Portsmouth Square is Not Fucking Dirty

I heard this pathetic sob story at Fantasy barbershop today.

I see old Stacey, that loud faced mother of three snot nosed pucker faced kids, getting her nails done for third time in a single week. She's getting stars sprayed onto them this time. Let me tell you, it looks like trash. Pure slut rubbish nails. And that stupid voice. That woman has a voice that could be used for CIA counter-terrorism. God awful voice. Sounds like spewing vomit being shot out of a goddamn trombone.

Anyway, she tells me that our mayor, you know the alcoholic that fucks his best friends' wives, doesn't like Portsmouth Square. As a matter of fact, he found it so dirty that he started picking up the trash himself with his soft little bureaucrat manicured hands. Apparently he found dead rats caressing the sand of the jungle gym and stale alcohol piss covering the toilet bows, trickling gently onto the cracked green tiles. A real fucking horror of a place. Just look!


Looks like a real mess. Well, the mayor sure is getting rid of the homeless, sending them to one day pitched white tents under some suburban sun where they hopefully will never find their way back to downtown. Then, we don't have to see any one legged heroin addicts dribbling frustrated spittle and proud diarrhea waste all over the rose covered concrete streets of San Francisco. What a farce.

Who the hell is surprised anyway? Is the whole city supposed to be as pristine as the fucking mayor's leathery swivel chair that probably has cum stained adornments nonetheless. This is public space right in the middle of Chinatown. Let there be some life in this city!

I want to see old Chinese men playing Xiangqi, battling like Shoalin warriors and covetously gambling under the radar. Hell, there should be a special word to denote the seriousness of chess and all its variations. 'Game' sounds too juvenile for it. I want to hear bombastic screaming about some cheater slyly moving the canon when it's not his turn and getting caught. That little bastard got caught and his face turned beet red! And I fucking want to see those mean faced women playing Mahjong until they forget to pick their grand kids up from school at high noon. And they don't care anyway, because Mahjong is great and the kids need to learn how to walk home from school without getting jumped and take care of themselves goddamnit.


Are there kids playing in the jungle gym? No. Not because there are rats in the sand, but because the jungle gym is plain shit. Let the homeless sleep there, at least somebody can get some use out of it.

Are there any people playing the ridiculously kitschy carnival games? Of course not. Because those games are archaically stupid and waste peoples' time. Even a five year old is smart enough to not want to throw a ball into a little jar to get a goldfish that would be better off living in the toilet in Trainspotting. And don't kids have fancy video games now anyway where they can dream up a dinosaur, strawberry field acid land where they can have sex with Mugwump fluff monster Clittasaureses?


This mayor sure as hell is some monkeycock. I know you're just waiting for the next opportunity to stare down some yuppyess' snake oil slicked breasts. This city is going to look like an airport terminal filled with lounge chairs and business class polished boots bullshit before you know it. I hate your spoiled, corrupt nasal leakage toting and Valium popping dream.

And I pissed on the toilet seat. And I'm a woman. I should get a fucking civic award.

Granny Wesson Represent

What up peasant folks and urban jokes,

The Skinny asked me to add some flare to his stale ass newspaper articles blog. I'll drop the knowledge real soon. Until then, Keep on Truckin' !

Still Bombing the System

The past few years have seen a rampant abundance of graffiti-oriented documentaries all failing to add a worthy second chapter to the late Tony Silver’s and Henry Chalfant’s groundbreaking classic, Style Wars. Jon Reiss comes closest of all to achieving this formidable goal with his new documentary screened twice at SF Indie Fest, Bomb It, an ambitious production that draws the lineage of graffiti art from the original New York wildstyle lettering to the global explosion of the culture.

Reiss first takes us back to the streets of the legendary birth of bombing in 1967 Philadelphia, where Cornbread recounts the story of achieving fame in a local penitentiary by writing his nom de plume all over the cells. After his release, Cornbread took the scrawling tactics to the streets with dreams of going all-city followed by the likes of Taki 183, a messenger in New York, who scribbled on the trains running through the five boroughs. A feature article in the Times asked the city “Who is Taki183?” and then, it all blew up.

Situating the tradition of bombing during the Carter era of benign neglect in the dilapidated war zone streets of the Bronx, Reiss gives us the social background to track graffiti’s momentous expansion to cosmopolitan centers around the world. Youth from a myriad of backgrounds expressed the same principle motivation for their adrenaline packed bombing lifestyles; the culture gives a voice to the unheard, the painting gives visibility to the invisible. In the darkness of Paris’ outskirt projects, members of the Mac Crew provide a precise formulation of this reasoning by reinterpreting a well-known French philosopher, chanting in unison “I bomb, therefore I am.”

Throughout the film Reiss captures compelling views on the relationship between the urban landscape and the graffiti that develops within that space, not merely as surface level decoration but as an evolving life form correlative to the city's own evolution. In Paris, Blek le Rat drew from the energy of NY writing culture and adapted the form appropriately to the context of Parisian architecture and history. He originated stencil street art, plastering rats, "the only urban animal with real freedom," throughout the cityscape.

Similarly enraptured by NY train art, Brazilian bomber Nunca reinterpreted lettering within the tall, chaotic structures of Sao Paulo, by making the lines of the letters taller, clearer, and elongated. In Los Angeles, bombers conquered the sprawling car oriented urban geography by daringly throwing up boldfaced pieces while hanging over freeway overpasses and taking over the fronts and backs of larger than life billboards.

Reiss succeeds in skillfully avoiding the clichés discussed in other graffiti documentaries concerning vapid distinctions between public and private space and commercial versus graffiti art. He continually prompts the audience to think critically about these issues.

Bombers around the world offered insight on how corporations and rich developers with private interests control public space. Corporations brand culture oftentimes with painfully violating images forced onto citizens without consent at the same time that developers play a significant role in gentrifying cities into cookie cutter, stale neighborhoods bludgeoned with straight edged boutiques and condos.

Reiss emphasizes that the activity of bombing opens up an interactive space with the objects, buildings and people in a city that is not governed by the market forces of consumption and production. It brings to life the urban space with the playfulness of everyday people who walk its concrete streets. While as corporations try to sell products with their advertisements, graffiti artists are seeking only to express themselves.

However, many people see graffiti as a sign that the system is losing control. Politicians suggest that bombing is a gateway crime into robbery and homicide while sociologists point to the “Broken Windows Theory” to claim that graffiti is the first step in a neighborhood’s thorough self-depreciation into a gang infested, prostitution saturated, killing zone. These kids are vandals who want to own the streets! Graffiti is thereby denoted one of the major "quality of life" crimes, since it makes the average citizen feel uncomfortable. These theories seem so cluelessly outdated to the Mayor Koch NY days, but they are still alive and thriving today.

The question remains - how are graffiti artists more criminal than the corporations and developers who post up underwear ads or build condominium buildings without the community’s approval? Whose quality of life do these products, lifestyles, and luxury homes uphold? Who gets excluded by their narrow vision of contemporary urban life? This battle is bigger than one might expect by just looking at a neighborhood tag on the corner news stand.

The increasing criminalization of graffiti with absurdly long jail sentences, and in California, the possibility of 25 years incarceration due to the three strikes law, goes to show who is winning this battle. On an inspiring note, Reiss closes the film with a war cry from KRS1 who calls us to reclaim public space and bomb the fuck out of the system. Word.

Critical note:

While the documentary addresses serious debates and compelling issues in the graffiti world, it oftentimes loses its focus submerged in fast-paced sensational editing and spasmodic superimposed animations. The audience really could do without animations of letters becoming alive on the screen complemented by kung fu sound effects or cartoon narrations of an interviewee’s story that horribly distracts from the very content of the story itself! Even though these chopped up A.D.D. style animations were thrilling, as Reiss was seeking to visibly reconstruct the vibrant energy of graffiti lifestyles, they make, at times, the documentary seem laughable and oversaturated with noise.

The reason for these MTV inspired antics is that Reiss has a history as a music video director.

If you missed Bomb It this past week, it will be screening again in SF Apr 10-14 at Red Vic's.

HARD SELL: Shadow and Cut Attack Turntablism

It's been nearly eight years since Cut Chemist and Dj Shadow unleashed the legendary 45 vinyl set, Brainfreeze, at Club 550 right here in foggy San Francisco. Last night, the duo returned to quite a different venue in SF, the opulent grandness of the Regency Ballroom, filled to the brim with all sorts of new school knuckleheads.

Things have certainly changed since Brainfreeze.

The cult classic has spread its wondrous seed across the country, giving birth to countless DJ sets infusing a similarly inspired funky soul concept. It would seem redundant for two of the most gifted sonic scientists to simply recreate the original Freeze set from eight years ago that would pose no challenge to their artistic abilities.

Sure enough, with word traveling quickly across hills and internet highways about the original Hard Sell show at the Hollywood Bowl some months ago, it was obvious that Shadow and Cut were not going to duplicate the past. The extended and revised version currently finishing its tour across the country seeks to push musical boundaries into some serious uncharted sonic territory.

In order to embark on such a sound-wave bending and blending journey, Shadow and Cut knew that they had to begin by schooling the kids suckling the teat of the digital age. A vintage style instructional video by Ben Stokes, narrated in the classic PBS style, set the basic rules of the 45 concept oriented set and provided an ample history lesson on a DJ tradition that may be on the verge of extinction.

Only original presses of 45s allowed. These discs have a real physicality in their little nooks and cascading grooves unlike the alienating quality of the virtual medium; MP3s. Each 7'' vinyl has a personalized label. As vintage objects, they have a history completely independent of the music. And therefore, yes - the conservatives gotta' remind the new schoolers - reissues are for cheaters!

The formal constraints of Hard Sell were thereby commanded and brought forth down Mount Sinai (well, the stage) to the ears of the people who had been sleeping with Serrato and getting drunk on iPods. Those fucking sinners.

Actually, before you abandon these false idols, Shadow and Cut made it quite clear that they are not in opposition to the advent of new DJing technology. They simply wanted to test their own musical talents as guided by the strictly 45 tradition.

And for the most part, Shadow and Cut worked their incredible techniques within these constraints in the broadest sense. They pushed aside the largely obscure funk and soul of Brainefreeze and part deux Product Placement in favor of genre twisting gymnastics and abstract sonic manipulation. Using eight turntables and effects processors to play with tones and echoes, they tore apart each genre into its bare elements, leaving a minimal pulse that then served as a catalyst for deconstructing the next targeted genre.

We were taken on a historical odyssey through percussion based music (including influences and roots) with an emphasis on the conceptual arrangement of the whole structure of the set rather than the transitions from one obscure soul side to the next. Sounds pretty insane right? Alright, let's try to break it down a little bit and then build it back up.

Hard Sell initially hit the decks with a rising staccato drumbeat underlying swishing spacey atmospherics and droney clashes. The sound immediately brought to mind some of the more abstract musique concrete, clashing everyday urban sounds with the dreary whirring of krautrock. While the drums burst forth consistently, sounds of trains and buzzing progressed into a pumping electronic beat. Cut and Shadow really worked the scratching, tearing apart the tone and melody so as to reconstruct the sounds with the mixer.

The scratching served as a transition for not only some breaks but full reconstructions of Classic Hiphop beats - most notably a rendition of Pharcyde’s “Passing me By,” leading into Apache - that was then cut into its basic pummeling elements for Nas’ “Made you look.” Cut and Shadow really showed off their skills by recreating good portions of De La Soul tracks from the 3 Feet High and Rising era. Plug one, plug two. . . I don’t think standing anyone around me knew what was going on even at this point – and it was only about to get stranger.

The short funky soul chapter slipped quickly into a chopped up medley of Cumbia, Psychedelic, Honky Tonk, New Wave, and straight up Rock N’ Roll. Rather than seamlessly mixing the tracks together by their driving rhythms, Cut and Shadow chopped up the beats into new sounds and progressions. However, it was not entirely apparent what unifying factor, if there really was anything besides the 45 concept, tied together the movement of sounds. I’m still struggling with the words to capture the fundamental concept that drove the set forward. It sounded like a David Axelrod arrangement cut up by the Scratch Pickles and then infused with progrock fuzzed out guitars and Atari bleeping atmospherics.

Making it even more difficult to understand, Shadow and Cut seemed to have three finales. First, the myriad themes of love songs, cheesy alt rock joints, video game effects and break on through to the other side psych whizzed off into a Twighlight Zone world of scraping musical saw loops and cosmic slop bursts on top of pounding bass heavy drums that literally shook your bones. It felt like Shadow and Cut were trying to shake you apart so you could listen to the uncanny music from outside yourself.

Second Finale: The duo strapped vintage portable turntables and mixers to their bodies like jedi warriors, toting DJ guitars and prepared for heavy metal. They offered a scratching rendition of Metallica’s “One” that made the crowd go crazy – if not for the quality of sound, then at least for the novelty. That was it. For the third and finale Shadow and Cut threw on some Al Green “Let's Stay Together” and called it a night.

Alright, I get the picture that the portable turntable guitar goes to show that the turntable is a serious instrument for not just mixing music together but for actually creating new music. Turntablists can manipulate sound out of recorded disparate elements and produce new patterns in the process. Is that it though? Is there more, or are we supposed to not take it any more seriously? I’m not sure, but I do know that this set challenged if not the concept of turntablism then at least the content of it, and will hopefully lead to an onslaught of committed experiments with this music – not just searching for the perfect beat, but reinterpreting what all that even means.

You can find the non-extended version of the Hard Sell.

Cop Brainfreeze and Product Placement.

Emory Douglas at Babylon Falling

A jam-packed audience experienced history being made at Tendernob’s revolutionary minded bookstore / art gallery, Babylon Falling, where the Freedom Archives and It’s About Time hosted a talk by Emory Douglas. On the warm San Francisco night of Friday, February 8 I snuck myself up to the front of an eclectic crowd, ranging from camera crazed fecal face heads to anarchist militants, in order to bear witness to Douglas discuss his role as an artist for the Black Panther Party (BPP).

Emory Douglas moved to San Francisco’s Fillmore district as a boy and was trained with technical skills for commercial art at City College. Officially entitled the Minister of Culture by the BPP, and self-proclaimed as a revolutionary driven artist, Douglas developed his iconic visual talents for Bobby Seale’s emerging Black Panther Newspaper from the second published issue in 1967 to the final print in the early 80’s.

Douglas organized the layout of the paper and cultivated a unique approach to imagery that tied together the basic tenets of the Party. At the zenith of the newspaper’s circulation, 400,000 papers were distributed throughout the Bay Area and many more could be found wheat pasted in the communities that the Panthers sought to empower. Douglas’ powerful style of thickly emphasized outlines, foreshortened newspaper collages, and sun ray backgrounds continues to influence print artists to this day.


Many of Douglas' prodigious prints adorned the walls over bookshelves showcasing the likes of Michel Foucault and Eldridge Cleaver while a projector took everyone on a trip down memory lane to Oakland’s and San Francisco’s black neighborhoods in the 60’s. An all time favorite photo was the scene of a toddler Panther’s birthday party with all the kids bashing away at a very special piñata; profession – police officer, species – pig. In fact, Douglas originated the now infamous, iconoclastic image of the bipedal pig as the principle symbol of institutionalized oppression.

After an impassioned introductory statement that situated the diverse prints of pigs, free Huey Newton posters, and empowered Afrocentric mothers holding both baby and gun, in the heated political climate of the 60’s, Douglas opened the floor up to Q & A. The following discussion mirrored the interests of a fervent audience groping for stories from the past. Douglas ran the gamut of the CIA’s participation in the crack epidemic, the Party’s creation of food and education services for the economically depressed black neighborhoods, the current failures of graffiti culture, and even the idea that the American government will colonize space and establish a new slave labor force in the spirit of Manifest Destiny. Seriously, you need to check out his eerie print of a chain line on Mars ruled by supersized, pig beast overseers. Perhaps the notion of such conspiracies is warranted by members of an organization who were terrorized and even brutally murdered by the FBI.

Even though Douglas enjoyed entertaining some audience inspired tangents, he again and again pressed that the responsibility of an artist, or more fundamentally, any person whatsoever, is to raise consciousness and serve the people. In order to achieve this objective, one might channel an old Panther tenet; “Speak to the people so even a child could understand you.” On this line of thought, Douglas highlighted the important ability of allegoric imagery to directly communicate political issues to the illiterate or lazy.

When asked what he is currently working on by the predominately youth audience, Emory suggested that only the brashness of the young can seriously achieve the necessary social change that is generally deemed impossible. Despite this sentiment, Emory presented some current works that portray the FBI tortures of the SF8.

Some members of the SF8 are still locked up on inadmissible confessions due to these tortures, while others are continually being pushed back into the labyrinth workings of the court system despite the case being thrown out three times. Richard Brown, a member of the SF8 sidelining the reception, then led the discussion by calling for the people’s support with the current trials; Free the SF8. Power to the people!

A large collection of Emory’s works are currently being exhibited by the Museum of Contemporary Art (MOCA) in Los Angeles, but at least San Francisco gets a chance to see some original newspaper prints and the first glance at new works - and grab signed copies of Black Panther: The Revolutionary Art of Emory. The exhibition continues until the end of Black History Month, February. Babylon Falling is located on 1017 Bush St. San Francisco, CA 94109; phone (415) 345-1017.