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"content": "\u003cp>I encountered The Finches by accident a couple of years ago. My friend Dan had begun booking bands semi-regularly at \u003ca href=\"http://www.kqed.org/arts/places/profile.jsp?id=12716\">Adobe Books\u003c/a> on 16th Street in connection with art openings in their tiny gallery space in the back of the bookstore. One of the shows he put together featured the San Francisco two-piece sharing the bill with another good friend and former band mate of mine, who was making his solo debut. In a small space, roughly in the center of the long narrow shop lined with bookshelves, a vintage PA was set up for the bands. My girlfriend and I joined the crowd of people cramped between the books to watch my friend perform. After his short set, Aaron Morgan and Carolyn Pennypacker Riggs picked up their acoustic guitars, introduced themselves as The Finches and began playing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I might be revealing myself as somewhat of a cynic but the idea of a boy-girl acoustic duo is not normally my musical cup of tea. I am all for people picking up instruments and expressing themselves, believing that those that do usually create something interesting, which is most often manifested as — at worst — personally revealing and — at best — musically innovative. But acoustic performers and the “café folk” they often write and perform are a rather large exception to that rule, occupying the same kind of cultural territory for me as poets or biker gangse. I am more forgiving of punky rackets than juvenile laments warbled and plucked while sitting on a stool.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching and listening to The Finches’ six song performance, punctuated by comfortable humor and a few false starts, I was captivated — despite myself. The melodies were simple and plaintive, percolating under Carolyn Pennypacker’s sweet and slightly haunting voice. The songs were slight, urban stories undercut with a rustic naturalism implied by their style, instrumentation, and even the band’s name. The Finches reminded me of the delicate beauty of The Marine Girls, Lois Maffeo’s solo albums and The Softies while avoiding cutesy preciousness.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I’ve seen the band a few times since that first show and followed their story, which includes the release of an EP called simply \u003cb>Six Songs\u003c/b> and at the end of this month, the release of The Finches’ first full-length album, \u003cb>Human Like A House\u003c/b> on Dulc-I-Tone Records. The 12-song album was recorded by Aaron Morgan’s father, includes cover artwork by Pennypacker and actually features background vocals by both members’ mothers. My own favorite song so far is the title track, “Human Like A House” with its slow waltz time and Pennypacker singing “by the bridge I’d like to stay, by the ocean, by the bay” of San Francisco, to which she adds “and hope that you’ll come around.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Finches leave town this month on a tour to support the release of their album and I am charmed by the idea of the long drives, house parties, small clubs and record stores that will play host to them before, like migrating birds they return home for spring…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Finches perform \u003ca href=\"http://www.amoeba.com/live-shows/performances/san-francisco/2007-january-27/the-finches/artist.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">at Amoeba Records\u003c/a> in San Francisco on Saturday, January 27 at 2pm and at \u003ca href=\"http://www.cafedunord.com/brilliant/cal/p.event.php?E_id=1163576683&B_id=1125532077&P_id=3\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Cafe du Nord\u003c/a> on Wednesday, January 31.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>Maybe it was unfortunate that I popped in a DVD of \u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> the night after KQED aired the \u003cb>American Masters\u003c/b> documentary about Annie Leibovitz. Both documentaries were designed using roughly the same schematic, beginning at: sensitive young artist leaves home and lands in the right place at the right time. Leibovitz in San Francisco at the formation of \u003ci>Rolling Stone\u003c/i>; Wilson in New York among a circle of other future art world luminaries. Blah. Blah. Blah. The Baby Boomer Basher in me immediately went to his dark place. Oh great, I thought at this point in each narrative, after a whole life spent witnessing Boomers congratulating themselves, we have now entered the period where they will begin their own beatification, their canonization.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought about each artists’ financial realities, Wilson’s large loft space in Manhattan, Leibovitz’ crash pad in the Haight. Those were the days! In the sixties, folks could get space for cheap. No wonder they succeeded. Given today’s financial realities, I began to wonder how many young artists of equal potential would NOT succeed. I started popping the usual bitter pills.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then each documentary entered the “development” phase, the part in each artists’ career where they had to prove themselves. In Robert Wilson’s case we learn that some of his more radical theories about theater came from his work with the developmentally disabled. There is a description of a piece he made with a group of people trapped in iron lungs that revealed something I had steeled myself against. Wilson is a genius — turning his own disabilities around and using them to represent a completely radical point of view about theater.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> includes much video documentation of Wilson’s early theatrical experiments with his hippy dippy collective The Byrd Hoffman School of Byrds, and I have to say they look extremely tedious. “Plays” that would go on for hours, for days — pieces that would probably have sent me screaming from the theater, but nonetheless, even in brief clips they look different, revolutionary. I should inject here that the style of \u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> reflects the design sensibility of the artist, playing with grids and split screens. It’s refreshing (and rare) to see a documentary portrait go so deep, to use the format of the film itself to express the personality profiled.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once someone has “made it” in the art world, it is easy to forget that they once struggled. The struggles have changed over time and it’s hard to step back, drop thirty years of history and really get a clear vision of what the struggle must have felt like, how long the odds must have seemed. For example, Wilson’s most famous piece, \u003cb>Einstein on the Beach\u003c/b>, an early collaboration with Philip Glass, involved a Herculean effort to get the performance mounted at Lincoln Center with great personal, professional and financial risk. That’s the missing part of the story when one looks back on the great successes, on the classic moments in the art world when someone affected a real eye-opening change.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately both the Annie Leibovitz documentary and \u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> brought me to tears. I am a sucker for genius and both portraits deliver a hefty dose of it. They leave one still wondering what genius is and where it comes from, but the thing that starts the water works is how lonely it can be, no matter the validation or the success. Wilson works like a madman, is a very famous perfectionist, but he is still overcoming his demons, still picking them apart with his art and still struggling — as an American — with a culture that is openly hostile toward the conceptual and is less than supportive of high art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> opens January 12, 2007.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Maybe it was unfortunate that I popped in a DVD of \u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> the night after KQED aired the \u003cb>American Masters\u003c/b> documentary about Annie Leibovitz. Both documentaries were designed using roughly the same schematic, beginning at: sensitive young artist leaves home and lands in the right place at the right time. Leibovitz in San Francisco at the formation of \u003ci>Rolling Stone\u003c/i>; Wilson in New York among a circle of other future art world luminaries. Blah. Blah. Blah. The Baby Boomer Basher in me immediately went to his dark place. Oh great, I thought at this point in each narrative, after a whole life spent witnessing Boomers congratulating themselves, we have now entered the period where they will begin their own beatification, their canonization.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I thought about each artists’ financial realities, Wilson’s large loft space in Manhattan, Leibovitz’ crash pad in the Haight. Those were the days! In the sixties, folks could get space for cheap. No wonder they succeeded. Given today’s financial realities, I began to wonder how many young artists of equal potential would NOT succeed. I started popping the usual bitter pills.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then each documentary entered the “development” phase, the part in each artists’ career where they had to prove themselves. In Robert Wilson’s case we learn that some of his more radical theories about theater came from his work with the developmentally disabled. There is a description of a piece he made with a group of people trapped in iron lungs that revealed something I had steeled myself against. Wilson is a genius — turning his own disabilities around and using them to represent a completely radical point of view about theater.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> includes much video documentation of Wilson’s early theatrical experiments with his hippy dippy collective The Byrd Hoffman School of Byrds, and I have to say they look extremely tedious. “Plays” that would go on for hours, for days — pieces that would probably have sent me screaming from the theater, but nonetheless, even in brief clips they look different, revolutionary. I should inject here that the style of \u003cb>Absolute Wilson\u003c/b> reflects the design sensibility of the artist, playing with grids and split screens. It’s refreshing (and rare) to see a documentary portrait go so deep, to use the format of the film itself to express the personality profiled.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once someone has “made it” in the art world, it is easy to forget that they once struggled. The struggles have changed over time and it’s hard to step back, drop thirty years of history and really get a clear vision of what the struggle must have felt like, how long the odds must have seemed. For example, Wilson’s most famous piece, \u003cb>Einstein on the Beach\u003c/b>, an early collaboration with Philip Glass, involved a Herculean effort to get the performance mounted at Lincoln Center with great personal, professional and financial risk. That’s the missing part of the story when one looks back on the great successes, on the classic moments in the art world when someone affected a real eye-opening change.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Gee, music’s good these days. There was once a time, not so long ago, when the phrase, “Hey, you want to hear my demo?” was an entreaty on par with, “Hey, want to buy my extra ticket to the local dinner theater’s version of \u003cb>Krapp’s Last Tape\u003c/b>?” In a word, no.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But now, in these halcyon days of ’07, self-produced music often sounds better than the sludge pouring out of your local Top Forty station. Top Forty stations still exist, right? Anyway, you know what I’m talking about: those noisy little songs quoting from every marketable aspect of hip hop, disco, and R&B that end up sounding like something rejected from the \u003ca href=\"http://83.137.169.138/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Eurovision Song Contest\u003c/a> circa 1987.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Well, The Inner Banks would probably be rejected from the Eurovision Song Contest too, but don’t hold that against them. They’re just not bombastic and crude enough, that’s all. You would think that a band with thirteen credited members would have bombast to spare, but somehow they manage to keep pretty quiet — and I mean that literally: pretty; quiet. Don’t worry about some Polyphonic Spree event — The Inner Banks are too tasteful for that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> Thirteen members? Well, I won’t list them all here, but the instrumental lineup includes the usual guitar/bass/drum combo along with trumpet, vibraphone, cello, and — hello — a French horn. Honestly, as a recovered Junior High School band member, I never thought I’d say this, but the French Horn sounds pretty damn good here (as played by Amie Margoles). So, too, does the lap steel (Michael Gomez), but when does lap steel suck? Not hardly ever.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>OK, fifth paragraph and I still haven’t told you about their music. It is lovely and full, with a harmonic (not polyphonic!) swell to it that manages to be uplifting without merging into Christian Rock territory. Lead singer Caroline Schutz has a dreamy, pretty voice that could lead to some opportunities to sub in for Elizabeth Frazer, should the two dudes in the Cocteau Twins ever try to recreate the old band. The main difference is that you can actually understand Schutz’s enunciations, which is nice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I think this album would be the perfect accompaniment to a serious New Year’s Resolution-making session. It’s inspiring and makes you feel like many things are possible. On the other hand, it’s so accomplished that you may feel inadequate, as in, “The Inner Banks put together this awesome album last year — and what the hell have I been doing?” Still, better to listen to it and wonder than to never hear it at all.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Gee, music’s good these days. There was once a time, not so long ago, when the phrase, “Hey, you want to hear my demo?” was an entreaty on par with, “Hey, want to buy my extra ticket to the local dinner theater’s version of \u003cb>Krapp’s Last Tape\u003c/b>?” In a word, no.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>But now, in these halcyon days of ’07, self-produced music often sounds better than the sludge pouring out of your local Top Forty station. Top Forty stations still exist, right? Anyway, you know what I’m talking about: those noisy little songs quoting from every marketable aspect of hip hop, disco, and R&B that end up sounding like something rejected from the \u003ca href=\"http://83.137.169.138/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Eurovision Song Contest\u003c/a> circa 1987.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Well, The Inner Banks would probably be rejected from the Eurovision Song Contest too, but don’t hold that against them. They’re just not bombastic and crude enough, that’s all. You would think that a band with thirteen credited members would have bombast to spare, but somehow they manage to keep pretty quiet — and I mean that literally: pretty; quiet. Don’t worry about some Polyphonic Spree event — The Inner Banks are too tasteful for that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> Thirteen members? Well, I won’t list them all here, but the instrumental lineup includes the usual guitar/bass/drum combo along with trumpet, vibraphone, cello, and — hello — a French horn. Honestly, as a recovered Junior High School band member, I never thought I’d say this, but the French Horn sounds pretty damn good here (as played by Amie Margoles). So, too, does the lap steel (Michael Gomez), but when does lap steel suck? Not hardly ever.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>OK, fifth paragraph and I still haven’t told you about their music. It is lovely and full, with a harmonic (not polyphonic!) swell to it that manages to be uplifting without merging into Christian Rock territory. Lead singer Caroline Schutz has a dreamy, pretty voice that could lead to some opportunities to sub in for Elizabeth Frazer, should the two dudes in the Cocteau Twins ever try to recreate the old band. The main difference is that you can actually understand Schutz’s enunciations, which is nice.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cb>Part I: Thanksgiving\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Lost in the Supermarket” — The Clash: Let’s ignore the capitalist critique for a moment and think about the lyric, “I can no longer shop happily.” This is me in Safeway on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving with all the ten thousand other folks who left their shopping until the last minute and are now suffering each other’s company. On top of that, I’m wondering, “What goes in that Green Bean Casserole again — half and half, or cream? And why would I want to combine green beans with either? Ah, yes: tradition. And the wrath of Aunt Phyllis.” \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“A Spoonful Weighs a Ton” — Flaming Lips: Aunt Phyllis’s Green Bean Casserole (see above). I think that says it all.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Everything in its Right Place” — Radiohead: Let’s see, all the beige foods go on this side of the plate; all the green foods on that side. Except there are no green foods. OK, all the ecru foods go in the upper right quadrant; the tan foods in the lower left, and the ivory foods in the lower right and upper left. There. Now it’s perfect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got” — the Bettye LaVette version because it’s more forceful: Is there a polite way to say “If I eat one more bite of… anything… I will flume barf like Shamu during a red tide?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Nobody Knows the Way I Feel This Morning” — Dinah Washington: 8am the Friday after Thanksgiving. You know what I mean.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Part II: Christmas\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“She’s Leaving the Bank” — Ry Cooder: This tune, from the \u003cb>Paris, Texas\u003c/b> soundtrack, makes a nice accompaniment to the draining sound of one’s finances around mid-December. Imagine Nastassja Kinski walking out of a bank, holding all her life’s savings in a small bag. That’s you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“You Never Give Me Your Money” — The Beatles: Sometimes, as the Christmas shopping craziness gets too crazy, I think, “Maybe we should just all pass around the same $50 bill… because isn’t that what we’re doing anyway?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Shadrach” — The Beastie Boys: I’d like to nominate this one, a shout-out to the O.T. (Old Testament, aka The Torah) homies Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego, as a new Hanukah song. Hanukah is all about sharing miraculous stories and, as the song goes, “I got more stories than J.D. got Salinger.” That’s canon-worthy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Church” — Lyle Lovett: Another nice Jewish boy, another good song for Hanukah. This is a song about a Christian Church but it’s not religious, it’s actually about food. Which is what religious holidays should be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Part III: New Year’s Eve\u003c/b>: stay tuned.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "\u003cb>Part I: Thanksgiving\u003c/b>\u003cp>\"Lost in the Supermarket\" -- The Clash: Let's ignore the capitalist critique for a moment and think about the lyric, \"I can no longer shop happily.\" This is me in Safeway on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving with all the ten thousand other folks who left their shopping until the last minute and are now suffering each other's company. On top of that, I'm wondering, \"What goes in that Green Bean Casserole again -- half and half, or cream? And why would I want to combine green beans with either? Ah, yes: tradition. And the wrath of Aunt Phyllis.\" \u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Nobody Knows the Way I Feel This Morning” — Dinah Washington: 8am the Friday after Thanksgiving. You know what I mean.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Part II: Christmas\u003c/b>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“She’s Leaving the Bank” — Ry Cooder: This tune, from the \u003cb>Paris, Texas\u003c/b> soundtrack, makes a nice accompaniment to the draining sound of one’s finances around mid-December. Imagine Nastassja Kinski walking out of a bank, holding all her life’s savings in a small bag. That’s you.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“You Never Give Me Your Money” — The Beatles: Sometimes, as the Christmas shopping craziness gets too crazy, I think, “Maybe we should just all pass around the same $50 bill… because isn’t that what we’re doing anyway?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Shadrach” — The Beastie Boys: I’d like to nominate this one, a shout-out to the O.T. (Old Testament, aka The Torah) homies Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego, as a new Hanukah song. Hanukah is all about sharing miraculous stories and, as the song goes, “I got more stories than J.D. got Salinger.” That’s canon-worthy.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Church” — Lyle Lovett: Another nice Jewish boy, another good song for Hanukah. This is a song about a Christian Church but it’s not religious, it’s actually about food. Which is what religious holidays should be.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Part III: New Year’s Eve\u003c/b>: stay tuned.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>As I sit down to write my first KQED “music obsession” blog I should be thinking, “Yay! I’ve found yet another place to share my musical power with the people.” Instead, what is typing its way into the keyboard is more like “Eesh!” My first assignment: A “Best Of” for 2006. I don’t do “Best of,” or “Desert Island Discs” or anything relating to music that requires me to numerically obligate myself to something that I can’t change my mind about at a moment’s notice. Take the last dinner party where someone who I would never get into a musical chit chat with said, “Hey Dennis, you’re the musicologist — what albums would you bring to a desert island?” This resulted in me having to explain that I’d rather talk about the sports. And I don’t know shite about sports!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What is wrong with me that I can’t commit? In relationships I’m rock and roll solid. Reliable, romantic, a “go to the end of the earth” for the one woman I’m interested in kinda guy. However, when it comes to music I am definitely always up for a one-night stand — willing to go for the next big thing and then reject it the second I get bored. Full disclosure here: Record companies send me what I guess-timate as over 1,000 CDs a year, so it’s easy to be keen on many things at once.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Anyhow, against my better judgment (literally) in alphabetical order is the music that I will be playing on the radio as my faves of the year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Art Brut — “Formed A Band” is hilarious. Much of the rest of their \u003cb>Bang Bang Rock & Roll\u003c/b> album is of a similar note and yet, every year needs it’s own version of The Tubes.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Beck — \u003cb>The Information\u003c/b> — I saw Beck perform “Nausea” on Lettermen and it was the most kinetic two and a half minutes I have ever seen on that show. Beck rules. That is all.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lindsey Buckingham — \u003cb>Under The Skin\u003c/b> is one of the most personal, and independent albums of the year. Really. Buckingham told me without being smug that only HE could get away with getting Warner Brothers to release it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gnarls Barkley — “Crazy” — I played “Crazy” the very same second it was released in England and in less than a couple of weeks it had become the highest selling download ever. In the U.S. it became the song of the summer and I never got tired of hearing it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hot Chip — “Over and Over” — Play this song right after Gnarls Barkley and you’ll feel “like a monkey with a miniature cymbal!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jonny Lives — \u003cb>Get Steady\u003c/b> — I loved Southside Johnny in the 70s; I love Jonny Lives in the 00s!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Juliana Theory — “This Is a Love Song… for the Loveless” — Loud, powerful and soulfully melodic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Kooks — \u003cb>Inside In/ Inside Out\u003c/b> — Triple platinum in England. Not out of their teens. Even the Fab Four didn’t do that! Nice chaps too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan — \u003cb>Ballad Of The Broken Seas\u003c/b> — Ingenue meets infamous addict. (Go ahead, compare them to Serge and Jane, isn’t that the point?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Living End — \u003cb>State of Emergency\u003c/b> — When I saw The Living End at South by Southwest they didn’t have a U.S. record deal. Now they do. They rock on record and seeing them live is like a bowling ball heading right for your ears.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Magic Numbers — “Love Me Like You” — The most melodic family since the Partridges. They were real, weren’t they?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Raconteurs — “Steady As She Goes” — I wanted to play it on the radio so bad, I sat on my living room floor with wires connected from my computer to a CD recorder. It was that good.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rainer Maria — \u003cb>Catastrophe Keeps Us Together\u003c/b> — When Caithlin De Marrais sings, “I’m ready to move to Minnesota,” her voice melts me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>P.F. Sloan — \u003cb>Sailover\u003c/b> — Imagine if you ended up stocking sunglasses at the Thrifty Drugstore because you wrote a protest song. Survivor story of the year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Ark — \u003cb>State of The Ark\u003c/b> — “One Of Us Is Gonna Die Young” is not by The Sweet. I mean it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Subways — \u003cb>Young For Eternity\u003c/b> — The bass guitarist had every guy at South by Southwest ready to commit adultery. ‘Nuff said.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>TeddyBears w/Iggy Pop — “Punkrocker” — Caesars offshoot makes what I think is one of the two best songs of the year. Yes, I said it. Now leave me alone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs — \u003cb>Under The Covers\u003c/b> — Power Pop will never die if these two have their way, and they did with me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We Are Scientists — \u003cb>With Love and Squalor\u003c/b> — “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” See Art Brut above — with more depth.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Well, there you go. Many of the above could actually make it as entries into the songs I could listen to over and over again for the rest of my life. Just don’t ask me to bring them to a desert island though — I’d be too fearful the vinyl would get warped.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lindsey Buckingham — \u003cb>Under The Skin\u003c/b> is one of the most personal, and independent albums of the year. Really. Buckingham told me without being smug that only HE could get away with getting Warner Brothers to release it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Gnarls Barkley — “Crazy” — I played “Crazy” the very same second it was released in England and in less than a couple of weeks it had become the highest selling download ever. In the U.S. it became the song of the summer and I never got tired of hearing it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Hot Chip — “Over and Over” — Play this song right after Gnarls Barkley and you’ll feel “like a monkey with a miniature cymbal!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jonny Lives — \u003cb>Get Steady\u003c/b> — I loved Southside Johnny in the 70s; I love Jonny Lives in the 00s!\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Juliana Theory — “This Is a Love Song… for the Loveless” — Loud, powerful and soulfully melodic.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Kooks — \u003cb>Inside In/ Inside Out\u003c/b> — Triple platinum in England. Not out of their teens. Even the Fab Four didn’t do that! Nice chaps too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan — \u003cb>Ballad Of The Broken Seas\u003c/b> — Ingenue meets infamous addict. (Go ahead, compare them to Serge and Jane, isn’t that the point?)\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Living End — \u003cb>State of Emergency\u003c/b> — When I saw The Living End at South by Southwest they didn’t have a U.S. record deal. Now they do. They rock on record and seeing them live is like a bowling ball heading right for your ears.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Magic Numbers — “Love Me Like You” — The most melodic family since the Partridges. They were real, weren’t they?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Raconteurs — “Steady As She Goes” — I wanted to play it on the radio so bad, I sat on my living room floor with wires connected from my computer to a CD recorder. It was that good.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rainer Maria — \u003cb>Catastrophe Keeps Us Together\u003c/b> — When Caithlin De Marrais sings, “I’m ready to move to Minnesota,” her voice melts me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>P.F. Sloan — \u003cb>Sailover\u003c/b> — Imagine if you ended up stocking sunglasses at the Thrifty Drugstore because you wrote a protest song. Survivor story of the year.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Ark — \u003cb>State of The Ark\u003c/b> — “One Of Us Is Gonna Die Young” is not by The Sweet. I mean it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The Subways — \u003cb>Young For Eternity\u003c/b> — The bass guitarist had every guy at South by Southwest ready to commit adultery. ‘Nuff said.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>TeddyBears w/Iggy Pop — “Punkrocker” — Caesars offshoot makes what I think is one of the two best songs of the year. Yes, I said it. Now leave me alone.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs — \u003cb>Under The Covers\u003c/b> — Power Pop will never die if these two have their way, and they did with me.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>We Are Scientists — \u003cb>With Love and Squalor\u003c/b> — “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” See Art Brut above — with more depth.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Well, there you go. Many of the above could actually make it as entries into the songs I could listen to over and over again for the rest of my life. Just don’t ask me to bring them to a desert island though — I’d be too fearful the vinyl would get warped.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Fans of Robyn Hitchcock. Fans of the Beautiful South. They’re out there, and they’re a special breed. These are folks who appreciate the potential for pop-music-as-short-story. Hitchcock wrote “Sometimes I Wish I Was a Pretty Girl” and revealed more about male-female understanding than \u003cb>The Rules\u003c/b> ever could. The Beautiful South wrote “Don’t Marry Her” and evoked a marital ennui that was harsher than a Cheever story and funnier, too (“When your socks smell of angels / But your life smells of brie / Don’t marry her, fuck me”).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So gather round, Hitchcock and Beautiful South fans: witticism yoked to sincere musicality is not a Brits-only thing anymore. Let me introduce you to Martin Dory and his newest CD, \u003cb>The Vanishing Act\u003c/b>. One doesn’t want to make too much of song titles, but when Dory sings “Song for Tom Brokaw,” one gets the sense he really means it. “Who keeps me up at night?” he asks on “Brokaw,” “who keeps me up at night — you.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite an aural signature that is squarely oriented in Classic Americana instrumentation including guitar, harmonica, pedal steel, and even some gentle “sha-la-la” backing vocals, Dory’s musical attitude is distinctly English in its self-effacement. He’s the anti-Ryan Adams. On the dreamy, beautiful “Continents,” he sings, “Thirty minutes longer isn’t much / You can save the laundry for next month… The continents move slowly / So can we.” This is a singer who kicks off his album with the phrase “Take back that comment — I need another try.” He’s not exactly brimming with self-importance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And isn’t that a relief? Hip hop isn’t the only musical mini-world filled with fat-headed attention addicts. Emo is probably even worse, because that’s where “I’m so sad and pathetic” means “LOVE ME or I’ll do something very bad (to myself).” Ugh. Since when did sensitive come to mean certifiable? Luckily, Martin Dory doesn’t go there. Do people still believe that artistic talent equals mental instability? Dory puts that idea to rest. He sounds… like a nice guy. A sweet guy. A sweet voice, anyway.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now here’s the sad part. You got yer very own Anti-Ryan right here in San Francisco to enjoy any old time you want… for just a few days more. That’s right: Martin Dory is leaving the Bay Area. He’s moving to… Nashville! Isn’t it romantic? For him and Nashville, anyway. After calling SF his HQ for at least the past decade, Dory is packing up his accordion and heading Down South. God knows they need him there. But California will miss him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So here’s your chance to see Martin Dory’s big farewell concert at his old stomping ground: Thursday, Dec. 14th 8:30 PM at The Red Devil Lounge (1695 Polk Street). No doubt Dory will perform hits old and new. If he’s taking requests, ask for “Continents” and an oldie but goodie, “My Car Won’t Start.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Robyn Hitchcock used to do a little parlor trick at his shows. Instead of requests for songs from his repertoire, he would take one-word song suggestions and make up a ditty on the spot. Once, at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica, I saw Hitchcock riff on “Julian Cope” for almost ten minutes. I have a feeling Dory could pull off something similar; he has the same unpredictable creativity, the same love of the unknown, and the same talent for turning the mundane into something beautiful. As he sings on \u003cb>The Vanishing Act\u003c/b>‘s “Cora,” “I’m just trying to be / What I make believe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nashville’s gain is San Francisco’s loss. Drown your sorrows this Thursday night at the Red Devil Lounge.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Fans of Robyn Hitchcock. Fans of the Beautiful South. They’re out there, and they’re a special breed. These are folks who appreciate the potential for pop-music-as-short-story. Hitchcock wrote “Sometimes I Wish I Was a Pretty Girl” and revealed more about male-female understanding than \u003cb>The Rules\u003c/b> ever could. The Beautiful South wrote “Don’t Marry Her” and evoked a marital ennui that was harsher than a Cheever story and funnier, too (“When your socks smell of angels / But your life smells of brie / Don’t marry her, fuck me”).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So gather round, Hitchcock and Beautiful South fans: witticism yoked to sincere musicality is not a Brits-only thing anymore. Let me introduce you to Martin Dory and his newest CD, \u003cb>The Vanishing Act\u003c/b>. One doesn’t want to make too much of song titles, but when Dory sings “Song for Tom Brokaw,” one gets the sense he really means it. “Who keeps me up at night?” he asks on “Brokaw,” “who keeps me up at night — you.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Despite an aural signature that is squarely oriented in Classic Americana instrumentation including guitar, harmonica, pedal steel, and even some gentle “sha-la-la” backing vocals, Dory’s musical attitude is distinctly English in its self-effacement. He’s the anti-Ryan Adams. On the dreamy, beautiful “Continents,” he sings, “Thirty minutes longer isn’t much / You can save the laundry for next month… The continents move slowly / So can we.” This is a singer who kicks off his album with the phrase “Take back that comment — I need another try.” He’s not exactly brimming with self-importance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And isn’t that a relief? Hip hop isn’t the only musical mini-world filled with fat-headed attention addicts. Emo is probably even worse, because that’s where “I’m so sad and pathetic” means “LOVE ME or I’ll do something very bad (to myself).” Ugh. Since when did sensitive come to mean certifiable? Luckily, Martin Dory doesn’t go there. Do people still believe that artistic talent equals mental instability? Dory puts that idea to rest. He sounds… like a nice guy. A sweet guy. A sweet voice, anyway.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Now here’s the sad part. You got yer very own Anti-Ryan right here in San Francisco to enjoy any old time you want… for just a few days more. That’s right: Martin Dory is leaving the Bay Area. He’s moving to… Nashville! Isn’t it romantic? For him and Nashville, anyway. After calling SF his HQ for at least the past decade, Dory is packing up his accordion and heading Down South. God knows they need him there. But California will miss him.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So here’s your chance to see Martin Dory’s big farewell concert at his old stomping ground: Thursday, Dec. 14th 8:30 PM at The Red Devil Lounge (1695 Polk Street). No doubt Dory will perform hits old and new. If he’s taking requests, ask for “Continents” and an oldie but goodie, “My Car Won’t Start.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Robyn Hitchcock used to do a little parlor trick at his shows. Instead of requests for songs from his repertoire, he would take one-word song suggestions and make up a ditty on the spot. Once, at McCabe’s Guitar Shop in Santa Monica, I saw Hitchcock riff on “Julian Cope” for almost ten minutes. I have a feeling Dory could pull off something similar; he has the same unpredictable creativity, the same love of the unknown, and the same talent for turning the mundane into something beautiful. As he sings on \u003cb>The Vanishing Act\u003c/b>‘s “Cora,” “I’m just trying to be / What I make believe.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Nashville’s gain is San Francisco’s loss. Drown your sorrows this Thursday night at the Red Devil Lounge.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>November 12, 2006. Closing Night of the 2006 San Francisco Jazz Festival at the Palace of Fine Arts Theater in San Francisco. It kinda started in your ribs — just a little tic from side to side that happened reflexively as the Machete Ensemble sent the first notes into the air. Pretty soon it moved into the tip of your shoulders — just a bit of a bounce. And that set your head nodding in time with the beat. Before long, you found yourself swinging and swaying in the Palace of Fine Arts Theater’s groovy reclining seats, which luckily left a lot of leg room in front, in case you wanted to … you know … get up and dance. Which most people did.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It seemed like everyone who was ever part of the San Francisco Latin jazz scene was on hand to bid adios to John Santos’ Machete Ensemble, which disbanded in a blowout concert on November 12 after twenty-one years of turning up the Afro-Latin heat in the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All night long, a parade of former Machete members as well as friends and family came up on the stage to jam with the core group of Macheteros — Orlando Torriente on vocals, John Calloway on flute, Ron Stallings and Melecio Magdaluyo on saxes and clarinet, Wayne Wallace on trombone, Murray Low on piano, David Belove on bass, Paul van Wageningen on drums and Orestes Vilató on just about everything else. And sitting in the middle of it all was the genial, chatty Santos himself, on the congas emblazoned with red, white and blue “Impeach Bush” stickers — as charming as ever, although, as he admitted, talking a little faster than usual so as to fit in all the fun in a brief amount of time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Over the years, Machete has attracted some of the best talent from the Bay Area and beyond — Cachao, Chocolate, Changuito, Armando Peraza, as well as Omar Sosa, and Rebeca Mauleón. The group, which gives off vibes of sheer warmth and generosity onstage, has been a jumping off point in the careers of many young artists. So it was that the concert, which might have looked a bit of a mishmash, became a huge family reunion, with old and new band members slapping each other on the back and obviously having a grand time playing old favorites with each other again.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was the charismatic María Márquez singing again with them in “Quando Yo Te Queria.” An arrangement of Juan Tizol’s “Caravan” by Wallace gave us a chance to appreciate Calloway’s virtuoso flute soloing, while Calloway’s own “Zaire” was an opportunity to bring on stage the fiery New York trumpet sound of Ray Vega. For “Lindo de las Razas” Santana’s searing trumpet player Bill Ortiz, as well as Mario Abruzzo, Ramon Estevez, Willie Ludwig and Anthony Blea on violin joined in the fray, filling the hall with a smoky Latin big band atmosphere.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To close out the first set, pianist Rebeca Mauleón, whose arrangements made up a core of the band’s rep along with those of Calloway, Wallace and Santos himself, sailed onto stage, much to the delight of the crowd. With Karl Perazzo, who now plays percussion for Santana, as well as Harold Muniz on congas, and Ortiz and Vega blasting away on trumpets, the music took on an immense looming physicality, like an oncoming freight train. You had two choices: take the leap and get on the train, or run like hell and get out of the way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Orlando Torriente… we need you up here for something…” Santos intoned before the second set began. Indeed. The whole train was picking up speed after intermission. At the front of the band, Lakiba Pittman’s sonorous vibrato cut to the quick in Santos’ West African-inspired “Going Home Tomorrow” from his “Brazos Abiertos” album. But it was the sublimely talented young Destani Wolf whose powerful, milk-and-honey voice raised hairs on the back of our necks in a self-assured diva turn with Vega in “Tu no sabes lo que se amor.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If it was the closing hours of the Machete Ensemble, never fear, they seemed to say, there is still a whole new generation of musicians like Wolf and the energetic young conga player Javier Navarrete, who sat in on the congas several times through the night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The music doesn’t stop, of course, as Santos made clear at the end when he plugged upcoming gigs, including an appearance at the 25th Annual Encuentro del Canto Popular at the Masonic, where he’ll appear with Vilató and Calloway as well as Saul Sierra and Marcos Diaz. But the little group that started as the Afro-Cuban Jazz ensemble and became one of the best known hothouses of original works of Latin jazz is no more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even as the concert came to a close and the band members marched off the stage New Orleans funeral band style, the crowd followed and hung out with them in the lobby exhorting them to keep on playing. If only.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The John Santos Quintet peforms at the Encuentro del Canto Popular Saturday, December 9, 2006. \u003ca href=\"http://accionlatina.org/encuentro/2006/tickets.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">For tickets and information visit accionlatina.org.\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>November 12, 2006. Closing Night of the 2006 San Francisco Jazz Festival at the Palace of Fine Arts Theater in San Francisco. It kinda started in your ribs — just a little tic from side to side that happened reflexively as the Machete Ensemble sent the first notes into the air. Pretty soon it moved into the tip of your shoulders — just a bit of a bounce. And that set your head nodding in time with the beat. Before long, you found yourself swinging and swaying in the Palace of Fine Arts Theater’s groovy reclining seats, which luckily left a lot of leg room in front, in case you wanted to … you know … get up and dance. Which most people did.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It seemed like everyone who was ever part of the San Francisco Latin jazz scene was on hand to bid adios to John Santos’ Machete Ensemble, which disbanded in a blowout concert on November 12 after twenty-one years of turning up the Afro-Latin heat in the Bay Area.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All night long, a parade of former Machete members as well as friends and family came up on the stage to jam with the core group of Macheteros — Orlando Torriente on vocals, John Calloway on flute, Ron Stallings and Melecio Magdaluyo on saxes and clarinet, Wayne Wallace on trombone, Murray Low on piano, David Belove on bass, Paul van Wageningen on drums and Orestes Vilató on just about everything else. And sitting in the middle of it all was the genial, chatty Santos himself, on the congas emblazoned with red, white and blue “Impeach Bush” stickers — as charming as ever, although, as he admitted, talking a little faster than usual so as to fit in all the fun in a brief amount of time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Over the years, Machete has attracted some of the best talent from the Bay Area and beyond — Cachao, Chocolate, Changuito, Armando Peraza, as well as Omar Sosa, and Rebeca Mauleón. The group, which gives off vibes of sheer warmth and generosity onstage, has been a jumping off point in the careers of many young artists. So it was that the concert, which might have looked a bit of a mishmash, became a huge family reunion, with old and new band members slapping each other on the back and obviously having a grand time playing old favorites with each other again.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was the charismatic María Márquez singing again with them in “Quando Yo Te Queria.” An arrangement of Juan Tizol’s “Caravan” by Wallace gave us a chance to appreciate Calloway’s virtuoso flute soloing, while Calloway’s own “Zaire” was an opportunity to bring on stage the fiery New York trumpet sound of Ray Vega. For “Lindo de las Razas” Santana’s searing trumpet player Bill Ortiz, as well as Mario Abruzzo, Ramon Estevez, Willie Ludwig and Anthony Blea on violin joined in the fray, filling the hall with a smoky Latin big band atmosphere.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>To close out the first set, pianist Rebeca Mauleón, whose arrangements made up a core of the band’s rep along with those of Calloway, Wallace and Santos himself, sailed onto stage, much to the delight of the crowd. With Karl Perazzo, who now plays percussion for Santana, as well as Harold Muniz on congas, and Ortiz and Vega blasting away on trumpets, the music took on an immense looming physicality, like an oncoming freight train. You had two choices: take the leap and get on the train, or run like hell and get out of the way.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Orlando Torriente… we need you up here for something…” Santos intoned before the second set began. Indeed. The whole train was picking up speed after intermission. At the front of the band, Lakiba Pittman’s sonorous vibrato cut to the quick in Santos’ West African-inspired “Going Home Tomorrow” from his “Brazos Abiertos” album. But it was the sublimely talented young Destani Wolf whose powerful, milk-and-honey voice raised hairs on the back of our necks in a self-assured diva turn with Vega in “Tu no sabes lo que se amor.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If it was the closing hours of the Machete Ensemble, never fear, they seemed to say, there is still a whole new generation of musicians like Wolf and the energetic young conga player Javier Navarrete, who sat in on the congas several times through the night.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The music doesn’t stop, of course, as Santos made clear at the end when he plugged upcoming gigs, including an appearance at the 25th Annual Encuentro del Canto Popular at the Masonic, where he’ll appear with Vilató and Calloway as well as Saul Sierra and Marcos Diaz. But the little group that started as the Afro-Cuban Jazz ensemble and became one of the best known hothouses of original works of Latin jazz is no more.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Even as the concert came to a close and the band members marched off the stage New Orleans funeral band style, the crowd followed and hung out with them in the lobby exhorting them to keep on playing. If only.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The John Santos Quintet peforms at the Encuentro del Canto Popular Saturday, December 9, 2006. \u003ca href=\"http://accionlatina.org/encuentro/2006/tickets.html\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">For tickets and information visit accionlatina.org.\u003c/a>\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>When I was seventeen I left my tiny, snowbound hometown and enrolled as a freshman at UCLA. There were as many students in my Psych 101 class as there had been in my entire high school. This was, of course, why I’d elected to go there: L.A. represented The Outside World I had heard so much about.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One thing I didn’t expect, however, were the non-stop celebrity sightings. Now of course I knew that L.A. (or Hollywood, wherever that was) was the Celebrity Capitol of the World. And I’d heard of people catching a glimpse of, say, Sylvester Stallone, shopping for a diamond tie pin on Rodeo Drive. But I hadn’t prepared myself for the daily encounters with the semi-famous, the B-listers, the dude who stands in front of you in line for a Tommy Burger and makes you think: I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to know who this guy is… he’s the guy from… And whether he’s the guy who played the best friend of the star in that lame romantic comedy or not, he will act as if he is Marlon Brando. So it can be confusing. I had prepared myself to act nonchalant in the presence of, say, Robert De Niro. But Suzanne Somers? It had never crossed my mind.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Early on in my freshman year, my roommate’s mother came down to visit from Burlingame. This woman was incredible: she predated and predicted the force of nature that is Fran Drescher, from the dyed black hair to the long red nails to the unforgettable voice. She was a nice lady and she wanted to show her daughter and her daughter’s friend (me) a good time — one that we could otherwise never afford — so she took us out to dinner in Beverly Hills.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I don’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was 1988, the height (or was it depth?) of the California Cuisine fad, and apparently that’s what this place was famous for. Everything was white: the walls, the linens, the customers. One of them in particular caught my eye: not only was he wearing all white (was this a cult?), but he looked like… that guy… from… nope, I couldn’t place him. But I couldn’t stop staring, either. He had a deep tan and a dark beard and mustache that really stood out against his flowing white shirt-and-pants ensemble. I was about to ask my roommate for help in identifying him when the waiter appeared and presented him with his appetizer: “chilled cantaloupe soup.” This was a pale orange puddle nestled in the biggest, widest, shallowest soup bowl I had ever seen. It was the size of a hubcap. A huge, white, porcelain hubcap. Chilled cantaloupe soup? I know, I know; it’s passé now. But in 1988 to a seventeen year-old from the High Sierras, it was freaky.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And that’s when I figured it out. The soup’s sipper was… Kenny Loggins. I felt simultaneously thrilled and disappointed. Kenny Loggins? That’s the best the universe can do for me? I thought. Kenny Friggin’ Loggins. Mr. “Footloose.” Kenny “I’m Alright” Loggins. With his chilled cantaloupe soup. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had just experienced my Ultimate Eighties Moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I suppose every era has its cheeseballs, but the Eighties seemed to have more than its fair share, and it was my luck to be in L.A. for the tail end of them. What I didn’t realize then was that a lot of the Eighties cheesers were just coasting through that decade on the momentum of the Late Seventies, and Kenny Loggins was a case in point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All this — even the chilled cantaloupe soup — was brought back to me in nauseating detail as I watched a truly bizarre internet-only “sitcom” on \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>. This ten-episode faux-rockumentary purports to chronicle the clubby career moves of the 1970’s session musicians responsible for the “\u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>” genre; people like Michael “What a Fool Believes” McDonald, Christopher “Sailing” Cross, and our friend Kenny Loggins. These were guys who turned their music-industry connections as songwriters, arrangers, and producers into bona fide solo careers as singers of smooth, highly produced L.A. light rock that was best enjoyed on the deck of a boat while sipping rosé wine or perhaps a Tequila Sunrise.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>\u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>\u003c/b> shows us the cutthroat competition at the heart of these fluffy tunes; the commitment to all things smooth that this tight-knit group of scenesters shared, and the truly offensive sartorial sensibility it encouraged. Is this a strange concept for a sitcom? I don’t know — did you ever see \u003cb>Cop Rock\u003c/b>? At least the \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>ers can actually sing. So, in case you’re still confused, here’s the summary: \u003cb>\u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>\u003c/b> is a fictional \u003cb>Behind the Music\u003c/b>-type show focusing on the careers of Late Seventies easy-listening rockers, featuring the actual, no doubt copyright-infringed-upon songs themselves, which you may find disturbingly appealing (I did — remember “Taking it to the Streets?”).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The short (5-10 min) episodes star many not-so-great comic actors and the plots are more notable for their attention to historic detail (the “real” story behind Hall and Oates’s songwriting process, for example) than for their polished execution (the man chiefly responsible for \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> is J.D. Ryznar). Perhaps the best single element of \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> is the obligatory Intro/Outro by someone named “Hollywood” Steve Huey, a stereoptypical rock critic (long hair, bad complexion, wire-rimmed glasses) who looks like he could guest host \u003cb>Wayne’s World\u003c/b> in a pinch. This is brilliant, I thought: they really nailed the dorky rock guy. Then I found out Steve Huey is playing himself — a real rock critic in L.A! I still don’t know how I feel about that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s ridiculous and hilarious and pretty awful all at once. But \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> and other lo-fi productions like it, screening on YouTube and other outlets, do provide a pleasingly gritty and DIY aesthetic to an otherwise too-shiny interface. And while the turf wars between Loggins and various Doobie Brothers may be surprisingly harsh (sort of), I’ll always have my own private vision of Kenny: tanned, spotlessly white, and cantaloupe soup-sipping into eternity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Get hooked on \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>, \u003ca href=\"http://www.channel101.com/shows/view.php?media_id=805\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">watch the first episode\u003c/a>, chronicling the inspiration behind Michael McDonald’s hit “What a Fool Believes.” WARNING: The songs are so familiar, they’ll probably force themselves back into your head for the next few weeks. May cause semi-permanent emotional and (especially) musical damage. \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> can be addictive and is only safe in small doses.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>When I was seventeen I left my tiny, snowbound hometown and enrolled as a freshman at UCLA. There were as many students in my Psych 101 class as there had been in my entire high school. This was, of course, why I’d elected to go there: L.A. represented The Outside World I had heard so much about.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One thing I didn’t expect, however, were the non-stop celebrity sightings. Now of course I knew that L.A. (or Hollywood, wherever that was) was the Celebrity Capitol of the World. And I’d heard of people catching a glimpse of, say, Sylvester Stallone, shopping for a diamond tie pin on Rodeo Drive. But I hadn’t prepared myself for the daily encounters with the semi-famous, the B-listers, the dude who stands in front of you in line for a Tommy Burger and makes you think: I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to know who this guy is… he’s the guy from… And whether he’s the guy who played the best friend of the star in that lame romantic comedy or not, he will act as if he is Marlon Brando. So it can be confusing. I had prepared myself to act nonchalant in the presence of, say, Robert De Niro. But Suzanne Somers? It had never crossed my mind.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Early on in my freshman year, my roommate’s mother came down to visit from Burlingame. This woman was incredible: she predated and predicted the force of nature that is Fran Drescher, from the dyed black hair to the long red nails to the unforgettable voice. She was a nice lady and she wanted to show her daughter and her daughter’s friend (me) a good time — one that we could otherwise never afford — so she took us out to dinner in Beverly Hills.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I don’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was 1988, the height (or was it depth?) of the California Cuisine fad, and apparently that’s what this place was famous for. Everything was white: the walls, the linens, the customers. One of them in particular caught my eye: not only was he wearing all white (was this a cult?), but he looked like… that guy… from… nope, I couldn’t place him. But I couldn’t stop staring, either. He had a deep tan and a dark beard and mustache that really stood out against his flowing white shirt-and-pants ensemble. I was about to ask my roommate for help in identifying him when the waiter appeared and presented him with his appetizer: “chilled cantaloupe soup.” This was a pale orange puddle nestled in the biggest, widest, shallowest soup bowl I had ever seen. It was the size of a hubcap. A huge, white, porcelain hubcap. Chilled cantaloupe soup? I know, I know; it’s passé now. But in 1988 to a seventeen year-old from the High Sierras, it was freaky.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And that’s when I figured it out. The soup’s sipper was… Kenny Loggins. I felt simultaneously thrilled and disappointed. Kenny Loggins? That’s the best the universe can do for me? I thought. Kenny Friggin’ Loggins. Mr. “Footloose.” Kenny “I’m Alright” Loggins. With his chilled cantaloupe soup. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I had just experienced my Ultimate Eighties Moment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I suppose every era has its cheeseballs, but the Eighties seemed to have more than its fair share, and it was my luck to be in L.A. for the tail end of them. What I didn’t realize then was that a lot of the Eighties cheesers were just coasting through that decade on the momentum of the Late Seventies, and Kenny Loggins was a case in point.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All this — even the chilled cantaloupe soup — was brought back to me in nauseating detail as I watched a truly bizarre internet-only “sitcom” on \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>. This ten-episode faux-rockumentary purports to chronicle the clubby career moves of the 1970’s session musicians responsible for the “\u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>” genre; people like Michael “What a Fool Believes” McDonald, Christopher “Sailing” Cross, and our friend Kenny Loggins. These were guys who turned their music-industry connections as songwriters, arrangers, and producers into bona fide solo careers as singers of smooth, highly produced L.A. light rock that was best enjoyed on the deck of a boat while sipping rosé wine or perhaps a Tequila Sunrise.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>\u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>\u003c/b> shows us the cutthroat competition at the heart of these fluffy tunes; the commitment to all things smooth that this tight-knit group of scenesters shared, and the truly offensive sartorial sensibility it encouraged. Is this a strange concept for a sitcom? I don’t know — did you ever see \u003cb>Cop Rock\u003c/b>? At least the \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>ers can actually sing. So, in case you’re still confused, here’s the summary: \u003cb>\u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>\u003c/b> is a fictional \u003cb>Behind the Music\u003c/b>-type show focusing on the careers of Late Seventies easy-listening rockers, featuring the actual, no doubt copyright-infringed-upon songs themselves, which you may find disturbingly appealing (I did — remember “Taking it to the Streets?”).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The short (5-10 min) episodes star many not-so-great comic actors and the plots are more notable for their attention to historic detail (the “real” story behind Hall and Oates’s songwriting process, for example) than for their polished execution (the man chiefly responsible for \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> is J.D. Ryznar). Perhaps the best single element of \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> is the obligatory Intro/Outro by someone named “Hollywood” Steve Huey, a stereoptypical rock critic (long hair, bad complexion, wire-rimmed glasses) who looks like he could guest host \u003cb>Wayne’s World\u003c/b> in a pinch. This is brilliant, I thought: they really nailed the dorky rock guy. Then I found out Steve Huey is playing himself — a real rock critic in L.A! I still don’t know how I feel about that.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s ridiculous and hilarious and pretty awful all at once. But \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> and other lo-fi productions like it, screening on YouTube and other outlets, do provide a pleasingly gritty and DIY aesthetic to an otherwise too-shiny interface. And while the turf wars between Loggins and various Doobie Brothers may be surprisingly harsh (sort of), I’ll always have my own private vision of Kenny: tanned, spotlessly white, and cantaloupe soup-sipping into eternity.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Get hooked on \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b>, \u003ca href=\"http://www.channel101.com/shows/view.php?media_id=805\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">watch the first episode\u003c/a>, chronicling the inspiration behind Michael McDonald’s hit “What a Fool Believes.” WARNING: The songs are so familiar, they’ll probably force themselves back into your head for the next few weeks. May cause semi-permanent emotional and (especially) musical damage. \u003cb>Yacht Rock\u003c/b> can be addictive and is only safe in small doses.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>For their first performance back in the Bay Area in 13 years, the Kamikaze Ground Crew got a warm welcome at the Great American Music Hall at the San Francisco Jazz Festival. After all, it’s really a hometown crowd for the seven-member band, most of whom still have local ties, even though the crew is largely based now in New York.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a loose knit group of talent — all of them involved in lots of other projects. Co-founders Doug Wieselman and Gina Leishman both write music for dance and theater — the latter most recently composing scores for Berkeley Rep’s \u003cb>Mother Courage\u003c/b> and Cal Shakes’ \u003cb>As You Like It\u003c/b> — and trumpet-player Steven Bernstein and Kenny Wolleson head their own rollicking band Sex Mob. In fact, a majority of the compositions that the KGC unveiled on Wednesday night, came courtesy of Leishman and Bernstein, but those looking for the exuberance of Sex Mob, or the witty, light touch of Leishman’s Shakespearean songs like “It was a lover and his lass” would have been confused at the start.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What seems clear is that in the years since KGC’s start as the pit band for the Flying Karamazov Brothers, a lot of experimenting has been going on. So it was that some of what we got that night was esoteric, some of it impenetrable, while other pieces were lively and even antic. All put together, though, it made for a program that suffered from uneven pacing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When they first sat down, the band — which also includes Peter Apfelbaum on tenor sax, as well as Marcus Rojas on tuba and Noah Bless on trombone — started to make the usual rustling noises of getting settled. Or so I thought, until Bernstein raised his slide trumpet at a particular angle, and I realized that the seemingly random scribs and scratches were in fact the start of the composition. An interesting opening, which coalesced with impressive fluidity into a powerhouse of sound, rather like a faroff steamship powering closer and closer and perhaps crashing through the dusty Baroque walls of the Great American. There was a creaky majesty to it that I found myself wishing had been part of Leishman’s \u003cb>Mother Courage\u003c/b> score, instead of those Kurt Weill style songs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was something intriguing about the way the slightly wounded lumbering fell into step as a cacophonous tribute to Jimi Hendrix in the next number, and Leishman’s latest “Portraits” had a wistful almost Aaron Copland-esque account of Americana tucked between sardonic trumpet and trombone lines and fractured Cubist sketches. But mainly the ideas failed to cohere in the longer works: It started to look a lot like “fun with noisemakers.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As it happens, I live with a noisemaker. When my husband and I first met, he had a collection of items specifically kept for the express purpose of noisemaking, including horns, keyboard, bass, plus hand drum, rain stick, and a thing made out of sticks and rubber bands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What is that?” I asked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s a… a… whirly thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was reminded of that assortment as I watched Wollesen flit delightedly from whirling tube to kazoo to gongs to ratchet to heaven-knows-what-that-thing-was. Wieselman added spice with pings of a “Service, please” bell, and former band member Ralph Carney contributed to the general fray when the irrepressible improviser came up onstage to jam a bit on what I can only describe as an overgrown duck call fashioned out of two “bills” lashed together to make a characteristic irritated waterfowl noise.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, by the conclusion of the first set, I sat, a little dumbfounded, trying to decide how I really felt about all that larky, and yet somehow opaque music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The second set was a bit more penetrable. A piece by Apfelbaum left me marveling at the way the musicians found their way around the form, but Leishman’s “Fred and Rick Have Tea” was all mellowed atmosphere and her ukelele-accompanied song from \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b> had a sweetly ’40s drawl to it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jeff Cressman — another KGC alum — joined in an amusing round of “You Are My Sunshine” as a kind of sardonic dirge, and then, a la Farewell Symphony, the eight of them proceded off the stage still playing as they faded into the distance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The SF Jazz Festival runs through November 12. For tickets and information \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfjazz.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">visit sfjazz.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>For their first performance back in the Bay Area in 13 years, the Kamikaze Ground Crew got a warm welcome at the Great American Music Hall at the San Francisco Jazz Festival. After all, it’s really a hometown crowd for the seven-member band, most of whom still have local ties, even though the crew is largely based now in New York.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s a loose knit group of talent — all of them involved in lots of other projects. Co-founders Doug Wieselman and Gina Leishman both write music for dance and theater — the latter most recently composing scores for Berkeley Rep’s \u003cb>Mother Courage\u003c/b> and Cal Shakes’ \u003cb>As You Like It\u003c/b> — and trumpet-player Steven Bernstein and Kenny Wolleson head their own rollicking band Sex Mob. In fact, a majority of the compositions that the KGC unveiled on Wednesday night, came courtesy of Leishman and Bernstein, but those looking for the exuberance of Sex Mob, or the witty, light touch of Leishman’s Shakespearean songs like “It was a lover and his lass” would have been confused at the start.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>What seems clear is that in the years since KGC’s start as the pit band for the Flying Karamazov Brothers, a lot of experimenting has been going on. So it was that some of what we got that night was esoteric, some of it impenetrable, while other pieces were lively and even antic. All put together, though, it made for a program that suffered from uneven pacing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>When they first sat down, the band — which also includes Peter Apfelbaum on tenor sax, as well as Marcus Rojas on tuba and Noah Bless on trombone — started to make the usual rustling noises of getting settled. Or so I thought, until Bernstein raised his slide trumpet at a particular angle, and I realized that the seemingly random scribs and scratches were in fact the start of the composition. An interesting opening, which coalesced with impressive fluidity into a powerhouse of sound, rather like a faroff steamship powering closer and closer and perhaps crashing through the dusty Baroque walls of the Great American. There was a creaky majesty to it that I found myself wishing had been part of Leishman’s \u003cb>Mother Courage\u003c/b> score, instead of those Kurt Weill style songs.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There was something intriguing about the way the slightly wounded lumbering fell into step as a cacophonous tribute to Jimi Hendrix in the next number, and Leishman’s latest “Portraits” had a wistful almost Aaron Copland-esque account of Americana tucked between sardonic trumpet and trombone lines and fractured Cubist sketches. But mainly the ideas failed to cohere in the longer works: It started to look a lot like “fun with noisemakers.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As it happens, I live with a noisemaker. When my husband and I first met, he had a collection of items specifically kept for the express purpose of noisemaking, including horns, keyboard, bass, plus hand drum, rain stick, and a thing made out of sticks and rubber bands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“What is that?” I asked.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“It’s a… a… whirly thing.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>I was reminded of that assortment as I watched Wollesen flit delightedly from whirling tube to kazoo to gongs to ratchet to heaven-knows-what-that-thing-was. Wieselman added spice with pings of a “Service, please” bell, and former band member Ralph Carney contributed to the general fray when the irrepressible improviser came up onstage to jam a bit on what I can only describe as an overgrown duck call fashioned out of two “bills” lashed together to make a characteristic irritated waterfowl noise.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Still, by the conclusion of the first set, I sat, a little dumbfounded, trying to decide how I really felt about all that larky, and yet somehow opaque music.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The second set was a bit more penetrable. A piece by Apfelbaum left me marveling at the way the musicians found their way around the form, but Leishman’s “Fred and Rick Have Tea” was all mellowed atmosphere and her ukelele-accompanied song from \u003cb>Twelfth Night\u003c/b> had a sweetly ’40s drawl to it.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Jeff Cressman — another KGC alum — joined in an amusing round of “You Are My Sunshine” as a kind of sardonic dirge, and then, a la Farewell Symphony, the eight of them proceded off the stage still playing as they faded into the distance.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The SF Jazz Festival runs through November 12. For tickets and information \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfjazz.org\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">visit sfjazz.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>What is it about los Cubanos? Artists like Los Carpinteros craft incredibly sculpted social critiques. Dancers such as Carlos Acosta, the Carreno clan and the Feijoo sisters have stormed the ballet world. And their musicians — their musicians always rock the house.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The audience in the Herbst Theater was primed from the outset when trumpet master Arturo Sandoval took the spotlight at the San Francisco Jazz Festival. And if there was any disappointment that evening, it was that the show had to end some time.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Backed by a tight-knit quintet that included Ed Calle on sax, Javier Concepcion on keyboards, Armando Gola on bass, Tomasito Cruz on congas and Alexis Arce on drums, Sandoval hit the stage at a blistering pace, dispatching double digit high notes on his trumpet solos with almost irritating ease.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Like many of the Cuban musicians, Sandoval — whose defection to the US 16 years ago was covered in Andy Garcia’s \u003cb>For Love or Country\u003c/b> — is a real charmer. In the rare moments when he’s not playing, he does a little fidgety dance as if he can’t stand NOT to be making noise. He scats, he plays piano on “La Piquina,” and he disarms the crowd with his asides, even as the band and the crew discreetly struggle with the mikes and stage monitors. The fussing goes on intermittently throughout the show, but Sandoval says plainly to the audience, “You understand, we want to sound the best that we can.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A guy in the balcony shouts, “Keep turning it up!” and without missing a beat, Sandoval continues, “And if you have suggestions, please … let us know.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A sensation even before he founded the legendary Irakere group with Chucho Valdes and Paquito d’Rivera — Sandoval has said in interviews that he doesn’t want to be remembered as a jazz trumpeter, that he wants to be remembered as a man who loves music. And indeed, from classical to pop, Afro-Cuban to bebop, music pours out of this omnivorous artist no matter what instrument he’s playing. In fact, there is a smorgasbord of possibilities arrayed at the front of the stage for him to sport with as the mood strikes him — keyboard, drums, cowbells, mouth harp — all right there next to his trumpet and flugelhorn.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All the same, it’s his trumpet-playing that brands itself on your memory. Maybe it’s the punchy bite of his solos, the staccato daggers of sound that sear off the cilia from your cochlea. Or could it be the soft pillows of romance that come out of his flugel, which can morph so effortlessly into comic lines? He can finesse bravura displays that range from dazzling cadenzas to impossibly low brays. He can make the horn laugh, he can make it cry, he can make it play Jascha Heifetz covers, and every whimsical, ridiculous inch of it is vastly entertaining.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Out in the audience, shoulders are shimmying, but everyone is too shy to dance. Sandoval is having none of it, and promises to play just one more tune as an encore if everyone gets up. True to his word, they launch into a hot closer that has the whole floor salsa-ing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s seductive and for just a couple of hours it feels like Cuban blood courses through your veins.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The SF Jazz Festival runs through November 12. For tickets and information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfjazz.org/index.asp\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">sfjazz.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A sensation even before he founded the legendary Irakere group with Chucho Valdes and Paquito d’Rivera — Sandoval has said in interviews that he doesn’t want to be remembered as a jazz trumpeter, that he wants to be remembered as a man who loves music. And indeed, from classical to pop, Afro-Cuban to bebop, music pours out of this omnivorous artist no matter what instrument he’s playing. In fact, there is a smorgasbord of possibilities arrayed at the front of the stage for him to sport with as the mood strikes him — keyboard, drums, cowbells, mouth harp — all right there next to his trumpet and flugelhorn.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>All the same, it’s his trumpet-playing that brands itself on your memory. Maybe it’s the punchy bite of his solos, the staccato daggers of sound that sear off the cilia from your cochlea. Or could it be the soft pillows of romance that come out of his flugel, which can morph so effortlessly into comic lines? He can finesse bravura displays that range from dazzling cadenzas to impossibly low brays. He can make the horn laugh, he can make it cry, he can make it play Jascha Heifetz covers, and every whimsical, ridiculous inch of it is vastly entertaining.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Out in the audience, shoulders are shimmying, but everyone is too shy to dance. Sandoval is having none of it, and promises to play just one more tune as an encore if everyone gets up. True to his word, they launch into a hot closer that has the whole floor salsa-ing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s seductive and for just a couple of hours it feels like Cuban blood courses through your veins.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The SF Jazz Festival runs through November 12. For tickets and information visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfjazz.org/index.asp\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">sfjazz.org\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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}
},
"city-arts": {
"id": "city-arts",
"title": "City Arts & Lectures",
"info": "A one-hour radio program to hear celebrated writers, artists and thinkers address contemporary ideas and values, often discussing the creative process. Please note: tapes or transcripts are not available",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/05/cityartsandlecture-300x300.jpg",
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"airtime": "SUN 1pm-2pm, TUE 10pm, WED 1am",
"meta": {
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"source": "City Arts & Lectures"
},
"link": "https://www.cityarts.net",
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"rss": "https://www.cityarts.net/feed/"
}
},
"closealltabs": {
"id": "closealltabs",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/closealltabs",
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"order": 1
},
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"id": "code-switch-life-kit",
"title": "Code Switch / Life Kit",
"info": "\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em>, which listeners will hear in the first part of the hour, has fearless and much-needed conversations about race. Hosted by journalists of color, the show tackles the subject of race head-on, exploring how it impacts every part of society — from politics and pop culture to history, sports and more.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em>, which will be in the second part of the hour, guides you through spaces and feelings no one prepares you for — from finances to mental health, from workplace microaggressions to imposter syndrome, from relationships to parenting. The show features experts with real world experience and shares their knowledge. Because everyone needs a little help being human.\u003cbr />\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/podcasts/510312/codeswitch\">\u003cem>Code Switch\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />\u003ca href=\"https://www.npr.org/lifekit\">\u003cem>Life Kit\u003c/em> offical site and podcast\u003c/a>\u003cbr />",
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"meta": {
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"id": "commonwealth-club",
"title": "Commonwealth Club of California Podcast",
"info": "The Commonwealth Club of California is the nation's oldest and largest public affairs forum. As a non-partisan forum, The Club brings to the public airwaves diverse viewpoints on important topics. The Club's weekly radio broadcast - the oldest in the U.S., dating back to 1924 - is carried across the nation on public radio stations and is now podcasting. Our website archive features audio of our recent programs, as well as selected speeches from our long and distinguished history. This podcast feed is usually updated twice a week and is always un-edited.",
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
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"source": "Commonwealth Club of California"
},
"link": "/radio/program/commonwealth-club",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cDovL3d3dy5jb21tb253ZWFsdGhjbHViLm9yZy9hdWRpby9wb2RjYXN0L3dlZWtseS54bWw",
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"id": "forum",
"title": "Forum",
"tagline": "The conversation starts here",
"info": "KQED’s live call-in program discussing local, state, national and international issues, as well as in-depth interviews.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 9am-11am, 10pm-11pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Forum-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Forum with Mina Kim and Alexis Madrigal",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 9
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM5NTU3MzgxNjMz",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
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"subscribe": {
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/freakonomics-radio/id354668519",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/podcasts/WNYC-Podcasts/Freakonomics-Radio-p272293/",
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},
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"id": "fresh-air",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=214089682&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"info": "A live production of NPR and WBUR Boston, in collaboration with stations across the country, Here & Now reflects the fluid world of news as it's happening in the middle of the day, with timely, in-depth news, interviews and conversation. Hosted by Robin Young, Jeremy Hobson and Tonya Mosley.",
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},
"hidden-brain": {
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"info": "Shankar Vedantam uses science and storytelling to reveal the unconscious patterns that drive human behavior, shape our choices and direct our relationships.",
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"airtime": "SUN 7pm-8pm",
"meta": {
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"source": "NPR"
},
"link": "/radio/program/hidden-brain",
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},
"how-i-built-this": {
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"title": "How I Built This with Guy Raz",
"info": "Guy Raz dives into the stories behind some of the world's best known companies. How I Built This weaves a narrative journey about innovators, entrepreneurs and idealists—and the movements they built.",
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"airtime": "SUN 7:30pm-8pm",
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},
"link": "/radio/program/how-i-built-this",
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"npr": "https://rpb3r.app.goo.gl/3zxy",
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
"title": "Hyphenación",
"tagline": "Where conversation and cultura meet",
"info": "What kind of no sabo word is Hyphenación? For us, it’s about living within a hyphenation. Like being a third-gen Mexican-American from the Texas border now living that Bay Area Chicano life. Like Xorje! Each week we bring together a couple of hyphenated Latinos to talk all about personal life choices: family, careers, relationships, belonging … everything is on the table. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/03/Hyphenacion_FinalAssets_PodcastTile.png",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"order": 15
},
"link": "/podcasts/hyphenacion",
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"spotify": "https://open.spotify.com/show/2p3Fifq96nw9BPcmFdIq0o?si=39209f7b25774f38",
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},
"jerrybrown": {
"id": "jerrybrown",
"title": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown",
"tagline": "Lessons from a lifetime in politics",
"info": "The Political Mind of Jerry Brown brings listeners the wisdom of the former Governor, Mayor, and presidential candidate. Scott Shafer interviewed Brown for more than 40 hours, covering the former governor's life and half-century in the political game – and Brown has some lessons he'd like to share. ",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-Political-Mind-of-Jerry-Brown-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
"meta": {
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"order": 18
},
"link": "/podcasts/jerrybrown",
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}
},
"latino-usa": {
"id": "latino-usa",
"title": "Latino USA",
"airtime": "MON 1am-2am, SUN 6pm-7pm",
"info": "Latino USA, the radio journal of news and culture, is the only national, English-language radio program produced from a Latino perspective.",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/latinoUsa.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://latinousa.org/",
"meta": {
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},
"link": "/radio/program/latino-usa",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/WebObjects/MZStore.woa/wa/viewPodcast?s=143441&mt=2&id=79681317&at=11l79Y&ct=nprdirectory",
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"rss": "https://feeds.npr.org/510016/podcast.xml"
}
},
"marketplace": {
"id": "marketplace",
"title": "Marketplace",
"info": "Our flagship program, helmed by Kai Ryssdal, examines what the day in money delivered, through stories, conversations, newsworthy numbers and more. Updated Monday through Friday at about 3:30 p.m. PT.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 4pm-4:30pm, MON-WED 6:30pm-7pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Marketplace-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.marketplace.org/",
"meta": {
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"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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},
"masters-of-scale": {
"id": "masters-of-scale",
"title": "Masters of Scale",
"info": "Masters of Scale is an original podcast in which LinkedIn co-founder and Greylock Partner Reid Hoffman sets out to describe and prove theories that explain how great entrepreneurs take their companies from zero to a gazillion in ingenious fashion.",
"airtime": "Every other Wednesday June 12 through October 16 at 8pm (repeats Thursdays at 2am)",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "https://mastersofscale.com/",
"meta": {
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"source": "WaitWhat"
},
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"rss": "https://rss.art19.com/masters-of-scale"
}
},
"mindshift": {
"id": "mindshift",
"title": "MindShift",
"tagline": "A podcast about the future of learning and how we raise our kids",
"info": "The MindShift podcast explores the innovations in education that are shaping how kids learn. Hosts Ki Sung and Katrina Schwartz introduce listeners to educators, researchers, parents and students who are developing effective ways to improve how kids learn. We cover topics like how fed-up administrators are developing surprising tactics to deal with classroom disruptions; how listening to podcasts are helping kids develop reading skills; the consequences of overparenting; and why interdisciplinary learning can engage students on all ends of the traditional achievement spectrum. This podcast is part of the MindShift education site, a division of KQED News. KQED is an NPR/PBS member station based in San Francisco. You can also visit the MindShift website for episodes and supplemental blog posts or tweet us \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MindShiftKQED\">@MindShiftKQED\u003c/a> or visit us at \u003ca href=\"/mindshift\">MindShift.KQED.org\u003c/a>",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Mindshift-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED MindShift: How We Will Learn",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/mindshift/",
"meta": {
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 12
},
"link": "/podcasts/mindshift",
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM1NzY0NjAwNDI5",
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}
},
"morning-edition": {
"id": "morning-edition",
"title": "Morning Edition",
"info": "\u003cem>Morning Edition\u003c/em> takes listeners around the country and the world with multi-faceted stories and commentaries every weekday. Hosts Steve Inskeep, David Greene and Rachel Martin bring you the latest breaking news and features to prepare you for the day.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3am-9am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Morning-Edition-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.npr.org/programs/morning-edition/",
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"link": "/radio/program/morning-edition"
},
"onourwatch": {
"id": "onourwatch",
"title": "On Our Watch",
"tagline": "Deeply-reported investigative journalism",
"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/On-Our-Watch-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
"imageAlt": "On Our Watch from NPR and KQED",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/podcasts/onourwatch",
"meta": {
"site": "news",
"source": "kqed",
"order": 11
},
"link": "/podcasts/onourwatch",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://podcasts.apple.com/podcast/id1567098962",
"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5ucHIub3JnLzUxMDM2MC9wb2RjYXN0LnhtbD9zYz1nb29nbGVwb2RjYXN0cw",
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}
},
"on-the-media": {
"id": "on-the-media",
"title": "On The Media",
"info": "Our weekly podcast explores how the media 'sausage' is made, casts an incisive eye on fluctuations in the marketplace of ideas, and examines threats to the freedom of information and expression in America and abroad. For one hour a week, the show tries to lift the veil from the process of \"making media,\" especially news media, because it's through that lens that we see the world and the world sees us",
"airtime": "SUN 2pm-3pm, MON 12am-1am",
"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/radio/wp-content/uploads/sites/50/2018/04/onTheMedia.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.wnycstudios.org/shows/otm",
"meta": {
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"source": "wnyc"
},
"link": "/radio/program/on-the-media",
"subscribe": {
"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/on-the-media/id73330715?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/On-the-Media-p69/",
"rss": "http://feeds.wnyc.org/onthemedia"
}
},
"pbs-newshour": {
"id": "pbs-newshour",
"title": "PBS NewsHour",
"info": "Analysis, background reports and updates from the PBS NewsHour putting today's news in context.",
"airtime": "MON-FRI 3pm-4pm",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/PBS-News-Hour-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.pbs.org/newshour/",
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"source": "pbs"
},
"link": "/radio/program/pbs-newshour",
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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/pbs-newshour-full-show/id394432287?mt=2",
"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/PBS-NewsHour---Full-Show-p425698/",
"rss": "https://www.pbs.org/newshour/feeds/rss/podcasts/show"
}
},
"perspectives": {
"id": "perspectives",
"title": "Perspectives",
"tagline": "KQED's series of daily listener commentaries since 1991",
"info": "KQED's series of daily listener commentaries since 1991.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Perspectives_Tile_Final.jpg",
"imageAlt": "KQED Perspectives",
"officialWebsiteLink": "/perspectives/",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 14
},
"link": "/perspectives",
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