Artistic Overdose

Reeper!

2008-12-19T15:49:00.001-07:00

Thanks for reading SFR's arts blog. We're excited to announce that we've moved over to SFReeper.com! Come check us out!

2008-11-22T11:39:00.002-07:00

Check out my interview with the wild and weird Shelley Hirsch on SFR's Web site, and then check out Hirsch herself Sunday night at the Santa Fe Complex.

It doesn't even matter

2008-11-14T13:31:00.002-07:00

It doesn't even matter if the new Bond movie Quantum of Solace sucks. The theater, which I'll be in at 7:30 will be packed. If I weren't sick I'd be super excited for Bond and crappy nachos, but since I am I may just have to sneak some tea into the theater.

JCVD

2008-11-06T10:52:00.001-07:00

There are no words. Just watch:

Castanets City of Refuge Review

2008-11-05T14:02:00.001-07:00

Castanets
City of Refuge
Asthmatic Kitty Records

The easiest words to describe Castanet’s fourth studio album, City of Refuge, are “sparse” and “atmospheric.” These are both apt but only skim the surface of what Ray Raposa set out to do when he recorded the album alone in a Nevada hotel room.
City of Refuge is a dark, introspective album that allows Raposa to expose himself through narrative, delicate guitar picking and metaphor. It is an album where its songwriter truly does take refuge, returning to the theme not only in the album title but as a two-part song. “Refuge 1” finds Raposa mid crisis, announcing his intention to “run to the city of refuge.” Near the end of the album, after he’s explored himself emotionally and musically, he breaks out traditional blues chords for “Refuge 2,” adds an echo to his voice and begs the “city to take back the whiskey, cocaine and the heavens.” The running didn’t pay off the way he expected it to, but something beautiful and personal happened there.
Though the album traces a personal struggle, it’s not without its tender moments. As with any re-evaluation of the world, the mood is not consistent. The gospel song “I’ll Fly Away,” which has been recorded by everyone from Alison Krauss and Gillian Welch, Johnny Cash and Kanye West, is a moment of false redemption within the search. It’s the moment that Raposa thought he was looking for, and it’s followed by the instrumental and Calexico (without the horns)-esqe “Hum”—a song of travel from the city that leads nowhere but right back to the beginning. In fact, no matter how many times Raposa tries to escape into refuge, and refuge itself, he’s left with only himself. Despite the attempt to either repress the pain or reach catharsis, City of Refuge, like life itself, never fully lets go. And in that constant search lies one of the most introspective and beautiful albums of Raposa’s career.

Stalking America

2008-11-04T12:37:00.003-07:00

Rob Paravonian loves him some America!

Now normally I don't find allusions to abusive relationships funny at all, but somehow Paravonian has managed to take the ideas of stalking and obession to a place where they're so over the top they actually work. "Whose your founding father bitch? She'd better say it's me."

Maybe what makes this so funny is that we're all so overprotective right now. Judging from the status updates on my friend's Facebook pages if McCain wins everyone I know, with the exception of the one soul brave enough to admit pride in his Republican vote, will have a complete and utter breakdown.

Maybe we are a little too obsessed with this election. So no more. Ignore it until tonight. Don't spend the day fretting about something that's out of your hands now, unless you haven't voted yet--in that case GET OFF THE INTERNET AND GO GET IN LINE.

2008-11-03T16:26:00.003-07:00

Books litter my office. They're on shelves above my desk, stacked in stolen postal service boxes under the table and overflowing from the tops of filing cabinets. Many of these books aren't of the kind I want to read but every once in awhile my snobbish intellectual side is treated to a Nobel Prize winner or a new translation of an old classic.

Today, that surprise waiting in my mailbox was a new translation of Kafka's Amerika: The Missing Person. I've got an old, beat up illustrated copy that I worked my way through years ago but, as is often the case with unfinished novels, there was something off about it. The new translation is based on a slightly different text than the version I read, and I'm looking forward to diving into this new edition to discover further the strange worlds that Kafka created, and which influenced so many of my favorite writers from around the world.

Droppin' Dollars

2008-11-03T12:34:00.004-07:00

In his beautifully written treatise on heroin, Junky, William Burroughs said, "Junkies have no interest in sex and they have no interest in other people except as suppliers of junk. They go around looking younger for a few days. Then they need more."

After throwing down a cool c-note yesterday on nine beautiful new pieces of vinyl I understand that sentiment. Buying music on records is, to me, like buying a painting. Except that at $10-$20 a pop I can afford to bring home several new pieces. Since I've been deep into this drone-y post rock thing as of late I cleaned the Candyman out of A Silver Mount Zion and Godspeed You! Black Emperor. It wasn't a direct response to my blog of a week ago in which I quoted an article about how women don't buy records by those types of bands, but it certainly didn't hurt to go against the notion.

I also hooked it up with The Raveonettes' Lust Lust Lust, an album I've had on my computer for some time and finally wanted to blast through the house. The duo sounds like The Jesus and Mary Chain would have if they'd been around when a '57 Chevy was new. I already knew the album, but when my friend behind the counter saw it and exclaimed, "YES!" I knew it would sound even better.

Also purchased was the new Castanets, City of Refuge--which I reviewed for this upcoming Wednesday and am madly in love with--an album by Jana Hunter--who helped Castanets but is amazing in her own right and something I've been meaning to pick up for awhile--Xiu Xiu's Fabulous Muscles and Explosions in the Sky's The Earth is Not a Cold Dead Place.

Burroughs is right. As soon as I left I didn't care about talking to my friend any longer. I simply wanted to sit in my room on the floor and listen to all of these albums. Hours worth of music, most of which I already know and love, but wanted to explore more deeply.

The idea of vinyl is silly to some. It's big, it's bulky and it's antiquated. But it sounds so nice and rich. MP3s really just don't cut it for the true music snob, such as myself. A few weeks ago I interviewed the band Pillars and Tongues who shared with me a great story of bassist Evan Hydzik picking up a copy of a Brian Eno album that he had on CD and his dad's old copy of vinyl. Hydzik threw them both across the room. The CD shattered, the record slid to a stop and Hydzik and fellow band member Mark Trecka put it on and listened to it. It's beautiful that a 20 something year old piece of plastic held up. Sure, records shatter and scratch, but they degrade so much more slowly and really are more sturdy. When the sound on a record atrophies it adds to the music, as it does on cassette tape, but on CD a scratch can be fatal. MP3s are given this weird benefit of the doubt that they'll last, but there's nothing to hold onto there. Album art in a program that no one looks at, the loss of liner notes, and if your hard drive goes down...goodbye music. Sure, it's easier to collect hundreds of files, which I certainly have, but it's not the same to scroll through a list as it is to sit uncomfortably on the floor and figure out what to listen to through a more tangible experience.

More Zombies

2008-11-01T09:31:00.001-06:00

Halloween Tunes

2008-10-30T11:14:00.003-06:00

Looking for some great music for Halloween? (I personally need a good soundtrack while putting on my costume).
Check out the latest from the ever-awesome DJ Rocque Ranaldi: a It's The Great Funkin' Charlie Brown!. For those of you, like me, who were sad when Indie went off the air (mostly because I've long loved listening to Rocque on the radio), you can still hear him and other programming on the Web at indiesf.com. And you can download the podcasts.

Shape Shifter

2008-10-27T12:22:00.002-06:00

Sad news for New Mexico book lovers as yesterday mystery writer Tony Hillerman passed away in Albuquerque. The 83-year-old author was loved in the Southwest, an area he dedicated both his fictional imagination and his non-fiction voice on. The author of dozens of books will be missed.

Know When to Hold 'em, Know When to Fold 'em.

2008-10-22T16:33:00.002-06:00

Hopefully Paper Toy'z will make a little paper Palin with lots and lots of paper clothes in the next few days. But in the meantime, when you're bored at work and looking to waste company paper and glue, build your own Obama. The site offers up a new design nearly every day and sometimes more than one. Sweet!

Men, Women and Music

2008-10-20T11:42:00.003-06:00

This morning in my inbox was a link from the Times Online about the differences between men's and women's musical lists. I was thinking about this just last night, as I attended a show at Albuquerque's The Stove (which needs to update its Web site. Hint, hint) by Santa Fe band The Late Severa Wires and Sunburned Hand of the Man (Sunburned plays tonight in Santa Fe at The Process, by the way 8 pm, no cover, 367 Hillside Ave.). The audience for these two psychedelic, post rock noise bands was, by far, primarily male. The members of each band was also a majority male, though Sunburned did have a female singer/sampler/electronic knob turner.

As I listened to the music I couldn't find much in the way of an answer as to why men and women listen to different music. Most of the stuff last night was more atmospheric than wordy and the angst that I felt coming from both bands seems to be a pretty common type of feeling. It's angry without being violent, dramatic without being tearful and calmly meditative despite the feedback and pounding drums. Basic, primal emotions, yet the men were by far more into it than the women.

And though the Times article points out that "you seldom see many women buying albums or attending gigs by instrumental “postrock” acts such as Tortoise or Godspeed You! Black Emperor" it's lists of "artists that women love and men hate" and "artists that men love and women hate" stick pretty squarely to the pop side of things. For the ladies it's James Blunt (wait, someone out there actually does like this? Um. Ugh.), Cat Stevens, Tori Amos and Early Genesis, while the boys get The Smiths, Led Zeppelin and Neil Young. I'd love to complain about the lists being unfair in some way but I think they're not too bad. Pop crap coupled with more pop crap, angst on both sides, etc. Two bands from each list for this girl, and a lot of shock that anyone digs the rest.

What I find most interesting about this idea though is not the idea that men and women listen to music differently, it's something that I discussed with a friend the other day. The way female creativity is accepted. (I would have loved to see where the writer felt that Sonic Youth fit on the list, a very "male" group with one of the most interesting women in rock on guitar.) Many male friends of mine who don't let their creativity out much but are of the "creative type" stereotype are automatically assumed to be creative and good at what they do. They say they write or play guitar and it's accepted, even if no one has seen the artwork. Women have to prove their skills in a different way, and even then what is seen is taken at face value and not expanded upon within the imagination. Why can a man paint and play guitar while a woman who does photography shocks everyone when she sings? Then there's the whole issue of dating. When we women date creative men our own creativity, no matter how successful we are, is outshone by the men in our lives, no matter how unsuccessful. The real issue isn't how do we process art differently, but how are we processed by art. Perhaps that's why women gravitate toward easy to digest music by men while sticking with complexity in their female musicians. We understand that complexity in ourselves, yet we deal with it so much in men we want our men simple, the way they're not in real life.

Rock Out with Your Barack Out

2008-10-17T12:05:00.001-06:00

Earlier in the week SFR reported that due to permit issues Rock for Barack may not happen. Rest assured young (and not so young) voters, the show indeed goes on. The Santa Fe Brewing Pub & Grill (27 Fire Place, 424-9637) quality control and music promotions staffer Jeff Williams confirmed this morning by e-mail that “it’s a go!”
The show takes over the Brew. Pub from 11 am-10 pm with a lineup that includes local rock band Kiss the Villain, Cuban street music performers Savor, R&B virtuoso Paul Rivers Bailey and others as well as touring funksters US Pipe (disclosure: US Pipe is lead by my very own big brother) and Jordinian oud player and percussionist Hani Naser.

Rock for Barack 11 am-10 pm Saturday, Oct. 18 $10-$15 Santa Fe Brewing Pub & Grill 27 Fire Place 505-424-9637

Ride for Dear Life

2008-10-15T17:02:00.003-06:00

Or at least for your health. Santa Fe's own Critical Mass meets tomorrow, Thursday Oct. 16 at 5:25 at the Plaza for a mass ride.

Sweet.

Best Week for Books!

2008-10-15T11:15:00.005-06:00

Just a few days ago a former New Mexico resident, Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, won himself the Nobel Prize in literature. This week the National Book Award finalists have just been announced and former Santa Fean and St. John's College student Salvatore Scibona has been nominated for his novel The End. Scibona was in Santa Fe just a few weeks ago to read from the book at his alma mater. According to his Web site Scibona began the book about 10 years ago in New Mexico, though the story is set in the 1950s in Ohio.

Scibona is in good company with Aleksandar Hemon, The Lazarus Project, Rachel Kushner, Telex from Cuba, Peter Matthiessen, Shadow Country and Marilynne Robinson, Home as his fellow finalists. The awards will be announced Nov. 19 in New York City.

Image of Scibona by Carlos Ferguson

Update: Unfortunately Scibona lost out to Matthiessen in the awards, but lets still congratulate our Johnnie and former New Mexican on his big nomination!

Obama Gets Into the Game

2008-10-14T14:40:00.000-06:00

This little tidbit from the Washington Post brings yet another interesting political advertising strategy to the forefront. The Obama campaign has purchased a billboard in the virtual Paradise City of racing game "Burnout Paradise." Apparently advertising isn't new to this game, which features so many billboards and product placements that it mirrors real life (unlike what I remember from the few times I played one of the "Grand Theft Auto" games where the ads are all for fictional products.

It makes sense for the candidates to go into realms of entertainment other than television, but it also kind of kills the escapist point of that entertainment. Don't most players want to race around on a virtual motorcycle or in a digital sports car to get away from things like the economy, politics and other stresses? On the one hand I'm impressed with the Obama campaign for jumping into the virtual world in order to reach young people, who, for the first time I can remember, actually care about the election, but on the other, I'm not sure branding our leisure time isn't at least partly to blame for some of the economic issues we're facing.

Zane's World

2008-10-09T12:52:00.003-06:00

Zane Fischer, SFR's web editor, columnist and art critic, is profiled today by The Association of Alternative Newsweeklies, in its How I Got That Storyseries. AAN is profiling first-place winners from its annual contest. Zane won first place for column writing in our circulation category (under 50,000). SFR won a total of seven awards in the competition, including awards in arts criticism for Emiliano Garcia Sarnoff, editorial layout for Larry Kohr, honorable mention for our now-defunct Bill Richardson blog, and several awards for Angela Moore in cover design and illustration.

Albuquerque Ties

2008-10-09T08:33:00.001-06:00

Jean-Marie Gustave Le Clézio, this year's Nobel Prize winner for literature, has ties to Albuquerque. Sweet!

Mark Your Calendars!!!

2008-09-26T11:41:00.000-06:00

Oh Jesus

2008-09-19T12:59:00.010-06:00

Revive Santa Fe, a seven day long prayer fest that includes evangelical services and music, has been causing a little controversy around town because of a line on its Web site that states part of the problem in the world is the "Homosexual Explosion." The site goes on to say that, "Enough is enough. The comparisons of Sodom and Gomorrah to the United States are, unfortunately, accurate. We must stop affirming the homosexual lifestyle as an accepted behavior within society."

Not surprisingly this wordage that ruffled a few petticoats in the community (gay and straight) and an e-mail was forwarded by a few upset folks to a variety of people, including, apparently, to the Mayor who, along with guitarist Ramon Bermudez, canceled his appearance to speak at the event.

Last night, a small group set up shop in front of the conference to demonstrate their own idea of love. The group, led by local performer Wenda Watch (Darron Dunbar), led a peaceful protest and invited SFR to come along and record the conversation.

Wenda gets invited in.

Pastor Doug Brown is the main speaker in this video. Check out 1 minute and 5 seconds into video two. What was he about say?

It's A Sexist, Sexist World

2008-09-19T12:59:00.007-06:00

I finally got around to watching the DVDs of Mad Men (not having a TV means that it takes me a little longer to get to this stuff than other people) and I'm kind of shocked at the awards and press that the show has gotten.

I like the stylized sets and clothes but I feel like the whole show is based around over dramatizing a sexism that used to exist. A few of the lines in there, such as "don't be afraid of the technology honey, the men who made this made it easy enough for a woman to use" don't fit when spoken by a secretary to another woman who has just graduated from secretary school--just the kind of place I'd imagine they taught women to use typewriters. It's also sexist against the men who have nothing better to do than degrade the women and try to sleep with them. It seems like even their work is done solely to get under the skirts of women (who won't understand what it is the men are doing anyway). In fact, it may be more sexist toward the men, because the men have no depth, whereas the women are the (somewhat) complex characters.

Granted, I've only watched two episodes, but I've had enough. So if anyone feels differently let me know why, because I just don't get it.

Rockin Zozobra

2008-09-11T11:55:00.001-06:00

In case you missed last week's awesome Zozobra, here's a little footage I shot (and Andy Primm edited) of musicians Primm & Mikey Baker rockin The Star Spangled Banner, right before Zozobra went up in flames.

The Wild Web of Music

2008-09-09T16:49:00.002-06:00

After posting last week about Pandora it seemed that every third person I know started randomly asking me if I'd used it. Serendipity to be sure.

So I went out looking on the webs to see if something else was better. Bouncing around blogs looking for recommendations I found a few references on the blog of a friend of mine to Last.fm, I figured, after all the Pandrama I'd better give something else a shot. Way better! This guy looked through my iTunes--okay that part is a little creepy--and saw that I have a mess of music in there. It pulled out the last thing I'd been listening to, Brightblack Morning Light, and for some three hours gave me happy music that I know and like but needed to know more about. Pandora felt like it was just giving me rip offs of music that sounded like each other--which I guess it is--but somehow Last knows that Darker My Love isn't some Panic at the Disco emo band like I thought they were, but something that I should hear. I may not love it, but I like it. Six Organs of Admittance though, never heard of you, love you, marry me! And Akron/Family, Castanets, Panda Bear, A Silver Mt. Zion and on and on, this is what I wanted.

It's like I have my very own personal DJ. Yay. My bitterness shall leave, at least until tomorrow.

Pandora's Box Of Crappy Music

2008-08-26T15:35:00.005-06:00

I've tried to like Pandora. I like the idea behind it. I get to plug in music that I like and it comes back with music I haven't heard yet that I also like. I discover new music, I buy more music, we all win. Except that what generally happens is that I discover that I like the music I already knew I liked and when I find something that's so god-awful that I rush to open my browser and skip to the next song I find something that I already knew I didn't like. Belle and Sebastian, don't like 'em when I know it's them, don't like 'em when I have no idea what's assaulting my ears. The same goes for The Decemberists and Devandra Banhart (but Pandora keeps trying. Maybe if we play it for the 6th time today she'll like this one. No. I don't. Stop it.). But that song I really like, yeah, it's Animal Collective, thanks for suggesting that one Pandora, I believe it was me who told you that I like that band. I knew what I was talking about when I typed it in.

Anyway, a few days ago I started running across news articles and blog posts, like this one, where music lovers are a little panicked about the possible demise of Pandora. Well let me be the first one to say good riddance. A million users a day could very well be wrong. Need proof? Turn on the radio. That's not good stuff there.

Everything Pandora suggests to me, good or not, I most likely already knew about, not from music being handed to me (I know that's probably the perception being that I'm over here at the alt.weekly and all, but like ain't that easy my friends) but from my own diligent hanging out at the Candyman listening to stuff, talking to my friends about it, scouring myspace, etc. In other words, research. I don't need anyone to tell me I might like Massive Attack, I should already know that.

Indian Market Infidelities

2008-08-25T13:15:00.003-06:00

Dear Santa Fe,

I know we have an open relationship. I'm allowed to visit other cities and you're allowed to invite people over, but I feel like you're holding out on me.

I saw them this weekend. Your visitors. They parked on my street, disregarding the "Residential Permit Required" signs. They won't pay those tickets, they had California plates, and really, who is going to go after them? A few of them even asked me for directions. And that's okay, but there were so many. Old Santa Fe Trail was backed up as far as the eye could see, there was no parking in South Capitol and do I have to tell you about the traffic on Guadalupe? I almost got run over on my bike. They were everywhere Santa Fe, swarming your streets, taking you away from me. They wanted your jewelry, your coffee and your meals.

They came from France, New York City, Texas, Oklahoma and from God knows where else. I know we said it's okay, but must you throw this orgy in my face? Can't you leave one or two places untouched, places that are just ours? They made it all the way down Cerrillos and over to St. Michael's.

But what really bothers me, Santa Fe, is the way you cast them all aside. This morning, as I pedaled through your Plaza there was hardly any sign of the bacchanalian you hosted. All the vendor booths and the food carts were gone. A few "special event" signs and a sandbag or two was all that remained. Subtle, but as telling as the lipstick left on a husband's collar.

Yours,

round and round

2008-08-20T15:13:00.003-06:00

Recently my roommate discovered the TV show The Long Way Round, which follows Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman as they ride two BMW motorcycles from London to New York. So far I've only watched three episodes, and since the show was filmed in 2004 I know they survived, but I'm totally hooked. Episode three follows them off of the cushy European roads and into Kazakhstan. Not only is the landscape gorgeous and the people really welcoming the adventure of what the two are doing really starts to sink in for them, and for viewers. On a map going from London to New York is daunting, but when it comes down to it each and every country is enormous, and anyone who has ever ridden a motorcycle a short distance knows that doing so day in and day out for months on end is going to be a totally different experience.

I can't wait for the rest of the season to arrive in the mail!

Brushes with musical idols (and stray body hair)

2008-08-17T14:35:00.007-06:00

A couple blasts from my music critic past came to mind last week: Taj Mahal and Jerry Wexler. Taj played a phenomenal show at the Santa Fe Brewing Company on Aug. 13, showcasing 40 years of talent that is unlikely to be replicated, at least any time soon. Taj plays country. He also plays the blues. He's also recorded reggae albums (see Happy to Be Just Like I Am) Indian (Mumtaz Mahal) and west African records (Kulanjan, whereon he collaborated with Toumani Diabate), though his style is so varied that you just about have to name a genre after him. "Taj music." That's about the only way to describe what the man does. And nobody else does it quite as well.

The Brewing Company's outdoor arena was packed with folks who came to hear Taj music. He didn't disappoint, ripping through classics ("Queen Bee," "Fishin' Blues") that got hundreds of asses shaking.

Taj was one of the first musicians I ever interviewed in my journalism career. It was some time in late 2003. I had listened to him since I was barely in my teens, though at the time I hid that fact from my friends like other kids hid dirty magazines from their parents. At the arguable height of grunge music -- circa '94 -- Taj wasn't cool. (What was cool? Alice in Chains, another dear, dear favorite. But anyway.)

The interview went well. Abnormally well. Taj talked for over an hour -- I'm not sure if I even asked a question -- and I eventually had to get off the phone with him. Jesus that man goes on and on. He talked a lot about how he wants his music to be a catalyst for people to make positive changes in their lives. Which, idealistic as that may sound, is easy to believe in, coming from Taj.

We met in person a few weeks later at a concert. Taj was a big guy, gregarious and smiling constantly. I think I also liked him because he looked a little like my dad. Except he's black.

Trivia: according to YouTube, Jenna Bush danced to Taj Mahal's "Lovin' in My Baby's Eyes" at her wedding.

According to me, the videos below are awesome.

The first one features Taj in 1968, performing at the Rock and Roll Circus, a concert documentary that showcased the Rolling Stones and some other legendary rock groups. Taj was kind of eclipsed by the other performers on the bill (the Stones, The Who, John Lennon), but he was hardly outperformed. One thing I maybe should have asked Taj: why was he dressed like an extra from a John Wayne movie in this video?

... and what's with the Huck Finn getup in this vid?

Taj obviously raided Fela Kuti's closet for this performance.

My other brush with fame was far less triumphant. I met Jerry Wexler in a video store in Florida, where we both lived in 2005. Wexler died last week of heart failure, thus ending a very fat chapter of pop music history. He signed Led Zeppelin to Atlantic Records. He produced Ray Charles, Aretha Franklin and Bob Dylan. Forgive the hyperbole, but the man's influence is immeasurable.

Unfortunately, and perhaps embarrassingly, none of that came up in our very brief meeting. Terry Porter, a mutual acquaintance of ours who runs Video Renaissance, introduced us. I could not stop staring at Wexler's nose hair. It was prolific and white and all I could think was: it must have been an impediment to breathing.

In last week's Sarasota Herald-Tribune, Wexler's son said he was having inscribed on Jerry's tombstone, "He changed the world." I prefer what Wexler himself said, when asked in 2000 what he would like his epitaph to read. "Two words: more bass."

the apple miner colony at the humble

2008-07-25T23:26:00.002-06:00

A few shots from The Apple Miner Colony show at The Humble tonight.

Growing Pains

2008-07-14T10:34:00.002-06:00

Sunday night saw the second High Mayhem sponsored show at Warehouse 21. Formerly housed in a rented out house High Mayhem doesn't fit within the graffitied, yet institutional walls of Warehouse 21. That's not to knock either organization. Each has its own place and agenda. It's great to see a little mixing here and there, the teenage scene coming to check out the older one and vice versa but having the two groups sit and stare at one another isn't doing much in the way of community building. Little cliques of teenagers and adults stood around in circles of no more than five, talking to each other and about the other groups. There is nowhere for the whole to gather, to be close enough to overhear each others conversations and easily join in.

The outside of the Warehouse building is linear. A small patio where people can sit lined up on a wall or standing in a small circle. Down the side of the building, to the back parking lot is another long wall and an outside hallway-like walkway.

Inside the situation is much the same. It's a boxy, contemporary building with a lot of open space and flow from one floor to the other, but when the top floor has been closed off it creates three rectangular rooms that are cut off by either doors or a large table, and again there's nowhere for a large group of people to sit.

The concert hall is quite large, great for a big packed house or a dance party, but for an intimate show it's too big and too dark. You can't see your friends when they wave at you and the invisible two feet barrier from the low stage kills the intimacy of a small show.

For a group such as High Mayhem, which is used to a community bonfire and a family feel, the institutionalized seafoam green exterior and concrete/neon paint of Warehouse 21 may bring some young music lovers to the audience, but at the cost of the underground, do it yourself, no rules atmosphere, it may not be worth it.

Almatross and Gnossurrus at Evangelo's

2008-06-13T10:54:00.002-06:00

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words so a video must be worth 1,000,000.

Here are 3,000,000 from Almatross and Gnossurrus, who brought out a small but enthusiastic crowd at Evangelo's on a cool Thursday night.

Can You Feel the Beat?

2008-06-13T10:21:00.002-06:00

Sometimes you go to a performance (whether it be music, dance, a play, etc.) and in leaving you think to yourself, "oh, that was nice." You are generally satisfied and consider your money well-spent. It's a good night, you get coffee afterwards, you tell people you had a good time. you go home, watch the news, and fall asleep.

And sometimes you go to a performance and you leave without being able to say a single thing, but you can't stop talking because it was so amazing that the words are just falling out of your mouth, but how could words (measly, pitiful words!) ever do it justice? Coming out of that concert hall/theatre/arena, you are transformed. Nothing will ever be the same. It's like you just crawled out of a rabbit hole and took a look around and Holy Shit! There's sunlight and the grass is so green and you can't even think about drinking coffee because how could you ever need coffee again after that? On nights like these, the news doesn't matter. You can't sleep.

That's how I feel every time I see a Moving People Dance Santa Fe performance. This weekend, they'll be shakin' it at the Lensic as a part of their 4th Annual Santa Fe Dance Festival. I'm going tomorrow night; my whole family goes each year. This is MPDSF's only performance comprised exclusively of professional dancers (and some very disciplined apprentices). Here is where MPDSF rips open the rib cage of its repertoire to expose itself to the city of Santa Fe, throwing out new choreography and premiering its most engaging solos. It's combination of ballet, modern, jazz, indigenous, and cultural dance is unique and expansive. The talent and dedication of the dancers is obvious, but MPDSF's power moves beyond that. The movement of MPDSF communicates on a deeper level than pretty leaps and impressive acrobatics. It crafts messages for its audiences that can't be communicated through any other form.

In short, they are quite good. With the risk of sounding pushy, I suggest you go.

(Emily Pepin)

Stalking the Roots

2008-06-09T20:40:00.002-06:00

OK, I'm not really stalking The Roots, but I have seen them three times in the last month or so and I'm going to catch them this Sunday, June 15 at the Kiva in Albuquerque. That show is going to be the cap in the feather of my Roots tour, because it is with Erykah Badu and is rumored to be an amazing show.
But first, Philly.
So when I saw The Roots in St. Louis last month, they played at Webster, for a college crowd, and really pushed the new album, and played a little hip hop montage and all that. I already knew I was going to see them in Philly at the Roots picnic, but they added a pre-show the night before at The Theater for the Living Arts (TLA), which was my favorite theater when I was growing up. By the time I landed in Philly, the Philadelphia City Paper had hooked me up and I had tickets to both shows.
The Roots didn't take the stage at the TLA until well after 1 am, but in the meantime, QuestLove had put together more than half a dozen other acts to open, each one better than the next. SantoGold, who a lot of folks had come to see (she had to cancel playing the Roots picnic, which, I gather, was the reason they added the pre-show) was phenomonal, basically combusting on stage with fantastic energy and a voice like a knife. Janelle Monae also was a huge hit; her voice is so profoundly beautiful, I kind of started thinking The Roots were going to have trouble topping the night after she performed. Of course, they did not. The TLA is such a small venue (800 seats, maybe), that they really dug into their roots (sorry), and it was a much more freeform and jazzy show than they had put on at Webster.
The vibe was completely different the next night at Penn's Landing, but I swear to God when Blackthought was rapping on Seed 2.0, it seemed just mind-boggling that anyone human could spit out lyrics so fast and so precise and so down. They were followed by Gnarls Barkley (I thought it was kind of odd and had expected The Roots would play last, although Quest came out and ended the show with Cee-Lo singing). Barkley was beyond incredible. And I had to think, the whole time, that as long as The Roots, and Erkyah Badu and Talib Kweli and Kanye West are all still out there, hip hip is not dead, and I don't care what anyone says. There may be lots of crap out there, but the really good artists are so good, they just drown it all out. And, one more show to go. Again, The Kiva, Sunday night, The Roots and Erkyah Badu. Yes, you will see me there.

24 hours of ringing

2008-06-07T19:57:00.003-06:00

Perhaps, as a friend suggested on my facebook page, I am getting old. Or at least old enough to need to invest in a pair of ear plugs. Last night at the Santa Fe Brewing Company the Detroit Cobras and X blasted through a 2-1/2 hour punk rock set that may have been the concert of the year. The crowd was wild, the band dead on and the old school punkers out in full force.

I knew the audience would be dead on as a group of friends and I, mostly dressed in the requisite black t-shirts, took stock of the retro punk band attire that the mostly 40+ crowd rocked. Residents, X-Ray Specs, etc. These were people who knew where they were. There was even a woman sporting a torn up 1982 X tour t.

Everyone waited with anticipation and the second the Cobras took the stage the crowd huddled in close for a listen. The altitude got to the band a bit and they staved off the lack of oxygen by passing around an inhaler--an activity that I thought never left the halls of junior high schools. Once they got their steroid kick they were on it. Such a fun band and an amazing amount of energy. They didn't want to stop their set but had to because of the 10 pm curfew.

I was pretty close to the stage during the Cobras and was pretty sure that I'd better go grab a beer before the changeover. Yeah, right. There were three lines for brew and each of them had a line some 30 people long. So I ditched that idea quickly and headed back to my spot. The little jaunt to the back also showed that tons of people were piling in and my place 3 rows from the stage was going to be a coveted one.

During the quick changeover some familiar faces from the local music scene started popping up all over the place. Bill Palmer from Hundred Year Flood was a few rows back and Sean O'Neal from the Late Severa Wires showed up in a fantastic Siouxie shirt. I was a little surprised when KBAC DJ Honey Harris disappeared though. She'd been grinning like the Chesire Cat throughout the Cobra's set and seemed pumped for the show. But it was Harris herself who got the chance to introduce the band and if she's had a smile before I don't know what to call the enthusiasm that had washed over her face for the intro.

Once X took the stage the crowd burst forward and my ear drums began to take a beating. The sound wasn't perfect, with vocals going in and out, but right up front it didn't really matter. Of the four members, Billy Zoom was definitely the most fun/creepy to watch. His face was set in a robotic "take my picture" pose while his hands threw out a series of complicated chords. Zoom certainly also had a thing for the ladies in the crowd, making direct eye contact and offering them to touch his guitar. It would have been way better from the back because both times he thrust the neck into my face and smiled like an overly Botox-ed Stepford Wife I was totally creeped out. Not hot Billy, not hot.

When the mosh pit broke out I used the pushing to my advantage to secure a spot a little closer to the center and front of the stage. My main advice for mosh pit movement is to use passive resistance. An "Oh my God I totally just got pushed/deer in the headlights" look helps too. Act like you didn't mean to move over a step and no one in front of you pushes you back. Works every time and soon I was second row and center. Which meant two things: No more looks from creepy face and distance from the speakers. There was a very small, probably 10-year-old boy with his dad to the left of me and I tried hard to make sure the kid was safe and having fun. By the look on his face I was guessing this was his first concert, which is awesome. He looked awestruck most of the time and just stared at the musicians. Once the pit got a bit more intense he smiled as he was jammed against bodies but realized he was completely safe. Eventually I was pushed all the way to the front and spent the end of the concert trying not to end up sprawled across the stage. I've got to give the security guys credit for keeping such a close eye on everything and immediately pulling out anyone who was having a problem.

I don't know X's music very well and don't spend the time that I used to listening to punk. I remember friends touting the band back in the day and I know I had a tape at some point, but we were more into the Operation Ivy wave of punk at that time. These guys were already legends by then, and as high schoolers often aren't, we weren't too interested in history. I wish I knew their songs better, but it really didn't matter. This wasn't a sing-along kind of show anyway. It was watching a band that has more than 30 years of musicianship under their belts, know their instruments in and out and have the energy of teenagers.

When 10 pm came they announced that they'd have to stop playing soon, that there had already been a few complaints about the noise, and quickly launched into another song. No one wanted to stop. The band looked like it could have played for another hour, at least, and the audience would have gladly screamed through the set, no matter how long it went on. In the end it's probably good. If they had kept going I probably wouldn't be able to hear my neighbors on their porch right now and I can barely hear the cars driving down the busy street that's only a block away.

Mark Your Calendars

2008-06-03T15:36:00.000-06:00

Special Comment for Countdown: In Defense of "Comic Book Guys"

2008-05-22T11:53:00.005-06:00

Mr. Olbermann, on Wednesday night's Countdown, in finishing off your "World's Worst" segment you set out to discredit your critics, Fox News's Hugh Hewitt and White House counselor Ed Gillespie, who referred to you as a "sports guy," by dismissing them as "comic book guys."

Citing idle dialogue between the two conservatives about Bizarro Superman comic books in the late 1950s, under the pretense of self-defense, you suggested in no uncertainty that somehow a love of comic books is an indicator of inferiority, of ignorance:

"I'm getting called out by a comic book guy!" you exclaimed. "NBC's getting called out by two comic book guys! Hugh 'Oooh-the-new-Betty-and-Veronica-comes-out-next-Tuesday' Hewitt, the worst person in the world."

Run the clip:
frameborder="0" scrolling="no"&amp;gt;Sir, with all due respect, you are one of the great anchors of news history. From the very moment of your first "Special Comment" in August 2006, you made history. You stood up, changed the course that so many would like us to "stay," and you've been on fire ever since, with your biting wit, your alliterated eloquence, your skits and sketches to prod the absurdity of politics.

Do not be mistaken: you're not perfect by far. Your leading questions meander far too long; your history asides are evenly split between being confusing in their seeming irrelevance and being poetic in their utter aptness.

Let us look at the Bizarro Superman Comics for which you hold such disdain:

The series' writer Otto Binder began his publishing career with a short story in a 1930 issue of Amazing Stories, with his brother Earl, under the pen name Eando Binder. E and O: Earl and Otto. Binder went on to edit Space World magazine, a magazine about the space race. He was editor when Alan B. Shepard Jr. became the first American in space. He was editor when President John F. Kennedy promised America that we would put a man on the moon. He was inducted into the Comic Book Hall of Fame in 2004.

Less is known about Bizarro Superman artist George Papp, one of the genre's earliest comic book artists, except for this: He only left the profession twice, first to fight in World War II and second, when DC fired him after he stood beside his fellow illustrators and demanded health benefits.

Your comments were not only an insult to Binder and Papp, but to all comic book artists and their fans. It was an insult to both Tom Tomorrow, the only commentator to nail Fox News as hard as you, week to week to week, and to Art Spiegelman, who wrote one of the most intimate, inspiring and innovative examinations of the Holocaust and was one of the first artists to breach the topic of the cultural significance of fall of the World Trade Center.

How dare you, sir? You, a scholar of history, can't recognize the importance of the graphic art form, from the imperial manga of Meiji-era Japan to the treatment of the Bosnian conflict in Joe Sacco's Safe Area Gorazde.

Is R. Crumb not as prolific a figure as O. Henry?

Who is more beloved in American culture, Stan Lee's Batman or Orson Welles' Othello?

Who rebelled harder against censorship than the authors, artists and publishers who distributed the so-called "Tijuana Bibles" in the 1920s, layering farce and obscenity on celebrity and politics through pornography?

Perhaps, sir, you've never heard of the Eisner Awards or the IGN Awards or even noticed that Watchmen, Alan Moore's postmodern treatment of the superhero genre, made Time magazine's list of the 100 greatest novels of all time. But, if you do not recognize comics as a legitimate art form, surely you must agree that film is indeed a valued medium for expression and cultural criticism. In that case, you have failed to note that comic books have provided the inspiration for many of the greatest examples of cinematic expression over the last decade, in part because the cell-by-cell form provides a blueprint for filmmaking that puts Alfred Hitchcock's storyboards to shame.

Here is a brief list:

Persepolis, winner of the Jury Prize at Cannes. Based on a graphic novel by Marjane Satrapi.

Road to Perdition, winner of a BAFTA Film Award and an Oscar for Best Cinematography. Based on a comic book by Max Collins.

Ghost World, winner of PEN Center USA West Literary Award and the Sundance Grand Jury Prize. (Director Terry Zwigoff also won 12 other awards for his documentary on comic book legend R. Crumb).

Sin City, nominated for Cannes Palm d'Or prize. Based on a comic series by Frank Miller.

American Splendor, winner of the Sundance Grand Jury Prize at Sundance Film Festival. Based on a comic series by Harvey Pekar.

And in the next few years, moviegoers will also benefit from monumental efforts by director Zack Snyder to adapt Watchmen and from Alexandre Aja to adapt Charles Burns' Black Hole.

You, sir, advertise your own ignorance and hypocrisy with your remarks. As charming as your historical asides may be, they are nothing less than nerdy. You, sir, are a history geek. There is nothing wrong with this. An obsession with history is just as frivolous as an obsession with comics. But an interest in comics is also as valid as an interest in history to understanding the world.

And today, there is no conclusion to make other than you are not only as misguided and misinformed about comic books as John McCain is about the difference between Iran's President and Iran's Supreme Leader. One could hardly argue that Sid Jacobson and Ernie Colon's graphic adaptation of The 9/11 Commission Report was light reading.

You do not owe us "comic book guys" an apology. You owe us a thank you for our commitment to free expression and you owe me a thank you for the history lesson, geek.

Crossposted at Swing State of Mind

Killing Spree!

2008-05-07T15:46:00.002-06:00

OK, so if we came up with a list of things that I do on a normal weekend it would include things like:
1. Eating breakfast at a French restaurant.
2. Reading the Sunday New York Times online (usually on Saturday)
3. Starting/finishing a book by some foreign author (usually Japanese), often dead.
4. Buying more used books.
5. Going to the fabric store/sewing.

Things that a normal weekend doesn't include:
1. Playing video games.

Sure, that list could go on and on. But let's stop there for a moment. In college, at various times, there were both a PS2 and an N64 at my house. On the PS2 my game was very similar to the mulit-player part of the James Bond games where a person wandered around trying to shoot their friends. Only the characters were teddy bears. On the N64 I played, of course, Bond. I sucked at both. A few times I tried my hand at Gran Turismo. I was good at one thing in all of these games, dying rather quickly.

My point is that I am in no way qualified to discuss the merits or the difficulty of any video game. I sucked at Mario back in the day and Pac-Man. Forget it.

However, when I found myself in front of an HDTV that probably cost about as much as I paid for my first car with a controller right there and the new GTA on the X-Box I thought, what the hell. And wow! My five minute killing spree was a blast. OK, five minutes is pushing it. First I stole a helicopter (thanks to the cheats and a friend giving them to me), flew that around for awhile and the crashed it into the ocean. Swam for shore and the capping began. (I also had a great stockpile of weapons thanks to those cheats that were mentioned above.) Yeah. Despite being a big, squirmy mess when it comes to killing on a movie, doing on the video game was fun. When the fuzz started to show up I pulled out the grenades. Bad idea. Or at least, throwing them and then running directly in that direction was a bad idea. Yup, I'm so bad at video games I went out in an unintentional suicide bombing.

So the low down: The graphics are amazing! Killing people (including oneself) is easy and I'm sure my feminist sensibilities would be hugely offended had I gotten to the point in the game where the ho's begin to show up, but since I didn't, I can say I loved it. And I'll probably never play it again.

Yeah GTA4.

Oh, and, yes, I really, really wanted to ram my car into someone on the way home. No, the game probably isn't a great idea, but it is a lot of fun.

Time Machine

2008-04-28T19:26:00.005-06:00

If MySpace or Facebook had existed 10 years ago I would, without a doubt, had Portishead as one my favorite bands. So today, when I got my grubby impatient hands, on the new P album, Third, it was like the 10 long year's I'd waited hadn't existed.

Sure, a lot of bands that warmed my teenage, high school heart aren't so great these days. And there's always the fear of being that aging hipster who is still so enamoured with the good old days that it's easy to get lost in nostalgia.

There was nostalgia for a few minutes. Thoughts of the old t-shirt that was tossed out in a post-college clearing out. Of driving around past curfew with friends that have long since disappeared. But then I thought of the Smashing Pumpkins--another love back in the day. When the Pumpkins--well Billy Corgan--put out an album last year I listened to it. Once. And I never thought of it again.

Third is different. It picks up where the band left off, but doesn't imitate what made them so good the first time around. The instruments are clearer and deeper, whereas in the past they rang out with pain. Now they simply moan with it. Singer Beth Gibbons' voice stronger and more assured. The cigarettes she smoked during the taping of the live album so many years ago aging and deepening her vocal chords to new levels of emotional sexiness.

But what of a band that helped spawn a genre--trip-hop--and remained, really, only one of two popular, and good, bands of that genre. How do they go back to what they've been doing and reinvent it without bringing back the 1990's that we're all better leaving behind--well, all of us but the record industry.

First: Speed things up. Throw in some beats that are a hell of a lot faster than anything you've done before.
Second: Start the album out with some Spanish alongside the signature James Bond-groove and bust out a killer dance track for what's just about a full song length before letting your singer break in. (This should detract anyone from saying that it's Gibbons alone that makes this sound like Portishead. It sounds like them--just really fast. And the Spanish is the only indication that the vinyl is a 45, not a 33.)
Three: Cowbell, '90s Portishead probably wouldn't have used it, or would at least have distorted it so much that no one would know what it is.
Four: Toss in a cheerful little doo-wop ditty. It'll confuse the hell out of everyone.
Five: End a track abruptly in the middle of a groove that has bodies moving and go immediately into a guitar-driven whisper-like dream.

Somehow these subtle changes help cheer up the sound of the most gloom-poppy band on the planet, but not enough that they're going to be skipping through fields of daisies anytime soon.

Yes, the nostalgia is there, but the decade long wait has been so long that all expectations, at this point, are a distant memory and the album stands on its own as a much needed touch of class to an indie scene that's trying just to damn hard to be this complex, this all over the map and, frankly, this simple.

Ground Control to Major West

2008-04-28T12:17:00.004-06:00

I reached a few conclusions after the Kanye West Glow in the Dark show at Journal Pavillion Saturday (April 26) show:

1. Kanye West may not be the "greatest star in the universe" as hyped during the show, but he comes close.
2. The end of April is too cold for an outdoor show (and I've got the cold induced by freezing for five hours to prove it).
3. There is way too much alcohol for sale at the Pavillion.

First off, I don't want to neglect mentioning that openers Lupe Fiasco and N.E.R.D. were phenomenal. Interestingly, although Fiasco went first, he was, clearly, much better known to the crowd than N.E.R.D. and got lots of back-up vocalizing from the way hyped crowd as he ticked off Hip Hop Saved My Life and Superstar. N.E.R.D. also was a crowd-pleaser, particularly when Pharrell Williams brought up a very authentic-looking group of ABQ-area ladies for a song whose lyrics seemed to consist of, mostly: "I want to fuck tonight/I feel horny." (Although he did bleep out the F-word, so maybe I just have a dirty mind. Not). I was particularly happy to hear Rock Star, a song I can no longer play in the car because I have gotten two speeding tickets from playing it while driving. It just kind of makes you want to lean on the gas.
But folks were there for Kanye and he delivered. Unlike many rappers who sound like ass outside the studio, West was high energy and his rapping was flawless. The theme to the show was, um, Kanye alone in the universe. His spaceship has become lost in space and he can only communicate with its computer (named "Jane"). I'm sure I'm not the only person who was thinking, wow, how David Bowie is that? Or, well, maybe I was, given that the average age at the show was about 20 and the average blood-alcohol level about four times the legal limit. Still, the technical aspects of the production made it an out-of-the-ordinary experience for a hip-hop show and if it had a little bit of a geek-meets-megalamania flavor to, so be it. Kanye's sing-along version of Good Life was particularly intense and brought the house down. Gold Digger also was a great one, and worth noting that West bleeped out the N word while singing. But not the F word on other occasions. I should have some theory for the selective self-censorship, but I don't.

2. It was freaking freezing outside, which was good for sales of Fiasco's hoodies, but not so good for those of us not in the mood to chalk over many bills to keep from catching pneumonia. Achew. I can't begin to imagine how the many girls wearing almost no clothing managed to survive. Unless, somehow, drinking a lot keeps one from feeling the cold.

3. Speaking of which, before the show even began, I witnessed young-looking girls throwing up in the bathroom and banging, drunkenly, into one another everywhere I looked. It's beyond me how the Pavillion can sell SO MUCH booze at a venue that you've got to drive in and out of. I mean Jaeger Meister shots? Also, one can drink anywhere (there are no designated drinking areas so popular at Santa Fe events), so any kind of control over minors having access to liquor is zilch, from what I could tell. I hate to sound super old or super Santa Feish, but the whole thing seemed like a DWI waiting to happen. Also, a coffee stand wouldn't be the worst idea in the world.

At any rate, I'm glad I went!

Seconds of Cinema

2008-04-22T13:21:00.003-06:00

180 seconds sounds like a decent amount of time to tell a story. Certainly that's longer than even the longest of jokes. But three minutes, ouch, that's quick. So call it 180 seconds or call it three minutes, whatever you call it people get creative with a small amount of time.

Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff and I had the opportunity to be judges for the Santa Fe Reporter Three Minute Film Festival, which debuted at The Screen last Friday night at a big awards ceremony/party.

But the question everyone has been asking: Who won?

Before I answer that, I've got to give props to all the filmmakers. Movies came in from all over the world and they were great. Some were glorified you tube videos--and they were hilarious--and some were super arty student films. It was a pleasure to watch them, short and sweet and with a lot of thought and love. Damn there are some creative brains out there.

And the winners are:
Best Performance: Meow Wolf for Mega City
Best Comedy: Seth Cohen for One Man Two Cars
Best Animation: Boundary of Moab by Aaron Barreras
Jury Award: Potage de ma Mere by Leonard E. Hoffman
Audience Award: Sole Soul Sol by Benjamin R. Nathan
Best Film: Things She Would Tell Me by Miryam Welbourne

Yeah! And before anyone else asks, no, I don't know who from Meow Wolf's Mega City got the group the best performance nod, Meow Wolf is a collaborative effort so they all did. And their cardboard city was awesome!

So there you go, this is movie making people. Get thinking about next year. Three minutes is a really long time, but it's just around the corner.

Music As Lover

2008-04-09T15:11:00.005-06:00

For the second time in as many years the super weird and wonderful Xiu Xiu hit up the "stage" at CSF's SUB. "Stage" because the tiny riser in the corner of the student union building doesn't really put the band anywhere above the audience--though the music puts the band miles away.
For a Monday night the turnout wasn't bad. Why these shows are being held in what is really a cafeteria rather than one of the fine performance spaces on campus is a little confusing, but fuck it. That just makes it all the more punk rock.
Xiu Xiu is one of those bands that I tell people about and expect about 1/3 of them to react positively. It's not easy to listen to or to get. Singer Jamie Stewart throws himself head first into lyrics that are both difficult to unravel and a little hard to understand. He screams and sings his way through his tunes with an enthusiasm that has got to be hard to match night after night.
About half way through all the screaming took its toll on the singer who just about passed out during the set. Having met Stewart last year during the band's CSF performance I know that he's an adamant vegan but I imagine most people thought he was drunk. Two glasses filled with what looked like apple juice or green tea sat in front of him. He certainly looked like he was a little tipsy when he just sat down on the stage and took a breather. But, like a good rock star Stewart jumped right up and kept at it.
Xiu Xiu isn't a band that I'd recommend to just anyone and I'd certainly not have a live performance be a person's first contact. Xiu Xiu's albums are well produced, somewhat dancey and carefully perfected; live the band has a much bigger rock feel, with guitars and drums overtaking the sounds of keyboards and bass.
Ches Smith, Xiu Xiu's drummer, is unbelievably good and has quite a track record himself, playing with the underground artist Carla Bozulich as well as avant garde jazz guru John Zorn. Smith was a little more laid back, as was most of the band, during this performance than last, but still a very solid show.
As you can see if you check out blogger and New Mexican writer Steve Terrell's blog you'll see that he and I were taking pictures from nearly the same vantage point. I'm not sure why the older folks nudged out the college kids on this one but there you have it. The music critics were all about blowing out our ear drums for this one.
I'd travel hours to see this band, so the fact that they've played in Santa Fe to such small crowds seems unbelievable to me. I'd still like to see them on an actual stage, far above their audience, but the intimacy that's created in such a small atmosphere is perfect for a music lover who wants to try to figure out why the dance grooves are coming from the guitars and the feedback is coming from the keyboard.

Twisted Jokes

2008-03-28T16:04:00.002-06:00

This evening at 6:30 pm I'll be appearing on Cinema Talk on KSFR to discuss, with hosts Chris Quinn and John Dupuy, to discuss a smattering of films we watched last week. The most interesting was a double feature of Michael Haneke's 1997 and 2008 films Funny Games. Though the two are nearly identical--the second being a shot for shot remake by the director--they are vastly different. It should be an interesting conversation as to how our experiment (John and I watched the original first, while Chris started with the remake) shapes our perceptions of the film.

For the Love of Books: A conversation with Nicholas Potter

2008-03-27T11:23:00.001-06:00

Nicholas Potter is opposed to making recommendations. He insists he's not an English scholar, and that books are subjective to the person in question. He would rather focus on the book as a thing, an entity that encompasses all things and therefore should not be limited to a few personal selections. I would have to say that I agree with his opinion. However, for the sake of entertainment, I asked that he make a selection anyway. After some initial hesitation he agreed, and I think we'll all be glad for that.
(Madason Gray)

Red, White and Blue

2008-03-11T13:01:00.003-06:00

This Reuters/USAF picture appeared today on the homepage for online news magazine Salon.com as the visual to go along with an article on "How the Press Failed On Iraq." While the article is good the image itself answers the question. It's been 5 years now and this is the first picture I've seen of flag covered coffins.

The second the picture flashed onto my screen my stomach fell. Not simply because this is an image that we've been guarded from for so long now, people of my generation not knowing the images of Vietnam except for years later, but because I spent part of last evening looking at boot camp pictures that belonged to a friend of mine. We talk about how these are children going off to war, but in our minds there is still the picture of the Marine from the movies--rugged, buff, ready to eat bricks for dinner. In truth the pictures show boys, dressed up in their dress blues with a too big hat nearly falling over their eyes. Barely out of high school these are the boys who are sent to take over the world. The ones who easily could still be in algebra class. Even the Sergeants and Staff Sergeants, the drill instructors we know from Full Metal Jacket, look like college boys.

Of the men that can be seen in this picture surely some are adults, career military men, but the men in the boxes are the same ones who make lattes at the local coffee shops, who live in dorms and try to get their buddies to buy them beer, who won't be able to get a job after they've finished college. They're the young, naive men that we ignore, call boys and disrespect at every turn. They're coming home in boxes, and have been for years, and yet we don't see it. The image of those flag draped coffins are more emotional than the words "5 US Soldiers Killed In Iraq." Soldiers sound like men, coffins sound like the boy next door.

Rental Picks: Animal Magnetism

2008-03-07T12:49:00.007-07:00

The relationship between man and animal has long been a subject of study; from the loyalty of man's best friend to the more intimately perverse. With this thought in mind, I asked Video Library's owner, Lisa Harris, for recommendations based on this subject. The always obliging Harris agreed. She chose a broad selction ranging from sentimential classics like Lassie Come Home to the more, shall we say, unique interactions. Under this catagory is Zoo, a docudrama about a Seattle man's death after an unusual encounter with a horse.

My personal favorite of her picks is Passion in the Desert. Though the last time I saw it was more than six years ago, it's stuck with me to this day. I don't remember the film all that clearly (so i can't spoil it for you), but, basically, it's about young, French officer Augustin Robert who abandons his regiment during Nepolian's Egyptian campaign for a life in the desert, where he befriends a female leopard. The dialogue is sparse which makes Ben Daniel's (Augustin Robert) performance all the more brilliant. Good stuff. (Madason Gray)

Sorry Lebanon, Pt II

2008-02-29T10:30:00.005-07:00

To follow up on Trisha's Beirut post, I thought I'd mention another band that's stealing the glory from the middle eastern nation of Lebanon.

A friend of mine back in Manchester is the drummer for Go Lebanon, an indie rock band fascinated with Hezbollah and all other things Lebanese. They're not bad, and Charlie the drummer is a wicked drinking buddy.

Update: Jim Terr turned me on to this silly little home video of Beirut's Zach Condon partying at a camping ground in Las Vegas.

Sorry Lebanon

2008-02-28T21:22:00.003-07:00

Just a few hours ago a little birdy told me that Beirut is going to be making a little Santa Fe appearance in the spring. Stay tuned to SFR for more details as things get set in stone.

Beirut's success has been pretty amazing to watch. A lot of young folks in town remember Zach's days at Santa Fe High, selling ice cream at the Haagan Daz and as a CSF student. Out of the blue he and his band became indie scene stars and he wasn't just the kid from down the street anymore. Friends from far away places started talking about Beirut.

These days if you google the word Beirut the band's Web site is the first thing to come up. Then the wiki page on "the capital, largest city and chief seaport of Lebanon." Guess the two million people who live in a city in the Middle East don't compare to the power of a deep voice and a dance-y world music beat.

A couple of the guys who play in this band I've known casually for a long time. I can't imagine how amazing it is for them. Nick Petree used to play drums for a friend's band and I remember their first show, when the bassist was so excited that their drummer looked great in eyeliner. And Paul Collins has been known for his outgoing personality for years. The kid's got some amazing skills and he's the kind of guy you can't help remember meeting. He's always bubbling over with excitement in that endearing kind of way that even though it's hard to keep up with him you want desperately to do it.

So sorry Beirut, Lebanon, your distinctions as a 5000 year old city, the birthplace of Keanu Reeves and one of the most diverse religious populations in the world is just going to have to have to take a backseat to some Santa Fe kids who are living the dream.

Echoing to the choir

2008-02-28T19:02:00.018-07:00

Over on SFR's YouTube channel, our intern, Madason, has posted a short little video interview with bookseller Brian from Collected Works about a few books worth reading.

He recommends some always-ripe-for-reading classics, Dostoevsky and Plato, and for the latter, he explains how The Republic* might be over-emphasized at his alma mater, St. Johns.

For contemporary fiction, he picks Richard Powers' The Echo Maker, a book that I rescued from the reader-pile a month or so back.

A few years ago, I fished Powers' previous novel, The Time of Our Singing, from the bargain bin of a campus medical bookstore. I'd never read him, but a lot of my friends swore by the richness of his prose, especially in Gold Bug Variations, again, which I never read.

Time turned out to be a symphonic epic of physics, classical singing, interracial love and the mixed-race experience. Three years later, this refrain from the novel still sits at the front of my mind: The bird and the fish can fall in love. But where they gonna build their nest?

Damn, it was a fine book. One I know I've recommended.

I've been having trouble digging into The Echo Maker. I've got a short attention span these days and not a whole lot of room in my life for leisurely reading . But I think I trust this Brian's taste. I'll keep at it.

* There are a few dozen sites online where you can download The Republic for free. Here's one version.

SFR & KBAC

2008-02-28T17:34:00.001-07:00

So, every Thursday morning, I talk with KBAC morning host Honey Harris about the issue of SFR on the street. This week (and, perhaps, from now on), we videotaped it (Thanks Teri Nolan) and then I attempted to edit it in imovie. Heavy emphasis on "attempted." But, hey, I was kind of busy and distracted. I'll improve: I promise.

This week in comics

2008-02-21T10:52:00.006-07:00

Chris Diestileus, manager at True Believers on Cerrillos, recommends some reads that will make your life worth living! (OK, that was an exaggeration, but they're cool). Oh, and Captain America is good for the first time, Diestileus explains.

- Madason Gray

P.S. Also on sale at True Believers: SFR "Daddy Needs a Drink" columnist Rob Wilder's son London has released a series of collectible superhero cards. Isn't this adorable?

just add an eye patch and a parrot...

2008-02-20T13:57:00.002-07:00

My bold plans for the weekend were horribly derailed by...myself. Whee. Two, maybe three songs into the We Drew Lightning set over at High Mayhem my already bothering me knee went out full force and two very kindly friends walked (aka practically carried) me to my car, drove me home and let me pass out.

Good times. So my blogging in the near future will, no doubt, be about all the fine flicks I've watched on DVD. Yup, it's doctors appointments and a bitchin' neoprene knee brace for me for awhile.

Much thanks to my kick ass former coworker here at the Reporter, Nathan Dinsdale for the couch he donated to the office, which is the only way I'm able to get anything done today. Also mad Reporter props go out to staff writers Dave Maass and David Alire-Garcia for hooking me up with internet over here in news land and for bringing me back lunch.

On the plus side of being hurt it's hard to get outside so the cigarette intake has been minimal.

Onto the DVDs. Last night it was The Boxer, a Daniel Day-Lewis/Jim Sheridan flick about a just released from prison boxer/former IRA terrorist. Good stuff. Day-Lewis is amazing, as always. Apparently he spent two years training for the part. Though the movie was nominated for 3 Golden Globes it seems to be pretty under the radar, especially in comparison to Sheridan's other flicks (My Left Foot, In the Name of the Father, In America and, um, the 50 cent movie Get Rich or Die Trying--Sheridan is definitely at his best telling Irish stories).

It's nothing to do with Santa Fe...

2008-02-18T19:23:00.003-07:00

...but it's just so damn good.

Adriano Celentano & R.Carrà "Prisencolinensinainciusol" 1974

"Unforgettable modern clip, probably the hugest and most famous dance composition in italian Tv history! Note: Adriano sings with chest naked!"

- From the YouTube description.

(Props to D. Segal at OCW)

give a little love

2008-02-15T15:45:00.003-07:00

While many people are probably thrilled that Valentine's Day is over I'm a little sad. Not because of the sappy romance side of things, but because I love candy and V-Day is the time of year when all that nasty yellow, green and purple candy is replaced with the colors we dig for all year long--red and pink! Not to mention those really gross candy hearts that I just can't seem to get enough of. Sugar, corn syrup and artificial flavors, yum!

But it's over. Keep out of the seasonal aisle of Albertsons for a day though will you? I'm gettin' stocked up on the cheap this weekend.

Tonight there's a triple threat of art over at High Mayhem. The super sassy party photos of Alexis Brown kick off the night. Brown's got a great eye and some colorful friends. I can't wait to see who the shots are of! Then We Drew Lightning, a little psychadelic rock and Health, this crazy dance, experiemental, punk, noise band from LA. Health came through last year and I remember enjoying myself thoroughly.

Then tomorrow it's off to CSF for Large and Small Rooms. Somehow I keep missing this band and am determined NOT to do so this time around. Fortunately, if I do happen to drop the ball they've got a few more shows coming up.

On the V-Day candy note: I will not be stocking up on tootsie pops. Yuck. The outer candy is so good. The tootsie part, not so much.

Also: I fucking love Al Green. If I have 1/10th his cool I'm doing pretty good.

Tonight the Gender Offenders are doing a special post V-Day show. I've seen the group before, they're always a lot of fun. (Read more in the Reporter, I wrote about this a little more elegantly! And more on Health/We Drew Lightning and a couple of other cool events that I'm going to have to duck out on. Go! They'll be great. I would, but I gotta get my sleep.)

Video Library Recommends....

2008-02-15T14:39:00.011-07:00

This weekend Lisa Harris and Emily Montoya of the Video Library on Marcy Street recommend some documentaries you may or may not have heard of. In Manufactured Landscapes (2007), photographer Edward Burtynsky travels the world, capturing images of beauty inside vast landscapes of destruction. Also out on DVD is The King of Kong (2007), a film following two competitive Donkey Kong players as they battle for the world record. Other Video Library picks include, Baraka and Koyaanisqatsi. Enjoy! (Madason Gray)

Beneath the top hat

2008-02-12T22:32:00.003-07:00

If you're ever at the cinematheque and

...you find you can't focus on whatever french new wave film they're screening,

....because the guy directly in front of you is too damned disconcerting with his home-cut mullet,

....the kind only seen in the bleachers at Wrestlemania,

...then, moviegoer, you've spotted the Santa Fe Reporter's film critic,

....Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff.

I'll let The Screener explain it himself.

bad blogger!

2008-02-12T10:55:00.000-07:00

So, I've been doing a heckuva job not blogging lately. Not because there's nothing going on, but because there's been a lot and it's been busy. Plus the old internet here at the Reporter office has been on the fritz which means that online time has been precious and busy.

So let's roll back in time to three Mondays ago and start with the Eoto show at the Brewing Company. Honestly, I didn't expect much from two guys from the String Cheese Incident on electronics. The traveling hippie thing has never worked for me, but I'll try anything once (read: Rainbow Gathering). Eoto was a touch jam band-y, which was kind of expected, but good. They got a solid crowd on the dance floor and kept it up. I wanted the beats a little faster, but definitely a solid show. The guy on electronics definitely knew his shit and seemed to have control over all the music, with the other guy on drums backing him up, but not adding too much.

I'm sure lots of fun things happened between then and the following Monday but nothing stands out too much, so...jumping ahead.

Snowy Monday night, getting ready to toss some laundry in the machine and slack off with a book or movie when the phone rang. An invitation to Second Street for beer sounded way better than a date with the lint trap so on went the shoes and out the door I went. Showed up for the company and got a surreal experience instead. As soon as I walked in the door I noticed the tie-dyed wall hanging and CD table. Hmmm...Second Street doesn't usually have music on Mondays, but hey. Cool. My friend arrived and we scoped out the situation. Looked a little new agey, but we were game. Expecting a flute or, as my friend put it, some kind of hipster Ricki Lee Jones (which I kept hearing as Joni Mitchell) thing. Nope. Instead we were treated to a beat-boxing librarian who sang a song called "Dr. Bronners makes your hoo-hoo tingle." Okay then. We'd guessed that Celia was from Austin, just trying to make her way back. She was from Oregon, probably the second guess if we'd made one, so my friend and I decided that she was still working her way too or from Austin. Didn't want to confirm this though, as it was a little too much for dinner music.

A couple days later I got to watch Diva, a flick from the '80s that's playing at The Screen this week. It was great. Had a bit of that Hunger look to it--dark, smooth, a little neon lighting here and there. Also a little bit of a contemporary film noir. I don't want to ruin it because it was great. Get in your car and drive to The Screen right now before it goes away.

Through a series of friends I've found myself hooked on the HBO show Flight of the Conchords. Goddamn it's funny. Since I don't have a TV I've been watching the DVD, way better, no commercials!, and am almost finished.

K, so the Internets went down again during this, so there aren't any links for most of this post, but that's why we have google right?

Lots of good things coming up. Another busy week ahead, must try to blog more.

Hundred K

2008-02-07T19:28:00.001-07:00

It's not often that a filmmaker edits his own retrospective. Not often, and not all that seemly either. But hey, Jim Terr's YouTube videos topped 100,000 views in 2008, so why shouldn't he self-celebrate? Ego and genius self-perpetuate.

You gotta hand it to Jim. If there's a reason to whip out a camera, a subject out there to be shot, Jim's been there, going there or there right now. Or sitting at home manipulating stock footage into some rudimentary animation.

And when there ain't nothing else to do, hell, he'll just write a song and film himself playing it.

I tease and needle, because that's the vital role he plays in Americana. He's the self-effacing hold-nothing sacred kick-him-in-the-balls sweet ol' folk singer that lives inside all our bleeding liberal pinko deep-down sunnbitch hearts.

In 2008, even the old folks are rockin' YouTube. I present:

"A Hundred Thousand YouTube Views"
From: hymiehymie

OK, so that thing is 8 minutes long. In the first three and a half minutes there's:

a dude swings a bat into a coconut, full force;
a high speed collision;
a mini-Jim jousts on the highway with a Christmas turkey;
a dude with a harmonica freaks out a dog;
I gesture wildly;
an extreme close-up of a fisherman's beard;
and women, women, women.

After that, I don't know. I got bored and moved onto the Yes.We.Can video again.

____

Congrats, Jim! I wish you five more in a fifth the time it took to reach the first. May these views help you on your way. Well done, sir.

Without a trace of Santa Fe?

2008-02-05T09:14:00.000-07:00

The other day I was watching crap cable TV and Without a Trace, you know, that show about the FBI and missing people, came on. This episode had the team tracking a kid who was lured by a pedophile across the country, under the pretenses that he was the kids long-lost biological father. The show culminated in Santa Fe, or at least that's where they said they were. For the life of me, I couldn't determine whether it was indeed our city different.

Here are some shots I took of the screen. Let me know (davem @ sfreporter [dot] com) if you can figure out what park this is.

strangers in the dark

2008-01-28T12:01:00.000-07:00

As a shusher, movie going in Santa Fe has always been especially frustrating. Nowhere else I've ever been have people been more inclined to bring their own sandwich (covered in the most odorous of condiments and wrapped, of course, in loud, crinkly paper), answer their phones ("Can I call back, I'm in a movie...what...what...hang on...I'm...in...a...movie...") or chat openly with the person they came with about the movie, or worse, something else entirely.

So I was shocked on Saturday night when I hit DeVargas for The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. The small theater was packed, some of us straining awkwardly to get a good view of the screen. During previews people muttered about being uncomfortable, discussed whether the preview looked like something they wanted to see and asked their partners about other films the actors had been in. But then, when the movie began. Nothing. For the full two hours of the film: nothing. A man gasped at a scene that made him unnerved, but his reaction wasn't the inconsiderate chit chat that so often fills movie houses. It was heartfelt, neurotic, uncontrollable fear. When the film ended and the credits began to roll the silence continued. There was none of the clapping that often (and so oddly) follows a good film. Just a mesmerized audience who didn't quite have the bearings to go back out into the real world.

I would like to invite that entire audience to see every movie I ever go to. They were perfect and polite. And yes, the film was fantastic.

If only that little bubble of joy could have lasted forever. Alas, the very next night I tested my luck at Once Upon A Time In The West. Really, beer? I know it's a Western, but there's just no need for an audience to crack open cans of beer in the middle of a film, is there? The individually wrapped candies were a nice touch too. But the prize for worst theatergoer goes to the man who'd obviously seen the film a few times, probably one of his favorites, and ruined every ounce of suspense for me (having never seen it) by announcing each plot point aloud before it happened, interjecting his own commentary and identifying the next famous face to come on screen moments before the actor arrived. No amount of hushing or dirty looks would stop him, and he was loud enough that moving seats in the small CCA theater would have been useless. So my companion and I did the only thing we could think to do. We packed up our things and left.

It's a shame, as it was the last night and I'll probably never get the chance to see it on the big screen again. But, then again, if I choose to watch it I can do so by myself and enjoy the surprises the film has to offer all on my own, without the smell of cheap beer accompanying my stranger's soundtrack.

puttin' it out there

2008-01-13T12:04:00.000-07:00

Saturday was a night to celebrate new artistic products. SFR's own Gabe Gomez had a signing for his book of poetry The Outer Bands at El Farol. Though Gabe didn't read he did have a great turnout of supporters and signed a few books. Radio la Chusma even rocked the party for Gabe. Go, go Gomez!

After El Farol it was down to the Brewing Company for the Santa Fe All-Stars' EP release. It was packed. The show started at 8 and well before 10 signs were hung up on the doors announcing that the show had sold out. I couldn't even get to the merch table to check out the EP because the crowd was too thick. The age mixture was great to see, a lot of young people and a lot of older folks jammed in together. No one had too much room to dance, but everyone tried. I'm surprised that the All-Stars have only an EP, but let's hope it's just a teaser for a longer album to come.

Congrats to Gabe and the All Stars for putting new art into the world and for drawing such great support. Good luck!

In the Shins

2008-01-08T13:28:00.000-07:00

Albuquerque native and bassist for The Shins, Martin Crandall has been charged with domestic abuse against his girlfriend, model Elyse Sewell, also from ABQ. Or so, the Post-Chronicle reports...

... Wikipedia editors have their revenge:

Click to enlarge.

(Props to Luke Baumgarten for posting the story to Facebook)

funky font

2008-01-03T09:19:00.000-07:00

Okay, so watching a movie about a font doesn't sound all that cool to most people. It does to me, but that may just be evidence as to my mental instability.

Anyway, we had a few days off over the holidays and I spent a lot of good quality time on my ass watching movies. Mostly rewatching old John Cusack movies that I've seen a thousand times before, because, frankly, High Fidelity never gets old. But after reliving the music snob world of Championship Vinyl it was time to move onto something even geekier. Helvetica, an 80 some odd minute documentary about a typeface. Sounds lame. It's not. People are crazy about this font. You're probably surrounded by it right now. And there are two, very different, schools of thought when it comes to the aesthetic of the font. School 1 is the lovers. Helvetica is one of three fonts they'll use. They find it crisp, traditional--though a touch sassy--and so clean that the eye reads it without thinking about its existence. School 2 is the haters. They find it boring, feel that the world is surrounded by bad taste and a few on the fringe are actually morally opposed to what it represents.

It's kinda insane. But it's fascinating.

Seraphim Fell Hard For It

2007-12-30T14:29:00.001-07:00

Crossposted from Maassive.com:

This week, I finally got around to watching Seraphim Falls, a western filmed in New Mexico that played in theaters briefly last year. My coworker, his partner and I hooked my laptop up to their projector and we watched the film unfold across the length of the wall of his living room. It killed my laptop doing it, but in the end, reinstalling Vista (again) was worth it.

Starring two Irishmen as American Civil War veterans, the film’s too sparse on dialogue to hear the lilting holes in their assumed American accents. Hell, from the opening scene, you know that Brosnan’s character probably hasn’t spoken to anyone in three years.

He’s a mountain man, one minute building a fire and the next running for his life. Throughout the film, Brosnan’s motivated only by shame and survival, as Neeson and a gang of bounty hunters chase him across the New Mexico wilderness. You don’t know what Brosnan’s done, but it’s something horrific and old and soul-scarring, both for him and Neeson, who won’t stop until he’s personally put a bullet in Brosnan’s head. The chase is exquisite and brutal and logical and long; you might call the plot slow, but the scenes are white-knuckling and physically exhausting.

It’s the kind of Western I complain they don’t make anymore. It obeys the genre rigidly, and yet completely transcends it. It’s the thinking man’s action film; a little James Dickey with a lot of Serge Leone. Man against man. Man against nature. Man against his own soul. In the last quarter, it gets downright metaphysical, but it’s both apt and intriguing and wide open to interpretation. That’s just how I like it (and why My Name is Nobody is one of my all-time favs). I spent a good twenty minutes lying in bed that night meditating on the multiple layers of meaning in the title, “Seraphim Falls.” Plural on purpose, I concluded.

Anyway, it satisfied me like so few films do. Totally recommended, dude.

Recon from the Total Pig's Beautiful Sty

2007-12-30T12:43:00.000-07:00

REVEALED: Images from home prove Gwyneth Doland really IS a total pig.

Suffer for Fashion

2007-12-18T10:50:00.000-07:00

The belt of bourbon from Evangelo’s is settling nicely inside me; it crawls up my spine onto my head like a skullcap, making the post-sunset cold manageable as I huff to Palace Avenue where Lewellen Contemporary awaits with a confusion of well-dressed people meandering inside.

Project Runway’s current season features Elisa Jimenez, a couture fashion designer from New Mexico who relocated to Santa Fe after spending a number of years in New York making clothes for the likes of Jennifer Lopez and Courtney Love. Lewellen is hosting a fashion show featuring the work of Jimenez, who is also the daughter of famed sculptor Luis Jimenez.

I was made hip to this shindig and invited by CeCe Kurzweg, the wife of music producer John Kurzweg, who is also one of the models for the show. I drank warm honey wine and watched beautiful people who couldn’t possibly consume more than 200 calories a day slither in expensive clothing, looking bemused, uninterested, yet delighted to see one another.

I run into Larry Mitchell who has just been nominated for a Grammy for his work as producer of Johnny Whitehorse's Totemic Flute Chants in the Best Native American Album category. Brian Hardgroove, who I haven’t seen in a while, tells me about his own production work in Hong Kong with Chinese punk band Demerit.

Before the actual show begins a blue line of tape is laid down on the floor like a landing strip, which will guide the models to their final destination. Then announcements, then images from Project Runway show providing contextual information on Jimenez. But like any reality show we only see a character, a blip of images and segments pretending to construct a person; it’s a lesson in post-modernity where one reality views a faux reality for insight on what’s about to happen in front of our faces.

One by one the models cascade down the stairs where 100 or so my newest and most fabulous friends await. The women wear a series of multi-colored shreds with puffy backpacks, and the men (who are shirtless for some reason) sport the backpacks and smile sheepishly; I’m reminded of my neglected gym membership going to waste.

Once all have descended and congregated around a table with a tied bundle of clothing upon it, Jimenez appears at the foot of the stairs to a round of applause. She too wears the strategic shreds but somehow makes it work to her full advantage. After a few announcements, we are instructed to untie the bundle and try on clothes. It’s like spilling a bucket of chum in shark infested waters with the airs of a JC Penny fire sale. The pile of clothing comes apart like an anthill in the rain. I don’t participate...

preggers

2007-12-17T12:48:00.000-07:00

Sometimes really cool promo stuff comes to my office. Advanced copies of knitting books (beware the uncorrected proof of a pattern!), movie screeners, the occasional random t-shirt. But today I think some genius marketer takes the cake.

The movie: Juno (about a pregnant high school girl, blah, blah, blah)
The swag: A highlighter in the shape of a pregnancy test.

Gross. At least the ink is orange, not yellow. But still. Ha, ha, ha, pregnancy tests are funny. And who doesn't want to mark something as important with an item in the shape of something you pee on? Especially if you're the type of person who chews on your pen.

Ugh.

a-ha!

2007-12-14T12:58:00.000-07:00

That's it. I've been trying to remember all day what I was going to do today, this weekend and, of course, the unTRAINed gallery opening at the Railyard. Blogged about here before, an missed by myself due to a cold, I love the idea of a cold wintery night, a hot drink (um, I'm bringing my own just to be safe) and art in a funky location.

Hooray! My evening has been saved. Now I have to go and re-myspace a friend who I asked if anything was happening.

And tomorrow (or Sunday morning, depending on how motivated I am) at 11 am The Red Balloon at the Screen. Yipee! I hope it's as good as it was when I last saw it, probably in 1988...

Happy weekend!

shit

2007-12-13T15:58:00.000-07:00

I ran around my house super antsy last night trying to figure out what to do with my night and to remember what it was that I'd forgotten. Naomi Klein at the Lensic, that's what. Errrr. Yes, it was sold out, but with the Lannan readings there are always a few last minute tickets that become available. And you can watch from the lobby. But instead I just sat at home reading, not that there's anything wrong with that.

I guess that's one of the pitfalls of working on things so far in advance. Ask me what's going on tonight and I'll look blankly past you, ask what's happening next Thursday and chances are I can list several fun things. So I'm constantly forgetting to go to things I want to go to. This week it's even worse because we've got a week off, so the next issue of the Reporter goes all the way to January 1st.

Maybe if I mark down my plans for the break publicly I'll remember, or my twos of friends who read this blog can call and remind me:
Knitting (time and location top secret)
Kilt and Alchemical Burn show at High Mayhem (Dec. 28)
New Year's, um, I'm not sure yet, there are several options in the works
Faralito walk on Christmas Eve (yes, I will probably need a reminder for this, I'm that Christmas-y)

That's it? A whole week and that's all I've got? There's more to do, I'm just not feeling very committed at the moment.

You Have No Rights

2007-12-06T15:49:00.000-07:00

At 5:30 pm today, I will be introducing Matthew Rothschild, editor of The Progressive and author of You Have No Rights, Stories of America in an Age of Repression. If you haven't read this book, you really should. It's not just well-written, but it's a stunning and frightening compendium of stories of people who have been interrogated, arrested, detained and everything in between for doing nothing more than exercising freedoms of speech (and in some cases, for just no reason at all).

wait, you can get paid for that?

2007-12-06T11:52:00.000-07:00

The CCA ends its Vox Performa series tonight with Gary Mex Glazner and reg e gaines. According to the Web site Glazner has left our little adobe town for the bright lights of NYC. Good for him, bummer for us. Glazner is not only a wonderful poet, but one of those people who makes the world better by doing what he loves. His Alzheimer's Poetry Project is one of those amazing works of art therapy that any artist is capable of but just the kind of thing that so many artists forget about while they're caught up in the ego of it all to think about.

Both Glazner and gaines are poets that work with musicality instead of just words. For the performance a local group Adobe Gillis (whose name I get but can't give props for, it's just too damn punny for my taste, though clever) joins Glazner.

I'm not normally a fan of live poetry, or hell, even modern poetry. Give me Lord Byron or Coolridge any day, but it's worth checking out, even for the literary snobbish, like myself.

blurred vision

2007-11-30T08:50:00.001-07:00

I think there's something wrong with the lens on the projector in one of the theaters at DeVargas. Every time I go there the movie seems to be just a touch out of focus. Last night, at the Film Festival's showing of Control, it was really bad--giving me a headache until this morning.

The movie is good. Could use a bit of trimming and more music, but still enjoyable. The actors are fantastic. Unfortunately, the copy that we got to see had an entire reel in sepia, not to mention the focus problem.

After the movie a friend went to talk to the theater manager, who blamed the problems on the Festival. I'm sure the Fest folks would blame it, at least partly on DeVargas. I suppose it doesn't really matter who is at fault for the people who paid their money and spent nearly two hours straining their eyes.

Tonight I was going to head back over to DeVargas for another film, but I think I'll pass on the cinema for awhile.

movie time

2007-11-29T13:06:00.000-07:00

Well, after a lot of hard work Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff and I finished up our story on the Santa Fe Film Festival, and now have some free time to enjoy it.

I didn't make it to the movies last night--saving that for tonight--but I did get over to the kick-off party at the Cowgirl. I got there about 1/2 hour before The Santa Fe All-Stars played and the place was already pretty busy, especially for a Wednesday. By the time the band started it was pretty packed, though there was still room on the dancefloor for a few couples to get their groove on. Singer/guitarist Joe West encouraged people to keep dancing and seemed to be really enjoying the mix of locals and out-of-towners at the show, pointing out when certain characters from Santa Fe showed up. For anyone who hasn't seen the All-Stars they play great straightforward bluegrass and a few strange covers (ie: "Shake Your Booty").

As the recent recipient of a mandolin I was super stoked to see Sharon Gilchrist, who everyone says is one of the best in town. I can't disagree with that at all. I think I learned a little bit by watching and listening to her, but I found myself forgetting to pay attention, instead carried away by the speed and skill she showed on the instrument.

When the band took a break I turned around and saw the the place was packed. Friday or Saturday night packed, with more people showing up. At that point I decided to split, it'd been a long day and was getting to the point where I couldn't see the musicians anyway. Apparently after I left there was a celebrity sighting (Jake Gyllenhaal and Tobey Maguire), but I probably wouldn't have spotted them in the giant mass of people.

Tonight it's to the actual movies, Control, and perhaps Diving Bell and the Butterfly tomorrow after the Underground Gallery opening.

Radius Books!

2007-11-28T12:18:00.000-07:00

So I'm out and about looking for books for this year's gift guide, when I fall in love with one particular book (not gonna tell you which one and ruin the suspense). Lo and behold, I see it's from a new local press, Radius Books. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but it took me several days to realize it's the new press started by my friend Darius Himes. And, yes, I'm still including it because I didn't realize it was his press until days had passed (and I just had to doublecheck how to spell his name, which is not a good sign). The launch for the press is this Friday, 6 to 8 pm
in the old Luna Building, 519 Cerrillos Road, (between Paseo and Manhattan and next to Sage Bakehouse) and I hear it's going to be lots of fun. So take a break from movie watching, be sure to stop by!

Not yo' Robin Williams toy show

2007-11-27T14:49:00.000-07:00

A little birdie told me that someone we all know and adore is going to have a toy exhibited at this show:

3 ring circus

2007-11-23T12:17:00.000-07:00

On Thanksgiving weekend the Circus comes to town. But this being Santa Fe that doesn't mean ringmasters and lions (or animal rights activists slowing down traffic with protests). It means performance art--aerial artists, trapeze, capoeira, that kind of thing. And good music. Hooray for Circus Luminous--which SFR's performing arts writer Angelo Jaramillo wrote about here. I'm most excited to hear The brilliant Dullards (yes that's lower case b), one of my favorite local bands.

I recently discovered that I'd lost my copy of The Defector and wanted to hear it again. (I used to have a purple one, but the new one is black. That's pretty too.) One of my favorite things about this album is my own karmic tie with it. I missed them play at the 2006 High Mayhem fest (the only thing I missed) and had to hear about it for months. Then I got the album, fell in love, reviewed it, spelled the name wrong initially, and promptly lost my copy. But then I drove all the way to Taos to spend the night, saw them play and have almost never missed a performance since. So when I wanted to hear it happened to be the night of show at High Mayhem. I had my $10 for a new copy, ran up to the merch table and felt my face drop when there was no dullard's album for me to pick up. Next step: Track down a Dullard. Nope. Two of 'em told me they had lots of them at home, which was nice and all, but didn't help me out in my obsessive musical craving moment. Next High Mayhem show, there it was, on the table. One copy. I grabbed it, handed over my 10 bucks and made a comment about how "I believe this is here for me." to Mike Smith (of We Drew Lightning), who had no idea what the hell I was talking about, and bounded around like an idiot with my new CD. It's so much nicer to listen to than the tracks on the Dullard's myspace page.

Anyway, I think they're great. And the music they play will go very nicely with all the movement work. I can't wait for Saturday night.

Ray Charles Ives is also playing (that's 2/3 of D Numbers) and also great. They make me want to dance, so it'll be interesting to see if I can stay in my seat and quell my desire to hop on stage with the real dancers!

full weekends

2007-11-19T14:01:00.000-07:00

There are times when I hear people, especially young people, complain that there's nothing to do at night. Or that it's too expensive. This weekend though there were a lot of good events all with low or no covers.

Friday night I hit up Cate Cosler's show at Back Road Pizza. Cosler grew up here in Santa Fe, moved away and has recently moved back. For Friday's show she was joined by a friend from Colorado, Ramaya, on guitar. The two sounded great together, despite the fact that they hadn't played out together in about a year and he learned several of the songs that afternoon.

Saturday it was over to High Mayhem for a benefit for local producer Quincy Adams, aka Q!. Q has mastered a good majority of High Mayhem's releases and has been a big part of that, as well as Albuquerque's, musical community for a long time. Unfortunately, he's very sick and his friends were working to raise some cash for his medical bills. A lot of really great art was donated by artists, my favorite, though I couldn't afford to take it home, was a small gold leaf piece by Yozo Suzuki. Apparently a pretty decent about of cash was gathered and everyone seemed pretty happy. High Mayhem is run by local artists and mainly supported by such. It and its patrons don't have the million dollar bank accounts behind them that a few other organizations do but it was nice, sitting by the entry table, to see people give as much as they could to help out a member of their community.

Date with Cate

2007-11-16T10:11:00.000-07:00

OK, so I only heard about this performance this morning. Tonight, friend-of-the-Reporter Cate Coslor will be performing at Backroad Pizza at about 8pm. Stop by if you're free.

Cate Conslor with her band Slowrosa

In the meantime, though, check out some of her tunes on her Myspace page.

Amuse Boosh

2007-11-11T19:42:00.000-07:00

Man... Architecture in Helsinki was great last night. They played the New Old Luna, which, if you can take the promoter's word, will be the site of a lot more great shows in the coming months. That is, assuming the Santa Fe's hipster contingent continues to turn out en masse.

Those of you in attendance may remember that mid-way through the show back-up singer (and everything-else-player) Kellie Sutherland took over the mic to promote their favorite comedy show, The Mighty Boosh, which has a new TV season coming out this week on BBC 3.

I whooped at that reference: I've been a huge of fan of the comedy duo ever since discovering their radio show about two zookeepers: a self-proclaimed "jazz maverick" and his sidekick, "the king of the mods." The TV show probably won't be available in the US for quite some time (though full episodes were on YouTube for awhile). However! All is not lost.

The entire original radio series is online, for free, as downloadable mp3s. Just follow this link.

Halloween in Santa Fe—always very arty

2007-10-30T16:37:00.001-06:00

What's in your hea-ea-ead? Zombie. Zombie.

2007-10-26T14:19:00.000-06:00

Last weekend, I took the Center for Contemporary Arts up on their free noon-time press screening offer. I'm not the film critic here, but hey, a free zombie movie is a free zombie movie. And blogging counts as "press," right?

The film was Fido, a kitschy Leave-It-To-Beaver zombie comedy. Emiliano says he didn't dig it, but he can get his ass a-bloggin' if he wants to dispute my assessment. I thought it was fantastic.

Apparently New Mexico is at the end of the movie rotation line. Fido (2006) was released on DVD on October 23 - it opens here at the Cinematheque today. But, the small screen is still far inferior to the big one, and Fido's the perfect horror film for the whole family.

Well, it's not exactly horror. Somewhere along the line, the zombie comedy became it's own sub-genre. It's no Shaun of the Dead, but I don't think it was intended to be.

The opening scene lays out the premise in a fairly authentic looking news reel: In lieu of World War II, some sort of radioactive astronomical phenomenon swung right past the earth, reanimating the dead. Thus began the Zombie Wars, which ended with a mad scientist design a collar capable of suppressing the zombie's appetite for flesh.

The film is set in a small Main Street town, where a slave class of zombies has emerged. Zombies deliver milk, deliver papers, mow lawns, walk dogs, serve mint juleps ... and no one wants to be the last family on the block to have their very own house zombie. Breadwinners will put themselves deep in the red to ensure no-return funerals for their families. It's a world where old people are considered dangerous--"When the heart stops, ZomCom start," goes the jingle for the local anti-zombie corporation--and families who keep unregistered zombies risk being exiled to the zombie wasteland outside the city's gates.

Fido is Lassie, with a zombie in place of a collie. Young Timmy's the local friendless loner, who comes to find a friend and father figure in his family's new zombie, played by the disturbingly short-haired and beardless Scottish comedian Billy Connolly. Dylan Baker (the pedophile psychologist from Happiness) plays Timmy's milquetoast and largely absent Dad, while Carrie Anne Moss (The Matrix's Trinity) is Timmy's sexually unfulfilled, emerging feminist mother. Tim Blake Nelson (Delmar from O Brother) also cameos as the friendly neighborhood playboy--think Quagmire from Family Guy--who keeps a buxom blond zombie instead of a blow-up doll.

The plot follows that of any boy-meets-monster flick (Iron Giant, Harry & the Hendersons), where fear is gradually replaced by trust, then love, while the monster conquers its inherently destructive nature and learns to be a member of the family. Like all great zombie films, Fido is not without it's political edge: racism, sexism, political paranoia. The positions, though, are unobtrusive; you think about it for a second, and move on.

There's more homages to 50s-era television than there is Romero-class gore. So, all in all, Fido's a lightly dark comedy, and fairly family friendly film, that is, if you're grown up, and you need a Halloween film for your faint-of-heart parents.

music and movie madness

2007-10-22T10:17:00.000-06:00

Friday night I left the office about 4:45, ran home (literally), jumped in my car, raced to the community college and filled in, last minute, on KSFR's Cinema Talk. I've filled in on the Friday evening (from 5:25-6 pm) show a few times, but normally with a little more notice and time to prepare. I'd only happened to catch For the Bible Tells Me So, which meant I mostly listened and asked questions about the other two movies Chris Quinn (one of the show's hosts) had seen. Both Gone Baby Gone and Michael Clayton sounded interesting after the show, though neither were films I'd wanted to see before hand.

After the radio I headed down to the Mine Shaft to check out my big brother's band. In order to avoid any kind of conflict of interest we only put the show in the listings and the rest was a grassroots effort to get people out to dance. I was happy that the Pasatiempo writer Rob DeWalt gave the band some ink and hopefully it helped the turnout. The crowd for US Pipe and the Balls Johnson Dance Machine didn't seem to know what to expect at first. An 11 person funk band isn't exactly a normal New Mexico night. But eventually people started to groove. At one point two women and one man had the best dance-off I've seen in years. One of the bandmembers told me later that she was trying to watch from the stage because it was so good it was distracting. Because it was the big bro I was there for the entire show, leaving me filled up on music for the weekend.

Instead of going to the Hat Show at High Mayhem, which I really wanted to attend and throw my name in, I went to the movies on Saturday and spent the rest of the night at home. SFR's Emiliano Garcia-Sarnoff and Cinena Talk's other host, John Dupuy, hit the movies at about 10 am for a preview of Fido and I joined up with them later for Gone Baby Gone and Rendition. Neither movie really got me excited, the way I'd hoped they would, but both were good in their own way. Gone was well acted, with a moral dilemma not easily solved, which left the three of us in very different places. Two of us agreed with the characters choice, the other was disgusted with first him and then us. Somehow the guys decided they hadn't had enough cinema for the day and we went to Rendition next. When I left I'd enjoyed the movie, the more it sits with me though the more I don't feel anything. Again, it was well acted, but the pregnant wife bothers me because it seemed so melodramatic and unnecessary (and maybe a little too Marianne Pearl). But if actors are going to push politics I'd rather they do it in the form of a movie, even a mediocre one, than by politicking and destroying the barrier of fantasy that I like to surround a movie star. In fact, David Denby, whose reviews I tend not to like, discusses the difference between modern and classic movie stars in a great New Yorker article, "Fallen Idols." He discusses the lack of drawing power stars now have and the line studios used to have the ability to draw between the stars and their personal lives, lives which we now are all to familiar with.

the naked truth

2007-10-18T11:58:00.000-06:00

I know this blog is probably more intended for Santa Fe-related arts and culture events but, let's face, it, TV is an important part of contemporary cultural life. True, we pretty much never cover TV in SFR (because we're not big or important enough to get TV screeners), but I gotta believe we've got readers who, like myself, occasionally watch the old idiot box.
As a general rule, I don't have any shows that I make a point of watching when they air, but I do have cable and Comcast recently rolled out On Demand, which means I can catch up on things that are out there in the zeitgist and see what the hoopla is all about.
So I did: I checked out HBO's latest, Tell Me You Love Me and I am now scarred for life. The show follows three screwed up couples as they live their screwed-up lives, talk about their screwed-up lives in therapy and screw. All the couples are white and some variation of middle class and are, in my opinion, mind-bogglingly awful. They are not particularly smart, or interesting, or funny. The youngest couple are, at least, attractive. The sex is graphic, but not in a porn way, more like if you happened to walk in on real people who are not fat having sex. The show also includes a storyline involving the therapist, Jane Alexander, who has her own personal issues. And who also has lots of sex with her husband. Which they show. Now, I realize it reflects poorly on me that I don't really want to see senior citizens having sex, but you know what? I don't think anyone else does either. And yes, when I am a senior citizen, I hope I am still having sex, but I will not be insulted if no one wants to see it.
The way in which they show is directed, cinematically and otherwise, is with a sense of reality TV thrown in. These are not well-known actors, they look a bit like regular people, nothing very dramatic ever happens. Often the couples just sit around not liking one another very much, eating meals, not saying what they are thinking. It's excruciating and mind-bogglingly boring. It's crazy that this is a TV show and even weirder that I'm watching it ("What will happen next? Will she go to the bathroom?). I doubt the show will survive past a season because all it really proves is that, no, fact is not stranger than fiction. Watching uninteresting people have uninteresting problems and hump one another is neither enjoyable nor interesting. But I guess it is new.

Terr-ibly

2007-10-16T13:49:00.000-06:00

Jim Terr, writer, actor, filmmaker, cybersquatter and a Winner this week, stopped by the office today to say hi and remind me to watch the Bush-visits-Iran spoof up on YouTube. I can't recommend it--it's kinda awful--but I can post it for you to form your own conclusions.

Double Feat

2007-10-16T13:42:00.000-06:00

Cross-posted from Maassive.com

It’s not uncommon for me to see two movies over the weekend. It is however unusual for either of the films to be any good. This weekend was especially unusual in that on both occasions I left the theater struck numb with satisfaction.

On Saturday afternoon, it was Michael Clayton, a legal thriller that scored a whopping 90% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes. I’m a big fan of Clooney, but I’m not always a big fan of “directorial debuts” by screenwriters, even if they’re somewhat notable. In this case, it’s Tony Gilroy, writer of the Bourne Trilogy. However, when you’ve got Steven Soderbergh, Sydney Pollack and Anthony Minghella producing the film, you know the shit’s been vetted. Plus, Robert Elswit directed the photography, and looking at his IMDB page I realize he may indeed be my favorite cinematographer ever: Syriana, Magnolia, Goodnight & Goodluck. I think it’s safe to say the film was probably designed to net the three stars, Clooney, Tilda Swinton and Tom Wilkinson each an Oscar nomination. That usually bugs me, but in this case, they’re all three overdue. Anyway, the film was brilliant, and I wish reviewers would take note that the term “gripping” should only be applied to films of this caliber.

Tonight, I hauled ass to the Cinematheque at the Center for the Contemporary Arts to catch the single Sunday screening of Chronicle of an Escape, or, in its native Spanish, Cronica de una fuga. One of my favorite films of all time is Four Days in September, which I frequently use (along with Battle of Algiers) to illustrate the thin grey line between terrorists and freedom fighters. Set in Argentina during the junta, Four Days follows a group of students who kidnap the American ambassador, because, by their rationale, only by holding an important foreigner hostage will they succeed in getting their message aired on television and securing the release of several political prisoners. Chronicle of an Escape is the perfect companion film. I hope they package the two as a box set.

The films follow a minding-his-own-business Argentinian soccer player who is erroneously fingered as a member of a revolutionary guerrilla group. Secret police kidnap him and throw him into a boarded up mansion, where he and more than a dozen other young men are tortured, starved, and prepared for execution. The film was obviously working with a smaller budget than Four Days , and perhaps the characters weren’t as well developed. That was to be expected. When your set is a bare room with rotten beds, production values don’t tend to soar. And when your characters spend the bulk of the movie cowering in corners and wearing blindfolds, well, that’s part of the dehumanization of torture, isn’t it? But really, the interesting thing is that both films revolve around kidnappings and blindfolds, on opposite sides of Argentina’s political war. Which is justified, which is not? That’s the thin grey line.

something for everyone

2007-10-15T10:18:00.000-06:00

Saturday night's "Level" party, part of Design Week, did that thing that too many Santa Fe institutions try to do: please everyone, and end up pleasing no one.

Sure the party was fun, but that fun came from spending time with friends, not the bands or activities. Outside was a mini-skateboard park that provided the "family friendly" atmosphere, and probably a lot of bruises later when drunk 20-somethings who hadn't been on a board in some 10 years decided to try out the half-pipe.

Inside was a smattering of bands whose most obvious connection was that they knew the event planners. When I first showed up a man in rainbow tie dyed pants and light up fairy wings played the guitar while a woman sat on the floor with a wooden xylophone. He later played in a band with the DJ from Terra-ist Sound System, who was the second act I caught (I left for awhile to grab some dinner). Lady Processor sang with the System, then with Miss Ginger. The rotating musicians gave off the impression that whoever had the booking decision found their friends and their friends and had them play. Despite these connections the music didn't have much consistency or flow and wasn't really what anyone group of people wanted to see.

Advertisements for the party said 8-?, but failed to mention that alcohol sales would be shut down promptly at 11 pm. I'm not even sure that the people who showed up after than knew alcohol had ever been served, but it all worked out, because many people brought their own. Around midnight the evenings host got on stage and began telling everyone to pour out their drinks or they'd be shut down, calling the police "pigs" and creating an odd and out of place spectacle. Why a party that was (supposedly) permitted to last until sunrise would be in danger of being shut down was unclear. There was no sign of police, but everyone complied and tried to continue. Chispa, a local electronic DJ and artist, set up and rumors began to fly that he was it, that the party was over, through three more DJs (Walker, Carlisle McQueen and Feathericci) had hauled equipment to the space. A few ideas about where to continue were thrown around and eventually the DJs and a few of their friends ended up in a garage near Owl's Liquor. Ironically, just as Design Week's Luna space was covered with art, so was the last minute after party. The garage was offered up by a local artist and the intimate and decorated room was organically the feel that Design Week organizers tried to replicate, without much luck, in the warehouse. In the garage someone ended up wearing a piece of the art--a giant swirl that resembled a 9--and others danced with a dragon-like figure that hung from the ceiling. At the warehouse someone made out on one of the beds and a few people watched the videos, but mostly the art was ignored, as well as poorly labeled, giving the artists almost no recognition for their hard work.

The after party offered a good example of how a reproduction of the organic can just ooze contrivance.

Trainspotted

2007-10-14T10:53:00.000-06:00

Props to Aran Donovan in our classified-ad department for inviting me out to the unTRAINed opening on Friday night at the ... err ... how do I describe where it was held? OK, I think I've got it. You know SITE Santa Fe, that art space lauded last month in the NY Times? Well, let's imagine that one of the installations caught on fire a la Charles Saatchi and you, the patron-peruser, had to make a mad dash for the back exit (I say back, because, really, if you ran out the front, you'd run face first into that awesome white-pole installation). So, keep imagining with me ... You run out the back door ... and smack into a box car and a luxury train car. That, friends, was the place to be Friday night. Or at least it was the place I was, and I wouldn't have been anywhere else. Same goes for Emiliano and Co., though it looks like I beat him to the blog.

According to Aran, who is on the inside track, so to speak, on all things Railyard-related, a few artistically inclined kids, some, I understand, being graduates of College of Santa Fe, cleaned out and refurbished an old box car, and turned it into an art space. And for openings, they roll over the luxury liner for drinks 'n' musical performance.

I didn't catch the names of the artists on exhibition on Friday. And for that there's no excuse, only an explanation: I didn't have my notepad with me and when I came through, their generator wasn't working and so it was pretty dark. I suppose I could've taken a camera-phone snap of the name card, but I didn't. (If you know their names, email me at davem @ sfreporter.com and I'll update this post).

There were two artists on display (Aran was a bit disappointed that her wood-cutting friend wasn't one of them), with two very different styles. On the top-top, you see an example of the book-based conceptual sculptures -- very Fluxus if you ask me, but what do I know, I'm a news writer. I really get a kick out of art that plays with words; the image top-top isn't really clear, but that's a book called "Passages in Modern Sculpture." The artist has cut holes right through the middle, and looped through long paper ribbons of test. Very clever, especially the very appropriate Post-It note amending the title to read "Passage in Post-Modern Sculpture." On the other side of the gallery space there was a huge hollowed out dictionary, where the artist had meticulous left hanging single words, like "one" and "light" in a sort of tiered poetry. That was the most impressive, in my opinion, but it was too dark on that side to photograph.

The image on the top-bottom is a close-up of one of the paintings on the other side of the train car. I have mixed feelings about that display. I do like paintings that are so heavily painted that there's a topography of texture, and in this case it did kind of fit with their tribal themes. At first I thought there were too many damn paintings on the wall, as if the artist thought this would be his/her only show this year and had to show everything. Reflecting back, though, this too was fitting, because combined with the unintentional darkness, it created the impression of walking through a dark rainforest shaded by a jungle canopy. It was a nice effect, but I can't say I was as as impressed as I was with the book art.

After about 15 minutes in the dark box car, Aran and I migrated over to the luxury car for beer. Emiliano and his crew turned up and shared the top level of the double-decker, a greenhouse like observation room with comfy, swively chairs. It was one of the best post-opening cocktail hours I've ever experienced.

I'm not sure how often unTRAINed will put on these events, but I wouldn't mind if it was a twice-monthly even. Hell, if they installed an espresso machine and a Wifi router, I can imagine hanging out with a book and laptop a few afternoons a week.

So, in conclusion: Kudos, Props, Thumbs up, High fives and knuckle knocks. This is why I'm falling in love with Santa Fe.

Tie Dye Sigh

2007-10-09T14:07:00.000-06:00

First, a warning: This post may not be as "safe" as the subheader promises, at least for artist Julia Gil.

Today, I indulged a post-deadline Frappuccino craving. Java Chip, Grande, if you must know. While I waited, I glanced across the wall art, in particular this oil painting:

It's maybe a bit shorter than my arm-span, and perhaps a foot tall. I subscribe to the Susan Sontag school of against-interpretation (at least when it's convenient), but to me it looked like either: a) psychedelic camouflage, b) the topography of Jupiter, if it had vegetation, or, c) peacock roadkill. So I stepped closer to see the title:

Spring under water? OK, that makes sense, I guess. But what about the $1,200 price tag? It's not as if it's hanging in an actual gallery ... this is Starbucks, and begs the question: Is 468 square-inches of oil-painted tie-dye really worth 290 grande Java-Chip frappuccinos?

So, who is this painter, Julia Gil?

According to the Convergence Gallery:

A native of Spain, Julia Gil has made her home in Santa Fe, New Mexico for many years. She studied Fine Arts in Spain and England; in the United States, she has studied numerous healing arts, including polarity therapy, massage therapy, and Native American spiritual traditions. A true "Renaissance woman," she has taught workshops and courses in Art and creativity, Healing, Meditation, Polarity Yoga, and Energetic Integration. Julia's paintings have been exhibited widely in her native Spain, including shows in Las Palmas, El Corte Ingles, and Maspalomas.

Nothing there I can identify to make the painting worth as much as Ascaso Dream Versatile espresso machine and 23 pounds of Kona Blend. Does it come with a massage? Sorry to rant about overpriced art. It's a tired, tired blog topic, especially in Santa Fe, where a friggin' frito pie can run you $8.50. Still, it's gotta be said: offer me $400, and I'll stretch a hippy shirt over a frame for you and sign it Marcel Du-chump.

Rebus, It's a Rebus!

2007-10-05T16:09:00.000-06:00

Last night, after a talk at CSF by former Army interrogator (and Johnnie) Tony Lagouranis I extended my already long Thursday to include a quick show by The Gowns at High Mayhem.

I wasn't going to go to the show, but I ran into Carlos Santistevan at The Candyman and he convinced me and my boyfriend that it would be good.

Lagouranis' lecture was interesting, though for such a controversial figure it was odd that no one opposed him. There were a few people who seemed more interested in their own politics than in paying attention to someone else's experience, but that's to be expected, I suppose. The more I thought about it the more I wondered what the fall back from the military has been on Lagouranis, who discusses the torture techniques that have been used in the past. I'd imagine that someone who was authorized to gather intelligence had to have some kind of secret clearance, and it would seem that clearance would continue after discharge, and cover the intelligence itself. Though it may and because they assumed that the techniques being used were legal there was no reason to classify them.

After the talk it was over to High Mayhem. The Gowns are an Oakland band who did what seems to be so hard for bands to do: They incorporated two lead singers, both of whom were good. So often I hear music and love one singer and wish the other would just stop. But the male and female vocalists for the band were both great and contributing pieces that the other wouldn't have been able to touch. Plus, they both kicked ass in very different ways. She with a slit in her skirt all the way up the back, which takes guts, and a stance (and hairdo) like Thurston Moore while she played the guitar. The other singer looked like a mad scientist at his switches and knobs, looking even cooler when he was done playing, hobbling along on crutches! The band was tight and had a very noise/pop sound that few do as well. While the drummer and bassist weren't compelling to watch they added sounds that gave the music depth.

During the after show cigarette, while Rio en Medio set up, I ended up in a discussion with Damon and Sabrina of Bull Seal and Mike Rowland of The Late Severa Wires about pictogram puzzles and what they're called. I must say, even though we didn't know, we have a pretty damn good vocabulary. Rhombus? Nope, that's got to do with geometry. Ouroboros. Not that either; that's the snake that eats it's own tale. Several people walked up, we asked them, they didn't know, and probably thought, "Geeks!" We never came up with it. But the conversation melded to psychedelic drug use, mental illness and, of course, sexual innuendo in Shakespearian theater. So yeah, I kinda missed the second act. But sometimes great conversation is as good as great music!

And for all you puzzlers, a fun rebus resource.

Undercover

2007-10-03T13:50:00.000-06:00

Impressed by the illustration for this week's cover story, "Hosed!" by David Alire Garcia? Then check out the story behind it at illustrator Dale Stephanos' blog.

it's a man's world

2007-10-02T10:58:00.000-06:00

Sunday afternoon at the Cowgirl DJ Melanie Moore set up the final DJ/Women's World Cup battle. DJs represented different countries in the tournament and took turns on the decks. In theory the game would play inside while music filled the patio. But at 5 pm, when the broadcast was to begin, Moore frantically flipped through ESPN stations, trying to figure out what happened. ESPN2, which was supposed to broadcast the game showed cars flying around an oval track. After a few minutes the ticker at the bottom of the screen announced that the rebroadcast of the game would follow NASCAR.

Totally lame.

Sure, the game had already happened and the people who wanted to watch it already knew who won, but it sucks. With all the ESPN channels out there it's too bad that they couldn't hold up their programming and play the game somewhere.

The music was great though and went along with the great weather. There were girl and boy DJs in the showdown but it seemed fitting that Miss Ginger and McQueen were left for the final game, even if no one got to see it.

So, nice work ladies, and here's to hoping that someday, in addition to ESPN, ESPN2, ESPN Classic, ESPN U, ESPN Deportes, ESPN 360, ESPN News and the two HD channels, a new channel called FEM-SPN will exist, featuring sports (not just cheerleading competions--something ESPN has acknowledged for years) gives Title IX some much deserved respect.

Props 'n' Apologies

2007-09-28T16:11:00.000-06:00

To quote Smokey Robinson, I second that emotion about High Mayhem. I also want to give props (and links) to The Cleveland Trio, CK Barlow & David Felberg, and the GK Duo.

I'd also like to sincerely apologize to the girl who was working the check-in booth on Sunday night:

I'm so, so, so, so sorry my dog bit you in the face. I should've taken her elsewhere during the performance by those Colorado noise-freaks from Page 27.

A Festivus for the weird in us

2007-09-27T14:12:00.000-06:00

Between Gabe "Ruckus" Gomez, Emilano Garcia-Sarnoff, our friendly neighborhood film reviewer, staff writer Dave Maass, myself (Patricia Sauthoff) and former/sometimes writer Peter Breslin we got nearly every minute of the High Mayhem festival covered. A few of us, Peter and myself, even got in on the action for a bit (I helped Ross Hamlin adjust his installation a bit, so my contribution was tearing bits of black duct tape up, but damnit, I was helping). Peter drummed into the night in Rrake, one of the highlights of last and this year's fest, Friday night and with TRAPS, a group of seven drummers banging away at their kits in an improvisational set. I thought it might be a racket but, as I told Mike Rowland and Al Faeet (two of the drummers) later, there were moments when it was ambient and if the music hadn't been right there I wouldn't have believed it was made on drums.

In many ways the festival is as much an endurance test as it about music. You don't want to miss anything, but life beckons and there are always things that you just don't understand. The music bounces from avant garde jazz to electronics and back; casting off a coherent theme, which allows each act to stand on its own, with nothing to compare it too.

My favorite act was the Re-Wired set on Saturday. The group, a reworking of The Late Severa Wires with Dino and Molly Sturges as guests, is one that I've liked since the first time I saw them. But the addition of Dino, a musician who has been making electronic music since before it was cool, and Molly, who twists her voice around with incoherent words, like a woman possessed, added an element that I didn't expect. The band is normally loud, very loud but they turned it down, let Molly take the lead and followed her on a beautiful, and very intellectual, musical path. UV (Sean O'Neil), the band's DJ, played more guitar than I've seen in the past and added beautiful melodies to the mix.

The festival is also a nice reminder that there are young people, college kids, late 20s in Santa Fe. So often people of this, my, age group travel in cliques and we forget to branch out from our circles into the wider world.