All I know is, someone recently dropped this little goodie off on my desk (thanks, Chocolate Elf!) …..
… and it’s freakin’ delicious. The instructions on the back of this “Taza Disco” say: Break one piece chocolate into one cup steaming milk or water and whisk until frothy — but I just ate the dang thing whole and now I’m the one who’s frothy. Sweet lord, organic stone-ground Taza Chocolate rules!
› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com
CHEAP EATS We’re not related by blood, but he’s as much of a brother to me as my many brother brothers are. He has brothers too, but no sisters, and he always wanted one. So there’s that.
My brother Boomer makes poetry out of radio news like I turn food sections into fiction, sports, gossip, society, philosophy, agriculture, gender studies, travel, apolitical commentary … If, during the past 20 years, you have found yourself in Boston with a radio on, you may recognize his voice.
"Sister!" he boomed, and I heard it in the pay phone receiver and in the room. (Here room = Logan Airport.) I turned and saw him walking toward me, cell phone pressed to his silvering head with the big goofy grin and shining eyes.
"Brother," I said. We hugged, and he took my bags.
It had been some years. A lot had changed. He was skinnier. I’d been long divorced; he was getting there. His wife, always the insanely jealous type, had been cheating on him and was in love with some guy in LA.
Boomer had taken a couple of days off work to chauffeur me to the University of Maine, where I was giving a reading. It’s five hours from Boston to Orono — plenty of time to catch up, but not enough time, apparently, to eat.
Starving, I dropped hints. "Hilltop Steakhouse still there?" I asked, perhaps too casually.
He nodded. Then: "I tell you, Sis," he said. "I don’t know what I’m going to do. The boys …"
Route 1 was a parking lot. Boomer called his station’s traffic desk: "Hi Jim. Boomer."
While he was getting the inside scoop and then getting us out of it, I sat there seat belted and safe, feeling kind of cushy, or soft, like I was in good hands. Informed. I wondered if this was how people expected to feel when they ate in restaurants with me or came over to cook something.
"Why are you laughing?" Boomer asked.
There was the Hilltop. "Nothing," I said, twisting in my seat.
Surprisingly, little had changed on the Saugus Strip in the 20 years since I’d haunted it. I looked at my now silver-templed, golden-voiced newscaster friend and remembered him shirtless behind a drum kit, spit-shouting angry, stupid, and inspiringly poetic punk.
Over barbecued chicken, jerked chicken, and chicken sausages at the party after the reading, Boomer confessed. We were pressed between a table and a refrigerator, holding paper plates and drinking fizzy water while all around us the academics, grad students and their teachers, were drinking hard.
Years ago Boomer had driven back and forth, he told me, between a tree and a telephone pole — tree, telephone pole, tree, telephone pole — in the end settling on the pole, which snapped like a bean.
Power outages, burned houses, abandoned babies, train-wrecked lives, gang bullshit …
"Do you think you knew deep down it would do that?" I asked. "Is that why you picked the pole, do you think?"
"I don’t know," he said.
Call me crazy, but I think that — compared to at least one alternative — half-assed suicide attempts rock.
On the way back down to hard news, as on the way up, Boomer periodically rolled his funny car’s window down and shouted at the trees, at Maine, at the way life should be, "Good luck!"
Environmental disasters. Assassination. God. Government. There’s a cat, a fox, and a hawk stalking my chickens. Not to mention the farmer.
"Good luck!" Boomer booms, and you can hear him clear across the country.
——————————————————————–
My new favorite restaurant is Taqueria Reina’s. It has the cheesiest chiles rellenos ever, very good carnitas, and excellent salsa. My only complaint was we had to eat with gloves on, it was so cold in there. And speaking of cheesy, there were Mexican soap operas instead of soccer on TV.
TAQUERIA REINA’S
Daily, 9 a.m.–11:45 p.m.
5300 Mission, SF
(415) 585-8243
Takeout available
Beer
› andrea@altsexcolumn.com
No, not that kind of "a week late." This is my New Year’s column, a week late, but let’s not beat ourselves up over it. Barring the exceedingly rare case in which someone both recognizes the need for change and makes and keeps a promise, New Year’s resolutions mostly just hang around like any other weapon (see: Chekhov’s gun), waiting for us to use them against ourselves. Some people won’t have a gun in the house; I won’t have stupid vows lying around waiting for me to stub my toe on them. And with that, some nonresolutions, just mere suggestions, for better sex in 2008:
(1) Get the right birth control. One couple’s perfect method is another’s PMSy nightmare, chemical burn, or poor lifestyle fit, and there’s often no way to tell without experimenting. Hints: if you never remember whether you turned the stove off, I wouldn’t suggest relying on the pill, and if you cannot handle the phrase cervical mucus, you probably don’t want to handle the real thing either, so no fertility awareness method for you!
(2) If you’ve been faking it, cut that right out.
(3) Try something new. You’ll usually see this as "try a new position," but positions are hardly the alpha and omega of sexual variety. It’s still just fucking. I mean try something really new. Obviously the Web is the go-to source for somethings new, but a field trip, all hand in hand and coupley, to a nice sex shop is probably more fun. Also, you could buy something. It’s the patriotic thing to do.
(4) Learn something new, even if you don’t think you want to try it. Most of the "Ew, yuck" reactions to your supposedly kinkier sexualities come from lack of information and fear of the unknown. Of course there are depths below depths of depravity out there for the plumbing, but I’m not talking about the really dank and dangerous stuff. So much of kink and fetish turns out to be harmless and often endearingly nerdy on closer inspection. Look behind the flames-of-hell clip art on any S-M organization’s information site and you’ll find a lot of software professionals and librarians earnestly comparing notes on how not to hurt one another while playing with whips and chains.
(5) Get better at something you already do. This immediately brings to mind the sort of ridiculous gimmicks you used to find in Cosmo — shaving grapes or what have you — but you really can give better head or get in better alignment for intercourse or any number of similar improvements merely by paying attention to what you’re doing. Many people do a more mindful, conscientious job of blow-drying their hair than … well, anyway.
(6) Declutter the bedroom. (Actually, declutter the whole house.) Clutter in the bedroom is a definite buzz kill. If you’re dating, the clutter functions as another self-perceived flaw, an externalized big butt or stretch mark, another reason to want to skulk in the dark instead of letting your light shine. If you’re partnered, it’s a good excuse to harbor resentment (whose goddamn expired bus passes are those, anyway?) or let yourself get into that deeply antierotic spiral where we can’t just be all spontaneous, for God’s sake! There’s important stuff to do! And then you don’t do it (in either sense of it) anyway. What’s on my bedside table: 18 books, read, unread, and never to be read; bookmarks; crumpled sale slips; a flashlight with dead batteries; two bottles of flat seltzer water; one toddler’s sock; a pacifier; an expired bus pass; a finger puppet representing Charles Darwin; and three bottles of assorted lubes sent to me by a nice marketing rep at Babeland. What should be on my bedside table? Oh, guess.
(7) Compliment your partner on what he or she does wonderfully well. Nobody (at least nobody you want to know) feels all that overwhelming confident where it counts, not all the time, and if you could use the boost, so could they.
(8) Do the sex (or just sexy) date thing, but for God’s sake, don’t take it too seriously. I’m not talking meeting your partner at the door wrapped in festive holiday plastic wrap, but setting aside the time for reals instead of just saying you will all the time. And tell your partner it’s sexy night. There’s nothing worse than having your partner miss the point and brush past you on the way back in from your romantic dinner to find out what’s in TiVo. Give them a chance not to feel like it too. Just because it’s your sexy night doesn’t mean it’s theirs.
The big metaimprovers, in digest format:
(9) Know what you want.
(10) Share the information (not necessarily applicable to masturbation).
Have fun.
Love,
Andrea
Andrea is home with the kids and going stir-crazy. Write her a letter! Ask her a question! Send her your tedious e-mail forwards! On second thought, don’t do that. Just ask her a question.
› sarah@sfbg.com
GREEN CITY A broad coalition of politicians and activists is supporting Proposition A, the $185 million parks bond on the February ballot, with the rare unanimous support of the Board of Supervisors and Mayor Gavin Newsom.
But just how big an impact can this bond, which requires 66 percent voter approval, make? The city has spent the $110 million bond that voters approved in 2000 to repair parks and recreation centers, and an independent 2007 analysis identified $1.7 billion in backlogged park needs.
"This is one of an ongoing series of measures that we need to do every five or so years," board president Aaron Peskin told the Guardian.
The bond allocates $117.4 million for repairs and renovations of 12 neighborhood parks that were selected, Recreation and Park Department director Yomi Agunbiade told us, according to seismic and physical safety needs and usage levels.
The bond also earmarks $11.4 million to replace and repair freestanding restrooms. Noting that his department added 35 custodians in the last budget cycle, Agunbiade said, "So when we fix a bathroom, we’ll have staff to keep it open from 6 a.m. to 11 p.m. seven days a week."
Some aren’t keen on the bond’s inclusion of $33.5 million for Port of San Francisco land projects, including the Blue Greenway, a continuous walkway from Heron’s Head Park to Pier 43. San Francisco Community College trustee and Sierra Club member John Rizzo supports the measure but raised concerns about projects on Port land, particularly improvements at Fisherman’s Wharf.
But Peskin sees the Port lands inclusion as overdue: "For the first time there’s the recognition that the Port should not be treated as a stand-alone enterprise that has to do everything itself." As for the improvements around Pier 43, which is in his district, Peskin said, "Fisherman’s Wharf, like Union Square, is one of those geese that lay the golden egg" in terms of revenue from tourism.
The bond also earmarks $8 million for improvements to playing fields. Agunbiade said many fields are in terrible shape and in desperate need of work, "but this bond only affects about 7 percent of the city’s park land."
Some Potrero Hill neighbors are sounding environmental alarms about plans to install artificial turf at their local recreation center, but Agunbiade said there are also environmental benefits to turf, including decreased water and pesticide use.
Arthur Feinstein of the Sierra Club and San Francisco Tomorrow told us he strongly supports Prop. A, largely because it earmarks $5 million for trail restoration.
"The evidence is not in on the ill effects of artificial turf," Feinstein said, "but its ability to be in constant use frees up land for other uses, such as trail reconstruction, which makes a huge difference not just for native species and plants but people too, who need nature, especially in densely urban areas."
Isabel Wade, executive director of the Neighborhood Parks Council, says her nonprofit supports Prop. A, and she cited its inclusion of $5 million for an Opportunity Fund from which all neighborhoods can apply for matching funds for small park projects.
"A lot of little parks are not on the list because the capital costs of seismic repairs are so great, so how do you even get a bench or a toilet? Why not leverage money?" Wade said, observing that in-kind contributions, sweat equity, and noncity funds can be matched by the Opportunity Fund.
The bond includes $4 million for park forestry, along with $185,000 to do bond audits. This last item didn’t quell the objections of the San Francisco Taxpayers Union, a small group of conservative real estate interests that filed the sole opposition argument to Prop. A, courtesy of Barbara Meskunas, former legislative aide of suspended supervisor Ed Jew.
"Prop. A is a jobs program disguised as a parks bond," Meskunas wrote, also arguing the 2000 park bond money wasn’t properly spent. "The Parks Dept. needs new management, not new tax money."
But Peskin said this opposition from conservatives is unsurprising: "The Taxpayers Union opposes every tax and bond. They have never wanted to pay their fair share."
Learn what the measure would do for the eastern waterfront by bicycling the Blue Greenway on Jan. 13 with Prop. A supporters starting at 10 a.m. at Heron’s Head Park on Hunters Point and finishing at noon at Fisherman’s Wharf. For more info, call (415) 240-4150.
Comments, ideas, and submissions for Green City, the Guardian‘s weekly environmental column, can be sent to news@sfbg.com.
By Justin Juul
Doesn’t it sometimes seem like the world is working against you? It’s bad enough those days when you wake up feeling like shit for no reason, but it really sucks when things just get worse from there. And it’s always their fault, isn’t it? The dickhead at the liquor store forgets to stock your brand of cigarettes. Some yuppie in a fancy car nearly runs you off the road. Your manager fires you, your landlord evicts you, your friends diss you. Sometimes other people are just too much to bear. Don’t you wish you could just make them all disappear for a while? Or better yet, don’t you wish you could disappear?
I mean let’s face it, even if you could temporarily get rid of all those other assholes, you’d still be stuck with the biggest asshole in the world: yourself.
Keep reading …
When the wheel of contentment begins to rotate downward, most of us turn to drugs, go into workaholic mode or — for those who can afford it — go on a vacation. But all that stuff is too predictable and it often leaves us feeling worse. What if there was a way to temporarily disconnect from life without any of the usual consequences?
Well, if you’ve ever seen Altered States, you know all about sensory deprivation chambers, those weird water-tanks psychology students use to study brain chemistry or whatever. It’s supposed to be the coolest experience in the world, something like meditating on acid.
In a deprivation chamber you are utterly alone. Your body is suspended in warm Epsom-water, your ears are submerged so you can’t hear a thing, and it’s totally dark, odorless, and soundproof. After a minute or two in an isolation-tank, the entire world melts away and you’re left with raw brain waves. Outside of a bad ketamine trip, it’s the most detached experience humanly possible. Sounds great right? The only problem is that the tanks are hard to get access to unless you work in a medical lab or live in Spain or London where they’ve become fashionable for some reason. Not anymore.
The owners of FLOAT, an urban art gallery in Oakland, got their hands on some tanks a couple years ago and are offering their services to the public. A psychedelic dip in one of FLOAT’s tanks is the perfect cure for those post holiday-with-the-family blues. Just strap on some Speedos, shut your eyes, and forget about those assholes (and yourself) for a while.
New Year Package at FLOAT – 3 Floats for the Price of 2 ($140.00)
1091 Calcot Place, #116 Oakland
510-535-1702
www.thefloatcenter.com
› a&eletters@sfbg.com
DVD "I put John Coltrane up in my headphones." So said innovative producer Madlib’s sped-up alter ego, Quasimoto, on 2000’s breakthrough hip-hop album The Unseen (Stones Throw). Although the brave crate diggers of hip-hop are doing their best to bring forth the horns of yore, as on local duo Zeph and Azeem’s phenomenal 2007 album Rise Up (Om), these days jazz is too often relegated to the unseen background or exploited by marketing giants that find ways to slap a few select jazz masters onto dorm room posters and cheap best-of holiday gift CDs. They want to sell the idea of John Coltrane to your headphones, and that’s the end of it: there’s no incentive to get out and see some live shows, whether jazz ensembles or DJ-MC combos, or to make music yourself.
So thank the most high for seven recent releases in the ongoing Jazz Icons DVD series (Reelin’ in the Years Productions). The series’s recently released second round showcases Coltrane, Dave Brubeck, Duke Ellington, Sarah Vaughan, Dexter Gordon, Wes Montgomery, and Charles Mingus in cleanly remastered, previously unreleased video recordings from the 1950s and ’60s. The vivid black-and-white images offer an almost palpable sense of communication among the musicians, partly because the studio and stage settings are so carefully arranged — many of these performances were for strikingly lit, modernist-looking European TV shows — and partly because those cats played with their entire bodies. The up-close shots emphasize this in beautiful, often artfully angled ways.
During the three performances included on Montgomery’s disc, Live in ’65, the guitarist’s brain seems to be solidly in his right thumb, which he uses like a huge guitar pick with eyes as he feels out new rhythms on "Here’s That Rainy Day" and kicks out some unparalleled octave soloing on "Twisted Blues," evidence of what Carlos Santana, in his brief afterword to the liner notes, labels Montgomery’s "ability to transform thought into music." During Ruud Jacobs’s bass solo on "The End of a Love Affair," you can only see his right hand plucking the strings, not his left hand creating the notes, and it’s as if the entire group he’s playing with is moving the missing left hand together. Pianist Harold Mabern’s contributions to the Montgomery disc, on "Here’s That Rainy Day" and "Jingles," both recorded in Belgium with Arthur Harper on bass and Jimmy Lovelace on drums, typify his talent for leaping back and forth between waterfall chord clusters and bluesy droplet lines that dance intimately with Montgomery’s chordal romps. When I worked at the Stanford Jazz Workshop with an almost 40 years older Mabern, he was known as a man whose stories were as entertaining as his musical tutorials. The Belgium session captures his sense of musical storytelling before the music and the storytelling separated.
The Coltrane disc, Live in ’60, ’61 and ’65, consists of recordings from Germany in 1960 and ’61 and Belgium in ’65. The Belgian water must have been terrific. The DVD includes three tunes performed during Coltrane’s last appearance in Europe (he died in 1967), with McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, and Elvin Jones on drums; they sound — and look — like a release and cleansing of demons. "Naima" presents especially transcendent musical communication. You can’t call it a comeback, but put on a Jazz Icons DVD at a holiday party and watch as the room illuminates and people start to play together.
› le_chicken_farmer@yahoo.com
CHEAP EATS Earl Butter was drinking rum and I was drinking whiskey. Earlier that day he had composed a song on the sidewalk, a sidewalk song, and it was perfectly pedestrian and wonderful. Guitar on lap on edge of bed, he figured out the chords and taught me my part.
He sang, deeply and feelingly, with an operatic, incrementally building pomp, "I want / To / Have / A pork sandwich!" And I went, in a fluty falsetto, "Lu lu lu."
Between sips we practiced and perfected our presentation of these two brilliant lines, or one brilliant line with an enigmatic postscript. And when I thought we’d gotten it down I said, "OK, I feel comfortable with it. What’s the next line?"
He said there wasn’t one, and what was I talking about? "’I want to have a pork sandwich.’ What more need be said?" he said. Lu lu lu.
Ah! It was a song about longing, a longing for pork no less, and it was over. Complete. Perfect. And downright farmerly in its simpleness. Perhaps more than anyone I know — except maybe my old friend Bikkets, whose greatest imaginable worldly joy is to stomp on a cookie — Earl Butter is tuned to the simple pleasures of life, the two simplest of which are, arguably: (1) a pork sandwich and (2) a one-line opera unambiguously expressing one’s desire for same.
Does it get any farmerlier than that? Oh, I would have liked a bigger role … what leading lady wouldn’t? As if reading my mind, Earl Butter came up with one. His face lit up as he hammered into his guitar. Clearly, this was an inspired moment. In addition to "Lu lu lu," I would now accompany him on the word "have."
So the song was reperfected thusly: "I want / To / HAVE / A pork sandwich! Lu lu lu."
I shouldn’t be letting you in on our creative process, I know. Earl Butter and I are both respected, published troubadours, with bands and albums, music publishing companies, BMI registration, and, every 10 years or so, a royalty check.
Another thing we have in common is a freezer full of soup. All poor people have one. Right? Well, assuming homefulness and electricity they do. Between my shameless scavenging skills and Earl’s all-out general charm, we are the recipients of more bones and meat scraps than most of the dogs in California put together.
A typical phone conversation between us goes like this:
Me: What are you making? Him: Soup. My neighbors gave me their turkey carcass. You? Me: Oh, soup too. I had a babysitting–refrigerator-cleaning gig yesterday.
Or another thing I’ll do is, I’ll go into a foofy food store and appear at the meat counter, barely visible under armloads of designer macaroni, p.c. coffee beans, free-range organic drinking water, imported small-press napkins, etc. I’ll ask after their Neiman Marcus beef, and then, while I’m deciding how many pounds of it to buy, suddenly remember that I also need chicken giblets, necks, and backs for some alternative-weekly performance piece I’m working on.
While they duck into the butchery to secure these to-them throwaway ingredients, I decide against the beef — "for now" — but they still don’t charge me for the scraps, because I’m such a good customer. "Next!"
Next-in-line steps forward, and I step around the place putting everything else back on its proper shelf, then check out with an onion and a carrot. This saves me the inconvenience of having to pick my soup out of their dumpster after hours, in the dark.
I told Earl about the ham bone I’d scored from a holiday party cleanup and the gallons of split pea soup I’d made with it — did he want any? Sure; did I want to take home a carton of frozen turkey soup? Sure!
But I was too dark and it was too drunk to drive. Earl was in the kitchen. I made my bed in his closet but didn’t lie in it, because South Park came on. And Earl Butter came back with — I kid you not — two pork chop sandwiches, merry Christmas. *
My new favorite restaurant is Mama’s Royal Café. It’s quaint, it’s cool, it has good food and great booths, and it even offers salsa along with hot sauces — a fresh tomato, carrot, and cilantro blend that saves the potatoes and doesn’t cost extra! Just forget about Mama’s on the weekend, unless you keep chicken-farmerly hours or enjoy standing in line.
MAMA’S ROYAL CAFÉ
Mon.–Fri., 7 a.m.–3 p.m.; Sat.–Sun., 8 a.m.–3 p.m.
4012 Broadway, Oakl.
(510) 547-7600
Takeout available
Beer/wine
Cash only
I feel like I’ve only seen about 10 films this year, so my list would basically be No Country For Old Men, I’m Not There, and Beowulf (two of those movies were painful, they were so aesthetically pleasing — guess which ones). But I’m going to say Paranoid Park was a huge influence on me this year. The risks it took and its loose narrative and utter disregard for convention were extremely inspiring. I saw it in Toronto at a press screening, among all the jabbering sales agents and distribution reps, and it still managed to drop my jaw — despite the guy next to me answering his phone midway through, telling the guy on the other line how "half baked" the movie was. Afterward I talked to a fellow aspiring filmmaker about the film, and he told me how much he disliked it because he thought it was a "mess." Exactly. It feels like a rough cut, only not — a work in progress, but that’s the point. Perhaps that’s why I identified with it so much. Besides, maybe a little messiness is not such a bad thing to embrace right now.
Richard Wong is the director and producer of Colma: The Musical.
James Benning’s Ten Skies at New York’s invaluable Anthology Film Archives: with a description like a parody of avant-garde impenetrability ("Ten shots of the sky — feature length"), it sounds daunting. Instead, it was an experience of mysterious joy that brought me back to why movies are entertaining and why seeing them can be so communal. After a few restless, fidgety minutes, both audience and film hit a groove so sublime that I kept laughing with pleasure. Each sky has its revelations and dramas, each viewer "makes" their own film, but in a shared hallucination that filmmakers and venues rarely allow, much less encourage. Sure, we’ve all seen the sky before, but when’s the last time you fell in so deeply and for so long, undistracted yet free to drift, stunned by both the thing itself and the amazing mirror of moving pictures? And I love that Benning says it’s a political film, "the opposite of war."
Jem Cohen (www.jemcohenfilms.com) is the director of Instrument, Benjamin Smoke, Chain, Building a Broken Mousetrap, and other films.
So glad I live in Berlin as an expat, far away from icky, tired Los Ang, that sad, pathetic film industry towne. When I worked for the Sundance Film Festival in programming I watched what seemed like a zillion of the same kinds of films. This year I created (with the art kollective Cheap) the Cheap Gossip Studio installation as part of the Berlin Film Festival. It was housed in the atrium of the Kino Arsenal. Film historian Marc Siegel brought Callie Angel out to show some rare, seldom-screened Andy Warhol films, as well as Jerry Tartaglia, who restored Jack Smith’s noted oeuvre. I even got to meet my sexy feminist heroine, Jackie Reynal of the Zanzibar movement, and Phillip Garrel, who brought his delicious young thrombone of a son, the actor Louis Garrel.
During the year, I started a new monthly performative series at Kino Arsenal called "Rising Stars, Falling Stars." It featured experimental silent classics from filmmakers like Louis Delluc, Man Ray, and the grandmama of the avant-garde, Germaine Deluc.
A lot of filmmakers send me rough cuts of their new films hoping I will write something on my blog, which gets a million readers a day. I just saw Bruce La Bruce’s allegorical zombie flick Otto; or Up with Dead People, and it’s beyond brilliant, and I am not saying that just because I have starred in Bruce’s other films Super 8 1/2 and Hustler White or because he directed my latest performance piece, Cheap Blacky. I am harsh on my filmmaker friends. I told Bruce that he shouldn’t act in his own movies anymore, just like Woody Allen and Spike Lee shouldn’t act in theirs. I even scolded Todd Haynes that Far From Heaven was overrated, but I adored Velvet Goldmine and his latest, I’m Not There. (Though I can’t stand Cate Blanchett; after seeing her as Queen Elizabeth yet again all I could say was, "Glenda Jackson, Glenda Jackson.")
I watched Superbad twice with the 14-year-old twins of my Cheap Blacky costar Susanne Sachsee, and I even got off on the ‘roid rage of Gerard Butler in the epic 300. No one does brittle white lady like my Tales of the City costar Laura Linney in The Savages. Tony Leung is so elegant and sensuous in Lust, Caution that everyone will want a Chinese boyfriend as the hot new fashion accessory this year. And if Sweeney Todd doesn’t bring back the musical genre, nothing will.
Vaginal Davis (www.vaginaldavis.com), who now lives in exile in Berlin, will be in the Bay Area on March 29, 2008, for the opening of her installation Present Penicative at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts; it will also feature her performances "Bilitis — A Lesbian Separatist Feminist State" and "Colonize Me."
DENNIS HARVEY’S ALPHABETICAL DOCUMENTARY TOP 10
1. Absolute Wilson (Katharina Otto-Bernstein, US/Germany)
2. All in This Tea (Les Blank, US)
3. King Corn (Aaron Wolf, US)
4. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (Seth Gordon, US)
5. Manufactured Landscapes (Jennifer Baichwal, Canada)
6. My Kid Could Paint That (Ami Bar-Lev, US)
7. No End in Sight (Charles Ferguson, US)
8. Protagonist (Jessica Yu, US)
9. Romántico (Mark Becker, US)
10. Zoo (Robinson Devor, US)
All thanks to the Internet Movie Database, without which we would remain in blessed ignorance.
Brad McGuire’s 20 Hole Weekend
5 Guy Cream Pie 29
Abominable Black Man 8
Ahh Shit! White Mama 4
Anal Chic
Apple Bottom Snow Bunnies
Be Here Now
Blondes have More Squirt!
Bore My Asshole 3
Bring’um Young 23
Campus Pizza
Catch Her in the Eye
Even More Bang for Your Buck
Go Fuck Yourself
I Scored a Soccer Mom 3
Old Geezers, Young Teasers
Seduced by a Cougar 4
Swallow My Children
Thanks for the Mammaries
Trantasm
You’ve Got a Mother Thing Coming
Dennis Harvey is a Guardian contributor.
1. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu, Romania). This debut feature possesses a nonjudgmental flow reminiscent of a Dardenne brothers film as it follows two young women who negotiate for an illegal abortion during the final days of Nicolae Ceausescu’s Communist regime.
2. Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg, UK/Canada/US). Uncovering the layers of human identity has been a career-long, disturbing theme of Cronenberg’s. But with his most recent films he’s figured out how to deconstruct our psychotic and schizophrenic patriarchal society in a minimal, confrontational manner.
3. Cassandra’s Dream (Woody Allen, US/UK). This minimasterpiece follows the downward spiral of two nice, middle-class brothers (Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell), both of whom loosen their moral codes just to better their lifestyles. Striking camera work (by Vilmos Zsigmond) encloses the characters in an unrelenting nightmare.
4. "Made in America," The Sopranos (David Chase, US). Forever you’ll be able to bust out the statement "What did you think of the end of The Sopranos?" and people will get all lit up.
5. Margot at the Wedding (Noah Baumbach, US). Thanks to audacious writing and powerful acting (especially by Jennifer Jason Leigh), the bittersweet sincerity is pitch-perfect.
6. Californication, season 1 (various directors, US). David Duchovny is alive and hilarious. Creator Tom Kapinos cuts right through our progressive relationship era, devilishly developing each character over 12 episodes. This is heavy-duty stuff mixed with dirty, dirty sex.
7. Year of the Dog (Mike White, US). White brings heartfelt storytelling to his directorial debut.
8. Manufactured Landscapes (Jennifer Baichwal, Canada)
9. The Hills Have Eyes 2 (Martin Weisz, US). This Wes Craven–produced Iraq war allegory deserves more attention than Brian De Palma’s patronizing Redacted.
10. Hostel 2 (Eli Roth, US). Baddie Roth again makes social commentary on America’s xenophobic world colonization by torturing the pathetic children of the apathetic parents who make our lovely world go round.
11. Silent Light (Carlos Reygadas, Mexico/France/Netherlands/Germany). Reygadas updates the transcendental religious overtones of Carl Theodor Dreyer by way of a Mennonite community.
12. At Long Last Love (Peter Bogdanovich, US). Never released on VHS or DVD, this throwback to the musicals of Ernst Lubitsch — featuring Burt Reynolds, Cybill Shepherd, Madeline Kahn, and Eileen Brennan — was dismissed and despised on its only theatrical release in 1975. All of the Cole Porter musical numbers were filmed live, with the actors using their own voices. Not only are these numbers brilliantly executed (inspiring realistic musicals like Lars von Trier’s Dancer in the Dark), but the film also attains the rapid-fire interaction and casual kookiness of late ’30s screwball comedies. Did critics really overlook the fact that this is clever cheekiness? It’s a true treasure that serves as a ’70s time capsule and should inspire future filmmakers to take their chances all the way. It may have taken 32 years, but your time has come, Mr. Bogdanovich. Thank you.
Jesse Hawthorne Ficks teaches film history at the Academy of Art University and curates Midnites for Maniacs (www.midnitesformaniacs.com) at the Castro Theatre.
0. The 70th anniversary memorial of the Nanjing Massacre in Nanjing, China, and especially survivor Xia Shuqin’s reaction to her re-created wartime house, where most of her family was raped and killed by Japanese soldiers.
1. The passing of House Resolution 121 (the "Comfort Women" resolution) on C-Span, July 30.
2. Yasukuni (Li Ying, China/Japan). The power of the shrine isn’t fully captured, but this is the closest an outsider has come to doing so that I’ve seen. All captured on a Japanese mini-DV video camera, in American NTSC.
3. Nanking (Bill Guttentag and Dan Sturman, US). AOL + Iris Chang = Woody Harrelson and the Nanjing Massacre.
4. A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila (various, US). The alpha and omega of Asian America. For those with the required assets and skills, Playboy and the Internet can make you, regardless of race, a bisexual American celebrity — the end and a new beginning for all the so-called angry Asian Americans.
5. Summer Special Olympics in Shanghai, China. Globalization was transformed into music by Kenny G during the opening ceremony.
6. Pride: The Moment of Destiny, or Puraido: Unmei no Toki (Shunya Ito, Japan). Finally found a good DVD copy of this, in Canada of all places. This could also be called Tojo: The Hero.
7. Inside the Brookhaven Obesity Clinic (various, US). Pride and Prejudice for the heavyset, on the Learning Channel.
8. Major League Eating’s Thanksgiving Chowdown (various, US). The purest American professional sport and the fall of Japan’s greatest hero, Takeru Kobayashi, on Spike TV.
9. Mock Up on Mu, in progress (Craig Baldwin, US)
10. Blockade (Sergey Loznitsa, Russia)
The works of San Francisco filmmaker James T. Hong (www.zukunftsmusik.com) include Behold the Asian: How One Becomes What One Is, The Form of the Good, Taipei 101: A Travelogue of Symptoms, 731: Two Versions of Hell, and This Shall Be a Sign.
1. Black Book (Paul Verhoeven, Netherlands/Germany/Belgium)
2. Brand upon the Brain! (Guy Maddin, Canada/US)
3. Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg, UK/Canada/US)
4. I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone (Tsai Ming-liang, Malaysia/China/Taiwan/France/Austria)
5. I’m Not There (Todd Haynes, US)
6. In Between Days (So Yong Kim, South Korea/US/Canada)
7. Makeshift 2007 grindhouse double feature: The Hills Have Eyes 2 (Martin Weisz, US) and Black Snake Moan (Craig Brewer, US)
8. The Wire, season four (various, US)
9. Woman on the Beach (Hong Sang-soo, South Korea)
10. Zodiac (David Fincher, US)
Jonathan L. Knapp is a Guardian contributor.
In addition to bringing some very good movies to the screen, 2007 was also a really good year for bad films. But among them all, these are the ones I feel had lack of intelligence, conservatism, and conventionality on a whole different level:
1. Hitman (Xavier Gens, France/US)
2. Good Luck Chuck (Mark Helfrich, US/Canada)
3. License to Wed (Ken Kwapis, US)
4. The Brothers Solomon (Bob Odenkirk, US)
5. Hot Rod (Akiva Schaffer, US)
6. P.S. I Love You (Richard LaGravenese, US)
7. The Final Season (David M. Evans, US)
8. The Water Horse: Legend of the Deep (Jay Russell, UK/US)
9. The Perfect Holiday (Lance Rivera, US)
10. P2 (Franck Khalfoun, US)
Maria Komodore is a Guardian contributor.
With a very special mention and heavy props for the fantastic TV doc series Nimrod Nation.
1. Manda Bala (Send a Bullet) (Jason Kohn, Brazil/US)
2. Lake of Fire (Tony Kaye, US)
3. Summercamp (Bradley Beesley and Sarah Price, US)
4. This Filthy World (Jeff Garlin, US)
5. A Man Named Pearl (Scott Galloway and Brent Pierson, US)
6. King Corn (Aaron Wolf, US)
7. An Audience of One (Mike Jacobs, US)
8. Crazy Love (Dan Klores and Fisher Stevens, US)
9. Big Rig (Doug Pray, US)
10. Off the Grid: Life on the Mesa (Jeremy Stulberg and Randy Stulberg, US)
San Francisco filmmakers Chris Metzler and Jeff Springer codirected the award-winning documentary Plagues and Pleasures on the Salton Sea (www.saltonseadocumentary.com).
Go Go Tales was filmed at Cinecittà, so I had a location like I did in the ’60s. Cinecittà was thrilling. When the film premiered in Cannes, you would have thought I was the lead from the reviews. What’s her name in the New York Times gave it a wonderful review that got picked up by the International Herald Tribune.
Abel [Ferrara] got mad at Burt Young, who played my husband, and cut him out of the film. Be that as it may, we still managed to keep that story together The irony is that the rap that I do [at the end of the movie] was ad-libbed at 10 o’clock on the last night of filming. I give my all and know that something good will happen.
From what I hear, [Bernardo] Bertolucci is the one who chooses the film from Italy that gets into the New York Film Festival. Because they were renovating Alice Tully Hall, Go Go Tales had one of its screenings at the Jazz Center. It was exciting to look out my apartment window and see the lines of people outside [Frederick P.] Rose Hall waiting to see the movie. People even came to the 4 p.m. Sunday screening. At 4 p.m. on a Sunday they should have been out to tea instead of at that film!
Two-time Academy Award nominee Sylvia Miles has starred in Midnight Cowboy, Andy Warhol’s Heat, Evil Under the Sun, She-Devil, and Abel Ferrara’s soon to be released Go Go Tales.
1. The Edge of Heaven (Fatih Akim, Germany/Turkey)
2. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days (Cristian Mungiu, Romania)
3. The Lives of Others (Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck, Germany)
4. Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg, UK/Canada/US)
5. Le Dernier des Fous (Laurent Achard, France)
6. The Duchess of Langeais (Jacques Rivette, France/Italy)
7. Persepolis (Vincent Paronnaud and Marjane Satrapi, France/US)
8. Water Lilies (Céline Sciamma, France)
9. La Graine et le Mulet (Abdel Kechiche, France)
10. Love Songs (Christophe Honoré, France)
Actor-director Jacques Nolot’s latest film, Before I Forget — John Waters’s second-favorite film of 2007 — will be released theatrically in 2008.
I have no shortage of rants about the sad state of cinema. Of the 25,000-plus films released each year, it’s impossible to keep track or be aware of anything above the overrated Oscar contenders or mindless mainstream crap that floods the market. Anything slightly worthwhile not on this list would be a smaller independent (foreign or documentary) film, such as Larry Fessenden’s The Last Winter or The Life of Reilly.
1. Paris, Je T’Aime (various, France/Liechtenstein)
2. No Country for Old Men (Ethan Coen and Joel Coen, US)
3. Notes on a Scandal (Richard Eyre, UK)
4. Sicko (Michael Moore, US)
5. Rescue Dawn (Werner Herzog, US)
6. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (Andrew Dominik, US)
7. Goya’s Ghosts (Milos Forman, US/Spain)
8. Ratatouille (Brad Bird, US)
9. The King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters (Seth Gordon, US)
10. Death Proof, driving sequences only! (Quentin Tarantino, US)
Damon Packard (www.myspace.com/choogo) is the director of SpaceDisco One, Reflections of Evil, and other films.
1. Bug (William Friedkin, US)
2. The Kingdom trailer (Peter Berg, US; editors Colby Parker Jr. and Kevin Stitt)
3. Fengming: A Chinese Memoir (Wang Bing, China)
4. Silent Light (Carlos Reygadas, Mexico/France/Netherlands/Germany)
5. Into the Wild (Sean Penn, US)
6. An Engineer’s Assistant (Tsuchimoto Noriaki, Japan)
7. Saw IV (Darren Lynn Bousman, US)
8. "Made in America," The Sopranos (David Chase, US)
9. The Pastor and the Hobo (Phil Chambliss, US)
10. You and I, Horizontal (Anthony McCall, UK)
11. Kara Tai in the Front and the Back (Bangbros.com, US)
Joel Shepard is the film and video curator at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.
1. Following Sean (Ralph Arlyck, US). Thirty years after making a legendary short film about Sean, the lawless four-year-old son of Haight-Ashbury hippies, filmmaker Arlyck reconnects with his subjects. The result is the most complicated study of baby boomers and their kin ever made.
2. Artist Statement (Daniel Barrow, Canada). Winnipeg artist Barrow uses an old-school overhead projector and layers of transparent drawings to create manual animations with music and live narration. His second US performance brought to life his imaginative, queer, literary, and delicate personal manifesto.
3. Syndromes and a Century (Apichatpong Weerasethakul, Thailand/France/Austria). Apichatpong’s latest radical narrative film focuses on a rural Thai hospital and its inhabitants. Among its meditative episodes is an unresolved love story between a female physician and an orchid farmer.
4. Real Housewives of Orange Country (various directors, US). Bravo’s reality television program about a contrived community of rich middle-aged women living in Coto de Caza is unexpectedly compelling. Because their lives are so boring, there’s nothing left to explore in this show except their complex emotions.
5. Zodiac (David Fincher, US). Crushworthy Jake Gyllenhaal, genius cinematography from legend-to-be Harris Savides, and incredible reconstructions of a beautiful and scary San Francisco in the 1970s.
Matt Wolf (www.mattwolf.info ) is the director of Wild Combination: A Portrait of Arthur Russell (premiering at the 2008 Berlin Film Festival) and Smalltown Boys.
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Though it’s been pronounced dead so often and for so many years, the western lived again in 2007, sprouting like a gnarly weed through a cracked desert shelf. These new-millennium westerns, however, are a little tougher, a little wiser, and more prone to fits of sadness and moments of darkness.
It is said that most, if not all, American presidents since 1952 have screened High Noon (1952), one of the old model westerns, at the White House, and some have claimed it as their favorite movie. Our current cowboy president probably loves it more than all of his predecessors did, and it’s as likely as not that he watched it at least once during the past 12 months. No doubt he, like the other commanders in chief, saw himself in the movie, alone and standing strong against terrible odds with no help at all from cowards and city-bred folk.
Fifty years ago Delmer Daves directed the original 3:10 to Yuma very much in the mode of High Noon, with a single-minded hero, Dan Evans, standing up for a purpose against all reason and despite everyone urging him to quit. He will, come hell or high water, transport the bandit Ben Wade to the title train on time. James Mangold’s new remake sticks close to the original but also departs in significant ways. This time a third character figures prominently in the action, Ben Wade’s right-hand man Charlie Prince (Ben Foster), a pale, small fellow with a sadistic swagger and a penchant for exploding into wildly inappropriate violence.
It’s fairly easy to read Charlie’s devotion to his boss (Russell Crowe) as a kind of desperate man love. It’s Charlie who makes the film’s ending something quite different from the original’s hopeful turn. Mangold’s skillful storytelling means it’s possible to enjoy the film purely on the level of a bread-and-butter western, but he also quietly suggests the United States’ headfirst march into the quagmire of Iraq.
Similarly, Jesse James has graced all kinds of classic westerns, but never quite like in Andrew Dominik’s The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. This James is no longer a hero of the people fighting greedy railroad men but now merely a lost celebrity both fascinated by the limelight and weary of its glare. The film deliberately turns up its nose at gunplay and action and instead focuses on the rotting final months of the legend’s life, when the cancerous Ford (a perfectly sniveling Casey Affleck) enters. It plays out like a long, slow chess game, easing through its 160 minutes with a kind of watchful caution.
A typical scene has James (Brad Pitt) sizing up his colleagues from across a table, reading their fears and desires through their eyes and twitches. When the title moment comes, it plays like a transfer of fates, with James deliberately passing on the mantle to his young admirer. But the mantle quickly strangles, and Ford spends the rest of his days forever attached to and defined by that one moment, hated and hounded. This is a western that arrives in David Lynch–ian territory after having passed through Terrence Malick land, and the cowboy’s heroism and self-reliance have dried up along the way.
If Yuma and Jesse James are more comfortable for being based in the past, then No Country for Old Men is something a good deal darker: it’s a modern-day western masterpiece, set in the 1980s, with horses and cowboy hats. It pries open the end of the West and finds despair. The hunter (Josh Brolin) and the killer (Javier Bardem) are both cynical products of the Vietnam War, relentless in their thinking and planning and unable to trust or rest. The sheriff (Tommy Lee Jones) is the linchpin, the old man whose country no longer belongs to him and who can’t comprehend what happened to it. It’s because of westerns like these, which examine the genre like grim ghosts presiding over their own autopsies, that so many have pronounced the genre dead over the years.
Even if the cowboy president didn’t fit into this new strain of western in 2007, he did appear — either directly or as a kind of offscreen presence — in a far different kind of film. One could make a case for these as mutant westerns, featuring a bunch of Dan Evanses trying to bring their Ben Wades to the train against all odds and reason: Sicko, No End in Sight, Operation Homecoming: Writing the Wartime Experience, The Kingdom, Rendition, Lions for Lambs, In the Valley of Elah, Redacted, and Grace Is Gone. If you look hard enough, you can even see him in the margins of Paul Thomas Anderson’s bizarre, oil-soaked quasi western, There Will Be Blood.
It’s doubtful that any of these movies will be screened at the White House soon. No, the year’s most likely cowboy to push through those swinging doors is none other than Sam Elliot in The Golden Compass, a traditional cowpoke in an unfamiliar setting, complete with "howdy"s and "I reckon"s, uttered among a swirling sea of CGI. More than the other cowboys, the current president could recognize and identify with him: conventional, simple, and perhaps a bit lost. *
JEFFREY M. ANDERSON’S TOP 10
1. Inland Empire (David Lynch, France/Poland/US)
2. The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford (Andrew Dominik, US)
3. No Country for Old Men (Ethan Coen and Joel Coen, US)
4. Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead (Sidney Lumet, US)
5. Offside (Jafar Panahi, Iran)
6. Private Fears in Public Places (Alain Resnais, France/Italy)
7. Eastern Promises (David Cronenberg, UK/Canada/US)
8. The Host (Bong Joon-ho, South Korea)
9. Bug (William Friedkin, US)
10. I’m Not There (Todd Haynes, US)
Runners up: 12:08 East of Bucharest (Corneliu Porumboiu, Romania), Into Great Silence (Philip Gröning, France/Switzerland/Germany), Hot Fuzz (Edgar Wright, UK/France), Death Proof (extended version) (Quentin Tarantino, US), Triad Election and Exiled (Johnny To, Hong Kong)
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Unsettling subjects such as fatality by bestiality and landscapes ravaged by industry might conjure coarse, sensationalist images — straightforward visions of debauchery and exploitation. But if you are Robinson Devor or Jennifer Baichwal, they conjure bittersweet visual poetry: Devor’s Zoo and Baichwal’s Manufactured Landscapes are two stunning documentaries released this year that cleverly wield visual beauty to convey an apparent distortion in the human relationship with animals and with the environment, respectively.
Just as there are horror films and melodramas that use intensity and abrasiveness as crutches to make transitory impressions on their audiences, there are well-intentioned social-issue documentaries that amplify atrocity in order to shock viewers into caring. Zoo and Manufactured Landscapes are refreshing and poignant for countering this impulse. They are from the school of subtlety — not subtlety of content, but of form.
Zoo‘s opening shot seems to encapsulate its spirit of patient, elegant reveal. A prick of blue light amid blackness slowly expands and comes into focus as the blue-washed tunnel of a mine where the film’s first narrator — Coyote, a paramedic — worked before he made his way to Washington. It is a scene that contains a discomfort vague enough to be missed, as if we are gradually homing in on a world that will prove unpleasant. The mine’s elongated confinement also portends the halls of the grand stable where mischief occurs later in the film. Concomitantly, the music begins as a delicate support and escalates into a complex, slightly unnerving amalgamation of sounds, including those of a computer modem. The use of a computer’s noises of labor is meaningful because it prerelates to one zoophile’s explanation of how important the Internet was to the solidification of the group that is the film’s focus.
It is partially Zoo‘s structure that lends it an air of elegant subtlety. There is a linear story being told, from the online discovery to the convergence in Washington to the main event and its aftermath, but within that conventional structure is a fluid, relaxed traveling between narrators that has a less obvious logic. This befits the visual style, which is a poetic approximation of events rather than a recording of actuality. Bits of perspective from the various players cohere with a pacing and an order that feel carefully calculated to mimic the way in which uncertainty is slowly dispelled and truth, while withholding promises, comes into focus, fragment by irregular fragment.
Zoo glides between members of the zoophile group and a horse rescuer, a radio show host, and a politician, who all — in varying manners — offer commentary confronting the offensiveness of the men’s behavior. The film’s lightness is largely a result of its minimal contextualization and identification of location and character, as well as its refusal of a rigidly organized rise to climax. When the subjects of its investigation appear in the film at all, it is in an indirect manner. Actors fill in for the condemned men, liquidly guiding viewers through events, but faces are unimportant. Voices, which exude a certain ease even when confidence gives way to defensiveness or befuddlement, are the integral thread in the film’s subjectivity. Zoo features the voices of H and the Happy Horseman, two participants on the ranch, and does an exquisite job of extracting bits of anecdote and emotional response that give a full account with very little. There is a wise reticence here, like a conversation between lifelong friends who speak uninhibitedly but with the understanding that all need not be vocalized. The viewer, as if the film’s friend, can fill in gaps and mentally expand on the subjects’ pointed statements.
There are moments in Zoo when harshness or avidness peeks through the mostly even tones of the voices, such as when a local senator declares that animals — like children — cannot consent to sex with men, but this is diffused by quiescent visuals, the absence of a physical presence, and a refusal to linger on or delve further into these objections. Similarly, Manufactured Landscapes skirts a direct and impassioned address of the offense against humans and nature that it depicts and relies more on the awe of imagery and fastidiously selected and placed bits of commentary. Edward Burtynsky, the photographer whose work the film extends and considers, explains that he wants his daunting photographs of dramatically botched landscapes to be left to viewers’ interpretation. The role of the artist is to competently capture and present in a way that encourages discourse rather than to project a prefabricated message or force a critique.
In Manufactured Landscapes, Baichwal’s vision is consistent with Burtynsky’s. Her video footage of devastation such as that associated with the Three Gorges Dam and gargantuan mounds of e-waste, both in China, is accompanied by Burtynsky’s narration, which contains a rather discreet lament but foregrounds a more ambiguous combination of fact and feeling. A notable difference between her product and his is that hers includes the process of his, so in her film we are able to see that he choreographs the laborers in his photographs. Toward the beginning, he directs the innumerable yellow-clad Chinese workers on the premises of a huge factory, seemingly creating symmetry to convey the atmosphere of this immense and oppressive world. Also, Baichwal uses the clever device of pulling out of a site that Burtynsky photographs to reveal his picture hanging in an upscale gallery. In this way the viewer is delivered a powerful juxtaposition — a suggestion of the conflicted, perhaps ridiculous, consumption of these ironically beautiful photographs by the privileged people who can only relate to the images through their vague complicity in the dusty and oily oppressions of globalization.
It is mostly the visual style — the exquisiteness of the shots — that renders the reception of these films frustrating in a rewarding way; it is a frustration of sensibility and of fundamental sentiments about human nature. Burtynsky briefly comments on the symbolism of the gigantic ships under construction that he photographs in Bangladesh — ships that are built by teenagers who are up to their necks in oil, working in life-risking conditions, and that are used to deliver the oil he uses for his art and transportation. As in other scenes of the film, he and Baichwal enact a subtly sinister symbolism to nudge viewers toward absorbing the absurdity of development without empathy. One triumph of their work is that they slyly fuse concern for the environment (as in alien landscapes blistered with toxins) with concern for fellow humans (as in foreign factory workers who assemble our consumables). Another gorgeous and telling image is of an endless heap of computer parts of various shapes and sizes. It resembles an art installation of some sort, but as the camera slowly pulls out, a gasp forms in reaction to the heap’s vastness, and the viewer learns that the Chinese who rummage for valuable metal are exposing themselves to toxic metals that also make their way into their water.
In Zoo the visual style is more a product of finding a literal representation of the story being recounted and presenting it as a pleasing near-abstraction. Both Devor’s film and Baichwal’s feature a visual poeticism that threatens to detach viewers from the repugnance of reality; but because Zoo is such a cinematic construction, it is particularly susceptible to this numbing effect. So, when it shows a soft-focus, high-lit close-up of blackberries on their thorny vine or a snorting Arabian horse twice framed by square barn windows in the rich blue of evening, it is easy to forget for a moment that the narrators speak of a horse repetitively puncturing his eyes, or of the methods of forced submission.
Because Devor seems to have established a pact with his audience that he will only convey these acts through photo-book semblances of offensiveness, it is especially jolting and seemingly a betrayal when he actually reveals glimpses of bestial sex as the camera pivots around a half circle of flabbergasted witnesses to a video record. Zoo seems to be mocking the audience for wanting this salacious moment, and Devor withholds satiation. He also seems to be playing with the boundaries of effective reveal and withholding and their relationship to juxtaposition. Are these flashes of difficult-to-fathom sex more potent when surrounded by poetic suggestion? Are they a betrayal of the audience, and, if so, are they a meaningful betrayal?
Zoo shares contemplative aerials and slow, smooth pans with Manufactured Landscapes, and these seem integral to the films’ peculiar sort of poeticism. Their aerial views are not the informational establishing shots one would expect from straightforward documentaries, but almost ethereal windings through the air. Rural Washington and a pretzel-like Chinese highway system seem softly haunting, both suggestive of a subterranean depravity of sorts that the filmmakers are hinting toward. The calm control of the gliding camera is more apt to lull than unsettle, but this is counterbalanced by its uneasy turns and a voice-over that, in Zoo, ironically tells of the community’s innocence and, in Manufactured Landscapes, earnestly considers the film’s thematic ill.
Likewise, in Zoo, when the camera languidly pans across peacefully grazing horses in a pasture at night while a horse rescuer describes the profound relationship she has with these beasts, there is a cool, ironic innocence undercutting the otherwise soothing shot. In Manufactured Landscapes, Baichwal’s memorably interminable opening pan across a colossal Chinese factory serves a more direct purpose, but it also creates the same sort of ironic beauty that runs through Devor’s movie. The grace present in these shots may glaze over the horror they convey for some viewers at certain moments, but the manner in which this grace galvanizes a sense of horror that reverberates deeply and authentically after viewing is more interesting. *
KEVIN LANGSON’S TOP 10
1. Manufactured Landscapes (Jennifer Baichwal, Canada)
2. Sicko (Michael Moore, US)
3. The Witnesses (André Téchiné, France)
4. Zoo (Robinson Devor, US)
5. Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead (Sidney Lumet, US)
6. Margot at the Wedding (Noah Baumbach, US)
7. I Don’t Want to Sleep Alone (Tsai Ming-liang, Malaysia/China/Taiwan/France/Austria)
8. Protagonist (Jessica Yu, US)
9. Buddha’s Lost Children (Mark Verkerk, Netherlands)
10. The Other Side (Bill Brown, US)
EDITORIAL The San Francisco Board of Supervisors approved a modest item the other week described on the agenda as "Agreement to Implement a Term Sheet … between the City and County of San Francisco … and the Modesto Irrigation District." There wasn’t much discussion, the action received no notice in the press, and few people outside the office of the Budget Analyst realize just how significant this scrap of legislation really is.
But the vote brought to a close (for now, anyway) one of the most rotten chapters in San Francisco history, a story of corruption, waste, and raw political power that makes many of today’s scandals look like cornflakes. Since 1988, when the city attorney, the mayor, and the supervisors bowed down to Pacific Gas and Electric Co. and signed one of the worst deals in the city’s history, San Francisco has lost more than $80 million.
And with public power back on the agenda and activists discussing the potential for a ballot measure in November 2008, it’s worth reviewing a bit of the history. There are plenty of lessons.
The story goes back to 1983, when city staffers began negotiating a series of long-term contracts with PG&E and the Modesto and Turlock irrigation districts. San Francisco had an obligation under federal law to sell some of the electric power from its Hetch Hetchy dam to the two districts; PG&E would carry that power over its lines and guarantee its supply if low water kept the dam from generating at full capacity.
The negotiations were immensely complex and generated tens of thousands of pieces of paper. The city wanted to raise the bargain-basement rates it had been charging the districts; PG&E wanted to raise the rates it charged for transmitting the power.
Then a Central Valley congressional representative named Tony Coelho got involved. Coelho (who was later forced out of office in a scandal) started talking about the Raker Act — the federal law that gave San Francisco the right to build the dam but also required the city to create a public power system — and suddenly, official San Francisco freaked. If Coelho were to make too much noise about the feds enforcing the Raker Act, the city, which had been in violation of the law for 70 years, could have lost the dam.
So then-mayor Dianne Feinstein cut a backroom deal with Coelho: the city would be allowed to raise rates but had to sell almost all of its power (aside from basic municipal needs) to the districts. That, of course, would ensure that the city had little power left for a full-scale public power system. Feinstein promised that her staff would work out the final details of a 30-year contract.
The negotiations on that contract dragged on, however, as PG&E and the districts kept demanding more. The talks were conducted in secret, at PG&E headquarters. By 1987 city staffers were writing memos calling PG&E’s demands "ridiculous" and "excessive" and stating that the proposed deals would "impose many risks on the city." The negotiations stalled — until Feinstein intervened, overruled her staff, and agreed hands down to the deal PG&E wanted. That was one of the last acts of her administration; Art Agnos was elected to replace her that November and took office in January 1988.
The contracts had to be approved by the Board of Supervisors, and (after the Guardian broke the story and denounced the deals) discussions were heated. Budget analyst Harvey Rose took a hard look at the proposed contracts and, using strong and decisive language, told the board the deals were terrible for the city, would cost taxpayers a fortune, and should be rejected.
Right before the final vote we obtained public records that outlined Feinstein’s sellout — but the documents from the key negotiating period had somehow mysteriously disappeared.
Then a team of seven PG&E lobbyists descended on City Hall, and Louise Renne, a PG&E ally who was then the city attorney, privately advised the supervisors that they would be in legal trouble if they didn’t do PG&E’s bidding. The contracts were approved, with only Sups. Harry Britt and Richard Hongisto voting no. Our front-page headline of Feb. 24, 1988, told the story: "PG&E 8, SF 2." Although Agnos had run as a public power candidate, he buckled too and signed the contracts — without ever so much as searching for the missing records.
The Dec. 5, 2007, budget analyst’s report notes that the city lost between $2.5 million and $3 million per year on the deals — and during the two years of the energy crisis, when the true downside of what Feinstein, Renne, Agnos, and the Board of Supervisors did became apparent, the tab was $27 million. That’s a total of as much as $87 million of city money thrown away on sweetheart deals with PG&E and the two districts.
After the energy crisis — and after Renne left office — the current city attorney, Dennis Herrera, went to court to renegotiate the deals. The new agreements are much better and will save San Francisco millions. That’s what the board quietly approved this month.
But much of San Francisco’s power is still tied up for another 10 years, and huge damage has been done.
Meanwhile, PG&E is suing the city to keep public power out of the Ferry Building, is trying to corner the market on wave and tidal power in the bay and along the coast, is trying to undermine community choice aggregation, and remains an entrenched, illegal monopoly with far too much clout at City Hall.
The good news is that there’s real talk of a new public power push in San Francisco, and it can’t come too soon. And the lessons from the fiasco of 1988 can and should guide any future efforts.
For starters, nobody — no city attorney, no department head, no mayor — should ever again be allowed to negotiate with PG&E in secret. Any talks with the utility should be recorded and all documents and memos made public before any city agency votes on any contract or deal.
PG&E loves to argue that public power is an expensive proposition and that taxpayers will be on the hook for a lot of money to buy out or create a municipal power grid. But advocates can accurately point to the history of private power in San Francisco: dealing with PG&E has cost the city (and the taxpayers and the ratepayers) far more than the price of creating a municipal grid. The 1988 contracts are a particularly visible example. And 20 years later, the overall lesson is clear: as long as a private company is running the city’s energy policy, the public is going to get screwed.
photo courtesy of Tony on flickr
The Washington Post reports today that the US fertility rate is back up to replacement level. The article generally spins this as a good thing, with a token quote of caution in the last paragraph from environmentalist Lester Brown of the Earth Policy Institute.
But I’m particularly curious about this paragraph: “While the rising fertility rate was unwelcome news to some environmentalists, the “replacement rate” is generally considered desirable by demographers and sociologists because it means a country is producing enough young people to replace and support aging workers without population growth being so high it taxes national resources.”
During my research on the issue I came across all sorts of evidence that we’re already taxing our natural resources. According to the Millennium Ecosystem Assessment, a 4-year project initiated by UN Secretary General Kofi Annan and on which more than 1,300 scientists collaborated, of 24 ecosystem services vital to humans, 15 are “being degraded or used unsustainably, including fresh water, capture fisheries, air and water purification, and the regulation of regional and local climate, natural hazards, and pests.”
Back in 1993 the Union of Concerned Scientists issued a “World Scientists’ Warning to Humanity” which stated, “Human beings and the natural world are on a collision course,” and recommended a stabilization of population.
As Lindsey Grant succinctly sums it up in his 1996 book Juggernaut, “Perpetual physical growth is impossible on a finite planet.”
‘Fro sure: Richard Pinhas Trio.
The Society of Rockets member ushers in his favorites for 2007.
1) Hanging out on Jean Herve Peron’s farm in Schiphorst, Germany, at his annual Avant-garde Festival, and hearing sounds differently afterward.
2) Being part of something that led to a 12-inch vinyl gatefold, the Society of Rockets’ Our Paths Related (Underpop)
3) Reissues, good for oldsters and kids alike: from Bee Gees: The Studio Albums 1967-1968 (Rhino) to Cluster’s Sowiesoso (Water).
4) Two nights of the Richard Pinhas Trio live.
5) Ornette Coleman with his son on drums and three bassists at the Masonic Center, Oct. 28. Not the soaring, almost liturgical music of 2005’s SFJAZZ performance, but a blistering of angry, almost punk evaluation on the state of the union.
Pat Thomas, Runt/Water consultant, writer/editor of Ptolemaic Terrascope, and the drummer of Mushroom offers his picks for ’07.
1) Miles Davis, The Complete On the Corner Sessions (Sony Legacy)
2) Moby Grape, Moby Grape ’69 (Sundazed)
3) Sly Stone, There’s a Riot Goin’ On (Sony)
4) Sean Smith, Sacred Crag Dancer Corpse Whisperer (Isota)
5) Terry Manning, Home Sweet Home (Sunbeam)
› paulr@sfbg.com
Amid the agonies and anxieties of last-minute holiday shopping can be found at least one sure stocking stuffer, provided your list includes a food brainiac (with a Christmas stocking). You’ll know one when you meet one; a large clue will be a passionate interest in not merely recipes and restaurants but also the cultural story they help tell.
And what is that sure thing, in a world where many a gift goes astray like a bad JDAM? A book, of course, since the reports of print’s death have been greatly exaggerated and the food brainiac loves books. One of the better food brainiac–friendly books available is Lilia Zaouali’s Medieval Cuisine of the Islamic World (University of California Press, $24.95), whose subtitle, A Concise History with 174 Recipes, suggests that we aren’t talking about a volume with a companion Saturday-morning, how-to-cook-it series on public television.
No, Zaouali’s book dwells more on the history than the recipes, which are interesting though possibly too vague to be of much use in the contemporary, anal-retentive kitchen. Even a reasonably competent home cook is likely to be uneasy about such instructions as "put some red meat cut into small pieces in a pot with some water. When it is cooked, strain it and brown it in fat" (from a recipe for rutabiyya, or meat with dates).
But even if your brainiac never boils a dollop of honey in a splash of vinegar (medieval Islamic cooking being rich in sweet-sour effects), pleasurable sustenance can be had from the book’s many fascinating historical nuggets: the migratory route of couscous from North Africa through Sicily into Tuscany, for instance, or the Moorish roots (culinary and linguistic) of the dish the Spanish call escabeche, or the religious importance to Muslims of eating meat (other than pork) with most meals. As Zaouali puts it, "One may wonder whether a vegetarian could be admitted to the community of believers."
Of transcendent interest is not the bequest of medieval Islamic cooks to their modern heirs in both the Middle East and Europe but their own debt to the Romans, many of whose ingredients and flavor patterns they adopted and continued. The Roman gastronome Apicius, who lived at the time of Christ, is especially relevant here. For details, consult your stocking.
•<\!s><0x0007>Panda Bear, Person Pitch (Paw Tracks). One of the few albums that deserved the hype, Person Pitch delivered what Animal Collective could not.
•<\!s><0x0007>Various artists, Zanzibara, Volume 3: Ujamaa (Buda Musique). Ujamaa focuses on 1960s Tanzania and recalls the ecstatic languidity of Tabu Ley Rocehrau and the imprint’s Angola ’60s compilations.
•<\!s><0x0007>Various artists, Dirty Space Disco (Tigersushi). Parisians Pilooski and Dirty Sound System are some of the most exciting discoveries of the year.
•<\!s><0x0007>Thomas Fehlmann, Honigpumpe (Kompakt). This was the year I got back into minimal techno after a few years away. Lodged somewhere between Kompakt’s "Pop Ambient" series and Superpitcher, Fehlmann made his strongest album since 2004’s Visions of Blah.
•<\!s><0x0007>Lilith Records. In 2007 the enigmatic new label that appears to come from the Russian Federation reissued lavish vinyl versions of Caetano Veloso’s Araca Azul, Harmonia’s De Luxe, Tim Hardin 2, No New York, Claudine Longet’s Colours, Black Merda’s Black Merda, and Cluster’s Zuckerzeit. The only reissue imprint that rivals them in scope and quality is the Bay Area’s Water Records.
•<\!s><0x0007>Iasos, Inter-Dimensional Music (Iasos Unity/Em, 1975). With so many new artists taking the easy electronic-prog route, it’s good to realize there’s much more where that came from — in the place between space rock and new age. This makes me think of Alice Coltrane and Robert Fripp and Brian Eno’s Evening Star (Editions Eg) but doesn’t really sound like any of them. The sleeve is incredible.
•<\!s><0x0007>Niger: Magic and Ecstasy in the Sahel DVD (Sublime Frequencies). The last 15 minutes, focusing on Tuareg musicians, contain some of the most ecstatic and tranced-out jams I’ve heard or seen.
•<\!s><0x0007>Various artists, Brazil 70 (Soul Jazz). No longer borrowing from John Cage or the Beatles, Jards Mascale, and Novos Baianos ushered in what may be the most exciting time in Brazil’s musical history.
•<\!s><0x0007>Frank Bretschneider, Rhythm (Raster-Noton). He may be working in the domain of clicks and cuts, but instead of pursuing pure sine wave research, Bretschneider — picking up where SND left off but surpassing them — mimics the rhythms of dubstep, minimal techno, and hip-hop. Listen loud and your mind will be rearranged.
•<\!s><0x0007>Shit Robot, "Chasm"/"Wrong Galaxy" (DFA). Yes, the name is awful. Nevertheless, DFA’s recent signing of this Markus Lambkin project is too good to pass over. Lambkin has been learning from the best of Carl Craig and Berlin and Cologne techno, and his full-length is eagerly awaited.
(1) <0x0007>Miles Davis: The Complete On the Corner Sessions (Sony Legacy)
(2) <0x0007>Ace Records: Bob Lind, Elusive Butterfly: The Complete Jack Nitzsche Sessions; various artists, Phil’s Spectre III: A Third Wall of Soundalikes; and various artists, Hard Workin’ Man: The Jack Nitzsche Story, Vol. 2
(3) <0x0007>Bloodcount, Seconds CD/DVD (Screwgun)
(4) <0x0007>Clockcleaner, Babylon Rules (Load)
(5) <0x0007>Terminal Sound System, Compressor (Extreme)
(6) <0x0007>ugEXPLODE label: Nondor Nevai, The Wooden Machine Music, and Flying Luttenbachers, Incarceration by Abstraction
(7) <0x0007>Down, Over the Under (Down)
(8) <0x0007>The Pipettes, We Are the Pipettes (Cherry Tree/Interscope)
(9) <0x0007>Slough Feg, "Tiger! Tiger!," Hardworlder (Cruz del Sur)
(10) <0x0007>Tesla, "Ball of Confusion," Real to Reel (Tesla Electric Co.)
•<\!s><0x0007>Aretha Franklin, Aretha Live at Fillmore West (deluxe edition) (Rhino). So electric you’ll get goose bumps.
•<\!s><0x0007>Jason Lindner Big Band, Live at the Jazz Gallery (Anzic)
•<\!s><0x0007>Charles Mingus Sextet with Eric Dolphy, Cornell 1964 (Blue Note)
•<\!s><0x0007>Sam Yahel Trio, Truth and Beauty (Origin). Talented friends get into the groove of a young man and his keyboard.
•<\!s><0x0007>Joshua Redman Trio, Back East (Nonesuch)
•<\!s><0x0007>Joe Henry, Civilians (Anti-). Fiercely literate adult rock without acronyms.
•<\!s><0x0007>Wayne Shorter Quartet at the Mondavi Center, UC Davis, Feb. 2.
•<\!s><0x0007>Jason Moran with T.S. Monk and ensemble, the Monk Town Hall Concert, Herbst Theatre, May 19. A large band swings very, very hard.
•<\!s><0x0007>SFJAZZ Collective, Live 2007: Fourth Annual Concert Tour (SFJAZZ). Smart arrangements with the necessary new blood of underrated pianist Renee Rosnes.
•<\!s><0x0007>Kiki and Herb, American Conservatory Theater, July 13. We need their holiday show.
•<\!s><0x0007>The Sea and Cake, "Up on Crutches," Everybody (Thrill Jockey). The song I couldn’t stop playing.
•<\!s><0x0007>MIA, Kala (Interscope)
•<\!s><0x0007>Feist, The Reminder (Cherry Tree/Interscope)
•<\!s><0x0007>Calle 13, Residente o Visitante (Sony)
•<\!s><0x0007>Chamillionaire, Ultimate Victory (Motown)
•<\!s><0x0007>Kanye West, Graduation (Roc-A-Fella)
•<\!s><0x0007>Apostle of Hustle, National Anthem of Nowhere (Arts and Crafts)
•<\!s><0x0007>Jose Gonzalez, "In Our Nature" (Mute)
•<\!s><0x0007>El-P, I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead (Definitive Jux)
•<\!s><0x0007>The Federation, "It’s Whateva" (Southwest Federation/Reprise)
•<\!s><0x0007>Chingo Bling, They Can’t Deport Us All (Asylum)
(1) <0x0007>Aaron Ross, Shapeshifter (Grass Roots Record Co.). The Hella member’s solo LP is ragged singer-songwriter stuff that seems to do everything wrong. It’s strident, too long, and too loud; it’s chirpy and pained; it must have broken a guitar’s worth of strings. And then, somewhere around the point it stops being ugly, it becomes transcendent — an album with more heart than any I’ve heard in a while.
(2) <0x0007>The Arcade Fire, Neon Bible (Merge). How quickly you realize the stunning last song, "My Body Is a Cage," will be a testament to the trust the Montreal group has built, understood, and not yet defaulted on. Few groups have a better sense of what they are and mean, and the Arcade Fire know what they do right: write hymns.
(3) <0x0007>MIA, Kala (Interscope). On her second album, Maya Arulpragasam turned a government-forced world tour into an excuse to make her music even better traveled.
(4) <0x0007>Ferraby Lionheart, Ferraby Lionheart EP (Nettwerk). Lush, antique, richly sung pop that plays like an argument for Jon Brion. Wes Anderson will one day base an entire script on a Lionheart disc.
(5) <0x0007>Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, Raising Sand (Rounder). The best moments on this gorgeous, out-of-nowhere release are when you’ve been listening to sweetheart old-time country pop, then realize you are listening to Robert Plant. There’s a whisper of "Gallows Pole" in "Fortune Teller" and "Going to California" in "Please Read the Letter," and that’s the great pleasure here: an almost mystical Led Zeppelin overlay in music that’s nowhere near classic rock.
(6) <0x0007>Black Moth Super Rainbow, Dandelion Gum (Graveface). Psychedelia wouldn’t have a bad name if more of it were like this. The rural Pennsylvania group counters séance vocals and guitar and keyboard spazz-outs with focus and snappy drums.
(7) <0x0007>St. Vincent, Marry Me (Beggars Banquet). Anne Clark is a Sufjan Stevens crony, but Marry Me is eventually hers alone. Sinister electrofuzz, deft polyrhythms, and scarily chameleonic vocals give her indie pop a postmodern turn.
(8) <0x0007>Blitzen Trapper, Wild Mountain Nation (Lidkercow). At turns pure classic rock — all jammy blues riffs and sun-dappled vocals — countrified songwriter stuff, and something loudly proggy and textural, Wild Mountain Nation sends salvos in several directions.
(9) <0x0007>UGK, UGK: Underground Kingz (Jive). Bun B and Pimp C sound ecstatic to be back at it, and they turn in a two-disc Southern hip-hop epic with cameos that are actually exciting. André 3000 is drawly and perfect on "Int’l Players Anthem," and hearing Dizzee Rascal over this beat is a treat.
(10) <0x0007>Miracle Fortress, Five Roses (Secret City). Montreal’s Graham Van Pelt shoots straight for the Beach Boys here, which means his songs sound a little derivative and a lot lovely. Pop’s melodic purism, dressed up for audiophiles.
•<\!s><0x0007>Percee P, Perseverance (Stones Throw)
The long-awaited solo album from Bronx legend Percee P does not disappoint, with its intricate rhyme schemes and exceptional production from Stones Throw’s resident maestro Madlib. Alarmingly dope from start to finish, with collabos with Diamond D and Vinnie Paz. Look for the remix album in January.
•<\!s><0x0007>Prodigy, Return of the Mac (Koch)
A lot of older fans gave up on Mobb Deep years ago, and their horrible last record seemed to be the final nail in the coffin. But on this independent release, Prodigy comes alive, spitting flagrant murder raps over Alchemist’s outstanding blaxploitation-style beats. Unfortunately, P is heading into a three-and-a-half-year bid — I hope he finishes his new solo joint first.
•<\!s><0x0007>Kamackeris, Artz and Craftz (Mindbenda)
Also known as Kwite Def or KD, Kamackeris is a New York rapper best known for his work with Monsta Island Czars and a show-stealing appearance on the first MF Doom album. He’s blessed with one of the grimiest voices in hip-hop, and his rugged yet introspective wordplay shines over X-Ray’s cinematic tracks. Completely slept on but crazy good.
•<\!s><0x0007>Camp Lo, "Ticket For 2" (self-released)
These cats have been MIA for a minute, and it’s been a full decade since their classic debut, but Cheeba and Suede come back something serious on this ultrasmooth single produced by longtime homey Ski Beatz. Unfortunately, it’s not on their recent album, but it’s all over the Internet.
•<\!s><0x0007>Snoop Dogg, "Sexual Eruption, a.k.a. Sensual Seduction" (unreleased)
Man! While T-Pain, Akon, and countless others assault the airwaves with their hypercomputerized, later-era Cher-style "R&B," Big Snoop takes it back to the Roger Troutman essence, freaking the (virtual) talk box on this ode to female orgasm. The song is awesome enough, but the throwback video, complete with flying saucers and a keytar, is something to behold.
•<\!s><0x0007>50 Cent, "I Get Money," Curtis (Aftermath/Shady/Interscope)
He lost the sales battle with Kanye West, G Unit is fading fast, and Curtis is his worst LP to date. However, even his millions of haters have to admit: this song is a banger.
•<\!s><0x0007>Devin the Dude, live at South by Southwest, March 14
Mild-mannered but funny as hell, Devin has been putting it down for a long time now, winning fans with his mellow storytelling rhymes, low-key singing, and affinity for all weed and women. I saw him live three times this year, but this show in his home state was the best: he rolled with the Coughee Brothaz and injected some much-needed funk into the indie-centric convention.
•<\!s><0x0007>Third annual Brooklyn Hip-Hop Festival
Unlike the more hyped-up "Rock the Bells," this festival got everything right. Free show, great location on the water in BK, and all-day performances from Ghostface, Sean P, Large Professor, El Michaels Affair, Dres from Black Sheep, and others. Throw in surprise appearances from Chubb Rock and Jeru, and you’ve got middle-aged rap fan heaven.
•<\!s><0x0007>Sonic Youth at the Berkeley Community Theatre, July 19
As part of the "Don’t Look Back" concert series, in which artists perform a classic album in its entirety, Thurston Moore and the gang revisited their 1988 epic Daydream Nation (DGC) to the delight of a sold-out crowd. Next time I hope they do Bad Moon Rising.
•<\!s><0x0007>ZZ Top at Konocti Harbor, April 21
All I can say is "wow." Despite my driving several hours to and from Clear Lake and getting rained on the entire time, this was amazing. These dudes are mad old, but they put on a better show than most kids a fraction of their age.
(1) <0x0007>Rufus Wainwright, Release the Stars (Geffen)
(2) <0x0007>Tinariwen, Aman Iman (World Village)
(3) <0x0007>Robert Plant and Alison Krauss, Raising Sand (Rounder)
(4) <0x0007>Betty Davis, Betty Davis (Light in the Attic)
(5) <0x0007>Miles Davis, The Complete On the Corner Sessions (Sony Legacy)
(6) <0x0007>Donnie, The Daily News (SoulThought Entertainment)
(7) <0x0007>Gogol Bordello, Super Taranta! (Side One Dummy)
(8) <0x0007>Hanson, The Walk (Three Car Garage)
(9) <0x0007>Babyshambles, Shotter’s Nation (Astralwerks)
(10) <0x0007>Beirut, The Flying Club Cup (Ba Da Bing)
•<\!s><0x0007>Playing to a confused crowd in Beijing, China, then riding on the back of a motorcycle cab. The next day I was eating at a vegan buffet in a mall where you paid not by what you ate but by how quickly you finished.
•<\!s><0x0007>In the Netherlands, I performed to 550,000 people on drugs who think that camping out in sewage is "awesome." Lots of moms and dads with huge glazed eyes, hula-hooping and juggling glow sticks at 4 a.m.
•<\!s><0x0007>XBXRX having to sleep at a (dirty and unkempt) brothel. There were bloodstains and tire treads (?) on my pillow. *
For more lists, go to www.sfbg.com/blogs/music.
“He remained popular with voters (if not insiders) throughout the whole of his first term (after gay marriage), even through some trying personal times. Effectively, with an absence of challenge, his high poll numbers transferred directly to the ballot—rare in American politics.” David Latterman on Mayor Gavin Newsom’s 2007 reelection.
Photo from sfgov.org’s Mayoral homepage.
“Trying personal times!” Don’t you just love how Fall Line Analytics President David Latterman tiptoes round the eggshells scattered on Newsom’s reelection path in Spring ‘07, following the news that Newsom had had an affair with the wife of his campaign manager, Alex Tourk?
And you’ve got to give it up to Latterman when it comes to analyzing quantitative and graphical political data, as he has just done for the November 2007 election. Plus, his scatter graphs look mighty festive
Latterman’s “trying times” comment also reminds me why I missed the initial media frenzy that news of Newsom’s affair broke. I was attending a day-long, ground breaking climate change conference, convened by the San Francisco Public Utilities Commission.
I remember it well, because that was the day that SFPUC General Manager Susan Leal kicked off the conference by announcing that we’d be drinking from decanted water that day, since bottled water was bad for the environment–and we have all that great clean water coming from Hetch Hetchy.
Then Newsom made a few comments, before scampering back to the City Hall, where, as it later turned out, all hell was about to break loose, although it took Newsom 24 hours to talk about it.
Who would have thought back then, on January 31, 2007, that by year’s endr, we would see Newsom handily reelected—and Leal, who has worked hard to bring San Francisco’s water and power policies into the 21st Century, with her head on the chopping block?
Now, there’s an explanatory scatter graph I’d like to see, showing Leal’s popularity with the Mayor decreasing, I guess, as her efforts to make San Francisco’s utilities truly public increased, and as the Mayor, I suppose, increasingly took the credit for many of the initiatives that Leal has led the way on? Sweet. Now there’s justice.
The Road to Newsom’s rise and Leal’s demise is as winding as the City’s map of how water gets to San Francisco.
