“The Edge of Glory:” It’s an edge, and it’s glorious – and that’s all we need to say about that.
Everyday is Independance Day…
A splash of symphonics, a dose of distilled spirits, twist of turntablism on tap, chilled swelter of the most aurally intoxicating blend… resting forever assured it will satisfy most any fiending trap… Mix me a beat fit for the most keen of tongues, and cultured of eardrums… intoxicate me: i’m a lush #inthelyricalsense
Professor Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests – Students: Edie Sedgwick, Lou Reed, Nico, “Baby” Jane Holzer, Dennis Hopper, Paul America, Ingrid Superstar
In the wake of G.U.Y.’s media blitz d’etat let’s look at what might be lingering behind the
if 27 is the new black, 28 stays golden: now look who’s back collective funeral of roses #roselandfuneral
I don’t know what ARTPOP means for anything but I can’t shake the feeling that whatever it will inevitably become started long ago, is in continuous present perpetuation, and is simultaneously happening in increasing measure well into the future… that being said: it could be an ongoing Shakespearean three act play #byanyotherfame
#entitledanothertimeiwasangry that time when GaGa kicked off a seven-show residency to close out Manhattan’s legendary Roseland Ballroom. Basically, she memorialized her golden birthday with a 10-day funeral … at practically the one place where you couldn’t land a gig on the come-up the famed Manhattan concert venue… #andthisisthefamed
I’m not sure what ARTPOP means for incumbent entertainment venue institutions but – whatever.
September 13, 2010
Nestled halfway between Harlem and Brooklyn lies Randall’s Island. Labor Day weekend the islet transforms into a beautiful blend of Wonkaland and Woodstock, Sodom and Gomorrah, Israel and Ibiza, Pleasure Island and Neverland – a hybrid between that Pinocchio place where lost boys find themselves and where Peter Pan’s lost boys aimlessly meander… all perpetuated by the most nourishing of all life fuels… music – electronic music.
Somehow, someway, the past, present, and future of music made their collective way to this halogen Haus of worship. My journey no doubt veered from the norm, but when the clandestine is commonplace, all odd experiences are good. I was like a kid in a candy store – no matter where I went, there I was, with a sugar-rushed stranger and makeshift chaperone there to guide me along from one aisle to the next. Though the guide may not know where you’re coming from, or how to get to where you’re going, they know your destination. One second you’re lost in Manhattan, and the next you find yourself MapQuesting directions from the UES to Randall’s Island, and then you’re watching hipsters take cabs to Harlem bus stops – simple foreshadowing that no matter how far “above” those kids one is – no matter how objectively I scoff at their ways from a far more worldly and morally superior place – we’re all the same entitled Gen-Yers… making our way from decadence to debauchery by way of urban decay.