These ominous words, accompanied by the slow tolling of the bell, seep into your ear drums, but in no way prepare you for the onslaught that is about to be visited upon your stereo. There is such a density of things to discuss and explain, it can be difficult to talk about in brief. From the actual music on the records, to the packaging and multitudinous liner notes and inserts, and the incredibly rich symbolism, historical and philosophical allusions, and the ample repurposing of pop culture, there is literally and figuratively a lot to unpack.
Spend some time on the upper Upper West Side of Manhattan, where the forty-six-year-old Stephen Adly Guirgis grew up, the son of an Irish mother and an Egyptian father, and you can still hear the notes in the scale of his theatrical repertoire: black, Jewish, and Latino voices that meet and crash and land on the predatory streets that his characters sometimes stalk far into the night, in search of a little coke, perhaps, or some Chicken McNuggets. Guirgis, a brilliant comedic talent—who began his stage career at the LAByrinth Theatre Company, where Philip Seymour Hoffman, a co-founder, directed his early work with great compassion—also has an original and knowing take on class, particularly as it plays out among the bottom-of-the-barrel working-class poor, who are virtually invisible to the wealthier men and women around them. From the beginning of this elegiac, exhilarating, hundred-minute, intermissionless work, which is surely handled by the director Anna D.
Beginning in portland or. Saxophones, synthesizers, spirals and sputters - this is stepping out of your skin ala Cocoon music. JOMF session December 2,
No Frank, I think startle is a better word. Whether you like it or not, this world is not too easy. Reality is here, it's knocking on the door. Hell, no
Sign languages are as expressive and systematic as spoken languages, and that includes taboo words. The video below features a host of signers demonstrating some favourite insults and profanities. It also shows how much fun swearing can be.
Jamal Moss aka Hieroglyphic Being grabs Dustin Krcatovich by the dome for a journey through a sprawling back catalog that marries house and techno to cosmic jazz, industrial squall, and sonic vistas yet unknown. There ain't much that's cosmic out there anymore, at least not in semi-popular culture. The full-on pop world isn't even trying.
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I'm gonna let all you indie kids in on a secret: There are at least three writers on the current Pitchfork roster that-- oh my god-- enjoy the music of the Grateful Dead. Heck, the Richardson household even owns that atrocious disco album the Dead made. So we love us some freedom rock, man! While we can't quite get with either Rat Dog or The Dead and only Mitchum would be so depraved as to trade Phish concertswe've had to look for our vital instrumental noodling outlets elsewhere.
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