November 17, 2005

Diamonds & Oranges

by Justin Quinn Pelegano
Photographed by Carey Denniston

David Bowie by David Vigon

Pick up Phoebe Hoban’s biography on the late artist Jean-Michel Basquiat. It’s reading I highly recommend, and this from someone who refused to crack a single book all through college. (Gracias, Cliff’s Notes.) For what it’s worth, it’s worth your time. But not for the reason you’d think. True, Basquiat was a self-destructive street-cum-gallery artist who ran (in a stupor) with an infamous crowd and flamed out way too early – and how could that not make for intriguing book material? But the real gem in Hoban’s work is its early ‘80s NYC history lesson, particularly its detailed look at the East Village art scene. She writes of a time when artists were collaborators were boundary-pushers who, with bold strokes, were redefining the canvas. Painters were stars, and art was accessible due to that very fact. The Dream was being chased by artists across the board and throughout the city.

And galleries, or some approximation thereof, were ubiquitous. There may have been overflow, and there may have been crap, but we were given the freedom to judge for ourselves. Twenty years ago, the East Village crowd, perhaps despite itself, was responsible for bringing art down from its pedestal and straight to the people. Twenty years later, things downtown are terribly less interesting. What were once gallery-dominated streets are now looking like disjointed strip malls. An entire neighborhood metamorphosed by too many bars, fast food joints, and cell phone depots. The down and dirty scene that embraced and elevated the likes of Basquiat, Haring and Schnabel is no more. To my mind, it’s a sad state of direction. And some would say an inevitable one. Not me. Not anymore. I found hope. And it lives in a brand new throwback gallery on 1st Avenue called Diamonds & Oranges.

Lyon Smith sees potential in buildings that the rest of us would label, well, shit holes. What else would you call a rotting bodega with pitted floors that blatantly served as a shooting gallery for neighborhood junkies? Shit hole seems just about right -- a place I would pass hurriedly by with my head down and hood up, and, be honest, so would you. But not Lyon. Nope, he actually stopped, took a long hard look at the squalor and thought, “Perfect.” One down payment and several months of hands-on hard work later, he successfully conjured up an ultra-inclusive, artist-friendly gallery from the ashes of an abandoned convenience store. The result is something to unabashedly celebrate. D&O is home to an eclectic showcase of paintings and sculpture by some twenty or so artists who, thankfully, refuse to jive with the SoHo/Chelsea aesthetic. Abstract expressionistic work dangles next to drip-painted work propped up next to collage. It is a feast for the eyes and the soul. Even the floors look good. Pits be gone!

Golden Sandals by Sylvie Matt Buchler	Land vs. Water by Noah Rider
Andrew Cunanan by Liberation Iannillo	Siamese & Chihuahua by Kiely Jenkins/M. Henry Jones

And then there’s that tangible vibe like transport back to an era gone. Stepping through the door feels something exactly like walking into a living breathing work of art. And that’s just the way Lyon, and fellow artist-in-residence Noah Rider, like it. Not only is D&O a gallery, it is also their studio, and a dynamic one at that. The monthly artist receptions (read: parties) last well into the night, and the stragglers are almost always kindred painters who come together over smokes and beer for some same-canvas collaboration. Listening to Lyon describe those sessions, my mind immediately went to Basquiat on Warhol. And while D&O is all grassroots, zero high society, I couldn’t help the tacit comparison.

These guys though are accessible (and living). And that’s one of the best parts about the gallery. Visit and strike up a conversation about what hangs on the walls (95% of which is courtesy of NYC-based artists), about the history of the hood, or about Noah’s MetroCard belt buckles. They’re a welcoming duo who are living up to their mission statement: Bring the art back to the people. In fact they’re doing such a good job that some visitors feel comfortable enough to take a second and bag on the place – straight to their faces. Like the old-lady-neighborhood-fixture who insisted that the bodega-junkie thing made for more interesting scenery. Or the teenage skaters who peeked in only to drop questions like, “What is this place anyway? Like, what do you guys sell?” Or, my personal favorite, the irate patron who vehemently requested a pop-art reference to Andrew Cunanan (Gianni Versace’s killer) be altogether extricated – or, you know, maybe just turned upside down maybe.

Lyon Smith

Lyon and Noah take it all in stride. Actually, they take it smiling. In Diamonds & Oranges they’ve created an art gallery where everyone’s free to judge, even if it’s a comment direct from the hip holster. In accomplishing that, they’ve reminded us what art feels like at ground-level. And with Lyon on the lookout for that next abandoned whatever, the East Village might just be, hopefully, taking a small step backwards. Regression ain’t always bad.

On The Web | www.diamondsandoranges.com

Posted by Liberation | Permalink | Comments (1)

November 11, 2005

Blessedly Un-Chick Lit – Girly

by Jessica Cogan

When you come out at the other end of Elizabeth Merrick’s Girly, “refreshing” may not be the first word that comes to mind. Haunting, certainly. Almost chemically addictive, for sure. Exhausting – oh yeah. But when I finished the novel and set out for a new read, only to be met with stacks of novels about angst-ridden 30-somethings worrying over marital status, crap jobs and Jimmy Choos, Girly strikes me as refreshing in a filthy, gritty way – like eating a bloody steak after months on sprouts and tofu.

Girly is a sometimes dark, often unsettling novel that tackles sexuality, religion, secrecy and familial roles as experienced by three generations of the Hart family, particularly its females. The novel begins by following Racinda and Ruth, two sisters growing up in rural Pennsylvania to a troubled and frail mother, Amandine, and her brassy, take-charge mother-in-law, Button. Ruth is the elder sister. Beautiful, exciting and deeply disturbed, she is the vitality and the violence that courses through the family’s veins. Her presence and, eventually, her absence define those around her.

Ruth’s younger sister Racinda grows up cautious and quiet, anticipating her sister’s moves and getting out of the way when possible. Despite her constant fear, when Racinda is left without Ruth, she loses her bearings. She flails about, filling her world with surrogate sisters and misguided relationships.

The girls are brought up in fits and spurts by Amandine and Button (there’s a father in the picture, but not for long). The two clash over how to raise the girls, especially the troubled and troublesome Ruth. Button is rough but loving, rearing the girls in a no-nonsense manner. Amandine, on the other hand, is wobbly on her maternal legs and wants to be a better mother than she often is. The girls are disgusted by what they perceive as their mother’s weakness and her adherence to a fundamentalist Christianity they reject. Still, Amandine is a survivor, her tenacity undeniable though often overlooked.

Even Button, seemingly a tower of strength, has her own history of loss and sadness. She’s a survivor – of a fickle lover, of the horrors of war experienced firsthand, of life on her own in a big city, of a disabling stroke. Her strength is hard won.

Strength is central to the novel. And Merrick has crafted intriguing characters whose ability to persevere is compelling even when they aren’t necessarily doing nice things. The story is told through seven narrators, each with a distinct voice. But the most incisive writing belongs to Racinda’s lengthy narrative. Her perspective is raw and painful in its neediness.

Girly is Merrick’s first novel and it’s no light fare. It’s a novel of substance. It stays with you. And it bodes great things for readers who like a little meat on their literary bones.

Girly
by Elizabeth Merrick
524 pages
Demimonde Books

Preorder Now!

On The Web | www.demimondebooks.com

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November 3, 2005

Metric: Live It Out

by Troy Tolley

With their third album release, Live It Out, Metric is officially the most popular rock band you have never heard of. If you haven’t heard of Metric, then you are truly missing the slow, underground swell of a band that already stands as solidly, historically, and classically as any other true rock and roll band across time. Sneaking down from Canada and up from Brooklyn and in through the back door of an industry and culture that the band at once despises and depends upon, Metric is re-educating the bored, numb, cloned masses raised on American Idol and boy bands that there is more to Rock and Roll than contrived beauty and text voting.

Releasing Old World Underground, Where Are You? in 2003, Metric began moving out of the shadows of their quiet-loud revolution, not necessarily because they wanted to, but because their revolution was working. The powerful word-of-mouth praises were spreading and as Metric toured incessantly, it became apparent that people were finding their way out of the coma of commercialism and finding new life in their music. According to Metric’s vocalist Emily Haines, this started to concern the band; rolling their eyes at the possibility of squealing sorority girls and obnoxious frat boys flocking to their shows, reducing their hard work to just another drunk-fest. However, Metric’s effort to revolutionize a dead genre has also had its effect on the band, and in the process of touring for Old World Underground, the band had become acutely aware of how they, themselves, had unwittingly fallen prey to the categorizing, labeling, and thoughtless prejudices inherent in a sleepy world. The over-protection for their art then took a turn toward an evolved, mature trust in their audience, and most importantly, a new trust in themselves as they rocket toward a precarious position in our world: POPULAR.

According to Emily: “….but more and more I just feel like those judgments about types of people and their musical tastes are ringing untrue to me. People don't like music according to a type.” This process of maturing within the band seems to have been a strong inspiration for their latest release, Live It Out.

In keeping with the tight, rough, melodic, political, and catchy familiarity we have come to know as Metric, Live It Out does not disappoint. Although Metric is often described as 80’s New Wave Meets 90’s Rock, Emily has shouted on more than one occasion that they “are a Rock and Roll band…with a keyboard!”

Live It Out opens with “Empty Head,” where Metric seems to be exploring their own admission to having been wrong about the intelligence of their audience and the growing popularity, singing, “There was no way out, the only way out was to give in. How I love to give in.” Luring the listener in through a gentle lullaby entrance, Metric then smashes through the song with a shocking turn toward head-banging, hair-flailing rock, chanting, “Shake your head; it’s empty. Shake your hips, move your feet,” revealing an almost-autobiographical surrender to the more important joy of just enjoying the damn music and letting go of the politics and divisions. “Glass Ceiling” prances us through with a jointed, jerky, guitar-driven beat that might leave a few of the linear-minds feeling confused as to where the song is going, but with the lyrics, “every speed on your knees is crawling,” it becomes clear that Metric’s music is as much about art as it is about rock, capturing in sound the struggle against any glass ceiling of pressure and limitation. “Handshakes” flings us into a speed-beat of compromises and traps, with Emily wailing, alarm-like as part of the chorus and leaving us with one of our most imprisoning, cultural mantras, “Buy this car to drive to work; drive to work to pay for this car.” “Monster Hospital” is Metric’s first release from the album, nodding their heads equally toward the 80’s The Clash in delivery and toward the 50’s Bobby Fuller in lyrics (“I fought the Law (but the law won”) creating a genius fusion of past and present and politics; one listen to this song and you are guaranteed at least three hours of echo from its addictive chorus, “I fought the war but the war won't stop for the love of god. I fought the war but the war won.” “The Police and the Private” is reminiscent of Old World Underground’s “Calculation Theme,” poetically building a story-lesson over playful synths and rising rhythm toward a soft crescendo. “Ending Start” seals Metric’s fate of being compared to the widest spectrum of rock, lending a Pink Floyd-esque-Dark-Side-of-the-Moon haunt to this collection.

The title track, “Live It Out” ends the album on the most unapologetically indie rock meets new wave slam dance note, confirming that Metric has lost the self-consciousness attitude of exclusivity, embracing and owning their variations of style, AND the variation of audiences who love them.

On The Web | www.ilovemetric.com

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