Scene report: Day ten

My only regret when it comes to Lisa Vitrano's one-person show Bitch Bares All is that I didn't see it earlier in its run so I could tell more people about it. (Truth be told, I'm not nuts about the title, which is funny and eye-catching but also a bit misleading, and might scare off potential audience members expecting/fearing something totally different. Ah, well.) I've been a fan of Vitrano since I first started noticing her in Alleyway shows in the 90s. There's something about her energy, her physicality, and above all her timing that always makes me happy, even when I don't like the play she's in.

That's not an issue here, because she wrote this particular piece herself, and it turns out she's every bit as entertaining and interesting a writer as she is a performer. Updating an autobiographical monologue she first developed in 2001, Vitrano tells the story of giving birth to a son when she was essentially still a child herself. If that sounds like a heady, heavy dose of Lifetime Channel movie-of-the-week fodder, guess again--this tale is hilarious almost from beginning to end and utterly idiosyncratic throughout. (A handful of brief moments are alternately surreal, poetic, or directly didactic; some of these work better than others, but they're all essential to the fast-moving collage of voices and perspectives she presents.) At one point she refers to a Newsweek cover story on teen mothers; her own approach is about as far away from something like that as you can get. Clocking in somewhere around 45 minutes, it's short, sweet, smart, and sharp. You've got one more chance to see it as of this writing, but I hope she gets it out to the widest possible audience. Here's a photo that does little to convey the performer's talents--she just happened to be standing in brighter lights at the moment:



There's no way I could convey the appeal of Ella Joseph's A House of Stone or Sunk In, or . . . (or any of her other work I've seen in Infringement over the years) in a mere photo, either:



Entering this particular video installation reminded me a little of a labyrinth and a little of a confessional--only the ceiling is strung with fuzzy little creations that evoke both fishing flies and houseflies. This is the kind of piece you're best off witnessing alone, at a point when you have enough time to sit quietly for a while and let Joseph's imagery and audio wash over you. I won't claim to know what it all means to its maker, to me, or to you--in that sense it's the polar opposite of Vitrano's far more explicit message--but I love the mystery and elegance of it all.

Heading into Allentown, I stumbled upon something I wasn't expecting: an eye-catching installation of works in the fresnelphotography series. I'd seen the photographer's trippy lens up and down Allen Street over the last few days, but the grouping of finished images hanging by clothespins on string on the edge of Days Park was a wonderful surprise:



Speaking of wonderful surprises, Der Wundertisch (The Wonder Table) may well be the single most delightful experience I've had in five years of Infringing. The less I say about it, the better, but suffice to say if you're a fan of Michelle Costa's puppetry, or Joseph Cornell's boxes--or if you've ever wondered what it would be like to fall down the rabbit hole with Alice and take tea with the White Rabbit (? Mad Hatter? whoever)--don't miss this five-minute, one-audience-member-at-a-time project by a pair of artists visiting from New York and Boston. A big part of its charm on Saturday was the fact that it was on the back porch behind Space 224 on a perfect afternoon, whereas Sunday it moves indoors, to the Grant Street Gallery, but I'm pretty sure it would enchant me no matter when or where I encountered it. (Warning: the artist statement may make the piece sound a lot more academic than it really is; I have no doubt that the historical references and critical theory informing it will be relevant and illuminating to some audience members, but for me the appeal is in how homemade and delicate both the set and the performance are. My advice is to dive in first, and suss out its deeper meanings later.)



At this point in the evening, I snuck off with two friends to the Black Rock and Riverside Starry Night Gardenwalk, an event which started the same year as Infringement and, in its own way, has a similar kind of grassroots, funky, all-over-the-place creative energy that may totally challenge your stereotypes of the neigborhood, much as Infringement can expand your sense of what artists and musicians are up these days. (Amazingly enough, it's the only nighttime garden tour in WNY--this idea is too much fun not to catch on!) Alas, looks like it'll always be the same night as the biggest single night of BIF, but if Infringement just doesn't provide enough adventure and inspiration for you, check it out next year. Besides, it's not that far from some of the newest BIF venues.

OK, one more day of Infringing, and it's all over for 354 days! Fortunately, all the events I've mentioned above are viewable one last time, along with so much more. If I can somehow fit in even a third of what's still on my wanna-see list SUnday, I'll be in ecstasy.

Scene report: Day nine

I cannot tell a lie: after a long workweek, finding the weather unexpectedly pleasant, I came very close to sitting out one of the biggest nights of the festival--and knew I would regret it if I did. Still, I made time to listen to this 1985 interview with the late Merce Cunningham and this one with John Cage from the same year on Fresh Air while working on a fresh batch of Self-Infringement instructions. It's pretty safe to say there would be no Infringement without these two fearless pioneers of Art Under the Radar, and I wish there was some way to salute them during the festival. So: "saaaaaaa-LUTE!," as they used to say on Hee-Haw.

After a quick stop at Rust Belt, I paid a quick return visit to Mrs. Squandertime, who was back in action after taking a night or two of rest. I see she has company in the window of 224 Allen now, too, in the form of a witty computer installation called eyeMacs (by another of my WoyUbu colleagues--represent, y'all!):



One window over is another cool-looking digital project whose name escapes me, but I'm told it's the work of 224's owner. There's an interactive component, and if I remember, I'll add more details about that here later:



I got to the Albright-Knox just in time to miss all of the Infringement festivities in Gusto at the Gallery, but I heard good reports from many people about the poetry and the dance. I did manage to make my way through the museum's two current exhibitions, one devoted to (allegedly) "subversive" work in the permanent collection and the other a lovely tribute to Ed Ruscha, another of those precursors who gave everybody else permission to do weird stuff in the name of Art. Walking around the upstairs galleries gave me a nice opportunity to think about how "subversive" work bubbles up from spaces like most of the other venues in BIF into mainstream cultural institutions like the AKAG about 20-30 years later, or doesn't, and how sometimes lately that process is sped up by a couple of decades. Some subversion gets forgotten after a good night's sleep, and some ends up accompanied by a child-friendly wall text in a major American museum. My tour of the show also gave me yet another chance to marvel at just how much money Matthew Barney makes for his often gorgeous, always completely hermetic jibberjabber. Plus, he gets to date Bjork!

While I saw no actual BIF work at the Albright, I consider the costumes of Euphraxia and Red Moon to be art objects in themselves, not so far off from Barney's elaborate getups. The dancers looked astounding in the bright lights just outside the museum's entrance. Because I am not David Lynch, I lack the ability to take a photo of them that captures the surreal glory of the moment:



Headed from the AKAG to Days Park for the first of three performances this weekend by Pyromance. I shot video of their fire dance, but haven't yet figured out how to upload it, so you'll just have to get to the park Saturday or Sunday to see them in action. (They promise a new show every night, so go early and often.) While waiting for them to set up, I ran down to La Tee Da to catch another snippet of Pho Malpica, which is shaping up to be the word-of-mouth hit of BIF09. I escorted the newly arrived cast of Car Stories to it, and then crossed paths with them again later during the aptly named Yet Another Cool Showcase at Nietzsche's. I was very happy that I got to catch ROJOMOJO's set: straightforward blues, an excellent country-flavored original (something about the grass being bluer on my side--I don't remember the chorus, but it was a damned catchy song), and covers of Marvin Gaye and James Taylor, all performed without a shred of rockstar pretense. Anybody who thinks Infringement is nothing but bizarre, out-there oddness (not that there's anything wrong with that!) is missing the fuller picture: it's a celebration of homegrown creativity in all its manifestations, from Cunningham-influenced weirdness to feel-good party music.

To coin a phrase, it's all good.

Scene Report: Day three

Saturday was one of those days that makes WNY such a special place to live; in addition to Infringement, I spent some time on the outskirts of both the Canal Fest (still probably my fave of all the area's many small-town summer festivals) and Garden Walk. Between those two and Infringement alone, there must have been at least 400 things to see and do yesterday, even with the crappy weather, so at this point in my life, I'm pretty much convinced that anyone who claims Buffalo is boring is too stupid/boring to waste my time on. If you don't get what's remarkable about the place you live, don't bitch to me about it! So here--on my way out of the house and back into GardenFringementLand for another day, is a quick recap of just the Infringey things on my itinerary yesterday:

First up was Nobody's Estro-Acoustic Showcase and Potluck, where my husband and I saw most of Lara Buckley's set and the first three songs from Erin Sydney Welsh before the ticking clock sent us to our next few non-festival stops. I know Buckley mainly from her always-memorable guest appearances with the Real Dream Cabaret, but this was my first chance to experience a fuller set (and from the audience instead of backstage), and I loved what I saw and heard. In this incarnation, she was performing songs that reminded me of Phil Ochs's material in the way that her lyrics invest topical subject matter with heartfelt ultra-personal meaning--only with a voice far more acrobatic than Ochs's, and accompanied by loops of nature sounds. The terms "freak folk" and "psych-folk" get bandied about a lot these past few years, but they seem to really fit Buckley's work almost literally. Undercutting the acoustic prettiness of the music is the sense that the singer (or at least her songwriting persona) is a woman on the edge. Highly recommended. So is Welsh--at the tender age of 13, she's got the confidence and stage savvy of a far more experienced performer. If you've ever wondered what it must have felt like to catch Ani DiFranco as an unknown teenager in a Buffalo bar, this may be the closest you'll ever come:



I often assume music scheduler Curt Rotterdam's titles for showcases are tongue-in-cheek, but this really was a potluck, and the pulled pork was particularly yummy. This was my first time to Nobody's, and the venue encapsulates much of what thrills me, as well as much that annoys me, about Buffalo's ongoing DIY art scene--it's clearly a labor of genuine love, absolutely in line with a rich tradition of artist-run live/work spaces in this town, deliberately beneath the radar but radiating a passion for art. At the same it's not exactly what I would call inviting to a first-time visitor: intimidating entrance, pitch-black interior, no ventilation (until I stumbled upon an ancient air conditioner in the back), almost no seating, and just plain dirty in that punk-rock way that gets a little old as one reaches a certain age. I was originally planning to head back after midnight for Nobody's Electronic Showcase" but the thought of hanging out with total strangers in total darkness in somebody's (er, nobody's) living room made me opt for my own home instead. I'm sure if I was in a different mood, or 20 years younger, or both, I would have gone back, and probably loved the show. (Call me bourgeois, but I've got my own Autechre albums to listen to, and A/C to boot!)

After a few detours, it was off to an opening at the WNY Book Arts Center. 'Twas my first time there after reading and hearing a lot about the place, and it's safe to say I was blown away by the joint: street-level gallery and gift shop, incredible collection of (working!) vintage printing equipment in the basement, future home of Just Buffalo on the second floor. There is a lot I want to say about this place and my maiden voyage to it, but in the interest of time I will vow to post those remarks elsewhere, later. Just go check it out, pronto--and tell 'em Infringement sent ya.



We headed next to Gateway Gallery (yet another first visit--does Buffalo know how to crank out new spaces, or what?) for Walri but they were still setting up when we got there, so we braved the rain for a quick bite at Sample (this was exactly the kind of situation Sample was born to address!) and then caught a good chunk of Phó Malpica: The Last White Elephant in the alley next to La Tee Da. This butoh-influenced site-specific dance/audio/video piece is the first example I've seen this year of the kind of work that suits Infringement best. Sure, it could be performed at any time in any location, but it fits its impromptu venue like a teeny-tiny glove and uses the festival setting to generate critical mass. Being a bit of a butoh-phobe myself, my favorite thing about the performance is the way it creates an audience for itself, and then inadvertently makes them part of the spectacle. Every time someone walked out of LTD or simply headed down Allen, they came across an oddly configured clump of onlookers staring at ... something, but what? How could you resist the temptation to investigate for yourself, in the process discovering a delicate, moving piece with both aesthetic and (subtle) eco-political impact? Don't miss this one.




We nearly missed all of Walri's set as a result, returning to Gateway just in time to hear the Rochester-based band play "Ziggy Stardust." Taken out of context, it was hard to tell at first whether this was that indie-rock staple, the Ironic Classic Rock Cover, or we'd stumbled upon a Monroe County cover band. (Spoiler: it was option A.) There were only two songs after that, and I loved 'em both enough to buy a CD on the spot and to mark my calendar for their next BIF show, this Wednesday.