Sound and Image: Warhol's Screen Tests

On my way to the Food Bank this morning, I passed the Andy Warhol Museum. As others around me said things like "That looks interesting!" and "I want to go there soon, will anyone go with me?", I lightly chuckled. Warhol is all too familiar to me. When I see the museum's front doors and Andy's face in the gift shop window, my mind races a hundred thoughts per second. 

I think of my middle name, Andrew. I think of my parents, whose first date was at his grave site. I think of glaring at his face in the lobby during Duquesne orientation week, my first breath of real independence. 

I think of Dean and Britta.

"But Julian, why would Andy Warhol remind you of an indie pop duo from New York City?"

Because of the connection between sound and image.

This is one of the 13 Most Beautiful: Songs for Andy Warhol's Screen Tests. A video of Lou Reed drinking a bottle of Coke, shot by Warhol in 1966, is accompanied by Dean and Britta's "Not A Young Man Anymore." Warhol would film celebrities doing ordinary things, calling them "screen tests." Reed's is arguably the most iconic of them all.

The Warhol Museum approached Dean and Britta about recording a group of songs to accompany the screen tests in order to enhance aural pleasure. They succeeded, because now, the two go hand-in-hand.

The rougher clips, like Reed's (rebel shades, messy hair), are immortalized by rock n' roll power chords and Dean Wareham's scale solos. The more gentle images are given tender care by Britta Phillips' soft voice.

By mixing sound and image, Warhol's visual art is brought to life, while Dean and Britta's music enters a whole new realm of meaning and emotion.

All of the screen tests can be found on Youtube, but for a more personal experience, Dean and Britta are bringing the 13 Most Beautiful to the Warhol Museum's theater on November 8th. You can purchase tickets here: http://www.warhol.org/webcalendar/event.aspx?id=6966

One Single, Lonely Screen

1449 Potomac Ave. Dormont's Hollywood Theater. Circa 1933.

It's not just a theater. It's a landmark.

Enter through the front doors and you'll be greeted by a smiling clerk, the gateway to a night of endless popcorn joy. Yell out your favorite movie lines and you'll be eagerly accepted rather than arrogantly shushed. Crowd the balcony rows with your best buddies and you'll have a night to remember.

But one thing you won't see: a line of people experiencing the same thing. At least not anymore.

My father, who worked at the theater from 1988 to 1990, saw the theater when it was in its finest state. He grew up in Dormont in a time when the Hollywood was the area's social center. It was always crowded. It was always playing first-run movies. It was the perfect place to go to hook up with friends and catch a movie.

"It had a neighborhood charm to it," says my dad. "There were three movie theaters within walking distance, and they were all single-screen movie theaters. That was the day of neighborhood movie theaters."

Oh, how things have changed. 

Now, neighborhood charm doesn't matter one bit. Jared Lanier, a computer programmer recognized as the father of virtual reality technology, proposes that convenience is a consumer's main priority, and that this will bring movie theaters to the antiquity stage.

"As for theaters, I wish them a long, healthy continued life, but imagine a world in which a superb fifty-dollar projector can be set up anywhere, in the woods or at the beach, and generate as good an experience. This is the world we will live in within a decade," Lanier writes in his manifesto, You Are Not A Gadget. 

So how does a single-screen movie theater like the Hollywood survive in the digital age? Sadly, it can't. The only thing that is keeping the theater open is the Friends of the Hollywood Theater (FOHT), a group of volunteers who have put incredible amounts of time and money into maintenance. 

Recently, the Hollywood Theater made an appearance in The Perks of Being a Wallflower, a movie shot in Pittsburgh. The film's characters participate in a lively showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show, a cult flick frequently shown in the theater.



In the scene, the theater is packed, and rightfully so (the movie takes place in the '80s.) It makes me sad. My dad says the place used to have energy.

Not anymore.

In a few years, people will pass the vacant Hollywood Theater and say, "I remember." Ironically, those will probably be the same people who have Netflix subscriptions and BitTorrent accounts. You know, the evil creatures that are putting iconic theaters out of business.

For now, enjoy it while it's here. Pick up your girlfriend, park on Potomac, grab some popcorn, and cherish the mystique before it's gone.

Page One: An Aspiring Journalist's Response

After watching Page One: Inside the New York Times, the part inside of me that channels my journalistic aspirations took a punch. Since I started telling people my dreams to become a professional journalist, I can't count how many times the person on the listening end has given me that look; the look that says "Do you really know what you're getting into?". The look that says "You're doomed, kid."

I'm here to tell you that I sincerely believe the industry isn't dead. Page One conveys most of its shock through a startling set of quotes. By picking apart these quotes and looking for contradictions, I've discovered several instances of faulty knowledge that will suggest that the documentary overdramatizes the downfall of modern investigative journalism.

Here are two quotes that I find especially misinterpreted:

"Advertising market has turned upside down and the revenue has taken a hit." - Is this honestly as bad as it sounds? As the demand for advertising in print media rapidly declines, the demand for online advertising has risen dramatically. A change in mediums doesn't necessarily mean a change in the way advertising revenue is gained. Take a look at this screenshot I took of the Times' front page:

Notice the array of advertisements. In a single window, you can see ads for Marc Jacobs Eyewear, Times' Digital Subscriptions, Orange Savings Account, and Ameritrade. It's impossible to point to a decrease in advertisement revenue when the paper's front page is nearly half ad space. 

"And people will start asking, can we really trust The Times?" - I don't think anyone would even consider that question. Just yesterday, an Iran newspaper ran a news story from The Onion, believing it to be credible. Seriously? If someone, somewhere believes The Onion, then The Times has nothing to worry about. The Times is still the most reputable media outlet in the United States, and I find it hard to believe that anything will change that. 

"Experts" shouldn't be pushing aspiring journalists away from the industry. The rise in technology might make print newspaper less and less relevant, but that does not equate to the demise of journalism as a whole.

Maybe I am just defending my industry because I'm scared. Or maybe I am defending my industry because it's not dying.

Maybe it's only just begun.

How the Media Ruined Steve Bartman's Life

It's been almost nine years since the incident.

The Cubs were playing the Marlins at Wrigley Field. It was the sixth game of the National League Championship Series, and Chicago fans were growing restless; restless of the green ivy in left field, restless of being the league's laughing stock, and restless of saying "maybe next year."

If something or someone was going to ruin their chances at winning a title, it wasn't going to end well for the offender. In this case, that "someone" was Steve Bartman.



Did he want to be the entire city's scapegoat? No. He did what every baseball fan would have done in that situation: he reached for a foul ball. It's almost instinctive. It's almost normal.

That's what the play should have been considered: normal. But instead, Bartman hasn't been seen in almost a decade. He didn't just buy a fake mustache from a gag store. He must have changed his name. He must have altered his identity, starting from scratch.

This could have been prevented.

Right after Bartman "stole" the ball out of the air from Moises Alou, ESPN violated the basic moral, unwritten rules of journalism. Even I, a freshman journalism student at Duquesne University, know that it's improper to victimize a fan. Instead of getting back to the action on the field, the station repeatedly flashed images of Bartman's face on the broadcast, allowing Cubs' fans to sharpen their pitchforks with a clear target in mind.

Instead of scrutinizing the Cubs' bullpen and defense for lack of effort, the media demonized Bartman, portraying him as the only reason the team failed to make it to the World Series again.

Now, nearly a century of mediocre baseball can be summarized by one man's face:

I don't blame Steve Bartman one bit for disappearing. If the media is against you, the viewers are against you. It's as simple as that. In this case, the viewers are a ruthless bunch of rough-and-tough Chicagoans; a symbol for hatred, a symbol for intolerance.

And who has led the movement to bring Steve into the public light again? Who has relentlessly begged for an interview? Who will cash in on his words? The media.

Bartman doesn't owe the media anything.