GiGi by Kc allison
sharpie on vellum edited in photoshop university of north carolina WilminGton atlantis maGazine fisher university union 1049c 601 s. colleGe road WilminGton, nc 28403 p: 910.962.3229 f: 910.962.7131 2
Issue 63 â€” Fall 2012
CONTENTS 4 - Letter from the Editor 5 - Contributors 6 - Submitted Content contents
art, photography, poetry and prose
22 - Feature: Marksman of Distinction 28 - Feature: Young at Art 33 - Feature: A Plague on All Your Houses! 36 - Staff Photos 38 - Advertisements
Dear Atlantians, This magazine is for all of you who are inspired, inspiring, or just plain want something that’s easy on the eyes. And believe me, Atlantis is one sexy beast. At Atlantis we strive to promote creativity in all of its forms. This fall’s issue features a wide array of students and featured professional artists ranging from ceramists to tattoo artists. As you thumb through the rest of this magazine, don’t forget to check out the features on The Atomic Lime Project, Art South, and Marks of Distinction. So far Fall 2012 has been a successful year for Atlantis. This semester as Editor-InChief I couldn’t have asked for a more dedicated and wonderful staff. They literally took a pie in the face for Atlantis, dressed in Atlantian attire complete with homemade harps, and sang to passing UNCW students about submitting. Also, they helped Atlantis achieve one hundred new Facebook likes in a week. If that’s not love for this organization then I don’t know what is. To our readers, contributors, and featured organizations: Thank you for supporting Atlantis. By picking up an Atlantis copy, submitting your work, and giving us a taste of what your creative organization is about you all have helped to keep Atlantis alive and thriving. I hope you find this issue of Atlantis to be as enjoyable as it was to put together. Yours truly,
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
CONTRIBUTORS KC Allison
KC is pursuing a Studio Art Degree from UNCW, and with the inspiration and help of this talented art community, she hopes to find a frequency that will best transmit her artistic voice, and hopefully yield some semblance of a living.
Tiffany is in the ceramics and metalsmithing clubs at CFCC, as well as being a member of the honor society Phi Theta Kappa. She plans to move on to UNCW to major in anthropology.
Matthew Eckmair Matthew, a rising senior. environmental science major. surfing, photography, scuba diving. looking beyond the lens and into the abyss.
Daphne has loved photography since she could drag a Polaroid through her mother’s sunflower garden in Ohio. She creates to release, and what she releases she endeavours to share with those around her. Human emotion is her passion.
Melissa is an avid writer specializing in poetry. She likes to incorporate her first language, Spanish, into her writing. She was born in Costa Rica and hopes to go back after she is through pursuing her goal of academically emulating Dr. Linus Pauling.
David is currently working on adding more stuff to his bio.
Madeline likes brushtrokes and humpback whales, that’s A-Moray.
The most dangerous risk of all — the risk of spending your life not doing what you want on the bet that you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later.
“Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it.” -Claude Monet
Sara picked up her interest for photography five years ago on a trip to Hawaii. Ever since, she has fallen more and more in love with photography and it has quickly become a hobby-turned-passion.
Lindsay, a junior at UNC Pembroke studying Art Education, she plans to become an art teacher while making art part time. One day she hopes to write and illustrate children’s books.
Jessica is an English major and a junior at UNCW. She is also a member of the Honors College and the president of the student group PRIDE.
Life is inherently serious, therefore, I choose to elevate the ordinary, celebrate the silly, and proclaim the profound. Come, view life through my lens.
Daniel Zentmeyer Daniel works primarily in ceramics. Although he still considers himself a potter, his most recent work is strongly sculptural and strays from addressing utility or function. His sculpture work is largely focused on exploring the concept of relationships.
Temerrian is a senior at UNC Pembroke. She is pursuing a Degree in Art with a concentration in digital art and a minor in Media Integration. She has a passion for all things digital and plans to pursue a career in Design and animation.
Figure â€” oil painting by Madeline Marens 6
Issue 63 â€” Fall 2012
Operation Spaghetti Sauce â€” photography by Erin Tetterton
Headlines — prose by David Ireland A Sad Day for the Dumpty Family Police reported today the apparent suicide of a Mr. Humptiford Dumpty. Passersby reported seeing a round figure, now identified as Mr. Dumpty, climbing up on the high barrier wall on the outskirts of City Hall. Mr. Dumpty proceeded to “fall” a great distance to the ground. “We thought by the way he landed he might have just cracked something,” commented Mr. Gibson, a witness to the event. “It looked like he just fell over easy. It was just so strange to think Humptiford would have just ‘fallen’ like that.” Reports like this one mixed with the suspicious activities of the first responders made the police initially look into the possibility of there being foul play involved in the death of Mr. Dumpty. “We were a bit concerned that the first responders were all horses, none of whom had proper medical training,” commented Officer Brown. When the officers looked into Mr. Dumpty’s background, however, they found that Mr. Dumpty lived a secluded life in his house due to a rather rare illness. “Mr. Dumpty suffered from a disease that caused his skin to become rather hard and turn a bright, pale color almost perfectly white,” said Dr. Kingsmon, coroner for the police department, “it is what we in the medical field call eczema.” Conspiracy theorists claim Mr. Dumpty could have survived the fall had the first responders been properly trained. According to Dr. Kingsmon it wouldn’t have been a much better situation. “Even if Mr. Dumpty managed to survive the fall,” states Dr. Kingsmon, “his brain would have been scrambled.” Humptiford always felt that his family did not appreciate him, a claim support by the lack of concern The Dumpty family showed in regards to Humptiford’s passing. “It’s just like him,” said Henrietta Dumpty, Humptiford’s sister. “We knew he would be the one to spoil the family reunion.” Humptiford was 36. 8
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Disturbing Crime Against the Blind Police have arrested Mrs. Rose Hampton, the wife of local farmer John Hampton, for the brutal dismemberment of the Mice triplets. Tom, Jim, and Tim Mice were all born with cataracts on their eyes and have been visually impaired their entire lives. “It was just awful,” Tom managed to squeak from his hospital bed. “We were just minding our own business when all of sudden she decides to come after us with a giant knife and cut off our bottoms.” Mrs. Hampton’s lawyers issued the following statement: “While the crime was indeed heinous, Mrs. Hampton acted in self-defense. As Mrs. Hampton told the police, the boys were on her property and had started to chase her. She was afraid for her life and was acting to preserve her future.” No trial date has been set. Loafer: Not a Fit Home Mrs. Southly of Highland has been taken in on the suspicion of child neglect. Mrs. Southly has raised her 12 children by herself since her husband left 14 years ago. Child Protective Services came by to take the children to foster homes. “The stories we heard from the children were just awful,” stated Ms. Rose, agent for the CPS. “The children were often given nothing of substance to eat for dinner. Afterwards, if they did not go directly to bed, the children were beaten. I can’t see how this has been going on for so long.” Mrs. Southly was heir to the Southly Footwear Fortune, has been squandering her money for years since her husband left. “Her attitude change drastically after her husband left,” said Loraine Gibson, long time neighbor of Mrs. Southly. “She became angry and bitter.” “Every good house has to have a good atmosphere,” commented Dr. James Smith, parent counselor. “It was obvious this house had no soul.”
Untitled — photography by Meagan O’Brien
Today’s Romeo and Juliet: A Controversial Marriage On a happier note, Fredrick Dish and Kim Spoon have gotten married. The couple, who had been missing for a week, finally turned up at the Dish residence yesterday and announced they had eloped. “It came as a great shock to all of us,” commented Mrs. Dish. “I mean I have heard stories about that Spoon girl that would turn your hair white. And for my son to marry a harlot like that…Uh, it breaks my heart. She’s trying to corrupt my son. Probably going to get him to try some outrageous stunt, like jumping over the Blue Moon Café on Elm—just like she did with that bovine looking friend of hers.” When pressed further about the issue, Mrs. Dish was not afraid to reveal more of her feelings. “I heard that Kim was diddling the young Catt boy, you know the one who’s in prison now for breaking into that stringed instrument store.
Ugh… she is in with the wrong crowd.” According to the Spoon family, Fred Dish is the one who is in the wrong. “Look, it’s no secret we are one of the wealthier families in town. It is obvious the young Mr. Dish is just looking for a way to make some money without having to work,” stated Mr. J. Spoon Esq. “I just hope she was smart enough to get him to sign a prenup.” “This is why we eloped,” said Fred. “We knew our families wouldn’t understand.” More Instances of Animal Cruelty The elderly woman living in the Hubbard mansion has been arrested on animal cruelty charges. “We got a complaint from the neighbors about noise,” said Sgt. Thomas. “When we went to check it out what we found was quite disturbing. There were dogs everywhere, chained up to posts barking and howling loudly. Most of the dogs looked malnourished.”
When the police searched the house further, they found that all the cupboards were indeed bare. No More Wondering What That Is The mysterious twinkling light that has raised many questions and fears in Howard County has been identified. “It’s quite simple really,” stated Dr. Martin, astronomer at the University. “It’s nothing more than a giant ball of gas.” “Finally someone comes up with a definitive explanation for what this thing is,” said Mrs. Hampton, local farmer’s wife. “I was pretty sure it was a diamond.” The classification of this object has not been without controversy. “If it’s a giant ball of gas, how come it is so small?” asked Mr. Hampton. “And how does it stay up there? And is it dangerous for that matter? A ball of gas can’t be a good thing.” “It is actually very, very far away and is really no cause for concern,” assured Dr. Martin. We here at the Post will keep you updated on any further developments. Nighttime Streaker Captured The nighttime streaker who had terrorized the town is now in custody. The culprit is none other than Mr. William Winkie of Brookville. He has been seen running through all levels of
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
apartment buildings and homes throughout the tristate area, waking people, lifting what is said to be a night gown and exposing himself. “It was awful,” said the elderly Mrs. Goose. “Although, now we know why they call him Wee Willie Winkie.” Police Department Issues an Apology One final note, the police department would like to apologize to a Mr. John Jacob JingleheimerSchmidt for his arrest last Tuesday at Barnes’ Shop of Odds and Ends in Highland. “We were looking for someone else,” commented a spokesman for the department. “It was an easy mistake to make,” stated Officer Franks, the arresting agent. “We had placed wanted signs displaying his name all throughout the town.” It turns out John was asked to show I.D. while purchasing unnamed sundries with a credit card. “I saw the name on the card and recognized it from the posters,” said Shop owner Mr. Barnes. “So naturally I got nervous. He started to walk out and that’s when I jumped into action. ‘Hey,’ I shouted. ‘There goes John Jacob JingleheimerSchmidt!’ Well the rest of the people joined in and caught the attention of Officer Franks.” No word yet on whether Mr. Jingleheimer-Schmidt will be filing a law suit against the department.
Under Heat â€” oil painting by Madeline Marens
Squirrel and The Machete
SQUIRREL AND THE MACHETE
poetry by Melissa Huffman
On the street where we lived not long before countless drops of blood were shed— on the wall, the window, the chair, and the floor— it was our own way to break bread. Countless drops of blood were shed— the roaches, the pigs, the goats and Squirrel— on the wall, the window, chair, and floor. And all of them we ate, but Squirrel. The roaches, the pigs, the goats, and Squirrel— the chicken we bought on the side of Highway 290. All of them we ate, but Squirrel we fed her for a week, sausage and beer— the chicken we bought on the side of Highway 290— perhaps even some Church’s, but I bathed her. On the wall, the window, the chair, and the floor, on the street where we lived not long before.
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poetry by Jessica Sumney
Thinking hearts could be broken, I wove you into my bones. Where once there was marrow is now only love for you, and instead of red blood cells my femurs create longing and send it through my veins straight to that heart I was convinced wasnâ€™t strong enough for the job. On rainy days my joints still ache from the wound of your distance, and my bones tell me when the weather will turn and the winds will blow us together again.
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Light Up the Night â€” digital art by Temerrian Williams
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An Opening — ceramics by Daniel Zentmeyer
Untitled — photography by Lacey McClain
Window to the Sky â€” photography by Sara Pezzoni
Have Your (Cup)Cake and Eat it too — photography by Erin Tetterton
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
THE SECOND TIME
The Second Time prose by Tiffany Bechert
The sky was clear of clouds, clear of wind, clear of pollution. The ground was free from leaves, free from people, free from grass. It was going to be right this time. The world was new for the first time in some odd million years. But this time wasn’t the same as before. The earth was cool and musty in the shade, but warm and charred red in the sun. The sun beat down hard on this renewed planet, casting its reddish black glow over all. The new Earth differed greatly from the original, as the original had wind, animals, plants, people, water, trees, clouds, rain. Now there were no movements, no sounds, no sights. There weren’t even twisted, smoldering remains, steel casings, burned houses. All was gone. All but the deep, dark dirt. This time there would be no chance, or need, for renewal. This time the earth and sky were to be the only entities present, save the dark, eerie sun. This time there would be no mistakes, no stress filled last moments, trying in vain to save the inhabitants, no keeping up of “natural elements,” such as wind, rain, and curiosities, such as miracles, beliefs in gods, extraterrestrials, or ponderings of philosophies too vast to be comprehended, or torturings of souls over matters of the heart, mind, body. This time it would be perfect. This time it just wouldn’t bother to make. This time, it would just be there, and leave that at that. Be content with that. This time, it would last forever. It had to.
poetry by Jessica Sumney I am trying to sever my girl parts from my horse parts. I think those are the ones that stumble over sidewalk cracks and every word I breathe. I’m an ungainly centaur foal; they say we’re born knowing how to walk, how to talk, but haven’t you seen our gangly legs splayed out in the dust? We don’t have our mothers to help us; they don’t whicker as we gain our balance. It would take too long, centuries of nudging, and we could never leave the pasture.
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I am trying to build my girl parts into a whole, into a person who is not half of everything she doesn’t understand. But there is so little to work with, just a chest with an overbeating heart, anxious with worry about which way which leg will go next. It knows I will kick somebody, never on purpose, but with enough force to send me reeling, reverting backwards. It is always thinking, “That could have gone better.”
Opposite page: Untitled #86 — photography by Matthew Eckmair
Marksman of Distinction
It’s 3 P.M. in downtown Wilmington. Jonathan Hardister is mummifying his workspace with clear plastic wrap while listening to what he’s coined as “Cookie Monster music” – gruff, throaty, incomprehensible metal rock. Apart from a slight headbang it’s almost like a scene from Dexter, showcasing meticulous attention to detail and hygiene. He adorns his metal tool tray with thimblesized caps of ink. A blob of a petroleum jelly-like substance makes its debut. There are gloves too – black latex, which he pulls on with a snap like a deranged proctologist. “Ready? Here we go.” For this 37-year-old ink wizard, paying tribute to the past only enhances the present. The skateboarding lifestyle revealed a gritty, unrestrained art scene for Hardister that he still uses to pay homage to his friends and his youth. “Culturally, tattoos and skateboarding run parallel,” says Hardister. “And skateboarding played a big role in my social and artistic development as a kid.” Later, after a brief, antic-filled stint in art school at the 22
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
University of North Carolina at Greensboro, the Wilmington native returned to his roots. The shop where he got his first tattoo soon became his regular hangout and the springboard for a vivid career. “I started as a shop boy – sweeping, mopping doing what I was told. It eventually developed into an apprenticeship.” Established in 1993, Marks of Distinction is the Port City’s oldest tattoo shop. In 2006, Hardister gained ownership when Hopie “The Nurse” Qual, the shop’s creator, was forced to retire after a medical condition claimed the stability of her hands. “It just didn’t seem right to let it fizzle out and disappear,” he says. His progression from beginner to boss man has outfitted Hardister with diverse tattooing abilities. His signature neo-traditionalist style blends old and new school teachings by complementing classic hues with modern design or by supplementing a broad palette with simplified shapes. With Wilmington’s tattoo culture anchored
in the American traditional genre (think Sailor Jerry), many look to Hardister to infuse their epidermis with vibrant color, imagination, and a depth of field. When asked about the coolest part of his job, Hardister replies, “everything.” “I get to draw all day and hang out with friends. It’s like school with no tests and no bell. It’s not work.” Although Hardister loves his job, he acknowledges the unpleasant real world applications like cleaning equipment and uncouth clientele. Tattooing is a part of the service industry that caters to patron’s unique requests – from cougars prowling the vaginal region to Darth Vader popping an ollie, Hardister has delivered the bizarre with finesse. Improper etiquette is also rampant in many parlors, most of which involves “not sitting the fuck still.” That aside, his major peeve is the economics of tattooing. “A $350 tattoo is on the higher side of a regular job. That’s like a dollar a day for an entire year for something that will last a lifetime. People spend $5 on a coffee they piss out in an hour,” he says. “Don’t worry about the cost if the quality is there.”
version of that description in his work. When not at the shop, he’s riding bikes with his lady or kicking back with a little PlayStation. Drawing homework takes up the majority of his time – his most recent composition is a music-inspired set of flash (traditional designs printed on paper). Although he doesn’t have a favorite tattoo among his designs, his outlook always predicts “tomorrow’s is the best.” And at the end of the day, it’s that constant commitment to craft development that defines Hardister’s clever work ethic and brassy stock of pure want. “My job is my hobby and my hobby is my life – that’s what separates me from the
Written by Jay Workman Photography provided by: Marks of Distinction Tattoos Jessica Lowcher
That focus has already paid off with almost 6,000 tattoos completed in ten years of professional work. With signature beeline precision, feather-light needlework, and knowledge of tattoo culture, he honors both content and living canvas to the highest level. For those who know him, Hardister is a humble, pun-loving, sarcastic asshole. For those that don’t, you can spot a sincere and refined www.atlantismagazine.org
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
prose by Tiffany Bechert
Rabbits stalk the field, hiding under lowlying lettuces and darting in and out of the tall grasses. The turtles are positioned two by two — the top of the stairs, the bottom of the stairs, the attic balcony. The night air is crisp and the smell of dozens of chimney fires coats your nostrils. It’s bright — the moon is out and this is the deep woods, so the stars are really glowing. But again, this IS the deep woods. The moon is less than half full and the shadows are heavy. A map lay before you; tattered and dirty fabric long ago appropriated with details inked in smeared marker. It shows where you are, close by the river. It shows the main house, and it shows the other camps as well. Picking it up, you orient yourself best you can, noticing interesting markings on some buildings. Pocketing the map, you file away the idea to check them out as soon as you get a chance to. Curiosity and greed take hold and you begin to daydream about all the valuables and great stories this could generate for you if you find anything from the map. Tonight isn’t about that, however. Pulling out your chest pack, you rummage carefully until you find your snack — a rolled up bundle of arugula tied up with twine. The strong, bitter taste keeps you awake and the energy from the meal renews your focus. A branch snaps behind you and you quickly secure your pack and dive under cover. Watching
carefully, sniffing the air for any signal that might announce friend or foe, you advance toward the noise. A night moth smacks your face, tickling your nose, and getting dust in your eye. Smacking your tongue against your lips, you realize your mouth is bone dry. You have goosebumps from the cold, from the perspiration after all your exertion, and you’re low on water. Ducking under a fern growing near a huge oak tree, you inch closer to the spot where you heard the rustling. It seems to be getting louder and you hear the whispered remnants of low, nervous voices in the wind. You hear a rattling sound and you suddenly wish you knew more about the local flora and fauna here. A tightness takes hold of your neck, so stiff and rigid you find yourself in pain. Your fingers clench up and your gait slows to a crawl. The rattling gets louder and you begin to realize that it is accompanied by music. The song is so faint you can barely focus on the tune. By this point you are laying flush against the ground, dirt and dead leaves scratching your face and trying to gain entry to your mouth. The wind picks up, spreading dirt in your eyes. As you muffle your cry and try to nurse yourself, you notice the whispered voices growing louder, as if to compete with the wind. Suddenly a voice whispers into your ear. “I’ll make soup of you, tonight.”
Opposite page: Untitled — sculpture by Lindsay Roberts
Untitled — photography by Daphne Henning
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
Yellow Teapot â€” ceramics by Daniel Zentmeyer
Convening Window â€” ceramics by Daniel Zentmeyer
Young at Art
Leave it to the eager twenty-somethings to culturally rejuvenate a city through independent art movements. Now, our nearly three-hundred-year-old town’s art scene is feeling rather sprightly. “An artistic community for us youngins is really important,” says Melina Reed. “And Wilmington is getting there.” The 26-year-old drawer, painter, sculptor, metalworker and nurturer contributes her time and creativity to some of the city’s infant art collaboratives, including Atomic Lime Project and Art South. Considering these efforts are still growing, the nourishment of Wilmington’s burgeoning art presence depends on one vital resource: child support. Members of the Atomic Lime Project aren’t strangers to inspiring a community of young up-and-comers. When established in 2008 at East Carolina University, Eric White and Justin Bernel’s goal was to make a living purely off selling art. Now, the Project’s four contributors, including Justin Campbell and Reed, have centralized themselves in Wilmington and base their dynamic around a sup28
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port model – artists supporting artists – instead of rivaling other creatives, a statement echoed in the recruitment of Reed in 2011. “I took advantage of a great thing. [ALP] is the best learning experience as an outed artist,” she says. Working with Atomic Lime Project motivated Reed to forge her own
metalworking and design business called Red Canary, which opened this past July. “Red Canary is actually a translation of my name in Greek,” says the UNCW English alum. “I wanted to choose words that represented me.” Along with creating special-order pieces for clients, Reed sells handcrafted jewelry, made mostly from found objects, at Art South. Art South is a monthly, commission-free assemblage of artisans that design, create and, sell paintings, prints, jewelry, apparel and pottery. The event takes place at two neighborhood bars, Duck & Dive Pub and Barbary Coast, on the last Sunday of every month. ”Art South seemed like a good idea to me,” says Reed. “It’s casual. There are no established artists and we all have regular jobs, too.” The reciprocal nature of the event defines the neighborhood’s willingness to promote each other’s devotions and all parties profit from that simple standard. In one unique show, Art South trilaterally supports the businesses that house the event, the artists, and the community. For now, Reed’s enthusiasm, coupled with the community’s broadening support, should see Wilmington’s youthful art scene into puberty with as few bumps as possible. And maybe later, when the word gets out, there will be a huge sigh of relief and all that cheek pinching can be left in the past.
Learn more about Atomic Lime Project and their upcoming events: www.atomiclimeproject.com Facebook: Atomic Lime Project Art South Red Canary Designs
Written by Jay Workman Photography provided by: Atomic Lime Project Art South Red Canary Designs
Eye to Eye prose by Melissa Huffman
Adrian’s wife, Cecilia, bought a house next to a ranch with her sweat and tears, and without her husband’s aid. Juan, the ranch’s owner, and Adrian found common ground in their drinking habits within days of meeting each other. Their friendship developed over nights of toping in La Esquina, a local cantina uphill from their properties. Adrian would fix Juan’s car whenever needed at no charge, and Juan gave Adrian one of his pigs every year. By the time Christmas disembarked, Adrian had fattened the pig up so much it found it hard to stand, but kept eating regardless. Preserving life was not nearly as appealing as taking it for Adrian. He decapitated the swine with the corroded machete he had received as a gift from his father when he turned thirteen years old. Then, he’d hang the wilting corpse on a hook to drain its blood. By the time his seemingly divine task was finished the two amigos had gone through a small bottle of guaro, sugar cane liquor, each. He stumbled back to the house with blood running off his oil-ridden hands into the pig’s eyes and ears. Silently, he placed the pig’s skinned head in the off-white refrigerator, leaving his red fingerprints on the eroding handle. Darkening red drops showed his snaky path home. Adrian ran his hands through hot water but refrained from using soap, walked outside to smoke another cigarette and waited for his only granddaughter to wake up. He knew that the first thing she would do is open the fridge to pour herself a glass of soymilk or “bitch milk” as he liked to put it. That Christmas morning would not be different for Annabelle; not even when the putrefying smell of the pig’s head shot up her nostrils and forced her eyes to open only to be met by lidless eyes blankly staring into hers.
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
Untitled â€” sculpture by Lindsay Roberts
Untitled — pen and watercolor by Lindsay Roberts
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
Conversations — ceramics by Daniel Zentmeyer
A Plague on All Your Houses! Bubonik Funk is an energetic jam troupe based in Charlotte, North Carolina, whose third release, Zabooki debuted on July 29th. The quartet composed of Stephen Kallander (guitar/vocals), Dylan Ellett (vocals/organ), Nick McOwen (bass guitar), and Daniel Allison (drums/vocals) blend modern rock, psychedelic funk, and raspy soul to ultimately form an infectious amalgam of sound. Bubonik Funk’s genre transcends the quintessential jam session and enters a heightened space of widespread, and uninhibited harmony. Since their first EP titled OTB in 2008, the band has graduated from four seperate colleges, toured most of the east coast and, generally melted faces with song. This October, the unsigned band plans to invade Philadelphia, Washington, D.C., and New York City with a sickness.
Stephan Kallander and Dylan Ellett recently played a rousing game of e-mail ping-pong with Atlantis about magical beginnings, band relations, and the ghost of Duane Allman.
D.E. I’ve “known of” all my band members since 5th grade, at least. Daniel and I have gone to school together since kindergarten. He was the mischievous class clown. We bonded in an 8th grade Spanish class that we both failed, because we were trying to make each other laugh the whole time. That comedic relationship between us hasn’t changed much in fifteen years.
D.E. Nick and I started our musical journey together in my basement as 8th graders. We were writing joke songs together as entertainment and somewhere along the way we ended up where we are. Stefan was playing in a band back then and he was always regarded as an extremely good guitar player for his age. We were all intimidated when we finally got him down in my basement one day when his band broke up.
D.E. People expect funk right from the starting gun when it’s in the name. It’s always fun to throw in some heavy rock to let people know we’re flexible. Funk is more the feeling of the music than the genre. If you see a lot of really unattractive facial expressions, (like the crowd just collectively bit into a lemon) you know you’re getting funky.
D.E. Music keeps the cogs and gears of life moving smoothly. I think if it were absent entirely, S.K. It’s kinda funny - I was going up to talk to people would feel and behave a lot differently. I Dylan and Nick about playing with them when take a lot of inspiration from bands I see live. Last they were coming down to talk to me about playsummer alone I got to see Edward Sharpe and the ing with them. And I brought Daniel into the mix. And it’s been all gravy from there. We became best Magnetic Zeros, D’Angelo, Bootsy Collins, Gogol Bordello, as well as a lot of local bands in Charfriends spending countless hours in Dylan’s basement practicing through high school and have been lotte, like the Junior Astronomers and Matrimony. It all sticks with me subconsciously. You want to pretty inseparable after that, so much that while emulate what speaks to you. we were separated by our 800 miles at college we stayed together and gigged at least once a month. What do you think about your fellow band D.E. Today, we all have tremendous respect for each other. Most people will never understand the bond you have when your best friends are also your band mates. You share everything: the camaraderie, the vulnerability of songwriting, every secret imaginable. It’s like having three girlfriends. But none of them put out. Where did the name Bubonik Funk come S.K. I actually came up with the name in World History class; we were talking about the bubonic plague and it kind of clicked for me. I mentioned it to the other guys and we all thought it was cool. Bubonik definitely means wide-spreading and infectious to me, which I strongly believe our music embodies. The phrase Bubonik Funk also describes our music perfectly in the sense that the funk seeps into all our songs, whether they may be characterized as a funk song or not. It’s just something we all feel and can’t contain in a particular song. 34
Issue 63 — Fall 2012
D.E. Lyrically, the songs all come back to visions and observations. I can’t really help it. In “Mung Beans” off our newest album, I sing about a bum who says he’s in ZZ Top and plays a song with his cane. Well, I worked a ZZ Top concert in Charlotte and saw an old guy on the lawn playing his cane like a guitar, so that image found it’s way into a song. In the same song, we also mention the ghost of Duane Allman swerving on a motorcycle, so sometimes it’s just cool visions in my head. Typically it’s all very spontaneous and instantaneous, as art should be. D.E. It may just be my favorite because it’s the newest, but I really enjoy performing “TV on my Head.” It’s the first song we wrote when we all got reunited after four years of school and study-
ing abroad and stuff. When we play it live, I get to dance around stage with this little vintage television on my head that only picks up static. The chorus goes “TV on my head, nothing to watch” and I guess there’s some symbolism there somewhere. S.K. I always seem to gravitate towards the new music we are writing and a couple new tunes we’re currently finishing are probably my favorite right now. That being said “This’ll Be The Day” is one of my favorites to play live, as well as “Living to Die” and “Organized Crime” off our new CD. I also love playing “Queen Bee,” which is one of the first songs we ever wrote but we still play in almost every show. S.K. My personal aspirations lie solely with this band. We have something special and speak in a way that I don’t think has been seen or heard yet. We can connect with different generations, races and, genders and feel unified amongst all of them. We’re blessed to be pretty social people that enjoy the company of humans, young and old, black and white, disabled, Funky, people with wings, no shoes, showers as rooms, whatever. The people that feel strongly about music and believe in the power of its healing and happiness thankfully seem to gravitate towards our music and we are incredibly happy to meet and hang out with these people.
Zabooki is now available for download at bandcamp.com
Written by Jay Workman Photography provided by Bubonik Funk
Staff from Under the Sea
Jay Workman, Features Writer
Shauna Seaver, Layout Editor
Issue 63 â€” Fall 2012
Rachel Arredondo, Art Editor
Maddie Deming, Submissions Coordinator
a Michael Tomaselli, Web Editor
Caleb Ward, Prose Editor
Sally J. Johnson, Poetry Editor
Mary Kresge, Layout Assistant
Ally Favory, Art Editor
Keally Miller, Copy Editor
Jessica Lowcher, Editor-in-Chief
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Issue 63 â€” Fall 2012
Colophon: 2600 copies of this publication were printed at a total cost of $6156.00, or $2.37 per copy. Atlantis is published three times a year at the University of North Carolina Wilmington in mid-November, mid-April, and mid-June. Copyright: All rights are reserved to the individual authors and artists. Permission must be obtained to use any material from this publication in any way. Submissions: To submit to Atlantis, you must be a currently enrolled undergraduate or graduate student at a university within the UNC system or Cape Fear Community College. Contributors may submit up to ten pieces of art, photography, poetry, or prose to our website at atlantismagazine.org/submit. Editorial Policy: Once a submission is received, the Submissions Coordinator immediately codes it with a tracking number, keeping a spreadsheet with the contact information for each submission. The submissions are then distributed anonymously to the student staffs for review and are labeled solely with their tracking number during this process. No one except the Submissions Coordinator has access to this spreadsheet. The Submissions Coordinator does not participate in the review process and the spreadsheet is not opened until each editorial staff has made content decisions. Every submission is carefully discussed and reviewed. Upcoming Events: - Atlantis with Love: The last Tuesday of every month at Bottega Art and Wine - Spring Magazine Release Party: Thursday, April 4th, 2013 Upcoming Submissions Deadlines: -Summer 2013 Magazine: February 6, 2013
Staff Members Prose Jacob Schexnayder Jeffery Massey Ashley Ritter Anastasia Hilton Megan Burris Art Rachel Arredondo Elizabeth McAdams Trey Alber Claire Chastain
Photography Ally Favory Sammy Thompson Jennifer Withrow Rileigh Wilkins Carson Smith Lacey McClain Evin Leek Aurelie Krakowsky Katie Kerekes Shelley Henning Matthew Eckmair Devin Barlaan
Poetry Jade Benoit Sally J. Johnson Eric Tran Special thanks to: Bill DiNome, Dr. Persuit, Jamie Moncrief, and the rest of the Student Media Board. Atlantis would not have persisted and made it through this semester without your patience, assistance, and tough love. Thank you for sticking with us and for all that you do. Thank you: Readers, contributors, Gene Spear and UNCW Printing Services, Bottega Art and Wine, Calico Room, the Seahawk, TealTV, Bubonik Funk, Art South, Atomic Lime Project, Red Canary Designs, Marks of Distinction Tattoos, Freakers, Brother & The Harmony, UNCW Art Circle, sunny fall weather, mango Snapple, nachos, face paint, Lunchables, Frogger, mermen in blazers, Heluva Good French Onion Dip, food babies, swag, octopi/octopuses/octopodes, the semicolon, the secret thing in the freezer, low ropes course, personl space, starfish hands, giggle fits, the Atlantic Ocean, beach bungalows, UNCW English Department, and my ATL family.