American Idol

American Idol: Casey kisses J-Lo!

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Wow, a real-life Idol moment: Casey, who was voted off and saved by the judges a few weeks ago, who is by far the most emotional contestant, and who Jennifer Lopez has twice called cute and sexy, took things to a new level on 4/20: After offering a pretty strong rendition of Maroon 5’s “Harder to Breathe,” he ran onto the judges platform and planted a kiss on the cheek of the world’s most beautiful woman. And damn, J-Lo looked surprised and almost flustered; if it weren’t for all the makeup, I think the world would have seen her blushing.


That, and James doing a rocking “Uprising” made the show. Because the rest of it, frankly, was boring.


The theme: Music of the 21st century. That means pick any song of the past 11 years; lots to choose from. Scotty, who is still one of my faves, crooned a decent version of “Swinging,” but come on: He can do a song like that any time, anywhere, without an effort at all. Even the way-too-nice judges were a bit harsh on him — if only because he’s so naturally good that it sounded like he was slacking.


Haley did the best she could, and she’s got a great bluesy voice, but she’s just so goddam bouncy and happy and smiley and perky; doesn’t work with Janis, and it didn’t work with “Adele’s Rolling in the Deep.” Hard to watch her and Stefano, who also did the best he could with “Closer,” but he’s out of his league now.


Lauren? “Born to Fly.” Boring, boring. Jacob? An effort to be meaningful with “Dance with my Father,” but sorry: Boring.


Really, except for the kiss, the dullest show in weeks. Casey and James brought it; the rest were just phoning it in.


Tonight’s bottom three: Stefano, Lauren and Haley. Stefano, dude: it’s time to go home.


 

American Idol: Bye, Paul

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I finally got one right, and so did America.


Well, I almost got it right — I predicted that Paul, Stefano and Lauren would be in the bottom three, and it turned out to be Paul, Stefano and Haley, but whatever — after last week’s fisaco with Pia, I’m just glad that the 53 million votes went in the right direction.


No offense, Paul, but the rest of the group (except maybe Stefano) is in a different class. And you notice that the judges didn’t cry or express any shock; they all knew this was coming.


And it’s true that the guys this time are overall better than the women, but since the voting started, the loser every week has been female. 


Nice to see Kelly Clarkson back. Rihanna did that thing with the dancers on the floor and the smoke, which has been done so many times it’s become trite, and her new song isn’t anything special. (Not like “What’s My Name,” which at least has the classic lyrics “The square root of 68 is 8 somethin’, right?”).


Next week: Stefano goes home. If only because Haley and Lauren are getting a pass while the gender balance stays out of whack.


 

American Idol: Where’s Simon when we need him?

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Well, we don’t get far into the show before Ryan Seacrest reminds us all that Jennifer Lopez has just been named the Most Beautiful Woman in the World. Go, J-Lo. Tonight, however, she looks rather odd in a dress that included a big pink fluffy thing in her lap, as if she’d just given birth to a sea anenome.


The theme is “songs of the cinema,” which the contenders seem to take as “any song that’s evr been used in any movie anywhere,” which leaves a lot of room. Paul opens with Bob Seger’s “Old Time Rock ‘n’ Roll,” and it’s awful, a perfomance that should mark the end of his tenure on the show. Except that Lauren tries to sing that bad syrupy song from the Hannah Montana movie and can’t even hit all the notes. The Big Cringe. Two down.


Here’s the problem (and the reason I miss Simon Cowell, despite all the annoyance he brought): The three judges were all sunshine and roses, talking about how great those two performances were. Embarassing. Simon would never have tolerated this level of weak and worthless junk.


Then along comes Stefano, who has to be shaken up about what happened last week, but he’s a step up from the other two. Scotty’s next, and, as usual, far outclasses the rest of the field.


Casey. Whoa. He turns down a Phil Collins tune and does Nat King Cole. Really fine performance, something totally different — but I fear it’s way too weird for America. We shall see.


Haley: Blondie, “Call me.” She’s got the same problem as when she tried to sing Janis Joplin; she smiles too much. You need attitude for this shit, and she doesn’t have it.


Jacob, after a bit of flailing around, decides on “Bridge Over Troubled Waters,” and it’s a knockout. Not my favorite Paul Simon song, but perfect for Jacob, who I still don’t like as much as my kids do.


And then James, the show closer, the show stopper. He takes a risk, too, and does … Metal. Real Metal, the theme song from the “Heavy Metal” movie, complete with Zakk Wylde on guitar. Give metal a chance, he says — and it’s the peformance of the night, an Idol moment, and it better not cost him in the votes.


If there’s an Idol God, then Paul, Lauren and Stefano are the bottom three and Paul is going home. I voted.


 

American Idol: The Pia shocker

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When I first saw that Jacob was in the bottom three, I wondered: Did the hard-core Christian vote fail to turn out in a crucial election? Did his on-camera (much hyped) decision to make a moral statement about Marvin Gaye (he refused to sing “Let’s Get it On” because he couldn’t do a song about people “doing the nasty”) make enough of us want to puke that his incredible singing talent was eclipsed?


No: He made it through. Which is fine; the guy can sing. My kids love him. I just hope he’s not a finalist; there’s enough religion on the airwaves as it is.


Now to the real scandal: Pia.


A couple of weeks ago, I was the one complaining about her being boring, and she clearly needs a new stylist; if she’d worn the Thursday outfit (whoa!) for the Wednesday performance, instead of those silly bloomers, she’d have won about 10 million more votes.


But still — she has an amazing voice, and this week’s “River Deep Mountain High” was a breakout performance.
J-Lo was in tears when Ryan announced the last results: Stephano, in, Pia out. Stephano? One of the weakest competitors? One of the two (along wth Paul) who everyone knows is on borrowed time?


I have to feel a little sorry for the guy — the audience bitterly booed when he was left standing. But he didn’t deserve to continue on, and she did, and the judges knew it and the audience knew it and you know it too. And now he can’t possibly succeed — everyone pissed about Pia will vote against him next week.


Next week’s losers: Paul (who mangled “Folsom Prison Blues”), Stefano (see above) and Haley (you can’t sing Janis Joplin with a stupid shit-earting grin on your face.)


You read it here first. I haven’t been right yet.

American Idol, Motown edition

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So Simon Cowell seems to think that the judges are too nice this year and there’s too much sappy drama. I’m with him on the second point, but a big difference this time around is that the talent is so consistently good, so much better than in the past, that there’s less reason to be harsh. That said, it is a bit of a lovefest and I do miss Simon.


On to the round of 11:


Jennifer’s got a shiny pink top on, which is fine, and her hair is much better, but my god, the makeup! The blue eyeshadow and pink blush makes her face look like a clown. Somebody backstage is out of control.


Steven has the best line of the night, as always. Ryan: “How did Motown affect you?” Steven: “It made me want to make out with girls.”


He’s also got the rock-performer ethos down. Casey does “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” good job if a bit over the top, and Steven says: “Perfect pitch and perfect mix of crazy-ass out-of-control ego.” Ayup.


Thia’s dress looks like a wedding cake and her singing isn’t exceptional. The judges love Jacob, and so do Vivian and Michael; I’m not such a fan. Maybe it’s my bad attitude toward anything remotely religious; he always sounds like he’s singing in church. And I don’t like church. Not his fault; he’s doing well.


Lauren’s probably the best of the women, and “You Keep Me Hanging On” was just right for her. The zebra dress was a problem, though.


Stefano. White lounge-lizard jacket; on anyone else, it would be a joke. He actually pulls it off, and does a fine Lionel Richie “Hello.” Haley’s doing her best, and “You Really Got A Hold On Me” was adequate, but she’s just not up to the level of the others. And she shouldn’t wear hot pants. 


I was worried about Scotty doing Motown, but wow! He sings “For Once In My Life” with a country edge, and it’s awesome. Steven says he’s just like Glen Campbell, which is kind of insulting, but he’s the breakout artist of the show so far, the one who’s going to wind up with a recording contract win or lose.


There’s something weird about Pia. I mean, lots of women can be really sexy without being classically beautiful, but Pia manages to be drop-deal gorgeous — and not sexy at all. She has an amazing voice — maybe the best in the show — but she’s … boring. She just stands there and sings ballads. Not working for me.


Paul. “Tracks of My Tears,” with the guitar. Bad hair day. He sounds a little like Rod Stewart trying to do Smokey Robinson, but it’s such a good song and he sorta pulls it off.


Naima. I was worried about her. She needed a big hit — and she got it. “Dancing in the Streets” was perfect for her, and the African drums at the end let her show off her dance moves, which frankly are better than her singing. So she ought to survive this round.


James is the other guaranteed star. “Living for the City” isn’t an easy song, and he nails it. He’s going to the final round.


Tonight’s bottom three: Thia, Haley and Pia. But pretty soon, this is going to get tough.


 

American Idol: First bad vote

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What’s the matter — nobody but Steven Tyler celebrates St. Patrick’s day? Jennifer must have some sort of green outfit she could wear.


But no: Other than Steven’s little green necklace, it’s as if there’s no holiday. And that’s not the only thing that went wrong.


First the good news: the Born to Be Wild/ Baby I Was Born This Way medley could have been awful, but it was really cool. The “field trip” to the Ford music video studio was shameless. The “something about you” clips were funny,a nd I’m glad to hear that Paul has a 14-year-old wiener dog that smells bad.


Naima gets the best line of the night for telling Randy she has “a passionate hatred for the word ‘pitchy.'”


For the most part, the voting was predictable — until the end. I almost had it right — Naima and Haley were in the bottom three. But so was Karen — and that was just wrong. She’s great; I love her personality, her story, and what S. Tyler calls here “ethnic what it is-ness.” And her mom is soooo cute.


I figured it was Naima’s last night; she’s by far the weakest of the performers, and isn’t going to last another week. But no: the American voters kicked off …. Karen! 


Awful, wrong, indescribable injustice. She’s far better than the other two — and here last-ditch rendition of “Hero” was stunning. J-Lo wanted to save her, but the other judges wouldn’t go for it.


So for the first time this spring, a really bad result. Ick.  

American Idol: Elvis and the Lion Queen

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I was out at the SPJ FOI Awards event early in the evening, so I missed the first few performances, but no worries: Vivian and Michael were taking excellent notes and filled me in. And the best stuff came at the end anyway.


First: What was UP with J-Lo’s hair? I can’t find any pix on the web (Idol is insanely protective of its imagery) but trust me: She looked like something out of the Lion King. And the leopard-print dress didn’t help much. It’s a jungle out there, Jennifer. Grrr.


Next: The background video/light show continues to be utterly moronic, mixing psychedelia and syrup pretty much at random. With the millions they’re making from the Ford commercials, they could get a decent designer.


Also: These people are all so young. The night’s theme was picking a song from the year you were born; for Scotty, that was 1993. As his backstage producers noted, “I have a pair of jeans that were born in 1993.” Five of the finalists aren’t even old enough to buy a drink. No OGs in the lineup this year; Paul clocks in as the senior citizen at 26.


The baby and kid pics were cute; I loved watching Scotty as Halloween Elvis. And with 12 contestants, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for nonsense; the show kept moving. Oh: Casey’s back form the hospital and seems fine.


The details: Naima does “What’s Love Got To Do With It.” Eh. From Viv: “J-Lo thought it was a little pitchy and Randy agreed. Really, it was just okay.”


Paul: Elton John. “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues.” Not Sir Elton’s best song, not Paul’s best performance.


Thia: “Colors of the Wind.” Again, nothing special.


So overall a slow start — until James hit the stage with Bon Jovi. Steven Tyler was so impressed he offered to quit Aerosmith (can you really quit a band that isn’t really there anymore?) and join him onstage. The kid can rock.


Haley: Whitney Houston. Oops.


Stefano, the guy who almost got sent home, turned the entire show around with “If You Don’t Know Me By Now.” His parents weren’t out of diapers when Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes first released that, but somebody else did it 22 years ago, so it counts. Perfect song for him, perfect rendition of a tough piece.


Pia: Whitney Houston, too. The girl is drop-dead beautiful and has a stunning voice — but that horrid white outfit looked like someone had wrapped her in a plastic garbage bag. (“You can’t say it made her look fat,” Jean told me harshly. And it didn’t, really, because she isn’t, but it might have.) Hideous, I almost couldn’t listen to the song. 


Scotty is always solid, born to be a country singer. He’s so good it’s almost boring.


Karen: Marge Simpson hairdo. Devo-meets-Vegas outfit. The song was okay, and the interview with her mom was too cute for words, but next time let mom check the look before you go out the door, okay?


Casey went on with his bass and tried to be Kurt Cobain — and oddly, it worked. Kind of scary, actually. But it worked. Steven: “Crazy and talented — that’s the goop that great stuff was made of.” J-lo still thinks he’s sexy. Grrrr, Lion Queen.


Lauren’s got the flu, but did a great job with Melissa Ethridge. Jacob tried Heart, and failed.


Naima, Haley and Jacob — bottom three. And Naima’s going home. Tune in tomorrow; I’m never right.

American Idol: Adam Lambert and Diddy

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My first question: How are they going to fill an hour getting rid of one person (when Survivor does it at the end of the show in about five minutes)?


Answer: The 13 contestants engage in a Michael Jackson medly, a couple of shots of the Idol mansion (a giant Beverly Hills house converted into a luxury hostel where the boys and the girls each share a giant bedroom), a long, bizarre promo for a movie, and a music video for Ford. That, plus a stunning performance the great Adam Lambert and a mediocre gig by Diddy — and the requisite amount of melodrama and tears.


The Jackson thing wasn’t so bad, and some of the singers were great. The mansion is what you’d expect — except that it must be built for 20 bedrooms but has been converted to force all the contestants to bunk in some sort of giant rec rooms. Weird.


Then, in an all-new low for Idol (and that’s saying something)  the contestants all had to do a commercial for Ford. After than, in another all-new (and utterly transparent) low, they did the equivalent of a movie trailer for Red Riding Hood, featuring a meet and greet with the stars, a lot of trailer shots and some footage of the Idol folks registering shock and alarm as they watched the film. Gawd. The Coke bottles everywhere were bad enough. Now half the show is an ad.


But: How cool is Adam Lambert? I loved his unplugged version of his new song — or rather, I loved the way he sang it. He’s not showing great talent as a songwriter, not yet, anyway, and the words and music were pretty banal. Still: All the profits are going to the “It Gets Better” project.


Diddy’s backup singers were great. He wasn’t. And I don’t think he’s donating anything to anyone.


On to the elimination round: Three at a time, I got a little nervous when Karen, my favorite female, was in the bottom three, but it all worked out. Ashton was clearly the weakest of the singers, and we all knew she was going home; it was almost too sad to force her to sing a Diana Ross song (again) and miss some of the notes (again) and cry when the judges said No. I mean, human drama is great, but in the end, this was just needlessly harsh.


On to the round of 12.

American Idol: Easy on the lipstick, Jennifer

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So J-Lo walks out with the other judges in a kind of a three-way hug (with the girl in the middle, of course; this is American Idol, after all) and the first thing I can see is that massive glob of bright-red lipstick, so overwhelming and dominant that it’s almost like some of those earliest colorized movies Ted Turner did, where the tinting is way off and it looks too weird. Course, as my daughter Vivian noted, her nails matched her lips, and that’s cool. But all night, I couldn’t even look at the panel without seeing: Giant. Red. Mouth.


Easy, girl, easy. Trust me, you look just fine without the flaming lips. (Can you imagine kissing her? Of course you can, I mean, but: My mustache would look like I’d stuck my face in a bowl of strawberry Jello.)


Now then, onto the music.


The theme was songs from your favorite idol, meaning your personal top musician. Lauren, who is Vivian’s fave, picked Shania Twain, and frankly, it wasn’t up to her potential. Casey went next, with the Joe Cocker version of “Little Help From My Friends” — and damn, he was good. Perfect choice, strong delivery — he’s a shoo-in for the next round and is going to be one of the final half dozen.


Ashton. Diana Ross. Don’t do it unless you can do it. She didn’t.


Pia. Best in the show last week. This time she tried Celine Dion, “All By Myself.” (Didn’t Eric Carmen do that song first? The man who sang the Raspberries hit, “Hey Baby Go All the Way?” I suppose “ABM” was a step up from that, but not much.) I’m biased because I hate the song, but I like Pia, and she didn’t pull it off.


On the other hand: James did “Maybe I’m Amazed” better than Paul McCartney. Seriously. The original’s not Sir Paul’s best effort, but this kid (who, with the departure of Brett, gets the Best Hair In Show Award) is awesome. If he weren’t such a hard-rock-guy-with-a-fauxhawk, he’d be my pick for the final.


Haley. She’s 16. “Blue.” Better than the other girls, but it was the guys’ night.


Jacob. “I Believe I Can Fly.” Horrible, stupid song that belongs in a Kindergardent graduation ceremony. And God — the background! The clouds zipping by! I was waiting for the Rapture. The man can sing, but this one? No.


Thia tried Michael Jackson. Not that good.


Stefano tried Stevie Wonder. J-Lo loves him (watch out for the strawberry Jello, dude), and both of my kids think he’s a winner, but I’m not that impressed. 


Karen is my favorite of the women. She did Selena, and (according to the adorable video) she was doing Selena when she was about six. She’s got charm, personality, sings better in Spanish than English .. and this wasn’t her night. I voted for her anyway.


Scotty, of course, did country, Garth Brooks singing about a river. Again, the background was ridiculous; folks, the song’s about a river. We get that. You don’t need to flash slides of rivers on screen. But he’s just so cute and talented that it didn’t matter. Another one for the final grouping (but can he get beyond country?)


Tonight: The endless, endless, endless drama of who goes home.   

American Idol: Well, at least that’s over

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How long does it take to tell 10 contestants that they’re in and 14 that they might have to go home? Particularly when there are no real surprises and pretty much everyone knows what’s going to happen? Wait! I just did it! About 11 seconds!

But no, this is American Idol 2011, where Ryan fucking Seacrest fucking Productions, Inc. has to drag every bit of drama out of every possible minute and extend things endlessly, to make time for more commercials and expand the cash machine that seems to be all that’s driving the show anymore. So we watched for an hour and a half — 90 minutes — before His Seacrestness was done breaking the news. (Ryan, Dawg: This isn’t the Oscars. The envelope thing was lame.) Much hugging (wait — if I go on Idol, can I hug J-lo?), much sadness, much joy — oh, the humanity!

Please, please, can we get back to the singing now?

I really have no gripes about the shakeout — the right people went through, the right ones went home, and the final 30 minutes, when six contestants sang for their (financial) lives, was great. All of them: great. Best talent pool ever.

I felt a little bad about Brett, but only because he loooks a lot like my friend Andy Ratshin looked in high school, and Andy went on to fame and fortune, of a sort.

Not happening on Idol, not for Brett. But I suspect many of the also-rans got the exposure they need to start getting real gigs. J-Lo was right — all of them belonged there.

If we can just get rid of the drawn-out nonsense now, It’s going to be a great season.

 

 

American Idol: The women struggled a bit

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Not as great a night for the women, I have to say. The guys pretty much blew everyone away, but I only saw one Idol-class performance from the women, and I saw a lot of pretty weak stuff. The good news: Pia Toscano. The last one on stage, after the final commercial, just when I was trying to hustle the kids off to bed, and we just had to sit down and shut up and listen. Amazing; no props, no horrible background (those floating clouds just have to go), just a woman with an amazing voice hitting all the notes and holding the audience spellbound.

The bad news: Rachel Zevita. What was that? The maybe: Michael, my son who plays bass and loves heavy metal, and my daughter, who plays piano and loves Rhianna and Taylor Swift, both were into Kendra Chantelle. Me? Not so much. Okay, but nothing special.

Overall, bad song selection, too much hype and not enough delivery — and damn! Randy’s starting to channel his inner Simon. Harsh, Dawg. But you were right.

Tonight: I predict more pathos, more drawn-out drama about everyone’s childhood, lots of tears and very little singing.

American Idol: The boys bring it

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I’m not taking it all back (yet) cuz I still think all the tears and drama are stupid, but Ihave to say: the guys brought it last night. Not a single contestant truly sucked (except Jordan, who almost truly sucked, but he’s a jerk anyway). Some were absolutely spectacular. Doing Screamin’ Jay Hawkins on Idol is nuts, so much could go wrong — but Casey Abrams pulled of “I Put A Spell On You” in a way that seemed almost impossibly brilliant. I thought Steven Tyler was going to melt into a puddle, he was so blown away. Jennifer Lopez said he was sexy, which should pretty much leave him set for life. I loved Paul McDonald singing Maggie May. Good song selections everywhere. Tonight: The girls.    

Worst American Idol ever

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Ok, American Idol. I sat through four hours this week. And yeah, Randy is Randy and Steven Tyler is a rock god and J-Lo is so pretty it makes my teeth hurt, but:

I miss Simon. Because everytime somebody really mangled a song, he’d remind them that “this is a singing contest.”

That’s right: This is a show about singing. But not this year. This year it’s all Total Drama Island. The Pathos! The J-Lo weepfests! The tragedy, the crying, the terrible stories of people’s lives and awful interactions between mean and unpleasant contestants who kick the weak ones out of their groups! Oh, the reality of it all!

An entire episode was devoted to watching anxiety-wracked contestants walk down a surreal flying-saucer-style walkway onto a stage where the judges would try to make them think they were going home, only to let slip at the last moment that they get to come back for another round. Or maybe not. Tears of joy. Thrown chairs. A woman trying to dry hump Ryan Seacrest. And it never ends.

Note to the producers: This is not Survivor: San Andreas Fault. We want to hear the contestants perform. We’ll take the good and the bad, but please: No more of the ugly.

On the Cheap Listings

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Events listings are compiled by Jackie Andrews. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Weekly Picks.

WEDNESDAY 19

Tom Rachman Bookshop West Portal, 80 West Portal, SF; (415) 564-8080. 7p.m., free. Like books on tape, only better — Tom Rachman reads from his highly acclaimed debut novel The Imperfectionist, a collection of short stories set in and around an Italian English language newspaper for travelers and ex-pats. A journalist himself, Rachman’s writing has been described as alternately hilarious and heart-wrenching. Come see what all the hullabaloo is about.

THURSDAY 20

Pitchapalooza: American Idol for Books Booksmith, 1644 Haight, SF; (415) 863-8688, www.booksmith.com. 7:30pm, free. This American Idol-like event for writers unfortunately doesn’t feature a drunk and effed-up-on-pills Paula Abdul, but it could take you one step closer to becoming a published author. Pitch your book in one minute or less to an all star cast of publishing experts — the most convincing scribe gets an introduction to an agent that can help them realize their book dreams. Anyone who buys a book in the store that day gets a free consultation, making this a must-do for all you struggling artistes.Bay Area

Wild World of Frogs Randall Museum, 199 Museum Way, SF; (415)554-9600, www.randallmuseum.org. 7:30pm, free (donations encouraged). Dr. Jerry Kreiger, Save the Frogs! founder and director, will tell you everything you didn’t know you wanted to learn about frogs — from the interesting and funny to the downright sad (200 species of our skin breathing homies have become extinct over the last 30 years). Support the first and only public charity dedicated to amphibian conservation.

FRIDAY 21

Birds and Bees Collide Space Gallery, 1141 Polk, SF; (415)377-3325, www.birdlovesbee.com. 8pm, free. Celebrate the release of Birdlovesbee: Artists in Collaboration with writer Camille Ikalina Robles– founder of One Red Delicious Press — and a bevy of emerging artists. For Birdlovesbee, Robles passes her writing off to an artist who, in turn, creates a reaction in their chosen medium, resulting in beautiful, handmade zines. Collaborators include photographer Marie Dewitt and film artist Dennis Maxwell. Special musical performance by Silian Rail and DJ set by DJ Shortround.

SATURDAY 22

The Uncomfortable Zones of Fun Temescal Arts Center, 511 48th St., Oakl.; (510) 526-7858, www.temescalartscenter.org. 8pm, donations suggested. Prepare to get … uncomfortable. Frank Moore, shaman, disabled performance artist, and 2008 presidential candidate, merges music, dance, erotica, religion and improv to create an experience few people have an easy time describing.

Jewelry-making class The Bead Store, 417 Castro, SF; (415) 861-7332, www.thebeadstoresf.com. 11am-noon and 3-4pm, free (plus materials purchase). Tucked away on Castro Street amidst the countless bear bars and penis-shaped pasta peddlers lies a cozy little shop for all of your jewelry-making needs, including monthly classes. Perhaps you would like to recreate a piece of jewelry you once owned but lost after a night of too many Racer 5’s? You’ll want to attend the 11am “Bring Your Project” class. Stick around for the 3pm “Made with Love” class and make your sweetheart a heart-shaped pendant or earrings with materials provided by the shop. Call to reserve a spot because spaces are limited.

ChicaChic opening reception California Institute of Integral Studies, 1453 Mission, SF; (415) 575-6242, www.ciis.edu. 6-8 pm, free. Five leading chicana visual artists show their greatly varying work, which honors the themes and iconography of the Chicano civil rights movement of the 1960s and ’70s, yet at the same time provides new imagery for a newer and faster paced media-saturated society. Reception includes a panel discussion featuring the exhibition artists and curator.

SUNDAY 23

Cal Science and Engineering Festival UC Berkeley Sutardja Hall, Berk., (510) 642-0352, www.scienceatcal.berkeley.edu/festival. 11 am-3 pm, free. Cal drops the science from astronomy to zoology. Join the search for extraterrestrial intelligence, witness unicycle basketball, touch a real human brain, excavate fossils, make an earthquake, play silly animal games, and yes, there will be liquid nitrogen! Honorary UC Berkeley science degree not included.

TUESDAY 25

Delectable Delights: Tales of Food and Disaster Space Gallery, 1141 Polk, SF; (415) 377-3325, www.litupwriters.com. 7:30-9pm, free. LitUp Writers’ Humor Storytelling Series combines everyone’s favorite defense mechanism: humor, with everyone’s favorite coping mechanism: food. Sounds like a win-win right? Local writers perform, sharing funny stories about their obsessions with, or disgust for, the things we eat.

Winner takes it all

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DOCUMENTARY Before American Idol and all subsequent parasitical imitators, there was nothing on American TV quite like the annual Eurovision Song Contest. In fact, there still isn’t — that event’s multinational scope and emphasis on original (or at least regional) material is eons from AI‘s hits regurgitated by wailing wannabes.

Originating in 1956, the climactic broadcast is hosted each year by a different city. It’s been a wellspring of MOR trash, serving a mainstream demographic similar to yet distinct from U.S. tastes, less susceptible to pop vs. rock snobbism. Its most celebrated success story ABBA was the quintessential ESC group — glam, groomed, Top 40, and camera-ready — whose winning 1974 “Waterloo” launched their career as the Me Decade’s most vanilla disco-pop enterprise. Celine Dion also won, 14 years later. Let us forget that.

Other artists have been less stressfully forgotten — indeed, few Eurovision winners or competitors graduate to significant careers. Eurovision has increasingly been criticized as representing overly generic, visually showy musical acts. TV ratings have slumped. Yet in developing and/or post-glasnost countries, it remains a major cultural event.

Thus 2003’s Junior Eurovision Song Contest founding naturally hooked a wide audience still susceptible to the crack-like combo of kiddie cuteness and vaguely nationalized Vegas showmanship.

Brit Jamie J. Johnson’s doc Sounds Like Teen Spirit: A Popumentary arrives here as the opening feature in the San Francisco Film Society’s inaugural International Children’s Film Festival. A treasure trove of both snarkalicious garishness and sympathetic characters worth rooting for, it is an all-ages-access joy.

Johnson focuses on a few diverse aspirants in the 2007 competition, all age 10 to 15. They include tiny Tom Jones-in-training Cyprian Yiorgos Ioannides and Georgian belter Marina Baltadzi, whose advance toward the top (among more than 14,000 initial entrants) becomes a source of national pride. In this context, Belgian quartet Trust seem incongruous for being an actual band who play instruments, write their own songs, and require no dance or costume input. Most competing acts recall the Brady Bunch and 1984’s Breakin’ 2: Electric Boogaloo — musically, choreographically, Spandex-sartorially — albeit with touristy “ethnic” twists.

Refreshingly, no kids here seem pushed forward by Lindsay Lohan-esque stage mamas or papas — their ambition is very much their own. No doubt most will cringe in later years at the pubescent portrait Spirit paints. But this good-humored documentary loves its subjects, and so will you.

NY/SF INTERNATIONAL CHILDREN’S FILM FESTIVAL

Sept. 24–26, $8–$20

Embarcadero Center Cinema

One Embarcadero Center,

Promenade Level, SF

(925) 866-9559

www.sffs.org

SFFS INTERNATIONAL CHILDREN’S FILM FESTIVAL

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The San Francisco Film Society Fall Season kicks off with the NY/SF International Children’s Film Festival, September 24-26 at Landmark’s Embarcadero Center Cinema. Don’t let the festival title fool you; this three-day celebration of short, feature length, animated and documentary films from around the world appropriate for kids and teens ages 3-18 will be enjoyed by film fans from all generations.
 
Filmmakers in attendance throughout the weekend include Folimage founder and Mia & the Migoo director Jacques-Rémy Girerd, The Secret of Kells director Tomm Moore, who will lead an interactive workshop, and Jamie J. Johnson of the highly entertaining, American Idol-esque music documentary Sounds Like Teen Spirit. From cyberpunk/sci-fi anime feature Summer Wars to the stunningly shot, fable-like Tahaan, this fun-filled showcase of award-winning films, West Coast premieres and stunning animation has something for everyone.
 
For tickets and program information, visit sffs.org or call 925-866-9559.
September 24-26th @ Landmark’s Embarcadero Center Cinema, 2261 Fillmore St, San Francisco

WIN 2 CINEVOUCHERS to the NY/SF International Children’s Film Festival by sending an email with your full name and address to promos@sfbg.com subject: NY/SF International Children’s Film Festival by Monday, September 20th.

Michael Franti’s bare feet

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Entering into its twelfth year of existence this weekend, Michael Franti’s Power to the Peaceful music and yoga festival doesn’t appear to pack quite the big name punch on (recycled, written on with hemp ink) paper – the Talib Kwelis and String Cheese Incidents that shared the bill with Franti in years past have been cycled out for Rupa and the April Fishes, SambaDa, and other relatively little known acts. But we caught up with Franti a few weeks ago to talk about this weekend’s (Fri/10-Sun/12) life-loving festivities while he was driving through the Nevadan desert, and he says there’s a method to the grooviness.

“It’s like being in a western movie out here,” Franti tells me after our call is dropped for lack of service. Reconnected, I ask: Michael, how’d you choose your supporting lineup for the concert you created to free Mumia, spread love, and perpetuate peace in Speedway Meadows?

“Last year we had Alanis Morrissette, lots of groups that we brought in from afar. This year we wanted to highlight Bay Area music,” says Franti, a Hunter’s Point resident himself. He took me through the lineup, which truth be told will probably make for a far more fun crowd than that of the year I had to throw bows to make it through the Indigo Girls crush. 

The patchouli-heavy roster includes the Santa Cruz capoeira crew SambaDa, bringing in a high-energy sound straight from the beach. All the acts involved have some smattering of multi-culturalism, including the Rupa and the April Fishes, of whose front lady Franti tells me “her family is Indian, but she grew up in America and sings in French and Spanish. She’s a M.D. half the year, and tours the other half of the year. I’ve always thought she was an amazing person.” We’ve got Rebelution to look forward to, surf-reggae boys from Santa Barbara, local emcee Sellassie, and… American Idol‘s Crystal Bowersox? She’s from Ohio, but hey she’s got dreadlocks – she’s in!

Most of the acts on the roster share the distinction for explicitly progressive social thinking, pretty key for a concert that Franti says he started to raise awareness of the fight to free Mumia Abu-Jamal, the Black Panther sentenced to Death Row for his alleged murder of a Philadelphia police officer. Tied to the concert, which focuses on promoting peace on an institutional and personal level, will be a 9 a.m. “1,000 Yogis for Peace” mass sun salutation (Sat/10), and a variety of paid shows meant to raise funds for future PTTP events. Though the Saturday Golden Gate shows will be the only free events of the weekend, the Fillmore Theater will also play host to Franti’s vibe, starting on Friday night when he’ll perform his new album, The Sound of Sunshine, continuing with a Talking Heads tribute Saturday night, and yoga-Brazilian dance workshops during the day on Sunday.

But before I hung up with Franti we had another hard-soled issue to discuss. That being, his lack of them. Franti threw off the shackles of tounges and laces a decade ago – kinda. “It comes up quite regularly that I go into a restaurant or store and they’ll ask me to wear shoes. So I put on flip-flops.” Damn the man! Oh, and he wears them running as well. 

Must we ask why? We must. Franti tells me through the savannah-induced static that he had been playing a lot of shows in developing countries, and the kids there thought his fragile, callus-free feet hilarious. Once back in SF, he decided to go unshod for three days, and the rest is history. Ironically, he’s been pretty involved in getting those things back on the feet of people that need them – donations are being collected at the concert for one of his favorite charities, Souls 4 Souls. That group will join over 100 social justice organizations at the concert on Saturday, where they will be offering information on everything from environmental issues to gang intervention. So wait, we’re listening to propaganda here? “The idea is to plug people into serving,” Franti says. 

 

As a willing member of the liberal media, I’ll be at Power to the Peaceful all weekend, and how! Check out my take on the downward dogs and loosely cinched fisherman’s pants in next week’s print edition of the SFBG

 

Power to the Peaceful 

main concert: Sat/11  9 a.m.-5 p.m., $5 suggested donation

Speedway Meadows

Golden Gate Park, SF

other live events: Fri/10-Sun/11, times and prices vary

Fillmore Theater

1805 Geary, SF

www.powertothepeaceful.org

The meme generation

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arts@sfbg.com

VIDEO We’ve got five years, stuck on my eyes …

YouTube is five. In his latest video, Chris Crocker prefaces his birthday wish for the site that effectively birthed him by announcing that he’s speaking as someone who is “part of YouTube history.” This moment of historical self-consciousness seems odd coming from Crocker, whose métier has been the in-the-moment double-blitzkrieg of unmediated emotional outpouring and laser-guided queeniness. If anything, Crocker has refined his androgynous self-presentation and ADD-addled delivery. More important, he has lived to tell. He is a part of YouTube history who seems to have come out the other side of the meme machine with some perspective, in addition to an increased “media profile.”

We’ve got five years, what a surprise …

“I hope YouTube will become more and more like the community it was in ’06 and ’07 (you all know what I mean),” Crocker says. I don’t really know what he means, but he goes on to lament how “corporate” YouTube has become. In the video’s intro note, Crocker writes, “Now with all of the corporate channels, and the constant YouTube FAVORITES featured and on the Popular list, It feels nearly impossible to be heard unless your video is featured or on a popular blog site.” Crocker’s idyllic evocation of “community” is offset by the whiff of sour grapes that his criticism gives off, but I also think he’s getting at something that’s as tangible as it is ridiculous-sounding: YouTube has become a more jaded and self-conscious medium than ever.

We’ve got five years, my brain hurts a lot …

The codes are known for those who want their 15 seconds on YouTube’s front page (and the subsequent gimlet-eyed post from Gawker). YouTube stars are now self-manufactured, no longer born to be discovered. This is a postlapsarian world in which, within a matter of days, “experts” are already raising suspicion that Greyson Chance — the 12 year-old Oklahoman whose show-stopping rendition of Lady Gaga’s “Paparazzi” has launched him on the path to become Bieber 2.0 — could be the product of canny media manipulation. Then again, is the question “Is he for real?” even relevant in the context of YouTube?

We’ve got five years, that’s all we’ve got.

I asked myself both questions when I watched PhatGayKID’s videos. PhatGayKID is the username of Jonnie, another extremely effeminate, young white gay man whose videos are starting to get attention from blogs. Slightly chubby and armed with a giggle that could cut shatter glass, Jonnie — who warbles out numbers from Glee and Ke$ha in the oblivious soprano of Florence Foster Jenkins — could be anywhere from 16 to 30 years old (his profile says 20). He claims to live in Beverly Hills and that his friends and family tell him he’s “way too good for American Idol!” Comments are sharply divided between homophobic dismissal and enraptured validation. Then there are those, like me, who wonder about Jonnie.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nap2McCq-xk

Jonnie’s mannerisms and delivery seem too perfect and canny a distillation of the kind of fan performances that now comprise one of YouTube’s most prolific genres – a style of performance that, thanks to someone like Chris Crocker, has become codified in certain ways. Both Crocker and Jonnie are naturals at hiding their deep self-awareness of what they’re doing. But Crocker’s accumulated performance of “Chris Crocker” came out of the offline hell of being young, gay, and irrepressibly femme in a small, Southern town (memorably dubbed “Real Bitch Island”). I don’t know much about Jonnie’s life, except that for someone who’s only just getting started he’s already welcoming “business inquiries” on his channel’s home page. Slog, the blog of Seattle weekly The Stranger, posted one of Jonnie’s videos under the title “Trying to Go Viral,” and a clip of Jonnie was used in SkunkPost’s satiric video made in the wake of Chance’s overnight success, “How to make it big using YouTube in five easy steps.” Regardless of who Jonnie actually is, and what exactly it is that he’s performing, he is committing one of the venal sins of YouTube: trying too hard.

FEAST: 5 farm-fresh cocktails

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We’re used to well-crafted, artisanal cocktails year-round in our city, and some bartenders showcase the bounty of the seasons in their cocktails, using local fruits, herbs, vegetables. It’s easy to take the abundance of the region for granted, but let’s not and remember to enjoy what can happen when fresh produce and spirits get into the right hands. Here are a few places and drinks we recommend as winter turns to spring. (Virginia Miller)

BEET COCKTAILS AT THE ALEMBIC


The Alembic offers quite a selection of spirits and beer, plus some of our city’s best cocktails, including New Orleans’ classics done right. (Thankfully, the bar doesn’t let the small space get too crowded, it regulates crowds at the door during peak hours. Even so, I prefer "off" times during the afternoon or early weeknights). The staff knows its stuff, so go ahead and ask them to make you something off menu with your favorite spirit as a base. In recent weeks, I’ve seen wonders worked with fresh produce on hand, whether it beets, ginger, or even galangal. A couple versions of a beet cocktail wowed me each time, the latest being a Rittenhouse Rye base with dry vermouth, red wine vinegar, orange zest muddled with sugar, and plenty of beets for a glowing red hue. Topped with a celery leaf and splash of sparkling wine, it’s a tart, earthy, slightly effervescent delight. If no beets are in house, you can’t go wrong with menu staple, Southern Exposure ($10), a Junipero Gin cocktail brightened with mint leaves, lime, a touch of sugar and a shot of fresh celery juice.

1725 Haight, SF. (415) 666-0822, www.alembicbar.com

KUMQUAT CAIPIRINHA AT NOPA


If you want to be ahead of the curve tasting a new small batch spirit no one has heard of or cocktails unlike anyone else’s, Nopa is your spot. Bar manager Neyah White, who’s always ahead of trends and has a pioneer’s taste for the untried, has introducing me to spirits I’ll later hear everyone talking about. Neyah and the Nopa bar staff create luscious cocktails — try one of their sherry or white whiskey renditions for a proper use of the spirits. If you’re lucky, the kumquats they’ve been procuring for weeks will still be on the menu for a kumquat caiprinha ($9). I’ve had kumquats in a number of cocktails — the juicy tart is a lifelong favorite taste. Not only are Nopa’s kumquats the best I’ve had in recent memory, but the use of Boca Loca Cachaca and fresh lime with the plump, tart citrus makes for a bracing drink: pleasantly sweet, floral, tangy. I ate every kumquat out of the glass.

560 Divisadero, SF. (415) 864-8643, www.nopasf.com

KENTUCKY BUCK AT RICKHOUSE


Rickhouse has one of those dream menus for cocktailians: pages and pages of flips, fizzes, and punches. The atmosphere holds the magic mustiness of a dim old bourbon house — without the must. (You just have to brave — or avoid — the Financial District happy hour mobs). From Rickhouse’s beverage director, Erick Castro, comes a drink created last spring that has thankfully stuck around: the Kentucky Buck. A refreshing bourbon and ginger beer cocktail ($8), it is one of the best-balanced bucks I’ve tasted. ("Buck" is the historic name for drinks involving a base spirit, citrus, and ginger beer or ale). Bourbon is served with organic Monterey Bay Farms’ strawberries, lemon, Angostura bitters, then topped with ginger beer. Refreshing and spring-like, it’s nuanced, showcasing all the strawberry’s best assets without overstepping into sweet territory.

246 Kearney, SF. (415) 398-2827, www.rickhousebar.com

EVERGREEN AT RANGE


Range sets the standard for experimental but refined cocktails. This is one of the great neighborhood restaurants, but it’s also a worthy bar destination. You can expect fresh and inventive here every time — with classic cocktail sensibilities. The Evergreen welcomes spring with gusto in the form of citrus and herbs. Plymouth Gin and St. Germain accompany fresh kumquat juice, sage, and lemon. Smooth and bright, not one flavor overpowers the other, but all meld nicely. If tequila is more your speed, try the Malia with Pueblo Viejo blanco tequila, lime, egg white, cinnamon bitters, and a winning duo of quince and apple.

842 Valencia, SF. (415) 282-8283, www.rangesf.com

TRACK 42 AT 15 ROMOLO


Thankfully, this cocktail has been on the menu a while, a glass of layered delights from one of our city’s best all-around bars, 15 Romolo. Track 42 ($12) is an exhilarating fresh garden of a drink made with 42 Below Manuka Honey Vodka, basil, unfiltered apple juice, lemon, and egg white. You won’t go wrong with most anything on (or off) the menu, but this treat involves more complexity and nuanced flavor than the "vodka cocktail" label would suggest, and is a favorite among many, many delectable drinks. Other highlights: I love the Prohibition-era elegance, laid back staff, and legendary Chartreuse Gong Shows — American Idol-like karaoke shows with judges, a giant gong if you suck, and, yes, shots of chartreuse for everyone. 15 Romolo is the bar I wish was in my neighborhood.

15 Romolo Place, SF. (415) 398-1359, www.15romolo.com

Pool loops

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superego@sfbg.com

SUPER EGO “Don’t you think that scratching records might annoy the people who spent a long time in the studio making them?”

I’m snickering at a jaw-droppingly antiquated — yet actually quite relevant — video from 1983 titled “1st UK DJ to Mix Live on TV.” It features famous, fresh-faced turntablist Greg Wilson, gracefully fending off tin-eared questions from Tube program host Jools Holland while demonstrating to an antsy, angular-haired audience what this whole “mixing records” thing is about.

The scratching bit’s a hoot because Wilson — who recently emerged from an 18-year retirement and will be performing at Triple Crown on Friday — isn’t scratching at all. He’s merely cueing up the record, a simple act that draws gasps. “Well, that’s it, that’s the danger,” Wilson replies to Holland, poker-faced, his soft brown Afro unshaken. “But when a record’s been played in the club for a long time, people get a bit fed up hearing it, and it’s nice to hear it in a different way. And that’s why I kind of … play about with them a bit.”

Wilson goes on to blow post-punk minds by phasing on two — two — tables at once. Then he takes it to a whole other level by revving up his trademark, Steampunk-prophesying Revox B77 reel-to-reel effects machine, real-time sampling David Joseph’s Jheri curl-slick classic “You Can’t Hide (Your Love From Me),” filling out the back-end with sly loops and layering on psychedelic dub echoes. It’s a wondrous bit of analog theater that I imagine, in this “digital age” I keep hearing about, would cause the same kind of pop-culture rupture if played out on American Idol today.

Or maybe not so much. Two of the big nightlife media hooks of the past few years have been the disco revival and the vinyl resurgence — twinned digital-reactionary movements that recall the late-1990s hip-hop and soul crate-digging of hometown heroes like DJ Shadow and Ren the Vinyl Archeologist, a fruitful response to the CD reissue mania of that time. Every technology carves out an implicit niche for its own backlashes. Now, it swallows them too. Despite all the retro nostalgia, DJs need the Internet to get their mixes out and research rare tunes. Plastic and silicon moving in tandem — it’s a real mishmash.

Wilson, who spent his decks hiatus pursuing his production career, may still keep one hand on the vintage — that Revox B77 still travels with him — but he’s made no secret of his enthusiasm for new fad gadgets, and felt that with the simultaneous rise of disco re-fever and software hijinks, a comeback was due.

“I think it’s an exciting time,” he e-mailed me from Australia, in the midst of a bonkers world tour to support his latest compilation of rejiggers, Credit to the Edit, Vol. 2 (Tirk). “Some people pine for the old days. But great as they were, I don’t like to dwell on the past too much in a nostalgic way, but use it to inform the future. I like the way younger people, who didn’t directly experience the original disco era, are drawing influence from it, reshaping it from their own perspective here and now. For me, music — no matter how old it might be — is always alive and evolving, so I’m all for bringing it into a new context.”

Wilson made his name in the ’70s and ’80s by birthing the electro-funk movement in the U.K. (www.electrofunkroots.co.uk), which pipelined many hard-to-find American dance releases to British crowds, and he came of age in a world of DJ record pools — strategic vinyl-sharing cabals that hooked cash-strapped DJs up with record companies eager to get their releases heard. Record pool culture opened the doors for innumerable disco and funk edits: DJs wanted to sound unique, so they mixed (or had someone else mix) their own versions of hits, stamping them with an individual sonic imprint. Thus the hugely influential edit scene was born, paving the way for a spectrum of club remixes from genius and egregious.

No one handled edits quite like Wilson, whose pitch-perfect additions, stretches, and overlaps and live technique proved to be a bulletproof blueprint. The disco edit scene, a subsection of disco revivalism that also digs up more contemporary “lost” tracks, keeps looping back into view, the most recent fanatic attack including acts like Wolf + Lamb, Soul Clap, Les Edits Du Golem, and Tensnake, and labels like Rong, Wurst, and Ugly.

Our very own rulers of the local edit scene are King & Hound (www.myspace.com/garthgrayhound), a collaborative effort between two SF DJ legends, Garth and James Glass, on the Golden Goose label. The two met in the early ’90s at the notorious Record Rack music store and have lately released tasty versions of David Ian Xtravaganza’s kiki 1989 “Elements of Vogue” and Can’s space-groovy “A Spectacle.”

“I have quite a few of Greg’s records,” Garth told me over e-mail. “I recently rediscovered one of his early hip-hop records called ‘We Don’t Care’ by Ruthless Rap Assassins, which I bought in 1987!” Glass joined in, “I grew up in London listening to Greg’s mixes and I’d hear him out and about.” Both of them shake off suggestions of Wilsonian influence, however. “But we’re all doing the same thing — taking out the cheese and respecting the quality,” Glass said.

Wilson’s brilliant 2009 Essential Mix mix for the U.K.’s BBC1 radio found Massive Attack and Talking Heads sharing space with Geraldine Hunt and Chic, and reintroduced him to American ears (“I think that mix illustrates what I always strive for: connecting back but moving on,” he told me. “I was shocked at the overwhelmingly positive response.”) But to Bay players he was always in the loop, working with the invaluable Anthony Mansfield of the Green Gorilla crew and Qzen and even visiting Haight Street a few years back to feed his ’60s obsession.

I recently had the opportunity to explore a bit of the Bay Area’s record pool and disco edit past with DJ Jim Hopkins of the ubiquitous Twitch Recordings, and who currently spins eclectic sets at venues like 440 Castro and Trax. He’s no stranger to the edit scene, becoming one of the youngest edit contributors in the early ’80s to San Francisco disco and Hi-NRG record pool Hot Tracks and later, after Hot Tracks owner Steve Algozino passed away from AIDS, Rhythm Stick, helmed by Algozino’s protégée Jenny Spiers. (He also namechecks the Bay’s Disconet and New Wave-friendly Razor Maid.) Hopkins got his edit start as a teen in the ’70s, using the pause button on his dad’s tape deck to make his own edits, and soon grabbed professional attention. “Record companies wanted several versions of their records available for DJs, and record pools wanted to put out compilation issues for subscribers that featured unique takes on tracks, so I happily provided,” he told me. “It’s funny that those things are worth a fortune today.”

Hopkins just started an online organization called the San Francisco Disco Preservation Society (find it at www.twitchrecordings.com) to collect and celebrate Bay-centric edits and reel-to-reel mixes. “As for the edit scene now, there seem to be two kinds being produced. There are easy-sounding ones that just extend the good parts. Then there are more serious ones that take the original and make it into something new and more moody. I think that’s good for the future — because sometimes I have to laugh. Disco kids these days are pulling anything out of vinyl resale bins from 20 years ago and calling it ‘classic’ when most of it is crap. It was crap back then, too. Making it into anything different is doing it a favor, really.”

Read Marke B.’s full interview with Greg Wilson here.

GREG WILSON: CREDIT TO THE EDIT TOUR

Fri/19, 10 p.m.–4 a.m., $15/$20

Triple Crown

1772 Market, SF

www.triplecrownsf.com

HONEY SUNDAYS PRESENTS JIM HOPKINS

Sun/21, 10 p.m., $3

Paradise Lounge

1501 Folsom, SF

www.paradisesf.com


“Waiting for Guffman” forever!

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By Louis Peitzman

In honor of SF Sketchfest’s Jan. 31 screening of Waiting for Guffman (1996) with star Fred Willard in person, I tried to interview the entire cast of the film. I failed. I did, however, speak to four cast members — two of Corky’s actors and two Blaine councilpeople — who reflected fondly on their experience and humored my fanboy questions. Where are these characters now? And, of course, is Broadway finally ready for Red, White and Blaine?

Fred Willard (Ron Albertson, travel agent)

On getting involved with director Christopher Guest: “I was in Spinal Tap. I’d worked with Michael McKean and Harry Shearer before, and I knew Rob Reiner. I was doing a show called Fernwood 2 Night at the same time he was doing All in the Family. We would pass in the halls and say hello, how are you. I would say mostly it was because of Harry Shearer, who’s a fairly good friend and who I’ve worked with. So I got in Spinal Tap, and then I was in a movie that Eugene Levy wrote and directed in Toronto called Sodbusters, which is kind of a spoof of Shane. Then next I knew, I got to know Christopher Guest.”

On the improv process: “[Guest] calls you and discusses your character and kind of aims you in the right direction. But there’s nothing, no lines written down. So he films a lot and then cuts out what he doesn’t need, and puts in what moves the plot forward, as he puts it. Which always kind of frustrates me, because some of the funniest stuff that not only I do but that a lot of people do, doesn’t really move the plot forward, but it’s just stuff I’d enjoy seeing. But he likes his movies about 85, 86 minutes. And that way, I think, a lot of people I find tell me they watch them over and over, which you can’t do with a two-and-a-half hour movie.”

On creating Ron: “First, [Guest] kind of gave me everything. He said I was a high school athlete. It was his idea, the penis reduction joke. In fact, he wanted to have a scene where I was running, you know an old film clip of me running the hurdles, and each hurdle being knocked over. That never was filmed or put in the movie, which I’m kind of glad about. He pretty much told me that Catherine [O’Hara] and I were like the Lunt and Fontanne of this little town, that we’d been in every production and when we had to audition, it was just kind of a technicality. We considered ourselves the pros of all the amateurs. I can say we’re about the most annoying couple I’ve seen in film.”

On the Chinese restaurant scene: “[Guest] just said, all right, what we’re going to do is, you’re going to take Eugene Levy and his wife out, because this is their first show and you’re going to try to make them more comfortable, because they’re the newcomers. So my key there is, in making them more comfortable, we would make them as uncomfortable as possible. And I didn’t know that Catherine was going to be drinking and get kind of tipsy during this scene, which added a whole nother dimension. And Eugene is a perfect victim. … [Guest] said the Chinese restaurant scene, we’ll probably film for two hours and then cut it down. And my first thought is, ‘Oh my God, what am I going to think of to say for two hours?’ But the night we did it, it was filmed late at night. We’d finished another scene. We got to the restaurant and we started filming, and went on and on. And finally, he said, cut, that’s it. And I said, ‘Wait a minute, Chris. There’s more! We can still do more!’”

On what Corky sees in the talentless Ron and Sheila: “I would think what Corky sees is a kind of commitment that we have. We probably show up on time, we probably bring baked goods to the cast. We probably have a lot of input and show off a lot of interest. I was going to say we’re probably very good with our lines in the script, but we probably aren’t actually. We probably make up for it by discussing points in the script and pointing out how we could improve our parts.”

On whether or not Ron and Sheila have a happy marriage: “Oh, no. [laughs] You could see that there’s just so much tension, with Sheila’s drinking and Ron kind of domineering her.”

On where Ron and Sheila are now: “If they stayed in Hollywood, they’d probably be running a little acting studio out in North Hollywood where they teach acting, and spend most of the class discussing their near-Broadway adventures, and how they were probably just as glad they never went to Broadway because it would be like prostituting their talents.”

On whether or not Broadway is ready for Red, White and Blaine: “I think it might be wonderful, yes. We were doing some promotion for Chris’s last movie, For Your Consideration, and someone asked, ‘I hear rumors that they want to do Waiting for Guffman on Broadway.’ And Chris was kind of swatting away the idea. He’s not too enthralled with that. And I yelled over to him, ‘Chris, does this mean we’re going to Broadway?’”

On a possible sequel: “I wrote an idea for a Waiting for Guffman, part two, and got it to [Guest]. And he discussed it with me, and said, ‘Well, I have several other ideas.’ That was before we did the next movie. I thought that was going to be the only one, and I said, ‘Chris, come on, this is my opportunity. Let’s do another one.’”

Catherine O’Hara (Sheila Albertson, travel agent)

On getting involved with Christopher Guest: “I worked with [Guest] — it was for HBO years ago, with Fred Willard and him. And we had a great time together. And I hoped to work with him again, and then I got a call about Waiting for Guffman.”

On the improv process: “It’s thrilling and exhilarating and scary. Really scary on the first couple of days, especially the first day, when you first open your mouth. Because there’s no rehearsal and you know, you open your mouth on camera, with the camera rolling, and you hope to God that you made a good choice. You’re locked in from that point on.”

On the outlines: “[Christopher Guest and Eugene Levy’s] outlines are inspiring, because they’re filled with funny ideas about these people. Everything that’s on the page is very well chosen. I think Waiting for Guffman was just a few pages — they’ve gotten longer. Because in Guffman, we all kind of traveled around as a group, so it would say, ‘They have rehearsal.’ Whereas the other stories, we sort of split up into different couples and different groups, so there were more pages.”

On creating Sheila: “They gave us the idea that Ron and Sheila ran a travel agency but had never been anywhere. So right there, you start thinking, ‘Why would I have never been anywhere when I have a travel agency?’ And you can make whatever choices you want, and there’s no discussion. You don’t have to run anything by Chris. You just come out with it on camera, and he can use it or not. But it’s so freeing that way, because everyone’s imaginations can be limited by directors or writers when it’s fully scripted. … You are totally free to create your own world and present their ideas with whatever voice you choose. And you just start rolling.”

On Sheila’s talent, or the lack thereof: “I would like to claim that I show the least talent. I think the others were probably thinking ahead to their careers outside of this movie. [laughs] But I showed no potential in Sheila’s performance.”

On playing a bad actor-singer: “Oh, it’s fun. It’s fun to try to ride the fine line of bad acting and not be too bad. You just want to be sincerely bad. But the best is — I mean, the saddest of the best in life, is when people kid themselves. And we’re all doing it every day, I’m sure. But you know, when someone sincerely believes that they have a right to be performing or doing whatever they’re doing in life and they don’t have talent or what it takes to pull it off. But they love it, and you can’t take that away from them. They love it and they get so much out of it and they believe they’re born to do it. And God bless them.”

On whether or not Ron and Sheila have a happy marriage: “What did Fred say? [laughs] I don’t think they have a healthy marriage. I think their marriage might last, just because, who else is going to be with them? [laughs] I think it’s a sad, codependent kind of relationship. They’re so deeply into their own whatever the hell they’ve got going on, I’m not sure they’d have the wherewithal or nerve or whatever, to leave each other.”

On the Chinese restaurant scene: “I loved that we had that [Chinese restaurant] scene. … I think I maybe did run that by him right before we did that. I asked him if I could be drunk and he said yeah. It was great because, you know, there’s a lot of stuff that Sheila’s burying deep down, in my mind anyway. And some of that got to come out because she was not editing herself and not aware of being on camera.”

On where Ron and Sheila are now: “They probably are together, but then she’d still be drinking if they are. No, maybe she’s gone sober. Sober and he found a true love for her, taking care of her through her rehab. And there are a lot of people in this city and every city who are acting in maybe not big famous ways, but they’re acting and they’ve got their groups of friends who they work with, and I’m sure Ron and Sheila could survive. And Ron, he’s got such nerve, he’d get them in the door.”

On whether or not Broadway is ready for Red, White and Blaine: “Oh, sad. Sad to say. Well, you know, I’ve seen some sad stuff on Broadway. Maybe. Let’s be honest.”

Michael Hitchcock (Steve Stark, councilperson)

On getting involved with Christopher Guest: “I’m a member of the Groundlings theater in Los Angeles, which is a comedy/improv troupe. And one night I was doing an all-improv show over there, and I found out afterwards that [Christopher Guest] had been in the audience. And I was glad I didn’t know ahead of time, because I would have been really nervous. I found out he wanted to interview me regarding Waiting for Guffman. He doesn’t really do auditions, per se — he interviews people he’s interested in. He kind of scours various improv theaters and comedy places.”

On the improv process: “Chris’s movies are so different from anything else that you’d ever imagine, because it’s such a creative experience, I think, for everyone involved. You just don’t get that in a scripted thing, and there’s obviously nothing wrong with scripted material—there’s writers who are usually very good at what they do and have written great things. But on something like this, you get to create your character.”

On creating Steve Stark: “We sat down, for my part, I was a councilman and we talked a little bit about it ahead of time. And he asked me, ‘What do you want to do?’ And I said, ‘Well, I would like to be someone who really wanted to be in the show but didn’t make it. And I’m kind of secretly in love with you.’ And he said, ‘All right, let’s try that.’ I chose for myself the occupation of being a pharmacist, because growing up, I had a job in a pharmacy, so I knew a lot about that. I knew about the pharmacy life. In improv, you obviously want to have specific information, so I could draw on life experience for that.”

On what makes Christopher Guest movies unique: “You never rehearse. So there’s never like a trial run of improv information. The first time anyone talks is when the cameras roll, which I really, really like. I think a lot of people don’t do it that way. Chris is one of the few people who actually do it like that and I love it. You can’t really plan ahead. You have no idea what the next person is going to say. It just makes it so invigorating. Certainly scary but invigorating at the same time. The weird thing about watching any Christopher Guest movie if you’re in it, is thinking, ‘I don’t even remember saying that.’ It’s so weird to look at them and go, ‘Oh my gosh, I really said that?’ You kind of forget, because you obviously film it more than one time.”

On where Steve is now: “In one of the reshoots, Corky and Steve Stark end up together in New York. And that was filmed and not used. So I’ve always thought, well, maybe he did. But in my own mind, I think poor Steve is probably at the pharmacy, hoping against hope that Corky moves back to town.”

On the gay subtext: “I think in that kind of a situation, the small town kind of situation, he was married and had a wife and kids. He probably didn’t even know himself exactly what was happening.”

On the Christopher Guest family: “It’s truly like a family reunion getting together. And Chris, to his credit, in subsequent films you usually get paired up with somebody new, so there’s a new chemistry and a new kind of playing around, which I just love. And plus, what’s great, he usually hires the same crew, too, so the people behind the scenes are familiar faces, which makes a huge difference when you’re flying by the seat of your pants in an improv situation.”

On whether or not Broadway is ready for Red, White and Blaine: “I think if a chandelier fell down. If you could get a chandelier to fly down, then yes, certainly. I think Broadway would certainly be ready for Red, White and Blaine. Some of the other Broadway shows, you kind of wonder how they got up there. If you actually look at Red, White and Blaine, it’s pretty well produced. So that’s what I really liked about Chris’s approach. It’s not like people are stumbling over their lines or falling over each other. Corky was a taskmaster: those people knew their lines and knew their dances and the scenery came in at the right time. In real life, that scenery could never have fit on the stage. So I thought, good for Corky. He had it figured out.”

Deborah Theaker (Gwen Fabin-Blunt, councilperson)

On getting involved with Christopher Guest: “I had met Catherine and Eugene and all of the SCTV people at the Second City, because they’d been there over the years. I was the lead actress on a series that Eugene Levy created for George Lucas called Maniac Mansion … That was my first big job, and then, I performed out here—there was a Second City in Los Angeles back in 1990, and Chris Guest just coincidentally happened to come to one of the shows we did. And he left me a note. There was no real audition. There was never any audition. I think he just called the people he liked.”

On the improv process: “What Chris has created is a two-sided thing, because you never feel the same about a script. You rarely get a script that passes your desk or that you see that you go, ‘Oh my God, this is fantastic.’ Improvising your own material and creating your own character ruins you for the real world. It’s just so inventive and so much more fun to do a movie that way that any scripted material pales in comparison. It’s almost like he’s ruined us for real movies.”

On creating Gwen: “In the outline, I was a city councilwoman — pretty much all we knew. I decided from watching dailies with them, I better come up with something more, because it could be very easy to get cut. I decided to make myself the last surviving descendent of Blaine Fabin, so that was me. But when we were meeting, talking about the character, he said, ‘I see you as the sort of woman who wears open-toed sandals with pantyhose,’ and I went, ‘Oh, I got ya.’ I used my friend’s name — her last name was Blunt — because we could pick our own character names. And I know that Mike Hitchcock, Steve Stark, also used his friend’s name.”

On holding her own against the wackier characters: “I think you only manage to be funny in that situation if you don’t try to be, if you just kind of go so deep or invest so much in your own viewpoint or whatever viewpoint your character has. I’ve never gotten a laugh if I’ve tried to be funny, ever. I don’t know why that is, but it is, so I always find — and to me, the things that are the best material are weird nuances of people’s behavior or their strange idiosyncrasies.”

On the comedic contributions of hair and makeup: “Look at Catherine with her ‘Texas claw,’ what they called the ‘Texas claw,’ where her bangs are so high, because women in Texas would wear their hair that way. To me, that was hilarious. And then there was the inspired bit that our makeup artist Kate Shorter put in of all the performers having those red dots by their eyes when they do the stage show. That just cracked me up.”

On the reality TV connection: “It’s just about — I hate to say it — the audacity of hope, that they all think they could be Broadway stars. It’s the same kind of misguidedness that you see on American Idol with the contestants who are as flat as pancakes and couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, but they’re just so convinced that this is their big moment. There’s something borderline tragic but borderline sweet about how hopeful everybody is about having a show business career without having any talent. Now you see, it’s been backed up by all these years of reality television. You see all these competitors who are so earnest and so sincere in their desire to do whatever they cannot possibly do because they just don’t have a shred of talent.”

On how difficult Gwen’s life really is as a Fabin: “I think it’s her delusional creation of a dynasty. In that little place, she’s a big fish in a little pond only by reminding everyone that she’s a Fabin. People don’t honestly care or remember, but to her, that’s all she’s got to go on, so she’s going to milk it for every ounce that she can.”

On where Gwen is now: “I think that she would now be the mayor and she’d be a despot. I think that she’d have been all sweet and congenial all the way through. And then finally, once she got a little bit of power, she’d go completely power-hungry, because she’s a Fabin after all.”

On whether or not Broadway is ready for Red, White and Blaine: “There were rumors that at some point they were trying to make this into a musical. … If they did do it as a musical, it would have to be done with a sense of irony, and I don’t know if they could pull that off. The film was presented as verite, as a documentary. The musical in and of itself wouldn’t work as a musical without the framework of the documentary, so I don’t know. Hard to say.”

SF Sketchfest presents Waiting for Guffman with Fred Willard in person

 

Sun/31, 2 p.m., $15
Christopher B. Smith Rafael Film Center
1118 Fourth St, San Rafael
www.sfsketchfest.org


 

 

Getting Xmas Twisted

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SONIC REDUCER “I saw mommy fellating Santa Claus /Under balls so snowy white last night.”

Rude and crude — yes. But outrageous and sacrilegious — and worth stumbling out of the Las Vegas Hilton as fast as your aged legs can take you? Maybe. Though Twisted Sister’s Dee Snider gave us plenty of goofy warning that he was going there, giving us “the real story” — meaning his bawdy, rowdy rock ‘n’ roll story — behind the voyeuristic kicks of “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus,” our last illusions were shattered, sorta, in the spirit of the gently taboo-busting song.

Ah, and so this is Vegas — just the place to use, abuse, and hock that illusion. The land of The Hangover, neon flash, and an expected and cheesy yet palpable air of convivial good cheer in the buffet line and beneath omnipresent the casino cameras, lurking amid the underutilized Millionaire’s Club slot machines.

“Mommy” was definitely one of the many highlights at Twisted Sister’s three-night stand “Twisted Christmas,” a mix of holiday classics with a goofy rock ‘n’ roll twist and yesteryear hits — the live successor to the group’s 2006 yuletide album of the same name. I had to tear myself away from the Kitty Glitter penny-slot amid the dated beige glam of the Hilton Elvis built, lured by post-show free margaritas and the reverently irreverent metal ‘tude promised by the band that hit it big at the Headbanger’s Ball with “We’re Not Gonna Take It.”

We took in Dee Snider in full clown makeup (“Sarah Jessica Parker dipped in acid!” proclaimed guitarist-manager Jay Jay French, quoting the British press) and a black-and-hot-pink body suit entering in a sleigh drawn by dancers and vixens in skimpy Suicide Girl-wear, Twisted rewrites of holiday classics like the tweaked new last line of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful” (“Christ wa-ah-s a Jew!”), and predictable yuks like the mohawked and pantless Santa Satan who joked about adjusting his sack, or a “12 Heavy Metal Days of Christmas” that naturally included “eight pentagrams” and “five skull earrings.” That’s as satanic as matters got, and though the playing was at times a bit less than tight, the band’s original members were in impassioned form, getting in as many jokes at Ozzy’s expense as Santa’s.

As we watched dozens of likely comped retirees piling into their seats, my companion, Prof. Fluffenheimer, muttered to himself, “I wonder how many of these people will be leaving in the first 15 minutes.”

Lo, our entire row had pretty much cleared halfway into the hour-and-a-half concert — too bad, ’cause they missed the malevolent and very unmerry “Burn in Hell” and a fist-punching sing-along “I Wanna Rock,” which had the remaining metal heads and rockers, 40-something dad-ish fans in polo shirts, wrestling team sprats, Sarah Palin look-alikes, table tennis conventioneers, and sundry other Vegas casino crawlers all hollering “Rock!” in unison. Let’s say it wasn’t the total madhouse the Ramones inspired at the Stone back in the late ’80s. But it brought back those chestnut-toasty, black-leather memories when French and guitarist Eddie Ojeda, now seemingly recovered from his recent back surgery thanks to “massive hallucinogens,” riffed off the Brudders by working “Ho! Ho! Let’s go” into “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas.”

All of which inspired me to fantasize about other Christmas musical extravaganzas that oughta be on every music fan’s list. I’m not talking about Andy Williams and Wynonna, who filled the Hilton theater after Twisted Sister had moved their raucous NYC rawker selves along. And American Idol grads don’t count, being programmed to perform the cheesiest song on hand, on command. How about a little Christmas cheer from these pop types?

Beyonce “Baby Boy” is readymade for a rejiggered “Santa Baby,” or at least a nativity scene featuring “Ave Maria” and “Halo.”

Lady Gaga Her platinum tresses make her a natural Christmas angel. “Boys Boys Boys” must be reappropriated as “Toys Toys Toys.”

Justin Timberlake Picture the Timberlad poking around for a yule log in his “SexySack”.

Kanye West Embracing the chill of West’s last album with songs like “Coldest Winter,” this holiday should look ahead to the New Year by ringing it in KaNYE style. After the graduate gets in a scuffle with Santa, the show ends with a contrite, winged West delivering a bushel of MTV Video Music Awards to a virginal Taylor Swift.

False Idols

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Guardian illustration of the Jonas Brothers by Matt Furie and Aiyana Udesen

DECADE IN MUSIC Forget what you’ve heard: stars aren’t born — they’re made. Pop music over the past decade has been defined by the music industry, with standout stars manufactured to be, well, standout stars. We’ve reached the point where the biggest names are chosen by reality TV, the media, and, more often than not, the Disney corporation.

Does that sound cynical? The past 10 years have by no means represented a dearth of good pop music. But it’s impossible to reflect on them without acknowledging the massive influence of American Idol, a show that emphasizes and glorifies the artificial production of pop stars. Sure, it’s found plenty of legitimate talent (try to avoid Carrie Underwood), but that doesn’t downplay its role as an assembly-line for fame.

We came into this millennium with boy bands facing their inevitable, and long overdue, decline. The Backstreet Boys went on hiatus in 2002, but let’s face it, that was more of a formality than anything else. (Remember 2000’s Black and Blue [Jive]? Yeah, me neither.) Something had to fill that void. How convenient, then, that American Idol debuted in June 2002.

"This is American Idol," Ryan Seacrest emphatically declares at the start of each episode. On the surface, the show is about letting America choose: winners are selected by texted and phoned-in votes. But the contestants are shamelessly molded by the judges and producers, told how to dress, how to act, and — of course — what to sing. I’m sure this isn’t much different from what has always gone on behind the scenes, but American Idol was the first program to show us just how inauthentic pop music can be, and to add a false veneer of democracy to the package.

There have been several success stories, depending on how you define success. First season winner Kelly Clarkson continues to maintain a thriving career, though much of that has involved a process of reinvention. Former contestant Jennifer Hudson won an Oscar for Dreamgirls, but only after she’d sufficiently distanced herself from the show. (Ask producer Simon Cowell how he feels about that.) Finally, there’s the most recent runner-up Adam Lambert, the queer alternative to squeaky-clean winner Kris Allen.

As a launching off point, American Idol offers unparalleled opportunities. But to make the more lasting pop impression, singers have to find their own niche and, in their own way, rebel. It’s comforting to know there’s still room for self-expression. The machine continues to pump out idols, but the occasional burst of creativity manages to find its way through.

At least, to some extent. It’s hard to stay optimistic about the future of the genre when one of the biggest pop stars of last year, Taylor Swift, epitomizes the mundane. Bubbly and fun but nothing special, her "country" crossover appeal is simply an affected twang. And her success? Thanks to Kanye West’s interruption of her acceptance speech at MTV’s Video Music Awards, Swift found herself cast as a victim by the media. Were those tears in her eyes when Kanye stole the mic, or was that twinkle the knowledge of how far his faux pas would take her?

Meanwhile, Disney continues to promote its own brand of actor-singers. The tradition is nothing new. Let’s not forget that Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera, big from the start of the decade, are former Mouseketeers. It’s clear that the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus have talent — whether or not you like their music — but there’s something disingenuous about their wholesome personas. (Let’s not forget Miley’s controversial photo shoot. She has a bare backside, you guys!) Purity rings aside, they’re as much industry creations as anyone American Idol has spit out.

Perhaps I’m being naïve. The music industry’s role in pop music is a longstanding tradition, but never before has the mechanization been more obvious, or aimed at a younger audience. My hope, then, is for a decade full of mold-breakers like Lady Gaga, whose freak act may not be new but is still more exciting than most anything else out there. And as for those mom-approved wax figures? Let’s just wish they make like Icarus and fly too close to the sun.