Bowie became a shape shifter, fueled by his hunger to break away from his working class background. He created a magickal cauldron filled with the rock and roll beats of Yoruba’s grandchildren. In it he mixed in the unabashedly sexual expressions of a liberated time. He sprinkled in a stardust potpourri of Mod, proto freak folk, drag, fashion, Egyptian symbols, poetry, the avant garde of Warhol, and the wisdom of his mime/dance/theatre teacher, Lindsay Kemp. He spiked it all with the wild and wooly rituals of that proto rock and roll OG, Alistair Crowley. David became a Holy Artist and an Un-Holy Queen Bitch! Perhaps he was a prophet.Read More
This blog is about the man who gave me my NYC birth certificate. It is about the man who created the deadly secret potion on how to breathe in the dirty air of NYC and alchemically turn lead into gold. The man who brought together the unholy holy mixture of avant-garde, piss, blood, cum, junk, hope, death, love, noise, feedback, beatific truth, beauty, scars, drums, cries, shiny leather, SisterRay, Sunday Morning, White Light/White Heat, Ecstasy, Metal Machine Music, Coney Island, Berlin, New York, Magic & Loss. He changed everything in pop.
The term “Transformational Festival kind of gave me the creeps. Being a Brooklyn Boy at heart, things that flaunt any (post) New Age terms like “Transformational” just fills me with a tinge of granola overload. Yes indeed!
But honestly as I write these words, I’ve realize that actually all the festivals I ever been to could be put under the category of having transformational experience at their core. I have never been to Lollapalooza or Coachella or EDC. But give me a festival where you burn a structure, or an effigy, or have yoga or magic or massive art projects, and I will make a pilgrimage and join tens of thousands in the harshest environment to have an ordeal and breakthrough. You might say “Pilgrimage? Ordeal? Breakthrough? It’s only a festival dude.” Perhaps... But I see festivals as a place where initiation into the deeper mystery of one’s soul is possible.
Everywhere was the beat, the Beat, The BEAT. Rhythm of the music, Rhythm of the Streets. Rhythms of the polyglot language of the African Diaspora, rooting in the concrete jungle of NYC, sprouting through mutations in the toes, and fingers of all brave hearts, dancing the dance.
A little while ago I was interviewed by Beth Rosen who has a lovely podcast called Spotlight Radio. She interviewed me about my life, my past and current projects. She made it a fun experience. I hope you enjoy it.Read More
“It is going to work! This will be an amazing night!” I said to myself as we ascended the R train stop on 36th St, in the not yet fashionable Sunset Park, Brooklyn where I lived. I had it all planned. We had a great dinner; and then saw an art house film downtown. The conversation about the film was animated. I remarked casually, at the perfect moment, that the subway to my place in Brooklyn was a lot shorter then her trip to Washington Heights in upper Manhattan. I said it perfectly, friendly, without a hint premeditated seduction. “I live alone, and I have a big comfy couch. I would love to show you my photographs.” Lorna was a woman I picked up at a Contact Improvisation dance class. Lliterally...
“Wow Maaaaaannnnn, there are so many groovy Hippies here. Did Owsley make a batch of Orange Sunshine that had these freaks trip for over 20 years, like Rip Van fucking Winkle. Wow Hippies...so cute....”
I go on and on, with as much smugness and self congratulating coolness that I could muster, in my black on black on black NYC late eighties street wear.
“What are these poseurs doing here? Yeah the Hippies were righteous and all that, but that was over 20 years ago. They had the Summer of Love. Then we had the Summer of Hate, ten years later. Now we have Reagan and the whole world is going to shit. If these day-glo-freaks want a Summer of Love, then they should at least be taking MDMA, and listening to Acid like they are in London. Fucking Posers.”
Ok. I love L.A. I love the weather, the light, I love the sights, and the opportunities to meet the right people to interface with and support the art that wants to explode out of me. It has been a blessing to be following my Bliss. But it has not always been joyful or fun.Read More
As the Sun sets in LA for the last time in 2012, I am writing this,
as a ending and as a beginning. As a closure and as a opening. Good Bye
to the Old...Hello to the New. The cycles of life, death , rebirth.
repeat, until ones death. At least...