Posts Tagged ‘david byrne’

Culture Vulture: Jacolby Satterwhite and David Byrne

October 31, 2020

I’m pretty sure the first time I laid eyes on Jacolby Satterwhite’s work was when it appeared in the 2014 Whitney Biennial in the form of “Reifying Desire 6,” an eye-popping animated video (above) densely populated by writhing black male figures, words, phrases, and a kaleidoscopic meteor shower of images and objects. It was sexy, psychedelic, groovy, and unforgettable.. I couldn’t wait to see more. Happily, he’s super-prolific so there’s been lots to follow. I knew he had a show this fall (his Instagram kept reminding me), and by chance I wandered onto his website just in time to realize it was closing the next day. So I hopped on my bike and in less than half an hour I was at the Mitchell-Innes & Nash gallery in Chelsea walking through “We Are In Hell When We Hurt Each Other,” a luscious visual, aural, trippy, intellectual bombardment.

It comes at you from so many angles. One launching point for the show was the album of dance tracks the artist put together (with collaborator Nick Weiss) based on original songs his beloved mother Patricia (who lived with schizophrenia and died in 2016) sang a cappella into a cassette recorder. The songs serve as soundtrack to an 18-minute virtual-reality film that one viewer at a time could watch at the gallery; I came too late to get a crack at the headset, but selected scenes were projected onto the gallery: a tribe of CGI fembots (modeled on the artist’s own body but decked out as Grace Jones-like warriors) inhabit a video-game landscape of menacing orbs and other intruders whom the figures easily vanquish. (The artist has said he got into the video game Final Fantasy while being treated for cancer as a kid.)

Present as a sort of goddess-matriarch figure in many iterations is the legendary fashion model Bethann Hardison, still looking magnificently regal at 78 (above); the ritualistic battles she oversees resolve into the final image of a floral shrine to Breonna Taylor.

Then there’s a multimedia sculpture called Room for Doubt – four larger-than-life nude male figures (again modeled on the artist’s body) in the midst of some kind of cryptic healing ritual involving golden ropes tied around their heads.

As Patty Gone wrote in her review for the online magazine Hyperallergic, Room for Doubt reimagines Caravaggio’s 1603 painting, “The Incredulity of St. Thomas,” in which the famous non-believer dips a finger into Christ’s wound. In Satterwhite’s version, four life-size nudes mimic the poses of Jesus and company, their torsos containing small screens showing a performance in which Satterwhite grimaces as he drags his body across a floor. There’s no messiah or disciple here, only shared sacrifice. Stillness creates room to behold another’s pain.” On the floor in the shape of animal hides are papyrus-like scrolls with rough drawings and notes (not unlike the note-to-self scribblings Jean-Michel Basquiat would include in his rich collage-landscapes).  

A version across the room, called simply Doubt, is one of several works in neon, including a kind of hilarious, witty neon version of Manet’s Dejeuner sur l’herbe, Picasso’s rendition of which formed a key moment in the emergence of Cubism as a modern way of seeing and making art.

Besides drinking in these heady, color-saturated works, the high point of my visit was meeting the artist, whom I instinctively knew would be there. (Where else would an artist want to hang out?) He turned out to be friendly, handsome, and chatty, the kind of artist whose temperament lends itself to effortlessly discoursing about his work, where it comes from, what dots he’s connecting, etc.

You could happily entertain yourself for some time disappearing down the rabbit hole of his videos and interviews, enumerated on this page.

He told me I could watch the video in extra high-def on YouTube at home, and I scanned the QR code but couldn’t find the video later. Instead, Andy and I wound down from the crazy week by watching Spike Lee’s film version of David Byrne’s American Utopia on HBO Max. It was great revisiting the show, which we saw and loved on Broadway for the design, the lighting, and the exuberant performances. Spike Lee clearly had fun capturing Annie-B Parson’s fluidly inventive choreography from all angles, including backstage and Busby Berkeley-like aerial shots.

Performance diary: I’LL EAT YOU LAST, HERE LIES LOVE, and MURDER BALLAD

May 14, 2013

One of Broadway's biggest stars is back — as one of Hollywood's biggest star-makers! BETTE MIDLER returns to Broadway as the legendary Hollywood superagent in I'LL EAT YOU LAST: A Chat with Sue Mengers.  For over 20 years, Sue's clients were the talk o
5.10.13
  I’m enough of a diehard Bette Midler fan that I would pretty much pay to see her recite the alphabet. I’ll Eat You Last, the one-woman play by John Logan (subtitled “A Chat with Sue Mengers”), is not nearly that minimal, and yet walking away from the show, which made me laugh and entertained me well enough for 90 minutes, I couldn’t help thinking, “What a strange little nothing of a play.” When the curtain rises, after flurry of name-droppy celebrity voicemails, the first words out of her mouth are “I’m not getting up.” And she doesn’t. Playing the semi-legendary super-agent, she doesn’t do much more than sit on the sofa drinking and smoking and telling stories about her famous clients – the first time she saw Barbra Streisand sing in a crummy nightclub, how she pestered William Friedkin into hiring Gene Hackman for The French Connection, how Steve McQueen ruined Ali McGraw’s life and career. I suppose in Hollywood this might pass for substantial drama, but on Broadway it seems like pretty thin soup. It is reasonably well-staged by Joe Mantello, with an amusing little bit of audience interaction. And when I think back on the final moment of the play, when the star wanders offstage in a marijuana haze, what registers strongest is the sadness the playwright mentions in his program note, and I have some appreciation for the fact that the play does have an emotional core that makes its impact, weirdly, by never being mentioned or addressed. No matter what kind of life you’ve led, it’s over all too soon, close friendships evaporate, and things that were once all-important now seem pretty inconsequential.

5-10 andy bette

5.11.13 Another figure from recent history radiates from the center of Here Lies Love at the Public Theater, the musical about Imelda Marcos that began life as a concept album by David Byrne in collaboration with Fatboy Slim.

here lies love logo

The 2-CD album featured a parade of female pop stars singing the songs: Cyndi Lauper, Tori Amos, Natalie Merchant, Martha Wainwright, Florence Welch, Nellie McKay, Kate Pierson of the B-52s, and Shara Worden from My Brightest Diamond, to name the most famous. The show is staged by Alex Timbers, who blew up the Public Theater with Les Freres Corbusiers’ production of Bloody Bloody Andrew Jackson and works similar magic here, casting the show as a karaoke disco party with the audience on their feet, the singers performing to tracks, and everybody constantly shifting all over the room. It’s a little hectic but a lot of fun for everyone, and an ingenious solution to a show that would never have withstood some kind of stodgy conventional mounting.
Here Lies Love Public Theater/LuEsther Hall
It’s really a series of fairly mundane pop songs running through the basic outline of La Marcos’s rags to riches life. The political history of the Philippines during the Marcos era is pretty crazy and we get a breezy recap with no real depth or analysis. It’s sort of Evita crossed with The Donkey Show but beautifully performed by a knockout cast of mostly young Asian actors, snazzily dressed by Clint Ramos, with choreography by Annie-B Parson that meshes impeccably with Timbers’ multimedia staging. Nothing gets belabored. Ruthie Ann Miles is sublime as Imelda. And the title song, which opens and closes the show, becomes an instant, persistent earworm. I’ve heard worse.

here lies love disco

The show has been extended through June 30, and I overheard an usher saying that it’s likely to be extended again through July.

5-12 tom ben murder ballad

5.12.13 Ben and Tom (above) offered to take me out to dinner-anna-show for my birthday, and I picked Murder Ballad at the Union Square Theatre, because the musical by Julia Jordan and Juliana Nash got such rave reviews when it opened at Manhattan Theatre Club’s City Center space. We all left underwhelmed by Nash’s score, which wants to be Next to Normal, and Jordan’s play, which tries to sustain crime-story suspense and poker-game symbolism but boils down to a generic boy-girl love triangle. Trip Cullman went to great lengths to dress this tiny rock musical up with an environmental staging, plunking the action in the middle of the theater, audience on both sides and seated amidst the action in a barroom setting with cabaret tables that the actors climb all over throughout the show.
murder ballad seating chartThe actors are appealing and hard-working – Will Swenson, John Ellison Conlee, Rebecca Naomi Jones, and (replacing Karen Olivo) Caissie Levy. But despite the fact that they’re singing nonstop (there’s virtually no spoken dialogue) at least half the time I could not make out the words coming out of their mouths. I left with much more appreciation for the simple composition and delivery of the songs in Here Lies Love, which offered the audience the kindness of letting the words be heard. We had a yummy meal afterwards at Craftbar.

murder ballad logo

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