Interview

With its defiantly sunny refrain and unmistakable T. Rex-inspired opening riff, Free Energy's "Dream City" is a coming-of-age power pop anthem the Dazed & Confused kids would totally blare from the car stereo of Fred O'Bannion's 1972 Plymouth Duster 340, PBRs in hand. In just over three minutes, it epitomizes everything that made Nixon-era radio rock such a romp: it's fun, it's familiar, and, most importantly, it features the cowbell.  Inspired equally by Thin Lizzy,  Springsteen, and–perhaps most tellingly–vintage Juicy Fruit Commercials, Philly-born dance rockers Free Energy play a brand of punchy, stadium-sized glam pop that will soundtrack a million house parties in 2010. That DFA Records, the NYC dance label and creative collective helmed by LCD Soundsystem's James Murphy, has launched such a feel-good act may raise the eyebrows of a few cynics. But the purists should ask themselves: what is the purpose of dance, if not to unify? Murphy, 21st century dance culture's preeminent avuncular figure, has always had a knack for making rocker boys dance. (PHOTO CREDIT: CASS BIRD)

I caught up with Free Energy frontman Paul Sprangers, as his band prepares to release their debut album Stuck On Nothing.

COLLEEN NIKA:  What draws you to 70s rock?

PAUL SPRANGERS: Innovative Production. Playfulness. Honesty. Ambition. Idealism. Deep Grooves. Complete and utter excess. Clarity. Experimentation. Bob Seger.

NIKA: How did you initiate working with James Murphy?

SPRANGERS: First, Scott Wells and I wrote the songs together, but Jon Galkin was the brains behind the Murphy collaboration. He had a vision for how the band fit on DFA; he knew that James could complement and enhance what we do.  We didn't know James going into it, but he took the risk, and it was a nice surprise for everybody that it worked out as well as we thought it would. We "demoed" a lot–until James had an idea of what he could add as a producer and ad time to work with us.

NIKA: How influential was he in shaping the album and you as a band?

SPRANGERS: Very. I mean, Scott and I write and arrange all the songs. But James made it sound the way it sounds. He mixed a lot while we were recording. That is huge. A lot of things rubbed off on us. His experience and ideas partially informed how we went about conducting the band and they way we work together.

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Comme des Garçons' life jacket vests with seat buckle closures and open-sided shorts looked like some kind of rescue worker gear from another century.  But soon it was clear that what Rei Kawakubo really had to say is that the new three-piece suit is a pair of wide shorts over matching pants and a squared-off jacket in banker's grey. Why keep it simple when complicated can be so much fun as in lace-ups with day-glow pink toe and heel covers? But the real must have in this collection is the big bad bear fur—just the thing to tough it out in a blizzard.


SEE ALL OF INTERVIEW'S FALL/WINTER 2010 MENS COVERAGE FROM PARIS...

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LOOKS FROM IODICE

Why should the guys in Paris have all the fun? Brazilians are well known for showing lots of skin, but this season at Sao Paolo fashion week the skin that is getting the most loving attention isn't their own. Leather—in every variety but mostly super-supple, black, and laser cut into lace-like patterns—has captured a series of catwalks. Iodice, the high-end label that staged its show in the popular posh Iguatemi mall, presented leather leggings and leather details on jersey jumpsuits, supposedly inspired by the Amazon. Reinaldo Lourenco used leather for peaked-shouldered, military inspired suits. At the elegant Maria Bonita show (where the supremely covetable collection strongly evoked comparisons to Maria Cornejo), leather was layered in artful drapes. It was molded into stiff skirts at Forum Tufi Duek, seen as chaps at Colcci and printed to resemble tree bark at Osklen. Skin is definitely in!

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SAM SHEPARD AND PATTI SMITH AT 92Y; NANCY CRAMPTON

"We're not entirely prepared," Patti Smith announced to the crowd gathered at the 92nd Street Y last night. "But I've never been." Smith, the ragtag godmother of New York City punk, took the stage last night for a reading with playwright and longtime friend Sam Shepard. As it turns out, Smith's warning was more than just coy stage banter: The whole evening was mostly improvised, with Shepard and Smith unsure who was supposed to read when, or quite what to do with the guitars the Y had helpfully set up beside their chairs. Like most improvisations, the result was mixed: some nervous laughter, quite a few awkward silences, and a couple moments of pure, you-had-to-be-there magic.

Unsurprisingly, Shepard, in light of his considerable acting career, was the more animated dramatic reader, choosing passages about motel-dwellers, desperate would-be cowboys, and a man stuck in a Cracker Barrel, tormented by Shania Twain's "maudlin ballads of deprived youth." Smith selected anecdotes from her newly published memoir, Just Kids, recounting in her South Jersey accent how she met her former boyfriend and lifelong artistic collaborator Robert Mapplethorpe (he rescued her from a bad date) and what Sam Shepard was like in the 1970s  ("just some grey-toothed hillbilly" who introduced himself as "Slim Shadow.") The dynamic between Smith and Shepard began as something like that of competing siblings ("This isn't a contest," Shepard reminded Smith after one selection), but metamorphosed into one of artists deeply appreciative of each other's work. Toward the end of the night, Smith began to smilingly defer to Shepard, looking like a child listening eagerly to a bedtime story. Smith was most riveting when she performed, singing a 17th century sea ballad with Shepard and closing the night with a rendition of "You Are My Sunshine" (the guitar beside her chair went untouched, however.) "We should have practiced," she sighed. "Oh well."

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