Metro Arts April 12

RuPaul was honored by the Atlanta City Council and Mayor's Office, proclaiming March 10th, 2024 as RuPaul Day. He spoke about his time in Atlanta and his impact on the LGBTQ+ community. RuPaul is best known for hosting RuPaul's Drag Race, which has inspired spin-offs and earned him several awards. The article also mentions RuPaul's early days in Atlanta, his involvement in the music scene, and his friendships with other artists. This program is intended for a print-impaired audience and is brought to you by the Georgia Radio Reading Service, GARS. Welcome to Metro Arts for Friday, April 22nd. I am Kristen Moody for the Georgia Radio Reading Service. Metro Arts is brought to you by the Fulton County Board of Commissioners. For our first article, we go to the creative loafing publication online for RuPaul Now and Then, happenings 40 years time ago. The drag superstar had to start somewhere and Atlanta was the place by Claire Butler with Laurie Stevens. The Atlanta City Council and Mayor's Office officially proclaimed March 10th, 2024 as RuPaul Day in the City of Atlanta. In a commending resolution presented to him on stage at the Abernacle as he talked to promote his latest book, The House of Hidden Meanings, the city recognized RuPaul Andre Charles for profound impact on the city's cultural landscape and his global influence in the LGBTQ plus community. RuPaul said in his talk that afternoon that his return to Atlanta was a memory lane trip for him. He explained the impact his time in Atlanta had on his life all those years ago and on the future he created for himself. Today RuPaul is best known as the host, mentor, and a judge of RuPaul's Drag Race, created and produced by World of Wonder Productions. The show is now entering its 16th season as it searches each year for America's next drag superstar. Drag Race has inspired several spinoffs in the U.S. and numerous international franchises. It's no wonder that Fortune Magazine calls RuPaul easily the world's most famous drag queen. In addition, the former Atlanta has received many accolades including 14 Primetime Emmy Awards, three GLAAD Media Awards, a Critics' Choice Television Award, two Billboard Music Awards, and a Tony Award. Back in the early 1980s when I first met RuPaul and we ran with the same crowd, no one would have guessed that the city of Atlanta would later look on any of us positively no matter how much time had passed. Ask any of us if we thought his future would include him being superstar and everyone who called him a friend would loudly shout, yes. Ru was always a relentless self-promoter and as such, driven to succeed. We all recognized it and marveled at his determination. Laurie Stevens, Rosser Shymanski, Andy Rose, newlyweds Roger Marks and Jack Pelham and I went to hear RuPaul's talk at the Tabernacle on March 10th. RuPaul invited those of us who had known him in the days of Now Explosion and RuPaul and the U-Hauls long ago, Laurie Stevens, Rosser Shymanski, Jack Pelham, Mike Mattingly and me to visit with him in the green room between his meet and greet and showtime. It was delightful to see him in such good spirits with that hundred watt smile and dangerously fun laugh, looking dashing in a formal wear style moto jacket and slim pants. He checked in with each of us and played host with snacks and beverages. We are all so much older now, each of us having traveled different paths since those early days of running wild and free throughout the city, but the memories are still vivid and the laughs continue to roll on. Claire Butler, I became a part of the Atlanta scene in the summer of 1978, moving into the Pershing Point Hotel apartments to attend college. I spent time with friends I knew from high school soaking in local music, comedy and drag shows, looking for my tribe and a future. Atlanta was a playground for the crowd of artsy, college-aged in-town dwellers who flocked here. The city offered cheap rental property, 24-hour diners, bars, nightclubs and the infrastructure left behind by white flight to the suburbs. It was an ideal bursting with promise for young artists and musicians in the decade before speculators and wrecking balls would lay claim to midtown Virginia Highland and the Ponce de Leon core. Fast forward a few years and my life as a singer began when a few friends and I met Larry T., who had played in several local bands. I quickly became Lady Claire in a band called Now Explosion with Larry T., Eloise Champagne Montague, Russ Trent and John Witherspoon. Tom Zirilli was our manager and we played all over town, drawing good mixed crowds at places like TV Dinner, 688 and the Bistro. Later Larry T. and Tom Zirilli managed and booked the Nightery Club and later the Celebrity Club, both on Ponce, where our crowd, other local and national bands and the American music show regulars were allowed free reign. A Now Explosion show was all about laughing, moving, inclusion and the excitement of how it all felt. Our crowd and the band were all LGBTQ friendly bunch with a drag a major a part of our shows. We played in every major city up and down the East Coast and had been extremely lucky to get frequent bookings at the Pyramid Club, a Lower East Side hotspot in New York City. Our concept for the band was a trashy party extravaganza that appealed to so many oddballs. For every show I was a different character, always in a crazily styled wig and an upcycled trashy thrift store outfit. Eloise painted her vintage dresses with band catchphrases. Larry was a dapper DJ in a polyester bell bottoms, chunky shoes and silky wild print shirts. John and Russ were an outlandishly trashy drag. Every show had a new and crazy theme, New Wave pep rally, free meat show, salute to safe sex, Mr. Macho contest, Miss 688 pageant, wedding show, the list goes on and on. I had also been involved with TAMS, a weekly local public access TV show that featured a bevy of stage ready alternative local celebrities. The show was produced by Dick Richards, Patsy Duncan and James Bond, brother of civil rights leader Julian Bond. RuPaul had been watching the show from his home when he saw the show's notice that anyone who wanted to be featured should mail a letter to the TAMS post office box. RuPaul sent in the only letter the show ever received and he was immediately booked. He arrived in a homemade, intentionally tattered jungle New Wave look and performed to great fanfare. The TAMS and Now Explosion crowds instantly recognized a like-minded person in RuPaul. He quickly became a part of all we did. Now Explosion was already in the habit of scouring the city for highly entertaining people to invite on as featured entertainers at our shows. RuPaul became a regular along with other luminaries such as Benjamin as Opal Fox, Lady Bunny and Blondie from the Claremont Lounge. RuPaul recounts now that his experiences in Atlanta with TAMS and Now Explosion were the first time he truly felt like he belonged and that he was being seen for who he was. It makes me happy to know that he found his tribe with all of us. As one of our featured performers, we encouraged him to find musicians and create a band. Our intention was to get an opening act that was as exciting as we thought we were. He connected with friends Todd Butler and Robert Warren from his Northside high school days and added percussionist Klimchak to the band they dubbed Wee Wee Paul. Their shows were electric. Ru was already dressing in punk New Wave gender bending styles but had not attempted drag before. At the Tabernacle Talk, Ru told the story that I gave him his first wig and styled it for him. I also remember that day offering him clothes to choose from to be a part of the Now Explosion wedding show as my bridesmaid. He looked fantastic and clearly felt at home with his new style. I have many fond memories from the close connections we all created with each other back then. Sorry, Stephens. In 1981, I was in 10th grade at a suburban Marietta high school with my good friend Kathy Gurnatt. We had met in art class and I was drawn to how different and full of rebellion she was. She was already going downtown to clubs with live music like 688 and the Bistro in Atlanta. One day at school, she mentioned that she had met this gorgeous person at 688 and showed me two postcards. These were the earliest promo cards Ru Paul had made of himself. One card showed a skinny guy laughing to the side in a sleeveless t-shirt with a drawn-on MOM tattoo on his arm. And on the other card, he wore a sailor hat and gave a smoldering look. Kathy later dropped out of high school and got an apartment on Charles Allen Drive in Midtown with Ru Paul and another roommate. Kathy's apartment gave me the perfect opportunity to get involved with the in-town Atlanta crowd she knew. I dropped out of GSU and became fast friends with Ru Paul, Brian Chambers, Floyd, Kathleen Lynch, Lady Bunny, Cheryl Culp, and Cherry Snow. These times together formed very strong bonds that stand even today. Ru always wanted his friends to be in the showbiz stable with him. He wanted to mold you and help you understand that you had something special that no one else had. Ru and I came up with my stage name, Laurie Nevada. He made my posters and informed me that I would perform in his reviews. In one show, I did the song Dark Lady by Cher, with my real hair teased into a perfect cube by Fred Rogers. It felt special when Slim Chance, newly in town, told me afterward that I was his favorite from the show. Ru liked that, and I did too, but I couldn't fathom being told something like that. I didn't have the eccentric confidence Ru had. He would say, you've got it, share it with the world. Other opportunities for crazy performances followed. Ru wrote, directed, and produced several films. One starred me, called Laurie Nevada is Disco Isis. It was such silly fun. I played a superhero in a boa, saving two hot young men from an evil drag queen. In the end, the evil drag queen is vanquished after the corniest of fights, and then we all dance to Diana Ross's Swept Away as we face the camera. Look up that title on YouTube if you dare. In 1984, Floyd, Bunny, and I signed the lease on my first apartment at 998 Juniper Street. Ru Paul had moved from his apartment and hosted a live eviction party on WREK. He was staying in the van on Bonaventure, where now Explosion lived, and various other places around town before he was able to move into the building on Juniper. We became much closer friends then, and that feeling has lasted through the years for both of us. We all sat around one day and went around in a circle, pointing at each of us as he said, I love you no matter what. He always stopped by to see me at various jobs I had, visiting me many times after his go-go gig at weekends, wearing one of his classic looks, shoulder pads with shredded white garbage bag streamers, homemade red and white striped stretchy leggings, and his long extensions. He stayed in touch with me through the years, calling when he would be in town and meeting up for a dinner or a quick visit. He texted in the fall of 2022 that he was going to be in town and wanted to meet up with Rosser and me to talk about the old days with his book collaborator, Sam Lansky. He's touring with that book now, and I was delighted to hear him say he wanted to holler at Claire, Rosser, Jack, and me before the show. He treated us with such graciousness. I've always felt very close to Ru, and I know that he feels the same. Shortly after our visit together in Atlanta, I received a text. I absolutely loved seeing you in my Atlanta family. Thank you for your sweetness and kindness. I love you always, no matter what. XO, Ru. That was RuPaul Now and Then, Happenings 40 Years Time Ago, by Claire Butler with Laurie Stevens. Next we move to the Burnaway publication for Orchid Days by Lillian Blades at the Atlanta Botanical Garden by Blake Belcher. Orchid Days, an exhibition at the Atlanta Botanical Garden, features new work by Atlanta-based Bahamian artist Lillian Blades. Each year, the garden collaborates with an artist to celebrate its orchid collection. Four installations, collectively titled Reflections in Bloom 2024, build on Blades' signature assemblages that formally reference Junkanoo and quilting, honoring her mother's background as a seamstress. She incorporates found and discarded objects, thrift store finds, and personal mementos in sprawling assemblages that speak to identity, memory, and resourcefulness. The resulting work is process-oriented and deeply considered, down to the color-matched wire used to bind objects together, a poetic gesture for the artist-meets-engineer-and-seeking community and connection in the oft-disjointed diaspora. The most striking installation hangs in the Orchid Display House. Hundreds of yellow-to-purple plexiglass panels form an undulating gradient, delicately draping above various species of tropical orchids. Flowing gels and ink on the panels evoke fluidity, glitter reflects light, and some panels obscure your view completely, while others act as chroma filters over the lush foliage. The orchids, mostly originating in Southeast Asia, unwittingly symbolize the colonial roots of botany as a discipline. Orchids sought to profit by displacing plants to produce valuable crops, and eventually by curating exotic experiences in botanical gardens and centers of European and colonial power. Intermittent sprinklers cloud the conservatory with a fine mist, mimicking the humidity the orchids need to thrive. The act meant to care for these plants and their non-native habitat mirrors Blades herself. She is a Bahamian transplant living in Atlanta, creating work as an act of care in response to the warmth and nostalgia of home. Like the structures of her assemblages, identities are mutable, fragmented, yet intricately connected and deeply informed by our environment. The placement of Lily and Blades' work in the botanical garden reveals novel connections. The homage paid to Blades' matrilineal heritage of florists intertwined with histories of colonial-rooted environmental violence creates a unique tension. Blades shares in an audio clip in the space that she creates work with the viewer in mind, and she wants them to feel good. Perhaps this is why the work has a sense of palatability for those unfamiliar with her context. There is also something inviting about this approach, and it makes sense given the venue. Blades is no stranger to public projects and working in unconventional spaces, and her public installations in particular effectively create networks that bridge the cultural and geographic South. However, nuances may get lost without proper context. Blades bravely uses color and hyper-embellishment reminiscent of Junkanoo, a Black spiritual celebration deeply rooted in anti-colonialism and West African heritage. Even this celebration has been co-opted and hegemonized by touristic marketing, which unsurprisingly informs artistic representations of home. Dazzling pixels of aquamarine beaches and sweeping palms blind viewers to reality and often reduce the region to this paradise myth designed for easy consumption. This carefully constructed image of the Caribbean has become so ingrained that people from the region are no longer just passive observers of the systems that commodify them. Visitors, not unlike myself, were delighted to take selfies in front of the work, and this kind of engagement highlights how the level of consideration, understanding, and context can limit or expand the work of Caribbean creatives in such spaces. Caribbean artists often bear the weight of how their work may be subconsciously play into this manufactured tropical narrative, benign at best or pornicious at worst, but even more so when operating in the diaspora. Frames and mirrors act as portals through which viewers can reflect and project their own meaning, a major focus of Blade's practice. Achieved through meticulous arrangement and deftly shifting between moments of obscuring and revealing, the rich bricolage becomes a metaphor for the constant representation and renegotiation of self. This translation is itself an innately Caribbean experience. Blade manipulates the color palette we have come to associate with the Caribbean to induce the idea of a filter. As the sun passes through one chandelier-like installation, its purple and pink hues imbue the space and saturate the skin, challenging perceptions of reality and ways of seeing. These occurrences bring forth necessary questions, particularly for those living in the Caribbean diaspora. How does one construct an image of home when that image has been tampered with? What exists in the obscurity between representation and reality? Where and how do I fit into this patchwork? Lillian Blade's work allows visitors to contemplate their journey of self in place through this prism. Orchid Days, Reflections in Bloom by Lillian Blade is on view at the Atlanta Botanical Garden through April 14, 2024. That was Orchid Days by Lillian Blades at the Atlanta Botanical Garden by Blake Belcher. Next we move to the Atlanta Magazine Online for Meet James Mr. V. Virgil, the disco legend who sells kitchen gear to chefs and designers. Mr. V.'s restaurant equipment and store fixtures has attracted a cult following by Christianne Lauterbach. For more than 20 years, my life has revolved around the moods of a beast, a noisy and badly behaved stainless steel reach-in refrigerator of the kind commonly found in restaurant kitchens. It requires a separate freezer on the side, a faithful sub-zero that rarely gives me trouble and produces ice by the bucket. But were it not for the victory ray-toned behemoth that rules my kitchen, I would have never met James Virgil. Commonly known as Mr. V., Virgil operates a restaurant supply store dealing in mostly used commercial appliances that attracts a cult following of designers and chefs to his facility in the shadow of Mercedes-Benz Stadium. I have spent hours squeezing myself down the tightly packed aisles of Mr. V.'s restaurant equipment and store fixtures, where bar coolers, margarita machines, fridges with glass doors and fryers rotate on an almost daily basis. The first time I met Mr. V., he handed me a gift, a logoed set of pens in red, white and blue, and he flashed me one of those infectious, rakish smiles. Photographs in his office alerted me to the fact that the man whose expertise I sought to bring my dead fridge back to life, or find me another just like it, had had another entirely different life, one in which he was famous, a friend of music producers, actors and comedians. Before moving to Atlanta, the Mississippi native ran a club in Chicago, but fame truly came knocking when he opened Mr. V.'s Figure 8 on Campbellton Road in Atlanta during the heyday of TBS. Ted Turner's station broadcast his commercials and his face all over the world. For almost ten years, the likes of Muhammad Ali, Andrew Young, Tina Turner, Lionel Richie and Eddie Murphy hung out in a joint billed as classy and with a stringent dress code, as pictures and videos from the 70s and 80s attest. Limos fetched celebrities at the airport and parties went on through the night. Getting to Mr. V. in person is incredibly easy. On the telephone, he thinks that I have too much of a French accent to easily understand. I would never tell him that his Mississippi drawl and his age, early 80s for sure, makes it equally difficult for me. When I asked him whether I should text or email in order to interview him, he told me, none of it girl, just show up, I'll be at work. My kind of guy, I thought. I once managed to miss him because I showed up after 2 p.m. on a Saturday when the store closes. I spoke to one of his oldest friends, event producer and booking agent Don Rivers, who told me how important to Atlanta's social scene Mr. V., known locally as the godfather of disco, used to be. On another note, chef David Sweeney told me that he received some incentive money from the city to open Dynamic Dish, the best vegan restaurant the city has ever had, on Edgewood Avenue. When he went to Mr. V. to buy equipment with the funds, Mr. V., deadpan, said, Lordy, I never thought I'd get a check from Shirley Franklin. Not only does Mr. V. sell and resell appliances, but he and his grandson custom build food trucks, including the one that launched Slutty Vegan into the stratosphere. For more than a decade, Mr. V. has told all of us that he is writing a book about his life. Me, I like to hang out in his cluttered office, where young musicians work the computer or wander through his showroom to look at every greasy pot, pan, or range standing among more exotic accessories. I check the store's website obsessively. After 15 years of inaction, my commercial refrigerator was brought back to life by a chef's refrigeration guy who worked a miracle. But I still like to trawl Mr. V.'s facility, open six days a week. When I go, I like to reflect on the fact that, unlike influencers whose main talent is to promote things they barely know about, movers and shakers once relied on their charisma and wisdom, the way James Virgil still does. That was Meet James Mr. V. Virgil, the disco legend who sells kitchen gear to chefs and designers by Christiane Lauterbach. Next, the Masquerade celebrates 35 years of live music in Atlanta. The legendary venue is now adding a fourth stage by Tess Malone. When Elena De Soto first arrived in Atlanta to attend the Savannah College of Art and Design in 2011, she got off the plane and went straight to the Masquerade to see her favorite band, Balance and Composure, play. The cavernous alternative music venue had a national reputation, not only for playing the best indie bands, but also for welcoming anyone. I found my hangout in my home right away, De Soto said. As soon as she could apply for an internship, she did and never left. Now De Soto is a talent buyer, booking the same shows that made her fall in love with the Masquerade. The legendary venue has many stories like this with fans who come for rock, metal, punk, electronic hip hop, country shows, and even dance parties in its hallowed, gritty halls. Now in its 35th year, the Masquerade has changed locations from the old Fourth Ward to downtown but remains an independent venue for music of all genres. General Manager Greg Green has been there since the beginning, booking bands like Nirvana, Nine Inch Nails, and the Cranberries, and helping foster the careers of artists like Mitski, Fippa Campus, and Bad Omen. Green attributes the Masquerade's success to its local, independent ownership. With three rooms of varying capacities, named Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory, the Masquerade has always been a unique venue where up-and-coming groups and more established bands can both find a stage. Now the Masquerade is opening a fourth room, Alter, which has a 250-person capacity and food available for purchase. Just a decade ago, the Masquerade couldn't have hosted this many shows because they were still in the old Fourth Ward at the Dupree Excelsior Mill. Back then, Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory were a little more literal because each was at a different level of mill. After the booming real estate market pushed the music venue out of the neighborhood in 2016, the Masquerade relocated to Kenny's Alley in underground Atlanta, but not without one last big bash in the old digs with The Wrecking Ball, a 60-band festival that celebrated 25 years at their grungy home. The move caused some trepidation among the owners, but ultimately, the proximity to Georgia State University and Five Points MARTA Station have made the venue more accessible and helped to revitalize the lagging underground area. The fans followed. The Masquerade is a staple in Atlanta, says Louis Sandoval, who has attended nearly 100 masquerade shows since he moved to the city in 2006. I'm so glad they're able to transition to a new venue and not miss a beat because the staff there is just flawless. The new Masquerade may not look the same, but it sounds even better. The newer venue has allowed them to make improvements, like cutting into the food court above Heaven and adding a balcony to the largest room to accommodate even more fans after the first year. More recently, each room got new acoustic sound system. The Masquerade may be growing, but its artistic ethos has remained the same and is part of why Green has made this entire career there. My love of people here, the music, constantly being exposed to new and upcoming artists, and the joy of it. It gives me to help foster the careers of young acts and watch them become giant successes. That keeps me in the business, says Green, who still goes to a few shows a week. De Soto is one of those success stories. After interning at the Masquerade her entire college career, she asked Green to teach her how to book shows. I booked smaller DIY shows in high school, and I knew this is what I wanted to do, to book and put on experiences for people, she says. It's been incredible to learn from someone like Greg and see how he's worked with people for over 30 years. Both De Soto and Green have stayed in the business and don't plan to leave any time soon, because they love discovering new artists and introducing them to new fans. We're constantly infusing our staff with new voices, new perspectives, and new eyes and ears, Green says. Even as the number of music venues in Atlanta has nearly doubled, the Masquerade remains one of the most popular. It's one of the legendary music venues, Sandoval says. I'm never going to stop going to the Masquerade. That was The Masquerade Celebrates 35 Years of Live Music in Atlanta by Tess Malone. Next we move to the Arts ATL publication for Folk Horror Elements and Mabs Macbeth Question Who Among Us is Uncanny by Luke Evans. The Queen of Mab players present a simple yet spooky rendition of Macbeth this month, brimming with folk horror elements to blur the line between reality and dark magic. The Queen Mab players are a relatively new company, having established themselves in 2020 under the banner Roll Call Theater before striking out on their own. Their upcoming production of Macbeth, running April 12th through April 21st at Limelight Theaters, whittles down Shakespeare's classic tale of betrayal, power, and paranoia into a 90-minute folk horror thriller. In doing more truncated and experimental productions, the Queen Mab players fashion themselves a less traditional counterpart to the Shakespeare tavern. I think that traditional productions of Shakespeare shows are hugely important, but we already have a great theater in Atlanta that does that, says director Lisa Hoganson. I think we wouldn't be necessary or really even welcome on the theater scene if we were just going to do the exact same thing that another theater company does. Part of the company's approach is using smaller casts of five to seven actors, necessitating a fair amount of doubling. Excluding Macbeth, every actor in this production plays at least three other roles. A particularly interesting choice has each actor also at some point playing a witch, augmenting Macbeth's sense of paranoia. There are three witches in each scene, but they're all played by a different combination of the rest of the ensemble to create the sense that Macbeth really can't trust anyone and that the witches are these all-powerful beings who can inhabit any figure that they choose to, Hoganson commented. A self-professed horror fan, Hoganson drew inspiration from folk horror for her staging of the play. One of our big touchstones is folk horror and the aesthetics of it. I love the emphasis on humanity and ourselves being a source of horror. As a sub-genre of horror, folk horror draws on an element of folklore. Common motifs include isolation, superstition, paganism, and the dark sides of nature, usually brought together in a rural setting. While the genre was pioneered in the 1960s and 70s, the 2019 film, Midsommar, saw a revitalization. One notable aspect of folk horror shared with Macbeth is that while there is usually some supernatural element, the focus of the story is on the beliefs and actions of people as they relate to the supernatural. The witches play an important role in the plot of Macbeth, but the bulk of the story is about Macbeth's actions. Thus, the witches become a manifestation of Macbeth's inner conflict. There is so much to explore in this idea that permeates folk horror, Hoganson mused. Who is the real horror? Is it us or is it something beyond? Is it natural or is it supernatural or is it humanity itself? Seeing the actors alternate the roles of the witches makes Macbeth's fears ambient and inescapable. The witches are not just some mysterious individuals living at the edge of the forest. They are Lady Macbeth, they are Banquo, they are Macduff, and they are Duncan. The malignant forces taunting him could be hiding anywhere. This choice is designed to blur the lines between the natural and supernatural, tying the supernatural to Macbeth's own fracturing psyche. Another tenet of folk horror is the relationship between individuals and their environment. The genre is meant to mimic the feel of folktales told around a campfire, and thus an immersive element is required to create the appropriate atmosphere. This is where the dimensions of the limelight theater come in handy. The small black box theater brings a sense of intimacy to the performance. The play is also performed in thrust, meaning that the audience is positioned on either side of the stage, augmenting the sense that they are in the forests of Dunsinane with the characters. Sounds are also employed to achieve the mood. Hugginson opted to utilize practical sound effects, such as foley whistles, to create the calls of birds and metal sheets to emulate thunderclaps. And perhaps the most interesting sonic choice is the use of war drums, layered over several sequences of the production, providing a sense of momentum leading up to the climax. Hugginson's hope is that the immediacy and visceral quality of sound will imbue the play with tense ambience. The effect to help create an immersive experience, because you can tell when something is played on a speaker versus when something is happening with you in the space, she noted. Such a minimalist approach may not align with every play in Shakespeare's catalog, but is well suited to a play like Macbeth, especially when combined with Hugginson's horror sensibilities. For those who appreciate unusual adaptations and the horror genre, this staging of Macbeth is promising. That was Folk Horror Elements in Mab's Macbeth, Question Who Among Us is Uncanny, by Luke Evans. Next, TV executive Genevieve McGillicuddy makes a classic comeback for the TCM Classic Film Fest, by Jim Farmer. The announcement might not have been a complete shock, but it was nonetheless seismic. After 19 years with Atlanta-based Turner Classic Movies, Genevieve McGillicuddy, the station's Vice President of Enterprises and Strategic Partnerships, who also oversaw the annual TCM Classic Film Festival, was laid off last year by company owners. Following a groundswell of support from the public and the industry, however, including some legendary directors, Warner Brothers Discovery hired McGillicuddy-Cuddy back shortly after the layoff to direct the 2024 festival. Taking place April 18th through April 21st in Hollywood, this year's Classic Film Festival is, as always, a star-studded event. The 15th edition opens with a screening of Pulp Fiction with John Travolta, Samuel L. Jackson, and Uma Thurman present. Other notable offerings include a hand and footprint ceremony with two-time Oscar winner Jodie Foster, Morgan Freeman and Tim Robbins participating in a screening of The Shawshank Redemption, a world premiere 70mm film restoration of The Searchers, and various awards and tributes. After graduating from the Emory Master's program in Film Studies in 1996, McGillicuddy landed at Image Film and Video Center, now known as Atlanta Film Society. Initially, she was responsible for education programming, but as she learned the inner workings of festivals, she segued into a festival director role for both the Atlanta Film and Video Festival and Out on Film, overseeing both for four years. Later, she served as the director of marketing and publicity at Madstone Theaters before starting work at Turner Classic Movies in 2004. Her first job was marketing manager, though her titles and responsibilities shifted over time. And while a TCM film festival had been discussed before McGillicuddy arrived, the timing never seemed right, but that soon changed. In 2009, we were doing a lot of work around the brand and where it would go, she said. We knew TCM had this amazing fan community, but there really wasn't a way for the community to come together. A film festival was probably the most natural way to build what we call the mecca for classic film lovers. The idea really developed steam from there. In 2010, TCM held the first festival at the Grauman's Chinese Theater, and the Grauman's Egyptian Theater in Hollywood has staged it annually since. That first year, as McGillicuddy recalled, was a complete blur for everyone involved. It felt like we were flying by the seat of our pants. We were creating it as we went. She found herself in an interesting position. No one else at TCM at the time had produced a film festival, so from day one, she was able to be the leader of the project. A lot of early inspiration came from Bill and Stella Pence, co-founders of the Tell You Ride film festival, an event with which TCM has a deep connection. It's a destination event. Tell You Ride brings in people from all over the world, McGillicuddy said. We stole a lot from their playbook. There was a lot we didn't know going in. McGillicuddy could talk for hours about some of her favorite festival moments. One was that first year, having French superstar Jean-Paul Belmondo as a guest. We did a screening of Breathless, and I will never forget two things. He spoke very limited English, but he had star power. The wattage coming off of him was remarkable. He was very gracious and nice. He also stayed to watch the movie. It was hard not to get a kick out of the fact that I'm standing at the back of the theater, and I know he is watching himself on screen, along with the audience. Another highlight was the first handprint ceremony in 2011, with Peter O'Toole, which she called a pinch me moment. Seeing the TCM festival blossom over time has been enormously fulfilling for McGillicuddy. Yet last summer, several TCM execs were laid off, herself included, plus programming head Charlie Tabish. As someone who's been through numerous changes at Turner, at TCM, and with Warner Brothers Discovery over the years, you just never know when something like that is happening, she said. I'm not going to say it blindsided me, but it was a sad day. Chief among those concerned with the layoffs were Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, and Paul Thomas Anderson, who met with Warner Brothers CEO David Zaslav to lend whatever support they could. Their mission was fruitful. A short time later, McGillicuddy was hired back as executive director for the 2024 edition, and Tabish was brought back for programming. That whole conversation went in a completely different direction than any of us could guess, in the best possible way, she said. Lots of people depart their jobs all the time, and maybe that's not by choice, but it is pretty rare that you get people calling out on your behalf. That week, it was really gratifying to know that there are a lot of people who were invested in the work done by the team at TCM. The subsequent restructuring hasn't dramatically changed the festival, but McGillicuddy wants to incorporate available talent whenever possible. Spielberg, for instance, is a previous guest, and this year will be hosting a screening of Close Encounters of the Third Kind. McGillicuddy is pleased to be back for her 20th anniversary year with her TCM family, all of whom have supported her professionally and personally over the years. When her husband of more than 20 years, Scott Henry, a contributing editor at Atlanta and news editor at Creative Loafing, passed away in 2022, McGillicuddy relied upon her community of friends and colleagues to help her get through a difficult time. It is a close-knit environment, and they had my back when I needed that, she said. Obviously, it's not a situation anyone wants to go through, but a large part of how I got through the grief was because of the people I know through TCM and the greater Atlanta community, many of whom I have met through my work. I was very happy to be able to dive back into work when I could. Henry always knew more about film than she did, McGillicuddy said, and he also loved movies and attending film festivals. We were well-matched in that way, and he was nothing but supportive of what I was doing for the festival. Producing the Classic Film Festival has proven to be another perfect fit, including the challenge of stitching numerous moving parts together. I love standing in the back of a theater and seeing a full house and everyone enjoying what they are watching. I love being able to create a platform for that. My first love is classic film. That is why I got into studying film, she mused. To me, being able to do this job is being able to deliver on what I do best, connecting audiences to film. That is what I enjoy. That was TV Executive Genevieve McGillicuddy Makes a Classic Comeback for the TCM Classic Film Fest by Jim Farmer. Next, Review. Percussionists Klimchak and Bob Stagner Created Noise, Sonic Tapestry at Atlanta Contemporary by Jordan Owen. The third concert in Klimchak's Ear Pollen Part 2 series was held outdoors at Atlanta Contemporary Saturday and featured the avant-garde musician sparring with drummer Bob Stagner in a sonic tapestry of wild and fiendish improvisations paired with weird but gentle listener-friendly noise solos. German philosopher and aspiring ubermensch Friedrich Nietzsche argued that chaos produces order, that it is out of the random and the wild that structure and form eventually emerge. On April 6th, the monominous avant-garde musician Klimchak gave an outdoor concert at Atlanta Contemporary Museum that proved Nietzsche was occasionally correct. The event was the third in Klimchak's Ear Pollen Part 2 series of four concerts at the Contemporary in which he collaborates with a different improvisation partner at each performance. This time he was joined by Chattanooga, Tennessee-based drummer percussionist Bob Stagner. Pianist Bill Taff and keyboardist Ipek Iginle appeared at the first and second performances respectively and violin, mandolin, multi-instrumentalist Majid Aram will join Klimchak on May 4th at 4 p.m. for the final installment. Describing Klimchak's sound to those unfamiliar with the man and the distant musical galaxy he occupies is a daunting task. His live rig is a rotating assortment of electronically modified percussion instruments, microphones, effect pedals, cymbals, a theremin, an electronic instrument operated by swoops of the hand that made up the background sounds of many vintage horror movies, and seemingly random gizmos. It all comes together to form something that is often as enjoyable and captivating as it is unfocused and galling. Put it this way, conservative news personality Ben Shapiro famously argued that rap wasn't music because music requires rhythm, harmony, and melody with rap only providing one of the three. In the case of Klimchak's sound, all three elements are present but not in an easily digestible manner. They come together only in passing as moments of clarity in an otherwise beguiling sonic tapestry. It's a wonder to behold, but still very much an acquired taste. Stagner was more than ready to meet Klimchak at his level. Stagner's instrument, though arranged in the format of a traditional drum kit, was similarly rigged up with electronics and hidden effects that turned his percussive phrases into melodic patterns and sustained ambiance. Together they created an engaging sonic dialogue that danced back and forth for long stretches before coalescing into surprisingly cohesive statements of rhythmic intricacy. Stagner is the founding officer and deputy director of the Shaking Ray Levi Society, a non-profit arts and education collective that nurtures and promotes avant-garde music in the Chattanooga area. The organization has existed since 1986 and has brought numerous experimental music legends to its city, including Laurie Anderson, John Zorn, and rock and opposition pioneers Chris Cutler and Fred Frith. That impressive list of connections goes a long way toward explaining the musical mindset on display in the Ear Pollen Part 2 series. A bit of history, Cutler was a leading innovator in merging the acoustic drum set with electronic components to create rhythmic noise art. Zorn was a creative force behind the game piece musical concept, in which improvising musicians are stripped of all melodic, rhythmic, and harmonic structures and are left with only an agreed-upon framework regarding how to musically interact with one another. To the untrained ear, these abstract concepts would hardly be intuitive, but for avant-garde enthusiasts with a well-trained palate, a rich vocabulary is readily apparent. Klinschek and Stagner's musical dialogue was, in its own odd way, listener-friendly. Their gentle approach to abstract noise music lacked the unrestrained mania of Mertzbow, the ominous brooding of Nurse with Wound, or the militaristic ferocity of N.O.N. Instead, they offered a soft and meditative aura in their sonic chaos that got as close to easy listening music as such otherworldly sounds ever could. It is that sense of restraint that makes Klinschek a treasure in the realm he occupies. Most improvisational extremists go for gusto from the outset and seldom let up, but Klinschek and company are meditative and genteel in their approach. Such self-imposed maturity and the lawless outback of experimental music makes for a satisfying experience. The players had moments of genuine inspiration as a duo, but it was their solo pieces that produced the most engaging results. Stagner's was a more traditional drum solo with clear nods to the showy, chops-heavy stylings of Max Roach. There was auditory manipulation and deliberate weirdness along the way, but overall, it was the most accessible part of the afternoon. Klinschek leaned heavily on his rack of cymbals, creating sounds Western ears might associate with the sacred music of various Asian countries. It was, like Stagner's piece, a more familiar and inviting affair than the fiendishly multi-layered duo improvisations. The two musicians wisely brought things to a close at just under an hour. The audience may have been a robust showing of Klinschek's devoted following, but even such ardent listeners can only commit to so much experimentation. Klinschek proved once again that he is a window into a surreal sonic world that reliably satiates the sound as art set. Hopefully, Klinschek's next series of concerts will be indoors. Ear pollen didn't pair particularly well with actual pollen. That was Review. Percussionists Klinschek and Bob Stagner Created Noise, Sonic Tapestry at Atlanta Contemporary by Jordan Owen. Next, Holly Documentary is a Thumbs Up to an Artist Whose Muse is Mystery by Candice Dyer. Filmmaker George King's recent documentary about Lonnie Holly depicts the artist's tragic upbringing, whimsical approach to craft, and reverence for the mysterious force of the universe. When artist Lonnie Holly started to gain some hard-earned notoriety, Lloyd's of London insured one of his exhibits. His mother happened to intercept the mail informing him of this development, and she misread the note thinking it said, Lords of London. She misunderstood and thought it was an actual message from the Lord, as in the Lord God, Holly recalls now with a chuckle. And why not? It was an honest mistake given Holly's daily communion with the divine, which informed his self-taught visual art and his otherworldly music. These cosmic illusions and funny stories swirling around the legendary artist are what Atlanta-based filmmaker George King worked to showcase in Thumbs Up for Mother Universe, Stories from the Life of Lonnie Holly, a 95-minute feature that has racked up awards around the world, including Best Documentary at the Harlem International Film Festival and at the Bronze Lens Film Festival, where it made its Atlanta debut. Everything I do is an offering to the spirit, says the artist. I tithe and give my 10% to the great spirit. That's what George was trying to capture, and he did. Although he is touted as an avatar of the black experience, local Holly events tend to be dominated by white fans. For every head with dreads or braids, there are 20 graying ponytails. Holly, bedecked in chunky jewelry and looking the part of a shaman, holds court and speaks in riddles. He comes across as both guileless and cagey. It's been a long journey to get to this point, he reflects. It was obvious King had his work cut out for him in making this film. Holly, who is now 75 and still churning out up to 25 projects a day at his studio in Atlanta, is a handful. The filmmaker followed his energetic subject around for 22 years through highs and lows, and the obsessiveness pays off in this soulful and comprehensive document about the improbable art world superstar. I was researching a film on self-taught Southern artists in the 1990s and shot interviews with curators and collectors, King says. Lonnie was known to folklorists and artists in Atlanta. I arranged a visit. On meeting Lonnie, I realized he was the story, and we embarked on this journey that continues to this day. I haven't since even looked at the other footage I shot before we met. Matt Arnett, who assists in booking Holly, says, I think George King did an admirable job trying to capture the essence of Lonnie Holly on film, and I say that not as a knock, but the problem with any film about Lonnie Holly is it's impossible to capture the spirit and do it justice in film. His life, his art and music making are constant, and often the moment you say cut is when something magic happens. It's impossible to be everywhere when and where something amazing is happening with Lonnie. Still, it's a beautiful film, hopefully the first of many. If he has any antecedents, they are Sun Ra and Mr. Imagination, but Holly really is the ultimate sous-genre success story. His picaresque biography starts with great pain in Birmingham, Alabama. Born the seventh of 27 children, he was swapped for a pint of whiskey, only to be raised in a juke joint as Tunky McIlroy, unaware of his true identity. By age five, Holly was put to work and wound up in the notorious Mount Meigs Industrial School for Negro Children, where he was sentenced to pick cotton. I had my ass whooped every day at that place, he says. I didn't know nothing about picking cotton, but I was expected to get 100 pounds a day. They about beat me to death. Despite these privations, Holly was a pensive young man with big ideas and a restless, almost compulsive need to create. After the world gave up on Lonnie Holly, the universe sent him the gift of art, King comments. In his 20s, with no formal training, Holly began carving core sand, an industrial byproduct of Birmingham's blast furnaces, individually arresting figures that caught the attention of a local television crew. The market for so-called outsider art was starting to boom, and soon enough, Holly's phantasmagoric work found its way to the Smithsonian. He became the toast of the art world. But Mother Universe still had some tricks up her gossamer sleeve. He always sang while he worked, and he is always working, King says. I never thought his music would have any popular appeal. He would record at night as he lay in bed on a cassette recorder and keep them all. He had boxes of cassettes, but I doubt any survived an Alabama summer. Holly's music, played largely and hauntingly on the black keys of his keyboard, defies easy categorization. Think of it as a free jazz fever dream, the sonic form of his into-fatigable self-expression. I realized he was telling his life story through music, King says. In 2012, Holly was dragged into a recording studio and soon enough found himself on a European tour. He recently played the Sydney Opera House in Australia, and he is gearing up for another trip to the continent. Despite the success, Holly still regards himself as a knockabout bohemian on the ragged margins of society. I don't do any of this for money, he says at the Terra premiere before he talks to the theater crowd church, taking in the cadences of the black pulpit about the importance of saving the environment and seeing beauty in that which is cast off. My mamaw wanted me to be a preacher, he says. My art is my message. My art is my healing, and I want to help others heal through it. In fact, even without the imprimatur of the art establishment, and even without the earnest aging hipsters who hang on his every cryptic word, as the documentary makes clear, Holly would still be making art. He simply cannot help himself. He will make something that he hangs in the woods where few people would stumble on it, King says, or he'll create something and toss it into a lake, presumably so archaeologists will find it in the future. Holly is taking his cues from a higher muse. It's like churning butter, he says, pronouncing it chuning, churning butter from other universes. I will do it no matter what. It makes me want to cry thinking about it. That was Holly Documentary is a Thumbs Up to an Artist Whose Muse is Mystery by Candice Dyer. That concludes today's MetroArts program, which is brought to you by the Fulton County Board of Commissioners. This has been Kristen Moody for GARS, the Georgia Radio Reading Service. Thank you for listening to GARS.