As I write this, the second evening of Tucson’s annual Great Cover-Up is getting underway. It kicked off last night at Plush, continues this evening at Club Congress, and will likely blast off into low-Earth orbit with a spectacular finale at the mighty Rialto Theater tomorrow night.

The idea for The Great Cover-Up had its genesis in Champaign-Urbana, and has since spiraled out into other cities. I may be biased, but it’s tough to think of a town more fun than quirky Tucson in which to revel in such an extravaganza. Each year, a bunch of local bands pick a famous (or, sometimes, not so famous) artist from musical history and put together a 20-minute set based on that artist. Some of the acts deliver their own bizarre take on it (for example, last year’s massively metal set of The Doors), while others show meticulous attention to detail in recreating a favorite band or performer from years gone by.

The Tucson edition of The Great Cover-Up originated at Club Congress in the 1990s and now encompasses three clubs and some eighty bands. Yes, that’s right, I said eighty. Organizing an event of this magnitude—and with this many musicians—is a task worthy of Atlas, Einstein, and the Swiss Army put together, but everyone involved seems to have a positive, easygoing, “We can do it!” outlook, with none of the slouchy attitude that we sometimes associate with rock ‘n’ rollers. Or maybe it’s just Tucson’s upbeat vibe that makes the whole thing so very enjoyable.

I myself had the great pleasure of participating in the Cover-Up twice. In 2006 we did Siouxsie and the Banshees, and the following year a full-on New York Dolls (circa 1972) set, with PVC platform boots, makeup, wigs, and the whole nine kilometers. I have very dark hair, so the Siouxsie set entailed seven hours in the stylist’s chair to get my hair bright white (I was appearing as proto-goth Siouxsie bassplayer Steve Severin) because, like I said, some bands show meticulous attention to detail.

Our local musical artists work extremely hard to perfect a savagely short set for what is, effectively, a site-specific, one-time-only performance piece. And that’s part of what makes it great. It’s a give everything, do-or-die, all or nothing, brief flash of brilliance on stage, while you imagine yourself part of an adored band. And the whole thing is fantastic.

Another fabulous feature is the almost universal secrecy that shrouds who is covering which band. I know which local acts are playing tomorrow night, but I cannot for the life of me figure who is appearing as ELO (one of my favorites from the ’70s), and who is doing The Beach Boys. One of my spies did notify me who is presenting the Alice in Chains show, but in the interest of fun, discretion, and honor, I’m afraid I cannot share that tidbit with you. It’s going to be good though.

And one more thing: Proceeds benefit the Tucson Artists and Musicians Health Alliance, and tickets are only eight bucks. What could be better than that? So, turn off the TV, get a babysitter for the cat, and go out and support Tucson musicians who have busted their butts tightening up their favorite five or six songs into a 20-minute visual and sonic experience. I’m not kidding you—a few of the covers I’ve seen have been significantly better than the original bands.

Rock on, and see you at Rialto.

My friend Liz Vaughn is much like her paintings: elegant, charming, witty, colorful, and both her and her work would—I imagine —be equally at home on London’s Carnaby Street in the Swinging Sixties, or in a chic club in Los Angeles today.

A solo exhibition of new oil on canvas works, entitled “Closer To The Heart,” opened Sunday in the Little Gallery at DeGrazia’s Gallery in the Sun at 6300 North Swan. Not surprisingly, the popular painter attracted a non-stop flow of art aficionados including Bohemia Artisans Emporium owner Tana Kelch, Rocking J Leather owner Ronald James, while Tucson’s own The Tryst turned up to play a live music set. When I left at 1:30 pm, four of the new works had already sold (one of them to me) and that’s not bad for the first half of the first day. What recession?

Liz Vaughn with new work "Origin" at DeGrazia Gallery

Liz’s work focuses on whimsical female portraits that remind me, in the best possible way, of a slightly more cubist Marie Laurencin and a more playful Georges Braque—those being two of my all-time favorite painters, so it is not a bit surprising that I always find Liz’s work alluring.

After a year or so of experimenting with larger, expressionist figures, Liz has recently returned to the cleaner, more colorful style of her earlier work, but with added elements of collage, including partially hidden instructions on how to operate toasters and other appliances. These mechanical elements that seem to comment on the drudgery of day-to-day chores contrast strongly with her brightly-colored and somewhat wistful female subjects.

I first met Liz some years ago, when she was part of an outdoor arts and crafts show at a garden center on Tucson’s east side. I was on my way to visit another friend and artist, silversmith Lisa Marie Morrison of Sirocco Design, who was exhibiting at the same event. On the way over I called to see if Lisa needed anything. “I’m set up next to the fabulous Liz Vaughn,” Lisa replied. “Bring champagne!” I did, along with four plastic champagne flutes, and after popping the cork and toasting the warm and perfect day, I thought it the ideal way in which to begin a happy relationship with Liz’s work.

The intimate Little Gallery is the perfect place in which to view these new paintings as its blue and ochre walls gently complement Liz’s palette, and the gallery itself is a quiet and contemplate venue, far from the bustle of downtown Tucson. Follow your viewing with a walk around the beautiful grounds and buildings which were the life’s work of famed artist Ettore DeGrazia. He constructed his first adobe studio there in 1944 and continued to refine and expand the site until his death in 1982. Gallery in the Sun is a marvelous oasis of art, history, and introspection.

“Closer To The Heart” by Liz Vaughn continues daily from 10 AM to 4 PM, through November 18. Admission is free. For more information call (520) 299 9191 or visit www.degrazia.org or www.lizvaughn.com

Text and photographs © by Geoffrey Notkin. Paintings © by Liz Vaughn.
All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.

My brilliant and very supportive mom put up with decades of shenanigans from me. She didn’t object too much when I bleached my hair to a shocking shade of tangerine, thereby causing an uproar at my uptight, proto-Fascist British public school in the late 1970s, or when I joined a punk rock band at the age of fifteen. I was allowed to travel around Britain on my own at a relatively tender age, drink booze in the house before I was eighteen, and was also accorded many other liberties that were not so freely doled out by my friends’ less progressive parents (all of which explains a lot about who I am today, but that’s another tale).

Among the few serious requests my mom ever made of me were that I (a) not drive motorcycles, and (b) not get my ears pieced. Since, by the age of sixteen I already had a secret dirt bike stashed at my friend’s house way out in the English boonies, I thought I could bend a little, respect her last remaining wish, and not get holes punched in my earlobes. To my surprise, she didn’t say anything about tattoos so that door was left open if I wanted to explore it.

I have always been interested in tattoo art. I am a bit of a contrary fellow, so things that are regarded as slightly “out there” by polite society are naturally of interest to me. That would explain the delight I take in punk rock, motorcycles, protest singers, animal rights activists, Burning Man, and so on. The world of tattoos fits in rather well with a number of those subcultures. In fact, my girlfriend, and most of my pals have them, and I can only think of a couple of close friends who do not sport the ink.

Despite that, I don’t have one myself—yet—and it seems there are two possible reasons for this. The unnecessary infliction of pain could be one, as could my ever-changing taste in things. I am well aware that the art and music I enjoy today are somewhat different from what I doted on, say, thirty years ago—except for The Clash and The Ramones of course, oh, and I was listening to Abba’s “S.O.S.” this morning. Yes, I know it’s hard for you to believe that I listen to Abba, but “S.O.S” is one hell of a good pop song. Anyway, my hesitation to get inked may be due to the obvious longevity of tattoos. In other words, they are permanent; many of my tastes are not. In addition, my favorite live-life-by quote is: “If something is worth doing, it’s worth overdoing,” so if I were to get inked it wouldn’t be some itty bitty affair on my ankle, but likely a hugely involved tapestry on my back. I’ve always imagined that I would wake up one day—possibly many years hence—look in the mirror, and say to myself: “Idiot! What on earth were you thinking?!”

I was discussing this very concept of the permanence of inked skin versus the changing moods of my own fickle art-mind with one of my staff members, Beth, just the other day. She explained that her view was precisely the opposite of mine: A tattoo that she acquired would always remind her, specifically, and in a very colorful manner, of that precise time in her life. To which I replied, jokingly: “I don’t want to be reminded of those times.”

Fortunately, none of these weighty matters prevented me from journeying down to The Hotel Arizona on Sunday for the Tucson Tattoo Expo. Who wouldn’t want to hang around with goths, bikers, punk rockers, and skin artists? Sounded like a good time to me, and also, I had an appointment to meet celebrated, award-winning Tucson artist Jim Quinn II, owner of Istari Tattoo Studio, as he is working on an illustration project for my company.

Jim Quinn II, owner of Istari Tattoo Studio, with his prize from the 2011 Expo

Tall, slender, jovial, animated yet laid-back, with spectacular wings tattooed on both sides of his neck, it was really quite easy to pick Jim out of the crowd. I looked through the portfolios of his work and was amazed by how well he handled a wide variety of styles, including Celtic knotwork, classical Japanese, and even Aztec/Inca. He’s a serious artist, and we reminisced a little about art school days, and how invigorating it is to be surrounded by the influence of talented people—taking a bit here, taking a bit there, all the while gradually developing your own style.

You know how when you go to a typical expo it’s all very serious and corporate, with products on lucite display stands, monitors running ads, backdrops, banners, and prim, well-dressed hired salespeople who are just a little too eager to discuss their product with you? Well, the Tucson Tattoo Expo couldn’t possibly have been any more different from that stilted vision. They had a bar set up inside the venue, a smoking area, a line of Harleys parked outside, sassy-looking girls wearing dog collars, and guys covered—literally—from head to toe in multi-colored ink. What’s not to like?

I was surprised how many people—in various states of undress—were actually being worked on during the convention. One gentleman had stripped down to his red underwear while a local artist addressed some of his few remaining square inches of unadorned skin; a lithe brunette lay on her side on a big table while her back was decorated; other pro artists were having some of their own tats touched up by colleagues. And that begs the question: When you’re an accomplished tattooist, how do you feel when another artist is working on your own personal canvas? Walking around, I found the soft, layered buzzing of multiple electric needles to be oddly soothing and intriguing, like a hive of industrious underworld virtuosos.

Shortly after my arrival at the expo, I realized I’d left my cell phone at the auto parts store on the other side of town, and I really needed to have it with me. Before making the twenty-mile round trip to pick it up, I considered that if I were to get inked at some point down the road, perhaps I should select a stylized cell phone design. Not very interesting artistically, but at least it might prevent me from leaving the damn thing behind on a regular basis, and always at the most inconvenient times.

Text and photograph © by Geoffrey Notkin. All rights reserved. No reproduction without written permission.