago.

Each of these has an unavoidably serious topic as the pretext for the art installation. Grigley and Public Collectors have scraps from their subjects arranged in vitrines. Whether by curatorial choice or necessity, the overall effect here is about as far from maudlin and sentimental as one gets when the subject is the dearly departed. Perhaps there are among us those who would like to be remembered through unsentimental museum wall text, but both of these subjects were screaming for a documentary film or even a coffee table book to better tell the story, to acquaint us, to celebrate a random human life with whom we might connect. Nope, the Whitney made sure to freeze dry all the passion and let didactic assumptions reign free.

The Bender/Vanderhyden artwork was more complex. In her curatorial walk-thru on March 7, curator Michelle Grabner explained that the Whitney was resistant to crediting Vanderhyden; the institution houses its own restoration department and they never get credited as being artists. Grabner apparently fought the good fight and in doing so she has sent the message loud and clear to aspiring artists: be the foot-servants of those who showed in the museums a quarter century ago to cut in line on your way up the carer ladder. And on top of that, Bender's "People In Pain" is a snide, elitist thumping of popular culture and one of the ugliest large works of art ever executed.

The paintings of Tony Greene, also almost a quarter-century old, were included by curator Stuart Comer. On his March 7 curators walk-thru he poignantly expressed that a generation of artists died and that their voices would never be heard and that it was important to include one from then who, absent that terrible plague, would conceivably be making art and engaged in the art community alongside all of the Biennial participants today. The amount of space devoted here is generous and the delicate paintings show a range, discipline and sensitivity way beyond almost any other artist in the entire show. The second greatest tragedy of Tony Greene's passing after his death itself is that had he lived he would certainly be omitted from a Biennial (and an art world) that privileges the smarmy over the poetic, the academic over the delicate and critical distance over beauty.

So those are the choices - die or sell-out. Whether you're a painter or whether you're a sculptor, if you're staying alive with an earnestness, buddy you're nowhere by the look of the 2014 Whitney Biennial.

Alexa Torre: Mexican Utopia

March 7, 2014, 9:23 am

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Alexa Torre is a Mexican photographer currently living in Mexico City. A graduate of the New England School of Photography in Boston, Massachusetts, Torre has been working on a project about her heritage and the traditional dresses of regions of Mexico. She states:

"Mexico is a singular country but we need to find those different Mexicans, Mexicans that can find their own way of assuming their own membership. That 'Hecho en Mexico' be able to be more than just a mark on a imported box."



"One of the transcendental parts of us, as Mexicans, is our identity. The way that we are often characterized is through our euphoric patriotism, history, culture, faith and mysticism in a very passionate way. This is a country full of folklore -- dancing, dresses and colors that express our cultural identity."



"Our country seems to be losing that sense of self and passion, partly through interior conflicts and through the imitation of other countries influences."



"Through this project, I want to generate a greater social conscience through the young generation of Mexicans and the integrity of our people, so we all can again fall in love with our country and culture and establish a greater identity."



"Mexican Utopia is not only a project that tries to rescue the privilege of visual aesthetics and the mysticism that we sometimes don't have -- or being conscience enough to see or admire it. It's also about taking those masks of complexity and what it is to be ourselves, while regenerating that identity that is been lost."













To see more images, visit: www.alexatorre.com.


If you are able to read Spanish, visit TRIPLE ARTE, an online platform with the mission to promote cultural awareness throughout Mexico about contemporary art. It is managed by Alexa Torre, Andrea Molina and Ana Paola Azcárraga.

Sinister Wisdom and the Legacy of Adrienne Rich

March 7, 2014, 11:24 am

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In 2009, I took on the editorship of Sinister Wisdom with some trepidation. Did I have the time and energy to steward a lesbian-feminist magazine, especially one with such an august history? Was I up to the task that so many of my literary idols -- Adrienne Rich, Michelle Cliff, Melanie Kaye/Kantrowitz, Elana Dykewomon and most recently the indefatigable Fran Day--did with aplomb? Did I have the vision necessary to make Sinister Wisdom a vibrant and relevant journal for lesbian-feminists today? Could I continue to nurture and grow the journal and its community of supporters?

I still cannot answer these and other questions authoritatively, but as we approach the second anniversary of the death of Adrienne Rich, I want to highlight Sinister Wisdom 87--a tribute issue to Adrienne Rich.

The death of Adrienne Rich on March 27, 2012, filled me with grief and a profound sense of loss. It took a few months before I could contemplate a tribute issue, but I knew immediately that Sinister Wisdom must do a tribute issue. Adrienne Rich and Michelle Cliff have an important history with Sinister Wisdom: they were the second team of editors and publishers. Cliff and Rich edited Sinister Wisdom from January 1981 through the summer of 1983, and their editorship of Sinister Wisdom was enormously influential.

Catherine Nicholson and Harriet Desmoines started Sinister Wisdom in 1976 in Charlotte, North Carolina. Initially, they committed to publish three issues of the journal. Lesbians around the country hailed Sinister Wisdom as a vital continuation of the work of Amazon Quarterly, a journal published by Gina Covina and Laurel Galana from Oakland, California from the fall of 1972 until the summer of 1975. One year grew into two; the second year became a third. After four years of publishing Sinister Wisdom, independently and with a group of volunteers and guest editors, Desmoines and Nicholson wanted to pass editorial control to others while ensuring that the journal continued to publish and operate as a vital resource for lesbian-feminist conversations. Cliff and Rich accepted the roles of co-editors and co-publishers of Sinister Wisdom, moving the journal to their home in Montague, Massachusetts with a post office box in Amherst.

The first issue that Cliff and Rich produced was Sinister Wisdom 17, published in the summer of 1981. Cliff and Rich each wrote a separate "Notes for a Magazine" for Sinister Wisdom 17. Cliff reflects on the ways that "lesbian/feminists must work to rededicate ourselves to a women's revolution." For Cliff, Sinister Wisdom had a crucial role in that revolution. Cliff writes:

I have made a lifetime commitment to a revolution of women. I want to serve this revolution. And I want this revolution to be for all women. I want Sinister Wisdom to continue to be informed by the power of women. I want to make demands on this magazine, and I want other women to make demands on it also. I want these demands to include courage and vigilance. Theory and nourishment. Criticism and support. Anger and love.

Cliff's opening salvo as co-editor of Sinister Wisdom captures the revolutionary zeal of the WLM and Sinister Wisdom's role in fomenting and nurturing the movement.
In her first "Notes for a Magazine," Rich affirmed the initial vision of Desmoines and Nicholson who "described the founding of Sinister Wisdom as a political action." Rich noted that language and images are "ultimately political...what we read affects our lives." Within the pages of Sinister Wisdom and in the broader lesbian-feminist community, Rich wanted "intensive dialogue among women across racial lines" as well as across class lines. Rich wrote that she and Cliff

want to publish material which makes explicit the experience of women who have often been erased or unheard even within lesbian communities. We want to see a continuing documentation of dialogues on race, and what must inevitably come on their heels, and already is -- a wholly new, woman-identified dialogue on class.

Dialogues about race, class and anti-Semitism were central to feminism and lesbian-feminism during the years that Cliff and Rich co-edited Sinister Wisdom.
In Sinister Wisdom, women worked out ideas within a community. In recent years, feminists, lesbian-feminists and lesbian separatists have all been skewered for being dogmatic, rigid and doctrinaire, particularly in their thinking about race, class, and a variety of political practices. Given this current cultural portrayal, it is striking to read old issues of Sinister Wisdom. They offer a stark alternative to such caricatures. Lesbians, lesbian-feminists, and lesbian separatists within the pages of Sinister Wisdom are not angry, rigid or dogmatic. They are thinking women, engaged deeply in politics, theory, and daily life. They are women who are striving for new modes of understanding and new ways of living in the world.

Thirty-eight years since it's founding, Sinister Wisdom continues to publish quarterly. We share our thirty-eighth birthday celebration with sister feminist publications, Calyx and Lesbian Connection. Volunteers, subscribers, and donors support the work of Sinister Wisdom. Sinister Wisdom 87, a tribute issue to Adrienne Rich, is available for sale on our website, www.SinisterWisdom.org. I invite you to support and celebrate the many legacies of Sinister Wisdom!

This blog post is adapted from a longer essay in Sinister Wisdom 87 about the Cliff/Rich editorship.

On Making Harmontown

March 7, 2014, 2:46 pm

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Neil Berkeley's documentary Harmontown, about Community creator and show runner Dan Harmon, premieres tomorrow night at the SXSW Film Festival.

Halfway through shooting, the subject of my new movie turned to me and said, "Ya know, it occurred to me last night that I'm not changing. I've experienced some things but those are just accumulations. I'm 40 years old ... I'm not gonna change. So you don't have a story. What are you gonna do?" My first thought was, "you ass hole." I had met this guy a month earlier, agreed to shoot his tour for a documentary and here we are in a parking lot in Kansas City and he's telling me that he's not going on a journey. Beyond that, only minutes before, he announced to the world that not only is he not the hero but, in fact, he is the villain of this story. We had four more days of shooting left and I only had half a story.

I've quickly learned that that's the problem with telling a person's story right in the middle of them actually going through it. From what I can tell Dan has accepted calls, crossed thresholds, battled dragons and now he's gotten everything he's ever wanted in life and according to Joseph Campbell he's about to pay a heavy price. I'm not going to say that it's going to be bad ratings, heavy drinking or this movie that are going to finally send him into the low point of his journey but if story circles are real then he's about to find out that (point metaphor)...

But then again maybe not. Dan makes a very real, very honest point when he looks into the camera and admits to me that he's all changed out. Good or bad this is who he's going to be and as long as he's honest about that to his friends and fans we're all allowed to decide whether we want this person in our lives. You see, people's lives don't follow structure and we don't go on a journey. We don't cross thresholds, we don't meet goddesses and we don't return to our villages with elixir. We may occasionally be heroes and sometimes villains but mostly we're just people ... Truth is we're mostly extras.

So that's where I found myself six months into the editing process ... Lost in a non-story with a non-hero/villain trying to find an ending. Then Dan gave me video he had recorded during one of the final days of the tour.

Several days after our conversation in the parking lot Dan went to the bus by himself late at night to drink and get things off his chest. He sat alone in the bathroom with a cup of vodka and a lipstick camera hanging from his ear. I wish this movie could be three hours long because it's possibly 45 minutes of the most fascinating dialog I've ever heard. Dan dives deep below the surface of the bottom of the well and admits to every flaw, every false-hood and every fractured aspect of his role in the relationships with the people he loves the most. He looks himself in the eye and tells himself that he's not the hero, he's gotten everything he's ever wanted and the fans need to know that he's not who they think he is. Most importantly, he realizes that that's no way to live and he admits to wanting to want to change ... To grow up.

Harmontown is a portrait. It's not an expose or an exploration. Dan is incredibly aware of all his flaws so there's nothing he could see on screen that would cause a sea change. It's meant to show the world who this person is and what he does but most importantly its meant to show why anyone would pay attention. Dan does speak to a group of people that find his honesty and his openness refreshing. He gathers them into a community and empowers these people who aren't normally asked to be powerful. From the minute I met them at Meltdown Comics in Hollywood I have been fascinated by them, and telling that story has been my goal. Dan's ultimate message is for everyone to be honest with one another so any movie about him or anything he does that doesn't meet that expectation will have fallen short. I think Harmontown measures up to that expectation, and for me, it's an incredibly fun/sad, dark/humorous, non-story about a non-hero, maybe-villain worth telling.

This post is part of a series produced by The Huffington Post and SXSW, in conjunction with their annual festival (March 7-16, 2014, in Austin, TX.). To see all the posts in the series, click here; for more information on SXSW Music, Film and Interactive, click here.

First Nighter: The Met's New 'Wozzeck' with Matthias Goerne Confidently Stepping In

March 7, 2014, 3:30 pm

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The first performance of the new Wozzeck production at the Metropolitan Opera House turned into one of those show-must-go-on episodes that turn up not only on the arts pages but also as local news. When that happens, what actually unfolds on stage can get short-changed. Maybe it did this time.

Thomas Hampson was supposed to take on the title role, but earlier in the day he withdrew, indicating bronchitis as the cause. Lucky for Peter Gelb and relatively lucky, too, for production coordinator Mark Lamos, German baritone Matthias Goerne was in town.

Even more fortunate, Goerne has played hapless soldier Wozzeck many times, most recently in a Carnegie Hall concert staging last Friday night. And even more fortunate than that, he'd attended the Monday morning Wozzeck dress rehearsal prior to the Wednesday bow. Immediately contacted by Gelb, Goerne said he was game and then showed up for an afternoon costume fitting and run-through with conductor James Levine.

How did he do? Extremely well under the circumstances. But there were those circumstances. On Tuesday night Goerne had also sung Franz Schubert's Die Schone Mullerin song cycle at Carnegie Hall. That's a lot of singing the previous five nights. He also had to learn the blocking for the production after having viewed it once and then being given a few hours to go through it with Lamos and/or stage director Gregory Keller, both of whom surely had many other things on their opening-night minds.

As a veteran Wozzeck, the bulky Goerne knew the endlessly put-upon man he was playing and gave the impression he was aware of exactly where he needed to be from moment to moment, both physically and psychologically. He was movingly stentorian during much of Wozzeck's frustrated and increasingly distrait descent. But there were times when he was less audible than others, a situation that may be chalked up to vocal overwork. Or maybe just as likely to a lapse of concentration while figuring out whether he was in the right place at the right time.

Others on stage -- all of them undoubtedly concerned over Goerne's well being -- performed with facility. Deborah Voigt as Marie, the wife running around with the bombastic Drum Major (Simon O'Neill) gave out with effectively piercing cries on the many occasions when the woman betrays the feelings she has as an unmoored mother. (Anthony Reznikovsky plays the unaware boy well.) She's required to sing mostly in her higher register, and that's a help, too, these days.

Peter Hoare and Clive Bailey as, respectively, the Captain and the Doctor, Wozzeck's frequent taunters, had their characters in hand. Tamara Mumford was especially eye-and-ear-catching in her short scene as Margret, the flirt who puts the moves on Wozzeck until she notices the dead Marie's blood on his hand and sleeve.

A description of the look of this Wozzeck is already past due. So here it is. Since the opera debuted in 1925, Lamos and set and costume designer Robert Israel clearly got to thinking about the esthetics of German Expressionism, perhaps most familiar now to movie fans of Nosferatu and The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari. High walls dwarfing the cast shift and tilt from scene to scene; at the outset lighting designer James F. Ingalls throws long and menacing shadows again those grey walls.

A solid blue show curtain lifts and lowers between each of the 15 segments throughout which Wozzeck tries to understand why he's becoming increasingly ostracized. Before his alienation leads him to murder his straying wife and leave his child abandoned, he feels his predicament most acutely in a tavern and then at a street festival where couples bump and grind clumsily around him. (No choreographer is credited for the wonderful movements.) Lamos makes all of this connect with skill, if not with breathtaking inspiration.

Undeniable inspiration is in Alban Berg's score, it should be needless to say 89 years on. Its jagged stretches are like lines in a George Grosz etching. Into it an occasional sweet melody fits like a flower poking up through a crack in cement. There's no missing that the music is a metaphor for the turmoil in Wozzeck's mind, and Levine conducts it for utmost effectiveness.

For many listeners, the zenith is reached with the crescendos in the interval following Marie's stabbing. The mounting intensity in the two mounting B chords is almost unbearable and at the same time irresistible. Levine and orchestra make the absolute most of them. Opera lovers with the money to spare might think they've gotten their ticket's worth from that minute or two of music alone.