What Make A Man Are You: The Master, Film Culture, and a Herzog-ian Philosophy

Well this guy over here thinks that movie culture is dead, what do you think? Is it? Andrew O'Hehir argues that the intellectualism and in-depth discussion that was prevalent in film culture in the 1960s is a thing of the past as tv has become the thing we dissect, discuss, find community & look for the meaning in. O'Hehir is right that tv is a more ubiquitous topic of discussion nowadays, the medium we look to as an expression of a cultural zeitgeist, but I think that one reason for this seeming shift is the quality of work being produced in the film medium, as blockbusters reign and philosophical cinematic movements wane, a fact that was reinforced after going to see Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master last night.

P.T. Anderson is a contemporary auteur, the kind of director one would have read a theoretical essay about in the 60s (think Oil, Ego and Progress in There Will Be Blood), whose stylistic content is so signature that one would recognize his work by a mere frame. Despite the possibility for his films to become a locus of intellectual banter- the director even slightly rejecting the idea that something larger is at play-, The Master is a film that we all seem to be discussing the merit of as opposed to the many layers of, and why? Because there aren't really all that many layers to discuss...

The Master follows war veteran Freddy Quell (Joaquin Phoenix) as he wanders through his life and mind; angry, violent, drunk, agitated, hyper sexual- an animal among the "men." As he runs away from life he crosses paths with Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), an L. Ron Hubbard-esque figure whose creation of a cult-like pseudo-science-religion looks to elevate man into the supreme beings we are meant to be, looking into ourselves and our pasts (and past lives) for the betterment of mankind (and possibly the betterment of Dodd's bank account...) These two men represent the lowest forms of modern existence: one driven by base primal desire (sex, poisons, blood) exacerbated by the horrors of WWII, the other by equally as horrific desires only taking on different, slightly elevated forms of human awfulness (religious power, money, psychological manipulation). There isn't really a story exactly, it's more of a meditation on the way these characters are, and the depths of all of the subjects hinted at (war, religion, psychoanalysis, symbolic forms, Freudian desires etc.) are never really explored or discussed in an intense way...but then again, is that the discussion? The fact that our new myths are all empty, hollow shells of images, the lassoed dragon that Dodd pointlessly expounds on? If this is the case, if the film is in fact an exterior look at the interior of man, the fact that Anderson shot with 70mm cameras, a nearly dead format harkening back to a golden age of cinema, kind of nods at this theme: the false prophets of the screen are just projections of our own imagination, our own interpretations, our own desires as opposed to anything concrete or real. Today's man is a phantom image of urges, you cannot look deeper because there is no depth to the ocean's of our souls or our fleeting digital society (heavy!)- a theme that is again stylistically mirrored in the intensely beautiful blurryness that I was so often moved by as the lush, blue hued 50s style scenes, and Anderson's signature camera flares and haloed lights, whirred in and out of focus (another thing, I think, exaggerated by the 70mm shortened depth of field!).

Hm. Wait a minute. Did I just contradict my own argument here? Maybe I did. Maybe the fact that cinematic culture is so vacuous right now is the very point of discussion that is driving The Master, and culture in general for that matter? A film that could be about the inner workings of man, the torment of war and desire, the turmoil of American existence, yet here told blankly through the actions/surfaces he projects himself upon...through characters as shells of symbols of things as opposed to a more complex exploration of what lies within the meanings of these symbols. If this is the point of the film, to expose the fleetingness of our existence, the falseness and fickleness of what we view as civilization, that doesn't really get us anywhere... I think it is the responsibility of film people- director's, critics, audiences- to instill in cinema meaning, hope, thought, and progression so that we can do the real thing that people like Dodd/Hubbard (or Spielberg and Lucas!) falsely do...We need to create film- and not just film, an entire culture- for the advancement of mankind. We need to make and discuss the types of films that motivate change, not just point out the falseness, or create portraiture (however gorgeous) of potential, but to realize the potential that could make for off screen action and inspiration...and, most of all, not just for the almighty dollar (turns off advertising laddened tv) or for our own ego maniacal desires (exits James Cameron film)...so I guess what I am getting at is that film culture is not dead, and even the films that seem to be representations of how dead it is, make someone like me write an essay like this...! The first step in a new cinematic culture is noticing and accepting what is lacking, a thing The Master does in it's beautiful skimming across the exteriors of what makes our world what it is. The next step is to begin an inquisitive discourse (as found over here!) so as to avoid a(n awful) cultural legacy of Scientology, television advertisements, and plotless films about explosions...I don't want to say that film culture is an expression of progress but thoughtful existence is progressive and sometimes seeing actors passionately become surface-y, symbolic images of eerie power can make you think about what is really going on offscreen...

Note: After writing this I came across this article that I thought was somewhat related...sort of video essays and an essay about Werner Herzog, another director who assures me that cinematic culture is alive & well! The essay is preoccupied with how Herzog develops his own understanding of existence, the Herzog-ian philosophy being one of wonder (and acceptance) of mortality & our inability to find the meaning of life, and doing so through the beauty in existence itself. Our will to live is cushioned by ancient cave paintings, the mystery of bats that live behind a waterfall, a chicken that dances on command, by the very films Herzog is creating. Herzog makes culture and culture (and nature, another Herzog-ian theme) makes our lives worth our infallible death. Again folks, revive film culture to make some lives worth living, to make a life full of thoughtful wonder at the things around us! If not for yourself, do it for Werner! Now, back to the movies!

Wages of Fear

Last night I was determined to see a movie, in a theater, on a big screen, for under ten dollars. I even, for some unknown reason, really wanted to see actual film. And I'm not normally a film purist by any means but, last night, I felt like hearing the whir of the projector and seeing the grainy-ness of the print as the light cascades across the aisle. I wanted the warm, familiar comfort in a movie going experience. For awhile now I've been inhabiting places where it is slightly difficult to see film on film, and quality film for that matter, but last night, and with proficient and dedicated internet research, I somehow unearthed a local college's Film Society (The Keene State College Film Society) screening series up here in Vermont just over the border in New Hampshire! After arguing with a friend, who both used to work at this college and who prides herself on being "in the know" on these types of things, it was determined that no one had ever heard of the Putnam Theater at the Redfern Arts Center on Keene College Campus but that didn't stop me as I drove the forty minutes on crazy high speed mountain roads to join an audience of less than ten people scattered about the lecture hall-esque theater this warm and rainy Fall New England Saturday night.

The film I saw was a new film print from the recent Criterion HD restoration of Henri-Georges Clouzot's Wages of Fear. How have I never seen this film? When I was a kid, not even a teenager, one of my parents made me watch Les Diaboliques for some reason (a film Clouzot plucked from the hands of Hitchcock!). I remember it being a weird thing because normally I was sheltered from the morbid or odd on the film scale but I am thinking my French grandma, or my dad's love of strange b&w horror, had something to do with this? I don't remember the details of that film but I definitely remember the haunting feeling it left...a tense mystery but somehow so subdued in it's delivery! Clouzot is the master of strategic cuts, expertly devised sound design, amazing acting, ingenious & simple plot devices making for edge of your seat films but catching you off guard in their subtlety and building anticipation. Wages of Fear began with a nearly plodding exposition that at first seems mildly boring but is really part of the larger mastermind directorial plan- slowing you down, easing the audience into mild understandings of characters, situations and surfaces that will all be blown up to their fullest in the second half of the film (I am telling you this so you don't turn it off halfway through!).

Even though the film was made in 1953 the story of a group of down-on-their-luck European men in South America transporting nitroglycerine by truck to help an American oil company put out an oil fire resonates all too well with contemporary issues. The political implications imbued in this film were huge but done so with a light, careful hand (A scene of jungle natives looking on as they wander into an oil field. A quick mention of the atrocities of man brought on by WWII.) It really is a shame how these existential issues regarding War and oil are still so heavily rooted in our world today, nearly fifty years after the making of this film! Also interesting given the fact that Clouzot was tried for working with the Germans during WWII, garnering a life sentence ban on making films, a ban that was lifted in under two years after much support from other artists. I don't know what his involvement was but the undercurrents of ruling power fear and the loss that it brings amongst the unfortunate that lay within Wages of Fear makes me recognize that Clouzot did think long and hard about whatever his involvement had been, creating a masterpiece/warning of political filmmaking with this work. On top of all of that, the film is gorgeous! The sound (I'm assuming it's restored?) made a hi-wire atmosphere unlike any other use of sound I have ever experienced (ticking, creaking, edgy, rhythmic) adding to the engulfing tension, the images were lush and reflective in such a range of black & white, the texture and shot composition were so careful and thoughtful, the editing made every moment count and every inch of the film built up such suspense I even found myself biting my fingernails at one moment! The detail put into this film is a rarity nowadays...a must see for anyone who loves the craft and the art of filmmaking!

So, if you live near a college, any college with a film program or class, see if they have a film screening series! My years working the projector and taking the tickets during my own college years, and my desire to see film, made me seek out and support this type of organization, a thing that all communities should really try to do! College/academia are one of the resources- often with funding & a strong infrastructure- out there looking to support something original, to preserve and embrace the film canon, while also adding to it a new history. On that note, a few Brent Green live shows (featuring me on foley and Mike McGinley & Tim Rutili of Califone fame on an assortment of instruments!) are coming up for those of you scattered across Southern California- the first taking place October 3rd at Cal State San Marcos, then we're heading over to the Santa Barbara Contemporary Arts Forum the next night, and, possibly, another show in the Santa Ana area at UC Fullerton on the 5th (if an unflooded venue presents itself, anyone?)...! Hope you can make it out to support the films and the organizations bringing huge ideas to big screens in tiny towns (often for a low price!) all over the place! Now...go watch Wages of Fear!

Greetings From Asbury Park

Asbury Park New Jersey....you might have heard of it from Bruce Springsteen perhaps? Or it's roaring '20s boardwalk heyday? Or even as the backdrop for countless movies, most importantly part of Woody Allen's Stardust Memories (Ocean Grove too!)? Either way, I grew up going to this seaside town and have watched it shift and change throughout the years. Take this weird Casino Arcade (picture at very bottom) for instance. When I was little there was a carousel in there, then I remember going to a card/pog show whenever the hell the pog revolution happened (the original pog too, straight from the milk bottles of Hawaii!), then as a teen it was some sort of makeshift squatter skate park, and now...? I'm not quite sure? I think they have events in there? Or is it just a shell of a place to be looked at? The town has been getting popular again lately as businesses, galleries, storefronts, The Boss, and other touristy enterprises leak back into the oceanfront. Gentrification is such a weird thing, I will always have a love/hate relationship with it. I've sort of ranted about this before on the blog in the form of eminent domain...and it always comes down to one thing for me: is progress just commerce nowadays? Bringing culture into an area is something I encourage, but there has to be a way to bring new culture into depressed areas that doesn't displace the pre-existing culture...Or to infuse arts and culture into a town without making it about real estate? Maybe it's a matter of affordability? Maybe new transplants into areas should offer discounts to locals as a way of bridging the gentrification gap? Or offer some sort of subsidized housing for every new condo or mansion-in-a-box that gentrification brings? I dunno. At least in terms of Asbury Park there is a continued attempt to uphold a certain cultural history/appreciation...even in the face of countless new, mediocre looking Italian Eateries and massive amounts of tchotchkes adorned with the face of Tilly.

Apart from the many music venues (namely the legendary Stone Pony, a venue I've been frequenting ever since I could understand the Ticketmaster window at the local record store...records? Ticketmaster? Oh dear I am old vintage!) the new addition of an indie cinema is adding to the promotion of a new form of culture in Asbury! The Showroom (pictures in middle) is the kind of movie theater I adore, a small space currently with pillow adorned lawn chairs (they are actually really comfortable!), the giving away of extra popcorn for whoever's birthday was that day, a raffle for a copy of the book the film we were about to see was based on, dodging the digital projector sitting in the middle of the room so as not to cast shadows upon the image, the audience small but respectful- I loved this place! Even the overzealous theater manager urging you to try out the new chairs (which will be implemented upon a theater expansion to a space across the street from the current location) and opening the door for you to enter as he kept watch over his neighboring expansion exposed a real love for bringing movies to the people in a place that wants to return to the days of it's former glory (one might even say it's Glory Days)!

As I wandered around the boardwalk of this shore town, tourists with accents taking pictures of the well lit decay (bringing to mind the "Detroit Ruin Porn" conundrum) and crowd-like families escaping their tiny apartments, I wondered what the next phase of this town will be? Will it continue down a path of places to buy things? Or will it continue to try and be creative? To create experiences like it did for me: emerging from the roof of an indoor/outdoor ferris wheel that used to skim the sky above Palace Amusements (which is now completely torn down, and is above in a picture of a picture of an old family photo...as is a photobooth picture of me recently taken on the salvaged, original photobooth of Palace, a photobooth that now exists as a Save Tillie fundraiser), or hiding under the seat of the haunted house for the entire ride as zombie-like bodies with purple light cast behind them chased us down the track our rickety cart was balanced upon. But, after writing that, maybe progress is experience? Maybe seeing new things, in whatever form that takes on (things to buy, things to do, things to hear etc.) is what gentrification and our understanding of progress is all about?

Changing through experiences and experiencing through change...and often these changes revolve around an infusion of money to pay for them which is why gentrification is a seeming necessary evil. I do hope areas on the edge of gentrification find a way to balance the differing histories of a place...not to displace or Disney-fy but to co-exist in different cultures, a thing that really was the basis for beginning this country (providing a peaceful co-existence for differing ways of life, differing cultures...but, come to think of it, also ending up displacing a native population in order to do so, harumph!). Will the wants of the economic ruling class always trump the wants of others? Of course not! Those of us involved in independent media, places like The Showroom, purposely make it our mission to not let that happen! But, as we decide the future of our country, maybe those of us who are looking out for the interest of others and the preservation of a diverse country should take on a more active role in making sure to avoid a countrywide gentrification....

Love is Pizza Flavored Ice Cream and Denial

Cutesy isn't a thing I go for in a movie...and when a movie opens with a thirtysomething Brooklyn-looking dude talking at a camera/audience (Eeps! We ARE the camera!) as he seemingly goes about his everyday life- driving a car, doing a thing- I was a little nervous I was heading down cutesy lane. But, as This American Life contributor (the NPR program who also acted as the production team behind this movie)/writer/comedian/actor Mike Birbiglia's film Sleepwalk With Me slowly opened up in front of me I saw more than cutesy... I saw a bittersweet love story of awkward moments that make up a certain kind of life, a life that can sometimes lean towards cutesy/whiny/Dave Eggers territory but in this case headed more towards a funny sweetness that says much more about modern indie-rock man than those inflated pseudo-intellectual stories that have become commonplace when it comes to contemporary white-boy tales.

The filmmaking was slightly clunky, which I think might have had something to do with the fact that it was based on a book & play (monologues on a stage are one thing but translating them into the endless possibilities of film takes some skill)...a mix of non-fiction (and probably some fiction of course), the aforementioned "narrator talking at camera from the not-so-distant-future," low budget dream sequences, narrative scenes- combining to tell the story of a relationship between an artsy vocal coach (Lauren Ambrose, who will always be Claire from Six Feet Under) and a struggling comedian/bartender (Mike Birbiglia). I feel like I've seen a lot of hipster-y relationship movies coming around lately, which makes sense given we're of the age, but why are they all so afraid of marriage?...and then it makes me wonder if it is a universal fear or just the fear of white, young filmmakers who are living out their lives in a particular way that isn't conducive to this sort of commitment? Films being their babies? Filmmakers being babies? At least this film approaches the first world problems of the hipster aging epidemic through sleep walking and humor as opposed to uppity nonsense...but that doesn't mean the settings (colleges, all too familiar Brooklyn bars, brownstones, sleek weddings, hand me down station wagons) and basic angsty feeling towards responsibility aren't the same...

The heart of this film though is the stand up of Birbiglia. His observations on life grow with his character in the film, finding humor first in Sesame Street but ending in the hilarious limitations of hetero-normative lives (something like "I've decided I'm not going to get married unless I'm sure nothing else good can happen in my life."), while also finding humor in most other things in today's (upper middle class) world too ("Your mother bought this cake on the internet.")...the sleepwalking part seems only a minor section of Birbiglia's story except for when you view it as the metaphor it is: we're acting out the expectations of others conscious ideas of the world- marriage, kids, career-a dreamy state of reality that we navigate, dodging the needs and wants of others in search of ourselves only to find what we really desire in our dreams, a thing that can be both harmful and hilarious...and not always accomodating to the needs of others. Even though I am painting it as a downer, the movie wasn't really a downer, it was actually a sort of comedy...but everybody knows that comedy really does come from painful reality and, in some weird conscious and unconscious state our thirtysomething population of overeducated white kids are trying to figure out what a future means for us. Comedy? Tragedy? Babies? Jobs? I don't fucking know where we are headed by any means but I do know I will get there laughing...and probably, like Birbiglia, with my mom's EZPass. Sleepwalk With Me is probably a better book than a movie but that doesn't mean I can't relate to it and it also doesn't mean I didn't laugh hard at the stereotypes of my peers, and myself, as we all unwillingly hurtle into our pre-mid life crises...sleepwalking down aisles and laughing at what we fear most.

Curioser and Curioser: The Art of the Quay Brothers

I never really know how I feel about the Brothers Quay? Their artistry is Victorian in perfection. Their ability to create an eerie, spooky mood is unrivaled across all media. They have somehow managed to quietly bridge the gap between commercial, art, and film in a way I don't really get- a space few are allowed to inhabit. Yet the tales they tend towards are a bit too murky and amorphous for me sometimes....not enough content, or humor, or something? A style over a substance that I think is good for those learning about the creative process but a bit lacking for those immersed in it...or maybe I am just not the type of person who can't subsist off mood alone? But, with that said, they are probably the best at this said mood creation, and also some of the most meticulous animators around... so after seeing the current retrospective of their work, titled On Deciphering the Pharmacist's Prescription for Lip-Reading Puppets, at the Museum of Modern Art in NY this week I think many of my reservations about their surface-y feel have subsided and been replaced by an awe for their supreme craft and ability to cast a shadow of a feeling that can loom over and resonate with a wide-ranging audience.

I was curious about how someone would frame an exhibit of the Quay Brothers. So sweeping a career but so straightforward a trajectory (supportive creative parents, art school, graphic design, artistic recognition) that I couldn't imagine organizing their work in a chronological fashion given their sort of honest path. A content or stylistic overview seemed like a no go too since so much of their work is commercial in nature, as did organizing by media since they do everything from the darkest, tiny lines of charcoal drawings to stop-motion documentaries exploring obscure antique collections. The exhibition did sort of progress chronologically beginning with a brief biography of the twins (their bonded-ness a little unnerving), the formation of their intense creative partnership as children in Pennsylvania, exposing their many influences, crossing the ocean to the Royal College of Art in London and, at the age of 18, being swept immediately into record design, book cover design, poster, stage- every type of commercial outlet you can imagine. Then there were music videos, television commercials (one pasted at bottom!)- all while still managing to cultivate their own mild artistic voice spoken in a massive artistic vision on a small, perfected stage teeming with antiquated broken dolls and medical anomalies. And then this is where the show got me: the film sets.

Despite being phenomenal animators- very, very skilled, detailed animators who understand movement, form and frame rate in such an inhuman, calculated way- it was seeing the elaborate detail in their set designs and characters that gave their essence a moment to reflect upon. The seams, the craft, the littlest of detail- throughout the exhibit often magnified through giant lenses inset in boxes and cases holding the scaled down sets- were all held for a moment in space and time to let you marvel at the thought that goes into each split second that normally just blows by in their intensely created stop motion animations. Watching people peer into, basically, three dimensional film stills, stills of such intricate pieces, made me feel like the onlookers could truly get a sense of the amount of work and precision that animation auteurs go through to execute and express their obsessive, frame-by-frame minds. Stooping down to glimpse into a box that revealed a sculptural scene of a moonlit forest, with chunky red beads made blood pouring from the open wound of a porcelain doll-like figure in the foreground, made me look at these tableaus as just that: stills from a spooky storybook land where the elements are loosely symbolic but the feeling, and materials alone, inspire a not so far out of reach ability to create. I'm not saying that anyone can do what the Quay's do by any means but, I do think that their practice is one that is influenced by others, taking from other artists (Polish animation, naturalists, Russian posters etc.) and creating a new image that is equally as accessible to those inspired by their work....and when thinking of their sort of aesthetic collaging it only makes sense that this show would be mounted now as the internet generation of creatives constantly embrace this kind of practice, imbuing their own meaning onto things, fashioning ones own image of the world out of many others.

In practical terms: The layout of the show was....not the best. Half hidden in the basement/film theater of MoMA and half in a cluttered feeling gallery, it didn't make for the best viewing environment for the Quay's films. As someone who has worked in the (labor intensive, muscle aching) field of animation I would have loved to see each film next to the sets, see the split-second product that comes from all the hours of work. I also think the impact of their films would have been greater had the show had, simply, less stuff. At one point, upon watching an early paper cut out animation of trapeze artists dangling in the air, watching it on a small screen in a weird triangular viewing area, I couldn't even find the title through the cluttered walls of things and work. I know that the overwhelming catalogue of the Quay's is part of the reason they had this show, exposing their massive portfolio to a huge audience, but I also know that giving viewers space and time to reflect on the multitude of components involved in each piece is a respectful thing that I wish had been the case... The magnifying glasses positioned against the film sets in the show did point out the painstaking work that the Quays subject themselves to- true animating masochists- but giving the viewer time and physical space to think more about what makes these artists artists, to appreciate their craft, is a thing I think all art shows in major museums should take into consideration and have been letting slide in the mega-show mentality of late...more might draw in the crowds but less will lead to a more thoughtful, culturally enriched world, one frame at a time.



Once again I obeyed the "no photos" policy out of respect of the show....but I did yank all these pics from the internet so...hm... Quay Brothers: On Deciphering the Pharmacist's Prescription for Lip-Reading Puppets. Film schedule: Here. Aug. 12th 2012-Jan.7th 2013. Museum of Modern Art. 11W 53rd St. btwn 5th & 6th/NY, NY/10019. Hours/Tickets: Here.

New York City Ghosts and Flowers

Sometimes scenes change and sometimes they don't. So going to Union Pool (a bar that seems to be the first stop for all new waves of people and trends into a particular area, morphing along with whatever the people now want- currently with food truck!) in Williamsburg Brooklyn (a neighborhood whose transformation from ghetto to art haven to condo has happened at record speed) to see the amazing new-er super groups of dissolved/changed legendary indie rock bands (members of Sonic Youth, the Magik Markers and Pavement) whose sounds were the stuff of my teenage years and inspiration well beyond them, caused a really powerful, confusing, shifting feeling in me that made me wish the music had been even louder so as to drown out the unsettling time warps I felt tangled all up in.

I've gushed about Lee Ranaldo before after seeing his noosed guitar, live sound sculpting performance over at the Rotterdam Film Festival but seeing his rock band play his songs, the songs that a track or two of Sonic Youth albums were dedicated to (sometimes even the most listenable/memorable- Karen Revisited- still my favorite Murray Street track!) was something completely different, yet familiar in a way. A pop-y, noise- made-melodic with standard rock foundation, mixed with the dreamy nostalgic lyrics (often trite always sincere), and Ranaldo's vocals strong but lightly falling on the crowd from the stage, all made for a dense, full, rich sound that somehow lay softly in the room while still managing to be an all encompassing force within it at the same time. And I loved it. I love anything that sounds even remotely like Sonic Youth, and the sound really did feel like the thick, light, crush-y bed of the best Sonic Youth songs. I'm so glad this sound is going to live on in a new form! And I am so glad I got to see it live first hand!

The other band I saw at this show was Spectre Folk. Pete Nolan (the drummer from the Magik Markers, and a bunch of other rad things- like dad, schoolteacher and supposed children's book author) stood swaying around the mic like it was repelling him, straining out above a stage full of guitars, the throbbing forwardness of Steve Shelley on drums, and the bouncy/rocky bass of Pavement's Mark Ibold. At one point, as three (seemingly) lead guitarists bobbed in the stage light, soloing in ways that seriously did sound like Malkmus in his prime, I had a pang of high school memories that struck hard and fast and transported me back to a time when a guitar solo was the thing that meant anything. Hammering away at their long and winding un-standard tunings and feedback and bends, made me want to guitar solo, an urge I often have but am too timid to embrace.  But, while at this show, I decided I am going to guitar solo. And I am allowed to fucking love it. The confidence in seeing this group of people so dedicated to a sound, to music- Thurston Moore was even hanging about the small crowd, a new crop of teens in vintage dresses & big glasses at his feet, still, after all these years- made me remember my own love and ongoing love for this style of music, a thing I should be remembering and perfecting, not thinking I need to progress from. And that is what indie rock really is.

The primary ethos of indie rock is that everyone should be allowed to do their thing whatever it is, and seeing this bar, this neighborhood, this audience made me remember the reason I think we are all so drawn to counter cultures in general: do your thing, whatever it may be, and do it well, without judgement and with all the passion you can muster! And this purity is something I am going to try to stick with, remind myself of, force into my own practice again...even as things sell out, morph or change around us we should all do our thing and be open to everyone else who is also trying to do whatever it is that moves them. Even though the frat-boys seep into the bars, and the new hipsters have slowly eroded away a type of cool & grit in Williamsburg, it is the inherent passion of those working toward something, towards a life, that makes living worthwhile. I guess what I am trying to say is that dedication, and difference, is a thing to be respected  not shunned, and we should all embrace different modes of creativity and lives before things are too late (looks sideways at RNC)... But, one thing that I don't think Lee Ranaldo really finds moving or inspiring are the dedicated fans who keep asking him when Sonic Youth is going to reunite, when what they should be caring about is his new music! So, listen to his music! Buy the album (you heard me, BUY IT!)! Be inspired by it's existence! And be respectful and dedicated to whatever it is that moves you! End of indie rock rant. Cue guitar whammy bar. (Note/plea: Thurston Moore, can I borrow an electric guitar?)