May 2005

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Blues Great Percy Strother Dies at Age 58

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Blues Great Percy Strother Dies at Age 58

Minneapolis, MN, May 31, 2005 - Blues great Percy Strother passed away at his home in Minneapolis, Minnesota on May 29, 2005. With his wife of 35 years Roseanna Strother and his son Percy Strother, Jr. at his side, Percy succumbed to complications from liver cancer and diabetes at age 58. Born in Vicksburg, Mississippi on July 23, 1946, Percy Strother was revered as a gritty and soulful blues singer, an expressive and emotional guitar player and an outstanding songwriter. Percy left Mississippi at age 14 in the wake of family tragedies, eventually settling in the Twin Cities in 1969. His many career highlights included several European tours and constant touring of the U.S., playing premier clubs and festivals. His recordings included the release "A Good Woman Is Hard To Find," written by Percy and selected as Best Blues Song of 1992 in the Living Blues magazine Readers' Award category. In addition to his wife Roseanna Strother and son Percy Strother, Jr., Percy Strother is survived by stepdaughters Anita Higgins and Juliet Higgins, son Tyrone Strother, grandchildren Theresa, Daisha, Eboni and Tyrone Strother, Jr., one sister and four brothers, and countless fans and friends. A memorial service will be held on Friday, June 3, 2005 at 1:00 p.m. at Estes Funeral Chapel, 2210 Plymouth Avenue North in Minneapolis (612-521-6744). Interment at Hillside Cemetery following service. As Percy did not have adequate medical insurance, donations to help pay medical, funeral and family living expenses can be sent to Strother Family, P.O. Box 22193, Robbinsdale Branch, Robbinsdale, MN 55422.

More information on the life of Percy Strother. Percy Strother was born on July 23, 1946 in Vicksburg, Mississippi, located on the banks of the Mississippi River. Percy was one of six brothers and a sister. His father worked as a sharecropper and a porter and his mother was a teacher who supplemented the family income by doing odd jobs. Growing up in a farmhouse with no electricity, Percy's family looked to music for comfort and entertainment. Everyone in the family sang and loved the blues music that was literally born in their region. Percy's father was his earliest influence, teaching Percy his first guitar riffs and blues songs.

When Percy was eight or nine years old, his father was accused of killing a white man and he was hanged. Percy's mother was devastated, and the tragedy took a toll on her from which she would never recover. By the age of 12, Percy was working farm labor from sun up to sun down, using the meager pay to help feed the family. This type of work at such a young age, and under such personal circumstances, could break a person's spirit. Percy endured the struggles, in large part, by singing while he labored. Songs by heroes like Muddy Waters, Little Walter, Howlin' Wolf and Sonny Boy Williamson would get him through the days.

By his early teens, Percy was singing in clubs in Vicksburg and nearby towns. Always a devoted performer, Percy would walk five miles to one of the rougher clubs just to take the stage.

When Percy was 14 years old, his family lost their farm and his mother lost her battle with grief and alcohol. With no intention of entering a nearby orphanage, Percy took his younger brothers and hitchhiked out of town, staying for a while in Jackson, Mississippi. He soon made his way to North Carolina, where he worked cropping tobacco, and then Florida, where he harvested oranges and other fruit.

By the 1960s, Percy had traveled and worked his way to Milwaukee, Wisconsin. As he had in previous locales, Percy sought out chances to hear live music and sit in with bands as a singer. His "day job" was typically grueling, working in a foundry. In 1968, Percy formed his own band with a home-base of Racine, Wisconsin, not far outside of Milwaukee. He then spent about four months living in Chicago, catching live sets by legends like Magic Sam, but not regularly performing himself.

It was around 1969 or 1970 that Percy Strother, along with his brother Max, visited relatives in the Twin Cities. Percy was impressed by the surprisingly rich blues scene in town, and settled in the Twin Cities for the rest of his life. In his early twenties and with plenty of tough life experience behind him, Percy was embraced by the blues community and encouraged and mentored by a new friend, Twin Cities blues legend Lazy Bill Lucas. Lucas, a piano player and singer who hosted house parties that were a focal point of the local scene, was known to exclaim "Have Mercy, Mr. Percy" when Strother stepped forward with his powerful vocals.

It was also during this period, in 1970, that Percy Strother married his wife Roseanna, with whom he would spend the rest of his life. Roseanna inspired Percy in every way, including his music, his songwriting and his focus on family. "Sharing my life with Percy was a gift," says Roseanna Strother. "He was a very loving and protective husband. Percy cherished me, and I cherished him."

Percy built a reputation over the following years as one of the Twin Cities best and most authentic blues vocalists, with a growling, haunting sound in the tradition of Delta-born legends like Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf. During the 1970s, Percy cut a single on his own P.L.S. label to get on Twin Cities jukeboxes and radio and generate a little more interest in his career. In 1977, a teenage R.J. Mischo encountered Percy's talents in a local music store and sought out his advice for Mischo's new blues band. Always one to help out and teach young, aspiring blues musicians, Percy took the harmonica player under his wing, a kindness that would be appropriately reciprocated by Mischo years later.

Percy performed throughout the 1970s and 1980s as a vocalist in the Twin Cities and other regional locations, but it was not until 1990 that he began playing guitar publicly. Other than early tips from his father and his keen observation of peers, Percy was a self-taught guitarist who decided to focus on the instrument mid-career. According to Twin Cities guitarist Curt Obeda of the Butanes, "One of the things that impressed me most about Percy was his lifelong pursuit of learning more about music and getting better. He could have just gotten up and sang and he would have been fine, but Percy was always trying to improve and find more ways to get his music heard."

In 1992, Percy Strother would finally gain international recognition for his blues vocals, recognition that he had not previously received or sought, for that matter. At the insistence of R.J. Mischo, the blues harmonica player that Percy had mentored years earlier, Percy participated in a recording that would go on to receive critical acclaim and help bring Percy into the spotlight. Ready To Go (1992 Blue Loon Records) by R.J. & Kid Morgan Blues Band Featuring Percy Strother was a recording in the style of 1950s classic Chicago blues. Percy finally had a proper recording to help spread the word.

Buoyed by the warm reception given to Ready To Go, Percy went into the studio in 1992 to record his own album, A Good Woman Is Hard to Find. Released that same year on the Blue Loon label, Percy surprised fans and the blues press by stepping outside 1950s style Chicago blues. With a horn section and tons of soul, the album established Percy as a huge talent in the R&B style of blues associated with the Memphis sound. Living Blues magazine picked the album as a runner-up for Best Blues Album of 1992 in their Critics' Awards, and readers picked the title track "A Good Woman Is Hard To Find" as Best Blues Song of 1992 (in a tie with Robert Cray's "I Was Warned"). The song was written by Percy for his beloved wife Roseanna.

With successful recordings helping pave the way, Percy Strother undertook his first European tour in 1993, including a live show for the national Dutch radio. Percy was so well received by the appreciative European audiences that he would return there to play festivals and clubs throughout his life, the last time in Fall 2004. He tirelessly toured in the U.S. as well, a welcomed regular headliner at clubs like Buddy Guy's Legends in Chicago and the Terra Blues club in New York City.

Throughout the 1990s and 2000s, Percy continued to add outstanding recordings to his discography. The Highway is My Home (1995 Black Magic Records), It's My Time (1997 JSP Records) and Home At Last (2001 Black & Tan Records) are the work of a powerhouse singer and versatile artist, whether getting low down with gritty Chicago blues or pumping up some soulful R&B.

Despite battling illness, Percy Strother continued to put on magnificent shows within weeks of his death. His final appearance was at Famous Dave's BBQ & Blues in Minneapolis on April 15, 2005. Percy played solo, and the packed crowd included many members of his family and his band. Percy put on a typically joyous and powerful performance, fielding requests and lifting the spirits of everyone in attendance.

Well loved for his music, Percy Strother the man was equally admired. His kindness and (sometimes disarming) sense of humor touched the lives of innumerable friends and fans. His love of family and the blues were rivaled only by his passion for fishing. "I have heard stories about people spotting Percy out fishing when most people would be sitting by a fire to get warm," said Twin Cities musician Paul Metsa. "Even when he was fishing he had style, dressed like he was ready to go on stage in his ever present hat, cape and snakeskin boots. Percy was the ultimate professional and he'll never be replaced. For my money, Percy's vocals were as deep and powerful as guys like Muddy Waters and Howlin' Wolf." So refined was Percy's fashion sense, he was chosen to act in commercials and model for magazine advertisements that ran in Rolling Stone, GQ and other media outlets.

A true bluesman, singer, songwriter, guitarist, harmonica player and charismatic performer Percy Strother will be greatly missed by the blues world.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 31, 2005 5:14 PM

 

Who's Robert Crumb?

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The R. Crumb Handbook provides even greater insight into the oft-dissected artist. Thanks to Terry Zwigoff's much-lauded 1994 documentary Crumb, you don't need to be a Zap Comix enthusiast to know who R. Crumb is and why he's so damned special. The priapic cartoonist, chubby-chaser and record collector is ringed by an unlikely aura of intrigue; who knew a googly-eyed old pervert could attract such a vast and worshipful fanbase? That said, The R. Crumb Handbook (MQ Publications, $25) is bound to be a hit with its target demographic. (You know a book ain't aimed at Crumb newbies when it's cross-marketed with a "Win a Date with Aline Crumb!" promotion, though who could pass up the opportunity to wine and dine the artist's equally twisted missus?) Written by Crumb and Peter Poplaski, the Handbook is a loose collection of world-according-to-Crumb essays accompanied by comics both famous and rare. (Angelfood McSpade, Mr. Natural, and the infamous Family That Fucks Together are all present and accounted for.) We also hear more (much more) about how Crumb loves getting sexualized piggyback rides from zaftig women, a subject that may have been exhausted in Zwigoff's documentary. Still, the crotchety screeds from an aging Crumb are worth reading; his philosophies on life are remarkably honest, refreshingly pessimistic, and quite poignant. And then there are those comics--Crumb's drawings crawl with energy, and that slavish attention to detail reveals that those comparisons to the Dutch masters are warranted. This book is a must-have for Crumb junkies, and certainly accessible enough for the Crumb-curious. Plus, the firm yellow binding makes this tome feel like the dirtiest textbook you never read. One caveat: Don't page through this on the bus unless you want your seatmate to get up and move. Crumb, bless him, can even offend from afar.

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 30, 2005 11:28 AM | Comments (1)

 

Bad Bestseller of the Week

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R is for Ricochet by Sue Grafton (Berkley, $7.99)

The alphabet isn't going by nearly fast enough in Grafton's tedious series about detective Kinsey Milhone, and now she even seems at a loss for title words that apply to her stories. Ricochet? Only one gun is fired in the whole book, and it misses. There's virtually no violence of any kind, and most of what there is gets done off-stage. Instead, the "action" involves detailed accounts of every time Kinsey eats QPs with cheese, is screwed by a cop buddy of hers (again, off-stage), or gets involved with her 87-year-old landlord's romantic problems. And it's all as gosh-darned cute as it sounds.

Grafton's specialty seems to be mystery-free mysteries, and this one is particularly pristine in that regard. The plot involves a single white-collar crime of the dullest kind, and characters who don't do much and are all too pleased with themselves to be interesting. The dialogue is noteworthy only for how much there is and how little is really said, and Grafton does these scenes like she's being paid by the word and every "Oh?" counts.

Even though Kinsey is 37, the book seems like it's meant for much older folks. Unfortunately, Grafton's next book won't be out in hardcover until the end of the year, so it will still be awhile before Z is for Zzzzzz, when Kinsey Milhone finaly dies in her-- and our-- sleep.

Posted by Steve Monaco at May 29, 2005 3:48 AM

 

I kiss you, crying while eating

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Back in the early days of the good ol' internets, everybody and their mother was obsessed with a Turkish Don Juan who had a hard-on for nude models, ping-pong, and his trusty foto-camera. But Mahir quickly became like the dancing baby: So obnoxiously 1996 they're both bound to be found on an ironic '90s-nostalgia T-Shirt at Urban Outfitters, hanging right next to the "I Love the Backstreet Boys" T-Shirts (wink! wink!). Almost ten years later, their popularity has inspired contests like the Contagious Media Showdown, where goofy Web sites and those intended to look like real advertisements battle it out to pass through the most office cubes and become an internet hit.

Some of them seem lamer than Ally McBeal's biological-clock-inspired apparitions: Blogebrity, for example, focuses on "the celebs" of blogging. (Yes, there's a scene composed of people who have actually never seen each other.) And then there's the hilarious cryingwhileeating.com, where people send in their homemade videos of themselves (what else?) crying while eating. Pringles cascading out of a guy's mouth only gets funnier when you know it's because his girlfriend is making him go to therapy.

Posted by at May 27, 2005 5:22 PM | Comments (1)

 

Watch Where You're Going with that Stereotype

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I got a little steamed this morning reading the following paragraph from Chris Riemenschneider's story about Dessa Darling, MC with local hip-hop collective Doomtree:

"The truth is, Darling, 24, didn't grow up a B-girl. She was a smart kid from Minneapolis Southwest High School who graduated from the University of Minnesota in 2002 with a degree in philosophy. That hardly sounds like the background of a rapper."

First off, I don't like how "smart kid" is used in opposition to "B-girl." realize that "smart kid" is probably being used, innocently enough, to mean "nerd" or at least "someone more interested in scholarly pursuits than in outward expressions of cool." But one doesn't have to engage in any in-depth semiotics to find an implication that the average "B-girl" or "B-boy" is a "dumb kid." (Of course, some are -- dumb people are everywhere, as everyone knows.)

As far as Darling's history "hardly sound[ing] like the background of a rapper," well, her background is atypical but not incongruous. Yes, most rappers don't have philosophy degrees. Nor do most popular musicians. Obviously, many of the greatest and most famous rappers grew up very poor and in situations that didn't encourage going to college. And some of the greatest and most famous rappers did go to college, such as Kool Moe Dee (who attended after he had already put out records) and Chuck D.

My personal experience with musicians in general is that most either didn't go to college or didn't finish college. Even musicians in the indie-rock milieu, which tends to attract middle- and upper-middle class partisans and is culturally tied to collegiate life, are largely college dropouts. Now as far as orchestra musicians go, those folks are lucky to make it out of junior high.

Posted by Dylan Hicks at May 27, 2005 10:25 AM

 

I Can't Stop Balling! By Amelia Huff, Age 10 1/2

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I have been balling since last night. I cryed so hard my pillow got wet and so did Bunny and my very special Vermount teddy bear that my Dad got me for Childrens Day last year. (Every day is Childrens day at my dad's house!!! :-) Do you want to know the reason why Im sad? Well Ill tell you. Carrie Underwood (SCARY UNDERWARE) won American Idol last night. Even though her singing is bad and her STUPID LESBAIN SONG stank and her hair looked all tangeled like my Flava doll who's head got stuck in one of the jets in my Dad's hot tub. (My Flava name is "Wonder Boo!") As soon as I found out Carrie won I got on the phone and called my cousin Hannah. We balled together. She said "Amelia I think one day you will marry Bo Bice. You have a Special connection like Trista and Ryan."

I hope it is true. Bo my email address is clay_aiken@huffmail.com. I promise I will always be true to you. I am not like those girls who like one guy on American Idol and then forget all about him next year. I beleive getting married is FOREVER unlike my mom the hore.

Reasons why Bo Bice should have won, by Amelia (me!)

1. I could drownd in his blue eyes.

2. He can sing good even after taking lots of Cocaine.

3. I heard his girlfreind is pregnant. They should do it two more times so they can have triplets!

4. He has the same birthday as my cousin Cassie.

5. He is freinds with a very famous and good musician named Leonard Skinnard.

So you see I am right. I am always right. I hope Carrie becomes very unfamous quick.

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 26, 2005 4:21 PM

 

Local Music-Business Giant Daniel Heilicher Dies at 81

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Daniel Heilicher, a central figure in several of Minnesota's biggest contributions to the music industry, died this week. He and his brother Amos started in business in the '30s, distributing and stocking jukeboxes. In 1954 they founded Soma Records and started producing records out of Kay Bank Studios at 2541 Nicollet. Eventually a number of huge hits would come out of the effort, including the Fendermen's "Muleskinner Blues," Dave Dudley's pioneering truck-driving anthem "Six Days on the Road," the Trashmen's "Surfin' Bird," and the Castaways' "Liar, Liar." Those latter two singles were the biggest hits from Minneapolis's golden, mid-'60s era of teenage rock, and their success and devil-may-care energy inspired countless heartland high schoolers to entertain dreams of one-hit-wonderdom.

The Heilicher brothers also founded Musicland, and later merged with Pickwick International to expand their distribution business. They sold Pickwick and Musicland to American Can Co. in 1977. Daniel also invented a computer-based sales-tracking system, a precursor to today's Soundscan. For more on Heilicher and quotes form Amos, see the Star Tribune's obituary.

Posted by Dylan Hicks at May 26, 2005 12:59 PM

 

Don't say a word

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Why Minnesotans can't find a good bagel, and other bigoted observations on diphthongs gone wrong

Having spent 14 years--that is, my entire adult life--as a resident of the state of Minnesota, I think I can safely say that while I like Minnesotans plenty, I can barely stand the way they talk. Normally I'd say "we": I live here; I work here; I no longer belong anyplace else. I've gotten used to the word "pop," which has the goofy virtue of making everyone seem like a little leaguer. And I recognize that "come with"--like the South's "y'all"--serves an identifiable purpose in human communication.

But I cannot own the awful things you people do to English vowels. The accent?it is either charmless or monstrous. The reason no one in Minnesota has ever eaten a good bagel is because the word itself does not exist. (I have no idea how to format a schwa with this blog software, but I can say definitively that "beggl" is not acceptable.) I suspect the reason Minnesotans, alone among Americans, picked Mondale over Reagan owes to the fact they couldn't pronounce the Gipper's name. (It's more like "Raygun" than "reggn" or "raggn"--where the "a" sound rhymes with "rat." This pronunciation phenomenon is a variant on what linguists term the "northern shift.")

Accents can be a wondrous thing, suggesting the cultural texture of a nation that otherwise seems to have been homogenized by retail chains and monolithic media. I recently returned from a road trip through the Chesapeake, where I encountered one of the most bizarre regional accents I've ever heard. I can barely begin to describe it: Everyday vowel sounds become diphthongs. Diphthongs become time-travel experiments to the Elizabethan age. Try saying the word "water" while making an exaggerated O with your mouth and pronouncing the ska exclamation "Oi!" and you may begin to have a faint idea what's going on.

I suspect this Delmarva accent is dying out, like my grandmother's old-style Bronxese, in which the word "toilet" came out like "terlit." (It's a word I heard too often, as my grandmother held fiercely to the belief that children could not safely flush by themselves.)

Immigrants to Minnesota have an innate sense that something is not OK with the way people here talk. But the results of the Dialect Survey conducted online by professor Bert Vaux (formerly of Harvard, now at Wisconsin) codify what's so offensive to the ear. Native Minnesotans, naturally, will appreciate the opportunity to heap scorn on the linguistic transgressions committed by people on the Eastern seaboard. I don't begrudge them that right, but I do hope in my heart that they know they are wrong, wrong, wrong.

 

Posted by Michael Tortorello at May 25, 2005 3:24 PM | Comments (2)

 

Fart into the same couch cushions as Princess Diana did

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Marshall Field's recently introduced the Althorp-Living History furniture collection, "inspired by the history and grandeur of Althorp, the ancestral home of England's legendary Spencer family." The legend part, to non-Anglophiles, alludes to the late Princess Diana (formerly Lady Diana Spencer) whose brother, Charles, the ninth Earl, will be at the Southdale Home Store on June 3 hawking ottomans and hampers just like the ones at his house... where Princess Diana used to live! For, like, two years!

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 25, 2005 11:53 AM

 

Can't you smell that smell?

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Ronnie VanZant returns from the dead to become the next American Idol

Not even a deadly plane crash can stop a good ol' boy from Jacksonville, Fla. Almost 30 years after his death, the Lynyrd Skynyrd frontman has apparently tunneled his way out of his grave and into the hearts of Simon, Paula, Randy, and millions of Americans to become the mic-stand-slingin' hearttrhob of this season's American Idol. Reliable Sources (TM) say the singer had to change his name to Bo Bice for legal reasons, but otherwise, the formerly dead Southern man has been perfectly preserved by his years spent under America's finest soil. (Lord knows, he can't chaaaaaange.) For proof, click on his before-the-crash picture here, and his back-from-the-grave picture here. Sing it real purdy for Alabamy, Ron...I mean, "Bo Bice."

Update: Ronnie reunites with his band, but the angels weren't listening.

Posted by at May 25, 2005 12:07 AM

 

Jesus to make guest appearance on MTV

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The music channel finds God; heavy-metal band Lamb of God loses its shit

The network that once brought you Boy George and George Michael, and has since become a showcase for frat boys and self-described "future MILFs" attempting to spew more vomit than an elephant, has recently seen the light. And it looks a lot like Jesus Christ in the form of beaucoup bucks from Christian-music labels and "family-friendly" advertisers.

According to an "insider," (we're so Us Weekly!) MTV is planning to dedicate part of its schedule to Christian-music programming. While this means the music channel will start airing videos again (sweet dreams, Meet the Barkers!), it also means dudes who look like Aaron Carter after a whirlwind trip to Hot Topic will have their nightly prayers answered by getting sandwiched between the spoiled rich girls of My Super Sweet 16 and a brawny and emasculated Nick Lachey. (He's the Jamaican hard dough in the fantasy mix.)

For the money-grubbing and power-hungry execs at MTV ready to jump on the bandwagon with the rest of the entertainment industry, Christian-themed programming makes sense: Christian albums accounted for almost 45 million of the 666 million albums sold in 2004. Plus, with the Rapture Index at 147, they might be looking for a way to keep those high-priced Bruno Maglis from melting to their feet like Saran Wrap. And if you've caught two seconds of any of the numerous MTV award shows, you know from the "thank you" speeches that the Lord spends his entire days watching over MTV with a hawk's eye.

Posted by at May 24, 2005 4:10 PM

 

Hufu: The Other White Meat

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Press release of the day: City Pages recently received a press release promoting a new and delicious snack for the "discerning cannibal enthusiast" called Hufu, a "healthy human flesh alternative" made from tofu and flavored to resemble human flesh through "painstaking research and extensive testing."

Odd enough to be intriguing, yet not funny enough to be a spoof, we ventured to www.eathufu.com to get the skinny on Hufu's line of cuisine, including "Dr. Lecter's Favorite Liver." The site features an array of carnivorous DVDs (Sweeney Todd, Alive) and "Eat Hufu" merchandise for sale. The FAQ page features a delightful anecdote on how the "Hufu" name was developed, thanks to "Fifth Element" star and model Milla Jovovich overhearing Hufu associates discussing the product on a Eurostar train. Therein the ruse reveals itself, as everyone knows Milla Jovovich gets sick on trains and flies first class everywhere she goes.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 23, 2005 1:33 PM

 

Zack is Dana! Dana is Zack! Marcia Cross is still spooky!

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The Desperate Housewives finale was appropriately soapy (and stinging)

So it's settled then: Mary Alice is a big, fat murderer who butchered naive, poker-wielding Deirde in a variation on the old King Solomon two-mommies boondoggle. Too bad, so sad. Any American who names their son "Dana" should be prepared to relinquish their parental rights; was Deirdre a huge fan of "Massive Headwound Harry" or something? "We conceived you during a Church Lady sketch, honey."

Seeing Teri Hatcher held at gunpoint by Mr. Angryglasses was another high point of the hour. (I'm sure Nicollette Sheridan would heartily agree.) Eat lead, Radio Shack! We're left hanging until September, though one can only assume that the star of a show will dodge any errant bullets. Plumber Mike is going to pull through too; you just know it. We're supposed to believe that he and Susan are soulmates, even though they're completely incompatible, don't trust each other, and are an even more awkward pairing than Felicity Huffman and the gay social worker from Melrose Place.

And who can forget Gabrielle informing her he-man husband Carlos that if he wants their child to be breastfed, he'll have to do it himself? Apparently, it's possible. One can just picture Carlos serenely nursing his Jesse Metcalf-faced infant while Gabrielle smugly cruises down Wisteria Lane in her Maserati. Now that's a fair parenting plan!

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 23, 2005 12:47 PM

 

Green Not Golden

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It wasn?t exactly that the notoriously erratic Al Green was going through the motions this past Friday at the State Theater, but he wasn?t exactly singing the songs, either. Or at least not singing them as if they meant anything other than, This was once a bit hit, and you loved it, and you loved me for making it. His megalomania--the constant reminders of how much we loved him and how much he loved us--was a major drag if apparently effective with most of the crowd. A few high points to go with the dazzling high notes, but mostly we got depressing Vegas shtick from a guy who once seemed impervious to such things.

Posted by Dylan Hicks at May 23, 2005 10:30 AM | Comments (1)

 

Eavesdroppings: pew confessions

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Overheard at a party in Minneapolis on Friday night:

Girlfriend: How much have you been sniffing your wrist today? Your wrist is all red!

Boyfriend: (Shrugs) I was bored in church.

Posted by at May 23, 2005 12:20 AM | Comments (4)

 

Bad Bestseller of the Week

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Just One Look by Harlan Coben (Signet, $7.99)

All of Coben's novels have punchy, one-syllable-word titles like the above, but considering the outlandish coincidences this plot-boiler relies on, perhaps a better one would have been Out the Ass. Years after she was almost killed at a concert (which featured the imaginatively-named Jimmy X Band), a woman's husband disappears, leading her to encounters with hit-men, government agents, and mob bosses. By the end, everyone reveals their improbable secrets, and as you read the last few dozens pages, you can almost see Coben pulling it out with both hands. 

(Besides plotting, he also sucks at characterizations-- his heroes come from TV commercials and his bad guys are from direct-to-video movies-- and his dialogue is almost as real-sounding as Dean Koontz's.)

The most striking thing about the book, though, is its almost complete lack of sex and profanity. Last week's Bad Bestseller, Night Time is My Time by Mary Higgins Clark, was also singled out for its G-rated qualities. But Clark writes books like the ones she enjoyed as a girl, over 100 years ago-- chaste who-done-its with virginal heroines. Coben, however, is supposedly writing about grittier stuff, so it seems even odder that the only four-letter word used (once) in the book is spelled "f***ing." Are today's big-selling writers being edited by Wal-Mart? 

Posted by Steve Monaco at May 22, 2005 3:34 AM

 

The house where Surfer Girl was born

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The boyhood home of Brian Wilson and his brothers Dennis and Carl is now a California state landmark-- or it would be if it still existed. Unfortunately, it was torn down and turned into a segment of freeway over 20 years ago, so the state has erected a 15-foot brick wall where it used to be, featuring a picture that recreates the original cover of the Surfer Girl album. The project, proposed by a couple of longtime fans, was paid for in part by donations by Beach Boys admirers who bought the site brick by brick.

The unveiling ceremony was attended by Wilson, who performed for the crowd of 300, as well as original Boys Al Jardine and David Marks. Conspicuous by his welcome absence was the group's resident asshole, Mike Love, who still has nothing but bad things to say about his cousin Brian. (For those unfamiliar with Love's sins, a nice recent overview of one of rock's biggest shitheels can be found here.)

Posted by Steve Monaco at May 22, 2005 1:51 AM

 

Getting Dizzy

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Art-A-Whirl kicks off in NE Mpls. tonight

It's like a word problem only easier: Three days, more than 300 artists, 400 studios, and thousands of people converging for the summer's No.1 art crawl. Some arty equations to solve before you go crawling for art pieces to add to your collection of minimalist pop-cult miscellany, as well as a few inebriant components that should make crawling seem natural:

Fri:

A two-headed squirrel + Grain Belt Beer + a missing thumb - chili at the California Building

A beautifully dark literary group +  a giant bathroom + malt liquor at Creative Electric Studios

Sat:

Sea Whores + Fuck Yeahs + artwork + overhearing the phrase "fuck yeah" at Grumpy's

10 Bands + wine + Kool-Aid - pitcher crashing through walls in Elias Studios' parking lot

+ 21 more events and hundreds more artists...

Posted by at May 20, 2005 1:28 AM

 

For those about to rock, we salute Norm Coleman

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In an effort to divert the public's attention from the upbraiding the junior senator received from British MP George Galloway yesterday, Norm Coleman once again turns his attention toward America's right to rock. Totta's Bluesband, a 1980's Swedish band whose members began playing music in the mid-1960's, will now be able to pay tribute to Bob Dylan during the upcoming Dylan Days 2005 in Hibbing after Norm Coleman helped the band get B-1 visas, which allow international entertainers to visit and perform in the U.S. Last November you may recall, Coleman was also instrumental (no band pun intended) in allowing Canadian rock fossils The Guess Who ("These Eyes") to enter the country when the band discovered its application for P2 visas had not been processed by U.S. Citizen and Immigration Services. Kudos to Norm Coleman, a former roadie for Ten Years After ("Good Morning Little Schoolgirl"), for keeping America free to rock to musical dinosaurs, foreign and domestic.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 19, 2005 2:17 PM

 

Tournament of semi-champions

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Now's your chance to test those Chess skills you've been bragging about for years. Monday, at 7:00 p.m., the Chess Club in the Hopkins Center for the Arts is letting anyone challenge Russian grandmasters Valerij Filippov and Peter Kiriakov for $10. The two greatest players in the world (Ok, the 72nd and 203rd greatest, respectively) will be competing with players simultaneously. Or, if you really think you have mad Chess skills, you could always try to get into the HB Global Chess Challenge (May 18-22) at the Minneapolis Convention Center. It's your move.

Posted by at May 19, 2005 12:12 PM

 

Lucas Agonistes

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In addition to Jim Ridley's fine coverage of Star Wars Episode III/VI in City Pages, check out Anthony Lane's evisceration of pint-sized turquioise pseudo wise man Yoda in the New Yorker.

Posted by Quinton Skinner at May 19, 2005 11:21 AM

 

Eavesdroppings: Can I get extra funk with that?

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Overheard at noon today in a Warehouse District cafe:

Business Suit 1: Are they opening a Subway?

Business Suit 2: It's a sub shop, but I think it's called Jimmy Jam's.

Business Suit 1: But they sell subs?

Business Suit 2: Yeah, I think it's a Jimmy Jam's.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 18, 2005 3:29 PM

 

Can You Handle My Truth?

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No I dont think you can handle my truth. Or my contraversy!!! Hee hee, Im just acting like Britney Spears. Thats my very good impresionation of her. Anyway I got to see Britney and Kevin: Chaotic last night even though my mom said I was not aloud to. But I cryed and said that Dad would let me watch it and why did they get a divorce? (Because my mom liked a guy at her bowling leeg and let him touch the inside of her pants.) Then my mom got real quiet and red. She went upstairs and let me watch the show alone!!!!! I love being divorced.

britney was wierd. She kept asking pepole "what is your favorite sexual position?" Now I do know what sex is. (Its when Kevin Federline puts his thing in Britneys NO place. And she doesnt say NO or tell an adult like they say to at shcool.) Their is only 1 position for this: The girl goes on the bottom and the boy goes on the top so his sperms can go in a strait line. Maybe Britney doesnt know that. I think britney needs to take Family Life class like all the fifth graders do at my school.

Britney did not look like a famos person. Her skin looked funny. Her voice sounded kind of like, I dont know, a dumb person? I know she is natrally very smart because she is rich and has a bunch of Kids Choice awards and a probly a mansion with a waterfall and dolphins you can swim with and a refrigerater thats covered in diamonds and jools. So I dont know why she wasnt acting smart on the show. Its silly to play dumb to make a boy like you. Boys should like you for you, even if you are too flat for a bra and have glasses and like Steely Dan and stuff. (Im listening to "Deacon Blues" right now!!!)

Kevin was really cute. Cuter then Constantine Maroulis. Even cuter than Bo Bice. I think Kevin must take a lot of Cocaine because he is super cute in the same way Bo is. They both look like they are poor and maybe dont shower every day. And maybe they smell like gasaline. They both look like they might drive a bad car like a Pontiac Aztec. They both look like they have a lot of sperms and like making ladies preagnent. They are both SO BEUTIFUL. I hope I have a boyfreind like Kevin or Bo someday and we make a sweet little baby and name her Madison or Emma. (Those are my two special girls names I am going to use when I am a mom. DONT steal them!!!!!)

I am so happy for Britney and Kevin. And now Kevins kids have a beutiful stepmother who is rich and nice. Lucky them!!!!

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 18, 2005 10:44 AM

 

For those of us who hated "Saved by the Bell"

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Fans of early '90s Nickelodeon programming are easy to spot. At Rilo Kiley shows they're the ones yelling "Pinsky!" at Blake Soper, while arguing with friends over who would win a Clarissa vs. Sabrina cage match. And starting today, they're raving about the DVD release of the Adventures of Pete & Pete's first season. During its three-year existence, Pete & Pete proved itself too weird to really be popular. It magnified suburban surrealism with two brothers named Pete, a mom with a metal plate in her head, and a local superhero who looked suspiciously like a grown man in little boy's pajamas. The show overflowed with cool cameos: Michael Stipe as an ice cream man, LL Cool J as the school principal, Iggy Pop and Steve Buscemi as strange but affable dads. Its eclectic indie soundtrack included the Magnetic Fields, Apples in Stereo, and Poi Dog Pondering. Creators Will McRobb and Chris Viscardi didn't seem concerned with raking in the typical Nick viewers (how many kids recognized Marshall Crenshaw and Syd Straw in Little Pete's garage band?) and later took their quirky charm to the grown-up audience of Ed. They also acquired a cult of obsessive, episode-quoting fans. Ask them what they think of the new DVD and they'll probably say, "Pipe!" (That means it's good.)

Posted by Lindsey Thomas at May 17, 2005 5:59 PM

 

The CTG Mix Tape, #1: Fun with Bipolarity

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Side One (Manic Side):

 

Skip James, "I?m So Glad"

Sly and the Family Stone, "Fun"

R. Kelly, "Happy People"

The Young Rascals, "Groovin'"

Sam Cooke, "Good Times?"

The Beach Boys, "Good Timin'"

Al Green, "I Want to Hold Your Hand" 

Sun Ra Arkestra, "Nothin? from Nothin'"

Blur, "Song 2"

Big Jay McNeely, "The Goof"

Shirley and Lee, "Let the Good Times Roll"

Frank Sinatra, "You Make Me Feel So Young"

The Carpenters, "Top of the World"

 

Side Two (Depressive Side)

 

Metallica, "Ride the Lightning"

The Beatles, "Yer Blues"

George Strait, "I Hate Everything"

Notorious B.I.G., "Suicidal Thoughts"

Nas, "Life?s a Bitch"

Waylon Jennings, "I Think I?m Gonna Kill Myself"

Hank Williams, "I?m So Lonesome I Could Cry"

George Jones, "A Good Year for the Roses"

The Replacements, "Unsatisfied"

Ornette Coleman, "Lonely Woman"

Richard and Linda Thompson, "The End of the Rainbow"

Blind Willie Johnson, "Dark Was the Night, Cold Was the Ground"

Frank Sinatra, "Only the Lonely"

Posted by Dylan Hicks at May 17, 2005 3:22 PM

 

Very overblown companion

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The big entertainment news around these near-Wobegon regions yesterday was that Robert Altman will direct Lindsay Lohan and her protruding body parts in the film version of Garrison Keillor's A Prairie Home Companion. More than 29 news outlets put out clarion calls like "Altman movie to be filmed in St. Paul," "Lohan, Streep in New Altman Film," and "Altman to direct Prairie Home Companion Movie" in an attempt to snag the crossover Praire Home Companion/Herbie: Full Loaded crowd.

For film fans, these would all be attention-grabbing headlines if it weren't for the fact that Robert Altman has been in line to direct the movie for more than nine months now, and if Lohan, who has been attached to the project since early February, didn't tell the world last month that bleaching her red locks for the part was "so scary!" Either Woody Harrelson signing on (the only new item to come out yesterday) doesn't have the same cache as a 19-year-old whose breasts are mysteriously shrinking, or it's Groundhog Day and tomorrow's big headlines will be "Pope on feeding tube," "Lindsay Lohan to star in Robert Altman film." Please, make it stop!

Posted by at May 17, 2005 12:16 AM

 

Fighting Cambodian Midgets: Wait till FOX hears about this

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When you're the president of the Cambodian Midget Fighting League (CMFL), you can be a little sensitive when it comes to heckling. When CMFL President Yang Sihamoni bragged his crew of 42 short-statured commandos could "take on anything; man, beast, or machine," he was called out by an undisclosed fan to fight a lion. Believing his crew could "out-wit and out-muscle" a lion, Sihamoni rose to the challenge and an African lion was shipped to the city of Kampong Chhnang, where, in an April 30 contest sanctioned by the Cambodian government, the African lion went medieval on the Midget Fighting League, killing 28 and severely injuring 14 others.

Well, thankfully no midgets (little people - sorry!) were injured or killed during this latest internet hoax. It seems one of those "if a monkey and a dog got into a fight, who would win" conversations took place between a couple of friends, and a clever BBC News page was crafted with a spoof so fresh, Snopes doesn't even have an entry for it.

If the thought of a Cambodian Midget Fighting League aroused your savage tendencies, you can be the first on your block to own a CMFL T-shirt. And check the FOX fall line-up for a half-baked rip-off reality show when that Brooke Shields Las Vegas car dealership sitcom tanks after three episodes. Sadly, "New Car Smell" is not an internet hoax, but a harsh reality served cold.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 16, 2005 5:19 PM | Comments (1)

 

Shrinky Dinks

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A few years ago, the Zone Diet and its accursed egg whites turned the formerly comfy Jennifer Aniston into a walking stick slathered in bronzer. The trend caught on as horrified Americans found themselves counting Renee Zellweger's vertebrae in Chicago and wondering why Nicole Kidman looked like an alabaster Blow Pop.

Now, the Skeletor trend has resurfaced in the Teen Vogue set. Lindsay Lohan has gone from millennial Sweater Girl to, well, read the T-shirt. The rapidly shrinking Nicole Richie is reportedly down to 97 pounds. Obviously, there's nothing wrong with naturally sylphlike women, but these actresses used to be noticably thicker. Clearly, extreme dieting is afoot--or at the very least, extreme chainsmoking and Red Bull abuse.

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 16, 2005 2:11 PM

 

Bad Bestseller of the Week

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Nighttime is My Time by Mary Higgins Clark (Pocket, $7.99)

At 78, Clark might seem the last pop-fictionist for whom a 20th high-school reunion would have any relevancy, but that's the setting of this ridiculous tale of mystery-nerd revenge. The killer, only known as The Owl, has been murdering all the girls who laughed at him as a teenager, and the reader has to decide who he is: a nasty stand-up comic, a misanthropic playright, an angry cable mogul, or a pent-up TV psychologist. His victims include a beautiful soap star, a glamorous showbiz agent, and an elegant, prize-winning historian. In short, a group just like everybody's graduating class.

The only thing remarkable about this generic non-thriller is how G-rated it all is. For a murder story, it's almost completely bloodless, with the killings either taking place quickly and cleanly or simply off-stage. (Also, for a nocturnal villian, his dirty work is carried out mostly in the daytime.) Even more striking is the complete absence of swearing-- a couple "hells" and "damns" slip in and that's it-- and sex (a flashbacked, plot-device pregnancy seems to have occured immaculately). It'll make a perfect PAX-TV Movie of the Week.

Posted by Steve Monaco at May 15, 2005 4:07 AM

 

Gumby turns 50

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A new art exhibit titled "Gumby and Friends: The First 50 Years" is the opening salvo in a planned year-long resurrection of the bendable little green guy created by animator Art Clokey (who, at 83, will be right there collecting his royalties). Also planned are a DVD set of the '80s TV shows, a new video game and another exhibit at the Musuem of the Movable Image. It's doubtful, however, that any of these new projects will include this candid pic of Gumby and his best friend.

Posted by Steve Monaco at May 15, 2005 3:27 AM

 

The Next Round of Sloppy Seconds

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But Mom, the BBC says fuck. When do we get to say fuck?

The Futon Critic recently posted a list of developing shows in Fox's 2005-06 line-up. Among the fetal contenders is Peep Show, a premise taken from the 2003 BBC comedy of the same name. The original told everyday stories through from POV of two roommates: socially inept office drone Mark and slacker musician Jeremy. Riding The Office's wave of uncomfortable comedy, the dialogue (both internal and external) was awkward and vulgar. Just imagine listening in on all the off-color comments David Brent was smart enough to keep to himself.

Fox handed this over to writers from That '70s Show and is now promoting their version as "a modern-day Odd Couple." But Felix never tried to convince his crush he was "edgy" by slipping her a swastika-adorned valentine. And can you imagine Oscar conspiring to pepper-spray his crackhead bandmate for shagging his next-door neighbor/potential fuck buddy? Perhaps the network that took a chance on Arrested Development can salvage some of the offensive bits but in the meantime download, download, download the original. Ten bucks says Fox yanks the story line where poor, confused Mark falls for a smarmy black businessman and explores his feelings through gay porn.

Posted by Lindsey Thomas at May 13, 2005 5:04 PM

 

Nightstand confessional

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What the City Pages staff is reading--or pretending to read

Corey Anderson  Chris Ware (ed.), McSweeney's Quarterly Concern No. 13:  Chicago graphic novel writer Chris Ware guest edits this comic-themed 2004 compilation. Ware showcases the work of numerous writers/illustrators such as Lynda Barry, Ben Katchor, Art Spiegelman, and Kim Deitch. Also included: stories from the likes of John Updike, who waxes nostalgic on his stint with a Harvard Lampoon cartoon staff that included Fred ("Herman Munster") Gwynne.

Jessica Armbruster  Eric Schlosser: Reefer Madness: The Fast Food Nation author returns with an exploration of migrant labor, pornography, and the marijuana trade. Thorough research and forceful arguments make this an enlightening take on the hypocrisy of a society that outwardly condemns industries that are, in fact, major contributors to the national economy.

Diablo Cody  Anthony Bourdain, Kitchen Confidential: Never order mussels on Monday, nix hollandaise sauce, and avoid brunch at all costs. These and other useful gustatory caveats can be gleaned from Bourdain's rollicking expose of what really goes on behind the scenes at high-class restaurants (yes, they recycle the bread from table to table).

Paul Demko  various authors, Daily Racing Form: Picaresque coming-of-age tale involving drugs, competitive sports, and breeding.

Dylan Hicks  James Boswell, The Life of Samuel Johnson: The secret about the English Language's Greatest Biography(tm) is that it's still entertaining. And charmingly modest in tone, despite its extravagant length and ambition. Like its subject, it does not strut or stand on tip toe; it only does not stoop.

Mike Mosedale  Jared Diamond, Collapse: A history of how environmental stressors--climate change and deforestation, mainly--contributed to social collapses from Easter Island to Norse Greenland. Cheerless and engrossing, the book leads to one inevitable conclusion: The end is extremely fucking nigh.

Michael Tortorello  Tom Sharpe, Indecent Exposure: Don't let the exploding ostriches and the swishy konstables fool you. The real joke in this 1973 satire is the South African apartheid state, which gives birth to every outrage and human deviance you can imagine. And a few you can't.

 

Posted by Michael Tortorello at May 13, 2005 4:27 PM

 

Money Changes Everything

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Beaucoup bucks are the harbinger of celeb breakdowns 

After signing a reported $50 million (yes, $50 million) deal for the third season of Chappelle's Show, creator/star Dave Chappelle is AWOL and new episodes, which were supposed to premiere May 31, have been repeatedly delayed. It's even been rumored that Chappelle is being treated at a South African psychiatric hospital. To paraphrase Chappelle's beloved Rick James impression, "money is a helluva drug."

This isn't the first time a celebrity has cracked immediately after inking an eyepopping contract. In 2001, Mariah Carey landed a deal with Virgin Records that was estimated at $100 million. After the resulting album tanked, Mariah quickly cycled through the three phases of a routine celebrity breakdown: 1.) babbling incoherently on the internet, 2.) babbling incoherently on MTV, and 3.) checking into a hospital for "dehydration." (What is it with all these thirsty celebrities? Can't an A-lister get a Sierra Mist around here?)

There are loads of casualties on the "Being Rich is Hard" battlefield: Lindsay Lohan, who was a robust, freckled teen in her less-famous days, is now a multimillionaire at 18--and a wan, taneorexic blonde who's battled dehydration and recently told Teen Vogue that she's pleased that she can finally "fit into clothes." Think this would have happened if she'd languished in obscurity?

In other words, overnight success means you'll soon be thin, thirsty, crazy and/or delusional. So think twice before you sign that three-picture deal with Dreamworks, okay kids?

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 13, 2005 10:30 AM | Comments (0)

 

Mork or dork?

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Robin Williams sues dude who duped Strib columnist

Last September, a guy with B.O. and blond hair convinced C.J., the celeb-starved Strib gossip columnist, that he was Robin Williams. He arrived at the airport with an escort (an ornament of the celebs, according to C.J.) and spoke in an affected monkey/Minnesota accent: "Don't do [drugs] now...Make you crazy like me," C.J. reported Williams as saying. Now, C.J. is involved in a lawsuit being brought forth by Williams against the celebrity impersonator.

In the glowing C.J. article, titled "Zip! Zing! Zoom! Williams flies in!," the over-60-looking "Williams" (a fact she revealed later) chatted up C.J. and riffed on Prince and Michael Jackson as the two strolled through the MSP Airport accompanied by Michael Pool, Williams' "Midwest agent" who signed up the whiffy Williams for anti-drug speaking gigs at schools across Minnesota. For most folks, these would be surefire signs the tow-haired guy was an impostor. But C.J. bit like Mike Tyson on this chance to dish the dirt on someone other than local newscasters Randi Kaye and Cyndi Brucato. (Note to Julie Nelson: If you spelled you name like "Juli," then maybe you'd get more ink.) This is a blond version of the male version of the Mrs. Doubtfire!

Instead, the guy turned out to be Williams impersonator Michael Clayton, and C.J. was forced to issue a red-faced mea culpa: "When Pool arrived with 'Williams,' I was surprised by the blond hair," she wrote five days after the incident. "My suspicions eased when I saw Clayton's hairy arms. (Williams is famously hirsute.)," she said. Yes, and Williams also is known for not calling on local gossip columnists to meet him at the airport.

According to Celebrity Justice (also known as C.J., but is a show not a woman), Williams is suing Clayton and has outlined C.J.'s Strib story as part of the lawsuit. C.J., the woman, however, points a finger at Northwest Airlines: "You'd think that Northwest Airlines would know what celebrity they were escorting through the airport," she told the show. And you'd think that a celebrity gossip columnist would know the difference between a 60-something dude with B.O. and a 50-something actor with ADD.

Posted by at May 12, 2005 5:13 PM

 

Not Robin Williams

Filed under: General Archive

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 12, 2005 2:16 PM

 

Flush with Praise

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Creative Electric makes high art of the john

Tomorrow night, Creative Electric Studios in Northeast will unveil it's "Art-a-Swirl" exhibit, billed as "art for and about the bathroom." They've temporarily transformed the gallery into a bathroom, complete with shower, commodes, bidet and medicine cabinet. If you've dreamed of seeing one of those "If You Sprinkle When You Tinkle..." signs treated like the high art they are, this is the show for you.

Posted by Diablo Cody at May 12, 2005 10:17 AM

 

Welcome to Smallville, pop. 0

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It takes big hype to keep up the legend of the "Not So Big House"

The genius of Susan Susanka's "Not So Big House" franchise isn't the architecture, though that's fine, too. A few years back, the one-time Minneapolis architect created a home-design cult around the concept of scaling back the McMansion. At the same time as the average new American home has swollen to 2,300 square feet--new Hummerlike developer homes are often twice that size--Susanka has acheived minor celebrity by selling more happiness in a smaller package. Fewer bathrooms and fewer formal (and underused) areas, she has argued, create a more enjoyable living space.

The philosophy has an innate appeal to the vaguely countercultural consumer--it's the equivalent of being promised a Prius with 350 horsepower and seating for nine. To wit, as of last year, according to the Washington Post, Susanska had sold 750,000 copies from her four-book series. (Two more titles are under works.)

There are surely environmental benefits to less gargantuan living: reduced demands for energy and construction materials; fewer acre-size yards that devour open space. Yet the notion that forgoing 800 square feet represents an act of political consciousness is bunk. Slobbering over beautiful and one-of-a-kind shelving plans and ingenious bench seating below the stairwell is just another form of catalogue capitalism--Lucky magazine on a grander scale. In point of fact, Susanska's houses, with their custom detailing and refined materials, are surely beyond the financial realities of the great majority of homebuyers.

Smallville, continued: Where to buy a 50-sq. ft. house?

Posted by Michael Tortorello at May 11, 2005 5:39 PM

 

not so big

Filed under: General Archive

Welcome to Smallville, pop. 0

It takes big hype to keep up the legend of the "Not So Big House"

The genius of Susan Susanka's "Not So Big House" franchise isn't the architecture, though that's fine, too. A few years back, the one-time Minneapolis architect created a home-design cult around the concept of scaling back the McMansion. At the same time as the average new American home has swollen to 2,300 square feet--new Hummerlike developer homes are often twice that size--Susanka has acheived minor celebrity by selling more happiness in a smaller package. Fewer bathrooms and fewer formal (and underused) areas, she has argued, create a more enjoyable living space.

The philosophy has an innate appeal to the vaguely countercultural consumer--it's the equivalent of being promised a Prius with 350 horsepower and seating for nine. To wit, as of last year, according to the Washington Post, Susanska had sold 750,000 copies from her four-book series. (Two more titles are currently planned.)

There are surely environmental benefits to less gargantuan living: reduced demands for energy and construction materials; fewer acre-size yards that devour open space. Yet the notion that forgoing 800 square feet represents an act of political consciousness is bunk. Slobbering over beautiful and one-of-a-kind shelving plans and ingenious bench seating below the stairwell is just another form of catalogue capitalism--Lucky magazine on a grander scale. In point of fact, Susanska's houses, with their custom detailing and refined materials, are surely beyond the financial realities of the great majority of homebuyers.

And at 1,600 to 2,400 square feet--the latter is the size of the original Not So Big House--they're not small, either. No, we Midwestern Americans truly have no reckoning of what a small dwelling would look like. Our own unexceptional garage, for instance, is appreciably larger than the average apartment in Tokyo.

Meanwhile, the Tumbleweed Tiny House Company of Iowa City, Iowa sells a finished wood-frame home, with kitchen and bath, that measures 6 feet by 8 feet. It costs $10,900, plus $2 a mile for shipping from Iowa City. (Or you could just throw it in the trunk of your Toyota Sequoia, the rolling behemoth du jour.) Less than 50 square feet? Now that is a small house.

(It's obvious, isn't it, that we haven't escaped the venal sin of real-estate lust. We've just miniaturized it.)

Posted by Michael Tortorello at May 11, 2005 5:29 PM

 

Shut up, baby, I'm trying to sing

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Exchange: Springsteen live in St. Paul

Jimmy Gaines and Steve Perry go two rounds on Bruce Springsteen's solo acoustic show last night at the XCel Center in St. Paul.

Read the exchange.

Posted by Steve Perry at May 11, 2005 5:16 PM

 

Low cancels tour due to "battle with sanity"

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Guitarist Alan Sparhawk corresponds with fans (including "Catherine Zeta-Jones") in the "community" section of Low's web site:

i have not been very mentally stable for the last while. due to this, touring at this time has become too much of a burden on everyone involved. my current problems and instability create undue and unnecessary stress for everyone close to me, especially on the road, so despite coming back from several months of shows we have thoroughly enjoyed playing and being a part of, i have to respect their best judgment. those last several months have been some of the hardest to live through, and it is too much to ask those around me to have to put up with that any more.

Posted by Peter S. Scholtes at May 11, 2005 12:03 PM

 

Springsteen at Xcel

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Exchange: Springsteen in St. Paul

Jimmy Gaines and Steve Perry on the Devils & Dust solo acoustic show 

Where: Xcel Energy Center, St. Paul
When: Tuesday, May 10

Setlist:

My Beautiful Reward
Reason to Believe
Devils and Dust
Empty Sky
Youngstown
If I Should Fall Behind
Long Time Comin'
Silver Palomino
The River (piano)
Book of Dreams
Part Man, Part Monkey
Maria's Bed
Nebraska
Reno
Paradise (piano)
The Rising
Further On Up The Road
Jesus Was An Only Son
Leah
The Hitter
Matamoros Banks

A Good Man is Hard to Find
Land of Hope and Dreams
My Best Was Never Good Enough
Promised Land

Jimmy Gaines: You know, I went into this show with very high expectations (and a lot of reservations), but I have to admit it was one of the most touching, personal performances I've ever witnessed. The thing about Springsteen is that he always makes me believe him (and in him). Despite the fact that the setlist was for shit--9 out of 25 songs were from "Devils & Dust", arguably his weakest record ever--and the flow of the set was quite awkward, Bruce himself made me feel as though I was in a much more intimate setting. (The absolute worst part of the experience was the cavernous Xcel Center--that and the Dockers-clad, barely pre-AARP crowd.) It was like he cut the distance down between performer and audience by half.

But I feel the song choices were really poor. For every "Reason To Believe" (an almost unrecognizably fucked up, distorted version powered only by voice, harmonica and a mic'd stomp-platform) or "The River" (on piano) or "The Hitter," there was a "Reno" (quite possibly the worst song he's ever put to wax) or a "Good Man." What the fuck? I can think of a dozen songs off the top of my head that are not only better songs, but would've worked better, given the acoustic nature of the show. That said, even on the worst songs, he made believe, he made me buy into it. I'm almost surprised I didn't walk out of the Xcel with a new used car. I walked into the show bitter and seemingly above any Rock and Roll illusions and I'll be damned if I didn't walk out a believer (or a sucker, depending on how you look at it). This was really a case of a powerful performance (and performer) overcoming any shortcomings the material may contain.

Steve Perry: Believing him is rarely an issue for me when it comes to live performances, especially the acoustic shows--if by "believing," you mean believing that he's present in the performance and has questions he's asking of the material just as you and I are. The show made me think of a line from "Badlands," one of the songs he didn't perform last night: "I want to go out tonight, I want to find out what I got." I was struck by how hard he worked to recast older songs in a new voice, and I don't just mean arrangements and phrasing; I think he was trying to work his way back inside them and find out what they said. And where they point: I think this tour is partly about answering a question that's lingered over his career for the better part of 20 years now, since Tunnel of Love in 1987: So wha