The Decades Issue - July 2012 by Relapse Magazine

RELAPSE IAN FRISCH Editor in Chief

TYLER MITCHELL Creative Director

MAX LOUIS MILLER Art Director

KELSEY PAINE AMINA SRNA Staff Writers

MICHAEL TESSIER JESSICA LEHRMAN COLE BARASH

On the Cover

Staff Photographers

WESTON AUBURN MEGHAN HILLIARD ERIC FERNANDEZ ISE WHITE Contributing Writers

NICK RAPAZ JON STARS MOLLY GOLDRICK ERIC MASTERS GREG ROLLINS ADAM HRIBAR PATRICK POSTLE ERIC FERNANDEZ ISE WHITE Contributing Photographers

PHOTOGRAPH NICK RAPAZ STYLING MELISSA VARGAS HAIR SHINYA NAKAGAWA MAKE UP KATE ROMANOFF MODEL MEG SAUNDERS at NEXT Dress, Gloves, Clutch, Shoes VINTAGE

Contents. 8

The Little Black Dress

Nineties Revival

Turning Point

Bright Lights, Pin City

Capri’s Modern Travel Guide

What’s the Big Idea?

An Invitation to Mr. Gatsby’s

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

Beauty and the Bouffant

Grace and Allure in Harlem

South of Heaven

Brazilian Invasion

Do Androids Dream of Cyberpunk?

100

Moped Gangs of New York

106

The Memory Box

112

The Lost Screen Tests of Andy Warhol

118

The Final Days of Admiral’s Row

EDITOR’S LETTER

Changing Shape

ew York City, in its rich history and fascination with trends, never seems to stray to far from itself, despite what people think. Each borough and sphere of subculture pulses and bubbles in place like an amoeba in the bloodstream of a giant beast, constantly changing shape and presentation, but never shrinking in size. Nothing is ever taken away. As I observe the people that make this place what it is, I can’t help but try to look past them, past how they express and present themselves and try and see into the origins of these trends, the starting point of what made New York City what it is today. For this issue of Relapse, as the heat falls onto Brooklyn like an invisible cloud of thick smoke, I am breathing it in and exploring influential people and trends of the past and, in some instances, the resurrection of some of these different fascinations—some of the different shapes of the amoeba. We have specifically focused on recreating various decades for our spread of fashion editorials with the help of fashion stylist Ise White and her team, touching upon the affluent 1920s, Harlem in the 1970s, the hard-rocking 1980s, and the Brazil-fueled new millennium, among others. We are also showing contributing writer Meghan Hilliard’s first piece in the pages of Relapse, an in-depth look at Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests, one of his most secret and underappreciated art projects. Advertising rouge George Lois is also featured as a premier game-changer in the media industry of the mid-20th century, alongside a look into Brooklyn’s fiercely passionate moped subculture, gangs of 20-somethings scurrying around on resurrected two-wheelers, carving their own niche into the skin of New York City like a tattoo needle filled with grease and gasoline. Regardless of how much regurgitation you see on the streets— mustaches and thick-framed glasses; wingtips, skinny ties and side-parts; Ray Bans and slim-cut jeans—it is still comforting to know that, one day, you can stop and say that you were there and alive in that time and place, that you were one of the reasons why New York City was shaped the way it was and, as you sit and think about it, thumbing through Instagram photographs taken on your iPhone fifteen years ago, how it has become this—the place you still love. Ian Frisch, Editor in Chief

The Machine. Ise White Taking the reigns for the “Brazilian Invasion” editorial, fashion stylist Ise White’s work has an eclectic aesthetic that stems from her nomadic and adventurous childhood, traveling throughout Europe and Asia, and her unique Choctaw, Scottish, and Chinese heritage. Combined with her wanderlust upbringing and background in painting and art history, her transition into fashion styling was a natural fit, blossoming her as an “upcoming talent to watch” by Retail Ad & Design. She has since gone on to work with giants such as Avon, Budweiser, Coca Cola, and Victoria’s Secret. She has also built a solid base of celebrity clients such as Alicia Keys, Michelle Obama, Jennifer Hudson, Glenn Close, Vanessa Williams, Lauren Conrad, and Sofia Vergara.

Meghan Hilliard Meghan Hilliard knew she had to get out of Portland. “I moved to Brooklyn just over a year ago with two suitcases,” she told me. “If I didn’t leave at that exact time, I’d be there forever.” Growing up in Oregon and attending University of Oregon’s School of Journalism and Communication, Hilliard has written for the likes of The Oregonian, Portland Monthly, and Travel Portland. For her first appearance in Relapse, Hilliard digs deep into the history of Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests. “I love the back story usually more than the main event,” she said. “I always caught myself wondering, ‘What was Warhol like at home?’ Well, he was shooting 472 short films that no one knew about—that’s what he was doing at home. It’s absolutely more fascinating to me.”

Maud Berden Maud Berden was first introduced to Relapse as one of Ise White’s styling assistants, and solidified her visual creativity styling the cover story of The Rebirth Issue back in May. Growing up in Well, Netherlands, a small village wedged between Belgium and Germany in the southernmost part of the country, Berden never thought fashion styling would bring her to New York City. “I’ve always been creative,” she said, “but I was always playing in the fields and building tree houses.” From there, she attended school at SintLucas in Boxtel, where she decided to move to New York City and work under Ise White. For this issue, she teamed up with photographer Molly Goldrick for our futuristic editorial, “Do Androids Dream of Cyberpunk?” and continues to assist under White for added experience in the field. “These past five months with Ise have been eye-opening,” she confided. “I learned a lot and got a lot of chances I could never dream of.”

The Little Black Dress The History of One of Womenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Most Coveted Items WORDS AMINA SRNA

n his memoir The King of Fashion, French fashion designer Paul Poiret writes of a chance encounter with Coco Chanel on a Parisian side street in 1928. Spotting her outfitted in her newest innovation, the little black dress, Poiret scoffed, “For whom, Madame, do you mourn?” “For you, Monsieur,” she replied. In 1926, 18 years after Henry Ford revolutionized automobile manufacturing and gave birth to the Model T, Coco Chanel introduced her most innovative design to date: a short, elegant sheath with long, narrow sleeves, cut in crepe de Chine. American Vogue called it the “Chanel’s Ford” because the simplicity exemplified a masterful cut and proportion, and yet it was easy to mimic, allowing cheaper replicas that propelled the garment to transcend social classes. It was a sensation then as much as it is today, because it was so affordable and accessible for every woman. But the initial silhouette of the little black dress, highlighted by the backdrop of World War II, also symbolized the empowerment of women. The popularity of the use of crepe de Chine was largely based on availability, as the war created a shortage of silk and wool. It also reflected the shortage of physical manpower, leaving women to shoulder the burden. Shortly thereafter, the little black dress became the foundation layer for Elsa Schiaparelli’s couture fitted suit jackets, which the designer cut in shocking pink and hyacinth blue in patterns designed for her by surrealist Salvador Dali. It wasn’t until after the second world war that the little black dress morphed into the lavish, wasp-waisted form that ties it so strongly to sex appeal. In 1947, Christian Dior introduced his “New Look,” a backlash against the war-time stringency within fashion in the form of a line of fitted little black dresses with flared skirts cut in luxurious fabrics. Later on, the stereotype of 1950s poodle skirts were essentially replicas of Dior’s breakout designs, but the new look mirrored the regression of women in the workplace, as documented in Dior’s biography at the Design Museum: “Such a traditional concept of femininity also suited the political agenda. In peacetime those women were expected to return to passive roles as housewives and mothers, leaving their jobs free for the returning soldiers,” it reads. “The official paradigm of post-war womanhood was a capable, caring housewife who created a happy home for her

husband and children. Dior’s ‘flower women’ fitted the bill perfectly.” That notion persisted into the sixties, when Breakfast at Tiffany’s made its premier just one year into the decade. The iconic image of Audrey Hepburn standing in front of a Tiffany’s window in her little black dress and tiara, eating out of a paper bag, permeated the fashion industry, forever making the little black dress synonymous with glamour. As Dr. Joseph H. Hancock, professor of Design and Merchandising at Drexel University and Westphal College put it, “We owe a lot to Blake Edward’s for giving us this film in 1961, because although Chanel designed the first dress, I really think most people feel it was Audrey Hepburn who gave us this look.” Two decades later, the hemlines shrank up above the knee, shoulders were padded, and slits were slashed into the front of gowns, characterizing the tone of the eighties. Today, the hemline, fabric, and neckline are all subject to variation on a whim. The little black dress has become like a pair of jeans, according to Hancock, who says that it is the versatility that draws women to the garment, and that versatility is key to the popularity of the dress. “The little black dress has been loose, tight, cocktail length, mini, and has had many variations,” explained Hancock. “The little black dress transgresses women of all races, classes and body types. That’s the key that many of us seem to forget. If it did not sell well then we would not see it in so many variations and styles.” No matter how many variations, however, the allure of the little black dress resides within the same initial intentions since its conception by Chanel or modification by Dior. It has stood the test of time because it represents both the professional and the sexual aspect of a woman by making her the centerpiece. “Black looks rich and conveys an air of sophistication and intellectualism,” explained New Yorkbased stylist and contributing Fashion Editor for L’uomo Vogue, Ise White. “The woman who wears the little black dress today is savvy, mysterious, and strong.” The little black dress is the palate onto which a woman’s personality is presented and, now, almost 90 years after Chanel bit back again Poiret, you can see armies of women in their little black dresses, scurrying down the street and into the lobbies of clubs or restaurants, making their fashionably late entrance.

“The little black dress transgresses women of all races, classes and body types. That’s the key that many of us seem to forget.”

Nineties Revival

Garbage and Smashing Pumpkins Bring Back Pre-Millennial Vibes with New Records WORDS KELSEY PAINE

he ‘90s are back. For most of us in our 20s, that may seem like an absurd statement because, hey, we’re not that old and we’re still listening to Blind Melon and Pearl Jam, reminiscing about hot summer days and long car rides, windows down, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” blasting from the stereo. But in all actuality, it’s been 12 years since that seemingly idyllic decade of our lives and a lot’s changed since then—music included. Gone are the days of catchy guitar driven alt-rock, dark lyrics sung by a charismatic frontman who disguised his pain beneath layers of jangly chord progressions and harmonizing background vocals. The radio is now full of fistpumping anthems, dubstep mashups, and sing-songy poprap. Where are our ‘90s alt-rock heroes? I know I’m not the only one who misses them. Well, as it turns out, they’ve been carefully watching the tides turn, biding their time. And thank the guitar gods; that time has finally come. Two of our oddball rock heroes have made their return with new albums this month. And let’s be honest, you’ve found it impossible to forget Garbage and the Smashing Pumpkins, two 90s alt anti-idols who’ve been smoldering away in your 10

lemon’s tape deck. As it turns out, the Pumpkins and Garbage are back and hoping to add a little spice and depth to the contemporary frothy, fickle airwaves. One of the baddest and most beautiful rock chicks in the game came at us snarling about a “Stupid Girl” in 1996 in a band brazenly calling themselves Garbage. Shirley Manson captivated men and women alike with her striking fiery red mane, cherry stained lips and milky white skin, landing herself on the cover of every magazine there is – a veritable sexy, sulky rocker gurrrl incarnate. But while Garbage boasted both Manson and Butch Vig, idolized and memorialized for producing Nirvana’s Nevermind, sold millions of records and wracked up Grammy nods, the group never felt as though they had their finger on the pulse, self-consciously letting their light flicker and quickly fade out. “We had enjoyed such a zeitgeist moment with our first two records—people were excited by us—and then the music scene shifted so completely,” Manson told Ellen Carpenter in the July 2012 issue of NYLON magazine. “Garage bands like The Strokes and The White Stripes came in

and put us out of business, for lack of a better term. And I knew it: Oof, we are fucked. And I don’t think we were quick enough to adapt.” The band disbanded and did their own thing, but after another sonic scene change, (we’re talking from the Strokes to Selena Gomez, Jane’s Addiction to Justin Bieber) Garbage is back with their first album in seven years: Not Your Kind of People. Expertly superimposing Shirley’s snotty yet emotionally-laden vocals over high-octane guitar and pop-sensible melodies, Garbage has completed their comeback with People in the best way possible: focusing on crafting tightly packaged tunes while highlighting exactly what makes them so unique—an unspoken crown as the very coolest voice of the uncool. And whether she may like it or not, Shirley’s always been the star. Her gorgeous looks—at 45 she doesn’t seemed to have aged in the past 10 years—gravelly growl and smooth delivery make her the real Madonna of the alt music scene. (Sorry Courtney Love.) And sounding a bit like Music-era Madonna, she does the sad and sensual “Sugar,” the album’s first single, and the somewhat juvenile “I Hate Love.” Garbage never claimed to have grown-up though, sticking to their tried and true alt-rock tactics, alternative to pop princesses and rap stars. “It’s not our job to reinvent the wheel,” Manson said in a recent interview. “That’s the playground of the young.” But it’s on the aggressively charged “Battle In Me,” the eery title track, where Garbage’s gifts as songwriters, musicians, and most of all, cohesive friends, really shines. And among all the Rihannas and Katy Perrys dominating the airwaves, it’s good to have our rock chick back—older, but certainly not mellowed. While Shirley is a strong female role model, at the other end of the spectrum is Billy Corgan, a tortured, somewhat bizarre poet, who has a habit of sticking his foot in his mouth, generally confounding everyone with his spectacularly crafted atmospheric grunge rock, peculiar personality and off-stage antics. After internal fighting, drugs, and less-than-stellar album sales persistently plagued the band, the Pumpkins broke up their rotating cast of characters in 2000. Obviously our favorite bald-headed frontman couldn’t stay away from the stage for too long. With a new lineup and new outlook, Corgan crafted Oceania, deemed “an album within an album,” which dropped June 19. In a surprisingly astute observation, Corgan tells KROQ, “It’s just not enough to have the music any more. We live in a world that demands a level of sensationalism, but sometimes the best music isn’t about that. Sometimes

the best music requires a few listens.” Corgan has dubbed Oceania the “best [Smashing Pumpkins] album in over 15 years” and their “strongest offering since 1995′s Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness.” And with a record that boasted iconic songs like “1979” and “Zero,” that’s saying something. Oceania is a breath of fresh air. Our irascible frontman sounds like he’s been wielding the whip pretty frequently, disciplining his new band recruits to his liking. And on opener “Quasar,” the musicianship shines; its loud, driving riffs are incessant and perfectly tailored. The rest of the record isn’t as incessantly berating as “Quasar.” Instead, Corgan accomplishes his odd talent of crafting a pop melody within his usual wall of angsty, guitar-driven sound. On the acoustic/strings lovechild ballad “The Celestials,” one might recall the second coming of the Pumpkin’s classic “Disarm,” whilst the apathetic lyrics on “Violet Rays” (“I’ll leave with anyone this night/ And I’ll kiss anyone tonight”) are sadly touching, and recall the hopelessness of modern love, as well as nods to Mellon Collie’s subject matter. The dreamy “Wildflower” leaves the album off on a high note, letting the listener blissfully float while Corgan drones on about being “wasted along the way.” Oceania is reportedly only the middle section of a larger, 44-song epic boasting the fantastical title Teargarden by Kaleidyscope. And that grandiosity is unsurprising given Corgan’s obsessive reputation. So while Corgan may have a whole new band of enlisted followers, he hasn’t changed much—his quest for the perfect rock opera far is from over, but his limited persona remains as detached and alienating as ever—something that’s always held the Pumpkins back. For their part, Shirley Manson and the boys have returned with more to say, but with a song called “I Hate Love,” you can’t exactly claim they’ve found a different way to say it. What’s interesting is that even while growing and changing personally, neither Garbage nor the Pumpkins have vastly differed from the blueprint their bands laid 20 years ago—and that’s okay. Human beings will never find a cure for love, heartbreak, self-doubt or loneliness, and there’s only so many eloquent ways to express it all. But it’s still refreshing and encouraging hearing real alt-rock making a go at it again. If this generation of music listeners can discover that there’s more out there than Top 40 schmaltz and sex, and indie rockers who wear their heart on their sleeves, then we’re all the better for it. Garbage and the Smashing Pumpkins may not have reinvented the wheel with their return, but they have brought us—and a whole new crop of impressionable listeners—back to an excellent starting point. 11

TURNING POINT A Look at Three of New York City’s Most Influential Skateboarders WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHS ERIC FERNANDEZ

clear distinction is often made between pre-911 and post-911 New York City. As Bloomberg took Giuliani’s place as Mayor and began cleaning up the city and detailing Manhattan inside and out, the city slowly took on a new energy over the course of the next decade. The same kind of development happened amongst the skateboard community. The kind of reputation New York began to take on in the skateboard world and the nature of the actual skateboarding happening in the City slowly became more polished, more structured, and more prominent amongst mainstream masses. While maintaining appreciation for the really special kind of niche New York holds in the skateboarding world today, it’s important to take a look at the state of skateboarding in New York during the 1990s. These are the individuals that set the stage for what was to come, and helped develop what lead to the giant influx of east coast coverage in the magazines and videos in the early 2000s. All New York natives, Jeff Pang, Peter Bici, and Rodney Torres were amongst the influential people who characterized this special era in East Coast skateboarding—the turning point.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;There was no glamour, no glitz, no coverage. Everyone cared about New York, but there was nothing the industry thought they could get from it. It was a different time.â&#x20AC;?

JEFF PANG

PETER BICI

“Nineties skateboarding, great time in my life. I look at skateboarding now and I don’t see it. We were way tighter, we were like a family. We had friends from all different boroughs.” “I feel pretty lucky to be a part of that era of skateboarding because there won’t be anything like that in NYC again. Ever.” 14

RODNEY TORRES

“There used to be a flat parking lot across from Astor Place, and everybody would be in there sitting on top of people’s parked cars, drinking, smoking, just partying. We’d be across the street skating. And we’d skate anything, like, nosesliding the bumpers of cars waiting for red lights. It was just more of an adventure back then. Now it’s so structured.” 15

Bright Lights, Pin City The New York City Pinball League Aims to Rejuvinate a Classic Pastime WORDS WESTON AUBURN PHOTOGRAPHS JESSICA LEHRMAN

oger Sharpe stood in front of the New York City council in 1976, the state of pinball in New York City in the balance. Pinball had been determined illegal in the 1940s because it was thought to be a game of chance (gambling). Mr. Sharpe announced to the skeptical city council that if he pulled back the plunger a certain amount he would shoot the steel ball down a specific lane. He pulled back and shot the ball down the lane he had predicted, with ease. That was more than enough for city council who overturned the ban on pinball, ruling it was indeed a game of skill. Since that fateful day almost 40 years ago, pinball has gone through varying degrees of popularity. However, in the past five years, it has seen a resurgence. Since the 1980s, the current pinball machines have barely changed. The current pinball is as follows: you have two flippers that you use to knock a steel ball around to different targets trying to score as many points as possible without the ball falling into the drain at the bottom of the machine. It is simple and easy, with only very few minor changes in the past 30 years. What has changed is the interest in pinball. According to The New York City Pinball League commissioner Kris Medina, in its heyday New York City had around 10,000 machines. “There are currently just under 100 now,” he added solemnly. However, Medina thinks there is reason for optimism. Since he first started the Pinball League almost two years ago, the league has grown from just 30 players to over 150 players. “I wanted to grow the audience and get it beyond the stereotypical ‘pinheads,’” Medina said. “All my efforts have been towards marketing it to young people. It’s about tossing back a few beers on a Monday night, seeing your buddy and going to different bars in the City.” Medina despite leading the charge towards a New York City-based pinball resurgence, is relatively new to the scene. “As a kid in the 80s I barely touched a pinball machine; I played all the arcade games,” he confided. It wasn’t until Medina was living in Los Angeles for a short period that he started to give pinball a chance. “There was this couple’s apartment in Korea Town and they were an illegal after-hours bar open two nights a week.,” he told me. “In their loft apartment they collected arcade games, roped off their bedroom section, setup a DJ in one corner and a bar in the other. They had a couple pinball machines there. That’s when I started to get hooked.” Kris moved back to his native New York and decided there was a market for some type of pinball league; he saw the excitement in people’s faces when he introduced the game to them. “When I launched the website and announced myself to the world almost everyone in the New York City pinball community was like, ‘Who the fuck is this guy? Where the hell did he come from?’ I only knew a couple of people.” Despite not knowing many people to start with, Medina said the “pinheads” started coming out of the woodwork.

STEVE MARSH

HEATHER SHERMAN

KRIS MEDINA & GIRLFRIEND

Through Medina I was introduced to quite a few members of the league. I met Heather Sherman, a relative newcomer to pinball, at Satellite Lounge, a bar with six pinball machines down the street from her Williamsburg apartment. She is on a team with her boss and co-workers from the hospital where she works on making dental prosthetics. Sherman, who has a fine arts background, is on the B Division team “Dr.Teeth.” Her boss asked her to play and she likes to joke that she started to play pinball because she felt obligated. “But I did in a way,” she quickly admits. Despite the obligation, she says she is totally hooked. “It’s the last thing I thought I would have been into. Before pinball I would have never had the courage to go into a bar alone, now I go all the time by myself just to play a couple games.” I watched her play a few rounds and despite her claims of being an amateur she plays with an intensity and determination that seems out of character from the sweet soft spoken woman who sat across from me only a few moments ago. Over the racket of the machine, she informed me, without looking up, “I always played video games, but they are very isolating. Pinball is much more social, people are cheering you on,” she said, continuing to rack up points at a dizzying pace of ding, ding, dings, her eyes never leaving the persistent flashes of light in front of her. For every new player like Heather in the New York City Pinball League, there are more than a few seasoned veteran’s like Steve Marsh. Steve invited me over to his spacious Flatiron District loft, which has a back room outfitted with more than a half dozen machines. “I’ve been playing for over 40 years,” he stated matter-of-factly. Steve, who during the day is an attorney, is a true pinball aficionado, having picked up his first machine in the

early 80s, “a fixer-upper from some campground in Central New York.” Despite his early interest in pinball, it didn’t become a social thing for him until he was living in Washington D.C. in the 90s. He is still friends with some guys from that league that is still running today. I asked Steve his theory on why pinball is seeing a resurgence while arcade games still collect dust. “Arcade culture kind of died when the arcades went away. It is easy to emulate these games on computers, and even phones now. You can’t really put a pinball game on a computer.” In fact, it might be iPhones and video games that are attracting a younger culture to pinball. According to Kris, “We got this one kid, he played a pinball game on his phone and from that decided to seek out the real thing. Now he is obsessed.” Back in Marsh’s loft, as we stood amongst his blinking pinball machines, Steve had a look of deep satisfaction. As I thanked him for his time, he invited me to come back anytime and play. I could tell he was being genuine and not just polite. It reminded me of something Medina had said to me earlier. “Pinball became an excuse to get together with your buddies on a Monday night. Pinball just colors the night.” Almost as an after thought as I am about to leave, Marsh pulled from a shelf his PAPA (Professional and Amateur Pinball Association) 6 C Division championship trophy he won in Las Vegas in 1998. It is quite heavy and he hands it to me for a feel. His look of satisfaction turns to one of a deep sense of accomplishment. It’s not about winning for most of these guys, but the trophies don’t hurt either. 19

Capri’s Modern Travel Guide The New Way of Going About One of Italy’s Oldest Cultural Hotspots

WORDS & PHOTOGRAPHS ISE WHITE

apri is a dream that rises out of the ocean off the coast of Italy in pink-lit rocks out of an azure sea, its salty breezes laced with the perfume of honeysuckle flowers and lemon groves. The Russian writer Ivan Turgenev (quoted in Shirley Hazzard’s memoir, Greene on Capri) called it “a miracle, and not because of the marvelous Blue Grotto, but because the entire place is a virtual temple to the goddess of Nature, the incarnation of Beauty.” Capri drew artists and pleasure seekers as far back as the Romans, worshipping nature spirits in their physical incarnations like the nymphaeum in the Grotto Matermania. By 19th century bohemian expats, royalty, and artists had ensconced themselves in Capri, many with a renewed interest in the ancient mystery religions. This was in part a reaction to the Industrial Revolution that spurred the Romantic movement with adherents searching out deep genuine aesthetic experiences tied with strong emotions. If Paris was 20

the stage where the philosophy of Romanticism was developed, then Capri was the play that was acted out. As with all art pioneers who settle into an area because of beautiful surroundings and cheap rent, by the 1940s the creative scene drew the glitterati. Henry James, Jospeh Conrad, Nietzsche, Graham Greene, political exiles Pablo Neruda and Maxim Gorky were replaced by Chalie Chaplin, Grace Kelly, Faye Dunaway, and Greta Garbo. Clark Gable and Sofia loren filmed part of It Started in Naples in Capri. As did Bridgett Bardot in Le Mepris. To the newcomers, Capri was the sensual playground of the rich. “The party began in April and ended in September,” reminisced a Capri local during my recent trip. “From 7pm to 7am. Such a beautiful people.” Presently, underneath all the jewels and opulence, something of the old Capri remains—the people. The Caprese people are even more welcoming than the already

embracing Italians. If you let them they will become your friends, your family, and your lover; include you in a loving warmth of enthusiastic conversation, heated opinions, and great food. Two of my girlfriends stayed behind on the island, having found themselves swept away by the persuasive charm of the handsome island boys. There was a night on the terrace of the Punta Tragara where the stars were coming out in the deepening indigo sky. The half moon was hidden by clouds and where the light did come through the waves reflected silver. The breeze that rose off the cliff mixed with the freshly bloomed flowers and I looked at my friend next to me and at our cameras. We both shook our heads. We knew it was futile to try and capture the fullness of the moment that held us transfixed. These experiences are the true allure of Capri. It is for those who have the patience and the time to stay more than a week. It is a place where getting lost will reward you with a local haunt or a hidden garden. It’s a culture where you find your habits, whether it’s a coffee shop you visit every day, or a fruit stand where you buy your local apricots every week, or even the dirt path where you indulgently stroll instead of power walk. Most of all, Capri is a place where one takes time to remember to enjoy life.

RISTORANTE PAOLINO’S

rom my trip, I want to offer these finds: • At the Marina Grande there are plenty of cafes but the one that stands out for great service, coffee, gelato, and wifi is Bar Corallo. • Walk on the backpaths past the Grotto Matermania, Arco Naturale, Villa Malaparte, and the Faragione. The restaurant Grotelle on the path to the Arco Naturale grows their own vegetables. Order the pizza appetizer; the chewy Neapolitan crust will make you cry. • Ristorante Paolino’s is a hidden gem under an open air lemon grove patronized by celebrities and locals alike. Their dessert room is worth the trip alone. • The Monte Solaro Bed and Breakfast in Anacapri. A family-run establishment up winding hills with views over-looking all of the Anacapri coast. Constanza, the owner, serves up pizzas every evening to his pool-side guests. • Carthusia is a local perfumer. The story they tell is the original scent is based off the waters of flowers that were given to the Queen Joan of Anjou in 1380. • Handmade Sandals that are customizable to your taste is a Capri tradition. If you stay in Capri, go to Fiore; they have several locations. For the more authentic experience, take the bus up to AnaCapri and go to Antonio Viva at L’arte del Sandalo Caprese. He and his staff will help you pick out a heel, and strap to your specifications and have it made within the day. 21

WHAT’S THE BIG IDEA? How George Lois Sparked a Creative Revolution and Changed the Advertising Industry WORDS IAN FRISCH PHOTOGRAPHS JESSICA LEHRMAN

eorge Lois has a no-shoe policy in his wide-open, third-floor apartment in Greenwich Village, a space that acts more like an art museum than a place to drink beer and watch a Yankees game. “Can you please take your shoes off before you come in?” Lois, 82 but still wide in the shoulders and over six feet tall, asked, waiting in the doorway with his wife Rosemary. “The cleaning lady will fucking kill me.” Lois, the advertising juggernaut, the infallible communicator, the foul-mouthed Greek rouge who single-handedly changed the concept of art direction in the advertising and magazine publishing industry in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s has been obsessed, since dropping out of Pratt in 1951, with what he calls the Big Idea. “The ethos of my life has been the passionate belief that creativity can solve almost any problem,” Lois explained in the introduction of George Lois and His Creation of the Big Idea, one of his ten books. “The Big Idea, the defeat of habit by originality, overcomes everything.” And it’s these big ideas that have not only changed Lois’s life, but also those that he worked with over the past six decades in New York City, fueling a Creative Revolution that would forever leave crisp, fang-ridden teeth marks in the Big Apple. A vinegar-drenchedlentil-soup Greek kid growing up in a corned-beef-andcabbage Irish neighborhood of the Bronx, Lois led a pretty rough-and-tumble upbringing that taught him valuable lessons about racism, hard work, and fistfights, leaving him with his loaded-pistol personality and a crooked schnoz. “The guys treated me like I was a black kid, you know? ‘Fuckin’ greaseball!’ Physically, I had dozens of fistfights,” Lois told me. “I think I won them all.” He worked under his father, Haralampos Lois, a florist, delivering flowers all over New York City by bicycle. When production started to boom under his father’s business model “Store…home…father…son,” Haralampos hired a black man to drive a delivery truck. “People would come in and say, ‘What’s the nigger doing here?’” Lois explained. “My dad would say, ‘He’s a nice young man and a great worker.’” When word got to one of the local churches, a big account for the Lois family, the pastor stopped by the shop and threatened to withdraw their weekly account if the driver continued to work there. “My father said, ‘If that’s

the way it’s going to be, then that’s the way it’s going to be.’” As far as art goes, Lois was top-notch shit since he started getting in fistfights at the age of six. He drew incessantly, usually his favorite baseball players. When he was in middle school at P.S. 7, his art teacher, the first to notice his talent, sent him to take the entrance exam for the High School of Music and Art. After being accepted, and during his last days at P.S. 7, the Irish principle dropped by the flower shop. “No need to fear about your son studying art,” he told Haralampos. “Your son is talented.” As a freshman at Music and Art, Lois had one of his first Big Ideas while designing a final project for Mr. Patterson, a teacher who had his students create abstract avant-garde pieces based solely on Kazimir Malevich’s rectangle-driven art on 18 x 24 illustration board. “The more we ripped off Malevich,” Lois wrote in his most recent book Damn Good Advice, a list of 120 guidelines for people with talent to follow, “the better Mr. Patterson liked it. Bo-r-r-ring! But I made my move,” he continued. “As my 26 classmates worked furiously…I sat motionless. Time was up. He went to grab my completely empty board, when I thrust my arm forwards and interrupted him by casually signing ‘G. Lois’ in the bottom left-hand corner. He was thunderstruck. I had ‘created’ the ultimate 18 x 24 rectangle design!” From there, Lois attended Pratt (paying his way with tips saved from flower delivery, plus a basketball scholarship) where, during his first year, he swooned his wife Rosemary Lewandowski by poking fun at her Syracusean accent, following her home from school, and dropping his famed pickup line: “Hi. I’m Lois. George Lois. Me Tarzan. You Jane.” To which she replied, “Me Rosemary. You arrogant.” He quickly spat back, “No— Greek Orthodox. I love you.” And they’ve been together ever since. [Lois made a point of his devotion to his wife in Damn Good Advice, dedicating #97 to his love, accompanied by a sepia-stained photograph of them ten minutes after they first met: “When you meet your mate, don’t let her (him) get away. (Your creative juices will flow forever.)”] Lois’ time at Pratt was short lived, however. In the middle of his second year, professor Herschel Levit told him he should be working in advertising and encouraged him to drop out. Levit set up a meeting with

“The ethos of my life has been the passionate belief that creativity can solve almost any problem.”

Reba Sochis, who owned a promotion studio in Manhattan. “She proved to be the third most important woman in my life,” Lois wrote in George, Be Careful, his autobiography. She hired him at $35 a week and Lois left Pratt and began his career in advertising as an industrious 20-yearold and someone, according to marketing guru Bill Pitts at Lois’ induction to the Art Directors Hall of Fame in 1978, who naturally has “ego, personal force, demonic drive, indefatigability, and an almost savage competitive passion.” Shortly after dropping out (and eloping with Rosemary in Baltimore) in 1951, Lois was drafted into the army for a 16-week cycle to fight in Korea. “In basic training, I talked back crudely when spoken to rudely,” Lois wrote in George, Be Careful, and confided that he spent ten out of his 16 weeks in the Army in company punishment, forced to wash ovens and polish vats in the kitchen, scrub and shine floors, and even move loads of rocks from one area to another. And Lois did it with pride and without complaint, that is, until he was told by an officer to move the rocks again, to another arbitrary spot. “I suggested he go fuck himself,” Lois wrote in Be Careful. After being shuffled in to explain himself to the major, Lois stated plainly, “I’ll scour your ovens, I’ll polish your vats, I’ll clean your grease traps, I’ll wax your floors, I’ll paint your barracks—I’ll do anything. But I ain’t gonna pick up rocks that go from here to there, then move them to another place. I just won’t do it, sir, because it’s not productive.” The major got up from behind his desk, walked over to Lois, smacked him on the back and shouted “Good job!” His job with Reba Sochis was waiting from him when he returned from Korea, but Lois wanted to grow as an art director. Sochis recommended keeping away from Madison Avenue until he was more experienced, but referred him to CBS, who was known for taking in young but highly skilled designers. After learning the disciplines of his craft at a largescale business, Lois left for a job at Lennen & Newell, one of the country’s top 20 advertising agencies, hoping to really start cranking out some creativity. It didn’t go as planned. “After several months of being mickey-moused,” Lois wrote in Be Careful, “I barged into [Suren] Ermoyen’s tent (Senior Art Director) and spoke my piece.” Lois’ piece was that he wanted to show his advertisements to the internal account supervisor at Lennen & Newell of one of their biggest clients at the time, American Airlines. Lois got his meeting. When he walked into Senior Vice President and Management Account Supervisor C.L. Smith’s office, Smith had all of Lois’ ads laid out neatly on the carpet and, as he started to speak, planted his feet in the center of each idea, like he was stepping on rocks to cross a river. Lois immediately picked up his work under Smith’s feet, walked over to his desk, grabbed its overhang, and flipped the piece of furniture 24

over, its contents crashing on the ground. Lois then walked quietly out of the room with his ads tucked neatly under his arm. Six months later, in 1955, he left Lennen & Newell. Lois worked at Sudler & Hennessey, where he first met account guru Fred Papert. Again restless and wanted more out of his professional life, Lois send a letter to Bill Bernbach, owner and big cheese at Doyle Dane Bernbach, the only creative agency in the world at the time. Bernbach hired Lois as Art Director, allowed him to work with ace copywriter Julian Koenig, giving Lois full-reign to become a driving force in the Creative Revolution. (He won three gold medals at the New York Art Directors Club show for his work on Volkswagen, Chemstrand, and Goodman’s Matzos—the last account of which he sealed by threatening to commit suicide out of their office window if they didn’t accept. His clincher, as he hung out the window, was “YOU MAKE THE MATZOH, I’LL MAKE THE ADS!”) Two years later, however, Lois left Doyle Dane Bernbach to start his own company with the best advertising copywriter and account director in the world: Julian Koenig and Fred Papert, respectively. It was the perfect team. Papert Koenig Lois (PKL) was born. “There were some big motherfuckin’ ideas,” Lois said flatly as we sat in his living room, referring to his time at PKL and his proceeding companies throughout the 70s, 80s and 90s. One of his biggest ideas, he said, was when he was hired to create an advertisement for Xerox, an account he was fired from five minutes into their first meeting. “You don’t understand our product,” they told Lois, saying he was missing the point of their 15-year plan as a paper copying service. “I said, ‘We could do that in a couple of weeks if you [use my idea.]’ They fired me on the spot.” About a week later, Lois got a phone call from Xerox’s president. “Alright, Lois,” he said, “maybe you’re right. Produce the goddamn commercial!” They produced a demonstration commercial of a girl assisting her father at work. He asks her to make a copy of a document with the Xerox. When she completes the task and brings the two back to her father, he says, “Which one is the original?” She just shrugs her shoulders. A couple of weeks later the Federal Communications Commission (FCC) called up Lois and ordered him a cease and desist, saying that it would a fraudulent commercial, that a little girl couldn’t complete a task like that. “I should’ve said, ‘Fuck you…sir.’ But I didn’t.” Instead, Lois invited the FCC to be witnesses at the re-shooting of the commercial. “Three suits showed up,” Lois explained, “and I shot the same exact commercial. But instead of a little girl I used a chimpanzee.” Within three days of the new commercial, the Xerox ad budget changed from $250,000 to 9,000,000. And in four months, they accomplished their 15-year plan. “I always said that Big Ideas should be seemingly

outrageous,” Lois told me, speaking mostly towards one of his other favorite campaigns, a sneaky run in the mid-80s for the next big American fashion designer, Tommy Hilfiger. “I think Tommy shit right in his pants,” Lois burst, talking of the pitch of his famed advertisement for the young designer, a billboard piece boasting, “The 4 Great American Designers For Men Are:” with four listed only by the first letter of their first and last names, underscored blank spaces filling in the rest of the letters. Ralph Lauren, Perry Ellis, and Calvin Klein were easy to figure out, but everyone in New York City was asking the same question: Who the hell is T____H____?! “He was famous in three days,” Lois told me. “Tommy was fucking national in hundreds of stores in a month. Now that’s a Big Idea. It was absolutely outrageous.” And, alongside Hilfiger’s television appearances and viral growth in the retail world, the New York Times appropriately ran an article titled “Is Tommy Hilfiger Successful Because of His Clothes or His Advertising?” Another aspect of Lois’ legacy was his collaboration with Esquire magazine in the 1960s, where he designed 92 covers over a ten-year period, forever changing the concept of art direction in magazine publishing and forever solidifying Esquire as a driving force on the newsstands. “With his very first cover for Esquire, in October 1962,” started Harold Hayes in an October 1981 article in Adweek, then-Editor of Esquire, “the 31-year-old Lois had earned [the unusual freedom of working alone on the cover.]” “Obviously you don’t have anyone there that knows how to do them because if you did they’d come in the office and say, ‘Harold! Here’s the fucking cover!” Lois shouted, shoving a piece of paper in my face as if it was a Big Idea. Working alone on the first cover, (as well as the other 91) Lois came up with the idea to visually call the boxing match between Floyd Patterson and Sonny Liston, photographing a kid that looked like Floyd laying on his back in the middle of the ring of an empty arena. A loser. Alone. The public scoffed at the cover when it hit shelves a few

days before the match. The day after the fight, though, when Floyd Patterson hit the floor at the hands of Liston, everyone at Esquire was hooked on Lois. “The most important cover I did was the first one,” Lois confided, smiling. Lois has continued in the advertising world since his days atop the throne, but doesn’t see a sliver of passion that existed in his heyday. “[Agencies these days] don’t believe in the miracle of advertising. They don’t believe in what I do. They don’t!” Lois said. “They don’t say, ‘We will change your life.’ They don’t say it. They don’t dare say it. Not in a million years!” Lois has tried to spark another Creative Revolution with Damn Good Advice, targeting the release to young and aspiring designers and creative professionals. “The name of the game is making shit happen—making things work,” Lois said in his matter-of-fact tone. “[Damn Good Advice] is a good approach on how to live, not a model to live an important live, but to be proud of what you do and how you act and be courageous. Everyone is scared to death, not just now, but the last 20 years. That’s why I did the book. I’m basically talking about courage.” Still taking clients, the 82 year-old Lois keeps his creative juices flowing while contemplating new Big Ideas—some outside the realm of advertising. “What would I do? There are so many possibilities, but something that no one has is a great theatre magazine,” he explained. “Every fucking person that comes to New York goes to the theatre and if you don’t something is wrong with you. I’d do a theatre magazine in a flash.” But for now, Lois doesn’t mind lacing up his sneakers for a weekly game of basketball at the Union Square YMCA, blasting his youthful glow somewhere else besides his office. “It gets pretty rough on the court there,” Lois told me as we circled the art in his apartment, our sockwrapped feet silently gliding atop his hardwood floors, the soft afternoon light pouring through his windows and hugging his stacks of coffee-table-books. “I love it. I have to go or I’ll have nowhere else to take out my energy.”

“The name of the game is making shit happen — making things work.”

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Moped Gangs of New York Kids in Brooklyn Have Brought Mopeds Back from the Dead WORDS IAN FRISCH PHOTOGRAPHS PATRICK POSTLE

he sweltering summer sun hung hot over Broadway Avenue in Bushwick, Brooklyn in late June as a gang of 100 mopedders kicked their vintage bikes alive—back from the dead…two-wheeled zombies resurrected from decades past as one of the new predominant trends of a special breed of twenty-somethings all over New York City and the rest of the country…a swarm of two-stroke whining and burning gasoline—a picnic of gear talk, grease streaks, oil stains, and last-minute wrenching before the big ride, the biennial Come Out to Play Rally hosted by Bushwick’s Mission 23 moped gang and Second Stroke, their moped shop…the much anticipated group jaunt all over the City that ends with broken engines, foaming cans of beer and late-night dance parties at Bushwick bars. License plates from California, Texas, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Georgia, New Hampshire, Illinois, North Carolina and Florida mingled in with the locals as the engines started…leather boots, cut-off jean jackets, sleeves of tattoos, “Fuck It, Let’s Ride” patches, mustaches, The Buzzards, Swoops, Pedal Cutters, BLKBLK, Humans Beans…all twisting the throttle as traffic stopped to let the swarm of fish pour onto Broadway, screaming north as a single unit like a freshly buttered chainsaw… According to the New York City Department of Motor Vehicles, Brooklyn is the epicenter of the rise in mopedders. In the past five years, there has been a 18.5 percent increase in moped registrations, jumping from 548 in 2007 to 749 at the end of 2011, making a distinct impact not only on the streets directly, but also in a cultural sense, bringing people together with the common hobby of modifying and enjoying these novelty items. “[There are] people [coming] out of the works that I haven’t met before that have been riding mopeds,” explained Pete D’Addeo, member of Mission 23 and co-owner of Second Stroke, the only operating moped distribution and repair shop in New York City. “I have seen a couple new groups form, and not that onlinestatus sort of fame because that’s bologna anyway, but getting together and riding and having fun with their friends.” “They are a part of history,” said avid mopedder and Misson 23 member Stinky, wiping grease off his fingers and rolling up a cigarette in the front room of Second Stroke a few days before the big rally. “They don’t make these shits like they used to. I first bought a moped nine years ago. Ever since then, I got hooked, dude.”

The first thing you have to know about mopeds is: Don’t call it a scooter. Although similar in the fact that they are a smaller, alternative form of transportation, there are some distinct differences that make mopeds stand out. “With mopeds, you sit on it like a motorcycle, legs straddled, “D’Addeo explained. “It’s definitely more aggressive than a scooter. [A scooter] is like sitting on a toilet—legs together,” he continued, wincing. “Mopeds have always been cheaper than scooters,” said Ari Sneider, co-owner of Second Stroke with D’Addeo. “[Mopeds] are a no-frills kind of vehicle. It’s less about vanity with these and more about straight-up functionality. And the legal barriers are already there, too.” Aside from getting 100 miles-per-gallon and boasting an affordable price tag of around $1,000 (less than half of a new Vespa scooter), these gas-powered, two-stroke, pedalaccented machines run under a specific set of rules when it comes to registration and operation. You do not need a motorcycle license to operate a moped. You do not need insurance for older models. You do not need the original title to register, just a bill of sale. You do not need an inspection sticker. You can park it on the sidewalk like a bicycle. And, above all, they are completely customizable. “You get people that are just looking for that functionality and then there’s some people that are actually married to the aesthetic of these bikes now,” explained Sneider, draining the remaining bits of gasoline out of the carburetor of a sunflower yellow ‘ped. “It represents something vintage with them. There is something to say about the unique aesthetic of mopeds versus scooters.” People ride mopeds in New York City for various reasons. “I think most people go for mopeds because they want to stop taking the subway, feel good and refreshed when they get to work—not hot and sweaty from riding a bike or just really lethargic because they were on the subway,” D’Addeo told me, who first started riding mopeds when he moved to Brooklyn five years ago. “I find mopeds fucking easy and convenient to get around. I don’t want to be looking at sweaty fucking people on the train and shit,” boasted Stinky, dragging on his cigarette. “It’s just frustration, you know? I don’t want a car no-more. I had mad cars,” he continued. “I’d drive around my car, bring my friends in there and drive them everywhere. Waste gas. Headache. Parking. Tickets. Insurance. With a moped, it’s get-up-and-go.”

“There’s some people that are actually married to the aesthetic of these bikes now.”

102

POLOROIDS MICHAEL TESSIER

STINKY

“Everyone sees them now, that’s why they have been growing so fast in the past five years,” said Gian D’Angelo, another Mission 23 member. “The gangs formed [five years ago] and then the friends of the gangs wanted one and so on. Especially in Bushwick,” he continued, fiddling with an old sparkplug. “When I got into it, it was definitely a smaller crowd,” said D’Addeo. “[There were] only about 15 or 20 kids that were really into it. It doesn’t take much to say, ‘We are a group now—us guys.’ No one was doing that in New York until more recently—and that makes it more viral.” “Everyone wants to be different, which is ironic because they try to be different by doing what other people are doing,” explained D’Angelo. Larry Au, an old-school gear-head who previously raced motorcycles, summed up D’Angelo’s point in a much more blunt way: “Hipsterdump: The influx of hipsters wanting to look cool [by riding mopeds.]” “I think that part has died, Larry,” D’Addeo sitting next to Au, rebutted. “Well, there’s always a new generation that comes along,” Au continued. “Look,” he said, talking to me, “I ride mopeds because I have motorcycles and racebikes. And for

PETE D’ADDEO IN THE MISSION 23 SUPPORT VEHICLE

the City, it just makes more sense. With mopeds, you can make them go fast, but it’s a lot of work. It’s like old-school engine tuning. It’s nothing but handwork. It’s gratifying because I can build something that I don’t have to plug a damn computer into.” D’Addeo agreed with Au on this last part: “If you have the slightest lick of desire, you can do cool little things to make [mopeds] your own. And that’s where it gets exciting.” The customization of mopeds is what really weeds out the dedicated riders from the hipsters. Because it does take time and effort to keep these things running fluidly, (“Older mopeds are not that reliable, although newer ones are better,” admitted D’Addeo) the group of truly die-hard riders stays tight-knit. In any case, the influx of mopeds in Brooklyn—chopped, screwed, kitted, zinged or otherwise— have caught the attention of the NYPD. “When I first rode, I definitely got pulled over a lot for no reason at all,” D’Addeo confided. “They wanted to know what I was riding. I was getting tickets for not having the proper helmet or inspection stickers and all this stuff we don’t have to worry about. But it’s definitely getting better. 103

WESLEY KIM

There are still occasions when people get pulled over for that crap, but if you go to court and fight them you win.” D’Addeo alone has won nine out of the 12 times he has gone to court to fight a ticket. “Some cops pull you over and they are just total assholes,” Gian D’Angelo said plainly, continuing to say that police are mainly ignorant of the rules and regulations surrounding these niche machines. The NYPD was unavailable for comment on the issue. Mopeds were originally manufactured as a cheaper alternative to scooters in post World War II Europe, whose car markets were on the rocks. And as the economic squeeze made its way over to the States, mopeds soon followed. “It was a utilitarian thing,” explained Sneider. “Gas was expensive in the 70s—a gas crisis. Mopeds were super fuel efficient, and they still are.” But as the glam-mentality of the 1980s gave way to flashy cars, neon, and glitter, mopeds fell by the wayside. It wasn’t until the late 90s in Kalamazoo, Michigan that mopeds began their resurrection. “Originally, it was just about the whole gang thing— a community aspect,” explained Dan Kastner, owner of 1977 Mopeds, a parts and service shop in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and one of the originators of the moped resurrection. “We were watching a lot of Warriors, and a themed gang was near to our hearts.” Within a couple years, Kastner and his clan’s initiative was growing from a hometown pastime to a national phenomenon with the help of the Internet. They started MopedArmy, an online forum and database for moppeders from all over the country to use as a one-stopshop for advice, local community information, and a classifieds listing service. “It started as a tool to organize [the moped culture],” Kastner said. “It facilitated growth locally.” Although in his 15th season on a moped, Kastner explains that the majority of the culture’s growth has been recent. “The past five years have really taken off,” he told me. “It’s crazy to see it grow like it has. At first, there was no network for parts. And now, [1977 Mopeds] is a big business for mopeds,” with a worldwide customer base. MopedArmy is still going strong, too, with 22 official gangs from all over the country under its umbrella. “It takes a bit to get official— voting and all that,” Kastner confided, saying there are doz-

ens of non-official gangs scattered throughout the country, as well. “There are 550 official members of the MopedArmy and thousands of people that visit the website daily.” There has also been a rise in gangs overseas in countries like Finland and France, where moped parts are still manufactured new for older bikes. “In Europe, they are fucking heavy, man,” Stinky admitted. But, on the home front, a lot of mopedders have to be a little more resourceful. “Five years ago you had to scour eBay to just find parts,” Gian D’Angelo told me. “Now, shit, kids are just making their own parts.” Indigan Mopeds, out of Illinois and Michigan, has been doing this exact thing for just under a year. Wesley Kim, a leader in heavily-customized mopeds, is General Manager for the company and tours around the country promoting the brand. Outside of Second Stroke before the rally, he was putting finishing touches on his whitetanked moped, faced with Indigan decal stickers. “We are just supporting this culture,” he told me. “I was picked up by Indigan and now I build bikes, go to rallies and design parts,” he continued, explaining he has been traveling all around the country for months. “It’s never-ending. But I love it. I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s the raddest shit ever.” A roar of chanting boomed down Ingraham Street in Bushwick just after midnight as the post-rally party peaked at Brooklyn Fire Proof, dozens of mopeds lined up along the sidewalk, kids dancing in clusters atop wooden picnic tables in the back of the outdoor seating area, “Niggas in Paris” chugging along through the speakers. Spilled beer and lit cigarettes and rally-chat in small circles around the party with some riders more drunk than others, taking down rounds of cheap whiskey out of plastic cups…giving way to an announcement of a midnight ride…one last jaunt before the rally came to a close and the weekend was over and the wait settled in for the next group outing somewhere… anywhere and by anyone who would host a place to come together, twist throttles and scream in unison down dimly-lit streets. Two dozen mopedders lined up in formation, punching their chainsaws to start and headed off again to nowhere in particular…one single unit…a gang…a community…a family.

“It’s crazy to see it grow like it has.”

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The Lost Screen Tests of Andy Warhol WORDS MEGHAN HILLIARD PHOTOGRAPHS ANDY WARHOL SCREEN TESTS BY CALLIE ANGELL

t could be argued that Andy Warhol is the most recognized artist of modern time. The geometric and color confluence of his screen prints can be identified by the most novice of art eyes, and have been over saturated and mass replicated in pop culture since his death in 1987. Although his tangible works may be his most ascertainable, it’s another medium entirely that is just as influential to Warhol’s legacy— one he intentionally hid for almost 20 years. In the mid-1960s, Warhol was a thriving and successful artist during one of the most influential and exciting times in the downtown New York City art scene. He 112

became a social historian of sorts, often opening his famed Factory in Union Square to those he found fascinating and, more importantly, aesthetically beautiful. Already acclaimed for his notorious silkscreens and portrait paintings, Warhol began showing interest in intangible forms of artistic imagination. In 1963 he bought a 16-millimeter Bolex movie camera, giving him access to a new way of creating portrayals of his beloved New York City in-crowd. “I could never finally figure out if more things happened in the sixties because there was more awake time for them to happen in (since so many people were on amphet-

amine), or if people started taking amphetamine because there were so many things to do that they needed to have more awake time to do them in... Seeing everybody so up all the time made me think that sleep was becoming pretty obsolete, so I decided I’d better quickly do a movie of a person sleeping. Sleep was the first movie I made when I got my 16mm Bolex,” Warhol said after his first movie Sleep, a five-hour feature of a man sleeping, premiered in 1963. Between 1964 and 1966 the love affair of Warhol and his camera gave birth to 472 portrait films, a series of art that became one of the most significant in the progression of portrait painting. These three-minute Screen Tests were new and unique versions of Warhol’s portrait renderings, a manifestation in which film, rather than brushes, was used. The evolution of these portraits found their beginning in late-1963, when Warhol became intrigued by the systematics of photo booth photographs. Using public photo booths, his subject would have their photo taken at fluctuating seconds, documented on a black and white vertical filmstrip. The concept was strikingly familiar to what he created in the Factory: an individual sitting while a camera records their portrait over a deliberate amount of time. The construction of the Screen Tests followed very few, yet highly regulated rules: the subject was to remain perfectly still, void of all facial emotion while staring into the camera. Each individual was centered in front of a black or white makeshift background, and lit rather harshly. Tightly framed from the shoulders up, the sitter was filmed at 24 frames per second for a full two minutes. Upon playback, each Test was presented significantly slower—16 frames per second— creating three minutes of just the subject’s face in its most uninterrupted state. Each slight body movement captured is exceptionally demonstrative, the elongated time exaggerating every eye tremble and mouth twitch. The subjects who participated in Warhol’s Screen Tests were as diverse as they were fascinating. From famed authors (Allen Ginsberg and Susan Sontag) and musicians (Bob Dylan and Mama Cass Elliot) to renowned artists (Salvador Dalí and Marcel Ducamp), Warhol’s Screen Tests provide an unparalleled look at the roster of movers and shakers who were mid-60s Factory regulars. These individuals were just as important in the outcome of the Tests, if not more than Warhol himself. He was able to control every aspect of the shoot behind the camera, but the reaction and

performance in front of the lens was solely on the sitter. His direction to sit perfectly still often elicited the opposite. While viewing a Screen Test, the audience is exploring a subject’s face for a prolonged amount of time. Examining and analyzing every inch of the projected silhouette, subjects often took such scrutiny into consideration while filming. More often than not, they would crack—some crying, others laughing manically, some would even cover their faces completely in embarrassment— causing subjects to agonize and fight internally with the glaring, invasive conditions. One of the most famous and emotionally driven Screen Tests is of Ann Buchanan, a young member of the Beat poetry set. The harsh, bright light intensifies the beautiful brunette’s already fair skin, causing it to match the white cloth background. In her first Screen Test, which Warhol titled The Girl Who Cried a Tear, Buchanan’s eyes well with water, but she does not blink to rid them. Rolling down her face to the pit of her neck, the only motion on screen are her tears. In an interview with the New York Herald Tribune, Warhol stated, “She did something wonderful marvelous… she cried.” The physical movements and emotional reactions during the Screen Tests are what make them diabolical. It is the first time art observers are watching the act of thinking. Some subjects were able to impassively sit for two minutes, keeping their corporeal movements minimal. The action on screen comes from behind their eyes, their thoughts flashing at the seer. Viewers are seeing celebrities and socialites who live in the spotlight crumble under Warhol’s homemade studio, equipped with a light bulb clasped on the back of a wooden ladder, a steel chair and a tripod. Each tear, blink, grimace and shutter are caught and emphasized in the delayed playback. The heavy emotional aspects of some of the Tests somehow asks the viewer to not only consider the subject they are seeing on screen, but also the man behind the camera. Did Warhol know these types of reactions would occur? It was well-known he was obsessed with beauty, specifically when it came to those he surrounded himself with, and yet he captured his physically attractive consorts appearing vulnerable, pensive and sometimes indecent. Regardless if they gave an emotive presence, the spotlighted individual always seemed to have front-of-thelens charisma which makes the fact the Screen Tests weren’t actually auditions for anything surprising. Often only shown

“Our movies may have looked like home movies, but our home wasn’t like anybody else’s.”

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in the background of parties, Warhol’s Tests were originally conceptualized as a play on the New York City Police Department’s then titled brochure “The Thirteen Most Wanted”. The public pamphlet displayed photos of warranted New York City criminals, whose mugshot compositions were very similar to Warhol’s own portraiture aesthetic. The very first shot Screen Tests were intended to be a part of a portrait series titled, The Thirteen Most Beautiful Boys, a tongue-in-cheek take on the city issued flyer of felons. The title suggests Warhol shot 13 men, when he actually filmed almost triple for the initial project. It seems Warhol fancied the actual filming process over the final edited one, which resulted in never completing The Thirteen Most Beautiful Boys, but ignited his ambition to do exponentially more sittings. Among the gentlemen who were initially to be featured in the series were Factory frequenters Taylor Mead and Dennis Hopper, who both appeared in Warhol’s roll shot for Couch in 1964. The black and white, silent film lasted 40 minutes and was filmed on Warhol’s Bolex. It featured close friends and peers on the artist’s infamous red couch at the center of the Factory. The subjects were asked to perform what came naturally to them, resulting in clips of some sitting and talking and others turning toward the more pornographic. Mead and Warhol worked together incessantly after his first Screen Test shoot in 1964, which lead him to roles in Warhol’s films The Nude Restaurant, **** (Four Stars) and the famed Taylor Mead’s Ass. The fresh-faced Hopper, who sat for three Screen Tests, spoke of his participation in the documentary Superstar: The Life and Times of Andy Warhol in 1990. “I was in another film that Andy did called The Thirteen Most Beautiful Boys in the World… Andy just told me the title and turned on the camera and walked away,” Hopper said. “Being the egomaniac that I am, I sat there and did a Strasbergian emotional memory.” The Thirteen Most Beautiful Boys was never released for public viewing, but it inspired Warhol to create its contemporary, The Thirteen Most Beautiful Women. The success of the female counterpart is speculated because of the participation of model and New York City socialite, “Baby” Jane Holzer and because the appreciation of female beauty was found more acceptable at the time. Factory favorite and Warhol muse, Edie Sedgwick, is one of the most recognizable faces of the series. In his book, POPism: The Warhol Sixties, Warhol reflects on Sedgwick’s time in front of his Bolex. “Edie was incredible on camera—just the way she moved,” he said. “The great stars are the ones who are doing something you can watch every second, even if it’s just a movement inside their eye.” Sedgwick’s involvement was a sublime example of Warhol’s favoritism during Screen Test shoots. Often preferring certain individuals to most, Warhol shot par114

ticular subjects significantly more than others. At nine Screen Tests total, Sedgwick’s face was of the most outstanding of Warhol’s portrait films. Her film reels were found slightly tattered due to their frequency of views. The final conceptual Screen Test series Warhol titled Fifty Fantastics and Fifty Personalities. Although it never came to fruition, it is believed the concept was created due to the excessive number of Tests Warhol shot and stored. Its title gave an idea that 100 film portraits would be spliced together and shown as one feature, whose time would wrap around seven hours. Warhol started managing the Velvet Underground, a prominent New York City band in 1966. The rock-androll ensemble began using large-scale Screen Tests of their members as multimedia pieces during their live performances. These “background reels” had a much different feel than the Tests before them: still tight on the subject’s face, the camera now moved with the unsettled sitter, often zooming in and out rapidly on their faces. As many as five different screens were used at one time to show the projected images during Velvet Underground’s performances, often spliced together to enhance the auditory experience. The updated Tests no longer showed a stoic subject staring expressionless into the camera. Warhol wanted each shown portrait to complement the band’s outlandish performances. He began filming specific features of each member, from just a tight shot of Nico’s eye and Lou Reed’s lips, which progressed into a mockumentary of sorts. Band members would suggestively drink out of Coca-Cola cans, or unwrap a Hershey’s chocolate bar making each corporate product’s logo visible to the camera as almost a satirical advertisement. These music accompaniments were some of the last Screen Tests shot. In late 1966, Warhol retired his Bolex to focus on his large film projects. Three years after the first Screen Test was shot, one of the most famous men in New York City had produced almost 500 portrait films featuring some of the most famous faces of the time and yet, they were virtually unknown. In 1970 Warhol withdrew his films from public circulation, placing all 472 Screen Tests, along with his motion features, under lock and key. He never commented on what caused the mass removal of almost a decade’s worth of work, but one can speculate. Perhaps he became bored with his film work, and was starting to adventure into new mediums or, it could correlate to his near fatal shooting just two years before. In the late afternoon of June 3, 1968, Warhol had just returned to his apartment with a few colleagues after a day of errands when he was met by acquaintance Valerie Solanas. The feminist writer appeared in a scene of Warhol’s I, A Man in 1967, and was actively trying to get Warhol to pick up one of her scripts for a motion picture.

EDIE SEDGWICK

BOB DYLAN

ANN BUCHANAN

ALLEN GINGSBERG

EDIE SEDGWICK

NICO OF THE VELVET UNDERGROUND

The young radical showed up to the Factory with a .32 automatic in a paper bag, firing at Warhol four times, hitting his right side once. After fleeing the scene before an ambulance could take the seriously wounded Warhol to the hospital, Solanas handed herself and her paper bag over to a police officer she found on the street. Her reasoning? “I just wanted him to pay attention to me,” she said. Warhol was pronounced critically dead upon his arrival at Columbus Hospital, while Factory regulars huddled in his apartment and in the waiting room. Factory superstar Ultra Violet recounts reactions in her book Famous for 15 Minutes: My Years with Andy Warhol. “Ivy Nicholson threatens to kill herself if Andy dies… She calls the hospital every ten minutes, ready to jump at the fatal word.” After a five-hour extensive surgery, Warhol is expected to make a full physical recovery. It remains unknown if he ever rebounded psychologically from that fateful June afternoon. Could it have played a vital part in Warhol no longer wanting his films seen? Were they ominous reminders of his near death experience? Warhol lived for 20 more years before

he passed away from Myocardial Infarction from surgical complications after a gallbladder procedure. He was 58. After his death, the Whitney Museum in New York City was the first to exhibit his films in 1988, but it wasn’t until 1995 when The Museum of Modern Art released the first groupings of Screen Tests for public view. It would be the first time in 25 years that Warhol’s extensive body of film work would be seen. With advancements in Internet technology and stealth uses of video sharing, the general public doesn’t have to be in New York City to bear witness to Warhol’s exclusive past. But, with only half of his Screen Tests fully preserved, there’s still an underlying cryptic and restricted feel to the series as a whole, a veil of secrecy over a portion of Warhol’s force that flourished in his Factory during that rare Renaissance of downtown Manhattan in the 1960s, and a part of his audience’s experience Warhol couldn’t have planned better himself.

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