‘Repertory!’

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‘Repertory!’

Farcial Four

SCR’s historical farce blazes a trail for local theater

By Daedalus Howell

THE PLAY’S the thingamajig at Sonoma County Repertory Theatre–in the form of local playwright John Moran’s hilarious, rambling reprise of his two-act farce Repertory!, deftly navigated by director Diane Bailey. (An earlier version of Repertory! was staged last year as part of SCR’s New Drama Works program.)

A reeling comic fantasia, Repertory ! posits what would occur if dramatists Christopher Marlowe (Cameron McVeigh), Ben Johnson [sic] (Eric Thompson), the seafaring Walter Raleigh (Tom McIntyre), and neophyte scribe William “Gerry” Shakespeare (Kevin Lingener) were to found a theater empire in the Roanoke, Va., of the late 16th century.

A truly gifted wordsmith, Moran makes happy bedfellows of burlesque and screwball with frantic antics and ribald gags set against historical fact and dressed in myriad literary and pop cultural references. Moran must have been weaned on flicks like Casino Royal and What’s New, Pussycat?, for his play reproduces much of the same droll if cockeyed spirit. Often absurd and ultimately charming, Repertory! soars on featherweight wings of farce and satire.

Eric Thompson tips the comic Richter scale with his usual radish-faced bluster as Ben Johnson, who suffers being paid by the word and consequently lets his prolix predilections run rampant.

Cameron McVeigh, a likable performer with a facile stage manner and delightfully contrived stammer, does well as the enfant terrible Marlowe. Though effective in the role, McVeigh frequently seems one degree removed from his character–as if he’s acting as though he’s acting as Marlowe.

Tom McIntyre’s even-keel Raleigh and Kevin Lingener’s wet-behind-the-ears Shakespeare round out the Elizabethan Fab Four with appropriately understated performances.

Jim dePriest’s turn as the moonstruck spy chief Lord Burghley is pure, unmitigated theatrical black magic. The lunatic monologues Moran has penned for dePriest are the unholy offspring of James Joyce, Lewis Carroll, and Groucho Marx. It’s word salad topped with Three Mile Island dressing, and dePriest astounds.

One of the more interesting themes Moran explores amid Repertory!’s cavalcade of Beatles allusions is the impact of death on a group dynamic. News of Marlowe’s historical murder is foreshadowed by John Lennon’s posthumous Beatles hit “Free as a Bird.” By associating his four characters with the Beatles, Moran underscores the fragility of artistic collaboration.

Marlowe’s death marks the end of the characters’ dream of starting a theater colony as well as a coming-of-age for the nascent Shakespeare, whose individuation as a writer was stymied by Marlowe’s celebrity and literary prowess–and so concludes the play’s single character arc.

SCR should be applauded for staging this work. By doing so, the company defies all other local theaters to likewise produce homegrown material. One hopes that Repertory! has set the stage for what is to come for local theater.

‘Repertory!’ hits the stage at Sonoma County Rep, 415 Humboldt St., Santa Rosa. 544-7278.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Mill Valley Film Festival

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Mill Valley Film Festival

Political science: Joan Allen (center) plays a U.S.senator who discovers that life in Washington can get down and dirty (even downer and dirtier than usual) in The Contender, which screens at the Mill Valley Film Festival on Saturday, Oct. 7, at an event that also features an appearance by Allen.

Fem Mystique

Mill Valley Film Fest pays homage to actress Joan Allen

By

UNLIKE SO MANY who were picked as Most Likely to Succeed in their high school, actress Joan Allen actually succeeded. Raised in Illinois, Allen was one of the co-founders of Chicago’s Steppenwolf Theater troupe, along with actors Gary Sinise and John Malkovich. She came to movies right before she turned 30. In the late ’90s, she won back-to-back Oscar nominations for Best Supporting Actress: in 1996 for The Crucible and in 1995 for Nixon–and in the latter case, she was robbed.

Allen is attending the Mill Valley Film Festival on Saturday, Oct. 7, in connection with her upcoming film The Contender. The film features yet another quality performance by Allen, who usually plays wary, guarded women with resources never guessed by her oppressors. The actress takes apart the good-woman roles from the inside out, with a firsthand knowledge of such women’s pressures and repression. “I was a very good girl for a long time,” she once said, according to the Internet Movie Database.

The film Nixon was loads of fun, especially in the serious parts. After a certain point–his phlebitis, his dirt-poor background–it’s impossible to sympathize with the tragedy of Nixon. And Anthony Hopkins was not so much touching as funny portraying the great horror clown whom, to our shame, we elected twice.

Allen took all of the weight of the movie, the point of its tragedy. Garry Wills, in his 1969 book Nixon Agonistes, reported watching the real Pat Nixon descending from a plane: “Her face chilled with smiles. . . . [T]he freckled hands were picking at one another, playing with gloves, trying to still each other’s trembling. There is one thing worse than being a violated man. Being a violated man’s wife.”

That was how Allen played Pat Nixon, and she brought forth the full sorrow of that remarkably unfortunate woman’s life. Allen’s Pat Nixon made me think of Edith Scob’s role as the plastic-masked, disfigured woman in Franju’s poetic horror film Eyes without a Face: the mouth rigid and firm, the eyes burning through their holes, a hint of the scarified person underneath.

By coincidence, Allen later played the wife contended for by two men with false faces, in the John Woo movie Face/Off. In hiring Allen, Woo gave a strong counterweight to the dual-male scheme of the film by putting her at the story’s heart. She played a woman so coolly reserved that neither man could really take her at face value.

Allen did some kindhearted mockery of the ’50s housewife in the fantasy Pleasantville. Such wives are usually played as comic and silly, rarely as the yearning creatures they often were. Allen not only seemed right for the role, she looked right. She has the good looks that were in vogue in America then. I loved how she changed from a chipper hausfrau to an odalisque, posing for her portrait. The transformation was fully believable even if it was signified by lighting, a change caused by a sad, sweet first-orgasm scene that literally set the trees on fire.

Screen Scene: Offbeat cinema shines at Mill Valley Film Festival.

The film that’s brought this first-rate actor to the Mill Valley Film Festival is Rob Lurie’s The Contender, the director’s answer to the Clinton scandal.

Lurie’s previous film Deterrence, released earlier this year, was a political drama about a future president’s decision whether to use nuclear weapons. The Contender is another story of a political ordeal.

The best candidate for the specially appointed vice president of a lame-duck prez is Allen’s Laine Hanson, a moderate Democratic senator of impeccable credentials. But suddenly, Sen. Hanson is accused of a 20-year-old sexual peccadillo, apparently verified by a photograph. As in Deterrence, Lurie’s story is too rhetorical to be completely successful, and the director’s approach changes from Gore Vidal to Frank Capra.

Nevertheless, Allen carries The Contender with her own incomparable gravity. She’s the driest and most un-self-pitying of tragedians onscreen today. When she’s grilled by the Senate, it seems very urgent that her Sen. Hanson should triumph. As an actor, Allen’s biggest accomplishment is this: she takes the boredom out of dignity.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

restaurant name

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Just Like Home

By Marina Wolf

Comfort food. Just reciting the list of usual suspects–macaroni and cheese, chicken noodle soup, meat loaf–is strangely relaxing, as though in speaking the dishes aloud we invoke their comforting powers. But here’s a tip, in case you didn’t already know: any food can be comfort food at the right place and time.

The season has something to do with it, for sure. Just the other day, after a hot morning hike in shoes that didn’t breathe and socks that collected burs like a stray dog’s coat, I sat down to a chunk of watermelon from the fridge. It was an inspired choice, seedless, succulent, and soothing in much the same way as a good chicken soup is on a bad winter’s day. They both equalize body temperature, which in extreme weather conditions is a very comforting thing.

But comfort food goes beyond physical needs, into issues of class and culture. Our choices for soothing suppers reveal everything about us. We take with us our culture’s choices–miso in Japan, in Germany maybe potato pancakes–and overlay them with family favorites. The qualities may be identifiable and similar from culture to culture–smooth, creamy, hot, savory–but the mix is unique. On an individual level, our choice of comfort food is as changeable as our moods.

True comfort food, whatever its form, meets all the desires and needs we bring to the table at any given moment. After a particularly challenging day at work, I might crave the relief and sheer adolescent self-indulgence implicit in, say, a big glass of tomato juice and a bowlful of cheddar•sour cream potato chips (a snack from my teenhood, associated with trashy books and a warm summer’s day). Another time, on a long-overdue date with my sweetie, I may be drawn to a melting filet mignon, a smooth velvety morsel that gives me an excuse to shyly offer a bite across the table. This is what psychologists and Oprah call emotional eating, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. On the contrary, these comfort foods represent the body’s basic need to soothe itself.

Now, I’m not so messed up that I always need comfort food. But I am always on the lookout, and every once in a while I’ll stumble across a new food with real comfort potential. A few years ago, I started a new job 100 miles from home, which necessitated occasional overnight stays at an acquaintance’s house. My friend didn’t say anything about food, so when I stumbled back after the first day–tired, frustrated, and hungry–I anticipated only a strange bed and an empty stomach.

Instead, my hostess met me at the front door, ushered me into the kitchen, and sliced up a baguette, crusty with sesame and poppy seeds. I sat there on a barstool, blinking like an owl, while she rattled stacks of Tupperware out of the refrigerator and onto the counter. One container held some trout that her husband had caught and smoked himself. Did I want to try some? Another container contained a velvety rind of Cambozola; I’d never heard of it, but sure.

I timidly sliced off a piece of the fragrant cheese, spread it on the bread, and took a bite. All in a rush, my appetite for life came back and settled happily along the sides of my tongue. I wanted to faint, it was so good. The sesame seeds from the bread burst against my teeth. The cheese melted in a flood of saliva. The trout flaked delicately in my fingers. I had never eaten some of these foods before, but tasting them, I recognized them immediately as symbols of care and concern. They were as comforting as my mother’s own milk, too comforting for words, or even to say thank you. Until now.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Almost Famous’

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‘Almost Famous’

Crazy Days

Ben Fong-Torres on the death of rock and roll

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation.

‘FIRST OF ALL, I’ve got to say it,” pronounces author Ben Fong-Torres, shortly after catching Almost Famous for the third time. “The movie does a great job of re-creating its particular time period. And I think it re-creates the feeling of falling in love with music–and of falling in love, in general–extremely well.

“It also,” he continues, “captures the rush of being a part of the rock music scene, of being allowed, even temporarily, into the inner circle of musical stardom.”

OK, stop. Wait. Hold it a minute.

Though Fong-Torres has a lot more to say about the movie–and I have a point or two of my own to share–maybe we should stop and let the rest of you catch up first.

First of all, the time period to which Fong-Torres refers is the year 1973, when he was serving as editor of the then 4-year-old Rolling Stone magazine. By that time, the Oakland native had already fallen in love with music himself, having had his own rock-and-roll cherry popped by Elvis Presley way back in the ’50s.

Almost Famous–a mostly entertaining and funny film that’s just a little dry around the edges–is director Cameron Crowe’s semi-autobiographical rock-and-roll fantasy based on his own early days as a starstruck 15-year-old writing for Rolling Stone.

It’s a classic coming-of-age story, as the innocent, embarrassingly uncool lad is sent out on the road (assigned by a then twentysomething Ben Fong-Torres) to cover the backstage shenanigans of an up-and-coming rock group named Stillwater (a fictional amalgamation of several ’70s bands that Crowe actually did write about).

The kid is played with wide-eyed wonder by young Patrick Fugit, the band’s intense lead-guitar player by Billy Crudup, and the band’s favorite groupie–excuse me, their favorite “Band Aide”–by the brittle but sweet Kate Hudson. Fong-Torres is portrayed, in a handful of goofy scenes, by Terry Chen.

Some of Fong-Torres’ own Rolling Stone memories are captured in Not Fade Away: A Backstage Pass to 20 Years of Rock & Roll, a collection of the author’s interviews, featuring a colorful foreword by Cameron Crowe.

“While Cameron’s movie shows what it’s like to be a writer on the road with a band,” he observes, “it also catches, very vividly, the frustration of being ultimately defined as being on the other side of the line. Because, by being a journalist, you are not an insider.

“Even though you’ve been pulled into the huddle,” he continues, “even though you’ve been allowed backstage, and even though the musicians have talked to you as if you were something more than a reporter, still finally, the line is there, and you are the enemy.

“I think the movie drew those portraits quite vividly, and it did a great job.”

“And as a depiction of the young Ben-Fong Torres?” I ask.

“Well. As a depiction of the young Ben Fong-Torres, it was an absolute disgrace!” he says. “In fact, I’m calling my attorneys immediately. Better yet, I’m calling Hunter Thompson. He’ll take care of Cameron. He’ll pull him up to Colorado, take him out to Woody Creek for a little target practice.”

“But didn’t you really throw the word crazy into every single sentence,” I ask, “like you do in the movie?”

“Actually, no, I didn’t,” Fong-Torres replies. “I mean, I did say ‘crazy,’ but it was in a different context usually. Let’s call it an affirmative, approving nod. If Cameron had said, ‘Hey, I finally scored that interview with Neil Young and we talked for an hour and a half,’ I would say, ‘Crazy.’

“Not ‘Ca-raaaaaaa-zy!’ “

For the record, Fong-Torres does a spot-on impression of Terry Chen doing a bad impression of Fong-Torres. But there are better things to talk about.

“So tell me about the whole rock-and-roll-being-dead thing,” I say, referring to the pessimistic rantings of Lester Bangs, the real-life rock critic and provocateur (played by Phillip Seymour Hoffman) who was something of a mentor to Crowe.

“When that conversation came up in the movie, I thought back to this interview I did with Jim Morrison in 1971,” Fong-Torres says, “where one of the subjects of discussion was the death of rock and roll. It seems that from the late ’60s on, the recent death of rock and roll has been a recurrent subject. Rock and roll is always dying.

“You have to listen to the Lester Bangs speech to get a sense of what he was talking about,” says Fong-Torres.

“It was the aggressiveness, the rebelliousness, the take-no-prisoners approach to rock-and-roll music that people thought had died. The other thing that had died was the belief that rock and roll would somehow change the world.”

FOR SURE. According to Bangs, the commercial aspects of the music industry had possessed rock and roll, destroying the purity of its once revolutionary soul. But since rock was essentially created by Little Richard and Chuck Berry and the like–people who weren’t really angling for a hippie revolution–it could be argued that the revolutionary element in the ’60s sort of co-opted rock and roll.

“I don’t know about being co-opted–that’s a strong word to use,” says Fong-Torres. “I think music, including rock and roll, is always being conjoined to causes, to societal changes, to political interests and all of that. That’s nothing new either.”

“Yet the rock-and-roll-is-dead people do seem to feel a sense of ownership of the music,” I say. “Lester Bangs was certainly expressing a sense of ownership the music, and he was pissed that someone had stolen it away from him.”

“And God bless Mr. Bangs and all people like him,” Fong-Torres says laughingly. “They may have the loudest, most articulate voices, but that doesn’t mean they’re the majority.

“For every fan today who bemoans the state of popular music, there are a hundred others going out and buying Britney Spears T-shirts.

“What’re you gonna do?” he concludes.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Open Mic

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Workers struggled for generations to secure the eight-hour day. Now serfs in local high-tech industries compete to see who can log the most hours. Why? Because leaving at 5 o’clock is seen as a poor career move

By C. D. Payne

YOU BOUGHT the wrong oil filter for your car. You return it to your local Sprawl-Mart, and even though it’s the house brand and clearly unused, the clerk refuses to take it back because you don’t have your receipt. Slobodan Milosevic foments a bloody war in the Balkans that kills thousands and leaves the region in ruins.

What’s the connection between these two events?

Both are examples of that ugly plague on humankind called careerism: jobholders trying to get ahead, cover their ass, or climb the corporate ladder without regard to the common good.

The nuclear disaster at Chernobyl, the marketing of cigarettes to schoolkids, the quashing of controversial stories by the local paper that might offend advertisers–all can be traced backed to some desk-bound twit trying to look good to his or her superiors.

These days entire industries are structured to exploit careerism and enhance the bottom line. HMO docs who spend the least amount of time and money on their patients rack up the best career-boosting numbers. Ever wonder why liberal Northern California has so many conservative talk- radio shows? Hiring an intelligent progressive might please the listeners, but few station managers would view it as a smart career move. Station executives get promotions and we get the right-wing cant.

Workers struggled for generations to secure the eight-hour day. Now serfs in local high-tech industries compete to see who can log the most hours. Why? Because leaving at 5 o’clock is seen as a poor career move if you want to get ahead in global capitalism’s new “workaholic cult.” So employees sacrifice their personal lives, marriages, and families to “work” 60-, 70-, and 80-hour weeks.

They may be sitting in their cubicles, but are they really working?

Back when I was a corporate slave, I noticed my body was still on its high school schedule. At 3:15 p.m. my brain went south, and all thought ground to a halt. By 4, most co-workers were firing up the coffee machine, going out for cookies, or surfing the Net to stay awake. Quitting time was three hours away, but their productive day was over.

Oh, if you enjoyed this article, please show it to your friends. I’m hoping it will give a big boost to my career.

C. D. Payne now spends his days writing novels, among which is Youth in Revolt: The Journals of Nick Twisp.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Drinking in Japan

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Drinking in Japan

Tokyo Time

Fast livin’, hard drinkin’ on the Pacific Rim

By BOB JOHNSON

AS THE TOUR BUS parts a vast sea of automobiles, motor scooters, bicycles, and pedestrians in Tokyo’s frenetic Ginza district, a melancholy look darkens the previously sunny face of the tour guide, Kaori. “I should tell you about married life in Japan,” Kaori says. “The average Japanese husband spends only 17 minutes per day conversing with his wife.”

“No wonder the divorce rate is so low here,” I think to myself.

Kaori continues: “While more women are working than ever before, it is still acceptable for the man to have a job and the woman to stay at home and raise the children.

“The men work very hard, and after a long day at the office, it is common for them to have drinking parties at a nearby bar or restaurant.”

“Hmm . . . ,” I muse. “This place is sounding better all the time.”

“Ginza is known not only for its shopping, but also for its nightlife,” Kaori adds. “This is a popular area for drinking parties. By the time the party has ended and the men have spent an hour or more on a train, it can be 11 o’clock or later when they finally get home.”

There is a somewhat judgmental tone to Kaori’s commentary, and I can’t help but notice that there is neither a wedding band nor an engagement ring on her left hand. As an obviously well-educated woman, she seems torn between the pressures to embrace Japan’s traditional social practices and the desire to adopt the Western perspective of husbands and wives as equal partners.

Her words come to mind later that evening when I am invited to the very kind of drinking party to which she has alluded. Only the party I attend is held not in Ginza, but rather in the much more gaudy Kabuki-cho area of the neighborhood known as Shinjuku.

The restaurant where we gather is set against a backdrop of strip clubs, bars both funky and seedy, massage parlors, porn shops, and bathhouses. Color this district bright red. But once we’re inside the restaurant, an air of formality takes over as our party is escorted to a private room with a banquet table in the middle and a series of round cocktail tables hugging the walls.

I sit down next to one of my hosts, but am politely instructed to leave a seat vacant between us. A few minutes later, I find out why: This is a hostess bar, and we are joined at the table by young women known as maiko, who are training to be geisha.

IN JAPAN, social etiquette calls for the guest to follow the lead of the host. So, once the hostesses have joined us, we all adjourn to the cocktail tables and begin filling our plates with helpings of fugu, okonomiyaki (similar to pizza), yakitori (charbroiled and sweetly spiced chicken chunks on skewers), and assorted morsels of sushi and sashimi.

As an American, I am a klutz when it comes to using chopsticks, but the maiko seated to my left is quick to notice, and henceforth picks up bites of food from my plate and feeds me, much like a parent feeds a baby in a highchair.

The drinking and eating begin concurrently, with huge bottles of Asahi and Kirin beer placed up and down the table. It is customary to pour for the person seated next to you, so it’s rare that a beer glass ever is empty. Drinking in Japan does not carry the stigma with which it’s saddled in America. In fact, it is viewed as a trust-building endeavor that helps cement relationships. The Japanese even have a name for this form of communication through drinking: nominikeshon. It implies an opportunity to speak candidly and to let off steam, and even provides an acceptable excuse for what otherwise might be deemed inappropriate behavior.

I am surprised that the sake is served not nearly as hot as I’ve experienced in the States. My hosts tell me that the proper serving temperature is the temperature of the human body. They say sake is heated to extreme temperatures to mask flavor flaws–the same reason our local winetasting rooms chill wines. Japan’s official sake tasters, just like North Coast vintners, perform their evaluations with the elixirs at room temperature.

MY HOSTS had heard of the old wine harvest ritual of humans stomping grapes with their feet and want me to know the history behind Japan’s first sake, which dates back to the third century. Kuchikami no sake–a.k.a. “chewing-in-the-mouth” sake–involved the entire populace of a village chewing rice, chestnuts, and millet, then spitting the saliva-infused mulch into tubs.

Thank God for the impurity-killing magic of the fermentation process. . . .

Sake is an acquired taste, and even after several encounters with the beverage over a few days, I remain in the “acquisition” stage. I also am feeling bloated from all that beer I consumed at the drinking party, so on my one free evening in Tokyo, I go hunting for a good glass of wine. After nearly a week without my daily dose of vino, a glass of Kendall-Jackson Vintner’s Reserve Chardonnay never tasted so good. * And as I savor each succeeding sip, that annoying tune I’d heard a few days earlier at Tokyo Disneyland finally escapes from my subconscious: “It’s a small world after all . . .”

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Spins

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Spins

Local Motion

North Bay recording artists strut their stuff

By Greg Cahill

Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks Beatin’ the Heart Surfdog

WHAT A GEM! This is the first major work since 1994’s Shootin’ Straight from singer/songwriter Dan Hicks, a Marinite who made his mark in the early ’70s with wryly turned phrases and a fondness for sentimentality, old-timey acoustic arrangements, and blues-inflected country swing. And it’s well worth the wait. Lots of big-name guests here: Elvis Costello, Tom Waits, Rickie Lee Jones, Brian Setzer, and Bette Midler. The Hicks/Waits duet on the hipster stomp “I’ll Tell You Why That Is” is the show-stopper, but this is pure Hicks all the way–an often cornball, sometimes tender, always hip tunesmith who remains unflinchingly true to his own quirky vision.

Barbara Morrison with Johnny Otis and His Band Ooh-Shoobie-Doo J&T Records

SEBASTOPOL R&B legend Johnny Otis is no slouch as a talent scout. And here Otis shows that he hasn’t lost his touch. In the past, Otis “discovered” Etta James, Esther Phillips, Marie Adams, and a slew of other great female vocalists. This widely ranging album, featuring Michigan native Barbara Morrison, is designed to showcase Morrison’s diverse talents. That’s good and bad. Morrison ably handles everything from gut-bucket blues to doo-wop, straight-ahead R&B to jazz. But you sort of wish for a little more even-handedness in the song selection. Still, Morrison is a real find and shouldn’t be overlooked.

Elvin Bishop & Little Smokey Smothers That’s My Partner Alligator

THE RECENT MURDERS of his ex-wife and daughter overshadowed the release of this terrific set of good-rockin’ blues by west Marin guitarist Elvin Bishop and his longtime mentor, Chicago bluesman Albert “Little Smokey” Smothers. Recorded live earlier this year at Biscuits & Blues in San Francisco, the CD delivers plenty of Bishop’s trademark self-deprecating tongue-in-cheek humor while he trades red-hot licks with the guitarslinger he first met 40 years ago while Bishop was helping to make the blues palatable for white audiences as a member of the legendary Paul Butterfield Blues Band. A feel-good album from a performer whose life has been mired in tragedy.

Maria Muldaur Music for Lovers Telarc

NEARLY 30 YEARS after blues diva Maria Muldaur steamed up the charts with the sultry pop hit “Midnight at the Oasis,” she is in peak form and fanning the flames of passion in this sizzling collection of unsentimental love songs. Culled from her last three Telarc releases, this album displays Muldaur’s strengths as a savvy song interpreter, turning up the heat on robust tunes by Greg Brown, John Hiatt, and others. And does she have friends? Background vocalists include Mavis Staples, Ann Peebles, Lady Bianca, Tracey Nelson, and Charles Neville. Let your hormones run wild.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Indy Awards

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Indy Awards

The Indies

The third annual North Bay arts awards

ART IS LIKE revolution–neither one happens by itself. Independent spirits have to be there, defying convention and leading the way. But the resemblance doesn’t stop there. In both cases, after the smoke clears, it’s easy to forget the people whose bold ideas lit the spark.

Not fair? Of course not. But it’s also darn unwise. If you ignore creativity long enough, it will go away–and with it the artistic innovation that keeps life here in the North Bay (or anywhere else) interesting.

With that rather selfish motive in mind, this publication tries every year to recognize the independent spirits at work in the arts through the Indy Awards, an annual award ceremony that shines a spotlight on individuals and institutions who make a unique contribution to the North Bay arts scene.

The recipients, selected by the newspaper’s editorial board, are always an eclectic group working in a variety of creative fields, from music to the visual arts to administration.

This year is no exception: whether they’re starting their own music magazine to highlight the accomplishments of local bands or mounting a world-class film festival that attracts the top names in independent film to the North Bay, these folks arc like lightning bolts across the local arts scene. Without them, our world would be a dimmer place.

For art’s sake: Gerry Simmel, Victor Conforti, and Jim Callahan realized their dream of creating a visual arts venue in Sonoma.

Visions in the Valley

Sonoma Valley Museum of Art

“It felt like we were responding to a need,” recalls Jim Callahan, one of a group of local art enthusiasts whose dream to establish a visual arts venue at a prominent site has recently borne fruit with the creation of the Sonoma Valley Museum of Art.

The group transformed an eyesore–a former furniture shop at the entrance to Sonoma’s historic plaza that had sat vacant for a decade–into a stylish new facility that offers precious wall space to local artists, traveling exhibits, and private collections. The museum displays works by local, national, and international artists, including painting, drawing, sculpture, photography, ceramics, architecture, design, printmaking, film, video, and crafts.

“One aspect of our mission is that art has a place in every life and everybody has some sort of relationship to it: artists, appreciators, and collectors,” says Callahan, himself a Sonoma artist for 21 years.

Another of SVMA’s goals is to provide a cultural bridge among the diverse communities in Sonoma Valley, he says. The museum has recently featured works by Latino and Japanese artists. “There are elements of universal beauty, and we want to provide a showplace for that,” explains Callahan. He adds that part of the excitement of working with the SVMA is being able to provide additional educational programming for local schools.

Future SVMA exhibitions include a series showcasing original artwork used for wine labels; a spotlight on West Coast photographers; and “Art That Sings”–handmade guitars as art–which will run concurrently with the Healdsburg Guitar Festival.

As a member-supported nonprofit, SVMA is flourishing, having signed up 850 members since its inception last spring. Organizers have even raised enough cash to buy the building (which it now leases) in February.

The museum’s location in Sonoma Valley plays a vital role in its success, according to Callahan. “Part of the identity of this community is contained within the idea of aesthetic appreciation,” he explains. “Food and wine are aesthetic pursuits, and likewise we’re providing a another level of enhancement in the community.” Paula Harris

A Hand to the Bands

Frank Hayhurst

Back when Janis Joplin roamed the earth and the Beatles were still together, Frank Hayhurst was already rocking Sonoma County. For more than three decades now Hayhurst has been a tall drink of white light on the local music scene.

In the late ’60s his legendary band, the Bronze Hog, helped launch the Inn of the Beginning and a budding county music scene. In 1983 he opened Zone Music in Cotati, which quickly gained a reputation as a musician-friendly venue with a knowledgeable staff.

But Frank’s desire to help musicians goes far beyond giving advice on what new guitar to select. In 1994 he founded Musicians Helping Musicians to aid uninsured local music makers and their families. The program also encourages people to practice preventive medicine and promote general wellness.

“A lot of musicians aren’t part of the system,” Hayhurst says. “Generally, they don’t have any medical insurance. When friends got seriously ill, I discovered that the medical community and the insurance companies are in turmoil. We need to take care of each other.”

Musicians Helping Musicians is funded through musical benefits and contributions and adheres to the strictest nonprofit guidelines.

“When money comes into MHM, it goes directly to the people who need it,” Hayhurst says. “I consider my time and any form of overhead I incur as my personal donation. Hopefully, we can grow MHM into something that can be duplicated across the county.”

To date, Musicians Helping Musicians has raised more than $200,000. On Dec. 3 Hayhurst will present an all-out rock-and-roll event at the Tradewinds, the Inn of the Beginning, Spanky’s, and the Redwood Cafe to raise money for local keyboard artist Stu Blank, who is currently battling melanoma. The show will feature over 20 local bands, each playing for 15 minutes.

“Musicians are into the most juicy and interesting parts of life,” Hayhurst says. “The real value in music comes from the heart. It’s not about becoming a star. It’s about the love of the art form itself. I consider Zone Music a community resource to help my fellow musicians.” Bill English

Music Seen

Section M

Section M–the name is almost ominous. The lone consonant recalls Hitchcock’s Dial M for Murder or the single-letter title of Fritz Lang’s child-killer flick M. It’s even the nom de guerre of 007’s exasperated boss. But for readers of the popular local publication, M stands for music.

“I really believe that the North Bay has some of the best bands in the world,” says Michael Houghton, 28, editor and co-founder of the 2-year-old bimonthly magazine.

“A bunch of us got together and just started throwing around the concept of a music magazine for the North Bay, and the idea just took on a life of its own,” he continues. “It grew faster than we ever expected, faster than we could keep up with sometimes.”

Overseen by a committee of staffers (including locals Sara Bir, Geoffrey Dawson, Michael Houghton, William “Wild Bill” Powell, Mike Schaus, and Felix Thursday), Section M has become the bulletin board, pulpit, and soapbox of Sonoma County’s music scene.

“This magazine has acted as sort of a magnet to draw in some of the most talented and amazing people I’ve ever met,” Houghton says of Section M’s contributors.

Among those people is photographer Wild Bill, 26, who wryly characterizes his involvement with Section M as “totally accidental from the beginning, but I figured that it would be a good way to get my photographs published.” Then he adds, “Section M would have never existed if it wasn’t for the hard work and dedication of all our volunteers.”

Indeed, the past 24 months have amounted to something of a crash course in publishing for the dedicated crew.

“We’re really proud of the creative end, but we’re still learning how to run Section M as a business,” says Houghton, who holds down a day job doing architectural drafting. “We’ve been doing this whole thing on a shoestring budget for two years, and sometimes that makes it hard to expand as fast as we would like.

“This is what we do in our free time,” he adds. “It’s been rough at times, a lot like being in a band. It’s hard work, we lose a lot of sleep, but this is our definition of following our dreams.” Daedalus Howell

Cinema Paradiso

The Film Institute of Northern California

When the historic Rafael Theater in downtown San Rafael was refurbished and reopened 18 months ago by the Film Institute of Northern California, expectations for the newly christened Rafael Film Center were optimistically high.

FINC director Mark Fishkin, together with longtime board member and Rafael project coordinator Ann Brebner, envisioned the new facility as being more than a mere annex site for the Mill Valley Film Festival, the stylish international movie event that till now has been FINC’s main claim to fame.

With first-rate projection and sound systems, and with three no-expense-spared theater spaces in a lovingly restored art decco building, the Rafael was expected to be hailed as the classiest place to catch small, independent films in the North Bay–if not the entire state. It was quite a dream.

Happily, the dream came true.

Since opening its doors, the Rafael has drawn steadily increasing numbers of cineastes from around the North Bay. The theater is also building a solid reputation–mirroring that of the highly influential MV Film Festival–as the place for struggling independent filmmakers to show their work.

Says Brebner, “I can’t count the number of times that visiting filmmakers have come up to me saying, ‘I can’t believe it! Not only am I actually showing my film to an audience that loves it, but just look at the theater it’s being shown in!’

“It’s easier to finance a film today than to find a place to show it,” she says. “You can’t imagine the number of remarkable films that have been made around the world that no one will ever see.

“It breaks my heart to think that these films will have to remain hidden simply because they cannot find a venue.”

There is hope for all such filmmakers as long as the Film Institute of Northern California continues to dream such magnificent dreams. David Templeton

Feeling like a million bucks: Telecom Valley tycoons–Keith Neuendorff, Paul Elliott, Chick Peterson, and David Scott–bailed out the Phoenix Theatre, a popular Petaluma punk emporium.

Musical Mercy

The Phoenix Theatre Four

December 1999 was about to deliver a holiday from hell to local music fans. The rumors had been circulating for months: the Phoenix Theatre was being sold to a developer who planned to turn the Petaluma all-ages music venue into an office building.

The rumors turned out to be true. The deal was in the works, and the North Bay was about to lose one of its most cherished concert halls, a youth hangout that had been a launching pad for hundreds of Bay Area bands, ranging from outfits that never played another live gig to the likes of Primus and Green Day. After 15 years of live music, the curtain was about to drop on the Phoenix for good.

But suddenly, at the last possible moment, everything changed. A group of mystery investors stepped in and purchased the Phoenix to preserve it as a music venue. Like a Texas kid waking up to a white Christmas, music fans of all ages were rubbing their eyes, wondering what the hell was going on.

The angels of musical mercy turned out to be a group of local telecom engineers who reaped a financial windfall from the stock market last year when their employer, Cerent Corp., was bought out by Cisco Systems. The four–Paul Elliott, Keith Neuendorff, Chick Peterson, and David Scott–pooled their newfound money to buy the Phoenix from the developer who had it in escrow.

“There’s no place like it in the Bay Area,” Peterson says, explaining the foursome’s decision to shell out $350,000 to save the venue. “Most clubs won’t even let a kid in to play music, and here’s a place where young musicians can not only play but can actually get encouragement to pick up an instrument in the first place or learn how to do sound or lighting. . . . I think that makes the Phoenix unique.”

Peterson and the other buyers are quick to say that the deal wouldn’t have happened without help from some local business people–including real estate agent Robert Ramirez and attorney Thom Knudson.

But the struggle isn’t over at the Phoenix, caution its new owners. The building, built in 1904 as an opera house, could use some serious renovation, and the law requires an expensive seismic retrofit that must be completed by 2002. None of this will be easy. But the Phoenix Four, who all are parents, are determined that the next generation will be able to enjoy the North Bay’s most unusual music venue.

Says Paul Elliott, “We’re trying to preserve the Phoenix so that when Dave and Keith’s kids are ready, it’ll be there for them.” Patrick Sullivan

Free Verse

The Petaluma Poetry Walk

Geri Digiorno loves poetry. She loves to read it, write it, and speak it aloud. And she knows a lot of other people who feel the same way. But about six years ago, Digiorno had to face the fact that in her home town of Petaluma there were not that many places (read: none) where poetry fans could gather to experience the electrifying magic of poetry being read by its author.

Beyond the random bookstore appearance by the rare visiting poet (and it’s usually only the most famous of them who ever receive such treatment), there were no venues for poets to present their work to an appreciative audience.

“It was very frustrating,” says Digiorno.

Out of that frustration was born the Petaluma Poetry Walk. The annual event–which recently celebrated its fifth anniversary–brings local poetry writers, known and unknown, together with a range of international poets.

The artists are assigned time slots at half a dozen live performance spaces set up throughout Petaluma’s downtown area. Beginning at noon, poetry fans, maps in hand, move from venue to venue, drinking up literally hundreds of poems.

Now co-sponsored by Poets & Writers, the quirky and appealing event draws scores of eager attendees every year. The Poetry Walk is now a fixture of the North Bay arts scene and has contributed to a kind of poetry renaissance.

“The North Bay,’ says Digiorno, “was starving for an event like this.”

Poet Ron Salsbury, a regular performer at the event, agrees.

“This is poetry heaven,” he says of the North Bay. “There’s so much good poetry being created around here, it’s just amazing. But where can you go to hear it? Where can a poet find an audience? Since Geri started organizing the Poetry Walk, local interest in live poetry has definitely increased.”

That’s what Digiorno likes to hear.

“Poetry is a vital part of being human,” she says. “The Poetry Walk isn’t just for the poets and the people who already love poetry. It’s for the people who never knew before how thrilling, how life-changing, a well-crafted poem can be.” David Templeton

Native Glory

Rene di Rosa di Rosa Preserve

Rene di Rosa sometimes describes himself as an artoholic, and visitors to the Rene and Veronica di Rosa Preserve–located in the hills of Napa County–will be unlikely to quibble with that description. In the preserve’s main gallery, art comes at visitors from every direction–walls, ceilings, and floors. In all, the collection houses more than 1,700 pieces of art.

But it’s not just any art that finds its way into di Rosa’s collection. The emphasis here is on California art–paintings, sculptures, and photographs by 600 artists, almost all from Northern California. “It’s a unique collection because it focuses on Bay Area art, especially Bay Area funk,” says Gay Shelton, director of the Sonoma Museum of Visual Art. “I don’t know anyone else who’s collecting like that.”

Indeed, this may be the best place in Northern California to find regional art. But that’s not the only thing that makes the di Rosa preserve unique.

The preserve may be the only world-class art collection whose owner frequently greets visitors at the door. The elderly di Rosa (born in Boston in 1919) brings that personal touch to many aspects of the gallery.

It’s a trick of the di Rosa gallery–which has only been open to visitors for three years now–not to name the artists with the customary plaques. Instead, small notebooks in every chamber of the preserve contain the names, titles, and dates. Di Rosa says he avoided title cards because it irked him to see visitors at a museum paying more attention to the text than to the image.

Perhaps nothing sums up the unique appeal of the di Rosa preserve and its art collection better than the big chiseled stone letters spelling out the museum’s mission: “divinely regional, superbly parochial, wondrously provincial . . . an absolutely native glory.” Patrick Sullivan and Richard von Busack

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Bohemian

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With coverage now expanded to include Napa and Marin counties, readers will be able to stay abreast of a wider range of cultural and culinary options and issues transcending individual communities

THE POST-GOLD RUSH years unleashed a literary movement that figured prominently in Northern California’s cultural development. The journalists, poets and novelists loosely identified as bohemians preferred art, literature, and political discourse to the aggressive material culture of their day and had a strong connection to the geography and natural beauty of the land north of the Golden Gate.

Successor movements with a bohemian flavor–environmentalism, the Beat generation, the hippie movement, the sexual revolution, California cuisine, hip cyberculture–were similarly catalyzed by their synergy with this area. Is it an accident that utopian communities, from Sea Ranch to Zen Center and The Well, took root here?

Now, at the millenium’s rollover, modern Bohemia–independent thought and rejection of conformity through lifestyle choices–continues as a topic of contemporary debate. We hear about bourgeois bohemians (“bobos”) and “fauxhemians” as affluence fuses with ostensible anti-materialism. (Then again, socialist bohemian North Bay habitué Jack London didn’t exactly lead a pauper’s life.)

Concurrently, the freedom enabled by cheap electronic communication and the explosive weath it produced poses a new set of challenges for a region whose remove from the epicenters of finance and industry once kept it safely off the worn urban path.

We think the time couldn’t be better to introduce a new name, journalistic mission, and look. The publication you hold represents the convergence of two proud local traditions–a century-old literary and intellectual ethic of free thought and artistic expression and a newspaper founded in 1979 to champion community interests. For 10 years, it was published as The Paper or the West Sonoma County Paper. It was sold in 1989 to John Boland and Jim Carroll, who changed its name to the Sonoma County Independent and moved its offices from Bohemian Highway to Santa Rosa. In 1994, the Indy joined a Bay Area group of alternative weeklies, Metro Newspapers.

The reinvention of the Independent as the Northern California Bohemian continues an evolution begun 21 years ago when founding publisher Bob Lucas declared that his newspaper would be “dedicated to the truth and the right of individual expression,” and a voice “not controlled by out-of-the-area big money interests.”

The Bohemian will serve the North Bay’s communities, with particular interest in their culture and quality of life. It will question the agendas of government and large corporations whose interests tend to be overrepresented in the mass media. With coverage now expanded to include Napa and Marin counties, readers will be able to stay abreast of a wider range of cultural and culinary options and issues transcending individual communities. At this unique period of history, with unprecedented prosperity and powerful forces that transcend borders, thinking journalism is needed to preserve the region’s extraordinary natural beauty, gorgeous coastlines, redwood forests, and agricultural lifestyle.

Our commitment is to enrich our readers’ lives by presenting a lively, opinionated, and informative package of writing and graphics each week. We hope you enjoy the new format and editorial direction. Please drop us a note if you have any ideas or comments.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Newsgrinder

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Important events as reported by daily newspapers and summarized by Daedalus Howell.

Wednesday 9.27.2000

Faux-federales might not need no stinkin’ badges but teachers will. Identification badges are appearing on Petaluma School District campuses, as a new regulation requiring all nonteaching staff to wear a photo and name tag takes hold. The district suggests that teachers wear them, too. District Superintendent Carl Wong said district officials believe they will make school campuses safer for both students and employees–perhaps in the same way badges make the inmates feel safer in the county jail. “All of our campuses are open campuses,” says Wong. “Nonstudents have full access to the campuses.” Not that nonstudents or the students themselves particularly want to go there. However, several incidents led to the badges–one involving two Petaluma police officers who recently scampered across a Petaluma high school campus in plain clothes, unquestioned by any school authorities. What they were doing there is anyone’s guess, but since the ’80s, the campus has maintained a reputation for its good weed and loose girls.

Sunday 10.1.2000

Rep. Lynn Woolsey, who is seeking her fifth term this November, missed a scheduled debate with political opponents scheduled for 9 a.m. Sunday. Cynthia Brantly, Woolsey’s campaign manager, took the heat, claiming she thought the debate was scheduled for 9 p.m. “It’s my fault,” said Brantly who apparently operates on Malta time. A taping of the debate–which is to be aired on Petaluma’s public access channel–was rescheduled for Tuesday at 9 a.m. Woolsey’s opponents agreed to the change but only after expressing their exasperation to the debate sponsors, the League of Women Voters. “What she is saying is she doesn’t care enough about this district to show up,” said Woolsey’s second-time Republican opponent, Ken McAuliffe, whom the district hasn’t cared enough about in the past to elect to office. . . .

In an unrelated item, increasing numbers of Marin teenagers are suffering from stress, eating disorders, self-mutilation, and suicide attempts, according to school district officials. “My parents have really high expectations of me. By the end of the week, I’m dead,” said a San Marin High School student.

Monday 10.2.2000

Stop the presses! Petaluma’s Argus-Courier actually found some news this week–a sheep, whose DNA must have been crossed with the late-actor Steve McQueen’s, attempted a great escape earlier in the month from a livestock yard on Corona Road. The sheep, which bleats to the name Hot Cheeks, pranced gingerly across Corona Road and most of the way down Industrial Avenue, nearly becoming mutton as several motorists careened out of its way. The intersection was blocked, and there was tell of a rear-ended semi-truck. Hot Cheeks sought cover in some nearby bushes but, alas, was discovered near KnowledgePoint, a software company, according to the Argus-Courier. The venerated paper, known for its riveting coverage of tide data, neglected to report whether or not the tech firm offered the sheep a full-benefits package with stock options.

Tuesday 10.3.2000

HMO woes have stricken Novato newborn Alexander Page Leroux from day 1. He was born unaided by doctors at 3:33 a.m. on Sept. 17 on a hallway floor at Kaiser Permanente in San Francisco. His parents, Linnea and Rick, with their 17-month-old son, Eric, were en route to the labor and delivery ward on the third floor when Linnea began birthing the tyke. A nurse eventually showed up, bearing merely a swath of cloth, which she used to help deliver the healthy 8-pound, 4-ounce boy. Within minutes of Alexander’s first breaths, an ER door guard showed up and ordered Dad to move his car.

No Joke: Animal Shelter Ball-buster

A City of Petaluma Animal Service (PAS) newsletter that featured a humor piece dubbed “Real Men Don’t Neuter” has raised the ire of Petaluma man’s man and gender crusader Joe Manthey. In a letter to the editor published in the Press-Democrat, Manthey accused PAS manager Nancee Tavares of “spreading derogatory stereotypes” in an article that suggests some men refuse to neuter their pets because they “need to project a macho image,” a notion that Manthey characterized as “sexist.”

Tavares goes on to write, “Studies prove that men have a better self-image when their dogs sport Neuticles–faux testicles.” No word as to whether Manthey’s self-image is intact, or his dog’s testicles, or if he even has a dog.

From the October 5-11, 2000 issue of the Northern California Bohemian.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Repertory!’

Farcial Four SCR's historical farce blazes a trail for local theater By Daedalus Howell THE PLAY'S the thingamajig at Sonoma County Repertory Theatre--in the form of local playwright John Moran's hilarious, rambling reprise of his two-act farce Repertory!, deftly navigated by director Diane Bailey. (An earlier version of...
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Mill Valley Film Festival

Political science: Joan Allen (center) plays a U.S.senator who discovers that life in Washington can get down and dirty (even downer and dirtier than usual) in The Contender, which screens at the Mill Valley Film Festival on Saturday, Oct. 7, at an event that also features an appearance by Allen. Fem Mystique...
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restaurant name

Just Like Home By Marina Wolf Comfort food. Just reciting the list of usual suspects--macaroni and cheese, chicken noodle soup, meat loaf--is strangely relaxing, as though in speaking the dishes aloud we invoke their comforting powers. But here's a tip, in case you didn't already know: any food can be comfort food at the right...
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‘Almost Famous’

Crazy Days Ben Fong-Torres on the death of rock and roll Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. 'FIRST OF ALL, I've got to say it," pronounces author Ben Fong-Torres, shortly...
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Open Mic

Workers struggled for generations to secure the eight-hour day. Now serfs in local high-tech industries compete to see who can log the most hours. Why? Because leaving at 5 o'clock is seen as a poor career move By C. D. Payne YOU BOUGHT the wrong oil filter for your car. You...
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Drinking in Japan

Tokyo Time Fast livin', hard drinkin' on the Pacific Rim By BOB JOHNSON AS THE TOUR BUS parts a vast sea of automobiles, motor scooters, bicycles, and pedestrians in Tokyo's frenetic Ginza district, a melancholy look darkens the previously sunny face of the tour guide, Kaori. "I should tell you...
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Spins

Local Motion North Bay recording artists strut their stuff By Greg Cahill Dan Hicks & His Hot Licks Beatin' the Heart Surfdog WHAT A GEM! This is the first major work since 1994's Shootin' Straight from singer/songwriter Dan Hicks, a Marinite who made his mark...
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Indy Awards

The Indies The third annual North Bay arts awards ART IS LIKE revolution--neither one happens by itself. Independent spirits have to be there, defying convention and leading the way. But the resemblance doesn't stop there. In both cases, after the smoke clears, it's easy to forget the people whose bold ideas lit the...
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The Bohemian

With coverage now expanded to include Napa and Marin counties, readers will be able to stay abreast of a wider range of cultural and culinary options and issues transcending individual communities THE POST-GOLD RUSH years unleashed a literary movement that figured prominently in Northern California's cultural development. The journalists, poets and novelists loosely identified...
Read more

Newsgrinder

Important events as reported by daily newspapers and summarized by Daedalus Howell. Wednesday 9.27.2000 Faux-federales might not need no stinkin' badges but teachers will. Identification badges are appearing on Petaluma School District campuses, as a new regulation requiring all nonteaching staff to wear a photo and name tag takes hold. The district suggests...
Read more
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