For research for Postmortem,  the upcoming WNEP show, Don tasked us with creating our own time capsule for each decade.

1950s:

Elvis album “Elvis Presley” (1956)

Elvis’ debut album, released on RCA Victor in 1956. The album itself was the first rock n’ roll album to reach number 1 on the Billboard charts, and it stayed number 1 for 10 weeks.

Rosa Parks mugshot photo (1955)

Parks was not the only one to refuse to move from her seat, but her arrest sparked the Montgomery Bus Boycott, and set the stage for the Civil Rights movement of the 1960s.

Sputnik 1 sound recording (1957)

The launch of Sputnik set off not only the space race (NASA was founded soon after in 1958), but also the Cold War itself. Not only is Sputnik the first viable man made object in space, which I imagine was terrifying in a decade filled with atomic war warnings, it also could communicate back to earth with a signal that anyone with a good ham radio could pick up on. Listen to the recording here.

Polio Vaccine (1952)

Though it wasn’t actually announced until 1955, and not available for purchase until early 1960s, the Polio vaccine developed by Jonas Salk has been cited as the most important invention of the 20th century.

Newspaper Clipping of the “Little Rock 9″ (1957)

The Supreme Court case Brown v. the Board of Education in 1954 barred the segregation of all schools throughout the nation. It wasn’t until 1957 (through school boards’ plans of gradual integration) that the ruling was really felt in the country, as 9 students showed up for their first day of class at Little Rock Central High School. The governor, supporting the segregationists, ordered the Arkansas National Guard to block the students from entering the school. Pres. Eisenhower soon sent federal troops from the 101st Airborne division and nationalized the Arkansas National Guard to escort the students in.

Election Ballot of Richard J. Daley for Mayor (1955)

Before the current Mayor Daley, there was the Mayor Daley, the undisputed “boss” of Chicago. First elected Mayor in 1955, he served for 21 years, and was a crucial part of Chicago’s history, both good and bad.

Instructions for a Bomb Shelter Kit

My father remembered growing up and seeing people who had actual bomb shelters on their property. I don’t know if he had one himself, but the market for bomb shelters was certainly alive and well in the 1950s. Much of the propaganda of the time from Civil Defense also fed the idea that “duck and cover” was a legitimate safety exercise in the event of nuclear holocaust.

Novel of The Manchurian Candidate (1959)

Though it’s the movie that became so famous, the story from the novel hits on all the major fears of the 1950s that make a good thriller, from the Korean War to the Red Scare to China’s “communist threat”.

Casino dice from a Rush Street casino

The Chicago mob had a lot of power in the early and mid 20th century, and the 1950s was when a lot of it spread to owning and operating casinos in Vegas. There were still plenty of vices to be found in Chicago proper, and Rush Street was a reported hotspot for underground gambling.

Novel of On the Road (1957)

Jack Kerouac’s novel has been called the defining work of the Beat Generation. It was cited as a huge influence on artists, musicians, and novelists from then to now, and the novel also exemplified the cultural shift that was just underneath the surface, and was to become more evident in the 1960s. When it was published, the New York Times wrote “its publication is a historic occasion”, while others roundly panned it.

I found a new scar.
It’s right here on my finger.
How did it get there?

A banjo ukulele. The world’s smallest harmonica. An award for “Religious Excellence.” Stickers. A spelling bee. British pop music. Guitars. Patti Smith. Amanda Rountree inciting a riot. An iPad. A manifesto. Beer. Cookies. Mr. Steve. Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass.

Two months in, and WNEP’s Frequency is already shaping up to be one of the best ways to spend a Saturday night. If you haven’t made it out, what’s stopping you? The FREE admission? The FREE drinks? The FREE snacks? The smorgasbord of performances? The “anything goes” atmosphere? The opportunity to hang out with the coolest damn theater artists in the city of Chicago, in Transistor, the coolest damn STORE in the city of Chicago?

Here are some photos of some of the things you missed this past Saturday:

You feel about 25% cooler now, right? Give or take? Well, you’re not there yet. There’s still room for improvement. Swing by Transistor on Saturday, December 18th (and any other day up until then), and that percentage will increase. The moment you walk through those doors, people will want to talk to you. You will instantly be cool.

WNEP Theater Presents: Frequency at Transistor, an open-ended invitation to the WNEP wavelength. On the third Saturday of every month, starting at 8pm, the WNEPeeps host a free live theater event showcasing performers of every kind. Anyone is welcome, be they actor, storyteller, musician, comedian, improviser, magician, puppeteer, juggler, filmmaker, dancer, or. . . well, you get the idea.

Transistor is located in the heart of Andersonville, at 5045 North Clark. Equal parts art gallery, CD & record shop, specialty audio electronics boutique, performance space, and more, it is without a doubt one of the hippest, most unique new establishments in the city of Chicago, and is easily accessible by bus, train, and car.

The next Frequency will be on Saturday, December 18th, as mentioned above, and will feature the talents of Ramsen Isaac, Thea Christine, Don Hall, Rebecca Langguth, Shiow-Jiau Yung, Dave Goss, Steve Lund, Matt Ulrich, Amanda Rountree, and more. We’ll have free drinks and snacks on hand, but as always, feel free to bring your own.

If you’re interested in performing, in December or any other month, email Dave Goss, WNEP’s Managing Director, at dave at wneptheater dot org.

If you’re not interested in performing, at least come on out and let us show you a good time. Seriously, what have you got to lose?

Hope to see you there.

Until then, check out these clips from last Saturday’s event. Be warned, though: the one at the bottom is NOT SAFE FOR WORK. Unless you work with us. By the way, there may be more of these to come, so stay tuned.

Ladies and Gentlemen:

I don’t have to tell you that for the general public and for you, tlhe refined public, a Dadaist is the equivalent of a leper. But that is only a manner of speaking. When these same people get close to us, they treat us with that remnant of elegance that comes from their old habit of belief in progress. At ten yards distance, hatred begins again. If you ask me why, I won’t be able to tell you.

Another characteristic of Dada is the continuous breaking off of our friends. They are always breaking off and resigning. The first to tender his resignation from the Dada movement *was myself.* Everybody knows that Dada is nothing. I broke away from Dada and from myself as soon as I understood the implications of *nothing.*

If I continue to do something, it is because it amuses me, or rather because I have a need for activity which I use up and satisfy wherever I can. Basically, the true Dadas have always been separate from Dada. Those who acted as if Dada were important enough to resign from with a big noise have been motivated by a desire for personal publicity, proving that counterfeiters have always wriggled like unclean worms in and out of the purest and most radiant religions.

I know that you have come here today to hear explanations. Well, don’t expect to hear any explanations about Dada. You explain to me why you exist. You haven’t the faintest idea. You will say: I exist to make my children happy. But in your hearts you know that isn’t so. You will say: I exist to guard my country, against barbarian invasions. That’s a fine reason. You will say: I exist because God wills. That’s a fairy tale for children. You will never be able to tell me why you exist but you will always be ready to maintain a serious attitude about life. You will never understand that life is a pun, for you will never be alone enough to reject hatred, judgments, all these things that require such an effort, in favor of a calm level state of mind that makes everything equal and without importance.

Dada is not at all modern. It is more in the nature of a return to an almost Buddhist religion of indifference. Dada covers things with an artificial gentleness, a snow of butterflies released from the head of a prestidigitator. Dada is immobility and does not comprehend the passions. You will call this a paradox, since Dada is manifested only in violent acts. Yes, the reactions of individuals contaminated by *destruction* are rather violent, but when these reactions are exhausted, annihilated by the Satanic insistence of a continuous and progressive “What for?” what remains, what dominates is *indifference.* But with the same note of conviction I might maintain the contrary.

I admit that my friends do not approve this point of view. But the *Nothing* can be uttered only as the reflection of an individual. And that is why it will be valid for everyone, since everyone is important only for the individual who is expressing himself.–I am speaking of myself. Even that is too much for me. How can I be expected to speak of all men at once, and satisfy them too?

Nothing is more delightful than to confuse and upset people. People one doesn’t like. What’s the use of giving them explanations that are merely food for curiosity? The truth is that people love nothing but themselves and their little possessions, their income, their dog. This state of affairs derives from a false conception of property. If one is poor in spirit, one possesses a sure and indomitable intelligence, a savage logic, a point of view that can not be shaken. Try to be empty and fill your brain cells with a petty happiness. Always destroy what you have in you. On random walks. Then you will be able to understand many things. You are not more intelligent than we, and we are not more intelligent than you.

Intelligence is an organization like any other, the organization of society, the organization of a bank, the organization of chit-chat. At a society tea. It serves to create order and clarity where there is none. It serves to create a state hierarchy. To set up classifications for rational work. To separate questions of a material order from those of a cerebral ordcr, but to take the former very seriously. Intelligence is the triumph of sound education and pragmatism. Fortunately life is something else and its pleasures are innumerable. They are not paid for in the coin of liquid intelligence.

These observations of everyday conditions have led us to a realization which constitutes our minimum basis of agreement, aside from the sympathy which binds us and which is inexplicable. It would not have been possible for us to found our agreement on principles. For everything is relative. What are the Beautiful, the Good, Art, Freedom? Words that have a different meaning for every individual. Words with the pretension of creating agreement among all, and that is why they are written with capital letters. Words which have not the moral value and objective force that people have grown accustomed to finding in them. Their meaning changes from one individual, one epoch, one country to the next. Men are different. It is diversity that makes life interesting. There is no common basis in mens minds. The unconscious is inexhaustible and uncontrollable. Its force surpasses us. It is as mysterious as the last particle of a brain cell. Even if we knew it, we could not reconstruct it.

What good did the theories of the philosophers do us? Did they help us to take a single step forward or backward? What is forward, what is backward? Did they alter our forms of contentment? We are. We argue, we dispute, we get excited. The rest is sauce. Sometimes pleasant, sometimes mixed with a limitless boredom, a swamp dotted with tufts of dying shrubs.

We have had enough of the intelligent movements that have stretched beyond measure our credulity in the benefits of science. What we want now is spontaneity. Not because it is better or more beautiful than anything else. But because everything that issues freely from ourselves, without the intervention of speculative ideas, represents us. We must intensify this quantity of life that readily spends itself in every quarter. Art is not the most precious manifestation of life. Art has not the celestial and universal value that people like to attribute to it. Life is far more interesting. Dada knows the correct measure that should be given to art: with subtle, perfidious methods, Dada introduces it into daily life. And vice versa. In art, Dada reduces everything to an initial simplicity, growing always more relative. It mingles its caprices with the chaotic wind of creation and the barbaric dances of savage tribes. It wants logic reduced to a personal minimum, while literature in its view should be primarily intended for the individual who makes it. Words have a weight of their own and lend themselves to abstract construction. The absurd has no terrors for me, for from a more exalted point of view everything in life seems absurd to me. Only the elasticity of our conventions creates a bond between disparate acts. The Beautiful and the True in art do not exist; what interests me is the intensity of a personality transposed directly, clearly into the work; the man and his vitality; the angle from which he regards the elements and in what manner he knows how to gather sensation, emotion, into a lacework of words and sentiments.

Dada tries to find out what words mean before using them, from the point of view not of grammar but of representation. Objects and colors pass through the same filter. It is not the new technique that interests us, but the spirit. Why do you want us to be preoccupied with a pictorial, moral, poetic, literary, political or social renewal? We are well aware that these renewals of means are merely the successive cloaks of the various epochs of history, uninteresting questions of fashion and facade. We are well aware that people in the costumes of the Renaissance were pretty much the same as the people of today, and that Chouang-Dsi was just as Dada as we are. You are mistaken if you take Dada for a modern school, or even for a reaction against the schools of today. Several of my statements have struck you as old and natural, what better proof that you were a Dadaist without knowing it, perhaps even before the birth of Dada.

You will often hear that Dada is a state of mind. You may be gay, sad, afflicted, joyous, melancholy or Dada. Without being literary, you can be romantic, you can be dreamy, weary, eccentric, a businessman, skinny, transfigured, vain, amiable or Dada. This will happen later on in the course of history when Dada has become a precise, habitual word, when popular repetition has given it the character of a word organic with its necessary content. Today no one thinks of the literature of the Romantic school in representing a lake, a landscape, a character. Slowly but surely, a Dada character is forming.

Dada is here, there and a little everywhere, such as it is, with its faults, with its personal differences and distinctions which it accepts and views with indifference.

We are often told that we are incoherent, but into this word people try to put an insult that it is rather hard for me to fathom. Everything is incoherent. The gentleman who decides to take a bath but goes to the movies instead. The one who wants to be quiet but says things that haven’t even entered his head. Another who has a precise idea on some subject but succeeds only in expressing the opposite in words which for him are a poor translation. There is no logic. Only relative necessities discovered *a posteriori*, valid not in any exact sense but only as explanations.

The acts of life have no beginning or end. Everything happens in a completely idiotic way. That is why everything is alike. Simplicity is called Dada.

Any attempt to conciliate an inexplicable momentary state with logic strikes me as a boring kind of game. The convention of the spoken language is ample and adequate for us, but for our solitude, for our intimate games and our literature we no longer need it.

The beginnings of Dada were not the beginnings of an art, but of a disgust. Disgust with the magnificence of philosophers who for 3ooo years have been explaining everything to us (what for? ), disgust with the pretensions of these artists-God’s-representatives-on-earth, disgust with passion and with real pathological wickedness where it was not worth the bother; disgust with a false form of domination and restriction *en masse*, that accentuates rather than appeases man’s instinct of domination, disgust with all the catalogued categories, with the false prophets who are nothing but a front for the interests of money, pride, disease, disgust with the lieutenants of a mercantile art made to order according to a few infantile laws, disgust with the divorce of good and evil, the beautiful and the ugly (for why is it more estimable to be red rather than green, to the left rather than the right, to be large or small?). Disgust finally with the Jesuitical dialectic which can explain everything and fill people’s minds with oblique and obtuse ideas without any physiological basis or ethnic roots, all this by means of blinding artifice and ignoble charlatans promises.

As Dada marches it continuously destroys, not in extension but in itself. From all these disgusts, may I add, it draws no conclusion, no pride, no benefit. It has even stopped combating anything, in the realization that it’s no use, that all this doesn’t matter. What interests a Dadaist is his own mode of life. But here we approach the great secret.

Dada is a state of mind. That is why it transforms itself according to races and events. Dada applies itself to everything, and yet it is nothing, it is the point where the yes and the no and all the opposites meet, not solemnly in the castles of human philosophies, but very simply at street corners, like dogs and grasshoppers.

Like everything in life, Dada is useless.

Dada is without pretension, as life should be.

Perhaps you will understand me better when I tell you that Dada is a virgin microbe that penetrates with the insistence of air into all the spaces that reason has not been able to fill with words or conventions.

Another haiku-

I have nothing to say, save

the preceding words.