Someone asked me last week what it was like to be in New York on the tenth anniversary of 9/11. And the answer is, well...a shitload better than being here on 9/11/01. I spent most of last weekend not turning on the TV, ignoring newspapers, and definitely not reading the countless "Ten Years Later" magazine cover stories. I didn't especially need an anniversary in order to remember, you know?
That morning, I did exchange some texts with someone I was with on the day, each of us contributing pieces of memories that the other had forgotten or, more likely, blocked out. We were both RAs at an NYU dorm, and our dining hall became a place where people who had family or friends in the towers went to await news. I had actually slept through the towers falling somehow, and she was the one who told me what happened. She had no memory of this. It's better that way.
That was Remembrance, Part 1. Part 2 came in the form of a "political cabaret" at the Highline Ballroom that night. Earnest and sad, I could have done on my own. What Knock Knock did was provide a space where boundaries would be pushed, good taste obliterated, and remembrance filtered through the offbeat art of a bunch of self-described freaks. It was, in short, exactly what I needed.
Burlesque star Julie Atlas Muz put the whole thing together and opened with a heartfelt speech about memory and about the need of artists to reflect the world around them, heavily quoting Nina Simone. It was a good place to start. What followed were three acts: one for New York, one for the fractured world, and one called "Oh No, You Di'int!"
Rather than take you through every act (I was there for four hours and it was still going when I packed it in), let's talk highlights and lowlights. The Stanley Love dance troupe dressed as iconic New York buildings as the Twin Towers danced to "This Used to Be My Playground." It was the sort of overly earnest, deeply sentimental performance that in any other space I would have laughed off the stage. Instead, it was lovely and appropriate. Silly, yes, but in a loving and sensitive way. Justin Bond hosted the second act and provided the most cutting commentary of the night, comparing the powers that led to the AIDS pandemic to those that created the level of animosity driving the 9/11 terrorists. "I told you I'd complete a thought," he said after teasing the audience with threads of ideas throughout his set. "I never said you'd like it."
The night was heavy on burlesque: a firefighter couple stripping naked and covering themselves in ash to David Bowie's "Hero," a woman pulling dollar bills out of (well, YOU guess) to "I'm Proud to Be an American," and so on. If you were going for an overall theme, it was this: New York is awesome. America is a little sleazy. Hey: what did you expect?
There were also some acts that seemed to have no idea where they were. A breakdancing crew did a legitimately amazing number that had nothing to do with anything. Everyone's favorite trannie, Amanda Lepore, tried to sign along with a backing track and took off all her clothes because...well, that's just what she does.
Most alarmingly, butch transgender woman Rose Wood did a sort of strip-ish thing that involved homeless garb and fake feces showered on the audience. I actually shouted, "Oh shit!" before realizing how literally it could be taken. And Breyer P-Orridge sang/slammed a song/poem she called "a big downer." And it was. In that it was hideous, not in that it actually touched a nerve.
Here's the thing: sometimes simply being provocative is enough for me. Is it easy to just be outre? Sure. Is sarcasm and low humor the sucker's way out? Absolutely. But on a day when you just want to be shocked out of your misery, there's absolutely nothing wrong with mixing moments of tender emotionality with some brutally distasteful shit jokes. It's the downtown way.
No comments:
Post a Comment