This Thayer street show is just what we've had coming to us: Incendiary broadcast with a week left to go. Below is the Samson Projects press release in its entirety:
“Yo Camilo, what up with this Dave Hunt show, Off My Biscuit, Destroy Your District?
“If you ask me, I could do without the wigger posturing. I know it gets greater later, but this kid better have his chips stacked if he’s claiming the next level Sith Lord type shit. I mean, c’mon, Ghost Face lyrics? He’s bugging. What's next, You Doubt my Shade of Vanilla, I’ll Play Elvis You Play Priscilla?
“I feel you man. The thing about Dave is he’s always comin’ up with these ridiculous titles like, Irrational Exuberance and The Accelerated Grimace.” He needs to lay off the stimuli deprivation tank, and come correct with the titles.
“Word. That yogi-kudu oracular shit won’t be making him friends up in the bean. The kid’s buck-wilin' with these afro-futuristic baroque extravaganzas. Check it: the last show in the city so nice they named it twice was called, From the Root to the Fruit, as if every artist this guy’s pimpin’ has the right to the spotlight.”
“Yup, yup. Dave thinks he cored the Big Apple and now he’s carpetbaggin' with his crew all up in Boston. I keep asking him what the show’s about and he just shrugs his shoulders and says: ‘The game don’t stop till the casket drops,’ like he’s flippin’ through Don Diva in CB5.”
“True dat. This fool had the cojones to tell me when I asked him: “I live how I get, I get how I live,” as if he was down with the struggle and shit, you know what I’m sayin’?”
“Slum village, no lie. Wait till folks peep his Spandau Ballet fade, though. I already filtered my email for all the Al Jolson subject headers.”
“I mean you know you’re going to get some hectic paintings name-checkin' the usual institutional Esperanto: dynamic, accelerated, chaotic, flux, fragmented, ruptured, hybridized, seismic, tectonic...the whole 9.
“Uh huh. Uh huh. He's ridin' that NASA Vomit Comet for sure, with all that quantum new breed lingo.”
“That’s what I’m saying, cuz’. You know Gispert’s shit is tight though. Fucking Fake Flondes? 50 lbs of fake gold from Fulton Mall on a Schwitters Merzbau skeleton? Sign me up for that.
“No doubt. Trust me, he’ll be bringing his belts to the opening—flyweight, lightweight, light heavy, heavyweight. Playa is movin’ up weight classes as we speak. But hold up, hold up. Have you clocked this Rachel Mason carousel of heads? She’s got Kim Jong Il, Oprah, Schwarzenegger and L. Ron Hubbard tricked out in Hapsburg headdresses. It’s like the Yalta Conference for the Omnimedia set.”
“Stop it some more. Naw, I’m just playin’. But for real though, what I’m all hyped about is this cat from VA named SunTek Chung. He’s got the baller photo with the cute little China doll in the daisy dukes rockin’ a samurai long bow.”
“Saw it. Love it. Wanna marry it. You see that Shinto prayer on the tip of that arrow in mid-flight. Nasty!!!”
“That kid’s been flippin the script on the Nikki Lee joint for years. He’s got her beat six ways to Sunday, though. It’s like a crunked out Cindy Sherman tokin' on the glass pipe in the anti-gravity chamber. House of Flying Wheelbarrows, you know what I’m saying.”
"He knows it too. Dammit dawg, did you see the bombs?"
"Fuckin' silver bombs motherfucka! Done deed."
"Oh, no he didn't?"
"Yo... you think I'm lyin', that's my word...check it. . .”
As for me? It's not my job on this one. But what I will add is that this show is a firebomb - Boston's already burning, taking all polite society with it.
"Off My Biscuit, Destroy Your District." is on view until October 15 at Samson Projects.
All images are courtesy of the artists and Samson Projects.
Editor's Note: This is an updated version of Mr. Doran's piece.