Jason Moore has few boundaries. In any particular series of his collages you can find a loose inventory of imagery that includes bare breasts, atomic bomb explosions, skeletons, dicks, vintage porn, guns, black eyes, cops, death, decay, vaginas, mosques, skulls and nuns. His cache of symbols seems to leave no trash bin unturned, no corner of ebay unrummaged.
Gabriel Luis Perez used to perform as a circus clown. The New Mexico native moved to Texas to make music and DJ in the mid 90s, where he inadvertently fell into playing music for circus performers. In making music for these small time performers he started to take to the community and lifestyle, and started traveling with the circus, eventually becoming one of its comedic acts.
Luka Fisher is like an unofficial mayor of the Los Angeles underground. He's usually working on an innumerable list of projects and collaborations with the city's edgiest and most forward-thinking musicians and artists, and if need be, can act as the connective glue between you and just about anyone in LA's creative realm. We premiere his debut EP "Sleep Gallery" and talk about working in a range of media and eradicating double standards in art.
Portland-based illustrator Clark Jackson's friendly, yet gruesome cartoon illustrations exorcise some art demons from mid-century EC Comics to old Robert Crumb and 90s horror imagery. amadeus talks with Jackson about his first CD with a "Parental Advisory" sticker on it, watching Gremlins and Beetlejuice as a kid, and what he loves about having his worked printed on everything from a vinyl record to a t-shirt.
We chat with Lawrence Azzerad about Red Bull's month-long music festival, having the rare opportunity to speak to the city of Los Angeles at large through the festival's poster designs, and why there is something really crucial about having a proper visual representation for the music.
Living up to their name, Fuzz draws from heavy, caustic, fuzz pedal-worshiping and psychedelic acts of the past to heave forth an impressive 14-song double album made for headbanging and the cultivation of thick as cement darkness.
Sometimes Bryan Peterson will sit in the back room of his Los Angeles house for eight hours at a time. Streams of colorful, wavey, psychedelic glitches cascade an old boxy TV screen, while Peterson sits to the side of the monitor, usually tinkering and twisting nobs on a large mixer of some sort, and pushing the 'A' and 'B' buttons on a Gameboy color that he custom wired as a vessel to perpetuate his digital art.