A whole subculture of underwear apparel

JF: There are workers who sell their underwear. There’s a whole subculture of underwear apparel in the pornographic industry in which you could, through a financial transaction, acquire the clothes.

Really? Actually many people ask me for money, to see how much they can get. I say I don’t have any. This work is not about making money, it’s about meaning. I could buy new underwear and fake it, but people are so tired of simulations. Many artists are afraid to involve society or strangers. They may comment on culture by using images from the media, but they end up reinforcing these images.

JF: There is a disturbing gender politics present here in your role as a man asking women for their panties. In one sense, women choose to participate by their own volition, they are not intimidated into accepting your invitation. Yet even though there is this consensual aspect, the focus on women’s clothing, bodies and secretions parallels cultural currents that are ist, if not also misogynist.

If women aren’t happy in doing this, then they don’t do it. I don’t believe in the kind of politics where one side profits and the other side loses. In this situation both men and women benefit and can have pleasure.

JD: Underwear has become a prominent element in the last decade through the fashion spectacles of Madonna’s costumes, Calvin Klein’s ads, and so on. How do you position yourself to the fashion industry?

As people are more conscious about displaying, they are also afraid. Underwear, to me, is still a private thing. My impression about people who are into fashion is that they have a strong desire for security. They have to rely upon someone else to establish beauty for themselves.

JF: What is the profile of the typical woman who contributes underwear?

Over twenty-five years old, independent, confident about her life, with a very positive attitude. She may not wear very up-to-date fashions, but she will show more interest, more curiosity.

JD: A lot of early feminist work dealt overtly with bodily fluids, tampons, menstruation. Have you been influenced by the body politics of feminism?

There are so many different feminisms that it’s difficult to say. I did my undergraduate study in sociology. I work more with ideas about perception, ideas that are not necessarily connected to art. The art world is a good place to make propositions, but I don’t need to be in it. Art provides a wider context for understanding.

Resource: Wall Art Blog

Buy Fracnoise Nielly Paintings or Prints?

Nielly shows a safety study toward look and develops into an intuitive and wild target of expression. If you close your eyes, you would not visualize a face, which has colors, though if you think about this directly, everything gains a form by means of our dreams. The most anxious soul could have colors, which happen to be invisible but always alive. Many people think that in a portrait, there is always a concord that runs away, but in my estimation, every symbolism is printed in their face. Eyes find sins and keenness, a grin reveals fulfillment or perhaps decisive lie, and vivid tones magnify options without so much movement.

Francoise draws lines to uncover elegance, passion, while keeping focused of memories. Every single portrait embodies a feeling of fulfillment and sadness. Once we learn this sort of sensuous, significant and tremendous drawing, we know that attention can move sincerely in any look, in any gesture, well placed that specifies ones types of being. The colors are precisely why Nielly’s art so real and natural and it is not possible not to adore her ideas. Numerous could be inspirations, which often dance in such feeling, and a lot of might be the definitions which you’ll find conveyed. ?Have you wondered yourselves how valuable it happens to be to acquire colors? Perhaps you have had questioned how important it may be to tame this type of colors?

Buy Francoise NIelly Artworks

Artworks by artisan Franoise Nielly have a noticeable strength that project with each composition. Having improved palette knife portrait solutions, the painter uses deep strokes of oil on canvas to blend a specific abstraction into these figurative portraits. The art pieces, which can be based away straightforward white and black pictures, feature extreme light, shadow, depth, and lively neon tones. Based on her biography on Behance, Nielly uses a risk: her portray is sexual, her colorings free, joyful, surprising, also explosive, the cut of her knife incisive, her colour pallete fantastic.

In Francoise Nielly’s work, she does not use any modern tools and uses only oil as well as palette knife. The shades are existing roughly on the canvas turn out to be an incredibly dynamic work. Her portraits encapsulate energy of color choice similar to a outstanding method of viewing life. The belief and form are simply just starting points.

In her own way, Francoise Nielly shows a person’s face in each of his paintings. And then she paints it repeatedly, with slashes of paint upon their face. Memories of personal life that show up from her artwork are put together by a clinch with the canvas. Color is released to be a projectile.

Francoise Nielly is an artist characterized by challenging and sophisticated methods sharing alluring and crucial energy and strength.

Did you like Francoise Nielly’s artworks? Do you wish to get a portrait painting using this artist? I have no idea if Francoise take commission job? But in the case she do, i bet the price should be very very expensive the majority of her artworks are available $10,000 to $30,000. Hence, generally, it is nearly impossible to let Francoise Nielly create your portrait, although, you know what, our skilled artists can! We can easily paint your portrait the same as Francoise Nielly do!

The most enigmatic of art stars

Yoko Ono, the most enigmatic of art stars, was once called by her “Beatle” husband John Lennon the “most famous unknown artist.” And yet her diverse oeuvre as a poet, artist and composer span at once generations, media and cultural divides. A recent survey exhibition of Ono’s lifetime career as a cultural producer, entitled “Yes,” brings Ono’s contributions to twentieth century art to the fore. Ono’s art is one which occupies a space between fringe and rock, avant-gardism and celebrity, Japan and globalisation, feminism and politics.

Ono, as artist and persona, has over the years transgressed fixed notions of the “centre” and “margin.” An active member of the Fluxus group in New York and Japan in the early 1960s, she produced works addressing concepts of the specific (culture, gender, race) as well as the general (peace, freedom, respect) in art. The New York Fluxus group, led by George Maciunas, mainly functioned in opposition to art institutions and the commodification of the art object. Advocating “non-art” or “anti-art” — an art produced in the moment — the members constituted a politicized critique of art and a questioning of the role of the artist as defined by popular Modernist tenets of the times. Although a “regular” participant in the Fluxus group, Ono’s involvement also hinged on America’s newly discovered fascination with Eastern philosophy. At the time, Japan was also influenced by American culture through contacts established with American soldiers during the Second World War. This fortuitous reciprocity was further encouraged by Ono’s invitation to the Fluxus group to participate in a series of events and performances, in Japan, mostly centered around music and involving such avant-garde artists as John Cage and La Monte Young. Ono’s own work of this time was, however, more concerned with philosophical changes centered upon the self rather than towards a critique of cultural models of the time. Alexandra Munroe notes that “Ono’s art is directed at transformation, a faith in the mind’s power to realize good through the act of visualization” (YES YOKO ONO, 2000, p. 12). Many of Ono’s works from this period break down the barriers between art and lire. For example, Morning Piece performed in Japan (1964) and New York (1965), sees the artist selling shards of glass tagged with the dates of mornings to come thus imbuing the everyday with rituals and the “consciousness of art” (YES YOKO ONO, 2000, p. 12). Her spiritually imbued form of conceptualism rooted in Ono’s childhood experiences of war torn Japan can be said to have appeal to the art community as well as the soul-searching collective imagination of 1960s in both countries.

The influence of Zen and Buddhism can also be noted in Ono’s use of language. Her use of poetry as featured in her instructional works (some visual art, other performance-based) series exploits the visual and conceptual limits of language in art. In her 1964-71 anthology Grapefruit, Ono presents a series of “works by licence” which are to be produced by the audience’s visualization of the completed piece. Reading as “haiku” or Noh poems, works such as Painting to Let the Evening Light Go Through from her “Instructions for Paintings” series (1961/66) direct the viewer to hang a bottle behind a canvas (Plexiglas) “where the west light comes in. The painting will exist when the bottle creates a shadow on the canvas, or it does not have to exist” (Grapefruit, 1970, n.p.). This work is intrinsically tied to the tradition of calligraphy where image and language merge to create art/meaning. David A. Ross aptly describes Ono as a “western conceptualist working out a fully Japanese set of philosophical and aesthetic traditions” (YES YOKO ONO, 2000, p. 56). It is also notable to compare the conceptual art practices of Ono and other Fluxus members with Joseph Kosuth’s and Lawrence Weiner’s later and significantly commercialized versions of word works.

Ono’s feminist involvement was more problematic for the 1960s and 1970S politicized art community to embrace and has largely only been validated after the fact. Ono emerged as an artist at a time when being a woman and Japanese had little place in the modernist art movement. With many of her performances, she occupies a complex cultural/sexual role, one which could be compared to the persona of Yayoi Kusama, the Japanese Surrealist performance artist who was at once exoticized and vilified for her overtly sexual work. Ono’s performances predominantly play with the liminality between public/ private and only infer a feminist agenda in the most poetic of manners. Her proto-feminist performances were predominantly influenced by Fluxus activities in America and Japan. Works such as Cut Piece, first presented at Yamaichi Hall in Japan (1964) featured the artist silently inviting the audience to “cut” off her clothes with a large pair of sewing scissors — thus breaking the boundary between public/artist and testing the limits of intimacy bordering on abuse.

From the start, Ono’s art has been articulated around spirituality and boundary-crossing production involving multiple media. Also in the spirit of Fluxus, whose aim was to reach the widest possible audience and whose works were articulated around their possibility for mass-production, Ono’s work exploited numerous media such as performance, music, installation, painting and writing. The artist’s later works made greater use of herself and her husband as media personalities that could garner world attention. Ono’s is an art that explored the political possibilities of art making in both post-W.W.II Japan and post-Vietnam War America all the while exploiting the racially charged romantic union of an Asian and Caucasian. Ono and Lennon collectively produced numerous works such as the much publicized Bed-In for Peace (in Amsterdam and Montreal, 1969) which brought political and performance art tactics to the fore of popular culture. Although a media personality herself, Ono rarely used her own image for these tactics and chose to exploit media’s power for disseminating a message. For example her and Lennon’s War is Over! billboard (also 1969) opposing the Vietnam War stating that “War is over — if you want it” was featured in numerous languages and countries. Recently, pacifist activist acts bave resurged in light of World Trade Organization Conferences where politics and performance meet in the aims of creating an ideological transformation.

Never one to conform to expectations, Ono has been most visibly active in the field of music as a performer and composer. If one considers music as a melodic poetry in time then we may better situate her music within the broader problematic of her “oeuvre.” Ono negotiates the rock/art divide in an unparalleled fashion — comparable and analogous to only John Cage’s influence on the visual art process. Working with notions of presence and absence, Ono’s approach to sound can be characterized as an exploration in voice and self-expression, or being. In the liner notes for London Jam (the first disk of her retrospective set Onobox) Ono talks about creating “a `New Music,’ a fusion of avant-garde-jazz-rock and East and West” (Quoted in Simon Reynolds and Joy Press, The Sex Revolts: Gender, Rebelliort, and Rock’n’Roll, 1995, p. 382). Hers is a voice unhinged having conceptualist ties to post-structuralist feminist writers such as Helene Cixous’ concept of “l’ecriture feminine.” As a woman, Ono is an inspiration and a precursor to rock girls from Marianne Faithfull and Patti Smith to PJ Harvey today. Iconoclastic and rule-breaking, Ono’s artistic legacy cleared a path for many present-day performance-based and multidisciplinary artists. Ono set a precedent for the exploitation of the artist as media persona as articulated by artists like Matthew Barney and his poetic self-transformations and Mariko Mori and her mediation of the cyber-geisha cliche. Pipilotti Rist’s recent singing and performance-based videos owe much to Ono for their exploration of the female voice as a subversive gesture in art. It can be seen that the mutidisciplinary and media-exploitive tactics used by Ono are ones which are at the fore of contemporary arts today.

Two-way mirror power

Alexander Alberro, ed.,

Dan Graham’s texts in Two-Way Mirror Power address every aspect of his artistic production: video, television, film, performance, sculpture and conceptual magazine pieces. It includes unpublished essays, four interviews, essays published previously (in part) and others now expanded for this volume, and, as well, essays reprinted from journals and exhibition catalogues. Jeff Wall provides an informative introduction by contextualizing Graham’s essays as between art and writing, a “category shift”: not writing about art or even art-writing, but rather “art with the writing it contains glinting in the form of texts” (p. xvii). Graham’s writings on his most recent projects, the pavilion sculptures, are brought together for the first time and provide an introduction to his text on the highly acclaimed Rooftop Park at the Dia Center for the Arts. Other essays include Graham’s “A Guide to the Children’s Pavilion,” a collaborative project with Wall; texts on a number of sculptures including Two Adjacent Pavilions realized for Documenta 7; and a series of writings on lesser known pavilion sculptures of the late 1980s and 90s. This section closes with an interview by Mike Metz that addresses Graham’s early interests and ongoing association with glass: its opaque, translucent and transparent properties that form the conceptual readings of the sculptures. The book’s design gives the impression of an accessible digest, but it is much more. Graham’s writings make up an impressive compendium — accessible, rigorous and informed.

Canada invents a new school of art rock

Loosely defined by their Montreal label, Alien8 Recordings, as having created an “indescribable mix of demented electro-noise-post-punk backed up with their own invented language,” Les Georges Leningrad (LGL) seem determined to subvert the micro-categorizing tendencies of the music-industry press, characterizing their own sound with the markedly vague descriptor, “petrochemical rock.” That this taxonomy is essentially meaningless is fundamental to the LGL project, an anything-goes collision of music, performance and promotion, that in its live manifestation speaks more to the influence of Dada than any rock-historical referents. Combine this with a desire to create a specific aesthetic that favours the handmade over pop gloss–through the design of costumes, merchandise, posters and CD covers–and it becomes clear that with Les Georges Leningrad and their loosely affiliated cohort of like-minded bands, a new 21st-century version of art rock has emerged.

Yet the term art rock comes loaded with connotations and misconceptions and proves slippery when you try to pin it down. For example, at a recent performance by fellow Montrealers the Besnard Lakes, a disgruntled audience member dismissed the band’s output as art rock, suggesting perhaps his displeasure at having stumbled upon something other than the straight-up rock show that the presence of guitars and amplifiers had promised. The Besnard Lakes, despite the absence of costumed onstage theatrics and the inclusion of conservatory-trained musicians, are led by former art student and photographer Jace Lasek, a self-taught performer who obsessively controls every aspect of the band’s sound and image. Yet an attempt to find other commonalities–musical or otherwise–between the Besnard Lakes and a band such as LGL proves next to impossible, suggesting that time served in an art institution is not the sole criterion for the classification of a band under the art-rock rubric.

Perhaps these lyrics from “Rock Show,” by Toronto-born, Berlin-based Peaches, can be of service: “Rock show/You came to see a rock show/A big gigantic cock show/You came to see it all.” With its tongue-in-cheek homage to the stadium cock rock shows of the 70s and 80s, the song plays as an insider’s wink to Peaches’ loyal fan base about a demographic for which art is a dirty word. If art embodies all that seems pretentious and threatening, this is a frustration made worse by a band such as LGL, whose members are intentionally obtuse in their interviews and press materials and have described their project as “un-understandable.” Yet Peaches, with her sometimes literal appropriation of cock rock’s appendages and postures, seems able to bridge this aesthetic gap, drawing the frat boys and art boys in equal (and large) numbers.

Despite its opposition to being labelled, if there is such a thing as a contemporary art-rock scene in Canada in 2005, it is possible to trace this current movement back to Toronto in the late 90s, when musician Merrill Nisker negotiated the boundary between divergent worlds–through her collaborations with artist/illustrator Shary Boyle, the experimental filmmakers Kika Thorne and Kara Blake and the 2-4-5 Collective–working on the concept that would eventually become Peaches, a process which involved much more than the writing of songs.

Montreal’s latest live-music venue, the dungeonesque Zoobizarre, is a curious but appealing addition to the city’s already eclectic collection of bars and performance boites, with its 70s-era echangiste dub decor and unlikely location on a decidedly un-hip outdoor shopping thoroughfare that runs for blocks along the northern end of rue St. Hubert. A crowd, adorned with dollar-store masks and tickle-trunk interpretations of Mardi Gras finery, awaited the arrival of LGL, who headlined the evening’s event–a fundraiser for displaced New Orleans musicians Quintron and Miss Pussycat. LGL is part of what Exclaim writer Lorraine Carpenter has termed Montreal’s “schizo synth scene,” which includes the Bowie-inspired Echo Kitty, the Heidi-esque children’s entertainer for grownups Lederhosen Lucil and former Peaches collaborator the World Provider, of whom I won’t say any more as I am both married to him and a member of the WP backup band.


When Les Georges Leningrad, or Les Cajun Atlantis, as they called themselves for this one special event, took to the stage, frontwoman Poney P was sporting a homemade dress of a vaguely Flintstones-esque design, as is her wont–the caveman look being a quintessential part of the LGL aesthetic. Bobo and Mingo were equally snappy in straw hats and jacketless suits with rolled shirtsleeves and vests. But what was most striking and certainly not expected was the fact that they were also in blackface and doing their best to behave in a manner appropriate, or at least consistent, with the postmodern minstrel show they had decided to put on.

Described in their artist profile on Pitchforkmedia.com as “more mischievous than malicious,” LGL has a reputation for creating controversy with their live performances, though their gimmick at the benefit engendered few, if any, negative or angry responses from the assembled crowd other than some raised eyebrows and the occasional sidelong glance. And I had to wonder what kind of conceptual thinking had led them to make this audacious and arguably questionable creative decision and whether it was their collective pedigree as visual artists within the Montreal community–Poney P’s alter ego, Dominique Petrin, is an established multi-disciplinary artist whose paintings and illustrations, outside of those created specifically for LGL, have been exhibited internationally–that offered them the creative latitude to engage in this absurdist interpretation of the old shuck ‘n’ jive routine. What is impossible to know is whether the reaction garnered would have been different if the band had instead emerged from a more traditional rock background.

LGL keeps their fans and critics on their toes with purposely mystifying descriptions of their musical and thematic preoccupations. When asked, for example, to comment on their shift from a four-piece to their current power-trio set-up in an interview with Seattle Weekly, band members would say only that they were “four heads screwed onto a crab body. Now we are three creatures.” They are steadfastly committed to their project, refusing to break character even as, in the sweltering heat of Zoobizarre, the black pancake makeup began to run and slide down their faces and arms, causing Poney P to hold tight to the top of her tube dress and allowing hardcore front-row fans the giddy opportunity to retrieve the drumsticks that were flying out of Bobo’s greasy hands.

But the LGL project is not just a Dadaist performance piece–it is also a band that makes music and records that people buy and listen to. A gaggle of adjectives culled from a host of reviews and articles does little to describe the music. Words such as spastic, chaotic, abrasive and bombastic are thrown around, without actually answering the question of what it sounds like or what it might be compared to. In the end, the answer might be nothing … or rather, a noisy form of nothing familiar–which may also be the point. Like most of the bands discussed here, LGL members were trained as artists rather than musicians, and while what proficiency they have acquired after months of exhaustive touring is evident when listening to them play now, they tend to subvert the traditional hierarchy of sound over image that is maintained by more conventional performers. And while the music is elemental to the project–“one does not go without the other”–and you can dance to it (as their fans will most definitely tell you), it seems somehow secondary to the visual extravaganza taking place on stage. Perhaps it’s as simple as acknowledging that visual artists think differently from musicians and so bring new priorities to their work with an emphasis on aesthetics that doesn’t take a back seat to sound.

There have always been bands coming out of art schools–Talking Heads, Devo and GWAR are three that come immediately to mind. Paradoxically, when you type “art rock” into Google you find a plethora of sites devoted to the appreciation of progressive rock–to bands such as Genesis, Rush and Yes–whose music is delineated in part by its intricate time structures, the varied instrumentation of the orchestrations and the virtuosity of the musicianship (in addition to the theatricality of the performances). Traditional art rock is known for being self-important and overblown, a hugely different sound from the autodidactic electronica that characterizes much of what is being created here, in which a lack of musical training is seen as a strength–as an opportunity for a wider range of experimentation and expression unhindered by the burden of what works and what is expected–rather than a weakness.

Joel Gibb, founder of Toronto’s the Hidden Cameras–referred to by Stuart Berman in Eye Weekly as a “solo-art-project-turned-queer-chamber-pop-choir”–states in an interview with Exclaim’s Michael Barclay, “I was always interested in asking people who weren’t musicians to play … I even hate using the word musician. It’s all in your attitude and how you assert yourself … your performance charisma.” Poney P echoes Gibb’s sentiment when she describes the early days of LGL, with its “elaborate setups, pie fights, magic tricks, anything that would obscure their lack of technical expertise.” The band soon realized there was a need to grow beyond the limitations of the electrotrash moment, describing their current incarnation to Pitchforkmedia.com’s Brian Howe as “less comedians, because that can be super-kitschy, and going into more powerful and danceable things.” Still, LGL’s Mingo strives to maintain the impenetrable public facade, declaring to Carpenter that LGL are actually “professional musicians … [who only] play like primitive people.”


That there is an element of conscious pretension in art rock may be inarguable, but this is not necessarily a problem, especially when the aesthetic sensibilities of the band are matched by a keen sense of humour and a tangible desire to connect with the audience–a desire that is perhaps more easily met through the populist and immediate medium of music. As Maggie MacDonald, singer and keyboardist for the Hidden Cameras, explained in the same interview, “I don’t like art that is about cutting people off. Music is a social art, and it’s something that should be shared.”

I first saw The Hidden Cameras play at Pavilion, the temporary gallery space and curatorial project of Robin Simpson and Maryse Lariviere that adorned an empty storefront on lower St. Laurent for a few months in the winter of 2004. Following a brilliant set by the then-less-well-known Arcade Fire, who, if it were not for the plethora of material written about them of late, would have probably garnered more space here, the Hidden Cameras crowded into the small cleared square that was standing in for a stage and blew our minds, as the much-lauded, underwear-hooded and half-naked male go-go dancers flanked the band and Maggie commanded us to dance. The Hidden Cameras sound is much lusher in tone and more complex instrumentally than the stripped-down new wave-ish electronica that characterizes much of the Montreal scene and the music of fellow Torontonian art rockers Dandi Wind and Pony Da Look, the latter who opened for The Hidden Cameras on their last mini-tour–more on par perhaps with the bigger sound of bands such as Broken Social Scene, Stars, the Dears and the aforementioned Arcade Fire. Still, the band fits the art-rock bill, playing art galleries and church halls and collaborating with other visual and performance artists, such as the Toronto Dance Theatre, who teamed with them for a series of shows this November.

Of course, the original and consummate art rocker is David Bowie, who, along with the other art-schooled members of the British glare-rock scene characterized his work with a sense of performance and persona that set him apart from his American counterparts. But unlike the serious pretension and post-glam posing of bands such as Echo Kitty or the prefabricated Boy, what distinguishes the work of the Hidden Cameras, Peaches, LGL and their ilk is a cheeky posturing and pop-cultural savvy that lacks the arrogance one might expect from so self-conscious a project.

That an emphasis on performance–and the community that it can help to create–unites these bands comes as no surprise. As one of the Hidden Cameras’ lead musicians, Maggie MacDonald’s performance charisma has been on full display every time I have seen her play with the Cameras or with her side-project, Republic of Safety. Maggie has the unique ability to engage fully with the audience while on stage, whether speaking, singing or simply staring out into the audience, dancing. Her face is a study in candour, lacking both the self-centered angst familiar to the emo-rocking shoe-gazer set, but equally free from the type of ironic mock-rock grimacing of Peaches and Poney P.

According to Maggie, a Hidden Cameras performance is “like a happening, or an artistic moment in a community … a very different kind of concert.” There is a sense of the prankster, of a playfulness that does not, cannot, find a home in the earnestness of the indie-rock scene. As MacDonald notes, “I felt like audiences were wanting to dance, but there wasn’t a high comfort-level in the indie-rock community.” Krista Muir, a.k.a. Lederhosen Lucil, echoes this sentiment in her interview with Carpenter, describing her performances as distinct from “most shows, which you’re supposed to watch passively.”

The importance of dance is also an imperative of Hank, whose members–the Hank Collective–not only entice audiences to engage with the performative elements of their project, but enable them to seek better lives through Free Dance Lessons, an ongoing performance or public intervention spearheaded by Hank members Day Milman and Paige Gratland, in which passersby are invited to spontaneously dance with other people on the street.

Fronted by native Brit Cab J. Williamson, Hank is the latest band to enter into the art-rock fray. Armed with 500 copies of their latest CD, How to Prosper in the Coming Bad Days (2004), each with a one-of-a-kind cover handmade by Gratland–drawn from a culturally rich repository of found pictures and magazines whose images brush meaningfully against the thematically oblique album title–the band played Pop Montreal this October and wowed the audience with its exuberant showmanship and catchy karaoke-esque beats.

Purposely mysterious and mock-epic on its Weepingtruckers.com website, Hank purports to have no manifesto to guide its project–they’re “not bloody U2 or anything”–but speaking on behalf of the Hank Collective in response to my questions on the subject of art rock, Williamson was dogmatic in his position, stating explicitly that they “don’t really understand the term and … do not belong, nor are aware of, an art-rock scene” in Canada.

Containing the requisite band information, the Weeping Truckers site also doubles as a gallery. Each copy of Hank’s first CD contains a single-edition handmade work with Polaroid images taken by Williamson. To build a showcase of all 500 covers of the new CD, the band asks those who had bought CDs before the process was begun to scan their covers and submit them to the site. But what is perhaps the most significant aspect of Hank and the Hank Collective live experience is that the show is one hell of a good time.

From the perverted vaudevillian antics of Vancouver’s Canned Hamm to the tortured wails of Halifax’s now-defunct Rick of the Skins, the catalogue of bands who in their own way straddle this border between art and rock are too numerous to include in one article. “There is an exciting art-rock synthesis going on in Canada,” says Maggie MacDonald. “I am really proud of the stuff Joel is doing with the [Hidden Cameras’ Evil Evil] label.” Evil Evil has released the band’s CDs as weft as those by Scandinavian, Stephin Merritt-esque crooner Jens Lekman and, most recently, the debut CD by Winnipeg artist and Royal Art Lodger Marcel Dzama. Explained on Dzama’s website as beginning “as a Yoko Ono and Lee Hazlewood cover band with Marcel’s 10-year-old sister, Hollie Dzama, on vocals,” Albatross Note (2005) is the type of collaboration that makes an art-rock synthesis manifest and aurally tangible. It succeeds in furthering the project of those who desire to blur the distinctions between the mediums, stepping into the rock spotlight for a moment and producing the kind of art that you can dance to, despite the fact that for many it may be the first time they have ever picked up a key-tar.

black-eyed snakes paintings?

Recently i moved to a new place, it is a pity that i can not take all my favoute wall art of black-eyed snakes. I have been liked this band since my high school and those posters have been with me for so many years. Now i have to start it over to redecor my room. I was thinking of buying a few new canvas wall art about this band, i was thinking below website:

1. Outpost-Art.org
I had a few experience with them, great place to buy oil painting reproductions online. Their quality is fantastic. They have wide range of art in their collection, ranging from abstract to modern and contemporary. I love the design and colors of their website, it is actually my first option when i need any art pieces. The only problem is that they don’t have artworks about black eyeed snakes. I talked with Doug, the sales manager of Outpost, he said their artists will try to paint some pop art related this brand. So i have to wait.

2. www.paintmyphotos.net
This website is specialized in custom artwork, mainly portrait from photo. Their price is ok, good thing is that they can turn the photos into different styles, such as impressional, realistic, artistic, pop art style and even knife paintings which is similar to Francois Neily’s artworks. I love this kind of art style, heavy paints, big brushstrokes and vibrant colors. I’ll try a 100cm x 100cm first to check the result.

3. www.cheapwallarts.com
This website only deal in hand-painted oil paintingss. I didn’t buy from them before. It is recommended by Franky, a friend of mine. He ordered a 20×24 painting less than $100 including the shipping cost. The price is very competitive and my friend is very happy with their quality. Although they don’t have the black-eyed snakes paintings on their website, but they offer custom painting service, i can send any pictures i like and turn into hand-painted oil painting. I was thinking of getting 5 pictures done from them. Their turnaround time is 15 days. That would be cool.

Any more ideas? If you guys have great place to buy black-eyed snake canvas art, please do let me know. Thanks a lot!

snakes010608a Blackeyedsnakes

An Article from Barrett Chase about Black-eyed Snakes

The first time I saw the Black-eyed Snakes, I thought the frontman was having some sort of epileptic fit. He was thrashing around violently and screaming sounds that didn’t seem human, let alone lyrical. He looked and sounded like John Lee Hooker being electrocuted. Meanwhile, Smokin’ Brad Nelson and Big House Bobby Olson backed him up on guitar and drums with a demeanor that suggested they weren’t playing music, but butchering pigs. The whole sound seemed to reach into my chest and drag out my soul like a vine. This wasn’t a show, this was voodoo.

And I wasn’t the only affected one. The room had the atmosphere of a back-alley Rottweiler fight. We all felt like something lowdown and sordid was going on, as if the vice squad might crash in at any moment and haul us away. And on some level-the Minnesotan, Midwestern, Scandinavian level that makes us remain stoic, objective, and restrained-we believed that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Obviously, this much fun couldn’t be good for us.

Later, like an addict, I would return to show after show, a nd learn that this maniacal persona calls himself “Chicken Bone George.” I also learned that when the spirit enters him, it has terrifying results, causing him to somersault off a drum kit and land flat on his back, to fall recklessly onto the floor and flip around, or even, godhelpus, cover Moby.


Since then, word of the group has spread. The threesome was voted “Minnesota’s Best New Band” by City Pages in Minneapolis and the reader’s choice for the same honor in Duluth’s Ripsaw. The band continues to pack hot, smoky rooms with freaked-out fans, and the icy Minnesota restraint seems to be melting just a touch. The Black-eyed Snakes are on to our dirty little secret. They know we’re hungry for a let-out, for the real deal, the greasy meal, the knife in the back, so to speak. And they’re going to give it to us, whether we like it our not.

-Barrett Chase


There is a neighborhood inDuluth called Central Hillside. If anything depraved, tragic or just plain bad happens in this town, you can bet it will happen there. What most tourists don’t realize, as they ┬ásip strawberry malts on the rocky shore of Lake Superior, is that they are only three or four blocks from a knife in the back. Every town has such a neighborhood, I suppose. But don’t fear this hood; Central Hillside includes the boyhood home of Bob Dylan, the famed Sacred Heart Church, and nowThe Black-eyed Snakes.

Okay…you cant hide from The Black Eyed Snakes forever, Fall ’04 invasion dates below


  • Wednesday, Sept. 8 Pizza Luce, Duluth (withSan Francisco’s The Husbands)
  • Thursday, Sept. 9 Triple Rock, Minneapolis (withThe Husbands)
  • Friday, Sept. 10 Stone’s Throw, Eau Clair, Wis. (with The Husbands)
  • Tuesday, Sept. 21 Beaner’s Central, Duluth (Beaner’s Birthday Bash)


  • Wednesday, Oct. 13 Univ. Minnesota, Duluth
  • Thursday, Oct. 14 Univ. Wisconsin Stout (withThe Keepaways)
  • Friday, Oct. 15 The Cave, Carleton College, Northfield, Minn. (with The Keepaways)

Make it if you can and spread the word if you would.