Bridget

Mad Decent is the label brainchild of popular electronic music mastermind Diplo. Since 2005, they've been one of the only reasons white kids listen to moombahton or Brazilian funk music. Daktyl is one of Mad Decent's star artists, cooking up killer electronic music that shifts from reflective ambient to bed-breaking sexy R&B to tasteful club banger at the drop of a hat. He's got a new album out, Cyclical, and Mad Decent has kindly given us first access to a preview stream. Check it out.

Listen to more Daktyl on his Soundcloud and pre-order the album, dropping 4/21.

Alan Wake 2: For a passionate, perhaps not big enough, fanbase, just hearing the name of that title can't help but kickstart a jolt of excitement.

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acochlidette:

all hail goth moth

Our society discards a lot of electronics, as they are rendered obsolete almost every day, but artists like Julie Alice Chappell, based in the UK, are there to pick up the pieces and turn them into beautiful recycled art. In her case, she turns old computer circuit boards and electronics into beautiful winged insects in a series called “Computer Component Bugs.”

“With all their tiny components, complex circuitry and bright metallic colours I cannot help but compare them to the detailed patterns we see when we look at nature up close,” Chappell wrote in an article on permaculture.co.uk. “I view the miniature circuit boards with the same curiosity and amazement as I view the natural world.“

Chappell is an environmentally minded artist as well – she says her work transforms “discarded and often environmentally dangerous materials to create something new and precious, keeping the art sympathetic to current environmental issues whilst developing an original making process.“

If you like her work, check out her Etsy, where she sells her beautiful winged creations!

More info: Etsy | Website | Facebook (h/t: permaculture, mymodernmet)

You can find her winged insects for sale on Etsy!

An owl that likes to land on people’s heads has rocketed a small Dutch town to fame. Menno Shaefer, a 48-year-old from Zaandam, Netherlands, managed to document this friendly 6lb (2.7kg) European Eagle Owl as it tried to roost on the heads of onlookers in Noordeinde town. There, it sat for up to a minute before looking for another resting spot.

“Whilst photographing the owl, it did try to land one my head once,” said Shaefer to NL Times. “However, as soon as I lifted my camera to get a shot, the owl flew onto my neighbor standing by my side.” Residents think that the owl might have escaped from an aviary in Oosterwolde, and are excited by the publicity. “I have seen photographers and birders from around the country, from The Hague to Spijkenisse, they come from everywhere to see the eagle owl. Our village is finally on the map!” , said one happy resident.

As to why the owl behaves this way, Schaefer said, “It was a very funny thing to watch, however I’m just as confused as anyone as to why it does this.”

(h/t: lostateminor, nltimes)

As you probably heard, last Friday morning a semitruck overturned, spilling approximately 22 million bees onto I-5. The bees swarmed. Hiveless. Potentially queenless. Confused.

Photos of the scene depicted beekeepers haunting the dark hour in full beekeeping regalia, attempting to salvage what hives they could. Reports from KOMO News described firefighters spraying foam on broken boxes and reporters swatting away their apian attackers.

KIRO TV reported that the driver emerged from the wreckage unscathed. He’s fine.

But the bees.

Look at these intrepid beekeepers:

“The only way to capture the bees would be to lure them with a queen,” Frank Neal, owner of Tarboo Valley Bees, told me when I called him. Neal claims to have “been beeing” for 40 years. Rescuers would have to right the boxes, re-queen the hive, and hope for the best.

“If the queen was killed in the wreck,” Neal said, “then the bees won’t do anything but fly around.”

One of the worker bees will start laying eggs, but they’ll be drone eggs, males who are unable to reproduce. If they have no queen, they have no hive, no home.

“None of the hives were recovered,” said a representative from Belleville Honey Beekeeping Supply, the company who suffered the loss of the nearly 450 hives on I-5, when I called. “We have about 7,500 hives in house, so it is a pinch. But we’ll get through it. We’re farmers.”

The loss of last week's bees will have no impact on the PNW’s food crop pollination industry as a whole. Nor will the spill affect anyone except for Belleville Honey Beekeeping Supply, the few responders who suffered stings, and the people stuck in traffic due to the accident.

But the bees? All the bees will die.

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Mall-goers now have one less option for racy nighties and polyestery butt floss, as—barring some eleventh-hour private equity savior—Frederick’s of Hollywood has filed for bankruptcy and plans to close its brick-and-mortar outposts.

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© Helge Skodvin/Moment


© Helge Skodvin/Moment


© Helge Skodvin/Moment


© Helge Skodvin/Moment


© Helge Skodvin/Moment


© Helge Skodvin/Moment

Land of lost content

[body_image width='1920' height='1080' path='images/content-images/2015/04/13/' crop='images/content-images-crops/2015/04/13/' filename='i-tried-to-watch-40-hours-of-game-of-thrones-in-one-sitting-789-body-image-1428936758.jpg' id='45460']

Spoilers for the first four seasons of the show are ahead.

Winter was coming when I moved from Miami to New York in mid-November, so I ended up doing what a lot of people do in the Northeast when it gets cold and dark and miserable for months: I stayed inside and watched TV. I watched all the TV. All the TV except for Game of Thrones.

When I told people this was because I didn't like "fantasy," everyone, without exception, replied, "But that's only, like 5 percent of it!" That would actually go a long way in explaining why it's HBO's most popular show ever. After all, there's no way that all 18.4 million people who tune in to Game of Thrones on the regular are the kind of people who read Wheel of Time books. Correctly or not though, I had the idea in my head that the show was merely dwarves fucking princesses with some dragon cameos, and as such, it didn't have much to offer a person like me.

But season five has started, and that means everyone is talking about it again, and I decided, after a period of peer pressure that bordered on bullying, that it was my duty as a screen-watching citizen of the world to catch up on it, or at least try to, and this morphed into the idea that I should watch every episode —a.k.a. 41 hours—of Game of Thrones and film myself doing this. I would be like David Blaine; David Blaine in a Dungeons & Dragons version of Videodrome.

SEASON 1

It turns out that the rumors are true about the sheer amount of fucking that goes down in Westeros. About an hour into the show, I think I've seen every possible configuration of characters have doggy-style sex. I feel extremely bad for Daenerys, who gets creeped on by her brother and then married off to a terrifying, muscular husband, though she cheers up after she suddenly gets into him after following some Cosmo sex tips from a servant. Also I'm confused—there are 500 characters and they are all named D'horen. It's a lot to keep track of and I fear I am unable to follow the plot. That does not bode well for this experiment.

Two friends come over and order Mexican from the place downstairs, but given the incest and evisceration continually playing out on screen, food doesn't seem appealing. Watching Daenerys eat a horse heart doesn't help, either. I don't think this experiment is the ideal way to watch a show; it kind of stops you from enjoying it and forces you to endure it. I like Arya well enough—but when her dad gets decapitated and she becomes a Dickensian street urchin, I remain unmoved. Am I broken?

SEASON 2

I had planned to take a short break in the middle of seasons one and two, but I don't pause the marathon. I want to keep the momentum I have going. Also I've been watching this show for long enough that I don't really know what I'd do for a "break." Anyone who binges on TV knows this, but after a few hours of the binge you're past the point of shame. What's the difference between watching eight episodes of a show and watching 15? Either way you're probably going to lie to everyone about what you did over the weekend. By the start of season two, every episode feels like a step forwards on a long long journey. I imagine it provides the same sort of high as leveling up does to people who play World of Warcraft .

Soon, though, it becomes clear that Game of Thrones is the most terrifying show to binge on, because there is so much death and misery. Every scene is someone getting gutted by swords or hate-fucked by someone else for political gain. It's so stressful. My stomach lurches, and I realize it's about 1:30 in the morning and I haven't eaten anything in a long time since well before Joffery became the devil incarnate. Nothing's open, so I call a diner in Queens and select an open-faced chicken salad sandwich slathered in yellow American cheese and almost-raw bacon. I take about two bites and throw it on my bed, where it will sit for the next 12 or so hours.

I get extremely paranoid that I'm hallucinating everything and I conclude that my mental state is definitely deteriorating. I keep watching.

At 3 AM, the only new friend I've made since moving back to New York, a guy I'll call Tom who lives down the street from me, texts and says, "buzz me in? i need a minute." I don't know what he needs a minute for, and I don't care, I just want company in my tiny room that feels increasingly like there should be padding on the walls.

But when he comes up he starts sobbing on my couch and unspools a complicated story about a sick friend, coming home late, and his parents kicking him out. He keeps repeating himself over and over again to the point where I figure he must be on something. Game of Thrones rages on in the background the entire time, although he doesn't seem to notice or mind that I haven't looked away from it. Tom then offers me a hit of acid that he had wrapped in tinfoil. I consider it for a second, but decide that throwing my mind any further into this fantasy world would be an incredibly bad idea. He sleeps on the couch in my living room and the next day acts like none of this had happened.

I keep watching.

That afternoon, when normal people are awake and doing things again, some other friends come to check on me, and I sort of get to experience what I imagine being a drug dealer is like. People drop in for a few minutes to sit on my couch, leave, then come back to find me still sitting on my couch doing the exact same thing I was doing last time.

Once the visits dry up, though, I grow unspeakably lonely. "When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die," Cersei, who I've now decided is my spirit guide, forewarned in the first season's seventh episode. "There is no middle ground." As I approach the halfway point of my marathon, these words speak to me. I am playing the true Game of Thrones and I will win or I will die.

During all this, I was filming myself. I had some idea that the footage would be funny (though only one part—beneath—turned out to be). At some point I notice that a light on the camera filming me is blinking red, so I text a guy who understands cameras, and ask him what to do. Almost immediately, he sends me two pictures of the back of the camera and step-by-step instructions on how to change the memory card. It's all a block of meaningless text. I can't make sense of the words even as I read them out loud and try to isolate each sentence as a separate directive. He emails me a video. The narrator's voice is a monotone, and no one is getting beheaded, which is presumably why I can't pay attention. I watch it twice before giving up.

I've been futzing with the camera for an hour, and as I try to pry off a clearly bolted-on part of the camera with my bare hands, I get the sense that I'm being laughed at. Except no one is there. I take the barely-eaten sandwich and emphatically throw it in the garbage to regain some sense of agency.

Finally, I call someone else who knows how to use the camera. She explains that I push the button that says "push" to eject the card. I start the show again and hundreds of men are being burned alive in their ships.

Nothing shocks me anymore. Life is cheap in Westeros, and blowjobs are cheaper.

SEASON 3

I haven't taken an official count but I estimate that I've seen Peter Dinklage get 47 blowjobs. I am completely inured to this. In fact, nothing shocks me anymore. Life is cheap in Westeros, and blowjobs are cheaper. Earlier Maester Aemon explained earlier that there was a winter coming that "will be long, and dark things will come with it." My life is a long winter.

Twenty-five hours into Game of Thrones, I am a shell of my former self. But when things start gearing up for a royal wedding, I sense something climactic is coming and gather the strength for a second wind. That instinct proves correct, because one scene, which I now know is referred to as "The Red Wedding," is possibly the most intense thing I've ever seen on TV. The first time I watched Kids, when I was like 17, I spent the entire last five minutes on my feet screaming at the screen. I have pretty much the same reaction here. Although I've been able to deal with all of the deaths thus far, even Ned Stark's, I can sense tears streaming down my face. I stare fixedly at the screen throughout the credits and only snap out of it when the glow of HBO's logo startles me back into reality. This is what that looked like:

SEASON 4

The outburst leaves me spent. For the first time, I feel like I could actually fall asleep if I wanted to. I seriously consider putting on a baseball cap and sunglasses Weekend at Bernie's–style to fool the camera. I conclude it is a "good idea" and that "no one will know." I give the camera angry side-eye, because I now consider it my enemy.

The Red Wedding, actually, is the last plot point from the show I can remember. I begin season four, but I am completely out of it to the point where I might as well be staring at a blank wall. Game of Thrones washes over me like some bloody wave, but I was disengage from it, my eyes glaze over, and completely by accident I fall asleep.

When I wake up on my couch with my shoes on about 11 hours later, the first thing I see is the blinking light telling me that the camera is no longer recording. The second thing I notice is that it's a goddamn beautiful day outside.

As I waddle down the staircase to experience the first day of spring, I feel less like a grown person than two toddlers wearing a trench coat. The lower half of my body doesn't want to coordinate with the top. But it doesn't matter. Winter is over. And it has been a long one.

Follow Allie Conti on Twitter.

They're tall. They're totally absurd. And they're everywhere.

Over the past few decades, as cellphone networks have grown, thousands of antenna towers designed to look vaguely like trees have been built across the United States. Although these towers are intended to camouflage a tower's aesthetic impact on the landscape, they typically do the opposite: most look like what an alien from a treeless planet might create if told to imagine a tree.

Still, there are some good reasons why it's really hard to build a tower that actually looks like a tree — whether it's the classic "Monopine" or a palm tower.

The bizarre history of concealed towers

A "pine" in Colorado. (Brian Brainerd/The Denver Post via Getty Images)

There's a history of clumsily trying to conceal infrastructure that goes way further back than cell phone towers. In the 1950s and '60s, for instance, Canadian electric utilities built hundreds of entirely fake houses throughout Toronto to conceal substations.

In the 1980s, soon after cell-phone companies started building antennas in the United States, they sought to hide them as well, often in response to aesthetic complaints from local residents — as detailed in historian Bernard Mergen's excellent chapter in Analyzing Art and Aesthetics.

Initially, most concealed antennas were simply hidden on church steeples or water towers, but in 1992, a company called Larson Camouflage — which had previously made fake habitats for Disney World and museums — built a "pine" tower in Denver. The world was changed forever.

Soon afterward, companies in South Carolina and South Africa began building similar "trees." In the US, the Telecommunications Act of 1996 restricted municipalities' ability to block tower construction, so as demand for cell service spread, it meant that towers would inevitably be built in historic districts and other areas where locals might object.

A "tree" in Cambridge, Massachusetts. (Darren McCollester/Getty Images)

Still, municipalities have often tried to block construction, leading companies to offer "trees" instead of towers as a compromise. Some localities even require new towers be camouflaged as part of their zoning requirements.

There's no good data on how many of these "trees" now exist, but in 2013, Mergen estimated there were between 1,000 and 2,000 nationwide. The company Stealth Concealment says it builds about 350 new "trees" per year. They're most often built in suburbs, where residents have the time and urge to war with companies over new towers, and there's enough incentive for carriers to invest in "trees."

Why these "trees" look so ridiculous

There are actually good reasons why these towers seldom actually look like real trees.

One is height. Towers are built to hold antennas higher than surrounding structures to ensure good reception, so they have to be taller than what's nearby. This is why you often see surreally tall "pines" or "palms" towering over normal trees.

(Travel Aficionado)

Another is cost. These "trees" are normal cell phone towers, which are then sent to companies like Larson or Stealth Concealment for plastic, fiberglass, or acrylic "bark," "branches," and "needles" to be added. This process is customized, and expensive: it can add $100,000 or so to the baseline $150,000 cost of a tower.

As Ryan McCarthy of Larson told Bernard Mergen, "a pine tree that has 200 branches will be more appealing than one of the same height that has 100. However, the customer will not only incur the cost of 100 extra branches, but the extra wind load from the branches will also require that the pole be designed more stoutly."

(Russ Allison Loar)

This is also why you so seldom see towers designed as deciduous trees, even in areas where they're much more common than pines — their branching structure makes them more complex and more expensive to build. Pines, palms, and cacti are much easier to approximate in plastic and fiberglass.

In terms of blending in, the most successful towers are probably "saguaros," which can plausibly be built in deserts where there are no trees that they have to tower over — and don't have expensive branches or needles that need to be attached.

(Folsom Natural)

You can check out dozens of other examples of cell phone towers disguised as trees — but also as flagpoles, bell towers, and church crosses — here.

Just how stupid do the producers of most nature documentaries think American filmgoers are?

Year after year, movie studios release nature documentaries that strain far too hard to force the animals in them to conform to traditional narratives and story arcs, when it would be just as fascinating to simply watch animals being animals, especially if they're cute.

And if you don't think there's at least some portion of the moviegoing public that would be totally fine with beautifully shot footage of animals in their native habitats, let me introduce you to the concept of zoos. They're apparently quite popular.

The problem with so many nature documentaries is that they take gorgeous images shot in the sorts of wild places the vast majority of us will never have the chance to visit, then force them into simplistic narratives so that they might be more palatable to a mass audience. By doing so, these producers and directors are taking the beauty and mystery of the wild world around us and turning them into just another bland story you've heard a million times before.

Monkey Kingdom forces a story arc on amazing nature footage for no good reason

Take Monkey Kingdom, released April 17 by Disney Nature, the company's specialty arm focused exclusively on nature documentaries. If you pay attention only to the images, then this is a tremendous film. It follows a troupe of macaque monkeys living out their lives in the Sri Lankan jungle. The film explores their social order, then observes as they're kicked out of their home by a rival monkey troupe and are forced to take shelter in a human city.

There's a weirdly apocalyptic bent to much of the film, particularly in the sections where the monkeys try to live their lives amid human beings. But it's leavened by the fact that the monkeys are, well, monkeys. They bounce around the jungle, swinging from vines and smacking each other in the head. They make funny faces and chitter at each other in greeting. Monkeys are fun animals to watch — just human enough for us to read emotions into their interactions, while being just animal enough to arouse curiosity as to their true intentions.

The problem, then, is that the film is completely unable to let the images tell the story. Instead, it plasters the film with omnipresent narration by Tina Fey, who affects funny voices when the monkeys do goofy things and jokes about mushrooms being like potato chips to monkeys — who can't eat just one! Fey's not bad, as narrators go, and she didn't write the script she has to deliver. But it's still irritating to be watching a monkey, wondering what it's up to, and then hear someone provide the most simplistic answer possible.

Even worse is how Monkey Kingdom refuses to let viewers concoct their own stories about their primate cousins. The film's protagonist — a young female monkey dubbed Maya — is shoehorned into a fairy-tale princess story arc, complete with a cover of Salt-N-Pepa and En Vogue's "Whatta Man" when a handsome male monkey outsider joins the troupe.

That would be bad enough, but director Mark Linfield also does viewers the disservice of editing the film in such a way that we can never trust the essential veracity of what he's saying — a real issue in a documentary.

Sure, we're told that the father of Maya's son is the aforementioned new guy in town, but Linfield almost never shows us the two monkeys in the same shot, making it harder to trust the "love story" being sold to viewers.

We have no real reason to trust the narrative arc Linfield sells, and the monkeys never seem to occupy the same space, which drastically undercuts the relationships between them being sold. It sometimes feels as if Linfield shows us Maya in one location, then cuts to another monkey somewhere else entirely, trying to sell a connection that doesn't actually exist.

This attempt to force a narrative onto footage that doesn't really require one is a constant in Disney Nature's films. The company's conservation efforts are welcome, and it's just cool that a major Hollywood studio has an entire arm devoted to nature documentaries. But these films are too often facile disappointments, coupling great raw footage with weak storytelling that constantly undercuts it.

But why? The answer, as with so many terrible things, has to do with penguins.

March of the Penguins destroyed the nature documentary

You can tell the story of the rise and fall of the nature documentary in just two films. The first is the 2003 French documentary Winged Migration. The film, directed by Jacques Perrin, Jacques Cluzaud, and Michel Debats, follows many types of birds migrating around the world. It was filmed over four years, on all seven continents, and for the purely jaw-dropping quality of its footage it's one of the most stunning documentaries ever made.

It was also hugely successful. Grossing more than $11.6 million at the box office and scoring an Oscar nomination for Best Documentary Feature, it was the most successful nature documentary in American history. (The prior box office champion had been the insect-themed Microcosmos from the same studio, which grossed just under $1.5 million.)

But Winged Migration doesn't try to hold your hand. It accepts that the impulses that drive these birds are fundamentally alien to human beings — no matter how much we can understand them scientifically. Yes, the footage is amazing, but Winged Migration is basically a non-narrative art film — and all the more effective for it.

The commercial success of Winged Migration, considerable though it was, was blown away by 2005's March of the Penguins. That film decided to focus its story of animals around the emotion of love. Narrator Morgan Freeman spoke soothingly over footage of penguins wandering the Antarctic snowscape, on their way to lay eggs that will eventually hatch into cute, fuzzy chicks. And he framed everything the penguin parents did in terms of their all-consuming love for both each other and their chicks.

March of the Penguins isn't a bad film. Again, the footage it captures is so impressive that in and of itself it makes the film worth watching. And Freeman's narration is notably less intrusive than, say, Fey's in Monkey Kingdom. But March of the Penguins fundamentally doesn't trust its audience to empathize with birds journeying into the depths of a frozen wasteland unless it can pin that journey to a simplistic emotional arc.

That decision worked, too. Penguins made over $77 million at the box office — the second-most-successful documentary of all time, after only Fahrenheit 9/11. It won the Oscar for Best Documentary. It's easy to see why everybody learned the wrong lessons from it.

Animals don't have to be like humans to be movie stars

There's perhaps no greater example of Penguins' seismic impact on the American nature documentary scene than Oceans, the follow-up to Winged Migration from some of the same filmmakers. Released in multiple versions around the globe in 2010, the American version features Pierce Brosnan's voice refusing to let the once again jaw-dropping footage speak for itself. (The French original featured Perrin, who also narrated the original version of Winged Migration.) It also cuts out 20 minutes of footage, mostly depicting nature's brutality.

This is an increasingly common trick — where other countries get more scientifically minded versions of these films, Americans get movies where narrators spell out emotional arcs, lest viewers become too confused or lost.

For instance, on television, the Discovery Channel's periodic co-productions with the BBC are given rigorous narration from naturalist David Attenborough in other countries (and on American DVDs) but more simplistic voiceovers from celebrities in their American television airings. One needs look no further than Oprah Winfrey's narration for the otherwise impressive Life to see just how much this can hamper a production.

Even when the narration is well done — as it was with Sigourney Weaver's American narration for Planet Earth — it still takes away from the film as a whole, intruding on the wildlife viewers are ostensibly there to see. It's hard to focus on what's happening on screen when a celebrity voice is present, along with all the other associations you may have with that voice. But studios are terrified you might get bored just watching animals living their lives.

The studios need to have more faith in viewers. Animals are fun to look at. It's why we have pets and zoos — to say nothing of cute cat videos. It's why as soon as the camera was invented, photographers started trying to capture images of them in their natural world.

Winged Migration proves that you can create an artistically satisfying nature documentary and still make solid box office. No nature documentary released since March of the Penguins has even come close to its box office in the decade since its release. Isn't it time to unlearn the lessons of that film and do something better?

Monkey Kingdom is playing in theaters throughout the country.

awwww-cute:

He is not Tony Hawk, but Tony Owl

awwww-cute:

Rare!! Blue Flycatcher (Female)

haus-of-ill-repute:

Garry’s Mod is truly a beautiful game (i.imgur.com)

Kevin Spacey riding an ostrich carrying a sword among the flames. My life is complete

-teesa-:

A 2014 study shows that despite the wealth of talented actresses in Hollywood, women still remain grossly underrepresented when it comes to major film roles. Here to give us her take, a one-dimensional female character from a male driven comedy.

April 19 is National Garlic Day in the States. Why not celebrate with a roasted garlic ice cream cake, chocolate garlic cream pie, or just grab a spoon and dig into a jar of roasted garlic white wine jelly. Garlic: it’s nature’s candy.

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madness-and-gods:

Gustav Dore

deckerlibrary:

From our Book Arts Collection, Jenny Holzer’s Abuse of Power Comes As No Surprise (N7433.4 .H64 A4 1983 Cage).

To see anything in our special collections, please ask a reference librarian for assistance.

‘Hope, Phases de la lune’, 2012. Acrylic & graphite on gesso board, 14 x 18” by Melissa Hartley in ‪#‎beautifulbizarre‬ Issue 008 

Get your copy of #beautifulbizarre today ~
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Elise Gallant


Elise Gallant


Elise Gallant

Sprinkles are for winners, Elise Gallant

Before the Department of Delicious Deception dines on a dessert that looks exactly like breakfast, lunch or dinner, they like to have dinner that looks exactly like dessert. Bree Miller of Los Angeles-based custom bakery Bree’s Cakes recently made not just one, but three mouthwatering Fried Chicken Cakes, each more tantalizing than the last.

Miller began by making a mouthwatering 2-layer cornbread cake frosted with mashed potatoes, drizzled with gravy and topped with pieces of fried chicken. Then came an even bigger 3-layer cake. And for the final version Miller outdid herself by replacing the layers of mashed potato frosting with layers of macaroni & cheese and candied yams. Please don’t be alarmed if you can hear our stomachs growling.

To check out more of her amazing cakes visit the Bree’s Cakes website or follow Bree Miller on Instagram.

[via Foodiggity and distractify]

Joseph Arthur has an in-store tomorrow! The Brooklyn-based singer-songwriter will perform at Fingerprints Music in Long Beach at 7:00 p.m. for Record Store Day 2015. There'll also be a performance by Freedom Fry at 8:00 p.m. … and the Blur's...