Java.Oct.2017

261 • OCT 2017
Kara
Roschi
ROBERT WILLIAMS • WALTER PRODUCTIONS • CURATOR ENGINE

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CONTENTS
8
12
22
32
34
FEATURES
KARA ROSCHI
Curating a Life
By Demetrius Burns
Cover: Kara Roschi
Photo by: Enrique Garcia
8 12 22
34
WALTER PRODUCTIONS
Leaving a Giant Footprint in Phoenix
By Jeffery Kronenfeild
UNMASKED
Photographer: Andy Hartmark
Art Director: Nikola Vendettoli
SMALL LEAKS SINK SHIPS
Golden Calf
By Mitchell L. Hillman
ROBERT WILLIAMS
at MCA Museum
By Amy Young
COLUMNS
7
16
20
30
38
40
BUZZ
Curating Culture
By Robert Sentinery
ARTS
Repositioning Soleri at SMoCA
By Jenna Duncan
Contemporary Aboriginal Women’s Art
By Amy L. Young
FOOD FETISH
Glai Baan
By Sloane Burwell
SOUNDS AROUND TOWN
By Mitchell L. Hillman
GIRL ON FARMER
Suburban Scares
By Celia Beresford
NIGHT GALLERY
Photos by Robert Sentinery
JAVA MAGAZINE
EDITOR & PUBLISHER
Robert Sentinery
ART DIRECTOR
Victor Vasquez
ARTS EDITOR
Amy L. Young
FOOD EDITOR
Sloane Burwell
MUSIC EDITOR
Mitchell L. Hillman
CONTRIBUTING EDITOR
Jenna Duncan
CONTRIBUTING WRITERS
Jack Cavanaugh
Jeffery Kronenfeld
Tom Reardon
PROOFREADER
Patricia Sanders
CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS
Andy Hartmark
Enrique Garcia
Johnny Jaffe
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4 JAVA
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GRAND OPENING
COLLECTIVE
Aileen Frick
FunWow
Jon Wassom
Kathy Taylor
Lynn Hoyland
Kathy Taylor
"Gift of Fire"
Opening
October 6th
Artist Reception
October 20th
COLLECTIVE
1229 Grand Ave.
Phoenix, AZ 85007
Visit us at 9thegallery.com or call 602.465.3264

2017_ATF__JAVA_3.875X7.75.pdf 1 9/8/17 3:24 PM
Looking for a sexy, scary night out?
C
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Y
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Frankenstein plays October 13th - 29th
the Peoria Center for the Performing Arts
Get tickets at TheaterWorks.org or call 623.815.7930
Y
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MY
K

CURATING CULTURE
By Robert Sentinery
BUZZ
This month JAVA looks at how the urban landscape is changing with the
integration of art into community spaces. As chief curator for Curator
Engine, Kara Roschi connects some of the Valley’s most talented
artists with large-scale projects often initiated by developers and
municipalities. Because Roschi came straight out of ASU’s art studios
and has been an active member of the downtown arts community,
she has special insight into the street-level makers who are often
overlooked by more bureaucratic programs. As a result of her efforts,
some of our most beloved struggling artists have landing well-paying
gigs and gotten their work into the public eye (see “Kara Roschi:
Curating a Life,” p. 8).
Walter Productions is one of the most impressive creative groups
working in the Valley. The sheer scale, along with fun factor, of their
projects grabs the attention of people from all walks of life. “Walter
the Bus,” a giant replica of VW’s beloved symbol of hippiedom, was
one of their first projects. Things have really grown from there,
with a entire fleet of oversized art cars, including “Heathen” (a firebreathing
repurposed fire truck), a giant Baja bug named “Big Red”
and “Kalliope,” a mobile soundstage packed with neon, lasers, fire
and 65,000 watts of sound.
Inspired by the Burning Man ethos, Walter Productions continues
to evolve, enlisting a growing team of both paid and volunteer
workers to execute projects that inspire a childlike sense of wonder.
The Walterdome, Walter Gallery and Walter Depot are three of the
spaces they occupy around town, with more on the way, including a
50,000-square-foot super-project that is yet to be publicly announced.
In the meantime, you can check out some of their handiwork at this
month’s inaugural Lost Lake Festival, where they produced all the
oversized games in the Lost Playground (see “Walter Productions:
Leaving a Giant Footprint in Phoenix,” p. 12).
Robert Williams is a living legend. His traveling exhibition “Slang
Aesthetics!” is currently on view at Mesa Contemporary Arts Museum
through mid January. As founder of Juxtapoz magazine, Williams
almost single-handedly pioneered a counter-cultural force that is itself
unclassifiable, more of an anti-art movement. Now Juxtapoz outsells all
other art magazines, including such haloed titles as Art Forum and Art
in America. As he enters his golden years, Williams is still extremely
active in the studio. His realistic/surrealistic paintings exhibit a sharp
wit and playful mockery of societal norms. JAVA was fortunate to have
the opportunity to sit with him for a candid conversation (see “Robert
Williams at MCA Museum,” p. 36).
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Kara
Roschi
Curating a Life
By Demetrius Burns
Photos: Enrique Garcia
8 JAVA
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We are all creatives.
Kara Roschi and Tim McElligott of Curator Engine
This is the essential promise instilled by Apple when you purchase any of
their products, and in many ways this outlook represents the current
state of art in the Western world. Within a post-modern lens, our
antiquated, haloed notion of the creator becomes rather irrelevant.
There is no artist with their back turned to the audience creating works that
are somehow divorced from the context of where they are from or whom they
have encountered.
The artist does not have power over interpretation, either. Rather, they are
merely the holder of meaning, vessel of a contextualized understanding
who yields to the interpretations of their audience. In that sense, the line
between curator and artist has begun to blur. The democratization of art has
dethroned the artist as someone sacred and different from a curator who
acts as steward of art. In many ways, both artist and curator are stewards of
meaning.
Phoenix’s Kara Roschi is what one would call an artist-curator. She got
her start in the Phoenix scene by performing at poetry readings hosted by
Ernesto Moncada and grew up working in photography, painting and writing.
What began as finding spaces to read work turned into finding spaces for
others to create work. What’s important is that she is in the business of
developing artists and connecting them with spaces, which is an art of
creation in itself. Her position as Chief Curator at Curator Engine allows her
to do that.
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Roschi’s story starts as a kid in Girard,
Pennsylvania. Girard is a tiny town. There are only
two traffic lights, one into and out of town. A selfdescribed
“loner” who spent her time in books or
on four- to six-hour bike rides, Roschi sought out
herself—though she would never say it in those
words. Her parents were high school sweethearts,
but like a lot of people who fall in love in high
school, they grew apart as the years went by.
Roschi’s parents couldn’t spend any time together,
as her mother worked the second shift and her
father worked the first shift. This, combined with
the fact that they had become less compatible,
made her nuclear family not quite so idyllic. Still,
they charged ahead, like most families do in small
Midwestern towns.
“My dad is pretty reserved and was in the blue
collar field,” Roschi said. “He was very analytical.
My mom liked to be out in the world and talking
to people. She is funny in a goofy way, and my
dad was funny in a dry, witty way. I thought they
were complementing each other, but they were
fundamentally different people,” said Roschi.
Most artists have pivotal, foundational texts
that sort of disoriented them and altered their
path forever. For Roschi, it was reading Stephen
King in the fifth grade. Her first big King book
was Needful Things, which deals with murder—not
something a typical young Midwestern girl would
gravitate toward.
As Roschi puts it, “I have a love for learning
about the softer stuff in the world, kind of like the
nuanced things between the actual things.” In that
sense, the schizoid world of Stephen King led her
down a path of inquiry as an outsider who wanted
to connect. Eventually she found comfort in
Herman Hesse’s Siddhartha and Voltaire’s Candide,
which led her to a set of ethics that would serve
as her north star for years to come.
Roschi resisted her parents, which is natural.
But resistance is futile. Roschi in many ways
is an amalgamation of her parents. She’s
someone who’s grounded in the winged wisdom
of philosophy and can easily navigate among
people with social gravitas. She is her parents’
portmanteau. But that didn’t happen without
struggle. Rather, it happened because of struggle.
The crucible birthed a diamond strewn with the
residuals of her parent’s spiraled longings.
Roschi was in accelerated reading programs
throughout school, and her parents—who didn’t
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go to college—urged her to attend university.
Roschi was fine with that, but by her late teens
she wanted to move out of the house. She didn’t
want to feel obligated to anybody. She wanted to
wander. However, her mom insisted that she stay
until she was 18. Roschi obliged.
After turning 18, Roschi moved away from home
and attended school in Pennsylvania, majoring
in interdisciplinary arts. “I grew up always
noodling in creative work—photography,
writing, drawing, collaging—and wound up in
college for an intermedia arts degree,” Roschi
said. “I still couldn’t settle on a medium. Every
field and format seemed just as suited as another
to express ideas.”
A year into college, she decided to move with
her boyfriend out to Arizona. “We woke up one
morning and he was like, ‘Do you actually want
to do this or do you want to move somewhere
else?’” said Roschi. “I didn’t even think there
was an option. I was totally on board with moving,
so we [got] the computer up into the bed and
looked for a place where it never snows, had a
comparable cost of living to PA, and had a school
with an intermedia arts program, because that’s
what I was enrolled in. And then Tempe, Arizona
popped up.”
Roschi eventually graduated from Arizona State
University in 2007. What helped shape her interest
in curating and arts advocacy was a class in
performance work with Angela Ellsworth and an
introduction to Gregory Sale’s work—specifically
how the work helped her explore ideas of
intangible mediums. “I could work with time,
with experience, with interactivity, with friends
and strangers; I could play with the fabric and
reweave or tug on the threads of social and civic
interaction,” said Roschi.
“I wasn’t as compelled to create objects at that
point; it seemed there was a more direct and
immediate, visceral way to engage people. Being
present for the actions and reactions of a work,
those actions and reactions BEING the work… the
relationships born from those moments…. That is
all particularly attractive to me,” said Roschi.
Around 2008, Roschi came in contact with arts
advocate Jane Reddin at Legend City Studios,
who was looking to open up a retail store
dedicated to selling local functional art. At

the time, Roschi was working two jobs and
performing at various venues. Eventually the
conversation crystalized and Kara joined Reddin
for the Practical Art launch.
Roschi enjoyed working with the team at Practical
Art, but after Reddin passed in 2011, she began
to lose some agency and felt she would be better
suited to furthering her education. A year or so
prior starting graduate school, Roschi met and fell
in love with fellow artist Chris Miller. They have
enjoyed a strong, blossoming relationship as an
artist couple.
Roschi decided to sign on as a research assistant,
and this led to grow closer to the School of Art’s
then-director Adriene Jenik. Through Jenik, Roschi
helped start an arts placement service called
Art Xchange, which would later lead to a more
developed idea: Curator Engine. Jenik introduced
Roschi to Tim McElligott, who decided to fund the
Curator Engine project and serve as the founder.
“Curator Engine focuses on placing local artists’
work according to client needs—organizing the
work in response to interest, theme, palette,
demographics and budget,” said Roschi. “For our
clients, we hub everything they could want into
one simple transaction—high service from start
to finish. For artists, we take care of the business
side of their practice so they can keep their head
in the generative creative space that yields the
best, most inventive work.”
Having already completed around a dozen large
projects, with another dozen actively in the works,
things really starting to ramp up at Curator Engine.
“Our very first big project was doing a suite of
artwork for Marina Heights, which was one of
the largest developments in Arizona history,” said
Roschi. “We did a couple of the executive floors
and also introduced a local art option for their
public art component.” The Rise student living
complex on Apache and Rural has been one of
Curator Engine’s larger overall packages, with a
collection of photography, five murals and a huge
exterior wall installation.
Roschi and McElligott come from different
backgrounds, as Roschi has an arts education and
McElligott went to school for business. Together
they’re able to form a nucleus that reaches out to
businesses and artists alike. “Tim is really good
at connecting up with development companies,”
said Roschi. “He likes those communities in the
way that they can effect change in the world and
he’s helping them connect with more millennial
workers.”
The future is still tantalizing for Roschi. She has
myriad skills and has promoted a lot of artists to
develop and profit from their work in many ways
throughout the Valley. She is drawn to connect,
but naturally doesn’t stray far from home—even
as a wanderer. At heart, Roschi is forever that
child cruising through the neighborhood on her
bike seeking adventures—seeking herself.
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Walter Productions
Leaving a Giant Footprint in Phoenix
By Jeffrey Kronenfeild
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The metallic coating on the rigid foam
insulation used to construct the yurts of
Walter Camp gleams in the sunset as the
playa dust is hosed away. Giant machine
hulks are still strapped to the flatbeds that ferried
them home from Burning Man, having returned
this very afternoon. As I park and approach, a few
crewmembers lay down their pressure washers
and towels and converge upon me. Despite my
awkwardness, they refuse anything less than a
complete hug, pressing their mud-clad bodies against
mine.
This may be as close as I ever get to Burning Man,
but this extension of that desert bacchanalia, with
its genuine sense of radical inclusivity, art projects
dreamed on an order of magnitude far beyond gallery
cubes and a community united in an absurdist
purpose. This is at the heart of Walter Productions
and the rest of the Walter assorted ventures.
Walter Productions is hard at work “activating”
spaces and minds both around the country and in our
sun-soaked Valley—from unique immersive yoga to
an artistic fleet of oversized vehicles, some of which
breath fire and project lasers, to the private parties
Walter throws for a who’s-who list of Silicon Valley
companies like SpaceX, Twitter and Google.
Kirk Stronn, M.D., is the founder of Walter
Productions, although he emphasizes its collective
nature every chance he gets. If the easy laughter and
whistle-while-you-work attitude of the crew is any
indication, this isn’t just the usual corporate “new
speak” filling the press releases of the so-called new
economy.
When we sat down in one of the several buildings
currently occupied by Walter Productions, Stronn
explained that it all began with a trip to Burning
Man in 2007 with his family. What they saw and
experienced inspired the Stronn family to bring
something back the following year. “We actually
collaborated with many people on the creation of a
giant Volkswagen bus,” Stronn said, “which we then
took to Burning Man and shared, and from there, we
never stopped building.”
Today, Walter occupies three spaces throughout the
Valley: the Walterdome, the Studio and the Depot.
It is currently converting a former fire station into a
brewery, slated to open early next year, bringing the
total to four. After that will come a very big but supersecret
project.
The Walterdome is the original home of Walter
Productions, or home away from home if you take the
customary Burning Man greeting, “welcome home,”
literally. Housed in part of the repurposed Ponderosa
Lumber Mill in south Scottsdale, the location is
also home to Walter Art Gallery and its cooperative
brewery.
Here Walter partners (or “cohabitates,” in Stronn’s
words) with the Maker Twins & Co., a collective of
self-described hackers, makers and dreamers, started
by two brothers who are closely tied to Walter.
Through partnerships with many other groups and
individuals, Walter augments its own deep reservoir
of skills and equipment, which includes 3D printers,
laser cutters and a CNC mill, to name a few.
It was here at the Walterdome that the fleet of art
cars was built, from giants like Walter the Bus, firebreathing
Heathen and Kalliope down to the slightly
less gigantic but oversized Baja bug, Big Red. This is
also where Maker Twins built the giant animatronic
tick that they brought to life earlier this summer at
San Diego Comic-Con for Amazon Studio’s reboot of
“The Tick.”
The main entrance to the Walterdome is a pair of
scaled-up giant doors fitted with equally large custom
hardware. The doorknob is roughly the size of a bocce
ball and positioned a little under halfway up the
14-foot door.
When Stronn coyly asks me how I might open a door
like this, I stare up with a twinge of childlike wonder.
I thought of the giant chair and table set of artist
Robert Therrien housed in the Broad Museum in Los
Angeles. (Legend holds these outsized pieces are so
large, the museum had to be built around them.)
What inspires this sense of wonderment is
something Stronn and others discussed throughout
our interviews. It is part of what Walter is. Not just
a fleet of giant art cars, large buildings and assorted
business units, but a complex of ideas complete with
its own specialized vocabulary.
One of the important terms is “activation,” which
describes the way Walter transforms and reimagines
the spaces it occupies. It brings with it a host of
other words, many of which can be found within the
“10 Principles,” a sort of constitution or algorithm
for Burning Man. Participation, inclusion, communal
effort and self-expression are a few of those terms
and are part of Walter Production’s goal to extend
the Burning Man experience beyond the temporary
thoroughfares of Black Rock City.
Walter’s second location, called the Depot, is housed
in a former National Guard facility on 7th Ave. and
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Roosevelt in Phoenix. The day I visited, a group
of volunteers and employees were hard at work
cleaning and storing their disassembled camp, freshly
returned from Burning Man.
“We could not do what we do without hundreds
of people coming together to make it happen. It’s
volunteers really, it’s not just paid staff,” said Ryan
Tucknott, director of operations for Walter. “It’s a very
unique blending of community involvement, which is
not typical of most commercial entities.”
When I compared the operation to a small army,
Stronn was quick to point out they even have a tank.
The tank is called Mona Lisa—all Walter machines
have names—and was modeled on Leonardo da
Vinci’s famous sketch of a proposed war engine for
the Duke of Milan.
Walter’s third space is located a few blocks east
of the Depot, also on Roosevelt. It was the original
home to Canyon Records, the first label dedicated to
American Indian music and one of the oldest studios
in Phoenix. It boasts a massive green screen, or
psych screen, as Stronn calls it. Over the next few
years, half of the building will be torn down, and
the remainder will be gutted and then rebuilt into a
50,000-square-foot arts and entertainment venue,
which Stronn promises will be “unlike anything else
anywhere in the world.”
We can’t say too much about it at this time, but
Stronn does offer some tantalizing hints about the
secret project. “It’s very Walter to have things big,”
Stronn explained. “The inner kid comes out when
you’re around big things. You kind of can’t help
yourself. If there’s a big toy, adults like to play with it.
We all like to play. Your inhibitions get broken down.”
While we’re on the topic of gigantic games, we might
as well hit pause and discuss Walter’s involvement
with the first Lost Lake Festival. Scheduled for
three days later this month (Oct. 20-22), Lost Lake is
produced by Superfly, the people behind Bonnaroo,
Outside Lands and other summer festival stalwarts.
Walter has worked with Superfly on a number of
projects over the past few years.
Their first festival with Superfly was Bonnaroo in
2014. They brought Big Red (a giant Volkswagen
Baja Bug with neon accents) and Kalliope, Walter’s
portable soundstage. Named for the ancient
Greek goddess of epic poetry, Kalliope’s previous
incarnation was as a 1969 Freuhauf semi-tractor
trailer that had lain dormant and rusting at an old
mine in Jerome for years.
“It started out with us wanting to put a DJ on top of
a fire-shooting fire truck,” Tucknott said. “With the
collective effort of dozens of people applying their
input throughout that process, it resulted in this
highly unique machine that you see.” Kalliope is now
a huge mobile stage resplendent with over 65,000
watts of sound, vintage speakers, lights, lasers and,
of course, flame effects.
Traditionally known for jam bands, Walter
Productions helped usher EDM acts into Bonnaroo’s
festival repertoire. “That first year, Scrillex ended
up doing a surprise sunrise set on Kalliope to about
8,000 people,” Tucknott said. “That really started a
momentum with Kalliope, and really the crowd grew
even more the next year.”
The trust they built with Superfly, plus a proven
ability to engineer outlandish but safe spectacles,
contributed to the decision to pick Phoenix as the
home for Superfly’s first new festival in years, which
will feature top musical acts, local cuisine, gigantic
games and art.
As you may have guessed, Walter is helping design
and construct the Lost Playground, which will feature
a variety of oversized lawn games with names like
Life-size Connect Four, Mega Twister and, a personal
favorite, Humongous Cornhole. “A lot of [the games]
are going to have a technological component,”
Tucknott said. “So, it’s responsive to lighting, like
table tennis, but light is going to respond to the ball,
or Connect Four, as the chips are falling, light and
sound will feed back to you.”
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Walter’s dancing tentacles extend further than just
festivals, private soirees for Silicon Valley elites, giant
vehicles and games. Walter also has a cooperative
brewery located at the Walterdome and even a health
and wellness venture, Walter Yoga.
Walter Yoga was started to balance out the ecstatic
all-night dance parties through yoga and meditation,
explained Gordon Ogden, marketing manager for Walter
Productions and the event producer/yoga instructor
for Walter Yoga. Walter Yoga’s tagline is “love, lights
and lasers,” which should clue you in to their unique
approach. Integrating music and a variety of light-based
special effects, Walter Yoga’s carefully designed classes
create surprise and whimsy for participants.
Another venture of Walter Productions, and of particular
interest to the little pyromaniac inside us all, is its
partnership with Purdue University Graduate School
of Aeronautics and Astronautics in the design and
construction of what Stronn somewhat understatedly
refers to as “flame effects.”
“The very first flame effect they helped us make
was the world’s largest combustible vortex ring
generator,” Stronn said. “It’s a six-foot-diameter
piston. It creates a vortex ring, which is like a stable
structure, like a smoke ring, but it’s made of propane,
and then we ignite it up in the sky.” Or, as Johnny Cash
might say, a burning ring of fire.
It may not be rocket science, but it certainly bears
the fingerprints of rocket scientists. There is also
a third-party safety engineer and a dedicated
fire team. When you’re shooting 50-foot fireballs
around some of the nation’s top musical acts, you
can’t afford mistakes.
Tucknott explained that the most unique and
challenging aspects of Walter’s work stem from its
non-linear build process. “We don’t build things in a
linear way, where you design and procure, then you
build and refine—and you do those as block chunks,”
Tucknott said. “Our design and our build happen
concurrently, really throughout the entire process.”
This has led Walter Productions to, at times, if not
reinvent the wheel, at least rediscover the process
of its invention. Working with a ragtag assemblage
of old tractors and airport crash trucks, parts aren’t
always readily available and have to be scavenged
from scrapyards far and wide or painstakingly
reverse-engineered and then reconstructed.
Some might question the effectiveness of this
approach, of wedding the old to the new, no matter
the cost or challenges involved, but, as Stronn says,
“That’s Walter.”
“Everyone tells us we should just level this building,”
said Stronn as we walked through the Studio. “There’s
no possible way. You’d lose all that 1940s history.”
“We love our old fire trucks and stuff. Giving things a
second life is a big part of Walter,” explained Stronn,
his voice rising a register and his eyes narrowing.
After a long pause, he added, “People need second
chances as well, just like old machines do.”
“So many things mess up at Burning Man that you
start to understand how important it is to kind of go
with it and to be able to problem solve, and to work
through the challenges. Its great training, and I’m
sure that’s part of why Elon Musk, the Google guys,
Tony Hsieh and everybody else like that are going to
Burning Man.”
Walter Productions and its crew are doing big things
in Phoenix. See some of these yourself at the Lost
Lake fest this month and, if you’re lucky, maybe you
will get to press the massive red button controlling
whatever infernal machines they’re currently
dreaming up.
walterproductions.com
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REPOSITIONING SOLERI
At SMoCA
By Jenna Duncan
A common perception of the ’60s to ’70s is that
everyone involved in social change embraced
communal, “free love” ideologies—hippie collectives
with visions of utopia as a pooling of resources,
reliance on peers and lots of groupthink.
But not all of the tastemakers of that era embraced
these attitudes. “Repositioning Soleri: The City Is
Nature,” an exhibit opening at Scottsdale Museum of
Contemporary Art, embraces the more artistic side of
this well-known, visionary Italian architect.
Taking the easy road, “tuning out” and unplugging
was never part of Soleri’s vision, explains SMoCA
contemporary art curator Claire C. Carter. “He was
very suspect about institutionally enforced rules and
order,” Carter says. “He didn’t want any religious or
political overtones for his community.”
The artist-architect, after all, came of age at
university in Italy under fascism. When he relocated
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to the United States, he embraced the American spirit
of freedom and liberty, but he never was one to loaf.
Soleri embraced hard work and individualism, Carter
explains. This is evinced by his strict personal daily
regimen and the hard manual labor he introduced
to students and apprentices working at the Cosanti
foundry and doing construction at Arcosanti.
The “Arc-ology” plan for futuristic cities was
based on ideals of efficiency, sustainability and
walkability, along with an appreciation of the arts.
Soleri did celebrate the sense of community, Carter
says, but he still believed in a balance of individual
thought and work. His plans for Arcosanti—the
idea to build up instead of out—were very much a
response to the materialism and urban sprawl that
sprung from the 1950s.
Carter began research on Soleri in 2010, and by
2013 she knew there would have to be a much
more well-rounded retrospective than any that had
been mounted before. The book she produced to
accompany the show and corresponding catalog,
Repositioning Paolo Soleri: The City Is Nature,
represents seven years of her research.
The more Carter got into his timeline, the more she
came to realize that 1969-1970 was a very important
year, marking the height of Soleri’s prolificness. In
that year, he had a well-referenced debut at the
Corcoran Gallery in Washington D.C. His work then
traveled to the Whitney, then to Chicago, then
Canada, and finally landed at Berkeley.
But the last time he had a really large career show, it
included only a small catalog. This motivated Carter
to produce something more comprehensive—an
overview of a lifetime of work, art and plans. “Soleri
was really controlling about what was published on
him. He always had a hand in the writing, editing

Ivan Pintar, Figure with Arcvillage model, ca. 1968. © Cosanti Foundation
Stewart A. Weiner, Paolo Soleri carving the earth mound used to cast the North Studio at Cosanti, Paradise Valley, Arizona,
1958. © The Stewart A. Weiner Estate
Paolo Soleri, Single Cantilever Bridge, early 1960s. Plaster, silt and adhesive; top element: 16 x 78 x 15 inches and
base: 45 ½ x 29 x 14 ¼ inches. Collection of the Cosanti Foundation. © Cosanti Foundation
Stuart A. Weiner, Soleri sketching at his desk, Cosanti, Paradise Valley, Arizona, ca. 1960. © The Stuart A. Weiner Estate
and crafting,” Carter says. She believes SMoCA’s
catalog is the first impartial piece of writing on Soleri
produced outside of his own foundation.
Many of the items on view are very delicate, having
survived decades of often not being kept in museumstyle
archival storage. “The exhibition is filled with
a lot of ephemera that has never been displayed
before,” Carter says.
Some of these items of interest include giant scrolls.
Soleri liked to create city plans on rolls of butcher
paper, unrolling as he went. He usually worked on
a drafting table that was only 12 feet long. He’d
keep drawing as he unrolled the paper. One of the
scrolls to be placed on view is a large drawing of
Macrosanti, the second major city design Soleri
imagined for a high-density community. When
unrolled, the scroll is 528 inches long—44 feet,
Carter says.
Another part of the exhibit that will captivate visitors
is a collection of bridge models, thought to have been
lost since 1971. “I was interviewing all these people
about where these models might be, and everyone
landed on the conclusion that they were thrown out,”
Carter says.
They had never made it home to Cosanti after a
traveling show whose final stop was Phoenix Art
Museum—so it was assumed. But Carter and friends
searched high and wide across Cosanti and finally
found the bridge models in a storage room that hadn’t
been excavated in 40 years. Luckily, they were safely
packed in crates, with nothing piled on top, only
around, hiding them from view.
SMoCA pledged to the Cosanti Foundation and to
private collectors that it would return anything it
borrowed in better condition than originally found.
The museum paid for a lot of conservation, and if
they mounted anything, they used archival materials,
Carter explains. “It’s recent history in a lot of ways,
but sometimes recent history is the easiest to lose
track of,” she says.
In 2013, shortly following Soleri’s death at age
93, SMoCA hosted a museum show honoring his
memory, Paolo Soleri: Mesa City to Arcosanti. Mesa
City was Soleri’s first big vision for a whole city plan.
That show focused on Soleri as an architect, but this
one, Carter says, focuses on Soleri as an artist.
Paolo Soleri: The City Is Nature
October 14, 2017 through January 28, 2018
Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art
For more information, visit smoca.org.
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CONTEMPORARY ABORIGINAL
WOMEN’S ART AT SMOCA
By Amy Young
Marking the Infinite: Contemporary Women
Artists From Aboriginal Australia is one of the
current exhibitions at the Scottsdale Museum of
Contemporary Art (SMoCA). It brings together work
by nine contemporary artists hailing from remote
Aboriginal areas.
This work by artists Nonggirrnga Marawili, Wintjiya
Napaltjarri, Yukultji Napangati, Angelina Pwerle,
Carlene West, Regina Pilawuk Wilson, Lena
Yarinkura, Gulumbu Yunupingu and Nyapanyapa
Yunupingu is on a national tour, with this leg
including the full spectrum of the collection—70
works in total, many of which are on loan from
personal collections, marking the first time they’ve
been on public view.
The exhibition includes several of Australia’s most
prominent artists, some of whom have works in the
Australian National Museum collection. What is
tremendously vital about Marking the Infinite is reflected
in its title. It is a testament to tradition, drive and
perseverance. This work hails from a culture where
only since the 1980s have women been able to sell
their artwork—and that was only after work by their
male counterparts was already in the market.
This work shows each artist’s respective strengths
and outlines the artists’ personal and cultural
histories. This is a dynamic group of women
who have numerous achievements among them.
Nyapanyapa Yunupingu has exhibited at the Sydney
Biennale, and her sister Gulumbu Yunupingu has
work in the Musée du quai Branly in Paris. The sisters
took their artistic cue from their father—a cultural
leader and painter—who encouraged them to follow
suit and study him as he practiced the technique of
bark painting.
Lena Yarinkura, from the central Arnhem Land,
began crafting with lessons from her mother, a
weaver. Together, they wove baskets and created
fiber animals, building on that familial tradition. But
Yarinkura’s need to evolve found her expanding on
those initial techniques to play with new stitching
and shape combinations. Painting and sculptural
work became a part of her artistic toolkit, and she
has gone on to utilize some non-traditional methods
to create large-scale installations that tell stories of
the people from her region.
It’s the intricacies in many of these works that make
the exhibition so engaging. There is an attention to
detail that is meaningful. Regina Pilawuk Wilson’s
large Sun Mat features synthetic polymer paint on
canvas that invites you to take a slow journey to its
center. That inner point, either an origin or a destination,
doesn’t seem to signify a finality, but an option that
lets you know exploration is a key part of your trip.
Her work has been shown at the Moscow Biennale.
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Wintjiya Napaltjarri’s Women’s Ceremonies at
Watanuma, an acrylic painting on linen from 2007,
shows her ability to make a strong statement through
simplicity and starkness. Using a deep red paint on
the white backdrop, her delivery is thick and solid.
The depth and intention she gives to each of her
individual shapes or designs add intention to the
inherent conviction. Each design in her work is like a
puzzle piece that unites with the others to ultimately
form a meaningful pattern. Her heedful compositions
come to life, jumping from their canvas homes.
Nyapanyapa Yunupingu’s Light Painting, 2012,
Light (or animated white paint pen on 110 acetates)
is another work of intriguing starkness. Where
Napaltjarri’s aforementioned piece was bold in its
starkness, Yunupingu’s piece is equally, if not more
haunting. That is partially due to its subtler nature.
Filled with loosely precise straight lines that subtly
mingle with curvier and motion-filled shapes, there’s
a sense of chaos and mystery that is both undeniable
and unforgettable.
As we live, we create stories, we observe stories,
and we tell stories. This deeply poetic exhibition is
an immersion in cultural storytelling through artwork
by a fascinating group of women who have embraced
cultural and familial traditions. Each one of the
artists exhibited here has taken her respective
roots by the reins. Each one is an innovator who has
expanded on the traditions of her life. They show
the value in old stories, they create new stories and
important messages, and they explore and develop
new processes with the mediums they utilize.
Marking the Infinite: Contemporary Women Artists From
Aboriginal Australia
Through January 21, 2018
Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art
smoca.org
Regina Pilawuk Wilson, Sun Mat, 2015. Synthetic polymer paint
on canvas, 98 7/16 x 137 7/8 inches. © Regina Pilawuk Wilson,
Courtesy Durrmu Arts, Peppimenarti, Collection of Debra and Dennis
Scholl
Wintjiya Napaltjarri, Women’s Ceremonies at Watanuma, 2007. Synthetic
polymer paint on canvas, 57 7/8 x 71 7/8 inches. © Wintjiya
Napaltjarri, licensed by Aboriginal Artists Agency Ltd, Courtesy
Papunya Tula Artists, Collection of Debra and Dennis Scholl
Carlene West, Tjitjiti, 2015. Synthetic polymer paint on canvas, 78
3/4 x 53 47/50. © Carlene West, Courtesy of Spinifex Arts Project,
Collection of Debra and Dennis Scholl
Nyapanyapa Yunupingu, Light Painting, 2010-11. Digital file, silent, ed.
AP. © Nyapanyapa Yunupingu, Courtesy of Buku-Larrnggay Mulka
Center, Yirrkala, Collection of Debra and Dennis Scholl
All images: Photo Credit: Sid Hoeltzell
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Glai Baan
Thai Street Food
By Sloane Burwell
Tucked into what feels like a modified living room is Glai Baan Thai Street Food,
a charming and welcome spot from first-time restaurateurs Dan and Cat. It feels
almost strange to call them Dan and Cat, like they are my friends, but after a
handful of visits, anything else would seem overly formal and insincere.
The name itself, Glai Baan, loosely translates to “far from home.” Dotting the
interior is a family-style photo collection of Thailand’s beloved former king and
his family, as well as a smattering of black-and-white photos of a more rustic
Bangkok, displayed and arranged like you’d see in a living room. Which, if you
are playing along, is obviously the express intent of our hosts.
Our servers were two adorable and well-trained folks who know the menu and
are quick to pull out water bowls for canine friends in the pup-approved patio.
We saw them both on every visit, Dan as well (Cat’s in the kitchen but will
probably swing by to say “hi” at least once), and they remembered our names
and our previous orders. Pretty impressive, since one of our visits coincided with
their soft opening, which happens if you’ve been eyeing a new restaurant and
assume that more cars in the parking lot means the place is open for business.
Always ask for the nightly specials. We missed the fish on our first visit.
However, on subsequent visits we thoroughly enjoyed the Thai Beef Salad ($12),
an impressive hunk of NY Strip steak grilled to smoky perfection alongside a
melange of red onions, chiles and a robust hand-ground black pepper. Perched
on a smallish shareable plate (Fair warning: pick your table carefully. These
small plates take up much-needed real estate on the charming two-top tables,
so order wisely and have empties removed post haste), the greens in this salad
were mostly cilantro, which is exactly the best way to enjoy this dish. I’m
impressed that locally sourced beef is this inexpensive for this kind of portion.
The Northern Thai Grilled Sausage ($12) was spicy, and slightly sour from
the Kaffir lime leaves and citrus, which is perfection for this regional dish. A
small dish of grilled mild chiles comes alongside, and we devoured them with
chicharrones (more on that later), scooping them up like salsa verde. It’s clear
someone here is an expert at the grill. What was slightly disappointing was
the price point. While I get that locally sourced everything impacts price points,
twelve bucks for one smallish sausage seems a bit steep. It’s delicious, make no
mistake, but at that price I’d expect a more generous portion.
The house-made Chicharrones ($2) is an enormous portion—more than enough
for two people, and I would expect them to be twice that price. Charmingly
served on a repurposed piece of paper from a Chinese calendar, the presentation
lends to the homey charm of the place.
My absolute favorite thing on the menu is the Son-in-Law Eggs ($4), four half-egg
morsels that remind me of the deep-fried egg Chris Curtis used to impress with at
NOCA not so long ago. Somehow a deep-fried whole egg is sliced in half to reveal
a totally creamy center, not quite hard-boiled. I pondered the simple physics of how
this was done while we scarfed them down. I have no idea. I will keep eating them
until I find out. Savory, umami flavors are kicked up a notch with the sauce they
arrive on, which reminded me of a mild ramen broth.
I absolutely inhaled the Larb Moo ($8), a heady mix of ground pork, mint, shallots,
lime and fish sauce. With the wedges of cabbage that come alongside we
attempted to make wraps, but to little avail. Nevertheless, we persisted. Think
of the most savory and impeccable pork Thai lettuce wrap, and you’ll be close. Cat
has a gentle, deft hand in the kitchen, and somehow this fried minced pork still
managed to feel light.
The Salted Crab Papaya Salad ($10) is a funky, fantastic flavor explosion. Meant to
provide depth and salt, the adorable baby crab pieces disguised the fact that this
dish is SPICY. Make no mistake, ordered as is, this dish kills it. Don’t ask for it to be
dumbed down—just go for it. The cooling unripe papaya and tomato wedges are a
great counterpoint to the blazing heat.
We also loved the Kanom Jeeb ($8), in which five decadent and luscious steamed
pork dumplings come served inside a cute bamboo steamer. Great freshly made
dough wrappers managed to stay toothsome, even after cooking, with none of the
nascent gumminess found in lesser dumplings. The freshly ground pork was perfect,
with no greasy residue to negatively impact the steaming. The exceptional ginger
dipping sauce should be bottled post haste. I would stock that at home in perpetuity.
I wouldn’t normally review a place that hasn’t even been open three weeks. But Glai
Baan is already delicious, homey and comfortable. While its name might indicate
the owners are far from home, after the first visit, you’ll feel like it’s your second
home. There’s no pretension, just great shareable small plates brought to you by
people who want you to feel like family. The ingredients are fresh and local, and the
dishes clearly prepared by people who love what they are doing.
Glai Baan Thai Street Food
2333 E. Osborn, Phoenix
(602) 595-5881
Tuesday –Thursday, 5 to 11 p.m.
Friday & Saturday, 5 p.m. to midnight
Closed Sunday & Monday
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Unmasked
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Art Director: Nikola Vendettoli
Photographer: Andy Hartmark
Models: Stirling Anderson, Bree Reiners
Wardrobe: Hell on Heels Couture,
Nikola Vendettoli original fashion and personal
collection of vintage
Hair/Makeup: Stirling Anderson, Bree Reiners
Artist: YukoYabuki www.yukoyabuki.com
Location: BLACKSTAR JAVA Studio 29
MAGAZINE

Small Leaks
Sink Ships
By Mitchell Hillman • Photo: Thom Sunderland
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When thinking of bands beloved by other
bands in Arizona, the first that comes
to mind is Small Leaks Sink Ships.
Much of their fan base is either other
musicians or people who really get music (including
failed musicians who write articles in their free time).
Small Leaks Sink Ships are alchemists of sound and
architects of orchestrated cacophony. They may have
left Arizona a few years ago in favor of the cooler
climes of Oregon, but they’re still hometown heroes,
musicians whose inspirations were originally drawn
from the desert.
Whether it’s their captivating live show or their
catalog of masterful songs, Small Leaks stay true to
their style while creating something unique every
time. Judd Hancock (vocals/guitar/piano), London
VanRooy (vocals/drums/piano), Jim Mandel Jr. (bass/
guitar) and Ryan Garner (keys/samples/guitar) have
done it again, and on October 12 Lefse Records will
release Golden Calf, the highly anticipated follow-up
to 2015’s Face Yourself, and Remove Your Sandals.
Recently, a friend asked me if Golden Calf was
better than its predecessor, and all I could say was
that it’s every bit as good, possibly better. But this
is their record for 2017, a travelogue of their latest
adventures in madness and motion. If Golden Calf
was a double album maybe it would be better on
quantity alone, but I would say it’s of equivalent
power to its predecessor, though more consistent
in its vision. Of note, JAVA Magazine has covered
every release of Small Leaks (though the first review
was by someone other than myself), so this is an
opportunity to continue that trend.
The distorted organ kicks in, with other keys, and
before you get too fascinated with the layers of
sound, they all suddenly appear on “Creepin’,”
which opens the album, ending the two-and-a-halfyear
wait. Angelic choruses swirl in the mix, words
become disembodied sounds, and lyrics lose their
meaning nearly as soon as you start to keep track
of them. The album cover doesn’t feature sacred
geometry like the last one, but this seems to be a
far more spiritual affair—not in a religious way, but
in the way musicians bloodlet their souls into their
sound. There is something vaguely uplifting here, a
vibe of ascension and seeds that sound like love.
The stuttering start and distorted voices sound like
they should start a song called “Creepin’,” but it’s
the beginning of the rhythmic smorgasbord that is
“Dancing Devil,” which SLSS wisely chose to serve
as the album’s first single, released last summer.
It’s a world unto itself that only SLSS could create
and one of their best compositions to date. Lyrically
it’s a fascinating tale of a devilish discussion, life
regrets and the blame game—all delivered in rounds
overlapping each other in the end.
The soft, near acoustic approach on “Airplane
Junkyard” is a brave minimalist step for a band that
delivers such dense music, but here the air and empty
spaces are featured. It gives the soul a bit of time to
rest and just enjoy. Of course, it explodes into total
madness for the last minute, while guitars rage and
lyrics shatter across the floor.
The cleverly titled “Dear John Connor” is another
slow burner, beginning with solo piano. It feels
like it has a close cousin on SLSS’s early records,
so this is a song that makes you just feel right at
home, especially when the fireworks begin a minute
in. You can read into it what you want, but this is
wonderfully dystopian rock that presumes Skynet
is already self-aware (which probably isn’t far from
reality). Another trick: due to the movements and
rhythmic shifts, this song seems to bend time, and it
feels like an odyssey without ever reaching the fourminute
mark.
Distant tribal drumming kicks off “Subtle Sadness”
before Beach Boys–like harmonies begin and
guitar strums appear in space. It’s one of the most
intoxicating songs on the record, and you probably
shouldn’t operate heavy machinery while listening.
Whether it’s the ghostly backing vocals, the slurred
lead or the haunting minimalism, this song is aural
opium and gets you heavy lidded, ready to submit
to the sound of frogs in the background. With its
apocalyptic, hymnal feel, this is Small Leaks at their
soul-searching best: “Calling upon the things that
make me feel afraid, Laughing about the ways that
I have felt ashamed, Caring enough to feel and cure
the pain, Stubborn with haste in hopes that I would
fade away ... I see trouble.” This is a crisis of faith in
motion, an existential thread of reflection, and every
minute of it is beautiful.
“Psychotic Opera” was just unleashed as a single and
is as radio ready as Small Leaks could ever be. The
opening depends more on the vocal rounds, lyric-less
harmonies and other laryngeal oddities. Sure, there’s
guitar and the pounding rhythms of VanRooy and
Mandel, but this song is almost completely about
their vocal prowess and how they can weaponize
their voices for good. It’s as hypnotizing as you would
expect with a conceptual title like that, but it’s also
catchy as hell. The chorus hook will be haunting me for
years, with the refrain, “Don’t you blame it on me.”
“Drug Lord” is the sole instrumental on Golden Calf,
and it’s a five-man electronica jam heavy on the keys,
with pleasing repetitive strokes. Their instrumentals
fascinate me, with more voices being used purely as
instruments as the keys swell around them in warm
chords. At one point, a waltz appears in the sound
from behind the velvet curtains before dissipating
and becoming a dream. As the waltz is lost, the keys
reach Philip Glass levels of minimalism, the guitars
come in, the percussion changes things up and, once
more, the waltz appears and disappears. It builds
into a monumental crescendo that leaves your brain
hanging in space as delicate bells take you away.
The keys at the beginning of “Not Counterpoint”
simply slay with repetitious madness (think Ravel’s
“Bolero” or Dave Brubeck’s “Blue Rondo à la Turk”).
This song seems to be the synthesis of all that I’ve
loved about this band in one four-minute blast: the
crazy keys, peculiar percussion, vast array of vocals
and the sheer neuroticism that adorns their best
work. It’s a dizzying number to be sure and one that
would lend itself perfectly to a video interpretation.
It may even be, dare I say, danceable. The message
in the end is, “You got to let it go, live for something
more,” and that’s wisdom you can take to heart. It is
a pretty heavy examination of what we are given and
what we do with it, and while that may seem pretty
broad, its application is endless.
I approach the end of every Small Leaks album
with trepidation because I never want them to end.
“Tethered Wires” is the finale, and it’s as low key
as Small Leaks gets. It’s another tune that imposes
a sense of medicated drunkenness, and you may
feel a bit woozy while its chords take hold. Twothirds
through it starts to take off, instruments wrap
around themselves, and the soft-spoken tones of
soul-shattered introspection give way to a feeling
of triumph with the refrain “Don’t sell your soul, it’s
suicide.” As drums pound, guitars go wild and the
bass pounds into you, then, just like that, in a flash
it’s done. The album is over, but endorphins still race
through your bloodstream, neurons fire wildly into the
empty night, and you play it all over again in order to
be fulfilled.
During their time in Phoenix, I thought Small Leaks
Sink Ships was the best band in town, and now
they are one of our greatest exports. Golden Calf is
an album for the ages that ensures their vision is
delivered with perfect precision. My only hope now is
that they visit their Arizona home for a show or two.
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MAGAZINE

CAPTAIN SAMURAI
Two Years
SOMETHING LIKE SEDUCTION
It’s Gonna Be a Peaceful Night
DADADOH
You Can’t Rap Forever
Captain Samurai began their young days with Rubber
Brother Records back in its 2014 heyday. Three years
later, that label is a memory, but Captain Samurai
is still putting out amazing records. Just under two
years after the release of Hey Thanks Goodbye, this
crew of indie rocksters has released the sensibly
titled Two Years. It’s a six-pack of delicious, authentic
indie rock, like Sebadoh meets Codeine (the band) or
Pavement meets Codeine (the cough syrup). But all
comparisons aside, this album seems to have come
straight out of the ’90s.
It’s kind of magical to listen to a band grow up on
record. There’s not as much rage of youth here, but a
rather careful eye to composition and the architecture
of both the songs and the entire record. Sure, there’s
still some angst, but the way it’s used and controlled
is a work of art. Just check out the backup vocals to
the opener, “1997.” “Nia” follows, involving more
pop elements in a decidedly danceable number with
gliding guitar straight out of 1987. Amador Diaz’
voice is magical on “Crush,” and because of its
disaffected vibe, even if you don’t understand the
lyrics you still get the malcontent nature of the crush.
“Maybe” delves into Sonic Youth/Dinosaur Jr.
territory without losing sight of the melody. That
is the best of all worlds, while lyrically it obsesses
over could-haves, should-haves and well, maybes.
The jangling danceable guitar returns on “Watcher,
Sleeper, Dreamer,” which is the catchiest track
found here, while being slightly creepy in the best
melancholic way. The title track reveals that the
album’s title has nothing to do with the time between
records, but getting over a lost love. While the middle
of this EP is chock full of amazing moments, the
artistry of Captain Samurai is captured best in the
bookends with “1997” and “Two Years.”
I’ve been digging Something Like Seduction for a
while now, but never more so than with their new
release, It’s Gonna Be a Peaceful Night. They’ve been
rocking the Valley with their alternative reggae sound
for over six years, totaling up three records. I wasn’t
sure if this title was delivered with a grin or not, but
turns out they meant it literally. This is five tracks of
bliss to chill to—no drugs required.
While there’s no mistaking the Caribbean guitar,
calypso rhythms and lilted vocal, there’s also a
prevalent alt-rock understructure and melodic pop
buried in the mix. “Sexy Song” kicks off everything
that will be explored throughout, like the David
Gilmour guitar that comes out of nowhere on the
bridge. That happens to be Joey Gutos from Sunset
Voodoo, who wrote and played all the lead guitar on
the record. The song is an icebreaker, an instant dose
of the relaxing vibe that’s gonna make this a peaceful
night. “Blurry Window” follows—a catchy pop song
only thinly dressed in reggae intonations.
The centerpiece of the record is the single “Frank
Sinatra,” released earlier this year and still one of
my favorite tracks of 2017. Connor Shea’s vocals
are on fire and Tyler Cunningham’s bass groove is
thick, while Esteban Obregon drums in circles around
them. Lyrically it’s pop-culture heavy and clever as
hell. “Late to Bed” is probably the biggest and best
surprise, nestled in an easily ignored part of the
record, but make no mistake, an entire career could
be built on the trajectory aimed at here. The mildly
or wildly ironic “I Don’t Get High” will reveal its
reasoning upon listening and fill you with a bit of
bliss all its own.
By the time I met DaDadoh, his debut, Guerilla,
had been out for a bit. I was hooked with each single
and video released, and that culminated in last year’s
masterful Radical. You can’t put DaDadoh in a corner,
and if you need proof just take a listen to You Can’t Rap
Forever. DaDadoh wrote and performed everything
on the record, with some mixing help from Andy
Warpigs. He’s assembled a band (The P.o.C.) for live
performances, and a full album will follow next year.
Doesn’t matter if you’ve heard every DaDadoh record,
nothing will prepare you for the sound of “Trouble,”
which is like mixing hip hop with Iggy & The Stooges.
It’s more like indie punk from the 1980s than anything
he’s ever recorded before. “Give You the World”
returns you to more familiar territory, to the soulful
DaDadoh heard on Radical, with a unique cadence
that you can identify from miles away. “Just What
You Like” almost sounds like DaDadoh is trying to
find the groove, playing a guitar and delivering a flow,
but then he finds it and you wonder if it’s a happy
accident or intended TV Life. It’s also got an addictive
chorus hook that may drive you out of your mind.
The first single from this project was “FOH!”, and its
electric guitar is monstrous, while DaDadoh returns
to hard rock, howling with every bit of his being. It’s
sinister, dangerous and a complete blast—in short, rock
’n’ roll. “The Reintroduction” begins with an amusing
sample before heading straight to minimalist acoustic
guitar, while DaDadoh raps over Latin strumming in
an amazing juxtaposition with politically charged and
socially aware lyrics. You Can’t Rap Forever ends
with “Not Yet,” another foray into dark guitars and
nightmare rock, a fitting end to a new direction and
another step in DaDadoh’s ascension.
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Sounds Around Town By Mitchell L. Hillman

CITRUS CLOUDS
Ultra Sound
NEW CHUMS
See It for Myself
THE GLIDES
Go Go Go!
Since they appeared from the ether in 2015, Citrus
Clouds have become the champions of the shoegaze
scene in Phoenix. In less than two years they’ve
released three stunning records, and Ultra Sound
is their latest foray. Citrus Clouds are Erick Pineda
(vocals/guitar), Stacie Huttleston (vocals/bass) and
Angelica Pedrego (drums). Together they’ve released
the perfect autumn record. The title is almost
certainly a play on words in reference to the fact
that Huttleston and Pineda were expecting a child
while recording. It seems their love is the fuel behind
the hurricane of beauty found in every Citrus Clouds
release, adding heavenly textures in their sound.
“Ocean Eyes” is notably dreamy, while “You Loved
Me First” drips with gold and “Life Happens” mixes
a Joy Division bassline with Pineda’s most tender
vocal to date. The songs become movements in
an overall experience—a lot like their previous
records—different colors in the same crayon box.
“Happy” feels like it was overlooked by RIDE, with
a My Bloody Valentine wooziness to it. Huttleston
takes lead vocals on “Is This Real?”, cementing the
MBV influence on this particular record.
“Here Is Where We Are” strolls into C-86 territory,
leaving a wall of guitars behind—it never completely
explodes, but it comes damn near. The finale, “A
Dream of You,” is the perfect way to daydream into
eternity and drift into a fantasy. This song feels like
the entire record is melting on your soul. Oddly, it
feels like an epic-length track, but it doesn’t even hit
the five-minute mark as it fades into the sound of an
actual ultrasound. Ultra Sound is Citrus Cloud’s most
succinct, consistent recording yet and every bit as
fully realized as last year’s sprawling Imagination.
It’s been two years since New Chums showed up in
town and dropped their first record on us. They’ve
reworked their lineup a bit since then and are set
to release See It for Myself on October 6. Original
Chums Seth Boyack (vocals/guitar) and Ben Hedlund
(drums) are joined by Matt Lloyd (guitar/vocals) and
Cassandra Clark (bass/vocals), and their sound seems
bigger than ever. But that might be due to hitting
Flying Blanket with Bob Hoag for this one. Either way,
New Chums are doing what they’ve always done
best: hook-heavy power pop.
The opening track, “Disposable,” makes that clear
from the start, but the guitars are bigger than before
and Boyack’s vocals have aged like fine wine. The
last time I caught them live, “Cave In” was one of my
favorites of the night, as it is here. Less intense than
the opening track, but it makes up for that with hooks
for days and a catchy as hell chorus. If “Come On,
Come On” sounds familiar, it’s because it was their
first single, but it’s punched up a bit here by Hoag and
the new lineup. I dig the 2017 version as much as I
did the original two years ago—a power-pop classic.
Of the new songs, “The Right Thing” is my favorite
and should be considered for the next single/video,
because it holds similar weight and power to “Come
On.” It’s the most immediately accessible upbeat
rocker here and should be used as a weapon of aural
seduction. It’s also a song that really bears the mark
of Flying Blanket on every note. “Blossom” comes
off a bit like Southern-fried rock meets Cheap Trick
with a hint of Arctic Monkeys. New Chums maintain
all their power as they pop again with yet another
addictive collection.
Sounds Around Town By Mitchell L. Hillman
The Glides appeared on the scene last year with a
debut EP of clever-as-hell arrangements with sounds
of the past converted into hymns of the future. It was
a four-track gem that delivered two amazing singles,
“One Time” and “In the Night.” In case you’re worried
about missing out on those, they’ve appended the
entire first EP to the brand-new tracks for Go Go Go!,
creating a fairly comprehensive debut album. They’ve
cranked up the volume and the intensity for the
second go around, and it’s wonderfully effective.
The title track is delivered at breakneck speed and
turns into an anthemic chant that should rage through
bars and taverns from coast to coast. This is just smart
rock ’n’ roll designed with your good time in mind. If
The Glides were holding back on their debut, they’re
unbounded here for sure. A super-thick bassline opens
“The Next Thing,” which slows the pace a bit but
gets down and dirty in a completely different way. It’s
funky as hell and best served with soul food that will
set your mouth on fire. They explore blues-rock with
the suitably titled “Nursery Rhyme Blues.” Amusing
and clever, it falters only because it had to follow two
back-to-back mindblowers.
“Good to Be a Glide” is the finale for the new songs,
and it’s another rave-up retro rocker that serves as
something of a theme song for the band, including
lyrical nods to local luminaries that have helped them
along the way. While their debut showed off what
The Glides were about, Go Go Go! shows the world
everything they’re capable of. Be sure to pick up the
actual CD because it collects all of their recorded
output so far, and there’s not a duff moment from
beginning to end.
For more on these events and other highlights of the
Phoenix music scene, check out Mitchell’s blog at http://
soundsaroundtown.net. For submissions or suggestions
contact him at mitchell@soundsaroundtown.net
JAVA 33
MAGAZINE

34 JAVA
MAGAZINE

Long before artist Robert Williams founded Juxtapoz magazine, the printed paradise of
underground and outside-the-box artwork that debuted in 1994, he was creating bombastic,
original artwork that forged the direct pathway to that publication’s birth. Slang Aesthetics!
is a touring exhibition featuring a selection of his oil paintings, drawings and immoderate
sculptures that is currently viewable at Mesa Contemporary Arts Museum through January 21, 2018.
While Williams and his wife, Suzanne—herself a talented artist—were here earlier this month for the
opening reception and related events, tragedy struck back in California. Williams’ dear friend, and
a member of the team responsible for the creation and development of Juxtapoz, Greg Escalante
passed away at 62. The gregarious and generous gallery owner, collector and longtime supporter of
the arts took his own life, after years of battling mental conflict and turbulence. It is a tremendous
loss that has leveled the arts community. “It’s such a very sad and unfortunate happening,” said
Williams, adding, “The vacuum that he’s going to leave will be huge in the months to come. He was so
charitable and organized. He helped so many people, especially young artists.”
The depths of Escalante’s inner turmoil came as a surprise to many, even dear friends like Williams. “He
was a very close friend of mine. As I look back, maybe I could have been more sympathetic to him,” said
Williams, “but I do come from a nastier world, and at the time, I didn’t realize how emotionally embroiled
he was by the devils that continually worked on him.” Escalante was always known for being happy go
lucky, but Williams said that he got more of a view of Escalante’s troubles in the very recent weeks
before his death.
That “nastier place” Williams himself came from includes what he calls a “very difficult” childhood
and teenage years that were loaded with unhappiness. He was thrown out of schools, did jail time and
bopped around from job to job. He got a firm
understanding of what hard work was and what
it meant to succeed and decided to implement
that knowledge fiercely when he became an
artist. “When I made the decision early in life to
be an artist,” he said, “I realized that very few
people succeed, and I knew I had to do it.”
He wasn’t entertaining other possibilities as
options. “The art community is a very sensitive,
caring, delicate world, and I come from a rough,
brutal world where the chances of surviving are
very tough. I saw the alternatives and I knew I
had to make it as an artist.” Even with his view
of the art world’s sensitive side, he didn’t kid
himself for a minute about the challenges that
come with exploring that landscape and hoping
for exceptional results. “Everyone can be an
artist, but only about three or four percent can
be professional artists that make a living at it.
It’s a ridiculous percentage—it’s brutal!”
Williams left Albuquerque for art school in
Los Angeles in 1963, armed with fantasies of
comic book art and pulp magazines and other
inspirational imagery, only to land in art school
during the heyday of abstract expressionism,
where his lean toward bold and imaginative
realistic works was stifled. Fluent in art
history, Williams understood the why’s of what
was being taught at the time, he just didn’t
appreciate how abstract work seemed to foster
a devaluation of representational art.
“I don’t really favor impressionism and abstract
expressionism. I understand the theories and
the backbone, and it’s of course legitimate—
there’s no bad art—there’s just been a
complete denial of representational art.” He
sees that changing, now that there are younger
generations not being raised on abstract
expressionism and conceptualism, but back
then, he recalls, “It was omnipresent, it was
fucking everywhere, and it was a law.”
He thought pop art might be a pathway toward
highlighting the beauty of realistic work, but
those hopes didn’t last long. “The problem with
pop art,” he says, “is that it is appropriating.
It’s not really a free use of the imagination or a
way to exercise the imagination. It’s just simply
referencing things in your everyday life. If you
consider that realistic work, I can’t argue with
you, but it’s certainly inhibiting.”
JAVA 35
MAGAZINE

“Inhibited” is certainly not a word that should be
included in any description of Williams’ work. He
comprehended what was being handed down at
art school and honed his skills, but it was different
imagery that loaded his mind. “I was attracted to
pulp magazines from the 1920s and 1930s, with
the licentious, lustful graphics of the woman being
attacked by the maniac, that had this specific
lighting,” Williams said. “To me, that was real
adventurous stuff, and so stimulating, but I
was taught that this was not sophisticated. It’s
been just in the last 10 to 15 years that I really
started examining what in the hell sophistication
is.” And? “It’s an inhibition,” he said. “Picasso said
it perfectly: ‘The greatest enemy of imagination is
sophistication.’ And he was right.”
Out of art school, Williams found himself in
a couple of new situations, one being getting
hitched to Suzanne, also an art student at the
time. The couple has been a team ever since.
He also was in the working world, taking
some art-related jobs, including art director
for a karate magazine, before landing a position
with Ed “Big Daddy” Roth, an artist and custom
car designer.
This environment felt like home for Williams,
who came from a youth steeped in hotrod culture.
“When I came to California,” he said, “I gave up
on hotrods and wanted to be a young, urbane
sophisticated man and get rid of hotrods and
motorcycles and become a professional artist.
Then I find myself right at Ed Roth’s studios as
his art director, making a lot of money.” The fit
was undeniable. “I fit in so well, and I knew so
much about hotrods and the culture, I just really
started weighing the worth of art.”
He was still working on his paintings at night,
sold some to a wealthy appreciator, and
began to see a demand. “I couldn’t get these
paintings shown anywhere, and no one in the
fine art world would tolerate ’em, but there
was a demand. I was getting a lot of money for
them, so there was a real obvious contradiction
going on.”
While he was working with Roth, Williams met
San Francisco psychedelic poster artists Rick
Griffin and Victor Moscoso, who later went on to
do Zap Comix in the late ’60s, which Williams
got involved with. He loved comic books, and
these artists, including R. Crumb, Spain Rodriguez
and S. Clay Wilson, faced some of the same
challenges he did with producing brash and realistic work in an art world that might not have initially
appreciated them.
Not waiting for an engraved invitation, they all forged forward, and Zap Comix revolutionized the
comic world. Counter-culture to the max, plump with great art from this treasure trove of artists,
Zap fearlessly depicted the underbelly of humanity with brains, humor and frankness. “Zap,” said
Williams, “started a whole slew of underground comics in the ’60s and ’70s. It was very influential
and changed American culture.”
Punk rock was another movement happy to fly the finger in the face of all that was staid and afraid during
its early days. For Williams, it was a chance to connect with other iconoclastic artists. “I’d go to punk
rock clubs and afterhours clubs,” he said, “and they’d have these art shows, and the work was so brutal
and salacious and nasty that I thought, ‘Gosh, this is a real deviation from academic art, and if I sloppied
up my work a bit, I could join these guys.’”
He found excitement in discovering a peer group of painters and was thrilled to make lurid work where
he said he had “absolute social and psychic freedom.” He challenged himself to take it as far as he could
go. “It was like, ‘How wild can you get?!’ and ‘What happens if you pull out all the stops?’” He did his
Zombie Mystery series and couldn’t sell them fast enough. Things really spiraled from there. Williams’
following continued to expand, attracting innumerable fans and collectors. The “lowbrow” tag—echoed
in the title of his book The Lowbrow Art of Robert Williams—stuck with the movement he created, which
eventually splintered off into different arenas, like pop surrealism. Williams understands that with the
growth of any movement comes the need to create more and deeper definitions, but to him, it’s all feral
art. “It’s just feral art—art that has raised itself—raised out of the wilderness.”
36 JAVA
MAGAZINE

He started showing with New York’s Tony Shafrazi in 1992, and then Juxtapoz
happened not long after that. Williams had previously helped create Art
Alternatives magazine, which was successful but went south after the
publishing company fired the woman who was instrumental in getting
that project going. After Williams had tried some different publishers,
Escalante suggested he talk to High Speed Productions, who publishes
Thrasher, which often featured Williams’ art. That was a go, and Juxtapoz
has gone on to outsell all the biggies, like Art Forum, Art News and Art in
America. It also fulfilled Williams’ vision of putting the spotlight on the
work itself, not the text.
Williams said he didn’t think it would sustain as long as it has. “We thought
we’d never be anything other than an alternative fanzine, but the fact it’s still
going strong proves there was a desperate need for this magazine.”
There’s so much to know about Robert Williams. His history is rich. He’s
working on his eleventh book. His imagination is boundless. But, truly, the
best thing you can do is to get to this exhibition and completely lose yourself
in it. That’s what the artist would like you to do. Slang Aesthetics! debuted in
Los Angeles in 2015 and will be making its way to the LSU Museum in Baton
Rouge after its stint in Mesa.
When asked what he hopes absorption in his work will bring viewers, he
said, “I hope that I am bringing out in a person their investigative skills. In
other words, I’m not so much interested in if a person likes the painting as
much as if they’re interested in investigating it. Investigating it exercises their
imagination. If they do that, then they’re gonna want to see the next one and
so on. And if I can get them to go to three or four paintings, I know they’ll start
liking the paintings.”
Welcome to Robert Williams’ world. What is not to like? From the
electrifying, brilliant colors in pieces like “Fast Food Purgatory” to the
dominant purple palette in “Purple As An Explicable Poetic Force,” his
mastery of color is enough to bowl you over. His subjects, ranging from sultry
to outlandish to nightmare inspiring, are sincere, vivid and believable. The
subject matter ranges from hilarious to insightful, provocative and gloriously
wild, sometimes—oftentimes—all at once.
As magnificent as it is to be in rooms that have you surrounded by Williams’
paintings and drawings, his fiberglass sculptural work is nothing short of
incredible. Flawless and creative, they are 3D manifestations of the artist’s
wickedly divine imagination. And, according to him, a hell of a lot of work.
One features 196 impeccably shiny teeth that Williams hand-carved himself.
He loves the results but doesn’t know if there will be many more like this
in the future. He said, with a laugh, “I’m an old man now, and I just stick
with painting, unless some wealthy person comes up and says they’d like to
underwrite sculptural work. I’d tackle that in a heartbeat. Those things are so
problematic to exist, so the next time you see them, appreciate the hell out of
’em, okay?”
He’s thrilled to be showing here in Mesa and is appreciative of the curators
“sticking their necks out for me.” He’s continuing to paint constantly and
says his imagination is incontinent. “I wish I had three lifetimes to empty my
basket, but for now, I’m pecking away all the time.”
Robert Williams posing with one of his large scale sculptues, The Rapacious
Robert Williams, Purple As An Inexplicable Poetic Force, 2015. Oil on canvas, 30 x 36 inches.
Robert Williams, Veil Of Paternity, 2017, Oil on canvas, 33 x 29 inches.
Robert Williams, Puppets Orchestrating Puppets, 2013, Oil on canvas, 42 x 42 inches.
Robert Williams, Terra Facia, the Exaggerated Persona of a Poetic Location, 2013, Oil on
campus, 24 x 28 inches.
JAVA 37
MAGAZINE

GIRL ON FARMER
Suburban
Scares
By Celia Beresford
The rural Jersey neighborhood I grew up in was small
and safe. The only cars you had to watch out for were
those driven by neighbors. You knew everyone, which
doesn’t necessarily mean there weren’t some creeps,
but you knew who to stay away from. For example,
I avoided Raymond Johnston, who told me that
penises were as long as fire hoses and needed to be
rolled up and tucked in. But I was lucky to grow up
in relative safety. I know this wasn’t the situation for
everyone. My husband’s parents declared his whole
neighborhood dangerous. As a result, his dad trained
all five kids on different musical instruments and
created his own mini-Irish supergroup, which swept
the awards at local talent shows.
This was not the case at my house, where you were
given the choice to “go outside and find something to
do or I’ll give you something to do,” which translates
to: get outside. Even in the safest suburban
neighborhoods, there is usually some locally known
scary place. My house was up a gradual hill, which
then flattened out before getting steeper. You had to
stand up to pedal to the very top of the street, which
then branched out into three dead ends. A narrow
street led to the scary place: a very steep dirt hill
known to the kids as Suicide Hill.
The word on the street, or hill, was that, back in
the day, some of the tough kids sledded down the
hill when it was covered in ice. The sled got out
of control and one of the boys split his head open.
While it was sad, I wasn’t sure an accidental death
warranted the name Suicide Hill. When I suggested
the name Satan’s Sled, my older sister called me
stupid because I was missing the point. “Idiot. No
one said he actually tried to kill himself. It’s called
that because anyone who sleds down it now would
have to want to die.” I made a mental note not to
be so literal. When my best friend Susan and I rode
up there and she asked who killed themselves, I
took the opportunity to chastise her so I could feel
older and smarter. “Idiot. No one actually tried to kill
themselves…”
Susan had three older brothers who were all
known as town bad-asses. The youngest of the
three boys was nine years older than Susan and
me, so they were pretty much adults. We were
their entertainment, and in the days before remote
38 JAVA
MAGAZINE

I avoided Raymond Johnston, who told me that
penises were as long as fire hoses and needed to
be rolled up and tucked in.
control, they would demand that we just stand in front of the TV and do their
channel bidding. Susan whined, but I thought two of the brothers were incredibly
cool. This was before I was old enough to realize that being 20 and drinking
and smoking pot all day while living in your parents’ basement doesn’t register
terribly high on the Richter scale of cool. Susan would complain, and I would roll
my eyes so the brothers could see. I wanted to let them know I was on their side
and was having fun changing channels and being taught curse words I didn’t
know existed. Or, in some cases, learning words I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed
to know.
Her brother Sal won a shirt at the boardwalk. It was an iron-on of a scuba diver
with the words: “Muff Diving Team. We Dive at Five.” The back, just to keep it
classy, read “No Muff Too Tuff.” We thought it was very cool, especially because
it was Sal’s. “Listen, Sue, you can have it,” he said, and tossed the shirt over to
her. “It looks great. You should wear it to school tomorrow.” We could not have
been older than 10 at the time. “Muff” was definitely in our vernacular, but we
thought it was the name of a guy on the team. She did wear it to school and was
promptly sent home.
Still trying to impress Sal, we told him we were not scared to go to Suicide Hill
and had even ridden our bikes there a few times. “Babies,” he snorted. “There
are places way scarier than Suicide Hill. There is a cabin up in the woods and
sometimes the ghost of the kid who died on the sled is there. I’ve seen him. I bet
you guys won’t go there.” After a vigorous round of “bet you will, bet you won’t,”
Sal explained how to get to the cabin. It required not only climbing the notorious
hill but then following a narrow path into the woods. When we headed out, we
were both terrified. Naturally, this led us to calling each other accusatory, wimpy
names, hoping the other person would just admit to being scared so we could get
the hell out of there.
We did make it to the cabin, which was really more of a broken-down wooden
shed. It was still straight out of a horror movie. Out in the woods, broken
windows, a creaky door. Susan and I spent the first few minutes convincing
ourselves we weren’t scared and the next few minutes talking ourselves into
believing we saw the sled kid’s ghost inside. What we actually found when we
got inside was not a ghost at all, but it was still a shock. It was old-ass porn with
the pages all matted together. Never having seen porn before, it was probably
more frightening than the ghost. At least I was expecting to see a ghost. But as
we flipped through the pages, there was something else I was not expecting, but
was greatly relieved to see. “Wait a minute,” I said, stopping at the first image of
a naked man, “that is not as long as a fire hose.”

NIGHT
GALLERY
Photos By
Robert Sentinery
1
2
3 4
5
6
7
8 9
10 11
1. Davina poses with her piece at “La Dada”
2. This duo came in town for the “Pipe Brothers” show
3. Nico on the decks at Phoenix Art Museum
4. Husband & wife art duo, FunWow, at {9}
5. Undertow one-year with this lovely
6. Jobot crew in the house at Unexpected
7. Tondra is gorgeous, hands down
8. “Pipe Brothers” art show with Tom Franco
9. Jerome Indie Film & Music Festival attendees
10. Yuko with a Robert Williams sculpture at MCA
11. “Past/Future/Present” opening at PAM

12 13 14 15 16
17 18 19 20 21
22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29
12. Jerome Film Fest with this beauty
13. Shipwrecked with the Undertow crew
14. Brazil night at Phoenix Art Museum
15. Saskia Jorda’s opening at Eric Fischl Gallery
16. Funkhouser and friends at PAM
17. Getting their tiki on at Undertow
18. Taco Tuesdays with Mikey B at Unexpected
19. VIP opening of “Past/Future/Present”
20. Axé Capoeira performs at PAM
21. Footsie fashionistas
22. @Vaksheen with his painting “Po$h Regrets”
23. Estrella and Gabriel at ASU’s Project Space
24. {9} Collective show with this lovely trio
25. Angelica and her cuz at Phoenix Art Museum
26. Mykel, Mello and Johnny at Royse Contemporary
27. Tondra and Jesse at Unexpected Art Gallery
28. When the body becomes a canvas
29. “Past/Future/Present” opening with Dennita and beau

Beautiful Mid Century inspired mailboxes by
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30 31
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47
30. São Paolo museum of modern art director at PAM
31. Robert Williams opening at Mesa Contemporary
32. Magic glass octopus by Mikey B
33. First Friday at {9} Gallery
34. The legendary Robert Williams at MCA Museum
35. Mike and pal, Studio Gallery at Found:Re Hotel
36. Undertow celebrates one year
37. Joe and Vaiden at MCA Museum
38. Axé Capoeira in the house for First Friday at PAM
39. Jenna and Margaree Past/Future/Present” at PAM
40. All together now for the “Pipe Brothers” show
41. ASU Ceramics Research Center for “Pipe Brothers”
42. Lisa, Sean and Amanda at the Robert Williams opening
43. Iris and Tom at “Pipe Brothers”
44. Opening at ASU Ceramics Research Center
45. “La Dada” show at Megaphone Phoenix
46. Rembrandt and pal at Royse Contemporary
47. Jerome Indie Film Fest founder Toni Ross and friends

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48. Lovelies Charmagne and Mia at Royse Contemporary
49. Lauren and pal at the Let’s Be Better Humans Bus
50. Red wine time at the “Pipe Brothers” show
51. Lani, Airi and Christian, the crew behind Megaphone
52. First Friday fund at Phoenix Art Museum
53. Bowtie bro at Royse Contemporary
54. Always great to see Lindsay and Skyler
55. This lady gets the award for most funky outfit
56. “La Dada” DJ
57. Long time, no see John and Karen Hall
58. Happy birthday Andrew
59. Looks like double trouble
60. Artists extraordinaire Yuko and Jennyfer
61. Angel and Nicole at Royse Contemporary
62. Yummy strawberry wine slushy at Ncounter
63. Is it ok if I call you “babes”?
64. “La Dada” show at Megaphone Phoenix
65. A perfect pair

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66. Monica and Rafael at Royse Contemporary
67. Julio does the introductions at ASU’s Project Space
68. Nicole and pal at Megaphone
69. Artist Sky Black and his lady at Grand ArtHaus’ 1-year
70. Devin and Daniel at Megaphone
71. Aileen Frick with her work at Grand ArtHaus
72. Anthony from Caffio, the coolest mobile espresso bar
73. First Friday with Steve and Ashley
74. Kick ass abstract painter at ArtHaus
75. Tattoo artist Tariq and his lovely lass
76. Kudos to the dude in the kilt
77. Facial hair fun with Abbey, Vaiden and Marcelle
78. Ncounter Roosevelt grand opening fete
79. Champ and Such styles at Grand ArtHaus
80. First Friday with Mary and Jennyfer
81. Thaddeus showed up for Fausto’s birthday
82. Two cool artist couples
83. More fun at Ncounter Roosevelt’s grand opening

Calling ALL Artists
BidUp!
Silent Auction Fundraiser
Sat, Nov 18 (6-8pm)
Artists 18+ years
2D & 3D Artwork 12 x 12 x 12” or Smaller
Artwork Deadline: Nov 10, 2017
Info & Form:
mesaartscenter.com/index.php/
museum/programs/events/bidup
One East Main Street • Mesa, Arizona 85201 • 480-644-6562 • MesaArtsCenter.com