Archive for February, 2007

I wanted very badly to have an awesome time at The Painted Ladies, a burlesque style, sexually provocative dance show at the East Village’s Mo Pitkin’s. The venue is perfect for the rowdy, risque women, and the potential was there, but the end result was a surprising dull night, nursing a very strong margarita, waiting for something truly thrilling to happen.

To be fair, the women have talent, energy, and are all excellent performers. The director, Jenny Rocha, particuarly stands out from the very first number. The dancers are fearless and brazen and their faces are just as expressive as their bodies. They are all strikingly beautiful, their costumes are fun and creative, the music they chose was memorable. How then, did I find the time to be bored, you ask? Easy. In between each of the seven dance numbers there is a long break– just as long as the numbers themselves. Each time the break arrived, I found myself checking my phone, looking around the room at other bored customers, and wishing I could be somewhere else. The dances were also at times repetitive and unfocussed. I wasn’t always sure what I was watching or why. And instead of feeling excited about interpretting the night on my own, I felt confused by the overt and awkward sexuality, and uncomfortable with the luke warm response of the audience.

Somehow, The Painted Ladies get lost in the strange place in between legitimate dance performance and Coyote Ugly style dancing bartenders. Since they commit to neither, they stay trapped in a kind of purgatory of almost-ness. They have the talent, courage, spirit, and direction to achieve greatness, so I felt a real sadness at their inability to utilize their strengths. Even my very strong (and let’s face it, overpriced) margarita wasn’t enough to liven my night at this oddly unsatisfying event.

If you dig astrology; or gazing up at the night sky; or just like catching an early evening buzz and staring at big, bright, shiny shit, then you need to check out Tuesday nights at the Hayden Planetarium. Just about every Tuesday night at 6:30 pm the good folks at the planetarium put on an hour long lecture and star show under the dome and it only costs $12 (or $10 if your a member, a student or a senior citizen.)

Me, my girlfriend and a fifth of Jack went on the last Tuesday of the month when they host “Celestial Highlights”, a nifty overview of what’s going on in the sky for the upcoming four weeks. Turns out March is a pretty happenin’ month, astrologically speaking. We sat with about two dozen other people in the dark as the lucid tones of Professor Steve Beyer took us on a tour of the night sky starting with the planet Venus coming into view just west of the setting sun on the 1st.

The Hayden possesses the world’s largest cosmic atlas and they use their unique Zeiss Mark IX Universarium Star Projector(say that ten times fast) to paint the heavens in all their hyper detailed glory. Under the dome the sky blazes with a majesty that just can’t be observed with the naked eye in the big city. It was breathtaking and a little overwhelming.

All during the lecture and the show there’s a digital clock on one wall with the date on it. As the lecture continues and the stars move across the sky, the date on the clock progresses through the month to parallell when it is we are seeing and hearing about. It was just another little touch that added to our immersion in the subject.

The star show and lecture gave me a new appreciation for a skyscape that I take for granted as a constant everyday fixture in my life. The whole adventure was a wonderful experience, and like almost all the thiings you’ll find on this website, the planetarium is a treasure that far too few New Yorkers take advantage of. So, I implore all of you to take an hour and go. You’ll have a blasty blast. If nothing else, it’s a cool way to pre- party before hitting the bars. And who knows- you might just learn something. In the words of Professor Steve Beyer, “Just get out and LOOK!”

UPCOMING COOLNESS

• Tuesday March 6- Depths of Sky

• Tuesday March 13- The Search For Life on Exoplanets

• Tuesday March 27- Spring Has Sprung

To get updates on upcoming sky phenomena and Hayden events send a blank e- mail to

star-struck-join@lists.amnh.org

Straight from the streets of Brazil comes Ruas de São Paulo: A Survey of Brazilian Street Art. Ensconced within a gallery, the graffiti feels anything but confined as it sprawls across the newly expanded Jonathan LeVine Gallery (located at 529 West 20th Street, 9E, NYC). Catch the work of Boleta, Fefê Talavera, Highraff, Kboco, Onesto, Speto, Titi Freak, and Zezão before it leaves on March 17. The gallery is open Tuesday through Saturday, 11 AM to 6 PM.

As cutting edge as it’s supposed to be, graffiti begins to feel a bit passé here in New York when you pass tag after tag sprayed across tenements. Thanks to Ruas de São Paulo we can now see the stylings of Brazil without blowing all our rent money on airfare. The colorful and expansive exhibit demonstrates the unique cultural influences that impact art in São Paulo.

Kboco’s work, replete with totemic aboriginal forms, is a prime example of the impression the indigenous population has on Brazilian art. Likewise, Talavera’s work is inspired by Aztec and Mayan myth. Northeastern Brazil is represented in Speto’s work, which invokes its traditional woodcarving styles. As Jonathan LeVine Gallery points out, “he fuses modern techniques with Brazilian cultural heritage to create a distinctive form of street art.”

Of course, São Paulo’s industrialization is one of the primary factors at play in the artists’ work. Jonathan LeVine Gallery explains:

Ruas de São Paulo captures the changing Brazilian urban landscape, raw and uninhibited graffiti scene, and is a snapshot of a thriving movement stemming from a rich political and poetic history. A city destroyed by pichação (markings originating from inner-city, impoverished neighborhoods), these young, innovative Brazilian muralists are now transforming, and beautifying, the city of São Paulo.

Zezão has found one of the most intriguing ways to incorporate a modern-day convenience that we take for granted into art: he actually paints in the sewer system and subterranean water ducts of São Paulo. We’re glad that the art world has finally taken street art seriously enough to put it on display at a gallery so we don’t have to slosh around in the sewers to see the work of one of Brazil’s leading abstract graffiti artists.

Jenny Gottstein, who was involved with Graffiti NYC, notices how urbanism affects art. She compares the graffiti in São Paulo with that of Salvador da Bahia, a less-developed city in the northeast:

The interesting thing about Salvador is that a lot of the art is characterized by an Orixa theme (the afro-Brazilian gods that are so highly venerated in the area). The Ruas de Sao Paulo event was interesting, because it presented a group of artists who tend to inject a more international/cosmopolitan edge into their work. But despite any resemblance to the street art happening in Europe, Japan, and the U.S., the artwork we saw had a distinctly … at the risk of sounding obvious … Brazilian flavor. Why? Because (like most things that come out of Brazil) the pieces had an inherent musicality to them.

The influence of music on art in Brazil was the subject of the Bronx Museum of the Arts’s Tropiclia, which closed in January. The artists involved in Ruas de São Paulo likewise cite music and the art surrounding certain musical movements as a major influence on their work. Speto is into hip-hop, while Boleta and Highraff show psychedelic influences. Talavera literally makes her work out of the concert posters plastered throughout the city.

More than simply a collection of graffiti, the Ruas de São Paulo exhibit reflects Brazil’s deep heritage while exploring the contemporary art movement. The works of each artist are highly individualistic and insanely beautiful.

Last night I went to The Bitter End in the West Village to attend the Moth StorySLAM. I have never attended a story slam before, but the concept lies somewhere in between a poetry slam and stand up comedy. Contestants each tell a five minute story (the time limit is strictly enforced) and then three judging teams score the story on a scale of one to ten. At the end of the night a story slam winner is picked.

The basic concept is simple but the product is rather amazing. The crowd is supportive, the contestants are refreshingly diverse, and the night is full of energry, reflection and laughter. Each story slam has a theme and last night’s theme was “Meltdowns”. Each contestant interpretted this theme in a comepletely different way, and the night was therefore surprising and thrilling. One man told of his high school principal committing suicide years after his graduation. Another man described the worst imaginable blind date, and the clear highlight of the night was a middle aged attractive Jewish woman telling of her breakdown in Paris and the kindness of a stranger saving her life. Somehow, each of these stories were told comically, the audience laughing along with the story tellers. No one bombed, no one was judged too harshly and everyone gained insight and compassion.

The Moth Story Slam is a night that gives you hope for New Yorkers connecting to each other on an intimate level, and I personally walked away feeling fantastic and excited for the next slam. I went alone to the event and would recommend the same for anyone who is bored with no one to hang out with on a Monday night. The Bitter End is a great location with good drinks and friendly waitstaff. I was content people watching, (the audience had a huge age range and a low key vibe) listening to stories, and becoming part of an impromptu community for a few hours.

Do you ever long for the days when you could join hands with 7 of your best friends & skip in a circle with innocence and glee? No need to fear… just head over to Galapagos in Williamsburg for a Square Dancing, banjo-pickin’ good time. YES- that’s right, I said Square Dancing!!! No need to scratch your head in disbelief, this event really does exist & takes place on the last Thursday each month at Galapagos, but stuffy/snobby people need not attend- must be young at heart and willing to laugh your ass off.

Singer/songwriter with a sense of humor, Andy Mullen was our caller for the evening, stylishly crooning out commands such as ‘swing your corner’, ‘bow to your partner’, ‘do-sa-do’ and ‘promenade’. Mullen introduced himself personally to pretty much everyone that walked in the door. He started slowly so we could get into the ‘swing’ of things and brush up on our dance steps, as people kept trickling in through the door.

And, Mullen’s bluegrass band The Ridout Creek Ramble had a casual groove- no silly sequined matching outfits, just good ol’ live music. They had a fun sound that put a smile on our faces.

So, if your week’s been tense and you need to escape your own reality for a while, then come on down for a little square dance therapy. Doesn’t matter if you’re the crunchy veggie girl wearing your vegan cowboy boots, the big dude in your leather motorcycle bad boy boots or even the distinguished gentlemen in the polished oxfords cause any which way your toes will be tappin’ to the tunes. Everybody gets caught up in the frenzy of the hand clappin’ and the fancy footwork. Oh, and you might even accidentally let out a ‘Yeehaw’ or two, which is totally acceptable and most likely will be returned by a friendly dancer on the other side of your square.

Okay, so I must admit, I popped my head next door into Galapagos’ other performance space a time or two to peer at the woman in the painted on shiny silver pants and bikini top (she wouldn’t have been complete without her fuzzy black fake beard & mustache) screaming at the top of her lungs & asking the audience if she had a camel toe. I decided then & there to back it up and stick with the Square Dancing. (Plus that girl band was just kinda poopy- cute, though minus all the facial hair.)

Was Square Dancing crowded? NO. In fact, we just almost completed 2 full squares (that means 1 shy of 16 people- for you citified folk who might not know the laws of Square Dancing 101.) In fact, the cute banjo player even had to take me for a spin around the dance floor when I didn’t have a partner. Seriously though, why are more people not out frolicking like mischievous children in the backroom of a bar on a Thursday night participating in ridiculously juvenile activities??? Aaahh… happy times, I’m talking happy smelly kids in 4th grade PE class- SMILE.

Overall: This event was not square and the final ‘bow to your partner’ was at 10 PM, so you still have time to go home early to call your mother (or head out to your next party of the night!) If more people would go, it’d be even better- doors open at 7 PM, but ya can’t really get started till you get at least 1 full square. And, hey- it’s cheap at $7 a head.

Thanks to BlakeWallington who sent us this awesome footage of Pillow Fight NYC:

M!stakes.

Never heard of ‘em? Now you have. Never listened to ‘em? Go. Listen. Now. Before it’s too late, go listen to the greatest Brooklyn band that no one’s ever heard of, so you can say you knew them way back when they lived in an apartment one floor down from your brother’s apartment in the way-out-freakin’-east coast of Bushwick like I do.

Well, maybe not just like I do, just. Just listen to them. Now. Take a break from this review, and come back, I’ll still be here.

See? Wow.

M!stakes aren’t revolutionary, they’re just good. Fantastically good without being too inaccessable. And difficult to describe. That too. Perhaps because they’ve found a way to emulate some of the best aspects of just-slightly-above-the-public-radar rock, new-wave, grunge, pop and punk music from the 80’s, 90’s and 00’s. (Ed: This decade is known as the aught’s. It’s 2007 people, we need to decide on a name here, and The Aughts was good enough a hundred years ago, it’s got some classy charm, and it sounds good. There. It’s decided)

Some of the first bands that come to mind to describe M!stakes would be are The Clash, The Smiths, Depeche Mode, with slight streaks from the grunge era like Stone Temple Pilots and perhaps a dash of Soundgarden, but with compositions that you may expect from Radiohead, just without their level of weirdness and alienation. There. That describes it. I think.

M!stakes, are understandably often misspelled as Mistakes, and improperly prefaced with “The” (They’re not The M!stakes, they’re M!stakes) which may make them harder to find than other bands, but when spelled right, they’re easy to Google.

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Drama adds a bit of excitement to Spanish Painting from El Greco to Picasso: Time, Truth, and History at the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum (1071 Fifth Avenue, NYC). Like a sequel to The Thomas Crown Affair, Francisco de Goya y Lucientes’s painting Children with a Cart (1778) was hijacked last November when it was en route to the art museum. The FBI stepped in to investigate, and the painting was safely returned to the Guggenheim on February 21. From now until March 28, you can stand before this and 134 other diverse paintings from the sixteenth to the mid-twentieth century. General admission to the museum is $18, though every Friday from 5:45 – 7:15 PM you can pay what you wish. All visitors receive complimentary audio tours, and there are free tours by docents daily at noon and 2:00.

Beyond the stolen Goya painting, Spanish Painting from El Greco to Picasso raises some eyebrows for breaking from traditional art history constraints of what constitutes Spanish painting. The Guggenheim explains:

Until recently art historians bracketed Spanish painting between El Greco and Goya, maintaining that 20th-century avant-garde movements such as Cubism and Surrealism—both of which were pioneered by artists of Spanish origin—broke completely with the traditions that preceded them. Today we have sufficient historical perspective to see that, despite their revolutionary aesthetic leaps, the great artists of the early twentieth century were nourished by traditional models that were, furthermore, local in character.

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When I think of the Galapagos art/performance/asymetrical haircut showcase/drinking space, squaredancing does not generally enter into the mental picture. I was, therefore, intensely curious about what I’d find. Upon arriving, I had to squeeze through smoking hipsters outside, then navigate my way through the barely legal art school kids watching the kind of band you would normally expect to see in a place like Galapagos (electro vagina rock?) and finally made it to the back room where the squaredancing is held.

Opening the door, in the center of the room a cultish circle of oddballs holding hands and on stage an extremely mellow looking quartet of pickers greeted me as I entered (literally! everyone said hi). Chugging half my PBR in one go as the bizarre beats from next door pulsed in the background, I thought maybe I’d made a mistake on this one. I could not have been more wrong. Within about 15 minutes I’d become a full-fledged member of the hand-holding cult and can honestly say that I had THE MOST FUN dancing that I’ve had in at least a decade. If my junior high gym teacher is reading, I’m sorry, you were right, those awkward weeks we spent learning to square dance did finally come in handy. Thank you gym teacher.

Easier than hopping on my old ten-speed, I was alamand-lefting and do-si-doing like an old pro within about ten mintues. The incredibly kind, talented, and patient members of the band walked us through each dance in slow motion, then sat back and twanged with glee as we rocketed through each dance at full speed. After only a couple dances, we’d worked up a bit of a sweat and were giggling like best friends at 3am at a 12th grade slumber party (or at least, this is how I imagine it would have been if I’d ever gotten invited to one). I’m not sure why, but tripping over myself, kicking my partner’s shoe into the next room, and totally messing up the grand ol’ right and left just made it that much more fun. Did I look like a jackass? Probably. But, I met some cute girls, heard some good music, drank some cold beer, and for the first time that I can remember, really did dance like I didn’t care who was looking.

I highly recommend this event to anyone that doesn’t take themselves too seriously and has the huevos to make it through the hipster gauntlet when getting in.

Festering with 80s lyrics and clever quips, Your Face Is a Mess makes a hackneyed plot about a tv producer, drug dealer, and soap star enjoyable. Of course, the success of the play hinges on Marc Spitz’s quick dialogue and the fact that the actors are undeniably believable, somehow making derelicts endearing. The hour-long play will be at the Kraine Theater (below the KGB Bar at 85 E. 4th St., NYC) Wednesdays through Saturdays at 8 PM through March 4th. Tickets are $15. FMI: www.horsetrade.info.

Denny (Tom Vaught) is yammering on the phone when the stage lights come on. In a series of eavesdrop-worthy conversations, the tv producer first pitches an idea about a bibliophile so enamored by books that he reaches for one during sex, but then, switching to another call, Denny finds out he has cancer. Perfecting the old adage “misery loves company,” Denny, who was a rageaholic even before he got the bad news, takes his fear of “retiring” out on others. He fires Bette (Camille Habacker), the star of his show, for being too old, and in true soap opera fashion, plans to kill her off with eels, blowfish, and Orcas; he verbally abuses his snooty therapist (Bradford Scobie); and attacks a blogger (yes, even uncool techies find a place in the limelight these days). Rather than getting treatment for the cancer, Denny seeks out his drug dealer to keep him high enough to forget his suffering.

What Denny doesn’t know is that his drug dealer, Moses (Ivan Martin), has recently quit selling and taken a job at the Sunglass Hut. When Moses gets nervous he quotes 80s song lyrics, and lately there’s been a lot of “Eye of the Tiger” dribbling from his lips. Seems Moses has a few demons of his own, and has “got a deal with God, like Kate Bush.” Turning all Holden Caulfield, the drug dealer, who admits to being “emotionally guarded” (his snarky reply to whether he uses protection during intercourse), decides to adopt a dog after hearing a story about Colombian drug smugglers that sew drugs into gold retriever puppies. He figures he’ll lay low, do some good deeds, till he gets the results back from his HIV test.

The wholesomeness of bad guys getting scared straight is admittedly stomach-turning, but Denny and Moses are complex enough to make the story worthwhile. More so, Vaught and Martin have such mesmerizing stage presence that you want to hug Denny and Moses and tell them, it’s alright, they’ll get through their problems. Bette’s role seems as shallow as her character in that the alcoholic has-been is merely a foil to the male leads, but Habacker makes you feel sorry for Bette more than you hate her—kinda in that way you can’t help but worry about Britney Spears’ desperate cries for attention even though you are by no means a fan. Of course the king of caricatures is Bradford Scobie, who so convincingly portrays a flippant clinic doctor, a squirmy principal afraid of the students, Bette’s gay personal assistant, and a host of other minor characters that it takes a moment to register that it’s the same actor playing a myriad of roles.

Your Face Is a Mess is the debut production of Actionman Productions, which was founded last year. It is Spitz’ eighth off-off Broadway play. His other works include The Name of This Play is Talking Heads and Shyness Is Nice. Your Face Is a Mess is directed by Carlo Vogel. Habacker starred in Spitz’s Shyness Is Nice, and hosts The Slipper Room’s burlesque shows. Martin has appeared in such films and tv shows as Neal Cassady, Sleepwalker, Hollywood Ending, The Sopranos, and Law and Order. Scobie has played such comic roles as—get ready for it—“Ukulele Lou, the self-loathing clown; Cousin Rooster, the chicken-fornicating hillbilly; and Louie LaPel, the fake French guy.” Vaught is a voice-over actor.