What a week! I worked Monday-Friday, as usual, but still made it to several Fusebox events- a stop on both the Yoga AND Frito Pie tours (I only had a margarita, but I'm still counting it), a play without actors at the Long Center, and a bring-your-own-record listening party. Saturday, though, was the main event.
I began the day with the final stop on the Fusebox yoga with Adriene tour. Each stop took place at a different, non-yoga-studio location- an art gallery, a theater lobby, a front lawn, or in Saturday's case, the upper outdoor mezzanine of the Long Center. I've really been enjoying Adriene's informal, do-what-feels-good approach to yoga, and here's what was pretty outstanding about this hour in particular- several other events were in progress around us, and she wove the sounds and smells into our class. The first and dare I say only time a yoga class has included roasted corn and "C'mon 'n Ride it (The Train)."
Heart open and limbs limbered (limbered?), I proceeded to my next spectacular destination: The Big Squeeze Accordion Contest finals at the Bob Bullock Museum. I went to this event last year and was really blown away. Texas has sown some amazingly talented young (and old) accordion players, and getting to see our state's finest again was a real pleasure. This year, we were treated to polka, conjunto, and zydeco styles, all from musicians under 21. I was a little disappointed that the categories also fell down racial lines- without exception, white kids played polka, Hispanic kids played conjunto, black kids played zydeco. Maybe initiatives like the Big Squeeze will encourage a little mixing. How great would be if a hybrid of all three styles, accessible to all musicians emerged from the players just hanging around together? Polkonjunteco? Sign me up.
One bus mishap later (Capital Metro, I just... ugh), I returned to Fusebox happenings for the end of Body Shift: Cripping the Streets. The Body Shift company, made up of dancers with and without disabilities, performed a series of improv-based pieces through the streets (and crosswalks!) of downtown Austin. In general, their work is challenging, uncomfortable or tense at times, but ultimately, joyful. Like good radicals, Body Shift 1) forces the audience to examine their social constructs while 2) offering an alternative to it. What are dance, movement, and participation when you don't stand, see, or have control over your body? After viewing Cripping the Streets, I would suggest those definitions are at the dancer's discretion. Have a little watch!
Sunday, April 27, 2014
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Setting neurons and taste buds abuzz
Continuing with Fusebox & other adventures, last Saturday was a real culture binge. I began my afternoon at the New Fiction Confab, an annual event held by the Austin Public Library Foundation (<3). I had the pleasure of listening to excerpts of the latest works of seven novelists (six actually, I was a bit late) based in Austin and elsewhere. They covered a lot of ground in those fleeting few hours- family tensions, isolation, cultural upheaval, sexual dynamics, even some laughs! I enjoyed everything I heard, but if I had to list my favorites, they are (ahem ahem):
Saturday evening, I had signed up to run the merch table for Looking for Paul, a play by Dutch company Wonderbaum about... hmm, how can I sum it up without giving it all away? Come to think of it, I couldn't possibly give this one away, but I'll still try not to. The first section is a discussion of the piece's own creation. The second section is a discussion of the piece's own creation, along everything else that happened along the way (I think). Looking for Paul left me (and a fair percentage of the rest of the audience) dazed and uncomfortable, grasping for what to make of it all. I wasn't sure I liked it, which I always count in a piece's favor. After letting my brain shake off the chocolate sauce and reflect a bit, though, I find I stand firmly in the camps of "Liked," "Enjoyed," and "Would see again."
- Mary Miller, The Last Days of California. Evangelist road-trip to the apocalypse.
- Elizabeth McCracken, Thunderstruck and Other Stories. 1920s Pinkwater-esque adventuring awaits!
- Anthony Marra, A Constellation of Vital Phenomena. Desperate times in Chechnya.
Saturday evening, I had signed up to run the merch table for Looking for Paul, a play by Dutch company Wonderbaum about... hmm, how can I sum it up without giving it all away? Come to think of it, I couldn't possibly give this one away, but I'll still try not to. The first section is a discussion of the piece's own creation. The second section is a discussion of the piece's own creation, along everything else that happened along the way (I think). Looking for Paul left me (and a fair percentage of the rest of the audience) dazed and uncomfortable, grasping for what to make of it all. I wasn't sure I liked it, which I always count in a piece's favor. After letting my brain shake off the chocolate sauce and reflect a bit, though, I find I stand firmly in the camps of "Liked," "Enjoyed," and "Would see again."
A Little More
Food experiments have taken a bit of a spring slumber in my kitchen, but a lot of other interesting stuff has been shakin'. Given the name and spirit of the blog- also, whose going to stop me- I'm going to try rolling in what I've been up to outside of the kitchen. Not unlikely sushi.
The past week has provided a dare I say perfect opportunity to do this. Here in Austin, we're in the thick of the Fusebox Festival, a ten day party of boundary-pushing, interactive performance and visual art that gives the finger to genres and conventions (although at times, still writes them a 'do u like me' note folded into a seemingly impossible 7.5 pointed star). It's fun as hell, and I've had the pleasure of volunteering at several events.
... starting with Mozart Requiem Undead, an experiment, let's call it, spear-headed by the Golden Hornet Project. For this collaboration, ten composers from all over the map pounced upon Mozart's last work, the Requiem Mass, which he died before he could finish. Said composers filled in the blanks. For the performance, a string and brass section, several percussion set ups, a band, and keys joined a choir of 200 volunteer singers at the French Legation, a beautiful, sprawling outdoor venue in the downtown vicinity. People were climbing the walls to get in. I'm not exaggerating, I was standing guard- with selective efficacy- at the side gate.
To set the scene: the weather was perfect, the space was enchanting, and the performance knocked everyone's socks right off their tapping toes. I don't know how to talk about music in any technical or expert sense (is that a treble... clef?), the best I can come up with is this: The show was fucking awesome. The emotional swells that Mozart has such a mastery over came through, as did the fun that each composer clearly had with re-imagining their movement. The audience's anticipation of what surprises the next movement would bring seemed to consistently give way to delight. The effect of 200 voices- even untrained- singing all at once- shivers, y'all.
A lot of people have reviewed or commented on the show already, so I'll leave it at this: my boss was also there, a man old enough to be my dad, and certainly with different tastes and sensibilities than I. At work the next day, spills of laudatory adjectives burst forth as we rehashed our experiences, although making a coherent sentence seemed beyond our capabilities. We were geeking the fuck out about this shit. Golden Hornet Project, I have a cleverly folded note for you.
The past week has provided a dare I say perfect opportunity to do this. Here in Austin, we're in the thick of the Fusebox Festival, a ten day party of boundary-pushing, interactive performance and visual art that gives the finger to genres and conventions (although at times, still writes them a 'do u like me' note folded into a seemingly impossible 7.5 pointed star). It's fun as hell, and I've had the pleasure of volunteering at several events.
... starting with Mozart Requiem Undead, an experiment, let's call it, spear-headed by the Golden Hornet Project. For this collaboration, ten composers from all over the map pounced upon Mozart's last work, the Requiem Mass, which he died before he could finish. Said composers filled in the blanks. For the performance, a string and brass section, several percussion set ups, a band, and keys joined a choir of 200 volunteer singers at the French Legation, a beautiful, sprawling outdoor venue in the downtown vicinity. People were climbing the walls to get in. I'm not exaggerating, I was standing guard- with selective efficacy- at the side gate.
To set the scene: the weather was perfect, the space was enchanting, and the performance knocked everyone's socks right off their tapping toes. I don't know how to talk about music in any technical or expert sense (is that a treble... clef?), the best I can come up with is this: The show was fucking awesome. The emotional swells that Mozart has such a mastery over came through, as did the fun that each composer clearly had with re-imagining their movement. The audience's anticipation of what surprises the next movement would bring seemed to consistently give way to delight. The effect of 200 voices- even untrained- singing all at once- shivers, y'all.
A lot of people have reviewed or commented on the show already, so I'll leave it at this: my boss was also there, a man old enough to be my dad, and certainly with different tastes and sensibilities than I. At work the next day, spills of laudatory adjectives burst forth as we rehashed our experiences, although making a coherent sentence seemed beyond our capabilities. We were geeking the fuck out about this shit. Golden Hornet Project, I have a cleverly folded note for you.
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