June 24: Teen Day at the Sonoma-Marin Fair

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Morrissey may have once sang about the last night of the fair, but Petaluma teens won’t want to miss out on the first day of the Sonoma-Marin Fair, aka Teen Day. At 1pm, don’t miss the Guitar Hero competition, where you can try your skills on Lamb of God’s “Laid to Rest”; at 2pm, check out the teen fashion show; and at 3pm, Sophia Smith, GimCrackery and the Unnamed Band from the Phoenix Theater’s School of Music perform. There’ll also be YouTube stations, where you can edit and upload videos of the fair, free skateboard parking at the gate, and best of all—an actual text-messaging competition. Don’t miss it on Wednesday, June 24, at the Sonoma-Marin Fair. 175 Fairgrounds Drive, Petaluma. 1–11pm. On Teen Day, $10 before 5pm, $15 after; rides free with admission. 707.283.3247.Gabe Meline

June 20-21: Marin Art Festival at the Marin Center

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Before the Marin Center’s lagoon fills with reflections of Ferris Wheels and nightly fireworks, settle into the relative quiet at the Marin Art Festival this weekend. In the shadow of Frank Lloyd Wright’s famed Marin Center, over 250 fine artists will be on hand showing, discussing and selling their work. Festival food includes Louisiana gumbo, Greek salads, French pastries, Southwestern chicken sandwiches and, naturally, grilled Marin oysters. The musical lineup includes Latin and Cuban fare on Saturday, courtesy of Fito Reinoso, Ray Obeido and Patricio Angulo, while Sunday’s given over to the swing sounds of Swing Fever, Steve Lucky and the Rhumba Bums and the triumphant return of Lee Press-On and the Nails. It’s all happening Saturday–Sunday, June 20–21, at the Marin Center. 10 Avenue of the Flags, San Rafael. 10am–6pm. $10. 415.388.0151.Gabe Meline

June 20: Jason Bodlovich at the Russian River Brewing Company

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Even from the title, Hammerhead, one can ascertain that Jason Bodlovich’s newest album is more forceful and driven than the average instrumental guitar release. Heavy percussion, funk grooves and technical precision underscore the album’s role as a conjurer of images. “Grazin’,” though not a country song, still conjures haystacks and wooden fences, while “10 Rays” is the sound of sunrise, as magisterial as it gets. When Bodlovich swipes his pick across the round-wound strings while picking out low notes on “Lumpy,” it’s just like skipping through sidewalk puddles. With Hammerhead, calling Bodlovich a jazz artist isn’t enough anymore. He’s on some other plane. Celebrate his CD release show on Saturday, June 20, at the Russian River Brewing Company. 725 Fourth St., Santa Rosa. 7pm. Free. 707.545.2337.Gabe Meline

June 20: Solar Fair at the Finley Center

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It’s summertime, the sun is shining, and it’s all things solar at Solar Sonoma County’s Solar Fair this weekend, where interested parties can find all about harnessing the power of the sun. Want to add solar panels to your house? Even better, want to learn about government programs to help finance them? Interested in a job in the solar industry, or just want to learn about energy efficiency? The Solar Fair’s the place. With over 14 food and drink booths will be on hand and over 20 solar vendors, the only thing missing is live music. That’s where John Allair, Blusion, Fishbear and the Taiko Drummers come in. It all goes down on Saturday, June 20, at the Finley Center. 2060 West College Ave., Santa Rosa. 11am–6pm. Free. 707.284.9799.Gabe Meline

June 18: the Wallflowers at the Napa Valley Opera House

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So Rumer Willis and Frank Sinatra Jr. are having lunch, talking about the business, when suddenly Ben Taylor walks by. “Hey Ben, how’s it goin’?” asks Sinatra. “Great, man, I just cut a track with Martha Wainwright. You?” “Oh, not bad—I’m working on a soundtrack to this Kate Hudson and Charlie Sheen movie.” Taylor’s phone rings, it’s Maya Rudolph and Ravi Coltrane coming to join them, when who should walk by listening to Ziggy Marley but Chastity Bono. “Hey, Chastity!” shouts Willis. “I hear you’re getting a sex-change operation! Let’s all celebrate! I’ll call up Dakota Johnson and Natalie Cole, and we’ll go see the Wallflowers on Thursday, June 18, at the Napa Valley Opera House.” 1030 Main St., Napa. 8pm. $85. 707.226.7372.

Santa Rosa

Gabe Meline

Lazer Tag

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06.17.09

Time was when teenagers only had the allowance to buy one album, and for the rest of the week, that album would define you in your circle of friends and classmates. You either bought the Smiths’ Meat Is Murder or Sade’s Diamond Life. You either bought Public Enemy’s Fear of a Black Planet or Bell Biv Devoe’s Poison. You either bought Franz Ferdinand’s self-titled debut or Modest Mouse’s Good News for People Who Like Bad News. You’d bring them home, tape them for each other, and that’s what you’d talk about for the next seven days.

The purchasing model may have changed, but the idea of defining oneself by music has not. Teenagers this week have a pretty clear choice to make. The band Brokencyde was a pretty funny joke last year with a video, “Freaxxx,” that regurgitated crunk and screamo in atrocious fashion. Everyone hated it, but everyone reposted it, and now Brokencyde has a record deal. I’m Not a Fan . . . But the Kids Seem to Like It is a play on what most adults think of their processed, mashed-up music, but don’t be alarmed—no kids actually like Brokencyde. The kids instead like to complain about them, which they do in very funny and profane ways, usually involving members of the band suffering painful death. As for longevity? Brokencyde’s Wikipedia page has been deleted eight times so far, citing “Doesn’t indicate importance or significance.”

 

What will stick around longer is Major Lazer, and their debut Guns Don’t Kill People . . . Lazers Do. Diplo and Switch (above) are the two producers behind M.I.A., and they team up for an album heavy on the triplet-riddim dancehall beat—the reggae and hip-hop mix fits as seamlessly as the album’s cover art reflects both hand-drawn Jamaican mix tapes and Miami booty-bass CDs. Guest spots from Santigold, Amanda Blank and a horde of Jamaican artists relatively unknown in the States bring us straight to Trenchtown via the Williamsburg L Train. Switch and Diplo know full well that cars need something to bump when the heat’s in summertime session, and even though the novelty “Mary Jane” sounds like something Brokencyde might attempt when they get older and smoke more weed, Major Lazer is the easy winner this week. They play Friday, June 26, at the Grand Ballroom. 1290 Sutter St., San Francisco. 9pm. $28-$70. 800.745.3000.


Warbling Wonder

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06.17.09

I‘d heard about this thing. This thing that lets you hold a phone up to a speaker and, pulling some ultra-insane and complicated algorithm out of the universe, analyzes the music’s wave forms and compares it instantaneously against a universal database of every recorded note in history and then—poof!—just like a TV dinner popping out of the microwave, tells you the title and artist of whatever crazy song happens to be playing at the time.

And I thought, oh well, there goes the fun. There goes the mystery. There goes the fantastically aggravating experience of hearing the world’s most kickass song and screaming, “Holy shit, my life will never be the same,” and having the song stick in your head for days while you parade around like a fool asking everyone you know if they have the faintest idea who could possibly sing this totally awesome song, calling record stores and singing it over the phone, grasping for any information about The Song.

Yes, there goes all that. Now we hold up our phone, it says the song’s by Lady Gaga, and we sigh and move on. Lady Gaga belongs to everybody. Worse, Lady Gaga belongs to the internet. No pop song belongs to us and us alone anymore.

I had even heard about this creepy super-thing that computes all the sound files of a recording and, establishing key, pitch, tempo, modulation and sonic appeal, tells record executives which track is most likely to be a hit song—most famously used to successfully select the first single from Norah Jones’ debut. Because of the programmed homogeny in reflecting certain variables of other established hit songs, and because well-paid record executives need no longer actually listen to or experience the culture they claim to create, I’d swiftly established that thing as the Devil.

But what I had not heard about was the other thing. The thing that instead of analyzing the actual original recorded song’s wave forms analyzes your singing. You! You sing a song into your iPhone or computer, and if you’re at least decently on-key somewhere in the range between Ethel Merman and Maria Callas, it tells you what song you’re singing!

I don’t have an iPhone, but a friend who downloaded the app handed me his the other day. I immediately began singing a current Top 40 hit: “I’m in love wit’ you baby, and I wancha to know / That I’m hooked on yo’ body, and I’m tryin’ to be yours.” I tapped the phone. Three seconds later, there it was on the iPhone screen: “The-Dream—’Rockin’ That Shit.'”

I can’t tell you exactly what I felt when this happened, except that I’m glad my brain didn’t short-circuit and leak slowly out of my ears. Was this really happening? Was my childhood vision of artificial intelligence, of being able to talk to the television, of being able to relate on a semi-emotional level with computers—was it all coming true?

I decided to try something less current, and sang into the phone: “That you gimme no that you gimme no that you gimme no that you gimme no SOUUUUU-OUUUUU-OOOUUL / I hear you CALLLLL-IINNN / Oh, baby, PLEEEEEEEEEEASE / Give a little respee-ect, to-ooo, to-ooo MEEEEEEEE!”

I tapped the phone. “Erasure—’A Little Respect.'” Incredible.

I tried Tony Bennett. I tried Weezer. I tried Neutral Milk Hotel and John Prine and Keyshia Cole. And it knew. The thing always knew.

Was it looking for just the melody or could we sing the guitar parts? I buuuunnhh-buuuunnnhhh-buuuhhnnn&–ed my best Gibson Les Paul crunch into the phone. Sure enough: “Deep Purple—’Smoke on the Water.'”

I began to feel small. I began to feel like the thing was smarter, better, bigger than me. I needed a way to fool the thing. I had an idea. I sang something it was sure to know. I sang a Christmas song.

Except I sang a pitch-perfect rendition of a Christmas song with the absolutely filthiest lyrics I could imagine. Take Lil’ Kim and Andrew Dice Clay and Luke Campbell and Penthouse Forum and Blowfly and ramp it up times 12, and add a dose of Christian Bale and Dick Cheney, and that’s what I sang into the phone. I tapped to see what it said.

“Andy Williams—’Let it Snow.'” Ha!

 Midomi can be downloaded at $2.99 for the iPhone or simply used for free at www.midomi.com.

 


Going Underground

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06.17.09

BACK TO EARTH: ‘Each tree, flower, songbird, boulder and butterfly becomes a memorial,’ proclaims Fernwood promotional literature.

A hawk glides on the updraft sweeping in from San Pablo Bay, soaring over a verdant slope with sizable stones scattered amidst the lush native grasses of spring, a pastoral landscape that masks a curious mix of technology and tradition, new applications of old values. For invisibly dotting the placid hillside lie the remains of some 150 pioneers in the emerging movement known as “natural burial.”

Drawing on models from Great Britain, where the natural burial movement has been gaining ground for nearly 20 years, Beal and her clients have been slowly pushing one of the country’s most staid and convention-bound industries to reconsider its long-established practices. Her customers, Beal says, “want a choice; they want the natural option. And the cemeteries and funeral directors have had some difficulty changing their model, because it means getting new products and thinking about new ways to do things.”

Tyler Cassidy was the first to do so in California. In 2004, he bought the 133-year old Daphne Fernwood Cemetery, 32 acres of steep-shouldered hills and open meadows that were already the final resting place for generations of some of the North Bay’s founding families, where he introduced a new, natural approach. Although the cemetery maintains a modest “traditional” section, the majority of the property, called Forever Fernwood, is intended for natural interments, says cemetery manager Kathy Curry. Some plots are identified with natural rocks ranging in size from backpack to major luggage, often with names and dates carved into them. Small trees denote a few gravesites, and one lies beneath a small driftwood assemblage. But many are simply left unmarked.

Inside the cemetery offices, the land is mapped out in 12-foot hexagons, each able to accommodate two bodies. The sites already in use are shown, of course, but they are also clearly identified out on the hillsides through an unlikely application of GPS technology.

“We bury a radio frequency ID tag with them that’s programmed with their name and their dates, so that we can always find them again,” Curry explains. “We know where everybody is, but as you look at the surface of the land, you might not recognize it.” A long-handled yellow sensor, something like a truncated metal detector or weed-whacker, reads the signal from the purple, grapefruit-sized marker, which is placed 18 inches below the surface (the bodies themselves are, on average, another four feet down).

But technology is not what draws people to Fernwood, Curry says. Mostly it’s environmentalism, a desire to use fewer chemicals and other resources, to generate less pollution. And that makes natural burial an appealing alternative to cremation, which remains the dominant practice in this area.

“Cremation uses a significant amount of natural gas,” Curry elaborates. “So from an environmental standpoint, that’s the biggest downside. You’re also putting some pollutants back into the atmosphere. Although we have state-of-the-art equipment that does as much filtering as possible, there’s still some mercury from people who have the old amalgam fillings that goes back into the atmosphere.”

Cost may also be a consideration. While there isn’t much difference in the price of the plot itself, Curry notes that with a natural burial, “you’re not buying a vault, you’re not buying an expensive casket, you’re not paying to have a vault set and some of those other fees.” The net difference can be “about a 30 to 40 percent savings.”

For hospice patients, adds Cynthia Beal, there is “an opportunity to think about their deaths in advance. You can plan it so you’re not at the mercy of whatever options are shown to you in a very short time.”

Even so, green burials are still rather rare. “I can’t recall that anyone has ever asked for one,” reflects Laura Nesius, general manager of Santa Rosa Memorial Park. “If somebody were to ask us, we’d have no problem doing it,” she adds, probably at its new 40-acre Shiloh Annex, south of Windsor. It has “more of a woodsy setting,” Nesius says.

But it’s hard to match Fernwood’s undulating elevations, which adjoin the Golden Gate national Recreation Area. “We are a certified wildlife habitat,” Curry points out, with deer, a resident bobcat, occasional coyote sightings and abundant birds, rodents, snakes and small mammals sharing the cemetery site.

“If you put flowers on a grave here, they may be there a week later or they may be eaten by the next morning,” she laughs, “depending on whether the deer come through that night.”

 To contact Forever Fernwood, call 415.383.7100.


Travels with Muley

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the arts | visual arts |

By Alex Shigenaga

It took Mike Farrell 31 days to drive himself from one side of this country to the other and back. At least now he knows that it doesn’t have to take a lot of gas.

To promote his acclaimed memoir, Just Call Me Mike: A Journey to Actor and Activist, Farrell, probably best known in his role as B. J. Hunnicut from television’s M*A*S*H, embarked on a book tour with just a single companion, a rented Prius affectionately nicknamed Mule. Navigating the never-ending book signings, radio interviews and perils of the road prompted a new book, Of Mule and Man (Akashic Books; $15.95), that has Farrell passionately speaking to some of America’s thorniest issues. Interwoven with Farrell’s developing affection for his Prius is a running commentary on electoral politics, social activism and American life, all amid the backdrop of the heated 2008 presidential race.

Of Mule and Man lends page space to the organizations that co-sponsor his events. Among these organizations are Greenpeace, SEIU, chapters of the ACLU, and the Death Penalty Focus. Although it’s hard to ignore Farrell’s political slant, it is admirable that he doesn’t lose sight of what’s important in life: friends, family and community (and a Lakers win).

What is most endearing about Farrell’s adventure, though, is his humility and gratitude. His celebrity is no doubt a means to gather support for the causes he stands behind, but at every stop in every city he is stunned by the kind and inquisitive crowds from which he fields questions. Through this, his respect for community leaders, fellow activists and fans shines through the pages.

Thankfully, his conversational writing style isn’t weighed down by pessimistic rants. That isn’t to say he’s exempt from them, though. Cruising through Texas, Georgia and the Carolinas, he muses about the difficulty of hybrid technology and scoffs at the conservative-dominated airwaves of the red states. “I don’t like this,” Mule grunts. Welcome to America.

Mike Farrell reads from and discusses Of Mule and Man on Thursday, June 18, at Readers’ Books. 130 E. Napa St., Sonoma. 7:30pm. Free. 707.939.1779.



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What’s Cooking?

06.17.09

One could call Robert Kenner’s brave documentary Food, Inc. “An Inedible Truth.” Graphics turn the film’s titles into labels at a supermarket, which is the perfect place to start; at the market, we’re lulled by images of red barns and green fields. “The veil is drawn,” announces Fast Food Nation‘s author Eric Schlosser, who charges that our food has changed more in the past 50 years than it has in human history.

We can see that change vividly in Food, Inc., as when we drive past the Concentrated Animal Feeding Operation on Interstate 5, its odor present for nine miles. Defying the lawyers, one corporate chicken farmer shows us her wretched, antibiotic-packed birds in a pile, so genetically breast-plumped that they’re unable to walk more than a few steps. Lobbyist foxes patrol these mega-henhouses. Today’s industry lobbyist is tomorrow’s regulator, as sure as today’s pig is tomorrow’s bacon, and the sharecropper-waged farmers aren’t in any position to complain.

From the air, we visit Tar Heel, N.C., site of the world’s largest slaughterhouse. Hidden cameras show us the inside. Kenner tells of how Big Ag recruits bankrupt Mexican corn farmers—driven out of business by cheap American corn, thanks to NAFTA—who were solicited in their own country to do this dangerous and poorly paid pig butchering.

Drooling, packed-in steers—actually seen herringboned into a freight car in one overhead shot—are fattened with cheap Iowa corn. It breeds E. coli in their guts. The nearly annual outbreaks of E. coli are seemingly the cost of business, a price paid even by spinach-eating vegetarians.

Meanwhile, interviewee Barbara Kowalcyk tries year after year to get a law passed to allow the USDA to close down toxic slaughterhouses. The law is to be called Kevin’s Law, after her two-and-a-half-year old son who he was killed by a bad hamburger from a plant that dawdled for weeks over whether to recall its tainted meat. She describes what it was like to watch her child die, but she has to watch what she says; it’s a felony to libel hamburger in Colorado. No, that’s not a joke.

Prefer tofu? Monsanto hires frightening investigators to make sure that no farmers save the seeds from the company’s patented soybeans, now grown in a 90 percent market share in the United States. Too bad genetically engineered pollen doesn’t recognize a fence, as many farmers have discovered in court.

Food, Inc. tries to end upbeat by counseling fine-print reading, farmers market attendance and gardening. It’s suggested that we pressure the FDA to monitor mega-slaughterhouses instead of harassing smaller agriculturalists; one such is the slightly messianic Joel Salatin of Polyface Farms in Virginia, who gladly allows us to watch how the chickens get it in the neck on his spread.

As director, Kenner can’t be accused of starry-eyed idealism. These days, even Wal-Mart gets into bed with organic growers. We see two of their reps paying a visit to as perfect-looking a Vermont dairy farm as you ever saw on the side of a lunch box. The film ends with a Woody Guthrie anthem and the reminder that if the United States could make Big Tobacco heel, that agribusinesses’ wasteful and deadly practices can be stopped.

You need to see this film. In one and a half enlightening and enraging hours, it’s a tutorial on what’s on the other end of your fork.

‘Food, Inc.’ opens on Friday, June 19, at the Rialto Lakeside Cinema, 551 Summerfield Road, Santa Rosa. 707.525.4840.

 


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June 24: Teen Day at the Sonoma-Marin Fair

Morrissey may have once sang about the last night of the fair, but Petaluma teens won’t want to miss out on the first day of the Sonoma-Marin Fair, aka Teen Day. At 1pm, don’t miss the Guitar Hero competition, where you can try your skills on Lamb of God’s “Laid to Rest”; at 2pm, check out the teen fashion...

June 20-21: Marin Art Festival at the Marin Center

Before the Marin Center’s lagoon fills with reflections of Ferris Wheels and nightly fireworks, settle into the relative quiet at the Marin Art Festival this weekend. In the shadow of Frank Lloyd Wright’s famed Marin Center, over 250 fine artists will be on hand showing, discussing and selling their work. Festival food includes Louisiana gumbo, Greek salads, French pastries,...

June 20: Jason Bodlovich at the Russian River Brewing Company

Even from the title, Hammerhead, one can ascertain that Jason Bodlovich’s newest album is more forceful and driven than the average instrumental guitar release. Heavy percussion, funk grooves and technical precision underscore the album’s role as a conjurer of images. “Grazin’,” though not a country song, still conjures haystacks and wooden fences, while “10 Rays” is the sound of...

June 20: Solar Fair at the Finley Center

It’s summertime, the sun is shining, and it’s all things solar at Solar Sonoma County’s Solar Fair this weekend, where interested parties can find all about harnessing the power of the sun. Want to add solar panels to your house? Even better, want to learn about government programs to help finance them? Interested in a job in the solar...

June 18: the Wallflowers at the Napa Valley Opera House

So Rumer Willis and Frank Sinatra Jr. are having lunch, talking about the business, when suddenly Ben Taylor walks by. “Hey Ben, how’s it goin’?” asks Sinatra. “Great, man, I just cut a track with Martha Wainwright. You?” “Oh, not bad—I’m working on a soundtrack to this Kate Hudson and Charlie Sheen movie.” Taylor’s phone rings, it’s Maya Rudolph...

Lazer Tag

06.17.09Time was when teenagers only had the allowance to buy one album, and for the rest of the week, that album would define you in your circle of friends and classmates. You either bought the Smiths' Meat Is Murder or Sade's Diamond Life. You either bought Public Enemy's Fear of a Black Planet or Bell Biv Devoe's Poison. You...

Warbling Wonder

06.17.09I'd heard about this thing. This thing that lets you hold a phone up to a speaker and, pulling some ultra-insane and complicated algorithm out of the universe, analyzes the music's wave forms and compares it instantaneously against a universal database of every recorded note in history and then—poof!—just like a TV dinner popping out of the microwave, tells...

Going Underground

06.17.09 BACK TO EARTH: 'Each tree, flower, songbird, boulder and butterfly becomes a memorial,' proclaims Fernwood promotional literature. A hawk glides on the updraft sweeping in from San Pablo Bay, soaring over a verdant slope with sizable stones scattered amidst the lush native grasses of spring, a pastoral landscape that masks a curious mix of technology and tradition, new applications of old...

Travels with Muley

the arts | visual arts | ...

What’s Cooking?

06.17.09 One could call Robert Kenner's brave documentary Food, Inc. "An Inedible Truth." Graphics turn the film's titles into labels at a supermarket, which is the perfect place to start; at the market, we're lulled by images of red barns and green fields. "The veil is drawn," announces Fast Food Nation's author Eric Schlosser, who charges that...
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