Modern Art

Susan Archie Remembers t0ny by Table of the Elements

Susan Archie, Tony Conrad
Nashville, 2006

 

Writes Susan Archie:

Tony Conrad and me. Nashville. 2006. I loved this guy and it makes me sadder than David Bowie did. I didn't know him well but worked with him and Jeff Hunt about 10 years. When we would meet up he was always so much fun. I was driving him home (toAndy Ditzler's house) after a show and I told him I had just finished a cd for Paul Anka. It was sublime pie because I had just worked on a cd for Tony, "Thuunderboy," in which his 3 yr old son scratches and loops 45s on his toy turntable. One of the hits was Puppy Love sung by Donnie Osmond, written by Paul Anka.

“You don’t know who I am,” Mr. Conrad told The Guardian in what may have been his last interview, “but somehow, indirectly, you’ve been affected by things I did.”

Tony Conrad Movie at Volksbühne, Berlin by Table of the Elements

When he fled Harvard in 1961, contrarian Tony Conrad escaped into the restricted ruins of post-war East Berlin. Now he returns, via Tyler Hubby’s celebratory opus, Tony Conrad: Completely in the Present. The host is Volksbühne, Germany’s most iconic theater. Is Tony rolling in his grave? We like to think he’s rolling in the aisles.

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Charles Foster Kane In the Jurassic Sunset by Jeff Hunt

"...It’s difficult to fathom today. The maturation of rock ‘n’ roll happened with immeasurable velocity. It was a subatomic chain reaction. In the blink of a mind’s eye, music exploded from Elvis 45s to Sgt. Pepper’s; from “How Much Is That Doggie In the Window” to “Interstellar Overdrive.” One moment there was just the 45 RPM disk in a plain paper sleeve, dutifully waiting to inseminate a malt-shop jukebox; then there were phonograph albums, issued strictly as knock-off asides and cash-in novelties; and then, in a mushroom cloud of self-awareness and self-realization and self-actualization and self-indulgence, the album was The Album, the means to the end, The Alpha and The Omega of Rock. And they saw that the LP jacket and its inner sleeve were naked, and the Children of Rock were ashamed...."

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Daguerreotypes of the Living Dead by Jeff Hunt

The wildly versatile multi-media artist Bradly Brown defies expectations, and he does so in perverse, science-fictitious splendor. I’m biased, as he’s not only my creative collaborator but my friend, but this gaunt Texan has the real goods at the farthest flung trading posts: expertly crafted wampum that cloaks value in vivid, secretive layers. His intuitive design skills alone merit high praise; in an era in which graphic artists often succumb to Novocaine levels of digital numbness, Bradly’s work pounces out of two-dimensional confines. If you have a deft sensibility, you can see it breathe and pulsate. Spirits of silver nitrate float; dead voices carry; bestial dystopia beckons.

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