Music Blogger

Bang! Comedian John Witherspoon comes to Oakland

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By Erik Morse

Few comedians can leave me in complete stitches the way John Witherspoon can. He is quite simply a legend of the giggle, the guffaw, and the frustrated wince.

Although he’s best known as the grouchy father Mr. Jones in Ice Cube’s Friday trilogy and as Pops on the WB comedy series, The Wayans Brothers, Witherspoon has had a long and eclectic career since his earliest days as a fashion model in Detroit.

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He’s also blessed with the dulcet tones of Johnny Mathis if you can ever convince him to hum a few bars. Now the bow-tied curmudgeon is coming to the Bay Area for a four-night showcase to spread a bit more of his charm. The Guardian caught him on the phone just as he was packing up for his trip to the East Bay.

SFBG: So did you follow the election at all on Tuesday?

John Witherspoon: Yeah, my wife is an avid Obama fan. I voted but I never tell her who I voted for or she’d go crazy. I tell her it’s the only thing I got that I don’t have to give anyone. It’s my vote.


Friday: Classic ‘Spoon.

Activism brings hyphy back to Berkeley

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By Jamilah King

Almost a week before the media was glowing with tales of unprecedented numbers of youth voters hitting the poles in this week’s primary elections, hundreds of young activists and music heads made their power known in Berkeley.

Last week, Cal’s Activism Right There conference brought new attention to the intersection of art and politics. The week-long conference culminated in a night of performances last Friday, Feb. 1. The night began with a panel that featured five generations of Cal activists, including Bettina Abtheker and onetime Guardian columnist Jeff Chang, who dissected everything from organizing during the Free Speech Movement to the myth of defeat during the Reagan years. The event also featured sick performances by spoken word artists, including a group from the Philadelphia called Ammo and iLL-Literacy and thieir band the Hi-Lifes.

But the climax of the event came when Zion I took the stage. Savvy bloggers have already detailed the sheer energy of the performance. As dozens – it looked like hundreds – of young folks crowded onto the stage and went dumb in what Zion I called one of their livest performances, the power of the hip-hop generation was felt loud and clear (pardon the poor video quality):

Thao-ism 101: Songs ready to put a spring in your step

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By Todd Lavoie

Ah, what a perfect day! The sun is shining, I’m whirling in the afterglow of Obama’s Super Tuesday super-dupers – 13 wins – not bad at all! – and I’ve just been charmed, bedazzled, and blindsided by a new artist. What could be better? Methinks this dopey grin of mine might remain in place for a while yet. The rain’s staying away, our man’s got momentum, and I’m ready for another spin of Thao and the Get Down Stay Down‘s We Brave Bee Stings And All (Kill Rock Stars). Heard it yet? Give it 32 minutes of your time, and try telling me that you don’t feel a spring in your step afterwards.

The first thing you’re bound to notice is Thao Nguyen’s voice: what a voice! The DC-area singer-songwriter boasts a rich, throaty timbre that could probably easily bruise a few hearts if she wanted to, but instead of opting for the soul-baring intensity of, say, Nina Nastasia or Fiona Apple or Cat Power (with whom she shares a few vocal similarities), Nguyen shows off an impish playfulness which is quite refreshing.

Still, there’s the occasional touch of sadness – here a vulnerability-offering turn of a phrase, there a crestfallen sigh – as a reminder of the vocalist’s potential for breaking hearts. It’s a potent mix, this combination of tender ache and winking mischief, and she uses it to tremendous effect. If anything, she might have more in common with Feist’s unguarded whimsy than much of anything from the Cat Power catalog, and her jazzy country-folk leanings also call to mind Erin McKeown. Honestly, though – Nguyen sounds quite distinctive here. Once you’ve heard her, chances are you won’t be mistaking her for anyone else afterwards.

The bickering hitmen within: “In Bruges” director Martin McDonagh finds his art amid the voices in his head

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Gleeful under gray skies: Brendan Gleeson, Martin McDonagh, and Colin Farrell.

Anyone who caught Berkeley Rep’s recent production of The Pillowman will be familiar with the dark, searching, yet weirdly witty and enthralling world of playwright Martin McDonagh. Strange to think that a London-born Irish writer who’s been so widely toasted as the stage’s unpredictable young turk has always wanted to work in film instead. Tellingly perhaps he’s been nominated for Tonys four times – for The Beauty Queen of Leenane, The Lonesome West, The Pillowman, and The Lieutenant of Inishmore – but never brought home the coveted door-stopper. Instead he won an Oscar in the Live Action Short Film category in 2005 for his Brendan Gleeson-starring debut short, Six Shooter. The great Gleeson also stars in McDonagh’s first feature, In Bruges, which opens in the Bay Area on Friday, Feb. 8, and won’t disappoint those hungry for yet another dose of the 37-year-old director-writer’s bleak humor and thoughtful digressions.

SFBG: So here you are – your first film and you’ve always wanted to make movies.

Martin McDonagh: Yeah, I did one short film first. It was always kind of a dream that I never thought I’d be able to fulfill as a working-class kid in London, so yeah, I got offered this kind of track with the plays, got some kind of degree of success from them, wrote a couple film scripts and had some people interested.

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Blimey, I’m in a lot of movies right now: Colin Farrell.

I mean, I was kind of terrified going into it – not knowing if I’d be able to do it well, or if I’d be sort of breaking down in tears every morning. But, uh, it turned out good. I worked with Brendan Gleeson before, and I met Colin Farrell, and he was really into the script and was, y’know, interested in a new challenge, I guess, because it’s a different character than the ones he’s played before.

SFBG: Different from Alexander the Great.

Les Razilles Denudes laid bare

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By Matt Sussman

Should bands just stick to their guns and stay broken up? Now that the seemingly impossible has happened and the formerly estranged members of My Bloody Valentine have caught the reunion fever – along with fellow British shut-ins Portishead, who follow on last year’s much ballyhooed reunion of Scottish depressives the Jesus and Mary Chain – what’s to stop other fantasy reformations from coming true? Every other week Pitchfork’s news feed seems to include word of some impending resurrection. Sure, Marr and Morrisey won’t take the stage together until hell freezes over, but honestly, concerts these days really seem like a buyer’s market where any number of groups whose flame was once considered snuffed – whether the Pixies or the Stooges or the Fire Engines – can be seen playing alongside younger bands who openly ape their sound and cite them as formative influences.

Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate wish fulfillment as much as the next music nerd. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the new cross-generational formation of ESG and shaking my ass to “The Beat” played live on a loud sound-system. But I know it’s a far, far cry from hearing the Skroggins sisters and cousin Tito funk up the Paradise Garage’s last party ever. And my friends who saw the Stooges – yeah, I really missed the boat there – couldn’t stop effusing over how much it fucking rocked, despite the fact that Iggy qualifies for the Grand Slam at Denny’s. (At least art punks Wire were being frank when they said that their live dips into their classic first two albums Pink Flag and Chairs Missing were convenient means to get back into proper physical shape. I wish the Spice Girls were as forthcoming since, clearly, this last reunion didn’t exactly turn into the sisterhood of the traveling Cavalli, girl-powered slumber party it was hyped as).

But all griping and throat-clearing aside, if I had the kind of dough that Coachella and All Tommorow’s Parties regularly wave under the noses of some their more resistant would-be reformed headliners, I would send an offer, pronto, to Mizutani Takahashi and his partners in crime in ‘70s underground legends Les Razilles Denudes, who ceased activity around 1996 (even though their first official CD wasn’t released until 1991).

Clubs: Robyn goes heart to heart

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Show her some love: Robyn. Photo by Samantha Rapp.

By Joshua Rotter

Swedish singer-songwriter Robyn – best known in the US for her 1997 pop-R&B Top 10’s “Show Me Love” and “Do You Know (What It Takes)” – might’ve been just another industry casualty, quickly fading into obscurity stateside due to record company mismanagement and a lack of creative control.

But on the verge of giving up in 2003, she discovered fellow Swedes the Knife’s Deep Cuts CD, and reinvigorated by their electro-pop and independent spirit, collaborated with them on the beat-heavy fuck-you to her label “Who’s That Girl.”

Soon she founded her own label, Konichiwa, and with producer Klas Åhlund (Teddybears), recorded her fourth studio album, the more electro-based Robyn, due out in the states this spring. Till then, her new The Rakamonie EP gives American audiences a preview of what’s to come on tracks like the boombastic confidence booster “Konichiwa Bitches,” the dance smash “With Every Heartbeat,” and a dancehall cover of the dirty Prince classic “Jack U Off.”

Now, a decade after her initial hits, Robyn returns to the US on her own terms for a three-city mini-tour to promote her new album. She’ll appear at Popscene on Thursday, Feb. 7. But is this country ready for the pint-sized Swedish bombshell? Robyn was confident in a phone interview earlier this week from her first tour-stop in New York City.

SFBG: What is it like to be back in the US after a decade?

Clubs: Love hurts – so Die, Die, why don’t you?

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Bloody hell happens in Lower Haight – just in time for Valentine’s Day! Photo by Joshua Rotter.

By Joshua Rotter

Love was the furthest thing from my mind on February’s first Friday, when I attended the “My Bloody Valentine” edition of monthly death-rock club Die, Die My Darling at Underground SF.

No, actually, it was all in my mind. Cross my heart. Since my recent break-up, I’ve thought about nothing else while catching up on TV and the latest snack foods and muting those pesky dating Web site commercials.

Fortunately, none of those shiny happy couples were represented here among the mixed crowd of mortals and ghouls adorned with pallid face paint and penciled-in eyebrows. Here were the disillusioned matched only by the bat cave classics – Bauhaus, Siouxsie, and Cure dirges – spun by host-DJ Jason El Diablo, which reaffirm that love is a bloody affair and no one’s hands are clean.

Chip off the ole hard rock: Black Mountain cometh

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By Todd Lavoie

Does heavy make you happy? Then cancel any plans you might have for this coming Monday, Feb. 4 – that’s when Vancouver time-travelers Black Mountain besiege the Independent for a round or two of seriously sludgy soothsaying, in support of their just-released mindwarper In The Future (Jagjaguwar). If you’ve ever been known to hanker for end-is-nigh chug-a-ramas and sci-fi lullabies, bust out that wallet, buck: these crazed Canadians are onto something magnificently mighty.

Let’s get the inevitable out of the way, shall we? Stoner rock – there, I said it. You’d be hard pressed to find a conversation about Black Mountain without coming across those two little words somewhere along the way, and you know what? For a damn good reason, that’s what: these guys – and gal – don’t so much pay tribute to the ’60s and ’70s as they do dwell amongst the ghosts of those decades, wafting and weaving about in bong-hugging formations.

Lest that description sound pejorative or, worse yet, like a back-handed compliment, let me clarify: this isn’t noodling go-nowhere music, sacrificing songwriting for patchouli-powered “vibe-making,” nor is it a tired, calculated retread of your dad’s/older brother’s teenage bedroom stereo-pumping. Rather, head honcho Stephen McBean and bandmates have managed to digest the entire history of so-called classic rock and fashion a fascinating new hybrid from the bits and pieces.

Munch: “Teeth” director Mitchell Lichtenstein coughs up tidbits on vagina dentata flick

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Spoiler alert: I was a wee bit disappointed in Teeth – sure, the dismembered penis count outdid, well, In the Realm of the Senses‘s, but the actual execution struck me as slightly gummy, somewhat misguided, and more than a little, er, unrealistic. And trust me, I wanted to believe! Hey, admit it, we’re all secretly a little fascinated by the myth of fanged poonannie. The idea of the feared and fearless, anti-penetration sexual organ chomping at all comers – it’s intriguing, no? And director Mitchell Lichtenstein – the 51-year-old son of pop artist Roy, and an actor who appeared in Robert Altman’s 1983 movie, Streamers – is more than willing to please, with his relatively wholesome, coming-of-age fable, flaws or no.

SFBG: You wrote the screenplay for Teeth – why did you choose to make the movie?

Mitchell Lichtenstein: Well, I had learned about the myth years ago, and it stayed with me as something that could be fruitful territory: the myth really says something about men’s attitudes toward women. And the pervasiveness of the myth does, too. as I found, the more I researched it. It had been referenced at a further remove in other movies and such, but not so much directly. And if you deal with it directly, it becomes clear that it’s something men put on women. I just wanted to see a woman being the heroine in a story about it. Her teeth would never be – and she would never – be conquered.

Klubz: Keep up with Pacific Standard Time’s DJ Sake 1

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By Jamilah King

DJ Sake 1 isn’t your average DJ. And Pacific Standard Time (PST) isn’t your average party.

The city’s pre-eminent hip-hop, soul, funk, and break-beat DJ has consistently packed dancefloors at Levende Lounge in the Mission for three years as its resident DJ, brewing together an ecclectic mix of old-school rarities and New Age crowd favorites. He can effortlessly weave together a narrative of fun across genres, fusing Too $hort’s “Blow the Whistle” with Los Hermanos, or doing whatever’s necessary to please the crowd while skillfully working to heighten its appreciation for the music.

Though it’s not necessarily the music that sets Sake 1 so far apart from his fellow turntabalists so much as the message behind it. Your boy has a graduate degree in social work from University of California, Berkeley, and building community is at the heart of his work as a DJ. We’ve already brought you the history of his crusade to create the people’s party; half of all proceeds from PST go to local community organizations such as the Center for Young Women’s Development.

Late local rocker Evan Farrell rhapsodized by Japonize Elephants in Bloomington, Ind.

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Postcard from Bloomington: Japonize Elephants perform at a tribute to Evan Farrell at Bluebird Nightclub on Jan. 20.

By Dina Maccabee

A lot of emotions have been pouring out during the last month over the loss of once-Oakland-based musician Evan Farrell. I’m not even sure if the details that have been circulating on the Internet about what happened on Dec. 21 – when the Oakland house where Farrell was staying caught fire – are correct. For me, and I think for everyone, there are bigger questions than how the blaze started – like what is death, anyway? And how do I sort out my empathy for Farrell and his family from my own selfish fears and anxieties about living a worthwhile life and, ultimately, ceasing to exist?

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Evan Farrell. Photo by Jeremy Baron.

I played with Farrell in the Japonize Elephants, which why I made the trip to Bloomington, Ind., a week or so ago to participate in the Jan. 20 memorial for him. The Elephants started out in Bloomington – and Farrell had moved back a few years ago after playing with Rogue Wave, among others – so for most of the band, the trip represented an almost overwhelming mixture of grief and nostalgia, a chance to reconnect with old friends and places under heartbreaking circumstances. I had a different perspective as a newcomer eager to discover the birthplace of this fearlessly bizarre, creative, close-knit group, whom I started playing with about three years ago in the Bay Area, hoping to offer some support and comfort to Farrell’s closest friends.

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Evan Farrell. Photo by Jeremy Baron.

While no one knew quite what to do in the aftermath of Farrell’s death, one thing that seemed obvious was to get together and play music. It felt a little wrong to be excited about playing an Elephants reunion show back in Bloomington, with band members arriving from California, Colorado, and New York – but without Farrell. You could say we were getting back together because he would have wanted us to. But, of course, really, we wanted to. How else to recapture some of the absurdity, spontaneity, mirth, and adrenaline that were Farrell’s trademarks, on and off stage?

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Evan Farrell in pink with Japonize Elephants.

Artist Peter Stegall plays the (color) fields at Triple Base Gallery

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Field day: Peter Stegall’s An Equal Playing Field (2007).

By Ava Jancar

Triple Base guest curator Dina Dusko has organized an exhibition that opposes what has become known as the “regular” programming of the space. For this show, she has brought in the work of an established artist, Peter Stegall, rather than spotlighting a recent graduate of California College of the Arts. It has been decades since Stegall graduated with his MA in art from Sacramento State. That said, in past years, his work has not had much exposure within San Francisco proper.

Stegall’s pieces – characterized by the hard-edged geometric forms common in paintings of the 1940s through ’60s – seem initially as though they too could have been the product of another decade. While the columnar elements of a John McLaughlin or a Barnett Newman and the sweeping curves of a Lorser Feitelson are present, Stegall’s paintings – although contemporary hybridizations of such mid-century masters – seem vastly different, experientially. While a vintage piece by Feitelson may appear cracked and aging, Stegall’s works glisten. The gloss enamel paint on the small Masonite panels lack the imperfections of time – bringing fleetingly to mind the glossy surfaces of John McCracken’s painted planks. In this respect, canonical references seem to break down, particularly when noticing the slightness of the panels themselves.

Averaging around 8 by 11 inches, the paintings do not emit an aura of grandeur similar to the works of his predecessors. Instead they seem like quiet studies in search of the beautiful. Stegall’s use of a small brush to paint the surface of the panels may also account for their quaint size. He fills in each field of color using the same size brush, therefore leaving the definite mark of his hand.

More yowls from Howlin Rain’s Ethan Miller

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It’s always a stone blast chatting with Ethan Miller (above, far right) of Howlin Rain and Comets on Fire: dude loves his horror flicks, and as a onetime English major at UC Santa Cruz, he can always be relied on to come with a fresh opinion and frisky curiosity when it comes to pop culture in general. Anyway, it was good to hear that the Goldie winner has been tapped by Columbia Records co-head Rick Rubin to make the leap from the Bay Area’s always tasty Birdman label to Rubin’s own American Recordings imprint, starting with Howlin Rain’s impressive, chance-takin’, and rock-out new LP, Magnificent Fiend, a co-release by both companies. For the first snippet of our talk, see this week’s Sonic Reducer. For the rest, let your eyes roam below. Howlin Rain plays with Black Mountain at the Independent Monday, Feb. 4.

SFBG: So what have you been up to?

Ethan Miller: It’s getting a little busy – kind of getting hyped up for the record and stuff, starting to do some work on it. Just press stuff, deciding details about ads and posters and stuff like that, just little things. What song is gong to be a single.

SFBG: How did this arrangement with Rick Rubin come about?

EM: Oh, kind of the normal old way – maybe it seems a little abnormal, because it’s Rick Rubin, and all things considered. He contacted me and asked me if I wanted to be on the label and we talked. I also think he is, like, an Arthur subscriber and an avid reader, and they did that cover piece on me, and I think that’s how he got turned on to Comets and Howlin Rain and stuff and checked it out and got ahold of me. It’s probably been more than a year since Rick and I first talked.

Video Mutants: Mike Kelley on chopping, screwing, and playing with Superman

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We’re not quite done with artist Mike Kelley, profiled this week in Sonic Reducer. Easy-going, amiable, and eager to ramble at length on the phone from his base in LA, Kelley – a founding member of influential Ann Arbor, Mich., art-noise band Destroy All Monsters – will show his first feature, Day Is Done, Thursday, Jan. 31, at Yerba Buena Center for the Arts.

SFBG: Day Is Done has been changed significantly since its installation at Gagosian Gallery?

Mike Kelley: Oh yes, it’s been radically changed, completely chopped up and intercut. When it was installed, it was on multiple screens and computer-synched, and because the space was so large, we would have it run at two points simultaneously. Nevertheless you couldn’t take it in as you would a normal film – it was spatialized and treated more as a sculpture, so you could sit and watch sections and follow it over to here and over to there. But it would be hard to follow it in a very linear way. And also you wouldn’t have this very purposeful crosscutting that you have in a single-channel version, where we take all the various scenes and treated them as if they were simultaneous action and played with that kind of filmic language.

A shout out to Pants Yell!

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By Alex Felsinger

Until now, indie-pop band Pants Yell! seemed as if they were doing everything in their power to stay under the radar. First, they named their group Pants Yell! – seriously, what the hell? – and then in 2003 they released their first album on cassette through an obscure German imprint. This was followed closely by their home-country debut on Asaurus – a small-run, handmade CD-R label. Then, to make sure no one besides Massachusetts locals and a few computer nerds ever hear their music, they’ve hardly toured at all in the last five years.

But now they’re making a move. Just released last month, their fourth album, Alison Statton (Soft Abuse), makes a few slight changes to their downhearted and downtempo pop melodies. The three-piece brought in a small horn section for a few songs, as well as some female friends to sing harmonies, which blend nicely with the lead vocalist’s nasally, perfect-for-pop voice.

But really, even with all the changes, they’re still as minimalist as a bubblegum version of Shellac. The biggest difference comes with the presentation: the release is a professionally duplicated CD with a jewel case and everything. And their new record label actually took the time to send the Guardian a promotional copy. This alone is evidence that Pants Yell! has some big plans.

Coachella lite: where are the Valentines?

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Which is the real Coachella?


By Erik Morse

Last Monday’s announcement from Mexico City of the lineup for the upcoming Coachella Festival in Indio had more than a few prospective ticket buyers flummoxed. Where were all the celebrity headliners Goldenvoice had so skillfully assembled in years past? Where were the electro hipsters and indie-rock stalwarts whose appearances had succeeded in making Coachella the American Glastonbury?

After all the behind-the-scenes campaigning and Internet rumor-mongering that promised everyone from the Smiths to Gang of Four to Aphex Twin to Leonard Cohen, the unveiling was an extraordinary exercise in bathos. Thank goodness for Portishead. The biggest omission was the newly reunited My Bloody Valentine, who performs for the first time in over 15 years beginning this summer in the UK. After the major coup that brought the Jesus and Mary Chain to Indio last year, hopes were high that a second miracle might find Kevin Shields and co. headlining over the likes of Jack Johnson or Roger Waters.

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My, my: My Bloody Valentine.

Cover me: Embracing Burial’s noirish dubstep

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By Todd Lavoie

Let’s get lost, shall we? Lately, whenever I’m in the mood to disorient myself in some head-scratching sonic geography, I reach for my copy of Untrue (Hyperdub/Cargo), the November-released sophomore-stunner from the let-the-music-speak-for-itself dubstep savant Burial.

While the willfully anonymous English electro-experimentalist’s self-titled debut was certainly an impressive introduction to his – and here we are guessing it’s a “he,” based on what little I’ve seen in the way of public statements from whoever’s lurking behind the evocative moniker – dead-city tour-guiding, Untrue feels like a bold leap forward.

More inventive, more cohesive, and definitely more affecting, the disc isn’t reflective of a change in aesthetic, but rather a fully confident refinement of those artistic ideals. I could stay in these headspaces for days, but honestly I’d be a bit afraid for myself when it came time to emerge back out of ’em. The culture shock might be too great.

“Throw your computers out!” Devo leads a devolution at “MacBlast”

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Spud attack: Devo at the Warfield on Jan. 15. All photos by Peter Conheim.

By Peter Conheim

Devo valiantly tried to protect us from the ninnies and twits for a roughly a decade beginning in 1975. The buzz about this ferocious live beast from Akron, Ohio – the seeds of their rage sown at Kent State during the time of the National Guard shootings – eventually brought the band into the corporate maw of Warner Bros., through which they become superstars – for a while. A label fallout and the critical departure of drummer Alan Myers led to a hiatus, and then a reemergence on the smaller Enigma label with a new percussionist and pair of near-horrendous studio albums in the late 1980s.

Yet Devo never quite went away. The past decades have seen the group – which can only be loosely defined as a band, considering they no longer create new material – rearing its head only for corporately sponsored mini-tours or one-offs of an equally well-funded nature (patrons have included Vans sneakers, Acura, ZDNet, et al). Nonetheless, the majority of their performances in the past five years have been full-throttle affairs with the combo in fine form, tossing out hits and misses with nary a sampler in sight, the Brothers Four (two Mothersbaughs and two Casales) comfortably deep into middle age and completely ripping it up with abandon.

It came as little surprise, then, that these spuds would appear on Jan. 15 at the Warfield – for the first time since New Year’s Eve, 1981 – as the evening’s entertainment at “MacBlast,” Macworld’s biggest private party and the launch of Microsoft Office 2008.

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Liars, Liars, band on fire…

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Gotta love those Liars, the most interesting band to come out of the turn-of-the-century NY rock scene that begat the Strokes and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Not only do they continue to turn out stellar LPs like 2006’s Drum’s Not Dead (Mute), they are freakin’ amazingly powerful live. Magnetic frontman Angus Andrew fielded a few e-mailed questions earlier this week – you can peer at him yourself when the band headlines at Slim’s, Friday, Jan. 25.

SFBG: So what’s new with Liars?

Angus Andrew: We’ve just finished a brief but much-needed break from touring. Being let back in the world after so long on the road can be shocking and exhilarating. What is Zoey 101? Who is Hannah Montana? What are they eating in Boston? I guess you could say we’ve been immersing ourselves in culture, but more specifically, it has enveloped us.

SFBG: The last time I talked to you, Angus, you were about to move to Berlin, i believe. What’s happened in the interim?

AA: Yes, I moved to Berlin, and we recorded our last two albums there. It’s a great city that’s energized in some ways by its dark history and the need to prove itself otherwise. In Berlin, quite apart from Germany, there is no economy, but rather an overcompensation of humanity.

Sonic Reducer Overage: Toumani Diabate, Ingrid Michaelson, La Otracina, Poison the Well, and the art overfloweth

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What to do when the gloom descends and the sky thunders? Double your pleasuuuur with art-music selections that didn’t make it into print last week and the worthy live shows that slipped betwixt the cracks this time around.

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The new Lisa Loeb or… the latest waif in a Nellie McKay cute suit? Something to ponder when listening to the MySpace star best known for her Grey’s Anatomy and Old Navy commercial tunes. This is so sold out I think you’ll have to contact your fave Hannah Montana/soccer mom scalper for assistance. With Greg Laswell. Wed/23, 7:30 p.m., $15. Slim’s, 333 11th St., SF. (415) 522-0333.

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Amoebic art: Zak Wilson’s acrylic My Roomate Bob Ate My Last Piece of Chicken, So I Had to Shoot Him.

“Amoeba Music‘s Second Annual Art Show”
Wonder what those talents scowling in the aisles do on their off hours. More than 30 toil in the trenches of art-making, we hear. The second annual event includes more than 100 pieces by staffers at the SF, Berkeley, and LA stores. Get an eyeful at the reception Fri/25, 7 p.m.-2 a.m., when organizers raffle off prizes as a fund-raiser for Creativity Explored. Show runs through Sat/26. Daily 8 p.m.–2 a.m. Space Gallery, 1141 Polk, SF. (415) 377-3325.

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“Enter the Center”
Call ’em Ribbons. Call ’em Ship. Just don’t call ’em late to this long-awaited exhibit. The dynamic Bay Area duo whoop it up at the opening reception honoring their new book, Enter the Center, on Sat/26, 6-10 p.m. – stay for the screening of the pair’s new video album, the treeVD. And look for more special soirees at Ribbons’ month-long quasi-arts center, ala Feb. 2’s get-down with White Rainbow, Lucky Dragons and a classical Indian ensemble, and Feb. 9’s fete with Brendan Fowler of BARR, Pocahaunted, and ARP. Eleanor Harwood Gallery, 1295 Alabama, SF. (415) 867-7770.

Blow by Blow: At the beck and call of Khaela Maricich

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The Blow’s Khaela Maricich is a charmer – and lord, the girl knows how to multitask, moving into her new Portland, Ore., studio while fielding questions all the while. For the first part of the talk, go here. And she performs tonight and tomorrow, Jan. 22 and 23, at Great American Music Hall, so look out!

SFBG: So Jona [Bechtolt of Yacht] won’t be performing with you at Great American Music Hall?

Khaela Maricich: He hasn’t been performing with me for a year and haf. He’s been doing own thing with Yacht.

SFBG: How would you describe your current act then?

KM: Well, I come at performing from a lot of different angles. I never really thought of myself as a musician. I never thought of myself as a performer either and I always thought I’d be a visual artist. As a kid I remember there being video cameras from a TV station and me being under the table, not interested at all in being the center of attention. I never had a sense of being, “I want to be a musician,” and so I never think it’s going to be a great music show! I look at different angles of entertaining myself and different ways of using the stage to make a show.

I think it’s a lot like stand-up and performance and karaoke. It’s electronic music – there’s no laptop onstage. It’s just me and a microphone.

Love me some Dolly…and pass the birthday pie at El Rio

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By Todd Lavoie

All right, I’m giving some heads up time here so you can plan your weekend accordingly: Dolly Parton turns 62 this Saturday, Jan. 19. Oh, the possibilities for celebration are endless, aren’t they? Maybe a spin of her 1971 classic Coat of Many Colors (RCA), or how about slappin’ 9 to 5 (oh, my sweet baby Jesus, so that flick is really from 1980?! Now I feel old) into the ole DVD player, or if you’re feeling particularly ambitious, you could always fry up some catfish and hush puppies (two of the Dixie diva’s favorite dishes, which must always be paired together: “One without the other is like pickin’ without grinnin’,” she once famously declared, and who am I to disagree?) Or, how about this: you could Dolly yourself up and swing on over to El Rio this Saturday night for their Tennessee Mountain Birthday Bash! Yep, a night of Dolly music, movies, and homemade pie! Ah, pie – who doesn’t love pie? And did I mention the Dolly-look-alike contest? I smell a photo op!

Whatever your plans may be, methinks some serious Happy Haps are in order for Ms. Parton. Sure, we’ve all probably succumbed to Dolly the caricature at one point or another, but the fact remains this: she’s one of the sweetest-voiced, savviest, and most successful artists of our lifetime: 25 number-one singles at last count, and 41 top 10 country albums so far – no one else comes close, even. She has penned some of the most touching, soul-baring, achingly tender melodies of the past five decades. But wait, there’s more: a star in the Hollywood Walk of Fame, inductions into the Country Music Hall of Fame and the Nashville Songwriters Hall of Fame, the distinction of being honored as a Living Legend by the US Library of Congress, as well as being rewarded the National Medal of Arts (the highest honor given by the US government for cultural excellence.)

Oh, and let’s not forget: she wrote “Jolene.” Covered by everyone from Olivia Newton-John to the Sisters of Mercy to the White Stripes to Susanna and the Magical Orchestra, it’s an absolute classic in the whole infidelity-song genre, an area with plenty of competition, particularly in country music. Here, in a more recent performance, she gives a shout-out to her drag-queen fans, then kicks up a mighty row with a wicked bluegrass version of the song.

Get Health! The LA noise combo gives up their secrets

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Everybody’s talkin’ ’bout Health – as well as Dan Deacon, who the LA noise combo plays with tonight, Jan. 17, at Great American Music Hall. It’ll be an awesome show. I traded e-mails with the outfit this week, and here’s what they graciously coughed up.

SFBG: How did your name come about?

John: We wanted a name like Television, an everyday word. Went down a list with the interweb. Health was left.

SFBG: What makes you play music?

John: Gets me AMPED, man. Unless you’re a little kid, music is the only way you get someone to rage with you.

Jake: Is that a big question or a small question?

SFBG: What sort of “Health”-y things do you do?

John: Kombucha

Jake: Watch out for excess sodium.

Getting impersonal with Paul F. Tompkins

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By George Chen

Paul F. Tompkins might be a familiar sight, thanks to his appearances on Best Week Ever, The Sarah Silverman Program, and the cult hit Mr. Show (he also toured with the live stage show that came to the Warfield in 2005). But you may not know that he has been performing stand-up for more than 20 years and recently released an album, Impersonal, through A Special Thing, which is only available through iTunes and online mail-order (and Amoeba Los Angeles, if you are in the neighborhood). For those who aren’t familiar with his act, Tompkins is a masterful storyteller with an absurdist wit wrapped in a fairly traditional package: he doesn’t work much profanity and wears a three-piece suit. The comic spoke with me on the phone about his upcoming round of performances as part of the SF Sketchfest.

SFBG: I wanted to get some idea about what to expect for the Sketchfest. I know it’s a slightly different format than you just doing regular stand-up. Or is it? “Comedy Death Ray” is something that happens regularly in LA.

Paul F. Tompkins: “Comedy Death Ray” is a regular LA show [at Upright Citizens Brigade Theater]. It’s been going for four or five years now; it’s stand-up and sketch. As far as that goes up in San Francisco, I’m not sure if they have any sketch on tap – I don’t even know what I’m going to be doing yet. I might just be doing some stand-up or I might do some kind of sketch with somebody else – I’ve done both on that show. I’ll be doing the “Match Game” live show two nights in a row before that, which is like the old Match Game game show. We did it up there last year, and it was a big hit and a lot of fun so we’re doing it again this year.

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