Red Red Meat - Bunny Gets Paid

Protein sheiks

A bluesy, woozy classic from Chicago’s indie heyday gets the royal treatment. By John Dugan

Bunny Gets Paid (Deluxe Edition) (Sub Pop)
In the mid-’90s, Chicago’s underground scene was hot 
as shit, after Smashing Pumpkins and Liz Phair broke 
through to radio. Still, revolutionary rock label Sub Pop 
surprised many when it picked up local act Red Red 
Meat’s second album, Jimmywine Majestic, in 1994. 
On the surface, the Chicago-based quartet had 
much in common with the grunge rock of the era: It 
mined beloved collections of ’60s and ’70s albums for 
raw riffage and cultivated an attitude equal parts 
blasé, nihilistic and nostalgic. Guitars, fuzzed and 
blurred, were the act’s forte. But Meat was too quirky 
for the tag and for alt stardom—and it didn’t go in for 
bare-chested amplifier stabbing. The band also, 
perhaps unwittingly, built on Chicago’s electric 
blues heritage.
Sub Pop, ever the tastemaker, has done well to 
select Bunny Gets Paid for a timely rediscovery and 
two-disc reissue with extensive artifacts from the era. 
Thanks to Fleet Foxes, Grizzly Bear and their ilk, 
atmospheric folk experimentation is in. Red Red Meat 
defined that vibe on “Sad Cadillac,” a slow, 
disorienting meditation, with the line “someone 
pissed in the hibachi.” Fittingly, the first word on the 
album centerpiece, “Gauze,” is medicated, and the 
album continually conjures visions of Keith Richards 
on a Robitussin binge. Bunny is a beautiful mess, 
precisely rendered. 
At times, Tim Rutili’s songs dance dangerously 
close to a version of alt-pop exuberance, as he 
communicates by primal tones rather than lyrics—
his mumbling codes so mysterious they could be 
backward. But FM-worthy sing-alongs, such as 
“Chain, Chain, Chain,” make it an approachable 
record, too. The record majestically balances noise, 
folk, rock, blues and a tune from the 1964 Rudolph the 
Red-Nosed Reindeer Christmas special. The group 
even toured with Smashing Pumpkins. 
So why didn’t Bunny Gets Paid send Meat to starry 
heights? Splitting in 1997, Rutili and other Meat men 
carried on as Califone, while drummer Brian Deck 
went on to produce acts like Modest Mouse and 
Counting Crows. Perhaps the problem was that, 
outside of Chicago, playing gigs in a seated position 
often came off as a fuck-you rather than a humble 
gesture. Today, bands can do gigs on a stool or, hell, 
even curled up in a beanbag. It might not have hit the 
buzz bin the first time around, but Red Red Meat was 
really on to something.
Red Red Meat reunites at the Empty Bottle Tuesday 
17 and Wednesday 18. See Listings. Bunny Gets Paid 
(Deluxe Edition) is out now.

March 12–18, 2009 Time Out Chicago

Salad Days Interview

I chatted with writer/director Scott Crawford about the new DC '80s punk/hardcore doc Salad Days | A Decade of Punk in Washington,D.C. (1980-1990) for the Chicago Reader.

Having grown-up around the D.C. punk scene, I started soaking up the most important records, the local folk tales, the characters and as much inside info as I could from my pre-teen years into my show-going and show-playing years and especially when I was home from college in the late 80s, early 90s. I continued to pick up bits and pieces of the hardcore story well into my late twenties. From an early age, I regarded DCHC as important culture with an important cultural history. I'm not the student of DCHC I once was, but I still love to jaw about the great records and historic shows when given the chance.

Salad Days is a bit of a primer for the casual music fan or younger punks. It'll school you in the basic timeline, the major players and the major acts of the early-to-mid '80s in Washington, D.C.. I'm glad it's been made and I love seeing the footage of the bands and legendary shows which I was just too young or not quite in the loop to see.

MacKaye and Henry Rollins are magnetic in their comfort with the material and knack for storytelling, as usual. One wonders how long it is before their tales of punk life in Georgetown are officially American folklore. Some of the doc’s best moments occur when those not heard from as often (Sab Grey of Iron Cross, Michael Hampton of of SOA/Faith/One Last Wish/Manifesto, Mark Sullivan of Slinkees/King Face, Mark Haggerty of Iron Cross/Gray Matter) deliver pithy insights.

saladdaysdc.com

Someday soon, I'll get around to posting my own D.C. punk videos, filmed on my family Realistic camcorder, but until then you can get by with Sohrab's incredible archive, available on Vimeo.

Remembering David Carr

It's entirely possible that without David Carr, I wouldn't have done as much writing and editing as I have over the past twenty years. I landed a gig as a production artist and ad designer at the City Paper in the mid-nineties. I started writing music pieces, previews and reviews with the encouragement of the arts editor Glenn Dixon, but it was Carr as new editor-in-chief who made me feel as if I could do more than pay off my endless D.C. parking tickets by penning record reviews and band profiles. Taken with a long review of a new Sloan record that City Paper had published, he asked me about my craft, how I wrote, what my process was. You could say I was flattered. I sensed that he did that with a lot of writers out of curiosity and enormous appetite for journo shop talk, but also to help them realize what was particular about their process. Carr was a master of the compliment. He offered up his jealousy for anyone such as I who could play in a band and write well. That's the kind of compliment you keep in your pocket forever, just in case you need it.

Carr was a  passionate fan of music, too. I liked to drink in his stories of wild times with the Replacements, Soul Asylum and Husker Du during his Minneapolis days.

He was also gracious in hearing criticism. I once met with him in his office to vent about some oddly nasty takedown pieces CP had published on local musicians. He respected my point of view as someone with friends in music, but defended the stories on the grounds that he liked the writer's voice. He was a writer's editor. 

Carr liked the idea of connecting people that might otherwise never cross paths. He invited me to start joining City Paper editorial meetings. Now, I wish I had attended more. He took me along for outings with writers, journalists and politicos. Once, after an AAN convention event, he somehow got a bunch of us into the Tibetan Freedom Concert after show at the 9:30 Club. Another night, he popped into the production room and introduced the staff to his buddy the comedian Tom Arnold who was sporting a George Hamilton-esque "I'm from Hollywood" glow.

When closing the issue on Wednesday nights, the editor was supposed to flip through the layout pages to be sent to the printer and sign off on them. In a loose CP tradition, the cover story writer brought in beer for the remaining edit staff, production artists and took a final look at their story. At some point, Carr got in the habit of asking me to sign off on the pages instead, which was interesting as I was drinking and he wasn't. It gave him a chance to visit with his family or jaw with the writer, but it also was like the captain standing on the deck saying Go ahead and take the wheel, this paper is as much yours as mine. David Carr treated a lot of us like first mates and that's something we'll never forget.

Cerrone for Time Out

Rory Phillips recently posted a Guardian article about Cerrone, so I dug this out to share.

Thirty, but still flirty

It’s time to give Cerrone’s  disco originals another spin.  By John Dugan

The music of disco pioneer Giorgio  Moroder has gotten a thorough reappraisal in recent years, but another influential producer, France’s Cerrone (Jean-Marc Cerrone), has been a bit neglected. Which is strange, because Cerrone is far from obscure: He sold more than 3 million copies worldwide of his raunchy 1976 debut, Love in C Minor, and DJs and artists of many stripes still hold his penultimate album, Cerrone 3, in high regard. You’ve probably heard more Cerrone than you think: His recordings are heavily sampled by everyone from Daft Punk to Lionel Richie. On the 30th anniversary of his breakout year, five albums by Cerrone get the royal treatment with CD reissues and a vinyl box set on the Malligator/Recall label. Also this month on Recall, Cerrone by Bob Sinclar—a 2001 million-seller mix-CD—finally reaches the States. 

We recently gave Cerrone a ring while the drummer, composer and singer was passing through New York. When not touring, he’s planning a huge dance party for next October in New York’s Central Park (www.nydanceparty.net) featuring his and Nile Rodgers’s bands playing live to 70,000 dancing people. He hints that he may bring the Chic/Cerrone tour to Chicago sometime thereafter—all part of his efforts to make dance music a live experience. “That’s why I do this business: to play, not to be an engineer or a DJ and play the music of someone else,” Cerrone says in a thick accent. “The emotion come[s] from the body and specifically the drummer.”

“I don’t make music for radio, I make it 
for myself and the discotheque.”

His music career started one Christmas, when the fidgety 12-year-old Parisian got a real drum kit from his mother. As a teen, he convinced Gilbert Trigano, the devout communist who ran Club Med, to hire him to put together bands to play at the resorts. For four and a half years, Cerrone booked some 40 funky rock bands at the Club Med “villages” in Italy, Spain and elsewhere. It was a big learning experience, evidently. “It was also the beginning of a sex life, because trust me, at the beginning of Club Med, that was really something,” he remembers. “A lot of people ask me questions about [Studio] 54 and how fun that was. Trust me, the Club Med was stronger. You can’t imagine.” His band the Kongas held residency at St. Tropez and penetrated ’70s New York with “Anikana-O.” Cerrone picked the best bassists and keyboard circuit for himself.

When he recorded a 16-minute song for his first LP, it was designed for a purpose the biz had yet to envision. “If you go back to that time, all major companies, all radio look at me like a strange guy coming in from the moon. And everybody said to me, ‘How can we play 16 minutes on the radio?’ My answer was always, ‘I don’t make the music for the radio, I make it for myself and then for the discotheque.’” Moroder had hit gold a few months earlier with Donna Summer, and Cerrone’s debut joined disco’s first wave of smashes in ’76. 

In August of ’77, Cerrone unpacked his first synth. “We started to find a few sounds that were so strange. So I play the drums with the synthesizer live.” The result, “Supernature,” is a disco landmark, and a punk one. Friend Lene Lovich contributed sci-fi–inspired lyrics for Cerrone 3 and loads of other Cerrone releases.

The reissues sport the original scandalous album art—think a naked woman on top of a refrigerator. “At that time, about ’75, [we got] the pills for the girls not to get the baby,” he says. “You don’t imagine what kind of a revolution [it was]. So when you produce music for the discotheque, you try to find sex. It was logic to get a girl on the front of the sleeve.”

It’s also logical that he makes a nice euro from sample publishing. “I don’t think it’s bad for me to ask for so much,” he says. “That kind of music needs a real atmosphere, otherwise you’ve fucked up.”

Cerrone by Bob Sinclar and CD reissues of Cerrone’s first five albums are out Tuesday 14 on Recall Records.

November 9, 2006

Rick Buckler of The Jam, 2008 Interview

I recently noticed a site where I used to freelance is having technical issues posting its archives. For that reason, I'm grabbing some of my pieces from that site and reposting here. First up, Rick Buckler from The Jam. Rick was about to embark on a February 2008 tour of the U.S. bringing From The Jam to Chicago. I also caught the show, which was great for what it was.
 

LiveDaily Interview: Rick Buckler of From the Jam
January 10, 2008 09:01 AM
By John Dugan
LiveDaily Contributor

In 1977, The Jam stood out from the rest of the punk explosion pack. The band had been honing its craft in pub gigs for several years and, while full of punk energy, the power trio also knew its '60s chops--mod rock, soul and even psychedelia crept into its compositions. The Jam also boasted Paul Weller, a songwriter with a class perspective.

The band only punctured the US charts a few times and, by 1982, the trio had split after releasing a No. 1 UK album, "The Gift." The group's rhythm section was particularly distinctive in its time--and now, it's back.

Following on successful tours of the UK last May and November, From the Jam -featuring original bassist Bruce Foxton and drummer Rick Buckler of England's mod-punk godfathers The Jam--will hit the States for 13 shows this month. Weller, who's issuing a deluxe, two-disc version of his second solo album, "Wildwood," this month, won't be joining them, however. Rather, Russell Hastings of Maximum High sings Weller's parts and plays guitar. To learn more, we spoke to Buckler as he enjoyed his teatime at home in the South of England.

LiveDaily: One thing that occurred to me is that From the Jam are touring as a four-piece, not a power trio. Is that because of keyboard needs?

Rick Buckler: Yeah, It was initially because of the keyboards. There are some songs like "A Town Called Malice" and "The Gift" that you really couldn't do without the keyboards, but Dave [Moore] is a good guitar player anyway, so it just gave us that chance to put in those guitar parts live that The Jam never did--that, obviously, we put onto record but never really played live. We had keyboard players and horn sections and backing vocals to augment the band, but we never had a second guitar. It's a nice little avenue to explore. It certainly adds to it; it's more like people remember from the record rather than necessarily the old live sound.

The overdubbed solos are there.

Yeah, all those nice little extra guitar things that are on the record. 

So Russell and Dave are both playing guitar? 

Russ is the main guitar, if you like, and Dave flits between keyboards and guitar.

As for Russell's voice, does he turn extra Wellerisms on, is it his own singing style, or in between?

It's entirely his own thing. He sings in the way that he sings. He doesn't come from a million miles away from Paul or from us, in the south of England. He's his own man and does his own thing. I don't think he regards it as filling anybody's shoes. I don't know if you know, but, years ago, he was a big Jam fan himself. He had been to several of the shows, [including] the last one. I only bumped into him a few years ago. I knew what he had been doing. I had been running a website, the Jamfan.net, and each year I used to put on a show in the Woking/Guilford area and hire a few bands in. And one of the bands I got in was Maximum High, which Russ was in.

I was always quite impressed with his stagecraft. I think he really fit in. When we first got together with him to put The Gift [an earlier band that covered Jam material] together, it all fell in really nicely. He had the passion for the songs and understood what was needed from the songs.

How did The Gift and Bruce Foxton get together? 

Bruce was doing Stiff Little Fingers and was also in another band called Casbah Club. We ended up being on the same bill at Guilford. I called him up and [asked] him did he fancy jumping up and doing a couple of numbers with us. We did "Smithers-Jones" and "Tube Station," I think. The reaction was fantastic. He did one or two more guestings with us. By the end of 2006, we decided to make the whole thing concrete and do the thing properly. We ended up with a May tour of the UK, and went on to the bigger tour that we've just finished in November and December. I think Bruce discovered, as I did, that it was great fun to revisit the Jam material, and that the original Jam fans, as well as new ones, were out there and wanted to hear it. Everybody was a winner.

The music seems so relevant and so many bands draw on The Jam. Everything has come back around in a lot of ways.

I think that is all due to Paul's songwriting. A lot of the songs have lasted the test of time. In some cases, it's unfortunate that they still have meaning with "Little Boy Soliders" and what have you. The world doesn't seem to have changed that much. Paul was always very good at observing things and translating them into verse, at it were. That is obviously what has lasted.

Being a drummer myself, I know that some songs come back to one easily, and others are a bit harder to remember how to play. Which Jam songs were the trickiest for you? "Tube Station" is a bit of a workout on the hi-hat, right? Were there any you had to work at?

I hadn't played for 12 years [before The Gift]. I was literally at the starting point again. I just put in loads and loads of practice. It's not too bad; I'm lucky enough that if there are things that I can't remember, I just pull the album out and listen to it, and refresh my memory on certain bits. It did take me a while to get back up to speed. It all seemed worthwhile, and we had a lot of fun doing it. It's not that difficult. It's like riding a bike, but knowing that you are going to take part in a race, not just go down the shops.

People are going to be watching.

I did find that a bit of a shock--people were watching more intently than I thought they might do. I really thought that I better shine up my shoes and everything.

Last year you celebrated the 30th anniversary of the release of "In the City," The Jam's 1977 debut. Why is "In the City" still a classic? I always think of that being the pubby, punky side of The Jam. How do you feel about that record?

That was the culmination of what we had been rehearsing for, for the first five years. It was the best of what we could put together to do that first album. There wasn't a lot of songwriting involved. It was already there; we just had to record it. In that way, it was fantastic and it was done live in the studio as well. ... It was a learning curve with us. With [1977 follow-up album "This is the Modern World"], we tended to be a bit more delicate in the way we did things without trying and testing the songs. To come up with an album before you take it out to the crowd was a weird thing for us. People didn't know the material. The whole thing was a very long learning curve. By the time we got to [1978's] "All Mod Cons," I think we'd got it together about the way that we did things. Each album was a turning point for us, a musical idea or just in the way we worked. The whole thing of, "This isn't a hobby anymore chaps; you really have to get this together," dawned on us quite early in '77, because we did two albums in '77, you see.

There is that Beatle-y evolution with The Jam, "We're gonna outdo what we did on the last record." That's the mark of an ambitious band, trying to one up yourself.

It was always a bit strange for us; we never really felt like we had a groove like some bands have. You see bands that, once they find a particular thing that works, they stick with it and ended up sounding samey. We never saw ourselves in any particular slot, we managed to stay out of the rut by simply dodging it all the time. I think that's what kept us alive musically: that we could continually experiment. Maybe that's why Paul, in the end, found that he had nowhere else to go with it. I don't necessarily agree with that view, but some of the things he said near the end, he wanted to move on. I thought The Jam was very much moving on anyway.

It seems a bit odd, considering that Weller played some Jam tunes the last time I saw him in Chicago--in 2004 I think it was--that getting back together wasn't a possibility for him. Was there any discussion?

He's pretty much drawn the line and said he's not into any sort of band reunion and made all sorts of comments about how destitute he would have to be [laughing] and all sorts of things. So there didn't seem to be a lot of point, but, on the other hand, we did make it known that, in the early stages, that the door was open to him anytime and still is, if he wanted to come along and have a bit of fun. But we didn't want to get tied up in the perception that if Paul wasn't involved then it couldn't happen. Because, as far as myself and Bruce are concerned, that's not the way things were. We were two-thirds of the band, and we probably have every right to go out and play these songs, as much as Paul has. Our only concern was, how would the fans take to that sort of scenario? And we've found that they've been very happy with it. Most Jam fans have been waiting for this for a very long time. I think they are a little let down that Paul won't get involved, but I think that's Paul letting himself down. I really don't know what Paul thinks about this because he's very difficult to talk to and we haven't--at least I haven't--spoken to him in a long time. He has got his own career and his own thing happening, and maybe that's where he wants to focus himself. And if he doesn't want to get involved, fair enough. It should never really stop me and Bruce from doing what we want to do.

If you have a proper balance of doing it for the love of the music and for the fans, people seem accepting. I don't get the sense that you are just doing it to make money.

In reality, we are obviously doing it to earn some money. We couldn't do it if we weren't earning money. But the only reason we are able to earn money is that we have people who want to come and see the show. It all sort of follows, so I don't feel guilt for being paid for the job I do. We are having a great time doing it.

David Bowie Is at the MCA Chicago for The Economist Prospero

I interviewed the MCA's James W. Alsdorf Chief Curator Michael Darling and wrote about the behind-the-scenes aspects of Chicago's biggest culture coup of the year, David Bowie Is. I would have loved to have written a longer piece, had to leave out lots of details, but I think it works. And I relish the chance to publish on Prospero, the Economist's culture blog.

Text below for non-subscribers:
 

Bowie

Ch-ch-changes in Chicago

Oct 10th 2014, 15:38 BY J.D. | CHICAGO

THE Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) is the only American venue for Ziggy Stardust fanatics to see "David Bowie Is", the touring exhibition organised by the Victoria and Albert Museum (V&A) in London, exploring the rocker’s life, creative process, artistic influences and collaborations. This makes it a genuine coup, both for the museum and for Chicago, a perennial second city. It is also as close as visitors to the exhibition will get to seeing Bowie this year: he hasn’t performed in public since 2006.

It wasn’t a high price tag or art-world intrigue that made this possible: the MCA simply got there first. Michael Darling, the chief curator at the MCA, read about the show before it opened at the V&A and immediatly got on the phone. The MCA secured a date, but not before agreeing upon one detail. “We wanted to make sure we were the first American venue." Mr Darling says. "That was one negotiating point we were really firm on. We felt being first was crucial.” The exhibition soon filled its remaining tour slots leaving the MCA as its sole American outlet.

Despite reports to the contrary, the MCA's show features the same collection of 300 objects (from costumes to handwritten lyrics), originally shown in London. But it isn’t exactly the same show. “It was a different aesthetic in London, more chaotic and whiz-bang." Mr Darling explained, "We take more of an elegant, minimalist approach.” Even so, hosting the exhibition required much of the MCA. The fees for securing "David Bowie Is" weren’t out of line with what the museum would usually pay for a visual art show, but the technical aspects of the exhibition, such the audio-visual design required, were expensive. An architecture firm was hired to sort out the infrastructure and the MCA brought in additional staff, extended its hours, and launched an online ticketing system in order to offer 150 tickets and audio headsets at half-hour intervals. 

The hope is that this expenditure will be justified by a steady increase in the number of visitors. Despite its downtown location, the museum is usually only a modest draw. The massive press coverage for the show (Chicago’s tourism bureau advised on promotion) has meant unprecedented exposure for the MCA itself. So far it seems as if the MCA's efforts are paying off: ticket sales ($25 for adults) are robust and the pop-up gift shop is selling above projections.

Certainly the museum is now much more visible: it's emblazoned with Bowie in lightening-bolt makeup as Aladdin Sane, one of the singer's alter egos and the titular character of his sixth album. According to Mr Darling, "People are even taking pictures of our loading dock." Clearly being bathed in the Bowie's reflected glitter is making Chicagoans and tourists alike take note of the MCA like never before. 

David Bowie is is on at the Museum of Contemporary Art (MCA) in Chicago until January 4th 2015

David Kilgour of The Clean

I was stoked to get some email time with David Kilgour of The Clean for The Chicago Reader. The Chicago show wasn't the best of the band's career, but still fun. 

Vice News: Chicago Ukrainians speak out

I interviewed Chicago area Ukrainians about the recent uprising and future of their country for the newly launched Vice News.

Photos by Nathan Michael

Milan Preview | Ronan Bouroullec

[From Design Bureau Magazine]

Portrait by Samantha Simmons

Ronan Bouroullec
Designer, Studio Bouroullec

Location: Paris, France
Brands: Cappellini, Alessi, Vitra, Ligne Roset, Habitat,Nanimarquina, and more
Products: Furniture, lighting, housewares, textiles, microarchitecture, etc.

It’s a few days before the Bouroullec brothers opening ofBivouac, a retrospective show of almost 15 years of design work by the Bretons imported from the Centre Pompidou-Metz in France to Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art. I’m moving a Vitra Alcove sofa closer to another that its designer, Ronan Bouroullec, is shifting around to create a semi-private area for an interview, immune to the hammering and forklifting going on as the show is installed around us. The Bouroullec brothers are an unpretentious experience. Ronan, the elder brother, discovered he wanted to be a designer after happening upon a book about Donald Judd at age 15. He joined forces with his brother Erwan in 1997, and since then, they have issued a steady stream of imaginative, beautiful, and useful objects and furniture for major European manufacturers. With all the praise, you’d expect they might have developed some attitude, but nothing could be further from the truth. 

DB: There’s a marketability to your work. You work with a lot of big manufacturers, you want people to be able to buy and use these things. Is that something that begins early in the design process?
Ronan Bouroullec: Yes, we are very interested in objects that are not conceptual, that exist in normal life and not in the museum. For me, objects are a bit like song, a good object has an ability to be with you as well as a certain charm or romance. You can do something else when you hear a song. With a piece of furniture it’s the same thing. With an object, when you notice it and if you concentrate on it you can see a lot of interesting aspects, but if you do not want to notice this aspect, it has to be fluid, it has to work well.

DB: Do the manufacturers come to you with their needs, or do you go to them with prototypes?
RB: We do not work for a lot of people. We’ve got very long-term histories with a lot of them, we know them well, what they're doing. So sometimes we write proposals for them. It's a continuous discussion. Good design is collective intelligence. It’s good to have good design, and good ideas, but you need to find good people to produce it, to distribute it. I think we work with some of the best companies. 

DB: I know you guys have debuted a bunch of things for Milan, and you were nominated for a Compasso d’Oro Award there in 2001… do you feel a connection with Milan? 
RB: This will be my 20th year. And I’ve been every year. It's like if you do cinema, you go to Cannes. It’s certainly linked to the old world. Now with the Internet, it’s certainly changed the approach but I think it’s quite interesting that once a year for a week, almost all the manufacturers and almost all the designers, and 300,000 people come for this fair. It’s like, when you watch a movie and you pause, you stop the picture. Every year, for one week, the picture is stopped and you see what’s happening in this small discipline. And I like to see that.

DB: Has it been exciting to have something to bring there that no one has seen?
RB: It’s quite difficult sometimes, too. It’s quite stressful. But more and more, the fact is that there’s so many projects at Milan, that it’s difficult to focus on. We try to launch a lot of new projects in a more dedicated way, we try not to be in this big soup. I like it, but it’s difficult, too. It’s so loud.

DB: Do you have one memory of being in Milan that sticks out for you? Something you saw, or…?

RB: For me, the most impressive Milan was the first one, when I was a student. I thought, ‘It's true, it exists, there is the reality of it.’ It was a marvelous first experience. 

Summer Camp for Grown-Ups | Camp Wandawega

[from Design Bureau Issue 15] 

CAMP WANDAWEGA
Elkhorn, Wisconsin

Once a bootlegger’s getaway that was transformed into a brothel, then a wholesome family holiday spot, and then a retirement home for priests, it’s clear that Camp Wandawega has had many lives. Now it’s been reborn again as a summer camp with grown-up appeal, and it’s proving popular with Chicago-area creative types needing fresh air and inspiration.

Tereasa Surratt and David Hernandez—both creative directors at ad agency Ogilvy + Mather—took over the property in 2003. Surratt, author of Found, Free and Flea (Random House), and Hernandez, who attended a different version of Camp Wandawega as a kid, gave the camp and its furnishings an authentic but curated Americana update. “The aesthetic we are going for is a sort of American historic summer camp of the 1920s to the ’60s with a bit of Wisconsin lodge,” says Surratt. “It’s basic Americana. I try to stay away from anything crafty or kitschy. If you look at any American lake house that has been in one family for several generations, you get this layered effect from the decades they spend their time there.”

Naturally, the camp has become a favorite for fashion editorial shoots, but Surratt says it’s meant to be enjoyed. “Everything is honest to the space, humble and modest, nothing decadent, nothing Victorian,” he says. “You’re not afraid to get it dirty. You can walk in with sandy feet.” Accommodations include a treehouse, a teepee, a log cabin, the lake cottage, and more—all bedecked in junkstore gems, 20th century artifacts discovered by Surratt. It’s far from fussy.