‘Scooby Doo’

0

Rroo’s There? Matthew Lillard and his digitally-animated co-star hunt ghosts in ‘Scooby Doo.’

Geek Rage

Pushing the buttons of the King of Television trivia

Take my advice: never upset a geek.

I am sitting here with the phone pressed to my ear, an ear that has just been toasted crispy by the fiery, eloquent wrath of Paul Goebel, that Elvis-haired, side-burned, walking-encyclopedia otherwise known as The T.V. Geek. Fortunately for me, the freshly roused ire of Paul Goebel is not aimed specifically in my direction. But I am close enough to have been scorched by it; scorched and, I must admit, remarkably entertained. Then again, Paul Goebel is frequently entertaining–no matter his mood–as is demonstrated every night on Comedy Central’s hit game show Beat the Geeks.

On the addictively quirky series (starting its second full season of shows on July 8) Goebel joins a trio of other geeks (the Movie Geek, the Music Geek, etc.), glibly dismantling the egos of all contestants attempting to match wits with the reigning masters of pop culture trivia. Goebel, of Los Angeles, can also do a mean Tom Jones impersonation, but that’s another story.

For the last 30 minutes, we’ve been discussing Scooby Doo, the critically-pounded live-action movie based on the classic 1969 T.V. show “Scooby Doo, Where Are You?” For much of our conversation, Goebel (www.kingoftelevision.com) has been dissecting the film with a good deal of humor, pointing out all the places where the movie deviates from the simple premises of the original show.

“For one thing, there was no big chase scene with a groovy song playing behind it,” he starts out. “I really wanted to see that and it never happened.”

Goebel goes on to list at least a dozen similar differences: on T.V., there were never any actual supernatural occurrences, just creepy guys in rubber monster masks; though Scooby and Shaggy might have belched a time or two on television, they probably wouldn’t have engaged in the high-volume farting contest we are forced to witness in the film; and the famously good-natured Scooby Gang (Fred, Velma, Daphne and Shaggy) would never have allowed petty disagreements to split them up, as occurs at the start of the movie.

“For the first ten minutes, I sat there thinking, ‘Hey! This is great!'” Goebel says. “It was just like the original show. And then they broke up, and I was thinking, ‘Whoa. This isn’t right. This shouldn’t be happening. This sucks!’ It really bummed me out. I mean it, it made me sad. The Scooby Gang would not have done that.”

And I should have kept my mouth shut. Instead, I remark, laughing, “You know, there are probably people who would hear us and say, ‘Hey. So what if the movie changes a few things? So what if the Scooby Gang breaks up? It’s only a cartoon.'”

A long, long silence ensues.

“So . . . their thinking is what? Because it’s a cartoon it doesn’t deserve any kind of respect?” Goebel finally replies. “Well, that kind of thinking has no place in my world. I’ve gotten into a million conversations about T.V. shows, conversations about the logic that operates within those shows, and always somebody thinks they’re clever by going, ‘Hey guys. It’s only a T.V. show.’ Drives me nuts.

“We know it’s a T.V. show, jackass,” Goebel goes on, just beginning to warm up. “To say that Scooby Doo is only a cartoon . . . well, Scooby Doo is more than a cartoon. He’s the most popular T.V. cartoon character ever. Every kid and adult in America knows who Scooby Doo is. He’s as popular as Barney or Elmo or Mickey Mouse or any other modern pop icon.

“So to say that it’s only a cartoon, to imply that because its a cartoon we shouldn’t take Scooby Doo seriously, is really an asinine thing to say. You might as well say, Star Wars was just a movie, Star Trek was just a T.V. show, Jesus was just a dude. I’m agnostic, but I don’t get in people’s faces when they’re talking about their religion. I don’t smirk and say, ‘Hey guys. Jesus was just a carpenter.’

“Those kind of people are just asses,” he adds, winding down. “They have no depth, and they have no soul.”

Goebel, 33, was two years old when Scooby Doo first hit the airwaves in 1969. “So obviously I’ve been watching it all my life,” he admits. “I have a lot of good Scooby Doo memories.” Goebel is able, off the top of his head, to list every Scooby Doo incarnation to hit the little screen since 1969–nearly a dozen of them–from Scooby Doo’s All Star Laff-a-Lympics to A Pup Named Scooby Doo. “My favorites were the New Scooby Doo Movies,” he says, with the animated celebrities, the Harlem Globetrotters, Laurel and Hardy, Tim Conway and Don Knotts. I always thought that was the coolest.”

As a seasoned Scooby Doo aficionado, Goebel can even weigh in on one of the series’ most enduring and hotly-debated controversies: namely, which of the shows females is hotter–Daphne or Velma.

“Velma always looked great in that tight red sweater,” he says. It’s no different in the movie, with Sarah Michelle Gellar (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) playing Daphne and Linda Cardellini (Freaks and Geeks) as Velma. “Velma is definitely hooter than Daphne in this movie,” Goebel insists. “Of course, I’ve been a huge fan of Linda Cardellini ever since Freaks and Geeks. She’s so beautiful and unassuming and such a real actress. I’m worried that this movie might put her into that awful, teen Selma Blair category. I hope she sticks with T.V. Women are always hotter on T.V.

“Of course,” he adds with a laugh, ìI guess I tend to think everything is better when it’s on T.V., whether it’s Linda Cardellini, Buffy the Vampire Slayer . . . or a big talking dog named Scooby Doo.”

 

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Kitka

0

Voices Rising: Popular Eastern European choral group Kitka perform at COPIA in September.

Balkanizing the Bay

Balkan folk dance draws a crowd

By Sam Hurwitt

They’re drawn to the Berkeley dance barn Ashkenaz like pilgrims to Mecca. On any other night they could be there to learn Cajun, African, Brazilian, swing, but tonight they’re Balkan dancers. Or if they’re not yet, they soon will be. A couple dozen people hold hands in a semicircle, stepping, stomping, and leaping on command. They range in age from single digits to their 60s, mostly white but with a smattering of other hues.

“So these are the Balkanites of Berkeley,” my traveling companion says. “They look like normal Berkeleyans, but they’re not.”

And they’re everywhere. A clerk at the Copymat is chatting up a woman from Bosnia, asking in Russian if she speaks Russian. (“No, we have our own language,” she sniffs. “Serbo-Croatian.”) The guy at the bookstore is playing Romanian Gypsy brass-band music, and asking about the recording leads naturally into discussion of his travels from Bratislava down to Zagreb. “Are you one of us?” you want to ask. You settle for the more casual, “Are you into this stuff?”

One of the perks of living in the Bay Area is that you can learn pretty much any folk tradition that strikes your fancy, from belly dance to the guttural throat singing of the South Siberian grasslands of Tuva. The local women’s Eastern European choral group Kitka recently wrapped up its award series of Balkan singing workshops down in Oakland, and now there are two back-to-back week-long camps in the Mendocino Woodlands: the Mendocino Balkan Music and Dance Workshop from June 29 to July 7, and the Barátság Hungarian Dance and Music Camp from July 7 to July 13. The Bay Area boasts a bumper crop of homegrown Eastern European talent, such as Kitka, Danubius, and Edessa–the Balkan band at Ashkenaz on this particular night–playing wailing, whirling Balkan music on clarinet, accordion, cimbalom, percussion, and fiddle. (But not just yet–they start a bit slow so the neophytes can get up to speed.)

As the dance class continues, the hardcore Balkanites start to arrive, most of whom seem to know each other. Among them is Joyce Clyde, who maintains the Bulgarian/Balkan Music and Dance Events e-mailing list.

Clyde got involved in the local folk-dance community about 30 years ago, starting with a Greek folk-dance class in college and gradually finding her own niche in the folk-dance scene. “A lot of people know each other,” Clyde confirms after making the rounds of familiar faces, “but, luckily, so far there is still an undercurrent of new people, which is always the fun and joy of it. And we need more of that, otherwise it’s going to die ultimately. But generally there’s a big crowd of us that are all known to each other–too well, for too long.”

Clyde says the scene has shrunk since the ’70s, though the unrest in the Balkans and the rise of the Internet have made it easier to bring top-notch musicians over from Eastern Europe. Ferenc Tobak and his wife Mary bring the entire teaching staff of the Barátság Hungarian dance camp over from Hungary each year to introduce dance cycles from different regions. In the 20 years since Mary Tobak (then Wallace) founded Barátság with Howard Franklin and Éva Kish, there have sometimes been as many as 140 participants at a time, but the dragging economy has taken its toll. There was a plan to incorporate a Tuvan Camp into Barátság this year, but they’ve had difficulty attracting enough people to make that expansion feasible. The Balkan camp the week before has been sold out for months, but Ferenc Tobak points out that there’s just a lot more of the Balkans than there is of Hungary.

“The Balkan camp takes so many countries and different cultures, they have a much, much bigger following,” he says. “They go from Croatia down to Turkey and up to Romania. So we are in a much, much harder position in that sense to recruit people, because we focus only on Hungarian stuff.”

It would be awfully convenient just to stay in the Woodlands for two weeks and go to both camps–and a few do–but Mary Tobak says the Eastern European folk communities don’t cross over as much as one might think. “There’s a lot of interest that crosses, but the actual active interest–where a Balkan person will also go to Hungarian stuff, or someone who’s heavily into Hungarian will also go to Balkan–is very small,” she says. “And most people can’t get two weeks off in the summertime to go to camp.”

What’s more, yet another Hungarian camp–the Aranykapu Tábor, or Golden Gate Camp–has arisen the same week as the Balkan camp, June 30 to July 6, at Camp Cazadero near Guerneville. So if the hardcore Hungarians who return to Barátság year after year needed even more nonstop dancing, they’d probably go for that.

People may start off rushing between Bulgarian choir practice to learn Hungarian thigh-slaps, whirls, leaps, and whistles, but after that, they tend to get heavy into one thing or another: learning the language, living abroad, gorging on goulash. Mary Wallace met Ferenc Tobak, a musician and bagpipe maker, while living in Hungary for seven years, and they had their first two children there. She’d first learned Hungarian dance at Razzmatazz–a yearly folk dance camp now in the Mendocino Woodlands–and founded Barátság in 1982 in order to get her Hungarian fix when the other camp stopped offering it.

“The third year Razzmatazz decided not to do Hungarian,” she says, “and the people who had been going for the Hungarian–I was one of them–we said, ‘We can’t have this. Have a summer without Hungarian dancing?’ Since Razzmatazz was not going to offer it, we decided we would make a camp.”

For Joyce Clyde, the Balkan list started as a way of getting her own Bulgarian fix. “I started to try to learn how to play gadulka (a Bulgarian folk violin), and I was trying to find a teacher. And I found that the easiest and probably about the only way I could get a teacher was to invite groups out,” she says. So she started the list initially to promote the Bulgarian events she was putting on herself.

“As far as I know, I’m not Bulgarian at all, and yet I decided to play a Bulgarian instrument just because I liked the sound of it. But now do I have lots of friends from Bulgaria? Of course. Another friend who plays gadulka asked, ‘How can I get better at this?’ I said, ‘You have to make a life for yourself where playing gadulka makes sense.'”

For information on the Bulgarian/Balkan e-mail list, go to groups.yahoo.com/group/bbmde. You can find out about the Barátság Hungarian camp at www.baratsag.com, Aranykapu Tábor at www.aranykapu-tabor.org, and the Balkan camp at www.mindspring.com/~ginbirch/eefc/. The Marin Balkan Dancers meet Thursday evenings at Sherry’s, 4140 Redwood Hwy., San Rafael, 415.456.0786. There are Hungarian dance classes on the second and fourth Sundays of every month at Ashkenaz, 1317 San Pablo Ave., Berkeley, 510.525.5054. Ashkenaz also hosts the Dimovski Quartet from Macedonia on July 9 and a Balkan concert with Edessa on August 17. Every Friday and third Saturday of the month, Danubius plays Eastern European folk music at Bistro E Europe, 4901 Mission St., San Francisco, 415.469.5637. Kitka return from Bulgaria for the Balkan camp and play Sept. 9 at COPIA, Napa, 707.265.1600. And there’s an International Folk Dance party every third Saturday at Hermann Sons Hall, 860 Western Ave., Petaluma, 707.546.8877. Find more events at www.bayfolk.com.

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Hartford Insurance

0

Reaping the Benefits: Michael Allen, general manager of SEIU’s Local 707 office, is looking into Hartford’s slow action on claims.

Late to the Gate

County workers face problems with Hartford

By Joy Lanzendorfer

Sherry Smith expected to be getting long-term disability by now. It’s been six months since the Sonoma County worker went off work for medical reasons, and yet she still has no answer from the county’s insurance carrier, Hartford Insurance, about her claim.

“I’ve been out of work since Dec. 18, and I’ve had no income since Feb. 11,” she told the Sonoma County Board of Supervisors on June 11 while choking back tears. “I have spent thousands of my own money on medical bills, and I don’t know what I’ll do without income in the next six months.”

Smith says that she’s done everything that Hartford has required, including sending certified letters regarding her condition, and still she’s seen no response to her claim. No one at the company would even return her calls until she threatened to report them to the California Department of Insurance. Even then, no one had an answer on when and if she would start receiving benefits.

Smith was one of several members of the local Service Employees International Union to speak to the board about Hartford Insurance. Ann Delaney, who has worked for the county since 1977, also had trouble with Hartford. Her applications were lost and then misfiled, she says, and her complaints generally ignored. While waiting for her claim to come through, she faced numerous hardships, including the death of her cat, for whom Delaney was unable to afford veterinary care.

The SEIU, which represents Sonoma County government employees, has become increasingly concerned about the Hartford situation, according to Michael Allen, general manager of SEIU’s Local 707 office.

“We have a significant number of people who may have to file for bankruptcy or lose their dwellings because of Hartford,” he told the board. “The county thought workers were going to receive better benefits through this company, but they haven’t.”

The speakers asked the board to switch to a new carrier and to impose financial penalties of up to $10,000 against Hartford.

The speakers’ complaints were passed on to Marcia Chadbourne, Sonoma County risk manager. She says part of the problem stems from a shorter waiting period–60 days instead of the usual 90 or 180 days that most insurers require people to wait before they receive benefits. Because the time is shorter, workers have less time to provide the many necessary documents Hartford requires, which can cause delays in receiving benefits. But, she says, Hartford also has a problem with timely responses.

“We’ve evaluated the situation, and the county acknowledges that there are some problems with Hartford,” says Chadbourne. “The Joint Labor-Management Committee is going to begin looking for a new carrier.”

The board isn’t likely to enforce financial penalties, however, because Hartford has met its contractual obligation to make decisions on 80 percent of the claims filed by day 45 of the 60-day waiting period, explains Chadbourne.

Hartford has had similar problems in the past with other customers. In fact, according to Allen, 170 lawsuits were filed against Hartford for similar situations, and the Department of Insurance has cited them. A consumer-oriented website called Fight Bad-faith Insurance Companies (www.badfaithinsurance.org) lists Hartford as the No. 1 bad-faith insurance company, claiming that it has the “highest number of bad-faith-related complaints and lawsuits.” Hartford had no comment.

The numbers don’t help people like Smith and Delaney, who find themselves in limbo, with no income and no way to work.

“At this point, we are gathering information and seeking legal advice,” says SEIU field representative Maria Peluso. “We may look into lawsuits against all the parties involved.”

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Grilling

0

Some Like It Hot

Reflections of a grill grrrl

By Gretchen Giles

Is it wise to trust–let alone consume–a food whose recipe reminds: “If you have enough clean cat-food cans, everyone can have a dessert”? Should the word “dump” ever be part of your menu litany? Are gas grills, as has been averred, truly proof that Satan walks this earth? Should that electric cord be so close to that swimming pool? And finally, how long do you cook that lettuce?

These are but a few of the urgent questions being mulled by home barbecuers the world over as the season peels off its last sweater for the bare-shouldered, sweat-laced, smoke-infused shrug that is summer. Out of the kitchens we pour, eager to reconnect with our most primal roots, to hail the ancient story of the Homo sapiens, a genetic history that can be shortly sketched by the sight of one frustrated cook in a humorously decorated apron poking a resistant piece of burned meat over a smoldering, uneven flame.

If your memories match mine, that cook is sometimes called Dad, and the nonpoking hand firmly clutches a gin. If you further share my wispy, WASP-y grasp of yesteryear, you were college-aged before you realized that food could be barbecued without gin. At which point you naturally enough considered: But why would you want to?

(You may also have reeled at the adult knowledge that barbecued chicken isn’t always black. Out of the Garden are we thus all eventually expelled.)

Meat–resistant, burned, gin-drenched, or otherwise–is these days by far the least of our grillable possibilities. Perhaps throwing a few burgers or dogs on the fire is OK for the kids. Perhaps. The last group of youths for whom I performed this mom-magic looked wiltingly down on their plates, shifted uncomfortably, and nudged each other until one politely inquired about marinated portobellos. It was, of course, the last children’s beach party I’ll ever throw without having a hip flask handy.

Nowadays, when preparing to roast outdoor foodstuffs of the burgers-and-dogs variety for adult company, that burger had better be a Boursin inside-out burger with the imported French cheese spooned delicately into a pocket of ground sirloin; that dog must either have some intricate Eastern European lineage or be stuffed full of chicken-basil/dried-tomato/pine-nut plug. And don’t even consider grabbing a bag of that white-flour-bun crap off the shelves. Oiled focaccia rolls infused with rosemary are acceptable, as is seeded artisan sourdough. They may be found at the bakery. If there’s a rainbow anywhere on the packaging, your pot of culinary gold–and indeed your very reputation–is in desperate straits.

Today’s modern barbecuer can purchase shiny new machinery to cook everything from pizza to pasta to baked Alaska to pancakes to fruit to, yep, lettuce–outside, in the elements, over a heat source, just like great-great-great-grandma used to do. Whether GGGGM would embrace such a miracle can’t be fathomed, but as long as there is a perfectly good kitchen inside, running water and all, one imagines her heading straight for the house.

For whereas women may have the vote, men still have the grill–or they at least appear to foot the grill bill. Advertising copy and images for the latest barbecues relentlessly feature a hirsute and apronless midlevel executive manfully standing over skewers ‘n’ steaks by the pool while a blonde woman just past her youth adoringly prepares cold drinks in the background. Mint sprigs, needless to say, abound.

Curiously, fire itself seems to be passé. The Char-Broil company leads the non-ignition pack in introducing an electric model called the Patio Bistro. Smartly sized so that wheelchair-bound folks can easily access it, the Patio Bistro’s ad copy masculinely boasts that it also has a built-in cooler–“Perfect for some cold ones!”

Connected umbilically to your poolside outlets, the PB handily brings all the hassle and mess of full-blown kitchen cookery outside. But unlike that unstable little Hibachi often bestowed on people’s patios, the Patio Bistro also has a large work counter, a dishwasher-safe cutting board, and a temperature gauge to take the usual gin-soaked professionalism out of guessing outdoor cooking times.

The Big Easy, another of Char-Broil’s products, is a large, friendly lug of a ‘cue, appearing to have a smiling face and little chub wings as hood handle and side counters, respectively. This Naw’lins-positive steel-and-ceramic good buddy is replete with a griddle for those barbecued morning pancakes we so crave and has an insert for use in frying foods. How hot do the coals have to be in order to fry foods? One unprofessional opinion: very damned hot. Want some fries with that pancake? Everyone in bathing suits stand back, the grease spits a little.

(An informal survey of the incredibly well-attended barbecuing topic on the online community the Well proves that gas grills are really better left unmentioned. They evidently range from the crappy to the really crappy to the live-with-it sigh of moderately crappy. Makes a person proud of the rust-ravaged Webber stoutly faring in the shed.)

While new-fangled grills can do everything short of producing wedding cakes, there remains a frivolous holiday air to them. No one really wants to wander out in a bathrobe, fire up the barbie, and get that oatmeal going. They’d rather be sitting bleary with GGGGM in the kitchen watching the coffee automatically make itself while the cereal nukes away in the microwave.

But lunch and dinner benefit nicely from the huge technological strides that have been made in the name of heating things up. Many home cooks take pride in pulling at least a portion of every course off the grill for summer guests. Appetizers? Please, have a grilled artichoke with garlicky aioli. Save room for the prosciutto-wrapped shrimp! Salad? Allow me to whip up a vaguely Asian sauce with soy, ginger, sesame oil, white wine, and brown sugar, drizzle a head of firm, clean romaine leaves with it, and baste over low flames for 15 minutes. Pizza? Don’t send out; I’ll smack a pie right on the coals here using a specially perforated heat-resistant pan. Don’t you know, pizza is the new ‘cue.

Dessert? Um, have an apple.

Like breakfast, dessert is that which the new age of barbecuing should neglect but won’t. Traditional stoves, refrigerators, freezers, and pastry shops already do it well enough, never using cleaned cat-food cans or the word “dump” to achieve greatness. But as with so many other misguided American endeavors, dessert is nonetheless broached upon the grill and sometimes even eaten. Those few treats that simply call for grilled apricots or peaches doused in yummy liqueur and topped with ice cream retain their dignity. Those that call for a package of cake mix and cans of pie filling do not.

Taking your cleaned cat-food can, fill the bottom with pie filling goo-stuff to about 3/4 of the rim. Sprinkle cake mix atop it, and dot with butter. Don’t, warns the gastronome who offered this recipe on the Internet, mix them up! Place over hot coals, cover, and bake until golden. Tra-la!–it’s a dump.

On the other hand, some foods are raised to glamorous new levels by being fired up for dessert. Shunned by the incurious when raw for its somewhat sticky, grainy, vaguely sexual connotations, the homely fig is celebrated when barbecued. Whether stuffed with cream cheese or slathered in honey, figs suddenly join a hip elite when hot. So too does pineapple, that ’50s staple of romantic je ne sais quoi.

While most of us enjoy the swift thwack of this fruit fresh, the cooked stuff sadly joins a ham-slab dinner in dim, distasteful, red-eyed-gravy memory. But grill that taste of the tropics with a dab of buttered brown sugar and it suddenly becomes the J.Lo of the plate, dancing saucily on the tongue with just a hint of last night’s steak sluicing the taste buds.

All of which is frankly enough to make one simply long for the plain old pleasures of a burger or dog. Please pass the chipotle plum ketchup.

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

“The Box Show”

0

Box of Reign

Gallery Route One artists think inside the box

By Gretchen Giles

On a hot, early-June Sunday, the great-nephew of the last Russian tsar merrily stands smack in the middle of the road, wearing an oversized cardboard box. A silly hat tops his head, and the home-picked geraniums decorating the sharp angle of his shoulders bravely withstand wilting as he practices his tin whistle. Around him, overheated princesses in floral dresses and sticky nylons fan themselves, a horse delicately lifts its tail to soil the ground, and someone driving a car fueled solely by cooking oil puffs by, leaving the rancid smell of old popcorn behind.

It’s Western Weekend in Point Reyes Station, and the parade has begun. Flanked by environmental activists in front and preschool gardeners behind, the artists collected in support of Gallery Route One begin their dancing in the street.

Three of them, wearing cardboard boxes so large that they require foam padding to support their wearers’ shoulders and assistance to be lifted on, twirl in practiced formation. Stopping on cue, they spell out their message to the sprightly tune of a Romanoff’s whistle. Twirl one: The. Twirl two: Box. Twirl three: Show.

A documentary-film crew swarms in, the director holding a microphone to the bearded face of an Englishman in a fetching girl-group wig and golden beads. “How do you feel?” she shouts.

“Great!” comes the lusty reply.

No reason not to feel great: guerrilla marketing has come to West Marin, bringing with it the power of PBS, a riotous art auction and exhibit, and perhaps a book deal. The Russian royal lineage was there already.

Now in its fourth year, “The Box Show” fundraiser for Gallery Route One, an artists’ cooperative with 21 members, began for 2002 in far more humble circumstances than its zany parade formation might indicate. Working literally for weeks and making (he should know) 32,000 right angle cuts with his table saw, gallery member Nick Corcoran eventually turned a high pile of plain pine shelving into 150 wooden boxes. Over 400 people wanted one, a lottery was held, and the lucky 150 recipients–artists, nonartists, and children–tottered off in May to contemplate their bare pine “canvases.”

Each exactly the same when they left–unembellished, sized in repetitive dimensions to perhaps fit a small pair of women’s shoes, laboriously glued and fitted into place–these unassuming containers have recently arrived back at the gallery in 150 completely different guises.

Some, for example, are now lamps. Others have morphed into thickly painted tables. One holds a live goldfish; another, an inset of papier-mâché goldfish. One is totally shellacked with junk mail, while another is now an elegantly copper-sheeted home altar; many are mossed and feathered as sweetly as fairy homes. Arte á Porter sports a thickly organic painting on wheels, replete with handy carrying handle. One is covered in zinc; another with baseball cards. This one was completely shredded and rebuilt in wood shards as Porcu Pine; that one was hacked into indifferent pieces and tied up with string, albeit lovely, hand-batiked silk string.

Corcoran himself carefully cut his up into 100 slices and reweaved it, like a children’s craft project with Popsicle sticks, into a new, boxy semblance. “I call it Basket Case,” he laughs. “After making all of these boxes, you like a little revenge.”

But revenge is hardly the motive. An annual fundraiser that last year netted this small, nonprofit cooperative over $14,000, “The Box Show” is actually something of a phenomenon: a 30-minute documentary film is being made on the 2000 exhibit for PBS, and there are rumblings of a “Box Show” book in the works.

“The hook is the versatility,” Corcoran explains. “Everyone starts out at the exact same point. We have professional artists who have been [making art] for 50 years, and we have people who have never made a piece of artwork in their lives. It’s a great leveling.”

Corcoran hit on the idea four years ago when someone gave him 50 small boxes. He thought of distributing them to artists for decoration but realized that the resulting raffle wouldn’t net much. “It was a series of small incidents,” he says, that brought him instead to make 111 same-sized containers that year. He did 120 the next year, and as demand has grown, so too has the silent auction and the number of boxes made. “I thought that I was going to do it for one year, and now it looks like I’ll be doing it for the rest of my life,” he chuckles.

Corcoran’s partner, artist Betty Woolfolk, is among the original cofounders of Gallery Route One, which celebrates its 20th anniversary next year. “People got tired of dealing with the galleries in the city, and also there just weren’t enough venues for artists,” she says, explaining the gallery’s origins.

Boasting a rigorous screening committee that ensures high artistic standards, Gallery Route One is something of an oddity, placed as it is in the wilds near a national seashore. “We wanted to have a professional exhibition area set in a rural area,” Woolfolk under-scores. “We have international shows. We’ve had a show of artists from Hungary and a show with artists from the Soviet Union where all the work had to be carried out [of the country] by the artists. We had a show of San Quentin inmates’ work before it was cool to do that–and it was a really powerful show. We’re trying to bring interesting exhibits to the community that you might otherwise have to go into San Francisco to see.”

Vickisa, a gallery member who prefers not to use a surname, gushes, “It’s an epic gallery; I’m really thrilled to be part of it. You can actually talk about art.”

With strong impetus from Inverness artist Mary Eubank, another cofounder, the gallery has moved beyond its original mission. Now it’s also a nonprofit space devoted to highlighting the environmental concerns of the area’s sensitive ecosystem and to providing art-in-the-schools programs for West Marin children. And if the notion of worms wiggling across a table of dirt–as conceived by area school children for next fall’s exhibition on sustainable agriculture–is your cup of cylindrical invertebrates, all the better.

Filmmaker Victoria Lewis learned about the work of the gallery after befriending Andrew Romanoff, he of the geraniums and whistle, while working on her 1997 film about his great-uncle, The Mystery of the Last Tsar. Remaining friendly, Romanoff brought Lewis to the 2000 “Box Show” exhibit.

“I’d never seen anything like that,” Lewis confesses by phone from her San Francisco office. “It was mind food to me, and it just hit me so hard. I thought it would be a great premise for a film.” So did PBS, which is assisting her in concept and funding, promising to air the finished product possibly late next year.

A former art-school student whose interest instead veered into film, Lewis is particularly impressed by the concept that “artists can be problem solvers for a community.” She contacted all 120 exhibitors of the 2000 show and interviewed “anyone who would answer the phone,” asking them not only about their boxes but also about their lives. Some 25 artists were then selected for in-depth interviews, agreeing to recreate their 2000-era work for her camera. When the film is finished, she estimates that she’ll have further whittled that number down to six or seven featured artists. “I could do a silent film and the boxes alone would be captivating,” she declares.

Featuring a clay doll on a bed of champagne glasses, her large, red heart dangling ickily from the ceiling, Vickisa’s box is titled When Your Heart Is Being Ripped Out . . . You Need Some Anesthetic. She strives to explain the attraction of “The Box Show.”

“The show encompasses high art and low art, so there’s something for everyone. You can go to galleries and you won’t like everything, but there’s something here you’ll like, guaranteed.”

‘The Box Show’ exhibits at Gallery Route One, 11101 Hwy. 1, Pt. Reyes Station, closing with a live auction on Sunday July 28, from 3 to 5pm. Gallery hours are Wednesday-Monday, 11am to 5pm. Free. 415.663.1347.

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Glassy-Winged Sharpshooter

0

Damage Control

Poisoning the glassy-winged sharpshooter means poisoning you

By Tara Treasurefield

They’ll be in there immediately with synthetic pesticides,” says Lowell Downey. “Before they even give us notice, they’re in there.” Just home from the hospital after minor surgery, Downey has taken Vicodin to dull the excruciating pain in his belly. It takes a long, long time for him to put a sentence together, and even longer to get the words out of his mouth. But he has a clear message, and it comes through. “Today I can’t get up out of my bed. I wouldn’t be able to leave if they came here and sprayed my property. That’s what it will be like for people who are bedridden.”

Cofounder of People Opposed to Insecticide Spraying on Neighborhoods, Downey is a leading critic of the California Department of Food and Agriculture’s approach to protecting vineyards from the glassy-winged sharpshooter. The insect, which carries Pierce’s disease–a malady deadly to grape vines–has already infested much of Southern California. At present, the best that agricultural commissioners in the sunny Southland can hope for is damage control. But in Northern California, the goal is to eradicate the insect before it takes hold. Because the sharpshooter thrives in hot weather, the threat of an infestation in the North Bay is increasing with rising summer temperatures. Tempers are rising too, as there are clear signs that sooner or later agents of the Pierce’s Disease Control Program will use synthetic pesticides around North Bay residents who prefer to avoid them.

To keep the sharpshooter out of vineyards, agricultural commissioners in 15 California counties have sprayed synthetic pesticides in residential areas and public places, sometimes over the objections of property owners and residents. This practice, known as forced spraying, has the full support of both the CDFA and Governor Gray Davis, who recently gave his blessings to it.

In March, the CDFA released a draft environmental impact report on the Pierce’s Disease Control Program. The public comment period ran from March through May, and the report will be finalized at the end of June. According to this document, no significant impacts result from spraying possible carcinogens and other toxic chemicals in residential neighborhoods, on organic farms, and at schools and parks.

EDAW, an environmental consulting firm in San Francisco, helped the CDFA prepare the report and reach its conclusion that the pesticide spraying program has no significant impacts. Molly Scarborough, environmental planner at EDAW, says that the “level of significance is determined through the experience of the experts in the field, in relationship to what the [California Environmental Quality Act] requirements are. The conclusions in the report resulted from the analysis that was done.”

Nick Frey, executive director of the Sonoma County Grape Growers Association, believes that the conclusions of the environmental impact report are reasonable. “You have to look at it in the context of relativity,” he says. “This program would be small and would have small use of pesticides, whether they’re synthetic or not.”

But Downey sees it differently. “It boggles my mind that this [report] draft is so hideous on every level,” he says. “They have taken every [organic] alternative and discounted it on an individual basis. They didn’t look at the entire spectrum of alternatives working together.” The report also ignores Downey’s request that the CDFA prohibit the use of synthetic pesticides around the most vulnerable, such as the elderly, sick people unable to get up, and children. “[This report] gives agricultural commissioners throughout the state standing to ignore people who request the use of alternatives,” he says.

Downey makes it clear that his quarrel is with the CDFA and the governor, not with small family farmers. His parents were born on farms, and his aunts and uncles were farmers. Downey’s mother died of leukemia when he was eight, and Parkinson’s disease killed his father. After walking through a cornfield, one of Downey’s uncles nearly died of pesticide exposure. Downey’s other aunts and uncles died of non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, cancer, and other diseases that have been linked to pesticides.

“I can’t say that pesticides are the reason my uncles, aunts, and parents died, and why other family members suffered and died of various illnesses and diseases,” Downey says. “But it seems to me that it’s pretty unusual that there’s so much of it among farmers. I also don’t believe that our government should violate us in this manner. It’s just plain wrong and, in my book, evil to forcibly spray pesticides. This should be a no-brainer to the governor, who’s running for re-election. People don’t want forced spraying.”

Shepherd Bliss, organic farmer and founding member of No Spray Action Network in Sonoma County, is also concerned about the implications of the environmental impact report. “It’s a prescription for the worst kind of terrorism: state terrorism,” he says. “The people who are going to suffer are those who are trying to garden organically or who are trying to care for a family member who is compromised.”

Downey and Bliss are not alone in their opinion of the report. More than 50 environmental groups charge that the draft report violates several mandatory requirements of the California Environmental Quality Act. To get their claims into the record–as groundwork for a lawsuit–they signed a 17-page letter that describes violations to the act in detail.

A major concern of critics is the report’s conclusion that spraying pesticides on organic farms would have little impact. The report reasons that though spraying on an organic farm would invalidate its organic certification, which takes three years to obtain, the loss is not significant because it would be temporary. Sonoma County Agricultural Commissioner John Westoby explains why this isn’t as strange as it may seem. “If an organic farm is treated during an eradication with a nonorganic material, they would lose their organic status for that year, but not for the next year,” he says.

But Brian Leahy, president of California Certified Organic Farmers, says that forcing pesticides on an organic farmer is like forcing a recovering alcoholic to drink. “On organic farms, you slowly build up beneficial insects. You’re trying to get your system back in balance. [Synthetic pesticides] would throw it off again.”

Organic agriculture has been growing at the rate of 20 percent each year for more than ten years. A $78 million industry in 1978, it’s now worth $8 billion nationwide. But because only I percent of California agriculture is organic, the loss of even one farm to the war against the sharpshooter would be significant, says Leahy. In addition, any synthetic pesticides the state forces on organic farmers may increase pollution in rivers and streams; endanger fish, birds, humans and other species; and hurt grocers that sell organic foods and consumers that buy them.

Ned Hill, president of the Sonoma Valley Vintners and Growers Alliance, says that he has no objection to organic alternatives. “[But] having the insect around–not just for grape growers but for the environment as a whole–is unacceptable,” he says. “If people can do it with organic alternatives, that’s fine. We [just] don’t want to live with the insect.”

Nick Frey feels the same way. He reasons that doing whatever it takes to eradicate small sharpshooter infestations will eliminate the need for massive spraying to eradicate larger infestations. If the CDFA and the agricultural commissioner decide that forced spraying is necessary, Frey won’t object. Until then, he’ll support those who want to avoid synthetic pesticides. “I still remain optimistic that you can use conventional products on those properties where people give you permission and use alternatives elsewhere.”

Westoby says that if the sharpshooter infests an organic farm, he’ll apply a certified organic repellent, such as kaolin clay, to move the insects to the foliage around the farm, and spray them with synthetic pesticides there. He’ll take a similar approach for residents who prefer alternatives.

Even so, Jay Van Rein, information officer at the CDFA, says, “If you have an urgent infestation, one that’s immediately threatening a crop, the agricultural commissioner may go in [with synthetic pesticides] right away.” That doesn’t sit right with Clarence Jenkins, owner of Madrone Vineyards in Sonoma. He has mixed feelings about forced spraying. “Being a property owner, that’s a tough decision. It’s just another deal where the government’s coming in and doing things. [But] I know in certain areas, guys are losing so many vines and it becomes a family issue. It’s real tough.”

Health professionals also question the justice of forced spraying on private property and public places, and question the CDFA’s finding that no one is likely to receive a high enough dose of the poison to be affected. Gail Dubinsky, M.D., in Sebastopol points out that there’s really no way to predict how much contact children would have with treated foliage. In addition, she says, “No one knows the cumulative effects of low exposures over time.”

Though the CDFA relies heavily on synthetic pesticides, it has made some space for predatory wasps from Mexico. The Santa Clara County agricultural commissioner is using the wasps along with Admire, the brand name of a pesticide called imidacloprid, to control a sharpshooter infestation in Cupertino. Imidacloprid is a potential groundwater contaminant, but as chemicals go, it’s comparatively benign. Then again, it’s also comparatively new. Susan Kegley, Ph.D., staff scientist at Pesticide Action Network, says, “We didn’t know about the hazards with DDT until 10 or 20 years had passed.”

While he views synthetic pesticides as a short-term solution at best, Bob Scowcroft, executive director of the Organic Farming Research Foundation, sympathizes with the CDFA and the wine industry. “Maybe one of the benefits that will come out of this is that urban and suburban consumers will better understand the challenges that all farmers face,” he says. “You fight long and hard just to save your house, and when the research institutions can only deliver a chemical solution, you’re going to think long and hard about not using it. Urban and rural residents need to understand the stress that comes with that.”

It’s possible that the Pierce’s Disease Control Program and draft report would have a different look if the people who developed them had a greater investment in organic farming, environmental protection, and human health. Gallo Winery is the only organic farming/environmental representative on the CDFA’s ongoing Pierce’s disease advisory task force. The remaining 15 members of the task force, appointed by CDFA secretary Bill Lyons, represent agribusiness, the wine industry, government agencies, and university scientists, who receive a significant amount of financial support from pesticide and biotech manufacturers.

Nonetheless, organic alternatives are gaining ground. The University of California Extension in Kern County advocates Surround to protect vineyards from the sharpshooter. This is the brand name of kaolin clay, the organic repellent that Agricultural Commissioner John Westoby plans to use in Sonoma County. Gary Puterka, research entomologist with the USDA, says that “in Kern County, we compared three biweekly applications of Surround to six weekly applications of conventional insecticides [including Lorsban and carbaryl]. Surround did better or as well over a six-week period in depressing [the sharpshooter] in grapes. The problem with insecticides is that you spray and kill them out one day, and they’re back two days later. With Surround, the residue remains effective for weeks.”

Because Surround is primarily a repellent, the USDA recommends mixing it with an insecticide to get both quick knockdown and protection from future infestation. An organic alternative, says Puterka, is to mix organic insecticidal soap or neem oil in the tank with Surround. In addition, kaolin clay alone sometimes kills the insect. “If you have nymphs hatch out on a kaolin treated plant, they usually end up dying. Adults often die too,” says Puterka.

Kaolin clay may be the long-awaited solution to the standoff between grape growers and opponents of forced spraying, as Puterka says that the obvious place to use it is in vineyards. However, the CDFA hasn’t approved kaolin clay for use against the sharpshooter, and even if it had, the program only covers the costs of treatments in residential areas and public places, not vineyards. Though Surround costs less than synthetic pesticides, it would be an added expense for growers, and they may not want to pay it.

Another issue is that kaolin clay, used as an additive in toothpaste, Kaopectate, and sunscreen, turns everything white. Some grape growers don’t want white vineyards.

Ralph Zingaro of Bioscape Inc. in Petaluma is the one and only pest-control adviser in the North Bay willing to help concerned residents control the sharpshooter with organic alternatives. He joins Puterka in advocating the use of kaolin clay, especially on vineyards. “We’re looking for something that’s safe and effective. Let’s just take a vote of all the people in the county. Would they rather be sprayed with toothpaste or poison?

“[Clearly], the organic alternatives are better,” says Zingaro. “Not only do they work better on the insect, but the insects will never build resistance to them. With the chemicals, we’re going to create a super sharpshooter with them. What’s the worst thing that can happen with Surround? Everybody will have bright teeth. I’d rather see that then have a whole bunch of the other stuff.”

In the meantime, Leahy says that the California Certified Organic Farmers is monitoring and influencing the political situation, supporting preparations for legal action, and keeping members informed. “It’s time to say, ‘Hey, this isn’t working! You can’t spray nature out of existence, unless you take us out too.’ We’re starting to get a critical mass of people saying that they don’t buy the argument that because it’s good for this particular special interest, it’s OK to compromise their health and the environment. People don’t buy that argument anymore.”

One thing is certain, says Downey. “I have a four-year-old son. There’s no way that I’m going to allow anybody to forcibly spray pesticides in his yard or around him.”

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Flatlanders

0

Cosmic Cowboys

The Flatlanders are on the road again

By Greg Cahill

If we’d grown up near an ocean,” Texas singer-songwriter Butch Hancock recently told the Dallas Star Telegram, “we might have written sea chanteys.” Fortunately for fans, Hancock and his compadres Joe Ely and Jimmie Dale Gilmore instead grew up on the sprawling plains of Lubbock, Texas, which gave the world Buddy Holly, the spooky phenomenon known as the Lubbock Lights, and the posse known as the Flatlanders, the kings of Zen-tinted country rock.

Nearly 35 years ago, the legendary Flatlanders helped pave the way for today’s trendy retro- and alt-country sound with an innovative blend of old-timey country, Tex-Mex, folk, blues, and rock. Shunned by the Nashville establishment, this talented trio of Texas troubadours has long enjoyed the dubious status of critics’ darlings. Unlike many of today’s cafe cowboys, however, these hombres have credentials: Gilmore, born and raised in Lubbock, had his first demos in 1965 financed by Buddy Holly’s father; Ely, a high school dropout, rambled around the globe as a rock minstrel and eventually settled back in Lubbock, where he worked as a fruit picker, circus hand, dishwasher, and itinerant musician; and Hancock, also a Lubbock native, spent hours listening to music on border radio stations when he wasn’t driving the tractor on his father’s farm.

In 1971, the Flatlanders–a band that combined modern lyrics and traditional instrumentation, including a musical saw–were, well, big in Lubbock. Their 1972 eponymous debut recording (released only on eight-track tape at the time) quickly vanished but became an instant cult classic.

And that was that. Or so it seemed. The three amigos went their own ways but never fell out of friendship. Then in 1990, Rounder Records reissued the Flatlanders’ album as More a Legend Than a Band. Gilmore, Ely, and Hancock quickly became cult heroes, getting the spotlight on Austin City Limits, sometimes making guest appearances on each other’s albums, and, to the delight of Americana fans, occasionally getting back together for a Flatlanders reunion.

Two years ago, fate gave the Flatlanders a second chance. Film director Robert Redford enlisted the band to contribute the track “South Wind of Summer” to the Horse Whisperer soundtrack, the first time the trio had collaborated on songwriting. A series of reunion gigs followed, and this spring the Flatlanders did something fans had dreamed about for years: they released their sophomore effort, Now Again (New West). A thousand honky-tonks later, the Flatlanders reunite for a pair of shows that bring them to Rancho Nicasio on July 4 and the Marin County Fair on July 7.

Of the three, Gilmore probably has enjoyed the widest critical success. He resurfaced in the mid ’80s on the Oakland-based Hightone label. In 1991, Rolling Stone selected Gilmore as country artist of the year in its prestigious annual rock critics’ poll. And USA Today (along with another hundred or so newspapers) named Gilmore’s 1991 major-label debut, After Awhile (Elektra), country album of the year.

Ely–who bolstered his career after opening a 1981 British tour for the Clash–found himself locked out of the Nashville mainstream long before alt-country became a commercial option. Yet he’s consistently recorded albums spiced with tastefully dueling guitar and pedal steel leads, as well as images of dusty drifters and sweaty roadhouses.

Meanwhile, Hancock has languished on the pages of obscure Americana music magazines such as No Depression and Dirty Linen. He has released a string of notable small-label CDs (including The Wind’s Dominion and Eats Away the Night) and such hard-to-find self-produced cassettes as No Two Alike, a 14-tape series recorded during one glorious week at the Cactus Cafe in Austin. He also has penned hit songs for Emmylou Harris and the Texas Tornadoes, but his solo albums–including acoustic-based material that would do Bob Dylan proud, like 1991’s Own & Own–are well worth searching out.

In a recent interview, Hancock told the Star Telegram that the new Flatlanders album was “inevitable” because the trio had worked with singer-songwriter, playwright, and artist (and fellow Lubbockite) Terry Allen on music for a play called Chippy. “It was like destiny or something,” Hancock says.

“We just didn’t know when,” Ely added in true cosmic cowboy fashion. “It’s amazing, but we always thought the [second] record was there all along. It was like a painting in the sand–all we had to do was dust off parts of it and watch it appear.”

The Flatlanders perform July 4, at 3pm, at Rancho Nicasio, Town Square, Nicasio. Tickets are $20 advance; $25 door. 415.662.2219. They perform again July 7, at 6:30pm, as part of the Blues and Roots Festival at the Marin County Fair, Marin Center, Avenue of the Flags, San Rafael. Tickets are $11 adults; $9 kids and seniors; free for ages under four. 415.499.6400.

From the June 27-July 3, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Ruth Brown

0

Obstacle Course: Ruth Brown manages to overcome just about anything.

Photograph by Barbara Roberds

Soul Survivor

R&B great Ruth Brown beats the odds

By Greg Cahill

She’s a fighter. In the late ’40s and early ’50s, a 20-year-old singer named Ruth Brown, known as “Miss Rhythm,” skyrocketed to the top of the R&B charts with “Teardrops in My Eyes” and other hits. She earned millions for her bosses at Atlantic Records with the label’s first 45 rpm single, leading industry insiders to dub the New York-based offices “the house that Ruth built.”

Atlantic Records went on to record Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, and other top acts. Brown, denied royalties, slipped into near poverty, working for a while as domestic help. In 1986 she sued the giant label, eventually winning the royalty dispute in a landmark decision that created the Rhythm and Blues Foundation, a charitable organization that provides hospitalization and other benefits to pioneers of the genre.

Yet Brown’s biggest fight still lay ahead. Two years ago, she was stricken with a debilitating stroke that left the singer voiceless. Concerts were canceled, and many predicted that the Grammy-winning performer was silenced for good.

Brown fought back. After a lengthy round of speech therapy (and no small amount of prayer), she’s back onstage and singing limited engagements. Brown travels this weekend to the Russian River Blues Festival, where she will host an all-star lineup of W. C. Handy Blues Award winners. It is perhaps the greatest comeback from a performer who has racked up an impressive list of accomplishments.

“In my mind, I didn’t know what in the world I had done to deserve that stroke,” she says, during a phone interview from her Las Vegas home. “I mean, my voice is my livelihood.”

During the interview, Brown struggles occasionally to find the right word, but her speech is remarkably lucid, her mind sharp, and her humor still intact.

As always, Brown’s spirit is unflagging. “All I can say is thank God for this recovery, because I want to start somewhere again,” she adds. “This is all I’ve known.”

Brown, 74, is a soul survivor. Born Ruth Alston Weston, she styled her singing after her idols Dinah Washington and Sarah Vaughan. She was discovered by Duke Ellington in a small Washington, D.C., nightclub in 1948. A friend of Ellington’s set up an audition with Ahmet Ertegun, the chief at then-fledgling Atlantic Records. En route to the audition at the Apollo Theater in New York, Brown was seriously injured in a car crash and hospitalized for nine months.

Eighteen months later, she stood on crutches to record “So Long,” an old Russ Morgan ballad, backed by an Atlantic Records all-star jazz band assembled by guitarist Eddie Condron. The song was a sensation and it made Brown a star. She became one of the premiere recording artists of the ’50s, with five No. 1 hits, including “(Mama) He treats Your Daughter Mean” and “5-10-15 Hours.”

Since then Brown has recorded more than 80 albums. Her credits include several million-selling hits, induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, a Grammy Award, two W. C. Handy Awards (last month Brown was inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame), a Tony Award (for best actress in the 1987 musical Black and Blue), the Ralph Gleason Award for Music Journalism (for her 1996 autobiography A Good Day to Sing the Blues), and a Pioneer Award from the Rhythm and Blues Foundation.

These days, Brown–who now lives in a Las Vegas retirement community nicknamed “God’s waiting room”–is unfazed by her brushes with mortality. “I’ve been to the gate a whole lotta times and they turned me around and said, ‘Go back, you’re not ready yet.’ Sometimes I wonder how long my luck will hold out,” she adds with a laugh.

“My philosophy is, live for today because we don’t know about tomorrow. The older I get, the more I realize how true that statement is. Life is precious, no doubt about it.”

The Russian River Blues Festival runs Saturday-Sunday, June 29-30 at Johnson’s Beach in Guerneville. Saturday’s lineup is a state of the blues guitar summit with the Robert Cray Band, Tommy Castro, Coco Montoya, Deborah Coleman, and Kenny Neal. Sunday’s lineup features Bobby “Blue” Bland, the W. C. Handy Blues All-Stars (with Ruth Brown, Maria Muldaur, Billy Boy Arnold, and Duke Robillard), Booker T. Jones, the Elvin Bishop Band, Mighty Sam McClain, and “Sweetharp” Santana. Tickets at the gate are $45 a day or $85 for a two-day pass. Call 510.655.9471.

From the June 20-26, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Robert Earl Keen

0

Keen on You: Robert Earl Keen honed his skills with schoolmates like Lyle Lovett.

A Life in Song

Robert Earl Keen sings close to home

By Scott Cooper

You’re sitting around a campfire somewhere in the West as an old cowboy with a dusty hat and a missing thumb tells you a high tale of surly characters he’s encountered throughout his rugged life. He leans into each word while you sit on the edge of your log glued to his every motion and utterance.

That’s kind of what it’s like to listen to a Robert Earl Keen song.

Keen, who performs Friday, June 21, at the Mystic Theatre, is arguably the top Texas singer-songwriter on the road today. His songs conjure up vivid images of characters that would fit right into that cowboy’s tall tale, but he also sings about people we all know.

“There’s a lot of rural settings, but I don’t always consider them rural,” Keen says. “I just consider them down and out. Sometimes, it’s actually the loser who makes out and does well in the end. That’s one of my favorite themes. People relate to that theme. Also, people relate to the fact that life is a mess, and I particularly strive to describe what kind of mess it is.”

On his latest release, Gravitational Forces (Lost Highway), Keen paints a familiar canvas of such messes. “It’s a perfect mirror of my personal life,” he admits.

It’s easy to see Keen in some of these characters but not all. On the disc’s catchy opening track, “My Home Ain’t in the Hall of Fame,” he claims to be a “highway bum” with a “sunburned thumb.” It doesn’t take much imagination to visualize this as Keen, whose most famous song is “The Road Goes on Forever” with its catch phrase “and the party never ends.” On the other hand, few fans want to think of Keen as one of the adulterous faux lovebirds in “High Plains Jamboree,” who seem to disregard the good life at home while they dance together in the motel lounge.

As good as any songwriting technician on the scene today, Keen perfected his craft at the University of Texas A&M. His songsmithing skills were honed not necessarily in any class, but on his porch with friends and fellow Aggies like Lyle Lovett. Keen maintains a deep admiration for Lovett, but not all of his college songwriting buddies draw such praise.

“I had a few friends who thought because they knew you so well or the fact that they were privy to your life, that gave them access to write about your life or use you as the subject matter or use some activity that you had done as the subject matter to their song,” Keen says. “I had been the butt of that a few times, and I don’t like it. In the first place it’s lazy. In the second place, it’s chicken shit. It’s cowardly. So I really try to stay away from that. You can’t always help it, sometimes there’s that personal joke or maybe you want to make a jab at somebody just to tease ’em a little bit. Number one, I don’t use it very much. And number two, I try not to be cruel about it.”

As an example, Keen has a song called “I’m Comin’ Home” in which he sings about a character named Sleepy John, who in real life is Santa Cruz music promoter John Sandidge. “He loves being in that tune,” Keen says about Sandidge. “The greatest thing about that is Todd Snider’s ‘Beer Run’ song. The characters that Todd has in his song say that they’ve met this old hippie named Sleepy John that claimed to be the guy from the Robert Earl song.

“That’s like Steven Spielberg putting his own references to his own movies. I love that kind of inside humor. But then again, that particular description is a very nice description. There’s nothing but flattery there. Everybody’s happy with that.”

By contrast, Keen says his reference to his sister in “Merry Christmas from the Family” (which was covered by the Dixie Chicks) was possibly a step over the line. “She never said so, but I’m almost positive she was offended,” Keen admits. “And the fact was, it was actually another family member in another place, but it worked better for my sister to be there. She didn’t like the fact that it was implied that she was that character because that really wasn’t her. But it worked better for the song.

“Fiction is very forgiving,” he points out. “That’s the magic of it.”

Keen may have picked up this penchant for fiction from his college days, but none of his college professors explained the concept quite as clearly or eloquently as writer Charles Bukowski.

“There’s a great passage,” he says, “in the first couple of chapters in what I think is Charles Bukowski’s best book, Ham on Rye. It’s a great little story about when he was a child, the president was coming through town, and they were instructed as a class to go to the parade and then on Monday morning to write about it and turn it in for a grade. Of course, Bukowski, being who he is, didn’t go. He was drinking lemonade and wine probably. He was 10 or 11 years old.

“So he didn’t go to the parade, but he sat down and wrote this story about the parade and it was the best one, and they had him come to the front of the class and read the story. Everyone who listened believed that he had been there. And he says at the end of this particular chapter, ‘That’s when I found out all they want are beautiful lies.’

“That, I think, is really the goal: the beautiful lie. If you stick too closely to real characters, sometimes their flaws or lack of flaws will interrupt your momentum as far as your narrative and you’ll be a little guarded about what you say.”

Keen says he has one place in particular where he tends to find more inspiration than others, and it’s not where you might think. “I find a lot more topics at home [than on the road],” he says. “The road is very, very tunnel-like. It has very few new experiences waiting for you. You get in the bus or plane or train or whatever vehicle, and you go to the gig and you do the sound check and the sound checks are very similar and the rooms are very similar. The people and the attitudes are very similar.”

Though a regular on the tour circuit throughout the United States, Keen rarely goes on the lengthy megatours preferred by others.

“I have some rules about it,” he explains. “I don’t go out for more than three weeks. I always allow band members to take off for any kind of family obligation or crisis. I’m not a dictator. I’m a bandleader. I try to keep the band real happy. For the most part, we try to do it in moderation. I have overdone it in the past. It will affect you. You just get short-tempered and tired and your judgment goes out the window. All of a sudden you have a few bad experiences in a row, and it can come unglued. It’s a lot better to have some rules about it and stick to ’em. People are always trying to make you break ’em anyway.

“If you do your tours right and you’re working like we work, which is really trying to get out there and play to as many people as possible and get back home, you don’t leave much time for experimentation and just wandering around and learning about the town. I used to do a lot more hanging out. It was a lot more fun and you saw a lot more things, and you certainly got a lot more of the picture. This touring the way most people tour with bands is too tight.”

Now married with two girls waiting at home, it’s understandable that Keen may not revel in the luxuries of the road as he once did. As his most famous song says, “The road goes on forever”–but has the party actually ended?

“The party slows down sometimes,” the 45-year-old Keen says. “It never really ends, but it has fallen down on one knee and had to catch its breath.”

Robert Earl Keen plays at the Mystic on June 21 at 8pm. Rodney Hayden opens. Tickets are $20. Mystic Theatre, 21 Petaluma Blvd. N., Petaluma. 707.765.6665.

From the June 20-26, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Healthcare in Jail

0

Is It Safe? Angel Sanchez’s tooth trouble began with a little pain in his molar.

Mouthing Off

Getting a good dentist in jail is like pulling teeth

By R. V. Scheide

Angel Sanchez is learning at least two important lessons during his present stay at the Sonoma County Jail. One: crime doesn’t pay. Two: it can also hurt a hell of a lot.

For Sanchez, 30, the pain began in one of his upper-right molars shortly after he was jailed on charges of drunk and disorderly conduct, resisting arrest, and assaulting a police officer Feb. 28, and two months and two pulled teeth later, it still hasn’t let up.

Sanchez and his wife, Marlene, 45, allege that it’s because of inadequate medical treatment Angel has received since he’s been in custody. According to Sanchez’s medical records, that treatment included the prescription of a medication to which Sanchez is allergic and a difficult molar extraction that may have resulted in a perforated sinus cavity. In an interview at the jail June 7, Sanchez, who was on parole at the time of his arrest, claimed he is still in pain and that jail medical staff are refusing to provide him with adequate pain medication.

Sonoma County Jail officials acknowledge the mistake in Sanchez’s medication but also suggest that the inmate is playing up his pain in order to gain access to stronger medication, a behavior known as “med seeking.”

“We have taken the Sanchezes’ complaints very seriously,” said Assistant Sheriff Mike Costa, who oversees the Sonoma County Jail. Costa confirmed that Sanchez had been prescribed a medication that medical staff should have known he was allergic to but added that otherwise the inmate is receiving “the best medical treatment he’s had in his life.”

Costa’s statement may not be that far off the mark. Like many of the inmates at the jail, Sanchez has no medical insurance. Many inmates have illnesses that remain untreated until they get behind bars.

“It’s a difficult system to work in,” said Elaine Hustedt, vice president of operations and personnel for California Forensic Medical Group Inc., the Monterey-based company that provides medical services at the jail. “Inmates don’t come into jail with their entire medical records.” She said that Sanchez’s complaint would soon be evaluated by the firm’s quality assurance department, a regular process by which all such complaints are examined.

Forensic Medical took over medical services at the jail two years ago. Care had previously been provided by St. Louis-based Correctional Medical Services, which lost its California Medical Association accreditation and ultimately its contract with Sonoma County after a half-dozen inmates died while in custody during an 18-month span, as reported in the Sonoma County Independent in 1998. Hustedt pointed out that unlike Correctional Medical Services, Forensic Medical is fully accredited by the CMA. Last year the Sonoma County Grand Jury found that Forensic Medical had made numerous improvements at the facility since taking over medical services.

“They’re doing an outstanding job,” Costa said. “They provide tremendous care.”

Inmates at the jail receive a prebooking medical and mental-health screening once they are taken into custody. On his screening form, Sanchez noted that he was allergic to aspirin. His medical records at the jail indicate that after complaining about pain in an upper right molar, he was prescribed Disalcid, a medication that is not recommended to patients who are allergic to aspirin. After several days, Sanchez began experiencing a rash accompanied by itching–a possible allergic reaction to Disalcid. Medical staff prescribed hydrocortisone cream for the itching instead of discontinuing the Disalcid, medical records indicate.

Sanchez found the Disalcid ineffective, and the pain in his mouth continued. On March 27, a Forensic Medical dentist performed what was supposed to be a simple extraction of a right molar. “It felt like he was trying to break my neck,” Sanchez recalled. “It felt like he was trying to rip my mouth open wider. . . . After quite some time, I heard a big crack inside my mouth.” The pulled tooth was placed in a dish in front of Sanchez. It was attached to what he described as “a bloody, nickel-sized chunk of bone” that had broken off his jaw during the extraction. Subsequent examinations, including a second opinion from a private oral surgeon, have found that Sanchez’s sinus cavity may have been perforated, a risk associated with the procedure.

Sanchez was given a codeine-based pain reliever immediately after the extraction. After the swelling went down, he was placed once again on Disalcid, even though he continued to complain about pain and itching. According to medical records, Sanchez was admitted to the jail infirmary on April 21 for difficulty with breathing, another potential symptom of Disalcid allergy. Marlene, who discovered the potential allergy on the Internet, had notified jail medical staff about it the previous day. The medication was discontinued and the symptoms began to subside.

On April 23, a Forensic Medical oral surgeon performed a second extraction on Sanchez and smoothed out the inmate’s jawbone. Sanchez was initially prescribed a codeine-based pain medication after that procedure but was downgraded to Tylenol despite repeated requests to medical staff for stronger medication. Medical staff accused Sanchez of “medication seeking” behavior. He continues to complain of severe pain in the area.

The Sanchezes have filed a claim against Sonoma County and are considering filing a medical malpractice lawsuit against California Forensic Medical Group. Assistant Sheriff Costa is confident that the outcome of any inquiry will be favorable. “One reason why we have to take such complaints so seriously is because we have deep pockets,” Costa said. “We are an easy mark for people to sue.”

In the meantime, Angel Sanchez claims he’s still in pain. He looks forward to settling his legal matters in Sonoma County so he can be transferred to San Quentin prison for a parole violation. From previous experience, he’s found the medical care there more to his liking.

From the June 20-26, 2002 issue of the North Bay Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Scooby Doo’

Rroo's There? Matthew Lillard and his digitally-animated co-star hunt ghosts in 'Scooby Doo.' Geek Rage Pushing the buttons of the King of Television trivia Take my advice: never upset a geek. I am sitting here with the phone pressed to my ear, an ear that has...

Kitka

Voices Rising: Popular Eastern European choral group Kitka perform at COPIA in September. Balkanizing the Bay Balkan folk dance draws a crowd By Sam Hurwitt They're drawn to the Berkeley dance barn Ashkenaz like pilgrims to Mecca. On any other night they could be there to learn Cajun,...

Hartford Insurance

Reaping the Benefits: Michael Allen, general manager of SEIU's Local 707 office, is looking into Hartford's slow action on claims. Late to the Gate County workers face problems with Hartford By Joy Lanzendorfer Sherry Smith expected to be getting long-term disability by now. It's been six months since...

Grilling

Some Like It Hot Reflections of a grill grrrl By Gretchen Giles Is it wise to trust--let alone consume--a food whose recipe reminds: "If you have enough clean cat-food cans, everyone can have a dessert"? Should the word "dump" ever be part of your menu litany? Are gas grills, as has...

“The Box Show”

Box of Reign Gallery Route One artists think inside the box By Gretchen Giles On a hot, early-June Sunday, the great-nephew of the last Russian tsar merrily stands smack in the middle of the road, wearing an oversized cardboard box. A silly hat tops his head, and the home-picked geraniums decorating...

Glassy-Winged Sharpshooter

Damage Control Poisoning the glassy-winged sharpshooter means poisoning you By Tara Treasurefield They'll be in there immediately with synthetic pesticides," says Lowell Downey. "Before they even give us notice, they're in there." Just home from the hospital after minor surgery, Downey has taken Vicodin to dull the excruciating pain in his...

The Flatlanders

Cosmic Cowboys The Flatlanders are on the road again By Greg Cahill If we'd grown up near an ocean," Texas singer-songwriter Butch Hancock recently told the Dallas Star Telegram, "we might have written sea chanteys." Fortunately for fans, Hancock and his compadres Joe Ely and Jimmie Dale Gilmore instead grew...

Ruth Brown

Obstacle Course: Ruth Brown manages to overcome just about anything.Photograph by Barbara RoberdsSoul SurvivorR&B great Ruth Brown beats the oddsBy Greg Cahill She's a fighter. In the late '40s and early '50s, a 20-year-old singer named Ruth Brown, known as "Miss Rhythm," skyrocketed to the top of the R&B charts with "Teardrops in My Eyes" and other hits. She...

Robert Earl Keen

Keen on You: Robert Earl Keen honed his skills with schoolmates like Lyle Lovett. A Life in Song Robert Earl Keen sings close to home By Scott Cooper You're sitting around a campfire somewhere in the West as an old cowboy with a dusty hat and a missing thumb tells...

Healthcare in Jail

Is It Safe? Angel Sanchez's tooth trouble began with a little pain in his molar. Mouthing Off Getting a good dentist in jail is like pulling teeth By R. V. Scheide Angel Sanchez is learning at least two important lessons during his present stay at the Sonoma County Jail. One:...
11,084FansLike
4,606FollowersFollow
6,928FollowersFollow