Joe @ Open Mic w/ a cold one
“Intense” is not often a word you see in conjunction with “Yoga”, but that is precisely the adjective I’d use to describe Joe Yoga; both on and off stage the man smolders with passion for what he does. Joe officially moved to the city back in ’98 and since then has been involved in one way or another in the NYC underground art scene; first as a member of various musical projects. He became interested in performance art through Penny’s Open Mike. “Seeing so many people putting themselves out there, varying their acts and even going onto stage blind, well, It’s kinda corny but that really inspired me” Joe says as he sits down on the stood across from me. “I decided to move my act beyond where it felt safe.”
I can say from personal experience, as a performer, Joe is anything but ‘safe’. His act constantly varies between impromptu musical numbers, comedy, and strikingly intense and real moments. “I’m always looking for an opportunity to break the fourth wall [When I perform]” He tells me between sips of Pabst “People have this idea that there’s a separation when they watch a performer, a distance, and when you break that barrier, when you do something they don’t expect and communicate with them directly, there’s real power there.”
And Joe certainly has plenty of opportunity to interact with his audience: He’s a member of (a)muse collective, half the house band @ Penny’s Open Mike, A driving force behind Grudge Match: Music vs. Comedy, (Both of which I will cover in greater detail in upcoming reviews) and The Editor of (a)muse’s monthly zine: Amuze.
“(a)muse’s vision is ‘Raw Art Now’, and what that means to me, personally, is not necessarily something unpolished, but something more visceral” Says Joe “Raw is a way of making a connection. I’ve always wanted to do a zine because I’m very attracted to the concept of found art. I mean, [The zine] is something physical. I love the idea of someone just finding it in a bar. I want the zine to be it’s own universe, almost like it’s the voice of the underground.”
As I flip through the pages of Amuze #5 I begin to see what Joe’s talking about: Pages of hodgepodge: Black and white sketches, comics, poetry, stream of consciousness writing, and even forwarded emails, all printed and stapled together on white copy paper. It really does feel like some brief glimpse into an underground world. Even looking at it now, and knowing some of the contributors personally, I feel that I’m holding something sacred; like an anonymous record of lost moments in time.
“I never really feel like a true artist unless I’m sharing, and this zine is a way for myself and others to engage in the social aspect of art. That’s the difficult part, but that’s also where I believe the real art happens.” Joe says “This zine is a place to do that.”
As we leave the pub Joe slips two copies of Amuze #6 onto the corner table, making good on his promise of found art, and I wonder who the next person to hear the voice of the underground will be.
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