Women in Love

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March 28-April 3, 2007

You don’t have to be madly in love with the art of live theater, or deeply disappointed in what it’s become, to enjoy Anton in Show Business, but bringing a bit of theatrical love-hate into the auditorium definitely helps. Like the hilarious, theater-besotted cable series Slings & Arrows, 2000’s Anton, by mysterious playwright Jane Martin (believed to be a pseudonym for theater legend Jon Jory), is a giddy string of backstage inside jokes, deconstructionist head games and bittersweet theater-world observations.

Opening with the line, “American theater is in a shitload of trouble,” the cleverly constructed play aims to explain exactly why that is true while celebrating all that is still good and wonderful about people playing make-believe on a stage in front of strangers. The play just opened a four-week run in a production by the Pacific Alliance Stage Company, directed with great sensitivity to the underlying issues by Hector Correa.

In a playfully snarky homage to Thornton Wilder’s Our Town, Anton begins with the stage manager (Nicole Brewer) setting the theater world scene, as a pair of actresses–the seasoned Casey (Alexandra Matthew) and the exuberant newbie Lisabette (Christina Vecchiato)–meet to audition for a regional theater production of Anton Chekhov’s The Three Sisters.

The production has already attached Holly (Laurie Keith), a shallow but famous television actress. Everything is pitched slightly larger than life at first, with the show’s 15 characters played by a total of six female actors (well, seven, including an exasperated audience member, played by Maria Grazia Affinito, who keeps interjecting her own opinions throughout the play). Joan Mankin and Shannon Veon Kase play all the other roles, from the snotty British director (Mankin), who makes his actors audition using nonsense words (“Tiddly-pee, tiddly-poo”), to a comically irritating, Chekhov-loving theater producer (Kase), who compromises her art in the interest of big box office. Alternately hilarious and moving, Anton is packed with great ideas and hard questions, as fearful of the future of American theater as it is hopeful that art will somehow survive the barbarian assaults of commerce, crassness and audience disinterest.

Anton in Show Business runs Thursday-Sunday through April 15 at Spreckels Performing Arts Center. Thursday at 7:30pm; Friday-Saturday at 8pm; Sunday at 2pm. $18-$21; Thursdays, $16. 5409 Snyder Lane in Rohnert Park. 707.588.3400.


Museums and gallery notes.

Reviews of new book releases.

Reviews and previews of new plays, operas and symphony performances.

Reviews and previews of new dance performances and events.

Tough Stuff

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March 28-April 3, 2007

A year ago, when a promising young playwright-director named Lito Briano, 22, was told about a gay man who was gang-raped and mutilated at a Burning Man celebration in 2005, the revelation shattered his reasonably benign view of the world, altering many of his views on sexuality–and of rape. “I saw how rape not only affects the person who was assaulted,” explains Briano, an SRJC student, “but how it also affects the victim’s family, their circle of friends and even the friends of the friends. Rape makes a victim of everyone.”

In today’s world, one potential result of rape is infection with AIDS, and Briano’s research into the number of Americans living with HIV and AIDS left him stunned. In response to all of this consciousness-expansion, Briano set out to write a play, loosely based on the Burning Man incident, that would trace the effect on multiple lives of a single sexual assault. The play, titled The Heart Bleeds Blue, has its premiere this weekend. A production of Briano’s Jade Dragon Theater Company, the show has a cast of 17 actors, most of them from the school’s theater department, and is sponsored by the JC’s fencing club (“They liked the script,” Briano says).

Ever since work began on the play in December, the project has generated a remarkable amount of buzz on and off campus, fueled in part by an effectively filmed YouTube vid featuring visceral and gripping images from the play interspersed with sobering AIDS statistics, and underscored by a haunting cover of George Harrison’s “While My Guitar Gently Weeps.” In spite of the downbeat subject and the potentially off-putting details of the story, word around town is that–with its confident risk-taking and focused intensity–Blue crosses the in-your-face realism of a David Mamet play with the ripped-from-the-headlines topicality of The Laramie Project. Briano specifically praises the dedication and daring of his actors, who’ve been required to go to some very frightening places in bringing the script to life.

“I was surprised that the actors I’m working with plunged in so easily, especially once they found out what it’s about,” Briano says. “This material has compelled these people to go to deep, dark places in their psyches, and they have brought out some really intense, really incredible performances.”

The Heart Bleeds Blue performs March 31-April 2 and April 7. April 1 and 7 at 2pm; April 2 at 7pm. Newman Auditorium, SRJC, 1501 Mendocino Ave., Santa Rosa. $8-$10. 707.527.4418.


Museums and gallery notes.

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Dining Dilemmas

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March 28-April 3, 2007

Two weeks ago, Boris finally got what has been coming to him. North Bay residents first learned about the quandary over his fate during COPIA’s TASTE3 conference last summer, when Dan Barber, the chef and co-proprietor of an unusual restaurant in Pocantico Hills, N.Y., unburdened himself to a rapt audience. “I was on the shaded hilltop here,” Barber said, pointing to an image projected at the front of the conference hall, “watching Boris try to make love to a sow.” The image changed to show a 950-pound boar. “That’s Boris,” he continued, “just after being shunned by the sow.”

Dan Barber’s restaurant, Blue Hill at Stone Barns, sits on an old Rockefeller property in countryside near the Hudson River about 20 miles outside of New York City. The restaurant primarily cooks with food that the staff grows right on the premises, at the Stone Barns Center for Food and Agriculture. Barber is creative director of this three-year-old center, which cultivates vegetables on some five acres and raises livestock on 22 acres.

Boris was a problem, Barber explained, because he’d stopped “performing.” Barber didn’t know what to do, so he researched his options and reported the problems of each: (1) shoot and bury the pig, thus wasting over 700 pounds of meat; (2) let Boris live but use up limited resources; (3) slaughter him, but risk “boar taint” making the meat unusable; or (4) castrate Boris and then slaughter him, which would eliminate the risk of boar taint, but–how would the dirty deed be accomplished?

Various members of his staff gravely gave Barber their input. Jack, the vegetable farmer, sensing Barber’s attachment to the animal, scolded, “Shoulda named him P-22, man. Once you name him, you’re screwed.”

With his refreshing manner and innovative ideas about food, Barber is a sought-after figure these days. He’s slated to take part in the first ever “New Yorker Conference/2012: Stories from the Near Future” this May, along with such diverse members of the intelligentsia as architect Zaha Hadid, Craig Newmark of Craigslist, Talking Heads’ David Byrne and Tipping Point writer Malcolm Gladwell.

Heading to Santa Rosa on April 4, Barber will take part in the “Sustainable Agriculture vs. Industrial Food” conversation with activist and author Daniel Imhoff (Food Fight: A Citizen’s Guide to the Farm Bill), with the Bohemian‘s own Clark Wolf moderating.

Barber ranks among such Alice Waters-inspired evangelists as Michael Pollan who are at the helm of a growing movement working to generate curiosity among the public about where our food comes from. Barber caught a few minutes to speak to us by cell phone from New York, where he had just touched down after a trip to Barcelona.

Barber explains that his philosophy (although he hesitates to use that word, saying it sounds pretentious) about food has to do with growing it organically, but not in the usual sense. “It’s about looking at organic in a really holistic way,” he says. “‘Organic’ comes from the word ‘organism,’ which means ‘whole.’ ‘Organic’ used to mean not just how your food was grown, but who or what community was growing it and how it was getting to you. Just because it doesn’t have pesticides and fertilizers doesn’t mean it comes from a squeaky clean food source.”

In Farming and the Fate of Wild Nature: Essays in Conservation-Based Agriculture, edited by North Bay resident Imhoff, Barber elaborates on his philosophy-which-he-won’t-call-a-philosophy in terms of how it applies to modern farming. Writing in an essay “Will Agriculture Economics Change in Time?” he explains that however much we’d like to look toward the hyper-teensy farms that supply local farmers markets as the answer to the nation’s agriculture problems, they’re not a realistic solution. Instead, Barber advocates midsized farms, which cultivate roughly 40 percent of U.S. farmland, as the answer–at least for now. Unfortunately, he writes, these midsized farms are encouraged to “get big or get out.”

Getting big generally also means scaling back on variety and only growing one crop–often one of the usual suspects heading the ingredient list in processed foods. With sales of over $500,000 and acreage that averages the size of Manhattan, mega-monoculture farms eschew diversity. According to Barber, that’s a problem, because there’s no balance in such an ecosystem. “Nature doesn’t grow things in monocultures,” he says, adding that monoculture cultivation practically forces the use of chemicals and pesticides.

What about the wine industry in Napa and Sonoma–isn’t that a monoculture? “Yes,” he says. “But in the best case, you do it organically and within a system that doesn’t require pesticides and fertilizers. That’s a prerequisite of good wine. But it’s not the same as what’s happening in fruits and vegetables.”

During his appearance in Santa Rosa, Barber will also discuss the 2007 Farm Bill, which he predicts will go to the floor for a vote quite soon. The bill, which picks up where the 2002 version left off, will influence how the government spends money on agriculture for the next five years. Not only have the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times had positive things to say it, but Oxfam has joined the chorus. Among items eliciting praise for the bill is its decreased focused on such “program crops” as soybeans, wheat, cotton, rice and corn. Instead, the bill proposes to boost healthier specialty crops such as vegetables, fruits and tree nuts by allocating funds toward research and a greater role in school lunches.

But Barber isn’t convinced. “As a part of the pie,” he says, “those funds are very, very small.” He also cautions that money often gets cut at the last minute, which stymied some of the best programs in the 2002 Farm Bill. Barber thinks it will still take time before the grassroots food-consciousness efforts that he advocates will really come to fruition on a political scale.

“Stone Barns and many others are trying,” Barber says, “to increase that awareness and get people to think about food. That sounds like a very easy thing, but it’s not. Stories like [the saga of] Boris can remind people that there’s a whole set of choices we have when we eat. And those choices affect not just our health, but our community, our landscape, our environment–as we have increasingly seen–our political landscape and on and on. And it comes down to what kind of choices we make when we buy food.”

And just whatever did happen to Boris?

Barber and his staff eventually found a vet that could castrate the boar relatively painlessly. He slaughtered Boris about two weeks ago. “We’re still eating his sausage,” Barber laughs. “Actually, we’ll be eating it for a while.”

Dan Barber and Dan Imhoff appear in conversation with Clark Wolf on Wednesday, April 4, at the Jackson Theater. Sonoma Country Day School, 4400 Day School Place, Santa Rosa. 7pm. $10-$15. 707.284.3200.

Quick dining snapshots by Bohemian staffers.

Winery news and reviews.

Food-related comings and goings, openings and closings, and other essays for those who love the kitchen and what it produces.

Recipes for food that you can actually make.

It Girl

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March 28-April 3, 2007

It’s understandable to want to avoid listening to Amy Winehouse, if for no other reason than the barrage of hype on the girl alone. In the past week, I’ve seen her splashed across the pages of five separate magazines, answering the same trivial questions about her hair, her boyfriend, her tattoos and her propensity for gum-chewing.

I am not usually in the habit of reading magazines, which is probably why I’m so shocked that each one neglected to dwell on the 23-year old British soul singer’s inspirationally husky throat. With that, Amy Winehouse has got a goddamn voice to shake the T-cells out of your bloodstream, replace them with a revamping toxin of shudder and sway and exit your system, laughing, while you walk in perfect rhythm for the next two weeks. By any estimation, it comes from a place deeper and larger than her lanky frame could possibly contain, and it evokes both Dusty Springfield and Gil Scott-Heron, with one part come-hither and two parts getta-fuck-outta-here.

On her sophomore album, Back to Black, she’s backed by a stellar band (aided themselves by the welcome trend of retro-soul recording techniques), sounding thoroughly fresher than the processed sugar fix of most U.K. buzz-girls. The songs are all from Winehouse’s own pen, and they read like a series of esoteric MySpace comments: “What kind of fuckery is this? / You made me miss the Slick Rick gig,” she sings on the Billy-Paul inspired “Me and Mr. Jones.”

Elsewhere, she sings of stolen weed and failed interventions. Winehouse has been celebrating her diva-of-the-month status by canceling shows at the last minute all across the country on her current tour, which bodes ill for the diehards paying $200 for scalped tickets to her scheduled appearance in San Francisco next month. But after hearing the album, capitulating to Winehouse’s voice, and feeling like a love-struck teenager in Detroit circa 1968, it’s almost worth the risk.

Amy Winehouse may or may not perform on Thursday, April 26, at an insanely sold-out show at Popscene, 330 Ritch St., San Francisco. Back to Black is in stores now.


First Bite

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March 28-April 3, 2007

Chef Steve Tam has done a marvelous thing to one of my favorite desserts, cheesecake. Because his new Gohan restaurant in Petaluma serves Japanese food, he’s added green tea to the recipe, using a very special nonbitter variety from Sendai, north of Tokyo. The fragrant leaf imparts a delicate, earthy flavor, enhanced by an ample dusting of powdered green tea over the top.

But he’s also replaced the usual, humble cream-cheese filling with fromage blanc, making this confection incredibly light but rich, a bit tangy-sour and just a hint nutty. Can I lick my plate in such a nice setting as this, a sleek, sophisticated ambiance of polished wood, exposed duct ceilings and Japanese shoji-style accents?

Tam has put an interesting twist on wakame (seaweed) salad ($6) at his three month-old restaurant set in the Redwood Gateway (Kohl’s) shopping center. He mounds the electric-green algae in a martini glass, tops it with a big scoop of fresh snow crab and a dollop of black caviar. It’s important to get a bit of each ingredient in each bite; the mix is wonderfully crunchy and tender, sweet and salty.

I’m not expecting what I get with my kryptonite sushi roll ($14), either, which from the menu listing appears to be a typical rainbow recipe. Except that here the tuna, hamachi and salmon are tucked inside the rice with cucumber, daikon sprouts and avocado, instead of laid across the top, and the whole is slathered in crunchy tobiko. The fish is gorgeously fresh and silky–the best I’ve had in any Sonoma County sushi joint–and even the wasabi seems to burn hotter and better than at other local places I’ve tried.

Gohan also serves up a nice range of adventurous sashimi, with velvety ankimo (monkfish pâté, $10), hamachi carpaccio drizzled in sweet Banyuls wine ($12) and firm bonito slicked with wasabi-onion sauce ($12). Sorry, though, I can’t bring myself to try the wacky Napoleon Dynamite ($13), a tempura roll stuffed with eel, cream cheese and snow crab, garnished with tater tots.

I’m a huge fan of nabeyaki udon ($15), and Tam’s version is a satisfying success. The broth is light and savory over fat, slippery noodles and floating with properly rubbery fish cake, shiitake, scallion, tofu, Napa cabbage and a raw egg that slowly cooks in the steaming soup.

It’s a meal all on its own, but for opulence I add an order of the “Over the Top” seafood tempura ($18) to dip in the broth, delighting in a lightly battered whole soft shell crab, prawns and scallops.

The tonkatsu ($14) was a bit dry, but that was easily remedied by dressing the panko-breaded pork with the excellent homemade tonkatsu sauce alongside. The entrée comes with miso (studded with tofu and shiitake), sunomono–the traditional chopped cabbage salad–spring greens and rice.

As Tam stops by my table after the last plate has been cleared (he’s been making the rounds throughout my meal, greeting every single guest), he asks if there’s anything he can do to make my experience even better. I can’t imagine what, I tell him sincerely. Because what he’s doing with Gohan is a wonderful thing indeed.

Gohan, 1367 McDowell Blvd., Petaluma. Open for lunch and dinner Monday-Saturday; dinner only, Sunday. 707.789.9296.


Quick-and-dirty dashes through North Bay restaurants. These aren’t your standard “bring five friends and order everything on the menu” dining reviews.

‘Lookout’ for It

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March 28-April 2, 2007

How refreshing–a character study where the character in question is actually unique, complex and believable. A-list screenwriter Scott Frank (Little Man Tate, Get Shorty, Minority Report) has had The Lookout, his most impressive screenplay to date, in development for years, with big-name directors like David Fincher and Sam Mendes attached at one point or another. But it is hard to think of anyone who could have done a better job bringing this intriguing story to the screen than the cast and crew that Frank assembled after taking on directing duties himself.

Joseph Gordon-Levitt (making quite a name for himself recently with unconventional star turns in this and Brick, last year’s best movie that no one ever saw) stars as Chris Pratt, a once-promising high school athlete who finds his life irrevocably changed after a reckless but well-meaning decision leads to a car accident that kills two of his friends and leaves him with permanent brain damage. Four years later, Chris can take care of himself and get around in the world, but he is still far from the person he once was. He is prone to sudden fits of anger and sadness, stricken with memory problems and a lack of impulse control. He also gets easily confused, something that only exacerbates his rage and depression.

Chris has a steady job as the night janitor at a local bank and a strong bond with his blind roommate, Lewis (Jeff Daniels in a typically top-notch performance), but still he longs to be able to somehow recapture the heights of his high school glory days. No surprise, then, that Chris is more than eager to accept the friendship of local ne’er-do-well Gary (Matthew Goode). Gary sets him up with a girlfriend (Isla Fisher) and a new circle of friends–but these “pals” are actually Gary’s creepy accomplices in a plot to rob the small town’s bank vault. It’s not long before Gary begins messing with Pratt’s fragile mind and drawing him into his nefarious plot.

Frank illustrates the power that can come from a writer directing his own material by keeping the film focused on what matters–in this case, the characters. The Lookout is simple, cinematically speaking, devoid of flashy effects or bombastic set pieces. It is a quiet film, but an undeniably powerful one. The heist plotline doesn’t even come into play until the latter part of the film; the first half is a slow but involving build that establishes Pratt’s heartbreaking existence.

Once Gary enters our hero’s life, he is clearly Chris’ Lucifer, charming and full of temptations. He makes a somewhat compelling argument for his planned crime (banks are just giant, faceless corporations) but dangles the monetary gain in front of Chris as if this financial windfall will help him get back some measure of the man he once was. He pointedly tells Chris, even imploring him to write it down in the notebook he keeps to help remember the most basic of daily tasks, that “whoever has the money has the power.”

It is easy for us to believe that a screw-up like Gary would think that material wealth could somehow improve Chris’ situation but, all brain damage aside, it is odd that our supposed hero would fall for such a trap. But thanks to the complexities and layers of the persona that Frank and Gordon-Levitt have crafted, we know that Chris never seems to actually believe that the money will somehow make him whole again. He just wants to be able to do something, anything, that will make him feel a bit better about himself.

On the surface, it would be easy to dismiss The Lookout as just another heist movie with a twist. But this intriguing human drama is better compared to the underrated 1998 film A Simple Plan, or even the classic Treasure of the Sierra Madre in the way that it so captivatingly portrays ordinary people drawn into unordinary and evil circumstances. There are indeed elements of a thrilling heist picture (the tension of the entire last act is almost unbearable), but ultimately this is more about Chris Pratt than about any crimes Chris Pratt is considering committing.

‘The Lookout’ opens at select North Bay theaters on March 30.


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Get Lonely

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March 28-April 3, 2007

Are you down with all the latest trends to keep up with friends?–M. Ward

I‘ve been on kind of a high since I got voted Time magazine’s person of the year, but now that the honeymoon is ending, Tori Amos is really starting to piss me off.

It wasn’t enough that she drove a wedge into my marriage by making music that I hate and my wife loves. Then she went and dissed my wife. And of all the places to get dissed, it happened on MySpace, “a place for friends.”

Friends, shmriends. As of press time, Tori Amos had 80,296 of them on MySpace; apparently 80,297 is one too goddamned many. Same thing with Pearl Jam: 193,030 friends, and no love for one of their most loyal (and adorable) fans. All they had to do was answer “yes” to the friend request. This is how we did it when we were four years old: “Want to be my friend?” “Yes.” Done. Now, I automatically get all your bulletins about what you did with your cat today and when you’re going on tour. Thanks for the add!

But no. “A place for friends” has apparently become a place for lazy PR reps who can’t be bothered to nurture the fragile egos of the fans who make them rich.

Worse yet, it’s becoming increasingly clear that these prefab cybercommunities are still cheap imitations of the real thing. In its current evolutionary stage, joining an online social network does to you something like what the Phantom Zone did to General Zod, Ursa and Non, the Superman II villains trapped in that flying LP cover. Existence is flattened into a two-dimensional plane where you’re constrained to operate within a new and very limited set of behavioral rules. You are text, pictures, a few songs and maybe a video clip or two. And since users don’t have to see their own page in order to check in on it, many are hopelessly unaware of how badly theirs suck.

And you can suck as anyone you want to be: in fact, General Zod himself is actually on MySpace. Sweet, right? MySpace is delivering on the promise inherent in social networking–that I’m just about six clicks away from anyone I can think of, even a fictional character in a movie. But does Zod respond to my e-mails? No. Disappointing to say the least, until I notice that Superman himself–the son of Jor-El, who imprisoned Zod in the Phantom Zone–is in Zod’s top eight friend spaces. What a fraud!

But there’s more fraud than just impersonation going on. A woman I know had her MySpace account hacked twice so that it sent out random advertisements to everyone she knew while she should have been working. The same woman got stalked by her ex via MySpace, which was not nearly as bad as the stories going around about hot young things being stalked by Catholic-priest types.

But it’s getting to the point where these glitches are considered necessary evils, to be endured for the supposed greater good of constant connectedness. Consider the following statistic, which was inspired by the folk singer Todd Snider’s observation that “65 percent of all statistics are made up right there on the spot.” Eighty-seven percent of all MySpace users are probably addicted–yes, addicted–to checking their MySpace accounts. And when they’re not MySpacing, I bet 69 percent of them are instant-messaging, blogging, vlogging, text-messaging and talking on cell phones in grocery store checkout lines, all to avoid experiencing the world alone. Thanks to social networking, our culture is undeniably hyperconnected. Is there any escape?

Party of Myself

One group of artists wants us all to taste loneliness again, if just for 15 minutes or so. San Francisco’s Southern Exposure has collaborated with New York’s Glowlab to create “NOSO,” an anti-social networking experiment in public space. It’s kind of like “Buy Nothing Day,” except it lasts over a month (through May 5), and it won’t necessarily stick it to the Man so much as just plain confuse him.

The plan works something like this: The word is spread, ironically, by social-networking sites like MySpace, Digg and de.lici.ous. Then, people will log on to www.nosoproject.com and sign up for 15-minute nonmeetings with no friends. Maybe it’s at an Internet cafe, maybe it’s a park bench–some kind of public space where people are used to being social. But surely we’ll get clues as to who it is we’re not meeting?

“You get no clues,” dictates SE’s exhibitions program manager Maysoun Wazwaz. “You go to this location, and the location is to not meet, it’s to not have a friend, it’s a no-event.”

She must be joking, right?

“There’s obviously a bit of humor to it–it’s a critique of being so hyperconnected,” says Wazwaz. “The idea is to remove yourself completely from that. It’s kind of an experiment: can people remove themselves? The idea really is to not meet this person. It’s kind of the challenge: is it possible to do that? The way we all work, we want to know who’s in the room with us. The idea is to disengage in places where one maybe wouldn’t, to experience what that’s like.”

It’s easy to rip on social networking, but to abandon it? These days, probably not–or at least not for long. Fortunately, the assignment is short, and at the end of the day there will be blog hits for everyone! That is, you’re free, and encouraged, to blog about your experience like the junkies you are.

Experiments like Southern Exposure’s aren’t cures for what is now referred to as the “web 2.0 junkie.” For that illness, there is no cure in sight. Social networking is just the natural progression of the promise of the Internet to connect everyone in a worldwide web (called MySpace), and it’s an unstoppable juggernaut. And even as that juggernaut comes crashing through our office walls like the Kool-Aid man–and this cyanide capsule in my mouth says it’s not taking me alive–there are other, calmer voices in the crowd saying this social-networking thing might not be the end of the world. Just the one as we know it.

How MySpace Won

Robert Young, who describes himself as a “serial entrepreneur, market disrupter and deal maker,” has blogged extensively and authoritatively on the phenomenon of social networking at Gigaom.com. Agreeing to an interview on the subject, Young said that ultimately he believes social networking is just another form of self-expression, albeit a potent one.

“Once online, the ability to bring together our circles of friends, who then bring their own circles, creates tremendous network effects (e.g., six degrees of separation),” says Young, “which all culminates into a new communications experience/medium that also offers the benefit of serendipitous discovery of new friends.”

Validating my earlier, made-up statistic, Young says that social networks “have proven very addictive,” but he stops short of characterizing it as some sort of disease. Young calls chronic social networking a “generational phenomenon” and says the invectives aimed at it are akin to those aimed at rock ‘n’ roll, which was similarly demonized back in the day.

“The presence of evil societal elements is certainly not a problem specific to [social networking],” says Young.

According to Young, MySpace is not, in fact, evil, but is targeted “simply because it’s the market leader.” So how did it get that pole position?

“MySpace gave users a great deal of freedom to express themselves–for example, pimping your profiles,” says Young, “and doing so set them apart from the leader at the time, Friendster, which was very rigid.”

Young was the first to call MySpace “the new MTV–the site’s focus on the indie music scene in L.A. gave them a cool factor right out of the gate,” he says. “And by becoming the new MTV, they cornered the youth market in the U.S. virtually overnight.”

If MySpace is the new, pimpable version of MTV, then it might follow, like night does the day, that over time it will suck more and more as it grows bigger and bigger. Right?

“There’s no simple answer to this question,” says Young. “If a particular social network is very big, its utility to any given user will depend highly on how well the site itself is organized and structured. Facebook is the best example of great structure, because it gives the user a very high, and granular, level of control over how her particular social network is governed. But at the end, the critical factor that determines whether a social network is useful or not, with respect to size, is what the user wants out of the social network. If she wants to simply use social networks as a way to keep in touch with a set group of family and friends, then the size of the social network matters little. If, on the other hand, she wants to use the social network to express herself to the widest audience possible and meet new friends, then size matters.”


News Briefs

March 28-April 3, 2007

Burning wine

Mark S. Anderson, 58, of Sausalito, was arrested March 16 on charges that he torched a wine warehouse in Vallejo in October 2005, destroying more than $200 million worth of high-quality vintages. Anderson’s clients paid a monthly fee to store their wine in his warehouse. A federal grand jury recently indicted Anderson on charges that he sold his clients’ wine without their permission then attempted to conceal the embezzlement by burning down his Wines Central warehouse on Mare Island. According to federal officials, the building held bottles from more than 90 wineries and 40 collectors. Anderson’s 19 federal charges included one count of arson, with a maximum statutory penalty of seven to 20 years, and nine counts of mail fraud, with up to 10 years for each count.

On the death of . . .

Press releases are statements sent to the media in the hopes of prompting a story, preferably a favorable one. The California governor’s office releases a veritable flood of these missives, ranging anywhere from two to 20 or more in a single day. They outline Arnold’s daily schedule, boast of legislation he’s signed, name his nominees to statewide posts and proclaim his views on an apparently limitless range of topics. Slipped in quietly between the photo ops and corrections to the corrections of the latest list of appointees are the ones titled, “Gov. Schwarzenegger Issues Statement on Death of” which go on to name a Twentynine Palms marine, a Bakersfield soldier, a Hemet sailor. Each contains a quote, purportedly from the governor. “Maria and I join all Californians in expressing our gratitude for Lance Corporal Timberman’s noble sacrifice. Harry served with profound patriotism to protect and preserve our nation’s cherished way of life. We offer our prayers for his family’s healing as they cope with his painful loss.” “Private First Class Garcia lost his life in his pursuit to deliver freedom to the oppressed. Alberto honorably served our nation with bravery and selflessness. Maria and I pray for Alberto’s family, friends and fellow soldiers as they mourn the loss of a loved one.” “Lance Corporal Howey embodied ultimate selflessness. Blake bravely served our nation’s armed forces and sacrificed his own life in his determination to bring freedom to the oppressed. Maria and I extend our condolences to Blake’s family, friends and fellow Marines.” Designed to be picked up by hometown newspapers praising fallen heroes, no two quotes are alike. Who writes them? A high-level press secretary or a faceless bureaucrat? Does the governor actually read them before they go out, or are they just one more facet of the perpetual-motion press office?


Prognosis

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March 28-April 3, 2007

Rock’s recent retro styles, like neo-garage and neo-dance punk, typically have short shelf lives. An intriguing exception is the new prog-rock. Many current acts are following the old-school prog-rock ideals of complex song suites, Medieval and sci-fi references, and masterful musicianship. The results vary wildly, as neo-prog pursues creative choices independent of the classical and troubadour models of early British prog.

But the success of neo-prog troubles me. I swore off progressive rock 30 years ago. I loved first-generation classical (or “art”) rock as an intellectual ’70s teen, but later in college, my exploration of punk, oldies, country and jazz led to quick trips to used record shops with tired Emerson Lake & Palmer LPs. Immersed in the Clash, Hank Williams and Sonny Rollins, I learned that the Moody Blues, minus symphonic backing, were as insipid as a pair of clean white socks.

Punk threw prog into a state of cultural shame, marked by Johnny Rotten’s infamous “Fuck Pink Floyd” T-shirt. But prog never really died, living on through the cool ’80s hits of Canadian rockers Rush, and through ’90s jam bands like Phish, Umphrey’s McGee and Moe. Alt-rock leaders Radiohead are full of prog elements. The original prog albums, the Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band and the Beach Boys’ Pet Sounds, continue to be huge influences on the micro-instrumentation of current indie rock.

What have new prog acts learned from 30 years of choices? The fallacy of original prog was its assumption that fanciful, sophisticated European music is superior music, coupled with the erroneous illusion that there’s superior depth in lyrics about wizards and space travelers that use words like “whilst” and “thee.” New prog, more often with American or world roots, achieves results not with the length of songs or intricacy of themes, but with a solid emotional core.

The Mars Volta, for example, create a Latin space-metal that holds some of prog’s best and worst traits. Meandering? Obtuse? Yup, just like Pink Floyd, Yes and Genesis. But also like those originals, the Mars Volta occasionally show a flair for tight rock structure and can pull snappy moments from their swirling void. Singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala is often close to the emotive Peter Gabriel of early Genesis, an aching, overachieving, very human presence elevating music that’s less complex than it seems.

A more complete and balanced example of neo-prog is Portland’s theatrical alt-rockers the Decemberists. On their acclaimed 2006 disc The Crane Wife, the band play conventional melodic indie rock, but also employ prog basics to stir emotion. Their Bach-rock keyboard triads and historical tales aren’t ponderous or exhibitionist, but instead highlight a very human core.

New prog-rock headbangers use less obvious prog DNA, but do show the lesson learned from heroes King Crimson and Jethro Tull that prog can escape lightweight whimsy with healthy doses of gnarly noise. Thrashers Mastodon are supremely technical, and Swedish death-metallers Opeth paint dark Nordic sagas with extended concepts. A compelling enigma in heavy prog is Porcupine Tree, who mutate with every disc, sounding first like driving grunge and then like spacy Krautrock.

Prog’s worst traits, like lack of focus and faux grandeur, have surfaced in two popular acts, emo-rockers Coheed and Cambria and Bay Area chamber-folk sensation Joanna Newsom. Coheed and Cambria are a decent emo band, but showed inane self-importance naming their 2005 concept album Good Apollo, I’m Burning Star IV, Volume One: From Fear Through the Eyes of Madness. Newsom’s sophomore disc Ys, with five songs that range in length from nine to 17 minutes, has a yearning, playful warmth, but her drawn-out subtlety seems like a plane that circles the runway without ever taking off.

The final worth of neo-prog is its validation of the album as an art form at the very moment when the album per se is out of favor. This is more important than any change in prog’s musical genetics. I just wish neo-proggers wouldn’t waste so much of those albums committing the sins of their fathers.


Wine Tasting

0

“Wow,” quoth the raven. I’d always been unnecessarily confused by Imagery Estate. Something to do with art, that I got. But I had to visit the winery to sort it all out. Located on the site of the short-lived Sonoma Mountain Brewery, Imagery Estate results from a 20-year collaboration between winemaker Joe Benziger and artist Bob Nugent, who created the first label and curates the series. The concept: Commission unique artwork from contemporary artists for each release of often uncommon varietal wines. The wine gets drunk. The art goes on the gallery wall. Not so complicated after all.

Although the bar was generously staffed with attentive pourers, we circled a while before landing amid the hubbub of the Sunday-afternoon crowd. First, we inspected the assemblage of souvenir merchandise, including Imagery posters, coasters, geegaws and baubles. The sight of pink baseball caps almost ruined the experience for me, but the gallery proved more highbrow. Chief among amusements was spotting the signature Parthenon that appears in each label, sometimes cleverly hidden in the design.

At last we felt ready. Imagery offers $5 regular and $10 reserve tastings. A sincere interest sufficed to dissolve the five-taste limit. Our young pourer was helpful and charming, but a little tricky on the whites. She introduced 2004 White Burgundy ($27) as an unoaked, fresh and fruity style of Chardonnay. Curiously, it was just the opposite: old cheese, musty oak. Corked? She thoughtfully swirled with us and didn’t look displeased. The 2005 Viognier ($26) lacked both floral aromas and stone fruit taste, which Miss Contrary informed us was a varietal characteristic.

We all fared better with reds. The strawberry jam-scented 2006 Pinot Meunier ($22) made an enticing rosé; I’d cellar it for, oh, about 20 minutes in the freezer before popping it on a warm evening. The promising-looking 2003 Taylor Vineyard Zinfandel ($42) didn’t deliver as much as the licorice-fruity 2004 Lagrein ($40). What’s a Lagrein? Take a stroll down the informative “varietal walk” on the grounds to find out.

In a flash of food-pairing inspiration, I was confident that the 2004 Sangiovese ($27), tart with high cherry notes, would drink swell with seafood pasta. The 2003 Malbec ($34) was a tad dry, but perfect in every other way, if Malbec’s candied cherry/rubber tire combo appeals to you. Those partial to richer wines might check out the violet-scented 2003 Petit Verdot ($38) and the 2004 Petite Sirah ($42), a hearty soup of dried fruit and blackberry with a touch of sweetness that carries it easily over the tongue.

Lastly, out came the chocolates and the “port slippers.” The 2005 Petite Sirah Port ($34) is served from delicate glassware that looks like an antique, well, pipe of some kind. One sips and inhales the aroma from a little bowl held close under the nose. Alas, I’d spent the first part of the day scrubbing moldy walls, and all I could smell was the bleach on my hands, so I traded the slipper for a regular glass.

Imagery Estate Winery, 14335 Hwy. 12, Glen Ellen. Tasting room open daily 10am to 4:30pm; after Memorial Day, until 5:30pm. 707.935.4515.

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