Three cheers for music videos! + Estelle's a "Freak"

Is The Return of the Music Video On Its Way?

by Shardae Jobson

…possibly, as earlier in 2010, MTV had gotten rid of “music television” underneath its 29 years old letter “M”, but music videos have continued their slight comeback in not only viewership and mainstream attention; these videos are delivering such supersonic images, maybe artists and artistes are finally taking responsibility in visually mesmerizing the public, regardless of our actual opinions of the videos and music themselves. What makes this rise of provoking visuals returning to music even more intriguing is that its mostly been catering females artists, which despite harsher and at times ridiculous criticism towards their careers, are constantly the more alluring figures in music, as maybe due to history, biology and theory, makes the woman’s role in the industry all the more fascinating…to observe.

Though the network has expanded into MTV Hits, Jams and mtvU, the original MTV channel hasn’t been remotely music anything in the past five years except for a mere four hours in the morning (and its annual video award show which despite its rebirth as an entertaining pop culture fest in 2009 seems a little misplaced). Many were quick to declare good riddance to MTV changing their logo, in lack of their imbalanced support, there is something great about music videos becoming zeitgeists on their own again.

As a lot of music videos, even back then in the greatness that was the 1980s, sometimes are as simple as can be: a plain or non-exciting background, with singers or rappers sassily lip-synching to their own track. It gets the point across as far as us getting to hear the song, but videos with a little extra effort put in them in some shape for form have been the most worthwhile. In the past deacde, at least two to three music videos would become noteworthy based on the cinemathorapy and artwork alone (such as Justice's "DA.N.C.E."), and millions of music fans, or curious minds, would flock to not MTV, but YouTube to watch how, in an age of everyone claiming that music has taken a severe nosedive in substance (which is not entirely true), this could possibly be. In 2008, Beyoncé surprisingly became the center of one of the best songs of the decade, and yes Mr. West, a contender for one of the best videos of all time, when the pop, locked and high-heeled crazy “Single Ladies (Put A Ring On It)” was released.

Followed by such a merry phenomenon of homemade video re-creations and black leotards back in vogue, it showed that when a music video was done right, using under the radar inspiration (in this case, Gwen Verdon and Bob Fosse’s “Mexican Breakfast”), or simple ideas turned into stylish aftermaths of songs that are lyrically the soundtracks to many present lives in a crisis of sorts (Lily Allen’s “22”); videos such as these two are the perfect examples of musical addendums that gives songs another life, and the public another piece of video art to utterly compress as amusing eye and mind candy fodder.

In 2009, the trend of influential videos continued piggy-backing off of Weezer's insane "Pork and Beans" clip, soon came The Dead Weather's brilliantly violent "Treat Me Like Your Mother"; the gothic romanticism daze of Bat for Lashes' "Daniel"; the fast-paced collage of Death Cab for Cutie's "Little Bribes"; and the pro-birthday suit parade of Matt and Kim's "Lesson Learned". These music videos were provocative and bright, allowing room for discussing the apparent messages given to us in the form of these short film quasi-musicals.

This year, so far, we have Dan Black's "Symphonies (Remix)", MGMT's "Flash Delirium" and Kelis' "Acapella" that have been worth a second viewing. However, the two videos that have mattered the most thus far are without a doubt “Telephone” from attempted eccentric Lady Gaga and “Window Seat” by the wonderful Erykah Badu. Both largely talented artists have released the kind of visual material we love to watch with eyes wide open, tear apart in order to make sense of, and embrace once more. In the tradition of Fiona Apple, PJ Harvey, Missy Elliot, and pop icons Janet Jackson and Madonna, Gaga and Badu are on the music landscape harder than before with these videos being as loud or subtle as they want to be, giving the public and fans’ brains a creative runaround.

Lady Gaga's video for “Bad Romance”, though premiered as any other video, had a kindof fanfare that received such a cult status that even Kevin Smith hasn’t seen since Clerks. Though some were quick to declare that “Bad Romance” would be the pinnacle of her still forming career, along came the clip for her second Fame Monster single “Telephone”. The anticipation for its arrival was so feverish, maybe even Gaga hadn't seen coming, but in favor of her pseudo-enigmatic persona, she will never admit to this. The internet updates, the sneak peek photos, word that Quentin Tarantino let Gaga borrow the Pussy Wagon from Kill Bill, fans and even non-fans had to see what Gaga and Akerlund cooked up in their wacky kitchen of ideas as the pictures informed us, though the lyrics hollered her desire to just sip her "bub" in the club, there was no typical club to be found in this other facet of Gaga World.


Well, doggone, when "Telephone" was released on websites an hour before its debut on the E! channel at 11:30 at night, in less than 24 hours, a million views were counted on YouTube and commentaries piled atop of each other on the many pop culture service announcements that one would have to watch at least five times to catch from beginning to end of the nine minute video. The success of “Bad Romance” and its lauded visuals were a segue way for the excitement of “Telephone”, so when “Honey B” (Beyoncé) and Gaga clasped hands in the name of sisterhood, riding away in Quentin Tarantino's Pussy Wagon, those million plus views witnessed a discombobulated mix of no substance, dubious society commentary, fantastic haute couture fashion on acid in startlingly HD colors, with tidbits of Thelma and Louise and second-wave feminism. Gaga clearly has so much clout right now in popular music, her little monsters worhshipped it, and again, the media were first to call her the new Michael Jackson of music videos.

Exactly what Gaga was trying to say with "Telephone" is what's fantastically bothersome. as you watch it, especially the first time, you start to think that there really isn’t anything here, and in a strange way maybe that’s the point of the “Telephone” music video experience. It is clearly appealing and craves your attention, yet in the end it is just an empty, fabulous, consumption (like a candy bar). Yet, Stefani Germonotta accomplished exactly what she was looking for: a music video of epic proportions. It is epic simply because a music video was talked about for more than two minutes pass “I like it. I don’t like it”. This is just not because it looks like a literal hot (as in utterly amusing) mess, but it's has been a long time since a music video caused this much excitement and essays of analyzation in well, a hot minute. The last time this may have happened, in which even negative or dubious accounts of the video experience was detailed was the Guy Ritchie directed “What It Feels Like for a Girl” for Madonna, back in 2000, where Madonna is seen driving around town, with an elderly woman as her friend, and the Material Girl goes an rampage against any man in her way. Three cheers for feminism indeed.

From the first view of "Telephone" it maybe even felt underwhelming because if you’ve heard the song, likely the video was not as you pictured it. From the overt random-ness of the scenes, the video is so ADD, it’s almost polarizing. "Telephone" scores when the viewer is nearly forced to watch it again, because you know you missed something the first time, it is so chaotic, you’ll be better off immersed one more time. It’s tacky, fabulous, too much, too little and what was unsaid is better left as so because even the concept of "Telephone" is just enjoying the ride.

Along with Gaga, Badu has met some non-objective commentary of how she was disrespectful, tasteless, looking for shock value in her music video for “Window Seat”. Quietly released in late March, “Window Seat” visuals matched the soothing tone of the song and lyrics as it was slow-paced with a serene, anxious confidence. The video shows Badu taking off her clothes until she is completely naked and shot by a unknown gun on the street, revealing the song’s absolute worry about not only Badu herself, but with the accompanying and beyond controversial, ever-changing conscious of the U.S. of A. From the first viewing, you really don’t have a clue what Badu is going to do, and while everything is mid-tempo, Badu has such a nurturing voice, even if she was singing something stupid (which is not even possible, but just saying) you would still stick around until she stopped.

The video doesn’t show its true colors as political and even romantic commentary until the end when she is shot, in the nude, on the same location that JFK’s assassination took place. While Gaga’s “Telephone” was arresting for its color and visual comment on too much everything all around us (“stop talking, stop talking, I don’t wanna think anymore!”), Badu’s “Window Seat” is neutral and minimal, leaving you wondering because Gaga was able to run free from a nonsense Wonderland in the glamorous Pussy Wagon, Badu is left as a dead, naked woman on a street in the richest country in the world. What makes “Window Seat” the second winning video of the year so far, but first place for the kind of commentary that matters is that yes, over consumption of everything is just a part of life in 2010, this is not a new concept but is nonetheless fun to watch from other's (in this case Gaga’s) interpretation; "Window Seat” is a voice of reason and realization that nothing matters more than one’s self-love and respect in order to recollect (“So can I get a window seat. Don’t want nobody next to me. I just want a chance to fly. A chance to cry”. Badu also has “EVOLVING” tattooed on her back). The music video is shock value at its most vulnerable, but “Window Seat” surface image as another naked video (Badu was “inspired by Matt and Kim” as written in the beginning by their NYC “Lessons Learned” clip), creates a bigger statement which always rises when nudity void of obnoxious sexuality, violence of some sort, is very clear in its message of encouraging us think for ourselves (at the end of the video, Badu speaks “they assassinate what they do not understand”) yet then again, this is not always translated so diligently (as in the video for “Telephone”).

In Gaga's world, there is only a modicum of intellectual outlook into the fishbowl of society's yearnings and needs, but Ms. "Paparazzi" thinks otherwise. To MTV.com, she said: "I wanted to do the same thing with this video — take a decidedly pop song, which on the surface has a quite shallow meaning, and turn it into something deeper: the idea that America is full of young people that are inundated with information and technology and turn it into something that is more of a commentary on the kind of country that we are." Anybody else not get this from the video based their viewings, the first one especially? Us, neither. No matter how many times you watch “Telephone”, what Gaga tries to invoke based upon that quote is not exactly the most obvious thing to catch in an already superfluous production. We sort of get it, but you also can't help but think that there was more concern about the clothes, makes-up and self-made attitude of the "characters" within, and then again, what does that say about us, as Gaga insists, hmmm?

"Telephone" and "Window Seat" are very loud proclamations of self evaluation and have inspired a lot of insight of what they tried to express to its audience, and fans and critics took whatever angle they could look into deeply. Some accused Gaga was using product placement without merit and that "Telephone" was just plain silly in execution; while "Window Seat" brought on the classic and tired talk of a black sexuality as Badu's bodacious backside brought on many salacious comments, which has more so to do with her being nude than being a black woman. Get over it. They would have done the same thing if it was Katy Perry.

The likely staying power of "Window Seat" is that the commentary it gave us is much more stimulating than "Telephone" will be. The initial hype that came with "Telephone" nearly died a week later, and it is because its substance is hardly anything new or that ground-breaking aside from its debuting excitement and visuals. Gaga is an advocate of pop culture, and while pop culture says a lot about us in a deepr historical context, the word "pop" is present before culture for a reason. Badu's "Seat", though seeking to be talked about, at least has a more organic element in what is going on.

However...both videos are fantastic and important to take note off in this ever weird climate of the music industry and its videos. As women in the game, Gaga and Badu are re-enforcing the many viewed concept of what a female (artist) challenging what is is to be a lady whoever and whenever they want, as others, their so-called managers and agents and what nots, often have pre planned ideas for their presentation. There is still much to done I'm sure, as the "Massive Attack" video for rap princess Nicki Minaj underperformed to say the least, as it is evident Hype Williams doesn't really know what to do with the female acts (like in the glowing but somewhat laughable "Video Phone"), which is disappointing considering his videography.

To end on a high note, thanks the videos mentioned before, and to Gaga and Badu, music videos seem to be back and with so many of us wishing it as the '90s for just a day, we can agree that the return of music videos is definitely a sight to see.

VIDEO: The crazy video with its day glo colors and sharp blackness, here is Estelle's new single "Freak" featuring Kardinall Offishall

Hipster backlash + "Scene Kid Love" part 1

THE HIPSTER ATTACK

reviewed by Shardae Jobson

Recently while I was working at my most prosperous, minimum wage job, to pass a bit of time, while cleaning up the inane books section, I picked up a small one titled Look At This F*uckin Hipster. I flipped through some pages in the middle, already very amused by the title that was a antagonistic ode to the loathed fashion microcosm, I saw that every picture inside had a denouncing comment written in comic book bubble. Every comment was tearing up the person(s) on the page to shreds, making an absolute mockery of being hipster. I immediately thought, whoever wrote this must really hate hipsters. Aside from being pure entertainment in the form of parody, I read the back of the book and read that in my hand was a collection of photos from its namesake website. Created last year of April, Joe Mande's Tumblr blog was apparently widely popular where hipsters and non-fake beatniks alike enjoyed and disliked the hilariously hostile site.

It's always interesting the sites that people find online. Being a twenty-something, with time to spare, I am fully aware of the yes, sometimes very irritating lifestyle and "fashion" labeled as hipster. What is funny is that this great need to create a website that chastises the trend actually found an audience that were bothered so much by it, they had to visit Mande's site every so often for a good laugh. While Look At This Fuckin Hipster is mainly in "good fun", I suppose it got me thinking to what else might be out there in the blogosphere that uses others for the sake of chronicling their differences and place in society, which in return could be incredibly demeaning. Luckily, forProxy-Connection: keep-alive
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ande, the hipster "movement" is such a rolling the eyes at phenonemeon that lacks any kind of current cultural substance that could be considered important in years to come, maybe Mande was on to something as he's now cashed in on a book sold at stores like Urban Outfitters which is wildly ironic.

Mande writes in the introduction that the point of the book and site was to explore these hipsters, though admittingly by saying "exploring" he meant "ridiculing" in regards to the purely attention-seeking pseudo counter-culture. He claims to not hate hipsters, but he also doesn't like them very much either. He finds them narcissistic, spoiled and a poor excuse for a movement gone horribly wrong because they are frankly devoid of any remote worthwhile addition to the scope of youth and society except for trying to look rather capricious and laid-back--and their whole existence, unfortunately for them, do not exemplify these qualities.

Since Joe Mande sees their attempts as a collective epic fail, he's book is here so that if you weren't aware before, now you can really laugh at them the next time you see them in town, and you'll have all the background information you'll need.

Mande's animosity is the latest in a small but colorful slew of books based on blogs created out of boredom and twisted interest at an ongoing trend that whether good or bad is controlling a considerable percentage of the masses like crazy. FML (Fuck My Life), Texts From Last Nights, Stuff While People Like, This Is Why Your Fat, I Can Haz Cheeseburger, even photo blogs like Last Night's Party, are all somewhat comedic ventures that gets thousands of hits a day, and publishers are taking notice by compiling the greatest of their content in order to save their publishing houses.

From their rainbow tattoos, multiple piercings, boys wearing girl's clothes, patterns and textures of clothes all worn at once, and strangely cut hair, Mande quips are humorous and he is completely fascinated by hipsters. He might not like them , but he is giving them the kind of attention they secretly idolize, so why bother give them what they want in the first place? Everyone knows hipsters don't matter the way people who adorn their outfits with touches of their personal, unique culture do, like from a Native American or African tribe, or Jewish tradition.

Mande's got some sass in saying that if your reading his book at all, it's likely your a hipster yourself and just don't know it yet, which is cute, but Mande is also quick to constantly distance himself from the site he made and unexpectedly became a hit. He includes in his introduction that an "idiot" once referred to him as the Carlos Mencia of hipsters, and while Mande thought that didn't make any sense, it actually does. He says his days of "sitting outside on a couch, drinking PBR and listening to the Libertines [was] ancient [history]" (he's now a "menopausal black woman, jamming to Earth, Wind & Fire and Chaka Khan"), sometimes he comes across a bit like an old disgruntled man. You can feel he thinks hipsters a formidable to the world's well being, but then again, you also can't take him too seriously--just like hipster children.

In another chapter, he gives a brief history of where hipster influence came from, and by the time his site went up, it had already lost its way. Yet, his depiction of them at times is bit much extreme even for the average viewer of them. A lot of popular fashions today have traces of hipster detail, but Mande's models are on another level (which is possibly his point). Inside the book, there's a picture of guy at a party wearing a plastic bag as a shirt. Now, that's not hipster, that's just creative and completely silly.

The book and blog leads the way for hipsters nationwide in the U.S. to feel like shit, and Mande essentially encourages everyone to make fun of them and their love for music mash-up guru Girl Talk. The last chapter is in defense of his blog and book in that a good friend of his became one of them, a hipster, in front of his eyes. The transformation to the aberrant side ruined their friendship, so there is a kind of vendetta to why he spends so much time and energy on his favorite homeless chic, spoiled brat group of people that he also cannot stomach--but they sure are providing him a decent living, as he implies he got a sweet advance from his publishers (thanks for sharing).

So even though Mande broke it down for us in quick language that the "purpose" of his famed hipsters, though their style sticks out like a sore thumb, because of their lack of significance, they are hard to define and instead receive snide comments that Mande would likely insist they only had coming to them. According to him, it's all about "apathy", as the hipsters and scene kids continue to be one the most harmless and ridiculous counter or sub-cultures in America, and are always inspiration for young comedians, like the YouTube series "Scene Kid Love". Hipsters are without a doubt obnoxious, but the fact that most them could give a sugar honey iced tea about what you think, almost makes them a little more compelling to f*ckin look at--emphasis on little.

check out the website where Mande wants you to also buy his book by clicking on the link: http://www.latfh.com/

VIDEO: YouTube parody from TheRealParis about the fabolous life and style of hipster boys and girls arch enemies, the scene kids. "Scene Kid Love". Watch away.

Siriano review (long version) + Usher new single

We'll Have What He's Having: A (Siriano) Shining Moment

reviewed by Shardae Jobson

Christian Siriano, succeeding past the flash in the pan fame reality TV can only bring, has emerged as the most notable talent and individual out of the several coming and going faces of the competitive fashion design series Project Runway. Not since the first season when millions of viewers learned to say so long in German (“Auf Wiedersehen!”), the show by way of Siriano again became a part of pop culture, and along the way thawed a bit of the icy, obnoxious milieu of the fabulous fashion industry, showing a more humane side in exposing the hard work and sincere passion for needle and thread; season after season of couture hopefuls just looking for that ever sought after big break.

As the last designer standing, Siriano is building the kind of label and public persona that is so effervescent, it’s very safe to say he going to be here for quite awhile. He never strays from being the unabashedly charming guy with his hilarious comments turned catchphrases; nerdy, heavy, black rimmed glasses; the big, optimistic smile; but most importantly (especially in the prime of his career), through his carefully crafted clothes that even Posh Spice admired, is the show’s most deserving and promising talent. Project Runway has finally delivered a designer we can take seriously in the limelight, and that’s mainly because Christian Siriano wants to be there.

Once becoming the fourth winner of the competition in 2008, he’s been on a terrific whirlwind since. Red carpet events, an Oprah Show interview, a self-parodied cameo on Ugly Betty, partnerships with Victoria’s Secret, LG phones, Bluefly.com, even Payless (he already hasn’t forgotten the little people!), and with his own burgeoning namesake line, he is the Lil’ Wayne of fashion by taking every other opportunity offered to him left and right. If only his predecessors had followed a similar pattern, as Siriano was never the only talented hands to grace the sewing table of where Project Runway is filmed, but he is fervent on not being ignored after been granted all the goodies that came with the title.

Now, two years later, the Bravo channel that originally aired his win, were together again for a TV special, Christian Siriano: Having a Moment, and he really is. The Bravo special showed Siriano in preparation for New York Fashion Week, where American fashion bi-annually displays their collections in search of praise, raised revenue, the return of the flashy and common people clientele. Prior to Fashion Week, selections of his pieces had been sold at prestigious emporiums as Saks, and Neimans, a fashion self-help book is on the way, and when talking about his claim to fame, Siriano already refers to his time on Project Runway as “those days”. He thinks and acts like a sanguine professional.

[Siriano's Payless shoe line]

When the behind the scenes program begins, he is in his atelier, with racks and racks of clothes, and the people dearest to him in both business and friendship, as most of have been with Siriano for awhile now, as far back as sixteen. His company is growing modestly, and he even has an intern, as he once was for Marc Jacobs, Alexander McQueen, and Vivienne Westwood.

When introducing himself to the camera (like a comedian in training: “Should I say I’m a tranny? I’m a designer? What!”), his voice is syrupy and calm, and he declares not only is he “having a moment”, his new favorite words to describe these moments are “j’adore” and “genius”, though “tranny” still slips in every so often. At times, his own playful jargon makes him the Paris Hilton of the fashion world, but this “Hilton” has earned his success the honest bread way.

As the camera spanned his atelier, he explains that the basis for the spring collection was from the Mediterranean woman’s lifestyle. He sees her emotions as “light-hearted”, and the clothes to be viewed in front of the fashion elite are super rich in jewel tone colors like royal purple and azure blue, colors that are usually reserved for the fall season but regardless are beautifully affective by Siriano, while the textures are described as “volcanic”. The shoes to accompany the clothes are sandy brown, with details derived from animal characteristics such as horns and antlers. Watching Siriano in his creative and technical element, even when under elevated pressure, he doesn’t reveal an egotistical manner; he just seems excited and nervous. His voice barely elevates when anxiety kicks in, like when scanning snake looking (semi-ruched) scales on the back of a tan dress, that needs a careful re-stitch.

When the countdown to the Bryant Park runways begin to heat up, the Siriano team wis working overtime. Siriano is then given a heads up via cell phone to provide dresses for Kelly Rowland, Rihanna, Sarah Jessica Parker, and Mena Suvari. He becomes a little flustered but you can see the pressure dignifies his place as not only the winner of Project Runway, but a real designer with real demands under his own name. To an extent, an order from a glittery hotlist is not a big deal in that this is what his life is all about. He loves fashion, and the high demands of it is just a day in the life for a young designer that the fashion industry hasn’t seen this eager and skilled since Zac Posen a few years back during the renaissance of great American art in the form of fabric room wunderkinds.

Siriano works everyday of his young career, and when making a store appearance in promotion for his Payless shoe line, he talks about the very imperative aspect of the business and marketing that funds all labels, especially new ones like his own. The line of fans is pass the door, and he stands in a room with photographers snapping, snapping, snapping, and he loves the attention—but in a pensive way. Siriano is very much like a precocious child, switching from elaborate, sassy remarks for comedic purposes, and then looking from side to side, amazed that he is in such a cool position in life, the stance he always wanted, he knows he’s come a long way. For those aware of the winners before and after Siriano, during this clip may have wondered, where are they now? Why haven’t they reached this level of enviable attention?

Jay Carroll, the first winner of Project Runway, had a similar presence to Siriano. Carroll’s personality, flamboyant tongue and style made him a fan favorite of the show. While Siriano looks like a follower of math-rock band from Brooklyn in his skinny jeans and asymmetrical, haircut, Carroll was a man of rainbow Boho chic. He was outgoing but vulgar, talented but stubborn. Season one of Project Runway is still one of the most entertaining of its run so far, and with a cast that were so new on the reality TV scene, their personalities and skills were refreshing to see because it was their abilities that would garner their notoriety, and this cast included proficient new designers like Austin Scarlett and Kara Saun. It was clear Carroll had a way with clothes, and made some admirable pieces, but the spark he possessed during his time on Project Runway is barely flickering now, but he’s back on reality TV, as a contestant on Celebrity Fit Club.

Eighteen hours later, the models are coming in and out of the atelier for their fittings, and Siriano’s personal favorite and model to end the show, Sessilee Lopez, walks in. Lopez and Siriano are buddies, and she even wore his (pre-fame) creations on Project Runway. He raves about her strut on the catwalk, and she’s regularly in demand, and in particular, one of few girls in a small, deliberate pool of women of color to choose from for high fashion modeling. She is not sickly skinny and her brown skin evokes wonders of why the fashion industry is so ignorant when to comes to choosing more models of all colors.

The grand finale dress of his collection, and that Lopez will adorn, is a dress of intensely dark glamour. Color aside, the dress also shows one of the latest trends in high fashion which is the added detail(s) of architectural/art deco influence. When this grandiose technicality is applied, it is usually on the left side, where three to four swooping, sharp, swirls of flowery bustle are displayed, and while this sounds kind of strange on paper, in person (or on television) is actually quite a beautiful, ornate addition to a likely already ostentatious dress. Jennifer Lopez at The 82nd Academy Awards in Versace and Lady Gaga at The 52nd Grammys in Armani wore dresses of a similar kind, and this detail’s been mostly praised for its theatrical appeal by fashion critics. Siriano’s dress is eggplant, with big swoops in the middle and medium sized paint splashes of a mixed color of mustard yellow and dark orange that move majestically (when Sessilee Lopez walks in it). The youngest winner of Project Runway is pleasantly adept at making clothes that are of Victorian elegance and youthful in spirit. He makes the kind of dresses that will make good on a young girl of 23, and on a wiser woman of 55.

Soon, Bravo joins Siriano at New York Fashion Week, and backstage is bananas, but through Siriano’s eyes, is also very thrilling. We see him at his most hyperactive, but his voice is still serene. He just wants to do a great job, have a great show in front of buyers, celebrity clients, and his beloved friends and mother, who reveled modestly at her son’s success at an early age.

Once the runway show starts, the clothes are gorgeous and sculptural, but fun. Going back and forth between the catwalk and backstage, Siriano is elated and going crazy, but he takes one minute to kindly tell a model is if she feels like she’s going to fall, to lift up her dress. Out of all the clothes shown down the long, white trail, the pieces in sea foam green were some of the best of his spring collection, and Lopez definitely brought it home as Siriano predicted, strutting like she owned the Bryant Park tents in that eggplant deco dress.

The day after the hoopla was over, Siriano checked the reviews online, and his accolades were waiting for him. In a separate clip, his assistant says to the camera that Christian has really become the fashion designer he always wanted to be and that this last show will catapult him to larger status. Her good friend finally gets to take a breather, after six months of designing, and a long day of meeting important and interested buyers for his line, Siriano sits in front of the television with his boyfriend Brad, watching an awards pre-show where actress Katrina Bowden is wearing a custom made creation of his. When she says his name as the designer, it looks as if he’s going to cry, not heavily, but maybe a tear or two, behind those glasses, waiting in the mist. He should be very proud.

As the most successful winner of Project Runway, Christian Siriano not only wanted to win, he’s certainly been working hard since then. He seems like one of those people that found considerable success not just based upon his genuine talent, but also his genuine personality. This time, the super nice and talented guy finished first, and that’s the kind of winner we should be should like to see. He appreciates the fans, and loves his job even more.

Tim Gunn, self-appointed fashion guru (in reality, Fashion Director of the Parsons School of Design) of Project Runway was quoted in saying that first thirty seconds he met Siriano; he knew he was something special. Gunn got it right with that recollection, and at twenty-four years of age, Siriano is making sure he’s making the kind of legacy that’s here to stay. By the end of his fashion show, he humbly acknowledged that “Fashion is such a part of me. Fashion is every single day of my life. I don’t know how to do anything else. I don’t have a hobby”. Here’s to Siriano in never quitting his (too cool for words) day job anytime soon, and having more moments like these.

VIDEO:

"OMG" by Usher featuring will.i.am from his new disc, Raymond vs. Raymond

Dancefloor Report + Dan Black video

In Pursuit of
Dancefloor
Justice:
A Bostonian Testimony of a city desperate to let the kids dance and just be free

By Shardae Jobson

If you once observed the evolving underbelly of Boston’s aggressive attempt at a constant appearance of an electro/dance party scene, you probably presumably acted as a slightly inebriated paper doll on a club wall: you mingled now and again with those friendly enough, but you made sure to sometimes to just glance and waver like all the rest against the redundant, clashing beats of the electronic music all up in the club turned watering hole in a city more known for its scholarly, somewhat stoic and classic northeastern ways, than one of fabulously rambunctious young people.

For the last three to four years, Boston has been trying to stay relevant in the dance party circuit. Beantown no longer wants to be the kid sibling tagging along after L.A.; New York City; or even Chicago, where some of the greatest zeitgeist movements in youth culture have already been established as a part of everyday life. Boston wants to be viewed as another prime arena for craziness and style, electro music as the main soundtrack. Though what has yet to be discovered is that such a “come one, come all” free spirit nature is a bit harder to maneuver in a city that is desperate to let go, but can never seem to fully shed its image of well-deserved and reserved confidence. After all, this is also a city that actually operates “underground dinner parties” as discovered by The Boston Globe (geez. Please don’t kill us with a good time! Oh, Boston…)

To the Armani Exchange wearing people who come to Boston’s mainstream clubs, as well as the kids who support the underground house parties, to think that such debauchery would be better equipped in say New York City is a natural thought—but most of us can’t bum-rush to the Big Apple whenever we want; so Beantown party promoters do what they can to ensure happy endings and encouragement towards the party people to be as wild as they want to be. What was cool about this aspect Boston coming from the bottom up is that the progress was well documented for not just those from the beginning, but for others who caught on to doing something different on a sometimes mundane Friday or Saturday night.

Even New York City has had to continue looking for new eccentric characters and other nightlife show-stoppers, as the days of the original club kids are long gone. The monochromatic Misshapes are now regulated for the fashion show after-party crowd, shindigs like Motherfucker abruptly ended a few years ago, and Ruff Club at The Annex ended in September of 2009 (word is, the party apparently did not end until 7AM). Webster Hall has now become the most advertised hotspot for weekend throwdowns in NYC, and the Beatrice Inn was once the pinnacle for watching Gossip Girl wannabes dancing badly and throwing up later. New York City has had to regroup and think again about what it is that brings the people together, and Boston’s been right up there brainstorming, refusing to be ignored and demanding some of the limelight.

If you don’t live in the aforementioned hedonistic cities and love to get it popping, it is almost inevitable to feel at times like you’re missing out on all the fun. You’re left to visit the websites of party photographers (who’ve become local celebrities in their own right) and their massive photo albums of the reckless and almost famous having a good time. You see pictures of them rubbing elbows with the boys and girls, as they collectively believe they are invincibly greater than until the real world pulls them back in the opposite direction come sunrise. Boston’s self-invited inclusion, and re-introduction, as a city of nocturnal amusement in recent years was only a matter of time. The notion was not necessarily a new one and the current generation of party-goers are following the precedent of devil may care behavior of the past that even Boston once exuded (hands in the air if you still long for the days of those old school jams and La Bouche dance hits).
It all began when a group of former unknowns in the club circles of Boston began dance nights on their accord, and they have otherwise accomplisheed more than given credit for.

While the titles of some of these nights have ended or all together never gained much momentum (Circus at Privus, Robot Revolution), others have come in their place to continue a kind of counterculture revival that shimmers of an eat, drink, sleep and party lifestyle. Some of this hootenanny in town are known as Throwed, Hearthrob, Paper, Thunderdome, Campus, hip-hop infused nights by Future Classic, Fashionably Late (the swankest of them all) and other intended, stylish nonsense. The captured complacent shots of the young’uns, from the photographer’s professional camera, behind the rainbow slashes of camera’s flash, we see an imprint of an expression that is traditional to what all dance parties of the world seem to share: a feeling of wanting to be alive.

Once the dance party scene began to really heat up in the mid-2000s in NYC and L.A., and even Philadelphia where Diplo and Switch started the near legendary Hollertronix parties, Boston also took charge in their respective neigborhoods and the party people came in droves. For a moment, it was all about Circus (at Privus, which of all places, was held at a sushi joint), earning a very successful run and was nominated for Best Saturday Night but won Best Dinner & Dancing, both by The Weekly Dig. Hearthrob at Central Square’s Middlesex Lounge has had steady loyalty for its biweekly nights and is truest to the roots of punk and dance, while Throwed and Paper are favorites for those who drink underage and have a new place to make this fact more public. The unofficial public headquarters for Boston’s renewed image of fun and loud music once again belonged to Allston, sandwiched between Brookline’s Coolidge Corner and Brighton, and is one of few havens for Boston’s subculture of new millennium beatniks, and college brats and bums (with Harvard Square, Central Square, and Davis Square as, second, third and fourth). It is the neighborhood where some of Boston’s most erratic nights have taken place in regards to these thriving gatherings.

Whatever the party’s name was, wherever it was held, there was a feeling that once you’ve stepped inside the small club (sometimes basement) of these dance parties, you wanted to be seen through the lens of the people who were running the joint (in simple terms) as a cool kid of sorts. While you pretended to care less for their reverence, you too were suddenly in the know of what was bubbling in Boston nightlife and hoped they wouldn’t hate that you were one step closer to achieving true party kid status. As with many dance party scenes, the crowd is eventually the same, so people get to know each other—that is, if they want to get to know you. You find out real fast some people aren’t as quick to welcome you into their enclave. Promoters want people to show up to boost their popularity, and some party people are elated on meeting new ones (even complimenting your shoes or outfit), but the junior high school clique feeling that these parties sometimes bring can be incredibly nauseating. Yet, for every face too conjured in bitchiness to say hello, nice people are met and after seeing your face every damn Saturday night, they may even feel bound to say hi and give you a quick but amiable hug—their way of saying, “You made the right choice tonight”.

By mid-2008, the parties became super popular, and a staple of Boston nightlife, rivaling the likes of clubs next door and around the corner that played Top 40 mash-ups. For those who regularly came, they likely became a bit submerge, and soon notable names from those influential cities made their stops such as Pase Rock; Treasure Fingers; XXXChange; Flosstradamus; and Felix Da Housecat, and the kids ate them up like the hidden ecstasy pills in their pockets. The MSTRKFRT show at The Estate during their Fist of God tour was ecstatic and straight out of The Cobrasnake’s webpage. In 2009, when Steve Aoki was at Underbar, the people acted like they hadn’t moved in months and he made sure to bring his raging, imitation of a rock star on the edge to his DJ set. In Allston, always be sure to trust your conscience when a warehouse party is starting to get a little rowdy, because the cops will it shut down (oh, yeah). An after party held by Circus for The Presets was what techno dreams are made of (drunken people, arguments, a bitch-slap and noise galore). This year, Thunderdome even managed to get the star of raunchy rap music, Spank Rock, to hit up Beantown on appropriately enough, a Valentine’s Day gala.

In Boston, when a big name comes to town, and you look into glistening faces of the crowd underneath the big lights, the young people “dancing” and jiving so out of control, you know they’ve been waiting for that hour and half of absolute greatness to take place. It was worth a great deal to see Beantown as more than just some pseudo corn-fed city always struggling to keep up as shown through the eyes of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon. This city could be just as naughty as the next city gone fantastically insane.

By getting through the front door of the newest playground of dance music and asymmetrical haircuts, the insight gained was that Boston club kids wanted to feel important. They want to be their own pop culture. At times it even felt like they were trying to emulate the lives of party goers in the movies and in the real hard streets of cities tougher than Allston; imitating the glory days of James St. James’ former homies (“cocaine fest” was once an overheard comment), and some of these fun loving (somee sexually ambiguous) boys and girls were like lovely slaves to such a capricious life. To the outside it seems they never actually do any “real work”, and a subculture of dance, fashion and small talk will never get old, but maybe the kids of Boston should be given a break. They aren’t all cokeheads. They’re not all that bad. Most of them have the decency to maintain a 9-5. They’re just having fun, not caring about the important things until the alarm clock wakes them up from this fantasy.

From a critical viewpoint, it all seems relative and contradictory. The backdrops of these parties are as dingy as a warehouse or nearly vacant basement apartment could be, or the floors of the club had a patina shine but the brick walls added a touch of toughness to such glamour. Video art is played, with spliced clips of some of the campiest movies of yesteryear, random graphic art and shots of Madonna and Britney (not kissing), Michael Jackson and Tina Turner singing the Mad Max theme.
In February 2009, Boston Globe, reporter Danielle Dreilinger chronicled the fashion of the party people, as well as Susan G., a Bostonian fashion blogger. In the article, you can tell that for Dreilinger, a lot of it was new to her, specifically the very outspoken tone of fashion competition. The outfits that adorn these movers and shakers (girls in their big, gaudy heels—the sensible ones wear flats—glam-rock tank tops, loose, hanging shirt-dresses, and winged eyeliner. The guys in a tuxedo or top to bottom black, maybe just jeans, sneakers and a sweatshirts…those La Roux haircuts, both genders quite fond of the skinny pants)…these children had no shame.

Justin “Justincredible” Cameron, one half of RogueWaves and a DJ on his own, informed Dreilinger, the displayed sassy outfits, “[aren’t seen] as weird. They’re all obsessed with being cool”. Futhermore, Dreilinger discovered, “this crowd is comfortable in front of a camera”. She was on point with that one. These kids aren’t shy, and at times even come across a bit vain. Well, I guess you really can’t hate on a crowd too badly if they already believe they are stars.

In Boston, “loving the nightlife “a la Alicia Bridges, is somewhat of a novelty. If you’re bored, even a little lonely, lusting for the feeling of a good time, in the form of dance and being photographed, it’s like you’ve become an unofficial member of a gang. Is it boredom for a kind of balmy excitement that essentially brings these people together, the party people looking for more, or are they just looking for another excuse to let loose?

For a time, it was exciting, and many of us embraced it. To the guy or gal with the professional camera who everybody without question kissed ass to; the annoyingly labeled “hipster” style of some of the kids; the “we like to party” atmosphere, even when it felt a bit polarizing, it was fun. Sure, they were people who laughed and did a “SMH” at these parties (little too frivolous for their liking, and a common question was, “How can you dance to this shit?) These parties got a bad rap when it seemed like everyone could enter, yet only the seasoned ones were recognized. In light of the youth culture pendulum that swings from L.A. to NYC, Boston became the influx of what comes around will dance and shimmy about, but for how long is why sometimes dreams of La La Land and the Big Apple exist and Bostonians still believe in a city that can live up to its glittery promise. The dance party scene of Boston was a part of just living life during such dire times. On the surface, it doesn’t seem that such deep afterthoughts of what the youth desire is present at all. For all we know, some of them could give a damn about tomorrow, just the booming music of resident DJs like Redfoxx; Dominique; B-Rich; and Hot Pink Delereon, and sets by Armand Van Helden who went on to become a big DJ across clubs all over—but they do.
By fall of 2009, the original promoters of this scene were aware that certain lines were being snorted elsewhere and dancing shoes were taking over other dancefloors such as The Savant Project in Mission Hill. Maybe some us just began to miss the usual going out shenanigans, suddenly craving to hear the latest hit from so-so in hip-hop, and not another discombobulated remix of MGMT’s “Kids”. It was dying slowly, and maybe headliners seemingly wanted to grow up too. They soon continued dance nights, but under different names, and rooms were filled instead with twenty-something good kids who were not trying to go bad. However, some supporters still craved to surrounded by a “dance. go crazy. hook up. get wild” energy, as is the slogan of the after-hours nightclub RISE.

In February of 2010, Together: The New England Electronic Musical Festival (based in Boston) arrived and succeeded. Das Rascist, DJ Rupture, DJ Funk, Sinden and Udachi all made appearances and the festival was non-judgmental. The new faces of the party people were happy to be at the festival’s many events booty-shaking their tails (yes, sometimes, very badly, bless them), and maybe the name could’ve helped gear towards camaraderie, as while Circus was nothing but chaos, Together was like a more natural rave party from back in the day.

To compare the party kids of Boston to the days of Party Monster club kids is for sure a bit far-fetched as no one is murdering anybody over anything, and even that kind of shimmery debauchery hasn’t been the same. It seems that many in NYC, Boston, in any city, are fending for themselves when looking for a good time. Boston promoters do have many things to be proud of. Boston gave itself a glimpse of a metropolitan city on the verge, but not quite there. There were great idiosyncratic qualities to be found at these dance parties. The more you gave in, the more comfortable you felt, even if you couldn’t brush off the feeling you intruding on an exclusive, downtown microcosm of me, me, me. To which boy or girl that became Boston’s version of Cory Kennedy is still up for debate. I suppose the best way to go about having fun in Boston is to never take it too seriously, since having a sardonic attitude is the plat chaud of this town’s menu.

There are people who are genuine about making Boston more than just a university and overzealous sports fan capital, and for one who used to be at the parties, been photographed, mingle with kids, I salute those that are trying. This why for a time these electro/dance parties were great, and hardly asked for much in return except satisfied dancers and to come again. The young people are just enjoying the extended prime of their youth and I personally won’t hate them for that. I guess we’ll just have to let the kids shimmy and shake, for it’s their right and their city to do so. Party people, wherever you are, don’t leave your eyeliner and confidence at the door.

original post written with peace, love, and hair grease

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