2005-11 Vital Source Mag – November 2005
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
Embracing the Misunderstood
By Russ Bickerstaff Performance art has evolved into a true art form. Remember when pretentious yet often ridiculous artistes would do interpretive dances with paints and foodstuffs in an effort to make political statements, whether or not their audiences even had a clue about what they were trying to say? No longer – at least at the Marcus Center for the Performing Arts’ Vogel Hall, where the Milwaukee Performance Art Showcase will doubtless draw an appreciative crowd on November 12. It’s being touted as a fast-paced show with a wide variety of work in different genres by area performance artists. Expect poetry, theater, visual art, music – and hula hoops. Last year’s showcase drew more than 400 people, and it’s predicted that this year’s event will attract even more. One highlight: Milwaukee’s 2005 National Poetry Slam Team, organized by local performance poet Dasha Kelly. The already-heightened levels of excitement will be raised up yet another notch when these “slam poets” take the stage. For the uninitiated, “slam” poetry is a type of performance poetry known for energized, emotionally-charged performances. Slam style has a certain cadence, a certain rhythm that can be very moving in small doses. “Slam performances tend to be more intense and explosive than regular performance pieces,” Kelly says. “Performance poetry is wholly engaging because you’re watching the artists create their own balance between two crafts: writing and oratory. Once you add the competition and time restrictions of slam, then you have these artists giving the audience their absolute best.” At this year’s event, four slam poets will deliver a collaborative poem. “Essentially, synchronized swimming with words. They will likely introduce a number of audience guests to a completely new art experience,” Kelly says. Along with redefining the written and spoken word, performance art also plays with visual statements. Skewing popular notions of fashion has become part of the performance art scene over the past few years, as edgy fashion shows find unique ways to shock the runway crowds. A fashion show by MIAD student Lindsay Hayden promises one “unlike any you’ve seen before.” That should be a challenge, as this city already has seen an edible fashion show and a fashion show set in a parking structure and featuring members of a prominent local opera company. Yet Hayden’s perspective may very well be fresh enough to deliver on the promise. Performance art is all about theater in one offbeat form or another. Local filmmaker Peter Barrickman and actor Randy Russell will perform a theatrical debate featuring cameo appearances by other local notables. Russell, star of Chris Smith’s restless 1995 film American Job, should offer an intriguing counterpart to a performance of Barrickman’s often skewed themes. Combining theater with visual artistry, Renee Bebeau, co-owner of the Zodiac Lounge, will explore the celestial zodiac with local MPS art guru Jeff Cartier. Bebeau’s work will also be featured later this month at the Walker’s Point Center in a piece called “Skeletal Reflections,” as a part of their El Dia de […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Secret Lives of the Service Industry
By Erin Wolf Double lives— Superman was the prime example of this once astonishing phenomenon. By day he was the affably geeky Clark Kent; by chance he was the wünder-boy with a red cape and a mission to serve the people, whether stopping trains or scooping up ladies in peril. With a secret life stashed neatly under his yellow belt, Mr. Kent may have been an anomaly back in the 1930s when he first crash-landed on the scene. Rocketing into the 21st century, however, into the mish-mosh of backgrounds that make up the labor force in the United States, untold legions of people line up to assume a Kent-like double life. By day, these contenders trot off to their white collar, blue collar, pink collar, ring-around-the-collar, or what-have-you jobs. By night, they are musicians, artists, writers, crafters, coordinators, small-business owners and cause-supporters. In the thriving arts community of Milwaukee, many of the jobs held by local double-lifers are in the service industry. The National Restaurant Association reports over 15,000 restaurants employing more than 262,000 people in Wisconsin, and much of the local arts community depends on these jobs to pay the bills and support their respective creative outlets. It’s not just about the Benjamins, though. They also enjoy the social outlet to balance the more solitary ‘artist’ experience, the connections made with customers and the incentive of ‘insta-cash’ for gear and supplies. In this month’s Vital, five Milwaukeean double-lifers share what it takes to keep a passion going while alternating creative time with hours punched in at their ‘day’ and ‘night’ jobs. Superman, eat your heart out.“It’s not always something to do to get through school. What if I were “just” a waitress? You gotta be cut out for it. People don’t realize how tough it is. You have to able to handle people, be easygoing, fast. It’s not for everyone,” says Colleen Drew of her part-time job as a server at County Clare Irish Inn and Pub. Freelance artist by trade, working on her paintings and illustrations in her personal time, Drew also works as a muralist for Artistic Finishes. She, with her partner and the founder of the operation, Laura Ashley, paints murals for private residences. “We just did a nursery that was a jungle theme with monkeys. We also did a whole room painted with old French posters.” Drew started in the service industry bussing tables at Mama Mia’s when she was fourteen years old and wanted some spending cash. “It was cool back then because I was so young and everyone else I worked with was seventeen and so cool– it didn’t seem like work,” she says. When it came time to decide on a career, Drew knew she wanted to be an artist. “When I was little, I was like, ‘Hey, I’m good at this!’ When we had to make Thanksgiving turkeys in school, I would put eyelashes and lipstick on mine, and everyone would say, ‘Oh, there’s Colleen’s.’” Her construction paper turkeys eventually became […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
Just To Keep the Story Lit
By Paul Snyder It’s a longstanding debate over whether the God of Rock & Roll is a benevolent one. This God let Mark David Chapman loose in New York City on December 8, 1980 and sent Otis Redding’s plane into Lake Monona back in 1967. But the same God also pushed Mike Love out of the way so Brian Wilson could finally realize SMiLE and, just for a lark, threw George Harrison, Bob Dylan, Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty and Roy Orbison into the same studio in 1987. And this God has returned Alejandro Escovedo to the stage. For those unfamiliar with the man, the comparisons seem lofty; for those who know, they’re expected. It’s been a hard road back, but Escovedo is grateful to be able to lead his orchestra into Shank Hall on November 11 and the High Noon Saloon in Madison on November 12. “After being sick for two years and not being able to get out there, it’s just nice to feel strong enough to go out,” says Escovedo. “It’s my way of saying ‘thank you’ to the fans who’ve been so supportive through all of this.” Alejandro Escovedo collapsed from Hepatitis C complications after an April 2003 performance. The same disease claimed his brother Coke years earlier. Though Esovedo’s prognosis improved and he adopted lifestyle changes to manage the disease, he was a long way from home free. With no medical coverage, a large family to take care of and rising medical costs, Escovedo was also bereft of his means of making money – playing music. His biggest admirers stepped in. An array of artists founded the Alejandro Escovedo Medical and Living Expense Fund, and released Por Vida: A Tribute to the Songs of Alejandro Escovedo, a two-CD set featuring interpretations of his songs from contemporaries like Lucinda Williams, Los Lonely Boys and the Minus 5, and heroes like Ian McLagan, John Cale and Ian Hunter. A critical and commercial success, Por Vida lured new audiences to Escovedo’s catalogue, raised awareness for Hepatitis C studies, and brought the man himself back to the stage in late 2004. Escovedo is quick to use the term “full circle” when speaking of his career, and still talks about music with as much passion as a teenager who spends his entire allowance on new records. He compares the Beatles vs. Stones battles of the 1960s to the Blur vs. Oasis battles of the 1990s. He says that while England has a good pop conscience, the country will never produce the likes of a Sonic Youth. And while there’s a lot to be said for American music, “that Lynyrd Skynyrd redneck stuff can be pretty scary – even to a Southerner like me.” The one thing that becomes most apparent in our conversation is that first and foremost, Alejandro Escovedo is a big rock & roll fan. He’s even fashioned his own orchestra on [Small Faces/Faces legend] Ronnie Lane’s Slim Chance label. “I used to follow him around, almost like a […]
Nov 1st, 2005 by Vital Archives
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
