
Toasty Tempo No Tempo. All photos by Brandon Joseph Baker.
Photographer Brandon Joseph Baker caught the opening night of Noise Pop on Feb. 26 and checked out Mika Miko, DJ Amplive of Zion I, and Tempo No Tempo at the Rickshaw Stop.



Toasty Tempo No Tempo. All photos by Brandon Joseph Baker.
Photographer Brandon Joseph Baker caught the opening night of Noise Pop on Feb. 26 and checked out Mika Miko, DJ Amplive of Zion I, and Tempo No Tempo at the Rickshaw Stop.


Today’s Ammianoliner:
Brown moth eradication. Spray and spay. Get those moth balls.
(From the home answering machine of Sup. Tom Ammiano on Thursday, Feb. 28, 2008)

By Alex Felsinger
“When the house goes up in flames, nobody emerges triumphantly from it,” sings Mountain Goats mainstay and lyricist John Darnielle, with thundering drums, piano, and cello at his side on the final song of Heretic Pride (4AD). But after their last album, Get Lonely (4AD, 2006), a recording filled with nothing but morose musings on the state of his own life, the Mountain Goats’ floorboards were beginning to warp from the fire building in the basement.
While The Sunset Tree (4AD, 2005) brought mainstream appeal, it too was autobiographical, along with the majority of the preceding album, We Shall All be Healed (4AD, 2004). Darnielle, who constructed a fan base on his vibrantly constructed lyrics telling stories of true-to-life fictional characters, began to lose his magic when the focus of his songwriting for the first time became his own life.
But with Heretic Pride, Darnielle maneuvered his way out of his burning building, and is back – triumphantly, even – to creating the types of characters fans have come to know and love. Lyrically, the full-length takes bits and pieces from the group’s past by revisiting themes. In liner notes, he says the track “So Desperate” is “a love song about people who are together when they probably shouldn’t be” – a description that could match any number of Mountain Goats songs from the past (most notably “No Children,” but also any of the “Alpha” song series that spanned 11 years and various albums).
We’ve invited fab local photog Darwin Bell to share some of his photos with us throughout the next month, and tell us what the heck he was thinking when he took them.
Blinders
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Darwin: “Ok, let’s start with how utterly insane the new Federal Building on 6th and Mission is. And insane in the best possible way. I don’t even understand how anyone would come up with that design, but for me it totally works. Except, it is hard to take pictures of that gives the viewer a sense of what the building is about. Except for the blinds on the back side of the building. I could take pictures of those all day long. They just lend themselves to being photographed. And the colors rock!”
My Icanhascheezburger buttons arrived in the mail today. I ordered 16 of them. Snap. If you’re extra nice or leak me documents, I’ll give you one.
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Were you at Trannyshack this past Tuesday? Gurl, you missed it. Miss Juanita More put on a fierce and seamless 40 minute extravaganza of “Minnie the Moocher” Victrola soul-era tributes, complete with her signature “pass out spliffs to the crowd” move. It was all pretty breathless. And my pashmina reeked of weed!
A different context (“Edge of Aquarius” night at Trannyshack) but the same smoky gist
Anyway, what I really want to announce here is that it’s time for another Trannyshack Reno. That’s right, a 2-day, Easter weekend, 100+ drag queen blackout/road trip on a bus to see Trannyshack take over Reno, brought to you by mega-bigwigs Heklina and Peaches Christ.

Hide the baskets
This means you may have to miss the wondrous and humongous Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence traditional outdoor Easter orgy and Hunky Jesus contest.
Beds Are Burning by Midnight Oil
Poor Gavin Newsom. Even when he finally finds a seemingly noncontroversial, competent, normal guy to hire as planning director, John Rahaim, he turns out to have a whack job boyfriend.
Lance Farber is still in jail after allegedly setting the bed on fire in the historical SF Fire Chiefs Residence, where Rahaim was staying, and smearing canned tomatoes on the walls.
I met Rahaim, who came from Seattle, last month at an open space forum and invited him to stop by the Guardian to share his vision for the city (John, you never called). But he seemed like a good guy: personable and smart, if not the most dynamic speaker in the world. I actually wondered at the time how such a button down guy would fare in such a high profile position in this combative town.
But apparently, greedy developers and angry activists are the least of his concerns.
Today’s Ammianoliner:
And the winner is:
San Francisco’s budget. There will be blood, to no end in sight.
(From the home answering machine of Sup. Tom Ammiano on Wednesday, Feb.27, 2008) B3
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By Jamilah King
When I walked into the Berkeley Cinema screening of the Chicago 10, I didn’t know what to expect. I had only a vague idea of the infamous Chicago Seven trial and felt oddly out of place among the aging hippies: I fully was prepared for another boring lesson on why my generation sucks.
Instead I was met with an engaging movie that eschews traditional documentary filmmaking to capture the playful exuberance of the Yippie generation. Through animation and rare video footage, Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin came to life with a message of resistance that transcended decades. I spoke to Brett Morgan, the film’s director, over the phone (for the first part of the interview go here):
SFBG: You mentioned that you were trying to really capture the energy of the Yippies. Do you see any of that energy in today’s anti-war movement?
Brett Morgan: The thing about the Yippies that I love is the sense of playfulness and the fun, and I think if you go to YouTube you can see viral videos from Obama Girl to a whole range of stuff that’s pretty illuminating and exciting. I think there are leaders who have the charisma that an Abbie Hoffman had that just aren’t getting the same media play.
By Justin Juul (with apologies to Broke-Ass Stuart)

It really sucks when your teeth start falling apart, especially when you’re young and broke, but you don’t have to quit your job and run off to Mexico or spend weeks trying to win the lottery at BFC as soon as it starts happening. (See this week’s Guardian cover story.) If the pain is tolerable, you can put off emptying your bank account at the dentist for years. But you’re gonna need some things. Here are five items you’ll need to get through the wait.
Ibuprofen
Vocodin and OxyContin are great and all, but they’re expensive as hell and it’s hard to get a prescription for them. Especially when you don’t have health insurance! I’ve always relied on Ibuprofen. It’s cheap and it works. Eat one or two for normal throbbing and up to 15 a day for serious pain. And don’t worry about overdosing on the stuff. I’ve eaten a whole bottle in a single weekend and look at me. I’m alive.

Fun Flossers!
Tooth Harps
Eating with a full set of rotten teeth isn’t impossible, but it can be really difficult and it’s always irritating. By the time I was 26 my teeth had deteriorated to the point where I could lose an entire peanut in one of my cavities. Seriously! I could fit the tip of my pinky in two of them. So at the end of every meal I would have to run to bathroom to empty the food out of my cavities. Toothpicks work pretty well, but if you’ve got a serious problem, you’ll want to invest in some harps. They’ve got built in floss and you can bend them to get way back there. If you run out of toothharps just use a tightly rolled piece of cardboard. Cigarette packs work great.
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OK, this ensemble wasn’t at Nida – instead it’s actress Lou Doillon modeling a bit of Marant.
This week’s awesome sale – the type that will makes lil’ ole Shopping Spy feel better about missing out on those Miu Miu peg-legs at Marshall’s – has to be at Nida in Hayes Valley. When I sallied in there the other day, they still had plenty of women’s pieces by cool Parisian designer-to-the-models Isabel Marant, Vanessa Bruno, Alessandro Dell’Acqua, Paul and Joe, and others. And zut alors, the prices are hard to beat with items marked at $200 down to $40, $400 now $80. Fashio-philes will go into cardiac arrest at the hyper-affordability of it all.
Oh, yeah, and there was also plenty for guys, too – striped-shirt fiends, gather round!
Nida
544 Hayes, SF
(415) 552-4670.
By Justin Juul
One of the first things I noticed when I went down to Los Algodones, Mexico, to get my teeth fixed (this week’s Guardian cover story) was that many of the people roaming the streets there were Canadian (and somewhat older). The “ayes” and “aboots” gave it away. “What are these funny hats all aboot?” I heard one of them say.
I asked around and discovered that Los Algodones has become a popular vacation destination for Canadians. They drive down in RV’s by the thousands and spend their winters drinking cheap margaritas, relaxing in the warm Mexican sun, and getting their teeth and eyes fixed for a fraction of what they would pay back home. But I always thought Canadians got free health care and free dental care. Turns out our neighbors to the North aren’t sitting as pretty as I’d been lead to believe.
Here’s what one of them had to say:

Oh, those Dodos. The SF dudes aren’t adverse to mixing it up with the rest of the city’s music scene – even if it means working their skills as mischief-makers.
“I swear,” said Meric Long, Dodos vocalist-guitarist-multi-instrumentalist, “I used to play with these two girls in Mixtape, and we did Valentine’s Day at the Make-Out Room two years ago, and we opened up for Spencer Day and I just remember being so wasted. Spencer day is totally playing the piano, doing his thing, and I was a super-drunk dick, and I was dancing on the floor and being so drunk and obnoxious and ridiculous because [he and his Mixtape bandmates] hated the music. He got totally pissed off, and he was like, ‘Will you guys please stop dancing like that?’ And like, he stopped the song.”
“No way!” drummer Logan Kroeber blurted. “Dude – I’ve never heard that one before!”
We’ve invited one of our favorite photogs Darwin Bell to share some of his extraordinary local snaps with us, along with what the heck he was thinking when he took them.
A View From the Ground
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Darwin Bell: “This photograph taught me to always look up. I went down this driveway on Pierce Street, off Hayes, to take a picture of a rusty lock — and happened to look up because I heard a Blue Angel plane flying overhead. I saw this blue cross between the white buildings. Always look up!”
Ed note: Which reminds us of a zinger from a much-loved poem by Frank O’Hara, where the sun says to him: “I know you love Manhattan, but you ought to look up more often.” Except, you know, Frank got run over by a jeep on a beach on Fire Island. Be careful!
I’ll start with a correction: I wrote last week that Cleveland and San Francisco were the only two cities where the chain that owns the SF Weekly faces direct competition from another alternative paper.
Actually, Village Voice Media, which used to be called New Times, owns the Seattle Weekly. The Stranger, owned by Tim Keck, competes directly against the Weekly.
And the LA Weekly, also a VVM paper, competes against the much smaller Los Angeles City Beat.
My point – and the point that we brought up in trial – was that VVM does very well in markets where there is no direct, head-to-head competition from another alternative paper of the same size and market share, but does badly when it faces real competition. I’m not the only one who thinks this; allow me to quote a Jan 27, 2003 filing by the U.S. Department of Justice, which had accused New Times and VVM, which were still separate companies, of conspiring to kill competition in two cities.
“In markets where they faced no direct alternative newsweekly competitor,” the federal complaint reads, “both defendants had double-digit annual profit margins. However, in Cleveland and Los Angeles … their profit margins were pinched.”
So I think that’s pretty clear.
The bigger story, of course, is that testimony ended today in the Guardian’s predatory-pricing case against the SF Weekly and its corporate parent. Judge Marla Miller has set closing arguments for Thursday morning. Then the case, which has been pending since 2004, will finally go to a jury.
The Weekly’s lawyers pulled a weird move at the very end of the trial, recalling Guardian publisher Bruce Brugmann to the witness stand and asking him a question that had almost nothing to do with the issues at hand. Brugmann had testified early in the trial, and on cross-examination, he was asked if he knew that the San Francisco Chronicle had lost some $300 million over the past few years.
No, Bruce said; Hearst Corp, which owns the Chron, is a privately held corporation and nobody’s sure exactly what the numbers are.
This time around, Weekly lawyer H. Sinclair Kerr pulled out a Guardian story from a year ago that reported on court records showing a $330 million Chronicle loss. I guess the implication was the Bruce didn’t remember what was in his own paper (frankly, I didn’t remember the exact figure either; I review almost every one of the hundreds of news stories we run every year, but I can’t swear to recall every detail of every single one).
Bruce’s response: Sure, we reported on the best figures we could find. And the point was?
Of course, the Weekly is trying to argue that since some daily newspapers are losing money, it would be reasonable to expect any an alternative newspaper in San Francisco to lose money, too. And thus any financial hit the Guardian has taken over the past seven years is the fault of market conditions, not predatory pricing by a big Phoenix-based chain.
The final witness in the case – Bill Johnson, the publisher of the Palo Alto Weekly, called by the Guardian to rebut the Weekly’s financial experts – made a strong case that the whole “dailies-are-losing-money-so-the-weeklies-should-too” line of argument is deeply flawed.
Johnson, whose company also owns the Pacific Sun and four community papers, testified that “there are big differences between the way market forces have affected dailies and non-daily papers.”
He pointed out that dailies have been hit much harder by the Internet: Before sites like Craiglist emerged, a large percentage of the revenue of daily papers came from classified ads, most of which have moved to the web. Weeklies were never as dependent as classified, he said.
Perhaps more important, much of the information that readers used to get from their morning daily paper – national and international news – can now be found just as easily on the web.
But papers like the Guardian still offer unique local content that can’t be found anywhere else. “Local papers have this connection with their local audience,” he explained. In fact, he said, “most non-daily publishers I know have done very well” during the past seven years, the time period the lawsuit covers.
He explained that the Palo Alto Weekly saw its display-ad revenues drop in 2002, but quickly rebounded. The dot-com bust and 9/11 had an impact, of course, he said, but after a year or so, “we held our ground and regained ground.” That was also true of his other Bay Area papers, Johnson said.
Johnson also discussed the Weekly’s theory that the San Francisco market is so full of media that the two alternative papers aren’t direct competitors in their own market. “Those two papers are looking for the same audience,” he said.
Johnson, who sat through the testimony of Harvard economist Joseph Kalt, completely dismissed the eminent professor’s theory that it would be irrational for the Weekly to try to damage the Guardian through below-cost selling. If one paper has deeper pockets and can drop its prices, it will gain market share. The smaller competitor will be forced to lower its prices, and both papers will start to lose money. But the paper with greater resources can continue to grow, showing advertisers that it’s becoming dominant in the market, and the paper with no source of outside capital won’t be able to keep up.
“It happens all the time,” Johnson said.
Kerr objected, and Judge Miller ordered that last remark stricken from the record.

Lingering in the ‘Loin. Photo by Joshua Rotter.
By Joshua Rotter
When the lights are turned low and the music is turned up, it’s time to get down at Lights Down Low. This biweekly party in the heart of the Tenderloin’s seediest section at Hyde and Turk brings much-needed festivity to an otherwise bedraggled block.
The stylish crowd encompasses the latest local hipperatti, all the kids you see leaving Academy of Art College and entering gainful employment at Flax or one of the many retail clothing stores around the city. And you don’t even have to enter the club, hosted by DJ’s Sleazemore and Rchrd Oh?! and highlighting a revolving group of guest DJs, to see these seen-and-be-scenesters: many line the sidewalk out front, drinking from paper bags while debating whether Bob Dylan or Neil Young is the greatest singer-songwriter of all time. All that was missing from this style council’s spectacle were the passing tour buses of yesteryear from which tourists once gawked at the city’s wildlife.
Once inside, if you are fortunate enough to navigate past the narrow bar packed with peeps, make your way down to the crowded basement dance floor where the hi-octane electro, disco, and hip-hop jams will have you bumping. If you do down a few brews, be prepared to hold it, because those lines inside means the queues outside loos are as difficult to penetrate as the most exclusive VIP rooms. When bathroom breakers return to the dimly lit dance floor, their olfactory senses may be dulled, but they’re ready to dance and make romance, ’cause when the lights go down, the DJs give them something they can feel.
Lights Down Low
Second and fourth Fridays of the month, 10 p.m.-3 a.m., $10
222 Club
222 Hyde St, SF
(415) 440-0222
A Walk into the Sea: Danny Williams and the Warhol Factory is playing at the Roxie Film Center right now, giving people a sustained glimpse of the competitiveness and back-stabbing that went on during the Factory’s heyday. Paul Morrissey in particular does not come off well, though director (and Williams’ niece) Esther Robinson’s attempts at drawing connections between Andy Warhol and her uncle’s death remain vague. If a documentary about a likely suicide can have a bright side, then Walk does: Robinson uncovers and spotlights Williams’s heretofore obscure film work, which is very impressive – as attractive and arresting in its use of black-and-white contrast as anything that ever came out of the Factory, which was essentially the MGM of underground cinema.
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Andy Warhol and Danny Williams
With A Walk into the Sea currently screening, the time seems right to present a colorful but by no means definitive short guide to other docs or features about characters or Superstars perhaps best-known for floating through the realm of Warhol’s Factory:
Intern Ailene Sankur discovers what’s been missing from her coffee: more coffee!
Buying coffee at 7-11 the other day (too lazy to find a coffee shop, too scared to drink more of my new roomie’s fair trade organic, $15-per-pound coffee), I found this amazing product. Stok, featured here on the Energy Fiend website, looks like a little creamer packet, but is actually more coffee for your coffee: a potent additive that’s the equivalent of one shot of espresso (FYI, espresso actually contains less caffeine than regular coffee, but still…).
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She used to write for alt-weekly newspapers. She worked as a stripper. She wrote a well-received memoir. Oh yeah, she won an Oscar, too. Then, when she was offered a pair of million-dollar shoes to wear to the Oscars, she told the maker, Stuart Weitzman, to go shove them up his ass.
I’ve always loved watching aging Midwest punk and hardcore kids make good, like those who went on to become nonprofit administrators, nurses, defense lawyers, journalists and screenwriters, quietly nurturing that side of their own mind that wasn’t afraid to call bullshit.
Thank you, Diablo Cody. This could only get better if the one-time Minneapolis resident started name-dropping Hammerhead, Holding On, Harvest, Profane Existence and AmRep Records in interviews. Yeah, yeah. Bob Mould and the Jayhawks, too.
By A.J. Hayes
It’s been said every star athlete secretly wants to be a rock star, and vice versa. Unfortunately, some sports icons also want to be actors. And if you’ve seen late Raiders lineman John Matuszak‘s performance in “Caveman” or Shaquille O’Neal‘s in “Kazaam,” you know why the Oscar is not named after former Cubs pitcher Oscar Zamora, or ex-Cleveland Indian Oscar Gamble (though he did sport an award-winning Afro), or even basketball Hall of Famer Oscar Robertson.

Rappin’ genie with attitude!
For every believable performance (NBA star Ray Allen in “He Got Game“) there are a dozen “star turns” that should convince every sports figure that they should stay between the white lines — and not read any scripts.
In honor of the recent (and rather boring) Academy Awards, here’s a random look at the worst performances by an athlete that made it to the silver screen.

By Todd Lavoie
Can you believe it? Kate Bush‘s ain’t-nothin-else-like-it debut, The Kick Inside (EMI), turns the big three-oh this month! Yep, that’s 30 gilded candles sitting atop the unapologetically romantic gem’s scrumptiously rococo birthday cake.
Back in February 1978, the inimitable Bush burst into worldwide consciousness in a flurry of French horns, wind chimes, and pirouettes. Sounding like little which came before it and bearing few similarities to its contemporaries, it remains a bit of a shock that the album hit the big time like it did. No complaints: the huge success of The Kick Inside enabled her to continue following her muse with little regard for musical trends or record company expectations. Quite the enviable position to be in – maintaining such success over the years while still indulging an ever-roaming artistic spirit.
Bush was a mere 19 when The Kick Inside emerged, but she already sounded surer of herself than many of us. While I tend to shudder and shrug whenever I think back to my teens, before hitting 20, she’d already assembled a baker’s dozen of impressively mature confessionals and lit-minded reveries, two of which (“The Man with the Child in His Eyes,” “Wuthering Heights”) remain undisputed classics from the era. Did I mention that she wrote some of these songs at the age of 15?!
An expert witness for the SF Weekly put a bunch of charts before the jury Friday, trying to undermine the Guardian’s predatory pricing case – but every one of the charts seemed to prove exactly what we’ve been trying to say.
The Guardian is suing the Weekly and its corporate parent, Village Voice Media, for predatory pricing. The claim is that the 16-paper chain poured millions into propping up the San Francisco paper, which for 12 years has lost money while it sold ads below the cost of producing them. That, we argue, was done to harm the locally owned competitor.
Clifford Kupperberg, the Guardian’s expert witness, put the damages at between $5 million and $11 million.
Everett Harry, an accountant who specializes in analyzing damage claims in litigation, tried to take apart Kupperberg’s analysis. One of his weapons: A series of “scattergrams,” graphic representations of large numbers of sales transactions for clients that have advertised in both the Weekly and the Guardian.
Harry tried to use the charts to argue that the Guardian wasn’t losing business to lower-priced Weekly ads. But the stunning fact was that every single scattergram showed that the Weekly was indeed selling ads below cost.