It has to be said that the Rodney Graham concert on Friday was perhaps the dullest performance I've ever witnessed. His music makes Tom Petty's or even James Taylor's sound like Captain Beefheart. Or maybe free jazz.
I don't know how the word “psychedelic” gets mentioned in the same sentence as Graham. He creates straight-up bar rock, with only melancholy, self-effacing lyrics replacing the standard fare of “baby I need you,” “baby I miss you,” “baby I gotta have you” fare of most bar rock.
That was nothing. You should have seen the Elizabeth Peyton show at Gavin Brown's Enterprise. It's like dumb Steve Keene londonais, over, and over. Nothing announces “I'm with the Nineties” like a Betsey Blessin portrait. Not that I have a problem with the nineties. I'm open-minded. Screw Ginsberg!
But you gotta give Koln a lot of kredit. Nothing announces a comedy of manners more-in-turn than a club party. Foucault toast! To Greenaway! To Thomas Chimes!
oh, yeah, and
that's why I hate hard rock,
I get all the references.