Beer

The next week and a half in free bike events

Andrew Lam
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“Everything I do for the environment, I do it for my own vanity” remarked a friend of mine while we hoofed it towards a social engagement. I will be the first to tout the glut-shaping powers of the bicycle, but – being as we are still three days away from my payday – I have to tinker with his truism. Everything I do for the environment, I do it for my wallet. That being said, here’s this list of free bike events around the city over the next 10 days.

 

Pedal Across the Americas send-off

Set to coincide with Hayes Valley Farm’s harvest festival, well wishers can stop by today to say bon voyage to the PAA team, who will be following up its last trek from Ontario to San Francisco with a bike ride all the way from SF to Costa Rica. The riders do it all to raise awareness about sustainability initiatives in the Americas. Hop abroad your cruiser to accompany them at 3 p.m. on a ride out to Ocean Beach. 

Sun/16 1-5 p.m., free

Hayes Valley Farm

450 Laguna, SF

www.hayesvalleyfarm.com

 

“How Women Rode on Bike to Freedom”

History has it that back when the Outer Sunset was nothing but dunes and people living in repurposed street cars (Carvillehttp://www.sfbg.com/pixel_vision/2010/05/10/carville-black-rock-city-more-history , don’tchaknow), there was a woman’s cycling club out there in the sand drifts. Their techniques for navigating the terrain has been lost in the tides of history, but documentation of women and bikes throughout history is still there. Sue Macy wrote the book on the 1890s connection between bikes and female radicals. It’s called Wheels of Change, and she’ll be sharing her findings at this reading at the Public Bikes HQ.

Mon/17 6-8 p.m., free

Public Bikes headquarters

123 South Park, SF

www.suemacy.com/books

 

Artcrank

Bike nightlife, bike empowerment, bike fashion – but let’s hear it for bike art, shall we? Fliers for Critical Mass and other group rides have long attracted the skills of talented artist types. Artcrank is a yearly expo of such two-wheeled images. The event began in Minneapolis and has expanded to biking towns across the country: SF, Portland, Des Moines, and St. Louis among other towns. Catch the wonder at 111 Minna, where they’ll be raffling off Chrome bags full of prints. Drinks will be available, because early holiday shopping (yeah I said it) goes better when you’re tipsy.

Fri/21 7 p.m., free

111 Minna, SF

www.artcrank.com

 

Pedalfest

Handmade bikes, vintage bikes, chances to ride on a velodrome – this all day fest is a great chance to see all the ways people are taking their rides to another level (or sideways, as the case may be). Unique and one-of-a-kind bikes will be on display, not to mention BMX and dirt jump demos, vendors, kid’s stuff, a beer garden, and a stage powered by the generator steeds of Rock the Bike. 

Sat/22 10 a.m.-5 p.m., free

Jack London Square, Oakl.

www.pedalfestjacklondon.com

 

A decade of DocFest: more reviews!

Sue Vaughan
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Check out more coverage of the 10th San Francisco Documentary Film Festival in this week’s Guardian.

Beaverbrook (Matthew Callahan, U.S., 2010) If you attended Camp Beaverbrook, which operated in California’s Lake County from 1961-85, this film is required viewing. It offers an intensely wistful look at an old-fashioned sleepaway camp that thrived in an era before insurance companies started frowning on things like helmet-free kids galloping wildly on horseback. If you don’t have Beaverbrook in your blood, however, watching 1979’s Meatballs will offer a similar overdose of nostalgia, plus the huge added bonus of Bill Murray. Sun/16, 5 p.m. and Oct. 18, 7:15 p.m., Roxie; Fri/14, 7:15 p.m., Shattuck.

Heavy Metal Picnic (Jeff Krulik, U.S., 2010) Everyone’s seen Heavy Metal Parking Lot, the 1986 Jeff Krulik and John Heyn short that became a pre-internet cult classic. Shot amid the beer-y, mullet-y, “party-as-a-verb” shenanigans that transpired before a Judas Priest-Dokken show, Parking Lot is a seminal document for metalheads and anthropologists alike. Twenty-five years later, the prolific Krulik, again with Hayn, returns to the subject matter that made him famous with Heavy Metal Picnic, a 666 … er, 66-minute look at an notorious 1985 concert known as “The Full Moon Jamboree” — described as a “heavy metal Woodstock” by the nervous local press at the time. Basically, this is Parking Lot shifted to the Maryland woods; there’s a concert going on in the background (the bigger acts were Pentagram and the Obsessed, but there’s hardly any footage of them; local boys Asylum and show organizer Billy Gordon of Blue Rockers are prominently featured, however) but the main attraction is, as ever, the fans assembled for raucous raging.

Krulik adds depth to the footage shot that weekend (not by him; from what I can tell, he didn’t actually attend) by tracking down various participants — from the show’s perma-grinning hosts to the members of Asylum to the ne’er-do-wells who patrolled the crowds with a video camera, still a novelty at the time, pouncing on pretty girls and eliciting slurred commentary from the assembled shirtless masses — and interviewing the 21st century versions. The film also traipses back to the spot where the party was held, still intact but now closely surrounded by McMansions. Times have changed, hairlines have receded, cut-off T-shirts are no longer fashionable — but the pursuit of establishment-ranking good times remains irresistible. Essential hesher viewing. Sat/15 and Mon/17, 7:15 p.m., Roxie; Oct. 19, 9:30 p.m., Shattuck.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pBdzQxVWnVU

Peep Culture (Sally Blake, Canada, 2011) Sally Blake’s Peep Culture adds one more layer of media to the journey of one Hal Niedzviecki, following him as he agrees (for the documentary) to have cameras installed in his house so he can join the legions of “lifecasters,” everyday folks who believe sharing every detail of their lives will lead to internet-borne fame and possibly fortune. (His wife, who lives in the house too, along with the couple’s young daughter, is less than thrilled by this.) Though his online profile was previously pretty low, Niedzviecki did build up some expertise on the matter: he’s the author of The Peep Diaries: One Man’s Journey into Self-Exposure, Surveillance, and the Future of Voyeurism. But why read the book when you can actually peep at the guy, as he goes about his everyday life (making lunch, sleeping, peeing) on camera?

Fortunately, there’s more to Peep Culture than pee-pee. Niedzviecki also launches an investigation into the movement he’s recently, somewhat reluctantly, become a part of. He visits a few folks who’ve become “famous” due to their online openness, then travels to Hollywood to attend a boot camp for people desperate to get cast on reality TV shows, then checks out the Fox Reality Channel’s headquarters. That channel has since ceased to be, but reality shows are still going strong: hunting the next great American singer or chef, charting the foibles of Teen Moms and Housewives, exposing hoarders of objects and children, manufacturing lavish Kardashian weddings, etc., feeding the belief that absolutely anyone can be famous. (Which is, of course, the most important thing in life ever, aside from getting gloriously rich off that fame … right?) Though Niedzviecki is not the most compelling film subject ever (probably the biggest reason his online “life” never really takes off — he can’t quite put aside how ridiculous the whole thing is, and never lets totally loose) Peep Culture offers a timely take on the overshare era. Oct. 22 and 26, 7:15 p.m., Roxie; Fri/14, 12:30 p.m., Shattuck.

SAN FRANCISCO DOCUMENTARY FILM FESTIVAL
Oct 14-27, $11
Roxie Theater
3117 16th St, SF
Shattuck Theatre
2230 Shattuck, Berk
www.sfindie.com

Our Weekly Picks: October 12-18

Andrew Lam
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WEDNESDAY 12

EMA

“Fuck California. You made me boring,” South Dakota-born Erika M. Anderson declares defiantly on “California,” the breakout single from her cathartic, crushing first proper release, Past Life Martyred Saints (Souterrain Transmissions, 2011). I find that hard to believe. Not the bit about our fair state — living in LA made me about as interesting as an insurance seminar. But the notion that anything could make the person who created this album boring seems completely implausible. An emotional haymaker of an album, the only thing less tedious than the ex-Gowns singer’s lyrics — dealing with topics like self-mutilation, drug addiction, violence, and sex with stunning, often uncomfortable clarity and candor — is her exceptionally versatile musical palette. Anderson tosses touches of drone, punk, indie, folk, and noise rock into a sonic stew that veers as wildly as her moods. If this is what a boring EMA sounds like, I shutter to think what an engaged one could do. (Dan Alvarez)

With Sister Crayon and Alexis

8 p.m., $12 The Independent 628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com


Mary Roach

There goes Oakland’s Mary Roach, delving into the scientific questions we all ponder (and some we’re not smart enough to think of). In the past, she’s brought readers on her fringe forays into sex, dead bodies, and the afterlife. Her latest book, Packing for Mars, explores the weird, the unsavory, and the absurdity found in astronaut space exploration and on-earth preparation. What are the health risks associated with cramped space shuttles without showers? What does dispelled urine look like in space? In Packing, named the 2011 selection for One City One Book: San Francisco Reads, Roach provides the answers in grisly and entertaining detail.(Kevin Lee)

7:30 p.m., free

Booksmith

1644 Haight, SF

(415) 863-8688

www.booksmith.com


THURSDAY 13

“Flight of Poets”

Does a pinot grigio complement Matthew Zapruder’s charismatic poems, or would a spicy zinfandel? How about Jane Hirshfield’s disciplined lines and forceful resolutions, do they call for a bold merlot? Wine steward Christopher Sawyer puts these questions to rest at “Flight of Poets,” LitQuake’s poetry reading and wine bash, curated by Tess Taylor and Hollie Hardy. Sawyer matches a wine with each of the evening’s poets, including Gabrielle Calvocoressi, Robert Polito, Rachel Richardson, and C. J. Sage in addition to Zapruder (Come On All You Ghosts, 2010) and Hirshfield (Come, Thief). In the words of Charles Baudelaire: “It is time to be drunk!” (James H. Miller)

7 p.m., $15

Hotel Rex

562 Sutter, SF

(415) 440-4177

www.litquake.org

 

Daniel Francis Doyle

When his band broke up in 2005, Austin, Texas’s Daniel Francis Doyle needed a quick fix for performing live. He began experimenting with guitars duct-taped to amps and quickly evolved into a noisy force to be reckoned with. The one-man music machine uses a loop pedal, drum kit, and headset microphone to make a ruckus that’s frenetic, exhausting, and surprisingly melodic. After developing a respectable body of solo work, he’s come full circle — writing and performing with a backing band as well. Catch him shredding solo and showcasing collaborative work in a single fun-filled evening at Club Paradiso. (Frances Capell)

With Clarissa, and Hazel’s Wart

8 p.m., $5

Club Paradiso

2272 Telegraph, Oakl.

(510) 735-9095

www.disolounge.com

 

“Doc”

Novelist Paul Auster called him “a ravaged, burnt-out writer who had run aground on the shoals of his own consciousness;” Norman Mailer said he wanted to be “dictator of the world.” At any rate, everyone who knew H.L. “Doc” Humes agreed that he was a genius. Co-founder of The Paris Review, and author of two lauded political novels, Doc was integral to New York’s literary and jazz scenes in the 1950s. However, in the 1960s, Doc plunged into madness and paranoia, started ranting about government conspiracies, and gave up writing altogether. Doc (2008) is the documentary directed by his daughter, Immy. With interviews with Auster, Mailer, Timothy Leary, and others, the film traces the life and times of this eccentric genius. (Miller)

7:30 p.m., $12

Oddball Film+Video

275 Capp, SF

(415) 558-8112

info@oddballfilm.com

 

Enslaved

Musical evolution can be risky. For every storied success, there’s a fan-alienating failure. Thankfully, Enslaved belongs in the former category. Though begun in 1991 as a traditional Norwegian black metal outfit, the Bergen-based band gradually began introducing textural flourishes, epic, narrative arrangements, and tasteful clean singing. Now they rank among the most fascinating, progressive-inflected extreme metal bands in the business. Headlining a full American run should show off the quintet at its enveloping best — who says songs about Vikings can’t be psychedelic? Haunting, costumed buzz band Ghost had to drop off the bill due to visa issues, but Enslaved’s copious talent should staunch all complaints. (Ben Richardson)

With Alcest, Junius, and the Swizard

7:30 p.m., $17

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

(415) 255-0333

www.slims-sf.com


FRIDAY 14

Jeffrey Eugenides

It’s been nine long years since the publication of Jeffrey Eugenides’ ambitious, Pulitzer winning epic, Middle Sex (2002), and eighteen years since his stunning debut, The Virgin Suicides (1993), which makes the author’s new novel, The Marriage Plot, without a doubt one of the most anticipated of the decade (by those who have a good memory anyway). The Marriage Plot probes the lives of three Brown University seniors in the 1980s — Mitchell, Leonard, and Madeline — and the love triangle that emerges between them over the course of one year. At this free event at Books Inc., Eugenides (at long last) reads from his new novel. (Miller)

7 p.m., free

Books Inc. Opera Plaza

601 Van Ness, SF

(415)-776-1111

www.litquake.org

 

Frank Turner & the Sleeping Souls

It comes as no surprise that British folk-punk singer-songwriter Frank Turner is rapidly ascending as a cult hero here in the States. Though he often references geography, you don’t have to be from Winchester to identify with the punk poet’s themes of mortality, self-deprecation, and living life to the fullest. Prior to the release of his fourth album England Keep My Bones (Epitaph), Turner toured North America, completely selling out every date. Now the hardcore singer turned folk-troubadour returns to San Francisco with backing band the Sleeping Souls for a rowdy, beer-soaked night to remember. (Capell)

With Andrew Jackson Jihad and Into It. Over It.

8:30 p.m., $16

Slim’s

333 11th St., SF

(415) 255-0333

www.slims-sf.com


SATURDAY 15

“An Afternoon of Soccer Culture”

Soccer fans — football fans elsewhere in the world — might know Simon Kuper thanks to his Freakonomics-styled best-seller Soccernomics. In his latest, Soccer Men, the veteran sports journalist compiles the profiles he’s written over the past 15 years for papers like the Financial Times and the Times of London. Though the chapter titles are a superstar roll call (Messi, Rooney, Drogba, etc.), there’s no fawning here; instead, Kuper offers thoughtful, witty insights into what makes a particular player (or coach) valuable, distinctive, or well-liked (or hated) by the masses. He hits up local footy hotspot Edinburgh Castle to discuss “the beautiful game” with San Francisco author Alan Black (The Glorious World Cup). Only 970-something-ish days until Brazil 2014! (Cheryl Eddy)

3 p.m., free

Edinburgh Castle Pub

950 Geary, SF

(415) 885-4974

www.castlenews.com

 

“The Hula Show”

A sort of armchair travel, Na Lei Hulu I Ka Wekiu’s The Hula Show 2011 stops in India, Samoa, Turkey, Spain, and Wai’anae, blending traditional and contemporary forms of hula. The group brings the art back to California with a suite of chants called Hanohano Kapalakiko, which illustrate the bond between Hawaii and San Francisco. Following opening weekend of The Hula Show, performances on Oct. 22 and 23 feature guests from the Golden Gate Men’s Chorus. If you can’t make the trip to Hawaii this month, pick up a one-way ticket to The Hula Show, for a small taste of the culture. (Julie Potter)

8 p.m. also Sun/16, 4 p.m., $35–$45

Palace of Fine Arts Theater

3301 Lyon Street, SF

(415) 392-4400

www.naleihulu.org


SATURDAY 15

JFK of MSTRKRFT

Jesse F. Keeler, perhaps better known as JFK to fans of MSTRKRFT and Dim Mak Records, has not been neglecting his dance floor duties. Even while reuniting with Sebastien Grainger for the highly anticipated Death From Above 1979 reunion tour, JFK has been putting in time on the decks, frequently double slotted at festival dates. DFA 1979 is easily one of the biggest draws of this year’s Treasure Island Music Festival and JFK will follow the band’s sure to be frenzied dance-punk (emphasis on punk) performance on T.I. with a live DJ set back at Mezzanine, which will likely contain some extremely headbanging electro floor stompers. (Ryan Prendiville)

With Chain Gang of 1974, Sticky K, and DJ Morale

9:30 p.m. Doors, $20

Mezzanine

444 Jessie, SF

(415) 625-8880

www.mezzaninesf.com

 

Never Knows

A Korg-load of brainiacs are still making techno in this town (yay!). But how many of those brainiacs are merely getting in the way of their machines? “There’s something beautifully pure about techno. Too pure. That pristine, precise sound needs to be undermined, soiled and sullied. Electronic dance music usually relates a narrative that is predictably written. The only way I see out of this trap is to be more of a mediator between the machines as they each take turns telling their own side of the story: sometimes harmonious, sometimes revelatory, often conflicted.” That’s Marc Kate (a.k.a. Silence Fiction, a.k.a.Husband), one of SF’s more vital underground fixtures, whose latest, kind of spooky incarnation as Never Knows channels a tasty bank of live equipment as it folds old-school goth atmospheres into sweeping techscapes. Ensorcel much? Strap in for his debut at the essential, experimental monthly O.K. Hole party. (Marke B.)

With Water Borders and Total Accomplishment

9 p.m., $5

Amnesia

853 Valencia, SF.

(415) 970-0012

www.amnesiathebar.com

 

TUESDAY 18

Opeth

Iconoclastic. Idiosyncratic. Inimitable. Whichever “i”-adjective you prefer, Opeth has long occupied its very own metal subgenre, blending limber, tuneful death metal with progressive excursions and mournful clean singing. Despite melodic accomplishments, the music was often quite heavy, which is why Heritage, the band’s brand-new album, came as a surprise. Largely abandoning distorted guitars, Opeth perplexed critics and fans by releasing a full-fledged 70’s prog album, leaning heavily on organ parts and mastermind Mikael Âkerfeldt’s dulcet vocals. A national tour should help head-scratching headbangers embrace Opeth’s new direction, combining King Crimson-style epics with the band’s blast-beaten back catalogue. (Richardson)

With Katatonia

8 p.m., $27

The Warfield

982 Market, SF

(415) 345-0900

www.thewarfieldtheatre.com


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Under my umbrella

Andrew Lam
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Under my umbrella

culture@sfbg.com

GO THERE Nothing fouls an SF afternoon like a sudden shower. We are not given much to bike fenders, Gore-Tex, or waterproof shoes (current Doc Marten resurgence notwithstanding), so when the skies open you are as like as not to find that your dayplanner has closed. But worry not. Should your loved or soon-to-be-loved-whether-they-know-it-or-not one get cold feet on the rainy day of your date, offer them this fuzzy bunny slipper of a list: our collection of bars and restaurants around the Bay that are perfect for when skies are moist. 

 

PHO GARDEN

This Clement Street Vietnamese spot does not play. A billboard out front advertises its particular draw: a pho eating challenge employing the use of a bowl large enough to hold a baby, as said billboard helpfully illustrates. A $22 bowl of serviceable beef pho containing two pounds of noodles and two pounds of — at times frighteningly stringy and translucent — meat awaits competitors, who have one hour to scarf it down. You may never want to eat pho again after plunging into its depths but hey, it’s rainy out and you just found a bowl of soup on which you can rest your elbows (and chin when the hour inevitably takes its toll). Winners get the pho for free and take home the mega-bowl. Losers get a “Got Pho Challenge?” T-shirt, so everyone waddles home happy. (Caitlin Donohue)

2109 Clement, SF. (415) 379-8677, www.phogardensf.com

 

THE LITTLE SHAMROCK

A 118-year-old bar surely has a few ghosts (or at least three sheets to the wind). But nothing could send a chill up your spine while you’re seated in front of the fireplace at this Irish Inner Sunset favorite, enjoying a sprightly game of backgammon and nursing a fortifying draft. The uber-Victorian décor and Great Quake-oriented memorabilia lining the walls might just whisk(ey) you back to 1929, when then-owner Tony Herzo Jr. “always had a big kettle of Spanish beans at the window by the front door,” according to the bar’s lore. We’ll gladly settle for the Shamrock’s belly-warming Bloody Mary meal plan. (Marke B.)

807 Lincoln, SF. (415) 661-0060

 

TOSCA

When it’s chilly outside, nothing warms your insides like hot chocolate with sweet brandy in a fancy glass. Tosca, with red vinyl booths and exquisite-imposing carved wood bar, will be your beacon in a dreary North Beach storm. The bar keeps the sizzling hot chocolate lined up, awaiting request. And if you need to steady the alcohol running through your delicate system, they bring out these lovely homemade cheesy nibbles and other assorted snacks. The atmosphere is doubly cozy thanks to nostalgic cuts off actual records in the vintage jukebox; the Rat Pack dominates the mix. (Emily Savage)

242 Columbus, SF. (415) 986-9651, www.toscasf.com

 

THE RIPTIDE

Everybody in the Sunset knows that this bar specializes in providing cozy climes for those who have been carving gnarly waves (or just stuck on a packed L-Taraval car). The local paraphernalia-bedecked brick fireplace makes for a great place to curl up and wait out the rainstorms — and you’re unlikely to be alone when you do so. The Riptide houses a mini-scene in the outer neighborhoods: open mics, live bands, karaoke, all set to a food menu that rotates daily. Shepard’s pie Mondays? DIY grilled cheese Thursdays? It’s just enough to reconcile a person to the caprices of Mother Nature for the day. (Donohue)

3639 Taraval, SF. (415) 681-8433, www.riptidesf.com

 

JUPITER

From handcrafted beers to delicious specialty pizzas named after planets, moons, and astronomers (try the Odysseus, which tops out with wild mushrooms and Danish fontina cheese), Berkeley’s Jupiter is a great place for a casual date when it’s pouring out. An outdoor seating area with a fireplace and heaters can keep the two of you pleasantly warm. Gothic accents decorate the two-story venue, which is housed in an old livery stable from the 1980s — a European atmosphere in the heart of downtown Berkeley. Every pizza is cooked in a traditional wood-fired brick oven and can be complimented with a cold beer — now that’ll make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. (Paige A. Ricks)

2181 Shattuck, Berk. (510) THE-TAPS, www.jupiterbeer.com

 

RITE SPOT CAFE

Melt-prone San Franciscans deal with the rain in a variety of ways: drinking and eating heavy foods are prime among these. Indulge in both at a bar-restaurant inside which you’ll never even notice if the sun comes out. The Rite Spot’s windows are few and far between, but never you mind; live music from the jangling piano, white tablecloths, walls painted a vivacious red, and a menu that harkens back to your (non-Italian) grandparents’ fave Italian joint will keep you begging drinks off the affable, struggling artist staff until long after the rainbow’s gone. (Donohue)

2099 Folsom, SF. (415) 552-6066, www.ritespotcafe.net

 

PIZZETTA

There’s nothing like a rainy night to inspire the sudden need for cozy interpersonal contact — preferably over a steaming dish of cheese and sauce. Pizzetta 211, a four-table restaurant in the Outer Richmond, offers just that. It’s likely you will share your window ledge-turned-seat with a stranger. It is equally likely that whichever one of you gets your pizza first will forget about the utter lack of elbow space, and possibly about the swampy fog outside. Pizzetta’s standbys alone make it worth a trip — a rosemary and pine nut pie, particularly — and if you manage to hit the tiny, fragrant spot when there’s a farm egg pizza on the menu, endure the wait. (Lucy Schiller)

211 23rd Ave., SF. (415)379-9880, www.pizzetta211.com

 

‘Tis better to dip

Andrew Lam
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le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP One of the first things I did when I got back was I got on the football field.

“Welcome back,” said the referee.

“Welcome back,” said the other team’s captain. And she called “red” and it was red so we’d lost the toss.

“Good luck,” their captain said to me.

“Good luck,” I said.

The ref said good luck to both of us and just like that — after three months in cars, planes, small dark hotel rooms and foreign countries, but mostly cars — I was back where I belong: on defense.

I love defense because it’s got more dirty work than glory. You have to do things like “dig in,” “cover,” and “bend-don’t-break” while the offense is basically sticking it to you.

And, as if that weren’t sexy sounding enough, on my particular San Francisco Women’s Flag Football League team, the defense scores more often than the offense. This season, for example, to date, our defense has outscored our offense 2-0. That’s after four games, mind you. We have scored a grand total, in four games, of exactly one safety!

My first game back ended in a 0-0 tie.

“Good game,” we all said to the other team, and they said to us, and you know what? It was! Except from a fan’s perspective, probably, it was a great game. I love 0-0 ties.

Out of habit, I went to Benders. Coach couldn’t make it because she was helping people, so it was just me and Hedgehog and Earl Butter. The big idea being to drink the beer, eat tater tots, and just generally watch baseball; but Benders was only cooperating on one of those fronts. Something goofy was on TV. The kitchen wasn’t open.

We started walking toward the Phoenix, and at roughly Mission Street I remembered about Giordano Brothers taking over Ti Couz’s spot on 16th and Valencia. Remember? I even told you about it from the road and promised to check it out for myself as soon as I was back.

Which I forgot. Then remembered. So, OK … so, Giordano’s. Yeah yeah yeah, the all-in-one sandwiches with French fries and cole slaw in them, a la Primanti Bros. in Pittsburgh. But mostly we were interested in the pierogi. Because there aren’t a lot of places in San Francisco, let alone the Mission, to get a plate of pierogi.

We got a large combo: two regular old potato ones, two sweet potato ones, and two with serrano peppers and cheese — and potatoes. And those two were of course the best. But we had to advocate for them because at first there were only potato and sweet potato ones.

Hedgehog was already all a-bristle over they didn’t have Yuengling beer. Although, technically, the problem was that they did have a neon sign saying Yuengling, but didn’t have the beer. The sign was just for atmosphere.

So when she realized there were only two kinds of pierogi in our three-kind-of-pierogi combo plate, she had a little talk with the waiterguyperson, who had a little talk with the kitchen, who had a little talk with the butter and onions, then brought us two more pierogi. With serrano peppers and cheese, and they were delicious.

Earl Butter was beside himself with comfort and joy. He kept talking about how happy he was just to be out of his apartment. And I’ve been in his apartment. The TVs are not as big.

We had Sunday night football in one eyeball, and baseball playoffs in the other. I’m not so sure about the sandwiches though. I had promised Hedgehog, based on a visit to North Beach five years ago, that Giordano’s was better than its inspiration, Primanti’s, on a strictly sandwich-y level. My argument was that their French fries were better and the cole slaw was fresher, and while those facts may be true, in themselves, the problem is that putting French fries and cole slaw inside a sandwich with the meat and the cheese is just a flawed idea to begin with. Beyond the good ol’ goofy sportiness of it, I mean, you are left with a mouth full of pretty much starch.

The kielbasa was good, but lost in the rest of it all. And I like to dip my fries into things.

Ketchup. Hot sauce.

GIORDANO BROTHERS

Mon.-Tue.: 11:30 a.m.-10:30 p.m.; Wed.-Thu.: 11:30 a.m.-midnight; Fri.-Sat. 11:30 a.m.-1:30 a.m.; Sun. depends on football schedule

3108 16th St., SF

(415) 437-2767

MC/V

Beer & wine

 

Maximum Consumption: The Treasure Island Festival musical tasting menu

Tony Robles
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So excited for Treasure Island Music Festival, you can taste it? Yes, you can. Thanks to graffEats and Noise Pop, you can literally taste it with a gourmet menu inspired by the upcoming festival. It’s a feast for all senses tomorrow night at the Treasure Island Pop Up Shop; everything can be shot, sucked, or eaten with fingers. Each item on the six-course tasting menu takes after a different artist from the 2011 festival lineup, and will be paired with wine.

Try the Death Cab For Cutie-matched tomato and peach Caprese with sweet balsamic and aged cheddar. There’s a gourmet spin on chicken and waffles in honor of Malkmus and the Jicks. For dessert, enjoy an extravagant all-gold Empire Of The Sun peach push-pop. Of course, this magical evening will be accompanied by an awesome soundtrack.

Partial Menu:
Death Cab for Cutie:Tomato and peach “Caprese,” sweet balsamic, aged cheddar, smokey almond pesto

Flying Lotus:Angel-spiced halibut, caramelized onion and fennel, black olive oil

Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks:Beer-fried game hen and yeast-risen waffle, mustard, radish

Death From Above 1979: Berber spiced lamb, grilled paneer, baby eggplant and minted yogurt

Empire of the Sun:“Head On A Stick”– Golden peaches-and-cream push pop, star anise salt and gold

Aloe Blacc:Foie gras bon bon, dark chocolate, plum, sea salt

Indulge your senses with fellow music enthusiasts and food lovers. It’s the perfect way to prepare for the fast-approaching festival weekend.

Treasure Island SoundBite: A Musical Tasting Menu
Brought to you by graffEats and Treasure Island
Thurs/6, 7:30 p.m., $45 (includes wine pairings)
Treasure Island Pop Up Shop @ San Franpsycho Store
1314 Grant, SF
www.graffeats.com
Tickets

Beirut brings the county fair to the Fox

Tony Robles
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0

We teased you with the show mention in the Hangover column,  now here’s the goods:

With flickering string lights strung from the center of the grand ballroom and splayed out brass instruments across the stage, Beirut’s performance at the Fox Theater in Oakland on Saturday warmed liked a fancy indoor county fair. The sound, which can be bass-problematic at the Fox, was good this evening, near perfect for the otherworldly folk-marching band from Santa Fe. Ringleader Zach Condon switched back and forth from ukulele to his beloved trumpet, singing in deep baritone throughout, once stepping to his newly rediscovered favorite, the keys.

The setting was such that you could almost conjure a sea of couples waltzing in calico, Condon with a bolo-tie and trio of fiddles. However that was just a daydream while I waited in a very long line for the ladies room. In truth, hip couples were smashed against one another at the sold-out show, raising cups of beer and whooping for nearly every song, Condon wore his typical Communist-muted button-up and slacks, and sang backed by a trio of powerful horns — not fiddles — and a talented accordionist. As Condon pointed out via our conversation a few weeks back, “my accordion player can run circles around me blindfolded, so there’s kind of no point” (…in picking that up mid-performance in addition to all the other instruments he plays).

A few crowd-pleasers (excessive applause and energy): Gulag Orkestar‘s “Scenic World” and  “Postcards from Italy,” The Flying Club Cup‘s “A Sunday Smile,” the tuba-heavy, mariachi-oom-pah of “The Shrew.” The best moments of the night came when all horns would swell together, like the aforementioned Shrew. But those slow, melancholy songs were perked up by the shorter cuts off new album The Ripe Tide. A new favorite, and the first single off The Ripe Tide, “Santa Fe” garnered less of an enthusiastic response than I expected, though some hollers nonetheless. In a few years, it will gain even more claps. Though Condon did remark, “There must be a few Santa Feans here.” At least, I think that’s what he said, his few words were muffled in my corner of the room.

After a tight, hour-and-some-change-long set, the band returned, as expected, for a requisite encore (side note: can someone please explain to me why the encore has become so requisite?). After playing two songs they again retreated. This time, for the second encore, Condon came out on stage alone, holding just a uke, spotlit and beaming. This is, after all, where Beirut started. A man alone with his instrument. Really, pretty epic stuff. He knows how to work a crowd, but minus the schmaltz. While the songs sometimes hint maudlin, Condon maintains a cool-cucumber presence of stage.  After his moment alone, the rest of the band swarmed around him again and we were treated to a satisfying tuba solo.

True story: the next night, after Beirut played a far more intimate set at the Independent that I did not attend, the tuba player stood out on Divisadero blowing his horn at near midnight. I woke up from the sound, threw on a peacoat and slippers and hazily asked “where did you come from?” (It was the only sentence my deep sleep-addled brain could form.) He cocked an eyebrow and said “My mother’s uterus.” He, and a few stray musicians, then marched off to another corner, still playing.

The lights go on, the lights go off.

Note: I did not shoot this video, clearly, but I do love it:

Legends of the underground

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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5
Legends of the underground

emilysavage@sfbg.com

MUSIC “There are people like us who decide we no longer want to deal with what is fed to us through commercial forces,” says infamous hardcore singer Mike Apocalypse, “We strive to create new things — if I couldn’t create new music, I would fall apart in a month’s time.”

It’s wretchedly hot on a Sunday afternoon at Mission bar Laszlo when Apocalypse, 37, makes the above statement while ordering a shot and a Red Stripe. Over the course of two-and-a-half hours, he orders many more shots and beers, and excitedly bumps into a cadre of fellow music-maker friends.

With a broad grin, his sea-green eyes widen as he recalls the early 90s origins of Gehenna, his longstanding hardcore-black metal band. He folds his tattooed fingers (one reads “83%” in ode to Gehenna’s first song) over a beer with a mention of the upcoming chopped and screwed Gehenna mixtape.

In addition to his role as Gehenna’s singer, Apocalypse is also a respected local DJ. He beams while giving me the rundown on his daily routine: recording music at home in the Excelsior District every morning, DJing at Laszlo, Showdown, or Argus Lounge every late night; recently spinning disparate tracks by the likes of Infest, Stone Roses, and Nipsey Hussle.

This, his openness and agreeable demeanor, are in direct contrast with his fabled persona. Mind you, he’s only a legend in the underground, in small pockets of cities like San Diego, Orange, Calif., and Reno, but within certain crowds, the rumors are alive. If you’ve heard of him — and chances are, you haven’t — than you’ve heard the drama.

The rumor mill: Apocalypse stabbed a guy at a punk show. He punched someone in the face at a record store. He contributed to another musician losing his mind. And so becomes a legend. There have been outsized rumors and half-truths, tattooed cupped hands whispering circles around Apocalypse, also known as Mike Cheese or DJ Apocalypse, for decades.

“You know more of the rumors than I do, and you know more of the falsehoods than I do,” he says. Without addressing any specific incidents he lays it out: “The rumors also come from people who have attacked me physically and they thought they could fuck me up. Fact is, I don’t bullshit. If you think you’re going to fuck me up, unfortunately, I’m pretty good at handling my hands, I’ve got some good fist game because I grew up in Detroit.”

That last part is unquestionably true, he lived in Detroit until age 14, when he moved to San Diego alone. By age 17, he was straight-edge and on a cheeseburger diet (hence the name “Cheese”). He met fellow musicians through the hardcore scene and formed Gehenna. With its pummeling drum beats, black metal riffs, droning breakdowns, and Apocalypse’s tortured, growling vocals, it brought something new to the 1993 hardcore table.

“I brought in some of the more metal elements, Mickey [Rhodes Featherstone] brought in 70s proto-punk and DC [Grave] brought in the really fucking heavy stuff and the straight thrash — we were able to incorporate all the things we liked into one sound.”

Through 17 years, the band has self-released seven-inches, splits, and a few full length LPs — most recently, 2011’s re-issue of Land Of Sodom II/Upon The Gravehill — and moved from San Diego to Phoenix to Orange to Reno. Apocalypse, far from straight edge, settled into San Francisco in 2008, but since the other members are spread elsewhere, Gehenna only plays SF once a year. “San Francisco, is one of the greatest cities in the United States. This is the most open-minded city I’ve ever been in.”

He seems pleased with his current lot in life; it might be the alcohol or recreational drugs talking, but he’s truly inspirational in his takes on art, music, life. Truth to those whispered rumors or not, legend or not, Apocalypse is a man of convictions.

“[Gehenna] is not making money, we’re not going to ever sign with a major label, we’re never going to do anything that’s outside of our realm of control. It’s always been about control.”

 

GEHENNA

With Hoax, Neo Cons, and Neighborhood Brats

Wed/28, 8 p.m., $8

Sub-Mission

2183 Mission, SF www.sf-submission.com

Alerts

Andrew Lam
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0

steve@sfbg.com

 

MONDAY 3

CMAC mayoral forum

San Francisco Police crackdowns on nightclubs and private parties, with the tactic and sometimes overt support by then-Mayor Gavin Newsom, led to the creation of the California Music and Culture Association to advocate for the city’s nightlife (see “The new War on Fun,” 3/23/10). Now, CMAC is hosting a mayoral candidate forum to gauge how the next potential inhabitants of Room 200 feel about issues relevant to party-goers and -throwers. The event will be moderated by Priya David Clemens and will feature remarks by Lyrics Born and Sup. Scott Wiener and musical performances by Bob Mould and Zoe Keating.

6-9 p.m., free

The Fillmore

1805 Geary, SF

rsvp to sfmayoralcandidateforum.eventbrite.com

 

The state of labor

Wilma Liebman, former chair of the National Labor Relations Board, gives a talk entitled “The Battle for a Fair and Realistic National Labor Policy.” Liebman stepped down as chair last month — after 14 years serving on the board, the third longest serving member in its history — during one of the most turbulent years in the body’s history. The event, sponsored by SF State’s Labor and Employment Studies Program, is the first Gerald McKay Memorial Lecture.

6-8 p.m., free

SF State’s Downtown Campus

885 Market, 5th Floor, SF

817-4300

rsvp to jlogan@sfsu.edu

 

 

New Coffee Party

The Coffee Party, a consensus-seeking political group formed in reaction to the reactionary Tea Party, is in transition. The leaders of the former SF Coffee Party Group have now dubbed themselves The Bay Area Circle and they’ll meet to decide on a new name and direction for a group that seeks to bring together people of various views around a common agenda.

6:30-8 p.m., free

Cafe La Boheme

3318 24th St., SF

thebayareacircle@yahoo.com

 

TUESDAY 4

Organizing in radical times

Authors Amy Sonnie and James Tracy will discuss their new book, Hillbilly Nationalists, Urban Race Rebels and Black Power: Community Organizing in Radical Times (Melville House Publishing, 2011), in conversation with Roxanne Dunbar Ortiz. The books shows how the protest movements of the New Left in the ’60s spawned future organizing efforts that have been challenging right-wing networks over a range of important issues vital to the direction of the country. Afterward the talk, attendees will cross the street to the Buck Tavern for a beer bash benefiting the SF Community Land Trust and Jobs with Justice SF.

7 p.m., free

Green Arcade Books

1680 Market, SF

sonnieandtracybook.com

Fair muddling

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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2

le.chicken.farmer@gmail.com

CHEAP EATS Tell you what I’m not eating this week: I’m not eating funnel cake, Amish whoopie pies, fried pickles, or fried macaroni and cheese. I’m not eating Running Deer potato pancakes, Grotto’s pizza, May’s barbecue, Mootz’s fudge, Hewlett’s hot sausages, Bowman’s French fries, Cain’s chicken and waffles, Top-of-the-Beef’s pit-roasted sandwich, or fire-roasted sweet corn. I’m not washing all these things down with three different colors of birch beer.

The river crested at 32.75 feet and the Bloomsburg Fair was cancelled. First time ever, 156 years. We cooked for two days until we had filled Hedgehog’s mom’s freezer with frozen lasagne and wedding soup, and then we got the hell out of Dodge while the gettin’ was half decent. There was a couple-hour window of opportunity between the interstate being reopened and all the surface streets being closed on account of barns and tool sheds floating down them.

We splashed right through that window to Ohio, to my nephew’s wedding and to C. Staples, the last-standing of Youngstown’s locally famous fried barbecued chicken joints. Where, craving smoke, I got ribs on the side; but the ribs weren’t true barbecue either. They were just ribs. And barbecue sauce.

Hedgehog failed to see the humor in this.

“You have to grow up with it, I guess,” I said, glorying in my sauce-soaked white bread. It’s a good sauce, sweet and strangely gritty, but Hedgehog couldn’t keep her head in the game. She kept going on line and looking at pictures of her hometown’s washed-away bridges and half-underwater homes. The whole time we were in Ohio she’d be eating chickens with one hand and

Twittering and Facing Book with the other.

I said, “Okay. Maybe we should go back, see if there’s anything we can do to help …”

Of course, at that time they hadn’t officially cancelled the fair yet, so we were planning to go back anyway, eventually, the last week of the month.

That’s this week! And the only reason I even know what I’m missing in Central Pennsylvania, friedwise and otherwise, is because all year this year, probably since before I met Hedgehog, she’s been telling me about the fair the fair the fair. Even her friends in New Orleans, New Jersey and New York were talking about it. The fair! They were going. They had been. They all had favorite stands and strategies: what to eat first. What to save room for …

Argh, talk about wait till next year!

Anyway, it took us a few days back in the state-of-emergencied disaster area to find anyone to help. First we joined a mud-out crew and went around with shiny donated shovels and brand new five-gallon buckets looking for work, but the only useful thing I did that day was help carry a soggy box spring to the curb.

See, the thing about God- and neighbor-fearing people, it turns out, is that no matter how sunk they are, they would rather help than be helped. Everyone wants to volunteer — and no one needs anything. Their whole first floor and basement are in pieces on the curb, yet they feel pretty lucky, somehow, and at any rate don’t need sandwiches.

We soon realized the only way to be truly useful to these strong, good people was to accept their help. And then was the chicken farmer in national disaster area heaven, going from church to church to fire department trying to look pathetic and eating their bean soup, corn chowder, and chopped ham sandwiches before they went to waste.

On the third day we had the advantage of actually being muddy and exhausted for one of these meals, on account of our friend Sue’s brother had gotten soggy up to his kitchen cabinets — the up-high ones. When we left there, the curbside pile of drywall, soggy insulation, cracked linoleum, etc., was almost as high as the roof.

Next morning, to fuel us up for the long drive back to California, friend Sue drove us to D.W. Moss’s farmhouse, which is your typical off-the-grid middle-of-nowhere suspender-grandpa’d dirt-road no-menu pay-what-you-want weekend breakfast joint, with sausage and bacon that taste like they just went out back and scraped it off the pig. It’s not a restaurant. It’s my new favorite restaurant.

Seriously, if you ever accidentally find yourself out Benton way, Pennsylvania, of a weekend morning, go find Moss’s farm. It’s on Moss road. Look for cars and kittens.

Live Shots: Twin Shadow, Diamond Rings at the Great American Music Hall

Tony Robles
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0

If you truly believe that music is moving entirely forward – not cyclical – you need only to have peeked inside during any given moment of last night’s Diamond Rings/Twin Shadow live musical appearances at the Great American Music Hall. Your impressions would shift. New wave revival remains viable, those electro-soaked keyboard jams on stage, the half-shaved heads and feathered accessories in the crowd (including the feathery bits attached to the young miss thang who was removed quickly after Twin Shadow began thanks to an illegal sip of costly beer). It’s something I’ve grumbled about in the past, but for no good reason.

Twin Shadow could be described as both a Brooklyn quartet and, more accurately, as the stage name of George Lewis Jr. — who looked like Morris Day plus Bruno Mars with that skinny mustache, gold bib necklace, and fashion chapeau last night, but in my mind sounds more like a R&B-shot Morrissey. Midway through a fine synth-saturated, occasionally keyboard tinny set that included most tracks off Lewis Jr.’s danceable debut album Forget, the band broke into “Yellow Balloon,” a pulsating ode shot directly backwards into the not-so-distant musical past, with Lewis Jr. in full swoon mode.

That’s when I felt it: despite my bitter blathering, this nostalgic jolt of colorful energy feels damn good, especially compared to the fuzzed out, slow-moan apocalyptic nature of the music I’ve been vibing as of late; bring on Adam Ant warrior eye-makeup (as opener Diamond Rings sports in the video for his song “Something Else” — last night’s set closer) and Siouxsie and the Banshees bird’s nest hair fluff (as seen in the audience). If it keeps feeling this good, I too won’t soon Forget. Oh, the heart-felt sentiment and cutesy outro. That’s another thing I remember from the 80s.

Because Princess says so

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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3
Because Princess says so

caitlin@sfbg.com

SEX ISSUE 2011 I saw Donna Dolore for the first time at a Hard French queer soul dance party at El Rio. I remember because she took my drink so authoritatively that I had no choice but to be okay with it. She sipped it, handed it back, and strode away. Can I get a thank you? Throughout the whole, sloppy afternoon, I noticed it was kind of her theme.

But no one seemed to care. Part of it was obvious: Dolore is a Sophia Loren with wider eyes, maybe a little taller, with the same generous tendencies towards sharing glimpses of the bust line. Only — I reflected, shortly before falling back into cheap-beer-and-go-go-dancer melee — that attitude. Who the hell is this woman?

Weeks later, I’m telling her the story in person in the cavernous break room at Kink.com’s headquarters in the San Francisco Armory (everything at the Armory is cavernous). It turns out that Dolore is in fact, a pretty big deal. Just ask her legions of heavy-breathing fans who know her as Princess Donna, the Kink.com director and star queer dominatrix.

“Oh my gosh, I did that?” At the office from where she plans shoots for the three Kink websites she heads, Dolore is a less formidable figure. She’s not wearing any makeup. Her black outfit makes her look like she’s about to take off for a light jog around the Mission.

But she might just be being coy. After all, I’d stalked her up good before our appointment and had come across this gem in a video interview she did a few years back: “I’m pretty true to form — Princess Donna acts a lot like I do.”

Dolore double majored at New York University, perfectly enough, in gender and sexuality studies and photography. She became a stripper while at school, and then on a tip from a coworker, got into professional BDSM shoots. Although she had been to some BDSM play parties, the work was the first time she’d ever been tied up.

“I was immediately into the challenge of being in a really stressful position — being flogged or caned, total sensory overload,” she remembers. “I would leave a shoot feeling really invigorated, a stronger person. It made me want to see what my body was capable of.”

Nowadays, Princess Donna sits — utterly sexily, usually in a short skirt and fuck-me heels — atop the Internet BDSM porn puppy pile.

At Kink she is the mind behind no less than three sites. For “Public Disgrace,” Dolore makes trips around the world to supervise the stripping-down, feeling-up, and penetration of beautiful women in town squares and busy bars. On “Wired Pussy,” she plays with electrical equipment, inducing screaming orgasms in her female partners.

In her latest endeavor, “Bound Gang Bang,” Dolore supervises teams of horny men and one or two women in fantasy-type shoots: high school nerds get their revenge on the bitchy mean girls, a prison warden drops her key and winds up giving head to inmates through a chain link fence. She has guest-starred in many of Kink’s different sites, usually as a top, sometimes as a bottom.

“I get stressed out because we have so much content to produce,” says Dolore, who works on one or two shoots a week. “But it’s a challenge that I enjoy.” One gets the sense that at Kink, Dolore has found a place that can nurture her talent for perversion.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYkStoeNtuw

Like most of Kink’s offerings, Dolore’s sites are unapologetically brutal. Women are dominated, wind up covered in ejaculate and with bound breasts that are agonizing to look at (well, at least for the BDSM newbie).

This is exactly the kind of stuff that sends shivers — the bad kind — up the spines of anti-porn feminists. But Dolore is a feminist too. As articulate as she is and as prominent she is and as wild as her porns are, she’s often called on to defend BDSM’s treatment and portrayal of women.

“I think the exact opposite of the people that think that BDSM would promote violence against women,” she says. That tired question — “is porn degrading to women?” — is something that Dolore finds degrading. Why, she asks, don’t the anti-porn musketeers ask the same of men in the industry?

“What is going on in our society that we continue to see sex as something that is put on women that they don’t desire? Why can’t we fathom it being a dream job for a woman?”

Kink is doing its part to raise awareness about the sexual pleasure that can be experienced by submissive actors. Before and after each shoot, the man or woman who you’ve watched screaming, a cattle prod or vibrator pressed against their genitals, is interviewed. That familiar dazed after-sex look is all over their faces, and their endorphin-heavy perk is really all you need to know what Dolore says is true: the models at Kink really, really love their job.

Delore contests the notion that only people who have been sexual abused take pleasure in pain, although she says you’ll find abuse victims in porn studios, just like any other workplace.

“Unfortunately, you could look to any profession and say a lot of them were abused as kids. You could look at secretaries and say that. Personally, I wasn’t sexually abused.” She smiles. “I’m just a natural pervert.”

Delore’s a regular on the queer party circuit — this week, you can catch her stealing drinks at Sunday’s “Deviants” Folsom Street Fair closing party. Her exuberance in exploring the outer realms of sexuality haven’t gone unnoticed in the San Francisco sex community. Kelly Lovemonster, editor of the queer quarterly sexuality zine [SSEX BBOX] is a close friend of Dolore, and calls her a “super heroine.”

“Even when she is portraying a submissive bottom, being cattle prodded, nipples clamped down and attached to electric cords, you can tell she is absolutely in control,” says Lovemonster. “She shows us that our dirtiest, scariest, and wildest sexual fantasies can come true through healthy communication and BDSM play. She rescues us all from a world where sexuality is suppressed and made shameful.”

This, according to Dolore, is a big part of why what Kink produces is important. The website puts BDSM urges out there, lets people that get turned on by being slapped across the face know that they’re not the only ones.

For the dis-empowered and isolated BDSM fan, that can be heady stuff. “You can explore your rape fantasy in a way that the woman is in control of what’s happening to their body — it’s a way to relive a situation where you had no control and relive it in a way in which you do have control,” says Dolore.

In a direct repudiation of the claims that abuse victims fall into BDSM for unsavory reasons. Dolore says she’s seen rough sex and power play rehabilitate partners whose sexuality seems terminally fucked. “I’m not a therapist but I feel like I am sometimes.”

But when I ask her if she considers herself an activist, she says no.

“When I think of the word activist, I think of people who are more outspoken than I am. I do my thing on my website, and people can come watch it if they want to.”

Which is not to say that the forward girl at Hard French doesn’t think she’s affecting change. Says the princess: “I’m just happy that I can help people be honest about what they want in bed.” 

DEVIANTS: OFFICIAL FOLSOM STREET FAIR CLOSING PARTY

Sun/25 4 p.m.-3 a.m., $20-30

Public Works

161 Erie, SF

www.publicsf.com

 

Portland scene clocked by Time Based Arts Festival

Sue Vaughan
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0
Portland scene clocked by Time Based Arts Festival

Just up the coast, the contemporary art binge that is Portland Institute of Contemporary Art’s (PICA) ninth Time Based Art Festival (TBA) bubbled with fluidity and openness as the resounding spirit. From September 8-18 that fluidity and openness occurred between contemporary art practices, between the city and the art, between performers and audience members, between onstage and offstage. Not only addressing current global issues, the festival embraced the increasingly porous walls between art disciplines and outside fields, collapsing the container for presenting art experiences.

Under the direction of Cathy Edwards (also the Director of Performance Programs at New Haven’s International Festival of Arts and Ideas and formerly of Dance Theater Workshop and Movement Research), TBA employs a nomadic citywide platform requiring attendees to explore nooks and crannies with eleven main venues spread throughout the four quadrants of Portland. PICA headquarters the festival at the closed Washington High School called “The Works,” a hub for the round-the-clock possibilities including morning workshops with the TBA artists, noontime salons, afternoon happenings, evening performances and late night activity with a beer garden for gathering, digesting and discussing. The clear nights, lush nature, industrial pockets, culinary delights and bike-friendliness that accompany the festival indeed dovetail with the tastes of many San Francisco residents, and help make TBA a ten-day utopia for art lovers.

“The TBA Festival future-forecasts important aesthetic developments,” writes Edwards in the program, and the performances do, in fact, ripple out, with a handful of the TBA artists appearing recently and upcoming in San Francisco. On the opening day of the festival, Shantala Shivalingappa performed solos by her mentors Ushio Amagatsu (of Sankai Juku) and Pina Bausch. Catch her in San Francisco with a Kuchipudi program at the Herbst Theater November 1, presented by San Francisco Performances.

Also coming to town this season, the Portland-based company tEEth appears at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts’ Left Coast Leaning Festival, December 1-3. Directed by choreographer Angelle Herbert and composer Phillip Kraft, tEEth performed Home Made at TBA, an intimate work with live-feed video, haunting vocals, and plenty of nudity. In the push-pull between hostility and tenderness, hostility dominated the stage for the majority of the work, demonstrating missed connections and relationship struggle with silent and amplified screams, as well as quick-morphing theatrical expressions.

Kyle Abraham, who appeared in San Francisco during the 2011 Black Choreographers Festival with his work-in-process Live! The Realest MC, brought a further developed version of that solo, as well as his full-length work The Radio Show to the festival with his company Abraham.In.Motion. His technique, illuminated during a TBA Institute class, unfolded as a fast-moving mashup of postmodern movement, incorporating influences from New York teacher Kevin Wynn, Merce Cunningham and, naturally, the swift and luscious language of Abraham’s own body.

Taylor Mac, having recently completed his San Francisco run of the epic The Lily’s Revenge, performed his first cabaret at the festival, Comparison is Violence or Ziggy Stardust Meets Tiny Tim Songbook. Highlighting the human tendencies to bring an agenda to the theater and resist audience participation, Mac interrupted himself for a dramatic song here, a David Bowie story there, and, in the end, had the audience on their feet for a mime routine dancing in imaginary bubblegum bubbles.

These are just a handful of the performances that occurred during the ten days in Portland. Augmented by the evening’s natural fade from light to darkness, the Offsite Dance Project, in three parts by Japanese choreographers, immersed witnesses in the playful with Mika Arashiki and Mari Fukutome, the complex with Yukio Suzuki and the disorienting with Yoko Higashino. A train actually ran through the site-specific work, featuring the dance of the city. The program used sites in Southeast Portland’s industrial district for fresh remix of the surroundings.

Austin’s Rude Mechs performed The Method Gun, a theater work based on A Streetcar Named Desire, and gave a talk at the TBA Institute discussing the consensus necessary to create devised work with their group of thirty artists. Additionally, Malina Rodriguez’s Dance Truck – a mobile project that uses the back of a rental truck as a stage – made an appearance from Atlanta. Participatory games by artist Michael Groisman stirred the crowds at Washington High several afternoons. Andrew Dinwiddle’s Get Mad at Sin revisited a 1971 Alabama sermon by Pentecostal preacher Jimmy Swaggart performed in a tent at dusk. Add to that a 24-hour monologue by Mike Daisey, an installation and performance by Seattle-based Zoe|Juniper, and visit from French choreographer Rachid Ouramdance L’A, and you get a sense of the possibilities at TBA.

This year marked a leadership transition for the festival as Cathy Edwards ends her three-year tenure as guest artistic director, passing the torch to San Francisco export and former Yerba Buena Center for the Arts performing arts curator, Angela Mattox. Mattox will remain in Portland year-round (unlike previous directors) expanding PICA’s performing arts programming. While the dates for next year’s TBA are, well, TBA, San Francisco art lovers should plan a jaunt up the coast next September – just a quick flight or ride-share away.

Live Shots: White Hills, Carlton Melton, and Dirty Ghosts

Tony Robles
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0

What if god – note lowercase emphasis – was a drummer? Assume that this god is the mythical male being you’ve come to know through Renaissance-era oil paintings, clutching lightning bolts, triumphant with lengthy white locks and foreboding upward gazes. What would this particular god do behind a drum kit?
He would hit very, very hard, smashing symbols with abandon, flipping sticks into the air then casually catching them mid-song; all the while his face would convey a knowing smirk, that wild-eyed yet faintly bemused stare toward the sky. You’d have Andy Duvall, former member of Zen Guerilla, current drummer-guitarist for Carlton Melton.

At the Rickshaw Stop last night, Duvall and Carlton Melton (a band, not a dude) — excuse the expression — melted minds. The appreciative crowd of mostly polite late-20-somethings kept spinning around towards each other with wide-eyed, “are you seeing this shit?” glances at their companions. The instrumental four-piece played entire set without a word. Duvall’s drum solos were heavenly.

The San Francisco band was tucked in between two rock and capital Roll acts, which made for an extended night of remarkable music. First up, another local: Dirty Ghosts. After Carlton Melton, the touring act headliners, New York’s White Hills. Now this, my friends, was a good bill.

While Dirty Ghosts looked a bit like the Ramones (half of them at least, in tight leather and jeans) and sounded like punk riffed hard rockers (with a killer rhythm section), White Hills oozed glam — from silver-painted face to see-through bass to sequin-covered blouse — and apparently played so similar to the Entrance Band that one of my show companions legitimately asked, “did they used to have a different name? Was it the Entrance Band?”

The joyously noisy space-rock outfit does have a similar aesthetic and sensibility — the long hair was flowing all night long — but White Hills jumps out of the stoned space rock at points to near metal, with such brutal wailing riffs.  White Hills also had something in common with openers Dirty Ghosts, both boasted a gifted electronics dude, on stage tripping out sounds and twisting knobs on beat machines; only Dirty Ghosts’ dude, who just so happens to be Aesop Rock (extra credit: he’s married to electrifying, swooshed-banged lead singer-guitarist Allyson Baker), also was tasked with handheld percussion (cowbell, shaker).

White Hills, led by an equally appealing duo of hair shakers, guitarist Dave W. and bassist Ego Sensation, sped through gnarly psychedelic rock off H-p1 (Thrill Jockey), and, like Carlton Melton, never really addressed the audience. Quite honestly, they never really needed to: a nice reprieve actually from the “really great to be here, how’s everyone doing? I need a beer” throwaways we hear at nearly every other show.  Just rock incredibly hard and loud and we’ll be satiated.  There’s no want for god-like skills here, that’s just an added bonus; it’s acid-laced frosting on the Day-Glo cake.

 

All photos by Chris Stevens.

Cover in pinot: Behind the scenes at the Beer and Wine photoshoot

Andrew Lam
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I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so covered in wine so early in the morning. Clearly, neither had cover model Diego’s three-year old daughter, who I was hanging with during our photoshoot at Matthew Reamer’s studio in the Mission for this week’s Beer and Wine special issue. 

“Daddy!” She had a good point — he was standing barefoot in a puddle of wine. Ever the conscientious dad: “Don’t worry sweetie, it’s grape juice!”

And so on. Diego — who you can catch spinning reggae, hip-hop, and world around town as DJ Mr. Lucky — actress Carolyn, and creative-of-all-trades Bayview native Tossie got a chance to experiment with the trajectory of wine last week at our 10 a.m. cover shoot call. That’s real morning to be messing around with flying booze, but they’d pro’d out. Even our art director Mirissa got involved, high-kicking and air-punching Diego into the appropriate defensive posture. 

Rogue pairings

Andrew Lam
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Rogue pairings

culture@sfbg.com

BEER AND WINE The other week, I hit up one of the free, bi-weekly Thursday night tasting parties put on by San Francisco nanobrewery Pacific Brewing Laboratories, located in a small garage on a side street deep in SoMa—and was completely smitten. The adventurous atmosphere and swell-looking crowd were part of that, of course. But the small-batch beers on offer (I quickly downed a gorgeously smooth black IPA), the rogue food vendors (I then dove into a box of Nosh This Bacon Crack chocolate), and the almost-steampunk assemblage of tangled brewing equipment, scuffed kegs, and illustrative blackboards really sealed the deal.

Since they seemed exquisitely attuned to the underground brew-plus-food equation, I asked the guys behind Pac Brew Labs, Patrick M. Horn and Bryan Hermannsson, to tell us a bit about themselves and give us a wee menu of street pairings. Here’s what Patrick came up with for us. (Marke B.)

“Pacific Brewing Laboratory started in a garage as a place for us to experiment with new beer flavors, styles, and brewing techniques. What started out as a place to share new creations with friends grew into a twice-monthly, totally free event with hundreds of our “new” friends and great local street food vendors.

“We brew small, 10-gallon batches which allows for constant beer experimentation. Some of our more exotic beer styles include Hibiscus Saison, Squid Ink Black IPA, Chamomile Ale, Lemongrass IPA, Szechwan Peppercorn Red ale, and wine-soaked oak-aged Brown Ale. We’re always on the lookout for new ingredients and inspirations that will lead us to palate-pleasing creations. For our tastings, we often invite a local food cart to attend, in order to pair our beers against some of the amazing varieties of flavors produced by DIY local food vendors. Below are a few of our favorites, which include beers we enjoy from other local breweries.”

Read about Pac Brew Lab’s upcoming free Thursday Night Beer Nights at www.pacbrewlab.com.

 

WISE SONS DELI PASTRAMI + PACIFIC BREWING LABORATORIES SQUID INK BLACK IPA

“Leo Beckerman and Evan Bloom of pop-up Wise Sons Deli (Saturdays, 9 a.m.-2 p.m. at Beast and Hare, 1001 Guerrero, SF. www.wisesonsdeli.com) are on a mission from God to bring to us mere mortals the best in Jewish deli. They’ve been serving up their in-house pickles, matzo ball soup, pastries and — most importantly — their weeklong-brined, spice-rubbed, hickory smoked pastrami with home made rye bread to San Francisco and at many of our beer socials since the year 5771. Our Squid Ink is made with darker grains than traditional IPAs and uses West Coast hops to give it a traditional West Coast IPA hop aroma and bitterness. The richness and spices of the pastrami pair perfectly with the citrus-y, hoppy and roasted flavors of the Black IPA. Finish with a house fermented pickle for the perfect sandwich-beer-pickle experience.”

 

MISSION CHINESE FOOD + TRUMER PILSNER

“Anthony Myint and Danny Bowien have created one of the most creative and community minded pop-up restaurant in the nation with Mission Chinese Food (Thu-Tue, 11:30 a.m.-3 p.m. and 5 p.m.-10:30 p.m., at Lung Shan, 2234 Mission, SF. (415) 863-2800, www.missionchinesefood.com). Their delicious twists on traditional Chinese and Asian cooking include kung pao pastrami, thrice-cooked bacon, tingling lamb noodle soup, salt cod fried rice and cold-poached chicken with chicken hearts. Mission Chinese Food also contributes $0.75 from each entrée to the San Francisco Food Bank. The Trumer (www.trumer-international.com) from Berkeley, with its high carbonation, crisp malt backbone and good hop bitterness, offers a good counterpoint to the exotic flavors and spices of Danny’s cuisine. As the heat and tingling build from chilies and Szechwan peppercorns, a pilsner can really satisfy. (And if you need to douse a flaming palate, the low alcohol content allows for a few brews with minor effect.)”

 

NOSH THIS CHOCOLATE + 21ST AMENDMENTS MONK’S BLOOD

Beer and chocolate go together like Bert and Ernie or peanut butter, bananas, and Elvis. Kai Kronfield of Nosh This (noshthis.com) makes some of the most creative chocolates in San Francisco. Butter toffee Bacon Crack, salted caramels made with balsamic vinegar, Meyer lemon, or salt & pepper… not to mention the Bacon Bourbon Rocky Road. These chocolates are the perfect balance of sweet, salty, and chocolate-y and pair well with darker, maltier beers. 21st Amendments Monk’s Blood (www.21st-ammendment.com), a dark Belgian ale, fits this bill well. Made with the traditional hops and barley, it also contains figs, vanilla, and cinnamon. It’s a complex beer, in a can, that complements the richness and intricate flavors of Kai’s creations. This combo is a perfect end to an evening, a mid-day snack, or breakfast — whatever, nobody’s judging.

 

PIZZA HACKER + MOONLIGHT DEATH AND TAXES

“Pizza and beer is typically a no-brainer pairing, but often most choose an IPA, pale ale, or lager to go with their cheesy slice. Moonlight’s Mooonlight’s Death and Taxes (www.moonlightbrewing.com) is a dark lager — but its roasty, crisp and malty flavors lends itself perfectly to the olive oil and salt-covered crust and smoky essence of the Pizza Hacker’s (www.thepizzahacker.com) pies. Jeff, the nominal Pizza Hacker and self-described “occasional Pazi (Pizza nazi)”, has built a custom-made portable wood fired brick oven called the FrankenWeber. He wheels it up outside bar or brewery, assembles, and bakes fresh pizzas on the sidewalk. His sauce is from organic heirloom tomatoes and he uses a method pioneered by Tartine for kneading the dough. Best tasted with a full bodied, flavorful pint of brew!

 

MAGIC CURRY KART + ALMANAC SUMMER 2010

Almanac’s Summer 2010 Belgian golden (www.almanacbeer.com) is made with blackberries and aged in red wine oak barrels for 11 months. Brian Kimball of Magic Curry Kart (www.magiccurrykart.com) wheels around two burners and two rice cookers on his bike, and whips up the most incredibly Thai-influenced curries in front of you with amazing precision. The ingredients are fresh and the spices are delicious. Almanac’s golden ale will add a nice fruity finish to the spicy and flavorful red or green curry. With an eight percent alcohol count and naturally carbonated in the bottle, Summer 2010 will refresh your palette after every sip without overpowering it, enabling new tastes in every luscious bite of curry. Cheers!

Suds on sea legs: A photo journey through Brews on the Bay

Andrew Lam
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All photos by Allen David

“Fuck the wine industry! I mean, I drink wine like everybody else.” Brenden Dobel, brewmaster at Thirsty Bear Brewing Company may be tipsy — but then again, we are on a boat.

A bigass boat in fact — the S.S. Jeremiah O’Brien, one of the mere two Liberty ships still afloat from the batch of 2,710 that were constructed during WWII. But we were pretty far from Normandy on Saturday; the O’Brien was hosting Brews on the Bay, a celebration of San Francisco’s alcoholic beverage of choice.

At least, that’s how Dobel would have it. “Our entire civilization is based on beer — and I’ll stand by that statement,” said the brewer from behind his aviator glasses and cigarette, hanging out by the cask ale at his brewery’s tasting table, perched on a platform atop the 441-foot boat. 

But for too long California wine producers have been outhustling brewers in terms of public relations, even in the food pairing arena (“wine cannot handle heavy cheeses, spicy food — beer has much more dimensions,” he says). Dobel and other SF brewers’ answer to the problem was to form the SF Brewer’s Guild in 2003. The associationa has been holding Brews on the Bay for eight years to celebrate San Francisco beer — suds from “the birthplace of the American craft brewery revolution,” as Dobel puts it. 

This weekend, 50 beers from eight breweries were on offer to the exuberant crowd of mostly-young people swilling on the O’Brien’s deck. Thirsty Bear’s brewmaster was excited about the possibilities of adding more guild members in the years to come, possibly from the ranks of the nanobreweries that have begun to make their mark on the San Francisco scene. 

“By 2013, we should have 11 breweries here,” he shares — although from the look of the crowd swerving down the gangplank at the end of the day (your author definitely included), Brews of the Bay’s beer selection left nothing to be desired. 

Our Weekly Picks: September 7-13

Andrew Lam
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WEDNESDAY 7

MUSIC

The Jim Jones Revue

On its new album, Burning Your House Down, the Jim Jones Revue has seemingly perfected its rowdy mix of 1950s rock ‘n’ roll and MC5-esque blues-punk. The London five-piece debuted in 2004 with a ramshackle garage rock style and a series of blistering live sets that won over the likes of Liam Gallagher and Jim Sclavunos (Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Grinderman) — Sclavunos produced the group’s new LP. The band’s relentless Jerry Lee Lewis-style piano twinkling, punk rock guitars, and rockabilly drumming, coupled with Jones’ intense vocal delivery (an endearing mix of Little Richard yelps and Motorhead gravitas) has earned it a reputation as one of the UK’s can’t miss live acts. (Landon Moblad)

With the Sandwitches

8 p.m., $13–$15 The Independent

628 Divisadero, SF (415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com


THURSDAY 8

MUSIC

SF Symphony Free 100th Birthday Celebration

Ghirardelli chocolate squares, an afternoon party outside City Hall, and Michael Tilson Thomas conducting the SF Symphony with superstar Chinese pianist Lang Lang — all free? Yep, it’s the centennial celebration of our own musical starship, with two can’t fail crowd-pleasers, Franz Liszt’s Piano Concerto No. 1 in E-flat major and Benjamin Britten’s The Young Person’s Guide to the Orchestra, on the menu. The engaging Lang Lang has a way with Liszt’s Concerto No. 1 — his twinkling flourishes on both its silent-movie villain and John-and-Mary romantic passages can call to mind another flashy Liszt lover, Liberace, but Lang Lang’s technical enthusiasm is all his own. (Marke B.)

11:30 a.m., free

San Francisco City Hall

1 Dr. Carlton B. Goodlett Place, SF

(415) 864-6000

www.sfsymphony.org


FRIDAY 9

MUSIC

Christian Marclay

The mad genius-artist-composer-filmmaker who recently unleashed The Clock, an astonishingly well made 24-hour-long film collage on Los Angeles, is one of the highlights of an already awesome San Francisco Electronic Music Festival this year. Marclay, who was actually born just outside of San Francisco in San Rafael, before emigrating to Switzerland as a child, is a master of mezmerization. The sonic tapestries he creates with records were the precursors to turntablism, albeit a more avant-garde version than what has been popularized by DJs in the past several decades, and continue to transgress the boundaries of music and performance. The collage of sounds rendered by Marclay may seem cacophonous, but a hypnotizing rhythm always lurks just below the surface, ready to suck you in if you only let it. (Cooper Berkmoyer)

With Shelley Hirsch, Zachary Watkins, and Jessica Rylan

8 p.m., $16

Brava Theater

2781 24th St., SF

(415) 641-7657

www.sfemf.org


MUSIC

Iris DeMent

Sweet is the voice of Iris DeMent, whose Pentecostal parents kept her singing gospel even after they moved from Arkansas to Orange County. DeMent rolled her complex feelings towards the old time religion into one of the finest opening shots of any debut album: “Let the Mystery Be,” a Marilynne Robinson novel in the shape of a country song. She’s only recorded three albums since that first Infamous Angel (1992), but her songs still radiate hard-won wisdom and calm in concert. She kept the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass hillside hushed a few years ago, and one imagines tonight’s show at the Great American will be far more intimate. (Max Goldberg)

With Kiyoshi Foster

8 p.m., $35

Great American Music Hall

859 O’Farrell, SF

(415) 885-0750

www.gamh.com


MUSIC

Down

When Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans in 2005, the devastation was near total. In the wake of the storm, different people coped in different ways. Down used the harrowing experience as inspiration for its most recent album, III: Over the Under, soulful slab of stoner metal that helped excise some of the emotional pain. Drawing on the talents of NOLA metal stalwarts Kirk Weinstein, Phil Anselmo, Pepper Keenan, and Jimmy Bower, the super-group has stayed on tour, shouting out its heavy, Southern Rock-influenced sound in defiance of disaster. (Ben Richardson)

With In Solitude, Ponykiller

8 p.m., $25

The Regency Ballroom

1300 Van Ness, SF

www.theregencyballroom.com

(415) 673-5716


SATURDAY 10

EVENT

Ghirardelli Chocolate Festival

With a name that is among the most synonymous in the world for delicious chocolate, Ghirardelli has been making tasty treats in San Francisco since 1852 — a long standing tradition that has been joined in recent years by the annual Ghirardelli Square Chocolate Festival, a two-day fete where visitors can sample a wide variety of scrumptious confections from both the famous host company, along with more than 30 other vendors and producers. A variety of cooking demonstrations and live entertainment are also on tap for this sweet event that benefits Project Open Hand. (Sean McCourt)

Through Sun/11, noon-5 p.m., $20 for 15 tastings

Ghirardelli Square

900 North Point St., SF

(415) 775-5500

www.ghirardellisq.com


MUSIC

Rancid

Now twenty years into an impressively steady career, Rancid continues to make a uniquely identifiable version of punk rock that sounds entirely uninterested in modern spins on the genre. The East Bay-born group flirted with the mainstream with hits like “Ruby Soho” and “Time Bomb,” but its catalog goes far deeper than those pop-punk radio gems. From the early skate punk of Let’s Go, to the late period Clash-aping Life Won’t Wait, to the fiery hardcore influences of its self-titled release in 2000, Rancid has cemented itself over the years as one of the essential bands to emerge from the punk revival of the 1990s.(Landon Moblad)

With H20 and DJ J & Nicki Bonner

8 p.m., $24 The Warfield 982 Market, SF (415) 354-0900 www.thewarfieldtheatre.com

 

MUSIC

Balkans

The swallow-hard, pleading vocals of Balkans — which invoke the Strokes’ Julian Casablancas — occasionally sounds slurred, like perhaps the singer who owns those pipes knocked back a few. And who know, maybe he did. The band is after all said to be influenced by its Atlanta-hometown compatriots the Black Lips — known for destructive antics at live shows. And in a recent interview with video platform Noisey (curated by VICE), Balkans and fans did claim the band has set off fireworks, thrown raw meat, and bled on guitars during shows. Regardless of such stories, it doesn’t get in the way of the music. The fresh-faced 20-somethings, buddies since childhood, spin fuzzy ’60s pop-infused garage rock with jangly guitars — gaining comparisons to both the Walkmen and Television. Those equivalences alone are enough to want to grab a beer. (Emily Savage)

With PS I Love You

9:30 p.m., $10

Hemlock Tavern

1131 Polk, SF

(415) 923-0923

www.hemlocktavern.com

 

MUSIC

Totimoshi

Totimoshi has always defied categorization. The band, led by the baleful singing and scrabbling guitar of Antonio Aguilar, relies on a rock-solid rhythm section comprised by bassist Meg Castellanos and drummer Chris Fugitt to round out its idiosyncratic hard-rock sound. New album Avenger includes guest spots by Mastodon’s Brent Hinds, the Melvin’s Dale Crover, and Neurosis’ Scott Kelly, which should give you some idea of what’s in store. Catching them in El Rio’s intimate back room will be a great opportunity to see the band putting it’s best foot forward for a hometown crowd. (Richardson)

With Hot Fog, Belligerator

9 p.m., $8

El Rio

3158 Mission, SF

415-282-3325

www.elriosf.com


SUNDAY 11

MUSIC

Slim Cessna’s Auto Club

After a week-long, whiskey-fueled bender that leaves you half dead and nearly broke in a seedy motel room just outside of New Orleans, a sudden concern for your spiritual well being drives you into the dusky sunlight in search of salvation. Bleary eyed and still drunk, you stumble across a small Pentecostal church on an empty street populated by shuttered storefronts and a lone dog. A sign outside reads: “DIVINE HEALING. LIVE MUSIC. SNAKES.” Figuring you’ve got nothing to loose, really, you open the door. The healing is neat, you guess, and hey, who doesn’t love snakes, but the music is like nothing you’ve ever heard before. It’s like Johnny Cash performing an exorcism on Spencer Moody: Slim Cessna’s Auto Club (that’s who played, you later find out) put on one of the best damn shows you’ve ever seen and leaves you grinning . . . but still damned. (Berkmoyer)

With the Ferocious Few and Tiny Televisions

9 p.m., $12

Bottom of the Hill

1233 17th Street

San Francisco, CA

(415) 621-4455

www.bottomofthehill.com

 

TUESDAY 13

MUSIC

Teen Daze

Ambient pop can go one of two ways; this one goes the right way. True to its name, Teen Daze, sounds as if it he creates music under the lush and youthful haze of teenage emotion. Stretched out in bed, it’s music for you to toss and turn to, giant headphones attached to your head, wrapped in heady thoughts of loves gone by, slight trickles of keyboard optimism bursting over pillowy ambient clouds and pangs of sorrow. Presented by Epicsauce.com and Yours Truly, the show marks the release of the Vancouver, British Columbia-based synth musician’s newest record, A Silent Planet on Waaga Records. Throw on an oversized sweatshirt and let your thoughts get the better of you. (Savage)

With Yalls, Speculator

8 p.m. $6

Public Works

161 Erie, SF

(415) 932-0955

www.publicsf.com

 

MUSIC

The Vibrators

It’s the Vibrators! The 16-year-old with a safety pin though his cheek and Clorox in his hair that lives at the center of all that is still good in your heart demands that you go see them! Formed in London in 1976, the Vibrators was one of Britain’s first punk bands and 35 years later it’s also one of the longest lasting. Although numerous line-up changes have reduced the band to only one original member, drummer John ‘Eddie’ Edwards, the current three-piece line up can still tear through classics like “Baby, Baby” and “Whips and Furs” with the energy of the good ol’ days of punk and the precision that comes with three odd decades of practice. (Berkmoyer)

With the Meat Sluts, Sassy!!! and Elected Officials

9 p.m., $8

The Knockout

3223 Mission, SF

(415) 550-6994

www.theknockoutsf.com

 

The Guardian listings deadline is two weeks prior to our Wednesday publication date. To submit an item for consideration, please include the title of the event, a brief description of the event, date and time, venue name, street address (listing cross streets only isn’t sufficient), city, telephone number readers can call for more information, telephone number for media, and admission costs. Send information to Listings, the Guardian Building, 135 Mississippi St., SF, CA 94107; fax to (415) 487-2506; or e-mail (paste press release into e-mail body — no text attachments, please) to listings@sfbg.com. Digital photos may be submitted in jpeg format; the image must be at least 240 dpi and four inches by six inches in size. We regret we cannot accept listings over the phone.

5 Things: August 31, 2011

Andrew Lam
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5 Things: August 31, 2011

>>SEPHARDIC LINES Gorgeous and wide-ranging contemporary dance company Alonzo King LINES Ballet just announced its new season, taking place at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, Oct. 14-23. Among its offering will be an as-yet-unnamed (it’s that fresh) world premiere set to the music of the Sephardic Jewish tradition. We can’t wait to see the bodies in motion accompanying this description: “After the Expulsion of the Jews from Spain and Portugal at the end of the fifteenth century, the ensuing Sephardic diaspora reached North Africa, the Ottoman Empire, and other parts of Western Europe, as well as the Americas. Sephardic music developed according to region … In Morocco, we hear the explosion of Arab-Andalusian rhythms set to Judeo-Spanish and Hebrew lyrics, while in Turkey the sounds of Middle-Eastern a capella singing are infused with the santoor, ‘oud, and nei. Solo voices and subtle instrumental accompaniments hint at the music’s medieval roots in Spain. Sephardic music continues to be a living manifestation of the idea of convivencia: a fluid, creative, vibrant place of cultural crossing, which shows that art knows no boundaries.”

>>HAPPIER LATER We did not know that there was a happy hour every midnight at  beer-heaven Gestalt Haus in the Mission! From 12am-1am you get $1 off all drafts. With a draft menu that includes imports like Weihenstephan and Leffe Blonde, and microbrews like  Hunterspoint Porter and White Lightning, we’ll be able to afford to broaden our p(br)alate.

>>CANNABIS CALL Two bummer bills passed through the California state legislature today: SB 847, which would ban cannabis co-ops within 600 feet of a residential zone and AB 130, which would make it legal for cities and counties to ban dispensaries entirely. Way harsh for tokers in rural areas. Americans For Safe Access has an easy way you can speak out against the bills, and the organization is suggesting you take action today. 

This what your SF autumn-summer could look like. Yes, like a PowerPoint presentation

>>SKIP THE BROWN BAGGED TECATE, YOU DESERVE IT With Mexican Independence Day right around the corner (September 16), this may be a good time to start thinking celebratory tequila. We got a very nice email from SF-based distiller Don Julio‘s camp today encouraging us to consider the pomegrante. Well really, to consider this, which comes just in the nick of time for the start of sunny season in Dolores Park:

1 1/2 ounces Don Julio blanco tequila

2 1/2 ounces pomegrante juice

2 teaspoons sugar 

1/2 ounce lime juice

>>YOUNG BREEZEE Yesterday, Mission Mission posted this video of a former local rapping about bikes. The song is by Breezee One, who wrote the blog Mission Boyfriends (about her sexual exploits amongst the hipper class). After returning to her native Detroit, Breezee One made this video for her song “Bike Chase.” It lacks in lyrics and flow, but makes up for it in style and sentiment. She raps about “Bianchis, Peugeots, Cinellis, Fujis” and declares that she, “cruise[s] past Ferraris” later adding, “bikes are the only transportation we use.”

 

BREEZEE ONE – BIKE CHASE (Directed by GAREN.) from BREEZEE ONE on Vimeo.

Desolation angels

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Desolation angels

arts@sfbg.com

FILM Wanda (1970) takes a long time to settle into anything resembling a plot, but the wayward scenes at the start of the film have a remarkable exactness to them. In one, the title character (played by director Barbara Loden) walks into a dingy bar looking to end the day early. She’s fresh from divorce court, where she lost her kids, merely acceding to the judgments of her ex-husband and the court. As the bartender puts a bottle of beer and glass on her table, a greasy lump at the bar says he’ll take care of the drink. The unsolicited offer clouds Wanda’s face; she sips her drink resigned to what it means. A rude cut takes us to a spent motel room where Wanda sleeps naked alone in pale afternoon light. The guy from the bar tiptoes around the room to leave, but he makes a noise setting Wanda to hurriedly dress herself, pointlessly calling after him to wait. The plainness of the scene’s despair tells us it’s nothing new for her.

Characterization emerges in the fluidity of situation and behavior, melancholy in an unanchored camera and stark ellipses. Once its protagonist takes up with an amateur thief who radiates nervous energy, Wanda unspools as an inverted Gun Crazy (1950), its unsentimental portrait of a female drifter looking ahead to films like Jeanne Dielman (1975), Vagabond (1985), Safe (1995), and Kelly Reichardt’s River of Grass (1994) and Wendy and Lucy (2008). Wanda screens in a restoration print as part of a bountiful overview at the Pacific Film Archive called “The Outsiders: New Hollywood in the Seventies.”

Drawing inspiration from The Last Great American Picture Show, an excellent anthology edited by Alexander Horwath to accompany an earlier retrospective at the Austrian Film Museum, the PFA series shifts the historical narrative of New Hollywood from movie brats to unnamed margins. Celebrity-driven surveys of the same period (like Peter Biskind’s Easy Riders, Raging Bulls) miss the congruence of by-the-teeth filmmaking and borderline characters that helps to define the PFA series. Ample room is made for those filmmakers whose careers couldn’t hold a straight line (Loden’s career as a director began and ended with Wanda), and familiar landmarks like Mean Streets and Badlands (both 1973) are considered alongside lesser known but no less groundbreaking character studies like Dusty and Sweets McGee (1971), Ice (1970) and The Heartbreak Kid (1972).

The swift scene of Wanda getting picked up at the bar establishes a few leitmotifs for “The Outsiders.” You notice right away that the crummy motel rooms and bars are the real thing, and that an actor’s vanity is never spared a frank look at a character’s worn down body and face. The incidental nature of the camera placement, long duration of scenes, and dispersive spread of sound deepen the melancholy reality of these appearances. A verité-style handheld camera takes single measure of the scene, registering the immediacy of behavior but stopping short of slicing up the conflict into easy points of identification (Wanda cinematographer Nicholas T. Proferes cut his teeth with Robert Drew’s pioneering documentary crew in the early 1960s). Also borrowed from observational documentary is an interest in private, semi-coherent forms of speech; the stories are as much told through gesture and movement. You constantly feel on the precipice of emotions, watching as they form and stagnate in a languid real time that makes a character’s exhaustion palpable in the theater.

Most of these movies are indeed populated by outsiders, though the meaning of the word shifts from film to film. There are plenty of figures of hedonism (memorably, Rip Torn’s hard-driving country western singer in 1972’s Payday), but so too are there close portraits of the lived differences of gender, race, class and age — Wanda, but also Killer of Sheep (1977), Bush Mama (1975), and Over the Edge (1979). Unlike Easy Rider (1969), the film typically cited as launching a hundred New Hollywood productions, these movies don’t valorize the outsider towards an obvious political morality. A film like Killer of Sheep is delicate because it recognizes the social constraints of the central character’s life while at the same time respecting the fullness of his winnowed existence. The same long-take camera style which expresses pessimism is also left open to moments of ragged beauty that escape political allegory.

The exciting vision of radical heroism offered by Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song (1971) is the exception that makes it easier to imagine how Wanda‘s brittle poetry of despair might have disappointed feminists at the time. Wanda is left alone again at the end of the film, seemingly unable to live with or without a man. There’s a glimmer of hope when another woman invites her inside a raucous roadhouse where mixed company drink and smoke and laugh as a string duo stomp out a joyful sound. But through it all Wanda remains withdrawn, eating and drinking as if someone might at any moment snatch the food out of her hands. The film ends with a freeze frame of her blank face as the music slowly drains away on the soundtrack. The shot holds a mirror up to our desire for her story to mean something, our wish for the succor of tragedy or redemption. Loden’s film instead narrows in on the insoluble nature of the character’s existence, holding the wreckage of her life in view with both pitiless reserve and tender regard.

THE OUTSIDERS: NEW HOLLYWOOD CINEMA IN THE SEVENTIES

Sept. 2-Oct.27, $5.50–<\d>$9.50

Pacific Film Archive

2575 Bancroft, Berk.

(510) 642-5249

bampfa.berkeley.edu

Appetite: Oompah and bratwurst in Larkspur

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Think towering redwoods, smoky aromas of sausages, onions and peppers wafting from a grill, German beers on tap from a cooler, and a darling oompah band of elderly gentleman playing with spunk and skill. Enter the just-launched-this-week Biergarten at the Tavern at Lark Creek. For a short jaunt from the city to Larkspur, it feels worlds away.


I arrived the inaugural Sunday, 8/21, to sunny, fresh air and the knowing shade of those gorgeous redwoods that flank the Tavern (more a classic yellow and white house than tavern). The Biergarten will run every Sunday through October 30 (2pm–5:30pm) outside the restaurant. It evokes Munich beer garden days but with a decidedly California spirit from towering redwoods and elevated beerhaus food.

Chef Aaron Wright grills up smoked beer or chicken apple sausages and garlic bratwurst, juicy and savory, accompanied with grilled onions, peppers and two types of mustard. House-made pretzels come generously dusted with sea salt, or German potato salad helps in soaking up pints of Spaten’s Pilsner and Dark Optimator. Food operates with a ticket system (1-2 tickets, at $5 each, per dish or beer).

When the oompah band raised their steins with rowdy joy, I raised mine, feeling time stop if for a moment, aware of the simple joys of taste, smell, music, camaraderie and nature on a Sunday afternoon.

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