FoundArt: 14th Annual Kitschen Sync Group Show

If the Lowbrow (what a horrible genre name) art movement has an epicenter, it's the La Luz De Jesus gallery. A show here can make or break you. Their annual "Everything But The Kitschen Sync" group show is the underground equivalent to The Whitney Biennial.

"There's always next year". Those were the last words of my very nice rejection letter, regarding my submission for this year's show. Sour grapes? Not at all. I was just one of over 7,000 people who received the same notice.

There are 123 artists represented in this year's show and somewhere in the vicinity of 225 pieces. It's kind of an overwhelming assault on the senses. Which is pretty much the point. Lowbrow art doesn't coddle you. More often than not, it violates your comfort zone. Snow White hanging limp from a noose, the dwarves circled around her, Dopey inconsolable, is one of the first images you encounter. Jose Ontiveros plays with the Disney mythos in several paintings in the show.

"The End" by Jose Rodolfo Loaiza Ontiveros


Elsewhere, Click Mort gives porcelin form to nightmarish domesticity.

"A Peck For Daddy" by Click Mort


Mark Ryden casts a large shadow over many of these artists, as is evident by the frequent focus on raw meat. None more beautifully than by Monica Malewska.

"Hummingbirds With Bacon" by Monika Malewska


If you live anywhere near L.A., you owe it to yourself to see this show. It's running from March 4-28 (at 4633 Hollywood Blvd). The prices of the art are insanely reasonable, and as of last night, many were still available.

One last thing. If you're unfamiliar with La Luz, let me give you a tip. There's a "hidden" wall on the northeast side of the gallery. It's easy to miss, but if you look, you will find a couple of the stand-out pieces in the show. "Timekeeper" by Munk One, and "Winter Wonderland" by Antonio Roybal. Keep a close eye on those two. You'll know their name's soon enough.

"Timekeeper" - Munk One


"Winter Wonderland" - Antonio Roybal


-KrossD
(all photos by Keith Ross Dugas)

Blood, Sweat, & BLESSED: Lucinda Williams review

“Gifted” is a word that gets far too much play when writing about brilliant songwriters. It’s almost an insult. It doesn’t factor in the blood, the sweat, and the unholy pain that went into creating the five minutes of aural ecstasy you’re attempting to describe.If you have ever seen Lucinda Williams live, on ANY night, you’ve watched her stop the band mid-song, and re-start (on nearly every song), sometimes scolding a band member, sometimes cursing herself. There’s a good chance you’ve seen her cry. These are not the arrogant tics of someone in possession of a “gift”. This is an extremely talented woman, who works hard at her craft.

She set the bar impossibly high for herself early on, packing 1988’s Lucinda Williams album to the brim with ridiculously perfect songs. It took her ten years, but ultimately Lucinda left that record coughing in the exhaust of 1998’s Car Wheels On A Gravel Road. Call it alt-country if you want, but the future will hold no discussion about Lucinda that does not mention that record.

Things have been a bit patchy since then. Her 2007 release, West was bogged down by the grief of her mother’s passing, and bizarre double-entendres delivered in an awkward talking-blues style. She sandwiched a bunch of thickly morose reflections between a couple of stand-out rave-ups on Little Honey. In retrospect, 2003’s World Without Tears was unfairly maligned, or at the very least, overlooked. It was her best record of the last decade.

This past Tuesday (3/1/11), she returned to us in full bloom. Blessed hits every ragged emotional chord within you. Lucinda has always known how to start an album, and here she kicks-starts the record by lashing out at an abusive former lover on “Buttercup”. With a crunchy guitar lead by Elvis Costello, Lucinda leans into her vocal, growling and snarling. She punctuates the lines by addressing her victim as “honey”. Not so much suggesting lingering affection for him, but rather pity. It’s pretty brutal stuff. Then there's the lilting, heart-wrenching “I Don’t Know How You’re Living”. On the surface, it sounds like a pleading letter to her little brother. It’s someone just too far gone. Beyond help. It could be any one of us. The title-track is arguably the best track here (the fact that we can argue about which is the best track, is very good news by the way). “Blessed” is a simply gorgeous celebration of humanity, in all its ugly glory. It’s practically an anthem. I can envision a sea of waving hands and raised voices carrying the song home when she performs it.


Lucinda is one of the finest lyricists alive, and no doubt reviews of BLESSED will use the word “gifted”. I understand the impulse. “The Ugly Truth” has the following in the first verse, “Hide your background, hide your fame, hide your given middle name, swallow your pride, swallow your pills, in your house up in the hills”. Now it’s easy to think that just poured out of her, being the poet’s daughter and all, but I’d venture a guess that Lucinda toils over every line. I imagine her notebooks are filled with more frustrated scribbles and torn out pages than legible words. So let’s not diminish the work. Let’s not call it gifted. Blessed perhaps.

There is a Deluxe CD package and a Deluxe LP & CD combo available with eight different covers. The deluxe packages contain an additional CD of the entire albums’ demo tapes as recorded in her kitchen. To hear Lucinda so raw, and unguarded, in her kitchen, is to get a much deeper understanding of the heartfelt effort she put in to these songs. If you can spare a few extra bucks, the Deluxe packages are the way to go. However, by providing a receipt for any format, you can get four free MP3's of unreleased tracks.

-KrossD

SHAKEN

In Neil Gaiman’s epic graphic novel, “Sandman", there exists a library that contains all the books never written. Dusty shelves filled with all the great literature that never was. I often think about this when listening to PJ Harvey. There’s a PJ Harvey album that I crave, but will never get from her. She is a superb songwriter by any reasonable measure. She’s thoroughly capable of crafting sublime pop music for the masses. She hints at it all the time (see the utterly gorgeous “The Last Living Rose”).




She has an inner Gaga, but I doubt we will ever see it, because her inner Artiste is just too big, all-consuming and protective. Perhaps it’s for the best. Instead of a platter of pure rock candy confection, she unleashes “LET ENGLAND SHAKE”. It’s far more challenging. The masses will ignore it, and we elite music snobs get to keep PJ as our own little secret. Don’t ever let the Grammy Committee find out about her, please.

I’ve been tough on Polly over the course of her last few albums. She’s better than “WHITE CHALK” and she knows it. Sometimes geniuses have to purge themselves. Sometimes David Bowie and Lou Reed have to wallow in Berlin. So let’s not call this a comeback, or a return to form. She never “lost her way”. Polly Jean Harvey travels different roads than most. You may read about this album being a bitter love letter to England, or a reflection on her native countries involvement in the First World War. Before you start rolling your eyes, let me assure you it’s not nearly as pretentious as all that. Polly Jean has never been interested in being Bono. Besides, after constantly listening to “LET ENGLAND SHAKE” over the past few days, I don’t really hear the album that way. Those topics may have been a jumping off point, but where she lands is someplace else. Some place out of time.

These songs sound like nothing else in PJ’s canon. There isn’t a single blistering guitar riff to be found. Not one tortured love song. The lyrics are brutal, but the music gentle and oddly comforting. The songs are peppered with strange sounds. She and John Parish are playing with what kind of textures might be wrung out of xylophones, trombones, and zithers. The layered vocal chorus at the end of “The Glorious Land” is disturbingly beautiful. How can you make a call and response line like “its fruit is deformed children” sound…um, pretty?!



Her knowing wink to Eddie Cochran at the close of “The Words That Maketh Murder” is fun, sure, but also dark and heavy with intent. This is perhaps PJ Harvey’s most Gothic record. It’s a story of doom told through 40 minutes of sparkling musical ripples. You will be dragged along by the throat in its undercurrent, but oh, what a ride! It’s a beast of a record that shows a new face every time you listen to it. She continues to amaze me.

No, this isn’t the Polly Jean Harvey album of my dreams. I could never have anticipated this, but I’m very happy it’s here.

-Keith (aka KrossD)

Big Noise

They demanded my attention from the start. The first track on Eat Sugar’s debut eponymous four song EP was an unrelenting aural assault. “I’m A Carrier” came blaring out the speakers and slapped me around a bit. I’ve never been much of a fan of what I call “Bleets and Skronks”. You know, the synth-heavy, experimental, No-Wave-ish attempts at furthering dance music? This was something else altogether. Cincinnati’s Eat Sugar has a punk laced pop sensibility that is much more compelling to me than anything Suicide ever did. Aidan Bogosian’s hiccupping vocals the perfect foil to the pulsating synths and driving rhythm section. However, this was challenging music, and four songs were just about right. Any more than that and they would have worn out their welcome.

Through a tireless work ethic, constant touring, and an emerging artistic vision, the band matured. The seven song EP, “It’s Not Our Responsibility!” followed in 2009. A more finely honed approach to song craft was evident, as was a sense of humor (see the video for “Pop
Singer”). The production was cleaner, brighter, dare I say, friendlier. When the sax comes in on “So Into You”, you can’t help but smile.



Last year though, was the artistic breakthrough for Eat Sugar. They self-released their first full length album “Levantense!” in a digital only format. It’s a watershed moment for the band. The rolling drum intro, the in-the-pocket bass throb, and Aidan’s first “Heyah!” make known we are now on new turf. The hooks here are undeniable, inescapable and there is, indeed, more cowbell. The vocal phrasing, and synth-scratches on “The Revivalist” place the band squarely in the ring with electro-pop innovators like The Knife & Neon Indian. They are contenders now. “Levantense!” is the clearest artistic statement the band has made to date, and the most downright satisfying. Which is not to say that this is an easy listen. “Parasite” and “Clap Hands” probably play much better live , but “Shadowside”and “The Empty Set” are revelations! Brooding, soulful. They wouldn’t sound out of place on The Walker Brothers swan son Nite Flights. The greatest gem here though, the slyest wink, the biggest tease, is the final song. If there were any justice in the world, “Troubled Dreams” would be a chart-topper. Aidan delivers his most devastating vocals, Jim Reynolds provides the most sinuous bass line since Wild Beasts’ “This Is Our Lot”, and the song just crushes you.

Oh, have I mentioned the guitar work? No? That because there is none. Eat Sugar is a rock band with no guitar. Take a moment. I’ll wait.

Shortly after “Levantense!” was released, the band signed with Mush Records, thus ending the albums availability for a time. Mush is re-releasing the album in both physical and digital formats this Tuesday (2/22). Do yourself a favor. Get it!!!

-Keith