Feb 25, 2010

After not writing about Lady Gaga, or rather, giving her a fullish treatment* for so long, I thought I might just avoid avoid for always (a talent). And the information ('the fame,' the hype) mounted, the task became fatter and fatter, further delayable, -whelming.

But this article in--I know it's stupid--Advertising Age, "Gaga, Oooh La La: Why Lady Gaga is the Ultimate Social Climber,"

has got me really bothered, in a semi-clarifying** way.

The piece frames discussion of Lady Gaga (to frame it at all is a help) outside, or aside from art (thank G-d); it's a lot of shop talk about a sudden media mogul and a character of our youth and times, a shameless self-promoter.

After a first skim, I got real sour over how there's no such color as "cherry pink," and how this sort of dissonance that isn't proper dissonance so much as error is exactly Gaga, her bad poetry and air-puffed stylings. Which brings me round to how "air-puffed stylings" are a thing I love. And bad poetry is a thing I hate. And LOVE HATE LOVE HATE; this always seems to be the way with Gaga. She does so much at once, and some of it well, and you get to digging the half and getting a little enraged at the rest and thinking and talking about it all through. So her missteps have little/zero bearing on big, lots-of success.

Being careful and quiet and curatorial about your output, your clothes and tongue and artworks is a game with some shame. And Gaga is principally (I'm restating this) shameless. In a personal way, her shamelessness, her costumed theater-kidness, prevents me from getting too invested, despite her clear abilities as a pop author and professional celebrity. Obviously, it's not performance full stop that makes me ill at ease. It's frenetic, thready performance (passed off as fully-cooked, impeccable), and masturbatory performance for performance's sake. Or she's just not that smart? I guess. I'm not so keen on actors, on inauthentic roles made "real," or presented as such. I wonder how I might have felt about early and mid- Bowie in real time....this is immeasurable. I'm sure I'd have been thrilled by him, and his character strangeness. For starters, his music, his poetical skill, is unassailable. Bowie is so smart, smart in ways young Gaga never will be, Madonna never was, etc. And, plainly, those were different times. Bowie's flashy difference was politically significant in ways that I'm not yet convinced Gaga is or could be...

I'm no surly adolescent; I feel pretty wretched about pop cultural non-embrace. I like to like the general, present likes. And I do. I do like "Summerboy" and "Paparazzi" and the newer "Alejandro" and "Monster." I like the way they sound, all Euro and emotionally punchy, and, even if I don't like the total lyric, I am moved by certain passages: the line in "Monster," "He ate my heart and then he ate my brain;" the repeated protest in "Bad Romance, "I don't want to be friends/I don't want to be friends." Comic-tragic disco. This is a rather great thing Gaga is doing: crafting, as her idol Bowie urges, "dance song[s] that can make you break down and cry." But the high speed of her rise and release of singles and images paired with singles (the artifice) has made for some holes, gaps, confusions, sort of degraded the quality of the recordings, the foundational work.

Gaga has invented Gaga on the road, in process, in the midst of some endless press tour. Witness the shift in avatars between the videos for first single, "Just Dance," and last (discounting "Telephone") single, "Bad Romance." 2008-2009...We're led to believe this shift was a matter of forethought, that Gaga has been working with a tight, over-arching narrative, from FAME to FAME MONSTER. I don't buy it, really. It seems to me she's gotten bigger budgets and a bigger circle and a bigger experience, like she's a good mimic whose happened to learn a little bit about looking art-y or art director-y. Even if it's so, this plan laid in 2008, it's flimsy; it's not all that scrutable. I don't hear or see a story, or gather that there's much connective tissue between Gaga efforts, aside from a certain look, an attitude, an any sort of non-thing that only people who work in fashion seem to think is solid or meaningful or even, um, cerebral....And like I said, "air-puffed stylings" are excellent, as long as they're not being passed off as grounded and circumspect. I've gathered a good bit of pseudo-intellect from Gaga's corner, and oooof it's the worst.

The AdAge article talks some about Gaga and Madonna. The author finds, incorrectly, that one can make a parallel between Madonna's Downtown life of the eighties and Gaga's Papa-funded L.E.S. rental of the late Aughts, when Downtown was unarguably dead, rotting even, alive only in the imaginations of provincial schoolgirls and a couple of promoter dopes (ahem, promotion). That said, Gaga&Madonna is a conversation worth having. I don't really want to have that whole conversation but...

Madonna, in her hyper I-am-being-aware-of-myself-now-ness, is sort of quaintly, naively (believe it or not) unaware. You know? Like there's some stuff that she invented, but also a lot just sort of happened to/for her and she's sparky and ambitious/ruthless. And maybe this has less to do with her and more to do with the sweetness of an old, slower media, of Pepsi commercials and Dick Tracy and "Come on girls, do you believe in Love," and an album called Music and on and on and children's books. One of your principal differences between Gaga and Madonna is how Gaga's self-awareness and self-promotion and self-modeling is standard, a piece of the greater celebrity, taken for granted, while Madonna's [action to self-form] was taken as the point, the center, the thing to discuss. It's more meet to pair Paris&Gaga, partners in seamless, shrugging fame-play.

Also, speed again and some singularity. Madonna worked and still works at the old pace (not lazily, mind you). Her ranged personas and reinventions happen/ed one at a time and with lulls in between—one kind of agenda and then a vacation and then another and a vacation, and so on. Gaga is in-a-flash and ceaseless and jumbled, a dizzy circle.

The real trouble—a notion AdAge*** and everybody else offers up clumsily—Gaga&Art.
The Polaroid consultancy has had me boiling for a minute. I mean, I'm jealous. And also confused and feeling slighted for (I'm really empathetic) all of the photographers who might have had brilliant residencies with Polaroid, a long, no-brainer of a list. The Polaroid has been central to contemporary art-imaging, a quick but powerful tool that makes sculptures and talismans of pictures. How will Lady Gaga, dame of the new social media, of the various, mixed-up and amaterial, improve the existing (if bankrupt [for no reason but bad boardroom dealings]) brand? Maybe if she were part of a group of media figures from all strata—photographers, painters, sculptors, musicians, filmmakers, writers—brought in to do mini-projects or pop-up stores and shows....but the sole creative director? And Gaga's manager's statement:
"You won't see her face plastered on any packaging or anything. We're comparing it to when Tom Ford went to Gucci or Steve Jobs went into Apple and brought a different thought process and taste level in. We're looking for her to do the same exact thing at Polaroid," he said. "It's not about her putting her name on something -- it's reinvigorating a brand."
Woah dawg.
I am, in theory, a supporter of multi-genre employment. Success in one creative field ought'nt to prevent legit' success in any other (though it so often does). But this is just too greedy. And I guess I'm being small, because this directorship is a job I'd love to have. But it's just more of Lady Gaga being rewarded as an artist, not a recording artist, but a performance and visual artist. I'm not saying one must have formal training or anything; all people make works in one way or another. But American commerce (in general) needs to open up more to visual artists, and an overnight dance-music sensation, however sensational, doesn't count, not in this context, not in the matter of a plum job consulting makers film and cameras. And I think her work, what we've seen of it, even at its best, lacks integrity. She is a communicator. She emotes, is both tough and vulnerable. She writes fantastic melodies and sings very well. But her communications are never clear, or even clear about their own non-clarity. Gaga spouts and spouts without a point of origin (like Dada's socialism and post-Victorian.ism) or a destination or a nod to the fact that she gets nonsensical with it. She just needs to clean up her act, get smarter.

In December, I couldn't sleep. I listened to every Gaga track; I watched every Gaga video. I saw this, the—judging from hair-bow—early video for non-single, "Eh Eh." It's not crazy remarkable, and it apes Gwen a bit with the spaghetti and rolling in sunny sheets (which is cool, if obv). It's pretty and fun and cheese; it seems fluid and authentic. It's Stefani Germanotta, Italo-American-pop.ster. I think I'd like this draggy Fame Monster Gaga much more if I'd been able to see a year's worth of the other (pretty!) bubbly version, if she hadn't come on so fast and strong and shedding skins daily, if she hadn't, herself, behaved like the fleet, brutal Internet.



*There was a smallish post about liking the choruses and hating the verses of most singles off The Fame, the mess of the performative elements, a remarked no-longer-favored favorite...

**Clarity, like actual clarity, will be impossible here. Gaga is, as ZBS noted in our comments last week, 'entropy,' a lot of noisy mezcla.

***Obviously this article's assertion that,
[Gaga was] hired specifically to create new products and inject life into a brand that hasn't been hip for years -- save for maybe a popular reference in Outkast's "Hey Ya!"
is deaf, nuts and deplorable.

SonreĆ­r


Feb 23, 2010

Apothekerflaschen. Willi Moegle, 1952.
creepy Israel

KOREAN YANKEE!!

Happy Quince+10 to my two best BFFs en la WORLD

Happy Birthday, Mses. Presidents

Feb 19, 2010

Feb 18, 2010

N.Y. Mag's The Cut has this (below) to offer on Tavi-at-Fashion-Week. And what? What is happening here? I need a nap!--

Last night, 13-year-old blogger Tavi joined Susie Bubble, Bryanboy, Phil Oh of Street Peeper, and Britt Aboutaleb and Lauren Sherman of Fashionista.com for a panel discussion on “The Future of Fashion Blogging” at the Evolving Influence Fashion Blog Conference hosted by the Independent Fashion Bloggers. Tavi — clearly the blogger everyone was most excited to see — won coos and applause with almost every comment. And with good reason! Some highlights below.

On personal-style blogging:
“You can write about what you care about. There’s always someone who also really loves, like, Seinfeld as well as dead dolls, as well as Prada. I think the few times I’ve tried to do more news reporting, I can only go so far until I have to make a Freaks & Geeks reference. For me it’s easier to write as a personal-style blog.”

On technology changing the media landscape:
“Nick Knight started ShowStudio in 2000, like a decade ago, and the scary part is in five years, it’s going to be like the iPhone. I remember there was this old Lindsay Lohan Disney Channel movie and she was video chatting with her friends about what they were going to wear, and that was so technologically advanced to me, and now you don’t have to be like a spy on Disney Channel to do it.”

On people saying bloggers have no business sitting front row:
“Well, if you generalize it like that, then it’s like people with computers can’t be in the front row.”

On the blogger-versus-editor argument:
“A lot of it is kind of made up. I think it started to sort of come back and gain a little more momentum when a Grazia writer was sitting behind me and couldn’t see because of my hat. But like I saw what [she] Twittered, which was ‘Can’t see behind Tavi’s bow,’ and it’s like, I think [she was] just sort of like making a joke. But then it was like [transfers to ominous voice-over voice] ‘Bloggers and Editors at War — which side are you on?’” [Audience erupts into laughter and applause]

On reading her own press:
“I read my own comments because I rarely get a negative commenter on my blog. I don’t read comments on other sites when other people have written about me and I generally don’t read the article. I have to be with myself all the time, and I don’t really want to read about myself. If somebody doesn’t like me, it’s probably somebody I’m never going to meet. It’s just part of the game.”

Feb 17, 2010

Augusto Giacometti. Abstraktion in Rosa, Rot, Weiss und Gold, 1921.

Feb 15, 2010

Non-Sporting






















I wrote about Jane Aldridge some months ago (and months slow). Now Tavi Gevinson, because she persists.

Her blog, I find, is kind of unreadable. I mean I get bored (which, honest-to-G-d, happens almost never). I like the way she looks. But her age (13).

Tavi is multiple generations removed--her parents are Gen-X-ers--from most of those fans and critics who have taken to arguing her place/voice in/around the media*. So, often, folks who say she is "brave" and "special" for being curated-quirky have forgotten about or not quite wised up to a post(!)-hipster topography, where "outsider" (like, aestheticized outsider) has been normalized or at least widely valorized (like note, the twee varietals, musically/hair-liy, of the early/mid- Aughts are all over car and deodorant commercials nowadays). And okay: her age, the gimmick of her age, is why Tavi's famous--'there are so many 27-year-old stylists yawn.' And how legit', grown-up editors complain about her sudden fame/possible influence (though I think it's clear she does her own writing), I feel them, because when you're Ann Slowey and you're 40-something and you have a family and you spent your twenties in editorial indentured servitude to get where you've gotten and your shite boss made you do one season of a reality show because he's freakin' yesterday's populist.....
Do we really need children on the Internet making paid-jobs irrelevant in this cool climate? Nope.

And then there's the thing about Tavi's age (and Jane's age) that ought to be said over and over and just isn't. They are kids, and the access they permit, via their blogs, to their homes and schedules and bodies--self-portrait after self-portrait (regardless of prim or layered clothes)--is dangerous! I was in college when social-networking sites really happened in America, but I'm pretty sure that if I had been a teen or tween at the time, despite protestations, my parents would not have permitted my membership. And a publicly accessible, self-documenting blog---HELL NO, not even a little bit. I get that models are often somewhere in the 14-17 range, but I've never liked that either (when I was a tyke-with-a-September-issue, everyone [big] but Kate Moss was like 25). And beyond the blog: Tavi at fashion week. Tavi on the covers of Love and Pop. Tavi on Last Night's Party. Yuck y'all! Real talk: more than a couple of depraved people work in fashion, or host soft openings of bar/restaurants coinciding with fashion week. I just hate the idea of a middle-schooler rolling out to these cocaine vampire parties, with or without parents (think about Allegra!).

Again with age, in a personal way, Tavi is, you know, way younger than me. And it's not the first time I've noted uncomfortably that young stuff is happening in a manner I don't totally understand (there was that minute when I hated Miley and T. Swift). But here, now, a picture of a generation other than mine, younger than mine, made from some divergent materials, is forming. Petrova noted recently (not on A&P, but in our living room) that ours was, luckily and unluckily (cancer!), the first to receive cell phones and the Internet. Yes. I also enter that the term "receive" is crucial; we received, but we did not inherit. We were firsts and lasts---last to wrap telephone cords around banisters while making play dates with specific, unvarying hours and locations, last to be kids (at least for a few years) without search engines and email accounts.

We know the Internet. But do we wholly trust the Internet? And is it intrinsic to our understanding, our measurement of everything else? Somewhat, but not absolutely and unflaggingly. Granted, this pursuit of generation generalization is unsound....I knew a girl who went from chat room boyfriend to chat room boyfriend in 1997 unself-consciously, but she was singular...everybody else crushed local, polo-shirted brother-school local.
This isn't fully fleshed.
Just, there's a kind of elemental borderlessness, creepy thrill-at collectivism, sometime genderlessness I've observed in the churren. They've always (never not) been entitled to participate in, to dictate and shift this broad other-world where they can watch porn and maybe get record deals.

[pause] Anyway [pause]
It makes me feel dusty and non-sporting.




*Note: Bloggers champion Tavi as a media iconoclast, part of their print-slaying number, death to Wintour, etc. But paper magazines are essential to Style Rookie with it's scanned-in collages...I find, most have framed this discussion blindly, laden with specific industry politics.


Happy Meetings
















Raphael wrestling with Asmodeus, detail of Wedding Night of Tobias and Sarah, Pieter Lastman, 17th Century.

The Archangel Raphael: patron of bodily ills, insanity, nightmares, travelers, the blind, happy meetings, the sick, lovers, healers, the young, and apothecaries. He bound the demon Azazel beneath the desert of Upper Egypt, cured Tobias of his blindness, and delivered Sarah from the demon Asmodeus.

Feb 14, 2010

Album Cover for Sunday

'35

Feb 13, 2010

Feb 12, 2010

Albrecht Altdorfer. The Battle of Issus. 1529.

Verses

'The Coliseum'
Edgar Allen Poe
1833

Type of the antique Rome! Rich reliquary
Of lofty contemplation left to Time
By buried centuries of pomp and power!
At length- at length- after so many days
Of weary pilgrimage and burning thirst,
(Thirst for the springs of lore that in thee lie,)
I kneel, an altered and an humble man,
Amid thy shadows, and so drink within
My very soul thy grandeur, gloom, and glory!

Vastness! and Age! and Memories of Eld!
Silence! and Desolation! and dim Night!
I feel ye now- I feel ye in your strength-
O spells more sure than e'er Judaean king
Taught in the gardens of Gethsemane!
O charms more potent than the rapt Chaldee
Ever drew down from out the quiet stars!

Here, where a hero fell, a column falls!
Here, where the mimic eagle glared in gold,
A midnight vigil holds the swarthy bat!
Here, where the dames of Rome their gilded hair
Waved to the wind, now wave the reed and thistle!
Here, where on golden throne the monarch lolled,
Glides, spectre-like, unto his marble home,
Lit by the wan light of the horned moon,
The swift and silent lizard of the stones!

But stay! these walls- these ivy-clad arcades-
These moldering plinths- these sad and blackened shafts-
These vague entablatures- this crumbling frieze-
These shattered cornices- this wreck- this ruin-
These stones- alas! these grey stones- are they all-
All of the famed, and the colossal left
By the corrosive Hours to Fate and me?

"Not all"- the Echoes answer me- "not all!
Prophetic sounds and loud, arise forever
From us, and from all Ruin, unto the wise,
As melody from Memnon to the Sun.
We rule the hearts of mightiest men- we rule
With a despotic sway all giant minds.
We are not impotent- we pallid stones.
Not all our power is gone- not all our fame-
Not all the magic of our high renown-
Not all the wonder that encircles us-
Not all the mysteries that in us lie-
Not all the memories that hang upon
And cling around about us as a garment,
Clothing us in a robe of more than glory."

Pieter Aertsen. The Meat Stall. 1551.

Feb 11, 2010

¡Jesus Take the Wheel!


to sir with love

This one is particularly hard. Alexander McQueen commits suicide at the age of 40, months after one of his most triumphant collections in memory, top-full of smarts and artisanship, beautiful far beyond yr typical, flouncy color story.

Where some played Gothic, McQueen meant it. From the start, straight out of the East End and St. Martins, he dressed women (and then men) to provoke, to be strange and difficult, displaced in this world. In the bring-on-the-glamorous-decades middle 90s (sort of owned by Brit rival Galliano), his wicked, Futurist/Victoriana/Punk bristled me. But as he softened slightly and I hardened, I caught up and realized he was a genius.

Upon this news, one thinks, with a certain chill, about the solitary/polar path of an artist, the severity, the high and low that can lend so much to work, successful work, but also sap health and happiness.

Be well in the next.

Feb 10, 2010

Third Station of The Cross—

Jesus, the cross you have been carrying is very heavy. You are becoming weak and almost ready to faint, and you fall down. Nobody seems to want to help you. The soldiers are interested in getting home, so they yell at you and try to get you up and moving again.

As a child, sometimes I start to do something, but then get tired of it. I hurry to get finished and sometimes don't do my work well. Sometimes I don't pay attention to what I should be doing. When things get hard for me, sometimes I give up.

As an adult, I sometimes put things off. I give up too easily, and sometimes don't do my work as well as I know I can.