It’s with heaviness in my heart and bubbles on my brain that I now bid all of you, my faithful readers, adieu. It’s been a good time. We watched the bubble form, expand, be threatened, bust, bust again and, finally, evaporate.
We were one with the bubble. No, bro, seriously, we were.
But, don’t be dismayed by the bubble’s dissipation. You haven’t heard the last of CMJ’s bubble coverage. After the sun has set on my trail and a gentle breeze has brushed away my dusty footsteps, the good folks at CMJ – like this dude in particular – will continue to provide you with bubble updates and speculation in the award-winning news section of the site. Eat your heart out, New York Times.
So, in closing, please indulge me in quoting a great thinker, journalist and (dancer?) when I say -
So, now that Cartel’s reign in the bubble is over, who would you like to see in the bubble next year? I have a few ideas that might be more entertaining to watch 24/7.
Having been poured out of their Dr Pepper promotion, Cartel has just landed in another nice, big bowl of sponsorship. Starting July 5 in their native Atlanta, Georgia, Cartel will launch a grand tour of the nation’s Six Flags amusement parks.
And the whole thing’s sponsored by Starburst candies. Sigh.
Anyway, I guess Cartel’s upcoming tour isn’t totally surprising when you consider Cartel’s new tour bus. And, apparently, negotations are underway for the band’s newest body mods.
Over the last week or so, the questions have been pouring in:
- What’s Cartel doing?
- Has Will been sleeping okay?
- Does Jeff still have a beard?
- Do they play video games for fun?
Well, fortunately for you, you’re in the business of asking questions and I’m in the business of answering them. But once I give you an update, you have to promise to shut off the computer and take a walk around the block. You need to get out of the dang house.
Anyway, here’s the blow-by-blow:
Will:
There’s really no other way to say this. Will is herding goats. In Iran. I didn’t believe it myself, until I saw the covert footage.
Joseph:
Joseph, from what I hear, has become firmly established in the Caribbean although he’d only intended to briefly visit Club Med. Apparently, he’s changed quite a bit, taking to cigars and becoming quite suspicious of pork.
Nic:
Letting out a long sigh of relief as he emerged from the bubble, Nic was heard to say, “Finally, I can be myself!” Reports say that, as soon as the cameras were off, the most hygienic of the crew picked up two handfuls of mud and smeared them through his hair, crying, “Freedom!” Last Nic was seen, he was just hanging out and – at long last – being himself.
Jeff:
Sick of Will’s share of the limelight, Jeff was heard to swear, “I’m gonna get mine,” as he stomped out of the bubble to pursue his own singing career. I guess he’s been quite successful, because I keep hearing about a shower of gold.
Band In A Bubble sponsor Dr Pepper is calling on its faithfully caffeinated legion to hurry up and claim their under-the-cap points at DrPepperBubble.com. For a mere 62 points, you can get one of a couple different Cartel T-shirts that are considerably more professional (if less thought-provoking) than the fan-generated ones. For just 30 points more, you can be one of the lucky few to don a genuine Cartel hoody. Be there or be naked.
A while ago, on the official site, fans were urged to submit their own T-shirt designs with the promise that the winner’s design would be screened and sold on the upcoming Cartel tour.
Since there were quite a batch of submissions, I figured I’d do you the service of giving up the wheat and sparing you the chaff. Without further ado, let’s investigate – nay interrogate – these designs; let’s milk them for all their artistic worth.
Sample 1 – What It Says:
Sample 1 – What It Means:
Here, the cord threatens to puncture the bubble, which seems to provide sanctuary for Cartel as well as for the Manhattan skyline. Due to its electrical implications, the cord symbolizes – at least in part – power (now Cartel’s due to BIB) and its ironic way of destroying privacy; here, power actually engenders weakness and vulnerability. Or the cord could symbolize music, possibly suggesting that – through their jams – Cartel breaks their isolation, both literally via breaking the bubble and figuratively via catharsis. Since this artist, in his/her description of the work, said, “amp to plug in symbolic,” we can gather… Actually, I have no idea what that means.
Sample 2 – What It Says:
Sample 2 – What It Means:
In my day, kids had enough drive and horse-sense to tear up and safety-pin their own perfectly good clothes.
Sample 3 – What It Says:
Sample 3 – What It Means:
With a significant nod to Cartel’s bubble-incarceration, this shirt has left out what had become apparent as the fourth bubble necessity.
Sample 4 – What It Says:
Sample 4 – What It Means:
“I don’t understand how electricity works.”
Sample 5 – What It Says:
Sample 5 – What It Means:
So, here, the artist uses a simple brush technique reminiscent of feudal Japanese painting, its minimalism and cool color contrast creating a soothing effect. Is this the tree of knowledge? Could this bubble experience be Cartel’s awakening and damnation, both? Of course, the tree is also the most readily used sign in linguistic discussions. Could it be that, by depicting a tree, the artist is pointing to language’s arbitrary nature and its inherent misrepresentation of things? Yeah, you’re right. Probably not.
Sample 6 – What It Says:
Sample 6 – What It Means:
Well, another tree here. This one, of course, is still a very small sapling, struggling to grow in the palm of an outsretched hand. Could the artist have intended that… Aw, let’s quit kidding ourselves. The artist did whatever the artist did because it’s “emo.” Oh, and while we’re on the topic, kids, go ahead and educate yourselves.
“I stuck a picture of Cartel on this Slipknot shirt.”
Sample 11 – What It Says:
Sample 11 – What It Means:
Not only does an assault rifle (having an obvious connection to the band’s name) grace this shirt, but that gun also loads bubblegum (a sly reference to Cartel’s “aggressive” bubblegum-pop) and fires bubbles (a reference to the show). It’s aware of its cultural context and it’s fitting of the band it champions. Even further, it subtly and splendidly ties it all together with the implicit title “Bubblegun.” Wow.
Exactly a week ago, the bubble burst. As you could imagine, it was totally awesome. The night, however, was far from over when Cartel was whisked away from the bubble in their large black S.U.V.
By the time we arrived at the Meatpacking District’s Brass Monkey (where there definitely wasn’t anybody drinking brass monkeys), Cartel was already holding court and looking sharp. Our own Ben and a couple other mooks cuddled up to Cartel’s Jeff Lett:
After a while, since things started getting a little heated between folks at the Brass Monkey…
… we all headed out to the East Village’s pop-punk sanctuary Angels And Kings, where the party was bumping. They should have known better than to play “Sweet Home Alabama.”
Everybody was hanging hard and looking tough, although the partiers were significantly more fresh-faced than those at the Brass Monkey. Two good-looking folks themselves, MTV’s Jenny Piston and Cartel’s Kevin Sanders displayed winning smiles so similar, you wondered if they were related.
Finally, as the night wore down and party-goers began to be partied out, we all said our farewells, and rode off into the sunrise.
Well, Cartel rode off. In their luxury S.U.V. We took the train.
A week ago tomorrow, the bubble – quivering under a deluge of rain – gave up the ghost as Cartel dashed through its broken pane of plexiglass to take the stage. Revving up their guitars, the band gave the soaked but happy crowd a taste of the new record.
With a passion belying his youthful looks, Will rocked the leg-up-on-the-monitor technique to great success:
(All photos by Jenny Piston)
No stranger to the rock-stance himself, Nic showed his mastery over the back-to-the-crowd posture.
Dubbed, as of now, “The Bash Brothers,” Joseph and Jeff tore it up and held it down with an inimitable swagger.
In lieu of emblazoning his kick drum with “Cartel,” Kevin went for a more Steve-O-esque approach.
All in all, the show came off just as well as it looks with the lead single “Lose It” getting the loudest crowd response. Since it all went by too fast to soak up, you’ll have to stay tuned for a review of the newly completed record.
So, ironic though it may be, due to the show’s production schedule, I hadn’t had time to watch the show until very recently. Since I don’t watch much reality TV and, as I’ve said before, I’ve had Baudrillard on the brain, the show got me to thinking a little bit.
First off, the term “reality TV” is a little strange, isn’t it? After all, we’re not looking at a real band (unless you were down here on the pier), but we’re instead watching a television set. So, really, that television – those electrical currents flashing through the screen – is the reality we’re looking at: literally “reality TV.” Our reality is not the band. It’s not the bubble. It’s not even the crowds gathering around the bubble. It’s our television.
And, really, isn’t that reality us – staring at those television sets from our couches? You know, it’s like that tree in the woods thing. It seems like it takes a camera crew, a style director, a marketing campaign, an audience, a spectacle to constitute reality as we know it.
But, when you think about it, all that isn’t so different from our own lives, our own experimental realities. How does that tele-reality relate to our sofa-reality?
Back in high school, my boys and I would sit around and watch movies about high school. Surrounded by dudes and “partying” at somebody’s folks’ house, we’d watch perpetually suave dudes party with beautiful girls and think, “Man, isn’t high school great?” Sure, we applied those movies’ archetypes to our own realities: The guy – somewhere between cool and pathetic – that still showed up to parties years after he graduated; The happy-go-lucky stoner who was everybody’s friend come Friday night; The epic night of driving around and finding trouble; The all-out rock show. All that being said, no matter how grand our plans, we always accepted on some level that we were holding our lives up to an impossible – though inspiring – standard; they were just movies.
But this is different. Despite all its flashing images, dramatic musical snippets and ADHD pacing, this show is presented as reality itself. With reality TV, when our lives are considerably more boring than what we’re watching, we don’t have the comfort of knowing that our televised standard is fictive; instead, that standard is “real.” So, if your life isn’t full of that constant excitement, drama, humor and sexiness, does that mean – on some level – that you’re not real? Unless your senses are stimulated, your emotions are raging and – most importantly – there are viewers, you – literally – ain’t for real.
Well, maybe you’re more real than you think. Because, over the course of the show, the members of Cartel were – often – bored. After all, although the cameras might have been on 24/7, it’s kind of hard for a real, live person to be on 24/7. Particularly later in the day, when the crowds outside the bubble had begun to thin, the guys just retreated to their bright orange couch-of-the-future, like we all do when we’re at home, and zoned out. Later on in the day, as the special guests and recording process slowed down, we tended to zone out a little bit, too. But in spite of that boredom – no, maybe because of it – we had some great times here. We had John’s bike heist bust, Cartel’s inane – yet funny – ball-breaking, and our ninja raids on the food tent. Sure, it’s not exactly super-entertaining TV material, but it was the stuff that made our days, well, entertaining.
That being said, all those things – all of us – were part of the spectacle. We were the mechanisms that made the film reel spin and the pins that fastened the sketch to the museum wall. Because we saw Band In A Bubble for what it was – ol’ Jacque’s “spectacle of banality” – we began to see ourselves as well. Like a vast, suctioning blackness, the spectacle enveloped everything it touched, ourselves with it. Surrender to the wolf, Atreyu. In doing so, you haven’t lost yourself to nothingness. Far from it.
Because, to really watch this kind of thing, to really see the spectacle, you have to see the spectators. You begin to realize that you are in the bubble. Take a look around. Take a look at yourself. Climb aboard the mothership, brothers and sisters, and set your blasters on “Think.”
Yesterday, as dark clouds blanketed Manhattan, itself deep in blackberry winter, your intrepid blogger took one last trip down to the pier. As I approached, I couldn’t help but think of the first day I saw that majestic dome. It looked like glory:
But yesterday, those glorious banners had ceased to wave. The bubble was silent.
The bubble’s interior – too, once glorious…
… now was devoid of the luxury that one would expect – a shadow of its former self.
If I didn’t know better, though, I’d think some artsy types had gotten ahold of the bubble in the middle of the night:
Walking back down the pier, taking one last, long, backward glance, I couldn’t help but have one lonesome song’s title run through my weary head.
Fear not. Although the bubble’s done with, the Bubblog ain’t. We’ll keep coming at you with the hardest hitting inside scoops, touching retrospectives and overall bomb-diggity blogging. Stay tuned. I’m going to go drink several cups of coffee to recover from last night’s celebrations. Then I’ll tell you all about it.
So, as you all recall, we had a bombastic party to kick this thing off a few weeks ago at the Hiro ballroom. The Rub spun, Brazilian Girls spazzed out, arhythmic people danced and Band-In-A-Bubble-sponsor-beverage Dr Pepper flowed like wine. If all that caffeine and corn syrup went to your head and you forgot how much fun you had, peep this.
In honor of the bubble’s end, three courageous men, who rarely leave the office park/trailer behind the bubble, shaved their beards today. Well, not the whole beards. Since the bubble hasn’t really afforded them much sleep or contact with the outside world, they all got a little delusional, calling themselves cops. What follows is their saga.
As was usual on such mornings, Officer Jergens was drunk. Dead drunk. Having stumbled into the office around 10:36 AM, he promptly began to guzzle coffee and tell Rhonda – the receptionist – about his “succubus” of an ex-wife Sonya. Wrapped up in his tales of marital woe and a ferocious hangover, Jergens had forgotten all about his role as bubble security.
“Jergens!”
The single word was still reverberating through the halls as Detective Peebles tried to soothe himself by caressing his mustache. “Picked the wrong day to quit smoking,” he muttered to himself.
“Sit down, Jergens, you drunk,” Peebles barked. Hanging his head in submission, Jergens glanced up to see his superior (and his ’stache) meaning pure business.
“Listen, I’m gonna be straight with you, Jergens,” the detective began. “You’re a drunk. A wild card.” He continued, “And I need you to be on your toes right now. By the book. We got a mole approaching the bubble and I want you with him. He’s a rookie. A good kid, but a little green. Can you get it together, man?”
“I’m on it, Chief,” Jergens said, sobering up instantly.
“Good. Here’s the scoop: We’re going to infiltrate the bubble and convince Jeff and Joseph to join the Mustachiers. They got the beards already. Getting them to do it is just a matter of the rookie’s smarts and your brawn. Listen, I already coached the kid. Name’s Skeevy Pete. We got him all set up this morning.”
“Sounds good, Chief. I’m on it.”
“You’d better be,” ordered Peebles. “Your job’s on the line.”
To be continued….
So what happens? Do Jeff and Joseph shave mustaches? Do Peebles and Jergens get into a fight? Will Skeevy Pete turn out to actually be Will Pugh? Tune in and find out next time on the….
Instead of reporting about the war or the energy crisis, earlier this morning, a reporter from the New York Times showed up at the bubble to interview Cartel. Hopefully, this is an indication that the Times will soon be able to compete with some actualnewspapers. Since the bubble has been closed to the public, this is the best picture I could get. So what if it’s just a picture of a TV screen? What are you trying to say? You want to start something?:
From what I can tell, the Times reporter is the blurry one.
All day today, in preparation for the bubble bust, folks have swarmed the pier – which has been closed to the public – like possessed ants. Here they are:
The apparently well-lit show will start tomorrow night at eight o’clock, when Cartel emerges from the bubble. Be there or be square, kids.
And all through the pier,
A crew of riggers prepare for the busting so near.
They put up some lights for tomorrow night’s show,
While the boys in the band just sit there and bro- Down, reflecting on the last twenty days
Through the early morn’s light and a slight bit of haze.
Just then, in the trailers, sounded a great cymbal crash,
Announcing a contest for the finest mustache.
Inspired by the greats, five guys in the crew
Joined up with two band members. Guess who.
Since some of the mustachios are still MIA,
Pictures will have to wait ’til the end of the day.
So, all of you going to the show tomorrow night,
Grab a hold of your clippers and trim your ’stache tight.
And remember, Cartel will rock out right at eight,
So bring your flavor-saver and don’t you be late!
In all our continuing coverage of the bubble, we haven’t yet really ventured out into the neighborhood surrounding Pier 54. For those outside the New York area, the bubble-pier sits on the far West side of the Meat Packing District and Chelsea neighborhoods of Manhattan. These adjacent neighborhoods – home to some of the city’s swankiest clubs, restaurants and galleries – are often referred to as “boys town” and are known for their residents’ fashion sense as well as for their active street-life, shown here at Pier 54 itself.
In any event, it’s pretty easy to pick out the natives down here at the bubble; they’re the ones who look around in befuddlement, ask several times, “So what is this?” and – perhaps more tellingly – aren’t teenage girls. Although many of the neighborhood folk bring no prior knowledge of Cartel to the bubble, they certainly seem to bring an established sense of style. That being said, let’s take a brief glimpse at that style in a segment called Chelsea Boys At The Bubble.
Our first model isn’t wearing too much more than that look of befuddlement I mentioned earlier:
Number One is sporting a short-cropped hair-style, a serious early-summer tan and a greenish-colored “man bag.” He’s also sporting a simple stud earring, perhaps suggesting a stylistic fascination with pirates or hardcore gangsta rap music like Kriss Kross and Young MC. Please notice, too, that this dude’s torso lacks a shirt only slightly more than its lacks hair.
Similarly hairless, this fella seems to have embraced more of a “rock and roll” style (although that would be a Donny Osmond-style “rock and roll” we’re talking about):
Please notice how the perfectly rugged jeans and bat-shaped belt buckle give him automatic cred. (The volleyball playing doesn’t hurt either).
Our final model – fortunately – wore clothes for the shoot, although he maintained the near-buzz-cut and hairlessness of his compatriots. What is it with this whole hairless thing? The times, they are a changin’.
Actually, I have nothing to say about this other than mentioning the fact that he was great in the Squirrel Nut Zippers. That band was good as hell.
As I walked down the Hudson River Park en route to the bubble this morning, I noticed that a barricade stood in the entrance to the pier. Just behind it, Walter, John and Daniel informed me that there’d been some trouble with the bubble’s plumbing this morning, warranting a visit from A & L Cesspool.
Here they are taking care of business:
Although the exact nature of the trouble and its cause are still unknown, suspicions abound. Really, regardless of where it came from, I think of this whole brouhaha as Cartel’s acceptance that they’re not just musicians anymore; what with the whole TV aspect, they’re entertainment stars. They’ve realized what we all know: Poop always has been and always will be entertaining.
After enjoying what was left of our chips, we showed our full force in front of the bubble.
When you consider a normal day at the office, looking as peaceful as we do here is pretty bizarre. (Be patient with this link, folks; it’s worth it).
Apparently, and appropriately, when CMJ’ers just stand around they look a lot like a 90s indie band:
While some folks talk about sex, drugs and rock’n'roll during reprieves from the office, CMJ’ers – weary from laboring at their iPods – apparently discuss the finer points of their stock portfolios:
After a while, CMJ’s bubble crew posed with some of our Mediaedge:cia cohorts as well as our dear friend Jenny over at MTV. Guess which of the following belong to CMJ. (Hint: We take the phrase “business casual” and run with it).
After we were finally done with our photo ops, we delivered some gifts to the Cartel boys. Kevin shows off his loot:
Posing with the following gift, Kevin was quickly reprimanded by Jeff, who shouted, “Dude, put that thing away!”:
A little freaked out by that display and tuckered out from all the fun, we left Kevin to do his thing and bid adieu to the bubble.
So, yesterday, around 4:30 or so, the whole office set out for the bubble. Since the streets of New York can be fairly treacherous, I – as the most seasoned CMJ bubbler – led the pack down to the pier. (Sure, everybody snickers when they call me “Bubble Boy,” but I’m pretty sure it’s a term of respect). Anyway, several times on our way, folks wondered aloud why our friend Benjamin was M.I.A. All decked out in his Dr Pepper gear and headed to the bubble, it winds up he just got stuck in traffic.
Anywho, here it is: The exodus – the movement of CMJ(ah) people (FunMission: See if you can “find the finger” in the following pictures!):
As we watched horror upon horror pass before our eyes, the Rev. (Mother) Moose shielded us from danger.
At long last, the bubble surfaced on the horizon, eliciting cries of “Bubble ho!” from the ranks. Awe spread across the faces of the long-enduring crew:
Even our stoic Captain Kenny dropped his jaw like it was hot:
Once there, we swarmed upon the new found land’s bounty and we did feast and make merry in that cove of wonder:
That is, until a whole family of CHiP pirates ran upon us. Here they are for the world to see:
Seeing as it must have taken a great deal of valor to wear that one chick’s get-up in public, we figured we’d let them keep the chips. (Although I worked hard to link you to a site that would offer this kind of outfit, I had absolutely no idea of what to call it – This somehow came up, though).
