10 THENEWYORKER, AUGUST 26, 2019
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A RT
“Culture and the People ”
Museo del Barrio
In 1969, when the artist-educator Raphael Mon-
tañez Ortiz was asked to develop a curriculum
on Puerto Rican history and culture, his answer
was to open a community museum, El Museo
del Barrio, in a Harlem public-school classroom.
This fiftieth-anniversary exhibition celebrates
the institution and its innovative curatorial ap-
proach with a detailed, wall-spanning time line,
punctuated with photos of El Museo’s landmark
shows and acquisitions. It’s accompanied by a
sprawling, nonchronological survey of works
in the museum’s collection, from pre-Hispanic
Taino artifacts and modernist abstractions to
documentation of performances and a diverse
array of prints, all arranged into three sec-
tions: “Roots,” “Resistance,” and “Resilience.”
Although not everything on view is explicitly
activist, a picture emerges of El Museo’s ev-
er-evolving mission to represent indigenous,
Latin-American, and Latinx cultures. The Mexi-
can artist Ana de la Cueva’s piece “Maquila” is as
relevant now as it was in 2007, when she created
it: a map of the Americas, outlined in tan thread
on unbleached linen, hangs near a video of an
embroidery machine violently stamping the
U.S.-Mexico border on the fabric in blood-red
thread.—Johanna Fateman (Through Sept. 29.)
“Walt Whitman: America’s Poet”
New York Public Library
This year we celebrate Whitman’s two-hun-
dredth birthday, and by “we” I mean all of us
who take conscious pleasure in speaking Ameri-
can English. Whitman invented a poetry specific
to this language and open to the kinds of expe-
rience, peculiar to democracy in a polyethnic
society on a vast continent, that might otherwise
be mute. Public events commemorating this
bicentennial include a concurrent show at the
Morgan Library that also touches on the story
of his life. There are books, manuscripts, prints,
photographs, audio and video elements, and
relics. (Here, there is a lock of his hair.) The
shows are excellent of their kind: informational
and evocative, about remembering. But I don’t
much care for them. They have unavoidably
cultish auras, akin to celebrity worship; not that
Whitman would have minded, he having been
a shame-free self-promoter who ghosted rave
reviews of “Leaves of Grass.” They would best
be complemented by an observance at home:
read some of the poetry aloud to a loved one,
falling into the easy-flowing cadences like a
phonograph needle in a vinyl groove.—Peter
Schjeldahl (Through Aug. 30.)
“African Spirits”
Milo
CHELSEA This exhilarating and dense group
exhibition takes its name from a series by the
Cameroonian photographer Samuel Fosso,
but it’s a different series by the artist—a grid
of impeccably flamboyant self-portraits—
that anchors the diverse work on view. In
these twelve black-and-white images, made
in the mid-nineteen-seventies, Fosso assim-
ilates disco-era imports from Europe into a
distinctly African tradition. In Hasa Hajjaj’s
glorious “Cardi B Unity,” from 2017, Fosso’s
showy poses are echoed in the rap star’s regal
demeanor. Cross-generational conversations
crop up easily among the twenty-three artists
here, prompted by the smart grouping of their
works. A strange and charming triptych of
vintage prints portraying a young man artfully
entangled with bicycles, from the Beninese
studio Roka, complements the formal compo-
sition of Paul Mpagi Sepuya’s nearby “Mirror
Study (Q5A3497),” in which the American
artist’s blurred figure merges with the black
diagonals of a tripod.—J.F. (Through Aug. 23.)Allan Sekula
Marian Goodman
UPTOWN This influential L.A.-based photogra-
pher, critic, and educator died in 2013, at the
age of sixty-two, but his Marxist sensibility
feels attuned to the present moment—art for
the age of the Squad. Among the earliest pieces
on view in this career-spanning show is “This
Ain’t China,” from 1974, which documents a
group of pizzeria employees (Sekula included)
as they consider going on strike. The piece
juxtaposes a textbook management diagram
with black-and-white photos of the workers
in a cramped kitchen, with the fruits of their
labor (a pepperoni pizza, a basket of fries)
appearing in color, like ads. Sekula was com-
mitted to making self-implicating art, keenly
aware of photography’s role in both defining
and challenging the social order. The images in
“Dead Letter Office,” from 1996-97—of the Re-
publican National Convention, a Tijuana coffin
factory, and a ship impounded for smuggling
immigrants—lay out complex and disturbing
connections. His sombre slide sequence “Wait-
ing for Tear Gas [white globe to black],” from
1999-2000, which was shot from the crowd
during anti-W.T.O. protests in Seattle, is an
elegant testament to the rigor of his still sear-
ing critique.—J.F. (Through Aug. 23.)1
NIGHT LIFE
Musicians and night-club proprietors lead
complicated lives; it’s advisable to check in
advance to confirm engagements.Michael Feinstein
54 Below
Michael Feinstein, the best friend of the Great
American Songbook, concludes his “I Happen
to Like New York” residency (at his own club)
by sharing the stage with two other vocalists.
Melissa Manchester, a sturdy stylist who has
morphed from pop songstress to cabaret chan-
teuse, is featured first, followed by the nine-
teen-year-old Jackie Evancho, who, a decade
ago, grabbed the nation by its ears on “Ameri-
ca’s Got Talent.”—Steve Futterman (Aug. 20-23.)Tame Impala
Madison Square Garden
Tame Impala, the brainchild of the Australian
musician Kevin Parker, relies on illusion—a
sensory deception that begins in the studio,
where Parker creates and records the music byhimself. The final result, which often blurs the
lines between electronic and analog instrumen-
tation, is intricate and lush, with the kind of
blissful melodies that can warp time. Onstage,
Parker’s agile band and creative lighting de-
sign bring the psychedelic properties of Tame
Impala’s music to life; to be in the audience is
like climbing inside one of his songs and being
enveloped by a warm feeling of euphoria.—Bri-
ana Younger (Aug. 21-22.)Bill Callahan
Webster Hall
Where the conventional pop warbler wrings
every splash of sentiment from the thinnest
of songs, Bill Callahan has long maintained a
poker face while navigating a stark landscape
of detonated relationships and dark jokes.
Yet on his charming new album, “Shepherd
in a Sheepskin Vest,” Callahan—apparently
now a husband, father, and human—dispenses
with the chill, singing tenderly of landing
“the woman of my dreams and an imitation
Eames.” He headlines one of the largest rooms
of his three-decade career, suggesting that,
even in the glum precincts of singer-song-
writers, listeners still crave happiness.—Jay
Ruttenberg (Aug. 22.)Lil Keed/ Lil Gotit
Elsewhere
When it comes to rap, Atlanta is a wellspring of
every kind of texture and style you can imag-
ine, and probably some you can’t. Trap music
largely drives the city’s hip-hop ecosystem,
and the rappers (and brothers) Lil Keed and
Lil Gotit are two of its blossoming proponents,
each with his own career. They’re part of a
generation that seeks to carry the torch of trap’s
resident eccentric, Young Thug: Keed often
fashions his flow as a wailing, pitched croon,
whereas Gotit’s is more elastic and slippery,
transforming from song to song. Syrupy mel-
odies will rule the night with this pair sharing
a bill.—B.Y. (Aug. 22.)Beast Coast
The Rooftop at Pier 17
It took Beast Coast nearly seven years to release
its début album. The members of this Brook-
lyn-bred hip-hop supergroup—made up of
the duo the Underachievers, the trio Flatbush
Zombies, and the collective Pro Era (home to
Joey Bada$$)—spent that time developing their
kinship alongside their own artistic identities.
As individual acts, each has a unique person-
ality: heady spiritualists, horrorcore enthusi-
asts, nineties-rap revivalists. Together, they’re
united by an appreciation for psychedelics and
a resounding sense of home-town pride. “Es-
cape from New York,” their new record, is their
shared mission statement, a cypher of friends
trying to both channel and transcend the tow-
ering legacy of their city.—B.Y. (Aug. 22-23.)Mija
Elsewhere
Amber Giles, the d.j. and electronic artist
who goes by Mija, crashed the public con-
sciousness at sunrise one day in the summer