Papis Chulos & A Caribou, Oh My!

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Feature
August 30, 2007

Papis Chulos
Modeselektor go from mama’s boys to proud papas

Modeselektor’s down ‘n dirty techno takes no prisoners. The duo’s live shows are bombastic assaults on the senses that leave no genre unturned — crunk, dub, and electro all get worked into the mix with equal abandon. Gernot Bronsert and Sebastian Szary have been kicking around since 1996, but the one-two punch of their 2007 Boogy Bytes Vol. 3 mix and this September’s full-length, Happy Birthday! — both for their longtime home Bpitch Control — have set the world’s dance floors atwitter with sweaty glee. Earplug’s Jorge Hernandez rang up Szary to talk shop, babies, and bingo while Bronsert puttered and muttered around in their Berlin home studio.

Earplug: This is a new studio?

Sebastian Szary: We left the studio one year ago because the house was under reconstruction. During the production for Happy Birthday!, we did several tracks at Gernot and his girlfriend’s home. Now she’s pregnant, my girlfriend’s pregnant. It was all quite a production.

EP: When are the babies due?

SS: Mine’s coming first, in October; Gernot’s is due in December. This is the first time. I don’t know what will happen then. This is a new experience.

EP: A lot of club kids are having babies now. What’s going on?

SS: That’s the reason we called the album Happy Birthday! We had a lot of different names for it. We were going to call it 700 Years of Modeselektor, Name Dropping Volume 1.

EP: Are you guys going to take some time off?

SS: No, the babies are coming during tour stops. I think it’s a never-ending tour. The last tour we played for a year and a half, closing on New Year’s in Glasgow.

EP: Are you coming to the States?

SS: Of course. Maybe spring next year. Our first show in the US was in Missoula, MO, last year. Can you believe it? David Lynch is from there. It was on a Wednesday, in a bingo hall. The guys that booked us put in a sound system and some lights, and we had 400 people there. One day later we played Seattle, then San Francisco, etc.

EP: What was the most interesting show?

SS: Detroit was interesting. We played the DEMF, but not the festival. We played at a theater. I never saw a city like this. It’s a shrinking city, but it’s a moving city.

EP: Wasn’t Berlin like that at some point? It’s been very trendy lately.

SS: It’s a good place for working, but it’s not paradise. It’s dirty, loud. But it’s cheaper than New York, and good food. Lots of communities from everywhere.

EP: You have a lot of people on this album: Otto von Schirach, Paul St. Hilaire…

SS: With Otto, we did this amazing cover version of Scooter’s “Hyper Hyper.” I said, “Do you know it?” He didn’t, so we sent him the original and then we did it. You know Otto? He’s a big blond guy with brown skin and he does shows with big outfits.

EP: How did you hook up with Paul St. Hilaire? You did something with him before — I think Dabrye did a remix.

SS: The Paul St. Hilaire song is a Moderat track, because we did it with Apparat, so we call ourselves Moderat. It’s not in the credits, but that’s it. Gernot worked at a record store called Hard Wax and Paul would come in. He started coming to our shows, then said, “Let’s do a track together.” He’s very organized.

EP: How did that work? I imagine you’re more spontaneous.

SS: In the past, we’d go in and just start pushing buttons. But for the new album we’d start at 6am and work like a regular day with a break in the middle for lunch, then we’d work some more.

EP: Which one of you is into customizing gear?

SS: I started with an 808 back in 1990, to learn how it worked. Then I met Gernot and we started working together.

EP: What were you planning on doing before music?

SS: Gernot used to work with handicapped kids. And I did a very dirty job. I worked in a concrete plant. I did that for a few years; then I found my second life.

EP: So now it’s just music? You don’t miss your old jobs?

SS: Modeselektor is our life now. It’s everything.

Album Review
August 30, 2007

Caribou
Andorra
Merge
August 21, 2007

Up in Flames is more than just the title of Manitoba’s final album: it also describes Dan Snaith’s transformation into a new production entity. Forced to reinvent himself after a legal tussle with a cantankerous rocker, Snaith emerged anew as Caribou for 2005 freak-jazz opus Milk of Human Kindness. On his latest record, Andorra, the producer returns with an even tighter, more rhythm-centric sensibility. Named after a Spanish town, the nine-track EP is heavy on harmonics and cascading walls of sound. The self-produced album swings with a big-band vibe, pumping psychedelic pop full of electronic reverie. Opener “Melody Day” proves that even flutes can rock, and rave-ready mini-epic “Niobe” brings the funky white noise to a tenderly layered close. Gilding the lily, Junior Boys’ Jeremy Greenspan joins in, as well, dropping lush guest vocals on “She’s the One.” Losing his identity may have been inconvenient for Snaith, but Andorra makes musical resurrection feel more like an act of magical rebellion.

-JH

Tomatina

30,00 people descend on the Spanish town of Bunol (in the Valencia region of Spain) to throw more than 240,000 pounds of tomatoes at each other.

The festival on the last Wednesday of August is called ‘the Tomatina’ and is basically a town-wide tomato fight. It is thought the tradition began in 1945 when a fight erupted among two young members of a carnival crowd. A vegetable stall was nearby in the town square and every started throwing tomatoes at each other. Exactly one year later, young people met at the square, but this time with their own tomatoes. Another food-fight started but was broken up by police.In the following years this practice was banned by the authorities, but due to popular demand was given official recognition in 1959. This was only to occur if participants would respect the start and the end of tomato-throwing being announced with a banger.

Luna India

What’s a 3rd world mutt faerie to do on a night like tonight? Lincoln Center band shell, Lunar eclipse and La India – that’s what.
After work, T and I took a ride across the park to pick up some book he needed for one of his classes. (Being the last week of August, the lines were insane, so much so he ended up buying nothing). “Well, can we go back through the park and scoop up my lungs,” I asked.
On the way back, I thought he was coming with me to Lincoln Center to catch a free outdoor show by La India, but apparently there was some misunderstanding, so after a bit of hemmin’ and hawin’ by the Dakota, he went uptown and I went downtown solo. Although these pictures aren’t much to look at – it was crowded, I was late and my battery ran out - you could tell it was her from two blocks away. We missed the eclipse, but the full moon was out and La Princessa of Salsa House was feelin’ it.
I waited for the crossover Masters at Work hits, but she only did a brief acapella scat medley of “I Can’t Get No Sleep”, “Love and Happiness (Yemaya)” and “Deep Inside” – umm, isn’t that a Barbara Tucker track, and by the way, where’s Louie? She could’ve at least thrown in a couple bars from “Beautiful People” but clearly the night was a showcase for the Spanish hits. There was the obligatory Celia Cruz tribute and one too many 9/11 references but the mixed crowd didn’t mind, especially when she did a round of shout outs to every Latin country on the map.
As the night wore on couples paired up and danced and twirled away. Once she got the “Shoop shoo shoo doo doo” out of the way, I snapped what visuals I could then rode back home along the Park, relearning the art of dodging pot holes, opening car doors, buses and tiny dogs – howling to the boys loitering Central Park West…
“Ooooh sweet daddy/Your mama’s gonna make sweet love to you-wooooooooooooooooooooo…”

Listen to the Voice of Buddha: Made In Sheffield

For a spic, I sure have a lot of love for British pop.
Most likely, this is the result of growing up in California. In the 80’s L.A. was overflowing with Brit ex-pats. Word is, the sun attracts them. Fortunately, along with their infamously dubious dental records, they brought their love for experimental electronic music.
While I was lying in bed recovering this weekend, I caught this documentary on the Sheffield scene. Often overshadowed by Manchester and London, Sheffield holds it own, counting Heaven 17, Cabaret Voltaire, ABC and Human League among its prolific spawn.

“Their dream was to destroy rock music. The result was the creation of some of the most influential sounds in pop music.”

NoSo

And now, an “anti-social networking” site“.
Go to public places and do nothing with no one. Do not answer your phone, do not text anyone, do not listen to your iPod…
The voice narrating the video tutorial is eerily soothing.
Of course, I signed up. I’m now user #463.

Adbusted: Sao Palo No Logo

In Sao Paolo, Brazil, they’ve recently banned most outdoor advertising. As a result, its multicultural citizens are seeing their city “for the first time.”
Even though some things they’re seeing aren’t all pretty, the measure’s received an impressive 70% approval rating in most surveys.
Hmm… What would Times Square look like?
Strangely, the Flickr link to a photo set of the city is not working, but here’s a working link with a peek and an interview on the subject.

Everyday Sunday

The brakes on the bike needed some work, so I made my way back to my new favorite local bike shop. Every neighborhood – at least the ones in NYC – should have a good deli, a decent Chinese take-out, a well-stocked 99-cent store, a 24-hour Duane Reade (if only for the pharmacy) and ever since I became a born-again bi-pedaller I’ve come to believe – a reliable bike shop. Innovation Bike on 106th is just that. Run by a trio of enthusiasts, it’s a small, clean, well-lighted place where a Puerto Rican guy in his late 30-s named Leo (“who refuses to shave his legs”) has fixed my tire (that popped in the middle of Times Square) and today, upgraded my brakes. His wife or girl works the register, and I think they have a toddler son that wobbles around the place excitedly. Fifteen minutes and $25 dollars later, I was back on the road and on my way to breakfast at the Metro Diner counter.
Since September is upon us, the magazine world is weighing down newsstands with Fall Fashion previews, NY Times included. There, in the mix of glitz and glam was Sarah Silverman, looking H-O-T in full Gap JAP splendor. Since we’re about to launch a fashion-related text messaging product with one of our sister publications at work, I’ve been loading up on the Rag rags in the name of research. More than usual, that is.
After the Lumberjack special, I pedalled down to a couple of the pet shops, looking for new fish since we had a few losses in the aquatic community lately. Maybe it’s just the ones in this neighborhood, or at least the employees that help me, but more than a few of these boys seemed a little “touched” – as in “that way”.
One in particular stood out. I’d noticed him months ago, and we had a coy flirtation by the Salt Water tanks. He was one of those mixes you find “only in NYC” – Blatino, but almost albino, red-haired with freckles – and, oh yeah, muscles.
Today, he was in a nearby section unpacking things and tearing down boxes. As I was looking at the Red-tailed Black sharks, he wandered over.
“Need help?”
“Yeah, I think I want one of these black sharks with the red tails.”
“What kind of tank do you have?”
“It’s a 20-gallon, with a Jack Dempsey, a couple of loaches, algae eaters and one other shark. I think he’s kinda lonely and I’d like to find him a friend.”
“That’s a good idea; they like to play.”
At that point, I almost lost my cool. It had just been one of the hottest, muggiest days of the summer, and as I was still recovering from a cold and had just been smoking, I was winded and sweating in my camo tank top. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just nodded and smiled. Then he pointed at my bicycle seat.
“You take your seat with you all the time?”
“Well, you never know. If it got stolen – what would I ride home on?”
At that point, he blushed under his freckles and nodded.
“If you need anything, whenever you’re ready, I’ll be over there…” he said, patting me slowly on the shoulder. As he walked away, I winked and returned the gesture and lightly touched his back.
“Thanks, I will…”
I had my hands full with the Sunday paper and a few things from the deli, so I was planning on coming back later anyway. This just gave me another excuse.

Stacks of Life

Just in time for the latest STH (#66) party, this bit of news from Andy.

Speaking with Fox Spinmeister B.O’Reilly, Ft. Lauderdale Mayor Jim Naugle “claimed a new library opening plans to have a special section for gay pornography right next to the children’s section. He then corrected himself saying it wasn’t all porn, just some of it. O’Reilly didn’t ask for a better explanation of the so called porn.”
Throwing support in their corner was, of course a concerned Christian.

“I thank God for this mayor who is sticking up for children who, after playing a game of soccer, may wander 50 feet into the library to ask the following questions:

Q: “Mommy?” Why is that part of our library closed off?
A: Well, Johnny, Fort Lauderdale Commissioners Cindi Hutchinson, Charlotte E. Rodstrom, and Carlton B. Moore voted to take out the books that everybody can read and replace them with homosexual pornography.
Q: Mommy? What’s homosexual pornography?
A: It’s what you saw in the public restroom earlier.
Q: Mommy? Why are those people so angry at the nice mayor?
A: Because he wants to protect you from all of it. “

Well, I can only speak for myself, but first I will say – how does she know what’s going on in men’s rooms and on boys’ fields? Then, I will say “Thanks” indeed – but not to anyone in Florida. No, my gratitude is reserved for the tiny public library that sat on the other side of the Hollywood Freeway, connected to Echo Park by a short tunnel. It was in this library that I freely explored books like “Numbers”, and “City of Night” by John Rechy, “Forbidden Colors” by Yukio Mishima, and of course, all the Anais Nin and Oscar Wilde a sensitive, alienated, restless, budding young perv egghead could absorb. One of my book reports in Jr. High was on “Story of O”.
Weeknights after school and weekend afternoons, I spent hours in the stacks, on the floor, back to a wall, reading and finally checking out these blueprints for my coming of age. I studied the books as primers for all the spot quizzes that I was sure awaited me as I grew from precocious young slut to jaded middle-aged monk.
Eventually I moved on to the “Different Light” bookstore at the Sunset Junction and their racier content – including STH, Nambla, that odd series of gay “Romance” Novels that were popular in the mid-80’s. For better or worse, many of those narratives informed my instinct, my internal road map. They may have piqued my curiosity for risky business, but they essentially tutored me through an adolescence that otherwise would’ve been doubly, and unnecessarily clumsy – and possibly more dangerous because of the very naivete these concerned citizens seek to protect. When we deny kids a chance to explore their identities and exercise their imaginations in a safe, sanctioned environment, we may as well just ship them off to the next Straight to Hell party.

Wait – come to think of it….

STH
WEDNESDAY, AUG. 29th
we SLURP
@ The COCK (29 Second Ave.)
HO-sted by Linda Simpson
music by Michael Magnan & Telfar
w/Special Guests & Surprizes!
10pm – ?

I Started a Joke

I started to cry, which started the whole world laughing/oh, if I’d only seen that the joke was on me. – Bee Gees

A day after the company took us for drinks, I copied everyone on a round of email jokes that went too far. It began with an email about the company blog. When I clicked the link, I didn’t recognize the office pictured – although I noticed they had curtains in company colors.
“Who are these people? I want pink curtains!” I quipped. Or so I thought. The next couple of “Reply All” emails were about how we “have the best office” and no room to complain. I also commented on how most of the blog was in French – “It’s America, speak Spanish.” I fired off. Then came a couple of “threats” to throw us “back in the dungeon” to which I replied with one final missive – a cut and paste definition of “Joke” complete with illustrations. I thought that was the last word, and left for the day. When I got off the subway, the Crackberry buzzed with a private directive from the CEO to “please stop”.
Overnight, I composed harassment letters addressing the top tier, reminding them of the ongoing, pervasive attitude that viewed my team and me as a black sheep punchline – a hideous pattern regardless, but more bitter considering how much we pump into the company coffers. So many people owe their jobs to the success of my department. I’ve toned down the hubris, and detached myself over the last few weeks, but this clearly got to me.
The next morning, I walked in late, as a meeting was happening in the “fish bowl” – the glass walled conference room. It was upper management having their weekly pow wow. I smiled wanly at everyone, iced coffee in hand, as I strolled into my office – that would be the first one by the reception area overlooking Times Square, the one with the Disco Ball that’s visible from the elevator banks. As I took my seat and logged in, telling my team what had happened, a balloon flew by outside and I thought about returning that competitor’s call again.

You-Turn

GEMINI (May 21-June 20): In the coming weeks I’d love you to learn more about how to heal your own pain and wash your own brain and right your own wrongs and sing your own songs. I’ll be overjoyed if I see you grow in your ability to unbreak your own heart and unfreeze your own assets and unleash your own surprises and understand your own motives. This is, by the way, not a prescription for loneliness, but rather for self-sufficiency. In fact, the magic that has been missing from your collaborations with others will probably appear as soon as you resolve to be your own guru.

Love (and Gunfire) is in the Air

Critics be damned – one of my favorite flicks turns 40 this month. Arthur Penn’s bloody, comic fashion play, Bonnie and Clyde starring Warren Beatty and newcomer Faye Dunaway, was just the subject of a big old article in that newspaper of record , the NY Times – A.O. Scott gushed and squirmed as profusely and squiggly as any of the billion “squibs” used in the climactic blowout.
The final quick cuts between Dunaway and Beatty awash in slow-motion gunfire were also recently featured as part of the screening series at McCarren Park Pool in hipster ground zero, Williamsburg. All the girls still struggling to get their Jane Fonda “Klute” look down now have to contend with the indelible images of Faye in her proto-Prada outfits, “au naturel” makeup and ginger bob. (Chinatown is this Faye Gay’s other fave – but don’t get me started.) Beatty as impotent, metrosexual Clyde was rocking conflicted chic long before any of the current crop of emo boys’ parents were even born. Expect overnight makeovers on the L train.
Yet another remake of the story is on the way, but really – who could possibly fill their heart-shaped bullet holes?

Hip, Hip, Jorge!

If you watch or attend any Yankees game, you’ll notice two things. First, whenever superstar catcher Jorge Posada is up to bat, the crowd breaks out in a unison cheer – “Hip, Hip, Jorge!” A stadium full of people fluent in such pronunciation? How did such a swarthy moniker become so mainstream? Second, if you’re a man-lover of any stripe, you’ll note that like most superstar catchers, Posada’s got some killer thighs – “insert” squatting joke here.

(Further proof: Jason Varitek, allegedly seen here in a locker room snap.)

Paul Van Dyk, Summerstage

Hungover and all, dragged my ass out to Summerstage for Paul Van Dyk’s 5th annual set.
How did I miss this before? I wasn’t really into PVD. I started liking him more when he collaborated with Saint Etienne, and then even more when a certain Euro DJ used to call Alessandra’s agency. The man clearly has some good taste, even if his techno’s a bit much for my Chicago blood.
At the press list, the Do Ho actually said, “I don’t know you…” as she looked past me to some Euros she “knew” from Coachella. It was like South Beach or Ibiza washed up in Central Park; everywhere: tans, pony tails, big sunglasses, steroids, implants, chlorine – the works, everything but manners; all of them were whining into their cell phones with their obnoxious accents.
I interrupted Miss-too-old-for-the-clipboard and flashed the Blackberry with my invite, “Oh you’re with Justin, you’re fine then.”
As if. Did I really seem at all interested in making any new friends in line, when I’d rather be in bed on Vicodin? The guy with the magic wristbands was nicer.
As I wandered around the packed field, two words kept ringing in my head – “Date Rape”. I wasn’t sure if I was feeling vulnerable/generous, or if I was just sensing how a lot of these lip-glossed ladies would close out the night. There were a lot of jaws grinding, some joint puffing, and plenty of beer spilling.
In the “VIP bleachers” one of the volunteers, a middle aged Latina was bouncing as much as anyone in the crowd. I wasn’t aware of the bleachers until she saw me taking pictures, and noticed the magic wristband on my camera hand. “You should be in here, Papi” she said, while pushing people out of the way and redirecting them – “You gotta have one of these,” she said holding my wrist.
Since I took a liking to her and always make sure the gatekeepers recognize me (even if they don’t want to be my new BFF), I hung out by her when I wasn’t avoiding the crazy porta-potty lines or paying $4 for unfrozen french fries.
I got there around 6:30, and waited until the sun set and the light show started. Before the “last dance” I headed out, to avoid the stampede. Besides, the memory card on the camera was full and the battery was dead. So, I took a cab, ordering food on the way so it would arrive soon after I got home.

Here’s a rough edit of “pix and flix” from the day.
More pictures on FLICKR and more videos on MYSPACE.

Paul Van Dyk, Summerstage Aug 18, 2007

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Paul Van Dyk, Summerstage Aug 18, 2007

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Reunion Time!

The 20 Year High School Reunion is upon us. It’s in November, at the Westin Bonaventure. So very, El Lay. That gives me about 3 months to get my shit together. Can’t wait to hear all the “invented Post-It’ jokes.

Pepe Who Love…

Two things.
1 – Babs loves…. Apparat?

“i am in love with this guy” (barbra streisand)