Respect the Boss

8th June MMX

After long, rewarding, and tumultuous travels; volcanic ash clouds, changes in the pitching line-up, batting order, and field position; Implied Violence has returned to fair Seattle. Battered, not broken, bruised, not scarred.

After an amazing trip to The Donau Festival, Implied Violence has returned all 26 local artists from all mediums safely back to the city which each proudly call home! With the world watching we begin again. Again and again, never stopping only quickening our pace. Already we are deep in the process of presenting not one, but two performance installations at The Frye Art Museum, as well as an exhibition at the Frye in October! Already we have begun conceiving new, ambitious, difficult, and perhaps debilitating projects.

And Still.

Still, our shipping container sits in Viennese Purgatory. It is trapped. Our shipping container is full of odds and ends, fiddle and faddle. A dress with 2,200 hand sewn bows here (Designed by Anna Telcs, Manufactured by Mark Mitchell), A Kinetic Claw Sculpture with a 16′ circumference there (Designed and built by Casey Curran). Found sculptural objects by NKO, wax blocks shot through with arrows and shirts soaked with Zac Pennington’s blood.

We desperately need this container back in Seattle.

Humbly we ask for your help.

Donations small and smaller or large and larger. We need them as we need our shipping container, as we need our heart. In return, we can only offer up ourselves. Postcards, books, words, images, and artifacts. Our friends and enemies for the first time ever you can invest in and take away a piece of this company! View the selections at http://www.firstgiving.com/impliedviolence, and make your donation there as well. We thank you with the fullest of hearts and the strongest of handshakes.

Yours Ever,
Implied Violence

All photographs by Steven Miller. For press inquiries, please contact Ari Spool [ari.spool@gmail.com, 206-715-5483].

Implied Violence - The Dorothy K. from Steven Miller on Vimeo.

“Let’s have some fun/This beat is sick/This is what we do on our business trip”–DRCM

The Four Horsemen by Aphrodite’s Child

When I was visiting Manhattan for the Dorothy K, I went to the Cake Shop one night to see The Pharmacy. While sitting though a paralyzingly boring noise rock act, I started talking to this tiny guy in a neon windbreaker-thing and one of those gold sticker baseball caps.  The conversation began when we made eye contact by chance and noticed that we each had the same pained look on our face.

“I like all kinds of music,” he said, “but not like when you ask a little kid what kind of music they like and they say everything. I mean, it’s something I really think about. I’ve studied sound design at three different universities and been kicked out of all of them.”

“Why?” I asked.

“I like to drink. And I don’t like authority. And sometimes I sell pills.”

I was impressed when he was able to predict exactly when a beat-long silence in a song would occur, and use this beat to yell, “Not impressed!”

He told me that though he liked everything, he had a certain preference for rap, so I told him that recently I had been really into Wu-Tang. This obviously pleased him.

“You know how they do a Behind The Music about Britney Spears or Madonna or whatever. There’s a reason there’s never been one about Wu-Tang. It’s because they’re on hallucinogens all the time. Every one of their albums was recorded while on mushrooms or acid.”

“I wondered how they thought of some of that stuff,” I said.

“Yeah. They did some crazy shit. They were making a video one time, and every night during the production of the video, Ghostface bought a bucket of chicken and buried it in the director’s yard.”

“Why?”

“For luck, I guess. I don’t know, he was fucked up on mushrooms. But anyway, at the end of the week, the director saw his cat scratching around in the yard–which, you know, is really unusual for a cat–and he found them, all the buckets of chicken.”

The Pharmacy came on, who didn’t impress him either, and then I went upstairs, where a woman from San Francisco asked me where all the lesbians are around here.

“I’m only visiting,” I said.