ISSUE 128 | AUGUST 2024 SPACE ECHO: KRYSTI JOMÉI BB-8: JONNY DESTEFANO ADOBE-WAN KENOBI: JULIANNA BECKERT LONE STAR: KAYVAN S. T. KHALATBARI L3-37: CRISTIN COLVIN MOOG PRODIGY: MARK MOTHERSBAUGH BD-1: MEGAN ARENSON SUPPORT OUR FRIENDS AND BENEFACTORS: MEOW WOLF, MUTINY INFORMATION CAFE, NIGHT LIGHTS DENVER, DENVER THEATRE DISTRICT, BENNY BLANCO'S, MONKEY BARREL, INN AT VANESSIE, OFF THE BOTTLE REFILL SHOP, DENVER DIGERATI, ASTRO TOURS, CAT'S EYE CRYSTALS, COLORADO TATTOO CONVENTION & EXPO, COLORADO FESTIVAL OF HORROR, TOXOPLASMA ARTS FRONT COVER: MOON PATROL, PUMA LADY III BACK COVER: JOSH KEYES, DRIFT HOTH: MOON PATROL, ROB GINSBERG, KID KOALA, ZAC DUNN, JASON WHITE, BRIAN POLK, ALI HOFF, DAVE DANZARA, HANA ZITTEL, ERIC JOYNER, TYLER DAVIS, GRAY WINSLER, KATE RUSSELL, QUINN FATI, JOSHUA WARE, NATE BALDING, JOEL TAGERT, TOM MURPHY, NICK FLOOK KASHYYYK: ANASTASIA EMELIANOVA, SHELLEY THE SHRIMP, MARY VALERY, JOSH KEYES DAGOBAH: MARIANO OREAMUNO, HANA ZITTEL, DS THORNBURG, PHIL GARZA, ZAC DUNN, MAGGIE D. FEDOROV, CRISTIN COLVIN FOLLOW US – IG: @BIRDY.MAGAZINE | FB: @BIRDYMAGAZINE BE IN BIRDY – ART + WORDS + COMEDY + ET CETERA: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SUBMISSIONS MAILED SUBSCRIPTIONS + SINGLE & BACK ISSUES + MERCH: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/SHOP ADVERTISE IN BIRDY + SUPPORT US + HELP US GROW: BIRDYMAGAZINE.COM/CONTACT-US BIRDY IS MADE BY SIENAR FLEET SYSTEMS, DOGFIGHTS MONTHLY ©2024 BIRDY MAGAZINE, BANTHA IN THE ROOM 1 JONNY DESTEFANO, WE FINALLY MEET
ROB GINSBERG (D.A.S.A.), THE SURPRIZE SERIES - ROBGINSBERG.COM KID KOALA, ANCHOVY 787 No. 128
Octopus Eye BY ZAC DUNN As WAVES break overhead And the tide swells up like The kettles call at dawn Gulls sing bright clips That slip over whitecaps and Fins that coalesce in obtuse Order and motion in chaos Spiraling out boundlessly upon the liquid Heath where a catfish wishes it could DREAM TOO OF A SKY ABOVE As the orb warms the surface and The eye dips into blindness So sublime in the wink It thinks not of anything But the next bite of KRILL of the breath of KHAN Who holds to the greatest Story ever told hidden Deep in the box at the bottom of all That we think we could ever Dream to KNOW Tentacles of LOVE clutch GEMS so the WAVES do not BREAK and take them out to SEA The heart of the LEVIATHAN Perched upon the wreck is always Clicking and ticking down the Moments that flow at a different rate In TIME and SPACE When the pull of GRAVITY And the insurmountable weight of the universe Of liquid pushing endlessly to implode But the mighty thing sleeps in slow drones That gives only the softest murmur as the old JUNK Slowly floats past the GYER of plastic and refuse To see but a glimpse of the slurry bubble from the Deep that breaks and takes back the Breathe from where it came OXYGEN-like LIGHT on the SEAFLOOR Is all but nonexistent The fish with oil in its bones knows this too But sleeps tight knowing only a JUNGLE AND NEVER A ZOO 5:01 AM HOD (desk) 7.2.23.0003 OGE IZU 314 FOLLOW FOR MORE — IG: @UZIEGO | TUMBLR: @SAVAGESNEVERSLEEPNYC ART BY ANASTASIA EMELIANOVA
AFTER ABANDONING ATTEMPTS AT LIVING A NORMAL LIFE, I CONSIDER EMBRACING MY ECCENTRICITY BY BRIAN POLK ART BY JASON WHITE MY CONTRARIAN FRIEND WHO SPENDS LESS THAN 1 PERCENT OF HIS LIFE OUTSIDE STILL HAS STRONG OPINIONS ABOUT THE WEATHER My friend, who in the interest of anonymity we’ll call Dipshit McWiener, never leaves his house, car, or place of work — all three of which are air-conditioned. Yet, he still somehow has combative, longwinded opinions about the warm weather — all of which he’s willing to share, completely unprompted. “I hate summer so much,” he says randomly from his indoor workplace that’s so thoroughly temperature controlled, he has to wear sweatshirts just to keep warm. “I mean, what kind of idiot likes the hot sun anyway? All these morons with their patio drinks and shorts. I hope the sun gives them cancer.” Luckily No. 128 for Mr. McWiener, most everyone forgets about his controversial hot takes on the warmer months as soon as December hits, because that’s when he’ll also have you know that he can’t stand snow, ice, skiers, or Christmas carols. IT ONLY RECENTLY OCCURRED TO ME THAT SOME PEOPLE DON’T HAVE A FAVORITE WHAM! SONG A few weeks back, I was at a wedding, hanging out with the other cool olds (who still drink and periodically sneak out back for a doobie). And one of the youngsters (read: 29-year-old) came with us to smoke some weed. Of course at some point, us elders had the all-important conversation
that everyone has at weddings: naming our favorite Wham! songs. As we went around the circle, most of the standard hits came up: “Freedom,” “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” and “Everything She Wants.” Some asshole (starved for attention, no doubt) even said, “Wham Rap!” But when it was the 29-year-old’s turn, he didn’t have a favorite Wham! song at all. In fact, he didn’t even know the group existed. When someone said, “It was George Michael’s band,” he still had no clue what we were talking about. And that’s when I realized how close to death I truly am. A LOT OF PEOPLE I WORK WITH ARE HUNGOVER ALL THE TIME — AND THEY DON’T EVEN DRINK Every day when I come to work, the majority of my coworkers complain about how tired they are, how they have headaches, and how everything is too damned bright. It would be one thing if this grumble fest happened quarterly, monthly, or even weekly. But it’s a daily event. It reminds me of my 20s when I would go out drinking every night and come into work hungover as a matter of course. But at least I was out there having fun. These people have a nightly bedtime of 9:15 and haven’t consumed a drop of booze in several years. So whenever they moan about the terrible hangovers they get as a result of their boring-ass, completely sober lifestyles, I can only think, “Jesus, it’s a damn good thing you people don’t drink.” I WOULD LOVE TO, BUT I CAN’T AFFORD IT If I had a dime for every time I uttered this phrase, I would actually be able to afford it. DAMN IT, ONE OF THE PEOPLE I TOLD TO REACH OUT IF HE EVER NEEDED HELP JUST REACHED OUT So there’s this guy I’ve met a few times at our bands’ shows that I’m e-friends with on social media. And he kept posting all these cryptic messages about the various difficulties he had been experiencing. So I told him he could reach out if he ever needed help — with the understanding that the gesture was completely devoid of validity and was only offered because I like to think of myself as a good person. But apparently this was only a one-way understanding, because he DMed me and asked if I was free to get coffee or something. And of course I was available, but did I want to spend my free time listening to someone I hardly knew droning on and on about his endless problems? I did not. But I kind of have to do it now, since the offer was in writing. I suppose it was only a matter of time before someone called me to task after making tens of thousands of empty proposals throughout my life. Well done, my casual acquaintance. Well done. ON THE PRECIPICE OF A NEW ADVENTURE, MY PARTNER IN CRIME TOLD ME, “WHATEVER HAPPENS, I GOT YOUR BACK,” WHICH IS A LOUSY METAPHOR, SINCE MY BACK HAS CAUSED ME NOTHING BUT PAIN THE LAST COUPLE OF YEARS I’ve experienced a lot of back pain since the spring of 2022, when I injured myself headbanging at a They Might Be Giants show. So when my co-conspirator reassured me that he “got [my] back,” I cringed. Then he asked me what was wrong, and I explained my shitty pun/dad joke. And that was when he cringed. 5
ALI HOFF, SKY RAYS PLAY AROUND THE RUINS PROJECTED THROUGH AUG. 2024 ON DANIELS & FISHER TOWER IN SUMMER CONUNDRUM BY BIRDY, NIGHT LIGHTS DENVER
New Mexico-based art rebel Dave Danzara creates for our eyes to wake up our minds. With the world as his stage, Dave has played roles as an illustrator, filmmaker, custom framer, international graphic designer, artist for musical giants and cultural icons, and more, landing him to where he is today as a nonconforming collage artist known as Lost In Time. Unapologetically honoring his intuition and inherent creative duty, this renaissance man remixes his analogue artistry with technology to create neoteric designs that remind us to question everything: the good, the bad, the ugly, the unseen. From pop culture to punk to psychedelia to post-apocalyptic, there’s an undefinable familiarity and even comfort at times in his work, amplified by playfully bold humor that coaxes us not to take ourselves too seriously. Simultaneously, each piece exists as an urgent reminder to make the most of our time here on this planet, and particular plane of existence, while we still can, because time is running out. WE’RE HUGE FANS OF YOUR WORK AND ARE SO HONORED TO BE ABLE TO SHOWCASE YOUR ART IN BIRDY NEARLY EVERY MONTH. NOT ONLY DO WE LOVE THE DIVERSITY AND FUN OF YOUR AESTHETIC, BUT ALSO THE INTELLIGENCE AND EVEN BRAVERY BEHIND YOUR MESSAGING. HOW ARE IDEAS BORN FOR YOU? AND HOW DO YOU MAKE THEM COME TO LIFE? Thank you so much for having me be a part of your magazine. I feel extremely honored. I bounce around aesthetically, but I don’t stray from the message or feeling I try to express in each design. I think I just get ideas either from past experiences or current events. I love pop culture, dreamy, psychedelic, post punk and post-apocalyptic stuff. So I just go off of how I feel that day when I’m creating something from the start. No. 128 Sometimes an idea just pops into my head, sometimes I don’t even know where I’m going with it, and it ends up turning into something entirely new for me. That’s what I like most about creating something, it’s emotional for me. I like contrast; it brings a dramatic feeling to each design. YOU STARTED YOUR DIGITAL COLLAGE CAREER BY CREATING ALL OF YOUR PIECES SOLELY ON YOUR PHONE. IS THIS STILL THE CASE? Yes, believe it or not I just started messing around with different apps from my phone. It became natural for me since I did film editing for a living. I love piecing and puzzling things together, it just became habit after that, fine-tuning the craft. It’s now been just over 10 years. DESCRIBE YOUR MAKERSPACE. My makerspace derives from many different parts of life and collected memories that somehow blend into the whole aesthetic. So I created a specific work environment where I can be exactly who I am without boundaries. I turn out the lights then throw on some music, preferably something electronic or shoegazey. I tap in and get started. It’s a room you can easily get lost in, I call it the “Spaced Out Room.” It’s literally a black light room to space out in with various nerdy artifacts thrown in. I’m a little insane. AS A FULL-TIME CREATIVE, HOW DO YOU KEEP YOURSELF MOTIVATED, KEEP YOUR INNER ARTISTIC RESERVOIR/ CREATIVE WELL FLOWING? My motivation is being true to my nature. I love challenging myself, it molds my spirit and is satisfying. It fuels my passion to see something that I envision come into fruition. It keeps me alive and free. Music is also key to connecting that creative spark. SPANISH AIR
THOUGH YOU’RE KNOWN AS A COLLAGE ARTIST, YOU’VE BEEN A MULTIDISCIPLINARY CREATIVE YOUR WHOLE LIFE — A FILMMAKER, GRAPHIC DESIGNER AND ARTIST FOR ACCLAIMED BANDS AND INTERNATIONAL BRANDS, AN INTERIOR DESIGNER, STARTING AS FAR BACK AS A CHILD WITH DRAWING AND PAINTING. CAN YOU DIVE DEEPER INTO YOUR ARTISTIC HISTORY FOR US? Yes, I have been all over the place in the art world. Lots of chapters in my life. Since I was very young, growing up I watched my talented Mother paint. I studied her, and intensely and patiently would just soak it all in. I just began doing anything that was artistic going forward. Years later, in high school, I won a scholarship to the Laguna College of Art & Design in Southern California. Took a few courses in life drawing and sculpting. After college, I had a job doing custom picture framing. Worked with an insane amount of well-known clients. Tony Hawk, Quicksilver, Hurley, Vans, Yo Gabba Gabba!, Ed Templeton and so many more! I was installing art shows for celebrities and world-renowned artists. Then I ventured into film making. I taught myself how to edit videos. At the time I was a wedding videographer, so I got an itch to try something that soothes my creative soul. So I created a documentary called The Video Craze: Where were you in ‘82? I dedicated over three years of my life editing, filming and producing my first fully funded film from the ground up. It’s was exhausting but satisfying at the same time. Since then, I’ve been doing editing and collage design from my phone and iPad for about 10 years now. `HAVE YOU DABBLED IN ANY OF YOUR PAST MEDIUMS LATELY? OR DO HAVE ANY PLANS OR WISHES TO? I recently have taken a step back from doing anything especially on my phone, so I haven’t been as active doing anything art related. But GAME OVER ACK,ACK,ACK,ACK,ACK DAVE DANZARA
I have been thinking about doing something new. I just need a break here and there. When I go for something, I go guns blazing, nothingcan-stop-me attitude! I’m very intense and I don’t stop creating once I have an idea. RECALL A STANDOUT HIGHLIGHT OF YOUR CREATIVE CAREER. AND A LOWLIGHT. I’d say a standout highlight would have to be getting an email from NBC for Saturday Night Live. The band The Strokes was performing and needed a piece I created. They used it as their backdrop during their performance. It was a really surreal blackout type of moment for me. I didn’t do any of these designs to make money from it, or even think I’d have some attention so it has been a fun ride. The lowlight is accepting that you can’t always do this as a living. I learned a lot from doing this as a business, unfortunately it’s been more of a headache. Unfortunately things change, good or bad, that’s life! BIGGEST CHANGE YOU’VE EXPERIENCED FROM WHEN YOU FIRST STARTED IN ART TO NOW? The biggest change would definitely be the digital vs. analog. I did a lot of life drawing using charcoal and pen and inks. I love to use my hands. Once digital became more mainstream on phones I started creating these designs from apps. I began messing around more and more until I found my niche. I even cut and create these collages with my finger on the screen instead of using a pen. I’ve also been doing a lot of drawing lately in my designs. I just trust what I’ve always done when I create something, so I kept it as human as possible. I guess the challenge was me trying something out of my comfort zone, and it paid off. YOUR MONIKER, LOST IN TIME, IS BASED ON BLADE RUNNER. REPLICANT ROY BATTY’S ENDING MONOLOGUE STATES: “I’VE SEEN THINGS YOU PEOPLE WOULDN’T BELIEVE. ATTACK SHIPS ON FIRE OFF THE SHOULDER OF COWBOYS VS. ALIENS DAVE DANZARA THE BILLIONAIRES CLUB
ORION. I WATCHED C-BEAMS GLITTER IN THE DARK NEAR THE TANNHÄUSER GATE. ALL THOSE MOMENTS WILL BE LOST IN TIME, LIKE TEARS IN RAIN … TIME TO DIE.” WHAT DOES THIS QUOTE MEAN TO YOU AS AN ARTIST? AND HOW HAS THE FILM AS A WHOLE IMPACTED YOU? Oh man, yeah this quote resonates heavily to me. To me, it expresses the beauty in everything, the best memories and the chapters of your life. The perseverance of being human, and in the end, truth. Blade Runner is definitely my favorite movie. The film encompasses this aesthetic that captures this neo-noir post-apocalyptic world. The visuals, story and music really does it for me. So I’ve integrated those elements throughout my designs. The name Lost In Time has a deeper meaning for me. You need to be lost to find where you belong. Meaning you never stop being curious about who you are and what your meaning is. It takes courage in a place you have never felt familiar with, if you keep going you understand where you belong. WHAT’S IT LIKE LIVING AND WORKING IN ALBUQUERQUE, NM VERSUS LOS ANGELES, CA? The difference living here in Albuquerque, New Mexico is that it’s a lot dryer climate and traffic doesn’t exist. Oh, and a lot less people! I lived in Southern California most of my life, so I miss the weather and that ocean air, but it was time for the next adventure. WE REALLY APPRECIATE THE DIVERSITY IN YOUR COLLAGE WORK — SPANNING FROM THE FUN LIGHTHEARTED POP CULTURE REFERENCES TO HOW YOU SPEAK TO ORWELL’S 1984 AND THE NAKED CORRUPTION WE CAN ALL PLAINLY SEE TODAY. THESE DAYS IT TAKES COURAGE TO BE AN ARTIST WHO SPEAKS TRUTH TO POWER IN OUR CURRENT TIME WHERE VIOLENCE IS THREATENED TO KEEP PEOPLE IN THE DARK, AND SHADOWBANNING IS USED TO LEVERAGE CONFORMITY AND CONTROL IN THE DIGITAL WORLD. YOU’VE BEEN DEALING WITH THE LATTER ON SOCIAL MEDIA THIS YEAR, DESCRIBING YOURSELF AS A “NONCONFORMIST — NEEDING TO BE A LION IN A WORLD OF SHEEP” DURING THIS DAY AND AGE AS A DIGITAL ARTIST. CAN YOU EXPAND ON THIS EXPERIENCE AND HOW YOU’RE NAVIGATING THROUGH IT ALL? Yes, I love to push the boundaries and to make people think. There is a wider deeper context surrounding the message I’m trying to convey. Since an early age I have always felt like something didn’t connect or add up. I notice things I don’t think most others do. Pattern recognition has a lot to do with it, I see things differently and question things that don’t add up. It’s a slippery slope, lol … conveying a design that is politically driven can strike some nerves … well … good! That means I did what it was meant to do. I’m not a democrat or a republican, I’m Dave Danzara and I believe to be human. I’m very self-aware, spiritually conscious and a deep thinker. Most people accepted the work, eat, entertainment, sleep, cycle as life but I have a desire for a deeper understanding of our purpose in this universe. I’m expressing and showing exactly what I feel about where we are currently. It is very clear to me that we were born into fear, indoctrinated into propaganda brainwashed zombies, questioning nothing, only to obey. The most frightening part about waking up is finding out most people around you don’t care … you’re either awake by now or you just weren’t meant to be. I’ve become more attracted to authenticity and less attracted to illusion. Deception follows a script, like the saying goes, “all the world’s a stage.” Believe the truth or their truth, that is your mission. YOU CAREFULLY CURATE YOUR ART ON INSTAGRAM AND ELSEWHERE WITH THOUGHTFULLY CHOSEN TUNES, ALL OF WHICH ARE INCREDIBLY DIVERSE SPANNING FROM BANGERS TO DEEP CUTS, BRINGING FURTHER LIFE TO YOUR 11 COME PLAY WITH US JOE STRUMMER
IMAGES. IT’S AS IF YOU’RE AN EXPERIENCED DJ/SELECTOR. WHAT ROLE DOES MUSIC PLAY IN YOUR ART AND LIFE? I’m glad you took notice to that. In fact, I take a lot of pride into completing the entire message of my design. I specifically select the right track to fit the vibe for the design. It completes the entire ensemble of your will. I used to play in a couple of bands as a young teen. I was a goth punk finding my way in the world. Music has saved my life numerous times. Music is a huge part of my life, so I wanted to translate the emotion and feeling and bridge it into my design. But I also believe film editing helped my love for inserting music with the image. I want you to feel all of it. WHAT ELSE DO YOU LIKE TO DO FOR FUN? I like to be outdoors when I can. Especially hiking and getting away from the concrete. It cleanses the soul. Going to antique stores, collecting retro nostalgia of sorts. Listening to music has always been a deep connection for me. Playing a few games from time to time. Life adventures and hanging out with my kids, Logan and Laurel, and my best friend and wife, Elysa. HOW DO YOU BALANCE BEING A FATHER WHILE BEING AN ARTIST? Being a father was my best artistic achievement of course. I don’t know how I could live without them. They are why I stay motivated in everything I have passion for. WHAT’S YOUR ARTIST MANIFESTO. My manifesto is accepting and knowing who you are, to be real and authentic, and not take life too seriously. WHAT SENSE DO YOU RELY ON MOST? AND IF YOU ONLY HAD TWO SENSES TO CHOOSE FROM, WHICH WOULD YOU CHOOSE? I rely on common sense, my intuition. If I only had two senses it would be the sense of sight and the sense of love. TOP 3 GAMES? Top 3 games would be Elden Ring, Dark Souls and Robotron: 2084. TOP 3 ARTISTS? Top 3 artists would be Brothers Hildebrandt, Salvador Dalí and Maxfield Parrish. No. 128 FOLLOW DAVE ON INSTAGRAM TO SEE MORE OF HIS WORK: @LOSTINTIMEDESIGNS. SUPPORT THIS INDEPENDENT ARTIST BY SNAGGING PRINTS, FRAMED ART & OTHER ORIGINAL MERCH ON HIS SITE: LOSTINTIMEBYDAVEDANZARA.COM TOP 3 BANDS? Top 3 bands is a tough one for me! I’m going with Slowdive, Bauhaus and The Cure. These bands among others have gotten me through hard times. They haven’t let me down. TOP 3 MOVIES? Top 3 movies is another tough one for me, but Blade Runner, The Dark Crystal and Pee-wee’s Big Adventure would be at the top. It’s a TV series but can I throw in The Twilight Zone? WHAT ADVICE CAN YOU GIVE TO ASPIRING AND/OR FELLOW ARTISTS IN OUR CURRENT TIME? My advice would be to be patient with yourself. Believe in yourself most of all. You’re the only person getting in your way. Tune out the noise and focus on what you do best. You can do anything if you put your mind to it. ANYTHING IN THE WORKS FOR THE FUTURE? As for the future … I don’t want to put any pressure on anything or it becomes work. Sometimes you need to break the cycle of things. So I’m gonna listen to my mind and body. But I’d be willing to bet it would be doing more creative projects. In closing, I must say that life has a way of teaching you things, good or bad, they mold your being. I’m without doubt and certain that we all serve a purpose, mine is to create things that touch people’s minds. PHONTO DAVID BYRNE RIDE THE LIGHTNING DAVE, LAUREL, LOGAN & ELYSA
A Body Made of Glass: A Cultural History of Hypochondria (2024) by Caroline Crampton When Caroline Crampton was on the edge of entering adulthood, she received a diagnosis that forever altered the way she would experience the world. After finding a significant lump in her neck, she was diagnosed with Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Through treatment, Crampton beat cancer, but was left with a consistent, everpresent anxiety that it could return at any moment. She became deeply in tune with her body, paranoid that any perceived change or feeling was surely a sign of its return, or perhaps another illness coming to debilitate or kill her. In A Body Made of Glass, Crampton intertwines her health and experience of hypochondria with a history of those suffering from health anxiety and the cultural understanding and perceptions of the condition. Early in the book, Crampton introduces the idea that hypochondria is constantly evolving and aligned with our increasing abilities as a species to analyze our health and alleviate our illnesses. She displays this concept by highlighting those in the second century CE who suffered from “glass delusion,” believing they were made of pottery and could shatter on contact. “Then in the late fourteenth century, this preoccupation with earthenware abruptly changed. The patients of this era shared many of the same anxieties as their pottery-fixated antecedents, feeling fragile, brittle, and extremely smashable, but they no longer believed their flesh had been transformed into baked clay, but that it had become a new material: glass.” As medical solutions advance and times change, so does our worry over new perceived threats to our health. Our ability to evolve our anxiety is the story of hypochondria, but in this story lies the deeply personal rituals and mental anguish that follows those who always feel fragile, constantly perceiving the risk of falling ill, with no level of information that will ever ease their worry. Throughout A Body Made of Glass, Crampton explores the famous and documented sufferers of health anxiety and the medical field’s interpretation of this malady that often feels incurable. She dives into our cultural perceptions of this illness, its common media references or prevalence in our lives with many of us knowing someone suffering from health anxiety or experiencing it ourselves. Crampton also acknowledges the privilege inherent in hypochondria, that those with access to healthcare have a heightened ability to consistently seek assistance for all their health issues. She covers the consistent issues that women and BIPOC patients experience during medical care and how they are less likely to be believed about their concerns or levels of pain, making hypochondria a default diagnosis for those patients. A Body Made of Glass is an incredibly readable and fascinating dive into a condition that permeates our culture, but is rarely analyzed to this extent. Crampton is able to cover an extensive amount of history, while maintaining authentic and rhythmic prose, seamlessly mixing in memoir. A Body Made of Glass is a compelling exploration of the complexities and haunting anxiety experienced by those living through hypochondria. Caroline Crampton’s first book, The Way to the Sea: The Forgotten Histories of the Thames Estuary, was published in 2019. The Art of Crying (2024) by Pepita Sandwich “There’s a magical place / where tears meet laughter / and it feels like the ultimate human experience. / Can you imagine the tears of the future?” Tears, especially in public, are often met with repulsion, fear, or, if you’re lucky, empathy. This human experience rains from our faces when we are feeling emotions at their most intense, and sometimes, for no reason at all. In Pepita Sandwich’s graphic novel she explores the beauty, history, and meaning of crying while providing glimpses into her own experiences embracing frequent tears. From crying to art and music to memories, grief, joy and sex, Sandwich presents crying as the great visual human connector. This act has evolved with time, yet remains essential to how we understand each other and ourselves, and, she argues, giving into crying helps us to grow and deepen our experiences of the world and is a revolutionary act. The Art of Crying is beautifully illustrated with vibrant comic panels and scattered text, creating a format that feels like a wonderful chaotic and energetic diary rather than a linear story. Open-hearted, sensitive and surreal, this graphic novel is a sweet and memorable embrace of crying and learning to cherish and celebrate this cathartic act. No. 128 By Hana Zittel
MARK MOTHERSBAUGH, FROM THE POSTCARD DIARIES
ERIC JOYNER, SUNKEN TREASURE - ERICJOYNER.COM
TYLER DAVIS, SWIMMING STRIPES - @TYLERDAVIS_ART Most house cats have never been on opioids. Maisey was not most cats. She BY GR A Y W I NSL ER No. 128 was no longer sure she was a cat at all. Her fur was warm and tingly. It felt like microwaved glitter. It felt like Rainbow Road. She could not tell where her fur ended and the floor’s fur began. She was not sure they were separate. She felt she was melting into the floor. Becoming a puddle of fluff. She did not mind melting, becoming infinite fluff. She had never been happier.
What her hairless housemates saw was this: Maisey got her claw stuck in a window screen, which then dislodged itself from the window frame, and both Maisey and the screen proceeded to fall out of a second story window. Her housemates were frantic, distraught. They thought she was dead. They forgot Maisey still had six lives. She was now down to five. Maisey had little recollection of what happened after falling. She knew only that her hairless housemates found her and began to leak wet globules from their eyes. She was grateful to be found — until they stuffed her into tiny box and took her to some place where other hairless (strange hairless, smelly hairless, mean hairless) attempted to stick a tube up her ass. Maisey did not allow this to occur. She clawed and hissed until the mean hairless retreated. She thought she had defeated them, until one returned with a long, skinny, shiny claw and stabbed her with it. But these were distant memories now. Time had dissolved when Maisey melted into the floor, when she became rainbow fluff, when she became glittering joy. Her hairless housemates gawked at her. They were amused by her drooping, elastic limbs. They were amused by her numerous toes, polydactyl feet. When Maisey looked at her own toes they seemed to multiply. She did not mind. Nothing seemed to bother her now, not even the plumpish crows squawking beyond reach. Water! Thirst suddenly overwhelmed her. She meandered wobbly to her watering hole. She dipped her head into the bowl. Water flowed into her mouth like a river. How long had she been drinking for? She could not say. Maybe always. When the river stopped flowing she looked up and was surprised to see something beyond the invisible wall. Maisey’s protuberant eyes widened. On the other side of the invisible wall she saw a tigress staring at her. It seemed to be swimming toward her, water rippling in its wake. She noticed fear, her own fear, distant, removed, a feeling of another Maisey, a Maisey she had once been but was not now. She did not move, she let the tigress approach. Who are you? asked Maisey. Who are we? asked the tigress. The words struck Maisey as abruptly as her fall. But there was no pain, only recognition, revelation, rejuvenation. Maisey stared into those protuberant eyes and saw herself. She was a tigress. She was a queen of the jungle. How? Maisey asked. The jungle lives inside us all, said the tigress. Maisey’s heart beat like a drum. She felt the pulse of the jungle in The process of procuring these drugs had been terrifying, torturous and completely incidental. One moment she was leaping at the evil crows whose plumpish bodies teased her daily, and the next she was falling, falling, falling into a big rock below. It had been painful, but Maisey could no longer conceive of pain. Pain was a trustworthy dog or a pleasant bath. Pain was impossible. each thud. The furry floor beneath her dissolved, became water. She was swimming now. She was the tigress. Jungle birds flew overhead. Lunch flew overhead. Maisey stared at them. She felt herself catch them in her claws. She felt their flesh between her teeth. Her mind was aglow, awash in the joy of a billion dead birds. She felt the triumph of her kin over small mammals across the universe. She was not just a queen of the jungle, she was the collective huntress, she was the universal domination of Felidae. She was all that cat had been, and all that cat would be. Infinite fluff and unstoppable claw. Calico calamity. Abyssinian ascendance. She was alive. She was cat. What her hairless housemates saw was this: Maisey had not moved for several hours. Her pupils were giant black saucers. They watched her all day, bemused, wondering what she was thinking. But they would never know what thoughts wandered through the huntress’ mind. 19
SHELLEY STRIKES AGAIN … WITH ADVICE HOW TO MAKE THE MOST OF YOUR LIFE IN THE EBB AND FLOW. PHOTOS BY KATE RUSSELL NICOLAI SHED AT HOUSE OF ETERNAL RETURN No. 128
PROJECT DESERT AT OMEGA MART Hey Shelley, have you ever had to live far away from someone you deeply care about? And if so, how do you deal with missing them?? Love that must surpass distance is a love worth cultivating! Consider this distance not to be a breaking apart but an opportunity to come together even stronger. Write them love letters about how they have made an impact on your life, how their presence — regardless of how that presence looks — is a delight and a privilege. Send them nice hot meals. Send them flowers. Think of all the nice things you two will do once you both reconvene. Put photographs or other significant objects of meaning around your home so they have a physical presence in your space. Utilize the technology of faceto-face calls and profess adoration through the screen. To the point about coming together stronger, consider that you have an opportunity of gifting your loved one something that only you can gift them — and that is the gift of self-love. The gift of prioritizing your own autonomy. This person loves you, not what you give them, not what you do for them, not the favors and objects and trinkets, but you. And one of the most precious and underrated gifts you can give to a loved one is them being able to rest comfortably knowing that you are okay, If I get the opportunity to become a shrimp for a day, what should I do first? Commit an elaborate, Danny Oceanlevel heist! Fun fact about shrimp: we have no fingerprints, and are also not held to human carceral laws! Hello Shirley. How do I know that I’m following the right path for me? Hello friend, I am Shirley, who is definitely not Shelley in a wig and sunglasses and a false mustache, I am a wholly different shrimp. To answer your question as Shelley is indisposed for this one, sometimes there is a vast array of paths that we can take, and none of them foretell what lies ahead. Some are winding and elaborate, some are short and sweet, some are booby-trapped, some will allow you to discover it was really about the friends you made along the way. When considering which path is the correct path, consider the following: 1. Are you waking up and going to sleep content with your life overall? 2. Are you emotionally and spiritually fulfilled? 3. How does that you are able to handle strong emotions, that you are able to tell them when something is not okay between the two of you. Autonomy of self is the most beautiful and cherishable trait — it allows you both to become a relationship of agency, that you are both choosing each other, not out of a co-dependency, but out of a deep and impassioned love. this path affect important relationships? 4. Are you lying about these answers because of how it may affect your important relationships? What happens to us after this life is wholly unknowable, which makes how we spend our time now, in the present, infinitely more important! Weigh out what the true transaction of the path is and go from there! your Why does the moon never leave the sky? She loves you far too much to ever not cast her gaze at you and only you. Shelley, is a haunted house a body? No two bodies are uniform, and a body can be a multitude of things. Within the body, there is a spirit of some kind, memories of some kind, the ability to love, the ability to hate, the ability to laugh and cry and feel big feelings, the ability to live comfortably, and the ability to survive. A haunted house also experiences these things. Sometimes you are the haunted house just waiting to be loved and cherished again. A trait about haunted houses that I, a shrimp whose home is the vast and everchanging sea, struggle with understanding is what if What if the house was shown love? the house was not singularly defined by the one Event that has been done within it, and instead was radically altered back to being a place of love and warmth when given the opportunity to do so? The house has a whole life to live too — it should be allowed to change itself as we change ourselves. A haunted house is an impermanent body, the body is an impermanent haunted house. There is always an opportunity to love and be loved. KEEP UP WITH SHELLEY THE SHRIMP'S SAGE ADVICE & OTHER MEOW WOLF CREATIVES: MEOWWOLF.COM/BLOB EXPLORE A MEOW WOLF PORTAL NEAR YOU: CONVERGENCE STATION IN DENVER, CO; HOUSE OF ETERNAL RETURN IN SANTA FE, NM; OMEGA MART IN LAS VEGAS, NV; THE REAL UNREAL IN GRAPEVINE, TX; AND COMING SOON ... HOUSTON, TX & LOS ANGELES, CA: MEOWWOLF.COM/VISIT 21
INN AT VANESSIE AN ENCHANTED GEM IN THE HEART OF SANTA FE BY KRYSTI JOMÉI | PHOTOS BY KRYSTI JOMÉI & JONNY DESTEFANO Nestled in the heart of Santa Fe, Inn at Vanessie is an art-adorned adobe oasis off the beaten path of the city. Tucked away from traffic, yet only two blocks away from the renowned Historic Plaza, we found this gem by pure utilitarian luck, needing a place to stay before we embarked on adventures over the next few days with Birdy’s longtime partners and friends, Meow Wolf, and the co-founders of Off The Bottle Refill Shop. Tired upon arrival we were looking forward to mellowing out after being on the road for so many hours. And at the same time, we were electrified by the Land of Enchantment, pulsing with a low humming excitement of stepping foot on these ancient grounds. The moment we crossed the border from Colorado to New Mexico, something shifted in us, an openess of sorts, like we were in for some magic. And magic we got. A lot of it. Turns out the boutique hotel just hired brand new management led by local visionary women with hearts in championing creatives, in line with the owner’s longtime deep value of art. When they found out we were artists and create an art magazine, without hesitation they offered to extend our stay for a few nights on the house after we got back from our time in the desert. It was vital from their perspective that we could truly get a flavor of the historic city and live out the abundant creative recommendations they gave us. And moreover, they wanted our help in kickstarting their creative re-activation of the inn, assisting them in realizing their dreams of bringing in performers and entertainment and making Vanessie a home away from home for local and traveling neighbor state artists. So we said yes, and what followed can only be described as synchronicity. Stay tuned next month for more on our New Mexico adventure and an in-depth interview with the women of Vanessie. LEARN MORE ABOUT THIS BOUTIQUE HOTEL & BOOK A STAY: VANESSIESANTAFE.COM
JOSHUA WARE, WHALE - BEST OF BIRDY 035
Ghost Express is the brainchild of probable creeps and urban explorers Matt Jakubowski, who goes by Jaku, and Johnny Christmas. Real name; no guff. They met while doing white person B & E (it gets knocked down to trespassing but it’s fully breaking and entering and we all know it) in Chicago in the 90s. How they haven’t been arrested in the Windy City after posting video evidence of their exploits is a question best left unanswered. They bonded over their shared love of climbing into dank spaces and unquestionably committing other crimes. Nothing says party like a swampy abandoned sewer tunnel. Side note: It’s extremely hypocritical of me to identify everything they’re doing as somehow not “really fucking cool.” Invariably they found themselves in the company of ghost hunters. But not like those cowards traipsing quietly through crumbling sanitariums and dilapidated cemeteries looking for cold spots and erotic encounters with the undead (100 percent true: Every ghost hunter’s earliest sexual awakening was that scene in Ghostbusters where Dan Aykroyd experiences post-mortem fellatio). As these explorers rushed head first into mostly those same places seeking adventure and intrigue which started coming to fruition after they started picking up lost trinkets left by the long-passed. According to a Chicago Reader article they would pick up everything from “old jewelry to children’s toys and even teeth,” with keys fulfilling the greatest share of discarded objets diaboliques. As the collection expanded, frightening, potentially otherworldly, events would randomly occur in their weird-stolen-tchotchke storeroom which — and let me accurately iterate — YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE. Do not keep your haunted goods in one place. Just ask any drunk divorcee with a box of sacred family photos in the same closet as their gun. Eventually it’s going to go very, very badly. They began to experience the usual kind of poltergeist interactions: I'M DREAMING OF A FRIGHT CHRISTMAS BY NATE BALDING Deck the halls with blood and bodies, fa la la la la, Saws one through five. That’s right, we’re only two months out from Hallowe’en, aka Spooky Christmas — but never, EVER, Nightmare Before Christmas. You’re an adult. Your choices are 1) stay home and be Candy Santa or 2) go out and be slutty Candy Santa. Yes, Hallowe’en is the other time of year where gifting, lest ye be tricked, plays a pivotal role in our shared cultural celebration of debauchery against the backdrop of the ghost lights illuminating the thinning veil between ours and the plane of the least restful dead. And, like Christmas, two to 15 months out is the appropriate time to begin worrying about the gifts you’ll impart. Or bequeath if you’re a real one. So consider this the official Werewolf Radar first annual All Saints’ Eve Recommended Benefactions List. This year there’s exactly one: Ghost Express. things falling off of walls; lights flickering despite an electrical grid that’s ready to go toe-to-toe with the Chi’s winters AND its summers; trees coming to life and blasting through windows to steal and eat Craig T. Nelson’s son while his daughter is sucked into Hell. That sort of thing. With no desire to hire a priest nor any real belief in the supernatural, they instead decided to absolve themselves of the agglomeration through the only true magic in America: Capitalism, baby. In 2018 they founded their company Ghost Express with the purpose of spreading some of their haunting to you. For a price … $9.99 at the time. They won’t take immortal souls. I checked the fine print to make sure. To make it even more delightful, they expressly made the intention of the business to be a place from whence one can send another a haunted item to literally cause them fear and discomfort for as long as they shall live. The website explicitly gives a list of things your “victim” will receive, including a card detailing the attached spirit’s death date, type, mood, and their likes and dislikes as discovered by contacting the spirit through a ouija board and asking a series of probing questions. So basically Bumble if you’re interested in local specters new to your area. Specifically the area of your house. So if you’re wondering what to get the person who has everything this Hallowe’en, remember that there’s a very normal business built on a very normal activity with a specialty item that they definitely don’t already have. And, realistically, should not want, from the Ghoul Vault of St. Jimmy Christmas and his elf pal, Jaku. And don’t forget to tell ‘em Werewolf Radar sent ya’. HAVE QUESTIONS ABOUT THE PARANORMAL? SEND THEM TO: WEREWOLFRADARPOD@GMAIL.COM OR TWITTER: @WEREWOLFRADAR IT’S A BIG, WEIRD WORLD. DON’T BE SCARED. BE PREPARED. 25 ART BY MARY VALERY
STORY & ART BY JOEL TAGERT A hundred miles from the poisoned ghost of Salt Lake the rearview screen on the dash caught a flash of sun on a vehicle topping a ridge miles back. The horizontality of it caught Maya’s eye: a brilliant hyphen winking in the late afternoon sun. Can we rewind the video on this screen? Walter looked over at her. Sure. Here. Swiping it over to the main dash display. She found the image she wanted and zoomed in. Along with the LED light bar on the rack, something about the truck’s silhouette looked familiar, the contour of roof-mounted equipment like an uprooted cairn. She bit her lip. I think we’re being followed. Seriously? Followed by who? I’ve seen this truck before. It’s the same guys that tried to take me in Washington. Are you sure? Not a hundred percent. But I also don’t want to wait for them to No. 128 catch up with us. I hear you. Walter pressed the accelerator and the Sunrunner’s hum rose higher. The RV was designed for efficiency, not speed, but even so it was electric and soon was doing ninety-five. You want me to call the highway patrol? What? Don’t be stupid. They’d put me in a detention center again. And probably arrest you for kidnapping or aiding a fugitive or something. Good points all. They were both watching the rearview screen intently, and both saw the truck when it appeared again. Clearly it had sped up to match them and was now gaining. Can we outrun them? Do you know what kind of truck it is? It’s old school, like with a gas engine. I think a Ford F-250 maybe? Then we might outrun them for a while. Our top speed might beat theirs. Problem is — he tapped the charge readout — we’ve been
driving all day. We don’t have more than a couple hours’ charge left. We were going to stop for the night on the south side of Salt Lake. So if they have a full tank they’ll catch up with us sooner or later. Can we lose them? Depends how far ahead we can get, and how they found us in the first place. If they have a satellite feed, we’re not losing them anytime soon. What do we do? Well, for now, let’s see how fast the SS Annabelle can sail. He patted Annabelle’s dash affectionately, set both hands back on the wheel, and with a certain scarcely hidden glee put the pedal to the metal. Cries erupted from the passenger area as Shanice and Imani demanded to know what the hell was going on. The Sunrunner hit a hundred and twenty, fast enough to be frightening. Just a little evasive action, Walter called back. I need to use the restroom, Maya said. He gave her a look. All right. Come back soon. Waving aside her fellow passengers’ queries, Maya went to the back of the RV and shut the folding door behind her. Once seated on the closed toilet she put in her earbuds. Ava, are you there? Ava’s voice was soothing as a mother’s. I’m here, Maya. How are you? I need help. Briefly she explained the situation. Can you, I don’t know, have another car hit them or something? I don’t think so. It’s not so easy to take control of an auto. They have their own AI protection. And besides, somebody might get hurt. Then what should we do? We should assume they have plenty of fuel and some way to track the RV. In that case, you can’t outrun them and can’t hide from them as long as you’re in this vehicle. On the other hand, there are plenty of places a single person could hide in Salt Lake City. You’re saying we should split up? It’s probably your best option. It’s also probably safest for your friends. If the Three Monkeys are looking for you, they’ll lose interest once they’re sure you’re not in the RV. But I don’t know anyone in Salt Lake City. That’s okay. I do. For a long hour they raced along I-15 peering anxiously at the rearview screen. Maya wished she could see the truck with her own eyes, or that the RV had better cameras in the rear. But the proof was in the pudding: every time she thought the truck had finally vanished, she would see its craggy silhouette again topping a distant hill. She imagined the vehicles like two ships racing each other in heavy seas, now cresting a wave, now descending. But in the short run, at least, the Sunrunner had the advantage, and by the time buildings started rising regularly around them and the sun hit the horizon, the F-250 was out of sight. Only then did she tell her newfound family of her decision. They resisted, as expected, but she held firm, conscious of the trouble that would otherwise come their way, and it was easy to see the wisdom of it. You trust your online friend that much? Imani said. She’s helped me out before, Maya said, a little defensively. It’s dangerous out there. It’s dangerous everywhere. That’s true. I just want you to know, if you need us, we’ll come running. I know. Thank you for everything. They were entering the city outskirts and it didn’t look like much. The buildings were run down to the point of ruin and there didn’t seem to be anyone on the streets, though it was hard to tell from the highway. The clouded twilight set a dull steel helmet over a landscape already dominated by gray and dun. We’re getting close. Exit 309. You’re sure about this? Imani asked again. You might be better off staying with us. Maya hesitated. The older woman wasn’t wrong, and the last few days in the RV she’d felt a sense of warmth and acceptance she hadn’t experienced in a long time — really since her mother had died. Almost she accepted. What stopped her was the thought of what might happen to her friends if she stayed. The Three Monkeys had blown up the detention center to help her dad escape. It was not an action that suggested gentle restraint. I think I need to go. I’ll be okay. Imani nodded, tears in her eyes, and hugged her. Be safe, baby. Off the highway they came to a stoplight. It wasn’t functioning, but they stopped anyway, and Maya jumped out with her backpack. Call us when you can, Imani said. I will. The door closed on their anxious faces and the Sunrunner pulled away. Maya looked after it, and remembering the need for haste, turned toward the nearest building, several stories high: the Clark Planetarium. Someone had knocked down some of the letters and the sign above the doors now said only ARK PLANE. She went inside, through doors permanently open. The interior was dark and dirty, littered with the broken remnants of exhibits long past. A half dome stood in the middle of the floor and it took her a minute to understand that a planet had fallen from the ceiling and lay half shattered. She didn’t see anyone at first, but then someone stood up from behind the broken orb. As her eyes adjusted they stood looking at each other. Her contact’s appearance was not reassuring. Black bug-eyed lenses stared above an industrial breathing mask, part of a single piece of gear that completely covered the head. It looked at once like a military relic and something homemade. Otherwise they wore a cowl of heavy textured fabric atop what she thought was a hazmat suit. The figure was small and slight, a teenager or very small woman, most likely. They spoke first. Don’t you have a mask? Their voice was not so much muffled as synthetic, the timbre androgynous, tone a little flat in the common manner of AI assistants, emitted from tiny speakers on the sides of their breather. No. The dust is full of poison. And you could get BCV, not to mention nanomites. Thanks for the public health warning. I don’t know how to say this, but there are some guys following me, and— We know. Come on. Her guide turned. When they reached the hallway Maya stopped. I can’t see. An exasperated sigh. Don’t you even have specs? I don’t have much. They dug around in their cargo pockets, found a headlamp, pressed buttons until the light turned red, and handed it to her. Good? Thanks. 27
We’ll stop upstairs. In a windowless room that she thought had probably been used for projectors they stopped. The gray figure reached into another pocket and handed her a thin packet, like a large bandage. Put this on. She peered at it closely, but couldn’t figure it out. What is it? It’s a mask. Mycelial membrane. Put it on. She hesitated. What’s your name? I’m Emory. I’m Maya. Can I see your face first? Before I put this on? Why? I’d feel more comfortable. It’d be better to wait. Please. Her guide crossed their arms. It’s not a good idea. Look, I just, I don’t know, I want to know that you’re a human being and not like, a robot or something. After a moment’s consideration Emory nodded, as though this made sense somehow. They reached up and loosened something at the back of the head, and then the neck. Beneath the gear was a thin pale white kid with a shaved head. The blond stubble shone in the red light. Satisfied? How old are you? How old are you? I’m fifteen. Well, I’m thirteen. Any other questions? What are you doing here? I’m trying to help you. I know, I know. Thank you. But, like … how did you get here? You know how. Ava sent you. Yeah. And she sent you too. Do you want to put your mask on now? How? Hold still. With careful gloved fingers Emory set the mask over her mouth and nose, then with a gentle massaging motion pressed its adhesive edges onto the skin of her cheeks, nose and chin. Its fabric was very fine, soft and elastic, like high quality spandex, and seemed to trap little moisture. How’s it feel? It’s soft. Are there more like you? Like us, you mean. More than you think. Come on, they’re waiting for us. No. 128
ACIDBAT – EMPTY VILE The vivid tones and rhythmic textures on this album are a testament to Seth Ogden’s mastery of incorporating modular and analog gear into his imaginative production. These acid techno tracks are crafted from live hardware, and there is a great sense of space and an almost tactile quality in the way Ogden places each element of a song. In these alien and liminal soundscapes exists an oddly comforting familiarity, as though in writing these songs Ogden has tapped into deep mind tranquil spaces on the other side of the hypnagogic curtain. Maybe it’s because the level of sonic detail is so rich even in its layers of minimalism that each track hits like an accumulation of soothing patterns in the end. ARLO AND THE FARM TOAD – KRY TOUGH: A KINKY TALE Art provocateur and curator Arlo White teams up with members BY TOM MURPHY of Manotaur (novelist Greg Hill and artist Maureen Hearty) with this curiously valid and well executed covers of songs by The Kinks. White has been in numerous underrated bands over the years and here he puts in a commanding and gritty vocal performance while Hill and Hearty do justice to interpreting the core of the music and its mix of vulnerability, elegance and working class angst. The Kinks stripped down to this trio format sound especially punk. CHERRY SPIT – DEMO This band includes former members of Endless, Nameless and QUITS and live, there is a fiery intensity to their psychedelic No Wave noise rock that can be wonderfully overwhelming. The collection of demos here is a lo-fi showcase promise of what you’ll see on stage. Cyclones of guitar hysteria, arch yet sometimes hypnotic vocals, moments of dream pop tranquility and swaths of post-screamo mathcore shoegaze. It’s like a musical Pollock painting but in the creating of the painting rather than the finished product — it has that kind of fever dream intensity. Art post-punk for discerning weirdos. MOURNING CLOAKS – PHANTOM POWER One imagines Kim Shively meditated on the types of sounds we come to ignore because they are part of our environment and turned No. 128
them into musical features, adding a touch of subtle, ambient harmonic elements. Like an audio designed based artwork, this record truly puts your mind into neglected contexts and invites your attention, focus and acceptance as you hear sounds not always readily identifiable, yet part of the world Shively creates with each song. Is “room tone, 1973” a mini homage to Tim Hecker’s Ravedeath, 1972? Probably not, but the melancholic drone, exquisite dissolves and subtle swells should appeal to fans of the latter with Shively’s background in filmmaking adding an avant-garde cinematic sensibility to the entire album. SPELLS – PAST OUR PRIME On this latest — and arguably greatest — record, SPELLS seems to break out of its pop punk mode and embrace more of its garage rock side, even dipping into the realm of angular DC post-punk. What has stayed consistent is how this fivepiece that seems so celebratory and a party band live has lyrics that are poignantly self-aware and sharply observed. The title track is one of the most insightful songs of recent years about aging while clinging to what makes life worth living. This whole record is brimming with themes of loss, coming to terms with and resisting the limitations one has aged into, and solidarity with one’s fellow humans against despair and those aiming most urgently to increase it. UNICORN HITS – S/T Maybe no one but those closest to the songwriter thought Joe Grobelny’s latest band would sound like a vital blend of a noisy shoegaze group, a psychedelic pop project, and Mission of Burma. But this Unicorn Hits EP feels like a leap in a different direction by the former member of Façade, Everything Absent or Distorted, and Le Divorce. The jazz roots of the musicianship and songwriting can be heard in the expert arrangements by Grobelny and his bandmates even as they go off center into bursts of discordant haze as on the wryly humorous and on point, “Lipstick LinkedIn.” Humor aside, this set of songs feels like a surfacing of deep, heavy feelings that have manifested into sonically liberating catharsis. FOR MORE, VISIT QUEENCITYSOUNDSANDART.WORDPRESS.COM 31
NICK FLOOK, THE MEETING PLACE - @FLOOKO
1 Publizr