As a student of journalism, I am constantly presented with a predetermined mold of a career goal. In this area of study we are steered towards hard news reporting and a suit and tie, talking head style of journalism. Although this training is invaluable, this template doesn’t quite suit me. I have always been more intrigued and inspired by off kilter subjectivity in writing, where a journalist’s personality is portrayed in the piece. What good is reporting on something if you cannot relay some fraction of human connection to it? Another thing that sent me towards journalism as a career is the travel opportunities. Hitting the road for stories seemed like the perfect thing to quench an innate wanderlust.
When considering a career that embodies these two entities, nothing else comes to mind but Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations.” It is a show of many colors and Bourdain is a man of many talents. Cooking, hosting and writing his way through global circumnavigation. Although he may not be considered a journalist in the traditional sense, what Bourdain has done through six seasons on the Travel Channel is very neo-gonzo. Like Hunter S. Thompson, he takes his adventures and weaves them into incredible stories. Stories that are more entertaining and integrity driven than almost anything on TV. Stories that capture, personalities, tastes and cultures and attempt to give them definition.
This showcase of international life is all well and good, but the real draw is Bourdain. The man is a rock star. His personality is loud, his writing is precise and witty, his travels are comped and his show is extremely successful. I read a few articles about him before sitting down to write this, none of them particularly interesting and one of them so poorly written I couldn’t finish it. But to get a sense of why this man succeeds as a host, all you have to do is watch the show. Whether he’s eating things like seal eyeballs, and warthog rectum or zip lining through the treetops, Bourdain’s sarcastic yet spot on narration brings the viewer along with him. He is a gruff, chain smoking, scotch drinking, New York loudmouth and he is our lens to the international landscape. Bourdain’s personality, his cynical banter and his punk rock quirk is all a part of the adventure the viewer is taken on.
And isn’t that the point of any travel show…To bring the viewer to a location other than their crusty living room? “No Reservations” does this flawlessly not only through Bourdain’s hosting but accompanied by stunning, Emmy-winning visuals.
It’s a show for travelers, it’s a show for foodies, it’s a show for lovers of adventure, lovers of subculture and sometimes it’s a show for aspiring journalists and writers who are uninspired by the spiritless and mundane world of TV news. This is a show with a vast audience. An audience of smart and curious people who appreciate savvy and wit. And for the time being, that audience is in very good hands.
In complete scene defiance, this genius over at Soundcloud has put together one of the best mashups i've ever heard. Usually I find mashups to be awkwardly blended and in poor taste but this track is meant to be.
As I listened I couldn't help but picture Trent Reznor with a bowl cut...
This is one of the coolest things I've come across in a while. Not only promoting positive ethics in an undesirable urban position, but looking pretty damn cool while doing it...These kids spend there days building and decorating bicycles as a method of promoting the "green" initiative as well as providing an outlet to keep at-risk youth out of trouble. There are a couple of videos documenting this isolated phenomena but this one if beautifully shot and features "Champ," the undisputed king of Oakland scraper bikes. Check it out!
As any person who has ever been to college knows, Halloween is a pretty big 'effin deal! It's not about the one night of juvenile vandalism, store bought costumes, egg throwing, candy overdosing and sober school sanctioned dancing that it was in High School. No my friends, Halloween as I've now known it for the last 4 years is a 3 day long, multi-costumed, drinking marathon that almost always results in some sort of Mario and Luigi throwdown or a heartbroken sexy nurse crying her eyes out curbside. Needless to say, after three years of experiencing this in the streets of Boston, I was very anxious to see how things are done in and around LA. Word on the street was that none more epic was the open air party held every year at UCSB. Like moth to flame, I couldn't resist. With little to no planning I found myself flying up the 101 with 3 friends on our way into the unknown. We had heard the warnings of STDs, arrests, and even death. None of this mattered. I was ready to stare this devil of a scene in the eyes, grab it by the horns and make it take shots of Jack with me.
We arrived early. Drove through the campus in what seemed to be the calm before a storm. Things were quiet, homogenized and seemingly normal. However, there was a certain buzz in the air. Almost as if everyone was secretly bracing for impact. We stopped at a Motel 8 to grab a cheap room, only to be informed that everything was booked not only there but everywhere in town. This was when I realized how a big a deal this night was. Not only were we commingling with almost 20,000 undergrads but also enough college outpour to fill every hotel in the area. By chance, we scored a relatively cheap room in the holiday inn by mid-afternoon and began to settle in for the debauchery to come. Some napped, some ate fried chicken and one chose to start drinking straight whiskey. There is something inherently dangerous about whiskey before dark and what was to come was (40) proof of this...
By 9:30 were were costumed and anxious, ready to cannonball into the cesspool of sleaze, and Keystone Light sponsored debauchery that was so immanent. What we did not foresee was that one merrily mustached, cholo-costumed drunkard was not fit for public appearance. We arrived on scene and our collective jaw was instantly dropped. This was the "real" college we had heard so much about while tucked away in our comfy corner of a hipster driven art school. The sheer amount of people was baffling. For miles all the eye could see were hoards of cavemen, bumblebees, indians and of course 2010's token costume, the Chilean Coal Miner. Being that Boston is too cold for the neo-nudity that Halloween allows, I was not prepared for the amount of sluttery. Ladies and gents alike all seemed dedicated to a level of minimalism unheard of since Frank Stella.
Before we had time to fully glean the scene, our aforementioned friend sprinted into the crowd high fiving strangers and screaming "my sister's pregnant" at the top of his lungs. Although this was a very popular move amongst the drunk-friendly masses, the police battalions were less open armed to his behavior. Within 20 minutes of landing ourselves in this Halloween haven, our friend was being cuffed and taken to jail for the night to face what will probably go down as one of the worst nights of his life. I would pay large sums for a copy of that sharpie-mustached mug shot but enough on that. We were a man down but ready to face the thousands of people and throngs of parties.
While posting inside a small apartment complex we happened across the man who would quickly become our saving grace party-Sherpa for the evening. Bonded over booze, he quickly declared his love for us and began introducing us as his best friends to anyone who would listen. To nutshell the next few hours we landed ourselves in 4-5 different parties, acquired a pet crayfish, our fearless guide completely lost his voice, one of us spent almost an hour chasing a girl dressed as Mr. Hanky the Christmas Poo and I met my first Juggalo. In other words it was a complete success. One 5 pound burrito and a $30 cab ride later, we found ourselves back at the holiday inn. Ragged and utterly flabbergasted at what I had just experienced, I knew nothing but the comfort of a king sized bed shared with 2 other gentlemen.
It was not until our friend was safely rescued from the puke and urine covered jail cell floor and we were packing up that I began to reflect on the ridiculousness of it all. Who were these people I had just spent an entire night forming 5 minute, beer induced relationships with? Was this their typical scene? Was the legend of Isla Vista a story they lived every weekend of their college career? The overwhelmingly white sons and daughters of blissfully ignorant parents clearly had something going for them...They make up an isolated community of raging alcoholics, degeneration and fast times. All gentrified into a tanktop and sandal wearing collective of perversity and vice. Anglo-party animals who reflect no noteworthy subculture. I spent our breakfast that morning at the UCSB Denny's observing and eavesdropping on the inordinately uniformed Pacific Sunwear models that make up the student body. Not once did I hear mention of classes, majors, papers, grades or studying. However, I did hear one guy ask his waitress if they served Natty Ice. I asked one friend, "why didn't we go to a school like THIS!?!" His answer seemed almost un-debatable at this point. "Because one day these motherfuckers WILL be working for us..." I can only hope his optimism rings true.
No Crayfish were injured in the writing of this post.
Despite being on the scene since 1994, I had never heard Unkle's name until about two weeks ago. Walking up to Amoeba records, I saw an in store appearance of the band being advertised on a billboard. I remarked to my friend that they had a seriously deplorable band name and we left it at that. No more thoughts were given to Unkle until just a few days ago, when by chance I stumbled across their track "Follow Me Down." Although my ears usually prefer an appetite of loud guitars and raw vocals, something about Unkle pulled me in. There are a million adjectives I could throw out in attempt to label their sound but i'll stick with 4. Dark, visual, trippy and visceral - All encased in a pseudoelectro, shoegaze type of ethos. Here's the "Follow Me Down" video to give you a better idea of what we're dealing with here. (If you don't mind a little nudity, this song and video are both amazing).
Needless to say, after seeing this I wanted more and it just so happened they were playing in LA at the beginning of the week. I wasn't sure what scene to expect upon arrival. One thing I knew...it probably wouldn't be mine. However, the first guy I spoke to just so happened to be a photographer/writer who worked with other bloggers, mostly by giving them photos from different concerts. What a coincidence considering I couldn't take my Flipcam inside! Stay tuned to see some of his stuff from Monday night. I also talked to some slightly jaded scenesters who eagerly took jabs at answering my questions. What resulted is a great juxtaposition. If you watch this video I think you can truly get a sense of the indie music paradox. There's Matt, the slightly older, dedicated music lover who speaks rather profoundly about the event...then there's Austin and Constantine. I mean, how could you not be a hipster with a name like Constantine. They were both first time El Ray attendees who seemed only slightly familiar with Unkle's music and the event itself. See the contrast for yourself:
The show was predictably intense, full of very cerebral layers of music. It was thick and at the same time ambient. At times the sounds and visuals evoked some type of jungle scenario with green lights, amazonian vocals and off kilter rhythms. Other times things got dark and weird with lush red lights, sexy singing and heavy, almost industrial sounds. Ironically enough, the crowd was the perfect mix of Constantine and Matt's predictions. There were the posh looking, "yuppie" crowd, all gently nodding their heads in unison, in between sips of their "$13 drinks." Some older fans were present. Perhaps those who caught on to Unkle back in 1994, before this years breakout album landed them on the radio. There was a small handful of raver-types who would not have seemed out of place twirling glowsticks around their dyed purple heads. And of course a smattering of typecast hipsters, who perhaps came for a love of Unkle, or quite possibly came for a love of all things hipster. To quote Austin "They're one of my favorite bands...I just started listening to them."
Despite this collection of people, there was something very nondescript about the crowd. I had a hard time pigeonholing people mostly because I think the scene is representative of the event. Unkle are a very diverse and eclectic act and I think that reflects in their turnout. I showed up with my typical interests on the back burner and felt almost anonymous because of it. When people show up to hear weird, almost undefinable music, I think scenes also become ambivalent. It wasn't like a group of "wangsters" showing up to see Eminem, or a bunch of "emo" kids hanging out for a My Chemical Romance concert. It was way more of a niche-defying mix. A collection of seemingly nondescript people from all walks of life, flocking together for something truly bizarre.
I just came across a very curious article in the Boston Phoenix discussing Juggalos and their devotion to Insane Clown Posse as possibly having a link to Christian values...Naturally, having already looked into this little subculture, my reaction was very skeptical. As the article questions, how is a band of rappers dressed as clowns, who rap about necrophilia, murdering people with axes and "dark carnivals" supposed to reflect even a smidgen of the Christian ideal? Jenny Benevento, the researcher being profiled in the article, points to the devotion of the fans...not only to the music but to one another. "Pay it forward, be really cool to everyone, share, talk to people who are by themselves. All of these are very Christian ideals, whether or not people identify them as such." Well, that's one similarity I suppose, but she goes even further with the connection. Referring to the Gathering of the Juggalos that I mentioned in my previous post as a "revival," and alluding to a possible metaphorical connection between the aforementioned "dark carnival" and heaven. A stretch? I think so. Please watch ICP's allegedly Christian inspired video for the song "Miracles" below and decide for yourself. But one thing is for sure, Christian or not, I don't think anyone will stop making fun of Juggalos whether or not they have religious affiliations...
...Then again, "there's magic everywhere in this bitch," so you never know...
Remember 2009's "Bro" scene. Well, it's morphed...and there is no argument that 2010 is the year of the Guido. They are everywhere you look. On the beach, at the gym and at the club. They are dating your sister and on almost every channel of your TV. With a massive boost from reality TV hit "The Jersey Shore," everyone now knows what G.T.L. stands for and what a "Snooki" is. You know a scene has worn out it's welcome when South Park dedicates an entire episode to mocking it, as they did last week. So pop those 'roids, get that full body wax and coin yourself a dirty Jerz-worthy nickname real fast, because if you can't beat 'em (you can't) join 'em.
2.) The Mountain-Man
This hairy, homeless looking, scenester seems to be everywhere except a mountain these days. From Boston to LA, this flannel wearing, whiskey drinking, coulda-been-a-member-of The Band looking dude can be found at any Devendra Banhart concert or scouring a local music store for obscure Grizzly Bear 7"s. Don't offer him a razor, this guys beard is his most prized possession and he wears it proudly even in the hottest of temps. So keep your eye to the streets and don't give him your pocket change no matter how bad he may look like he needs it.
3.) Hipster-Hop
All it takes to shift scenes these days is a shopping trip and a few updates to the Facebook profile. This often results in a very apparent scenester cross breed. One of these very unmistakable modern amalgams is that of the emo-rapper. A blend of the sensitive, tattooed and pierced punk rocker, and the swag obsessed, bling wielding, weed enthusiast. These are the guys who might record gangsta raps on garage band yet be the first kid in line to see Fall Out Boy. A lover of everything Travis McCoy and probably sporting at least one Atmosphere lyric tattooed on them, just wait to see what scene they add to their repertoire next.
4.) The Bike Messenger
You've probably seen this guy flying by you while you sit in traffic, his hopefully ironic but probably not meant to be mustache gently blowing in the wind. As the fixed gear bike or "fixie" riding trend is on the rise, so is the bike messenger sub culture. Never seen without an over-sized saddle bag strapped around their torso, grease stained cut off or rolled up pants and undersized cycling hats, this is one of the only recent scenes to conveniently also work out as a profession. Sometimes known to roll in groups, with names like Cycle Jerks (of course using the Circle Jerks logo) and Spoke Junkies... make sure to always check the lane before opening your car door or face getting a U-lock to the skull.
5.) The Rainbow Hipster
It doesn't matter if Easter is right around the corner or not, these forward/backward thinking fashionistas rock a whirlwind of pastel colors year round. Inspired solely by American Apparel ad campaigns, these guys and girls wear their bright, solid colors proudly. They have inspired me to coin the term "pseudo-matching" where the shirt never quite matches the socks but who knows, maybe the socks match the underwear...
I can't possibly write about different scenes without occasionally delving into them. That's why I jumped at the opportunity to nab some free tickets to see such an eclectic loud music lineup. Ranging in genre from progressive punk rock to more traditional hardcore, the scenes were sure to vary...and vary they did. It was apparent as soon as I parked. Swarms of pierced, tattooed and band swag wearing anti-fashionistas were everywhere. What suprised me even more was the range of age groups...but more on that later. The first band up was Acid Tiger. Somewhat of a super group (members of Converge, United Nations ect...) from Brooklyn, NY. Playing a mix of hyped up progressive rock, with spazzy guitars and everywhere-all-at-once drums, these guys have quite the following on the East Coast. The same can not be said for the West. As soon as they started playing it was evident. The crowd stood around, arms crossed, and nary a head bang was to be seen. After they finished their first song a scream was heard from the crowd, "hurry up, we want Ringworm!" And from there things went downhill. Heckling continued throughout their set as the older, tougher crowd that had showed up for the recently reunited hardcore stalwarts, Ringworm, became tired of the more spaced out and dynamic AT. The band even lamented at one point, "well, we wish their were a few people from Brooklyn here..." Here's a song from their set. If you like what you hear download their s/t debut here.
Next up was the band that seemingly had the biggest scene present, Ringworm. Now you way venture to guess what band named "Ringworm" might sound like...and your probably right. They've been playing the same aggressive mix of metal and thrashy hardcore since the early '90s and their fan base is a loyal legion of scary brutes. This is where the older crowd became apparent. Lots of big, hairy, tattooed, aggressive looking 30-somethings who, although a little past their show going prime, went nuts. I tried to capture the violence of the dance floor in the video but it's a little dark. Just know, those things thrashing around in the shadows are the fists and feet of hardcore Ringworm truants.
Pretty intense stuff...And then there was headliner's Blacklisted. These guys broke down a lot of musical boundaries with their newest record, combining melody and a more solid rock approach to their traditional hardcore background. The scene? A lot of young kids, looking suspiciously like the mainstream emo/punk crossover's this scene has been so saturated with in recent years. Although, as you can see in the video, the crowd went nuts. These kids new every word and weren't hesitant to jump over the heads of everyone in front of them just to get a chance to sing them into an outstretched mic.
The mix of young and old was a surprise in this scene but overall the feel was one of unity. Everyone was bonded together over their love of loud music and getting rowdy. Although this scene often gets recognized for overtures of violence and rebellion, from what I saw there is also a tremendous amount of respect.
For those of you who wake up asking yourself, "what is a Juggalo?" Never fear..."What's Your Scene" is here to explain. To nutshell: A Juggalo is a diehard fan of the group Insane Clown Posse or ICP. A musical ensemble known for inappropriate antics, clown face paint and overzealous fans. The music is a mix of rap and metal and combined with a gangster/carnival theme. Laughable: yes. Parodied: Oh yeah! Popular: somehow?
The staying power of the Juggalo in the modern age is baffling. How these "scenesters" are taken seriously while maintaining an almost cult-like outer appearance blows my mind. I accredit their tenacious hold on fandom to the idea of strength in numbers. From what i've seen, Juggalo's seem to roll with numbers. One face-painted, baggy pants wearing clown is mock-able but 10 of them will have you fleeing the mall in no time. These "psychos," or "ninjas" as they often refer to themselves, congregate once a year to sing the praises of ICP at a festival known as theGathering of the Juggalos. The infamy of this scene dates back as far as 2001 when the group appeared on the O'Reilly Factor. More recently, the release of a new album saw a complete resurgence of Juggalos. After the release of their latest music video "Miracles," ICP and their legion of Juggalos caught a new level of media attention. Including a slew of parodies, most notably on a 2010 episode of SNL. SO, you may still be asking yourself...what is this scene? What does it look like? Who are these people? Well folks, here is how we break it down:
Los Angeles is the perfect place to launch this project. It is brimming with off-beat individuals and hetero-personalities. A city full of people who are not from this city. As a fish out of water, I can't help but profile. And that's what this is: A profile. An assembly of characters giving definition to what they look like, what they're into and who they are. I think it's only fair to readers that I start by first introducing myself. To be asked "What's Your Scene?" by a stranger can be off-putting and awkward. However, there is no high horse being rode on my way to asking this question. Only a genuine curiosity in today's omnipresent and diverse subcultures. This isn't Look At This Fucking Hipster. I want to give a voice to these scenes. I want to share their music, their interests, and their views of themselves.
