I love Space 55. There, I said it. I'm ready to commit.
There are very few places I have felt as at home at as Space 55. The first time I ever stepped foot thru the doors was for 7 Minutes in Heaven, back in June of 2010. I was in a weird place in my life- I was in the process of buying a house in Downtown Phoenix, and my girlfriend and I didn't want to renew our apartment lease if we might be moving out in a month, so there was an undefined housing limbo for the two of us. I stopped living with my parents when I was 18, and they had moved and divorced in the intervening time, but my mother allowed my girlfriend and I to move in and stay in her guest room for a few weeks while things finalized with the house. I had never actually lived at this house, and my mother was working long hours and seeing her then new beau a lot, so the place was basically empty all the time. I was working at a used book store and had spent the last few years trying to create a body of visual work (some of which had been shown at now-closed candy/record store, Sweets & Beats just a few weeks earlier).
My high school friend and long time gaming buddy, the Amazing Ashley Naftule, came to me raving about a show he'd seen recently that he really wanted to perform in, called 7 Minutes. I knew that, over the previous year or two, Ash had become more involved with the Phoenix art scene, and he was incredibly charged by the chance to get on stage at Space 55. I agreed, and then looked up Space 55.
This is a hilarious case of nearly missing the boat. The first article to pop up was a New Times online article written by Robert Pela, which includes such statements as "the old guy, who started out wearing a kilt and a plaid shirt and ended up ruining everyone's night by taking them both off" and phrases like "appallingly lackluster" and "better than an evening of dinner murder mystery...Sort of." I was petrified.
I'm going to derail this loving memoir a moment to laugh loudly over the internet. I don't know Robert Pela, but from what I can gather in the articles I've read by him in the New Times since, he's one of the mythical "old guards" of art and culture in phoenix. You know, those guys who wax fondly about how great everything was when they were youngish in the 80's and how nothing really speaks or matters and "Downtown is OVUH." Truthfully, I didn't live thru your mythical Lemurian golden age of Phoenix, so I can't comment. Frankly, in my life as an artist and performer, I don't spend a lot of time looking back and going "whoa, that's way better."
Mom would be so proud.
Back to the story at hand- I was petrified. This article made it seem like I was going to a death camp where I would be fed a bucket of liquified corpse juice and asked to clap, and now I was going to perform there? This, for me, might have been the best decision of my life (which is harried by a colossal string of poor decisions). I decided to not only do the 7 minutes, but I was going to do it as hard as possible. There's not a lot of evidence of that show, sadly, and I won't delve too deeply into, except that it involves me playing a box-car hobo on a public access wine show across from Ash as a snooty sommelier and drinking from a bindle containing a bladder from a boxed wine.
I also don't remember if anyone thought it was very funny, but that's sort of inconsequential.
Over the next two years I would perform at every single 7 Minutes (with the exception of that time I got the shingles). I've eaten Popsicles to tell the jokes on the sticks, tried to summon dread Azathoth, done Improv, fought inside a tiny city, and more. The freedom of expression provided by the 7 Minutes shows is easily one of the best things available to see or do in Downtown. From a 5 star Yelp review of the most recent June shows:
"[...] I underestimated Phoenix creatives. Every act was entertaining at worst, most were good and a couple made me laugh until my sides hurt. Most notably a comedian known simply as Seymour."
In case I haven't dropped this bomb on you yet, I'm Seymour (whose full name is Seymour Samson, but nobody remembers that). I've heard people talk up my Popsicle comedian character around or even right to me without knowing I was He. The satisfaction is tremendous. I'm a little flush right now just thinking that so many people like something as ridiculous as that. It's flattering to know something that came out of my head has made so many people laugh. I owe Space 55 a debt of gratitude for that alone.
It goes deeper, however.
Last year our Artistic Director, Shawna Franks, came to Ash and I with a rough idea for a show- it involved a treehouse, a kid, and music and fun and games and dance parties. Over the next few weeks Ash and I brainstormed like some kind of mental monsoon to create the show that has been running there for almost a year straight, every first Saturday. I've mentioned Hollis' Travelling Treehouse and Dance Party on this blog before, but it bears a little more note here.
When we first sat down to create the Show, it seemed like an intimidating task. We were planning to have musical guests, audience interaction, puppets and rotating characters within a kid's show framework. I watched Blue's Clues and old Sesame Street carefully for days. Since then, the show has ballooned into something I find very magical. There is an undercurrent of mythology in Hollis that tickles the old gamemaster part of me- a land where all puppets come from, rules about fairies and gnomes and a series of subplots moving so molasses slow in the background as to be invisible to those not seeing every episode. Is our audience aware of Hollis' origins? Do they know why Shadenfreude and Treehouse bicker so much? Do they suspect the truth? It doesn't really matter, I suppose, when we get to do this.
:
HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE? How did something I made reach so many people? It seems almost unfair. In the last year I've pretty much been able to look at someone I respect and find amazing, point at them, and then have a chance to work with them. What kind of awesome punk rock dream is that? If I ever thought that Phoenix was a boring or dull town with no art or culture, I need to jump in the time machine and punch myself in the stupid face.I love Space 55. There, I said it. I'm ready to commit.
There are very few places I have felt as at home at as Space 55. The first time I ever stepped foot thru the doors was for 7 Minutes in Heaven, back in June of 2010. I was in a weird place in my life- I was in the process of buying a house in Downtown Phoenix, and my girlfriend and I didn't want to renew our apartment lease if we might be moving out in a month, so there was an undefined housing limbo for the two of us. I stopped living with my parents when I was 18, and they had moved and divorced in the intervening time, but my mother allowed my girlfriend and I to move in and stay in her guest room for a few weeks while things finalized with the house. I had never actually lived at this house, and my mother was working long hours and seeing her then new beau a lot, so the place was basically empty all the time. I was working at a used book store and had spent the last few years trying to create a body of visual work (some of which had been shown at now-closed candy/record store, Sweets & Beats just a few weeks earlier).
My high school friend and long time gaming buddy, the Amazing Ashley Naftule, came to me raving about a show he'd seen recently that he really wanted to perform in, called 7 Minutes. I knew that, over the previous year or two, Ash had become more involved with the Phoenix art scene, and he was incredibly charged by the chance to get on stage at Space 55. I agreed, and then looked up Space 55.
This is a hilarious case of nearly missing the boat. The first article to pop up was a New Times online article written by Robert Pela, which includes such statements as "the old guy, who started out wearing a kilt and a plaid shirt and ended up ruining everyone's night by taking them both off" and phrases like "appallingly lackluster" and "better than an evening of dinner murder mystery...Sort of." I was petrified.
I'm going to derail this loving memoir a moment to laugh loudly over the internet. I don't know Robert Pela, but from what I can gather in the articles I've read by him in the New Times since, he's one of the mythical "old guards" of art and culture in phoenix. You know, those guys who wax fondly about how great everything was when they were youngish in the 80's and how nothing really speaks or matters and "Downtown is OVUH." Truthfully, I didn't live thru your mythical Lemurian golden age of Phoenix, so I can't comment. Frankly, in my life as an artist and performer, I don't spend a lot of time looking back and going "whoa, that's way better."
|
| Mom would be so proud. |
I also don't remember if anyone thought it was very funny, but that's sort of inconsequential.
Over the next two years I would perform at every single 7 Minutes (with the exception of that time I got the shingles). I've eaten Popsicles to tell the jokes on the sticks, tried to summon dread Azathoth, done Improv, fought inside a tiny city, and more. The freedom of expression provided by the 7 Minutes shows is easily one of the best things available to see or do in Downtown. From a 5 star Yelp review of the most recent June shows:
In case I haven't dropped this bomb on you yet, I'm Seymour (whose full name is Seymour Samson, but nobody remembers that). I've heard people talk up my Popsicle comedian character around or even right to me without knowing I was He. The satisfaction is tremendous. I'm a little flush right now just thinking that so many people like something as ridiculous as that. It's flattering to know something that came out of my head has made so many people laugh. I owe Space 55 a debt of gratitude for that alone.
It goes deeper, however.
Last year our Artistic Director, Shawna Franks, came to Ash and I with a rough idea for a show- it involved a treehouse, a kid, and music and fun and games and dance parties. Over the next few weeks Ash and I brainstormed like some kind of mental monsoon to create the show that has been running there for almost a year straight, every first Saturday. I've mentioned Hollis' Travelling Treehouse and Dance Party on this blog before, but it bears a little more note here.
When we first sat down to create the Show, it seemed like an intimidating task. We were planning to have musical guests, audience interaction, puppets and rotating characters within a kid's show framework. I watched Blue's Clues and old Sesame Street carefully for days. Since then, the show has ballooned into something I find very magical. There is an undercurrent of mythology in Hollis that tickles the old gamemaster part of me- a land where all puppets come from, rules about fairies and gnomes and a series of subplots moving so molasses slow in the background as to be invisible to those not seeing every episode. Is our audience aware of Hollis' origins? Do they know why Shadenfreude and Treehouse bicker so much? Do they suspect the truth? It doesn't really matter, I suppose, when we get to do this.
:
But it goes DEEPER.
Several years ago, I was still consumed with the desire to start a GWAR-esque band where I would throw blood on the audience and stomp around grunting. Still am. I wrote and recorded a couple of pretty awful sludgedoomscapes, and a couple of tracks with my very talented brother, Andrew Flanagan. The idea was to dress as evil, black robed cultists and chant the name of dread Hastur while also trying to recruit. The music sat on Myspace and my hard drive. I made a couple copies, with liner notes and everything, and forced them onto people, but not much happened. I couldn't find anyone interested.
Ash, however, loved the idea of a doomsday cult of Cthulhu, and we ended up performing in 2010 at 7 Minutes in Hell and something clicked for me. The music was simply the atmosphere I wanted to create for these characters to live in. The Cult of the Yellow Sign was born.
 |
| "Give it up for the slaves." |
All this is just how the Space has affected me in my own creative life. I've also seen tremendously talented performers on that stage from around the valley and it's hard to believe I'm on a first name basis with them. I could list them all off, but letter for letter that list would easily crush my blog post. It almost seems like all of Downtown Phoenix's creative culture is a huge game of "Six Degrees" with Space 55 as a possible substitution for Kevin Bacon. I may be gushing a little, and I'm surely the same can be said of other venues such as the Trunk Space, which is also amazeballs, but my heart belongs to Space 55. I've grown tremendously as a creative, a performer, and a person within those black walls and I look forward to a future where others can as well.
If you don't know, now you know.
