Last night saw a performance billed as "Miranda July and Friends " at the NYPL on 42nd St., yeah, the one with the lions. It was an evening, moderated by its new host, whose name is something German-Dutchyish with a lisp, and that's why the evening was so perfectly timed out and even included an intermission with free artesianal wine and cheezes for the masses of NYers who now the library is trying to attract to it's lively Friday night chats.
I'm not sure exactly what to make of Miss July. Her film, You, Me, and Everyone Else we Know, was interesting if not somewhat tedious to me with a distinctly LA, but anti-Hollywoodish quality . I wondered if her slightly awkward gait and pauses where calculated or deliciously adorably real. The audience, us of the most jaded quality, seemed mostly all very present with her and I did enjoy her stories.
The next in the venue was Becky Stark who wore a rust colored dress with buttons up to the neck with matching collar and cuffs and sang simple repetitive lyrics in a high pitched tone and looked pure as a virgin from the Ozarks not yet incested by one toothed uncles and other kin folk. What the hell was this chickee's rap? Was it all created up at Bennington Vermont or something like that?
Finally, the man who got me through all my college all-nighters, dancing in subterranean darkroom, high on color chemistry fumes: David Byrne. He looked splendidly gracefully aged with a tan and shock of spiked but soft full hair of a color indeterminable Grecian blue. He was the moderator for Miss July. He pulled out filmstills in Powerpoint and Quicktime clips and commented on their schematic qualities.
By then I had had 4 glasses of the hand-made wine (as opposed to feet made wine?) and so started scribbling notes and drawing things on my worn green pad with the Andy Warhol cover that maybe I'll look at later or maybe throw away. However, what was clear is that the show had Mr. Byrne last and the two youngings in the spotlight, although I did enjoy watching Miss Becky and Mr. Byrne play guitar together as the finally act, and Mr. Byrne displayed a feeling for the music as expressed in slightly jerky neck movements.
I think the mostly floral, somewhat polka-dotted , and solid linen summer dressed crowd on NYers liked it as evidenced in the "I'd Like to Teach the World to Sing" type of sing along that we all participated in singing aloud, in perfect harmony. But I guess that's why they served the artesian wine to us first--it takes a lot for us stoic, jaded New Yorkers to follow the bouncing ball.
Did you notice Miss July changed her headband from yellow to green between acts??? Aha...
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