As you all might have figured, they are our favourite band. And we advice all of you to check out their block rockin' beats — HERE!
For the first ever concert, the Blisters Boyz were booked at Plastic, Milan's oldest and chic-est nightlub. As part of the 747 Project, this night was dedicated to Paris. We definitively felt the decadence (until Jack Daniel's started playing some kind of bohemian rhapsody in our heads).
Poor Alice. She must have been quite puzzled by the wonders of that wicked rabbit hole. But if you think about it, her life was rather boring before she went down there. And besides, they wore fabulous hats down there, didn't they?
In midst of the twirl of pretty colors and drama, fashion week has stood quite still for a moment in this quiet little town.
The opening of Jörg Immendorff's last works at Cardi Black Box was a complete success. The variety and the quality of the people was exquisite and exciting, and Grey Goose was on everyone's tongue.
According to the pretty, pretty leaflet, thelate works of Immendorff contain an evident critique to the collectivity balanced by the individual's desire for change but — if before his vision was influenced by ideology and by his concrete experience of reality — now it appears as the consequence of an inner gaze, that of a man looking at life through a different, renewed consciusness.
We don't know what whoever wrote this was smoking, but we tend to agree. There's a clear contrast between classical figures and out-of-focus contemparory elements.
Once upon time there was no such thing as the World Wide Web and only few people had cellphones. And cellphones were slightly less portable considering they weighed about three tons or so.
As a child of that time, but an adolescent of today, I'd like to bring some of it back to you and wish you all a good morning. It always amazed me how fun seemed so much more like fun back then. Maybe it has to do with the fact that none of their clothes were matching, or the fact that screaming and singing seemed to be synonyms... Considering that whole Berlin Wall fell and everything, I guess they had reason to party. Can we bring it back, please?
I might want to add that it's past two p.m., and that I should study and... oh, shit I just did.
Oh, well! Take some time to pump up the jam before you dig deeeeeeeep into those books.
This Thursday Gasoline was invaded by models, club kids and various celebrities. None, however, managed to outshine the life of the party - fabulous Welsh designer Andrew Mac-fuckin'-Kenzie!
Taking a risk at opening that fashion week a liiiittle bit too early, the party remained a great success. If you were there you were either making out with one-two-three people or getting so wasted the concept of "standing on your feet" became SO LAST SEASON!
Every now and then I get a little excited... but then there are those greyish days where only Amy can properly capture your mood as you drink your coffee with the wrong kind of sugar, eat your toast with the wrong kind of marmelade and realize you got up to late.
Thank Heaven for cigarettes. And for Amy Winehouse.
Time goes by so slowly, as mentioned before. But then you find yourself in a house with a piano and you're all dressed up. The temperature is not only low, but below a certain zero, and by quite a bit. And all you have to keep you warm is whiskey... darling, it's time to celebrate the end of a decade and...
... that's pretty...
Take a jump with the Norwegian crowd into 2010... right after the JUMP!!!
One of my favourite Christmas traditions is the devouring of the Christmas Porridge, known as Julegrøt. Basically we stick a peeled almond in the ricy goo and whoever finds it gets a huge piece of marzipan shaped like a fat pig.
And if you don't get it, don't worry. Because you'll all be so full you will want to kill yourself, or maybe you will actually die. Lot's of carbs and fat and sugar and cinnamon. Can it get anymore Christmasy?
I didn't get the almond. My sister did. I am not jealous. Not at all.
Time goes by... so slowly, as Madonna said to the beat of ABBA's "Gimme, Gimme, Gimme". And then you realize yet another decade passed you by.
Financial Crisis. War on Terror. iPhone. Hybrid Cars. Britney's Babies. Madonna's New Boyfriend. Kylie's French Lover. Cameron Diaz is getting old. Demi Moore turned pedophile. And by the end of the next decade even Ashton Kutcher will be ancient.
Time goes by so slowly, yet passes so incredibly fast. The World in the 2000's seemed to forget about time, and now we are reminded again by the big 1 in front of the lonely 0.
The passing of a decade doesn't make you feel old, but it's as if history is growing up. And suddenly we feel the urge to catch up. Nostalgia happens at the end of every decade. Usually through introducing "Best of the **'s" CDs. Suddenly everything's a classic. I imagine we'll hear a good deal of Lady Gaga on the "Best of the 10's" CDs... if there will even be CDs in 2020.
Music is what brings me to the conclusion of this post. Because nothing defines a time so much as the music we listened to. A particular moment I remember, was when I watched Vampire Weekend at the Hove Festival the summer of 2008. That was the summer before I moved to Milan, and Walcott was the song that caught my heart. In fact, it had already caught it for some time, ever since I heard what was then an unrecognisable new sound with a profound message.
The reason I am posting this song is because unlike Billboard Magazine, I don't think Nickelback is the best band of the decade. I guess you can imagine who deserve it more.