Someone on Twitter liked my album art for my friend Maxwell Major’s most recent album so much they made bracelets inspired by it. That’s pretty neat.
Author Archive
Some Kind Of Fifteen Minutes
Sunday, April 3rd, 2022I just finished watching The Andy Warhol Diaries, a recent documentary series regarding the life and times of of that oh-so prescient artist. It’s a fascinating glimpse into his relationships with both the people that surrounded him and the world at large, and I’ve learned a lot from it. The series’ exploration of his life is based on his fascination with the line between the real and the fake, and it pulls back the curtain on a lot of Warhol’s persona. Yet learning of that persona’s origins has only made me more fascinated in the man, the myth, the legend he built for himself.
Warhol was obviously ahead of his time in how he allowed the media to define his identity. Today, you can hop on any popular “influencer”’s Instagram feed and see what is basically an exaggerated, warped cartoon of reality, albeit in “real life.” It’s the entire foundation of celebrity—we see a generated persona we jive with in the public sphere, we hit the follow button, and we become so invested that we’re willing to take sides when those personas clash or even crack. There was surely some clashing and cracking happening one week ago, and it surely caused the internet to descend into pure chaos.
I didn’t see the Academy Awards through last Sunday because I got bored, but I woke up the next morning to a Facebook feed flooded with memes about the slap. They were initially lighthearted and reveling in the absurdity of it all, but as time went on, I began to notice a shift incredibly reflective of today’s digitally powered social realm: people started to take it seriously. Too seriously. Sides were taken and stood for. I saw vows be made to never discuss hot topic debates on social media ever again after the resulting comment chains got out of hand. One of my most favorite Facebook pages, Blistering takes from every coordinate of the ascended political hyperspace, which is dedicated to the most insane ranting of the internet’s most deranged individuals, made this very ominous post:
The Slap discourse has changed me. Deleting page soon. Go save your faves.
Not even the satire pages could take it. (As of now, the page is still active.)
The airwaves are less clogged now that the hype has died down and we’ve remembered that things like the early days of World War III and the Supreme Court exist. The Grammys are on, and I wonder if some event there will cause a similar tidal wave of absurd discourse over the ‘net. That might happen; it might not. But people will still be talking about it nonetheless.
Warhol would’ve had a field day.
Friday, March 25th, 2022
Why have I been on a recent streak of finding out about Jello Biafra covers that are absolutely insane to me?
From one of the greatest protest songs of the sixties…
…to one of the only Sparks songs that stuck with me after my failed attempt at getting into them.
I am flabbergasted.
The Chicks Are Too Real
Wednesday, March 23rd, 2022
My personal copy of my friend Max’s most recent album—which I did the album art for—has finally arrived in the mail! Interesting compromise of packaging aside, it’s an honor to have my artwork exhibited out there in the world in this way—and to have it attributed to such a solid album!
The sweater I’m wearing here I had completely forgot about and not worn in over a year until after was completely finished with the album cover. Gotta dress for the occasion…
Go listen to it here: https://zhir.bandcamp.com/album/big-mac-in-a-small-world
A Not-So-Common Commons
Sunday, March 20th, 2022It’s strange to think that it’s the first day of spring already. Not too long ago I was agonizing over when the cold weather would give way, and now that time is here.
That crisp spring air that I’ve longed for for so long was making its way through Kent, Ohio when I visited for the third time last week. The trip was somehow even greater than my previous visits for a variety of reasons I’m still processing. I got to see the university’s campus during school hours for the first time as students strolled, studied, and gathered. It was a lot less hectic than I pictured in my mind, especially due to my visit’s proximity to good old Saint Patrick’s Day, which conjured up images of the small town (one with a big voice, mind you) taken over by rampaging drunken frat boys. But even in the sleepy night, despite the signs of commotion at bars and a few “WHOOP”s, things remained relaxed. The town didn’t become chilly as the sun went down, either, a far cry from what I’ve gotten used to as the weather gets warmer back home. What’s more welcoming than that?
While the campus was more laid back in character than I expected, I was still able to see its current hotbeds of progress, sitting in on a meeting of the school’s revived Students for a Democratic Society and visiting the May 4 Visitors Center for the first time. Both were eye-opening, cathartic experiences. It was refreshing to see that critical thinking skills still have a home at Kent, and it was comforting to see that I’m not the only one concerned about keeping the truth of Kent State’s history intact. There was something oddly empowering about standing among the artifacts of May 4 and getting to see and meet people who are actively working to keep that history alive for younger, targeted generations. I felt trusted to treat the past with respect, and through that I encountered opportunity after opportunity to help build a future centered around those all-too-forgotten values of applicable awareness and the questioning of illegitimate authority. It felt amazing, yet humbling.
If only I didn’t have to wait so long to take up the responsibilities I saw offered. But I guess the path I’ve already laid down for myself will eventually make up for that.
And when the time comes, I’ll be taking those opportunities with pride.
Saturday, March 19th, 2022
Some highlights from my third time in Kent, Ohio. It was good to be back—and to visit the May 4 Visitors Center for the first time!
Just Want A Way Not To Be What Gets Sold To Me
Tuesday, March 15th, 2022Two weekends ago I got the chance to see a show by three of today’s most eye-catching and intriguing bands at Baltimore’s Metro Gallery. In complete contrast, this past weekend, I got the chance to see a group entirely associated with the nineties at the same exact venue.
The former experience was eye opening and, holy crap, oozing fun from all its pores. It ultimately made me feel some solace for our world to see that there’s still people out there bringing fresh creative perspectives to the table. The latter was similarly affirming. Post-hardcore group Jawbox reunited in 2019 after twentysome years of dormancy, but the pandemic put their live schedule on hold. Now, they’re back, and they proved last weekend that they’re just as strong as ever.
Tickets to Jawbox. Sold out show. Let’s go.
I’m lucky I got to go at all, really. I had waken up that morning to discover that my house had been terrorized by about four inches of snow in the middle of March. Somehow, despite the weather’s continued divebombing of my town as the day went on, the roads were cleared up enough by the afternoon to facilitate the drive down to the Metro.
The night opened with an acoustic set by Ken Chambers of indie rock group Moving Targets, who were supposed to perform but had to compromise after a COVID case among their ranks. His set was solid and a welcome escape from the frigid cold outside, and overall it laid a nice primer for the heavier music that followed.
What followed next left me slightly speechless out of pure excitement that I was seeing the mighty Jawbox once and for all. In retrospect, I guess there isn’t too much for me to say about the torrent the Jawbs unleashed on their audience—their blistering performance spoke for itself. Every member of the band was in their full element. To my far right, vocalist and guitarist J. Robbins could have stepped out of a bootlegged video of one of their 90s peak performances with the raw intensity of his presence. Kim Coletta supplied the low end with a monstrous bass tone that rumbled the building as she romped across center stage. Behind her, drummer Zach Barocas’ metronomic skills were tight and powerful, providing the perfect backbone to their herky-jerky post-hardcore compositions. And the group’s most recent addition, rhythm guitarist Brooks Harlan, fit right in amongst the high energies of the rest of the gang.
Their collective sonic attack was very satisfying, to say the least. And had the show attracted a younger crowd—the room was mostly populated of people who I assumed listened to the band in their nineties youths—I’d bet the entire house would’ve been as rowdy as it got the previous week! It was clear they were good to be back.
I’m grateful I got that chance to see such powerful music in such an intimate setting. It goes to show how a group who last gave it their all twentysome years ago can still pack the same punch today. The sounds that they unleashed onto the world back then remain shocking, exciting, and fulfilling. Their relevancy never faded. It’s a shame the world still hasn’t caught up with them and so many others.
It’s a disappointing and grueling reality that groups as sharp as Jawbox’s gnashers constantly get overlooked in favor of much duller selections. But spreading the word and continuing to solder on as they do only helps their cause. Luckily, it looks like they’re keeping up just fine in that regard.
And, besides, it’s a nice escape from everyday banality to let yourself go crazy to “FF-66” from the front and center spot.
Late Valentines
Thursday, April 7th, 2022Just as I’ve gotten used to live concerts being resurrected in the past year or so, I’ve gotten used to them being called off, with the still relevant Miss Rona being the most common culprit. It’s become a surprise for a show I have tickets for to get cancelled for a reason that isn’t her persistent, lingering death dance. From Ticketmaster royally screwing over DEVO’s Radio City Music Hall date last year (which I’ll be making up for in May) to a band Melt-Banana was to play with postponing the whole tour due to visa problems, I guess I’ve just gotten used to shows getting cancelled in general. Most absurdly of all was definitely the reason why I had to wait until Tuesday to see indie rock outfit Snail Mail; the group’s tour was supposed to begin months ago, and we had tickets (at the behest of my dad). It was called off not because of a COVID case or travel visa problem but because lead singer Lindsey Jordan got polyps on her throat that kept her from singing, because life is just like that.
Luckily, her voice has healed and the band is back on the road. Tuesday’s show at Union Transfer was the first date of the tour, and the attendees of its upcoming dates surely have something to look forward to.
It was actually my first time in the City of Brotherly Love, good old Philadelphia, which greeted us with a law firm’s billboard that had the word “jawn” on it to declare that, yes, this is Philadelphia. To keep from straying too far from the venue, we sat down at the neighboring La Chinesca restaurant, which serves an eclectic fusion of Chinese and Mexican food. The eats were delicious and extremely fun. Who else would’ve thought to dip fried wonton chips in cilantro dip? Even better was that, inside and out, the place looks like you’ve stepped into a Californian mid-mod time warp to a future where radioactive space mushroom structures support stucco buildings and people eat in bubble structures bulging up from fake grass. I would’ve stayed much longer if I didn’t have a show to see.
Walking into Union Transfer afterwards, it felt strange being in such a large venue after many shows in cramped little clubs. But I got comfortable quickly. What we saw of opening band Joy Again were okay, with the highlight being a boxed cake being crowdsurfed over to a friend of the band who was having a birthday. But Snail Mail’s set was the real sweet treat everyone was waiting for, with the stage decked out in ivy-wrapped cupid statues. You wouldn’t have realized Lindsey Jordan’s previous sickness had she not mentioned it between songs (“I feel like I’m a eunuch, I’m like, EEEEEEEE”). Her voice—and a very unique one at that—sounded in top shape throughout the night. The rest of the band followed suit instrumentally, with each song coming out tight and precise with an appropriate amount of love for the good old nineties (they covered “Tonight, Tonight” during the second half of their set, and apparently their stage set up is In Utero inspired). From far back in the crowd, the light show was simply fantastic, with color palette changes between each song and occasional psychedelic effects that really made me smile. The band definitely had an atmosphere in mind, and they communicated it perfectly. I may not listen to them too often, but it was great to see.
The show’s encore began with Lindsey alone with her guitar, singing a solemn and beautiful song bathed in light. Suddenly, I heard a commotion behind me. I turned around to see, in complete contrast, a flailing woman being pulled off of someone else by at least two other people. We learned later that somebody got punched. I’m not quite sure what could have stirred that considering the mood of the performance, but I guess Philadelphia is Philadelphia for a reason. Luckily, I was safely socially distanced. It was worrying in the moment, yet hilarious afterwards. A catfight at a show where most of the songs being played were about longing for love. Life is like that.
Tags:concerts, music, new experiences, new places, Philadelphia, reviews, Snail Mail, Union Transfer
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