by David Bernabo
Apologies for the absence. I’ve had a summer of roams, but haven’t quite been able to process the experiences properly in order to write about them. But maybe this latest column can be a start.
There were roams to Chicago to see friend and cornetist Josh Berman play at the Hungry Brain and to happen into a set by Journey’s drummer Steve Smith playing prog jazz at The Green Mill. There was a trek to Baltimore for the Baltimore Pedal Show, where I picked up a Dirge Power Chungus guitar pedal that is incredibly loud and gnarly. And then there was a trip out west, to Nevada, Arizona, Utah, and a smidge of Colorado.
My friend, a foreigner, and I were on a mission to see a different America—the alien worlds of the American west. The towering rock arches and deep canyons of Canyonland National Park and the nearby Corona Arch, the single organism forest known as Pando, and the deep blue of Lake Powell, in which we swam and kayaked, eventually making our way to an otherworldly hike. It was truly wonderful. Pro-tip: Sabaku Sushi in Moab is legit.
Due to the relative affordability of rental cars and flights, our roam ended in Las Vegas. In the spirit of the Big Idea Bookstore’s Know Thy Enemy section, my traveling companion and I stayed at the Las Vegas Trump Hotel. Truth be told, we were looking for the cheapest one-night stay, and this place—complete with showers that backed up and hot-ass sheets–fit the bill. Yes, there was a Trump gift shop, and yes, it was filled with Trump merchandise made in Bangladesh. Yes, there were many spray-tanned bodies walking around, gawking at a variety of objects imprinted with the name Trump. And yes, it was 120 degrees Fahrenheit, and it turns out that neither of us like the Las Vegas Strip, which feels like a plot of land designed for extraction of morals and money. But yes, we must concede that the swimming pool was actually very nice and, oddly, they played a pleasant assortment of left-leaning bands and musical artists through the pool speakers.
Throughout this trek, we hadn’t seen much news thanks to the frequent lack of an internet signal and a packed itinerary. But our Las Vegas stay happened to fall on the day that the former president was nicked by a bullet in Butler County, Pennsylvania. Such was our re-entry into the parallel digital world that we all inhabit—online news and Instagram and LinkedIn and Reddit and Slack and Facebook/Meta/whatever and former Twitter/now X and email and stock trades and “how’s the market doing today” and “check out my new album” and “happy birthday, friend-who-abandoned-their-account-in-2021”—alongside our daily human-to-human interactions.
I’ve been doing better about managing consumption of social media. Elon Musk’s Twitter takeover certainly curtailed the existence of a thriving avant-garde music community where I was actively engaged with people from all over the world. Instagram, where my posts only reach 2-3% of my followers, is barely a tool for communication. And posting on Facebook just feels like I’m helping Mark Zuckerberg steal-purchase land in Kauaʻi to build his doomsday bunker. So, I’m online less.
Image: Maggie Appleton
To get some perspective, I turned to The Dark Forest Collective’s The Dark Forest Anthology of the Internet, a collection of essays that explains Yancey Strickler’s Dark Forest concept and Venkatesh Rao’s CozyWeb idea, and tracks how the pandemic altered public and private interactions on the Internet.
It’s a fascinating book, and I must admit that as a non-gamer, I don’t quite understand the point of building up semi-anarcho, semi-democratic, semi-gatekept online spaces that are accessed through game portals backed by customized existing game engines and such. (Like, what happens when you get there?) But I do understand the desire for collective agency, decentralization, and the line where pure decentralization requires some form of structure in order for a community to grow in a safe way. (Pro tip: Paper + Dirt in Point Breeze has copies if this tease of a description sounds interesting to you.)
Caroline Busta’s essay, “The internet didn’t kill counterculture. You just won’t find it on Instagram,” positions Big Tech as today’s dominant culture and points out how “counterculture” still often refers to “black-and-white photos of young people all now over 60.” The essay is rich in ideas and analysis, and thus, hard for me to summarize here, but a nice takeaway might be this quote, “To be truly countercultural today, one has to betray the platform which may come in the form of betraying or divesting from your public online self.” As an artist who basically works outside of any formal marketing structure, I tend to use my public online self to tell people about the work I’m doing (e.g. Hey, check our my art show with Haylee Ebersole and Andrew Allison at Bottom Feeder Books. It opens on September 7, with a reception from 6-8pm, and runs until September 28, 2024.) But, seriously, what an icky way to live. But, also, here were are.
With these thoughts swirling around, I attend New Product Company’s “My First Play,” a presentation of two plays “at the forefront of a new wave, utilizing a 3-camera setup, reckless livestreaming, and digitally-mediated performance to explore the intersection of image and the internet.” This new theatre company is helmed by Spencer Byham-Carson and Pria Dahiya.
The first play, Youtube.com/the-Family-family, addresses YouTube influencer culture, positioning a family as captives to an endless cycle of providing family-based content to a growing web-based audience. It’s chaotic in the best way. Each moment is a surprise. Many pies are thrown, there is a lot of running, and the mix of livestreaming and pre-filmed video is delightful. A boisterous and somewhat deranged Mark Palmerine plays a father directing his daughter through a series of on-screen activities as his wife—an authoritative offscreen voice—occasionally interrupts the proceedings to disapprove. The structure is curious—linear, but with major tonal shifts. The action-packed, multimedia-filled web show moments are contrasted with a kidnapping plot that feels plucked from a sketch comedy show. There’s also a singer-songwriter moment, a near-wedding, and a satisfying conclusion.
The second play, Earth Angel, centers around a character, played by Siggi Biyou, who works for a “reputation-laundering marketing agency” where the agency takes on an unsavory client. In my recall here at home, I’m a little hazy on everything that goes on in the play, but I remember seeing a vivid transformation of the Biyou’s character, from a form of low-level worker apathy to engaged CEO and all the sinister absurdity that comes with that. Also, there were some memory burner moments that took me back to Nina Sarnelle, Scott Andrew, and Agnes Bolt’s Institute for New Feeling project, where wellness, tech culture, and propaganda all shared space. For another take and more description of both plays, read Burgh Vivant’s take on the show.
I’ve been pining for some weird theater, and New Product Company totally delivered. I’m tempted to contextualize the theater—a real life place with physical chairs and shared breath—as an embodiment of the CozyWeb concept (“gatekeeper-protected enclave communities comprised of like-minded folks around niche interests”), but that seems redundant or maybe entering from the wrong direction. Maybe I’m just trying to say that it’s nice to be in a space where people are cracking up and having a good time and enjoying the art practices of others.
David Bernabo is an oral historian, musician, artist, and independent filmmaker. His film work has documented western Pennsylvania food systems, climate change, the studio practices of composers and artists, and the histories of iconic arts institutions like the Mattress Factory. He is most noted for Moundsville, a documentary co-directed with former Wall Street Journal writer John W. Miller, which screened on PBS for three years.
PETRICHOR 
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