More November pieces

Here are two smaller pieces I wrote for the 'Totally Non-Boring Museums' feature in our November issue. To be fair, this first one did not actually appear due to space constraints. Here we go:

Hemp Gallery

While the ever-popular Hash, Marihuana & Hemp Museum Amsterdam is getting an overhaul so that it might become a bigger, badder, hashier version of itself in February 2011, its adjunct Hemp Gallery (owned by the same folks) provides a nice alternative high for those still burning with cannabis curiosity.

This cosy ground-floor-only extension showcases hemp’s many uses through the centuries, though the tour can be a bit disorienting. Ostensibly, it tells the story of hemp’s utility from braids of hemp that served as ship hull caulking between 400BC and the 19th century, to elixirs and tonics based on hemp oil (a spoonful of one was known to cure a horse of colic). A laminated guide, available in seven languages, describes the corresponding objects in the vitrines. That said, its numbering system doesn’t actually give you a logical tour of the gallery, so it’s almost better just to wander aimlessly.

The far-out trance soundtrack and laid-back ticket-taker set the mood in this surprisingly well-lit gallery. The main draw (taken both ways), though, is the popular attraction on loan from the Hash Museum: the vaporiser. Live demonstrations are offered by a lanky, bearded Ohio native who identifies himself only as Joseph, who tends to the conical metal machine six hours a day, five days a week, giving visitors a chance to take in THC vapour under the pretext of historical research. In between puffs, he’s happy to talk weed politics (i.e. current developments on the legalisation front) give tips on chemicals used for growing, or just blow some smoke.

De Pijpenkabinet

When is a pipe not a pipe? When it’s collected, fetishised and displayed for its artistic, cultural and historic value; when it becomes an artefact.

Some 2,000 local and international pipes fill grand wooden display cases lining the pristine sea green-walls in this circa-1680 canal-side time capsule. The Pijpenkabinet, with its worn wooden floors and burgundy ceiling beams, contains a collection of pipes that narrates the story of smoking in style. For those touring: smoke ’em if you got ’em (that is, if you brought ’em) but don’t think about lighting up one of these beauties, they’re just for show.

The museum really comes alive when you’re greeted by the lone tour guide Benedict Goes, a lean silver fox from the southern Netherlands, whose crisp tenor voice practically sings the history of each of the museum’s objects. Follow him up the steep, creaky stairs and emerge, face to face with some rare gems of Dutch history: dozens of meticulously arranged white clay long-pipes dating back to 1600, made of clay imported from Belgium. As we make our way through the exhibition, Goes comfortably rambles off topic but re-situates us in our tour with the refrain, ‘Back to the pipes…’

In the next room, there’s a long formal dining table surrounded by rigid, high-backed chairs that suggests a guild hall with regal airs – but which apparently isn’t much used. Each cabinet in this space houses hundreds of pipes, organised by specific region and time period, from rare cactus-shaped bowls made by Mexican Indians dating back to 500BC, to ornate Chinese opium flutes decorated with hand-painted floral designs. Additional trophies include hard-edged pink agate pipes from Austria and pearly luminescent seashell-based pipes from Australia.

However enamoured Goes is of these as objects, he’s more interested in talking about how each one was used in its society, for ritual, political purposes and expression of personal style. This month, the museum hosts a mini exhibition from New Zealand’s Maori tribe: 12 wooden pipes carved with tattoo designs from 1900-1920. You can look, but no smoking the artefacts.

Cello-brate good times

Yes, that is actually the title that I half-jokingly proposed for this story, and that actually ended up running in the November issue of the magazine. Here is the text:

The cello is not exactly a spotlight instrument. But at this month’s third Amsterdamse Cello Biënnale at Muziekgebouw, its rapidly growing solo and ensemble repertoire is getting an overwhelming amount of play, quite literally.

‘You may only hear a great cello soloist a few times a year,’ says Maarten Mostert, the event’s founder and artistic director. ‘Suddenly in one week, we have 36 top soloists and ensembles.’

When he was a student, then later professor and performer, Mostert always felt his instrument was getting short-changed, in spite of the skill and music acuity required to play it. There have been national violin and viola competitions in the Netherlands for years but nothing for cello; even at the IJsbreker Café, Amsterdam’s one-time primary (albeit tiny) contemporary music performance hall and predecessor to the Muziekgebouw, the visionary Jan Wolff programmed highlight weeks focusing on different instruments other than the cello. For its 2006 inaugural run, Mostert called in all the friends and favours he could manage to create a weeklong cello-bration so epic it would need two spotlights.

‘Everyone knows the cello but they don’t realize how beautiful it is,’ says Mostert. ‘It’s close to the human voice, has a great range and a warm sound. You can love the flute but you can also hate flute at times. There’s not so much reason to hate cello.’

This Biënnale will give listeners 37 reasons not to hate the cello. It will show off the cello as an artistic, virtuosic and versatile element in its own right, from its warm, croaking low notes to the silky smooth upper range that retains a cool, dark character.

The staggering number of performances and master classes jam-packed into nine days and nights (5-13 November) span generations and genres, from an evening with Beethoven’s ‘German dances’, performed by the Frans Brüggen-directed Orchestra of the 18th Century, to an afternoon with Melo-M, a Latvian cello trio that plays special arrangements of pop songs. From respected classics to freshly inked experiments, the theme this year is maximising exposure to all styles of music for cello ensemble, including brand new commissions.

Since its 2006 inaugural iteration Mostert has just about doubled the composition premieres every two years: 4 the first year, 8 in 2008, and this year 15 brand new pieces. ‘I’ve dared to programme more of them, knowing the audience is there,’ he says (2008 saw roughly 20,000 visitors). ‘Now that we’ve been around, I have the confidence to go there.’

One world premiere is by Chiel Meijering, a 56-year-old Amsterdam composer who’s credited with more than 700 compositions. His piece ‘Arco Arena’ is scored for two solo cellos and a full mini orchestra of ASKO | Schönberg ensemble members. The soloists are meant to be ‘fencing’, metaphorically competing as their two parts overlap to create the piece’s central melody. In the piece’s second part, ‘The actual fight is the most noticeable: who has the smoothest muscles, best conditioning, endurance, etcetera,’ explains Meijering. ‘It’s the moment of truth.’

In addition to new compositions, the Biënnale’s inner series of ‘Take Five’ concerts is intended to showcase the festival’s spiciest modern music, each evening at 5 pm. Otherwise, Mostert’s structure remains largely unchanged, apart from a few critical upgrades: a hot meal (included in ticket price) offered before each morning’s ‘Bach & Breakfast’ performance of a single, unaccompanied cello suite and an open lounge following each evening’s final performance, at Muziekgebouw’s Star Ferry restaurant.

‘The atmosphere was good the past two times,’ says Mostert. ‘But how can you keep it from going down? Like Nero: give the people bread and games.’

Allegaartje

Yes, an old image, but apparently pics from Saturday's game cost $

Google translate tells me that means 'mixed bag', and I'm typically inclined to believe GT, though there are plenty of translations that are pretty far off the mark, according to Dutch-speaking friends.

Yesterday my beloved Northwestern Wildcats 'American football' team downright pummeled the Redbirds of Illinois State. Despite lots of googling and a fruitless attempt to see the game by buying an internet TV subscription (I got desperate), as well as tireless efforts by a good friend to pursue his known methods for internet-based US TV watching, we ended up simply listening to the game through much more dependable sources: WGN and WNUR radio. This actually allowed us to sit on his porch and grill brats while enjoying the game away from his TV - all in all a great and satisfying experience. In fact, we got even more enjoyment out of hearing the Chicago accent-heavy WGN announcers ('and Deeanny Peersa' drops back to peeass') and the truly unbridled enthusiasm of the student broadcasters ('How DARE you throw a screen while Corbin Bryant is in the backfield?!'). Sorry, ESPN and BTN, it's tough to duplicate those intangibles. We did find a (slightly) more dependable method for watching ESPN without having to throw down any euros, and thus were able to catch the first half of the OSU-Miami game (during the sloth-slow second quarter I began succumbing to a veritable beer-brats-post-Wildcat-victory-coma). It was a great night, remotely.

This is a bit behind, but shortly you'll see the second section-leader story I wrote for the August issue of the magazine. The Grachtenfestival it references is an annual music event that features a week of performances at various spots on and nearby Amsterdam's main canal district (just recently named an UNESCO 'World Heritage Site'). I know it's not timely any more but I'm still proud of the few things I've gotten published - my blog so my prerogative to post things when I want ;)

From Classical & Opera, August 2010

Four violas, four tubas, four baritone saxophones, two marimbas (with four players), eight cellos? Is Grachtenfestival 2010 partnering with Sesame Street’s Count von Count? No doubt the caped purple number-cruncher would be giddy over this programme, but festival organizers claim not to have enlisted his help in booking five groups that play up their identical instrumentation to the fore.

Though the over-arching theme this year is ‘Undercurrent’ – which is defined by organisers as a reinterpretation of the musical status quo – several subsidiary themes lend a little more structure to the more than 150 performances and events. In the past, for example, the festival has featured ‘Voices in Residence’, a popular series presenting groups with shared vocal parts, at the Amstel Hotel. This year organizers decided to apply that same concept to the instrumental world and showcase it at a new festival venue, the Museum Werf ’t Kromhout.

Concertgebouw tubaist Perry Hoogendijk formed the Amsterdam Tuba Quartet last year specifically for the Grachtenfestival and made quite a splash. Festival organizers jumped on this success for 2010. ‘That is indeed no coincidence,’ says Grachtenfestival spokesperson Ilonka van den Bercken. ‘The quartet series was deliberately set up because we thought it would be interesting to see what is possible.’

The four homogeneous quartets include: the Zemtsov Family Viola Quartet, Amsterdam Tuba Quartet, the Four Baritones (saxophone) and a marimba quartet featuring famous Dutch percussionist Niels Meliefste. The Cello8ctet Amsterdam will perform separately in front of the Hotel Pulitzer, but even Big Bird would agree: they are like the others.

Typically ensembles require a variety of instruments to cover the broad range of pitches and colours necessary for a balanced sound. But these groups are discovering how the right instrument can cover all the bases. ‘The baritone is the only sax in the family which has the advantage of the low register as well as the most beautiful upper register,’ says the Four Baritones co-founder Niels Bijl, being perhaps a little tongue-in-cheek.

Not only are these groups transcending performance norms for their respective instruments; their mere existence has opened the door to all kinds of new compositions. ‘At our first concert people in the audience were so blown away by the quality of the ensemble that they immediately started writing for us,’ explains Bijl. ‘Within 48 hours we suddenly had an hour’s worth of extra repertoire, transcriptions ranging from Josquin des Prez to Led Zeppelin. That’s when we realised we were on to a good thing.’

Cello8ctet Amsterdam has inspired similar creativity. Starting in 1989 with only two pieces on the books written for cello octets, they’ve since arranged and transcribed their way to an extensive catalog ranging from Argentine tangos to Philip Glass symphonies. In all, the group has debuted more than 70 works from 20th-century elite including Glass, Pierre Boulez and Arvo Pärt.

Even with such an impressive library, the octet really thrives on stage because of its ‘collective’ mentality. Member Stephan Heber explains there is ‘slightly more competitiveness than in a mixed-instrument ensemble; we all know the instrument so well and what the others are capable of. But moving past the initial tension allows for greater potential: the cello can play all parts of an arrangement, so then we operate like a perfect team composed of imperfect individuals.’

Their afternoon Grachtenfestival concert will feature mezzo-soprano Karin Strobos and spirited 20th-century dances from Argentina’s tango master Astor Piazzolla and Spanish classicist Manuel de Falla. There may not be much room for actual dancing, as the group performs op de pontoon, but don’t be surprised to see more demonstrations of the cello’s versatility if the seas get rough.

‘It’s probably the most expensive, ineffective boat you can imagine,’ says octet manager Brendan Walsh. That’s eight ruined cellos. Ah, ah, ah.

Where have you gone, Zommer?

Yet another wildly successful Google image search!

It seems like June, July and August have just been a blur. And a short one at that. It doesn't help that summers in the Netherlands never rise much above 80F - this year was no different - so though we had about a week of "heat", in that way it's almost as if the season never happened at all.

Now as August is on its last legs, the weather oscillates between beautiful, sunny ('sparkly' as Katie likes to say) fall-like cool splendor and cloudy, cold and wet depression. But hey, that's Holland for you. I'll take the sparkly days I can get.

A great many things have happened since I last wrote, weeks ago. One of the greatest, and the reason I'll be able to afford to stay in the Netherlands for at least a little while longer, is I was offered a full-time editor position at the Amsterdam magazine I've been interning at since April. I'd be lying if I said this hadn't been a far-off hope of mine - that they'd offer me something more serious - but things being as they are I wasn't really expecting anything beyond perhaps the opportunity to be a contributing writer. But here we are. And no offense to Nordstrom, but I'm really excited to add the job experience of 'intern-managing copy editor' to my resume. Look out, Boilen and Glass, I'll be knocking on your door soon enough.

With that, here's a piece I wrote for the August issue's 'Worth Leaving Town For' section:

This month, the bantamweight town of Zeist – situated right outside of Utrecht, just a 45-kilometre jaunt from Amsterdam – transforms into a musical heavy-hitter. For two weeks, it is hosting scores of conservatory students and professional musicians who will perform in chamber music concerts for the public. The goal, according to artistic director Alexander Pavlovsky, is to open up the chamber and let in a fresh breeze.

‘Many young people think that classical music is boring and depressing,’ says Pavlovsky. ‘But there are many lessons we can learn from classical music for our lives. We just have to find a way to bring them in and make them interested in what we do.’

Pavlovsky and organisers of the Stichting Zeister Muziekdagen, the foundation behind the festival, are bringing in a talented, youthful cadre of ensembles and packing the programme with a nice variety of composers, from Romanian folk dances to jazz-inspired preludes. Reduced ticket prices for anyone under the age of 28 won’t hurt either.

Although chamber music is often a string-heavy genre, Pavlovsky has invited several players of stringless instruments to perform. Clarinettist Paul Meyer will join the Warsaw-based Szymanowski Quartet for a Brahms clarinet feature, for example. Pianist Robert Kulek signs on with Pavlovsky’s own Jerusalem Quartet for Schumann’s ‘Piano Quintet in E flat’; and the Amsterdam Concertgebouw’s oboist Alexei Ogrintchouk will perform on the ‘Fantasy Quartet’ by Benjamin Britten and the ‘Oboe Quartet in F’ by Mozart.

The Szymanowski Quartet will also bow in with lively pieces by Haydn and Mendelssohn, adding a contemporary flourish to the bill with works from Argentinean tango composer Astor Piazzolla and the group’s Polish namesake: composer Karol Szymanowski – both from the early 20th century.

‘It’s our responsibility to play the current music to see what’s good, interesting,’ said Grzegorz Kotów, one of Szymanowski’s two violinists, ‘and then show the audience there’s something new to discover.’

Pavlovsky and friends haven’t neglected very young patrons, either. The Dutch Matangi Quartet, known for its genre-blending crossover projects, should cater to the kiddies (the programme notes indicate it’s good for age six and under) performing Claude Debussy’s lyrical ‘Children’s Corner’ suite. They’ve made their efforts transparent: they want to prove that chamber music can be as entertaining and attractive as any genre, to any audience.

Although it dates back to medieval times, the back-and-forth, intimately collaborative nature of chamber performance keeps it very current, says Kotów. ‘It is really a mirror of our lives,’ he says. ‘In a quartet, four living people are sitting there playing music, and they are discussing, talking with each other.’

Profilific

A delicious not-Dutch beer

My 'Profile Writing' assignment for class:

He was already seated by himself in a quiet bar, in the striking inverse shadow of a lit-up St. Jan’s Cathedral. ‘The Rode Pimpernel’ is not a premiere night spot in ‘s-Hertogenbosch. But like his home town of Kerkrade, Limburg, the faces here are familiar and the not-Dutch beer is very, very good. It’s the only place that serves Murphy’s Irish Red op de tap.

When choosing our interview spot, the 25-year old Limburg native simply texted, ‘meet u at the pub, 21.30?’ We’ve been to a number of bars in the city, yet I knew exactly where we were going to meet. This is his place.

His head full of spikey, dark brown hair was bent over a black laptop computer. Atop his bright orange t-shirt emblazoned with a company name, the computer’s supplier, he looked like an absurd PEZ dispenser. A strange description, but not quite so much as his action here: working outside of office hours.

The Dutch are supposedly known for keeping their 40-hour work week well in check. He may be an exception, but perhaps working late is how to keep a decent job in Holland these days. ‘It’s a big shift for me to have a job that’s actually a bit challenging, that takes up some time,’ he says, comparing his current work with the temporary positions he held back in the languishing Limburg.

Dutch Limburg has been experiencing both significant ‘brain-drain’ and ‘ont groening;’ both educated individuals and not necessarily educated youth are all leaving the province. He is part of the former. He loves where he’s from – he just couldn’t get going there economically. The Dutch government is neglectful, and the Dutch public, disrespectful.

His old apartment was ten minutes from Germany. Now he lives in Nord Brabant, where few, if any, consider his home part of Holland. What’s a person from Limburg? A Belgian who thinks he can speak German. Given negative regional stereotypes, this is not exactly complimentary. Despite what everyone thinks about their beer.

Not directly harmful, Limburg jokes evince a deeper lack of respect for the governed province. Many revolve around the coal mining that features in its economy, along with gravel and peat. Limburgians mined, North-Hollanders owned the mines. You do the math. But the low, low-landers are having their voices heard louder than ever, as Limburg native and Dutch Freedom Party leader Geert Wilders has been on a fast break in recent Dutch elections. ‘That’s a result of having a province where there are a lot of people without jobs,’ he says. ‘They’re not satisfied with what’s going on. They’ll just latch on to the first demagogue who offers them a solution.’ But so far the offer is just words. In Dutch.

At home he speaks a dialect, a mixture between Dutch and German, almost unintelligible to either. ‘Dutch started as a dialect of German and what we speak is still stuck at that phase of being somewhere in between the two,’ he humbly explains. From social interactions prior to this interview, I actually thought he was German. ‘Many people do,’ he jokes, still with an air of pride.

Members of each town have their own version of dialect, changing about every ten minutes by car. Locals can detect slight differences from around the province but he feels a special kinship regardless, as long as you’re speaking the language. ‘Even if you’re being pulled over by the police - if they speak dialect and you do, you’re probably fine,’ he says.

Dialect may not be as strong a unifier as ideology a divider, he observes. ‘For every Dutch-German marriage - two people that met in a bar or club on either side of the border - there’s been huge fights, almost like battlefields between young Dutch Socialists and Germans on the Right. But Limburg has Neo-Nazis as well as Germany does.’ The re-emergence of Limburg as an international gateway location has only helped fuel these interactions as such groups routinely cross each other’s borders in search of drugs and paraphernalia.

But he still regularly visits his hometown. The warmth of his boyish face is genuine as he describes it, for better or worse. ‘It’s where I grew up. It’s where my family has been for a long time. It’s nice to speak dialect with people who have spoken it from birth, and not be mocked by people who happen to overhear you.’ The waitress brings him another Murphy’s. He shoots her a wide and true grin and he thanks her, in proper Dutch.

Gaga Redux, WP-style

My mother just sent me this article from the Washington Post about our dear highness, Lady Gaga. I really like the article, mostly because I think Robin and I are pretty much in agreement. An outfit describer after my own heart, Robin really gets after the costume concept and makes a mountain out of the obvious comparison between Gaga and Madonna.

All well and good, except I don't remember hearing Gaga refer to herself as an 'icon.' Givhan references Oprah pretty much bestowing icon status on the Lady that gets blasted for the rest of the article. But where is the attack on Oprah, icon-status bestower? Givhan acknowledges that Gaga is exactly what she set out to be - a pop superstar with shocking fashion - and nothing more.

The thing is, I really don't see a lot of people looking to her as a fashion icon. Madonna's looks were attainable and so girls copied her. Gaga's 'Thanksgiving parade float?' Not so much ready for the streets. And people love that she's just a spectacle. No one really cares to get their style tips from her. They just enjoy being thoroughly entertained.

Fireworks?

Dan's hair was a little shorter

Happy Belated 4th of July! The holiday still means a lot to me, but I'll be honest, the day loses a lot of its charm and excitement when no one else around is involved with the celebrating. Like drinking alone. Besides spending the entire day relaxing on the couch with Katie and Season 4 of Dexter, a highlight was chatting with one of my best friends who is currently serving in Afghanistan. Through the Facebook. God bless technology, right? He wasn't in the field yet so had an opportunity to spend some time in an internet cafe on base, across from a TGIFridays. Sounds like a hard life. We didn't talk for very long, just some quick blurbs about this and that. But it was a little surreal to feel connection with him at the 'front', actually in the war. He wasn't doing anything special for yesterday, just getting on the road in/to Kandahar, I believe. He seemed nonchalant, just business-as-usual. It was both calming and frightening. I can't imagine going in to work in the desert in a humvee, in violent hostility. But I'm not him. It's not my job and it's not my war. I pray for him and the others. We wished each other a happy 4th, and happy Canada Day, and that was it.

A week ago - better late than never - Katie and I went to the city of Nijmegen, the Netherlands, for a second week of Summer concert festival. Previously it was 'Dirty Dutch vs. The World' dance-stravaganza (blogged it a couple posts ago) and this time it was 'Rockin' Park', a Sunday full of concerts. A couple big names: Ben Harper, Stereophonics, Rise Against, a little band out of Seattle named Pearl Jam. But we went for The Black Keys.

'I didn't realize how nerdy they are!' was Katie's first response to seeing Dan and Patrick walk out on stage. They were pretty signature: Mr. Auerbach in a western-check oxford shirt and Mr. Carney in a tiny vintage 'Ohio State Nat'l Champs' tshirt. And glasses. Yes, they looked a little nerdy. But nerds harbor some of the most angst in society. And nerdy angst is like lighter fluid for guitars and drums. These guys have been on fire for several years delivering soul-deadening blues-rock to the underground masses, though the world finally began to like them about a year ago. It's always bittersweet when a beautiful lesser-known group blows up but, greedily, I love that I could see them play in Holland.

The show was perfect. Their set lasted for an hour in the early afternoon of an unusually hot Dutch day. Everyone was already pretty dirty and sweaty, which is probably why folks didn't bunch up close to the stage like at the previous week's dance fest. It was nice to have space to rock out, mere feet from Mr. Auerbach himself doing the same. But the heat and grit went perfectly with their industrialized blues. Theirs is not a clean music, musically. And not necessarily fast. Katie remarked 'It's the kind of music you want to dance to somehow, but you just can't.' You can only bounce, juke and nod your head.

Theirs is the great-great-great grandchild of the Devil's music. Inspired by Robert Johnson, Muddy Waters, Junior Kimbrough and the like: the soul of gospel with the driving repetition of slave songs and the profound hurt of love gone bad; The Black Keys electrify the sounds of their founding blues fathers in a simple yet full way that just makes your soul heavy. Which happens to be the name of one of their songs.

They played a great mixed set, opening with half a dozen tracks from various albums. Later they were joined by a keyboardist and bass player to run down some tracks from their latest, Brothers, then closed out with another half-dozen with just the pair again. No encore, no stupid dialogue with the crowd, just filling up the whole hour with as much rock as possible. Later, from the beer table we saluted them, souls on the floor.

Gaga recap

Gyroscope! I knew I forgot an abstract descriptor!

My assignment for 'review writing':

‘What do you need me for? There are enough blonde wigs and tight skirts here to make plenty of Gagas!’ Melodramatic self-effacing is part of her paradoxical charm. By now she has concocted the perfect formula for pure, unadulterated pop fame but allows only her flamboyant faux nouveau costuming and mega vixen stage presence to convey her celebrity. She is quiet and shy in interviews but she is a diva.

She is the czaress of pop. This was no concert; this was a coronation. Her purple bus driver’s hat and enormous-shouldered purple blazer in the opening set enhanced her royal-militant image as reigning pop dictator. She does not offer you her sexy lyrics and Lycra; she demands you ingest them and come back for lip-smacking seconds and thirds.

And she brought a camp cast to help with the force-feeding. ‘Posh,’ a rippling black Adonis with a glam loincloth lead a troupe of choreographed followers: backing her, in awe of her. They are her fan-friends; what we all aspire to be - just with impossible bodies and actual dance ability.

On their way to the Monster Ball, a tornado ripped the group asunder and there is Gaga, alone, before an unadorned black grand piano. With a costume of just a square PVC foot, she was similarly black and unadorned. Suddenly, a truly beautiful thing happened: she began lightly fingering the instrument and eventually bled into her heart-broken ballad ‘Speechless,’ minus the synth-fluff. The result was also black and unadorned. And it was beautifully powerful.

For all her pop pomp and electro-sex circumstance, Gaga has maintained her NYU Tisch School musical chops. Her shrill voice soared above the masterfully tickled ivories. Before we were entertained; now we were hers. Now, we wanted her bad, her bad romance.

The audience knew when it was finally time. There would be no encore, only finale. They began to chant the song’s opening lines. Then from the electric darkness, the full glory of the ‘electro-pop orchestra’ shone upon us: ‘Bad Romance’ blasted the arena with full-frontal pop power. The arena shook with every pounding chorus of the super-song. It was like every little monster present had forgotten then simultaneously remembered how good the song truly is. And no one could command such an army like her. We needed Lady Gaga.

Classy

Relevance? No, this is just what came up from a Google Image search for 'cultural journalism.'

For the past five weeks I've been taking a class offered through the magazine I'm interning at. The course title is 'cultural journalism.' Each week we've had a different assignment: interviewing, profiling, reviewing, etc. While I'm working on the write ups of the past month's travels I'm going to go ahead and put up the pieces I wrote for each week's assignment.

Preview writing:

Plenty are outside enjoying the sunlit patio, lounging through the late afternoon. But down the spiraled steps, the cool, dark inner chamber of Den Bosche’s Plein 79 is noticeably quiet and uninhabited, by comparison. An expansive wooden stage and raised bar flank the room and give the distinct impression that quiet is absolutely not something one comes to this place to experience. Like the basement recording studios of Motown, these ancient walls - the basement of one of the city’s oldest buildings, D’Morrian, dates back to the 14^th century - actively reverb from years of acoustic bombardment. It is a lively yet contained darkness, ready for its next coating of sound.

When South Africa’s own BOO! band blows into town at the end of August, Plein 79 will be anything but quiet. Musically self-described as ‘monki-punk,’ this trio’s mix of bopping horns, slapping bass and high-pitched yipping admittedly has a raucous, jungle fever-type vibe at times. But the details in their songs - delicately timed bell tinkling, multiple melodic section changes and whimsically harmonized vocals - prove they are far beyond primitive bush people.

The closest genre umbrella is the horn-heavy ‘ska,’ which is basically fast and angry reggae. BOO!’s sound has that feel on the surface but often deviates with slower tempos, actual melodic lines and just few absurd interludes. Lyrics are simple but catchy: ‘You’re my wishboan, you’re my shooting star, walk with me’ evokes a bit sweeter imagery than your typical punks. Then blaring trombone, thrashing percussion and grand synthesized keyboards drag you back to thoughtless irreverence.

Before disbanding in 2004 BOO! had racked up an impressive seven albums with roughly 800 gigs, spanning 17 countries and 14 states in the USA. Some might think such numbers are paltry for a career that lasted all of seven years, but fear not: these boys know how to work the stage after performing with the likes of hulking headliners The White Stripes, Slipknot and Franz Ferdinand. They were even recognized by their mother country with the South African Music Award (SAMA) for ‘Best Pop Album’ in 2002.

What better for the continued celebration of the group’s February 2010 reformation then, than the packed intimacy of Plein 79? The close proximity of the stage and backyard barn proportions should be perfect for a truly interactive band-to-audience experience. Expect clapping. Expect dancing. Expect ‘boo’-ing.

Creative head and featured electric bass player (read: ‘slapper’) Chris ‘Miss’ Chameleon will undoubtedly receive the most admiring ‘boos’ with his trademark cross-dressing and powerful voice that can go from soulful croon to inspired wail as if with the turn of a dial. Chameleon took some time after the band’s break to pursue a solo career, so be prepared for a fully fresh take the old body of work as well as completely new cuts from their upcoming album release: The Three of Us. Doubtless it will celebrate the renewed creative energy of the band’s reunification. Doubtless it will be loud.

And then a month went by

A month ago I started a whirlwind of concerts, traveling, and family time. Probably the most active start of a summer as I've ever experienced. Multiple countries, multiple states, multiple adventures. There is quite a bit to write about so for the sake of ease of reading/writing I'll just do one event/trip per post for the next couple days to make up for this month-long post drought.

First up: Dirty Dutch vs. The World 2010, Almere, The Netherlands, 19/6

This annual dance festival has moved around the country in previous years, but this edition occurred on a beach located about an hour north of Den Bosch by train. As we're approaching the longest day of the year we were planning to dance the night away in warm comfort and calming wake. Of course, Holland was Holland and it rained off-and-on all day, and got pretty chilly as the sun sank (not completely dark until about 22.00).
The festival featured several DJ stages with large wooden dance floors covering the sand.

This was probably for the best considering Dutch concertgoers don't really understand the concept of garbage cans. Plastic cups, frites cones and little bottles that once contained shots of neon pink energy-booze (called Flugel) carpeted the joints.

Over the course of the day we ventured from stage to stage and back, stopping periodically for a drink or a broodje. Though I enjoyed the various DJ sets, none were particularly memorable. Just plenty of good beats to move to.

One objective was to be in a decent spot under the event's main stage tent for famous DJ David Guetta and a surprise appearance by the hip-hop collective N.E.R.D. The latter weren't even on the program we got at the entrance but had been just recently added to the website, so we were pumped. As it got closer to the time for both of those performances we inched our way closer to the middle of what had become a tightly-packed, tent-covered mass of humanity.

I was reminded of the bars from Carnaval; people didn't really value personal space here. It wasn't the ideal situation for being able to dance. And people were continually trying to push through the group, often with sloshing drinks, even though it didn't ever seem there was room for them to do so. At one point we were behind what appeared to be a gang of overgrown druglords. They did not move when other people pushed in to move past them so the movers were deflected at us. We decided to push-out ourselves before the inevitable electrical fire and mass-hysteria trampling. Guetta had started performing by this point and it was just no fun not being able to dance along.

We found quite a bit more floorspace at the rear of the tent. Guetta played out his hour-and-a-half-long set with masterfully mixed tracks and a number from his latest album, One Love. They were a bit more melodic and sample-based than most of what we'd been listening to so I thought it was a bit more entertaining to dance along with. Afterward we went back out to the smaller stages for even more dancing room and fresh air. We found both, as well as a beautiful, albeit cloudy, sunset.

That boy is a monster

Dear Lady Gaga,

Katie and I are going to see you in Paris next weekend. Long story but we were originally going to see you for a surprise Christmas present in Chicago. Things didn’t quite work out but while sorting through that situation a good friend checked your tour dates and casually suggested we see you in Paris instead. Paris is just a few hours’ train ride away from here. Aces.

When researching your tour dates and locations, I came across a press release that closely followed the release of Fame Monster album. You referenced the tour and described it as the world’s first “pop-electro opera.” We couldn’t be more excited to find out exactly what that means. You also said you expect all your guests to dress accordingly. A request from the artist to come in costume? YES PLEASE.

Weeks passed as we discussed the options for what kind of attire would be appropriate for her Gaga-ness. From the opera theme and our love for opulent evening wear, we initially thought some kind of vintage Victorian ball-wear would be good. Of course, we should also be zombies. Another idea we developed along the way: Space Vampires. Why? They’re sexy, glittery, and a wonderful negation of the Twilight series.

Your songs and costumes are all about exploiting as much pop-fluff as humanly possible; How far can you push the established trends of entertainment’s erotic bubblegum with lyrics and lycra (or the lack thereof)? We wanted to tap into this irreverent poppiness and still be comfortable jostling about a crowded concert venue. Space Vampires still works as a theme. But how do we achieve it? And on a budget?

As you can imagine there aren’t too many costume retailers in Den Bosch, the Netherlands. There are sneaker shops and posh furniture boutiques aplenty, but we needed to get outside the city’s fortified walls for this. A virtual survey of Amsterdam gave us a number of options, including some vintage shops and a pair of serious-looking costume joints.

We decided to check out Alternatief Kostuum on Amsterdam’s north side. They do rentals by outfit or individual piece, key if you want something ridiculous to wear once and not worry about throwing away later or taking home on a plane. We found them to have an entertaining array of costume elements organized by decade and theme, making things fairly easy to navigate. Naturally, we went straight for the 80s.

You should know that ‘Space Vampires’ was just a thematic idea we had. Neither of us really knew what they should look like in person. I imagine some kind of cross between David Bowie in Labyrinth and the alien villains from Superman II.

+

Seeing lots of Michael Jackson jackets and glittery jumpsuits didn’t exactly help our lack of specific vision. After some frustrating minutes we found a couple of solid items to build around.

When we get all the pieces together pictures will follow. For now: Katie found this incredible…thing, that I can only describe as a star-points torso-wrap. Silver and glittery, it goes behind the head, in front of the shoulders, then under the arms and connects across the back. It gives the dazzling effect of halo, popped collar, and planetary radiance, all at once. It was a must have. To complement the piece she found a shimmery dark silver Marilyn Monroe-esque top. It’s a killer combo. She plans to top things off with a creative up-do and pencil some colorful angles and shapes onto her face. Oh, and of course there will be vampire fangs.

I found a tight sleeveless top that looks kind of like it came from the Tron costume bin. There are thick black bars of black and silver, and the jury is out on the intended gender. It’s quite marvelous. We also found a black leather jacket full of hardware with a tall collar. The shirt is definitely spacey, and the jacket gives off more of a modern Vampire (think Kate Beckinsale’s pvc duster in Underworld) punk-toughness than your typical stateliness. Trust me, it works. To complete my look we decided some black jeans, bright converse hi-tops, and ridiculous shades would all go nicely. Yes, my mom did try to convert me from black sweatpants to jeans in elementary school and I resisted. Now I live in my Levis. Full circle and all that I guess.

Vampire fangs: We didn’t want your typical “mouth guard” style of plastic teeth. No, we and the costumes deserve better. We found another costume shop basically around the corner from the Anne Frank House. This place was loaded with makeup, masks, props, and hats. And fortunately for us, some rather real-looking vampire fangs. Individual caps that go over your canines. Complete with dental-grade putty for achieving a flawless fit. Now we’re talking. These things look downright vicious.

Also at the shop we picked up sparkly black tights and elbow-length gloves for the Space Vampiress, and some turquoise metallic Kanye shades for me. One can never have too many pairs of sparkly black tights. And fake blood. We knew we were in the right place when the nice-enough-but-still-pretty-nerdy clerk explained the different ways you could apply the stuff based on his personal use of the same product. He also reference different blood products I could choose from depending on the type of blood effect I was going for. Experience makes a great salesperson, and real-life fantasy role-player. I love it.

Amsterdam took care of us yesterday, even though everything is only open until 6. We’re starting to understand the curving streets that change name as you go across canals. What makes less sense is the continuing standoff between the city and its sanitation workers. Not the cleanest of cities to begin with, the ‘Venice of the North’ has gotten simply rotten over the past couple of weeks. There are piles of trash throughout the city that just keep getting bigger. Not so in Den Bosch. Glad we could come back to our own clean, quiet little city for the evening. And blast Alejandro. One week and counting, your highness, until we join you for a monstrous evening.

Your loyal little monsters,

Tim and Katie

Asperges Maand!

Updates:

Things are still going swimmingly at my magazine internship. I’m working in to the Amsterdam office thrice a week and enjoying getting a few more heavy writing responsibilities. Through some less-than-honorable experiences I learned the value of old-school fact checking. Now I’m on the straight and narrow, calling sources left and right. There’s been a little trial-by-fire but it’s good to have real experiences setting the tone for how the job needs to be done correctly.

One of my latest projects was finding out about the “new” and “hip” aspects of the tattoo scene in Amsterdam. After doing some background research I went out into the field and interviewed a number of local artists. It was a great experience as I fancy myself a strong people-person, but not necessarily a talented journalistic interviewer. It can be hard getting people to give you a colorful quote. Especially if English is not their first or primary language. But I learned and got better as I went. The folks I talked to were all terribly nice and interesting to get to know. Several offered coffee and invited me back for less official hanging out. Friendly, talented people all. If only they didn’t smoke so much. But everyone around here does, so I guess I can’t fault them.

Last Saturday was National Asparagus Day (Asperges Dag) in the Netherlands. Why? Not sure. Apparently May is National Asparagus Month. I guess Den Bosch was putting special emphasis on the vegetable that day. In the Markt there was a plethora of white asparagus, the larger, sun-deprived cousin of green asparagus. Known for its harder skin, more tender and bland flesh, the white often gets used in soup. Apparently the white color is achieved by packing extra soil around the base so little or no sunlight penetrates, thus preventing the plant from performing photosynthesis and turning green. The things remind me of the Bunnicula books we read in elementary school. But how does the vegetable grow without sunlight? Well, my friends, since the Netherlands is effectively one big delta most of its “reclaimed” (water pumped out) soil is full of juicy, delicious nitrates. Perfect for growing all kinds of good stuff. Like white asparagus. We bought a sizeable bundle of it and then ended up cooking this a few days ago:

http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Gratin-of-White-Asparagus-358429

I used crumbled croutons instead of bread crumbs and cilantro instead of parsley because, well, that’s what we had. And the grocery store didn’t seem to have bread crumbs for sale. Apparently Holland is practically in the culinary stone age. Bread crumbs, people!

Bread crumbs are not the only major food element missing from Dutch grocery stores. I still have been unable to find a replacement for the staple of my diet over the past several years, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese. Hollanders love cheese and have plenty of pasta. They also exhibit a proclivity for creamy sauces and salads. How have they not discovered the Blue Box? It escapes me. Then again, they don’t but peanut butter and chocolate together either. What?! I’m sure they would go nuts for either combination with it put before them. I could probably make some serious dough establishing a trade deal for peanut butter M&Ms and the Blue Box. All I know is I’ll have more than a few boxes in my suitcase when I return from my US visit in a couple of weeks. More on that trip soon.

Less Than Rainy Zaterdag

April has not been particularly rainy, as you can see. I couldn't be happier, but I suppose May may not be as lush as a result. Oh well. I'll take beautiful now.

Things are heating up for Katie's area of her customer's project. She went in to work yesterday, Saturday. Believe it or not, being able to go and work in privacy seems to be good for her. So I didn't argue. Me, I went out to pick up some foodstuffs so we'd both be productive.

We didn't need a lot but I wanted to go walk around the Markt anyway. 'Snacks' was on my list so I stopped at a booth we visited last week, a Greek, Dutch-residing man with various homemade breads and tapenades. Really marvelously fresh stuff. We chatted a little about the differences among home, travel, and vacation. I excitedly asked him about living in Greece and to my surprise he commented that going back there to see family is actually a little boring. He has family also in Russia, California, and the Netherlands. Those places are all more exciting for him to spend time visiting than his native Greece. No offense to my Virginia home but I understand his points.

I paid the man and moved on to the grocery store. It was close to 5pm and the sun was just starting to take on that 'late afternoon' burnt gold hue. It was going to be a beautiful evening and I had plenty of time to get out with my camera after bringing home the groceries.

I grabbed the camera and my current read and biked out to one of the filled-in, brick-walled bastions on the city's outer ring. I snapped a few shots and enjoyed some page-turning under a tree. Here is my Facebook album where I've been putting pictures from the Netherlands. They go from old to new.