Ringtones and shutdown alerts become vocalists in James Ferraro’s newest digital album for a digital age.
We Have a Pope is about a hitch in the business plan: a man elected to the papacy runs for the hills.
Don’t let the hands distract you. The daring documentary El Sicario, by Gianfranco Rosi, interviews an alleged assassin whose only visible characteristic are his lethal five-fingered tools.
An eight hour interview with Gilles Delueze was saved for release until after the philosopher’s death. The posthumous talk covers everything from A to Z. Literally.
Campell McGrath’s newest tome of poetry leaves the stylistics at home in exchange for a drunk road show that draws an exclusionary circle around its own world.
Anselm Berrigan responds to Joe Brainard’s new collection in neatly packaged, minimal essays.
Donal Breckenridge goes to buy lotion. At the time he’s reading Vicky Swanky Is a Beauty. Somewhere in there there’s a connection.
Web Extra Video Artist and animator Jennifer Levonian’s work is Irreverent and articulate, and acknowledges that places, like nephews, don’t have to be perfect to be loved.
Nick Stillman points to Christopher Saucedo’s September 11, 2001 (Please Stop Saying 9/11) as an example of artistic retrospective through portraiture and branding.
Zach Layton listens to Rhys Chatam’s return to the trumpet in Rêve Parisien, an album that features improvisation, collaboration, and a minimalist organ.
Francisco Goldman lets himself become ensnared in the political nets Yoshua Okón’s White Russians and Octopus.
Terence Gower opens the gray flannel cover of Stan Allen and Marc McQuade’s Landform Building, an architectural manifesto that rethinks “organic” as “geologic.”
Andrew Lampert discusses You Are Now Running On Reserve Battery Power, a new video that Jessie Stead has staged in the creepy, comedic universe of Chatroulette.
Clinton Krute peers into the inscrutable world of filmmaker Hong Sang-soo, exploring the puzzles of The Day He Arrives.
Mónica de la Torre interviews the late Elsa Baroness von Freytag-Loringhoven (yes, you read that correctly) in honor of the publication of Body Sweats, a collection of her uncensored writings.
Frederic Tuten explores the implications behind Jenny Diski’s new book, What I Don’t Know About Animals. Containing elements of memoir, travelogue, and investigative journalism, the text is also a love story.
Alexander Chee enters the bizarre universe of Daniel Clowe’s new graphic novel, The Death Ray, through an analysis of its central protagonist.
Jenn Joy is confronted by the distorted anatomy and face of Heather Kravas’s Kassidy Chism.
Sabine Russ maps Wolfgang Staehle’s 2001 onto 2011, tracing the painful and cathartic implications of its memory.
The new retrospective on David Antin’s work takes its viewers through over 40 years of critical poetic practice, from art criticism to talk-poems.
Corina Copp contrasts the theatrical work of Yvonne Rainer with her new collection of poems, which are private and resistant to narrative, rejecting abstraction and decorative language.
In paying homage to Ed Ruscha’s Twentysix Gasoline Stations, Sowon Kwon’s book project dongghab suggests a connection between nascent American postmodernism and violence.
The style of Unknown Mortal Orchestra is at once new and incredibly varied, ranging from funk to psychedelia to garage riffs to surf vibes.
Cameron Shaw draws from examples in explaining her own connection to Lisa Pearson’s collection of work by female visual artists and writers.
Ursula Davila-Villa discusses the minimalist work of Jac Lernier as well as the publication of her conversations with Adele Nelson.
Alan Gilbert considers the implications of the release of volume 2 of the Encyclopedia project, as well as the success of its format as creative nonfiction.
“Plank,” a memorial poem for the late John McCracken.
Innovative fiction imprint Red Lemonade uses Cursor technology to connect writers to one another and to create a system of manuscript review that empowers both established and up-and-coming authors.
Oft over-looked poet Tim Dlugos finally gets a proper compilation, a hulking volume of his self-descriptive brand of poetry.