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Week 2 Articles: |
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| Take A Drive - |
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| TenetOctet Likes To Bang |
| 11/30 by laura |
Enough with the paint and sculpture for a while, why not sate your ears for a few. This Saturday at Squeaky Wheel, TenetOctet strikes again, but under a new name - The Reactionary Ensemble. The two found it more suitable, and business smart, to start another project and still maintain their first child for simple safety reasons.
Their sound has remained unhampered under this change and furthermore can be said to have become more complex, more hands mean more sounds and special effects, such as video. The video is not meant to steal the spotlight, but backlight the ever progressive sound streaming forth from the hands, or bent cymbals, of Tristan and KG Price.
Seriously, get off your ass. These guys just arrived home from Japan with an aftertaste of synthetics, claiming jovial new beginnings. "[We are] now consisting of distorted video/audio feeds, out-of-phase-guitar loops, haunting cello, free jazz versus tribal percussion and even sometimes a single voice, the ensemble aims at the more angular and abstract. Sometimes casting forward imagery of the "everyday" in uncomfortable ways that makes you realize it's true absurdity. Killing the dramatic crescendo before it's peak to prove there is still joy in the incomplete. Atonal, static scratching greets patterns of soft color as testament that the marriage of anything is possible." What the fuck better is going on in Buffalo on a 32 degree Saturday night? Nothing.
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| Tyrone |
| 11/29 by laura |
The cement steps of Delaware Lake called to me as my feet tired. Not even five minutes of silence passed before Tyrone came wandering in my direction, dead set on plopping his velvet ass down next to mine. The first thing he says to me? "I'm Schizophrenic."
Oh yeah? You think? I laughed out loud. Why doubt him? Tyrone and I gazed out over the lake as he vented about hippos, the government, music and his virtually unaffected body temperature, while I relaxed and listened. I imagined Chris Barr, one of Buffalo's most ingenious artists, in my place next to this velvet and scuba-suited man who loved to talk. I mused that Chris might hold some sort of interview with him about the inner workings of our digestive system and than animate Tyrone's dream world and hold an opening reception for his newly title piece, "Tyrone's Tummy" at the new Burchfield Penny, while handing out candy lips and tongues and bile-looking cocktails.
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| Koffin Kats Kill!!! |
| 11/28 by laura |
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This weekend, we braved the bitter cold air and Black Friday traffic to spend the night with the Koffin Kats as they opened for the Necromantix.
Anyone who resides in Buffalo is well aware of conditions in which Showplace operates - that is intolerably hot or cold, sparse, grimy and home to the better acts that pass through our Queen City. This Friday it was filled with the most loyal of fans, those degenerates who still take the time to dress as their iconic greaser, punk or pin-up, much, I'm sure to the pleasure of this band. Vic Victor led off with a display of undefeatable strength as he played the upright bass as it lay across his shoulder blades. So as not to disappoint the lady fans - yes, as he is known to do, clad only in his crowned skull and wings. We recommend a steady diet of Vic.
Now these guys have helped to carve the niche for Psychobilly and are on the road to promote this stylistic mix of American Rockabilly and Devilish punk. Their particular sound has classic rockabilly commitment, leashed with ghoulish imagery, B-movie phrasing and stunt man antics.
Both Vic and Tommy, garner an ability to play any sort of guitar, which called for a quick switch-up midway through the show. They stood atop the bass, lay underneath it and bellowed a raw version of Elvis. Unlike other pell-mell drummers, E-Balls Walls has a ferociousness and intensity and maintains his timing and rhythm.
The show didn't end after their act but we took the back seat while the Necromantix played, lingering near the merch booth, eager to eavesdrop on their conversions with the fans. The sign on the plastic booth table read "Looking for a sexy party: No really, we need a place to crash." We have been knocking our heads in for not suggesting our place, but from now on, the door's always open Kats.
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| Sonicafair at Squeaky Wheel |
| 11/27 by laura |
The show, entitled Sonicafair, is a collection of final projects by 13 students in Introduction to Sound, a multi-disciplinary course designed to give students a theoretical, historical, and practical introduction to sound as a creative medium.
These projects, including sound sculptures, soundscapes, urban interventions, and live performances, encompass original ideas that will discuss a variety of themes, including societal issues, music experimentation, as well as feelings of nostalgia. All installations will involve the audience's creativity and participation.
"The installations in this exhibition represent some of many exciting ways that sound can influence both public and private space," says the course instructor, Jessica Thompson.
Aural presentations often feel familiar, because of the human attraction to music and movement, so alternative media presentations like this often command a larger crowd, a different variety of people. Those that have no interest in fine arts may enjoy giving their eyes a rest and letting their ears take in the arts instead. Join us this Saturday as we shut our yaps and listen.
December 1, 5-8 PM; Free
Squeaky Wheel
712 Main Street
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| Migration To Magazine Street |
| 11/26 by laura |
The "contemporary art" down here in Louisiana, from what I can tell, is far less all multi-faceted than the culture. It is like being swallowed into a vat of rainbow paint and spat out in the form of jazz and balconies. I was truly in love with this spat for the first few days but then found myself craving a more melancholy content, less focused on the amount of color which can be weaved into a basic oil on canvas and focused more on the subject matter itself.
With that said - this is tourist town, Mardi gras capital and French flamboyancy haven. The vendors, or rather, the attractive and ethnic painterly men gather in a central square near the water, Bourbon and Canal Streets cooing at young women to take a gander at their colorful stroke. The women are bangled, spritzed with perfume that smells like salty caramel and offering treats with a seductive wave of the hand. Amidst this promiscuity, it is easy to mistake poorly rendered art for lowbrow voodoo-esque one of a kind.
Fast forward to Magazine Street in the Warehouse District. Pass by the stained glass windows and approach a ruined cement fortress with 3-12 foot narrow wooden doors and large Griffin knockers. Because it is the weekend, and Louisiana is still in the Bible belt, strictly following old Southern tradition, this fortress is closed. Behind discontinued multi-paned windows however, are rows of acrylics with the celebratory horror of Day of the Dead, small and appropriate splashes of fruit colors and textures that look like they emerged from the mighty Mississippi. When I find out the name of that artist, he gets a page on the site dedicated entirely to him/her.
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