Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings — This Land Is Our Land

How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live

Lou Reed – Take a Walk on the Wild Side

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centrelight pop and everybody goes “Awww!

The Rolling Stones — Wild Horses

Youth comes but once in a lifetime

my personal style at the moment has been described by others as teetering somewhere in between “victorian lesbian” and “geriatric chic,”  which i find both totally flattering and shockingly insulting. so my list of fashion top 10s is partly a continuation of the comfy tom-boy aesthetic i’ve been honing since i was 4, but also partly an aspirational attempt to finally look like a girl (possibly even a woman).

oh, and it wouldn’t hurt if i managed to look as effortlessly stylish as emmanuelle, too…

1. gap v-neck tees: Justice always scoffed when i preached the virtues of this “generic soulless corporation.” whatevs. i still stand by my corporate cotton: it’s super soft, fits well and is usually on sale once a month.

2. dark wash skinny jeans: my denim preferences have gone from 90s high-waisted acid wash to pre-faded flares back to 90s acid wash (this time with curt cobain-inspired tears in the knees) as well as some ill-advised dabbling in destroyed boyfriend and bootcut fits. but nothing, and i mean nothing, looks or feels as good as squeezing into a pair matchstick jeans

3. cardigan: preferably dark and soft, but really, i have them in every size, shape, cut, fabric and pattern — and love each one as much as the other.

4. blazer: black, slouchy, cuffed sleeves, nuff said.

5. black booties: this is one of the aspirational pieces i was talking about earlier. i don’t actually own this item, but i am on the hunt for a pair of black suede mid-height ankle booties that can give my outfit a shot of sex.

6. nail polish. yes, that’s right. my embargo on cosmetics is coming to an end. while my stubby, jittery hands will prevent me from actually applying the stuff myself, i’m willing to consider not knocking out anyone who tries do my nails. colours of choice: black, navy, light grey and, oh fine, deep red.

7. scarf: something to tie my dark-wash jeans, black blazer, black cardigan and black booties look all together? a black pashmina? genius!

8. watch: simple, reliable and durable. i’m looking at you timex.

9. buttery-soft leather motorcycle jacket: when i’m rich and famous (or married), this will be my very first purchase. mmm…i can feel the butteriness already…

10. purse: asian practicality dictates that it be spacious enough to fit all my books and notepads and have pockets for all my pens and recording equipment. girly frivolity, however, also says it should be pretty, leathery and hurt my shoulder to carry.

shit.

recently, one of my stories from class got picked up by a newspaper in syracuse. then linked to by usa today.when i told my mom this, her first response was, “it’s like you’re a real journalist.”

i guess so.

click here and here for my latest contributions to humanity.

after another toolong hiatus — including a brief but ultimately failed romance with tumblr — i return older, probably no wiser, but certainly eager to get back on the wp blogging horse.

a lot has happened since i last posted just before the winter hols. paris and london (not ontario) were both more romantic and charming than i remembered, but still strangely not as impressive or exciting as i hoped they’d be. i realized on my two week european romp that new york really is where i want to be right now. even as i was sipping on one of the most thoughtfully crafted cocktails i’d ever tasted and nibbling on exquisite little macaroons from la duree, i couldn’t wait to get back to city, my city.

yesyes, i know, who am i to call this city mine? i’ve lived here for less than a year,  i still get lost transferring between subway lines and it confuses me when the streets stop being numbered. but that’s what i love, too. in every subway ride i take, every side street i turn down, and every day i wake up, there’s still a sense of adventure and discovery.

career expo is in two weeks. time inc assessment has been completed. vice interview is being (re)scheduled. somewhere in between it all, i just hope i can find someone willing to help me stay and continue making this city my own.

in the immortal words of alice cooper: SCHOOL’S OUT!

five months of j-school have come and gone, and while i’m no closer to being employed (minus an internship with the rev. moon…) or a master of any science,  feel as though i’ve come a long way over the semester.

a couple of weeks ago, we went on a “tour” of the thomson reuters building in times square. the event itself turned into a three hour oral brochure/pep rally, but there was a moment at the very end where the head of one of reuters’s divisions said, “you haven’t asked the most important question of all which is: should i be doing this? is journalism right for me?”

i thought that by applying and being admitted into j-school that we’d essentially answered that question, but that really only obfuscated the issue. sure, i can be a journalist. yes, i can pay obscene amounts of money to have people line edit my work and coddle my personal anxieties/neuroses/complexes. but should i be doing this? is journalism right for me?

there are so many more practical things to do in life: accounting, engineering, public service (hello, stability! just try to fire me!). journalism is an unstable industry with too many writers and not enough jobs; the hours are long; the pay is pathetic to non-existent; and the work is full of frustrations, dead-ends, rejection and isolation.

so, again, the question is: SHOULD I BE DOING THIS? IS JOURNALISM RIGHT FOR ME?

after five months of pounding the pavement, getting yelled at/yelling at government technocrats, chasing fruitless leads and staring down writer’s block at 4am, i can answer without a shadow of doubt, yes.

i should be doing this because despite every pointless interview and empty tip, i cannot imagine myself wanting to do anything else in this world. it’s a feeling you get that — even when your lead’s gone cold, your coffee pot has run dry and your eyes have gone cross-eyed — that you don’t want to go home, you want to push on, finish the story.

there are more practical things. there are more stable, well-paid, relaxing jobs. but i don’t want anything but what i’ve got right here. and so as i pack my bags for a little winter vay-cay, i secretly can’t wait to come back and get started all over again.

happy holidays!

i remember the first time i went to go visit my sister in toronto, the thing that struck me the most was how quickly everyone walked. they had somewhere to go. at that moment. in life. and i wanted to, too.

maybe it sounds snobbish to say that i’ve outgrown my hometown. i will always love it and be thankful for the experiences i had while living there. but the truth is, i have outgrown it. i’ve set my sights on places that are bigger, faster, more crowded, more chaotic, more energetic — just plain more everything — than this one.

i never thought i’d actually make it to where i am right now. it’s one of those cities you see in the movies and think, “gee, wouldn’t it be cool to be a twentysomething living in new york city.” but you never think you’ll really do it. live the dream. i still catch myself — on the subway, walking down broadway, getting some food — “oh my god, i live in new york. i live here.”

but i still remember mary schmich/baz luhrmann’s words of wisdom: “live in new york city once, but leave before it makes you hard. live in northern california once, but leave before it makes you soft. travel.” so where to next?

when i was in china two summers ago, i made a list of cities i wanted to visit. “25 before 25.” i think it’s about time i started making a dent in that list. 25 is just around the corner after all. and after 25 is 30. and after 30 is death. live once. and live it well.

25 CITIES TO VISIT BEFORE THE AGE OF 25

1. istanbul, turkey

2. tel aviv, israel

3. cairo, egypt

4. beirut, lebanon

5. marrakesh, morocco

6. barcelona, spain

7. amsterdam, netherlands

8. stockholm, sweden

9. rome, italy

10. santorini, greece

11. prague, czech republic

12. budapest, hungary

13. st. petersburg, russia

14. seoul, south korea

15. hanoi, vietnam

16. lhasa, tibet

17. new delhi, india

18. cape town, south africa

19. nairobi, kenya

20. sydney, australia

21. havana, cuba

22. cuzco, peru

23. rio de janeiro, brazil

24. buenos aires, argentina

25. mexico city, mexico

The Market Hotel Does It Itself, Makes Music for Everyone

By me

You will never find a line of concertgoers flowing out of The Market Hotel. That’s mostly because so few people actually know what and where The Market Hotel is. Located below the JMZ subway station bridge and above the Mr. Kiwi bodega on Myrtle Avenue, the only indication you’ve reached the right building, aside from the swirl of amp and synth noises echoing out of its second-floor windows, is a weather-beaten hand-written sign taped to the front door.

As you go through this unremarkable entrance and climb up the rusted iron staircase, you begin to feel the music before you see it. Your eardrums buzz then burst from the heavy guitar riffs, frenetic drumming and pounding keyboards that merge together into one harmonious cacophony. Stepping on to the top landing is like crashing head-first into an enormous wall of sound, sweat and smoke. The floorboards beneath you bounce in rhythm and the vibrations from the stack of amplifiers by the stage surge up your legs and through your body.

javelin – soda popinski

The Market Hotel is not really a market or a hotel or even a conventional music club so much as a rabbit hole into a different world. It was opened roughly three years ago by taste-making concert promoter Todd P and members of the Brooklyn-based punk band The So So Glos who were frustrated by the lack of opportunities and recognition given to up-and-coming local bands. They imagined a place where kids of any age could come to party for the night, where $10 would buy you admission and a tallboy of Pabst Blue Ribbon, and where bands who had never toured beyond Brooklyn could become instant legends.

They bought a cheap loft space in Bushwick, outfitted it with a sound system and began inviting over friends. Since then, its hammered-together plywood stage has hosted the likes of the Dirty Projectors, Japanther, Javelin, Teengirl Fantasy and Real Estate. Never heard of any of these bands? That’s also somewhat the point. The Market Hotel is part of a tight-knit community of artists, promoters and fans that together form what has become known as Brooklyn’s “Do-It-Yourself” scene. The concept involves stripping down music and concerts to their bare essentials. Venues are often improvised and/or derelict and/or illegal. Audiences usually find out about shows through word-of-mouth. The music is raw but sincere and no one is doing this to get rich, even some of the biggest names in the scene can only be described as well-known unknowns. In the words of Matt Mondanile, lead guitarist for the band Real Estate, “It’s just about having a place to drink, hang out and listen to good music.”

beach fossils – daydream

Though many find the “DIY” aesthetic liberating, the term itself can also be suffocating. “It’s stupid to try and label everything all the time,” groaned Beach Fossils guitarist Chris Burke. Ever since Brooklyn was declared to once again be the epicenter of indie music – New York Magazine recently ran a frontpage feature on the borough’s musical “rebirth” and local bands like Grizzly Bear, MGMT and TV On the Radio have scored mainstream radio hits in the past year – people have been eager to define and brand the scene. “You’re either doing it or you’re not, it doesn’t matter what you call it,” insisted Burke. “What I care about is having a space where people who are interested in music can get together and form a community. There aren’t many places still doing that right now.”

The Market is one of the few that embody the DIY ethos entirely. Rumor has it that the building was once a Dominican speakeasy, and while the Market still serves wholesale-bought alcohol from a table in the back corner, the interior has definitely seen better days. Bands play in a triangle-shaped room where wires and broken light fixtures hang from the ceiling. Random (likely drunken) bursts of graffiti are splattered across the walls and the only places to sit are a shabby antique couch and some wooden benches that look like they were picked off of the curb.

real estate – beach comber

The bands that pass through are an equally jumbled mix. From Black Dice’s shoegazing electronica to Liturgy’s thrashing black metal and North Highlands’ lo-fi psych pop, there is no genre that is off-limits at The Market Hotel. “We don’t really look for any sound in particular, but we do try to foster talent that we’re enthusiastic about,” said Ric Leichtung, who got sucked into the DIY scene after he moved from San Francisco and began interning for Todd P.

Having graduated from NYU’s music technology program this past spring, Leichtung has perfected the scruffy college boy look with his wardrobe of band t-shirts, old Converse sneakers and a permanent five o’clock shadow. He currently lives at The Market Hotel along with four other tenants and a revolving door of artists who rent out storage and rehearsal space. In addition to sharing living quarters, Leichtung and his housemates split management and concert booking duties. “We each take a curatorial role in deciding who plays here,” Leichtung explained. Like CBGB and the Cotton Club, venues that helped cultivate the seeds of what became New York’s punk and jazz scenes, respectively, the Market aims to provide a stage for experimental young artists to have their sounds heard. “We decided at the beginning,” said Leichtung, “that we were going to help bring out potential rather than have bands who’d already made it.”

vivan girls – where do you run to

And the Market is not shy about taking risks. “If you think about it, what we did with the Vivian Girls was a dumb move,” said Leichtung, referring to the all-girl trio that won their place in the Market’s galaxy of stars almost by sheer will on the part of the promoters. “When they first started, we didn’t know how they were going to perform or if anyone was going to like them, but you take a chance. It was ballsy, but we kept putting them on the bill until other people got it, too.” Since then, the Vivian Girls have released two studio albums, both to strong reviews by Pitchfork.com, an online music site that has become the de facto arbiter of indie cool, and toured across Europe and North America.

While Leichtung recognizes the risk of hyping a band that might never catch on, he also sees it as a responsibility that cannot be taken lightly. “A lot of DIYs are flaky. They book a band and then don’t do anything about it. But we use our Facebook page, we have a Twitter account, we have a production assistant, we have a sound system, we pay the bands properly, which are all a good things,” he said, clutching the air with both hands to emphasize each word. “We work hard to make sure people have a chance in the DIY scene.”

But The Market Hotel is as much about the people who listen as the people who play. Jesse Lumsden, for instance, is a sophomore at NYU. He found his way to The Market Hotel while following his favorite band, Fluffy Lumbers. “I wanted to catch them at CMJ,” he said, referring to the annual College Music Journal Music Marathon that brings some of the top bands-of-the-moment to New York City every fall. “But the show was 21+ and they were checking IDs.”

The Market also checks IDs and employs a security guard to make sure no one drinks in front of their door – “it’s disrespectful to our neighbors” – but they steadfastly refuse to turn away any fan just because they are not the legal drinking age. They also prefer to keep door cover prices around the $3-7 range to fit within the tight student budget. “I wish I had a place like this back home,” said Cullen Omory of Chicago’s The Smith Westerns. “We don’t play that often because everyone in the band is 18 and 19-years-old. But this is better than a bar because it’s not just a venue, it’s a hangout space, too.”

fluffy lumbers – cruisers

When the Fluffy Lumbers took the stage, Lumsden and his friends rushed to the front. They were so close they could feel the music against their skin, every beat thudding inside their chests. If Lumsden had reached out his arm, he could touch the lead singer. But instead he just bobbed his mop-topped head and swayed along with the rest of the sweaty, reveling crowd. After the set, as the band was packing up their own gear, Lumsden stopped by to tell the lead singer he thought it was a “wicked set.” The man, who looked no older than Lumsden, thanked him, chatted momentarily, shook his hand and then went back to cleaning up the stage. Leichtung is especially proud of these moments. “DIY eliminates the barriers between fans and artists. You can see famous people, people you listen to and have a deep admiration for, right beside you in the crowd.”

Whether you’re chasing your dreams with your high school band or just looking for something off the beaten path, the door at The Market Hotel is open to everyone. That is, if you can find it first.

in october i… published my first piece in the brooklyn ink, started taking photojournalism classes and subsequently discovered i am not destined to be photojournalist, reported on my first murder with about as much sensitivity as a stump, saw ageyness deyn at a korean restaurant in soho – disapppointingly still my only ‘celebrity’ sighting so far, launched 3fatladies.wordpress.com checkit, partied at cmj with the xx (see below), had my master’s project fall apart and then re-assembled by aforementioned fat ladies, got an eyeful of boobs and peens while being drenched at the halloween parade, dressed up as kanye for halloween (“yo taylor ima let you finish”), and at the insistence of my rw1 professor, drowned away my mid-semester blues with a lot of booze at the spj party.

the xx – crystalised

in november i…started getting friendly with student veterans – hello mr. marine, became an expert bitcher and moaner about the quality of foreign reporting, covered another murder in east new york, met with my j-mentor and developed a bit of a girl crush, found out just how scary the projects really are, finally made use of all those tamil protesters in toronto, booked holiday flights to london and paris (NOT ontario) and am on the hunt for cheap epl tickets, got a confidence — and bank account — boost at school, spent american thanksgiving in canada and gorged myself on homemade pate and cider not mention the turkey, ham, gravy, mashed potatoes, 2 kinds of stuffing and3 kinds of pie – i love you all!

lady gaga – bad romance (grum remix)…  yea, so i like the song. shuddup.

…and now you are up-to-date.

there’s been such an ado this week about u.s. president-O getting the nobel peace prize, most of it inexplicably blaming him as if he wanted or asked for the honour. and as per usual, joan walsh of salon sets us straight.

—————————————————————–

“why obama deserved the nobel peace prize

by joan walsh

I was as stunned as anyone when I heard President Obama had won the Nobel Peace Prize Friday morning. Of course it felt oddly premature. It’s enough to send Obama lovers and haters back to the jokes about his being the Messiah; so much seems to come easy to the man. Sometimes Obama makes me think of the old saying: “To whom much is given, much is…given.” Yeah, he turns that old proverb on its head.

A few hours of reflection, and reading what the committee said about the award, and I could see its point and purpose. In recent years the Nobel Peace Prize has more often honored promise and encouraged progress than it marked concrete, permanent achievements in the realm of world peace. So the prize went to President Carter’s ultimately unsuccessful 1978 Middle East peace drive; and to the same still uncompleted effort by Yassir Arafat and Yitzhak Rabin in 1994. In 1991, Aung San Suu Kyi won the prize in her jail cell, but the point was to support democracy in Burma (and 18 years later, she is still under house arrest).Thinking about the Northern Ireland Catholic and Protestant “Peace Mothers” who won the award in 1976,  years before real peace accords, I suddenly saw Obama’s win as strangely humble, and personal: One man trying to reverse the bloody tide of recent American history.

Obama’s prize is a measure of how far the Bush administration pushed the United States, and the world, away from peace. So far away that Obama’s small but fervent efforts in the opposite direction — new diplomacy on Israel, Palestine, Iran, Russia and North Korea; slow but steady withdrawal from Iraq and now a painful reappraisal of the increasingly bloody war in Afghanistan; a pledge to eliminate nuclear weapons; new initiatives to the Muslim world — could win him this prize. But let’s take that measure. Let’s take in what that said about the way our country had become a source of aggression, belligerence and hostility, and never peace, in the last eight years. And in the midst of all of our partisan squabbling about health care and cap and trade and everything else — and even as we acknowledge disappointment with Obama on state secrets, torture, Iraq and Afghanistan — this should be a moment to reflect.

Of course all of Obama’s encouraging moves are merely pledges and initiatives and discussions and promises. We are right to press for more. But they are pledges and initiatives and discussions and all kinds of slow but necessary efforts that weren’t taking place at all for eight years under the Bush-Cheney regime.  So about mid-day on Friday I abandoned my head-shaking, and instead held my head high. I was impressed by Obama’s own humble speech, in which he said flatly he didn’t “deserve” the award, by the standards most of us hold for this crucial prize:

“Let me be clear: I do not view it as a recognition of my own accomplishments, but rather as an affirmation of American leadership on behalf of aspirations held by people in all nations.

“To be honest, I do not feel that I deserve to be in the company of so many of the transformative figures who’ve been honored by this prize — men and women who’ve inspired me and inspired the entire world through their courageous pursuit of peace.

“But I also know that this prize reflects the kind of world that those men and women, and all Americans, want to build — a world that gives life to the promise of our founding documents. And I know that throughout history, the Nobel Peace Prize has not just been used to honor specific achievement; it’s also been used as a means to give momentum to a set of causes. And that is why I will accept this award as a call to action — a call for all nations to confront the common challenges of the 21st century.”

The right-wing’s idiocy about Obama’s Nobel win is no longer even interesting. So Rush Limbaugh sides with the Taliban now. Good. Both Glenn Beck and Mark Halperin suggested Obama should decline the award; now we know where Halperin stands, that’s good too. The country will move on without them. I loved what French President Nicholas Sarkozy (not always an Obama fan) said about why the U.S. president really got the Nobel Peace Prize: “The award marks America’s return to the heart of the people of the world.” That deserves a prize.”