Reflections on Vice and Intel’s “Creator’s Project” at Milk Studios
I’ve always secretly envisaged myself as an Edie Sedgwick type, whimsically creating culture as I amorously amble about in New York City, falling in love in my purchased daisy dukes, batting my eyelashes, listening to “Bat For Lashes,” while eating a coconut flavored frozefruit at a massive concert in a random sequestered locale by the Hudson River with all of the other displaced Brooklyn hipsters.
This alter-ego is as undeterred by what Murs affectionately describes as “sweat on her face [that] shows the fuzz on her lip” as she is by 10th Avenue’s maritime rats. I’ve publicly admonished her in the past but Saturday night, enmeshed in crowds reminiscent of the final house party scene of “Can’t Hardly Wait” at the VICE Magazine and Intel’s concept night “Creators Project” I totally was her.
“So I thought I hated her, like, but, then, I didn’t,” sounds like a line from the mumblecore film “The Puffy Chair” or a line from that new (and cringe-worthy) show “How To Make It In America.” Lucky for you it’s neither of those mediocre twenty-something productions but something far more superior: my inner-twenty-something-dialogue. Now who wants to be the water boy for the mumblecore flick I’m making called “Joanna Newsom, I’m pretty sure I’ve decided I love you,” shooting this upcoming fall?
Experiencing her third major release and ambitious two-hour long album Have One On Me, I finally came to a decision: her music is one-part beautiful, one-part one part jarring and confusing, and two-parts cinematic. And the sum of its parts is one wild ride, most of which I like being on.
Last week I had the good fortune of getting a call from a friend who was an impromptu opener for Cubic Zirconia to “be at Mercury Lounge in 20 minutes to go in on half-priced drinks.” Now that we’ve established that I may have a drinking problem (who travels from Brooklyn to the city for “cheap” drinks?) I’ll go in on this band.
Cubic Zirconia is comprised of front woman Tiombe Lockhart, keyboardist Nick Hook, Daud Sturdivant on guitar and then some new (can’t remember his name, because of the half-priced drinks) really hot dude on the drums. Lockhart walks onto the stage clad in a faintly cooler (it was leopard print) version of an American Apparel tight-ass dress and black stirrup-stockings (no shoes) and purple (genie-in-a-bottle inducing) headgear to boot. Her face was soft yet fiercely striking. Her body has actual meat on it (amen), unlike the throng of equally popular NYC frontwomen.