Since Ne-Yo’s debut In My Own Words first dropped in 2006, I’ve been a major fan. Not just because he writes really smart songs, but interviewing him is always a pleasure. Unlike some R&B dudes, Ne-Yo has very little drama surrounding him. Indeed, for him, success has always been about writing wonderful songs as opposed to swaggering with a disrespectful attitude.

On the eve of Ne-Yo’s third album Year of the Gentleman, Ne-Yo sat down with Riffs & Revolutions to tell us a little about where he comes from…

***

Las Vegas is a constantly changing city. A lot of people think they know that town, but you can’t really know Vegas, because its always different. One minute you’re standing in the sand, and next you’re in front of the Eiffel Tower. Most people only know the neon strip; but there is a whole world beyond what the tourists see.

There is more than bright lights and stage shows. We have condos and track houses that all look alike. Buildings in Vegas are constructed quickly, and sometimes it feels like the desert is starting to disappear.

I was born in Camden, Arkansas. My dad was a truck driver from Nevada. He met mom on his route down south. They fell in love, got married and, after I was born, moved to Vegas.

By the time I was nine, dad had bowed-out completely, so I lived with my mom, grandma, aunties and a baby sister in various neighborhoods.

My mom played Shirley Murdock and Billy Ocean records, but one day she put on a Sammy Davis Jr song, and that was it. Afterward, it was all about listening to the Rat Pack and collecting memorabilia.

After that, I got into the material and later tried to dress like Sinatra and Sammy. I almost took tap lessons, but I never did.

Kids in school told me I was living in the wrong era, but I didn’t care.

I named my new album Year of the Gentleman as a salute to those guys. I got a new Rat Pack picture for Christmas, and the whole ‘gentleman’ concept came from me studying that photo. Besides John Legend there are very few gentleman in current R&B. There are too many guys who think that gyrating on stage without a shirt is entertainment, but I disagree.

There’s nothing wrong with being clean-cut. I want to take soul back to an era of class. (Def Jam President) LA Reid has a picture of Nat King Cole in his office, and I smile whenever I see it.

My family moved around a lot, but I spent most of my younger years on the North side. The wack thing about living in Vegas is that it’s a transient town, so its hard to make friends, because they might only be there for a year before moving somewhere else.

Growing-up, my mother was the queen of odd jobs. She worked three or four to make sure we didn’t need for anything. She liked saying, ‘never need for anything.’ That was her catchphrase.

Mom worked as a Keno runner at a country ‘n’ western themed casino called Western Ho; later she was a blackjack dealer at the Sands and a cocktail waitress at the Aladdin, before it got torn down.

Just being around all that money can be tempting. You know, watching people become rich off of two quarters is crazy. My mom developed a small gambling problem for a short time. It always starts out a few quarters here, a few quarters there and next thing, you’re hooked.

The casinos might let you win a little in the beginning, but most people end up gambling it back. By the time you’re finished, you’re standing by yourself wondering where are your shoes and who has the deed to the house.

I gamble a little bit, but I don’t mess with the slot machines. All slots are put on timers; you don’t know if they’re timed for tonight or five years from now. The only thing I play is craps, because I feel like I have some control over the game.

On the North Side where I lived for about four or five years, there were a lot of Mexicans and working class people. I was a student at the performing arts high school, majoring in illustration. I went there for three years until I got kicked out for bad grades.

After that, I went to Rancho High, which was a real ghetto school. The West Side, where the Rancho was located, was the hood. It was the kind of place where guys listened to too much Cali rap, so they thought they were gangsters.

Rancho High was a tough place. You had to go through metal detectors before you could walk through the door. Young girls were feeding their babies in the lunch room. Later, when guys found out that I had gone to the school for art, they asked me to draw their portraits. A picture of them holding a gun, leaning against a stylish car. I charged ten dollars per picture.

Another thing, it was always cold in our class room. There might not be enough books, but there sure was enough air conditioning.

***

The cops who worked the Las Vegas strip didn’t like the local kids hanging out. We weren’t officially banned, but they didn’t want us over there. The only casino we could go to and not be harassed was Circus Circus; upstairs there was carnival games and a McDonald’s.

Every weekend there was always somebody new to meet. Becky and her crew of girlfriends from Minnesota were always looking to have some fun.

When I was a senior in high school, I got a gig as an understudy in a MGM Grand show called EFX, which starred David Cassidy. The guy I was understudying for, his wife had a baby, so I was soon doing two shows a night.

David Cassidy was cool. We were on stage together every night, but only officially met twice. He had the baddest black Lamborghini I’ve ever seen. Man, I just wanted to drive David Cassidy’s car.

In those days, I studied singers like Tom Jones and Wayne Newton, because those guys know how to control the stage. That’s their livelihood. It’s not about moving a million records or selling out coliseums, but when you’re performing in those rooms, you have to be so good people can’t take their eyes off of you.

Later, I joined a group called Envy. You know, NV is the abbreviation for Nevada, so we called ourselves Envy. My old friend Cory Clark (who in 2003 was disqualified from American Idol and accused judge Paula Abdul of having a sexual affair with him) was in the group. Believe me, there are only so many talent shows you can do before you finally realize you have to get out.

After performing, we used to sit in Denny’s and plan what were going to do once we left the desert behind.
Las Vegas is cool, but staying there is not going to get you anywhere.

Ne-Yo’s third disc Year of the Gentleman will be released on Aug. 5, 2008

http://www.defjam.com/site/artist_home.php?artist_id=593

  Painting the “King”-One9

Four stories above a desolate DUMBO block not far from the Brooklyn Bridge, artist One9 has founded a small sanctuary to create his bold paintings.
“This might be the only building in the neighborhood that hasn’t been gentrified yet,” he jokes, as a booming Marley Marl joint screams from the Ipod system.
As one of the two artists displaying work in the upcoming exhibit Dreams in Color (opening Wednesday, June 11 @ 155 Spring Street/between Wooster and W. Broadway/4th floor), the Washington DC native One9 is one of the most exciting young artists to emerge in post-millennial New York City.
Coming out of the master-mix of classic and graffiti traditions, the gifted painter continues to push himself one-step beyond when it comes to style. “I’m as influenced by Leonardo da Vinci as I am by Futura 2000,” says the 37-year-old of his innovative style. “Yet, being a bomber when I was still a boy taught me how to breakdown artistic barriers. There are no boundaries nor are there any limitations.”
***
UPTOWN: What does the name ONE9 mean?

ONE9: One is the beginning and nine is the completion; I’ve always tried to have a sense of balance not only in my work, but also in my life.

UPTOWN: How much has Washington DC influenced your work?

ONE9: I grew-up during the crack ‘80s, which was a very aggressive time. DC had its own style, you know–like knee high socks and mambo sauce. Marion Barry was mayor, and everything was just a little loose. As far as the music goes, we had go-go and hardcore, two of the hardest styles ever. If you went to the original 9:30 Club, you could see Trouble Funk with KRS-One, and the next night you came back to see the Bad Brains.

UPTOWN: Were you exposed too much art growing-up?

ONE9: My father is an architect, so some of the first pictures I can remember seeing were his blueprints; I can recall staring at the structural forms of the actual blueprints, and I think you can see some of those angular lines in my work today.

UPTOWN: Is Dreams in Color your first New York show?

ONE9: It’s my second SoHo show, but I’ve done a few in Brooklyn. Most of the pieces in this show are based off of rhythm. I listen to a variety of different music when I’m painting. From Charles Mingus to Mobb Deep to Eek-a-Mouse, the extremes of music flows out in the colors of my paintings.
Music was my first influence and has always been the core of my work.

UPTOWN: What artists were you into growing-up?

ONE9: Jackson Pollack and Phase 2 were favorites; besides Vaughn Bode, I was never really into comics.

UPTOWN: Tell us a little about the show.

ONE9: Well, it’s curated by Rene Abdo, whom I believe also named the show. Pamella Allen is the other artist in the show. Street bombing at an early age taught me to be reckless in my work, which I think makes my paintings somewhat abnormal as opposed to so-called traditional lessons. I think you can see a little wild style lettering methods in my pictures.

UPTOWN: What’s next?

ONE9: I’m working on a chess piece series that will be auditioned off this September at a fundraiser for the Hip-Hop Association. Founder and President Martha Diaz is my girl, and she’s doing a fundraiser with the first Black grandmaster Maurice Ashley.
Chess helps me clear my head while also making me more focused. I can lock in like a hunter. I’ve been playing chess for eight years, and I wish it were mandatory for kids to learn, because it sharpens the mind. A chess player has to be able to think five or ten moves ahead.

UPTOWN: Is there any relation with how you brush moves across the canvas?

ONE9: It’s very similar, but in painting, I only try to think two or three moves ahead.

http://boelaboratory.com

The D.I.Y. approach has defined punk culture since The Sex Pistols first roared into a microphone. While the D.I.Y. aesthetic can also be seen in hip-hop music and culture, it was the punks that originally named and claimed it.

Clad in ripped jeans, Doc Martin boots and leather jackets punk bands were notorious for having more moxy than musical talent. As a rebel yell against the politics of the ruling classes and the sound of pop music (across the ocean, hip-hop culture was battling the same demons), it didn’t matter if you weren’t an instrumental virtuoso and didn’t have a five-octave range.

Although pioneering Black punk bands like Bad Brains and Fishbone bought different influences into the sound factory of punk in the early ’80s (fusion, ska) there are many who still thought the scene was, as writer Nadine Anglin once wrote all about, “crazy white kids suicide music”.

In 1980, former jazz fusionists who were more into Herbie Hancock than The Clash, Bad Brains group members H.R.(singer), Darryl Jenifer (guitarist), Dr. Know (bassist and Earl Hudson (drummer) were turned out by the audio angst of Rotten and Vicious, and never looked back. Performing regularly at the 930 Club in Washington, D.C., this rhythmic revolution was the beginning of the Afro-Punk generation.

The punkadelic influence of the Bad Brains has been the jump off for artists that include both classic acts and new jacks: Fishbone, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Public Enemy, PBR Streetgang, Living Colour, The Roots, Lenny Kravitz, Andre 3000, The Beastie Boys, Chocolate Genius, Meshell Ndegeocello, Faith, Mos Def, Stephanie McKay, Apollo Heights, Tamar Kali and countless others. Former 930 Club DJ Tom Terrell recalls, “Before the Bad Brains no other band had been able to combine white noise with black spiritualism and make music sound so powerful”.

Fishbone lead singer Angelo Moore was also changed by the black noise of the Bad Brains. After a recent solo poetry gig at Manhattan nightspot Joe’s Pub, Angelo reminisced, “Originally, I was a hip-hop kid with a jeri curl, a green metallic suit from Merry-Go-Round. I had appeared as a dancer in the movie Breakin’. When I first heard the Bad Brains, I thought, ‘Those white boys are bad; when I found out they were Black, my world just stopped.”

In the late ’90s, Maverick Records signed the Bad Brains, though a record was never released. In 2004, king of crunk Lil Jon proved himself down when he recorded “Roll Call Bad Brains Remix” (a crazy cocktail combining “Real Nigga Roll Call” with the Brains classic “Re-Ignition), on his latest country opus Crunk Juice.

Thirty-one-year-old filmmaker James Spooner is also a spiritual son of the Bad Brains. A fan of punk since he was 12, Spooner first wanted to be down with the sound the moment he met his soon-to-be buddy Chavez. “He was the first punk I had ever met,” Spooner, who was living in the desert town of Apple Valley, California at the time, remembers. “Chavez wore combat boots and a leather jacket, and I thought he was the coolest kid.”

Later, his new friend introduced Spooner to wildboy music of The Dead Kennedy’s, The Sex Pistols, The Misfits and, of course, Bad Brains. “There was just something about the aggressive power of the music that empowered me.” In the 16 years he’s been on the scene, Spooner has gone to hundreds of shows and met many other Black punks (though Spooner is biracial, his mother is white, he is more Black identified) like himself. Indeed, it was through these meetings and friendships that served as the inspiration for Spooner’s critically acclaimed film Afro-Punk.

“When I first decided to create Afro Punk, I had no idea how to make a movie,” Spooner recalls. “All I knew was I wanted to make a documentary about black punk rockers. The D.I.Y. aesthetic that I learned in the punk community was definitely applied.” While auteur Spike Lee has spoken out against directors who brag about not attending film school and are “ignorant to film grammar”, Spooner refused to be swayed.

Touring the film festival circuit, including Toronto and Urban World since finishing the project in 2003, the black and white Afro-Punk is a 70-minute brilliant mess that that brims with blissful energy and enthusiasm. Though not as polished as the latest Michael Moore project, the film is an important document that serves as both introduction to a subculture and a cinematic manifesto that assures marginal Blacks with blonde mohawks that they are not “freaks”.

“With Afro-Punk, I wanted to challenge the mainstream perception of what defines Blackness. I’ve made the kind of film I wish was around when I first got into the scene”. Yet, beyond mere music, Spooner says, “Kids are using the term ‘Afro-Punk’ as a way to identify themselves”. Although originally subtitled “The Rock ‘N’ Roll Nigger Experience”, Spooner has since dropped it. “All I was trying to say,” he explains, “was to be a Black person in white America you’re always going to be a nigger to somebody, but the meaning was misunderstood”.

“James has captured a lot of honestly in his film,” Angelo Moore says. “These kids are dealing with issues of alienation, self-hatred, parental misguidance, and, of course, racism, but there is also a joy. And that’s what it’s all about.”

Still, Spooner’s commitment to the Black punk community didn’t touch the corporate souls at Sony Music. “Angelo had given me permission to use a few Fishbone songs. But when it came time to license them through Sony, they (the record company) just wanted too much money.” Although PBS and HBO, as well as Image Records, have come sniffing around, Spooner says, “Nothing has been signed yet.”

Sitting in Spooner’s office, he says, “Before I set out to make Afro-Punk, I watched hundreds of documentaries. But the one that had the most impact was called Streetwise.” Nominated for an Oscar in 1984, the film follows homeless teenagers on the streets of Seattle. “Watching it, I would be in awe, wondering, ‘How exactly did they mic those kids?’”

Born in Brooklyn, where he lived until age six, his educator mother moved him to Cali and Panama as a child. “My mother was chasing the dollar,” Spooner chuckles, explaining his gypsy childhood. “She went where the jobs were.” His West Indian father was also a teacher. Though he is his mother’s only child, Spooner’s next documentary will concern the 20 brothers and sisters from his loins of his father. Today, big poppa is a social worker in Brooklyn.

While Spooner was surrounded by his parents’ academic influence, he says, “That didn’t stop me from barely graduating from high school.” Choosing to skip college, Spooner bummed around trying his hand at other artistic endeavors, including play writing and sculpture. Yet, it wasn’t until a night of restless sleep that he thought of the idea of Afro-Punk.

After buying a video camera and computer for editing, he set out on a sojourn across America in a rented car, interviewing over 80 scenesters. The film intercuts these talking heads with Spooner’s four protagonists: 23-year-old Howard University graduate Moe, 29-year-old (Long Island, New York musician Tamar-Kali, 23-year-old student Mariko Jones and 25-year-old Matt Davis (Iowa City, Iowa), who sadly died from a heart condition before the film was finished.

Tamar-Kali, now 34, is pleased with the end result of Afro-Punk. “I think the film works on so many levels. It’s a race piece that is very artistic. In addition, through the film and the Afro-Punk website, James is helping to build a network of folks. There have always been Black punks, but this is the first time there has been so much communication between us.”

Though Spooner fell in love with punk rock at an early age, he says, “It was a rude awakening the first time I was ever called a nigger. There was a white kid on the scene (in Apple Valley) who just kept dissing me,” he recalls. “I was 13 at the time, and one day he called me ‘nigger lips’. Also, my hair was really wild, and sometimes the kids would (mockingly) scream, ‘Afro’. That first year in punk made me feel a lot of self-hate. I know now that, because of our slave mentality, self-hate plagues a lot of Black America.”

Maureen Mahon, author of Right to Rock: The Black Rock Coalition and the Cultural Politics of Race, says, “These are young people who refuse to be put in a box, but are still trying to make sense of themselves.” An Assistant Professor in the Department of Anthropology and the African American Studies Program at the University of California, she invited Spooner to speak to her class last year. “Over the years, the concept of Black rock has been rejected by both Blacks and whites. The subjects in Afro-Punk show that there are other types of Black experiences. It’s exciting to see Blacks who are unafraid to go a different way.”

While some might see the term “Afro-Punk” to be a savvy marketing tool for Spooner to promote his film, web site and t-shirts, he doesn’t see it that way at all. “Afro-Punk is larger than the music”, he says. “This film is not about punk, it’s about Black rebellion.”

Still, there are others who are not quite so impressed. “I love Black people, but I’m here to make music,” 35-year-old Chaka Milik says. Former lead singer for New York punk band Orange 9mm, he is also featured in the film. “I’m Black and I rock. I don’t feel the need to stand under the banner of ‘Afro-Punk’ to define myself.”

His roommate and life long friend 36-year-old Ego Trip cofounder and Bad Brains enthusiast Sasha Jenkins laughs. Humorously commenting “One day I can be Afro-Punk, the next I rock Afro-Puffs”, he laughs. A former Vibe magazine music editor, Jenkins is currently working with Bad Brains guitarist Darryl Jenifer on various projects. “What many people don’t understand is, Afro-Punk is a state of mind; it’s not just about a style of music. When I think of Black punk, Miles Davis and Nina Simone also come to mind.”

Milik interjects, “Myself, I hear a lot of blues in punk. The Bad Brains may not sound like Howling Wolf, but it’s still the blues.”

Twenty-eight years after first jumping on stage at the 9:30 Club, the Afro-Punk influence of the Bad Brains can be seen in the paintings of OneNine and the late Larry Scott, read in the writings of Darius James and Charlotte Carter, and heard in the vocal stylings of Joi and TV on Radio. As cultural critic Greg Tate raves in the liner notes to the Bad Brains Banned in D.C.: Bad Brains Greatest Riffs, “…the Brains were lightning rods, heat conductors, charged particles capable of changing the atmosphere in a room simply by being in it.”

For More About the Festival Go To: http://www.bam.org/events/08PUNK/08PUNK.aspx

(Carolyn “Honeychild” Coleman. Photo by Vadim Shoykhet)

Ever since I was a young boy getting ready for school as Dionne Warwick sang, “I’ll never fall in love again,” I have always preferred the sound of female singers.

Yet, while the soothing voice behind a hundred Burt Bacharach/Hal David compositions had a well-mannered quality, my own taste in female vocalists tends to lean towards the broads. Besides Corinne Bailey Rae and Chrisette Michele, nice girls on the mic don’t do nothing for me anymore.

“That word broad sounds kind of old school,” the hyperactive Pub-Diva says, in between laughing and sipping on her ninth Red Bull of the day. Yet, for me, broads are no laughing matter. More of a term of endearment than a sexual politics insult, broad, or my own interpretation of it, comes straight from the mouth of yet another friend.

“You like the kind of girls that can curse, drink, shoot pool, have brains, and still look good in high heels,” she said in her feminist accent. Granted, she was talking the women I hang out with in my wild New York City life, but I’ve adopted the same aesthetic when it comes to listening to music.

From the ecstasy of Cree Summer, Joi, and Stephanie McKay to the offbeat otherworldness of Neneh Cherry, Björk, and Martina Topley-Bird (her forthcoming Blue God is wonderful), the rhythmic sisters that excite me the most are those with a sense of aural adventure.

Transcending the musical boundaries of pop that confines traditionalists like Janet Jackson and Mariah Carey in their platinum cages, these fem-artists fuse rock, big band, hip-hop, psychedelic, funk, and soul to create eternal soundscapes that will sound fresh decades later; hell, Miss Jackson doesn’t even sound fresh now.

Forget about keeping up with musical trends like the plastic girls screaming on HOT-97, these women are exploring brave new worlds and delivering dope material in the process. Too hot to be ice queens and too real to “packaged versions of women’s liberation,” these broads are crazysexycool without being pop puppets. Still, the open secret that these artists share is an ability to align themselves with strong musical collaborators who help interpret their visions into “blissfully liberating” songs filled with angst, laughter, spirals, and passion.

Unlike notorious Svengali’s like Phil Spector or Berry Gordy, producers Dallas Austin (Joi), Lenny Kravitz (Cree Summer), and Danger Mouse (Martina Topley-Bird) never come across as tyrants in the lab. In fact, they seem to be more like that best male friend a broad might watch Lifetime movies with, share their secrets over martinis with and utilize to help her pick out a fly pair of Jimmy Choo shoes. Of course, the art of making cool, complex tracks together might be a tad more difficult, but I’m sure just a little.

Today my obsession with broads has me eagerly awaiting the autumn release of downtown guitarist Honeychild Coleman’s Halo Inside (Come la Luna), looking forward to the seeing Joi, Shelly Nicole’s  blakbushe, Tamar-Kali, and Res’ tribute to LaBelle at the Manhattan Center this Saturday night, wishing somebody would send me the Santogold disc and constantly spinning an advance of This Much is True (Ryko/Eusonia), the debut of alluring Brooklyn-based broad singer Maiysha and her producer Scott Jacoby.

Although their first single, “Orbit” (available on iTunes), has a voodoo chile guitar-fueled funk quality that reminds me of the women who once hung tough with Prince—i.e, Jill Jones and Taja Sevelle (not that there’s anything wrong with that)—the duo proves themselves musical children of the eighties while exploring various sonic landscapes.

With hybrid sounds lacing each track on This Much Is True, they tap a few musical touchstones yet still manage to flow freely without clutter. Whether it’s the big band/disco romp of “Gods,” the Brill building/Broadway musical of “Matter of Pride,” or the cinematic rock dream of “Wanna Be,” this disc proudly delivers.

While I could have lived my entire life without hearing a cover of Peter Gabriel’s pseudo-gospel “Sledgehammer,” at least Maiysha tries to bring some freshness to the overwrought anthem. For me, This Much Is True is a welcome addition to the broad pantheon.

(This Much Is True will be released on June 24)

(Maiysha)

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is a harrowing drama that exposes the scarred psyche of the Pollitt family, which has gathered for the 65th birthday celebration of Southern plantation owner Big Daddy. Over the course of the evening, the wealthy Pollitts deal with an ever-growing list of issues, which includes alcoholism, homosexuality, greed, lies, and, ultimately, death. Written by the Pulitzer Prize-winning Tennessee Williams, the melodrama can be a jarring, and sometimes scary, experience if done right.

As one of the landmarks of American theater, the play has been revised more than few times since its Broadway debut in 1955, but this incarnation is the first to feature a predominantly black cast. With James Earl Jones as Big Daddy, Terrence Howard as Brick, Phylicia Rashad as Big Mama, and Anika Noni Rose as Maggie the Cat, the play has been a smashing success since its February opening.

Under the focused direction of Debbie Allen, the play has a few outstanding performances. Anika Noni Rose’s portrayal of Maggie should win the young actress her second Tony Award. Although I am a big fan of Elizabeth Taylor’s 1958 film portrayal of the character, Rose more than makes the part her own. Slinking across the stage like a Siamese cat, Rose entices the audience to feel her pain and support her ambition to win back her husband’s love.

Coming across with more moxie than manners, veteran actor James Earl Jones is perfect as the powerful Big Daddy. While some may see his character as a sexist bully who treats his wife badly, Jones still manages to show Big Daddy as vulnerable. With his trademark baritone, Jones’ theatrical swagger makes it seem as though the role was written especially for him.

Perhaps the play’s one shortcoming is the lackluster performance of Oscar-nominated Hustle & Flow actor Terrance Howard. Although he has shown his ability to handle complex personalities on-screen, especially in the stunning 2004 Crash, his stage chops are a bit uneven. Brick Pollitt is one of the most tragic fictional characters since Shakespeare’s Hamlet, but Howard plays him with a humorous indifference that never translates into pain.

Fortunately, James Earl Jones and Anika Noni Rose more than make this play a must-see experience.

A small crowd of fans moves to the back of Forbidden Plant bookstore as writer Danny Simmons and illustrator Floyd Hughes prepare for a signing of their graphic novel ’85. As Run-DMC’s classic “King of Rock” blares over the stores stereo (Rev Run and mogul Russell are Simmons’ little brothers), there is a buzz of excitement, most of the twentysomethings waiting for the dynamic duo to sign their books were babies when Simmons was a young man on the Lower East Side scene.

Adapted from Simmons’ own novel Three Days as the Crow Flies (2003),

’85 is a throwback that transports the reader to a decadent New York City during its artistic heyday and delves deep into the psyche of a con man and coke fiend named Crow.

After stealing a few paintings from his best friend, he journeys to the Lower East Side and falls head first into a wild world of art snobs, new-jack hustlers, and slumming savants. Like an intoxicated Alice drunkenly tumbling down the rabbit hole into a wonderland of sex, drugs, and arty souls, Simmons’ version of the ‘80s is on point.

For those who were not a part of the “old” New York of the 1980s, hanging out on the Lower East Side was a balancing act of artistic expression and environmental despair. While there were numerous bands, small galleries, and artistic spaces, there were also rats the size of small dogs and notorious drug dealers prowling the streets.

Art god Jean Michel Basquiat, who is depicted in a party scene in ’85, is the perfect metaphor for the period. At the height of his fame, Basquiat was the king of the Lower East side: making invocative art, hanging out with Madonna, and spending money as fast as he made it. A few years later, in 1988, the brother overdosed on heroin in his Great Jones Street studio.

While some writers have been a tad sentimental when writing about that period in New York history, ’85 handles well the paradox that made the East Village an exciting and dangerous place. “The Lower East Side was on edge back then,” says Simmons. “Everybody was hyped, and there was just so much going on. There was a melding of race and class back then that doesn’t exist anymore.

“I can remember being at clubs like Save the Robots, and you’d have a break dancer from the projects standing next to a rock star like Mick Jagger; you could go to an art opening and some uptown graffiti kids would be in the same room with David Bowie. For us who were there, it was just a natural thing.”

A comic book aficionado who has been a fan “since the days of Jack Kirby,” Simmons finds that doing a graphic novel satisfies his inner geek. “I’m one of those guys who buys books every week,” says Simmons, “so to have my own comic book makes me feel like a giddy kid.”

Citing bugged-out Brit comic book writers Garth Ennis and Warren Ellis as favorites, Danny recruited respected Pratt Institute professor and artist Floyd Hughes to help bring his sequential visions to fruition.

The two have partnered on past projects, including a Black version of Mad magazine called Bad, a script for an aborted Green Lantern film, and a line of books for Marvel Comics, but the bold ’85 is their first venture to actually be published.

“It’s kind of funny, because I was still living in England in 1985, so everything I knew about New York during that decade came from Danny’s original novel,” Hughes says. Yet, since he didn’t use photo references either, the Lower East Side becomes a strange netherworld.

“I wasn’t really concerned with being realistic; it was more a matter of making it my own,” says Hughes. In addition to teaching, he has three kids. “Chaos is a part of my process,” Hughes says, laughing. “Each page of this book was drawn in the car, in the waiting room of doctors, or at my dining room table.”

According to Simmons, this might not be the last we see of Crow: “Russell has been talking to director Abel (King of New York) Ferrara about doing a film adaptation and I’m hoping to also write a sequel.” As Stan “The Man” Lee used to say in Marvel Comics years ago, ’nuff said.

http://www.dailymotion.com/relevance/search/Danny%2BSimmons/video/x4zmzw_interview-with-danny-simmons-creato_creation

It is a tad disconcerting when one spots a “back in the day” acquaintance costarring in a major motion picture. Running into old friends on the streets of New York (as I do more times than I care to talk about) is one thing, but seeing a familiar face in a film is something else all together.

Recently I peeped indie rocker Martin Luther McCoy playing a pseudo Jimi Hendrix character named JoJo in the recently released DVD Across the Universe. I was shocked. Damn, it seems like yesterday when I first met him a few days after he moved from San Francisco in 2001.

Living on the border of Harlem and Washington Heights (his ’hood was mostly Dominican), Marty was on a mission to deliver his musical message. An obvious fan and follower of Sly Stone, Prince, and Marvin Gaye (just to name a few), Marty defined himself by working harder than everybody else.

Anybody who follows the ever-changing canon of Black rock desperados from the Bad Brains to Living Colour to Apollo Heights to Stephanie McKay should recognize Martin Luther. From rocking out on stage at CBGB’s to touring with the Roots to enhancing planet pop with his own brand of guitar-laden rock/gospel/funk on the underrated disc Rebel Soul (2004), the boy has been doing his thing.

Yet, much to my surprise, I never knew that acting was part of his repertoire.

A complexly clichéd musical gem directed by Julie Taymor, Across the Universe utilizes Beatle’s songs to weave a celluloid quilt of sex, drugs, Vietnam, protest marches, and, of course, rock ’n’ roll. If anybody else had overseen the film, it might had been as lame as the script wanted it to be, but Taymor’s interpretation of the corny material sparkles.

As a rare case when style over substance is a good thing, Universe is a guilty pleasure for pop culture junkies who dig the swinging sixties. Since the film is a cinematic valentine to a fantastical notion of what the decade represented, I will excuse the trite use of Marin Luther’s sensitive Hendrix-esque character as a representation of counterculture Blackness.

Yeah, brother Hendrix was a guitar god blaring electric feedback while laughing in the face of society as he strummed his Stratocaster, but perhaps filmmakers will one day also realize the ax contributions of Ike Turner, Curtis Mayfield (rarely cited as a master guitarist), Bobby Womack and Muddy Waters as well.

Introduced on-screen while white bluesman Joe Cocker sings a stirring version of “Come Together,” Marty’s character JoJo takes a bus into New York City after attending a relative’s funeral. Soon, strolling through the gritty Manhattan streets with a guitar slung over his shoulder, it’s inevitable that he will soon wind up in Greenwich Village, loving a fine white chick and playing in a rock band.

From his processed doo to the multicolored threads, Martin Luther brilliantly channels JoJo’s groovy aesthetic with a naturalistic presence that contributes to the beautiful texture of the movie. From his scene-stealing performance during the “Oh Darling” scene to his stunning version of “While My Guitar Gently Weeps,” the Bay Area homeboy more than holds his own.

Across the Universe is an imperfect film filled with beautiful Beatles music and wonderful performances. I hope that this movie will be the perfect jump-off for Martin Luther’s film career and will make more people aware of his music.