BOMBlog
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| Blog Name: | BOMBlog |
| Url: | http://www.bombsiteblog.com |
| Language: | English |
| Topics: | Interviews, Reviews, Podcasts |
| Description: | The idea of doing a “blog” is something that’s been kicked around at BOMB for a while. Now that we’re doing it, what we’re most excited about is the transition and redefinition of the idea of “blog” that’s taking place. In creating this blog we’re hoping to have a place where our staff, interns, and contributing editors can have an ongoing conversation with our readers. BOMB is built around the idea of conversations, and it seems like there’s a dearth of serious conversation about the arts (frankly about many things) on the web. We hope that the writing that appears here will spark threads which will continue on long after the initial posting. We hope that you, the readers, will think deeply about what you read and respond thoughtfully. BOMB has a great archive and a long history of promoting conversations between creative people, and this blog will continue that legacy. |
| Popularity: | 3 Followers |
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The Original King of Pop
Charlie Chaplin in THE POLICE (1916) Few entertainers are so iconic that they can be identified by their wardrobe alone. When Jermaine Jackson crooned the popular standard “Smile” at his brother Michael’s memorial concert, he sported a single rhinestone-en
Charlie Chaplin in THE POLICE (1916) Few entertainers are so iconic that they can be identified by their wardrobe alone. When Jermaine Jackson crooned the popular standard “Smile” at his brother Michael’s memorial concert, he sported a single rhinestone-en
Jeff Koons @ Gagosian, Los Angeles
© Jeff Koons. Courtesy Gagosian Gallery. Photo by Robert McKeever. A friend of mine knows that fine art is totally subjective. He has a reply for every criticism, good or bad: “That’s what makes it so great.” With confounding kindness, this retort will de-claw even the harshest cri
© Jeff Koons. Courtesy Gagosian Gallery. Photo by Robert McKeever. A friend of mine knows that fine art is totally subjective. He has a reply for every criticism, good or bad: “That’s what makes it so great.” With confounding kindness, this retort will de-claw even the harshest cri
“Imprecation” by Dawn Marie Knopf
Todd Hido; 2523 from the series HOUSE HUNTING 1996-2001; C-print; 24 x 20 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Pierogi Flat Files. Peter Moysaenko: So goes the story that James Wright, upon read
Todd Hido; 2523 from the series HOUSE HUNTING 1996-2001; C-print; 24 x 20 inches. Courtesy of the artist and Pierogi Flat Files. Peter Moysaenko: So goes the story that James Wright, upon read
Lonergan’s Starry Messenger
J. Smith-Cameron, Matthew Broderick. Photo by Monique Carboni. The New Group’s Off-Broadway premiere of Kenneth Lonergan’
J. Smith-Cameron, Matthew Broderick. Photo by Monique Carboni. The New Group’s Off-Broadway premiere of Kenneth Lonergan’
BLACK COBRA/BLACK TUSK/JAVELINA/BATILLUS @ THE CHARLESTON
If I must, I will begin with an apology—I’m sorry. I missed the first band. I overheard they were working a catchy doom groove, by which I mean plowing through songs marked by a devilish manipulation of tone and an over-riding dedication to the riff, blown-out, stripped-down blues-psych rising from a pit of resin at the pace of a dinosaur skeleton. Spooky and deep, I could imagine, against my better inclination, music blaring from either a stoned teenager’s bedroom or the cellar of a deranged government employee. Upstairs the DJ was spinning dubious hits of the metalcore-to-shwank-rock genre. More than a couple of songs employed the same peculiar rhythm, that manner of ja
If I must, I will begin with an apology—I’m sorry. I missed the first band. I overheard they were working a catchy doom groove, by which I mean plowing through songs marked by a devilish manipulation of tone and an over-riding dedication to the riff, blown-out, stripped-down blues-psych rising from a pit of resin at the pace of a dinosaur skeleton. Spooky and deep, I could imagine, against my better inclination, music blaring from either a stoned teenager’s bedroom or the cellar of a deranged government employee. Upstairs the DJ was spinning dubious hits of the metalcore-to-shwank-rock genre. More than a couple of songs employed the same peculiar rhythm, that manner of ja
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