Dusty Wright's Culture Catch - Smart Pop Culture, Video & Audio podcasts, Written Reviews in the Arts & Entertainment

By The Time I Got To...

Brandon Judell — Sat, 18 May 2019 14:19:51 +0000

By The Time I Got To... Brandon Judell May 18, 2019 - 10:19

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Woodstock: Three Days that Defined a Generation

It was by then the early morning of August 16, 1969. After spending the night frolicking in Central Park with me mates, I scurried to my ramshackle, walkup apartment with its bathtub in the kitchen, to bundle together some necessities to head to Woodstock. Sadly, Hypnos, the god of sleep, overpowered my sensibilities, and I conked out.

My impatient pals had absconded without me, leaving me without a ride, and instead of bopping to Jefferson Airplane and Creedence Clearwater, I was forlornly traipsing to see Easy Rider at an Eastside theater very much alone on a lovely summer day. (I did, though, make it to The Isle of Wight the following year to see the Doors and Tiny Tim. A compensation of sorts.)

I thought I had stopped kicking myself over that lost weekend, but now comes the latest documentary on the landmark concert, Barak Goodman's very thorough Woodstock: Three Days that Defined a Generation, and my loss is felt once again.

Goodman's briskly paced take spotlights numerous performances (e.g. Joan Baez; Santana; Crosby, Stills, and Nash), while avoiding being just a collection of concert clips. The doc is far, far more, focusing on the historical and sociological contexts of the event plus the business acumen of those dreaming up the fest and trying to make it a reality against all odds. What was expected to be a dream concert attended by 50 thousand counterculture music lovers became an unwieldy, yet harmonious, three days of peace, love, and music attended by over 400,000. Some hoped this cultural unity among the young would change the world. And it did for a while.

Not in a good way argued ultraconservative pundit and supporter of "manly virtue," Harvard professor Harvey C. Mansfield. He insisted in an essay reassessing the era that "the late sixties were a comprehensive disaster for America." Others will argue that Woodstock and its era added one more rung to the ladder climbing towards the achievement of equality for Blacks, women, and the LGBTQI communities.

Eventually held on Max Yasgur's 600-acre dairy farm in Bethel, New York, after half a million had already been spent on prepping another site from which the local community rescinded its permission, what led up to the festival was an unrelieved chaos. By the time the first of the 32 acts (Richie Havens) was to perform, the stage was barely completed, and the fence surrounding the venue was not. Consequently, there was no way to charge admission, so Woodstock became a free concert with the folks arriving nonstop by car and foot. One attendee noted: "It was like a field with people growing in it." A hungry, thirsty field. Soon food and water ran out, the Porta Potties were overwhelmed as were the medical staff with a constant flow of bad trips and other medical casualties such as eleven rat bites and one raccoon nip.

Rabies aside, what this film does brilliantly is create an immersive experience. While there’s footage of the Vietnam War, Governors Reagan and Rockefeller ranting, plus some conservative backlash, for the most part, the doc is a joyous celebration of often high, half-naked young Americans swaying to song, sliding on mud, chanting, and celebrating the likes of Jimi Hendrix letting loose with a discordant "Star Spangled Banner."

Goodman's Woodstock is the ultimate nostalgia journey, yet while the film lives in the past, its message supplies more than an iota of hope that we can get along and make some positive changes in the future. Or as Max Yasgur noted to audience:

"The important thing that you’ve proven to the world is that a half a million kids -- and I call you kids because I have children that are older than you are -- a half million young people can get together and have three days of fun and music and have nothing but fun and music, and I -- God Bless You for it!"

[Woodstock: Three Days that Defined a Generation had its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival and will open in New York City on May 24th and in Los Angeles on June 7th.]

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Song of the Week: "Jump in the Line"

Dusty Wright — Thu, 16 May 2019 14:11:54 +0000

Song of the Week: "Jump in the Line" Dusty Wright May 16, 2019 - 10:11

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Legendary singer-songwriter Donovan has released an amazing new tribute album to the beloved Harry Belafonte entitled Jump In the Line: A Tribute to Harry Belafonte. The new album includes 8 Belafonte tunes plus two new tunes. The first single and video is the catchy "Jump In The Line."

According to the legendary bard:

"I knew one day I would make a covers album of another artist's work, it took me a while, Harry is a natural choice for me. There is a simple connection of roots folk music, and after a young fascination with jazz when we first began, Harry and I chose to sing folk music, and not just any folk music, but songs of freedom and social justice. My tribute cover album to Harry is to remind the new generations of artists to include in your work, social and ecological issues to help save our Planet for the future children of the world."

When you buy the digital single, all sales goes to teaching students TM Meditation. Donovan has been a long time practitioner and ardent supporter of the practice. And if you buy the album, you also can help Harry's life long work with UNICEF. Here's the link to the single. Buy it today!

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Steve Keene Thaws Frieze!

Dusty Wright — Sun, 05 May 2019 17:48:12 +0000

Steve Keene Thaws Frieze! Dusty Wright May 5, 2019 - 13:48

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Photo credit: d.Bindi

The Frieze New York 2019 art fair, which ran through Sunday, May 5th, offered over 190 galleries, hailing from over 25 countries. Impractical, from a casual buyer's stand point, as it can be overwhelming (Stendhal syndrome) but always fun for amazing people watching as New Yorkers love to wear their individualism as proudly as any artist's painting on a gallery wall, and despite what some may think, not at all as stuffy as some art gallery shows can be. I always find at least a dozen new artists that I'd proudly display on my apartment's walls, if I had the dollars and the space to do so. But things were different this year. I could actually afford a piece.

P.P.O.W.'s booth presented countless paintings by Steve Keene -- priced between $10, $20 and $50 (depending on the size) -- were the art fair's best deal, even cheaper than some of the food/beverage vendors serving up very edible meals, snacks, and libations. With Keene live-painting like a madman across a giant easel set about 3-4 feet above the art crowd masses, he'd set up about 10-12 plywood boards in front of him and would paint them simultaneously. From simple, colorful images of animals (cats), people (Buchanan above), and many cool album covers by musicians like David Bowie, Depeche Mode, The Clash, Bow Wow Wow, Siouxsie and the Banshees, et al., there was always a crowd ready to jump on one of his pieces as soon as it was finished and hung on the wall opposite of him. There was a "cash-only" wooden box to collect the dollars from willing patrons.

Keen's work has a simple, but inviting illustrative quality, like hip DIY gig posters from the punk rock/new wave era, something you might have found taped to a lamppost or hung in a boutique. As I watched the artist in action, a middle-aged woman next to me was debating which "album cover" recreation her son would enjoy most -- The Clash's London Calling or Bow Wow Wow's Last of the Mohican homage to Edouard Manet's Le déjeuner sur l’herbe piece. (I suggested the Bow Wow Wow, given that album's original controversy. Or buy both for only $40.) She only had to wait an hour until the paint had dried and the paintings were "hung" on the wall behind her. I didn't wait for her final selection(s) as I decided to walk the fair and come back later to make my $20 selection. (See above.)

What an art collector's metaphor, eh? The low price-point meant that any attendee could walk out of the Frieze with a real piece of art by a real life artist. And what a great story to share, too.

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Dudeness Is

Dusty Wright — Wed, 10 Apr 2019 12:15:13 +0000

Dudeness Is Dusty Wright April 10, 2019 - 08:15

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essay

Photo Credit: d. Bindi

"My dad's a cooler dude than your dad!" bragged my ten-year-old daughter Mina to one of her friends on her phone.

Wot? I'm a dad and a dude? Hey, that's pretty cool. I still play music, but I thought Quincy Jones was "the dude." After all, he did release an album in the '80s called The Dude. But where did my daughter pick this "dude" tag up? From my wife? (Doubtful, she might not have married me if she believed I was a dude.) Probably from the Scooby Doo cartoons we watch together. Or from her older brother and his crazed sidewalk skateboard pals in our 'hood. Or maybe she caught The Big Lebowski at her one of her friend's apartments.

In the end it didn't matter, 'cuz I suddenly became obsessed with defining what makes a guy a dude. And more importantly, did I possess any of the dude DNA?

Fast forward...

"Hey, dude!" I grimaced, turned, and saw two tanned, healthy young men in their late teens in baggy, neon surf gear fist-punch each other and continue their conversation. I shuddered and continued reading my morning paper in some nondescript restaurant in Venice Beach. I was on the West Coast for my friend's wedding and a little business, away from the comfort and sanity of my family and home in New York City. Five days into my excursion had left me weak for good deli and something other than surfer lingo.

This dude thing had reached critical mass. Dudes everywhere were chasing me. Even on the radio as David Bowie's early '70s anthem, "All the Young Dudes" blasted from my rental car's speakers.

Malibu, Huntington, the Valley, and San Diego -- the entire Pacific Coast was crawling with them. From Sunset Strip to the Santa Monica Pier, I couldn't travel anywhere without hearing that word.

I decided to query my waitress about this dude thing; after all, she'd been talking to the two surfers.

Much to my dismay she said she didn't know much about it, but volunteered that her friend Buddy "probably-definitely qualified as an expert dood."

Buddy!?! Now there was a name I could appreciate. Love to meet the folks that decided that was a proper given name for a dude child. Come on. Nonetheless, if I were going to hack free this albatross clinging around my neck I'd have to confront the enemy, regardless of the consequences.

I assumed that by polling people I'd reach a coherent working definition. And, perhaps in some delusional manner, determine if I fit the dude criteria for dude-dom.

Over the next couple of weeks I randomly put forth the question -- "What is a dude?" -- to countless folks everywhere. From Los Angeles to Ohio to New York, I left them to ponder.

Once I settled back in New York, I would collect the data and hopefully piece things together. (And keep in mind this was without any government subsidized art program backing me.)

Much to my amazement, as I started to assemble this mythical character I discovered all sorts of shared qualities. And more often that not, these qualities were universals. So much so that the West Coast surfer had more in common with the East Coast Harlem tough guy than either would care to acknowledge.

If you asked the average person on the street to bridge such seemingly opposites, it's doubtful they could find any common bonding material. Yet there existed essential elements that were easily interchangeable between characters as diverse as the Silver Surfer and/or Shaft.

For starters, all dudes emanate a particular sensibility, lifestyle, and attitude. They neither wallow in squalor nor swim in ostentatiousness. And most importantly, they always remain righteously true to themselves first. Moreover, when possible, they seek out the truth, whether commandeering a woman to her full feminine sensuality or shooting the perfect game of billiards with their peers.

I examined my past. Did I encounter any such beings while growing up in Ohio?

Maybe they were the characters we referred to in school as "cool."

If that was the case, I remember one of my classmates in elementary school definitely fit the profile. His name was Jeff Thompson. And come to think of it, he did possess a certain something, although I'd bet our teacher felt he was a troublemaker. But I don't ever recall him actually causing trouble. (He never started any wastepaper basket fires, but he did boast of masturbating at a prepubescent age.) He just seemed bigger than life.

It is possible that dudes, in the purest sense, represent the essence of individuality. They don't copy anyone else. They don't dress like anyone else. They don't sound like anyone else. They exist within all dimensions of popular culture without being too trendy or too stylish. Just look at James Bond and all the leading men he's endured. While the Scotsman Sean Connery (image above) remains the quintessential dude amongst the Bond actors, Daniel Craig (trailer below) has breathed a much-needed dudeness into the contemporary 007 legacy. (Check out Sir Connery in Goldfinger!)

A real dude lives on the cutting edge, taking his life in new directions daily while the rest of us just try to keep up with his predestined course. Again, who else but 007 could single-handedly save the world defeating evil in the catacombs of Rome and, in the next moment, sit with the Queen looking unhassled, relaxed, and fabulous.

A true dude is free of ego and all of the destructive elements associated with it. He would never say, "Hey, baby, look at me, am I not the most dynamic fella you've ever encountered?" He doesn't have to announce his own self-worth. Those around him will usually do it for him.

A real dude doesn't aspire to anything except being at ease with himself. Whether he's feeding ducks in a pond or strolling in a summer rainstorm without an umbrella, nothing is too banal about experiencing the simple side of life.

As stated, he is a guy who embodies many desirable qualities. Many folks view him as dangerous, aloof, coy, cute, clever, charming, tough, handsome, endearing, righteous, free, timeless, spiritual, and true.

He is not necessarily the most handsome or the most spiritual, but rather the perfect blend of all these qualities. He may be a hero to some and provoke envy in others. And this depends on the individual's perception.

Who else but a dude would even attempt surfing a thirty-foot wave and pull it off and ride it all the way to the shore?

He doesn't hide behind his clothes. He's got his own style. Check out any cool urban movie, like Shaft or Superfly, to highlight this point. Do you honestly think that rapper Snoop Dogg would have graced Starsky & Hutch without some serious cuts? Or that Curtis Mayfield would've wasted his time writing the theme song for anything less then a perfect dude-heavy flick like Superfly? Ditto for Isaac Hayes and the very righteous Shaft.

Anything a true dude wears merely adds to his totality, whether he's chillin' in his tattered old button-fly denims at a BBQ during the day or playing baccarat in his tailor-made tux in Monaco at midnight.

A real dude is not without emotion, though many people may be fooled by his leather-tough shell. But once you get beyond his veil of 'tude, you'll find a soft side underneath.

He could be cheering for his favorite baseball team on Saturday and crying over the beauty of his sister's newborn baby on Sunday. Moreover, it's not the silly vibe of Ashton Kutcher in Dude, Where's My Car? It's the cool "abide" of Jeff Bridges in the Coen Brothers' epic dude paean The Big Lebowski.

So there I was, left with a much broader understanding of what a dude was, is, and probably will always be.

Did I possess any of that stuff? Since I've never surfed, this prevented me from drawing any relevance from the beach scene. And I've never been known as a tough street guy, even though as a kid I played two-hand touch football in the street in Akron, Ohio.

Yet, I always felt I could be engaging, even when people feigned interest in my opinion. And most of my closest male friends agreed that all guys were "dudish" from time to time. So I guess I could be, too.

Maybe all you needed to do was borrow a little -- "Bond, James Bond" -- from time to time. You know, you've been milling about some boring social function when your gaze meets some femme fatale trapped in some mindless chatter with some oafish chap. You imagine yourself offering her an expensive glass of champagne from a bottle you've hidden in the kitchen from the rest of the party. It's got to be better than the designer drink this affable clown offered her. Now if you only had the balls to approach her, maybe you could fulfill your fantasy.

Nonetheless, my observations lead me to one universal conclusion:

He represents the quintessential man -- a total Utopian state of malehood. Moreover, he is the apex of perfection in man; perfection that no man will ever reach. And he always abides by being truly comfortable with himself in each and every situation in his life.

If Adam was the first dude, does that make Jesus the perfect dude?

Country dude Kris Kristofferson thought so and even wrote a very dude-worthy song about him called "Jesus Was a Capricorn." Besides, who would argue with Kris, as he's still one of coolest older dudes on the planet.

But what about Or Krishna? Or Buddha? Or Muhammad? Or Ghandi?

Or your favorite teacher?

And what about Dads? Can they be dudes, too?

Sure. Just ask my daughter.

As for dudettes? Well, that's another story. Best check with my wife.

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Mariza In USA

Dusty Wright — Fri, 05 Apr 2019 03:26:00 +0000

Mariza In USA Dusty Wright April 4, 2019 - 23:26

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fado

Photo courtesy of Rock Paper Scissors

The critically-lauded Portugal-based fado singer Mariza starts her US tour tomorrow in LA. She'll end her month long tour with a show in New York City on May 1st to play Town Hall. Born in Mozambique, the Portugal-based artist adds a touch of Africa into her musical mix. Fado is a folk music genre that can be traced to Lisbon, Portugal around the 1820s. Generally it's a style of Portuguese singing that is done in cafés and restaurants. Mariza's 7th album -- Mariza -- was recently released. Below is a track from the stunning new effort.

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Video of the Week: "Deutschland"

Dusty Wright — Fri, 29 Mar 2019 10:01:36 +0000

Video of the Week: "Deutschland" Dusty Wright March 29, 2019 - 06:01

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hard rock(127)

The Berlin-based hard rock band Rammstein have done it again. This sixth man outfit have released what may be their most controversial video yet. Directed by Specter Berlin, the cinematic and expensive video for "Deutschland" has already garnered 7 million views and plenty of criticism. It's certainly disturbing, yet visually stunning -- a tribute to their homeland of Germany and some of the atrocities committed by said homeland throughout the ages. The video's message wrestles with the pain of separation and the feeling of coming to terms with such a divisive past. No doubt lead singer Till Lindemann has directed his conflicted feelings about his homeland in the chorus. Here's the translation of those lyrics:

"Germany / My heart in flames
Want to love you / want to damn you
Germany / Your breath is cold
So young / And yet so old
Germany / your love
Is boon and bane
Germany / my love
I can't give you
Germany!"

There are some very heavy and graphic scenes that depict some of the brutalities committed by Germany throughout the ages. One in particular has been condemned by Germany's Jewish leaders who've accused the band of trivializing The Holocaust. Felix Klein, Germany's commissioner for anti-semitism, said: "I think it is a tasteless exploitation of artistic freedom."

In the 30-second teaser video that was released before the entire video, the band members are seen dressed in stripped concentration camp uniforms with nooses around their necks. But later in the song, lead guitarist Richard Kruspe dressed in a Nazi uniform gets shot in the face by vocalist Till Lindemann, who is in one of those concentration camp victims.

The video was

Rammstein's 7th album will be released on May 17. It's their first new album in 10 years. You can pre-order it here.

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Song of the Week: “Liebesrausch"

Dusty Wright — Fri, 22 Mar 2019 12:00:00 +0000

Song of the Week: “Liebesrausch" Dusty Wright March 22, 2019 - 08:00

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This funky synth-fectious dance rock tune has a way cool retro minimalistic edge to it. Think Kraftwork's "Pocket Calculator," or The Normal's "Warm Leatherette" with a dollop of Peaches' "Fuck The Pain Away" dirty beats for cheekiness. NYC's What Would Tilda Swinton Do, a self-proclaimed "lazy punk" band, claims this is their first foray into the world of disco and four-on-the-floor beats.

It's also their first official release in German. Austrian-Canadian lead singer and creative director Suzie Léger said the track was "an eruption of shock, rage, despair, confusion, sadness, and pride immediately after the break-up... you're lying on the floor, crying your heart out with a bottle of wine next to you." Regardless, as the track builds to a frenzy one can't help but tear off one's clothes and gyrate with reckless abandon, hence the song's apropos title "Liebesrausch" which translates from German into English as "Love Rush." Epic band name, too.

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Build The Wall!

Dusty Wright — Fri, 01 Mar 2019 15:32:32 +0000

Build The Wall! Dusty Wright March 1, 2019 - 10:32

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Popaganda artist Ron English is building a Welcome Wall on the US/Mexico border!

As a street artist Ron has used walls to tell his story. Often the subject of his work is to make people aware of classism, racism, corporatism, and politics. And now he is building what he calls The Welcome Wall.

"A wall is the perfect physical and metaphoric gift from a cult leader to his followers. It positions him as the great protector of his chosen people from the unwashed, unenlightened others!" - Ron English

CONCEPT
The Mexican American Welcome Wall will be a 2000 ft long physical wall along the US/Mexico border, designed by artists and activists to be a conceptual message board for an ongoing discussion about the wall, border, wildlife, and immigration issues. A temporary art installation to fuel the resistance against Trump's racist monument.

TIME FRAME
Ron will start building this spring and the wall will stay up till 2020 Election night. On Election night he will auction the different sections. Part of the proceeds will go to wild life charities, indigenous communities, and non-profits.

DESIGN
The wall is designed to be built in plywood sections of 8' wide by 12' tall. Exactly three sheets of plywood stacked on top of each other. The design was made so that Art can be created off site and easily shipped by means of a flatbed truc. Of course we encourage the artists to come to the site and make the art locally.

Donate to his very modest IndieGoGo campaign today!

(Images courtesy of Ron English.)

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Fire From On High

Fran Bull — Sun, 24 Feb 2019 17:46:10 +0000

Fire From On High Fran Bull February 24, 2019 - 12:46

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Tony Moore Fire Painting 14.11.18 2018, 15x22.5x2.5in, wood-fired ceramic, glass, stone inclusions.

Tony Moore: Transit. Sculpture & Fire Painting

The Painting Center, NYC

January 29^th – February 23^rd, 2019

We have admired the kiln magic wrought by such modern-day clay artists as Josep Llorens Artigas (note his own austere vessels along with the outsized, craggy pieces made in collaboration with Joan Mirò). We've loved the brut, wabi-sabi influenced, almost-pots of Peter Voulkos, and the monumental, brightly glazed standing figures of Viola Frey. Now comes along Tony Moore who joins this rarefied company with an exhibition of splendid, anagama-noborigama fired ceramic works at The Painting Center, New York.

With two bodies of work on view, Moore offers the same breadth of imagination and expansive vision that have characterized his art practice over the years. Decades ago Moore, Yale-trained as a sculptor, shifted away from a period of self-assigned apprenticeship in the process of making vessels of clay. While his large vases and pots were themselves unique, he returned to his true path of using clay as an expressive fine art medium. In this current show, we are the benefactors of Moore having married virtuosic craft with an artist’s probing sensibility.

Upon entering The Painting Center Gallery, two commanding sculptures mounted upon stands of rusted steel, greet the viewer. Massive, hermetic, bearers of undeniable visual authority, each possesses an impenetrable density and weight. Shakespeare best asks the question that arises: what is your substance, whereof are you made? (Sonnet 53)

One of the pair, entitled The Injustice of Silence, is a cascading, gyrating tower of dazzling surface complexity. Moving around its girth, each view reveals a radically altered facet of its overall anatomy, like the proverbial elephant’s, requiring the viewer to remember, in order to construct an image of the whole.

Tony Moore, Injustice of Silence 2017, 63x25x25in, wood-fired ceramic, porcelain, glass, steel

Surface colorations transition from rich yellow-browns and umbers, to charcoal grays and blacks. We wonder: Has some unseen force been brought to bear upon this mass? Are we being shown a thing in the process of decay, beautiful in its undoing, redolent of things of the earth, of mud, of blackened soil? Regarding the ganged and sliding cubic shapes so alien to this otherwise biomorphic body, our thoughts turn to man-made things, to architecture or to children’s toy blocks. There is something apocalyptic and chaotic -- a colliding of the natural and the constructed.

The second work, Voice, began its kiln journey as one solid mass. It developed a central crack in drying -- a kiln glitch gone right, a beneficial accident. Its surfaces, gorgeously raked and striated as if Nature were the sculptor, evoke a sense of geological process. Imagine rock formed over eons by earthquakes, by water and extremes of temperature. Peering into the crevasse of this two-fold piece, into the tear itself, we strain to see its full contour, catching but a glimpse of two interior chambers, one on each side. We wonder what they might hold. A sleeping bear? An entombed Pharaoh? The bifurcated womb of Mother Earth, herself?

The second body of work, Moore's Fire Paintings, sing out from the gallery walls. These gleaming chunky rectangular clay slabs are hybrid forms. They have the weight, bulk and dimensionality of sculpture while functioning like painting, as frontally viewed wall-hung works. In their making, Moore added glass and impressed plant matter into the clay, along with a series of luminous glazes. Kiln fire and time transform these "burnt offerings," melting, fusing and pooling pigments and melted glass to create beautiful surfaces and imagery that is both abstract and figurative, often at once. Gaining knowledge of materials and their performance "under fire," Moore's studio experiments evolved to become less random and more directed over time.

Many of these Fire Paintings have a grid motif, a web work of geometrically ordered squares tinted a seductive, jewel-like Mediterranean blue. Moore explains he was inspired to find a way technically to work out the effect of multiple shining windows after seeing sun glinting off the glass of New York City skyscrapers. This viewer can testify that his search was successful.

In the passage quoted below, Moore shares, quite rhapsodically, his reaction to the results of the collaboration between himself and the unseen "fire painter," the god in the kiln:

"The figures, made from cut and impressed twigs, perfectly dovetailed into my pre-existent vocabulary. As I investigated, the figures kept running, fleeing, tumbling, searching, moving away from and towards something else. They moved across landscapes, towards glowing buildings/edifices, systemized structures/societies, which both beckoned them and somehow dominated them. The figures were present, yet also in spirit form, floating and dissolving in diaphanous light and shimmering waters. Twigs became, fathers, mothers and children. They became surrogates, rather like a small child’s dolls, playing out a deeply psychological fiction of desperately moving toward 'something'. Something hopeful, yet presently out of reach. Something eternally becoming..." Tony Moore 2019

Moore's art invokes a confrontation with the raw, natural elements themselves. Daringly executed, inventive and unabashedly beautiful, we are taken into ancillary realms. Art and archaeology align, the fossils of paleontology put in an appearance and twigs become running figures surrounded in light.

We may also take a lesson from Moore in these fraught times. In Tony Moore we find all the qualities expected of extraordinary artists -- talent, technical ability, brilliant innovative ideas and communicative power. We find in Moore as well, and in his art, an affirmation of fundamental values -- exigency, dedication, integrity, and something perhaps ineffable, the transcendent ability to infuse “soul” into matter, to summon pure beauty in the service of profound truth.

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Song of the Week: "Everything Is Falling Apart"

Dusty Wright — Wed, 20 Feb 2019 18:58:53 +0000

Song of the Week: "Everything Is Falling Apart" Dusty Wright February 20, 2019 - 13:58

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That sumptuous indie rock jangle is back! All the way from Scotland, Teenage Fanclub, 30 years together, have released one of the best singles of this new year. A toe-tapin' homage to middle-age life's angst. From the album of the same name Everything Is Falling Apart. This epic tune features the band's new official touring line-up: original members Raymond McGinley (vocals, guitar) and Norman Blake (guitar, backing vocals), with Francis Macdonald (drums, backing vocals), David McGowan (bass, backing vocals), and Euros Childs (keys, backing vocals). The video was filmed by Donald Milne on location at Clouds Hill Recordings, Hamburg, Germany in January 2019. Get tickets for Teenage Fanclub's upcoming North American tour here: https://www.teenagefanclub.com/live/