Dirty Hands: the art & crimes of david choe. Many years in the waiting.
Maybe you don't know Dave. It's cool, it's not a hipster thing. I've been staring at his drawings, his paintings, his spray can shenanigans, his gta:sa photos, his toys, his t-shirts, his comix, his pervy pics, his Thumbs Up!, his cooler-than-thou snapshots, his corny haircuts, his video escapades, his unnervingly shoulder-shrugging family, his excellent blog and his food for about 10 years.
My grandmother is cooler than your grandmother, and my uncle has always used a great expression to describe her: "she's an institution." I can't think of higher praise for Dave, or a more phitting frase. The motherfucker is a force of nature. Emotional, high-strung, powerfully talented, bullshitless, sand-line-drawer extraordinaire, self-deprecating (self-defecating), perverted saint brainfucker and at a loss for testicular storage. Motherfucker is running out of space and will probably be renting a garage in LA somewhere to store the better part of his left nut and the fucker's a growing boy.
Maybe you don't know Dave. I didn't think I knew him. Slow Jams remains a truly mesmerizing text that no one gets to read (you ain't gettin my copy motherfucker), lovely and chaotic and grotesque, the kind of comic that doesn't come around too often. If you're crafty you'll catch his other sequential art bits and scraps, here & there, in books only nerds know about but that'll fetch a premium on Amazon for his errant pages. The guy can write and I've always said this. That asshole bouncer that works extra hours in your brain and stops you from writing & saying your most honest & ignorant shit has always been on his take and is not to be trusted. Pure id meringue, baked fresh, deposited in serial-killer lettering, accompanying scrawled vaginas and darkly poignant facial features. Porno for pyromaniacs. His pages want the city the burn.
I don't know Dave. I've met him a few times and all I can do to describe him is say that this perpetual high-school stairwell-dweller is genuinely charming, generous, lovely and grateful. He's a bonafide drug addict except his tangled inner cables never led him to intoxicants like the rest of us suckers; rather than fill himself with chemicals he excretes them boldly, covering the world in evocative dream-imagery, machine gunning cum blasts til the krylon's cashed...then coming back the next day to fill in missed details or draw stick figure orgies in the blank spaces between sneaker treads. I think his output is some of the most rewarding artwork of the past two decades, it draws me in and insults me and inspires.
The film Dirty Hands is done in the dirty style, the Choe style, the whole thing is completely uneven, cut with dull scissors and chock full of tidbits for the fans. I've been waiting for this DVD for years and I will admit right off the bat that I knew it was going to fail my expectations. I don't even know what I wanted from it. Coming off a recent read-through of the hardcover art book he released I found quite a bit of crossover but, on that note, you kinda wish there was more of a scoop in here.
It completely disregards a lot of documentary rules, although it does do its best to stick to some kind of timeline. You get about 10 years of Dave with startlingly enormous holes of time that are never interrogated, a few talking heads (including Dave's dad which is one of the more surprising inclusions), a lot of talk about his girlfriend (is she even still around?), some miniscule lip-service from his contemporaries (I actually love hearing his buddies weigh in on him and would've loved even more of it), but best of all you get an assload of Dave just shooting the EVERLOVIN shit. Dave talks the camera's mic to death and there's nothing to complain about there, Harry just lets him fire off and the attentive fan will find something in there worth the price of admission. If you're anything like me, you've been training your inner voice to sound like him and push you towards your dreams, so it's good to add more audio to the database.
Overall I don't think the movie's great. I can't help it. I set it up for failure years ago when it still didn't come out, and I have no idea what the film could've delivered to conquer that. If you're a fan you'll have seen quite a bit of this footage already but there were definitely snackables that were new to me. I can't for the life of me imagine someone going into this cold, they'd probably come out with a very different experience than I had. I can't watch it that way cuz I know who these krazy korean kids are.
Telling those who know Choe to watch this is like telling a cokehead to cut a fatter line - have faith that they'll take all they can get away with. That being said, Harry DOES deliver the goods, they're past the expiration date but remain just as nutritious.
I know Dave: he's that arty truant who couldn't get laid and collects action figures, right?
now go read Slow Jams already. And if you have Son of Slow Jams I fucking hate you.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
yahoo mail's spam advertisement says: "find the one who makes the world go away"
that's really it in a nutshell.
I think the line is beautiful, and I don't know what Lithuanian spambot came up with it but I guess a hundred chimpanzees, typewriters, shakespeare, etc.
I think the line is beautiful, and I don't know what Lithuanian spambot came up with it but I guess a hundred chimpanzees, typewriters, shakespeare, etc.
Tokyo Drift
Helping some coworkers move an usual piece of gym equipment for some much-needed scrilla the other day. We make final adjustments, squaring the circle as we route the infuriatingly heavy device through the geometry of their Connecticut basement. Triumphant is a good word for the minutes that followed. Standing there, completely out of breath, every muscle screaming, I notice a small book on a shelf of primarily medical texts. Tokyo Vice by Jake Adelstein.
I had heard of this book. I played through Yakuza 3 on the PS3 almost entirely with my girlfriend. It's highly unusual for her to become absorbed in my game hours, but when the recognizable fanfare of the title screen would come on she would absentmindedly find herself in the room, appreciating the story, really jazzed about each plot point. She loved Mazima in particular, oddly. Whenever he would pop out she would cheer, and some later plot developments involving his assistance to Kaz incited joyful applause. Again, this is weird for her.
Anyway, the point is, I was browsing some info on the game online after completing it and stumbled onto this:
http://boingboing.net/2010/08/10/yakuza-3-review.html
Some odd gaijin dude playing Yakuza 3 with actual Yakuza.
I'll admit, the first thing that jumped to mind reading this was it sounded like some bullshit (but entertaining) gonzo journalism stuff. Something to slide in next to Vice's Dos & Don'ts. The idea of it seemed insulting, but I thought the Yakuza actually provided some excellent, insightful yet meager commentary. Then I started to read about this book he wrote.
So this was like 6 months ago. Here the book is staring me in the face. I ask the couple to borrow it.
*nodding on nonfiction*
I don't read a lot of nonfiction. I don't have an excellent reason for that aside from this: I think fiction brings more truth to bear than non-fiction. I think One Hundred Years of Solitude, Pedro Paramo, and Osamu Dazai's best known work tell more truth about the world, its people and their authors than a biography or a thoroughly researched travel guide. Memoirs can be fascinating, history is of special interest to me, and academic essay-type shit can actually be engrossing if confidently/competently written.
Of late I've been absorbed into nonfiction for no good reason. I didn't feel like I've been hunting these books out, but almost everything I've recently ingested has been non-fiction(y). Aside from comics and whatnot, my shoulders have been bearing the weight of Lipstick Traces by Greil Marcus, Herodotus' Histories, The Autobiography of a Cro-Magnon by John Joseph and now Tokyo Vice. The first was mindmelting and certainly entertaining in its way (my third attempt at reading it but I finished it this time), the second is, well, the foundation of writing I think, and the third is an assortment of some hellish & humorous war stories that is really dragging as Joseph encounters his developing Krishna faith.
Tokyo Vice was enthralling and exhausting.
The book is really all over the map, but in the very best way. There's something frantic to the whole tale, Adelstein's years as an outsider skillfully & clumsily (& luckily) mapping his path through the Japanese criminal underground, eventually emerging as an insider, as a real reporter, and beyond. The book is crafted around many, many years of this unusual man's life and the length of time bleeds on each page. I feel like he must have lost YEARS of time pursuing various scoops and leads to stories he doesn't even mention a whisper of. Maybe they weren't worth telling, or just aren't worth telling now?
He attempts to plant structure on this tale but the proposition seems absurd...I'm saying again this is over a DECADE of professional life condensed into 330 pages. David Simon & Ed Burns wrote their massive text The Corner on 2 years of life in a drug market, and it was a richly rewarding read. Adelstein, instead, fraught with what must be bloodily scarred elbows grated against some of Japan's most predatory scumfuck population (not really talking about the johns and marks so much...Adelstein even comments that their scramble for purchased sexual contact may be symptomatic of their sadly commonplace emotional isolation), takes an extremely broad brush to the canvas, at least until he spirals into human trafficking issues to what appear to be stupidly heroic yet somewhat substantial ends.
I hate a hero for the narrator of a memoir. Back to my original thoughts on fictions being true, I believe memoirs to be primarily fictional. Recreate the past to the best of your ability and take your falls when they look smooth. Or fall very fucking hard and appear profound and brave. Maybe even kiss the girl you dodged and beat the shit out of the guy who really pussied you out that night. Hide the largest and most emotional moments in snappy prose, while grandly expanding on the trivial. Make the story work, when most lives really don't function this way.
But Tokyo Vice isn't a memoir. And Adelstein IS a hero. This isn't a year in the life of a ballsy gaijin. This is THE life of an American-Japanese and HAS HE got some drinking stories for you (it's going to be a long night). Except it isn't even that. It's a secret modern history of Japanese vice, with a peculiarly fearless narrator.
I will say that parts of this story almost brought me to tears, flushed my face red, made me furious and angry and want to punch walls, had me biting a hole in my lip. Adelstein succeeds on almost all aspects of a compelling read. The writing works well, although I think many of the conversations are complete bullshit (a trick he often employs is to encounter a professional, who then eloquently dishes a mesmerizing cultural vignette), while other conversations seem scarily fucking real. I believe Adelstein FEELS when he feels, and becomes distant and disaffected when he doesn't, and constantly updates you on it. His often crushing honesty is hugely affecting to the reader. I don't know if this is common among those who've experienced the book, but I think he pushes the reader for trust in the same manner that he combats the uneasiness, hesitancy and distrust of the Japanese population surrounding him...and thoroughly succeeds on both counts.
I can't think of a single book this year that has educated and moved me in the way this one has, and I don't believe I will find it. After reading it I found Adelstein's internet home and will be checking up on it from now on. This is required reading for the 21st Century, so hop to it kids.
EDIT: my bad! for the occasional internet nomad who stumbles upon this post, here's Adelstein-san's website:
http://www.japansubculture.com/
I had heard of this book. I played through Yakuza 3 on the PS3 almost entirely with my girlfriend. It's highly unusual for her to become absorbed in my game hours, but when the recognizable fanfare of the title screen would come on she would absentmindedly find herself in the room, appreciating the story, really jazzed about each plot point. She loved Mazima in particular, oddly. Whenever he would pop out she would cheer, and some later plot developments involving his assistance to Kaz incited joyful applause. Again, this is weird for her.
Anyway, the point is, I was browsing some info on the game online after completing it and stumbled onto this:
http://boingboing.net/2010/08/10/yakuza-3-review.html
Some odd gaijin dude playing Yakuza 3 with actual Yakuza.
I'll admit, the first thing that jumped to mind reading this was it sounded like some bullshit (but entertaining) gonzo journalism stuff. Something to slide in next to Vice's Dos & Don'ts. The idea of it seemed insulting, but I thought the Yakuza actually provided some excellent, insightful yet meager commentary. Then I started to read about this book he wrote.
So this was like 6 months ago. Here the book is staring me in the face. I ask the couple to borrow it.
*nodding on nonfiction*
I don't read a lot of nonfiction. I don't have an excellent reason for that aside from this: I think fiction brings more truth to bear than non-fiction. I think One Hundred Years of Solitude, Pedro Paramo, and Osamu Dazai's best known work tell more truth about the world, its people and their authors than a biography or a thoroughly researched travel guide. Memoirs can be fascinating, history is of special interest to me, and academic essay-type shit can actually be engrossing if confidently/competently written.
Of late I've been absorbed into nonfiction for no good reason. I didn't feel like I've been hunting these books out, but almost everything I've recently ingested has been non-fiction(y). Aside from comics and whatnot, my shoulders have been bearing the weight of Lipstick Traces by Greil Marcus, Herodotus' Histories, The Autobiography of a Cro-Magnon by John Joseph and now Tokyo Vice. The first was mindmelting and certainly entertaining in its way (my third attempt at reading it but I finished it this time), the second is, well, the foundation of writing I think, and the third is an assortment of some hellish & humorous war stories that is really dragging as Joseph encounters his developing Krishna faith.
Tokyo Vice was enthralling and exhausting.
The book is really all over the map, but in the very best way. There's something frantic to the whole tale, Adelstein's years as an outsider skillfully & clumsily (& luckily) mapping his path through the Japanese criminal underground, eventually emerging as an insider, as a real reporter, and beyond. The book is crafted around many, many years of this unusual man's life and the length of time bleeds on each page. I feel like he must have lost YEARS of time pursuing various scoops and leads to stories he doesn't even mention a whisper of. Maybe they weren't worth telling, or just aren't worth telling now?
He attempts to plant structure on this tale but the proposition seems absurd...I'm saying again this is over a DECADE of professional life condensed into 330 pages. David Simon & Ed Burns wrote their massive text The Corner on 2 years of life in a drug market, and it was a richly rewarding read. Adelstein, instead, fraught with what must be bloodily scarred elbows grated against some of Japan's most predatory scumfuck population (not really talking about the johns and marks so much...Adelstein even comments that their scramble for purchased sexual contact may be symptomatic of their sadly commonplace emotional isolation), takes an extremely broad brush to the canvas, at least until he spirals into human trafficking issues to what appear to be stupidly heroic yet somewhat substantial ends.
I hate a hero for the narrator of a memoir. Back to my original thoughts on fictions being true, I believe memoirs to be primarily fictional. Recreate the past to the best of your ability and take your falls when they look smooth. Or fall very fucking hard and appear profound and brave. Maybe even kiss the girl you dodged and beat the shit out of the guy who really pussied you out that night. Hide the largest and most emotional moments in snappy prose, while grandly expanding on the trivial. Make the story work, when most lives really don't function this way.
But Tokyo Vice isn't a memoir. And Adelstein IS a hero. This isn't a year in the life of a ballsy gaijin. This is THE life of an American-Japanese and HAS HE got some drinking stories for you (it's going to be a long night). Except it isn't even that. It's a secret modern history of Japanese vice, with a peculiarly fearless narrator.
I will say that parts of this story almost brought me to tears, flushed my face red, made me furious and angry and want to punch walls, had me biting a hole in my lip. Adelstein succeeds on almost all aspects of a compelling read. The writing works well, although I think many of the conversations are complete bullshit (a trick he often employs is to encounter a professional, who then eloquently dishes a mesmerizing cultural vignette), while other conversations seem scarily fucking real. I believe Adelstein FEELS when he feels, and becomes distant and disaffected when he doesn't, and constantly updates you on it. His often crushing honesty is hugely affecting to the reader. I don't know if this is common among those who've experienced the book, but I think he pushes the reader for trust in the same manner that he combats the uneasiness, hesitancy and distrust of the Japanese population surrounding him...and thoroughly succeeds on both counts.
I can't think of a single book this year that has educated and moved me in the way this one has, and I don't believe I will find it. After reading it I found Adelstein's internet home and will be checking up on it from now on. This is required reading for the 21st Century, so hop to it kids.
EDIT: my bad! for the occasional internet nomad who stumbles upon this post, here's Adelstein-san's website:
http://www.japansubculture.com/
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