1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die, corrected.

After reading an article in the Times today noting it's been 40 years since Hendrix died and there's an onslaught of "new" and re-releases due to hit the market this year (including a Hendrix version of the "Rock Band" video game), I wanted to check out his discography. Hendrix only released three studio albums of material while he was alive- a fact that seems hard to believe, though in a recording career that lasted four years there was obviously much more recorded and posthumously released. To my mind, Hendrix is the only rock musician I would put on the same level of musical genius as Beethoven, Mozart, Ellington and Wagner. Sure, there are others who are truly great- too many to bother listing, but what Hendrix did has yet to be surpassed and his influence is equal to the musicians mentioned above. In looking at the track listings for each of the studio records I noticed all of the albums are included on a list called "1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die." Something so grandiosely titled is just too tempting to pass up, so I clicked on over to the list. As a self-admitted music snob, I expected to be amused, validated, and perhaps find some fun things to quibble about to myself (as there isn't an online version where one can comment).

Now I'll be the first to admit within every genre of music I have friends possessing a deeper and richer knowledge of music than I. However, as a general music enthusiast I'll willingly go toe-to-toe with anyone who's never been employed by the music industry. This isn't bragging, really, but just confidence that I know what I'm talking about when it comes to certain things and music is one of them.

Lacking that depth, and the fact that with each passing decade my exposure to current popular music grows more and more limited as the music grows more and more varied, and precludes me from ever trying to compile such a list myself, it doesn't stop me from scoffing at one that is as ridiculous as this one.

To be fair, I'll give editor Robert Dimery his due for including some surprises deserving inclusion that could have easily been left off of a less ambitious list: the first Black Sabbath album, Maggot Brain by Funkadelic, records by Fela Kuti and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, early Kraftwerk, Sparks' Kimono My House and Malcom McLaren's Duck Rock to name a few that had me nodding in agreement. But in general, as I read the list in its chronological order, I kept saying to myself, "What? Really? I have to hear this before I die? I almost wish I never heard it the first time!"

Remember the title of the list. I didn't make it- the editor did- or whomever. That's pretty weighty stuff, wouldn't you agree? And to listen to 1001 albums is going to take some time, so they'd better be pretty damn good. Or at least of great cultural or musical significance. I think that's a reasonable criteria.

I don't want to split hairs with the large number of albums on the list by the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Beach Boys, The Who, David Bowie or Bob Dylan. These artists evolved significantly over their careers and the albums listed were not only great, but often highly influential. But really- seven albums from Neil Young? At least four by Steely Dan? Four from the Kinks? Three by the Byrds? As much as I love Neil Young, his entire career can be summed up with Live Rust (which isn't even on the list). While I may want to listen to more of his work and he's a personal favorite, I wouldn't insist that anyone should consider Ragged Glory something their lives would be lesser for not having heard. I mean, that's what the title of the list implies, right?

Below are the inclusions, with some random comments, that made me think "WTF, this is the dumbest list ever," without focusing too much on the albums released during the 90's and 00's because I realize I fall outside the demographics defining those who are truly impacted by, and invested in, those artists and their albums. In many cases I'll list an album I believe should have been included on the list, or is at least much worthier of a listen before one dies than the one included and thus meriting my scornful derision. And know that it's really all for fun. Call this the list "The Top 30 goofs and gaffes that make the compilers of 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die look ridiculous for their efforts":

1. One album each by Billie, Ella and Sarah Vaughn on a list that has two Rod Stewart albums but nothing by Patsy Cline, Etta James nor Rickie Lee Jones? Huh?
2. THREE albums by Yes, which really is three too many.
3. Two albums by Emerson, Lake and Palmer and neither one is Brain Salad Surgery, which doesn't deserve to be on such a list anyway. Pictures at an Exhibition? What on Earth for?
4. Britney Spears is on the list. No Doubt isn't.
5. Christina Aguilera is on the list. Shakira is not.
6. There is one Kiss album and it's Destroyer.
7. Frampton Comes Alive is on the list. Quadrophenia is not.
8. Bad Co.? A serious WTF!
9. FOUR albums by the Talking Heads, none after Remain in Light, when they did their most interesting work. Besides, David Byrne is an asshole.
10. Dexy's Midnight Runners- not once, but twice? How does one catchy pop tune merit inclusion here when you've probably never heard Masters of Reality's Sunrise on the Sufferbus?
11. Only one album by X and it's Wild Gift? Wrong. Fail. Where is Los Angeles or Under the Big Black Sun? Both are superior, as is More Fun in the New World.
12. ABC's The Lexicon of Love and numerous albums by The Pet Shop Boys appear. Even Scritti Politti makes the list, but not Shriekback?
13. The Go-Go's make it. There is no Joan Jett. But take heart, there are two albums by Hole.
14. Aerosmith's Pump? Huh?
15. How many Morrisey albums does one need to hear for a full musical experience during their lifetime?
16. Both of Johnny Cash's prison recordings are on the list, but only the fourth American Recording? The first two were far superior, with CASH perhaps the best he ever made. Failure again.
17. Not one Albert King record on the list. I guess his spot was taken by Supertramp's Crime of the Century.
18. How can almost every REM, U2 and Elvis Costello album be on the list and there isn't a single Dead Can Dance album- I'm a particularly thinking of Toward the Within.
19. Not one, but two each from Rush, Def Leppard and Deep Purple? Seriously? Why?
20. No Zodiac Mindwarp and the Love Reaction, but there are albums by Neu!, Fred Neil, Pentangle, David Ackles, Faust, none of which I've ever heard of before and if the list were better I may be inspired to check them out but I can't help but be unconvinced any of their albums are better than Tattooed Beat Messiah, which really is an album everyone should hear at least once in their life.
21. Why are there so many Elvis Costello records on this list? Costello has three or four good songs but I still think he's a racist ass, drunk or not. Besides, Joe Jackson doesn't have one album on the list and he's far more talented. Where the hell is Look Sharp!?
22. How can bands like Can and Love be on this list yet there is not a single album from Be Bop Deluxe- especially Modern Music?
23. There's crapload of metal/hard rock on this list that is dubious at best (see # 19) but nothing from Blue Oyster Cult. Huh?
24. Sandinista! and Combat Rock are not on the list. I guess Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Haircut 100 got those spots.
25. No Chuck Berry. Not one. Seriously? Did you guys grow up in Siberia?
26. ELO's Out of this World and not A New World Record? You sniff glue, right?
27. The first album by Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers is great, but if you're only going to hear one Petty album during your lifetime it should be You're Gonna Get It, Damn the Torpedoes, or Full Moon Fever. Even better would be to take off all of those REM and Elvis Costello albums and replace them all with Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers.
28. How is it that Queen Latifah is on the list and not Erik B. & Rakim?
29. Where are Foreigner, Kansas, Styx, Toto and Asia? Just seeing if you're paying attention : )
30. Seriously, The Monkees made the cut but Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons didn't? And Nenah Cherry?
31. Bonus question, since #29 is a joke: No Luther Vandross? Seriously, my life would not have been the same without The Night I Fell in Love or Busy Body.

Okay, the comments section is wide open for your entertainment, rebuttals, inclusions and random witty barbs. Have at it!

Kronos: Fenced In, Bowing Out

Thursday night I went to hear the Kronos Quartet at the Z Space @ Atraud- which may have the most uncomfortable seats of any venue in San Francisco to put your butt in for a 90-minute performance. Kronos, subject of an interesting article appearing in today's New York Times, was putting on a four-night, sold-out run of performances featuring Jon Rose's Music From 4 Fences, along with works by Terry Riley, John Zorn, Franghiz Ali-Zadeh, Felipe Perez Santiago, Amon Tobin and Scott Johnson (a full set list can be found here). The works by Rose, Ali-Zadeh and Tobin were the highlights. The others, especially Riley's piece, I found less than interesting, though overall the program had a variety and intensity that kept my attention focused through it all.

The show began with Ali-Zadeh's Mugam Sayagi, as cellist Jeffrey Zeigler sat alone onstage playing an evocative theme with other instruments accompanying him offstage. Then the rest of Kronos came onstage to deliver one of the most satisfying pieces of music I've heard at first hearing. Essentially spinning an Azeri folk tale in music, this piece transported me to a different place altogether. It was by turns lighthearted, touching, adventurous, melancholy and consistently engaging. Written for Kronos, it's a work I would love to hear again.

Amon Tobin's Bloodstone featured recorded music (as did many of the pieces performed this night) with the quartet accompanying it, sometimes in front, sometimes from behind. I'm ambivalent about this kind of performance because when the rhythm of a piece is dictated by a recording and not by the musicians onstage, I feel a sense of discovery and spontaneity inherent in the best lives performances is curtailed, if not rendered impossible to achieve through a kind of tyranny imposed by a beat that won't/ can't be altered once it's begun. In this instance though, it worked for me on the strength of the composition itself, which at times reminded me of the work Kronos did for the Requiem for a Dream soundtrack. Accompanied by a video backdrop and atmospheric lighting, the piece had an amplified force to it that I found quite satisfying.

The highlight of the evening, which definitely falls under the "and now for something completely different" category, was Rose's fence music. As Rose writes in the program, he usually has his pieces composed for fences performed in situ and one of the challenges was constructing the fences and delivering for the performance. Each member of Kronos had their own fence to play, using electrified bass bows. The fences stood about six feet tall and were perhaps about eight feet across. Composed of five wires, like a staff, only the top three lines of wire were played and attached to pick-ups. The uppermost wire was barbed and there were lights and cameras attached to the top which caught the musicians in action and projected their hands on a screen at the back of the space.

The first note was a shock. Loud like a shotgun blast, some people visibly jumped in their seats. Imagine the whomp heralding Ulrica's entrance in Verdi's Un Ballo en Maschera played by Hendrix and you'd have something approximate. Disorienting and thrilling, it only got more interesting from there, as the quartet beat, drummed, sawed and bowed their way over, against and through the fences. As much a performance piece as a musical one, whether intended or not, it was unforgettable.

I attended the concert with Axel Feldheim, who wondered afterward whether or not 4 Fences was a notated score. Fortunately, as we were leaving we espied Jon Rose standing outside so we asked him. His response, one of the most amusing things I've heard in a long time, can be read at Axel's account of the performance.

Photo by Christina Johnson

Nostalgia trip

My friend Colin died last night. He was only 46 years old. A contemporary of mine and a very unique man. When friends of mine pass it tends to put me in a very nostalgic mood. Tonight, I'm killing a bottle of Russell's 10 year in his honor and taking a trip through the past via music on YouTube. For me, nothing evokes the past more than music does, except certain scents, which are impossible to call up on one's computer. The past weighs on me during moments like this. Our lives are such delicate and ephemeral things and it's difficult to even think about how easily they are lost.

To share this, since I've never figured out how to transfer files from my computer onto a blog, YouTube is invaluable, since at some point someone has posted a version of almost every song ever made on it. The downside is that usually the sound (not to mention the video quality) is terrible at best. But fuck it. I wish I could upload direct transfers from my computer, turntable, or cd player right up on this blog, but I'm too old to know how. So I'm going to use these generally poor-quality YouTube clips to take you through a musical nostalgia trip of my own design that is distinctly 80's based. Since I didn't even own a tv through most of the 80's and 90's, some of these videos are brand new to me- which is kind of strange. Where there are no "offical videos" or the video is of the shorter version and the 12" is the one I know and love, the selection has been made by sound quality. So I encourage you to pay less attention to the video and just listen to the music. And dance. Dance your ass off- because life short.

Why the 80's? I was a dj during the most of the decade and though I was raised on 60's and 70's pop and rock, the 80's were actually the period where my musical sense was developed and formed. Besides, though it's gotten a rather unfair postmortem, the 80's were a time of musical forment that was unprecedented and has yet to be equalled as far as the sheer variety that was commonly and widely accessible. My tastes at the time were not average I guess, but have proven to have legs. I listened to KROQ and KDAY in Los Angeles endlessly while I worked, and hence the music from those two legendary stations forms the base of what you will see posted here, regardless of the fact that they had nothing in common except an understanding that both pop and black music (read urban/rap/hip hop) were undergoing radical transformations at the time.

The era was also the heyday of Michael Jackson and Prince, obviously, but I'm leaving them out of it because they are worth their own nostalgia trips and posts. These songs are more one-to-three-hit wonders. Jams that would pack the floor back then, and possibly now, depending on who was present. They evoke a time long gone. A time when it seemed to me the people I knew then would live forever. Though this belief was rudely interupted by my friend Bill's death via motorcycle in the early 80's, making Cindy Lauper's Time After Time unlistenable to me because it was played at his funeral, these songs evoke for me an era- a place in time, forever irretrievable (not that I'd want to), that nevertheless has a central place in who I am as a person. This isn't by choice. It just is. As much as I'd like to say my life's soundtrack is dominated by Wagner, Beethoven and Verdi, that part came later. These are the songs that take me back. This is where I'm from.

Colin- music was the one thing you and I never, ever talked about. You are really the only dear friend I've ever had I can say that about. There was always so much more to discuss. Regardless, I hope this list, these songs, would have pleased you. In my mind, I picture you and I, with our dates, at some imaginary club, pleasantly buzzed, dancing to these jams, feeling the the essence of our lives throbbing up through the floor, into our legs, and into our hearts. In my mind, we're having the best time ever.

Now wave your hands in the air...and move your ass to...

Doug E. Fresh and the Get Fresh Crew:


The Specials:


Macolm Mclaren & the World's Famous Supreme Team Show:


Herbie Hancock (the original, ground-breaking video can't be embedded, but the sound quality of this one is excellent):


RUN DMC:


because one RUN DMC is never enough:


which inevitably leads us to to the Beastie Boys (fuck yeah!)


So now let's get down with the masterpiece of 80's hip hop, shall we? Yeah, it's Erik B. and Rakim (personally I like the "seven minutes of madness" mix a lot more, but no one seems to have uploaded it):


Although the temptation would be great to go back to new wave or funk at this time, I'd have to throw in one more serious piece of electro-funk weirdness at this point:


Okay, let's get funky with George, who falls outside of the 1-3 hit wonder parameter, but how can you have an 80's dance party without him? (and yes, it MUST be the long version):


At this point I would probably throw in an Oingo Boingo song. but there are too many to choose from, so I'll switch it up with this one hit wonder:

Divine Sounds: What People Do For Money:


I realize I'm on a serious funk/hip hop/rap jag, but there is so much from this era to play with, I'll probably never get out of this groove. Oh well. Jam on people!

Oh hell yeah! Rocksmaster Scott and the Dynmamic Three!:


and this was the B-Side, which makes me long for the Palladiunm in SF in the 80's. The DJ's there were the best! Yeah, the Roof is on Fire!


Oh dear, now I'm drunk and feeling like dancing... actually I am dancing as I write this.. how do I end this??? What is the best dance song I haven't already posted from this era? It must be Freestyle (dedicated to the people who attended my and Kevin's dances way back when:


And there is so much more to come. Colin- Rest in Peace, my friend. For the rest of you- live on, and dance while you can. Bless all of you who read (and dance) to this.

Colin Sullivan: 1963-2010

A unique, brilliant and funny man. An encouraging and challenging friend. He'll be missed dearly.

Jimmy Scott at Yoshi's and a night that becomes a debacle

The night held such promise. I seriously don't know what they hell was going on in the universe that caused what should have been a delightful evening to be one that had nothing but arguments and strife going on all around. It started with an agreement that Chad Newsome, Mr. Chang and I would meet at Morton's after work to partake in their delicious $6 sliders and some drinks. I got there first, followed by Chad, with Mr. C bringing up the rear, leaving enough time for Chad and I to order Anchors and blue cheese fries. Now I generally like the bar at Morton's except for two facts: they have televisions in it, which I loathe, and the San Francisco Morton's is the only one in the country which doesn't have drink specials to match the food and I think that pretty much sucks. But the sliders are tasty and at the price they make a great meal. Besides that, it's just blocks from my apartment on my way home from work.

Mr. Chang is one of two close friends I have whom I would label a "conservative," though I try to not hold this against him, because other than that he's a perfectly great guy and at times is downright hilarious. We are seated near one of the TVs which is tuned to Keith Obermann, or whatever his name is, whom Mr. C has a problem with, and proceeds to tell Chad and I about it. Having just read two lengthy articles in the NY Times and the New Yorker about these ridiculous Tea Party people who seem to represent the latest twist in the long, sad, American tradition of "great awakenings," my patience for such discussions is pretty much non-existent and I refuse to allow Mr. C to spout this Fox/Beck/Rush/Newt drivel unanswered, which leads us inevitably to Sarah Palin. The problem here is that Mr. C is trying to link Obama's use of a teleprompter as somehow being equal to Palin's crib marks in her palm. I categorically think this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard which takes us down the rabbit hole for an hour and a half of heated discussion which just bores the shit out of Chad, a fellow liberal Berkeley grad like myself, who has just endured a day that included 6.5 hours of sitting in useless meetings while in the employ of the West Coast's largest bank. While I have empathy for his situation, Mr. C has really raised my ire with this, so let me be perfectly clear: if you think Sarah Palin is qualified to be President of the United States you are an ignoramus. Period. In fact, you are an extreme ignoramus- ignorant- a chump! I won't say you're stupid, but you obviously need an education. This has nothing to do with Obama, congress, or anything else currently going on in American politics. The fact that people take Sarah Palin seriously is frightening, and frankly, it's embarrassing. Okay, enough of that.

So we finished our argument and food and left, with Chad beating a hasty retreat as we had just exhausted him further and provided zero fun for him after a long, crappy day. I can't say I had a good time either, because what fun is it to argue over common-sense basic facts? It's not. Even Mr. C didn't enjoy this, because he's not used to me calling him out in a heated fashion, which I have to admit I did. But I figure the best way to make your point with a right-wing military veteran is to essentially call their position that of one only one a "pussy" would take and if he doesn't like certain things about the country that's just tough shit. Deal with it, or put yourself in a position of power where you can exploit the rules that favor the elite. Life is short, there probably is no god, so get on with your life and have a good time.


And on that note, I headed over to Yoshi's to see Jimmy Scott. The last time Scott, who is now 84, had a gig scheduled in town it was cancelled because he had to go to the hospital. The fact that he's still performing (and recording) at this age is something of a miracle, but he has probably never been more popular than he is now because over the past twenty years or so his genius has finally gathered some attention due to some great late-career recordings. The show was sold out.

Scott's a natural contralto. The first time I heard him I was dumbfounded to learn I was listening to man. If you can compare him to any singer, which may be a mug's game, it would have to be Billie Holliday, who was a huge fan of his and saw all of his shows whenever they were in the same city. Since Scott's been singing since the 40's, I'll leave it to you to decide who influenced whom. He has some affliction and has never stood more than 4'11", so he's often referred to as "Little Jimmy Scott," a moniker conferred on him back in the days when he used to sing with Lionel Hampton. Yeah, the dude is old. And he looks terribly frail- like he's going to die any minute. Since he's wheelchair-bound it's hard to tell how much he's shrunk in his old age, but seriously, when his wife wheeled him out onstage my initial thought was "Gollum Sings the Blues."

But there simply is no other voice like his. No one sounds like him. It's a voice as immediately identifiable as Billie's, Louis Armstrong, Lisa Gerrard, Joni Mitchell, Bon Scott or Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. It's just that unique of an instrument. Miles Davis, Jimi Hendrix, Jimmy Scott- all in the same league.

He's touring with a four-piece band called the Jazz Expressions, who open the show with an Ellington number done at a level that doesn't embarrass but doesn't impress me, either. It's just a ho-hum opener. But what can one expect with such a generically named outfit [nb- the line-up on the website is different than the line-up which performed at the show]? Seriously- that's the best name you guys could come up with? What is noteworthy is that the show starts about half an hour late (more on this to come). Scott's wheeled onto the stage sometime after 8:30 to a standing ovation.

The set features a number of tunes showcasing Scott and the band to increasingly effective effect. By the end of the show the Jazz Expressions have proved themselves to have some serious chops, with the exception of the piano player, who always seemed to pitch his solos in a key or two higher than really fit the music. But I liked these guys, and at one point I wished they would just ditch the whole thing and launch into "C-Jam Blues"- a tune they seem born to play- but didn't.

Scott is a prime example of how looks can deceive. I seriously thought he could die at any moment- that's how frail he looked. But there he was, in total command, on top of every tune, wringing the nuance out of every lyric and most impressively, his timing was impeccable. I don't believe I've ever seen a singer with such a natural understanding of where and how to turn a phrase, lift a note, stretch one out and convey emotion with nothing more than a slight shift in key. Does that mean he sounded great? Unfortunately no, but he sounded pretty good. There were definitely some rough spots, and he held the mike too close, which, encumbered by a bad microphone mix, made him sound less than pristine. Still he impressed, and then some. Still he was Jimmy Scott, up there on the stage, making jokes about his wife, his age, and in total command of everything going on around him. Yes, it was impressive. The Jazz Expressions seemed to gather strength and steam with every song, each one actually jamming better and with more force than the last, and by the time they drew it all to a close over an hour later, this quartet had seriously rocked the house.


So what the hell was wrong? Oh lord, plenty. I'm about to delve into an area which fascinates me but is bound to be a bit of a contretemps. Yes, let's talk about racial and social interactions in contemporary America. So, when I get to Yoshi's the place is pretty much already full. I take a seat near the back, centered toward the stage, prime for what's available. Yoshi's has a weird "reservation" policy about certain tables which I've never quite understood, and it's in full-effect tonight. There are three black women (just for clarification I never assume a person is African-American- how would I know where they are from based on the color of their skin?) seated at a table to my left, who were there before I arrived. Later on, two white women, approximately in their 40's, a redhead and a blonde, take one of the reserved tables in front of me and the black women. The redhead is overweight by anyone's definition.

As I mentioned, the show starts late. What is interesting to me at this point is how many people keep trickling into the club. Hello? Where have they been that they are entering a show with a published start time of 8PM a half-hour, an hour, or an hour and a half late? Mid-way through the show, another black woman joins the aforementioned group and they start to chat. Not loud enough so one can hear what they are saying, but loud enough to notice without trying to do so. The overweight white woman seated in front of them tries to "shh" them. Mistake number one, girlfriend. First of all, you are in what has historically, and now politically, been deemed a neighborhood that is central to the Black history of this City. Two, have you so little life experience that you don't know that a white, fat woman shhishng a group of black women out on the town is going to get you nowhere at best? The women ignore her and continue to chat amongst themselves until the redhead turns around and hisses "Shut up!"

Oh lord, mistake number two, and it's on. And here I was, just wanting a nice evening of good food, some booze, the company of friends and some great music. Now I'm I'm hearing one of the black women say "You shut up, you fat bitch!" and really, the evening is pretty much ruined at this point. Floor managers are summoned by the white women, who are now put in a position of having to chastise the equivalent to their mothers, which they are not going to do to the white women's satisfaction, and it just goes on and on and on in an ever-escalating bit of white cat/black cat hissy fit. No one wins, the tension is rife for everyone seated nearby, and it sucks. In the meantime, a terribly obese, 60-ish white guy with white hair and a two-inch long pony-tail sits next to the black women and since in reality he doesn't have a chance in hell of scoring with red nor blondie, no matter how fat or old they are, he takes the side of the black women and eggs them on, which makes the whole thing that much worse. Really, I just wanted to hear the music. which Little Jimmy Scott is obliviously delivering with gospel force and ancient grace from the stage.

When I leave, I notice a great exhibit of posters in the lobby from 70 years of "race films" on display to commemorate Black History Month. The posters are fantastic, though my stupid Google phone's camera app can't do them justice. Some of my favorites are below.

Finally, I've seen a half-dozen shows at Yoshi's in the past year and whether or not the shows sucked or they were great , the venue has always impressed me because it was so well-run. Not tonight. Disorganized, bad service and generally shitty all-around, Yoshi's (and San Francisco) had a bad night tonight.

Oh well- there's always tomorrow to look forward to.

Jessica Goldstein- can you explain/translate the above poster for me?

This one was truly gorgeous.

Goodnight everyone.

The Caucasian Chalk Circle

A.C.T.'s production of Bertolt Brecht's The Caucasian Chalk Circle is somehow billed on the program and some promotional materials as a "world premiere." I not sure what they mean by this, since the play, written in 1944 actually had its first performance in 1948 in Minnesota of all places. It premiered in Germany in 1954 and has had steady performances since around the world. So what's up that? I really don't know. That's one of the confounding things about the company, which is as likely to put on something fantastic (Brief Encounter, Enrico IV) as it is something terrible (War Music) - one never really knows what one is in for when you walk through the door ever since Marco Barricelli left the company a few years back. Take heart though, Barricelli returns next month with Olivia Dukakis in Morris Panych's dark comedy Vigil. In the meantime, we have Brecht's parable, which isn't the worst thing they've put onstage recently, but it's not going to be looked back on as one of the company's highlights.

Part of this is the fault of the play itself, which even director John Doyle (who helmed the great Sweeney Todd a couple of seasons back) admits is "not a well-made play." Question to Doyle and A.C.T. director Carey Perloff- if it's admittedly not well-made, then why do it? I guess there are reasons, but few come to mind. In the program interview by Elizabeth Brodersen, Doyle lays out some of the play's virtues that appealed to him, but he's largely unable to bring forth a vision of the play that justifies it's place in the season.

Then again, it has that certain Brechtian quality about it that attracts one's eye like a prostitute on a corner. You know you shouldn't look, because certain disappointment looms, but you really can't help yourself. The trappings are too alluring. I mean, Brecht is interesting. It's just rare that he's done in a fully satisfying way- I'm always leaving a performance of his work feeling like I was teased really well, but left unsatisfied.

The cast is effective across the board, most of them performing two roles, with Omoze Idehenre as Grusche, the maid who reluctantly takes a child deserted by its wealthy and selfish mother, and raises it as her own, only to be dragged into a court later on by its mother (Rene Augesen), who wants the child back. However, that's really not the essence of the play's story, which is a parable on responsibility, morality and justice. Brecht instructed the actress playing Grusche to look to Bruegel the Elder's painting "The Maid" as a way to interpret the role. Doyle's staging somewhat captures the chaotic and disorienting feel of the Bruegel painting.

The title refers to a contest at the end to determine who gets the child- it's the most effective scene of the play. Doyle uses a life during wartime setting with ambiguous touches, leaving it the viewer to determine when and where the story is unfolding. It could be World War II, it could be the Caucasus region in the last decade, at times it feels like Tolstoy's Hadji Murad. There are air raid sirens, paper leaflets dropped from the sky, contemporary street clothes and
chain link fences to evoke a sense of estrangement for the audience. Nathaniel Stookey's musical contributions, a bare-bones score reflecting the minimal resources available to the characters, didn't contribute to the dramatic elements in the staging- a missed opportunity which could have made the play more effective.

Regardless. though the first act drags and the second has too many "break the wall" elements, it's an interesting, if not wholly satisfying production.

At the movies:"The Lady From Shanghai" at the Paramount

They packed them in at The Paramount Theatre again last Friday night for Orson Welles' brilliant noir The Lady From Shanghai. This film used to be my second favorite of his films, though in recent years Touch of Evil has taken its place. Still, seeing the old shots of Chinatown and the funhouse mirror sequence on a large screen in a grand old theater is a treat.

This crowd was huge too, it seemed even slightly larger than the audience from two weeks ago that turned out for Rebecca. Somwhere in it sat Axel Feldheim, and I'm sorry I didn't know he was going. GG and I arrived late, got bourbons from the bar, and sat way in the back of the balcony. These $5 shows, complete with newsreels, a cartoon, coming attractions, Deco-Win raffle and a live Wurlitzer are one of the best nights out in the Bay Area. I only wish they had a real popcorn machine.

Next up- Audrey Hepburn in the classic thriller Wait Until Dark on March 5th. Get there early if you don't want to sit in the very back.

Live and Lovely Ghosts

Last Thursday Penelope and I went to one of the last performances of SF Ballet's program 2, featuring Jerome Robbins' Opus 19/The Dreamer, the world premiere of Christopher Wheeldon's Ghosts and Paul Taylor's frequently performed Company B.

Usually I'm a huge fan of Robbins, but this particular work didn't really move me and many of the signature elements of the Robbins style were missing. The music by Prokofiev didn't really help, though the signature elements of his style, the creepy-spider movements etc., were there in abundance, and violinist Franklin D'Antonio gave a nice solo turn. Pascal Molat and Sarah Van Patten, two dancers who I usually find it very easy to be enthralled by, couldn't really bring this dream to anything more than a light reverie.

Wheeldon's Ghosts on the other hand, was a dazzling success- one of the very best things I've seen on the stage in some time and it's a shame this piece wasn't ready for the New Works Festival. I was initially skeptical of anything featuring the music of 80's hair-band leader C.F. Kip Winger, but the music was modern and immediately accessible- giving Wheeldon and the dancers plenty to work with in a 22 minute score that was always interesting and only once or twice ventured into "typical late 20th century wannabe film music." Winger should keep at this- he's quite good. It didn't hurt that the company's heaviest-hitters, Yuan Yuan Tan, Lorena Feijoo and Damian Smith were all on hand to make this a resounding success on every level. I don't know about the clunky bit of metal or whatever it was floating above the stage, but if you missed this, definitely see it when it returns during a future season.

The program closed with Company B and unfortunately it turned into a primer on how ballet is really a team effort as one of the male dancers fell hopelessly behind and disrupted the flow of the entire company. It came across as under rehearsed and amateurish- all the greater pity because it followed something truly great and let the evening finish on a flatter note than it deserved.

Photo of Lorena Feijoo by David Allen; photo of Yuan Yuan Tan by Chris Hardy

Tenderloin Valentine

I suppose MG and I had a different sort of Valentine's Day than most people . After cooking a meal that used pretty much every plate and utensil in the kitchen, we decided to go take a stroll through the neighborhood. Our first stop was my very favorite bar, the Geary Club. It was MG's first time there. The Geary Club is a tiny place in the middle of a block. It doesn't have a sign or anything at all signifying its presence and it's so small it would be easy to walk by it without even noticing it. There aren't any people hanging around outside smoking, because everyone inside is smoking. Endlessly. The drink selections are nothing fancy. The word mixologist has probably never been uttered inside its walls and if you ask for anything containing more than two ingredients you'll probably have to come up with an alternative request. It has absolutely zero pretense and it's the kind of place where people go to get unapologetically drunk- not to have drinks.

It's an especially fun place when L_____ is working- not only does she look (and sound) like Joan Jett cast in a downscale version of The Threepenny Opera, but she's usually pretty sauced herself on Jagermeister. The Geary Club has a great jukebox featuring crap you'd never want to listen anywhere else but there, where all of a sudden it seems perfectly suited to the environs. It's also the kind of place where once in awhile people steal away and go have sex in the bathroom while you're having an in-depth conversation about Milton with a toothless guys who is nevertheless well-versed in the nuances of Paradise Lost as well as Samson Agonistes. Seriously. Also, for such a seriously downscale place, there a surprising number of good-looking younger women in there from the neighborhood, often alone, who come to tell their latest sorrows regarding the male species to L____, as if she were the Oprah of the Tenderloin. It's not a hook-up place, but it's a great place to drink away the shame of your last one.

The bar is run by a woman named June, who isn't nearly as much fun as L_____, but it's her place and she's pretty sweet. I can't say the same for the other broad who works the bar, who is so unpleasant I usually go across the street to Whiskey Thieves on the nights she's there. She's a horrorful bitch, but the Geary Club is the real deal. Be warned however, everything you are wearing is going to reek of cigarette smoke when you leave, though you probably won't care at that point. North side of Geary between Leavenworth and Hyde. Look for the tiny door and the orange light inside- there really is no sign and you won't see it from the street.

From there we went to DIVAS, the city's largest transgender bar in SF and it was pretty quiet. One of the ladies loved MG and gave a little performance for her, which culminated in them doing a bit of dancing. I watched, and checked out Veronica, who has always reminded me of Sophia Loren doing a turn in a Rob Zombie movie. There is something about Veronica that's always fascinated me, as I've observed her for years now. On the way out, Iris asked us if we wanted a date, but we declined. Iris has an ass that defies gravity (and human biology), but she's a bit ___- I'm not sure what the word is.

At MG's behest, we then made our way over to The New Century Theater. It was my first time there, as I'm really not a fan of strip joints, but it wasn't all bad. Again, Valentine's Day had taken a toll and the place had a sedate, sullen feel to it, though MG thought the strippers were pretty good overall. As for me, my feelings and history with this business should be saved for another time- or perhaps a book. I will say one thing, thankfully of the half-dozen girls we watched, only one was obviously surgically enhanced- the rest of the talent seemed to be natural- and thus pleasing to behold. I think we stayed about an hour, one of the girls hit on MG, which flattered her, and then we caught a cab to the End Up.

The End Up is the one place in San Francisco that is always bumping on a Sunday night regardless of whatever else is or isn't going on. It's legendary, it's fun, it's super-gay, and the music is non-stop. We danced for about two hours with Q, a recent transplant from NY, who only later did I realize probably thought MG and I were there for some purpose other than dancing our asses off. Still, we all had a good time, much better than the group of Korean thirty-somethings, who not only couldn't dance, but seemed genuinely uncomfortable with the surroundings. MG thought it was the best house music she's ever heard. The dj was pretty awesome- and I'm so glad I took the day off today because by the time we got home at 5am, Valentine's Day had turned into a long night- the kind you can only have here.

Dancin' Barefoot

S. F. News photo by Eddie Murphy, September, 1958

Newscopy: "Mystery find on the Golden Gate Bridge, these worn, black canvas women's shoes were found on a girder just outside the guard rail on the bay side of the span. Shoes were soaked, indicating they'd been sitting in the fog some time. Nobody was seen to jump, however, so the Highway Patrol and Coast Guard decided not to list the case as an 'apparent suicide' for now.".

The Good Old Days

Below are two photographs (from 1950 & 1957) of people waiting in line outside the War Memorial Opera House in San Francisco to buy tickets- in these photos the shows are My Fair Lady and South Pacific. The next time I think about how high and ridiculous service fee charges are for buying tickets online or over the phone, I think I'll just keep it to myself and be happy that in some ways modern life is pretty damn easy. Few things annoy me more than having to wait in a line with hundreds of other people without a single lemonade vendor in sight.

By the way Mr. Gockley, that canopy is really in tune with your glamorous vision of San Francisco Opera- why haven't you brought it back?

Did the fat lady sing?

It's been almost six years since The Royal Opera House unceremoniously fired Deborah Voigt over "the little black dress," creating headlines around the world and starting a worldwide conversation about what opera singers should look and sound like that has yet to fully subside in some circles. A year later, with the assistance of a surgical procedure she had already decided she would undergo before the incident, Ms. Voigt lost 100 lbs. Four years later, she donned the same dress she was deemed too fat to wear and triumphed at Covent Garden in Strauss' Ariadne auf Naxos, in one way bringing the matter to a close (for her) and yet, in other ways Voigt's triumph has had some interesting repercussions throughout the opera world.



To this day, people who have seen Voigt thin and not almost cannot help but comment on how her voice sounds now as compared to then. Regardless, Ms. Voigt is still one of the world's leading sopranos and she continues to thrill audiences around the world. She's happy, she's working, and she's a svelte beauty with enormous talent. However, she has probably changed how people perceive opera singers for at least a generation in ways that would have been unthinkable a few years ago. Deborah Voigt killed the fat lady. In all but a few roles, it's over for them as far as opera is concerned.

Patrick and I discussed this over lunch the other day and he pointed out that people in general are in better shape than they used to be, so the slimming down of opera singers may be more of a natural evolution paralleling changes within the culture at large. That's a keen observation though I'm not convinced that's the entire story. I watched "The Audition" the other night on PBS, a documentary about eleven young singers competing for the Met's National Council Auditions in 2007. There's a moment in the film where the judges are discussing the future prospects of the singers and one of them weighs in on the size of one of the females, implying her size will be an impediment to her career. Of the the five women competing, two were slender and three were not. Interestingly, the winners ended up being the larger women but none of the female contestants has set the world aflame yet.

The most popular singers (including men at this point) are largely people who are increasingly very good-looking by standards that could not be considered operatic. Anna Netrebko, Renee Fleming, Angela Gheorgiu, Nathan Gunn, Juan Doego Florez and Rolando Villazon are all slim people, good-looking people. Well, Rolando actually looks like a Latin Mr. Bean, but he's skinny. So what you say. Why am I prattling on about this? Well, when I started to consider the female stars for San Francisco Opera's upcoming season I realized that it was full of young, gorgeous women in the lead roles. Sure, the locals who know her talent can't wait for Heidi Melton to sing Sieglinde in the 2011 Ring cycle, but for the most part when you put a heavy women onstage nowadays, unless it's Christine Brewer or Stephanie Blythe in certain roles (i.e. German opera or as a malevolent supporting character), the audience is increasingly going to say "What? Really? Why couldn't they get ______ for the part- she looks so much better."

Maybe we aren't there yet, but seriously- it is just around the corner. The Royal Opera's gaffe has turned into a standard casting practice across the world, validated by the Met's Peter Gelb and quietly being implemented in places like San Francisco and Los Angeles. For me, I think this is a positive trend, and I really don't think a women needs to be Jane Eaglen's size to fill the house with sound. After all, Mimis, Carmens and Violettas are much more convincing when they don't look like the well-fed wives of the King. Opera fans of the "voice is everything" school will view such thoughts as anathema and ridiculous, but I've never understood why those people don't just attend lieder concerts and shut up about opera. Opera is a combination of music and drama- it doesn't work without both and when the people onstage look and sound the part (and can act as well as sing) it is only then that the true power of the Western world's most potent art form fully comes to life.

Below are the sirens of the 2010 San Francisco Opera season. Six reasons to applaud Operavision in the balconies, or justification to buy really good seats. Either way, although the programming for next season is very conservative, in some ways the coming season never looked so good. A fluke? No way. Thanks Deborah- we owe more than we can possibly express and look forward to your first Minnie this summer. Photo below of John Marcher and Deborah Voigt, taken outside of the Met on a cool November night in 2009.


Here are the hotties:

Michele Capalbo, Aida



Ainhoa Arteta, Roxane (Cyrano de Bergerac)



Karita Mattila, Emila Marty (The Makropoulos Case)

Photo of Mattila by Richard Avedon

Svetla Vassileva Cio Cio San, (Madama Butterfly)

Elina Garanca, Charlotte (Werther)





Danielle de Niese, Susanna (The Marriage of Figaro)
I could easily skip Aida, but the rest? I want to see them as well as hear them.

San Francisco

As I was walking back home down Market Street from the Ferry Bldg. this afternoon, I passed Main Street and was suddenly struck for the first time by how inappropriate that particular name for that particular street actually is. There is absolutely nothing of interest on it. In most cities, Main St. is just that, or at least a street of some significance. In San Francisco, it's a street of such inconsequence I'd wager at that anyone who doesn't work downtown wouldn't even be able to tell you where it is. They would say "Do you mean Market Street?" which is actually the main street of the City.

So when I got home I got online and tried to find out the reason why we have a Main Street and why it isn't, or if indeed it ever was (which I doubted). I didn't find anything, but I did come across two gems which engrossed me for hours while the rest of the world was watching the Super Bowl.

The first, FoundSF, is a treasure trove of San Francisco history, images and trivia. The site is a true delight and if you're a resident or just someone interested in our City it is well worth checking out. Browsing the "links" on the site took me to the San Francisco Public Library's Historical Images archive. This site is the motherlode of San Francisco pictures and is incredibly interesting and tremendous fun. Just wanted to pass this information along.

Also, while I was browsing the library's archive I kept appreciating photographs by Alan J. Canterbury so I called up all of his photos in the archive. What an interesting guy. It seems he spent his time shooting nightclubs and strip joints, churches and synagogues, and public schools. It's very interesting to contemplate exactly what was going through Mr. Canterbury's mind as he chose his subjects, isn't it? I'd love to see his "personal collection." If you have any information about him please pass it along. I leave you with one of my favorite images of his, which was taken about four blocks from where I now write this post. I wish the place still existed:

At the Movies: Rebecca at the Paramount

Last night The Minister's Rebellious Daughter, Axel Feldheim and I saw Hitchcock's Rebecca at Oakland's gorgeous Paramount Theater. Beforehand, the MRD and I grabbed a bite at Flora around the corner and when we left to go over to the theater I was stunned by how many people were outside lined up to buy tickets. The huge theater seats 3000 people and I would estimate it was at least 80% full. Is this an effect of the recession (the tickets are only $5)? Is Hitchcock that popular? Or was it the allure of an inexpensive but fun night out in a grand movie palace that drew such a large crowd?

The Paramount certainly knows how to do these nights right. As you enter the theater the Wurlizter is being played, they show old newsreels and coming attractions before the movie, feature a cartoon, and of course there's the ever-popular Deco-Win! spinning-wheel raffle. The bars in the lobbies are open and you can bring in your drinks. The theater is impeccably clean and elegant. For $5, there probably isn't a better value in the entire Bay Area. Maybe that's why it was so crowded on a night that promised a huge rain storm.

As for Rebecca, this was the first time I've seen it in a theater. Among almost three thousand people and on a large screen the film is quite a different experience than it is watching it at home alone. The movie won the Best Picture and Cinematography Oscars in 1940 and the leads were all nominated as well. Based on Daphne Du Maurier's gothic mystery, 70 years later certain elements that may have seen melodramatic came across as pretty campy to a contemporary audience. We were split on whether this is because so many of the film's methods and themes have since become clichés and been parodied so many times since or whether the filmmakers and audiences of old knowingly knew some of these elements were almost absurd and just wanted to have a little fun with them. I'm in the latter camp, while Axel and the MRD are in the former. I just give the old timers a bit more credit for being subversive and hip then most people I think, largely because while I know the culture has changed tremendously, in many ways I suspect people motivations and emotions have not. And that's why we still appreciate and adore these old movies not as artifacts but as relevant works that still have the ability to entertain or engage us. Laurence Olivier at his fey best, Joan Fontaine (now I remember whom Scarlette Johannson reminds me of) and Judith Anderson as the creepy and malevolent personal maid of the dead title character, lead the film's solid cast.

This was the first film David O. Selznick produced after Gone with the Wind. It was touted as "the most glamorous movie ever made" in the trailers. I don't know about that, since neither Claudette Colbert nor Carole Lombard is anywhere to be found, and it's far from my favorite Hitchcock film, but if you haven't seen it, it's part The Turn of the Screw, part Jane Eyre and that makes it pretty good fun.

Next up in series is Orson Welles' brilliant The Lady From Shanghai (1947) on 02/19. After Citizen Kane, I think this is Welles' best film- and it has Rita Hayworth in it! On March 5th Audrey Hepburn is terrorized in 1967's Wait Until Dark and on March 26th the greatest swashbuckling pirate of all, Errol Flynn, splashes across the screen in 1937's Captain Blood.

Sundance: Absurdities

Even though it's over and the awards have all been handed out and everyone's attention has turned to the Oscars, I still have two more films to tell you about that we saw at Sundance: Püha Tõnu Kiusamine, or The Temptation of St. Tony, directed by Veiko Õunpuu, and Four Lions, directed by Chris Morris. What links these two films is they are absurd comedies of a sort, though latter is much more direct about it.

This is the trailer for Tony:

Well, maybe it doesn't look very funny from this trailer, but by the time Tony has buried his father, gotten drunk with his boss, watched a co-worker put the move on his wife, help a young girl escape from jail, try to sleep with same girl only to be abused by her father, gets tortured in a man-thong and finally resorts to cannibalism, it does get pretty funny in an absurd way. Shot in black in white with some memorable, creepy-looking people among some bizarre landscapes, if you've seen films like this before there isn't really a lot of new ground covered here or a particularly unique vision, but it is one of those "arty" movies from Europe that are good for the soul every once in awhile. And it's a lot more fun than Eraserhead or The Seventh Seal, two films among dozens with which it shares a cinematic bloodline.

Morris' Four Lions is at once patently funny and yet disturbing. Just when you though Western Civilization had pretty much plumbed the depths of what we can make fun about, along comes this little British comedy about four completely inept English Jihadists who want to sacrifice themselves for Allah in order to rid England of its consumerism and pernicious Jewish influence.

Never mind that one of them is white and wants to blow up a mosque as a rallying cry to Muslims or that these guys make Dumb and Dumber look like characters out of a Woody Allen movie. Never mind they plan to carry out their plan dressed up as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and other ridiculous costumes during a marathon. There is something funny and disturbing about all of this. There is a bit where a wookie is confused with a bear that is as priceless and funny as anything in a Monty Python film. Still, should we be laughing at any of this? I don't know, but I did, though I still felt a bit uneasy about it afterward.

There are some great bits in this movie, which could benefit from subtitles, and I have a feeling it will get a release. If it does, form your own opinion, and watch out for the man with the box on his head. He's armed and really doesn't know what he's doing. Also, innocent animals are blown to bits- and it's really quite funny.

Carie Delmar Punks the Huffington Post!

Oh dear, Carie Delmar, Los Angeles' raving anti-Wagner loon, at it again, this time under the pseudo-pseudonym "Carol Jean Delmar."

Somehow she's managed to convince the Huffington Post to publish her, giving her previously marginalized perspective a much greater audience than she deserves. Jumping on the anti-Domingo bandwagon as an excuse to take some cheap and inaccurate shots at LA Opera's Ring Cycle, Delmar's post is disingenuous on several fronts. I'll give her credit for one thing though- she's tenacious, crafty- and she just blew the credibility of one of the web's most heavily trafficked sites.

HuffPost readers who aren't that familiar with how opera companies work will read Delmar's statements and take them at face value. This is the largest issue I have with Huffington giving Delmar a forum to spew her slanted junk. For example, Delmar writes "Judging from the lineup, measures to cut the company's expenses seem to be in place. Many of the roles will be sung by lesser-known young singers." Like whom, Carie? Nino Machaidze???

Of course young, lesser-known singers fill the smaller roles to gain experience. That's the way all opera companies work and it's vital to the careers of the singers and the growth of the companies. But in a season that includes Sir Thomas Allen, William Burden, Charles Castronovo, Vladimir Chernov, Sarah Coburn, Plácido Domingo,George Gagnidze, Cristina Gallardo-Domâs, Paolo Gavanelli, Ben Heppner, Soile Isokoski, Nino Machaidze, Ann Murray, Daniel Okulitch, Marlis Petersen, Patricia Racette, Martina Serafin, Kristinn Sigmundsson, Bo Skovhus and Dolora Zajick, it's really inaccurate B.S. to imply LA Opera is fielding its season with B-List youngsters.

Delmar being Delmar, she can't help herself from trying to save the world from the evil-influence of Wagner's Ring. She implies LA County Supervisor Mike Antonovich's ridiculous motion to "diversify" the Ring Festival (by including Mendelssohn!!!) was defeated because "other powerful members of the community had a vested interest in maintaining the status of the company and their status in it." When the Board voted on it, the motion received only vote of support- Antonovich's. That's a nice try at revisionist history Carie, but you've failed again.

You can read the rest of her slanted crap at the Huffington Post and you can continue to see her exposed here whenever possible.