Trash Archives — Page 20 of 27 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

Trash Lit: Wild times in ‘Rough Country’

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November 4, 2009

Editors note: Guardian Executive Editor Tim Redmond has a bad 30-year addiction to mystery/crime/thriller books. He’s decided that he might as well put this terrible habit to productive use by writing about these sometimes awful, sometimes entertaining and — on rare occasion — significant works of mass-market literature. Read his last installment here.

Rough Country
John Sandford
(Putnam, 388 pages $26.95)

By Tim Redmond

Let us stipulate: It’s difficult for a male writer who specializes in straight male lead characters (and in this case, in a straight male lead character who spends a significant portion of his waking hours trying to get women into bed) to write a credible novel that centers around a lesbian resort. James Patterson, a white guy, has a wonderful black lead character named Alex Cross who works, perfectly, but that’s the exception; most people screw up when they try to reach like that.

And at the beginning of Rough Country, I had to wonder. I love John Sandford, but after the first chapter…well, you’ve got a straight girl getting hot watching lesbian lip-lock, you’ve got sordid lesbian drama that turns into a lesbian bar fight, you’ve got a weird business going on with really young men working at the women-only resort who may be on-the-side fuck-candy for bisexual girls (or may be underage hotties fucking older women for money)…and a little too much talk about “rug munchers.”

But by the middle of the book, it’s pretty clear that this is not just a great Sandford novel, but a wonderful portrayal of a fictional Northern Minnesota town where nobody gives a shit who fucks who. The owner of the resort is a respected local businessperson. The old straight guys who run bars and work as fishing guides treat the women just like any other (money-carrying) tourists. An old lady who’s part of a horticultural preservation group wonders aloud why anyone would care about another person’s sexuality, save for “a bunch of stuffy old men.”

Not for beginners: Goodwill ‘As Is’ gets put on notice

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October 29, 2009

2

Text and photos by Caitlin Donohue

Shop til you drop at your local prison… I mean- Goodwill!

“This is the best kept secret in San Francisco,” explains a gentleman who is shoving trash bags full of used clothes into his car. To his side, a bevy of homeless folk rummage through a newly dropped off pallet of purses, most of them spilling to the 11th St. sidewalk. They make it clear I am not to join them. Perhaps this place is a diamond in the rough, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting my Halloween costume here.

I’ll tell you what I don’t need; a hermetically sealed, corporately engineered, vastly overpriced sexy witch/hippie/dinosaur getup from Target. Not my bag. A good ‘stume is all about craft. I love the thrill of the hunt and on any day, for whatever reason, I love thrift stores.

But SF ain’t an easy town for used clothes- you find a lot of ‘vintage’ prices under the ‘thrift’ moniker. So I was all a-flutter to go to the Goodwill As Is store, located around the corner from their mega shop on South Van Ness. The As Is store is a “donation outlet,” a Goodwill warehouse supplying humanity’s offerings direct to you, without the unnecessary bother of employees “sorting,” “fixing,” or “cleaning” the items.

Right this way for endless haggling and questionable business motivation!

Now, I am not what you’d call a “squeamish” person. I’ve trawled places where regular shoppers wear rubber gloves and unproven urban legends swirl about of dead cats found in the clothing trolleys. But this store struck me as something between the black market and a Greyhound bus station.

Trash Lit: A delusional ‘Pursuit of Honor’

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October 28, 2009

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Editors note: Bay Guardian Executive Editor and acrostic master Tim Redmond has a bad 30-year addiction to mystery/crime/thriller books. He’s decided that he might as well put this terrible habit to productive use by giving these sometimes awful, sometimes entertaining and — on rare occasion — significant works of mass-market literature the Joe Bob Briggs treatment.

Pursuit of Honor
Vince Flynn
(Simon and Schuster, 431 pages, $27.99)

By Tim Redmond

This deeply delusional author seems to think he’s the next Tom Clancy, with a counterterrorism-operative hero named Mitch Rapp, a love for all that is military and secretive, and a political agenda that leans toward Attila the Hun. He once devoted an entire book to the premise that the president of the United States should be murdered because he refused to de-fund the Rural Electrification Administration. In case you need any perspective, Glen Beck calls Pursuit of Honor “fantastic.”

Rapp starts out this episode by beating up a stereotypical liberal would-be CIA reformer who — guess what — turns out to have a “personality disorder.” In fact, Rapp discovers, “It’s not uncommon for people with this disorder to hire lawyers.” Then he beats up his best buddy who is too much of a wimp to kill the CIA inspector general, who isn’t with the program.

It gets better. You’ve got bad Arabs right from Central Casting, paranoid terrorists who kill innocent federal (CIA) employees, female senators who love abortions and hate the CIA, and a nifty reference to ol’ Joe McCarthy, who “may have been a drunk and an ass, but that didn’t make him wrong.”

Two broken Russian knees. One broken Russian nose. Glass-tube-up-the-dick-and-break-it torture. Nutty Al-Qaeda guys shooting Midwesterners from an RV. But not enough plot to even make this feel like waste-of-time fun.

Clancy’s a right-wing loon, too, but at least he has a phenomenal talent for constructing a story. Poor Mr. Flynn isn’t in that league.

Too much plastic

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October 22, 2009

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By Marke B.

Where your Smart Water bottles go? All photos by Chris Jordan

We here at the Guardian have been keeping a close eye on the Pacific Gyre — a giant formation made entirely from discarded trash, most of it plastic, swirling toiletwise a few hundred miles off the coast of Hawaii. I think of it everytime I’m in the Trader Joe’s mummified vegetable section or contemplating a thickly pre-tubbed Whole Foods purchase. Who says organic can’t be harmful in other ways?

Via Boing Boing, here’s an amazing stomach-churning photo essay by Chris Jordan that brings the devastation home. Jordan documented the horrifying aftermath of albatross chicks being fed plastic debris from the gyre by their parents, who mistook the colorful flotsam for food. Per Jordan:

These images depict the actual stomach contents of baby birds in one of the world’s most remote marine sanctuaries, more than 2000 miles from the nearest continent…. On this diet of human trash, every year tens of thousands of albatross chicks die on Midway from starvation, toxicity, and choking.

I don’t know if there’s anything to be done at this point to reverse the damage, other than unleash some sort of plastic eating bacteria which could potentially bring down our entire plastic-based civilization in an ironic blaze of sci-fi moralist glory. But, you know, let’s use less.

View the entire series here

Buns and the city

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October 20, 2009

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paulr@sfbg.com

DINE In our hamburger-challenged city, the Mission District would not seem to be a particularly promising place to go burger-hunting. The hamburger is the all-American statement food, while the Mission is many things, but probably not all-American. Among the most conspicuous burger outlets in the Mission is Whiz Burger, which has held down the corner of 18th Street and South Van Ness since time immemorial and even has a parking lot, as if Arthur Fonzarelli might soon be rolling up in a ’57 Chevy. I have eaten Whiz burgers from time to time, but I don’t remember them — and, in fact, not remembering the hamburgers one has eaten in San Francisco seems to be a central fact about eating hamburgers in San Francisco. They are, generally speaking, forgettable at best.

Why this is so remains a mystery to me. Part of the answer might involve the local tendencies toward preciousness and fuss — obsessing about the pedigree of the meat and the bun (ciabatta? focaccia? baked with organic flour?) and the fancy cheese on top, or the exotic bacon, or the foie gras. All these grand touches are ruinous. A hamburger should not be complicated or fussy. The meat should have fat in it and be adequately salted. The soft bun should be buttered and toasted or griddled a little. Maybe a slice of cheese; the best cheese is wrapped in plastic sheets. Nothing says "American" quite like plastic.

Because the Mission is such a gaudy potpourri of ethnicities, styles, and foods, eating a hamburger there could be seen as a particularly pathetic sort of defeat. You could have had dosas or pupusas or rendang curry for the same money, maybe less. On the other hand, maybe there’s an ironic appeal, and maybe that’s the bet placed by Urbun Burger, which opened recently in the heart of the Valencia Street scene in a space that once held Yum Yum House.

The aesthetic makeover, it must be said, is sensational, with a spic-and-span factor Ray Kroc himself would approve of. Despite the deepness and narrowness of the layout, there is a sunniness to things. Under the cashier’s station at the back is a panel of ceramic tiles in mod colors, while the tables sit on gleaming stainless-steel (or chrome) stems. Seating choices are unexpectedly vast; there are tables with taverna chairs, tables with barstools, and a long counter with barstools.

The turkey burger is to hamburger cookery what fish is in other kitchens: it is the test. A good turkey burger, like a good fish dish, doesn’t just happen. Turkey is unforgiving. It dries out easily and doesn’t taste like much. The best news I have to give about Urbun’s turkey burger ($7.75) is that the fries ($2.75) were excellent — tender-crispy, near-molten inside, well-seasoned. But the burger itself was rather dry and lifeless inside its glossy (egg-washed?) bun. Had the kitchen failed to take the necessary remedial steps of adding at least egg yolk, and maybe some oil, to the ground meat? A slice of pepper-jack cheese struggled to make itself noticed, while the restaurant’s signature urban sauce was a little too soupy to bring deliverance. But the fries!

While you can also get a vegan (although not a turkey) burger at Mission Burger, the real burger ($8) here is of beef. And not just beef but a blend of short rib, brisket, and chuck (all from Harris Ranch), none of which are exactly lean cuts. Plus, the patties are seared in beef fat. So moistness and flavor are not issues.

Neither is the setting, because for all practical purposes there is none. Mission Burger isn’t a restaurant, per se; it’s a kind of station at the end of the meat counter in the Duc Loi supermarket. You find it by locating the sign taped to an exhaust hood, as if the hood were a piece of oversized junk waiting on the sidewalk for a bulk-item collection by the trash company. Seating? There is a small family of low benches squatting against one wall, as if in the lounge of a forlorn regional airport. You probably don’t want to sit there. Mission Burger is fundamentally a takeout operation, but also a made-to-order one.

But one of the virtues of a genuine fatburger is that it travels well. As insurance, the briochy-looking bun is lined with jack cheese, spicy caper mayonnaise, and a slathering of caramelized onions. This combination isn’t exactly coherent, but it is tasty. Plus, there are fries, and they are as good as McDonald’s fries used to be back in the day when they were fried in beef tallow. For a bit of color: coleslaw made with red cabbage. It’s appealingly creamy, although that doesn’t do much for the calorie count — not that it matters in the shadow of Mount Fatburger. Could it be the highest point in the Mission?

URBUN BURGER

Mon.–Thurs., 11 a.m.–10 p.m.;

Fri.–Sat., 11 a.m.–11 p.m.

581 Valencia, SF

(415) 551-2483

www.urbunburger.com

Beer and wine

MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

MISSION BURGER

Lunch: Fri.–Wed., noon–3 p.m.

2200 Mission, SF

(415) 551-1772

No alcohol

AE/MC/V

Noisy

Wheelchair accessible

Music listings

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September 29, 2009

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Music listings are compiled by Paula Connelly and 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 at listings@sfbg.com.

WEDNESDAY 30

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Alma Desnuda, Lady Danville, Davey G Project, Ilaya, Brett Hunter Café du Nord. 8pm, $10.

Little Junior Davis and the All-Star Blues Hounds Rasselas Jazz. 8pm, free.

Hamilton Loomis Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $15.

Hammerlock, Holley 750 Annie’s Social Club. 8pm, $7.

Ida Marie, Natalie Portman’s Shaved Head Fillmore. 8pm, $20. Hosted by Perez Hilton.

Mason Jennings, Crash Kings Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $20.

Mo’Fone, Brothers Goldman Boom Boom Room. 9:30pm, $5.

Publish the Quest, Radioactive Elbo Room. 9pm, $7.

Gil Scott-Heron, Ise Lyfe, Orgone Regency Ballroom. 9pm, $35.

Sermon, Blank Stares Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $7.

Sonos, Austin Hartley-Leonard Hotel Utahl. 9pm, $10.

Stripmall Architecture, Sweet Trip, Boy in Static Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $8.

Tell-Tale Heartbreakers, Green Lady Killers, Hooray for Everything Knockout. 10pm, $6.

Works Progress Administration, Molly Jenson Independent. 8pm, $15.

BAY AREA

Kylie Minogue Fox Theater. 8pm, $58.50-99.50.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

"B3 Wednesdays" Coda. 9pm, $7. With Nick Rossi Trio.

Cat’s Corner Savanna Jazz. 7pm, $5-10.

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

Swing With Stan Rite Spot, 2099 Folsom, SF; www.ritespotcafe.net. 8pm, free.

Tin Cup Serenade Le Colonial, 20 Cosmo Place, SF; (415) 931-3600. 7pm, free.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

49 Special Climate Theater, 285 9th St., SF; (415) 704-3260. 8pm, $7-15 sliding scale. Part of the Music Box Series.

Soja, Kapakahi, Movement Slim’s. 9pm, $21.

DANCE CLUBS

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

Hands Down! Bar on Church. 9pm, free. With DJs Claksaarb, Mykill, and guests spinning indie, electro, house, and bangers.

Jam Wednesday Infusion Lounge. 10pm, free. DJ Slick Dee.

Qoöl 111 Minna Gallery. 5-10pm, $5. Pan-techno lounge with DJs Spesh, Gil, Hyper D, and Jondi.

RedWine Social Dalva. 9pm-2am, free. DJ TophOne and guests spin outernational funk and get drunk.

Respect Wednesdays End Up. 10pm, $5. Rotating DJs Lonestar Sound, Young Fyah, Sake One, Serg, and more spinning reggae, dancehall, roots, lovers rock, and mash ups.

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

THURSDAY 1

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Abe Vigoda, Psychic Reality, Mi Ami DJs Knockout. 9:30pm, $6.

David Bazan, Say Hi Independent. 8pm, $15.

Heather Combs, Aiden James, David Greco, Francesca Lee Hotel Utah. 7:30pm, $8.

Datarock, Esser, Kav Slim’s. 8:30pm, $16.

Glenn Labs, Mark Matos and Os Beaches, TV Mike and the Scarecrows Café du Nord. 9pm, $10.

Hot Fog, Private Dancer, Careerers Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

Hot Toddies, Foxes!, Ian Fays, DJs from Your Latest Crush Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $10.

*Kylesa, Saviours, Bison BC, Kowloon Walled City DNA Lounge. 7pm, $15.

Maldroid, We Should Be Dead, Hooks Thee Parkside. 9pm, $7.

Mass Fiction, DoubleDouble, Dubious Ranger Grant and Green. 9pm, free.

Please Do Not Fight, Bird by Bird, Ghost and City, Finish Ticket Rickshaw Stop. 7:30pm, $10.

Boz Scaggs and the Blue Velvet Band Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $100. Benefit for the Richard de Lone Special Housing Fund.

Seconds on End Boom Boom Room. 9:30pm, $5.

Johnny Vernazza Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $15.

*Gillian Welch Fillmore. 8pm, $29.50.

BAY AREA

Kylie Minogue Fox Theater. 8pm, $58.50-99.50.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Debashish Bhattacharya Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8 and 10pm, $15.

Eric Kurtzrock Trio Ana Mandara, Ghirardelli Square, 891 Beach, SF; (415) 771-6800. 7:30pm, free.

Laurent Fourgo Le Colonial, 20 Cosmo Place, SF; (415) 931-3600. 7:30pm, free.

"Full Moon Concert Series: Blood Moon" Luggage Store Gallery, 1007 Market, SF; www.luggagestoregallery.org. 8pm, $6-10. With James Kaiser and AC Way, and Past-Present-Future.

Lisa Lindsley and Walter Bankovitch Trio Shanghai 1930. 7pm, free.

Marlina Teich Trio Brickhouse, 426 Brannan, SF; (415) 820-1595. 7-10pm, free.

Oz Noy Coda. 9pm, $15.

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

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Dark Hollow Band Atlas Café. 8pm, free.

Shannon Ceili Band Plough and Stars. 9pm, free.

Whisky Richards Maggie McGarry’s, 1353 Grant, SF; (415) 399-9020. 9pm, free.

DANCE CLUBS

Afrolicious Elbo Room. 9:30pm, $5-6. DJs Pleasuremaker, Señor Oz, J Elrod, and B Lee spin Afrobeat, Tropicália, electro, samba, and funk.

Bingotopia Knockout. 7:30-9:30pm, free. Play for drinks, dignity, and dorky prizes with Lady Stacy Pants.

Caribbean Connection Little Baobab, 3388 19th St; 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.

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

Funky Rewind Skylark. 9pm, free. DJ Kung Fu Chris, MAKossa, and rotating guest DJs spin heavy funk breaks, early hip-hop, boogie, and classic Jamaican riddims.

Heat Icon Ultra Lounge. 10pm, free. Hip-hop, R&B, reggae, and soul.

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

Kick It Bar on Church. 9pm. Hip-hop with DJ Jorge Terez.

Koko Puffs Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary; 885-4788. 10pm, free. Dubby roots reggae and Jamaican funk from rotating DJs.

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

LovEvolution Pre-Party Supperclub. Dinner 7-9:30pm, $55; afterparty 9pm, $10. Join the LovEvolution staff for dinner and performances at 7pm, or get down at the after party to some dance beats.

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

Mizra Party and Soul Movers Infusion Lounge. 9pm, free. Featuring DJ Cams.

Popscene 330 Rich. 10pm, $10. Rotating DJs spinning indie, Britpop, electro, new wave, and post-punk.

Represent Icon Lounge. 10pm, $5. With Resident DJ Ren the Vinyl Archaeologist and guest. Rock Candy Stud. 9pm-2am, $5. Luscious Lucy Lipps hosts this electro-punk-pop party with music by ReXick.

Studio SF Triple Crown. 9pm, $5. Keeping the Disco vibe alive with authentic 70’s, 80’s, and current disco with DJs Peeplay, Pat Les Stache, and Marnacle.

Toppa Top Thursdays Club Six. 9pm, $5. Jah Warrior, Jah Yzer, I-Vier, and Irie Dole spin the reggae jams for your maximum irie-ness.

FRIDAY 2

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Armagideons, Eric McFadden, Hooks, Two Timin Hussies, Interchords Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $10. Seventh annual SF Joe Strummer Tribute and benefit for Strummerville.

Asobi Seksu, Loney, Dear, Anna Ternheim Slim’s. 9pm, $17.

L’Avventura, Music Lovers, Honneycombs Hotel Utah. 9pm, $6.

Chris Cain Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $20.

Clipd Beaks, Experimental Dental School Hemlock Tavern. 9:30pm, $6.

Dark Star Orchestra Fillmore. 9pm, $31.

Destroyer 666, Accused, Witchhaven, Wietus Mortuus, DJ Rob Metal Thee Parkside. 9pm, $15.

Digital Bliss, Return to Mono, Divasonic, Celeste Lear, Weather Pending 111 Minna. 9pm.

John Predny, Fleeting Trance, Andy Mason Retox Lounge. 9pm, $5.

Boz Scaggs and the Blue Velvet Band Great American Music Hall. 9pm, $100. Benefit for the Richard de Lone Special Housing Fund.

Tartufi, Geographer, Judgement Day Rickshaw Stop. 9pm, $10.

Tornado Rider, My Revolver, Stirling Says Red Devi Lounge. 9pm, $10.

Wicked Mercies, Hi-Nobles, I Love My Label Annie’s Social Club. 9pm.

Zony Mash, Horns Boom Boom Room. 10pm, $12.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Audium 9 1616 Bush, SF; (415) 771-1616. 8:30pm, $15.

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

Broun Fellinis Coda. 9pm, $10.

"Cultural Encounters: Friday Nights at the deYoung presents Jazz at Intersection" Wilsey Court, de Young Museum, 50 Hagiwara Tea Garden Dr, SF; www.deyoungmuseum.org. 6:30pm, free. With Will Bernard/Beth Custer Ensemble.

Duo Gadjo Shanghai 1930. 7:30pm, free.

Eric Kurtzrock Trio Ana Mandara, Ghirardelli Square, 891 Beach, SF; 771-6800. 8pm, free.

Lucid Lovers Rex Hotel, 562 Sutter, SF; (415) 433-4434. 6-8pm.

Plays Monk Red Poppy Art House. 8pm, $10-20.

Ramsey Lewis Trio Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $35.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Christopher Dallman Dolores Park Café. 7pm, free.

*"Hardly Strictly Bluegrass 9" Speedway, Marx, and Lindley Meadows, Golden Gate Park, SF; www.hardlystrictlybluegrass.com. 2-7pm, free. Today’s performers include MC Hammer, Fireants, Poor Man’s Whiskey, Tom Morello: The Nightwatchman, John Prine, and Lyle Lovett and His Large Band.

Jon Langford and the Pine Valley Cosmonauts, Rosie Flores, Sadies, Sally Timms, Rico Bell Swedish American Hall (upstairs from Café du Nord). 7:30pm, $20.

Mild Colonial Boys Plough and Stars. 9pm, $5.

Montana Slim String Band, Bucky Walters, Innapropriaters Café du Nord. 9pm, $12.

Tin Cat, Apple Orange, Avi Vinocur, Grace Woods Red Vic, 1665 Haight, SF; (415) 864-1978. 7:15pm, $2.

DANCE CLUBS

Activate! Lookout, 3600 16th St; (415) 431-0306. 9pm, $3. Face your demigods and demons at this Red Bull-fueled party.

Alcoholocaust Presents Riptide Tavern. 9pm, free. DJ What’s His Fuck spins old-school punk rock and other gems.

Bar on Church 9pm. Rotating DJs Zax, Zhaldee, and Nuxx.

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

Fat Stack Fridays Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary, SF; (415) 885-4788. 10pm, free. With rotating DJs Romanowski, B-Love, Tomas, Toph One, and Vinnie Esparza.

Gay Asian Paradise Club Eight, 1151 Folsom, SF; www.eightsf.com. 9pm, $8. Featuring two dance floors playing dance and hip hop, smoking patio, and 2 for 1 drinks before 10pm.

Jam on It Elbo Room. 10pm, $10. Hip-hop with host Z-Man and DJs Quest, Roy Two Thousand, Tyra from Saigon, and Lady Fingaz.

Look Out Weekend Bambuddha Lounge. 4pm, free. Drink specials, food menu and resident DJs White Girl Lust, Swayzee, Philie Ocean, and more.

Lovesick Etiquette Lounge, 1108 Market, SF; (415) 863-3929. 9pm, $10. A pre-party for LovEvolution hosted by South Sound Collective featuring DJs DRC, Alland Byallo, Dizzy Dave and more.

Martinez Brothers Mighty. 10pm, $15. Get your dancing legs warmed up for Saturday’s LovEvolution parade and festival at this pre-party hosted by Pink Mammoth.

M4M Fridays Underground SF. 10pm-2am. Joshua J and Frankie Sharp host this man-tastic party.

Oldies Night Knockout. 9pm, $2-4. DJs Primo, Daniel, and Lost Cat spin doo-wop, one-hit wonders, and soul.

Punk Rock and Shlock Karaoke Annie’s Social Club. 9pm-2am, $5. Eileen and Jody bring you songs from multiple genres to butcher: punk, new wave, alternative, classic rock, and more.

Tyrant Club 525. 7pm, $25. London DJ duo Lee Burridge and Craig Richards spin the Love at this LovEvolution festival pre-party.

Undead Wedding Cat Club. 9pm; $10, $3 for zombie brides and grooms. Featuring goth, industrial, and death rock music along with wedding ceremonies, cake, and photographers.

Upper Playground and Sonic Living Happy Hour Laszlo. 6-9pm, free. Resident DJs Amplive and Tourist with special guests. Drink specials and giveaways.

SATURDAY 3

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Bugs, Dadfag, Sad Horse Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

Dark Star Orchestra Fillmore. 9pm, $31.

Fat Bottom Girls, Sassy, Yes Gos, Bloody Hells, Horror-X Annie’s Social Club. 9pm.

Horrors, Japanese Motors, Rocket Independent. 9pm, $20.

Love Songs, Ed Mudshi, Cobra Skulls, Airfix Kits El Rio. 10pm, $7.

Monophonix Deluxe Boom Boom Room. 10pm, $10.

Sunny Rhodes Biscuits and Blues. 8 and 10pm, $20.

Schande, Who Cares, Belly of the Whale, Sleeptalks Thee Parkside. 9pm, $8.

Shinedown, Sick Puppies, Adelitas Way Regency Ballroom. 7pm, $30.

*Slim Cessna’s Auto Club, Pine Box Boys, Tiny Television Café du Nord. 9:30pm, $12.

Miike Snow, Jack Peñate, Loquat Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $10.

Stone Foxes, Soft White Sixties, Courtney Janes, Anna Troy, DJ Joel Selvin Hotel Utah. 8:30pm, $10.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Audium 9 1616 Bush, SF; (415) 771-1616. 8:30pm, $15.

Ralph Carney and friends Rite Spot, 2099 Folsom, SF; www.ritespotcafe.net. 8pm, free.

Eric Kurtzrock Trio Ana Mandara, Ghirardelli Square, 891 Beach, SF; (415) 771-6800. 8pm, free.

Mads Tolling Trio Shanghai 1930. 7:30pm, free.

Ramsey Lewis Trio Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $35.

Ricardo Scales Top of the Mark. 9pm, $10.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Bluegrass Bonanza Plough and Stars. 9pm, $5.

Jordan Carp Caffe Trieste, 1667 Market, SF; (415) 551-1000. 8pm, free.

Danny Cohen, Jonah Kit, Magic! Magic Roses House of Shields. 9pm, $5.

Folk4Parks Rock-It Room. 8pm, $10. Help stop the impending closure of over 100 California State Parks at this benefit featuring Sioux City Kid and the Revolutionary Ramblers, Kristina Bennett, Better Maker, and more.

*"Hardly Strictly Bluegrass 9" Speedway, Marx, and Lindley Meadows, Golden Gate Park, SF; www.hardlystrictlybluegrass.com. 11am-8pm, free. Today’s performers include Okkervil River, Boz Scaggs and the Blue Velvet Band, Old 97s, Steve Earle and the Bluegrass Dukes, Marty Stuart and His Fabulous Superlatives, Richie Havens, and many more.

Belle Monroe and Her Brewglass Boys, Shut-Ins, Gayle Lynn and Her Hired Hands Plough and Stars. 9pm, $10.

Pladdohg Ireland’s 32. 9pm.

DANCE CLUBS

BADNB Lovelution Afterparty Club Six. 9pm, $15. Featuring three stages of drum and bass with DJs KJ Sawka, Gridlok, Bachelors of Science, Method One, Maneesh the Twister, and more.

Bar on Church 9pm. Rotating DJs Foxxee, Joseph Lee, Zhaldee, Mark Andrus, and Niuxx.

Debaser Knockout. 9pm, $5. Wear a flannel, get in free before 11pm to this 90s alternative dance party with DJs Jamie Jams and Emdee.

Everlasting Bass 330 Ritch. 10pm, $5-10. Bay Area Sistah Sound presents this party, with DJs Zita and Pam the Funkstress spinning hip-hop, soul, funk, reggae, dancehall, and club classics.

Fire Corner Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary; 885-4788. 9:30pm, free. Rare and outrageous ska, rocksteady, and reggae vinyl with Revival Sound System and guests.

Gemini Disco Underground SF. 10pm, $5. Disco with DJ Derrick Love.

Get Loose! Beauty Bar. 10pm, free. With DJ White Mike spinning dance jams.

HYP Club Eight, 1151 Folsom, SF; www.eightsf.com. 10pm, free. Gay and lesbian hip hop party, featuring DJs spinning the newest in the top 40s hip hop and hyphy.

Leisure Paradise Lounge. 10pm, $7. DJs Omar, Aaron, and Jet Set James spinning classic britpop, mod, 60s soul, and 90s indie.

LovEvolution Parade starts at Market and 2nd St. and ends at Civic Center Plaza for a dance music festival, SF; www.sflovevolution.org. Parade starts at noon, free; festival from noon-8pm, $10. Featuring a diverse and extensive line up of dance music DJs.

Rebel Girl Rickshaw Stop. 10pm, $5. "Electroindierockhiphop" and 80s dance party for dykes, bois, femmes, and queers with DJ China G and guests.

Saturday Night Soul Party Elbo Room. 10pm, $10. DJs Lucky, Phengren Oswald, and Paul Paul spin 60s soul on 45s.

So Special Club Six. 9pm, $5. DJ Dans One and guests spinning dancehall, reggae, classics, and remixes.

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

Summer Saturdays Bar On Church. 9pm, free. With DJ Mark Andrus spinning top 40, mashups, hip hop, and electro.

SUNDAY 4

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Blakes, Music for Animals, Lucky Jesus Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $10.

Trevor Childs and the Beholders, Echo Falls, Cyndi Harvell Café du Nord. 8pm, $10.

Dark Star Orchestra Fillmore. 8pm, $31.

*John Doe, Sadies, Brothers Comatose Annie’s Social Club. 8pm, $12.

Jolie Holland, Michael Hurley Independent. 8pm, $20.

Dr. MoJo Boom Boom Room. 9:30pm, free.

Lloyd Gregory Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $15.

Liquid Indian, Mujaheddin Bernstein Affair, North Fork, White Pee Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

New Model Army, Salty Walt and the Rattlin’ Ratlines DNA Lounge. 7:30pm, $12.

Soulfly, Prong, Cattle Decapitation Regency Ballroom. 7pm, $24.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

"Contemporary Insights: Music and Conversation" ODC Dance Commons, 351 Shotwell, SF; www.sfcmp.org. 4:30pm, $5-10. Performance and discussion of John Harris’ "The Seven Ages."

Imani Winds with Stefon Harris Herbst Theater, 401 Van Ness, SF; www.performances.org. 7pm, $27-39.

Mr. Lucky, Ramshackle Romeos Rite Spot, 2099 Folsom, SF; www.ritespotcafe.net. 8pm, free.

Rob Modica and friends Simple Pleasures, 3434 Balboa, SF; (415) 387-4022. 3pm, free.

Ramsey Lewis Trio Yoshi’s San Francisco. 7pm, $35.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

*"Hardly Strictly Bluegrass 9" Speedway, Marx, and Lindley Meadows, Golden Gate Park, SF; www.hardlystrictlybluegrass.com. 11am-8pm, free. Today’s performers include Billy Bragg, Chieftains, Old Crow Medicine Show, Marianne Faithfull, Emmylou Harris, Rodney Crowell, Earl Scruggs, Hazel Dickens, Robyn Hitchcock and the Venus 3, Mavis Staples, Neko Case, Dr. Dog, and many more.

Mucho Axé Coda. 8pm, $7.

Quin and friends Plough and Stars. 9pm free.

DANCE CLUBS

Body and Soul Mighty. 8pm, $25. A nonstop dance fest featuring DJs Francois K, Joaquin "Joe" Claussell, and Danny Krivit.

DiscoFunk Mashups Cat Club. 10pm, free. House and 70’s music.

Dub Mission Elbo Room. 9pm, $6. Dub, roots, and classic dancehall with DJ Sep, Maneesh the Twister, and Vinnie Esparza.

5 O’Clock Jive Inside Live Art Gallery, 151 Potrero, SF; (415) 305-8242. 5pm, $5. A weekly swing dance party.

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?

Jock! Lookout, 3600 16th; 431-0306. 3pm, $2. This high-energy party raises money for LGBT sports teams.

Kick It Bar on Church. 9pm. Hip-hop with DJ Zax.

Religion Bar on Church. 3pm. With DJ Nikita.

Shuckin’ and Jivin’ Knockout. 10pm, free. DJs Dr. Scott and Oran spin rock, doo-wop, jive, stomp, and more on 78rpm records.

Stag AsiaSF. 6pm, $5. Gay bachelor parties are the target demo of this weekly erotic tea dance.

MONDAY 5

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Billy Bragg Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $30.

*God Dethroned, Abigail Williams, Woe of Tyrants, Augury, DJ Rob Metal Thee Parkside. 8pm, $15.

Fever Ray, Vuk Regency Ballroom. 8pm, $30.

*Motorhead, Reverend Horton Heat, Nashville Pussy Warfield. 8pm, $38.

Serious Bees, Ms Cloud Hemlock Tavern. 7pm, $5.

69 Eyes, Dommin, Becoming Bottom of the Hill. 8:30pm, $17.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

"From the Top" Herbst Theatre, 401 Van Ness, SF; www.sfcmp.org. 8pm, $10-28. San Francisco Contemporary Music Players present five pieces by American composers Harbison, Reich, Wuorinen, Feldman, and Campion.

Lavay Smith Trio Enrico’s, 504 Broadway, SF; www.enricossf.com. 7pm, free.

Project, Classical Revolution Café du Nord. 8pm, $12.

Wayne Wallace Latin Jazz Quintet Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $14.

DANCE CLUBS

Black Gold Koko Cocktails, 1060 Geary; 885-4788. 10pm-2am, free. Senator Soul spins Detroit soul, Motown, New Orleans R&B, and more — all on 45!

Dubstep/DNB Underground SF. 9pm, $5. With DJs Tromaone, Qzen, Rastatronics, and more.

Going Steady Dalva. 10pm, free. DJs Amy and Troy spinning 60’s girl groups, soul, garage, and more.

King of Beats Tunnel Top. 10pm. DJs J-Roca and Kool Karlo spinning reggae, electro, boogie, funk, 90’s hip hop, and more.

Manic Mondays Bar on Church. 9pm. Drink 80-cent cosmos with Djs Mark Andrus and Dangerous Dan.

Monster Show Underground SF. 10pm, $5. Cookie Dough and DJ MC2 make Mondays worth dancing about, with a killer drag show at 11pm.

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

Spliff Sessions Tunnel Top. 10pm, free. DJs MAKossa, Kung Fu Chris, and C. Moore spin funk, soul, reggae, hip-hop, and psychedelia on vinyl.

TUESDAY 6

ROCK/BLUES/HIP-HOP

Chris Ayer, Steph Johnson Hotel Utah. 8pm, $10.

Bane, Trash Talk, Foundation, Grace Alley Thee Parkside. 8pm, $12.

Billy Bragg Great American Music Hall. 8pm, $30.

Busdriver, Themselves, Nocando Bottom of the Hill. 9pm, $12.

Cave Singers, Lightning Dust Independent. 8pm, $14.

Elm, Higuma, New Red Sun Hemlock Tavern. 9pm, $6.

Fat Tuesday Band Biscuits and Blues. 8pm, $15.

School of Seven Bells, Warpaint, Phantogram Slim’s. 8pm, $15.

Stratovarius, Pagans Mind Regency Ballroom. 8pm, $30.

JAZZ/NEW MUSIC

Dave Parker Quintet Rasselas Jazz. 8pm.

"Jazz Mafia Tuesdays" Coda. 9pm, $7. With Joe Bagale.

Kaweh Yoshi’s San Francisco. 8pm, $22.

Ricardo Scales Top of the Mark. 6:30pm, $5.

FOLK/WORLD/COUNTRY

Suzanne Cronin and friends Plough and Stars. 9pm, free.

Gema, Terroritmo Elbo Room. 9pm, $7.

Tim Holt West Portal Library, 190 Lenox, SF; (415) 355-2886. 6:30pm, free. A performance of American history through folk songs.

Tina Dico Café du Nord. 8:30pm, $15.

DANCE CLUBS

DJ Ism Boom Boom Room. 9:30pm, free.

Drunken Monkey Annie’s Social Club. 9pm, free. Rotating DJs and shot specials.

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

La Escuelita Pisco Lounge, 1817 Market, SF; (415) 874-9951. 7pm, free. DJ Juan Data spinning gay-friendly, Latino sing-alongs but no salsa or reggaeton.

Mixology Aunt Charlie’s Lounge, 133 Turk, (415) 441-2922. 10pm, $2. DJ Frantik mixes with the science and art of music all night.

Rock Out Karaoke! Amnesia. 7:30pm. With Glenny Kravitz.

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

Womanizer Bar on Church. 9pm. With DJ Nuxx.

Lame “Anatomy”

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September 28, 2009

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By D. Scot Miller

ANATOMY OF AN ADULT FILM
Sunset Thomas and R. Richard
(World Audience Inc.)

Finally! A book I can trash! I can’t tell you how long I’ve waited for something so bad to fall into my grimy little hands. Deep down inside, all critics are sadists. Everyone knows it. Everyone loves it. But it’s rare to find a work that is so masochistic in its conception that it is the equivalent to the animal kingdom’s definition of “presenting.”

Well, Thomas and her ghosty cowriter “R” present big-time with Anatomy An Adult Film and I, for one, am thrilled! As I salivate over this, rubbing my hands together like the best cartoon villain, I wonder where to begin. It’s all just so tempting!

Let’s begin with the writing. Oh god, it’s so bad! If Thomas has any eloquence in her speech, “R” is quick to squelch it with the fervor of a fan-boy whose read too many “Penthouse Confessions.”

What they do matters

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September 15, 2009

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johnny@sfbg.com

Something is happening. San Francisco and the greater Bay Area is, even more than usual, home to some bands that hardwire the heart: Grass Widow, Nodzzz, Rank/Xerox, Mayyors, Ty Segall. But more than that, the place we call home is a nexus for a bunch of great new rock albums — ones that just might be classics. Girls’ Album (True Panther/Matador) is the popular one with the media blitz behind it, but the Mantles’ debut is the come-from-behind outsider, the secret star, the crushworthy keeper. You’ll know it when you hear it, from the one-two-three punch of the first trio of tracks: the Byrds-y jangle of "Disappearing Act"; the churning propulsive energy of "What We Do Matters"; and maybe most of all, the brooding balladry of "Look Away," a now-I-see-you-now-I-don’t relationship ode which possesses a kind of offhand melodic and vocal strength that sounds easy to achieve, but obviously isn’t, because so few ever manage to do it.

Those are some of the things that go into The Mantles (Siltbreeze), along with guitar blazes (the climactic "Thin Reminder") and the overall feel of a band as a thriving living thing. What went on outside the album is an entirely different story. The group recorded with Greg Ashley in Oakland, where the adventures often began before they entered the studio. "One day this cracked-out lady walked up and punched this other lady in the face right in front of our car," says drummer Virginia Weatherby. "There’s a giant pile of trash right in front of his [Ashley’s] door," chimes in bassist Matt Roberts. "This one afternoon I showed up and there was a guy by it wearing no shirt and a Yoda mask — it was totally absurd."

Fueled by friendship and romance, the Mantles are relaxed enough to enjoy absurdity, whether it arrives in the form of a shirtless dude in a Yoda mask or entails playing the role of "psychedelic band" and "mid-tempo downer" at a sweltering garage rock party where people are doing cannonballs into a pool. If anything, the group was too relaxed for Ashley’s spontaneous and live-sounding recording process, an achievement of sorts. "You think you have the situation figured out on the third day of recording," says vocalist-guitarist Mike Oliveras, as the group discusses the different facets of Ashley’s home studio and warehouse setup, where graffiti and ciggies floating in glasses of beer are one norm. "Then he [Ashley] comes down with a bounty of nice-looking tomatoes and says, Do you guys want any tomatoes? These are from my garden on the roof."

The Mantles is being released by Siltbreeze, a pairing that should yield interesting results. The pop immediacy of the group’s songs might make them seem a good fit for Berkeley’s Slumberland, even if they tend to rock a bit more vigorously and wildly than many groups on Mike Shulman’s rightfully vaunted label. A standout track like the easygoing, assured "Don’t Lie" — understated yet almost anthemic at the close — is more melodic than most music released by Siltbreeze owner Tom Lax, whose enthusiasm came from hearing the first of the group’s two 7-inch singles to date. "There’s a certain amount of people who will buy it [the album] because it’s on Siltbreeze," Roberts says. "And there’s a certain amount of people who will specifically not buy it because it’s on Siltbreeze."

Fortunately, The Mantles is the kind of album that defies expectations. Its shades of New Zealand-ry (an organ sound and laconic vocal delivery not far from Flying Nun groups such as the Chills and the Verlaines), its Paisley Underground touches (some reviewers have mentioned Steve Wynn and Dream Syndicate), and its better-than-NME‘s-C86-cassette pop appeal seem very au courant, but come across as natural as breathing. Oliveras’ vocal presence is both a weapon and a major reason for this — he’s got more confidence and presence than your average rocker, yet he never falls into cringeworthy or over-the-top rock star gestures. There’s no T.T.H. (tries-too-hard) to his or the band’s approach. This forthright pleasure and assurance might have grown from the group’s recording experiences to date, which range from the experimentation and live takes of Ashley to the precision and attention to detail of Papercuts’ Jason Quever, who produced one of their singles.

Along with friendship and romance, family plays a role in the Mantles’ music — not corny Christian family values, but a bond with family members that’s taken a variety of funny forms during the group’s existence. "At [a show at] Café Du Nord, my mom said she wanted a drink, and when I told her to go to the bar, she said, It’s not my milieu," says Roberts to much laughter. He lists his favorite show to date as one the group did for Oliveras’ family: "There was an audience of six people on patio chairs sitting 20 yards away from us," he says.

"The Mantles: Being Earnest," Oliveras jokes.

The Mantles has the arresting look required of a vinyl-only release, thanks to a stark and handsome design by local musician Nathan Berlinguette, art by Colter Jacobsen, and another family touch: the photo on the album’s cover. As evocative in a nostalgic way as the cover of Night Control’s Death Control (Kill Shaman) is in a 2009 manner, it’s a picture of a man holding a picture — a photo of Jimi Hendrix. The man, standing in front of a gorgeous mountain-lined horizon, is Weatherby’s father. "My dad is beside himself," she says with a smile. "He went to one of our shows recently and was walking around saying, Album Cover Guy’s here. Want to meet the album cover?"

THE MANTLES

Album release party

Oct. 1

Eagle Tavern

398 12th St, SF

(415) 626-0880

www.myspace.com/mantles

Take warning

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September 15, 2009

0

a&eletters@sfbg.com

The forests are in flames, the desert is advancing, the glaciers have vanished, and in a solar-powered facility towering above the ice-free waters of the Arctic, some 800 miles north of Norway, a solitary older man (Pete Postlethwaite) roams the hallways of the Global Archive, a warehouse sheltering banks of data-storage servers, a civilization’s worth of art and invention, and a Noah’s ark of extinguished species. From this lonely outpost, he gravely explores a stomach-churning inquiry: "We could have saved ourselves. But we didn’t. It’s amazing. What state of mind were we in to face extinction and simply shrug it off?"

Good question, and one that Franny Armstrong’s The Age of Stupid, a hybrid merging documentary material and a fictional frame tale, forcefully suggests we start addressing like we mean it — immediately. That is to say, before runaway climate change makes its debut and some or all of its widely forecasted ecological consequences begin to manifest, along with resource shortages, food and water riots, and massive societal collapse.

Delineating the complex global network of climate-change causes and effects, The Age of Stupid interweaves real-life documentary footage from the lives of six present-day subjects in New Orleans, the French Alps, Jordan, southwest England, a small Nigerian fishing village, and Mumbai, India. Interspersed is real and faux (future) archival footage depicting and predicting the environmental consequences of humanity’s bad habits. And all of it is presented as the digital artifacts of a dying-off civilization, preserved for uncertain posterity in the Global Archive. While covering similar terrain to that of An Inconvenient Truth (2006), the film serves as a kind of "No, but really, folks …" in the face of frighteningly incremental gestures toward sustainability — and continued shortsighted resistance — at the levels of national, state, and local government as well as citizenry.

The film’s opening sequence begins with the big bang and hurtles via countdown clock through billions of years, flying past the earliest stages of evolution, past dinosaurs, past the industrial revolution, and past the present day, the titular Age of Stupid, so fast that we barely have time to notice ourselves on the screen before it’s 2055, the Age of Too Late. The message: in the grand scheme of things, we have about a nanosecond left to kid ourselves as we refill our metal water bottle and press the start button on our Energy Star-qualified washer-dryer or Prius — or to find a way, at the level of populace, not green-minded individual, to radically swerve from our current path. According to Armstrong and her cohorts in the Not Stupid Campaign, the film’s companion activist effort, our fate will pretty much be decided by December’s climate talks in Copenhagen. (The film, which premiered in the U.K. in March, has its 50-country "global premiere" Sept. 21-22.)

So then, do the canvas bags, travel mugs, energy-saving appliances, clotheslines, CSA memberships, cycling, recycling, composting, and other ecologically minded efforts of a smattering of well-intentioned individuals matter at all? Or matter enough — in the face of factories, factory farming, methane-emitting landfills, canyons of office towers lit up 24/7, a continent-sized constellation of plastic detritus in the Pacific, and millions of trips cross-country at an average elevation of 30,000 feet?

Colin Beavan, the subject of Laura Gabbert and Justin Schein’s No Impact Man, is banking on yes, being of the "be the change you wish to see in the world" school of thought (admittedly in good company, with Mahatma Gandhi). Taking its name from Beavan’s book project and blog, No Impact Man shadows the NYC-based writer; his wife, Michelle Conlin, a senior writer at BusinessWeek admitting to "an intense relationship with retail" and a high-fructose corn syrup addiction; and their toddler daughter, Isabella, during a year in which they try to achieve a net-neutral environmental impact.

This entails giving up, in successive stages, with varying degrees of exactitude, packaged food (hard on a family whose caloric mainstay is take-out), nonlocal food (hard on a woman who drinks multiple quadruple-shot espressos a day; impossible, as it turns out), paper products (magazine subscriptions, TP), fossil-fuel-dependent transit (airplanes, elevators, and even the subway), electricity (i.e., the refrigerator), and, to a large extent, trash. The idea is to learn empirically — and demonstrate — which behaviors might be permanently ditched and which are virtually hardwired.

There are, predictably, certain criticisms –- from irritated environmentalists, from semianonymous blog commenters, from the New York Times Home and Garden section. There is the matter of giving up public transportation rather than championing it, and the issue (raised by a community gardener who takes Beavan under his wing) of Conlin’s laboring for a high-circulation publication that trumpets capitalist virtues antithetical to the project of tapering off consumption and waste. And Beavan sometimes comes across, particularly in the book, as well-meaning but stubbornly myopic in his focus on self-improvement.

Then again, the guy and his family gave up toilet paper, electric light, motor vehicles, spontaneous slices of pizza, and many deeply ingrained habits of wastefulness for a year while most of the rest of the country got up each morning and brushed their teeth with the water running. What impact the No Impact project might have on, for instance, the mounds of trash-filled Heftys that line Manhattan’s sidewalks each week remains to be seen. But as the Age of Stupid winds down, it’s probably a waste of time to fault anyone’s attempts to forestall the Age of Too Late.

NO IMPACT MAN opens Fri/18 in Bay Area theaters.

THE AGE OF STUPID plays Mon/21, 8 p.m., SF Center. Visit www.ageofstupid.net for additional Bay Area screenings.

Night repper

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August 26, 2009

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D Tour and Rogue Wave Joe Granato’s award-winning doc about musician Pat Spurgeon, with an acoustic post-screening performance by Spurgeon’s Oakland band. Sept. 3, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; www.sfmoma.org.

"Cocky White Guys" Jesse Hawthorne Ficks of Midnites for Maniacs serves up a triple platter of cockiness: Risky Business (1983), Fast Times at Ridgemont High (1982), and the very closet-gay Last American Virgin (1982). Sept. 4, Castro; www.castrotheatre.com.

"Speechless: Recent Experimental Animation" The program includes the 3-D amazements of local wonder woman Kerry Laitala’s enticingly titled Chromatic Cocktail Extra Fizzy. Sept. 8, Pacific Film Archive; www.bampfa.berkeley.edu.

SF Shorts This year’s lineup includes over 60 short films and music videos. Sept. 9-12, Red Vic; www.redvicmoviehouse.com.

Bigger Than Life Nicholas Ray’s gonzo look at suburban family ideals gone amok was too weird for 1956. Todd Haynes has stolen from this movie as much as from any Sirk work. Sept. 10, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; www.ybca.org

Lucha Beach Party Will the Thrill takes his showmanship to the Balboa, along with Santo and Blue Demon vs. the Monsters (1969) and longtime contender for best movie title ever, Wrestling Women vs. Aztec Mummy (1964). Sept. 10, www.thrillville.net

Rialto’s Best of British Noir A chance to see Michael Powell’s Peeping Tom (1960) on the big screen. Sept. 11-16, Castro; www.castrotheatre.com.

"Top Bill: The Films of William Klein" The great photographer’s underrated film output gets a thorough survey, ranging from his prescient and sharp 1960s portraits of Cassius Clay/Muhammad Ali and Eldridge Cleaver to his madcap yet dry looks at fashion in Paris. Sept. 11-Oct. 11, Pacific Film Archive; www.bampfa.berkeley.edu.

Independent Erotic Film Festival Good Vibrations presents the event’s fourth incarnation. Highlights include a potential screening of Gerard Damiano’s The Devil in Miss Jones and a program of 1920s peep show reels. Sept. 12-17, various venues; www.gv-ixff.org.

Spectrology Mad Cat Women’s Film Festival presents a one-off screening of a new work by Kerry Laitala. Sept. 16, El Rio; www.madcatfilmfestival.org

Film Noir at the Roxie You can always count on the Roxie to play host to the less obvious dark alleys of noir. Sept. 17-30, Roxie; www.roxie.com

Liverpool Lisandro Alonso’s highly acclaimed 2008 film finally get a SF gig. Sept. 17-20, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; www.ybca.org.

Iranian Film Fest This year’s festival focuses on women’s roles in Iranian society. Sept. 19-20, various venues; www.iranianfilmfestival.blogspot.com.

"Life’s Work: The Cinema of Ermanno Ulmi" A comprehensive retrospective of films by a director known for his masterful renderings of work, such as 1961’s Il posto. Sept. 25-Oct. 30, Pacific Film Archive; www-bampfa.berkeley.edu.

Grease Sing-Along The San Francisco Film Society presents this key 1978 addition to the canon of Randal Kleiser. Sept. 26; www.sffs.org.

The Room Avoid The Room at your peril. Sept. 26. Red Vic; www.redvicmoviehouse.com.

Dario Argento’s Three Mothers Trilogy Together at last: Suspiria (1977), Inferno (1980) and Mother of Tears (2007). Be there or be violently stabbed by a hand in a black glove. Oct. 1-4, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; www.ybca.org.

The Red Shoes A new print — which debuted at this year’s Cannes Film Festival — of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s 1948 gem. Oct. 1, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; www.sfmoma.org.

Found Footage Festival Trash is a treasure as curators Joe Pickett and Nick Prueher host the fourth incarnation of the event. Oct. 2-3, Red Vic; www.redvicmoviehouse.com.

"Julien Duvivier: Poetic Craftsman of Cinema" The lengthy and perhaps erratic career of the man who made Jean Gabin an icon gets a full treatment. Oct. 2-31, Pacific Film Archive; www.bampfa.berkeley.edu.

Barry Jenkins’ Shorts The San Francisco filmmaker shares his work to date, including his feature debut Medicine for Melancholy (2007). Oct. 3, Artists’ Television Access; www.othercinema.com

"Nervous Magic Lantern Peformance: Towards the Depths of the Even Greater Depression" Ken Jacobs in the house, aiming to "get between the eyes, contest the separate halves of the brain" with a magic lantern that uses neither film or video. Oct. 7, Pacific Film Archive; www.bampfa.berkeley.edu.

Pink Cinema Revolution A series for the Japanese genre and industry that has schooled some master filmmakers while titilutf8g audiences. Oct. 7-25, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; www.ybca.org.

Robert Beavers The experimental filmmaker’s fall stint in the Bay Area includes four programs presented by SF Cinematheque. Oct. 8-10, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art and Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; www.sfmoma.org, www.ybca.org.

"Eyes Upside Down" Great title. A program of films curated by the writer P. Adams Sitney. Oct. 11, www.sfcinematheque.org.

Arab Film Festival This year’s festival lasts ten days. Oct. 15-24, various venues; www.aff.org

French Cinema Now Contemporary film in France condensed into a series. Oct. 29-Nov. 4, Sundance Kabuki; www.sffs.org.

Halloween Gore ‘n’ Snorefest Thrillville returns to the Balboa with Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers (1988) and Zontar, the Thing From Venus (1966). If only the characters of these movies could time travel to meet one another. Oct. 29; www.thrillville.net.

"Running Up That Hill" Michael Robinson, creator of the eye-blinding and hilarious video Light is Waiting (2007), borrows a title from Kate Bush for this program, which he’s curated. Nov. 6, Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; www.ybca.org.

It Came from Kuchar Jennifer Kroot’s documentary about the Kuchar brothers hits the screen after raves at Frameline. Nov. 14, Artists’ Television Access; www.othercinema.com.

New Italian Cinema The San Francisco Film Society presents a sample of recent films from Italy. Nov. 15-22, Sundance Kabuki; www.sffs.org.

Recent Restorations: George and Mike Kuchar You can never have too much Kuchar. Dec. 10, San Francisco Museum of Modern Art; www.sfmoma.org.

Sailing into the plastic vortex

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August 12, 2009

0

rebeccab@sfbg.com

GREEN CITY If a plastic soft drink bottle got tossed into the San Francisco Bay and swept out under the Golden Gate, it might end up in the massive junkyard-at-sea that swirls through a current known as the North Pacific Subtropical Gyre.

Nicknamed the Plastic Vortex, this massive collection of marine debris circulating in a remote area northeast of Hawaii is a sort of watery graveyard for all manner of human refuse. The ocean churns the waste, disintegrating the debris into bits and turning it into something more like plastic soup than a buoyant mass. Ocean experts say it’s a very big problem — the gyre is about twice the size of Texas and taking in more garbage all the time — and is only getting bigger.

This gigantic manmade mess — which exists in international waters not regulated by any particular governmental body — presents a slew of difficult questions. What long-term effects is it having on the marine ecosystem? Is there any way to clean it up? Are minuscule plastic particles and their hitchhiker toxins circulating back to people’s dinner plates via bioaccumulation?

These are just a few of the mysteries that a crew of researchers hope to unravel during an ocean voyage called Project Kaisei. The Kaisei (Japanese for “ocean planet”) is a 151-foot brigantine that sailed out of the San Francisco Bay Aug. 4 for a month-long venture into the plastic vortex.

The tall ship, the second of two research vessels commissioned for Project Kaisei, is operated by the Ocean Voyages Institute, a Sausalito-based nonprofit. Its counterpart, the New Horizon, is operated by the Scripps Institute for Oceanography and departed several days earlier from Southern California.

Project Kaisei spokesperson Ryan Yerkey describes the mission as a multipronged effort. Scientists’ first goal is to get a “snapshot” of the effects the garbage is having on the marine ecosystem. “These materials, they never really dissolve,” Yerkey explains. “They don’t just become part of the ocean. They break down at different degrees. Things like a plastic bag — it breaks down in the heat, and the sun and the water. And a lot of this stuff is so minute that it’s getting ingested by fish.”

Project Kaisei researchers will also test various technologies that might help them chart a course for cleanup. One idea — using reprocessing technology that has never been tested at sea — is to convert the marine debris from trash to fuel. “We’re testing the various reclamation and harvesting technologies,” Yerkey explains. “We’d love to be able to get that technology onboard our future vessels out there so they would be able to fuel future missions with the very trash they’re collecting.” The third goal will be to educate the public about preventive actions like recycling, since an estimated 80 percent of marine debris originates on land.

Algalita, a Long Beach-based marine research foundation, has conducted eight voyages in a 50-foot catamaran to study the Pacific Gyre. “Last year, in February, we were doing a night trawl — that’s when a lot of the marine life come up to feed,” explains Marieta Francis, executive director of Algalita. “We caught hundreds of these small, six-inch fish, so we thought this was the perfect opportunity to study them. And one of those little fish had 84 pieces of plastic in its stomach.”

Over the course of a decade, Algalita has taken hundreds of water samples from the gyre — and not a single one was plastic-free. There are believed to be two giant garbage patches in the Pacific, but the scope of the problem is only beginning to be understood, Francis says. “Now we feel, along with other researchers and even [the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration] that there are not two distinct patches, and that in between the two areas where it seems to be accumulating, there is sort of a superhighway that’s also collecting the debris.”

The Project Kaisei team appears to be embracing what its Web site calls “the biggest clean up Earth has ever witnessed.”

Teh ghey

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August 12, 2009

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SUPER EGO It’s been a coon’s age (is that racist?) since I lifted the bloody glitter-crusted rock of alternaqueer nightlife and peeped with prickled horror at the writhing wigged creatures of darkness beneath. There’s a lot going on this month, so buckle up your birdseed boobs and ride, baby, ride. But first, I’ve got to give a special screechy shout-out to Faux King Awesome and his filthy-excellent trash-club blog, www.dragslag.org. Check it, chicas, that child never sleeps.

HOMO A GO GO FESTIVAL

As Zombie Cher would say, "A-woooaaaah!" And then, "Brains." Four nights of edgy queer music, fashion, film, art, activism, and, yes, parties with more than 50 performers spread out across the city. Italo disco darlings Glass Candy swoop in to join noise-makers like Erase Errata, Katastrophe, Younger Lovers, Hunx and his Punx, Honey Soundsystem, Chelsea Starr, Girl in a Coma, and a spectacular buttload of others. Plus: old-school zine exhibitions, activist workshops, and plenty of classic homopunk/queercore/riot grrrl spirit in the air — so strap on your 16-holes and let’s get mish-moshed.

Thur/13-Sun/16, various times and locations, www.homoagogo.com

THE ROD

"Wet jock strap contest" — are any four words in the English language more titilutf8g besides "five-second rule, bitches"? Almost five years ago, DJ Bus Station John launched his bathhouse disco-drenched tribute to teasingly moistened fabric, bringing many a screw-worthy type through Deco’s doors to compete for $100. (Full dis-clothes-ure: I host the contest when I can remember what’s happening, and Hunky Beau recruits contestants with his "special talent.") All good things must come to a tight little hairy ass end, however, and with this final installment The Rod promises to go out with a sopping bang.

Fri/14, 10 p.m., $5. Deco, 510 Larkin, SF. www.decosf.com

SF GRAND VOGUE BALL

Chop, mop, fierce, and shade, Miss Realness. People have forever been talking about holding a grand vogue ball in San Francisco. Finally the money’s where the mouth is and the chin is on the floor, dropping for you as local houses compete each Friday until the final battle royale Sept. 11. Categories include: Face, Drama, Butch Boyz in Pumps, Look in the Book, Butch Queen Femme, and Old Way/New Way. Walk, work, walk — are there any more?

Fridays through Sept. 11, 8 p.m., free. Yerba Buena Center, 700 Howard, SF. groups.google.com/group/sfgrandvogueball

14TH SAN FRANCISCO DRAG KING CONTEST

It’s big time, y’all, for the sexy kings to come tearing out of the closet in their testosterone Testarossas — and my stubble is itching with adrenaline. For 14 years, Fudgie Frottage and company have brought out the munchable machos to stomp the boards in a quest for the spiky Mr. San Francisco Drag King crown. The talent numbers are uproarious, the crowd bursts with rare hotties, and all involved have a sweaty ball. The whole thing benefits P.A.W.S., so you know you’ll be riding that mustache for a very good cause besides your own.

Sat/15, 8 p.m., $15–$35. DNA Lounge, 375 11th St., SF. www.sfdragkingcontest.com

HERR-A-CHICK

This raucous biweekly Wednesday rock ‘n’ roll lady night at the Eagle just got a reboot of sorts: felch whore Renttecca has climbed aboard Anna Conda’s wig and Juanita Fajita’s taco truck to join them in hosting live bands, drag disasters, and the occasional poetry interlude(!).

Wed/19 and every first and third Wednesday, 9 p.m., $5 (free in drag). Eagle Tavern, 398 12th St., www.sfeagle.com

BJÖRK NIGHT

Oh, how I wish this event were called Björk Wars, and tranny Megabots had to trudge their four-story iridium stilettos across the frozen tundra, transforming with groans into stupendous radioactive igloos housing prancing bands of radical faeries and elfin gals fashioning their own soy jerky shoes. Well, instead we get Trannyshack arising from the grave to pay tribute to the Voltaic princess with stunning low-cost effects and volcanic performances. OK, then.

Fri/28, 10 p.m., $12. DNA Lounge, 375 11th St., SF.www.trannyshack.com

Hex appeal

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August 5, 2009

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CULT MOVIES ONLINE I remember sitting on the floor of a scrappy Las Vegas hotel room, my five-year-old eyes glued to the television. A fuzzy film played from a far-gone era, filled with uncensored violence, sex, and drugged out debauchery. I was horrified, but possessed euphorically by that horror, unable to turn away from the moving screen. To this day I am still looking for that movie’s title. And nearly every film freak who shares a similar story of initiation still seeks out some unknown title. But lucky for us weirdos, the San Francisco collective Cosmic Hex is committed to finding, archiving, and digitally preserving just those forgotten treasures of underground exploitation film.

"We just have fun with the whole underground, sort of lost exploitation movie scene," says Dan Simpson, head organizer of the Cosmic Hex Internet archive. Together with fellow aficionados Scott Moffett and Serge Vladimiroff, Simpson started the digital archive six years ago initially as a way to show the collective’s giant stockpile of 16mm and 35mm films. But the costs of such a feat grew exponentially, and so the project veered instead to the whimsical. "We got to the point where we pay the bills and we do whatever we want. I get to explore my id and go down whatever avenues open up to me that week," Simpson explains. His id currently spirals him into ’70s made-for-television bizarrities like the Western/satanic cult mashup, Black Noon (1971). But Simpson also enjoys fulfilling requests, no matter their obscurity. A film with a single VHS release that died with the mom and pop stores? Only eight copies in the world? The Citizen Kane of "asteroid possessed bulldozer films," Killdozer (1974)? Simpson is game for the challenge.

Besides building their growing digital archive of nearly 300 films, Cosmic Hex also screens some select 16mm choices in its clubhouse speakeasy, the Vortex Room (1082 Howard, SF; www.myspace.com/thevortexroom). The terrestrial SoMa location transports visitors into a whole ‘nother world of the weird, showcasing some of the finest trash and psychedelic madness ever captured on reel. August’s calendar totes the classic psycho-thriller Race With The Devil (1975) and the enigmatic Divine Emanuelle Love Cult (1983) among many other juicy titles. "Somebody has to take charge and make this stuff available, or it never will," Simpson says. "And it will end up burning in some vault at some point and never be seen again." But these films do not engage strictly on an ironic or nostalgic level. Many of them genuinely hold up as quality pieces of work. "I end up finding more genius in some of these films that people would write off without even watching the first 10 minutes," Simpson insists. "The trashier, the weirder, the better it is." (Michael Krimper)
www.cosmichex.com

Prison report: Detached from humanity

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July 9, 2009

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By Just A Guy

This morning, as the officers prepared paper trays with cold, soggy pancakes from a serving cart outside of my cell, I overheard a female officer chatting with a fellow officer. She was telling him that she had visited various historical sites, like the book depository in Dallas and the site of the Oklahoma City bombing, and that going to these places made her very emotional, so much so that when she was visiting Oahu she refused to visit the site of the U.S.S. Arizona because of the feelings such a visit would engender in her.

When I heard this, I couldn’t help but laugh at what she’d said as I considered where she works from the confines of my graffiti-scrawled 6-by-9 cell in which the view of the outside world through the 6-inch-by-4-foot window has been purposefully obstructed except for about half an inch along the edges.

A short while later this same officer was going from cell to cell picking up trash. When she arrived at my cell, she asked me if I was new. I asked her why. Was it obvious, because I had no personal property to speak of? She said no, that it was my mood—which probably wasn’t chipper. I then asked her if I might ask a question and told her that I’d overheard her discussion with respect to visiting tragic historical sites and was curious to know if she was aware of the irony of getting emotional at such sights, when going to work in a prison, specifically the “hole” in a prison, didn’t get her emotional.

Her answer, to me anyway, was a sad and tragic condemnation of the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation system, and quite frankly, of society’s outlook on things as a whole. Also, her answer was quite disturbing—this I’ll explain further as I go on.

What she said to me is that she “detaches” herself when she comes to work. She then said that when talking to fellow officers, she can be herself, but then motioned toward me and said that when she’s dealing with us, meaning inmates, she detaches.

Weird Wine of the Week: A Carignane by any other name

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July 7, 2009

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Amy Monroe shares her favorite unusual, overlooked, and underappreciated wines every Tuesday. Check out her previous installment here.

Carignane is the viticultural equivalent of Jon & Kate, the Duggars, and Octo Mom. Left to its own devices, it bears prodigious amounts of fruit. This is bad. When it comes to wine, high yields equal poor quality. Much like parents whose broods creep into double-digit territory, growers of Carignane spend the majority of their time attempting to keep the vines under control. Typically, they are rewarded with grapes that are very tannic, very acidic, and generally acknowledged to be harsh. Add to these charming qualities the fact that English speakers can’t pronounce it (it’s Care-In-Yawn, by the way), and it’s no wonder you hardly ever see Carignane’s name on a wine label.

I used to be a buyer for a wine shop, which basically means I got paid to taste wine. During that time, for me, Carignane lived up to its infamous reputation: I hated every one I tried. They all tasted like burnt rubber, and a single sip was often so acidic that I worried about the state of my tooth enamel. I didn’t like Carignane, and I told people so – customers, colleagues, friends. In my opinion (about which I was vocal), it was just plain bad, the trailer trash of wine grapes. Then I tasted Trinafour “Niemi Vineyard” Carignane.

Fierce! Forbes!

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June 24, 2009

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TV EYED Did I ever tell you you’re my hero, Michelle Forbes? Like, you’re the wind beneath my wings, standing out from the sidelines of TV series like Lost, Prison Break, and 24, pulling off the most ingenious little saves by just popping up, feline eyes a-glow, in the strangest, smallest cameo. Her latest appearance: Maryann — the power-hungry priestess/consort/groupie of Dionysus in True Blood, which just started its second shadowy season.

Sure, the pulpy, soapy, Southern goth series overflows — like so much hallucinatory V (a.k.a., the better-than-ecstasy vampire blood) — with acting talent. Start with Anna Paquin as nubile hot-pants psychic Sookie Stackhouse, and Ryan Kwanten as her perpetually puzzled-looking bad-boy bro, Jason, and continue to Stephen Moyer as Sookie’s increasingly cadaverous-looking vampire beau, Bill, and Rutina Wesley as the hardcore baby beeyatch with a heart of gold, Tara, and end with the stellar Nelsan Ellis as the trash-talkin’ queer V dealer, Lafayette. This season has almost everyone in good-times Bon Temps brooding in their whiskey glasses — prisoners in the literal or metaphorical darkness — and pondering who might have ripped the heart of the town’s voodoo exorcist.

But while the other True Blood-ies break down and climb in their bottles in confusion, Forbes shivers me timbers with her vibratory vixenish certainty. She’s the natural center of the storm that’s brewing in Bon Temps — convincing because the actress specializes in scarily strong women, bordering on the carnivorous and castrating. I was never a huge fan of Star Trek: The Next Generation, so I never fell for her Ensign Ro Laren. But we’ve all noticed that even the briefest appearance by the actress gives the most implausible plot turn a heft and force only the formidable Forbes can deliver. So why hasn’t the lady made the break to the big screen? She made a memorable mark on Brad Pitt’s serial killer in Kalifornia (1993). Maybe it’s because she gets so much work on TV as a kind of Lucy Lawless, sans the throaty Down Under accent. My fave Forbes moments so far:

MARYANN IN TRUE BLOOD

When will her maenad begin to tear apart the Bon Temps citizenry out of sheer bacchanalian exuberance? Her Pan groupie, with mysterious designs on Tara and doggy shape shifter Sam, threatens to steal the sinister thunder from the vampire population.

KATE IN IN TREATMENT

As the straying ex-spouse of Gabriel Bryne’s psychotherapist Paul, Forbes applied naturalistic shading and warmth to her character. She understandably got her rage on as Paul swooned for his patient Laura, but you can also understand why the beleaguered shrink later yearned for his ex to take him back.

ADMIRAL HELENA CAIN IN BATTLESTAR GALACTICA

She was the hawk to the more dove-ish Admiral Adama. Too bad the humans didn’t have to deal with her ferocious warlady from the planet Sappho beyond season two.

www.hbo.com/trueblood/season2

Hot topic

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June 17, 2009

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a&eletters@sfbg.com

If you’ve seen Flesh (1968) or Trash (1970) or Heat (1972), there’s a good chance you’d like to spend an hour alone with Joe Dallesandro. Let’s face it — that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon, so you may have to settle for something a bit less private. As substitutes go, Little Joe is a nice alternative: no, you can’t talk to (or touch) Dallesandro directly, but the experience is certainly intimate.

Little Joe just isn’t your standard documentary. Forget the talking heads or — horror of all horrors — reenactments. This is Joe on Joe: 90 minutes of the Warhol superstar reflecting on his accidental fame and everything that came after. It’s a fascinating story, even without the cinematic embellishments. Of course, it helps that Dallesandro himself does all the talking. For one thing, he’s undoubtedly the best authority on his life. For another, he’s not bad to look at, even pushing 60.

The film was conceived and produced by Vedra Mehagian Dallesandro, Joe’s daughter, and Nicole Haeusser, who also directed. Speaking about their unusual approach, both agree that the close, conversational style gives a better sense of the subject than other films might be able to do.

“Our original goal was to make a great documentary on Joe, because many have tried,” Vedra Dallesandro explains. “And we’re very intimate and connected to him. That’s the reason he did this for us.”

But, as Haeusser elaborates, the filmmakers’ decision to do the film as a one-on-one with Dallesando wasn’t appealing to potential producers, who sought a more conventional documentary technique.

“When Vedra tried to get financing, they were all worried about the third act,” she says. “They were worried that Joe was still alive and wanted to wait for him to die, basically. So Vedra and I were talking, and I was like, ‘Well, we don’t need money. We can just do it ourselves.'”

The decision turned out to be a happy accident: Little Joe’s biggest strength is its almost amateur quality. Which is not to say that the film feels lacking — it’s just an intentionally limited production. There are no experts over-explaining Dallesandro’s overnight success (he was hot) or later substance abuse (it was readily available). Nor are there any TMZ-esque voiceovers highlighting the more illicit aspects of his career. And who needs ’em? The clips of Dallesandro strutting nude through, well, all of his early films speak for themselves.

Of course, the point of all the real talk with Dallesandro is to show that he’s more than just a sex object — and the message definitely comes across. He is, as he puts it, smarter than people give him credit for.

“A lot of times you hear people talk about him like he’s a piece of meat,” Haeusser says. “And he’s a very spiritual person.”

I don’t know if that’s quite the impression I got, but Little Joe does flesh out Dallesandro (pun fully intended) more than frequent collaborator Paul Morrissey ever did. Dallesandro’s early career was about his appearance: the muscles, the hair, the manparts. And that’s all well and good, but no one wants to be defined solely by how good they look naked. This documentary is the ideal vehicle for Dallesandro to prove, as the saying goes, that he’s more than just a pretty face.

Still, there’s no denying Little Joe‘s eye candy status. To its credit, the film never shies away from that. No one appears embarrassed or regretful about the past, and why should they?

“Who he is, is who he is,” Vedra Dallesandro offers. “I think it’s amazing.” Amazing may sound like a stretch, but consider the life of a sex symbol. It takes courage to bare it all — and it takes star quality to turn that into a career. (Louis Peitzman)

LITTLE JOE

Sat/20, 4:15 p.m., Castro ————

ODE TO JOE: A FIRST-PERSON TESTIMONY TO STARDOM OF DALLESANDRO

“Don’t do this to me and leave me, Joe!” So rasps Sylvia Miles as Joe Dallesandro dutifully pleasures her missionary-style in a scene from Andy Warhol’s Heat (1972). When it comes to mid-coital dirty talk, could any line possibly be more comically terrible? Miles’ character is Sally Todd, a past-prime actress with a Beverly Hills mansion whose “game show money” doesn’t keep her in hairspray. Dallesandro is Joey Davis, an ex-child star terminally on the make in an attempt to revive his marooned career. But really, anyone who enjoys Heat — and I’ll come right out and say it’s my favorite movie, ever — is enjoying the people behind the characters.

A key reward of the Warhol movies that star Joe Dallesandro is that he doesn’t just do it to us and leave us — his signature brand of candid male sexuality, something entirely new in American cinema when it arrived, is still available to us today. “Little Joe” brought before the camera the fantasies that biographers and gossip tattle-tales entertained about James Dean and Marlon Brando, and his naturalism helped pave the way for Robert DeNiro’s and Al Pacino’s brands of Italian-American charisma and machismo, even if he wasn’t theatrically trained. Yes, Dallesandro was usually stoic-to-stony, scarcely reacting to the hijinx of the myriad feminine characters with whom Paul Morrissey and Warhol paired him. But he knew enough to realize that he didn’t have to do much, which is more than most actors learn in a lifetime.

Joe Dallesandro played a key role for me in terms of knowing I was attracted to men, and I can hardly be alone in that experience. When I first saw him, it was only a portion of his body — his sculpted chest and abdomen, tinted a plum color on the cover of the Smiths’ self-titled 1985 debut album. This image was too oblique to be lust at first sight, but still images of Dallesandro from Flesh (1968) in Parker Tyler’s book Underground Film and Stephen Koch’s Warhol cinema survey Stargazer resolved any lingering issues or teenage doubts. The treat in discovering the movies behind these images was that Dallesandro’s unapologetically naked good looks were simply the hook on which Warhol, and especially director Morrissey, hooked a fantastic crew of eccentrics.

Little Joe, Nicole Hauesser’s new feature-length biographical portrait of Dallesandro, has as much in common with That Man: Peter Berlin (2005) as it does the legion of documentaries about Warhol superstars. Like the Berlin movie, it fascinates as a study of an icon of masculine glamour, though Dallesandro isn’t as narcissistic (who could be) or as detached and cerebral. Hauesser skims over the coded symbols of Dallesandro’s physique model days, and I wish she’d had Dallesandro sound off more about dearly-departed costars such as the amazing Andrea Feldman.

But Little Joe‘s story can’t help but be dramatic. Who knew Dallesandro had an ill-fated handsome brother — shades of Catherine Deneuve and Francoise Dorléac — or that the love of his life was Suspiria (1976) star Stefania Casini? Still handsome today, Dallesandro addresses the camera with a directness missing from his Warhol performances, wrestling uncomfortably with his manipulation by Morrissey, and reminiscing with little sentiment about latter-era Warhol films such as Flesh for Frankenstein (1973) and Blood for Dracula (1974), which includes his best and most hilarious performances — as a Marxist servant with a Brooklyn accent in medieval Europe.

“Have you even lived to know what beautiful is?” Lydia (Pat Ast) asks a male stripper jealous of Joe’s good looks during a sunny afternoon scene from Heat. As Joe descends down some stairs for an underwater swim across the length of a pool, she answers her own question: “You’re just a spoiled brat, living the life of Riley.” Watching Joe Dallesandro in Flesh, in Trash (1970), and most of all, in Heat, we’re all spoiled brats living the life of Riley. (Johnny Ray Huston)

Carnaval eye: More samba and shimmy pics

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May 27, 2009

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By Ariel Soto. Check out more Guardian Carnaval pics here.

Carnaval is traditionally the last chance to get down and dirty before Lent, but in San Francisco it seems more like a major dance party running amok through the streets of the Mission District. This past Sunday, May 24th, 2009, the Grand Carnaval Parade boogied down Mission Street under a think, heavy and freezing blanket of fog that gave all the scantly clothed dancers serious goosebumps. I have to say, the best part of the parade were all the beautiful school kids, showing off their hip-hop moves and snazzy style. And then there were the Sunset Scavengers who danced and ran with their big metal trash cans. It was beyond goofy, but also impressive considering how heavy those bins were. In all, I loved all the feathers, the glitter and glam, and, of course, the awesome samba beats.

Crack “Relapse”

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May 27, 2009

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a&eletters@sfbg.com

SONIC REDUCER Symptoms: until last year there were few signs of life from Eminem, the hip-hop artist. Last sighted taking a bow on the cover of his last, toned-down, more PC, and ultimately underwhelming studio 2004 album, Encore, the rapper disappeared from the scene, as rumors festered about retirement and later, after he dropped out of the 2005 Anger Management Tour, substance abuse. Out of rehab and back to music-making — with hip-hop once again his favorite high, as he put it in a recent interview, Shady’s Relapse (Aftermath/Goliath/Interscope/Shady/Web) is now in our hands.

Diagnosis: listening to Em lead with his anger a decade after the release of The Slim Shady LP (Aftermath/Interscope), we’re back to the kind of music and lyrics the man was born to make and sling — impossible to ignore when blasting, and incapable of being reduced to wallpaper. Relapse isn’t perfect. The weakest track is the first single, "We Made You," with its easy, adolescent, cartoonish video and relatively violence-free lyrics. One too many numbers obsessively retreads similar women-hating, gore-mongering themes on this 22-tracker, which includes the hidden Dre collabos "Old Time’s Sake" and "Crack a Bottle" with 50 Cent. But even at its most repetitive (i.e., the skits devoted to nay-saying music biz types), Relapse writhes with life and smarts, conceptually of one piece from its narrative-like programming to its pill-mosaic cover portrait and medicine bottle top-like "Push, Down & Turn" packaging.

Em’s faux Jamaican/Scottish toaster patois may irk, much like his habit of subbing rap’s omnipresent "bitch" for "lesbian," but it’s tough to deny the vitality — and vitriol — rushing off Relapse‘s first three songs, as the rapper frontloads the disc with his strongest material. Tracks like the opener "3 a.m." and its serial-killer imagery (check the steal of Silence of the Lamb‘s imminently swipe-able "It puts the lotion in the basket" monologue and then the YouTube remixes) make it clear from the start that nasty alter ego Slim Shady has lapsed back into view. As he faces a 3 a.m. darkest hour of the soul stocked with a Fangoria-style rogue’s crew of references to Jason, Freddy, Dahmer, et al., rage continues to feed his rap.

Such gruesome reveries make Marshall Mathers’ acknowledged sleeping pill addiction totally understandable — whatever quiets the mind, dude. And though I usually suggest meditation and yoga as alternatives to self-medication, I’m loath to wreck such chaotic, thrill-kill fantasies as "Hello" and "Medicine Ball." "Bagpipes from Baghdad" and the more insinuating, handclap-riddled "Same Song and Dance" call out the perceived sins of rumored exes Lindsey Lohan, Britney Spears, and Mariah Carey — a trash-culture harem that makes one suspect that Shady’s rehab stays involved a lot of tabloid browsing for dates. Attraction is always linked to repulsion, hinted at in the openly weary title of the latter.

Blame the mother — Eminem does, while fully aware that the world is familiar with that corrosive, at times litigious relationship, judging from the beginning of second track, "My Mom": "My mom, my mom, I know you’re probably tired about hearing ’bout my mom." His still-heated fury at her legacy of bad parenting and Valium addiction streams through his flow, this time specifically linked to his own pill predilection. "Wait a minute this isn’t dinner this is paint thinner /’You ate it yesterday I ain’t hear no complaints did I? Now here’s a plate full of pain killers,’" he spits, before ending with, "Alright ma you win, I don’t feel like arguin’ /I’ll do it, pop it gobble it and start wobblin’ /stumble hobble tumble slip trip till I fall in bed with a bottle of meds and a Heath Ledger bobblehead." Ledger’s damaged Joker would appreciate those last, tongue-tying, onomatopoetic lines, pointing to Em’s revived brilliance even amid the Shadiest, sketched-out turmoil.

Or blame the stepfather. Was Eminem raped by his stepfather as a child? And if so, have pop listeners ever been informed of sexual abuse this graphically via song? "Insane" might be the most horrifically explicit, yet — a credit to Eminem’s powers as a bold entertainer — bleakly humorous and compulsively listenable tune about child molestation to date. Here, as with so many of his lyrics, the victim becomes conflated with the victimizer, as the rapper hints at the generational transfer of abuse: "I want you to feel me like my stepfather felt me /Fuck a little puppy kick the puppy while he’s yelping /Shady what the fuck you saying I don’t know help me," he rages, flipping between characters before settling on a primal scene too painful to be relegated to fiction, speaking as a boy to a step-Pater Monstrous. "I only get naked when the babysitter tells me /She showed me a movie like Nightmare on Elm Street / but it was X and they called it ‘Pubic Hair on Chelsea’/’Well this one’s called ‘Ass Rape’ and we’re shooting the jail scene.’" Don’t go there? Impossible. If rehab released fresh, brave streams of anger and pain in Eminem, no wonder Relapse 2 is hot on this horror flick of an album’s heels.

From the shadows

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May 13, 2009

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a&eletters@sfbg.com

The cheapest special effect in the world is having one actor fire a cap gun as another cries, "Ow, ya got me!" Ergo crime did pay, in spades, for Hollywood’s "Poverty Row" studios in the disillusioned years between World War II and Eisenhower-era prosperity. Subsequently dubbed "film noir," this period’s myriad violent melodramas were cranked out fast, exhibited briefly, then forgotten.

Yet recent years have left very few stones unturned in the quest for buried gems. Back when he was programming at the Roxie Theater, Elliot Lavine did much to foster their cult with retrospectives showcasing both the genre’s acknowledged classics and dustiest obscurities. When he left in 2003, noir fans wore mourning black — though were consoled by the start of SF’s annual Noir City festival that same year.

Still, watching lurid old B-flicks at the funky Roxie had an extra frisson lacking amid the Castro Theater’s grandiose respectability. Very good news, then, that Lavine is bringing bad guys (and duplicitous dames) back to Valencia Street with "I Wake Up Dreaming: The Haunted World of the B Film Noir." Its two weeks emphasize noir’s lesser-sung efforts from the cinematic sweatshops of Monogram, PRC, Eagle Lion, and other economy-class companies where production values were low and the hard-boiled sleaze factor was often cranked high to compensate. Many of the 29 features haven’t been seen theatrically for decades, and few are available on DVD.

On Poverty Row, young talent proved itself; mainstream luminaries landed there once their box-office clout had expired. Thus velvet-voiced 1930s glamazon Kay Francis briefly descended to Monogram after Warner Bros. dumped her. In Allotment Wives (1946) she’s a socialite coolly fronting a polygamy racket targeting returned GI’s, while enduring Mildred Pierce-like torments from an ingrate daughter whose every action screams "Mother, slap sense into me." (Oh yes she will.)

Another WB castoff, ingénue Joan Leslie, starred in that year’s unique Repeat Performance. She’s an actress-turned-murderess who gets her wish to live the last fateful year over again — only to watch as the same deadly events unfold, only worse. Having outgrown a famous-juvenile heyday, Bonita Granville was ready to play twins — one good, one a "cheap little chiseler" — embroiled in a murder mystery in The Guilty (1947). (And to think just months earlier she’d been crushing on Andy Hardy at MGM.)

These programmer factories promoted personalities who only rated bit parts at the majors. Where else could sneering, square-faced Lawrence Tierney’s bullying malevolence float entire movies like The Devil Thumbs a Ride (1947) and The Hoodlum (1951)? Some noirs risked having no familiar faces at all. The docudrama-style Canon City (1948) uses real locations and (some) real inmates to recreate a Colorado prison break — one thwarted, in part, by a gutsy, home-invaded gramma-with-hammer.

While most titles here are known only to the most fanatical buffs, two come with minor cult status already attached. The craziest among fabled screenwriter Ben Hecht’s odd few directorial efforts, Specter of the Rose (1946) is an amour very-fou tale set in the ballet world, its prima ballerina imperiled by a dancing partner-spouse who experiences homicidal ideations when not husking heavy mush stuff: "Hug me with your eyes." "I am." "Harder!"

Likewise linguistically challenged in the best possible way is 1955’s Shack Out on 101, in which a young Lee Marvin unforgettably limns "Slob," bus boy extraordinaire forever pawing unaroused waitress Terry Moore. Meanwhile, lurking Commies plot to overthrow the American Way of Life, off-ramp greasy spoons included. With its hilariously pissed-off dialogue no obstacle to red-blooded patriotic display, Shack is a Cold War trash classic so plutonium-hot it smokes.

I WAKE UP DREAMING: THE HAUNTED WORLD OF THE B FILM NOIR

May 14–28, $10

Roxie Theater, 3117 16th St., SF

(415)-863-1087, www.roxie.com

Time passages

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May 6, 2009

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johnny@sfbg.com

The past is vanishing, more than ever before. Or so it seems, as so many temporal placeholders — including the newspaper you might be holding in your hands right now — give way to digital facsimiles. This quandary is a morphing source of inspiration for "Postcards & Calendars," a solo show by the New York artist and temporary San Francisco resident Matt Keegan, who is about to complete a teaching stint at California College of the Arts.

While Keegan engages a consistently time-based theme throughout "Postcards and Calendars," he does so via refreshingly varied forms and motifs. He’s dedicatedly studious enough to turn a trip to the GLBT Historical Society into an semi-installation, yet easygoing enough to use sexually-charged archival pieces as material, spontaneous enough to try out something different with each piece in his overall show, subversive (or formally perverse) enough to digitally photograph newspapers, and irreverent enough to break his own rules regarding what constitutes a record of daily life.

Keegan first stung my eyes and queer spirit with a piece from the Altman Siegel Gallery’s inaugural group show. It visually manifested the infinite recess of a ex-romantic relationship in a manner that interspersed teasing hints of still-extant attraction with a palpable sense of emotional loss. All of these aspects brought the "memory drawings" of San Francisco artists Colter Jacobsen to mind, so it’s only fitting that Jacobsen contributes a booklet to "Postcards & Calendars" that plays off of Keegan’s theme. In fact, one can draw further connections between Keegan, Jacobsen, and the NYC filmmaker Matt Wolf — three artists of roughly the same generation who share similar queer historical imperatives while allowing humor, traces of casual lust or longing and even some lovelorn aspects into their art. Keegan’s book AMERICAMERICA (Printed Matter, 140 pages, 2008), an exploration of national identity through the Reagan era’s "Hands Across America" phenomenon, possesses enjoyable parallels to Wolf’s films about the late David Wojnarowicz and Arthur Russell, and Jacobsen’s arrangements of trinkets and trash into expressions that find meaning or power in degradeability.

"Postcards & Calendars" is a direct array of works, often candid, and at times (in the case of the gay calendars from the ‘1970s) full-frontal. But the show’s lingering strength comes from more elliptical gestures, such as a wall of personal imagery that Keegan has rendered more enigmatic and evocative through an unconventional series of drawing and photo processes. In fact, to tap into the depth of what Keegan does here, you need to look closely at the walls themselves, where you might discover 31 passages of time.

MATT KEEGAN: POSTCARDS & CALENDARS

Through May 23

Altman Siegel Gallery

49 Geary, fourth floor, SF

(415) 576-9300

www.altmansiegel.com

Sonic Reducer Overage: Paris, Total Trash Weekend, Garrett Pierce, and more

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April 30, 2009

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Babes in Ty land: Ty Segall messes with ya as part of Total Trash Weekend.

By Kimberly Chun

Bay rap vets and raucous rock sprats – it all goes splat this week. I’m guessing you’ll find plenty of trouble to get into – and musical artistry to appreciate – when you’re not busy downing scrump-dilly-icious (and cheap!) pastor tacos at the Gallo Giro taco truck at 23rd and Treat.

Goapele
Oakland’s own draws the curtain on new music: check her site for the spanking, sinuous “Milk + Honey.” With Cody Chestnutt. Fri/1, 9 p.m., $27. Independent, 628 Divisadero, SF. (415) 771-1422.

Zion-I
This is the weekend Bay hip-hop stages The TakeOver. The local twosome takes it to another level in honor of its new long-player. With Kev Choice Ensemble and Trackademicks and the Honor Roll. Fri/1, 9 p.m., $19-$23. Slim’s, 333 11th St., SF. (415) 522-0333.

5 Green caterers

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April 23, 2009

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At some point in our lives, most of us will need a caterer. Whether it’s for your kid’s bar mitzvah or your company’s annual convention, there comes a time when you just can’t do all the cooking yourself. But how do you choose? Aren’t all caterers created the same? The answer, of course, is no. Not only do different companies vary in experience, style, and type of cuisine, but also in their values. Here are some of our favorite caterers and personal chefs, all of whom focus on sustainability and healthy eating as well as professionalism.

JANE HAMMOND EVENTS

For about a year, all I knew about my roommate’s employer, Jane Hammond, was that her catering company made damn good food. The cutest cheeseburger sliders, perfectly cooked steak, delicious and complex quinoa salad, savory vegetarian lasagna…a constantly changing menu of late-night gourmet meals straight from my fridge made Hammond my favorite invisible roommate. It wasn’t until I worked a couple shifts with her that I realized how awesome the company really is. Not only is Hammond’s staff knowledgeable, professional, and highly skilled, but also dedicated to sustainability on every level. Staff carpool to events; compost food scraps (sometimes throwing away only one small bag of trash even at the largest events); use compostable products like cups, silverware, and napkins; buy produce, meat, and seafood that’s seasonal and sustainable; and even offer clients an opportunity to offset their carbon footprint with carbonfund.org. Plus, Hammond offers event-planning services (including décor), can cater everything from a small wedding to a 700-person college reunion, and can accommodate dietary and cuisine needs. It also doesn’t hurt that the British-born, Cordon Bleu-trained Hammond is incredibly nice.

1975 Yosemite, Berk.
(510) 528-3530, (415) 822-0310,
www.jhevents.com

EARTHEN FEAST

If you’re catering needs are more intimate than corporate, Alyssa Cox of Earthen Feast might be just the chef for you – especially if you lean towards healthy, vegetarian cooking. The Certified Natural Foods Chef specializes in providing raw, living, and animal-free foods at private parties and weddings, though she’s also been a personal chef for rock bands at events like Warped Tour. In fact, Billy Corgan of the Smashing Pumpkins calls Cox’s creations “absolutely the best vegan food I have ever had in my life.” And if you just want a little magic in your own home, Cox will give you a free consultation and then schedule a cook date, when she’ll arrive with cooking utensils and fresh food, create meals and side dishes, store and label items for later consumption, and do all the cleaning.

(415) 317-2005,
www.earthenfeast.com

TABLE NECTARBurners, hippies, and new-agers who frequent festivals and yoga retreats might already have come across the magic that is Table Nectar, who’ve worked with Lightning in a Bottle, The Crucible, Burning Man, and Michael Christian, as well as at wellness retreats, weddings, fundraisers, and video shoots. But you don’t have to be a member of a subculture to enjoy Kim and Andy’s “raw fusion” menus – a personalized combination of vegetarian, vegan, raw, meat-based, and international cuisine. All food is fresh, local, seasonal, and sustainable whenever possible, and veggie dishes are famous for being so good that even meat eaters can’t believe it’s flesh-free.

6613 Hollis, Emeryville. (415) 680-5831, www.tablenectar.com

THRIVIN’ EDIBLES

Patti Searle has been cooking since age eight and was a chef for 12 years. But it wasn’t until she went on a two-week retreat that featured a raw diet that the idea for Thrivin’ Edibles was born. Now, Searle is wholeheartedly dedicated to preparing organic raw/live cuisine for individuals and events, through catering, classes, and delivery service. That’s right. Thrivin’ Edibles will deliver raw pates, desserts, nut milk cheeses, gluten-free breads and more to your door if you live between South San Jose/Los Gatos and Belmont/San Carlos/San Mateo. The rest of us can order raw desserts and HuuRaw Chips, or hire Searle for our weddings, reunions, and graduation parties. Plus, you’ll feel good knowing most ingredients are purchased from local farmers, and 10 percent of profits are invested in The Hunger Project and Pachamama Alliance.

(408) 712-5000,
www.thrivinedibles.com

WORK OF ART

It isn’t only clients who rave about this SoMa-based catering company: Work of Art has actually won awards for its pursuit of over 90 percent waste diversion (and, in fact, was one of the first food waste recyclers in San Francisco.) Professional staff, unique food presentation, a commitment to local farmers and organic foods, and a list of services that includes lighting design and beverage consultations make this nearly 20-year-old company perfect for personal and corporate events.

1226 Folsom, SF. (415) 552-1000, woacatering.com