Photography by Claire FinucaneWe are said to dream on any given night, even if we fail to remember its contents. For the inaugural performances of Arya Davachi's immersive theatre piece, Rough Sleeper, a woman polls us before we enter the venue. Did we sleep well...

On January 9, 2014, we lost one of the most eloquent voices of the freedom fight, Imamu Amiri Baraka, the man formerly known as Everett LeRoi Jones. Amiri Baraka was one of the most published and respected artists of the Black Arts Movement, and his work had an extreme polarizing effect. He was made the Poet Laureate of New Jersey, only to have that title stripped away because of his poem "Somebody Blew Up America", was a controversial statement about 9/11. He was a lifelong advocate for equality, but has been accused of anti-semitism, misogyny, and racism. He was a contradiction. Remembering Leroi Jones, Examining His Recorded Output as Amiri Baraka Amiri Baraka was an artist at the crossroads: between pre-war and baby boom; between black and white; between free-jazz and hip-hop. He stood between hippies, beatniks and black power; sci-fi and harsh realism. He occupied the intersection between humor and ugly truths. As we continue to lose more and more of the older generation of freedom fighters, we run the risk of forgetting – forgetting the struggle, and the oppression they were struggling against. As we get further and further away from slavery (the Southern kind, anyway), we are in danger of forgetting its face and losing sight of its specter, even if it's only in our minds.The 20th Century was unique for being the first full century with recording technology. While we may not get the scent of tear gas on the breeze, or know the humidity of an August afternoon in Birmingham, we can strive to remember and understand through records, photographs and film. Going through the recorded legacy of Amiri Baraka, from the '50s through the '90s, is like opening a time capsule. It reminds us of the revolutionary power of jazz, poetry and theater. In 2014, all of those forms have almost entirely been de-toothed and un-fanged, become a tool of the bourgeoisie that they panned, bombed and smashed. It's easy to forget that these were the voice of the people. It calls us back to a time of street theater and community workshops: these were a time of action. Without this reality, it is all too easy (and dangerous) to co-opt the art of revolutionaries past, to bolster your own cred, while safe and comfortable in your air conditioned citadel.

LUCY YIM AND JIN CAMOU If your name is Jeff Diteman, you might be a Portland artist that has spent two years secretly crafting a series of oil paintings, waiting patiently until the opportune time and place to debut the complete collection of works. Now ready...

This review is written just in time for National Poetry Month, which is April of every year. To throw a bit of personal experience into this review, I have to say first and foremost that poetry has been of vital importance in my life, serving as...

Poet Mimi Allen has spent the last few months living in a yurt as the Poet In Residence at Tent City, one of Seattle's migratory homeless encampments. The folks over at Tether Design Gallery volunteered their gallery space for an exhibit based on the experience,...

We Who Are Young Are Old is based off of a poem by Dylan Thomas, of the same name. Set against a backdrop of industrial decay, not unlike scenes from Andrei Tarkovsky's Stalker, it has an immediately alluring aesthetic. Dramatic use of sound effects elicit...

Tomorrow, at Golden Rule, is an installation featuring works loosely themed around things that are Unnatural. Here's what guest curator Aidan Koch has to say about this: "The idea of what is unnatural is of course, a very subjective matter. There's a few things that could...

The album art for SUUNS newest album, Zeroes QC, serves as an appropriate visual introduction to the Montreal band's music. Featuring a high-contrast black-and-white photograph of a woman dressed in a glitter top, one can just barely make out outlines of trees against the dark background, as their silhouettes drape ambiguously over her face and body.

If SUUNS' brand of mysterious art rock were to take on a visual aesthetic, it would certainly look like this -- living in monochromes and being sprinkled occasionally with bright flashes which hint at beauty in deep places. Obvious aspects of their music -- incoherent mumblings over grinding basslines and electronics -- embrace the darkness, while lighter guitar elements and steady beats seem to offset that heaviness. The resulting sound is brooding and danceable, and singer and guitarist Ben Shemie's own description of SUUNS' music might be the most appropriate visual and poetic accompaniment.
"There is a kind of sense of falling backward that I think the songs conjure," says Shemie. "Or blindly driving your car into a wall. A sense of sadness in all the amazing things in the world."

"We are definitely influenced by visual art, and I suppose art of all kinds," he continues. "On a conceptual [and] intellectual [level,] many of our friends work in that medium, whether it be film or painting or whatever, so there is definitely an interest in what they are doing and what trends are happening in the visual art world in general... "You can definitely draw parallels to composition in a visual format versus a musical format. They draw upon the same tastes and impulses. None of our songs are 'based' on a film or picture or whatnot, but in some cases, I hear our songs as little plays, or films."

One look into SUUNS' own interpretation into their music lies in their video for "Up Past The Nursery," which was directed by Ben Shemie and Petros Kolyvas. The video is slow and complemplative, not unlike the song. Alternating between shots of the band standing idly in the woods and being suspended motionless in watery atmospheres, the video's subtle off-kilter color treatments and occasional overlays of fireworks serve as bursts of action in stillness.

ARTICLE CONTINUED BELOW