Curatorialist

Lovers Land – LOVE from riley blakeway on Vimeo.

I just checked in on a site that I’ve been enjoying, called Measure for
Measure (“How to Write a Song and Other Mysteries”) only to find out that
they are “temporarily closing down.” Which, in this economy, probably means
something a bit more severe than that. The site captured the inner-workings
of songwriters like Andrew Bird, Suzanne Vega and Rosanne Cash who offered
up fairly deep and thoughtful insights into their process. In an effort to
create a little closure, they asked the artists to write about their
experiences writing about their process and to get “meta” about it, they
asked if the process affected their songwriting. As artists usually are,
their ability to get broad is not nearly as interesting as their ability to
paint a moment. But the earlier writings still really resonate, like early
albums of artists who later became retrospective rather than introspective.

Down below, here, is the first one I read, from Andrew Bird. It is immensely
interesting and offers a little insight into the mind of an artist. At one
point, he says, “almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping
melody.” He’s talking about his uncontrollable need to make music, from a
place inside him that he doesn’t so much summon as unleash.

It’s sad to see this kind of thing come to an end, but in a few important
ways, it was probably necessary. Sometimes we can give up our motivations by
talking it out – It’s that cartoon showing famous people on Prozac, where
Edgar Allan Poe writes his famous novel, “Hello, Birdie!” We have to harness
those personal, idiosyncratic fears into artistic expression and shining a
spotlight on it can never be fully honest, as the artist is often incapable
of understanding it and being it at the same time. Simply put, you can’t wax
philosophical while you’re trying to whistle a tune. I’m a little sad to see
the site go, but maybe a little happier to see the artists return to what
they’re good at. I had the same feeling when Bono wrote a “guest column” for
the NY Times. It sort of detracts from both entities.

Anyway, listen in: http://measureformeasure.blogs.nytimes.com/

March 26, 2008, 2:38 pm
Words Will Tell
By Andrew Bird

In about a week I will load up my car with amplifiers and guitars and drive
to Nashville to begin recording my next record. I don¹t drive much anymore
and I¹m glad for that except that I used to write a lot while on the road.
Solitude, boredom, and the desperate need to entertain oneself are ideal
stimuli for songwriting.

I¹ve spent most of the last year inside a tour bus. I¹ve spoken more words
to journalists than I have to my friends and family. All of this has kept me
from what I realize now is my job, and that¹s to daydream. Now I bring my
bike on tour and ride every day. Wandering in an unfamiliar town, the rhythm
of walking or riding and a few hours to kill is nearly the perfect recipe
for a new idea.

I¹ve got 11 songs mostly written and several dozen distinct melodies. I
never worry about the melodies drying up. Since I can remember, I¹ve had
melodies in my head. I chew my food to them.

Almost every breath contains some fragments of an escaping melody. If I
shape my lips so as to whistle, my breath will take on a musical shape like
sonic vapor. Words are much trickier. I would forgo words altogether if I
didn¹t love singing them so much. My choice of words and my voice betray so
much and that¹s what¹s so terrifying and attractive about it.

I¹m not the most forthcoming person ‹ I only speak when I have something to
say. What is becoming more challenging of late is dealing with so many fully
formed melodies that are unwilling to change their shape for any word. So
writing lyrics becomes like running multiple code-breaking programs in your
head until just the right word with just the right number of syllables, tone
of vowel and finally some semblance of meaning all snap into place.

I¹m kind of the opposite of the confessional singer-songwriter who fills
notebooks full of poetry and intones them over a bed of chords. Meaning or
³the truth that¹s in my heart² usually reveals itself well after the record
is released. I¹m often surprised that the things I care about actually end
up in my songs. Until then I¹m mostly concerned with shape, tone and
texture. I¹m really an instrumentalist who sings words and if you care to
pay attention you might enjoy them. So in this post, I will begin reporting
on the progress of an as of yet unfinished song, with all my doubts and
insecurities laid bare.

The song in question is called (for now) ³Oh No.² It began, as do most of my
songs, with a sound. It could be a creaking door or a delivery truck or the
sound of multiple stereos wafting out of bedroom windows. For the last four
years the same dancehall beat has been has been rattling the foundation of
my Chicago apartment. When I stay at my farm, sparrows, coyotes, chickens
and frogs find their way into my songs as well.

In the instance of this song I was on a flight from New York back to Chicago
and a young mother and her 3-year-old son sat in front of me and it was
looking to be the classic scenario of the child screaming bloody murder.
However, I was struck by the mournfulness of this kid¹s wail. He just kept
crying ³oh no² in a way that only someone who is certain of their demise
could. Pure terror. Completely inconsolable. It was more moving than
annoying.

So when I got home I picked up my guitar and tried to capture the slowly
descending arc of that kid¹s cry. It fit nicely over a violin loop that I
had been toying with which moves from C-major to A-major.

I¹ll spend days at my farm creating loops with my violin where I record a
phrase and layer on top of it, often starting with pizzicato followed by
multiple string lines. This is a handy compositional tool I also use in
performance. I can follow any whim and instantly hear how it works in
counterpoint with other ideas. It¹s perfect for someone who plays by ear and
improvises as I do and who is too impatient for notation. This helps keep
ideas fluid and ephemeral but with an instant gratification playback option.
I¹ve found that I can be completely satisfied for weeks by the simplest
four-bar phrase repeating over and over again. It¹s a fragile thing where
your perception of it can change it completely. You can reconstruct all the
elements the following day, note for note and go by physical memory but the
feel can be elusive.

Back to ³Oh No.² All this child knows is that he needs to get off this plane
and I can empathize. I often find myself in a crowded room and all I know is
³I need to get out of here.² So begins the song with a child¹s half-dream of
climbing out a window and venturing into the ravines around Lake Bluff,
where I grew up.

let¹s get out of here
past the atmosphere
squint your eyes and no one dies or goes to jail
past the silver bridge
oh the silver bridge wearing nothing but a one-sie and a veil.

When I was little the ³silver bridge² spanned the ravine and marked the
boundary of my known world.

Words get under my skin the same way melodies do. Something catches my
attention and I file it subconsciously. It often begins with an archaic or
obscure word I have not defined. I just like the sound of it and its elusive
meaning gives it a mysterious shine. On the menu of a local cafe is an item
called ³salsify.² Before I reach for the dictionary I let my imagination run
wild and decide that salsify is a burrowing bronchial root like a rickety
old mine that burrows deep into something. It turns out that¹s mostly
correct which encourages me further. All I know is ³salsify mains² sounds
good to me.

Then I might think of what I want to say, what have I been fixated on of
late? I have been thinking about how as adults we bury our emotions and I
almost envied that kid on the plane who had license to express what we all
were probably feeling. And how I have felt frozen and numb of late. (The
process may seem more deliberate than it actually is ‹ it¹s only because I¹m
breaking it down for this article and have hindsight that it appears that I
know what I¹m doing).

In the salsify mains of what was thought but unsaid
the calcified charismatists were doing the math
It would take a calculated blow to the head
to light the eyes of all the harmless sociopaths

What does it take to wake us up, we who feel so little? Aren¹t we almost
like sociopaths, only the kind that don¹t kill people?

The only thing I don¹t care for in this lyric is the ³calcified
charismatist² ‹ it just feels too clever. I¹m known to make up words but
this is too heavy-handed. So I¹m still searching for the right words. For a
while it was ³unemployed ex-physicists,² but that¹s too typical of something
I would write. Lately I¹m considering ³calcified arhythmitist² or just
³arithmatist² ‹ something that conveys a physicist¹s sketch or formula for
what will revive our harmless sociopath. Then the cheerful refrain of ³arm
in arm we are the harmless sociopaths/in the calcium mines buried deep in
our chests.² Followed by the chorus which has only taken shape in the last
day, which is ³Oh no, we¹re deep in a mine/Oh no, a calcium mine.² Sounds a
bit bleak as I break it down, but it should be a rousing little number.

He’s like a modern day Peter Beard, except instead of the weird corners of Africa, it’s the weird corners of the whole world and instead of a journal, it’s every medium you can think of. Spray paint is his elephant blood, ravey party girls are his African models and he seemingly never stops spreading paint and illustrating the images in his head. Less of a commentary on the world’s goings ons, but that’s not every artist’s job. David Lynch is no less respected as an artist of his trade because he pulls from dream imagery rather than newspaper headlines. If we’re being honest, much of the draw to be an artist involves creating a piece of art out of the way we live. Choe embodies that ideal.

More at davechoe.blogspot.com/

When I came to L.A., in the early 90’s, Chaka’s tags were everywhere. You
couldn’t drive down a road without seeing his familiar scrawl on a highway
overhang or street sign. He’s having a one man show over at Mid-City Arts
- http://midcity-arts.com/, giving historical significance to his prolific
tagging. I don’t have much of an opinion on the issues of tagging, graffiti
and the defacement of public property – I don’t see why something can’t be
both illegal and art at the same time. In fact, I think too much importance
was put on the illegal activities involved. Like rap, the surrounding
culture has become too much of a distraction from the art itself.

The important things about what Chaka did are not terribly significant in
the world, but they are interesting, from an artistic standpoint. For one
thing, New York tagging and graffiti was unintelligible. Blocky, intricate,
interlocking letters kept words and names in a code-like obscurity, creating
new objects of design and a level of craftsmanship to aspire to. I visited
New York in 1986 for the first time and, to a young creative-minded kid, it
was completely overwhelming and awe-inspiring. Chaka, on the other side,
made tagging more of an everyman activity by simplifying the mark. You could
read it. And by toning down the design aspect of it, it actually caused
people to pay attention to other things, like location and ubiquity. It
became kind of about fame and self-promotion. A very L.A. interpretation of
graffiti.

In retrospect, what I like about the show is that, in truth, graffiti is
appropriately ephemeral. Here today, gone tomorrow. And, in that way, what
is most interesting about it is the way it marked a time period in my life.
It was part of the marked landscape of my own history. And a show like this
preserves the memory, like an opened time capsule. The show is about L.A.,
not Chaka. The visuals are like old familiar songs evoking memories and
emotions that will mean something different to everyone who sees them. If
that isn’t art, than nothing is.

I have t-shirt blood running through my veins. I’m the Phil Jackson of
t-shirt design; I have seen shirts, and shirt designs, come and go. I have
had the pleasure to have a few of the absolute greats on my team. See, I
grew up in surf/skate culture (in the 70’s) and logos were everything. It
started with surfboard logos and then moved to
skateboarding. So, having the t-shirt with your brand of board, wheels,
trucks or whatever was a way of feeling like you were sponsored. T-shirts,
to me, were more than outerwear – they were about the dream of glory.
Wearing radness on your sleeve. I never got the free crap from those
companies, but I got more than my fair share of hand-outs at the contests.
The DogTown Skates and Independent Trucks shirts I owned were my early
Michael Jordan and Scotty Pippen. A perfect combination of flashy graphic
imagery and typeface perfection.

Later, concert tees came in and created a business out of the design of
t-shirts. The early ones were crazy and good, but over time the business of
t-shirts overwhelmed the artistry of t-shirt design and it was never the
same. Very few have lived up to the feeling of wearing those early marks of
well-crafted lettering and bad assery of imagery and layout. Very few have
elevated beyond just coolness of design and become something altogether
greater: the “coveted tee.” But that hasn’t kept me from looking. I have all
the graphic tee sites bookmarked and I go through them pretty regularly. I’m
happy to say, one man has risen to the top: this dude, Joshua Smith (
http://hydro74.com ), comes with it in a heavy and considered way. He
understands. All the references are there – his designs hark back to an
earlier time. He knows his typefaces and lock-ups. But he knows more… He
knows why we wear ‘em. Clearly his influences match up with the greats. Talk
of “the next Michael” is a useless conversation, although we can’t help
ourselves when we watch someone dominate a game the way Kobe does. The play
begs for the comparison. And this one fella right here, this is the play. The
fade away jump shot at the buzzer. Snake, skull, blocky scratchy letters… Game
over.  It’s the difference between saying, “oh, that’s a cool shirt” and “I need
that shirt. I must own it.” This guy is at the top of the game.

Admittedly, Alice in Wonderland was NOT one of my favorite childhood
stories, or movies. I was all about The Peanuts and then went straight to
comic books. And then Neitzsche. But this still harkens to something inside.

The fact that he used 90% of instrumentation from the movie is both insanely cool and remarkable from a creative standpoint. Showing that when you take the parts and rearrange, you still end up with a lot of the soul that was infused from the beginning. This is contemporary chillax musical goodness (from Pogo), but it’s also trippy and other worldly. Guys just came in my office and were checking it out and we
all just stood there, with our heads to the side… and we all got very
small.

This is the YouTube video:

But the real experience happens here.

It’s easy for Wayne Thiebaud’s work to get kind of lost in the timeline of
artistic movements. He sometimes gets lumped in with the Pop Art movement,
but he came before them. He hung out with abstractionists, like de Kooning
and Kline, but wasn’t an abstractionist. His work can be compared to
Hopper’s, but it’s not really even close. Also, that pastel look of his, in
a world where we’ve learned to talk more in terms of fashion than movements,
can appear perhaps dated. But it’s not.

What I know about Thiebaud is mostly from my personal experience, seeing his
work at the exact same time I was getting into fine art. His work, to me,
was simply good painting. It wasn’t conceptual, so much as it wasn’t asking
a lot of questions, but it was of the highest order of skill. Unlike more
conceptual artists, or even the Pop movement, Thiebaud’s work was
undeniable. More than a craftsman, he was a professional. I wasn’t a
painter, but all the painters I knew respected him. That was important to
me, growing up. Art was not a safe or appreciated course of study, so
observing people who were serious about art and who treated it with respect,
pride and honor proved to me that it could be an endeavor of high regard. He
also understood the importance of inviting criticism into one’s life, and
being critical of one’s self, in order to push the work.

“We all need critical confrontation of the fullest and most extreme kind
that we can get. You can unnecessarily limit yourself by choosing your
criticism.” – Wayne Thiebaud

We’re in a macro kind of society that likes to label, categorize and write
the book before the story is even finished. Thiebaud reminds us that
everyday objects, family and the normal sights we see on our daily routines
are worthy of the artist’s attention. You don’t have to worry so much about
your theme and your importance to the world, at large. You can just see the
cupcake and paint it. And paint it well.