“We want to be interactive. We’ve hired three full-time bloggers and we’re going to launch a site that’s going to be synonymous with our show so that there will be different ways to enjoy Late Night. During the day you can go on our site and watch funny clips from Hulu or YouTube or College Humor or whatever. We’ll be tweeting and Facebooking our fans and maybe interviewing kids from their dorm rooms on Skype.”—
“But most days, if you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she’s not usually like this. Maybe she’s been up three straight nights holding the hand of a husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it’s also not impossible. It just depends what you what to consider. If you’re automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on your default setting, then you, like me, probably won’t consider possibilities that aren’t annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow, consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical oneness of all things deep down.”—
“One of my favorite nights at the Mudd Club had Eric Anderson, Joni Mitchell, Diana Ross, Rene Ricard and Diana Vreeland all within six feet of each other. But then isn’t that one of the things that used to make a club great—the variety? Sadly, that doesn’t happen too much anymore.”—A Mudd Club memoir.
“At five till eight a booming voice comes over the loudspeaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, the show is about begin.” It is? Even a Broadway show gives you ten minutes’ grace! “He’s on crack!” “He’s crazy!” “He’s just anal!” chorus the voices around me as I slide into my front-row seat, just in time. (Okay, so it turns out there is only one row, but still … ) Out come the models, with hair as high as Elsa Lancaster’s in The Bride of Frankenstein, dressed in black with hugely distended shoulders, or bright Stephen Sprouse–ian colors, or Claude Montana–esque silhouettes, as if we are all planning to repair to Danceteria or the Mudd Club as soon as the show is over.”—Lynn YaegerFIRST on the MJ F/W 09 Danceteria and Mudd Club references.
“The first stage in the evolution is contingent and cannot be contrived. In this first stage, the voice, by no fault of its own, finds itself trapped between two poles, two competing belief systems. And so this first stage necessitates the second: the voice learns to be flexible between these two fixed points, even to the point of equivocation. Then the third stage: this native flexibility leads to a sense of being able to “see a thing from both sides.” And then the final stage, which I think of as the mark of a certain kind of genius: the voice relinquishes ownership of itself, develops a creative sense of disassociation in which the claims that are particular to it seem no stronger than anyone else’s. There it is, my little theory—I’d rather call it a story. It is a story about a wonderful voice, occasionally used by citizens, rarely by men of power. Amidst the din of the 2008 culture wars it proved especially hard to hear.”—