You may wonder whether a constant craving for freshly uploaded, mind-enhancing digital art content and incisive writing qualifies you as an addict.
You may feel ashamed of these cravings, and seek a treatment opportunity with which to dull their inescapable, percussive pangs.
Or you may realize that the feeling of exhilaration and heightened awareness you experience whenever you indulge in the consumption of Beekiller materials is perfectly natural, and besides, that the only way to resist temptation is by yielding to it.
And now that you?ve arrived at this healthful, sane, and practical realization, you?ll be happy to hear that this personal message heralds the arrival of more great Beekiller content.
Please enjoy it responsibly, in the comfort of your own home, or in a controlled environment with close friends.
Our seventeenth issue features the work of artist/personality Radek Szczesny, whose bold, inscrutable paintings declare themselves to Beekiller just as he launches a major solo show in downtown Manhattan.
These paintings extort an uneasy narcotic beauty from sensations of stasis and detachment. Familiar shapes and applications are reconfigured into vacuously seductive patterns and surfaces, inducing the chilly swoon of a Xanax overdose in a Santa Monica swimming pool.
Anna-Lisa Donovan?s insightful interview with Radek introduces us to the mental cartography behind his artistic process. Topics include, but are not limited to: the flattening of space by travel, the airport as a generic substitute for home, and being lost.
In our full-figured music section, Mike Wexler previews his awkwardly-awaited forthcoming EP with two puzzling and intimate new songs. These are unlike anything anyone has ever attempted: full of wisdom and bewilderment, delivered in the passionate adolescent warble of an ancient explorer; they set the mood for a final lovemaking between brain and heart.
Not to be outdone, our poetry section unveils a new untitled work by Matthew Corey. A night-time drive is distilled into anxiety-inflected shards, an abduction or transport in the unsafe company of silently complicit gentlemen.
In our image section, Caryn Drexl?s carefully composed photos hint at noirish scenarios involving a seductively faceless pale-fleshed woman. Is she an innocent, stalked by the camera but ready to fight for her life? Or does the softness of light inside hard black space set a trap that our need for context inexorably pulls us towards?
Elizabeth Harper?s new songs employ hushed intimacy as a key to soul-cradling oblivion. They make us want to break into pieces, or learn to cry like children. Afterwards, the cold outside seems even more heartless, and the heat in our little bodies more desperate.
The first installment of a new Beekiller column by Paulo Campos stings from the poison of humiliations the city dispenses so carelessly, and offers an antidote in the form of self-reflective wit and an unimpeachable love of books and the cruel city.
Songs from American Altitude?s full-length album can only further cement the band?s status as the only purveyors of American pastoral music whose intelligence matches their sincerity. Cyclical clusters of guitar notes tumble minimalistically over an insistent rhythmic bass-drums pitter-patter that should, for once and all, be defined as funky. Steel guitar notes float along the clouds like glassy ribbons, and the vocals stretch, strain and break through baritone utterances of loss, defiance and reconciliation.
Even more thoroughly steeped in the flavors of sincerity and Americana is Jacob Wunsch and Sebastian Ischer?s lo-fi hi-tech reworking of the gospel standard He?s A Mighty Good Leader. Intended as a club hit for sex-abstinent Christian teens, or a work song for mentally disabled death row inmates, the song moves through several schizophrenic instrumental sections and a rap breakdown before reaffirming the power of our Lord and Savior in an uplifting, hi-energy climax.
The debut in our music-section by The Winter Pageant is almost superfluous, since they will no doubt be discovered by a major recording label any moment now, after which you will hear their beautifully dense, falsetto-delivered, distortion-soaked rock songs on the radio, and see an artfully directed video with their likenesses on your late-night MTV. For now, you can enjoy them in your headphones, and at upcoming shows in New York.
Sebastian Ischer is tearfully reunited with our fiction section through an extensively researched non-fiction piece depicting his life in a radically imagined parallel reality. Sadly, even boundless material and artistic success can?t seem to absolve this imaginary protagonist from paranoia, greed, and hypocrisy.
The Weigh Down arrive in our music section with two loose-limbed, piano-plunked, honey-harmonied songs that remind us of sitting in the park in the summer, eating shaved ice, and playing frisbee with our best friends? girlfriends.
With that, we?ve rounded up another surly herd of soothing, confusing, and abusive artworks. Scratch your itch, but stop before it starts to bleed.
And stay warm. Wearing layers helps if you don?t have a warm jacket, or you don?t want to look like a dork in a big, puffy parka.