Thursday, February 19, 2009

Return the Gift

To the list of tattooers from whom I want to get some work, including Stephanie Tamez (for the second time), Thomas Hooper, and Eric Jones, you can now add Eli Quinters. Formerly of Saved Tattoo in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Quinters recently opened up a shop on Smith Street in Carroll Gardens, also in Brooklyn, and is known for clean, traditional work (think animals, swords and flowers, etc.), some of which are on view at his site, Tattoos for the Unloved (check out the absolutely sick, Clash-inspired piece in the "Portfolio" section). For whatever reason, (is it the bright colors, or the not-to-be-messed-with designs?) I particularly admire the classic, Sailor Jerry-style approach to tattooing, which Quinters himself respects and to which he holds true. While it's true that the popularity of iconography in tattooing changes upon the whims of the public, I find that anchors, swallows, and other maritime imagery holds up best over time (anyone remember the "tribal" craze of the nineteen-nineties?), and will surely provide many a tattoo recipient with ideas for decades to come. I'm just itching for a new tattoo myself; I'm thinking of getting an anchor. No, a lighthouse. Actually, what I really want is a skull over a set of brass knuckles...

A link, further: Smith Street Tattoo Parlour

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In yesterday's edition of the New York Post, that rag which masquerades as a newspaper and which publishes the work of right-wing lunatics such as Bill O'Reilly and Michelle Malkin, there was an editorial "cartoon," crude as it was, which depicted a police officer standing over the body of a bullet-riddled chimpanzee. The speech bubble above the officer reads, "They'll have to find someone else to write the stimulus bill." Anyone see a problem? A lot of people certainly do, and they have taken their distaste with the cartoon, and the paper itself, to the Post's headquarters.

Now, while the Post shrugged off criticism of the cartoon by noting that it was nothing more than "a clear parody of a current news event, to wit the shooting of a violent chimpanzee in Connecticut," and that it "broadly mocks Washington's efforts to revive the economy," anyone with half of a brain cell can see that the cartoon, by Sean Delonas, plays upon ugly, racist imagery. Unfortunately, there is no satire, no parody, in comparing the President of the United States, a black man who has taken the lead in crafting an economic stimulus package, with an enraged animal which had to be shot after mauling a victim.

That blacks are compared to wild, barbaric animals is nothing new, of course; the practice dates back to "first contact" between Europeans and Africans all those centuries ago, and this cartoon simply extends that troubling narrative in human history. One would think, however, given the cultural changes brought about in the United States since the landmark ruling in Brown v. Board of Education and in other court decisions, that people, however conservative their politics, however rigid their views on race in America, would at least be aware of the kind of reaction this cartoon would spark. The cynic in me says that the editor responsible for publishing the piece knew full well that it would draw plenty of attention (he's got to see as many fifty-cent copies of the paper as he can), and that nothing more can, or should be, expected from the right-wing.

So much for American progress in the twenty-first century. Change, indeed.

[D | R]

Thursday, February 12, 2009

A Racket Most Unholy


I should probably be writing about William Eggleston's show (Democratic Camera) at the Whitney, recently closed, or Alec Soth's latest presentation, The Last Days of W., at Gagosian's uptown gallery; instead, fair/weather reader, I will take up this space to talk about music, in the form of Canada's Fucked Up, that the kids have been talking (or "blogging") about lately. It's the least I can do for you today, whatwith my decision to withdraw my nomination to head the Commerce Department.

It's true, I admit, that I'm a little late to the wave of praise that has been bestowed upon a band so inclined to reject praise in the first place. After all, what kind of self-respecting punk band releases seventeen-minute long singles, some of which are adorned with potentially embarrassing/morally questionable photographs depicting Hitler Youth rallies and mass suicides? Well, Fucked Up, that's who, and what can be more punk than attempting to obliterate your chances for mass appeal?

The argument can be made that a band, any band, that chooses to purposely antagonize its audience by splitting a 7-inch with one song, "Baiting the Public," on both the A- and B-sides (so that it cannot be heard in its entirety straight through) is pushing to subvert the one-two-one-two-three-four! dynamic of punk rock used and overused since the Ramones' long-distant turn at the microphone. As I see it, Fucked Up are less a hardcore punk band and more a performance art troupe with slightly silly, off-kilter tendencies; in this way, Fucked Up remind me of Italy's artworld troublemaker, Maurizio Cattelan.

To borrow the title of the band's new album, The Chemistry of Common Life, Fucked Up's music is anything but common and ordinary; for a collective that respects its predecessors (such as Black Flag and the like) and holds no fear about starting off an album with the tenderest of flute solos (!), it's pretty clear that inventiveness is that chemistry, that elixir, so absent in here-today-gone-tomorrow outfits like Vampire Weekend. (I won't even bother adding a link to Vampire Weekend. I mean, a band that wants to sounds like Paul Simon circa 1986? You've got to be kidding.)

Can you tell how excited Fucked Up makes me? Maybe I'll get one of their snazzy t-shirts.

Links for the curious, bored, and marginally informed (ooh, a sing-song rhyme!):

a) Fucked Up at Matador Records
b) Fucked Up runs your new favorite blog
c) Fucked Up blows up right-wing televisions
d) Fucked Up owns you on MySpazz

[D | R]