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CAN SOMEBODY TELL ME IF ANYTHING HAPPENED AT THE ANIMAL COLLECTIVE SHOW LAST NIGHT??


Posted by Hartley On Mar 5, 2010

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Oh, Hello I'm looking for the Donnie Darko 2 set....

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This is what "indie" looks like in 2010.

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 So glad I wasn't stoned for this.

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WTF IS THIS? I do not know.

So me and the lady were (un)lucky enough to attend the giant art-world meets music-world circle jerk that was the Danny Perez x Animal Collective installation not-so-pretentiously titled, My Vagina Listens To Obscure Italo Disco Records (ed note. actual title: Tranverse Temporal Gyrus. SO CLOSE THO) last night at the Guggenheim Museum. As I was expecting, nothing happened. Nothing. And the lack of day-after blog coverage proves it. Of course this is somewhat of an overstatement because any time an individual spends three plus hours in any one place a variety of "stuff" is bound to go down. Stuff like people watching a man-circle of 6 skinny gays all wearing vests talk about the recent Jeff Koons/New Museum controversy heatedly. Stuff like watching 17 year olds who just took the train into the big awesome city on shrooms proudly donning Lord of The Flies-like face paint to express their love for a band who themselves like costumes and neon and the trappings of raver/stoner/druggy culture a bit more than any guys in their 30's really should. But yeah, face paint is really hot right now. If the scene at the "Gugg" last night taught me anything it was that thanks to Avatar face paint and native american prints are going to replace "plaid" as the go-to hipster clothing trend of choice. 

I also learned that I can get pretty drunk off two cups of Absinthe. And thank Hashem for the Absinthe. Because when you show up to the Guggenheim Museum at 9pm on any given Thursday night to see three grown men play dress up as the evil bunny from Donnie Darko and stand completely still in front of neon orange orbs in a pseudo-ice-cave looking thing for 3 plus hours to a "soundtrack" of drones on a repetitive 20 minute loop, you are going to need multiple cups of Absinthe. Maybe more than multiple cups. The Gugg's radical impractical drink ticket system (Absinthe was 3 (!) tixxx) duped me into thinking I was at a Carnival and I kept winning awesome liquor from my incredible Skee Ball skills despite the fact that I actually paid like 30 beans for the drinks. Still pretty cool. There was also much less facial hair than I expected. Still half the audience looked like they were stoned NYU students. The rest were a smattering of overdressed (and by "overdressed" I mean not wearing a hoodie or face-paint) art world Stans, tourists, dazed groupies, record store jerks, the random girl WHO WAS THERE WITH HER PARENTS which I support and think is totally awesome and whose father was wearing the most unintentionally dope Cosby sweater I've seen in a while, Ryan "I still owe Hartley like $300 for a bunch of Pitchfork reviews from '04" Schreiber, a svelte-looking Craig Finn of The Hold Steady, and, uh, me. The lines for the bathroom were long.

After transversing the Guggenheim's iconic rotunda a bunch of times, it had become rather obvious to both the lady and myself that nothing had really happened, and perhaps nothing was going to happen, and the more we stood waiting for the statue-esque men in bunny costumes to do something the less likely it seemed that that would actually ever happen. We got tired of waiting for Guffman. We left. 

In other news, while I was uptown this happened:

Sadly, Spoon did not don Bunny costumes.

 

 

 

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