Patrick Sisson - Writer, Journalist, Cultural Documentarian, Music Lover

Interview
Time Out Chicago
October 13-19, 2005
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Green Velvet
Humorous, outrageously dressed alter ego of house jock Cajmere
Style: Techno
Chicago residencies: None, but I regularly play at Sound-Bar and Smartbar.
First gig ever: In Baltimore with the singer Dajae in the early ’90s, probably ’92 or ’93. It just happened. I really don’t have any idea on how I decided to dress up. I know that’s kind of lame, but that’s the truth.
Best gig ever: There isn’t one that stands out more than the other. I guess it’s when everyone is happy and everyone there thinks they’re at a good gig.
Worst gig ever: A bad gig is when I don’t play at all, I guess. When does that happen? As long as I’m performing, it’s a good gig.
Musical heroes: I really enjoy people like George Clinton when he was doing the Funkadelic and Parliament stuff. Prince, Sly Stone, Grace Jones and David Bowie. I love the ’70s, and I think back then it was more about the whole show. People aren’t used to those kinds of performances these days, outside of rock. It’s nowhere near the level it was once at.
Vice/drink of choice: That’s a hard one. Too many to say.
Favorite song: Anything by Stevie Wonder.His songs are very spiritual and I lovereligious songs.
Best thing about Chicago: The deep-dish pizza. I love it.

Diz
A second-generation house legend who grew up in the ’80s partying at the [now-defunct Chicago club] Muzic Box
Style: House and some downtempo
Chicago residencies: A rotating gig at Four on Tuesdays with Frique and Andrew Harris
First gig ever: At a club on North Broadway called Alcazar alongside Spencer Kincey, [a house DJ] also known as Gemini. The crowd was okay, but it was the place where I met my first true love.
Best gig ever: Two stick out. The first was at a birthday party for [DJ] Mark Farina in San Francisco in the mid-’90s. I was playing with Derrick Carter, and house music was pretty much running shit at that point. The second was at a party in L.A. called Dynagroove. I played with King Britt and could do no wrong.
Worst gig ever: I played a party in ’96 in New York where the decks skipped so much that I broke the record I was playing and threw it into the crowd. I never did that rock-star shit again.
Musical heroes: Both Quincy Jones and Stevie Wonder because of their versatility and longevity.
Vice/drink of choice: Right now, I’d have to say EFFEN Black [vodka] and 7-Up. I also like Maker’s Mark and Coca-Cola in mass quantities.
Favorite song: Laughter
Best thing about Chicago: The winters build character, and the caliber of talent that lives here.
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Interview
XLR8R
October 2005
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A dimly lit bar tucked into a Chicago side street, Danny’s Tavern normally draws a laid-back bohemian crowd. But on the first Wednesday of each month, Dante Carfagna and the Sheer Magic crew dust off some old vinyl and create a bass-heavy, funk-fueled ruckus.

“I’ve never considered myself a DJ,” says the modest-to-a-fault Carfagna. “I have some interesting records that people want to hear, so I’m a DJ by default.” Yet his sets aren’t your average musical history lessons. Carfagna could be called the Indiana Jones of vinyl archeology due to the amount of rare funk and soul records he’s rescued from obscurity.

The Sheer Magic nights–started in Kansas City by Carfagna’s friend Courtland Green before both of them moved up to Chicago–provide the public with a chance to sample some of the gems of Carfagna’s massive collection. Though many may boast it, Sheer Magic really does play stuff that won’t be heard anywhere else.

In addition to the typical record collector m.o. of scouting record fairs and gabbing with other music fans, Carfagna’s passion has gotten him involved in almost every aspect of recorded music–he’s a guest editor for collecting bible Wax Poetics, he’s released instrumental hip-hop under the Express Rising moniker and he’s helped put together reissue albums for labels like the Quannum-affiliated Cali-Tex. Currently, he’s in the process of assembling a massive book about funk 45s with fellow record fetishist Josh Davis, better known as DJ Shadow. “Josh and I discussed the fact that some would consider this task a lifetime’s work,” said Carfagna, “and here we are trying to fit it into our normal schedules.”

Born in 1974 in Columbus, Ohio, Carfagna started feeding his crate-digging habit as a kid with money he made delivering newspapers. By the time he was a teenager and living in Miami, he was spinning obscure, rarified records. One day, Public Enemy’s Professor Griff happened to be walking by the apartment building Carfagna was living in, and Griff was so intrigued by the music Carfagna was playing that he had to knock on the door to discover what they were (two Ruth Copeland LPs).

“It was not a snake charmer moment, though I’d like to think of it that way,” says Carfagna.

Feature
XLR8R
October 2005
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Click on the link to check out XLR8R’s awesome Chicago City issue, which includes a guide to the city I wrote. Note: Portillo’s is not included.

Interview
Playboy.com
October 2005

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Delivering a call to arms for the fans of University of Massachusetts athletics, svelte Sam the Minuteman is ready to defend life, liberty and the pursuit of an NCAA championship at any cost. Whether it’s rooting for the football team at the Warren McGuirk Alumni Stadium or raising hell indoors at the Mullins Center, he’s always ready to get the crowd fired up.

A recent contestant in the Capitol One mascot competition and the star of a SportsCenter commercial with Andy Roddick, the colonial cheerleader is almost as ubiquitous as the Sam that graces the bottles of one of America’s finest brews. We spoke with the original patriot about being called a pirate, why the St. Joe’s Hawk is a pansy and getting hooked up with ESPN.

Playboy.com: Obviously the name gets mocked a lot. What do you say when people make fun of you?
Sam: I like to tell people it may only be a minute, but it’s the greatest 60 seconds of their life.

Playboy.com: Do people recognize the Minuteman on the street and all your important contributions to American history?
Sam: Sometimes. Lots of people who don’t know call me a pirate, even people who go to the school.

Playboy.com: Do you ever get roped into doing historical re-enactments?
Sam: Not really. The ROTC kids like to take pictures with me because I’m strong or something. They like the whole “soldiers back then, soldiers today” comparison. But that’s pretty much it.
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Interview
XLR8R
October 2005
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Located on walls around São Paulo, the fantastically bright paintings of Os Gemeos (“The Twins”) grab the attention of passersby like a float from Carnival. Full of fluid lines, eye-popping colors (often yellow and red), and surreal characters, their work would be at home in a children’s book, but the story of these artists runs much deeper than Dr. Seuss.

Growing up in the Cambuci neighborhood of São Paulo, artistically inclined identical twins Octavio and Gustavo Pandolfo started doing street art in 1987, after discovering hip-hop culture and b-boying. They’ve since become fixtures in the Brazilian art world, founding Fiz, the first full-color magazine covering graffiti in their hometown. Though hip-hop exerts a strong influence on their work, they’ve never strayed far from their roots, always incorporating the values and visuals of Brazilian folk art in their painting.

The story has even gone international. After an auspicious meeting with San Francisco artist Barry McGee (Twist) in 1993, the twins have begun to exhibit around the world. Their paintings and installations have been the focus of shows at San Francisco’s Luggage Store Gallery and New York’s prestigious Deitch Projects, and earlier this summer they painted a mural at Coney Island as part of Creative Time and Espo’s Dreamland Artist Club project.

As their style has matured over the years, they’ve broadened their storytelling skills beyond latex paint and rollers. Many pieces now include long passages of Portuguese text, an apt metaphor for their style, where every piece is merely a page in a much larger book.

XLR8R: How long have you been painting?
Since we’ve known paper and pencil. When we were children, our grandfather worked in a big print factory, so he always had a lot of paper at home. When we stayed at his house we’d draw all night. Our family also supported us a lot. Our parents would buy us paint and brushes and our older brother, Arnaldo, would help us a lot. He’d stay up and draw with us, and he always had good ideas.

How did you get involved with graffiti? What were your artistic influences?
We learned about graffiti in 1987. We always liked to go out and play in the streets. We’d play with toys, set trashcans on fire, and even ring the doorbells of our neighbors and run away. At this time in Cambuci, the part of the city we were growing up in, there were a lot of b-boys. They’d dance in front of our houses until late at night, and they had graffiti designs on their clothes. We liked that.

Tell us about doing your first graf piece.
We went with our family to visit our grandmother, who lived like 10 blocks from our house. Our dad didn’t like graffiti and hip-hop at this time, so we had to be careful when we put the paint cans in the car and not make a sound. It was very funny. We went inside our grandmother’s for a minute then told our dad that we wanted to go play downstairs. Then we stole the keys to his car, took the cans of paint and bombed three walls near there. They were very ugly pieces!

Folk tales play a big part in your work. Why do you think they transfer well to graffiti?
It’s very simple. Folk art shows the roots of the country. Brazil is very rich in culture in all segments: dance, music, and art. We want to be an example for the world. We want people to say Brazilians have this beautiful culture, a very simple one with a lot of energy and love inside, like our Carnival. We don’t need things, like the best new shoes or a brand new car, to be happy. We worry more about what’s inside, not what’s outside. We just need a beer in the summer and some friends. We love simplicity. We love that you can go out and play football with your friend in the middle of the street, or if you’re a little cold you can make a fire in the street and be warm. Simplicity, freedom, and the ability to improvise–these are the important parts of being Brazilian.
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Review
Playboy.com
May 2005
Rating: Three of Four Bunnyheads

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It’s a bad sign for a politician when animated monkeys dis your war record. That’s the state Dubya finds himself in with the release of Demon Days, the latest album from the virtual hip-hop collective Gorillaz. On the smoldering track “Dirty Harry” — which starts out as a demented Donkey Kong theme song and builds into a roller coaster of angry rapping — guest vocalist Bootie Brown raps from the point of view of a soldier in Iraq and declares “The war is over / So said the speaker with the flight suit on / Maybe to him I’m just a pawn.” An anti-war missive may seem oddly serious and preachy from this cartoon crew — which is a front for Brit-pop icon Damon Albarn, mash-up maestro Danger Mouse and a host of collaborators — but it actually fits in perfectly with the gloomy tone of Demon Days. The lyrics border on apocalyptic, Albarn’s slacker delivery is dead on and many of the numerous guest spots are equally effective. MF Doom spits lick rhymes on the shuffling “November Has Come,” De La Soul delivers a haughty performance on the otherwise breezy “Feel Good Inc.” and the opposing sounds of booming British rapper Roots Manuva and angelic chanteuse Martina Topley Bird compliment the dramatic “All Alone.” It’s an eclectic album filled with dance grooves, guitar dirges and the work of two separate choirs, but Danger Mouse manages to corral is all together with futuristic grooves, theatrical flourishes and impeccable production.

Feature
DiningOut Chicago
Spring/Summer 2005

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Long considered a cheap shot that can lead to salacious behavior, tequila has earned a bad rap. Misconceptions about the spirit abound, all contributing to its unfounded reputation as a foul-tasting “cactus juice” only fit for college parties. In reality, tequila is a refined, complex spirit. And the true story of tequila is more interesting than any barroom myth.

Tequila is one of more than 30 drinks made from the fermented juice of agave plants, some of which have been around since at least 200 B.C. Carlos Alferez, a managing partner at Frontera Grill, says, “It’s made in a totally different way, with a different plant. There’s no other spirit like it.” And Geno Behena, the executive chef of Chilpancingo, calls it the “spirit of Mexico.”

In 1795, the King of Spain granted José Marí a Guadalupe Cuervo the first government license to make the drink, signifying the beginning of large-scale production and government involvement in the making of Mexico’s most prized spirit. This era also marked the emergence of 100 percent blue agave tequila, the pinnacle of agave cultivation. As production grew and various distilleries refined their methods, they discovered that the juice of the blue agave plant produced the best liquor. Soon, 100 percent blue agave tequila, a smooth drink best sipped slowly, became the standard for production.

Making tequila is a delicate art, and anybody making the drink must comply with a long set of regulations imposed by the Mexican government – and by nature. The blue agave plant takes eight to twelve years to mature, and in order to produce and liter of tequila, a distiller needs fifteen pounds of piña (the center of the blue agave plant) that are steamed in furnaces for 20-36 hours, pressed, collected, fermented and distilled twice. By law, tequila must posses no less than 38 percent alcohol by volume.
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Feature
Chicago Tribune
June 10, 2005

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When Spoon singer-songwriter Britt Daniels began writing songs for the band’s latest album “Gimme Fiction,” he was already focused on the end. As in The End. “I was thinking about the apocalypse,” he said. “There are a lot of people in Texas and in the Bible Belt who believe in it. They have this approach that it’s going to happen in our lifetimes anyway, so why even try to preserve the environment and work towards peace?”

Those are depressing thoughts from a musician whose band has anything but dark days ahead. Unceremoniously dropped from Elektra Records just a few weeks after releasing “A Series of Sneaks” in 1998, Spoon rebounded, signing with Merge Records and releasing a string of critically-lauded rock albums a few years later. Now, as Spoon embarks on a nationwide tour supporting its anticipated new album, the band has become much more than a Wilco-esque comeback story. It’s now an established group making music on its own terms.

Recorded between July and September last year, “Gimme Fiction” has the same stark, stripped-down sound and vague, semi-autobiographical lyrics that made the band’s last two albums, 2001’s “Girls Can Tell” and 2002’s “Kill the Moonlight” so popular. Streamlined arrangements of piano, bass, guitar and drums barrel ahead on the album’s 11 tracks. Daniels, the main songwriter, Jim Eno, his primary collaborator and drummer, and engineer Mike McCarthy (who worked on the last three albums) once again distill pop music to its basics, removing impurities to deliver a more potent punch.

“Britt’s told me many times that Jim and his’ goal is to write the perfect three-minute pop song,” said Martin Hall, Merge Record’s publicity director.
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Movie Review
Playboy.com
June 2005

BatmanBegins

Reconceiving Batman requires radical thinking, and Memento director Christopher Nolan takes a revolutionary, and revelatory, approach with Batman Begins. Waking from a recurring flashback of his childhood fall down a bat-filled well, Gotham’s most famous son Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale) finds himself in a place many of us would consider a worse nightmare: a cell in a Chinese prison. But the wealthy playboy didn’t get caught at the wrong end of a Midnight Express-style vacation drug bust – he chose to be there. Racked with guilt and anger after witnessing his parents’ murders as a child, Wayne set out to travel the world in an attempt to understand the criminal mind, only to end up incarcerated. He finds salvation in Henri Ducard (Liam Neeson), an eccentric who brings the wayward Wayne out of prison and into the fold of secretive warriors who train him to confront fear and fight evil. Ready to kick ass, Wayne returns to Gotham and creates his alter-ego: Batman. As is usually the case with superheroes, his timing is impeccable – a madman is about to poison the city’s water supply with a hallucinogenic drug.

By focusing on the complex emotions seething beneath the surface, Batman Begins provides a gripping exposition of the Batman myth. Bale gives an intense, nuanced performance as the Dark Knight, invigorating a role that has grown stale (or disasterous, depending on how much you hated Joel Schumacher’s Batman & Robin). Bale’s version of Batman wakes up bruised and battered but immediately does push-ups. This is likely a nod to Bale’s American Psycho regimen, but it’s also a telling portrait of a man fighting with missionary zeal. The supporting cast is also excellent. Loyal butler Alfred (Michael Caine) helps reclaim Wayne Manor, reclusive inventor Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman) arms Batman to the teeth and friend Rachel Dawes (Katie Holmes) helps Wayne find his moral center. The fantastical feel of Tim Burton’s first two Batman flicks is absent from Batman Begins. This new movie, a steely meditation on the meaning of revenge and justice that’s as dark as it is dashing, presents a more complex hero struggling to find his place.

Feature
URB
May 2005

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Sonic Youth guitarist Thurston Moore remembers endlessly listening to a homemade tape filled with his favorite hardcore songs. He recalls touring the country during the ’80s in a van with a monstrous, sticker-stained boom box blasting tunes. And he still treasures the mix tapes bestowed by older and wiser friends and music fans, gateway drugs leading towards better musical highs. Moore’s warm and fuzzy memories revolving around certain tapes prove the point he’s trying to make with Mix Tape (Universe), his chronicle of cassette culture: it’s all about sharing music.

“I think we should concentrate on the whole love and ego aspect of people giving tapes to each other,” he says.

Moore became involved withMix Tape after Eva Prinz, an editor at Rizzoli Publishing, approached him about editing the book. Intrigued by the project, Moore decided to take a non-academic look at the history of cassettes and instead focused on personal relationships. Moore’s methodology was straightforward — send out an email solicitation to all the names in his address book and see what came back.

Moore’s friends in the art and music world responded by describing their favorite tapes, but sadly, few still had possession of their plastic pieces of history. Those who still had their treasured cassettes sent in photos of the elaborately designed cases and contributed short essays. Much like the tapes themselves, these essays capture a time or a relationship. Jim O’Rourke’s piece talks about a mix tape he meticulously recorded for a girl that was compromised by a single poor track selection. Photographer Glen E. Friedman’s tape, Oral Surgery Disasters, was a “gnarly mix” of continuous, loud music meant to drown out a particularly painful dental procedure.

Moore cobbled together the beguiling and beautiful submissions into loose thematic sections — perfect form for a mix tape artists — and penned an introduction.

“I definitely wanted it to be more personalized, so I tried to write in a way that it was like a fanzine, but hardbound and put out by a major publisher,” said Moore.

Moore believes that the rise of indie music and the development of cassette tapes are related phenomena — it all boils down to sharing music, he says. Tapes laid the groundwork for an open exchange of music, something radically accelerated by today’s digital technology.

“During the whole CBGB’s era,” he says, “Everybody knew each other and you knew that some people were talking about is outside of the community. Now [with digital downloading], the whole world is invited to the party.”

But that’s not the only cultural shift that speaks to the lasting influence of cassette culture.

“iPods are an extension of cassette culture,” he says. “It’s people taking matter into their own hands to create their own products. You can just create your own jukebox that holds thousands of songs.”

And despite the fact that the use of digital equipment has far outpaced the use of vintage analog gear, Moore feels cassettes will never go away.

“Records haven’t gone away,” he says. “They’re kind of boutique at this point. I always think there’s going to be some vintage hipness to the cassette. Their immediacy will never be denied.”