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Archive: August, 2009
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| Jacob Hellman |
The dilapidated buildings, abandoned breweries and shuttered factories in Philadelphia aren't usually the object of many passers-by' interest, but for Jacob Hellman, they're an obsession. These forgotten landmarks are the focus of his photography exhibit, which runs through November 1 at Art in the Age (116 N. Third St., 215-922-2600), and the subject of his lecture from 6 to 8 p.m. tonight with Phillip Taylor, a local veteran in the commercial printing field. During the event, Hellman and Taylor will discuss their research on the industrial past and present of Philadelphia before guests get the chance to browse his exhibit which, according to Art in the Age art director Julie Ahn, surveys the city for what it is, not for what it's romanticized to be. Guests can also pick up reproductions of Edwin Freeley's 1867 book Philadelphia and Its Manufacturers, in celebration of its 150th publication. Additionally, ROOT cocktails will be served and a boozy Q&A session will follow.
Click the jump for more images from the exhibit.
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| Jacob Hellman |
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| Jacob Hellman |
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| Cat Stevens |
I was a little skeptical when I plopped down on the half-wet grass yesterday at Penn Treaty Park to see the Espers. It wasn't that I doubted their live capacities ' rather, I doubted God's capacity to prevent it from raining during the show. But it turns out my lack of faith was unfounded: Both the Espers and the opening act, The Oubliette Ensemble ' a ragtag bunch who plays Medieval music "on completely non-Medieval instruments" ' performed without so much as a drizzle landing on their noses.
The outdoor venue provided a few other mishaps, though. The Espers' drums sounded like they were "evaporating into thin air," as frontman Greg Weeks himself admitted. And the setting seemed to contribute to the band sounding less pleasantly spooky than it does usually, and instead, more traditionally folky ' though that could be blamed on the fact that they just got back from the Philadelphia Folk Festival. One more outdoor complaint: Who was burning the mother fuckin' incense?? Whoever you are, why must you strictly adhere to the hippie-dippie stereotype of a folk listener? Oy.
Truth be told, though, it was a good show ' Meg Baird's vocals were disarmingly lovely as usual, Weeks was wholly on point, and the entire band continued to feel like a more authentic and genuine psych-rock band than, say, Devendra or their other more fashion-forward, tabloids-making peers. Not that I could blame Weeks if he started dating Natalie Portman.
I must have missed Espers at PFF 09. They sure were great at PFF 08
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| Knopf, 264 pp., $25.95, Aug. 4 |
Russo's previous novels have all come several years apart and been meaty, 500-pagers ' lots of room and time to expound and explore; perhaps it is That Old Cape Magic's brevity that is its problem. Whatever it is, it's not a hell of a lot of fun to read. In his seventh novel, Russo has strayed far from what he does most delightfully. There are glimpses of it, sure, but what Russo has created here, what he alludes to in the acknowledgments, is a meditation on growing older and dreading dying. Which would be just fine if he did it through a protagonist who wasn't a total jerk, or at least one with a more interesting story. Jack Griffin is a garden-variety dick going through a very ordinary midlife crisis, which is caused/exacerbated by his father's death, and then, a year later, his mother's. His daughter's wedding and his separation from his wife are thrown in, along with memories of vacationing on the Cape with his cartoonishly snobbish, horrible parents, but it never really comes together, just as we never get any real sense of his and his wife's troubles, what leads them to split. These are not full, Russo characters, and it's not terribly difficult to say goodbye. It's not that there aren't moments of loveliness in the telling; there are, but you leave this book wishing they'd had more time to breathe.
'Nancy Armstrong
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| Thom Lessner |
This gloriously boastful piece, Philadelphia Phillies World Champs, is hanging in a New York City gallery right now. How great is that? Philly-based artist Damian Weinkrantz curated the exhibit, titled "Please Be Welcome," and he brought a whole lot more of his local friends with him: whimsical/girly girl visual artist Kris Chau, Space 1026 founder Andrew Jeffrey Wright, grotesque and humorous painter Chris Kline, and others. It'll be up until September 12 at Fuse Gallery (93 Second Ave., New York City, N.Y., 212-777-7988). Click the jump for more images, including a Philly townhouse illustration by Weinkrantz.
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| Kris Chau |
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| Damian Weinkrantz |
It's nice to know that Philly boy Kurt Vile, who was signed to the Cat Power/Yo La Tengo/New Pornographers label Matador earlier this summer, isn't too big for his hometown yet ' he's playing a show pro bono tonight at 7 p.m. in Rittenhouse Square. That leaves you psych-rock kiddies with quite the dilemma, huh: Should you see Vile or the Espers, who are also playing for free tonight at 7 p.m., but at Penn Treaty Park?
Vile.
The documentary about Isaiah Zagar, Philly's world-renowned mural and glass artist, finally debuts on HBO2 at 8 p.m. tonight. And I haven't met a person yet who doesn't like it. In a Dream, made by Zagar's son Jeremiah, is an intimate look at what it's like to be an artist in this city ' specifically on the once-booming South Street ' as well as how a decades-old relationship can still be exciting and urgent, how mental illness manifests itself, and the artist Zagar himself. Here's what CP's Shaun Brady said about it:
As his son Jeremiah captures in his lovingly clear-eyed doc, Zagar himself dwells in a world apart represented by those detail-filled, tiled walls, but has found himself far less capable of existing in the one he shares with the rest of us. Jeremiah trained his camera on Isaiah at his mother Julia's urging, and even in the early going manages to capture both his warmth and the darker shadings of someone who others may dismiss as an eccentric. The pain reaches even deeper as the story unfolds, however, as the revelation of an affair threatens to splinter the family. The remainder of the film is an almost too-personal peek inside that process, depicted with a tender intimacy perhaps possible only with someone on the inside holding the camera. Jeremiah strikes a delicate balance between empathy and honesty, exposing the family's darkest secrets ' his brother's drug addiction, his father's memories of molestation, attempted suicide and madness ' but never losing sight of their basic humanity.
Check out more on the film here, as well as in this recent piece by The New York Times.
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| Ronnie Bruce |
Tomorrow, Wed., Aug. 19, you can (figuratively) shoot up the Eastern State Penitentiary while meeting and exchanging ideas with members of the local photography group Philly Charm, which is always keen to soak up new members. Its purpose is to both tour local landmarks and outdoor scapes like the Wissahickon Park, and improve its members' photography skills. The tour starts early in the evening and goes well into the night, long enough for you to capture the creepy running of shadows as night descends on walls rife with echoes of the past. (By the way, that photo up top, taken by Ronnie Bruce, was shot during a recent group meeting. Not bad, right?)
Wed., Aug. 19, 5:30-8 p.m., $12-$22, Eastern State Penitentiary, 22nd St. and Fairmount Ave., easternstate.org, flickr.com/groups/phillycharm.
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| Michael T. Regan |
We over at City Paper were no doubt excited for Philly gal Amanda Blank's debut album I Love You. We did, after all, publish a cover story previewing it. (Take a full listen here.) I personally think it's no M.I.A. or Santigold 'but those bars are way high, seeing as how the two ladies have put out the best dance albums in, perhaps, decades. Still, it's fun and empowering and raunchy, with catchy/spazzy hits like "Make It Take It" and unexpected sweet spots like "Leaving You Behind." I definitely wouldn't give it a 2.0, which is what Pitchfork rated it. Here's a bite:
Only "DJ", with its burbling techno groove, really succeeds at wringing something useful from Blank's "persona," evocatively communicating the self-abnegation of loneliness without sounding too much like a Peaches-level lobotomy victim. Of course, it's sandwiched between two tracks that troublingly rely on a beloved 1980s pop classic for much of their juice, Blank's Top Ranking mixtape holdover "A Love Song" (interpolating LL Cool J's "I Need Love") and I Love You's first single, the pointlessly "titillating" "Might Like You Better," which cannibalizes Romeo Void's "Never Say Never." Keep in mind, to date these are Blank's two best-known songs.
Hum. Did they just call Peaches a lobotomy victim? That makes the whole review feel a little sexist, maybe. Anyway, not everyone was so rough on Blank. Rolling Stone gave it three stars out of five:
This Philly rapper's got a mouth your mother could love ' if your mom was Lil' Kim. "Tryin'-a get up in my pussy and smash ' I'm Beyonc', independent woman, handle that!" she brags on "Let Me Get Some," a booming highlight on her debut. Other tracks run tamer: blank machine-gun one-liners about makeup and true love over New Wave club beats by Diplo and Switch.
More importantly, what do you think?
I think the album is tight. Listened to it many times over, and it's great. Some of the softer tracks threw me off, but I really dig the whole thing. I give it 3-3/4 stars, for very good, but it just makes me more excited to see how her music develops and what she will come up with next.
The album as a whole is pretty weak. Its obviously a compilation(basically a 'Best of Amanda Blank'), and that shouldn't be the case when it's your debut album. It consists of a few killer tracks sandwiched between filler, and its short duration makes this inexcusable. A 30 minute record should not have 20 minutes of filler. This album just sunk off the charts, and rightfully so. She also seems to be having an identity crisis with this album. She cant decide if she wants to aim for the pop charts or stick to her faux underground labeling. What also makes 'I Love You' stick out like a sore thumb are the other names attached to the project. Production issues arise, and neither Switch nor Diplo were able to give it the bombastic, in your face production that they did with Santigold, and even more so M.I.A.'s Kala, which was flawless. Yeah I understand comparisons to those artists are unfair and she shouldn't be put in the position to be stacked up against their pedestals, but when you have the same hands in your cookie jar, the comparisons should be expected. She is definitely talented, and has loads of potential. Now if she can just decide what she wants to be....
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Do you think Philly will ever get sick of its literary legend/creeper Edgar Allan Poe? By the looks of it, hells no: There's the upcoming fall production of Haunted Poe, Poe tours every which way (including this pretty cool one at the Laurel Hill Cemetery) and, now, an October exhibit from Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. The boutique is looking for submissions from you, as a matter of fact:
LOOKING FOR'
Artwork inspired by Edgar Allan Poe or visual interpretation of his portrait, and writers to submit their own chilling tale of obsession, murder and guilt.ARTWORK to be SENT electronically in the following format :
- Completed submission form with artist contact information
- High resolution .jpeg (at least 300 dpi) of piece (front-view)WRITINGS to be SENT electronically in the follow ing for mat :
- Completed submission form with artist contact information
-2,165 words (the number of words in Poe's 'Tell-Tale Heart') or less in a Word document or pdf.
Click here for all the deets. Most submissions are due in the middle of September.
If you didn't go to Saturday's Mad Decent Block Party, you missed out on one of the most jubilant, sweaty, diverse days of the summer. City Paper's wonder staffer/photographer/videographer/associate Web editor Neal Santos attended and recorded some video. (P.S. I may or may not be in this, looking a hot mess.)
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