The metal stairs that lead you down at least 3 stories underground seem never to end. And as a matter of fact, as you go down there’s a profound, gravely silence.
The club is a succession of small mirrored rooms, with the overall feeling of being lost in the secret chambers of a pyramid. I even found myself walking like an Egyptian.
One of the redesigned caves is a low lit lounge called the Art Library. David Lynch selected a small number of monolith books to decorate the 2 glossy shelves that run along the curved walls. Waiting for Housse de Racket to play, and surrounded by young couples kissing, I picked up one of the coffin-entombed coffee table books, only to realize it was too dark to see.
I thought I would be more into Housse de Racket’s name (it’s better than Housse de Couette, but not as poetic as Uneven Dusk, my former band’s name) than their music, but they were damn good live, they really shaked the Silencio. And now, I can’t get their hit number « Château » out of my head, while I would normally have preferred the more psychedelic « Empire ».
I was walking down rue de Richelieu in Paris recently when I stopped by Kitsuné, the music label and clothing company created by Gildas and Masaya. By coincidence they were showing some drawings from their collaboration with Jean-Philippe Delhomme.
Gildas Loaec and Masaya Kuroki
Gildas just returned from deejaying in some distant location of the world. It’s always difficult to figure out what time it is for him. He ends his email conversations with phrases like « I’ve to work now » and it’s 2 am In Kyoto or Bangkok. I’m always trying to learn the secrets of his trade when we have lunch, in case one day somebody asks me to play my box of psychedelic records in front of a roaring crowd.
Masaya gave me a plaid shirt from their autumn collection, which would nicely replaced mine from the Brooklyn Flea, and a new Guards 7 inch. He guessed Guards was more down my alley than Housse de Racket (although I love their name). And he is right, play “don’t wake the dead“, and the world is yours. At least, temporary.
Two examples of the works shown:
« Neville thought the three men will be great on his Fashion blog. »
« Man, have you ever thought of doing jazz album covers ? »
Until October 5th, 52 rue de Richelieu, 75001 Paris
On September 9th Andy did a one day installation at the Half Gallery.
In a work entitled « Casa Grande AZ 1972-1975 » 30 cacti of various shapes were arrayed on the floor, while black ballons floated above, up against the ceiling.
As the gallery text said : « Andy Spade’s first solo show offers a glimpse into his youth growing up in a small town Arizona town. In a household with a new stepfather, he and his brothers felt the tension between his fits of rage and depression and his mother’s blind, yet always sunny disposition. This installation represents the sublimation of childhood disenfranchisement. »
The deflating balloons exploded when low enough to touch the cacti, and their number gradually diminished.
This slow but inevitable process went on all night behind the gallery’s closed door.
Paul Simon sings « The Sound of Silence »
A police officer wipes his eyes at the end of the song.
A thundering biker stopped for photos.
It’s one thing to be possessed by clothes, it’s another to own them.
This is why Colette, during this last July Men Shows in Paris, held an ironing class, exclusively for men, in its basement Water bar.
It is no irony to think that this would prevent some Fashion-obsessed among us running their shirts to the nearest cleaner (if not their mum) likely to return a Junya Watanabe in the state of a stretch of toilet paper.
A customer puzzled by the scene
A dozen ironing tables had been installed like in a classroom, all equiped with Rowenta steam power stations which were as intimidating as a Hummer for those who have never driven before.
Jocelyne proudly wearing her medal of « Meilleure Ouvrière de France »
Jocelyne, a professor at the École de Gouvernantes et Majordomes, started by teaching us the meaning of washing instructions icons. For some, it was already too late, their shirt had probably shrunk 3 sizes. A student raised his arm in alarm that a symbol inside his shirt was not mentioned in Jocelyn’s exhaustive list.
« Is it Japanese ? … » she asked, raising her eyebrows. The dude confirmed : it was a Tsumori Chisato. « Well, if it’s Japanese… », and she shrugged, with a smile.
A participant discovers the complexity of ironing.
Several unexperienced scenesters, in fear of being unsubscribed from the newsletter by bringing the wrong shirt had brought their best attire, all fresh from the washing machine, crumbled like a handkerchief long forgotten in a back pocket.
For my part, I had brought one of my signature worn out flea market plaid shirts. Some of the dudes glanced over at it with envy, thinking it was an advance sample from Maison Kitsuné’s «Brokeback Mountain » new collection.
In fact, I had just got it back from the cleaner, and had to pull it into a ball and sit on it during my Metro ride over, so it would be wrinkled enough to be ironed.
Jocelyne looked over my shoulder while I was passing over a part of the collar that had stayed flat from the cleaner, and congratulated me.
Writer and blogger Borey meticulously working his shirt
When we finally came to the folding lesson, how keeping our folds symetrical that one shoulder is not twice as wide as the other, there were very little time left for the pants.
This saved me from the dilemma of having to ridiculously iron my jeans, or confess Jocelyn I never wear any other sort of pants.
In fact, it took so much time to perfect the shirt, that none was left for ironing the torn jeans I had brought in a plastic bag.