Blogcritics: Comments on The Hot Topic: What's Your Vibe, What's Your Scene?

Comment by Eric Berlin

Sat, 12 Nov 2005 02:37:43 EST

Mat - To respond to your comment about "hit cred," I hope you get that I was trying to illustrate my unhip cred! Unhip as hip, or something. I think this could easily be it's own topic: What is hip (or cool)? In my view, hip is being easy in your skin, not worrying about the "uniform" that you wear or how your attitude / vibe comes off to others. So trying to trendy, trying to cordon yourself off into the punk scene, hippie pot smoking tie-dye wearing peoples, and so on = not hip. Hip is being in the state of, like I used to like to say, chilling in your own scene.

Comment by Matthew T. Sussman

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 19:37:29 EST

As a traveling software guy, my scene is normally a restaurant, table for one, with a good book. When I'm in town, my scene is the curling rink.

Comment by Mat Brewster

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 17:17:27 EST

Ah the great undulations of youth. Will there ever be such scenes again?

Comment by Eric Olsen

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 08:24:55 EST

oh yeah, and there was much undulation

Comment by Eric Olsen

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 08:22:55 EST

love this - thanks guys! I have loved many a vibe especially when DJing live, but what comes to mind is the oceanic waves of energy coming up onto the stage at the annual USC Greek Week party, with 10,000+ people jammed onto the street, stretching back for blocks, all moving to the same groove

Comment by Bennett

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 08:08:40 EST

Not necessarily all of that, Shark. Some of it to be sure, but such are the explorations of youth trying to answer the burning questions about acceptance and place. Trying to match interest with venue. For some older folks, the scene would be the VFA bar, recounting the horrors. These days, my favorite scene is the homefront. Doing my best to turn the property into a garden paradise, but it's still a scene. C'mon man, what's your scene?

Comment by Shark

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 07:19:19 EST

Favorite scenes: * Final scene in "Pollyanna" * John Turturro begging for his life in the woods from "Miller's Crossing" * John Wayne's face in The Searchers -- when he realizes Natalie Wood has probably been forced to do The Wild Thing with those dirty, pesky Apaches. * Opening few minutes from "A Touch of Evil" * After years in solitary -- Steve McQueen's head sticking out of small window in "Papillon" -- asking "How do I look?" * The front yard scene in "A History of Violence" -- when Viggo's face slowly goes from mild-mannered nice family man to... well ya just gotta see it... .... oh, wait, yall meant... like little fake bohemian club scenes... where vacuous selves go to wear their cultural disguises, engage in role-playing, and try to convine others (and themselves) that they aren't just a cosmic black hole of nothingness that is bored shitless with their own noughtness...? Sorry. I don't like to leave the house. (Besides, the beer is cheaper at home.)

Comment by Viqi French

Fri, 4 Nov 2005 05:09:16 EST

My all-time favorite vibes were in the Village in the mid-eighties. I was a "fringe" punker away at college in Philly in those days. A car load of us close, eclectic friends would head to NYC at like 1 a.m. every couple of weekends. The seedy Pyramid Club was a staple for a while, with some of the best New Wave and Soul music DJs ever. At some point, someone we met at the Pyramid told us to check out a place called 8BC -- so named because it was located on 8th Street between Avenues B and C. We hopped in the car and drove a few blocks over to 8BC. Back then, those blocks looked horrendous, like bombed-out Beirut. Not a good place to be... The area was "residential ruins," sparsely inhabited by drugged out squatters, mostly. Quiet and dangerous-feeling in the wee hours. Worse, a creepy but awesome mural featuring a who's who of dead Black leaders seated Last Supper-style decorated a nearby crumbling wall. We didn't hear music coming from any of these ready-for-wrecking-ball buildings. Just when we were thinking of getting back in the car and going elsewhere, this gorgeous, lone Asian kid stumbled out of one of those bombed-out looking buildings a quarter block down. He was painted gold: shimmering gold face paint and gold spiky hair... He wore the saddest, almost petrified expression. He stared at us while he "floated" past; we stared at him, wondering if we were seeing some kind of freaky apparition. Hello! We were there and couldn't wait to get inside. We wanted more of this strangeness. 8BC seemed to have been inspired by the damned Bat Cave: huge and hollowish with unfinished walls and a stage. An ultra cool but amiable crowd took the fun to another level. Diverse, intelligent weirdos. Loved it! Low and behold, we'd come on the night a hot NYC underground band was playing: Trip Shakespeare. This avant garde sort of funky classical rock band sounded a cross between the Traffic, Led Zepplin and Prince. Imagine that! I'll never forget the blonde chick with Wizard of Oz, red-and-white striped tights murdering that violin. "Trip" was off-the-hook divine. A costumed Mr. Blotto (bald, white-face make-up and leotards) danced around us with a serious expression and mood I didn't see again until years later, when I saw Cirque de Soleil. We drank Drambui, smoke ganga, and had the best time ever until 11 a.m. We slept crunched together in the car until a heroine addict knocked on the window, insistng on washing my friend's dirty windshield for a fee. Oh what a night, and what a... club?