The fact that there was a dance performance going on as part of the annual music festival Noise Pop, was unique in and of itself, but then it was happening at the SF MOMA, and I knew I had to go check it out.
The dance group robbinschilds is a pop-color-clad duo who mix video, dance, live music, and even a little sumo-wrestling, to create experimental performances that also use the specific space where they’re happening, in this case, the SF MOMA. So at one point, there were just videos up on three walls, then the dancers were passing a huge rainbow tassel between levels of galleries, and then they were right in front of us, stripping off their clothes and gyrating uncontrollably. They were backed by a live Seattle noise band called Kinski, that was well, very noisy.
There was a second dance show at the MOMA that was a presentation by Russian artist Anna Parkina, who is also having a collage show upstairs in the galleries. Her piece was a mixture of paper cutting and movement, using projections of the collages she has made and moving human sculptures to create a living art piece.
Both dance shows were completely unique, and I like that Noise Pop is venturing beyond music and collaborating with a variety of artists to bring us odd and wonderful shows, like these two.
Synth and bass, rock and roll, some combinations are easily matched, but when you put How to Dress Well on the roster, pairings aren’t as obvious. Dominant Legs‘ mangy pop was an odd precursor to Saturday night’s How to Dress Well performance at Cafe Du Nord, but then again, what flatters eerie falsetto and awkward emotions?
San Francisco’s Dominant Legs played like summer in a bottle. Happy guitars, lots of cowbell and rad bass made the winter weather outside melt. The only thing missing was sunshine, or lights in general. Half the band was hidden from the crowd due to a lack of lighting– particularly the adorable Hannah Hunt. One disgruntled lady in the audience voiced her disapproval by shouting, “We can’t see the pretty girl in the blue dress,” to which Hunt meekly responded, “It’s green.” Case in point.
The band of five played three brand new songs, two cute and sleepy and one with tropical breeze, but the hits were any that picked up the pace. The real gem was as suspected– “Young at Love and Life.”
There was a brief interlude by Shlohmo and his way cool collection of old school tracks, including my personal favorite, TLC’s “If I Was Your Girlfriend”– brought me right back to Mr. Burg’s fifth grade class.
Then the stage cleared. A lazy stream of fog seeped from a small machine in the corner as Tom Krell grabbed the mic. Immediately things felt awkwardly intimate as the man behind How to Dress Well told the crowd, “This week things have been kind of tough for me,” said Krell. “But I guess we’ll see how it goes.” And it went in all kinds of ways: uncomfortable, pretty, sexy and repulsive. It was Krell, naked (only figuratively), revealing every last detail of his diary in a high-pitched squeal of sorts, accompanied by super smooth, shattering bass, electronics and R&B stylings.
At first it seemed like a bad dream. My ears hurt. I thought slitting my wrists sounded like a nice alternative to listening to songs entitled, “Suicide Dream 1” and “Suicide Dream 2.” I did enjoy the projected visual art and it seemed to pair well with the horror escaping his lips. I couldn’t believe all these people had paid to see this guy. Was this a joke? I turned to the dude next to me (just as his friend offered up some Flamin’ Hot Cheetos) and asked him if he ‘really liked this?” He laughed. “Uh…no comment.” Then he thought about it for a second more. “Well, I don’t hate it.”
And surprisingly by the end of his one-man show I realized I also didn’t ‘hate it’ but couldn’t quite get to the ‘liking’ part either. I grew to respect the dude for what he brought to the table. Krell has balls. Really big balls. Who else would stand up there and tell everyone that this song is about how his life “feels closed,” instead of “feeling open, like when I was young.” It was hipster poetry hour and I needed a cigarette. That’s some depressing shit, man. If only I could’ve understood the actual lyrics. Were those real words?
How to Dress Well is what it is, folks but whether it counts as live music, a band or a quality performance is still up for debate. The transition from amazing recorded material to live act still has some kinks; or maybe that’s the intention and you’re cool and totally hip if you get it. I’ve never been one to understand ‘performance art.’ Instead it seems easier to categorize this fiasco as another talented bedroom musician lured from his comfort zone, into the outdoors and onto stages. We should stop being so pushy.
Glitter, check. Feathers, check. Pearls, check. Add in some fabulous lyrics, a few wildly inappropriate lines, and you’ve got yourself a full blown production of “Pearls over Shanghai,” performed by the fantastic Thrillpeddlers.
To be honest, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into this weekend at the Hypnodrome, but I figured that any show that had been running for almost two years must have something to offer. And it surely did. If you only go see it for the beautiful costumes and vibrant make-up, you will be fully satisfied. But then there’s the singing, the piano playing, and the spanking and you’ll realize it’s one of those once-in-a-life-time events. The story revolves around a myriad of love stories, taking place in the skanky part of Shanghai in the 1930’s, revealing the innocent, the naughty, and the disturbing side of Shanghai’s infamous underworld.
This show is definitely not for the timid, because there is a bit of skin showing here and there, and a creep show in the dark that totally freaked me out — this was an original production by the legendary Cockettes after all — but it a good way, where afterward I kept wondering how in the heck they actually made me feel like I was tripping on opium … and also made me never, ever, want to do opium.
“Pearls over Shanghai” will finish its run on April 9th, so don’t miss it. Go see it, maybe even twice.
I believe it’s almost everyone’s dream to be able to fly and for some, it is a reality. I stopped by ODC Theater this week to check out a final rehearsal of a dance piece choreographed by Raissa Simpson and actually got to watch her fly across the stage. OK, she was actually attached to cables, but there was still quite a bit of airborne action going on, and to be honest, it made me a little jealous.
This weekend, ODC is hosting the Black Choreographers Festival, which brings together a smorgasbord of dance talent, in celebration of African and African-American traditions and culture. And, from what I saw during rehearsal, it’s bound to be a vibrant and exciting show. There was not only an element of theater and drama in Simpson’s piece, but also an awesome hot pink prom dress that one of the dancers was sporting. So go get your fill of perfect pirouettes and fabulous flexion, You won’t regret a minute of it.
I’m all for intimate venues and performances — and the shows at the tiny Red Poppy Art House literally happen in your lap — but it’s kinda scary when the performers are wielding huge swords and you wonder if you’ll go home missing the tip of your nose.
Luckily, these blade-brandishing belly dancers knew what they were doing and even though there were several sharp shiny weapons balancing precariously on the head of a dancer at one point, just about two feet from my face, I felt OK.
The performance at Red Poppy not only featured belly dancing, but also the groovy fusion beats of Kardash and several of their musical friends. Their sound had a Middle Eastern flare to it and there was one moment that stuck with me the most during the show. One musician played the tambourine for a piece with such precision, isolating the drum and then the bells around the edge of the instrument, that it created a totally foreign sound like nothing I’ve ever heard before. It was truly beautiful.
The dancers also showed their considerable talents, especially Elizabeth Strong in a dance titled “Mata Hari,” about the infamous exotic dancer who was also a spy. Donning red lilies in her hair, Strong started the dance very slowly, creating a mesmerizing concoction of mystery and movement, but ended with a feverish mix of whirling hips and flying scarves.
And guess what? At the end of the night, I left with all my “Jewish princess nose” (as my mother likes to call it) fully intact.
Do you ever watch a performer and find that they exude so much positivity and joy that you find your mouth stuck in a perpetual grin? And then you realize they’re singing the blues, rambling away about whiskey woes and dead beat good-for-nothing dudes, and you’re like “Why am I smiling?” This is what happened to me on Friday night for the Claudette King concert at Biscuit and Blues.
King not only has a set of powerful, bluesy pipes at her disposal, she also has a disposition of someone who just found herself in a candy shop and can’t stop giggling. The audience took it all in, clapping and hooting while simultaneously consuming huge plates of bbq ribs and mashed potatoes. King is the daughter of the much loved B.B. King, but I really think she stands on her own as a true blues singer, although I’m sure her father was an inspiration and an influence on her as an artist.
Oh and I have to mention this: Sam Love and I had the chance to meet King before the show and somehow the convo turned to love and marriage. During her set she sang a piece that’s all about “gettin’ some good lovin’.” Halfway through the song, King points to me and goes “See that photographer over there? She’s getting married to that dude next her. Now, they better get some good lovin’ on that wedding night! Well, they probably already are!” So in front of a sold out audience, King just told Sam Love and me a thing or two about getting down. Um, yeah – that just made my night! King has spirit, groove and a whole lot of blues and I can’t wait to see what she comes up with next.
These days, it’s hip to be in the know of well-kept secrets. OK, maybe that’s confusing, but what I’m trying to say is there’s an ever-growing list of underground events going on in San Francisco, but if you don’t know about them, well, than you better start getting on it. Now. I’ll give you a hint. Secret restaurants are popping up everywhere and it’s the kind of eating experience you don’t want to miss out on.
Case in point: this past weekend, Stag Dining Group hosted a clandestine dinner at a mysterious locale, which included a myriad interesting dishes, from Japanese lobster custard to skewered duck hearts in mole sauce.
The chefs, Ted Fleury and Jordan Grosser, were bustling in the kitchen to get six courses out to almost eighty people at the same time, while Cocktail Lab was busy concocting a new libation for every course, filled with everything from chili peppers to flaming cinnamon sticks. And boy, my drinking habits are not up to snuff these days … I could not keep up!
The food was tasty and carefully crafted, and I especially loved dessert, a thick creamy chocolate mousse, topped with a see-through thin olive-oily piece of cinnamon toast. My only crit note was the lack of carbs in the meal. I definitely felt the need for one dish that might be considered “hearty.”
Stag Dining is comprised of a bunch of affable dude-bros who have been friends for years and decided to collaborate to create a supper club. Beyond the delectable delights, I also loved that they did a spiel about their values, right down to their handmade recycled menus and to the fact that eating sustainably is really becoming a must. Sometimes people overlook the “spiel” — but I’m one of those people who is constantly giving them and feel that it’s so important to educate whenever possible. (My broken record spiels include: “Check your bathroom products … they might contain parabens!” “Non-organic strawberries taste like crap … and can kill you!” “Did you know that health care in other countries is way better than in America? Write a letter!” It’s something people still do!)
So folks, now you’re a little in the know for something well worth being in the know about, start exploring some of these hidden edible treasures, which are sure to tantalize and tickle your taste buds.
Edwardian Ball 2011: a journey into the abyss, the unknown, the festering macabre just inches from the surface of everyday society. You know what it is to which we refer — where the hell are these people getting their costumes? The truly creative — the guy whose head was encased in a glass globe filled with swimming goldfish counts and DJ Miz Margo’s eye-gouged baby doll stunner among them — surely made their own, but a trek beneath the ball’s crowded main floor revealed the secrets behind the mystery behind the enigma.
Yep, the vendors. Because if you were looking for extravagant millinery, feather implants, perhaps a multi-tiered carnival-gypsy-ballroom gown, it was all there for the well-moneyed and dapper among us. Though the Vau de Vire Society’s stun-tacular performance of Gorey’s The Eleventh Episode looped and somersaulted overhead, the bustling marketplace below spoke more about the true frippery-focused soul of the evening’s Edwardians. Looking for a place to wear that mink skull hair fascinator? Never fear, the Tim Burton Ball lurks just around the corner.
It seems that whenever I go to the circus, I leave the show wanting to join the circus. And I’m not talking about the desire to perfect my juggling skills or become an expert in improvised clowning. My circus ambitions lie in the urge to become a trapeze artist. That should be pretty easy, right?
If you happened to see the Circus Center’s New Pickle Circus this past weekend at the Jewish Community Center, you probably left the show with the same feeling.
What it really comes down to is that these gymnasts make it look so darn easy and downright doable, that it’s impossible not to want to be part of it. I mean, who doesn’t want to do three back flips in a row? Ok, I’ll stop gushing.
There were many other fabulous acts, that were also quite noteworthy. These included the Steve Martin look-a-like bubble man, who at one point actually stuck his hand into one of his soapy weightless spheres, and a pair of goofball clowns, that always seemed to be mopping up some mess on the stage. I also really loved the disco roller skate duo, complete with star-shaped glasses and skintight shiny bell bottoms.
Making its debut in the mid-’70s in San Francisco, the players of Pickle Family Circus are true veterans in the art of laughter and fun. They know how the circus works and you’re guaranteed a good time whenever you go see them. An outing to the circus is always so freeing and it’s never a bad time, unless you’re five and afraid of clowns (that used to be me). So what are you waiting for? Let’s go join the circus.
Sometimes going to a show is not just about the artist, but also about the audience. Fans have the ability to bring so much energy and excitement to a performance, and that’s exactly what went down this past Friday night at the Warfield, when super diva extraordinaire Chaka Khan took the stage.
Of course, Chaka’s peeps were there to see her. (Dare I say worship her?) But they were also there to get loud, funky, and show off some mighty fine threads. Before the performance even started, people were up from their seats, dancing in the aisles, woot-wooting in unison, to whatever the heck the DJ decided to play next, as they waited for Chaka to come out.
But before Chaka, there was Chrisette Michele, an up-and-coming R&B artist, whose chill tunes and limitless eyelashes really could take your breath away. And then Chaka arrived and the theater packed with groupies totally lost it. For some reason the Warfield decided to put seats out for this show, but there was no way anyone was going to sit on them, at all. Chaka found her groove long, long ago, and she still has it — and somehow I know she always will.
Sam Love and I rented a camper van and decided it would be our home for the next three weeks, as we made our way loop-dee-loop around the south island of New Zealand. A few hours in, we realized that there aren’t that many people in New Zealand (but tons of sheep!) and townships are quite spread out, resulting in very few radio stations.
This was a problem. We planned on driving, like hundreds of miles. But with no music? No way. No how! As we pulled into Queenstown, we had a mission. A thrift store needed to be found – CDs needed to be purchased. And there it was, the Salvation Army (or Sallie’s as they like to call it there). They did have CDs … and guess what? They were ALL Willie Nelson. Every-single-one. So we got one titled “Willie Stripped” which includes a CD booklet with photos of Willie sitting naked in the bath. Bonus! So now, when I think of New Zealand, I think of Willie Nelson, Sam Love and me belting out “Bring Me Sunshine” as we chugged in our little van through the mind blowing landscape of the Fiordland National Park.
So seeing Willie last night, live at the Fillmore, was like a triple/quadruple bonus. This man is an icon, who stands for peace, love and tons of free flowing whiskey. And even though he is such an American symbol, Willie Nelson will forever remind me of that New Zealand roadtrip.
“How long do you plan on sitting down there?” said Damon Gough of Badly Drawn Boy as I stared up at him through my fifty millimeter lens perched on the steps of the stage. “Three songs,” I replied, holding up the appropriate number of digits. Our conversation ended there. It was the first time a musician had interacted with me at a concert, and to be honest, it was slightly awkward.
Badly Drawn Boy’s tunes originally entered my ears behind the images of Hugh Grant, in the movie About a Boy. There was something so playful about those soundtrack pieces that went perfectly with Grant’s crooked smile. Gough’s music is much more mellow these days, and actually rather melancholy. I’m not as comfortable with these kinds of songs, especially since I’m known to cry at anything in a minor key (top waterworks instigators include “All the pretty little horses” … no joke.).
But then again, Gough is from England and according to my amigo Craig, it’s cold and dark there, so maybe Gough is just expressing a bit of that gray and gloom with the help of his guitar.
One last question … what’s up with crocheted cap? He always wears the same one … I want to know the story behind, or rather under, it.
In the minutes before Pink Floyd mastermind Roger Waters took to the stage at HP Pavilion earlier this week to perform the band’s epic 1979 double album The Wall, the playlist coming through the house speakers gave way to Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit,” a song that seemed well-matched for the impending performance. For an artist that is commonly known for romantic jazz ballads, Holiday’s “Strange Fruit” was a defining moment in her career, a point in which she ascended beyond the simplest manifestations of her identity and delved into the darkest corners of her times.
In a similar sense, there is no easy way around The Wall. Pink Floyd’s last album during their monumental run in the ’70s — Dark Side of the Moon, Wish You Were Here, Animals — was not only their most artistically ambitious, but a lingering challenge to the nature of the band’s legacy. Longview attempts to define Pink Floyd in the realm of blacklight posters, spacey sounds, or a Dazed and Confused mindset, will inevitably get stuck at The Wall: a dark and confrontational album that is ultimately the most emblematic of Pink Floyd’s greatest characteristics.
So, with Waters (at age 67) suggesting that this will be his last tour, it is appropriate that he would finish with his masterpiece. And make no mistake – this was a concert for the ages.
Playing before an enthralled sold-out crowd, Waters put on a spectacle of acid-casualty-inflicting-potential that seemed peerless on numerous fronts. Musically, the material was as dynamic as it was seamless, deftly rendered by a world-class band of musicians over a juggernaut of a sound system. Visually, the staging seemed calibrated past “entertain” and set on “assault”, showcasing a sensory barrage of giant puppets, crashing airplanes, and flying pigs all amidst the construction (and eventual toppling) of a 40ft wall that also served as a towering projection screen for a dizzying array of images and video.
Yet the most notable aspect of the performance was the sheer relevance of the material. This was really an amazing feature, considering that Waters wrote The Wall in the run up to the Reagan-Thatcher era and was now performing it in the aftermath of Bush-Cheney. In this regard, Waters delved deeply into the confrontational aspect of the album’s material, challenging the audience with all-too-timely themes of war, ideology, government surveillance, and the general estrangement of modern human relations. During “Run Like Hell” the projections on the wall at one point showed the Wikileaks-released video of the 2007 Apache Helicopter massacre in Baghdad; not exactly light viewing material to accompany one of Floyd’s classic radio hits.
Waters looked and sounded formidable throughout the concert, stalking the stage with good-humored authority as the wall was erected in front of the band throughout the beginning half of the album. This first set was packed with striking moments, such as the ominous acoustic beauty of “Goodbye Blue Sky” beset by visuals of bomber planes dropping their payloads of -isms (dollar signs, religious symbols, and corporate logos) on those below. “Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2),” with its re-occurring mantra – “We Don’t Need No Education” – was already a staggering spectacle as a three-story marionette school teacher with laser eyes dwarfed the musicians below, only to then be embellished by a choir of local school kids filling the stage to sing the later verses.
However, the most poignant moment of the show came during the second set as Waters – who had lost his father as a boy during World War II – performed “Vera” and “Bring the Boys Back Home” beneath video spots of children reuniting with their fathers returning home from war. The final clip – of a young girl going from surprise to gut-wrenching emotion as she first sees her father – left audience members wiping back tears as Water’s sang the line, “Does anybody else in here/feel the way I do?”
The wall came toppling down after the more theatrical rock-opera moments of the second album, culminating with “The Trial” performed beneath Gerald Scarfe’s hallucinatory animation from the 1982 film adaptation of the album. Waters and company finished the concert amongst the rubble, playing a wonderfully serene and hopeful version of “Outside the Wall.”
Much has been made of the fact that the original staging of this album was a logistical debacle when it was performed in only four cities some 30 years ago, and that the evolution of technology has now made it feasible. Yet, in a similar sense, the album’s material has matured in its own way in this time. Writing during a time of personal crisis in the late 70s, Waters conceived the album as an exploration of human relationships and the many obstacles that hinder them. The timeliness of these themes then — especially after a decade marred by war and a divided population – makes this tour less of a nostalgic throwback and more of manifested vision. Pink Floyd had always been far ahead their time, so there is a fitting logic that it would take three decades for The Wall to be properly realized in concert.
Of course, it’ll be interesting to see if this tour is in fact the last call on an original Pink Floyd experience. Altough the surviving band members are getting on in years (keyboardist Richard Wright died in 2008), they have made some steps at amends recently, and even expressed interest in collaborating again. Perhaps then, there is still time for those walls to come down. After all….when it comes to Pink Floyd, it’s well known that pigs will fly
The hardest part for me about watching dance is that if it’s really good, I want to start dancing too — and it bothers me that I have to stay cemented to my seat or risk embarrassment. This happened this weekend when I went to see Pilot Light at ODC Theater, a program 20 years in the making, that gives blossoming choreographers the chance to showcase their work in a professional theater. The evening’s program consisted of eight dance performances by six talented choreographers. I was awed by the variety of movement, costumes, and emotion, from utterly comical to positively serious.
Two choreographer’s work especially stuck with me. First, a piece choreographed by Amy Foley titled “Nearly/Known” really made me want to dance. The four dancers in their flowing dresses were stunning, their movements graceful and fluid. The piece consisted of three parts, each perfectly paired with beautiful music, including a piece by Yann Teirsen, whose music appeared in the film Amelie. The second piece I really loved was Charles Slender’s “Pretonically Oriented v.1.” This is the second time I’ve seen Slender’s work, and each time I’m struck by how unique and different his style of dance is. His dancers truly embrace his vision, releasing themselves physically, without any qualms in order to create both something that is beautiful and also slightly grotesque through their odd facial expressions. Each movement is precise and extended to that farthest possible point, and I find myself leaning forward in my seat, unblinking, wondering what in the world will happen next.
The whole evening was extremely interesting and enjoyable and I highly recommend you check out future Pilot Light performances if they return. Now, I’ve gotta go. I have to get my dancing shoes on!
How do I describe the music of The Books? When I’m listening to it, there seems to be no beginning or end, I’m just immersed in it, floating in some exotic place and it’s hard to know how I even got there. Seriously, sometimes I wonder, “What is going on?” (Even they sometimes feel that way.)
The Books sound is an eclectic mix of found soundbites teamed with their own stellar cello and guitar playing. They performed Tuesday to a super ecstatic hipster crowd as part of a tour for the release of their new album The Way Out, which includes pieces about golf, hypnotherapy, and my favorite, crazy kids. “A Cold Freezin’ Night” (the crazy kid one) takes snippets from cassette tapes that the band found at thrift stores of kids in the ’80s and ’90s, ranting and raving and getting pretty mad about who-knows-what. It’s beyond hilarious and also slightly creepy. But I love it. The Books also make odd and perfectly timed videos to go with their music and showed them during the concert, several of which sparked tons of laughter due to their honesty and downright weirdness.
The opening band, the Black Heart Procession, were not exactly my cup of tea. Their whiny and depressing tunes were also backed with a visual slide show, but the images were at times so disturbing I feared nightmares would come to haunt me if I stared at them too long. Luckily they were soon forgotten as I found my brain quickly absorbed by the ever stimulating talent of The Books.
Note to self: stuff pockets with glitter. The concept was out in full force for Yard Dogs Road Show’s “Glitter and Gold” Thanksgiving weekend show at The Independent (on Saturday, the second of a two-night run). And those prancing, bejeweled pony girls sure didn’t disappoint — neither did the dancing, singing marionette girls, or the multi-cannon explosions of confetti with which the show climaxed. Great visuals, them. The music ranged from Broadway D-Liscious’ rubber-ankled lounge rendition of “The Life of the Party,” to head bangers, to sexy, warbled somethings — which sounded sexier (like they always do) when sung by a woman on an accordian. Here’s hoping we don’t have to wait another two years for the Dogs to get let out in the Bay once more.
It’s not until I really started thinking about it that I realized how much I love Sweden. My best friend Karin is part Swedish. The American Girl Doll I had when I was little was the Swedish immigrant girl Kristen, decked out in her Saint Lucia holiday outfit. I used to work at a cafe in Seattle that served the best Swedish pancakes, ever, topped with lingonberry sauce. And the gorgeous singer Robyn is from Sweden, too.
She took the stage at the Warfield Theater last night as part of her US tour for her new three part album entitled Body Talk. Everyone and their hot boyfriends were at the show, some waving Swedish flags of robin egg blue and lemon yellow. Robyn has incredible energy on stage and authentic dance moves that make it obvious that she’s really having too much fun.
Her music appeals to everyone and on that note I’d like to mention the adorable 12 year old and her mom who I was standing next to during the show. 12-year-old-cutie was so excited to be there, along with the hordes of 20 to 30 somethings, who were serious about throwing back those cocktails. I dig all of Robyn’s new tracks, including the super hot “Dancing on My Own,” but then I remembered being thirteen again and listening to “Show Me Love” just really brings it all back.
“You gotta come see this!” called my roommate Melbell from her bedroom. It was my junior year in college and Melbell and her beau Goose were curled up on her futon, their eyes glued to her laptop.
A crazy lady with buck teeth and caked on purple eye shadow was dancing around on the screen, wearing mom pants and a turtleneck. For the next half hour I watched in horror and joy as Jerri Blank ran through the halls of Flatpoint High School, in what was my virgin experience of watching “Strangers with Candy” and the incredibly funny Amy Sedaris. Sedaris is on tour for her new fantastic how-to book, titled Simple Times: Crafts for Poor People.
She explained at her evening appearance at Herbst Theater that the book has been a collaboration between friends, family, and little children, and that most of the crafts in the book do not exceed the ability of a five year old. Some of the chapters include coconut crafts, potholders (her favorite) and also “The Ten Commandments of Crafting”. During the show she also showed off her new felt phone, on which she received several calls and had to excuse herself to the host while she answered them. Sedaris’ ability to make anything funny, including a felt phone, is why so many people love her. I’m sure everyone left the theater that night with sore cheeks from laughing for hours on end and a pocket full of handy ideas on how to get uber-crafty this holiday season.
Donning a huge red rose on his breast, Rufus Wainwright looked quite regal standing with the San Francisco Symphony this past weekend, performing musical renditions of five Shakespeare sonnets.
Wainwright was commissioned by the Symphony to create the pieces. Always ambitious, he wrote an entire orchestral score to accompany his magical voice. Singing in iambic pentameter is no simple feat, but to also make it sound incredibly beautiful, with hints of melancholy and pure joy, made the performance a total coup. It was also great to see such a mix of people in the audience, from classy bourgeois peeps in elegant silk dresses, to young hipsters in mix-matched plaids — but all of them giddy to see Rufus with orchestra.
They are part bird and part woman — the dancers in the all-female dance company Dance Brigade, in a current program entitled “Manifest!val for Social Change: Like Oil and Water, from Gaza to the Gulf,” moved between flight and rest.
Their dance tells the story of women in the Middle East, their movements hinting to a tragic ballet and the music being a version of the classic score from The Dying Swan. The dancers ability to combine pure grace and total frenzy was incredible, creating both an image of beauty and struggle in the same instant. Through Nov. 20, Dance Mission Theater will host fifteen different dance groups, as part of Dance Brigade’s Manifest!val for Social Change, which is a great opportunity for anyone to see some amazing local dancers, but also a chance to promote social awareness and community.
For more information about this weekend’s program, click here.
PS — and check out this preview video for Dance Brigade’s next program, “The Great Liberation Upon Hearing” coming in July 2011
OK somewhere between Giants madness and the election frenzy, this happened: one of our favorite, uniquely SF civic holidays went down in the Mission. Photographer Charlie Russo was there to capture all the morbid beauty, serene remembrance, and ghoulish fun.
That’s right y’all, the news is gigante: the Giants won the World Series! And last night San Francisco lost no time in straightening their beards, assuming their best Freddy Sanchez expression, and vaulting over ignited mattresses. Streets were shut down around the city — Polk, Civic Center, and Castro had some particularly wild parties — but for our money, the Mission mayhem had ’em beat. SFBG photog Charles Russo was in the thick of the madness. Now one more time, all together: OOOOOOOO! RIBE! See you in the ticker tape.
It was Halloween on Plastic Beach on Saturday night at Oracle Arena, as Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett’s high concept musical variety hour, Gorillaz, took to the stage in all of its virtual Demon Day glory.
Guest stars and collaborators were in abundance — nearly 40 different musicians made appearances over the course of the evening, ranging from full horn and string sections to De La Soul’s rambunctious lyricism and Bobby Womack’s smooth soulfulness. Mick Jones and Paul Simonon stalked the stage as the genre-bending legacy of the Clash manifested beneath Hewlett’s animated offspring, the musically-inclined primate half-cousins of Tank Girl.
The surreal brilliance of all of this was evident as Albarn, in un-dead makeup, asked – “Are we the last…living souls?” The band answered with a 20-plus song audio avalanche from the Gorillaz arsenal: “Stylo,” “DARE,” “White Flag,” “19/2000,” and a show-stopping rendition of “Dirty Harry.”
Eff Arizona’s SB 1070! Maybe what this country needs is a little more immigrant punk to infuse some surly into the debate over who can hang with us in the land of the free and home of the brave. Gogol Bordello would be a good option: the gypsy rockers mainly hail from Eastern Europe, but their carnival of sound doesn’t break for badges. SFBG shutterbug Charles Russo was on hand last week to capture their nomadic fanfare.
