2005-11 Vital Source Mag – November 2005
The New Old South
By Phillip Walzak If you’ve been thinking our modern, enlightened 21st century American society is free of dubious political maneuvers that make it harder for our fellow citizens to vote, then you haven’t been to Georgia lately. Reaching back to the halcyon days of Jim Crow, the state of Georgia has approved new legislation that requires people to show only government-issued photo identification to vote at the polls. Drivers licenses are accepted, but people without them must purchase a state ID card to vote, at a cost of $20 for a five-year card or $35 for 10 years. On the surface this may seem a small cost, but even these fees create a financial burden for the poorest citizens. And though both the Republican governor of Georgia and the GOP-controlled state legislature have insisted this new policy is necessary to combat voter fraud, the New York Times stated September 12 that “the vast majority of fraud complaints in Georgia, according to its secretary of state, Cathy Cox, involve absentee ballots, which are unaffected by the new law.” Ms. Cox says she is unaware of a single documented case in recent years of fraud through impersonation at the polls. In the tumultuous days before and during the Civil Rights movement, the poll tax was a tried and true tactic of the forces in the South who were opposed to integration, equality and justice. A per-person fee was assessed on African-Americans in a base attempt to drive them from the political process. It was designed by people in power to prevent others from using their own political voice. It was remarkably effective until the Supreme Court ruled in 1966 that such barriers to participation were unconstitutional, declaring “the right to vote is too precious, too fundamental to be so burdened.” Not so different from our Southern neighbors.It could be tempting to dismiss the issue because it’s Georgia – a battleground in the Civil Rights movement and, up until 2001, a state that proudly boasted the Confederate stars and bars on its state flag. Yet a glance at our own Republican legislature in Madison reveals that similar proposals could very well become law here in Wisconsin, home of the Progressive tradition. Like Georgia, those here in Wisconsin without government issued IDs tend to be minorities. The Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel reported on June 13 that a Department of Transportation analysis found that of “black males between ages 18 and 24, 78 percent lacked a driver’s license,” the largest percentage of any demographic in the study. Other groups in which a majority lacked a driver’s license were black males of any age (55 percent lack a license), Hispanic women of any age (59 percent), and black women, Hispanic men, and Hispanic women between ages 18 and 24 (all between 57 and 66 percent.) “By contrast, only 17 percent of white men and white women of voting age in Wisconsin lack a driver’s license.” These same demographic groups also tend to struggle the most financially. It is […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Read To Me!
By Lucky Tomaszek Since 1919, educators, librarians, booksellers and families have celebrated Children’s Book Week during the week before Thanksgiving. Founder Frederich Melcher believed “Book Week brings us together to talk about books and reading and … to put the cause of children’s reading squarely before the whole community and across the whole nation. For a great nation is a reading nation.” This year, Children’s Book Week is November 14 through 20. Families, schools and libraries all over the country will have the opportunity to relive their favorite children’s stories. There will be book signings, author lunches, receptions, read-a-long parties and other wonderful literary happenings. In our home, we have some children’s books that we continuously pull out. These are the books I buy for other people’s children as well, to share the love we feel for these stories. Family FavoritesOn the whole, our favorite Tomaszek family book has to be Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, written by Judith Viorst and illustrated by Ray Cruz. We follow Alexander, the youngest in his family, through the typical trials and tribulations of a kindergartener, watching him struggle with all the same things that affect each of us. The book ends with Alexander going to bed, hoping things will be better tomorrow. We love this book for its realism and honesty. My children all pick it over and over. Another family favorite is Dr. Seuss’ My Many Colored Days. This beautiful book was released posthumously and is quite different from most of his more well-known stories. Instead of the usual delightful rollicking rhymes, this book shows us in simple language that it’s normal and even good to experience a range of emotions. The illustrations (by Steve Johnson and Lou Fancher) are wonderful as well, and draw in readers (and listeners) of any age. Of course, Dr. Seuss has so many great books, it’s hard to only talk about one. Great Day for Up is a wonderful, fast paced rhyming story about the joys of waking up in the morning. Did I Ever Tell You How Lucky You Are has some of the best Seussian passages ever written. I received it as a child, and my older sister and I can still recite most of the book from memory! For bedtime stories, we come back again and again to Jean Marzollo’s Close Your Eyes. With a slow and melodic meter, the lilting text relaxes everyone and helps sleepy eyes close. But the words only tell half of the story here; there is an entire subtext beautifully illustrated by Susan Jeffers about a father and his efforts to get his young son ready for bed. I have given each of my children a copy of On the Day You Were Born, written and illustrated by Debra Frazier, on his or her first birthday. The powerful prose introduces the concept of being part of the circle of life, including the following: “On the day you were born the Earth turned, the […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Lucky Tomaszek
November 2005
By Thank You Vital Source For sponsoring that wonderful hour of music on WMSE. Jessica A. HatchAIG Life Brokerage Al Gore did not invent the Internet.I picked up a late copy of the August 2005 issue and, reading the article “Political Math 101” by Phillip Walzak, was appalled to find the author regurgitating the same right-wing-fueled misquote of Al Gore supposedly claiming that he “invented” the internet. If the author would have checked his own facts he would have found that what Mr. Gore actually said was that he “funded” the internet. And why not brag a bit about leading the charge to fund something that has changed the face of the world? It’s bad enough when the lazy-minded and devious right-wing opportunists proliferate this kind of political poison as truth to their own ends, but it is the peak of offense when a writer, obviously critical of the current administration and Bush, is too damn lazy to do his own research. The writer makes some good points in the article, but that single despicable anncoulterism discounts everything else the man tried to say. Al Gore is a great man who has made an immeasurable contribution to this country and to the world. The way he will go down in history has already been damaged enough by the right-wing political machine. Gore wasn’t perfect, but at least he did his homework. Jay Kummer Vital makes for a fascinating (and absorbent) placemat.Imagine, if you will, my complete surprise this day upon venturing into one of Mequon’s very new and very elite establishments offering food and drink to the weary. Well, not quite offering at no charge. . . . In fact their offerings are extremely high-priced for such basics as ham and eggs. As I approached the offered table, I could not help noticing the very unique placemats on every table. They were, of course, your very interesting magazine. Very novel, I must admit. While the food was just so-so to say the least, I found your magazine something fun to read while absorbing the meager breakfast I had been served. The “Editor’s Blog” had enough soft laughter in both sections to make ignoring the food a pleasant experience. Film reviews. . . . EH! Theatrical reviews, now we are getting somewhere. . . . Be they good or bad, at least they made you think about maybe taking a shot at one or two . . . hey how bad could they really be? No, please do not answer that one. Give Paul McLeary a silver star for his treatise on the forgotten war . . . same for John Hughes. Over all, you deserve at least one gold star . . . and besides it really is a very absorbent place mat. Especially for a slob like me. Good Luck on you future editions. George Madden
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Around the World and Back Again
By Catherine McGarry Miller Bacchus is a place for celebrations. Its wall of 230 wines encased in elegant glass and chrome is a nod to the restaurant’s namesake, the god of wine. It is not, however, a dipsomaniac’s domain. Bacchus exudes class from its carte to its cultivated customers. Executive Chef Adam Siegal started, surprisingly, in the hot dog business at his stepfather’s Chicago area Red Hot huts. As a boy, Siegal stocked shelves, chopped vegetables, and bussed tables. He still likes a good hot dog – an all beef Hebrew National “run through the garden” – dog talk for topped with every veggie in the joint. Since then, Siegal has graduated to ultra-fine dining with a degree from the Culinary School of Kendall College in Evanston, Illinois, and has apprenticed under some of the world’s greatest gastronomes: At the age of 20, Siegal launched his career at Paul Bartolotta’s renowned Chicago bistro, Spiaggia. There he learned “the simplicity of cooking the way Italians cook. I learned technique to taste,” he recalls. He studied directly under the James Beard Award-winning chef, now Bacchus’ co-owner with brother Joe. “Paul’s been my mentor for 14 years and I don’t think I could have a better one. He’s helped me throughout my whole career.” For two years, Siegal explored classical French cuisine under the tutelage of Chef Julian Serrano, also a winner of the James Beard Award and executive chef of Masataka Kobayashi’s celebrated French restaurant, Masa’s, in San Francisco. “The food was classical yet very modern. It was a very intense kitchen, which suited me because I’m a very intense individual with an intense passion for cooking.” In 1998, Paul Bartolotta arranged an internship for Siegal with his own mentor, Valentino Marcetilli, chef at Ristorante San Domenico in Imola near Bologna, Italy. For Siegal, it was a year-long immersion in European cookery where he acquired an appreciation for where the food came from, the traditions behind it, and the Europeans’ passion for dining. “Their lives revolve around food. They sit at the table for two to three hours – it’s how they enjoy life.” He also helped Marcetilli achieve a Two Star Michelin rating. Back stateside, Siegal joined the team that popped the cork on the D.C. branch of Todd English’s lauded Olives restaurant. He didn’t see much of the celebrity chef, but he experienced the initiation of a national high-end restaurant. He also met his future wife, Daria, who was Olives’ manager. The spin at Olives was Mediterranean, but emphasized “taking the traditional and making it not traditional,” Siegal explains. In 2000, the executive sous chef position opened up at Bartolotta’s Lake Park Bistro, so Siegal happily returned to the Midwest. “I love Milwaukee – it’s a kind of hidden treasure. People always think of “Laverne and Shirley,” but there’s all this charm and character to the city.” He later took over chef Mark Weber’s toque and recently added Bacchus to his realm of responsibilities. With the diversity of Siegal’s culinary […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Cate Miller
Industrial Nature
By Evan Solochek Nebulous shapes and architectural insight, the seemingly mismatched marriage of organic and synthetic, thrive within the sculptures of acclaimed artist Kendall Buster. Somewhere between abstract abodes and biological remnants, her large-scale creations entice both the eye and the body, and offer the viewer the rare opportunity to truly experience art. These mammoth orbs of steel and South African shade cloth are reminiscent of a cored pear or a beehive with a slice removed. These missing cross-sections are an essential component of one of Buster’s chief intentions. The “accessible interiors,” a distinguishing characteristic in Buster’s work, allow for a more profound interaction with the piece. The onlooker is invited inside to not only view the structure, but to be enclosed within it. “For a lot of people, it’s the simple act of penetrating a form,” says Buster. “You’re so accustomed to having this relationship to a sculpture where you’re over here and the sculpture is there and you’re walking around it and very separated from it. You can certainly enter it with your eye, but to enter a piece with your body is a kind of commitment.” Once inside, a myriad of reactions ensue. From playfulness and ease to uneasiness and intrigue, Buster wants the viewer to respond in some manner, any manner, just as long as it is genuine and unexpected. Influenced by the work of twentieth-century theorists Jacques Lacan and Michel Foucault, Buster attempts to incarnate their thoughts on the act of seeing and being seen. Fusing biology with architecture, Buster creates imposing sculptures that are interactive playgrounds where exploration and physical interaction are encouraged. Buster extends this facet through the use of translucent fabrics, which allows viewers to interact with one another by way of the sculpture. “Those inside the piece can see those outside the piece and vice versa so there is a little bit of a play there, which I find very interesting,” says Buster. “[The inside] is a small space, an intimate space. It’s truly a chamber and that leads to feelings of either enclosure or comfort. I like this idea of something being both comforting and threatening.” Suggestive of a cocoon or a womb, these membrane-covered structures envelope the viewer in a manner foreign to most human adults. Buster, who is currently a professor of sculpture at Virginia Commonwealth University’s School of Arts, finds the worlds of biology and architecture intrinsically linked. “I think there are a lot of interesting things to think about in terms of architecture’s biological roots and the whole notion of how biological forms have informed certain kinds of designs,” says Buster. “For me, the vessel and architecture are really about marking an empty space.” Having studied microbiology at the University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, Buster has always been fascinated by biological structures. From fungal formations to exoskeletons, Buster’s science background is clear in her sculptures. “In one sense, I know it’s a very romantic notion, but there is a part of me that is very attracted […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Forgotten America
By Frizell Bailey First in a Vital Source series examining therole of race in social disparity in America. In his September 15th address from Jackson Square in New Orleans, President Bush spoke of the need to address the persistent poverty that was evident to the whole world in the days after Hurricane Katrina. He called for “bold action” that would ensure more black ownership of homes and businesses and increased job skills – actions not so much bold, really, as common sense. Poverty and racial inequality are nothing new in New Orleans. So how is it that it took a catastrophe like Katrina for us to acknowledge them? Perhaps we were all seduced by the hospitality and charm of the city, served up like ladles of steaming gumbo. Or maybe it was the jell-o shot mindset of “laissez les bons temps rouler,” let the good times roll. More likely, though, we all just looked the other way. No one likes a buzz kill as harsh as extreme poverty. This land is my land.There has been much talk about what to do with New Orleans’ Ninth Ward. It seems the overwhelming opinion is that it should be bull-dozed and not re-settled. After all, there’s no way to raise the land above sea level. People around the country and the world are even privately asking why people lived there in the first place. It’s never been a secret that the Ninth Ward is the most flood-prone neighborhood in the city. While letting the area return to the marsh land is probably a good idea, what people are forgetting in questioning the logic of building a community here in the first place is the original settlement patterns of the Ward and New Orleans as a whole. From the beginning, blacks have taken up residence in the low lying, vulnerable areas of the city, due in large part to economic inequality and just plain bad timing. French colonists who originally settled there purposely chose the best land, meaning the high ground. This includes the Garden District and the French Quarter. It is no coincidence that these areas were not flooded. When blacks were finally able to buy homes in the city in any kind of numbers, only low-lying land was available to them. Most of the “good” land had already been snatched up. Cost also played a part. Blacks could not afford what little higher ground that was still available, so they built communities adjacent to more affluent white neighborhoods to be near their service jobs. Much of my own family lives in the New Orleans area. When I was a kid, some lived on the Westbank in the suburbs; some lived on the Eastbank in the projects and subsidized housing. On a visit to New Orleans as a teenager, I got my first look at the extreme poverty in the city. We had to pick up one of my cousins from his home in the projects near the Lower Ninth Ward. At that […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Frizell Bailey
Neil Young
By Blaine Schultz Reprisewww.neilyoung.com Every record Neil Young releases is an enigma in waiting, and Prairie Wind, with its deft orchestral passages, swelling horns and bluegrass touches, is no exception. On Prairie Wind Young seems to say, “Let me make a record with people I enjoy playing with.” His father’s slide into Alzheimer’s and subsequent passing leads Young to meditate on his own past and take stock. The title track finds Young in that 3 a.m. voice, singing, “Trying to remember what my Daddy said / Before too much time took away his head;” a female vocal chorus echoes “prairie wind blowin’ through my head” as a horn section punches away at Young’s harmonica shards. “Far From Home” is the other side of the coin, buoyed by the horns and sounding like a Saturday-night revival, Young tells of a trek from the trans-Canada Highway to the Promised Land of money and big cars. And only then can you bury him on the prairie. When Young lapses into a sentimental mood (“Falling Off the Face of the Earth,” “It’s a Dream,” “Here For You”) to pay tribute to friends and family, he avoids mawkishness. “When God Made Me” calls to task in a sincere ballad those who have interpreted God’s will since day one. But he’s not afraid to turn the camera on himself. “He Was the King” is a good-natured romp through memories of Elvis and “This Old Guitar” is a love song written for Hank Williams’ Martin guitar—Emmylou Harris’ vocals only sweeten the deal. “When I get drunk and seeing double, it gets behind the wheel and steers / This old guitar ain’t mine to keep, it’s only mine for a while.” VS
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Beverly Hills On Three Dollars A Week
You wake up to the death knell of summer—a distinctive, plaintive cry recently thought extinct. It comes complete with a touch of dying light, a scent of burning leaves, and of course, a nasty hangover. Mere weeks ago you were drinking beer on an unknown girl’s porch and back-flipping into a swimming quarry with a mob of drunken madmen. Now you wake up and stumble around the city like a zombie, blinking at your summer friends dumbly as you try to process their bodies with extra layers, longer hair. You wake up to an already-fleeting autumn and an inevitable decade of winter. You wake up with blood on your hands. You also wake up stone-cold broke, the product of a small but obnoxious raise in your rent, a bevy of un-consolidated student loans, and a newly developed cigarette addiction. We’re talking hot dogs and bologna poor here, folks. And if you happen to be a writer for a local monthly who’s already days past his deadline, this utter and complete dearth of funds poses a curious question: what can one do in one’s mid-level Midwestern city with literally three dollars in one’s wallet? Sure, there’s a free local comedy showcase down the block, but come on, you’re not that crazy. A quarter-bottle of some pilfered vodka and a half-pack of stale menthol cigarettes later, and this is what you come up with. Beverly Hills 90210. Every Monday night at the Cactus Club. Brandon Walsh gets drunk and totals his car. David Silver becomes a meth addict. Dylan McKay checks into rehab. Steve Sanders shows up and says something dumb. Oh, dear readers, these are but a few of the many not-so-guilty, drug and alcohol-themed pleasures in store for you at the Cactus Club, every Monday night at 9. For those in the know, this glorious weekly event is known as the Peach Pit After Dark, and after a year of two episodes each Monday, I’ve seriously gotten to know my 90210. There’s no reason you shouldn’t make it a weekly cause for celebration as well. Thankfully, we’ve recently moved into the heady later seasons, where the series begins to move away from its initial “issue” episodes (Brandon has a gambling problem! Steve learns about AIDS! Kelly meets her very first homosexual!), and turns into the straight-up soap opera it was destined to become. In other words, it’s getting good. So come on out and get your fix of Beverly Hills drama, and support the Cactus Club while you’re at it. Really. Now you may be asking yourself “why?” Why spend two hours at a bar watching a show that’s been off the air for over five years? To explain, we should first kill off the easy nostalgia factor, the lame, desperately recycled pop culture, “Hey, it’s Corey Feldman!” peddled by VH1. No, we, the 90210 faithful, are not here because We Love the 90s. We’re here because damnit, we really do care about Brenda’s next breakdown, about Donna’s precious virginity, […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Matt Wild
Sigur R’s
By Eric Lewin Geffenwww.sigur-ros.co.uk When Tortoise and Low first wrote the term “slow core” into the hipster dictionary, the proverbial jury was left to ask, “Is this where rock has lead itself, or are these droning songs little more than a cop-out for bands who don’t want to try?” After Sigur Rós’ additions to the formula and a recent surge of popularity among the indie proud, the verdict seems to be an acquittal. Compared to Rós’ back catalogue, particularly Ágætis byrjun (translated as “an alright start”) and the pretentiously titled ( ), Takk is considerably more subdued, but strange nonetheless. Songs like “Glosoli” and “Milano” build predictably, yet beautifully, leaving little room for argument about Rós’ predilection for the grandiose. “Gong” lets Rós’ Bends-era Radiohead influence show, an experiment held together by Jónsi Birgisson’s Thom Yorke-like wail. And speaking of vocal borrowing, check out the Chris Martin impression on “Anduari” and “Svo Hljott.” Coldplay really is everywhere these days! There’s no room for fence-straddling when it comes to Sigur Rós. With Takk, many are now heralding Rós as the best band in the world and ready to hand the championship belt over immediately. To others, Sigur Rós is about as exciting as a dream about mowing the lawn. Maybe the nay-sayers are confused or just bored. It’s also possible that they just liked Sigur Rós more the first time, when they were called My Bloody Valentine. VS
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Paul Weller
By Paul Snyder Yep Rocwww.paulweller.com Yep Roc Records is hailing As Is Now as a return to form from the man who brought us Wild Wood and Stanley Road a decade ago. This is a puzzling statement, considering Weller’s never taken a drastic step away from the songwriting that anchored his 1990s classics. It’s just that his albums haven’t been as popular. And truth be told, it may be because Oasis isn’t that popular anymore, either. No one championed Weller more than Noel Gallagher in the mid 90s, and the slew of Britpop bands citing Weller as an influence (even Morrissey covered “That’s Entertainment”) put the man in the center of the movement, whether he liked it or not. Wild Wood and Stanley Road were fine albums. But so was Heavy Soul. And Heliocentric. And Illumination. And As Is Now is a great record, too. It follows Weller’s “it is what it is, take it or leave it” songwriting formula to a T, but it also shows the old man still has a lot of spunk. “From the Floorboards Up” recalls his aggressive Jam days, “Here’s the Good News” is a piano pounding foot-tapper and “Come On/Let’s Go” could be viewed as a three-minute distillation of Weller’s entire philosophy on life: “Come on, baby let’s go / And you say ‘Where to?’ / I say, ‘I don’t know – I just need to run / And you need it too.’” It has its rockers, its lullabies, and its mid-tempo meditations. It makes a defiant statement and then sighs a thought from the back recesses of the mind. It’s really not that far detached from the 24-year-old who wrote “Town Called Malice.” VS
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Ry Cooder
By Barry Wightman Nonesuchwww.ryland-cooder.com Ry Cooder, the guitarist widely known these days for Buena Vista Social Club, in which he showcased pre-Castro era Cuban musicians, now offers the world the melodic and jumpy Chavez Ravine. That’s CHA-vez. Just as he provided a venue for aging Cubans before they were gone and forgotten, Cooder, in 15 songs, shines a light on the unknown tale of how a dusty hillside Los Angeles Mexican neighborhood known as Chavez Ravine was razed in the 1950s in a “greasy handoff” to the newly arrived Dodgers baseball team. Think of the movie Chinatown. Crooked red-baiting right wing politicos, innocent citizens believing “it can’t happen here,” cool cats being beaten up by GIs, and a UFO-driving Space Vato (space guy) who recognizes the Ravine as the hip place to land; these are the players in Cooder’s loving 21st century concept album. The beautifully packaged Nonesuch CD includes a booklet worthy of a very small coffee table. The record has a handmade, non-digital feel with an airy sound that hints at L.A.’s El Hoyo Club in 1955. The record’s opening track, “Poor Man’s Paradise,” is driven by Cooder’s clean guitar and jazzy harmonies; “El UFO Cayo” is a slow, dreamy, late night swirl of guitars. “Muy Fifi” rocks with a thumping bass under L.A. legend Ersi Arvizu’s gutsy vocals. “3rd Base Dodger Stadium,” a lovely lament sung beautifully by Hawaiian singer Bla Pahinui, recounts how former residents of Chavez Ravine can pinpoint where their own home plate used to be. We should all be so lucky. VS
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Rogue Wave
By Erin Wolf Sub Popwww.roguewavemusic.com When Rogue Wave appeared on the radar in 2003 with their barely recognized Out of the Shadow, they could have ridden the sizeable Kinks-revival waves that The Shins started churning. But that wasn’t quite in the cards for this California band when push came to shoving them into their next recording. After building from singer/guitarist Zach Schwartz’ material on the first go, the second time around sees Rogue Wave expanding their pigeonhole by recruiting more melodies from drummer Pat Spurgeon, guitarist Gram Lebron and bassist Evan Farrell, now all full-fledged contributors. In Descended Like Vultures, Schwartz’s marvelously mellow, warm voice is played up, shining like a sunbeam through the tangle of guitar hooks, keyboards and layered drumming, as well as the bells and whistles that are part and parcel of most Sub Pop releases. Yet this sonic wall is memorable mostly because of its drive. The songs have something to say, and if it takes assailing the ears with a madman one-two tempo march courtesy of a Casio keyboard, so be it. Schwartz’s lyrical insights are just as captivating as the music, as witty and charming as a David Sedaris book, like this line from “Love’s Lost Guarantee:” “Love comes like a Kennedy curse / The victim role is well-rehearsed.” Descended Like Vultures (receiving its title from former poli-sci major Shwartz’ one-liner on politics) comes off part smart-ass and cheeky in a Flaming Lips way (“10:1”), but also heartfelt in a well-versed, Nick-Drake-on-uppers way (“California”), complete with heartstring tug, cello groan and soaring soprano violin. Descended Like Vultures most certainly has a fuller sound than Out of the Shadow. It is the book to the short story Rogue Wave published two years ago, which was the prologue to a more footnoted, fulfilled manuscript. VS
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
