BOOK INDUSTRY INSIDER CHUCK SAMBUCHINO HAS INKED TO EDIT MY MEMOIR, GOLDEN STATE GENIUS.
Author - Han Vance
1. These Days
2. Living Well Is the Best Revenge
3. So Fast, So Numb
4. What’s the Frequency, Kenneth?
5. Time After Time
6. Driver 8
7. Man-Sized Wreath
8. Walk Unafraid
9. Hollow Man
13. (Don’t Go Back To) Rockville
16. The One I Love
17. I’ve Been High
18. Let Me In
19. Bad Day
20. Horse To Water
21. Orange Crush
22. I’m Gonna DJ23. Supernatural Superserious
24. Losing My Religion
25. Pretty Persuasion
27. Fall On Me (w/ Johnny Marr)
28. Man On The Moon (w/ Johnny Marr)
This Saturday at Lakewood in The ATL…
FUN ME AND MY STIPE FACTS:
FIRST, I LOVE REM AND WAS A HUGE STIPE-HEAD IN HIGH SCHOOL (I STILL AM ACTUALLY)
SECOND, HE LIVED NEAR MY HOUSE ON BOULEVARD AND WAVED A WEE TOO FRIENDLY-LY AT ME DAILY, IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I ADMIT IT WAS A TURN ON. I AM SUCH A BIG FAN OF THAT MAN.
THIRD, HE WENT TO OUR APPLIANCE SMASHING PARTY ON CHASE STREET
FOURTH, HE HUNG IN THE COFFEEHOUSE I WORKED IN AND SUNG THE “AMBIGUOUS” LYRIC: “YOU SERVE ME COFFEE”
FIFTH, HE WAS AT THE NIN SHOW AT THE FOX. I WAS, LIKE, ROLLING OR SOMETHING AND WAS WITH JUMPER AND TIFF. JUMPER WAS ALL OVER HIM LIKE A FAN. I WAS A BIT MORE DEMURE, AND THE SHOW WAS A BLUR.
SIXTH, I WROTE A WEIRD POEM ABOUT HIS INFLUENCE ON MY ART AND HAND-DELIVERED IT TO HIS OFFICE, WHERE KEVIN (MY FRIEND) IS MANAGER
MODEST MOUSE OPENS SATURDAY, AND THEY ARE A GREAT BAND TO SING THE WORDS TO WITHOUT EVEN KNOWING ALL THE WORDS. I LIKE TO MUMBLE TO THEM.
Copyright © 2008 HV
“So you’re a friend of Hillbilly,” they all say.
Brian Southard is Hillbilly, and the answer is one of my best. He owns the company. They sell protection for “yer ass.” Pads, man. Some of us need them. Not me. Not today. I ride longboard all the time. I skate, but I’m not strapping one of those on tonight. I’ll leave that to the pros.
These boards have bindings for your feet. Mountain bike-like, shock-bounce and wheels that appear almost as if those of a Jeep had been shrunken, this is the board of the future.
And, as I mentioned, the pros are here. From Utah and P-A and outside Johnson City, Tennessee and parts unknown, they are here to ride the course, to spin and twist and flip off the ramps, the tallest of which is on the ceiling of the DJ Booth. Rap only and it pounds out, much of it of The ATL variety, of course.
Theme is Tiki: long a favorite of mine. Opted out of my 1950’s green tiki shirt because we walked here from the train and it was 90 degrees out and late spring in the Deep South. Big thick white T-shirt sweats better, dries better, and I found out how much today on this sweatfest of a labyrinthian hike that Alex from Russia and I took.
By car, then foot, then bus, then train, then foot, then train, then foot, then even more foot we saw Atlanta in all her daytime, hazy glory. High Museum she said and Coca-Cola she said. The Fabulous Fox she said. Twinkle she said. Twinkle, gleam, twinkle…Traffic and pollution not so pretty, but the young Russian Foreign Exchange student saw the City at her shiniest and her less than, with a man “from here.”
From the Arts Center in Midtown we walked to Downtown. From Is-That-A-New-Building-Ville…to “Not so new and under construction anymore,” as I described. Then from the neighborhoods and park where my ex-wife lived when she was just my girl to Little 5 Points. That was only after pizza and the paper in the cushy confines of Peachtree Center’s food court and two train rides. We met a few nice folks along the way.
L5P for seven minutes of Russian victory soccer in the pub, then we were back on the streets, beating our soles to the heat that came in sheets, on our way to East Atlanta. Reynoldstown was there in between, in so many ways.
East ATL and Brian did not answer from the payphone back in Little 5. We don’t know where the party is. Ask at The Earl if they, by chance, know where the Mountain Board Compound is. They don’t. Can’t dial long distance on their phones and Hillbilly is (706). Payphones are not working if more than an empty payphone coffin. A cell would have been handy today. I usually use only my home/office phone.
Think. Tatoo shop. I know Guz and he is back now, I think, doing tats in East ATL, and he knows Brian. He is working today, looking lean and sharp, and he is as nice as always. Not getting off until 8 pm, but he calls Brian for me. Directions. We walk. More ATL.
I have been here, lived here in Greater Metro Atlanta since 1976, with a few breaks for Athens and one for a year in Orlando, so when I talk of her, I talk from experience. I have worked in every major commercial district in Atlanta in my former lives. Now: I WRITE but now, now, we walk.
We walk…We walk…We walk, now. Mile after – we are exhausted – mile. We are back in the burbs basically, just way southside which means a different socioeconomic world.
Then finally, we see the Hillbilly flags a flyin’. We made it. Probably just under 15 miles on the day by foot, so some water sounds good.
At the party, the Tiki bar hives with gregarious and generous folks, having a nice evening. The rum is flowing. The beer is flowing. Lots to look at with the flips and hips, the ramps, the ladies.
And my boy Adam was there. Big Ups, Doctor Adam. Some really cool people were hanging out I admired and of course a few loudmouths that I only liked okay. I was in element.
The scene was made and the sun shifted to shade, and we talked and mingled. Kisses all around for the select few. Digits to one early and from one late…I really like the second one and the first was also pretty nice.
Conclusion is late night boy banter, just like other post-sporting events. The athletes can’t hang too much until the event is over, see, and it was by then. I would be remiss not to comment on how nice and humble these very talented athletes are. And they are good. Skinny Kenny, Big Ups. Jason, Big Ups. All the riders, Big Ups.
Check the sport out live anytime you get the chance. Good Party. Great entertainment – thanks to all the very COOL hosts and my main man Brain Southard at Hillbilly Protection Gear.
Copyright (C) 2008
FOR HE IS RISEN – AFTER SLEEPING LATE
JOSEPH BRODSKY’S BROAD SKY, HIS HORIZON HIKE
HIS POETIC EXILE ACCEPTED, I READ-RED
AND I HAVE A YOUNG RUSSIAN VISITOR, NEXT BED
THIS OLD-BOY, YOUNG ALMOST MAN, FROM RUSSIA TO WE
HAS COME TO TRY AMERICA – LAND OF THE FREE
LIKE BRODSKY, THE PLAN WENT NOT ACCORDING TO TRICK
WHO KNEW? SENT TO A PLACE AS SMALL AS ITS NICK: THEO
HIS USA COUNTRY-MOUNTAIN MISERY, MOSTLY
SEE MY DAD HAS HALF-MOVED NOW AND LOVES IT
I VISITED AND WE DECIDED TO BE ANOTHER HOST FAMILY
NOW HIS FAMILY SET 2, THE ROWDY VANCE-BRAUM CREW
MARIETTA MADNESS, ATLANTA ATTITUDE, YES Y’ALL
DEEP SOUTH HUMIDITY, NEW SOUTH CONSCIOUSNESS
ST. LOUIS, HE SAW, NASHVILLE, HE SAW, THE BUS, HE SAW
NOW HE SEES:
PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY BELLIES
ATL RAP IDIOSYNCHRONICITIES
SOUTHERN MAMA NICETIES
GIRLS WITH BIG-ASS TITTIES
CONVENTION; CONVICTION; CHECK THE DICTION
AND DON’T FORGET TO MENTION
THE DREAM, THE STRIVE, THE STYLE
THE LIFE, THE HIKE, THE BIKE, THE BLOCK, THE MILE
AND WE ARE THICK AS BRICKS
AND ONLY TWICE AS QUICK
LIKE A BAG OF TRICKS
HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS AMERICAN SCHTICK
(Photo by: Han Vance, from Art Above Underground)
WATCHED TWO MOVIES LAST NIGHT TO GET MY MIND OFF THE BOOK EDIT FOR A DAY: INTO THE WILD WAS A FILM I HAD WANTED TO SEE FOR A LONG WHILE. I READ AND LOVED THE BOOK AND IT IS ONE OF THE VERY FEW MOVIES THAT STACKS UP TO THE BOOK, PRIMARILY BY STAYING SO TRUE TO THE STORY. VINCE VAUGHN STOLE THE SHOW, AS USUAL, IN HIS SCENES. HE IS MUCH BETTER IN A SUPPORTING ROLE THAN HE IS AS THE LEADING MAN. EVEN IN SWINGERS, IT WAS MIKE’S STORY, NOT TRENT’S. AND EMILE IS A NICE, YOUNG TALENT THAT BROODS AND MUGS WITH THE BEST OF THEM. HE REMINDS ME A BIT OF RIVER PHOENIX, WHO I BECAME ACQUAINTED WITH WHEN HIS BAND PLAYED THE TATE STUDENT CENTER AT UGA, WHERE I WAS SET-UP SUPERVISOR. BIG RIVER FAN.
AND SPEAKING OF THE CLASSIC CITY, MY FAV SHOW IN ATHENS EVER WAS PIXIES AT THE GA THEATER. loudQUIETloud DOCUMENTS THEIR REUNION TOUR. LIFE HAPPENS. IT HAS BEEN TWENTY YEARS SINCE I STARTED LISTENING TO THEM, SEVENTEEN YEARS SINCE I SAW THAT SHOW IN ATHENS. SIMILAR TO THE JESUS LIZARD SHOW I RECENTLY, CUSSINGLY WROTE ABOUT IN THAT I WAS HANGING OUT WITH AN EX AT THE SHOW THAT EVENING. MY FIRST TRUE LOVE, MELISSA KING, AND I HOOKED UP, AND SHE SPENT THE NIGHT AT MY PLACE…AND I LOVED HER – I HAD JUST LOVED HER SO MUCH AFTER SHE WAS GONE FROM ME IN HIGH SCHOOL THAT I COULD NOT RUIN IT BY TRYING TO HAVE SEX WITH HER THEN. SHE COULD NOT HAVE SAID NO AND ME BE OKAY, SO WE JUST CUDDLED AND SLEPT AND IT WAS GREAT. I TRANSCENDED LUST FOR A NIGHT. LATER, WE WENT ON ONE DATE. SAME TIME PERIOD AS THE JESUS LIZARD PIECE BECAUSE TIFF AND I WERE ON A BREAK, I RECALL, AND WE GOT BACK TOGETHER AND STAYED TOGETHER FOR YEARS. AH, THE YEARS.
NOSTALGIA – NOTHING LIKE IT. AND THAT PIXIES FILM BROUGHT ME BACK, MADE ME FEEL THE YEARS, EVEN ROLLED A FEW TEARS. JOEY SANTIAGO AND FRANK BLACK ARE GOOD DADS. KIM DEAL IS SHAKEN, AT BEST, FROM THE YEARS OF DRUG ABUSE. DRUMMER DAVID LOVERING’S DAD HAD CANCER…THEN DIED. MY DAD IS IN THE HOSPITAL NOW. HAPPY FATHERS DAY TO YOU ALL. RESPECT THE MOMENTS. LOVE YOUR DAD. BLESS YOU.
Jesus Nirvana Lizard © 2008 HV
So, I love Kurt. Cobain had some things to say before he went away that I was already feeling. And he was punk, and he got pop catchiness. He hit home for me. I highly recommend the documentary, Kurt Cobain, for its words. Interviews and loosely associated imagery mixed with stills of the band and the man, the man talking, couple of years before his death.
When they finally started to come up – Kurt’s favorite time in music – he admired three bands: Scratch Acid from Austin, Texas; Butthole Surfers from San Antonio, Texas; and Big Black from Evanston, Illinois. And David Wm. Sims was the bass player and founder of Scratch Acid. He and singer David Yow left Scratch Acid and together formed the Jesus Lizard. Jesus Lizard was known for their intense live shows and Yow’s antics.
The “totally unkind Liz,” as we referenced them, I saw them every time I had the chance. I saw them in Atlanta once and Athens, GA probably five times. You could see that Jesus Lizard loved playing Athens.
Taking you there: And just look at her ass, Han, just look at that big bubble in front of you. Bouncing back toward you. “Whoops. I didn’t mean to get such a big handful.”
White lace shows through a hole on the back left pocket of the jeans. So metal, you think: Perfect for tonight…And you broke up with her…Get her back, baby…Get your baby back. Um, she looks so good in those jeans.
There he is. There’s that little fucker. He loves him some unkind Jesus Lizard…that freak…I wonder if Yow actually bangs him or if that is just for show? He dry humps the hell out of him. “Ha, Ha, Hmmm.”
He always gets under your skin. It’s awesome. You totally smashed that fucker, moshing last time these guys were in town. “I moshed on your ass.”
“What, honey?” Tiffany says…“Did you say something?” She is smiling and glancing back over her shoulder at me, sort of proudly half-looking toward her ass…gesturing to her big perfect ass which I miss so much.
“You’re looking really good, Tiff.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s what I thought you said.”
“You look good tonight.”
“I thought so.”
“You were right.”
I want to mosh now, but refrain, refrain, refrain. Get on this junk right in front of you. I love this part.
This is like dancing in a club. Fuck this. Refrain. You want to be with her. You miss her. But I have never not moshed at a Jesus Lizard show before. Like these sissies. Everyone cool… and rough is moshing.
That’s Pat. Fuck him. I should have kicked his ass. He deserved it. I refrained. Refrain.
“Fuck, Yeah!” I yell. “This is my favorite”…This whole album rocks…All their stuff rocks.
Pat’s back on the stage already? Stage diving in cowboy boots. Dangerous as fuck for the audience. I wanna punch him for wearing those. He deserves to be punched in the face…and you didn’t do it to him. I could totally kick his ass any day of the week if I came at him hard…and I know it. Fuck him. He turned on a friend. I hope Yow smacks him…Yow will probably try to hump him if he keeps coming that close.
Oh hell, here comes another button on Yow’s 501’s.
This is like moshing in place…With good company.
“Wowuugh!” I yell. That’s Big Al up there. They are just letting everyone stage dive. Much more than usual…I bet the band told them to let ‘em go.
“Crowe,” I say in a half-drunken mumble when he jumps. He is a thick man to be landing on people…“Ha, ha.” He got dropped.
“Did you see that?” I ask Tiffany.
“He might not be okay.”
“MARY!” “MARY!” Yow and I yell.
He wants to hump Big Al. Ha, Yow is in love with Big Al.
“He loves you!” I yell. Big Al’s scared of that.
Everyone’s getting a turn on stage with the maniac tonight…as many turns as they are up for…
“That’s Matt!” I yell as he goes. Nice flip.
Yeah girl. We are definitely hooking up. We are going home together.
“Can I come over to your place after this?” I ask, knowing the answer.
Sex with the ex. That’ll be something new…It’s been a long time since Suz and I stopped doing that. And she fucked up your head. Oh well. You love Tiffany. You love her, dude. You love her.
Yow is on the crowd now sweating pure nasty rock from every pore as he body surfs and screams.
“Did you see that?” I yell-ask because a dude had climbed on stage and grabbed David Wm. Sims. Sims smacked him twice in the face with the head of his bass. Sims loves it. The look on his face is of getting away with it. And he knows how good he is. “He’s my favorite bass player.”
Big Al is back on stage with Yow, now. Is this his third or fourth time up tonight? Yow’s on him quick this time. Yow wants him – He better escape. “Get a room!” I yell.
This is fun. Cheer up because this is fun. A good show surrounded by friends and you know you will get laid tonight by someone you love. This is a state of bliss, really…Nirvana.
Color. Even before I leave my house I think of color: Pinks, Reds, Yellows, Blues. Oh Georgia, your use of color: profound.
Spring has almost sprung in Midtown, and the HIGH Museum of Art on Peachtree Street is showcasing the area’s inevitable bloominess by hosting a major show of works by the most celebrated American female painter, Georgia O’Keefe. The Georgia O’Keefe Museum in Santa Fe, New Mexico co-organized the show, which runs through May 4th, as part of the Women in Art Series presented by Turner.
First wall, O’Keefe is quoted: “Women don’t make good painters they said. I just painted, that was all.” Unhappy to be defined solely by her femininity in a male dominated profession, her focus was on the work itself and the individual expression in the acts of their creation.
Photographer Alfred Stieglitz did much to ensure that photography was included in the categorizations that the public calls fine art. A prolific photographer and art dealer, he owned the Little Gallery on 5th Avenue in NYC. From its 1905 opening forward, Stieglitz championed European and American modernist artists. Visionary and unique for his time, Stieglitz began to show and promote a number of female artists, believing a woman’s essential femininity was exposed in the creative process.
Stieglitz called early protégé, Katherine Nash Rhoades, the “woman child” for what he saw as her beautiful childlike simplicity in painting. O’Keefe he later cast as the “Great Child.” She in fact studied the children’s way of making paintings. Is something not lost in a natural artist, as life and school and time begin to “teach” them? O’Keefe encouraged the notions of herself as a childlike visionary while rejecting assertions based on sexuality, although vaginal shapes do clearly appear in many of her flower paintings.
Stieglitz and O’Keefe blossomed from business interest to romance to marriage, in 1924. She is the subject of much of his photography; a full room of her as muse is off to the side of the main exhibit space. His champion-artist appears here as sexual and free, a gypsy in the prime of her life expression.
Flowers and Landscapes are O’Keefe’s major subjects. First came flowers, and a complete floral room easily highlights the exhibit. In the center of the room, in your garden, you notice that some are brighter than life, some bright as life.
Stieglitz died in 1942; O’Keefe lived until 1986 and the famous southwestern landscapes became a primary subject after his death and are thus not displayed in this show. Finally, perhaps foreshadowing her later landscape work, we see the piece: “Red, Yellow and Black Streak.” Here color has transcended form in a landscape from Georgia’s beautiful mind, which birthed an explosion of strata colored red, yellow, black and pink. Her magical vision for color most evident where red becomes pink, dark becomes light.