Frank Prattle with Zefrey Throwell

Arto Lindsay and son
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Nestled amidst the chaos of neon, deep within the belly of bustling tourism and rampant capitalism, Arto Lindsay, famed musician and artist, pierced the goliath of Times Square with a  quiet bullet. As the starting bell for Performa this year, Lindsay organized a parade quite unlike those that typically adorn the buzzing hive on Broadway.
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I saw Lindsay’s parade in Venice this year; dancers clad in black, wailing noise, a slow towing processional in the pissing rain that wove down the cobbled canal-front of the ancient city… something along these lines is what I expected upon showing up this time, nay.  50 people, almost all women, dressed in tan trench coats cinched tight, holding cellphones above their head materialized out of the mist and suddenly became an almost silent parade. Then, on cue, flipping open cell phones, a cacophony of noise starting spilling out into the dense night. Accompanying this low din, the parade marchers starting twisting their bodies in jerky mechanical gestures and made their way south through the square whilst being heckled, jostled, and cheered by the surrounding masses.

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Arto Lindsay and son in the eye of the trenchacane
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Intensely odd and curiously endearing, I enjoyed the hell out of it.
Listen along as a I interview various passerbys, artist Cindy Sherman, artist Ryan McNamara, curator Mark Beasely, and of course, Arto Lindsay.