The Block Party That Everyone Should Revisit.

“Dave Chappelle's Block Party” is a music doc featuring a star studded musical line up (The Fugees, Mos Def, Kanye West, The Roots, Erykah Badu, Jill Scott), Dave Chappelle, some kookie artists in a “floating” house, and even a fun crew that Chappelle invited from his town in Ohio. I already like music docs, so I didn't need much pushing—but “Block Party” was fantastic. It wasn't what people would expect when they hear his name—in fact, everyone that I asked about it had never seen it. These were people that not only had access but also interest in the craft, the man, the music, and the city. I wonder if the huge blow up over his last minute escape to South Africa made the film just a tiny blip on the radar. The film was made before this stint, in 2004, and it's easy to see why Chapelle would have been overwhelmed: this project was like nothing else he had put out (he hosted and wrote “Block Party”) and the second season of the Chappelle show was about to start—and probably bring on all kinds of the wrong attention. Because his work on the Chappelle show is so loud and over the top, it attracts a certain crowd that doesn’t really see it for what it is. They could very well watch the clips where he poses as all the different racial stereotypes(Pixie Videos) and think it's hilarious because it's portrayed in that way—and not even get the bit of sadness that's behind it. Dave Chappelle is a smart man, he knows what he's doing, but the frat boys who just want to yell/regurgitate offensive one liner quotes from the show don't and it loses the point.

Before studying Chappelle in this class I hadn't really cared for him. I had only seen clips of the “Chappelle Show” and got was he was doing, but felt like he was getting the wrong kind of attention, it almost made me uncomfortable with how far he was taking it. It wasn't even uncomfortable in the way you'd imagine, because my ideas of race are so different from many—but more on that later. However, upon watching the interview with him and James Lipton on "Inside The Actors Studios", I connected with him so much. Just the way he spoke in everyday language is reminiscent of how I speak (though not academically) and reminds me of where I come from. I wonder a lot if Ohio is the same as Pennsylvania. In many ways it is (I live at the border) and I'm always wondering about the whole nature vs. nurture thing. Not only did I love the way he conversed, but so much of what he was saying was easy going and real. It's easy to see that he never really wanted the attention he got. He just wanted to do what he loved and stay where he was (which is why he still lives in Ohio, even though he's rich bitch.). “Block Party” was simultaneously a comment on and precursor for the events that took place regarding the second season of his show.

I realize that the main point I'm supposed to be hitting in this review is the bigger picture of race. I understand how it's often revolting to see many of the viewers repeat Dave Chappelle's work back at him and miss the point of what he's trying to say (even though he's saying it in a funny way). I get that, because a little pit in my stomach forms like someone is being made fun of when I hear/see it. It's not cool to mock anyone and that's sort of how I look at it. I know right now you're thinking that this girl's just crazy. She's taken the whole point and widdled it down to Kindergarten principles. She doesn't get race. You know what? That's half of it. I don't believe in race. I think it's a completely fake construct created to further separate us and started as a means to differentiate class. A squirrel from Pennsylvania to a squirrel from Michigan to a squirrel from Illinois. As is a man. A squirrel is still a squirrel whether it's gray, brown, black, spotted. A human is a human, ain't no different. To differentiate us by “white man” or “black man” is just adding unnecessary qualifiers. NO QUALIFIERS!!! Even when it came to listening/reading Michael Eric Dyson talk about hip hop was difficult for me because I can't focus about difference when I feel like it's all just the same. Even “white people's” music and pop culture has always been dirty, we just hid it in lengthy wordiness and metaphors. Most of our songs are about pussy and drugs too, people just don't see it that way 'cause it's said different. Just as both genres/cultures have music that is touching and real. I'm really just sayin' that practically everything is the same thing just said/done a little different. People think it means wholey different—it doesn't.

Even though I don't believe race exists, I still can obviously see where the problems lie in Chappelle's everyday work and mission. It's been so long that people have been fed this bullshit and looking at the world wrong. Though I'm sure Dave knows that—it's obvious that he's smart, and how could you not be with both parents being professors? It's asking questions that help us grow and further as individuals.

Michel Gondry directed “Block Party”, which is one of the most confusing things about the doc. I associate him with movies like “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and “The Science of Sleep”. I wonder if Chappelle's ever seen them? It's an interesting thing to ponder on about. Gondry also directed the White Stripes' (otherwise known as my favorite band of all time) music videos. The musical tie to his work was probably what led to his being the director. He's got movie and music video experience, which is exactly what the film was (but live). The man is as white as white gets though. The couple Chappelle also interacts with and throws his block party in front of their home are also very white. That is, if we're taking as “white” as meaning anything at all—stupid qualifiers. Chappelle also comments on the crowd while on stage (eg. Moslty black, 19 white, no Mexicans) but why? Is it because it's the elephant in the room? It makes me also wonder if showing all (and the only?) white people he invited and then also worked with to put it on were somehow trying to level the playing field when it came to the crowd. Was the projected viewer audience a “black audience” or did he try to put it exactly in the middle to actually (though artistically/metaphorically) make a comment on the whole thing. Perhaps that should be left up to you—to me it really doesn't matter much. I only look forward to see what Dave Chappelle will do next.

Extra Credit Post: RIP Jay Reatard

When asked to review something of my own picking—it's almost obvious that I would pick the new obsession in my life. With the internet being so readily available to all it allows for constant musical exploration. We are all constantly discovering new art and entertainment, even if it's surpassed our own years on this Earth. So even if we missed it we can still submerge ourselves in it fully--just what I did with Reatard.

My recent discovery and fascination is with the late great alternative punk rock kid who'd been running around Memphis making music since he was 15. Practically an icon to the punk vinyl producing scene—he somehow slipped past my radar when he was active. Perhaps that is why I'm so torn up about the fact that he's dead. I was in Chicago in 2009 and he didn't pass until 2010. Although he was from Memphis, he did play a show now and then in the windy city.

What turned me on to Jay Reatard was first hearing a song on my buddy Jeff's iPod. I heard it and was instantly down. I've always had a soft spot in my heart for punk rock, so I looked him up as soon as I got home. Before I even got the chance to tune into a video, I came across the 20 minute doc that was mostly interviews with him talking about his home (Memphis, TN) and his music career (which has been lengthy since he's been at it since he was 15), entitled “Waiting for Something”. Listening to his stories and feeling out the person he was made me fall in love with a celebrity—before I even listened to more than one song of his. I suddenly felt like those girls that make collages/memorials for their dead rock star gods—who they also happen to be in love with. We have Elvis, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain—all dreamy men who got to our hearts through their music and charm; and then held even higher on the pedestal because they can do no wrong, as they are deceased and can't ruin the reputation of themselves you've come to in the here and now. Perhaps it was the age gap that supposed me from these feelings of remorse and longing. Then Jay Reatard came around and I found my ghost.

Instead of reviewing the rock doc, I decided to review the most recent album, as it will be the most current review that I can possibly do for him (and the band)—“Watch Me Fall”, which was released in 2009. This is one of only two full albums, but don't let that deter you—Reatard actually recorded music all the time. His favorite format was just 45s, so there are a whole lot of 7”s floating around and a couple “singles” albums in an attempt to bring it all together.

“Watch Me Fall” was the album that started to bring Reatard to the top, or as far as a scroungy mop headed boy with a flying v guitar, and a bassist who didn't even know how to play for the first few years. Much like with my rock idol Jack White, Reatard surrounded himself with the people he wanted and then brought the music to them. He wrote it all and gave it to them in an obtainable way so that they could all advance as a unit—even though he himself was the driving force.

The reason the album was so well received was not only its punk rock voice and attitude, but also this completely out there pop element in the undercurrents. This isn't in a predictable youth centered approach like other popular poppunk bands like Blink 182, Green Day, Good Charlotte, Patent Pending (perhaps these are dated examples, as I kicked the pop version for the real thing in the 9^th grade). There's just something more grown up about it, which in itself is an oxymoron.

Individual song wise there are more than less examples that I can give as strong tracks. The only video made on this album was for the track “It Ain't Gonna Save Me” and I could resonate with the ideas because of all the crazy that's gone on in my life as of late. “Before I was Caught” sports a melodic guitar against Reatard's signature voice. “I'm Watching You” is also a good track, ad although the song is less creepy than the title suggests, it definitely acts as a sort of shout out to the younger me. Wounded guitar/drums very mainstream—but not in a bad way. If someone had listened to this song sans vocals (Reatard being what adds edge) they may believe it's a very lovely song. However to the kids out there who want Jay Reatard to be hard and shrill—he still is while simultaneously appealing to the masses. It's almost as though he's adding layers to his old music to welcome an even bigger audience. “Rotten Man” is even different still! I wish I studied/reviewed music more in depth, so I can more effectively convey the many dimensions and influences present in the album—because it truly stuns me. All of this put together only points back to the sad truth: a very talented musician died in 2010.

Non-Columbia Review; Written Oct 20th for I AM LOGAN SQUARE and edited for Reviwing the Arts

With Halloween just around the corner, do you find yourself with a hankerin' for BRAINS? I surely do! Aren't we lucky that The Charnel House is proudly presenting “Musical of the Living Dead” for its sophomore year—right in Logan Square!

If you aren't already familiar with the Charnel House, it's a multi-arts space on Fullerton that actually used to be a funeral home. I am such a sucker for elements like that. It just makes it even better. Both super cool and spooky, right? The lovely building makes the perfect home this zombie musical!

I had the pleasure of attending opening night last Thursday—and it was a bloody good time! Other than knowing it was a musical about zombies, I had no idea what to expect when I arrived that rainy evening. The first two rows of the audience were wearing ponchos—which made me think immediately, “Splatter Zone!” And boy was I right! I was pleased as a pea in a pod filled with other like minded peas, these people got how funny gore can be. I recorded over a over a dozen blood squirts and a handful of water splashes making it into the audience. Every time there was an effect, the audience would roar with laughter. It was fantastic. Within the first five minutes there were literally guffaws coming out of the entire crowd—and not just because it's BYOB!

The storyline often mirrors that of the zombie films' origins, the 1968 blockbuster, Night of the Living Dead. Ten individuals are stuck together in a house during the zombie takeover (said to be caused by Peruvian rat monkeys) and the inevitable happens. How many will die? Well that you'll just have to find out yourself! Musical of the Living Dead even went the extra mile in Romero references, being set in Western Pennsylvania with heavy mention on the Monroeville Mall and several cast wearing Steelers hats. As a zombie-lovin', Pittsburgh native this little attention to detail made the musical even sweeter for me. Like I could even review this badly after that? Not that I could. I don't even like musicals and this show made its way into my heart—sucking the blood right out of it.

The cast and writing provide the perfect marriage of clever lines and a little wiggle room for improvisation; from what I've heard it's not exactly the same show every night. So expect the quirky one-liners and the the “buckets” of blood to fluctuate and morph as the nights progress. Original songs were sung loud and proud with lyrics that are not child appropriate, but made all adults giggle, like when the girl scout sings, “I'm gonna eat your tongue, so you shut the f*** up”. So if crude humor, horror, pop culture references, and musicals all happen to be your thing—this may have been made for you. Even the character names (besides dialog) poke fun, our main character being Ben Blackman, who is indeed the only black cast member and character. Oh, and even the intermission music was spot on, with Michael Jackson's Thriller, Lady Gaga's Bad Romance, and Rob Zombie's Dragula. Talk about legit. Original post here.

Photos by Jacquelyn Peterman.

Barthes and the Wood Wick Candle

No longer are we in the times of appreciation for fire and its history. For at one time this simple thing, a spark and catch of flame to burn, was once our only light beyond the darkness that followed day. Fire was one of man's very first inventions, and made way for the modern world through constant technological advancement. Often we forget how long it's been with us, lighting the faces of our ancestors as they shared personal history and faith among one another. Hopefully the appreciation for this major feat and adoration for the object itself is not lost in the digital age—where all we need to illuminate the darkness is a silent florescent buzz of a computer screen.

Let us start with its appearance before the wick is lit asunder. It stands, both stall and bold with a wooden top with the words “Wood Lights” etched in calligraphy. The cylindrical candle is in a glass holder with vertical uneven carvings going up the sides. As if this one candle is unlike the rest in its uneven outer terrain, expressing the very aesthetic that the scent conveys—Patchouli Woods. This is a smell of hippies in the woods—literally. As if the buyer is instantly one with nature and Mother Earth, as if all the evils of the mature and misguided world were put at ease with a campfire in the middle of no where. As if lighting this vessel will somehow save us from losing our fleeting past. Perhaps it's already happened and the key to staying alive and human is in the furthering of the past and not inventing of the future. I present to you, an invention of both clever and considerate appeal—the wooden wick candle.

The first thing I notice upon lighting it is that the wooden wick catches the flame much faster than the standard candle wick. It also emits a crackling coo to calm the nerves and transport the viewer to a camp fire on a chilly autumn night. Who could not appreciate this sentiment? The aroma is cleaner than expected, as if Barnes himself had set up this play: Knocking down the viewer with a scent/word like patchouli—to almost separate the masses. That is, between those who like patchouli and the rest of the world who despises it. I imagine, as I waft the heated air towards my nostrils, that even the latter would appreciate this clean but wooded experience the candle provides.

Already a half an hour into its life the wax is barely melted, and pools, now liquid, around the wick, only about ¾ inch in radius. Thank you for staying with me dear friend, it appears your life span may last many a lonely dark evening. Isn't that your purpose? For in today's technological advancements we no longer need fire to see, no longer need it to cook to eat. Then what purpose does it serve to us—all who want for nothing because we have everything. A friend perhaps? I am brought back to the movie “The Princess and the Goblin”, where a light and a song would protect against the terrors that lurk in the shadows. Maybe, just maybe, that is what this candle is meant to do. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Ways of Seeing: I Have a Personalized Nest

My space is something that's really important to me. I'm not talking like wide open spaces that can be measured in miles or liters. I'm talking about aesthetic space--the physical changes you make to a place around you to put your mark on and make home. Home is a big deal to me. Before I had even put my things in boxes to move to my new place, I had already painted the walls. Not only had I picked a warm yellow that looked like the inner petals of a dandelion, but I got a bright sky blue for the kitchen area. Already I've stretched the space out, and found even more work to do on myself, given the incredibly easy canvas (only a studio).

I think that I hold such importance in having my own space because from ages 8-14, every other week I spent at my grandmother's house, where my mom and I lived after she and my dad split. We shared a room and a bed while we stayed with my gram. So when I got my own space I went all out—and thankfully my taste in home furnishings hasn't changed since I was 15. I've always been a visual learner and connected with paintings and illustrations. Every piece of the space is me. When you look at it all together it's like a snapshot of who I am and I always want people to see it because it explains me so well.

Whenever people come over they instantly use the word “homey”, and that's what I go for. I take everything I love and plaster it about. I love creating an aesthetic space, and have successfully created a cohesive flow. It is because nothing matches that everything matches. With such a variety of colors and pattern, it is easy to find ones that match up and communicate with the other, only inches away from that piece of art, and then there's another.

Most of my belongings are older than I am and have been in my collection for years. Some since my single digits. What can I say? I came from a family of thrift store goers, yard sale finders and charity rummage sale throwers. On my walls are tapestries of assorted colored paintings and sketches from secondhand stores that many of my associates in the art world wouldn't appreciate. We live in such a pretentious time now. Art is when someone makes something--it's when a craftsmen takes time and skill to make these things. Even if it doesn’t have some far fetched political message behind it doesn't mean that it isn't worth time; it's especially worth the money (often ranging from $.25 to $25).

It's important to be inspired by the things around you, and I take to heart what John Berger says about taking pieces and placing them in a way to create a certain feeling. We create our own way of seeing, and in my place it smacks you in the face. Everything is context and it's all in how you connect it—and I believe almost anything can be connected with a little bit of creativity.

A couple pieces in further detail: Next to my bed adorned with bright yellow and black flowered quilt is an antique lamp filled with gold glitter. Next to it a somewhat abstract print of a woman with flowers in/as her hair. My mother always collected photos/art of women and I've taken after. Above it a small painting of the country side—yellow and black wildflowers take up the entire foreground. It's a little remembrance of home and the beauty that you forget about in the city. Then a painting on canvas that I a good friend traded me in exchange for a diamond pattern tie dye tapestry I had made. Art for art, and trading is something I've always been a hug fan of. With so many people having so many various skills—it only makes sense to network and exchange. Fuck money—we can even get on without it. But that's just a little bit radical. A huge embroidered patch of sunflowers is to the left of the art and lamp. I acquired it at a flea market back in Pittsburgh, five bucks. Lastly, one of my all time favorite belongings: a functioning traffic light. My step mom bought a crappy junked up traffic light top from a dj she met. She then gave it to my Pap-paw (grandfather) and he refurbished the whole damn thing, even going the extra mile to build a matching base. However, the base is made of steel (Go Stillers! LOL) and therefore makes it insanely heavy. I always seem to move to the top floor too—making the move quit e a silly task. When asked why he had built it out of steel he replied, “Well gee I hadn't thought you'd still have the damn thing, and bring it all the way to Chicago”. He made it for me when I was like 14. Keep in mind this lengthy description doesn't even cover half of one wall. You feel me?