BornxRaised F17

Born x Raised represents the voice of Venice street culture— a core LA community becoming lost in gentriciation. Spanto, founder, saw streetwear as the way to address these issues— inspiring the agressive, graphic, and artful label.

My great grandma was from White Mountain Apache Rez, and my Grandfather is from Tonawanda Seneca Rez, before they moved to venice in the 20’s. My family has been living in the same house my grandparents bought in the 20’s, and the last 20 years has been spent fighting to keep that house in a neighborhood that has changed around us with no mercy for it’s original people.

When I was a kid, in the summers, my father would travel all over the US and Canada for ceremony, and we would stay with relatives and friends on different reservations. I remember seeing the phrase “Relocation is Genocide” tagged all over the Big Mountain Navajo Rez one summer during Sundance ceremony. This struck a chord and became relevant to me years later when I experience the same thing happening in Venice, [with the] gentrification. Hence, the BXR motto Gentrification is Genocide.

Low income families, mostly people of color, are pushed out with gang injunctions when they don’t want to let go of their land. A lot of these families have been there for as many generations as mine, some many more.

...These kids remind me of those summers, and the pride of native people. Companies pour money in the community to reshape it in their image with no respect for the past. This is happening everywhere, not just LA. Not to get up on a soapbox here, this is just the way it is.

Shop the Fall Collection now at BornxRaised.

Culture

Primavera Sound 2024

Tuesday (5/28)

It’s 4am. It’s dark. Mathilde stands frozen in the bathroom. Staring intently into the mirror, into her own soul, onto last nights Dalston shenanigans and the countless Aperols that had only been drunk 3 hours prior. There’s no air of regret but one thing we are certain of: Mathilde is still very very drunk. Primavera has begun early.

In line to board and upon arrival at the terminal you can tell precisely who is arriving in Barcelona for the same reason, but they still look notably different. A vast lineup means a vast demographic of fans: Y2K goths, Bristol seniors in Deftones merch, a number of girls in crochet dresses who look questionably underage, tattooed millennials, rich girls who read as insta-entrepreneurs, between 9 and 13 mullets; all united, under one sky and one holy RyanAir flight (presumably blessed by the priest I eyed down at security), waiting in the same customs line.

“I feel like this is going to be one of those trips where we have to just let go and…. Be cringe.” Humbled we were — 10 minutes later trembling in the cab, unable to take our eyes off the meter that seems to be increasing by 2 euros every. minute. Are we, too, just as susceptible as our fellow Primavera cohort? We may not have mullets but the leather jackets, sunglasses and cigarettes in hand, American and British accents combined with Mathilde’s French haven’t exactly made us incognito. But hey, we’re in Barcelona, who cares!

12 hours in and we have absolutely lost our minds. We meet actress and fabulosa Lilia Gabbro at the opening of ‘Dear Inn,’ an exhibition featuring and curated by her boyfriend, Dahli Ball, and friends Unai Ricou and Igna Buneri three floors up in an open loft in the town center. Visitors sit on the furniture-less floor smoking cigarettes and drinking beer. The three artists' works are displayed throughout the space. Dahli’s pieces are shockingly impressive; straight out of a time capsule cleared out with a fresh set of eyes. We’ve all developed some metaphorical TMJ from having our jaws dropped for 12 hours straight. How is EVERYONE here SO hot and SO happy? How are all of these beautiful people tucked into these tiny streets? They seem to be breathing life into one another.

Wednesday (5/29)

The sun is out and The Vincci Bit has served Mathilde and I possibly the sexiest hotel breakfast we’ve ever had. 7 coffees in and I’m writing on the Vincci roof terrace in my bikini. I look over to Liv, who’s laying on a sun lounger on the phone, telling the recipient “to just reel back and let the vibes take over.” Liv pops back to the room and finds Mathilde meditating on the bed. The Barca lifestyle has truly taken over and we haven’t stepped foot in the Parc del Forum.

But reality always manages to find its way back — this time in the form of my very red sunburn, proving my role as designated ‘Brit abroad.’ If it wasn’t already the broken attempts to speak Spanish with a Manchester accent, it is extremely clear now — we do no good job at blending in.

We walk into Poblenou for a pre-Primavera spritz — or more exactly Estrella for Liv, Aperol for Mathilde, and Sangria for myself. It’s an area close to where we’re staying and recommended by our Barcelona spirit-guide Lilia.

8:30 PM rolls around and it’s time for night 1 Primavera. We take the scenic route along the coastline to get to Parc del Forum. An incredible and tacky in its finest form marriage proposal is happening on the beach… we are feeling the Barcelona love tonight.

9:19 PM we arrive amidst floods of Spanish teens in baggy jeans and tanks, hippy holidayers in bird shirts and garish pants and Berlinified mullet-heads clad in all black and leather. There are SO many hot guys at the Aperol pop-up. Mullet no.1 is spotted in its badly bleached glory accompanied by a fellow turquoise-dyed head. We march on with one mission in mind: Aperol.

All we can now think of is stripes. Classically French, vertical, red and black, blue and white, on tank tops, long sleeves, dresses and pants — stripes are the unexpected Primavera trend. Bleached denim. Tracksuits. Adidas stripes. Emo teens with their eyeliner. Mullet gays and their white tanks.

In planning a press trip to an international festival, we failed to consider the fact we had to get quotes from people who are presumably not native English speakers. We pile together our resources: French Mathilde plus Liv and I’s pieced-together high school Spanish. Thank the lord for Duolingo which Liv has been practicing routinely on the sun loungers each morning. With a Spritz in each hand, all felt right in the world.

Mullets 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 are ahead of us in the queue. And what a range we have stumbled upon. Bleached and brown curly-haired ones stuffed under caps and paired with denim overalls. Behind us, a certain bleach blonde mullet signals the Berlinification of Primavera — dressed in all black, sunnies and completed with a mustache.

Phoenix begins their set as we reach the front of the Aperol queue. ‘It’s ok, as long as they don’t start with Lisztomania’… And like clockwork, it plays. We run off to the stage — pissed off the Aperol, dizzy from the heatstroke or just pure adrenaline, I don’t know — we manage to squash ourselves into the crowd. People are giddy and dancing to the band’s nostalgic 2010s sounds — you can’t not love it. A man behind us bald with a thick mustache loses 10 years as he leaps into the sky up and down like a boy. They tell us this is their favourite festival. Liv is absolutely going for it. Mathilde realises that, like her, they are French hotties “and now I’m really into it”. And hotties they are — Silver Fox Thomas Hedlund dominates the drums in a Hawaiian shirt. Liv says all she wants is for someone to pick her up and ‘spin her around like a pizza’. Thomas, drummer of Phoenix, is more than capable of this.

Wednesday night is a celebration, a party of letting go, the perfect starting headliner to Primavera’s insane line-up.

The true star of night one, however, is Mathilde who braved the crowds in open-toe heels. What courage and bravery it takes, and in hindsight will never be taken again.

The set ends and Mathilde’s heels are now on my feet as she darts in and around the food tents in my gold converse. Freed from toe suffocation, she is high on life, on adrenaline, flirting with the burger man and nicking all of the mayo from the kebab shop. Burgers and bed.

Lessons of the day:

1. Learn how to apply sun cream properly
2. Don’t wear open-toed heels to a festival
3. Watch out for people wearing open-toe heels at a festival
4. Gabi’s hair must always be in a ponytail at the festival
5. You don’t need a biker jacket in 80-degree weather

Thursday (5/30)

The start of Primavera day 2 — which no surprise involves sangria, bocadillos and matching I <3 Barcelona thongs. Vampire Weekend boyfriend and Deftones girlfriend walk past us at the cafe. Mathilde spots her airport crush as we pass through the Press entrance — “He looks like Peter Pan in a hot way”.

Entering the festival, one thing is clear to us: steer clear of the kebab shop. Mathilde is surely a wanted woman after last night's mayo shenanigans.

We are strutting around the site to the soundtrack of Renaldo & Clara. It’s pretty early still but we’re easing into the day. With a hefty lineup we’ve set our sights on Freddie Gibbs & Mad Lib, the post-punk chaos of Amyl & the Sniffers, an interview lined up with Chino of Deftones, ending the night with the party girl sounds of Peggy Gou. What a day to be had.

We take a turn of the festival, passing through the amphitheater-like Cupra stage (where I mistake Arab Strap for a Belle and Sebastian song) we follow a ramp down to the sea. A dome-like metal structure has drawn crowds of TikTok techno goth kids, mullets with biker sunnies, countless fans and tank tops, hypnotised by the purple-white glowing BOILER ROOM sign beckoning them in. These kids know how to have a good time. In a form of ritualistic worship with DJ Negro pres. The Noise at the center. We know this crowd won’t be seeing the sun this weekend.

Parc del Forum, in its combination of concrete structuring topped with mega solar panels, sea-facing pop-up islands and many a ramp reminds me of going for a jog on Wii Sports. All sorts of Miis passing us by, some heavily stylized in a just-walked-out-of-a-Y2K-music-video type of way, a group of gays in matching neon pink caps, and Deftones T-shirts galore.

Freddie Gibbs and Madlib killed it for their 10-year anniversary Piñata show. Gibbs attempts to leave the stage three times despite his surrendering return to hysterical cries from the crowd. ‘Why is he so fucking hot?’ A British guy next to me shouts ‘he’s the coolest guy I ever seen’.

Fur boots have managed to sneak their way into the Primavera’s styled crowds. A bleach-blonde girl with knee-high yeti boots stomps past us — surely her feet are not ok. Fashion is pain I suppose?

Amyl and the Sniffers arrive on stage in a clash of sounds that makes the crowd absolutely wild. Mosh pits open up as we speed off out of the crowd, part protecting Mathilde’s camera, and off to collect our passes to interview Chino of Deftones.

We are granted golden tickets in the form of artist wristbands in order to be escorted to meet the beloved Deftones frontman, Chino Moreno. Packed into a tight artist trailer, we delve into our oddly intuitive superstitions, the politics of the red pill, hotel coffee machines, and cowboy hats. We bid adieu to Chino as we anxiously await his reappearance a few hours from now, this time however separated by the Amazon Music stage.

It is always a pleasure to be backstage, but what better way to be reminded than a physical trophy of the experience? We bump into the one and only Rex DeTiger — keeper of custom business cards — backstage while he prepares to go on with Roosevelt. Fue un placer conocerte entre bastidores en Primavera Sound 2024. A pleasure it is, Rex, and a pleasure it will always be.

“Press has never been sexier” Liv shouts as we dance our asses off at L’Imperatrice. Clad in space-age silver gilets with glowing orbs on the chests and shoulders this set is groovy AF. Mathilde is now the one jumping up and down like a little boy. This is a sexy show. Transporting us into some alternative French disco universe, we are hooked by the band’s illuminating power (not to be confused with the glowing orbs clad on their shoulders). “L’Imperatrice are the best and that’s why I came here” Barcelona native Silvia tells me. She has come to Primavera to see two French artists — Justice being the other. This crowd is having the time of their lives, communicating through emoji language: peace signs, hearts, flicking their wrists to the French space siren sounds. ALLEZ ALLEZ ALLEZ. Hysterical is an understatement. This is one huge disco.

Suddenly, we are gunning it back to the Amazon Music stage — Deftones hosted the most hardcore fanbase of the festival so far. Headbanging in a perfect synchronization that would suggest a melody somewhere deep into the clashing sounds that if you know, you know. Chino’s stage presence is hypnotic and borderline cultish. Enraptured, we are in the pit. The front row embraces us. We’re evidently not dressed in the uniform of Deftones t-shirts, black eyeliner, some crazy tone of hair dye or bleach, and bondage-styled tops; yet somehow we manage to fit right in, bound by the collective and somehow coordinated practice of head-banging.

Before we know it, we’ve run across the festival grounds to Pulp. “My name’s Jarvis and I love Barcelona” the singer’s Sheffield twang rings out to the crowd. In an overwhelming display of showmanship, Cocker flocks about the stage dancing like your gay uncle on Christmas. It is a light show soundtracked by a full-on orchestra who he refers to as ‘some very very common people’ (?!?!). Returning for an encore, he throws sweets and grapes into the audience in classic grandpa behavior. It’s a midnight set and the all-aged crowd is absolutely loving it. We are dancing to ‘Common People’ in the VIP area.

2:00 AM on the dot, Peggy Gou took what was left of my soul. Her set unleashed the party girl I didn’t know I still had in me. Dancing into the photo pit like it was nobody’s business, it becomes very clear that it was in fact not our business, as we were politely escorted out and placed back into our rightful place — the GA pit. An Insta DJ in her natural habitat, all the baby tees and bralette crowds have amassed, party-protected by their skinny sunnies and chunky silver jewelry, all wrapped around her finger.

4:00 AM We peel Mathilde from the crowd, this girl is running on pure adrenaline and this moment. We trek back to the Vincci bit and prepare ourselves for tomorrow.

Friday (5/31)

Gasping awake, my sinuses are broken, air-con or beer or cigarettes, all I am sure of is that I am physically weak. Solo missions take me to the blue cafe for an omelet, coffee, coke, juice, and a pack of Camel Blues: every hangover cure rolled into one.

If yesterday can be summed up by our I <3 Barcelona panties, VIP sexiness, and hardcore Deftones head banging, Friday was the day/night of I <3 Sex thongs, the Lana del Stampede, and Snow Strippers.

Smirnoff Ice in one hand, all-access artist wristband on the other, we glide past the long press queue into the venue. We head to meet SCOWL, hardcore punk band hailing from Santa Cruz, to chat briefly and grab some portraits, all whilst crammed in amidst the tiled backdrops of their glamorous dressing room showers.

5:15 PM Post-SCOWL and we are heading towards the Estrella Damm stage when a guy stops us asking where Lana will be playing. This was Mohammad, 23 from Egypt and living in Germany who came to Primavera alone just for Lana. She is on in five hours and he is heading right now to camp out at the stage; He hopes it’s not too crowded, ‘I want to be on the front row if possible.’ As we pull up to the entrance of the stage it becomes immediately clear that Mohammad will most likely not be making it to the front row. Thousands of Americana-clad Lana fans are sardined and cordoned off at each entrance, barely contained by the security as tensions and anticipation start to rise. We wish Mohammad good luck as he sprints off into the distance, ‘Chemtrails over the Country Club’ bouncing up and down his back getting further and further away from us.

Day 2 is LanaFest, we’re Lana del Afraid. Barriers open and a herd of prairie dresses, ribbons, bow, red black and white lace and heart shaped sunglasses come stampeding right at us. They’re young, they’re wild, they’re free. “We’re gonna get stampeded by little girls!” Liv screams. A guy breaks free of the security barriers, running for his life through the field — ‘Be Free’ is emblazoned on his back, arms in the air. Little Lana fairies are fleeing into all corners. Lace, veils, cherries and flower crowns unite under one shared mission of waiting out the following five hours together. God bless any band that dares play before Lana.

5:45 PM In the thick of the crowds and Mohammad passes us by — he’s gone to the wrong stage! We wish him well once more as he again flees off into the mist of the crowd - a literal mist as dust clouds produced by masses of cowboy boots. The crowd is filling up and we decide this isn’t our battle to fight today. We are Lana del Done for Now.

Over at the Cupra stage, the Lana del Strays gather — a London-style crowd with edgier pairings of prairie skirts with tight-fit football jerseys, cowboy boots and more clips than hair, sacrificing their front row pitches for The Last Dinner Party. Lead singer Abigail Morris prances around the stage like a new-wave queer second coming of Jesus Christ.

We meet DJ Spanish Fly backstage, and upon greeting us he hands us each a custom sticker from a pile he’s got ready in the pocket of his full Puma tracksuit. Checkerboard stripes up the legs and arms and whistle round the neck, we were blessed by his grounding presence — our Primavera priest sending us on our way into the dark and unholy night…

Yet again darting across the festival, we pack ourselves into the already full capacity VIP deck as we prepare to be submerged in pure ecstasy for Troye Sivan B2B Lana del Rey. Hell yeah.

Next thing we know, we are surrounded by the hottest gay men in Spain. Did Miuccia Prada fly them all out and deliver them directly to the VIP section of Troye Sivan’s set? These are some of the sexiest and most crisp-dressed men we have ever seen. A “Gay Psy-Ops” as Dorian Electra perfectly puts it during our interview the next day. Do they all know each other? Are they staying on some magical island that only gorgeous gay men know of? As Troye performs his last song by making out with one of his back-up dancers in leather chaps, it becomes clear that “there’s no worse feeling than being horny around gay men.” Suddenly, and unironically, we have found ourselves searching for the Lana del Straights.

Summing up Lana’s show: she is an incredibly beautiful and angelic being who made me and Liv cry and blessed our souls in the 40 minutes she graced us with her presence. Mathilde pissed herself, Liv tried to. We meet Brendan (NYC) and Lara (Toronto) in the VIP deck. ‘She is the people’s princess!’ Lara tearfully exclaims at the end of the set. ‘La loca chica’ Brendan chimes back.

Snow Strippers is absolute mania. The electroclash high-speed sounds are popping off in the Warehouse x Dice stage — an underground parking garage — a rave surrounded by the hardcore crowd merging mullets, black sunnies, and tanks with pops of neon pink and green.

Paying 3 euros for a glass of water was a sober slap in the face as we left with the intention of shooting the Arca crowds and found ourselves bumping into some Lana del Straights in the form of 2 Danish boys who tell us they are here on one mission: Looking for Lana.

They call us the ‘discount girls.’ Maybe they’re right? We have managed to finesse our way through this whole festival. Backstage, VIP areas, we’ve been living our best lives. Toilet queues? Entrance queues? Do we even know what that means anymore?

The night ended in utter chaos and loss of composure and of each other — soundtracked by Arca.

Saturday (6/1)

Feeling feral today. Can’t quite put our finger on it but there’s a specific energy in the air.

We meet office alum Dorian Electra, who absolutely shifts our states and puts us in the best of moods. We were dying and Dorian brought us back to life through a discourse on weird sex dreams and ambien horror stories, all whilst confined to a glass box directly adjacent to the festival admissions gates titled the ‘Press Hub.’

There’s a lot of I <3 logos knocking about today: Barcelona, boobs, hot moms, hot dads, NY, MCR… People are keeping it simple and sweet for the final day.

We find our way to Boiler Room Backstage, where we meet Tati and Graham of Snow Strippers, taking shelter behind the VIP bar. Nick Leon joins us. We’re cut short with thunderstorms six miles away.

“I don’t wanna live like common people” Liv shouts out into the night as the bouncers shepherd everyone from the VIP crowd. How the tables truly have turned for us.

We battle the storm through the last of the lineup: Bikini Kill, Channel One and Charli XCX. I become the designated festival boyfriend, Northern roots kicking in like I was waterproof. Donated and swapping out my jeans and long sleeve for Mathilde and Liv’s mini-skirts and strappy tops – like a game of musical chairs, we traded pants and tops as the night saw fit... In fact, between the three of us Saturday night saw three outfit swaps until the power of Charli frees Liv of pants completely and we lose ourselves in the crowd of Primavera’s final set.

The festival ends for us as all festivals tend to — a blackout. Due to the rain, we lose all photographic evidence at this point in order to protect the cameras.

The next morning we crawl into the lift to find ‘Welcome to Primavera’ removed from the mirror… (like it never happened?)...

Having sought out recovery in a ham and cheese sandwich, we dare make our way into central Barcelona and hole up in the bliss of Antic Teatre’s hidden garden. There we meet London-based Eric, Daniel and Nikky for some post-Primavera cervezas. Sharing Primavera highlights, they too obsessed over L’Imperatrice, however one individual stood out to them: “The Arca Demon Twink” (ADT abbreviated). The ADT was ‘tiny’, ‘gorgeous’ and giving Timothee Chalamet vibes. The ADT is unforgettable. The ADT has become incorporated into their everyday speech, ‘Don’t go ADT on me tonight.’ Who are you, Arca Demon Twink?

Culture

Richard King and the Time Traveling Pop Star

June 04, 2024

Looking back, a lot of my teenage years can be defined by the pursuit of “coolness.” I remember an old friend telling me that “every music-loving gay wants to be like Arthur Russell,” after I told her that he was my favorite artist. I first discovered his music during a deep dive into YouTube recommendations when “I Couldn’t Say It To Your Face” caught my attention. I was hooked.

Driving down the 101 freeway as a teenager, I’d daydream about life in New York City, blasting Arthur Russell like we were the only ones who truly understood each other. In reality, his mystical existence spanned generations of "cool" kids, creating experimental pop music that metamorphosed through genres. Russell made music for a utopia, channeling the spiritual world through his Buddhist practice to tap into the collective consciousness of present and future youth.

By Joshua Kohno
Scans courtesy of publisher, Anthology

His work has been universally appreciated, sampled by the likes of Kanye West and Blood Orange and featured in the works of Philip Glass and Allen Ginsberg. In a way, his creative practice summoned multiple versions of himself through space and time. With most of his work being released posthumously, Arthur Russell’s identity somehow belongs to each individual listener. His work is often discussed more as a projection than as his own perspective.

Richard King’s new book Travels Over Feeling: Arthur Russell, a Life, guides us through the legacy that Arthur Russell left behind. Pieced together with clues of brilliance, the book explores the genius of his ephemerality and the spirit behind his creativity. In an attempt to bring Arthur Russell’s words to life, the book comprises multimedia pieces such as notes, posters, and even grocery lists archived in the New York Public Library.

Why Arthur Russell as the subject for your book?

I’ve absolutely loved his music, and I don’t think I know many people who quite like his music. Most people who have heard of him, love him. In the case of Arthur, people don’t dislike him, they just haven't known about him. His music has come out largely after his death. There’s an element that we can make him whoever we want him to be. He was relentless and unable to finish anything which only showed his genius. He can’t help but be mysterious, but I wanted to know if it was possible to present Arthur on his own terms rather than project onto him. I think it’s very hard when there’s so little existing material to not project a version of Arthur that we want. His music is so remarkable that it’s a human response to create Arthur into this Guardian Angel like character. One dangerous projection is that he was some kind of martyr because of how he died. I wanted to see if the archive could present Arthur in his own words. I wanted to try and bring him a little bit closer to the sidewalk than this sort of celestial figure.

Everyone you interviewed seemed to have their own perspective on him. I felt like I was reading a documentary script the way it was visually portrayed. I found it so fascinating that at one point his sister said she learned so much more about him after he died through his friends. Could you talk about the conversations you had with his sister?

There are photographs of both his sisters in the studio with Arthur when he’s dying and stricken with HIV AIDS. There are several family photographs of him on holiday with his family. He participated in family life. However, Kate suggests that he was very absent even when he was physically present. He didn’t talk about his sexuality to his parents until he was ill. He had also run away from home, so I assume there was a lot of difficulty for him in working out where he stood in terms of what a family was.

I think for Kate and for the rest of the family there are a couple of things going on. One is that their father was just so happy that towards the end of his life he saw Arthur have success in the way that Arthur hadn’t when he was alive. He saw the music getting the recognition that he knew his son had craved. I think the other thing that happened was through the revival of Arthur’s music, they got to meet several of his collaborators and close friends. They were able to share with them a similar experience of Arthur's diffidence and social ambiguity, if we call it that. That was sort of comforting as well. “It wasn't just us in the family that didn't always know how to get through to him. It was everyone.” I think that's what Kate's talking about when she says people bring him alive. They partly bring him alive as there's an element of discovery in this mutual experience. One of these defining qualities included not being brilliant at communicating.

It seems like he had a really big community of musicians that he was constantly working with in the East Village. What was it like connecting with musicians who were part of his scene and maybe other characters that you met along the way?

All of them were really remarkable people. I think some of them were maybe a little worn out of talking about Arthur. What was really rewarding for me and perhaps, to a degree for them was I was able to show them elements of the archive on screen. We could talk about the memories in front of us. I could talk about playing specific shows or chord charts. It allowed people to remember certain aspects of their relationship with Arthur, but it kind of made everything a little more specific as well. It brought me to sort of reorientate Arthur away from the myth through his daily life. For a lot of them, they could take care of their overheads by playing three shows a week or 10 shows a month in New York. Was that work kind of mutual aid, making 50 bucks of an evening, or was it a self supporting, shared creativity? I think it depends on what day of the week I was and what mood everyone was in.

It was dirty, cheap to live, and the city was full of exciting people. Magic happens when a group of people don’t have to worry about money and live in a big city.

I remember reading in the book that Peter Gordon says they’d pass the same $50 to each other.

Exactly. It was easy to get work in Manhattan at the time in commercial music because they’re all obviously incredibly talented musicians. Arthur was different. He didn’t have a day job. Superficially, one might think that meant he was a bohemian, lazy guy who waited for the music to come, but nothing could be further from the truth. His colleagues said that he had a more pronounced work rate than any of them. He would be happy to live in penury, but he’d work on his music sometimes 18 hours a day. There was an element of them just playing together to get by I think as well. I showed Peter Gordon a setlist and he said, “Gosh, I saw that writing and chords too many times. We rarely followed what we wrote down. It was often quite chaotic.” Since they’re all really talented they knew what to play.

Referencing back to pieces from the archive seemed like an intense process. What was it like organizing the book?

I went to the archive four times, and each time it was about a week long trip, so I spent probably about a month in it. Each time I went I took a crazy amount of photos. I think by the time I'd worked out what had to go into telling the story I was trying to tell, it kind of developed its own internal logic. I spoke to most people three or four times. There were things that could be revealed about each element of his life that hadn't been revealed, so I didn't want to rush through his childhood or dwell on his death. When he released “Go Bang”, and “Is All Over My Face” he was also writing pop songs and writing an opera. Although that happened in 80 and 81, I didn't want 80 and 81 to not just be about The Loft, Paradise Garage and this mythical downtown New York, you know?

Yeah definitely. Speaking of his dance music, there seems to be a lot of synchronicity between Disco music and Indian music because of the drones and consciousness raising properties. Were there any other moments in the archive where his New Age experience came out or where he would use meditation in his notes?

When it comes to World of Echo, the phrasing and singing, but Arthur had singing lessons and his voice is extraordinary in World of Echo. He got to that place with his voice by breathing in his Buddhist practices. The idea of World of Echo itself is that we’re always changing and always the same. There’s a consciousness in World of Echo that feels almost divine. People seem to be drawn to this sense of secular prayer, and I think his music is a safe place for young people. In the book, he makes one last trip to the ocean to meet with his old Buddhist teacher, and his teacher refuses him. That level of rejection felt incredibly difficult for him. So in that sense, it feels like a presence in his identity. If I had wanted to I could’ve explored more about his practice, but I thought it would be anecdotal. People want him to be in the footage of Keith Haring's birthday at the Paradise Garage or at John Lennon’s apartment when he died, but I didn’t want to speculate how he could’ve been in the past.

What was it like seeing things from conception to end? From an idea to a fully developed piece?

I never saw anything as a finished song. There were two moments where he’s frustrated and wrote snarky stuff like “my dick is big.” You can just tell he’s really bored. Two of my favorite songs are “Keeping Up” and “Wild Combination” and I included a work in progress of “Wild Combination” to show its development. I feel like the composition of the song was often more rigorous and challenging than the lyrics. There’s one about East Village in the Summer, and it’s so evocative. Nobody had seen it before, and as I was reading it, I could imagine him singing it. There were no cross-outs and no edits, so I think part of his talent was always to conceive of something.

Is there anything that you learned from his creative process? Any patterns you noticed?

He worked incredibly hard. He embodied that talent is enough. He always had a pen and paper in his pocket. I think the thing I learned most of all is how unbelievably open minded he was when it came to being creative. I got an enormous amount of peace from him. He was frustrated constantly, but there was incredible peace when it came to his own work. I imagined myself in his apartment, and even spoke to Lucy about what it would’ve been like to be living there during his time.

Speaking of Lucy, I was kind of jealous when she said her NYC apartment was only $150 a month.

It was dirty, cheap to live, and the city was full of exciting people. Magic happens when a group of people don’t have to worry about money and live in a big city.

Culture

Happy Pride, From Girldick and The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black

We’re all heart eyes for Girl Dick. Blair Broll looked like Envy Adams if she were gayer, which is pretty hard to do. We start off with some party ethnography: “Where my bisexuals at?” An earth-shattering cheer. “Where my gay men at?” A loud and surprisingly low ‘woo.’ “So there are some tops in the crowd,” observes Broll. “Where?” asks a guest. I hope they found the top(s) they were looking for. “I want everyone licking nipples and getting sexy tonight,” orders Broll. By the first song, the keys player has their ass entirely out and is thrusting while playing. A fan has already made mouth contact with Broll’s boobs. Nice.

After their set someone asks for my number. It’s funny how different people hit on me — girls have their friends compliment me. Boys yell at me across the street and laugh about it with their friends. I guess queerness is about multiplicity. I end up leaving the queer art museum performance to go play beer pong (and win). Multiplicity.

The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black rolls up in latex, pink suits, gingham, and their signature massive wigs. Painted red and green with black teeth, Kembra Pfahler flings pairs of underwear into an eager crowd with arms outstretched, seeking salvation in flying pantyhose. Voluptuous Horror’s fans sing along reflexively. At the end of their set, Pfahler sprinkles an unspecified white powder on us. Conveniently, inside the exhibition, the Bronx Móvil harm reduction table has Pride-themed “safer sniff kits,” complete with condoms, rainbow straws, a plastic cutting board, and fentanyl test strips.

Harm reduction is an inherently queer political action — not queer in the sense of sexuality, but queer in the sense that it functions outside of mainstream institutions. When cops and politicians refuse to take care of us, we take care of ourselves. In Gary Indiana’s Horse Crazy, a character speaks of AIDS and claims that the only safe sex “is if one person jerks off at one end of the room and someone else jerks off at the other, both trying to hit the same spot in the middle of the floor.” In a queer aesthetics class, we learned that there’s no such thing as safe sex, only safer sex. The same can be said about drugs. Public health rhetoric that criminalizes drug usage as a crisis that needs to be solved fatally overlooks the reality of drug use. The “stop using drugs” argument is eerily reminiscent of the “stop having sex” argument. There’s no contact without risk.

Something Blair said at the end of Girl Dick’s set stuck with me — while many of us can celebrate Pride by getting drunk and making out with strangers, we must remember that Pride is political. We must continue to organize, in joy and rage, for and around those in Palestine, many of whom may not have the capacity to celebrate Pride during genocide. The argument isn't that we must be constantly solemn, or that we must forego celebrations, but that we must also channel constructive energy to ensure Pride becomes a lived reality for everyone. It’s a catchy phrase — “Pride was a riot.” Perhaps it’s time we live it.