This week, after a buddy of mine relocated to Los Angeles, I've really started to think about it. (He's been filling my head with how awesome LA is, cheaper and friendlier with lots more going on. Really.) Perhaps LA is where it's at these days. Perhaps the grass is greener on the other coast. And now this Art Brut song is stuck in my head:

A big reason for my friend's departure, in his words, was that he found it much harder to make new friends in New York than he has anywhere else. People in LA are much more open to meeting people, he said. Is that really true? My friend in Portland (who's lived there for about a year) said her main complaint about her new city was how hard it is to make friends there. She left a ton of friends behind in NYC. So which coast is really friendlier? Obviously Portland is very different from LA, and New York is its own planet altogether. I've always thought the difficulty I encountered meeting people in New York had more to do with the post-college reality that everyone experiences (we're not all living in a big happy dormitory anymore) than the vibe of the city itself. But maybe I'm wrong?

What do you all think? I'm sure the east coast vs. west coast debate can go on forever. New York can be exhausting and exhilarating all at once... and as a book person, I never thought I'd live anywhere else. But California... seems so awesome. Perhaps I've gotten sick of crowds -- even really fun crowds. Or maybe I'm sick of all the hipster-bashing and general snark about my neighborhood (case in point: the comments on the NYTimes McCarren Pool article today).

Or maybe I'm just ready to flee...

The view from the tent in the morning was ominous at best.

The first band on the mainstage were The Divebomb Revolution, winners of a local battle of the bands competition whose prize was to wake up all the other festival goers who hadn't quite crawled out of their tents yet. The trouble was, I'm not too sure bombastic prog rock in the style of Dream Theatre can really be fully appreciated at such a tender time. Although showing a great deal of promise, the band really seemed to lack the ideas and talent to follow in the footsteps of their blatant idols, and came across as more style than substance.

So we headed over to the Leaf Lounge, 2000 Trees' intimate tent that was hosting all of the acoustic acts of the weekend. And when I say intimate, I mean it. As we arrived the tent was pretty packed out, with listeners sitting as close as possible on the ground in front of the stage, as young starlet Natalie Ross walked out to perform her set. If I thought that The Divebomb Revolution were over the top, then Ross was about to show a whole new realm of overbounding enthusiasm. Constantly chattering about how unique she was, her seemingly desperate need to be accepted as a kooky individual fell apart as she pleaded for her audience to appreciate her 'angle' at the music industry. Furthermore, once she had eventually stopped talking, her songs were sung with a smug croon that didn't settle too well on my ears, and just came across as a bland attempt at being 'different'. I certainly wasn't a fan, and left pretty early into the set, as she continued to talk about an alcoholic boyfriend or something.

Natalie Ross embodied everything that is wrong with the kooky indie scene.

Returning to the main arena to grab something to eat from the fantastic Pie Minister, purveyors of one of the greatest festival pies I've ever eaten, A Silent Film were entertaining the audience with an engrossing, ethereal sound that sounded akin to the likes of Editors and Coldplay, although that description really doesn't do them justice. It was wonderful music to just sit back and relax to, pint in hand. They certainly have the talent to breakthrough to a bigger audience, and were very enjoyable.

After this it was back to the Leaf Lounge to get an early spot for the late announcement Chris T-T. As we arrived local boy Dan Heaver was playing up to the crowd with a catchy collection of vocal melody driven songs, that had the audience chanting along. Considering I'd never heard of him before I was really impressed by how he had them eating out of his hands, even warranting an extra song as the organisers frantically tried to hunt down the now missing Chris T-T.

Despite his late appearance, Chris T-T did a stellar job of wowing the crowd.

Eventually he was found, and had no problem in enthralling the crammed tent with his overtly political lyrics, reciting his brilliant poem midway through the set to a silently enraptured audience. Despite a set cut short, he didn't lose any of his power, and his themes of deforestation and anti-war struck a chord with the predominately tree hugging crowd.

Later on in the day and The Anomalies took to the stage, a loud and brash band featuring turntables, rappers and riffs. I was under the impression nu-metal was well and truly dead to the world, but given the hyperactive antics of the two MC's, whose livewire freestyling took to the ears like a rusty cheesegrater.
Things did not overwhelmingly improve with the follow up act, Imperial Leisure. Given my distaste for ska music in general, I was not likely to enjoy their forcefully upbeat horns, but even I couldn't help but get a wry smile out of one of the vocalists looking completely out of place, his white shirt and gold watch standing out a mile from the ragged clothes of his counterparts.

Imperial Leisure were...well, certainly nothing akin to what their name suggests.

Given how 2000 Trees has handed a lot of its bragging rights to Frank Turner's endorsement and appearances at the festival, there's no surprise that there is a remarkable amount of expectation from the main stage's largest crowd yet. Unfortunately the miserable weather only added to what seemed to be a rather uninspired performance, a shame considering how much I have enjoyed his shows in the past.

Just like the weather, Frank Turner was a bit of a disappointment.

However, my personal indulgence this weekend was to be Future of the Left. Having been waiting to see them since getting a hold of their fantastic debut, the whole weekend had been building up to this moment. It was just as well then that their performance did not disappoint. Falkous' screaming tore the sun out of the clouds, and bassist Kelson Mattias put on a brazenly riveting performance, teasing and toying with the disappointingly empty crowd. After this onslaught, I could only just about manage to hang around for a few of These New Puritans' tracks. Given the gradually rising furore being made over these guys I was expecting a lot more than the staid and painful techno infused noise, and the repetitious vocals only grated.

Future of the Left were fucking awesome. End of.

It was up to headliners Art Brut to close off the weekend's frivolities, and despite technical problems that saw their set cut ludicrously short, frontman Eddie Argos kept the show going with an impromptu juggling performance, and once the music started a highly enjoyable set that dashed through some of their more popular hits (I gather the band have quite a following in Germany, and certainly deserve a few more admirers on their own shores).

And therein did the weekend end. A hectic ride home and a brief shower and all I'm left to say is that 2000 Trees was a fantastic example of how to go about making a festival about the music. The weather was diabolical, some of the food was questionable, and getting there was an upheaval, but I can honestly say that the charming atmosphere and great fresh talent made it more than worthwhile. I just hope that next year things remain 2000 Trees, and we don't begin to see another passionate event ruined by greed which could see it turn into 4000 Trees or more.

.all of these found. all of them by me. <ahem> --- found by me..

click on the thumbnails to see what you'll find

all found art - toronto and halifax. note the god theme. there's the obvious shepherd with jesus himself, the lamb of god - who's leading who? - while below we see the modern variation; 80s chick with the tiger of allah. then there's hitler's favourite pope, paul six. woo-hoo! (which despite the value village price tag - $1.99 - i did come across on the street.) plus this frilly lady i discovered in forest hill, and what's not god-like about that.

yes it's true::: collecting and exhibiting found art brut is so much easier than actually writing or drawering anything, especially web-comix, an obscene mixture of the two evil arts. so check out these pieces to tide you over 'til next i reaffirm my pact with the devil and put pen and ink to paper (and then drastically alter everything in photoshop).

whatever i feel like - whenever i feel like - only @ thenewdeference

Kazuya Akimoto Art Museum

named and added to gallery #9,2008  at Kazuya Akimoto Art Museum

"Noah's Ark just before the Flood"

acrylics 21"x18"

lisited in New Paintings  2008

Today's Keyword

within Museum paintings

raw art, art brut, outsider art

( excerpted)

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]]> http://bibpop.wordpress.com/?p=168 Tue, 08 Jul 2008 05:00:57 +0000 øyvind http://bibpop.wordpress.com/?p=168 Format: CD
Tittel: «Neon Bible»
Artist: Arcade Fire (MySpace)
År: 2007

Noe av suksessen til Arcade Fire kan sikkert forklares ved hjelp av sprelsk kaosteori og toneangivende anmelderes unisone omfavnelse av «Funeral» fra 2004. (For øvrig ikke i Drammensbibliotekets eie per dags dato).

Men mye av sannheten er vel likevel at kanadierne har evnen til å vinne flere typer publikum på en og samme tid, både et blasert indiepublikum og de litt mindre interesserte som bare er innom festivalene og hører på det alle andre måte høre på. Dessuten komponerer de både skinnende radiolåter som klistrer seg fast umiddelbart («No Cars Go») - samt sanger som tatoverer seg sakte og for alltid inn i hjernebarken («Ocean Of Noise»).

Buldrende og breiale turer dette underlige kollektivet fram med solide røtter i både indie- og folkrocken, som var de en skjønn symbiose mellom Neil Young, Syd Barrett og David Bowie. Noen vil kalle det overprodusert og pompøs folkrock kamuflert som noe langt viktigere og mer varig. Men denne platen levner ingen tvil - det er mer ved Arcade Fire enn kun et ullent popband med nerdetekke.

Sjekk tilgjengelighet og reserver denne platen på drammensbiblioteket.no.

All artworks were done on handmade paper from ®paperIS™ by ©N_war and ©N_aja

Reading Festival, TOTPs…NME, TOTPs…Glastonbury Festival, TOTPs…Guernsey Festival…WTF?!

It would be perfectly understandable for serial popsters Art Brut to wonder where the hell they are, flailing with gleeful abandon on and off the edge of a small beersweat-encrusted stage somewhere within the dark heart of this strange island where fate, brandy and a man named Jim Rhesus have ensnared them. But Eddie Argos and Art Brut know exactly where they are. Delivering rabble rousing banter and incorporating local knowledge with such aplomb that they delight the assembled and smash all pretence of pretentious art wave scenester frauds. Oh, and did I tell you their secret? Art Brut are a dirty fucking rock band!

First up, though…and The Night Society. A bombastic, indie rough cut diamond. Songs of loss, regret, revenge and despair delivered with such ferocity and honesty you can’t help but watch waiting for the impact. Brett’s drumming is cataclysmic, Dre pulsates like Jello Biafra possessing Frank Black, spitting bile and sarcastic lament, whilst Krissie's harmonies add the sugar pill of poise and grace that keeps the whole train clinging to the tracks. Loud and boisterous, tender and violent, in love and enraged, this is the best break up sex you never had.

Next up we have the sonic bombast of Guernsey hardcore band Limefire. The best hardcore, from Minor Threat to Sick Of It All, is defined by the times and places it inhabits, at once universal but also incredibly localised. Limefire speak about issues and places they’ve lived through. Songs like ‘Scene Queen’ and ‘Shambles’ detail events affecting the band and the Guernsey music scene.

Right now, though, half of Limefire are dying. They have the lurgee and no amount of fruit-based energy drinks can save them. But any doubts that this may be a restrained performance lie in tatters on the floor as the closing chords of opener ‘Shambles’ ring out across the Tavern, and for the next 20 minutes Limefire blitzkrieg their way from a shambles to a borstal breakout.

Later I find them discussing the merits of cheap Korean guitars and Pantera with Art Brut’s Ian Catskilkin. I digress.

Famous on distant shores for employing the same session vocalist as Electric Six, Thee Jenerators (featuring Mark Le Gallez of mod figureheads The Risk) are veritable gods on home soil. They have of late undergone a metamorphosis, additional sax bringing old songs kicking and screaming into a new era. Resplendent in red and black, Thee Jenerators fire through songs like ‘Fight The Power’ and ‘Burn The House Down’ with vitriol and menace.

The sax fills out the sound, adding a new maturity that elevates and pushes the band forward. All the boxes are checked, Le Gallez’s jack in the box dance manoeuvres and staccato vocals backed up with Ozzy’s pounding drums, flanked by Matt’s buzzsaw guitars and Lynchys statuesque bass. Familiarity can often breed stagnation and boredom, but tonight nothing seems taken for granted and each familiar chorus and fuzz-laden riff seems shiny and new.

Onward then to the raucous climax. Edie Argos has been swapping albums for brandy and coke at the bar, current exchange rate apparently equating to 15 Euros, and these actions appear to have him suitable lubricated to lead us through 45 minutes of brash agit pop steeped in art school suss and Stooges-like bravado.

This isn’t really a gig, more like having a few friends round to leave cigarette burns on your carpet before the police get called in. Kicking off each song with “Are you ready Art Brut? GO!”, these songs unfold like a gloriously drunk Jackanory. Episodic snapshots unfurling like a slow developing Polaroid, eventually revealing the heart behind the sloganeering veneer. ‘My Little Brother’, ‘Bad Weekend’, ‘Emily Kane’, all sharp, witty and infectious. Argos discarding the small stage and choosing instead to lead the party, flailing amongst the sweat heavy throng, exotic in Hawaiian shirt and officer class ‘tache, instructing Chris Chinchilla, Ian Catskilkin, Fredie Feedback and Mikey B along each new avenue.

“Art Brut break it down!”

“Art Brut pick it up!”

‘The Fall for beginners’ tag instantly discarded to the ‘journalism for slackers’ pile. The Fall were never fun, were they? Dirty, English and whole enough to belie the albatross one-hit-wonderisms paraded about in the wake of ‘Formed A Band’, Art Brut tonight are intimate and illuminating.

Argos inflames local rivalries by declaring that Guernsey is wonderful but Jersey is shit, “They have the wrong colour cows! Fuck Bergerac, who the fuck is Charlie Hungerford?”

Participation is the name of the game and Jim Rhesus joins Art Brut to perform backing vocals on ‘Moving To LA’, reprising a role he assumed on the acoustic version to be found on the New Cross unplugged album. Art Brut may be defined by Argos’ Pulp-ish observations and vocal delivery, neither spoken, nor sung, but behind him are a band made up of variously, a ska fanatic, a grunge fan, a Pantera aficionado and a drummer who allegedly only consumes Weezer. Thrashing out genre-baiting sound blasts, dovetailing between pre-burnout Blur and straight up punk rock riffs, tonight Art Brut win.

As the evening derails into a stage invasion that leaves Jim Rhesus joining the band for an AC/DC-style blow-out you start to think, tonight Guernsey, next week German Rolling Stone…surely that Top Of The Pops date is only a phone call away?

yonder, mist kissed peaks prance
o'er the lands, this lively
dance of the Ancients' trance
unfold. Mystic wingless
birds they worship and flutter
about these two,
abysmally taut demiurges
swaddled (proud and minuscule)
in black. Would you
have made those clouds from
dead rainbows, or
the moon be dead nail
clippings? For I reckon
thou festooned skies with reds
and blues and yellow swirls
of gaiety exploding, rumbling,
singing as thy paper
trumpet blared which
hath me wondering:
hast though glory come
to unravel in all this reveille?
hast thou ascended to thy ayrie
lusted by the wind and winged
critters and skies rampant?
has thou passed from child
to knight? or from
knight to sovereign?
or from
sovereign to saint?
I may know never
(just as these impossible
walls you built shall forever
stand) thy blessing
hidden in your tormented
colors but thy spirit
resting, will endure sleepless
yet in Neveranger.

I don't know, but there's something about the art of the insane that fascinates me. I think viewing their art is the closest thing we can get to "seeing" what goes on inside their minds. The artwork shown above is called the "general view of the island of Neveranger" by the prolific Art Brut figure Adolf Wolfli. In no way does it look like an island but there's something in this picture I can't quite put my finger on that inspired me to write the verse below it.

Last year, everyone was raving (literally) about the new fashion: Nu-rave. I think that Tom Clarke summed it up perfectly:

What is new rave? New rave, you say it, it sounds like shit. Old rave was proper. Well, it's not even old rave, but rave was proper. New rave is just a bunch of shit bands playing shit songs really, really quick, that's what new rave is. There's no point in it. There's no musicianship, no songs, no point. It's a bandwagon and people will ride along it for a couple of minutes then it'll finish hopefully.

And it did finish. Very quickly.
Well boys and girls it's been a whole year and where has this preserve of Neverland's Lost Boys taken us? Nowhere. Fuckwhere. What I want to know is what the new cool thing is this summer. Not for me, I'm fine being my own rolling stone, but I am sick to death of looking at Pete Docherty clones everywhere. Hitting them over the head with a giant glow stick feels fantastic. I want a change of scenery. Well according to the street it's still 1969 and everyone is in the Libertines. But come on guys, it's been years now. Where's the new break?

It just makes me think, "What is up with this place? Burma has gone to shit and Mark Speight from SMart isn't answering his phone (anyone seen him?)".
It's not good enough teenagers. Get your act together.
That's why this summer I am donning suits, like a right Portobello bastard. Dave Davies was found in bed with 5 girls at the age of 16. That my friends, is what suits do for you. A few years ago I would have been stabbed at for wearing a suit, but I'm approaching the "wear what the fuck you want" age of life (16-34).

I'm taking a leaf out of the book of Eddie Argos ("Wet trousers in the washing machine, but I'd rather be damp than seen in jeans"). Eddie may be in the same category as "That girls an Indie Cindy, Lego haircut and polka-dot dress" but you have to respect this guy. If the scene wasn't so cheesy he would be a real legend: Fucking Hoosiers weighing Eddo down.

This guy is Jarvis Cocker and I have a Pulp Addiction. It may all be "Wear-Straw-Hats-And-Wayfarers" but some people know what to do: throw away the jeans and get your threads in M&S.
Only could old Eddie make the title of this post a pop-culture reference in itself.

illustré amateur étranger

ART BRUT ART BRUT ART BRUT

les ongles du pouce augmentent à normal

email newdeference@gmail.com, s'il vous plaît

Today's Keyword

within Museum paintings

green color symbolism

( excerpted)

latest contents: "green color symbolism "

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