Natalie in New York: On the Death of Osama bin Laden

Well, I wasn’t planning on updating this blog a second time this week, but I have had a lot running through my head since the news of Osama bin Laden’s death broke late last night (as I’m sure you all have too), and since some friends back home have been curious about the reaction in New York, I felt I should share my experience of the past 24 hours.

I was sitting at the computer in my apartment, on my last rounds of checking facebook and twitter before bed, when I saw the words “Osama bin Laden Dead” all over my news feed. My reaction was disbelief until President Obama’s speech confirmed what my friends had been saying. (Now before you read my opinions that followed, I urge you to read this post entirely before judging me.)

My consciousness then responded with a callous indifference. Obviously I wasn’t upset over the death of someone so heinously evil, but I sarcastically wondered, “Great, what exactly does this change?” I saw no need to celebrate something that seemed like nothing more than political symbolism. Did this mean our troops could finally come home? Would innocent lives in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iraq finally be spared from our weapons? Were my Muslim friends finally going to be rid of the racist harassment that’s been so prevalent in our country since 9/11? I still think the answer to all of these questions is an unfortunate, “no.”

As I continued to obsessively read my friends’ musings on social networking sites, I became even more disgusted. Some were on the same page as me, but some were spewing arrogantly nationalistic nonsense like “USA #1!”

“How tacky,” I thought. “Isn’t that like giving a huge middle finger to everyone who has lost a loved one to American branded explosives in the Middle East and South Asia because of the so-called War on Terror?”

Just before I planned to go to sleep (which would actually turn out to be an hour later), a friend texted to ask if I was taking part in the festivities at Ground Zero. I had work in the morning, but even if I hadn’t needed to be up early, I felt like this was a moment in history I was more comfortable observing than actively participating in. I was glad to be on my quiet block, where the only signs of this news were the sounds of loud televisions in the hallways.

I told her that was the case before scolding her for being one of the those people virtually shouting “USA #1!” It turned into a long debate that eventually ended with her agreeing it was indeed a tacky thing to say, but that she meant it not to say that our country was #1 in comparison with the rest of the world, but in comparison with itself. To her, this was the beginning of a healing process, and she hoped it at least meant a decline in Islamophobia. I agreed with her, though I was still irritated at the way she chose to express her thoughts.

As I’m sure was the case most places, this news was the hot topic of conversation at work today. None of my coworkers, most of who actually were in this city on 9/11, were thrilled. For the most part the comments were, “How crazy is that?” One person said it was just a painful reminder of the 3,000 people lost that day. When I told one waiter how unimpressed I was, he said he could see my point, but noted, “at least it’s closure for a lot of people who lost someone” when the towers fell.

After he walked back to take care of his tables, I started feeling guilty about how unaffected I was by all of it. I’ve never lost anyone close at the hands of other people, but I have lost people I love, and that pain never really goes away. My family and friends who have passed were all taken because of disease, but that never made me any less angry or hesitant to look for someone to blame.

When I look back at how I handled those losses, I regret my reactions, but at the same time, I know I was just trying to make sense of it all. I wish to this day I hadn’t retaliated against my friends and family, especially in regards to one particular death, but it’s hard to be rational when you’re grieving. I still can’t condone those who were popping champagne bottles at Ground Zero last night, especially since it’s impossible to verify if they had known victims of the World Trade Center attacks. But now I feel like I might have been a little too quick to condemn the celebrations.

When I think of 9/11, I distinctly remember the fear of not knowing whether or not my friends and family in New York were ok. I was lucky, in that everyone turned out to be fine, but maybe I would feel differently today if someone I knew had been among the casualties that day.

I still think it’s atrocious that so many other people have to live with that fear of not knowing whether their loved ones are alive on a daily basis because Americans had to deal with it for one day. And I still think there’s no excuse for the fact that so many people have used 9/11 as a reason for bigotry towards those of Islamic descent or faith. But like I said, maybe it was insensitive to judge everyone who was happy over last night’s news. I have my doubts about whether this will actually happen, but I hope my friend and coworker were right about this being a healing event.

I’m off to a hip-hop show in Union Square in a couple of hours, so hopefully my next post will be a bit more uplifting. Until then, good vibes everyone!

Natalie in New York: Week Two

Last night I had my first New York live music experience since moving here two weeks ago. I had thought about staying home after working an eight hour shift at the restaurant, but hearing the sounds of Saturday night festivities outside my window eventually convinced me that it would be beyond lame to shut myself in, especially when I had the following day off. I had heard that the Upper East side’s Session 73 hosted live music, and since it was in walking distance with no cover charge, I decided it would be worth at least briefly checking out.

I wandered into the crowded bar around 12:30 a.m., where alternative rock cover band Daddy Nobux was nearing the end of their first set. I pushed my way toward the bar as the band was kicking into the Violent Femmes’ “Blister in the Sun,” and was immediately thrilled at the fact that people were actually dancing.

It felt like it had been eons since I had properly danced, despite attending a decent number of shows during my last year in LA. My hometown is notorious for being a bad audience when it comes to music, and as someone who has seen many bands throw all of their energy into a set where all the crowd does is stare in the direction of the stage, I’d have to say we totally deserve that reputation. And while dancing is one of my favorite pastimes, it always feels awkward to be the only one moving when I’m surrounded by almost statue-like still bodies, so I can’t say I haven’t foregone the desire to move because of peer pressure. But this crowd had no problem properly reacting to the music, so after grabbing a drink, I made my way to the front of the stage, and joined a group of grooving girls for the end of the band’s first, and most of their second set.

The second half of Daddy Nobux’s performance included popular rock hits spanning recent times, to a few decades back, such as Sublime’s “Santeria,” The Killers’ “All These Things That I’ve Done,” and Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run.” Session’s patrons seemed to enjoy the whole set, but especially got into it during a sing-along of Oasis’ “Wonderwall.” It was fun to be able to see a band I had never heard of and know the words to what they were playing, but frankly, I would have liked to hear at least one original song. Then again, their website advertises them as a cover band, and being critical of that seems like reviewing a horror movie and complaining about too much gore. For what Daddy Nobux does, they are pretty good at it, and they seemed like cool guys as well.

Between sets, I struck up a brief conversation with their bass player, Jason, who asked where I was from. (I think the look on my face as I gleefully observed the room of intoxicated New Yorkers must have screamed, “She’s not from around here.”) When I responded, “California,” he excitedly asked what I was doing in Manhattan.

“I moved here to be a music journalist,” I said. “Really?” he replied. “I would think that L.A. was the place to be for that.” That was the second time someone has questioned my decision to uproot from La La land in the past week, but it has not made me doubt my choice one bit.

That doesn’t mean life has suddenly become a cakewalk, or that I haven’t been given reason to be pessimistic. I have only applied for a few jobs in the past week, and I continue to hear about native New Yorkers who haven’t received any callbacks about positions in the arena I hope to some day have a career in. And I have definitely encountered some rude people since my last post. (Thus far, however, it has only been from a handful of customers at work, and I think that’s more of an indication of the occupational hazards of working in the food service industry than the general demeanor of New Yorkers.)

Something about this city just makes it feel like “my city” more than Los Angeles ever was, though. Maybe that’s because I can finally be mobile enough to go out whenever I feel like it. (At home, if I didn’t make plans by 9:00 p.m., I was in for the night. Since being here, I have already met up with friends twice after making spontaneous arrangements to hang out around midnight.) Maybe it’s because I am no longer dealing with the stress of an impending foreclosure on a day-to-day basis. (Though I still worry and desperately hope for my family’s situation to improve, especially after recently learning that the sale date of our house has been moved up.) Maybe it is simply because such a dramatic life change has forced me to adjust my attitude and approach to the way I interact with people. (I always describe myself as shy, which still holds true, but I am forcing myself to strike up more random conversations nowadays.) Or maybe I don’t need a specific reason for why I am so deeply in love with New York.

Perhaps all that matters is that I am having a blast being here. Whether or not I manage to accomplish the career goals I came her to pursue, I am enjoying the moment that I am in right now, even if my plans haven’t fallen into place just yet.

As I said in my first post, I am only going to guarantee bi-weekly updates on this blog, so don’t be surprised if you don’t see anything new here this time next week. Hopefully, I will have tracked down some original music to share with all of you by then. So until next time (because New York hasn’t beaten the corny West Coast hippie out of me yet), good vibes everyone!

Natalie in New York: Week One

This afternoon I attended Manhattan’s Annual Easter Parade and Bonnet Festival. Each year, 5th Ave. closes to street traffic between 57th and 49th streets, as masses of people wander about admiring “parader’s” bonnets-some of which are decorated in the theme of Easter with bunnies, pastel eggs, and spring flowers, and some that simply display the wearer’s creative abilities, like one woman whose hat was built out of foam lego-like blocks, and another whose head was topped with a miniature model of a carousel. There were also street performers, from swing musicians to break dancers, that festival-goers could enjoy between snapping pictures of those in costume. It felt a lot like Santa Monica Blvd. on Halloween in West Hollywood, without the alcohol or partial nudity.

As this was my first ever Easter alone, it seemed ideal to spend it in an enormous crowd. You see, I relocated to this city exactly one week ago today from Los Angeles. In some ways, I’ve always wanted to come back to the coast I was born on, but the idea to actually go through with it has only been brewing in my head since last January. I had been conversing with a New Yorker at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival, and when I mentioned my pursuit of a career in music journalism, he suggested I seriously consider coming to New York. I had graduated from college about six months earlier, and had almost no luck finding paying work that even slightly resembled my desired field in my hometown, so his comment definitely stuck with me.

When I returned back home, I started contemplating all the reasons why at least trying New York might be a good option. As an Angelino with no car, the thought of public transportation running 24/7 was almost enough to make my decision, but there were other factors that had me constantly day dreaming about New York. I had been writing about mostly East Coast bands since graduating, so it didn’t seem far-fetched to assume New York might have a better music “scene” than Los Angeles. And despite the fact that part of me will always love the City of Angels, I was in desperate need of a change of scenery after 20 years.

At the time, my family was also beginning to deal with some serious financial problems. My mother had just been laid off, and we began to face the threat of foreclosure on our house. Clearly I couldn’t rely on her for financial support much longer, and since we would need to downsize to a smaller place soon anyway, it seemed like the right time to try to find a way to leave the nest. (My family has managed to stay in the house to this day, but without some kind of miracle, that may not be the case much longer. My mother may be the strongest person I know, but I know her fight can only buy so much time.)

My first search of online New York job boards was what really sealed the deal for me. Even in the current economy, the amount of media jobs in New York (at least relating to my personal career goals) far outnumbered what was available in Los Angeles. So with no idea of how exactly I was going to get there, I declared to my friends and family that I was going to move to New York.

I knew a cross-country move wouldn’t be possible immediately, so I decided on the goal of getting there by Spring of 2011, and began to apply for editing and music industry assistant jobs as I tried to save money for the move. (I’m sure some of you are wondering exactly how I was able to afford to move to such an expensive city if I couldn’t even land a full time job in my own town. I was lucky enough to at least land some temporary gigs, including an editing position at the online calendar for my alma mater, UCLA, and had some money in savings that was promised as a graduation gift, intended for a car. It wouldn’t have been enough to purchase anything that wouldn’t have needed more work put into it, so New York seemed like a better investment. And no, there is no way in hell my mother ever would have let me put that money toward saving the house-even if it had been enough to make a dent in what we owed.)

I never heard back about the many positions I applied to, but I remained convinced that New York was where I needed to be. My mother suggested I try to find a place to stay in the city, since I would have a better chance of finding a job if I were immediately available for an interview. I started to look for places to sublet in January of this year, but was blessed with an incredibly lucky opportunity shortly after beginning my search. Out of the blue one day, one of my mom’s East Coast friends decided to get in touch with her. When she mentioned my desire to come to New York, she offered to let me stay in her Manhattan studio while I looked for work, since she wouldn’t be there in the spring. It may have been the most perfectly serendipitous moment thus far in my 23 years on this planet.

The next few months flew by in a surreal blur, until I finally boarded a red eye flight to JFK at exactly 11:11 p.m. on April 16th. I fell madly in love with this city before my plane even touched the ground, when I saw the skyline the next morning. As a writer, I could not have picked a more perfect spot to be able to people watch. From seeing toy sail boat races on sunny afternoons in Central Park, to viewing an opera performance worthy of the Met in an F Subway Train station, my first week in New York has been more mentally enriching than my last six months in Los Angeles.

In spite of their reputation, I’m starting to find that New Yorkers are some of the nicest people I have ever encountered. They are incredibly helpful when you need directions, and many actually smile at you in passing on the street (something that is extremely rare in Los Angeles). This isn’t to say that New Yorkers aren’t tough, though.

On my first trip out after settling in the apartment, I heard an elderly woman yell “Screw You!” at a car trying to turn left into a group of pedestrians, who clearly had the right of way. (Though there is far more sidewalk traffic here, being a pedestrian in New York is a lot like being one in LA, in that crossing the street is like playing a real life game of Frogger. But New Yorkers are more like those poisonous rainforest frogs or horny toads, in that they’ll actually fight back.)

I have yet to experience the New York music scene since my move, but did pay homage to my latest musical heroine, Patti Smith on my first day, when I took a trip to the Whitney Museum of American Art’s gift shop. I insisted on not going any further because I wanted to be reminded of her and Robert Mapplethorpe’s museum dates in Just Kids, where only one of them would visit the exhibitions and later describe them to the one waiting outside because they could only afford one ticket.

I also have yet to land any media related job interviews, but I was lucky enough to become partially employed as a hostess at a restaurant in the Flatiron District, thanks to some connections from when I last lived on the East Coast.

Overall, I would say that my first week in New York was better than I could have imagined. I have had an amazing time exploring the city, I had awesome friends to reconnect with, a place to crash in a wonderful neighborhood, and I have a means of income while I look for something full time. Essentially, I landed with my feet on the ground. That doesn’t mean that this experience hasn’t taken an extreme amount of adjusting, though.

I knew I was lucky to have my friends and family in Los Angeles, but I didn’t realize just how lucky I was until it was time to leave. I made an incredibly risky decision coming here. I had to do something drastic if I wanted to pursue a career even close to my twelve year long dream of working as a music journalist. But it would have been easy for everyone to tell me I was naïve, or that this was a bad idea. Instead, I was met with an abundance of love and support from those closest to me. When I started to doubt myself in the weeks leading up to my flight, my friends and family reassured me that I was going to succeed. They restored my faith in myself, but still, it’s not easy to just leave those kind of people behind, even if I do have great friends on this coast too.

If it were up to me, I would have packed them all in my suitcase. But since that wasn’t an option, I will be updating this blog to keep everyone back home in the loop of my new life in New York. It will be a challenge, since I’m not exactly a fan of writing about really personal topics, but I know I would be a bad writer if I always stayed in my comfort zone. If you’re reading this and I don’t know you, I hope you’ve enjoyed my rant of personal issues and random observations. And no matter who you are, I appreciate it if you’ve made it this far in my semi-organized piece, as I get used to the style of blogging.

Oh, and I know the title probably seems like I just got lazy, but it actually comes from my last conversation with my boss at UCLA, when she happily exclaimed, “Natalie in New York- it sounds like a movie!” I will do my best to update this weekly, but for now, I can only guarantee that there will be bi-weekly stories. So until next time, Happy Easter and Passover to everyone celebrating, and good vibes to you all!

It’s All Happening: The Taqwacores Debuts in Los Angeles

Sundance Festival Pick The Taqwacores officially premiered in Los Angeles at the Laemmle Sunset 5 Theater to a modestly sized crowd on November 12. Friday night’s screening marked the fifth time I had seen the film, almost two years after hearing of a movie in pre-production about “Muslim Punks.” Though it’s a phrase I try to avoid using, especially since becoming a fan of the bands associated with taqwacore, it’s difficult to imagine what my life would have been like in the past two years if I had never heard it.

When I read Michael Muhammad Knight’s novel (which the feature film, directed by Eyad Zahra, is based on), my knowledge of Islam was still pretty limited. But my reaction after putting down the book was intensely positive. I thought immediately, “Punk’s not dead..” I’ve never had a religious affiliation, but the theme of disillusionment with an initially good idea plagued by fundamentalism reminded me so much of my experience with punk.
Punk is something I’ve always loved, but never felt I could use as a personal label. The music was always a big part of my childhood (my mother had me listening to “Who Killed Bambi” while most kids were still watching Bambi). But by the time I was a teenager, I wasn’t punk enough to hang out with the punk cliques in middle and high school. I liked a lot of non-punk bands. My favorite band, The Distillers, was “not punk enough.” My clothes didn’t meet the standards of the punk uniform. There was always some reason I felt embarrassed to proclaim my love of punk, even though I desperately wanted to. Eventually I said “fuck it, I don’t need this,” and up until this book, I thought punk was something I was done with.

But as I turned each page, pausing occasionally to look up the Arabic terms and Islamic references, I started getting nostalgic. Eventually, I threw on Rancid’s “And Out Come the Wolves” for the first time in maybe five years, and started browsing the net to see what “taqwacore” actually sounded like in musical form. I was officially hooked after stumbling upon The Dead Bhuttos’, a now disbanded act that included The Kominas’ Imran Malik and Basim Usmani, and their catchy-as-hell “Terri Assi Ki Tassi.”

Being a writer gave me a good excuse to actually talk to the people involved, starting with Knight when I interviewed him for LA2Day.com while the movie was being shot in Cleveland in October 2008. I always knew I wanted to do some kind of follow up on the subject after the article was published. I had originally thought it would be just one more story, though. After reviewing The Kominas’ Downtown Los Angeles show with Sarmust and Prop Anon in the summer of 2009, I got the idea to ask the band for an interview. In January of this year, after two interviews with The Kominas, and one with Al-Thawra and Omar Waqar, I headed to Sundance to cover the film’s world premiere and epic Star Bar show the following day. (I wasn’t getting paid, I just wanted to write about it.) Now I don’t even know how many articles I’ve written on “taqwacore,” off the top of my head (scroll down for some of them).

Initially, I was eager to talk to these musicians, since their music was now becoming part of my daily routine, but I was also hyper aware of how easy it would be for me to fuck this story up. From what I’d been reading, the bands were uncomfortable with the problematic and exclusive sounding “Muslim Punk” label. But I still kept thinking, “I’m not Muslim, my heritage isn’t Middle Eastern, South Asian or North African, so how can I relate to any of this? “ In this case, I was surely running the risk of being called a poseur.

But getting to know the “real life taqwacores” proved that wasn’t the case at all. When I nervously mentioned to Usmani in the first of my Kominas’ interview “I’m a super white valley girl, but I love your record,” his response was a gracious, “thanks, I’m glad!” When I talked to Marwan Kamel of Al-Thawra, he expressed delightful surprise at finally being asked questions about the band’s music. By the time I was hanging out with everyone at Sundance, I was experiencing something completely new in all of my encounters with punk. I was around people where I felt that I didn’t have to prove anything. In a group where I would last expect to fit in, I felt right at home.

I’ve kept in touch with the friends I made at Sundance, but since these writers, bands and fans are spread out across the country, it’s easy to feel disconnected from the so-called “scene” sometimes. Even if I am constantly listening to the music and am up to date with the news on all the bands, it starts to feel like it’s not “real” anymore when you haven’t actually hung out with anyone in months. But the great thing about taqwacore is that it can’t be classified just as a “scene.” It’s bigger than that. It’s an idea that’s so open to interpretation, which can only be as “real” as the individual decides it is. And it’s recently come to my attention that “taqwacore” is something I’ve managed to make very real in my close circle of friends, none of whom qualify as “Muslim Punk.”

The second time I saw the movie in April at the LA Asian Pacific Film Festival, I brought along two of my best girlfriends, sisters of Catholic descent. I was anxious about their reaction, especially since one of them, who I’ve known since 9th grade, considers her faith a huge part of her identity. They both loved the film, and haven’t ceased asking me when The Kominas are going to play in LA since. A few weeks ago their 18 year-old niece excitedly told me how much she “loved Muslim Punk.” I cringed at the term and told her she couldn’t call the bands that, but a few days later I found myself wondering why I thought that was such a bad thing.

On November 1, one of them asked if I was going to a special screening of the film at the Screen Actors Guild the following day. After wondering how the hell she had heard about this before me, I booked tickets, and within minutes was informed that she had to work and wouldn’t be able to make it. I called up another of my best girlfriends, who I’d burned “Wild Nights in Guantanamo Bay” for this past spring, and having loved it, she was stoked when I told her I had an extra ticket. We blasted the record through the West Side of Los Angeles on our way to the screening. Before the ending credits had started to roll, she turned to me, and the words “That was brilliant!” burst out of her mouth. She told me a few days later, at the after party at the Velvet Margarita following the November 10 special screening sponsored by the Levantine Center (http://www.levantinecenter.org/splash), that the past week of “taqwacore” made her feel “connected to my Moroccan side.” (she’s half Moroccan Jewish). These are just two examples of the many favorable responses I’ve witnessed after introducing my friends and family to taqwacore.

Each screening I’ve been to since Sundance has been followed by a question and answer session with members of the cast and crew, and the reactions exhibited at the three recent LA screenings varied. The audience at SAG seemed to respond positively, probably because we were in a crowd of people in film. Some asked about the editing and sound; a kid from Alaska on his 5th day in LA asked what techniques an actor can use to play characters that contradict a strict upbringing. When one woman asked what audience this movie was exactly for, Noureen DeWulf, the actress who brilliantly portrays Rabeya, the badass burqa wearing riot grrrl, responded that the film’s lack of a target audience is why it was a low budget independent production, and not a studio film.

The discussions at the screenings this past week were not as tame. At Friday;’s premiere, one man referred to the foreboding intensity in the dialogue about the upcoming Taqwacore show at the film’s climax as foreshadowing of a “terrorist act.” Actor Tony Yalda, whose performance as Muzzamil (or “Miss Muzzy”) reminds me of the best friends I made at punk shows in my teen years, boldly asked why he would make that association, when building up to a climax is part of every film, and there were no planes exploding in this movie.

I didn’t hear my favorite question during any of the Q and A’s, though. Before the film started at the Harmony Gold Theater last Wednesday, I started chatting with a kid four seats down from me who was there because he was a fan of the book. Eventually he inquired about if I was “in the scene,” and when I responded “kind of,” he eagerly asked, “Where do you guys hang out?!”

I can’t begin to predict how this movie will be widely received, but I do know that not everyone who sees “The Taqwacores” will find it as thrilling as my friends and I do. Maybe it’s because I’ve been anticipating the film’s release for so long, but while I was trying to figure out exactly how to answer this kid’s last question, I couldn’t help but think, “It’s all happening…”

United Against SB 1070: Thousands Protest Bill in Phoenix, Arizona

We arrived in Downtown LA just before 10 p.m. on the night of May 28, where two buses headed to Phoenix were waiting to be boarded by a group of people, ranging from college-age looking kids to senior citizens, some in pajamas, clutching pillows. The Los Angeles A.N.S.W.E.R. (Act Now to Stop War and End Racism) Coalition had organized the caravan of Angelinos going to protest Arizona’s recently passed immigration law, SB 1070, scheduled to go into effect on July 29, 2010. I was joined by my friend Tatiana Mendoza (founder of the Mendoza Science and Arts Autism Foundation, Inc.), along with her sister and seventeen-year-old niece. Tatiana had invited me a couple of weeks before, and when she told me the cost of the trip was only $40, I answered with an almost immediate “yes!”

When it comes to the issue of illegal immigration, I feel like too much of a bleeding heart liberal to take a logical position on the issue. I can respect the opinion that from a purely economical standpoint, the U.S. simply can’t afford it. But I don’t see all who cross the border illegally as ill-intended criminals trying to free load off the system. I hear the words “illegal immigrant” and I think of someone who must be coming from a pretty desperate situation to be willing to make such a risky decision. I get mental images of America and Candido from T.C. Boyle’s “Tortilla Curtain.” When you consider that the cost to immigrate legally to the United States can range in the tens of thousands, it seems cruel to condemn people whose financial situations make legal immigration impossible.

But that’s not why I decided to march against SB 1070. I’m against it because I don’t want people who came here legally, or were born here, to be harassed because of their skin color. I’ve read arguments that say SB 1070 won’t allow racial profiling, but “reasonable suspicion” isn’t clearly defined in the bill. And it’s a lot harder to believe this law isn’t motivated by racist sentiments when it was followed by a bill targeting ethnic studies classes in Arizona schools.

Before departing at 11 p.m., our bus captains informed us that there were rumors of counter protests, and reminded us to be smart about how we reacted if we did encounter them because “we won’t be in LA anymore.” Passengers then began to cheer and the bus began the five-hour drive to Phoenix.

The sun was already shining when we rolled into town, making us all think for a second that we had entered a different time zone, only to find out it really was 5:20 a.m.. The bus unloaded as some (like us) went off in search of coffee, while those participating in the boycott of Arizona businesses stayed behind at Steele Indian School Park.

Around 8 a.m. we headed back to the park where everyone was beginning to congregate. Reports on the official crowd size for the day varied. Most news outlets estimated between 10,000-20,000 people showed up, but according to Alternet, there were over 100,000 protestors. Like us, many had come from out of state. The Los Angeles Times reported people had traveled from as far as Rhode Island and Louisiana.

After locating A.N.S.W.E.R.’s table, we wandered around for a bit reading signs that were either provided by the various organizations that were present, or creatively homemade. One featured a mug shot of Dora the Explorer with a black eye, reading “SB1070- what racism looks like,” while an elementary school aged boy held one with Super Mario standing between the Mexican and American flags reading, “Mario does not support SB 1070.” Some signs featured references to the historical injustices against those indigenous to this continent, such as one reading “Columbus, A Real Illegal Alien.” We also spotted a bunch of piñatas in the shape of Maricopa County Sheriff Joe Arpaio.

A traditional Aztec dance kicked off the opening ceremonies before speakers began to take the mic. After snapping photos, and participating in a crowd-wide jump, initiated by the chant, “El que no brinque es migra,” (If you don’t jump, you’re immigration enforcement), we sought relief from the already grueling Arizona heat on the shady side of the hill, until it seemed like people were getting ready to start walking. (9 a.m. in Phoenix felt like noon in the harshest summer days in the San Fernando Valley.)

As a second Aztec dance ended, the 5.6 mile march began as the massive crowd slowly funneled through the entrance of the park and onto the streets. The dancers stayed at the front of the line, and continued to dance, despite the 94 degree temperature.

A.N.S.W.E.R. kept our group together with banners to mark our contingent, and lead chants of “Si se puede” (yes we can), “El pueblo unido jamas sera vencido,” (a people united will never be defeated), and “Arizona (or sometimes Obama) escucha, estamos en la lucha.” (Listen, we are all in the fight). We marched near the third banner at the end of the line, which kept passing over our heads, as we often fell behind. After catching up at one point, we were approached by an A.N.S.W.E.R. member, desperately trying to get rid of a sign he’d been coaxed into holding, without realizing it read “This is OUR continent, Not Yours.” The sign had originally belonged to a Latino protestor, but as this kid put it, “ I can’t hold this, I’m whiter than white!” We all had a good laugh, as Tatiana’s sister insisted on taking a picture before he handed it off, joking, “You could be from the Tea Party!”

I never spotted any counter protestors along the march. The people I saw who weren’t walking with us actually seemed to be on our side. We were met with honks and revving engines as we passed an auto shop, and a small group outside an apartment complex came out to clap and cheer at the crowd. My friend commented, though, that there didn’t seem to be a lot of spectator support, compared to the 2007 march for immigration reform in Los Angeles that she had attended, where she said many had come out to cheer them on, while some waived from the windows of offices.

Though the march definitely proved to be an endurance test, the demonstration remained peaceful. The vibe of the event was serious, but it was far from hostile. This was a major relief, since in the weeks leading up to the protest, I had been trying to ignore family and friend’s jokes of “Don’t get arrested!” I shouldn’t have been worried, since no arrests were reported.

Marchers found relief from the sweltering heat from volunteers with truck beds full of water bottles, and ice cream carts riding through the crowd. One woman on her front lawn along the route was hosing down overheated marchers. By the last mile and a half, our muscles were exhausted, and the heat was starting to take its toll, so we decided to take a quick breather since we’d already been separated from A.N.S.W.E.R. at that point. We sat on the sidewalk for just under ten minutes, observing the line of people that never seemed to end, before finally dragging ourselves to the finish line at the Capitol Building.

At the end of the route, we found our friend who’d been stuck with the unfortunate sign directing people to A.N.S.W.E.R.’s meeting spot. We collapsed between the members of our group and a family trying to comfort some very tired kids in the Capitol Building’s parking lot, watching a group arriving with a banner reading, “The Country that Speaks of Freedom and Justice has 12 million hard workers in the shadows with no rights for generations.”

I didn’t find out until I got home that the rally in favor of SB 1070 had actually been held in Tempe, a suburb just outside Phoenix. The attendance there was estimated to be around 7,000. Around 3 p.m., we headed back to the bus, passing another redheaded white girl wearing an “I could be illegal” button. People still seemed to be streaming in from the streets, as fired up speakers continued the rally onstage. Whether our turnout was 10,000 or 100,000, I was glad to be leaving only with memories of being among the larger mass peacefully standing in solidarity against SB 1070.

TwentyWonder Carnival Benefit for the Down Syndrome Association of Los Angeles

On March 6, the Veteran’s Memorial Building in Culver City was host to TwentyWonder, a “World’s Fair” style benefit for the Down Syndrome Association of Los Angeles. Named for the 21st chromosome, which causes Down syndrome when an individual is born with three, rather than two copies of it, the mostly indoor carnival brought members of the art and science communities together to raise funds for, and awareness about Angelinos living with Trisomy 21.

Upon entering the Veteran’s Memorial lobby, guests were given “TwentyWonder amulet” necklaces, as Eban Schletter and Alex Burke provided the sounds of a theramin and vibraphone. Those brave or hungry enough to stand in the rain consumed tacos from the Border Grill Truck, parked outside the building.

Attendees were free to wander between screenings of classic Warner Brothers cartoons in the Rotunda Room, and booths like the “Sokie Okie Sphere,” a display of “digital puppetry karaoke,” and the “Build Your Own Robot” stand, that were set-up in the Auditorium. Guests could also enjoy the Camille Rose Garcia meets Picasso-style art of TwentyWonder logo designer Tim Biskup in the “Biskuporama,” or walk through the colorful “AMazement” educational maze. While the handcrafted skirts on sale from “Made with Love By Hannah” were a visual treat for fashionistas, it was a little too close to the creepy crawlies at the “Emporium of Entomology” booth for me to spend too much time browsing. Magicians also entertained guests with tricks that employed rubber bands in an office supply version of the classic linking rings gag.

Performances began shortly after 6:00 p.m., with the “Kids of Widney High” rock band, from the special education high school . Band and audience members seemed to have a blast during their short, but fun set. Unfortunately, the stage acts that followed until 10 p.m. were a bit lackluster. The exception was Sarah Silverman, whose set included the “Cunt Song,” “You’re Gonna Die Soon,” and a favorite of mine from “Jesus is Magic,” “The Porn Star Song.” After H.R. Puff n Stuff accompanied DSALA Senior Director Jim Hodgson during his closing speech, the stage opened up for guests to participate in rounds of Rock Band until midnight.

Though there was plenty of factual information about Trisomy 21 available, I felt like TwentyWonder fell short, as far as its ability to raise awareness about Down syndrome. I would have liked to hear stories from people living with Down syndrome, because as important as it is to know about its genetic causes, it’s hard to connect with bullet points on a poster or pamphlet. I feel like the only way to inspire action is to tell a story that fosters empathy in people. Even if you don’t know someone living with Down syndrome, succeeding in spite of being dealt a challenging hand in life is universally relatable, and getting people to relate is the best way to make someone care about a cause. The organizers of TwentyWonder did a great thing in raising money for the DSALA, but the “Kids of Widney High” were the only part of the show that was able to give the cause a human face.

Why I Am Glad I Went to College: A Response to “Rethinkining College as Student Loans Burden Rises”

I rarely try to tackle subjects beyond music on this blog, but on March 3, I saw an article that was so infuriatingly irresponsible, that I felt I must share my absolutely enraged thoughts. The article, titled “Rethinking College as Student Loan Burdens Rise,” and accompanying video, encourages parents to dissuade their children from going to college because the financial burden of student loans outweighs the earning potential one now possesses with a four-year degree. James Altucher of Formula Capital implies that college, to most kids, is an excuse to waste thousands of their parents’ dollars, getting wasted for four years. To him, the life experience one gets in high school is sufficient enough to enter the workforce. Rather than exploring alternatives to loans, or calling for action to be taken about the high cost of education, he suggests that kids should learn how to “sell a product, and build a network of connections” because “that’s going to be more valuable.” He claims that “college is a scam” and “that motivated kids are going to make money whether or not they go to college,” as if motivated children will only aspire to be salesmen.

I graduated from college in June of 2009, and have yet to find a full time job. I’m $20,000 dollars in debt, and as each payment approaches, I get more anxious about the fact that I’ve only done freelance and temp work since I left school. I knew I might be in this situation as the economy started to collapse in my last few semesters. But I still believe that getting my degree was the right decision, and my reasons to take the path that I did were not simply to get the highest paying job.

The route I took to higher education was anything but typical, and was entirely driven by my desire to be a music journalist. If speaking from a purely financial perspective, one could easily argue this was an extremely foolish career to pursue. I guess I still haven’t matured from the adolescent music geek that wanted the world to know how great the bands she listened to are, but it’s something I haven’t ever been able to let go of.

When I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up at the age of 11, my grades suggested I was definitely college bound. I was an academic over achiever on the honor roll, and I had every intention of keeping my GPA up, so I could study journalism at a prestigious school. My focus started to get blurry by the time I hit high school, though. My grades started to slip, as I crippled under the pressure of AP level workloads. As a lifelong geek, I never learned how to be comfortable in the school’s social environment, and when I stopped excelling in the classroom, I started to dread going to school. By my sophomore year, my motivation had completely disappeared. I started cutting class to the point where people were more surprised to see me at school than when I was absent. The idea of being a music journalist seemed unreachable because I clearly wasn’t getting into a four-year university right out of my senior year.

On a lot of the days that I skipped class, I was waiting outside of a Los Angeles venue. My time seemed better spent getting a spot in front for one of my favorite bands, and I was always able to make new friends in line. One of these friends was a kid from Riverside that I had met at a Distillers’ show in September of 2003. When he told me that he was 16 and only taking five classes, I had to know how he was so lucky. He explained he was actually going to community college instead of high school. He had taken a test to get his “California Certificate of Proficiency,” a kind of high school diploma equivalent that was acceptable for admission to community college. After finishing his Associate’s degree, he could transfer to a four-year school. His high school transcripts wouldn’t matter; as a transfer student, only his work at community college would count.

I took the test that April, left high school a week before finals in my sophomore year, and started Pierce Community College in the fall. Within my first week of classes, I remembered that I did actually like school, and started to put effort into my schoolwork again. I was planning on transferring to a state school, so I wasn’t stressed about having a 4.0. Instead, I was instead focused on learning as much as I could from each class. Ironically, I got the highest marks once I shed the idea that top grades were the primary goal of school, like the idea that a job is only worth the amount of money you make.

In 2007, I was accepted to UCLA, where I received my Bachelor of Arts in Communication Studies last year. Unlike high school, the majority of my professors at both institutions were incredibly passionate about the subjects that they taught. Classes at UCLA like “Art as a Moral Action,” and “Social Advocacy and the Visual Arts,” taught me not only how to properly analyze and approach art, but that life is about more than how high your salary is; it’s about finding a way to use your talents and passions in a way that’s beneficial to your community. As my “Art as a Moral Action” professor Peter Sellars put it, “you can either be an artist or an asshole.”

This does not mean you have to enter music, painting, or writing to live your life as an artist. It means doing work that actually means something to you, and like an artist, dedicating yourself to mastering whatever craft you’ve chosen. For many, whether they decide to go to art or medical school, college is a good first step in building the skills needed to perfect a craft. It may not be a guarantee for an immediate paycheck, but isn’t this country’s obsession with instant gratification what got us into this mess in the first place?

Yes, I thought going to UCLA was going to make it easier to earn a living, and yes, that decision is costing me money I don’t necessarily have. I was completely apprehensive about taking out most of my loans in my senior year. I would have been able to cover tuition with scholarships, but I needed the loans so I could live on campus. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but my mother convinced me that it would be a good experience, and I would do better academically if I were closer to school.

As crazy as it was to live with five other girls in a two-bedroom suite, those nine months were well worth the money I owe now. This wasn’t just for the easy access to parties. Yes, the shot glasses were out every weekend, but during the week, we were serious about getting our work done. My roommates included a Global Studies major, a Theater major, an undeclared freshman considering applying to communication studies, and two girls with hopes of teaching someday. On top of their class syllabi, they juggled extra curricular activities like acting in school plays, mentoring kids, and co-organizing “Dance Marathon,” an entirely student run benefit for children with AIDS. Hugging these girls when Obama won on November 4th had to have been worth at least a few thousand dollars.

I can imagine my friends who did not graduate yet are going through hell with the financial stress the UC Regents board has put on them. I felt so proud when I spotted one of my former roommates in a video of the massive student protests that took place on campus the day the board decided to raise tuition $3,000 the following year. When I saw a kid getting tasered in another video, my stomach turned. For Mr. Altucher to write the value of an education off so quickly is a slap in the face to my former peers that are willing to put themselves through physical harm for it.

My media classes at UCLA also stressed the mass media’s potential to profoundly influence its audience, in ways that can sometimes be detrimental. If a person does not develop proper critical thinking skills, others can easily mold their ideas. Marde Gregory, another professor of mine, once said that the purpose of college was to learn how to think. Perhaps this isn’t worth much to some people, but at least for me, I’m grateful to at least be able to tell when I’m being presented with an incredibly fallible argument.

Taqwacores Make Pilgrimage to Sundance for Film Premiere and Concert

When the opening credits rolled on the world premiere of “The Taqwacores” in Park City, Utah on January 24, the audience roared with cheers as The Kominas’ “Sharia Law in the USA” blasted over the speakers. Though some in attendance had only heard about the film at the Sundance Film Festival, those of us screaming had traveled from all over the country for this, and the premiere party show featuring The Kominas, Al-Thawra, and Film Strip the following night. While some fans were there just to be part of the momentous occasion, others were there to document the event, like Tanzila Ahmed of Sepia Mutiny, who was blogging about the event onsite, and Kaitlin Foley and Britny DeAnda of Pop Sensation Productions, and hosts of the Cultureal Sindicate radio show.

I had been eagerly awaiting the release of this film since interviewing author Michael Muhammad Knight in October of 2008 during the movie’s shooting. The film is an adaptation of Knight’s novel, in which narrator Yusef’s (played by Bobby Naderi) traditional ideas of Islam are morphed after he moves into a house inhabited by punk Muslims. His roommates include Jehangir (Dominic Rains), the “Punjabi Tim Armstrong;” Rabeya (Noureen DeWulf), a band-patch covered burqa-clad riot girl with a mouth that shatters ideas about all hijabis being oppressed; straight edge Umar (Nav Mann); Indonesian skater Fasiq (Ian Tran); and Amazing Ayyub (Volkan Eryaman), a Shi’a with “Karbala” inked across his almost always shirtless chest. Other characters often occupy the house as well, like Rabeya’s friend Fatima (Rasika Mathur), and the flamboyant Muzzamil (Tony Yalda).

On Friday’s the graffitied house is host to prayer during the day and wild punk parties at night. Director Eyad Zahra and the performances by the incredibly talented cast do a phenomenal job of staying true to Knight’s book, which doesn’t push any specific ideology, but was written as a fantasy of the kind of mosque the convert could feel comfortable in after being wounded by the pressures of strict interpretations of Islam. The story is not meant to be any sort of manual to live by, but a thought-provoking piece that invites readers and audiences to express their ideas without fear of judgment.

Rains says of Knight, “I think Mike is the type of person [who is] not afraid to bring out things that look ugly, seem ugly, will be judged as ugly, but [is] able to pull beauty from it. I felt like a good part of Jehangir was an extension of Mike Knight. I’ve rarely met such a respectful, humble human being.”

Not everyone who sees “The Taqwacores” is going to get it, as was proved by the Question and Answer session after the film, when an audience member said that he felt Rabeya was not properly portrayed since he didn’t think a woman who would make the decision to wear niqab would have acted like Rabeya. Naderi says, “Some people are gonna take it the wrong way, and they’re gonna bring these negative ideas to it, and some people are gonna embrace it. It’s very extreme, but good extreme, I think…If you push something so far that way, it’s gonna balance out in the middle.”

The film’s soundtrack features more songs from The Kominas, and other taqwacore bands like Diacritical (now Sarmust), Secret Trial Five, Sagg Syndicate, and Al-Thawra, who make an appearance as themselves in the movie, along with Filmstrip, as bands on the bill of the taqwacore show at the film’s climax.

Because of its association with the novel, the real life taqwacore network of bands often get slapped with the “Muslim Punk” label, which, while not entirely inaccurate, generalizes to the point of missing the many nuances of this community. While Knight’s novel was definitely a catalyst for these musicians to connect, it’s not like they all decided to pick up instruments after reading the book. I recently got the opportunity to interview The Kominas, Al-Thawra, and Sarmust for Covers magazine, and, though this wasn’t mentioned in the article, each member of these bands has been playing music since they were in their teens.

These bands are the reason I embraced taqwacore. Though each group varies in musical style, each band embodies the fearless spirit of punk, without falling victim to its sometimes-contradictory rigid structure. The fact that taqwacore doesn’t have a sonic definition gives these bands the freedom to venture outside the boundaries of the three power chord song, and the music never loses its completely relevant aggression. As thrilled as I was to have the opportunity to be one of the first to see the film, I ultimately booked my ticket to Sundance because of the January 25th show with The Kominas, Al-Thawra, and Film Strip.

Film Strip opened the night. The group describes themselves on their Myspace as, “a band from Cleveland, Ohio made up of two brothers with white blood and an Arabic name (Matt and Dave Taha) who were raised by a catholic, a muslim, and a kuwaiti drop-out, and a guy (Nick Riley) who thinks Allah/God/Krisna/Buddah must be or have been, a drummer. But in reality they’re three Irish guys who are just happy that they don’t have to hang out with hippies anymore just to be around people who are into the musical AND the divine (insert you’re own interpretation, singular or plural here).” Their psychedelic punk sound warmed up the crowd as “SLC Punk” played on television screens around Park City’s Star Bar.

Al-Thawra kicked off their set with “The Lost and the Sandstorm,” off of their album “Who Benefits from War?” Now don’t get me wrong, the album of hardcore Black Flag and Discharge influenced hardcore sounds mixed with Middle Eastern time signatures and scales is nothing short of incendiary. But after seeing them live, I have to say that it does not do justice to Marwan Kamel (guitar/vocals), Mario Salazar (bass) and Micah Bezold’s (drums) talent. Maybe that’s because the only way to get the full effect of Al-Thawra’s heavy sound is with really loud amps.

Shortly after Al-Thawra, Rains jumped onstage to thank everyone involved with the film, and to introduce The Kominas, who recently added trumpet player Rechard Latham to the line-up of Basim Usmani (bass/vocals), Shahjehan Khan (guitar), Arjun Ray (guitar), and Imran Malik (drums). The band began their set with “Par Desi,” and continued to play nearly every song off of their debut, “Wild Nights in Guantanamo Bay,” as well as “Teri Assi Ki Tassi,” a song by the Dead Bhuttos, a former band of Usmani and Malik’s.

When Malik commented after the show that it was “the best set ever,” I am not exaggerating at all when I say I completely agree. Of the many shows I’ve attended, I’ve never felt such positive chaotic energy like I did in that room. Even the pit, which included cast, crew-members, and Mike Knight, and occasionally surrounded band members as they jumped from stage to floor, had a friendly vibe.

“Sharia Law in the USA,” the same song that began this whole adventure, closed The Kominas set, as I was wishing that the real life taqwacore community was based in my home state of California, as it is in the book, instead of spread out on mostly the East Coast and in the Midwest. I can’t predict what the reaction to taqwacore is going to be once this film is widely released. I’m sure it’s going to greatly vary among individuals, but I highly doubt it will be mostly indifferent. My only hope is that it inspires more bands to form because regardless of where taqwacore came from, the bands that have emerged so far are contributing a lot of really great music to the world. As Usmani puts it, “art is bigger than politics…art is everything.”

Taqwacore: Film Trailer/Interview with The Kominas, Sarmust, Al-Thawra, and Mazhott

Make sure to check out the trailer for
The Taqwacores film.

Music is by The Kominas, who I have an interview with (along with Al-Thawra, Sarmust, and Mazhott) up in Covers Magazine.

The film was accepted to Sundance, and will premiere on January 24th. I will have an article up about Sundance sometime soon after on Chicks with Guns.
For updates during the festival, check here.

Band to Look Out For: Lady Disaster Set to Release Debut Record

Lady Disaster was born mid 2008, after vocalist Sam Vitez stumbled upon an Immaculati show at Hollywood’s Key Club. The vocalist liked the band so much that she asked if she could sing with them. Members Noah Ramsey-Smith, Jim Hall and Andrew Cava agreed that the timing was right for a new project, as Immaculati’s drummer would soon be leaving for graduate school. The dance rock group booked their first show just three weeks after forming.

After The Derby’s “Battle for Los Angeles,” contest last October, the band decided to take a break from playing live to give themselves time to find their sound. Eight months later, Lady Disaster has reemerged, ready to finally release their debut record with a new lineup.

Sam and bassist Noah explained that the former quintet has now become a duo after the two musicians realized their ideas were pretty much on the same page.

“Out of the original five members, Sam and I’s sensibilities on music, career, and lifestyle were most compatible, so that’s who ended up being on the record,” says Noah, whom Sam calls her “musical soul mate.” The downsizing didn’t seem to be at all out of bad blood, as former guitarist Jim was in attendance at their debut show at Hollywood’s Temporary Spaces on July 25.

In addition to the line-up, Lady Disaster’s sound has also seen a major overhaul in the past few months. Most instruments have been replaced by computers and keyboards, for a more electronic-heavy sound.

Whereas last fall the goal had been, as former guitarist Andrew Cava put it, to bring the “fun of a dance party to a rock show,” new tracks like “Inside Plan” and “Love or Fade” bring the raucous energy of rock’n’roll into the dance club.

At least in my concert-going experience, adding digitally produced sound to a live set up can be a risky move for a band, as stage presence seems to get compromised for the sake of experimentation. This is not at all the case with Lady Disaster. The band was so pumped at the debut show that they were practically bouncing off the walls of Temporary Spaces.

Their debut record, which is set for release September 1st, was recorded and produced almost solely by Lady Disaster in their home studio, with the exception of the tracking on “Parallel Time,” which was done by producer Scott Friedman. In writing this record, Sam and Noah found that the electronic genre gave them more freedom to easily reproduce the sounds in their heads.

“It’s a different kind of creativity than writing for a rock band,” says Noah. “I’d compare it to painting. With a rock line-up your palette is limited to three colors-guitar, bass, and drums. Even with crazy effects and innovative orchestration, it’s still guitar, bass and drums. Our color palette is only limited by our imagination-if we can hear it in our head, we can make it happen.”

Sam agreed that electronic songwriting allows easier translation for her musical ideas, and she couldn’t be happier with the result. “We live by ‘anything is possible’ in life and music,” she said. “And this way, we have the power to truly create our intentions and then some. This is a sound I have wanted to create all my life. Throughout all the different bands and projects I’ve been involved in, this is the sound that sparks me off, gets me jumping and gets my heart pumping.”

Lady Disaster’s confidence in their new tracks manifests in one hell of a live show. Noah exclaimed, “we love [these songs], so when we get up there it’s just fun,” but insisted that there’s still much room for improvement. “I won’t be completely satisfied until we have a huge stage show with dancers, painters, explosions and lots of lasers.”

The album will be available on iTunes and Amazon.com, but you’ll have to attend a show if you want a hard copy. Those in the Los Angeles area can also expect a record release party around the middle of September. After that Lady Disaster are looking forward to “gigging a shed load,” with hopes of “spreading the dance party” globally in places like Europe and Japan.

For anyone looking to go out and have a good time, it’s worth keeping an eye out for a Lady Disaster show in your area. As Sam explained, “my personal aim is to make people forget their days and worries, and have a wicked arse, sweaty fun night.”