Jackalope Records

Scene Maker

Key player: Gabe Meline joined Los Blockheads at a farewell show.

Jackalope Record’s Doug Jayne puts local bands in the spotlight

By Natalie Sibert-Freitas

HOW MANY in the audience think Gabe wrote that last song?” asked David Fichera, lead singer of Los Blockheads. About three people raised their hands, while the rest of crowd of 120 or so sat quietly in their seats, knowing full well that band member Gabe Meline, who sang and played piano for the piece, had just sung the vintage Elvis Costello tune “Welcome to the Working Week,” the only cover Los Blockheads played during their bubbly set.

The popular 5-year-old local musical outfit–once voted Best Punk Band by Independent readers–was making its farewell appearance before band members break up to depart for college. The July 24 show was held at an unusual location–the Sonoma County Repertory Theatre–and the cozy venue made it easy to take in the nuanced delights offered by the acoustic-based quartet, particularly Los Blockhead’s unique instrumentation, which includes trumpets, accordion, keyboards, and upright bass.

But more important, the downtown Santa Rosa venue–which for the past five years has served as home base for one of the county’s best-regarded theater companies–is apparently developing into a haven for local bands in a cultural landscape almost devoid of nightclubs.

In these days of bigger-is-better rock festivals, it’s refreshing to find someone willing to work to support the local music scene. Doug Jayne, co-owner of the Last Record Store and founder of Jackalope Records, is that person.

The music series at SCRT, which is open to all ages and offers performances by local bands ranging from the likes of Los Blockheads to jazz band Larry Basket every weekend through the end of August, is Jayne’s brainchild, born out of his desire to give a leg up to local musicians.

A resident of Sonoma County since 1979, Jayne knows the local music scene well. Part of his motivation for engineering the shows is the lack of small venues in the area.

“This series is geared as a challenge for the performer to do more of a concert. When you’re playing at a bar, maybe people aren’t really paying as much attention,” he says. “Here everybody is looking at you, so when you tell your story, everybody is listening.”

The intimate room is up-close and personal–in part because it’s set up in-the-round–and has a capacity of just 168 people.

Additionally, Jayne feels that larger local venues don’t always give local bands a fair shake at opening slots.

“The biggest thing about giving local acts support is that there are venues like Luther Burbank Center and many wineries that you would expect to see more locals opening at, but it seems that the attitude of those venues is that if I give one local act a break, then they’ll all be bugging me,” he offers. “My hope is in giving smaller bands an opportunity to play in front of a small audience it might help elevate them, at least for the evening.”

Unlike some local nightclubs, Jayne also pays the performers–which is pretty elevating in itself.

THE SERIES arose out of Jayne’s involvement with SCRT. He had already been doing sound effects for SCRT’s theatrical productions, and the idea for the local music series came when his friend John Moran, SCRT’s in-house playwright, mentioned that Jayne should get something in return for his services. The theater generally is vacant during July and August because SCRT is busy presenting its Shakespeare in the Park series in Sebastopol, so Jayne started exploring the notion with a couple of test shows.

The result: the local music showcase and hopes for a regular summer series in the future. Those hopes may bear fruit if the series draws the kind of audience that attended the July 24 show.

In addition to Los Blockheads, the event featured San Francisco punk icon Dr. Frank and a young local band called the Reliables. While the first couple of shows–which featured such acts as Karry Walker and Marc McLay and the Dustdevils–had a modest turnout, Saturday’s bands played to a nearly packed house made up of a very youthful and enthusiastic audience.

Up first were the Reliables, who chuckled through their quirky set with pluck. In such a casual setting, the audience was forgiving of any false starts.

Los Blockheads–playing in Los Lo-Fi, as they put it–took full advantage of the theater’s in-the-round setting, with Fichera rotating to sing to each portion of the audience. Their set was filled with fun, frolic, and plenty of boy-wants-girl subject matter.

Dr. Frank, leader of the internationally acclaimed Mr. T Experience, was the evening’s finale, and was enthusiastically received. Exhibiting his trademark knack for wordsmithing, Dr. Frank’s lyrics pull you in to meander around his often silly world. Case in point: the songs “Every Time You Go away You Take a Little Piece of Meat with You” and “Even Hitler Had a Girlfriend,”

Los Blockheads won’t be back anytime soon, but the SCRT series continues with other offerings, ranging from jazz to alternative country to folk rock, including an Aug. 21 performance by Van Morrison’s keyboardist John Allair. Above all, Jayne says he wants the events, which are geared to those who enjoy an intimate setting for live music, to offer a good time to local music fans.

“If at the end of the night people are smiling and slapping each other on the back when they leave,” concludes Jayne, “then it’s successful.”

Music at the Rep continues with the following shows: Saturday, Aug. 14, Larry Basket (jazz); Friday, Aug. 20, the Sorentinos and Solid Air; Saturday, Aug. 21, John Allair (pianist); Friday, Aug. 27, the Ruminators and special guest; Saturday, Aug. 28, Clodhopper. All shows begin at 8 p.m. at SCRT, 415 Humboldt St., Santa Rosa. Tickets are $7 (available in advance at the Last Record Store). For info, call 525-1963.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Los Hombres Caliente

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Hot Stuff

Three Amigos: Jason Marsalis, lower left, Bill Summers, top, and Irvin Mayfield.

Los Hombres Caliente are ssssssizzling!

By Greg Cahill

CALL IT FATE. From the moment he heard legendary jazz percussionist Bill Summers on one of the classic Herbie Hancock & the Headhunters albums, Young Turk drummer Jason Marsalis knew that he would perform with his idol.

Four years ago, a local producer mentioned that Summers was living in New Orleans, home to Marsalis, the youngest member of the famous jazz dynasty “The funny thing is that somehow Bill and I kept missing each other,” explains Marsalis, 22, during a phone interview from his home. “During my sophomore year at Loyola College in the fall of ’96, Bill actually came by the campus, but I was out of town. At the New Orleans Jazz Festival the next year, I was playing a sextet gig at which Bill was the next act. The only problem was I had a press interview and missed his first show. Another missed opportunity. Finally, I caught part of his last show. My brother Delfaeyo said, ‘Hey, man, that guy was really checking your set out hard!’ I later found out that Bill was scouting for musicians.

“Then, a couple of months later, I was sitting in a chair at the Atlanta airport, knocked out, when Bill came over and introduced himself. I was like, ‘Huh? Oh, wow, it’s Bill Summers!'”

Now the two are bandmates. As part of Los Hombres Caliente–one of the freshest-sounding jazz acts to hit the scene in a long time–Summers and Marsalis are fusing Afro-Cuban rhythms and Brazilian sambas, soul, and straight-ahead jazz in a red-hot mix that is lighting up stages.

“I think it was something that was destined to happen at some point,” Marsalis concludes.

Hot on the heels of the band’s acclaimed 1998 eponymous CD (which featured a guest spot by percussionist Cyril Neville), Los Hombres Caliente–Marsalis, Summers, trumpeter Irvin Mayfield, bassist David Pulphus, pianist Victor Atkins III, and percussionist and vocalist Yvette Bostic-Summers–are making their North Bay debut Friday, Aug. 13, at the Powerhouse Brewing Co.

The tour arrives just as the band is completing studio work on its widely anticipated follow-up CD, which Marsalis says will turn a lot heads. “The album we’re working on will be three times better that the first,” he enthuses. “The playing is a lot more inspired, the music is much better, we actually wrote songs for the sessions, the sound quality will be better . . . everything will be better.”

FOR MARSALIS, the project is a coming-out. As the son of distinguished jazz educator and pianist Ellis Marsalis and younger brother of neo-traditionalist jazz trumpeter Wynton (artistic director of the prestigious Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra), saxophonist Branford, and trombonist/producer Delfaeyo, he has set out to make a mark on the jazz world on his own terms.

Certainly, the youngest Marsalis has displayed his versatility. One night he’s in a straight-ahead trio format with his famous father (with whom he has recorded on Ellis’ CDs), the next he’s playing ’70s-style fusion with his own band Neslort. Or he can be heard down on New Orleans’ Frenchman Street with the Brazilian percussion group Casa Samba. Or over at the Funky Butt with Los Hombres Caliente, performing the band’s world-jazz-tinged interpolations.

“I get great support from my family,” he says. “Interesting support. And there were advantages and disadvantages [to being part of a jazz dynasty]. While the musical support definitely was there, people often had their own expectations of me. You know–let me chose my words carefully–crtain people in the family had their own idea about what they thought I should do and what level I should achieve, which is part of the dynamics of a large family. But still the support was great. My father was great. Everyone helped out.

“And in the long run everyone did understand that I was going to do what I was going to do.”

Los Hombres Caliente perform Friday, Aug. 13, at 8 p.m. at the Powerhouse Brewing Co., 268 Petaluma Ave., Sebastopol. Tickets are $12.50. For details, call 829-9171.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival

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Word Games

Fast food for the soul: Wordsmith Donna Nassar Noyes warms up for the Short Order Poetry event on Aug. 17 at the Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival.

The playful Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival returns

By Patrick Sullivan

JOHN WARD has a story to tell, and it’s suddenly clear that he can’t wait any longer. He leans forward in his chair and smiles broadly across the table: “Let me tell you why I was late,” he says. “I had to go sign some loan papers for a car. Somehow, it came out that the loan agent, the person who was having me sign the papers, was a poet . . .Then I find out that she’s coming to the festival to read.”

Seated beside him, her gray-green eyes sparkling, Suzanne daRosa lets out a laugh.

“I think that’s one of the most joyful things about what we do,” she says. “Everywhere you go, you find out that somebody has written a poem in their life or that they love to read other people’s work.”

That might seem an unlikely sentiment in a world where poetry is often considered an endangered species. Despite the growing popularity of poetry slams, or the occasional pop culture flirtations with the art form in such movies as Henry Fool, the question remains: How many people really care about poetry? The answer, according to the two folks at this table, is many more than you might think, even if that passion is a well-kept secret.

For four summers now, with an interruptory pause last year, daRosa, 48, and Ward, 55, along with a large group of collaborators, have worked to fan those scattered embers into a raging bonfire of verse. The two are co-founders of the Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival, an annual two-week celebration that stages quirky, playful events in the byways of Sonoma to popularize the art form and draw local poets out of the woodwork. Almost incidentally, to hear daRosa tell it, the event has also attracted such notables as poet laureate Robert Pinsky.

The event–which this year runs from Aug. 6 to Aug. 21–began in 1995 as part of a nationwide contest to bring acclaimed television journalist and author Bill Moyers to town. In stiff competition with festivals in such places as New York, and with a mere five weeks to pull the whole thing together, the organizers of the Sonoma Festival found that their effort ignited intense excitement in the community.

“After it was over, we knew we’d done something special,” Ward recalls. “In our minds, we’d already won.”

The judges agreed, and Moyers helped celebrate the win by appearing at an event that drew thousands of people. For a time, the eyes of the poetry world were glued to Sonoma. And, apparently, that allure is slow to fade.

“People outside the community still relate to it that way,” Ward says. “They still say, ‘Oh, you mean the festival that Bill Moyers came to?'”

“The event that made Bill Moyers famous–that’s what we call it,” says daRosa with a chuckle.

They won, daRosa says, largely because of broad-based community participation. In that first year, organizers went all out to inject a healthy dose of poetry into everyday life. There were poets reading at the gas pumps. There were poems stuffed into grocery bags. There were poems read at board meetings and in churches. And people turned out in droves for the grand finale: a huge poetry reading in the Sonoma Plaza that featured noted poets reading from the main stage while other folks read from the many soapboxes scattered across the plaza.

“Person after person would get up on a soapbox to read, and then more people would get their courage up,” daRosa says. “To this day, people still come up to me and say, ‘That was the first time I ever read in public.'”

The event, called Poets on the Plaza, will be repeated this year on Aug. 21. (To get time on the soapbox yourself, show up at 3 p.m.) This time, however, among other changes, the readings from the better-known poets on the main stage will be shorter.

That change and several others sprang from the fact that organizers took last year off to think about other tasks. In part, that hiatus occurred because some of the key organizers were busy with other projects. But it also happened, according to daRosa, because no one wanted to settle into a pattern.

“It felt like it wasn’t fresh any longer to me, and other people felt the same, so I thought I’d just take a year off and see what happens.” daRosa says. “We didn’t want this to turn into something that would be a formula.”

“We’re trying to be out there, pushing the extremes, trying the unusual,” Ward says.

“Of course, then we found we weren’t so extreme when Chris left that message on our answering machine,” daRosa replies with a laugh.

SHE’S REFERRING to a practical joke played on the festival by a man who called up to accuse Sonoma of being a “white, insular community” and ask when the inner-city rap poets would be allowed to perform. It may have been a joke, but it also seems to have touched a nerve among the organizers, who say they especially regret not having greater participation from the Mexican-American community.

“It turned out it was one of our people on the board who was just giving us a hard time,” daRosa says. “But it made us realize that we are really insular. . . . It’s a concern that I hear a lot of people talking about, even just in the greater community. How do you break down the barriers?”

Another important concern for daRosa and Ward is keeping the event free of excessive commercialization. There are no huge corporate sponsors, and the small profit made every year goes to the organizers’ favorite charity, California Poets in the Schools.

Many of the festival participants, including daRosa and another local poet named Arthur Dawson, participate in CPITS in Sonoma Valley schools. According to Ward, the effects of the program have been astonishing.

“When Arthur Dawson walks down the street, kids run up to him,” he says. “That totally knocked me out when I first saw it. They run over to him like he was a sports coach . . . He’s engaged them in a way that makes poetry totally accessible.”

It’s that effect–poetry’s ability to make an impact on human lives–that keeps the festival organizers coming back for more. When asked to explain why the art form continues to wield its peculiar power, daRosa pauses a moment, searching for the right words.

“We don’t listen to each other very well in this culture, I don’t think,” she says finally. “But people respect poetry. They listen to it. I think it gives you a way to communicate what you have to say, a way to really be heard.”

The Sonoma Valley Poetry Festival runs from Friday, Aug. 6, to Saturday, Aug. 21, at various locations in Sonoma. The festival concludes with Poets on the Plaza on Aug. 21 from 3:30 to 9 p.m. in front of the Sonoma City Hall. For details, pick up a schedule at the Sonoma Regional Library, or call 935-POET.

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Gas Prices

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Gas Pains

Suffering from bloodletting at the pumps

By Bill English

IN THE GLORIOUS ’60s, when I was in college, I once sold a pint of my blood to fill the gas tank of my Volkswagen Bug. There’s nothing exotic about my personal plasma; it’s the diesel fuel of life fluids. But even my humble type-O fetched around $4 on the open market.

More than enough to top off the 10-gallon tank of my Beetle.

Remember when gas cost 30 cents a gallon? When you could actually fill ‘er up for a pint a blood?

Well, you can kiss those days goodbye. Not even a massive reverse transfusion is going to get you to Tahoe now. You could give up every drop of blood in your body and still not make it to the video store under the present regime.

” . . . For the times they are a changin’ . . .”

A call to the Blood Bank of the Redwoods confirmed my worst fears. While the cost of gas in Sonoma County is going through the roof, blood isn’t worth a plug nickel. OK, the nice lady at the blood bank did say if I opened a vein I’d get some juice and a cookie. And maybe a blood bank T-shirt.

But forget about any hard cash.

Of course, there’s always the heartwarming knowledge that I’d be doing something wonderful for others. Maybe I’d even be saving someone’s life. But there’s no way I’d be driving the Yugo on bodily fluids.

Once again a last resort has been snatched from us.

The bottom line is that mere blood isn’t enough to get you gas anymore. Oh no, the greedy corporate powers that be have gone way beyond simple bloodsucking. The ruthless oil companies are feasting on our eternal souls with their beady eyes fixed firmly on our first-born.

These bums are out for more than blood. They want to drive us insane!

Wake up and smell the fumes–there’s a war going on!

SOMEWHERE, fat cats with Pennzoil pompadours are sitting around smoking Cuban cigars the size of baseball bats while they laugh their butts off about how they’re gouging those weirdoes in Northern California.

I’m offended by their arrogance.

The time has come for some serious outrage. We’ve got to rethink this regional fuel-reaming and come up with some drastic, hardball solutions. And I’m not talking about driving by the pumps every other Tuesday.

No, we’ve got to protect ourselves.

Unfortunately, most of us here in Sonoma County like to think we’re mellow beings, we are the enlightened consumers of the universe. We don’t like to get too upset about the small things that occur on this unruly planet. We prefer to bury our heads in the compost pit and keep it all organic. We’re too refined to deal with refineries. Big Oil boys are not whom we care to mingle with.

Not even in court.

But these people are messing with our right to drive–and, with the inflationary nature of transportation costs, our livelihoods. I’ve actually seen grown men weeping at the gas pumps as their SUVs inhale their weekly lunch money. You can hear the poor bastards’ stomach growl as the fossil fuel spills into their gas tank.

But hey, the big dog eats first.

And when the big dog is a monster Chevy Suburban chowing down on $1.95 a gallon premium, the little dog is doomed to starve behind the wheel. Let’s face it people, your blood is worth next to nothing–and your cars are eating better than you are.

I’ve got no intention of paying almost $2 a gallon for gas when your average Texan is getting it for a buck. Maybe it’s time for another raid on the Alamo.

Back those oil rig monkeys right up against the border. Where the hell is John Wayne when you really need him? All right, pilgrim, let’s circle those station wagons. Get the electric ones right out there in front.

Now charge those sum bitches with everythin’ you’ve got.

What d’ya mean, you forgot to plug in the Honda?

From the August 5-11, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

KPFA

Radio Chaos

Dissenting view: KPFA’s Dennis Bernstein is yanked off the air and placed under arrest by Berkeley police.

‘Active Radio’ tells the story of Pacifica’s brash experiment

By Patrick Sullivan

SOME STORIES demand to begin with the language of legend. Once upon a time, a farsighted young pacifist named Lewis Hill and a quirky group of collaborators founded an organization called Pacifica and a pioneering public radio station named KPFA. The Berkeley station, which began broadcasting in 1949 with a tiny, second-hand transmitter, went on to become one of the most influential left-liberal cultural institutions in the country.

Today, intense controversy swirls around the Pacifica radio network and its flagship station (94.1 on the FM dial). In the past few months, a series of dramatic events has unfolded at KPFA. First, the Pacifica board fired several staff members; then, show host Dennis Bernstein was literally pulled off the air during a live broadcast; and now, crowds of protesters and riot police periodically surround the KPFA building. As activists gear up for a demonstration in Berkeley on July 31, many pundits are speculating that Pacifica is about to sell off the station.

Amid the dramatic headlines, it’s easy to lose sight of one fact made extraordinarily clear by a new book: internal conflict has been a part of Pacifica since day one. The history of the network, which now operates five stations across the country, is chock full of management disputes, forced resignations, strikes, and lockouts.

Active Radio: Pacifica’s Brash Experiment (University of Minnesota Press; $16.95) began life as an academic dissertation, and it shows. But readers patient enough to endure the bone-dry prose of the first chapter on the rise of corporate broadcasting will find that author Jeff Land rewards them with a fascinating history of a unique cultural institution.

Among the book’s most interesting stories is the tragic trajectory of the network’s talented founder. The Pacifica dream of a revolution against corporate control was born in an American work camp for conscientious objectors in which Lew Hill and many like-minded pacifists spent part of World War II. Hill, an intellectually gifted young anarcho-pacifist, went on to found Pacifica at the tender age of 26, labored mightily to ensure its growth, and then, 12 years later, after a series of bitter conflicts over control of the network, committed suicide in his car up in the Berkeley hills.

But Pacifica survived. The network, founded on idealism, overcame financial difficulties and government repression through the blood and sweat of its staff and overwhelming support from its listeners. A pioneer in the practice of listener-supported radio, Pacifica frequently found itself under attack for that very practice, which some red-baiting opponents called a “method of operation so unusual as to be revolutionary in itself.”

Indeed, congressional foes launched frequent attacks on the network’s determination to offer airtime to points of view that seldom made it into corporate media. For instance, a 1962 investigation of Pacifica by the Senate Internal Security Subcommittee was prompted by New York affiliate WBAI’s stunning exposé of illegal activities at Hoover’s FBI.

Land’s book closely follows the many battles over free speech associated with the network, including the legal fight in 1973 over comedian George Carlin’s famous “Seven Dirty Words” monologue, which was fought all the way to the Supreme Court.

Perhaps the story in the book most relevant to current events is Land’s account of the titanic struggle waged at WBAI in New York. Conflicts between the Pacifica board and station staff escalated into a strike in which a group of programmers locked themselves into the broadcasting booth and occupied the station’s transmitter in the Empire State Building.

Land’s book, written before the Berkeley boil-over, doesn’t offer obvious solutions to the current impasse, although his penetrating analysis does afford some clues to the roots of that struggle. But Active Radio does an excellent job of explaining how much is at stake. The quirky 50-year history of Pacifica and KPFA is clearly filled with both bold triumphs and grave mistakes. But by the end of the book, most readers will feel that this “brash experiment,” warts and all, deserves to survive into the next century.

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Detention

Back to School

School daze: Susana Gibb plays a troublesome high school student subjected to re-education methods by a maverick teacher in Detention, playing Aug. 12 at Sonoma Cinemas as part of the Wine Country Film Festival.

‘Detention’ offers a dark look at education

By Diane Anderson-Minshall

WHEN TEXAS filmmaker Andy Anderson debuted his first film, Positive I.D., at the Wine Country Film Festival in 1987, it was met with both applause and a few raised eyebrows. The low-budget thriller told the tale of a unfulfilled housewife who is unable to recover from being raped. When she learns that the man who assaulted her is being released from prison, she leaves her philandering husband, takes on a new identity, and makes plans to exact revenge on her rapist.

Twelve years later, Anderson has returned to the Wine Country Film Festival with a story not so much about revenge as about redemption.

More of what’s playing at the Wine Country Film Festival

In the black comedy Detention, John Davies, the veteran B-movie actor who co-starred in Positive I.D., is a washed-up, unemployed teacher. As the film–which screens Aug. 12 at Sonoma Cinemas–opens, we see him sitting on his couch as someone pounds on his door: the repo man? the IRS? We never know. The camera pans across his home and highlights a rotary phone, a cigar-store Indian, an AM radio, and sepia-toned circus photos. Davies, as the middle-aged Mr. Walmsley, is clearly a man out of place in the contemporary era.

So when a call comes in offering him a chance to substitute-teach at the appropriately named Donner High School, he leaps at the chance. He obviously needs the work. But more than that, this is a man grasping at his last link to modern society.

But Walmsley is quickly discouraged by his frightened colleagues, his belligerent students, and the litigation that now governs teaching.

After several outbursts and dangerous encounters (a harassed gay kid, a beaten teacher), Walmsley takes matters into his own hands by kidnapping several problem kids and driving them to the mountains of the Big Bend area in Texas. This is where the film–which to this point has been a derivative morality tale–finally gets some oomph.

Walmsley strips the kids, both literally and metaphorically, of their few resources, and then uses their own music, methods, and vernacular to modify their behavior. As Walmsley plays Toni Basil’s song “Mickey” over and over again, viewers, too, sense the urgency of his mission. He must save these kids for his own redemption. And when his plan begins to work, it’s easy to understand why. Forget the electroshock or the circus cages–just hearing that shrill refrain “You’re so fine, you blow my mind, hey Mickey” for the 40th time would make even a hard-core delinquent relent.

Of course, there’s no shortage of films about high school. But rarely are they as provocative and cross-generational as Detention.

While the opener is protracted and awkward, and some of the language is painfully dated (someone needs to tell Anderson that teens no longer say “as if”), the bulk of the film manages to carefully straddle the line between suburban boomer fantasy and a teensploitation morality tale. And regardless of which side of that generational line you come down on, Detention offers a disturbing look at behavior modification.

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Guns and Kids

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Guns & Kids

Target market: The 1989 edition of the Guns & Ammo Handguns Annual featured a photo of teen shooter Jeff Miller firing an AP9 assault pistol. “And it is one mean-looking dude, considered cool and Ramboish by the teenage crowd,” the caption read. “To a man, they love the AP9 at first sight. Take a look at one. And let your teenage son tag along. Ask him what he thinks. And be sure to carry your checkbook.”

How the NRA and gun manufacturers are targeting your child

By Greg Cahill

EVE DECLAN IS APPALLED. Two weeks after Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold shot and killed 12 students and one teacher at Columbine High School in Littleton, Colo., before killing themselves, Declan received a phone solicitation for contributions to the Redwood Police Activities League, a local youth sports and citizenship program presented by peace officers in the county. That wasn’t especially remarkable: Declan, a Petaluma housekeeper with two teenage daughters, is a longtime supporter of PAL, since it teaches kids sports skills while lending a sense of safety in the community. The thing that stunned Declan about the PAL brochure that arrived in the mail a week later was that, sandwiched between the information about baseball and soccer programs, she found an item describing the PAL Rifle Team, a joint NRA program that instructs boys and girls ages 10 to 18 in the use of air rifles, small-bore rifles, and (for the older teens) high-powered rifles.

“I struggled with trying to justify having a responsibly trained gun user teaching kids gun safety and shooting skills,” she says. “Then my thoughts crumbled into angry bafflement that PAL could support putting guns into the hands of kids in light of all that had gone on in Littleton and other communities across the nation. And I had to think about how I would feel as a parent if one of my children were hurt by someone who had been trained by a [local] police officer.

“I mean, it’s one thing for PAL to teach kids how to play baseball and to help them feel comfortable around the police, but this seemed really reckless.”

Declan isn’t the only one offended by the PAL Rifle Team. The main office of the California Police Activities League is hopping mad that local PAL affiliates have teamed up with the NRA to promote gun training for kids.

“There is no way that we would support this kind of program,” says Dave Craig, a spokesman for the organization’s Oakland-based state headquarters. “Instead, we enlist top athletes, like Barry Bonds, to promote our Stop the Violence program, which is geared toward teaching kids peaceful conflict resolution and to steer them away from guns.

“We think the rifle teams are a really bad idea.”

THE PAL gun-training program is just one way that the NRA and gun manufacturers are targeting America’s children. “The NRA and the gun industry are unabashed about youth as the next market and are systematic about making sure that they are able to build a new customer base,” says Eric Gorovitz, policy director for the Bell Campaign, a victim advocacy group created after a deranged gunman massacred eight office workers at 101 California St. in San Francisco in 1993. “They fear that if anti-gun legislation takes away the guns from youths, the industry won’t be able to bring them back to the market as adults.”

This was supposed to be the year–or so gun-control supporters thought–that the federal government would adopt tough legislation to help protect kids, especially in the form of mandatory trigger locks. It certainly looked that way earlier this summer, with the smell of gunpowder and death still lingering in the haunted halls of Columbine High and with the NRA–defiant as usual, but forced to shorten its annual national convention in neighboring Denver amid protests just days after the Littleton massacre–on the run.

Two months later, the Clinton administration’s proposed anti-gun bills lay dead on the House floor, the victim of intense gun-industry lobbying and bitter partisan political wrangling. Republicans didn’t like the measures–which would have required firearm manufacturers to install trigger locks to help prevent accidental shootings, youth suicides, and other unauthorized firings–because the NRA lobbyists vehemently opposed the devices. And Democratic representatives realized they had found a hot-button political issue that could embarrass Republican presidential hopeful George Bush, the Texas governor who last year relaxed his state’s controversial concealed-weapons law.

The real victims: America’s youth.

With guns having no mandatory trigger locks, everyone from the NRA to the cop on the street once again put the onus of safety in handling one of the nation’s most deadly consumer products on children, some not old enough to read or to tie their own shoes, much less differentiate between a realistic-looking air pistol and dad’s shiny new Smith & Wesson.

Gun-toting tot: This 1990 ad for Fleming Firearms appeared in Machine Gun News

JUST HOW AGGRESSIVE the industry is in its recruitment of youths is the subject of a pair of recent studies from the Violence Policy Center, a Washington, D.C.-based non-profit that conducts research on violence in America and works to develop violence-reduction policies and proposals.

One of the main focuses of the center is the role of firearms in society.

The center’s studies are an eye-opening window into the nation’s gun culture for anyone who sat dazed in front of their TV set while watching the carnage unfold at Columbine and then wondered why the boys next door could feel so comfortable about launching a full-scale military-style assault on their classmates. Sure, it took a lot of disturbed emotions, possible parental neglect, and repressed anger, but you don’t have to search the blood-splattered graphics on your kids’ Golden Eye video game for the answer.

Despite repeated objections from the NRA and the gun industry that they don’t target children, Young Guns: How the Gun Lobby Nurtures America’s Youth Gun Culture, released in March 1998, and this year’s Start ‘Em Young: Recruitment of Kids to the Gun Culture, cite numerous examples of gun manufacturers and trade publications aiming their products at the youth market, in some cases depicting children as young as 2.

Here are just a few samples:

* An article titled “Hunting Lore: The Next Generation,” from the December 1997 issue of Gun World, shows a father and his pre-kindergarten son clad in matching camouflage and partially hidden in the tall brush. A shotgun lies across the boy’s lap. “And a little child shall come to lead them,” urges the biblical quote in the headline. “Make no mistake,” the article informs us, “these aren’t just father and son–they’re hunting buddies.”

* The 1989 Guns & Ammo Handguns Annual depicts a teenage boy perched on a gently rolling hillside and lining up his sight on the barrel of an AP9 assault pistol. “The AP9 gave no problems with 115-grain full-jacketed bullets of round nose configuration and Federal Nyclad hollow points,” the publication enthuses. “The gun was also easy to control, even when fired as a pistol, and young shooters . . . had no difficulty in shooting and handling the AP9.”

* The October 1996 edition of Machine Gun News shows a young teenage boy hunkered down behind a fully automatic 1919 military-style Browning machine gun “for the first time.” An accompanying photo portrays another young teenage boy firing an MP5 machine pistol.

* The 1992 Smith & Wesson catalog offers a feel-good ad that portrays a father and preteen son resting against a boulder in a piney wood and enjoying a little quality time while junior takes aim with a .45-caliber pistol. The emphasis is on the rite of passage and nostalgia. “Seems like only yesterday that your father brought you here for the first time,” the caption notes. “Those sure were the good times–just you, dad, and his Smith & Wesson.”

* The 1997 Browning catalog shows a toddler on a gun range, the young boy decked out in a Browning gun T-shirt and oversized earmuffs and goggles. A second photo shows a 4- or 5-year-old boy playfully placing expended shotgun cartridges on his fingertips.

* The back cover of the 1990 Machine Gun News, an advertisement for Fleming Firearms, offers “Short Butts from Fleming Firearms,” and shows a tow-headed 2-year-old girl beaming broadly while cradling an automatic machine pistol.

* “You already belong to the NRA. But what about your children?” an advertisement in the August 1997 American Guardian queries. “Did you know the NRA offers a membership especially for them.” An April 1998 NRA ad in the same magazine shows then-NRA president Marion Hammer and her grandson. The ad read: “The future of the shooting sports will rest on the shoulders of our grandchildren–and theirs. That’s why, as NRA president, my major priorities are to reach out to America’s youth and to assure NRA’s mission continues beyond the next 125 years.”

ALL THIS SOPHISTICATED marketing flies in the face of a federal law that prohibits juveniles under the age of 21 from purchasing a handgun and prohibits those under the age of 18 from purchasing rifles or shotguns from a federally licensed firearms dealer.

Federal law also prohibits handgun possession by anyone under age 18.

But the NRA has made it clear that the nation’s children hold the key to its survival. In a full-page advertisement on March 8 in Time magazine this year, actor and NRA member Tom Selleck, trusty Colt revolver slung over his shoulder, insists, “Shooting teaches young people good things. Because all good rules for shooting are good rules for life.”

How young should a child be to own his or her own gun? One trade publication offers this yardstick for parental guidance: If you’d trust your child to go to the grocery store and bring back the change from a $20 bill, that child is ready to own and shoot a gun.

Indeed, last year’s annual NRA meeting in Philadelphia upped the ante on that suggestion. It offered such official items for sale as NRA bibs and infant sleepwear, as well as a full line of products featuring the organization’s Eddie Eagle gun-safety mascot, from children’s backpacks to plush toys–all available on the NRA’s website.

Gun-control backers liken the character–recently selected by the Oregon Legislature as the official mascot of the state’s own gun-safety program–to Joe Camel, the Philip Morris marketing icon that public health advocates charged was intended to lure kids to cigarettes. “Eddie Eagle is Joe Camel with feathers,” says Josh Sugarmann, executive director of the Violence Policy Center. “He is, in fact, a gun industry salesman in the front lines of efforts to create a youth gun culture. Demographics show that developments are working against the NRA and the gun industry because the traditional gun market–namely, older white males–is dying off, and the means by which people traditionally were introduced to guns, particularly through hunting and the military draft, are fading. In the NRA’s own words, they’ve lost a generation.

“The gun industry now needs replacement shooters in the same way that tobacco industry needs replacement smokers. Yet, while most people would be appalled by an advertisement that shows a teen with a cigarette in their mouth or a drink in their hand, the gun industry somehow thinks that parents should feel comfortable about the sight of a youth with a gun in their hand.

“We think that most Americans find that image disturbing, not heartwarming.”

Indeed, despite denials, the NRA has never been shy about this tug of war for the affections of society’s youngest–and most gullible–citizens. At the organization’s annual meeting in Dallas in 1996, then-NRA president Hammer laid it on the line:

“It will be an old-fashioned wrestling match for the hearts and minds of our children,” she told convention delegates, “and we’d better engage our adversaries with no holds barred.” *

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Moon over Buffalo

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Sky High

Dramatic duo: Mollie Boice and John Winkler play a husband and wife acting team in Moon over Buffalo

‘Moon over Buffalo’ is frothy fun

By Daedalus Howell

AT FIRST GLANCE, theater about theater seems about as interesting as photocopying a mirror–you’re left with a muddled self-reflection and one less dime. However, in the capable hands of playwright Ken Ludwig, who has made something of a career aping the backstage antics of performing arts groups (Lend Me a Tenor, Crazy for You), the result is riotous comedy. His Moon over Buffalo is the perfect curtain-opener to Actors’ Theatre’s 16th season.

The play follows the antics of husband and wife George and Charlotte Hay (Joe Winkler and Mollie Boice, respectively), an over-the-hill and under-the-gun acting team struggling desperately to make something of their plummeting careers, which have landed them in exile on the repertory theater circuit in the cultural wasteland of Buffalo, N.Y., circa 1953. When word arrives that über-film director Frank Capra might attend a matinee performance of their latest production, the couple goes to absurd lengths to make the most of the opportunity.

The playwright has meticulously injected all of the requisite elements of farce–mistaken identity, old flames, misplaced affections, dubious drinking, people in their underwear, questionable paternity, and enough door-slamming to leave audiences unhinged.

Despite its dependence on over-the-top, one-note acting (the characters are little more than theatrical caricatures), Moon over Buffalo still presents a few challenges to the performers. The mechanical precision required to make this work successful, without appearing rote, is testament to the players’ skill and director Argo Thompson’s finesse at comic timing and choreographing pratfalls and a seemingly ceaseless parade of slapstick gags.

Winkler is in comic overdrive as the has-been ham George, whose bloated ego threatens to capsize his sanity and his theater company. Likewise, Boice’s charismatic, if crumbling, Charlotte is by far this production’s greatest asset. Her treatment of the character’s silky, Golden Age-inflected accent and melodramatic manner is ideally suited to Ludwig’s one-liners. When describing a doe-eyed ingenue character, Charlotte quips, “Wholesome isn’t the word–she could give milk.”

Coco Tanner-Boylan is superb as the couple’s daughter, Rosalind, whose reluctance to undertake a life in theater provides much comic grist. Tanner Boylan is well paired with Dodds Delzell, who plays Paul, the company’s young leading man and Rosalind’s erstwhile lover. Delzell adeptly gilds his straight man with just enough hints of lunacy to redeem an otherwise flat character.

In a masterstroke of gender-blind casting, Lyle Fisher plays Ethel, Charlotte’s mother and the company’s costume maker, a brash, half-deaf crone whose distaste for her son-in-law is rarely concealed. Fisher proves to have an uncanny ability to convincingly transform into the backstage matriarch, and his crisp and elegant performance is a feat itself worthy of the ticket price.

Ron Bartels’ Howard, the gallant if overshooting weatherman who is Rosalind’s fiancé, is a splendid study of mislaid earnestness and romantic fervor. Bartels proves well suited to the play’s demanding physical shtick (for instance, a backstage chase sequence has him cascading over furniture and landing an airborne somersault onto a couch with Olympian agility).

Shereece Haynes turns in a fine comic performance as the pregnant ingenue with a predisposition toward doleful pouting and teary exits, as does Dwayne Stincelli as the Hay’s lawyer, Richard, who has endured a life-long crush on Charlotte.

All told, Moon over Buffalo is lightweight, infectious comedy that’s about as intellectually taxing as emptying a bottle of beer. Though it’s frothy, it never goes flat and it is ultimately intoxicating.

Moon over Buffalo plays through Saturday, Aug. 28, at the Luther Burbank Center for the Arts, 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. The play starts at 8 p.m. on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays and at 2 p.m. on Sundays. Tickets are $8-$15. 523-4185.

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Iron Horse

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The Quest

By Jonah Raskin

YOU’D EXPECT that great winemakers would be schooled in France. But David Munksgard, the award-winning winemaker at Iron Horse–the tiny Sonoma County winery that consistently makes the best sparkling wines in America, as well as the official cuvée for the White House–has never set foot in a French vineyard, or anywhere else on French soil.

Not in Paris, Provence, or Champagne, the celebrated region that gave birth to the fabled sparkling wine centuries ago and that still stubbornly refuses to allow any other place on earth to call its similar product champagne.

But Munksgard did spend a half dozen years making wine in the harsh climate of the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York, where he had to hone every skill that he had– and to craft a host of new ones–all of which he has brought to Sonoma County.

Except for Munksgard, the powers-that-be at Iron Horse are all related by blood or by marriage to Barry and Audrey Sterling, the intrepid couple who started the family-owned winery in the mid 1970s, after living a large chunk of their lives in France. Not surprisingly, the Sterlings assumed that the French knew best when it came to wine. It wasn’t a bad assumption, as Munksgard himself points out, and so for years the Sterlings and their partner, Forrest Tancer (now also their son-in-law), imported savvy Frenchmen from Champagne to make brut, blanc de blanc, blanc de noir, as well as their handcrafted cuvées that are served at renowned restaurants from the Lark Creek Inn in Marin to Aureole in Manhattan.

As the first American-born (in 1949 in West Virginia), California-trained winemaker at Iron Horse, Munksgard stands out in much the same way that a Connecticut Yankee might stand out on the Champs Elysée–though, of course, the gracious Sterlings have taken him in as one of their own. Munksgard’s arrival at the 150-acre vineyard that’s nestled in Sonoma County’s spectacular Green Valley serves as Iron Horse’s bold enological declaration of independence from French experts, and from French rules about how to make fine wine. And his involvement in almost every aspect of the winery, from harvesting and fermenting to bottling and tasting, is a sign of Iron Horse’s commitment to make both sparkling and still wines that are as American as, say, Yosemite and every bit as breathtaking.

Make no mistake about it, when it comes to wine, Munksgard is a highly disciplined revolutionary. Listen to him talk about winemaking and you might suspect you’re in the presence of an extremist. “I’m an absolute, crazed fanatic about oxygen,” he says with intensity. To monitor the levels of oxygen in his wines, Munksgard uses an oxygen meter, a device you’ll rarely find in daily operation at most other wineries. Since small doses of oxygen help some wines during the fermentation process– and hurt other wines –Munksgard and his crew keep a sharp eye on oxygen levels. At critical junctures, they add oxygen to those wines (cabernet and merlot) that benefit from the boost, and keep it away from others (pinot and sangiovese) that are hurt by exposure to oxygen.

“I’m a control freak,” he explains.

As part of his innovative technological regime, Munksgard has introduced a computer database to keep exact records on the relationship between individual barrels and individual blocks of grapes, a system that has paid off with improved quality. And last but not least, he has introduced, for the first time at Iron Horse, a technique known as “cold soaking” that’s so new it’s not taught in college winemaking courses. For a week or so, the grapes sit in their own juices, without the addition of yeast, a process that delays fermentation, and that has also yielded spectacular results.

FOR ALL HIS PIONEERING, Munksgard accepts the fundamental Iron Horse philosophy that preserving the quality of the fruit is primary. The technology is meant to bring out nature’s best. “You have to be careful about how much difference to make all at once,” he says.

When he arrived at Iron Horse, almost all of the sparkling wines were well on their way to completion. Munksgard’s task was simply to add the finishing touches. One example is the winery’s White House millennial cuvée that recently was served at the state dinner President Bill Clinton held for Japanese Prime Minister Keizo Obuchi. However, Munksgard has just made the Iron Horse wedding cuvée from grapes harvested in 1996. It’s his baby and he’s proud. “The wedding cuvée is a sexy, showy wine, exuberant and playful,” he says.

But like everyone else at Iron Horse, he’s not basking in his glory. What he has his sights set on now–along with almost everyone else at the winery–is the making of a magnificent pinot noir.

“It’s like the Holy Grail,” he says as though ready to embark on a quest.

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Wine Country Film Festival

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Flick Picks

Harvest

EVERY SO OFTEN a film comes along that captures the zeitgeist of a community in peril. In Harvest, debut filmmaker Stuart Burkin does just that with a Pennsylvania farm community that’s dying at the hands of development and ’90s-era politics. Packed with familiar faces–including Dawson’s Creek heartthrob James Vander Beek and film veteran Jeffrey DeMunn–the story focuses on rural farmers who turn to marijuana as a cash crop to keep their family property. When the DEA comes in to investigate, viewers are presented with America’s decades-old dichotomy between rural livelihood and urban condescension. As expected in an indie film, some actors are better than others: Particularly miscast are Mary McCormick as a DEA agent and John Slattery as a sheriff, and Evan Handler (Shrug from It’s Like, You Know) is a bit too affable to portray a greedy dope dealer.

Harvest screens on Saturday, Aug. 7, in a special event at Valley of the Moon Cinema. A panel discussion with the director and actors starts at 7:30 p.m.; the film rolls at dusk. Diane Anderson-Mishall

Jimmy Zip

BRENDAN FLETCHER, the actor who plays the troubled young title character in Jimmy Zip, has one of those mutable faces that occupies the peculiar aesthetic twilight zone where ugly wraps back around to beautiful. Come to think of it, that might also be a good way to describe this film, a frustratingly uneven exploration of the intersection between art and capitalism, which careens wildly between sublime insight and mundane clichés.

Jimmy Zip (as in zero, nada, nothing, which is how the adults in his life tend to see him) is a 16-year-old pyromaniac who flees an abusive stepfather for life on the streets. To survive in the big city, he takes a job as a runner for a yuppie drug dealer named Rick. But then Jimmy encounters Horace, a homeless assemblage artist who desperately wants to be Jimmy’s mentor. Rick wants to make money, Horace wants to make art, and Jimmy isn’t sure what he wants. Haunted by dreams of fiery judgment, Jimmy’s choice is simple: he just has to decide whom to betray.

Jimmy Zip screens on Friday, Aug. 13, at 7 p.m. at Sonoma Cinemas. Patrick Sullivan

From the July 29-August 4, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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