Johnny Ray Huston Archives — Page 6 of 25 — San Francisco Bay Guardian Archive 1966

2000 and gone

December 29, 2009

YEAR IN FILM I will follow him. The opening moments of Pablo Stoll’s Hiroshima convey that sentiment’s dedication in a single shot, a lengthy behind-the-shoulder look at Stoll’s brother Juan Andres as he traverses a suburban street in Uruguay. Such a simple film, Hiroshima: a day-in-the-life structure; silent film intertitles instead of spoken dialogue; “only” one brother’s look at another. Yet there is passion beneath Juan Andres Stoll’s mute detachment, and grief beneath Pablo Stoll’s at times humorous familial portrait of a half-somnambulant with dark circles around his eyes. The passion is revealed in the final scene, when the film’s potent and unconventional use of music reaches a climax. The grief floats around the edges of the screen, and is locked within the closing dedication to Juan Pablo Rebella, Stoll’s co-director on 2001’s 25 Watts and 2004’s Whisky, who killed himself with a gun three years ago, at 32.

Mapping infinite negative space within the movie maze, I can’t help but see Stoll’s brother as Rebella, and connect Hiroshima’s opening shot with the last major shot of Whisky: an uncomfortably extended look at forsaken Marta (Mirella Pascual), tears streaming down her face, in the back of a taxi going who knows where. When Whisky was released, that scene might have seemed like a pale descendant of the notorious 10-minute crying jag at the end of Tsai Ming-liang’s 1994 Vive l’amour. But as time goes on, the increasingly arch Tsai’s vision of isolated sorrow seems less genuine, if not potent. In contrast, Whisky‘s farewell is some kind of transformation, a baton, both end and beginning.

Wherever he may go. Last week, rummaging through a drawer, I came across Alexis Tioseco’s card. My heart hurt more than usual. I remember when I first saw Alexis, at a screening of Jacques Rivette’s Out 1 in Vancouver. During short breaks between segments of Rivette’s 12-hour opus, I’d wonder who he was, recognizing he was important to me before we’d even said hello. A few days later, after we’d met, I remember him walking out of an obnoxiously provocative film, and how his wasn’t an empty or dramatic gesture, just an honest decision. At the end of the festival, Alexis, the filmmaker John Torres, Chi-hui Yang, and I had dinner, and over the course of close conversation with knees touching, I realized my nascent crush was actually a matter of meeting someone extraordinary whom I admired. A month or two later, Alexis let me excerpt part of one of his best essays for the type of year-end Guardian film issue you’re reading now.

On Sept. 1, Alexis and his girlfriend and fellow writer Nika Bohinc were shot to death in their apartment in Manila. There are tributes to them online, many written by people who knew him far better than I. I’m trying now, but I can’t pay respect to Alexis yet. When I’m not feeling rage about his killing, I’m haunted by the purity of his commitment to film and his culture, and how I fall short of it. (As for most U.S. film critics, don’t get me started. The entertain-me imperial indulgence typical of them is especially disgusting in the context of Alexis’s death, a context it now lives within for me.) My failure is something I think about daily, and aim to change.

This is not sentimental. Alexis wasn’t faultless, but he was that special. I remember coming across a short entry on one of Alexis’s sites that not just pointedly but also poignantly exposed the colonialism of a Bruce Baillie film. That little piece of illustrated writing provided a counterpoint to Apichatpong Weerasethakul’s valuable appreciations of Baillie. I thought about it this year through tear-blurred eyes while watching Apichatpong’s For Alexis. “The Letter I Would Love to Read to You In Person,” Alexis’s essay for Nika, is a great piece of film writing. Its title is downright painful to behold. Revolutions happen like refrains in a song, he wrote. I will follow him, wherever I may go.

8, 9 … 2010

December 21, 2009

1. SF garage rock goes pop This year saw Bay Area garage rock go pop in style and impact without losing its soul. I’m thinking of the Fresh and Onlys, and of Ty Segall’s second solo effort Lemons (Goner), a lovely one. I’m thinking of Girls’ Album (True Panther/Matador), which threw down the crossover-move gauntlet with no shame in its game: Christopher Owens’ interviews were as entertaining as his music and brasher — his real talk about sex and drugs made good headline fodder for the excitable British press, but contained the kind of truth that honors life over rules or boring definitions. The secret keeper, though, was the Mantles’ self-titled debut on Siltbreeze. Drew Cramer’s lead guitar and Michael Oliveras’ vocals were even better live, the mark of a band in bloom.

2. The AfroSurreal In May, D. Scot Miller helped put together a special AfroSurreal issue of the Guardian, a collection of words and visions journeying beyond the potential of Barack Obama’s presidency. The Kehinde Wiley piece on the cover wasn’t the only AfroSurreal image on this paper’s front pages — just last week, Conrad Ruiz’s Godzilla-size Yes We Can stomped around the city. Musically, AfroSurrealism manifested in the mind- and mirror-bending quality Dam-Funk’s Toeachizown (Stones Throw) and the rehab hallucinations and Dante-like funeral marches of Chelonis R. Jones’s Chatterton (Systematic). It floated in through cracks in the time warp as well: the ghetto opera of 24 Carat Black’s Gone: The Promises of Yesterday (Numero Group); the proto-punk of Death’s For the World to See (Drag City), especially “Politicians in My Eyes”; and weirdest of all, the gothic funk and skronk of Wicked Witch’s Chaos: 1978-1986 (E.M.).

3. 21st century goth From blackness to deathly whiteface — something gothic this way came in 2009, thanks to Cold Cave’s Cremations (Hospital Productions) and Love Comes Close (Matador). Both staked a claim that the genre is as applicable as death metal to a post-Bush presidency globe. But while those albums notched acclaim and attention, the similar yet more audacious Cure and Cabaret Volatire moves of Jones’ months-earlier Chatterton went ignored and unappreciated. Evidence of racism, proof that German techno only gets appreciated years after the fact, or both?

4. Hauntological mutations In 2009’s sonic mansion, ghosts haunted the hallways leading to and from the gothic banquet hall, and hauntology — a Derrida term applied to music by the critic Simon Reynolds — continued to morph, just as any self-respecting specter should, well beyond dubstep. The maze-like passages of Rooj’s The Transactional Dharma of Rooj (Ghost Box) and Broadcast and the Focus Group’s Broadcast and the Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age (Warp) both suggested that spirits have short attention spans, while Demdike Stare’s Symbiosis (Modern Love) traded seances on wet afternoons for retro-futurist meetings with medieval wicked witches.

5. Library music For evidence that the past resides in and fuels the present, go to the library. Specifically, to the abundant compilations and Web sites dedicated to library music — the scores of incidental music produced and recorded for soundtrack use on film, television, and radio. In the wake of his gorgeous book The Music Library (Fuel Publishing), Jonny Trunk released more albums devoted to library labels. The Parisian DJs Alexis Le-Tan and Jess put out a pair of Space Oddities library collections — one electronic, one psychedelic — on Permanent Vacation. Wax Poetics published a lengthy piece to the subject. In an interview, Trunk noted that his Scrapbook (Trunk) shares the same fast-change aesthetics of Broadcast and the Focus Group’s hauntological recordings, just one example of how library music of the past forms the music of now.

6. The new ambient The new ambient is not afraid of extreme melancholy, or long compositions — no longer only Kompact, it can be epic. One of the form’s peak representatives is San Francisco’s Brock Van Wey, whose White Clouds Drift On and On (Echospace) bravely strived for, and sometimes reached, sublime solitude. Another was Klimek, whose Movies is Magic (Anticipate), on which a track such as “pathetic and dangerous” lives up to its death-knell title. The last was Leyland Kirby. His three-CD contribution sums up the current moment in both its title and the name of its label: Sadly, the Future is No Longer What it Was (History Always Favours the Winners).

7. 2009=1989, synthpop and shoegaze I explored this theme in last week’s Decade in Music issue. See: Atlas Siund (in particular “Shelia,”), Crocodiles, Fuck Buttons, Loop, Night Control, Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Washed Out (responsible for two of this year’s most gorgeous tracks, “Belong” and “Hold Out”), Wavves, and the xx.

8. How old is now? As the music industry continues to fracture, reissues or uncovered old sounds were as vital and revelatory as new releases. In San Francisco, this meant new rereleases by San Francisco Express, the Units, and most excitingly, Honey Soundsystem’s work on behalf of Patrick Cowley and Jorge Socarras’ Catholic project. Beyond SF, it meant a one-of-a-kind treasure like Connie Converse’s How Sad, How Lovely (Lau derette): one woman, one guitar, one tape recorder, and perhaps the best music of this sad, lovely year.

2009 = 1989

December 16, 2009

Guardian illustration of Cold Cave’s Wesley Eisold, Robert Smith, and Crocodile’s Brandon Welchez by Matt Furie and Aiyana Udesen

2009, will you be mine — my bloody valentine to 1989? More than once this year I’ve felt the effect of a 20-year loop. This sensation wasn’t quite déjà vu, but more a sense that the underground sounds of my youth were returning, slightly transformed, as outer-reach themes for another generation. It wasn’t mere recycling or brazenly wholesale copying. At times, it didn’t seem conscious. But it was undeniable.

Turn an ear to the opening instrumental dirge on one of the year’s most-praised albums, The xx (Young Turks), by the band of the same name. Its languid yet cold guitar lines seem to grow like so many nightcreeping vines from those of the Cure’s "Fascination Street" on Disintegration (Elektra, 1989). Elsewhere, the xx’s doped, lolling sensuality tapped into the early days of Tricky and the Wild Bunch, just before Massive Attack began to bloom in … 1990.

Turn another ear to the goth trance of Pictureplane on Dark Rift (Lovepump Unlimited) and the frozen odes of Cold Cave on Cremations (Hospital Productions) and Love Comes Close (Matador). Here we have new incarnations of Trent Reznor circa-Pretty Hate Machine (TVT, 1989) — industrial and electronic, yes, but with the kind of melodic sense that set Reznor apart. Cold Cave’s Wesley Eisold taps into Reznor’s rage on some of Cremations‘ louder moments, and his grasp of atmospherics is Flood-level. Travis Egedy of Pictureplane is more fey than Reznor, but he and Eisold, like their forebear, craft alienation anthems from lonely spots on a vast America.

Madchester, are you here again? The sweeter sounds on Dark Rift and a pop thrill such as Memory Tapes’ Seek Magic track "Graphics" wouldn’t be out of place on New Order’s Technique (Factory, 1988), which shifted from lush gleaming open stretches to more manic machinations. All praise electronic music in 1989, when Arthur Russell was moving from a world of echo to another thought, and Bob Stanley and Pete Wiggs of Saint Etienne were putting together the first elements of a scheme that would soon yield Saint Etienne’s debut single, a 1990 cover of Neil Young’s "Only Love Can Break Your Heart."

Twenty years from their inception, Saint Etienne are a major touchstone for some of this year’s most acclaimed or interesting releases. Every act on the Swedish Sincerely Yours label could qualify as a child of Saint Etienne’s Foxbase Alpha (Heavenly, 1991), or as baggy-era revivalists. In 2008, that meant the Honeydrips, and also the Tough Alliance, whose A New Chance suggested lost outtakes from Happy Mondays’ Madchester Rave EP (Factory, 1989). In 2009, jj’s No. 2 and Air France’s No Way Down tapped into the femme pop of Stanley, Wiggs, and Sarah Cracknell. A different, perhaps more fascinating phenom floats forth from the radiophonic odds and ends of Foxbase Alpha and especially Saint Etienne’s So Tough (Heavenly, 1992). Rooj’s The Transactional Dharma of Rooj (Ghost Box) and Broadcast and the Focus Group’s Broadcast and the Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age (Warp) go hauntologically further with Stanley’s and Wiggs’ practice of searching for spirits through a twist of the radio dial.

It’s 1989: Andrew Weatherall is about to fuse his dancefloor acumen with My Bloody Valentine’s noise-bliss on the epic "Soon." It’s 2009: Weatherall returns to the realm of epic rock electronics with Fuck Buttons’ Tarot Sport (ATP). Here in San Francisco, a new brigade of superb rock bands — Girls, the Mantles, the Fresh and Onlys — arrives, all of whom wouldn’t sound out of place on Alan McGee’s Creation label back when Shields was spending all of its money in the studio. This year brings reissues of Loop’s Heaven’s End (Head, 1987), The World in Your Eyes (Head, 1987), Fade Out (Chapter 22, 1988), and A Gilded Eternity (1990, Situation Two), while spacemen-two acts such as California’s Crocodiles (on Summer of Hate, Fat Possum) and Moon Duo loop listeners back twenty years in time like a retro-futurist astronauts.

Just last week, the DJ Alexis Le-Tan told me that 2009 should have been another summer of love, like 1967 and 1988. In the new book 1989: Bob Dylan Didn’t Have This to Sing About (University of California Press, 198 pages, $21.95), the Bay Area critic and poet Joshua Clover uses Public Enemy, N.W.A., and the birth of Nirvana to establish 1989 as a pivotal year in popular music. It’s a point that the music this year argues just as convincingly on an understated scale, whether it’s Blues Control charting the quiet moments of Sonic Youth’s Daydream Nation (Enigma, 1988), Night Control coming off like the next Guided By Voices, or Kurt Vile and Wavves jousting cross-coastal for the role of son of Dinosaur Jr. Listen back to look forward.

Sprinting toward Babylon

December 9, 2009

VISUAL ART I remember the first time I heard about Conrad Ruiz. I was standing by the fire on the patio of the Eagle, a spot that for me is a site of great tidings. A pair of talented San Francisco artists told me with enthusiasm about this young painter whose large-scale works depicted things like a man riding the nose of a killer whale as it burst forth from a pool, or a coach getting a golden shower of Gatorade from his triumphant team. According to their accounts, Ruiz magnified and entwined the absurdity and ecstasy of his subject matter. I had some cathartic laughs just imagining his paintings.

Detail from Overload. Challenger explosion not pictured.

When I first “saw” Ruiz’s art, online, it exceeded my expectations. In particular, I was blown away by Overload [2009], which among other things deserves consideration as the best piece of “Barack Obama art” to date. Panoramic and vibrant even when shrunk 25 times in size, Ruiz’s watercolor works on paper and canvas once again incited a convulsive reaction. I laughed my ass off upon seeing works such as New Fall Lineup [2009] for the first time. But the longer I looked, the more caught up in wonder I became about their myriad tiny details and teeming — at times disturbing subtextual currents.

What goes on in Ruiz’s imagination? On the eve of his first solo show, at San Francisco’s Silverman Gallery, I caught up with him as he navigated the social conflagration of Art Basel Miami, the megafair where at least one magazine tipped him as the leader of a “new generation of art stars.” Whatever one makes of that claim, Ruiz — who is also plotting some collective artistic efforts with friends — is the splashiest crest of an exciting new wave of young California painters.

SFBG How are you doing?
Conrad Ruiz I’m alright. I’m just sitting on South Beach. I wanted to find a place to gather my thoughts, and I’m watching this guy tan himself. I can’t believe he’s doing that. He’s got these great stomach muscles. [Curator and Berkeley Art Museum director] Larry Rinder and I were talking about doing sit-ups before we came here, but we both just got busy — we never did it.

Miami’s fun. I kind of wish I could take my shirt off everywhere, but I feel a little bit squishy.

SFBG It seems like your art would look good in Miami.
CR The colors are finding a home here. There are a lot of bright red and yellow bikinis around. This couple nearby are either arguing or also tanning themselves. They just sit and look at the sun, kinda like lizards.

SFBG What do you think of the Tiger Woods news frenzy right now? I wondered about your take on him. In a way, I thought he might not fit along with some of the athletic figures you depict, because golf isn’t so much about dynamism.
CR But you always hear comedians say, “Just leave it to a black American to dominate another sport.” Chris Rock essentially says, “Wait till we get on ice skates, man, we’re going to take over hockey.”

Tiger Woods has been developed into this brand, aligned with Nike. It’s a very intelligent campaign. It’s not Obama, but he’s been this person who can do no wrong. That’s the personality that has developed through whoever is handling his marketing. It’s more than his being an excellent golfer, he’s also been displayed as this great human. We don’t know that much about him, and then something like [the car accident and ensuing scandal] happens. It’s all we get, and it’s kind of sketchy, and it happened to fall on this awesome Thanksgiving weekend. I thought, “All must be right in the world if the only thing we have to talk about is Tiger Woods getting hit with a golf club by his wife.” If that’s what actually happened.

SFBG People are already Photoshopping and digitally animating visions of that.
CR That’s my job — to look up all that stuff.

SFBG Does 1970s cinema have any place in your mind’s eye? The Jaws [1975] shark in your painting Rough Riders [2008] and the disaster film or Towering Inferno-like [1974] quality of works like New Fall Lineup made me wonder. I could see that I might be wrong about the latter, since a flaming, exploding skyscraper has other obvious connotations.
CR My work really started with that time period and in painting advertising from that era. The colors were a lot more primary. When I was painting those advertisements, the work was more sarcastic. That beginning body of work was about developing this snarky character that evolved into what I’m making now.

It is about going back and catching some of the ridiculousness of what was so popular at one time. When you watch a disaster film now, you know the history of those celebrities. It’s hard for me to relate to that period of time, but it’s easy for me to relate to early 1990s movies like the Naked Gun franchise — O.J. Simpson was in those — and the Terminator flicks. Those are ridiculous and fun. I like them, and of course [lowers voice], that’s my Governor.

Everyone says “I hate that guy,” but even though I think [Schwarzenegger]’s doing a terrible job, I don’t want my politicians to be these people I don’t know — I’d rather have them be these celebrities I hate. If I’m going to hate who’s in office, I’d rather have it be Sylvester Stallone or somebody.

SFBG When you make work that has a contemporary element, there’s always a danger of it becoming instantly dated. But I think some of your work is both timely and ahead of its time. Overload, for example, just becomes more and more evocative.

The NASA element of the piece, with the Challenger exploding, is taking on new facets as Obama is increasingly identified with the military and space program. I saw a show at Altman Siegel Gallery by Matt Keegan earlier this year that utilized a New York Times front page photo of Obama boarding Air Force One for the first time. That’s a more direct example of what I’m talking about. Six months ago, that image had a different connotation.
CR I was really hoping Obama would get elected, because I started Overload before the election.

SFBG I have to ask about the Challenger’s presence in Overload. I was talking with the artist Colter Jacobsen recently about the fact that I’d like to put together a show of Challenger-related art. Within the art world, there are at least a dozen or so people who have incorporated the Challenger one way or another into work. That’s not even counting how it has manifested as band and album names and jokes in popular culture.
CR For me, it would be great to ask the artist about the original idea behind making a Challenger painting. Everyone has a different a point of view about what’s going on. I always feel like I’m casting with my paintings. There are these scenarios that have never happened, and since I get to decide what’s happening, I also decide who is the star —whether it’s someone from a B movie, an unsung celebrity, a friend who I’m giving a big break, or someone from a blockbuster, like Eddie Murphy and David Alan Grier.

Overload is a blockbuster sort of painting. I cast that [Challenger] explosion because I thought it was a very unique, amazing explosion. Once I began painting it, people began talking about its relevance, because it says something different when Obama is flying towards it, possibly causing it or stopping it.

To be very honest, I didn’t initially know it was the Challenger exploding. My Mom told me. She’s a teacher, so to her it was a terrible thing, and she asked me to really consider what I was doing. I told her, “That’s perfect.” Because to me the painting is about Obama coming to the rescue and shitting these energy projections — either he’s going to stop the war, or he causing some trouble of his own.

A few paintings later [in New Fall Lineup] I painted the Twin Towers exploding for a similar reason. I was casting this unique explosion and trying to create a different scenario with it.

SFBG I don’t often self-identify in generational terms, but when I was talking about the Challenger explosion with Colter [Jacobsen], he was saying that he had referred to it while teaching a class, and that it wasn’t even a memory for many students. Whereas for he and I, there was the teacher element, and also the fact that everyone was watching the Challenger at school that day. So as a disastrous event, it was similar to 9/11 in that the day just stopped.
CR The Challenger explosion has a lot to do with failed promise, doesn’t it? There was tremendous hope about what was about to happen, and it all fell apart in one second.

There’s an element of comedy that I’ve kind of borrowed from Richard Pryor. As I watch his stuff, it’s more like performance art. What he talked about wasn’t funny at all, it was actually horrible. He was an interesting character in that he talked about things that were definitely not right, but did so in a way that everyone would be laughing. Comedy is a way of passing serious information without being worried about the consequences. That makes it kind of a new territory. Dave Chappelle was able to say some unique and terrible things in this fun format.

SFBG It’s interesting that you bring up Chappelle, because after he hit his sort of Challenger moment on the pop culture stage and went away, Block Party [a.k.a. Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, 2006] came out.
CR That’s a beautiful movie.

SFBG It was released during the final stretch of all the jockeying for Academy Awards in Hollywood. All these talking heads were going on about which movies were important, and I remember thinking that Block Party was more important or vital and connected to the world than any of them.
CR/strong> His stuff is always about pointing out differences, and bringing together ideas of social class hierarchy. In a roundabout way, that’s what he did [in em>Block Party]. He brought together a lot of high-end artists and gave a free show. It was about giving to the people or the neighborhood. The idea of a barbecue, a barbecue block party, also has an ethnic connotation to it.

SFBG There is a lot of athletic imagery in your art, and I don’t want to reduce it to masculinity or sexuality, but I do want to ask about being drawn to those kinds of visuals, or wanting to render them.

Veronica De Jesus does some sports-oriented work that’s quite different from yours, but also has a terrific sense of humor. Sports are quite iconic — moments like an Olympic runner tumbling or Zidane’s headbutt become part of the collective consciousness. But beyond that, there’s an ecstatic, colorful, lively quality to your sports imagery.
CR Sports have always been a part of my life. My mom and dad were very athletic at one time, and they encouraged my brother and me to take part in sports. The alternative was for us to be on our own, and they knew we had a lot of Latino friends, so of course I was just going to get into trouble. So I was enrolled in soccer and taekwando. I was a sprinter in high school, and I was on the football team.

[The paintings] are a culmination of all the things you’re talking about. The outfits these athletes wear are designed to be eye-catching, with these primary colors. The Denver Broncos have that awesome dark blue with orange …

SFBG I love that combo. I just put together a sports cinema program with a film curator at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, and when I’d introduce a movie from the 1970s, I’d always mention the athletic fashions.
CR Everything is designed to be the most freaking amazing thing possible, because these people are performing acts that no one else can do — they’re leaping through the air catching a ball thrown from very far away while wearing purple and yellow. The performance and exertion is incredible, and at the same time, what can make it even greater is being in a stadium where everyone is screaming their lungs out at the same time. Whether it’s an epic win or colossal failure, it’s still that climax. The climax doesn’t mean that it’s good — it’s a peak of performance.

When I’d meet with advisors at CCA [California College of the Arts], we’d really break it down, and they could easily talk me out of making my work. When you get down to it, what I’m doing is a little ineffective, and what would be more effective, to really get my idea across, would be to just play soccer with a group. I’d be performing, I’d be creating these intimate male relationships. I could actually be slapping some guy’s butt instead of painting around it. Joining a soccer team would be more efficient.

SFBG Maybe you and Luke [Butler, a fellow Silverman Gallery artist whose work engages with masculinity] should join a soccer team.
CR [Laughs] Yeah.

SFBG There is some commonality between your work, and also some major differences.
CR I think it’s because I’m the boy and Luke is the dashing man. I’m looking to be a man and trying to figure out what a man is, while Luke is a dashing man looking sideways.

CONRAD RUIZ: COLD, HARD AND WET
Fri/11 through Jan. 30, 2010
Silverman Gallery
804 Sutter, SF
(415) 255-9508
www.silverman-gallery.com

Solar flair

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December 2, 2009
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Sonny Smith knows how to write a song. He better, because he’s writing a lot of them. The Oakland resident is currently shoulders-deep in a mammoth project titled “100 Records” that combines music he’s composed and recorded with cover visuals by a not-small army of Bay Area artists. Anyone who has heard Smith’s 2006 album Fruitvale (Belle Sound) or read his column for the Examiner is aware that he has a direct, colorful way with words. Anyone who has found a copy of Tomorrow is Alright (Soft Abuse/Secret Seven), the new album by Smith’s group Sonny and the Sunsets, realizes he has a gift for classic melody: “Too Young to Burn” is worthy of Ronnie Spector; “Death Cream” is a balm; and “Planet of Women” is the kind of music that will give you that summer feeling on Christmas Day. In the immediate wake of Tomorrow, I asked Smith some questions.

SFBG Around the time of Fruitvale, you sent out a little black-and-white comic called Life and Times of a Mindless Ape as your musician’s bio. I liked reading about your Bolinas youth.
Sonny Smith My folks moved all around the Bay Area when I was young, so I wasn’t a Bolinas kid. That’s what you could do back then, even if you had no money — one year you could live in Bolinas, the next on a houseboat in Sausalito, then in the Mission, then in the Sunset, and back to Fairfax.
They met at an anti-Vietnam rally in Golden Gate Park in the Summer of Love. My dad was in the seminary in San Anselmo; my mother was a resident at Baker Street [halfway house]. One could be a bohemian back then. My dad was a fan of writers like Brautigan and Kerouac, and he was part of a circle of old-time string band musicians that included sculptors and painters and artists.

SFBG Can you tell me more about the gentleman with the tarot deck in Paris that you mention in Mindless Ape?
SS Laurent Despot was the man I met. At the time he was a freelance journalist working for magazines, smut or otherwise. I was transformed by the tarot reading and it might have become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Basically he was a very nice man who helped a 17-year-old sleeping in the Paris Metro. He also lived exactly across the street from his wife, which I now see as wonderful.

SFBG I have to ask you about the Fruitvale song “Mario,” because it reminds me of a Mario.
SS I lived next to a big Latino family, and their driveway was by my living room window. The teenage son would hang out in the family minivan late at night and listen to tunes. One night I peeked through our blinds and I saw him in there putting on makeup and dressing up as a woman, partying a bit, making some phone calls, and then taking the makeup back off, going back to the Latino teen with slicked back hair. Fruitvale is a tough place to be anything but macho, so I was thinking how tough you gotta be to be a queen in the ghetto. We found the toughest beat ever created — “We Will Rock You” by Queen — and we started with that, then tried to make it a little desperate and sad but fighting to the end.

SFBG How did the idea behind your “100 Records” project come about? In terms of hypergraphia or forced hypergraphia, [the Magnetic Fields’] 69 Love Songs (Merge, 1999) comes to mind, but this is quite different.
SS I didn’t intend to write so many songs. I had written a novel last winter about all these fictional musicians, and I got a small residency at the Headlands to write songs for these fake singers and make sketches of what their albums would look like. I thought that might be cool to insert in the novel. But I farmed a few drawings out — one to artist Paul Wackers, one to Mingering Mike [godfather of fake 45s], some to a few artists at Creativity Explored, and a few others to people I met through Headlands. The pieces were so amazing that I couldn’t not do that for all of the songs, and I couldn’t slack on the song-production end. So my novel just kinda broke up into this epic art project. Now there are about 60 artists, and I’m trying to do 200 songs. Marc Dantona has been helping me produce some sessions. We have a little wrecking crew band, and we are knocking shit out left and right. The “100 Records” show will be in April at Gallery 16.

SFBG Tell me about some of the bands and musicians of “100 Records.” Who are they, what are their back stories?
SS There are about 50 so far — Beachticks, Cabezas Cordades, Little Antoine and the Sparrows, Earth Girl Helen Brown, Zig Speck & Specktones, Prince Nedick, Bobbie Hawkins, the Fuckaroos.
Prince Nedick for instance was born Washington Rice, and for a short period was a child preacher in his hometown of Turkey Creek, near Leicester, N.C. He started his showbiz career as a dancer, working at the 81 Theater in Atlanta as a young teenager. Rice was gay and flamboyant; he worked the tent shows in drag, a great Southern showbiz tradition in itself, and an important influence on rock ’n’ roll — hence the term “tent show queen.” He sang the repertoire of said tradition, many of the same tunes Little Richard would clean up and take to the bank, like “Tutti Frutti” (original lyrics: “Tutti Frutti/Good booty/If it don’t fit/Don’t force it/Just grease it/Make it easy”). He was known for his flashy style and violent temper. At the height of his fame, he went on the lam for assaulting his brother’s wife with an ax, and ultimately ended up in Minglewood, a lumber camp a few miles east of the Mississippi in Dyersburg, Tenn.

SFBG Are there box sets or large music projects (Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music, for example) with an artistic element that you especially love?
SS Harry Smith’s is a huge influence definitely — probably the biggest. Mingering Mike, certainly. Woody Guthrie just swimming through all those songs over the years is influential. I wanted to step into a place where everything is available at all moments to be music, to be art, and it appears I had to come up with alteregos to allow that.

SFBG Are you now, or have you ever been, a member of the Communist Party?
SS My girlfriend’s dad was named after Eugene V. Debs.

Spacemen two

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December 2, 2009
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“I think our interest in the spheres is less scientific, less intellectual, and more primal,” Ripley Johnson of Moon Duo says, when asked if he and bandmate Sanae Yamada have a particular fascination with deep space. “I see it as a sort of existential mirror, or perhaps a visceral catalyst for existential experience.”
The eye-catching quartet of NASA-ESA Hubble Space Telescope images on the cover of Moon Duo’s four-song EP Killing Time (Sacred Bones) evoke untouched realms and a sense of unknowing, even foreboding. But in their uniformity, they don’t bring across the recording’s range, which sways from bass-driven gothic isolation (the title track) to an organ sound that pulses with druggy intensity (“Speed”) to haunted house psych rock (“Dead West”) to tranquility (“Ripples”). Impressively, Killing Time’s disparate songs seem built upon a single mutating rhythm. “I think of it less as motorik than as biological, like the beating of a heart,” says Johnson. “It’s the pulse of life, and I think that’s how we relate to motorik, the sounds of machines, engines, wheels on the highway, trains going down the track. That’s why the song ends but the beat always goes on.”
Moon Duo’s sound isn’t as dense as that of Johnson’s other Bay Area band, Wooden Shjips, but it’s at least as potent. A satellite release before Escape, an album out on Woodsist in the new year, Killing Time essentially throws down the gauntlet in the space race amongst local kosmische- and krautock-influenced groups. The visceral peak is “Speed,” a blast worthy of its obvious antecedents, Suicide and Spacemen 3.
“The first Suicide album [Suicide, 1977; Mute/Blast] is one of the great rock albums of all time,” Johnson says, promptly drifting from Suicide-al thoughts into a discussion of the second word in his band’s name. “I was thinking about favorite duos, because it doesn’t seem like a common arrangement for rock. The inspiration for us initially came from jazz, like the great Rashied Ali albums with John Coltrane and Frank Lowe. But some of my favorite rock-ish albums were made by duos or near-duos: Silver Apples, Royal Trux, Moolah, Chrome, Cluster.”
As for favorite moon movies, Johnson has some. “Probably either A Trip to the Moon (1902) or Countdown (1968),” he says. “I really like non-Hollywood action sci-fi movies, like Solaris (2002), The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976), Alphaville (1965), Fahrenheit 451, and La jetée (1962).”

Love sex fear death

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December 2, 2009
0

Philadelphia freedom can become Philadelphia gothdom. Cinematically, I’m thinking of David Lynch’s Eraserhead (1977), the very definition of black-and-white bleakness, and a Philly-filmed movie set within a nightmare. More recently (and obscurely), I’m thinking of Andrew Repasky McElhinney’s far-from-literal 2004 film adaptation of George Bataille’s Story of the Eye, seemingly based in blasted-out sections of the City of Brotherly Love.
Bataille’s obsessive focus on eros’ fusion of love and death is in keeping with Cold Cave, the latest musical project of Wesley Eisold. But gothdom and an appreciation of the occult or morbidity took root in Eisold’s life long before he set base in his current home of Philadelphia, let alone visited Madame Blavatsky’s house there. “We’ve really kept to ourselves, which was the impetus for settling in Philly for a bit,” he says, referring to bandmates Dominick Fernow of Prurient and former Xiu Xiu member Caralee McElroy. “Less distraction, more work. Cheap rent, no need for money.”
For Eisold, the influences behind his current sound can be traced back to adolescent VHS tapes of 120 Minutes, a rare constant during a nomadic youth. “I met my cousin Jacy — who lives in San Francisco, actually — for the first time when I was 11 and he was maybe 13,” he remembers. “You never know what your family is going to be like. He came into my house wearing a Sisters of Mercy shirt and I had a Cure shirt on.”
If the bass on “Hello Rats” from Cold Cave’s Love Comes Close (Matador) recalls the Cure’s Seventeen Seconds (Fiction, 1980) and “I’ve Seen the Future and It’s No Place for Me” on the group’s compilation Cremations (Hospital Productions) sounds like the Cure’s Pornography (Fiction, 1980) blaring from a room down the hall, then cousin Jacy’s tee-shirt cast a spell as well. The bottomless baritone of Sisters of Mercy leader Andrew Ridgely informs Eisold’s vocal approach to tracks such as Cremations’ “An Understanding” and “I’ve Seen the Future,” and Love Comes Close‘s “The Laurels of Erotomania” and title track.
But Cold Cave has more going on than mere ’80s pastiche and nostalgia. A fan of small publishers such as Hanuman and Black Sparrow (“I think Ed Dorn’s Gunslinger is massively underappreciated,” he says) who runs his own small press called Heartworm, Eisold doesn’t merely strike dark poses in his lyrics. An example would be Cremations‘ opening track “Sex Ads,” a direct, truthful song about a pretty common phenom in contemporary life: sexual self-commodification.
“It’s probably the most literal song I’ve ever written,” Eisold says of the track, which ends with a sense of ghostliness akin to Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s 2001 film Kairo. “Of course, us humans will find a way to make intimacy even more detached. I don’t find it strange at all. We’ve built all these machines to do everything else for us, so of course we’ll have a computer be the enabler our friends could never be. It didn’t catch on, but remember 10 years ago or so the Internet was trying to sell thse pieces you could attach to the computer for a simulated fuck? This makes much more sense. Really, I can’t believe how unexcited we are about the world we live in and how realities overlap from a screen to the day-to-day. This meshing of worlds happens so fast that no one has the time to appreciate how strange it is.”
Not exactly “Boys Don’t Cry” — or Fall Out Boy, for that matter. One gets the sense that Cold Cave is still developing, an exciting and perhaps hauntological prospect considering their music to date. Cremations contains some powerful sounds and instrumental passages, from the Nico-caliber fugue “E Dreams” to the outer space loneliness of “Roman Skirts” and the apocalyptic, nuclear radiance of “Always Someone.” If Love Comes Close sacrifices such experimentation on the altar of pop, during a track like McElroy’s vocal star turn “Life Magazine,” the blood tastes like fine wine. Alienation has rarely sounded so ebullient.

COLD CAVE
with Former Ghosts and Veil Veil Varnish
Thu/3, 9 p.m., $10
Bottom of the Hill
1233 17th St., SF
(415) 621-4455
www.bottomofthehill.com

Songs of Norway

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November 24, 2009
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MUSIC Hey Annie fans, relax. How many pop princesses are savvy enough to begin the intro verse of an album’s kickoff song with a couplet that casually and subtly incorporates the titles of Shannon’s "Let the Music Play" and Chaka Khan’s "I Feel for You"? Years in the making, Don’t Stop (Smalltown Supersound) has gone through more permutations than a combinatronics expert could comprehend, yet our girl brings the goods — the first seven songs are quip-sharp, catwalk-strut perfection, especially the initial one-two-three punch. The opener brings its introductory marching band motif back around at the climax with a potency that Tusk–era Fleetwood Mac might envy. "My Love is Better" is so sassy it’s funny, and so catchy it’s near fatal. Resplendently melancholic, "Bad Times" matches the femme finesse of Saint Etienne’s best uptempo moments and the melodicism of Johnny Marr and Kirsty MacColl’s peak collabos.

The higher Annie’s feather-light voice soars, the deeper the undertow of sadness in her words, and in that regard, "Bad Times" is her second album’s "Heartbeat." It might not become everyone’s pop song of the year the way her "Heartbeat" so obviously ruled 2004, but that’s only because it’s a little too introverted. If anything, it’s more sublime.

There are some interesting subtexts or subplots at play in Don’t Stop. One is its meta-pop aspect: at least a few songs address fellow songwriters and pop stars. "I Don’t Like Your Band" delivers a series of conciliatory kiss-offs and pieces of advice. This gambit would be deadly if Annie wasn’t on point, but she serves up immaculate wit and melody. (Robyn has to admire this track.) "Songs Remind Me of You" flips the Casey Kasem-era Top 40 conceit of an old song conjuring memory of an old love — in this case, Annie wonders if the pop prince or princess she’s singing to is haunted by his or her past creations when they materialize from a nearby radio.

That "his or her" is worth noting, because Annie has almost never added gender-specific touches to her songs. For sure, when she’s put together a put-down lyric, it’s easy to imagine a boyish man on the receiving end. But Don’t Stop‘s one plaintive ode to a particular person, "Marie Cherie," addresses an ill-fated girl "who never made her sweet 16." Some unimaginable yet just-right marriage between Claudine Longet and P.J. Harvey’s "Down by the Water," it’s as seductively Sapphic — and remote — as a daughters of darkness fantasy. Annie at her best: more than strong enough for a man, but made for a woman.

Once every two weeks

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November 24, 2009
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johnny@sfbg.com

LIT I have a stack of Try magazines on my lap as I write this. The pages are white, marked by the black of letters and photocopied pen marks and the gray shades of color photos or aged pages filtered through Xerox. Some of the pieces in issues are printouts of e-mails, or maps of sites in Oakland going into foreclosure. Others are copied from typewritten pages — or bank receipts. There are numbered lists, unnumbered lists, exquisite corpses, poetic critiques of programs, hidden sonnets for the public, and mash notes from poet to poet. There are images of Peter Lorre, and images by Dean Smith. One of my favorite poems in Try is "Flipper Turns 25," by Alli Warren. Another, by Stan Apps, is partly about Big Star. One of my favorite issues has writing about Contempt (1963) and Overboard (1987). Cover stars include one of Jeff Koons’ Michael Jackson and Bubbles sculptures, at least one member of Ralph Eugene Meatyeard’s Crater family, and an erect David Wojnarowicz wearing an Arthur Rimbaud mask. It was in Try that I learned that no book by Jack Spicer is under copyright. The names of the contributors to an issue of Try are usually found on or near the back cover.

SFBG Why Try?

Sara Larsen Working with what you have at hand. Just because we don’t have much money, that doesn’t mean we can’t put out a magazine every two weeks or so. Also, we looked around us one day and realized we are surrounded by brilliant writers and artists. And that all of them really should know what the others are currently working on, that this knowing is generative and produces more work.

David Brazil We’ve seen so many people assume that it’s impossible to get anything done in the arts without institutional support, grants, or other kinds of fundraising. We intentionally designed our project to be as inexpensive as possible to produce and also to be free. We’re trying to give the lie to a whole set of assumptions — both about how something is made, and what it could be for.

SFBG How do you manage to print biweekly/bimonthly? How have Try‘s content and the submissions changed over time (if they have changed)?

DB We usually manage to print by the seat of our pants. There’s invariably some logistical or financial obstacle. We’ve tried to learn the lesson of incorporating setbacks as constraints governing the production of the product — a sort of chance operation. And as it’s turned out, issues we’ve produced in this way have often been far better than what we imagined in the first place.

SFBG The particulars: when did you begin publishing Try, what are your frameworks or structures for it, and how many issues have you done to date? What do you like about the folded 8 1/2 by 14-inch (or 2 by 7-inch) format?

DB We began publishing Try in the spring of 2008 and developed our framework as we went along. We’re in the habit of breaking rules as soon as it becomes apparent that they are rules, but we’ve done every issue staplebound on legal size paper, so that’s become habitual. I’d guess we’ve done 28, but we date them rather than number them, so sometimes even we lose track.

SL The 8 1/2 x 14 paper we fold over to make Try gives a spacious page and it’s easy — every copy store has it.

SFBG Do themes or similarities ever emerge within an issue due to happenstance?

DB As time has gone by and our slush pile has expanded, we’ve gotten into the habit of curating our issues around not themes exactly, but motifs, which can show up in subtle ways. The issues we’re the most proud of end up harmonizing the work of the individual contributors and themselves forming an aesthetic whole.

SL Sometimes we’ll know someone is coming to town to read and we’ll solicit work from them and a number of poets who we think resonate with their work. And we’ll throw in some surprises too — someone unexpected, or someone whose work is totally different from everything else in the issue.

SFBG Have you found out about any writers through their sending work unsolicited?

DB We’ve found many writers this way — and we encourage such submissions!

SFBG Who would you love to receive an unsolicited submission from?

DB and SL Lessee … Bernadette Mayer, Susan Howe, Raymond Pettibon, Dennis Cooper, Bhanu Kapil, Will Alexander, Rob Fitterman, Samuel Delany, whoever’s reading this …

SFBG What motivates you to write?

DB Ineluctability.

SFBG Do you like photocopiers? What tips do you have for people who want to use them?

DB and SL Man, we fucking love photocopiers. And materiality. What is done by hand. We are not about the Internet. We are about a physical object that contains many people’s work passing hand to hand.

DB My only real advice is, make sure to print a sample set before you run off 100 copies.

SL We are also not opposed at all to people borrowing their friends’ copies of Try, bringing it to the copyshop themselves and making more. Not many people have thought to do this, surprisingly, but we’d love it if they did.

SFBG What are you obsessed with at the moment?

DB Obsolete technologies. Prophecy and the logos. Beethoven’s Piano Sonatas. The contents of our next issue.

SL Quiet reading and writing time. Cooking greens. Study groups.

SFBG Has the experience of putting together and distributing Try changed your view of writing in the Bay Area, and if so, how?

DB We’ve always thought of Try as an attempt to provide a mirror within which a very dynamic writing community may see itself — and, hopefully, be seen by future readers. If anything, we’ve become convinced in the past year that the local scene is even more vibrant and populous than we’d previously imagined, which is very hard to believe.

SFBG What are some of the more enigmatic or strange contributions you’ve received?

DB We’ve received bar reviews, anonymous cartoons, scribbles on napkins, ATM receipts, rejection letters from MFA writing programs, texts in braille, faxes from different time zones … and lots and lots of amazing poetry.

SL We’ve also found on the ground or stuffed in library books drawings or pictures that have become our covers or part of an issue.

SFBG What would you like to see more of in Try?

DB We initially imagined Try as a testing ground for work still underway, or else brand new, provisional, still-to-be-revised — and we’d still love to see more of that kind of writing.

Try magazine is on hiatus until January, 2010. Write to Try at 3107 Ellis, Berkeley, CA 94703 or at trymagazine@gmail.com.

x plus x equals xx

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November 18, 2009
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x one: 2009 is 1989 all over again. Exhibit 89: The xx intro themselves near Fascination Street, somewhere across the city from the fine times and vanishing points where Memory Tapes currently resides. Truth be told, that year is just one of many pre-millennial ones this sneaky group taps into and renovates. Their minor key, lowercase late night musings shine darkly like Young Marble Giants circa-1979. Their slowly uncoiling guitar lines accompany a less chaste version of the gorgeous languor on Unrest’s 1992 imperial f.f.r.r. (Teen Beat), an album whose male-female vocal duality was an outgrowth of the shoegaze craze of — wait for it — 1989. When they cast their eyes at infinity, the brooding atmosphere and cavernous reverb sound a bit like the wicked games and twin peaks of 1989, as well. The canny use of space and silence, masculine and feminine on The xx (Young Turks) might reach maximum seduction and propulsion on “Islands,” where the low-end throbs like Tricky breaking free from the Wild Bunch and the angular guitar melodies flutter with excitement as Oliver Sims’ sexy cig-rasp snakes in and out of Romy Madley Croft’s soft, lazy lead vocal. Too many British female vocalists go so wan they lose all sense of lust. But not her — not here. (Johnny Ray Huston)

x two: “Basic space, open air … don’t look away when there’s nothing there.” On the intimate Independent stage, what will the emotionally prickly xx share? The quartet’s just lost keyboardist Baria Qureshi due to exhaustion and their much-hyped live show at CMJ this year was called “warmed-over Tracey Thorn” by a cheeky New York Times critic. That would seem paradoxical (no one associates physical exhaustion with Everything But the Girl appearances) if paradox wasn’t the xx’s creative engine, the push-pull of sexual relationships churning lyrically within an obsessively polished, passive-aggressively spare musical backdrop. The xx‘s “Basic Space” might be the best encapsulation of this Ziploc-ed bleeding heart aesthetic. From its inverted horror-movie metaphors — co-singer Oliver Sims climbs into a pool of boiling wax, which provides him with a “shine,” a “second skin,” while Romy Madley Croft states, “I’ll take you in pieces” — to its plucky Smiths-pinching final phrases and tin-Casio organ chords, the track is at the razor’s edge of current indie pop sensibilities. What’s uniquely its own, though, besides the way the tune’s steel-blue flicker runs up your discs, and what the xx brings to the world of rock, is a voluble taciturnity — yearning for personal space while lamenting its necessity, holding yourself together by breaking into pieces, creating a killer dance tune just one whiff away from silence. Sustaining that attitude live will be a neat trick. (Marke B.)

THE XX

With Friendly Fires, Holly Miranda

Nov 23, 9 p.m., sold out

The Independent

628 Divisadero, SF

(415) 771-1421

David Wilson

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November 4, 2009
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johnny@sfbg.com

You can stare blankly at a museum piece for three seconds, or you can view a drawing through one of David Wilson’s events — through a swim in the Pacific Ocean, or through staring at a sky criss-crossed by an intricate lattice of branches. You can do the gallery troll stroll, or you can walk over hills and small mountains into caves and coves where, thanks to Wilson and friends, music and movies reside.

If you experienced Wilson’s "Open Endless" and "Memorial Fort" this year, you’ve been to places you likely wouldn’t have encountered otherwise, and have memories to draw from as you move on. Though these were autonomous-zone community gatherings, subtextually and privately, they were partly inspired by Wilson’s father, who died the day after "Open Endless" traversed the Marin Headlands. "Everything I felt excited about [artistically] took on a different tone," he says, when asked about the initial cancer diagnosis. "I started a six-month drawing project up in the hills. It was personal meditation on what was happening, and also a chance to be removed from my life in a way that I could feel like I was sending thoughts out eastward. I was drawing eastward."

"Drawing is a tool that I carry with me," he continues, as we sit on a patch of grass in Dolores Park, where a dog tries to munch on our pastries. "It’s a viewfinder to orient my wanders while trying to find places, and find myself in places."

For Wilson, this journey traces back to annual visits to Cape Cod during his youth. His drawings and paintings range from life-size shells to a 22-foot watercolor coastline rendered on the aged white paper of record sleeves. "I like seeing what’s already invested in a piece of parchment," he says, agreeing about a kinship with Todd Bura, Ajit Chauhan, and Colter Jacobsen. "Age marked in that gentle way on paper is beautiful."

Wilson’s drawings have metamorphosed into site-specific events in eucalyptus groves, military tunnels, and even islands. Last year, and he and some co-conspirators woke up on New Year’s morning to reserve every campsite on Angel Island for one July weekend. With "Memorial Fort," Wilson’s process has progressed to additions to the landscape, resulting in an unlikely oasis in the woods of Richmond. "Ideas in general are infectious," he observes. "If an idea is exciting, then things can fall into place."

www.ribbonsribbons.blogspot.com

Monique Jenkinson

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November 4, 2009
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johnny@sfbg.com

"It takes a village to make a solo," Monique Jenkinson, a.k.a. Fauxnique, quips over drinks at the Lone Palm, before finding a sequin from her blouse in the peanut jar. She would know: equal to Justin Bond’s best endeavors on the stage of Climate Theatre, and complete with a Maria Callas homage as fierce as any by onetime Climate queen Diamanda Galas, her revelatory and inspirational show Faux Real deploys Trannyshack-schooled drag, pro athlete caliber dance, and first-person dialogue to mine diamond truths about the relationship between women and gay men. It’s on a par with the 1990 film version of Sandra Bernhard’s Without You I’m Nothing.

If such references send your fagometer off the charts and you’ve missed Faux Real, for shame, child. But if they mean nothing to you, Jenkinson is must-see because of her technical excellence, ability to create beauty, and rare personable flair for drama. These qualities mark her early collaborations with Kevin Clarke in the evidently Nina-mad duo Hagen and Simone, her 2003 win as Fauxnique at the Miss Trannyshack contest, a performance as her teen idol Edie Sedgwick in a L.A. play, her artistic partnership with longtime love and "music librarian" Marc Kate on SilenceFiction’s song-video "Lipstique," and Faux Real. "I’ll write some, do some movement, see how the writing works with the movement, make some movement around the talking, and figure out the sequencing," says Jenkinson. "I kind of have to move my body to jog my mind."

Does the mind rule the body, or the body rule the mind? I dunno, but from hamstrings to heartstrings, Jenkinson’s viscerally refined explorations of that question thrill. She’s capable of "finding the breath" in a lipsync with thespian precision that would garner Lypsinka’s approval, but she’s also capable of singing "This Charming Man" with a pitch-perfect pent-up fervor. She offers a unique kind of proof that drag queenery isn’t about dick size.

The latest challenge for this "socially conscious aesthete" is Luxury Items, currently at ODC Theater. "I go back to Oscar Wilde a lot, and in his life, he had trouble living within his means," Jenkinson says, discussing its inspiration. "[A recession is] not the time for an ‘Oh my god, shoes!’ piece, and yet it is. I’ve always had to make sacrifices for a beautiful thing. You have to know about sacrifice to know true luxury."

www.fauxnique.net

>>GOLDIES 2009: The 21st Guardian Outstanding Local Discovery awards, honoring the Bay’s best in arts

Sugar Pie DeSanto

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November 3, 2009
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arts@sfbg.com

It’s a sunny afternoon, but the lights are low and moody at Duke’s R&B in Oakland. Sugar Pie DeSanto sits at a table with her manager, James C. Moore of Jasman Records. Her 74th birthday is four days in the rear-view mirror. A fresher, harsher anniversary has her deep in thought. “Gotta be gung-ho,” she says. “If you aren’t, then you’re a deadbeat — and I hate a deadbeat.”

Legends of the “Old Fillmore” float around San Francisco like boozy ghosts, shaming the city’s golf shirt rewrite of itself. It’s as if all that was hip, clean, and gut-bucket funky about San Francisco has been expunged — consigned to work in the garage, where oily coveralls hide the gabardine suits, and a hat-in-hand shuffle has replaced the high-step. Fortunately for us, some forces from the golden age of San Francisco hip are too tough and resilient to back down, back up, or backstep. We have Sugar Pie DeSanto to remind us how marvelous we were — and can be.

Born Umpeylia Marsema Balinton, the “Queen of the West Coast Blues” was raised in the Fillmore District, where she was part of a girl gang called the Lucky 20s, along with her cousin, Etta James. After she won a talent contest in L.A., R&B frontman Johnny Otis signed her to a recording contract in 1954. Because of her doll-like stature, he labeled her “Little Miss Sugar Pie.”

Though a little under five feet and all of 90 pounds, the woman soon to score hits as Sugar Pie DeSanto was one of the “cussing-est” performers backstage, and a mean hoofer to boot. Her backflips at the Apollo and scissor-kicks on the stages of London are the stuff of myth. Recordings from her stint as a songwriter and performer for the famous Chess Records in Chicago still scorch today. The evidence is all over this year’s wig-flopping, witchy Go Go Power: The Complete Chess Singles 1961-1966 (Kent), a slip-in mule kick to the ass of contemporary R&B.

Sugar Pie DeSanto ain’t slowing down. In fact, she’s throwing down — with a quartet of albums in the last decade and a notoriously wild live show. When she sings “Hello San Francisco,” it’s possible to feel the spirit — and the potential — of the city where she grew up. Almost exactly three years to the day that a fire claimed her belongings, her written story, and most painfully, her husband Jesse Davis, she’s at Duke’s Place, decked out in beautiful blue, holding a piano-key purse, and deep in thought. “Thank you Jesus,” she says wryly, upon being called over to take some photos. A few seconds later, she smiles, and lights up the whole damn joint. www.jasmanrecords.com

Ghostly hardware

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October 28, 2009
0

johnny@sfbg.com

MUSIC Be aware — from new albums by Cold Cave to reissues on Minimal Wave, neo-gothic strains are in the air. Take one listen to the debut album by Demdike Stare. ‘Tis the season of the witch, but the spells cast by the 11 tracks on Symbiosis (Modern Love) will last well past Halloween to contend on Top 10 lists. Mancunian pair Miles Whitaker and Sean Canty tap into the oft-latent creep factor of dub and the vast darkness of techno, incorporating metal and film scores into those genres’ expansive space to create a distinctively present haunted sound. Neo-goths tend to have better aesthetics than their forebears, and this is the case here, as Whitaker and Canty pay homage to a classic 1922 cult film on witchcraft ("Haxan Dub"; "Haxan") and name their group after 17th-century reputed witch Elizabeth Southerns. Symbiosis is not without humor, though, particularly on "Entwistle Hall" (where moaning gives way to a climactic shriek) and "Trapped Dervish," which sounds exactly like its title.

Canty of Demdike Stare’s day job is at Andy Votel’s Finders Keepers label, the renowned crate-digging — grave-robbing? — label that recently unearthed Dracula’s Music Cabinet by the Vampires of Dartmore. A kitschy pre-krautrock oddity, that album adds quantity if not quality to the growing shelves of library music celebrated by the likes of Jonny Trunk, whose Trunk label has brought back the soundtracks of films such as Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971) and the original Wicker Man (1973). Connections between incidental and soundtrack music of the past and electronic musicians of the present are further — and better — underlined by Terror and Prey, the first releases by Muscovitch Music, a new label established by Joel Martin, who, along with Matt Edwards of Radioslave, is half of the neo-exotica act Quiet Village. The standout of the pair of film soundtracks by Ivor Slaney, Terror favors cold wave minimal electronic flourishes over generic rock. Made in 1978, the movie itself stars Tricia Walsh, who recently had a renewed splash of fame as the bug-eyed "YouTube lady" ranting about her soon-to-be-ex-husband’s many infidelities.

Terror‘s director Norman J. Warren aimed to create a no-budget British answer to Dario Argento’s 1976 Italo horror vision Suspiria. The influence of Argento and his pet group Goblin hangs heavy over contemporary horror-tinged electronic music, from the solemn rock-oriented efforts of Pittsburgh duo Zombi to, most recently, the comedic Horror Disco (Bear Funk) by Bottin. Bottin taps into the fact that Goblin’s Claudio Simonetti was a top creator of Italo disco, and also crafts an Italian answer to the cult games of France’s Black Devil Disco Club.

Neo-goth and horror music is an international phenomenon, ranging from the Knife in Sweden and Bottin in Italy to the U.S., where Philadelphia’s Cold Cave resides. Cremations (Hospital Productions) compiles parched, nihilistic alienation odes from Wesley Eisold’s early EPs, such as "Sex Ads," but it’s Love Comes Close (Matador) — with ex-Xiu Xiu member Caralee McElwoy brought into the fold — that connects as Cold Cave’s crossover move, the type of recording that will bring the trend to the mainstream. Yet in invoking Sisters of Mercy, Cabaret Voltaire, and Pornography-era Cure, Love Comes Close is not alone this year: the criminally ignored Chatterton (Systematic) by American-expat-in-Germany Chelonis R. Jones did so back in the spring, while updating Goblin’s Suspiria death drums on "Rehabilitation."

Still, England may be the current ground zero for neo-goth and retro and contempo sounds of horror, thanks in part to Demdike Stare, and to Trunk, Finders Keepers, and other labels. The latest spectral proof is Broadcast and Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults of the Radio Age (Warp). The Broadcast and Focus Group collaboration is a playful cousin of Symbiosis and a 21st-century musical answer to Bryan Forbes’ 1964 film Séance on a Wet Afternoon. Here, there, and everywhere, the ghosts aren’t just in the machine, they’re running it.

Park life — and 3,000 guitars

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October 20, 2009
0

arts@sfbg.com

MUSIC Golden Gate Park has once again become a nexus for huge music concerts. The massive scope of events such as Outside Lands can’t help but evoke the legacy of San Francisco in the 1960s, when musical gatherings were not only abundant, but a definite inspiration behind concerts elsewhere — especially Woodstock. With West Fest, organizer Boots Hughston and an extensive lineup of musicians and participants are paying tribute to Woodstock’s 40th anniversary. But they’re also bringing a sense of living history to a place where new generations of music lovers — some of whom knowingly or unknowingly admire contemporary acts influenced by the Woodstock era — regularly congregate.

Politically speaking, it’s especially important to bridge a sense of then and now. One person who will be doing exactly that is David Hilliard, former chief of staff in the Black Panther Party, author of many books, and current-day teacher. "Our purpose was always to ensure that art was part of our revolutionary political process," says Hilliard. "I dispatched members of our chapter to Woodstock ’69 as a gesture of solidarity to the counterculture movement. We were the comrades of the hippies and yippies and Peace and Freedom Party. We had the support of people like John Lennon — that was our constituency. It makes sense that we should be included in a celebration of this momentous event."

Hilliard has no problem connecting his message to the present — especially because the present includes some tell-tale problems. "I have to talk about the contemporary issue of millions of people who have lost their homes to foreclosure," he says, when asked about the subjects of his West Fest speech. "And isn’t it ironic that universal health care is the chief issue of the day, because we were devoted to free health care — it was central to our program."

Hilliard isn’t especially inspired by contemporary hip-hop, aside from Talib Kweli and a few other conscious artists. When asked whether the music of the moment approaches the political intensity of hip-hop’s Public Enemy era, he answers with a "hell no" that is as strong as it is quick, adding, "The whole industry has been reduced to a few artists who make it because they come up with songs about the latest dance."

This doesn’t mean that Hilliard and his contemporaries don’t have a hand in politicizing popular culture and youth culture in ways big and small. Black Panther Minister of Culture Emory Douglas currently has a solo exhibition at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Los Angeles, and Hilliard takes part in projects like the South L.A. Road to College, which teaches South Central L.A. youth about the Panthers and their history while preparing them for college. HBO is developing a six-hour series on the Panthers based on Hilliard’s 1993 book This Side of Glory and Elaine Brown’s 1992 autobiography A Taste of Power: A Black Woman’s Story. "We are proud to be working with Carl Franklin," Hilliard says, referring to the series’ director, whose undersung 1992 classic One False Move renders in truly disturbing human terms the kind of drug violence that 1994’s Pulp Fiction treats as entertainment. "We need a year to tell this story [in a series], but we’ll take six hours and hope that it will inspire people to tell the story more often."

West Fest’s wildest musical element has to be an attempt to outdo the Guinness World Book of Records‘ current entry for Largest Guitar Ensemble via a 3,000-or-more-guitar rendition of Jimi Hendrix’s "Purple Haze." A chief force leading this effort, the producer and musician Narada Michael Walden, is also performing a set in honor of Hendrix later in the day. "Jimi Hendrix was the highest-paid performer at Woodstock, the most sought-after at the time," Walden points out from his base at Tarpan Studios in San Rafael. "A lot of the music he played at the festival — "Jam Back at the House," "Villanova Junction," "Isabella," "Fire" — is in obscurity because we only hear "Purple Haze" and "Foxy Lady." I wanted a chance to play some of the songs Jimi played at Woodstock that we don’t get to hear."

Moreover, working with musicians such as Vernon Ice Black, Hendrix’s bassist Billy Cox, and some special guests, Walden hopes to tap into the political subtext of Hendrix’s music at West Fest. "He didn’t just want white fans or black fans, he wanted to reach everybody," Walden says. "He tried his hardest by doing "The Star-Spangled Banner" in a way in which you heard the bombs exploding. He’d been a paratrooper jumping out of airplanes, and he wanted our nation to wake up to what we were doing, all the needless killing in Vietnam."

If anyone can corral 3,000-plus guitarists into making something musical, it’s the energetic Walden. He’s the producer behind the hits that made Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey into stars, and before that, the gorgeous pop R&B songs by teenage Stacey Lattisaw ("Let Me Be Your Angel," "My Love") that no doubt inspired those divas-to-be to work with him. "My first solo album [Garden of Love Light] in 1976 was produced with Tommy [Tom] Dowd," he remembers, when another legendary musical force who turned away from the U.S. military is mentioned. "I spent months and months recording with him and learned first-hand from him. He was really here to do what he did — only a few people understood how to compress music for radio in a way that it could still live and breathe. He knew how to take the queen of soul, Aretha, and give her a Southern sound with a vibrancy that allowed all people everywhere to feel it. That’s the genius — not just the musical side but the scientific side — of Tom Dowd."

The life stories of men such as Hendrix and Dowd — who abandoned atomic work on the Manhattan Project for the studios of Atlantic Records — are still applicable today. After all, this is an era in which Barack Obama calls for more troops in Afghanistan and wins the Nobel Peace Prize. Amid the potential and contradictions invoked by such a circumstance, Walden’s Hendrix-inspired endeavors and Hilliard’s speech at West Fest are worth hearing.

WEST FEST, 40TH ANNIVERSARY OF WOODSTOCK

Sun/25, 9 a.m.–6 p.m., free

Golden Gate Park, SF

www.2b1records.com/woodstock40sf

Snap Sounds: Emitt Rhodes

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September 17, 2009
0

By Johnny Ray Huston

EMITT RHODES
The Emmit Rhodes Recordings (1969-1973)
(Hip-O-Select)

Oh, Emitt. At your peak you were picture-perfect: thick brown hair parted down the middle, angelic face with a doll’s complexion. The music business’ merry-go-round has been cruel to you, but what glorious pop songs you’ve given us: “Live Till You Die” has been holding me together the last week or two, and it’s just one of many beauties from your self-titled 1970 LP.

Emitt Rhodes, Four Songs from Emitt Rhodes

Tubular: Passing Stones’ “**** Me Up”

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September 17, 2009
0

Hey wazzup! My fave StSanders vid is probably “**** Me Up” by Passing Stones. His attacks on Def Leppard and Judas Priest have their minimalist power, but this one’s got a rhythm section — and Mick Jagger prancing, flouncing, and doing aerobics in heinous pajama gymwear. And it’s got subtitles. All the better for enjoying lyrics such as:

— “I dress casually..”
— “Where’s Kojak?”
— “Frustration/B.O./Void”
— “May I ask you a whiskey sip?”
…and…
— “I will stop the office trotter”

If you haven’t seen it, you should, and if you have seen it, you can never see it enough, so here it is, for your listening and viewing pleasure.

Playlist

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September 15, 2009
0

CROCODILES

Summer of Hate

(Fat Possum)

If it’s 1988 all over again, Crocodiles are our Spacemen 3, ready to deliver the perfect prescription: drum machines. vintage organs, drugs = god lyrics. They’ve got the best Jesus and Mary Chain death anthems too, and the occasional burst of energy, trading ‘ludes for upper-spiked punk on "Soft Skull (In My Room)." The poise and epic production here are surprising for a debut.

GRASS WIDOW

Grass Widow EP

(Make a Mess)

Bullseye. Times four.

BARBARA LYNN

Here is Barbara Lynn

(Water)

A lost gem of Atlantic, saved by the boys of Water in Oakland. The clarity and purity of Lynn’s voice are rare — and don’t let those adjectives fool you into thinking she’s a frail flower. Here, the left-handed guitarist makes wise ballads she wrote as a teen burn as strong and steady as anything by Irma Thomas. It’s all in the voice.

EMITT RHODES

The Emitt Rhodes Recordings [1969-1973]

(Hip-O-Select)

Oh, Emitt. At your peak you were picture-perfect: thick brown hair parted down the middle, angelic face with a doll’s complexion. The music business’ merry-go-round was cruel to you, but what glorious pop songs you’ve given us: "Live Till You Die" has been holding me together the last week or two, and it’s just one of many beauties from your self-titled 1970 LP.

SALLY SHAPIRO

My Guilty Pleasure

(Paper Bag)

The mystery girl who goes by the name of Sally and her partner in song Johan Agebjörn trade the melancholic depths of their first synth pop collection for lighter, sunnier fare. But the Expose-like "Save Your Love" has its charms, as does the song that pits love versus people dying in Africa.

SORCERER

Neon Leon

(Tirk)

On his second album, SF’s Daniel Judd veers away from the Hawaiian and beach themes and takes inspiration from novelist Elmore Leonard while adding some funk touches. But the tracks here still bloom and glisten like a tropical flower seen through time-lapse photography. "Dayglow" is gorgeous and many-faceted. "Raydio (Play It)" is the loveliest tribute to Ray Parker Jr. in the history of recorded sound.

What they do matters

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September 15, 2009
0

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

Maxim — not the magazine

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September 9, 2009
0

By Johnny Ray Huston

Once upon a time in Detroit, I worked at a record store. Kelley Stoltz sometimes shopped there. He liked Echo and the Bunnyman even back then. And Brendan Benson worked at a different, maybe cooler record store. I had no idea that he and Kelley would end up writing so many good and great songs.

Benson’s tour for his new album My Old, Familiar Friend hits Great American Music Hall tomorrow night, and one of the opening acts, Maxim Ludwig and the Santa Fe Seven, is also worth a look-see and true listen. Ludwig lists the Band as one of his musical favorites, and “To Be with Sweet Marie” genuinely calls the Band to mind — not trifling, since most people know the sound of the Band is hard to even contrive. Ludwig’s father has an interest in the Brothers Grimm, and you get the feeling that interest informs his son’s music, the same way that the images on great album covers might fuel his imagination.

Maxim Ludwig & the Santa Fe Seven, “Big Black Train”

BRENDAN BENSON
with Maxim Ludwig and the Santa Fe Seven
Thu/10, 8 p.m. (doors 7:30 p.m.), $18
Great American Music Hall
859 O’Farrell, SF
(415) 885-0750
www.gamh.com

Untamed

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September 8, 2009
0

johnny@sfbg.com

REVIEW Amanda Kirkhuff is drawn to wild women. In a 2007 show at [2nd Floor Projects], she used black and green ink to render some female icons whose strengths are laced with ambivalence. For example, in a portrait of Dr. Laura Schlessinger, the pissy, vindictive self-help guru is rendered-times-five in a manner that emphasizes the manic energy in her eyes. (Even Schlessinger’s hair, "painstakingly detailed" by Kirhuff, Ava Jancar noted in a Guardian review, seems slightly feral.) Likewise, in close-up looks at Mo’Nique from the same exhibition, the comedian and actress seems ready to burst out of her skin with ferocity and hunger — a craving for hilarity? No doubt about it: large and in charge in a manner akin to but also very different from Mo’Nique, Kirkhuff’s work has a tremendous, at times radical, sense of humor.

Two year later at the same space, Kirkhuff has turned her attention to another famous woman with a highly-charged image: Lorena Bobbitt. In "here comes every body," a group exhibition at Margaret Tedesco’s space, Kirkhuff looks at the woman known for cutting off her drunken louse of a husband’s penis after a rape. Her visions are funny in a shiver-inducing, exciting way. They’re also revelatory in terms of psychological twists, and in one case psychological depth.

Kirkhuff’s oil on canvas portrait Lorena Bobbitt pulls the viewer past its gaudy and ostentatious gold frame into an eye-to-eye encounter. To try to describe the wildness — the mix of woundedness, defiance, and spark of ideas and action — in her eyes is a doomed venture. (A self-portrait by Kirkhuff in a recent show at Ratio 3 S-M porn-themed "Safe Word" had a similar boldness.) Her hair is lush and dark, and the paintings’ colors are rich, an on-the-brink mix between old master classicism and lurid pulp. The overall piece is a great work, one of the best paintings to emerge from the Bay Area in years, and even more exciting when thought of amongst a new wave of California paintings by young artists such as Neil Ledoux and Conrad Ruiz.

One kicker of Kirkhuff’s latest [2nd Floor Projects] appearance comes in the form of another Bobbitt piece. Placed kiddie corner from the oil painting, a large diptych drawing depicts Bobbitt cradling something bloody in some cloths. Here, she seems to have regressed into a childish state, and her actions take on a quality of both obedient housework and rebellious secretiveness. There’s an electricity, a thrilling charge to the dynamic between the two works, and how they are arranged in relation to one another. Slightly less compelling, but arresting nonetheless, is Judy with the Head of Holofernes, a cranium-severer’s nod to classicism that’s a stark cousin of Bay Area creatorJamie Vasta’s glitter explorations of the same subject, and also bears a truly funny resemblance to the recent “Unborn” series by another local artist, Desiree Holman.

Kirkhuff is that rare young artist who combines technical facility with actual content that isn’t just art school wankery. More impressively, her still small (in terms of number) body of work to date has a definite arc. She is tapping into pop cultural femininity in a manner that has grown past the rigid binaries or blindness regarding self-critique that some might associate with pop culture feminism. She’s after something more truthful and primal, and her talent allows her to reach it and capture it and yet leave it enigmatic. There’s some untamed ambivalence at play in her imagery, except she and the women she sees aren’t playing, at all. The fact that a self-portrait is at the center of the second of the three main shows she’s taken part in hints that she’s only just begun, so to speak.

One last thing: I like it that Kirkhuff thanks "all the queers" in her notes for the show. Gotta keep the faith amid crossover and cultural vampirism. She makes it easy to do. *

HERE COMES EVERY BODY

Through Sun/13

[2nd Floor Projects]

www.projects2ndfloor.blogspot.com

We’ve gained control again

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September 2, 2009
0

NIGHTDREAM NATION New waves — or should one say Wavves? — of noise pop keep arriving this year. The latest one to splash up against my ears is also undoubtedly one of the best. Night Control’s debut album Death Control (Kill Shaman) is the type of recording that keeps on giving, thanks in part to the fact that its stylistic breadth matches its great length. Over the course of 19 songs and around 75 minutes, Christopher Curtis Smith traverses tremolo-laden terrain, distorted rave-ups, and synth-laden space ballads, with the occasional movie-of-your-mind instrumental passage thrown in for maximum seduction. The result is equally great to listen to on headphones or while shooting the shit with friends.

Listening to Smith’s ultra-vivid scenes, it’s hard not wonder if 2009 has been possessed by the spirit of 1989, as if that year’s pinnacles of youthful dream pop birthed sonic babies coming of age today. The likes of Wavves, Crystal Stilts, Crocodiles, Kurt Vile, and even the more commercially appealing Girls all have obvious ties to 20 years ago, and Night Control is no different. Like Vile in particular, Smith’s project also has the droll, play-it-cool, literally distant vocal and instrumental shadings of Flying Nun bands such as the Chills and the Clean — another vogue revival sound of the moment. Add in the fact that control is a word with currency, thanks to Blues Control, and it all might seem too perfectly with it. The thing is, Smith’s music is more evocative if not downright emotionally potent than all the aforementioned groups. The lore around Death Control is that it’s just a small sample from years of recordings that Smith either kept to himself or self-released under the name Crystal Shards. It’s believable when you hear these obsessive tunes that in turn hypnotize you into obsessive listening.

It’s all a pleasurable puzzle, a bit like Death Control‘s soft focus cover image, a public bathroom mirror self-portrait by Smith that looks as if it was taken with an iPhone held just right to completely block out his facial features. Connected to disposable technology, artfully generic, and yet enigmatic — that’s Night Control.

Dreams come true

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September 2, 2009
0

DUAL INTERVIEWS Cass McCombs and Karen Black — not exactly Marvin and Tammi, or Elton or Kiki, or Waylon or Tammy, but undeniably classic from the very first listen. "Dreams-Come-True Girl" kicks off McCombs’ new album Catacombs (Domino) in style, immediately staking a claim for song of the year.

The partnership between McCombs and Black seems made in heaven — a strange heaven. It turns out that it was born from friendship: specifically, Black’s friendship with McCombs’ frequent collaborator Aaron Brown, who has created some of McCombs’ cover art and directed his music videos; and Black’s and Brown’s friendship with Bay Area filmmaker Rob Nilsson. "Rob introduced me to Aaron, and we just hit it off," Black relates via phone from Macon, Georgia, where she’s auditioning actors for a play she’s written called Missouri Waltz. "I invited him to have breakfast. Then one day he said, Listen, my friend Cass is cutting a CD next Tuesday, why don’t you come by and sing with him? That’s all I knew. I just did it because of the trust I had in Aaron, and my opinion of Aaron."

Black’s trust is a reward to McCombs and the listener. Beginning in Buddy Holly territory, "Dreams-Come-True Girl" moves handsomely through contemplative passages before Black arrives. It isn’t an overstatement to say that she turns in a country-rock grand dame performance worthy of a Wynette or Loretta Lynn while very much putting her distinct stamp on the song, switching from sublime siren calls to comic dance requests on a dime. "She’s just a gas," McCombs says admiringly from Los Angeles. "Out jaws were on the floor as she was riffing. She was in control. It was amazing to watch, and pretty inspiring."

Anyone lucky enough to have seen Black move from Bessie Smith to Katherine Anne Porter with graceful unease in her one-woman show knows that her musical performances in 1970’s Five Easy Pieces and 1975’s Nashville — two of McCombs’ favorite Black movies — merely hint at her vocal range and interpretive ability. Considering songwriters such as Dean Wareham have covered Black’s compositions, it’s bizarre that there isn’t a full-length Karen Black recording. Fortunately, producer Ariel Rechtshaid and McCombs are looking to remedy that situation next year.

For now, Black is busy with the usual amazing array of projects, ranging from plays (readings of her Mama at Midnight have been put on in L.A. and New York City) to new movies (The Blue Tooth Virgin; a bit part in Alex Cox’s Repo Man sequel Repo Chick) and an HBO pilot (Magical Balloon) by the people behind Tim and Eric Awesome Show.

As for McCombs and Black in "Dream-Come-True Girl," their relationship continues to bloom with each new performance. "The two characters have evolved," says McCombs. "Her character is reaching out to mine and saying C’mon, let’s go! It’s Saturday, let’s go out and have some fun! My character defuses the situation and looks away. It’s easy for both of us to do those roles. It comes naturally" — he laughs — "I suppose."

"You know, I’m no dream girl," Black says coyly. "But he’s so cute. They said, Come and dance for hours in your three-inch heels, and I said, Well, let’s try it. It turned out that I could do what the song was leading us to do, which was sort of flirt with him, sort of think about him, and sort of feel ridiculous because I shouldn’t be thinking about a young man like that. He’s so cute lookin’. He’s just the darlingest boy."

Fall music machine

-

August 26, 2009
0

johnny@sfbg.com

SEPT. 1

Peter Broderick 4 Track Songs (Tape) A large reissue collection of lovely songs by the man who spans from Berlin to Portland, Oregon.

The Entrance Band The Entrance Band (Ecstatic Peace) Ten Thurston Moore-approved tracks, recorded in Los Angeles.

Robin Guthrie Carousel (Darla). The Cocteau Twin did a fine job soundtracking Gregg Araki‘s 2004 Mysterious Skin. Frazer-free, he sticks to instrumentals.

Whitney Houston I Look to You (Arista) Post-Bobby, she looks to you, listeners, with a little help from Alicia Keys.

Insane Clown Posse Bang! Pow! Boom! (Psychopathic) Juggalos and Juggalettes unite!

The Clean Mister Pop (Merge) Attention all Flying Nun fanatics — the Kiwi pop revival gets stronger and stronger.

SEPT. 8

Carl Craig 69: Legendary Adventures of a Filter King (Planet E) Vinyl-only box set of four EPs by the Detroit techno technician.

Os Mutantes Haih…or Amortecedor (Anti-/Epitaph) The troubadours of tropicália return with their first album in 35 years.

Yo La Tengo Popular Songs (Matador) But exactly how popular?

SEPT. 11

Jay-Z Blueprint 3 (Roc Nation/Atlantic) Dramatic release date for the rapper who comes back more times than cockroaches and Cher.

SEPT. 15

Air Supply The Singer and the Song (Odds On/E1) Just when you thought they couldn’t get any softer, they record acoustic versions of their old hits.

Dodos Time to Die (French Kiss) Phil Ek produces the San Francisco duo’s follow-up to 2007’s acclaimed Visiter.

The Fresh and Onlys Grey-Eyed Girls (Woodsist) Pitchfork is onto the locals who wrestle success from failure.

Kid Cudi Man on the Moon: The End of the Day (Dream On/G.O.O.D./Universal Motown) A big production, with Kanye, Snoop, and Common out to catch some shine.

Lovemakers Let’s Be Friends (Talking House) The sophomore album, produced in San Francisco.

Radioslave Fabric 48 (Fabric) Multi-monikered Matt Edwards contributes to the mix series, including some of his own tracks.

SEPT. 22

Girls Album (True Panther/Matador) A great album by the SF group, set to soundtrack summers and other seasons to come.

The Mantles The Mantles (Siltbreeze) Another great album by a SF band, set to soundtrack as many seasons as Girls’ debut.

Yoko Ono Plastic Band Between My Head and the Sky (Chimera) Ono meets Cornelius on some tracks — it had to happen.

The Pastels/Tenniscoats Two Sunsets (Domino) The pre-C86 legends team up with the atmospheric pop duo — sublimity results.

SEPT. 29

Mariah Carey Memoirs of an Imperfect Angel (Island Def Jam). More flitty finger gestures in our future.

Kris Kristofferson Closer to the Bone (New West) The bearded one collaborates with Don Was.

Madness The Liberty of Norton Fulgate (Yep Roc) Twenty-some years later, they’re here again, and with the same producers from yesteryear.

Melvins Chicken Switch (Ipecac) Fifteen-song remix endeavor.

Barbra Streisand Love is the Answer (Columbia) Babs is back, and she’s got Diana Krall with her.

Wallpaper Doodoo Face (Eenie Meenie) Do do that doodoo.

OCT. 6

Air Love 2 (Astralwerks). French perfume.

Basement Jaxx Scars (Ultra/XL) Weird cast of guest contributors: Yoko Ono, Kelis, Santogold, Lightspeed Champion, and Yo! Majesty.

Roseanne Cash The List (Ultra/EMI) Covers of songs that her dad said were important.

The Clientele Bonfires on the Heath (Merge) Songs that jingle-jangle-jingle.

Lita Ford Wicked Wonderland (JLRG Entertainment) Bow down as the queen of hair metal returns.

The Very Best Warm Heart of Africa (Green Owl/ILG) M.I.A. and Ezra Koenig of Vampire Weekend contribute guest vox to this eagerly-awaited club stormer.

OCT. 13

Patrick Cowley and Jorge Socarras Catholic (Macro) Amazing found album by Sylvester collaborator Cowley is set to start an Arthur Russell-like revival.

Echo and the Bunnymen The Fountain (Cooking Vinyl) Comeback time.

The Roots How I Got Over (Def Jam) I’ll never get over how they got over.

Shakira She Wolf (Epic) Still kooky, still raking in millions.

Thao with the Get Down Stay Down Know Better Learn Faster (Kill Rock Stars) Wise words and sharp sounds.

OCT. 20

Atlas Sound Logos (Kranky) Another one by Bradford Cox’s side project, which many prefer to Deerhunter.

Themselves CrownsDown (Anticon) Six years since their last one and ten years since their debut.

OCT. 27

Cobra Killer Uppers & Downers (Monika) These crazy, funny chicks from Germany sure know how sample the Monks. Love them or lose.

Train Save Me, San Francisco (Columbia) If you insist?

NOV. 3

Sean Lennon Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Undead (Capitol) A soundtrack to the zombie comedy. Weird guest appearances: Jeremy Sisto and Kool Keith.

NOV. 10

Fuckpony Let the Love Flow (Bpitch Control) Good old dirty house music.

NOV. 17

Annie Don’t Stop (Smalltown Supersound) The Norwegian pop princess jumps to another label for her long-awaited second album.

dj/Rupture and Matt Shadetek Solar Life Raft (The Agriculture) Mix maestros unite.

NOV. 24

Mary J. Blige Stronger (Geffen) Stronger, no doubt. But more relaxed and singing in a lower key, one hopes.

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