In Defense of D.I.Y. Venues

 

Cheap eats at a show at The Yard, Summer 2007

Now I’m down with a good show at the Bowery Ballroom, or, even better, at the smaller, much more cozy (and closer to the F-train) little sister venue Mercury Lounge (although now that you can’t smoke cigarettes in the basement with the band it’s not quite as fun). I can even get exited about a show at the oddly official sounding Music Hall of Williamsburg once in awhile (the acoustics are excellent and it is in Brooklyn, even if it resembles Bowery measure-for-measure). I also will venture to Studio B if the act/dj set is strong (or if I’m feeling particularly Euro-trashy). But by far my favorite dance parties and/or live shows are not thrown by Bowery Ballroom Presents or Clear Channel, but by D.I.Y party collectives at venues that often also serve as people’s homes, art studios, community centers, galleries, and warehouses.Or they are outdoor parties/shows like at the Yard off the Gowanus canal, a collective that features a good lineup of events during summer/fall seasons.

Why? It’s not just because of my roots (being a Philly kid and used to the R-5 productions shows at the First Unitarian, where it’s always cheap and always BYOB, I have a natural prediliction for performance space outside the corporate sphere) but because I absolutely hate being regimented by asshole bouncer-types when I go to see live music.

Other reasons D.I.Y shows are better?

1. You can see a band before they become the next Vampire Weekend. Or if they are like my friends O’death who still play D.I.Y. shows in NYC when not on tour to augment their bigger shows and to support smaller acts they really like who might not be able to tour with them.

2. Booze is super cheap or BYOB. The folks at The Yard makes amazing sangria.

3. Food is often served and usually there are vegan options.

3. Tickets rarely sell out, which means no exorbitant Ticketmaster fees or threat of being left of the cold when a show sells out by the time you get there.

The downfall? Finding the venue can be a bitch and sometimes the areas you need to go through to get there are super shady. It can be hard to find transportation home late at night (I’ve definitely been left freezing on a corner in Long Island City while waiting for a car service). Oh there is also one small issue: because of the semi-legality of some of the spaces (no liquor license, noise violations, violation of Cabaret act, etc), the NYPD sometimes show up and the party is over. Like in college, but it’s a bit more serious than an R.A. bust. 

Last night that scenario went down at new venue/party house Market Hotel in Bushwick. A Todd P event (perhaps the preeminent D.I.Y. booker in NYC–check out his site for good shows), this sounded like it had the makings to be a rad night. I found out today via Finger on the Pulse email list that it was shut down before the second band even went on. Tickets were handed out. Read more on Brooklyn Vegan (Also, note there is an often-stupid and occasionally intelligent comment stream debating the D.I.Y versus non D.I.Y.).

However, this should not deter people with some gusto and a passion for fringe music from heading out to these spaces. If we are afraid, the Clear Channels win and we’re left to see crappy wanna-be Mates of State type bands for all eternity.

So, that said, here’s a short list of D.I.Y venues/booking collectives to check out:

Dead Herring House: I just went here a few weeks ago and save for the drunk girl who told my friend Sarah she loved her and the vomit on the floor on the way out, it was a great space. Really! I’m not being sarcastic!*Also. note on the up-and-up band Meneguer is playing Saturday night

Brooklyn By Hand

Market Hotel: Hopefully they will still have shows. I’m planning on going to see Big A/Little a (Aa) there on Saturday if they can still make this happen.        

Silent Barn: It’s mad far away (Ridgewood, Queens). However, it was where the infamous Bradford Cox getting on-stage blowjob debacle occurred during a Deerhunter show last year. Also, the NY Times showcased this place in the Style section (with a big ole pic of Dan Deacon on the front page); it’s debatable as to whether that’s a good or bad thing….                                                                                 

DeathByAudio                                                                                                                  

Bikes in the Kitchen who host parties at Third Ward, a space with clothing swap events, art studios and classes, occasional wild parties and a vertigo-inducing fire escape which sometimes functions as the primary staircase. Just beware of boys with Electroclash haircuts when you go there.

Goodbye Blue Monday

White Room They don’t have shows here that often, but the ones they do have are usually really good. They were the first place to host New Young Pony club about two years ago, before most in the US even knew about them. Space has great sound and is just big enough to have a true dance party but not too big as to feel cavernous.                                                       

Glasslands: Guests are encouraged to draw on the walls, the drinks served are really strong, and it has a cozy upstairs area to chill out in with balcony so you can still see the show. Perhaps my favorite D.I.Y.venue. This was also in the NYTimes article.       

Brooklyn Art Collective: They have events every few months with gallery shows and often host one of my favorite Brooklyn bands, Rocket Surgery. 

Also, I’ve added two new links to my blogroll: Nubloom from my buddy Steve (who I rarely actually see but when I do it’s usually at one of the above venues) and Fish.cloud, featuring my friend Dan’s wonderful illustrations.  

  

 

Oscars 2007: Takeover by Arty Euros?

Last night’s big winners? Not Clooney, not Philip Seymour Hoffman, but instead it was a sweep by the Coens and those damn Euros! Indeed, the major awards left not given to the Coen Brothers (who deserved  them all, hands down) were snatched by highbrow European actors: Marion Coutillard, Javier Bardem, Tilda Swinton, and Daniel Day Lewis. 

My only complaint is the why the fuck did Jonny Greenwood not get nominated for the score to There Will Be Blood?And why did Marjane Satrapi not win for best animated film with Persepolis? Ah, I suppose the avant garde cannot always dominate….However, in fashion land, there were some funky departures from the pretty blond chick in haute couture ballgown regular. I am sure the tabloids will rag on these looks, but I was encouraged to see some traces of subculture on the Red Carpet.

My favorite look of the evening was on Cambridge-educated, arty cougar Tilda Swinton, winner of Best Supporting Actress for Michael Clayton. Swinton is one of the most underrated actresses out there. Go see Orlando–it will change your life! And then go rent The Deep End, which features her as one of the most heroic and heartbreaking mother characters recently portrayed on film.

Swinton is not only an amazing actress, but she’s a true eccentric. Her lifestyle is constantly in the British tabloids, as she is supposedly involved both with the father of her children, playwright John Byrne, and a much younger man, the German-born artist Sandro Kopp. Sandro was with her last night (which is so fucking awesome–esp when you consider all the old Hollywood dudes with young women, ala Harrison Ford and Calistra Flockhart).  Swinton looked pretty fierce, even a little Annie Lennox, in her asymmetrical dress, funky bracelet and extremely stylish haircut (Full Disclosure: I sport a very similar hair style…):

Looking just as fierce, although a bit more punk/less 80’s art student, was Diablo Cody who won for Best Original Screenplay for Juno. (Much has been made of the fact that she’s a former stripper. It even made the front cover of the New York Post with the headline: “Pretty-in-ink former stripper wins for ‘Juno’”). Assymetical black bob plus sailor tatto0 plus sexy vintage print sheath equals my kind of hot.

Best Actress surprise Marion Coutaillard was absolutely amazing (and dead-on) as the perpetually drunk, bawdy and yet very child-like French superstar chanson Edith Piaf in La Vie en Rose (which had a limited distribution in the U.S.). She looked smashing in a white couture mermaid-style gown accessoried smartly by a long diamond necklace.

 

Daniel Day Lewis, winner for Best Actor in There Will Be Blood (his big comeback film), was caught sporting a lot of hair and a large pair of mearrings (man-earrings). I love Europe, I love Day-Lewis–but oh why is man-jewelry and floppy hair so popular there, especially in the post-40 arty set (think Johnny Depp post move to Paris)?

He and Rebecca Miller (daughter of playwright Arthur and wife of Day-Lewis) made quite the eccentric splash on the red carpet. Check the footwear on both of them. Love hers; hate his. Still, it’s refreshing to see some people waving the freak flag, a pleasant distraction from the polyuthertane Hollywood mold.

 

Merritt Melts Away the Snow: The Magnetic Fields, live at Town Hall (2/22/08)

I should preface this post with how I got into the Magnetic Fields, because it is a very Stephen Merritt-appropriate story.

During the summer between my freshman and sophomore years in college I was stuck in my hometown in PA after a 3-week trip to Ireland where I blew all my money on booze, shopping, food, and oh, well, more booze. In order to pay off the credit card bill I had accrued, I had to go back and live at home and work in a discount basket store, The Basket Case. It resembled a mid-western basement of a dead woman’s home–all cobwebs and faded decorative wreathes and dusty silk flowers. I spent five days a week trapped in a dungeon of twine, haggled by tourists. My only companions were my substance-addled coworkers: a creepy Phishhead from New Jersey who would caress my arm all the time and beg me to come out and “smoke the Herb” with him on the Delaware River (hello date rape) and an 80-year-old alcoholic who would put whiskey in her coffee cup during lunch. I spent most of that summer getting drunk with my friend Zach at my dad’s house after work, occasionally falling, in an inebriated stupor, over the cats I was “sitting” while my dad was away at his boyfriend’s house.

One of the few things that brightened this time was my correspondence with a lovely, sexually ambiguous film major from college who wrote me letters and sent me vaguely romantic things. One of these things was a mix tape (a real mix tape, remember those?) of Magnetic Fields/Stephen Merritt songs. What better music to listen to than Merritt’s irony-thick songs of love and disappointment? The basket store only had a tape player, so it was perfect to lighten my mood (or drown my misery in, same difference) during those long boring days. Also, it pissed off the hippie, who complained this “wack shit” sounded like, “gay space music.”

Ok, back to 2008: accompanied by Gina (of PFS, graduate secretary, and professional blogging fame) we walked into Town Hall, to witness a truly bizarre opening act. I still can’t find out what it was, despite extensive Googling. We came in a few minutes late, so we missed their introduction. If anyone can tell me, I’d really appreciate it. I can’t find their name anywhere! I can only describe it as three guys on stage with some sound effects, an accordion, and a spoken word piece that sounded like a child’s story crossed with Kakfa’s The Metaphorphosis (there was a creature named Gregor), executed in an uncomfortably rapid fashion.

However, that bizarre spectacle didn’t last long. The Magnetic Fields were right on schedule, going on around 8:45 pm. They played for about an hour, took an intermission and went on for another hour or so. Wow! Worth my 30 bucks… over two hours of music! All in all, it was quite a night—an experience! Merritt was mumbly and deadpan, Claudia was giddy and droll, and the song selection was a wonderful retrospective of songs from the past and present (even featuring a 6ths song, “Give Me Back My Dreams”). I’ve posted the set-list here (which I took from Brooklyn Vegan, which also features a hilarious string of posts that allude to the absurd possibility of Merritt being in, uh, the Jesus and Mary Chain???). I wasn’t taking notes the whole time, but it looks pretty accurate.

Last night’s set-list :

California Girls
I Don’t Believe You
All My Little Words
Come Back From San Francisco
Old Fools
Xavier Says
Walking My Gargoyle
Too Drunk To Dream
Till The Bitter End
The Night You Can’t Remember
I Thought You Were My Boyfriend
Water Torture
————
Lover From the Moon
I Wish I Had an Evil Twin
Give Me Back My Dreams
Grand Canyon
Papa Was A Rodeo
Drive On, Driver
The Nun’s Litany
The Tiny Goat
Smoke and Mirrors
Zombie Boy
————
Three Way
Take Ecstasy With Me
The Book of Love

The most salient aspect of the show, is that for a band (and the prime guiding force behind it, Mr. Merritt) that has defined a great deal of its work by its electronic stylings (often cosmic; sometimes even disco-y), meticulous arrangement, and fuzzy vocal distortion (which is nicely showcased on the appropriately named new album Distortion), the music lost absolutely nothing in the acoustic execution. The simplicity and superb musicianship of this stripped down set was no less breathtaking than their highly produced albums.

I realized as they were going into “Take Ecstasy with Me” during the encore, that perhaps this is the true test of a greatness in terms of songwriting: when work is distilled to its basic components and the quality remains not merely intact, but sounds even better, shedding further light on the power of the work. The New York Times review of Thursday’s show (I saw the second in a 4-night series of shows at Town Hall) conveyed disappointment about this approach (“Taking the cacophony out of the new songs didn’t ruin them, but it did pull them back into a familiar zone. For anyone with lofty hopes that the Magnetic Fields would stretch their music, the usual refinement was a little bit of a letdown”). Contrary to the Times’ review, I found it refreshing that a band who pushes the limits of sound experimentation within the pop paradigm can still prove that they are extraordinary musicians in the traditional sense as well.

And since this is a long post about a show you may not have seen, well, my reward to you is a free music smattering of some of what they played. Apparently free music is a draw. So I give you Mr. Merritt’s wonderful music, including !!!’s deliriously good cover of “Take Ecstasy with Me.” Enjoy!

Three Way

Take Ecstasy with Me (!!!)

Lovers from the Moon (a very old favorite)

Come Back From San Francisco

Arthur Russell and the first downloadable mix!

So, I’ve finally figured out how to put music online for all S.N.O.B fans to access. I realized that if Bradford Cox (of Deerhunter, Atlas Sound, and blogging fame) can find time to be sober enough to post mixes (which are quite good, check them out), fuck if I can’t do it too.

Speaking of frail, avant boy/men, so recently I discovered Arthur Russell, whose experimental dance music is a beautiful blend of ambient sounds, disco beats, cello, and “golly gee the world is big isn’t it?” lyricism. Russell died in the early 90’s of AIDS in relative obscurity outside the artsy music circles in New York. Only recently has his music been opened to a wider audience with the reissue of some of his albums. Rolling Stone wrote in 2004, “If Nick Drake had lived long enough to make records with New Order, they might have sounded something like this” of the LP World of Echo and it’s not a bad analogy. However, I think it’s a bit more like if Daniel Johnston made records with Autechre, but it’s similar point being made about what a frontrunner he was in terms of hybrid music. Russell’s story is as fascinating (he played cello for Ginsberg’s poetry readings, was an early East Village pioneer in the 1970’s and collaborated with Philip Glass and David Bryne to name a few) as his music is original.

 

Arthur Russell is, as my friend Josh put it, “dance music you can’t dance to.” This brought me back to IBM (Intelligent Dance Music), a form of “electronica” which hit its height in the mid-90s, but is constantly being revised and revisited by artists such as Boards of Canada, Architecture in Helsinki, and The Field. The pioneers of the 90’s boom, like Autechre, Richard D. James (Aphex Twin) and Squarepusher, are still quite active as well. Here is a sampling of my homage to IDM and to Russell, a mix full of intellectually important bleeps, bings! and scratches. But with some faux world music from Williasmburg and a little neo-Italo Disco (hello Simian Mobile Disco!) thrown in there. Uh, and Daft Punk and Radiohead too. 

2.20.08

Arthur Russell–Calling All Kids: This song is like if the producers of PBS’s Square One took drugs and hung out with Steve Reich (see below). Which, if you think about the early 80’s, is really not that improbable of a scenario.

Estro–Driven 

I Want I Want—Digitalism 

Every Day—AFX: Richard D. James channeling Mia Farrow in Rosemary’s Baby.

Wait for the Summer—Yeasayer: I tried describing Yeasayer the other night and I ended up saying something along the lines of “It’s like when Eno and Byrne collaborated, but uh, less Eno and more lesbian.” That’s totally not the right way to describe them (that actually sounds kind of like Thievery Corporation, come to think of it), but I love this sorta World sound, as made by post-TV-on-the-Radio (yes I am told that is a genre now) Brooklynites.  

Sleep Deprivation—Simian Mobile Disco 

Neuschenee 78–Neu! : I am also a fan of Germans channeling world music in the 1970s.

Over the Ice—The Field  

Up the Ladder—Radiohead: Best track, in my opinion, off the second cd of the In-Rainbows package. “I’m a puhhh-ppet/you can almost see the string.” Oh Thom! You and your masochism!

Montreal—Autechre 

Musique—Daft Punk: I have a lot of fond memories from high school of driving around in my first boyfriend’s car listening to Daft Punk’s Alive during the spring of the first year of the 21st century. He drove a Volvo station wagon.  He also wore one of those backpacks that cross across your chest and fasten with velcro (does anyone remember those?). And once he wore man-capris (manpris?). I always thought he was a little gay for liking his Volvo and Daft Punk so much, not to mention wearing that backpack and those manpris, but I accredited it all to the fact that he is French. However, in my dating life post high school, I’ve been involved a lot of guys who looooove Daft Punk. Dudes who don’t wear man-pris. So, I guess I was wrong. I have come to realize it’s perfectly normal for straight guys to like Daft Punk, French or non-French. It still perplexes me a bit, but uh, Daft Punk is still awesome! Those backpacks, though, well, not so much. Ditto the man-pris.

My red hot car– Sqaurepusher

End of the World—The Shocking Pinks: Newish dream-pop, distributed in the US from our friends at DFA.

Blue Jeans 2.0—Ladytron: I also like when 21st Century Germans channel the Bangles as well.

Electric Counterpoint/Slow–Steve Reich                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Enjoy! And please let me know if you have any problems.

LARPING: high brow/low brow at its best

We all have our weaknesses.

For example, I have a friend who obsessively loves anything having to do with feral children. Meanwhile, many people love to watch groups of fat people on TV try to loose weight while competing against other groups of fat people trying to loose weight, often in organized duels. Me? I am a sucker for any footage on tape that documents Live Action Role Playing, or Larping. I have never actually participated in this kind of activity, although my week-long stint as an authentically dressed “American Girl”  on vacation in Colonial Williamsburg as a pre-teen comes mighty close. I am what you might call a vicarious larper.

So, today’s Thank Goodness it’s Friday (and not Valentine’s Day for another year!) post features two videos that document variations on larping. The first one that I share with you is a video of “classic” style Larping, with young warriors in costumes and evil-doers of increased height in non-human masks duking it out. Watch as a human player strikes one mythological figure with fake lightening bolts:

My friend Tyler and I have been watching this video for years and IT NEVER GETS OLD.

And now, I show you a new a variation on Larping, one which I just learned about yesterday: Quidditch.  Harry Potter aficionados will recognize this as the game that mythical Hogwarts’ students play where they fly around on broomsticks. Here, college students (at Vassar, nonetheless!) prepare for a big game, sans magic ball and airborne ability (but with rules that account for simulation of such activity)

Daydream Artshow

Sonic Youth Art show coming up!

And for the hell of it, inspired by this new information, I thought I would share my new favorite pic from Fashion Week featuring Kim Gordon AND Ryan Adams, an unlikely fashionista.

Adams dresses kind of like Ray and I did in college:

Speaking of Ray and our old Progressive selves, uh, do note how I also have not said anything about how Obama killed in Washington, DC. KILLED. Oh whoops.

Free Shit from Dan Deacon

Dan Deacon’s albums before Spiderman of the Rings available for free!!!!

Re-live the art school experience. Or live vicariously through Dan and revel in the brain cells that you saved by not attending SUNY Purchase.

 

Entitled “Me Looking Retarded at SUNY Purchase” from Deacon’s Myspace

HE WAS THERE: D.A. Pennebaker

Accompanied by my friend Gina, last Monday I had the pleasure to view D.A. Pennebaker’s brilliant documentary Don’t Look Back which chronicles Bob Dylan’s tour through England in 1965. And thanks to the wonderful program direction of the Film Forum, we not only viewed a beautiful restored copy on the big screen, but we also got to listen to Mr. Pennebaker speak about the film in person. 

Don’t Look Back is unarguably monumental. It’s not merely one of the first rock n’ roll documentaries, but it one of the first American films to showcase the Cinéma Vérité technique, defined as “a television-style technique of recording life and people as they really are, using hand-held cameras, natural sound and the minimum of rehearsal and editing.”Or as Pennebaker so bluntly stated: “Well, it’s like your first date; you make it up as you go along.” You can listen to his refreshingly unpretentious perspective here in the audio of the Q&A from last Monday evening.

Furthermore, it’s not just an important documentary in film history, but it is an unparallelled document of what I’d argue as the most artistically important era of Dylan’s career. It’s also the most intimate view of the genius that exists–even with the advent of the Scorsese documentary, a far more traditional example of the documentary medium. The great irony of this work is that although it is so intimate in scope, the subject never lets the audience get remotely close to his inner being. Unlike another great backstage documentary Meeting People is Easy, where we see Radiohead’s Thom Yorke unraveled on tour, Pennebaker’s portrait of Dylan showcases him as an aloof waif, a unwavering persona who reacts to fame with alternating moments of disdain and absurd humor.

Throughout his jaunt in England, Dylan is, I can only assume, stoned out of his mind. He chainsmokes. He insults journalist after journalist (often with hilarious results). He wastes a lot of time backstage and in hotel rooms with his entourage of foppish hanger-ons and beautiful mod women. Drunk, high, and gleefully sophomoric, Dylan and his pack also only vaguely tolerate a very annoying and much older Joan Baez (who disappears midway through film, for the good of all of us). Donovan, the subject of both jealousy and derision, is their most constant butt of jokes. Check out this clip of  a very drunk Alan Price (from the seminal Brit Invation band The Animals) and Dylan discussing Donovan’s merits.

  

Even though the majority of footage shows Dylan as a hipper-than-hell jokester (whose jokes are often edged with genuine cruelty), the actual concert footage is breathtaking. Looking back now on so many Dylan eras (check out, if you have not already, Todd’s Haynes’ I’m Not There, still at Film Forum, for an avant-garde exploration of them, not to mention Cate Blanchett’s dead-on impersonation), it is refreshing to watch one single era. There is no, quite simply, no better way to understand Dylan’s importance than to see the brash genius up on stage alone, haunting and historic, armed only with lyrics, his harmonica and a guitar.

D.A. Pennebaker also directed another one of my favorite music docs, the concert video Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars: The Motion Picture (1973), which documents the last concert of the Ziggy era, where David Bowie and his backing group The Spiders from Mars perform at the Hammersmith Odeon. This is the famous “Rock n’ Roll Suicide” show when Ziggy proclaimed it to be their final concert (leaving a perplexed and forlorn audience). Ziggy is the last time the world would see Mark Bolan and David Bowie do that dirty oh so dirty! guitar fellating thing and the last time Bowie would don feathers in such a glorious and beyond-human fashion.

 

Unless, of course, you watched Jonathan Reys Meyers as the Bowie/sorta Eno/sorta Lou Reed avatar in Todd Haynes’ Velvet Goldmine…hmm, do you think Mr. Haynes might have a bit of a Pennebaker fetish?

Politics, Raves, and the Gangsta Party

In the last two weeks I have received emails from political organizations like Moveon.org urging me to support Obama on Super Tuesday (today). I’ve also read Caroline Kennedy’s piece in the Times. I even read the New York Post’s endorsement (bizarro).  By far the strangest endorsement, though, was one that I received yesterday via list-serve from The Danger, a party collective that throws raves and spectacles that often involve fire-eating and other circus skills. Think Burning Man and some turntables in a creaky warehouses in Bushwick and you’re not far off visualising THE DANGER.

Reveler from “One Night of Fire Party” in 2007, as hosted by The Danger, photo credit Sarah Ferguson

And then today my friend Ray forwarded me The American Apparel official endorsement email. If you go to the AA website they have a very sexy pic of Barack wearing leather jacket (circa the early 80s). A second later a picture of a young (he was young?) McCain flashes by. Here’s the endorsement:

“We urge voters to consider Obama on the Democratic side.We urge voters to consider McCain on the Republican side.Why? Because of their honesty on the issue of immigration, the most significant civil rights concern the country has faced in 50 years.”

 LOVES

So, on your way to to the rave, while clad in sparkly leggings and a gold lame bra, do stop by the polls please. (Please note that this is not in any way to make light of today’s importance. I’m on board for Obama. I just get a kick out of ultra-Progressive ravers and spandex-peddling slimy CEO’s like Dove Charney telling me who to vote for.)

While it seems as though every celebrity has a candidate they are supporting, there are some in the entertainment realm who are still fiercely independent. Such as Snoop Dog, a member of “the gangsta party.” Check him out on Larry King. This is one of my favorite interviews in a long while. “Say it like you mean it!”

Life During Wartime: Winter Fashion Week 2008

This weekend featured a very important sporting event and some pretty expensive commercials (featuring Justin Timberlake, a very creepy baby, frightened furry animals, and a lot of cars). Meanwhile, on the heated political front, we all got to watch the  pre-SUPER TUESDAY pitches from presidential candidates. Go vote tomorrow!

One phenonemon going on in my own city that I ignored completely until today is the New York Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week, currently taking over Bryant Park. A biannual event, this season is my favorite, as it showcases collections for the upcoming fall (in this case, fall 2008). Layers! Dark colors! Fuzzy sweaters! Long coats! Scarves! Boots! I love cold weather attire, if not the actual cold itself.

Fashion writers have been talking about the “return to rock n’ roll” of this particular fashion week (Joan Jett was there!), now into day four. Well, I’m still waiting for Marc Jacobs (how many hours late this year?), Heatherette (always a hoot),  and Zac Posen (my favorite!) but so far, what I have picked up on is a 1930’s and 40’s international life-during wartime aesthetic.

Diane Von Furstenberg played it safe but sweet with a 1940’s war bride in Britain look. She’s still in her slip because she had to run to the bomb shelter before breakfast.

 

Rag and Bone kept it blatently militaristic

Rock & Republic (Victoria Beckham’s fav label) had Evil Nazi Spy attire going on. Looks a bit like the Nazi who hunted Indiana Jones in Raiders of the Lost Ark, yes? Actually it’s supposed to be “Gangster chic” but I get more German sadist vibe.

Y-3 choose more of a Maoist drab thing

Meanwhile on the celebrity front (which my dear friend Astrid of Getty Images is busily covering every night this week), my favorite celeb shot far (seen watching the Miss Sixty show):

Jesus Chloe, could you look any angrier? Then again, if I had to look at this I might make that face too:

Dear god! Featuring a brand name on tights?