Art elevates.
Art elevates the soul.
Whether that art makes you happy or sad, provides a momentary kick or life-long contemplation, even if it is art that you detest, that is contrary to your personal tastes, values and world-view, you gain from the experience. Art uplifts us. At least, it can. At least, possesses that very potential. I believe this, I’ve always believed this. I think it is undeniable on the individual level, which I suppose is an existential approach.As I walked home from the 2010 edition of the 4th Street Art Festival, after a fantastic, blistering set by the Black Hollies and watching a couple of dozen of twenty-somethings attempt a sort of mosh pit, I thought about how elevates not just the individual soul, but the soul of a community.
I spent some of the afternoon at the local art fest then much of the evening catching some music. The weather was splendid. Early Fall, light jacket weather. It rained last year, and in the blog post I wondered if the “art community” was a little too insular for community at large. I got a totally opposite vibe this year. Funny what a little sunshine can do.
During the afternoon visit, especially, the community—and the elevation art engenders—was present and visible. It was a combination of a flea market, street fair and a (thankfully) low key Burning Man Festival. The Agitators Collective (here & here & here), the artist coalition intent on mischievous public exhibitions, were wall papering a brick wall (I think we have permission) with an image of man riding horse found on a Japanese matchbook. The annual painting—I think it’s an exhibition not contest—where actual artists painted live an in person, watch them work. Not just real time, but real life! The clever collaborative project by the JC Arts School of food murals (blogged about here and here) was on display. Other paintings as well as a chandelier of plastic bubble wrap (that’s what it looked like) hung from a tree, all serving as a back drop to noticeably better food and beverage options than last year and the array of tables with objects for sale, similar to creative grove. A tent that promised drunken jack o lantern caring was next to this other tent, a chill thing I guess, where bass riffs, repetitive and soothing played as slides and films were projected. Amid all this creative flea market kids scampered, kids of all ages. The young parents, the young children, helping the art elevate our community and in turn, the all too clear evidence of a community elevated the art.
Thus art becomes part of the community, intertwined in our lives through the childhood memories of these individuals. Think about twenty, thirty years from now, when those whose faces were being painted or whom watched some tattooed dude carve letters into a pumpkin or a T-shirt being silk screened are leading the nation,. Their happy childhood memories are of a local art festival that signaled the moment summer became fall. Makes me feel a little more positive about the future of our democracy.
I wonder if it really is the art community that is the insular one in town. Artists led the influx of young people moving into town, bringing all the evils of gentrification. At least that is the commonly held wisdom. Everyone expects another Hoboken or Bushwick or Williamsburg or East Village, whatever the heck that really means. Jersey City ain’t them places and they ain’t Jersey City. I’m not just talking our idiosyncratic down to earth culture and our loveable but slightly corrupt city officials. Times are different, this generation is different. It’s misguided to expect the same thing to be reenacted here precisely.
We need to toss out a term like Yuppie and come up with a new nomenclature to explain the current facts on the ground. I don’t know what that difference will be. I just think what is happening has enough of its own characteristics to make it different.
One obvious new characteristic is the presence of, and welcoming attitude towards children. Art as a parenting activity, a family activity. I like it. The Art Fest is as family friendly as any street festival. More so, even, with the lack of hard booze or gambling.
During the afternoon visit, especially, the community—and the elevation art engenders—was present and visible. It was a combination of a flea market, street fair and a (thankfully) low key Burning Man Festival. The Agitators Collective (here & here & here), the artist coalition intent on mischievous public exhibitions, were wall papering a brick wall (I think we have permission) with an image of man riding horse found on a Japanese matchbook. The annual painting—I think it’s an exhibition not contest—where actual artists painted live an in person, watch them work. Not just real time, but real life! The clever collaborative project by the JC Arts School of food murals (blogged about here and here) was on display. Other paintings as well as a chandelier of plastic bubble wrap (that’s what it looked like) hung from a tree, all serving as a back drop to noticeably better food and beverage options than last year and the array of tables with objects for sale, similar to creative grove. A tent that promised drunken jack o lantern caring was next to this other tent, a chill thing I guess, where bass riffs, repetitive and soothing played as slides and films were projected. Amid all this creative flea market kids scampered, kids of all ages. The young parents, the young children, helping the art elevate our community and in turn, the all too clear evidence of a community elevated the art.
Thus art becomes part of the community, intertwined in our lives through the childhood memories of these individuals. Think about twenty, thirty years from now, when those whose faces were being painted or whom watched some tattooed dude carve letters into a pumpkin or a T-shirt being silk screened are leading the nation,. Their happy childhood memories are of a local art festival that signaled the moment summer became fall. Makes me feel a little more positive about the future of our democracy.
I wonder if it really is the art community that is the insular one in town. Artists led the influx of young people moving into town, bringing all the evils of gentrification. At least that is the commonly held wisdom. Everyone expects another Hoboken or Bushwick or Williamsburg or East Village, whatever the heck that really means. Jersey City ain’t them places and they ain’t Jersey City. I’m not just talking our idiosyncratic down to earth culture and our loveable but slightly corrupt city officials. Times are different, this generation is different. It’s misguided to expect the same thing to be reenacted here precisely.
We need to toss out a term like Yuppie and come up with a new nomenclature to explain the current facts on the ground. I don’t know what that difference will be. I just think what is happening has enough of its own characteristics to make it different.
One obvious new characteristic is the presence of, and welcoming attitude towards children. Art as a parenting activity, a family activity. I like it. The Art Fest is as family friendly as any street festival. More so, even, with the lack of hard booze or gambling.
Maybe it’s not the artists that are insular, but the J.C. old guard. Among the born and bred there is an us and them attitude. I’ve been here nearly 20 years and I’m still from the suburbs. As if. The fact is though that all the artists and their friends, all the gen yers with their tattoos and creativity and quite frankly, dollars attended—as an example—the Italian Festival in August. They loved it, who doesn’t? They infused a new energy into the event. I noticed no kind of reciprocation. Where were the born and breders at the 4th Street deal. Wither thou goest old guard?
I wonder if they are afraid they will have a good time enjoying some gen-Y vibe (Korean tacos). Will they hate themselves for appreciating something new. A local political issue is heating up, coalescing around the perennial chestnut of cabaret licenses. There was much chit chat about the cracking down by police about bands playing galleries or the fact that only beer could be served, not a full bar tent (unlike the street festivals). I’m not interested in politics here, but I predict a shit storm soon. Maybe the Gen-y-ers are as un-attuned to the culture of bribery as our city officials are un-attuned to Gen-Y’s open source, DIY mentality.
The new bohemia scene here is gaining momentum, fast. I think the first stage of establishing a scene has been completed. But with the quarterly J.C. Fridays and the summer concert series of Groove on Grove augmenting what individual galleries, bars and artists are doing, momentum is growing. Events are proliferating, attendance on the rise. I’ve just noticed that, more people at some show or another that I happen upon and I barely leave my apartment. My sense though is that while incremental, this momentum is growing. We’re at a point where a clash is begining between the old and new Jersey City. Actually it seems more age-old and beyond Hudson County—authorities versus people, than new comers versus townies.
I wonder if they are afraid they will have a good time enjoying some gen-Y vibe (Korean tacos). Will they hate themselves for appreciating something new. A local political issue is heating up, coalescing around the perennial chestnut of cabaret licenses. There was much chit chat about the cracking down by police about bands playing galleries or the fact that only beer could be served, not a full bar tent (unlike the street festivals). I’m not interested in politics here, but I predict a shit storm soon. Maybe the Gen-y-ers are as un-attuned to the culture of bribery as our city officials are un-attuned to Gen-Y’s open source, DIY mentality.
The new bohemia scene here is gaining momentum, fast. I think the first stage of establishing a scene has been completed. But with the quarterly J.C. Fridays and the summer concert series of Groove on Grove augmenting what individual galleries, bars and artists are doing, momentum is growing. Events are proliferating, attendance on the rise. I’ve just noticed that, more people at some show or another that I happen upon and I barely leave my apartment. My sense though is that while incremental, this momentum is growing. We’re at a point where a clash is begining between the old and new Jersey City. Actually it seems more age-old and beyond Hudson County—authorities versus people, than new comers versus townies.
I have no idea at what stage this clash is at or how serious it is. Regardless, the scene is healthy, accessible and worth availing yourself of, what ever your generation or the depth of your J.C. roots. It is fun and uhhh... happening!
Art elevates. The art scene happening here has a uniqueness that the rest of us would be better off cherishing than ignoring. I’m old enough to remember generation gaps and conflict between the long hairs and the straights, the old left and new left, all that bullshit. It pisses me off that the baby boomers remain all too eager to adopt the prejudices of their parents. It’s going to take something other than abatements and bribes to fill our empty condos (now offering leasing!)
The festival brings together not just people and artists, both professional and amateur.
Art elevates. The art scene happening here has a uniqueness that the rest of us would be better off cherishing than ignoring. I’m old enough to remember generation gaps and conflict between the long hairs and the straights, the old left and new left, all that bullshit. It pisses me off that the baby boomers remain all too eager to adopt the prejudices of their parents. It’s going to take something other than abatements and bribes to fill our empty condos (now offering leasing!)
The festival brings together not just people and artists, both professional and amateur.
Dig the silk screening. I guess I should have asked the different steps at play with the making of this T-shirt. I mean, we’re watching an actual silk screening demonstration. Okay, maybe it was only a demonstration because they couldn’t afford a tent with walls or a studio where they could produce t-shirts prior to the event. Why not make a demonstration, t-shirts on demand. I loved the low tech nature of it and the wet ink drying. At work here is Matthew Caputo, an illustrator at http://www.mattcapart.com/
Visit: http://www.mattcapart.com/
I notice a better balance among the artists between art and their day jobs. They also seem less bothered by the difference between amateur and professional; it’s hard enough to make a living either way these days.
Another observation: the young neighbors are getting younger. Art may be for everyone, but in terms of practitioners and enthusiasm, youth will always predominate. Maybe the reputation of Jersey City and this festival is spreading, but the younger twenty-somethings seemed to be almost equal the older twenty-somethings. I didn’t notice as many younger last year. Do they live here or are just visiting. I suspect a combination of both and the latter likely knows one of the former. I can only suggest this bodes well for the sustaining of the scene. Bring in the youth and bring in the funk!
The Nouvellas played a hot set, so hot I decided to blog separtely about this 21st century garage bands feisty take on neo-soul. Meanwhile, Visit Here & here)
I’m not inclined towards heavy metal, but I was entranced by the intricate thunder of In Musti, the name refers to a periodic condition in bull elephants, characterized by highly aggressive behavior, accompanied by a large rise in testosterone levels. I was told that they might be playing Math Metal, which apparently is more complicated than your typical head banging riffs, mixing it up with Progressive Rock chord changes. They reminded me of Fear, and of course Nine Inch Nails. Surreal, thrilling and innovative—this is a bass driven band, I swear it was the guitar playing the rhythm sections and the bass playing the leads. The drummer lay down a humid drenched thick as steel wool texture. The communication between the individual instruments in this power trio was stunning. Heavy Metal is riff music, ever since the days of Hendrix, Zep and Sabbath. At the dawn of this genre, the Metal Gods ordained that R&R musicians were allowed to isolate blues riffs, turn up the volume, shout-sing their inner fears and celebrate angst with audiences. This band bears that torch with honor, singing a holler of death and apocalypse haiku I couldn’t quite make out (life beyond the sky?), turning the rifts into exhilarating, richly textured jams, like Judas Priest playing Bitches Brew. Nothing simple about this angst as the band’s outstanding musicianship added layer upon layer of emotion. I was entranced; younger folk brave enough to get close to the musicians were genuinely enthused. They gyrated, twitched and twirled, assuming the time-honored position of submission to the thunder of the R&R Metal gods. What a great set. May not have made me a true believer but I’d go hear another sermon next time they set up their revival tent. They used to say this Acid was cut with Speed. I had the feeling their speed was cut with acid, not a bad high at all. Nice buzz. Fascinating, an original complex sound by accomplished musicians.
Visit: http://www.myspace.com/inmusthband
The concluding act, a sort of peek moment for this weekend of arts was the Black Hollies. Their set started out like British invasion era pop; I was thinking Zombies or pre-Tommy Who. The singer’s voice was a high tenor. Basically a trio augmented by an organ player, who was introduced as a guest. The guitarist playing had a fire, his lead runs becoming more intense as the set wore on, veering into psychedelic then over the click into some acid rock. Jams ensued, trippy and tasteful. The final song was a full bore rave up, with this rapid repetition of the chorus which I think was, “watch your step if you’re going to dress like that.” Fast and bluesy, singing about girl problems. The organ player began wailing and the dialog between the guitar and organ intensified. I was reminded of Elvis Costello and the Attractions—more the Attractions, and if you ever saw them live in the This Year’s Model hey day and heard them rip it up with Pump it up you’ll get the picture. What a rocking set. These cats can play.
A mosh pit had formed. Party on. Just a fantastic set, a fitting capper to the festival.
Everybody cheered. Garbage bags were passed out to help with the clean up. Organizers were congratulating each other. The after party was probably a blast.
I had a great day. It was just fun seeing the artists, shooting the breezing with friends and neighbors. There were many moments of music that were genuinely awesome. The art stimulated the mind.
Walking home, the sweet autumn chill in the night air, I felt elevated. I was not the only one.
Visit: http://www.mattcapart.com/
I notice a better balance among the artists between art and their day jobs. They also seem less bothered by the difference between amateur and professional; it’s hard enough to make a living either way these days.
Another observation: the young neighbors are getting younger. Art may be for everyone, but in terms of practitioners and enthusiasm, youth will always predominate. Maybe the reputation of Jersey City and this festival is spreading, but the younger twenty-somethings seemed to be almost equal the older twenty-somethings. I didn’t notice as many younger last year. Do they live here or are just visiting. I suspect a combination of both and the latter likely knows one of the former. I can only suggest this bodes well for the sustaining of the scene. Bring in the youth and bring in the funk!
The Nouvellas played a hot set, so hot I decided to blog separtely about this 21st century garage bands feisty take on neo-soul. Meanwhile, Visit Here & here)
I’m not inclined towards heavy metal, but I was entranced by the intricate thunder of In Musti, the name refers to a periodic condition in bull elephants, characterized by highly aggressive behavior, accompanied by a large rise in testosterone levels. I was told that they might be playing Math Metal, which apparently is more complicated than your typical head banging riffs, mixing it up with Progressive Rock chord changes. They reminded me of Fear, and of course Nine Inch Nails. Surreal, thrilling and innovative—this is a bass driven band, I swear it was the guitar playing the rhythm sections and the bass playing the leads. The drummer lay down a humid drenched thick as steel wool texture. The communication between the individual instruments in this power trio was stunning. Heavy Metal is riff music, ever since the days of Hendrix, Zep and Sabbath. At the dawn of this genre, the Metal Gods ordained that R&R musicians were allowed to isolate blues riffs, turn up the volume, shout-sing their inner fears and celebrate angst with audiences. This band bears that torch with honor, singing a holler of death and apocalypse haiku I couldn’t quite make out (life beyond the sky?), turning the rifts into exhilarating, richly textured jams, like Judas Priest playing Bitches Brew. Nothing simple about this angst as the band’s outstanding musicianship added layer upon layer of emotion. I was entranced; younger folk brave enough to get close to the musicians were genuinely enthused. They gyrated, twitched and twirled, assuming the time-honored position of submission to the thunder of the R&R Metal gods. What a great set. May not have made me a true believer but I’d go hear another sermon next time they set up their revival tent. They used to say this Acid was cut with Speed. I had the feeling their speed was cut with acid, not a bad high at all. Nice buzz. Fascinating, an original complex sound by accomplished musicians.
Visit: http://www.myspace.com/inmusthband
The concluding act, a sort of peek moment for this weekend of arts was the Black Hollies. Their set started out like British invasion era pop; I was thinking Zombies or pre-Tommy Who. The singer’s voice was a high tenor. Basically a trio augmented by an organ player, who was introduced as a guest. The guitarist playing had a fire, his lead runs becoming more intense as the set wore on, veering into psychedelic then over the click into some acid rock. Jams ensued, trippy and tasteful. The final song was a full bore rave up, with this rapid repetition of the chorus which I think was, “watch your step if you’re going to dress like that.” Fast and bluesy, singing about girl problems. The organ player began wailing and the dialog between the guitar and organ intensified. I was reminded of Elvis Costello and the Attractions—more the Attractions, and if you ever saw them live in the This Year’s Model hey day and heard them rip it up with Pump it up you’ll get the picture. What a rocking set. These cats can play.
A mosh pit had formed. Party on. Just a fantastic set, a fitting capper to the festival.
Everybody cheered. Garbage bags were passed out to help with the clean up. Organizers were congratulating each other. The after party was probably a blast.
I had a great day. It was just fun seeing the artists, shooting the breezing with friends and neighbors. There were many moments of music that were genuinely awesome. The art stimulated the mind.
Walking home, the sweet autumn chill in the night air, I felt elevated. I was not the only one.
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