Relocation and Amalgamation

This post marks the amalgamation of demofoto and apparent overdose into a single web log. Both will remain up and on the air with much of their content being republished at the new app OD.

Aberdeen, 2144

I've seen the future and I've left it behind

DO iT!

Scenarios of the Revolution

Jerry Rubin

Daddy's Little Princess

Who's gonna save you?

Dear Bethany,

Dear Bethany,

I’m writing to you on behalf of my relative, Street Art. I am his cousin Bombing. You are accurate in your observations and as one who has seen the perils of mainstream exposure leading to exploitation through a seductively paved route of adoration from enamoured females like yourself, I can to relate to this predicament.

I have had several flirtations with the mainstream too, none more important than those early days of the 1980s when graffiti artists such as Dondi, generally oblivious to Fine Art, rubbed shoulders with the likes of Andy Warhol as the subculture exploded out of New York along with hip hop music and breakdancing. At this time Street Art also had some luminaries in Keith Haring and that guy they made the movie about, Basquiat. But Street Art was always into another thing. He was either being pretty or making a statement.

In recent years, Street Art has had its biggest romance with commercialisation, as your letter suggests. Artists like the featured Banksy have had a huge impact on the mainstream audience, as well as the fringe dwelling student and suburban working types, many who have taken up the medium themselves. In this aspect Street Art has always been more promiscuous/slutty than myself. Anyone can cut out a stencil with a smart comment and spray it on a wall or paste up a paste-up, but not many have the patience, or the audacity, or the confidence to take on Bombing. The raw use of spraycans in a tightly coded language that requires time to execute, as well as many hours of practice to perfect is much more challenging.

It is for this reason also that ‘those who bomb’ are generally outsiders themselves, usually with little interest in Fine Art and with a general distaste for the often less technically challenging Street Art. The Bomber is a suburban ruffian, a lad, a chav, a schemie, a homeboy. He has his own fashion subculture: Nautica polos and Nike Air Max and he despises the trendy aspirations of Street Artists, who have no particular fashion style at all. Simultaneously, the Street Artist usually has no understanding of the strict subcultural coding of the Bomber, and often also lacks a proper understanding of the hierarchy of the Graffiti family in general. Street Art is full of ambition and passion, but naïve, and generally unsophisticated. Bombing, while thuggish, is immediately more self assured and confident of his own potency, while also less concerned with impressing everybody else. Bombers keep to themselves while Street Artists try to make friends with everyone.

It’s silly, you talking to Los Angeles about this, I mean, LA doesn’t really care about the situation and is by no means an authority. She is just another of Street Art’s hoes like London or Melbourne. An exhibition of Street Art in the LA Museum of Contemporary Art doesn’t mean he is institutionalised, shit, he’s just getting some dollars and some ass. He needs to eat too, Bethany. I would actually say that LA is grabbing hold of some of the last days of this fame you speak of, rather than this being some new found infatuation.

Let’s face it, Street Art is pretty over-played these days, with every other bar and café having a bit of the old Street Art somewhere on its walls. My last flirtation with fame, commercialisation or institutionalisation (if you must), in Sydney, was in the early 2000s with writers like Dmote finally getting some much deserved respect from a greater audience. After a while the buzz wore off, as it always does and Bombing went back to slumming it in the suburbs.

My point, Bethany, is not to fret for Street Art, he will kick on, fashionable or not, simply because of the primal urge for people to write on walls. Like another cousin Political Graffiti, his existence does not depend upon fans to survive. In fact, all of the Graffiti family can be controversial and offensive and collectively unpopular. It’s ok, we’ve been here before and no doubt will be again. Personally, I’m happy that your interest in Street Art is under question, simply because I don’t think you are really that into him anyway.

I’m glad you did your first tag, you should keep that up. See how long writing a word maintains your attention. I’m guessing not very long.

Take care,

Bombing

Lice

App OD [version 1.0]

MF Doom, Metro Theatre, Sydney, 29/3/2011

I had set my expectations low. Too many times in the past had I been disappointed by hip hop shows. Compared to all of the spiritual experiences I had had seeing bands and electronic and dj performances over the years, hip hop had often let me down. Hip hop, as a genre, has died dramatically in the last ten years. There hasn’t been a lot of creativity, individuality or soul in that time. So, when MF Doom (now just DOOM) announced a tour to Australia, I contained my excitement. Doom would have to be considered one of the more unique and interesting hip hop acts to establish himself in the last ten years and indeed one of my personal favourites.

The media and promoters know this too. Wacking a $70 price tag on the ticket was to be expected, they knew how popular this guy would be, how fashionable he was maybe a couple of years ago and how all the white boys like me with their baseball caps and shiny sneakers, all down since 3rd Bass’s Gasface would probably pay more to see this guy. True indeed, they sold out the first show at the 1000+ capacity Metro and announced a second show at another venue around half the size.

Then there is the impersonator stories, that Doom had an impostor perform instead of him at a couple of shows, of course unconfirmed because Doom always wears his trademark metal mask when he performs. These stories lead me to believe that if his performances were of such a calibre that an impostor could get away with performing for him, or he was accused of being a fake, then surely the show can’t be that great.

So, when I received a text message from a friend the day of the show saying the gig had been cancelled, I was barely disappointed, I was half expecting some kind of bullshit. The phone call from the venue confirmed the rumour. I was grateful for the phone call, and grateful that the gig had been re-scheduled to less than one week later. Consequently, my expectations were set even lower.

When the real night rolled around I arrived at the Metro about an hour before MF Doom was supposed to take the stage. I wanted to have enough time to get reasonably close to the action, but wanted to minimise my time watching whatever terrible Australian hip hop act was supporting. I was happy when I walked into the room to witness just a dj playing. Even happier as his set continued on a tightly mixed collection of underground and mainstream hip hop classics. He was DJ MK, who I had never seen play before and he was a great warm up. Neat and tidy without being flash, MK played a lot of classic, mostly 90s, tunes. Nothing too experimental or too cheesy and all played without a huge ego.

I was even more excited that he finished ten minutes early, the lights suddenly dimmed and there was the minimum of hyping for MF Doom. I think his stage counterpart pretty much just walked out and asked everyone to make some noise for Doom and then he walked on stage. Thank fuck we didn’t have to go through twenty minutes of “Y’all came to see a hip hop show right?… I know y’all came to see a hip hop show… Who’d y’all come to see?… Excuse me?…. I’m sorry you’re gonna have to do better than that… Who’d y’all come to see tonight?… Yeah…. Uh-huh… Tha’s right….”


For those unfamiliar with our super-hero, MF Doom, he has produced a lot of music in the last ten years, collaborated with a lot of other artists and generally slutted himself around every house on the hip hop block, with pretty much everyone stunned by his consistent ability to exceed expectations over such vast terrain. I got into him around 2003, when he produced two of his landmark albums. The first under the pseudonym ‘Viktor Vaughn’ was a collection of dark super villain raps over some seriously dark electronic production from a few different producers (King Honey, RJD2, Heat Sensor) and the second continued the theme as Mad Villain, where he collaborated with the equally prolific and equally enigmatic, Madlib. These albums impacted on the hip hop world significantly. Since then Doom has released several albums, both collaborative and solo, including a series of instrumental albums that number no less than ten volumes. He has a lot of material to draw upon for a show, especially his first show in this city.

Due to this prolific nature, I was expecting mostly new stuff and probably heaps of stuff I didn’t even know. I was surprised and excited when his first three or four tracks all came from his Madvillain album. So was most of the predominantly white male audience. Smiles crossed faces as Doom wound into his set. And while this crowd was typically white and male, it wasn’t a bunch of posers from the North Shore, nor was it a bunch of thuggish suburban lads, it was an educated and positive crowd, here to see an artist they had waited years patiently for. Doom seemed to recognize this, he smiled a lot and played mostly from his older catalogue, much appreciated by the audience. He kept his exchanges short, there were no longwinded introductions songs, no cringe worthy audience participation moments so frequent at hip hop shows and there was no grandstanding: it was just Doom (and his backing rapper and a dude to occasionally change the beat), no special effects, no smoke and mirrors, just a mask.

Doom seemed comfortable and confident onstage, he launched from one track into the next with brief applause between tracks. The set was tight and practised but still with room to change up. He stopped things at one point to specially play Hoe Cakes for his Sydney audience, though maybe he does that every night? It was appreciated anyway. I hoped for a couple more to follow from the Mm Food album but not to be.

The biggest complaint I had with the show was the sound and I don’t blame Doom for that. What’s up with Sydney promoters and venue management? Surely, we have capable sound engineers in this town. I mean most of the bands and electronic performances I have seen at the Metro have sounded great. Tonight, I was glad to be so familiar with Doom’s music, because there were moments that sounded muddy as kon queso. Things were crystal clear on the tiered steps in the back of the room, which I suppose is where those least familiar with his music were standing anyhow, so for them I was happy. But for the fans nearer to the action I was disappointed at the lack of clarity. I think these sound cowboys have no love for hip hop and assume that flooding the bass is how you eq a hip hop show. Far too much bottom end to clearly make out the raps far too often.


Doom ended abruptly after just over 45 minutes on stage. Everyone was hooked, enthralled and at the peak of their enjoyment. Surely, it couldn’t be the end and without a second of delay the chants and roars erupted for “MORE!” and “DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!” from the entire room. We didn’t have to wait long for a brief encore, rounding out the entire show to just over an hour. It was a tight and tidy show, full of classics, none more so than Benzie Box, from the Danger Doom album, a collaboration with Danger Mouse and Cee-Lo Green for the Adult Swim cartoon network that came in the encore. Out of nowhere, Doom dropped this rolling crowd pleaser. The place went nuts. There was little chance of topping that moment… except by immediately following and finishing the show with the epic Rhinestone Cowboy from the Madvillain album. It was a show stopping finale.

The crowd were gagging as the house lights took no time in assuring us there would be no more. I turned to my friends, all equally excited by the show that had just ended. I was glad it ended at such a peak. Some lamented it didn’t go for longer, some wished for some more new songs, particularly some material from the Born Like This album which curiously Doom played nothing from. As we deconstructed things further I wished Doom had had a dj. The guy with him just pressed play a couple of times and spent more time buzzing about taking photos than contributing to the performance. Clearly he wasn’t a dj but just an assistant of sorts. That MK guy would have done a sufficiently better job.

The warm glow continued for weeks. I’m reviewing this now, it just having occurred to me as a worthwhile post. MF Doom didn’t revive my hope in hip hop shows, nor did he give me renewed optimism in the genre generally, and in fairness I liked the understated nature of the show, rather than it being a pseudo spiritual experience. He was a really good act, I was surprised how good the show was. No doubt I have seen other more memorable performances, but the net profit where the expectation is deducted from the actual experience was large. Indeed, MF Doom is one of the most unique, creative and exciting hip hop acts of the last decade.

Tiles

Phil Spector

my electric love affair

Absinthe Robette

Total Web Domination

In keeping with my web proliferation, I have taken things on a new audio tangent. Taking over the world here: http://soundcloud.com/marcdemo

Mumbai, 2163

if you don't know your past then you don't know your future