Einstein on the Beach

"I don't know. What do you think it means?"

1976. Troy Glaus, Reese Witherspoon, Audrey Tautou, Matthew Shepard, Elīna Garanča and Apple Computer are born. Chairman Mao, Agatha Christie, Martin Heidegger, Howard Hughes, Lotte Lehmann, Bob Marley and Benjamin Britten die. The first albums by The Ramones, The Runaways and Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers are released. "Dancing Queen" and "Bohemian Rhapsody" are the year's biggest hits. "Anarchy in the U.K." is released as a single, as is "Beth."  Jimmy Carter is elected president. My friend Mike and I spend our lunch period walking around the campus of our junior high school bumming change with the goal of buying tickets to see Blue Oyster Cult. When we've collected the needed $7.50 apiece, we head out to the school playground and get stoned on Colombian. An "opera" called Einstein on the Beach is performed twice to sold-out audiences at the rented-out Metropolitan Opera House in New York after debuting in various European cities. I am fourteen years old and have never traveled further east than Phoenix, Arizona. I remember the opera was a big deal, because I read about it in the paper.


1984. Troy Glaus' father and I are housemates, living in the San Fernando Valley. I purchase his 1981 Honda 900 Custom from him. Tim Lincecum, Matt Cain, Prince Harry, Katy Perry and Scarlett Johansson are born. Ethel Merman, Tito Gobbi, Marvin Gaye, Andy Kaufman, Meredith Wilson, Michel Foucault, Truman Capote, Francois Truffaut and Indira Ghandi die. British radio refuses to play "Relax" by Frankie Goes to Hollywood. "Purple Rain" is released. Michael Jackson's hair catches on fire during the shooting of a Pepsi commercial. Reagan is re-elected in a landslide. Desmond Tutu wins the Nobel Peace Prize. Ricky Martin joins Menudo. Elton John marries a woman. My friend Mike marries a woman, too (both marriages will end in divorce). Run-DMC release their first album and I become huge fan of rap music. Einstein on the Beach is performed at the Brooklyn Academy of Music. I am twenty-two years old. Salt Lake City, Utah is now the furthest distance from my home to which I have traveled. Most of my weekends are spent at Venice Beach. I have no idea about what is happening in Brooklyn unless it involves graffiti art or hip-hop music.


1992. Troy Glaus is old enough to drive. His father is now married to another woman and lives with her and their daughter. Boxxy, Miley Cyrus, and Frances Bean Cobain are born. Francis Bacon, Willie Dixon, Albert King, Eddie Hazel, Benny Hill, Marlene Dietrich, Robert Reed, Cleavon Little, Lawrence Welk, John Cage, Eddie Kendricks and Shirley Booth die. My friend Mike, now divorced, moves to Birmingham, Alabama. Charles and Diana separate. Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown get married. Bill Wyman quits the Rolling Stones. I quit Los Angeles and move to the Bay Area, taking my 1983 Moto Guzzi V65 C with me. The cops who beat Rodney King are acquitted and L.A. erupts in riots. George H.W. Bush barfs in the lap of the Japanese Prime Minister. Bill Clinton is elected President. The Euopean Union is founded. Yugoslavia falls apart, then into war. The AIDS Memorial Quilt is unveiled. Pope John Paull II apologizes for the inquisition against Galileo. Both Jeffrey Dahmer and Mike Tyson are sent to prison. Nirvana top the charts with "Nevermind." Dr. Dre releases "The Chronic." Einstein on the Beach opens with previews in Princeton before performances in Brooklyn, Melbourne, and four European cities. I visit New York City for the first time, at the age of thirty. It is the furthest point east I have been, and a chance encounter on the Staten Island Ferry will prove to have great ramifications in my future. I take in a Knicks game and see Miss Saigon. I don't make it out to Brooklyn, but do I see Sean Lennon and Yoko Ono get into a limo at the Dakota.


2012. Troy Glaus is a retired Major League Baseball player, after a career which included being named MVP of the World Series in 2002. He was an All-Star four times and hit 320 career home runs. Last I heard, his father still lives in Southern California. We haven't spoken in many years, but his second ex-wife resides in Atlanta. We keep in touch via Facebook. They are grandparents. Rodney King, Trayvon Martin, Johnny Otis, Etta James, Duck Dunn, Adam Yauch, Gore Vidal, Helen Gurley Brown, Adrienne Rich, Dick Clark, Davy Jones, Jacques Barzun, Ray Bradbury, Gore Vidal, Earl Scruggs, Maurice Sendak and Whitney Houston die. Elton John is now married to a man. Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain just led their team to the World Series Championship. My friend Mike and his second wife have three children and the eldest recently celebrated her Bat Mitzvah. Now at age fifty, I have traveled as far east as Rize, a small Turkish town on the Black Sea coast, but that feels like a long time ago. It was just one ramification of that ride on the Staten Island Ferry back in 1992. I have been to Brooklyn. I have a 1992 Yamaha Seca II which once belonged to an ex-girlfriend, which I rode over the Bay Bridge to see Einstein on the Beach in Berkeley. This time I was well aware of its recent return to Brooklyn, for I had read all about it online. I am attending the performance with a woman named Sheila, whom I know as a result of writing this blog. Two things haven't changed since 1976: Mike and I are still friends, and Einstein on the Beach is still a big deal.

There are also two widely held beliefs regarding Einstein on the Beach with which I disagree: that it's an opera, and that it's not really about "anything."  Its composer Phillip Glass has said before that he and co-creator Robert Wilson decided to call it an opera because what else do you call something that has singing, theater and music and is performed in an opera house? Well, that does make a certain sense, but it doesn't necessarily make it so. Opera does indeed have all of those things, but so does Disney On Ice, and even if the stage of the Met was covered with ice... well, I don't even have to say it, do I? However, I don't mind that it's considered an opera. I'm just pointing out that it's not. It's greater than that, and yet smaller at the same time.

And it most is certainly about something, though not in the ways we commonly define what a thing is "about." The narrative is the experience of the performance itself, and how individual moments, or chunks of time, and what occurs within them, become something greater when their relationship with each other is considered from a distance, or more precisely in this case, the cumulative effect of those events, and how what may seem random and unrelated becomes part of greater whole and begins to make sense, even if it's intuitive rather than direct, over the course of time. And on that score, Einstein is brilliant.

The singing of Lisa Bielawa, the tenor sax solo of Andrew Sterman, and Jennifer Koh's insanely focused solo violin performance are individual elements which linger in the mind with the most presence long afterward. As for the rest of it- the music, dancing and theatrical elements, some felt familiar through recent Bay Area performances of Glass' Music in Twelve Parts (its immediate musical predecessor) and Lucinda Childs' Dance (created shortly afterward), and much of it felt new. Some things (the lyrics to Carol King's I Feel the Earth Move and the references to Patty Hearst,  brought on unexpected feelings of nostalgia for the past. As I said to someone only yesterday who asked me what Einstein was like, I clutched at adjectives to describe it, to try to give a sense of its enormity, to try to explain what it was like to experience it- to immerse one's self into a performance for four and a half hours, in which any single component of it may have its own distinct pleasures, but only becomes significant, understandable, and satisfying when considered as part of the greater whole.

Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra

"Erin Brockovich? With a polka band?" Isabella asked.

"No, not Erin Brockovich. Goran Bregovich... and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra," I replied.

"Since when does Erin Brockovich have a polka band? This should be fun- my father loved polka bands," she said.

"I don't know."

"Are jeans okay?"

"As long as you're not a Slav, yes."

"Why?"

"Because they'll be dressed a little differently. But you can wear whatever you want."

"What will they be wearing?"

"They'll look like Erin Brockovich- only hotter."

Later in the night, as we exited BART and made our way toward the Paramount, I asked "Do you realize at least half of our dates have been at this theater?"

"No they haven't," she said with certainty.

"Yes, they have."

"You've never taken me taken me to see a polka band before."

"And I'm not tonight."

While we were waiting in line for drinks at the downstairs bar  she admitted, "Okay, I recognize these bartenders. I guess we have been here a few times."

The line at the bar was a bit long, and Erins cut in front of me while Isabella was in the restroom, so by the time we were ready to go in the show had started and the overzealous door staff were keeping people from entering during the first two songs.

Two of the musicians came up to the door wearing folk costumes.

"Polka band," Isabella whispered in my ear.

Just then another Erin cut in front of me. Four inches separated us. I blew on her neck. Isabella laughed. The woman didn't budge. I blew on her neck again. She quivered slightly and stepped to her left.

"This is an aggressive crowd," Isabella noted.

"You haven't seen anything yet," I replied.

A Ringmaster unlike any other

The gatekeepers opened the doors and we walked down the aisle to experience Goran Bregovic and his Wedding and Funeral Orchestra. I say experience because there isn't really isn't a better way to describe what was about to take place- the word "concert" or "show" doesn't capture it fully. The line-up was the same as it was the last time they were in town- nineteen people on stage- Bregovic on guitar, a lone drummer, two horn players, two brass, one clarinet (for the klezmer effect), a string quartet, two female singers in traditional Bulgarian garb, and six male singers clad in tuxedos.

The format was similar too, but perhaps owing to this show being the last of their North American tour, the orchestra was simply on fire during this performance, playing with a passion I'm not sure I've witnessed since I saw the Clash at the Hollywood Palladium in 1982. It's chaotic by design, but this was something more. Bregovic read the audience perfectly and had them (myself included) in the palm of his hand. They stopped clapping asked, shushed other audience members during the quieter songs, and danced with complete abandon during the incredibly fast dance numbers. Yet this show seemed more focused in many ways, the orchestra more disciplined. There was a powerful moment when the male singers turned and stood to face the Bulgarian women as they sang a gorgeous folk tune. The sextet themselves were simply phenomenal, sounding like an entire church choir at times, at others using their voices as true instruments to complete the complex, multi-layered sound drawn from across the Balkan landscape and history. The string quartet played with exceptional precision and their turn in the spotlight was just one of many standout moments. The set featured many of their standard rave-ups like "Kalishnikov," "Gus," and the delirious "Alkohol"- which prompted a woman in the front to place an entire bottle of something at the foot of the stage, which Bregovic opened during the encore and took a couple of deep swigs from.

It was almost three hours of pure, ferocious music- and with the exception of the second night of Prince's concerts last February, easily the best thing I've seen all year. Isabella confessed she's never seen a polka band quite like it. You should have been there.

The concert was presented by SFJazz.

Necessary Monsters

Photo by Pak Han

Given the current messy, sad state of things, I sent the Femme Fatale an email asking if she was going to be attending one of the performances of Necessary Monsters, and if so, which one. I made my plans accordingly after receiving her response. While she was attending the show on Friday I was in Half Moon Bay celebrating my sister's birthday, so it worked out rather well. This little tidbit of information has more relevance than you may suspect, because the Femme Fatale, my sister- my entire family and probably everyone close to me for that matter- are all necessary monsters of my own design, though I don't mean that to sound exactly as it may come across.

What exactly is a "necessary monster," you ask? "A portrait of human culture and experience as told by our imaginations," says Carla Kihlstedt, paraphrasing Jose Luis Borges in his Book of Imaginary Beings, where he writes:

 "We do not know what the dragon means, just as we do not know the meaning of the universe, but there is something in the image of the dragon that is congenial to man's imagination, and thus the dragon arises in many latitudes and ages. It is, one might say, a necessary monster, not some ephemeral and casual creature..."

It doesn't necessarily have to be a dragon- the relationships which dominate our lives can take on the same pattern as Borges' creatures and is it a stretch to suggest they serve a similar purpose in our real, not imagined, lives? That is to say that though Borges' imaginary beings are meant to be symbolic, or representational, I think they also have a place in reality. Sometimes the imaginary version of the beings in our lives are easier to accept than their real-life counterparts- at least in mine, which may be quite different than yours.

It makes sense to me that in some hard-to-define way we need these monsters and if they didn't exist our imagination would create them out of need. For me, the Femme Fatale is a "dragon,"  though in reading the descriptions of Borges's beasts perhaps she's a Lamia, but I suspect she sees herself as a Nymph. Penelope is also one of Borges' metaphorical dragons, but in truth I think she's a Simurgh, a kind, benevolent being who can't abide snakes. My sister can be either a Fairie or a Harpie, depending on her mood, and of course the The Little Chinese Man is my Doppleganger. Whether I view them as dragons or creatures of another form, they all populate different parts of my imagination, fulfilling different needs, which I have made real and manifest. At least I think so. It's hard to tell anymore, this has been going on for so long. Perhaps this is because I am a Satyr.

Kihlstedt goes on to say "Each monster is a facet of one human being," so one human being can represent a different [but necessary] monster to an individual, and in turn an individual can be comprised of several different monsters. This is how I understand it. Are you confused yet?

If you had seen Kihlstedt's brilliant performance piece on this subject, entitled what else- Necessary Monsters- a song-cycle based on characters found in Borges' book, all of this prattle would make much more sense. Falling somewhere between a concert as performance art, a steampunk opera, and theater, Necessary Monsters is one of the most moving things I've seen recently, though it's going to be extremely difficult to relay its essence. In part this is because I think Kihlstedt, who has been working on this piece for awhile, and it's something of a work in progress, has really tapped into something elemental about the nature of imagination and personality and has created an almost perfect vehicle to express it.

The show begins with a woman known only as "The Collector" (a superb turn by Denmo Ibrahim) walking about the stage organizing storage boxes into a "just so" order, as if doing so will keep the monsters inhabiting  her mind at bay. There's a box for each imaginary being, who one by one take their place onstage. Despite the desire of the The Collector to keep things nice and tidy, these creatures refuse to be contained and soon the stage is feels wonderfully chaotic- my thoughts during the first 15 minutes of music was that I was watching an opera performed by the family in the The Hills Have Eyes. That's meant to be a tremendous compliment.

Kihlstedt's music never flounders throughout piece, traversing a lot of different genres performed by seven musicians playing a multitude of instruments and wielding a wide array of vocal talents. Kihlstedt's opening number, "An Animal Dreamed," may be the most easily remembered. Singing in a voice that sounded like a theremin (maybe there was one on stage and I just didn't notice), it's an eerie invitation to follow her down a rabbit hole. The effect is continued when the Squonk (a being who cries at the drop of a tear, performed by vocalist and cellist Theresa Wong) cries endlessly while following a melody performed on her cello and followed by Kihlstedt's violin.

Seven other songs follow, each one representing a different being and creating a heady, captivating cumulative effect as the music constantly shifts. By the time Matthias Bossi's Hochigan (percussion and drums) backs Michael Mellender's (on bass among other instruments) Ink Monkey,  the music has become straightforward hard rock, only to turn back on itself to the Brechtian tone of Freddi Price's lascivious One Eyed Being in a white bowler. Price, by the way, is a dazzlingly talented multi-instrumentalist and plays a phenomenal trumpet.

Yes, I know this all sounds confusing and chaotic and it was, but it also worked beautifully. The rest of the talented ensemble is Dina Maccabee as the Nisna on viola and vocals and Rob Reich as the Lamed Wufnik on piano, accordion glockenspiel and voice. While the show had a visual design that looked decidedly handmade (including Wong's whimsical, Calder-esque headgear), the performance came across as assured, well-thought out and thoroughly rehearsed. If you have a chance to see it, I can't recommend it enough. If you click on this link, you can hear "An Animal Dreamed" and some other music from the work, as well as see a video of Kihlstedt discussing it.

When it was over, Necessary Monsters left me in a decidedly odd mood. When we returned to my place, I felt compelled to watch a horror movie that somehow conveyed this. Awfully enough, I thought that the only thing that could follow such a strongly philosophical performance was Martyrs- a film Penelope would absolutely abhor. I have no idea what I was thinking, but thankfully it wasn't available on Netflix streaming and I gave up on trying to find the "right" choice. Bowls of popcorn and glasses of bourbon before us, we settled in to watch something neither of us found worthwhile and soon abandoned it for some more music.

At a quarter to one in the morning, I received a text message from the Femme Fatale, saying she hoped we enjoyed the show- or something like that.

Pak Han has a gallery of wonderful photos taken during what looks like a rehearsal here.

Josh Kosman of the SF Chronicle has a much more succinct review here.

The Tempest: Without a Body

There are a lot of things I'd like to say about Lemi Ponifasio's dance/theater/performance piece The Tempest: Without a Body and on the other hand I don't want to say much about it all except you should go see it and experience it for yourself. If you hear someone say they "liked" or "enjoyed" it, step away from them- they probably laughed at  "A Serbian Film."

It's a performance you experience and feel, not one you watch to be passively entertained. There are moments in it where I felt extremely uncomfortable and other that cut so close to the bone I almost wanted to leave. That's art, and it doesn't happen at this level very often, so go see one of the two remaining performances this weekend at YBCA.

However, there are some things I do want to comment on.

Tonight I saw one of the most terrifying, nauseating sights I've ever seen- a man walking around the stage on all fours. Not on his hands and knees, but on his hands and feet. The effect was like witnessing a human spirit so destroyed it's become nothing more than a domesticated cat or dog, pacing around, looking for its master/owner to feed it.

When the Angel let out her first dreadful scream of sheer anguish I came out of my seat. Tears formed in my eyes, and I realized I've been wanting to make that sound for a week now but can't. The screams kept coming at irregular intervals. She was alone on the stage the first time, but as the work went on, there were others present going on about their business as she screamed away. No one noticed, and I felt each scream became more tolerable, easier to bear, to the point where toward the end I had accepted the screams as part of the soundscape and they no longer terrified me as they did when I first heard them. How many analogies can you make for that? I don't even know where to start.

Before tonight the sight of man's naked, undulating ass has never turned me on. Before tonight.

I have to digest this show and I'll probably have more to say about it later, but for now, just go get a ticket. Goldstar has them, and there's a Q & A with Ponifasio after the Friday night show, that will be worth hearing based on his pre-performance comments tonight.

For now I'll end with this note from the program, taken from Walter Benjamin's Ninth Thesis on the Philosophy of History, and dedicate it to the Femme Fatale:

A Paul Klee painting named Angelus Novus shows an angel looking as though he is about to move away from something he is fixedly contemplating. His eyes are staring, his mouth is open, his wings are spread. This is how one pictures the angel of history. His face is turned toward the past. Where we perceive a chain of events, he sees one single catastrophe that keeps piling ruin upon ruin and hurls it in front of his feet. The angel would like to stay, awaken the dead, and make whole what has been smashed. But a storm [tempest] is blowing from Paradise, it has got caught in his wings with such violence that the angel can no longer close them. The storm irresistibly propels him into the future to which his back is turned, while the pile of debris before him grows skyward. This is what we call progress.

Casting the remake of Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!

General Chang and Chad Newsome were over at the apartment tonight working off last night's adventures and keeping me company since I'm ill and indisposed. It was the General's first time over since he relocated last summer and he was admiring the fine Jenn Lloyd pen and ink art which hangs upon my wall:

I mentioned to him Jenn had started doing drawings for an eventual painting of Tura Satana for me, but I requested she stop because in my current situation I didn't want to be obligated for a painting I wasn't sure I could afford at the moment. The General and Chad were unfamiliar with the name Tura, which resulted in an immediate viewing of Russ Meyer's classic Faster Pussycat, Kill! Kill!

Jenn Lloyd's pen and ink of Tura

Chad seemed to deeply appreciate the art of it all, though its impact was perhaps not as deeply impressed upon the General's psyche. He is a tougher nut, truth be told. However, that led me to lead them into one of my favorite parlor games- "Whom to cast in the Tarantino remake of Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill!"?

The rumors of Tarantino wanting to do this remake have been around for years. Satana herself validated them before her recent death, but when I asked the director the question point blank a couple of years ago during a Q & A at the premiere of "Inglorious Basterds" at the Castro, he scoffed and dismissed the entire thing as poppycock. I thought his response disingenuous at the time and still do.

Too bad he feels this way about it, because it would be a cinematic match made in some sort of a perverted heaven.

The General and Chad are of a younger generation than I. In fact, they are young enough to be sons of mine though we never discuss such uncomfortable scenarios. Because of the age difference, playing this game with them, since they have a different perspective on who is "hot" as far as contemporary actresses goes, seemed like good sport to me. I didn't expect them to throw out the obvious choices for the Darla role that I would prefer- Rosario Dawson or Monica Bellucci being first and foremost. But perhaps you can understand my dismay and disappointment when I learned neither of them knew of Asia Argento, whom I think would make a perfect Darla for their generation, if not my own.

We bantered about a few names to fill the nasty, violent and sexy triumvirate of the lead Pussycats. Scarlett Johansson was mentioned, as was Eliza Dushku and Megan Fox, though the latter seemingly the most implausibly plastic and fake of the lot. I kept the idea of casting Britney Spears as Billie to myself, though I have to admit I think it would be the most brilliant casting ever.

Imagine my surprise when we settled upon a trio closer to my age than theirs: Christina Hendricks taking over from Satana as Darla; Kim Kardashian taking over for Haji as a whole lotta Rosie; and Battlestar Galactica's Tricia Helfer as Billie. In praise of older women? Absolutely. But then I could have told Chang and Newsome this would be the case all along, as long as one was looking for satisfaction- not cheap thrills.

And believe me, if a studio could get Tarantino to remake the film with this cast? The box office from the remakes of Charlie's Angels would look like chump change. Just sayin'.

Marcher and Mom go to Teatro ZinZanni

I spent last Sunday night in a tent with my mother to celebrate her birthday. It wasn't just any old tent, but this gorgeous, antique “spiegeltent,"- the grandeur and charm of it can't be envisioned from its outside appearance. Once inside, we had well-made cocktails at the bar- that's right, the tent has a bar in it, which is lovely of course. After we had our drinks we were ushered into another tent, with a large performance space in the center of it surrounded by round tables, at which hundreds of people were already busily having fun amongst themselves. We were seated next to a delightful couple, and were soon joined by another.

More drinks arrived and then my mother pulled a bottle of Raffanelli ZinZanni from her purse, since it was her birthday. And then all hell broke loose. Well, not really. What actually followed was three-plus hours of some of the best entertainment I've experienced in years and a fantastic five course meal. I don't remember the last time I've laughed that much and just plain enjoyed a show as much as I did this one.

So why hadn't I ever gone to Teatro ZinZanni before? Oh, this reason and that to be sure, but I also had it in my head it would be a touristy thing- kind of like Beach Blanket Babylon, which I always enjoy when I go, but BBB is not a show I really think about seeing unless someone asks me (usually my mother) - which seems to happen once every year or two.

Now if you had told me to imagine the love child of BBB and Trannyshack raised by Kurt Weill and PT Barnum I would have immediately said "Yes! When do we go!?" But no one ever told me it was like that so I never went. Now I'm telling you, so you have no excuse not to go see it.

Again, it was my mother who wanted to go see Teatro Zinzanni. She's been asking me for years and now I feel that certain pang of the Jewish son's guilt that I waited so long to make this happen. We''ll be back though- guaranteed. And the next time it will be me asking her if she wants to go.



The current version of the show, which runs through March 4th, is called License to Kiss II, A Sweet Conspiracy. Why? I honestly don't remember and to tell the truth it really doesn't matter. The plot, which has to do with creating the perfect sweet, is really just the frame for three hours of hilarious gags, well-performed songs, acrobatics, drag, cabaret, dancing, and live music. During the evening a delicious meal is served that's choreographed to the show and delivered by the cast with stunning execution.



Kristen Clayton



Kevin Kent



And the cast is terrific. The uproariously delightful Kevin Kent is the star, but there's tremendous talent throughout the show: aerialist Kari Podgorsky, acrobat Andrea Conway Doba was a huge hit, as was Wayne Doba. Lutz Jope was a vision of Rocky Horror's Riff Raff all these years (and bottles) later. Sweden's Tobias Larsson, as the closest thing to the show's ringmaster, has a serious Adam Lambert kind of thing going on (and that's a good thing, in case you were wondering). My favorite though, was soprano Kristen Clayton, who's appeared with numerous opera companies. She came out toward the end of the evening and just floored me.



After March 4th, a new show will arrive, and if you can't make it to this one I strongly recommend you catch the next. This is a great show for locals and tourists alike- the local lady sitting next us to was there for her third time and I overheard numerous people make similar comments as we were at the bar.



There are often tickets available on Goldstar.



One last thing. Recently it was learned the company is likely to be displaced by the whole America's Cup giveaway/boondoggle. So I wanted to give you some inside information you may not know. Over the past decade, TZ has welcomed more than 1,000,000 guests into the tent.  In addition to the regular performances, they have helped organizations raise more than $2,000,000 for charitable causes by providing the tent and services at cost.  Organizations who have hosted fundraisers include Sean Penn’s Haitian Relief Organization, Huckleberry House, Bread and Roses, Suicide Prevention League, Chez Panisse Foundation, San Francisco Symphony, and more. This is over and above the thousands of tickets they have donated to countless silent and live auctions, etc.  It's not only a great theater company, but like many of the best arts organizations in San Francisco, this is a non-profit arts institution.

In addition to a series of incoming international performers, there is a core group of “performers” who serve as managers, maitre ‘d’s, box office, bartenders, wait staff, etc. Many of these employees joined the Company for what they thought was a temporary job in March of 2000. Ten years later they are a real family – so losing Teatro would be so much more than just losing the show – it would break up this incredible family of employees committed to creating the zany world of ZinZanni through service, or cooking, etc. Anyway, it would be a shame to lose these arts and service jobs in service of….creating jobs and revenue for America’s Cup and billionaire Larry Ellison.  The news on the move is this: the city is working closely with Teatro ZinZanni to explore all options and have also been in touch with America’s Cup Organizers to explore any natural tie-ins. The City seems committed to keeping ZinZanni in San Francisco.

Let's hope they do just that.

Marcher and his Mom

Rebel without a pause

Lately I've been feeling an acute sense of nostalgia and of time passing. Perhaps some of this is leftover from the holidays, which is understandable, but there's more to it- or in it. As I sit on the couch looking at the blue sky, I have the windows open and I can hear music coming from a party taking place in the Tenderloin National Forest across the street. I'm enjoying it- but it's fueling that nostalgia something fierce. It's mostly 80's R and B- Teena Marie, the SOS Band, stuff I used to listen to on KJLH in L.A. during that era.

Tonight I'm going to Yoshi's to see Public Enemy. Talk about seemingly inappropriate venues. When P.E. first exploded on the music scene in 1987 a place like Yoshi's would have been terrified to host a gig of theirs. Their first album came out amid a lot hype, but it wasn't until "Rebel Without a Pause" was put on the B-side of their first single it became clear this was a group to be reckoned with. "Rebel Without a Pause" was like a bomb going off in the world of rap music. It sounded like something completely new and it sounded dangerous. The only other songs I knew of with comparable impacts were NWA's "Dopeman," which came out at around the same time, and Run-DMC's "It's Like That," from 1983.  Hearing these songs the first time you knew they were game-changers and this proved true. Rap was never the same after "Dopeman," which ushered in the whole "gangsta" era, and not long after that rap became the music of choice among white kids in the burbs who wanted to listen to music that would annoy their parents. One thing that made these songs sound so ominous back then was they were pretty much only heard on KDAY- an AM radio station. So not only was the music raw by design, but hearing it in the low-fi frequency of AM greatly magnified its impact.


I lost interest in the genre somewhere around 1990. What to me had been incredibly creative and fun music was evolving into a repetitive, increasingly negative bore. Of course there were exceptions, but the landscape had irrevocably shifted with NWA and I moved on. So did rap. I was told last night it's entering a more positive phase, but it's unlikely at this point I'll ever catch up the current state of the genre, even though I think Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" is one of the most brilliant songs I've heard in years.

P.E.'s 1990 release Fear of Black Planet was probably the last contemporary rap album I liked and paid attention to until I heard Outkast's incredible Speakerboxx/The Love Below. That's a thirteen year gap, during which the complex, hypnotic samples and beats of masters like The Bomb Squad, Marley Marl and the Dust Brothers gave way to the slower synth beats of Dr. Dre- a sound which dominated the genre for at least a decade. I found "gangsta" rap boring. The music seemed to take a backseat to the image of the rappers, who seemed intent on playing a game of one-upmanship that had more to do with guns than rhymes. The violence that came to be associated with hip-hop was always in the audience, but now the performers were getting in on the game. The negativity of it all outweighed great songs I'd hear occasionally like Eminem's "Without Me" (though perhaps I liked it because of it's reference/resemblance to Malcolm McClaren's "Buffalo Gals") The appeal of a song like Tupac's "Hit 'em Up," which has undeniably great beat (lifted straight from Erik B. and Rakim's "Paid in Full") was lost on me due to the ugly coarseness of the lyrics. Besides, a lot of it seemed inauthentic- a prime example being Ice-T's transformation from a guest rapper on silly, lame party tunes to self-proclaimed O.G.. I have no idea if Ice was a gangster or not. What I do know is the skinny guy who was opened a Run-DMC show at a club called the Mixx in L.A. in 1984 was hard to see in the pumped-up guy pictured on the cover of 1991's O.G..

Speaking of gangsters and Run-DMC shows, I was in the audience at the notorious Long Beach show in 1986. That was it for me as far as hip-hop shows went. Riots aren't fun, and though fights were something to be expected at the shows, that night took it to an entirely different level I never, ever wanted to experience again. Do you have any idea how terrifying it is to be in a crowd of 14,000 people as it erupts into a riot? The lights had been on for awhile at the point when it became an actual nightmare. I don't think they even came down when Whodini took the stage, so you could see what people were doing. Usually it calmed down after awhile, but on this night it just grew and grew and then it became something else- you couldn't tell where it coming from anymore- then people started breaking the legs off the seats and using them as weapons to hit other people. We were trapped- a blond Valley Boy and his Filipina girlfriend- and there wasn't a path to leave without having to wade through people beating one another with metal sticks. The security guards and the cops completely bailed. By the time we made it out there wasn't a single one to be seen inside- just bloody people lying on the ground of the arena's perimeter. The bullshit violence at Uncle Jamm's Army gigs at the LA Sports Arena in the mid 80's was nothing compared to this. I haven't been to rap show since.

So why am I, now a middle-aged white guy, going to see P.E. tonight at Yoshi's? The music of course, and the fact that Yoshi's is a pretty sedate, small club. Rap has an extremely short shelf-life. A lot of the music by  groups like Whodini or Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five hasn't aged well. Sure, there many classics from the earlier days of hip-hop- but for every great tune by the Beastie Boys, Run-DMC, Young MC, Erik B and Rakim, etc., there's a lot of  stuff like the Egyptian Lover and UTFO's "Roxanne, Roxanne" - fun to watch on YouTube if you were there at the time, but hard to understand how popular it was in retrospect (much less inspire countless copy-cat/ repsonse tunes).

Public Enemy is different. Even though it's cringe-inducing to acknowledge that Flava Flav is now more famous as a reality TV star instead of as his role as the Greek chorus/joker to Chuck D.'s raps, the music has retained its power, and, importantly, its relevance. Even in 2010- with a Black President in the White House, songs like "Night of the Living Baseheads," "Can't Truss It," "By the Time I Get to Arizona," "911 is a Joke," and of course "Fight the Power" still pack a punch. A message band that never lost sight of the original message. By the way- here's to MLK day.

The Crucible Revival is this weekend



Karen Fox as Athena; Photo by TheBlight.net

Regrettably, I don't think I'm going to make this, but it really looks like one of those events I'll kick myself for missing. This Friday and Saturday The Crucible will honor the departure of Founder and Creative Director Michael Sturtz with a special program called Crucible Revival, where they plan to bring back many of the most memorable performances from the past. Their press release promises an evening of "reprisals of unforgettable moments from Crucible stage shows, stunning surprises and plenty of fire from a Who’s Who of Bay Area favorites, including many Crucible friends and collaborators. Hosted by Master of Ceremonies Mark Growden, the revival promises a fast-paced, jaw-dropping lineup of music, dance and more."
This an event where you can probably believe the hype. If you can make it, check it out: Tickets are on sale now at The Crucible in-person, by phone at (510) 444-0919, ext.122, or online at www.thecrucible.org, and are $60 in advance and $65 at the door. The address is 1260 7th Street, Oakland, CA 94607

Crappy Holidays!

I stole this picture from Hudin's blog, because I just had to, and he has the backstory on this curious holiday tradition from Catalonia.

Wouldn't you love to see this in the center of the Westfield Mall?

In the holiday Meat Grinder

Saturday night in the City. Holiday season is in full effect. Penelope is at the beach. The Femme is stuck in her castle. The Swede is on holiday in Syria, the Greek's gone MIA, the Minister's Rebellious Daughter is nowhere to be found and the only two people who would go see a nasty Thai flick about cannibalism ala Sweeney Todd are my next door neighbor who can't get out of a holiday party (perhaps she was just being kind) and la Divinavila, who is in L.A.. Fuck it, I'm still going, but the trek to the theater forces me to walk through the hordes downtown, tens of thousands of oblivious out-of-towners and tourists who move in slow, meandering packs weighed down by bags from Old Navy, a general sense of stupor and their obvious, oblivious awe and uncomfortableness at finding themselves in an actual City for a change. There are couples and groups and I'm consciously aware that I'm on my own, headed to see a movie called Meat Grinder. Ho ho ho.

I arrive at the venue. There's a big party going on downstairs. An usher asks me "Are you here for the Nutcracker?" I reply in the negative. I'm here to see the movie. It's supposed to start in 10 minutes.

She looks puzzled. She tells me the movie is upstairs but they haven't told her to let anyone up yet. She directs to someone who should have an answer. Turns out I'm the first one there. I get my ticket and a guy comes out and lets me into the upstairs theater. It's small, and completely empty. It stays empty, except for me, for at least another five minutes. I open up my package of Red Vines, bought at a Walgreen's on Market St.. I think I should be in a grindhouse. Why did the Strand Theater have to close? I'm a middle-aged white guy sitting alone in a theater with Red Vines and a flask on a Saturday night while there are thousands of people within a mile's radius who are shopping for loved ones, dressed up and on their way to holiday parties, celebrating "the season." It's okay- I'm in my natural element. Meat Grinder is part of series of films called Go to Hell for the Holidays and that's something I can appreciate. It's an idea I can get behind after a week where Obama completely punks out and then lets Bill Clinton stand in for him. Talk about disappointing.

Finally someone else walks into the theater, and wouldn't you know it- it's someone I know. Not well, but our jobs used to intersect and I seem to always see him at Patti Smith concerts. We have a mutual friend, Chad, who tipped me off to these screenings and I know it was this guy who told him about it. We chat for a bit about A Serbian Film, which I know via Chad he has a screener copy of which he sent via intercompany mail to a co-worker/friend and it got lost. Can you fucking imagine that? If you don't know what I mean, it's akin to accidentally forwarding a link to a kiddie porn or bestiality website to your friendly, born-again co-worker at a huge corporation via email. Some people have questionable judgement- I'm often one of them. A couple of other people filter in- a lone female who sits on the aisle (and bails about 15 minutes into the movie) and a fat bald guy and his bleach blonde female companion who look like their next stop after the movie is going to be the Power Exchange. The bald guy looks like one of Vukmir's goons in A Serbian Film. I feel like a scuzball just for being in the same place as these two.. A single white guy in his twenties shows up, looking self-conscious, and takes a seat. An Asian guy takes a seat in the row behind me and proceeds to constantly pull stuff from a paper bag loudly. Asshole. Then he proceeds to cough like he has TB. There are now eight of us. The lights go down. My mother had invited me to a family dinner and a boat parade with Christmas lights in Sausalito. I chose this instead. Like I said, my judgement is often questionable. The Asian guy keeps hacking and ruffling through his bag of tricks. I want to smack him, but I don't want TB, so I sit there passively hoping he'll shut the fuck up.

Meat Grinder turns out to be a near miss. The acting is good, the cinematography better, but the narrative of the movie is completely screwed. For horror to be effective, the audience has to undergo a sensation of mounting tension. This movie, which starts with dated footage suggesting the past ala Martyrs, goes back and forth to the point of incoherence. The audience is never really sure where we are in the story, as the idea of crafting a linear plot is anathema to director/writer/editor/cinematographer Tiwa Moeithaisong. It's too bad, because he knows how to create great individual scenes and images, but the whole is a jumbled mess that fails all litmus tests for what makes a great horror film. Or even a good one. At least that's how I saw it from my Western perspective. Perhaps there is something different in Thai culture that makes all of this not only palpable, but acceptable. It's entirely possible. Who am I to judge? I thought The Grudge and it's Japanese original, Ju-on to be barely watchable crap.

The film ends on a note of incoherence, or at least ridiculousness, and my acquaintance remains seated to watch the credits. I bail, wait a few minutes outside to hear his opinion, but decide enough is enough. I make my past the bums bedding down for the night in the doorway of the now vacant Virigin Megastore as shoppers and the bridge and tunnel crowd walk by them and pretend they don't exist. Past the Ferrari store which never has a soul in it but has manged to be there since last year, thinking I'll give my own souls a lift and look at the kittens and puppies in the windows of Macy's but there are just too many damn people there. It's a mob. I walk past the restaurants which are all packed, the couples dressed up for a once-a-year night on the town, the groups of Guidos who somehow manage to take up the entire 10 foot-wide sidewalks and I make my way back home, wondering what the fuck I'm going to eat for dinner. The Paki place across the street from my apartment is packed and I peek in the window see many tables without any food on them. Not an option.


I enter my building, where there is party going on in the lobby, which the HOA rents out for people who want to have a party in an art deco palace. It's not a party I can crash, otherwise I might out of sheer ennui and the desire to get this Bickle-esque taste out of my mouth. In the lobby is a relatively new resident I know and she has a certain hunger in her eyes as she's talking to the doorman/guard. I know that hunger like I know the back of the my hand. She looks at me, and I wonder to myself how many other men who live in this building have felt that weight, the palpable desire, of that particular, distinct gaze. It's too close to home. The elevator opens, I punch the button for my floor. it opens and I stride down the quiet hall to my apartment- the last one on the left. Entering, I'm met with complete indifference by the other occupant- a cat. Now we are current, and the tourists and shoppers should be gone, it's almost 11pm, and now it's time to get something to eat. Ho ho ho.

Update on Sunday morning: The Femme called me this and complained about the darkness of this post. It's really meant to be tongue in cheek- I mean who else but a Travis Bickle type would really go see this kind of stuff during the holiday season? Have a nice day and don't forget to smile.

In Chicago

In Chicago with a Manhattan:


In the summertime, in Grant Park:

In the Moulin Rouge:

Included for Patrick:

In praise of a roomful of Richters in the Art Institute:

In Dreams

"tuned in to something I've been thinking a lot about lately -- the bridge between classical and contemporary music, and where one leads to another." - Renee Fleming

Hey Renee!

Over here, anytime you like. Just drop me note and I'll happily meet you anywhere. Want to see Shakira with me?

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/culturemonster/2010/06/opera-singer-renee-fleming-goes-pop.html

Photo by Andrew Eccles

March of the Invisible Siegfrieds Down Sunset Blvd

Concludes tomorrow- HORN at 7:29pm, DROP at 7:45pm

Details are here: http://invisiblesiegfrieds.org/

Even if you aren't fortunate enough to be in LA for this performance, you can still take part in it from anywhere in the world. It's going to be epic, I'm certain.

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!

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?

The best of 2009

This past year I saw over 70 different performances, most of which I wrote about, though some were so uninspiring they didn't even merit the time it would have taken to criticize them. However, a number of them were so terrific for one reason or another that I'll probably never forget them.

Listed below, in chronological order, are ten performances I attended this year that in my mind were the best:
LA Opera's Das Rheingold: Director Achim Freyer's first installment of Wagner's Ring cycle was nothing less than a revelation and it was easily the best opera I saw this year. In fact, it's probably one of the five best opera productions I've ever seen. This is opera for the 21st Century: bold, innovative and unafraid of risk, while keeping true to the spirit of Wagner's intentions. While Die Walkure and Siegfried didn't thrill me as much (probably because Rheingold is my favorite opera above all others), LAO's Ring is not to be missed. When they do the entire cycle this summer, the naysayers will surely have their comeuppance.

Anne-Sophie Mutter performing Gubaidulina's Violin Concerto No. 2: What can you say, one of the world's premier violinist's performing a challenging contemporary work dedicated to her. It was enthralling. The Ravel in the second half didn't quite measure up, but really, what could have?

Martha Argerich and Ligeti's Requiem at San Francisco Symphony: Thrilling in every sense of the word. Ligeti's Requiem had both the orchestra and the SFS chorus performing at their absolute peak in a haunting work that heard live is an unforgettable experience. Argerich actually showed up for once, and gave the audience a bravura performance of the Ravel concerto that was loaded with emotion and skill, meriting perhaps the longest ovation I've ever heard in that hall. You should have been there.

Leila Josefowicz and Esa-Pekka Salonen at LA Phil: Josefowicz is the most fascinating violinist on Earth. There is nothing she can't play to perfection and she constantly challenges herself. This concert, part of Salonen's swan song as he departed the LA Phil after one of the most influential and successful tenures ever in the history of American orchestras, was a primer on what classical music is and where it's going. Salonen's Violin Concerto, dedicated to Josefowicz, Ligeti's Clocks and Beethoven's 5th Symphony were flawlessly performed with gusto and meaning. Two artists that should not be missed when they hit your town.

Urban Opera's Dido and Aeneas: The little company that could, and did. This new company rising out of the ashes of San Francisco Lyric Opera, took everyone by surprise this summer by giving us something different, unique, and indigenous to the City. We can only hope for more from Chip Grant and the incredible team he put together for what was one of the most delightful surprises of the year. Come on, Urban Opera- do it again!

August: Osage County: Three hours of the most theatrical dysfunctional family values since Who's Afraid of Virgina Wolff? By turns uproariously funny and frightening. Estelle Parsons can come to a party at my house anytime- hopefully in character, because I love that kind of drama though I always feel bad the next morning. Tracy Letts' play lived up to the Tony hype and then some.

San Francisco Opera's Il Trovatore : For my money, Trovatore is 2nd rate Verdi, but when it's done like this there is nothing to complain about. Sondra Radvanovsky gave a star turn in a production that was perfect at every turn, bringing this tired warhorse to life in a way I thought couldn't be done. The rest of the all-star cast and the superb sets by Charles Edwards made the conservative era of SFO under Gockley more than palatable. If this is what the future looks like for SFO, so be it.

Paulina Rubio at the Fox Theater: Paulina in a great venue, up close and very personal touring in support of Gran City Pop- one of the year's most delighful records. Pure pop bliss.

San Francisco Opera's La Fille du Regiment: Diana Damrau and Juan Diego Florez made me realize I actually do like Donizetti, at least when he's done like this. The pair combined to deliver an evening of vocal beauty and comedic timing in one of the most perfect bel canto evenings I've ever experienced. It left me wanting more, more, more.

La Damnation de Faust at the Met: Robert Lepage's production is a thrilling spectacle. He and Freyer are taking opera in an entirely new direction. The singing on the night I went didn't quite measure up to the production values at hand, but if this is the future, I want to be seated up front. Give kudos to Peter Gelb and the Met for putting on an audacious and thrilling Faust. Lepage's upcoming Ring cycle, like LAO's, is not to be missed based on the sheer brilliance of invention and imagination on display here.

Other performances that gave these a run for their money:

SFO's Porgy and Bess
KISS's Alive 35
Nadja Michael in SFO's Salome
Nino Machaidze in LAO's Elixir of Love
Fela!
With appreciation to Deborah Voigt, a very gracious and talented singer:

And finally, to KD- who would have guessed this moment would lead to so many others...