For many, circus clowns are a living nightmare — a childhood trauma linked with garishly overdrawn features and zany balloon animals. Stanislav Knyazkov is no such clown. Though he’s performing as part of the duo Stas and Vas at the Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey “Fully Charged” circus this weekend, the Russian native opts for a minimalist costume. He sports makeup that’s more Ziggy Stardust than Bozo the Clown, so those with not-so-fond circus memories might have less to fear from the latest leg of “The Greatest Show On Earth.”
Nonetheless, Knyazkov asserts that clowns of all kinds deserve more credit for their unique brand of comedy. Interspersed between high-thrill acts, it’s the job of the clown to bring some much-needed laughter to the show.
“We recharge the audience,” Knyazkov said, dutifully plugging the circus’s techno theme.
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(Source: signonsandiego.com)
This article was originally published in the UCSD Guardian.
For two days, female musical comedy duo Garfunkel & Oates brainstormed what a penis looks like. The girls, actresses Riki Lindhome (Garfunkel, 32) and Kate Micucci (Oates, 30), were writing the lyrics for “I Don’t Understand Job” — a little ditty about uncovering the mysteries of third base. Their mission: A clever way of describing male genitalia.
They eventually settled on “Silly Putty Pac Man ghost” and “Darth Vader Pez dispenser,” though the song still took them a total of five months to write, Lindhome told the Guardian during a phone call from Los Angeles.
“Sometimes things will just come to us,” Lindhome said. “It will be quick. We’ll write it in an hour and then maybe rewrite it the next day. And then sometimes it’s a five-month process.”
Clearly, Garfunkel & Oates are serious about their dick jokes.
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(Source: ucsdguardian.org)
This article was originally published in the Night & Day section of the San Diego Union-Tribune.
Those familiar with stand-up comedian Bobcat Goldthwait’s yelping shtick from the ’80s and ’90s (made famous in movies like “Police Academy 2”) may plan on bringing earplugs to his show Saturday at Ramona Main Stage.
But even though his brand of black humor has inspired countless others — Mitch Hedberg, Patton Oswalt — he’s since switched gears, directing films (Sundance selections “World’s Greatest Dad” and “Sleeping Dogs Lie”) rather than performing as his famously manic character.
Now back on the stand-up circuit, the comedian just plays himself — not that the routine is completely absent of madcap humor; there’s simply less fear of pyromania.
So this time, expect a much balder Goldthwait to deliver more traditional punch lines, rather than his old style of high-pitched, acerbic garbling.
(Source: signonsandiego.com)
This article was originally published in the Night & Day section of the San Diego Union-Tribune.
Is there any alt-rock band as absurd as Weezer? After its self-titled debut was released in 1994, the members of the band were bespectacled heroes, but after the 1996 follow-up “Pinkerton,” the group plunged into voluntary obscurity — even as the commercial failure became a cult classic for a generation of emo geeks.
Recent years are even stranger. There’s a music video with the Muppets, logo-emblazoned Snuggies, an album named after a “Lost” character. It’s as if Weezer is simply a platform for a series of hyper-meta jokes that no one else is in on, especially fans who cling to their copies of “Pinkerton” and pray for a revival of frontman Rivers Cuomo’s ’90s angst.
That day will probably never come, so expect the unexpected when the band hits the Seaside Stage at the Del Mar Racetrack on Saturday.
Case in point: On the phone from New Jersey, drummer Patrick Wilson is distracted. Band mate Brian Bell tunes his guitar and subwoofers pound in the background as Weezer prepares for a collaborative show with The Flaming Lips (both bands, performing side by side, trading off between tracks). It was Weezer’s management’s idea, Wilson thinks, and it’s the day of the gig and they’re still not sure what they’re doing.
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(Source: signonsandiego.com)
This article was originally published online at signonsandiego.com
Last month Ryan Raddon — otherwise known as electronic dance music (EDM) artist Kaskade — sent an innocent tweet to his followers, inviting them to the Hollywood premiere of the documentary film “Electric Daisy Carnival Experience,” where he promised a free DJ set to fans on the street.
But there would be no party: His declaration of “ME+BIG SPEAKERS+MUSIC=BLOCK PARTY!!!” that day transformed downtown Los Angeles into a near-riot zone. The crowds outside Grauman’s Chinese Theatre grew to the thousands, culminating in a standoff between ravers and the police, who ordered the Kaskade fans to leave.
But the kids just wanted to dance.
Clearly, EDM is having its moment. When the genre first broke in the 90s — “Jock Jams,” Moby and all — many thought it was the future of pop music. But it fell back into the underground, only to emerge a decade later with Lady Gaga and deadmau5 leading the way.
Hence, this summer’s IDentity festival (headlined and curated by Kaskade) — the first traveling electronic music festival, modeled like the dance version of the Warped Tour or Ozzfest. It stops at Cricket Wireless Amphitheatre in Chula Vista Friday. (For tickets, click here. )
We caught up with Kaskade to talk about the future of EDM and how ID Fest has spread the raver gospel.
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(Source: signonsandiego.com)
This interview was originally published in the UCSD Guardian — unfortunately, the online link has since been removed.
For some of us, the bips and beeps of the Game Boy are the soundtrack to childhood. The little ditty it played as you mastered Pokémon got stuck in your head for days. And nothing could encapsulate the frustration of stacking ill-shaped boxes more than the Tetris theme. Kids once had only vinyl records and rock ‘n’ roll — we got Nintendo and infectious bleeps.
Now artists around the world are tapping into that influence, composing new melodies from forgotten gaming technologies. These artists create chiptunes — aka 8-bit, bitpop and chip music — by hacking and tweaking vintage video game systems, such as the Nintendo Game Boy and Nintendo Entertainment System, so that they work like a sequencer with four different channels.
For Sixth College junior Patrick Trinh, the genre has been a revelation. He started teaching himself chiptunes last spring and now — under stage name Space Town Savior — has already landed himself an opening gig for mash-up DJs the Hood Internet at the Loft next Tuesday, among other shows with bitpop artists around Southern California.
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This review was originally published in the UCSD Guardian — unfortunately, the online link has since been removed.
It wouldn’t be entirely out of character for Drake to show up to Sun God in a wheelchair; after all, the world was first introduced to Aubrey Drake Graham as the paralyzed ex-b-baller Jimmy on “Degrassi: The Next Generation.” Since then, the Canadian has graduated the teen-soap gig for songwriting sessions with Lil Wayne, rumored romantic exploits with Rihanna and a Grammy nomination — not a bad upgrade.
You might think the kid is hip-hop royalty already, but he hasn’t actually released a proper album: Major-label debut Thank Me Later doesn’t drop until June 15. All Drake has to prove that he’s worthy of Jay-Z and Eminem’s love is hit single “Best I Ever Had,” his spot on “Forever” and a few forgettable (if promising) mixtapes.
Last year’s So Far Gone is one such promise: Though Drake’s lyrics are often ridiculous —“I really can’t complain, everything’s kosher/ Two thumbs up, Ebert and Roeper” — they’re never boring, and his beats are always made by the best.
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This review was originally published in the UCSD Guardian — unfortunately, the online link has since been removed.
Stumbling awkwardly on the red carpet at the Grammys last January, the members of MGMT slid right into the unfortunate, disgruntled indie-band stereotype they seemed destined for since the day “Time to Pretend” began infiltrating deejay playlists. During the band’s interviews, lead singer Andrew VanWyngarden’s painful unease in the wake of the group’s sudden commercial success gave him the air of an electro-pop revival of Kurt Cobain.
And with the arrival of sophomore effort Congratulations, the band’s mole-like introversion has only gotten worse.
It’s as if MGMT decided to make the In Utero to their Nevermind. Unlike catchy debut Oracular Spectacular, the band’s latest is defiantly anti-commercial, strange and ultimately polarizing.
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This installment of my column, “Dodging the Horizon” — entitled “I Could Never Whip My Hair” — was originally published in the UCSD Guardian. You can find more of “Dodging the Horizon” here.
Like most girls, when I was 10 years old I wanted to be a star. After dragging my parents to *NSYNC and Christina Aguilera concerts, and wearing out my copies of Spice World and the “Footloose” soundtrack (don’t ask), I decided it was my turn to own the spotlight.
This dream went beyond the typical singing into the hairbrush for an audience of my favorite Barbies shtick. I trained to become a triple-threat.
It went well, kind of.
Sick of watching me attempt to tap dance around the house, my mom enrolled me in dance classes. I was pretty good, and thus began my descent into the world of competitive dance, where makeup on youngins isn’t JonBenet creepy, but a necessary component to a first-place performance.
The musical side of stardom, however, was a disaster. My East Bay Area elementary school was too poor to let us all play in the band, so those of us with musical aspirations were forced to take a test to determine our aptitude. At the tender age of nine, my dreams of rockin’ the drums or the clarinet were dashed — apparently, I wasn’t good enough.
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This article was originally published in the Weekend Books section of the San Diego Union-Tribune.
Revisiting 9/11 is never easy, but for the 10th anniversary of the tragedy, the publishing world has released a quiet stream of commemorative nonfiction. Though the discourse surrounding the terrorist attacks eventually turned toward politics and war, this selection of books brings the focus back to stories of heroism, loss and recovery at the heart of the fallen Twin Towers.
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