Zoo York

DEATHBOWL TO DOWNTOWN "Soul Artists" from Six Stair on Vimeo.

Blogerature II

Over the past few months I've read two Don DeLillo books and I'm midway through a third. Undeworld is a tangle of lives that all seemingly relate to a famous event that occurred in mid century NYC. The passages are gritty, uber-real, and include many references to shifting cultural sentiments in American life. I recommend starting with this one.

I haven't read it yet, but I love the idea that his first novel is called Americana and was released in 1971 - a time when many of the ideas and aesthetics we may associate with Americana were being popularized. He also has a new book out, released in February, Point Omega.

DeLillo is an important writer who is able to put into words and mental images the existence that we experience today. I don't mean this in any romantic sort of way, but in a more confusing, detached sort of way. Many of his themes are mocked and muddled. They tend to deal with what-it's-like-to-be-in-the-postmodern-world. This makes some passages difficult to read or understand, which is ok by me, maybe not by others. Other recent writers I've enjoyed all share similar characteristics in that they don't limit themselves to conventional reality, but rather explore the yearning that many people experience to break out of "the routine existence." DeLillo is a champion of this effect. Sometimes it's difficult to express the absurd in reality, but reading it can be haunting.

For me, DeLillo's a New York guy and it's refreshing to take in a piece of art that hits home. And he tackled 9/11. I'll probably get into that one next.

Guess Who Back? Back Again?

It's 26-time World Series Champtions, the New York Yankees! Tonight they will (hopefully) play the Phillies in the Bronx. As a New Yorker, I'm rooting hard for the Yankees to win. Most people have a "love/hate" relationship with the Yankees, aka you either love 'em or hate 'em. I've always been in the "love" catagory. I appreciate their legacy as a team, and I've admired their professionalism in the last decade or so. Yankees-haters focus on this professionalism as the main reason they hate them, but I ask you this... What's so wrong with wanting have the most money and being the best? What's so wrong with buying up the best players money can buy? What's so wrong with baseball uniforms that fit, and facial hair that is kept trim?

Are you watching the World Series this year? Who do you want to win?

Hey, Yoko, ever hear of bleach?

Dirty laundry from the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame Annex exhibit John Lennon: The New York City Years. More here.

Banksy in New York

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Thoughts on a City

I recently visited some old Swags in New York City on a rainy Friday night. The air was cool and calm as it collected and quickly dissipated my Maryland aura. There was no time to adjust to the new surroundings; if you tried to, you would miss everything. Searching for shelter, we stumbled into the historic St. Nick’s pub on 149th Street around midnight where live jazz music perpetuates in the heart of Harlem.

Once inside, the vibe was incredible and certainly tangible. The people were lively and ever shifting and smiling. The band began to play. The cymbals sizzled and the double bass pulsed. The piano player fingered those familiar walking staccato jazz chords. A saucy chanteuse emerged scatting in front of the band while her path from the bar to the stage was slowly overtaken by the crowd. This woman was not afraid to look her audience in the eye individually for extended moments. Alas, her eyes caught mine and we exchanged a lengthy stare. The intense surreality of that moment shattered my inner capacity and I looked away. She had somehow jumped onto my page and dog-eared it. It was a moment that approached the supernatural.

These moments occur to me periodically while viewing art, listening to music, and when enjoying earthly enhancers. It is a peak into the possibility of something else beyond our five senses, a crack between worlds.

The following afternoon we stood over a central stone in Strawberry Fields adjacent to the Dakota Hotel, that read the word, IMAGINE. One can only do just that while sitting on the surrounding park benches. The word conjures up a thousand thoughts. The memorial is moving and extremely effective. Even with cameras and kids, the scene around the stone is quiet and respectful. That one word has more meaning then a novel of words.

Our imaginations have always been a tool for invention. Many things we have conceived or predicted have indeed happened. We have also imagined divine worlds, peoples, and events. Does the divine supernatural exist? Maybe, but the kind of supernatural I’m talking about is beyond that. It is beyond the heavens, existing within a planet that we need to take charge of by taking care of. You got it.