Bars

CO2 stew

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› kimberly@sfbg.com

SONIC REDUCER It’s not easy being green, music lover. Because I’ve tried to shove my big fat cultural consumption hoof into a smaller carbon footprint, but I can’t dance around the numbers.

I’ve ponied up the green stuff for nonprofits, come correct at the composting and recycling bins, and threatened to finally get the crusty Schwinn into shape despite the near-death horror stories from bike messenger chums back in the day. But what can a music-gobbling gal do when faced with the hard if rough facts spat out by, for instance, the free online Carbon Footprint Calculator? After selecting "I often go out to places like movies, bars, and restaurants," I watched my print soar to Bigfoot proportions — thanks to my nightlife habit I supposedly generate around the US average of 11 tons of CO2 per person — rather than the mere 8.5 tons if I indulged in only "zero carbon activities, e.g. walk and cycle." Even if this out-late culcha vulcha flies on zero-emission wings to each show, I’m still feeding a machine that will prove the undoing of the planet, since the Calculator estimates that hard-partying humanoids need to reduce their CO2 production to 2 tons to combat climate change. We won’t even get into the acres of paper, publications, and CDs surrounding this red-faced, would-be greenster. I’m downloading as fast as I can, but I wonder whether my hard drive can keep up: hells, even MP3s — and the studios and servers that eke them out — add to my huge, honking footprint. Must I resign myself to daytime acoustic throw-downs within a walkable radius from my berth? Can I get a hand-crank laptop? Just how green can my music get?

Well, it does my eco good to know that a local venue like the Greek Theatre has gone green all year round: Another Planet has offset an entire season’s 113 tons of CO2 emissions; composted over two tons of cups, plates, and utensils; used recycled paper and soy-based ink on all their printed materials; and offered a $1 opt-in to ticket-buyers to offset their environmental impact. I can feel my tonnage shrinking just staring at the numbers. And while gatherings such as last year’s Treasure Island Music Festival sported zero-emission shuttles and biodiesel generators and this year’s Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival will team with Amtrak to provide a free train that will move campers from Los Angeles’ Union Station to Empire Polo Field sans smog-spewing traffic jams, artists like José González have embarked on green tours, adding 50 cents to tickets to support nonprofits. Yet such efforts might prove more consciousness-raising than anything else, González concedes: "For me, playing mostly solo and touring with a small crew, I feel like the actual cut down on emissions is marginal comparing it to major artists, so it’s more about the symbolic value of it, and the ripple effect it might bring."

Still, CO2 spendthrifts like me need a swift kick in our waste-line. Lining up to deliver are such music-fueled events as the free South Lake Tahoe Earth Day Festival April 19 and the Digital Be-In 16 April 25 at Temple nightclub, organized by the Cyberset label with an "ecocity" theme aimed at sustainable communities. Green practices, Be-In founder Michael Gosney says, "may not be huge in of themselves, but they set an example for communities to take these practices back into their own lives." One such community-oriented musician is String Cheese Incident mandolin player Michael Kang, who’ll perform at the Digital Be-In and appear with Dan Hicks and the Hot Licks at the free Green Apple Festival concert April 20 in Golden Gate Park.

Organizing seven other free outdoor Earth Day shows throughout the country on April 20 as well as assorted San Francisco shows that weekend, the Green Apple Festival is going further to educate artists and venues — the usual suspects that inspire me to make my carbon footprint that much bigger — by distributing to participating performers and clubs helpful Music Matters artist and venue riders: the former encourages artists to make composting, recycling, and offsets a requirement of performances; the latter suggesting that nightspots consider reusable stainless-steel bottles of water and donating organic, local, fair-trade and/or in-season food leftovers to local food banks or shelters.

But how green are the sounds? Musicians like Brett Dennen, who also performs at SF’s Green Apple event, may have grown up recycling and composting, but he confesses that environmentalism has never spurred him to craft a tune: "Things as big as global warming have never moved me to write about it, even though I’m doing what I can." And Rilo Kiley’s Blake Sennett, who plays April 17 at the Design Center Concourse, may describe himself as a "recycling animal — I love it! I go through trash at other people’s houses!", yet even he was unable to push the rest of the his group to make their latest CD, Under the Blacklight (Warner Bros., 2007) carbon neutral.

So maybe it comes down to supporting those leafy green rooms, forests, and grasslands we otherwise take for granted. Parks are the spark for ex–Rum Diary member Jon Fee’s Parks and Records green label in Fairfax, which wears its love of albums on its hand-printed, all-recycled-content sleeves and plans to donate a percentage of all its low-priced CD sales to arboreal-minded groups like Friends of the Urban Forest. Fee and his spouse Mimi aren’t claiming to have all the answers in terms of running a low-carbon-footprint imprint, but they are pragmatic ("In order to support bands, labels need to give them something they can sell to get gas money," Fee says) and know their love of the outdoors segues with many musicians. "You develop that camping mentality from touring," he offers. "You’re not showering, and you’re hanging out for long periods of time. Everyone loves to be outside." That’s the notion even those too cheap to buy offsets can connect with — until the weird weather is at their doorstep.

Clubs: Bootyful action at Full Figure Friday

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Party with me, plus. All photos by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

Going out dancing can be a confidence-buster for peeps of all sizes. But the extreme shame imposed on plus-size women often outweighs their desire to hit da club. Full-figured party promoter Lady Tigress was no different. “I was never a clubber in my twenties because I didn’t feel like I would be comfortable in a nightclub setting,” Tigress said. “I bought into what I saw on TV and thought everyone in bars or dance clubs looked like Beyonce or Britney.”

In a world where the Barbie doll reigns supreme, these notions are only reinforced by a media that has little love for big girls. Rarely on the covers of magazines, large women remain the laughing stock of hip-hop videos, the early eliminations on reality showmances, and stand-up fodder for late night television: think Jay Leno’s Jonah and the whale jokes about Lewinskygate. And Lady Tigress knows that clubland is no kinder.

“There are gorgeous plus-size women in all types of clubs all over the Bay,” Tigress said. “But even if they are confident, there is snickering that sometimes happens when a crew of big girls shows up at a mainstream club, or they are sometimes ignored because a lot of people don’t want to admit that they are attracted to women who live outside of the super-skinny American beauty standard.”

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After Tigress started going out to Bay Area BBW parties such as Big Boogie Nights, Sexy at Any Size, and Heavy Rotation in her thirties, she realized that if the event was fat-friendly, these women would come out and party. So Tigress was inspired to create an even larger night, a hip-hop party for plus-size women and their fans called Full Figure Friday, and decided to host her evening, unlike similar hotel-based events across the Bay, at the stylish San Francisco club Bambuddha Lounge.

From bar to book: Life Long Press turns backroom literary readings into published work

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By Ailene Sankur

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Valyntina Grenier is no stranger to poetry. By her undergrad senior year at U.C. Berkeley, she had already put together two chapbooks and now she’s in the second year of an M.F.A. in Poetry at St. Mary’s College of California.

She is also no stranger to bars: she works as a bartender at Lanesplitter () in Oakland. And it was her friendship with two other East Bay bartenders on which she built her Back Room Live (www.lifelongpress.blogspot.com) reading series. Most people go to bars to have mindless fun, relax, get wasted; Valyntina used them as a vehicle for “…a polyphony of voices, united by the desire to make art, enjoy language, and drink a pint or two.”

First, Sheila from the wonderful Hotsy Totsy Club in Albany let Valyntina read the poetry from her first chapbook. (Incidentally, the Hotsy Totsy Club, in a not particularly trendy East Bay neighborhood, wins the dive bar competition against San Francisco anyday.) The readings were well-received by the bar crowd. After those experiences, she toyed with the idea of doing another reading series at a bar. After befriending Tony, the bartender at McNally’s Irish Pub in Oakland, she asked if she could do a reading series there. He agreed, and after it proved successful Back Room Live became a monthly event—on the last Saturday of each month.

Valyntina, now in her M.F.A. program, decided to bring together others from the creative writing masters program — both students and faculty — as well as other Bay Area poets and authors.

Literary readings have long been thought of as the property of dim bookstores, mousy clerks shakily whispering introductions to authors, bad wine, and an intellectual elitist. With the Back Room Live series,Valyntina wanted to get away from that. She says, “My initial impetus was the sense that if you’re not in academia, and even sometimes if you are, you can feel left out of literary events. So I thought by bringing it to the bar, people would be engaged in it. Really just to broaden the community, get different genres of writers together and people together who wouldn’t necessarily go to hear writers…”

The reading series became so popular Valyntina decided to publish a Back Room Live Reading Series magazine, sold online and at Diesel Books, Book Zoo, and Pegasus (all in Oakland). The magazine is published through Valyntina’s other venture: Life Long Press Publishing.

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While their guitars gently weep

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› a&eletters@sfbg.com

In the liner notes for his 1978 album, Ambient 1: Music for Airports (Editions EG/Polydor), Brian Eno wrote that the music contained within "must be as ignorable as it is interesting." Though that watershed release launched a thousand new age imitators under the banner of ambient music, Eno’s ambivalent criteria still holds as a descriptive litmus test for any music that only partially depends on focused engagement in order to be fully appreciated.

Or as Adam Wiltzie, one half of the dreamy instrumental duo Stars of the Lid, puts it: "There is a narcoleptic feeling that I want to get within each tune. If the piece doesn’t make me fall asleep, then it’s probably not finished."

Wiltzie and musical partner Brian McBride have taken their time refining their soporific version of Eno’s barely there aesthetic, releasing just a handful of beatless, slow-burning full-lengths during the past decade. Coming six years after their epic sophomore Kranky release, The Tired Sounds of (2001), last year’s And Their Refinement of the Decline (Kranky) proved to be another gentle juggernaut: treated violin, cello, and fog-horn brass provided tonal counterpoints to the clouds of diaphanous guitars over the course of two hours. Given that the duo tours even less frequently than they put out new material — primarily due to the fact that Wiltzie and McBride now live on opposite sides of the Atlantic — their April 15 stopover at the Independent is the equivalent of catching a passing comet with the naked eye.

Eno is an obvious touchstone, although Wiltzie responds somewhat begrudgingly on the phone from Brussels when I bring up the comparison. "I grew up listening to Eno’s ambient works and whether I liked them or not they must have influenced me somewhat," he explains. "But influences — and whether or not people hear this or that artist in our work — can be like a strange beauty pageant where everyone has their personal favorites."

Granted, Eno’s earlier ambient experiments on Music for Airports and Discreet Music (Editions EG, 1975) focused on creating systems that would self-generate infinite variations from prerecorded tape loops. SOTL is a far more compositionally oriented project, and many of Wiltzie’s "personal favorites" are composers: Gavin Bryars, Arvo Part, Bernard Herrmann, and Alexandre Desplat. Their influence is clear. And Their Refinement sounds, well, refined compared to the rough-hewn compositions of earlier releases. On many tracks the strings and horns are upfront in the mix, and even then only lightly brushed with a wash of delay and soft EQ, while longer pieces, such as the 17-minute album closer, "December Hunting for Vegetarian Fuckface," are suites unto themselves.

"Maybe my classical music influences are showing more and more," Wiltzie suggests when I ask him about And Their Refinement‘s more delicate arrangements. "I also am on a lot less drugs than I used to be as a kid. Maybe I just have more clarity now," he laughs. "I’m just growing older, I guess."

What hasn’t changed is the evocative power of SOTL’s music, even as it tends to massage listeners into slumber. Perhaps it is the blank-canvas quality of ambient music that has made "cinematic" such an ubiquitous way to describe what’s being heard (as prescient as ever, Eno’s Music for Films [Editions EG, 1978] offered soundtracks for imaginary movies). No one ever hears a song the same way, yet SOTL’s music touches a specific emotional range — one that is definitely in a minor key.

Case in point: And Their Refinement‘s "Don’t Bother They’re Here," a reverb-soaked gloss on the opening bars of Stephen Sondheim’s maudlin ballad "Send in the Clowns." Stripping away the original’s thick coating of show tune schmaltz, SOTL leave only a whispered trace of the lonely little melody at its center.

"We both love Judy Collins’s version of that song. It’s just a nod to beautiful melody," Wiltzie explains. "I’ve just wanted to create a beautiful sound that encapsulates a feeling of beauty and sadness in the same breath."

STARS OF THE LID

With Christopher Willis

Tues/15, 8 p.m., $15

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

www.theindependentsf.com

SPORTS: Real March Madne$$

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Everyone’s getting rich off the NCAAs — except the players

By A.J. Hayes

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Played, not paid

Last week, Boston Red Sox players staged what had to be the most ludicrous wildcat strike in the history of labor relations. The entire Bosox team(sters) threatened not to board a plane bound for Japan for a series of games vs. the Oakland A’s, unless club management, or major league baseball, or anyone else but the players themselves, forked over some serious cash.

Painting themselves as championing of the little guy, the Boston players said the trip was off unless each of the team’s coaches, trainers and clubhouse personnel received the same $40,000 bonus that each of the players was to pocket for enduring the hardship of an all-expenses paid, first-class jaunt to Japan.

And they say politicians are out of touch with the average American wage earner.

To drive home their point, the players refused to take their positions for an exhibition game against the Toronto Blue Jays until the matter was settled, making paying fans sit on their hands for 90 minutes at Ft. Myers, Florida.

The world champs finally decided to play ball when MLB and the club agreed to split the cost of paying the support staff. Considering that the bloated Red Sox staff contained nearly 30 coaches, trainers and others last season, that figure came in somewhere in excess of $1 million.

Meanwhile, most sports fans across the nation – even those who know the clubs are traveling to Japan – could hardly give a damn about a few early season baseball games in Tokyo. When Boston and Oakland are done, they’ll still have 160 more games to go.

Most sports fans across the nation are glued to their televisions watching athletes pour out their hearts and sweat in another sport – and receive not a penny. In fact, the players will be lucky to come away with a free t-shirt. It’ll probably be a 50/50 blend too.

In case you don’t own a television or haven’t picked up a newspaper in the past couple of weeks, we’re were in the midst of the NCAA basketball tournament, aka March Madness, aka the Big Cash Cow in Tube socks.

Every one remotely tied to the NCAAs, from the universities to CBS to the sports bars and the zillions of amateur bettors toting their cherished “brackets” will be racking in the dough this month.

Everyone is getting rich except for the one making it all possible – the players.

Unchain my art

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› a&eletters@sfbg.com

REVIEW The United States has the highest incarceration rate of any nation in the world, with more than 1.8 million people currently behind bars. But perhaps more disturbing is the fact that the largest state on the so-called left coast is the most prison-happy: California spends the most money in the nation on corrections while ranking 43rd in funding education.

This according to "Golden Rules: A Guide to the California Prison System," a booklet designed by Kelly Beile and Emily Wright, which presents startling statistics on the industry and economics behind this state’s prison system as part of "The Prison Project," Intersection for the Arts’s continuing multidisciplinary exploration into California’s criminal justice system. The book was produced in conjunction with an exhibition of work by an array of artists directly affected by the correctional facilities in our state.

With so little money being put into education for California’s unoffending citizens, it’s not surprising that next to nothing is spent on rehabilitation programs for prisoners. Thankfully, through private funding and grants, programs such as San Quentin’s Arts in Corrections and the William James Foundation’s Prison Arts Project exist to offer a creative outlet to inmates.

Arts in Corrections student Ronnie Goodman uses acrylic on canvas board to record daily life as a prisoner at San Quentin. In Under the Bullet Holes Shat (2007), Goodman captures the undifferentiated backs of inmates exiting the prison yard as beams of light stream through bullet holes in the tented tarp roof. One figure — perhaps the artist — hangs back from the crowd, a solitary man without a face.

The solitary man is a recurring subject in the show. In the work of Robert Stansbury, who died on San Quentin’s death row in 1991, the male subject appears alone with nature, walking on a beach or cooking his meat over a campfire. Stansbury was entirely self-taught, since programs such as Arts-in-Corrections are only available to "mainline" prisoners, not those on death row.

Another self-taught artist, on San Quentin’s Death Row since 1983, William Noguera recreates images from his dreams and memories in painstaking detail with ink on paper. Photo-realistic renderings of a couple embracing, a billowing curtain, a cross, a shadow, and a cityscape are overlapped and collaged together, creating networks of narratives. Each piece takes Noguera approximately 100 hours to complete, and the artist mixes his own blood into the ink with the belief that he might free a bit of himself from his four-by-10-foot cell with every composition.

Artist Mabel Negrete is not incarcerated, but her brother is, and their collaborative installation You and Me describes the relationship between inmates and their loved ones on the outside. Negrete compares a day in her own life, as she lives in freedom, and a day in the life of her brother, as he lives inside prison walls. On the wall of the gallery, Negrete transcribes a letter from her brother — in distraught hatch marks — and, next to it, her own letter in carefree cursive. On the floor, Negrete renders with masking tape the actual space of her brother’s shared cell, with two beds, a desk, and a toilet/sink, next to the equivalent space of her apartment bathroom.

"The Prison Project" also includes works by at-risk boys and girls through preventive youth education programs such as the Imagine Bus Project and City Studio. Noticeably underrepresented in the exhibition is work by adult women prisoners, especially since "Golden Rules" tell us that the incarceration of women in California has gone up exponentially in the last two decades (mostly for nonviolent offenses) due to mandatory sentencing laws.

Amid the troubling information provided by "Golden Rules" and the haunting art on view, a lighter moment seems necessary — and it arrives in the form of Larry Machado’s motorcycle sculpture Bone Shaker (1981-82). Assembled from the bones of dead rodents found on the prison yard, Bone Shaker is a straightforward, unsentimental symbol of freedom.

THE PRISON PROJECT

Through March 29

Tues., by appt.; Wed.–Sat., noon–5 p.m.

Intersection for the Arts

446 Valencia, SF

(415) 626-2787

South By Culture: Kimya who?

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Culture editor Molly Freedenberg hits SXSW for the first time to explore the festival’s extracurricular aspects. For Music Editor Kimberly Chun’s take on SXSW’s tunes, click here.

Yes, I’m a music fanatic, but I’m no music geek – and certainly no expert. I love the music I love in the simplest, purest way, as a child who grew up on the Stones and the Beatles and associates rock’n’roll with love and breakfast and spontaneous living room dance parties. I’m not the girl who’s up on the all the coolest new bands, nor the one who scours record stores for rare 7 inch bootlegs from all the coolest old ones. My haircut is symmetrical, my T-shirts aren’t ironic, and the closest thing I have to “skinny jeans” are pants I’ve outgrown. In short? I’m no spokesperson for indie rock.

So while it’s true that I’m here at South by Southwest (locals call it South By, by the way) to hear music until my ears bleed and my feet blister, I’m not going to pretend to assess the bands down here. I’ll leave that to Kim, who’s far more qualified on that subject.

No, just as I am at home, I’m going to be the eyes of the Guardian’s culture section while I’m here. Food, fashion, nightlife, drinking, lifestyle – and everything else that makes Austin the San Francisco of Texas. I can’t promise my posts will all be cohesive – or even coherent (there sure are a lot of bars in Austin, and a lot of parties being thrown at them during SXSW), but what else would anyone expect?

Brand spankin’

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› superego@sfbg.com

Ah, spring. Strange birds are chirping, cherry trees are blossoming, pretty but misguided girls are puking on their Luichiny strappies outside North Beach bars, and adorable elderly gentlemen are grabbing my unmentionables on the Muni. Time for a couple of pomegranate liqueur shots and some neon butterfly nail decals. Or fuck it, just hand me the Chivas and let’s go dancing. Party time.

In my fondest dreams, the floors always hop, the clubbers look fierce, the jams never stop, and last call’s just past dawn. (Also: butch unicorns.) But dreams are for sleepers, gorgeous, and who would ever admit to being one of those? It’s almost worse than saying you’re tired and want to go home. Quel tragique. If you want it, you’ve got to stay up for it, we say, and for a year now, Scene has been toasting the amazing people, places, and parties that give their very all to make those dreams a reality, however creatively (wink).

Cosmic local nightlife, cocktails, fashion, music, art, expression — not necessarily in that order, and preferably all at once with a little kiss-kiss afterward — that’s what spurred us to launch this thing. And sometimes we put down our caipirinha glasses and stop twirling long enough to actually put out another issue. Thus, welcome to the spring 2008 Scene! From fresh drinks to fab threads to hot freaks, it’s positively aching with enjoyment. Much like spring itself.

Refill!

Marke B.

Fresh sips

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› culture@sfbg.com

Spring is positively bursting with wacky holidays. Arbor Day? April Fool’s Day? Patriot’s Day? How the heck are you supposed to celebrate those with a cocktail or two? Figuring out what drink to pair with which spring holiday can become an overwhelming ordeal. Sure, the first few are easy: St. Patrick’s Day and green beer, Passover and four glasses of kosher wine. But what about the others? After a careful and tipsy review, I’ve paired some of my favorite local cocktails with these unusual days of celebration.

Rusty Robot Of all the major Christian holidays, Palm Sunday seems the least alcoholically celebrated, even though feasting is the order of the day. Why not figure in a Rusty Robot from Homestead? A combination of Wild Turkey, Tuaca, lemon, and bitters, it’s perfect for vigorous consumption. The lemon flavor is as wild as the Turkey, but the drink achieves a simplicity missing from most cocktails — the tastes don’t just augment one another; they smack together, almost like two palms. Get it? Homestead, 2301 Folsom, SF; (415) 282-4663.

Green Man Tea Just as we’re getting over our green St. Paddy’s Day hangover, we’re immediately hit with St. Joseph’s Day on March 19 — or more familiarly, the day the swallows return to Mission San Juan Capistrano. Bird lovers across California, rejoice! But with what? I encourage you to stick to something green-related, like Green Man Tea at Nihon Whisky Lounge; your system may not yet be ready for other colors. Made with lime and pineapple juices, green tea liquor, and single malt Scotch, this drink brings together two distinctly different flavors — the Scotch’s smokiness and the other ingredients’ fruity tang — to take delicious flight. Nihon Whisky Lounge, 1779 Folsom, SF; (415) 552-4400, www.nihon-sf.com.

Vieux Carre How do you raise a glass to a good April’s Fools Day prank? Since only rush-hour radio hosts and nine-year-olds actually carry out pranks, you probably don’t. So relax, there’s no need to fuss over this "holiday." Instead, take the time to savor a fine local drink. The Vieux Carre is a version of a classic New Orleans cocktail with its amalgam of rye, cognac, and sweet vermouth. It tastes more like Manhattan in 3-D, however, than it does an Old-Fashioned, Sazerac, or Sidecar — a high-powered, cheek-parching blast. Alembic, 1725 Haight, SF; (415) 666-0822, www.alembicbar.com

Take Your Pick Few outside Massachusetts, Maine, or Wisconsin celebrate Patriot’s Day, which falls on the first Monday in April. But it’s a great excuse to patriotically hoist one. Head to Dimples on Post and order whatever. The mirrored-out decor and neon light overload is so dazzling that your cocktail choice won’t matter — it’ll be like an early Fourth of July, but indoors. Go, USA! Dimples, 1700 Post, SF; (415) 775-6688.

Blue Tokyo Come Earth Day, the Blue Tokyo at Festa Wine and Cocktails should be the perfect drink to remind you that our island cities will soon be submerged, once the sea levels rise high enough. An unfussy mix of vodka, pineapple, and Curaçao amid Festa’s menu of ostentatious pear cosmos and pomegranate martinis, the drink is a useful aid to celebration — it’s almost a frat house cocktail in its simplicity. It wouldn’t jive at most bars, but at this kitschy lounge overlooking Webster — complete with fake skyline behind the karaoke stage — it works perfectly. Festa Wine and Cocktails, 1581 Webster, suite 207, (415) 567-5866.

Bohemian Forget the corporate beer and margarita mix branding that’s attached itself to Cinco de Mayo. Do something different, dammit, and head to Blondie’s Bar and No Grill in the Mission for a Bohemian. Along the same taste lines as, but more full-bodied than, a Cosmo, this well-balanced drink contains a generous dose of 151, so you can feel sunny and in sync with Cinco. Blondie’s Bar and No Grill, 540 Valencia, SF; (415) 864-2419, www.blondiesbar.com.

Sangre Amado Few complicated cocktails are as rooted in earthy flavor as the Sangre Amado, and no place in town makes it better than Catalyst Cocktails. After a fulfilling, tree-hugging Arbor Day, cozy up with this drink made with either vodka or gin, rosehips-hibiscus syrup, grapefruit juice, and fresh strawberries. For all its contents, the concoction is far from overwhelming, and it easily plants the seeds for another round. Catalyst Cocktails, 312 Harriet, SF; (415) 621-1722, www.catalystcocktails.com

Dark and Stormy Despite its name, this semiclassic cocktail — which gets its best treatment at Koko Cocktails — is the perfect way to kick off Memorial Day weekend and ease into the summer season. The taste brings to mind yachting through the Caribbean, which is why I hope the name is ironic. A smooth mix that falls halfway between a mojito and a whiskey ginger, this bevvie consists of ginger beer, lime, and a mild rum that makes it soar. KoKo Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788

Diamonds are harder than gym bodies

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Black Lizard made me gay. Or, at the very least, Kenji Fukasaku’s 1968 jewel-toned mod noir opened my quasicloseted 16-year-old eyes to a certain queer aesthetic — one which foregrounds its own artifice by using Aubrey Beardsley’s illustrations for Oscar Wilde’s Salome as wallpaper; one which dresses deviance in a gown with a 25-foot-long feathered train; and one which knows that the flipside of fabulousness is utter ridiculousness. It certainly wasn’t something I was seeing in the twink-filled issues of XY foisted upon me by my Pride ring–wearing, secret community college beau, but something closer to what I later found in John Waters’s films with Divine, James Bidgood’s diaphanous beefcake photography, and Ronald Firbank’s deeply purple prose.

However, unlike the above artists, Fukasaku was heterosexual, and Black Lizard represents an anomaly within a career that included much macho studio boilerplate. Even at his finest, Fukasaku had a flair for rough stuff: he directed some of the best yakuza films ever made (Battles Without Honor and Humanity [1973–74]) and ended his career with 2000’s controversial adolescent bloodbath and political fable Battle Royale. Yet, as with Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s practically flaming 1959 adaptation of Tennessee Williams’s Suddenly, Last Summer, there was just the right combination of elements (and most importantly, the right combination of peacocks involved) to make Black Lizard one of queer cinema’s unsung gems. Which is precisely why freelance curator T. Crandall chose the film to kick off his rep series, "The Revival House: Classic Queer Cinema," at Artists’ Television Access.

As clichéd as such a phrase may be, Black Lizard is awash in precious stones and glittering surfaces — but none shine with as much brilliance as the transvestite Akihiro Miwa (credited as Maruyama), who plays the titular jewel connoisseur and criminal mastermind that kidnaps specimens of human beauty to freeze them in eternal tableaux vivant on her island lair. The film is completely Akihiro’s: her entrances stop time, her song is a siren call which causes men to become her slaves, her lavish outfits become more so with each new scene. "The face of Garbo is an Idea, that of Hepburn, an Event," quipped Roland Barthes (referring to Audrey, not Kate). Miwa’s face, whose mouth morphs rubber band–like from a sour moue into the devouring O of a deep cackle unleashed, is a gloss on Barthesian idealness.

Prior to Fukasaku’s film, Miwa had appeared in the same role in Yukio Mishima’s long-running stage adaptation of pre-World War II mystery and suspense novelist Edogawa Rampo’s 1934 short story "Black Lizard." Rampo’s tale was one of many starring his Sherlock Holmes, the brilliant detective Gogoro Akechi, who in Mishima and Fukaaku’s retelling falls heart-first into a dangerous pas de deux with his androgynous quarry. Miwa was a successful nightclub entertainer active in avant-garde theater (and she still is: last year, she starred in a Tokyo production of Jean Genet’s The Eagle Has Two Heads) when she met Mishima — our second of the aforementioned peacocks — who was haunting Tokyo gay bars to "research" his 1953 novel Forbidden Colors.

It’s not hard to see why Rampo’s story of a moribund ice queen obsessed with changeless beauty appealed to Mishima. By 1968, Mishima was that queen, fully immersed in his own homoerotic brand of aestheticized Emperor worship, which would reach its grisly apogee in his ritual suicide four years later. Prior to Black Lizard, his muscular body had already been given the coffee table book treatment in Ba-ra-kei: Ordeal by Roses (Aperture, 1971), where Hosoe Eiko’s photographs present the author posed as a martyred St. Sebastian or as a snowbound samurai. Appropriately, he makes his cameo in Fukasaku’s film as one of Black Lizard’s frozen exemplars of aesthetic perfection— a brawny sailor, no less.

In the end, though, diamonds are harder than gym-wrought muscle, and it was Miwa’s flash, not Mishima’s flesh, that held my attention — at least consciously — upon my first adolescent exposure to Black Lizard. Many viewings later, Mishima seems pathetically unaware of the self-parody he’s partaking in. But Miwa’s exquisite luminescence remains untarnished.

THE REVIVAL HOUSE: BLACK LIZARD

March 19, 8 p.m.; $6

Artists’ Television Access

992 Valencia, SF

(415) 824-3890

www.myspace.com/therevivalhouse

Pacific Catch

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› paulr@sfbg.com

When a service station is torn down to make way for an art gallery, we cheer. When the art gallery folds and is succeeded by a restaurant, we shuffle our feet uneasily. At least they won’t be tearing the building down to bring back the service station — but art galleries are harder to find than restaurants.

Pacific Catch is a pretty good seafood restaurant in a neighborhood already chockablock with restaurants. The prices are moderate, the service is friendly and efficient, the food is good, and the look is handsome in a not-overbearing way. But those who remember that the space was home for several years to the Canvas Gallery — a blend of art forum, café, restaurant, and meetinghouse, with a general university-town flavor — won’t recognize much when they step inside. The interior floor plan has been heavily reworked: the central coffee and pastry bar, once surrounded by naves hung with paintings and photographs, has been replaced by tables, chairs, and booths. There is also now (at the far side of the restaurant as you enter) a shiny and bustling exhibition kitchen, along with a bold color scheme of red and blue, and light fixtures that look like clusters of bottomless Bombay Sapphire gin bottles. All that remains of the original layout is a smaller dining room along the building’s north face, looking across the busy street at Golden Gate Park.

Still, there is a nice irony in the transformation of a filling station — or indeed any other urban eyesore — into a haven of civilization, whether it’s a locus for art or food, and to have a seafood restaurant on a site that once reeked of gasoline fumes must be accounted an improvement by any standard. I only wish Pacific Catch weren’t a nascent chain; there’s a tiny sibling outlet on Chestnut in the Marina, another (of unknown scale) in Corte Madera, and a general sense, as a friend of mine put it, that still more Pacific Catches can’t be far off.

The food is accordingly mainstream, with tweaks and tunings that reflect sensibilities on either side of the Pacific, trending sometimes in an Asian direction and at others in a Latin American one. Among the great Mexican seafood dishes must be the fish taco, and Pacific Catch offers several versions ($4.25), all creditable on their beds of shredded cabbage: Baja, with chunks of batter-fried halibut or cod; grilled mahimahi, slathered in the restaurant’s ubiquitous avocado-tomatillo salsa; and barbecue shrimp, enlivened by little flares of fresh ginger (a nod across the Pacific there). Side dishes enhance the south-of-the-border aura; black beans ($2.95 for a sizable crock) are well seasoned and sprinkled with crumblings of queso fresco, while grilled corn ($2.95) — still on disks of cob — is suitable for dipping into accompanying pats of chipotle butter.

If Pacific Catch can seem like a cantina in Cabo San Lucas, it can also present itself as a sushi bar on Maui. A variety of sashimi is offered (as is its New World cousin, seviche), along with a selection of sushi rolls and — for that Hawaiian touch — poke ($8.50), cubes of lightly seared ahi drizzled with soy sauce and served atop a Fritos-like mélange of rice chips. The poke is temperamentally well suited to share table space with wakame (seaweed) salad ($3.95), a staple of sushi bars and notable here for its considerable size. The salad is plenty for two and could even satisfy four if other treats were on the way.

The grilled salmon ($19.95) — a deftly grilled filet — had been organically farmed in British Columbia, which relieved some of my unease at having it, since farmed salmon is usually a big no-no. The so-called California presentation itself was pleasant if unremarkable and consisted of a huge scoop of brown rice, several stalks of steamed asparagus (with basil aioli for dipping), and under the fish, a confit of tomatoes and lemon.

Even if Pacific Catch is mostly a seafood restaurant, you don’t have to have seafood. You could have grilled skirt steak ($18.95), glazed with miso, cut into tender slices, and plated with a huge scoop of white rice, a salad of picked cucumber threads, and a pile of deceptively pale kimchi that packed a real and thrilling wallop of garlic and chili pepper. My only complaint about these large plates is that they did look like subcompacts coming off an assembly line: this one got an extra cup holder from the parts bin, that one a CD deck in the dashboard — but otherwise they heavily resembled one another in a bolted-together way.

Dessert tends to soothe complainants of most stripes, luckily, and Pacific Catch has at least one quite good dessert: a sundae ($6.50) built on a macadamia-nut brownie. The brownie isn’t a doodle or add-on here, an extra calorie payment stuffed into a sundae glass with gobs of ice cream, as is so often the case with brownie sundaes; instead, it’s like Huck’s raft, sprawling and commodious, and the blob of macadamia-nut ice cream on top is almost a condiment. Other condiments include twin oozings of hot-fudge and caramel sauces.

There’s one element of the mix that hasn’t changed much in the metamorphosis, and that’s the crowd. It remains young and collegiate- or postcollegiate-looking, although the noise level has risen noticeably. In the old art-café days, people tended to keep even their more intense conversations at murmur level; now, without the elevating presence of art beyond some paintings of fish on the walls, there is a tendency to hoot and bray, if you catch my drift.

PACIFIC CATCH

Sun.–Thurs., 11 a.m.–10 p.m.;
Fri.–Sat., 11 a.m.–11 p.m.

1200 Ninth Ave., SF

(415) 504-6905

www.pacificcatch.com

Full bar

MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

Craft fare

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› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com

CHEAP EATS There was this crafts fair at one of our bars, and Sockywonk said she knew a guy who was giving away waffles. "Crafts fair?" I said, picturing clothes, jewelry, and purses, but not waffles.

Yeah, she said. He’d figured out a way to get waffle batter into an aerosol can, like Reddy-Wip, and he was promoting his brilliant invention by feeding all the craft fairies for free.

I loved Sockywonk for knowing such a thing. But after a sporty morning, I had me a good sticky, stinky sweat on and was mostly interested in her bathtub. We were going to a potluck at another bar later in the afternoon. I still had my soccer socks on.

"Well … " I said.

"Waffles!" she said, and what could I say? I had to agree with her 100 percent, once she put it like that. Waffles! Free ones, at that, and I was hungry and only had exactly $1.15.

"Waffles!" I said. And I changed my socks, borrowed a shirt, and found all sorts of things in Sockywonk’s bathroom to rub and spray on myself in lieu of a waterier bath.

At the end of the block we joined forces with Natty King Coal, the oatmeal pusher, and his charming bag lady–enforcer (and my personal hero) Little Orphan-Maker Annie, who was on crutches due to a grisly roller derby smash-up. She hadn’t been out of the house in months. I’m not kidding.

Annie had a crazed and wonderful look in her eye, like Give Me Blood, or syrup, or bargains. She also had a handicapped-parking thingy, so we drove to the bar even though it was within walking distance — or would have been, without pins and rods and crushed bones and so forth.

"What’s that smell?" Natty King said once all the car doors were closed.

"Do you mean ‘What are those smells?’" I said. "They represent a delicate yet complicated blending of the usual — sweat, smoke, and chicken shit — with the unusual: whatever the hell Socky keeps on the shelf in her bathroom."

Sockywonk works at a girly, soapy bath, spray, and general smell shop called Common Scents, and that was pretty much what I smelled like, like the entire store, Common Scents, on 24th Street. Plus sweat and smoke and of course chicken shit.

"I like it," the Orphan-Maker said, turning in her seat and smiling. Christ, she’s so sweet. And that was the end of that discussion.

At the crapshoot, or crafts fair, Sockywonk left less $40, the Orphan-Maker dropped two great T-shirts’ worth, plus the $20 she spotted the Wonk for even more cool stuff. Natty King, who knows how to treat his girls, bless him, went down whatever-the-worth of three bags of hot-sauced mango from a sidewalk vendor. Yum! And I, your chicken farmer truly, walked away with exactly $1.15, plus Aunt Jemima stains all over my borrowed shirt. Syrup. Sorry, Socky.

The verdict on aerosol-can waffle and pancake batter?

Yeah. Whatever. No, I mean, it was free, and it was delicious. But being a person who loves to cook, and who loves to spend as much time as possible doing the things that I love to do, like cooking, why in the world would I ever in the world squeeze waffle batter out of a can? And then blow time looking out the window that I could have more wisely spent separating egg whites and hand-whisking until they hold soft peaks?

No kidding, I make three meals a day. I want to have my hands in the food, and my arms, teeth, and tongue when appropriate. Like sex, I actually want it to take as long as possible. And dirty all the dishes. (I’ll do ’em in the morning.) You’re in a hurry, I know. You have a job. Check it out: batterblaster.com. Me, I’ll keep doing what I do … stirring constantly.

——————————–

My new favorite restaurant is Pretty Lady, a divine dive in West Oakland. Me and Deevee both ordered fried egg sandwiches, because we only had $10 between us, and all of it was hers. She laughed at me for ordering my sandwich eggs over easy, and I laughed last when my first bite squirted egg yolk all over my shirt and pants and the place. Which I really and truly love, did I mention? Nothing but counter, U-shaped for easier people-watching/eavesdropping. Saw a good-looking salad and stir-fry down the counter, so … stay for lunch.

PRETTY LADY

1733 Peralta, Oakl.

(510) 832-1213

Mon.–Sat., 7 a.m.–3:30 p.m.

No alcohol

Credit cards not accepted

On shaky ground

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› gwschultz@sfbg.com

The violations were purported to be accidental. Top administrators broke the law in two separate incidents in 2005 when they diverted a total of $30,000 belonging to City College of San Francisco to a local bond campaign committee, although they said it was an innocent mistake.

Now new documents obtained by the Guardian show an apparent pattern to this misuse of public funds. A special audit indicates that on Nov. 7, 2006, administrators from the school district transferred $38,670 to a bank account controlled by the Foundation of the City College of San Francisco, a nonprofit that seeks donations for the school and funds scholarships.

Just one day before, on Nov. 6, 2006, the foundation made a $35,000 cash contribution to the Community College Facility Coalition Issues Committee, which lobbies for and promotes statewide bonds to benefit schools like City College. State law bars City College from using public funds for such political purposes.

When asked about the money transfers, Vice Chancellor Peter Goldstein conceded to the Guardian that $28,670 of the newly uncovered funds were improperly moved to the foundation to replenish the Nov. 6, 2006 contribution, but he referred questions regarding who made that decision to outgoing chancellor Phil Day, who did not return a call.

The firm that conducted the audit, Louie & Wong, based in San Francisco, could find no evidence that the foundation’s board approved the contribution, and a lawyer hired by the foundation says the directors were not aware of the transfer of district funds into the foundation bank account at that time.

Although some of the board members later recalled authorizing the contribution, it wasn’t reflected in meeting minutes, and the directors say they never intended to launder public funds into a political contribution.

These revelations further damage the credibility of City College administrators, who for several months have undergone an investigation by the District Attorney’s Office into political fundraising efforts by the school. Spending public funds to support or oppose a ballot measure or candidate is against California law.

Two school trustees, Rodel Rodis and Julio Ramos, confirmed for the Guardian that the district attorney in recent weeks requested documents related to the transactions and will be interviewing senior administrators at the school soon, presumably including Day, who is leaving for a new job in Washington, DC, as this story goes to press. Both say the trustees only learned about the audit’s conclusions this month, although it was completed last summer.

"The way it’s always been presented to me is the foundation is supposed to give the district money in order for the district to fulfill its function of educating students," Ramos told us, "not vice versa."

The District Attorney’s Office will neither confirm nor deny the existence of such probes, but its investigation has been confirmed by sources and reported in both the San Francisco Chronicle and the Guardian (see "Day’s Dilemma," 8/8/07).

Day characterized the earlier diversions from the 2005 bond campaign as a simple misunderstanding when they were publicized last year. His administration wasn’t trying to do anything illegal, he wrote in a public statement at the time, and a resulting internal investigation called for by City College’s board of trustees seemed to confirm his claim.

"The 2005 campaign was compressed into little more than three months, and as a result of this rush, we made some mistakes," Day wrote in response to the report when it was released in January. "As the chancellor and CEO of this college, I take responsibility for these missteps."

But despite the breadth of the internal investigation, which filled 232 pages and detailed the history of the hastily organized 2005 bond election, its scope never reached the foundation’s political activities.

Now it appears that after the Chronicle published stories last April exposing the misdirected funds from 2005, the foundation’s board of directors asked for a special audit to ensure that all its financial transactions between 2005 and 2007 were free from any association with public funds the board wasn’t aware of.

The foundation at that time hired a lawyer, Peter Bagatelos, who told the Guardian that the board didn’t know $38,670 was transferred to the foundation’s bank account on the day of the November 2006 statewide election, when voters were asked for $10.4 billion in bond money to support California’s public schools.

"It was never done with their consent or knowledge or participation," Bagatelos said.

During the same two-year period covered by the audit, the foundation made cash donations to other political action committees (PACs) totaling $110,000, including $75,000 that went toward City College’s $246.3 million local bond election in 2005.

Those transactions appear to be legal because the foundation is a 501(c)3 nonprofit that technically operates separately from the school and can promote political causes that benefit community colleges within certain parameters, according to a coalition lobbyist. Each of those contributions were approved and properly documented by the foundation’s board, unlike the transactions from early November 2006.

Goldstein also said that the foundation’s board was not happy about the discovery and that the directors returned the money last April, just as the Chronicle‘s stories were breaking. He said the remaining $10,000 was legally acquired from yet another nonprofit controlled by the college and through a private vendor, but the foundation’s board elected to return that money as well on the advice of legal counsel "to avoid any appearance of impropriety."

"Any funds that the college is entitled to cannot and should not be transferred to the foundation," Goldstein told us. "The particular item that you’re asking about was absolutely a mistake. It should not have been transferred. It was found internally, corrected, and the funds were distributed to a variety of student organizations."

The Community College Facility Coalition, which received the $35,000 donation, was formed by a small group of school presidents in the spring of 1993 and today includes 52 districts across California. Its "issues committee" was created expressly for financing statewide bond campaigns.

The political action committee’s state election filings show that the foundation’s contribution was actually made on the same day City College transferred the $38,670 to the foundation’s bank account, rather than a day earlier as the audit states.

City College has aggressively sought such state money — nearly $200 million since 1998 — to match funds raised through local bonds from San Francisco taxpayers to help with its ongoing capital projects like a new gymnasium, a performing arts center, and campuses in the Mission and Chinatown.

The $35,000 contribution was among the largest made to the coalition’s PAC leading up to the election, and Paul Holmes, a lobbyist for the coalition, said only 10 to 12 schools use their foundations to support ballot measures each year. Rarely does it receive a donation of more than $20,000, he said. Holmes added that many colleges use their supporters for donations.

Judy Iannaccone, a spokesperson for the Rancho Santiago Community College District in Orange County, which helped raise $13,600 for the 2006 election, said they did so by forwarding the names of potential donors to the coalition, which allowed the school to remain impartial.

"The money was absolutely not from the general fund," Iannaccone told us.

Colleges and universities commonly form nonprofit foundations to raise money on their behalf from alumni and other supporters, like the behemoth $1.1 billion endowment of the UCSF Foundation, which encourages and administers private giving to the medical school and health-related research of the University of California-San Francisco.

City College’s foundation is considerably smaller. It had $22 million in net assets at the end of the 2007 fiscal year, according to district documents, and describes itself in an audit as a discrete component of the school. The foundation gives out hundreds of relatively small scholarships to students every year, some worth up to $3,000, but most for smaller amounts of between $250 and $500.

The foundation also maintains a separate board of directors that, like many higher-education foundations, contains top officials from the school itself, like Chancellor Day and Vice Chancellor Goldstein.

Most of the foundation’s other directors, however, are simply civic leaders who support City College’s mission but don’t work for the district and aren’t affiliated directly with Day’s administration.

The two entities are still close enough that the district handles bookkeeping for the foundation and shares its employees. For instance, the audit shows that the foundation’s finances — including its political contributions — were often prepared by City College’s chief administrative services officer, the title carried by Stephen Herman, who was implicated in the first round of illegal diversions made public last year.

"People literally thought that the college was obligated to make a contribution to this statewide campaign and that meant funds that would otherwise be under the college’s control could be eligible for a donation," Vice Chancellor Goldstein told us. "But, of course, that’s incorrect."

Newsom to clubs: Curb it!

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Bad partiers! Go to your room!

Today our former pAArtying mayor (bitter?), himself a nightlife magnate, proposed some rather sketchy “Nightlife Reform Legislation” aimed at, he says, curbing all the violence going on in the vicinity of clubs. Because nightclubs are really the ground zero of violence in this city, of course.

outsidea.jpg
The only violence we see here is the muffin top on the right.

The proposed legislation will now go to the Board of Supervisors for approval, was co-sponsored by Supervisor Sophie Maxwell (in whose district a recent shooting at Jelly’s occurred), and was announced this afternoon by Newsom alongside Police Chief Heather Fong, members of the Entertainment Commission and local nightclub owners and promoters. We’re all for stopping the violence, but we’re also all for being able to throw a party free of governmental intrusion — hey, we’re nightlife libertarians! — and price tags in the thousands, both of which may be incurred by the below. Send an email to your supervisor now in protest — this legislation could wipe out a ton of independently produced parties, folks.

****It will be illegal, between the hours of 9pm-3am, to loiter within 10 feet of any nightclub (no word yet on bars). People waiting for the bus are excluded. What about people waiting for taxis? Or talking on the phone? And better drag on those smokes pretty quick! And hey, bangers, you’ll just have to shoot each other in the parking lot across the street, k? Update: according to SF Gate, people waiting for taxis and smoking will also be exempted

****Promoters will be held directly responsible for any incidents that happen at nightclubs they’re throwing parties at (Is that why local nightclub owners are excited about it?)

****The legislation proposes that ALL promoters who throw more than two parties a year obtain permits (wonder how much those will cost — and if the “promoters” in on the talks were high rollers looking for an easy way to quash competition?)

****All afterhours nightclubs will have to create “security plans” to be approved by the Executive Director of the Entertainment Commission (again, no word on what the cost will be).

We’ll clear up some of the details above and follow the story here. Full proposed legislation press release after the jump.

Feels like the first time

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› a&eletters@sfbg.com

At first listen, I thought Oakland’s Long Thaw approached their straight-up hard rock with ironic jokiness. After all, this clever bunch sport names like Chile Valentine (né Benjamin Prewitt), Diego Snake (a.k.a. Dan Brubaker), and Mr. Forever (born André Zivkovich). Their humor meter defaults to squirm-inducing sexual innuendos, and as Snake puts it, they believe there are "enough hair farmers out there that like to just sit down with a beer and listen to some dude rock."

Well, the joke’s on me, and I thought wrong: file Long Thaw’s heavy sound somewhere between the Melvins and Triclops! and never doubt the band would treat music with sardonic carelessness.

Back in December, when I first saw the combo play, I didn’t expect much, except that I might get bored, and if so, I could kill time in the Stork Club back room by pouring $10 into a pinball machine. My low expectations paid off: not only was I not bored; I was fully entertained by Long Thaw’s classic twin-guitar attack and speedy riff trading, heavy bottom-end drum fills, and soaring, operatic vocals. As much as its members have absorbed the ideas of proto- and post-punk, the band’s economy and aggression compositionally refer more directly to 1980s hardcore and ’90s alternative rock.

Long Thaw formed at the intersection of two Bay Area bands: Boyjazz and Stay Gold Pony Boy. Eager to try his hand at writing and playing his own songs, guitarist Forever got his chance when, he says, "literally within a month I got dumped and I bailed out of Boyjazz." Snake brought some riffs to Forever’s attention, and they clicked enough for the two to start a new project, joined by friends and colleagues DeSoto Vice (Szymon Sipowski) on bass and Savannah Black (Jenya Chernoff) on drums. After a year of auditioning vocalists, Long Thaw found Chile Valentine and came out of its ice age.

Being a classically trained vocalist, Valentine can pitch it high and sustain the notes: he’s turned out to be the icing on the group’s hard-rock cake. In just one year, during which his voice flipped between sounding too over the top and too reined in, Valentine went from singing at karaoke bars to warbling on local stages. "Overall," Forever says, sitting down with the rest of the band at Soundwave Studios, "if [Valentine] weren’t singing, we wouldn’t get the Iron Maiden and Dio comparisons." Sure, Valentine’s amusingly metalesque voice hooks you, but the band’s rhythmic clip and dueling riffs, as well as catchy choruses and bridges, keep you around.

Judge for yourself on the new self-released EP Feels Natural, and notice how well the band fits into the current pop cycle, in which hard rock is undergoing its seeming once-a-decade revival in the form of Queens of the Stone Age and spin-off Eagles of Death Metal. Here in the Bay, Long Thaw’s music seems surprisingly fresh, especially as a muscular counterpoint to the foppish twee-ness of a certain segment of the indie underground. If you came of age during the late ’80s and early ’90s, and the sounds burned in your brain are those of Dinosaur Jr., Soundgarden, Mudhoney, and Jesus Lizard, you’ll enjoy Long Thaw’s old-school rock ‘n’ roll, played anew.

LONG THAW

March 2, 4 p.m., call for price

Stork Club

2330 Telegraph, Oakl.

(510) 444-6174

www.storkcluboakland.com

SCENE: Fresh Taps

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The year in drinking was tough on our collective livers but tremendous for our taste buds. More new drinking venues opened or reopened this year than we can track, so we’re studying the larger trends below and listing most of our favorites. (Camper English; www.alcademics.com)

Make mine wine


Soon, it seems, there’ll be as many wine bars in San Francisco as coffee shops. Most new wine bars are not bars at all, though — they’re either retail outlets with tasting bars inside or small-plates restaurants by another name.
District (216 Townsend, SF; www.districtsf.com), however, is a wine bar that really feels like a bar. Its high ceilings keep you from feeling penned in, despite the large downtown crowd inside. Other new wine bars of note: South Food and Wine Bar (330 Townsend, SF; www.southfwb.com) specializes in Australian and New Zealand wines; Bin 38 (3232 Scott, SF; www.bin38.com) focuses on New World wines and has an interesting beer selection; Terroir Natural Wine Merchant (1116 Folsom, SF; www.terroirsf.com) features biodynamic wines; and the Wine Bar (2032 Polk, SF; 415-931-4307) plays sports on big-screen TVs.

Happy ever after hours


Clubs and later-hour venues are opening earlier for increased happy hour drink sales — in effect becoming cocktail bars with club crowds. The result is more bars open more of the time, which is more of what we like.

The Ambassador (673 Geary, SF; www.ambassador415.com) is gorgeous and crowded — there’s a bouncer and a line to get in at night — but after work it’s a fine place to chill with friends. Jumbo club Temple (540 Howard, SF; www.templesf.com) lets you pork out on the dance floor; its restaurant, Prana, is open for dinner and drinks early in the evening. Swanky Vessel (85 Campton Place, SF; www.vesselsf.com) caters to people charging drinks to the corporate account. Matador (10 Sixth St., SF; 415-863-462) is the cleaner but still dark reincarnation of Arrow Bar. Harlot (46 Minna, SF; www.harlotsf.com) serves food from Salt House next door and has a naughty bordello theme, whereas Etiquette (1108 Market, SF; www.etiquettelounge.com) just serves cocktails and has a naughty Victorian theme.

Tipple with garnish


Some of the best drinking can be had at eateries — think of all of those kitchen-coddled fresh fruits and vegetables begging to be muddled into delicious drinks.

Jardinière’s J Lounge (300 Grove, SF; www.jardiniere.com), has capitalized on its presymphony crowd’s thirst with a neat drink program. Similarly, the downstairs lounge at Bacar (448 Brannan, SF; www.bacarsf.com) now pours cocktails and hosts live music on weekends. The Presidio Social Club (563 Ruger, SF; www.presidiosocialclub.com) serves a short list of tasty drinks from a very long bar. “Drink kitchen” Bar Johnny (2209 Polk, SF; www.barjohnny.com) is a restaurant serving well-made drinks under false pretenses. Enrico’s (504 Broadway, SF; www.enricossf.com) has reopened and now features live music acts and cutting-edge cocktails. Palmetto (2032 Union, SF; www.palmetto-sf.com) is receiving raves for its drink menu, as is Grand Pu Bah (88 Division, SF; www.grandpubahrestaurant.com), which can be a bit tricky to find but is well worth seeking out. Ducca (50 Third St., SF; www.duccasf.com), in the Westin St. Francis Hotel, has a large lounge and an outdoor fire pit.

High, not dry


Most venues that serve high-end cocktails also focus on other things — food in restaurants, say, or entertainment programming in nightclubs. Last year a small batch of fab cocktail-only bars sprung up around the city, and the word on the street is that in 2008 we’ll see more cocktail bars with fewer distractions.

Cantina (580 Sutter, SF; www.cantinasf.com) serves updated versions of Latin cocktails like Pisco Sours, margaritas, and caipirinhas — the best part is that they’re available by the pitcher. Usually the place has a heavy service industry presence, which means the relaxed crowd isn’t shoving up against the bar, desperately waving cash and cleavage. The Sir Francis Drake Hotel added a second bar this year: the tiny Bar Drake (450 Powell, SF; www.bardrake.com) in the lobby, with a cocktail menu created by the same person who did the list upstairs at the Starlight Room. In Oakland, art deco–themed Flora (1900 Telegraph, Oakl.; 510-286-0100) is getting so much attention for its 20-seat bar and its cocktail program — created by the bar manager of the Slanted Door — that we were surprised to learn it’s actually a restaurant.

We’re here, we’re beer …


For a while most beer-and-wine-only bars were selling soju and sake cocktails in an attempt to stay trendy. Now we’re seeing more beer-focused venues that build the concept around the brew, not the food.
Gestalt Haus (3159 16th St., SF; 415-560-0137) opened in the old Café la Onda space, moved the bar to the back, and put in a double-decker bike rack that lures fixie-riding Mission hipsters like a free Journey concert. The bar serves both meat and veggie sausages and offers its beer in giant liter mugs. Wunder Brewing Co. (1326 Ninth Ave., SF; www.wunderbeer.com) is a new brewpub that serves homemade beers in the former Eldo’s space in the Inner Sunset. La Trappe (800 Greenwich, SF; www.latrappesf.com) in North Beach is a restaurant with a Belgian beer focus, and the Trappist (460 Eighth St., Oakl.; www.thetrappist.com) is an East Bay spot with a similar concentration. Nickies (466 Haight, SF; www.nickies.com) has reopened with a polished look and a large beer selection, though it could go almost anywhere on this list, thanks to its food and nightlife programming.

Endangered species


It seems the least popular type of drinking establishment to open this year is the thing we used to know as a bar, which doesn’t serve food (or whose food only serves to keep you drinking) or have a dance floor, cocktail waitress, or bottle service reservation in sight — but there still exists that magic time called happy hour.

In this new topsy-turvy world a lack of luxurious amenities can be a selling point, as at 83 Proof (83 First St., SF; www.83proof.com), where the only there there is a whole bunch of early-to-mid-twentysomething people packing in after work to consume fair-priced drinks. Revolutionary! Broken Record (1166 Geneva, SF; 415-963-1713) is an Excelsior dive that lures in customers with drink tickets for free Pabst. No-frills Castro gay bar the Metro (2124 Market, SF; 415-703-9750) has moved into the former Expansion Bar space, while the old Metro space is now the no-frills Lookout (3600 16th St., SF; 415-703-9750). And Bender’s (806 S. Van Ness, SF; www.bendersbar.com) — which sounds like it could be a gay bar, but isn’t — has reopened after a long hiatus due to massive flaming (in a fire).

>>Back to winter Scene 2007

Noise Pop: Heavy petting

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SFBG The song "Xavier Says," off the Magnetic Fields’ latest album, Distortion (Nonesuch), seems to describe a relationship between two not-terribly-happy and at least somewhat fucked-up people. I know you hate these questions, but is this based at all on personal experience?

STEPHIN MERRITT It’s certainly based on personal experience in that I spend a lot of time sitting around writing in sleazy gay bars with a lot of old men because that’s where they play the thumping, boring disco music that I find is best to write to. And so I hear this kind of conversation.

SFBG On the surface, "Nun’s Litany" seems to be about a nun thinking back on her life. Is there a deeper meaning or perhaps a social criticism to the song?

SM Someone pointed out that it could be the same protagonist as in "California Girls" — in fact, maybe the protagonist in "California Girls" is already a nun. I am not intending any social criticism in music. I think social criticism is best done in prose. If you want to do social criticism in rhyme, then you can’t be very serious — neither about the rhyme or the social criticism.

SFBG In a somewhat recent interview, you said that "serious music isn’t listened to in a casual setting." Now you seem to be playing more formal concert halls around the country instead of smaller venues or art galleries. Is this because of your growing fan base or because you prefer playing concert halls?

SM Well, we have more people who want to get in, so we can’t play in galleries. With our growing fan base, where we would be playing is not arenas but large, big, clunky venues. We’re keeping it down because of my hearing problem.

SFBG Are there any particular noises in a live music environment that bother your ear?

SM Well, that’s a leading question. Why, yes: applause. Applause is seemingly perfectly tuned to send my ear into lawn-mower mode.

SFBG Does feedback or distortion bother your ear?

SM Not as much — it seems to be pure tones. Actually, what bothers me most is high white noise. [Irving, Merritt’s Chihuahua, named after Irving Berlin, starts barking for the third time during the interview]

[Thirty seconds later] There, I killed the dog. [Laughter] n

THE MAGNETIC FIELDS

With Interstellar Radio Company

Feb. 28–29, 8 p.m., sold out

Herbst Theatre

War Memorial Veterans Bldg.

401 Van Ness, SF

www.ticketmaster.com

>>Back to Noise Pop page

“Lautrec in Leather: Chuck Arnett and the San Francisco Scene”

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REVIEW The clean-cut man in the portrait looks straight ahead with knowing eyes, his leather jacket open — an invitation, perhaps? — revealing a muscular torso and chest, on which is tattooed a purple butterfly. The painting’s mix of leather and a little lace sums up much of the art and life of Chuck Arnett, a habitué and documenter of the leather bar scene during gay liberation’s golden age in the 1960s through the late ’70s.

The majority of Arnett’s work was inspired by and made for the bars and back rooms he frequented. Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll are unapologetically front and center, a potent mix reflected in styles that veer wildly from rough sketches of men fucking in bathhouses to carefully executed psychedelic oils. The surviving fragments and photos of Arnett’s large-scale painted murals for the original Stud, the Tool Box, and the Detour — and related ephemera like patchwork wall hangings of tanned scraps instructing "Eat It!" — not only tell the story of Arnett’s transformation from Southern ballet sissy to acid-dropping public-sex advocate but also illustrate the radical changes the gay community underwent between The Wild One (1953), Stonewall, and Harvey Milk’s murder.

Arnett’s national coming-out as a painter arrived when Life included a photograph of his Tool Box mural in its landmark 1964 spread "Homosexuality in America": the bar’s leather-clad denizens mirrored Arnett’s black-and-white swathe of butch fauna. Five years later Arnett would quote himself in a massive Day-Glo mural for the Stud — sadly, reproduced in photo only: a panorama in which Marlon Brando clones warp into a cosmic chessboard dominated by an American Indian and a Sahasrara chakra. In a corner of the piece one surviving component is an appropriately phallic biker, whose badge says what could have served as Arnett’s maxim: "Freak Freely."

LAUTREC IN LEATHER: CHUCK ARNETT AND THE SAN FRANCISCO SCENE Through April 26. Tues.–Sat., 1–5 p.m. GLBT Historical Society, 657 Mission, no. 300, SF. (415) 777-5455, www.glbthistory.org

Bang! Comedian John Witherspoon comes to Oakland

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By Erik Morse

Few comedians can leave me in complete stitches the way John Witherspoon can. He is quite simply a legend of the giggle, the guffaw, and the frustrated wince.

Although he’s best known as the grouchy father Mr. Jones in Ice Cube’s Friday trilogy and as Pops on the WB comedy series, The Wayans Brothers, Witherspoon has had a long and eclectic career since his earliest days as a fashion model in Detroit.

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He’s also blessed with the dulcet tones of Johnny Mathis if you can ever convince him to hum a few bars. Now the bow-tied curmudgeon is coming to the Bay Area for a four-night showcase to spread a bit more of his charm. The Guardian caught him on the phone just as he was packing up for his trip to the East Bay.

SFBG: So did you follow the election at all on Tuesday?

John Witherspoon: Yeah, my wife is an avid Obama fan. I voted but I never tell her who I voted for or she’d go crazy. I tell her it’s the only thing I got that I don’t have to give anyone. It’s my vote.


Friday: Classic ‘Spoon.

Namu

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› paulr@sfbg.com

Of the city’s many village centers, I have always had a special fondness for the Inner Richmond enclave along Balboa, from Arguello to Eighth Avenue or so. Here you find Russian bakeries nestled across the street from sushi bars, with a Korean barbecue at one corner, a Chinese joint at the next, and a chic Cal-Med spot a few steps beyond the traffic light. Add a butcher shop, a nursery school, and a cleaners, and you have a self-sustaining little world. It’s like a less-trafficked Clement Street.

The backwater charm has persisted for years, despite the occasional incursions of upscaleness: Katia’s Russian Tea room, with its immaculately starched tablecloths, and, of more recent vintage, the Richmond, which opened a few years ago in the old Jakarta space. The latest spit-and-polish entrant, Namu, isn’t as conspicuous as either of those two restaurants; it opened about a year ago in a midblock storefront, and you could easily walk right by it if you weren’t paying attention.

At least you could in the middle of the day. By night, Namu attracts the young the way a lantern attracts moths on a summer evening; they gather in clusters on either side of the door and along the curb, dressed in night shades of blue, gray, and black, talking on cell phones while waiting for a table to open up or the rest of their party to appear. If you were rushing along the sidewalk, you could probably pick your way past without too much fancy footwork, but you’d notice the crowd, certainly, and wonder what was up.

Part of what is up is certainly chef Dennis Lee’s cooking. (Lee owns the place with his brothers, David and Daniel.) Although Namu’s menu includes elements of both Japanese and fusion cooking, its most striking quality is its elegant recasting of Korean themes. It’s not quite a Korean bistro, but it’s more than a step in that direction and away from the traditional Korean barbecue, an honorable example of which stands at the corner.

Namu does offer that well-known Korean staple, kimchee (cabbage pickled with garlic and red chiles), and it’s just about indistinguishable from the corner barbecue’s: both offer excellent, sour fire. But at Namu the kimchee is served as part of a banchan plate (the first is complimentary, after that $4), in the company of, say, surprisingly rich sautéed chives and coils of pickled carrot, all presented on a museum-of-modern-art dish that looks like a flattened candelabra. There is a sense of stylish balance in both presentation and flavor that announces the kitchen’s sophistication.

You could satisfy yourself entirely with Japanese items, if you were so inclined, and you might even be able to convince yourself that you were at a sushi bar. Although there’s no sushi on the menu, the restaurant’s look is agleam with dark minimalism, including the unframed urban-industrial photographs hung on the walls as if at a hip gallery. Anyway, tataki — lightly seared tabs of fish — is almost like sushi, and Namu’s version ($10), with albacore tuna, is cleverly enhanced by a drizzle of Thai chili ponzu. Seaweed salad is also a sushi bar standard; here it’s called ocean salad ($8) and is made from a jumble of red, green, and wakame seaweed and looks like leftover Christmas wrapping. Nice touches: halved cherry tomatoes beneath the seaweed, and ume vinaigrette (ume is a pickled Asian plum) to give the salad fruitiness that isn’t quite sweet.

Pan-seared dumplings (a.k.a. pot stickers) are a commonplace throughout east Asia. Here ($9) they’re filled with slivered shiitake mushrooms and served in a shallow bowl with yet more shiitake slivers and a dashi broth reduced to dark intensity. (Dashi is one of the basics of Japanese cooking and is a stock made from kelp and dried skipjack.) Fresh rolls are also an east Asian commonplace, but Namu’s version ($6) feature a cross-cultural twist: chunks of grilled skirt steak, for a hint of the American southwest and, simultaneously, Korea. Just as unexpected is the mung bean cake ($6), and if you shy away from mung beans as the principal ingredient of indifferent desserts, you’ll be surprised here by the resemblance to crispy polenta triangles, suitable for dipping in ponzu sauce. And there is an explicitly Italian touch to the buckwheat noodles ($9.50); they’re tossed with shiitake mushrooms but also pesto (from Thai basil!), pine nuts, and garlic before getting a good sprinkling of grated Parmesan cheese.

We didn’t particularly respond to the broccolini ($7), which wasn’t bad but wasn’t special despite embellishments of yuzu ponzu and fried garlic. It seemed too much like ordinary steamed broccoli. But we did respond to the prawns ($9), which had been glazed with den jang (a Korean fermented bean paste similar to miso) and grilled in pairs on skewers.

Too much culinary globe-trotting? The hamburger ($9), then, is restful in a juicy, tasty, villagy way, with a first-rate bun and good fries that would be just a bit better if more svelte, more in the frites line. Of course, even B+ fries tend to get gobbled up, even by those who mean to save some room for dessert. Namu’s desserts are well above the ordinary: a chocolate brioche bread pudding ($7) for instance, napped with raspberry sauce (is any dish with brioche disappointing? I say no), and a puddinglike crème brûlée ($7) lifted from the mundane by little butter cookies flavored with our friend ume, the distinctive Japanese preserved plum last observed in the seaweed salad vinaigrette. Some plums certainly get around.

NAMU

Brunch: Sat.–Sun., 10 a.m.–3 p.m.

Lunch: Tues.–Fri., 11:30 a.m.–3 p.m.

Dinner: nightly, 5:30–10:30 p.m.

489 Balboa, SF

(415) 386-8332

www.namubar.com

Beer, wine, sake

AE/MC/V

Noisy if crowded

Wheelchair accessible

Chancellor Bling-Bling

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› gwschulz@sfbg.com

Outgoing City College of San Francisco chancellor Phil Day presided over major institutional changes during his decade-long tenure, although he leaves under a cloud of financial scandals involving the misuse of public funds. Now a Guardian review of public records shows the decision to reward Day handsomely and neglect recommended internal auditing controls set the scene for the problems to come.

Day’s high-end compensation and accompanying expense account allowed him to live well. His total compensation last year eclipsed that of the heads of 18 other two-year colleges across California surveyed by The Chronicle of Higher Education, which included community colleges for the first time in its 2007 analysis.

Day’s earnings totaled $403,441 for the fiscal year ending in 2007 and included $25,448 in retirement pay plus $31,975 in deferred compensation. He received $12,000 to cover housing expenses — one of only two chancellors who were awarded the benefit — and the state paid $7,200 more for a car.

No one else surveyed from California came close. The runner-up, at Rancho Santiago Community College, made $80,000 less than Day and received nothing for a home or a car. Chui L. Tsang, head of a two-year college in Santa Monica, where the median home value is higher than in San Francisco, received about $30,000 toward housing and automobile expenses but earned a whopping $140,000 less than Day in total compensation.

Darroch Young, former chancellor of the community college district in Los Angeles, which has more students than any other in the country, earned almost $100,000 less than Day, who first joined City College in 1998. Day even made more money than the chancellors at six University of California campuses, including San Diego, Irvine, Davis, and Santa Cruz.

"Raw politics" was how trustee Julio Ramos described it to the Guardian. "The chancellor has had the majority on the Board of Trustees at City College," Ramos said. "Like with any majority, he can dictate the terms of his compensation package."

Trustee Milton Marks, who along with Ramos represents a frequently critical minority on the school’s independently elected board, added that the terms of Day’s contract were crafted before Marks and others ran for open seats on a reform slate.

As long as the board extended Day’s contract each year, it was difficult to slow his salary increases without convincing a majority to start from scratch and reevaluate his performance to determine if his compensation was reasonable. But it’s too late for that now. Day is leaving the school March 1 for a new job on the East Coast, but Marks wants the next chancellor to receive increases "that are not so rigidly tied to a formula."

Day’s compensation is a small fraction of the school’s $375 million budget. But it reflects the district’s priorities, and a recently unveiled 232-page internal probe of campaign law violations at the college stemming from a 2005 bond election offers a telling look at how the school has been operated under Day’s leadership.

To conduct the investigation, the school hired Steven Churchwell of the multinational law firm DLA Piper, the same group that examined steroids in major-league baseball for former senator George Mitchell. One of first things Churchwell did when he arrived at the school was to search for City College’s internal auditor. He soon discovered, however, that the college doesn’t have an internal auditor or an audit committee.

"It’s very common to have an internal auditor at an entity of this size," Churchwell told the school at a Jan. 24 meeting.

Outside auditors inspect the school’s books annually as required by law to make sure it’s following the rules of basic money management, a limited review compared to what an internal auditor, working full-time for the district, might check.

The Guardian reviewed the school’s annual outside audits going back several years and discovered that each of the reports between 1998 and 2003 advised the school to hire someone to do the job year-round internally.

"Regular internal audits enable timely detection of accounting inconsistencies and deviations from established policies and procedures," the reports state year after year. But each year the inspectors found anew that their recommendations were "not implemented."

Regarding the headline-grabbing mess that began when two school bureaucrats in separate instances illegally diverted public funds to a campaign committee, Churchwell said its causes were mistakes due more to ignorance than knowing attempts to break the law.

"It’s almost like lightning striking twice," Churchwell told the school.

But now it appears the storm might have been averted if Day and others in his administration had listened to the school’s outside auditors 10 years ago. Churchwell concluded that an internal auditor might have immediately caught election law violations but without one "no one person has a firm grasp on all the accounts that are open, what they are used for, or who can deposit checks into them," leading to a "glaring lack of oversight of the college’s involvement in fundraising from college contractors."

Day didn’t respond to requests for comment, nor did trustees Lawrence Wong or Anita Grier. But vice chancellor Peter Goldstein argued that the school would set the agenda for an internal auditor, so such a person might focus on how the district reports student attendance or manages financial aid, not necessarily on accounts receivable.

"My response would be that this is a very large and complicated institution from several different perspectives, including the financial one," Goldstein told the Guardian. "While no single person may have a complete understanding of every single account, I believe that we have enough professional staff at the right level with the right background over all the accounts."

It could be that like many bureaucrats, Day is threatened by the possibility of an efficiency expert roaming the school’s halls and compromising the administration’s control over its bank accounts. But Day complained at the Jan. 24 meeting that City College just didn’t have the resources to hire an internal auditor, even though auditors often find enough ways to reduce wasteful spending that they cover their own expense and much more.

Not to mention that if Day had earned as much in compensation as his equivalent in Los Angeles, City College would have had about $100,000 left over for an internal auditor. A district report from 2000 even concluded that an internal auditor at that time would have cost about $105,000.

Two vice chancellors implicated in the election law violations, James Blomquist and Stephen Herman, earned about $200,000 and $170,000 respectively during the 2007 calendar year, compensation figures obtained by the Guardian through a records request.

Blomquist worked as a regular consultant to the school before earning $175,000 his first full year as a City College administrator in 2005. His firm, Blomquist Consultancy, made $401,074 from the college between April 2002 and May 2004, records show.

As for Day, his largest pay increase came after the 2005 bond election, when he was given an 18 percent raise for the 2006 calendar year. He received a 17 percent raise during the year of the 2001 bond election, when the school asked voters for $195 million.

The Chronicle of Higher Ed points out that compensation for community college presidents lags behind what the heads of four-year institutions tend to earn, despite their growing responsibilities, like courting major donors and lobbying legislators. The extreme exception, however, is Day, who last year ranked third nationally in earnings among 68 other community college heads.

"Do I feel guilty at all about being one of the highest-paid college presidents in the country?" Day asked the education rag’s surveyors in November 2007. "Absolutely not."

His supporters argue that Day has attracted millions of new dollars from Sacramento to the district, and along with the school’s trustees, he helped promote a February ballot initiative designed to ensure that a greater portion of the state’s General Fund go toward community colleges. The current formula used by the state for financing two-year schools hinges on how much money is set aside for California’s K–12 system.

Day also took over a school with crumbling buildings, some constructed in the early 20th century. When Day inherited the more than 90-year-old John Adams Campus in the Haight, its bricks were "falling off the side of the building," he said in a glossy 12-page advertorial the college ran in the San Francisco Chronicle on Dec. 19, 2007.

The school floated two bond measures totaling about $458 million in 2001 and 2005 to complete projects citywide, but the latter was badly rushed. Poor planning and rising construction costs have forced the school to cancel projects promised to voters.

Diana Muñoz-Villanueva, a student representative on the Board of Trustees, said she lives on about $600 per month, "so I know there are ways to survive on less" than what the chancellor makes. But based on his duties, she said, "I think it’s fair. I hope to make that much money someday."

Day could nonetheless be taking a substantial pay cut for his new job in Washington DC, at the National Association of Student Financial Aid Administrators. According to its tax forms, the organization’s last president, Dallas Martin, who led the nonprofit for more than 30 years, earned about $250,000 during 2006 in pay and benefits.


—————————–

DAY FLIPS FROM THE FRYING PAN TO THE FIRE

Chancellor Phil Day’s departure from City College of San Francisco is not an indication that he’s easing into retirement. Instead, he’s crossing the country to join a controversy potentially hotter than anything he faced in politically rancorous San Francisco.

Day announced at the end of 2007 that he will be leaving the college in early March to accept the top job at the National Association of Student Financial Aid Administrators, one of the nation’s most powerful lobbying groups on issues related to higher education.

But the Washington DC nonprofit has spent the past year mired in a nationwide scandal over how student loan administrators at individual colleges promote certain bank lenders to students in exchange for kickbacks.

Six student loan administrators were fired or resigned and dozens of schools ceased entering into revenue-sharing agreements with lenders following an extensive investigation by New York attorney general Andrew Cuomo.

Several schools agreed to reimburse borrowers — i.e., college students — millions of dollars as part of a series of settlements with Cuomo’s office, which is still investigating how major lenders market their products to needy students.

The organization Day is poised to take over has been suffering embarrassing waves of unwanted attention as a result. Officials from Cuomo’s office physically monitored the group’s annual convention last July to ensure that corporate sponsors from banking institutions didn’t ply student loan administrators with lobster dinners, iPods, DVD players, nighttime parties, or trips to vacation resorts, all types of incentives offered to attendees in the past.

In other cases, school employees in charge of handling student loans simultaneously held thousands of shares of stock in lending companies, earned tens of thousands of dollars in consulting fees from them, and served on their advisory boards.

The Chronicle of Higher Education has followed the investigations closely and quoted a lobbyist in mid-January describing the NASFAA as "radioactive" on Capitol Hill due to the widening tumult. A congressional inquiry led by Sen. Ted Kennedy (D-Mass.) revealed last September that a University of Southern California official accepted Rose Bowl tickets from Citibank, a major national player in student lending.

Aid officials at the University of Texas "were treated to ice cream, lasagna, barbecue, candy bars, popcorn, happy hours, birthday cakes, cookies, and other personal benefits," according to the report.

A spokesperson for the NASFAA refused to comment beyond a statement released following Day’s appointment. But Day told the group’s members in a recent e-mail that national headlines regarding the kickbacks "have diminished the significance of our contributions," and he hopes to ease the criticism by holding "listening sessions" around the country.

"We need to develop a public relations/marketing and communications offensive that paints a more complete and compelling picture of the difference we can make in students’ lives," Day wrote.

The scandal erupted around what are known as preferred lenders lists, which colleges and universities distribute to students struggling to navigate the complex world of school loans, where private banks compete aggressively with direct lending offered by the federal government.

Most students rely on their school’s list of preferred lenders to make a decision, so banking institutions do whatever it takes to get their name on those lists (or their logos on school paraphernalia), from showering student-loan bureaucrats with lucrative gifts to exclusively sponsoring athletic departments and alumni associations.

Schools and lenders have promised to abide by a new list of ethics rules, drafted by Cuomo’s office in addition to other settlement terms, to regulate their conduct, and to restore faith in financial aid administrators.

Top o’ the world, ma

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› duncan@sfbg.com

My ex-girlfriend hipped me to TopR, short for Top Ramen, around 2003. We were driving in her car, and she cracked open the newly released Burning the Candle at Both Ends (Earthlings/DWA) and slid it into the dash. I’d like to say it changed my life, but to be honest, I can’t remember it. I do remember that she described TopR as this homeless, couch-surfing rapper who’d slept on her previous boyfriend’s couch. It was classic case of his reputation and lifestyle preceding his music.

Later I met TopR — or Topper Holiday, as he’s ceased using his first name — at 111 Minna Gallery, where I still work a side gig as a doorman. Throughout my years there he’s been a semiregular fixture, posted at the end of the bar, skeezing free drinks. He’s well loved but has this Dennis the Menace air surrounding him, like, "Oh, Topper’s here. Here comes trouble." One night in Minna alley, I remember him — a big, bescruffed white dude in a fitted New Era cap, somewhat rotund and more than a little faded — striking up a conversation with some bland, buttoned-down types, telling them he was a rapper and following up with a drunken freestyle. I came away feeling that it was a little sad, like he was busking in a BART station, trying to impress the squares.

"Fuck being glamorous — I’m cantankerous." So goes the first line on "Frankenstein’s Topster," the opener off his latest, fifth album, Marathon of Shame (Gurp City). It was playing when I walked into Dalva on 16th Street to say hello to my friend Toph One and reintroduce myself to TopR. And quite a reintroduction it was: even before Top starts rapping, the track is a fucking winner, anchored by a sample of Black Sabbath’s "A National Acrobat," the driving guitar riff married to an überfunky drumbeat by producer Dick Nasty.

A good hip-hop album is like a good comedy record: the shit’s got to be so sharp that you want to listen to it more than once, want to scan back on the CD and point out lines to your friends who are riding with you. In Top’s case it’s an apt comparison since he’s influenced by stand-up comedians as much as by other rappers and samples Sam Kinison and Bill Hicks on his previous disc, Cheap Laughs for Dead Comedians (Gurp City, 2006). Marathon is packed with lines that’ll make other rappers wish they’d written them, from favorite one-liners like "Puttin’ squares in their place like Tetris" to heartfelt couplets such as "I don’t want to fit into this banality factory / Where together we can all make profit from tragedy."

It stands to reason that TopR can come up with witty rhymes: he’s been rapping since he was 12. Now 30, he gained his rep as a battle rapper at parties and clubs. "From ’93 until 2000 all I did was battle," he says over a pint at the Richmond District’s 540 Club. "I didn’t record music. I didn’t put out anything. I just made a reputation for myself through battling. If I was putting out albums in ’95, ’96, I might’ve been an actual artist like Living Legends, Atmosphere, and Hieroglyphics. You can only be a battle rapper for so long. After a while there’s not very much creative outlet for it. You can only make fun of someone for so long before you actually want to express your real problems and your real feelings about life. And you do that through writing songs."

In a time when your average radio rap track has more advertisements for sneakers and pricey booze than a copy of GQ, TopR represents a more compelling side of the hip-hop spectrum: the storied tradition of rapper as traveling salesman, hawking CDs "out the trunk," or in his case, out the messenger bag, since, as he says on "Siren Song," "the Muni is my chariot." And while he often calls himself out as lazy in his songs, TopR’s tale is a cross between the 1984 runaway-punk movie Suburbia and the classic Horatio Alger story.

A self-described "troubled kid," TopR left his parents’ home in Santa Cruz at 15, living in squats and hitchhiking to San Francisco to hit open mics and do graffiti. He was arrested for vandalism, went back home, and left again, sleeping on couches if he was lucky and outside if he wasn’t. He attributes his notoriety in the bar scene to necessity: "The fact that I was homeless — I had to be in bars every goddamned night, looking for places to stay. I had nothing better to do."

Slumming, bumming, and battling eventually led to some Greyhound cross-country tours and a devoted following of party kids and misfits, unhappy with the status quo and, like him, struggling to get by. There’s no shortage of the usual hip-hop bravado on Marathon: "I’m a piss artist who spits darkness at bitch targets," TopR raps on "Siren Song," "<0x2009>’cause the music that’s honest is the music that hits hardest." True, but the track isn’t merely empty braggadocio: it’s nothing less than an existentialist crisis with a beat, one rapper’s The Sickness unto Death, asking the eternal questions of the artist and, ultimately, everyone who’s been "up against it."

And while it’s the struggle — and the willingness to cop to it — that makes Marathon so compelling, it seems TopR might finally be on the bus toward Figuring It All Out. On a tour in 2005 he met his fiancée, Kelly-Anne, perhaps the muse of "Siren’s Song," bartending at one of his shows in Asheville, NC. He stayed in the South for more than a year before getting an apartment, with a couch and a bed, in San Francisco’s Sunset District. "I came up as ‘the homeless kid who slept on couches,’<0x2009>" he explains. "But I was good at graffiti young, and I was a good rapper. I got away with a lot of stuff that some punk little kid wouldn’t because people respected me for my talents or whatever. But I’ve mellowed out." Here Top takes a contemplative pull on his pint. "I mean, I’m fuckin’ 30. I’ve got a dog now."

I’m going to do my part to go tell it on the mountain, to put this disc on when we’re cruising down the street, to make sure you hear the hilarious lines and crucial cuts. But on the other hand, one reason why it’s so good is because you ran into him in the bar and bought a disc so he could have beer money. TopR may have reached escape velocity from his day job, but he’s still orbiting the homelessness of his recent past. The line that sums up TopR for me is from "I’m on One" on Cheap Laughs: "It doesn’t take a genius to see that we’re livin’ stressful / The secret to my success is that I’m unsuccessful." It might be better for him if he got the juice to leave orbit altogether and rocket into the outer galaxies of hip-hop superstardom, but would it be better for his music if he weren’t "livin’ stressful?" Living hand to mouth myself, I’m heartened to see someone who keeps grindin’, who tries to live a creative life in the face of SF-size rent, the approaching years, and a music industry that may never give a shit. To quote TopR’s MySpace page, "Even when nothing goes right I still prevail."

TOPR CD RELEASE PARTY

With DJ Quest, Conceit, Delinquent Monastery, Thunderhut Project, Ras One, and DJ Delivery

Fri/1, 9 p.m., $10

12 Galaxies

2565 Mission, SF

(415) 970-9777

www.12galaxies.com

Daily Journal: Trial to start in Bay Guardian’s suit over rival’s ad costs

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SAN FRANCISCO – For the 30th anniversary edition of The San Francisco Bay Guardian, founders Bruce B. Brugmann and Jean Dibble, his wife, posed for a cover shot in front of their home.

Dibble wore an apron and an overall-clad Brugmann held a pitchfork, recreating one of this country’s most famous paintings, Grant Wood’s 1930 “American Gothic.”

The photo was a nod to the couple’s Midwestern roots. Wood’s portrait depicted an Iowa dentist and his sister; Brugmann and Dibble came to San Francisco from Rock Rapids, Iowa, to start the Guardian in 1966.

But it wasn’t a pitchfork that got the unapologetically left-leaning newspaper going. It was a lawsuit.

In 1970, Brugmann sued the San Francisco Newspaper Agency, which operated the San Francisco Chronicle and the San Francisco Examiner under a joint operating agreement. Brugmann’s complaint asserted that the agreement constituted a monopoly.

The case settled for $500,000, and Brugmann used the money to increase the frequency of his publication.

Forty years later, Brugmann is back in court with another anti-competitive lawsuit.

This one, against SF Weekly and its parent chain, New Times Newspapers, asserts that the Weekly sold its advertisements below what it cost to produce them in an effort to push the Guardian out of business. Bay Guardian Co. v. New Times Media, 435585 (S.F. Super. Ct., filed Oct. 19, 2004).

Jury selection is set to begin Thursday in San Francisco County Superior Court, Judge Marla J. Miller’s courtroom.

Brugmann’s suit also claims below-cost ad sales or “predatory pricing” by the East Bay Express, which New Times bought in 2001 but sold last year. New Times merged with and became Village Voice Media in 2006. Its 17 publications make it the largest chain of alternative newsweeklies in the United States.

New Times executives and its attorneys deny that either the East Bay Express or SF Weekly sold ads below cost in an effort to rid the market of the Guardian.

Experts say predatory-pricing cases are interesting because of the inherently economic and somewhat theoretical aspect of the claims. What is cost, and how should it be determined? And, perhaps more important, does the plaintiff need to prove that the defendant would be successful post-predatory pricing?

In California, at least, the latter may be debatable.

SF Weekly launched in 1989. When New Times bought the Weekly in 1995, the Bay Area became one of three places New Times had a direct competitor in the market. In the second and third places, Cleveland and Los Angeles, New Times competed with rival Village Voice Media papers. In 2002, a “market-swap” deal between the chains eliminated head-to-head competition in those cities but caught the attention of the Justice Department. In January 2003, both companies signed a consent decree agreeing to aid competition by selling the rights to their former paper names. Neither admitted wrongdoing.

Brugmann points to that incident as evidence that New Times has a history of eliminating competition, but a pretrial motion from New Times barred any reference to the deal at trial.

The Weekly and the Guardian are both distributed free and depend largely on advertising revenues.

Although generally more politically moderate – and far less likely to take on such constant Brugmann targets as Pacific Gas and Electric Co. – the Weekly closely parallels the Guardian’s other qualities, including ubiquitous advertising for medical-marijuana clubs, “escort” services and bars and restaurants.

San Francisco Kerr & Wagstaffe attorneys H. Sinclair Kerr, James M. Wagstaffe and Ivo Labar represent New Times.

Labar said Brugmann is using the Weekly as a “scapegoat” for his own problems in dealing with new challenges in print media.

Michael Lacey, executive editor of the new Village Voice chain, agreed.

“[A lawsuit] is how Bruce got into the business, and now, in the twilight of his years, it’s how he’s hoping to maintain his business in a really tough media market,” Lacey said.

But Brugmann denies that’s the case.

“Of course that’s their story,” he said. “But from our point of view, the fact that the economy is not good and there are other problems in this business only makes this problem more acute.”

The problem Brugmann refers to began after New Times’ purchase of the Weekly.
According to Brugmann, his advertising staff started coming to him saying they were having problems making sales.

An exhibit in the Guardian’s court documents shows a list of dozens of advertisers, with Guardian employee notations alongside them: “Couldn’t match SFW,” “Great Deal with EBE [East Bay Express],” “Ludicrous deal from SFW,” “SFW giving away free ads,” “Will come back if match SFW,” “Match SFW or we’ll pull ads.”

Brugmann said he tried warning the Weekly about its practice. But when the ad rates didn’t go up, he sued.

“We had to sue them to get an even playing field,” he said.

Brugmann’s complaint asserts that the Weekly is using its parent company’s resources to lose money in San Francisco until the Guardian folds – like a broadsheet.
“This is a situation where a chain has decided that it could take over the market and either run a small family-owned company out of business or at least cripple them so they wouldn’t be an effective competitor,” said Ralph C. Alldredge, a San Francisco attorney who represents the Guardian.

E. Craig Moody and Richard P. Hill of San Francisco’s Moody & Hill also represent the Guardian.

In opposition to the Weekly’s motion for summary judgment (which was denied by San Francisco County Superior Court Judge Richard A. Kramer in October), the Guardian points out that Weekly executives knew their paper could make money in the Bay Area market if they raised their advertising rates.

The Guardian’s papers also cite evidence of wrongful intent. One piece of evidence is that, in a meeting with Weekly staff shortly after New Times bought the paper, Lacey told his employees he wanted the Weekly to be “the only game in town.”

Lacey points out that statement was made well before the period covered by Brugmann’s lawsuit and that he was speaking about editorial content, not advertising.

“I write for a living, and I edit for a living,” he said. “I have nothing to do with advertising. I never have.”

According to Lacey and attorney Labar, the Weekly would be no better off with the Guardian out of the picture.

“That doesn’t change our business profile here,” Lacey said. “I guarantee you, like mushrooms cropping up, there will be publications cropping up. Everybody takes a piece of the same sorts of actions.”

Labar agreed.

“This isn’t a city with two newspapers,” he said. “It’s a city with unlimited means to advertise.”

In papers, the Weekly point to several other newspapers or online advertising outlets that clutter the Bay Area market: a weekly supplement in the San Francisco Chronicle, the Chronicle itself, The Onion and craigslist, among others.

But the Guardian’s papers assert that New Times executives called the Bay Area advertising market a “zero sum game” with the Guardian and kept track of the number of advertising inches purchased by each Bay Guardian customer in a weekly “Guardian Report.”

Experts say predatory-pricing cases face very different odds depending on where they are filed. Attorneys say California superior courts generally are seen as more friendly to plaintiffs.

That’s largely because federal courts have been swayed by decades-old economic theory that is skeptical of the plausibility of predatory-pricing claims, some say.

“[The theory] was highly critical of the idea that predation could ever work,” said Daniel A. Crane, an antitrust professor at the Benjamin N. Cardozo School of Law. “For one, it’s extremely expensive. Then, you not only have to prevail, you have to recoup [recover your losses]. If another firm comes into the market, you don’t get to recoup. It’s almost a suicidal way of doing business.”

Crane, who has written about predatory-pricing cases, said economic theory also has developed in support of predatory-pricing claims. But in his view, the theories often don’t stand up in the real world.

Don T. Hibner, an antitrust attorney with Sheppard, Mullin, Richter & Hampton in Los Angeles, agreed.

“With enough ifs, we could put Paris in a bottle,” Hibner said, paraphrasing a French proverb. “We want to use economic theory to buttress facts and common sense. If we’re going out on a limb and all we have is economic theory, God help us.”

To protect competitors from purely theoretical claims, Hibner said federal courts have adopted tougher standards for plaintiffs in predatory-pricing cases. First, they’ve adopted a method of calcuutf8g cost that takes into account only variable costs.

California uses a method called “fully allocated costs,” which factors in all costs, both fixed and variable. That method generally yields a higher cost, making it easier for a plaintiff to show that any sale was below cost.

Second, federal courts require the plaintiff to prove that the defendant would in fact be able to recover or recoup its losses after the plaintiff was pushed out of the market. California courts have not directly addressed the issue of recoupment, making the recoupment prong debatable, attorneys say.

Cost and recoupment are the “two horns on which you can be hooked” in federal courts, according to Maxwell M. Blecher, of Blecher & Collins in Los Angeles. Blecher most often represents plaintiffs in predatory-pricing cases.

Hibner said the California statutes dealing with sales below cost “seem to mean what they say,” he said.

The primary statute at issue, Business and Professions Code 17043, reads, “It is unlawful for any person engaged in business within this state to sell any article or product at less than the cost thereof to such vendor, or to give away any article or product, for the purpose of injuring competitors or destroying competition.”

Hibner said literal readings of the statute sometimes can shift the protection of antitrust laws from consumers to “inefficient competitors.”

But according to Alldredge, the language makes the Guardian’s case simple.

“All you do is take all of their costs and divide that by the number of inches of advertising space they sold,” he said. “That tells you how much the cost is per inch. Whenever they sell below that cost, under California law, they’ve committed a violation.”
And, he added, under California’s Unfair Practices Act, with even one below-cost sale, a defendant’s negative intent is presumed.

That places the burden on the defense to show that they had another reason for selling below cost.

“Why were we selling below cost on certain advertisements?” Labar asked. “We couldn’t get a higher price.”

Labar said the triable issue of fact is intent.

“They’re trying to say a handful of documents and a couple of statements indicate we were trying to run them out of business,” he said. “We say, ‘No, they indicate we were trying to compete.'”

Copyright 2008 Daily Journal Corp. Reprinted with permission. This file cannot be downloaded from this page. the Daily journal’s definition of reprint and posting permission does not include the downloading, copying by third parties or other any other type of transmission of any posted articles.

Messy Marv at large

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Even the short list of elite Bay Area rappers — say, Too Short, E-40, Keak Da Sneak, and Mistah FAB — must include the Fillmore’s own Marvin Watson Jr., a.k.a. Messy Marv. Since selling 15,000 units of his debut, Messy Situations (Ammo, 1996), at age 16, Mess has consistently earned impressive independent numbers: his solo discs Disobayish (Scalen/Sumday, 2004) and Bandannas, Tattoos, and Tongue Rings (Scalen/SMC, 2005) both sold 20,000, while his collaboration with San Quinn, Explosive Mode (Presidential, 1998), has moved more than 50,000.

Mess began 2007 with Da Bidness (Gateway/SMC), the creation of a supergroup formed with Keak and PSD, which, according to SMC’s Will Bronson, was last year’s best-selling local independent disc, at 19,000 and counting. Mess’s current project, Draped Up and Chipped Out 2 (Scalen/SMC), dropped at the year’s end. By mid-December, Draped was the number one independent and number 13 overall album on the Music Monitor Network, which tracks sales from major United States indie chains.

The soundtrack to an uncompleted film, Draped consists mostly of songs by Mess — spitting alongside national talent like Mike Jones, Juvenile, and Sean Paul — plus tracks from local heavyweights like G-Stack and B-Legit. Despite its various hands, the disc still has an album feel, containing some of Mess’s best work since Bandannas. Highlights include his singles "My Life Is a Movie," which showcases a hook by the late Mac Dre, and "Sei Luv," a rare foray into romantic R&B. With multiple business ventures in the works — including a clothing line and a reality TV show — and perpetual major-label interest, Mess is as likely as any Bay rapper to go nationwide.

Coming from the Fillmore’s projects, however, presents challenges most artists don’t face. When I spoke with Mess, he was fresh out of Santa Rita Jail, where he spent the past year on a weapons charge.

"I was charged with felony possession of a firearm, my second firearm case," he said. "The deal was three years’ state pen, but my legal defense got me a year. Now I’m back out, trying to turn my negative situation into a positive.

"Jail didn’t stagnate anything as far as my label Scalen," continued Mess, who even recorded a Draped intro behind bars. "They had a phone so I could do my business and my time. I have a strong team behind me."

Nonetheless, given California’s three-strikes law, another felony gun charge could land Mess serious prison time. When asked if he’s worried, however, he got a little heated.

"Now you sound like the SF police," he said — the last thing a rap reporter wants to hear. "Are we trying to make people think I don’t care about going to jail?" he asked, citing his displeasure with a May 15, 2007, San Francisco Chronicle article implying his gun toting had ruined his career opportunities.

"I felt real exploited by that article," Mess said. "I said I’d rather be caught with than without, any day. The way the murder rate is, it’s like that. I don’t regret any of it. I’d rather people read about me in jail than read about me dying or being shot."

He has a point. I absolutely hate guns, as do SF voters, who passed Proposition H — banning possession and sale of firearms within city limits — in 2005. But Prop. H was struck down Jan. 9 by the First District Court of Appeal, based on a challenge by the National Rifle Association, for conflicting with state law, and I think it’s hypocritical to condemn rappers for carrying guns in a society that refuses to ban them. Street rappers like Mess have to maintain a presence in the hood to preserve their credibility and fan base. But money and fame make them targets for violent crime.

"We need some kind of protection," insisted Bay legend Spice 1, who was shot in the chest during a Dec. 3, 2007, attempt to break into his Escalade while he slept inside. The bullet pierced his lung, leaving him in critical condition, though he’s now out of danger and recovering.

"Entertainers should get a break, but we can’t even wear [bulletproof] vests," added Spice, who has had six gun charges, including four in California that predate the three-strikes law. "Marv ain’t trying to jack nobody. He’s trying to protect himself."

In any case, despite the risks, Mess has no intention of abandoning his hood. Beyond the usual rapper’s neighborhood pride, he has taken on an active role in attempting to turn negatives into positives. Aside from using his label to employ youths whose criminal records and/or poor education make getting jobs nearly impossible, he’s put out two volumes of Fillmore Nation (Scalen/SMC, 2006) to help young rappers launch their careers. He intends to donate a portion of the profits to two Fillmore community centers.

"When I got my position in the music industry, I didn’t turn my back on the kids," Mess said. "I’m out here with these kids, these criminals, and they look at me as hope because I was the same way. When they look at me, they can say, ‘If Messy Marv can do it, I can do it.’<0x2009>"

All told, I think San Francisco — or at least the Fillmore — is better off with Mess on the street than in a cell.