...yes yes y'all

Summer in the city is always a weird time. The city (in this case Jacksonville) slows down to a snail's pace. Those who can, make a kind of mass exodus for cooler parts, or hotter beaches. Of course there are sidetrips and day trips taken by those of us not summering in Maine. The result is a scene with a kind of catch-me-if you-can fluidity, lubricated with beer and fish tacos.

Well, at least that has been my experience.

This year, 9th and Main played host to the annual Summertime in the City jam. An all-day event, there were b-boy battles, free hot dogs and soda the kids, and at some point a free keg (though I arrived long after it was gone).

I arrived at the venue at about 11:00 p.m., well into the show. As I slipped into the theatre, Peyton Locke, formerly Therapy (please call him Peyton from now on), of the AB's and Perceptionists, and currently of the Smile Rays, was doing his thing.

Locke is one of the most multi-talented individuals in Jacksonville's hip hop scene. I've interviewed him before, and then he told me one thing: "I dream of crates and crates of my own records."

These days though, he's got his own DJ. And although Locke brings the same passion and sense of fun to the stage, it seemed as if, as with his name change (back), he's trying to work things out, to figure out his next step.

In fact, several of Jacksonville's regulars seemed to be trying to do the same thing: trying to figure out how to interlace the capabilities of production that seem to be as close as the next Mac, with the balance of a well-crafted show.

Willie Evans Jr., who is another favorite put together a quick performance, "I want people to stay long enough to see me," he said of the notoriously behind-scheduleness of the scene, "before they look around and realize there are no girls here." But his performance too had a sort of thinking-out-loud quality to it.

Neither performer was a strong as I have seen them be, but I am pleased to say that neither of them sampled twice from the (correct me if I am wrong) same record as did Dillon from Atlanta. With many props thrown out to Isaac Hayes, Dillon, rapped quickly and funnily over Hayes samples that are so good as to almost insure the success of the performer working "with" Mr. Hayes.

As I left, Dope Sandwich had taken the stage, and if I'd had a little more stamina, I would've have stayed to see them perform. From the glance I got, their rhymes were tight, and their beats dope.

And really, one can't ask for anything more than that, to step out the door into sweltering humidity, with a neck-bobbin' beat for you to exit the scene on. Whether or not everyone brings an "A" game then becomes a moot point...it is the summertime after all.

Hold {them} in Your Heart

Generally, I am not given to overt gestures of sentimentality, and even less often to displays of militaristic, nationalistic, pride.

However, on the way home tonight, NPR’s “All Things Considered,” was playing excerpts from the messages of family and friends of fallen soldiers. It crept into my consciousness slowly...and then I suddenly realized that I wasn't listening to the usual programming anymore. So why this broadcast on this day? Because sometime between today and yesterday, the death toll in Iraq (American deaths) rose to 4,000.

4,000 is a vast number of lives, too many to consider as singular individuals, while seeing their memorials and eulogies in print is reductive to the point of redundancy; four or five lines in black and white cannot convey the depth of a life. That’s why NPR’s broadcast of messages was so powerful. The memories shared aren’t being intoned by a professional broadcaster’s carefully neutral voice, instead they are the voices of those left behind, those for whom even speaking a name aloud can provoke a slew of memories. There are hitches and odd pauses as one memory slides into another; and suddenly the war isn’t about propaganda and ideology, it is about the weight of each life.

The memories, though American, serve as a reminder of the costs borne on all sides of our war...a war which Bush still asserts we're winning, "...this is a fight that America can and must win.”

Click on the title for a link to the NPR piece, it's only 3 minutes and 38 seconds long.

*the pictured image is from the project “Eyes Wide Open,” a project of the American Friends Service Committee. Since 1917, the American Friends Service Committee has championed the dignity and worth of every individual, the sanctity of human life and humanity's collective responsibility to promote peace. www.afsc.org.

Two Left Feet

Admittedly, I am late to the Black Kids fanclub. It seems that while I was training my attention on Jacksonville's nascent hip-hop scene, pop and electronica were making a comeback. I've snagged the above video for "I'm not gonna teach your boyfriend how to dance with you," from www.urbanjacksonville.info.

I like the video not just because I like the song, but because the video balances a groovy-meets-mod vibe against the arched-eyebrow pettiness of an elaborate, and extinct royal court (Versailles perhaps) that might be a nod to the hipper-than-thou airs that club kids and hipsters put on. The best part? The expressions of distain and hauteur the "court" manages to wear. Well, that and the gilded laser-guns.

And the most important part? The above-playing song is set to be the group's debut single. Out on April 7, it will be available on CD, pink vinyl and download. Support your own.

Refreshing and Sweet

Last night saw the annual/semi-annual Lloyd Apartments Art Show. Sweet and relaxed, it reminded me of the way art shows used to be: a bunch of art, some better than others, put up on a wall, a couple of kegs and the host’s music spinning (via computer) in the background.

No, this is not a wholesale call for every art show to have a homemade vibe. But on this occasion, it worked. The show felt unpretentious and hopeful; gossipy but without an ugly edge.

Several artists’ work stood out:

John Arvin’s small-scale drawings of ordinary objects leaked a kind of surprisingly feminine pathos that were not without a sort of bleak humor. Shown all together, the pieces (a bicycle, a pair of birds, money and other icons) functioned as a kind of shorthand for his (mis) adventures.

Angelieri, a potter who is also (I believe) the head of the art department at Fletcher showed some raku pots. A pair of cylindrical vases stood out as satisfyingly textural and appropriately restrained.

Chad Landenberger, the fellow who puts on an annual skateboard art show, had some nice screenprints up. But, in all honesty, I am a sucker for the form anyway. Perhaps that leaves my opinion a little suspect.

And finally, Grant Thornton. Initially I was tempted to dismiss his paintings as trite examples of a Juxtapoz-infused neo-monster aesthetic. However, a second consideration left me with the impression that if he can overcome the obvious metaphors in his work, he might make some moves.

Next, a trip to PIE studio was in order, but upon arrival, Barry Wilson’s reception for “Transient Jar” was all shut down. I snapped a couple of shots of the window display but due to the lateness of the hour, and the fact that on that deserted street, my only backup was my 17 pound Boston Terrier, I left without further ado.