One of the most arresting art shows I have been privy too in the last year was without a doubt The Parade by Nathalie Djurberg which I saw at the New Museum down in the Bowery in New York.
The show consists of a mix of eighty-two bird sculptures, composed from painted canvas, wire, and clay materials, which accompany five videos interspersed throughout the exhibit. The videos feature nightmarish claymation shorts. Entering into the show is initially unsettling, although the group of bird sculptures are colourful and grand in design, the sheer volume is intimidating. As you journey through the show, you feel you are being stalked, as if you have been selected as prey.
We are guided by the overseeing birds to each film, each a provocative document of the human condition. Greed; violence; the exotic, unknown other; all culminates in a staggering final short, "The Parade of Rituals and Stereotypes," depicting the grotesque dominance of prejudice; of the racial, gender, and religious capacity. One of the figures literally "irons out" another, eradicating the person's right to freedom. An evocative show that demands analysis, themes that we assume have been previously dealt with at length are spectacularly readdressed by Djurberg. She herself has said:
"In the sculptures, Ms. Djurberg said, “I’m trying to show how birds are always trying to get the upper hand” with one another, as evidenced by aggressive expressions and combative poses. The films, which are at times quite violent, with clay figures being mutilated and oozing luridly colored blood, address more “hidden emotions, things that we don’t let out,” she said."
These hidden emotions equate to the upheaval that the 20th century brought with. Although an impressive and successful progress has occurred in terms of civil rights movements, Djurberg's show appears to allude to the suppressed hangover society society still harbor. The monstrous clay figure seem to insinuate that a Jekyll and Hyde quality still exists beneath the remnants of progress.
I noticed a few weeks ago that I was in a right rut with my music playlist. I was trapped in the repetitive abyss of seeking solace in the recently-played playlist, which ensured that even songs I love dearly have become over saturated in my under-stimulated mind.
It all began after catching up on the "What's in my Bag?" videos on Amoeba's Youtube channel. Even if your taste doesn't match the featured artist, it is the passion with which they speak about their chosen albums that made me yearn for a similar emotional connection with music. I mean we all have it, and when I started thinking about what I would pick out if given the chance to run wild in the Amoeba store, the list and reasons were numerous. But still, I couldn't shake a feeling that I was occupying a bit of a musical wasteland.
First I hit HMV with abandon, yet bought classic albums that I wanted to catch up on. You know, the kind that belong on "listen to this or you will die" lists. Then my mind wandered to a musically fertile time in my life. Why, it was just last summer.
I wanted new music to join my library in a an effort to help fight the cause of mundanity while the leader, moi, was writing and editing her thesis. While most albums were listened to, a few fell through the cracks of the expansive back-catalogue.
The first album I'm going to talk about in this little series is going to be Cat's Eyes's eponymous debut.
Ordinarily with a duo such as this, I should give a little background information considering Faris Badwan comes from a background with British band, The Horrors, and Rachel Zeffira is of a classical background, as Wikipedia would suggest. But because I know nothing about The Horrors's music and nothing about Zeffira, I will just briefly say that I heard about them through Nylon magazine and my interest was piqued. But then the album was abandoned in the annals of my iTunes, only to resurface a fortnight ago.
Straight off, it comes across to me as spooky sixties pop. I'm not talking Monster Mash and the like, there is no kitsch here, and rather than merely reference, they have adopted the structure and dreamy, LSD-soaked sound of the late sixties. Plus, I think Brian Wilson would be impressed with the layers going on throughout these songs. Thus it came as no surprise that when I finally did my research on these guys, that Cat's Eyes was conceived after Fadwan introduced Zeffira to the girl groups of the sixties.
Their sound is more mature and muted than that of sixties girl groups, but Zeffira's lyrics and vocals mirror that same complexity of vulnerability, innocence, and strength at the forefront of the girl group oeuvre.
The closest to a classic ballad you will find on this album, epitomizes the spooky pop feel I spoke of earlier.
I'm not Stupid
One of the stand-out tracks on the album Over You is something akin to what a James Bond theme would sound like if it was sung by a Bond girl done wrong by Mr. Shaken not Stirred. It is everything that is right about sixties pop, a la Nancy Sinatra.
Over You
Apologies for not being able to find a better clip, but hey I just figured out they are really good live, good translation of song from album! So Bandit would have to be the stand out track for me personally, I would describe it as the older sister to Over You. It's a wise woman speaking about a man who done her wrong, but instead of thrashing him, she's just warning the others. Simple as. Perfection.
Bandit
It is pathetic that I was deliriously pleased with this album. You know when you take a chance on a record that you know nothing about and then feel bitterly disappointed that it fails to move you in any way? Luckily I struck gold with this. The talent is palpable, and after studying postmodernism, I always appreciate a good reference. This is a slightly askew ode to the sixties, making it personal and unique and leaving me anticipating more from Cat's Eyes in the future. I'd highly recommend it, especially for those nights with the wind howls outside. It'll add to the atmosphere. Maybe accompany it with Wuthering Heights? I feel like they would go together.
