When I met Traxamillion, the young producer-rapper was in the lab with Balance, recording a faithful cover of EPMD’s “You’re a Customer” for a Mind Motion mixtape. Naturally, I would have preferred seeing Trax record an original, but watching him vibe to a classic was perhaps more revelatory. Where many producers insist on their isolation from outside influences, Trax is an unapologetic lover of music.
“Everybody’s a fan,” the musician, born in East Orange, NJ, and raised in San Jose, points out. “Somebody inspired somebody to make a beat, to rap. That’s how I go about my beats. I listen to shit. I get inspired. I appreciate it and harness and learn from it. I’ve always tried to mimic what’s going on, on the radio.”
Despite this unpretentious attitude toward his art, Traxamillion has developed a highly original sound of his own — bright, downright cheerful noises animate his eminently danceable grooves — and he’s already earned a place in Bay Area rap history. In June 2005 he topped the local rap charts as producer of Keak Da Sneak’s infectious independent single “Super Hyphy” (Rah), proving the Yay could hang in the mix with big-label megastars while opening up the airwaves to a long-suppressed flood of local talent.
“The beat was inspired by the youngstas,” Traxamillion says. “My little cousins came through drunk, wildin’ out on a birthday, and started dancin’. I was paying attention to their movements, thinking, ‘I gotta make some music for these cats,’ because the youngstas are really the hyphy movement. When I was making the beat, I was replaying their dancin’ in my head, and ‘Super Hyphy’ came out an hour and a half later.”
Knowing he had a hit on his hands, Trax shot the beat at Keak, who reportedly wrote the song in one session during a drive home from Tahoe. Within a few weeks “Super Hyphy” was all over the radio.
“It took two months to get to number one [on KMEL’s list of most requested tracks in June 2005],” Trax recalls. “But it was fresh, and Keak’s so abstract when he comes with something — people are fiendin’ for it. People loved it, and it still slaps to this day. It’s a big club anthem in the Bay.”
“It was weird because it was my first time on the radio, period, as a producer,” Trax says. “I was, like, ‘Man, this is crazy — all these people are going crazy to my song. This is my shit I made in my mother’s bedroom.’ I be at the club, watching everybody at the peak of the song when they would run it back like three or four times, going, ‘God-damn!’ Nobody knew it was me.”
If Traxamillion’s name wasn’t ringing bells, “Super Hyphy” was, and in short order he was working with the Team, whose “Just Go” earned the producer further spins. But when he returned to the local number one slot on KMEL’s most requested tracks in December 2005, producing “Getz Ya Grown Man On” for East Palo Alto’s then-unknown Dem Hoodstarz, Trax proved his success with Keak was no fluke. The remix — with guests Mistah FAB, San Quinn, Clyde Carson, and Turf Talk — has even picked up national airplay and features prominently on Dem Hoodstarz’s Band-Aide and Scoot (SMC) as well as Trax’s own The Slapp Addict (Slapp Addict). “The Slapp Addict is the soundtrack to the hyphy movement,” Trax says of the album. Its single-producer, multirapper format has earned it a reputation as a Bay Area Chronic. “It’s basically a Who’s Who of the Bay, produced by me. After ‘Grown Man,’ I was superhot. People were, like, ‘I want to work with you.’ In turn, everybody did songs for me, ’cause game recognize game. Damn near a year’s worth of creativity went into that album.”
In addition to spawning singles like “The Sideshow” (Too Short and FAB) and “Wakin’ ’Em Up” (Turf Talk and Hoodstarz), Slapp Addict has spun off another huge hit collaboration with Keak. “On Citas” demonstrates the producer’s special rapport with the Bay’s hottest rapper.
“When me and Keak get together, we make hits,” Trax says. “When I first met Keak, he told me, ‘Man, your beats and my voice — it’s a marriage.’ Ain’t nothin’ I’m doin’ or nothin’ he doin’ — it’s just his shit plus my shit equals hits.” (Garrett Caples)
Music
Goldies Music winner Traxamillion
Goldies Dance winner Funkanometry SF
Earlier this fall Funkanometry SF celebrated their fourth anniversary at the same place, 111 Minna Gallery, that is hosting this year’s Goldies ceremony and party. They packed the joint. Between then and now the company has been places. Six core members — including directors Emerson Aquino and Gina Rosales — answered an invitation to travel to Bogotá, Colombia. There, as part of the city’s Festival de Danza Urbana, they taught classes, were interviewed on the streets for radio and television, and gave performances.
Funkanometry SF is traveling these days — this month includes a trip to Chicago — but their heart remains in the Bay Area, where every Sunday night they take over the Westlake School for the Performing Arts in Daly City. In one large room company members and new students might run through eight counts while in another, smaller classroom veteran dancers hone an upcoming performance. Before, after, and in between the dancing, everyone hangs out in the courtyard, where kids and parents stop by to see what’s up.
“I really started choreographing when I was 14,” the soft-spoken Aquino explains one such Sunday, as he, Rosales, and cofounder Kyle Wai Lin good-naturedly attempt to break down the group’s history, kidding each other all the while. “To me, choreography is about making pictures. Once you realize the amount of people you have [to work with], you can maneuver them to make pictures.”
The pictures the group creates aren’t just captivating still images — they form waves of energy as friends in the audience shout encouragement to dancers on the floor. That type of flow is no small feat, considering Aquino and the 20-some-member group tap into many different genres of music. The ladies are as slyly, stylishly sexy-tough as Amerie and Aaliyah, and the gentlemen aren’t buried under baggy clothes — they’ve got debonair flair. In other words, Funkanometry SF aren’t solemn hip-hop snobs — they’re just as likely to draw from J-pop, house, or rock as they are Bay Area hyphy. “The art of choreography involves movement that is clear,” Aquino says while discussing the fact that Janet Jackson is a dancer’s pop singer if there ever was one (an axiom that extends to Timbaland as producer). “But a lot of people focus on movement at the expense of feeling. You can just move, but if you’re not feeling the music, you’re not dancing.”
Like Aquino, Funkanometry SF’s other codirectors started dancing in high school. Before joining Funkanometry SF the energetic Rosales captained a high school team and was part of another local crew, Xplicit. Lin and Aquino are friends dating back to childhood; these days Lin oversees the business and Web creative side of the group (www.funkanometrysf.com and www.funksters.org), letting Aquino guide the dancers. “Both of us wanted to create a foundation to serve the community, to challenge dancers, and create an outlet for youth,” Lin says. Judging from the huge response to the group’s Funksters youth program — overseen by Mary Jane Huang — they’re succeeding on all fronts.
Each fall the San Francisco Hip Hop Dance Fest rolls around, and along with another community-based local company — Oakland’s Izzy Award–winners New Style Motherlode — Funkanometry SF can be counted on to represent. This year Aquino and company are preparing a new show, Funk’s Boutique, for Micaya’s annual Palace of Fine Arts event. “It’s set in a trendy boutique, and it showcases the versatility and diversity of the company,” Aquino explains. Versatility and diversity — those are just two of the qualities that make Funkanometry SF unique. Each dancer brings another reason to check out their boutique. (Johnny Ray Huston)
Goldies Dance winner Sean Dorsey
One look at Sean Dorsey — a debonair dancer with slightly mussed hair and innovative modern dance choreographer — and two words instantly come to mind: dip me!
But watching him dance, you see more of a rough-and-tumble Gene Kelly than a gliding Fred Astaire. Which isn’t to say he can’t throw down a steamy tango, as he does in Red Tie, Red Lipstick, a moving pas de deux about violence against a transgender couple. Dorsey featured the piece, with narration by trans poet Marcus Van, in his first full-length show, Outsider Chronicles, staged last year at ODC Theater and soon to be remounted Nov. 16 to 18 at the Dance Mission Theater.
Since moving to San Francisco in 2001 from Vancouver, Dorsey has blazed a fierce trail for transgender performers. He immediately became enamored with the city when he met site-specific choreographer Lizz Roman while visiting here with the Kokoro Dance company. “There was very little release technique or inversion work in Vancouver,” the native Canadian recalls. “I totally fell in love with her [Roman’s] movement and what she was doing.”
The feeling was mutual, and Roman gave the young dancer a spot in her company. Dance Brigade founder Krissy Keefer also went mad for Dorsey, granting him a solo slot in the now-defunct Lesbian and Gay Dance Festival. Even our pampered SF LGBT audience wasn’t used to seeing butch-looking dancers like Dorsey onstage, and its response was ecstatic.
By the spring of 2002 he was in ODC Theater’s Pilot Program, which nurtures emerging choreographers as they develop new work eventually showcased on the theater’s floor. Three months later he founded the groundbreaking Fresh Meat Productions, which brings trans and queer performers, filmmakers, musicians, and writers together annually to tell their stories through their chosen artistic discipline. Since the first two-day show at ODC Theater that summer, Fresh Meat has moved on to cosponsoring Tranny Fest, a festival of independent trans cinema now helmed by Dorsey’s partner, filmmaker Shawna Virago, and also helped to organize national tours of trans artists. Currently, Dorsey, the nonprofit’s artistic director, is organizing a show for a trans printmaker at the Femina Potens gallery and another solo show for a trans visual artist.
Amid all the organizing, marketing, and promoting, Dorsey brought his own point of view to queer performance with last year’s Outsider Chronicles, via an individual artist grant from the San Francisco Arts Commission. Written and choreographed by Dorsey, the program combines modern dance with music and narration in five stories that reflect the life of a transgender person — as well as any human being who has ever had a crush, a secret, or a high school guidance counselor with a textbook full of bad advice. Each vignette (most performed with dance partner Meir Culbreth) expresses a language of movement that is boldly real and acutely honest.
Through Fresh Meat and his own choreography, Dorsey has been able to combine art and activism in a way that creates alliances, fosters a community of like-minded artists, and changes our notion of what defines dance and, at its most basic level, our bodies. Next on the horizon, the onetime housing and poverty activist who realized his dance career almost accidentally while on a hiatus from grad school plans to use his Gerbode Emerging Choreographer Award to continue combining his two great passions. Tentatively titled Some Went Untold, the envisioned piece will be based on interviews Dorsey conducts with trans folk across the land.
“I’m still, like, ‘Hello, hello, hello, where are all the trans dancers?’” Dorsey says. “I’m hoping very soon that there will be more trans dancers to work with.” He also hopes to find the time to learn ballroom dance. Let the dipping begin! (Deborah Giattina)
Goldies Lifetime Achievement winner Pandit Chitresh Das
After a highly disciplined childhood, spending up to six hours a day practicing on a cement floor for his very demanding but revered guru, Pandit Ram Narayan Misra, Kathak master Chitresh Das moved from his native Calcutta (by way of a one-year stint in Maryland) to the Bay Area.
The year was 1971. Das had been hired by the Ali Akbar College of Music to teach one of the most ancient arts of India to young countercultural Americans eager to learn Eastern practices.
It was, at the very least, something of a cultural shock — for both sides. “This was the beautiful age of the flower children, the hippie generation,” Das remembers. “They were looking toward the East for answers, but I did not fit their idealized image of an Indian guru. Having been schooled in the old-world traditions — to respect and obey my teachers and elders and to assume a secondary stance in their presence — my amused bewilderment at my students’ behavior never ceased.”
Thirty-five years later Das and his American-born dancers, many of Indian descent, have more than reached harmony. His Chhandam School of Kathak has five Bay Area branches, plus outposts in Boston, Toronto, and Calcutta. The most accomplished of his Chitresh Das Dance Company members is the Floridian Charlotte Moraga, who stumbled into Das’s class at San Francisco State University — where he taught for 17 years — because the jazz dance class she wanted was full.
Das’s most important contribution to the Bay Area may well be the way he has woven Kathak into the fabric of local dance. Once an exceedingly esoteric art form, born at the Islamic courts of the Mogul Empire in northern India, Kathak now has a home in the Bay Area’s more egalitarian environment. In the ’80s, Das’s dancers were among the first participants in the SF Ethnic Dance Festival. His company regularly presents him as a solo dancer and as a choreographer of both traditional and unconventional work.
Now in his early 60s, an age at which most Western dancers have long retired from the theater, Das remains a stunning performer and the best advocate for his art. When he is onstage, you cannot take your eyes off him, whether he’s moving through the pure dance passages that require dizzying turns and mind-boggling footwork or the more expressive sections in which the dancer calls up a favorite story from the Mahabharata, impersonating all its different characters and sometimes the landscape as well.
Das thinks nothing of transforming a performance into something akin to a lecture demo if his audience will walk away with a better understanding of Kathak’s rhythmic intricacies and the vast world of the Hindu mythology in which the art is rooted. A “kathaka,” he likes to remind theatergoers, is a storyteller.
In September, Das organized “Kathak at the Crossroads,” the largest festival of its kind ever held outside India. The San Francisco event’s subtitle, “Innovation within Tradition,” could describe Das himself. A fierce traditionalist, he is also explosively freethinking. He embraces the improvisatory interaction between dancer and musician — a connection that takes place within given parameters but is never rehearsed. The way he talks about it, the dancer strives toward a kind of oneness, maybe a divine type of play that is both meditative and intensely joyful. His guru used to tell him to “dance in such a way that the sound of your [ankle] bells and the room become one.”
As traditional as Das can be, he is also an innovator. A few years ago he created a new genre of dancing, Kathak yoga, inspired by the ascetic traditions of the Himalayas. It is primarily designed as a spiritual and physical practice. Without music the dancer mentally counts the rhythms, recites and chants the embellishments aloud, and dances the footwork.
As a storytelling choreographer, Das has been a force for change ever since he first performed the clever and amusing The Train as a student at an international East-West dance conference in India. Choreographed by his guru, the piece imitates a train — traveling, speeding up, changing tracks, breaking, passing a railroad station.
Das has created traditional dance dramas (such as Darbar [1999]) but also less traditional ones, such as Impressions of the California Gold Rush (1990), in which a trio of 49ers perform in ankle bells and cowboy outfits.
Sadhana (2001) is a multimedia solo evening about different forms of practice — dance, life, meditation. For his 60th birthday he created the autobiographical Sampurnam (2004) for himself and his company.
But Das’s most innovative work has come with practitioners of other dance styles: The Guru (Bharata Natyam, 1991), Sole Music (tap and flamenco, 1986), Sugriya-Subali (Balinese, 2000), and East as Center (Kathakali and Balinese, 2003). His latest exploration in that direction is Jazz Suites, a collaboration with tap dancer Jason Samuels Smith that grew out of a friendly competition in the hallways of the American Dance Festival in 2004. The duo have been touring the piece around the country and will take it to India this winter.
While Das has been passionate about opening American eyes to the beauty of his art form, he is equally committed to doing the same for Indian audiences. He spends part of every year in Calcutta teaching, performing, and giving workshops. In 2002 he reopened his father’s old school, which had trained Kathak dancers in Calcutta even before Indian independence. Last year Das started a training program for the children of Calcutta’s sex workers; most recently he gave a lecture demonstration for professional Indian boxers about their connection with the Hindu goddess Kali and the monkey god Hanuman.
Clearly, one lifetime simply may not be enough to contain Chitresh Das, his artistry, his humanity, his passion. (Rita Felciano)
TUESDAY
Tues/7
Music
Lou Reed
If you’re young – or stupid – you might trace punk rock to some prefab English twats like the Sex Pistols. Me, I take it all the way back to 1967, with unholy St. Lou and all that “she’s still sucking on my ding-dong” talk on “Sister Ray.” Lou Reed is so punk rock, his whole life is a middle finger. So he’s aged into a poet laureate in leather pants, someone who’s inclined to wear ugly-ass Oakley sunglasses in promo photos. So what? His liner notes to Metal Machine Music (RCA, 1975) still hold up: “My week beats your year.” (Duncan Scott Davidson)
7:30 p.m.
Fox Theatre
2215 Broadway, Redwood City
$35-$45
(650) 369-4119
www.foxdream.com
www.loureed.com
MONDAY
Mon/6
Author
Listen to the messenger
Hear OC Weekly writer Nick Schou read from his book, Kill the Messenger. The book covers the story of Gary Webb, a journalist who wrote the Dark Alliance series for the San Jose Mercury News in the mid-’80s investigating connections between the CIA and Southern California crack cocaine rings and later committed suicide. Schou’s book includes interviews with editors involved with Webb who have never before spoken about the scandal. (Deborah Giattina)
7 p.m.
Cody’s Bookstore
1730 Fourth St., Berk.
Free
(510) 559-9500
Music
Lindsey Buckingham
When I was in college, we were talking about the scene in School of Rock where Joan Cusack gets drunk and dances on a table like Stevie Nicks, and this hipper-than-thou chick in my class asked smugly, “Does anyone even like Fleetwood Mac anymore?” She was nearly killed by the rain of backpacks, cell phones, and unadulterated scorn. So the moral of the story is that everyone fucking loves Fleetwood Mac and everyone fucking loves Lindsey Buckingham. (Aaron Sankin)
8 p.m.
Palace of Fine Arts
3301 Lyon, SF
$55
(415) 563-6504
www.palaceoffinearts.org
www.lindseybuckingham.com
SATURDAY
Sat/4
Performance
“Campfire”
Oh, to be kids again, sitting around the fire and chomping toasted marshmallows while taking turns freaking each other out with tales of the spirit world! Well, here’s your chance: BATS Improv, with special guests Unexpected Productions, is offering an improvisational theater version of the campfire story. Before the show audience members are encouraged to share their experiences with ghosts; these accounts are then converted into improvised performances certain to quicken the pulse and thrill the most jaded of hearts. (Todd Lavoie)
8 p.m.
Bayfront Theater
Fort Mason Center, bldg. B
Marina at Buchanan, SF
$15
www.improv.org
Music
Mudhoney
Born from the ashes of the seminal Seattle band Green River, Mudhoney was one of the first groups to rise to moderate fame during the alternative rock explosion in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Though its profile and popularity were eventually far eclipsed by other acts labeled with the now-despised “grunge” tag, Mudhoney is one of the few original bands of that era still touring and putting out records. Tunes from this year’s Under a Billion Suns seethe and spit with the same attitude that made “Touch Me I’m Sick” and “Suck You Dry” anthems for a disaffected Generation X. (Sean McCourt)
9 p.m.
12 Galaxies
2565 Mission, SF
$20
(415) 970-9777
www.12galaxies.com
www.subpop.com
FRIDAY
Fri/3
Music
Tara Jane O’Neil
Cat Power and Neko Case may nab more of the press, but Portland’s Tara Jane O’Neil has quietly developed into a strikingly consistent songwriter-chanteuse, spinning out one compelling solo record after another. Previously known for her work with Rodan and the Sonora Pine, O’Neil makes music that is equal parts spindly folk and ambient soundscape these days. It manages to be simultaneously explorative and understated: a neat trick in these rather unsubtle times. (Max Goldberg)
With Sir Richard Bishop and Sandycoates
9 p.m.
Hotel Utah
500 Fourth St., SF
$10
(415) 546-6300
www.hotelutah.com
www.tarajaneoneil.com
Film
Excellent Cadavers
Drawing material from Alexander Stille’s book of the same title and Letizia Battaglia’s hard-boiled photography, director Marco Turco plunges into the Mafia’s long-standing stranglehold on Sicilian politics and capital in this heated documentary. Turco isn’t impressed by the Cosa Nostra’s mystique: he shows us a parasitic organization that has deeply embedded itself into the Italian economy through a combination of political influence and graft. As the murders and deceptions pile up, the filmmaker’s outrage hits its mark. (Goldberg)
7 and 8:50 p.m.
Roxie Film Center
3117 16th St., SF
$4-8
www.roxie.com
THURSDAY
Thurs/2
Music
Measha Brueggergosman
While the San Francisco Opera’s busy playing it safe this season by reprising household-name works, our Symphony’s filling in the avant-garde gap with a roster right up any classical hipster’s alley. Nov. 2 through Nov. 4, the SFS presents a “hol-eee shit” lineup that’s got young audiophiles breaking their piggy banks for tickets. Hot, hot Canadian soprano Measha Brueggergosman gets sassy with 12-tone master Arnold Schoenberg’s electric-sexy cabaret songs, then launches into the stratosphere with Gustav Mahler’s tearfully ethereal Fourth Symphony. (Marke B.)
8 p.m. (through Sat/4)
Davies Symphony Hall
201 Van Ness, SF
$25-$110
(415) 864-6000
www.sfsymphony.org
www.measha.com
Event
Día de los Muertos
To paraphrase Octavio Paz: in Mexico death is an entity to be courted, cherished, and celebrated. It is this beneficent attitude toward la Muerte that has helped make Día de los Muertos, or Day of the Dead, one of Mexico’s most treasured holidays and not surprisingly, one of the Mission District’s too. This year thousands will gather at the intersection of 24th Street and Bryant for a ritual procession to remember the dead – and to honor the living. In Garfield Park processionalists will have the opportunity to place ofrendas, or offerings of food, photographs, and other mementos, on five community altars and pay respect to smaller altars created by individuals. (Nicole Gluckstern)
7 p.m.
24th St. and Bryant, SF
Free
(415) 595-5558
www.dayofthedeadsf.org
Tony rewards
› johnny@sfbg.com
FILM FESTIVAL After a week of stealth watching at the Vancouver International Film Festival, you wonder about odd things. Such as: what’s with the trend of naming movies after post-punk touchstones? Jia Zhangke probably started it with 2002’s Unknown Pleasures. In its wake came All Tomorrow’s Parties by Jia’s cinematographer Yu Lik-wai and the Smiths-inflected twist of Lee Yoon-Ki’s terrific This Charming Girl. The 25th annual VIFF brought So Yong-Kim’s In Between Days (title swiped from Cure single) and one of this year’s best movies, Pedro Costa’s Colossal Youth (English title courtesy of classic Young Marble Giants album). As Costa explained during a candid Q&A that included a pointed Hou Hsiao-hsien dismissal, his film’s extraordinary look and atmosphere derive from the fact that mirrors are its chief nonnatural light source.
A more perplexing minitrend might be the sudden return of ’80s MTV vixen Kim Wilde via art films — not as an actress but as set decoration or spectral presence. Wilde posters dominate the walls of the title character’s apartment in last year’s Cannes un Certain Regard winner The Death of Mr. Lazarescu, and this year a 45 by the “Kids in America” songstress becomes one of manic-depressive Romain Duris’s last lifelines in Dans Paris, Christophe Honoré’s vastly improved and new wave–inflected follow-up to his debut, the Georges Bataille adaptation Ma Mere. Though Duris’s walk on the Wilde side might not be the most convincing evidence, Dans Paris makes wonderfully inventive use of music.
I love Paris in the springtime, I love it in the fall, and for the most part I love ’Tis Autumn: The Search for Jackie Paris, Raymond de Felitta’s video mash note to the late, underknown jazz singer — a work of fan devotion that ultimately uncovers uncomfortable facts about its subject. Most of all, I love Vancouver when ’tis autumn, because it’s home to the most impassioned and inventive strains of commercial cinema, partly due to VIFF programming associate Mark Peranson, who edits the excellent journal Cinema Scope.
This year’s VIFF showcased the Slavoj Zizek–guided The Pervert’s Guide to Cinema, which places the psych theorist in lecture settings such as Melanie Daniels’s Bodega Bay Birds motorboat. Rarer treats included the North American premiere of Jacques Rivette’s 743(!)-minute new wave touchstone from 1973, Out 1: Noli Me Tangere. I caught most of it but missed a six-hour excerpt of Stan Douglas’s endlessly variable new installation, Klatsassin — to my regret, since one of Douglas’s previous projects warps Dario Argento’s Suspiria and this latest connects North American Indian history to a score by the excellent Berlin electronic dubster duo Rhythm and Sound.
If such disparate ingredients can have a bond, then so can Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Tsai Ming-liang, to name just one of the better-known directors commissioned to make movies for the “New Crowned Hope” film series in honor of the composer’s 250th birthday. Tsai’s I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone is his first feature set in his birth country of Malaysia, but its near-silent strains of lovelorn pathos and comedy fit alongside past works. The movies made thus far for “New Crowned Hope” are uniformly and individually superb. A case could be made that Garin Nugroho’s Opera Jawa — in which powerful waves of sound might even be overshadowed by gorgeous costume and set design — is the best. That is, if one discounts Syndromes and a Century, the latest miracle by Apichatpong “Joe” Weerasethakul — an improvement on Tropical Malady that condenses all the director’s unique gifts into a fine mist.
Apichatpong was on the jury for this year’s Dragons and Tigers Award for Young Cinema, a prize that thanks to programmer Tony Rayns has helped make the name of directors such as Jia — primarily because Rayns’s trailblazing broader Dragons and Tigers selections have introduced Miike Takashi, Bong Joon-ho, and others to North American audiences. This was Rayns’s last year in his current capacity at VIFF, where he’s offered a peerless example of what a festival programmer can do for filmmakers and filmmaking. Through happenstance on my last night at the fest, I wound up at a spontaneous Rayns-thrown dinner that included documentarian Amir Muhammad (who has a way with a wickedly funny Keyser Söze punch line) and the respective directors of what would soon be the Dragons and Tigers winner, Todo Todo Teros, and honorable mention Faceless Things. That the meal took place immediately after the genuinely scatological latter film — a provocation that moves postteen Kim Kyong-Mook beyond the Sadie Benning–of–South Korea realm of his earlier short Me and Doll Playing — was just one of the reasons it was memorable.
I wound up seated next to Todo Todo Teros director John Torres and his friend — as well as one of the first faces glimpsed in his movie — Alexis Tioseco, who oversees the outstanding Web site criticine.com. Tioseco’s site currently features a poignant Paris diary by the talented young filmmaker Raya Martin, whose A Short Film about the Indio-Nacional (or the Prolonged Sorrow of Filipinos) hints at Apichatpong-level brilliance and is at the vanguard of a new Filipino cinema powered by friendship and inspiration rather than the country’s film industry or government funds. It was a pleasure and in some ways a revelation to talk movies with the Andrei Tarkovsky–loving Tioseco, who likes to kid Torres, though he’s perceptively respectful of his friend’s filmmaking efforts in a current Criticine interview. The reward of such a meeting wouldn’t be possible without Rayns — here’s hoping whoever takes the VIFF reins will follow his example. SFBG
For more extensive reports on this year’s Vancouver International Film Festival, go to the Pixel Vision blog at www.sfbg.com/pixel_vision.
San Francisco Jazz Festival: Particular and infinite
› a&eletters@sfbg.com
Marisa Monte is a true musician. Her albums routinely go putf8um around the world, and her shows sell out wherever she plays — whether in or out of her native Brazil — but her approach is not at all that of a pop star. Her musical background is rich and combines the samba traditions of her hometown, Rio de Janeiro, European classical opera training, and Brazilian and international popular music. Music for her is not a means to an end but a process, a way of life, as she explained by phone from her home in Rio.
“I don’t do a career. I do a life, and sometimes out of my life something happens that can serve the music in my career as well professionally, but you know I do music every day with my friends,” Monte said. “It’s really part of my house, of my environment. Most of my friends are musicians — we play almost every night at home, and so it’s a natural consequence of the style of life.”
Out of this atmosphere were born her new twin EMI albums, Universo ao Meu Redor and Infinito Particular. Her seventh and eighth full-lengths were the product of a hiatus of a few years — agonizingly long to her fans — during which she took time off to have a baby. This gave her a chance to comb through her tape archives, both of her own unreleased material and of sambas known only through oral tradition in Rio. Out of these archives came most of the material for the new releases.
Although these records were issued simultaneously, they take distinct approaches to Brazilian music. Universo ao Meu Redor reflects her commitment to and exploration of Rio’s rich samba heritage, whereas Infinito Particular focuses on original compositions written over the years by Monte in collaboration with various songwriting partners (Arnaldo Antunes, Carlinhos Brown, Seu Jorge, David Byrne, etc.).
INFINITE PARTICULARS
Though Infinito is in the vein of some of the pop music Monte has recorded in the past, it has a conceptual depth and consistency surpassing that of her earlier work.
“Most of the songs were composed on the acoustic guitar, so all the harmonic texture is basically based on the acoustic nylon string guitar,” Monte explained. “But we also invited different arrangers to do different songs and had them all write for the same group of instruments, the same quartet, which is bassoon, cello, violin, and trumpet. So even if we have Philip Glass, João Donato, Eumir Deodato — each very different styles — the unity of the record happens through the same group of instruments, and it’s the same group of instruments that I have on stage now with me.”
For several years Monte has been archiving sambas passed around by veteran Rio sambistas, and her other new recording, Universo, collects her versions of these, combined with more recent sambas written by Monte and other contemporary Brazilian musicians. These are approached not as historical documents but as contemporary recordings of traditional music.
“Even if the repertoire sounds very classical, I didn’t want to do a traditional samba record,” Monte said. “I wanted to do a record that could dialogue with my other works — dialogue with the other references that I like and that are present in my work. So I wanted to do samba that I could call mine, and that’s Universo ao Meu Redor.
“The subjects of the songs are very pure, very naive as traditional samba,” she continued. “Most of the songs, they talk about love, about nature, about human common feelings like the values of the community … and yet it sounds very psychedelic. We deal with a lot of freedom with the sounds.”
Both records, as with most of her previous work, rely heavily on collaboration, not as a crutch but as a stimulus for collective creativity. For Monte, music is a social act both in process and in spirit.
“I really love to work together,” she said. “It’s something that stimulates me. It gives me discipline … and I like to think together. I’m very open in my work. I’m not very attached to what I do. I like to exchange and to collaborate, and something that’s very strange about music is that for me it can be also a lonely activity. You can be a solo artist, but for me it has always been a collective way, with bands, in the studio, with composers. I’ve been always finding ways of reutf8g with people and with life through the music.
“Sometimes I think if I was a plastic artist, like a visual artist or a writer, I would suffer a lot. If you are a painter or something, you have to work alone,” Monte added. “Though I would love to one day also be able to do a concert only myself. Maybe one day.”
DIALOGUE OF TRADITIONS
This spirit of collaboration has manifested itself as a dialogue between different styles and approaches within Monte’s music. In addition to the Brazilian and international pop she grew up listening to as a member of her generation, more traditional and classical elements found their way into her life. Her father was a teacher at a samba school in Rio, and she grew up hearing and singing popular and traditional sambas.
“The fact is, samba is the most important musical expression from Rio, and I grew up in Rio,” Monte said. “It’s very natural, loving music.”
Later, Monte became a serious student of opera, which also continues to inform her music, both as a discipline to aspire to and as an aesthetic to avoid.
“When I was 13 or 14, people started to ask me to sing because they noticed — friends in the school and in the family — they noticed that I liked to sing and that I had a nice voice, and they started to ask me, ‘Sing for us. You sing very well — sing for us.’ And then I started to study,” she recalled. “It was very important for me to know my vocal apparel, to learn how. Until now I warm up before every concert with vocalizes that I learned when I was in classical training, but I don’t use that technique for popular music because it’s a technique that was developed for a premic world: you had to sing over a whole orchestra, so it’s very intense — a lot of volume, and it’s a little bit artificial.”
As with many musicians whose voices happen to be their instruments, Monte is forever linked in the minds of her fans with her timbre and delivery. (On Infinito, she plays with this idea of her voice as an instrument, employing wordless melodies and textures and using audio effects to alter and disguise her voice.) In any musical context, it is her profound sense of phrasing that captivates, while focusing the listener’s attention not so much on her own voice as on the song itself.
“I really search for simplicity when I’m singing. I love to sing, and my intensity, I try to find something very similar to the conversation we are having here,” Monte said. “It helps to communicate with people, to be direct, to be without any oversinging. If I am singing a song that is intimate, you can sing really slowly, you can sing it low, you can sing it soft, you can sing it with intimacy. It’s something that I really search for — the exact intensity that the songs ask me to do.”
For Monte, music is a social activity, and communication and collaboration are key elements. In her music and in her process of making music, dialogue flows in all directions: between songwriters and musicians, between audience and performers, between different musical worlds, between musicians and the music itself. The emphasis is not on creating commodities to sell but on sharing the musical process with as many people as possible.
“When we do a song, we don’t do a song to be recorded. I don’t do it like that. I just do it because it’s fun to do. It’s like a game. It’s like playing — a nice thing to do with friends, instead of playing cards or video games,” she offered. “And sometimes something comes out of this universe, this atmosphere, and can be part of something that you can share with a lot of people.” SFBG
MARISA MONTE
Sat/4, 8 p.m., and Sun/5, 7 p.m.
Palace of Fine Arts Theatre
3301 Lyon, SF
$25–$64
1-800-850-SFJF
www.sfjazz.org
San Francisco Jazz Festival: Something else
› a&eletters@sfbg.com
“Music is the celestial sound. And it is sound that controls the whole universe, not atomic vibrations. Sound energy, sound power, is much greater than any other power in this world.”
Swami Satchidananda addressing the audience at Woodstock, 1969
Each year, in addition to its roster of standard jazz players, the San Francisco Jazz Festival tucks a few cards up its sleeve. The past few years have seen performances by the likes of Caetano Veloso, Ravi Shankar, Orchestra Baobab, and João Gilberto, for example. This year promises to perhaps surpass even those when Alice Coltrane is joined by Charlie Haden, Roy Haynes, and her son, Ravi Coltrane, in a rare performance. It may just be one of the concerts of the year.
To some, Alice Coltrane may be overshadowed by her husband, the awe-inspiring John Coltrane, but don’t let that fool you. After all, who among jazz players isn’t in the shadow of the unrelenting, spiritually questing saxophonist, one of the 20th century’s towering musical figures? To many, however, the pieces Alice created as a bandleader between 1968 and 1975 have become landmarks of their own — perhaps especially in recent years with the renaissance of interest in cosmic music of all kinds. In fact, they are some of the most elevated, incandescent recordings of the 1960s and ’70s — and of any time, really.
After studying classical and gospel music as a child in Detroit, Alice McLeod was turned on to jazz by her brother, bassist Ernie Farrow. She played sessions with guitarist Kenny Burrell and shared the stage with Terry Gibbs. That’s when she and John Coltrane met. In 1966 they were married. It was the same year John would break up his classic quartet with McCoy Tyner, Jimmy Garrison, and Elvin Jones. With his new quintet, including Alice, Garrison, Rashied Ali, and Pharoah Sanders, John began his spiritual quest, which took him away from the modal jazz (improvisations based on scales, or modes, rather than chords) of his hits like “My Favorite Things” to the controversial outer regions of jazz on blistering free albums such as Meditations and Interstellar Space (both Impulse!, 1965 and 1967). Here, Alice’s adventurous and spiritual musical story took flight.
Though all of the trappings of jazz are in her music — and certainly, with her surname, she will always be defined by the genre — Alice Coltrane’s sound is something else.
“Well, we put labels on everything, don’t we?” Alice, 69, suggests, speaking from her home near Los Angeles, where she runs the John Coltrane Foundation with her daughter Michelle, as well as her ashram, where she teaches as a minister. “And that’s OK. I don’t see any harm in it. It lets the people go to a location where they can say, ‘OK, yeah, I understand what you’re speaking.’ But I know it’s something else. It’s much more than that. In music you hear experiences. You hear challenges.”
John died in 1967, arguably at the peak of his powers. He’d been incorporating motifs from the East, reaching for something otherworldly in scope. Alice continued playing with his last group, including Garrison, Sanders, and Ali. After a trip to India in 1970 to follow guru Swami Satchidananda, her music began to evolve, finding an altogether unique spot between the not unrelated worlds of ecstatic jazz and classical Indian forms, even Western classical music (see her interpretation of Igor Stravinsky’s The Firebird on Lord of Lords [Impulse!, 1973]). Pivotal albums like A Journey in Satchidananda, Universal Consciousness, and World Galaxy (all on Impulse!, 1970, 1971, and 1971) hold a rarefied place in the 20th-century canon. Playing harp, Wurlitzer organ, and piano, she created a style and sound that are impossible to forget — swirling harp arpeggios, long-held organ notes, and fluttering piano play among shimmering sleigh bells, tamboura, occasional tablas, and often large string sections. If it is jazz at all, it is astral jazz. Or perhaps it is what new age music, that most maligned of genres, should have been: challenging, all encompassing, ecstatic, ancient, timeless.
It’s no surprise to find devotion is of such importance to Alice, whose song titles reference nearly all cultural myths and spiritual traditions. Unsurprisingly, you won’t find dogma at the root of her devotion.
“We have our one sun in the universe,” she muses. “How many different names is it known by — through all the different languages? But it’s providing that heat and that power and energy to all of us here and throughout the rest of the universe.
“I feel that throughout our lives, if we know where to look, where to research, we will have discovery. We will find we are so much alike as humanity. We might try to focus on differences and cultural circumstances and boundaries and all these things, but as humanity, we are so close that really, we are basically one.” SFBG
ALICE COLTRANE QUARTET
Sat/4, 8 p.m.
Nob Hill Masonic Center
1111 California, SF
$25–$85
1-800-850-SFJF
www.sfjazz.org
Rock between wars: Ecstatic Sunshine
Vocalless but intensely lyrical electric-guitar duo Ecstatic Sunshine take risks on their first non-CD-R release, Freckle Wars (Carpark) — namely by eschewing a drummer or even a drum machine despite a tendency to craft manic post-rock buildups that seem to predict explosive toms and thundering cymbals. But these happy rockers are more interested in preparing sunshine than predicting rain. For two guys with guitars, they make remarkably unindulgent music.
“Most of the songs took us months to write,” Ecstatic Sunshiner Dustin Wong said on the phone from the group’s Baltimore practice space. It’s no accident that the second guitar — or one of them anyway; they’re well blended — seems to speak with a witty, melodic voice on tunes like the cascading “Power Ring,” which sounds like a deconstructed Kaki King tune, and “Beetle,” which resonates like an early Nintendo soundtrack made with an open guitar tuning on a beat-up Strat. When the Japan-raised Wong went back to Tokyo for a summer, co-Sunshiner Matthew Papich “sent e-mails with MP3s of new ideas,” Wong said. “He would record one part of the song at a time — an intro, for example — then I would record another track and send it back.” “Power Ring” is one such song. It’s as if they’ve boiled their musical ideas down to their essence.
Next on the phone, Papich told the same story, audibly excited about the musical friendship, which has only grown stronger since they signed to Carpark Records after founder Todd Hyman found out about them through Baltimore City Paper. Both musicians feel supported by the local scene. “For me, what distinguishes the scene in Baltimore — at least the one that we’re a part of — is its sense of humor and whimsy. It’s very positive, and everyone has a good time at shows,” Wong explained.
Papich and Wong met in art school when Wong, after completing two years at the California College of the Arts, transferred to the Maryland Institute College of Art. Papich had only played in grindcore bands — and not much since high school — before he started jamming with Wong for a friend’s art project.
They saw a similar spark in each other — perhaps the drive to make music with the wild vision and focused craft required by the visual arts world. “We were working with more abstract structures where we don’t repeat things,” Wong said.
There isn’t a boring moment on Freckle War’s 12 zippy, bittersweet tunes, though some sound raw — as in scratchy and frenetic — for the sake of getting someone’s attention. But so what? Wong left the CCA and San Francisco behind for no particular reason — if only we can listen with the same abandon.
Leaving San Francisco meant leaving old musical ideas behind. “Sometimes we get too comfortable with a certain structure, and then we break through that comfort zone,” he said. “To be comfortable is to be boring, and that’s not a place that I want to be in for writing music.” (Ari Messer)
ECSTATIC SUNSHINE
Wed/1, 9 p.m.
Hotel Utah Saloon
500 Fourth St., SF
$10
(415) 546-6300
All that jazz
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Anyone who’s experienced the aural carnage spewed by Wolf Eyes can confirm the patience required to endure their shows.
The Michigan noise-ticians — comprising Nathan Young, John Olson, and newest member Mike Connelly — vigilantly carve a slow burner of nauseating sounds and mangled rhythms into a single, decaying pulse while a thundering reverberation slowly boosts the anticipation of a jam-packed throng.
The trio toy with duct-taped noisemaking appliances, sheet metal, and tapes. Though a Wolf Eyes’ song substructure lacks any linear beat, a stray headbanger or two can be seen freaking out to the grumbling emanation of oscilutf8g fizzles, hisses, and wheezes. Spectators muffle their ears with their hands and contort their faces as a wall of scraping feedback mounts in tension.
Then with the blink of an eye, free terror and industrial bombast rain down on the crowd in fist-pumping torrents as the band members convulse and bang their bodies against their instruments. The pounding fuzz of detuned bass, prickly saxophone, and bottom-heavy drum machine hardens and shakes a club’s foundation with paint-peeling tumult.
Young slobbers like a rabid animal and shouts into the microphone with throat-straining appeal. Connelly claws maniacally at his guitar while the sleeveless Olson slams his arms down on his electronic box or gong.
It’s an adrenaline rush that flickers like a strobe bulb set on light speed. It’s amplifier worship for flapping subwoofers, though some listeners aren’t so receptive to the chaos. This is something Wolf Eyes have grown accustomed to after tours with ex-member Andrew W.K. and Sonic Youth — and welcome with open arms.
“You play your best when you’re playing in front of people who do not want to hear you,” says Olson from a tour stop in Birmingham, Ala. “You can’t always play in front of the same people or your music will go nowhere.”
Like such fellow noise polluters as Sightings, Wolf Eyes are no strangers to fabricating all sorts of ugly racket. Since the late ’90s, when Young hatched Wolf Eyes initially as a solo endeavor, until Olson and former member Aaron Dilloway climbed aboard, the group have endlessly documented their music on homemade CD-Rs and cassettes.
In a move that had critics and fans alike scratching their heads, the band signed with Sub Pop in 2004. Olson proclaims that the group’s association with the onetime grunge record label, which now releases albums by the Postal Service and Hot Hot Heat, “started off as a total retarded joke.” A friend who was working with Sub Pop at the time drunkenly suggested the band when the label asked him whom it should sign next.
“They said, ‘Hey, that’s not a bad idea,’” Olson recalls. “They flew out to see us at a gig, and we were in shock.”
While only a few Wolf Eyes albums — namely those put out by Sub Pop — have seen the light of day in music stores, most of the band’s hard-to-find recordings have been released on Olson’s American Tapes label and Dilloway’s Hanson Records. (In the past two years alone the band has also released Fuck Pete Larsen [Wabana], Black Vomit [Victo], Solo [Troubleman Unlimited], and Equinox [Troniks].) Olson reveals that the group has been criticized for putting out too much material, but fans are free to pick and choose.
“I think a lot of people’s best work is the stuff not intended to be on the big releases,” Olson explains. “For instance, Black Dice only put out big releases, and I think that’s a shame because you miss out on the failures. Failures are just as interesting as the successes.”
If that’s the case, Wolf Eyes’ new full-length, Human Animal (Sub Pop), would mingle perfectly among past releases. Though the disc isn’t too far from the deathlike electronic dissonance that Wolf Eyes devised on their Sub Pop debut, Burned Mind (2004), Human Animal flows like two meaty chapters — making it seem like “more of a conversational piece,” as Olson describes it.
The band’s decision to substitute Hair Police’s Connelly for the departed Dilloway does Wolf Eyes justice as well, giving them a seasoned feel. Past recordings such as Burned Mind tended to blow up and then taper off into omnidirectional soundscapes — Human Animal’s tracks are more reserved in mood and command. Though past albums such as Slicer (Hanson, 2002), with its crackling fissures, and Dread (Bulb, 2001), with its sonic assaults, are distinctive in their own right, the unpleasant soundscapes of Human Animal actually sound like real songs, a feat the band had yet to accomplish.
The album’s first three numbers embody a creepy ambience that prepares the listener for the recording’s interior turbulence. The pieces become more galvanic as the album chugs along, whether through popcorn-inflected drum frenzies (“Rusted Mange”), bestial snorts and drones (“Leper War”), or the band’s punishing take of No Fucker’s “Noise Not Music.” “It doesn’t sound much different from the original,” says Olson with a laugh. “But we totally massacred the lyrics.”
Given the grinding assault that the song exhibits on Human Animal, it’ll be fun to hear it magnified, in addition to the rest of the album, live.
To Olson, the pieces are so simple that it’s easy to flesh them out and switch up the tone — it just comes down to maintaining a catalytic framework from which to improvise. In that sense, he explains, “Wolf Eyes is not too far from a traditional jazz band.” SFBG
WOLF EYES
Nov. 11, 9:30 p.m.
Bottom of the Hill
1233 17th St., SF
$10
(415) 621-4455
Cheap greats
› kimberly@sfbg.com
SONIC REDUCER Starved for ideas? Dirt cheap, down to your last slice of cheese pizza and Harley beer, and still deeply smitten with fuzz-swathed guitars, ruttin’ rhythms, and a complete dearth of chops?
Desperate times call for rotten but still somewhat respectful measures, according to Chris Owen, former Guardian music ad maestro, ex–Killer’s Kiss kingpin, Hook or Crook label head cootie, and everlasting primordial rock fan. When the time came to name Budget Rock Showcase, the garage-punk onslaught of a music fest that Owen birthed five years ago with ex–Guardian columnist and onetime Parkside booker John O’Neill, they turned to the best: ye olde SF garage rock upenders the Mummies.
“We took the name from the back of a Mummies record, a picture of the Mummies that says ‘Budget Rock Showcase’ on their hearse or station wagon. We thought it was the perfect name for a festival of these bands,” recalled Owen from Gris Gris leader Greg Ashley’s digs, where they’re working on a 7-inch of Ashley’s pre-Mirrors high school combo, the Strate Coats. In response, the Mummies have been, um, fairly mum. “They’re pretty nonplussed that we decided to appropriate that. I get the feeling that doing some kind of organized, highfalutin thing is not necessarily what they’re into.”
Well, their tacit agreement was all Owen needed to pick up the fest he abandoned after the first year with a bit of booking help from friends such as O’Neill, ex–Parkside booker John Pool, and Stork Club bar manager-booker Lance Hill. Known for giving Comets on Fire one of their first Bay Area shows and drawing the underage Black Lips from across the country and later lauded for bringing in Beantown’s highly combustible Lyres, Budget Rock leaves Thee Parkside for the first time and celebrates its fifth year at the Stork. “It probably wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t do it this year,” Owen said while scarfing pizza with Ashley (“the food that fuels Budget Rock!”). “No one got off their ass to do it.”
So what is this crazy, impecunious thing called Budget Rock? “All the bands fall under a couple different rubrics,” Owen said. “Real traditional garage bands like Omens and Original Sins. I tend to like noisier In the Red stuff, but Budget Rock is supposed to be about Bay Area bands that are descended from great bands like Supercharger, the Mummies, Rip Offs, and Bobbyteens.” Of snarly note — besides the magnifico, malignant Original Sins (Brother JT’s original garage unit, which hasn’t played the Bay in more than a decade) — are fest first-timer Ray Loney, the Sneaky Pinks, the Mothballs, the Traditional Fools, Legendary Stardust Cowboy, and the Okmoniks (one of several acts to have played every fest).
With the mainstream pop scene’s own appropriation of garage rock now petering to a close and disappearing from car commercials and the demise of such fests as Garage Shock, Owen can safely say that Budget Rock is one of the few of its die-hard kind, along with Goner fest in Memphis and Horizontal Action’s Chicago Blackout. Original garage lovers can all breathe a sigh of relief now — and enjoy the grease in peace. “You can spot a band that’s trying to make it a mile away,” Owen said.
“It’s like when you hear the Strokes, and they promote themselves as the Velvet Underground,” Ashley interjected. “They kind of do sound like them but like the worst songs on the last album rather than the best songs off the first album.”
This will likely be the first and last time Budget Rock will pick pockets at the Stork because Hill is moving on after failing to buy the joint — word has it he has looked into the old Golden Bull space too. But then, that’s the way this breed of untamed raw-k shakes down.
JOAN OF OURS A passing that came and went relatively unheralded Oct. 21: Runaways drummer Sandy West died after a lengthy tussle with lung cancer.
Yet it’s not too late to lay down your respect to Joan Jett, who plays San Francisco on Nov. 4 and has said after West’s passing, “I started the Runaways with Sandy West. We shared the dream of girls playing rock ’n’ roll. Sandy was an exuberant and powerful drummer. So underrated, she was the caliber of John Bonham. I am overcome from the loss of my friend. I always told her we changed the world.”
Jett is still out to change the world, it seems, when I spoke to her recently from her tour bus shortly before West’s death. Her new album, Sinner, on her own Blackheart Records, had just come out, and she was psyched about its politically and spiritually oriented material. After chatting about the Warped Tour (“I had my BMX bike and rode around from stage to stage checking out as much music as I could”) and producing the first Germs LP for her friend Darby Crash (“We got serious for about four days and probably as un-fucked-up as we could be and went in there and made a great record”), Jett got in one last push for rocking women like herself and West.
“I think the environment for women is just as bad now [as when I started Blackheart Records],” she said. “In fact, I think it’s even more dangerous because there’s this illusion of equality, when in fact, that’s not the case at all. Girl bands can’t seem to get above that successful club level, then they run into that glass ceiling thing.” SFBG
JOAN JETT AND THE BLACKHEARTS
Sat/4, 9 p.m.
Fillmore
805 Geary, SF
$30
www.ticketmaster.com
ORIGINAL SINS
Nov. 10
Hemlock Tavern
1131 Polk, SF
www.hemlocktavern.com
BUDGET ROCK SHOWCASE
Nov. 10–12
Stork Club
2330 Telegraph, Oakl.
www.myspace.com/budgetrock
WEDNESDAY
Wed/1
Music
Justice and MSTRKRFT
Justice, the Paris-based electronic duo, churn out club jams that sound like Daft Punk on Viagra. Their infectious electro disco has been vibrating the walls of many a hipster club from Europe to the Bay. Catch them at at Mezzanine along with fellow remixers Canadian twosome MSTRKRFT, featuring Jesse F. Keeler, formerly of Death from Above 1979 (“Romantic Rights”). (Hayley Elisabeth Kaufman)
9 p.m.
Mezzanine
444 Jessie, SF
$12
(415) 625-8880
www.mezzaninesf.com
www.myspace.com/etjusticepourtous
www.mstrkrft.com
Performance/Music
Hecho en Califas Festival
By themselves Jaime Cortez, Aya de León, Guillermo Gómez-Peña, Marc Bamuthi Joseph, and Marcus Shelby are powerful. Together? These la Peña veterans are liable to blow the roof off of the cultural center that gave them a start – in addition to packing it as only a fraction of the bill for the kick-off event of this year’s Hecho en Califas Festival. Break out the old country tuxes in honor of a communal poetics that’s only growing larger and louder. (Johnny Ray Huston)
6:30 p.m. reception; 7:30 p.m. show (through Sun/5)
La Peña Cultural Center
3105 Shattuck, Berk.
$10-$12
(510) 849-2568
www.lapena.org
NOISE: Meditating on Incubus…and on coveting your neighbor’s cellie
Guardian intern Aaron Sankin checked out the Incubus show put on Verizon Wireless on Oct. 20; here’s what he thought:
Incubus + Verizon Wireless = Synergy!
The LG VX8500 Chocolate phone is available from Verizon Wireless for $149.99. It has an iPod-style touch wheel, Bluetooth compatibility, a digital music player, and a 1.3 megapixel digital camera that can take both pictures and movies.
I assume it can also make and receive cellular telephone calls, even though it’s capacity to do so isn’t really advertised anywhere.
If my phone were to break suddenly, such as if I were to absentmindedly drop it in a toilet during a heated conversation with my bookie (I never said to bet on the Mets!) or have it accidentally fall from my pocket while running from the zombie hordes (they’re everywhere!), I would seriously consider taking a look at this phone.
The people at Verizon Wireless should be happy because they worked like hell to put this idea in my brain. The other group of people who should be very pleased with themselves are Incubus because they joined with Verizon Wireless to have a special private concert at Bimbo’s on Oct. 20 in the most epic feat of techno-musical cross-promotion since Bono realized that Apple loved iPods almost as much as he loved himself.
First, a disclaimer: My relationship with the band Incubus is fairly complex. I first heard about them through a friend when I was in eighth grade. This was during their early period when all they wanted to do was be like Primus and years before any modern rock radio station would touch their stuff.
From the first moment I heard their music, I loved it. It was funky and spazzy and, most importantly, it was mine. Incubus was the first band that I unconditionally loved that no one else had heard of. It made me feel underground, important and cool (the last one being especially important to an uncoordinated middle-schooler looking for angle to talk to girls).
Once they broke into the mainstream, I started liking them less and less. With their albums Make Yourself and Morning View, they seemed to loose some of what made them exciting and distinctive, and got lost in the slop of the myriad or post-grunge alt-metal bands. Two years ago, they came out with Crow Left of the Murder and it was the first new Incubus album that I liked even half as much as the first time I heard them way back in eighth grade.
Anyway, this event was a private party held Verizon Wireless in support of the LG Chocolate phone, which was just released in America last month. When people bought the phone, they could enter a contest to win tickets to this show. If they were one of the lucky winners, they got an email on their phone that contained a bar code. This bar code was their ticket into the concert. Instead of scanning a piece of paper, the security guard at the door scanned the phones.
My phone cannot do this. It can, on the other hand, play Journey’s “Wheel In The Sky” whenever someone calls. While this has never gotten me into a concert, it did once get my into a bar conversation with drunk 35-year-old investment banker who later bought me a rum and coke because, “Journey is awesome!” Yes, yes they are.
Once inside, the real silliness began. There was a screen next to the stage where people could send text messages from their phones and see them on the screen. The messages ran the gambit from “Incubus rox” to “I love my new phone”. Joe Strummer rolled in his grave, and Gene Simmons wished he thought of it first. I tried texting, “Once Incubus killed a pirate in support of the Basque separatists,” but it didn’t make the cut. Why must the telecom industry continually spit on the proud Basque people day in and day out? It truly crushes my heart.
But running up people’s cell phone bills with needless text message charges wasn’t the only goal of the night. Incubus was also there to shoot the video for their upcoming single, “Anna Molly”. Much like Verizon did with its customer service, Incubus decided to outsource the production of their video. They told everyone there with the new phone to take videos of the band playing and send it in to them and they would eventually painstakingly edit the clips together to make the band’s video. I know what you’re thinking, and the answer is probably terrible. But hey, at least they’re trying.
Incubus opened the show with, “Anna Molly.” It sounded like Pearl Jam. In fact, it sounded a lot like Pearl Jam. This is neither a coincidence nor is it a bad thing. They recorded their new album, Light Grenades, with Pearl Jam’s longtime producer. Vocalist Brandon Boyd even pounded a bottle of red wine onstage like Eddie Vedder seems to do at every show.
Their set was incredibly solid. Their newer stuff sounded great, particularly “Sick Sad Little World,” and everyone there appeared to know ever word to every song, which always bodes well for a band. And when they played a couple songs from their first album, I wasn’t the only person there who got noticeably excited (there were at least three others).
I guess the whole thing was pretty successful. It made me want to buy a phone I have no real need for and made me remember what I loved about this band when I was a pimply-faced eighth-grader trying to appear hip. I believe, in the business world, they call they synergy.
TUESDAY
Oct. 31
Music
Gomorran Social Aid
and Pleasure Club
Baptism by moonshine must be a wonderful thing, if the music of the Gomorran Social Aid and Pleasure Club is any indication. Dunk me in the river, with one hand on my head and the other on the Good Book, I say, because this, friends, is glorious release. Preaching a sweaty, red-faced gospel of saturnalian abandon, cleansing the soul through Mardi Gras immoderation, these N’Awlins-infatuated ragtime pranksters deliver sinfully divine horn-and-banjo celebrations of the good life, circa 1920. With songs such as “Whiskey Paycheck” in their repertoire, the Gomorran Social Aid and Pleasure Club will leave you with no choice but to bear witness to their holy spirit. (Todd Lavoie)
With Rupa and the April Fishes
9 p.m.
Make-Out Room
3225 22nd St., SF
$8
(415) 647-2888
www.makeoutroom.com
Music
Cramps
For the best fiendishly out-of-control hell of a good time, the Cramps’ annual Halloween show is a spectacle to be revered and feared in equal measure. For sure, concert attendees will include Creatures from the Black Leather Lagoon, Bikini Girls with Machine Guns, and Teenage Goo Goo Mucks, all being incited to near-riot conditions by the nigh invulnerable Lux Interior and the divinely diabolical Poison Ivy Rorschach. Like fellow monster mashers Screaming Lord Sutch and screaming Glenn Danzig, the Cramps have a love of B-movie horror themes and adolescent fantasy, and their best songs conjure up the creepy-crawly midnight movies at the backcountry drive-in: light on the subtext, heavy on the petting. (Nicole Gluckstern)
8 p.m.
Fillmore
1805 Geary, SF
$30
(415) 346-6000
www.livenation.com
www.thecramps.com
SUNDAY
Oct. 29
Dance Party
Fresh/Halloween T-Dance
Sassy, slinky, and sexy costumes abound at this Halloween dance party. DJ Manny Lehman spins. (Todd Lavoie)
6 p.m.-midnight
Ruby Skye
420 Mason, SF
$20
www.freshsf.com
Event
Dia De Los Muertos Fruitvale Festival
With the theme “love, family, memories,” the Unity Council in Oakland has put together a full day of family celebration. Five stages showcase music and dance performances by local and world-renowned artists. More than 150 exhibitors and nonprofits highlight wares and services. Art and altars are on view, and the Children’s Pavilion promises to be a rewarding educational experience for kids of all ages. (Todd Lavoie)
10 a.m.-5 p.m.
International Blvd., between Fruitvale Ave and 41st Ave, Oakl
Free
(510) 535-6940
SATURDAY
Oct. 28
Music
“Murder Ballads Bash”
On the way to the gallows, after committing some heinous butchery or other, you may be prompted to sing a heart-wrenching dirge, not for the dead but for the crime. The tradition of recounting tales of murderous minutiae in musical narrative form, each devastating hack till the fatal blow, is continued at the Starry Plough’s fifth annual “Murder Ballads Bash.” The misery-filled evening offers a variety of musicians, including Joni Davis, Harlan Hollander, Loretta Lynch, and folk metalists the Pinks, who have all written original homicidal tunes strictly for the vicious and bloodthirsty audience. (Hayley Elisabeth Kaufman)
9 p.m.
Starry Plough
3101 Shattuck, Berk
$8
(510) 841-0188
www.starryploughpub.com
Visual Art
“Graphic Witness: Jesus Barraza and Juan R. Fuentes”
Jesus Barraza is young, but the potent combinations of colors and images in his prints reflect years of political and artistic experience: works such as Angela Davis and Evolution of a Revolutionary (which is devoted to Amiri Baraka) create distinct images of artists who are already icons for good reason, while other event-based posters galvanize communities for Xicana and Palestinian causes. Barraza currently works as part of Taller Tupac Amaru, a printing studio he cofounded in 2003 after studying under Juan R. Fuentes at the Mission Cultural Center for Latino Arts. Their new show, “Graphic Witness,” unites mentor and apprentice, pairing Fuentes’s linoleum block prints with Barazza’s graphic designs. (Johnny Ray Huston)
7:30 p.m. (show continues through Nov. 25)
Galería de la Raza
2857 24th St., SF
Free
(415) 826-8009
www.galeriadelaraza.org
FRIDAY
Oct. 27
Film
Bernal Heights
Outdoor Cinema
Icy nights be damned: San Franciscans are incapable of overdosing on outdoor cinema. Xanadu in Dolores Park may attract a certain roller-skating niche audience, but the past few months have proven that there’s something for everyone at Bernal Heights Outdoor Cinema. A special “Best of Bernal” night closes out the series, with works by local favorites Jay Rosenblatt, Jeff Fino, Jenni Olson, and more filling the program. Don’t miss Bolerium, Keary and Nathan Kensinger’s affectionate portrait of the Mission District indie bookstore. (Cheryl Eddy)
7:30 p.m.
Metro High School
Folsom between Precita
and Stoneman, SF
Free
(415) 641-8417
www.bhoutdoorcine.org
Opera
Tristan und Isolde
O divine madness, the oblivion of desire, a “bliss inspired by deception” – that’s Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde. The debt-ridden composer’s quickie respite during his marathon work on the Ring cycle became so much more than an earthshaking moneymaker – instead it’s a musically radical and vocalist-taxing ode to “soul states” and transcendent love that champions, as it curses, night, death, and desire over daylight, life, and duty. Even pop culture and cinema’s greedy appropriation of SF Opera music director Donald Runnicles’s favorite opera (I couldn’t stop recalling Un Chien Andalou at the first strains of the prelude or feeling the urge to blurt a Looney Tunes-appropriate “Kill the wabbit!” at key moments) won’t stem your appreciation of Wagner’s chromatic romanticism, David Hockney’s deep-focus Salvador Dali-meets-Alfred Hitchcock sets, and the utter vocal chops of Thomas Moser as Tristan in the third act and Christine Brewer as Isolde during the “Liebestod” (Love death) in this LA Opera production presented by SF Opera. (Kimberly Chun)
7 p.m.
Opera House
301 Van Ness, SF
$40-$205
(415) 864-3330
www.sfopera.com