Sunday, April 14, 2019

Good things happened this week, but the passing of Gary Stewart put a dark cloud over many people.  Suicide is dumb when young, but when someone my age commits suicide, it becomes a profound gesture that is scary, depressing, and of course, frustrating.  Especially when someone like Gary, who seems to be well-loved by everyone in the record geek community.  For those who don't know, Gary Stewart is very much part of the Rhino Records world.  A visionary fellow, a man of taste, and used his talent to make and distribute fantastic music.  His death disturbs me.  I can sense others feel the same way.  

Today, I went to the Printed Matter Art Book Fair at Geffen MOCA in Little Tokyo.  My well-known secret is that I'm very uncomfortable in large rooms, such as at Geffen MOCA.  I have to keep moving from getting dizzy.  The thing is with museum places; it is very much like a maze, or at the very least a room within a room.  Different size cubicles and I feel like I'm being sucked into a void. There is a fear that I will not make it out.  Alternatively, being trapped.  I never look up to the ceiling, because I feel my knees are buckling, and about to fail me.  

On the other hand, it's a terrific book fair.  I didn't buy anything because I felt everything was too good.  The energy in the rooms was ten maximum, and in actuality, I went twice to the festival. Gagosian Gallery had a room set up for artist Spencer Sweeney.  He was making music directly into a 7-inch single using a record lathe.  That was interesting of course, but also he had his favorite books displayed, including my dad's book "Semina Culture."  It's an important festival, and one has to applaud Printed Matter to organize such a magnificent presentation. 

Yesterday I spent the morning at the Los Angeles Times Book Festival, in which I was on a panel discussion on the subject matter of Los Angeles, which is a vast subject matter for a discussion that can only last for an hour.   The dialog was between yours truly, Lynell George, David Kipen, Lili Anolik, and the moderator was William Deverell.  My only regret is that it couldn't last for three hours or so.  Lili wrote a book on Eve Babitz, and her subject matter is close to my book "Tosh," but I don't mention Eve.  Still, when I did the reading of my book, I focused on the chapter on Marcel Duchamp's retrospective at the Pasadena Museum, which took place in 1963.  Eve is famous (besides her writing) for posing in the nude and playing chess with Duchamp.  She couldn't go to the opening of the exhibition because her boyfriend, Walter Hopps was with his wife at the show.  So, as a revenge of sorts, she posed naked with Marcel.  My experiences at the time were that I did go to the opening and met Duchamp.  Although I did not take my clothes off to play chess or with the bicycle wheel that was displayed so beautifully in the show.   I met Eve numerous times when I was a child and teenager, but those were just fleeting moments. 

January 7, 2017 (Tosh's Diary)

January 7, 2017

I went to the Geffen Contemporary in Little Tokyo yesterday to see Terry Riley play music to the installation by Doug Aitken.  One enters a large room that's dark, except the lighting that comes from the oversized screens projecting images of wild animals in what looks like the standard sized motel rooms, one finds on American highways.  My favorite was the beaver in a bathtub. As I watched the projection, I wondered how they brought these creatures in such an environment. Or better yet, were these motel rooms real.  It looks like a movie set.

In between these over-sized screens was a huge grand piano, and a smaller electronic keyboard.  I recently became a new member of MOCA, and once I came in, they offered me a ticket with a number.  I was told that they would announce a number at the concert and one will win a terrific surprise.  Just before Riley's performance started, a museum worker came to the piano and announced the lucky number.   The lucky number was attached to my lucky ticket, and therefore, I won.

  

As they announced the number, they ask for the person who has this number to come up to the piano.  I practically ran up to the location due to my excitement.  I'm one of those people that never wins anything.  I was told that I could have the grand spot of seeing and hearing the concert right underneath the piano.   At first I thought they were joking, but apparently, the winner gets to crawl under the piano while Terry Riley performs.

I took my honorable place and laid myself down on the carpeted floor.  Riley came quietly to the grand keyboard and started to play.  For sure, the sound of the piano is much different when one is underneath the instrument.  I also felt like the wild animal that is placed in the motel room.  From my angle, I can see the screen, as well as the audience, who are looking at me in slight disbelief.  To be honest, my legs were cramping up, but I feel that this was very much part of the performance, and therefore I made the decision there, that I will take to the pain, to a certain point.

Riley's music, or at least this performance, was improvised.   Occasionally he would go into an eastern sound or North African motif, especially when he started to sing.  Besides my legs getting painful, it was a very enjoyable performance from the king of minimalism.   After the performance, I crawled back to the bigger space of the room.  I couldn't stand up right away, and I think the crowd there thought I was doing a performance of some sort - perhaps a Butoh dance piece.  Still, the event was an enjoyable experience for me.   What I learned was that I didn't care for Aitken's work that much, but I like Terry Riley's music.