"Applying the paint so that each swatch of color just kisses the edge of the next, Abelow creates a contained tension within the picture plane that evokes an exercise in self-control. Each color sits on the surface of the canvas, imperfectly separated by the visibility of her hand in the mark making. Raising a paradox between separation and togetherness, the smoothness of Abelow’s gesture contrasts an imposing angular line or shape, a method of cutting through the pictorial structure Martin also employs." LINK
Chump Of The Month, Michael Franti
Who is October's Chump you ask? Two words: Michael. Franti. Once renowned for his cultural skin and peace-provoking lyrics, Franti is losing his devotees like bombs over Baghdad. "Sell out," fans hiss, "Hypocrite."He may think he's a real do-gooder traveling the world from Frisco Bay to the Middle East, showering "the people" with his so-called "good vibes." But check your ego at the airport, Franti. You ain't no Tracy Chapman. You ain't no Bob Marley. And you sure as shit ain't no Rod Deal.
Go back to Cali, Dude. Slap some wax on your dreads, cruise Valencia in your Escalade. Pay no mind that your concert posters, once worshipped by squealing Humboldt Hunnies, are being torn down with scorn. Face it - you'll never actually be famous or change the world. Your days as festival guru are done. No one on the East Coast has ever heard of you. Welcome to the twenty-tweens, Cheeseball. You're a has-been - AH HOLE doesn't like you and never did.
Hunk Of The Month, Rod Deal
Shalome renegades!
Everyblogger knows that The Late Great Bob Marley was the maestro of cryptic lyrics like "no woman no cry," "iron, lion, zion," and "natural mystic"-- phrases whose multiple implications can only be comprehended all at once, in a flash. That these epiphanies are immediately submerged into the unconscious of the listener enhances, rather than detracts, from the power of their message and the genius of the art form.
But, hey, that's Bob Marley! And we're here to spotlight a different-- but related!-- prodigy: White Rasta, Rod Deal. Call us "alternative," but in our view, nothing says "timeless reggae anthem" like bouncy narratives about growing ganj in the backwoods of Northern California, the outrageous dangers of herbicides, and fleeing from feds swooping down to bust your scene in HELICOPTERS. Lyrics like "Oh lord, they're coming for my herb, I grow the herb superb" and "I'm an heeerb smoker, I'm proud to be a marijuana man" may lack the mystique of other, more "mainstream" reggae classics, but what they lack in subtlty, they more than make up for in expository punch! Rod proved white men can Jah, and we'd like to take this moment to light our sage chode in recognition of a legendary voice which lives on. Nothing gets AH HOLE wet like skanking when the Ideals go dub (Oh Lord!), we miss you, Rod.
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