‚”It is my fervent hope and desire to continue the tradition of live music in Williamsburg,” said Bradley, who plans to have an event on Record Store Day on April 18, and to host weekly performances.

That being said, his lease is up in a year. It’d be almost silly not to seek out a bigger, cheaper space, far from the residential retail fronts around Bedford Avenue. I hear Bushwick’s for sale.
Hats off to the Brooklyn Paper for this one, via Brooklyn Vegan.

Blitzen Trapper at MHoW. Photo by Julia Lovallo.
The last sad embers of my adolescent punkhood tend to glow uncomfortably hot whenever I find myself enjoying a band that I know my parents would dig, and they were lit up pretty bright on Saturday when I caught the second of Blitzen Trapper’s two nights in NYC at the Music Hall. The Portland folk-rockers have a penchant for most things seventies, and there wasn’t a song in the set that Papa Mushett couldn’t have listened to while downing Schlitz back in ’74. Singer Eric Earley is as proficient at channeling Dylan live as he is on the record, a talent that was especially apparent when he gave a solo rendition of the country-folk staple “Cocaine Blues.” The rest of the band proved adept at pushing strong riffs that had more than a little Allman Brothers and Lynyrd Skynyrd mixed in, often with a touch of psychedelic synth for good measure. It’s by no means cutting-edge, but it ain’t supposed to be. The guys put on a tight, fun show and the crowd–more diverse than the often uniformly hip-as-hell set that frequents the MHoW–absolutely lost their shit when they heard the opening riff of “Furr.”
But the story of the show was its first act, Alela Diane. Alela, a wobbly-voiced gal from Nevada City, puts together music with a hallucinatory quality that wanders along a softer, more volatile edge of the same retro-folk soundscape traversed by Blitzen Trapper. Plus her mandolin player looks like a weathered, fifty-something trucker, which a definitely plus. To Be Still, her follow-up to 2006′s The Pirate’s Gospel, is out now (thanks for the correction, mcg)due out later this year. Check it out. Plants and Animals, a perfectly fine rock outfit, had the misfortune of playing between the more impressive bookends of Alela and BT, too tough of company to put on a set that was only perfectly fine.
After the jump, a mashup of Blitzen Trapper and Biggie Smalls. Just for fun.

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Some good news on the W’burg parks front…

New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation Commissioner Carol Ash and Assemblyman Joseph Lentol today announced that East River State Park will reopen Sunday, March 1, one month earlier than scheduled. The park will be open from 9 a.m. until dusk.

Aakash Nihalani struck the white construction wall on Bedford first (look). But not long after, an army of Lou Reeds marched in and plastered the (Berlin) wall with ads for New York label Supreme. Over the weekend, Jake at Gothamist saw they got a little makeover:

The posters are simple, featuring a photo of musician Lou Reed (shot by Terry Richardson) wearing a Supreme t-shirt (accessorized with aviator sunglasses and a smug expression).Street artist Faile has now altered the images, with a tiger face in place of Lou’s, and the word “Vanity” in place of “Supreme.”

Aakash Nihali’s flickr stream is here, but not so surprisingly leaves out the cubes from the Atlantic Avenue subway station MoMa fiasco. Check out Gothamist for the Faile-modded Lou Reeds.
photo by my iphone, sucka.

I might be being hard on myself here. But this seems like a serious missed gift-giving opportunity. I’m thinking about all of the Secret Santa parties I went to just a few short months ago (one of which I received the best gift of 2008). And now, even Valentine’s Day has passed and I can’t bestow the joy of Williamsburg pin-up to all those deserving of it… But I guess two months late is better then never… Paypal here I come!
Get your own here.

This was a long time coming:

Peter Bonerz (left) with Bob Newhart
This is your new vocab word for the day (there’s a test on Friday). Your roommate who won’t clean the dishes, that guy who cut in front of me at the movies, my mom’s new boyfriend, seriously you are not my real dad you are such a Peter Bonerz.

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I saw this little guy at my friend’s apartment on north 4th over the weekend, and wondered to myself, “What does he mean?” His expression is just so wonderful! That kind of excitement can’t be bought with a ticket to Six Flags and a pat on the back oh-no-sir. And it isn’t necessarily a result of the taxidermy process, set by a man with grizzled knuckles and animal crumbs at his feet. Far from it.
He’s really just freaked the f’k out at his significance in the world around him. It’s so big, and he’s so darn meaningful.
The little blowfish, who we’ll call Whoafish, is staring out at a world in the 3rd dimension; a world that glares back in a shattered red and blue hue. His empty, prickly-puffed body is the very epicenter of old world taxidermy and new world visual technology, where one’s sense of forever is defined by how long the tannins last and how close you can get to The Commercials. What does he mean to you? Will we stuff our computers one day?
Photo by ( *-* )

Artist Statement is a new series where we feature the work of up-and-coming artists accompanied by their artist statement. We hope to have one person a week for you to check out.
First up, we have the photography work of Gregg Evans. A Brooklynite for several years, Evans work spans multiple mediums: photo, performance and video. However, it is photography that is his primary medium and first love. His recent book I Could Walk Away Now And You Wouldn’t Care. is available at Opening Ceremony, Dashwood Books and Spoonbill & Sugartown.

2006, 16″ x 20″, Film Negative, Digital C-Print. David and Keith. 6/06
Statement:
As a stranger in a fellow gay man’s home, the opposition between foreign characteristics and familiar ones associated with their belongings is oddly comforting. I walk through the apartment, often led with a personal tour; ‚”Here is our bedroom… this is our bathroom. Isn’t the tub amazing?”, making observations. I find I generally want to touch things as I walk, though usually feel obligated not to. I can’t help but wonder what happens to the objects scattered around the house after their owner has moved passed them, after he is gone. Often, after one has died, families sell the belongings of their relative which they carry no emotional attachment to in order to pay back the debts of their estate. At the estate sale, what is the significance of this object to the person who buys it after it’s original owner has died? Once one is no longer physically surrounded by their collections, what becomes of one’s identity? When one is no longer a part of their home, do their objects still reveal a sense of who they once were? Or, upon disappearance, do one’s worldly possessions leave the visiting stranger with a name, and what that name once owned?
[While photographing, a close friend tells me his father took out a life insurance policy in his name after he came out of the closet. Framing the photograph, I release the shutter, wind up the end of the roll, and write his name on the outside. At that moment, I feel like his partner in crime.]
More info. here and here.

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