West Side Story

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Modern Love

West Side Story.



‘West Side Story’ still entertains

By Daedalus Howell

MANY BELIEVE that community theaters, when under critical scrutiny, deserve special coddling on the part of the reviewer. No such indulgence is necessary, however, for the Santa Rosa Players’ production of West Side Story, a show so hot you gotta upgrade the kid gloves to oven mitts.

Created by Broadway behemoths Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Sondheim in the late 1950s, West Side Story is this century’s pre-eminent retelling of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Updated with all the trappings of rank-and-file urban life, West Side Story pits native New Yorker street thugs the Jets against Puerto Rican émigrés the Sharks in a tragic dance to the death for turf. In the balance hang ill-starred lovers Tony (an ex-Jet adeptly played by Ryan Brady) and Maria (Alyssa Zainer deftly portraying this sister of a Shark).

Directorial duo Gene Abravaya and Bob Rom take a skilled and energized cast and forge a production that is surprisingly entertaining and vital. Electric from the get-go, the show opens with a combustible dance sequence bordering on the acrobatic–these guys are practically gymnasts, and their physical agility alone is worth the ticket price.

The Jets, a wisecracking ragtag company of hyenas and cut-ups led by de facto alpha-male Riff (Austin Meisel’s edgy portrayal rings true down to his New York pronunciation of Sharks as “Shocks”) are so synchronized in their aerial stage antics that they recall a circus act. These performers particularly shine during the musical’s signature “Officer Krupke” routine, a crowd-pleasing paean to juvenile delinquency delivered here with vim and hilarity.

The well-cast Sharks also cut imperturbably cool characters. Though they have less comic dialogue than their counterparts, their sinister finesse often pitches ironic, as when their svelte honcho Bernardo (sympathetically portrayed by Josh Salsberg) voices his socioeconomic grievances with America to the tune of “Everything free in America–for a small fee in America!”

Bernardo’s chief bantermate and foil is the acidic Anita, played with comic alacrity by an on-the-money Casey Giordano, flanked by an arsenal of sexy, high-kicking sisters-in-arms.

As the lovers, Brady and Zainer (both wonderful singers) excel at portraying the zealous nature of adolescent ardor (remember, the entire story is compressed into a 24-hour tempest of love and death). The players ably depict Tony and Maria’s urgent love without slogging in schmaltz or slowing the play’s expeditious clip.

The cast’s strong vocal abilities are complemented by the Players’ crackerjack orchestra, led by musical director Jane Ludwig Crowley. Its robust playing sounds larger than the sum of its six-piece personnel.

As one Shark wryly quips in the early part of the musical, “In America, nothing is impossible.” The Santa Rosa Players proves the adage true for community theater as well.

West Side Story plays through Dec. 20 at the Lincoln Arts Center, 709 Davis St., Santa Rosa. Showtimes are at 8 p.m., Fridays and Saturdays, and 2 p.m. on Sundays. $10-$12. 544-7827.

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Illustrator James Avati

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Full Color


Michael Amsler

Classic Art: Petaluma illustrator James Avati’s work has graced the covers of paperbacks by America’s finest authors.

Illustrator James Avati paints into the future

By David Templeton

INCREASING MACULAR degeneration. James Avati speaks the phrase carefully, pronouncing the name of his recent diagnosis–“Increasing. Macular. Degeneration”–as if each word were a separate and undeniable fact, just as his deteriorating eyesight–the macula is the part of the eye that distinguishes fine detail at the center of our field of vision–is undeniably a fact. His tone of voice, however (one might call it cordial annoyance), reveals none of the gloom or self-pity one might expect from a renowned artist whose vision is in decline.

James Avati, known as “the King of the Paperbacks” for his pioneering cover illustrations in the ’40s and ’50s, and internationally lauded as one of America’s greatest artistic treasures, is too philosophical–and still too full of plans–to waste time feeling sorry for himself.

Just as he dismisses the enormous housing complex now being rooted into the hill above his cozy Petaluma house–“None of us can control the details of our lives,” he grins, waving an arm at the active construction site beyond his fence–Avati is matter-of-fact about his eyesight.

“I can’t see well anymore,” he shrugs, filing through a stack of vivid illustrations he’s brought out from his studio. “I’ve already lost my depth of vision. It’s hard for me to tell when my brush touches the painting.” But philosophy or no, he admits that the adjustment is a frustrating one. “I’m at the end of my tether, man,” he laughs. “Gee whiz! It is frustrating. I hate having to slow down.”

James Sante Avati, now 86, was 34 years old when he began illustrating paperback book covers. A graduate of Princeton, where he studied architecture, he had already dabbled in a number of occupations: laborer, department store window designer, and–having taught himself how to paint–magazine illustrator. After serving in Europe during World War II, Avati returned to his home in Red Bank, N.J., and found an agent. His illustration work for such magazines as Collier’s and The Ladies’ Home Journal helped him land a job with New American Library Publishers, where he was introduced to a brand-new literary product–the paperback book.

Borrowing a low-cost production concept from the mostly execrable “pulp” novels, paperbacks were intended to be make true literature easily available to the postwar masses. To sell the books, publishers counted on a snappy cover illustration to grab the eye of potential readers. Enter Avati, who immediately recognized that an illustrator’s job was to serve the author’s story. He stood out from the majority of other illustrators of the time by insisting on actually reading every book before designing its cover.

As a result, he read some very good books. Among Avati’s thousand-plus illustrations are those for Erskine Caldwell’s Tobacco Road, C. S. Forester’s The African Queen, Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man, Grace Metalious’ Peyton Place, Pearl S. Buck’s The Good Earth, Theodore Dreiser’s An American Tragedy, J. D. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, and Robert Anderson’s Tea and Sympathy.

Avati’s approach–to capture the book’s overall theme, rather than a specific scene, by employing gritty, boldly realistic characters placed in a sharply detailed setting–immediately proved to have the desired effect: It sold books. He used non-professional models, often out-of-work citizens of Red Bank, photographing them in their all-too-natural anti-glory. He took pictures of dilapidated buildings, such as the crumbling sharecropper’s shack on which he based his famous illustration for Tobacco Road. Such messy detail helped create Avati’s reputation for rendering the dark side of Norman Rockwell’s innocent optimism. As fellow illustrator Stanley Metzoff put it, Avati showed “what the world was actually like after the bullshit was over.”

Whatever he did, it worked. By 1949, he was firmly established. Working for $200 dollars or so per illustration, Avati–firmly focused on his work–was unaware of his growing reputation. “I still thought of myself as a struggling artist,” he says. “Whatever reputation I was building grew up around me. I wasn’t even aware of it, thank God. I certainly wasn’t trying to influence anyone.”

Whether intentional or not, Avati’s innovations are widely accepted among collectors of early paperbacks as having influenced a generation of illustrators. By the early ’50s, his earthy, provocatively honest style was being emulated throughout the industry, giving weight to the connoisseurs’ assertion that Avati, essentially, invented the art of paperback illustration.

TODAY, such claims make him uncomfortable. After listening to an excerpt from one overseas critic–who asserts that Europeans in the postwar years received their notion of what an American was by absorbing Avati’s evocative images–the artist cringes.

“That’s a bit overwhelming, don’t you think?” he demands. “I don’t know whether I want that kind of responsibility. I certainly wasn’t trying to tell Europe how to look at America. I was just trying to represent the stories in the book. No doubt, my attitudes and visions of America were an ingredient of that, but … God! It would have been terrifying to have been told I was interpreting one nation for another.

“I don’t believe it for a minute, by the way,” he adds.

After the heyday of the ’50s, Avati’s work–and the paperback industry in general–began to be edged out by other forms of entertainment. He continued illustrating, although, as he says, “the quality of the books wasn’t as good anymore.” In 1989, he relocated to Petaluma, where he lives with his son, an accomplished sculptor. He still occasionally accepts an illustrating job, but these days he usually works on personal projects: His paintings of his adopted home are often on view at Petaluma’s Gallery One art dealership. In recent years, his paperback work has gained him a certain amount of recaptured fame. In 1994 he was inducted into the Illustrator’s Hall of Fame, the only living artist ever to receive the honor. A documentary team from Amsterdam recently spent a week in his home, shooting a film on Avati’s life and work.

“To be honest,” he says, smiling wickedly, “all this attention is getting kind of old.” He gazes toward his studio, where an unfinished landscape awaits. It is in the painting of such personal works that Avati has found a deeper satisfaction, illustrating his own world for his own pleasure.

“A part of me was never interested in being an illustrator,” he now confesses. “That was the part that wanted to be a fine artist, a creative artist. And that part was always in control, to some degree–and I couldn’t always satisfy it. I still feel there’s a part of me that’s never been expressed.”

Which brings him back to the subject of his eyes.

“I may have to give some thought to changing my whole approach,” he allows. “But I’ve invested my whole life into developing this particular way of painting, I don’t know if I want to change it.

“Then again,” he says, chuckling (philosophically of course), “there’s a lot I still want to do. So I’ll most likely find some way to keep on doing it. The planets formed from the elements because it was implicit in those elements to be planets, and I paint because it is implicit in me to paint. So what the hell–as long as I can, I probably will.”

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Leslie Brody

Crimson Memories

By Patrick Sullivan



The story of the 1960s has been told so many times, in so many ways, that it has attained the cultural status of a fairy tale. Whatever the ideological stance or literary talent of the teller, the tale tends to be full of the same fantastic clichés: Either Richard Nixon or Abbie Hoffman winds up wearing the black pointy hat, commanding squads of nasty flying monkeys (with the face of Henry Kissinger), and cackling “I’ll get you, my pretty.” History flattens out like a pancake, and whatever insights (political, historical, or literary) the period has to offer are buried in simple-minded moralism and grotesque self-indulgence.

To its great credit, Red Star Sister (Hungry Mind Press; $16) avoids that trap by offering readers an astonishing amount of honest self-reflection.

Leslie Brody’s autobiographical account of coming of age in the vanguard of the ’60s counterculture covers a lot of ground: Brody was a high school anti-war activist in suburban Long Island, underwent paramilitary training with the radical White Panther Party (where she earned the moniker “Red Star Sister”), got her head bashed in by San Francisco cops, forged a name for herself as an alternative journalist, and journeyed to the Paris Peace Talks in a quixotic effort to end the war by meeting with the Vietnamese diplomatic delegation. Along the way, she even managed to find time to attend Woodstock.

Early on in this ambitious account, the author serves notice that she has no plans to handle her youthful self with kid gloves: “‘Perhaps it was instructive that my goals were not unsimilar to those of a Miss America contestant whose sappy calls for ‘world peace’ were an embarrassing annual cliché. Miss America wanna-bes could smile thousand-watt smiles, but they were fuzzy on how to achieve peace for humanity. I suffered no such doubts.”

On the other hand, she’s not apologizing either. Her mistakes and misadventures are legion as she hopscotches across the country carrying her red suitcase and negotiating the cultural minefield of the turbulent decade. She joins a radical Ann Arbor commune and gets a bitter taste of conformity and group-think. She experiences firsthand the machismo and paranoia that were the toxic bproducts of the long war between U.S. leftist paramilitaries and the FBI.

But she never finds a good reason to endorse the conservative condemnation of her generation: “I’m sure brats abounded, as they do in every age. They disturb people with new scientific and political theories, compose symphonies, and write poetry of staggering beauty and vision. I admit brats can be annoying, but I’d always rather be on their side.”

The book renders many of Brody’s experiences in wonderfully vivid terms. Her account of participating in an anti-war demonstration and being beaten to a pulp by the police is hair-raising and provocative. The claustrophobia of her classrooms on Long Island is also conveyed with subtle power: The independent-minded little Jewish girl was rarely out of trouble with disapproving WASPy teachers determined to hold back the ethnic tide. Brody’s relationship with her widowed father is also portrayed with thoughtful complexity.

Unfortunately, in other cases, the reader is left hanging, waiting for a denouement or explanation that never comes. Brody took LSD and lost her virginity while experiencing Woodstock, all in one fell swoop. Perhaps the whole thing was simply too intense to fully convey, but the author seems not even to try, content instead to sum up in a few flat details. In this, and a few other cases, her account is curiously lacking a climax, leaving us wondering what the hell really happened.

On the whole, however, Red Star Sister takes care to keep the reader involved and interested in Brody’s tumultuous quest to find a good place to make her stand as an activist, poet, and free-thinker. Particularly compelling is the author’s slow evolution as a feminist in the very male world of the revolutionary counterculture. Brody is far from a knee-jerk male-basher, but her deft account of the prevailing sexism still at work at the dawn of modern feminism is priceless (and often very funny).

In the end, Brody–who now teaches at California’s University of the Redwoods–leaves us with an intriguing, if incomplete, view of a fascinating period. With Red Star Sister, she has opened up her red suitcase of mementos just wide enough to give us a glimpse of a life lived with relentless determination, a good dose of foolhardiness, and a deep thirst for real meaning.

Leslie Brody appears Saturday, Dec. 12, at 7 p.m. at North Light Books, 550 E Cotati Ave, Cotati. For more information, call 792-4300.

Web extra to the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Spins

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Jazz Notes

Made in Cuba: Roy Hargrove’s Habana is one of the year’s best jazz CDs.

1998: Nothing fancy, but plenty to cheer

By Greg Cahill

THE DEBATE over the future of jazz rages on. Are the young jazz lions of the past the saviors of the genre, or just a pack of fly-by-night retro phenoms? With little airplay outside of public radio and few small, scattered venues, how will the public experience the cutting-edge sounds of the Art Ensemble of Chicago or trombonist Roswell Rudd? Time will tell. After all it’s true that, as East Bay Express music critic Andrew Gilbert recently opined, “with the major labels owned by entertainment behemoths, the jazz business increasingly resembles a bottom-line-driven corporate enterprise.”

Not much room in that marketplace for the experimentation that has propelled this improvisational art form over the last century.

On the other hand, even though jazz superstar and Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra director Wynton Marsalis–who is most responsible for drawing the entertainment media and a mainstream audience to traditional jazz–turned in a tame The Midnight Blues: Standard Time, Vol. 5 (Columbia) this year, he also laid the groundwork for construction of an 1,100-seat concert hall at the Lincoln Center–the first concert hall designed acoustically for jazz.

That fact underscores the recognition of jazz as America’s classical music, and hopefully signals a respect not only for the genre’s past glories, but also for its future development (let’s hope the Lincoln Center makes room for the John Adamses of the genre).

Certainly the past is always present in the jazz world. This year saw plenty of recorded homages to the jazz legends, including such sterling reissues as the Miles Davis Quintet, 1965-68, The Complete Studio Recordings (Columbia/Legacy), Thelonious Monk’s stunning Live at the It Club (Columbia/Legacy), the underrated post-bop Ellingtonia of Rahsaan Roland Kirk’s four-CD set Aces Back to Back (32 Jazz), and a slew of augmented gems by John Coltrane, Charles Mingus, and Ornette Coleman on the Atlantic/Rhino reissue series.

There also were a trio of noteworthy new Davis tributes–Bill Laswell’s haunting cut-and-paste project Panthalassa: The Music of Miles Davis, 1969-1974 (Columbia), vocalist Shirley Horn’s sultry, ballad-heavy I Remember Miles (Verve), and the World Saxophone Quartet’s criminally overlooked African drum-driven Selim Sivad, A Tribute to Miles Davis (Justin Time).

And fans are quite comfortable with this fixation on the past. T. S. Monk, the brash young drumming progeny of jazz great Thelonious Monk, won Jazz Album of the Year honors for his swinging Monk on Monk (N2K) in the prestigious 1998 Downbeat Readers’ Poll. Yet, three more adventurous runners-up in this category–Tom Harrell’s ambitious The Art of Rhythm (RCA Victor), Bill Holman’s soulful Brilliant Corners (JVC), and Brad Mehldau’s The Art of the Trio, Vol. II: Live at the Village Vanguard (Warner Bros.)–stretched the creative envelope but slipped off the commercial and critical radar.

Meanwhile, the soul jazz of the ’60s continues to inform young players. Probably the best expression of that trend can be found in Medeski, Martin & Wood’s recent psychedelic Combustication (Blue Note), with its soulful Hammond B-3 organ solos, drop-dead funk beats, and playful postmodern scratching. Unfortunately, the trio failed earlier this year to bring that magic to A Go Go (Verve), their long-anticipated collaboration with fusion jazz guitarist John Scofield.

For a heavy dose of soul jazz in all its groovy glory, check out the recent reissues of Hank Crawford’s out-of-print ’60s Atlantic LP’s More Soul, From the Heart, Soul of the Ballad, and Dig These Blues, all digitally remastered and repackaged in the two-CD set Memphis, Ray & a Touch of Moody (32 Jazz); as well as the super three-CD Yusef Lateef compilation The Man with the Big Front Yard (32 Jazz).

The revived Latin music scene–centered around the recent emergence of long-stymied Cuban musicians–is blazing hot, thanks in part to pianist Chucho Valdes’ incendiary Bele Bele en la Habana (Blue Note), Roy Hargrove’s percussive Habana (Verve)–which features Valdes on keyboards–and the spicy all-star Cal Tjader tribute Tjaderized! (Verve).

INDEED, any discussion about jazz on the cusp of the 20th century has to end with a mention of Verve Records. This longtime champion of the genre–which Downbeat readers have declared Record Label of the Year–has virtually come to define the genre (only Blue Note rivals it for depth and focus). Over the years, the label, under ex-chief and producer Norman Granz, nurtured the careers of Billie Holiday, Oscar Peterson, Bill Evans, Duke Ellington, and Ella Fitzgerald. The current Verve roster reads like a Who’s Who of Modern Jazz, from seasoned veterans like Shirley Horn to such relative newcomers as trumpet wiz Nicholas Payton.

Other Verve artists include Randy Weston, Geri Allen, John Scofield, Courtney Pine, Herbie Hancock, Charlie Haden, Abbey Lincoln, Joe Henderson, and a host of top blues artists like Joe Louis Walker, Clarence “Gatemouth” Brown, and ex-Roomful of Blues guitarist Ronnie Earl (his recent The Colour of Love, while uneven, contains some of his most tasteful licks).

Certainly, many of these artists–who often record on other labels as well–do some of their best work for Verve. For example, while fusion guitarist Pat Metheny records more rock-oriented material for Geffen Records, he has in the past two years recorded a pair of knock-out CDs on Verve: last year’s Grammy-winning Beyond the Missouri Sky (with bassist Charlie Haden), and as a sideman with downtown-scene guitarist Bill Frisell on bassist Marc Johnson’s aptly titled The Sound of Summer Running.

For his part, Haden has released a steady torrent of stunning CDs, each one topping the next. His latest, the wonderfully luminous Night and the City (a duet recorded live in a small L.A. club with pianist Kenny Barron), draws its inspiration from nighttime urban landscapes, and leaves you wishing that the dawn would never come.

Not cutting edge, but still …

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Credit Cards

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House of Cards

By Abby Scher

TELL YOUR FRIENDS and relatives you’re writing an article on credit cards and see what happens. Everybody has a horror story. Here are only two I’ve heard recently.

A friend who pays off her credit card balance every month received a letter over the summer from her credit card company, Providian Financial, saying it was closing her account “primarily because you have not been using it.” Of course, she has been using her card. She, like a third of all card holders, merely avoids generating any interest charges by paying her balance in full every month. Providian, a California-based specialist in “high-risk” customers, doesn’t like that. It, like all credit card companies, makes most of its revenue on interest charges and penalties. Having my thrifty friend as a customer just wasn’t worth Providian’s while.

Another friend’s story is a bit more painful. He’s a graduate student who used his student loan to clear all of his credit card debts earlier this year. Within eight months, he’d racked up another $18,000 on his credit cards. You might call him a nut, or just an underpaid adjunct professor trying to get by, but what about the credit card companies? They fall all over themselves to keep him as a customer, upping his credit limits, plying him with cards. … The credit card industry hopes he’ll overspend –and because they delay the pain, credit cards make that easy to do.

Somehow money becomes even more unreal when it’s plastic. Since the early 1990s, banks have gone wild, upping credit limits on their customers’ credit cards by more than a third, blanketing the country with 3 billion offers in 1997 alone, reaching further and further beyond their core customers in the middle class.

Among the beneficiaries of banks’ desperate search for credit card profits are men at a Waltham, Mass., homeless shelter who, though unable to afford rent, regularly find credit card offers in their mailbox with come-ons like “Receive the Credit You Deserve.”

In an era of fraying safety nets and increasing inequality, banks shamelessly peddle plastic as the way for those left behind to live the good life, even if that means using credit to buy groceries. More poor families have credit cards, and it should come as no surprise that their credit card debt is growing as the welfare net is eroding. While only 20 percent of poor families had a credit card in 1983, 40 percent did in 1995. Their balances are higher than ever, exceeding $1,300 on average in 1995, up from $700 in ’83 (calculated in ’95 dollars). Deeper in debt compared to their overall income than wealthier cardholders, they are left with no cushion if crisis strikes.

Because there are no sober-faced bankers dissecting our credit histories before approving our loans, it is hard to remember that’s exactly what we are doing when we toss that shiny plastic to the shoe saleswoman–taking out an instant loan from a bank. At least, that’s what we’re doing if we don’t pay off the balance right away. But some low-income newcomers to the world of credit cards, like the students in an adult literacy program I know in Brooklyn, treat their card as if it were an old-fashioned installment plan. Until a class discussion set them right, they proudly sent in a check each month for the minimum payment, not realizing it was possible–let alone beneficial–to pay off the whole balance in one lump sum.

These new customers, plus the middle class who are going further into credit card debt, are giving the pinstriped pushers just what they want. Credit card debt rose 23.5 percent in just over a year, from January 1997 to March 1998, and more of it is owed by lower-income cardholders. Sixty-three percent of all U.S. households now owe money on their credit cards, and last year they spent $70 billion in interest charges and fees. Credit card debt now accounts for 43 percent of all consumer loans and is growing far faster than all other types of household borrowing, including home mortgages and auto loans.

The average household now owes an amount equal to more than 100 percent of their yearly income. That’s up from 60 percent in 1960 and 75 percent in 1980. And the more borrowers owe on all types of loans, the greater their risk of bankruptcy if they suffer even a minor financial setback or lose their job.

With the Providians and Citibanks alike going after more lower-income customers, the credit card companies also may be exposing themselves to greater risk. “The new card holders are different and potentially riskier,” wrote two economists with the New York Federal Reserve Bank in a recent study. People denied a card in 1989 qualified for one in 1995. They typically carry more debt from auto loans and the like on top of their credit card balances.

Furthermore, they are more likely to be unskilled laborers working in on-again, off-again jobs with erratic income. They are more in debt relative to their income than wealthier cardholders and more likely to miss a payment.

But ballooning consumer debt threatens not just desperate lower-income cardholders or a bank’s bottom line but the whole economy.

Bank on It

HOW CAN BANKS afford their drive into the lower-income market, making riskier and riskier loans? With credit cards’ declining profit margins, perhaps the banks are asking how they can afford not to. Credit card operations are still lucrative, especially compared to other parts of the banking business right now, but cost a lot to keep going.

During the 1970s, when credit cards still were relatively new, banks sank a lot of money into upgrading already high-tech processing operations, and made their money back only in the 1980s, according to a history of the industry by Joseph Nocera. Even before that, the credit card business walked a slow and volatile road toward profitability.

Visa began as BankAmericard in 1958 (changing its name in 1976), the first charge card ever that aimed to be accepted not just by a single department store, like a Sears card, or by restaurants, like Diners Club. The postwar consumer boom was built on an explosion of buying on credit; but at first customers were paying for their new refrigerators and sofas through store installment plans, paying retailers directly, month by month. BankAmerica wanted those customers for itself, so it invested in BankAmericard’s expensive start-up. Bank salesmen blanketed California, recruiting businesses one by one to accept the card, and recruiting cardholders with mass mailings. Then BankAmerica developed a network of banks to do the same nationwide, building a customer base and a retail base at the same time. (This same process is now being pushed globally. Until the recent crisis, the world’s largest credit card issuer, Citibank, was busily exporting the consumer dream of buying on plastic to Asia’s new monied classes.)

In the United States today, Mastercard and Visa operate as networks of banks–and increasingly since the early 1990s of non-banks like Providian–that issue cards under their imprint. They pool expenses to keep the system going. And the costs are high. While most of the cost of a home mortgage is the money a bank lends, much of the cost of a credit card loan is the paperwork. Credit card companies have all the expenses of sending a zillion piece mailings for new customers, processing the credit card receipts, reimbursing the local merchants’ bank, and maintaining the powerful computers that approve or reject your credit card within seconds of being swiped through by a salesperson.

That high overhead exerts pressure on banks to really put that expensive infrastructure to use once it’s in place, and try to suck more and more interest-paying customers into the system.

Banks and freestanding credit card companies like Providian cover the risk by keeping their interest rates high even while interest rates are dropping elsewhere in the economy. The flood of non-bank players into the business in the 1990s was supposed to heighten competition and put a damper on those interest rates. That didn’t happen.

Instead 3,000-plus credit card pushers all trying to steal one another’s customers just cut into all of their profits, saturating the “market,” forcing small players out of the game, and making it harder to charge annual fees. Fees in 1991 provided as much as 24 percent of their revenue.

Now, only 10 percent of their revenue comes from annual fees and the small charge to the retail store or other business accepting your card for a purchase. Interest charges of 16 percent–or even 24 percent for the unlucky customers who’ve missed a few payments–bring in all the bucks these days, along with shortened grace periods, and new and improved penalties of $25 a pop for everything from exceeding your credit limit to paying late.

Some cards have eliminated the grace period entirely, charging interest from the day you make a purchase. Rates are so steep that even on the average card, as Doug Henwood points out in a recent Left Business Observer, it would take 34 years to pay off a $2,500 balance if you paid only the bank’s suggested minimum.

While credit card loans were always risky–banks “wrote off” five times more credit card than commercial loans as uncollectible–they are writing off even more today. Last year, banks wrote off $20 billion in credit card loans–5.5 percent of the total debt outstanding. The norm was 3 percent until the mid-’90s. The banks’ exposure is serious enough that the federal government’s comptroller of the currency warned credit card banks to improve their credit standards.

Banks claim new and improved computer programs now allow them to isolate out risky prospects from sound ones. But they really seem to be containing their risk by changing the rules of the game. For instance, they are not “writing off” the customers who defaulted on their credit card debt. Instead, they’ve invented a new credit card for them. “Secured” credit cards are one of the fastest-growing products in the business, designed for people like yet another friend of mine who defaulted on his student loans and is now eager to return to the fold of creditworthy Americans.

For an annual fee, a hefty initial processing charge, and a $90 deposit paid to Providian, one of the largest issuers of secured cards, my friend won the right to charge his card up to a whopping $400 credit limit.

Banks are also trying to contain their risk, not by scrutinizing who deserves higher credit lines, but by campaigning for bankruptcy reform that will restrict consumers’ access to more favorable bankruptcy laws (see box). Once enacted, (and the two houses of Congress are negotiating a final plan), the banks could become even worse pushers, argues Stephen Brobeck, executive director of the Consumer Federation of America:

“By allowing creditors to collect more debt, bankruptcy reforms would encourage credit card banks to market and extend credit more aggressively.”

Bankruptcy and credit cards.

Debt For Sale

WITH CREDIT CARD DEBT riskier and at a new high, how can banks carry so many loans on their balance sheets? After all, by law they must keep on hand capital amounting to about 6 percent of their outstanding loans, and there’s $500 billion in credit card debt out there.

The quick answer is they don’t. Since 1987, when First Boston invented the practice, the big players have removed some of their credit card debt from their balance sheets by selling it off to investors, much as they sell off home mortgages. Together the major credit card banks–Citibank, First Chicago, NationsBank (which just merged with BankAmerica)–and other credit card issuers sell off the right to collect on about $40 billion worth of their credit card debt to investors.

This maneuver gives them more money on hand to loan out, pumping up their desire to find new, perhaps riskier, customers, while removing the loans from their balance sheets and ultimately increasing the bubble of debts left unpaid.

Who’s the Victim?

AS WITH MOST capitalist enterprises, banks’ desperate pursuit of credit card profits is not a victimless crime. There are plenty of victims littered along the road, and many are low-income. “Jesse” is in Debtor’s Anonymous now after racking up $93,000 in credit card debt after losing her job at a warehouse and failing to apply for unemployment benefits. Her sister almost lost her home after paying for the birth of her son on a credit card–her husband was working temp jobs at the time, and they had no health insurance.

Like Jesse and her sister, the new lower-income customers tend to use credit cards when their income drops, not just for convenience like many middle-class customers, according to a study published by the Institute for Research on Poverty at the University of Wisconsin. For instance, while the better-off tend to cut their credit card use during a recession, the poor and near poor use them even more.

With stagnating middle-class incomes, however, the middle class also might be caught in more credit card debt than they expected. Unlike lower- and upper-income Americans, they are the only group whose incomes have not yet returned to their pre-recession, 1989 level, and some may have charged up their credit cards expecting more of a rebound to help them pay off their bills. Brobeck of the Consumer Federation even blames credit cards (as opposed to stagnating incomes, steep housing prices, lost health insurance, or erratic job markets) for the skyrocketing bankruptcy rates: “Mounting credit card debt was the most important reason for the rise in personal bankruptcies (1.3 million in 1997),” he says.

Unstable Economy

THE OTHER VICTIM of credit card companies’ desperate strategies is the economy as a whole. In good Keynesian fashion, consumers have been driving economic growth. But in a period of income stagnation, and with greater access to credit, consumers have been doing their spending more and more with debt.

This creates a “consumer debt-driven business cycle” that creates new dynamics–and long-term problems–for the economy.

“The great fear is, if we go into recession, we’ll be saddled with record levels of debt,” says Tom Pally, an economist with the AFL-CIO. In 1997, consumer debt peaked to record levels, created not just by credit cards but by home-equity and other loans.

In this new sort of business cycle, Pally argues, people borrow and spend, kicking off economic growth. But over time, as their debt burden grows, they have to spend more and more just on interest charges, thus dampening their ability to generate growth through more purchases. Then the economy slows down again. During any recession, more people lose their jobs and wages shrink, cutting into their spending power. But high levels of debt leave consumers even less able to borrow, and the economy will constrict even more than usual.

Deflation–falling prices and wages–is another threat on the economic horizon made worse with high levels of debt. One fear is that the downward pressure on prices already apparent in Asia could turn the United States’ low inflation rate into negative inflation, or deflation. Falling prices and wages make it even harder for people to pay back the loans they borrowed when prices and wages were higher.

This makes their debt payments even more expensive.

The economy skids to a stop, and as in the Great Depression, people become afraid to borrow and invest because of the ballooning cost of the money down the road.

Debtor Beware

EVEN THOSE like Brobeck of the Consumer Federation who are critical of the banking industry’s greedy pursuit of lower-income credit card holders hesitate to call for a halt to the practice.

The New York Federal Reserve Bank economists say that as long as banks “cover any extra risks they are taking, and as long as borrowers understand the price they are paying,” both sides can benefit. The problem is that credit card companies do everything they can to ensure customers don’t know the price they are paying.

At the very least, bank regulators must force credit card companies to reveal right on our monthly bills how much it will cost us in interest charges by the next month and by the end of the year if we don’t pay the bill in full right away (the Senate approved a mild version of this in its recent bankruptcy bill).

Congress must also stop credit card companies from offering ridiculously high lines of credit that delude us into thinking we can carry heavy amounts of debt. Credit limits tap into our deep sense of power as consumers and distort our sense of our wealth. Jesse from Debtor’s Anonymous reveals, “I used to see credit cards as an asset. If they give you a credit line, it increases your sense of importance.”

Credit card companies should enforce reasonable credit limits instead of using them as yet another opportunity to profit from those who exceed them.

If they actually do this, the credit card companies need not cover their risk by charging high interest rates and hidden penalties. Such usury is another form of “fringe banking,” almost as bad as those rent-to-own stores targeting low-income folks for double the usual price of a television set in “easy” monthly installments.

Congress might also cap the interest rates the companies can charge, a move Rep. Joseph Kennedy pondered a few years back. A cap need not force the companies to dump their new, high-risk, customers, as they direly warned when faced with the prospect. They need only do their jobs as bankers and enforce reasonable credit limits.

If nothing else, this quandary of how best to stop credit card companies from feeding off the economic insecurity of lower-income Americans reveals how urgently we need to develop less exploitative ways of raising people’s incomes and easing their credit crunch. America’s economic health must be built on more than easy credit so those slipping through the safety net don’t end up desperately trying to charge their way back to financial stability.

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Brenda Knight

Other Voices

Women of the Beat Generation.

Author Brenda Knight talks about ‘Women of the Beat Generation’

By Patrick Sullivan

ONCE UPON A TIME, not so very long ago, the phrase “Women of the Beat Generation” would have elicited either honest bewilderment or frank derision. Millions of readers have, at one time or another, howled along with Allen or gone on the road with Jack. But women in the Beats? There really weren’t any of note.

Or so said many people when San Francisco scholar Brenda Knight began asking what role female writers and artists played in the 1950s movement that blew the dust of formalism off American culture. But after extensive research and scores of interviews with women Beats and their associates, Knight assembled a unique volume that uncovered a hidden history and revolutionized the way we look at an entire era.

Women of the Beat Generation (Conari; $14.95) was first published in 1996 to critical acclaim. The unique collection of writing, profiles, and rare photos went on to win the American Book Award in 1997 and is now out in a new paperback edition. In short order, the book has brought recognition or renewed attention to such female Beats as Diane Di Prima, Hetti Jones, and Ruth Weiss.

“They were always there,” says Knight over the phone from her job with a San Francisco publishing company. “It was just like they were sitting in a dark room and needed the light turned on. That’s been the most gratifying thing about writing this book.”

Decades after their heyday, the Beats are still with us. On the Road has consistently sold some 40,000 copies annually, and recent years have seen a steep rise in popular interest in the era. Knight’s book fed that growing hunger by providing readers with Beat writing that was hard to find or, in some cases, totally unpublished. Moreover, the work of these women was formed and cultivated far from the mainstream success and media attention that many believe helped kill the rest of the movement. That relative obscurity, Knight argues, means that the work of these women is still raw, immediate, and shocking–the very essence of Beat.

“The women were never overexposed, so they didn’t become sick of their status.” says Knight. “They were never transformed into icons or clichés. They remained, in a sense, pure.”

If the art of female Beats is fascinating, their lives are certainly no less so, as Knight amply demonstrates in 40 profiles of these deeply individualistic women. Among the most compelling are the story of Mary Norbert Korte, a Catholic nun who left the convent for life as a poet and an environmental activist in Willits, and the tragic tale of Jan Kerouac–Jack’s only offspring–who struggled to figure out what it meant to be Kerouac’s daughter, but died before she could finish the third in a series of books about herself and her father.

So what drew Knight to the Beats in the first place? Several experiences inspired her, including a class on modern poetry she took from Michael Krasny. But she vividly recalls another important inspiration. As a graduate student instructor in Ohio, Knight used Allen Ginsberg’s poem America in a course she taught. A student complained because of the poem’s homosexual content, and in a disturbing echo of the 1957 attempt to censor Ginsberg’s Howl, university administrators tried to force Knight to remove the poem from the curriculum. She stuck to her guns and eventually prevailed, at the cost of becoming, in her words, “a pariah” in the community.

“That experience made me feel I was really bonded to the Beats,” Knight says. “I thought, ‘Now I know what it’s like to have poetry be a cause that can change your life.’ “

The continuing popularity of Women of the Beat Generation continues to amaze Knight. She thinks one explanation may be that our current age of hype and commercialism makes people appreciate the raw authenticity of the Beats now more than ever.

“I think young people especially are so unrelentingly battered by advertising, and the media itself is so corrupt,” Knight says. “They’re so tired of all the crap, and they’re looking for something real. You still find that in the Beats, men or women.”

Brenda Knight speaks Dec. 10 at 7 p.m. at Copperfield’s Cafe, 144 Kentucky St., Petaluma. For more information, call 762-8798.

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Wine Gifts

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Grape Gifts

Holiday items for that wine enthusiast in your life

By Bob Johnson

I COULDN’T tell you the names or the vintages of the most enjoyable wines ever to moisten the lips of this grape juice-stained wretch. The best wines, yes. The most enjoyable wines, no. That’s because the most enjoyable wines always are consumed with family or friends, when the focus of the occasion is on the latest adventures of those gathered around the table, rather than on debating whether malolactic fermentation harmed or improved the quality of the liquid in the glasses.

Good company can make a ho-hum wine enjoyable and a good wine exciting. Combine good company with a great wine, and you begin to understand what life really is all about. Having friends can be a double-edged sword, however–especially around the holidays.

The gift list grows longer with each passing year, and when a friendship is based largely upon a shared passion for wine, selecting the “perfect present” can be a perplexing task.

Because tastes and preferences in wine are so personal, I’ve made it a policy never to give wine as a holiday gift to a wine-loving friend. Instead, I opt for wine-related presents.

This policy may not thrill Sonoma County’s vintners, but those who have gift shops adjacent to their tasting rooms shouldn’t mind too much. A winery tasting room/gift shop can be a great place to shop for non-bottled wine presents.

With the spirit of giving in mind, and with only a handful of shopping days left until Christmas, we present our second annual list of holiday gift ideas for the wine lover(s) in your life.

Setting a Mood: Your new relationship is on the fast track, and the time has come to move in for the kill, er, take “the next step.” So you plan a romantic rendezvous with your significant other-elect. You prepare a gourmet meal (or bring home a reheatable one from the market), pop the cork from a bottle of fine Sonoma County wine, dust off (literally) your Kenny G CD, and, of course, light candles.

But something’s missing. What could it be? Then it hits you: “Of course! Grape cluster candle rings!” Corrie Glass makes these attractive, clear, gold-accented rings that slip over candles to add a touch of flair and elegance. $25. Available at various winery tasting rooms.

Screen Dreams: Sutter Home Winery has created four humorous wine-themed computer-screen savers and is offering them free to anyone with a machine capable of downloading them. Three are animated. The one that isn’t shows two men wearing antlers, about to square off over a glass of red wine. The caption reads: “Under two bucks, a glass.” For downloading info, check out the Sutter Home website. Windows NT, or 3.11 operating software is required.

Drink Plenty of Fluids: Alcohol and caffeine are two leading causes of dehydration. So when one consumes a lot of wine, and then attempts to sober up by drinking a lot of coffee, dry mouth is the common result. The cure: water. And what better way to haul around your personal supply of H20 than in a Kendall-Jackson logo water bottle. The white bottle features gold lettering and a black top, and looks mighty snazzy attached to a belt buckle or swinging from a bicycle handlebar. $4.99. Kendall-Jackson California Wine Center, 5007 Fulton Road, Fulton; 571-8100.

A Cap-ital Idea: Speaking of Kendall-Jackson, that company’s signature wine, known as Cardinale, is one of the best bottlings produced in California each year. Only one problem: It fetches upwards of $100. That’s per bottle, not per case. If you can’t afford this exquisite wine but wants friends to think you can, give the official Cardinale baseball cap. It’s black with a brown bill and attractive lettering. As a marketing pro might put it: Buy the cap and save $84! $16. Kendall-Jackson California Wine Center, 5007 Fulton Road, Fulton; 571-8100.

Put a Cork in It: Once a cork has been removed from a wine bottle, it’s sometimes difficult to force back in.

This conundrum is solved with marble and stone stoppers, featuring natural variegated marble, fossil stone, and onyx in a variety of colors and patterns. 3 for $14.95 or 6 for $24.95. International Wine Accessories, 10246 Miller Road, Dallas, TX 75238-1206; 800/527-4072.

Timely Advice: A friend or family member can wake up each day of the new year to a picture of dense winter air hovering over a vineyard … clusters of zinfandel grapes clinging to their vines … or one of 10 other wine country shots featured in Fetzer Vineyards’ 1999 calendar. It measures 10 by 14 inches and spotlights the photography skills of George Rose, who since has moved from the P.R. department at Fetzer to Sonoma County’s Clos du Bois Winery. $9.95, tax included, plus $2 postage. Fetzer Vineyards, P.O. Box 611, Hopland 95449; 800/846-8637.

Local photographer Robert Janover also offers a spectacular wine country calendar through his True Images production company.

The Perfect Holiday and Get-Well Gift for Joe DiMaggio: “Joltin’ Joe” is best known for two accomplishments: getting at least one hit in each of 56 consecutive baseball games, and hitting on Marilyn Monroe to the point that she agreed to marry him. Some years ago, a true marketing pro hit upon the idea of bottling some merlot wine, placing a picture of Marilyn Monroe on the label, and calling the product “Marilyn Merlot.” Bottlings in future years featured other poses, some on the provocative side, always glamorous.

For the person who has everything … or to help a convalescing Joe DiMaggio feel better … one now can obtain a vertical collection of Marilyn Merlots from 1985 through 1994. Individual bottles also are available, just in case you find the collection a bit difficult to budget. Vertical collection: $4,200. Individual bottles: $20 to $2,000. Napa Wine Co., 7830-40 St. Helena Hwy., Oakville; 944-8669. (Things are always more expensive in that other valley.)

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Scoop

Sex on the Brain

By Bob Harris

A NEW STUDY SHOWS that if you watch Jerry Springer, you’re actually more likely to wind up on his show. Consider: In an effort to prevent the spread of AIDS, some labcoats at Emory University just examined the TV habits of teenage girls between the ages of 14 and 18 to see how what they watch might correlate with risky behavior. I don’t know what they’re expecting to find that we don’t already know. Like, what?–Home Improvement guru Bob Vila is a major turn-on, or there’s something really subtle about Dan Rather’s smile that spurs a hormone rush in young babes watching the CBS Evening News?

Nope.

Guess what? What they found was that teenage girls who watch TV shows portraying women as sex objects are more likely to engage in risky sex. Apparently people who watch 90210 think that’s how many sex partners they’re supposed to have.

Surprisingly, how much TV they watch isn’t a factor at all. So there’s nothing intrinsically dangerous about sitting in front of a vacuum tube all day, except possibly choking on flying insects hunting for food along your permanently slackened jaw. A little butterscotch on your uvula and suddenly you’re a human No-Pest Strip.

But at least we now know for sure there’s a direct relationship between what you watch and what you do. Which advertisers have known for years. Duh.

Unfortunately, the study failed to determine cause and effect. So for now, the only thing TV definitely causes is an empty skull. There’s a reason they call it a vacuum tube.

ABSTINENCE as a realistic approach to adult sexuality is often about as practical as using dry tinder to put out a fire. But if a civil case filed last week is resolved in the plaintiff’s favor, saying no next time you want to varnish the shillelagh means not only that you can forget about disease and pregnancy, but that you can also avoid a lawsuit.

As you may know, people actually pay me to say all this stuff. Real money. Just for slapping words together until some of them stick.

What a scam.

Most people in talk radio think abstinence is a brilliant idea. It’s especially cool to get advice on trouser etiquette from somebody like Dr. Laura, whose daily presence exudes all the sparkle and charm of Catholic grade school and then suddenly shows up on the Internet displaying more pink than Owens-Corning.

As my comedian buddy Mike Irwin points out, Dr. Laura’s sexual prescriptions, taken together, aren’t exactly realistic. Like, you’re supposed to (a) remain a virgin until marriage, and (b) avoid marriage until you’re mature, which (c) takes until you’re at least 30. So, no one should have sex until they’re 30.

Not just with her. With anybody.

I’m not saying you should drop the puck for a game of hip hockey with just anybody who owns a stick and gloves. I’m saying the reproductive drive is one of the three primal urges that preserve the species, the other two being (a) hunger and (b) wanting to pelt the Rolling Stones with chicken bones for charging $200 a pop for their No (Social) Security tour.

Excuse me, but that’s a stronger argument for euthanasia than Dr. Kevorkian’s games of Pin the Tail on the Forearm will ever make.

But I digress.

ANYHOW. Self-righteousness and hypocrisy only get you so far. Unless you’ve got a good attorney, that is. Case in point: Last week, a guy named Peter Wallis sued his girlfriend for getting pregnant without his consent. With him, he means. To be exact, he charges Kellie Smith with “intentionally acquiring and misusing” his DNA. Uh, unless I’m missing something, seems like the dude is fairly complicit here. I mean, what did he think was going on? Donkey Kong? Still, the case is worth watching.

If the lawsuit succeeds, you’ll need a signed letter of intent to play more than just college football. If it fails, P.W. is stuck having to pay to raise the kid he fathered.

And with reasoning skills this poor, I think there’s only one way a Peter this big is gonna make enough money for that: national syndication.

From the December 10-16, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Spins

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Fave Raves

Bragging rights: British agit-pop rocker Billy Bragg–an American hero.

Editor’s choice: Spins that spun well

By Greg Cahill

EACH YEAR, the recording industry cranks out 26,000 new releases, a veritable tide of often overhyped aluminum. That’s roughly equivalent to the number of CDs in a well-stocked music store. And when you consider that a really well-stocked music store offers a large selection of catalog items as well–like all the Stones, Replacements, and Shadowy Men from a Shadowy Planet titles your heart could desire–there’s precious little space left for those new releases.

Thus, the time-honored tradition of best-of-the-year reviews.

Do music critics have time to listen to all 26,000 releases? Hardly. We’re too busy hiding from the torrent of dreck the major labels send us by vegging out on VH-1’s “Pop-Up Video.” Of course, it’s pretentious to present these lists as the year’s best. Still, they provide a chance to flag some noteworthy releases that might otherwise slip under the radar. So here are a few spins that spun, if not endlessly, then damned well on the old Onkyo this year:

Oscar Aleman Swing Guitar Masterpieces, 1938-1957 Acoustic Disc

HE IS HAILED as the Argentine Django Rheinhart. But some jazz buffs feel that guitarist Oscar Aleman actually had better chops than his more famous Gypsy counterpart. Marin mandolinist and label chief David Grisman sets the record straight on this two-CD set culled from four out-of-print classic LPs. Lots of American standards. Lots of Latin heat.

Beck Mutations DGC

THE SWEETHEART of the postmodern hip-hop scene lets his inner Ray Davies emerge while settling into a flower-pop groove that has more in common with the folksy psychedelia of Pink Floyd (circa Meddle) than current beatsters. This stripped-down, acoustic-based set is Beck’s most consistent work to date.

Billy Bragg & Wilco Mermaid Avenue Elektra

YOU CAN BET Springsteen would have given his impeccably capped eye teeth for this project. But British agit-pop star Billy Bragg (backed by Americana stalwarts Wilco) got the nod to record 15 lost songs from the archive of folk legend Woody Guthrie. The result is a glorious set of visceral folk rock that ranges from the intensely personal to the incisively satiric.

Eddy “The Chief” Clearwater Cool Blues Walk Bullseye

AFTER A LENGTHY hiatus, blues guitarist Eddy Clearwater comes roaring back on this rollicking barnburner produced by ex-Roomful of Blues guitarist Duke Robillard (who also provides some tasteful licks). The songs run the gamut from blues stomps to rockabilly to South Side strut. The key word: cool.

Ramblin’ Jack Elliot Friends of Mine Hightone

IT’S EASY to take Ramblin’ Jack for granted–after all, this Grammy-winning folk great plies his wares at the tiny Blue Heron in Duncans Mills and the colorful Western Saloon in Point Reyes Station. But a host of famous friends–including Tom Waits, Emmylou Harris, John Prine, Bob Weir, and Guy Clark–shine a light on this crusty troubadour on 11 duets.

Joe Ely Twistin in the Wind MCA Nashville

LYLE LOVETT got all the attention for his lukewarm collection of cover tunes, but fellow Texan Joe Ely shows that the Lone Star State still hosts some of the most dangerous music around, filled with jagged beats and Western bravado. Tex-Mex country rock as ornery as a Panhandle rattler.

Lisa Gerrad and Pieter Bourke Duality 4AD/Warner

ALPHA WAVE ALERT! Lisa Gerrard of Dead Can Dance and percussionist Pieter Bourke deliver a transcendent sound inspired by gothic-folk songs, Sufi chants, and early Christian music, all cloaked in Middle Eastern instrumentation and sparse, haunting arrangements. You might not end up speaking in tongues, but when Gerrard does, you can’t help marveling.

Bill Laswell Panthalassa: The Music of Miles Davis, 1969-1974 Columbia

Shirley Horn I Remember Miles Verve

THERE WAS NO shortage of tributes this year to the late, great jazz trumpet master Miles Davis, including a flood of reissues from Davis’ fusion period. These are two of the best. Bill Laswell tapped Davis’ innovative fusion material for a postmodern translation that reconstructs newly restored performances and previously unreleased themes from the landmark recordings In a Silent Way, On the Corner, and Get up with It. Some great grooves. Meanwhile, Washington, D.C., area pianist and vocalist Shirley Horn, whose work inspired some of Davis’ best ballads, reclaims three tunes from Davis’ Seven Steps to Heaven, as well as three from Porgy and Bess and a trio of others. Sultry. Sassy. Stunning.

Nick Lowe Dig My Mood Upstart/Rounder

BRITISH pub rocker dresses mostly melancholy love songs in blue hues. One reviewer likened these songs to the glowing embers of a dying romance. And one listen to “Cold Grey Light of Dawn” will show you why. Hard to beat.

Ernest Ranglin In Search of the Lost Riddim Palm

HE IS BEST KNOWN in reggae circles as the man who taught Bob Marley to play guitar, but Ernest Ranglin’s contributions to music include a stint with the pioneering Skatalites. Here Ranglin journeys to Senegal in search of the percolating beats that inform that upbeat, Jamaican dance music. In the process, he lays down some of the most ebullient jazz-inflected riffs of his distinguished career and taps into the soul of the African continent.

Lucinda Williams Car Wheels on a Gravel Road Mercury

HER SONGS HAVE been covered by everyone from Emmylou Harris to Tom Petty. Mary Chapin-Carpenter’s rendition of Williams’ “Passionate Kisses” earned them both Grammys in 1994. This year, this talented Texas singer-songwriter came into her own. Featuring achingly sweet vocals and chillingly honest lyrics, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road is rife with mostly autobiographical songs that compose a stark travelogue of the human heart.

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

A Christmas Carol & Inspecting Carol

Holiday Humbug

Tightwad: Eric Thompson plays the thrifty Scrooge in SCR’s A Christmas Carol.

Two ‘Carols’ moralize with mixed results

By Daedalus Howell

ALONG WITH expanding waistlines, credit card debt, and seasonal affective disorder, the holidays bring a spate of Yule-themed theatrical programming to provide a respite from rampant Christmas consumerism. This year’s helping includes Sonoma County Repertory’s lean and mean rendition of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, as well as the classic tale’s antidote, Pacific Alliance Stage Company’s Inspecting Carol, a convoluted riff on the Dickens chestnut.

A Christmas Carol

SCR DIRECTOR Jim DePriest offers a taut, nearly minimalist production of Dickens’ holiday classic, driven by the estimable talents of Eric Thompson and his marvelously persnickety Ebenezer Scrooge.

Thompson takes Dickens’ blueprints for Scrooge’s shantylike soul and builds a formidable edifice around the avaricious bean counter. Despite the one-dimensional nature of the original writing, Thompson draws Scrooge as a complex of defense mechanisms obscuring a humanity all but whittled away by anguish. His Scrooge is an eminently sympathetic character, albeit one spiced up with a delectable self-consciousness–he knows he’s nasty and clearly relishes it nearly as much as his redemption.

Thompson steers clear, however, of turning A Christmas Carol into a one-man Scrooge-fest. Plenty of room is left for the other players (many of whom are younger actors), who fill their roles with grace and aplomb.

Actor Tim Hayes’ ample talents seem channeled into his sonorous baritone as he plays in turns the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future. Hayes’ booming pipes recall Darth Vader’s resonant intonations, so much so that one half expects him to entreat Scrooge to “rule the universe together as father and son.”

Providing Scrooge’s back story is 13-year-old thespian Michael Spector, who offers a portrait of the capitalist as a young man. Spector, a striking and lucid performer, deftly shows the young Scrooge growing incrementally cooler and more distant throughout the production and is a fine and credible complement to Thompson’s characterization.

Bright young talents abound in this production (including the requisite plucky Tiny Tim played by Michael Cullen), which accounts, in part, for the show’s accessibility to children. On opening night, one rapt little boy chimed from the audience, “Is he nice now?” referring to Scrooge’s change of heart. The ability to inspire such engagement in young kids is one of the show’s finer attributes. Well done.

SCR’s A Christmas Carol plays through Dec. 19; Thursdays-Saturdays at 8 p.m. 415 Humboldt St., Santa Rosa. $12. 544-7278.

Inspecting Carol.

Inspecting Carol

DIRECTED BY Wendy McGothlin Wisely, playwright Daniel Sullivan’s Inspecting Carol depicts the backstage shenanigans of a community theater company’s annual production of A Christmas Carol. Theater about theater is an oft-played but still workable premise (Noises Off, Travesties) that might have worked here were it not for this play’s pesky insistence that it is a comedy despite the production’s copious evidence to the contrary.

Likable Paul Silverman plays Wayne (an aspiring but indubitably terrible actor) seeking placement at an ailing repertory company whose National Endowment for the Arts funding has been frozen pending proof of artistic merit (PASCO is playing with fire). The theater’s business manager (Michael Ray Wisely) and director (an on-the-mark Jessica Powell) mistake the neophyte actor for an undercover NEA agent whose stage ambitions must be heeded lest it mean curtains for the theater.

Idiocy almost prevails over predictability as Wayne stands in for the show-within-the-show’s Tiny Tim (replacing sharp sixth-grader Barry Brownstein’s phlegmatic, candy-mad Luther), and everything that can go wrong … well, you know.

Director Wisely’s real mistake was saying “Why not?” to Sullivan’s enfeebled material when she should have left it at “Why?” By far the most upsetting thing about Inspecting Carol is watching good actors (Robert Parnell’s Scrooge is brilliant) plod through the clotted plot en route to a snap-on catharsis instead of marching it back to the workshop.

PASCO’s Inspecting Carol plays through Dec. 13. Thursdays at 7:30 p.m., Fridays-Saturdays at 8 p.m.; Sunday matinees at 2:30 p.m. Spreckels Performing Arts Center, 5409 Snyder Lane, Rohnert Park. $12-$14. 588-3400.

From the December 3-9, 1998 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

West Side Story

Modern Love West Side Story. 'West Side Story' still entertains By Daedalus Howell MANY BELIEVE that community theaters, when under critical scrutiny, deserve special coddling on the part of the reviewer. No such indulgence is necessary, however, for the Santa Rosa Players' production of West Side Story, a show so hot you gotta upgrade the...

Illustrator James Avati

Full ColorMichael AmslerClassic Art: Petaluma illustrator James Avati's work has graced the covers of paperbacks by America's finest authors.Illustrator James Avati paints into the future By David TempletonINCREASING MACULAR degeneration. James Avati speaks the phrase carefully, pronouncing the name of his recent diagnosis--"Increasing. Macular. Degeneration"--as if each word were a separate and undeniable fact, just as his deteriorating eyesight--the...

Leslie Brody

Crimson Memories By Patrick Sullivan The story of the 1960s has been told so many times, in so many ways, that it has attained the cultural status of a fairy tale. Whatever the ideological stance or literary talent of the teller, the tale tends to be full of the same fantastic clichés: Either Richard Nixon or...

Spins

Jazz Notes Made in Cuba: Roy Hargrove's Habana is one of the year's best jazz CDs. 1998: Nothing fancy, but plenty to cheer By Greg Cahill THE DEBATE over the future of jazz rages on. Are the young jazz lions of the past the saviors of the genre, or just a pack of fly-by-night retro...

Credit Cards

House of Cards By Abby Scher TELL YOUR FRIENDS and relatives you're writing an article on credit cards and see what happens. Everybody has a horror story. Here are only two I've heard recently. A friend who pays off her credit card balance every month received a letter over the summer from her...

Brenda Knight

Other Voices Women of the Beat Generation. Author Brenda Knight talks about 'Women of the Beat Generation' By Patrick Sullivan ONCE UPON A TIME, not so very long ago, the phrase "Women of the Beat Generation" would have elicited either honest bewilderment or frank derision. Millions of readers have, at one time or another, howled along...

Wine Gifts

Grape Gifts Holiday items for that wine enthusiast in your life By Bob Johnson I COULDN'T tell you the names or the vintages of the most enjoyable wines ever to moisten the lips of this grape juice-stained wretch. The best wines, yes. The most enjoyable wines, no. That's because the most enjoyable wines always are...

The Scoop

Sex on the Brain By Bob Harris A NEW STUDY SHOWS that if you watch Jerry Springer, you're actually more likely to wind up on his show. Consider: In an effort to prevent the spread of AIDS, some labcoats at Emory University just examined the TV habits of teenage girls between the ages of 14 and...

Spins

Fave Raves Bragging rights: British agit-pop rocker Billy Bragg--an American hero. Editor's choice: Spins that spun well By Greg Cahill EACH YEAR, the recording industry cranks out 26,000 new releases, a veritable tide of often overhyped aluminum. That's roughly equivalent to the number of CDs in a well-stocked music store. And when you consider...

A Christmas Carol & Inspecting Carol

Holiday Humbug Tightwad: Eric Thompson plays the thrifty Scrooge in SCR's A Christmas Carol. Two 'Carols' moralize with mixed results By Daedalus Howell ALONG WITH expanding waistlines, credit card debt, and seasonal affective disorder, the holidays bring a spate of Yule-themed theatrical programming to provide a respite from rampant Christmas consumerism. This year's...
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