A Reality Check on the Values Voter

By Paul McLeary In the last few weeks, there has been much gnashing of teeth and rending of garments among the “reality-based community” about the great new albatross supposedly hanging around the Democratic party’s neck: The Values Voter. As with so many other dumbed-down media constructions (think “Security Mom” or “Nascar Dad”), the sheer intellectual laziness and utter sophistry of the media’s lunging groupthink is here on full display. While it would be foolish to claim that that there isn’t a core group of socially conservative Americans who vote with one hand placed firmly on their Bible, it’s another thing entirely to promote this vocal minority into the stratosphere of the major voting blocs. The history of this supposedly new group can be traced back to a single question in the Election Day exit poll. Question J asked: “Which ONE issue mattered most in deciding how you voted for president?” The answers ran as follows: Education, four percent; Taxes, five percent; Health Care, eight percent; Iraq, 15 percent; Terrorism, 19 percent; Economy and Jobs, 20 percent and the kicker, Moral Values, 22 percent. Yes, moral values had the highest ranking, but just what does it mean to say that people hold moral values to be important? Are they against lying? Cheating? Liberal Hollywood? Adultery? War? Running the numbers.What are we asking when we ask about moral values? Given the exit poll’s muddy terminology, it would probably be helpful if we combine the poll’s choices in a more logical way – grouping them into categories. After all, education, taxes, etc. are incredibly specific answers, while moral values allows for quite a bit of wiggle room in its interpretation. For example, grouping “war issues” (Iraq and terrorism) together, we find that 34 percent of voters felt they were the most important issues facing the country, while economic issues (economy and jobs, taxes, health care) clocks in at 33 percent. When looked at this way, moral values bring up the rear at 22 percent. It seems that despite all the post-election revisionism, the issue Americans are still most concerned about is the war and the West’s fight against violent Islamic fundamentalism. And there’s plenty more where that came from. Remember those weepy Democrats saying that it was gay marriage that sunk Kerry’s chances? Turns out, that wasn’t quite right, either. As Alan Abramowitz over at the Donkey Rising blog reported, “In 11 states with gay marriage referenda on the ballot, the president increased his share of the vote from an average of 55.4 percent in 2000 to an average of 58.0 percent in 2004 – an improvement of 2.6 percentage points. However, in the rest of the country, the president increased his share of the vote from an average of 48.1 percent in 2000 to an average of 51.0 percent in 2004 – an improvement of 2.9 percentage points.” Digging even deeper, we find that voters who cited moral issues as most important gave their votes overwhelmingly to Bush (80 percent to 18 […]

Mark Metcalf is the Accidental Actor

Mark Metcalf had been supporting himself as an actor for over ten years before he realized that he really was one. “All during that first decade” he says, “I kept thinking I was going back to the West Coast to get my degree in Marine Biology.” Metcalf, a stage, film and television actor, director, film producer, and now also Mequon restaurant owner and morning radio show regular, was born in Ohio in 1946. After moving to New Jersey with his family in 1959, Metcalf returned to the Midwest to pursue a degree in Engineering at the University of Michigan. It was there he discovered acting. At his roommates’ urging, he auditioned for a theater department production. His motives weren’t entirely pure. “I was convinced when they suggested that the girls in the theater department would be a lot, um, friendlier, than the girls in the engineering department.” He laughs. At 58, Mark is distinguished, a veteran of both his profession and parenthood. Tallish and thin, his dark blond hair is a little long and his attire tasteful, favoring earth tones. He quickly assures me that it only took seconds for his motivations to shift entirely. “I fell in love with acting instantly when I walked into the green room and saw all these people together, laughing and fighting and arguing one minute, and making love on the couch the next. All the vital emotions were right there out in the open. It was a world I had been craving and needing, without knowing it.” Mark was hooked. He moved to New York in the early ’70s and performed in both classical and modern theater. He eventually moved out West to work in film. In 1978, he earned a permanent place in pop culture history as crew-cut fraternity jerk Doug Neidermeyer in National Lampoon’s Animal House. I asked him how he dealt with instant celebrity. “I was thinking moment to moment at the time. After the movie was done, I took almost two years off to produce my own film. I know now that had I continued to act through that period when I was the “hottest,” things may have turned out differently as far as my acting career.”  That film was Chilly Scenes of Winter, also released as Head Over Heels. It was a good film, but not a big commercial success. He’s done other directing and producing projects, and continued to act on stage, but the two other roles he’s best known for emanated from the small screen – as The Maestro on Seinfeld and The Master on Buffy The Vampire Slayer. But Mark was unhappy as a television actor. It was a grind, he says, like any day job. Work wasn’t generally awarded on merit, and the professional challenge was, in his words, “less than zero.” When his son was six, he and the boy’s mother, Libby, a Wisconsin native, decided to head back this way. They wanted a healthy place for him to grow up, and knew […]

By Laura Martin I have always been the type that fought for what I believe in, and this year, there was an inferno lit under my butt. I have watched the last four years as funding has been cut from our education system; I have cringed as the American people were told of a great new program to protect the environment with cleaner air and water that somehow allows for more mercury emissions; my heart has hurt over the injustices suggested by limiting people’s right to live their lives, whether it is an attack on a woman’s right to choose or an individual’s right to marry. This is my story. So I decided to get up off my seat and do something about it. At first, I spent time talking to anyone who would listen. I then worked to register voters. During this process, I was completely non-partisan, as I had vowed to be under oath. As the election drew near, I focused on canvassing door-to-door in my neighborhood. After working eight hours at my day job-the one that pays the bills-I would come home, change clothes and hit the streets. This is how I spent all my free time in the five weeks leading up to the election. I had entirely put my life on hold. My friends and family were understanding and didn’t pressure me to spend time with them, as time was dear. They would have to wait. I hope my nieces will someday understand why I wasn’t there for their soccer games, but nothing-I mean nothing-was going to get in my way. In October, things seemed hopeful. Everywhere I turned, I saw lawn signs encouraging a “regime change;” bumper stickers urging “protect our environment: plant a Bush in Texas” and pins professing “Don’t tell me who to love, and I won’t tell you where to go.” I had vowed to do everything I could ensure an administration change, and I did. But it wasn’t enough. The time is upon us.Before I knew it, it was the Election Day Eve. I was physically and emotionally spent. All I wanted to do was sleep, since I had risen way before the sun the morning before. But there was work to be done. Months of hard work by so many people was about to be tested. Almost everyone I know spent the night before the election preparing. Volunteers worked in the cold and rain putting up signs all over the city. My boyfriend, Bill, and I spent hours organizing each volunteer’s duties. We wore out our tired printer outputting pages and pages of walk lists, all which needed to be sorted and prioritized. All over the country, people just like me were preparing for what was probably the most important election we will see in our life times. The energy of all the months of hard work was coming together; the excitement was contagious. Unlike the morning before, when the alarm went off on Election Day I sprang out […]

December 2004

Dear Readers, It seems like this would be the month to recount a touching holiday memory, wish everyone peace in the New Year, mention that it’s my two-year anniversary with Vital Source and be done with it. But in the words of Chuck D., I’ve got so much trouble on my mind. I’ve been trying, hard as I can, to engage in the same liberal/progressive group hug so extensively talked about in this issue. I’m trying to tell myself that given the choice between the ineptitude we knew and the vote of no-confidence we couldn’t trust, it’s not surprising-and maybe even not the worst thing in the world-that we stick with the leadership we have for another four years. But I don’t know if I can continue to tamp down my uneasiness and be a good national citizen in light of some pretty scary shit going on around the country and in our own backyard. I’m kind of freaked out about Weldon Angelos. He’s the 25-year old Utah man convicted for the first time of selling pot while carrying a pistol in his bootstrap and having more guns at home. Granted, it’s no way to raise a family, and I have a low opinion of him for putting his two young sons in harm’s way, not to mention the example he was setting. But U.S. District Judge Paul Cassell was forced to sentence him to 55 years with no probation because of the weapons possession element, which forced the case into federal court. Now before you dismiss me as a sniveling liberal soft on drug crime, hang on for just a second while we place this in its larger context. Judge Cassell himself, described as a brainy, conservative former law professor, surveyed the maximum sentences for other federal crimes, and this is what he found: Hijacking an airplane: 25 years. Terrorist bombing intending to kill a bystander: 20 years. Second-degree murder: 14 years. Kidnapping: 13 years. Rape of a 10-year-old: 11 years. Selling pot while carrying a pistol: 55 years. Needless to say, Cassell is mortified, Angelo’s family is devastated and people everywhere are starting to call for re-examination of mandatory sentences and the possibility that some violate our Eighth Amendment rights under the Constitution. In the meantime, Weldon’s plans are to sit behind bars until he’s 80 years old and his sons are old men themselves. So much for family values. Speaking of which, I have a good friend whose two sons are teenagers in New Berlin. The eldest is a senior, and he’s had his share of troubles. He’s been picked up by New Berlin’s finest for awful crimes like stealing a hood ornament off an abandoned car, leaving campus for lunch and littering in a Taco Bell parking lot (that one earned him four squads and a canine unit). This week, he received a detention for swearing. The naughty nugget? “Jesus Christ.” Yep, that’s what this seventeen year-old boy said, and the fine administration of New Berlin […]

Leonard Cohen

By John Hughes In the song “On That Day,” Leonard Cohen – arguably the wisest man in music – addresses September 11, 2001. Original perspective, even revelation, is expected from a writer such as Cohen, tangling with that subject. The song lasts all of two minutes and four seconds, is highlighted by the playing of a weirdly comic Jew’s Harp, and concludes with the underwhelming question, “Did you go crazy/or did you report/on that day/they wounded New York?” So much for revelation. That disappointment sets the tone for Dear Heather. The disc sounds like the career of 70-year-old Cohen ending not with a bang but with a shrug. It’s a grab bag of songs marred by the preponderance of too many brief and minor sketches by the old master, and it fails to add up to much despite some strong moments. Cohen augments his case with a few of the 13 songs: “Go No More A-Roving,” “Villanelle For Our Time,” “Morning Glory,” and “The Faith” recall the Leonard of old-playful, sagacious, penetrating, and moving.  The singing of Anjani Thomas and Sharon Robinson helps a lot, especially because Cohen’s own singing here is even more melancholy than usual. The occasional piano playing of Thomas and the tasteful saxophone renderings of Bob Sheppard contribute musicality. But much of the album achieves little more than easy-listening status, and the record requires only that you listen to it with one ear, rather than the usual full engagement. Dear Heather concludes with a bizarre live version of “Tennessee Waltz,” a lurch into country music as unsettling as YoYo Ma trying his hand at rock and roll might be.  What was he thinking? It’s ultimately desultory, sometimes pretty, and disposable.

Rammstein

From the title track that opens this album, you might get the idea that Rammstein remain the same: Till Lindemann growls verses and operatically chants choruses, everyone else stomps up a blitzkrieg behind him, and the song fades in a swoon derived from both beer hall and dance club. Yet even here, Rammstein sound more open, more ready to emphasize their musicality as much as their omnipresent German muscularity. Throughout Reise, Reise, they manifest the playfulness of a band who have realized that their prominent quasi-military discipline-still in force on their last album, 2001’s Mutter-was becoming less an impression they left with others than a repression they imposed on themselves. Of course, you wouldn’t mistake this looser, freer Rammstein for a jam band, but an actual rock ‘n’ roll groove (as opposed to a sturm und drang march) drives tracks like “Keine Lust” and the relatively barebones, acoustic guitar-based “Los.” And it’s hard to imagine the old Rammstein chuckling heartily in the midst of “Amerika,” a buzzing grind that mixes English and German and quotes Public Image Ltd. (“This is not a love song“) relevantly. Reise, Reise does hold onto the metallic-tinged Wagnerian grandeur that immediately distinguished Rammstein from their American peers, while it also brings their previous hints of electronic melodicism-the influence of Depeche Mode and New Order-directly to the surface. Hearing that combination and the flowering variety it catalyzes, you might get the idea that Rammstein have changed for the better.

Rufus Wainwright

By Erin Wolf Want Two, Rufus Wainwright’s follow-up to last year’s Want One, is quite the veritable mobile of whirling sonic fancies. Like its predecessor, Want Two hops from cabaret tunes to operatic orchestrations. Borrowing influences from Latin, French and classical sources, Wainwright pens grandiose songs that are rightly focused around his beautifully satiating vocals. Wainwright’s trademark flamboyancy isn’t quite as prevalent as it was on 2001’s Poses. Want One and Want Two are Wainwright toughening up his writing chops, and lyricizing with a bit more introspection and indulging in the morose and despairing, but always shining a ray of light on seemingly dark subjects. Wainwright’s ability to work humor into his lyrics (“I’m so tired of waiting in restaurants / reading the critics and comics alone / with a waiter with a face made for currency“) and his ability to incorporate odds-and-ends instruments such as banjos into his orchestral-like epics-and to make that incorporation seem like a perfectly natural occurrence-is refreshing and uplifting for such serious songs. Therein lies the talent of Rufus Wainwright-with his ability to make the oddly unnatural seem perfectly ordinary, he creates a solid album that is anything but concrete in its structure.

Lydia Lunch

First, Lydia Lunch was the girlfriend of Dead Boys frontman Stiv Bators; then she took over the mic herself in Teenage Jesus & the Jerks, then Eight Eyed Spy; since then, she’s been on her own. But she’s always been a mercurial figure, a no-wave queen and a hot-and-cold seductress. That continues with Smoke in the Shadows, Lunch’s first full album in five years. Slipping into a familiar role-the faded jazz chanteuse, lighting a cigarette with gloved hands and exhaling that first postcoital cloud of smoke-she slips along back alleys drawn from dimestore novels and film noir. She narrates more than she sings, and her lyrics swerve closer to beat poetry than they do to song structure, but with the able co-production of Nels Cline, Len Del Rio, and Tommy Grenas (all of whom also throw in on songwriting), she doesn’t need to be normal. Lunch’s collaborators-including, notably, Cline’s Geraldine Fibbers bandmate Carla Bozulich-supply bend to her strong will, generating atmospheres sodden with sex and death. From the break-in of “Hangover Hotel” to the closing “Hot Tip,” Smoke grovels in bad impulses and bodily fluids, lonely horns and sleazy keyboards. Lunch moves through everything here with the air of someone who craves the guilt that comes with the pleasure. Her trick is to make the listener feel the same.

Fu Manchu

By Jeremy M. Rottgen Fu Manchu’s Start The Machine roars with the intensity and consistency of a 502 engine. This is the kind of stuff Marshall stacks and hot-wired humbuckers were made for. This is Fu’s first release since being signed to DRT records. Longtime fans will most likely welcome it because pretty much every song on Start The Machine is a distorted masterpiece. They were allowed more freedom since signing with DRT, and it shows.You’ve got to admire a band that has found the ultimate point between gain and volume, creating an immense guitar sound. The punk philosophy applies as well with no song exceeding three and a half minutes. “Written In Stone” kicks things off with a snarl. Things do slow down a bit toward the middle with “Out to Sea,” a trippy instrumental with enough reverb and echo effects to throw you into a trance-but besides that one break, Start The Machine does not stop churning. Despite being a somewhat unknown success, Fu Manchu have attempted to bring the crunch for many years. They don’t pull any punches when it comes to their releases. It’s consistent and their fans don’t have to guess about what they’re in for next.

Road Tripping with the Family

By Lucky Tomaszek When I was little, long car rides inevitably led to boredom and carsickness. A few road trips gone very bad as a teenager (can you say engine fire?) sealed my already brewing dislike for automobile travel. But after moving the kids two states away from home, I was forced to reconsider my position – the children need to see family and friends back home. I dreaded that first big trip when Jeffrey, our youngest, was just six weeks old. Three kids (two still in diapers) in the car for a seven-hour trip did not sound like a good time. I tried to plan ahead and be prepared for every possible surprise. Of course, I missed a few unforeseeable events as I was overfilling our mini-van with things we didn’t really need. In the end, we learned lessons as a family that are still helpful four years later. All new road rules.One of the best lessons I learned was from my stepdad. An out-of-state birthday party impelled the kids and me to travel, with my parents, for hours in a big Chevy Suburban. My deep-seated dread of family car trips had typically led me to push through every journey as fast and as hard as possible. Not so when we traveled with Grandpa Kenny. He was very patient, and at pit stops, would even encourage the kids to run and play a little. Every time I would bring up the time or fret about being late, he would remind me that the kids were little and needed some fresh air. Not surprisingly, the kids managed that trip better than any we had ever taken. Another thing I learned on that trip was the joy of car games. As an adult, my desire was to put on some music and tune out for the ride, but child travelers need some interaction to pass the time. Scratch that – children need a lot of interaction to survive the monotony of a long drive. We usually start each trip by playing games and singing songs. After a couple of hours, the kids are bored and ready for some quiet down time. At that point, when the kids settle down and doze off, I can put on my favorite music and watch the road go by. Comfort is imperative when spending many hours in a confined space. We always make sure to have a blanket in the car for each child. One year, my best friend made all the kids quilts for their birthdays. They are a little bigger than a baby blanket and not very heavy, making them perfect for road trips. Dressing the kids comfortably is just as important. Sweat pants and t-shirts are all kids need to wear. Everyone seems cheerier when not so bundled that they can’t move. But for winter trips we always have coats, hats and mittens close by in case of an emergency. The way to their hearts…Perhaps the most important single decision is what […]

The Occasion

By Erin Wolf The Occasion re-define the term “noise-rock.” With jangly tambourines, mellow vocals and garbage-can-drum tendencies, The Occasion’s self-titled debut is immense, reflecting the hills of desert sands that grace the cover of their album-completely enveloping and sensory-sweeping. Quietly pretty in spots with the incorporation of twinkly pianos, and psychedelically hard-hitting with enough guitar distortion, fuzz and feedback to make even Sonic Youth raise their eyebrows, The Occasion make music to suit themselves. Vocals range from anguished plodding on “I Can’t Stop Falling” to Morrissey-like lamentation on “Ease Away.” The latter track best showcases The Occasion’s vastness in sound, with its guitars sporadically strumming amidst the soft, steady shake of a tambourine, and with sliding vocal echoes haunting in the background. Upon first listen, it’s hard to accept this band’s unique and ethereal sound, but upon recognizing the intricacies and creativity found in their music, it’s hard not to feel appreciation for this New York quintet. Coloring within the lines is definitely not on their musical agenda-indeed, coloring outside the lines has never sounded so inviting.

The Sauce Guru of the Fifth Ward

By Catherine McGarry Miller Dion Willis is something of a rarity in today’s world: he’s happy. Barclay’s Executive Chef is a contented family man who loves his job and is so confident in his own abilities that he’ll take on all comers. Although Barclay Gallery and Garden Café in the “Fifth Ward” (Walker’s Point to some of us) is new to the restaurant scene-and owner John LeBrun’s first-Willis has 20 years of cooking experience under his belt. As a youngster, his first kitchen experiment was preparing a pork chop dinner for his mother. But his “real” culinary career started at 15 with a dishwashing job at Chi Chi’s. “I came up through the school of hard knocks” he says of his culinary education. By 16, he’d moved up to the position of appetizer cook and his interest in food blossomed: “I love just grabbing everything and coming up with anything good.” He puts the emphasis on good. You could call him an excitable boy – he seems electrified by his culinary adventures and inventions. A native Milwaukeean, Willis grew up on the city’s North side in a restaurant family – his mother and father ran a George Webb’s at 91st and Carmen for most of their adult lives. At home, his father ran the kitchen: “Dad was the cook [in the family] – Southern, soul food, ribs, chicken, Midwest, everything.” He graduated from Greendale High School, where he played defensive end for the school’s football team. During this time, he put away a lot of pizza and still considers Italian food his favorite. Training under his hero Bob Zappatelli at Zappa’s Restaurant on Silver Spring was an excellent proving ground for Willis. There, Willis developed his proficiency in Mediterranean cookery and complex sauces. The turning point in his career came when he made a curried chicken dish better than the head chef:  Willis knew then that he was well on his way. After Zappa’s, he has worked in the main kitchen at Potawatomi Bingo Casino, home of the lauded Dream Dance and Bya wi se nek Buffet, and two years ago was the first chef at Swank, “the posh eatery” on Water Street. At Barclay’s, Willis started as Sous Chef, but was promoted to Executive Chef within the first week. “We had faith in him and loved his enthusiasm,” owner LeBrun avers with pride. Willis returns the compliment. “I start with the boss man and if he likes it, I make it.” In his own role as boss, Wills is laid back. In his kitchen of ten chefs, one mistake is not enough to banish the Sous Chef to Siberia. Perhaps that’s why many of his Swank staff followed him to Barclay’s. “I’m always smiling. I have the drive to put out good food. I get high on the positive comments and respect constructive criticism.” Willis enhanced the menu created by Barclay’s owners: Buffalo wings for LeBrun’s daughter Laura; sweet & sour chicken without breading for his daughter Sara’s gluten-free […]