CALLING DESIGNERS

AWESOME PEOPLE DOING AWESOME THINGS

http://eugensakhnenko.com/atlas/2010/07/lisa-martin-steve-ferrara-well-and-good/

BREAKING DOWN BONNAROO 2010

It is not the summer of 69. The flower power generation is long gone and in its place decades later come hybrid yuppies, high rises and lots of debt. 2010 is a time when North America is slowly coming out of the recession that hit because a small amount of people were extremely greedy and mega douche bags. Born of that recession has come the realization that money doesn’t mean happiness and family does really matter. The social and moral makeup of North America is leaning from right to centre, with a focus on reclaiming our souls. We all know work is important and being accountable is now not only mandatory but essential to sustaining our communities. In addition to that, we are looking for a new center. Trying to find a place in our hearts, minds and souls where we can connect with each other living in the same moral field. We are looking for it in many ways; our consumer decisions, our environmental impact, sharing our wealth and most importantly, our music. Music is the soundtrack of our lives, often mirroring current shifts in lifestyle and points of view and sometimes creating awareness about issues with a fresh perspective. This connection with music couldn’t be more apparent right now with artists such as Interpol, Rise Against, MIA and even Shakira standing up for what they believe in. Of all the worldwide festivals that holistically encapsulate that DIY shift from music to mosh pit, Bonnaroo hits a homerun. The following is an attempt to describe the woven tapestry in which include colors of Woodstock, Glastonbury, Lollapolloza, DEMF and a topped off with a little local mall.

Myself, and four others arrive at Nashville airport ready to rock out, put some beads on and get down with nature. Some nights I will be camping, and a few at a hotel. We are equipped with tents, sleeping bags, baby wipes and lots of sun screen. After getting our rental car, we plot out our first stop; Third Man Studio Jack White’s studio and store. As we approach the studio we realize it’s in an industrial/ghetto part of town minutes away from where the Country Music Festival is taking place. We pass the Scott Mission and what appeared to be the local hangout for every local bum in the hood. Arriving at the shop early we park only to be pulled from our spot because Conan O’Brien’s people will be arriving soon. Well, fine then. We circle the hood to find a spot. Once in the shop, we are met with limited edition LP’s, custom Meg and Jack cameras, 14” singles from Karen Elson, The Dead Wather and other acts on Third Man records. We stare, we shop, we buy, and we leave. I am now the owner of a 14” single and the cutest Raconteurs baby T for a friend.

Jumping on the highway from Nashville to Manchester, the excitement is palpable. We have our afternoon itinerary set, including The XX and Miike Snow and talk about how quickly our tent will be up. As we approach the exit we realize it’s closed. State Troopers and the dedicated Bonnaroo radio station instruct us to drive 20 exits ahead. As we drive further along, it becomes clear there is a massive car line on the other side of the highway. We make peace with sitting in a line for a few hours; how long could it really take? It could and DID take eight hours. By hour seven we had entered into a deep meditative state, keeping us from leaping from the car in a fit of rage towards the entrance. At one point each of us got out, went to the bathroom, got some food and trotted back to the car knowing we could probably go to the local Cineplex and catch a flick, returning to find the car a few feet ahead.

Once we get on-site, it’s a gong show. I am supposed to pick up my ticket, which ends up at a hotel media check in at the Holiday Inn. Over 55,000 people were checked that day, most of them camping, RV’s, Minivans and Cars navigated through the 700 acres to find a home for the next four days. Rather than attempt to persuade someone to let me in, I romance a production manager who golf carts me to a staff shuttle that takes me to the hotel, where I get my ticket and a cab back to my hotel. Thursday is a wash. Friday is a new day.

Relatively well rested, I make my way to Bonnaroo. Walking onto the grounds,

I realize how massive the festival is. In addition to the 700 acres of owned land, other surrounding property owners lease their land for the event, making the total space well over 800 acres. The Tennessee sun beats down on me as I approach my friend’s camp site. I walk past showers and washrooms, water stations and hundreds of vendors selling more glass pipes than I have ever seen. Next to the camp site is a beautiful table housing musical instruments. Guitars, mandolins and drums are laid out for all to use. No connecting wires or security tags. If someone wanted to walk away with an instrument, they could. When the festival was over, all instruments laid peacefully on the table.

When you arrive at Bonnaroo, there is no way to realize how many things are going on, how far things are and how dirty you are going to get. From my suede designer flip flops to my friend’s virgin white sun dress, there will be some casualties over the weekend. We begin the 15 minute walk into the centre passing official and non-official vendors selling food, sundries, drug paraphernalia and of course water. If there is anything I can advocate at Bonnaroo is buy a mister and drink gallons of water each day. Upon arrival at the gates, we get searched, cleared and sent our way to the first act of the day; The National. After referring to our guidebook we determine they are performing at the Which stage. Get this, these are the OFFICIAL names of the stages; Which, This, That, The Other and What. If people aren’t confused enough already, they send you on a verbal sparring match with your buds figuring out where Tori Amos will be…

Question: What stage is Tori at?

Asnwer: She’s at What stage.

Question: She’s at WHAT stage?

Answer: I already told you, What stage.

Statement: Either I am really stoned, or this place is insane.

I fall in love with the National during their performance, with a lively lead singer jumping off the stage to perform as he navigates the crowd. Post performance we walk through Centreroo where we find food vendors, volleyball nets, slip and slides and an actual post office. Knowing that stopping too long will ensure we get sucked into the vortex, we keep focused and head over to watch Conan O’Brien. The comedy and adjacent satellite viewing tent offer a great way to break up the day and keep cool for a few hours in the air conditioning. Everyone laughs, cheers and gets a surprise treat with an appearance from Triumph the Insult Dog. We enter back into Centreroo to find more awesomeness. I pop into the Silent Auction tent and bid on a picture of Alison from the Dead Weather and some tickets for Bonnaroo 2011, losing both bids within hours. Outside the auction, we can see The Garnier Fructis Hair washing tent, the FUZE/Twix barn and a fantastical water fountain located in the heart of Bonnaroo.

Approaching sensory overload, I take a seat and spent a few minutes observing my fellow festival goers. Through my oversized sun glasses and hat I see hundreds of people; some walking, some eating, and many participating in a water party under the fountain. None of us knew what kind of people came to Bonnaroo, but assumed it would have a folk feel. In a way we were right, but the variety of festivals it took its cue from extended into each individual festival goer as well. I zeroed in on a group of four people. Three girls sat in a circle eating, what was later confirmed as a sausage waffle combination. Each girl wore Abercrombie and Fitch tanks, denim shirts and large Camelback backpacks. The guys were equally as prepped out with pastel button downs, pop collars and khaki shorts. I watched as they laughed and went on like they were in a bubble nestled deep in their minds. Continuing on I spot a man wandering alone wearing a full length floral print skirt with a drawstring. He is looking at the grass as though it is speaking to him with great importance. His head is shaved bald and beard moist with the Tennessee humidity. Within minutes he seems to forget what he was doing and wanders into the Odwalla music tent for a shot of fruit nutrition and indie band entertainment. Next we have an older couple who I speak to for a few minutes. They are from Michigan and drove up in their RV. They paid $1,500 for a VIP package that included their ticket, separate entrance and exit, served dinner and an RV space. They double fist their beers and talk about the last few Bonnaroos. Living childless, they travel a lot and take vacation from their lives as a carpenter and teacher. I am beginning to see a theme as I continue to scan the crowd; there is NO theme. There are so many people from so many places in the world from both a physical and social perspective. I decided to get back into the mix and make my way side stage for Tori Amos.

Later in the evening we are ready for the first headliner; Kings of Leon. Setting our blanket down amongst the other concert goers, we are ready for something special and special it was. I have never seen such grand stage production. From the hundreds of headlights setting the backstage to the 200 foot tall stage, it takes time to realize how big everything really is. We take in the KOL hits, drink the Malt liquor and watch as girls dressed as fairies and men dressed in one piece lime green body suits float by. It is as much a people watching festival as it is a musical experience. Post KOL, we roll to The Black Keys. After the auditory assault of the main stage, our ears can’t adjust to the small stage and we retreat for the evening. Walking back to our respective homes for the evening, we pass people dancing, giving light shows and lying side by side with their friends in a meditative fetal position. And so we sleep.

Day three and still so much remains to see and do. Getting back into Centreoo, we hit the Canon photo experience where we print our pictures onto postcard paper and send off to our loved ones. We eat more of the amazing food, drink from the free water fountains and head over to the main stage for Dead Weather. Yet again, we listen with amazement as the sound seems to get better and better. Alison from Dead Weather goes toe to toe with Jack White and if I were judging, it would be a draw. Your body fills up with the festival spirit and although not political or social in nature, the tone of the afternoon allows you to project The Dead Weathers words within your own world:

Let's go walk to the border

Let's go walk along the inch

Let's go when no one can see us

And find the difference between us

Each listener can personalize based on their own challenge, struggle or place they are in life. After a few hours of projecting, we head back to the tents to reconvene. It’s getting dark and as I continue to observe, I notice more “dark” characters looming about. The guys you see at the back of the bars that don’t quite belong. They may have bought a hemp shirt and some Vibram sandals, but something just doesn’t feel right. They are the ones the State Troopers are here for and I feel confident they are watching every step they take. Once we attempt to wash our hands, feet and face for the 100^th time we make our way back for the main attraction: JAY-Z. Because they don’t sell vodka on-site, I stop at a local vendor for some homemade Vodka Lemonade for my walk. As they pour we make small talk and my friend asks them where they live. “We live here “ they reply. After letting that response marinate for a few seconds, I say “on one of the local farms?” To which they reply “No, we live here and travel around some during the year”. Did she just tell me the land Bonnaroo is on it a yearly commune? I have emailed the promoters for answers and am waiting to hear back.

Back at the main stage, we are ready. Pre show I throw the frisbee around for a while and talk to the locals about how the festival is so profitable, it actually affects State Tax, insane! It’s dark, warm and tens of thousands of people wait patiently. Two massive screens that flank the stage start a countdown from 10 minutes. By minute six, it’s a sight to see with all heads forward ready for the 10 second countdown. 10..9..8..7..6..5..4..3..2..1..bang. Massive direct spotlights shoot down onto Jay-Z’s back as he swaggers (I don’t think the man is capable of anything else) across the stage to start the show. From the 100 foot by 80 feet digital screens rotating imagery of the NY skyline to the thousands of lighters dancing across the crowds, people are transfixed. Irony abounds as the majority white audience is transfixed listening to one of the most influential black musician talk about Barack in office and his times of selling crack in the hood while deep in the southern states. But here was this community that seemed to transcend color, culture and personal views. It was like when I was in alternative school. We had thugs, gays, rockers and ravers all living in relative peace. It was the collective union we felt having been rejected by “normal” society that gave us the sympathy and apathy for one another. I felt that as Jay-Z sang the hell out of 99Problems.

Following Jay-Z we headed to see DeadMau5 for some, in my opinion, horrible house music. Two of the closest stages played dance music well into the morning. The problem; they were so close, they competed. After days of walking, dancing, watering and discovering I was ready to collapse, so I did.

Waking at 8AM, we headed into Centreoo to grab our last breakfast. As we crossed the rainbow shaped entrance all we could see were hundreds and hundreds of water bottles. I looked at my friend and said “I guess the cleaning crew got pretty high last night and forgot a few things”. After eating a pretty decent spinach omelet, we started to make our way back to camp to pack up. Turning the corner past the post office we were blown away. Almost EVERY water bottle was gone? Did we just eat an omelet spiked with ACID? No, we had just witnessed what a community clean up program with benefits can do. To the left of us was a 20X20 booth with dozens of items; backpacks, shampoo, food, chairs, sleeping bags. Beside each item was a number. 50 for a t-shirt, 20 for hair gel, etc. We approached a guy behind a computer to inquire and he gave us the skinny. “For every bottle you bring to the station, they give you one point towards an item. Items range from 50 points to 1000.” We sat there almost in amazement for the next two minutes. Sometimes it is that simple. Do something good and someone will do something good for you. It was a beautiful last moment to a memorable festival. There was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be.

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN A TEENAGER IN THE 80'S

The music was sooo much better...So melodramatic and touchy feely. Now it's back en vogue and I can live the life of a tortured 80's teenager. With nothing to complain about other than my Apathy for everything...Enter Villa Nah

http://www.spokeagency.com/daily/2010/05/25/the-new-hot-is-villah-nah/

The Back-up Plan= William S. Burroughs, LSD, Marianne Faithfull and Brion Gysin

I decide to watch The Back-up Plan last night. Wanting a more intimate screening experience, I hit rainbow cinemas knowing it's usually me, a gay couple and some random senior citizens in the theatre at Rainbow. I rip my stub, grab a seat and spend a few hours getting lost in one of the most formulaic and of course entertaining scripts of the year. I will say the storyline of a single woman concisely deciding to have a baby alone is very progressive. In most instances where a mother is single in a movie, the husband either left, was killed or died of a terminal disease. A single professional woman deciding to have a baby on her own is something relatively new. As a woman, I have no desire to raise a child on my own, but the option of freedom to choose is an amazing thing to marvel at. The Back-up Plan concludes and I leave feeling temporarily satisfied. The storyline wrapped up with a little bow and my mind is tricked into believing everyone is happy, safe and couples don't fight, they talk!

For some reason the satisfaction was short lived leaving me in need of something a little more substantial to get me to sleep. Luckily, I have FLicKeR. A documentary about The dream machine invented by Brion Gysin. The actual documentary is pretty lame, but the subject matter throws me back into my teens when Jack Kerouac came with me everywhere and Charles Bukowski taught me everything I needed to know about WOMEN. The doc is about The Dream Machine; a stroboscopic flicker device that produces visual stimuli. Artist Brion Gysin and William Burroughs' "systems adviser" Ian Sommerville created the dream machine after reading William Grey Walter's book, The Living Brain. A Dreamachine is "viewed" with the eyes closed: the pulsating light stimulates the optical nerve and alters the brain's electrical oscillations. The "viewer" experiences increasingly bright, complex patterns of color behind their closed eyelids. The patterns become shapes and symbols, swirling around, until the "viewer" feels surrounded by colors. It is claimed that viewing a Dreamachine allows one to enter a hypnagogic state.

Firstly, I will be ordering a dream machine STAT. I can't believe through all my "teenage" experimentation I never heard about this magical machine. Brion thought that the dream machine's ability could replace LSD, Peyote and other mind altering drugs that cause a distorted experience of the senses, emotions, memories, time and awareness. Instead of taking a hit, you set up the dream machine, turn the lights off and let it spin. I think that I am so curious about the dream machine right now because as you get older you get further and further away from a desire to go outside your comfort zone. You can't use a weekend for mind expanding drug use; there is laundry to be done. Who is going to mow the lawn, pick up the dry cleaning or return the Eddie Murphy stand-up DVD? There is no time for mind exploration; I need to worry about keeping my job. I don't discredit the need to keep life moving, but I think there can be a fine balance met and something like the dream machine may help.

There are many levels of consciousness. We feel them at different points, sometimes not even realizing it. During an intense yoga session; when your whole body is still and not a thought is left in your ever moving brain. When you come off a run and you feel like your body is shaking and your thoughts are as light as a cloud. When you are on your third scotch and your frame of mind has shifted ever so slightly. These are all different types and/or levels of consciousness. The neurological levels are; conscious, confused, delirious, somnolent, obtunded, stuporous and comatose. Then the hierarchy levels of human consciousness consist of; shame, guilt, apathy, grief, fear, desire, anger, pride, courage, neutrality, willingness, acceptance, reason, love, joy, peace, enlightenment. The Shaman (intermediaries or messengers between the human world and the spirit worlds are said to treat ailments/illness by mending the soul) believe in seven levels of consciousness which are; personal, mankind, amphibious, spherical, crystal, light and lastly sound.

All of the above mentioned levels of consciousness can be attained in different ways. The easiest way has always been drugs such as; Marijuana, hashish, LSD, Extasy, cocaine, and Peyote to name a few. Meditation, yoga and other natural practices can supposedly take you to a higher level of consciousness, although I have never had the pleasure. That being said, I think it is possible. If the dream machine can help me in the natural pursuit of exploring my mind, growing as a person and experimenting with the beauty of light and perception of thoughts; I am in.

In truth the ability to do so is a somewhat frivolous pursuit. A personal quest that will become less and less a priority once I subject myself to long term copulation with a man and god forbid bare a child. But that is not now, that is the future. A future I don't know yet. Until then, I will buy my dream machine and set my sights on crystal consciousness. I could shoot for light, but I want to manage my expectations. I get disappointed enough in my day to day life, I'm going to keep it easy breezy on the heightened state of awareness front.—

REVIEWS- CLICK IT

http://www.spokeagency.com/daily/?p=973&preview=true

CHECK IT///

http://www.spokeagency.com/daily/2010/04/17/the-magic-the-mystery-the-junos/

AWESOME MUSIC OVERLOAD

There are too many awesome sites out there now to access new music...Here is one of them:

http://hypem.com/#/popular

ART FORM MENTIONS

MOVIES Boondock Saints 11: All Saints Day

For all of you who know the Cult Classic, Boondock Saints, you know that it was a TALLLLLL order for there to be a worthy follow up. I was very skeptical going into All Saints Day knowing how awesome the first one was. The layered story line, the killer editing, the kick ass soundtrack and the charisma both leads shared all came together to give viewers a film that still holds a room today. All Saints Day was yet another killer piece of entertainment that wove the original story through the new adventures with great ease. I had fun, laughed and got surprised at more than one turn. The addition of a third sidekick was a welcome surprise, adding a new element of hyper humor that complimented the boys. All Saints Day is worth seeing and maybe, just maybe becoming part of the permanent collection.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1300851/

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CmDhSNssaOI

DARK SHIT

I remember when I first decided I was going to get a tattoo. I was 16 and had so idea how painful and intense it would actually be..So what do I do? I decide I want an HRGieger piece on my back. Super intricate creepy piece that would probably have looked like a sketchy mess afterwards...I go buy the book, cut out the piece, then bring it into the shop. I immediately got the look " are you insane" from the artist. So I decided to play it safe and throw a celtic piece on to pay some respect to the fam and keep it simple. My love of Gieger remained and recently I found out there is a bar in his hometown with all his work. Take a look. If there was ever a reason to hit the swiss alps, this is one of them...

http://www.hrgiger.com/barmuseum.htm