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

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.

Spins

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Hicksville

Touched by an angel: New tribute salutes country-rock pioneer Gram Parsons.

A bushel of new alt-country CDs

By Greg Cahill

Various Artists Return of the Grievous Angel: A Tribute to Gram Parsons Almo

HE WAS A HARVARD-educated hillbilly, the creator of country rock and the godfather of today’s blossoming alt-country craze. As a member of the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers, Gram Parsons built upon the high-powered country he’d crafted in the mid-’60s as leader of the obscure International Submarine Band. His 1973 death by a drug and alcohol overdose at a cheap motel at age 26, and the subsequent theft of his remains and cremation at Joshua Tree National Monument, just added to his legend.

Over the years, a plethora of rock, country, folk, and bluegrass stars have knelt at the Gram Parsons shrine: Tom Petty, Lyle Lovett, Steve Earle, Dwight Yoakam, Vince Gill, Jason and the Scorchers, the Long Ryders, Little Feat.

Now you can add a few more to that list, including such critics’ darlings as Wilco and Whiskeytown.

Produced and compiled by Emmylou Harris (who performed with Parsons shortly before his death as part of the Fallen Angels band, and reportedly was romantically linked to the singer), this 13-song tribute finds Beck, Evan Dando of the Lemonheads, and the Pretenders tackling a classic Americana songbook and furthering the legend that Harris has nurtured for three decades. This is the ragtop Cadillac of alt-country, far outstripping the 1993 Commemorativo: A Tribute to Gram Parsons (Rhino), which featured tracks by the Mekons, Uncle Tupelo (Wilco’s predecessor), Bob Mould, and REM’s Peter Buck. This year’s model is built for comfort, and (as Gillian Welch’s opiated rendering of the signature Parsons’ song “Hickory Wind” shows) in no rush to overwhelm some of the most powerful tunes ever penned by a Nashville renegade.

Harris crops up on three duets–with the Pretenders of “She,” with Beck on the recording industry put-down “Sin City,” and with Sheryl Crow on the spirited “Juanita”–but her stamp is all over this release. And there’s plenty more star power here. Lucinda Williams and David Crosby team up on the title track. The Cowboy Junkies deliver their most energetic recording on “Ooh Las Vegas.” Elvis Costello, who recorded two Parsons songs on 1982’s Almost Blue, tackles “Sleepless Nights.” Steve Earle and ex-Byrds guitarist Chris Hillman collaborate on “High Fashion Queen.” And the Rolling Creekdippers–a one-off project that features Harris’ collaborators Buddy and Julie Miller, and alt-rock diva Victoria Williams–conclude with the Parsons/Harris composition “In My Hour of Darkness,” a fitting eulogy for a troubled soul. This CD should only enhance Parsons’ near-mythic status.

Various Artists Alt.Country: The Best of Exposed Roots K-Tel

THIS INSPIRED two-CD compilation goes a long way toward covering the subgenre’s winding country lanes. There are a couple of touchstones: namely, Johnny Cash’s landmark country pop hit “Folsom Prison Blues” and Gram Parsons’ seminal country-rock song “In My Hour of Darkness.” Grant Alden and Peter Blackstock, editors of the Seattle-based alt-country monthly No Depression, put it all into perspective, more or less. Lucinda Williams stirs the soul on “Passionate Kisses.” And Steve Earle’s 1986 neo-traditional breakthrough “Guitar Town” sounds as fresh (and defiant) as the first time you cranked it up speeding on Highway 101 after sweating to the Blasters at the Stone on Broadway. But the best part–aside from all the garage-rock driven honky-tonk ecstasy–is the irreverent nature of alt-country: it’s Southern Culture on the Skids’ “Too Much Pork for Just One Fork”; BRS-49’s “Bettie Bettie,” their sassy homage to B&D covergirl Bettie Page; the Meat Puppets’ underrated post-punk goof “Lost,” recorded a decade before Kurt Cobain canonized them on MTV Unplugged. This is an essential primer that goes a long way toward setting the record straight. Kick up your heels.

While you’re at it: Spend the rent on these worthy alt-country releases: Johnny Dilks & His Visitacion Valley Boys’ Acres of Heartache (HMG), the red-hot reincarnation of Hank Williams; the Backsliders’ snarling Southern Lines (Mammoth), a twangy junkyard dog of an album; the Hot Club of Cowtown’s Tall Tales (Hightone), slaphappy musical Prozac that sets your heart to flutterin’ and your toes to tappin’; Lyle Lovett’s Live in Texas (Universal), 14 slightly skewed songs from the man who dumped Julia Roberts.

Pick of the Week:

Various Artists Taquachito Nights: Conjunto Music from South Texas Smithsonian Folkways

THESE CONTAGIOUS polka beats compose the ultimate party music–lively Texas-border dance music propelled by rippling accordion, bajo sexto, and stirring vocals. Just try and sit still while Ernesto Guerra fires off a cascade of triplets on the modified three-row button accordion he’s dubbed “The Gurgle.” Recorded live in 1998 at the 16 de Septiembre Conjunto Festival of the Narciso Martinez Cultural Arts Center in San Benito, Texas, the beauty of these 19 tracks is the raw, live feel–you can smell the cold beer and feel the warm Texas night air. The Smithsonian–which is releasing some great roots recordings these days–includes an authoritative 34-page booklet, explaining the evolution of conjunto music and offering lyric translations. Highly recommended–G.C.

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

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Acre Cafe and Lounge

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Kitchen Garden

Enjoying the relaxed atmosphere: Acre chef Britt Galler has helped craft one of the region’s finest new restaurants.

Acre covers the organic field

By Paula Harris

WHAT’S HAPPENING to Healdsburg? Every time we visit the historic downtown plaza, it seems we encounter new trendy tasting rooms, art galleries, gourmet delis, antique stores, and upscale boutiques.

Watch out, Sonoma–you may have met your match!

Check out the increasing number of artsy motifs featuring wine bottles, vine leaves, grape clusters, and vineyard photos springing up in every direction, and you’ll see how the place is starting to rival that other touristy plaza in its relentless preoccupation with the almighty grape. A couple of sophisticated new restaurants also have joined Healdsburg’s gourmet ranks. Now rubbing potholders with such established eateries as Ravenous, Bistro Ralph, and the Oakville Grocery, are Zin (there go those grapes again!) and the Acre Cafe and Lounge.

Set in a house off the main plaza, Acre has a relaxed, cozy feel. The restaurant boasts a comfortable stainless-steel and wood bar next to a living room with a fireplace and plump sofa.

It’s a great place to linger with a glass of port.

Self-described as “Sonoma kitchen-garden cuisine,” Acre specializes in dishes using local and organic foods, with many vegetarian selections. The menu routinely changes to reflect whatever’s in season. But boring veggie health food it ain’t.

The restaurant is a soft blend of pale walls, hardwood floors, wooden chairs, copper-top tables, and oil paintings of country scenes. There also is an al fresco dining area called the Back Acre Grill, which has a separate menu, featuring lamb kebabs, barbecue chicken, and burgers. The grill chef turns out these aromatic items right in the rustic garden. Grilled rib-eye with shallot herb butter, baked potato, and corn ($19) is among the classic backyard grill fare. The steak is succulent and has very little excess fat. It comes with fresh grilled sweetcorn, thick rounds of grilled squash, and a perfect golden baked potato, all steaming and fluffy inside, served with a dab of sour cream.

Recent menu items have included romaine salad with fennel, snap peas, dry jack cheese, and mint with a preserved lemon and roasted garlic dressing; portobella stuffed with fennel, apples, and blue cheese over sweet potatoes; and poblano pepper stuffed with queso fresco and squash blossoms. Carniverous diners also will find plenty of exciting meat, poultry, and seafood choices–and lots more.

The French onion soup ($5) has a vegetable-based stock, instead of the classic beef bouillon. It is loaded with sweet onion slices, flecks of parsley, and white wine. After several spoonfuls, though, the soup begins to taste too sweet. Floating atop is a generous slice of French loaf topped with melting Gruyère cheese.

The pizzette ($8) boasts an ultra-thin crisp crust topped with red pepper, caramelized red onions, snipped olives, and shredded cheese. It is sweet, piquant, and salty all at once. The best part is that wafer-thin crust.

Local king salmon with soy glaze ($17) is a light and imaginative Asian-inspired dish. The salmon, moist and tender, is accompanied by citrus salsa and spicy Thai soba noodles.

The savory summer vegetable gratin over polenta ($14) features generous triangles of grilled polenta, a bit crusty on the outside and with a luscious interior. Layers of zucchini, tomatoes, eggplant, onions, shredded cheese, and fronds of fresh dill complete the dish. The gratin has definite possibilities but was served cold, and the cheese wasn’t melting.

Warm apple and local berry crisp for two ($7) is great. Squashy warm fruits blend perfectly beneath a granolalike cover. It brings back comforting memories of homemade fare.

The atmosphere is relaxed, the music tasteful and mellow, and the staff friendly.

Acre Cafe and Lounge 420 Center St., Healdsburg; 431-1302 Hours: Dinner, Wednesday-Sunday, 5:30 to 9 p.m.; till 10 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays Food: Creative cuisine emphasizing seasonal local organic produce Service: Friendly and attentive Ambiance: Relaxed and warm, with a choice of indoor or outdoor dining Price: Moderate to expensive (no credit cards; cash and local checks only) Wine list: Compact selection, including some intriguing offerings; several choices by the glass Overall: *** (out of 4 stars)

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

© Metro Publishing Inc.

‘Muppets from Space’

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Pigs in Space

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting films in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This column is not a review; rather, it’s a freewheeling, tangential discussion of life, alternative ideas, and popular culture.

Randy Blume, who’s seen the effects of sexual harassment plenty of times before–both on the ground and in the air–wasn’t planning on discussing that particular subject today.

As a former airline pilot and flight instructor, Blume frequently encountered discrimination at the hands of condescending supervisors, flight trainers, and countless non-female fellow pilots. As revealed in her delightful, semi-autobiographical novel, Crazy in the Cockpit (DK Ink; $21.95), Blume, in her travels from the airports of Boston and San Francisco to the runways of Japan and Guam, has seen women demeaned, stereotyped, put down, objectified, humiliated, and ignored.

The last place she expected to encounter such stuff was in a muppet movie.

“That was awful,” Blume gasps, re-entering Earth’s orbit after the noisy, G-rated Muppets from Space. With a disbelieving smile and a shake of her head, she adds, “There’s a lot to be offended by in that movie.”

Bummer.

This longtime Muppet enthusiast–I, not she–is forced to agree that the film, while showing plenty of loopy wit and patches of sweetness and charm, is a veritable parade of gender stereotypes and demeaning portrayals of women–when women are present at all. Here’s the story: Gonzo, the weird critter with the beaklike nose and a fondness for chickens, comes to believe he’s a space alien, long ago orphaned on Earth; when he is abducted by a crazed government operative, Kermit the frog and friends set out to save their friend.

Aside from the token female, Miss Piggy–who’s less interested in helping Gonzo than in using him to get a reporter’s job at a UFO-oriented news show–the few non-males that do show up spend their brief time either in engaging in petty one-upmanship and catfights (that’s Andie MacDowell trying to tear Piggy’s eyes out) or in serving as attractive diversions. Piggy does beat the stuffing out of one cocky FBI goon–“And what kind of message is that?” Blume wonders–but her main response to trouble is to dress up in slinky, cleavage-revealing outfits and seduce people. When Kermit and the boys are given cool crime-fighting gadgets like invisibility juice (sprayed from a rubber ducky) and something called Door-in-a-Jar, it’s the magic mind-control perfume–it overpowers all who whiff it–that is issued to Piggy.

Most jarring of all is the sight of Sam the American Eagle shamelessly ogling the bared midriff and bouncing bosom of a buoyant bikinied teenybopper.

“I’m not sure that kind of thing belongs in a Muppet movie,” I confess.

“Well,” shrugs Blume, “it doesn’t belong anywhere. Does it?”

“I remember when Miss Piggy was a big deal,” Blume says over lunch, “but I can’t say I ever understood it. She certainly wasn’t much of a role model in this movie. The Columbia logo, that really pissed me off, too,” she adds. “They recently redesigned her. She used to be more ‘Rubinesque.’ Now she’s skinnier, shapelier. I’m really mad about that.”

Randy Blume, clearly, cares deeply about these issues.

As the daughter of famed children’s author Judy Blume, she was raised with powerful examples of what women could accomplish. When she was hired as a Continental Airlines pilot 10 years ago, she was among the meager 1 percent of airline pilots that were female. That number has grown to 5 percent, in part owing to legal action against airlines, including the successful class-action suit that Blume help fight against United Airlines. She’s since retired from flying to write full-time and raise her son.

“I once wrote a research paper on ‘tokenism,’ ” she muses. “I interviewed women airline pilots and air traffic controllers, and they talked about why there aren’t more women in non-traditional roles and why they don’t make it above the glass ceiling. One of those reasons was that mentoring, among women, doesn’t really exist. Since there are so few women in those non-traditional roles, there are almost no role models for the women that do come along,” she says.

“On the other hand, at least in America there are female pilots around. There aren’t any female pilots on commercial airlines from Japan. When I was flying back and forth from Japan to Guam, all the passengers would come into the cockpit with their cameras, wanting a picture of the woman pilot.

“I was a novelty,” she laughs.

And who knows?

“Maybe,” I suggest, “unknowingly, you were a role model for some young passenger on one of those planes. Spying you at the controls of the plane, some Japanese girl might have taken inspiration. Even now, she could be gearing up to become her country’s first commercial airline pilot.”

“I really hope so,’ Blume replies, brightly. “I hope I’ve been a role model to the women I’ve trained, when I was working as a flight instructor. I hope they see that I did what I wanted to do, without playing games that were beneath me.”

Hmmmm. Maybe Miss Piggy should take a few lessons from Randy Blume.

From the date-date, 1999 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Carlos Santana

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Soul Fire

Supernatural high: Carlos Santana burns on his latest CD.

On ‘Supernatural,’ Carlos Santana balances sin and redemption

By Nicky Baxter

WITHOUT Carlos Santana, there would be no such animal as Latino rock, possibly no wave of Latin-flavored pop à la Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, and Gloria Estefan. Santana’s incendiary melding of African rhythms, blues, and rock essentially altered the sound (and color) of rock when he launched his propulsive polyrhythmic brand of Chicano soul in the late 1960s.

Since those early albums, the Carlos Santana Band has sought to strike a balance between the divine and the bottom line; when it works, it works divinely. On his latest CD, Supernatural, Santana’s inaugural effort for Clive Davis’ Arista label, the soul fire still burns brightly. Flanked by a wealth of guest artists (Dave Matthews, Everlast, Lauryn Hill, and Mexican pop group Mana), Santana and his band churn out an exceptional set of tunes.

“Love of My Life” starts with a funky drum pattern, then slips gracefully into a simmering groove highlighted by Matthews’ sinuous vocal. Matthews, who sounds remarkably like Sting, is a perfect fit for Santana’s leonine lead guitar, which traces Matthews without stepping on the singer’s toes. Midway through, Santana steers the tune into a Latin vein, with Karl Perrazzo’s insurgent congas leading the way.

On “Put Your Lights On,” the irrepressible Everlast turns in a typically arresting performance. His husky voice wraps itself around a lyric about sin and redemption. Santana, who knows something about redemption, uses his guitar as an exclamation point, knifing in with thick slabs of wah-wah and keening sustain. Longtime Santana cohort keyboardist Chester Thompson adds tastefully restrained grace notes to the proceedings.

Of course, Santana doesn’t need a panoply of stars to shine, as tracks like “El Farol,” “Primavera,” and the album-opening “(Da Le) Yaleo” fully illustrate. The last tune, with its jazzy Afro-Latin pulse, bears witness to the fact that the guitarist can still burn with the kind of zeal that is almost, well, supernatural.

LOCAL ANGLE: He’s not as famous as his famous brother, but guitarist Jorge Santana spent several weeks in the Top 15 back in 1972 when the hit single “Suavecito”–from Malo’s self-titled debut–sizzled the charts. The band quickly faded from the airwaves, but not before helping establish a jazzy Latin-inflected pop sound, thanks to the inclusion of band members Richard Kermode and Luis Gasca (who had solid jazz credentials as a sideman for Count Basie and Mongo Santamaria), both of whom had played in Janis Joplin’s Kozmic Blues Band. Jorge re-emerged five years ago on Brothers, a collaboration with Carlos and a nephew. Malo, now a 10-piece band sporting a new live CD, performs Friday, July 30, at the Sonoma County Fair. . . . Other musical artists making the rounds at the fair this year are barroom singer Vonda Shephard, noted for her musings on the Ally McBeal show (July 29); Chicano Elvis impersonator El Vez (July 31); ranchero singer Pablo Montero and Yolanda Tejada, a protégé of famed Mexican singer Juan Gabriel (Aug. 1); blues great Taj Mahal (Aug. 2); Conjunto band Dinastia Nortena, plus Los Aguirre (Aug. 3); swing diva Lavay Smith & Her Red Hot Skillet Lickers (Aug. 5); the Greg Kihn Band (Aug. 6); the Sonoma County Blues Festival, featuring guitarist Ronnie Earl & the Broadcasters (Aug. 7); country stars the Wilkinsons (Aug. 8); and Country Music Association New Artist of the Year Mark Wills (Aug. 9). All shows are included in the cost of admission to the fair. For details, call 545-4200.

Carlos Santana performs Aug. 15 at the Shoreline Amphitheater in Mountain View and Aug. 17 at the Concord Pavilion. For details, call 415/478-BASS.

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

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Paula Poundstone

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Comic Relief

Gigglin’ gal: Comedian Paula Poundstone performs Aug. 4 at the Sonoma County Fair.

Paula Poundstone keeps the offbeat humor coming

By Paula Harris

HANG ON A MINUTE, could ya?” says comedian Paula Poundstone in her famously husky voice, sounding a mite harried as she commences a morning telephone interview from her Santa Monica home. “Actually, could you call back in five minutes?” Children giggle in the background as she hangs up.

Five minutes later, the humorist is back on the line, sounding a bit more relaxed and munching on a candy bar. She announces that she’s wearing a lot of Butterfinger crumbs, a pair of Gap trousers, a sloppy shirt, and sandals without open toes.

“I hate open-toed sandals,” she says. “I don’t want to know that much about other people.”

Having first become a foster parent in 1993, Poundstone, 39, now lives the hectic life of a single mom in a household filled with her two adopted daughters, one foster son, and a slew of cats.

“I just jumped out of the bathtub with my 1-year-old foster son and he almost drowns both of us, and now I’m sitting in the office of my house and my oldest daughter is behind me playing on the CD-ROM on the computer, and I was just showing her how to use the phone book, but she knows more than I do. My 5-year-old is off at day camp,” Poundstone rattles off, in between quick bites of chocolate.

The comedian–who performs Wednesday, Aug. 4, at the Sonoma County Fair–has built her career on jokes that spring from her off-kilter view of everyday situations. The kids and kitties obviously supply her with a wealth of comedic material.

“My brand of humor is mostly about just existing, I suppose,” Poundstone explains. “My stuff is mostly from the kids and some from my cats. I have nine cats now and they’re really obnoxious. They throw up all the time, there are big masses of cat hair, and I often ask myself, ‘Why do I have all these stupid cats?’

“But on the other hand, I have hours of material about them, so I do feel they’ve paid for themselves,” she adds with a chuckle.

Poundstone rose to prominence doing stand-up in the comedy-crazed ’80s, but the Boston-area native has gone on to build a multifaceted career over the past decade.

As a contributing editor at Mother Jones magazine, she’s penned humorous columns on topics ranging from Spam to Ping-Pong. Her HBO specials have earned her two Cable ACE awards, and she’s also won an American Comedy Award as the nation’s best female stand-up comic. Currently she’s voicing the character of Judge Stone for ABC’s Saturday morning animated TV series Squigglevision.

In addition, she is writing a series of comedic essays for her first book, slated to be published by Crown next year. But that project is slow-going.

“I think I’ve already gone past every deadline I was ever given, but so far they haven’t said, ‘Give us our money back,’ so . . . ,” she explains.

As a stand-up veteran, Poundstone has seen just about every style of humor the world of comedy has to offer. She says that, personally, she enjoys comics who are silly, smart, and honest.

“There was a trend for a while to be the ‘Angry Man,’ and I’ve never particularly enjoyed that,” she says. “It kind of makes my stomach have knots, and I don’t consider that a pleasant evening’s entertainment.”

“Or else,” she adds, “there were a few guys doing supposed characters that were very racist or very sexist or whatever, and their excuse in interviews was ‘Well, it’s just a character.’ Well, the crowd is responding to it on a particular level. We all have demons and dark sides, and I don’t know that, as a group, it’s a good idea to coax them out.”

POUNDSTONE’S own performance style is relaxed and unstructured. Clad in her trademark shirt, tie, jeans, and jacket, the comedian often reclines on the stage floor as she shares her wry slice-of-life observations.

“I do a lot of shows in these nice 1,500-seat theaters where I’m part of a season, and the week before me was some sort of violin quintet,” she says. “I lie down on the floor and think, ‘I’m sure I’m the only performer doing this in here this year–unless some guy’s string went out on him or something.'”

No two of her shows are alike. She interacts with each audience, asking questions and ad-libbing: “I feel pretty relaxed on stage, unless I’m going downhill at a rapid pace, which happens occasionally. I don’t anticipate that’ll happen at the Sonoma County Fair–but it’s a possibility,” she deadpans. “However, as a general rule, people like to laugh, especially if they’ve paid to do so.”

Apparently the comedian has always had the gift. Her kindergarten teacher noted on her report card: “I’ve enjoyed many of Paula’s humorous comments about our activities.” Poundstone still keeps the little card tucked away in her carry-on bag.

“I can certainly remember enjoying getting the response of laughter when I was little,” she recalls. “It’s kind of a neat thing for kids. Even my foster son, who’s a year old, will do something and we laugh and he looks back and tries to repeat whatever it was he thinks we’re laughing at. He doesn’t know what’s funny–he just likes it that we laughed.”

Through all her triumphs, one success continues to elude Poundstone: she can’t seem to break into network television. Her 1993 show on ABC lasted just two weeks, and an animated series called “Home Movies,” which aired on UPN this spring, has already come and gone.

“I have an amazing record for short duration [on TV],” Poundstone says with a quick laugh, but then she grows serious. “I don’t have a big drive about it the way I once did. Certainly, there are some great shows on television with some great performers . . . but I find most of what’s on television just awful, and I don’t long to be a part of that,” she says.

“The odds of being on something and having it be a good project are even slimmer than getting on to begin with,” she continues. “If I never get on television again, which I don’t really think will happen, I don’t think I will lie awake nights crying about it.”

Poundstone says she measures success differently these days and enjoys the immediate rewards afforded by performing stand-up comedy.

“It’s such a great treat spending my life performing to a crowd live and getting paid enough for it so I can pay the rent, and I can come home and be mom,” she explains. “I’m the producer, writer, and director–no one tells me what to do. There are a lot of pluses to it–but the biggest plus is that I’m in a true relationship with the people out there in front of me.”

Paula Poundstone performs Wednesday, Aug. 4, at 6 and 8 p.m. at the Sonoma County Fair, 1350 Bennett Valley Road, Santa Rosa. Admission ot the fair ($5) gets you a free seat; reserved seats are $5. 545-4200.

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

© Metro Publishing Inc.

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