HC 16 is all pop, all the time. Iím saving what little art commentary
I have for Pedro Velezí FGA
site. So if youíre looking for pithy art criticism, well, you wouldnít
be looking here anyway. But if youíre looking for incomprehensible raving
about idiots in the art world, well youíll probably have to wait until
the fall. Until then I wallow in the minutiae of pop and cultural detritus.
By the way, Chicago is treating me fine, thank you very much. I Ďm just
crushingly lonely. Whatever.
"There is so much media around," said Mr. Wenner, who retains the title
of editor. "Back when Rolling Stone was publishing these 7,000 word stories,
there was no CNN, no Internet. And now you can travel instantaneously
around the globe, and you don't need these long stories to get up to speed."
"We cover change, and we have to change in response to the times,"
Oh Jan, that is so not the point. People can get ďup to speedĒ but they
do truly understand the news? Your in-depth articles in RS investigate
issues at levels un-attainable by TV, radio or even the internet (few
of us can stomach reading a 7000 word article on our glowing screens).
RS exposťs on the drug war, fast food culture and school shootings are
what make it worth reading. Letís stop the dumbing down of America - we
have enough Maximís and FHM (of which I subscribe to, thank you very much).
They have their place, but RS should aspire to something better. RS could
do a better job at exploring the cutting edge of music, itís original
mission: at times it feels like a mouthpiece for the rock and roll hall
of fame. Other times, with Britney and N-Sync on the cover, it feels like
itís reaching too far in the teeny-bopper demographic. RS doesnít have
to adopt a consistent tone or reach out to a niche audience - donít we
have enough of that narrow-casting shit right now (with the mighty exception
of Eminem who is on every damn radio station - pop, alternative, hip-hop).
Why canít RS mish-mash coverage of the MTV Video Awards with an in-depth
profile of John Kerry, a cover story on Blink-182, with serious reviews
of new music and movies?
EVERYONE'S A DYING
Bob Greene was everywhere pimping the memory of Ann Landers. And while
Iíll miss her column and her spunky forthrightness, all I can think of
is ďWhatís the deal with Bob Greeneís toupee?Ē Whoís he kidding? Max Weinberg
and the Max Weinberg Seven had a nice subtle tribute to thunder-god bassist
John Entwistle by playing ďBoris the SpiderĒ after Conanís monologue on
the night after Entwistle died. That fancy lad Conan didnít notice. And
when I think of Rosemary Clooney, I think of her brother Nick anchoring
the evening news during my youth on channel 12 in Cincinnati. I also canít
help but think of her heroic underwater journey in the Poseidon Adventure.
How come none of the obits mentioned that career-defining highlight?
And may I ask, whatís the deal with Vin Diesel? He looks like a bouncer
at a midtown club and is less articulate. Whatís he bringing to the table
as an action hero? At least Steven Seagal can artfully snap limbs.
PREMIUM MALT BEVERAGES
Are you as fascinated by the premium malt beverage revolution as I am?
I say itís all about branding - Skyy, Smirnoff, Capt. Morgan et al getting
their brand identity onto the airwaves by marketing a supposedly less
toxic brand of liquor. My pal Paul Kuzma claims ď6% alcohol, plus light
and breezy "chick" flavors = more drunk women = date rape.Ē In the next
few weeks Iíll review each of these flavors. First up:
At first sip, tastes like a vodka tonic. Second sip vodka tonic with lemon.
Third sip vodka tonic with lemon and a buttload of sugar. Then it sort
of tastes like Sprite, or at least John Neff thinks it tastes like Sprite.
Too much lemon for Sprite - not enough Limon, limon being the scientifically
derived formula for the perfect balance of lemon and lime that makes Sprite
so damn refreshing. Three of these in 90 minutes got me pretty damn buzzed
and I weigh 200+ lbs. Young co-eds beware. Citrona (from
tastes exactly like Fresca.
disgusting - really, if you like sweet medicine flavored rum and tonic
then this might the drink youíve been waiting for. Maybe with a hint of
papaya? Probably not?
A real wild card: my brother and his girlfriend brought this home the
other night - they knew I had never heard of it. Sauza is a fairly new
player in the medium market tequila scene - their brand identity is ďmore
premium than Cuervo but it wonít break your wallet.Ē They also want to
known as the tequila for premium margaritas and that is exactly what Diablo
tasted like. Not bad, especially over ice with a lime. Iíll drink it again.
Mary J. Blige - No More Drama -- perfect r&b - passionate,
melodious, heartbreaking. The title track is a buoyant, effervescent breakthrough
from a singer more known for her angst. The Dr. Dre track gets your rump
a shaking and the ubiquitous Ja Rule pops up for his best duet ever, and
heís made a career of r&b diva duets.
Paul Westerberg - Stereo -- almost a return to replacements
form. Westerberg crafted a bunch of same-y sounding mid to slow tempo
songs, mostly just him and an acoustic guitar, in a seeming grasp at purity
and authenticity. I think weíd rather he release a gritty ROCK album.
But heís too good a craftsman to make bad songs - ďOnly Lie Worth TellingĒ
is haunting and tuneful, ďDonít Want NeverĒ is a painful, bluesy song
with a slathering of dirty electric guitar. Contrived or not, I love it
when the songs stop in mid-verse, supposedly due to tape running out as
he recorded the songs live in the middle of the night.
Grandpaboy - Mono -- Westerbergís alias - this album, packaged
with Stereo (2 CDs for the price of one, not bad) is supposed to be rawer
and edgier and less polished than Stereo, but I donít think itís all that
different. Again, I wish the guitars rocked harder.
Wilco - Yankee Hotel Foxtrot -- Maybe not worth quite all
the hype and lavish praise, but itís better than most
Tenacious D -- funny, it rawks, it's perfect. ďFuck her gentlyĒ
is my favorite love song since Nirvanaís ďLove Buzz.Ē An amazing achievement
- comedic songs that never fail to rock yer socks off.
Neil Young - Are You Passionate? -- An album for serious
Neil fans and completists only. I like it, but Iím biased. I lose all
my critical faculties with Neil - heís my favorite artist ergo he can
do no wrong. Still, the classic soul vibe is disconcerting - his voice
ainít really made for crooning and it doesnít exactly swing.
The Hives - Veni Viddi Vicious -- This disc fucking shreds.
Another album I thought was initially over-hyped but upon further listening,
Iíve succumbed to itís charms. They donít do anything revolutionary -
a punkish garage sound but they do something a lot of bands of their ilk
donít - they bring the noise. Fast and loud as rock can get without being
metal and with an incomparable swagger, hopefully theyíll take over the
Rye Coalition - On Top -- A strange disc combining the stripped,
raging vocals and angular structures of fugazi with the hard rock dynamics
of Led Zeppelin. I donít cotton the vocalist very much, but I do like
the big rock sound.
Drive-By Truckers - Southern Rock Opera -- A concept album
about Lynyrd Skynyrd, the South, Neil Young, George Wallace, and growing
up and finding oneís roots. Sometimes sounds like a thesis presentation
but it rocks a whole bunch and you learn a little too
n.e.r.d. - in search of... -- dirty mix of funk and hard
rock and hip-hop, breaks ya neck. Supremely shallow but funny, goofy and
sleazy and rockiní.
Moulin Rouge Soundtrack -- My favorite movie from last year,
mostly because of itís soundtrack - how it plunders pop music history
to drive the narrative. Elephant Love Medley - a pastiche of popular love
songs in duet by Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman is an enchanting, mesmerizing
mess of the gooey pleasures of pop and longing.
GOOD-FUCKING-BYE BEETEL BAILEY, YOU LAZY SACK OF SHIT
I applaud Jim Leracz's letter in Tempo. I too was disappointed to
see Beetle Bailey gone from the comics pages. I questioned your judgment
when you removed Fred Bassett, but now you have gone too far. In such
an ugly world, what we need now more than ever is to laugh. Beetle Bailey
gave us a daily chuckle to keep us going. -- Christy Gassett, ALGONQUIN
It's bad enough that you have removed comics such as "Fred Basset" and
"Mixed Media," but now you've gotten rid of "Beetle Bailey." Kent Frederick
-- DOWNERS GROVE
I started reading Beetle after watching the animated cartoons on Ray
Rayner's morning show on WGN-TV. (Apparently, Tribune Co. believed in
cross-marketing in the 1960s.) But what really annoys me is that you could
not have waited until after July 4, when the name of the new IT officer
is revealed. Now, I will have to go to Mort Walker's Web site to learn
his name. Since you've been getting rid of old comics, I hope this doesn't
signal the coming termination of "Peanuts." Even Charles Schultz strips
from 30 years ago are still the funniest strips in the comics section.
The comic section of the paper is no longer funny. "Beetle Bailey" was
funny. "Out of the Gene Pool," "The Fusco Brothers" and "Mister Boffo"
are just plain weird. -- Betty Erickson, Des Plaines
These letter writers to the Chicago Tribune need to get a fucking clue:
Beetle Bailey is a racist, sexist, lookist piece of shit and has no place
in a modern newspaper. Good fucking riddance. The Tribuneís comics page
has been mightily upgraded since I was last a regular reader - the insipid
Fred Basset is gone, Boondocks and Shermanís Lagoon are welcome editions.
Now if they could just get rid of Cathy, the Dinnette Set and isnít it
about time to put Peanuts out to pasture?
THE COURTS GOIN' CRAZY
Supreme Court and the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals
Pledge of Allegiance
Yes, finally, let us a real national discussion about the pervasiveness
of God-talk in our country. I wish the religious fanatics of this country
would step back, develop a little self-awareness and see how these forced
pledges and God Bless America shit is so similar to the theocracies they
detest in other parts of the world. Religion has no place in government,
Iím no lawyer so I canít understand this ruling: Schools can unilaterally
test all students for drugs? Excuse, but what?! I thought we lived under
the ideal of ďinnocent before proven guilty.Ē Why donít students have
any right to privacy. Are our government official subjected to these invasions.
How would the members of congress, the Supreme Court and the executive
branch react if they had to undergo pre-emptive drug testing? How would
their aides like it? Theyíre on the public payroll. Shouldnít they be
tested too? More totalitarian shit coming down the pipe.
There is no argument here that public schools need improvement and that
maybe competition could be spur changes. But this ruling smacks of more
church/state problems to me. The ruling makes a big stink about freedom
of choice, saying families can use these vouchers for any form of schooling,
public, independent or religious schools. Well the problem is the amount
of the vouchers - roughly three grand - which is right around the cost
of tuition at a religious school but hardly near the cost of elite independent
and private schools. This is freedom for choice? Sounds like state sponsored
religion to me.
Barry - youíre a lawyer - maybe you could elucidate us with your stored
wisdom on these rulings?
Decline of Western Civilization: Part II The Metal Years (Penelope
Spheeris, director) at the Gene Siskel Film Center:
A funny and sad look at 80ís hair metal. The funny part is listening to
the established stars like Ozzy or Chris Holmes from WASP realize the
inanity of their business and the sad part were the interviews with unkown
hopefuls who swore they were going to make it. In 1988, when I first saw
it, their hope was charming. Now with the perpecitve of time, itís pathetic.
Only one of the wanna-bees ever ďmade itĒ - the glammy foxes in Vixen,
but their success was short-lived. One guy looked exactly like Gary Cherrone
from Extreme who scored big with the prom anthem ďMore Than WordsĒ and
later recorded a shitty album as the rent-a-lead singer in the band that
used to be Van Halen, but I scoured the credits and he proably wasn;t
the same dude. Megadeth came off as surprisingly passionate musicians
who cared more about their craft than the excess, the booze and the babes
that the all the wanna-bes wanted. Their dourness isnít exactly what one
hopes for in a rock star but their live-in-studio version of ďIn My Darkest
HourĒ was the highlight of the movie, a dark, pleading song revealing
rare vulnerability and raw, non-clichť anguish uncommon in the macho world
Dancing Swans and Punking Out at the Gene Siskel
Dancing Swans is a documentary about the rise and fall of the Samshing
Pumpkins in which Billy Corgan comes off a little more likable than his
usuaul whiny, self-absorbed persona. The director follows him around the
north side trucking through his old haunts like the Metro and his apartment
above the Music Box. I watched this movie in packed house full of teens
and early twenty-somethings who squealed at Corganís every utterance and
who took photos of the screen during intimate headshots. This porves how
successful Corgna was in writing anthems for teens but it made me want
to stand and scream, This is my band - they formed in 1988, made it big
when I was in collge, theyíre my generation dammit!Ē but then I donít
want to reveal myself to be the old fuddy-duddy that truly am. Or worse,
one of those indie-rock fuckers who hates it when they favorite band gets
popular ďI liked REM before it was coolĒ --well, la-di-fucking-da. Anyway,
the film was shot on shitty videotape and presumably edited for a television
broadcast and it had these horribly arty intro title graphics before each
segment. Corgan says early on that this film will just like every Behind
the Music episode, but it was still fascinating to watch the creative
growth, his unmanageable egomania and Jimmy Chamberlainís fall and comeback.
Two major matzo balls were left hanging - Corgan early on mentions something
about being an abused child with absolutely no follow-up, even as they
interviewed his father extensively. Mentioned obliquely was the Pumpkins
attempt to give a free concert in Grant Park which Mayor Richard Daley
denied permission. This couldíve been investigated in depth as well as
their decision to release their final album for free over the internet.
All in all a charming flick chock full of Pumpkins hits. Punking Out
was the opening act - a little doc about the nascent punk scene at CBGBís
featuring performances by the Ramones, the Dead Boys and Richard Hell.
My favorite part was an interview with the Dead Boys who proclaimed they
were making punk rock to destroy the shitty bands like Boston who dominated
the charts in the Seventies. This was funny an hour later as Billy Corgan
admitted Boston was a major influence.
So I lied - here's a smidgen of art criticism. Nothing has compelled me
enough to write in-depth reviews but Iíll share a sentence or two about
the current crop of summer shows. What a way to endear myself to my new
Ryan Scheidt at Julia Friedman, West Loop - handsome if slight
gemoetric abstractions full of rounded contours, bright colors and shiny
surfaces. One nitpick - I donít like seeing the woodgrain of the support
underneath the paint. Paintings that rely on intricate jigsaw puzzle execution
need to be flawlessly executed every step off the way. Gesso that wood,
sand it down till itís smooth and then paint.
Adam Scott at Vedanta, West Loop - More handsome paintings and
more nitpicking - I donít like the air bubbles pockmarking the surface
of these paintings. Dug the more abstract ones - the more figurative paintings
looked to indepbted to late Guston. Nice color and viscosity and heft
in the paint application.
Patrick Collier at Vedanta, West Loop - Seriously ugly photos of
ugly feet posing next to some stupid msmatched childrenís toy sculpture.
I like feet, when they are pedicured, with a smart polish in small strappy
sandals. I do not know the relationship o fthe feet and the sculptures
- I glanced at the statement and then remembered I hate work that relies
on the statement for explanation. I also hate ugly feet.
Sven Druhl at Fassbender Stevens, West Loop - droll deconstructions
of romantic landscape paintings: whose physicallity is palpable as Druhl
sections off pictoral components with thick ropes of caulking where he
lets paint pool and reticulate. Heavy duty.
Jurgen Grolle at Fassbender Stevens, West Loop - Dumbly sophisticated
abstractions, perhaps influenced by my favoirte standard-bearer Laura
Owens, Grolle mixes flat, monochromatic grounds with discreet passages
of thick, globby grubby color.
Ideal Avalanche at the Pond, Wicker Park - A new space debuts with
a group show (surprise, surprise) with some heavy-duty ringers (Weiner,
Nauman, Robbins) with handsome work by youngsters like Greg Perkins (a
cute Jasper John knock-off - a painting of the back of a canvas)
James Leonard at Dogmatic, Pilsen - One memorable piece lost in
a sea of self-aggrandizing hoo-ha: a wishful thinking map of the CTA system
with an invented line, the Gray, that runs down the western edge of the
city and then down to the United Center, Comiskey and terminating at the
Museum of Science and Industry. Thatís an idea I can get behind
Elizabeth Pusinelli at the Suburban - Three architectual drawings,
one of gallery owners home, one of a Frank Lloyd Wright designed home
in Oak Park and a floor plan of the artists home, that were charmingly
straightforward, with some fancy doodling and curliques in the windows
as a bonus. What it all meant was elsuive without reading the artist statement,
which I will not divulge here.
ANDREW WK AT SUMMERFEST
(published concurrently at
FGA - http: //spaces.org)
Everyone on rock radio right now is a pussy. Those guys from Linkin Park
seem really nice, plus they donít drink nor do drugs. Incubus is just
Chili Peppers-lite, plus they seem nice too. The kind of guys you could
take home to mom. And that Pussy Aaron Lewis from Staind: qwit yer bitchin
you whiny wuss. Those bland guys from Nickelback rockiní their non-ironic
mullets like itís 1989 - they suck too. All these nu-metal bands be whining
about their moms or their teachers or their girlfriends. Ok, girlfriends
I can take. I got no truck with emo, except that they are all pussies.
But at least they whine about girls. Lost love is a timeless and acceptable
theme in the rock and roll. Sad songs, they really do say so much. Rock
radio is opening up a little - Q101 plays the Strokes, the White Stripes,
the Hives and the Vines and maybe theyíll get around to playing ÖAnd They
Know Us by the Trail of the Dead. But they donít play much Andrew WK and
thatís a shame.
Andrew WK is the rock and rollís high priest of positivity (well maybe
priest is a bad metaphor - I donít think he comes on young boys faces
- by the way, did you see that riotous, blasphemous episode of South Park
last week? Zowee!). All party, all the time. He ainít whining about his
fucking mom, he ainít making lame political observations, he ainít bitchin
about the haters and the wanna-bes. He just fucking rocks. And that he
did at Milwaukeeís Summerfest, one of Americaís greatest music festivals.
11 bucks gets you in the door and that night, you could choose from Andrew
WK, Jewel, War, or Soul Asylum and at the Marcus Ampitheater (which cost
more) you could see Alicia Keys. Something for the whole family! And thatís
just one night out of two weeks of rock, brats and beer (only $3.50) on
Milwaukeeís beautiful lakefront. Seriously, it is beautiful, especially
with the new airy wing of the art museum - the city is the new jewel of
the Great Lakes.
There was something wrong with Andrew WKís voice - he barely sang half
of each song. And he growled guttural groans into his mic a lot like Slayer
or Godflesh might. But his band more than carried the load. No power ballads,
no guitar solo wankery (and no dreadful drum solo), little banter - just
one irrationally exuberant fist-pumping party song after another. The
crowd stood on their chairs throughout, singing louder than Andrew, pumping
their fists and shit, having a great fucking time. No wallowing in misery,
none of the gloom and whine of nu-metal - AWK combines the trash of speed
metal, cheesy 80ís style euor-synths and soccer chant choruses. Visually,
heís a spaz. Heís like an old Star Wars figure or GI Joe in that he canít
bend his knees or elbows. With his leaps and windmills and spazz-outs,
he fronted like a funky hard rock robot. And that hair, all in his face
and shit - he almost swallows it and his mic when he sings. Itís the rockingiest
long straight hair since Ian Astbury of the Cult. Which is refreshing
- he looks like a rocker - all these new bands have short hair, they wear
designer clothes - theyíre so damn fashionable and nice. I love that AWK
keeps his image, form and content, consistent - the long sweaty hair,
the dirty jeans and white t-shirts - all fit into his party all the time
aesthetic. And party all the time is what we did in Milwaukee. AWK and
his band are a breath of fresh air in the hard rock game.
WHY I WRITE ART CRITICISM
Not for the reader: Iím not descriptive enough. Maybe a reader could use
my columns as a sort of art ďConsumer ReportsĒ as I usually cut to the
chase with a thumbs up or down, although without any real analysis. Or
one could disagree with everything I write and get a charge from doing
so. Hey I regularly read Bill Safireís and Bob Greeneís columns and I
Not for the artist: I donít search for meaning. I often donít care about
ďmeaningĒ in art. I donít care what the piece is ďaboutĒ nor do I care
about the artistís intentions. Intentions are over when the art is finished.
Iím more than happy to interpret the art on my terms. Which is I why I
detest art statements. And god I hate having to read a statement in a
gallery to understand the work. Sometimes I appreciate a little extra
info - I like a binder full of stuff. But when the work is incomprehensible
without consulting the statement, well, that when I leave the room. Art
should not illustrate theories. Art should drive theories. And to quote
a friend who would probably prefer to remain nameless, ď artists donít
investigate or exploreĒ so stop writing that in your damn statements.
Not for my budding writing career: I know Iím not a good enough writer
to get published in legitimate art publications, for many of the reasons
listed above and because I eschew nuance. I like nuance, art should have
nuance but I donít have the facility to elucidate it. Plus I donít have
the requisite philosophical and art historical background to make cogent
academic arguments. I just make half-assed, ill-considered, off-the-cuff
I write art criticism to praise worthwhile art and to encourage good
artists to carry on, fight the good fight. But more to the point, I write
art criticism to convince bad artists to stop making bad art. Seriously.
STOP. There are too many artists out there anyway so letís weed Ďem out.
And to give myself a proper introduction to FGA readers I offer some
notes on my preferences. This should give you plenty of ammo when taking
potshots at my crappy writing and views: ∑ I like cheap materials and
carefully shoddy craftsmanship, but not always.
∑ The figure has no place in painting. Neither does narrative. Unless
the painting brings the ďfunny.Ē Funny elides many problems. Photography
does these things better, although Iím deeply suspicious of figurative
and narrative photography.
∑ I like structure, process, materials and process-derived abstraction.
∑ I have a proclivity towards abstract painting but most of it stinks.
These proclivities arenít inflexible. For instance, I believe Laura Owens
is the most important painter of the last ten years and sheís not a pure
∑ I am easily impatient with video but am deeply passionate the few good
videos I come across.
∑ I canít abide by most political and activist art. Art is impotent -
seriously, can art exact meaningful social change? Arenít most viewers
of art members of the choir anyway? Political art sometimes is a feel
good gesture solely for the artist meant to be a feel bad experience for
the viewer. I will put aside these complaints if the work is visually
compelling. Make it visual, visual artists. Hereís a pertinent example:
I was deeply moved by Richterís Bader Mienhof series (which really isnít
explicitly political, but I mention it because I Ďm so rarely moved by
art, much less Richter paintings. Iím usually moved by sad songs. They
really do say so much).
∑And I got no problem with the white cube. This is where art is usually
encountered. Iím tired of artists who feel this need to break down barriers
between art and the viewer and feel that the white cube engenders all
this elitism and whatever. The public knows the white cube: they accept
the white cube. They are confused when artists get all wacky and try to
bring the art to them. You know, we canít convince everyone to appreciate
art. Most of us MFAs get 6+ years of specialized art education and still
art is often so fucking confusing that most artists, much less the general
public, have no idea what the hell is going on (see the trouble with artists
statement above). Itís a niche field, like say, quantum physics or gluten-free
baking, that one needs years of specialized education to comprehend. Either
we accept this or we all go back to painting like Monet, Van Gogh or Michelangelo.
The everyday person understands this type of work - they understand drawing
skills, perspective and realism, not hybrid installations full of unconnected
video, sculpture, text and whatever the fuck passes for progressive art
∑ Also, I hate overhead lighting and I like dirty bars.
ďI wish that I was anywhere with anyone making outĒ
The five or so columns have these song lyric snippets like the one above.
Identify them all and I'll give you a prize. Send your entries to the
below email address. The prize will be your choice of a piece of art,
a personalized mix tape or a home-baked pie.
Respond to this blather
Premium malt beverages, rock and roll, movies, Chicago art, art criticism
A last gasp of art in NYC: grab a beer, this column is long --
My big move to the city of Big Shoulders, Jack Featherly, Su-en Wong,
Andrew WK, Lists, ShitBeGone and tons more....
Early Spring 2002
Lots o'Art: Richter, the Armory Show + tons o' gallery shows: Neo-Grunge
art, Paul Henry Ramirez, Type A and more on J-HOVA.
Valentine's Day 2002
Way too much info on my TV watching habits, plus Danielle Tegeder, Brad
Tucker and art in Boston and much, much more...
Best of 2001
Moulin Rouge, Mulholland Drive, Missy Elliot, Jay-Z, James Ensor, Wayne
Thiebaud, Radiohead, System of a Down redux
Thanksgiving from Hawaii
Serra, Pardo, Katz, Coen Brothers all suck. Grabner, Sienna, Prekop, Jay-Z
Early Fall 2001
The Onion, Rodney Graham, Jim Lambie, Larry King, Music Movie Sundays,
sucking up to Jerry Saltz and stuff...
Early Fall 2001
Skinny actresses, Fall Previews, Hair metal (again), and some other crap...
Chicago Art, Radiohead, Tony Kornheiser, another David E. Kelley rip and
Wane Thiebaud, Printmaking, movies, more summer shows and more...
Summer Shows, Paul McCarthy, Me, My Sister and more...
James Ensor, Ennui, Journey, New Art Examiner and more...
Late Winter 2001
Dawson's Creek, Jessica Stockholder, David Salle, Albums of the Year and
Early Winter 2000
riffs on rock-Roll Singles, the West Wing, Bernard Frieze and more...
The dirt on Damien Hirst, Jibangus, Cable TV and more...
Brother's Football Picks