Performance art. It’s brilliant, irritating, verging on the psychotic, irony-clogged stuff that neatly dissects the angst of the modern metropolis. Or maybe it’s just television: Short, brutish, nasty, lots of jump cuts, kind of like real life but with better production values. It’s Laurie, it’s Mary, it’s celebrity parties as…
If “credibility” isn’t already a buzz word, you can bet it’s becoming one. Personally, I’ve never had a problem with the big C. So I’ve never really worried about it. Lately my nonchalance has presented a couple of interesting test cases. First there was Greg Brown. I had the audacity…
S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y…night! It’s Saturday night, oh Saturday night…. Great bunch of kids, those Bay City Rollers, but that was Seventies/Eighties fun, as dated as the Beach Boys catching the perfect curl. Now it’s songs for the new recession, the squeeze of the fin de siecle, just not nice at all. Like…
In 1989 we became, and are currently, qualified Responsible Vendors. We’ve had polygraph tests, urine tests, monthly staff meetings, and quarterly meetings conducted by Responsible Vendors, Inc. to update the staff. Mr. Sloate employs security guards to patrol the parking lots. One of the people taken by the Border Patrol…
October, 1987 “The Miami Herald may as well close its doors if it believes it can take advantage of us economically while it belittles our ideals and misrepresents our people and our purposes.” – Cuban American National Foundation, Jorge Mas Canosa, chairman; from a full-page advertisement placed in the Herald…
On the night of March 17, 1990, the previous and only time Esta Hill and her band, Lava Love, played Miami, they destroyed me. Ripped my brain out and shot hoops with it. Hill’s stage frantics make that leaping toad Axl Rose look like a paraplegic. Or, as William Blake…
Sorry, but there is no way four WASPs from Palm Beach County could have recorded Dream Another Dream, nor, for that matter, I Am I. Progressive guitar rock is dead. It died, more or less, when the Replacements went out of fashion several years ago. If progressive rock was still…
We don’t recommend who you should vote for in elections the way other publications do, but vote for Al Goldstein for Broward sheriff. In his famous magazine, Screw, Goldstein recently ran a fake ad picturing Clarabell the Clown with Nick Navarro’s face pasted over. It’s making fun of Navarro’s comment…
It’s glamour, it’s cheap thrills, it’s the sort of new 1992. The society shuffle. The debut of La Cage, art of the drag, part XIV. Semper’s gone underground. Movie stars. Big money. Legends becoming as one, pledging the sacred vows of fabulousness. Slime spewers in natural fabrics, little priss pots…
Granted, at one time they were a legal-eagle dynasty. Now they more resemble “The Family Circus.” Mr. Lowther doesn’t need to make the Rubins’ destruction his mission. They are self-destructing. The Florida Bar really needs to review these clowns and their ethics. As for Siskind, he and the Rubins should…
It makes perfect sense. Out there you are different, the world is different, there’s no deep-sea mystery of throwing bait in water and waiting for the tug. Fly fishing is straight-up honest, in a creek where the fish know you’re there, know you want to hook them. And so you…
Uptown on a budget. The preview party for Art Miami ’92, in a huge new space at the Beach convention center. Atmospheric harpists. The white wine crowd pretending an absorbing interest in the work when conversation wandered. Art people. Dealer Barbara Greene. Sculptor John Henry, in town for NFAA’s “Arts…
WARNING: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME I wish to compliment Jim DeFede’s treatment of the complex litigation in his article “Battle of the Exes” (January 1). One matter I feel compelled to draw to your readers’ attention, is that Mrs. Feinberg’s tape recording, that I recommended, was done legally…
Our continuing coverage of censorship in America recently included the anti-music-video rantings of Sen. Robert Byrdbrain, who says MTV and the others are bad, bad. From Lydia Lunch to Rap’s Most Wanted, I’ve seen a few “controversial” videos in my day (as few as possible, but what the hell). I’ve…
That New Year crush again, one long desperate party leading up to the final soul-crushing moment, and then, nothing, nothing, on the other side. Sex without release. Work without reward. Fun without pleasure. Another year, and still, you’re not glitterati fashion designer Gianni Versace, whooping it up with a clientele…
I was one and a half years old at the time and had developed sufficient motor skills to deal the fatal blow. My parents deny that I was anywhere near Dallas in 1963, but a tattered Eastern Airlines ticket stub says otherwise. I’ve just completed Infanticide for a major publisher…
We have gazed upon the netherworld: drag queens with a grudge, the morally crippled, hustlers obsessed with short-order fame. And, dear God, we have become what we beheld. Well, sort of. It’s 3:00 a.m., it’s Hombre, it’s like an extremely confrontational Virtual Reality video recreation of a 42nd Street Jack…
Have you heard of this Miami Rocks, Too! thing? Bunch of bands showcase for the music industry’s big boys (and girls?). This year the East Coast Music Forum has been added – seminars, workshops, exhibitions. Famed producer Tom Dowd provides the keynote; he’s had a hand in some of the…
WITH FRIENDS LIKE US, JACKIE… The “Bon Voyage!” article by Kirk Semple in the December 18 issue of New Times is so true as to actually apply to myself. However, I am a U.S. Merchant Marine officer. I was recently injured on a U.S. flagship, and as a result, I…
The holiday season, and it’s beginning to feel a lot like celeb time. Models. Fashion vampires. The famous and not-so-famous everywhere, selling things, basking in the sun and the envy of the less celebrated, pollinating, spreading malaise. William Kennedy Smith, free at last and even more famous, reportedly seen stomping…
I totally screwed up – so what else is new? – a Screaming Iguanas of Love feature I’d hoped to publish in this issue of this newspaper. Somewhere in Melbourne (Florida) is a befuddled man, scratching his head and wondering what the hell was meant by the phone message on…
IN CONCLUSION I WOULD JUST LIKE TO SAY…UH, WHAT WAS I TALKING ABOUT? Regarding your “Search for the Lost Mojito” (December 11): I had my first mojito at the now-defunct Havana Clipper several years ago and instantly became a mojitoist, scouring all sources for recipes like some sort of “buzzed”…
