I like things that are weird and theatrical and maybe I don’t wash my hands enough, and that makes me less prone to getting a cold, because I wear my germs on my sleeve. So when Isabelle Albuquerque, Jon Beasley, Megan Gold, and Robbie Williamson started a label called GERM, I knew that it would be something I could love like it was part of me. We Are The World’s Robbie & Megan breach hyperreal territory with their new project DREAMERS. It’s both menacing and nurturing. For Hecuba’s new album MODERN, Jon and Isabelle went into isolation, shaved their eyebrows, and removed their identities to see what was underneath. The music these folks make resonates with aliens and rebellious robots. It’s artful music, it’s something psychoanalysts can talk about. And now they’ve joined forces to create a label that goes to infinity and jumps right off the edge. This interview by Daiana Feuer.

How do you isolate yourself in an idea? Do you think you were successful?
JB: I think it was successful only in the fact that it failed sort of because it created a space for us to be concentrated, intensified. Since the process was so concentrated, even if she was bringing an idea or I was bringing an idea, it was coming from the same spot so it felt like it was not two different people’s ideas. This record was really about a feeling. We threw away a lot of songs because they didn’t feel immediate, vital. If it didn’t feel like it had to say something, that it was just really cool, that was not ok for this because we were in such a space where what we wanted to deal with was emotion. Putting ourselves in there was an emotional boiler.
IA: Hell on earth. Some people have had success with that, becoming each other. For us, I could never be happy. I felt lost. I hated it. I was so depressed making this record. Jon just dragged me along, poor thing.
RW: Did you write any of the lyrics when you were depressed?
IA: Most of them.
RW: Really?
MG: But there’s a lot of positive in there.
IA: There’s love where you give yourself totally to someone, and if you give yourself totally to someone then you’re gone. So I got really depressed. I hate thinking about it.
JB: What’s interesting is that it’s kind of what we were trying to explore. There’s the bond of commitment, which is super intense. If you take it seriously and think about it, you’re bound, and even if you are in freedom together, you are not in freedom in the same way. We change.
IA: It sounds cheesy, but we were thinking about S&M the whole time, as a metaphor. That idea of love to this extreme where it becomes a cage. We went with that as music project.
And hair.
IA: Yeah, shaving the eyebrows and hair.
JB: But we committed to finishing it, and so it was the same thing as being committed to a relationship. When it’s bad you still have to finish it.
IA: But the loss of sexuality part was really bad. Something I’ve always struggled with, but it was really hard in this situation.
JB: It became an intense issue. The loss of difference, the loss of contrast between each other. Just being in the same space creatively and intellectually the whole time. The difference between us started going away. We were trying to make that happen, but then when it really started to happen…
IA: In my teenage years I had a hard time knowing what my sexuality was. And it brought that up somehow.
JB: Yes because it’s about identity, how you see yourself. Because you’re so the same and so together, you realize the bad things you do to you, you do to someone else. And the good things are there but the bad things are there. We got into a crazy spot.
IA: It was bad.
JB: When you lose the distinction, you lose the other, and when you lose the other, you don’t have someone to love, you just are. There’s no someone else.
But then what about the idea of loving yourself, can’t you just love you and your extension?
IA: Maybe I’m too destructive. I did all these things to both of us that were bad.
JB: No, no, I think there’s a place for that, and that’s orgasm. There’s a place where you can lose yourself and that’s good, but by design it’s brief. You have to kind of die in some way. Without being two separate people you lose being a pair. If you’re a unit you’re not a pair anymore. I think the pair is beautiful and perfect, those contrasts and differences are the other thing that you can appreciate and love and communicate with. There’s a back and forth in that. When we came out of the situation, it was more about appreciating how we were different and how we were together as other people.
How were you able to cut it off? Just by leaving one space for another? Did you have to cut your arm off?
JB: It took a while!
IA: It was really rough.
JB: We finished the record a while ago and we couldn’t do anything with it because it was just confusing. We didn’t know how to think about it.
RW: You guys didn’t almost break up or anything?
IA: No, we’re soul mates. It sounds so dark but we love each other so much that it was never a question. It was an experiment. We agreed to try something, to enter into something abstract. But it wasn’t, at the same time. Man, it was so weird, let’s talk about something else before I cry.
There’s a thematic carryover we can take here to Dreamers. There’s one song where you talk about shaming the other, ‘I Am The Monster.’
MG: I was thinking about that, too. That’s what that song is about. It’s like, we love each other and we’re in this, but what if by the sheer nature of being myself, what if the parts I’m working through, what if you love me but what if I’m your monster.
It’s very personal and intimate. It’s one of the biggest ideas that you can really think about. Being with somebody else is so important in one way or another in life, so it’s something you have to contend with.
MG: It is a big idea. Most of pop culture is about ‘getting the relationship.’ There’s hardly any dialogue about what the relationship is when you’re in it for real for a really long time. There is, but not in this format, music. It’s such an interesting art form. We struggle with this, we’re taking these kind of abstract, high concept things then distill them down to this format where people are in a club getting drunk listening. It’s a little sad. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately.
Why did you want to present this as Dreamers and not We Are The World?
MG: I wanted to experience what it was like. Can we still make people feel ‘like that’ without being so forward about it, without being like, ‘Feel like this!’ Is it still going to be liberating, will it still make them question identity, will it still have a powerful vibe?
Well, there’s still the music, you’re not just dressing up and dancing.
JB: The same qualities that make an epic live performance are also what make a record great. It’s insane and risky and totally punk and nuts. But it’s also emotional, honest, and produced insane. The sound is not shitty! It’s a high level of artistry. It’s not just an emotional experience, it is more emotional because of the production and the sound.
MG: My interest in GERM, our label, starting the label seems insane but having a framework to explore these big ideas, even if it takes five years between projects, no matter what, we will have an outlet. We just want the space to create something authentic.
IA: What Megan is saying, in terms of talking about the label, so much of the culture now with music—at first we were talking to other labels—we were told you have to put out an EP every four months, you have to have an mp3 here, a remix there, you have to do this and that, all this stuff. We don’t want it to be about stuff all the time, we want it to be about art.
MG: About content, not quantity.
JB: It’s as simple as allowing the space for a thing to be what it needs to be, not trying to impose necessities on it from the outside that dictate the format it’s in, where it goes, all the stuff people talk about as the way it has to be.
IA: It’s not how good things happen. It doesn’t have to be.
MG: This whole system, the industry, they claim to have this formula for what you have to do. Really, you have to do twitter? Why? I have never looked at that website. It is a website? Is it a phone app? I’m serious. To me, what we do, I don’t even understand that in context of that idea. That seems really separate from us. I’m not Kim Kardashian, what the fuck do I have to tweet about? There’s no rules, this concept of rules, is this cog and grind system that people want to believe in so they can assure artists that they can get them somewhere. We want to appreciate the getting. It’s the process. I don’t know if it’s achievable, I don’t know if it will ever monetize. Maybe our merchandise won’t be relatable.
JB: There’s specific criteria for success in art and music right now that I think is getting off track.
RW: It’s really off track. It’s about ‘likes’ on Facebook.
JB: It’s driving towards something that isn’t necessarily detrimental but it’s not a part of the way that we are creating, the stuff that I respond to in the world doesn’t necessarily operate that way. The things I find meaningful in terms of art, don’t always go through that channel. That idea of success as an album or as an artist is coming from, even in the small bands and labels, it’s a trickle down major label mentality of monetizing and capitalizing and saturation. Those are not necessities in the way people need to approach creating or experiencing music. It contributes to another way of listening that can become about minimizing music to be a constant stream of stuff. It doesn’t need to be memorable or meaningful, it just has to be another stuff. For us and for GERM, I want nurture projects that don’t necessarily have to be stuff.
IA: How do you feel about that, Daiana? You’re in the business, but you’re a different kind of listener.
I feel inspired by that. That’s what I want to do. I depend on you guys to nurture that sense of otherness, to give comfort or a buffer against the way everything else works. I’ve tried on every hat I could get my hands on in the music business, and almost all of that stuff made me feel so separate from art. It wasn’t about music or what I cared about. It’s all this machine cogness. For me it’s important to go against that in what I create.
MG: We are banking on the resonance of the vibration, that it will bring people in and bring them back.
But at the same time, you guys have cool friends.
MG: That’s true, we do have cool friends.
JB: What makes a piece of art successful? Even when we write we think about the experience of the music. If you talk about a live show being successful, the idea has changed in culture that successful means more people saw it. But that’s never really the case. A successful live experience to me is when I have had a meaningful experience. There can be ten people there or 10,000, but the goal is to have a meaningful experience. We want to take the focus away from accumulating views, and put it back to meaningful views.
Yes, I’m with ya. At the last FEVER, there were maybe 60 people there, but every single person was completely engaged and it was meaningful to them. I think there is a force in the world right now of people trying to have that as a principle in their lives, their art making, their cultural idea. I think it’s an important reaction to the world as we know it.
RW: We were talking about starting a GERM club where it’s 100 capacity, an amazing sound system, but it’s always intimate.
MG: There’s a lot of people out there that want something like that. It’s just hard to sift through. You’ve got to transmit through the computer screen. And in L.A. it is hard to be taken seriously in a way. People talk shit about L.A. but at the same time, a lot of amazing stuff comes out of here all the time. It’s a culturally relevant place, it’s the place to be right now.
What are the connective principles of the GERM world?
JB: I’m looking for vital. Something like seeing Dreamers! It can be anything but it needs to feel like whoever is making it has a complete commitment to it and is having a vital experience making it, because then it becomes a vital experience for me. That might sound basic but it is kind of rare in terms of live experiences or listening experiences. Finding a record that sounds vital doesn’t happen a lot. It’s not necessarily genre or style or approach.
MG: It’s vibe, danger, risk, vitality.
RW: Intent.
MG: Your guys’ music is somewhat mellower than ours, but even the sparseness is so menacing at times.
It’s more than just the music, it’s the person who has a certain resonance, you can feel their presence.
IA: And they can be totally ridiculous socially.
That’s probably part of it! I’m not saying cool, I’m saying alien or robot, science fiction.
JB: Take Lucky Dragons…
Aliens.
JB: They are complete aliens and have complete intention. What they do is not what I would do in any way but what they do is so right and so completely them and their direction and their ideas and their intentions. What happens at their shows is really unique. And that is totally vital.
What you’re getting at is something important. Things that have an experiential quality to it feels more vital because you feel like you’re taken somewhere, you’re part of it. Even the most aggressive Dreamers songs are not completely menacing. You’re obviously not a monster. I can relate to that.
IA: It’s liberating! You don’t have to be this specific thing. Even the darkness is liberating. It’s energy.
RW: We want to involve artists that have an intent and a passion and a rawness but also bring a cerebral approach to it, some sort of intellect to what they want it to be.
JB: I’m excited to do small projects, to involve artists in experiments, remixes, without commitments actually.
IA: We want to release all kinds of things, music, film, objects. We don’t want to be limited.
RW: Do you remember the label SST? I’m inspired by them. There’s so much stress to be a part of a label that you admire. But we felt like we had to start a label because we didn’t fit anywhere. What’s interesting, also, is that once you claim a vibe as a label, and you’re a strong personality, you’ll attract that personality to you.
MG: We felt that we couldn’t possibly be the only ones that feel like there needs to be a home for these type of ideas. I can’t see or feel through the hype machine. I needed a way to make this our own.
JB: For us, as a label, we’re not trying to be the go-between for an artist and a blog. We are trying to put the kind of art out that we want in the world.
How did you guys meet?
MG: We met at a friends house actually, in the kitchen. We said, let’s make a show that changes something and then Hecuba got us on the Manimal Festival. I think we had played one show before then. And Isabelle’s sister danced in one of our shows.
On what level did you connect?
RW: I just remember thinking they were one of the coolest things I’d ever seen.
MG: I remember thinking, ‘Thank god.’
JB: That’s what we thought too! We felt a little isolated and then we saw them.
IA: Even though it was different from us, it was that intent. The same thing happened when we saw Lucky Dragons.
Do you think there are new ideas that can be breached or are there just new ways of refining ideas?
RW: Lately I’ve been really enamored with the simplicity of ideas that I’m hearing that I’ve never heard before. This morning I heard a song with a really simple house beat and just some guy talking with a pitched down voice about some experience he had on the street. It was such a simple idea but I had not heard that before. I think there’s tons of new ideas. I hear so many fresh things every day.
IA: There’s no way for there not to be new musical ideas, just with all the new equipment and things we can do with them. There’s so many ideas to explore.
MG: Though I think it’s pretty safe to say you probably won’t ever hear a rock band come out of GERM. I could be wrong but…I think Lydia Lunch said it best in that one documentary about punk music. She was like, ‘Seriously you’re going to get a guitar and bass and drums and make something new at this point?’ How is anything about what punk was and how the term was being used in the late 1990s. Punk meant something, it was pushing the envelope, it was new, it was experimental. She was in the whole noise wave of not sounding melodic. So anyway I don’t think we’re interested in anything that’s like something we’ve ever heard.
JB: I generally have an aversion to guitar music.
MG: Me too.
RW: Me too.
JB: But if Jarvis Cocker walked in the room I’d be like, yes!
IA: I am always looking for a poet or a voice. Like Patti Smith. It’s about the writing.
JB: Funny I would not even call it rock music, but it is. I often think of rock as a derogatory term. To me it’s been associated with music that’s not about the ideas.
MG: It doesn’t mean anything to use that word.
RW: But then you can still say punk and it means something.
MG: It means something to me. But I don’t know what it means to other people.
But if you say punk and I haven’t heard you yet and I look at your description, and I never heard punk from the 1970s, then I listened to you. Then I went back and listened to the Ramones, I would say, this isn’t punk.
IA: Well, let’s say punk is an idea and not a style.
MG: We’re definitely not anti-pop. Let’s make sure that’s clear. But what is pop?
RW: It means a structure to me.
IA: To me it means EVERYONE!
RW: It’s all so subjective though.
MG: Robbie’s such an anarchist, he doesn’t understand what risk is. He doesn’t listen to one normal thing a day.
Ya know, it’s interesting. I think someone who is truly forward thinking would not even call themselves forward thinking because they are so forward thinking.
MG: No one wears their shoes with the dog having half-eaten them, like him.
JB: He’s an original, look at those shoes!
RW: You know what else I want to do, is to produce for people. Like finding someone creative who we think is interesting and writing music for them.
What you’re describing is also what happens at the highest commercial level.
RW: Yes, well, we want to do it the same way but saying look at this girl, she is so fucking cool, let’s create something new. Rather than waiting to find it, we want to create it.
JB: It’s true, what you say, Daiana, but we want to do it within this framework of ours. We can bring out something that is there, someone who is brimming with expression, they have vital ideas and they’re artists. We want to say, what happens when they make a record with someone like Robbie. There is something special about doing something for the first time, to make it about art.
MG: It seems so far-fetched to make it about money.
IA: I want to make a safe place for art for art’s sake. It feels so right in my heart to say it.

L.A. RECORD & KARAOKE FEVER & GERM PRESENT THE RECORD RELEASE PARTY FOR DREAMERS WITH HECUBA, THE M00NBIRD, AND MECCA V.A. PLUS DJs PDA AND MOR ELIAN ON FRI., MAY 25, AT LOS GLOBOS, 3040 W. SUNSET BLVD.. 930 PM / $8 / 18+. CLUBLOSGLOBOS.COM.

We Are The World choreographer Ryan Heffington connects the underground to the mainstream pop circuit, the sewing machine to the street and the studio to the wilderness to the screen. His ecstatic dance troupe, Fingered, gave me goosebumps with a genealogy of dance history that seemed to say: “Fuck ballet, fuck ice skating, fuck kung fu, fuck stripping, fuck ballroom, fuck modern …” And not “fuck” as in “forget,” but as in “penetrate with passion.” Like—celebrate them but spank ’em, too. Between touring to Mexico City and finalizing Ke$ha’s “thug dance,” Ryan took a minute to relay a manifesto that outlines dance for the people and drags performers from the stage to public space while scoffing at outdated notions of gender and sexuality—the only concepts this artist can’t choreograph. This interview by Drew Denny.

If you could choose one gesture people had to perform while reading this interview, what would it be?
One wrist attached below your heart, fingers curving upward. The other wrist attached to those fingers, curving to the mouth. Feed it.
How do you cast? What do you look for in a performer?
I look for dancers who embody individuality and don’t lose themselves with given choreography. I’m inspired by ways I can’t move. It’s a pleasure to work with both trained and organic movers if they have the soul.
What are the ways you can’t move?
I’m learning how to let go of rhythm. Years back at a dance party this guy—amazingly passionate—danced with total freedom. His movements had no intelligible pattern while doubling the tempo of any given song. Claps, fist pumps and epileptic thrusts—I was completely transfixed. Since then I’ve been practicing the idea of using my body as another layer to any given rhythm—complimenting repetition with abstract gestures and flow. This man wasn’t rhythmically challenged. He didn’t conform to the belief of what dance should be, according to most people. He was inspired—the dude had had balls.
What’s the first dance you remember doing?
The first dance I recall was my one-child-show at age 6. I gathered all the neighborhood kids, sat them on our couch and improvised for them. As far back as I can recall, dance was always serious for me. It was a great escape from the reality of the small town where I grew up. I would rehearse before and directly after school for hours—I loved it. Until 18 I lived in Yuba City—a small town between Sacramento and Chico. Dance was my passion and means of survival. I was pretty carefree and flamboyant at an early age. I had no sense of shame for being a dancer—or as other people saw it, in being queer. Often we performed at convalescent homes, county fairs and local pageants. You could imagine what life at school was like—plus the shit I got for being on local television in bedazzled unitards. Dance was my curse and safe haven. My reality was so different when I danced—I was accepted, and gay.
How do you perform yourself and your experience?
I like to perform myself in both genders and usually make my experiences into more fantastical pieces—over-the-top characterizations and situations sprinkled with truths.
I felt that Fingered at times performed love, performed sex, performed femininity and masculinity—how do you feel about the concepts of sexuality and gender as performance?
My sexuality from a young age has been a self-realized blur. I think performance is a great platform to reveal, explore and expand sexuality and gender.
If you can perform sexuality and gender, can you choreograph them?
I can’t choreograph sexuality and gender because I cannot define them.
Who are the dancers in Fingered?
Gifted creatures that are connected to their bodies in a way most humans are not. They can translate intellect into physical form with the body as their medium. Like any athlete, they develop the ability to exceed many characteristics of the average human. For instance, they possess the ability to physicalize sound. With a learned technique they acquire an expansive vocabulary of this ‘physicalized sound.’ Also they can do tricks— like the splits, two full rotations in the air, then landing like a tossed cat on its feet—or simply being able to balance on the ball of one foot for minutes.
How did they learn how to do that?
Years or decades of training. They are multidisciplinary movers that are game for just about anything. I’ve worked with most of them for years.
I saw Fingered at the Echo during the We Are The World residency and fell in love. You manage to penetrate the conventions of nearly every dance form.
For that particular Fingered—like when a grizzly feasts on spawning salmon—I seized random aesthetics and ideas to create a show. This show was loosely titled ‘She War’ —rooted in internal struggle/pleasures of cross-dressing men and the idea of housewives of Vietnam soldiers exercising fantastical mental escapades to elude the loss of their lovers. Through movement, music and lighting, it becomes the best afterschool special.
If Fingered were an afterschool special, what would the heavy-handed moral conclusion be?
Reality is fleeting.
If Fingered had a home planet, what would it be like?
A brief description of our last show: it was a used-car parking lot on a heated planet where salesmen’s wives were black-faced and impregnated others with ass darts. Dog-like mechanical humans adorned with leather pubic hair and beards celebrated with spinning tranny triangles when a hairy gladiator stripper gave birth to day-glo gymnastic ribbons. It ended in a trance rave party.
What’s it like to wake up on that planet?
Who said they ever sleep or even meditate? I think it’s one infinite twisted dance party.
I especially loved the part where the men came out in burqa-like robes but quickly revealed pastel vintage dresses, gesturing like bitchy Silver Lake chicks. Were they performing hipsterdom?
Yes. If you believe ‘yes.’ Sometimes friends lend a helping hand, but I make and design most of the costumes.
Do you design for the general public?
As of late I make an occasional piece for a friend or impulsively a garment to go out in, but I don’t have time to design much else. For some reason the Heaven’s Gate cult and the Texas polygamy sect arrest in 2008 inspired these looks. The diseased braided lumps were just an extra flair.
What is it that is so appealing about that kind of cult aesthetic?
I’m drawn to eccentric people. I find it fascinating that these people choose to strip themselves of individualism—become brainwashed. And wear Nikes. Nikes are so modern. Who made that decision? Was it the comfort? Or the need for speed to that place called Hell? I would have suggested Easy Spirits—my choice of footwear for years.
If you designed for a cult, what would the uniform look like and why?
So many possibilities! It’s a bit of an overwhelming question. Currently I don’t have time to cultivate the premise of my future cult.
What compelled you to start teaching class?
It felt like a natural progression. I’ve always possessed the craving to create and share movement. When the opportunity arose I accepted. I believe I was 22. Some people were born gay—I was born a dancer. Luckily I was given the freedom to express this at a very early age. From there, through focus I’ve become an artist. It’s something I never questioned.
How did you get the opportunity to teach?
In Yuba City at Colleen’s Dance Factory! Mid-class my teacher would on the spot ask me to come up with choreography and teach the other students—my first dose of teaching. Years later in L.A., a good friend inquired if I’d sub a class of his. Enough said.
Tell me about your site-specific dance projects. Why is it important to perform in public?
My first true site-specific work came during a mushroom trip. Concept, sound, vision, location and mood came complete in a five-minute span—‘magic,’ they say. I found myself running from room to room re-enacting what was to become ‘House Party,’ a voyeuristic journey through a night of a dance cult. Dance is communicating—to be thrown in a conversation with nature or the city that surrounds us feels right. Add audience, and the definition of dance is altered. Public performance breaks stereotypes that dance is elitist—which is exciting to destroy in my lifetime. It also levels expectation and creates the perfect backdrop for dance on a budget. I’m creating a non-judgmental, cheap, sweaty, fun environment for people to get together and release themselves. Where else can you find this in your adult life? When people voluntarily choose to dance, the possibility of invoking happiness is greater than not. I just provide good music and a bit of instruction—it’s all choice from there on. The decisions you make in class—to go the same way as others or completely opposite of the group, whether conscious or not, are valid and accepted. If you remember to celebrate these choices, your day turns to gold.
What’s it like to work with Ke$ha? What’s the craziest thing you’re making her do with her body?
Ke$ha is amazing. It’s nice to be around a young artist with confidence and vision who doesn’t take herself too seriously. One of my favorite parts of the show is the thug dance jam for her song ‘Take It Off.’ And no, Daddy’s not going on tour—I have to stay home and watch the baby.
What about your work with We Are The World?
I mostly choreograph and make costumes for the band with a bit of backup vox and sleigh bell. Robbie Williamson and I—after an impressive night of drunken improv site-specific dance exploration—decided to make a music/dance project.
Where does drunken dancing rank on the total list of all possible human experiences?
As we all know, when drunk we’re uninhibited. What could be more beautiful? To become a good drunken dancer, simply lift drink to lips, pour and swallow.
I saw We Are The World perform on Guero’s outdoor stage in Texas, and a middle-aged mom came up to me and said, ‘This is scary, but I like it!’ Are you trying to shock people or is that just a side effect?
Shock? No. But I do think that gravitating toward something unrecognizable could be frightening and exciting. Being masked in general makes people wary.
You have such a vast and varied practice–do you ever feel schizophrenic or do all your projects relate to one another some how?
Definitely schizo! But it works for me and my process. I think movement vocabulary and passion is threaded through all my work, but the concept is always new. I hope to be recognized by recreating myself—my work—each time a piece is presented. Most of my life is spent creating. However, I feel my life is completely separate from a performance. But sure—some of my work is autobiographical. I was commissioned by L.A. Contemporary Dance Company where I created a piece called ‘Diary. Entry. Final.’ that was heavily influenced by the occurrence of three events that occurred consecutively: the chance death of an acquaintance, a marriage, and a trip to the rural Mexican coast. My emotions were full-bodied. I’m sure only the closest of friends could possibly recognize these influences.
What’s going to keep you busiest this summer?
I just had a baby: the Sweat Spot. It’s my new dance space and home of my Sweaty Sundays classes. Our mission is to create a cultural mecca of dance, yoga, performance, event and rental space on the Eastside. It’s a studio for the people, and all classes are $10—cheapest in the U.S., I think. ‘Dance for the people’ means that these classes are geared toward a wide cross-section of the public regardless of age, financial means or level of experience. I find most people can relate to dance—whether they took classes as a child or in high school or are familiar with freestyling at a club. Maybe they watch it on television? It’s more mainstream than ever. A lot of people in my age group or adjacent have been left without a means to let go and have a dance party that doesn’t involve aspects of a typical night club. In most workout or yoga classes, rarely do you actually share the high positive vibrations of those around you. My classes bring together elements of dance-floor tomfoolery, positive reinforcement and communalism that is missing in most of our adult lives. My current projects include a music video for Quadron, choreographing Ke$ha’s tour, making an art/fashion video with Moon-spoon Saloon, and starting a night in San Francisco called Singular Sensation where I’ll be teaching class at a club monthly. I should join the circus—I juggle well.
If you were actually in the circus, which of the people from the freak show would become your most special loved one and why?
The bearded lady, of course.

VISIT RYAN HEFFINGTON AT THESWEATSPOTLA.COM OR SIRHEFFINGTON.COM.

We Are the World and Finger Dancers performing at The Echo on April 1, 2010.

[View with PicLens]

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[View with PicLens]

Download: We Are The World “Clay Stones”

(from Clay Stones out now Manimal Vinyl)

Now this is music I can masturbate to! As danceable as it is disturbing, Clay Stones squirms me right from the get-go: “Foot Follows Foot” and “Clay Stones” are coming-of-age ritual music for the last pagan rave. Addictive as fuck, haunting as hell, Clay Stones’ beats compel helpless skeletons to shake and hearts to pump faster with lyrical myth-making. Like a gothic En Vogue, singer Megan Gold stretches and bends guttural glissandos and breathy chants across glassy hooks so hot I’d follow their directions straight to the sacrificing stone. Robbie Williamson pulls sonic bits from synths and voices and maybe even ghosts, creating percussive mysteries that drive Gold’s legends through your body and deep into your genetic memory. Less a band than an interdisciplinary cult led by choreographer Ryan Heffington and dancer Nina McNeely, We Are the World dances and sings and tickles the No-Touch Zones of this generation’s interest in darkness, disguised by costumes seemingly yanked from Julie Taymor’s interpretation of Shogun. As an album of music, then, Clay Stones only represents one facet of the WATW project, yet still captivates: its soundscape is textually intelligent yet primally accessible, and catchy as the Plague. And in the music video for “Clay Stones” (co-directed by the group and Alma Har’el) included with the CD, We Are the World ensures its visual aesthetic is expressed via wall humping, water worship, group self-gratification, and other forms of timeless merry-making. We Are the World performs the demons they discuss in “Goya’s Monsters,” a song that quotes Duchamp by saying, “There’s nothing here.” I’ll bet Duchamp would have loved to participate in the spectacle of We Are the World.

—Drew Denny

On the first night of their residency, We Are the Worlds’ presence at the Echo was nothing less than enchanting.  The group began as dark masked silhouettes and by the end of the show, they had evolved into bright priestly high beings.  These musical pioneers will put a spell on you.—Chris Sanchez

WATW by Daiana Feuer

We Are the World started their set on Monday in flowing white burkas, complete with capes and little square hats like the Shriners wear. I was trying to figure out how to describe their look (KKK-esque? Like whirling dervishes?) when Manimal’s Paul Beahan whispered into my ear: “it’s like Chef Boyardee on acid!” …Of course! Everything Manimal Vinyl does is like something-or-other on acid. Beahan’s label is the bulwark of left-coast psychedelia for the early 21st century—a new psychedelia that seems to be more influenced by raves and millennial tension than by drum circles and love-ins. Accordingly, the byword on this night was “mesmerizing.”

We Are the World might never be able to top their performance at the Manimal Festival in Joshua Tree this October, which was the first time that I saw them. On Monday, the tiny Echo simply couldn’t compete with dusklight, vast backdrops of mountains and sand, a smattering of romantic stars, and yes—a head abuzz with a low dose of LSD. But that’s not the performers’ fault. Less a live band and more a fascist pep rally, We Are the World was harsh and intense, changing out of their flowing Chef Boyardee suits mid-show and settling into ninja uniforms while spinning around feverishly and even hoisting each other up on shoulders like real cheerleaders. Their leader commands the stage like I’d imagine Hitler would if he’d been into Marilyn Manson and had entertainment—rather than the complete annihilation of an ethnic group—as his agenda. Their music is relentless, heavy, and “big beat”—lots of audience chant-alongs, and lots of stuff that’s kind of like hip-hop or Lady Gaga. They’ve affected a cultish image, but with the sound system at the Echo it was impossible to tell what (if any) message they were trying to push other than “pay attention!”  We got that message though, and it was loud and clear. We Are the World makes it very hard to not pay attention.

Earlier in the night, Rainbow Arabia dropped a set dominated by pitch-perfect renditions of songs from their most recent release, Kabukimono. I love that record, and I’m always glad to dip into the duo’s well-defined world of sometimes-menacing, sometimes-celebratory broken record tropicalia. Tonight’s highlights, however, were the handful of new songs generously interspersed throughout the show. When I first saw them sixteen months ago, lead singer Tiffany Preston seemed lost in her guitar and timid at the microphone. She looked totally different on Monday, adopting a true frontwoman swagger (maybe it was the suspenders and haircut, but I couldn’t help but be reminded of Patti Smith) while putting down the guitar and interacting with the audience in a way that I hadn’t previously seen from this band. Having already carved out a niche as a World Cafe electro jam band, Rainbow Arabia now seems to be moving towards less repetitious and more lyrical output. The new songs also seem more personal, although that’s just a hunch—aforementioned sound system issues rendered any serious analysis impossible. In any event, I’m really excited to hear their new record now.

—Geoff Geis

New Arrivals

L.A. Record x Etnies Limited Edition Shoe
The Polyamorous Affair – Bolshevik Disco (CD)
Dak – StandThis (CS)
Michael Nhat – Self Titled (LP)
Luis by Luis Farfan
Outtakes and Interrupted Moments by Dan Monick
Ill Always Be A Sucker For A Sense Of Wonder by Dan Monick
Witch – Self Titled (LP)
Pop Noir – Shirt

Pre-Orders

Voices Voices – Origins (CD)
Voices Voices – Origins (12″)
We Are The World – Clay Stones (CD)
We Are The World – Clay Stones (LP)

Top Sellers

Tweak Bird – Reservations (EP)
Sun Araw – In Orbit (CS)
Arthur Verocai – Arthur Verocai (LP)

We Are They World

We Are They World performed promptly at 9pm. A la coed Blue Man Group, they wore avant-garde kimonos and masks that displayed themselves as unisexual. They throbbed and danced like Cirque du Soleil acrobats. Next up was MEN, with frontwoman JD Samson, Michael O’Neill (guitar), and Ginger Brooks Takahashi (bass). The hours wait energized the crowd even more while they were entertained by the openers, who were also big supporters of the LGBT and feminist community.

MEN

As everyone’s cell phone clocks struck 11 o’clock, the fragments of fog and light beamed on  Nathan Paine (guitarist) and Hannah Billie (drummer) playing beats to “Dimestore Diamond.” However, Beth Ditto (vocalist) was nowhere to be seen. She entered as the lights flickered to the right, amplifying the stage. She was dressed in a black and yellow mummy wrap-printed, off-shoulder dress. Her hair was on fire, and her lips pulsated with pizzazz to every note she reached. Holding the mic gave her voluminous power to belt out her pipes and to crack her jokes. The stage and crowd only reciprocated each other’s electricity throughout the night. “Pop Goes The World” came next, and it only implanted a stronger message about having a say in society. Ditto interacted with the roaring crowd like a gospel punk preacher to the soulful choir. She even apologized for not hitting the notes due to a cold. Their act lasted over an hour, but time went by and “Standing in the Way of Control” ended the night perfectly. Even when the Gossip ended, they were pushed to their limits and played three encores, including Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It.” Using Queen’s “We Are The Champions” as a rally for the LGBT to fight for their rights, the night could have not been a better celebration for the victorious community.

The Gossip trio, much like a tripod, is held up with much support from self-loving people. Beth is a force of nature that seldom comes and goes, but is a dominant striking power whether it be with the LGBT community, positive body image campaigners, or indie scenesters. It may be over when the fat lady sings, but when the curvy lesbian sings, it’s only the beginning of a wide awakening for self-empowerment.

—Katrina Guevara

Alex Ebert + Har Mar Superstar

Pizza!, the latest addition to Manimal Vinyl’s roster, opened festivities with upbeat songs about skulls and the recession. “Did that boy just say the N-word?!” exclaimed a leather vested motorcycle man.

Pizza!

Weave’s outfits—surfer dudes on Venus, splattered with braille. The band beamed energy from their instruments that formed a constellation of Siouxie Sioux and tropical animals above people’s heads. A nod goes to Ivory’s commitment to a high bikini line.

Weave

Corridor, aka Michael Quinn, comes on epic—like leaping from a building but not hitting the ground. His music belongs to the ethereal realization you won’t crash. The wind whipped his hair wildly as he drummed on his cello. He shares alternacoustic mystique with Kurt Vile, except Quinn’s more metal. Bill & Ted might arrive and whisk him away to the future.

Corridor

Tiffany Preston beats the cowbell like it’s a drum pad and vice versa. As the biting wind trapped Rainbow Arabia‘s notes in the air for a second, it became appealing to sew a thread passing back and forth between cowbell, pad, Danny’s keys, congas, and back to guitar. The wind disentangled Tiffany’s voice from the mic effects—noticing her natural sound’s ornaments.

Rainbow Arabia

Prolonged exposure to We Are The World nears brain-washing. People think Ed Sharpe has a cultish power? I’m more likely to join We Are The World—their costumes as monk habits, and prayer as a Ryan Heffington dance routine. Beneath the sensory aerobics, I noticed, they all wear different shoes.

We Are The World

Respite from the World’s immaculate vision was found inside Pappy & Harriet’s, hopping and twisting around a shiny ghettoblaster’s pixie stick, midi karaoke beats. Matt Jones has Sonny Bono hair. His Jonesin’ partner, Jen Jones, crosses Debbie Harry and Tifffany—the latter accentuated by shoulder pads. The couple resides in San Francisco, exchanging romantic one-liners with distortion set on 11.

Jonesin’

New band members appear with Fool’s Gold all the time. But here’s hoping a rosy-cheeked preteen playing percussion tonight makes the permanent roster. Six chickens, seventeen marbles, and two helicopters also squeezed in on stage. The intro to “Suprise Hotel” lasted for miles—teasing that tropical guitar line between Lewis Pesacov and Matt Popieluch until the audience fully surrendered—before Luke Top uttered the song’s first word.

Fool’s Gold (*see the kid in the back right!)

With instruments and band members protruding in all directions, Ed Sharpe & Magnetic Zeros swooned on stage like an amoeba. The audience was sucked in. Alex Ebert suggested a volunteer get even closer and suck his ________. I imagined Ebert pulling a bathplug out of his pants and the whole audience slipping into a glowing light between his legs.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

A fifteen-minute jam during Amanda Jo Williams’ last song put the country butter in psychedelic. Having a full band lay into her songs slowed things down so the rhythms could crack their joints. Amanda’s kooky voice usually whisks the audience away on horse rides after bunnies, but tonight the spread-out sound kept the audience stomping within these four walls.

Amanda Jo Williams

When both members of Hecuba collapsed on the floor, their heads touched the way Lady And The Tramp share a noodle. Fog gathered. Keeping a hand playing the keyboard, Jon Beasley rubbed his face on Isabelle Albuquerque’s cheek while she hunched over her knees. The audience huddled around as its ship reached the heart of outer space.

Hecuba

Laco$te’s X rolled around, climbed tables, and bent backwards during a short, electric set—so high charged it blew some fuses, including the band members’. Most people believed the sound splitting was a deliberate trippy effect. Laco$te could’ve mimed their remaining songs and kept the audience bobbing along.

Laco$te

Cold did not care much that the sun wanted to shine on Sunday. Voice On Tape’s echoing moans and romantic guitar strumming made me want scotch and a gambler’s ring.

Voice On Tape

He’s My Brother She’s My Sister performed when the air was white. You could barely see them when looking at the musicians straight on. This band’s day-after-glamorous-debauchery plus a banjo felt so right—considering the far-out night many people were still living. The audience slapped its knee and sloppily clapped along to what might have been Manimal’s theme song.

He’s My Brother She’s My Sister

Shivering, lacking vitamins and sleep, the audience sat cross-legged on Pappy’s dancefloor during Ariana Delawari. Gentle detailed guitar was punctuated when she struck hard chords or sincere moments—her eyebrows pleated like a sea for rain. Lulled, you forget she might be singing about politics and terrorism.

Adriana Delawari

Voices Voices was the last thing I could see before the boogie-man chased me home. For a finale to the melting rainbow they stirred until dissolved, the girls should have ridden off on motorcycles across the darkening desert—trenchcoats flapping behind them.

Voices Voices

Lips chapped the minute they tasted the air at Pappy & Harriet’s—those allergic to Chapstick have since cracked and ripped every time a smile recollects the Manimal Fest journey.

[View with PicLens]

—Daiana Feuer (words and photo)