2007-09 Vital Source Mag – September 2007
“THE BRAIN is a commodity used to fertilize ideas.” — Elbert Hubbard
The mind is run by the brain through an extraordinarily complex series of bioelectric reactions. Much like local arts groups, the brain does remarkable things with profoundly few resources. The brain runs an individual’s body and arguably everything abstract going on in his/her mind on very little quantifiable physical energy. If, for instance, a waiter (who we’ll refer to here as Mark) decides to become the artistic director of a new theatre company, he can find a space in Bay View and start the Boulevard Theatre. The brain in its near-infinite complexity allows this individual to adjust to the new role. If, years later, this same individual and his theatre company are pushed out of a season-opening production of playwright David Mamet’s very modern and ridiculously acclaimed Glengarry Glen Ross by a larger theatre company, said individual will adapt to the situation (through a dizzying set of neurological interactions) by planning a production of David and Amy Sedaris’ irreverent comedy The Book Of Liz. Leaping from Mamet’s serious and deeply engaging glance into the heart of human motivation to a comedy that briefly involves a person in a Mr. Peanut costume by the side of the road seems a bit nonlinear, and as the process of adaptation took its course The Book of Liz was rescheduled. The new season-opening work finally rendered was Will Eno’s Thom Paine (Based on Nothing), which opened last month. While the Sedaris’ piece is no longer the Boulevard’s replacement for Mamet’s brilliant drama (it may have never, in fact, ever really been intended for this purpose), it remains on the Boulevard’s season schedule this September. The comedy tells the story of a woman living in a fictitious, secluded religious commune who makes the cheese balls for which the commune is so well known by the outside world. Featuring some pretty deft dialogue, Thom Paine is a brilliant fusion of the distinctive comedic voices of both writers. Thus, thanks to the process of adaptation, Milwaukee theatre is host to the comedy AND the drama of both Eno and Mamet. The adaptability offered through the constantly changing architecture of the human brain can produce astonishing versatility within a single individual as well. For instance: say a young man from New Jersey (we’ll call him Jim) gets a job on a fishing boat. He dreams of being a captain of his own boat, so he graduates from high school and goes to the local community college to perfect the math skills he will need for navigation. If, in the process of going to said college, he finds himself in a theatre watching someone onstage and thinks, “I want to do that,” neurological adaptation at a cellular level kicks in, allowing him to travel across the country to Wisconsin and attend UWM’s professional theater training program. Years later he’s a successful actor/playwright/author. This year, Jim DeVita has a tremendous amount going on, thanks to the basic fundamentals of neurologically-fueled human adaptation. The fall arrives as DeVita’s summer season as […]
Sep 1st, 2007 by Russ Bickerstaff
Your papers, please
In August, Lucky and I went to Monterey, California, to visit our dad. We had an amazing time driving the coastal highway through Big Sur, picnicking on a friend’s private beach and cooking like the three of us were still the big Italian family we grew up with. But it wasn’t all just for a lark. My dad’s been sick since last fall, though he didn’t tell us until recently, and all of us are starting to think about the impending “future.” Lucky and I saw my dad in a new light this time: no longer entirely the Pacino-channeling, devastatingly charming, problem-fixing free spirit we grew up with, the man who met us at the door this time was a little too thin, with pure white hair and a big smile that caught me off guard with its open expression of joy at our arrival. In many ways, I like this man better. He’s mortal at last, which probably clears the road for both Lucky and I to look at ourselves and the people we choose in a more realistic way. And even if you’re not into psychoanalysis (sadly, I think it might be a blossoming obsession of my own middle age), it was so nice to be able to really talk to him without the layers of external image that have previously defined him for us. We traveled on relatively short notice, so to save almost $200 per ticket we chose to land in San Jose, then rent a car and drive the 90 minutes to Monterey. For those who’ve never experienced the pleasure of SJC firsthand (though I should note that a renovation is underway), the terminal is the size of a postage stamp and equally useful to air travelers. There’s one bathroom past the secured area – and by that I mean ONE unisex, one-toilet bathroom serving hundreds of people at all times. There’s no place past security to buy water or anything else (and as in airports everywhere, you can’t bring it in with you); there’s one tiny “food court” near the main entrance and it’s a fairly long bus ride to the understaffed rental car building. Needless to say, the security lines were looong, winding the equivalent of several city blocks when we entered the queue to catch our ride back to Milwaukee. We had plenty of time to chat up our fellow travelers, but when the novelty of that wore off after about five minutes, I daringly made eye contact with an attractive black woman in a sharp navy blazer and impossibly well-tailored khakis. She was in a kiosk, positioned under a sign that read “Now You Can Fly Through Airport Security.” The woman was stylishly hawking Clear, a pay service that allows member travelers to expedite airport security checks by whisking through Clear’s own “designated security lane with special benefits,” bypassing the teeming masses and leaving plenty of time to make gratuitous cell phone calls at the gate while waiting for everyone else. […]
Sep 1st, 2007 by Jon Anne Willow
“Human salvation lies in the HANDS of the creatively maladjusted.” — Martin Luther King
Some of the oldest words in human language relate to the hands, suggesting a fundamental linguistic link between the human mind, the human hand and the world in which they exist. Hands, being the fundamental organ of corporeal interface between a human being and the outside world, have much to answer for in this respect. Throughout history hands have built monuments, started wars and saved and ended lives. Many scholars have elected to pin the blame for many of the hand’s indiscretions on the opposable thumb, thus freeing the rest of the hand from any guilt. Actually, any monkey (or chimpanzee for that matter) can oppose a thumb against an index finger. It’s the fact that the human thumb can oppose ANY of the other fingers including the small and ring fingers that make the human hand unique. Clearly, all the fingers can take both blame and credit for getting humanity to where it is today. And many hands have taken great pains to place performances all over greater Milwaukee this season. Hands have put together a new space for In Tandem to perform in as it opens its first comedy at the newly opened Tenth Street Theatre this season. Meanwhile, Milwaukee Shakespeare is still more or less without a central home as it stages a season featuring a couple of rarely performed pieces. It opens with 2 Henry IV (in September) and Cymbeline (in March) at the Broadway Theatre Center and Twelfth Night at the Wilson Center. Many hands have adapted Shakespeare’s work to other stage forms. The Milwaukee Ballet, for instance, performs dance adaptations of two plays by Shakespeare at the Marcus Center: Hamlet in November and A Midsummer Night’s Dream in February. Two months later, completely different hands place an adaptation of a completely different piece by Shakespeare as The Florentine Opera presents Bellini’s Romeo and Juliet.
Sep 1st, 2007 by Russ Bickerstaff
“If only we could pull out our brain and use only our EYES.” — Pablo Picasso
The human eyes are small but wondrous – a pair of infinitely complex sensors that allow us to experience wavelengths of light as fully formed, instantaneous impressions of color, shape and depth. The nerves and cells in the eye are some of the body’s most sensitive, the muscles that allow the eyes to move the most rapid. Even in sleep, when our eyes are closed, their rapid motion allows us to dream. And they are beautiful – shiny and variegated, an object of poetry, curiosity, perhaps even a window into the soul. And never are the eyes put to better use than to witness beauty, to drink in sights previously unseen and thereby engender a deeper understanding that enriches the soul. Test the soul-altering power of your eyes in September by taking in the universe as Villa Terrace presents a collection of Renaissance star charts and maps of the cosmos. The Racine Art Museum, one of the nation’s foremost craft museums, explores the beauty of shoes with Icons of Elegance, the first exhibition in North America to pair the most important shoes of the 1900s with the history of modern design. At the Tory Folliard Gallery, in the first solo Tom Uttech exhibition since his 2004 retrospective, you can see awe-inspiring elements of the natural and the fantastical. Turn your gaze into the past and see how it shaped the present at the Milwaukee Art Museum with Foto, a winter exhibition of radically modern photography from Central and Eastern Europe in the years between World Wars. Squint and you’ll pierce the dark veil of winter to focus on the delicate consequences of cross-cultural communication at MIAD with This Land is Your Land, a diverse group of shows about boundaries, shifts and perspectives. In the spring let your eyes roam over interpretations of the urban landscape we navigate every day with a group show at the Katie Gingrass Gallery featuring work in sculpture, neon and photography, or get a visual sense of the 19th century at the Haggerty Museum of Art with an exhibition of illustrations from Harper’s.
Sep 1st, 2007 by Amy Elliott
Ministry
Al Jourgenson isn’t about to be considered a politically-charged wordsmith on par with Bob Dylan. Still, this hasn’t stopped him from developing an antipathetic and personal relationship with Bush, Cheney and the Holy War on Terror. Starting with 2004’s Houses of the Mole, followed by 2006’s Rio Grande Blood, the Unholy Trinity concludes with The Last Sucker, a venom-drenched and decidedly non-poetic screed against the Decider and his entourage. Anyone who remembers Ministry’s brutal indictment of Bush Sr., Psalm 69’s “N.W.O.,” is as familiar with The Last Sucker’s formula as is needed. Song after song delivers the same jackhammer drum programming and machine-gun riffage that Ministry’s produced for years, delivered with pit-bull vocals and samples of government icons hypnotically chanting sound-bite mantras. Al doesn’t mince words – lyrics like “I got twins and a Stepford wife/I never had to work a day in my life” don’t leave room for interpretation. But where the Ministry of the Bush 41 era sounded fresh in its rage, the Bush 43 edition has gone stale. The repetitive, stock 16-note chug hammers the brain into a numb paste, perhaps so the listener understands how Jourgenson’s head felt after poring through hours and hours of Bush/Cheney sound bites. Maybe then we won’t notice how cliché it is to name a song about the Veep “The Dick Song,” to say nothing about spending six minutes coming up with new ways to say “Dick Cheney/Son of Satan.” The Last Sucker is Ministry’s final recording, allowing Jourgenson to ride off into the sunset along with lame duck Dubya. Judging by the content of this release (including a baffling cover of the Doors’ “Roadhouse Blues” ), it’s possible that, like Bush the Second, his exit is about eight years too late.
Sep 1st, 2007 by DJ Hostettler
Making It Work For Us
Items discussed: long-running local rock & roll bands, bocce ball, “Weird Al” Yankovic Items not discussed: baffling cell phone plans, the inexorable flaking away of my humanity, that episode of Punky Brewster where Cherie gets stuck in an old refrigerator For the past 28 spine-tingling (or coma-inducing, depending on who you ask) installments of SubVersions, the little byline-thingy at the bottom has always read, “Matt Wild is ¼ of the rock & roll band Holy Mary Motor Club.” What hasn’t been stated, however, is exactly how long I’ve represented this not-so-enviable quarter-slice. Some scattered pockets of inactivity notwithstanding (several of which swallow up entire years), H double-MC (as the kids used to call it) has been around for a terrifying 16 years. Initially born out of a shared love for Mad Magazine, “Weird Al” Yankovic and copious amounts of Mr. Pibb, our scrappy little group has gone on to write and record hundreds of songs, release a couple of albums and play cities as far-off and exotic as Alton, Illinois. I was 13 years old when we first started; now, at 29, I can easily say that I’ve been a member of this band longer than I haven’t. One of my fondest band-related memories occurred near the very beginning: on a whim – and high on whatever small-town, 13-year-old dweebs could possibly be high on – we decided to move our equipment from our drummer’s basement to his spacious, bucolic backyard. It was summer (of course) and I recall some vague notion that we were putting on our version of the Beatles’ Abbey Road rooftop concert, except that instead of a city roof there would be a suburban backyard in Mayville, Wisconsin; and instead of a crowd of adoring Londoners, there would be a nearby soccer field filled with puzzled 7-year-olds. As was our custom in those days, we simply thought up a random title, hit “Record” on a barely-working boombox and hoped for the best. Three minutes later, we had unwittingly produced an adolescent masterpiece: a bouncy little ditty called “Bocce Ball.” So enamored were we with our new creation that we shouted for joy and began rolling through the grass, the sounds of which you can still hear on the original, near-fossilized cassette today. All of this is to simply say that at one point in the distant, summer-soaked past, three scrawny, affable kids formed a band and recorded a song called “Bocce Ball.” Nearly 15 years later, one of those kids – now a grown man with a full-time job and a generous dental plan – would catch himself humming that very same song throughout the 2007 Forward Bay View Bocce Fest, where he and his fellow VITAL Source teammates would eventually suffer an ignominious defeat in the third round. For the uninitiated, bocce ball is a relatively simple game: throw a little ball in the grass, then try to roll a heavier ball closer to that first little ball. It’s fun, surprisingly addictive and gives you […]
Sep 1st, 2007 by Matt Wild
Gardasil – Hope or Hype?
As my oldest daughter, Lena, moves out of childhood and into adolescence, her dad and I are plagued with so many new dilemmas. She, like all 12-year-olds, would like more privileges and wants us to trust her to make more of her own decisions. These things slip in and out of our daily conversation pretty easily now. We discuss, resolve and move on. Then there are the bigger issues regarding Lena’s growth that have just sort of woven themselves into the fabric of our lives, changing our interaction slightly while we learn about the woman she’s becoming. These issues largely revolve around her health and emerging sexuality. At 12, she’s noticing boys. She’s picking clothes that make her look cute and gazing in the mirror, trying to figure out who she is. We are gazing back at her, watching our baby grow up. While these developments have been in the forefront in our home, the backdrop for young women all over the country has been altered. There is a new vaccine that prevents HPV (human papillomavirus), one of the major causes of cervical cancer in sexually active women. I decided to do some research about this vaccine after Merck (the manufacturer of Gardasil) recommended it be given to girls as young as 9, meaning I have not one, but two daughters who are prime candidates for receiving it. What I learned while I was digging around was interesting, to say the least. In the convincing ad campaign for the vaccine, young street-wise beauties from all walks of life look the television audience straight in the eye and talk about taking their health into their own hands. In place of the sing-song jingle so common in pharmaceutical commercials (as in, “Gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now” ) , there is an infectious, urban chant proclaiming that recipients of the vaccine will be “One Less, One Less” victim of cervical cancer. Did you know? There are over 100 strains of HPV, and about 30 of them are sexually transmitted. Other strains cause warts on the hands and feet, or occur asymptomatically. Nearly 75 percent of Americans will contract HPV before their 50th birthdays. Most cases of HPV need no treatment and will resolve on their own without any problems. Of the 30 sexually transmitted strains, about 14 are considered high risk, meaning they have the potential to mutate into precancerous lesions on the cervix. Not all precancerous lesions will become cervical cancer, however. Many will also disappear on their own. Gardasil protects against four strains of sexually transmitted HPV. Two of them are low-risk strains, causing visible genital warts but not presenting any real danger. The other two are high-risk strains, meaning that if they went untreated, they might become precancerous. According to the studies done before the vaccine was released, Gardasil is about 70 percent effective in preventing these four strains of HPV in women who have never had those particular strains before. Gardasil is a three-injection series to […]
Sep 1st, 2007 by Lucky Tomaszek
Danbert Nobacon
Danbert Nobacon has earned his place in the canon of well-known unknowns. Kicking around in Leeds since the late ‘70s, Nobacon was a founder and vocalist of Chumbawamba, which though they only had one international radio hit (1997’s “Tubthumping” ) managed to keep the royalties flowing and the tours rolling until the band’s demise in 2004. Now he’s back on Chicago’s Bloodshot Records with a debut solo outing that only a certified veteran could produce. Although the impact of Nobacon’s musical offering is felt upon first listen, it’s also one of those “creepers,” “sleepers” or “seepers” (however you want to word it) wherein the songs and the downright artistry involved only open up after repeated exposure. The rewards are great – almost revelatory – but the extra investment is required to fully appreciate the treasure within. Despite how one might be predisposed to view The Library Book of the World given Chumbawamba’s history, this is not one-hit wonder, get-rich quick, use-once-and-destroy pop music. It’s also not a bludgeon and impale, politicking musical manifesto. It’s artfully layered, full of lyrical twists and turns that include insidious declarations, wholesome ruminations, contemptuous wordplays and, perhaps most of all, damn good music. The arrangements are sparse for the most part, which gives the songs and their subject matter the wind to sail. All in all, it’s the work of a songwriter who is a journeyman at his craft, reaching what he’s after creatively. These are songs for the tavern, both the stage and the bar. And though Danbert’s voice is a bit of an acquired taste, his delivery is impeccable. It seethes with the integrity of conviction, sways with the power of knowledge and soothes with the empathy of experience. There’s an underlying vein of humor throughout the disc, but in the end, what else is there in the face of unrelenting, apathetic ignorance?
Sep 1st, 2007 by Troy Butero
The Real Deal
mi • key’s 811 N. Jefferson St Milwaukee 414-273-5397 www.mikeysmilwaukee.com The hospitality industry is rife with nomads. Chefs and hoteliers are like the Bedouin – each job is only a temporary oasis. In this world, Peter Alioto is an anomaly – a man who finds a niche and stays there. If mi • key’s takes off, customers are likely to enjoy Alioto’s cuisine for years to come. Milwaukee native and Whitefish Bay High School graduate Alioto grew up in a large, traditional, close-knit Italian family. Like most Aliotos in Milwaukee, he is related to the restaurant family, although he’s only eaten there once. His family ate at home where food was a focal point for familial confabulations. “I have warm memories of Sundays sitting around the table with my family. It was always pasta,” he recalls. A typical boy, Alioto was into baseball, track and field and wrestling, dreaming of becoming a pilot. It was Denny’s, however, that offered the high schooler a paycheck. You know the menu – it’s not haute cuisine, but the fast-paced environment taught Alioto valuable lessons. “I learned people skills there and how to think on your feet.” His experience at the family style restaurant allowed him to put his 22-year-old foot in the door of one of Milwaukee’s most notable restaurants, Marangelli’s. “When the opportunity presented itself to me, I didn’t know much about (chef/owner) John Marangelli. It was a very high-end Italian restaurant – that’s where my interest in food blossomed.” Alioto started an informal internship which had no official title or pay for the first six months. “With John you had to prove your worth before he would take too much stock in you. I don’t remember how I squeaked by. It required proving myself through repetition. John would have to taste everything. It took about a year before he felt my palate was up to his standards and he began to trust me. As John’s faith in me developed, I quickly moved up to head chef. And after a lot of begging and pleading, I finally got paid.” Marangelli’s Northern Italian continental cuisine opened up oceans of new foods and flavors to the young chef, from imported sea urchin to scampi with fresh mint. “That embodies the whole idea of clean, crisp, fresh flavors – dishes in which you can taste the main ingredients. Many chefs today combine too many flavors instead of bringing the most flavor out of what you’re cooking, developing the flavor so that there’s that wow, that punch.” Alioto stayed with Marangelli for 11 years, through two restaurants, until his last place closed in 1996. He spent the next decade at the Manchester East Hotel managing a demanding food service including restaurants, banquets, meetings, weddings and other social functions. It was a good place to work while raising a family of two children with his wife Lorie. “It was typical American cuisine – steaks, seafood, chops. I missed Marangelli’s and always wanted to get back to the […]
Sep 1st, 2007 by Cate Miller
Carolyn Mark
Victoria, B.C.’s most acclaimed Party Girl, Terrible Hostess and less lime-lighted half of the Corn Sisters, Carolyn Mark has removed the training wheels of collaboration (her last release was strictly duets) and is again riding solo. Nothing Is Free, whose liner notes devote the disc to “all the Cowboys, Vampires, Pirates, Poets, Scarecrows and Enablers,” is a reflection of the Can-country minx’s adorably kooky “Point o’ View.” In Mark’s universe, hopes are kept “where we can see ‘em,” those without investments can justify spending “thousands of dollars/keeping Friday alive” and aver that “it’s easier to love an idea/than it is a man.” Equally endearing are Mark’s auctioneer vocals on “1 Thing” and “Get Along,” tracks that could easily be caroused to under a state fair beer tent. Not to be pigeonholed to a do-se-do, Mark’s sound flutters from sunny surf rock (“Happy 2B Flying Away” ) to spacey daydream (“Destination: You” ) , pollinated by her husky Natalie Merchant purr and lyrics that pack a Loretta Lynn punch. “Poisoned With Hope” is uncharacteristically bulky and grating, but pardonable given Mark’s unmatched whimsy and otherwise fluid execution. Folksy, nobody’s-fool showstopper “The 1 That Got Away (With It ) ” will most likely earn the attention of femme rags like Venus and Bust, but until she flags down a more mainstream demographic, Mark will continue her notoriety as “the other Corn Sister.” If her liner tribute to the freaks and underdogs is any indication, though, she won’t be shooting off flares any time soon.
Sep 1st, 2007 by Amber Herzog
20 Years in The Life
In a city quickly becoming known for both the abundance and quality of its film festivals, he LGBT Film Festival is one of Milwaukee’s longest running. Once housed solely in the UWM film department and programmed in conjunction with Great Lakes Film and Video (no longer in existence), the festival has grown over time and now incorporates the efforts of the Peck School of the Arts – UWM’s visual arts, dance and theatre department. Now in its 20th year, the LGBT Film Festival is no longer just a community tradition; it has become a showcase for some of the finest films and videos from and about the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender communities. The LGBT Film Festival started in 1987 to address the lack of representation of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people on screen. Its growth in popularity can be attributed in part to the boom of the independent film market and a greater general awareness of the LBGT community. But its long-running success has been achieved through consistently providing a well-run event offering an excellent balance of thought-provoking and entertaining films. The process of putting on an 11-day film festival takes planning – weeding through film submissions, making contacts and solicitations, researching and attending other gay and lesbian film festivals and reviewing old films. And while the festival itself has gotten bigger, making it happen still falls, as it has for the last decade, upon one man: Carl Bogner. As an undergraduate student in the film department at UWM in the mid ‘90s, Carl ran the Union Theater. After receiving his film degree, he was asked by Dick Blau, then Chair of the UWM Film Department, to take over the festival. Now in his 10th year with the event, Carl has seen the festival grow to hit more notes on the cinematic scale. It has become a textured body, striking a perfect balance of audience-pleasing films and more challenging and academic works. Carl sees the growth of the LGBT Film Festival, and the gay community in general, from a generational perspective. The younger gay and lesbian demographic are “just cooler.” He continues, “I don’t mean to say they have it easier, but it’s a wonderfully different attitude associated with identity than, say, people my age.” One factor is the lack of labels or cultural taboos that many of the younger generation of gay and lesbians associate with, most notable being the trauma of “coming out,” which has been, until recently, a staple of gay and lesbian film festivals. “For younger people, gays and lesbian film festival have a different kind of weight and interest. I don’t think they feel like they don’t have access to gay and lesbian images the way early generations did,” Carl explains. Finding the one perfect film for opening night that serves the diverse LGBT community can be a challenge. This year’s festival will open on September 6 at the Oriental Theater with Nina’s Heavenly Delights, from pioneering filmmaker and scholar Pratibha Parmar. Described […]
Sep 1st, 2007 by Blaine Schultz
Heavy Trash
In Heavy Trash’s latest adventure (which picks up from their last release in 2005), there’s more riff-burning, pompadour-bobbing and gum-smacking than you can shake a fried chicken leg at. Bringing back the days of curvy cars, pinup ladies and smoking without borders, Jon Spencer (Blues Explosion) and Matt Verta-Ray’s (Pussy Galore) “Heavy Trash” moniker is definitely cheeky. Think Chris Isaak gone bad – pretty, blue-eyed boy soul with a sharp, ugly edge. Heavy Trash’s self-titled debut was a welcome addition to Jon Spencer fanatics’ collections. Going Way Out With Heavy Trash stacks up to their first release and even delves into a more fleshed-out, swinging sound. Rolling into the first track, “Pure Gold” hits like a cyclone in Tornado Alley, Spencer channeling Presley more convincingly than many white-caped King wannabes. Strutting like a rooster through a dusty coop of hens, Spencer lolls into the pretty garage n’soul of “Outside Chance,” then greases it up in “Double Line,” pairing up gritty guitar solos, sticks tapping short, short, short as if on a hot tin roof, along with brass-balls bass lines whose rough and ready tones are reminiscent of the infamous relationship between The Sharks and The Jets in West Side Story. Going Way Out With Heavy Trash is a hot little album, full of swagger and strut. The only truly campy departure is “You Can’t Win,” which thankfully comes at the album’s close, with Spencer drawling about “Pepsi-Cola, Doritos and beans” and being “drunk on pomade.” This doesn’t play nicely with the rest of the album. Still, Heavy Trash has turned out another call to all rebel rousers, one which will satiate those with a hankering for some straight-up rockabilly flavor.
Sep 1st, 2007 by Erin Wolf
