Alexander McQueen S/S’11 Review

 (images via stylefrizz)

Alexander McQueen S/S’11 Review

To any true fashion enthusiast or devout, Alexander McQueen was the master of true showmanship in the newer generation of designers. I strongly believe that, from fashion’s most celebrate gatekeepers to its pathetically-paid, coffee-fetching interns, anyone worth their weight in the fashion industry has been moved at one point or another by Alexander “Lee” McQueen’s work. Though his aesthetic can be said to be too dark or strong for some's taste, the impeccable tailoring and craftsmanship of this legendary and inspiring artist is a testament to the visionary’s overwhelming talent. As well as the skill required to be a universally celebrated member of the fashion industry.
The privilege and potential curse to succeed this daunting legacy laid with Sarah Burton on October 5. For house’s Spring 2011 show in Paris, Ms. Burton demonstrated that she is more than capable of properly ensuing the dramatic and avant-garde aesthetic the industry has come to knowingly, and devotedly, expect from the brand started by Lee McQueen himself in 2003. The industry’s insiders certainly waited with breathe abated for Ms. Burton to unveil the direction in which she planned to take the brand of such an artistic mastermind.
But Ms. Burton proves she knows her stuff. Having spent fifteen years working closely with McQueen, Sarah Burton demonstrates through this latest collection how in tune she was with the designer’s vision and aesthetic up until his tragic and untimely death. The striking similarity between both McQueen and Burton’s designs for the house is comforting for those (let’s face it, everyone), worried that the dark drama and acute tailoring would disappear as one of the brand’s signatures. Ms. Burton’s inaugural collection for the house was riddled with enough McQueen favorites to keep brand-devotees from straying but also plenty of pieces to help Burton establish her direction as the brand’s creative director.
Markedly different in this collection was the femininity present in the majority of Burton’s pieces. The show’s opening introduced the designer’s softer vision, evidenced in a white tailcoat suits with ruffle detail. This palpably more feminine approach continued throughout the collection with some McQueen trademarks like bold, pointed shoulders that were delicately sliced open to reveal a peel of skin. Or the dresses fluttered in monarch butterflies or a-spread with intricate feathers and the heavy dramatic beading on suits of black lace, which assured the anxious audience that the impeccable craftsmanship and showmanship of many of McQueen’s designs and shows was not lost. And, perhaps most importantly, the fantasy would continue.
Throughout the show, the heavy-detailing and artistry never ceased to evoke the audience’s fondest memories and sentiments of the British star and his uncompromising artistic vision.  Another testament to Burton’s ability to redefine the house in such a way that continues McQueen’s legacy but yet creates her own, was her attention paid to showmanship: a beloved and significant aspect of many of the late designer’s shows. While this collection wasn’t complete with fashion film installation or the large stage props expected at McQueen’s shows, the element of fantasy and imagination still lingered with Burton’s transformation of staging a more mother earth-ly nymph-esque atmosphere. This complimented the pseudo- Rapunzel, cascading braids worn by the gentle beauties walking down the runway.  This McQueen collection struck a difficult balance between different, yet oddly the same, new yet familiar, as each of Burton’s masterful creations has the essence of Lee McQueen’s unmistakable design techniques and direction, but undoubtedly with her own spin.
The notion of continuing the legacy of a fashion house and designer as beloved as Alexander McQueen is a daunting task for any successor to the dark Prince of Fashion’s aesthetic. Luckily, fashion lovers everywhere can rest assured that the pinnacle of British design talent and extraordinary artistic vision rests in good, rather skilled hands and will produce moving and inspiring collections comparable to those Lee McQueen gave this rich industry for over two decades.

Aubrey J. Kauffman: Photographer and Family Man

 Aubrey J. Kauffman: Photographer and Family Man

A cool girl in black is leaning into her mirror. She carefully rims her eyes in a chalky, kohl smudge. Dressed rather casually and informal in a flannel, leggings and loose combat boots, a reflection of her collegiate years and Indie spirit, she begins to describe a favorite artist of hers. “My Uncle Gerald is really corky, you know”?  She says in a loud raspy response. “ He has a very witty sarcasm, He’s really unique—he’s just different,” she says pushing her blunt shaggy bangs behind her ear. She continues, “He walks to the beat of his own drum. He’s really passionate about his work though, he’s very serious”, now stuffing her long strap satchel with her routine essentials.
    This is how I first became interested in Gerald Kaufman’s work. While the girl’s somewhat scattered and ambiguous description of the artist make it difficult to gauge just what kind of artist he is, her description was certainly becoming. I was interested to find out just who this Uncle Gerald is. What makes him so unique?  I happen to have a couple of male family members in mind that I’d hold in such high regard. What makes his work particularly passionate? But this pseudo captivating characterization from a girl seemingly exhibiting an acute cultural taste—or at least putting on a convincing enough front, was enough to spark my interest.
    Trenton, New Jersey is an average town by anyone’s standards. The not-quite-city hosts it’s politico-intellectual side of town, near the museum and other “city attractions”. It also holds its rougher side of town, walls of graffiti, sirens, and an alarmingly growing gang population. There are quiet streets with considerably large homes and children in public schools and there are run-down buildings with barred windows and drug addicts. Put simply, it’s night and day. This contrast is manifested in “Uncle Gerald”.
    Better known as Aubrey J. Kaufman. On the surface, he appears just as the city he’s grown up in, average. A cameraman for NJN—New Jersey Network, Mr. Kaufman has photography on the side. One of his niece, the cool, eyeliner-girl, describes his photos, as “it’s a hobby you know but he really likes going into raw environments and just shoots. There’s no editing, special effects, nothing. He really just shoots what he sees”.  So just what does this cool-girl certified photographer see? I spent two days attempting to figure that out.
Aubrey Kauffman, known by those closest to him as Gerald, is instantly recognizable as a product of the unextraordinary city of Trenton, New Jersey. “I grew up in Trenton…I have two brothers, one younger, one older. I’m the middle child” he describes unanimated-ly and without warmth sitting in his worn wooden swivel chair, the focal point of his otherwise mundane office in his home in Ewing, NJ. He continues with haste, leaving little time or room for any sort of inquisitive snooping about his most intimate personal years. “I went to high school in Trenton, at Trenton Central High School…I think your dad went there, is that right?” he pauses, a rare instance for Mr. Kauffman who comes off quiet but certainly not shy. His gap in conversation reveals a retrospective moment for this community man, a moment of remembering the generations of men and women in a community he’s never left. His brow becomes heavy from trying to recall the many faces he might be overlooking.
The task must be overwhelming, as his wrinkles beneath his bushy brow relax, and he continues telling of his childhood. “ In any case, I lived on 12 Chapel St. right in North Trenton. Both of my parents passed so I don’t have much family left here but now I’ve kind of created my own. I’ve really only been married once, and that’s to Mic now. We don’t have any children. We got married when we were older so I was in my late 50s. I have two nieces from my older brother though and I really think of them as my daughters. I put as much into them as I would into my own child”.
Talking of the two girls ignites a bright, slightly jagged smile on artist’s dark, pourous face, seemingly proving to be the most public display of affection shown by this somewhat reclusive personality.  It lingers for a moment, then fades, as he reaches for sip of iced tea from his faded NJN mug.
Aubrey Kauffman’s house in Ewing, NJ reflects a sort of warmth missing from the artist’s personality. Like most other streets in the Ewing area, a small neighboring town of Trenton, Kauffman’s home that he shares with his wife of thirteen years, Mic, provokes a loving and inviting atmosphere that the artist must be immersed in at home.
Since delving into his personal life seemed not to be a priority on Mr. Kauffman’s interview list, garnering some insight from his wife of over a decade sheds some light. His wife Mic, sitting in the couple’s small TV room, is a pretty woman but not in the most obvious way. Her hair is short and buzzed, drawing attention to her enviably dewy golden complexion scattered with moles and large, glassy eyes. Her demeanor is calm yet austere, enveloping herself in a consistent wardrobe of wrap sweaters and chino pants accessorized with a tense stare.   “ A touching story about Gerald’s family is that, once his mother passed, his father was in perfect health. He’d never had any sort of health related complications or anything like that. So once his mother passed, his father followed two days after. It’s believed by those living in the community around during that time that he died of a broken heart.” she details in a compassionate yet distant manner.
Touched for a moment by the beauty of the story, Mic turns to look at Gerald. Though he appears unaware, mechanically pouring himself another cup of cold brew, only peering up to cast a blank look, she smiles with the same hint of affection shown by her husband only moments ago. In this instant, the love between the two is palpable.
Chiming in for fear of sounding to have an alarmingly loveless childhood, or just in an escape from trying to get too “mushy” Mr. Kauffman leads our conversation into a new direction, and consequently back into his home office.
He adjusts the seat cover of his working-chair, a nondescript foam cushion, sliced open at the center. As he bends to sit in the chair, he adjusts his bottom until he feels just right, before settling into the chair. His chocolate hued pants graze the top of his ankles, revealing high gray socks, uncomplimentary of his nondescript tan button down and plain baseball cap. 
“ Do you work up here a lot?” I ask, combing the room’s nonexistent artistic furnishings aside from a few photography books, as well as his wife’s pleasurable readings, placed orderly into a bookshelf. An unidentifiable stack of papers lays on the right side of his desk. “Yes, I do. I usually work on my private projects here and I also work at one of the studio’s at NJN.” He responds, very candidly.
“Since we’re on the subject of NJN, How did you get started working there?”. “This is the only job I’ve really had. I started as a production assistant and worked my way up to being one of the main cameramen for the station. I’ve been working there for… I guess it would be about 27 years now.”  This is quite an accomplishment for most people’s standards, particularly in today’s economy where a job with such longevity has become somewhat of a scarcity. His longevity at NJN, New Jersey state’s educational television station, hosting scholarly debates and forums, educational content for children and award-winning documentaries on the state and the concerns of its citizens, the latter of which Mr. Kauffman has made invaluable contributions to over his near 30-year career at the station, is a testament to his considerable accomplishments over the years.  He has served on multiple photography boards for the City of Trenton as well as the State of New Jersey, exhibiting his work throughout the tri-state region, most notably at the state museum in the state capital.
Mr. Kauffman has never strayed far from the garden state and it’s few possibilities. “[I’ve pretty much always lived in Trenton]. I’ve done work in the cities close to here like Philadelphia but that’s about it. Now I live in Ewing but I grew up in Trenton. I moved out to Ewing in my late 30s.”  He replies in his deep, insipid voice.
For an artist with such great potential and impressive vision, this could be somewhat stifling. Mr. Kauffman doesn’t see it that way. “[I didn’t always know I wanted to go into media]. I took the job at NJN because it was a job right out of graduation. After mentoring with some of the producers and seeing some behind the scenes work I really got to develop my passion for being a cameraman. That led me into the photography. It forced me to always look at the world through a lens. To see things through another medium besides the eye. Back in my day, it wasn’t so much as being an intern, as it was you graduated and you got a job so that was my kind of take into joining media. The industry wasn’t as popular, especially in Trenton when I was graduating [from Jersey City College] so it was easier to get started” he explains as he looks up trying to recall the authenticity of the TV media industry during his young adulthood. Surprisingly, this is the first instance, where Mr. Kauffman brings up the hobby for which he has a remarkable talent: photography. 
The content of much of Mr. Kauffman’s work is strikingly minimalist. Finding inspiration in the seemingly great pillars of Trenton’s yester-years, Mr. Kauffman focuses on the architectural ambiguity of Trenton’s metropolitan construction, or lack there of.  Perhaps most extraordinary are Mr. Kauffman’s images are his black and white snapshots of the state capital’s once industrial pockets of town in his collection “Urban Landscapes” and “Shore Points”.  Photos of these old run-down buildings throughout the state mostly from neighborhoods in West Trenton, and the photographer’s hometown of North Trenton, evoke a sort of longing for the city to return to it’s once fundamental   American essence. Though they’re void of much content, Mr. Kaufman’s photographs still have a distinctive eye, one that reflects his nostalgia and appreciation for the historic, once-cherished city that raised him.
To see the photos in person is another experience. The eye, which Mr. Kauffman brings to capturing some of the cities most desolate areas, engenders an unfamiliar emotion in his audience. It is an emotion of conflict between feeling sympathetic for the city having lost its glory and a bit frightened by its lackluster appeal today.
Nobody is more aware of this conflict than Gerald Kauffman. His focus on his beloved city as the subject for many of his photographs, taken using a 4x5 view camera, reflect that uninspiring minimalism that he finds to be just the opposite. “I always liked the city. My immediate family was in Trenton but some of my cousins and aunts and uncle lived in Lawrenceville so that was different. I enjoyed the nature in Lawrenceville. It’s a more calming place than the city. I didn’t start appreciating the city until I started doing photography and could capture it.” recalls the photographer and videographer, providing an alternative perspective of the gritty urban landscape.
     “Can you talk a little bit about photography during the time you grew up? How did you become interested in it?” He clinks the few ice cubes whirling about in his cup and peers out of the door of his study. He’s looking at his wife, who has stealthily slipped upstairs to change into her workout clothes.
He pauses for function, not effect. “ Just a minute”. He gets up to assist his wife in setting up her virtual workout session. He checks to make sure all the equipment is plugged in properly, taking a knee to secure each socket with a sturdy nudge and professional air.  After a satisfactory check, he hands Mic the controllers and loiters a bit longer to make sure the program starts up correctly. Re-entering the room with his quick, slightly tense meander of a walk, he re-takes his seat. “ Sorry about that. Mic’s into the Wii now so I try to make sure everything’s plugged in and everything for her workout. I’m usually always in my study and she’s out there exercising or online. We just finished the bathroom so sometimes she’s in the jacquaoozi watching TV”, which sounds like an extravagant luxury for the modest houses surrounding and residing in Trenton. NJ.
But in Gerald and Mic’s home, a jacuzzi seems like a modest appliance, given their seemingly humble and gracious ethos as a couple, that ought to be reasonably considered in any household.

To my surprise, he remembers where we left off in the conversation. “Nobody in my family was established in the arts. So it wasn’t some great experience that most people talk about. Just happened to be something I stumbled upon in the later part of my life. It hasn’t always been my passion but I’ve learned to love it.” He continues with a gradual ease “[I became interested in it] I think from being a cameraman at NJN. From dealing with the camera I fell into photography from there. And people told me in order to be a good cameraman I had to have the eye of a photographer so I started to train my eye and tried to look at work I admired and photographers who really knew how to work the camera and use it to capture something interesting.”
Coaxing him to continue, I responded “Is that how you would say you progressed from videographer to photographer?” “It just seemed like a gradual transition from cameraman. In trying to strengthen being a good videographer I thought it’d be a good idea to start learning about photography so I started to take some beginner courses at MCCC (Mercer County Community College). My instructors were very encouraging about my skill level. That gave me confidence in my work and made me want to pursue it.”
Staying on the same subject, I prodded for a bit more detail as to how Kauffman’s’ work for NJN and his own coexist. “Having to capture the story has given me some discretion in the photography. It has taught me to look for certain things. I can really pick up on emotion, even though my photos are pretty bare. But I can capture real life events as a videographer and while I’m filming documentaries. So it helps me understand how people function better, which helps me capture them better on film."
“By film you mean...camera film not, motion camera film right?” He chuckles charmingly, well aware that his breadth of knowledge on the subject far surpasses my own. “What’s the difference in the kind of film that lets you take still pictures and create videos? Is there a difference?”. “Yeah. It’s harder to deal with video film. A photo is like a template you can work with it and restructure it. Where footage is pretty permanent. You can only do but so much.”  Surprisingly, that’s all I need to know. The specifics of a more skilled photographer lingo would only confused my non-photographer-specific audience and this non-photographer writer.
The faint instructions from Wii fit are sounding in the background of Mr. Kauffman’s dimly lit study. Then, perhaps in an unknowing but palpable instant, the tone of our conversation shifts. A certain visible change in seriousness shifts in Mr. Kauffman’s cheeks, eyes and brow. It is as if he knows the next question I’m going to ask him will require much thought. I proceeded with caution…
“ Tell me a little bit about your work process”.   He begins leisurely, “I’ll usually go shoot without a theme in mind. After developing that set of frames ill look and see what I enjoy and what my best photographs of so, then I’ll go back out and shoot again and try to capture some more of those objects or scenes that I enjoy.  I develop a theme from there. I usually just draw from my life, you know, church, my work, my family, my wife. I usually actually do a lot of my work digitally. So I’ll take pictures on my camera and transport them on a USB and from there I can print them or burn them on a CD so I’ll take it to this lab NJN uses to print them. I do most of my work in my office. I really like Sunday afternoons [for shooting].  Usually I’ll go to my class that I’m taking at Drexel in Philadelphia. Then after my class I’ll go through out Philly and take photos then I’ll head to downtown Trenton. My new thing is photographing nature so I usually go to the creek near my house so I can down by there and take pictures. I’m trying to find the minimalism in that.”
Continuing to explore this material, I lean back in my high-back antique clothed chair and ask where Mr. Kauffman finds his inspiration in, what some might call, an inspiration-less city. Mr. Kauffman takes a preparatory sip of his drink. His hastened gulping and enlarged, clear white eyes shows he can hardly wait to answer the question. “From Trenton. I think it’s really important because I am older. I grew up in a time where Trenton meant everything to the world and now Trenton means nothing in the larger world…it’s unfortunate to see it be in this very desperate state. I like showing this contrast between this progressive city that fell through. I think showing how far the city has come from being something great to now them considering getting rid of NJN is really what pulls my work. I think [with photographs] it’s just that it tells a story. My focus has been on Trenton so it helps me capture what’s going on there and to show people what’s actually going on rather than what they read on the news or the latest city rankings. There’s this rugged beauty that’s still there. The remains of a city that was. I think that’s what’s most interesting. There are still buildings where we can see that still standing so I think it’s neat to capture that.”
Engaging with his obvious passion, I ask “Is that why you’ve taken such an abstract approach to your art?” “I don’t think it’s an abstract approach as much as it’s realist. The city where we live, the architecture is abstract so that just comes to be the theme of my work. But it’s mostly about just catching the realness of city life. The reality of life in Trenton NJ. It’s a rural city almost.”
Our back-and-forth exchange continues, allowing Mr. Kauffman to keep on his roll. One it has been admittedly difficult attempting to lure him into. He takes another sip, his reaction showcasing his appreciation for small pleasures. He seems to pick his diction carefully, “When most people think of cities in the north you think of this fast-paced, metropolitan lifestyle but Trenton doesn’t mimic that. It’s a very small city. Most of the people here are very working class middle class people. It’s a city that used to be known for it’s wealth and industrialization but now it’s known, now, more recently, for its crime. In a lot of my work, I try to capture this contrast between this industrialized mentality with the poverty it is now. It was a city that used to produce some major materials in the world and now we’re the complete opposite”.
Mr. Kauffman’s family tends to gather at he and his wife’s house “ about every two Sunday’s a month” says the Smith family grandmother, known as Nana to most, who has thinning gray curly hair, thick glasses and the mole-scattered skin of Mic. Sitting next to her around the kitchen island is the cool eyeliner-girl who introduced me to the artist Id come to better know as Uncle Gerald. Even in a large family setting, Mr. Kauffman is the same reserved, concise-thinking older gentlemen I’d come to know in our in dimly lit study sessions. Being seeing him surrounded in such a loving light, a light of family was touching for his family man, a man who has spent his life capturing moments.
 Sitting slyly in the left corner of the kitchen, now limply holding a red Solo cup of Yuengling, I asked those closest to him, about him, with him, in front of him. Cool eyeliner-girl, better known as Blaire, immediately began the conversation. “My Uncle Gerald is…”, she pauses, looking around for something to accurately describe her witty Uncle. “He’s a Yuengling man!”. This generates a fair amount of laughter from the kitchen-clan. Blaire tries to create a more respectable depiction “ He just blends in. He likes beer. He’s really good at baking. He makes the best homemade ice cream, pies, brownies. His homemade vanilla is the best… What else guys? He likes gardening, landscaping, jazz music, Pieces of a Dream, right?” those gathered around the table settings for dinner looked to Uncle Gerald nestled in the corner, a spectator in the conversation about himself. He nods with validation of band’s name.
As dinner’s preparations came to a close, I had to ask him “ How do you see yourself as an artist?”  Mr. Kauffman looks up for a moment and raises his brow at the depth of the question. “I don’t really see myself as an artist. It’s like a hobby for me. I’m just lucky I got to create a career out of it also.” He answers modestly. “I think because my subject is something that people don’t really know about or already have preconceived ideas about I feel like I create a new idea of how it is to live in Trenton. To show people there are beautiful aspects of it. To show the culture in a way. Not many people are trying to capture Trenton, NJ. But my want to document what makes it, and my work different”.
As Mic pulled her salmon cakes out of the oven and declares “enough interviewing”, I couldn’t have agreed with her more, as I was the lucky one and got to bask in all of the beautiful aspects there are in Trenton, NJ on this family’s kitchen island.

For more on Kauffman and his work,  visit his website at www.aubreyjkauffman.com/

Gucci: A Concert Review

 

 (images via watchyoursetup.com and dctobc.com)

Gucci: A Concert Review

The Clark Atlanta University football stadium was swollen with a bevy of AUC students eager to see their favorite Atlanta rappers perform for their viewing pleasure. Clark Atlanta University’s hip-hop concert took place Friday October 8th, just two weeks before the highly anticipated and much debated performance of Rick Ross at SpelHouse, a compressed name for the Atlanta University Center’s perhaps two most notable institutions, Spelman College and Morehouse College, Homecoming 2010. But perhaps much to the audience’s surprise, the big bucks and inherent expectations of an arena-type performance complete with all of its onstage bells and whistles for the upcoming Wednesday night’s performance may be overshadowed by the raw demand of the student body for this particular group of artists.
Expected to perform at the modest-sized stadium venue were three of hip-hops youngest and rising stars. Not particularly known for their skilled lyrical abilities or attractive flow (the rhythm and pace at which a rapper delivers his or her lines), this particular group of performers reflects the quickly generated musically successes that come out of Atlanta. The majority of the city’s popular music around the time of the concert has less to do with rappers demonstrating their worthy bid to be “number one” and more to do with their desire for a fast-paced lifestyle full of “yellow bones” (a new popular term for light skinned women) fast cars and, what else, money. Seemingly gone are the days of rapping about their struggle to become big. These artists are big. And waste no time celebrating their ascent to rap superstardom.
“I’m waiting to see Gucci all night! I am not leaving here until he does some of my favorite songs. Everyone’s gonna go crazy. It’s Gucci. He is Atlanta rap right now” describes one Clark Atlanta senior, anxiously hanging over the stadium’s glossy black railings, her silver hoop earrings flashing a reflection of the stage light’s changing colors.
Elevating the crowd’s excitement for this “trap-star” artist is his label mate and often collaborator, Wacka Flocka Flame. Together, Gucci and Wacka Flocka represent a sort of new age hip-hop that would cause genre greats such a Notorious B.I.G, Tupac Shakur and Pimp C to turn over in their graves. Gucci Mane’s, Gucci for short, shallow rap content consisting of making love to money in fast cars while a beautiful, sexually promiscuous women waits by his side, entranced by his wealth and brazen affiliation with drug culture and lauding of the lifestyle it has afforded him, are enough to annoy any true, old-school hip-hop fan to no end.
Perhaps more aware of his hood-star status is Wacka Flocka Flame, a more modest version of his label mate. Never as drenched in jewels or physically consumed by an extravagant display of his wealth, Wacka Flocka may not have the glitz and the glamour of Gucci, but he remains ever proud in his status as “dope-boy”. If any rapper out of Friday night’s crowd shows a certain appreciation yet dissatisfaction with the trials of hood life, it’s Flocka. Together, the rap duo has been able to captivate the Atlanta music scene and create a niche of rappers in the city who make music just because it sounds good.
Rounding out the highly anticipated group set to perform on a perfectly warm Atlanta pre-fall night is Wale. A DC rapper known mainly for his mixtapes and less aggressive rapping style, Wale has taken the underground hip-hop world by storm, along with other rappers similar to his style; valid comparisons liken him to Wiz Khalifa, B.o.B, J Cole and Kid Cudi. Wale, and his contemporaries, are becoming known amongst hip-hops younger generation as the new wave of hip-hop, where pretty girls and the good life are still desirable but less hardcore drugs, such as marijuana, and a more relaxed lifestyle are made the norm, opposed to throwing single dollar bills in the strip club. Although, there is that element too.
Together these three artists appeased a blatant demand amongst the student body for party music and having a good time, perhaps to the extent of painting Clark Atlanta University’s school ethics in a questionable light. Good thing no one pays attention to that sort of detail during Homecoming. Known as a time for student to let loose the pressures of the classroom and excuse their belligerent and wild behavior under the convenient disguise of “having school spirit”, Homecoming has come to have a spirit of second-life or carnival. CAU’s homecoming concert was no exception.
Gucci, Wacka Flocka and Wale all took the stage to perform their most popular jams for the audience. Gucci’s club anthem “Wasted” erupted a particularly high note with the young intellectuals in the crowd who were undoubtedly celebrating feeling alcohol’s warm buzz.  After a cascade of other favorites including “Lemonade” and “Candy Lady”, Flocka’s most well known “Oh Let’s Do It”, and Wale’s smashes “Pretty Girls” and “90210”, the beginning tunes of a current hit entitled “No Hands” sent a wave of excitement through the crowd. Even in the stadium’s most nestled corners, student stood up from their seats and commenced in arguably one of the funnest dance parties of their college career. Nearly every mouth in the venue shouted back to the threesome’s call-and-response performance of their recent smash hit. Everyone was truly dancing with “No Hands”, as their palms reached for the clear starry sky.
Though the set from the hip-hop heavyweights was considerably short (no more than 3 songs per artist) it was seemingly just enough to get audience members out at a decent hour to begin their Friday night debauchery. “That just got me ready to really go out. I love that we’re not out at one and half the night is over” expresses one Spelman student exiting the stadium under dimmed hot pink lights. A concert with three of hip hops brightest stars and ample time left over to prepare for the night’s festivities? Who would have thought...rappers as sensitive to the party-time demands that is college student life? How thoughtful.

“Are You There Concert Gods? He’s here, Wiz Khalifa”: A Review of Wiz Khalifa's Concert at Masquerade in Atlanta

(image via streetlogik.com)

“Are You There Concert Gods? He’s here, Wiz Khalifa”

A concert is only as good as the audience’s energy. No matter how spectacular the shows bells and whistles may be, the fans lie at the root of an unforgettable performance. In fact, most megastars known for their live shows (everyone from Prince to U2, Tina Turner to Guns and Roses) are also recognized for their impressive and die-hard fan base. From the now cliché ignited sea of lighters swaying to the beat to pumping your Roc Nation symbol in the air, the relationship of an artist to their audience is the most important element to a good show. Wiz Khalifa’s concert at the Masquerade in Midtown this past Saturday proves that we may be able to place his name amongst the Concert Gods one day.
The hankering for this relatively un-famous artist was perhaps too palpable in the Blues House-type venue. From the back of the bar to the front of the stage, Atlanta’s university youth swarmed the congested dance-floor littered with beer bottles and North Face fleeces. The crowd, slightly resembling the moshpits of Hair Bands’ hey-day, became so suffocated that one wide-eyed, petite concert-goer silenced the room when she erupted, “ Can everyone PLEASE back the FUCK UP? We can’t breathe in here!”.
While I couldn’t have agreed more with her candid suggestion, I found that the origin of her (and everyone’s) breathing problem were a bit more organic. The air above us was emblazoned with clouds of gray smoke wafting the pungent fragrance of marijuana throughout Masquerade’s sizeable building. Despite the aggressive “No Smoking” signs which greeted fans at the door along with large bearded bouncers, kids clad in camo and leather jackets hugging the shoulders of their vintage tees lit their joints, dutches and pipes, illuminating their glassy, red eyes which were later conspicuously disguised behind Ray Bans and black eyeliner.
This attitude persisted near the bar. Just as opener Yelawolf’s set came to a close with a parade of boos, the eyelids of a boy suddenly grew heavy. When those closest heard the thump of his skull against the wooden floor, they turned around to find the young man convulsing—only the whites of his eyes were visible. He was then awakened by his friends, handed a bottle of water and resumed his apparent party-hard philosophy for the evening. For those stunned by what they just witnessed, a giggling group of girls gnawing on chicken fingers and gulping Red Stripe in motorcycle boots and heeled clogs assured them “He’s okay! Seriously, I’ve seen that happen like 3 times tonight. Everybody is going so hard!”.
After a mildly entertaining display of the DJ and Hype man’s mixing skills and call and response engagement with the anxious and impatient crowd, Wiz Khalifa finally hit the stage. At that moment, roars of enthralled cheers and eagerly reaching hands sent chills down our spines. Pittsburgh’s latest rap music import controlled the crowds sing-a-long to older favorites like “Never Been” and “This Plane” and newbies like “Black and Yellow” with every bouncing of his lanky arm, the mic nestled closely to his mouth.
The front row gazed excitedly as the tall Wiz, dressed in a heather gray crewneck, dark denim and trademark black and yellow cap, pointed with every flash of his middling light display. The artist seemed to look indistinguishable from the crowd he so compellingly commanded. Looking at the mass of Khalifa loyalists amidst his energetic and intimate performance, it would seem the pit of youth who had passed out and imprinted their thumbs with ashy lighter tracks were the essence of Khalifa’s lyrics.
In Wiz’s “Mezmorized” world where he has “ one of [his] baddest bitches rollin’ up” while he “continue[s] to smoke and remain G as fuck”, his go-hard fans would seem to fit in just fine. And the master of ceremonies wouldn’t have it any other way, ending his reign on stage with a heart-felt “ I love y’all, man” while his gaunt labyrinth of tattoos muddled beneath a coat of sweat glistened amongst a thunder of applause and shouts.
Concertgoers made their way towards the exit in a daze. As stomps of heels and sneakers created a patter-beat behind the faint singing of audience members not yet ready to leave the party, five girls sat on the front of the stage. Their combat boots and bony knees swinging carelessly beneath them, the girls were already reliving their concert experience, which included some time backstage. “I can’t believe we were that close” one girl recounts. “ Seeing him from back there was like watching a completely different show. I felt like he was performing for just me! Everybody just happened to be in the front,” remembers another. “Best. Concert. Ever” comments one girl laying back on the stage, her voice raspy and dry. “I still can’t believe we didn’t stay in that room! We would have been right next to him and all of us could have had him,” remarks another referring to their collective plan to sleep with Taylor Gang star.
Groupies? A crowd resembling a moshpit? Blackouts and weed smoking? With all of these elements in one show at the Masquerade, I fear for when Mr. Khalifa makes it to Madison Square Garden. It would seem that fast-times and the “live or let die, party, get high” mentality instilled in Khalifa’s audience revealed an awakening within this rap fan-base. A mentality, or rather, a way of life, where in youth, drugs and a carefree spirit are the highest commodities. Hippie-rap maybe.
A new idea? Not really. An unexpected revival of this idea? Certainly. Wiz Khalifa proved this past Saturday, if nothing else, that he has a large influence over those who are touched by his music. And judging by the night’s turn-out, he reaches a lot of people for being relatively un-famous in comparison to live show legends. Perhaps his recent, very public arrest in North Carolina, in which police confiscated over sixty pounds of marijuana from his tour bus, is just what Wiz Khalifa needs to finally catapult into his much-deserved, much-anticipated role of superstardom. Is his throne ready, yet?

Evenly Yoked?: An Art Exhibition Review

Evenly Yoked?
Though I enjoy the experience of visiting art exhibitions, I’m not necessarily the type of exhibition-goer who understands every presentation. I’m usually mingled in with the crowd who’s staring at the masterful displays with sheer enjoyment, thrill, admiration…and confusion. The classic, head-turned-to-the-side, squint-eyed stare and utterance of “I don’t get it” seems to accurately summarize my exhibition experiences.
So naturally, my expected reaction to “Evenly Yoked: Bradley McCallum & Jacqueline Tarry Exhibit” mirrors that of my previous art encounters. The atmosphere of the exhibition, perhaps because of its location, proves my initial expectations to be correct. Fittingly arranged in the drafty, spacious and somewhat oddly lit mahogany room that is the Spelman College Fine Arts Museum, “Evenly Yoked”, the latest video conquest by creative duo Bradley McCallum and Jacqueline Tarry, evokes a somewhat unsettling atmosphere for visitors. And appropriately so.
Presented alongside the real-life couple’s preceding artistic endeavors such as Bloodlines (2007) and Whitewash (2006-2009), “Evenly Yoked” is an exhibition that confronts those issues most important to the Brooklyn-based twosome. As reflected by the choice of mixed media (in the forms of oil on canvas with toner on silk screens and varying forms of video installations), McCallum and Tarry seek to confront the intricate structure of not only their interracial marriage but also their art.
Somber hymns set the stage for McCallum and Tarry to explore the race relations that have such large impact on their work and artistic aesthetic. Given the couple’s unique perspective, it is surprising that those issues confronted in “Evenly Yoked” were, well, anything but. The majority of the works presented in Spelman College’s Fine Art’s Museum cater to only one particular audience affected by the four hundred plus years of racial and social injustice in America. The preponderance of paintings showing favoritism towards representing the sole experience of Blacks during times of great social and racial radicalism such as the Civil Rights Movement discredits the exhibit’s name and ought to challenge exhibition-goers’ opinion of the talented twosome.
The exhibits main attraction is the video installation entitled “Evenly Yoked”. Following three different interracial relationships, “Evenly Yoked” explores the tensions shared in an interracial relationship in the form of an antebellum couple, what is assumed to be a high society, intellectual couple and one couple sitting on stage. What is most impressive about the videos is their ability to not only address the undoubted friction and opposition that is inherent in interracial relationships but also discussing those very same conflicts in a societal context. The dynamic of McCallum and Tarry’s characters’ relationships comment on the greater inequalities that their images from Bloodlines and Whitewash so eloquently capture. The very same terror and panic marked “Attacked by Police Dogs, Birmingham, Alabama 1963” (2007) is made palpable in “Evenly Yoked”’s latter couple on stage by the trepidation and unease expressed in the faces of McCallum and Tarry as they disturbingly whip the others’ skin color (in the form of stark white and glossy black) from their cheerless faces. These two pieces in particular marry the seemingly two different messages communicated by the artists. One speaks to the unsettling fear and brazen discrimination still felt by Blacks as a people in the US. The other critiques this battle amongst us all to literally try being in someone else’s skin. Together, “Attacked by Police Dogs” and “Evenly Yoked”’s third couple appear to communicate the sort of racial equilibrium sought after by McCallum and Tarry throughout the entire exhibit. A contrast between immense fear and barbarism, and a more modern weary acceptance.
Nonetheless, other overpowering aspects within the exhibit that perpetuated a biased representation of racism impair this balanced effort. While one could understand why Blacks’ distinct viewpoint on racism is an unquestionably valid topic for an exhibit, it becomes unclear as to why McCallum and Tarry stress the importance of their perspective as an interracial couple? Why not make this one of their many solo exhibitions in which Tarry’s point-of-view as a Black woman might be more cohesive? Judging by the poignant yet partial images swallowing, I mean, surrounding “Evenly Yoked”, it is clear that the couple should have more acutely edited their exhibition-worthy images as to incorporate some depicting an experience other than Blacks’.
After coming to see Evenly Yoked with the idea that the exhibition’s title would accurately indicate its substance and subject matter, I was, to my own dismay, wrong. This in no way discredits the compelling images that I, surprisingly, was able to understand sans head-cock and eye-squint. However, it does discredit the pair’s ability to create a unified, amalgamated exhibition for their audience. Perhaps the task of joining elements from so many different exhibitions contributed to the overall segmented message of the exhibit (Were the selected images from Bloodlines and Whitewash supposed to supply context to the video installations?). Or maybe, given the context of the Fine Arts Museum’s mission to “focus on art by and about women of the African Diaspora”, the artists felt obligated to incorporated images that would meet that objective. However, disconnect aside, “Evenly Yoked” provided the forum for an interesting, thought provoking visual discussion of race that, hey, I actually got…sort of.

The Radiant Child Review

  

images via IMDb


The Radiant Child Review

The documentary genre can be difficult at times to navigate successfully. A good documentary (for each of which I’m sure we can all think of a few bad ones) reveals an unseen perspective on its subject; it contributes something new to the conversation about this significant figure or moment in time.

The Radiant Child by Tamra Davis (director of such questionable films as Crossroads, yes, with Britney Spears, and Bill Madison) struggles to position itself in the former category. The film, comprised of interviews with close friends and enthusiasts of 1980s New York Downtown neoexpressionist artist Jean-Michel Basquiat, images of his work, and photographs of the young talented revolutionary out schmoozing with celebrities and other celebrated societal fixtures, seeks to tell the story of Jean-Michel Basquiat’s life and work but fails to provide the audience with a fresh perspective on the visionary and his contribution to art world. Disappointingly, given Davis’s otherwise impressive compilation of interview footage of Basquiat, his patrons and his work, The Radiant Child falls short of its truly great potential.

The documentary begins by giving audiences a taste of what is perhaps the most interesting aspect of an artist’s life: his childhood. Davis only briefly explores the early years of this visionary artist leaving much about the artist’s childhood and adolescent years up to moviegoers’ imaginations. Though the screen is filled with interesting photos of Jean-Michel before he became such an iconoclast, Davis robs the audience of knowing the root from which perhaps many of Basquiat’s inner-demons stemmed. The audience is given so little information about Basquiat prior to his well-recorded famed SAMO graffiti art tagged on the side of many Manhattan buildings. It is unfortunate that Davis allowed so much that shouldn’t have been imagined up to, well, the imagination.

The otherwise sedate movie succeeds only after Basquiat reaches considerable fame. While most all of the interview footage is compelling, the impact of this privileged dialogue is only further enhanced by the impressive display of Basquiat’s artwork continuously throughout the film. The coupling of patrons and lovers’, and even the artist himself’s, comments while Basquiat’s vivid paintings are displayed on the screen evokes within the audience the hint of romanticism purposefully streaming throughout the film. Davis awakens moviegoers not only to her talent as filmmaker but Basquiat’s as artists with this winning combination.

Other triumphs are to be found in Davis’s film. The range of contributors to the documentary is inspiring. From Julian Schnabel to Larry Gagosian to Fab Five Feddy, the variety of contributors to Davis’s, and ultimately Basquiat’s, story provides a more authentic, genuine remembering of the artist. This assortment of relationships allows audience members to create their own with the artist. With this depth in character, Davis elucidates the overwhelming intellectual content that inspired many of Basquiat’s works in the form of “talking to the great history of painting that came before him” (Radiant Child). This critical observation paints a fairer portrait of the artist, who, in this film, is equally praised for being a downtown “cool kid” and club scene fixture experimenting with drugs and blowing through his earnings alongside his idol and friend Andy Warhol.

Overall, film is unsatisfying. For those interested in spending the outrageous fair of about $10 to see a film prepare to leave the theatre wanting to know more about Jean-Michel the man. The artist’s goals towards fame, money and excess, and his reaching of those goals, are known to all those paying to go see a film about the brilliant yet still relatively uncelebrated artist. Davis insults her audience by providing the same staid details about his life detailed in every other retelling of Basquiat’s time instead of giving them an unprecedented look at the subject. By telling the audience of stories about his discomfort and odd relationship with his money and race and about Basquiat’s difficult relationship with his father, Davis wastes the opportunity (and resources) to show her eager, intellectual, liberal, artsy audience a masterpiece.

Moreover, Davis maintains such a limited perspective in her story that is prohibits multiple readings of the doc. Providing such limited and rushed-over background about Basquiat and his family only allows audience members to attribute the artist’s downfall and untimely death to one factor (the difficult relationship with his father and inner-struggle with his race) instead of a multitude factors. This strips the film of its relatability, and thus of the audience’s relatability to Basquiat.

Entertaining? Sure. A unique, in-depth look into the life of a revolutionary artist? Not quite. Just like the films about Basquiat that came before it, The Radiant Child continues to depict Basquiat in a romanticized yet troubling way, very similar to that of the biopic Basquiat by Julian Schnabel. Though both films quench rookie audience’s thirst for knowledge about this talented figure it fails to appease to hunger of true Basquiat and art enthusiasts who dread hearing the same details of his life retold with a different voice. Though Basquiat was a radiant child indeed, after viewing this documentary, it is clear that his friend, Tamra Davis, is not.

Works Cited

Jean-Michel Basquiat: The Radiant Child,. Dir. Tamra Davis. Perf. Jean-Michel Basquiat. Arthouse Films, 2010. Film.