David Lipsky accompanied DFW on his book tour for his breakout success Infinite Jest. On an assignment to profile the man for Rolling Stone, the article fell through. This book is a full transcript of that six-day interview.

This book is the second link in the hopefully-short chain of cash-ins on David Foster Wallace’s suicide. The first, This is Water, was a despicable little book reprinting the transcript of a brief graduation address Wallace made (available for free online), filling a small book by printing the speech one sentence per page. Lipsky’s book isn’t as useless and infuriating as This is Water, but it’s close.

Any devoted Wallace fan knows that his interviews are fantastic—he displays a humanity and a refusal to talk the same self-aggrandizing literary bullshit as everyone else. But these transcripts are taken from the time in Wallace’s life where he gave more interviews than he ever would again, and most of Wallace’s remarks will be familiar to serious devotees—the only audience that would be interested in this book.

There are a few things Wallace discusses here that he doesn’t anywhere else, which makes this book a worthwhile read for serious obsessers: he talks about his career and its trajectory in some detail, he deals with his depression and suicide attempts (though he isn’t entirely truthful about either), he describes the process of writing and revising Infinite Jest, and he gives his opinion about music and movies. Now imagine all of that narrated by a smarmy jackass and you’ll get an idea of how truly irritating this book is.

There’s a wooden plank in the Karnak Gallery off of First Ave., hanging above ancient, ornate, astrological-looking tapestries. You have to enter the gallery through a tiny walkway first before turning around to see it and the multicolored chaos of smaller boards hanging perpendicular like wind chimes underneath the plank. By itself, it doesn’t look all that impressive. Dingy, faded looking, with browns, oranges, reds, blues, yellows, even light greens, it looks as though it spent time at the bottom of the sea, rotting for ages before being nailed to an art gallery wall. The plank reads “Virtual Warrior Ink” in sharp lines and paint splotches. It’s made to look as though it were an anachronistic paradigm, an ironic statement made with the knowledge that it is, indeed, ironic.

That’s Jacob Alexander’s operating method. Alexander, the owner of Karnak Gallery, the creator of the Virtual Warrior Ink modeling and artist agency and a mixed media artist, is perhaps best known in the Twin Cities for his VWInk Girls, a cadre of models he takes to nightclubs, galleries, even houseboats on Lake Minnetonka, and paints their nude skin to make abstract, erotic living statuettes. But his art goes far beyond the sexual. Instead, Alexander loves to challenge the constructs and codified meanings of the world that everyone else takes for granted. At its core, Alexander’s art does away with modernistic definitions, instead symbolizing ancient, primeval, incredibly romanticized views of the world. By making his audience turn around and view art on his own terms, Alexander breaks the signals and codes we use to define our surroundings, instead forcing us to view the world through his inspirational, uplifting, slightly megalomaniacal visions.

Alexander opened the Karnak April 1, after several months of negotiating for the space. In the span of a couple of weeks, he’s formed a den of small-time artists in all sorts of forms, ranging from photography to paintings to mixed media art (3-D), all coalescing together under a theme of no theme. To Alexander, it’s more important that art exist, free of the definitions he finds constricting. Moreover, he wants art to be open to everyone, regardless of background. He applies this to his mixed media especially, keeping blind people in mind.

“When I design my mixed media pieces, I always think, ‘Can I make art for people who don’t have eyes?’” Alexander says. “Everything is very colorful in dimension, but everything parallels…for even someone without their sight.”

His inclusive nature is infectious, as he’s collaborated with many different artists, models, photographers, musicians and filmmakers.

Karnak Gallery hosts parties on weekends where people can look at the art, dance to the DJ’s beats, or watch Alexander paint one of the Ink Girls. Last weekend’s party included a chair massage and three dollar drinks. His work as well as his parties has been videotaped for the last five months by the Blue Bridge Media Group for an upcoming documentary, “AntiCoast,” which, while covering the Minneapolis art scene, primarily focuses on Alexander’s efforts in making Minneapolis an art hub similar to New York or Los Angeles. Karnak plans to show the trailer on April 29. That’s just the beginning of where Alexander wants to be, however.

Alexander’s charismatic character has attracted all sorts of people who help out with multiple jobs. His models help put makeup on each other and watch the door. The documentary crew helps with the guest list while catching all of the drama, meltdowns, personas and action behind the scenes of the business and pleasure of Karnak Gallery. It’s all a part of his overarching dream to connect these people in a variety of ways, helping them to come together and create more artistic opportunities outside of the boundaries of conventionally taught art or lauded contemporary pieces the same as he connects the artists in his gallery with each other, the way he connects art, music, lighting, dancing and emotion at the Karnak parties, even the way he connects the mediums within his own artwork.

In the meantime, Alexander, Virtual Warrior Ink and Karnak have a busy year ahead of them. Aside from the weekend parties and the upcoming trailer premier of “AntiCoast,” the next big project for Alexander, titled the “Xander Collection,” is scheduled to take place in August. Described as “cutting away the excess,” the runway show will feature local fashion designers with VW models painted in such a way to represent their ancient heritages, in effect reinforcing Alexander’s search for the primeval core of the art he loves. It’s the core of things that Alexander believes will bring out the art and the positivity in us all.

“I like to go backwards and basically remind people that humanity…will come through,” Alexander says. “I have a lot of faith.”

Visit www.virtualwarriorink.com for more information on upcoming events at the Karnak Gallery.

For the past 132 years we Minnesotans have not been able to make it through March without a snowfall, but it appears that we’ve finally done it. Not only did winter arrive late this year, but it quit our normally frigid doorsteps early as well. Our winter clothing barely had time at the front of our closets.

Yet, the ice is gone. The birds are back. The squirrels in my backyard, looking more plump than usual, are disturbing my sleep with their racket. The number of bikers and joggers is swelling. Track shorts, sleeveless tees, and athletic camis are taking over campus. No one can resist the weather—there couldn’t be a more beautiful early spring. But this is a college campus, and melting snow produces much more than just peppy animals and joggers.

Dinkytown’s streets are full no matter the season, and the early arrival of spring weather brought with it memories of last fall’s antics. Vodka bottles, Bud Light cans, grimy busted beer bottles and McDonald’s wrappers started popping up all over curbs and front yards as the melting snow revealed November, October and September of 2009, bit by bit. No stretch of sidewalk went trashless. The happy sight of this debris serves as a reminder that it is once again warm enough to leave all windows and doors open when having a party, and to blare music with the bass pumping loudly across town to mingle with dolled-up girls’ shouts and screams of “Jessica, wait, I lost my shoe!” (I think it would be safe to anticipate an early influx in noise violations.) And the lingering heat of the day means that you won’t need your winter jacket for the 6 a.m. walk of shame on Saturday mornings.

Who needs a jacket now anyway! For most of us, gone are the days of Uggs, sweats, and layers of scarves; bring on the T-shirts and bermuda shorts! This sudden spring, however, has provoked an awkward transition into the new season’s clothing: people can’t decide if it’s still a bit chilly or not. There are people at the extremes, either still bundling up in their puffy jackets—complete with hat and gloves!—or overestimating the heat of the sun and wearing their summer clothes all day, and then there are those who are stuck in transition.

Previously accustomed to dressing for Old Man Winter, students are now experimenting with Lady Spring, but are afraid to go all the way. Let’s label these seasonal swingers “biseasonals.” Biseasonals are easy to spot. Most of the students bumbling around campus are a part of this crowd: sporting a spring dress under a Columbia jacket, or pairing a flowy skirt with furry boots. A typical thing one might say to a biseasonal would be “may I offer you a light spring coat instead of that thick wool jacket to go with those booty shorts?”

My fellow students, it’s time to embrace the fashion woes of the biseasonal trend. There are paths to biseasonal success. The first echoes the ‘I’ll-probably-leave-with-someone-soon’ look. The sight of literal debris reminds us of the fashion debris that half-dressed girls have attempted to clothe themselves with. That’s right, the balmy weather means the smallish patches of clothing came out of their closet hibernation. While this bare-skin look may have success for a night on the town, it’s probably considered less acceptable in the classroom. The runways have opted to overlay their revealing outfits with sheer materials. The finished look: provocative yet elegant.

The second look is more along the lines of ‘I-look-good-but-I’m-not-flaunting-it-for-you.’ The key to embracing this biseasonal look: if you’re going to wear those furry boots with your flowy skirt, at least add neutral tones and tights to the ensemble. The tights will hold the winter-spring mixture together, while the neutral tones will offset those bright spring colors everyone is sporting. And if you’re watching the runways, you’ll notice the spring fashions add both glitters and feathers to their ensembles. Exchange your furry boots for gold sandals and your Columbia jacket for a feathery coat; not only does it look glitzy, but the feathers add a playful levity that fits right in with the weather outside.

It’s not often we students have a chance to enjoy biseasonality. With tips from the runway, this biseasonal period can be enjoyable without stepping too far out of our comfort zones. Before we know it, summer will be here, school will be done, and the only thing you’ll need will be your swimsuit.

Speaking in broad strokes, to make music is to create. All musicians, in one way or another, bring something new into the world, whether through simple songwriting or technical artifice. We revere musicians for their ability to make something new, and we encourage experimentation. So should creativity always be rewarded?

Well, no. You see, my fellow Generation Y-ers, our precious Internet has created something of a catch-22. On one side, it allows people all over the world to experience things like the UK’s dubstep movement or a great unsigned band from Australia called The Middle East. Few would argue that the ‘net hasn’t expanded the common man’s access to music in seemingly unthinkable ways. Less obviously, though, the last decade has seen something of a race to the bottom on the Internet as far as music is concerned. While the infinite frontiers online allow you and I to peruse music blogs to our every caprice, it has a very different effect on many aspiring musicians.

Growing up in a super-charged environment of breaking Brooklyn buzz bands getting famous on bedroom-recorded demos, there’s a certain pressure that starts to build on anyone who would like to someday make music. Each new band paves their way to indie-stardom through a novel derivation on what has been done, a tangent on a tangent. And the obsessive, incessantly bitchy community of cravenly anonymous online commenters feeds the perception that authenticity is reserved for those who break new ground, shutting out those who might create something beautifully familiar. This leaves us with droves of 19-year-olds who craft songs with the sardonic jibes of the blogging masses pinging around their heads. Which in turn leads us down rabbit holes like chillwave and no-fi (and god forbid, glo-fi). While I don’t dismiss any of these “genres” categorically, they are representative of the larger problem the independent music world faces. The world of hyper-critical commenters that comprise forums, message boards and blog audiences have created the perception that glory is reserved for those who can out-shock, out-weird or out-hip the last batch of musicians.

Certainly, reinterpretations of old classics are still being made. Look no further than Girls’ excellent Album from last year for proof. And, defying all odds, a smaller group of people is even making music that can truly be called “new.” Spend ten minutes trying to find musical precedents for Joanna Newsom’s Ys and get back to me (my goodness, there’s a column waiting to happen). But the trend toward novelty of any kind is one that will ultimately hurt to the quality of music. Let’s remember, making music should be about pleasure and fulfillment, not some intellectual divining of progress and uniqueness. It’s striking how different a record like Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks sounds from anything coming out now. Today’s musicians would be well advised to heed Van’s words: “In silence easy, to be born again.”

Charles Mingus
“The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady”

This 1963 concept album by batshit musical genius Charles Mingus is widely recognized as one of the greatest compositions of all time. Written as a six-part jazz ballet, “The Black Saint and the Sinner Lady” is an incredibly emotional, beautiful experiment in orchestrated chaos. Mingus called this his masterpiece, and I wouldn’t argue with him (partly because I completely agree, and partly because arguing with Charles Mingus never ended well).

Deltron 3030
“Deltron 3030”

Deltron 3030 is/was a rap supergroup consisting of Del tha Funkee Homosapien, Dan the Automator and DJ Kid Koala, who released this space-opera concept album in 2000. It’s about the future, android and cyber warlords, has guest appearances up the wazoo from Damon Albarn to Prince Paul to Sean Lennon, and contains the line “Fuck dyin’, I hijack a mech” in the opening track. Need I say more?

Genesis
“The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway”

Before Peter Gabriel got busy playing Magnetic Fields covers, writing songs for Pixar soundtracks, and even before “Sledgehammer,” he was playing ringleader in the highly influential prog-group Genesis, who released the double concept album “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway” in 1974. It’s about a Puerto Rican kid named Rael living in New York City who goes underground and explores cool shit like red corridors filled with carpetcrawlers, caverns of blinding light, and colonies of slippermen in order to find his brother, John, and in doing so, find himself, man… The lyrics are reminiscent of one of those early text adventure video games, and the instrumentation basically exemplifies the term progressive, making “Lamb” one of those records that still sound great even in these days of auto-tune and Gaga ladies and fully forgiving Genesis for ever releasing “I Can’t Dance.”

Titus Andronicus
“The Monitor”

New Jersey lo-fi punk band Titus Andronicus released this concept album in March to near universal acclaim. It’s based on the Civil War, as evidenced by song titles such as “A More Perfect Union” and “Four Score and Seven” and lyrics about how much being a soldier, having to shit yourself and watching people die all suck. It seems obvious and lame to compare this band and record to Bruce Springsteen, but it’s really more than appropriate with references to New Jersey, rambling piano solos, and lines like “Tramps like us, baby we were born to die” running rampant. “The Monitor” is a lofty project but not to a fault, because the band accomplishes everything they set out to do in its hour-and-five-minute run time. It plays out like a drunken, hopeless, sloppy “Born To Run” that’s not actually sloppy. And it fucking rocks.

In my excitement about the upcoming release of Eclipse, the third installment of the Twilight saga, I found a web site called mylifeistwilight.com. The site has the same format as fmylife.com, but instead of writing about how awful their lives are, users write short stories about how their life is like Twilight. One person posted about how she saw a silver Volvo when it was rainy and just knew, in her heart, that it was Edward. Another girl asked her boyfriend to hold ice in his mouth before he kissed her so she’d know what it was like to kiss the cold, lifeless lips of a vampire.

Some of us might laugh at the web site, but I think we all belong on it. Twilight is like puberty. You wake up one day and realize the school you’re at feels completely different, and you don’t understand your body, and all the boys are starting to notice you. All of them except your lab partner Edward. He’ll barely even look at you, but he’s the only boy you want to look at. You’re sure he’s perfect, you imagine he sparkles in the sunlight, and you think if he went out for track he’d definitely be the fastest one on the team, but he’s not really into sports. You’re not really sure what he’s into, but you’re desperate to know more. He’s perfect, you think. One time you accidentally touch his hand during your lab and that night you write about it in your diary.

And then all of a sudden he’s talking to you and soon he asks if you want to go out with him and you say yes and now you’re dating. He’s so protective of you. It makes you feel safe knowing he’d fight a man for you. Probably he’d even kill a man for you. At the school dance, during one of the slow songs, he looks at you with his golden eyes and says, “Isabella Swan, I promise to love you every moment, forever.” You wipe away the tears and think “so this is what love feels like”. You can’t believe you found it so young.

Two weeks later it’s your birthday and you get a paper cut and Edward dumps you. It hurts so bad you’re afraid you’ll never feel again. The Edward-shaped hole in your chest is the only thing you have left of him. You waste your days lying in bed staring at the ceiling, sometimes rolling over to cry into your pillow. You’ve accepted the fact that you will likely never be happy again. Your dad tries to comfort you but he absolutely wouldn’t understand what you’re going through. The pain feels like it lasts for months but in a few days you meet a new boy. Jacob has a bunch of older brothers and lives in abject poverty and fixes motorcycles and he’s actually pretty cute when he cuts his hair. You know Jacob would kill a man for you.

But Edward wants you back before you get too serious with Jacob. He says he hates it when you hang out with Jacob, he says he can smell Jacob on you. Jacob takes offense and reminds you of how Edward dumped you on your birthday. It’s hard, but you have to tell Jacob that you like both of them, but you like like Edward. You stay friends with Jacob, but Edward demands to know whenever you’ve been with him. Edward is so jealous it seems like he’ll only talk about Jacob. And Jacob is just as jealous of Edward. Both of these men will kill for you, you know it. You just don’t want them to kill each other.

Then one day you’re walking in the woods with Edward and you see Jacob down the path. First they exchange glares, then words, then Jacob takes off his shirt and they start punching and you’re begging them to stop but the punches turn into grabs and holds and finally they’re on the ground, muscles flexed, locked into place. You stop your whiny hysterics and the woods are silent except for their quiet, low growls. You notice the sidelong glances they give each other while they jostle around in their embrace. Edward’s shirt is wet with Jacob’s sweat. You’re pretty sure this isn’t about you anymore.

The sophomore BFA class’s performance of Shakespeare reminds the audience that being lewd was often central to performances in English Renaissance Theater. In this production of Measure for Measure the pre-show consists of a flamboyant striptease, often involving audience members in lap dances. This seemingly “bad behavior” was for a purpose: showing the audience the city of Vienna in a state of flux while the Duke passes legal responsibility to his magistrate, Angelo (played by Liam Benzvi). When the party stops, the lights turn on and the businesses that were once prosperous are now morally objectionable. Of course those who go to Measure for Measure intending to see a high class production of one of Shakespeare’s most problematic “problem plays” will get what they want from the brilliant cast members including the Duke, played by Angie Janas. This directorial choice (casting the Duke as a woman) makes the dynamics of a play with a seemingly nonsensical love story (between the Duke and Isabella, a novice nun, played by a woman as well) much more nuanced and believable. This production has an advantage by portraying the Duke’s elaborate plot as an inconspicuous front for the Duke to confront her lover. Suzy Kohane and Andrea Gonzales also bend genders in hilarious ways (Kohane’s verbose portrayal of the pimp, Pompey, in contrast to her timid and frail Friar Peter was brilliant). It’s refreshing to see Shakespeare without so much starch in the collar.

Blue hairs beware.

For such an unlikely team-up, the duo of indie-folk heavyweight M. Ward and actress Zooey Deschanel has had remarkable staying power. Far from a novelty group, She and Him specializes in lush folk- and country-tinged pop songs that recall Phil Spector’s girl groups and Nashville chanteuses. On Volume Two the duo sprinkles in elements of Motown for a slightly different flavor, but She and Him hardly needs to reinvent the wheel for their records to be enjoyable. Major credit should go to Ward for his sterling production and impeccable playing throughout this record: otherwise unmemorable tunes are redeemed via drooping steel guitar or softly chirping strings and the truly winning songs crackle with analog warmth. “Into the Sun” features an upbeat soulful piano and backing vocals courtesy of Tilly and the Wall, while “Lingering Still” evokes the best parts of the 70’s Tex-Mex sound.

“Home” rides along on a toe-tapping country two-beat while Deschanel delivers a vocal performance dripping so thick with charm that it’s almost impossible not to fall in love with her. There’s hardly any singing from Ward on Volume Two, and it seems a shame to place such a fantastic voice in the background, but of course the real star of the show is Deschanel, who is more than happy to croon and warble her way adorably through the record. She and Him aren’t venturing into particularly profound territory here, and some of the songs sound suspiciously Prius-commercial-ready, but one couldn’t ask for a better summer record: lazy, warm and charming enough for a garden party.

Noah Baumbach’s Greenberg is, in certain ways, a competition between its two leading characters for the director’s attention. The film opens with Florence, an LA maid whose life consists only of the things she’s been pushed into through necessity or indifference. She goes to a bar, drinks herself into a stupor and sleeps with a guy because she could almost have a conversation with him and, well, he wanted to. She likes playing with the Greenberg family children and dog—incidental perks of a job inherently lacking dignity. As her disinterest in her own life becomes more apparent, she becomes more compelling. Or maybe frustrating. But at least imbued with potential.

Roger Greenberg is introduced as he comes to LA to house-sit while his brother’s family goes on vacation. This is how Roger and Florence meet and begin an awkward, temperamental affair. Yet from the moment Roger is introduced, he becomes the film’s focus; it loses interest in Florence except insofar as Roger is interested in her. This is the film’s tragedy. Roger Greenberg is 40 years old, selfish, washed up, neurotic and irredeemably mean, in particular to Florence, who he abuses as blatantly as her past flings, but with more regularity. In the competition for Baumbach’s attention, Roger Greenberg, as the film’s title indicates, unambiguously wins. Ben Stiller’s performance, reaching squirm-inducing heights of awkwardness and awfulness, is commendable, and the film is consistently entertaining. Yet Greenberg is never made adequately sympathetic. This is problematic because the film seems to trace his attempt to redeem himself, implying some sort of achievement on the part of Roger Greenberg at the end that isn’t believable and is, by this point, even unwanted. His worst characteristics stubbornly remain throughout the film, which watches him alienate his few remaining friends. Florence becomes static as Greenberg moves into the spotlight, which is a shame. She is the real protagonist in this story, but in the film, as in her life, she is relegated to second place.

Owen Pallett
Owen Pallett used to be called Final Fantasy, and that name might ring a bell in many more heads than the new moniker he’s adopted. While no one is sure why exactly he switched personas for the release of his new album, Heartland, it really shouldn’t matter. This is the same ol’ Owen Pallett we’re used to: beautiful, heart-breaking and violent compositions filled with advanced violin looping and crooning vocals. The guy has written scores for Arcade Fire, Stars, Do Make Say Think, and Beirut—he is damn prolific, and the good news is this: he’s coming to the Varsity Theater on April 11 in what has become a rare US tour. Consider coming out for that intimate show because he might not come back to the Twin Cities for years. He also did an in-studio with us all the way back in 2007 when he was still Final Fantasy. Check it out at radiok.org.

Malachai
Malachai is exploding. The band’s single, “Snowflake,” is tied with the Gorillaz’s single, “Stylo,” in the UK, and they produced their album with only $15,000 compared to the the $15 million that the Gorillaz utilized. In Minneapolis, they’ve been charting at the Electric Fetus for weeks, and I can say without a doubt that their debut The Ugly Side of Love is one of the best things I have ever heard. Changing their name from Malakai due to copyright issues, the Bristol duo are the nicest guys I’ve ever met. They performed almost their entire album at our SXSW broadcast in Austin this year, and their live performance is unrivaled. Check out coverage here: radiok.org/sxsw and here: myspace.com/malachaibristol.

Here We Go Magic
Did you see Grizzly Bear last year at the Cedar? Here We Go Magic opened up for them, and in my opinion, they were better than the Grizz. The six-piece combines fast-paced, canon-style melodies with the women in the group doing some incredible synchronized backing vocals. Their newest single, “Collectors,” is seriously incredible: a five-minute song of pure pop bliss and impressive guitar work from lead Luke Temple that would make everyone melt. They have a new album coming out called Pigeons, and they will be hitting up the Twin Cities on April 23. Signed to Secretly Canadian a few months back (the home of Yeasayer, jj, Jens Lekman, and Antony and the Johnsons), the band is setting itself up for a promising future. They came in for a session with us last year which you can find at radiok.org, and they debuted their new single “Collectors” at that time.