Word: warhols
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Even Warhol got sick of it. “My new line is ‘in 15 minutes everybody will be famous,’” he wrote in 1979. Maybe that even works better for our purposes. It’s more jaded, certainly. You can hear the tired sigh, the burden of having said something that people put on bumper stickers. But it also indicates a sort of populist quality, like everyone can get in on this fame and fortune thing and everyone has a story to tell. In that spirit, we present you with...
...opening reception. I was confused. We’d been at the gallery for at least half an hour and my teacher had only talked about my drawing for three short minutes. Where was this 15 number coming from? My dad then explained about a man named Andy Warhol and an idea he had that everyone would be famous, world famous no less, for fifteen minutes...
...forget." The score ranges from Brecht-Weill for the age of irony (Ich Bin Kunst), to disco with a touch of wit (?Tell me what you feel / I'll show you what to do / We don?t do sincere / Everything taboo"), to a haunting lament for the passing of Warhol?s 15 minutes (You?re Out of Fashion), along with a batch of soulful and melodic ballads. At times, the show has the over-the-top rock emotionalism of the 1980s musical Chess - another great score scuttled by a problematic book. Ten years from now, I can see a cult...
...since birth. Yet in photographs they never fail to appear devastatingly stylish, like a bunch of Bowery James Bonds. This poseurship is just one of the reasons it takes immense critical discipline not to hate them. The Strokes' effortlessness is pure fiction; not since the Velvet Underground met Andy Warhol has a band so effectively been art directed to achieve the look of not having been art directed. But when you hear the Strokes, that cultivated cool disperses with every passing guitar chord, and suddenly, just by listening, you're cool too. That's how good their melodies...
...since birth. Yet in photographs they never fail to appear devastatingly stylish, like a bunch of Bowery James Bonds. This poseurship is just one of the reasons it takes immense critical discipline not to hate them. The Strokes' effortlessness is pure fiction; not since the Velvet Underground met Andy Warhol has a band so effectively been art-directed to achieve the look of not having been art-directed. But when you actually hear the Strokes, that cultivated cool disperses with each passing guitar chord, and suddenly, just by listening, you're cool, too. That's how good their melodies...