Pop. Out. My. Ears. #yes

The Siren: Florrie Arnold

The Scene: Snow, ice, pints, and Summer Nights… on the outside: London’s first snow of the year, on the inside: the strobed sublime of HMV’s Next Big Thing – snowballs and disco balls make for a splendid sonic nightcap. Roughly speaking, Barfly hosted a beautiful melange of art gallery purveyor types, thirty-something Euro/Dance Pop aficionados, twenty-something knit hooded hipsters, Camden characters, low-key Diesel-and-cardigan donning Pop fiends, raven-haired East London teens… moustaches, brown leather satchels and black rimmed glasses, cocktail dresses, red lipstick and suede heels, scarves and sailor stripes… On the floor: an Anglophilic audience with a distinct taste for Xenomania; at the helm: a doe-eyed, denim-donning neo-disco diamond in the rough behind a pulsing pokerface bluff, and the beat of her own drum #litrally

The Sound: All the best bits of Brit-and-Synth-Pop – period. Much like a fine wine, or the Fugees break-up, Florrie’s stint as an unsigned artist yields a product that gets better with time. Saturday’s set list covered her relatively brief solo back catalogue, spanning both her Introduction (“Left too Late,” “Summer Nights,” “Give Me Your Love“) and Experiments (“Begging Me,” “I Took A Little Something,” “Experimenting with Rugs,” “What You Doing This For”) EPs, and throwing some new tracks in the mix (“Without A Trace,” “Go“).

The set played through much like her sound as a whole: begin with a saccharin ephemeral shell, ease into the groove, layer cake the synth progression, pull in the listener with a smooth bassline midway through the first half, sidechain that bass into a boom, crescendo to a crest through vocals ebbing, fading, and flowing – pause, suspend, peak, drift, beat drop, close on the sub climax. When you’ve got that in your headphones: it’s fine; when you’ve got that in subs and a small sea of people – it gets real. Studio cuts are real as is, live though… said system becomes something of a surreal situation.

It’s that “all the best bits of Brit-and-Synth Pop” sound. It’s the brilliant, cool detachment of lyric and demeanor against the visceral basslines and primal percussion… its the snowball and the discoball. It’s the rhythmic subtle soul of the Spice Girls, a touch of the ska to synth evolution of Lily Allen, the breathy vocals coasting over multi-layered string and synth progression of Goldfrapp, of course it’s the Xenomaniacal essence of Girls Aloud, The Saturdays and The Pet Shop Boys, as much as it is the aspirational tandem in concept and instrumentation of true Dance music, the kaleidoscopic swelter, the endless beat of the night fueling Disco, it’s the devil-lays-there attention to diamond precise production, it’s the effortless fusion of live and synthesized, of not distinct genres, but just good, well-crafted music from the ground up – and then, to polish it with a Pop veneer. Yet and still, it’s all signature. It’s all the best bits of, not Stateside Bubblegum, but British Green & Black’s Pop – still sweet, but a bit richer, a bit more organic, a bit more naturally eargasmic Pop.

So, there’s that… here, live – and in living color.

Watch This Space: When HMV says “Next Big Thing,” it triggers a kneejerk “remember when Samantha Mumba and BBMak were the ‘next big thing?’” This though, triggered “I remember when I thought Lady GaGa was Ladyhawke and nixed Fame Ball… I remember when I got sold out of the Lily Allen show the day after her SNL gig… I remember when I was too young to go to the Spice Girls concert…” #ataleoftwotypesofbigthings

Call. 9. 1. 1. #shesontherun

Nothing’s too cool, to take me from you…

New York is not just a tan that you’ll never lose – because all other occupants pale in comparison

Never truely a Manhattan Sunday Best without a calling card from the East Side’s savoriest baked bluffer… #thisbluffsforyou

The Sire: Chaz “Toro Y Moi” Bundick

The Sound: Chillwave/Eighties Synth-Funk

The Scene: The Relentless Garage, Highbury, London, UK

Toro Y Moi graced East London with the infectious sounds of his South Carolinian synth-wave swelter on Wednesday at Canonbury’s Relentless Garage. The venue packed 600 people in a mingling of Red Stripes and sailor stripes: yuppies, hipsters, blipsters, iPhone photographers, and Instagrandmas on sway in a hazy hole-in-the-wall. The mood was mellow, the bassline ebb, beasted, flowed, and bellowed, as Chaz Bundick brought his signature Southern Hipstertality to Highbury.

Synesthetic in a subtle way, the set blended tech-propulsed but tangible sounds with soft neon spotlights. Rhythmic red, sweltering cerulean, and whimsical white bathed the pit in a chill new wave disco blues experience. The crowd was alive, in an “I think, therefore I am” kind of way, slightly off-sync head bobbing, Rodin-inspired chin perching, scrutinizing eyes, planted feet, dulled roars of dialoguing audiophonic academicians… engaging through analysis.

Slowly but surely, with the progressive pulsation, increasing echo, diffused reverb, and raspberry rise, so the crowd did ease their minds, rested their mouths, and swayed as the music played. If London warehouse art galleries had a scene for their soundtrack – Toro Y Moi at The Relentless Garage would be it… progressively inebriating with an evolutionary build, new chillwave with an old soul, antiampitheatrical whisper wired synth acoustic – an instant vintage futuristic fresh sound apt for London’s most limousine of liberals and champagne of socialists, the funkiest of the soul brothers and the most cosmopolitan of ears.

Bundick expanded his live repertoire, moving between genres, infusing disco and funk with his chillwave base. Beneath and beyond the peaked barrage of Kenna-esque oscillating dance crescendo, Toro Y Moi built the undercurrent of electronic deluge; easing the crowd with a sonic nightcap of retro futuristic fade, liberating the HI-Q subterranean socialites from their spellbinding cerebral aural suspension, and leaving the sweet linger of Charleston charm in the London airwaves.

Watch This Space

Photo Credit: Zoran Veselinovic

The Sound: Neo-Disco Electro-synth Brit-Pop

SHAKE UNTIL YOUR HEART BREAKS MIXTAPE by LittleBoots

The Scene: Black and Gold, Blue-eyed synth soul… Lights, Camera, Passion in an East London Secret Warehouse… Half rave cave, half Factory foyer… Shake it ’til you make it, then make it shake… While you’re at it: shake it ’til your heart breaks and deluges limitless sonic sublime across the scape…

Disco… is far from dead… it lives vibrantly beneath the rotating kaleidoscopic globe, on the faces of glitterbombed beat fiends, in the veins of pioneering DJs, and in the soles of London’s littlest pair of boots… on and on and on the beat goes…

Little Boots. is. the. truth. The truth wrapped up in some sort of boho patterned porcelain pixie figure, with fingers of fantastic rhythm… not the kind of rhythm you sync-and-cue up for technical precision… the kind of rhythm that beats to the metronomic soul… it’s beyond splendid to dance in the suspension of instant nostalgia… living in the cerebral perfection of the seventies as you imagine they would be… four on the 54th studio’s floor, from dusk of the eleventh hour to the dawn of 2012…

Watch This Space: Lights dim while we’re dancin’, vinyl spins while we’re trancin’ in this disco heaven… courtesy of the Dalston maven…

Photo Credit: Billa Baldwin

Standin’ in line to see the show tonight, and there’s a light on… heavy glow; by the way, I tried to say I’d be there… waiting for…

November in Britain: cold, dark, a tad bit secluded… but at the end of the day, there’s nothing more electrifying than a Chili night in London…

California-based newcomers Fool’s Gold played a brilliant opening set; bringing their signature alloyed sound of “non-Western folk music and electric … pop rock” to the UK leg of the tour. The O2 is no small venue, and no small feat for an up-and-coming indigenous funk band, but Fool’s Gold’s five-piece found a masterful medium between the electric anthemic arena feel and the intimate audience interplay of a hole-in-the-wall lounge. Much like their sound over the past two years, between their self-titled debut album and their new sophomore release, Leave No Trace, Thursday night’s performance saw a natural evolution and crystallized cohesion in sound and momentum. The set featured a mix of old and new tracks, from “Nadine” to the band’s current live favorite “Mammal,” and RHCP newbie Josh Klinghoffer onstage for a proper Golden State jam session. Closing with “Surprise Hotel,” for a group off the heels of a UK tour of their own – including sets at Glastonbury, Lounge on Farm, and Latitude – Fool’s Gold checked-out with an undeniable mark on a home away from home.

And then, as always, after the fresh – comes the funk.

30 years young, the Red Hot Chili Peppers are those most dazed and Californicated 401Kings of Pop music. Going to a 2011 live RHCP arena show is akin to chaperoning your inner child to a legendary gig under the generational bridge. On one hand, you’re seeing yourself in Keidis and Flea – forever young with the vibe still in your veins standing atop the higher ground; and on the other, you’re watching your middle school self air-drumming along with Chad during the drum solo somewhere in a Parallel Universe. Regardless it’s a spectacle fit for any and everyone: lights, cameras, action are as second-nature to Hollywood kids as the back entrance to Chateau Marmot. Keidis marched in following Chad, Flea, and Klinghoffer – red tee and trucker hat in tow – opening with “Monarchy of the Roses;” mosh pits on the floor, finely tuned air guitars in the lower level, hoarse throated stans in the nosebleeds brought to a fever pitch over “Dani California;” needless to say, the veterans took it from 0-60 quicker than a newborn with a fake AARP card – universally speaking, of course. Never lacking momentum, the setlist sweltered, flowing through I’m with new tracks(“Look Around,” “Factory of Faith”) jumping off the second-wind with “Adventures of Rain Dance Maggie,” circling around Stadium Arcadium (“Tell Me Baby,” “Wet Sand,” “Hard to Concentrate”) but the Peppers found the pulse of the people with paramount performances of their heralded highs (“Californication,” “Higher Ground”) and legendary lows (“Scar Tissue,” “Under the Bridge”).

Beyond a tale of two cities, the climactic collusion of London and Los Angeles, the Chili Peppers’ O2 set was a collision of cultures – fiends moshing and crowdsurfing in the pit, fans miming and channeling Keidis in the stands, stans at amplified attention in the rafters; but in the midst of the melodic madness, there was a still moment as everyone traded Blackberrys for Bics, digital lenses down and lighters up: “Under the Bridge” in Londontown.

That said, after the glow, all that’s left is for the fuse to blow; and it’s not a show if there’s no blood, sugar, sex, magik in tow… two thumbs fresh from this chaperone – because you can always tell a band by the way they Give it Away. #encore

“It’s a whole new look,” she says of the new shades. “They still feel like Coco & Breezy though, it’s just the evolution.”

Coco & Breezy’s Spring/Summer 2012 sunglasses are a stark contrast from their predecessors. Gone are the gold and silver studs, chains and spikes, in their place are vibrant designs and patterns. They call the line “Rainy Days,” but the vibrancy in these look and feel more like sun showers. At $195.00 they aren’t cheap, but you’re paying for quality right? Everyone wants a pair. This Andy Warholesque approach to marketing was evident in their packed debut at this past New York Fashion Week. The show brought out Derek J, Justin Wu, Omarion and a host of others anxious to know what was next for the ladies.

More apparently. As high in the clouds as they seem to be, Coco & Breezy are grounded. At only 21, they can usually be found in their Brooklyn apartment, designing than out partying.

Ghost’s “Then & New” at TT Undergound in New York, NY

It’s safe to say GHOST’s legendary status in the lore of NYC subway graffiti’s past was not achieved with some self-consciously plotted career path to art world success. In fact, GHOST was more concerned with the transgression than the aesthetics of letters at the time- and transgress he did. He hated the preciousness of some writers, and attributes his loose, un-planned, flowing style –that persists to this day– to needing to get up and get away. When he later took to drawing, he elaborated on his own aesthetic and dark humor by creating crazily inventive and irreverent possibilities for his letters and characters. Soon after, he merged these ink apparitions with his street-borne skills as a colorist, and has continued to enjoy a level of facility and mastery of these forms for some time now—and without the level of risk of the old days.

While we sit here watching the throne… leaving our nation in Paris… “sitting back, shutting up, relaxing, and enjoying” others’ seemingly unsubstantiated victorious beauty in the face of the more-gutter-than-gilded atrocity that is our own modern America; in merry old Engerlond they have chosen to go pre-post-modern – not to be confused with modern – back to the snake pit that brought us to this place… back to the Eighties… lead by the beat and brigade of a one Slick Rick… and as we gazed upon the blazes of Britain in turmoil, we couldn’t help but see the early chapters of this new culture’s very own children’s story… Yeezy and Hov agree it’s a new day… but while they would have you sit back and watch the throne bask in the glory of a new sun… masked lads and ladies relive Rick the Ruler’s reign, and sieze the opportunity to grab adventures by the gold tooth and nail while they can – #livepastdefyyoung

You can watch the system subjugate you… divide and conquer… leave you stranded on the split screen… or you can tap out of Mac, break through the Windows, and – as Britney so eloquently said – do something:

I’ve seen Turkish boys, I’ve seen Asian boys, I’ve seen grown white men,” he said. “They’re all out there taking part.” He recognised an element of opportunism in the mass looting but said an underlying cause was that many young people felt “trapped in the system”. “They’re disconnected from the community and they just don’t care,” he said. In some senses the rioting has been unifying a cross-section of deprived young men who identify with each other, he added.

That paradoxical digitally divided global village is crumbling, and in its wake there is an undoubted connection within the chaos.

Here: we watch the throne drift further and further away, while it remains forever present in our shrinking homes, while it remains forever factored into our shrinking wallets, while the media enhances the detachment factor that “you cannot, nor will ever be that which is prominently displayed to you” #nonewrevenueinthewild #thealmightydollhair Over there, they find an attachment within the mediated ambiguity… I’m a nobody, he’s a masked anybody, put those together and we’ve got an everybody of somebodys… “Now they can go wherever they want. They’re recognising themselves from the people they see on the TV [rioting]. This is bringing them together.”

Yes, it is partially misguided – and at some point every David becomes a Goliath… it seems no matter how humble the beginnings, somehow modern revolutionaries lose sight of the cause in light of the crown…

A middle-aged African-Caribbean man explained that some young people were targeting Asian and Afghan shops, the result of petty local disagreements. And there’s no denying that a small minority are simply out to hurt people. A Chinese student, the same man said, had been set upon by a gang and beaten quite badly, simply for taking a picture.

… but for now… at least there’s a sense of something…

Here we go,
Once upon a time not long ago,
when people wore pajamas and lived life slow,
When laws were stern and justice stood,
and people were behavin’ like they ought ta good,
There lived a lil’ boy who was misled,
by anotha lil’ boy and this is what he said:
“Me, Ya, Ty, we gonna make sum cash,
robbin’ old folks and makin’ tha dash”,
They did the job, money came with ease,
but one couldn’t stop, it’s like he had a disease,

Hov can grant the middle finger to his old life, for the rest of those whose old is new… there’s always the trigger finger for a one-way ticket to that Dynasty Blue… greed – much like fame: #kills

He robbed another and another and a sista and her brotha,
tried to rob a man who was a D.T. undercover,
The cop grabbed his arm, he started acting erratic,
he said “Keep still, boy, no need for static”,
Punched him in his belly and he gave him a slap,
but little did he know the lil’ boy was strapped,
The kid pulled out a gun, he said “Why did ya hit me?”,
the barrel was set straight for the cop’s kidney,
The cop got scared, the kid, he starts to figure,
“I’ll do years if I pull this trigga”,

Knocked an old man down and swore he killed him,
then he made his move to an abandoned building,
Ran up the stairs up to the top floor,
opened up the door there, guess who he saw?,
Dave the dope fiend shootin’ dope,
who don’t know the meaning of water nor soap,
He said “I need bullets, hurry up, run!”
the dope fiend brought back a spanking shotgun,

When in doubt, times of economic drought, don’t worry about new-new (or revenue) – race to the bottom and have the underclass do it for you… because no matter how bad the situation, there’s always someone worse – and they have less to lose than you – it’s a win-win!

He went outside but there was cops all over,
then he dipped into a car, a stolen Nova [?],
Raced up the block doing 83,
crashed into a tree near university,
Escaped alive though the car was battered,
rat-a-tat-tatted and all the cops scattered,
Ran out of bullets and still had static,
grabbed a pregnant lady and out the automatic,
Pointed at her head and he said the gun was full o’ lead,
he told the cops “Back off or honey here’s dead”,
Deep in his heart he knew he was wrong,
so he let the lady go and he starts to run on,

Ridin’ dirty tryna get filthy: Pablo Picassos, Rothkos, Rilkes – graduated to the MoMA, and I did all of this without a diploma … the eighties-produced throne ghost rode the stars, crashed the academy, and with their back against the wall grabbed the first hostage they could find… needless to say, as always, it was she who could bear life again, erase that which produced this ill merely by creating something new – yes, hard as it may seem, something outside of revenue: humanity.

“When another group finished ransacking a pawnbroker’s and started cleaning out a local fashion boutique, an angry young black woman berated one of them. ‘You’re taking the piss, man. That woman hand-stitches everything, she’s built that shop up from nothing. It’s like stealing from your mum.’”

Sirens sounded, he seemed astounded,
before long the lil’ boy got surrounded,
He dropped the gun, so went the glory,
and this is the way I must end this story,
He was only seventeen, in a madman’s dream,
the cops shot the kid, I still hear him scream,
This ain’t funny so don’t ya dare laugh,
just another case ’bout the wrong path,
Straight ‘n narrow or yo’ soul gets cast.

Good Night

Early ramblings and riffings… a few one-offs about the pseudo-authority granted in the ability to watch a throne versus the active – though a bit askewed – authority in making those adventures your own…

Are we on the brink of something bigger; are we on the crest of the cyber-disconnect; if hip-hop is the reigning social soundtrack – is Slick Rick the ruler… when Slick Willy charmed his way from the snake pit to a place of subjective prominence, did that leave our own young deviance stalemated in the cerebral scape… is eRioting, @truancy, taking a cyber-stand – on Facebook #ohilikethat – on the decline? Is this the catalyst for the baby cake-eater? … I guess it depends on what your definition of “is” is.

On a typical evening walking down the streets of Five Points in Atlanta, Georgia, it is usual to see street vendors, the homeless walking around with their usual business, a man playing the harmonica like his life depends on it and travelers from all over rushing to catch the next available train/bus to their destination. Last Friday, August 26, Five Points looked a little bit different than its usual face. On this day, sponsors provided entertainment for all who cared to witness for the debut art extravaganza called Elevate, an art and music event hosted in the middle of Five Points where passersby could participate if they wanted to. There was much to be entertained with as there was an art demonstration that took place as well as a grand performance by Atlanta’s own party band Noot D’ Noot. With all of the festivities and excitement going on, the more interesting perspective of the night was the mix of people that came together to enjoy this exciting event.

As I exited the Five Points train station, I could already tell there was something different about the blustering environment. There was a noise that I’ve never heard before and I found myself slowly gravitating towards it. As the noise got louder, I found myself in the middle of something that I had never seen on the streets of Five Points in my entire 25 years of living in Atlanta. On the top steps towards the entrance of the Five Points station were a group of people dressed in white, anti-bacterial suits standing in front of a raggedly dressed woman rolling around on a black exercise ball with a red ball attached to it by a thin string. The group of people simply watched the woman as she rolled down the stairs and finally stopped at the bottom of the stairs. One member of the group broke away from the rest and approached the woman, pretending to spray her with a sort of anti-bacterial spray. The rest of the group followed and soon the one who broke away wrapped “caution” tape around the group and they began to surround the woman. They soon backed away and allowed the woman to roll to another direction where they again, began to follow her. Onlookers of this demonstration were quite perplexed as to what was going on yet nothing stopped them from pulling out their camera and video devices to make a memory of the event. As the demonstrators left the area, the music died down and the night continued.

I began to walk around to explore what else was going on in this peculiar night and ran into some good friends of mine. The streets were filled with newer vendors selling food and beverages and there were also other art demonstrations going on as well. Atlanta’s well known artist Fahamu Pecou was one of the artists who was hosting a demonstration were people could walk up to what looked like a tree stump and attach random objects to it to create a colorful mix. There was also an artist who created a bicycle out of copper and exhibited that to the audience. Atlanta’s own non profit group, Wonder Root had their own part in the event where the provided chalk for anyone interested in making their mark on the streets of Five Points. My new friend Starletta and I took the liberty to do a couple of drawings and I did my usual “peace sign.” With all the things going on, there was a lot to keep your attention going, but the climax of the night was yet to come.

There was a loud thump in the distance that could only come from a drum kit followed by the blare of a saxophone which could only mean that Atlanta’s popular party band Noot D’ Noot was ready to get the party started. Before they began to play, their mc Dookie Platters urged the crowd to move closer to the stage just before Karima Harrison aka Electro Siren began to sing as they prepared to rock the house down. As the party began, it was just a few people in the audience, but as the night went on, everyone within earshot of the music came over to join the party. As I took a moment between taking footage, I couldn’t help but notice the blend of people that were in the audience. Everyone from all walks of life including black, white and even the local homeless people were all dancing together as if they were the ones hosting the party. It was all laughs and awkward dancing as Noot D’ Noot performed some of their popular songs including “Know That Feeling” and “Fingers Like Steeples.” They even opened up their set with a new song called “Noot Baby” which got the crowd into the set. The night was also the debut of Noot D’ Noot’s new guitarist Ben Coleman aka Kid Pyramid who partied out to the songs as if he had been apart of the band all along. The party died down after an hour of jamming to the tunes of Noot D’ Noot where they ended with a grand finish.

What the sponsors of Elevate have done for Atlanta on that very night had not been seen at least from my eyes in a long time if ever. There’s nothing like having an unexpected good time on the very streets that you walk on a daily basis and the ride was a fun one to be apart of. It’s a great thing if you can bring different people together to enjoy a similar event that all find enjoyment in. Since this was the first successful installment of the event, I’m sure there are many more to come so look out on your local Atlanta newsletters for more on this event.

Atlanta heat waves are oppressive, and convincing people to leave their hermit-like conditions and venture outside is difficult, but the first-ever Festival on Ponce attracted thousands and gave local and national artists a great opportunity to show and sell their work.

Walking up to Olmsted Linear Park, the buzz of electric fans accompanied local bands as festival attendees traversed the long, narrow park in the Druid Hills neighborhood, observing the multitude of arts and crafts and fine art on display. As a first year show, it was uncertain who would actually come out, but artists, although downtrodden because of the heat, were delightfully surprised. Knox Steinbrecher, a potter from Marrietta, Ga., said, “There’s always a huge question mark with first year shows, and the heat has been a challenge, but a lot of people came out.” Steinbrecher’s intricate work won the Founder’s Award.

The biggest difference between The Festival on Ponce and other Atlanta Festivals is the quality of work featured. Unlike other Atlanta art festivals that tend to feature work that is kitschy and easily duplicated, pieces featured at Festival on Ponce were fresh off gallery walls. The work was finely finished, extremely detailed, and inspired.

Sharon Hayes Westbrook, of Jacksonville Beach, Fla., said, “For a first time show, the quality of art was very nice and it was a great way for me to show my work.” Westbrook began her career as an artist six years ago at 50 when she was done with child rearing. Since then, she has exploded onto the national art scene, and is currently preparing to show her work in Nice as part of the Franchemont Art Exhibition. Her abstract expressionist paintings are full of color and energy with long, swooping brush strokes over blended colors, making your eyes wander all over the piece, examining her brush strokes and color palate.

Although artists came from as far as Illinois to take part in the event, it was really a celebration of local talent. Ninety percent of the artists were from Georgia, and it’s always nice to be reminded of the multitude of talent living in Atlanta and surrounding areas.

Manami Yagashiro Lingerfelt, of Dallas, Ga., uses her education in traditional Japanese art to create whimsical pieces full of concentric circles and spirals, creating wonderful texture. “Every picture has a story,” Lingerfelt said, and she attaches stories to each one of her paintings. Connectivity to the earth and the heavens is a reoccurring theme, and her work often features the process of transferring of energy. Lingerfelt said “I hear more than I see,” and she uses sounds as inspiration in her artistic process, which she describes as evolutionary and undefined. Like most artists at The Festival on Ponce, she didn’t really know who would show up, but she was presently surprised with the amount of traffic her booth received.

Best in Show went to photographer Michael Bryant, whose dream-like work with the plastic Holga 120mm camera has become prolific in Atlanta cafés and coffee shops, proving that film isn’t dead and is indeed a style of photography that’s completely separate from digital photographs. Reeling from heat exhaustion, he was unavailable for comment.

The Festival on Ponce seemed like it surprised everyone. In the middle of one of the hottest summers on record, the festival was a beacon of light for the art scene in Atlanta. It showed the profound interest Atlanta has in the Arts and the high quality of artists who live there.

Z serves me a rumrunner and Dietra and I share a club sandwich with fries, using our bev naps for dinner napkins. We ride to Midtown and veg at Tim’s place on 11th, until they depart for a birthday party in Marietta. Then I walk into the night.

Other side of town, GREATeclectic, AKA Kendrick Daye, displays a large mural he created for the annual urban art show, tonight held at Compound: Art, Beats & Lyrics. Kendrick is co-hosting an after-party called #COOL later tonight at the W Midtown’s Whiskey Park. The show on the Westside ends at midnight, but here in the center of the peach pit it’s about to hit.

I first stop in for a fruity five-dollar martini at Einstein’s on Juniper. Nook is next, right on Frederick Law Olmstead’s gorgeous Southern jewel, Piedmont Park. Nook is a straight bar, complete with the drinkable Bud Lt. in bottle I purchased, piped in rock-and-roll and a group of tipsy girls singing loudly while drinking giant fishbowls of sugared booze cocktails through huge neon straws. A few cute couples are semi-quietly having martinis and beers. I glance back behind me to more martinis, more fish bowls. Off key singing is growing louder, even more loudly talking girls – This is America. So, I quickly finish my beer and get out of there.

The lobby of the W shimmers as I enter and ascend through the lower bars to Whiskey Park. Shannon at the door is more than welcoming and I continue my directional climb to the top. I step to the patio to have a look. Fanti and Obie, AKA Ethereal, and I have a chat about the magazine out on the deck in the humidity of the Dirty South summer night. City lights twinkle all around us, without even the glimmer of a star visible.

Back inside the tip-top bar, the canned air blows fiercely as the bass beats to the lyric, “all these bad bitches.” I notice a few as the track changes, and so does my mood. The VIP velvet ropes move for me as I do see a star: GREATeclectic’s freshly coiffed head appears in my line of sight. We are naturally amped up and VIP sipping, and I finally meet our publicist Dane face-to-face, up in the space.

Kendrick’s art display was a raving success and Art Nouveau Magazine has a new print issue available, which is a huge deal. We’re here to network less than just to celebrate the life of our art party. After all, the new issue is called New Art, New $$$.

Outside the VIP, 22-year-old fashion model Lindsay is celebrating her birthday with her fellow model best friend Devan. I dance with and for them and we make friends. A local photog named Marc shows up, and we hoist a few drinks as I introduce him to the Art Nouveau crew. The night wears on before we all eventually wear out.

Only a few hours later, I’m up and in East Atlanta for breakfast at Australian Bakery with my lovely wife. She has a sandwich while I quickly finish off a tasty meat pastry. We finish with fresh-baked sweets. She departs after a stroll in the sun together, and I head over to the newly reopened Glenwood to see my buddy there, original owner Dan Simpson: “Glad to be back in business.”

Next, it’s the EARL for a High Life from James, who has worked there forever. I meet a few cute flirty girls who are leaving and then Beth Howell replaces them at the bar next to me. A hair and makeup stylist who moved to East Atlanta yesterday from Alabama, she already has a new tattoo to show for it. She slowly sips on a Stoli O madras, and then I buy her a delicious layered shot of James’ creation to welcome her to my hometown of Atlanta.

Last stop is Graveyard for the Atlanta Indie Fest, featuring the Art Nouveau Magazine set and an all day event chronicling the urban music movement.

The Art Nouveau Magazine set on the basement stage was as follows:

1.GREATeclectic featuring Karen Alise – Welcome to the Freak$how / Animal
2.GREATeclectic featuring Karima – Heartbeats
3.Madam CJ featuring RAHBI – U Know My Name
4.Ben Carson – Selfish
5.Jack Preston – Trouble

Then I’m upstairs to hear Jackie Chain from Alabama rap with more mojo than any other half-Korean, half-white boy in the game. I meet him after the raucous set. I head outside and hang with the Fux Wit Me crew, and they are kind enough to give me a free green T-shirt. I catch Project Pat’s performance and hearing that hook, “I need a money man,” I think and know I am one. We shake hands after, and his people tell me to get in touch with them soon as we exchange numbers.

The last act I catch is the rap group The Canz. I meet Foster from the group and he tells me about how he and his brother, Prominent, have really been making things happen lately. I tell him I like the whole crew. On my way out, I meet a young group called SWC, Smooth World Control, and they give me a free copy of their new stuff. The long event weekend closing for the magazine, while the beats kept hitting.