May 2007

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Dinosaur Jr. break the sound barrier at the Triple Rock

Filed under: Concert Review

Dinosaur Jr. / Triple Rock Social Club / May 30, 2007
Text by Andrea Myers | Photos by Darin Back

The Triple Rock Social Club stunk of sweat and legacy as Dinosaur Jr. blasted to life. Blissed-out punk rockers from generations X, Y, and MySpace squished together to revel in a sonic beating by a band that manages to remain relevant years after their late '80s and early '90s grunge heyday. With little fanfare or between-song banter, Dinosaur Jr. came down atop the heads of the crowd with a rolling, thunderous crash that didn't let up until after they had set down their instruments and left the stage.

Read the rest of the review and check concert photos in our gallery section!

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 31, 2007 10:45 AM | Comments (2)

 

Dept. of WTF?, Prince Division

Filed under: Music

Sure, if you're a rock legend you could do something normal and cool like play a show in your adoring hometown this summer, but why not demonstrate that you are truly a visionary, and do something totally out of left field, like put out a perfume and then play a launch party for your perfume at a frigging department store? People say "What Would Jesus Do?" but it's just an expression; everyone knows what Jesus would do in pretty much any given situation. But What Would Prince do? Don't pretend you even have a clue.

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 30, 2007 5:05 PM | Comments (0)

 

Maria Isa delivers at her CD-release party at Trocaderos

Filed under: Concert Review

Maria Isa / Trocaderos / May 29, 2007
Text by Peter S. Scholtes | Photos by Tony Nelson

Remember 2007? Women's shirts that looked like short dresses? Barack Obama's run for president? And reggaetón, the soundtrack beat for Miss Universe Mexico? Okay, maybe the first new rhythm of the century has yet to overtake its hype, but its ongoing miracles were manifest last night in Maria Isa's set at Trocaderos.

Continue reading Peter's review and view more of Tony Nelson's photos in our gallery section!

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 30, 2007 4:09 PM | Comments (0)

 

Michael Moore's Pre-Existing Condition

Filed under: Film

Cannes, France—

Healthy and confident people are a lot harder to govern, says one of the talking heads in Michael Moore's Sicko. So is it any wonder why the U.S. health care system is woefully insufficient to meet our needs?

At the Cannes Film Festival, the world's most successful nonfiction filmmaker—looking unusually dapper in a dark blazer (and no baseball cap)—told reporters that he had made a conscious decision with his latest work not to include a scene of him marching into the offices of United Healthcare or Blue Cross to embarrass executives or pressure them into approving treatment of a client in need. With Sicko, Moore's goal is to treat the disease rather than the symptom. That is: He wants to inspire us to be healthy and confident.

"I don't want the audience thinking, 'Oh, as long as Mike goes and beats up the executive of the corporation, we can [just] sit here and cheer him on,'" says Moore. "Or 'Wow, that's great that he confronted that congressman and asked him if he was going to send his son to Iraq.'

After [Fahrenheit 9/11], I started thinking about the whole conceit of the audience living vicariously through someone on the screen—in this case, me—and about how we're never going to have real change in the United States if the public doesn't see that it'll only happen when they rise up out of the theater seats and do something about it. And so [Sicko] is a call to action. The film is meant not for Michael Moore to [act], but for the American people to do it."

To this end, Sicko makes ample use of humor, as usual for a Moore movie, while also including a number of undeniably infuriating case histories. There's the car accident victim whose coverage is partially denied because her ambulance ride to the hospital wasn't approved in advance. There's the woman whose $7,000 surgery is refused for coverage by Blue Cross after she is found to have had a yeast infection. And, most strikingly, there are the 9/11 rescue workers with respiratory illnesses who were denied healthcare because they weren't on the government payroll when they were offering their services at Ground Zero; these are the people whom Moore drives by boat to the general vicinity of Guantanamo Bay ("They don't want any more [care] than you're giving Al Qaeda!") and then to Cuba. (Clearly, Moore has made one exception to his new rule of withholding direct assistance.)

These are extreme cases, but Sicko hardly fails to hit the most general point about the inevitable effect of privatized health care under capitalism. "Let me say a word in [insurance companies'] favor," offers Moore. "They are legally required to maximize the profits of their shareholders. Right? They have a fiduciary responsibility—that's what the law says—to maximize profits for their shareholders. If they don't do that, their executives could be in huge trouble for violating the law. So how do they maximize profits? The way to maximize profits is to give as little care as possible to the patients. And that to me is immoral.

We're the last country in the Western industrialized world that has this situation, and it needs to change. We need a [presidential] candidate who's willing to have the courage to say, 'Private health insurance companies have to go. [Health insurance] needs to be nonprofit and it needs to be managed by our government—for the people, of the people, by the people.'"

Show of hands: Who's feeling healthy and confident?

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 29, 2007 5:20 PM | Comments (6)

 

Cannes and Abel

Filed under: Film

Cannes, France—

"Whaddya love about it so much?"

Abel Ferrara—director of the strip-club-set Go Go Tales, my favorite film at Cannes—is interviewing the interviewer.

Well, I say, it's consistent with the Ferrara oeuvre—King of New York, Bad Lieutenant, Dangerous Game, et cetera—in that it's about performance, about struggling to make one's mark on the world, about having a philosophy and wanting to express it with flamboyance, but being reined in by the conservative demands of society at large. It's a portrait of the artist—Lotto-addicted club owner and emcee Ray Ruby (Willem Dafoe)—as...practically a pimp.

Then it occurs to me to ask: Is this film an allegory, Abel? I mean, what's the difference between Hollywood and a strip club?

He laughs. "You know, I actually forgot how much that club in the film reminds me of Cannes."

Ferrara certainly did his best to fashion le festival in the image of Paradise, his New York Go Go joint. For his mid-afternoon festival press conference, the auteur smuggled in a bottle of Bud, along with a dais-busting line of exotic-dancing actresses. (One of these—Shanyn Leigh, who plays Dolly—he proudly introduced as the "love of my life.") His party at Villa Babylone, complete with lap dances and a sudsy pool, earned a three-and-a-half-martini rating (out of four) from The Hollywood Reporter (whose humorless critic deemed the film itself "scuzzy").

So, too, the Bronx-born director created his "New York" from the ground up in Rome (where he's now based), on a soundstage of the legendary Italian studio Cinecitta. "We built our own club and it was the best in town," Ferrara says of the location, impersonating 20th Street between Fifth and Sixth avenues. Still, for Ferrara, the major virtue of shooting in Europe is that he doesn't have to worry as much about the American film industry, wherein his work has always been underestimated. "As tough as the Italian film business is right now, it's nothing like Hollywood. I mean, in Europe, final cut [for the director] is a law. The work is sacrosanct."

Where other veteran film iconoclasts have naturally switched to digital as a way of maintaining autonomy, Ferrara continues to shoot 35mm. "Fabio Cianchetti is a brilliant cinematographer; his work deserves to be on 35. I gotta give Kodak credit, too—they're not giving up the fight. I'm dying to do a digital film, but I want to do it on the Internet—a modern-day version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde with Willem and [Matthew] Modine—and put it out in 10-minute increments. I know that watching films on computer is the future—it's a direct connection to the audience. But for now we're still doing our own thing."

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 27, 2007 12:55 PM | Comments (0)

 

Brooktown High is a big tease

Filed under: Gaming

Dating games have come a long way since the days when Chuck Woolery invited mullet-sporting contestants to bump uglies on Love Connection. In Japan, the "dating simulator" video-game craze has raged stronger than a schoolboy's hormones since the early '90s. But here in America—where our gaming interests lean more toward Rambo than Romeo—reception to the fad has been somewhat limp. That doesn't stop Brooktown High: Senior Year for the PSP, the latest attempt to bring dating sims to the States. As first dates go, however, this one's a little awkward. Put it this way: If Brooktown High handed you a note asking, "Will you play me?" you'd probably want to check "maybe."

Read the rest of Chris Ward's review of Brooktown High: Senior Year in Gaming.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 25, 2007 2:27 PM | Comments (0)

 

Prognosticating the Palme

Filed under: Film

Cannes, France—

As sent yesterday to www.davekehr.com (with minor additions in brackets):

Hey Dave:

As per [Cannois cineaste Pierre] Rissient, I certainly don't know anything [about who'll win the Cannes Film Festival's Palme d'Or], either—but I'm here (waiting for the late night bus to my outta town hotel), for whatever that's worth. As you may know, [Russian director Alexander] Sokurov cancelled his press conference with a day's notice—due to ever-worsening health problems, it's been said—so, in combination with the fact that his film Alexandra has been reasonably well-received (I'm seeing it tomorrow), we shouldn't discount him as a contender, the scale tipped, perhaps, by what they call the "sympathy vote." Seems only a small handful of us find fault with the Coen brothers film (or the Coens), but I would hope the jury would maintain some measure of the advocacy principle as regards the fact that the pair already has one Palme—unless they figure that there should be one for each brother or whatever.

If this is a jury that deems past winners ineligible (as it should?), then the field is narrowed considerably. Further narrowing would occur if we consider that, much as Wong [Kar-wai] might deserve a prize for great work of the past, there's no one in town who'd make a case for the worthiness of My Blueberry Nights. (Only reason I accept his "American sell-out movie" is because it shows his newly healthy willingness to tolerate something (far) less than a masterpiece. Straining for a triumph can be tiring—and the emotional content of the films would take a toll as well. Nights shows that he's not in love anymore—and, on that count, I'm genuinely happy for him.)

Of the three competition films left to screen, two—Une vielle maitresse and The Mourning Forest—are by women (Catherine Breillat and Naomi Kawase, respectively). The Chacun son cinema parade here [with 30 beloved auteurs climbing the red steps for their contributions to an omnibus film] reminded us that only one woman—Jane Campion in 1993—has won the Palme in the festival's entire history. Does [Cannes jury president and film director] Stephen Frears like women?

Best,

Rob.

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 25, 2007 8:56 AM | Comments (0)

 

Cannes Bloggin': 'Thirteen' the Easy Way

Filed under: Film

Cannes, France—

'Thirteen' is the magic number! It's fun! Stylish! Matt Damon is magnifique!

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 24, 2007 9:58 AM | Comments (0)

 

DMBQ literally on fire at the Entry last night

Filed under: Concert Review

DMBQ / 7th St. Entry / May 23, 2007
Text by Nate Patrin | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Like many countries, Japan boasted a rich but largely-overlooked heavy metal and acid rock scene in the late '60s and early '70s: Flower Travellin' Band, Blues Creation and Speed, Glue & Shinki are all groups that deserve to have their works reissued stateside at non-import prices. It's easy enough to say that DMBQ follow in their footsteps—their set at the Entry on Wednesday frequently evoked the same Black Sabbath, Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin references that their last-generation predecessors did—but bellbottoms and flower prints notwithstanding, they're not a gimmicky throwback. Unless gimmicky throwbacks are capable of making the kind of racket that threatens to cave in your ribcage.

Billed on their website as the missing link between Tokyo's noise and garage-rock scenes, DMBQ used feedback and echo and sheer force of volume with an aggression that would terrify your average jam band. In this context, their closest American cousins would probably be Comets on Fire, largely because lead singer and guitarist Shinji Masuko has the same bent for wraithlike howls, mach-speed freakouts, and grotesque guitar distortion that Ethan Miller possesses.

The other members easily kept pace: second guitarist Toru Matsui was a berserk showman, frequently playing while holding his guitar in his teeth. Bassist Ryuichi Watanabe (who, between his heroically colossal curly locks and his headlamp goggles, looked like a safecracker Phil Lynott) pogoed around the stage with so much abandon it's almost inexplicable he didn't cause any injuries. And drummer Shinji Wada—who took on the heavy task of replacing Mana Nishiura, the ex-Shonen Knife drummer who was killed in a car accident while touring the U.S. with DMBQ in 2005—simultaneously stereo-channeled Bill Ward and Tony Williams. (Any night where opener Gay Witch Abortion's Shaun Walker is merely the second-wildest drummer is a damn good night.)

Together, they leapt about in thrashing choreography that swiped kabuki back from KISS before spilling off the stage to hit the crowd head-on. Masuko finished the set the only way anybody really could hope to justifiably conclude this kind of wave of sonic destruction: he put on a gas mask, made demonic noises through a filtered mic, then stood upon the drum kit and put a lighter to his pubic hair.

Text by Nate Patrin | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 24, 2007 9:09 AM | Comments (0)

 

Tarantino's F***ed Cannes Heist

Filed under: Film Review

Cannes, France—

Not that I don't appreciate the privilege of seeing a longer Death Proof—I positively adored it at 87 minutes on the bottom-half of the ill-fated Grindhouse double bill. But whoever encouraged the Cannes Film Festival to advertise its new cut at "2h07" (i.e., 127 minutes)—director Quentin Tarantino, perhaps, or (more likely) the Weinstein Co.'s Stuntman Harv—is practically begging for a long ride on the fuckin' roof of the white Dodge Challenger, sans straps. I mean, the goddamn thing is no fuckin' longer than 113 tops—I fuckin' timed it—but that didn't stop Stuntman Harv from bum-rushing the Death Proof press conference yesterday to say that "you're missing the essence of Tarantino" at 87 (pffff...), and that the new cut, when it's released internationally, "will dwarf Grindhouse—trust me." Fuck, man. Does anyone, even Tarantino, trust Harvey Weinstein at this point?

Near the end of the press conference, which had QT literally sweating with enthusiasm for his movie and its many sources, a journalist asks Monsieur Grindhouse how he feels about writers having been requested by Harvey's crew to pay $1,500 apiece for a seat at the Cannes Death Proof junket. Whoa—can we run this wicked vérité action scene in slo-mo? First shot: Extreme close-up of QT, who says he doesn't "get" the question... Cut to long-shot of Stuntman Harv's dutiful assistant slithering toward the dais and stopping to whisper something insinuating in QT's ear... Cut to QT as another sweat-drop falls, repeating that he doesn't know what this is all about... And finally a shot of dialogue moderator Henri Behar diplomatically declaring that this is a discussion for after the press conference, s'il vous plaît. After you mean like at night on the Weinstein yacht in the middle of the fuckin' Mediterranean or some shit?

Oh, well—no actual proof of impropriety here, right? So even though the powers that be were awfully quick to take that particular question off the table, we gotta be safe and assume that no writer in Cannes under any circumstances was asked to pay $1,500 in order to do his duty at a Weinstein Co. Death Proof junket. But Harv—it's a fuckin' good idea, right? Charge a hundred poor, fuckin' badly dressed fanboy bloggers and weekly print stringers—some of 'em likely with little or no health insurance (though they might get some after you put out Sicko in June)—and, voilà, you got a cool $150,000 to put toward the tens of millions you stand to fuckin' lose on Grindhouse! I'm just sayin', Harv—it's not a bad idea. Make the kids pay for their own press coverage! Kinda in the '70s cut-rate grindhouse spirit for a millionaire movie executive to come and shake down the working press in Cannes, right? Just something for you to think about...

But I digress, dear reader. You want more Proof, don't you? Okay, you got it. As you might've guessed, gorgeous Butterfly (Vanessa Ferlito) finally does her big Texas Chili Parlor lapdance for Kurt Russell's icy-hot villain in a scene that QT invests with as much meta-movie passion as a fuckin' car chase or shootout or samurai showdown. Butterfly's tailfeather-shakin' shit is ridiculously, hilariously hot—even, it seems, for the lady from Uzbekistan who pipes up during the press conference to thank QT for his kick-ass female-empowerment movie on behalf of "all the women of Central Asia." Another new scene that features payback chicks Abernathy (Rosario Dawson) and Lee (Mary Elizabeth Winstead)—unaccountably projected in bad black and white (and extending Tarantino's charming foot fetishism even further)—lets us know that Abby keeps the Kill Bill whistle theme as her cell phone ring, and that the quicky-mart in Lebanon, Tennessee, carries on its racks not just B-list teen-fashion mags like the one for which dim-bulb Lee spreads her love, but, believe it or not, Film Comment as well. (As FC editor Gavin Smith giddily told me: "Well, now it's my favorite movie in Cannes, of course.")

Me, I'd say Death Proof actually works better in Grindhouse, where it appears as the sort of unheralded drive-in slop that starts really fuckin' late, after you're totally fried in one way or another, and puts everyone in the car to sleep with its low-budget yadda-yadda-yadda—except for the one guy in the back of the van who declares, just before the butt-crack of dawn, "Shit, you fuckin' guys missed it! That movie was sweet!" Still, out on its own, running at a bullshit "127 minutes" (note to Stuntman Harv: Least you can do is put Death Proof out stateside this year so I can Top 10-list it), there's a fuckin' lot to love.

In short, as speed-freak boo-ya babe Kim (Tracie Thomas) would say: "Not that Angelina Jolie bullshit!"

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 23, 2007 11:38 AM | Comments (3)

 

BRMC brought showmanship, and the rock, to First Avenue

Filed under: Concert Review

Black Rebel Motorcycle Club / First Avenue / May 22, 2007
Text by Andrea Myers | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

It began plain and simple: flashing lights, cool-boy good looks and a great big ironic skull and crossbones banner accompanied a set of oddly terse, two-minute Britpop tunes. But by the half-way point, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club had just about convinced the crowd that they could, in fact, rock our faces off.

It took some time to wind into a fully rocking leather jacket groove, but BRMC finally ramped up into a great, building crescendo of rock and roll around the 45-minute mark of their two-hour set. The single "Weapon of Choice" off their latest album, Baby 81, marked a turning point in the band's lengthy performance, and it was at this point that the band took the bored twenty-something crowd out of the peripheries and placed them gently into the palm of their hand.

"I won't be fooled by the light/I won't be fooled by the lie," lead singer Peter Hayes crooned on "Killing the Light," and it seemed to direct the crowd on how to best enjoy the performance. As white floodlight overtook the stage and quickly snapped off into blackness, it was easy to get caught up in the impressive light show and stage stupefaction. But, beyond the tricky showmanship, was a band playing their asses off, and the show was a spectacle almost in spite of their efforts to appear commandeering.

A two-song acoustic break, featuring "Rising Tide" and "Devil's Waitin'" with Hayes alone on guitar, brought the show to a surprisingly mellow climax before the band launched into a set of stretched-out, jammy versions of some of the older favorite BRMC songs. From start to finish, BRMC somehow transitioned from a hipster pop band cranking out radio hits to a more mature, dynamic, blues-based rock band, and by night's end they had the sold-out crowd screaming for more.

Text by Andrea Myers | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 23, 2007 9:24 AM | Comments (0)

 

An open apology to the drunken vegan at Art-A-Whirl

Filed under: Art/Museums

who happened upon that rotting tray of chicken livers I placed by the river's edge outside the Spot Art gallery this weekend. I left those livers festering in the sun because I wanted to go catfishing with my fellow art lovers and nothing appeals to channel cats quite like chicken liver--especially when ripened for three full days.

But never in my wildest imagination did I think anyone could mistake that mess of putrified organ meat for a snack tray of dried fruits.

I guess underestimated the power of Jim Beam.

While I can't do anything about the damage to your vegan karma, if you floss thoroughly, I bet you can get the rest of that liver out of your teeth.

Posted by Mike Mosedale at May 22, 2007 9:58 AM | Comments (1)

 

A Killer in Cannes

Filed under: Film

Cannes, France—

The Cannes Film Festival is chiefly revered as a showcase for prolific, careerist auteurs, so the appearance of Savage Grace, the first feature in 15 years by New Queer Cinema co-instigator Tom Kalin (Swoon), was certainly striking—not that a film in which Julianne Moore stars as a woman who's fucked and then killed by her gay son would lack for distinguishing features anywhere.

"I like to joke that I'm Norma Desmond in my castle with my monkey, and this is my comeback film," says the eye-batting Kalin, 45 and clearly ready for his close-up. More seriously, Kalin, having kept busy with experimental videomaking as well as teaching and political activism, says that the '90s were difficult enough for a "gay man of a certain age," that he's "thrilled to have come out the other side, being able to make the film that I wanted to make."

Like Swoon's gothic-romantic account of the Leopold and Loeb murders, Savage Grace's fact-based tale of taboo sex and violent death seeks sympathy for those whom most filmmakers would consider undeserving of it. Moore plays Bakelite plastics queen Barbara Baekeland, a volatile class-climber whose loveless marriage helps push her deeper into a codependent, ultimately incestuous relationship with her enigmatic son (Eddie Redmayne).

"No one agreed," says Kalin of the real Barbara's acquaintances, though he could also be referring to viewers of Savage Grace, which boldly refuses to clarify its intentions or reduce the Baekelands' wild pathology to psychobabble. Halfway through the fest, it's the most provocative American film in Cannes—Sicko withstanding.

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 21, 2007 12:00 PM | Comments (0)

 

Sloan delivers well-behaved arena rock to the Fine Line

Filed under: Concert Review

Sloan / Fine Line Music Café / May 18, 2007
Text by Sarah Askari | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Sloan are a pretty big deal in their home country of Canada, where they are the Rock Hotness, in an appropriately modest and well-behaved Canadian way. Who are their stateside fans? I don't yet have a handle on the demographic, except that they skew older and less Pitchfork-y compared with your average indie crowd.

Read the rest of this review in our gallery section!

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 21, 2007 10:20 AM | Comments (1)

 

Rock & Roll & Cannes '07

Filed under: Film

Cannes, France—

By the numbers: Day three of the 60th Cannes Film Festival, 8:00 a.m., after four-and-a-half hours' sleep, I'm feeling two cans shy of a sixer for having chosen not only to be conscious right now, but watching, of all things, U23D, a comin' at ya concert movie that, cranked to 11, is loud enough to wake the dead—and somehow enough to keep the tired critic from nodding off. I wouldn't have even considered giving Bono the chance to shout "Vertigo!" in my ear—and to stick his mic stand in my face—except that "Until the End of the World" had mysteriously issued forth from the nether regions of my iPod on the plane ride over, it sounded great, and it's been stuck in my head ever since. I needed to reckon with the boys from Dublin.

Digitally projected (and shot in a new high-tech, whoa-inducing process), U23D looks—forgive the colloquialism—really cool: clean, vivid, and with none of that eyestraining jitter from the '80s (let alone the '50s). As a way of combating the threat of home theater, which exhibitors would likely say is more of an assault at this point, digital 3D probably does represent the future of cinema, for better and worse. (Tech gods James Cameron and George Lucas will surely help see to that.)

As for U2, they were wise not to exploit their third dimension unduly: Except when Bono extends his hand while singing "Wipe your tears away" (during "Sunday Bloody Sunday"), making me wish he'd go a step further and shave my stubbly face during the screening (who besides the stars has time for grooming here?), the effects are subtle. What you notice is how even, say, spot-lit stage fog seems to exist on its own spatial plane, midway between the sea of pumping fists in the foreground and Larry Mullen Jr.'s awesome drum kit in the back. Martin Scorsese, in Cannes shopping his new 2D Stones doc for distribution, might see this and wish he had sprung for the extra D. For my money (and I got in for free!), U23D isn't like being in the front row—it's actually better, or at least until they decide to add Odorama. (Oh, and a note to U2 disciples: Don't bother e-mailing to ask for my special Bonovision glasses. Heeding Leo DiCaprio's Cannes call for earth-friendliness at the 11th hour, I put 'em in the recycling bin.)

So far there's only one other rock film at Cannes; alas, it's not Todd Haynes's purportedly unreleasable (i.e., brilliant) Bob Dylan biopic I'm Not There, which is, like I said, not here. Instead it's the Ian Curtis biopic Control by first-time director Anton Corbijn, who spent 20-some years photographing U2 and therefore had more than enough clout and connections to secure clearance rights to the late Curtis's post-punk dirges for Joy Division. This, plus the close participation of Curtis's widow Debbie (and shimmering black and white widescreen cinematography), is what chiefly distinguishes Control from the Kurt Cobain movie Last Days: It's more conventional, in other words. Here, clinically depressed and profoundly isolated boy shoe-gazes, listens to Bowie in his bedroom, starts a band, falls in love, gets married, falls in love again (with a fan), waffles between women, pays dearly in emotional terms, writes and performs some amazing songs (e.g., "Love Will Tear Us Apart"), burns out, and fades away. The tortured-artist story was a terrible cliché even back when Curtis was living it—which, of course, is part of the tragedy.

Indelibly acted, particularly by relative newcomer Sam Riley as the ghost-like Curtis, Control can't begin to match Last Days for punk-style biographical opacity. But, careful not to diagnose an unknowable condition, Corbijn suggests that it wasn't necessarily Curtis's failure to take his meds that put him over the edge—that maybe it was the meds themselves.

Speaking of sickos and their suppliers: Coming soon to a computer screen near you—Michael Moore and me!

Posted by Rob Nelson at May 18, 2007 3:45 PM | Comments (0)

 

Come for the food, stay for the slideshow

Filed under: Stuff

You're shuffling around Northeast, Art-a-Whirling about. Your feet hurt. Worse, you're starving. You could go here, or here, or here, but after 24 straight hours of art-watching, you're afraid to ween your eyes off the junk.

Your solution: Slideluck Potshow.

The idea's pretty simple: A bunch of starving artists show up with grub and a handful of slides. You show up and take it all in. If there's a better way to fill the art-shopping gas tank this weekend, we haven't heard about it.

(from the New York Times)

It's happening Saturday at 7:00 pm in the Casket Arts building, studio 414. Go here to read about the original New York happening (reg. required), and check out some of the best recipes from those slideshows here.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 18, 2007 11:11 AM | Comments (0)

 

The race is on

Filed under: Film

Local filmmakers: Today is your last chance to register for the Minneapolis Film Race, a 12-hour sprint to create the best four-minute masterpiece your mini-DV can muster. The gun fires on Saturday; read more about it here. The best of the crop will screen at the Oak Street Cinema next Thursday.

And to see what you're up against, go here to view the winners of the Boston and New York film races. I recommend "Eggsistence."

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 17, 2007 11:35 AM | Comments (0)

 

The ladies come out for Too $hort

Filed under: Concert Review

Too $hort / Foundation / May 16, 2007
Text by Nate Patrin | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

"Bitch" is a complicated word, and Too $hort has the tendency to eke out every last meaning of that phrase during the course of his set. As raw and dirty as his rhymes can get—and he's got ones he wrote two decades ago that would make Akon sound Disney—he still aims to be personable. "If I look at you and I call you 'bitch,'" the Oakland g-funk godfather stated during his set at the Foundation Wednesday night, "it's 'cause I like you."

And while the crowd was one of the most widely-varied you could think of, from players in tuxedos to a mohawk-sporting skatepunk, the ladies were in full effect. Their tickets were ten bucks cheaper and the first 200 women in the door before 11 got a free shot, but it turned out to be something more than just an attempt to stir up a potentially-dormant mixed-gender clientele.

If this show was any indication, Short Dog's fanbase has more than a few females who flip out and rhyme along with every word of "Freaky Tales." And throw their hands up at every shout of "bee-yotch!" (All 475 of them). And dance. Real crazy.

Aside from his way with the ladies, Too $hort's biggest strength during his set was his breadth. Considering the dude's been recording since Dr. Dre was in the World Class Wreckin' Cru, he's rolled with every change in gangsta and club rap from g-funk to crunk; presciently enough, he moved from Oakland to Atlanta in 1994 and the newer tracks on display ("Blow the Whistle"; "Shake it Baby") had him representing the Dirty South style so well it's kind of hard to believe dude just turned 40 last year. Then he busted out "Cusswords," which taunts Ronald Reagan and boasts of $hort's firsthand experience with Nancy's oral techniques.

Text by Nate Patrin | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 17, 2007 10:35 AM | Comments (0)

 

Got Claw?

Filed under: Theater

Are you a heel or a babyface? The New York Times has taken notice of the History Theatre's production of The Baron, a play centered on the life of local patriarch Jim Raschke and his years in the American Wrestling Association. "People used to show up at wrestling matches for catharsis...It's good against evil, classic melodrama," remembers the man once feared as Baron Von Raschke, wielder of "the Claw."

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 16, 2007 3:39 PM | Comments (0)

 

Combat robots invade Eagan!

Filed under: 3 Questions

Man vs. machine is so boring; machine vs. machine, though—now that's a little more like it. This weekend, months (in some cases, years) of toiling to produce the ultimate battle 'bot will come to fruition (or ruin) when machines with names like the Defyer, Mangler, and Eugene battle for mechanical dominance at Mechwar 10. City Pages recently took a moment to chat with Steven Murphy, member of Team Rusty Nuts, which helms the mighty Mangler.

City Pages: These machines look so complex. Is robot battling an expensive hobby to get into?

Steven Murphy: It is an affordable hobby depending on how creative you are. Some can do it for a little, some use an extreme amount of resources. Certainly a sponsor helps. We have one, but we've done it mostly ourselves. It takes a lot of planning, trying out different ideas, prototypes, and luck.

CP: Is it hard to watch all your hard work get destroyed by another robot?

SM: I've witnessed some younger competitors get upset when their work is destroyed. They're probably a little too close to their robot—it's become a model of them somehow. My team's philosophy is: We built it for combat. We expect it to either come out the champion or completely destroyed. Part of the joy is building the robot, the camaraderie, the team. The whole process is what makes it great. Making an idea into something tangible.

CP: RoboCop versus Terminator. Who wins?

SM: I would have to say Terminator, because RoboCop is sort of a cyborg human and machine, and Terminator is all machine. And Terminator has a little bit more attitude I think.

See Steven Murphy and the rest of Team Rusty Nuts put Mangler to the test in Mechwar 10 at the Eagan Civic Arena, Saturday, May 19. $5/$8 at the door. 10:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. For more info call 612.743.5971 or visit www.tcmechwars.com. 3870 Pilot Knob Rd., Eagan.

Posted by Jessica Armbruster at May 16, 2007 10:35 AM | Comments (1)

 

Craig Finn in the Guardian

Filed under: Local Music

Yeah, I know, more about the Hold Steady? But this time it's in Craig Finn's own words, it's vintage Minneapolis, and it's in British English ("'Let It Be' is my favourite record"). Jolly good then. (via Rex)

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 14, 2007 2:36 PM | Comments (0)

 

HGTV comes to town, points, shakes head, laughs

Filed under: Television

Interested in learning how badly your most valuable possession has tanked in the last few months? Look no further than HGTV, which is bringing its show, "My House is Worth What?" to town this summer.

Back when the program started airing about a year ago, producer Holly Schwartz says, the housing boom was in full bloom and "everybody was getting really good news."

But in the present market, the show's incredulous title has taken on a new and unintended meaning. For her part, Schwartz insists the appraisal-themed program is not meant to make people feel bad. "It's really fun," she says.

She must be a renter.

Posted by Jonathan Kaminsky at May 14, 2007 11:18 AM | Comments (0)

 

The Hockey Night call it quits

Filed under: Local Music

Paul Sprangers, leader of the superb, semi-local band the Hockey Night, announced today on the indie music website Daytrotter that the band has gone gentle into that good night.

It's actually not terrible news for Hockey Night fans. Sprangers will continue to make music with Scott Wells, HN's other guitarist, under a different name, and DFA Records has already agreed to release whatever they come up with. Check out Minneapolis Fucking Rocks for more, plus a nice little sample of highlights from the Hockey Night's last two albums.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 10, 2007 6:31 PM | Comments (1)

 

Peter Bjorn and John put their lips together, don't blow

Filed under: Concert Review

Peter Bjorn and John / First Avenue / May 9, 2007
Text by Chuck Terhark | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Armed with the most popular song to feature whistling as its primary instrument since "Wind of Change," Sweden's Peter Bjorn and John tromped into the First Avenue Mainroom last night and introduced the packed house to the rest of their songs, some of which are actually quite good.

Read the rest of Chuck's review, and view more Daniel Corrigan photos, in our gallery section!

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 10, 2007 5:19 PM | Comments (0)

 

The legendary Jim Ruiz debuts a legendary tunic

You know you're watching a performer of a certain age when he takes a moment from his stage patter to thank all the babysitters who've enabled his audience to turn out. Another way of putting that: You know you've reached a certain age when you're watching a band of your youth while silently thanking your babysitter back at home.

So it was last night at the 7th St. Entry as the Legendary Jim Ruiz awakened from a six-year slumber. Ruiz's gentle cohort--Allison LaBonne (bass), Peter Anderson (drums), Clint Hoover (mouth harp), and Kim Anderson (marimba)--remained true to the maestro's tundra bossa nova. And Ruiz--well, he still can't sing worth a lick if you consider Jeff Buckley or Rufus Wainwright to be the template. Which is another way of saying that Ruiz's long hiatus from stage has cost him none of his charm. Which is another way of saying that he took the stage in a smashing red silk tunic and stuck with it as he developed a summery sweat.

The audience hummed along to favorites from 1995's Oh Brother Where Art Thou? (hey, someone has to keep the tune); later Ruiz auditioned songs from a forthcoming album, including one tribute to two-wheeling that somehow managed to rhyme "I like my religion fundamental" with "Schwinn Continental."

And then it was time for the old-timers to bike back to the homestead. You can dally all you like, but at the end of the night, the babysitter must get paid.

Posted by Michael Tortorello at May 10, 2007 12:00 PM | Comments (0)

 

!!! sweats it out

Filed under: Concert Review

!!! / Fine Line Music Café / May 9, 2007
Text by Nate Patrin | Photos by Darin Back

The thing about a band like !!!—a group so aggressively dynamic in its rhythmic tendencies that every musician in the band might as well be playing a percussion instrument—is that if you're fronting them, you've got to be as big a vocal and physical presence as the sound around you.

What this means is that, in the case of Nic Offer, you have to be throwing yourself around pretty much non-stop until every movement of your head flings out a fine mist of sweat and your shirt is two shades darker and you need to towel yourself off after about 40 minutes. "I was cleaner than I've been in six months," he admits to a decent-sized (if thankfully non-claustrophobic) Fine Line crowd Wednesday night. "I washed my hair, I shaved, I showered, I washed my booty, and now..." Hell, you testify in front of the best live dance-punk band outta New York and see how pristine you are after 75 minutes.

!!! are a band best experienced live—no slight to their studio output, which recently peaked with this year's Myth Takes (review here), but between Offer's Jagger-gone-Fosse stage theatrics (karate snap kicks one minute, jazz hands the next) and the band's tendency to elaborate five-minute recordings into nine-minute epiphanies with perfectly-timed build-and-release momentum, they're definitely a show band.

The most significant addition of all was the presence of Shannon Funches, who sang backup vocals on one song from Myth Takes ("Heart of Hearts," which the band barreled through in this show like some kind of raver J.B.'s). She took on a much bigger role here—apparently as a special limited-engagement guest, as Offer quipped—waxing Loleatta Holloway on "Pardon My Freedom" and "Yadnus" and other songs between pulls of Red Stripe and sharp banter with Offer. The two vocalists were maybe a bit too compatible: "We like the same kinda girls," admitted Offer, "and I'm always stealin' 'em."

Text by Nate Patrin | Photos by Darin Back

See also: Keegan Hamilton's review of !!!'s Seattle show on May 3 here

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 10, 2007 9:25 AM | Comments (3)

 

Valleyfair careens down memory lane with the Renegade

Filed under: 3 Questions

Wooden roller coasters aren't as fast as their famous steel counterparts, nor can they fling riders threw corkscrewy twists and upside-down turns. And yet more and more amusement parks are building them—and not just to cash in on Baby Boomer sentimentalism. "Woodies" are often just as scary as steel coasters, for the simple reason that flying on rails supported by what amounts to a giant pile of toothpicks is enough to make you fear for your life. City Pages recently caught up with Jan Guthridge of Valleyfair, which unveils its new wooden coaster, Renegade, today.

City Pages: There seems to be a new wooden roller coaster trend in amusement parks. Why is that?

Jan Guthridge: Wood coasters have unique characteristics over steel coasters. With steel coasters you have a much smoother ride, whereas on a wood coaster you feel more of the ride. The superstructure of a wood coaster makes it look very impressive. At the same time, it's nostalgic. The first roller coasters were made of wood.

CP: How does Renegade stack up against other famous wooden roller coasters, like the Cyclone or Texas Giant?

JG: It's yet to be determined since we haven't ridden it yet. We anticipate it'll be a very challenging ride with different sensations—speed, curves, and airtime. Renegade boasts a never-before-experienced twisting first drop. We actually have a coaster club coming in June all the way from Great Britain to ride it.

CP: My girlfriend is scared of steel roller coasters. Will she be scared of Renegade, too?

JG: Probably.

Valley Fair opens its 2007 season this Saturday with the unveiling of Renegade. Admission to the park is $35.95 for adults; $11.95 for kids shorter than 48 inches. 10:00 a.m. 1 Valleyfair Dr., Shakopee; 800.386.7433.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 9, 2007 3:55 PM | Comments (0)

 

Let's Get Wet: Mando Diao at the 400 Bar

Filed under: Concert Review

Mando Diao / 400 Bar / May 8, 2007
Text by Sarah Askari | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

As the leaky roof lets the rain pour in, floodwaters rise inside the 400 Bar, and large puddles form in lowland areas in front of the bar.

Up onstage, Swedish garage rock quintet Mando Diao shake and shout with enough energy to crack the heavens open and bring down a deluge. On tour in support of their new album, Ode to Ochrasy, the band combines the best of Brit-influenced guitar jangles with a jagged edge of dark pop.

Guitarists Bjorn Dixgard and Gustaf Noren alternate singing duties. Sometimes they trade verses on a song, and when their sweaty bangs and guitar necks fly around as they go back and forth with each other at the mic, you reflect on bands that offer only one singer, and feel ripped off. This is the thing all bands should be doing! This thing that Mando Diao gives you, this thing is the exhilarating, ecstatic rock experience of your dreams, where storytelling and melody keep up with rousing guitar riffs and barricade-charging drumming.

It doesn't matter if there's an insole cushion of water in your shoe or that fetid water is dripping on your forehead. When Mando Diao sing "Bombs over the street, bombs all over the subway!" you're ready to go back into the rainy night and join the urban guerillas. What are we fighting against? Norway? Alt-country? As long as the band keeps playing, I can do without the specifics.

Text by Sarah Askari | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 9, 2007 2:22 PM | Comments (1)

 

Homegrown is Homeless

Filed under: Music

Radio Homegrown, the long-running Sunday night radio show dedicated to broadcasting Minnesota-grown music over the Twin Cities' airwaves, found itself out on the street this week. The volunteer-staffed program has been affiliated with Drive 105 since 2005, when original Homegrown host Mei Young moved to the Disney-owned station from KQRS. But on Tuesday, Drive 105 abruptly morphed into Love 105 (fuzzy pink slippers for boomers), and current Homegrown ringleader David Campbell was informed that the show would no longer air on 105's new format. "Officially, the show is on hiatus," says Campbell. "We've only missed two Sundays in the past 10 years. But the station's letting us keep the rights to the name, and our website, which is cool." The staff are determined to find a new home for the weekly schedule of live performances, interviews, and the latest local tracks. As Campbell points out, "A radio show without a station is just a group of people hanging out with a bunch of CDs on our hands."

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 8, 2007 6:24 PM | Comments (0)

 

Homegrown Festival in Duluth this weekend

Filed under: Local Music

Imagine SXSW in Duluth, but with all eccentric local bands and zero industry presence, and you get a sense of the chaotic, indie-rock Mardi Gras fun of Duluth's Homegrown Festival (MySpace), now in its ninth year, the climactic last couple of nights occuring tonight and tomorrow (here's the full schedule). My review (more here) of last year's should give you some flavor of its anarchic yet downhome spirit, and why I consider the event as much a staple of May's first weekend in Minnesota as the lowrider show at Cinco de Mayo festival on St. Paul West Side (Friday and Saturday), and the May Day parade and festival in Minneapolis's Powerhorn Park (on Sunday).

Posted by Peter S. Scholtes at May 4, 2007 3:23 PM | Comments (0)

 

Guthrie website redesigned

Filed under: Blogs/Web

Check it out here. The "sleek, blue, modern...unnavigable" joke seems a little too easy. And besides, it's actually not bad.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 4, 2007 11:21 AM | Comments (0)

 

Feed yourself, help starving artists

Filed under: Theater

On Wednesday, May 9, if you find yourself at 7 Corners low on carbs and low on karma points, stop into the Chipotle at Washington and Cedar. Between 4:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m., proceeds from purchases made at that location will benefit Mixed Blood Theatre. The Mixed Blood Theatre Company is a multi-racial theater whose performances address cultural issues through diverse casting and avant-garde productions. Quinton Skinner's review of their current production, Messy Utopia, can be found here.

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 4, 2007 10:06 AM | Comments (0)

 

No-No-No: Amy Winehouse phones it in

Filed under: Concert Review

Amy Winehouse / Varsity Theater / May 2, 2007

I love Back to Black, the killer album of soul-filled '60s girl-group pop put out this year by flyweight British boozer Amy Winehouse. But her concert at the Varsity Theater on Wednesday night was weirdly underwhelming. She had on her vampy Faster Pussycat eyeliner and that crazy beehive weave that towers above her head. I bet it outweighs her when wet. And her voice was there—a husky donkey's bray coming out of a big bullfrog's mouth. But she just kinda stood limply the whole time, twirling her hair and looking down, connecting with the carpet rather than the audience.

She's backed by the Dap-Kings on this tour, and at times the eight-piece band overpowered her. Sharon Jones takes forty-five minutes just to introduce each member of her band; Winehouse's whole set was that long, and if she said anything about the Dap-Kings, I didn't hear it. When she came back to sing "Love is a Losing Game" for an encore, she apologized: "I'm not usually such shit." It was a lame substitute for, I don't know, actually putting some effort into the performance. The sold-out crowd was ready to worship her, but instead, her fans chatted during her set. After the show, hundreds of people who had been temporarily blinded by white spotlights angled directly into the audience's eyes rushed the lighting guy and tore him limb from limb. (Okay, that didn't actually happen, we couldn't find the dude.)

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 4, 2007 9:34 AM | Comments (2)

 

We're all searching for something

Filed under: Stuff

And maybe what you seek is a way to kill a few hours on Saturday. Here's an idea: Get on your bike and ride over to "scAVENGER," a huge bicycle scavenger hunt going down in Northeast Minneapolis.

Bikers will meet at Logan Park, on Broadway and Jefferson St., at 2:30 p.m. for registration, where they will receive a list of items they'll need to collect. At 3:00, teams of 4-6 will then scatter throughout Northeast for two hours, ending at the Spring St. Tavern for an afterparty. Go here for more info; the $5 mininum donation will go to help Chris Zito, a biker who was involved in a nasty hit-and-run last month, pay his medical bills.

Here's the WCCO report on Chris Zito, who was hit by a car while biking down Hiawatha on March 30. The driver sped off, leaving Zito on the road with several broken vertebrae, a broken collarbone, and a broken elbow. He doesn't have health insurance. Two million bonus points will go to the scavenger team that returns with the spineless gas-guzzler responsible.

Posted by Chuck Terhark at May 3, 2007 4:04 PM | Comments (0)

 

Air brings the boys out to First Ave

Filed under: Concert Review

Air / First Avenue / May 2, 2007
Text by Mary O'Regan | Photos by Daniel Corrigan

A horde of men turned out to see electronic rockers Air last night at First Avenue. There were random chicks sprinkled throughout the mainroom, but from staircase to staircase, the crowd consisted of dudes in ski caps and cargo shorts. Who would've though that Air, with its soft, lolling ambiance and dreamy lyrics, would attract a sausage party?

Continue reading this review in our Gallery section

Posted by Corey Anderson at May 3, 2007 10:01 AM | Comments (0)

 

Spoken Word Poetry 'Zine

Filed under: Blogs/Web

METAPHOR is a new online magazine that covers the world of performance poetry. International in scope, the cyberjournal is the pet project of Pioneer Press reporter Matt Peiken. Peiken, who wants the 'zine to be "the Rolling Stone of performance poetry (that is, when Rolling Stone was relevant)," kicks off the first week with interviews of Andrea Gibson and Ed Mabrey, and a piece about Latino poets that includes the Doomtree collective's own Dessa.

Posted by Sarah Askari at May 2, 2007 12:33 PM | Comments (0)

 

Scenes from the MN Rock and Country Hall of Fame

Filed under: Local Music

I attended the Minnesota Rock and Country Hall of Fame for the first time on Friday at the Medina (see previous post), and it was a surprisingly good time. Gypsy (above) rocked and harmonized like they hadn't aged a minute, and openers Art Essery and Mary Jane Alm (below) were equally impressive. The crowd was as diverse in age range as any I've seen since Willie and the Bees reunited at First Avenue a few years ago, though I was told an entire generation had cleared out after the Castaways (whom I missed).

Thankfully, the event's overly restrictive name, one of its few but major turn-offs, might change in the future. In fact, the weekend's festivities included Lipps, Inc. and other artists not strictly "rock" or "country." I missed Lipps on Saturday due to family commitments, but the Monks' Eddie Shaw sent me the pictures below, including one of Lipps' one-man-studio-band Steve Greenberg. Greenberg (composer and musician behind the hit "Funkytown") and Cynthia Johnson (the singer of same) were inducted together onstage as Lipps, Inc., but didn't perform as advertised. Still, it was said to be their first amicable meeting in more than a decade. Can a live reunion next year be too much to hope for?

(Eddie Shaw, Jimmy Ginsberg, Steve Greenberg, and companion)

(Dave Gustofson of Copperhead, a.k.a. Minnesoda; Eddie Shaw of Monks and Copperhead; and Randy Cates of Gypsy)

Posted by Peter S. Scholtes at May 1, 2007 6:11 PM | Comments (1)

 

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