Bay Guardian Archives

Red-tape bandage

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By G.W. Schulz

Both the Los Angeles Times and the San Francisco Chronicle ran large stories last week on problems in the workers’ comp system since Schwarzenegger so proudly initiated reforms two years ago as part of a major recall campaign promise.

In fact, the pendulum has swung startlingly fast in the other direction away from what was viewed as a bloated system that encouraged excess and fraud. My computer’s operating very slowly this week, otherwise I’d post the links. You’ll have to find them yourself. The reporters are Marc Lifsher at the Times and Tom Abate at the Chron.

NOISE: Where there’s a Will Oldham…there’s a long interview to follow

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The teen star of John Sayles’ Matewan, Will Oldham could have ended up like Macauley Culkin – home alone, something of a charicature. Instead he became a model for, one imagines, Jenny Lewis — as well as, in some ways, members of a freak-folk/out-folk/whatever-folk movement, folks that go their own way in a somehow communal spirit. And perhaps that’s because Oldham is so in touch with a spirit — call it synchronicity or divine providence — that allows him to thread together Old Joy, his 1997 Will Oldham album, Joya (Drag City), Madonna, Emily Dickinson, and latest Bonnie “Prince” Billy full-length, The Letting Go.

willoldhamsml.jpg

I spoke to Oldham about The Letting Go and his new film, Old Joy, and wrote about it in “Sonic Reducer.” Here’s the rest of the interview.

Bay Guardian: How did The Letting Go come about?

Will Oldham: I met the man who recorded it, Valgeir [Sigurosson] when I toured with Bjork a few years ago, and ran into him again last summer, and we just discussed doing something together, and at the time I was finishing up this set of songs. Every set of songs are a little bit special, but these had, I guess, a little bit more drama and gothic horror than in the past.

I also started to speak with Paul [Oldham] and Dawn McCarthy about doing some work on the rcord. And Valgeir had some experience with capturing beautiful, dramatic experiences on record.

Chan stonewalls on PG@E questions: will anybody be able to pin him down before the election?

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As our editorial for the Wednesday Guardian states, “We’ve seen plenty of allies of Pacific Gas and Electric Company on the San Francisco Board of Supervisors. We’ve seen a few PG@E bagmen, PG@E shills, and PG@E fronts. But there’s never been anyone elected to the board in our 40 years who was actually a paid attorney for PG@E.

“This year, there’s at least one, and possibly two candidates who have worked as PG@E lawyers–and that alone should disqualify them from ever holding public office in San Francisco. The most obvious and direct conflict involves Doug Chan, the former police commissioner who is seeking a seat from District Four. Documents on file with the California Public Utilities Commission show that Chan’s law firm, Chan, Doi and Leal, has received more than $200,000 in fees from PG&E in just the past two years.

“Chan won’t come to the phone to discuss what he did for the utility, won’t respond to questions posed through his campaign manager and press secretary, won’t return calls to his law firm and thus won’t give the public any idea what sorts of conflicts of interest he’d have if he took office.

“This is nothing new for Chan: Back in 2002, he put his name on PG&E campaign material opposing public power and earned a spot in the Guardian’s Hall of Shame.”

At blogtime last Monday afternoon: still no word from
Chan, his campaign, nor his law firm. (See my blog below for the Guardian questions.) Key question: will anybody be able to pin Chan down on his PG@E connections before the election? Let us know. B3

Dear Jerry Brown: more impertinent questions on the Hearst shenanigans (part 4)

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Followups on Hearst: No word back from the Chronicle on my questions on why they are blacking out the big local story involving three big local players (Hearst, McKesson Corporation, and First DataBank). Let me give you the lead front headline on the Oct. 6 Wall Street Journal story to make the point about what a big big story they are stonewalling on:

“How Quiet Moves by a Publisher Sway Billions in Drug Spending, Lawsuit Forces Hearst Unit To Lower Prices on List Widely Used as Benchmark, A ‘Survey’ of One Company”

Anybody out there annoyed at the ever escalating price of prescription drugs? That is the point. Below are my questions emailed Thursday to the campaign headquarters of Oakland Mayor Jerry Brown, who is the candidate most likely to be the next attorney general (no word back at blogtime).

Fair warning: next week I will start asking similar impertinent questions to the Oakland Tribune, Contra Costa Times, San Jose Mercury News, San Mateo Times, and other Media News Group/Dean Singleton papers that claim, along with Hearst, that they are really aggressively competing away out there even though they have formed what amounts to a regional news monopoply. Have they done the story and if not, when will they? And will they pursue the story as real competitive newspapers once did and as they ought to do again if they want to retain credility and financial viability? Repeating: Where are Justice and Atty. Gen. Bill Lockyer and their antitrust departments.
Take note, Clint Reilly and Joe Alioto, a key part of your antitrust case is being made right here and now. B3

Dear Jerry Brown,

I am requesting some information and answers to questions from you, as a candidate for attorney general, for stories we are doing at the Bay Guardian and for my Bruce blog at sfbg.com.

The Wall Street Journal on Oct. 6, and the Bay Guardian in its current edition, have done stories on a major settlement in which a Hearst subsidiary (First Data Bank in San Bruno) has ” agreed to stop publishing its list of wholesale medicine prices, which numerous critics have blamed for driving up drug costs,” as an AP story in the Houston Chronicle/Hearst puts it. (See story on the link below). Would you as attorney general investigate this issue and determine if it would save health plans $4 billion and if there should be any further action in this case?

Hearst and Singleton interests have, as charged in the Clint Reilly/Joe Alioto antitrust suit, effectively destroyed newspaper competition in the Bay Area and imposed regional monopoly. Would you continue the Lockyer investigation into this case? And/or would you join the suit as a co-plaintiff or an amicus? Thanks very much.

Sincerely, Bruce B. Brugmann (B3)

Why won’t the PG@E attorney for supervisor answer some questions?

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Douglas Chan, an attorney with the law firm of Chan, Doi, and Leal, is a candidate for supervisor from the Sunset District. PG@E has paid $2l0,054 to his firm the last two years, according to PG&E’s filings with the California Public Utilities Commission.

Chan also disclosed that he has received more tthan $l0,000 during the last year in gross income including his pro rata share of the gross income of the firm from five clients (PG&E, Ferry Plaza Limited Partnership, Chess Ventures Legal Challenge, Sugarbowl Bakery, and Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association), according to his Statement of Economic Interest filed with the Ethics Commission. This is nothing new for Chan: Back in 2002, he put his name on PG@E campaign material opposing the public power initiative and supporting PG@E and thus earned a spot in the Guardian’s Hall of Shame that year.

The PG@E connection raises some serious questions for Chan. He refused to be interviewed for our Guardian editorial endorsement interviews of candidates for supervisor (even though most other candidates in other races came in for interviews.) And he and his campaign staff have refused to talk to us about these questions. So it may be up to the residents inside and outside the Sunset District to ask him these questions at candidates’ nights and when they spot Chan on the campaign trail. Good luck! Let us know. These are the questions I emailed today to Chan, his campaign manager Tom Hsieh jr., and his firm.

To Doug Chan, Tom Hseih jr., Nicole Yelich, and to Chan, Doi and Leal:

We’ re sorry that Doug Chan, as a candidate for public office in the Sunset District (not far from where I live), has decided not to come to the Guardian for our normal round of candidate interviews, as almost everyone has done in other campaigns.

We’re also sorry that we cannot reach him, or anyone in his campaign, who can answer some important questions about the relationship that he and his law firm have had with PG@E for years. So I am asking these questions by email (for Guardian coverage and for my Bruce Blog at sfbg.com):

l. PG@E has paid $2l0,054.ll to the Chan, Doi, and Leal law firm during the last two years, according to PG@E filings with the CPUC. What has PG@E paid the law firm so far this year? Will PG@E be an ongoing client of the firm? What is the total that PG@E has paid the law firm through the years? What percentage of the firm’s revenue has been paid directly or indirectly by PG@E, year by year? If elected, will Chan fully divest himself and disengage completely from the firm?

2. What work has Chan himself done for PG@E? In reading through the resume of Chan and the partners of the firm, it doesn’t appear that this firm or its partners have any specific utility or energy expertise. Why then did PG@E hire this firm?

3. Did PG@E encourage Chan to run for the Sunset supervisorial seat?

4. Have you asked the city attorney for an opinion on how PG@E’s hiring of the firm and Chan would affect his votes and whether he would have to recuse himself on such votes as public power, the community choice aggregation project, and the many other projects and votes involving PG@E? If you have an opinion, what is it?

5. What is Chan’s position on enforcing the Raker Act and bringing Hetch Hetchy power to the city for our residents and businesses? Would he vote to put on the ballot an initiative proposal to buy out PG@E’s transmission lines and make San Francisco a public power city? Would he for example support proposals such as the last two public power proposals that went on the ballot? We would appreciate his reasoning on this critical issue that costs the city hundreds of millions of dollars a year.

6. Would he vote to direct the city attorney to sue PG@E to make null and void the city’s l939 PG@E franchise fee, which is the lowest in the state, and PG@E claims is signed in perpetuity? If not, why not? We would appreciate his reasoning on this critical issue that costs the city tens of millions a year.

7. What is Chan’s position on the community choice aggregation proposal now before the board? On the city’s development of alternative power sources such as solar, tidal, etc.? ON tearing down the ruinous Potrero Hill power plant?

7. The critical question: given PG@E’s heavy investment in Chan and his firm, could Chan explain to us and the people of the Sunset how you would represent them fairly and honestly on these critical public power/public resource issues and not be under the influence of your former client PG@E?

Thanks very much. We would appreciate talking to Chan directly or, if that is not possible, getting his answers to the above crucial public power and public policiy quetions from him. Thanks very much. B3

Doug Chan, PG&E’s man at City Hall

Doug Chan, PG&E’s man at City Hall

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By Tim Redmond

Matt Smith, the SF Weekly columnist, did a little investigative reporting last week and discovered that Doug Chan, candidate for supervisor from District 4, does, indeed, live in the district, has a messy house and hasa neighbor who complains about him hogging the laundry room. But after what appears to have been a brief conversation (summarized in a couple of paragraphs), Smith concludes that Chan is really a hell of a guy, and would be a fine supervisor. (He main claim to fame, according to Smith, is that he thinks “ideology is killing San Francisco.”) What an ass.

Smith’s bang-up investigation, however, missed a little fact that’s easily accessible to anyone who checks some state and local public records. Chan is an attorney for Pacific Gas and Electric Co.

In fact, California Public Utilities Commission records show that Chan’s law firm, Chan, Doi and Leal, has received more than $200,000 in legal fees from the utility in the past two years. Chan himself, as a partner, has pocketed at least $10,000 of that money, according to his economic interest statements.

It’s hard to figure out what Chan has done for PG&E — he clearly doesn’t do utilities law (or much else that fits PG&E’s needs, according to his own website.)

Should the city elect a candidate who has derived a substantial amount of his personal income from one of the greatest lawbreakers in town, a company the city is fighting now over public power in Bayview Hunters Point and will be fighting bitterly over citywide public power in the next few years?

Matt?

Reforming democracy

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By Steven T. Jones
Wtih ranked choice voting up and working well in San Francisco, four other communities around the country are poised to approve it in the upcoming election. In addition to Prop. O in Oakland, ranked choice is on the ballot in Davis, Minneapolis, and Pierce County, Washington.
“I see these four elections as key. If we can sweep them, that’s a tipping point,” activist and former Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic said last night at a Prop. O fundraiser in the law office of Matt Gonzalez, who championed the San Francisco measure while serving on the Board of Supervisors.
Novoselic got involved in politics back in his Nirvana days, fighting to overturn a Seattle law that prevented people under 18 from attending concerts.
“Along the way, I got enthusiastic about democracy and participation,” he said. But even among those working on his campaigns, many felt their votes for candidates didn’t count. Reading SF-based democracy reform leader Steven Hill’s book, “Fixing Elections,” he learned about the concept of the “surplus voter” whose preference for a candidate other than the Democrat or Republican is essentially discarded. With ranked choice, voters can cast a ballot for their favorite candidate and also for the lesser of two evils, thus allowing minor parties to gain support. As such, Novoselic called democracy reform “the Holy Grail of the Green Party.”
Hill said he is cheered by the current situation. “It’s starting to happen, but these things take time. It’s a big country, but we’re making progress.”

Macy’s loses

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By Tim Redmond

Sometimes you settle a lawsuit, and sometimes you roll the dice and fight.

Back in 2001, the San Francisco supervisors voted to cough up some $80 million in cash to pay off a group of big corporations that claimed the city’s business tax was unconstitutional. It was a close call — the city attorney warned that if the city fought and lost, the potential liability could have reached $500 million.

There were a few crazy dissenters — Matt Gonzalez and me, and not a whole lot of others — who said, in effect, let’s take the chance: These assholes wanted to soak the city for a bunch of money at a time when corporate America was rolling in the dough, thanks in part to Bush Administration tax cuts at the federal level. Fuck ’em — we’ll see you in court.

But cooler heads prevailed, and the city settled with all but one of the 52 companies. One holdout — Macy’s (the greedy pricks) — decided not to accept the settlement and to push the case and squeeze every drop possible out of the taxpayers. Superior Court Judge Richard Kramer ruled in Macy’s favor, awarding the company $13 million. It looked as if the supes had done the smart thing settling with everyone else.

And then yesterday, the Court of Appeal overturned Macy’s award, saying that the $13 million refund was excessive. The giant retailer — where I will never again shop, by the way — gets only pocket change, a few hundred grand.

Of course, the court didn’t re-instate the tax; this was only a small part of the case. But still, Macy’s lost, big. Makes me wonder what might have happened if we’d never settled with any of the Filthy 52.

Macy’s loses

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By Tim Redmond

Sometimes you settle a lawsuit, and sometimes you roll the dice and fight.

Back in 2001, the San Francisco supervisors voted to cough up some $80 million in cash to pay off a group of big corporations that claimed the city’s business tax was unconstitutional. It was a close call — the city attorney warned that if the city fought and lost, the potential liability could have reached $500 million.

There were a few crazy dissenters — Matt Gonzalez and me, and not a whole lot of others — who said, in effect, let’s take the chance: These assholes wanted to soak the city for a bunch of money at a time when corporate America was rolling in the dough, thanks in part to Bush Administration tax cuts at the federal level. Fuck ’em — we’ll see you in court.

But cooler heads prevailed, and the city settled with all but one of the 52 companies. One holdout — Macy’s (the greedy pricks) — decided not to accept the settlement and to push the case and squeeze every drop possible out of the taxpayers. Superior Court Judge Richard Kramer ruled in Macy’s favor, awarding the company $13 million. It looked as if the supes had done the smart thing settling with everyone else.

And then yesterday, the Court of Appeal overtuned Macy’s award, saying that the $13 million refund was excessive. The giant retailer — where I will never again shop, by the way — gets only pocket change, a few hundred grand.

Of course, the court didn’t re-instate the tax; this was only a small part of the case. But still, Macy’s lost, big. Makes me wonder what might have happened if we’d never settled with any of the Filthy 52.

Impertinent questions on the new Hearst shenanigans (part 3)

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Email questions sent on Thursday to Chronicle Publisher Frank Vega, Editor Phil Bronstein, Managing Editor Robert Rosenthal, Metro Editor Ken Conner, and Business Editor Ken Howe

Folks:

I have some questions I would appreciate if you (or Hearst corporate in New York) would answer.

As you may know, the Guardian did a story this week on the Oct. 6th Wall Street Journal story on the Hearst subsidiary and prescription pricing. And I have done two blogs on the Bruce blog at sfbg.com.

Has the Chronicle/Hearst done any stories on the First Data Bank/Hearst settlement and story? (Note the AP story in the Houston Chronicle on a link below). If so, could you send them to me? (We couldn’t find any.) If not, will you do a story? If not, could you please explain?

Note also the Justice press release below, dated Oct. ll, 200l, with the head stating that “HEARST CORPORATION TO PAY $4 MILLION CIVIL PENALTY FOR VIOLATING ANTITRUST PRE-MERGER NOTIFICATION REQUIREMENTS, Largest civil penalty a company has paid for violating antitrust pre-merger requirements.” Did you do a story on this at the time or later? If not, please explain.

Are these decisions not to publish these two major stories made in San Francisco or with Hearst corporate in New York and, if so, by whom?

Thanks very much. This is for my Bruce blog and perhaps for follow stories that our reporter G.W. Schulz is doing for the Guardian.

Sincerely, B3

The Wall Street Journal
Justice Department Press Release
A tough pill to swallow by G.W. Schulz

Arnold lovers

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By Steven T. Jones
It was disappointing — but not entirely unexpected — to see the Chronicle endorse Arnold Schwarzenegger today. After all, both the Chron and Arnold are, as they describe him “economically conservative, socially moderate” (and I’ll leave off their next label, “environmentally progressive,” which is complete bullshit in describing a guy who owns four Hummers and watered down every environmental bill he’s signed, including the much ballyhooed global warming measure).
Yet what I do find truly amazing in this endorsement is the Chron’s failure to mention, among the two areas in which they’ve differed from the governor, Arnold’s veto of legislation that would have legalized same-sex marriage. This was arguably the most important bill of Arnold’s tenure, one approved only thorugh the tenacity of our own Assembly member Mark Leno, one Arnold had previously pledge to support. This shameful and telling omission provides further evidence that the Chron is a paper of the suburbs and middle America, not this proudly progressive city.

Online Exclusive: Method Man at the crossroads

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a&eletters@sfbg.com
When a bumped phone interview with hip-hop legend and putf8um artist Method Man mushroomed into a proposed
backstage post-show encounter, I naturally jumped at the chance.

Being a devotee of the ultimately more funk-based grooves of Bay Area hip-hop, I tend not to pay
attention to the doings of NYC, and I can’t claim to have ever followed the Wu-Tang Clan in general or Meth
in particular, though I have always admired both from afar. Yet one needn’t follow the Big Apple’s scene in
great detail to appreciate its impact, and with Meth’s successful film and TV career, most recently as a recurring character in this season of HBO’s cop drama The Wire, one needn’t even listen to hip-hop anymore
to appreciate his.

This situation is exactly what’s troubling Method Man. His very success in the cultural mainstream, he
feels, has been held against him by the hip hop-industry, a curious situation considering
mainstream success is the perceived goal and direct subject matter of most raps these days. Unlike the
recent fashion among rappers like Andre3000 to pooh-pooh their interest in music in favor of their
“acting career,” Meth wants to be known primarily as an MC. But Hollywood success has proved to be a
slippery slope, paved by Ice-T and Ice Cube — each in his turn the most terrifying, authentic street rapper
imaginable — to the end of your hit-making potential in hip-hop.

Couple this perception with Meth’s vocal challenges of the effect of corporate media consolidation, and it’s
not difficult to imagine why Def Jam released his fourth solo album, 4:21: The Day After, without a peep
at the end of August, as if the label had written him off despite his track record of one gold and two
putf8um plaques.

Still, no one who’s heard the angry, defiantly shitkicking 4:21 (executive produced by the RZA, Erick
Sermon, and Meth himself) or saw the show Meth put on that evening (leaping from the stage to the bar and
running across it by way of introduction, later executing a backwards handspring from the stage into the crowd by way of ending) could possibly doubt his vitality as an MC. He put on a long, exhausting show,
heavy with new material, that utterly rocked the packed house.

Shortly after the show ended, I was brought backstage by Meth’s road manager, 7, to a tiny corridor of a
dressing room crammed with various hangers on. A man in a warm-up suit with a towel over his head was
sitting alone on a short flight of steps in the center of the room.

“That’s him,” 7 said, before disappearing to take care of other business.

It was like being sent to introduce yourself to a boxer who’d just finished a successful but punishing
brawl. The face that looked up at my inquiry was that of a man who’d retreated somewhere far away into
himself, requiring a momentary effort to swim to the surface. Quite suddenly I found myself face to face
with Method Man, whose presence immediately turned all heads in the room our way as he invited me to sit down
for a brief discussion of his new album and his dissatisfaction with his treatment by the music
industry.

SAN FRANCISCO BAY GUARDIAN: I read the statement on your Web site [www.method-man.com] in which you
discuss your problems with the industry. Could you describe the problems you’ve been having?

METHOD MAN: My big problem with the industry is the way they treat hip-hop artists as opposed to artists
in other genres. Hip-hop music, they treat it like it’s fast food. You get about two weeks of promotion
before your album. Then you get the week of your album, then you get the week after, then they just
leave you to the dogs.

Whereas back in the day, you had artists in development, a month ahead of time before you even
started your campaign, to make sure that you got off on the right foot.

Nowadays it’s like there’s nobody in your corner anymore. Everybody’s trying to go into their own
little club, for lack of a better word. Everybody has their own little cliques now. Ain’t no money being
generated so the labels are taking on a lot of artists because of this at once that they don’t even have
enough staff members to take care of every artist, as an individual. Their attention is elsewhere, or only
with certain people.

SFBG: Your new single [“Say,” featuring Lauryn Hill] suggests you’ve had problems with the way critics have
received your recent work and even with the radio playing your records. How can someone of your status
be having trouble getting spins?

MM: You know what it is, man? A lot of people have come around acting like I’m the worst thing that ever
happened to hip-hop, as good as I am.

Hating is hating. I’ve been hated on, but just by the industry, not in the streets. They never liked my crew
[the Wu-Tang Clan] anyway. They think we ain’t together anymore and they try to pick at each and
every individual. Some motherfuckers they pick up. Other people they just shit on. I guess I’m just the
shittee right now, you know what I mean?

SFBG: Do you think it has to do with the age bias in hip-hop? The idea an MC is supposed to be 18 or 20?

MM: You know what I think it is? As our contracts go on, we have stipulations where, if we sell a certain
amount of albums, [the labels] have to raise our stock. A lot of times dudes just want to get out their
contracts so they can go independent and make more money by themselves. There’s a lot of factors that
play into it.

SFBG: Are you not getting enough label support?

MM: A label only does so much anyway. It’s your team inside your team that makes sure that you got a video.
Or that you got that single out there, or that your tour dates are put together correctly. The labels,
they basically just do product placement. They make sure that all your stuff is in the proper place where
it’s supposed to be at. They’re gonna make sure your posters are up. They’re going to make sure that
they’re giving out samples of other artists that are coming out also. [But i]t’s really up to us [the
artists] to make sure our music is going where it’s supposed to.

Right now there’s so many artists people can pick and choose from, don’t nobody like shit no more.

SFBG: Do you think you’re getting squeezed out of radio play as a result of corporate media
conslidation?

MM: Absolutely; this shit ain’t nothing new. It isn’t just happening to me. It’s been going on since dudes
have been doing this hip-hop music. They bleed you dry and then they push you the fuck out.

That’s why I always stress to the fans to take your power back. I always hear people talking about things
like, “Damn, what happened to these dudes? What happened to these guys? I always liked their shit.”
But the fans, not just the industry, tend to turn their backs on dudes. They get fed so much bullshit,
they be like, “Fuck it; I’m not dealing with that shit. I’m going to listen to this.”

SFBG: So what about your acting career? Do you feel like you’ve been overexposed as an actor or that
you’ve been spread too thin and are readjusting your focus?

MM: Fuck Hollywood, B.

SFBG: But I heard you say on the radio today you wanted to play a crackhead and get an Oscar….

MM: I do want to play a crackhead in a movie. I’m going to be a crackhead who dies of an overdose at the
end of the movie, and people cry, and I’m going to get me an Oscar. But fuck Hollywood; tell ‘em to come see
me. Tell ‘em to come to my door.

SFBG: Obviously, from what you said during the show and the lyrics on 4:21: The Day After you haven’t
renounced smoking marijuana, so could you discuss the concept behind “4:21”? Is it about the difficulties
of living the hard-partying lifestyle of the rap artist?

MM: It was just symbolic of a moment of clarity for me. I made a symbol for myself of a moment of
clarity. You know I’ve always been an avid 4:20 person. I like to get out there and smoke with the
best of them. But I picked “4:21” as like, the day after. I got tired of people running up on me and
being like, “You was funny in that movie,” because I was an MC first and foremost. It used to be like, “Yo,
that fuckin’ verse you did on that song, that was hot.” Now it’s like, “My kids love you; they love that
movie, How High.”

It gets to the point when even when I’m having a serious moment, or a serious conversation, people
laugh at the shit like it’s funny. But they laugh cause they thinking of the movie; they thinking of
some sitcom shit.

SFBG: Besides yourself and RZA, Erick Sermon executive produced the album. Can you talka bout your
connection with him?

MM: I’ve been fuckin’ with E ever since I’ve been fuckin’ with Redman. E knows what I like, you know
what I’m saying? The same way he knows what Redman likes. And RZA, that’s a given right there. I’ve been
down with RZA’s shit A1 since day one.

SFBG: 4:21 also features a collaboration with Ol’ Dirty Bastard. When did you guys record this track?

MM: “Dirty Meth” — that’s a posthumous joint with O.D.B. It was after he was gone already. I tell everyone
that so they know.

SFBG: But he seems to permeate the new album.

MM: He does. Good word, too. He permeates it.

Speaking it

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By Steven T. Jones
Service Employees International Union president Andy Stern was in San Francisco today to help christen SEIU Local 790’s new digs on Potrero Hill — and to give fiery voice to the prescription for national political reform that he outlines in his new book “A Country That Works: Getting America Back on Track” (all proceeds from which go to SEIU’s political struggles, so go buy one).
He also dropped a bit of a bombshell on the capacity crowd (which included such notables as Mark Leno, Tom Ammiano, Chris Daly, Sophie Maxwell, Dennis Herrera, Phil Ting, and Bob Twomey): 790 head Josie Mooney will be leaving town to work directly for Stern. “I’m so sorry you’re losing her, but it’s a gain for SEIU,” he said to a smattering of gasps. Actually, Mooney tells the Guardian that her departure has been in the works for awhile, but that she plans to stick around for at least a couple more months.
It will be a loss for SF, but to hear Stern outline his vision, Mooney could be a part of something with the potential to rescue the country from self-destruction.

NOISE: Diddy doo dah!

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diddys.jpg

NOISE: Get down with Oxford Collapse

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So if you’re not rambling down to LA for Arthur Nights – I’m still contemplating making the drive down for Sun Ra Arkestra, White Magic (!), Watts Prophets (!!), and Ruthann Friedman, special n’all – you really oughta check out Oxford Collapse. Dudes make raucous jagged indie rock of a fine order – and the NYC trio have a new album out on Sub Pop, Remember the Night Parties. Sounded just swell to me. And there’s a pic of a partially clothed human on the cover. Make what you will of that.

oxfordcollsml.jpg

Oxford Collapse play with those harmonizers the Jogges Saturday, Oct. 21, at Hotel Utah. I’ll take any excuse to scamper across the freeway exit like a frightened deer…

Impertinent questions on the new Hearst shenanigans (part 2, see previous blog)

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Whenever a big media conglomerate like Hearst tries to cover up its corporate transgressions, the questions start flying like machine gun bullets. These are a few of mine following up my previous blog on the Guardian’s G. W. Schulz story:

Questions to Hearst Corporate (via Hearst/Chronicle editor Phil Bronstein and Business Editor Ken Howe):
Your sister paper, the Houston Chronicle/Hearst, ran a story on Oct. 6 by Theresa Agovino, an Associated Press business writer, with a New York dateline. This story was headlined “Lawsuit May Save Health Plans $4 billion” and the lead read: “A publisher of prescription drug prices has agreed to eventually stop publishing its controversial list of wholesale medicine prices, which numerous critics have blamed for driving p drug costs, as part of a settlement that alleged it had conspired to increase markups.”

Second paragraph: “The plaintiffs said the settlement, which was filed in U.S. District Court in Massachusetts late Thursday and still needs a judge’s approval, will save health plans $4 billion.” Impertinent questions: why didn’t your local Chronicle/Hearst run the story or do its own since it involved three local companies (Hearst, the Hearst-owned subsidiary in San Bruno, and McKesson Corp., the big drug wholesaler)? Did you order the blackout of the story or was this decided at the Chronicle? When will you do the story? If not, why not?

Questions to Singleton corporate and Singleton papers (who claim to be competitive with Hearst): will you do the story and its ramifications on prescription costs? If not, why not?

Questions to Atty. Gen. Bill Lockyer and rough and tumble antitrust crew: The Hearst/Singleton blackout on this story suggests that the Clint Reilly/Joe Alioto suit has a major point: that the financial deal between Hearst and Singleton papers will destroy daily competition and impose regional monopoly. Will you have any comment or take any action on your investigation of the deal before you leave office?

Questions to Atty. Gen. heir apparent Jerry Brown: Are you familiar with the Wall Street Journal/AP/Guardian stories on the Hearst prescription pricing scam? Will you as attorney general do your own investigation? Regarding the Hearst/Singleton media merger deal, will you as attorney general continue the investigation that Lockyer has started? Will you consider joining or appearing as an amicus in the upcoming Reilly/Alioto antitrust trial aimed at stopping the Hearst/Singleton monopoly move?

Impertinent Journalism l0l question to AP and the Houston Chronicle: AP, which prides itself on getting the lead and the story upfront, put the lead involving a major client in the last line of its story. The line read: “First DataBank is a unit of Hearst Corp.” Why didn’t it say in the lead or upfront in this 20 paragraph story that this was a Hearst owned subsidiary that was being charged in a billion dollar prescription price gouging scheme? Why didn’t the Chronicle edit the story and put Hearst in the lead where it belonged?

Stay tuned. If there is anything the media and its investigators hate to do, it is to answer questions about their own transgressions and cover-ups? B3

The Wall Street Journal
Justice Department Press Release

NOISE: By gum, it’s Boris and the Village Green and…

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Oh, Hump Day – what would we do without you, positioned perfectly between weekend bliss and workday toil? And who would expect so many intriguing shows to crop up in this humdrum time slot (to think we all wrote it off as Project Runway‘s)?

In short, check magnifico, metal-some Japanese guitar overlords Boris at Slim’s tonight, Oct. 18. Why? A humongoid gong, smoke machine, Tokyo-based loudness par excellence, and the most kick-ass lady distortion peddler around: Wata.

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Elsewhere, if you’re not getting down with SF’s premier glitch mavens and noise-makers Matmos at Great American Music Hall, trot over to Bottom of the Hill tonight for London’s Archie Bronson Outfit – out and about with a new disc, Derdang Derdang on Domino. Some compare ’em to Pere Ubu, Son House, Monks, and Faust — all at the same time! Whoa, Nellie, watch them outta-hand allusions. Still, isn’t your curiosity stirred – and shaken?

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And if there’s anything left of you by Friday, Oct. 20, and you’re not already planning to check out Yo La Tengo at Fillmore or have tickets to Beirut at Great American Music Hall in your hot lil’ ham fists, you might want to mosey down to the Rickshaw Stop for an early show with the Village Green from Portland, Ore. As you’d expect, these doods display much respect to Anglo rock forebears – and they add a dash of contempo jitteriness. Different drugs, you say? Get outta here.

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Catching up with Jon Raymond, the writer behind Old Joy

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Back in the late ‘90s I lived in Portland for a brief spell. At the time, Old Joy writer Jon Raymond was editing the magazine Plazm, and I contributed some articles on subjects such as a band with a robotic drummer. Occasionally, he and I would have lunch or go to a party or a movie, sometimes with Miranda July, who was just beginning to make short films. Intelligent and easygoing, Raymond was thinking about art and writing in ways that contributed something new to the local culture.

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Economy class

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› superego@sfbg.com
SUPER EGO “Please pass the grilled Moroccan spice-rubbed lamb loin,” I dewily asked the cute investment banker from Philadelphia on my left.
Me and Hunky Beau were seated under the Saturday stars at Escondida, a “hidden kitchen” — a.k.a. renegade restaurant in someone’s home or backyard — deep in the Outer Mission, at a table that also included four hip lady lawyers and a postgrad neurobiologist from UCSF who makes headphones for birds. (Don’t ask. Well, OK — first you implant screws in the skulls of small finches, and then you jury-rig a sort of “fly-pod” out of two Q-tips and an old transistor in order to test their hearing skills. Someday, I swear, those poor, deaf birds will have revenge on us all.)
Hidden kitchens are big these days, especially since the permit processes for restaurants and clubs seem to be getting more complex by the minute, and most of the time the underground menus are cheaper than the real thing: you get multicourse gourmet eats plus drinks in a lively underground setting for the price of appetizers at Andalu. And there’s a naughty inspectors-be-damned thrill to boot. (It’s all very hush-hush, but you can usually find hints about upcoming covert cucina events on chowhound.com or Craigslist — just don’t sue me if you get botulism. I got nothin’ for ya.)
The food and company were delish. But me? I was more interested in shoving as much entrée as I could into my faux-leopard baguette handbag — the Hunkster and I were due on a plane to Honolulu in a few hours to attend the biggest gay wedding of the year in Waikiki. And a girl can’t survive a five-hour ride on $4 minicans of Pringles alone. It was bad enough I had to pack my in-flight Stoli in three-ounce saline solution bottles just to get past the damn check-in.
Waikiki? Why not, I say. But first, a real drink to get the whole aloha ball rolling. So we hit up Jet, the new Greg Bronstein joint in the Castro where the Detour used to be, and ordered us up some primo alco-Dramamine. Although I partially miss the hurricane-fence decor and tragic queen atmosphere of the Detour, Jet’s awfully cute, with black padded leather walls, Broadway marquee lighting, and a fuzzy pink double bed in an alcove in the back. There’s also a small dance floor, rare these days in the Castro without a giant video screen playing Kylie Minogue. The club, in all its luxuriant gay sleaziness, is either a pint-size Studio 54 or Liza Minnelli’s future mausoleum. Probably both. Right now, the music is all hip-hop lite — pretensions to be the next Pendulum? — and there’s a velvet rope on weekends — as if! — but something could definitely be done with the place.
Lemme tell you though, Honolulu in October is fabu. The mangoes are huge, the agua is aqua, the gay scene is horrid — new club coming in November: Circuit Hawaii! — and the 14-year-old tranny hookers in six-inch clear plastic heels are gorgeous. Plus there’s, like, five military bases nearby, for those into raping drunk Marines. And who isn’t? Me and Hunky were hopping around like we had humuhumunukunukuapuaas in our Volcoms.
My dearest amigos from the old EndUp days, ChrisP and Armando, got betrothed right on the water in a tear-jerking all-hula celebration bursting with orchids and sunlight. There weren’t any conch shell blasts or caged white doves (or earthquakes), but the grooms were rowed into the friends-and-family ceremony on an outrigger by four hot muscle dykes in sports bras — an ancient tradition, I’m told. It was the second amazing gay wedding I’d been to this year, and although I used to rail against such things politically — why be normal? — I cried like Tonya Harding at the 1994 Winter Olympics. Love is real. And so was the open bar, which me and my sadly, gloriously bare ring finger quickly sidled up to for a post–gay marriage mai tai, studiously avoiding the moony-eyed intimations Hunky Beau was sending my way. I’m not quite done playing hard to get yet. Or am I? Aloha! SFBG
JET
2348 Market, SF
8 p.m.–2 a.m.
www.jetsf.com

What Is Crispin?

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CULT ICON Over a decade ago a pair of first-time filmmakers approached Crispin Glover to ask if he would act in their movie.
Glover signed on — but to direct, with the condition that most of the roles be filled by actors with Down syndrome. Best known for eccentric fringe roles in films such as River’s Edge, Bartleby, Back to the Future, and Rubin and Ed, Glover had written other screenplays involving people with the condition and had kept it in his mind’s eye for some time. “Looking into the face of someone who has Down syndrome,” he says during a recent SF interview, “I see the history of someone who has lived outside of the culture.”
Glover maintains that the resulting film, What Is It?, is not about Down syndrome. But he raises a valid point about the benefits of casting underutilized actors. “There is not necessarily a learned social masking [in their performances],” he says.
Though Glover’s casting decisions were backed by then–executive producer David Lynch, they soured Hollywood’s corporate entities and led to a plan to shoot a short film proving the viability of a disabled cast. That short flowered into the realization that a feature-length movie could be made without kowtowing to studio execs and for less than $200,000. After almost 10 years Glover emerged with What Is It?, a 72-minute film he describes as “being the adventures of a young man whose principal interests are snails, salt, a pipe, and how to get home. As tormented by an hubristic racist inner psyche.” However tenuous a tagline that may seem, it hits the mark dead-on.
Glover has taken strenuous liberties with narrative structure, resulting in split sanctums. The outer realm — an atmospheric ringer for a Diane Arbus print — concerns itself with the travels of the Young Man (Michael Blevin), who is slighted by his friends and finds solace in snails (one of them voiced by Fairuza Balk) before several violent if childlike murders take place in a graveyard. The second, inner sanctum is the young man’s psyche, a kingdom presided over by one Demi-God Auteur (Glover), populated by concubines, and disrupted by a minstrel in blackface (Apocalypse Culture author Adam Parfrey) who aims to become an invertebrate by injecting himself with snail juice.
Overflowing with incendiary imagery, What Is It? juxtaposes Shirley Temple with swastikas, features buxom monkey-ladies crushing watermelons, and documents a praying mantis claiming the lives of a snail and a child. “Some of those things start out as emotional, and then you intellectualize them,” Glover says.
After What Is It?’s Sundance premiere, many critics liberally employed words like exploitative, weird, and inflammatory. The latter two I’ll concede. But whatever What Is It? is, a deeper plot than what’s suggested by those words is afoot. “There are things in this film that would not necessarily be taboo in 1910,” Glover says. “In certain silent films, racism, sexuality, violence are handled in a more frank way than they are right now. Why should these things not be put in front of the public? They exist. They’ve got to be able to be talked about and processed in the culture.”
Glover is traveling with What Is It?, preceding each screening with a slide-show presentation from eight of his books. Most were created in the ’80s using cut-up techniques akin to those of William S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin. The large-screen format and dramatic readings by Glover breathe new life into the books, which were published in small, beautiful editions by his own press, Volcanic Eruptions. After the movie there is a Q&A in which the filmmaker takes the time to speak with every viewer, be they friend, member of the press, or regular part of the audience.
It seems that we are approaching the disclaimer part of the text — the part wherein the responsible reviewer urges the reader to shed all preconceptions and bring an open mind to the Castro Theatre this weekend. The caveat is that each viewer’s point of view is vital to the film’s life. Glover chops art down to its most basic method of consumption: from the mind of the creator to the eye of the viewer and out into whatever cultural context is born from that interaction. In this regard, he is a purist. Note that the title of the film isn’t Why Did He Do That? or What Does He Mean By This? but What Is It? That interpretation is yours alone. (K. Tighe)
WHAT IS IT? AND THE VERY FIRST CRISPIN GLOVER FILM FESTIVAL IN THE WHOLE WORLD
Fri/20–Sun/23, call or see Web site for times
Castro Theatre
429 Castro, SF
$5–$18
(415) 621-6120
www.castrotheatre.com
www.crispinglover.com

Head of Hopper

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CULT MOVIE Movie history is full of figures who could do no wrong one minute, then blew it — never trusted to do right again — the next. This year alone something like this happened to the richly deserving M. Night Shyamalan, and it might soon be happening to Darren Aronofsky, whose sci-fi soap opera The Fountain is arguably the most daft hijacking of major-studio cash in 35 years — since Dennis Hopper morphed from princeling to pariah via something called (with masochistic foreboding) The Last Movie.
An eccentric journeyman actor onscreen since 1955, Hopper was way past 30 when he codirected Easy Rider with Peter Fonda. Any studio would have supplied him any sum to get the follow-up. Universal gave him half a mil for The Last Movie, and he stayed on schedule and on budget throughout shooting in a far-flung Peruvian Andes village.
Then the aging boy wonder returned home to edit — for 18 druggy, hazy months, as executives freaked and anticipation rose to a tottering peak. A documentary chronicling that period, The American Dreamer, shows Hopper in extremis — doffing clothes (“symbolically,” he says) to run around suburban Los Alamos; cohabiting with a harem of hippie goddess freeloaders; comparing himself to Orson Welles, then exhaling, “I’d like to go about a month with three chicks in a hot tub.”
Upon release, The Last Movie — which screens in a new, Hopper-funded 35mm print this weekend — looked like the nail in the coffin of acid casualty cinema. The film was a mess, a freak show, an indulgence par excellence — with an incoherent quasinarrative that had Hopper as a stuntman on a western who stays on during postproduction to reenact the mythic pulp action with villagers who can’t or won’t separate the phony spectacle they’ve hosted from more spiritual yet violent reality.
“I only hope that after this game is over, morality can begin again,” prays (in vain) the local priest, played by spaghetti western icon Tomas Milian. But morality has left the building. The Last Movie isn’t the balm for stoner egos that Easy Rider offered. It incriminates everybody — colonialists, swingers, industry suits, the greedy (like our hero’s covetous Indio girlfriend), and filmmaking itself. Periodic “scene missing” titles help make this a deconstructive metamovie well ahead of its time. It’s an antiaudience picture, now more breathtaking than ever in sheer gall.
Who could make such a movie now? Might stars align again to permit such major-studio strangeness? Hard to imagine: The Fountain is nutty and navel-gazing but sentimental in a way Hopper’s auto-excoriating wack-off abhors. All those lysergically and vaginally oversatiated months spent editing The Last Movie make it a stand as memorably bold — if ruinous — as Custer’s.
Hopper is 71 now, but The Last Movie will always be a boy-man’s definitive up-yours against pricks in suit and tie. It’s a lyrical abstract as yet unchallenged for discombobulation by any film made under a major studio’s umbrella. It remains a startling finger driven straight up the Universal. (Dennis Harvey)
THE LAST MOVIE
Fri/20–Sat/21, 7:30 p.m.
Yerba Buena Center for the Arts
701 Mission, screening room, SF
$6–$8
(415) 978-2787
www.ybca.org

Surfing new turf

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› a&eletters@sfbg.com
Listening to the warm analogs, e-bowed guitar, and post-jazz swing that manifest on “Medium Blue” off Surf Boundaries (Ghostly International) — one of two new albums by Christopher Willits — you might assume that the instrumentation was performed by an ensemble of helping hands rather than simply the Bay Area electronic musician. And you’d be half right. The 28-year-old Kansas City, Mo., native executes many of the album’s compelling melodies and fizzling, ambient textures on guitar, laptop, and synths — aided at times by compañeros including Adam Theis, Brad Laner, and notably, R&B-pop vocalist Latrice Barnett on the calming orchestrations of stringed instruments and horns.
“My name’s on the record, but tons of collective energy came into making it happen,” explains Willits at a Mission District bar. “I outsourced some things to the brilliant friends around me.”
Their impact is evident: the CD shifts dynamically from the usual guitar-run-through-a-laptop drone and fuzz of Willits’s live sets. He says that he hopes to someday put together a band to perform a release like Surf Boundaries on tour. That plan isn’t a surprise, considering Willits’s determination to always have a full plate.
The Mills College graduate’s musical career has quickly taken flight since his move to the Bay in 2000. It’s amazing that Willits even has time for solo endeavors between playing with Flössin — his side project with Hella’s Zach Hill featuring guest noisemaking from Kid606, the Advantage’s Carson McWhirter, and Matmos — and ongoing collaborations with avant-garde musicians such as Ryuichi Sakamoto, and former Tool bassist Paul d’Amour. When not on tour, Willits spends his time at the Bay Area Video Coalition in San Francisco, where he began teaching digital audio workshops five years ago. With John Phillips, he also founded Overlap.org, an online community that aims to give exposure to electronic and experimental artists through blog feeds, podcasts, and live music events.
Much of Willits’s work as a solo artist and a collaborator is documented on labels such as Taylor Deupree’s 12K and Sub Rosa, but his recent alliance with the Midwestern electronic imprint Ghostly International may prove the most promising. “I really like Ghostly, because they’re more into artist development rather than boxing in artists’ sounds and constraining them from branching off,” Willits says.
Likewise, his latest offerings are all over the sonic map. The art alone for Surf Boundaries illustrates its ethereal mood: soft hues delicately wash images of animals scattered around a portrait of Willits. The music within strikes a wonderful symphonic balance between electronic composition and live instrumentation as Willits and his collaborators frolic with a blend of jubilant French pop, glitchy guitar, and shimmering psychedelia.
Along with Surf Boundaries’ cozy, sleepy appeal comes Willits’s shrill wake-up call with guitarist Brad Laner (Medicine, Electric Company) — the North Valley Subconscious Orchestra. The space pop–oriented unit gives the Creation Records class of ’91 competition with white-noise guitar treatments and alt-rock rhythms.
The duo met through mutual friend Kid606, and for Willits the collaboration was a dream come true.
“Laner is one of my guitar heroes,” he says, adding that when he first listened to his old Medicine cassette in high school, he mistook Laner’s nails-on-chalkboard approach to guitar playing for a stereo malfunction.
“I realized that the way he’s making that sound is that he’s running all his guitar effects into a shitty four-track and then cranking the preamps up on it, so it’s getting this full …” — Willits makes a fast, circular motion with his arms — “whish!”
Released in August as Ghostly’s first full-length available exclusively via download, NVSO’s The Right Kind of Nothing highlights Laner’s signature guitar bluster and Willits’s ability to dabble subtly in an aggregation of soundscapes. What results is a continuous squall of beaming shoegaze discord that feels like sunshine bursting into a dark room — only to be broken by heavy kraut rock tempos and Swervedriver guitars.
Though Surf Boundaries and The Right Kind of Nothing radically differ in sound and structure, both discs showcase Willits’s ambition to crack the electronic mold and move toward a contemporary vein of experimental rock.
“All I’m trying to do is feel out my own energy and relationship to my creative process,” Willits explains. “I could have never envisioned the albums sounding the way they do. I love being surprised by my own creativity.” SFBG
CHRISTOPHER WILLITS
With Daedelus, Caural, and Thavius Beck
Fri/20, 9 p.m.
Bar of Contemporary Art
414 Jessie, SF
$10
(415) 777-4278
www.sfboca.com
www.overlap.org

Hailing a Japanoise guitar maestro

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› a&eletters@sfbg.com
FULL CIRCLE For more than three decades Masayuki Takayanagi (1932–1991) has served as a cult figure to a small but rabid coterie of listeners searching for the roots of extremity in improvised music and free jazz. The Japanese guitarist has received kudos from renowned experimentalists like John Zorn and Otomo Yoshihide yet has remained obscure because his recorded output has been generally unavailable. During the last decade a slew of his reissued recordings have been available only as hard-to-find, pricey imports, while the original vinyl pressings have changed hands for ridiculous amounts of money.
So what’s the big deal? Beginning in the late ’60s, Takayanagi blazed kamikaze musical assaults of a previously unheard violence and abstraction in the jazz idiom. Long before the pure Japanoise of artists like Merzbow, Masayuki Takayanagi threw down a gauntlet. “I always feel that beauty of form and tone are lies. Playing music that’s muddy and violently splattered is an essential way of getting at the truth,” he once wrote. This approach manifested itself in a concept he called “mass projection” — a gushing, sweaty arc of maximum density and energy that was savagely defiant of melody, interplay, and structure.
Unfortunately, a good portion of Takayanagi’s early free-music output is marred by lousy recording quality: early ’70s performances on the DIW and PSF labels suffice as archival documents but barely hint at the true strength and articulation of the music. The newly issued CD versions of the mythically scarce 1975 diptych Axis: Another Revolvable Thing Volume 1 and 2 (Doubt Music, Japan) should rectify this situation, presenting almost 100 focused minutes of Takayanagi and his classic New Directions Unit in full fury.
Recorded live in Tokyo on Sept. 5, 1975, the quartet revealed their manifesto in six movements, roughly building from agitated, spacious quietude to climactic, sustained catharsis. Although the volumes mix up the sequence, the release’s freshly translated liner notes suggest that the music can also be pondered in the order it was executed. The first part — a display of Takayanagi’s more minimal “gradual projection” style — evokes the low-volume scuttling of English guitar pioneer Derek Bailey’s early Company groups. Spotlighting acoustic guitar, flute, slide whistle, rubbery acoustic bass, and skittering percussion, the music is pervaded with a deceptively delicate sense of restraint. A second gradual projection concerns isolated, dynamic sounds that burst through silence in their own mysterious tempos. After a few minutes, Kenji Mori’s lumpy bass clarinet croaks while Takayanagi surprisingly sneaks in a few brief melodic shards that allude to his straight-ahead roots. Part three — a dull drum solo — fills space before the final half of the concert: three mass projections. The first builds very slowly, with sustained cymbal wash and sinister tremolo bass bowing before revealing the perverted grunts from Takayanagi’s now-electrified strings. The second pushes the intensity up but still feels like a tease, threatening to explode before receding into sustained tones penetrated by pricking soprano saxophone curlicues and tumbling percussion.
In the final segment the floodgates open, and we are assaulted by a lengthy tirade that appears to start at maximum intensity but manages to blow straight through the roof, ascending into unknown levels of forceful cruelty. Hiroshi Yamazaki’s superhumanly dense drum attack violently propels the onslaught. Bassist Nobuyoshi Ino ditches his main ax, creating an acidic wall of fierce noise on cello while Takayanagi goads his guitar into shrieks of feedback and crusty slabs of distorted density, bashing it with a metal slide. Intermittently cutting through the din on his alto saxophone, the unflappable Mori is eerily eloquent. Throughout this hypnotic overload of information, one might concentrate on the detail of parts, the texture of the whole, or nothing at all. After 16 minutes the saxophone lapses into outright screaming. Takayanagi’s guitar coasts arrogantly over the damage in thick sheets of atonality before rising into dog-whistle range, calling an end to a harrowing 22 minutes of sustained devastation. If only the first and last sequences of this concert were paired alone on one release, Axis might have been Takayanagi’s single finest recording. With these discs, at least, the secret is out, and the tortured innovations of an obscure musical pioneer are finally revealed to a wider audience seeking buckets of blood in their music. SFBG

Straight outta Mill Valley

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› a&eletters@sfbg.com
Some time has passed since people routinely looked in 924 Gilman Street’s direction to familiarize themselves with what’s new and interesting in Bay Area rock. However, this doesn’t mean that nothing worthwhile passes through its doors. Topping the bill of the annual Punk Prom earlier this year were the Abi Yoyos, whose cavalier, recklessly hooky normal-dude brand of punk is totally outlook brightening.
Over beer and burritos at a San Francisco taquería, guitarist-vocalist-songwriter Matt Bleyle and lead vocalist Shawn Mehrens, both 21, recently strolled down a nearly five-year-long footpath of memories, including problematic tour vans and onstage pleas for Albuterol inhalers. Unlike a lot of local groups, the Abi Yoyos openly rep the North Bay: namely, Mill Valley. Its members’ paths crossed when Bleyle, Mehrens, and bassist Jeff Mitchell attended Tamalpais High.
“The band was sort of an offshoot of the conversations that Matt and I would have while taking all-night walks in Mill Valley,” Mehrens said. “Nothing is open past 10 p.m., and nobody really presents any options as to how to change things aside from maybe starting a band.” Originally, they played straight hardcore; since then, they’ve adopted a more complex, melodic approach. They cite Charles Darwin — or as Mehrens calls him, “Chuck D” — and Phil Ochs as inspiration for their evolution, along with bands like los Rabbis and the Fleshies.
“Originally we were called Gutter Snatch, as we tried to just come up with the most offensive name possible,” Bleyle said. The moniker Abi Yoyos came to pass courtesy of a Pete Seeger song and an African tale that prophesied “if we turn our back on music and religion, Abi Yoyo [a bogeyman who symbolizes Western civilization] will come and get us.”
The musicianship of the band — which includes drummer Blaine Patrick and saxophonist Kyle Chu — is remarkably solid. “Blaine has won ‘Outstanding Soloist’ awards at Stanford Jazz Camp,” Bleyle explained. “Jeff was in a band called Turbulence that sounded like a cross between Weezer and Hendrix.” Chu joined the band after the Abi Yoyos’ first 7-inch, “The World Is Not My Home” (Riisk), and the lineup solidified to what it appears as on their new debut, Mill Valley (Big Raccoon).
To put out that record, Mehrens worked 80-hour weeks between three jobs, including one at ellusionist.com, a magicians’ supply Web site. “We’re really hard to pigeonhole,” said Mehrens, who now runs Big Raccoon. His friend Corbett Redford, who ran S.P.A.M. Records, along with other industry-seasoned pals, gave the Abi Yoyos the guidance needed to release Mill Valley, an altogether inspired, infectious set of songs.
“I think we can all agree on our hometown heroes,” Bleyle said with a smirk. Sammy Hagar was one of the first names to be mentioned, along with “the guy who invented the toilet-seat guitar,” Huey Lewis, Clover, and Quicksilver Messenger Service. “Cruisin’ and boozin’, my ass!” exclaimed Mehrens to much laughter. “I hate Sammy Hagar.”
Instead the band takes after punkier forefathers. John from the Fleshies introduced the Abi Yoyos to the Punk Prom audience as what Flipper would sound like “if Flipper were good.” After a few minutes of searching for the drummer, that description gained credibility as the band, donning dresses and sparkly makeup, ripped into their cover of the Beatles’ “Helter Skelter.”
They routinely jam “Helter Skelter” in their practice space — a large metal storage box with electrical outlets by San Quentin State Prison — skirting lunacy in their proximity to inmates and in their unusual reverence for both the sticky melodies of ’60s pop and the fast, snotty punk that emerged from LA in the ’80s. In a scene where, in Mehrens’s words, “image means a lot,” the Abi Yoyos tend to defy punker conventions, adopting an unusually eclectic aesthetic. “Quagmire” moves from medium-paced hardcore to a full-blown anthem about halfway through — a nod to Bleyle’s recent “openness to prog” and odd song structures — and they pop hooks in a forcefully shameless manner; Mehrens was, after all, “raised on R&B and Motown.”
“We have friends in a lot of different scenes,” Mehrens said. “Bands that play hardcore, dancy punk, crusty punk, and some that don’t do anything at all. At every show, there are different types of kids rockin’ out.”
Their first nationwide tour began in late July and has included such transcendent experiences as Dumpster diving, playing a farm in Las Cruces, and shooting Roman candles out the passenger-side window of their van on the Williamsburg Bridge. “We’re a little too weird for the South,” said Mehrens by phone from Ohio. “And one show flyer described us as ‘strange punk,’ which we all think is pretty awesome.”
With any luck, their sharp wit and taut songwriting will take them much further than would the gas tank of Sammy Hagar’s convertible. SFBG
ABI YOYOS
With This Is My Fist, Onion Flavored Rings, Giant Haystacks, and Robocop 3
Sat/21, 7 p.m.
Balazo 18 Art Gallery
2183 Mission, SF
$5
(415) 255-7227

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