Tag Archives: music

Sep 22 2014

Warm Fuzzy of the Day

In response to Burner demand, we’ve created a new category for posts: Warm Fuzzies. These will be inspirational, positive, heart-warming, soulful, loving, joyful stories.

We’ll start this week on a positive note, by considering Alternative Ways of humans living together in smaller groups. Back in the BS (Before Safari camps) days, Burning Man used to be a bit of an experiment in this type of thing.

One such tribe that does this in an innovative and effetctive way is the Himba of Namibia. They name their children after a song its mother hears before its conception. The whole village sings their song at special times.

From thefreethoughtproject.com:

here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home. 

Here is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their song to them.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.

You may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find your way home.

The tribe in this story is known as the Himba Tribe. They live in the northern parts of Namibia on the banks of the Kunene River.

Read more at http://thefreethoughtproject.com/tribe-africa-birth-date-child-counted-born/#dgxjEcw2mTALWtJi.99

 

 

 

Sep 19 2014

VICE: 11 Types of Assholes Who Attend Music Festivals

Click here for all 11 at Vice, we picked our Top 5:

 

re-blogged from vice.com

 

THE 11 TYPES OF ASSHOLES WHO ATTEND MUSIC FESTIVALS

OBJECTIVELY CORRECT LISTS

By Dan Ozzi

Festivals are, without question, the absolute worst fucking way to see live music. It’s always pouring with rain, you’re in the middle of some parking lot or field, you have to stand the distance of 52 football fields away from the stage, and the bands sound like they’re coming out of a 30-year-old boombox. But the worst part—worse than the £7 beers or the inevitable admission bracelet tanlines—is the people. Every single person who attends a music festival is a giant, raging asshole. And they all manage to fall into one of these categories…

 CHIEF FUCKFACE

This shithead did not get the memo issued over the last several years that the trend of incorporating a Native American war bonnet into your all-neon-and-sleeveless festival outfit pisses a lot of people off. But in his well-reasoned defense: “Chill out, bro!” Don’t worry though, he will treat it with the reverence the headdress signifies by leaving it on the floor of the parking lot on the way out.

THE FASHION BLOGGER


Photos via this goddamn fashion blog

This Pinterest-obsessed fashionista always has a great time at the summer’s hottest music festivals despite spending weeks laboring over an outfit that will be covered in sweat and beer and whatever the fuck neon glitter is being sprayed at people within 20 minutes. But as long as she can get some Instagrams likes out of it, she’s done her self-appointed pretend job for the day. She has really tied her accessories of a thousand jangly metal bracelets, gigantic heart-shaped sunglasses, flower crown, and strappy shoes together with her very tiny tattoo of an abstract shape like a triangle or some shit on her wrist which apparently is symbolic somehow. Oh and also, she thinks there was music going on or something?

THE PARTY PHOTOGRAPHER


via Flickr

Are you a young, attractive person having a good time? This guy would like to capture your young, attractive good time and then sell it to a company who targets your key demo in their #youth #brand #marketing. But don’t let the looming sense of corporate profiteering make you self-conscious about having fun with your fellow carefree millennials, er, friends. Smile!

 

THE FRAT BRO

This pop-collared-soon-to-be-shirtless douchestick used all his vacation days from his internetship at Virgin Active and has been hitting the gym all winter and is ready to rage to some Outkast! Most of the things he’s wearing are salmon-colored and he really, really, really wants you to know how much money he makes and/or how often he goes to the gym.

 

THE ATTENTION WHORE

Even in a sea of 30,000 people, this fuckwad just has to stand out. He’s got to have a “thing” to make everyone notice and remember him. Maybe he’s wearing the green man suit or is dressed like Alan from The Hangover. Fuck this guy. He thrives on high fives. Do not give them to him.

 Read the rest here.

hottest native cultures

Sep 18 2014

A Twisted Victorian Nod To Burning Man

BlackBook has a great story about veteran Burners the Lucent Dossier Experience.

 

re-blogged from Blackbook:

I think I stumbled onto something big. Except I’m two years late. And it’s so esoteric there’s a good chance you’ve never heard of it. It starts off with a flyer. Once you’re committed, you get an e-mail with a street address. Once at the address, a shuttle picks you up and takes you to a warehouse space in downtown LA. For the rest of the night, you’re exposed to a wild event full of freaks, hippies, goths, and everything in between dancing, socializing, and engaging in a number of cabaret/dance/aerial performances. There’s a lot of make-up and costumes, wigs and props. It’s a twisted experience with a nod to the Victorian era and Burning Man. It’s Marie Antoinette gone wrong, Cirque Du Soleil on acid, but also the best thing that ever happened to L.A. nightlife. As producer/perform Dayna Riesgo likes to call it: “It’s a fully immersive experience where vaudeville meets the future dressed as a Victorian Mad Max warrior.” Enter: Lucent Dossier.

Lucent Dossier has been around for almost ten years, producing stage performances of the cabaret variety, traveling around the world, and even entertaining the thousands at Burning Man every year with trippy stylings and, sure, a pinch of crazy. They put together their first large-scale Experience event as an underground party two years ago. It was so successful that they threw another one only two months later, which was busted by the cops. With a proper license, they unfurled their world once again this past weekend. Pre-sale tickets to the show sold out within hours with a maximum occupancy of 470, so they tacked on an extra night, which also sold out. So it only begged the question: what the hell happens at Lucent Dossier?

I arrived around 10 PM, when show time started, with my friend Cat. The warehouse space was as expected—industrial with concrete walls, exposed pipes and beams—but tricked out with laser stage lights and design touches that revisited the mid-1800s. A laundry line of lingerie hung along the beams, a twiggy iron chandelier piece racked high above the dance floor, glittery curtains draped, a loft-style second floor with surprises to come. It was unabashedly theatrical.

lucent dossier

But it’s not the first thing you notice. Cat and I were completely underdressed for the occasion. It was a costume party, or felt like it. There was a lot of fish netting with bare asses, corsets and ballerina slippers, bejeweled and painted faces (thanks to the “Transformation Station” in the corner), top hats and furry vests, feather head dresses, velvet, silver, leather, stilettos, 1920s-style suits, teddies, capes magicians wear, and cloaks that vampires wear. The place was full of theater geeks, neo-ravers, goths, hippies, and what I would like to think was combination of all. Often, we didn’t know the difference between the patrons and the performers, who were also decked out in similar, outrageous period pieces that one would otherwise never wear to, like, The Abbey. Even still, there were “normal” dressers, like skinny-jeaned hipsters, a handful of Asians in J. Crew, a bunch of gays in flannel, sorority girls in high-heels, jocks on MDMA, and real estate brokers with business cards. And somehow it worked. It was a melting pot of scenesters who just let go and be themselves, whoever they might be.

The performances were top-notch with almost a dozen choreographed dance numbers, cabaret, aerialists on rings, and performance art—some comical, some intense. Every ten minutes or so, the dance floor would break apart for these vignettes; then the patrons would gather again when the short show was over. Music ranged from swing to dub step and, again, it just worked. It’s the type of act bars and lounges are trying to deliver in Los Angeles, like the speak-easy style of Pour Vous, a fancy lounge that offers aerialist shows a few times a night. Or even the new Emerson Theatre by SBH, with the cabaret theme weaved into the entire set-up. Lucent Dossier has managed to take all these elements and do it better. A lot better. There was something interesting here, something that felt future-forward and not relying on the past in a gimmicky sort or way. Lucent Dossier was an idea, a statement, a movement. At one point, the host said, “Ladies and gentlemen, everything is a fantasy.” And if fantasy is the future, then they’re on the right track.

lucent dossier

Cat and I left just after midnight, when more shuttle vans were arriving with late-night revelers dressed to the goth nines, and we knew we were going to miss the best part. Turns out they concocted a human sundae: a claw-foot tub full of people. “Lucent Dossier would never work in New York,” she told me when we were dropped off at my car. And she’s right. Only in L.A., but the L.A. of the future, which is, thanks to Lucent Dossier, now.

Original article at BlackBook

 

Burners.Me:

I went to Lucent Dossier‘s sold out New York show at the Liberty Theater on W 41st street at Times Square. Of course it works in New York. They’ve been touring the US this year.

lucent-dossier-experience

If you ever get the chance to see them, jump on it.