Halloween

Stage Listings

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Stage listings are compiled by Guardian staff. Performance times may change; call venues to confirm. Reviewers are Robert Avila, Rita Felciano, and Nicole Gluckstern. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks. For complete listings, see www.sfbg.com.

THEATER

OPENING

Gilligan’s Island: Live On Stage! 2011 Garage, 975 Howard, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $10-20. Opens Sat/6, 8pm. Runs Sat-Sun, 8pm. Through Aug 28. Moore Theatre and SAFEhouse for the Performing Arts presents this updated, ribald take on TV’s classic castaways.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream Steve Silver Theater, 1101 Eucalyptus (on the Lowell High School campus), SF; www.bathwater.org. $20. Opens Thurs/4, 7:30pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 7:30pm. Through Aug 20. Bathwater Productions performs an acrobatic version of the Shakespeare classic.

Peaches en Regalia Stage Werx, 533 Sutter, SF; www.wilywestproductions.com. $12-24. Opens Thurs/4, 8pm. Runs Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Aug *7. Wily West Productions performs company director Steve Lyons’ quirky comedy.

BAY AREA

“2011 New Works Festival” TheatreWorks at Lucie Stern Theatre, 1355 Middlefield, Palo Alto; (650) 463-1960, www.theatreworks.org. $19-29. Schedule varies; runs Aug 7-21. TheatreWorks presents its annual festival of new musicals and plays, performed in workshop or staged-reading form, plus a panel discussion.

ONGOING

Act One, Scene Two SF Playhouse, Stage Two, 533 Sutter, SF; (415) 869-5384, www.un-scripted.com. $10-20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Aug *0. Un-Scripted Theater Company hosts a different playwright each night, performing the first scene of an unfinished play and then improvising its finish.

“AfroSolo Arts Festival” Various venues, SF; www.afrosolo.org. Free-$100. Through Oct *0. The AfroSolo Theatre Company presents its 18th annual festival celebrating African American artists, musicians, and performers.

American Buffalo Actors Theatre of San Francisco, 855 Bush, SF; (415) 345-1*87, www.actorstheatresf.org. $26-38. Wed-Sat, 8pm. Through Sept 3. Actors Theatre of San Francisco performs the David Mamet crime classic.

Billy Elliot Orpheum Theater, 1192 Market, SF; www.shnsf.com/shows/billyelliot. $35-200. Tues-Sat, 8pm (also Wed, 2pm); Sun, 2pm. Through Aug 21. As a Broadway musical, Billy Elliot proves more enjoyable than the film. The movie’s T. Rex score may have been a major selling point, but it was a bit maudlin for a story that needed no help in that department. The musical naturally has a sentimental moment or three, but it’s much more often funny, muscular in its staging (with repeatedly inspired choreography from Peter Darling), and expansive in its eclectic score (Elton John) and well-wrought book and lyrics (Lee Hall). Moreover, Stephen Daldry (who also directed the *000 film) plays up bracingly the too-timely class politics of the modest 1980s English mining town besieged by Margaret Thatcher’s neoliberal regime in the latter’s ultimately successful bid to crush the once-powerful miners union. The cast is likewise very strong. The second act is not as strong as the first, but as crowd-pleasing entertainment the musical burrows deep and more often than not comes up with gold. (Avila)

Country Club Catastrophe Exit Theatre, 156 Eddy, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $20. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Aug 13. Back Alley Theater Company performs its first original production, a farcical comedy set at a country club.

Left-Handed Darling Exit Theatre, 156 Eddy, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. $15-30. Fri-Sat, 8pm. Through Aug 13. Foul Play Productions perfomrs the world premiere of Nikita Schoen’s Dust Bowl-era drama.

Tigers Be Still SF Playhouse, 522 Sutter, SF; www.sfplayhouse.org. $30-50. Tues-Wed, 7pm; Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 3pm). Through Sept 10. SF Playhouse performs Kim Rosenstock’s quirky comedy.

What Mamma Said About Down There SF Downtown Comedy Theater, 287 Ellis, SF; www.sfdowntowncomedytheater.com. $15. Thurs-Sat, 8pm. Through Aug 20. Sia Amma returns with her solo comedy.

BAY AREA

Communicating Doors Live Oak Theatre, 1301 Shattuck, Berk; www.aeofberkeley.org. $12-15. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Aug 14, 2pm. Through Aug 20. Actors Ensemble of Berkeley performs Alan Ayckbourn’s “time-travel-battle-of-the-sexes comedy.”

The Complete History of America (abridged) Dominican University of California, Forest Meadows Amphitheater, 1475 Grand, San Rafael; (415) 499-4488, www.marinshakespeare.org. $20-35. Performance times vary; check website for schedule. Through Sept. 25. Marin Shakespeare Company performs Adam Lon, Reed Martin, and Austin Tichenor’s three-person romp through American history.

East 14th: True Tales of a Reluctant Player Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Sat/6, 8:30pm; Sun/7, 7pm. Don Reed’s hit solo comedy receives one last extension before Reed debuts his new show (a sequel to East 14th) in the fall.

Fly By Night Lucie Stern Theatre, 1305 Middlefield, Palo Alto; (650) 463-1960, www.theatreworks.org. $19-69. Tues-Wed, 7:30pm; Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Sat, 2pm); Sun, 2 and 7pm. Through Aug 13. TheatreWorks performs the world premiere of Kim Rosentock, Michael Mitnick, and Will Connolly’s musical, set in 1965 New York.

Macbeth Dominican University of California, Forest Meadows Amphitheater, 1475 Grand, San Rafael; (415) 499-4488, www.marinshakespeare.org. $20-35. Performance times vary; check website for schedule. Through Aug 14. Marin Shakespeare Company takes on the Scottish play.

Madhouse Rhythm Cabaret at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $15-35. Thurs, 7:30pm. Through Aug 25. Joshua Walters performs his hip-hop-infused autobiographical show about his experiences with bipolar disorder.

A Midsummer’s Night Dream This week: Rengstorff House, 3070 N. Shoreline, Mtn View; www.womanswill.org. Free (donations requested). Sun/7, 2pm. Performances continue at Bay Area parks through Aug 21. Woman’s Will performs the Shakespeare favorite.

Not a Genuine Black Man Marsh Berkeley, TheaterStage, 2120 Allston, Berk; 1-800-838-3006, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Sat, 5pm (also Sept 8 and 22, 7:30pm). Through Sept 24. This is it: the final extension of Brian Copeland’s solo show about growing up in (nearly) all-white San Leandro.

Reduction in Force Berkeley City Club, 2315 Durant, Berk; (510) 558-1381, www.centralworks.org. $14-25. Thurs-Sat, 8pm (also Aug 20 and 27, 5pm); Sun, 5pm. Through Aug 28. Central Works performs “an economic comedy about back-stabbing, ass-kissing, and survival of the sneakiest.”

The Road to Hades John Hinkel Park, Southampton Ave, Berk; (510) 841-6500, www.shotgunplayers.org. $10 (suggested donation; no one turned away for lack of funds). Sat-Sun, 3pm. Through Sept 11. Shotgun Players presents a new comedy written by and starring veteran comedian and clown Jeff Raz.

Strange Travel Suggestions Cabaret at Marsh Berkeley, 2120 Allston, Berk; (415) 282-3055, www.themarsh.org. $20-50. Fri, 8pm; Sat, 5pm. Through Aug 27. Jeff Greenwald returns with a new version of his hit show of improvised monologues about travel.

2012: The Musical! This week: Lakeside Park, Bellevue and Perkins, Oakl; www.sfmt.org. Free. Wed/3-Thurs/4, 7pm. Peacock Meadow, Golden Gate Park, SF. Sat/6, 2pm. Glen Park, Bosworth and O’Shaughnessy, SF/ Sun/7, 2pm. Continues through Sept. 25 at various Bay Area venues. San Francisco Mime Troupe mounts their annual summer musical; this year’s show is about a political theater company torn between selling out and staying true to its anti-corporate roots.

PERFORMANCE/DANCE

DanceWright Project and Labayan Dance/SF Dance Mission Theater, 3316 24th St, SF; www.brownpapertickets.com. Fri-Sat, 8pm; Sun, 7pm, $18. The companies share the stage to present their joint 2011 summer/fall season.

“Fireside Storytelling: Spectacular Injuries” Jellyfish Gallery, 1286 Folsom, SF; www.jellyfishgallery.com. $10. Storytelling with Quintin Mecke, Chris Spurrell, Lori “Switch” Ayres, Damian Chacona, and more.

“Five Funny Females Festival” Purple Onion, 140 Columbus, SF; www.5funnyfemales.eventbrite.com. Fri-Sat, 8 and 10pm. $22. This fest’s format hightlights five different female comedians during each set, with host Susan Alexander.

Live stand-up comedy and belly dancing Four Star, 2200 Clement, SF; (415) 666-3488. Thurs, 8pm. $7. Variety show with Johnny Steele, Kurt Weitzmann, and other comedians, plus magician Charlie Martin, Rasa the belly dancer, and more.

“Previously Secret Information” Stage Werx Theatre, 533 Sutter, SF; www.previouslysecretinformation.com. Sun, 7 and 9:30pm. $25-35. This month’s edition of the storytelling series features Greg Proops, Joe Klocek, and Dhaya Lakshminarayanan.

“The Unbearable Lightness of Raya (The *011 Remix)”/”Halloween! The Ballad of Michele Myers” CounterPULSE, 1310 Mission, SF; 1-800-838-3006, www.counterpulse.org. Fri-Sun, 8pm. $15-20. Drag superstar Raya Light stars in her San Francisco Fringe Festival hit musical, with updates, in a performance paired with a drag (and musical) take on slasher films.

The Fourth of July in Rock Rapids, Iowa, 1940-53

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(Note: In July of l972, when the Guardian was short a Fourth of July story, I sat down and cranked out this one for the front page on my trusty Royal Typewriter. I now reprint it each year on the Bruce blog (by popular demand, of course), with some San Francisco updates and postscripts. My update for  this year’s Fourth  is the story on  today’s Chronicle front page that reports sadly, “Leaner budgets douse fireworks shows.” But, if you read to the end of this piece, I will point you to a little known spot in town where the amateurs and semi-pros  and parents with children will go to fire off their cherry bombs and Roman candles.

Back where I come from, a small town beneath a tall standpipe in northwestern Iowa, the Fourth of July was the best day of a long, hot summer.

The Fourth came after YMCA camp and Scout camp and church camp, but before the older boys had to worry about getting into shape for football. It was welcome relief from the scalding, 100-degree heat in a town without a swimming pool and whose swimming holes at Scout Island were usually dried up by early July. But best of all, it had the kind of excitement that began building weeks in advance.
The calm of the summer dawn and the cooing of the mourning doves on the telephone wires would be broken early on July Fourth: The Creglow boys would be up by 7 a.m. and out on the lawn shooting off their arsenal of firecrackers. They were older and had somehow sent their agents by car across the state line and into South Dakota where, not far above the highway curves of Larchwood, you could legally buy fireworks at roadside stands.

Ted Fisch, Jim Ramsey, Wiener Winters, the Cook boys, Hermie Casjens, Jerry Prahl, and the rest of the neighborhood would race out of their houses to catch the action. Some of them had cajoled firecrackers from their parents or bartered from the older boys in the neighborhood: some torpedoes (the kind you smashed against the sidewalk); lots of 2 and 3-inchers, occasionally the granddaddy of them all, the cherry bomb (the really explosive firecracker, stubby, cherry red, with a wick sticking up menacingly from its middle; the kind of firecracker you’d gladly trade away your best set of Submariner comics for).

Ah, the cherry bomb. It was a microcosm of excitement and mischief and good fun. Bob Creglow, the most resourceful of the Creglow boys who lived next door,  would take a cherry bomb, set it beneath a tin can on a porch, light the fuse, then head for the lilac bushes behind the barn.

“The trick,” he would say, imparting wisdom of the highest order, “is to place the can on a wood porch with a wood roof. Then it will hit the top of the porch, bang, then the bottom of the porch, bang. That’s how you get the biggest clatter.”

So I trudged off to the Linkenheil house, the nearest front porch suitable for cherry bombing, to try my hand at small-town demolition. Bang went the firecracker. Bang went the can on the roof. Bang went the can on the floor. Bang went the screen door as Karl Linkenheil roared out in a sweat, and I lit out for the lilacs behind the barn with my dog, Oscar.

It was glorious stuff – not to be outdone for years, I found out later, until the Halloween eve in high school when Dave Dietz, Ted Fisch, Ken Roach, Bob Babl, and rest of the Hermie Casjens gang and I made the big time and twice pushed a boxcar loaded with lumber across Main Street and blocked it for hours. But that’s another story in my annual  Halloween blog.

Shooting off fireworks was, of course, illegal in Rock Rapids, but Chief of Police Del Woodburn and later Elmer “Shinny” Sheneberger used to lay low on the Fourth. I don’t recall ever seeing them about in our neighborhood and I don’t think they ever arrested anybody, although each year the Rock Rapids Reporter would carry vague warnings about everybody cooperating to have “a safe and sane Fourth of July.” My father, a bit of a law and order sort, would take Jimmy DeYoung and me  five miles north of town and across the state line to Minnesota where it was legal to shoot off fireworks. 

Perhaps it was just too dangerous for them to start making firecracker arrests on the Fourth – on the same principle, I guess, that it was dangerous to do too much about the swashbuckling on Halloween or start running down dogs without leashes (Mayor Earl Fisher used to run on the platform that, as long as he was in office, no dog in town would have to be leashed. The neighborhood consensus was that Fisher’s dog, a big, boisterous boxer, was one of the few that ought to be leashed).

We handled the cherry bombs and other fireworks in our possession with extreme care and cultivation; I can’t remember a single mishap. Yet, even then, the handwriting was on the wall. There was talk of cutting off the fireworks supply in South Dakota because it was dangerous for young boys. Pretty soon, they did cut off the cherry bomb traffic and about all that was left, when I came back from college and the Roger boys had replaced the Creglow boys next door, was little stuff appropriately called ladyfingers.

Fireworks are dangerous, our parents would say, and each year they would dust off the old chestnut about the drugstore in Spencer that had a big stock of fireworks and they caught fire one night and much of the downtown went up in a spectacular shower of roman candles and sparkling fountains.

The story was hard to pin down, and seemed to get more gruesome every year – but, we were told, this was why Iowa banned fireworks years before, why they were so dangerous and why little boys shouldn’t be setting them off. The story, of course, never made quite the intended impression; we just wished we’d been on the scene.
My grandfather was the town druggist (Brugmann’s Drugstore, “where drugs and gold are fairly sold,” since 1902) and he said he knew the Spencer druggist personally. Fireworks put him out of business and into the poorhouse, he’d say, and walk away shaking his head.

In any event, firecrackers weren’t much of an issue past noon – the Fourth celebration at the fairgrounds was getting underway and there was too much else to do. Appropriately, the celebration was sponsored by the Rex Strait post of the American Legion (Strait, so the story went, was the first boy from Rock Rapids to die on foreign soil during World War I); the legionnaires were a bunch of good guys from the cleaners and the feed store and the bank who sponsored the American Legion baseball team each summer.

There was always a big carnival, with a ferris wheel somewhere in the center for the kids, a bingo stand for the elders, a booth where the ladies from the Methodist Church sold homemade baked goods, sometimes a hootchy dancer or two, and a couple of dank watering holes beneath the grandstand where the VFW and the Legion sold Grainbelt and Hamms beer  at 30¢ a bottle to anybody who looked of age.

Later on, when the farmboys came in from George and Alvord, there was lots of pushing and shoving, and a fist fight or two.

In front of the grandstand, out in the dust and the sun, would come a succession of shows that made the summer rounds of the little towns. One year it would be Joey Chitwood and his daredevil drivers. (The announcer always fascinated me: “Here he comes, folks, rounding the far turn…he is doing a great job out there tonight…let’s give him a big, big hand as he pulls up in front on the grandstand…”)

Another year it would be harness racing and Mr. Hardy, our local horse trainer from nearby  Doon, would be in his moment of glory. Another year it was tag team wrestling and a couple of barrel-chested goons from Omaha, playing the mean heavies and rabbit-punching their opponents from the back, would provoke roars of disgust from the grandstand. ( The biggest barrel-chest would lean back on the ropes, looking menacingly at the crowd and yell, “ Aw, you dumb farmers. What the hell do you know anyway?” And the grandstand would roar back in glee.)

One year, Cedric Adams, the Herb Caen of Minneapolis and the Star-Tribune, would tour the provinces as the emcee of a variety show. “It’s great to be in Rock Rapids,” he would say expansively, “because it’s always been known as the ‘Gateway to Magnolia.” (Magnolia, he didn’t need to say, was a little town just over the state line in Minnesota which was known throughout the territory for its liquor-by-the-drink roadhouses. It was also Cedric Adams’ hometown: his “Sackamenna.”) Adams kissed each girl (soundly) who came on the platform to perform and, at the end, hushed the crowd for his radio broadcast to the big city “direct from the stage of the Lyon County Fairgrounds in Rock Rapids, Iowa.”

For a couple of years, when Rock Rapids had a “town team,” and a couple of imported left-handed pitchers named Peewee Wenger and Karl Kletschke, we would have some rousing baseball games with the best semi-pro team around, Larchwood and its gang of Snyder brothers: Barney the eldest at shortstop, Jimmy the youngest at third base, John in center field, Paul in left field, another Snyder behind the plate and a couple on the bench. They were as tough as they came in Iowa baseball.

I can remember it as if it were yesterday at Candlestick, the 1948 game with the Snyders of Larchwood. Peewee Wenger, a gawky, 17-year-old kid right off a high school team, was pitching for Rock Rapids and holding down the Snyder artillery in splendid fashion. Inning after inning he went on, nursing a small lead, mastering one tough Larchwood batter after another, with a blistering fastball and a curve that sliced wickedly into the bat handles of the right-handed Larchwood line-up.

Then the cagey Barney Snyder laid a slow bunt down the third base line. Wenger stumbled, lurched, almost fell getting to the ball, then toppled off balance again, stood helplessly holding the ball. He couldn’t make the throw to first. Barney was safe, cocky and firing insults like machine gun bullets at Peewee from first base.

Peewee, visibly shaken, went back to the mound. He pitched, the next Larchwood batter bunted, this time down the first base line. Peewee lurched for the ball, but couldn’t come up with it. A couple more bunts, a shot through the pitcher’s mound, more bunts and Peewee was out. He could pitch, but, alas, he was too clumsy to field. In came Bill Jammer, now in his late 30’s, but in his day the man who beat the University of Iowa while pitching at a small college called Simpson.

Now he was pitching on guts and beer, a combination good enough for many teams and on good days even to take on the Snyders. Jammer did well for a couple of innings, then he let two men on base, then came a close call at the plate. Jammer got mad. Both teams were off the bench and onto the field and, as Fred Roach wrote in the Rock Rapids Reporter, “fisticuffs erupted at home plate.” When the dust cleared, Jammer has a broken jaw, and for the next two weeks had to drink his soup through a straw at the Joy Lunch. John Snyder, it was said later, came all the way in from center field to throw the punch, but nobody knew for sure and he stayed in the game. I can’t remember the score or who won the game, but I remember it as the best Fourth ever.

At dusk, the people moved out on their porches or put up folding chairs on the lawn. Those who didn’t have a good view drove out to the New Addition or parked out near Mark Curtis’ place or along the river roads that snaked out to the five-mile bridge and Virgil Hasche’s place.

A hush came over the town. Fireflies started flickering in the river bottom and, along about 8:30, the first puff of smoke rose above the fairgrounds and an aerial bomb whistled into the heavens. BOOM! And the town shook as if hit by a clap of thunder.

Then the three-tiered sky bombs – pink, yellow, white, puff, puff, puff. The Niagara Falls and a gush of white sparks.

Then, in sudden fury, a dazzling display of sizzling comets and aerial bombs and star clusters that arched high, hung for a full breath and descended in a cascade of sparks that floated harmlessly over the meadows and cornfields. At the end, the flag – red, white and blue – would burst forth on the ground as the All-American finale in the darkest of the dark summer nights. On cue, the cheers rolled out from the grandstand and the cars honked from the high ground and the people trundled up their lawn chairs and everybody headed for home.

Well, I live in San Francisco now, and I drive to Daly City with my son, Danny, to buy some anemic stuff in gaudy yellow and blue wrapping and I try unsuccessfully each year to get through the fog or the traffic to see the fireworks at Candlestick. But I feel better knowing that, back where I come from, everybody in town will be on their porches and on the backroads on the evening of the Fourth to watch the fireworks and that, somewhere in town, a little boy will put a big firecracker under a tin can on a wood porch, then light out for the lilacs behind the barn.

P.S. Our family moved in l965 from Daly City to a house in the West Portal area of San Francisco. There are, I assure you, few visible fireworks in that neighborhood. However, down where we work at the Guardian building at the bottom of Potrero Hill, the professional and amateur action is spectacular.

From the roof of the Guardian building at 135 Mississippi, and from any Potrero Hill height, you can see the fireworks in several directions: the waterfront fireworks in the city, fireworks on the Marin side of the Golden Gate bridge, fireworks at several points in the East Bay, fireworks along the Peninsula coast line.

And for the amateur action, parents with kids, kids of all ages, spectators in cars and on foot, congregate after dusk along Terry Francois Boulevard in San Francisco along the shoreline between the Giants ballpark and Kellys Mission Rock restaurant.

The action is informal but fiery and furious: cherry bombs, clusters, spinning wheels, high flying arcs, whizzers of all shapes and sizes. The cops are quite civilized and patrol the perimeter but don’t bother anybody. I go every year. I think it’s the best show in town. B3.

Cryptic cave wave

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Cryptic cave wave

SOUND TO SPARE “What show are you here for?” asked what looked like a curious 10-year-old as I took care of business at the urinal. “I’m here to see Uzi Rash,” I answered matter-of-factly. But I wasn’t so sure he was curious about the bands by the way he stared at what makes it the men’s room. Apparently Oakland’s the New Parish (www.thenewparish.com) took the phrase “all ages show” to heart.

After that somewhat disturbing run-in, I settled into the bar excited for a night of firsts. It would be my first time at the venue, as well as my first time seeing openers Terry Malts. They were fine, but like I told the tiny Peeping Tom, I wanted to check out the East Bay’s Uzi Rash (www.myspace.com/uzirash). I hadn’t seen them since they did a memorable night of Monks’ covers on Halloween, where their performance included theatrical embellishments like shaved monk-like heads and makeshift robes.

This night’s scene was different. The onset of a rare heat wave was kicking in while the murky, cave-wave sounds of the mutable band — these days, a seven-piece stage outfit — took charge with a commanding and cacophonous presence. The Rash seems to be sitting on a backlog of sludgy, lo-fi treasure: current LP Palmwine Rumpus Vol. 2 (Party Ngg! Records) precedes a September release on Volar Records titled I Was 30 in 2012. Next month the band plans to start recording another full-length album, Whyte Rash Time — not a play on “white trash,” but a reference to the Monks’ Black Monk Time — which will hopefully see the light of day before the year’s end and they embark on a West Coast tour.

I caught up with Max Nordlie, the band’s toenail-painted, jorts-wearing guitarist and vocalist. He gave me a peek into his philosophy on degeneration and premonitions. (With song titles like “Bag of Dirt” and “I’m a Trashbag,” it’s tempting to see Uzi Rash as emblematic of the self-deprecating sounds I often notice oozing out of Oakland.)

Nordlie directly references 2012 as the year of the band’s apocalyptic demise, and explains how the Rash players were “born grown” four years ago. “The band sound was much more the same of itself than it could possibly be now,” Nordlie says cryptically, going on to cite a permanent need for regression. I hear that yearning for regression in the music — at times it reminds me of an unpolished version of Devo’s de-evolution.

That night, the ensemble’s delivery of what Nordlie calls “beach party squelch and shimmy” included electro-sax, keys, and cool-looking guitars. The band looked sort of like a low-budget version of Sly and the Family Stone: keyboardist Thee Whyte Bitch in her long white wig hammering out some discord and bassist Mateo Luv looking svelte in his long johns.

Their performance is raw and charged, and while the front man looks as if he’s working out some serious emotion, Nordlie assures me that he’s aiming at “getting it right” in an expressive sense — he just wants a playfully spirited “twist-and-shout-up.”

I asked Nordlie if the constant revolving door of musicians in the band dizzies him. “Stability, much like ability, is overrated,” he replied. “We seek to compensate for the traditional rock spectacle of ritual with monstrous unpredictability — even to ourselves,” he said, before quipping that the forthcoming Volar record is simultaneously “sophisticated and appalling.” That sounds like a great introduction to 2012, end times or no.

There will be a few more local opportunities to catch Uzi Rash this summer — most notably the 1-2-3-4 Go! Records 10-year anniversary show July 22 at Oakland Metro Operahouse (www.oaklandmetro.org) — before it goes on tour with Unnatural Helpers.

The Performant: The fast and the furious

Andrew Lam
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FURY Factory turns four

Summertime is festival time in the city, and the streets will stay lively from now to Halloween, barring acts of god/s or unforeseen War on Fun skirmishes. But considering the typical bluster of an average summer day in San Francisco, it’s a relief that a few of our festivals can be enjoyed indoors. 

One example: FURY Factory, a three-week celebration of ensemble theatre hosted by San Francisco’s own foolsFURY Theater that provides the perfect excuse to avoid the elements, located in the comparable warmth of Project Artaud’s four theatre spaces. An eclectic lineup of 31 ensemble companies from around the country, FURY Factory includes talkbacks, workshops, and a forum for discussing excellence in theatre. 

But for most oddiences, the play’s the thing, and there is indeed a plethora of performances to choose from, some of which are even being streamed live on “New Play TV.”

On Saturday afternoon a cluster of kids and young-at-hearts gathered in The Jewish Theatre to watch a light-hearted collaborative effort between two San Francisco-based ensembles — Sweet Can Productions and Coventry and Kaluza – called “Chef Mulchini’s Kitchen”. A buoyant public service announcement regarding the four “R’s” (reduce, reuse, recycle, and rot) as presented by a quartet of capable clowns, “Kitchen” is a visually appealing romp which includes an appearance by a rapping green trash bin, puppet produce, and acrobatics. 

A nerd (Ross Travis, who also plays a brash pentathlete), a robot (Natasha Kaluza), a flirtatious neighbor (Kerri Kresinski), and that mustachioed punster, Chef Mulchini himself (Jamie Coventry), approach the topic of waste reduction with the wide-eyed earnestness of a Sesame Street sketch. You’re more likely to catch the next Mulchini performance at a public grade school than in a private theatre, but the performers themselves can be found in grown-up shows throughout the year, and are well worth watching on any stage.

One of the most buzzed-about events in the festival by far has been the West Coast premiere of Pig Iron’s Obie-winning “Chekov Lizardbrain,” which played for a single sold-out weekend at Z Space. An uncomfortably wry prologue narrated by an ostensibly imaginary occupant of protagonist Dmitri’s mind (both played by James Sugg) opens the show. 

The narrator “Chekov Lizardbrain” wears an ostentatious top hat and tailcoat, but his reptilian gestures and labored mumble undermine the graciousness such attire is meant to convey. His host body, Dmitri, is not much better off. An Aspergian botanist, he is socially awkward to the point of painful, and his interactions with three brothers whose house he is buying take a surreal turn as he recasts their conversations in the context of a Chekovian melodrama. 

The brothers, played by Dito van Reigersberg, Geoff Sobelle, and Quinn Bauriedel, first appear onstage in formal top hats, suit vests, and turn-of-the-century long underwear, underscoring their fantasy-based roles. Peeks behind the stylish red curtain provide glimpses of the murky swamp of Dmitri’s brain, where an initially light-hearted game of “lost and alone” leaves him stranded, inside and out. Though the “rules” of Chekov presented earlier in the show specify that tragedy should happen “offstage,” the melancholy finale in which Dmitri succumbs entirely to his “lizard brain” is not a particularly uplifting one. But the neocortex can sense the humanity in it.

 

FURY Factory 2011

Through June 26

Project Artuad

499 Alabama, SF

(415) 685-3665

www.foolsfury.org

 

 

Acid-washed terror

Andrew Lam
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Acid-washed terror

RETRO GORE With the upcoming release of Scream 4 — the overlong-awaited latest in a series riffing on 1980s slasher clichés — it feels like a good moment to review the source material, which is to say the deadly spawn of Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13th (1980). Issued at the heyday of the direct-to-video market, those films’ myriad cheap-and-cheaper knockoffs explored the full range of variably amateur charm.

Two years ago Ti West made a very nice homage in The House of the Devil, a babysitter-in-peril thriller that was slick and canny enough to get an actual theatrical release. No such thing is risked by Drew Rosas’ Blood Junkie, a new DVD release from Troma — the company so indiscriminate it can’t help but release a good movie once in a while. (Still, it should dial down its contempt: Lloyd Kaufman’s recycled all-purpose introduction suggests any movie might be better than the one you’re about to watch.) This dead-on parody of no-budget VHS horror circa 1987 (according to its website, Blood Junkie was “shot in Wisconsin for $7,000”) is a sleeper and a keeper for anyone who covets the worst of Reagan decade style.

Mulleted Craig (Nick Sommer) and fellow pencil-‘stached buddy Teddy (Mike Johnston) are on the prowl for chicks, a quest answered when they meet high school best friends Rachel (tube-topped Emily Treolo) and Laura (feather-haired, four-eyed Sarah Luther), who has just come into a big $35 booze budget left as grocery money by traveling parents for her insect-tormenting brainiac little bro Andy (Brady Cohen). The attraction is irresistible; Teddy alone sports a lime-green tiger-striped T, denim vest, and acid-washed jeans. Babe magnet!

Anyway, this quartet plus imp go camping near an abandoned chemical plant. Bad things happen, thanks to a killer of extremely vague identity and motivation. Which is just as it should be.

With its dweezly synth score, post-synched dialogue, lowbrow FX, fake aerobics workouts, and pseudo-age-streaked “film” stock, Blood Junkie is pure retro-flavva’d silliness. One nice touch is the male protagonists’ bromantic frisson — played as a joke, albeit so persistently that Craig’s offhand mid-wrestle “I seriously want you, man” feels like a naked confession. 

 

Loco for Locavore

Andrew Lam
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1
Loco for Locavore

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE In a better world than this one — a world of locavores — there would be no need for a restaurant like Locavore. President Kennedy would have gone to the Berlin Wall and declared, “Ich bein ein locavore!” — and been greeted with applause from the other side. In related news, the dictatorship of the proletariat would have peaceably dissolved itself.

In the world we have, Locavore is a rather lovely place. It’s been some time since I found so much poured concrete so full of charm. The floors and walls are concrete, curving into a low ceiling so that you feel a little as if you’re inside one of the sections of BART’s transbay tube before they sank it for installation. Considering all the hard surfaces and the exuberance of the crowd, the place is surprisingly not too noisy. There is a definite roar, low and sustained, but it doesn’t interfere with conversation or require cross-table shouting and the use of signal flags. How the sound damping was achieved must be a trade secret, because none of the usual suspects (including that quilted baffling material) are visible.

The restaurant, which opened near Halloween, procures all its ingredients (including beer, wine, and cider) from within a radius of 100 miles — and since, as we know, there’s a lot of agricultural action within 100 miles of this city, year-round, the question presented is whether you would know you were in a restaurant committed to this philosophical and moral principle if you didn’t know beforehand. My guess is no. It would be different if Locavore was, say, in Burlington, Vt., where the land and climate would pose serious challenges to locavoricity for a chef composing a late-winter menu (or any winter menu). But in our land of plenty, with its rich tilth and kindly climate, such stresses are muted. The result is that Locavore’s cooking doesn’t seem very different from that of a host of other places.

But this isn’t a bad thing. Chef/owner Jason Moniz’s food is excellent, reasonably priced, and the vegetarian angle seems to have been considered with some imagination. We were most impressed with the spicy yuba soy roll ($17), a trio of chubbies made from yuba (tofu skin), stuffed with chopped, spiced yuba, gift-wrapped with ribbons of wilted red-mustard greens and finished with an emulsion of soy and puréed baby leeks that assumed the form of a foam the pale green color of spring. The plate also included a small bundle of whole baby leeks, which added their subtle, sublime oniony-ness to the proceedings and were only slightly hard to handle.

But flesh-lovers need not despair. There is plenty of animal protein on the menu, from mussels ($9) in an herbed broth made faintly bittersweet by grapefruit, to ham hock ravioli ($10), smoky and adrift in a buttery broth of so intensely meaty as to be kind of pork liqueur. A little lighter, but still substantial, was a pair of chicken croquettes ($10) served with baby chicories, spiced hazelnuts, and ghostly splinters of apple slaw — almost like a salad, with a set of crisp golden disks thrown in.

It’s hard for me to resist halibut, which is one of the most user-friendly fish, is taken from well-managed fisheries, and has a nice weight. Locavore’s version ($19) did right by this indispensable seafood, pan-frying a filet to a crispy gold without drying it out and serving it with lovely little crisp-gold gnocchi (a clever echo — were these browned alongside the fish?) and a jumble of chard and green garlic that captured the passage from winter to spring. No one would ever say the halibut was undersalted, incidentally, but because most seafood has a faint sweetness, balance was maintained.

To the charge that I have perhaps too often described this or that dessert as resembling a cloud, or clouds, I would have to plead guilty. But now I must do it again, because Locavore’s honey semifreddo ($7), a puff of creamy gold, was the most cloud-like apparition I have ever seen descend to a dessert plate. And its sweetness was elusive and complex, no doubt in large part because of the presence of kiwi slices and chunks of oro blanco, the mild white grapefruit that nonetheless packs a real grapefruit charge of sourness and bitter bite. In symphony, these ingredients made a beautiful, balanced mouth music unlike any other I’ve ever enjoyed. This dessert did not ask to be liked, and for that reason alone, — how many desserts show that kind of resolve? — this intermittently lapsed locavore had to like it.

LOCAVORE

Dinner: Mon.–Thurs., 5–-9:30 p.m.;

Fri.-Sat., 5–10:30 p.m.

Lunch: Tues.–Sat., 11:30 a.m.–4 p.m.

3215 Mission, SF

(415) 821-1918

www.locavoreca.com

Wine and beer

DS/MC/V

Lively, not quite noisy

Wheelchair accessible

 

Music Listings

Maria Poblet
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0

Music listings are compiled by Cheryl Eddy. Since club life is unpredictable, it’s a good idea to call ahead to confirm bookings and hours. Prices are listed when provided to us. Submit items for the listings at listings@sfbg.com. For further information on how to submit items for the listings, see Picks.

WEDNESDAY 6

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Ani DiFranco Fillmore. 8pm, $33.50.

Fences, Rin Tin Tiger, Passenger and Pilot Rickshaw Stop. 8pm, $10.

Emma Jean Foster and Glide Gospel 50 Mason Social House, 50 Mason, SF; www.50masonsocialhouse.com. 9pm, free.

Aaron Glass and friends, Mowgli’s, Sufis Elbo Room. 9pm, $8.

A Rocket to the Moon, Valencia, Anarbor, Runner Runner Bottom of the Hill. 7pm, $15.

Spider Heart Submission, 2183 Mission, SF; www.sf-submission.com. 10pm, $5.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Cosmo Alleycats Le Colonial, 20 Cosmo, SF; www.lecolonialsf.com. 7pm.

Dink Dink Dink, Gaucho, Michael Abraham Amnesia. 7pm, free.

Ben Marcato and the Mondo Combo Top of the Mark. 7:30pm, $10.

Michael Parsons Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:30pm, free.

Denise Perrier Rrazz Room. 8pm, $30.

DANCE CLUBS

Booty Call Q-Bar, 456 Castro, SF; www.bootycallwednesdays.com. 9pm. Juanita Moore hosts this dance party, featuring DJ Robot Hustle.

Buena Onda Little Baobab, 3388 19th St., SF; (415) 643-3558. 10pm, $3. Soul, funk, swing, and rare grooves with residents Dr. Musco and DJB.

Cannonball Beauty Bar. 10pm, free. Rock, indie, and nu-disco with DJ White Mike.

Jam Fresh Wednesdays Vessel, 85 Campton, SF; (415) 433-8585. 9:30pm, free. With DJs Slick D, Chris Clouse, Rich Era, Don Lynch, and more spinning top40, mashups, hip hop, and remixes.

Mary-Go-Round Lookout, 3600 16th St, SF; (415) 431-0306. 10pm, $5. A weekly drag show with hosts Cookie Dough, Pollo Del Mar, and Suppositori Spelling.

No Room For Squares Som., 2925 16th St, SF; (415) 558-8521. 6-10pm, free. DJ Afrodite Shake spins jazz for happy hour.

Respect Wednesdays End Up. 10pm, $5. Rotating DJs Daddy Rolo, Young Fyah, Irie Dole, I-Vier, Sake One, Serg, and more spinning reggae, dancehall, roots, lovers rock, and mash ups.

Synchronize Il Pirata, 2007 16th St, SF; (415) 626-2626. 10pm, free. Psychedelic dance music with DJs Helios, Gatto Matto, Psy Lotus, Intergalactoid, and guests.

THURSDAY 7

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Dark Star Orchestra Great American Music Hall. 9pm, $35.

Dodos, Reading Rainbow Fillmore. 8pm, $18.50.

Futur Skullz, Blown to Bits, Trouble Kidz, Born Uglies Eagle Tavern. 9:30pm, $7.

Heavy Metal Kings, Danny Diablo Slim’s. 8:30pm, $18.

Hydrophonic, Burn River Burn, Electric Shepherd Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $8.

Loto Ball, Moira Scar, Tunnel Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $7.

Peelander-Z, Anamanaguchi, Glowing Stars DNA Lounge. 8pm, $16.

Ron Sexsmith, Caitlin Rose Café Du Nord. 9pm, $16.

“Shock and Roll Therapy” Stud. 8pm, free. With Havarti Party, Poor Sons, Narooma, and Cool Ghouls.

Society 50 Mason Social House, 50 Mason, SF; www.50masonsocialhouse.com. 9pm, free.

Sounds, K.Flay, DJ Aaron Axelsen, Miles the DJ Rickshaw Stop. 9pm, $14.

Tycho, Inu, Soma FM DJs Independent. 8pm, $20. SOMA FM 11th anniversary party.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

“Activating the Medium XIV: Radio: Chapter One” San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 151 Third St, SF; www.sfmoma.org. 7pm, $10. With Richard Garet and Jim Haynes and Allison Holt.

Raul Midion Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $28.

Organsm featuring Jim Gunderson and “Tender” Tim Shea Bollyhood Café. 6:30-9pm, free.

Stompy Jones Top of the Mark. 7:30pm, $10.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Bill Monroe Tribute Band Atlas Café. 8-10pm, free.

Chris Milam Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:30pm, free.

Rafael and Ingrid Red Poppy Art House. 7pm, $12.

“Twang! Honky Tonk” Fiddler’s Green, 1330 Columbus, SF; www.twanghonkytonk.com. 5pm.

DANCE CLUBS

Afrolicious Elbo Room. 9:30pm, $5. DJs Pleasuremaker and Señor Oz spin Afrobeat, tropicália, electro, samba, and funk.

Caribbean Connection Little Baobab, 3388 19th St, SF; (415) 643-3558. 10pm, $3. DJ Stevie B and guests spin reggae, soca, zouk, reggaetón, and more.

Club Jammies Edinburgh Castle. 10pm, free. DJs EBERrad and White Mice spinning reggae, punk, dub, and post punk.

Culture Corner Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; www.kokococktails.com. 10pm, free. Roots reggae, dub, rocksteady, and classic dancehall with DJ Tomas’ Bunny Wailer and Big Youth Birthday Celebration.

Diapers, Binkies, and Friends Knockout. 9:30pm, free. Dad-to-be Jamie Jams spins baby-themed jams with DJs Stab Master Arson and DJ Eli Glad.

Drop the Pressure Underground SF. 6-10pm, free. Electro, house, and datafunk highlight this weekly happy hour.

Electric Feel Lookout, 2600 16th St, SF; www.fringesf.com. 9pm, $2. Indie music video dance party with subOctave and Blondie K, plus guest DJ Candy.

80s Night Cat Club. 9pm, $6 (free before 9:30pm). Two dance floors bumpin’ with the best of 80s mainstream and underground with Dangerous Dan, Skip, Low Life, and guests.

Wolfgang Gartner Ruby Skye. 9pm, $25.

Guilty Pleasures Gestalt, 3159 16th St, SF; (415) 560-0137. 9:30pm, free. DJ TophZilla, Rob Metal, DJ Stef, and Disco-D spin punk, metal, electro-funk, and 80s.

Holy Thursday Underground SF. 10pm, $5. Bay Area electronic hip hop producers showcase their cutting edge styles monthly.

Jivin’ Dirty Disco Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 8pm, free. With DJs spinning disco, funk, and classics.

Lacquer Beauty Bar. 10pm-2am, free. DJs Mario Muse and Miss Margo bring the electro.

Mestiza Bollywood Café, 3376 19th St, SF; (415) 970-0362. 10pm, free. Showcasing progressive Latin and global beats with DJ Juan Data.

1984 Mighty. 9pm, $2. The long-running New Wave and 80s party has a new venue, featuring video DJs Mark Andrus, Don Lynch, and celebrity guests.

Peaches Skylark, 10pm, free. With an all female DJ line up featuring Deeandroid, Lady Fingaz, That Girl, and Umami spinning hip hop.

Thursday Special Tralala Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 5pm, free. Downtempo, hip-hop, and freestyle beats by Dr. Musco and Unbroken Circle MCs.

FRIDAY 8

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Bryan Adams Warfield. 9pm, $25-85.

Akron/Family, Delicate Steve, Honeymoon, DJ Britt Govea Independent. 9pm, $15.

Buxter Hoot’n, Devotionals, Nick Jaina Café Du Nord. 9:30pm, $10.

Danielson, Battlehooch, Half-handed Cloud Bottom of the Hill. 10pm, $13.

Dark Star Orchestra Great American Music Hall. 9pm, $35.

Fiver Brown and the Good Sinners 50 Mason Social House, 50 Mason, SF; www.50masonsocialhouse.com. 9pm, free.

Larry Graham and Graham Central Station Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8 and 10pm, $30-38.

Hillside Fire, Narwhal Brigade, Ayurveda, Sandy Greenfield Band Kimo’s. 9pm.

Hot Lunch, Blank Stares, Pre-Legendary and the Dreamers Hemlock Tavern. 9:30pm, $7.

Mantles, Wrong Words, Lenz, Wet Illustrated Knockout. 9pm, $7.

Or the Whale, Chamberlin, Steve Taylor Rickshaw Stop. 8:30pm, $12.

Protest the Hero, Maylene and the Sons of Disaster, TesseracT Slim’s. 8:30pm, $17.

Volbeat, Damned Things Fillmore. 7pm, $22.50.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Black Market Jazz Orchestra Top of the Mark. 9pm, $10.

Empty Space Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 9pm, free.

Madeleine Peyroux Palace of Fine Arts, 3301 Lyon, SF; www.sfjazz.org. 8pm, $30-75.

Redshift, Rootstock Community Music Center, 544 Capp, SF; www.sfcmc.org. 8pm, $10.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

“Cowpokes, Gunslingers, and Outlaw Country” Red Devil Lounge. 9pm, $12. With Good Luck Thrift Store Outfit, Whisky Richards, Tiny Television, and Preservation.

Tito y Su Son De Cuba Quinteto Red Poppy Art House. 8pm, $12-15.

DANCE CLUBS

Afro Bao Little Baobab, 3388 19th St, SF; (415) 643-3558. 10pm, $5. Afro and world music with rotating DJs including Stepwise, Steve, Claude, Santero, and Elembe.

Bass Time Continuum Session 4 Club Six. 9pm, $5. With Lotus Drops, Energy Alchemist, Bitch Plz, Benito, and Mr. Rise.

Blow Up DNA Lounge. 10pm, $10-15. “Miss Blow Up USA Pageant” with Jeffrey Paradise.

Cartagena! CD release party   Elbo Room. 10pm, $5. Cumbia with DJs Beto, Vinnie Esparza, and B. Cause.

Deeper 222 Hyde, 222 Hyde, SF; (415) 345-8222. 9pm, $10. With rotating DJs spinning dubstep and techno.

Dirty Rotten Dance Party Madrone Art Bar. 9pm, $5. With DJs Morale, Kap10 Harris, and Shane King spinning electro, bootybass, crunk, swampy breaks, hyphy, rap, and party classics.

Exhale, Fridays Project One Gallery, 251 Rhode Island, SF; (415) 465-2129. 5pm, $5. Happy hour with art, fine food, and music with Vin Sol, King Most, DJ Centipede, and Shane King.

Fo’ Sho! Fridays Madrone Art Bar. 10pm, $5. DJs Kung Fu Chris and Makossa spin rare grooves, soul, funk, and hip-hop classics.

Fubar Fridays Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 6pm, $5. With DJs spinning retro mashup remixes.

Good Life Fridays Apartment 24, 440 Broadway, SF; (415) 989-3434. 10pm, $10. With DJ Brian spinning hip hop, mashups, and top 40.

Hot Chocolate Milk. 9pm, $5. With DJs Big Fat Frog, Chardmo, DuseRock, and more spinning old and new school funk.

Rockabilly Fridays Jay N Bee Club, 2736 20th St, SF; (415) 824-4190. 9pm, free. With DJs Rockin’ Raul, Oakie Oran, Sergio Iglesias, and Tanoa “Samoa Boy” spinning 50s and 60s Doo Wop, Rockabilly, Bop, Jive, and more.

Some Thing Stud. 10pm, $7. VivvyAnne Forevermore, Glamamore, and DJ Down-E give you fierce drag shows and afterhours dancing.

Vintage Orson, 508 Fourth St, SF; (415) 777-1508. 5:30-11pm, free. DJ TophOne and guest spin jazzy beats for cocktalians.

SATURDAY 9

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Jeff Beck, Imelda May Fillmore. 8pm, $75.

Danger Babes 50 Mason Social House, 50 Mason, SF; www.50masonsocialhouse.com. 9pm, free.

Dark Star Orchestra Great American Music Hall. 9pm, $35.

Deskonocidos, Criaturas, Needles, Ruleta Rusa Knockout. 10pm, $7.

Funk Bros Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 9pm, free.

Larry Graham and Graham Central Station Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8 and 10pm, $38.

Jesse Morris and the Man Cougars Riptide Bar. 9pm, free.

Papercuts, Banjo or Freakout Café Du Nord. 9:30pm, $14.

Pollux, Bonnie Dune, Lite Brite Bottom of the Hill. 10pm, $12.

Rise Against, Bad Religion, Four Year Strong Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, 99 Grove, SF; www.ticketmaster.com. 7:30pm, $32.50.

Shearing Pinx, Continues, Victory and Associates Hemlock Tavern. 9:30pm, $7.

Submarines, Nik Freitas Slim’s. 9pm, $16.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Hypnotist Collectors, Shareef Ali and the Radical Folksonomy, Fancy Dan Band, Slow Motion Cowboys Hotel Utah. 8pm, $8.

Mamacoatl Red Poppy Art House. 8pm, $15.

Craig Ventresco and Meredith Axelrod Atlas Café. 4pm, free.

DANCE CLUBS

Afro Bao Little Baobab, 3388 19th St, SF; (415) 643-3558. 10pm, $5. Afro and world music with rotating DJs including Stepwise, Steve, Claude, Santero, and Elembe.

Bootie SF: Halloween in April DNA Lounge. 9pm, $6-12. Who says Halloween only comes once a year? Mash it up with DJs Adrian and Mysterious D, guest Faroff, and more.

Club Gossip Cat Club. 9pm, $5-8. Pay tribute to Janet Jackson and other 80s ladies at this party guest-hosted by the Bay Area Flash Mob.

New Wave City New Order Tribute Mezzanine. 9pm, $7-12. Celebrate “Blue Monday” on a Saturday with DJ Shindog, guest Andy T, and more.

Rock City Butter, 354 11th St., SF; (415) 863-5964. 6pm, $5 after 10pm. With DJs spinning party rock.

Same Sex Salsa and Swing Magnet, 4122 18th St, SF; (415) 305-8242. 7pm, free.

Spirit Fingers Sessions 330 Ritch. 9pm, free. With DJ Morse Code and live guest performances.

Spotlight Siberia, 314 11th St, SF; (415) 552-2100. 10pm. With DJs Slowpoke, Double Impact, and Moe1.

Tormenta Tropical Elbo Room. 10pm. Electro cumbia with Chancha Via Circuito, El G, and DJs Shawn Reynaldo and Oro 11.

SUNDAY 10

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Band of Heathens Slim’s. 7:30pm, $15.

Let the Night Roar, Pigs Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

G. Love and Special Sauce, Belle Brigade Fillmore. 8pm, $25.

Mark Growden and His Tucson String Band, Conspiracy of Venus Amnesia. 9pm, $10.

John Mellencamp Warfield. 7pm, $49.50-130.

Sleepytime Gorilla Museum, Now You, Listo Independent. 8pm, $18.

Whiskerman, 7 Orange ABC, Magic Leaves Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $8.

David Wilcox Yoshi’s San Francisco. 7pm, $25.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Assad Brothers Palace of Fine Arts, 3301 Lyon, SF; www.sfjazz.org. 7pm, $25-60.

John Santos Bliss Bar, 4026 24th St., SF; www.blissbarsf.com. 4:30pm, $10.

Tom Lander Duo Medjool, 2522 Mission, SF; www.medjoolsf.com. 6-9pm, free.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Family Folk Explosion Revolution Café, 3248 22nd St, SF; (415) 642-0474. 8:30pm, free.

Jenny Lynn and Her Gone Daddies Thee Parkside. 4pm, free.

“San Francisco Festival of the Mandolins” Croatian American Cultural Center, 60 Onondaga, SF; www.croatianamericanweb.org. 10am-5pm, $15.

DANCE CLUBS

Batcave Cat Club. 10pm, $5. Death rock, goth, and post-punk with Steeplerot Necromos and c_death. Dub Mission Elbo Room. 9pm, $6. Dub, roots, and classic dancehall with DJ Sep, Vinnie Esparza, and guest Adam Twelve.

Gloss Sundays Trigger, 2344 Market, SF; (415) 551-CLUB. 7pm. With DJ Hawthorne spinning house, funk, soul, retro, and disco.

Honey Soundsystem Paradise Lounge. 8pm-2am. “Dance floor for dancers – sound system for lovers.” Got that?

La Pachanga Blue Macaw, 2565 Mission, SF; www.thebluemacawsf.com. 6pm, $10. Salsa dance party with live Afro-Cuban salsa bands.

MONDAY 11

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Elephant and Castle, Pixel Memory, Butterfly Bones Elbo Room. 9pm, $5.

Moon Duo, Royal Baths, Lilac Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $10.

Scala and Kolacny Brothers Independent. 8pm, $25.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Broun Fellinis Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $25.

Lavay Smith Orbit Room, 1900 Market, SF; (415) 252-9525. 7-10pm, free.

DANCE CLUBS

Death Guild DNA Lounge. 9:30pm, $3-5. Gothic, industrial, and synthpop with Joe Radio, Decay, and Melting Girl.

Krazy Mondays Beauty Bar. 10pm, free. With DJs Ant-1, $ir-Tipp, Ruby Red I, Lo, and Gelo spinning hip hop.

M.O.M. Madrone Art Bar. 6pm, free. With DJ Gordo Cabeza and guests playing all Motown every Monday.

Network Mondays Azul Lounge, One Tillman Pl, SF; www.inhousetalent.com. 9pm, $5. Hip-hop, R&B, and spoken word open mic, plus featured performers.

Sausage Party Rosamunde Sausage Grill, 2832 Mission, SF; (415) 970-9015. 6:30-9:30pm, free. DJ Dandy Dixon spins vintage rock, R&B, global beats, funk, and disco at this happy hour sausage-shack gig.

Skylarking Skylark. 10pm, free. With resident DJs I & I Vibration, Beatnok, and Mr. Lucky and weekly guest DJs.

TUESDAY 12

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Olof Arnalds Café Du Nord. 9:30pm, $15.

Amee Chapman, Jenny Kerr, Sugarplums Club Waziema, 543 Divisadero, SF; (415) 356-6641. 8pm, free.

Ms. Lauryn Hill Warfield. 8pm, $59.50-90.

Omar Rodriguez Lopez Group, Zachs Marquise Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $21.

Haroula Rose, TD Lind Hotel Utah. 8pm, $8.

Rural Alberta Advantage, Lord Huron, Vandella Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $14.

Scala and Kolacny Brothers Independent. 8pm, $25.

Sydney Ducks, Something Fierce Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

DANCE CLUBS

Boomtown Little Baobab, 3388 19th St, SF; www.bissapbaobab.com. 9pm, free. DJ Mundi spins roots, ragga, dancehall, and more.

Eclectic Company Skylark, 9pm, free. DJs Tones and Jaybee spin old school hip hop, bass, dub, glitch, and electro.

Share the Love Trigger, 2344 Market, SF; (415) 551-CLUB. 5pm, free. With DJ Pam Hubbuck spinning house.

 

Dinner with the Clams

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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1
Dinner with the Clams

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC “This is where the heartbeat is. Does that sound cocky?” Shannon Shaw, bold-voiced singer and bassist from Oakland’s Shannon and the Clams, is cautious how she answers my question. She’s in a booth, finishing up her fries at Grubstake, just off of Polk Street. The eatery is my suggestion for a pre-performance chat about the band’s new album, Sleep Talk (1-2-3-4 Go! Records), slated for release April 5.

Amid the bustling dinner-time sounds of the restaurant, Cody Blanchard, the guitarist, eats something vegetarian, while Ian Amberson, the group’s drummer, opts for the more traditional caldo verde soup. In a few hours Shannon and the Clams is playing a show at the nearby Hemlock Tavern, along with openers Guantanamo Baywatch — a Portland, Ore., band they admire — and Uzi Rash.

The heartbeat Shaw refers to is the Bay Area and its seemingly tight-knit music scene. I’d asked if the group’s members if they thought their success could have been achieved anywhere, or if it’s something particular to their Oakland stomping grounds.

“The Bay Area is defined by its history of fun punk — stuff like the Mummies, the Trashwomen, and the Bobbyteens,” Cody says, in acknowledgment of our locale’s rich garage rock history. But as much as they’re influenced by the “weird and wild people” they consider like-minded allies, and the strange beauty of Oakland’s abandoned neighborhoods, Shannon and the Clams’ inspiration also comes from a place in the past, no less strange, sort of dark, yet innocent. Their music is the sound of teenage despair.

 

NOT QUITE QUEERCORE

I first encountered Shannon and the Clams live at Oakland’s Stork Club in early 2009. I’d seen their ridiculous name around before, but didn’t know what to expect. They’d been categorized as everything from queercore to surf punk to the downright nauseating term retro-billy. “I think the people feel a kinship with us,” Cody says, discussing the group’s fan base. “People become really comfortable letting their freak flag fly.”

Still, Cody doesn’t think some of the labels assigned to the band were the best fit. “I’d rather musical genres have more to do with sounds instead of politics, gender, and sexuality,” he explains, while acknowledging that it isn’t how things often work.

On that night two years ago, Shannon and the Clams turned out a solid performance that incorporated oldies elements such as late-1950s, early-1960s vocal styles and instrumental sounds. The group even covered Del Shannon’s “Runaway,” which was the moment of confirmation for me. I knew I was hooked and wanted more.

The group’s version of “Runaway” is a keeper, but Shannon and the Clams isn’t just recycling rock ‘n’ roll hits from a repressive American era when feelings were bottled up, not talked about. The group’s songs and sound possess an individual spirit and personality that ranges from playful to feral, calm (a clam anagram) to cuckoo. Both shine through on Sleep Talk, the follow-up to 2009’s I Wanna Go Home, also on 1-2-3-4 Go! Records. The new collection of songs was written and recorded in three weeks.

The Bay Area’s most recent wave of psych and garage bands draws from the acid-soaked late-1960s, with results that often come out drone-y, druggy, and dreamlike. But the Clams obviously take note of the less-altered dawn of that same decade, before psilocybin and its closely associated synthetic cousin became the remedy reaction of youth and counterculture. Melodramatic songs of angst and lost love were common.

Shannon, a self-described square-but-morbid kid, admits to loving Roy Orbison’s “Crying.” “Any teenager death ballad, I was all over,” she says. A tragic mood is conjured on Sleep Talk‘s “Half Rat,” where the incessantly repetitive lyric longs for a soul mate’s return. It’s almost like when a loved one dies and you dream about them being alive, only to be disappointed when you wake up to the heartbreaking reality that nothing will ever bring them back. It’s no wonder that without a release other than singing, so many of the voices from the past were compelled to do some amazing things.

 

THAT VOICE

Raspy and powerful, Shannon’s voice has become a signature trademark. She shreds words, wails, and lets loose with an extended growl on “Done With You.” Her vocal delivery is raw, real, and out of control — one of a kind. Her vocals are one reason that it’s misleading to tag Shannon and the Clams as simply retro — it’s hard to imagine a June Cleaver-type belting out songs in this fashion, though maybe someone like Wanda Jackson would be up for the task.

“I think it’s out-of-body,” Shannon, says when asked about singing. “I just sometimes feel kind of possessed on stage, or like I’m excreting odd toxins or something.” She notes that other dynamic vocalists like Tina Turner, James Brown, and Irma Thomas bring a similarly unique intensity to live performance.

Wanda Jackson is a queen of rock ‘n’ roll, but it was another Jackson who inspired Shannon to get up on stage sing in public for the first time, at a karaoke bar during her “lowest of lows.” She performed a ballad famously delivered by a little boy who, sadly, was adult ahead of his time. “I didn’t sing publicly at all till I started playing [music] around three years ago, and I just knew I really needed to sing “Ben” [by Michael Jackson], and I needed to sing it right away,” she explains. “I didn’t care about being self-conscious.” After being accepted by her “grizzled karaoke comrades,” she found the strength and confidence to perform her own songs.

Cody, the Clams’ co-songwriter, is also no slouch behind the mic. On Sleep Talk‘s “Old Man Winter,” he sounds brilliant doing his rockabilly best, exaggerating the whooping, keening sounds Buddy Holly could make with his voice. He’s pretty keen on the originality of vocalists Hasil Adkins, Joey Ramone, and Marc Bolan, preferring sound over lyrical content.

“Amazing singing is something that feels to the singer like a compulsion or a nervous tick, as if that singer can’t do anything to keep themselves from crying out,” he says. “They must do it or they’ll go nuts, and they just invent these bizarre sounds.”

 

WE JUST WANNA BE WEIRD

On the subject of songwriting, Cody uses vivid imagery to describe a T-Rex- that “kidnaps” him and takes him away to a “glittery, horny, spaced-out fantasy world.” I guess Clam nation can’t all be doom and gloom. Indeed, a typical Shannon and the Clams show finds the band in colorful costume, making inventive use of capes, fast-food outfits, and other assorted disguises. This past Halloween they even dressed as Devo for a night of cover songs.

Shannon and the Clams’ affinity for cartoons, jingles, and campy commercialism is apparent. On Sleep Talk‘s cover art, photographed by Keith Aguiar, Shannon and Cody are buried in what looks like a landfill of stuffed animal nostalgia and familiar characters. The imagery is indicative of their bubblegum side and love of Jim Henson’s Muppets. Cody points out that the people behind those Muppet tunes were pretty solid songwriters. On “The Cult Song,” listeners might even detect a vocal tribute to the Cookie Monster, if not Keith Moon circa “Boris the Spider.”

The name Joe Meek pops up more than once in conversation. “I love how Meek’s records sound, so inventive and strange,” Cody says, regarding the innovative Space Race-era producer behind “Telstar,” an instrumental No. 1 hit by the Tornados. “And he seemed totally nuts.”

Shannon and the Clams haven’t yet rocketed to the moon, but a trip to South by Southwest and a tour with Hunx and His Punx are part of their immediate travel plans. I ask what comes after that. “I feel like something [currently] brewing in Oakland is much weirder caveman-type music,” Shannon says, in anticipation of the scene’s next wave of creativity. “Can we just be weirdo, other rock ‘n’ roll?”

Cody is convinced that the dedication of the Bay Area music scene is unique and undying. “I can’t think of any other cities that are so enthusiastic about [music],” he says. “It just keeps coming. Waves of all kinds come and go.” If you think Shannon and the Clams are riding the wave for teenage kicks and landing in tragic territory, you’re partly right — and it’s working. Right now, with Sleep Talk, you’ve got a second dose.

Satisfying crunch

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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1
Satisfying crunch

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC For three nights, Burger Boogaloo is going to sate the appetites of Bay Area garage fiends with a hunger for rock. It makes perfect sense that the weekend event is building to a Sunday night finale involving Midnite Snaxx. Sharing the stage with Nobunny, as well as Shannon Shaw’s side project, Egg Tooth, the Snaxx bring a skilled chef’s resume to the bill: Tina Lucchesi, a hairstylist at Down at Lulu’s by day, has blasted amps in bands such as the Bobbyteens and Trashwomen, while Dulcinea Gonzalez, who does time at the Guardian while the sun is out, was a member of the Loudmouths. (Bassist Renee Leal of the LaTeenos completes the trio.) I recently caught up with guitarist-vocalist Gonzalez and drummer Lucchesi.

SFBG You two are garage rock veterans. How do you feel about the Bay Area garage scene right now?

Tina Lucchesi It’s different now, for sure. It’s younger.

Dulcinea Gonzalez I’m happy to be playing music. We haven’t lost our lust for rock ‘n’ roll.

SFBG One of your songs is “October Nights.” What’s special about that time of year?

DG October is when Budget Rock is happening. We tend to party hard, and the weather tends to be better. [The song’s] a celebration of rock ‘n’ roll and living in the Bay Area.

TL It’s Rocktober!

DG Tina wants us to have a record cover where we’re werewolves, like Ozzy Osbourne [on the cover of Bark at the Moon].

SFBG Are there any looks you have in mind for upcoming shows or photos?

DG Don’t give Tina any ideas, she loves to dress up. We had taco suits for Halloween. We hope to do a video soon where we can express our funnier side.

TL This is a T-shirt, tennis shoes, leather jacket kind of band, which is good. It’s cas.

SFBG Why do you think there’s such a connection between garage rock and food, especially in the Bay Area, with bands like yours and Personal and the Pizzas, and labels like Burger Records?

DG I guess it has to do with wanting satisfaction right away. We like our music a little dirty, sleazy, fun, and poppy, and those kinds of foods are the same way — a guilty pleasure.

SFBG What are some of Midnite Snaxx’s favorite snacks?

TL Probably nachos — the vegetarian nachos from [Taqueria] Cancun, with cheese. The midnight buffet that drunkenly happens at my house dips into anything in the fridge.

DG Pizza from Lanesplitter’s. We’ve had some terrible, terrible Taco Bell runs after practice and going to the Avenue.

TL Sometimes we get healthy and go eat sushi at Koryo because they’re open until 3 a.m.

DG That’s when we just got paid.

TL They have half-off specials now. [laughs]

SFBG What’s on the Midnight Snaxx menu, recording and release-wise?

DG We put out our first single on Raw Deluxe. Our next single is on Total Punk Records, an offshoot of Floridas Dying. It comes out in May. Then we have big plans to record our LP for Red Lounge Records in Germany, which will be out in the summer.

SFBG How did you wind up on a German label?

DG This guy [Martin Christoph of Red Lounge] follows a lot of the bands that Tina’s been in and he knew one of my past bands, and he liked the rawness of our recordings. We’re stoked. Hopefully this means we get to go to Europe.

TL Time for schnitzel and beer [laughs].

DG Jason Testasecca from Nobunny is recording the album at Tina’s house.

SFBG Is there anything that people should expect from Midnite Snaxx at your Burger Fest show?

DG Tina, what are you gonna do?

TL They should expect a full-blast snack attack all over their faces.

BURGER BOOGALOO

Fri/25–Sun/27, $10

Thee Parkside

1600 17th St., SF

(415) 252-1330

burgerrecords.webs.com

www.theeparkside.com 

 

King of the spook house

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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0
King of the spook house

BRAZILIAN CULT HORROR English-language horror cinema has had its share of actors identified with playing one particular role over and over, from Bela Lugosi’s Dracula to Robert Englund’s Freddy Krueger. But we’ve never had anything quite like José Mojica Marins and his infamous Zé do Caixão (José of the Grave). Known to cult movie fans worldwide as Coffin Joe, this top-hatted, cape-flaring, bearded undertaker with extra-long curved fingernails and a mile-wide sadistic streak has been a sort of folk hero in Brazil for nearly 50 years.

His vehicles are unique fever dreams — alternately silly, shocking, or surreal, when not all three at once — that take great pleasure thumbing nose at traditional morality and any institutional authority, whether state or (especially) church. “Destroy me, I believe in nothing!” he dared God while desecrating graves in his first film, 1963’s At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul. God demurred, perhaps intimidated.

This week sees the U.S. release (in Synapse’s Blu-ray/DVD combo pack) of 2008’s Embodiment of Evil. It’s Marins’ return to the role after a long layoff, and to the director’s seat after a longer one — apparently since 1987’s 48 Hours of Hallucinatory Sex, last among the porn movies he was reduced to during an extended career lull. (Those films are said to be stubbornly, grotesquely anti-erotic, which would be entirely in character.) It’s an official conclusion to the “Coffin Joe Trilogy” left off in 1967’s This Night I’ll Possess Your Corpse, which was advertised promising “200 Snakes! 300 Spiders! 1,000 Extras! The most terrifying film in the world!” and certainly gave sensation-seeking patrons their money’s worth with a prolonged color climax depicting the torments of a papier-mâché hell.

That makes Embodiment perhaps the longest-delayed end to a horror trilogy, kicking Dario Argento’s ass — you will recall his “Three Witches” triptych of 1977’s amazing Suspiria, 1980’s incoherent but picturesque Inferno, and 2007’s daft Mother of Tears. Perhaps Embodiment‘s biggest shock arrives when it opens with the 20th Century Fox logo — clearly somebody is still very big in Brazil. Otherwise it’s back to blaspheming basics for our antihero, who after many years is being released from prison, despite having apparently “killed nearly 30 guys just in jail.” (Never a paragon of political correctitude, Marins has the warden reluctantly “letting the beast loose” and telling his terrified guards: “Any of you turns chicken on me, I’ll get you to stand watch at the queers ward!”)

Once out, Coffin Joe resumes his lifelong quest to find a “perfect woman” capable of bearing a child “higher than God, lower than Satan,” thus allowing our “visionary of the superior bloodline” to achieve immortality. This he’ll do “even if it means imploding the entire cosmos!” For all his hubris, however, this archvillain is still scared shitless whenever his past victims appear as accusatory apparitions.

As ever, auditioning mates (most screaming kidnapees) involves “testing” for fear and resilience in ways they’re unlikely to survive. En route he also acquires lots of new enemies and is happy to orchestrate their grotesque demises too. If Coffin Joe is a sort of spook house incarnation of ideas from Nietzsche and Sade — he’s a mortal superman imposing his will on those haplessly constrained by the societal conventions he scorns — his horrors are hardly grandiose; instead they are manic plunges into the realm of ick.

One unfortunate’s face meets a bucket o’ bugs; another is coated with hot cheese, followed by hungry rats. While CJ evinces disgust at how the world has changed during his long absence (favela kids sniffing glue, etc.), his new adventure takes advantage of some new cultural norms, including goth-punk henchmen, seemingly real body piercings, and a young priest who enjoys applying electric nipple clamps at the altar. (None of this is as memorable as one “terrifying” vision in 1970’s LSD-themed Awakening of the Beast: mooning butts with cartoon faces painted on, several clutching plastic “noses” ‘tween cheeks. Run for your lives!)

Far from the best Coffin Joe movie, Embodiment nonetheless brings the crazy with Marins’ distinctive zeal for outrageous offense. His once frequently-banned works now look loopy and quaint, yet there’s still a subversive edge. Then again, he’s also a lot like the snickering older brother at the Halloween party who thrusts blindfolded kids’ hands into cold wet spaghetti, crowing “WORMS!”

American Idol: Elvis and the Lion Queen

Zelda Bronstein
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American Idol: Elvis and the Lion Queen

I was out at the SPJ FOI Awards event early in the evening, so I missed the first few performances, but no worries: Vivian and Michael were taking excellent notes and filled me in. And the best stuff came at the end anyway.


First: What was UP with J-Lo’s hair? I can’t find any pix on the web (Idol is insanely protective of its imagery) but trust me: She looked like something out of the Lion King. And the leopard-print dress didn’t help much. It’s a jungle out there, Jennifer. Grrr.


Next: The background video/light show continues to be utterly moronic, mixing psychedelia and syrup pretty much at random. With the millions they’re making from the Ford commercials, they could get a decent designer.


Also: These people are all so young. The night’s theme was picking a song from the year you were born; for Scotty, that was 1993. As his backstage producers noted, “I have a pair of jeans that were born in 1993.” Five of the finalists aren’t even old enough to buy a drink. No OGs in the lineup this year; Paul clocks in as the senior citizen at 26.


The baby and kid pics were cute; I loved watching Scotty as Halloween Elvis. And with 12 contestants, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for nonsense; the show kept moving. Oh: Casey’s back form the hospital and seems fine.


The details: Naima does “What’s Love Got To Do With It.” Eh. From Viv: “J-Lo thought it was a little pitchy and Randy agreed. Really, it was just okay.”


Paul: Elton John. “I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues.” Not Sir Elton’s best song, not Paul’s best performance.


Thia: “Colors of the Wind.” Again, nothing special.


So overall a slow start — until James hit the stage with Bon Jovi. Steven Tyler was so impressed he offered to quit Aerosmith (can you really quit a band that isn’t really there anymore?) and join him onstage. The kid can rock.


Haley: Whitney Houston. Oops.


Stefano, the guy who almost got sent home, turned the entire show around with “If You Don’t Know Me By Now.” His parents weren’t out of diapers when Harold Melvin and the Blue Notes first released that, but somebody else did it 22 years ago, so it counts. Perfect song for him, perfect rendition of a tough piece.


Pia: Whitney Houston, too. The girl is drop-dead beautiful and has a stunning voice — but that horrid white outfit looked like someone had wrapped her in a plastic garbage bag. (“You can’t say it made her look fat,” Jean told me harshly. And it didn’t, really, because she isn’t, but it might have.) Hideous, I almost couldn’t listen to the song. 


Scotty is always solid, born to be a country singer. He’s so good it’s almost boring.


Karen: Marge Simpson hairdo. Devo-meets-Vegas outfit. The song was okay, and the interview with her mom was too cute for words, but next time let mom check the look before you go out the door, okay?


Casey went on with his bass and tried to be Kurt Cobain — and oddly, it worked. Kind of scary, actually. But it worked. Steven: “Crazy and talented — that’s the goop that great stuff was made of.” J-lo still thinks he’s sexy. Grrrr, Lion Queen.


Lauren’s got the flu, but did a great job with Melissa Ethridge. Jacob tried Heart, and failed.


Naima, Haley and Jacob — bottom three. And Naima’s going home. Tune in tomorrow; I’m never right.

Wiener proposes economic study on nightlife

Sasha Cuttler
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5
Wiener proposes economic study on nightlife

While the basic ideological makeup of the new Board of Supervisors didn’t change much, there are a few notable differences between the newbies and their predecessors. Much has been made of Sup. Jane Kim’s greater willingness than Chris Daly to vote against her progressive colleagues (we have a story in tomorrow’s paper about that), but another significant one is Sup. Scott Wiener’s support for nightlife and concerns about what we’ve called the Death of Fun.

His office has announced that at today’s board meeting, Wiener will call for a study of the economic impacts of entertainment and nightlife in the city. “It’s important that we understand the size and reach of this industry as we consider regulating it,” Wiener in a press release.  “Without this information, it’s difficult to make informed decisions and to enact effective policies concerning entertainment and nightlife, which are a key part of San Francisco’s cultural identity.  Particularly as we attract more young people to San Francisco, as the biotech and other new economy industries grow here, we need to ensure that we are providing them with entertainment opportunities.  Understanding the size and scope of entertainment and nightlife in the City will help us achieve that goal and help us remain a world-class city that attracts people here.”

Contrast that with Wiener’s predecessor, Bevan Dufty, who led the effort to cancel Halloween in the Castro (enforced with hordes of police and water trucks) and presided over the city’s efforts to demonize the nightlife industry, give the cops greater authority to crackdown on clubs, and opposed efforts to create and support street fairs.

Longtime Entertainment Commission member Terrence Alan was an enthusiastic supporter of Wiener’s supervisorial campaign, breaking with many of his progressive allies who were backing Rafael Mandelman. And now, with this study, Wiener seems to be trying to show how valuable this industry really is to San Francisco in the hopes of stopping future crackdowns.

Our Weekly Picks: December 29, 2010-January 4, 2011

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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WEDNESDAY 29

STAGE

John Oliver

Emmy-award winning writer and comedian John Oliver has lent a familiar Dickens-esque face to American TVs since he began his role as the senior British correspondent on Comedy Central’s The Daily Show in 2006. In addition to a large body of satirical news work overseas that you don’t care about, he is a regular on NBC’s Community and had a role in 2008’s The Love Guru, which was not his fault. To this day, and as a credit to his commitment to dry humor, he insists on telling every joke with a funny English accent. (Ryan Prendiville)

Wed/29-Thurs/30 and Sat/1, 8 p.m. (also Sat/1, 10:15 p.m.);

Fri/31, 7 and 9:45 p.m., $35.50–$60.50

Cobb’s Comedy Club

915 Columbus, SF

(415) 928-4320

www.cobbscomedyclub.com

 

THURSDAY 30

MUSIC

San Francisco Chamber Orchestra

Bottoms Up! is a series of free concerts around the Bay Area featuring 17-year-old internationally renowned cellist Nathan Chan. Chan made his debut at the age of three conducting the San Jose Chamber Orchestra. Although he has grown a bit since then, his prodigious musical ability remains intact. Chan joins bassist Michel Taddei and the rest of the San Francisco Chamber Orchestra in selections by Mozart, Jon Deak, and Tchaikovsky. Advanced reservations are strongly recommended. (Emmaly Wiederholt)

Through Jan. 3

Tonight, 5:30 p.m., free (check website for complete schedule)

Intercontinental Hotel

888 Howard, SF

www.sfchamberorchestra.org

 

MUSIC

Primus

What could be better than catching one of the two upcoming Primus shows to close out your 2010? How about seeing a run through of the classic 1991 album, Sailing the Seas of Cheese? The album, which first introduced a mainstream audience to Les Claypool’s bizarrely innovative bass playing and the band’s self-described brand of “psychedelic polka,” will be performed front-to-back. And just to add to the nostalgia, Jay Lane, one of the band’s original drummers, will be joining in for the first time since 1989. The novelty of the “band playing its classic album” craze might be wearing off a tad, but it’s tough to argue with this one. (Landon Moblad)

With the Residents

Thurs/30–Fri/31, 8 p.m., $42.50

Fox Theater

1807 Telegraph, Oakl.

(510) 302-2277

www.thefoxoakland.com

 

MUSIC

MarchFourth Marching Band

We here at the Guardian are collecting predictions for wonderful (only wonderful) things that will occur in 2011. Let me kick off the convo with an easy lay-up: the continued resurgence of vaudevillian entertainment. The thrift store baroque aesthetic of SF’s circus-burlesque-klezmer whorl has also been fermenting in darkly fantastic corners about the country — and happily, the hobohemians love to tour! MarchFourth Marching Band is one of the O.G.s of this scene, having burst onto (and off of) Portland, Ore., stages in their full be-stilted, brass band flag-twirling fury back in 2003. Let them blast you into your end of the year orbit with 360 degrees of their wily, high-stepping ways. (Caitlin Donohue)

With Bodice Rippers and DJ Shawna

9 p.m., $17

Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

www.theindependentsf.com

 

FRIDAY 31

PERFORMANCE

BATS Imrov’s New Year’s Eve Special

Both a school and a professional company, BATS Improv is the most awarded, largest, and longest-running improvisational theater group in Northern California. Join BATS this New Year’s Eve to usher in 2011 with a hilarious comedy improv show followed by an after-party complete with tasty snacks and a beer-wine-champagne bar. One complimentary beverage comes with admission. The cast, which includes John Remak, Kasey Klemm, Kimberly MacLean, Rafe Chase, Regina Saisi, and Tim Orr, will perform a variety of scenes and songs inspired by (and possibly even including) members of the audience. What better way to begin 2011 than with laughter and good cheer? (Wiederholt)

Fri/31, 8 p.m., $40

Bayfront Theater

Fort Mason Center, Marina at Laguna, SF

(415) 474-6776

www.improv.org

 

EVENT

Vampire Tour of San Francisco

You’ll probably wake up with marks all over your neck anyway — you might as well have a good excuse for how they got there. Before 2011’s first fling vacuum-sucks your neck into the new year, head over to what is possibly the only event in SF that doesn’t increase ticket prices by 200 percent just because it’s the 31st: Mina Harker’s vampire tour. A self-proclaimed convert by none other than Count Dracula himself back in 1897, Harker now flits about Nob Hill sharing facts from our city’s long involvement with enterprising ghouls of her ilk. A fangtastic early evening plan, particularly if you like biters. (Donohue)

8–10 p.m., $15–$20

Departs from corner of California and Taylor, SF

(650) 279-1840

www.sfvampiretour.com

 

MUSIC

Chris Isaak

Contemporary crooner Chris Isaak really needs no introduction to Bay Area music fans — the longtime San Francisco resident has been performing his retro-rockabilly tinged tunes for more than 25 years now, scoring a multitude of hit singles along the way. It’s only fitting that he come back home to help ring in the New Year here with a gig that promises to be one hell of a party. There should be enough up tempo rockers like “Gone Ridin'” to keep the guys happy and plenty of hauntingly beautiful love ballads sure to make the ladies swoon — “Wicked Game” ought to do nicely as the soundtrack for that first tender New Year’s kiss. (Sean McCourt)

9 p.m., $99

Fillmore

1805 Geary, SF

(415) 346-6000

www.livenation.com

 

PERFORMANCE

“The Marga Gomez New Year’s Eve Spectacular”

Not for nothing is Marga Gomez known as “San Francisco’s queer queen of New Year’s Eve.” For the past seven years, she’s performed at Theatre Rhinoceros’ popular Dec. 31 extravaganza. But the whip-smart, no-holds-barred comedian and playwright has announced that this’ll be her final NYE gig; Gomez fans, temper this bittersweet revelation with the knowledge that she’ll be sure to go out with a mega-bang. The bill is rounded out by transsexual comedian Natasha Muse, Pirate Cat Radio Morning Show host Casey Ley, and Theatre Rhino’s own John Fisher as host with DJ OJ. Plus: balloon drop at midnight! (Cheryl Eddy)

7 and 9 p.m., $30–$35

Victoria Theatre

2961 16th St, SF

1-800-838-3006

www.therhino.org

 

FILM

The Phantom of the Opera

As any Hollywood history buff knows, both of Lon “Man of 1,000 Faces” Chaney’s parents were deaf. Having honed his pantomime skills since birth, Chaney’s success as a silent movie star should’ve surprised nobody (except that one sourpuss studio executive who, according to Wikipedia, told Chaney “You’ll never be worth more than $100 a week.”) One of the actor’s greatest triumphs, as the title role in 1925’s The Phantom of the Opera, is this year’s pick for Grace Cathedral’s annual New Year’s Eve silent movie. Go earlier if you have party plans, or for maximum spookiness, attend the later show, which lets out just before midnight. Musician Dorothy Papadakos accompanies both showings on the cathedral’s Aeolian-Skinner organ, itself almost as old as the Phantom film. (Eddy)

7 and 10 p.m., $10–$20

Grace Cathedral

1100 California, SF

(415) 392-4400

www.cityboxoffice.com

 

MUSIC

Slackers

New York City’s Slackers got unfairly lumped in with all of the punk-tinged, third-wave ska groups that blew up briefly in the mid-1990s. Look closer and you’ll see a band whose musical maturity (if not its lyrics) has always seemed a little classier and less concerned with current trends. And whether touching on rocksteady, soul, dub, reggae or old-fashioned rock and roll, Slackers shows always keep up-tempo, danceable rhythms and a party vibe throughout. Speaking of which — rumor has it the band throws a hell of a New Year’s Eve bash. (Moblad)

With Boss 501 and Lord Loves a Working Man

9 p.m., $35

Great American Music Hall

859 O’Farrell, SF

(415) 885-0750

www.gamh.com

 

SATURDAY 1

MUSIC

Breakfast of Champions

Saint Patrick’s Day, Halloween, New Year’s Eve: As my uncle Greg and pretty much any alcoholic will tell you, these are generally considered amateur hour when it comes to the drinking. This block party, the first thrown by the Space Cowboy DJ collective, provides an opportunity to celebrate New Year’s Eve, even if you skip out on the countdown, hoping to not have drunk bro vomit on your shoes as soon as the ball drops. Again. Or, it’s the opportunity to just roll straight through the night and keep dancing into next year. Conveniently, it starts when it’s legal to sell booze again. (Prendiville)

6 a.m., $25

Mighty

119 Utah, SF

(415) 762-0151

www.breakfast-of-champions.eventbrite.com

 

MUSIC

Pinback

Pinback is a great example of a band finding its own niche and mastering it. Since 1998, Rob Crow and Armistead Burwell Smith IV have made perfectly precise indie-rock albums, full of snaky bass lines and subtle time signature shifts. The songs can often sound so intricately crafted that they seem mechanical. But luckily, the pair are both gifted in the art of finding strong melodic hooks, counteracting the machine-like production with adequate amounts of human touch and catchy choruses. In a live setting, Pinback is expanded to a five-piece, with collaborators from its albums filling in the empty gaps. (Moblad)

With JP Inc.

10 p.m., $20

Bottom of the Hill

1233 17th Street, SF

(415) 621-4455

www.bottomofthehill.com

SUNDAY

JANUARY 2

 

Edgar Winter

One of two albino brothers. A child prodigy and multi-instrumentalist known to go from keys to saxophone to drums to synths and beyond in a single song. Among hits like “Free Ride,” had a No. 1 with face-melting, synthesizer-pioneering instrumental track “Frankenstein.” A Scientologist, he recorded Mission Earth, an album based on directions from L. Ron Hubbard. Still active into his 60s, Winter frequently tours with Ringo Starr, likely his favorite Beatle. If I had made up Edgar Winter, would you believe me? (Prendiville)

7 p.m., $38

Yoshi’s San Francisco

1330 Fillmore St., SF

(415) 655-5600

www.yoshis.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.

Libidinous literature with Naked Girls Reading

Andrew Lam
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I had asked Lady Monster, over a pair of red wine glasses and the pleasant buzz of nearby patrons at Revolution Cafe, to tell me what story she’d read at the Halloween installation of her Naked Girls Reading literary series. We were chatting in anticipation of her International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers edition of NGR (Fri/17) which will take place at the Center for Sex and Culture after the day’s City Hall vigil and march.

The curvaceous redhead is quite the story teller, even clothed. “I did the elevator scene from The Shining,” she told me, launching into a brief summary of the Torrance family’s elevator travails. By the end of it I had the crap scared out of me – and she was fully clothed! Imagine what this lady can get done in the buff – surely, a live literary luminary not to be trifled with.

Lady Monster first heard of the Naked Girls Reading series circa its Chicago inception by burlesque showgirl Michelle L’Amour in 2009. The series sits down sex-positive female role models (SF’s chapter features sexologist Carol Queen, sex activists, and burlesque beauty Dottie Lux among others) for a theme night of literary lustiness. The event struck a chord (books and boobies yay!), and not just among Chicago pervs – the series has been featured on the Carson Daly show and has spread to nine other cities. “Like wild blazes,” says Monster.

“Almost immediately Michelle had people wanting to franchise the series,” she continues. Naked girls getting brainy? Lady Monster had an inkling that her own San Francisco community would gag for a NGR chapter of their own. She scheduled NGR’s SF breakout in May of this year and the show’s played to packed houses every two months since – and will score a regular monthly gig at Viracocha come the new year. “It’s so much fun, so silly. It’s all about being comfortable in your own skin,” Monster asserts.

That’s something that she’s had little trouble with – even growing up on an Ohio farm, Monster started hosting her (initially PG-13 rated) play parties in fifth grade. “I’d have all my friends over and make sure everyone was coupled off. Then we’d go into my room and close the door. At first we’d all just make out, but as we got older it got more serious. I was my own sexually liberated role model!” With a little help from some open-minded parents, of course. “They didn’t bother us, they let us have our time together.”

From grade school groping, Monster graduated to more advanced expressions of sexuality. She worked the graveyard shift at a phone sex line and loved the intimacy and honesty she could find in horny men just getting home from last call. “I wanted to hear their secrets all the time,” she confesses. But she wanted it to happen face to face, so she tripped her way into a job doing “legal escort work.” Private peep show stuff, for which Monster would strip or faux-masturbate for a paying customer. 

Only it wasn’t legal, a fact that her employer neglected to tell her. And even though she was getting face to face time, the sexual intimacy she’d felt with men on the other end of the phone line was gone. “There was no talking! Yeah, the money was a lot better but I had to get out of there.” All the way to San Francisco, in fact – where Monster has put her open sexuality to work in service to SF Sex Information and pens sex stories and erotic poetry. She’s also a long time performer in the burlesque scene – she’s been known to create her own astronomically-inspired LED-lit costumes and accesorize with glitter-dipped viking axes. Oh, and she toured with Ministry.

Like NGR, The International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers was created by an empowered sexual superstar and has grown into a far-reaching event, marked by vigils in cities around the globe and marches of men and women carrying red umbrellas (the adopted symbol of the movement). It was started by the Bay’s own feminist porn star Annie Sprinkle, an ex-sex worker who Monster counts amongst her role models: “she’s not really a mother figure, more like a respected aunt,” Monster says.

“Sex workers need protection,” she continues, noting that Sprinkle started the annual day of memorial after reading a serial killer’s confession that he killed over 40 prostitutes because he knew they were less likely to be reported missing or inspire dedicated police investigations.

Lady Monster’s convinced that sex worker safety is an issue that carries particular import this year for a variety of reasons. First: shitty profits. “Business is definitely being affected by the economy,” she says. “And on top of that the market’s flooded,” with all the men and women out of work in other industries. Lack of work can make it harder to avoid risky working situations that put sex workers at risk of withheld wages, assault, or rape. The shut-down of Craigslist’s casual encounters listings has made it more difficult to find clients in the first place, and in the midst of all of this, SFPD has adopted an evidenciary policy that discourages condom usage: if cops find a rubber on a suspected prostitute, they’ll use it as evidence of intent to have sex for money. 

That’s why Monster’s event Friday (which follows a vigil and march from City Hall that starts at 4 p.m.) will give voice to those that often go unheard in our society. Monster, her regular NGR cast, and Sprinkle will all read from literature penned by sex workers, including Jillian Lauren’s memoir of her time in the prince of Brunei’s harem and Scarlet Harlot’s account of becoming a radical prostitute, Unrepentant Whore.

“This is such a great opportunity for feminism and art,” Monster says. Undeniably, giving naked women a stage on which to talk about reclamation of body and sex issues is a unique approach. NGR, sex worker edition: sure to be a hot night, but also a reflection of the power of corpus woman when framing its own literary discourse. 

 

Naked Girls Reading: International Day to End Violence Against Sex Workers 

Fri/17 9 p.m., $15-20

Center for Sex and Culture

1519 Mission, SF

(415) 255-1155

www.nakedgirlsreading.com

 

The Performant: Beats and Beuys – is anything sacred?

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Melting the masters with Oddball Films and Keith Hennessey

In a scene from the hilariously boffo short film Pull My Daisy an unruly gang of beatniks (Allen Ginsberg, Peter Orlovsky, and Gregory Corso) grill their pal’s invited guest, “The Bishop” (Richard Bellamy) about the relative holiness of the world around them, from baseball to cockroaches to the male organ. Is this-and-that holy, is such-and-such holy? they slur via Jack Kerouac’s partially-improvised narration. Their good-natured interrogation is doubtlessly modeled on Ginsberg’s “Footnote to Howl”—that affirmative litany asserting the holiness of cocks, typewriters, and “the bop apocalypse”. Throughout, their commitment to proving the divine in the human gives their tactless party-crashing a metaphysical justification and an almost wide-eyed innocence.

 The tiny screening room of Oddball Films, might seem at a casual glance to lack a direct conduit to heaven, but scouring the stacks one does find all manner of human concerns. Animated shorts, trailers, features, industrial, educational and other “ephemeral” flicks fill the warehouse-like space in leaning towers of film cans. During last Friday’s screening of beat and beat-themed films (Bongo Beatin’ Beatniks), metaphysics, innocence, and the meaning of art collided with the carnal, the craven, and the brazen, especially through a series of clips from “beat-sploitation” classics such as Beat Girl and the Bloody Brood. A touch of dada surfaced in the wonderfully bizarre Help, my Snowman’s Burning Down, and the earthly pleasure of music-making was encapsulated by jazz short Jammin’ the Blues. Tucked away on the second floor of a furniture warehouse on Capp Street, Oddball Films screens its collection of weird gems on a regular basis, and seems as good a place as any to spend time considering the archived intersection between flesh and spirit.  

Meanwhile, at a performance of Keith Hennessey’s “Crotch: all the Joseph Beuys references in the world cannot heal the pain…” the intersection between art and philosophy was humorously relayed via a quick lecture which began with Plato, Hegel, and Judith Butler, and ended somewhere around Arendt, Focault, and Wagner. Fortunately, you don’t win prestigious dance awards by spending all your stage time talking about Rudolf Steiner, so eventually Hennessey relented, took off his pants, and donned a “Scream” mask.

His body—squatting, hopping, attempting to stand on its head—asked that question which the mind has a hard time answering. Is this-and-that holy, is such-and-such holy? All joking aside, he removed the mask, helped his stage manager strike a part of his set, and nailed two boards together—a cross to bear—and balanced it on his head, slowly moving across the stage in tears. In a final act of acceptance, he barricaded his genitals behind a wall of lard, invited us onstage with him, and with needle and thread, sewed the visible scars on his body to the clothing of the three nearest audience members, covered himself in a rain of glitter, and inserted a set of misshapen Halloween teeth for good measure. In unison, we sang along to the Nirvana tune hypnotically playing in the background (“Something in the Way”), until almost without warning, the performer was gone—but the audience was still connected. Flesh and spirit.

Joystick to the world

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Joystick to the world

culture@sfbg.com

You can see it at your local Walgreens: that magical moment, at midnight every Nov. 1, when the Halloween display melts into the ether, replaced by a bevy of festive, possibly toxic, green-and-red confections. Christmas comes similarly early in the game business; unlike holiday movies, year-end software blockbusters have to be sitting on store shelves in time to entice flocks of early-bird shoppers.

This year promises a winter harvest of diverse delights, though there is a clear emphasis on familiar faces and established names. Groundbreaking technology will wheedle its way into American shopping carts alongside intellectual property that dates back to 1928.

 

ROCK HARDWARE

Though its most promising features are spread out over multiple months, Rock Band 3‘s release in the dying embers of October signaled the start of the holiday game glut. On the more casual end of the spectrum, there are many changes designed to improve the title’s performance as a party-powering karaoke machine on steroids. But it’s on the hardcore end that Harmonix’s offering really shines. New “Pro” instrument modes transform the entire idea of the rhythm game, promising exact correspondence between notes heard and notes played, turning an exercise in plastic-instrument frivolity into an actual teaching tool. The retail version ships with a full two-octave keyboard; future bedroom shredders will have to wait until March 1 to get their hands on Squier’s six-string electric guitar-controller hybrid.

 

KINECTRIC SLIDE

Harmonix rolled out another big title this year: Dance Central, a gleefully earnest dancing simulator that aims to do for cutting rugs what Guitar Hero did for ripping solos. Taking advantage of Microsoft’s Wii-killing, Xbox 360-exclusive Kinect technology (available now), which uses a TV-mounted camera to record player movements, the game weans digital dance off Dance Dance Revolution‘s cheesy floor pads, tracking your entire body and translating that motion into animated on-screen boogieing.

A number of other games have been released that are calibrated for use with the Kinect, either focusing on fitness (YourShape: Fitness Evolved, EA Sports Active 2) or cartoonish, arm-waving sports-mime (Kinect Adventures, Kinect Sports). Liberated from the tyranny of holding onto a controller, 360 owners will also be able to deploy the Kinect’s voice commands, which be useful for browsing through a number of new software features, which include ESPN and Last.fm, streaming direct to your console.

 

EVERYTHING OLD IS NEW AGAIN

Cannibalizing the past is nothing new when there are profits on the line, but no one does it with the kind of capitalist élan that the game industry evinces. Did you enjoy NBA Jam and Goldeneye 007 in the 1990s? Of course you did. And you’ll enjoy them again, now that they’re back, sporting upgraded display resolutions and gameplay adapted to modern, button-coruscated controllers. NBA Jam began as a downloadable adjunct to NBA Elite 2011; now that that game has been pushed back, the two-on-two hoops title is getting a full retail release on all the major consoles Nov. 17. Goldeneye is available now for Wii and Nintendo DS; playing as Oddjob is still totally cheating.

Japanese giants Namco Bandai have dusted off Splatterhouse, their goofily gory 1988 smash. Musclebound protagonist Rick is back, still sporting a hockey mask, still dismembering ghosts and ghouls with a blood-soaked two-by-four. The survival horror-brawler hybrid is due out Nov. 23 for PS3 and Xbox 360.

 

MOUSE HOUSE

It’s been a long time since Disney’s iconic character was featured in his own video game, so Junction Point Studio’s Epic Mickey is sure to be met with high expectations. Helmed, bizarrely, by legendary designer Warren Spector, who is better known for gritty cyberpunk classics System Shock and Deus Ex, the game promises a slightly more adult — even gothic — take on Disney’s least-adult character.

Gameplay will center around a painting mechanic. Using his trusty brush, Mickey will be able to transform his environment, daubing in bridges over otherwise impassable chasms. The judicious application of paint thinner will erase dastardly enemies. Look for Epic Mickey Nov. 30.

 

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD (OF WARCRAFT)

If you were to measure the impact of this year’s holiday releases using total hours invested as your metric, there’s no doubt that World of Warcraft: Cataclysm would come out on top. As the third expansion to Blizzard’s megalithic franchise, the game can count on a built-in player-base of some 12 million subscribers, each about as likely to buy Cataclysm as a heroin addict is to buy more smack.

The attractions this time around include two brand-new races — players will now be able to battle their way around Azeroth as Goblins or Worgen (read: werewolves). The expected litany of new dungeons, new loot, and new gameplay tweaks is also provided. The Cataclysm begins Dec. 7. And if you don’t know what to get that tween WoWer in your life at the last minute? But her some game time at www.blizzard.com.

Our Weekly Picks: November 17-23, 2010

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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WEDNESDAY 17

MUSIC

Watain

Half the fun of black metal is trying to figure out how serious a particular band is about its evilness. Evaluate: album covers; the amount of makeup and sinister props deployed during live shows; song lyrics; official band bios. I wish I’d written the phrase “Watain crawled out from Satan’s cunt in 1998,” but I can’t take credit for that, or for “out of the infernal depths their voices do not cry to the Heavens.” Fortunately, Watain (actually from Sweden) backs up all the unholy-terror promises by playing top-shelf black metal (fourth album, Lawless Darkness, came out earlier this year). Extremists won’t want to miss what’s sure to be a delightful night of headbanging with the Beast. (Cheryl Eddy)

With Goatwhore, Black Anvil, Necrite, and Pale Chalice

7:30 p.m., $20

DNA Lounge

373 11th St, SF

(415) 626-1409

www.dnalounge.com

 

DANCE

Josh Klipp and Jenni Bregman

AIRspace and RAW (Resident Artist Workshop) present a split bill featuring artists Josh Klipp and Jenni Bregman. Klipp, a local vocalist and choreographer, is a jazz singer in his work Chet & Ella: music and dance celebrating the voices of Chet Baker and Ella Fitzgerald. The piece also incorporates performances by Freeplay Dance Crew, Sarah Bush Dance Project, Funk4Soul, and Dylan Martin. Jenni Bregman’s contemporary dance work Intimate City takes a look at crowded urban spaces and the subsequent intimate transactions that can transpire between people. Bregman offers a glimpse at how friends and strangers alike share their minds, hearts, and personal space in the close quarters of urbanity. (Emmaly Wiederholt)

Wed/17–Thurs/18, 8 p.m., $10–$20

Garage

975 Howard, SF

www.975howard.com

 

THURSDAY 18

MUSIC

Bear Hands

Your album’s out. The blogosphere is blowing up around you. You’re opening for scene bands like Passion Pit, MGMT, and the XX. Feels good, but you’ve got to keep a cool head. Sure, they dig your sound, which gets compared to Modest Mouse and Berkeley’s WHY?; Spin magazine calls your band “a pitch-perfect pairing of post-punk and indie rock.” But they said that about the last band from New York City. Remember what really matters: the Justin Timberlake shout-out. He’s “fallen in love” with your “choppy but dreamy indie-rock stylings.” Oh, his paid blogger wrote that? That’s still really close. (Ryan Prendiville)

With LoveLikeFire and Safe

8 p.m., $12

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

(415) 861-2011

www.rickshawstop.com

 

THEATER

Caligari

Don’t fret, little thanatophile — Halloween’s not officially over until at least Thanksgiving. And to prove it, HurlyBurly Productions premiers its original adaptation Caligari in a nontraditional venue that simply begs the curious to attend: the playspace above leather apparel shop Mr. S. (“Lots of rigging,” I’m told happily, by the design team.) Exploring the minds of a murderous duo through the perspective of a pair of endangered lovers, Caligari promises shadowplay, Expressionist theatrics, fetish gear, and the subtle dissolution of the fourth wall. With the enigmatic Fennel Skellyman as Cesare, and HurlyBurly’s own Rik Lopes as the titular lead. (Nicole Gluckstern)

Thurs/18–Sat/20;

also Dec 2–3, 9–10, 8 p.m., $10–$30

Studio 385

385A Eighth St., SF

www.jointhehurlyburly.org

 

THEATER

The Success of Failure (Or, the Failure of Success)

Having earlier this year caught Cynthia Hopkins’ The Truth: A Tragedy at New York’s Soho Rep, I wouldn’t want to miss anything this playful, vaguely pixie-ish singer-songwriter-musician-performer is ever up to again. That includes her pomo rock band, Gloria Deluxe, and definitely the pure and intoxicatingly sure theater she creates in her deceptively homespun, hyper-talented fashion. The theater is on display this weekend in her “live sc-fi movie,” The Success of Failure (Or, the Failure of Success), a beguiling theater-music-dance rumination on the happy-horrific astronomical catastrophes responsible for our fragile existence. Wear your gravity boots: her curiosity is contagious, her instincts unflappable, and her oddball, doll-like, sweetly deranged persona simply magnetic. (Robert Avila)

Thurs/18–Sat/20, 8 p.m., $25

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts

Novellus Theatre, 700 Howard, SF

(415) 978-2787

www.ybca.org

 

FRIDAY 19

MUSIC

Miniature Tigers

The Brooklyn by way of Phoenix indie-rock group Miniature Tigers seem to revel in the darkly skewed, shadowy corners of the pop world. That its new album Fortress (fantastically produced by the Morning Benders’ Chris Chu) was inspired by a band viewing of Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) and includes song titles like “Mansion of Misery” and “Dark Tower” says nothing to describe the catchy, fun, and warped Beatles-esque pop it contains. This is what you might get if Animal Collective had its way with The White Album. (Landon Moblad)

With Freelance Whales

8:30 p.m., $12–$15

Rickshaw Stop

155 Fell, SF

(415) 861-2011

www.rickshawstop.com

 

MUSIC

Every Time I Die

Between the timing of their rise to prominence and their dubious moniker, the five rabble-rousers in Every Time I Die have often been unfairly ghettoized. But while many assume the band plays generic, early-aughts screamo, the music instead takes the form of squalling, infectious hardcore, with singer Keith Buckley — boasting one of the most unpredictable, expressive voices in the genre — caterwauling over top. The sheer weightiness of the instrumentation is what gives him such free reign, and guitarists Andrew Williams and Jordan Buckley seem to be chiseling their riffs out of quarried stone. Head out to Oakland tonight, and this band’ll lob those rock rocks your way. (Ben Richardson)

With Trap Them and Howl

8 p.m., $13

Oakland Metro

630 Third St., Oakl.

(510) 763-1146

www.oaklandmetro.org

 

THEATER

Coraline

First a best-selling book, then an Oscar-nominated stop-motion film, and now a musical, Coraline is the story of a restless girl whose curiosity gets the better of her. Title character Coraline discovers a secret door that takes her into the perfect world of the ever-loving and kindly Other Mother and Father. However she soon finds that perhaps the Other world isn’t so perfect after all. Adapted from Neil Gaiman’s children’s book, with music and lyrics by Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields and book by David Greenspan, madness and mayhem transpire as Coraline navigates the path between the deceptive Other world and her own. (Wiederholt)

Through Jan. 15 (check website for schedule)

Opens tonight, 8 p.m., $30–$50

SF Playhouse

533 Sutter, SF

(415) 677-9596

www.sfplayhouse.org

 

MUSIC

Clutch

Clutch has long built a reputation on its unique music, which blends hardcore, metal, blues, and funk to create an inimitable mix. This ability to combine multiple genres enables the band to attract a diverse array of fans, which in turn has resulted in some truly head-scratching touring partners. This trip through SF, the Germantown, Md., quartet will be sharing the stage with neoclassical shred-metallers Children of Bodom, plus Black Label Society, a knuckle-dragging biker metal outfit fronted by former Ozzy Osbourne guitarist Zakk Wylde (né Jeffrey Phillip Wielandt). Despite the stylistic confusion this will entail, come early for a set full of hard-grooving Southern Gothic weirdness, courtesy of the hardest-working hardcore-funk-blues band in show business. (Richardson)

With Black Label Society, Children of Bodom, and 2 Cents

7:30 p.m., $42

Warfield

982 Market, SF

1-800-745-3000

www.thewarfieldtheatre.com

 

DANCE

Ballet Afsaneh

If you think that globalization is a 21st century invention, talk to the people living along the Silk Road — that land and cultural bridge between the Mediterranean and China — that has been traveled for well over 2,000 years. Afghanistan, Turkey, Iran, Kazakhstan, and Azerbaijan among others, are in the news all the time, mostly for the wrong reasons. The Ballet Afsaneh Art and Culture Society has made it its mission to preserve and reinterpret the music and dance from this multiethnic part of the world. With Encounters: New Moon on the Silk Road, a project in the making for more than a year, Antonia Minnecola, Sharlya Sawyer, Moses Sedler, and their dancers and musicians invite audiences to take in the delicious rhythms and flowing gestures of that still-mysterious region between East and West. (Rita Felciano)

Sat/20, 8 p.m.; Sun/21, 3 p.m., $21–$25

Cowell Theater

Fort Mason Center, Marina at Laguna, SF

(415) 345-7575

www.dancesilkroad.org

 

SUNDAY 21

MUSIC

Gwar

Sexcuse me! You remember Gwar, right? You know, the guys who dressed up in outrageous costumes, er, I mean those deranged aliens who came to our planet in the mid-1980s and released records like Scumdogs of the Universe and This Toilet Earth? Well, the space gang is back in all its unholy glory with a new album, The Bloody Pit of Horror (Metal Blade), celebrating the band’s 25th anniversary. Propelled by the first sleazy single, “Zombies, March!” Oderus Urungus and his cohorts have returned in fine beastly form, ready to spread their love — by which of course I mean spray audiences with all manner of fake blood, bodily fluids, and God knows what else! (Sean McCourt)

With Casualties, Infernaeon, and Mobile Death Camp

7:30 p.m., $25

Regency Ballroom

1290 Sutter, SF

1-800-745-3000

www.theregencyballroom.com

 

MONDAY 22

MUSIC

Booker T.

One of the legendary organ players in music history, Booker T. Jones and his Hammond B-3 are touring to support his first solo album in over two decades. Jones led Stax Records house band Booker T. and the MGs throughout the 1960s and cowrote the still-cool-after-50-years classic “Green Onions.” His newest Grammy-winning album, Potato Hole, features backup work from the Drive-By Truckers and Neil Young, and includes a cover of Outkast’s “Hey Ya” for good measure. (Moblad)

8 and 10 p.m., $20–$30

Yoshi’s San Francisco

1330 Fillmore, SF

(415) 655-5600

www.yoshis.com

 

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Paradise Pizza & Pasta

Jesse Hawthorne Ficks
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Paradise Pizza & Pasta

paulr@sfbg.com

DINE The current pizza vogue reminds us that pizza is always in vogue. Pizza is timeless; have you ever met anyone, or even heard of anyone, who doesn’t like it? Yet the welter of new and ballyhooed pizzerias, in all their worthiness, can sometimes make us overlook the older, time-tested spots like Cathy and Sal Alioto’s Paradise Pizza and Pasta at the edge of West Portal.

Paradise has been “family owned and operated since 1989,” according to the menu card, and that’s a lot of restaurant years. (Restaurant years are even briefer and more brutal than dog years, which is saying something.) The restaurant also claims to offer the “best crust in the city.” This is a complex matter in which personal taste inevitably figures, as we shall see.

But first, the setting. It’s clean and modernish, with a semi-exhibition kitchen and bright green tabletops illuminated by a small spotlight in the ceiling — a mercy for those of us who were born before, oh, let’s say 1989, and now have difficulty reading menus by the dim light in so many of our more au courant restaurants. The interior design does contain one oddity, and that is the large fish composed of pizza pans mounted above the kitchen. It looks like some sort of Christian symbol while implying that the restaurant is some sort of seafood house, which it isn’t.

Which isn’t to say there aren’t glimpses of seafood on the menu. There are, including sautéed shrimp, fettuccine with shrimp, and shrimp on a pizza. Ahi even turns up occasionally, in tissue-thin flaps, almost like prosciutto — on a plate of bruschetta ($10.95) in the company of caramelized onions and juicy, late-season tomatoes.

The pizza crusts strike a nice balance between anorexic (in vogue at the moment) and foccacia-puffy, which I have always found to be bloating as well as flaccid when soggy. Paradise’s crusts are thin and crisp enough to hold a firm point (with good chewiness) while flashing some well-blistered puff along the edges.

As for toppings: they come pre-bundled for your convenience, under a variety of alluring names (all containing the word “paradise”), or you can put together your own consortium, starting from $10.95 and rising in increments from $1 to $1.50 per extra topping, depending on the size of the pizza. The ingredients, although not exotic, are fresh and vivid, the Italian sausage in particular, which skillfully balances the assertiveness of its two principal players, garlic and fennel seed.

The triumph of the pizza over the calzone in this country is something of a mystery to me. Does it have to do with the comparative ease of cutting up a pizza into slices for sharing, whereas a calzone is usually too big to be a finger or hand food? Paradise’s calzoni (all $12.95) are splendid to look at, each a sizable mezzaluna bulging with tasty goodies and with a subtle sheen, like that of a good (if blistered) brioche, on the outside. The salsiccia edition, filled with crumbled Italian sausage, chopped mushrooms, and mozzarella and ricotta cheeses, would pretty easily be enough for two people, especially if preceded by a starter course of some kind.

One such course we weren’t impressed with was a cream of artichoke soup ($4). The soup was certainly creamy — indeed, it seemed to be nothing but creamy, as though the kitchen had poured a carton of half and half into a pan and gently heated it. We did detect a faint hint of lemon in all that unorganized richness, but of the headlining ingredient … bupkes.

Paradise does a lively takeout business, which — as at every other such place I’ve ever been to — does slow the sit-down service. The servers themselves are attentive, knowledgeable, and prompt, but because the kitchen is busy baking pizzas for an unseen host as well as for the people sitting at tables, there can be a bit of a wait. But the beers and wines are moderately priced by city standards, and the crowd is spectation-worthy, a true neighborhood potpourri ranging from greatest-generation couples out for a simple dinner to packs of high school boys in their Giants regalia — black and orange, so reminiscent of Halloween. Halloween has just passed, but, like pizza, it never goes out of vogue in our town.

PARADISE PIZZA & PASTA

Daily from 4:30 p.m.

393 West Portal, SF

(415) 759-1155

www.paradisepizzaandpasta.com

Beer and wine

DC/DS/MC/V

Moderately noisy

Wheelchair accessible

 

The Performant: Rite of autumn

Andrew Lam
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It might have been unannounced, but there’s a ritual aspect to all this the Giants-Halloween-Dia de los Muertos mayhem all the same. And like any great autumnal rite, the cathartic frenzy implies a greater narrative — one last big harvest before the little death of winter, the rebirth of spring. How appropriate to the season then, was the Ragged Wing production “Persephone’s Roots” a site-specific re-imagining of the Persephone myth at Berkeley’s Cordornices Park. 

Persephone — as you might remember — is the daughter of Demeter, and traditionally the story told is that she was kidnapped into the underworld by Hades, which caused Demeter to neglect the Earth while she searched for her, bringing barren winter to the land. Ragged Wing’s Persephone was a far more willful curator of her own destiny. 

As an oddience, we followed her self-propelled journey into the underworld past a three-headed Hecate at the crossroads, around a despairing Sisyphus and Tantalus, through a spiral maze (Hecate’s Temple) where we wrote down our shadow thoughts and cast them into a basket to be burned later on during the climactic reunion scene. Then to the Fates picnic, where Persephone defiantly ate of an onion, and the three weird sisters snipped her thread. 

No victim, this Persephone was a willing Queen of the Underworld, and when Demeter found her at last, beside the bonfires of the “hearth of the triple goddess” (Hecate again) their agreement that Persephone would spend the spring months above ground was hard won. The wooded paths, trickling waterways, and rapidly descending nightfall made the journey feel very otherworldly and the park seem downright mysterious. 

Speaking of mysterious, I will never look at the Shakespeare Garden in Golden Gate Park in quite the same way now that I’ve seen it in the neon of glowsticks at midnight, the end station of the interactive, city-wide Journey to the End of the Night.  

Beginning at Justin Hermann plaza at 8 p.m., the game spread out over much of the city—from Chinatown, to SoMa, to the Mission, to Haight, to Golden Gate Park. The goal was to get through to each checkpoint via public transportation and collect a signature after performing some minor task (most involved was probably the “Change of Face” station in Dore Alley, where we had to exchange parts of our costumes with strangers in the back room of Lennon Studios. 

The challenge was getting to each checkpoint without being caught by a “chaser” since, like zombies, their powers of evil would then corrupt you and you would become one of them. Indeed, by the end of the night, chasers almost outnumbered survivors, and my group of three survivors were congratulated heartily on our triumph at the entrance to the garden. 

The light at the end of the tunnel was a dreamy, participatory performance by nerd arcana swashbucklers Corpus Callosum, who exhorted us to “drink to the ghosts of the night”, a ritual appropriate for any season. 

 

Giants win the World Series! Again!

Andrew Lam
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0

What’s better than watching the Giants win the World Series? How about watching them win the World Series for the second time?

Not too many people can lay claim to the distinction, but somewhere betwixt sneaking into an at-capacity Polk Street pub and watching the fireworks on Valencia explode with gigantic glory last night, I ran into Elliott Isenberg, who was all of nine years old when the New York Giants took home the World Series trophy in 1954.

“There was a lot of celebration in my house,” Isenberg — who is a therapist during the day when not causing trouble in the streets — told me the next morning, after the euphoria of last night’s win (and the Anchor Steam coursing through my veins) had sufficiently dissipated to allow journalistic endeavor. Back in ’54, they were getting crazy with it. “My grandfather danced on the table and they gave me a glass of wine. I had only had wine before at Passover. I didn’t go downtown — I heard there were huge celebrations in Manhattan, in the Bronx, but I was a nine year old boy!”

Well he certainly made it to the show last night. When I stumbled into him, Isenberg was wearing a neon pink and yellow windbreaker below his shock of grey hair, a garment that had granted him a sort of inadvertent celebrity earlier that night when he walked down from his home of 32 years on 24th Street and San Jose to partake of the late night street celebrations sweeping the Mission. He was eager to tell me the story of his night.

After watching their team trounce the Texas Rangers 3-1, beard-clad festivators were filling the streets from Polk to Castro to City Hall — but the parties in the Mission were the big ones. Undeterred by the throngs of champagne-popping Giants fans, flat bed trucks full of waving people were chugging resolutely down the middle of Valencia between 16th and 17th Streets. SF – like you didn’t know this already – loves a good street party.

And then they started burning the mattress. Which is awesome. Isenberg took the opportunity to show the crowd what he’s got, which sounds like a nice vertical. “I did, I actually jumped over it. I got a little bit singed though.” He says people were approaching him the rest of the evening to congratulate him on the leap. My guess is they got an earful about the grandfather on the table, the wine, the wonder, as well.

“For a few hours, it was the people’s territory, no cops,” Isenberg recalls. But the cheerful anarchy amidst the taquerias and bike lanes wasn’t to last forever. He reports that at some point after midnight, cops linked arms to form a phalanx and advanced on the revelers. “I ducked into a recessed window — most people were smart enough to move, but those that were too drunk or had an attitude got hit by the police officers’ clubs. Not a murderous hit, just to get them going.” He says after the phalanx cleared the crowd around the boudoir bonfire, a fire truck arrived to douse the flames and the crowd never regained its full insanity levels.

Still, Isenberg was in high spirits on his walk home, high fiving like a madman. After all, it’s not so often that his baseball team wins the World Series. And after living in the Mission as long as he has, he’s not easily rattled by rowdy crowds. Even if this one was special. When asked if he’d ever seen anything like the celebratory mayhem that had ensued, he said “it was a little more wild than I’ve seen before. It was one level up from Halloween.”

 

Election Night Parties

Sasha Cuttler
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7

These are heady days to live in San Francisco, what with the Giants’ World Series victory last night, Halloween festivities the night before, and today’s Dia de los Muertos, which I believe is Spanish for Election Night (okay, we know they’re different, but given this year’s electoral slate, we couldn’t resist). It’s also a big election for The City, with our own Gavin Newsom and Kamala Harris seeking statewide office, a pivotal Board of Supervisors election, and some controversial propositions.

As usual, we’ll be covering and blogging all the election action live on this site. But if you’d like to get out there and mix and mingle with the politicos yourself, here’s the list of parties, which will be updating as we learn about more of them:

Board of Supervisors

D2

Janet Reilly – La Barca Restaurant, 2036 Lombard St. @ Fillmore

D6

Debra Walker- 8-10pm Outsider (894 Geary) and 10-12:30am, Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell

Jane Kim: Public Works, 161 Erie Street @ Mission

Jim Meko- Campaign HQ, 364 10th Street

James Keys- Amsterdam Cafe (937 Geary, between Larkin and Polk)

Theresa Sparks: Don Ramon’s, 225 11th Street

Glendon “Anna Conda” Hyde: Eagle Tavern, 12th and Harrison

D8

Rafael Mandelman – Pilsner Inn, 225 Church St., @ Market

Scott Weiner: Harvey’s. 500 Castro @ 18th

Rebecca Prozan: Noe Valley Tavern, 4054 24th St., between Noe and Castro

D10

Lynette Sweet: Campaign HQ, 1 Rhode Island

Chris Jackson: Campaign HQ, 93 Leland Ave.

Dewitt Lacy: Bloom’s Saloon, 1918 18th @ Missouri

Steve Moss: Goat Hill Pizza, 300 Connecticut

Tony Kelly, Potrero Hill Neighborhood House, 953 DeHaro,

Malia Cohen: Poquito’s, 2368 3rd Street

SF School Board

Kim-Shree Maufas – Circulating with stops at Walker Democratic Party parties.

Hydra Mendoza: Mercury Lounge, 1582 Folsom St., @ 11th St.

Margaret Brodkin: home, 45 Graystone Terrace

Emily Murase: 6-9pm 142 Clearfield Drive (Between Ocean and Eucalyptus

Interest Groups

SF Labor Council/Democratic Party: Great American Music Hall, 859 O’Farrell St.

League of Pissed Off Voters: El Rio, 3158 Mission

Conservatives/Tea Party California Council: Pirro’s Restaurant, 2244 Taraval

SF Propositions

No on B – Great American Music Hall, with Dems/Labor

Yes on Prop B/Adachi: Lava Lounge, 527 Bryant Street

Yes on D, Mercury Lounge, 1582 Folsom @ 12th

No on L: Great American Music Hall, with Dems/Labor

Yes on L: Hobson’s Choice, 1601 Haight

State and Federal Races

John Dennis for Congress: Nectar Wine lounge, 3330 Steiner (off Lombard)

Jerry Brown for Governor: Fox Theater, 1807 Telegraph Ave, Oakland

Gavin Newsom for Lt. Gov: Tres Agaves – La Plaza De Agave Room, 130 Townsend @ 2nd

Kamala Harris for Attorney General, Delancey Street Foundation, 600 Embarcadero

 

Rebecca Kaplan for Oakland Mayor: Everett & Jones BBQ, 126 Broadway, Oakland

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