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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": "\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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"excerpt": "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.",
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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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"excerpt": "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.",
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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>\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>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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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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"content": "\u003cp>“Stew” is a great moniker for the rock musician-poet-filmmaker, all-around-performing-artist, whose \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> made its bow last week at Berkeley Rep. He’s a rich mix of flavors, a bubbling cauldron of ideas and talents, and his latest effort, which takes an autobiographical look at his development as a young black musician, is a kind of spicy recipe based on his life. Some of the ingredients might seem improbable, but the final dish is worth savoring.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> takes its title from Othello’s description of how he won Desdemona’s heart. But as with much of the wordsmithy in this play — which Stew and partner Heidi Rodewald first developed at the Sundance Institute and which will move on to New York’s Public Theater after the Berkeley run — “passing” is meant to encompass numerous other meanings: passing for white or passing for black, being passed up, passing through, passing on. The word itself has a sense of restlessness that is reflected in the rhythm of the play as well as the music, as it follows Stew’s youthful escapades — a Baptist upbringing in LA and coming of age amidst rarefied surroundings in Amsterdam and Berlin.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as a rock musical, \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> reminds me, not of large-scale spectacles like \u003cb>Tommy\u003c/b> or even the old Genesis concerts, but rather of more intimate journeys on the scale of \u003cb>The Fantasticks\u003c/b> or \u003cb>Godspell\u003c/b>, evincing the kind of wide-eyed naiveté that only comes with canny theatricality. The show traces its origins back to the semi-autobiographical ballads and laconic patter that Stew developed as the front man for a band called The Negro Problem. On the Thrust Stage, he remains front and center as the Narrator, with band members (Rodewald on bass, Marc Doten on keyboard, Russ Kleiner on drums and Jon Spurney on guitar) scattered around the space in “mini-pits.” The sets are often just simple chairs and tables and two rolling racks of Annie Smart’s well chosen costumes serve as the rich repository for new characters taken on by Eisa Davis, Colman Domingo, Rebecca Naomi Jones, Chad Goodridge, De’adre Aziza. But at the heart of the adventure is Stew’s fictional counterpart, Daniel Breaker, as the middle class black youth whose quest to find himself leads from funk and groove to punk to arthaus.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There are a few spectacular moments. Midway through, the actors unveil David Korins and Kevin Adams’ white wall of primary-colored fluorescent bulbs arranged Mondrian-like to create an Impressionist version of Amsterdam’s Red Light District. When the scene moves on to Berlin, Domingo launches into an amusing pseudo-Sprockets bit that leaves Breaker with a look of thorough confusion. It’s the kind of confused look you recognize immediately if, say, you’ve ever taken someone to see an evening of the Frankfurt Ballet golfing dildos off the end of the opera house stage.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>For the most part though, this musical is nothing too heavy. It’s more about the infectious joyousness of the music, and the literate and sometimes observant, poetry, which reeks of the wonder of life. But one wonders if a show like this can ever be performed without Stew himself, whose presence is the glue that holds the whole premise together.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moments of personal resonance crop up in unexpected ways. In the second act, Rodewald sings a plaintive song about loss and Stew, who had been watching his alter ego, suddenly regards his bassist, who is his partner in life as well as art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He never saw the point of love without understanding,” he says later.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rodewald fixes Stew in her gaze and says directly, “How about now?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> is clearly still a work in development. The ending, an upbeat drinking song, has a bit of the thrown-together, appended look about it, but it is immediately preceded by a eulogy that would have resonated for anyone who’s swum around in foreign places looking for “home” and “family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the early previews and reviews on \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> it looks as though everyone is still trying to figure out a category for it — rock musical? Performance art? Afro-Baroque cabaret? I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it’s terrific entertainment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> continues at Berkeley Rep through Dec 3, 2006. For further information and tickets visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Berkeley Repertory Theater\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Moments of personal resonance crop up in unexpected ways. In the second act, Rodewald sings a plaintive song about loss and Stew, who had been watching his alter ego, suddenly regards his bassist, who is his partner in life as well as art.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“He never saw the point of love without understanding,” he says later.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Rodewald fixes Stew in her gaze and says directly, “How about now?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> is clearly still a work in development. The ending, an upbeat drinking song, has a bit of the thrown-together, appended look about it, but it is immediately preceded by a eulogy that would have resonated for anyone who’s swum around in foreign places looking for “home” and “family.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>From the early previews and reviews on \u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> it looks as though everyone is still trying to figure out a category for it — rock musical? Performance art? Afro-Baroque cabaret? I have no idea what it is, but whatever it is, it’s terrific entertainment.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Passing Strange\u003c/b> continues at Berkeley Rep through Dec 3, 2006. For further information and tickets visit \u003ca href=\"http://www.berkeleyrep.org/\" target=\"offsite\" rel=\"noopener\">Berkeley Repertory Theater\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>The front cover of The Blank Tapes’ second self-released album \u003cb>Landfair\u003c/b> shows a river winding through a cartoonish snowy mountain landscape with a smudged sun shining down from the sky. The image, portrayed in mostly browns and yellows, illustrates the beginning of spring when the snows melt, feeding the rivers. Soon the flowers will blossom and newly planted crops will sprout, starting a period of growth and renewal that blossoms through the summer.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Landfair\u003c/b>‘s earthy twenty-three tracks seem to reference the moment pictured in the cover art when winter turns to spring as filtered through a style suggesting artists as diverse as Sean Hayes, The Magnetic Fields and Pavement’s Stephen Malkmus. Simple sweet melodies break out of stark rhythms on tracks like “Play A Song & Singalong.” The acoustic-textured instrumentation includes trumpet, violin and a number of guest players who sing (and whistle) throughout. There is a melancholy playfulness on songs like “Oil & Water” while “Turn The Lights Down” introduces a refreshing taste of proto-punk electric guitar wash into the formula.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although there are diverse styles and tones represented on \u003cb>Landfair\u003c/b>, it was written and performed by one person (with the help of some friends) — Matt Adams, the sole ‘member’ of The Blank Tapes. In fact, Adams, who creates special poster designs for each Blank Tapes performance also created the cover art and album design. Originally a Southern California project, The Blank Tapes relocated to San Francisco after the completion of \u003cb>Landfair\u003c/b>, which was captured on 8-track throughout 2004 and 2005.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Adams’ own easy charm is the overwhelming and underlying theme of The Blank Tapes. The SF Weekly’s Dan Strachota called \u003cb>Landfair\u003c/b> “lovely, casual, comforting folk music full of sunshiny melodies and warm vocals, with a smattering of wistful, humorous lyrics.” In the modest biography on the band’s site, the muted color poster and album artwork, and in the relaxed yet sophisticated music itself, The Blank Tapes are a consistently quality one-man show and just the kind of emerging self-reliant independent artist (in all senses of the word) that deserves to be discovered and celebrated.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>I always suspected that Lloyd Cole’s “Rattlesnakes” was about the heroine of Joan Didion’s semi-autbiographical novel, \u003cb>Play It As It Lays\u003c/b> because of the way Cole croons, “her neverborn child still haunts her / as she speeds down the freeway.” That is so Didion, from the abortion to the cloverleafs. Even the “rattlesnakes” part (“She says a girl needs a gun these days / Hey on account of all the rattlesnakes”) is Didionesque in its paranoid logic. The young Joan Didion — as pictured on the back of \u003cb>Slouching Toward Bethlehem\u003c/b>, cigarette in her bony hand, half a smile on her waif-like face — is a perfect model for the eternal Lloyd Cole heroine: smart, nervous, and overwrought. “Like Eva Marie Saint in \u003cb>On the Waterfront\u003c/b>.” Lloyd Cole sings about neurotic girls. And he, of course, is neurotic, too.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So it’s almost a relief to find his new album titled \u003cb>Anti Depressant\u003c/b>. Finally, Lloyd gets some relief! Don’t worry, Cole fans: the Celexa hasn’t dulled his creativity. Yet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Perhaps there are some of you out there unfamiliar with Mr. Cole. Here’s the nutshell version: Mr. Cool English Guy of the ’80s — not quite New Wave or even New Romantic, but a real singer-songwriter type, trapped in the body of a young Elvis. Too pretty for his own good, his hair too floppy by half (see: Hugh Grant), he was the kind of guy certain American teenage girls LOVED and most American teenage boys thought was gay. On behalf of all formerly-teenaged girls of America, we hope you boys have grown up by now. Anyway, Lloyd Cole wrote some classic late ’80s noir-romantic ditties: “Perfect Skin” (“She’s got cheekbones like geometry and eyes like sin”), “Are You Ready to Be Heartbroken” (“If you really want to get straight / Read Norman Mailer / Or get a new tailor”), and the aforementioned “Rattlesnakes” among them.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Anti Depressant\u003c/b> is more of the same… thank God. Lloyd’s still packing way too many syllables into each line, every so often a zinger of a phrase just grabs you and you remember you liked this guy not just because he has a smooth voice with — as someone once said of Billie Holiday — a lump in it, but because the dude can write. As in the title track, when after name-checking \u003ci>No Depression\u003c/i> magazine (Lloyd likes alt-country — who knew?) and \u003cb>Six Feet Under\u003c/b> (he makes it work), he sings “First she’s gonna tire of my fixations / Then she’s gonna tire of my face / I’m gonna need a new affectation / I’m gonna need a new one every day.” Sigh.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n",
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"content": "\u003cp>It’s difficult for me to think of the Portand, Oregon band The Nice Boys without another band coming to mind. Listening to their self-titled debut album one can pick up on their potent influences, which include classic early 1970’s British glam rock bands like Mud, Marc Bolan, Slade, The Bay City Rollers and Gary Glitter. Those bands and the armies of fans they commanded celebrated with rousing straightforward melodies set to a four on the floor backbeat. Soaring vocals referenced doo wop’s sweet high-register harmonies, tackling classic rock’n’roll themes and fusing them to far-flung psychedelic poetry. Glam gave way (and almost certainly made possible) punk, pub rock and power pop in the second half of the ’70s; potent musical styles that each figure largely in The Nice Boys’ sound.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Their collective record collection, I imagine, includes healthy doses of rock’s heavyweight champions — The Stones, Beatles, Yardbirds, The Clash — mixed in with great one-hit wonders and obscure underground singles. Despite wearing their own favorites on their sleeves and in a few nicked riffs, The Nice Boys pack a punch that is all their own. The greatest rock music is not necessarily innovative. Instead, rock is regenerated by the raw emotional truth furnished by the musicians playing it (sort of analogous to a vampire needing human blood to survive). To understand what I mean, listen to anything by The Ramones — rock’n’roll so simple it’s genius.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The one band that comes to mind when I think about The Nice Boys is not any of the great groups just mentioned, but another, incredible, short-lived band also from Portland — The Exploding Hearts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Formed in 2001 by Adam Cox, Jeremy Gage, Matt Fitzgerald and Terry Six, friends since high school, The Exploding Hearts were the culmination of years of companionship and various amateur musical projects. Inspired by obscure punk, kitschy new wave and the unsung power pop of heroes like The Raspberries, they instantly won over their hometown and formed fast alliances with like-minded bands throughout the Northwest.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In 2002, they released a vinyl single named after one of their earlier incarnations “(Making) Teenage Faces.” In 2003 the band signed to local indie label Dirtnap Records, home to pals The Briefs and The Epoxies, with which they released their debut album, “Guitar Romantic.” From the opener, “Modern Kicks” with its commanding distorto lead guitar melody to the teenage lovelorn lament, “My heart is gonna pay the price” of the Clash-inspired ballad “Rumors In Town,” the album is short, sharp and unforgettable. It’s also over in less than half an hour, after rumbling through the sweet angst of “Still Crazy.” “Guitar Romantic” was an unexpected underground smash, even attracting the attention of major labels and finding champions with the finicky indie music site Pitchfork, as well as garnering praise from other likely and unlikely places. The band were playing more regularly along the west coast and had even been flown to New England to perform at the request of \u003ci>The Harvard Lampoon\u003c/i>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then in the early morning hours of July 20, 2003, just north of Eugene, Oregon, while driving home from a pair of successful San Francisco shows, The Exploding Hearts’ van veered out of control and rolled over on Interstate 5 taking the lives of Adam, Jeremy and Matthew. Incredibly, Terry and band manager Rachelle Ramos survived with only minor injuries. The Exploding Hearts’ promising future and the lives of three talented young men were brutally cut short.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In early 2004, Terry Six formed The Nice Boys with friends and local Portland music scene veterans. Wearing their influences once again on their sleeves, but like their predecessors managing to match or in some cases better them, The Nice Boys set out, not to carry on where The Exploding Hearts left off, but to tell their own new story. Listening to their self-titled album released this August on Bay Area label Birdman Records, I feel they have succeeded. The Nice Boys celebrate the brilliant, brief story of The Exploding Hearts not by paying tribute or lingering over the tragedy but by contributing to the rejuvenation of rock’n’roll with everything they can muster.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One final note: this month Dirtnap Records released all of The Exploding Hearts’ outtakes, singles and other rarities in a collection entitled “Shattered,” which includes video footage of one of their last performances at The Bottom Of The Hill in San Francisco from July 2003.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Then in the early morning hours of July 20, 2003, just north of Eugene, Oregon, while driving home from a pair of successful San Francisco shows, The Exploding Hearts’ van veered out of control and rolled over on Interstate 5 taking the lives of Adam, Jeremy and Matthew. Incredibly, Terry and band manager Rachelle Ramos survived with only minor injuries. The Exploding Hearts’ promising future and the lives of three talented young men were brutally cut short.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In early 2004, Terry Six formed The Nice Boys with friends and local Portland music scene veterans. Wearing their influences once again on their sleeves, but like their predecessors managing to match or in some cases better them, The Nice Boys set out, not to carry on where The Exploding Hearts left off, but to tell their own new story. Listening to their self-titled album released this August on Bay Area label Birdman Records, I feel they have succeeded. The Nice Boys celebrate the brilliant, brief story of The Exploding Hearts not by paying tribute or lingering over the tragedy but by contributing to the rejuvenation of rock’n’roll with everything they can muster.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>One final note: this month Dirtnap Records released all of The Exploding Hearts’ outtakes, singles and other rarities in a collection entitled “Shattered,” which includes video footage of one of their last performances at The Bottom Of The Hill in San Francisco from July 2003.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>I take music way too personally, I know this. Before I learned that a person could have never heard of Hawkwind and still have a valid point of view, I based friendships entirely on musical taste. I’m much better now, but sometimes a vestigial habit crops up — like approaching a new record by an artist I like with skepticism out of a deeply rooted fear of disappointment (I trace this back to the scarring moment in eleventh grade when REM officially started sucking).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>However, nothing touches off these music-related fears and excitement quite like the prospect of an exciting record label. Falling in love with a record label is even riskier than falling in love with a band — it’s an affair with a whole sound, with a group of people, with Something That’s Going On. It’s inevitably a losing gamble, because more likely than not, a good record label will end up breaking your heart — usually by going bankrupt.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Because my relationship with music is so emotionally fragile, it’s the record labels that fly low and burn steadily that hold my attention. These are hard to find, but they’re there. And to them, I am forever loyal.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The latest record label I’ve gotten heavy with is Fonal Records in Finland. Started in 1995 by Sami Sänpäkkilä [also a musican and filmmaker], Fonal has issued a consistent string of interesting, beautiful and mindblowing releases by Finnish artists and has been a portal for glimpsing the varied and luminous underground rock scene in Finland. Fonal reminds me of one of those awesome foreign trips where your host is warm and enthusiastic and takes you to all his favorite places, introduces you to his friends and you not only have a head-spinning time, but you end up with a lifelong network of cool people in your life. We’ve never met, but me and Sami Sänpäkkilä? We’re in deep.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Fonal isn’t anchored to any one scene or sound — the bands come from cities all over the country, some of the bands sing in English, others in Finnish and several don’t sing at all — but somehow the label presents a unified front.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s an experimental vein to Fonal’s roster, which surfaces in the hypnotic, scratchy loops and beats of Es [which is Sänpäkkilä solo work] and the artfully damaged noise of bands like Kemialliset Ystavat and Chamellows — the former bringing to mind “collective” clatter bands like Sunburned Hand of the Man and the latter sounding like a far away, feminine Ariel Pink at times. Finland’s own dreamy neo-folk scene is healthily represented on Fonal, with bands like Kiila, Islaja and the especially ethereal Paavoharju. Perhaps the best introduction to the label, however, is through the straight up Belle and Sebastian-type pop of TV-Resistori or the bombastic, joyful electronic exultations of Shogun Kunitoki. In fact, yes, start with Shogun Kunitoki’s “Tasankokaiku.” It’s easily my favorite Fonal release… or just plain “release” release… of all time. Krautrock-y, assured and bright — that album turns gray BART rides into colorful adventures.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As though the music weren’t enough, Fonal’s packaging is exquisite. Most of the releases come in a signature tri-fold digipack with a crisp paper band to hold it shut. The design is usually pretty ingenius with eyecatching art and thanks to a general uniformity, it’s easy to spot the Fonal shelf in a record nerd’s collection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The most difficult aspect of Fonal love is that their CDs can be a little hard to find since they’re not widely distributed. You can buy them locally through Aquarius Records [full disclosure: I work there… tho, maybe that’s WHY I work there…]. Additionally, Sänpäkkilä tends to favor somewhat small print runs. There was a month or two there, right after the much coveted Shogun Kunitoki album came out last April, where it was unavailable anywhere because it had to go through a second pressing. Luckily, Fonal’s website is generous with the sound and video clips to tide over jonesing fans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Labels that put so much care into every aspect of the music are a rare breed, but rarer still are labels that put all that effort into their releases — and each release is an amazing eye-opener. It makes the risk of falling in love so worth it.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>There’s an experimental vein to Fonal’s roster, which surfaces in the hypnotic, scratchy loops and beats of Es [which is Sänpäkkilä solo work] and the artfully damaged noise of bands like Kemialliset Ystavat and Chamellows — the former bringing to mind “collective” clatter bands like Sunburned Hand of the Man and the latter sounding like a far away, feminine Ariel Pink at times. Finland’s own dreamy neo-folk scene is healthily represented on Fonal, with bands like Kiila, Islaja and the especially ethereal Paavoharju. Perhaps the best introduction to the label, however, is through the straight up Belle and Sebastian-type pop of TV-Resistori or the bombastic, joyful electronic exultations of Shogun Kunitoki. In fact, yes, start with Shogun Kunitoki’s “Tasankokaiku.” It’s easily my favorite Fonal release… or just plain “release” release… of all time. Krautrock-y, assured and bright — that album turns gray BART rides into colorful adventures.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As though the music weren’t enough, Fonal’s packaging is exquisite. Most of the releases come in a signature tri-fold digipack with a crisp paper band to hold it shut. The design is usually pretty ingenius with eyecatching art and thanks to a general uniformity, it’s easy to spot the Fonal shelf in a record nerd’s collection.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The most difficult aspect of Fonal love is that their CDs can be a little hard to find since they’re not widely distributed. You can buy them locally through Aquarius Records [full disclosure: I work there… tho, maybe that’s WHY I work there…]. Additionally, Sänpäkkilä tends to favor somewhat small print runs. There was a month or two there, right after the much coveted Shogun Kunitoki album came out last April, where it was unavailable anywhere because it had to go through a second pressing. Luckily, Fonal’s website is generous with the sound and video clips to tide over jonesing fans.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Labels that put so much care into every aspect of the music are a rare breed, but rarer still are labels that put all that effort into their releases — and each release is an amazing eye-opener. It makes the risk of falling in love so worth it.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Rogue's Gallery: Pirate Ballads, Sea Songs and Chanteys",
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"content": "\u003cp>It turns out that the \u003cb>Pirates of the Caribbean\u003c/b> franchise (Part III is coming to a theater near you just in time for Christmas) is not just a vessel for the marketing of merchandise and amusement parks; no, these guys actually dig pirates! Well, Disney’s actual Department of Commercial Domination probably has a different idea, but the fact is that director Gore Verbinski and star Johnny Depp are way into pirate culture, so much so that they thought it would be super-cool to put an album together of old pirate songs. These are the dreams that only teenagers and filthy-rich entertainers dare waste precious time on. I mean, seriously: an album of pirate songs? The rest of us are busy trying to figure out if Geico really would provide cheaper car insurance, but not these guys.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Gore Verbinski:\u003c/b> It’s so cool to hang out here in the Caribbean, just making a movie, eating free food, trolling eBay for pirate stuff.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Johnny Depp:\u003c/b> True dat. You know, Gore, I just can’t get that old sea chantey out of my head — you know, “what do we do with a drunken sailor…”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Gore:\u003c/b> That’s a great one. I wish we had a whole album of those — what did you call them?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Johnny:\u003c/b> Chanteys. Sea chanteys. And — hey — why don’t we just make our own album?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Gore:\u003c/b> You mean, sing them ourselves? Aren’t we busy enough making this movie?\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[they look at each other, each hanging in a hammock overlooking a crystalline lagoon, with a tropical drink in hand and laugh]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Johnny:\u003c/b> We’ll hire someone to put it together. We’ll just be the “Executive” Producers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cb>Gore:\u003c/b> Ooh, I love being Executive Producer — you don’t have to actually do anything, but you get a lot of credit! But who could we hire…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Who you gonna call? Hal Willner! Hal is the world’s go-to guy when it comes to producing off-the-wall concept albums starring all the coolest musicians you can think of. Did you even know this job existed? They didn’t list it in the Career Choices manual at my high school. With a Rolodex that runs from Rahsaan Roland Kirk to Marianne Faithfull (and way beyond), Willner just calls a bunch of great artists and says (for example), “Hey, I’m putting together an album of cover versions of old Disney songs… want to do one?” and somehow both Sun Ra and James Taylor say, “sure!” That’s right: Sun Ra and James Taylor both appear on Willner’s fantastic album, \u003cb>Stay Awake\u003c/b>. Ra reinterpreted the “Pink Elephant” song from \u003cb>Fantasia\u003c/b>, and Taylor did a characteristically tender version of “Second Star to the Right” from \u003cb>Peter Pan\u003c/b>. There’s a terrific cover of “Heigh-Ho!” originally performed by the Seven Dwarfs but redone here by Tom Waits. After listening to his gravelly voice belt out the marching tune, one begins to see its influence in Waits’s later, louder songs, such as “Filipino Box Spring Hog” from \u003cb>Mule Variations\u003c/b> (1999). Or is that a Kurt Weill influence? Hmm… perhaps Weill was himself influenced by “Heigh-Ho!” — they came out around at the same time…\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>These are the thoughts that occur to you as you listen to any of Willner’s productions. Of course he helmed his own Kurt Weill cover album, \u003cb>Lost in the Stars: The Music of Kurt Weill\u003c/b>, featuring Waits, Faithfull, Lou Reed, and even Sting. Which brings us to (you could really play a great version of 6 Degrees of Separation in the Music Industry by linking everyone to Hal Willner) \u003cb>Rogue’s Gallery: Pirate Ballads, Sea Songs and Chanteys\u003c/b>, just released this fall. Sting gets down and dirtier than anytime in recent memory on the rousing “Blood Red Roses,” while Bryan Ferry — Bryan Ferry! — sounds like he might actually have rumpled his suit while performing “Lowlands Low” with the trilling, almost comically so, Antony — of Antony and the Johnsons (sorry Antony fans, but he does kind of sound Monty Python-esque, doesn’t he?).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The big surprise of \u003cb>Rogue’s Gallery\u003c/b> is that the whole thing doesn’t just sound like one long Pogues album — and they’re not on here anyway. Most of the songs are actually quite slow, sad, and mournful tunes, like Richard Thompson’s version of “Mingulay Boat Song,” a lovely ode to a vanished Scottish island culture, or Lucinda Williams’s “Bonnie Portmore,” which reminded me of the John Prine classic, “Angel of Montgomery” in its tragic sensibility.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s just another fabulous Hal Willner album. They’re always worth a listen. Hal was one of Jeff Buckley’s early champions, he somehow managed to create a posthumous Terry Southern — Terry “\u003cb>Doctor Strangelove\u003c/b>” Southern! — album, and he has Bono on speed dial. Now wouldn’t you like that job?\u003c/p>\n\n",
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}
},
"baycurious": {
"id": "baycurious",
"title": "Bay Curious",
"tagline": "Exploring the Bay Area, one question at a time",
"info": "KQED’s new podcast, Bay Curious, gets to the bottom of the mysteries — both profound and peculiar — that give the Bay Area its unique identity. And we’ll do it with your help! You ask the questions. You decide what Bay Curious investigates. And you join us on the journey to find the answers.",
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},
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},
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"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/BBC-World-Service-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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},
"link": "/radio/program/bbc-world-service",
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"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/BBC-World-Service-p455581/",
"rss": "https://podcasts.files.bbci.co.uk/p02nq0gn.rss"
}
},
"californiareport": {
"id": "californiareport",
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"tagline": "California, day by day",
"info": "KQED’s statewide radio news program providing daily coverage of issues, trends and public policy decisions.",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/The-California-Report-Podcast-Tile-703x703-1.jpg",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "/californiareport",
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"source": "kqed",
"order": 8
},
"link": "/californiareport",
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},
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"tagline": "Your state, your stories",
"info": "Every week, The California Report Magazine takes you on a road trip for the ears: to visit the places and meet the people who make California unique. The in-depth storytelling podcast from the California Report.",
"airtime": "FRI 4:30pm-5pm, 6:30pm-7pm, 11pm-11:30pm",
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"order": 10
},
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"google": "https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9mZWVkcy5tZWdhcGhvbmUuZm0vS1FJTkM3NjkwNjk1OTAz",
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},
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"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",
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"officialWebsiteLink": "https://www.cityarts.net/",
"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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"tuneIn": "https://tunein.com/radio/City-Arts-and-Lectures-p692/",
"rss": "https://www.cityarts.net/feed/"
}
},
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"order": 1
},
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"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.",
"airtime": "THU 10pm, FRI 1am",
"imageSrc": "https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/04/Commonwealth-Club-Podcast-Tile-360x360-1.jpg",
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"meta": {
"site": "news",
"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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"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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"imageSrc": "https://ww2.kqed.org/news/wp-content/uploads/sites/10/2018/05/freakonomicsRadio.png",
"officialWebsiteLink": "http://freakonomics.com/",
"airtime": "SUN 1am-2am, SAT 3pm-4pm",
"meta": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WNYC"
},
"link": "/radio/program/freakonomics-radio",
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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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"apple": "https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/how-i-built-this-with-guy-raz/id1150510297?mt=2",
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"hyphenacion": {
"id": "hyphenacion",
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"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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},
"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",
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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": {
"site": "news",
"source": "npr"
},
"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": {
"site": "news",
"source": "American Public Media"
},
"link": "/radio/program/marketplace",
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"rss": "https://feeds.publicradio.org/public_feeds/marketplace-pm/rss/rss"
}
},
"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": {
"site": "radio",
"source": "WaitWhat"
},
"link": "/radio/program/masters-of-scale",
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"apple": "http://mastersofscale.app.link/",
"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",
"npr": "https://www.npr.org/podcasts/464615685/mind-shift-podcast",
"stitcher": "https://www.stitcher.com/podcast/kqed/stories-teachers-share",
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}
},
"morning-edition": {
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