The Real Story and Swansong of Mudditchgirl91 and The Boy Genius Who Created Her: An Interview with Alex Kazemi

A few weeks ago, a mysterious series of short vignettes began arriving on Snapchat under the handle mudditchgirl91. Soon, the vignettes were edited together for a short film called Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91. In the film, mudditchgirl91 pines for a mudditchboy with a string of strange and shocking anecdotes, like wondering if mass murderer Elliot Rodger’s cum tastes like avocado oil. People freaked out. Who was mudditchgirl91? In another week, Marilyn Manson had tweeted a link to the video and the mudditchgirl91 phenomenon went viral. A day or two after that, one more film was released – it was mudditchgirl91’s suicide note. Just like that, she was dead.

The real story, though, is that mudditchgirl91 was a character in an elaborate plot filmed in real time on the popular social media video sharing site, Snapchat, and directed by Vancouver based artist, novelist, and boy genius Alex Kazemi. After an exhaustive ten-hour casting search on Instagram, Kazemi found Bella McFadden (otherwise known as @internetgirl). Over night, his film started to gain traction. During the live filming, Bella, who played mudditchgirl91, was getting frantic phone calls from her friends, family – even her boyfriend threatened to never speak to her again. Alex Kazemi’s intention was not exploitation – his intention was to examine the rampant social media culture of instant gratification and clickbait slavery. It was a social experiment. The fact that the mudditchgirl91 video became clickbait itself was shocking and ironic. Men were sending dick pics and sexually threatening messages. Mudditchgirl91 had to die.  People didn’t get it. People still don’t get.

Fortunately, Autre was able to speak with Alex Kazemi, a twenty-one year old prodigy from Vancouver who has deeply prescient insight into his generation. Kazemi can count American Psycho author Bret Easton Ellis as a fan. Mudditchgirl91 wasn’t just another barely legal girl exposing her body on Snapchat – it was an exploration – a digital exploration into the soul of identity, gender and sexuality and how it is portrayed within the digital spheres of social media. In the following interview, we had an in depth conversation about art, life, mudditchgirl91 and more. Kazemi has also shared with Autre an exclusive video of his directing Bella over FaceTime during the making of mudditchgirl91 to show that she herself was complicit in this postmodern movie making experience that quickly backfired and brought on the ire of social commentators, social justifiers, internet predators and trolls. 

OLIVER KUPPER: So, your short film Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91 really took an interesting turn, can you talk about some of your thoughts on how this social experiment became so viral – even Marilyn Manson was tweeting a link to the video?

ALEX KAZEMI: It’s funny to me how people will tell me that I shouldn’t have to explain things. They tell me, “Just let it be. It’s going to make you look weak if you try to explain.” I think the entire meaning of the short film got lost in the culture. When it got put into the blender of the Internet, it became fetishized. If anything, I could use that as an example of my point being proven.

OK: You’re almost shockingly successful in your annihilation of that culture.

AK: I think it’s all fucking dark. I’m happy that it got attention. There was this thing in the news a few days ago, holding up a mirror to the Tinder debate. That article in Vanity Fair got this whole dialogue rolling. I feel like I was doing the same kind of thing—holding up a mirror. I was doing it in the form of visuals. Sometimes when you articulate it that way, the message gets lost. It was interesting that two things went viral in two weeks. You see the article getting the discussion that I was hoping to get. Mine is just becoming fetishized and called “art.”  

OK: Do you think that is one of the major things that is holding back your generation?

AK: My generation is very stuck on the idea that everything and anything when uploaded online, is art. When everything uploaded to Instagram and Tumblr is gazed at as "art". What is the value of having a "creative perception" in a world where everyone is exploiting theirs for instant gratification? You could argue that anyone with access to LTE or WiFi is a genius, because no one is arguing against their claim.  

OK: What about the highly provocative images that young girls are posting on social media?

AK: I think of these kids today who are posting basically child pornography to their Tumblr pages and Instagram, because they just want the sugar rush of strangers giving them instant gratification. When they turn 25, and look back at that - are they just going to be cool with that and laugh it off? It’s terrifying. 



OK: You mention clickbait as a major issue with today’s media and it seems like a pretty disingenuous way to pander content to the masses…do you think it is affecting humanity negatively?

AK: People are consuming from these hubs every day, and allowing themselves to be slaves to clickbait. It's insulting to think that sites like Buzzfeed think everyone feels the same about everything.  There is this kind of lack of empathy for the human experience. Life isn’t a group hug. I don't have ten reasons to remind you of what it was like when you experienced the worst moments of your life.  Your experiences can be precious; they do not have to be exploited.  You just need to remind yourself. I look back at how vulnerable I was as a young teenager using social media, and all the fucked up situations I put myself in. It’s really disgusting, but when you are that unaware and so far gone - I didn’t even know I needed to be protected. 



OK: Let’s talk about triggers….a lot of magazines are putting trigger warnings on their headlines because they don’t want to trigger someone’s trauma…what are your thoughts on this?

AK: Everyone’s the most fragile special snowflake, and they can’t even be spoken to without you triggering them.  It’s like, the whole Devin from DIIV situation that Pitchfork had a fiasco over, when he got caught on 4Chan saying dirty stuff. It’s like, I’d like to see all of your throwaway Reddit or Yahoo answers accounts, or private iMessages before you judge him. He’s also in a rock band. You are surprised a guy in a rock n roll band has the mouth of a guy in a rock n roll band?

OK: Speaking of special snowflakes, do you think that Snapchat is encouraging this false sense of uniqueness?

AK: The content on Snapchat is disposable but the idea is that humans feel they are special enough to have a 'story' for others to watch, even if it's maybe 200 friends. This is really no different than reality TV. I mean, the opening shot to Caitlyn Jenner's show is footage of her filming herself. Isn’t Kylie, like the Snapchat queen or something? Everyone is a Kardashian. There’s not one friend I have hung out with in the last year, who hasn’t Snapchatted something when we hung out.  

OK: I want to talk about your background. You’re based in Vancouver?

AK: I was born and raised here.

OK: Is there much of a creative environment in Vancouver?

AK: Not that I’ve ever been exposed to. I spent a lot of my life in the suburbs. Obviously, I was inspired by what I know. That’s what I try to do. I feel like I was never exposed to any other artists or creative people. I could never ask kids in my neighborhood to help me with projects; I would have to find someone on Instagram. I never went to Vancouver looking for creative people. I went to the Internet. I had that opportunity—to make something with someone who wasn’t in my city. We could still collaborate, even though we were area codes away—which is kind of weird.

OK: You wrote a novel at a young age. Whenever someone writes a novel and they’re that young, people seem very surprised. Teenagers have a lot to say, maybe even more than adults. It’s a very intense time. Can you tell me more about that experience?

AK: I don’t know what really happened. There was a point in my life where everything culminated. I don’t feel like I wrote it; it wrote itself. It was all happening. I had to create a character to get through all of the things that I was dealing with at the time. I couldn’t handle it. I was writing a lot of poetry lyrics. I was obsessively writing all the time—on napkins, the back of magazines, foam—everything. I was always writing. There was a point where I thought I had enough content to form it into a book. I wrote the manuscript, and I hustled really hard to get it published. I put it online first, when I was 18. I started writing it when I was 17. It was not expected at all. It happened to me, rather than me doing it. I was really scared of myself for a long time. I don’t understand it at all.

OK: Let’s jump into Mudditchgirl. It was misunderstood. Why do you think it became misunderstood?

AK: Bella played her character, and people were unable to tell if it was a character or if it was her. Essentially, that’s what I wanted. People looked for my expression rather than the character expressing herself. It’s very similar to the cultural imagery that people want right now. People like Lily Rose. But they take it at surface level. They don’t question anything beneath it. They say—“That’s my look. That’s my vibe. Oh my god, me.” They continue to do that. It was misunderstood because we’re in that mentality of anything uploaded online is art. People made it seem fetishized and creative. Endorsing the look fucked it up. It has a very strange look. Everyone is focused on the look. If they like the look, they’re going to tell everybody, and they’re not going to look at anything beneath it.

OK: How did you come to hire Bella for the role of Mudditchgirl91?

AK: I found Bella at 3 in the morning, after I spent 10 hours looking for a girl to cast.  I have been working on this project since last December.  I was given 24 hours before this project would be pulled. This was hours before I had found out I was being set-up by a big Hollywood director and production company that manipulated me into thinking they were going to work with me but they were executing my ideas without me, behind my back. After being called 'young and stupid,' I was given a choice, to be a victim or to pull through. I decided to do the project on my own that day. You have to trust yourself. You have to persevere. I'm only telling you this because I want everyone, especially young people, anyone who is reading this to protect themselves from this kind of experience. I'm grateful to have learned from this huge mistake.  



OK: You chose Bella after a long casting search…did you have an intuition about her acting abilities?  

AK: Did you see how her character pouted and talked in a baby voice, sexualizing her suicide? Isn't that a very accurate snapshot of humans who find doom sexy?

OK: When we initially talked, you told me that you got some scary phone calls after the short film went viral…can you talk about one particular phone call that really scared you?

AK: People like to think young dudes who are working in any industry don’t get sexualized or put in scary positions but I was on the phone with a powerful agent who was trying to turn my whole project into this cheesy Hollywood-fetishized meme, and wanted to get a big blonde bombshell model to make videos on the Snapchat account mimicking the movie. He was saying the creepiest deviant stuff I have ever heard, I can understand “bro-ing out” but it was 10 steps further than that. I was so uncomfortable yet I felt like an idiot because I didn’t know how to get off the phone with him. I froze up. Hollywood is the darkest. I felt like I was in The Canyons.

OK: What was the initial inspiration for Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91?

AK: Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91 was inspired by a collective representation of people I have been observing.  I’m obviously fascinated with LA actress, Lauren Alice Avery as much as anyone else because she is a great example of how you are unable to tell if people online are being genuine or fake. Is she really like this? Or is she calculating/manipulating a character very cautiously with every photo and every tweet? Does it even matter, at this point? The character is NOT based off Lauren, it's a movie made by a young girl who is 18 in this world - obsessing and idolizing over Instagram icons like Lauren, wanting to be chic but strange.  

OK: What do you think hit home about the short film?

AK: I think the reason people like the video is because of the Snapchat element. It was made in real time on Snapchat. It probably hits home. Young girls are uploading this kind of stuff on social media every hour. It's their art.

OK: There is a lot of overlapping with reality and fiction and even some of Bella’s friends were confused and nervous, right?

AK: The character in Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91's fake storyline is very similar to the one that happened in our real world.  The two overlap.  Bella didn't kill herself; her character killed herself. Bella's character is 18; Bella, the actress is 19. You have to figure out what is real or fake.  The character, Mudditchgirl91, made the movie on her Snapchat. It's watching a movie of a movie that the character in the movie made.

OK: Ok, Bella has an Instagram account, which seems not too far off from Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91…don’t you think it makes sense that people would be confused?

AK: @InternetGirl is not Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91 but to someone who doesn't know Bella, and looks at her social media…they might think that's the same girl, that she's not in character. Our perceptions and judgments of people are based via our feelings of who we see them as in the URL world. That's very wrong.

OK: What would you do you if you were Mudditchgirl91?

AK: If I was Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91, I'd fucking kill myself too. Could you imagine how overwhelming that'd be? To have all eyes on you over night? To go viral? I think in her fictional story, she was probably on like Buzzfeed and shit which didn't happen in our real world, but I mean, it's horrifying.  It's like what would have happened if that girl who was a part of the Calgary rodeo threesome video that leaked, was ashamed?



OK: How similar are you to Mudditchgirl91?

AK: I don’t think I am like Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91. I’m not going to lie, I’ve had some nice conversations with detergent pods before and I can relate to going stir crazy at home, because I don’t go out much. 

OK: Do you think the movie is exploring or reinforcing a stereotype?

AK: The movie could be reinforcing a stereotype. I mean, young girls and guys have sent us feedback that actually shows us that in their head, they are interpreting Snapchat: Mudditchgirl91 - the character as a glamorous and sexy aesthetic or something to aspire to be. People are tweeting things like “I want a mudditch boy”. This makes me sad, but I guess it has a life of it’s own now. It’s out of my control.  I don’t know. I didn’t make this to have it be fetishized. I truly in my head thought that this could get a dialogue going, hold up a mirror in a violent way to make people question today’s culture. Bella and I have gotten pictures sent to us by young people imitating the scenes in the film.  It’s really upsetting to me. Maybe, I should just shut up and be grateful my work got out there.   

OK: Mudditchgirl91’s t-shirt in the film says “CINGENDER” – what does that mean?

AK: “CINGENDER” was an inside joke with myself about the 500 different labels there are today for sexuality/gender, and you know that’s great for the visibility of the transgender and queer community. You go to people’s twitter pages, and read their bios and it’s like some dystopian movie, it’s like reading brail- “gender fluid”, “gender neutral”, “intersectional feminist”, “non-binary”, “agender”.  I don’t know? A lot of these people are young too, and get excited by their identity defining them, and they’ve got 10 thousand different options to have the whole “I’ve arrived. I’m here. I’m different” experience, but at the end of the day - you’re going to just be a human. Maybe, someone out there feels they need to be in the body of a sinner. Live and let live.



OK: You probably received a lot of comments and maybe some threats…wasn’t this disturbing?

AK: I didn’t realize, you know having the privilege of being a cis-straight white male and being in the Snapchat account of a female character. All the unsolicited dick pics, and the “come sit on my face”, “I wanna rape you so bad” messages - that kind of sexual objectification. The entitlement to her body because she was showing so much of it. It made me feel what these girls have to go through, and it was really disturbing to me. I’m happy I’m not a girl.  

OK: Do you think you exploited the actress for the sake of this film?

AK: I think I definitely exploited Bella, but I think she knew she was going to be exploited and was ok with that. I mean, am I a predatory exploiter for being a cis-straight male sexualizing a teenage girl that is 2 years younger than me or is it really no different than the self aware, barely legal photos she's posting of herself online?  #Feminism 

OK: Do you think we are all exploiting ourselves online…especially with social media?

AK: I do think the exploitation of oneself on social media, and the morbid narcissism comes from a sense of hopelessness, like “Well, I don’t have the patience to make anything. I’ll just make myself into a character that I can express, and call that my Internet art. I might as well make myself my own god. I'll tweet all my best thoughts, I'll post all my best photography. I won't save it for something bigger”.  I guess, it’s no different than what I do with my fiction writing - it’s just when you write fiction, you have the luxury to dissociate.  

OK: Did you have any premonition that people were going to like the short film or dislike the short film?

AK: I mean, I already knew that people were not going to like the movie before it went up. I knew the reactions, but I did it in hopes that someone out there would get it, and other people who are questioning our culture right now - could be like, “well, hmm…I relate to why he made that”, “I relate to him, maybe I’ll email him and say hello, maybe we can talk” but obviously, the total opposite happened.   

OK: Do you plan on doing any more of these films, or are you done after it sort of backfired?

AK: I need to focus on finishing the book. I’ve been working on the book since I was eighteen. It’s interesting, when you’re working on a project, how many people your age say, “You need to hurry up. You need to get it out, or you’re going to be forgotten.” It’s not about that for me. When you have a vision, it grows and fertilizes every day. When it stops, it stops. There’s a lot of pressure, especially for young people to rush it out. Get your likes, get your reblogs. I would like to make other movies one day. I would like to experiment with other mediums. Mostly, I just let it all happen. I don’t think anyone should force anything. The universe is always going to give new things to you.

OK: So, you’re comfortable just being an artist and letting the creativity flow?

AK: This is going to sound so fucking annoying but I don’t really identify with the identity of the artist. I’m not enigmatic. I’m boring. I watch Big Brother 4 times a week. I don’t like to go out. Everyone in my life has always told me I’m tortured and dark and fucked up, and I’ve always tried to distance myself from that rather than get off on it. I see people out there, who want to attract that kind of negative attention with ideals of “Heroin Chic” or “Sick Chic” and it grosses me out. I have been obsessed with being normal since I was born.  I don’t think this kind of thing is okay. I’m not glamorizing it. I mean, if I could just not be me and still make these things - That’d be very, very nice.  


You can keep up to date with Alex Kazemi by following him on Twitter or Tumblr. Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper



A Pantone Dream In Rib-Knit: An Interview With Designer Giuliana Raggiani i

The turtleneck has had a bizarre reputation. Like a pop star with a long career, it had a murky past (worn by sailors and thieves looking for a warm outfit for prowling in the night), caused a sensation when it first hit the scene, began slowly fading into the background, then started acting strangely in front of the press (think of the beatnik and his beret or Steve Jobs’ monograph wardrobe of Issey Miyake-designed turtlenecks), but now the turtleneck is making a comeback in a big way. Last February, when the fall 2015 collections started hitting the runways, the turtleneck hit the spotlight for a sartorial revival, like an aging diva getting her groove back. This is why designer Giuliana Raggiani is right on the money. Her label Giu Giu’s fall collection is highlighted with classic wide-ribbed turtlenecks that can be layered or worn a la carte, depending on how brisk the weather. Raggiani’s love of turtlenecks dates back to the fashion staple’s glory days – her grandmother, Palmira Giglia, was responsible for the “Nonna Turtleneck,” which sold at her luxury womenswear boutique on Boston’s Newbury Street. They became a must-have for any discerning, chic woman’s wardrobe. In fact, there are a lot of things going on in Giu Giu’s fall collection that encapsulate Raggiani’s passions, interests and biographical background. The color palette – brown, amber, dashes of fuschia and hints of blue – is borrowed from Gustave Klimpt’s “Le Tre Età Della Donna” or “The three ages of woman,” which depicts a woman in her three major life stages: childhood, adulthood and old age. There are also pieces that are inspired by her background in ballet – the slouchy, cozy knitwear that a dancer may wear during warm-up is contrasted with pieces that mirror the linear rigidity of plies and pirouettes. And the title of the collection, Tangling, comes from the practice of meditative "doodling,” which is called zentangling – a practice that is said to lead one to more mindful living. Examples of these doodles can be found in the textiles and patterns of the collection. We got a chance to catch up with Giuliana Raggiani to discuss her new collection, its inspirations, and her love for turtlenecks. 

Oliver Kupper: So, tell me a little bit about your background, when did you know that you wanted to become a clothing designer? 

Giuliana Raggiani: Honestly, I think I expected to become anything but that. I grew up in New England in a first generation Italian family, and from an early age my Nonna taught me the importance of craftsmanship in clothing. Frequent trips to Neiman Marcus and Saks, embroidery lessons, and the importance of Salvatore Ferragamo shoes in one’s wardrobe. At the time, I’d roll my eyes, but secretly took mental notes. 

As I got older, being part of a ballet company left me with a strict schedule, and little time for exploration in design. So it wasn't really until I had to trade in my point shoes for a pencil when I reconnected with fashion. This eventually led me to moving to New York and attending Parsons School of Design, and then discovering my love of knitwear at Central Saint Martins in London. Serendipity is funny. That’s when you know some things are just meant to be. When it’s out of your control, yet falls together like it was already mapped out for you. 

OK: What is your personal design philosophy? 

GR: Clothing should be a template for a person to feel comfortable in your own skin. Like you’re wearing nothing, and everything at the same time, because it feels so good on your physical body. I try to always design with a mindful intention - Garments that excite the senses more than just visually. Touch. Mixing textures through fiber & stitch, the ability to explore, roll, tie, twist, reverse, etc… Engaging your inner child & play. One of the main reasons I love knitwear. It makes the possibilities in achieving this endless.

OK: Can you tell us about your love of turtlenecks? 

GR: It’s not so much any turtleneck, but specifically the “Nonna Turtleneck.” Palmira Giglia, my grandmother, was the genius behind these pieces. They were produced under her original line “Vaccaro,” which sold at her infamous luxury boutique on Boston’s Newbury Street from the 60s to early 90s. A staple item in every woman’s wardrobe. A weird little squiggle silhouette off the body, yet when worn, voilà! Perfection. Completely covered, yet effortlessly sexy and chic. These turtlenecks were everything to her. She kept an archive of every color from each season, which I remember vividly as a child - A pantone dream in rib-knit form. When she passed away exactly one year ago, as an homage to her, I decided to reincarnate them under the “Giu Giu” label. 


"Completely covered, yet effortlessly sexy and chic. These turtlenecks were everything to her. She kept an archive of every color from each season, which I remember vividly as a child - A pantone dream in rib-knit form."


OK: Who is the Giu Giu woman – can you describe her? 

GR: She’s a chameleon. She can be a he too…has a sense of humor, and an air of quiet confidence. Weird, but sophisticated, has a soft spot for nostalgia, and an appreciation for good design. I want her (or him) to feel like their decision in wearing a Giu Giu piece doesn't confine them in a “category.” It’s a blank canvas kind of label, with a bold energy. Ageless and genderless. 

OK: Do you have a personal design hero – in fashion or otherwise?

GR: In Fashion: aside from Nonna ~ Dries Van Noten, Kansai Yamamoto. Otherwise: Charles & Ray Eames, Marina Abramovic, Erwin Wurm 

OK: Okay, lets talk about the current collection – its inspired by your background in ballet right? 

GR: Right. I’m usually drawn to extreme contrasts. There was something about the rigid and linear movements of ballet, versus the dancer’s relaxed warm-up silhouettes and layering that I wanted to reflect in this collection. The matching suit-sets (symbolizing the aesthetic “perfection” in ballet), knitted in cozy qualities (enhancing that undone, off-stage dancer appeal). The palette was inspired by Gustav Klimt’s “Le Tre Età Della Donna," a piece recently gifted to me, and close to my heart.

OK: What is Zentangling?

GR: My best friend’s mom came to visit from Hawaii last year and she shared this new practice with me. To tangle means to doodle, so it’s essentially meditative doodling. I gave it a go and fell in love. The results led me to the different intarsias and repetitive stitch patterns seen in the textiles throughout the collection. “A mindful practice on pen & paper, using slow, careful, and deliberate strokes. As you create your tangles you relax, gain focus, and may find unexpected inspiration.” 


You can learn more about Giu Giu and see the full AW 2015 collection by visiting the label's official website. The collection is also available for preorder here. Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper


Siki Im: A Fierce Warrior of Design Takes His Brands to the Next Level

photograph by Youngjun Koo

Growing up in Germany, New York-based designer Siki Im was passionate about skateboarding, punk rock, hip-hop, art, graffiti, and unwittingly, fashion. Luckily for his rabid fans that pick up every single one of his pieces released under his Siki Im or Den Im brands, Im has never abandoned those passions. In fact, his influences live and breathe within the materials found in every single one of his collections.

Originally interested in art, Im grew disillusioned with the business of art and decided to unleash his creativity in a more applied field. He studied architecture at Oxford University, but a chance meeting with David Vandewal, who was designing under Dries Van Noten and later Raf Simons, saw Im plunge headfirst into the world of fashion design, “He really liked what I was wearing, and offered me a job,” says Siki Im.

Im first worked as a designer for Karl Lagerfeld, and later took on the duties of head designer for Helmut Lang after the namesake designer retired from fashion for a full-time career in visual art.


In 2009, Im started his own brand Siki Im, and later the more relaxed brand, Den Im. His menswear collections are startlingly personal, and Im designs with his interests and passions embedded into every detail. He envisions his brand as more than just fashion; he thinks of it in terms of a multi-disciplinary creative studio. The studio has also designed cars, furniture, and all manner of design-friendly objects. Im has just collaborated on a highly successful collection of activewear with Isaora, and won the Woolmark prize for menswear for his innovative use of wool.

Im debuted his Spring-Summer 2016 collection, entitled ‘Youth Museum,’ at the first New York Fashion Week: Men’s in July. The collection was personal, reflecting on Im’s youth as a skateboarder dreaming of one day living in the city that fascinated him, New York. The presentation, that included opera singer Anthony Constanza singing LCD Soundsystem’s ‘New York I love You’ and a finale set to Sonic Youth’s ‘100 %’, was a revelation. For the first time in the two brands’ existences, Im opted to show the Siki Im and Den Im collections together, highlighting the garments’ transformative abilities. What makes Im special as a designer is his ability to draw on his own influences while still being talented enough to create garments that allow the wearer a multitude of options for styling. The whole collection felt very much as if Siki Im is about to be regarded as one of the best designers working today. Im and I sat down to speak about his collection, his interests, and the sophistication of taste created by the Internet.

Adam Lehrer: Growing up as a skateboarder, what was it about New York that obsessed you as opposed to say, LA?

Siki Im: It was probably that I couldn’t identify with the “LA scene:” the weather, the beach, “super chill,” and all that. In Germany, where I grew up, it was pretty rough and urban. I liked that, that’s what drew me to New York.

Yeah in Germany in ’91 to ’92, skateboarding wasn’t mainstream at all. It exposed me to music like the Descendants and Operation Ivy. In the ‘90s, skateboarding was kind of connected to hip-hop, and kind of connected to punk and hardcore.

It was a sub-culture that led to a lot of other culture. I’ve always loved hip-hop and hardcore punk.

AL: You have a wide breadth of influences and interests, have you always been predisposed to getting obsessed with various bits of culture?

SI: I always liked some weird shit but it’s not intentional. It might be because I grew up bi-culturally and was into sub-cultures and nothing mainstream. I was curious to see the world from a different angle. I never had a mentor. I just did a ton of research. We didn’t have Internet; It was all about going to shows. I saw Shelter, Youth of Today, and other bands. And then the hardcore scene had magazines and records. I was into vegan cooking and anti-fascist literature. It wasn’t just about music; it was a whole culture. I’d go to this record shop to buy DIY records. It was the same thing with hip-hop at the time: it wasn’t big. I went to youth centers and there’d be people with backpacks and spray cans that would be free-styling.

AL: Do you miss that at all?

SI: I just downloaded Spotify, and I think it’s great but I don’t use it. It’s too easy. I make music so I know how much effort and time goes into making a song. I remember buying a record and smelling the plastic, reading the lyrics, and looking at the credits. I do miss it. But I don’t want to be nostalgic. That’s kind of what the Spring-Summer 2016 collection, “Youth Museum,” is about.  I’m very proud of and happy about how I spent my youth. I did a lot of cool stuff. My memories are strong and inspiring. But, I need to move forward. I can’t live in my past or in nostalgia.

The way I read it, especially when you had that amazing opera singer come out and sing the LCD Soundsystem song, “New York I love you, But You’re Bringing me Down,” was saying that New York is different but we’re still here, we might as well enjoy it.

I think you wrote it quite well in your article: you love [New York] and you hate it. There are so many great things here, but there are also things that make you want to leave. But you can’t leave for some reason. The good thing about working in design and fashion is that while it’s all about trend and youth, the work is also about me.

AL: How did you develop an interest in architecture? Was it just because you were fascinated with the urban environment?

SI: I was actually about to go to art school. I had my first exhibition when I was 17. I was really into graffiti and after that I started painting. I did an apprenticeship painting with a successful artist. I got accepted into some good art schools in Germany. But, I wanted to do something applied. I didn’t have much knowledge about architecture, but I always loved spaces and buildings without really knowing why. I admired a few architects like the Bauhaus architects and le Corbusier. I decided to study in England, because architecture in Germany is more widely regarded as engineering where as in England it’s more design.

AL: More creative?

SI: Exactly. The school that I went too thought of architecture in a conceptual way. Again, I was faced with weird shit.

AL: How’d you like living in England?

SI: It was cool. I was a studious super nerd. But we would go to London once a month to see a show. At that time I was really into breakbeats, ninja tune, all that stuff.

AL: Were you always interested in clothes; did you have favorite brands?

SI: Funny enough, I think I was always into fashion. Skateboarding helped me with style and gave me a taste for styling. I remember in 9th grade I was supposed to do an internship. I applied for fashion companies in Cologne, but I got an internship with a photographer. I was interested in fashion without realizing it.

AL: You started working right off the bat with amazing designers, how did you end up working with those guys?

SI: I met this guy who came from Belgium that was a designer for Dries [Van Noten] and Raf [Simons], David Vandewal.

AL: (laughs)

SI: No seriously, it was that easy almost! Like right away, I was his assistant. And now he’s my stylist.

AL: Oh shit.

SI: Yeah, now I’m his boss!

AL: That must be gratifying.

SI: (laughs) No we’re just a really good team, you know? We have really similar taste, so it makes working easier. I was really lucky. I didn’t need to apply for anything.

AL: I’m curious about what your day-to-day was like with Karl Lagerfeld, were you designing with him?

SI: Yeah I was designing men’s and women’s: fittings, going to factories, and traveling around the world. At that time he was really into New York so he would come once a month. He’s super funny and totally different than what people see from the outside. Among designers he’s known as super funny, witty, and smart. He has so much knowledge.

AL: And then at Helmut Lang you were head designer after he left the company?

SI: Yeah, the Karl Lagerfeld studio had closed and I was looking for a new job and they had just started the new Helmut Lang, so I just joined them.


"Everything is elevated now. We are making high fashion but we find inspiration in Cholos and farmers in Kenya."


AL: I can imagine that was stressful taking over for someone like Helmut, he was one of the most legendary designers of the ‘90s.

SI: Yeah, there was a lot of baggage, especially because he was one of my favorite designers and I have a lot of his pieces. It was challenging in the beginning. I think we did a great job to give the brand a new identity.

AL: So how did you come to the decision to start the Siki Im brand and design firm?

SI: I always dreamed of having my own creative studio and 2009 was the right time to do it. I had no idea it was going to start with fashion. I envisioned it as a multi-faceted design studio. So now we don’t just do fashion; we do furniture, interior spaces, cars, and products. That’s what interests me

AL: I was curious because it does seem like there are some pretty exciting menswear designers based in New York right now that actually just showed in New York.

SI: Which ones?

AL: There’s you, Robert Gellar, Alexandre Plokhov, Patrik Ervell, Proper Gang. But then there’s so many designers that still do shows in Paris. It’s obviously the first NYFWM, and I know you were a big part of putting it together, do you see it maybe growing to the same level as Paris and London, or is that the idea?

SI: I think so. It’s just started. I think it’s a strong city. But I think it’s just as important to have an identity. It was great to separate the men’s shows from the women’s to give us more of a voice and to show our true colors instead of playing second fiddle at the womenswear shows.  

AL: For me it felt like, for you and Robert especially, those shows are going to take the brands to the next level, and I feel that type of creativity puts New York Fashion Week: Men’s on the map, maybe even more so than your Calvin’s and your Ralph’s.

SI: I think that it’s all important. If it was all Robert and I, that would be boring too. That’s what makes us human. I think everyone has a voice. I’m just blessed that people like what I do. I love showing here. Everyone is always telling you to show in Paris, and there are business reasons, such as buyers and production, to go to Paris, but I love New York. Let’s make New York cooler. New York, will never and should never be like Paris. We should have our own identity.

AL: Do you think that menswear as a business is really as on the upswing that the New York Times Style section says it is?

SI: I mean, if the New York Times says it then it must be true….? No I’m just kidding.

AL: (laughs)

SI: I think it is. The average man is more into culture in general. I think Apple actually had a huge influence on exposing culture to more people and making us more aware of design and details. That extends to movies, to music, to better TV shows. All the TV shows are amazing! It all cultivates a more refined taste. It is all part of one evolution.


AL: Would you ever be interested in taking on womenswear?

SI: Yeah I love womenswear. That’s what I did in my past. We have women’s stores and women’s editorials. We cut in woman sizes. It’s just a matter of time and infrastructure to do a women’s collection.

AL: I know you’re probably crazy busy as it is, but would you ever run your own brand and also take on one of the big houses?

SI: That’s a good opportunity for sure. It’s a different way of designing. You are creative within certain outlined boundaries and parameters. That’s what makes a great designer. But, if I was going to take something on, I would want it to be a brand totally opposite to my own brand. I would rather do some really Madonna brand, like how Raf modernized Dior. If the ideologies are too similar to my own brand, than it’s almost boring.

AL: So, let’s talk about the new collection. You’ve said that this is your most personal collection yet. Why now did you feel like it was the right time to do an almost autobiographical collection of garments?

SI: I think I put my interests and soul into every collection, but this season it was just going back to how I grew up in the ‘90s. Instead of using a concept or theme, I used my story and my youth. When CFDA announced the separation of men’s and women’s fashion week and we wanted to be a part of it, we decided it made sense to do our extension line, Den Im, together with Siki Im in the show

AL: It looked great, by the way.

SI: Thanks! It was definitely because the main line is pretty out there and we wanted to make the show a little more approachable. It was a challenge because both lines have their own identities, but can also live together. It became a challenge to make the show feel natural. I usually wear both together.

AL: Yeah I have a few Den Im pieces and what I think is really cool is I have this asymmetrical hoodie with two zippers, and I can wear it like that or I can wrap it around me, or I can make it look a little more abstract if I want to. Is that a conscious decision at all?

SI: Yeah, totally. How you wear it is up to you, and I love that. We can only propose certain ways to wear it that we think are different and fresh. But we do love to give you a lot of freedom. I love movies that have an ending that is open to interpretation. For me, that is more human.

AL: That’s really cool, it’s like the Sopranos fade to black ending.

SI: Amazing, yeah.

AL: I hate how style editors talk about ‘elevated streetwear’ in that it almost feels demeaning. Like, you take someone like Nasir Mazhar and call it streetwear, but that guy is an amazing designer of fashion.

SI: Yeah, we’ve been doing so-called ‘elevated streetwear’ since our third season. When Americana was still in we started doing drop-crotch sweats and elongated t-shirts. But think of it this way, Jay-Z is an elevated rapper.

AL: (laughs) That is true.

SI: He is a CEO multi-millionaire. It’s the same thing with the iPhone, it’s an elevated gadget. Everything is elevated now. We are making high fashion but we find inspiration in Cholos and farmers in Kenya. It’s also a marketing tool.

AL: I feel like it just might be an overused term, to me fashion is being able to spot things that are beautiful or cool and re-purposing them for high fashion. Maybe I’m over-thinking it.

SI: Not over-thinking it, what it is, I can tell from your tone that you are maybe a little annoyed by the labeling.

AL: I just think an amazing designer is an amazing designer.

SI: But people just label things. I’m sure Alice in Chains didn’t want to be grunge. But it’s just easier for marketing. We’re humans, we’re dumb. We like to put everything in boxes.

AL: Yeah.

SI: What does streetwear mean now anyways? There are kids in the street wearing $300 sneakers, and there are yuppies wearing $300 sneakers. Everything is democratic, but also flat, and that’s great. My job is to make it less flat, whatever that means. At least people look cooler. In the ‘80s the yuppie was super ugly, now the yuppie has an iPhone and probably rides a fixed gear bike. That’s the new yuppie. That’s you and me.

AL: (Laughs) That’s true, and smart. So you have all these new collaborations coming out with the eyewear, I just saw the Isaora running gear. How do these collaborations come about?

SI: I really like the idea of being a design-led creative studio. For me, as a young small company, these collaborations are great ways to show people what I’m into and what I like to design. Our running line started because Rick from Isaora wears my clothes and I wear his clothes. And, we thought it would be cool to do a little collaboration, and it turned out to be a huge success, actually. It’s been crazy. And on trend. I love anything design: sunglasses, ceramics, homewear, water bottles. I love that shit.

AL: Does it feel like more and more of these opportunities are coming up?

SI: We just got accepted to be a part of CFDA and that’s a huge honor. The Woolmark next round is in January, and just keep designing good stuff and being challenged by it. 


You can learn more about Siki Im by visiting the brand's official website. Text and interview by Autre's fashion editor-at-large, Adam Lehrer


Just A Gut Feeling: An Interview With interdisciplinary Artist Eric Parren

Eric Parren on the swell of a new wave of artists that are borrowing from the forces of science to create major artistic statements. Parren, an interdisciplinary artist who lives and works in Los Angeles, combines facets of art, science, technology and investigates the human connection with deeply complex notions about the technologies that shape our future – often without our knowing – such as artificial intelligence, synthetic biology, and space exploration. The works are often deeply sensory experiences dealing with modes of perception and the physics of light and sound. For instance, Parren has genetically manipulated the e. coli bacteria, which are naturally occurring in the intestine, to light up red, green and cyan – he then filmed them with a time-lapse laser-scanning confocal microscope. With the visuals of dancing bacteria, like microscopic ballerinas, he played an algorithmically composed composition based on the biosynthetic pathways of the e. coli’s genome. The project, entitled Gut Feeling, was presented as an audiovisual performance to an audience and as an installation. Parren has also created The Synesthesia Glasses, which allows the wearer to experience what it would be like to have synesthesia, a condition where the person can see sounds.  Indeed, through close study of the histories of media arts, composition, and film, Eric’s work makes connections between the past, the present, and what is to come. Parren is also a member of the art collective Macular, which includes a number of artists within the same technologically and scientifically advanced artistic milieu. In the following interview, Parren talks about his unique interdisciplinary practice, genetically manipulating e. coli bacteria for the sake of art and how rave culture influenced his trajectory as an artist. 

Joe McKee: Tell me about your practice.

Eric Parren: My practice is a little all over the place, but sound and music is definitely a part of it.

JM: It was really exciting to stumble upon your work. You’re doing something with academically-inclined ideas, but it’s fun and engaging.

EP: In my work, I put myself in this triangle of art, science, and technology. That’s where the future is happening. We need all these things to go forward. I want to go towards the future. But an important thing with music and with art is that they are experiential. There’s an academic background, and there’s research behind it. But the work in itself has to be something that you can experience. You don’t have to read ten pages of explanation before you understand what’s going on. For me, it’s a sensory thing. Sensory experience of art and music is the most important way of experiencing it. The thought processes of that are another layer. Initially, I want to give people a direct, sensory experience.

JM: Sometimes art can be so alienating. It’s nice to invite people in and create something immersive for them.

EP: The most recent project that I’ve done was in the same show with William Basinski at the Pasadena Art & Science Festival. It was organized by the Pasadena Arts Council - some of the members part of an organization called Volume. They are an organization that brings sound artists here to do performances. So, they got these people from Europe who have been working on this project called Sphaerae. It’s three big domes that are inflated to this 1960s style experiential thing that you can go in. Projections were set up to project all over the ceiling. There was an amazing sound system. The project I did there is called “Gut Feeling.”

JM: Yeah, can you talk a little more about Gut Feeling?

EP: It’s research that I did at UCLA—the California Nanosystems Institute. They have all these crazy microscopes—things that can see the size of an atom. I got interested in these devices that could extend our senses. I asked him if I could work in the lab and use the microscopes. They didn’t give me the most expensive, craziest microscope, but he did give me an interesting microscope—a laser-scanning confocal microscope. It doesn’t look at things for what they are, but it shoots lasers at the sample. Whatever fluorescence is the image. At first, I was just learning how the thing worked, just putting different things under it. The microscope is used a lot in biosciences, so I met this synthetic biologist. She helped me get my hands on genetically-modified E coli bacteria that have this specific gene in them so they light up when you shoot a laser at them. I used (maybe abused) those in the microscope, and took all these time-lapse images with them. I did all kinds of crazy experiments with them. The original idea was to make a film with them, but now I’ve been using the visuals in live performances.  The sound part of it is a synthesizer that looks at the biological processes inside the E coli bacteria, and turns those into micro-sound elements. It’s a songification of the processes.

JM: Can you tell me about Macular?

EP: Macular is this artist collective that I started with a friend of mine in Holland in 2009. It started as a live cinema group. Live cinema is a big thing in Holland—the idea is that live visuals are generated with live sound. It’s not some musician and some video guy; it’s people who are doing those things at the same time. You’re working together to create a whole. We started out in super-analog stuff. We were hacking online analog/video processors—color correctors, that kind of stuff. And then, we plugged the video into the audio mixer. You get these amazing sounds. Over time, it grew into a super-complicated setup in which digital and analog were feedbacking on each other. We had created a monster that was just alive, doing its own thing. If you tweaked one knob, all this stuff would happen. We started working together on other projects also. We started doing installations. The focus of Macular had always been synesthesia—how to induce artificial synesthesia in people. We’re evolving the organization of Macular into more of a label, a research institute, and a studio. We’re interested in natural and emergent processes, and synesthesia.


"I always got in big fights with the professor about what sculpture was. But I always wanted to do audio-visual stuff. It might come from raves. I’ve been going to those since I was fifteen. A rave is an audio-visual experience. I always want to translate that into a different setting."


JM: When you say natural processes, what do you mean by that?

EP: Emergence is something that everyone in Macular has worked with at one point. Emergence is the idea that simple, individual rules can lead to unexpected, big patterns. The classic example is a school of fish. Every fish is his own fish, but is also trying to follow the other fish. You get these beautiful patterns of fish swirling around. We’re playing that into installations, sound work. We’re trying to set up an online repository in which we have this research to share with each other and the world. We’re also trying to set up a label so we can produce our own work, then a studio so we can work.

JM: How did you find yourself at this point, creatively? Did you come from a musical background or a visual background? Was it a science background?

EP: I wish I had a science background. What I’ve learned is how to learn. If you understand how to learn, you don’t have to go to school. The information is there. You can teach yourself.  I come from media-arts background. In Holland, after high school, you don’t go to college. You immediately decide what you’re going to study. I went to art school—doing painting, sculpture, all that. I always got in big fights with the professor about what sculpture was. But I always wanted to do audio-visual stuff. It might come from raves. I’ve been going to those since I was fifteen. A rave is an audio-visual experience. I always want to translate that into a different setting.

JM: In the academic world and art world, sound art is still trying to find its way in.

EP: There are certain places that understand that better. Santa Barbara has a Media Arts and Technology program that has a very clear understanding of sound. Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy has an amazing experimental media performing arts center. They’ve built this whole temple for performance, music, and sound. It’s an interesting problem—how to get sound art integrated.

JM: Perhaps it shouldn’t be. In which case, we have to find a model to allow people to experience it.

EP: Performance art also has a really hard time. There’s an audience; there are people interested in it, but it’s hard to integrate.

JM: Also, performance art is such a temporal thing. Sound art can suffer from the same thing. Not that they have to be temporary.

EP: It’s time-based. It’s loud.

JM: It creates this noise pollution.

EP: But that’s still a part that I love about it. For me, interacting with an artwork, something that I’ve taught myself to do is force myself to spend ten, fifteen minutes with the work. You get so much more out of it. With sound stuff, it automatically is temporal. You get that engagement already with the work. You can’t interact with a sound piece for two seconds, or however people long people look at a painting. It requires patience and engagement. That interests me about the artwork itself. It actively asks the audience to spend more time with the work.


You can learn more about Eric Parren by visiting his website. You can also follow him on Twitter to stay up to date with performances and exhibitions. Watch below video of "Gut Feeling." Interview by Joe McKee. Text by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. Follow Autre on Instagram: @AUTREMAGAZINE


Sound and Vision: An Interview With Eskmo

Brendan Angelides, better known by his stage name Eskmo, is one of those rare musical artists and composers that can combine the natural sounds of the earth and digital elements with a romantic, alchemical simplicity that is orchestrally abstract, but also extremely beautiful - like a soundtrack for a flying dream. Eskmo has used samples of field recordings from Icelandic glaciers, the rain falling in Berlin, tour bus fan noises while passing through the American Midwest, and parking garage construction in San Francisco. Indeed, Eskmo is a constant diarist of sound and vision. His latest album, SOL – which was released back in March – takes a slight departure from his previous albums, but still holds true to the lineage of using samples and drum beats – it is also rife with Eskmo’s discernible aural brush strokes that are cinematic and otherworldly. The only difference is the grandiosity of scale and concept behind the album – combining traumatic life effects (which is delves into details in the following interview) and the entire celestial body of the sun as conceptual inspiration. With SOL, Eskmo may have conceived one his most personal, but also one of his best albums – an album that sees him poking out of the drum and bass pigeon hole that music journalists and critics have tried to put him into over the last decade. It is also proof that Eskmo has many sonic avenues to travel. With SOL, you can hear the power of the album after the first note – like a magnetic flare bursting through the darkness of space. In the following interview, Eskmo talks about his artistic journey as a composer, the inspirations behind SOL, his entrance into the Echo Society (a collective of Los Angeles based composers), and the music he likes to listen to at home.

Joe McKee: First of all, why so long in between records? Four years might not be that long to some, but it’s a significant time to develop ideas and to work on new material. What was the reason for the gap?

Eskmo: Logistically, I actually wrote a bunch of stuff in 2011 and 2012, but it was so far from what my other album was that Ninja Tune wasn’t even into it. I sat back with that, and I decided to release that material as two EPs—quietly, digitally on my own label. Just to hold onto the stuff in case anything were to happen.

JM: What was the gist of those EPs? Can you give me an idea of why it was such a big departure from the previous album?

Eskmo: For me, it wasn’t that big of a departure. I think [the record label was] at a particular place in which I had a certain buzz around me at a certain time. I was working with Amon Tobin. I had done a couple of things where I think they had a very particular idea of what I would do. They put out the first one just to see how it would go from there. I think they had a particular idea of the aesthetic that I would keep going in, which wasn’t my idea of myself.  My new stuff sounded more like Peter Garbriel. I was like, “That’s awesome! Isn’t that cool?” But that’s not what they wanted. They’re focused on a particular aesthetic. For me, so many different things were happening in my life in 2011 and 2012—the songs reflected that. There were things that were way over there and some things that were way over here. Proper heartbreak, proper crazy travel.

JM: Being pulled in different directions, and the music follows that.

Eskmo: It was all genuine and very authentic. It was still melodic, still sound-design-y, but it was pulled in different directions.

JM: When you talk about sound-design-y, could you elaborate on what you mean by that? Are you talking field recordings involved?

Eskmo: Not even necessarily field recordings involved, but more so the idea of creating the craziest type of sound possible doesn’t inspire me that much at that point. I didn’t relate writing that material. I did a little bit before that. The Eskmo album, the one with “Cloudlight” and stuff, was very methodical, very clinical-sounding, very precise. After, it didn’t make sense to ask, what kind of crazy new type of sound can I create out of this? I was genuinely feeling more inspired by more simple melodies and song structure. I was like, “Oh, that’s engaging to me,” instead of trying to make some crazy-sounding thing.

JM: When, you’re creating a record, when you’re sculpting that world, what are your parameters?

Eskmo: I think I have a sound palette, to a degree. Over the years, I’ve refined my ability. Specifically drum and bass taught me this years ago. Here’s a tiny little box—what can you do with that box and be creative? Taking that as a formula and applying it, I have been able to do that in different ways. With this [current] album, contextually, I started out just wanting to write an album that sounded like the sun. I wanted this big sound. My biological dad passed. I had record label stuff. Big things in my life were shifting. So the first, initial impulse—the sun thing—happened. A couple of tracks came out of that—“Sol” and later “A Thousand Furnaces.” Then, as the year went by, as I working on more of it, stuff would come up. Oh, wow, this is clearly a heartbreak song. Here’s another one, this is a very human, heart-on-sleeve song. Another song, “Blue & Grey,” I’m literally singing about a blue heron—fucking get more hippie than that. It felt right to me. Looking back at it, that’s why I started to associate it with yes, the sun, but there’s also really human stuff in here. The idea of the moon coming in was in relationship to a female-personified figure.  It had to do with authenticity, too. At one point during that writing process, I was trying to force writing an album about the sun. Why am I writing these tender things? But I decided I needed to just do that and see where it goes.

JM: What does authenticity mean to you, musically?

Eskmo: My personal relationship to it is a sense of vulnerability, a sense of being honest with that process. My version of authenticity would be not controlling that pre-ordained narrative of needing a particular type of song, a particular type of aesthetic. For example, the show at MAMA Gallery—I wouldn’t have done that a year and a half ago, man. I’ve had a hard time, in the past, even inviting friends over for dinner, nevermind inviting 70 people come to the gallery and watch me sweat and struggle in these very vulnerable positions. For me, that’s the authenticity in my understanding of it. I’m pushing myself while being very honest. Participating in that dynamic actually fueled the record, too. The same type of thing that I was experiencing emotionally and psychologically during the photo shoot was part of the album-writing process.

JM: Exposing yourself, breaking down the walls that you build. Letting people in, letting people understand the process. It’s more of a naked process that way.

Eskmo: A band that’s inspired me for a few years now—it’s rad to watch them progress—is Future Islands. Samuel Herring—I view him as a very authentic, vulnerable human. He’s just wearing his heart out there. Combined with his charisma, that’s why I seem him excelling right now. You have this guy saying, “This is me.”

JM: Beautiful thing to witness. On that note of inviting people in and taking down those boundaries that you may have previously built, with whom have you been collaborating? Who is instigating those collaborations?

Eskmo: Particularly on the album, the album artwork—

JM: I love that artwork; it’s beautiful. What is it looking down at?

Eskmo: A feather sculpture. Check out her stuff—Kate MccGwire. Her stuff is rad. Some of her art installations have feathers coming out of a pipe, and going out to walls. Amazing, alien-looking stuff. Also, the back cover is a wooden sculpture by my friend Aleph Geddis. That’s become a huge, integral part of the album theme. We worked with it in the music video too—we projected the geometric lines of the shape onto it. I can’t say this yet, because we’re just talking about it, but we’re working on making hollow versions of his geometric sculptures—50 to 100 of them—to sell along with the vinyl as a bundle-package. Also, my friend Dean Grenier is working on the art direction. That collaborative process—allowing people to do what they’re good at—I thrive in it. I think, in the past, I wanted more control. Particularly around the album and how the tour is going to go, I’m being more open to other people’s ideas instead of being more controlling.  


"Looking back at it, that’s why I started to associate it with yes, the sun, but there’s also really human stuff in here. The idea of the moon coming in was in relationship to a female-personified figure.  It had to do with authenticity, too. At one point during that writing process, I was trying to force writing an album about the sun. Why am I writing these tender things? But I decided I needed to just do that and see where it goes."


JM: At what stage did the visual artists on the record come on board?

Eskmo: The album art was after. Aleph—I’ve been friends with him for years, and I’ve always loved his sculptures. I wanted to work with him. The other artists—I didn’t know how to make that happen, until I decided I wanted to work with Kate. That feather sculpture, she already made that. The aesthetic—the feather thing was organic, alien, clean, minimal—what would work in tandem with that? Some of Aleph’s photos one morning, holding a wood block over his head—I was like, “This is it. This makes so much sense for me.” That process has been step-by-step, seeing it progress.  It turned into a thing where I was literally using his shapes during the music video, too. I was integrating feathers into the music video, too, which hadn’t been a part of it at all. Also, working with Dylan, the actual animator that was doing—that process was letting him do what he’s really good at.

JM: There’s a performative element to it.

Eskmo: 100%, man. Coming out of a place where I hadn’t really done any collabs—I had turned into this lone wolf thing—right now, I’ve been breaking out of that. The collaborative process is still new for me. It’s only been a year and a half of breaking out of that shell. I’m step-by-step. When new things come in, I allow it to flourish instead of trying to control it into a very specific kind of direction. In some ways, I’m taking baby steps, to be honest.

JM: Okay, what is the Echo Society, what is it, and how did it come about?

Eskmo: The Echo Society is a collective of composers, musicians, and artists in LA. We’ve put on two events so far with a chamber orchestra. We had a couple of guests for each show. Everyone, essentially, writes one piece for the whole ensemble that’s put together. It’s all LA-based musicians. We had seen a couple shows in LA before we did the first one, before we started talking about it. Other musicians were brought in from New York and stuff. There was one particular show that inspired us to do something more LA-based. We were inspired to do something better, to be honest. So we started talking about it. This came organically out of hanging out with a bunch of music nerd bros. We were just going to Disney Hall, to the Greek, and we decided—what would happen if we just threw our first one? It organically happened. Most of the other guys are doing film stuff—aside from David, who is doing electronic stuff, too. It just happened.

JM: Sweet. Do you have any other artists that you consider your peers creatively? Particularly in LA, but elsewhere too. Are there people you’re in communication with regularly that you might feel in competition with? Or feel inspired by, creatively? It doesn’t have to be musically, necessarily.

Eskmo: I’m definitely inspired by Rob Simonsen, one of the guys in Echo. He’s become really, such a solid hope for me. I’m inspired by his work ethic, how he’s built the work he has. Watching him work on different films.

JM: What’s he been working on?

Eskmo: The last thing he did was Foxcatcher. He scored that whole thing.

JM: How did he get into that world?

Eskmo: Oftentimes, in film, you’re an understudy for another composer. You do a whole bunch of work for them. He was with Mychael Danna—he did Moneyball and Life of Pi. He was doing his own score, but working with him. Then, it gradually got to the point where he was offered his own role. He did The Way Way Back. He’s in a handful of things right now. He’s working on something for the guy that did Independence Day. I’m actually getting to work on my first film score now, too.

JM: What are you doing? I know you’ve done some scoring for short films. “Memory 2.0” is one that I saw. What else have you done, scoring wise?

Eskmo: I’m brand new. Just this one that I’m working on right now. That was the goal of this album—to move past the idea of being a hyper-sound pointing artist. I wanted to write some pieces that were thematic, ethereal, and cinematic in general. And I wanted to present that alongside the Echo Society to put myself out there, so that I can do that work here in LA. That’s the direction, at least. I don’t know what’s going to happen.

JM: Let’s talk about rituals. I noticed, before you started eating, you bowed your head and took a minute before you ate. What other kind of rituals do you have creatively? Is there anything you need to do before you enter this creative process?

Eskmo: I try my best to meditate every morning. I pray every morning. I give thanks for being able to breathe. Ritual-wise for music, there’s no specific thing I do other than grounding myself.  But I don’t even do that all the time. If anything, I try to tap into what’s happening in my life, which I think any other artist does. What’s occurring for me? How can I express this honestly? I just let that carry me. That 90% of the time what happens. The other 10% is methodical. What’s happening out in the world? How can I, potentially, do my own expression of that? But usually it’s, what am I genuinely feeling? How can I get this out? Later, I go back and contextualize it.

JM: Tell me about the deaf music program you’ve been putting together.

Eskmo: We haven’t actually started it yet, so I don’t know if I should speak on it. I did an AV show last April in a movie theatre with some guys. My friend David Strangeloop. We were standing in front of the movie screen, doing the visuals that were synced up to the music. I’ve been working with this company called Subpac, which makes these vibrating bass packs. We brought thirty of them into the theater, and had people sitting with them—watching the visuals, hearing the music, and then feeling the vibrating bass pack. it’s very specific too. The lower frequencies hit down and goes all the way up your back as it rises. From that, I got inspired to do a show like this, but for deaf kids, for kids that can’t experience music in the traditional way.

JM: That’s a really exciting project.

Eskmo: I’m stoked about it. For me, working with kids, using technology—the biggest thing for me is the conversation. There’s something in that that’s moving me forward.

JM: There seems to be a swing back—in the past couple years it feels to me—towards ambient, electronic sounds. Why do you think it is that particularly ethereal music is finding its place again?

Eskmo: I know my own personal reasoning behind it. It’s a response to the environment. It’s a response to the United States electronic scene. Not in a sense that I’m trying to change anything. When I sit down to write something, there’s a part of me that wants to sit in that space. The amount of noise with the Internet, the amount of noise at any festival. There’s not good music or bad music—sonically, there’s a lot. For me, on the album, I want to convey different sides of that. There are tranquil, piano pieces, but at the same time, “Light of One Thousand Furnaces” is literally trying to evoke a solar flare on the sun. They’re both a genuine response to the state out there.

JM: Are you trying to locate something organic in an otherwise seemingly industrial landscape? What I’m noticing in a lot of this music is that marriage or things that are organic and things that are synthetic. It’s a cyborg middle-ground, which is really interesting. I’m curious about that marriage and where it sits anthropologically-speaking.

Eskmo: Some of the stuff I go back to the most, when I’m at home—I always put on gentle, ethereal stuff, for the most part. I listen to a lot of folk, too. It depends on the timing. If it’s a sunny Sunday, I’ll probably throw on some folk. It’s a genuine expression to my relationship to my life at this point. I try to be very mindful of it. That’s something I think about a lot. When you start to create art that is a reaction to this other thing, you end up being owned by it. As an example, if I were to make music that was a counter to DDM, everything I’m doing is a reaction. I’m still owned by that thing, instead of it being a genuine expression of how I’m feeling. I don’t want to battle this other thing. It’s this rage against the machine thing.  


Eskmo's SOL is out now on Apollo Records. Click here to purchase in multiple formats. See below music video for the track "Mind of War" directed by Eskmo with stop-motion animation by Dillon Markey, filmed live at MAMA Gallery. Photographs by Trevor Traynor. Interview by Joe Mckee. Intro text by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. Follow Autre magazine on Instagram: @AUTREMAGAZINE


The Sacred and The Profane: An Interview With Legendary Actionist Hermann Nitsch

Photograph by Luci Lux

Herman Nitsch is considered the last of the great ‘Actionists.’ Together with fellow Austrian artists Günter Brus, Otto Mühl, Rudolf Schwarzkogler, he developed what would become one of the most violent and “depraved” artistic movements of the 20th century. In reaction to a complacent post-war society, Nitsch aimed for realism…shocking, brutal realism, which he insists is only a mirror to man’s own innate brutality and thirst for violence and defilement. His performances, which are held under the title of The Orgies Mysteries Theater, were so shocking and real, that he has been arrested multiple times and even exiled from his own country. His action performances, or “aktionens,” vary in length – sometimes they last several days – but they always convey a sense of pagan ritual, replete with human and animal sacrifices, copulation, blood drinking and bloodletting, disembowelment, intestines spilling from carcasses, dance, music, and audience participation. In one filmed performance, held in Germany in 1970, you can find Nitsch disemboweling a goat, removing the intestines, forcing participants to drink the blood, placing a female participant on a crucifix and then inserting his penis into her vagina through the entrails. In 1972, he acquired the Prinzendorf Castle – ironically from the Catholic Church. To this day, he lives and works there and performs his orgiastic ‘actions’ there. Currently, he is having a major retrospective, of sorts, in Palermo, Italy at the ZAC (Zisa Contemporary Art) Spaces, which is housed in a former industrial space that used to make furniture and airplanes. The show, which is a re-envisioning of his canceled retrospective in Mexico City, will include 40 canvases, numerous photos, as well as videos documenting some of Nitsch’s most important actions over the past few decades. A multi-floor “Pharmacy” filled with fetish objects will also be on view. Like many of his exhibitions, there is a petition to have it shut down. As of writing this, the petition has close to 70,000 supporters – with only 5,000 more signatures to go. We’ll see who has the last word – the exhibition has already been on view for a few weeks. Autre was fortunate enough to have a chat with Hermann Nitsch from his studio in Vienna – our conversation ranged from development of The Orgy Mystery Theater, how the artist embraces his work in the face of possible jail time, the success of his current show in Palermo and what he likes to do for fun. 

Oliver Kupper: You say that actionism wasn’t a group, but what do you think was in the atmosphere that motivated you and other artists associated with the movement to create the work they started to create?

Hermann Nitsch: The question of the development of art is also a question of society. In Vienna, it was very conservative. We wanted to make a new art—new expressions of art—in an art world that was, for us, traditional. Abstract expressionism was happening, a new form of art that was very important for us. I would say that’s what moved us together.

OK: Can you talk a little bit about the beginnings of The Orgies Mysteries Theatre ?

HN: I have been asked for thirty, forty years about the development of my theater, and I’m still not able to explain this. It involved the whole art of painting, of abstract expressionism. Traditional theater began with the Greek Tragedy. In ’58, I tried to make a theatre where I used reality. For me, I wanted to make, in my theatre, only real happenings. For me, it was important to allow people to smell, to taste, to touch, to look, and to hear reality. I come to show reality. I want to celebrate reality. And what was really new was that I used the very concept of reality.

OK: In terms of reality, the movement was very closely associated with extreme violence. Was this a reflection of anything specific?

HN: Look at the world. Look how much violence you have. I wanted to show with my theater everything, and I want to show trueness. I always say, I want to show birth, death, reality—in every direction. I want to show everything.

OK: Art is a medium for that. It is incredibly important, right?

HN: Art is celebration of being. Art is a special kind of life. What kind of life is making lukewarm art? I will not make lukewarm art. I want to make anything art. I want to make art, which is so important—like the stars, the sun systems. I want to make art, which is so important, like being.


"Art is a special kind of life. What kind of life is making lukewarm art? I will not make lukewarm art. I want to make anything art. I want to make art, which is so important—like the stars, the sun systems. I want to make art, which is so important, like being."


OK: You spent time in jail for what you do, in terms of actionist events. Does this fear of being reprimanded ever affect your work? Does it ever censor you?

HN: No. They jail me, I come again. I embrace it. If it is so, it is so. It’s not so bad in prison. I was in good thought, I was alone, I could work. It’s not too bad. A “normal” society is sometimes much more bad. They must go for holidays. They must go to a tea spot. They must do these things. That’s worse than to be in prison.

OK: What do you think have been the strangest or most shocking reactions to your work?

HN: I had problems with animal rights activists. I like, so much, animals. A celebration the body of the animal is a celebration of nature. We, in our house, we have many, many animals. We like animals, like people like having kids. I love the animals like my children. They sleep with me, they speak with me. I would never kill them in a way that would make pain. This makes me very sad. The animal protectors, they don’t see. The industrial animal farming is very sad. In the past, an animal never had so much pain. Why are they not against this? They are against poor, stupid Nitsch.

OK: In the United States, especially. Is this why you haven’t performed a real actionist event in the United States?

HN: I have done many, many performances in the United States. The first time in 1968, and the last time two years ago in a gallery in New York. I had success in New York. I did a big performance in 1968 at the University of Cincinnati. They really wanted to have a performance from me. The students, they were elated that we could do the performance. Two days later, when I went to a concert at the Fox, the whole theater clapped for me. Mostly, I was happy to be in the United States. I had success with my work in New York, in different universities. I loved going back; it made me very happy. My work spoke to people, especially to young people. They are thinking like I am.

OK: Right now, there’s a petition to shut down your show in Italy, like they did in Mexico. What do you say to these people specifically? How would you convince them to not be so afraid?

HN: I hear so much about the political background. It was not so much to do with animal protectors.  Mexico was a completely different situation from Palermo. In Mexico, it was a private-owned and funded museum. The owner decided not to have his exhibition. Nevertheless, he kept active what he promised. So he invited me to come to Mexico to perform a concert. It was performed in a public space, and it had lots of visitors. He just decided, “I don’t want to show the art in my museum.” This was a very personal, private decision that cannot be related with what happened in Palermo. Maybe you saw the petition against the exhibition in Palermo. It had nearly 70,000 signatures. In fact, when there was a demonstration, police were taking care of the whole situation. Maximum, twelve people were there—one on the left side of the street, one on the right side of the street, and one with a big megaphone—that was it. It’s very easy to earn signatures against everything. It was a great success in Palermo. Young people were coming from the whole nation. They were very enthusiastic. I was so happy about that.

OK: It’s one of your biggest exhibitions right?

Translator: It’s quite big—more than 2,000 meters in space. It’s a fantastic place.

OK: Last question, what do you like to do for fun?

HN: For fun, when we are finished, I will go down in the garden and drink wonderful wine. 


"Hermann Nitsch - The Orgies Mysteries Theatre" will be on view at the ZAC (Zisa Contemporary Art) Spaces, until September 20, 2015 in Palermo, Italy. Text and Interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. Intro photograph by Luci Lux. Follow Autre on Instagram: @AUTREMAGAZINE 


Designing Exit Strategies: An Interview with Composer and Musician Holly Herndon

photograph by Maria Louceiro

Many people are quick to label San Francisco based musician and composer Holly Herndon a “futuristic” artist, but the truth of the matter is that she may actually be more present than many other artists that are working in electronic music genre. Present in the sense of her intentions and her use of the tools of our time. It is the music of the future imagined ten or fifteen years ago when composers were still primitively discovering and harnessing the power that computers can offer in terms of the construction of music. Moreover, Herndon is coming to the electronic music genre with a scholarly background and a deep understanding about the processes of music – after leaving Tennessee for the Berlin club scene where she immersed herself in the sounds of that culture, she received her degree from Mills College in Oakland. She studied under the likes of John Bischoff, James Fei, Maggi Payne, and Fred Frith. This year, Herndon saw the release of Platorm on the 4AD label. It is her second official album and it is being lauded by critics across the board. Autre was lucky enough to catch up with Herndon for a convo – she discusses the state of club music, her early experiences as a choir girl growing up in the South, and her blurring of the line between academia and pop music. 

Joe McKee: Tell me about the new record. I’d like to get an idea of what’s evolved, what’s changed, what direction it’s gone—musically, thematically, lyrically.

Holly Herndon: It’s always weird to summarize your own music. But I would say that it makes sense on this trajectory that went from Movement to “Chorus” to where it is now. If you follow that trajectory, you’ll end up somewhere that makes sense for this new record. I think one of the biggest aesthetic changes is that it’s involved other people. Movement was me being a weirdo in a room with no windows. It was a very isolated exercise. Whereas this has been very collaborative, which has been really good and healthy.

JM: What brought you to that point? Was it purely that getting too insular was starting to drive you a little bit mad? Or was it that you were feeling you needed to shake things up creatively?

HH: There’s some of that. But there’s also some of the navel gazing-ness that comes with working insularly. That was bothering me, in general, about music—specifically dance music. I felt like there was a lot of inward-reflection, where right now in our world we need more outward-reflection. There’s been a lot of escapism in the club in the last several years. I think escapism has a place, but right now, what we need is people designing exit strategies instead of partaking in escapist hedonism.

JM: And finding solutions?

HH: Yes, but it’s not “solutions” as in “solutionism.” In the Bay Area, that’s a problem with tech. People are very solution-oriented. With tech, you can solve any problem. I think it’s great when people are problem-solving, don’t get me wrong. But there’s also a problem with solutionism as a whole, when you think that you can solve any problem. This leads me to [an] interesting thinker, Benedict Singleton. He talks about building a platform of new ways for people to communicate with each other. He’s a designer by practice, so a lot of that comes out of the fact that you can never design the perfect future. You can never foresee all of the ways in which the world is going to change. You’ll design for the perfect future, but then something will be invented that changes the game entirely. You have to start over. You have to think in an entirely different way. So instead of trying to design this perfect solution, it’s more important to design platforms to communicate in interesting, new ways. Then, it’s like a petri dish. People can come up with their own solutions to new problems as they arise.

JM: Can you give any examples?

HH: One example for that would be Twitter. It’s kind of a cheesy example, but Twitter was originally designed to be an internal communication messaging board for quick messages inside of a company. Now, it’s become a platform for all kinds of different things. It’s a platform for people to talk about race issues, anything. Twitter has become its own beast—there’s no longer that little, internal communication. It was never designed to be a platform for these specific things. But it was designed in a way for people to communicate. 

JM: Let me reign you in and ask, where does that come into play in the record and the collaborative element?

HH: I started thinking about how I felt that a lot of club world was navel-gazing, insular, and escapist. I started to ask, How can music be an agency? How can music be important, and invited to the table to talk about important things, not just escapism or entertainment? I started looking to people who are thinking about these same things, but maybe in a different discipline. That’s how I started working with Metahaven.

JM: Tell me a little bit about Metahaven. Have you collaborated with them again on this record?

HH: I’ve been working with them a lot throughout the past year. Mostly just epic, long email exchanges. We did the video, and we’re working on some other stuff. They designed the cover for the record. I was interested in them as a design collective because this is exactly how they’ve approached their practices over the past couple of years: They said, “We’re really good designers. We have a great aesthetic eye. But we also care about all these other things. How can we use design as a force for good, or a force to talk about other things that we care a lot about?” If you look into some of their work, you’ll see really good examples of what I’m talking about. Some of the books that they’ve published and some of the projects that they’ve done are very much aligned with what I’m talking about. That’s why I was so drawn to working with them.

JM:  I’m curious as to how you got to this point creatively. Your upbringing—everything that I’ve read, it seems to begin in Berlin. Forgive me for not digging that deep; I like to keep a little mystery. But prior to Berlin, how did you find yourself composing music, particularly on a laptop? Did it begin at a young age? Did you come from a music family? What instigated this long, complex, in-depth journey that you’ve had with composition?

HH: My earliest musical experiences were in the church. I was in the church choir. I was also in the school choir and the state choir. That’s where I learned how to read music. I also took guitar lessons at the church. I grew up in the South, so a lot of life outside of school is church-involved. But I also started making weird, cut-up radio shows—not a real radio show, but a recording on a cassette. I started doing that when I was really young with my best friend—fifth grade. Ten or eleven.  Really young—we were playing with dolls. We had this radio show, which was so insane—I don’t know why we came up with it. But now that I’m thinking back on it, it was probably a weird response to the neo-con radio stuff that we were exposed to. But we had this radio show called “Women’s Radio.” I did not grow up in a feminist situation. We would do fake interviews with Madeleine Albright and Hillary Clinton.

JM: That sounds quite advanced for a ten or eleven year old, I must say.

HH: We didn’t know what we were saying. Madeleine Albright was a serious thinker—we were not bringing her to light at all.

JM: I was climbing trees and bumping into things at that age, so its very impressive that you were doing those things.

HH: I seriously think if you listened to it now, you wouldn’t be impressed, [but] I started messing around with recording over stuff—in a super-simplified way. That’s my earliest memory of sampling.

JM: Bridging the gap between then and now, can you give me a little dot-point form of how you found yourself in Berlin in that club scene world? And then coming to a point of exploring the academic angle?

HH: When I was in East Tennessee, I knew that the local German teacher arranged exchange programs if you learned German. I really wanted to get out of East Tennessee and go to Berlin. This is before I knew what “Berlin” meant, naturally. I didn’t know it as an electronic music site or anything like that. I just knew that it was far, far away.


"I loved Tennessee, obviously. But at that age, it’s like, 'Get me the fuck out!' I learned German and did this exchange. Through that, I met a German guy, and I fell in love with him. He was a club kid, so I was initiated into that world. We broke up." 


JM: You wanted to get the hell out of Tennessee?

HH: I loved Tennessee, obviously. But at that age, it’s like, “Get me the fuck out!” I learned German and did this exchange. Through that, I met a German guy, and I fell in love with him. He was a club kid, so I was initiated into that world. We broke up.

JM: Do you feel like you got stuck in the club scene?

HH: It’s like anyone who explores music. I feel like people get really stuck on the club part, and that’s probably because it was the first thing that I did. But I was also involved in other scenes in Berlin. I was always going to new music concerts. I was never fully satisfied with one thing. I was always trying to check other things out.

JM: Then what did you do?

HH: Then, I wanted to formally study. I was always trying to make stuff myself, and it never really sounded the way I wanted it to sound. I applied to a program in Berlin and to Mills. I got into both programs, but I decided to go to Mills because it seemed like a better fit. Fortunately it was a really good fit. That’s when I got exposed to the more academic side. But Mills is a very unusual place for the academy. It’s super hippie, super laid-back. I wouldn’t have been able to go to a more traditional program. Mills is a pretty special place for that. And I had never considered doing a doctoral program. I had never even thought about it. But then, when I was at Mills, that was something people were talking about. I didn’t even realize it was an option. Then, I started to learn more about the DIY computer music history in the Bay Area. I learned about CCRMA [Center for Computer Research in Music and Acoustics] which is here in Palo Alto. It’s like a rabbit hole—you uncover one thing, then you uncover the next thing.

JM: It seems that the more you dig into the music composition, sound art world, everything seems to be under the cover of darkness. The more you dig, it’s incredible what’s revealed. I’ve been having chats with a few people of late, and I find it incredible. The support group, the size of this scene—it is really not exposed in a big way. It’s a massive undercurrent, internationally, which I’ve only learned about in the last few months.

HH: As part of my program, we teach. I was able to introduce new curriculum, which is awesome. So I’m able to teach my own class—the Aesthetics of Experimental Electronic Music Post-1980. A lot of programs stop their pedagogy, the repertoire they cover in the 70s. The 60s and 70s was the heyday of electronic music, and no one wants to talk about the digital 80s. This musicologist PhD student and I designed this program together. Even though it doesn’t sound like a lot of time--1980-2015—it’s so hard to cover everything we care about. It was this huge timespan; we keep running out of time in all of our lectures. That’s the wonderful thing about music—you can always be learning about something new.   

JM: Now, maybe, more so than ever. It’s endless, the amount of music that’s being created and released. It’s impossible to keep up.

HH: It is impossible. But that’s one of the purposes of the class. It’s not about learning the history, necessarily. The history is important, but it’s not about having a photographic memory. It’s more about having the skills to be able to make an aesthetic judgment on something—why you like something, or why you don’t like something.

JM: That’s a very good point.

HH: When something is released after the students have come out of the class, I want them to be able to listen to it and make up their own minds. I want them to be able to argue why they think it is or is not good, to know its history.

JM: On a completely different note, can you tell me about your time learning with Fred Frith? I’m a fan of his work.

HH: Oh, that seems like ages ago! Fred is an awesome composition teacher. Stylistically, we’re very different. There are some composition professors who impose their sound on you. And then there are those really great ones who don’t impose their sound or even their aesthetic on you. Instead, they try to give you the tools to be able to better shape your own work, or think about your work in different ways. He was one of those in the latter category.

JM: I dare say there are some parallels between your work and his. Despite his being more acoustic-based, I can see parallels.

HH: Just the whole improv thing—that’s a huge deal at Mills. They have a program for improvisation. I wasn’t in that program, but it’s so small that people from different programs are all together. People were improvising all over the place. I was in his improvisation ensemble when I was there. I don’t improvise in the same way—I don’t do free improv now. But having that experience definitely has impacted my studio and performance practices.

JM: I’m curious how that affects your composition, too. Being from an academic background, your job is to dissect and intellectualize your work. Where do you draw the line between the cerebral and the visceral? Is there an element of chance in your compositions? I was speaking with Jonathan Bepler about this; improvisation is a huge part of his composition. How does that come into play when you’re dealing with things like computers and software?

HH: I think it depends on for whom I’m writing. If I’m writing for myself, a lot of it comes out of studio improvisation, setting up the system and then improvising with it. If I’m writing for someone else, I make a conscious decision on how much freedom I want the player to have within the composition. I wrote a soprano solo last year, and I gave her, basically, chords and rhythms to play with. But I gave her great flexibility as to how she wanted to order the. It totally depends on for whom I’m writing, what the point of the piece is, what the performer/composer dynamic is.

JM: But did you find—in the case of writing this record—that there were moments of chance and improvisation? 

HH: Of course! That’s what noodling around in the studio is, eventually. Its not always, and then I’m going to do this. It’s like, this part works, I’m going to try out this thing and see what it sounds like next to it or on top of it. That’s improvising, too. A lot of it is setting up a vocal or percussion system, letting it run, playing within it, and then picking out the good parts. A lot of the percussion parts are written that way.

JM: When you’re creating these on the laptop, in a fairly academic realm, you’re really blurring the lines between the worlds of academia, club music, electronic music, and pop music. What is the pull-push relationship there? Is there much thought that goes into it? Or is it a natural inclination to tie all of these worlds together?

HH: I think it’s something that I have been wanting to do for a long time but didn’t know how. I felt like that was a burden that I was placing on myself—and maybe the academy was, lightly, but not overtly. You can hear that in Movement. It’s almost like each track is in a different genre. It’s contained—this track is like this, this track is like that. That was still my brain separating things. I don’t want to feel like I want to do something for one context and something different for another context. But I feel like that’s imposed on me sometimes, too, because I can work in different scenarios. I’ve had festival organizers ask me to play their festival but not play any beats. That was really strange—why is there this divide? Especially when it’s considered a divide between a low-brow and high-brow thing. The album definitely has tracks that clearly belong somewhere. If you needed to categorize the tracks, they would clearly be in a different category than other tracks. But I think I’m getting better at blending all of my interests more seamlessly.


Click here to download Platform in multiple formats. Holly Herndon will also be making a number of appearances, including Mississippi Studios in Portland, Oregon on July 30 (buy tickets here). Visit her website for more tour dates.  Interview by Joe McKee. Intro text by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. Follow Autre on Instagram for updates: @AUTREMAGAZINE 



The Real Brando: An Interview With Director Stevan Riley and Rebecca Brando On A New Documentary That Explores Her Father's Life In His Own Words

Marlon Brando may be the most famous and iconic movie actor that ever lived, but he may also be the most misunderstood. In his younger years, he was handsome and brilliant and celebrated. He bulldozed his way through each flicker and celluloid frame with supernova luminance. The ladies loved him, and men wanted to be him. Brando also changed the way people act in movies, which was deeply instilled in him by the teachings of Stella Adler and her foundations for method acting. Before him, movies were like filmed plays and the lines were delivered with overly dramatic cadence. After Brando, realism seeped into performances, men could be vulnerable and tortured and show sides of themselves no one had ever seen on screen before. He made way for the rebel, the bruised outsider, and the tortured soul replicated by James Dean and every prototype since.

In his later years, Brando was considered persona non grata in a lot of social and professional circles – he refused to deliver lines and he was impossible to work with. Sometimes lines would be fed to him through a microphone in his ear. In Apocalypse Now, for which Brando was paid a million dollars for three weeks of work, he showed up to the set bloated and overweight. The part for Colonel Kurtz called for someone much frailer as it was written in Joseph Conrad’s ‘Heart of Darkness.’ Francis Ford Coppola was forced to re-envision a lot of the movie around the actor and his demands. However, there is a side to Brando that many people have never seen before. A side that they will soon get to see in a rare, intimate documentary that culls together over 200 hours of his personal voice memos that the actor kept throughout his life.

In the recounting of his life, you will learn that Brando is a hopeless romantic, a poet with a flowing, beautiful language and a deep, almost mystical understanding about the human condition. It is a side that is incongruous to his reputation. The touching documentary, entitled Listen to Me Marlon, was put in the hands of director Stevan Riley, who did a miraculous job at culling the countless hours of audio and film footage that the actor’s estate made available for the production. Not only does the film answer unanswered questions about the actor’s mysterious persona – it is also a parable of fame and disillusionment, love and heartbreak (Brando himself goes into detail about the deaths of his children), and it will no doubt be the last laugh from a man ridiculed into isolation and detachment from society. Recently, Autre got a chance to speak with Stevan Riley, as well as Brando’s own daughter, Rebecca Brando, about her collaboration on the documentary and how she would like her father to be remembered.  

Autre: How did you two meet? How did this documentary come to be?

Stevan Riley: Rebecca and I met very early on when we had the idea for the film, when access was just becoming available. That was around the very end of 2012. I received a call from Passion Pictures—a production company in London who I’ve directed a few films with. They said, “Would you like to direct a film on Marlon Brando?” I didn’t know anything about Marlon at all, but knew—especially in my early reading—that he was going to be a fascinating character.

Autre: Did you expect a challenge?

Steven Riley: It would be a great challenge to capture the real man, which people have been trying to do for decades. He remained quite elusive to biographers and other filmmakers. It would be a creative challenge. The estate—they were the ones who approached Passion Pictures. They were just, at the very same time, unpacking the archive, which had been in storage for ten years since Marlon’s death. I was very interested to see what was in there, what could we possibly use. There were loads of documentation. There were all sorts of objects and paraphernalia. And tapes as well. At the same time, I had to write an early proposal. Coincidentally, the ambition at the point was what the film ended up being. It had the same title—Listen To Me Marlon. It had this idea to use the tapes (and hope that there’s more to come), so we can tell the story in his own words. 

Autre: You had a lot of material to work with—I think it was 200 hours of footage. What were some of your emotions as you were collecting material and going through the editing process?

Stevan Riley: It was fascinating. Marlon was definitely a very complex character. Breaking that material down and forming as strong of a narrative as possible was definitely a creative challenge. I was also very keen to tell the emotional narrative. Certainly, when you’re editing that you experience a lot of it with the subject. You want to communicate as well as possible the emotions of the story. And Marlon’s emotions regarding things which were important to him, thing that concerned him. Whether it was his acting, his life, his love—all those things. But it was really fascinating. It was a real education. Marlon was such a thought-out and considerate man.


"...It’s always hard to see the tragedy. That was really hard to watch...There were so many obstacles in his life and so many situations that he had to overcome. He did, in the end. He prevailed. All the tragedies—he didn’t wallow in sorrows."


Autre: He seems like a poet or a scholar. Rebecca, did you learn anything new, or discover any revelations about your father through the making of this film?

Rebecca Brando: Did I learn anything new? I always come up with the same answer, which is that I really didn’t learn anything new. But it was just pieced together so well. It makes me very happy that Stevan was able to piece it all together, showing the human side of my father. Showing that he basically has the same struggles as anyone has—feeling very vulnerable at times, fearful even on the set. You see him talking to himself and saying, “Forget everybody else. You have a right to be where you are and do what you need to do.” He was always psychoanalyzing people when we would go to restaurants, or anywhere in public. He would psychoanalyze me if I were lying on the bed with him, reading poetry together. He would ask me, “What are you thinking right now?” It’s interesting, you have these thoughts…But back to your question. No, I didn’t learn anything new, but I’m just so happy that it talks about my dad’s background, the actor.

Autre: Did you learn anything new about him as an actor?

Rebecca Brando: I thought it was super insightful. Maybe that part is what I learned a lot. He rarely talked to us about his work. Or rather, I should say me. He didn’t talk to me about his acting and what would happen on the sets. It was interesting to see that side of him, how he was a professional. He did all of his research before he did the film. He would read about the culture and the current events if it took place in a particular country. He’d read up about everything. Then, he would totally immerse himself with all of this research. He would come to the set and improvise with the lines, make it customized. That’s the only part that I learned something new about him.

Autre: He wanted to release this footage. He was private in his life, but he wanted to release this footage later, right?

Rebecca Brando: My father was so intuitive and so forward-thinking. I’ll say it again—he was always thinking in the future. As much as he wanted to be private, I think because there were so many tapes, he had to have known that someone was going to find these one day and do something great with it. I’m sure that came to his mind many times. I think he did make the tapes for his own self-analysis, for his own healing.

Autre: Was there anything that was specifically omitted? Is there anything that you think he might object to?

Rebecca Brando: Well, it’s always hard to see the tragedy. That was really hard to watch. But I didn’t object. I can’t object, because I see Stevan’s goal in putting that in the film, to show that there were so many obstacles in his life and so many situations that he had to overcome. He did, in the end. He prevailed. All the tragedies—he didn’t wallow in sorrows. He persevered and kept on protecting all of us kids. He was still very present in our lives.

Autre: What do you hope people will learn about Marlon Brando from watching this documentary?

Rebecca Brando: My hope is that this film will clear his name. The person who was difficult on set, the person who refused the Oscar—there was a reason for him doing all these things. I hope they will understand him more as the human. The human, not the actor.


Listen to me Marlon will open in New York and Los Angeles at the end of July, 2015 and in the Bay Area on August 7th. See an exclusive clip from the documentary below. text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper


Momentary Masters: An Interview With Strokes Guitarist Albert Hammond Jr.

Most people know Albert Hammond Jr. as the nicer dressed guitarist of The Strokes – with his signature curly-cue mop and cigarette cocked askew. After a little more than a decade of being in the band that defined a generation and kicked off a garage-rock revival, Hammond started exploring his own artistic journey, which has resulted in two solo albums – his third, Momentary Masters, is set to drop at the end of this month. This latest album is much more personal for Hammond – who is an artist realizing his place in the universe outside of himself. After emerging from the cocaine-dust-choked atmosphere of his youth, Hammond is learning about home, family and security. He has survived the shipwreck of his own self and is now clinging to newfound shoreline. In fact, his new album, which he calls “a love letter to my past self,” was recorded at his home studio in upstate New York, which has perhaps allowed Hammond the unique opportunity to open up like never before – with each song you can really feel it. The name of the record borrows from astronomer Carl Sagan’s Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space, which proposes that in the grand scheme of the things, we are all only “momentary masters” during the little time we have on earth, so you may as well enjoy the ride. In the following interview Hammond talks about moving forward, the process of making music at home and the importance of realizing the impermanence of everything. 

I want to talk about the Strokes, just because that’s such a big part of you as an artist. I remember vividly when that first music video came out for “Last Night” on MTV. It was the last hurrah of MTV premiering music videos. But everything was girl bands, boy bands, pop music. It was terrible, all the candy pop music. Then, your music video came on, and I didn’t know what to think. What do you think about when you look back on those days?

It was fun… Are there words to describe such a moment in one’s life? I said “fun,” and thought, “Wow, what a terrible word.” Yes, it was fun. It’s life-changing. I felt it beforehand and during and after, but I never really think about it. Maybe when I’m sixty I’ll lie down. I feel still like I’m reaching for the new. It was all new and exciting at the time.

So you’re chugging forward. You haven’t really processed, you’re just moving forward.

I love it. It always sounds negative. It always sounds like I don’t care about it, but that’s not the case. It’s amazing, but it’s more fun for people who weren’t in it to reminisce about it. If not, you get stuck in that. Sometimes, as a band, we’ll reminisce. It’s fun. You have old jokes.

I’m more thinking in the sense of how that music was breaking through what was going on at the time. It was pretty amazing.

I remember believing in what we made. The same way I am now—just so happy with what was there to promote. I felt like we had succeeded already. Everything else was out of your control anyway. All you could do was do the things you do.

What were some of your musical influences? What kind of music did you listen to when you were younger? I know your father was a musician. Was he a big influence?

I fell in love with music through Buddy Holly, Roy Orbison, The Beatles, The Doors, a little bit of underground, David Bowie, The Stones, The Talking Heads, Jonathan Richman, The Cure, The Cars, Guided by Voices. That’s just the first round in my head. I got into classical music with Beethoven.

What is your favorite thing about making music? What is your favorite thing about music in general?

There are always points in music. You start with nothing. You create something that you want to share with people. Parts get better, maybe parts get worse. Then, you reach a new high point like you did when you first discovered it. You keep getting these new highs and lows. It’s a constant up-and-down feel. That challenge, and the overall outcome from accepting that challenge—I love that. I love when you get to the end of a song and say, “Wow, I can’t believe we made that.”

What’s my favorite thing about music? Music and movies broke me free, when I was a teenager, from thinking and living in a box. I was moving like a robot, and then it opened a new door into how to think about things. It affected me very deeply. It completely changed my life. It’s like that cheesy Jesus thing—he’s “always by your side.” Music has always been by my side. It’s my meditation, my reason, my understanding. It’s led me to many different outlooks in my life.

You grew up in LA, right?

I did, yeah. I grew up in the San Fernando Valley. I enjoyed it as a kid because I lived in the suburbs, and you could ride your bike. LA has that city, but you can still be in the suburbs. But growing up, I didn’t like it. For me, it was strange.


"The record, if you listen to it, has layers. That’s how life feels to me. It has its strange moments. You end up thinking about stuff happening, and you realize that we’re all in the same boat."


Do you think New York is your home?

Yeah, I came here, things clicked. I live upstate now. Well, I tour and travel a lot, so “home” is a place where I go to regain energy. It’s easier to have a house and a yard. I can come to the city and use its purposes, but just as much, I don’t need to be there everyday.

You recorded your new album at your house?

If you have a studio, you’re going to use it.

Do you think it’s easier to record at home versus a studio that maybe you’re more unfamiliar with?

It’s definitely more fun to record at home. For me, to be able to say, “Take a break,” and not worry about it is great. I don’t think I could have done it the way I did it. The way you do it for a week and then come back a month later, moving all the gear into another studio, would be a nightmare. By the time you set up, you almost have to go again. I think that’s why people build studios—to have that quality, but also to have the time.  

I’m thinking about The Band—there were a lot of great albums that were recorded close to home. You can feel it in the music.

For me, recording, we’d wake up in the morning, we’d go for a run, and we’d eat meals together. We’d play music and then go back to the house. We always watched TV at night. Those are enjoyable things in life, whether you play music or not. Doing that made the overall experience more fun. And when it got to where we couldn’t break through, we’d walk out, take a second, and breathe for a minute. In a studio, you’re paying a bunch of money to play twelve hours straight. You try as much as you can, but you always walk in a little more broken.

In terms of influences for this record, I know sobriety has been a big part of your transformation.

It’s less of an influence and more what enabled the record. That’s the first step. There are so many things I did after that that led to the record. But without that first step, you can’t do those other ones. That’s why it always seems like the biggest one. It’s constant though. I fuck up left and right. You find new demons to exist. You find new ways to destroy things. But you confront it and fix it again. It’s not like, Yay! Happy! Done!

And you have to keep working through that. It’s a lifelong thing.

Yeah, exactly. [Singing] We’ve only just begun.  

A lot of people have these patron saints that come into their lives in many different ways. You talk about this girl Sarah, in terms of being able to open up your creative process. Can you talk a little about that?

At a time that I was figuring stuff out, she gave me new musical influences, new influences with writers. She had work ethic with writing—the idea of words. When I was playing with this band, I knew I wanted to try new things to see if it would work. It started to work, which gave me more time to work on melody and lyrics. In the two weeks spent with her I reemerged. At the time, I didn’t realize it was going to do that. I didn’t know. Those are things that happen in life, and you just try to be aware of them.

I’m looking at the cover right now. There’s a Bauhaus theme to the aesthetic. Can you talk a little bit about that?

I like the idea of light and dark, black and white. The idea that there are two sides to yourself. Everyone has projections of them, and that comes out in the record. Obviously, I wish I could have thought of that Day One, but it happened slowly. It took a while to evolve. Then this photo came out—it was perfect to explain that. The profile, the shadow of it, the way the lines work, and it looked good. It felt great. We had different album titles. Then when “Momentary Masters” came in, it seemed to help tie in the shadow theme. It offered a cool perspective to the record. Just two words—I kept repeating those words. I thought they were great.

And it’s based on one of Carl Sagan’s philosophies, right?

Yeah. The blue dot. You can YouTube the clip. He talks about Earth and everything we’ve ever known and done is in this one space. As he pulls away from the planet, you see how tiny and meaningless everything is. We create meaning. To me, that allows for change, allows for the human element, for mistake. It lets us learn. He says, “Momentary Masters” talking about how funny it is that people are fighting for a fraction of a dot to become momentary masters. Nothing is permanent. Even when it feels so permanent, it isn’t.

That’s why we need to keep making art, music.

You create your meaning around that. I still have things to say… You have to listen to it. It really relaxes me.

It’s comforting. A lot of people seem to do things for the sake of permanence. It seems a little bit desperate.

Yes.

What do you want people to know about you as an artist that they don’t know already?

I don’t know if it has anything to do with words. What I want them to know is in this album and how I perform my live show. I’m at the stage where I feel like I don’t even know. If anything, that’s kind of what I’m saying and doing. The record, if you listen to it, has layers. That’s how life feels to me. It has its strange moments. You end up thinking about stuff happening, and you realize that we’re all in the same boat. The record means a lot to me. I made it with the idea of trying on my own two feet. I don’t know if I can move people, or entertain people, or both. That’s what I mean by “It’s in the music.” I don’t know what to say, other than, “Hear it.” Your perception, your writing isn’t as important as the music.  


"Momentary Masters" will be available July 31st, 2015 in the US/EU, July 29 in Japan. Pre-Order now and Get "Born Slippy" & "Losing Touch" instantly. Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper for Autre Magazine. Follow Autre Magazine on instagram: @autremagazine


Tangerine Director Sean Baker Talks Monster Flicks, Shooting Feature Films on Smartphones, and His New Sex Worker Comedy

Tangerine is a film to celebrate, not only because it brings a bright beautiful shade of blooming reality to transgender issues, but also because it is a return to the inventiveness of filmmaking. Shot entirely with iPhone 5S smartphones, the film is a triumph of cinema’s capacity to capture the human condition using whatever means necessary. With past projects that include Greg the Bunny and Starlet, director Sean Baker could have gone with much more expensive cameras, but decided to stick with smartphones and all the inherent challenges – challenges that were worked out with special, newly invented rigs and filmmaking apps. The decision lends an atmosphere of spontaneity to Tangerine that wouldn’t have been captured otherwise. The film, which takes place on Christmas Eve, follows Sin-Dee (played by Kitana Kiki Rodriguez) and Alexandra (played by Mya Taylor) as they search for the former’s pimp through a landscape of lascivious pleasure seekers involved in all manners of sins of the flesh – all among the neon hued and gum stained sidewalks of Tinseltown’s soiled boulevards. When watching the film, you are injected with a new enthusiasm about moviemaking – an enthusiasm that hasn’t been felt since Harmony Korine was using camcorders to shoot Gummo, or when Thomas Vinterberg was using handycams and mini-DVs to shoot the 1998 Danish film, Festen, or even when Richard Linklater was using 16mm to shoot Slacker on a shoestring budget. It seems that using unpredictable tools results in beautiful cinematic experiences. In the following interview, Autre speaks with the director of Tangerine, Sean Baker, about his falling in love with monster movies, transgender rights and why he decided to shoot his third feature film on smartphones. 

OLIVER KUPPER: When did you know that you wanted to make films? Was there a specific film that you saw that really inspired you?

SEAN BAKER: Yeah, it goes way back, actually. My mother brought me to the local library when I was in first grade. They were playing a 16mm of old Universal films—monster films. It was the burning hill scene in James Whale’s Frankenstein—that climax—that got me hooked. Up until then, I had always said, “I want to be a fireman! I want to be a construction worker!” I left the library that day and said, “I want to be a filmmaker!” From that point on, I knew I wanted to direct films.

OK: That’s amazing. I want to talk about your first effort in filmmaking. Your first effort in getting your work out there was Greg the Bunny, correct?  

SB: Well, yes, that was the first one that hit. My first film was a film called “Four Letter Words.” It was a look at guys in the suburbs. I’m hoping some day I’ll have the money to remaster it. It was shot on a 35; I made it in my early twenties. It was very much like a social-realist Kevin Smith film. Because in your twenties you see time in a different way, I let time fly by. I think I shot the film in ’96, but it wasn’t until 2000 that Matt Dentler (now he’s with iTunes, but at the time he was running South by Southwest) was the first champion of my stuff. When I was in post-production of Four Letter Words and trying to find this movie in post, two friends and I (Dan Milano and Spencer Chinoy) picked up a puppet one night. I realized what a genius Dan Milano is, when he started improvising with this puppet. The next thing you know, we have a public access show that gets recognized by IFC. Then, the next thing you know, we’re going to have some things on IFC, which lead to getting on Fox. We signed over with Seth Green, which is where we got most of our fan base. We went back to IFC, and then we had a spinoff on MTV. So I could say that this was a wonderful, happy accident that supported me through many years of making independents.

OK: You were an independent filmmaker, went to public access, made Greg the Bunny, and then went back to independent filmmaking?

SB: At my heart, my love is cinema.

OK: Your work deals with a lot of darker themes and cultures on the fringe. Where did these interests or appreciations come from?

SB: I think it’s a natural desire to explore the world, to try to understand and identify with people from different cultures, who have very different experiences and upbringings. For me, usually, it stems from a desire to explore a different location, first. Then, it’s finding the community within that location, and really taking the time to collaborate with them. For example, with Tangerine, it was about that unofficial red light district of Santa Monica. I knew of it because I lived close by. I had already been exploring sex work with my last film, so there was a natural progression. That area happens to be frequented by transgender sex workers. First and foremost, it was a look into that chaotic neighborhood. Then, it developed into exploring the lives of the transgender sex workers who are really in a place where they are forced to work the streets. They’re not given the same opportunities. Most of them are trans women of color who aren’t given opportunities because of bias, prejudice, and racism. Because of the cards they’ve been dealt, they’re living these lives. There was a natural desire to explore that. I had already had empathy and sympathy for them, but I wanted to get to know them on a human level. That was really what led to that.


"...We were shooting out on the street with very little money, so we wanted to keep our prints small. We didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. We just didn’t have the money for security. We didn’t have the money to own location....Even with Donut Time, we paid them to be there, but we could never shut down their business. We had to work around real customers that were coming in and out. So what the iPhone did was grant us a low-profile."


OK: In terms of transgender and gay rights, do you want this film to be an important document of this time to humanize these people that have been on the fringe for so long?

SB: Yes, it’s most definitely in focus right now. Especially over the last few months with Caitlyn Jenner, the public television show which focuses on the trans individual, Transparent… When we set out to make this film over two years ago, it was something that was rarely talked about. I think it’s a sign that we’re all thinking the same way in terms of our society recognizing these individuals. I’m focusing on one very small—very small—sub-community. This film is not meant to represent all trans people. It focuses on the corner of Santa Monica and Highland where there happens to be sex work going on.

OK: And the movie was shot on iPhones. I don’t think that’s ever been done before in the sense of a feature film. Where did that idea come from?

SB: It came from a very organic place. I would be the first one to call myself out if it were done as a gimmick. I’m a cinephile, as I told you. If I was given the money, I wouldn’t have shot this on a 5s. But maybe I wouldn’t have made as good of a movie. I think in the end, the fact that we shot on a smartphone, there were so many benefits that came with it. At least for this story. I’m not saying for every movie. I actually hope my next film is shot on film. But for this particular movie, it helped in so many ways. Number one, we were shooting out on the street with very little money, so we wanted to keep our prints small. We didn’t want to draw attention to ourselves. We just didn’t have the money for security. We didn’t have the money to own location. We had, of course, insurance and permits. Even with Donut Time, we paid them to be there, but we could never shut down their business. We had to work around real customers that were coming in and out. So what the iPhone did was grant us a low-profile.

OK: And you were working with very green actors, right? 

SB: The second thing, and probably the most important thing… I was working with two first-time actors—Mya Taylor and Kiki Rodriguez. Those two were already aspiring actors and professionals. What I’ve learned from shooting other first-timers is that there’s always a hump they have to get through. They have to drop their inhibitions. Even with Prince Adu from Prince of Broadway—it took him a little while to get used to the camera. In this case, everybody has a smartphone. For example, these girls were taking selfies of themselves between takes with their own phones. There was no difference between what we were doing and what everybody else was doing. Their confidence level and their lack of intimidation was really there from minute one. They were on the same level as James Ransone and Karren Karagulien. It was wonderful, in that case, where suddenly I was able to jump in, and even first-timers became great actors.

OK: For someone who is a little more conservative or doesn’t understand this world, how would you invite them to appreciate this film?

SB: I would just say to give this film a chance. I have a feeling that, like me, you’ll fall in love with these characters. I fell in love with these characters. I think that no matter who you are and what your politics are, you will identify with these characters. They’re going through struggle, but we all are. Of course, they’re also dealing with hardships that we’ll never know. At the same time, Tangerine is about friendship. Tangerine is also about fidelity. We all have friends; we all understand friendship. And I’m pretty sure a large percentage of us have also had to deal with fidelity. Whether we’ve done it to our partners or our partners have done it to us, we all understand the consequence of fidelity. We all understand what jealousy is. If you go into the film understanding that this is not a “life of” movie, but is actually a human story filled with humor and characters that I think everyone will love—even if they are flawed. I’m not just talking about the two main characters, but also the characters on the fringe. Even the characters who might be a little crass in what they say are still lovable characters. That’s how I would invite the more conservative crowd in.

OK: If this movie were to play in a cult cinema double-feature, what would you play next with it?

SB: That’s a good question. I never had a double-feature in mind with Tangerine. Maybe the Estonian film Tangerine. [Laughs.] No, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that. Maybe I can text you later with my answer.


Magnolia Pictures presents Tangerine, directed by Sean Baker, opening July 17, 2015 at Landmark’s Embarcadero Center Cinema in San Francisco, Landmark’s California Theatre in Berkeley. You can also see the film in Los Angeles and New York. Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper


The Cairo Gang Goes Missing: An Interview With Emmett Kelly

                                                          Photograph by Jim Newberry 

Emmett Kelly exists in many shapes and musical forms.  His immense talent and abilities have brought him into the studio to add licks to some of the last decade’s most interesting indie albums.  One of his main collaborators is Will Oldham, otherwise known as Bonnie “Prince” Billy – the great Americana balladeer with a Satyr’s cheeks and an Irish lumberjack’s facial hair. Some highlights from their collaboration, which has resulted in multiple full-length albums and singles, include a track created for a homage soundtrack album for the 1971 surf film Morning of the Earth and Billy’s 2006 album, The Letting Go, which was recorded in Reykjavik, Iceland by Bjork producer Valgeir Sigurðsson. However, Kelley has also been steadily putting out records under his own moniker, The Cairo Gang, which is a band he started back in high school and that still continues to take form and propulsion with each album that is released. The latest Cairo release, Goes Missing, seems much more full than previous records and much more well rounded, but Kelley’s voice is right there to punch you straight in the heart with brass knuckles and the lyrics are more biting than ever. It is truly one of this year’s best albums and it makes you want to listen to Cairo’s entire discography over and over again. Autre got a chance to speak with Kelly and our conversation ranged from talking about his stint living in Chicago and experiencing the experimental music scene there, his collaborations will Bonnie “Prince” Billy, his current album and where he hopes to take his music next.  

Did you have musical background? Did you come from a musical family?

Yeah, I came from a musical family. Both my parents were musical.

When did you know you wanted to become a musician?

I didn’t really know, ever. That was just how life was. I grew up in this kind of environment. Music always had a presence. I just sucked at school.

You’re known as a session guy, like a hired gun in the studio. When did that start? Did you have any early aspirations to be in a band?

I’ve always been in bands, since I was a teenager. I grew up in LA—I never thought of being a hired gun. I didn’t even realize that was a thing you could do, ever, as a job. Until I moved to Chicago and started getting gigs just being in a bar band, or whoever’s band. I was never really thinking about being a hired guy.

I grew up in Los Angeles, as well.

Where are you from?

I grew up on the West Side, a little bit of Hollywood. Everywhere. Where did you grow up, specifically?

In the valley… LA seems like a boomtown right now.

It does seem that way.

It’s definitely creatively booming.

It’s funny, there are a lot of artists and musicians moving there from different parts of the country, especially New York. A lot of these musicians and artists don’t like talking about it. They don’t like being part of this migration.

They don’t want to be part of the LA migration?

Yeah, they don’t want to be part of the trend or something. They’re too cool. But it’s a definitive migration.

Yeah, it’s so ridiculous because they don’t want to admit to having a good life, living in a beautiful place.

Exactly.

New York is chaos. I always forget about the chaos in New York. You’re surrounded by people in this giant, concrete prison. LA is beautiful.

You lived in Chicago for a spell, what prompted the move to Chicago?

It wasn’t a conscious thing. I was travelling. I spent the ages of 17 to 25 travelling. I was passing through Chicago just because my sister was living there. I heard some music and stayed another week, then heard some more music and got an apartment. It’s easy to live there because the cost of living is very low. And, at the time, there was really great experimental music. There’s still a lot of experimental music. But it seemed really exotic to me at the time.

What kind of experimental music?

The main one was this bar—a really crappy bar—in Chicago called Rodan. It’s a totally shabby-but-trying-to-be-fancy kind of market scene that serves fucked up champagne drinks. I was at this bar; there was this band that used to play there every Tuesday. They just played free, experimental music. It was insane. Just to see it infiltrate into a meat market. This incidental thing was blowing my mind. You would never see that in Los Angeles or New York. I stayed for another week and I learned that there was this bookstore down the street that had experimental music every week. That kind of shit—that’s absolutely where my head was. Instead of someone who wants to go to shows, more experimental things are way more exciting for me. LA and New York—everything tried to be really marketable in some way, even to a niche audience. But the experimental scene in Chicago was aggressively anti-having an audience, even. I think that’s really a cool way to be.


"It’s sort of why I ended up back in LA. I felt like the scene was starting to cave in on itself. It wasn’t as exciting anymore. But I feel like a lot of people in the city felt the same way. It’s hard for me to tell. Every place you go, when you start to get anxious to leave, you start seeing all this negative shit."


Going against the grain. There’s such a scene in LA, a scene in New York. “Scene” is such an overplayed word.

But it’s true. But there’s a scene in Chicago. The free, experimental community in Chicago is totally a scene. It’s sort of why I ended up back in LA. I felt like the scene was starting to cave in on itself. It wasn’t as exciting anymore. But I feel like a lot of people in the city felt the same way. It’s hard for me to tell. Every place you go, when you start to get anxious to leave, you start seeing all this negative shit. But who knows. People think of it as negative. They probably don’t if they live there. Chicago seems like a tormented kind of place.

I want to ask you, what have been some of your most fulfilling music collaborations?

Obviously, I spent a long time working with Bonnie “Prince” Billy. That was definitely the most comprehensive for me. He’s an excellent composer of songs, lyrical and melodic. His awareness of how he wants to practice in a band setting, in a collaborative setting is really in line with my philosophy on that as well. Improvising is very important to me. Whenever you play songs or make records—I never feel like there’s a definitive version of anything. If you play it live, it should always be changing. You should always discover something new about it. With Bonnie “Prince” Billy, it was amazing to realize that you could improvise a song. If you think about it, the song is really the lyric and the melody. You could always change it. There’s a million ways to do a song.

I read somewhere—I don’t know if this is true or not—but Van Morrison’s “Astral Weeks,” a lot of those songs are improvised.

Yeah, that’s an improvised record. There was probably some preparation on his end, as far as what chords he was playing. But that record was done in the middle of the night with some of the best musicians in New York at the time.

It’s incredible. It just goes to show how far you can take that and still be so complex.  

Absolutely. I feel like it’s so stale, when bands go on the road a lot of the time they’re worried about re-creating the record, making something that when people see it, they see what they want. It’s assuming that an audience doesn’t ever want situational life in their music. It’s fucking weird. Obviously, it’s impressive. I just recently saw Magma play, and they were totally phenomenal. Of course, that music is so deeply composed that it’s impressive to see it happen live. But rock and roll’s about situational energy. So it’s ridiculous to think that you would come up with a sound and then stick with it.

Is there anything really exciting about the music industry right now?

Yeah, I think there’s something really exciting going on. No one can understand what’s going on in it. And that’s really interesting, I think. Everyone’s freaked out because their record business is failing. Or they’re freaked out because it’s killing. Everyone’s feeling this apocalyptic thing. I guess the thing that’s always in apocalyptic thinking is the idea that the end of something implies the beginning of something else. I’ve always had trouble with the music business, so I can’t say I’d be very sad if it died a miserable death. But at the same time, I’ve had a decent relationship with it. Hopefully, it’s not some rapture. One thing that was really great about my experience in Chicago was that people had fun playing music. I feel like you forget some of the fun stuff when you’re surrounded in industry. Being in LA… When I was a teenager, LA was the best place ever for a band. There were so many amazing bands. Every band that you’d hear, there was some horrible thing about them trying to get something going… I really don’t know. I like that there’s so much working outside of the record business. Hopefully, people stick with it.

And the Cairo Gang—is that a band or a solo project? Reading about it, every band seems to have the same cast of musicians. How would you describe the Cairo Gang?

The Cairo Gang, originally, was a band in LA back in high school. It’s kind of grown—anytime I wrote a song, I wrote it as part of that name, for some reason. And the name has grown in importance to me over the years. It’s been different bands. All the records are my doing. There have been a few people that have played some stuff on records, but I haven’t made a proper band album.

How is your current album, “Goes Missing,” different from other Cairo albums?

It was recorded in different locations. That’s a big thing. It happened at a different time. There’s a lot of things that I assumed I would never really use, like sound machine, for examples. I thought I would never use a sound machine on a record, and I did.

Last question—what is next? What do you want to explore next?

I want to play a lot of shows. I want to have a band develop and immediately make another record with them. I’m working on a lot of new songs, but they’re open for progressions. It would be amazing to have a band that was playing a lot. The band would be amorphous, sort of an interpretive group. We could go and make new music that is situational. I’ve been listening to this band, Gong, lately. I really love the spirit of that music. I wouldn’t want to make a record that sounds like Gong at all. But I like the fact that it comes out of a lot of playing.  


Buy The Cairo Gang "Goes Missing" here. Follow them on Facebook to stay up to date with new releases and concert dates. Interview and text by Oliver Maxwell Kupper 


photograph by Rachael Cassells

Nature Slut: An Interview With Sexual Mystic and Artist Bunny Michael

                                                                                     photograph by Katherine Finkelstein

Back in 2007, she was Bunny Rabbit – it was the era of scenesters, top eight, Internet party photos, seemingly blind vapidness and a generation of millennials desperately seeking a discernible identity. She sang about taking cocaine anally and smoking marijuana vaginally – with backing beats from trans MC and Coco Rosie beat boxer Black Cracker. Her album “Lovers and Crypts” garnered a lot of attention – Sasha Frere-Jones in a New Yorker article dubbed her “the original art rapper.” Today, she is Bunny Michael – after four years of self-realization and a recent sexual revolution she has found a deeper, more meaningful side to herself as an artist and a person. Her recent series of photographs, which are on view now at Alt Space in Brooklyn, are a testament to her evolution and elevation. The exhibition – entitled “The Etheric Double – is the artist’s first solo show and features portraits of the artist and her “spiritual twin” who is manifest as a higher consciousness and a conduit for “kindness, love and acceptance.”  In the following interview, Bunny talks about coming out, sexual revolution and the importance of finding your own spiritual twin.

You describe yourself as a “Nature Slut,” and as a “Telepathic Goddess of the Future.” Can you introduce your identity as an artist and explain what those terms mean?

I call myself a Nature Slut because it’s an identity I created. A few years ago, I was writing an erotic poem about having sex with a woman in nature. I realized that what I was trying to get at was the other woman being myself, a higher version of myself, a natural being. I realized that I had lost touch—or I had never been in touch—with the part of me that is Nature. Human beings, we often think of Nature. The sexual part of it is just wanting to be in touch with nature as a sexual being, being a creator. I don’t really see any difference; I think that sexual expression is the ultimate form of creation. We can’t take for granted—as females—the power to create another human being. I feel that there is power in the forgotten past of sexual energy, sex magic… There are multiple layers.

Doesn’t the word slut have a negative connotation?

It’s a reclaiming of the word, “slut.” It’s natural to have sexual desire. It’s not shameful. The shaming of it is what creates a lot of the pain around it. The history of shaming our sexual nature is, in my opinion, the reason why we have so much sex crime, sex violence. It’s because we have repress this energy. And we repress it because we don’t feel free to express it.  So, the word, “slut”—I was called a slut a lot when I was young, just being who I was. I didn’t even have a lot of partners, but kids at school still called me a slut. So I’ve always identified with that word, in a way. I want to reclaim it and say, “Okay, fine, I’m proud to be sexual.”

There seems to be a lot of repression in society, especially with women.

Of course with women. The sexual nature of women is an untapped, forgotten power that we have over men—great men, who are attracted to women. I think that’s why a lot of men feel the need to holler at a woman on the street or sexually degrade her. They feel overwhelmed by the power this woman has over them, and she doesn’t even notice them. We can just be walking down the street, minding our own business, but we exude a power that they don’t understand. It’s their way of reclaiming their power.

Where do you think this fear of power comes from?

I think it’s thousands of years of degrading women, ever since the Inquisition. Centuries of the genocide of females. There are villages in Europe that didn’t have any women at all because they had killed them off. There was this whole campaign against women so that religion could have more control. There’s a power that women are more sensitive to, that comes within their natural abilities. I think that’s very threatening to the establishment. We’re living in a time now where we have to bring back the feminine. It exists in both males and females, but I think the energy is feminine, especially with our connection to the earth. We’re living in a time where we’re remembering our power. The old ways aren’t working anymore. We’re getting that, we’re becoming more aware of that, we’re getting more in touch. The feminine is becoming more and more powerful.

What are some ways that we can level the playing field? How do we bring progress? Through art?

I think it’s raising your voice. Whether it’s through your art, through your discussions with your friends. To be honest, I think the number one thing is raising your own consciousness. There are a lot of activists out there who identify as being an activist. But I think it takes looking at yourself first, before you can claim that somebody else is wrong. Part of that feminine energy has a lot to do with compassion and understanding.

It doesn’t seem like it should just be women exploring that. Men should be taking these topics to light as well.

Men and women have suffered from the imbalance. This goes back to the racial thing too. Privilege isn’t always a blessing. I don’t want that to be interpreted the wrong way… It’s our struggles that make us stronger people. It’s the experiences that we’ve had, the worldly ideas that we’ve encountered. I’ve said this about growing up gay. The experiences I went through were hard, but they made me more important. And they made me more in touch with my sexual nature. If you’re living in a world of illusions—you grew up in a rich family, you went to school, you did what your dad did, maybe you have a lot of money… Is that what life is about? Life is about having joyous, fulfilling experiences. I don’t resent people who haven’t been put in situations that test their strength, because those situations help you grow.

Speaking of coming out and your family, did you have a lot of support from your family on your initial journey as an artist, as a person?

Initially, I didn’t really. My mom wasn’t born in this country, and my dad grew up with a lot of cultural influences, so they didn’t quite understand what they should do. They wanted to do right. In their mind, they thought it would be a hard life, so they didn’t want that for me. The crazy thing was that when I was young and coming out, I had a lot of friends’ parents who were really supportive. But on some other level, they were kind of spoiled kids. They got a lot of money, they partied all the time. Even though my parents, since they came from a different culture, didn’t understand that aspect, they understood something else that was very, very important. That was loyalty to family, which was a very valuable lesson. I don’t think that was a part of American culture. That lasted, and we’ve grown together from that. So I don’t regret any of those experiences with my parents. Now, they’re very supportive. We’ve all grown together. But the lessons they did instill in me were invaluable.

You do have to appreciate the positive aspects of what they appreciate. When did you know that you first wanted to make music? Was it music or art? When did you first start exploring your artistic side?

I started exploring my artistic side when I was in high school. I started doing a lot of LSD, and something just clicked in my head. Something literally opened up in my brain, some portal. I started doing a lot of drugs, my friends were all doing them. I was an actress then, too. I came to New York and realized, oh shit, you could do whatever you wanted. I still hadn’t done music, but I was dating somebody who was really good friends with the band Coco Rosie. We started playing around and making music. I started freestyling about a Bunny. They were like, let’s make a record. And the put out my record in 2005. It was called “Bunny Rabbit.” I did all the lyrics, but it was really a collaboration between us and another artist called Black Cracker. We toured a lot, we had a lot of success. But at the time I was very ego. I wasn’t able to really enjoy what was happening, and that’s why it fell apart. So in the past few years since then, I’ve been teaching myself how to make music and learning a lot of life lessons. This is my first solo project.

This is your first solo art show?

This is my first solo art show. The necessity for art came with the music. We made our own flyers, our own music videos. We did everything ourselves. That was a big part of the aesthetic of sound then. Now, I use that as the same mold, the same message. The visual art, the music, everything is connected to the same message.

You’ve been doing a lot of videos on YouTube in which you’re talking directly to artists, but you’ve also been talking about this sexual revolution after experimenting with plant-based medicines. Can you describe this revolution? How has this changed you as an artist?

I used to not be very open about it. I used to want to keep things private. But I’ve been practicing with ayahuasca. I know a lot of people practice with it now. The reason why I bring it up is because I don’t think anyone is talking about it. I had a sexual revolution from it that was totally unexpected. I expected to learn to love myself and all the things I had heard about it. But for me, it channeled all this sexual energy. I looked at my body for the first time and saw that I was this sexual form of nature. I started to really love that, for the first time. And I felt really comfortable in that. I saw that I was this animal, beautiful being. Then, I got really into sex magic. I started to feel very spiritual about my sexual practices. I started having visions during them. I think there’s a whole untapped world in that realm. And it goes back to ancient eastern sex practices. I am, by far, not the first person to experience this. There’s lots of books about it. We have this power within ourselves. It’s the power of creation. It’s not just about being able to create a child. We can manifest anything we want. Also, there’s the issue of the female orgasm and how unexplored that is.

Especially to American society, it feels like a complete mystery. It seems like our viewpoints since the Victorian era have not been that different.

There are still scientists who claim that it doesn’t exist. It’s really crazy to me. So I’m praying and hoping that my work inspires others to feel unashamed about their desires. I want them to feel comfortable in their expression.

I think we need that more than ever right now. Your group show—“The Etheric Double”—is a fascinating concept. Can you describe the idea of the Etheric Double?

On this journey that I’ve been on—which I feel a lot of people are on right now—is a journey of self-realization, awakenings, and awareness of self. Actually, I started going to hypnotherapy. I started visualizing myself doing things in those sessions, and that was very healing for me. So I started to develop seeing my spirit in meditations. She was myself, the form that I see in the mirror. It was very healing for me to know that this higher being, my spirit self, was looking after me. I felt her comfort. She was who I was outside of the form of this body. The way I saw her was as my twin. So then, I made one photo where there was two of me, and something just clicked. It was her. So I kept making these photographs of me and her with a dialogue. Some of the photos are kind of uncomfortable. There’s a push and pull between the two of us. Some days, I wake up and I’m not there; I can’t be the present person that I want to be. And then some days I’m right with her. I think we’re all going through that right now. We’re at this time of really big change, really big awakening. We can feel it about to happen, but we’re not quite there yet. We still have to do more work. So I was trying to illustrate that with the Etheric Double, that story, the domestic story of our relationship to the everyday. Everyday, just trying to do your best. 

That’s really interesting. You have a performance coming up in Sweden, in July. Can you talk a little about that?

It’s their pride festival. They asked to play, and I said yes, because a lot of friends of mine have played. Juliana Huxtable is a good friend, and she played there last year. I’m excited. I want to put myself out to the world, do a lot of traveling. I want to connect with people who have different experiences. I’m usually in a bubble, especially in Brooklyn. I’m really looking forward to going overseas.

Especially with last week’s ruling, that’s amazing. That’s a big, big step. My last question is, what do you want people to know about you as an artist that they don’t already know?

I want people to know that I am not about exclusivity. I’m about inclusiveness. The time of exclusiveness is over. It’s time for us to come together and realize what we have in common. We have to work together. It’s not going to be one person doing this alone. If anyone came in contact with me, I would want them to feel totally comfortable connecting with me. If they wanted to send me a message on Facebook, send me an email, whatever, they could. I don’t people to look at my art and see this untouchable thing. I want to be an artist of the people. I know they may not like the particular technique that I use, but I want the energy to be that of inclusiveness. That’s what I strive for.


Bunny Michael's first solo exhibition, entitled "Etheric Double," is on view now until July 12 at Alt Space, 41 Montrose Avenue, Brooklyn. See her music video for Gasolina below. Click here to purchase her 2014 EP Rainbow Licker. Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. Follow Autre on Instagram: @AUTREMAGAZINE


Danger and Desire: An Interview with Elizabeth Harper, AKA Class Actress

Elizabeth Harper is petite, with cheekbones that could cut glass. As she sets up for her November show at Tammany Hall, on New York’s Lower East Side, her oversized trench coat nearly swallows her slight frame. After a meticulous sound-check, she asks demurely if the lighting can be changed and finally settles on a deep red—much like that in her music video for “Journal of Ardency,” a song about desire and desperation—to achieve a seductive, albeit tasteful, bordello-esque ambiance. The music begins, the trench coat slowly makes its way into a crumpled heap on the stage, and Harper’s unassuming daintiness takes flight, leaving only a slight trace—her stage presence is undeniably commanding. She exudes a confidence that is deliciously incongruous with her lyrics about longing, yearning, seeking and insecurity. She oscillates between girlish uncertainty and bold audacity—and this is just one of the qualities that makes her so interesting as a performer. Harper, who originally hails from Los Angeles, where she was a self- described “isolated teen in an army of cold social climbers looking over my shoulder at parties,” now lives in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, a quickly-burgeoning artists’ hub just a few subway stops away from the fast-paced daily grind of Manhattan. Having taught herself to play the guitar and keyboards, she began her career as a slightly more traditional solo singer-songwriter, but as her sound gradually evolved, she incorporated Scott Richardson and Mark Rosenthal into what would become Class Actress. With Rosenthal and Richardson, Harper generates that rare breed of soulful, moving electronica characteristic of late-80’s Depeche Mode and Madonna (and she relishes such comparisons, saying, “I’m just glad my idolatry paid off…”), with the kind of swooning, lovelorn, self-indulgent lyrics that one might expect from someone who has of late earned the moniker “female Morrissey”— complete with titles like “Journal of Ardency” and “Adolescent Heart.” Harper’s delicate, heartsick croon overlays bass-heavy synth rhythms, delivering a sound that is both mellow and poignant—despite its classification as electro-pop, a genre which is generally characterized by neither of those adjectives. In short, it’s the anomalous kind of electric, energetic feel-good dance pop that one might also weep, write or paint to in solitude.

Can you talk a bit about the transition from your first musical project, to Class Actress, and from a more traditional folk-guitar sound to electro-pop? How did that come about, and what made the change? How has your musical sensibility changed over the years, and how would you define it now? 

It was a bit of a labyrinth but I found my way through the wilderness, some how I made it through… I would like to end this myth, I was never a “folk” artist.  If you listen to my first record yes there is one acoustic solo song on it, but the rest is electric.  I had just started writing songs, had a bunch of demos.  A friend of mine started a label, wanted to put them out, and so I said OK, why not. Back then I was into Elliott Smith and The Smiths, but as I grew up I wanted to dance, move, express myself.  People change; they find themselves, not everyone wakes up and says I am only this now and forever.   When I was a teen I loved techno, dance music and hip-hop, Then I had a short Elliott Smith/ The Smiths phase—which I am happy for because at that point my main goal was songwriting, not arranging, it was how to turn a phrase, say things in lyrical form....  then I got back to the synths. I am happy for the vast range of musical influences I’ve had over the years because they all culminated in Class Actress. Which is Pop music. Which by far is my favorite.

You taught yourself to play guitar and keyboards—how soon after that did you realize that you wanted to make a career out of music?

Right away.

What is your favorite aspect of living in Greenpoint? Artistically, how does it compare to Los Angeles, where you grew up? 

I like my friends nearby. I like not having to drive and having everything right there. In LA I was an isolated teen in an army of cold social climbers looking over my shoulder at parties. But sometimes I miss the beach, the mountains, the sunset, Mulholland drive, Malibu…

What’s the dynamic of the band? Who does what in terms of writing songs and composing music?

I write the songs.  Mark produced and recorded the record, Scott plays live and produces and does additional engineering as well.  Working with Mark is very hard to explain we have a very fluid way of working I bring him a song and we discuss the texture / rhythm / and then go from there.

Your sound and stage presence has been likened to that of early Madonna, “the girl version of Morrissey,” and Depeche Mode. What’s your reaction to such comparisons? 

I’m utterly flattered, these people are my idols. I love them. I’m just glad my idolatry paid off.  

What inspires you (in terms of musical style, lyrics, and your general aesthetic)?

Danger, weather, desire, acting motivations, Object Relation theory, my imagination...  

What’s next for Class Actress?

I would like to start making more involved videos that are more like short films. I want to take the cinematic quality of the music as far as I can.


This interview was originally published in Autre Issue 002 with text by Annabel Graham and  photographs by Amanda Zackem. Elizabeth Harper, AKA Class Actress, has just released her third EP, entitled "Movies," in collaboration with Giorgio Moroder on the Casablanca Record Label. Follow Autre on Instagram: @AUTREMAGAZINE. Additional credits: styled by by Shea Daspin, hair by Gabriela Langone, make-up by Alejandro Calvani. 


Out Calls Only: A Conversation With Virgins Founder and Singer Donald Cumming On Growing Up and Going Solo

Nearly ten years ago, Donald Cumming, the snarled-lip founder and front man of The Virgins, sang about stuck-up rich girls and other superficial fancies of youth and abandon. But that was a different time; downtown New York was grittier, cheaper, and less gentrified. Cumming grew up listening to old records above his father’s liquor store in Tribeca. Now, however, Cumming finds his inspiration a little farther uptown, where a piece of Old New York still exists. This shift of interests is not only indicative of a changing city, but is also symbolic of Cumming’s maturation as an artist. This evolution is also evident in Cumming’s astonishing debut solo album entitled Out Calls Only, released this month on the Washington Square Music label. Tinged with the same poetic, literary textures and existential questions of past musical efforts, the singer’s distinctive drawling voice harkens Jonathan Richman or Richard Hell on klonopin, Out Calls Only is heartbreaking, introspective, and incredibly raw. It is also boozy and beautiful, seemingly bathed in a warm, romantic red glow. From start to finish, the intimate album alludes to the self-assuredness of an artist who has learned from past mistakes and has a found a stage that is all his own. Autre had a chance to speak with Cummings over the phone from his apartment in New York – I could hear him dragging on a cigarette between questions with the sound of the city in the background, like a sweet symphony of chaos. In the following interview, Cumming talks about his time in The Virgins, an ever-evolving New York City, and his new solo musical journey.

Oliver Kupper: When did you first discover music? Was there a revelatory moment, or anything specific that you can describe?

Donald Cumming: I remember listening to the records my mother used to play when I was a kid. She played Springsteen and Linda Ronstadt. I was always aware of it and listening to the lyrics. I would misinterpret or put the words together in nonsense ways. But music was always playing. And I was always singing songs—the different songs you sing in school with the whole class. I was always really engaged with music.

OK: Your music has a literary edge to it, a literary layer. Are there influences of this nature in your work?

DC: I don’t know about direct influences, but I do read a lot. It depends on the material. I like a lot of American literature—particularly poetry, but also novels. I like Dos Passos. I like Mailer. As far as poetry, I love Franz Wright. I love Robert Lowell. There’s pretty much a wide spectrum.

OK: You grew up in downtown New York. How do you think New York has affected your work? Do you think there’s a major influence?

DC: Being from here and growing up here, obviously, most of my life experience happens here. So that has a big effect on things that I end up making. But as I get older, I think the influence is less. I’m not really engaged with the city the way I was as a teenager. I’m not really out running around like I used to be. I don’t really have the same kind of social life that I had when I was young. The city has also changed a lot. As far as being downtown, it’s unrecognizable. It doesn’t feel like a place that I have any emotional connection to beyond walking around and thinking about the past, or remembering people that aren’t here. It’s not an optimistic place for me. But when I go uptown—particularly on the Upper West Side or Central Park, that kind of area—still feels like New York. It hasn’t been demolished and rebuilt fifteen times in the last twenty years. That feels like a new place for me. I mean, obviously, I would go up there as a kid and as a teenager, but it didn’t interest me in the same way. Now, I feel like that might be the area that I find inspiring.

OK: Do you think that comes from age, too?

DC: It’s probably a combination of age and the way the city has changed. I feel more comfortable up there because it reminds me of the New York that I was around growing up. It hasn’t really changed that much, so it feels like it’s still this place that’s familiar. On the other hand, getting older, I have a different lifestyle. There are museums up there; you can go see Swan Lake on the weekend. That’s something that I enjoy a lot more as an adult.

OK: Do you think that change in New York also contributed to the disbandment of your band, The Virgins?

DC: It’s not something that I was ever thinking about when we were doing it. But yeah, definitely. The Virgins, when I started, I was at a very different place in my life. It was that mid-period—the city was half the way I remembered it and half this thing that was changing radically. Still, my peers were all around. We were making our way in the world, so maybe it felt like we were participating in the changes. Whereas, now, all my friends have scattered. The ones who are around are working. The city that I see when I open my window is like a college dormitory that I have no relationship to. For me, the second line-up of the Virgins comprised of all my friends. It was just them and me. We were working in the East Village, and we did hang out and go around. But at that point, they were younger. They were engaged with the downtown more than me. I was married, and that was not in that zone as much. So I think it changed the way we worked—at least the way I worked.


"....For me, it’s having freedom to do whatever I want. Obviously, I enjoy that. There’s also the fact that the songs have the freedom they didn’t have when I was in a band. There was always the pressure to have everybody be able to participate and have as much fun as possible."


OK: Your new record, which I’ve been listening to a lot lately, it’s really good— it has a sort of loungey, introspective vibe. How would you describe the new record?

DC: Out of anything I’ve made, this is probably the most personal album. Every song is something that came out of an experience. Not a remote experience that was then filtered through an additive or semi-informing a perspective, but directly. While I was making the record, I was going through some things that came out in the songs and were very much a part of the record. So it’s about this period in my life that is already over. But it felt, while I was doing it, really visceral. It was completely linked to what was happening. I’ve never done that before, not consciously. For me, I think it’s the best thing I’ve made. I don’t know if that’s because it’s so connected to me personally, or if it’s just because I have a better idea of what I’m doing. We’re not fighting now [laughs]. But I think it’s the best thing I’ve made, and I’m happy about it.

OK: It does seem really tinged with heartbreak and personal experiences. What is your lyric-writing process? Do you have a specific practice?

DC: Basically, I write a song, and I keep it. I had some experiences early on in which I would make these demos, and I would really put everything into them. And then, I would come to find out that, for whatever reason, the label would want me to re-record it. It could sound more high fidelity—whatever the reason. You end up chasing that demo and never quite nailing it the way you did. Something I learned from that experience was just to not work hard on demos. I write a full song—I write the lyrics and the melodies, and I either play it on a piano or a guitar. But as far as recording, I’m not making multi-tracking or making revisions. I record the song with one take.

OK: Is that different than what you did in the past? 

DC: In the past, in the second versions, I would take that tape to the band. We would practice it or play it live a few times, whatever. But for this album, there was no band. What I had instead was different friends who were booked to record with me, and I would bring the tape into the studio. Everyone would hear the song that day, we’d play it, and we’d start tracking almost immediately—as soon as everybody was confident with the changes. That spontaneous energy made it onto this record. It’s something I’ve wanted to capture for a long time, and I think it’s the direction I want to go in. That’s what I’m aiming to do—record these experiences that can’t be repeated. Find moments that are special, and preserve them. That was the process for this record. And even this record, at times, things started to flow maybe too much. I’d like to catch some more off-the-cuff stuff in the future.

OK: So there’s more? You’re going to continue on the solo trajectory?

DC: Oh, of course. I’m definitely not going back to being in a band. For me, it’s having freedom to do whatever I want. Obviously, I enjoy that. There’s also the fact that the songs have the freedom they didn’t have when I was in a band. There was always the pressure to have everybody be able to participate and have as much fun as possible. When you’re in a band, you want to play a loud fucking show, you want to have an upbeat song with a lot of energy. You’re thinking about all these other things when you’re writing. As a solo artist, the song can be whatever it wants to be. If I write a song, and the song makes sense as a piano song with me singing quietly, I can put that right on the record. I don’t have to worry about if it’s going to work with a guitar solo, or if it needs to have a faster pace or something. That gives the songs more freedom to be what they’re supposed to be. It makes them stronger.


Listen to our favorite track from Out Calls Only below. You can find Donald Cumming's "Out Calls Only" in multiple formats here.  Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. FOLLOW AUTRE ON INSTAGRAM: @AUTREMAGAZINE


Psychomagic: An Adventure and Interview with Alejandro Jodorowsky

An Adventure and Interview with Alejandro Jodorowsky 

by ADARSHA BENJAMIN

Alejandro Jodorowsky is one of the great masters of surrealist cinema.  His trinity of violent, extraordinary and symbolic masterpieces – El Topo, Holy Mountain, and Santa Sangre – have made him into an icon. Jodorowsky is not only a cult filmmaker but also a poet, author, comic book writer and spiritual mystic who holds on to the mysteries of the universe like tightly-kept secrets only to be shared with those worthy of his message. Born to Ukrainian-Jewish parents in Chile in 1929, he eventually moved to Paris to become a mime. There, he was first introduced to the avant-garde movements of performance art and cinema. His first feature film, Fando y Lis, about a young man and his paraplegic sister on an odyssey through a post-apocalyptic landscape searching for a mythological city called Tar, was beset by riots when it came out in the theater. His subsequent films proved to be midnight cult hits that earned Jodorowsky the status of legendary cineaste.  A spiritual guru, Jodorowsky heals deep-rooted psychological wounds with something he calls “psychomagic.” He has written two books on the subject; Psychomagic: The Sacred Trap and The Dance of Reality – an adaptation of which is set to start filming later this year.  Here is the story of my afternoon with Alejandro Jodorowsky. 

––––

I’m locked out of the apartment I’m staying in in Paris.  I don’t have my wallet. I have one roll of film rolling around the bottom of my bag. It’s raining. Alejandro Jodorowsky’s apartment is one hour away and I have twenty minutes to get there. No money for a metro ticket, since my wallet is locked inside the apartment I am locked out of.  Like an angel from above, a nice French gentleman hands me a ticket. Small success. I run to the metro, but get lost. I find my way by memory.  The last time I visited his apartment was on a trip with James Franco and his producer Vince Jolivette to discuss a potential creative collaboration. During that meeting, he chose three Tarot cards for me, which to this day enlighten and heal a certain side of myself, and have further inspired my artistic vision. This time around, I’m alone to photograph Jodorowsky for this story and for a future photographic series.  I arrive at his building. I’m thirty minutes late. I ring the buzzer.

 “Bonjour?”

“Bonjour Alejandro, it’s Adarsha.”

“Adarsha?”

“Yes.

“Okay.”

He tells me to come to the fourth floor – in Spanish.  I walk up the same familiar dark winding staircase. Last time, I was nervous and laughing hysterically the entire way up the spiral staircase. This time I’m out of breath, wet as a dog, and completely out of my mind with jetlag. Light peeks under the door. The hallway smells a bit funny. He opens the door and greets me kindly. The light inside is warm. Yellow Paris lights. I look around. I remember all the books. He leads me into the office. Pointing to a clock, he diplomatically acknowledges my tardiness. “Why yes, Alejandro Jodorowsky, I was thirty minutes late.” He doesn’t really mind. We move on. I’m here to photograph. He sits by the window. There is not much light. Remember, one roll of film. It’s also gray and rainy outside – Parisian skies.  A little lamp suffices. I pull out my little Honeywell.  He laughs at my modest camera. It’s a laugh of camaraderie. After all, he is an underground filmmaker, and I could only imagine some sense of nostalgia rushed over him in that moment. Snap. Snap. Snap. I take some portraits. We talk about film, but other than that it is mainly silent – silent, but comfortable.  We move to a room of plants – orchids, succulents, and cacti.  He points to a giant Bonsai. “They were once tiny plants.” “Bonsai?” I ask. “Yes!” “Now they grow,” he says wisely. His apartment is a living testament to his creative endeavors. The original film reels from Holy Mountain and El Topo sit on the bookshelf behind him. I take a few more pictures. He hands me a book of his – in Spanish – artwork from a previous, botched albeit grandiose attempt to adapt the 1965 science fiction novel Dune by Frank Herbert.  Jodorowsky had planned to film the adaptation as a ten-hour feature starring Salvador Dalí, Orson Welles, Gloria Swanson and Mick Jagger.  Dune was later adapted by David Lynch in 1981 and panned by critics and audiences alike. I wrap up shooting – the film is almost done. I take one final photograph of both Jodorowsky and myself – kind of a self-portrait – a reminder to myself that I was there, in that magical moment, with one of the greatest artists of our time. There are not many words to describe an artist – a man – like Alejandro Jodorowsky.  I leave his apartment – back into the Paris streets – past the opera house at Bastille – into oblivion and beyond. Once again, this magic man has further enlightened my path as an artist, without even trying. I asked him to choose three tarot cards for the future of art, and I hope in their mystical alliance you also find a token of inspiration to heal a side of yourself that may have been locked or dormant. I think silently, this is Alejandro’s wish as well.

What is it about cinema that is so important? 

Cinema is a goddess becoming a bitch for the industry. Just as Christ has been converted by the masked pedophile priests. In the kingdom of dreams, the Gods are significant. Being the supreme being of art and film, the one which encompasses all the other arts, which is vital for the rise of our spirits. But now it is poisoned. 

Can you remember the first moment you wanted to make films or what brought you to want to make films?

When I was seven years old I saw, The Hunchback of Notre Dame from the genius Charles Laughton. And Frankenstein, performed by the genius Boris Karloff. I wanted to become one of those two monsters; I spent the entire day making horrible faces.

How did your collaboration with John Lennon come about and what was it like working with him?

I never worked with John Lennon. He saw my film El Topo and he admired my work. Yoko Ono said I was a filmmaker ahead by thirty years. They decided to help socially and economically. Thanks to them I got to debut El Topo at the Elgin Theater. As well thankful for Alain Klein, who was his producer at ABKO, gave me a million dollars to do what I wanted to do.... I made Holy Mountain.

Who are some of your favorite poets?

Lao-Tse, because besides being a poet he was a scholar. And Heraclitus, because besides being a scholar he was a poet.

Who do you admire working in film today? Is there anyone who you think is doing truly groundbreaking work?

Nicolas Winding Refn. Bronson and Drive.

What do you see as the most important lesson that a young artist can learn these days?

Don’t make movies to make money, but to find your soul. Never work for the bureaucrats in Hollywood.


"I don´t think with ideas, but with my testicles. I don´t search, I ejaculate."


What have been the biggest misconceptions about you and your films?

Sólo pedos de culos que se creen cerebros. 

How do you think of new ideas for your comic books? 

I don´t think with ideas, but with my testicles. I don´t search, I ejaculate.  

Can you describe an interesting anecdote you’ve encountered during your psychomagic sessions?

A guru who had many followers came to see me. He asked me for a remedy to sleep because he suffered from insomnia. Surprisingly, I took him into my arms and made him suck on a baby’s bottle. He then burst into tears like a baby. Nobody could silence him. I had to hypnotize him to make him sleep.

Can society today still learn from psychomagic? 

Obviously, the psychomagic of individuals is passed to the social psychomagic. The countries are sick, like children. We have to make them grow so we can be a planet.

What art forms do you think represent the now?

The spiritual kiss. 

What does the future look like to you?

There is no future. We live in the eternal present. And this present is marvelous. As the world is, not as the world has been. If a cup of gold has mud, gold still remains.

If you were to choose three tarot cards for the coming ages, for the future of art and film, which ones would they be?

18, La Luna. 19, El Sol. 21, El Mundo. 


Alejandro Jodorowsky's epic story of his emigration from the Ukraine to Chile amidst the political and cultural upheavals of the 19th and 20th centuries is told in fantastical, mythic form in the new book Where the Bird Sings Best. Jodorowsky’s book transforms family history into heroic legend: incestuous beekeepers hide their crime with a living cloak of bees, a czar fakes his own death to live as a hermit amongst the animals, a devout grandfather confides only in the ghost of a wise rabbi, a transgender ballerina with a voracious sexual appetite holds a would-be saint in thrall. This interview was originally published in Autre Issue 2 (2012). Text, interview and photographs by Adarsha Benjamin. 



"To Hide To Show" A Group Exhibition That Explores the Nature of Hiding and Revealing: An Interview With the Artists

Opening tomorrow night in Los Angeles, MAMA gallery will present To Hide To Show, a group exhibition derived from a contemporary French social anthropological study entitled Montrer / Occulter, which loosely translates to the exhibition’s title. The artists chosen to represent the ideas and concepts behind this study, and its conclusions, experiment with the notion of concealing and revealing on a societal, intellectual and creative basis. These artists include Clara Balzary, Zoe Crosher, Nana Ghana, Ariana Papademetropoulos, Mattea Perrotta, Fay Ray, Lisa Solberg, and Johanna Tagada. The concept of hiding and showing lends itself as a true analysis of the assembling and dissection of the human psyche, in a constant battle between order and sabotage, between how we present our true self to the world and how we feel about inner self – the dark ghost that is always haunting from within. In To Hide To Show, the artists are interpreting these multi-dimensional, anthropological, psychological and metaphysical concepts using varying degrees of personal reflection, historical reference, visual language and controlled performance. To Hide To Show is the idea that concealment is to make something sacred and exposure of that sacredness is equal to degradation. To be revealed in this exhibition are the artists' artifacts of what they hold sacred while at the same time what they choose to defile.

Read the following Q&As to learn more about each artist in the exhibition…


JOHANNA TAGADA

                                                   photo by Jatinder Singh Durhailay

WHERE ARE YOU FROM? From a tiny village in east France.  Now based in London.

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION: Nature, daily life, feelings and traditions.

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD:  A chance for "places"? My lover's arms; Nara in Japan and all the small villages near by; my grandparents’ farmhouse.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Painting. I also do drawing, photography, video, publishing, sculpture, textile and installation.

MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH: I enjoy very much working with all mediums mentioned above and I look forward to do more modular sculptures. In a conversation with LA based BOOK STAND earlier this year I said "It is important to question the physicality of the medium with which I am involved. It can be something difficult, for example, one of my main mediums is painting, which has such a big tradition, but that is also so often seen again and again as “dead.”  Push the reflection further, compose, question, endlessly, and yet keep it simple and understandable on various levels. I like to create a dialogue between the various mediums with which I am composing in my body of work. Every thing is connected, my paintings are like the roots, my photographs might reveal the seeds, my publications are the branches that are like traces of the growth of the tree, the videos and installations pieces are like the blooming flowers of my work that are only seen occasionally and that should be enjoyed together as a whole."

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: The world.

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE:  What do you call "strange?" Here is something happy and unexpected: Meeting Yoshitomo Nara, one of my favorite artists and assisting him for his lecture on the occasion of his retrospective at the Dairy Art Center in London last fall.

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? Insecurity.

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING? Positive feelings, happy memories.

WHAT’S NEXT? Épistolaire Imaginaire - Les Fleures du Japon: a solo exhibition and the U.S. introduction of my piece Épistolaire Imaginaire (it first premiered in Tokyo, July 2014) opening on July 11th at at IKO IKO x BUILDING BLOCKS (LA) in collaboration with BOOK STAND.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS? Working on projects and exhibitions through which I can bring positivity to people's lives. I truly hope for my work to be a trigger, softly, like a warm hug pushing people to make positive and meaningful changes. Despite my soft and tender imagery, the ideals I pursue as a human, as an artist, require hard work and strength. For my artistic practice and lifestyle I am inspired by the way of life from my ancestors, I do best to apply this to the period of time in which we live. Such decisions for example imply saying no to mass produced food and clothes, creating my publishing work with acid free paper, binding them by hand, it's a little like being a Poetic "Punk". I am very attached to nature and I do not believe in a hierarchy system in which the human sits on top. Therefore life choices such as being Vegan are relevant to my body of work.

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY: Oneness


MATTEA PERROTA

 

WHERE ARE YOU FROM? Venice Beach, California 

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION?  Anywhere and everywhere. It’s all in the tiny details of what is existing in our peripheral, and what we choose to take note of. Curiosity inspires my work most. 

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: Any ocean.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Oil.

WHAT IS THE MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH? Bronze, plaster, wood. 

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: Being comfortable sharing what is hidden. I often times have these moments and think, “what the fuck am I doing?” This is always a break through moment for me because I go deep into my unconscious when I work and lose sight of my reality. I work from emotion, pleasure and use my work as a vehicle to understand what the hell is going on around me. When I take a step back and leave my unconscious is when I’m tested. It’s what I’m revealing about my hidden emotions and seeing this abstract emotion painted on a tangible object is wild. Sometimes it works and can exist in my reality, and often times I’m not ready to share it. Vulnerability is difficult for me, but my work has helped me become okay with sharing what I’m hiding.

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE:  Anytime someone asks you what your painting means.

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? I won’t tell. We’re all hiding something, aren’t we? These things are what make us more complex and interesting individually.

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING?  Life is very, very complicated. I’m trying to understand the absurdity and beauty of it all through my work. 

WHAT’S NEXT:  I’m currently at Al Maqam Artist Residency in Marrakech working on a new oil series for a fall exhibition. I’ll also be showing work alongside a handful of Moroccan and French Artists in San Francisco this October.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS: That’s difficult to say considering I barely know what I’m doing tomorrow. I only work when inspiration strikes. I hope to be traveling and understanding more about the world, being inspired from the places I visit and people that cross my path. The unconscious comes to me during these moments, and these are the moments that get me in the studio creating. I see myself working on large-scale paintings and working 3-dimensionally with plaster or wood. I’d love for these two mediums to have a relationship and co-exist in the same space.

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY: “This whole world is wild at heart and weird on top,” David Lynch.


NANA GHANA

WHERE ARE YOU FROM? I am from a coastal village called Bakaano in Ghana West Africa

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION? I look for inspiration from everyday life, people, places and things.

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: Favorite place in the whole world? Hard to say, there are many places I still haven’t been yet, I guess it be in the arms of my lover.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Performance art and filmmaking.

WHAT IS A MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH? The medium I like to be working in is exactly the medium I am in right now: performance and filmmaking

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: The greatest discovery thus far as an artist is that that the path of the artist is a spiritual journey.

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE:  Strangest experience as an artist, like Jim Morrison said, “People are Strange.”

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? Nothing

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING? Everything…take it all.

WHAT’S NEXT: Keep doing dope projects with amazing people and sending African Alien Mermaid vibes to ALL.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS:  In five years….Keep on doing what I'm doing but get to higher levels…Cause there are levels to this shit!

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY: Life is a feeling process…I love Feeling…feeling it all.


LISA SOLBERG

WHERE ARE YOU FROM? Chicago.

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION? Everywhere… boring, but true.

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: Iceland or Indo.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Oil paint, ballpoint pen.

WHAT IS A MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH? Black sand.

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: Beauty.

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE: Saying I’m an artist.

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? It would ruin the show if I said! 

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING: I like the unexpected.

WHAT’S NEXT?  I’m doing a performance based installation/strip club, pimping out a snowcat in Utah, exhibiting a new show at 24HR PSYCHIC, and continuing to write on the side.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS:  With a secondary studio on a bunch of land out in nature someplace.

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY: Go big or go home!


CLARA BALZARY

WHERE ARE YOU FROM: Los Angeles, CA.

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION: Books, films, and out the window.  

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: The south in the summer. 

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Photography. 

WHAT IS A MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH? Writing. 

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: That to dig deep into your own work isn’t always all that dissimilar from a 9 - 5 job. 

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE: Going on trips up north alone to take photos and realizing I hadn’t spoken out loud for days. 

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? Boring light. 

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING: That Oooh heaven is a place on earth!

WHAT’S NEXT: Breaking away from shooting pretty girls by default. 

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS? On the southern coast of Italy dressed like Truman Capote. 

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY: Life’ll kill ya. 


FAY RAY

WHERE ARE YOU FROM? Southern Califronia

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION: Rocks.

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: Any beach.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Photography

GREATEST DISCOVER AS AN ARTIST?  If you keep making work, you learn things about materials, process and meaning and if you stop making work you don't.

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE: It's all strange.

WHAT'S NEXT: I am in a group show in Miami titled Bananas at Gallery Diet in Miami from June 19 to September 5th

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS? My only hope is to still be making art and to be grateful for whatever is going on at the time.

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY: Reward yourself often.


ZOE CROSHER

WHERE ARE YOU FROM: I was born in Santa Rosa in Northern California, but never lived there, growing up the daughter of a diplomat. I often describe my life as covering the Cold War Hot Spots - Germany in the late 70s, Moscow in the early 80s, Athens in the mid/late 80s. I spent the last few years in High School in suburban MD (years I have basically blanked out.) Then I did the rebellious thing of going to UCSC, while my parents went on to live in Seoul, Korea in the mid-90s, where I did spend a junior semester abroad. CalArts called me for my MFA, which is how I moved down to the Los Angeles area.

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION: It depends on what time of day and what day of the week! Generally cinema and architecture (particularly about Los Angeles, and particularly from the 70s and 80s) inspires me, as does work that collapses theory and inspiration. Really good art writing can light a fire as well. Ladies who own who they are, have agency and are generous in nature, who really find their own course, are an endless inspiration. Recently, I’m overwhelmingly moved by someone known only as “Madame” from Lotusland - Madame Ganna Walska  (please see here for more). I learned about her while doing a small residency up at the stunning garden in Santa Barbara. Just read her bio to see why I’m so inspired - she is noted for selling a million dollars worth of her jewels in the 70s to buy super rare cycad seeds to complete her gardens. She made her own clothes, staged her own plays, had numerous husbands, built out her fantasy world - she even wrote an autobiography called ‘There’s Always Room At The Top’. I think she even helped start the Audubon Society, to stop millineries from decimating birds for hats! Along with lady eccentrics, my current obsession right now is tending towards gardens - I’m thinking a lot about what gardens and art collections have a lot in common - constantly fighting entropy, chaos, decay, collecting, endlessly archiving, etc.

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: I’m defaulting to the Ice Hotel for some reason right now. Perhaps it’s a conversation from tonight, speaking to a lady who is getting married and on the fence about taking a honeymoon. It is something I didn’t do right after getting married, which I regret - and for some reason I always thought going to the Ice Hotel in Sweden would have been amazing (it harkens back to a childhood fantasy in Superman, when I fell in love with his crystal palace, appropriately called The Fortress of Solitude.)  I also default to a fantasy Italian villa that is rustic and perfect, complete with the food and wine that magically appears in between siestas, long walks and other distractions.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Right now, I’m terming something I’m calling the IMAGIATIC - as opposed to the “photographic”. I come out of a photography background, but have always felt limited by the terms of it, terms which have in the last few years melted away. But instead of tending towards this sort of New Materiality that so many of the formerly photographically-inclined in Los Angeles do, I’m tending towards a more expanded field of photography that I am terming the IMAGIATIC - concerned with the imaginary, the image, etc. The medium itself doesn’t matter, it’s almost a conceptual conceit. Thus I’m engaged now in sculpture (natural bronze), fools gold dust, desserts, billboards, compositions, publications, and still of course images as photographs, anything that engages with the imaginary of Los Angeles. For it is not the medium that determines the message, it’s the imaginary that does.

WHAT IS A MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH? I’ve already jumped into it - and am learning an infinite amount right now about bronzing.

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: Walking into Yayoi Kusama’s Infinity Room at Robert Miller Gallery when it first was shown - before the Whitney, before its infamy. I was in NYC, somewhat annoyed and downtrodden about the commodification of Chelsea, when I fell into a line to go into this nondescript  trailer sort of thing. I remember being so annoyed at having to wait in line (and it was a very short line back then), then only to discover the life and mind-bending perfect art moment. Discovering that piece, discovering the potential of art, discovering the promise of Art, it was a joy I will never forget. And it is a joy that keeps me going through the dark days of the current art world.

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? How angry I am at/with the extreme and horrendous level of sexism that exists in the art world. And how crazy it makes me that so many women with power perpetuate this sexism.

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING? My endless enthusiasm.

WHAT’S NEXT? Bronzing all these “blossoms” from various disappearing and rare plants from the Lotusland Garden. A lot of these incredible plants do a sort of last hurrah dance, with reproductive organs (sex parts!) that grow sometimes ten times the size of the plant itself, going full out right before the plant dies! I’m collecting all these blossoms, both male and female, from super small blossoms to super huge pieces - it’s been quite an amazing experience to work with these incredibly rare and extensive gardens. I am also continuing my conceptual mapping of Los Angeles, this time through its discarded palm fronds. Ideally this project consists of about a hundred natural bronze palm frond sculptures, all of which are unique and named according to where they were found in and around Los Angeles. There will be an exhibition of a handful of them at LAXART, opening on September 12th.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS:  Similar to my life now, but at a more expansive scale. I already have in mind the things I want to do and make, and I have tasted what is possible when there is real support behind a project. I think expansively, from huge, harrowing archives to cross-country billboard projects. Right now I’m trying to figure out how to get Swarovski involved in the crystalizing of one of the entropic Shangri-LA’d walls I’m commissioning, which I’d love to have produced all over the world (I want to see what a London florist will do vs. a San Paulo florist will do, when given the challenge to create their fantasy of Los Angeles, in any way they want, as a wall of flora and fauna.) I’d love to find the right place of support where the means and ways can catch up to what I already see and imagine in my head - and it is something I can’t wait to realize. It’s an inspiring time right now in my practice.

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY?  Don’t confuse the personal and the professional - make sure your true intimates have nothing to do (or as little to do) with your work life as possible. In a time when so much is privately and publicly collapsed, it’s hard to tell why someone might engage with you. When it comes to your home and romantic life, take that ‘what can you do for me’ and whatever power question completely out of the running. Make your personal life about something more than what you do.


ARIANA PAPADEMETROPOULOS 

WHERE ARE YOU FROM: Pasadena and Venice California.

WHERE DO YOU LOOK FOR INSPIRATION: The more I think about it the more I realize that it’s very difficult to pinpoint. It’s not from being in my studio this I know, it’s from experiencing life outside of it, anywhere from attending a lizard convention, to a castle or a gun club. I would say that it stems from anything out of the ordinary, but even the ordinary can be really, really strange. If I am on a deadline and need to come up with something quickly I’ll go to places with a concentrated amount of information, i.e. library or museum, the optimal place being The Huntington Gardens that contains a bit of everything.

FAVORITE PLACE IN THE WORLD: The Greek Islands.

CHOSEN MEDIUM: Oil paint.

WHAT IS A MEDIUM THAT YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE WORKING WITH? Electricity. I would love to start making marvelous light fixtures.

GREATEST DISCOVERY AS AN ARTIST: That a painting can possess you.

STRANGEST EXPERIENCE: Last year I co-curated a show where I planned out a séance with Andy Warhol for the artist Jeffrey Vallance. Before the show, the medium, Joseph Ross and I got into a little quarrel.  We had originally agreed he would be dressed in normal attire (not actually normal he wears fabulous purple suits and feathers in his hats resembling a 90s pimp) but that he wouldn’t be in a costume of Andy Warhol. This was so that the audience wouldn’t think we were phonies.  Anyhow, an hour before the séance is to begin, he tells me that Andy has communicated to him that he refuses to be channeled unless Joseph gets an outfit and a wig. I couldn’t argue with a ghost, especially not Andy Warhol; so he got his way. Later I found out that Andy Warhol would sometimes have impersonators of himself do lectures for him at schools in his wigged disguise.

WHAT ARE YOU HIDING? The taboo, the kitsch, kinky, and strange. Darkness, death and mortality.

WHAT ARE YOU REVEALING? An attractive palate of colors that distracts the viewer. Only the curious realize there’s more to what the surface layer of my paintings conceal. Sometimes it’s a midget handing a zucchini to Snow White from an Italian Snow White porno, or a dead man that’s been so brutally murdered he has become an abstraction.

WHAT’S NEXT?  I’m illustrating a children’s book, recreating the vintage board game Snakes and Ladders and designing a few record covers I’m very excited about. I also have a solo show in Sonoma in a few weeks.

WHERE DO YOU SEE YOURSELF AS AN ARTIST IN FIVE YEARS:  Hopefully living in a hobbit / storybook home I’ve built.

A QUOTE OR SENTIMENT TO LIVE BY? My high school quote was “If you’re having a terrible day, just pour a bag of glitter in front of a fan and live in paradise”, and I think that’s still a pretty good quote to live by. Although I meant it literally at the time, I think it means that you don’t need much to be happy except for a little effort and a good attitude. 


TO HIDE TO SHOW will open on June 13th and will be on view until July 25, 2015 at MAMA Gallery, 1242 Palmetto Street, Los Angeles, California. Interviews by Oliver Maxwell Kupper. Stay up to date, follow Autre on Instagram: @AUTREMAGAZINE


Traces In the Snow: An Interview with Photographer Isabelle Wenzel

German-based artist Isabelle Wenzel creates colorful sets on which to enact bodily performances, the evidence of which appear only as fixed photographs. These final images depict women’s bodies fragmented and abstracted like mannequines whose limbs have not yet been pieced together. Wenzel’s figures appear inanimate, like sculptures on a plinth, but convey a sense of action, like a dancer on the cusp of movement. This oscilation between animate and inamate invokes the uncanny, pulling the viewer into a space that is both visceral and psychological. In the following interview, Wenzel talks about her process, philosophies and next projects.

Abbey Meaker: There appears to be strong performative elements in your photographs; is this intentional, and if so, can you explain the importance of performance in your process/final works? 

Isabelle Wenzel: Actually I do have a performance background. Since the age of 6 I had intense acrobatic training. I discovered photography as a medium quite late at the age of 21. I like the idea of having a performance without an audience and just showing the material evidence of this event. So my everyday routine comes still very close to performance. While photographing I’m not really looking much into the camera, I try to shape a form with my body and use photography as a technical devise only. With photography I see myself able to create an illusionary room that at the same time witnesses an action that has happened in the past. I like that photography has this indexical character. Photographs are like traces in the snow where you know that these traces belong to someone in particular. I like that photography points back in time.

One could say I’m performing an act of trial and error. Even though that my outcome is a two dimensional image I’m personally more interested in the processes behind. You have to imagine me pressing the button of the camera, running in position, having some seconds time till it clicks. Then I quickly check the outcome on the screen and repeat the action till I get to a satisfying outcome. Certainly I could use a remote release but I like this pressure of time. It pushes my creativity.

AM: The figures in your images have a sculptural quality, and although they are often wearing skirts, tights, and high heels, the qualities we associate with sexualized images of women are basically concealed. These women are fragmented, uncanny in their inanimate-like poses. Can you speak to these themes? 

IW: On one hand I'm very concerned about the signs I'm using, on the other hand I do think as an artist you do not have to be politically correct all the time and it's also not my function to explain everything. I do create my images out of an inner logic and there is no right or wrong in a rational way. You could say that I catalyze things I see in my surrounding, especially things I do not understand; gender is one of these things. And yes; sometimes I do feel a discomfort about that, too.


"Most of the time I don’t know how to start, so I stop thinking about it and just get started. I work a lot with improvisation. I also often look at my own work and wonder how I can push my ideas further. It’s really difficult to explain where my ideas are coming from but mainly it’s about not getting stuck."


AM: Are there specific theories or philosophies that inform your work? 

IW: I don’t know. Maybe there are theories matching with my way of thinking. But this is nothing of primary importance to me. I’m busy with visual language and don’t think it’s possible to translate this entirely into spoken words. I do think I’m acting like a catalyzer of my surrounding. Also there is not only one truth, I do believe that there are several ways of how to interpret my work. Even for myself meanings are changing depending on how I look at it. Let’s say I do believe in a non-logical world or in a world, which is not always explainable with logic. What is true cannot always be seen, and what we see is not always true.

AM: Are there artists whose work have been influential to your art practice? How do their concepts relate to or differ from those you employ? 

IW: I appreciate a lot to meet other artists at their studio and vice versa. To talk about work process and the personal art praxis is as important as exchanging ideas and how to encounter difficulties. And certainly other works of art inspires me, too. It’s not important that they do have necessary something to do with my own work. For me the best works are those which succeed in making me reflect about myself and at the same time I’m not really able to understand the work or the intention behind it. If I see a work that triggers this feeling in me I get a strong desire to create something new. Most of the time I don’t know how to start, so I stop thinking about it and just get started. I work a lot with improvisation. I also often look at my own work and wonder how I can push my ideas further. It’s really difficult to explain where my ideas are coming from but mainly it’s about not getting stuck. Because movement is progress. If I’m stuck with my ideas I find a strategy how to trigger my creativity. For example with my current work I decided after five years of only working in the studio to leave it and to face landscape and public.

AM: What is next for you -- are you working on anything new that you'd like to discuss? 

IW: I’m currently working on a body of work that investigates the representation of my own movements. Before I often intended to capture the perfect moment in order to shape my body like a sculpture, now I intent to look at the intervals of a certain movement. It’s on one hand an investigation on movement in general and on the other how this fascination constitutes my work. And again I use the ‘photographic’ eye as an imagination machine where I double, triple myself mechanical without sticking to a chronological order.  The outcomes are instantaneous proofs of my actions.


You can catch Isabelle Wenzel giving lessons on how to create the ideal posture for portraits at Villa Zebra in the Netherlands. Her next projects include participation in the Platform Platvorm exhibition, which will be on view from June 6 until June 28, 2015 at BART INVITES Bloemgracht 2 Amsterdam. In the fall, you can see her new series, 'Transformations,' at the Unseen Photo Fair in Amsterdam. text and interview by Abbey Meaker. FOLLOW AUTRE ON INSTAGRAM TO STAY UP TO DATE: @AUTREMAGAZINE


The Substance of Ideas: An Interview with Photographer Roger Ballen

Roger Ballen captures an almost unimaginable world and is a legend in the world of photography. For the last thirty years, Ballen has extensively photographed the fascinating and sometimes violent existence of people living in small villages, or ‘dorps,’ which are found in clusters throughout rural South Africa. With a doctorate in geology, the photographer oscillates between a poet and an anthropologist, exploring a deeper, stranger, and darker side of the human condition. Upon leaving New York in the early 1970s, Ballen expatriated himself to South Africa. To date, he has exhibited his photographs internationally and some of his images have become iconic in the photographic canon. Back in March, Phaidon released the second edition of his seminal book "Outland," which brings together nearly thirty years of the photographer’s work. An exhibition of Ballen’s current series entitled “Asylum of the Birds” is now on view at Galerie Karstan Greve in Cologne, Germany. The new series is pushing even further into the metaphorical from the more literal portrait work of the photographer’s early career. In the late 1990s you can see a clear shift beginning to emerge. In the following interview, Ballen discusses the strange world he captures with his camera, the importance of substance in ideas, and his new photographic series. 

Autre: So, I guess my first question – to dive right in – is when did you pick up a camera and decide to venture into the subject matter you have been exploring for roughly twenty years? 

Roger Ballen: I got interested in photography as an adolescent. My first attempt to try to express myself with a camera came in 1968. When I graduated from high school, my family gave me a Nikon camera. I remember taking that camera and going out like a bullet out of a gun, trying to find a way to make pictures. I was trying to emulate some of the Magnum people who influenced me, created a basic foundation for my work—Kertész wasn’t a part of Magnum, but Cartier-Bresson, Elliott Erwit. It’s been a gradual, step-by-step process. I guess I’ve been doing pictures now for fifty years. It’s one step leading to the next step. But sometimes the steps are bigger and some are smaller. The crucial time probably came in about ’96, ’97 when I was doing the Outland book. I started to see myself as an artist as much as a photographer, expressing my aesthetic rather than necessarily expressing the aesthetic of the subject matter itself.

OK: Speaking of big steps, what prompted your move to South Africa?

RB: In 1973, my mother died, and I was quite restless. I liked traveling.  But life in ’73 isn’t what it is now. I’d been in a plane a few times in my life, so people did travel in the same way, but you lived a much more sedentary existence. So I was going to go away for three months and I ended up going for five years. I hitchhiked from Cairo to Cape Town in ’74. I got here, I found it interesting, I met my future wife, and a few other things. Then, I ended up doing a trip from Istanbul to New Guinea by land. Then, I went back to the United States in ’77 to do a Ph. D. in the geological field at the Colorado School of Mines. I graduated there in ’81, and then I came back here. I found the country interesting, and my wife was from here. From the point of view of geology, the thing in which I had a profession, it was a great place to work.

OK: Discovering these areas where you shoot, were they difficult to stumble upon?

RB: From 1982-84 I worked exclusively in the countryside here. It wasn’t easy—the people in the towns here weren’t very well populated. You drove around trying to find subjects and peoples and places. Then, you’d have to get out of the car and talk to somebody. The key moment, and one of the most important moments in my career, came during the early ‘80s. It had a lot to do with these places not being very well-frequented by other people, and being haunting and cloudless. I used to drive around—I was in these places doing geology and photography at the same time. It was getting pretty boring sitting in the car with such a bright sun. You can probably find it in parts of California in the summertime. I then decided to knock on people’s doors, and I started to go inside. That was metaphorically and physically a big step. I found the motifs. I started using a flash. I found the subject matters. I started using a square format then. So this was the big step that happened in ’83, ’84 that created the foundation for the later work in so many ways.

OK: I’ve been a major fan of your work for a long time. Before I did this magazine, I studied photography. I remember growing up and looking at your books.

RB: That’s terrific. It’s always good to hear this. I’m on the bottom of the planet, here. One of the reasons I feel I’ve created a unique aesthetic is that I never really got that involved in the art world. I know the history of photography super well, art too. But it was really just a matter of myself relating to myself. I didn’t go to exhibitions. I was basically isolated.

OK: It reminds me a bit of William Eggleston. He wasn’t part of the art world. He wasn’t part of this world that was so ready to accept his work. He was from the South. So it seems when you’re too insular in that world, it’s difficult to develop a voice.

RB: It’s gotten more and more difficult, when there are trillions of pictures taken. I had a foot in two worlds. I had the pre-Internet world that I grew up in, the film world, and I developed that. I still use the same camera from 1982. I’m still using film—the same camera, the same format, everything. I go back to when I was younger—I travelled the world. Now, I go back to the same nail on the wall and try to knock it in deeper. People don’t have any patience. They want instantaneous results. The photograph itself is an instantaneous process—it’s not like chiseling away at a marble rock to make a sculpture. People don’t have a concentration.

OK: I think, eventually, it’s going to become a situation where there’s a direct delineation between everyone being a photographer and real photography. I think there’s going to be more of delineation between those two things. It’s going to be less saturated.

RB: Unfortunately, the problem is who judges. A lot of people in this business grew up in the newer generation and they tend to try to find new angles and edges that are basically technological, that are focused on just the idea rather than the substance of the idea. The substance of the idea, to me, is crucial to good art. You don’t hear about that too much. You don’t hear about metaphor, depth, indescribably parts of the psyche. It’s gimmick of the gimmick. That’s the problem—how we judge this stuff. How does something good in this situation, in this imagery, rise to the surface? It’s a real battle. I wouldn’t want to suggest to a friend of mine or my children to go into this battle without another profession.

OK: It’s a really interesting battle. And speaking of metaphor, I want to talk about how your work, in the beginning, was very literal, very portrait-oriented. In the ‘90s, it became much more poetic and metaphorical. What prompted that shift?

RB: It’s very hard to say. Maybe it was confidence. Maybe it was a step forward—one picture would build on the next picture would build on the next picture. I started to find my aim. It wasn’t that I saw some pictures and said, “I want to be like that.” It was really a step-by-step process. You can see that in the Outland book. If you look at the early Outland work in ’95, ’96, there’s less of a link to the plot of that work. It’s a lot more documentary and portraiture. And then beginning in ’97, there seems to be a “fear of the absurd” taking place. That’s where that break started to happen. I don’t know what lead to that break. I started to ask different questions. The central question was, is chaos more prominent in the human condition? I was asking a philosophical question, to myself in some way. Also, I guess if I had to say who influenced me—people always get it wrong. They think people like Diane Arbus or somebody like this. But it was actually Beckett. Beckett in the Outland period had the most influence in terms of what I was trying to achieve. I was trying to understand something absurd, trying to probe into the human condition, not necessarily probe into the social and political condition of poor whites in South Africa. 

OK: There’s a direct difference between what Arbus is doing and what you’re doing. It seems like there’s more of a vision; it’s less exploitative. What do you say to people that say your work is similar?

RB: If there is any link to Arbus at all, it stopped in ’97. And then beginning in early 2002, 2003, there’s zero. This word exploitative is pathetic. It’s actually pathetic. It shows an inability to understand anything about photography. What does anybody know about being the subjects? They could have gotten on their hands and knees and begged me to take their picture. They could have paid me to take their picture. What does anybody know about these subjects? You’re looking at a visual statement. You’re not watching a TV program on somebody talking about their life. It’s an instantaneous moment. Nobody else could have taken pictures like me. It’s transformative. You’re looking at a two-dimensional object on a piece of paper, and it’s giving you some insight into your own psyche, maybe some sort of insight into the deeper issues of human experience. Bringing up the word exploitative… I’ve always told people who ask me this question that the people who say are actually the most affected. Psychologically, in a deeper way, the pictures break through their repressions, and they come at me with a projection or some sort of defensive mechanism to blame me for the crack in their psyche.

OK: I love that. You’re creating a document that’s really important. Edward Curtis, that 30-year document of Native Americans—we wouldn’t have that if it wasn’t for someone setting up their camera and spending that time to explore that subject matter. 

RB: I agree. People basically drop their pants when they talk like that. I think you know what I mean. They see, on the front of the newspaper, somebody dead on the street and the mother lying over the dead person crying—on TV, CNN, or in the newspaper. Is that great? What are you talking about? It’s hopeless. The pictures I take get into their head—that’s the difference. They’re blanked out about it. Just like going into the supermarket—four hundred dead chickens sitting there, nobody blinks an eye. But someone sees my Asylum of the Birds movie, that’s horrible. Look at the chickens’ heads being chopped off. This is what we live in. We could go on and on about predictions. It’s not even worth talking about.

OK: Speaking of your new series, “Asylum of the Birds.” I want to talk about that exhibition. What can we expect from those photographs? What can we experience with those photographs? 

RB: With Asylum of the Birds, it’s a much more abstract way of seeing the world. They’re layered, multi-dimensional photographs. They have opposite meanings. There’s the relationship with the birds, which have metaphoric symbols—it has basically the archetypal metaphoric symbol to it. And then there are a lot of drawings, which are hard to put a finger on what each drawing means, how each drawing relates to another drawing, how the drawings relate to the animals and the objects in the pictures. They’re very hard photographs to put words to. They have multiple metaphors. They’re very visual in nature. They’re hard to condense into any one way of deciphering. For myself, I wouldn’t want to say this or that. I commonly say that the best pictures don’t have words. If I do have words, the picture is not a good picture. I’m quite sure about that. People want to put a meaning of something into a package. If they can’t put it into a package, they get insecure.

OK: A lot of people are afraid of their own psyche. It’s really difficult for people to step outside of that. 

RB: Very difficult.

OK: And maybe the world would be a better place if people did.

RB: I say that the only way we’ll have an improvement in this world—this goes back to what I learned at Berkeley 40 years ago—people have to break their own repression, come to terms with their own interior, and become more integrated in their identity. Important art helps people do this in some way. But I don’t think art is the seer of the problem. It’s such a worldwide epidemic problem, and perhaps always has been. We can’t say that the chances for peace are any greater now than they were one hundred years ago. We live in a dangerous world, basically. 

OK: Is there anything else you’re working on now? 

RB: I’m working on two projects right now. One is a project that I refer to as “Apparitions.” Have you seen the Asylum of the Birds book. Look at the last couple of pages, you’ll see some of those photos. They’re two-dimensional photographs. They look like drawings, but they’re taken with black and white photography.

 OK: I love the Die Antwoord music video, by the way. I love that they were able to bring your work to a younger audience. Do you think was successful?

RB: It’s hard to believe, we got like 65 million hits. It’s incredible. I can’t believe it sometimes. It really got in people’s heads. I think it really worked well because most music videos are mono-dimensional in meaning. I think this had a multiple-level meaning that was accessible to people. There’s something deeper in it, but also something humorous in it. And the music fit the visual. It just came together. Some things just work out that way and sometimes they don’t. 

OK: It’s not the heyday for music videos.

RB: It’s terrible; it’s like photographs.

OK: It’s disposable. It’s consumable, and then that’s it. 

RB: That’s what I’m saying. People’s attention span is much different than it used to be. I don’t know. At age 65, I stopped guessing about the future. I don’t know one day from the next. I just take it as it comes and do my best and focus on what I’m doing. I can do my best to produce interesting art. The work has to have its own life. One doesn’t know what’s effective in all sorts of ways. I’m really satisfied that I’ve followed this career all those years. It’s quite fulfilling to see the work evolving over time. It’s like a diary.

OK: It’s a very rare, unique, and beautiful body of work. I really appreciate it. 

RB: Thank you. I really appreciate your time and interest. Be well.


Roger Ballen "Asylum of the Birds" will be on view at Galerie Karsten Greve Köln until August 29, 2015. Text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper


 

Healer of Civilization: An Interview With Pandrogyne Seer Genesis Breyer P'Orridge

After Genesis Breyer P’Orridge’s legendary “Prostitution” exhibition at the ICA in London – which included pornographic collages, bloody tampons, and prostitutes, transvestites, hustlers and punks intermingling with the audiences – P’Orridge was deemed a “wrecker of civilization” by House of Commons representative Nicholas Fairbairn. Coincidentally, at the same time that a debate was stirring in the Parliament and the House about the antics of P’Orridge and their neo-Dadaist art collective COUM Transmissions, they were in Kathmandu feeding and providing shelter for lepers, beggars and refugees at their own expense. Wrecker or healer – you decide. Indeed, Genesis has a mystical aura about them – they exist in a realm beyond music and beyond art, and they are truly one of this epoch’s great spiritual seers. Many people probably know Genesis from the brilliant documentary The Ballad of Genesis and Lady Jaye, which explores the artist's relationship with Lady Jaye and their pursuit to meld their identities into one using plastic surgery.  Genesis is also the founder of formative "industrial" bands Throbbing Gristle and Psychic TV. For Genesis, art and music are one commingling mechanism of their vast creative pursuits. In late 2015 and 2016, Genesis will have a number of major solo exhibitions from Zurich to New York. This weekend, though, you can catch Genesis at the Jackie Klempay gallery in Brooklyn where they will be holding a “Pandrogaragenous Avant-yard Sale.” Genesis will be blessing objects as they are purchased – objects like Lady Jaye’s “throne” for her late night joint (an Afghani bridal chair with matching end tables), Songe-power figures, a Balinese human-sized chicken cage in which Gen took many an out-of-body ritual trip, Lady Jaye’s Peter Fox shoes, designer platforms, bolero jackets, clothes galore, DVDs, CDs, 1960’s trinkets, guaranteed used dildos, whips and more. Autre was lucky enough to get a chance to speak to Genesis about rebellion, COUM Transmissions, the importance of the subculture, and more.

Oliver Maxwell Kupper: What were some of your earliest introductions to art? Was it a challenge to explore art where you grew up? Did you have to travel abroad, or to London?

Genesis P’Orridge: Actually, we didn’t get taught art at school after the age of ten. We had to do it all on our own. We used to persuade my parents to get one of these weekly magazines that creates an encyclopedia. It was the history of art from the Stone Age to Modern Art. We read that every week, and that’s how we educated ourselves about different forms and the historical trajectory of art. And then, we persuaded the art teacher of the young kids to let me use his studio space. He would make materials available, and that’s where we started to paint and make sculptures and objects. That’s where we really got much more into it. Through him, we found out about Dada and surrealism and got some Thames & Hudson books of all things. Basically, we got into it by trying to copy things. We did one surrealist painting to learn how they got that smooth effect. A lot of it was mimicking what we’d seen in order to learn the techniques at home.

OK: Was there any specific artists from that era—either Dadaism or surrealism—that inspired you?

GP: Yeah, Max Ernst was the one that inspired me to try my hand at collages. That’s one we’ve done all the time ever since. We still make collages regularly. The first big exhibition we had in New York was of collages—going back 30 years of collages. It was cool, 30 years of being cut up. So we’ve never stopped making collages and little objects and quirky little boxes with strange things in them. Since 2003, maybe a bit earlier, when we got to New York, we started to work with Lady Jaye and create the artist Breyer P’Orridge. We started to take photographs to document that. Then, we started to exhibit those as well. So it snowballed. Between the collages and the pandrogeny photographic work, we came back into the art world having been missing since the late 70s. Now, we make objects and multiples. We’ve got a solo exhibition in Zurich in September. In March next year, we have a solo show at Invisible Exports. Their booth at the Armory Show will all be Breyer P’Orridge, and the Rubin Museum will be doing a solo Breyer P’Orridge on our relationship with Nepal and Africa. Next year, we have a lot of art exhibitions happening.

OK: Going back a little bit to COUM Transmissions, there was a lot of political and cultural upheaval. Is there any one thing that you could pinpoint that created this atmosphere?

GP: That point of time in the 70s in Britain, and to an extent in the United States, was a time that was post-hippie. People started to look at these more cynically. You saw all the classic symptoms of something being wrong with society and culture. Bigotry, economic totalitarianism, racism, conditioning through advertising and mass media—the whole gallop, the haves and have nots. In Britain especially—we still have the class system with the monarchy. It was blatantly oppressive in every possible way. There were the very rich who were trying to maintain that at any price. Then, there were the people who were disenfranchised, who literally had no future that could be seen. You’ve got punk, you’ve got industrial—both sides of the Atlantic. It was a rebellion against inequality and domineering cultures in general with their techniques of control, usually intimidation.

OK: Why is the counter-culture important to you specifically? Why is counter-culture important to culture in general?

GP: It’s the think tank—always has been, always will be. In any culture, at any point in the history of our species, there are those who feel dissatisfied with the power structures, the dynamics of who has control over what resources, and who decides what the moral taboos are and are not. And all moral taboos and policing of sexuality are different in every country as you cross the planet. There’s no fixed truth. There’s no definite moral standard except try not to hurt anybody. Beyond that, it’s all arbitrary. As Burroughs used to say, “If you want to know what’s going on, look for the best at interest.” You can always find them. It’s really easy to spot people who like to keep things just the way they are, because they’re winning with that system.


"That attack was a cry of rage against all the hypocrisy and double standards and the ignorance of those who have power to change things for the better. We were pissed off. We wanted to confront them and create a dialogue, which did happen. But then things change. You can only do that for so long, and then it becomes just a formula. You’re doing what people expect—they come to see if you’re going to do something outrageous, and then it has no meaning."


OK: Some of your shows have had some pretty extreme reactions—arrests, outrage, deemed a wrecker of Western civilization. What was your reaction to these reactions?

GP: Actually, it was dismay. Not because we cared what they said, but because we could see how it could lead to us being restricted in what we said and what we did. Ultimately, that did happen with the government in 1991. We were told we couldn’t go home for seven years or more. We’ve got to be honest here, there’s a part of me that was kind of tickled. I thought it was really pretty funny that they were asking questions in Parliament about used tampons. There were editorials in daily newspapers trying to explain anti-art and performance art to the general public, and not doing it very well. One newspaper editorial said that Genesis P’Orridge is an evil monster who should be locked in a cage and the key thrown away. It went on and on like that, how vile and disgusting and evil we were. That’s a bit intimidating. Not so much when they say it, but you think, what happened to Johnny Rotten—he got attacked in the street because right wing thugs got wound up by what they read about him. There’s always that risk that somebody idiotic is going to attack you. But it comes with the territory, really. What can you do?

OK: Do you have any advice for artists pushing the envelope today? 

GP: Push it harder…Strategies change. COUM Transmissions was in the early 70s basically. That attack was a cry of rage against all the hypocrisy and double standards and the ignorance of those who have power to change things for the better. We were pissed off. We wanted to confront them and create a dialogue, which did happen. But then things change. You can only do that for so long, and then it becomes just a formula. You’re doing what people expect—they come to see if you’re going to do something outrageous, and then it has no meaning. Therefore, you’re not creating a dialogue, and so it’s failing. There’s sort of a curve of effectiveness for every strategy. You have to learn when to let go of that strategy and look at something else. We moved on to Thee Temple ov Psychick Youth and Magick, networking and setting up communities that were still outside the norm, ignoring the status quo. Saying, “What do we want to live like? What do we want our chosen tribe to try to believe? How do we want it to behave? How do we want to protect ourselves?” Then, you get to the point where you say, “Well, just looking after ourselves and building a little bubble where we actually live much more how we would like, how about everyone else who can’t do that?” You start to look at the world outside. That was when we went to Kathmandu and financed a soup kitchen for Tibetan refugees, lepers, and beggars at our own expense. For three months, we fed anyone who came—soup twice a day, with clean water and food. We got them through the winter so they survived. Ironically, that was when they were saying we were wrecking civilization and evil. They never mentioned, to this day, that we were working with Tibetan Buddhist monks in Nepal feeding and clothing people who had nothing.

OK: Improving the world.

GP: Yeah, improving the world. That’s what you get to. You realize, ultimately, it’s about evolution—how the species is going to evolve. Is it even possible for human beings to change their behavior and lose those immediate responses and ways of living? They’re so embedded from everyone’s culture inevitably—through the pressure of family, education, religion, and so on. You get to a point where it gets very spiritual and philosophical. It becomes a question of how we can modify human behavior in some way so that we stop damning ourselves as a species and do something fantastic, like colonize space.

 

OK: Do you think that’s where we’ll be in the future?

GP: If we don’t destroy ourselves first and end up like Mad Max. Those are the options, to me.

OK: Space or Mad Max… Music has been on the back-burner. Do you have any plans to get back to music or making music. 

GP: We just finished a tour, actually. We played a concert for peace in Kiev in the Ukraine. We played a concert for peace in Tel Aviv in Israel. We played in Italy and France and some other places. We’re even rehearsing tonight. We’re probably doing one concert this summer in New York, at Pioneer Works. And we’ll be touring again in the fall. We tour every year. We just released a brand new album called “Snakes” on Angry Love Recordings, which is our label. We’re still doing that, but we don’t make a lot of noise about it—no pun intended. We played with Aaron Dilloway two weeks ago, at the Red Bull Festival. We’re still out there playing away.

OK: You’re having a garage sale this weekend, and you’ll be blessing items. What can we expect from this event? Is there anything particularly meaningful to you that you’re giving away or blessing? 

GP: We’ve been to West Africa twice, to Benin. We’ve been working on a documentary about voodoo. You see the poverty. You see the inequity of Western cultures and foreign cultures. To have a surplus and look around my apartment and say, “Why have I still got all those things?” We just don’t see them when we walk around. They’re on our shelf, but we don’t look anymore. The clothes are in a closet, but we don’t wear them anymore. The books are on the shelf, but we’ve read them. Why are we bothering to keep those things when a) they could give pleasure to someone else and be reactivated, and b) the money could go to something much more positive and creative. It can make new things happen. So it becomes awkward having too much when you come from somewhere like Nepal where people have got nothing. You feel somewhat obscene. No matter how magnanimous and altruistic you are, no matter how much you try to help, you still realize that there’s never going to be enough you can do. So we tried, as a symbolic discipline for myself, to purge belongings and material things in order to a) remember that we’re so fortunate and b) to generate funding for new art program ideas, new videos, new music, whatever it might be. Or new charities—with Nepal and the earthquake. We’re going back in October in preparation for the exhibition next year. And what we find there is going to influence what we do and how we work with materials. And it will go towards, hopefully, building a bridge from the West to the Far East that will help in some way.

OK: It’s really devastating over there right now. 

PG: Yeah, it’s a tragedy. Those temples that are hundreds of years old—gone. Those can never be replaced. You can’t even rebuild them. They had hundreds of years of devotion and people trying to explore consciousness. Because of a lot of Hinduism and Buddhism, to find ways to expand consciousness and develop compassion, generosity, and kindness. Those should be encouraged. So it’s a real tragedy, to see those centers of energy destroyed.  

OK: Thank you so much for taking the time to talk to me.  

PG: You’re really welcome, my friend. Tell everybody—come along. We have a little garden too, so we might have a little barbecue and snacks. We’re going to have little light shows and bubbles and psychedelic microfixtures. Bring back some colorful activism.  

OK: I’ll make sure to spread the word.


Genesis Breyer P'Orridge's Pandrogaragenous Avant-yard Sale will be open from Saturday May 30 to Sunday May 31, 2015 at Jackie Klempay Gallery, 81 Central Ave (1A) Brooklyn, New York. text and interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper


Laid Back Luxury: An Interview With Sean Knibb Who Unveils A Series of Unique Carrara Marble Tables at ICFF IN New York

The Southern California spirit is infectious. It has seeped into everything, from fashion to art to music and even interior design. No one is immune to this spirit – native or non-native. Such is the case with designer Sean Knibb, who today is introducing a series of gorgeous white Carrara marble tables with incredibly precise details of crumpled t-shirts and jean shorts that are concepted in his studio in Venice Beach and carefully etched and sculpted into the marble surface by Italian artisans. The entire process takes 700 hours. Upon first inspection, you can’t believe you aren’t looking at white cotton t-shirts and jean shorts – that is until you notice the veins of the marble and feel the cold, hard surface. Down to the ribbing of the collar and the fringe on the jean shorts – all the minute details are there. It is a strange juxtaposition indeed – until you realize how beautiful and unique the tables are in all their complexity. The series of tables, entitled Casa Canova, are a testament to the designer’s inventiveness and creativity, which has been applied to everything from landscape design to hotel design. Knibb was actually applying his design prowess to the Line Hotel in Los Angeles when the idea for these tables originated – two of which can be seen at the International Contemporary Furniture Fair (ICFF), which opens today in New York City. We got a chance to talk to Knibb before the fair to discuss the easy breezy influence of Southern California and the design concept behind his new marble tables.

Oliver Kupper: What was your first introduction to design? Was there anything specific that made you want to become a designer?

Sean Knibb: From an early age, I was always interested in making things. It’s always been a big part of what I wanted to do as a grown-up, or what I thought would be interesting to do. So I was always thinking about how to make something or make something for someone. My dad was into design and liked nice things. We grew up in that kind of environment.

OK: Did you grow up in LA?

SK: Yeah, my brother and I moved to LA when we were about five. We lived in Manhattan Beach. And then we moved to Playa Del Rey, Venice. We’ve been up there a long time. We bebopped around the place quite a bit. Pretty much, that’s been home for the majority of my life.

OK: You were originally a landscape designer. You went from landscape design to hotel design. How did that transition occur?

SK: It’s funny, before I was a landscape designer, I was a furniture guy. I made furniture. The jump was—for me it seemed—very gradual. I started doing these interiors for restaurants for friends. Then, over a couple of years, one of the restaurants got noticed. We won an AIA award. That restaurant was the catalyst for the hotel developers to look at my work. That was the project that actually brought the attention, but the desire to do that was there for a long time.

OK: California—Los Angeles particularly—has been a big influence on your design. Is there anything specific about California or Los Angeles that inspires your work?

SK: I think space. There’s a freedom in LA or in California that gives me the feeling of being able to experiment and being able to do new things without feeling whatever pressures you might be feeling in another location—whether it’s Europe, New York. There’s a general acceptance and freedom. I always say it’s like the Wild Wild West. It is the Wild Wild West. That, to me, is the freedom of the ability to express yourself—whether it’s garden or interior or furniture or rubber or Carrara marble. It makes more of a vibe of creativity. I think the movie business plays into that. People in the movie business used to say, “You’re only as good as your last picture.” Trying to always come with something fresh and a new take on things, but still have substance. It has that feeling.

OK: Your new series—t-shirts and jeans in Carrara marble—it’s a very interesting juxtaposition, contradiction, or dichotomy, if you will. I’m thinking of Ed Ruscha or John Baldessari—these artists that the vibe of California was the major influence on them. Even in jazz, too. It’s interesting to find out how LA inspires people in these different ways. Where did the idea for including jeans and t-shirt patterns in marble come from? Where was that inspiration from?

SK: I’ve been looking and studying—whether it’s Bernini or Canova—all of this stuff that’s happening in Europe and happened in Europe. If I’m going to be a designer, what am I going to use to tell my point of view now? So looking at all this stuff—they were carving the things that they saw—elegant women dressed in robes, all of the stuff that was happening around them. I kept looking around and going, “What the fuck are we doing right now? What’s the fabric of today? What can I pick up on?” For me, the whole idea of, “What do jeans mean?”—torn, cut off jeans, chicks in jeans, and guys in jeans. Then t-shirts and how we’ve morphed into $150 t-shirts or $200 t-shirts. We still have $5 t-shirts. What is this particular object? How do you go from 5 bucks all the way to 200 bucks when it’s still just a t-shirt? There’s the idea to play with the symbolism of it and to carve it into marble. That, for me, really personifies the ability to take a simple thing and turn it into an extravagant thing, to take these shapes that we really take for granted and to apply those in the marble or in the space.

OK: And that references where we are now?

SK: It does reference where we are right now, but also says, “Hey, what do you stand for?” Can I use these things that we take for granted in a way that brings some insight and some pause into what’s happening. Also, to use the fabric of where we are right now. I’m not in Italy with the acanthus leaves and the Corinthian columns that have just been formed. I’m in LA with all these icons and they’re wearing t-shirts, or the worker that’s wearing a t-shirt. Everything’s homogenized into one thing. Let’s use that. Let’s make that feel luxurious. That’s how it started. And I’ve been fucking around with figuring out how to take fabric—other people have been doing it too. They just bail it up and ship it to India or Africa. We were toying with how to make cool seating with it. Take the stuff that we’re using and throwing away and figuring out how to bring it back in. Not just recycling, but make it feel uber now.

OK: How long does the process take? How many people does it take to work on one piece?

SK: I do the compositions in the studio and then we send it over to Carrara. It takes about three months for one piece. It takes two guys to carve it. One is a rough carver and modeling, and the other person is more the detail. They work together and then we go back and forth about little details. It’s really two people that do it.

OK: Do you go there and hand-select the marble? Are you involved in that part of the process?

SK: No, it wouldn’t be wise for me to select the marble. They select the marble based on what the composition is and the depth of the relief and what we’re working with. The first t-shirts were a little bit looser so the marble didn’t have to be so perfect. For the jean shorts, because there are areas that don’t have any carving on the piece, we needed a really nice, crisp background, so a cleaner piece of marble was chosen. That’s something that I really entrust to the guys to work through.

OK: And they’ve been doing this for generations?

SK: Oh yeah, this goes way back to the beginning.

OK: From a practical standpoint, as a designer or interior designer, where would you recommend putting one of these tables? They’re functional, right?

SK: Yeah, they’re functional. It depends. It depends on your level of commitment, I think. It can be purely a decorative or occasional piece. Or it can be something that you engage with on a daily basis. It’s your level of commitment—whether it’s in your dining room or in your kitchen.

OK: Yeah, there’s a lot that goes into it. What are you trying to communicate as a designer? What’s your ultimate message? Is there anything blatant or not so blatant that you’re trying to communicate?

SK: I don’t, personally, go into it with a specific message in mind. It’s more about sensitivity and thought about whatever my current mood might be, or what’s at the forefront of my thinking. In design, for me, it’s not so poignant in every move. There are moments of poignancy, but I like the idea that it’s very individualistic. I don’t try to put too much wording and text and my point of view so heavily in the forefront. I let the piece be more dynamic and have its own life and own way to thread through whoever is looking at it or engaging with it. 


“Casa Canova” will be view from May 16 to 19 at Booth 1955 at ICFF, Javits Center, 655 W. 34th St., New York. Tables are available for sale by request. Text and Interview by Oliver Maxwell Kupper