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"content": "\u003cp>Saturday at Outside Lands is always busier, crazier and more extreme in just about every way than either Friday or Sunday, and this year was no exception. As for the crowd, we witnessed more rule-breakers, gate-crashers, and people using Golden Gate Park’s lush landscape to shield a variety of salacious activities than ever; we also saw huge surges of communal joy, good-Samaritan acts toward strangers, and 70,000 people becoming greater than the sum of their parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The music reflected this. Check our \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/08/outside-lands-fridays-best-highlights-and-photos-2015/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Friday recap here\u003c/a>, and read on for what mattered on Outside Lands’ stages Saturday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Scroll down for full photo gallery. Read \u003ca href=\"https://wp.me/p4oi3Y-JGEr\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Sunday’s recap here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886965\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886965\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED) \u003ccite>(Gabe Mel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>1. Kendrick Lamar\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>History will not be kind to the scheduling of \u003ca href=\"http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xg4m3s_subaru-legacy-puddles-tv-commercial_auto\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">professional Subaru salesmen\u003c/a> the Black Keys on Outside Lands’ main stage in the same time slot as Kendrick Lamar — heir to West Coast hip-hop’s throne, foregone victor of Album of the Year for \u003cem>To Pimp a Butterfly\u003c/em> — relegated to the second stage. But honestly, though it was crowded, the whole we’re-all-in-tight-together thing just felt \u003cem>right\u003c/em>. Kendrick turned in a festival-friendly set lopsided toward sure shots from his sophomore breakthrough \u003cem>good Kid, m.A.A.d. city\u003c/em> — “Swimming Pools,” “Backseat Freestyle,” “Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe,” “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst” — which felt, for the first hour, slightly like a missed opportunity to challenge minds on a massive scale by dipping into the \u003ca href=\"http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/20390-to-pimp-a-butterfly/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">highly politicized, musically experimental\u003c/a> material from his new album. But Kendrick’s smarter than that; no one wants to hear \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5Ri76UodWM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">tortured, drunken, crying poetry\u003c/a> at a festival. And so the three songs that came late in the set from \u003cem>To Pimp a Butterfly\u003c/em> were the obvious, accessible choices: “i,” “King Kunta,” and “Alright.” And you know what? By their universal nature, they brought the whole 30,000-strong hollow together at a time when \u003ca href=\"http://www.theroot.com/articles/news/2015/08/police_facebook_group_mocks_death_of_michael_brown.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">we could sure use a little more unity\u003c/a>. For set closer “Alright,” the large-scale video footage switched to scenes shot on Treasure Island as a California flag waved above the crowd. After a long biographical spoken-word interlude about overcoming adversity, Kendrick dedicated the song to a guy crowd-surfing… \u003cem>in a wheelchair\u003c/em>. We gon’ be alright, indeed. \u003cem>— G.M.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886218\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886218\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Billy Idol performs at Outside Lands. Photo: Wendy Goodfriend\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Billy Idol performs at Outside Lands. \u003ccite>(Wendy Goodfriend)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>2. Billy Idol\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Yeah, Billy Idol is nearly a caricature at this point, but he’s an oddly lovable one. The curled lip and tough-guy posturing is easy to poke fun at, but can anyone successfully mock “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKmldYSDJaM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Eyes Without a Face\u003c/a>”? Good luck; the song is invincible. “Dancing With Myself”? Stands all tests of time. Even Idol’s cornier themes like “Flesh for Fantasy,” as he showed Saturday, hold up well. The major downside to Idol’s set was the criminal absence of “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncEjFI9OXEM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Kiss Me Deadly\u003c/a>,” the greatest song about living on the streets of London ever written — just this beautiful, Springsteen-esque anthem of poverty and loneliness and teenage recklessness. \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncEjFI9OXEM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Listen to it here\u003c/a> as played by Idol’s early band Generation X, and then ask yourself why in the world Billy Idol would not simply play this song at every single show he ever plays. Instead, he closed with “Rebel Yell” and “White Wedding,” and everyone loved it, but alas. At least he represented Generation X’s stellar debut album with “Ready Steady Go.” Bonus: Billy Idol still has that signature snarl, and his band looks exactly like you’d imagine them to look; see slideshow below. \u003cem>— G.M.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886223\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886223\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Big Freedia at GastroMagic at Outside Lands. Photo: Wendy Goodfriend\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Big Freedia at GastroMagic at Outside Lands.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>3. Big Freedia\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It’s easy to feel down in an environment permeated by corporate sheen and overly targeted marketing — and that’s exactly when you should make your way over to wherever Big Freedia is, because Big Freedia is the antidote. What other artist can whip the crowd into a pure, visceral, ass-shaking frenzy, then calmly hand out fresh beignets from nearby trays — because this a tie-in with Brenda’s French Soul Food, you see — without missing a single glorious twerk-beat? If last summer’s relatively smoothed-out album \u003cem>Just Be Free\u003c/em> was intended to carry the Queen Diva of Bounce over the mainstream threshold, it’s reassuring to find that it wasn’t at the expense of the fantastically frenetic style which earned Freedia her loyal fans in the first place. She was magnetic above all else, lunging around a too-small stage with a graceful ferocity and conducting a constant stream of booty-moving from both her backup dancers and stage-crashing audience members. Say what you will about the homogeny of the mainstream music landscape in 2015, but the fact that someone like Freedia thrives with the kids (and it was a young, \u003cem>amped\u003c/em> crowd) is about as encouraging as it gets.\u003cem>— E.S.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886970\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886970\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>4. Tame Impala\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Tame Impala’s ascent has arguably relied upon songwriter/producer Kevin Parker’s ability to satisfy his own curiosity while still conjuring a sound that lands squarely in the middle of some touchy Venn diagrams: The Australian wunderkind makes psych-rock for people who roll their eyes at psych-rock, and electronic music for people who don’t think they like electronic music. Live, there’s the added challenge of translating a highly solitary recording experience into a bass-booming, head-nodding, stoner-accessible five-piece dance party. By that metric, Tame Impala took the Outside Lands main stage by the hand and led it into a wholly entertaining, self-assured mating ritual last night, playing nearly all the way through their new, critically lauded album \u003cem>Currents\u003c/em>. If there’s something fundamentally uninteresting about synth-driven music played at a festival scale by five dorky guys when it’s not even dark yet — even at their most animated, electronic fireworks are just not as exciting a live experience as guitar or drum fireworks, etc., no matter how many screensaver-trippy visuals you project onto a screen behind them — the gents make up for it by being just that endearingly dorky. “You look beautiful out there,” said Parker to the adoring hordes near the end of the set. “I felt awful when I woke up today, and you guys have really turned it around.” Do go on, Parker. We’d bet a healthy number of casual fans left devotees. \u003cem>— E.S.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886976\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10886976\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Negrito.jpg\" alt=\"Fantastic Negrito.\" width=\"640\" height=\"425\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Negrito.jpg 640w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Negrito-400x266.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fantastic Negrito.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>5. Support for Fantastic Negrito\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>We’d have loved to include a midday set by Oakland’s own Fantastic Negrito in this roundup, but under highly questionable circumstances, his set was canceled. Instead of performing onstage as a victory lap for his NPR Tiny Desk Concert contest win, Fantastic Negrito — born Xavier Dphrepaulezz — sat for a reported three hours on Saturday in the back of an SFPD van, detained and handcuffed. The reason? It turns out a young intern of Negrito’s decided to sell an extra artist wristband for the festival on Craigslist, and was located by police outside the festival on the sidewalk, where he and two others, including Negrito, were detained — despite the intern reportedly admitting from the onset that he’d acted alone in scalping the wristband. Several news outlets picked up the story, both from the police department’s point of view \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Fantastic-Negrito-s-Outside-Lands-show-canceled-6433539.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">in the \u003cem>Chronicle\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and Dphrepaulezz’s point of view \u003ca href=\"http://www.eastbayexpress.com/CultureSpyBlog/archives/2015/08/09/fantastic-negrito-detained-by-sfpd-on-questionable-grounds-at-outside-lands\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">in the \u003cem>East Bay Express\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, but the looming question regards festival organizers’ collusion with SFPD over the detention, \u003ca href=\"http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking-news/ci_28609911/oakland-musician-says-he-was-handcuffed-detained-by\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">reported in the \u003cem>San Jose Mercury News\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, and the fact that the municipal code cited \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/Lefebvre_Sam/status/630180785341923329\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">doesn’t actually apply to online sales\u003c/a>, or that illegal scalping remains rampant outside the festival gates. The upside to all this is that the story flew around social media all day, with Fantastic Negrito’s many fans showing support. At one point, a frustrated but gratified Dphrepaulezz \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MusicNegrito/status/630193030998286337\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">tweeted\u003c/a>: “I owe y’all a free concert on the steps of the SFPD station.” \u003cem>— G.M.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[gallery type=\"slideshow\" size=\"full\" ids=\"10886956,10886957,10886958,10886960,10886961,10886962,10886963,10886964,10886965,10886966,10886967,10886968,10886969,10886970,10886971,10886972,10886974,10886223,10886220,10886218\"]\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "Saturday in Golden Gate Park was bigger and crazier than ever -- reflected in a beignet-fueled booty-shaking fest, a questionable detention by SFPD, and a stellar set by Kendrick Lamar.",
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"title": "Outside Lands Review: Saturday's Music Highlights and Photo Gallery | KQED",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Saturday at Outside Lands is always busier, crazier and more extreme in just about every way than either Friday or Sunday, and this year was no exception. As for the crowd, we witnessed more rule-breakers, gate-crashers, and people using Golden Gate Park’s lush landscape to shield a variety of salacious activities than ever; we also saw huge surges of communal joy, good-Samaritan acts toward strangers, and 70,000 people becoming greater than the sum of their parts.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The music reflected this. Check our \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/08/outside-lands-fridays-best-highlights-and-photos-2015/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Friday recap here\u003c/a>, and read on for what mattered on Outside Lands’ stages Saturday.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Scroll down for full photo gallery. Read \u003ca href=\"https://wp.me/p4oi3Y-JGEr\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Sunday’s recap here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886965\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886965\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.Kendrick.Spit_-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED) \u003ccite>(Gabe Mel)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>1. Kendrick Lamar\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>History will not be kind to the scheduling of \u003ca href=\"http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xg4m3s_subaru-legacy-puddles-tv-commercial_auto\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">professional Subaru salesmen\u003c/a> the Black Keys on Outside Lands’ main stage in the same time slot as Kendrick Lamar — heir to West Coast hip-hop’s throne, foregone victor of Album of the Year for \u003cem>To Pimp a Butterfly\u003c/em> — relegated to the second stage. But honestly, though it was crowded, the whole we’re-all-in-tight-together thing just felt \u003cem>right\u003c/em>. Kendrick turned in a festival-friendly set lopsided toward sure shots from his sophomore breakthrough \u003cem>good Kid, m.A.A.d. city\u003c/em> — “Swimming Pools,” “Backseat Freestyle,” “Bitch Don’t Kill My Vibe,” “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst” — which felt, for the first hour, slightly like a missed opportunity to challenge minds on a massive scale by dipping into the \u003ca href=\"http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/20390-to-pimp-a-butterfly/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">highly politicized, musically experimental\u003c/a> material from his new album. But Kendrick’s smarter than that; no one wants to hear \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5Ri76UodWM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">tortured, drunken, crying poetry\u003c/a> at a festival. And so the three songs that came late in the set from \u003cem>To Pimp a Butterfly\u003c/em> were the obvious, accessible choices: “i,” “King Kunta,” and “Alright.” And you know what? By their universal nature, they brought the whole 30,000-strong hollow together at a time when \u003ca href=\"http://www.theroot.com/articles/news/2015/08/police_facebook_group_mocks_death_of_michael_brown.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">we could sure use a little more unity\u003c/a>. For set closer “Alright,” the large-scale video footage switched to scenes shot on Treasure Island as a California flag waved above the crowd. After a long biographical spoken-word interlude about overcoming adversity, Kendrick dedicated the song to a guy crowd-surfing… \u003cem>in a wheelchair\u003c/em>. We gon’ be alright, indeed. \u003cem>— G.M.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886218\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886218\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Billy Idol performs at Outside Lands. Photo: Wendy Goodfriend\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/billy-idol-1920-rebel-yell-wendygoodfriend-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Billy Idol performs at Outside Lands. \u003ccite>(Wendy Goodfriend)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>2. Billy Idol\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Yeah, Billy Idol is nearly a caricature at this point, but he’s an oddly lovable one. The curled lip and tough-guy posturing is easy to poke fun at, but can anyone successfully mock “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKmldYSDJaM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Eyes Without a Face\u003c/a>”? Good luck; the song is invincible. “Dancing With Myself”? Stands all tests of time. Even Idol’s cornier themes like “Flesh for Fantasy,” as he showed Saturday, hold up well. The major downside to Idol’s set was the criminal absence of “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncEjFI9OXEM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Kiss Me Deadly\u003c/a>,” the greatest song about living on the streets of London ever written — just this beautiful, Springsteen-esque anthem of poverty and loneliness and teenage recklessness. \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ncEjFI9OXEM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Listen to it here\u003c/a> as played by Idol’s early band Generation X, and then ask yourself why in the world Billy Idol would not simply play this song at every single show he ever plays. Instead, he closed with “Rebel Yell” and “White Wedding,” and everyone loved it, but alas. At least he represented Generation X’s stellar debut album with “Ready Steady Go.” Bonus: Billy Idol still has that signature snarl, and his band looks exactly like you’d imagine them to look; see slideshow below. \u003cem>— G.M.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886223\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886223\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Big Freedia at GastroMagic at Outside Lands. Photo: Wendy Goodfriend\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/big-freedia-wendy-goodfriend-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Big Freedia at GastroMagic at Outside Lands.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>3. Big Freedia\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>It’s easy to feel down in an environment permeated by corporate sheen and overly targeted marketing — and that’s exactly when you should make your way over to wherever Big Freedia is, because Big Freedia is the antidote. What other artist can whip the crowd into a pure, visceral, ass-shaking frenzy, then calmly hand out fresh beignets from nearby trays — because this a tie-in with Brenda’s French Soul Food, you see — without missing a single glorious twerk-beat? If last summer’s relatively smoothed-out album \u003cem>Just Be Free\u003c/em> was intended to carry the Queen Diva of Bounce over the mainstream threshold, it’s reassuring to find that it wasn’t at the expense of the fantastically frenetic style which earned Freedia her loyal fans in the first place. She was magnetic above all else, lunging around a too-small stage with a graceful ferocity and conducting a constant stream of booty-moving from both her backup dancers and stage-crashing audience members. Say what you will about the homogeny of the mainstream music landscape in 2015, but the fact that someone like Freedia thrives with the kids (and it was a young, \u003cem>amped\u003c/em> crowd) is about as encouraging as it gets.\u003cem>— E.S.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886970\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10886970\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TameImpala-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">(Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>4. Tame Impala\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Tame Impala’s ascent has arguably relied upon songwriter/producer Kevin Parker’s ability to satisfy his own curiosity while still conjuring a sound that lands squarely in the middle of some touchy Venn diagrams: The Australian wunderkind makes psych-rock for people who roll their eyes at psych-rock, and electronic music for people who don’t think they like electronic music. Live, there’s the added challenge of translating a highly solitary recording experience into a bass-booming, head-nodding, stoner-accessible five-piece dance party. By that metric, Tame Impala took the Outside Lands main stage by the hand and led it into a wholly entertaining, self-assured mating ritual last night, playing nearly all the way through their new, critically lauded album \u003cem>Currents\u003c/em>. If there’s something fundamentally uninteresting about synth-driven music played at a festival scale by five dorky guys when it’s not even dark yet — even at their most animated, electronic fireworks are just not as exciting a live experience as guitar or drum fireworks, etc., no matter how many screensaver-trippy visuals you project onto a screen behind them — the gents make up for it by being just that endearingly dorky. “You look beautiful out there,” said Parker to the adoring hordes near the end of the set. “I felt awful when I woke up today, and you guys have really turned it around.” Do go on, Parker. We’d bet a healthy number of casual fans left devotees. \u003cem>— E.S.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10886976\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10886976\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Negrito.jpg\" alt=\"Fantastic Negrito.\" width=\"640\" height=\"425\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Negrito.jpg 640w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Negrito-400x266.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Fantastic Negrito.\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>5. Support for Fantastic Negrito\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>We’d have loved to include a midday set by Oakland’s own Fantastic Negrito in this roundup, but under highly questionable circumstances, his set was canceled. Instead of performing onstage as a victory lap for his NPR Tiny Desk Concert contest win, Fantastic Negrito — born Xavier Dphrepaulezz — sat for a reported three hours on Saturday in the back of an SFPD van, detained and handcuffed. The reason? It turns out a young intern of Negrito’s decided to sell an extra artist wristband for the festival on Craigslist, and was located by police outside the festival on the sidewalk, where he and two others, including Negrito, were detained — despite the intern reportedly admitting from the onset that he’d acted alone in scalping the wristband. Several news outlets picked up the story, both from the police department’s point of view \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/bayarea/article/Fantastic-Negrito-s-Outside-Lands-show-canceled-6433539.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">in the \u003cem>Chronicle\u003c/em>\u003c/a> and Dphrepaulezz’s point of view \u003ca href=\"http://www.eastbayexpress.com/CultureSpyBlog/archives/2015/08/09/fantastic-negrito-detained-by-sfpd-on-questionable-grounds-at-outside-lands\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">in the \u003cem>East Bay Express\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, but the looming question regards festival organizers’ collusion with SFPD over the detention, \u003ca href=\"http://www.mercurynews.com/breaking-news/ci_28609911/oakland-musician-says-he-was-handcuffed-detained-by\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">reported in the \u003cem>San Jose Mercury News\u003c/em>\u003c/a>, and the fact that the municipal code cited \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/Lefebvre_Sam/status/630180785341923329\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">doesn’t actually apply to online sales\u003c/a>, or that illegal scalping remains rampant outside the festival gates. The upside to all this is that the story flew around social media all day, with Fantastic Negrito’s many fans showing support. At one point, a frustrated but gratified Dphrepaulezz \u003ca href=\"https://twitter.com/MusicNegrito/status/630193030998286337\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">tweeted\u003c/a>: “I owe y’all a free concert on the steps of the SFPD station.” \u003cem>— G.M.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Rhumba, Funk, and Rahsaan, Oh My! San Jose is Full of Jazz",
"headTitle": "Rhumba, Funk, and Rahsaan, Oh My! San Jose is Full of Jazz | KQED",
"content": "\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/san-jose-jazzs-summer-fest-street-party-on-steroids/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>San Jose Jazz Summer Fest\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">A variety of jazz, blues and world music across 13 stages\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Aug. 6 – 9\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Various locations in San Jose\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/san-jose-jazzs-summer-fest-street-party-on-steroids/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/rashaan-roland-kirk-fest/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>Rashaan Roland Kirk Fest\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">A celebration of legendary jazz saxophonist Rahsaan Roland Kirk\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Aug. 4 – 9\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Cafe Stritch\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/rashaan-roland-kirk-fest/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003cp>Con Brio is having a moment. The San Francisco soul band landed the challenging and high profile assignment of opening up San Jose Jazz’s\u003ca href=\"http://summerfest.sanjosejazz.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"> Summer Fest \u003c/a>on the main stage Friday afternoon at the north end of the Plaza de Cesar Chavez. Ziek McCarter, Con Brio’s dynamic lead vocalist and snake-hipped guiding spirit, did his best to spark the weekend-long street party, and by the end of the 80-minute set he could be proud of a job well done. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Summer Fest kicks into frenzy mode around noon Saturday, with 13 stages and half a dozen acts performing simultaneously in venues and stages arrayed around the plaza through Sunday night. Friday’s more limited offerings set the mood for the proceedings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885344\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 735px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2-735x600.jpg\" alt=\"Con Brio\" width=\"735\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-10885344\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2-735x600.jpg 735w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2-400x327.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2.jpg 800w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 735px) 100vw, 735px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Con Brio \u003ccite>(Courtesy of San Jose Jazz)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A sleek and sinewy funk/disco combo that makes the most of its six-piece instrumentation, Con Brio rides on the buoyant crest of Benjamin Andrews’ relentlessly grooving rhythm guitar. With a beseeching tenor that floats effortlessly up to a silky smooth falsetto, McCarter occupies the uncrowded sweet-end of the soul vocal spectrum. Egalitarian in outlook and decidedly anti-materialist in sensibility, Con Brio purveys San Francisco R&B, though they’re half a hook away from breaking out of the Bay Area. The band’s best songs, like the anthem “Never Going to be the Same,” sound like half-forgotten hits from 1978 (the band’s moment continues this weekend when Con Brio opens for Morris Day and the Time at Stern Grove on Sunday afternoon).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Strolling down 1\u003csup>st\u003c/sup> Street, Summer Fest and San Jose’s First Friday street party converged for the first time, and the air was suddenly charged with the sound of pure rhumba. San Jose Jazz has always put Afro-Caribbean music at the center of the festival, but this was something new and extraordinary, as Cuban conguero Jesus Diaz led an all-star rhumba session from the back of SJZ Boom Box Stage (a box truck with the side cut out and painted to look like a giant boom box). It was like stumbling into a street corner gathering in Havana, with Diaz and vocalist Fito Reynoso delivering invocations accompanied by a conga battery including unbilled percussion master Michael Spiro\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So where was the jazz happening? On Friday, the prime spot was also on First Street, where Café Stritch was in the midst of the third annual Rahsaanathon, a mini-festival that parallels but isn’t officially part of Summer Fest, and summons the spirit of the singular horn player, composer, and bandleader Rahsaan Roland Kirk.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885346\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/JEsus-Diaz-800x534.jpg\" alt=\"Jesus Diaz\" width=\"800\" height=\"534\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-10885346\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/JEsus-Diaz.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/JEsus-Diaz-400x267.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jesus Diaz \u003ccite>(Courtesy of San Jose Jazz)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Friday was the second of three nights featuring East Bay-raised trombonist Steve Turre, a fixture on the New York scene for some four decades who spent his formative years playing with Kirk on Bay Area stages. Turre has presented Kirk’s music around the world, but Café Stritch has quickly become his Rahsaanian homebase.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Celebrating the occasion of Kirk’s 80\u003csup>th\u003c/sup> birthday (1935-1977), Turre’s Eulipion All-Stars feature Oakland-raised New York drummer Darrell Green, bassist Marcus Shelby, pianist Matt Clark, alto and soprano saxophonist Charles McNeal (who is much missed in the Bay Area since relocating to Las Vegas), and protean multi-instrumentalist James Carter (who also plays a quartet show with the same rhythm section at Stritch on Sunday). \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kirk wrote memorable themes that embodied his tragic, ecstatic and supremely humane sensibility, like the episodic “Three For the Festival” and sassy “Dorthaan’s Walk,” and the Eulipion All-Stars engaged fully with the music’s unruly, emotionally charged spirit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885347\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Tower-of-Power-800x517.jpg\" alt=\"Tower of Power at San Jose Jazz’s Summer Fest\" width=\"800\" height=\"517\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-10885347\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Tower-of-Power.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Tower-of-Power-400x259.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tower of Power at San Jose Jazz’s Summer Fest \u003ccite>(Courtesy of San Jose Jazz )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As on the previous Rahsaanathons, the ageless poet Betty Neals was on hand to recite her verse she recorded with Kirk on his album classic 1976 \u003cem>The Return of the 5000 lb Man\u003c/em>, providing the evening with a true benediction (a blessing amplified by Kirk’s widow Dorthaan Kirk, who was also in the house). And powerhouse blues and jazz singer Terrie Odabi infused the Eulipion theme with a regal and earthy air (she headlines her own show at Yoshi’s on Sept. 8). Around midnight Café Stritch’s Steve Borkenhagen presented Carter with Kirk’s reconditioned namesake Stritch, a straight alto with a keening tone, adding another layer to the Kirkian communion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If the best festivals leave you exhilarated by music you experienced and frustrated by the acts you missed, Summer Fest and the Rahsaanathon deserve their reputations as being some of the Bay Area’s essential cultural events. For Saturday, bring on the Brazilians with Letieres Leite and Orchestra Rumpilezz!\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/san-jose-jazzs-summer-fest-street-party-on-steroids/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>San Jose Jazz Summer Fest\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">A variety of jazz, blues and world music across 13 stages\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Aug. 6 – 9\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Various locations in San Jose\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/san-jose-jazzs-summer-fest-street-party-on-steroids/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/rashaan-roland-kirk-fest/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>Rashaan Roland Kirk Fest\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">A celebration of legendary jazz saxophonist Rahsaan Roland Kirk\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Aug. 4 – 9\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Cafe Stritch\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/rashaan-roland-kirk-fest/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003cp>Con Brio is having a moment. The San Francisco soul band landed the challenging and high profile assignment of opening up San Jose Jazz’s\u003ca href=\"http://summerfest.sanjosejazz.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\"> Summer Fest \u003c/a>on the main stage Friday afternoon at the north end of the Plaza de Cesar Chavez. Ziek McCarter, Con Brio’s dynamic lead vocalist and snake-hipped guiding spirit, did his best to spark the weekend-long street party, and by the end of the 80-minute set he could be proud of a job well done. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Summer Fest kicks into frenzy mode around noon Saturday, with 13 stages and half a dozen acts performing simultaneously in venues and stages arrayed around the plaza through Sunday night. Friday’s more limited offerings set the mood for the proceedings.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885344\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 735px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2-735x600.jpg\" alt=\"Con Brio\" width=\"735\" height=\"600\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-10885344\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2-735x600.jpg 735w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2-400x327.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Con-Brio-2.jpg 800w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 735px) 100vw, 735px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Con Brio \u003ccite>(Courtesy of San Jose Jazz)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>A sleek and sinewy funk/disco combo that makes the most of its six-piece instrumentation, Con Brio rides on the buoyant crest of Benjamin Andrews’ relentlessly grooving rhythm guitar. With a beseeching tenor that floats effortlessly up to a silky smooth falsetto, McCarter occupies the uncrowded sweet-end of the soul vocal spectrum. Egalitarian in outlook and decidedly anti-materialist in sensibility, Con Brio purveys San Francisco R&B, though they’re half a hook away from breaking out of the Bay Area. The band’s best songs, like the anthem “Never Going to be the Same,” sound like half-forgotten hits from 1978 (the band’s moment continues this weekend when Con Brio opens for Morris Day and the Time at Stern Grove on Sunday afternoon).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Strolling down 1\u003csup>st\u003c/sup> Street, Summer Fest and San Jose’s First Friday street party converged for the first time, and the air was suddenly charged with the sound of pure rhumba. San Jose Jazz has always put Afro-Caribbean music at the center of the festival, but this was something new and extraordinary, as Cuban conguero Jesus Diaz led an all-star rhumba session from the back of SJZ Boom Box Stage (a box truck with the side cut out and painted to look like a giant boom box). It was like stumbling into a street corner gathering in Havana, with Diaz and vocalist Fito Reynoso delivering invocations accompanied by a conga battery including unbilled percussion master Michael Spiro\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>So where was the jazz happening? On Friday, the prime spot was also on First Street, where Café Stritch was in the midst of the third annual Rahsaanathon, a mini-festival that parallels but isn’t officially part of Summer Fest, and summons the spirit of the singular horn player, composer, and bandleader Rahsaan Roland Kirk.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885346\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/JEsus-Diaz-800x534.jpg\" alt=\"Jesus Diaz\" width=\"800\" height=\"534\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-10885346\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/JEsus-Diaz.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/JEsus-Diaz-400x267.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jesus Diaz \u003ccite>(Courtesy of San Jose Jazz)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Friday was the second of three nights featuring East Bay-raised trombonist Steve Turre, a fixture on the New York scene for some four decades who spent his formative years playing with Kirk on Bay Area stages. Turre has presented Kirk’s music around the world, but Café Stritch has quickly become his Rahsaanian homebase.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Celebrating the occasion of Kirk’s 80\u003csup>th\u003c/sup> birthday (1935-1977), Turre’s Eulipion All-Stars feature Oakland-raised New York drummer Darrell Green, bassist Marcus Shelby, pianist Matt Clark, alto and soprano saxophonist Charles McNeal (who is much missed in the Bay Area since relocating to Las Vegas), and protean multi-instrumentalist James Carter (who also plays a quartet show with the same rhythm section at Stritch on Sunday). \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kirk wrote memorable themes that embodied his tragic, ecstatic and supremely humane sensibility, like the episodic “Three For the Festival” and sassy “Dorthaan’s Walk,” and the Eulipion All-Stars engaged fully with the music’s unruly, emotionally charged spirit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885347\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 800px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Tower-of-Power-800x517.jpg\" alt=\"Tower of Power at San Jose Jazz’s Summer Fest\" width=\"800\" height=\"517\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-10885347\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Tower-of-Power.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Tower-of-Power-400x259.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 800px) 100vw, 800px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tower of Power at San Jose Jazz’s Summer Fest \u003ccite>(Courtesy of San Jose Jazz )\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>As on the previous Rahsaanathons, the ageless poet Betty Neals was on hand to recite her verse she recorded with Kirk on his album classic 1976 \u003cem>The Return of the 5000 lb Man\u003c/em>, providing the evening with a true benediction (a blessing amplified by Kirk’s widow Dorthaan Kirk, who was also in the house). And powerhouse blues and jazz singer Terrie Odabi infused the Eulipion theme with a regal and earthy air (she headlines her own show at Yoshi’s on Sept. 8). Around midnight Café Stritch’s Steve Borkenhagen presented Carter with Kirk’s reconditioned namesake Stritch, a straight alto with a keening tone, adding another layer to the Kirkian communion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>If the best festivals leave you exhilarated by music you experienced and frustrated by the acts you missed, Summer Fest and the Rahsaanathon deserve their reputations as being some of the Bay Area’s essential cultural events. For Saturday, bring on the Brazilians with Letieres Leite and Orchestra Rumpilezz!\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Outside Lands Review: Friday's Music Highlights and Photo Gallery",
"headTitle": "Outside Lands Review: Friday’s Music Highlights and Photo Gallery | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>With dense crowds, long lines and weather that can turn on even the most well-prepared, why would anyone go to Outside Lands? The answer, of course, is the music, which in its breadth and sometimes \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/04/outside-lands-fighting-championship/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">overwhelming plenty\u003c/a>, never disappoints us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While our KQED colleagues over at \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Bay Area Bites\u003c/a> have a \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2015/08/08/foodie-guide-to-outside-lands-2015/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">run-down of this year’s best food offerings\u003c/a>, here’s what resonated with us onstage at Friday’s opening day for this year’s Outside Lands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Scroll down for full photo gallery. Read \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/09/outside-lands-review-saturdays-music-highlights-and-photo-gallery/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Saturday’s recap here\u003c/a>, and \u003ca href=\"https://wp.me/p4oi3Y-JGEr\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Sunday’s recap here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885111\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"D'Angelo. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885111\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">D’Angelo. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>1. D’Angelo\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>After a 14-year hiatus, the soul visionary and notorious recluse finally emerged from hiding, and damn, did he bring the goods. For those unable to catch his sold-out-in-seconds show at the Fox Theater in Oakland earlier this year, D’Angelo’s set at Outside Lands was a swampy, jubilant salve, backed by a 10-piece band. When we managed to take our focus off the man himself — D’Angelo could clip his fingernails onstage and it’d be mesmerizing — we gawked at bassist supreme Pino Palladino, blazing guitarist Jesse Johnson or the thousands in the crowd grinding, gyrating or just stone-cold making out. Save for “Brown Sugar,” the set pulled entirely from D’Angelo’s new album \u003cem>Black Messiah\u003c/em>, and not a nod at all to 2000’s \u003cem>Voodoo\u003c/em> or its biggest hit, “Untitled (How Does It Feel?),” which the teeming field clearly wanted as an encore. Leave ’em wanting more, the saying goes; D’Angelo could have played for three hours and never lost the crowd. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885104\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"St. Vincent. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885104\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">St. Vincent. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>2. St. Vincent\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Still riding the crest of last year’s excellent \u003cem>St. Vincent\u003c/em>, Annie Clark emerged from the wings in a black jumpsuit that looked as if it’d been rototilled. She then proceeded to rototill the entire Polo Field with jarring rhythms, reaching-for-the-heavens melodies and a backing band that worked alternately like an industrial scythe and a Moroccan snake ritual. As the nation’s collectively dropped jaws can attest, Clark’s angular guitar solos are a dazzling thing in and of themselves; when paired with her excellent band and intricate songwriting, they become eruptive. Year after year, she puts out great records and yet is still reduced to \u003ca href=\"http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-3190241/Cara-Delevingne-s-girlfriend-St-Vincent-shows-incredible-physique-plunging-leather-jumpsuit-performs-Outside-Lands-Festival.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">garbage headlines like this which ignore her music entirely\u003c/a>; there’s no way anyone who saw her Friday left talking about anything but. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885105\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Tig Notaro. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885105\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tig Notaro. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>3. Tig Notaro\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Bands, bands, bands. At least once during the weekend each year, a trip to the comedy tent is recommended to change up the pace. Tig Notaro, a brilliant master of timing and deprecation, changes the pace wherever she goes. After a stellar opening set by James Adomian (his Louis C.K. impression was eerily precise), and a complete bomb of a set by Andy Kindler from \u003cem>Everybody Loves Raymond\u003c/em>, Notaro made masterpieces of misfortune. After promising that “I don’t typically talk about things that are upsetting to people” — counter to the fact that her most famous performance was about having cancer, being dumped and her mother dying — someone shouted “Liar!” Taking the cue, Notaro continued: “So I want to tell you about a time when I should have been molested, but then I wasn’t.” Everybody laughed, but she wasn’t kidding: she told the story — and it was \u003cem>hilarious\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885092\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Amon Tobin. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885092\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Amon Tobin. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>4. Amon Tobin\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>There are plenty of works of art throughout the festival grounds (shout out to KQED’s own Kristin Farr, whose designs \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/6GJAAapASJ/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">flank the Sutro stage\u003c/a> this year) and with nine new large murals created on-site each year, Outside Lands has amassed an impressive collection. But the biggest piece of art on Friday was Brazilian producer Amon Tobin’s gigantic \u003cem>ISAM 2.0\u003c/em> stage set, a cubist sprawl that’s reminiscent of the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/default/article/A-taste-of-Temko-his-take-on-6-S-F-buildings-3163489.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">excrement-deposited-by-a-giant-concrete-dog-with-square-intestines\u003c/a> Vaillancourt Fountain in the Embarcadero. With dizzying landscapes and patterns projected in 3D upon its surface, and with Tobin housed inside performing a cross-pollination of EDM and the suicide nets at Foxconn, the set is legendary in electronic-music circles, but intriguing enough to the casual passerby. When I \u003ca href=\"http://citysound.bohemian.com/2011/10/02/live-review-amon-tobin-isam-at-the-warfield/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">saw it at the Warfield in 2011\u003c/a>, I surmised that it belongs in a museum. The assessment stands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885100\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Lindsey Stirling. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885100\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lindsey Stirling. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>5. Lindsey Stirling\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>A chipper, vivacious and semi-confusing \u003cem>Lord of the Dance\u003c/em> for the seapunk generation, Lindsey Stirling kicked and twirled her way into the hearts of the crowd Friday afternoon. Stirling is a YouTube violin sensation who plays a manic sort of Celtic-inspired fiddle, flanked by four backup dancers and various props (e.g., a tombstone bearing the name of Piers Morgan). Though repetitive, her set provided a welcome respite from the hordes of unshaven guitar-slinging mopes with lovelorn choruses and vintage tube amps so plentiful at any music festival. A \u003cem>Riverdance\u003c/em> revival with pink hair, a pirate chest, a pantomime of a sailing ship and a death wish for boorish race-baiting late-night hosts? Sign me up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[gallery type=\"slideshow\" size=\"full\" ids=\"10885104,10885099,10885094,10885100,10884501,10885103,10885111,10885101,10884504,10884497,10884506,10885105,10885102,10885095,10885098,10885097,10885093,10884512,10885092,10884510,10884502,10885096, 10884492,10884499,10885106\"]\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>With dense crowds, long lines and weather that can turn on even the most well-prepared, why would anyone go to Outside Lands? The answer, of course, is the music, which in its breadth and sometimes \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/04/outside-lands-fighting-championship/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">overwhelming plenty\u003c/a>, never disappoints us.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>While our KQED colleagues over at \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Bay Area Bites\u003c/a> have a \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/bayareabites/2015/08/08/foodie-guide-to-outside-lands-2015/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">run-down of this year’s best food offerings\u003c/a>, here’s what resonated with us onstage at Friday’s opening day for this year’s Outside Lands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Scroll down for full photo gallery. Read \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/09/outside-lands-review-saturdays-music-highlights-and-photo-gallery/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Saturday’s recap here\u003c/a>, and \u003ca href=\"https://wp.me/p4oi3Y-JGEr\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Sunday’s recap here\u003c/a>.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885111\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"D'Angelo. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885111\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.DAngeloMic-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">D’Angelo. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>1. D’Angelo\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>After a 14-year hiatus, the soul visionary and notorious recluse finally emerged from hiding, and damn, did he bring the goods. For those unable to catch his sold-out-in-seconds show at the Fox Theater in Oakland earlier this year, D’Angelo’s set at Outside Lands was a swampy, jubilant salve, backed by a 10-piece band. When we managed to take our focus off the man himself — D’Angelo could clip his fingernails onstage and it’d be mesmerizing — we gawked at bassist supreme Pino Palladino, blazing guitarist Jesse Johnson or the thousands in the crowd grinding, gyrating or just stone-cold making out. Save for “Brown Sugar,” the set pulled entirely from D’Angelo’s new album \u003cem>Black Messiah\u003c/em>, and not a nod at all to 2000’s \u003cem>Voodoo\u003c/em> or its biggest hit, “Untitled (How Does It Feel?),” which the teeming field clearly wanted as an encore. Leave ’em wanting more, the saying goes; D’Angelo could have played for three hours and never lost the crowd. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885104\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"St. Vincent. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885104\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.StVincent-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">St. Vincent. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>2. St. Vincent\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Still riding the crest of last year’s excellent \u003cem>St. Vincent\u003c/em>, Annie Clark emerged from the wings in a black jumpsuit that looked as if it’d been rototilled. She then proceeded to rototill the entire Polo Field with jarring rhythms, reaching-for-the-heavens melodies and a backing band that worked alternately like an industrial scythe and a Moroccan snake ritual. As the nation’s collectively dropped jaws can attest, Clark’s angular guitar solos are a dazzling thing in and of themselves; when paired with her excellent band and intricate songwriting, they become eruptive. Year after year, she puts out great records and yet is still reduced to \u003ca href=\"http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-3190241/Cara-Delevingne-s-girlfriend-St-Vincent-shows-incredible-physique-plunging-leather-jumpsuit-performs-Outside-Lands-Festival.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">garbage headlines like this which ignore her music entirely\u003c/a>; there’s no way anyone who saw her Friday left talking about anything but. \u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885105\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Tig Notaro. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885105\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.TigNotaro-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Tig Notaro. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>3. Tig Notaro\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>Bands, bands, bands. At least once during the weekend each year, a trip to the comedy tent is recommended to change up the pace. Tig Notaro, a brilliant master of timing and deprecation, changes the pace wherever she goes. After a stellar opening set by James Adomian (his Louis C.K. impression was eerily precise), and a complete bomb of a set by Andy Kindler from \u003cem>Everybody Loves Raymond\u003c/em>, Notaro made masterpieces of misfortune. After promising that “I don’t typically talk about things that are upsetting to people” — counter to the fact that her most famous performance was about having cancer, being dumped and her mother dying — someone shouted “Liar!” Taking the cue, Notaro continued: “So I want to tell you about a time when I should have been molested, but then I wasn’t.” Everybody laughed, but she wasn’t kidding: she told the story — and it was \u003cem>hilarious\u003c/em>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885092\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Amon Tobin. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885092\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.AmonTobin-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Amon Tobin. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>4. Amon Tobin\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>There are plenty of works of art throughout the festival grounds (shout out to KQED’s own Kristin Farr, whose designs \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/6GJAAapASJ/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">flank the Sutro stage\u003c/a> this year) and with nine new large murals created on-site each year, Outside Lands has amassed an impressive collection. But the biggest piece of art on Friday was Brazilian producer Amon Tobin’s gigantic \u003cem>ISAM 2.0\u003c/em> stage set, a cubist sprawl that’s reminiscent of the \u003ca href=\"http://www.sfgate.com/default/article/A-taste-of-Temko-his-take-on-6-S-F-buildings-3163489.php\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">excrement-deposited-by-a-giant-concrete-dog-with-square-intestines\u003c/a> Vaillancourt Fountain in the Embarcadero. With dizzying landscapes and patterns projected in 3D upon its surface, and with Tobin housed inside performing a cross-pollination of EDM and the suicide nets at Foxconn, the set is legendary in electronic-music circles, but intriguing enough to the casual passerby. When I \u003ca href=\"http://citysound.bohemian.com/2011/10/02/live-review-amon-tobin-isam-at-the-warfield/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">saw it at the Warfield in 2011\u003c/a>, I surmised that it belongs in a museum. The assessment stands.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10885100\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 640px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-1180x787.jpg\" alt=\"Lindsey Stirling. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\" width=\"640\" height=\"427\" class=\"size-large wp-image-10885100\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-1180x787.jpg 1180w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-400x267.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-800x533.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling.jpg 1920w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/OL.LindseyStirling-960x640.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 640px) 100vw, 640px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Lindsey Stirling. (Photo: Gabe Meline)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>5. Lindsey Stirling\u003c/h3>\n\u003cp>A chipper, vivacious and semi-confusing \u003cem>Lord of the Dance\u003c/em> for the seapunk generation, Lindsey Stirling kicked and twirled her way into the hearts of the crowd Friday afternoon. Stirling is a YouTube violin sensation who plays a manic sort of Celtic-inspired fiddle, flanked by four backup dancers and various props (e.g., a tombstone bearing the name of Piers Morgan). Though repetitive, her set provided a welcome respite from the hordes of unshaven guitar-slinging mopes with lovelorn choruses and vintage tube amps so plentiful at any music festival. A \u003cem>Riverdance\u003c/em> revival with pink hair, a pirate chest, a pantomime of a sailing ship and a death wish for boorish race-baiting late-night hosts? Sign me up.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"title": "Live Review: Wilco at the Independent, A Most Decent Exposure",
"headTitle": "Live Review: Wilco at the Independent, A Most Decent Exposure | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>While rock star Lenny Kravitz \u003ca href=\"http://www.hitfix.com/comedy/lenny-kravitz-hilariously-responds-to-wardrobe-malfunction-on-twitter\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">reminded us this week\u003c/a> of one unfortunate way musicians can expose themselves on stage, Wilco’s intimate performance last night at the Independent captured quite another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s perhaps inevitable that a band acclimated to festivals and enormous theaters could feel a bit exposed at the Independent — a venue with a capacity of just over 400, which is probably the same amount of people who’ll be waiting in line to buy beer when the band takes the stage at \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/04/outside-lands-fighting-championship/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Outside Lands\u003c/a> tonight. But Wilco (and opening act Vetiver, operating as a duo) handled the challenge spectacularly. Instead of bringing their arena-sized riffs and explosive walls of sound to the Independent, the Chicago six-piece opted for a quieter route.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as the Notorious Wilco Brothers, a nod to the Byrds, Wilco played an all-acoustic two-hour set that pulled back the curtain on their audacious sound and oft-opaque stage presence. They did more than merely play stripped-down versions of their songs; they invited us into their world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a room so small that a nearby sneeze competed for ones’ attention, even the tiniest mistake from the stage would have nowhere to hide. While “Bull Black Nova,” a sprawling track from 2009’s \u003cem>Wilco (the Album)\u003c/em>, is typically engulfed in surging feedback and mountains of guitar effects, here Nels Cline’s solos were as spare as they were spastic, each note hanging with delicious clarity. Later, the sugary synthesizers on “I’m Always in Love” were replaced by a slide guitar and melodihorn to less impressive, but equally as daring, effect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10883481\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 400px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-thumbnail wp-image-10883481\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN-400x286.jpg\" alt=\"Wilco perform at the Independent, Aug. 6, 2015. (Photo: Max Savage Levenson)\" width=\"400\" height=\"286\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN-400x286.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN-800x571.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN.jpg 867w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 400px) 100vw, 400px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Wilco perform at the Independent, Aug. 6, 2015. (Photo: Max Savage Levenson)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The changed format seemed to concern few, least of all frontman Jeff Tweedy, who sweated straight through his tan blazer and wore a grin all night. While these days Wilco often performs separated from their audience by barricades, they seemed glad to play for fans leaning on the Independent’s low stage just inches away — at one point, multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone leaned back on his stool and almost collided with an audience member.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The band’s unadorned, acoustic versions of songs from \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em>, the album Wilco surprise-released for free a couple of weeks ago, crackled with energy and confidence. With the addition of a banjo, the hulking glam-rock “More…” shifted its weight into a rollicking countrified gallop, and the blistering punch of “Pickled Ginger” somehow packed even more menace without the rifle crack of Glenn Kotche’s snare and Tweedy’s fuzzy distortion. The album’s closing track “Magnetized,” which leans heavily on a synth line that gurgles like a dishwasher full of fudge, proved to be the most captivating and inventive arrangement of the night, the void left by the massive synth making space to focus on the gentle cadence of Tweedy’s words. “I sleep beneath / a picture that I keep of you next to me / I realize we’re magnetized,” he declared, with all the heart-stopping bluntness of classics like “Via Chicago” and “I am Trying to Break Your Heart” (neither of which the band played last night).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although Wilco interspersed this new material throughout the set, their encore was nothing but classics. In “Misunderstood,” Tweedy replaced the song’s howling, climactic mantra with a tender phrasing, before leading his band through the only unsurprising moment of the night: “California Stars.” “Sometimes the obvious choice is the best choice,” Tweedy quipped. “That’s why I’m supporting Trump 2016.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wilco took their name from the radio shorthand for “Will comply,” which Tweedy readily admits is a bit of an ironic statement for a band that for over two decades hasn’t complied with much of anything. Wilco has surprised us at every turn, shifting from a punk-inflected roots-rock band into ’60s-indebted pop; delving into experimental noise on \u003cem>Yankee Hotel Foxtrot\u003c/em> and then back to a more conventional palette on \u003cem>Sky Blue Sky\u003c/em>; and most recently, the stark, sparse \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em>. Their show Thursday night at the Independent only confirmed that 20 years in, that name still means something. Wilco gave us what they wanted, and the results were euphoric.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>While rock star Lenny Kravitz \u003ca href=\"http://www.hitfix.com/comedy/lenny-kravitz-hilariously-responds-to-wardrobe-malfunction-on-twitter\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">reminded us this week\u003c/a> of one unfortunate way musicians can expose themselves on stage, Wilco’s intimate performance last night at the Independent captured quite another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>It’s perhaps inevitable that a band acclimated to festivals and enormous theaters could feel a bit exposed at the Independent — a venue with a capacity of just over 400, which is probably the same amount of people who’ll be waiting in line to buy beer when the band takes the stage at \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/08/04/outside-lands-fighting-championship/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Outside Lands\u003c/a> tonight. But Wilco (and opening act Vetiver, operating as a duo) handled the challenge spectacularly. Instead of bringing their arena-sized riffs and explosive walls of sound to the Independent, the Chicago six-piece opted for a quieter route.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Billed as the Notorious Wilco Brothers, a nod to the Byrds, Wilco played an all-acoustic two-hour set that pulled back the curtain on their audacious sound and oft-opaque stage presence. They did more than merely play stripped-down versions of their songs; they invited us into their world.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In a room so small that a nearby sneeze competed for ones’ attention, even the tiniest mistake from the stage would have nowhere to hide. While “Bull Black Nova,” a sprawling track from 2009’s \u003cem>Wilco (the Album)\u003c/em>, is typically engulfed in surging feedback and mountains of guitar effects, here Nels Cline’s solos were as spare as they were spastic, each note hanging with delicious clarity. Later, the sugary synthesizers on “I’m Always in Love” were replaced by a slide guitar and melodihorn to less impressive, but equally as daring, effect.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10883481\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 400px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-thumbnail wp-image-10883481\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN-400x286.jpg\" alt=\"Wilco perform at the Independent, Aug. 6, 2015. (Photo: Max Savage Levenson)\" width=\"400\" height=\"286\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN-400x286.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN-800x571.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/WilcoMAIN.jpg 867w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 400px) 100vw, 400px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Wilco perform at the Independent, Aug. 6, 2015. (Photo: Max Savage Levenson)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The changed format seemed to concern few, least of all frontman Jeff Tweedy, who sweated straight through his tan blazer and wore a grin all night. While these days Wilco often performs separated from their audience by barricades, they seemed glad to play for fans leaning on the Independent’s low stage just inches away — at one point, multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone leaned back on his stool and almost collided with an audience member.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The band’s unadorned, acoustic versions of songs from \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em>, the album Wilco surprise-released for free a couple of weeks ago, crackled with energy and confidence. With the addition of a banjo, the hulking glam-rock “More…” shifted its weight into a rollicking countrified gallop, and the blistering punch of “Pickled Ginger” somehow packed even more menace without the rifle crack of Glenn Kotche’s snare and Tweedy’s fuzzy distortion. The album’s closing track “Magnetized,” which leans heavily on a synth line that gurgles like a dishwasher full of fudge, proved to be the most captivating and inventive arrangement of the night, the void left by the massive synth making space to focus on the gentle cadence of Tweedy’s words. “I sleep beneath / a picture that I keep of you next to me / I realize we’re magnetized,” he declared, with all the heart-stopping bluntness of classics like “Via Chicago” and “I am Trying to Break Your Heart” (neither of which the band played last night).\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although Wilco interspersed this new material throughout the set, their encore was nothing but classics. In “Misunderstood,” Tweedy replaced the song’s howling, climactic mantra with a tender phrasing, before leading his band through the only unsurprising moment of the night: “California Stars.” “Sometimes the obvious choice is the best choice,” Tweedy quipped. “That’s why I’m supporting Trump 2016.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Wilco took their name from the radio shorthand for “Will comply,” which Tweedy readily admits is a bit of an ironic statement for a band that for over two decades hasn’t complied with much of anything. Wilco has surprised us at every turn, shifting from a punk-inflected roots-rock band into ’60s-indebted pop; delving into experimental noise on \u003cem>Yankee Hotel Foxtrot\u003c/em> and then back to a more conventional palette on \u003cem>Sky Blue Sky\u003c/em>; and most recently, the stark, sparse \u003cem>Star Wars\u003c/em>. Their show Thursday night at the Independent only confirmed that 20 years in, that name still means something. Wilco gave us what they wanted, and the results were euphoric.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>For the dozen or two regulars at The Salt Well in the San Fernando Valley, watching the house band is like stepping into a musical time machine, where everyone has aged but the song remains the same. By any standard, Ricki and the Flash rates as a better-than-average bar band, fronted by Ricki Randazzo—a stage name that now almost poignantly reflects a long-forgotten dream of rock superstardom. They perform serviceable covers of Tom Petty and U2, and, with some reluctance, bust out the occasional song from the last few years to get the handful of under-40 people in the crowd on the dance floor. The lead guitarist has a thing for Ricki, but it mostly manifests itself as banter on stage and a casual romp on lonely nights, so long as it doesn’t get serious. Playing at The Salt Well isn’t a springboard to anything, but the last stop on the tour, a pleasant venue for a band slipping into obsolescence.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Written by Diablo Cody and directed by Jonathan Demme, \u003cem>Ricki and the Flash\u003c/em> could be called \u003cem>Ragged Glory\u003c/em> if Neil Young, Demme’s friend and frequent collaborator, hadn’t already taken the title for himself. In front of fossilized barflies, Ricki can get away with her black-leather wardrobe, her side braids and raccoon eyeliner, and her assortment of regrettable tattoos and tacky costume jewelry. But in the harsh light of day, she’s just an odd-looking supermarket cashier named Linda Brummell, collecting $450 a week while a supervisor half her age asks her to smile more. As played by Meryl Streep, who can now add “play guitar” to the long list of things she can do as an actress, Ricki lives every day with the consequences of a choice she made long ago. She wanted to be a Chrissie Hynde. It didn’t work out for her.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x8PVK6Hky2A\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The film \u003cem>Ricki and the Flash\u003c/em> looks like poor Linda Brummell inside a multiplex still humming with superhero movies, remakes, and remakes of superhero movies, but it also possesses her abundance of personality and soul. Against the machine-tooled blockbusters of summer, Demme’s film stands out for its modesty of scale and its abiding interest in the untidy business of being human. To put it in rock terms, Demme and Cody don’t care about putting on the perfect show; they care about putting on a \u003cem>great\u003c/em> show, which can accommodate some looseness in the set.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortly after establishing the sad parameters of Ricki’s life, which currently teeters on financial bankruptcy, the film whisks her away to Indianapolis, where her grown daughter, Julie (played by Streep’s own talented child, Mamie Gummer) is reeling from a sudden divorce. Since leaving her own husband Pete (Kevin Kline) to pursue her musical ambitions, Ricki has been a woefully inconsistent presence in the lives of Julie and her two sons, Adam (Nick Westrate) and Josh (Sebastian Stan), who have long since taken to calling Pete’s current wife (Audra McDonald) their mother. She looks out of place among the snobs in Pete’s gated community and she scarcely does better with Julie and her other children, who use the opportunity to hammer her for past and present wrongs. Meanwhile, back in California, her guitarist Greg (Rick Springfield) seeks the type of deep commitment that she’s been historically reluctant to give.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Ricki and the Flash\u003c/em> doesn’t behave like an ordinary musical drama, in that it’s willing to abandon the music for the entire second act (and then some) to allow Ricki to work out the tension with her family. Their grievances with her are absolutely legitimate, as are the reasons she’s become estranged from them: poverty, geographical distance, another woman assuming her role. Typical of many Demme films, there are no villains here, just the natural conflict between fundamentally decent people whose choices have put them at odds with one another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cody’s script has the funny, feminist kick expected of the writer behind \u003cem>Juno\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Young Adult\u003c/em>, but like Charlize Theron in \u003cem>Young Adult\u003c/em>, Ricki’s attempt to cling to her rebellious past carries a devastating cost. She’s both resilient for keeping the dream alive and a sad relic of another era, and Cody and Demme present her as the hot mess she is. Streep plays Ricki as lovably oblivious, but also wry and caring when the occasion calls for it, and earnest in her desire for some sliver of redemption.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Ricki and the Flash \u003c/em>favors conventional dramatic payoffs, but at least they’re hard-won, with Ricki fighting her way through class differences, ugly family history, and humiliation to find her place. Demme’s humanity and optimism has been a hallmark of his work from \u003cem>Melvin and Howard\u003c/em> to \u003cem>Rachel Getting Married\u003c/em>. A warmth radiates through \u003cem>Ricki and the Flash \u003c/em>like a song sung true. A film that adores its characters this much is sure to be adored in kind.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>For the dozen or two regulars at The Salt Well in the San Fernando Valley, watching the house band is like stepping into a musical time machine, where everyone has aged but the song remains the same. By any standard, Ricki and the Flash rates as a better-than-average bar band, fronted by Ricki Randazzo—a stage name that now almost poignantly reflects a long-forgotten dream of rock superstardom. They perform serviceable covers of Tom Petty and U2, and, with some reluctance, bust out the occasional song from the last few years to get the handful of under-40 people in the crowd on the dance floor. The lead guitarist has a thing for Ricki, but it mostly manifests itself as banter on stage and a casual romp on lonely nights, so long as it doesn’t get serious. Playing at The Salt Well isn’t a springboard to anything, but the last stop on the tour, a pleasant venue for a band slipping into obsolescence.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Written by Diablo Cody and directed by Jonathan Demme, \u003cem>Ricki and the Flash\u003c/em> could be called \u003cem>Ragged Glory\u003c/em> if Neil Young, Demme’s friend and frequent collaborator, hadn’t already taken the title for himself. In front of fossilized barflies, Ricki can get away with her black-leather wardrobe, her side braids and raccoon eyeliner, and her assortment of regrettable tattoos and tacky costume jewelry. But in the harsh light of day, she’s just an odd-looking supermarket cashier named Linda Brummell, collecting $450 a week while a supervisor half her age asks her to smile more. As played by Meryl Streep, who can now add “play guitar” to the long list of things she can do as an actress, Ricki lives every day with the consequences of a choice she made long ago. She wanted to be a Chrissie Hynde. It didn’t work out for her.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/x8PVK6Hky2A'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/x8PVK6Hky2A'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>The film \u003cem>Ricki and the Flash\u003c/em> looks like poor Linda Brummell inside a multiplex still humming with superhero movies, remakes, and remakes of superhero movies, but it also possesses her abundance of personality and soul. Against the machine-tooled blockbusters of summer, Demme’s film stands out for its modesty of scale and its abiding interest in the untidy business of being human. To put it in rock terms, Demme and Cody don’t care about putting on the perfect show; they care about putting on a \u003cem>great\u003c/em> show, which can accommodate some looseness in the set.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Shortly after establishing the sad parameters of Ricki’s life, which currently teeters on financial bankruptcy, the film whisks her away to Indianapolis, where her grown daughter, Julie (played by Streep’s own talented child, Mamie Gummer) is reeling from a sudden divorce. Since leaving her own husband Pete (Kevin Kline) to pursue her musical ambitions, Ricki has been a woefully inconsistent presence in the lives of Julie and her two sons, Adam (Nick Westrate) and Josh (Sebastian Stan), who have long since taken to calling Pete’s current wife (Audra McDonald) their mother. She looks out of place among the snobs in Pete’s gated community and she scarcely does better with Julie and her other children, who use the opportunity to hammer her for past and present wrongs. Meanwhile, back in California, her guitarist Greg (Rick Springfield) seeks the type of deep commitment that she’s been historically reluctant to give.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Ricki and the Flash\u003c/em> doesn’t behave like an ordinary musical drama, in that it’s willing to abandon the music for the entire second act (and then some) to allow Ricki to work out the tension with her family. Their grievances with her are absolutely legitimate, as are the reasons she’s become estranged from them: poverty, geographical distance, another woman assuming her role. Typical of many Demme films, there are no villains here, just the natural conflict between fundamentally decent people whose choices have put them at odds with one another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Cody’s script has the funny, feminist kick expected of the writer behind \u003cem>Juno\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Young Adult\u003c/em>, but like Charlize Theron in \u003cem>Young Adult\u003c/em>, Ricki’s attempt to cling to her rebellious past carries a devastating cost. She’s both resilient for keeping the dream alive and a sad relic of another era, and Cody and Demme present her as the hot mess she is. Streep plays Ricki as lovably oblivious, but also wry and caring when the occasion calls for it, and earnest in her desire for some sliver of redemption.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>Ricki and the Flash \u003c/em>favors conventional dramatic payoffs, but at least they’re hard-won, with Ricki fighting her way through class differences, ugly family history, and humiliation to find her place. Demme’s humanity and optimism has been a hallmark of his work from \u003cem>Melvin and Howard\u003c/em> to \u003cem>Rachel Getting Married\u003c/em>. A warmth radiates through \u003cem>Ricki and the Flash \u003c/em>like a song sung true. A film that adores its characters this much is sure to be adored in kind.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "New Fiction Takes Bleak Look at Inequity in San Francisco",
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"content": "\u003cp>\u003cem>“San Francisco is the America of America. Give me your tired, your poor.”\u003c/em>\u003cbr>— \u003cem>Pretty Much Dead\u003c/em>, by Daphne Gottlieb\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Countless thinkpieces about San Francisco’s transition into a hyper-capitalist enclave, some \u003ca href=\"http://www.psmag.com/health-and-behavior/toast-story-latest-artisanal-food-craze-72676\">better\u003c/a> than others, have gone viral in recent years. Now it’s fiction’s chance to weigh in. In new summer releases, the three Bay Area authors Joshua Mohr, Bucky Sinister and Daphne Gottlieb have turned to fiction to explore the subterranean, and often invisible, humanity clinging to life in the ruins of a city that once was… well, something else.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/All-This-Life_FINAL-e1438644232943.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-10876378\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/All-This-Life_FINAL-e1438644232943.jpg\" alt=\"All This Life_FINAL\" width=\"400\" height=\"600\">\u003c/a>\u003cem>All This Life (\u003c/em>Soft Skull Press\u003cem>)\u003c/em>, the fifth novel from San Francisco-based author Joshua Mohr, opens with a bizarre morning rush-hour tragedy on the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s not the first time, by far, that the landmark has been the site of destruction. Just this year, in over-the-top summer flick\u003cem> San Andreas,\u003c/em> the bridge is destroyed by a tsunami brought on by The Big One; the latest \u003cem>Terminator\u003c/em> film turns the bridge into a raceway to the end led by Arnold Schwarzenegger’s death-stare android brawn. That said, Mohr’s take on Golden Gate tragedy is much subtler, and acts as an entry point into a story of connection and family ties during a century where social success is measured in YouTube views and Twitter followers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the beginning, we are introduced to Paul and Jake, a father-son duo from Marin isolated from each other by depression, loneliness and malaise, as they head in a Prius over the bridge towards the city. “A Google search of his father’s favorite things would not return the boy as a page one result,” thinks 14-year-old Jake. When Jake captures a heart-wrenching video of a tragedy — which then goes viral — the novel is set into motion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then there’s Kathleen, a recovering alcoholic, who leaves behind her brain-injured son in Nevada to start a new life in San Francisco. After a few years and a repugnant relapse, she discovers it’s not so easy to start over, especially when she’s moved to place equally unstable — at least for anyone outside of the tech bubble:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>She sees the construction cranes downtown, looming across the sky like huge, prehistoric birds. The development is driving out all of the character, and sometimes Kathleen imagines these cranes scooping up artists and plopping down tech employees in their place. She knows it’s only a matter of time until she’s ladled up too, replaced by a twenty-something making six figures for speaking computer code, the only foreign language that matters. What happens, she wonders, to a city — especially one like San Francisco, a place that has always been composed of immigrants and outcasts and transients and artists, a whole surrogate family of people who weren’t wanted in other places — what happens when it becomes as homogenous as a suburb?\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Black-Hole_FINAL-e1438638680627.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-10876379\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Black-Hole_FINAL-e1438638680627.jpg\" alt=\"Black Hole_FINAL\" width=\"400\" height=\"600\">\u003c/a>Bucky Sinister’s \u003cem>Black Hole (\u003c/em>Soft Skull Press\u003cem>) \u003c/em>opens with outcasts, transients and deep dives into a neo-futuristic subterranean San Francisco, where the tired and poor cling to a shrinking territory in the heart of the Mission.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chuck, a forty-something ex-punk rocker with a raging drug habit, sells $1 dwarf whales to tech millionaires in San Francisco. “Sunday mornings are hell in the Mission,” observes Chuck, after another all-night bender on hard drugs. “It fills up with the brunch crowd that, if you don’t live here, I really can’t describe. Brunch is the disco of this decade. People wait in line for pastries at Tartine. Sure, it’s good. I’ve been there on a weekday, but it’s not stand-in-line-like-it’s-Studio-54 good.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel is filled with these types of semi-comedic and sarcastic observations. Lots of deranged rants about the changing city, the CrossFit and yoga and gluten-free demographic, between drug orgies and hellacious day-after comedowns. That is, until Chuck gets a hold of black hole, a street drug that never runs out, makes him feel invincible, and warps chronological time. Between his drug fantasies, Chuck grimly observes San Francisco then and now. Of his old friends, he writes:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Some died and some became homeless, others disappeared into the chaos, filling the state prisons and haunting the basements of their relatives’ houses. They’re junkies on Capp Street and dead-eyed bums in the Civic Center. They’re the zombies on Jones street and the creeping undead on San Pablo Avenue. They’re annoyances and smells and things in the way of rich people walking down the sidewalk. They made the poor neighborhoods interesting so the wealthy moved in and now they’re the scourge of the same streets.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>While much of the book seems like a barely disguised chance for Sinister himself to undermine the millennial yuppies who’ve taken control of his town, it does contain some bright, funny moments — and classic down-the-rabbit-hole drug fantasies in the spirit of the best of Hunter S. Thompson.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-10876380\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906.jpg\" alt=\"IMG_2906\" width=\"402\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906.jpg 402w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906-400x637.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906-377x600.jpg 377w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 402px) 100vw, 402px\">\u003c/a>“Our sanctuary has been sliced apart by a silicon chip,” writes Daphne Gottlieb in her latest collection \u003cem>Pretty Much Dead (\u003c/em>Ladybox Books\u003cem>)\u003c/em>. Over the next 200 pages, Gottlieb builds a bleak but potent cabin of words for the poor, the mentally ill and the homeless of San Francisco. In “The Earth is Full” she writes:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>The woman can’t afford to eat at the restaurant where she is a server. A teenage boy writes love poems. The man can’t buy groceries where he bags them. A boy writes letters. The homeless youth shelter loses its lease. A girl takes pills. People try marching and it does not stop the evictions. The city runs an editorial: \u003cem>No one has the right to live here. \u003c/em>The tech workers nod and repeat that to each other on social media. A social worker moves to a more affordable, nearby city, and new restaurants and shops spring up nearby. Spare some change?\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The commentary is most compelling in the stories told from the perspective of those at the bottom of the chain. Take, for example, Bella, a deaf 65-year-old homeless puppeteer who lives (sometimes) on the stairs to the narrator’s apartment. Bella was raped and abused as a child, and doesn’t want to live in a shelter because it’s boring — and because on the streets, she has “the whole world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In full disclosure, I studied writing with Gottlieb at New College of California, just before the school collapsed in 2008. In Gottlieb’s Post-Modern Literature class, I learned how to tear paragraphs apart, in search of subconscious layers that wanted to be revealed through the stripping away and reconstruction of language outside of the familiar. Gottlieb has mastered this approach to content, and it’s a joy to linger in her language experiments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad floatright]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately, \u003cem>Pretty Much Dead —\u003c/em> like \u003cem>All this Life\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Black Hole\u003c/em> — successfully pulls the reader into stories of a San Francisco population that, though diminished, continues to coexist with the city’s more monied citizens — in SROs, in shelters, in dive bars, at the Embarcadero, and on a sidewalk near you.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"headline": "New Fiction Takes Bleak Look at Inequity in San Francisco",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>“San Francisco is the America of America. Give me your tired, your poor.”\u003c/em>\u003cbr>— \u003cem>Pretty Much Dead\u003c/em>, by Daphne Gottlieb\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Countless thinkpieces about San Francisco’s transition into a hyper-capitalist enclave, some \u003ca href=\"http://www.psmag.com/health-and-behavior/toast-story-latest-artisanal-food-craze-72676\">better\u003c/a> than others, have gone viral in recent years. Now it’s fiction’s chance to weigh in. In new summer releases, the three Bay Area authors Joshua Mohr, Bucky Sinister and Daphne Gottlieb have turned to fiction to explore the subterranean, and often invisible, humanity clinging to life in the ruins of a city that once was… well, something else.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/All-This-Life_FINAL-e1438644232943.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-10876378\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/All-This-Life_FINAL-e1438644232943.jpg\" alt=\"All This Life_FINAL\" width=\"400\" height=\"600\">\u003c/a>\u003cem>All This Life (\u003c/em>Soft Skull Press\u003cem>)\u003c/em>, the fifth novel from San Francisco-based author Joshua Mohr, opens with a bizarre morning rush-hour tragedy on the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s not the first time, by far, that the landmark has been the site of destruction. Just this year, in over-the-top summer flick\u003cem> San Andreas,\u003c/em> the bridge is destroyed by a tsunami brought on by The Big One; the latest \u003cem>Terminator\u003c/em> film turns the bridge into a raceway to the end led by Arnold Schwarzenegger’s death-stare android brawn. That said, Mohr’s take on Golden Gate tragedy is much subtler, and acts as an entry point into a story of connection and family ties during a century where social success is measured in YouTube views and Twitter followers.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In the beginning, we are introduced to Paul and Jake, a father-son duo from Marin isolated from each other by depression, loneliness and malaise, as they head in a Prius over the bridge towards the city. “A Google search of his father’s favorite things would not return the boy as a page one result,” thinks 14-year-old Jake. When Jake captures a heart-wrenching video of a tragedy — which then goes viral — the novel is set into motion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>And then there’s Kathleen, a recovering alcoholic, who leaves behind her brain-injured son in Nevada to start a new life in San Francisco. After a few years and a repugnant relapse, she discovers it’s not so easy to start over, especially when she’s moved to place equally unstable — at least for anyone outside of the tech bubble:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>She sees the construction cranes downtown, looming across the sky like huge, prehistoric birds. The development is driving out all of the character, and sometimes Kathleen imagines these cranes scooping up artists and plopping down tech employees in their place. She knows it’s only a matter of time until she’s ladled up too, replaced by a twenty-something making six figures for speaking computer code, the only foreign language that matters. What happens, she wonders, to a city — especially one like San Francisco, a place that has always been composed of immigrants and outcasts and transients and artists, a whole surrogate family of people who weren’t wanted in other places — what happens when it becomes as homogenous as a suburb?\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Black-Hole_FINAL-e1438638680627.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-10876379\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Black-Hole_FINAL-e1438638680627.jpg\" alt=\"Black Hole_FINAL\" width=\"400\" height=\"600\">\u003c/a>Bucky Sinister’s \u003cem>Black Hole (\u003c/em>Soft Skull Press\u003cem>) \u003c/em>opens with outcasts, transients and deep dives into a neo-futuristic subterranean San Francisco, where the tired and poor cling to a shrinking territory in the heart of the Mission.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Chuck, a forty-something ex-punk rocker with a raging drug habit, sells $1 dwarf whales to tech millionaires in San Francisco. “Sunday mornings are hell in the Mission,” observes Chuck, after another all-night bender on hard drugs. “It fills up with the brunch crowd that, if you don’t live here, I really can’t describe. Brunch is the disco of this decade. People wait in line for pastries at Tartine. Sure, it’s good. I’ve been there on a weekday, but it’s not stand-in-line-like-it’s-Studio-54 good.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The novel is filled with these types of semi-comedic and sarcastic observations. Lots of deranged rants about the changing city, the CrossFit and yoga and gluten-free demographic, between drug orgies and hellacious day-after comedowns. That is, until Chuck gets a hold of black hole, a street drug that never runs out, makes him feel invincible, and warps chronological time. Between his drug fantasies, Chuck grimly observes San Francisco then and now. Of his old friends, he writes:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>Some died and some became homeless, others disappeared into the chaos, filling the state prisons and haunting the basements of their relatives’ houses. They’re junkies on Capp Street and dead-eyed bums in the Civic Center. They’re the zombies on Jones street and the creeping undead on San Pablo Avenue. They’re annoyances and smells and things in the way of rich people walking down the sidewalk. They made the poor neighborhoods interesting so the wealthy moved in and now they’re the scourge of the same streets.\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>While much of the book seems like a barely disguised chance for Sinister himself to undermine the millennial yuppies who’ve taken control of his town, it does contain some bright, funny moments — and classic down-the-rabbit-hole drug fantasies in the spirit of the best of Hunter S. Thompson.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906.jpg\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"alignright size-full wp-image-10876380\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906.jpg\" alt=\"IMG_2906\" width=\"402\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906.jpg 402w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906-400x637.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/IMG_2906-377x600.jpg 377w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 402px) 100vw, 402px\">\u003c/a>“Our sanctuary has been sliced apart by a silicon chip,” writes Daphne Gottlieb in her latest collection \u003cem>Pretty Much Dead (\u003c/em>Ladybox Books\u003cem>)\u003c/em>. Over the next 200 pages, Gottlieb builds a bleak but potent cabin of words for the poor, the mentally ill and the homeless of San Francisco. In “The Earth is Full” she writes:\u003c/p>\n\u003cblockquote>\u003cp>The woman can’t afford to eat at the restaurant where she is a server. A teenage boy writes love poems. The man can’t buy groceries where he bags them. A boy writes letters. The homeless youth shelter loses its lease. A girl takes pills. People try marching and it does not stop the evictions. The city runs an editorial: \u003cem>No one has the right to live here. \u003c/em>The tech workers nod and repeat that to each other on social media. A social worker moves to a more affordable, nearby city, and new restaurants and shops spring up nearby. Spare some change?\u003c/p>\u003c/blockquote>\n\u003cp>The commentary is most compelling in the stories told from the perspective of those at the bottom of the chain. Take, for example, Bella, a deaf 65-year-old homeless puppeteer who lives (sometimes) on the stairs to the narrator’s apartment. Bella was raped and abused as a child, and doesn’t want to live in a shelter because it’s boring — and because on the streets, she has “the whole world.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In full disclosure, I studied writing with Gottlieb at New College of California, just before the school collapsed in 2008. In Gottlieb’s Post-Modern Literature class, I learned how to tear paragraphs apart, in search of subconscious layers that wanted to be revealed through the stripping away and reconstruction of language outside of the familiar. Gottlieb has mastered this approach to content, and it’s a joy to linger in her language experiments.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ultimately, \u003cem>Pretty Much Dead —\u003c/em> like \u003cem>All this Life\u003c/em> and \u003cem>Black Hole\u003c/em> — successfully pulls the reader into stories of a San Francisco population that, though diminished, continues to coexist with the city’s more monied citizens — in SROs, in shelters, in dive bars, at the Embarcadero, and on a sidewalk near you.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Paul Lewin Continues Storytelling Tradition Through Painting",
"headTitle": "Paul Lewin Continues Storytelling Tradition Through Painting | KQED",
"content": "\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/roots-of-the-cotton-tree/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>‘Roots of the Cotton Tree’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">Paul Lewin’s intricate paintings.\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Aug. 7-29, 2015\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Betti Ono\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/roots-of-the-cotton-tree/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003cp>In Jamaican folklore, the country’s only female national hero is the powerful Queen Nanny. Legend has it that Queen Nanny led a group called the Maroons, who escaped slavery and created their own civilization in the mountains. They descended the hills to free other slaves before burning plantations to the ground.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After repeated conflict with the British, Queen Nanny was moments from giving up when her ancestors came to her, delivering pumpkin seeds to plant as food, sustaining the Maroon community which continues to inhabit Jamaica to this day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10872338\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 427px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-10872338\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Nanny-and-the-Pumpkin-seeds-web-400x600.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Lewin, 'Nanny and the Pumpkin Seeds.' (Photo: the artist)\" width=\"427\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Nanny-and-the-Pumpkin-seeds-web-400x600.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Nanny-and-the-Pumpkin-seeds-web.jpg 500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 427px) 100vw, 427px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Lewin, ‘Nanny and the Pumpkin Seeds.’ (Photo: the artist)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Stories like this are the inspiration behind the artwork of Oakland-based painter, \u003ca href=\"http://www.paullewinart.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Paul Lewin\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My mom would tell me stories about back in the old country where she grew up in Jamaica, how they would gather kids around and tell them Jamaican folklore stories,” says Lewin in his home studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I want each piece to tell a story in the same way that the stories have been passed down for generations, dating all of the way back to Africa. I want to continue that tradition of storytelling in my work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lewin was born in Jamaica and relocated to Miami with his family when he was five. Trying to integrate into American culture while also finding himself a part of an “alternative” or punk scene led to the creation of a world in which all of his identity realities exist; a continuum of his personal experience.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lewin’s series, titled “Roots of the Cotton Tree” for the lore around Jamaica’s sacred silk cotton trees, embodies the sensation of simultaneously stepping back in time and into the future. Rooted in the tales of his native Caribbean along with elements of surrealism and sci-fi (he’s a huge \u003ca href=\"http://octaviabutler.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Octavia Butler\u003c/a> fan) his creations are also inspired by the work of animation master \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0594503/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Hayao Miyazaki\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10872340\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 478px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-10872340\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web-448x600.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Lewin, 'The Crow and the Carnival Queen.' (Photo: the artist)\" width=\"478\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web-448x600.jpg 448w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web-400x535.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web.jpg 500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 478px) 100vw, 478px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Lewin, ‘The Crow and the Carnival Queen.’ (Photo: the artist) \u003ccite>(Paul Lewin)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The painstakingly detailed lace, carnival-inspired jewelry and intricate symbolism in his paintings bring to life stories waiting to be told. A self-taught artist who spent three years researching the folklore of his native Jamaica before immersing himself in this latest project, Lewin says his paintings tend to take on a life of their own; he’s never quite sure what the story is until a piece is completed. The work is particularly powerful in regards to race and gender representation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Dealing with race while I was growing up and watching all of these sci-fi movies and fantasy movies it was rare to ever see a person of color. Not just in movies, but you didn’t see them in art — in historical surrealist art — that art just wasn’t shown to us,” he says. “Race plays a role in my work in that way; I’m painting the images I always wish I could have seen growing up with people of color in nontraditional settings.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10872339\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 317px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-10872339\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-297x600.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Lewin, 'Untitled.' (Photo: the artist)\" width=\"317\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-297x600.jpg 297w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-400x809.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-584x1180.jpg 584w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin.jpg 800w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 317px) 100vw, 317px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Lewin, ‘Untitled.’ (Photo: the artist)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Most notably, the female characters in Lewin’s work are fierce, not sexualized in the manner of traditional fantasy or sci-fi. The elders he paints embody wisdom and authority.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I grew up with a lot of sci-fi and fantasy art. Growing up I loved it and thought it was the most amazing thing in the word and then I kind of veered away from it as I got older,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“A year or two ago I started looking back at some of it and I was like ‘Oh my God, this stuff is awful!’ Growing up, we didn’t really question it, it was just the way it was. Looking back on it, its disgusting and its terrible. I represent women based on the inspiration I felt from them growing up in my family, and the women I’ve known throughout my life.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although the idea of collaborating on an animation or other creative work appeals to him, he’s currently focusing entirely on uncovering bits of his ancestry through paint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Right now the thing I enjoy the most is just straight painting — just me and a painting and doing art shows,” he says. “That’s where my ultimate love lies.”\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/roots-of-the-cotton-tree/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>‘Roots of the Cotton Tree’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">Paul Lewin’s intricate paintings.\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Aug. 7-29, 2015\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Betti Ono\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/roots-of-the-cotton-tree/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003cp>In Jamaican folklore, the country’s only female national hero is the powerful Queen Nanny. Legend has it that Queen Nanny led a group called the Maroons, who escaped slavery and created their own civilization in the mountains. They descended the hills to free other slaves before burning plantations to the ground.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After repeated conflict with the British, Queen Nanny was moments from giving up when her ancestors came to her, delivering pumpkin seeds to plant as food, sustaining the Maroon community which continues to inhabit Jamaica to this day.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10872338\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 427px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-10872338\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Nanny-and-the-Pumpkin-seeds-web-400x600.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Lewin, 'Nanny and the Pumpkin Seeds.' (Photo: the artist)\" width=\"427\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Nanny-and-the-Pumpkin-seeds-web-400x600.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Nanny-and-the-Pumpkin-seeds-web.jpg 500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 427px) 100vw, 427px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Lewin, ‘Nanny and the Pumpkin Seeds.’ (Photo: the artist)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Stories like this are the inspiration behind the artwork of Oakland-based painter, \u003ca href=\"http://www.paullewinart.com/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Paul Lewin\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“My mom would tell me stories about back in the old country where she grew up in Jamaica, how they would gather kids around and tell them Jamaican folklore stories,” says Lewin in his home studio.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I want each piece to tell a story in the same way that the stories have been passed down for generations, dating all of the way back to Africa. I want to continue that tradition of storytelling in my work.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lewin was born in Jamaica and relocated to Miami with his family when he was five. Trying to integrate into American culture while also finding himself a part of an “alternative” or punk scene led to the creation of a world in which all of his identity realities exist; a continuum of his personal experience.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Lewin’s series, titled “Roots of the Cotton Tree” for the lore around Jamaica’s sacred silk cotton trees, embodies the sensation of simultaneously stepping back in time and into the future. Rooted in the tales of his native Caribbean along with elements of surrealism and sci-fi (he’s a huge \u003ca href=\"http://octaviabutler.org/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Octavia Butler\u003c/a> fan) his creations are also inspired by the work of animation master \u003ca href=\"http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0594503/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Hayao Miyazaki\u003c/a>.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10872340\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 478px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-10872340\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web-448x600.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Lewin, 'The Crow and the Carnival Queen.' (Photo: the artist)\" width=\"478\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web-448x600.jpg 448w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web-400x535.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/The-Crow-and-the-Carnival-Queen-Web.jpg 500w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 478px) 100vw, 478px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Lewin, ‘The Crow and the Carnival Queen.’ (Photo: the artist) \u003ccite>(Paul Lewin)\u003c/cite>\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The painstakingly detailed lace, carnival-inspired jewelry and intricate symbolism in his paintings bring to life stories waiting to be told. A self-taught artist who spent three years researching the folklore of his native Jamaica before immersing himself in this latest project, Lewin says his paintings tend to take on a life of their own; he’s never quite sure what the story is until a piece is completed. The work is particularly powerful in regards to race and gender representation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Dealing with race while I was growing up and watching all of these sci-fi movies and fantasy movies it was rare to ever see a person of color. Not just in movies, but you didn’t see them in art — in historical surrealist art — that art just wasn’t shown to us,” he says. “Race plays a role in my work in that way; I’m painting the images I always wish I could have seen growing up with people of color in nontraditional settings.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10872339\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 317px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"wp-image-10872339\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-297x600.jpg\" alt=\"Paul Lewin, 'Untitled.' (Photo: the artist)\" width=\"317\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-297x600.jpg 297w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-400x809.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin-584x1180.jpg 584w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/08/Paul-Lewin.jpg 800w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 317px) 100vw, 317px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Paul Lewin, ‘Untitled.’ (Photo: the artist)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Most notably, the female characters in Lewin’s work are fierce, not sexualized in the manner of traditional fantasy or sci-fi. The elders he paints embody wisdom and authority.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“I grew up with a lot of sci-fi and fantasy art. Growing up I loved it and thought it was the most amazing thing in the word and then I kind of veered away from it as I got older,” he says.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“A year or two ago I started looking back at some of it and I was like ‘Oh my God, this stuff is awful!’ Growing up, we didn’t really question it, it was just the way it was. Looking back on it, its disgusting and its terrible. I represent women based on the inspiration I felt from them growing up in my family, and the women I’ve known throughout my life.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Although the idea of collaborating on an animation or other creative work appeals to him, he’s currently focusing entirely on uncovering bits of his ancestry through paint.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“Right now the thing I enjoy the most is just straight painting — just me and a painting and doing art shows,” he says. “That’s where my ultimate love lies.”\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Late in a series of bruising televised debates on ABC tied to the momentous Republican and Democratic Conventions of 1968, Gore Vidal beamed one of his supercilious side-eyes at William F. Buckley Jr. and called him a “crypto-fascist.” Buckley bared his teeth, branded Vidal a “queer” and threatened to rearrange his face.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You may be wondering why upper-crust privilege failed to inhibit a couple of brilliant intellectuals from carrying on like 8-year-olds in the schoolyard. More likely, you’re unfazed because trading insults in public is commonplace these days. That, in part, is the point of \u003cem>Best of Enemies\u003c/em>, an ambitious documentary that frames the faceoff between these two massively entitled egos as a milestone in the intertwined histories of television, politics and culture. When their habitual repartee — a barbed counterpoint to the politely “balanced” musings of NBC’s nightly newscast, \u003cem>The Huntley-Brinkley Report \u003c/em>— tipped over into pure vitriol, filmmakers Morgan Neville and Robert Gordon argue, it set the stage for the media wars of today.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That may be a reach, if only because television punditry remains pretty anodyne in the 21st century, while few, if any of today’s radio shock jocks and Internet screamers can be compared to Buckley or Vidal. Genuine public intellectuals are an endangered species these days, and may indeed have become extinct with the recent death of Christopher Hitchens, who appears posthumously in the film as one of many amused and bemused witnesses to the Vidal-Buckley feud.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Equal parts brash entertainment and cultural alarm bell, \u003cem>Best of Enemies\u003c/em> bowls along smartly, with clips from the tapes spiced with intelligently snarky asides from friends and adversaries of the two men, and spliced with archival footage of the tumultuous times they addressed. Trailing badly in the ratings, ABC went out on a limb and paired up two pundits from opposite ends of the political spectrum, who could speak to the swelling conflicts of race, class and gender at home, and American imperialism abroad, without reducing them to pap.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As living-room wars go, theirs was without parallel. On the face of it the two men were as irreconcilably different as they could be. Buckley was a devout Catholic traditionalist who founded the modern conservative movement and palled around with Ronald Reagan. Vidal was an acclaimed writer of historical novels, a liberal and a champion of sexual freedom whose satirical novel, \u003cem>Myra Breckinridge\u003c/em>, was made into a magnificently terrible movie with Raquel Welch as a trans-gendered siren who visits mayhem on Hollywood.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching the two men square off, though, it seems likely that their intense competition escalated less from their differences than from what they shared. Both came from gilded families. Both spoke in complete, gold-plated paragraphs; both were given to apocalyptic pronouncements. Today they’d be avid Tweeters, but Buckley and Vidal also shared an erudite sense of history, a breadth of vision and the sense of a common culture that’s all but lost in today’s single-issue wars. Each in his way was a libertarian maverick unable to fit neatly into his party of affiliation. Both had tried and failed to win public office — only to succeed brilliantly in the brashly populist medium that gave them their bully pulpit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We gave them their money’s worth tonight,” whispered Vidal to a visibly shaken Buckley after eviscerating him in the war of words that brought their mutual antipathy to a head. It wasn’t just a show: as every witness in the film agrees, the two men — de facto sibling rivals — genuinely loathed one another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The epic climax is fun to watch, but nothing good came of it. There was suit and countersuit, and years later, the otherwise irrepressible Buckley was reduced to silence when someone mentioned it. Was he humiliated because he lost, or because he felt he had disgraced himself? \u003cem>Best of Enemies\u003c/em> doesn’t try for a glib answer, but watching this enormously entertaining movie (Neville also made the wonderful back-up singer doc, \u003cem>20 Feet From Stardom\u003c/em>), I felt complicit in a spectacle, a gladiator fight that probably should never have gone public. \u003c/p>\n\u003cdiv class=\"fullattribution\">Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://www.google-analytics.com/__utm.gif?utmac=UA-5828686-4&utmdt=In+1968%2C+The+%27Best+Of+Enemies%27+Faced+Off+In+A+Brutal%2C+Televised+Feud&utme=8(APIKey)9(MDAxOTAwOTE4MDEyMTkxMDAzNjczZDljZA004)\">\u003c/div>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Late in a series of bruising televised debates on ABC tied to the momentous Republican and Democratic Conventions of 1968, Gore Vidal beamed one of his supercilious side-eyes at William F. Buckley Jr. and called him a “crypto-fascist.” Buckley bared his teeth, branded Vidal a “queer” and threatened to rearrange his face.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>You may be wondering why upper-crust privilege failed to inhibit a couple of brilliant intellectuals from carrying on like 8-year-olds in the schoolyard. More likely, you’re unfazed because trading insults in public is commonplace these days. That, in part, is the point of \u003cem>Best of Enemies\u003c/em>, an ambitious documentary that frames the faceoff between these two massively entitled egos as a milestone in the intertwined histories of television, politics and culture. When their habitual repartee — a barbed counterpoint to the politely “balanced” musings of NBC’s nightly newscast, \u003cem>The Huntley-Brinkley Report \u003c/em>— tipped over into pure vitriol, filmmakers Morgan Neville and Robert Gordon argue, it set the stage for the media wars of today.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>That may be a reach, if only because television punditry remains pretty anodyne in the 21st century, while few, if any of today’s radio shock jocks and Internet screamers can be compared to Buckley or Vidal. Genuine public intellectuals are an endangered species these days, and may indeed have become extinct with the recent death of Christopher Hitchens, who appears posthumously in the film as one of many amused and bemused witnesses to the Vidal-Buckley feud.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Equal parts brash entertainment and cultural alarm bell, \u003cem>Best of Enemies\u003c/em> bowls along smartly, with clips from the tapes spiced with intelligently snarky asides from friends and adversaries of the two men, and spliced with archival footage of the tumultuous times they addressed. Trailing badly in the ratings, ABC went out on a limb and paired up two pundits from opposite ends of the political spectrum, who could speak to the swelling conflicts of race, class and gender at home, and American imperialism abroad, without reducing them to pap.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>As living-room wars go, theirs was without parallel. On the face of it the two men were as irreconcilably different as they could be. Buckley was a devout Catholic traditionalist who founded the modern conservative movement and palled around with Ronald Reagan. Vidal was an acclaimed writer of historical novels, a liberal and a champion of sexual freedom whose satirical novel, \u003cem>Myra Breckinridge\u003c/em>, was made into a magnificently terrible movie with Raquel Welch as a trans-gendered siren who visits mayhem on Hollywood.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Watching the two men square off, though, it seems likely that their intense competition escalated less from their differences than from what they shared. Both came from gilded families. Both spoke in complete, gold-plated paragraphs; both were given to apocalyptic pronouncements. Today they’d be avid Tweeters, but Buckley and Vidal also shared an erudite sense of history, a breadth of vision and the sense of a common culture that’s all but lost in today’s single-issue wars. Each in his way was a libertarian maverick unable to fit neatly into his party of affiliation. Both had tried and failed to win public office — only to succeed brilliantly in the brashly populist medium that gave them their bully pulpit.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“We gave them their money’s worth tonight,” whispered Vidal to a visibly shaken Buckley after eviscerating him in the war of words that brought their mutual antipathy to a head. It wasn’t just a show: as every witness in the film agrees, the two men — de facto sibling rivals — genuinely loathed one another.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The epic climax is fun to watch, but nothing good came of it. There was suit and countersuit, and years later, the otherwise irrepressible Buckley was reduced to silence when someone mentioned it. Was he humiliated because he lost, or because he felt he had disgraced himself? \u003cem>Best of Enemies\u003c/em> doesn’t try for a glib answer, but watching this enormously entertaining movie (Neville also made the wonderful back-up singer doc, \u003cem>20 Feet From Stardom\u003c/em>), I felt complicit in a spectacle, a gladiator fight that probably should never have gone public. \u003c/p>\n\u003cdiv class=\"fullattribution\">Copyright 2015 NPR. To see more, visit http://www.npr.org/.\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://www.google-analytics.com/__utm.gif?utmac=UA-5828686-4&utmdt=In+1968%2C+The+%27Best+Of+Enemies%27+Faced+Off+In+A+Brutal%2C+Televised+Feud&utme=8(APIKey)9(MDAxOTAwOTE4MDEyMTkxMDAzNjczZDljZA004)\">\u003c/div>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"content": "\u003cp>Almost three years ago, Joshua Oppenheimer unveiled \u003cem>The Act of Killing\u003c/em>, a startling documentary about the 1965-66 mass killings in Indonesia. Its audacious ploy was to encourage unrepentant murderers to re-enact their deeds in the form of scenes from action flicks, a tactic that was extremely well-received by Western critics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The gimmick yielded some sequences that were cathartic, but others that were at best distracting. At times, the film trivialized a subject that Oppenheimer clearly took very seriously. Widespread acclaim for the documentary seemed to reflect its emphasis on something movie reviewers know well — movies — over the considerably more obscure subject of Indonesian history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course, both Westerners and Indonesians have good reason to know little about the horrific episode broached by Oppenheimer’s films: It’s a taboo subject, one the Denmark-based American filmmaker is nearly alone in addressing. He does so much more effectively in \u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em>, which uses members of a single family to represent the millions of victims and survivors.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtAohrVK7qc\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Obeying the strictures of cinema verite, the director generally avoids historical context. But he couldn’t resist the clip that opens \u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em>: a 1967 TV news report in which an NBC correspondent exults in the “purge” of communists from Indonesia. He interviews a local man who says, with earnest absurdity, that some of the alleged communists actually asked to be killed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The nationwide murder spree did target members of the Indonesian Communist Party, but also labor unionists, ethnic Chinese, and people — whether Muslim or Hindu — who were considered irreligious. Among the victims was Ramli, extraordinary not for who he was, but because his killing was witnessed and his name and fate became widely known.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oppenheimer and his Indonesian colleagues — many of them listed in the credits as “anonymous” — filmed Ramli’s executioners a decade ago, early in the process that led to the two films. Later, the director met Ramli’s brother, pseudonymously identified in the movie as Adi. The younger man had been born two years after Ramli’s death as a sort of substitute son for his parents, who are now over 100.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Adi is a middle-aged optician whose profession provides the movie with a ready-made metaphor. The camera observes Adi as he simultaneously evaluates people for glasses and asks them about the slaughter. He is quiet but determined, and phenomenally unafraid. “Joshua never asked questions this deep,” complains one former death-squad leader in response to Adi’s detailed interrogation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em> is a subtler film than its predecessor, but the madness of the killers comes across, notably in their repeated admissions of drinking victims’ blood. “America taught us to hate communists,” explains one veteran of the grisly campaign, but once the slayings began they were guided as much by superstition and tribal conflict as by any claimed American involvement. A man blithely recalls how he brought a severed head to a Chinese-owned coffee shop to scare the proprietors. Such atavistic behavior has nothing to do with geopolitics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The movie sticks closely to Adi and his parents. It even includes a scene of the family’s senile patriarch, confused and fearful, that was shot by Adi himself. But in searching for information about the brother he never knew, Adi opens the door to a much broader investigation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A former death-squad commander who became a prominent local politician warns that, if troublemakers don’t stop asking questions, another round of slayings will occur. The opposite of that prophecy seems more likely true: that only the challenges of brave people like Adi and uncompromising movies like \u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em> can immunize Indonesia against another internecine slaughter.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>Almost three years ago, Joshua Oppenheimer unveiled \u003cem>The Act of Killing\u003c/em>, a startling documentary about the 1965-66 mass killings in Indonesia. Its audacious ploy was to encourage unrepentant murderers to re-enact their deeds in the form of scenes from action flicks, a tactic that was extremely well-received by Western critics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The gimmick yielded some sequences that were cathartic, but others that were at best distracting. At times, the film trivialized a subject that Oppenheimer clearly took very seriously. Widespread acclaim for the documentary seemed to reflect its emphasis on something movie reviewers know well — movies — over the considerably more obscure subject of Indonesian history.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Of course, both Westerners and Indonesians have good reason to know little about the horrific episode broached by Oppenheimer’s films: It’s a taboo subject, one the Denmark-based American filmmaker is nearly alone in addressing. He does so much more effectively in \u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em>, which uses members of a single family to represent the millions of victims and survivors.\u003c/p>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutube'>\n \u003cspan class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__embedYoutubeInside'>\n \u003ciframe\n loading='lazy'\n class='utils-parseShortcode-shortcodes-__youtubeShortcode__youtubePlayer'\n type='text/html'\n src='//www.youtube.com/embed/HtAohrVK7qc'\n title='//www.youtube.com/embed/HtAohrVK7qc'\n allowfullscreen='true'\n style='border:0;'>\u003c/iframe>\n \u003c/span>\n \u003c/span>\u003c/p>\u003cp>\u003cp>Obeying the strictures of cinema verite, the director generally avoids historical context. But he couldn’t resist the clip that opens \u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em>: a 1967 TV news report in which an NBC correspondent exults in the “purge” of communists from Indonesia. He interviews a local man who says, with earnest absurdity, that some of the alleged communists actually asked to be killed.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The nationwide murder spree did target members of the Indonesian Communist Party, but also labor unionists, ethnic Chinese, and people — whether Muslim or Hindu — who were considered irreligious. Among the victims was Ramli, extraordinary not for who he was, but because his killing was witnessed and his name and fate became widely known.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Oppenheimer and his Indonesian colleagues — many of them listed in the credits as “anonymous” — filmed Ramli’s executioners a decade ago, early in the process that led to the two films. Later, the director met Ramli’s brother, pseudonymously identified in the movie as Adi. The younger man had been born two years after Ramli’s death as a sort of substitute son for his parents, who are now over 100.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Adi is a middle-aged optician whose profession provides the movie with a ready-made metaphor. The camera observes Adi as he simultaneously evaluates people for glasses and asks them about the slaughter. He is quiet but determined, and phenomenally unafraid. “Joshua never asked questions this deep,” complains one former death-squad leader in response to Adi’s detailed interrogation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em> is a subtler film than its predecessor, but the madness of the killers comes across, notably in their repeated admissions of drinking victims’ blood. “America taught us to hate communists,” explains one veteran of the grisly campaign, but once the slayings began they were guided as much by superstition and tribal conflict as by any claimed American involvement. A man blithely recalls how he brought a severed head to a Chinese-owned coffee shop to scare the proprietors. Such atavistic behavior has nothing to do with geopolitics.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The movie sticks closely to Adi and his parents. It even includes a scene of the family’s senile patriarch, confused and fearful, that was shot by Adi himself. But in searching for information about the brother he never knew, Adi opens the door to a much broader investigation.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>A former death-squad commander who became a prominent local politician warns that, if troublemakers don’t stop asking questions, another round of slayings will occur. The opposite of that prophecy seems more likely true: that only the challenges of brave people like Adi and uncompromising movies like \u003cem>The Look of Silence\u003c/em> can immunize Indonesia against another internecine slaughter.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "West Edge Presents Operas in Unexpected Oakland Locations",
"headTitle": "West Edge Presents Operas in Unexpected Oakland Locations | KQED",
"content": "\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/west-edge-opera-festival/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>‘West Edge Opera Festival’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">The now-nomadic opera company presents a trio of operas as part of this year’s festival.\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Through Aug. 9\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Various locations in Oakland\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/west-edge-opera-festival/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003cp>Hardship seems to have only made West Edge Opera better, as evidenced by the brilliant opening of a three-opera festival last weekend. The operas are all unusual choices performed in unconventional locations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Formerly known as Berkeley Opera, the company moved to El Cerrito in 2009 and subsequently changed names after being squeezed out of the Julia Morgan Theater because of scheduling conflicts. Emblematic of the Bay Area’s current rental crisis, West Edge was then priced out of a permanent venue in 2013.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The company is evidently making the most of its nomadic state, presenting three fine productions in three different Oakland venues that succeed because of — rather than in spite of — the awkward spaces in which the works are staged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The festival began with Alban Berg’s \u003cem>Lulu\u003c/em> at a decaying Beaux-Arts train station in West Oakland on Saturday night.\u003cstrong> \u003c/strong>The 1935 opera centers on a predatory but charismatic woman who uses people for her own gain but ends up spiraling into prostitution herself. The vivid production features intense singing over a swirl of chaotic playing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The deserted 16th Street Train Station suits Berg’s opera. Both the setting and the work are striking, yet neither could be described as agreeable. There is a beauty in the disrepair of the building as there is in the luridness of the opera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The set is spare. There is one main room and two smaller ones upstage, with pink curtains to change some of the scenes. Titles projected above the stage do much of the work of letting us know when and where we are. Adding to the overall sense of economy is a black and white film that condenses the narrative such that some of the music can be cut. This keeps the length of the opera to under three hours.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The space looks cavernous, yet the singing still projects well. In the role of Lulu, Emma McNairy has clearly come into her own. Her commitment to the character is unequivocal and her sound is agile despite how easily those piercing high notes could have rung shrill or hollow.\u003cem>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Presented in a new reduced orchestration, Berg’s atonal music is challenging and the melodic lines are not always obvious. Music Director Jonathan Khuner leads a boisterous orchestra seated on the same level as the audience. \u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No less captivating is the second opera in the festival, the West Coast premiere of Laura Kaminsky’s \u003cem>As One\u003c/em>. Held at the Oakland Metro, the home of erstwhile Oakland Opera Theater, this chamber opera requires the minimalistic forces of just two singers and a string quartet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Based on the life of transgender filmmaker Kimberly Reed, the opera’s two singers play one character that comes to be named Hannah. We follow her from adolescence to young adulthood. A film by Reed, whose work has been shown at the Telluride Film Festival, also appears during the opera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Artistic Director Mark Streshinsky’s staging makes efficient use of the space. The Oakland Metro is intimately appropriate for a work of this scale. But there is little air and so the venue becomes uncomfortably warm\u003cstrong>. \u003c/strong>The discomfort of audience parallels the distress of the main character.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The stage employs nine platforms arranged around the string players and conductor — The Friction string quartet and Bryan Nies — who sit in the center of the proceedings. This leaves mezzo-soprano Brenda Patterson (Hannah After) and baritone Dan Kempson (Hannah Before) to gamely hop about the platforms around the strident playing. The warm voices temper the strings, though both singers can fill the whole room.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ten actors fill out the scenes and aid set changes, as does the film displayed on five upstage screens. The addition of video content can be overwhelming, as the voices alone are potent without the imagery\u003cstrong>. \u003c/strong> The immediacy of this in close quarters holds the attention.\u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tightly-wrought piece lasts a mere 80 minutes. The composer and librettists strike a good balance: the opera is serious, but there are humorous moments throughout. The protagonist is very human without being overly sentimentalized.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The final opera of the festival, Monteverdi’s \u003cem>Il ritorno d’Ulisse in Patria\u003c/em>, opens at American Steel Studios in Oakland this coming Saturday. Held in a former pipe factory, this Baroque work based on Homer’s \u003cem>Odyssey\u003c/em> will be performed in collaboration with MusicSources, a non-profit devoted to historically informed performances.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The gritty industrial space seems like it might be at odds with a 17th century piece. Given director Streshinsky’s previous unconventional Baroque productions, such as a comedic \u003cem>Xerxes\u003c/em> in 2010, he will embrace the contrasts. \u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003caside class=\"event-info alignright\">\n\u003cfigure>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/programs/the-do-list/\">\u003cimg decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/wp-content/themes/KQED-unified/img/thedolist_icon.png\" alt=\"\" width=\"100\">\u003c/a>\u003c/figure>\n\u003ch3>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/west-edge-opera-festival/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Event Information\u003c/a>\u003c/h3>\n\u003ch2>‘West Edge Opera Festival’\u003c/h2>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-desc\">The now-nomadic opera company presents a trio of operas as part of this year’s festival.\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-dates\">\n\u003ch4>Through Aug. 9\u003c/h4>\n\u003c/div>\n\u003cdiv class=\"event-venue\">Various locations in Oakland\u003c/div>\n\u003cul>\n\u003cli>\u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/the-do-list/west-edge-opera-festival/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Details and tickets\u003c/a>\u003c/li>\n\u003c/ul>\n\u003c/aside>\n\u003cp>Hardship seems to have only made West Edge Opera better, as evidenced by the brilliant opening of a three-opera festival last weekend. The operas are all unusual choices performed in unconventional locations.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Formerly known as Berkeley Opera, the company moved to El Cerrito in 2009 and subsequently changed names after being squeezed out of the Julia Morgan Theater because of scheduling conflicts. Emblematic of the Bay Area’s current rental crisis, West Edge was then priced out of a permanent venue in 2013.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The company is evidently making the most of its nomadic state, presenting three fine productions in three different Oakland venues that succeed because of — rather than in spite of — the awkward spaces in which the works are staged.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The festival began with Alban Berg’s \u003cem>Lulu\u003c/em> at a decaying Beaux-Arts train station in West Oakland on Saturday night.\u003cstrong> \u003c/strong>The 1935 opera centers on a predatory but charismatic woman who uses people for her own gain but ends up spiraling into prostitution herself. The vivid production features intense singing over a swirl of chaotic playing.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The deserted 16th Street Train Station suits Berg’s opera. Both the setting and the work are striking, yet neither could be described as agreeable. There is a beauty in the disrepair of the building as there is in the luridness of the opera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The set is spare. There is one main room and two smaller ones upstage, with pink curtains to change some of the scenes. Titles projected above the stage do much of the work of letting us know when and where we are. Adding to the overall sense of economy is a black and white film that condenses the narrative such that some of the music can be cut. This keeps the length of the opera to under three hours.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The space looks cavernous, yet the singing still projects well. In the role of Lulu, Emma McNairy has clearly come into her own. Her commitment to the character is unequivocal and her sound is agile despite how easily those piercing high notes could have rung shrill or hollow.\u003cem>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Presented in a new reduced orchestration, Berg’s atonal music is challenging and the melodic lines are not always obvious. Music Director Jonathan Khuner leads a boisterous orchestra seated on the same level as the audience. \u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>No less captivating is the second opera in the festival, the West Coast premiere of Laura Kaminsky’s \u003cem>As One\u003c/em>. Held at the Oakland Metro, the home of erstwhile Oakland Opera Theater, this chamber opera requires the minimalistic forces of just two singers and a string quartet.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Based on the life of transgender filmmaker Kimberly Reed, the opera’s two singers play one character that comes to be named Hannah. We follow her from adolescence to young adulthood. A film by Reed, whose work has been shown at the Telluride Film Festival, also appears during the opera.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Artistic Director Mark Streshinsky’s staging makes efficient use of the space. The Oakland Metro is intimately appropriate for a work of this scale. But there is little air and so the venue becomes uncomfortably warm\u003cstrong>. \u003c/strong>The discomfort of audience parallels the distress of the main character.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The stage employs nine platforms arranged around the string players and conductor — The Friction string quartet and Bryan Nies — who sit in the center of the proceedings. This leaves mezzo-soprano Brenda Patterson (Hannah After) and baritone Dan Kempson (Hannah Before) to gamely hop about the platforms around the strident playing. The warm voices temper the strings, though both singers can fill the whole room.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Ten actors fill out the scenes and aid set changes, as does the film displayed on five upstage screens. The addition of video content can be overwhelming, as the voices alone are potent without the imagery\u003cstrong>. \u003c/strong> The immediacy of this in close quarters holds the attention.\u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The tightly-wrought piece lasts a mere 80 minutes. The composer and librettists strike a good balance: the opera is serious, but there are humorous moments throughout. The protagonist is very human without being overly sentimentalized.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The final opera of the festival, Monteverdi’s \u003cem>Il ritorno d’Ulisse in Patria\u003c/em>, opens at American Steel Studios in Oakland this coming Saturday. Held in a former pipe factory, this Baroque work based on Homer’s \u003cem>Odyssey\u003c/em> will be performed in collaboration with MusicSources, a non-profit devoted to historically informed performances.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The gritty industrial space seems like it might be at odds with a 17th century piece. Given director Streshinsky’s previous unconventional Baroque productions, such as a comedic \u003cem>Xerxes\u003c/em> in 2010, he will embrace the contrasts. \u003cstrong>\u003cbr>\n\u003c/strong>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Live Review: Kehlani Crests the Tsunami of Stardom at Slim's",
"headTitle": "Live Review: Kehlani Crests the Tsunami of Stardom at Slim’s | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>There’s never any telling for sure who becomes famous in this crazy world, but if Vegas were taking bets, the wagers would be stacked in Kehlani’s favor. And after a stellar hour-and-a-half set at Slim’s on Sunday night to a sold-out crowd, fame for the East Bay native seems even more of a foregone conclusion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Consider Kehlani’s fans, who presented bouquets of flowers at her arrival to the stage, and who sang along, loudly, to every word of her songs. Consider Kehlani herself, with the wardrobe of Aaliyah, the choreography of Beyoncé and the heart of Lauryn Hill. Consider the club’s bartenders and other staff at the show, and the look on their faces that asked: \u003cem>Who is this girl?\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kehlani Parrish is a 20-year-old R&B singer and songwriter whose Oakland upbringing wasn’t always easy. At a young age, \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/5nU1B-vD19/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">her father\u003c/a> was murdered, and later, her mother bounced in and out of jail with drug problems. Singing gave her an escape, and in her early teens she fronted a group assembled by Dwayne Wiggins from Tony Toni Toné called \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X03wPJpQG4U\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">PopLyfe\u003c/a>. (Even at a young age, Kehlani’s stage presence was irresistible; after their performance at Oakland’s Malcolm X Festival in 2009, \u003ca href=\"http://citysound.bohemian.com/2009/06/01/live-review-abraham-burton-at-the-malcolm-x-jazz-arts-festival/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">this reviewer stated\u003c/a> that she was “destined to be a household name someday.”)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10864415\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 457px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE.jpg\" alt=\"Kehlani performs at Slim's, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"457\" height=\"640\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10864415\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE.jpg 457w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE-400x560.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE-428x600.jpg 428w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 457px) 100vw, 457px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kehlani performs at Slim’s, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>PopLyfe enjoyed national TV exposure in 2011 on \u003cem>America’s Got Talent\u003c/em>, eventually finishing in fourth place. Later, locked into a contractural obligation, Kehlani worked lousy jobs and couch-surfed, eventually hooking up with Richmond’s hip-hop collective \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/03/24/a-day-in-the-life-with-breakout-bay-area-rappers-hbk-gang/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">HBK Gang\u003c/a>. When \u003cem>America’s Got Talent\u003c/em> host Nick Cannon called to see what she was up to, he offered studio time, resulting in her free mixtape \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"http://www.datpiff.com/Kehlani-Cloud-19-mixtape.642820.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Cloud 19\u003c/a>\u003c/em> in 2014, followed by \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/you-should-be-here/id978841647\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">You Should Be Here\u003c/a>\u003c/em> in 2015.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Insert a move to L.A., a \u003ca href=\"http://www.rap-up.com/2015/06/01/jay-z-tidal-playlist/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jay-Z co-sign\u003c/a>, a \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/5N6mxJvDyL/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Selena Gomez shout-out\u003c/a>, an Atlantic Records deal and \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/5N0_B3vD4h/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a sold-out national tour\u003c/a>, and that’s the basic story so far. What doesn’t get captured in dates and names, though, is Kehlani’s confident-yet-relatable personality. Born a mix of black, white, Native American, Latino and Filipino, and having dated both boys and girls, Kehlani’s ace in the hole is an instantly universal honesty that never feels forced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At Slim’s, though she commanded the crowd with party rockers befitting a hometown show, the set’s highlight was “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAm7P7g1iOM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Letter\u003c/a>,” a piano ballad dedicated to her largely absent mother that asks, plainly, why she was even born: “If you weren’t gonna guide me, why bring me into the light?” Kehlani sang, to hushed silence, “Must have done something to make you want to run and hide / Why oh why didn’t you just live your life?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After musical director Jahaan Sweet finished the final chords, and the crowd erupted, Kehlani held a fist to her chest. “I need you to understand how positive that is!” she said. “That we’re all a group of young people, being positive in the Bay Area, singing those words!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10864416\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1100px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS.jpg\" alt=\"Kehlani performs at Slim's, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"1100\" height=\"619\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10864416\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS.jpg 1100w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS-400x225.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS-960x540.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1100px) 100vw, 1100px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kehlani performs at Slim’s, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The 26-song set included a guest turn by Ambré Perkins on a cover of Drake “Preach,” as well as a 10-minute intermission taken over by Shmoplife hitmaker Kool John and a crew of nine stage-crashers. But the stage belonged largely to Kehlani, her two backup dancers, and her emotive songs. Unlike Keyshia Cole, another Oakland-raised R&B singer with a hood-to-Hollywood story but whose musical output has grown more formulaic over time, Kehlani has an arsenal of personal, heartfelt material: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEnXFLsoBxA\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Bright\u003c/a>,” a laid-back, swinging you-are-beautiful affirmation; “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jhp2GHaq2CY\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">First Position\u003c/a>,” which guides an unsure female lover into the sheets; “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxHK6Irgt1Q\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">FWU\u003c/a>,” a lively celebration of monogamy; and current hit “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0E1xYcXsGp0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Way\u003c/a>,” a slow-burning, Chance-the-Rapper-featuring earworm that at Slim’s elicited a sustained eruption of adoring screams. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In time, Kehlani will put out a formal debut album. She’ll tour without prerecorded backing tracks, the only drawback of her set Sunday night. She’ll surely play larger theaters. But she’s already got what all the industry training in the world can’t provide — an indomitable spirit, the type that was on display while her squirtgun-toting road crew doused the crowd during the show’s jubilant four-on-the-floor closer, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DMOJkqeSrQ\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Alive\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If you know my story, you know you can come from one thing, and turn it into something beautiful,” Kehlani said before leaving the stage. “And it’s a blessing to come back here and share this with y’all.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST.jpg\" alt=\"KehlaniSETLIST\" width=\"457\" height=\"640\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-10864422\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST.jpg 457w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST-400x560.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST-428x600.jpg 428w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 457px) 100vw, 457px\">\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"excerpt": "During an intimate hour-and-a-half set to a rapt, sold-out crowd, Oakland native Kehlani proved her talent is bigger than the Bay Area can contain.",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>There’s never any telling for sure who becomes famous in this crazy world, but if Vegas were taking bets, the wagers would be stacked in Kehlani’s favor. And after a stellar hour-and-a-half set at Slim’s on Sunday night to a sold-out crowd, fame for the East Bay native seems even more of a foregone conclusion.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Consider Kehlani’s fans, who presented bouquets of flowers at her arrival to the stage, and who sang along, loudly, to every word of her songs. Consider Kehlani herself, with the wardrobe of Aaliyah, the choreography of Beyoncé and the heart of Lauryn Hill. Consider the club’s bartenders and other staff at the show, and the look on their faces that asked: \u003cem>Who is this girl?\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Kehlani Parrish is a 20-year-old R&B singer and songwriter whose Oakland upbringing wasn’t always easy. At a young age, \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/5nU1B-vD19/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">her father\u003c/a> was murdered, and later, her mother bounced in and out of jail with drug problems. Singing gave her an escape, and in her early teens she fronted a group assembled by Dwayne Wiggins from Tony Toni Toné called \u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X03wPJpQG4U\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">PopLyfe\u003c/a>. (Even at a young age, Kehlani’s stage presence was irresistible; after their performance at Oakland’s Malcolm X Festival in 2009, \u003ca href=\"http://citysound.bohemian.com/2009/06/01/live-review-abraham-burton-at-the-malcolm-x-jazz-arts-festival/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">this reviewer stated\u003c/a> that she was “destined to be a household name someday.”)\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10864415\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 457px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE.jpg\" alt=\"Kehlani performs at Slim's, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"457\" height=\"640\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10864415\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE.jpg 457w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE-400x560.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniINLINE-428x600.jpg 428w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 457px) 100vw, 457px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kehlani performs at Slim’s, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>PopLyfe enjoyed national TV exposure in 2011 on \u003cem>America’s Got Talent\u003c/em>, eventually finishing in fourth place. Later, locked into a contractural obligation, Kehlani worked lousy jobs and couch-surfed, eventually hooking up with Richmond’s hip-hop collective \u003ca href=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/2015/03/24/a-day-in-the-life-with-breakout-bay-area-rappers-hbk-gang/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">HBK Gang\u003c/a>. When \u003cem>America’s Got Talent\u003c/em> host Nick Cannon called to see what she was up to, he offered studio time, resulting in her free mixtape \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"http://www.datpiff.com/Kehlani-Cloud-19-mixtape.642820.html\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Cloud 19\u003c/a>\u003c/em> in 2014, followed by \u003cem>\u003ca href=\"https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/you-should-be-here/id978841647\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">You Should Be Here\u003c/a>\u003c/em> in 2015.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Insert a move to L.A., a \u003ca href=\"http://www.rap-up.com/2015/06/01/jay-z-tidal-playlist/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Jay-Z co-sign\u003c/a>, a \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/5N6mxJvDyL/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Selena Gomez shout-out\u003c/a>, an Atlantic Records deal and \u003ca href=\"https://instagram.com/p/5N0_B3vD4h/\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">a sold-out national tour\u003c/a>, and that’s the basic story so far. What doesn’t get captured in dates and names, though, is Kehlani’s confident-yet-relatable personality. Born a mix of black, white, Native American, Latino and Filipino, and having dated both boys and girls, Kehlani’s ace in the hole is an instantly universal honesty that never feels forced.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>At Slim’s, though she commanded the crowd with party rockers befitting a hometown show, the set’s highlight was “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DAm7P7g1iOM\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Letter\u003c/a>,” a piano ballad dedicated to her largely absent mother that asks, plainly, why she was even born: “If you weren’t gonna guide me, why bring me into the light?” Kehlani sang, to hushed silence, “Must have done something to make you want to run and hide / Why oh why didn’t you just live your life?”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>After musical director Jahaan Sweet finished the final chords, and the crowd erupted, Kehlani held a fist to her chest. “I need you to understand how positive that is!” she said. “That we’re all a group of young people, being positive in the Bay Area, singing those words!”\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10864416\" class=\"wp-caption aligncenter\" style=\"max-width: 1100px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS.jpg\" alt=\"Kehlani performs at Slim's, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\" width=\"1100\" height=\"619\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10864416\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS.jpg 1100w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS-400x225.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS-800x450.jpg 800w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniDANCERS-960x540.jpg 960w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 1100px) 100vw, 1100px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Kehlani performs at Slim’s, July 26, 2015. (Photo: Gabe Meline/KQED)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The 26-song set included a guest turn by Ambré Perkins on a cover of Drake “Preach,” as well as a 10-minute intermission taken over by Shmoplife hitmaker Kool John and a crew of nine stage-crashers. But the stage belonged largely to Kehlani, her two backup dancers, and her emotive songs. Unlike Keyshia Cole, another Oakland-raised R&B singer with a hood-to-Hollywood story but whose musical output has grown more formulaic over time, Kehlani has an arsenal of personal, heartfelt material: “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qEnXFLsoBxA\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Bright\u003c/a>,” a laid-back, swinging you-are-beautiful affirmation; “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jhp2GHaq2CY\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">First Position\u003c/a>,” which guides an unsure female lover into the sheets; “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gxHK6Irgt1Q\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">FWU\u003c/a>,” a lively celebration of monogamy; and current hit “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0E1xYcXsGp0\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">The Way\u003c/a>,” a slow-burning, Chance-the-Rapper-featuring earworm that at Slim’s elicited a sustained eruption of adoring screams. \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In time, Kehlani will put out a formal debut album. She’ll tour without prerecorded backing tracks, the only drawback of her set Sunday night. She’ll surely play larger theaters. But she’s already got what all the industry training in the world can’t provide — an indomitable spirit, the type that was on display while her squirtgun-toting road crew doused the crowd during the show’s jubilant four-on-the-floor closer, “\u003ca href=\"https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6DMOJkqeSrQ\" target=\"_blank\" rel=\"noopener\">Alive\u003c/a>.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>“If you know my story, you know you can come from one thing, and turn it into something beautiful,” Kehlani said before leaving the stage. “And it’s a blessing to come back here and share this with y’all.”\u003c/p>\n\u003cp> \u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST.jpg\" alt=\"KehlaniSETLIST\" width=\"457\" height=\"640\" class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-10864422\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST.jpg 457w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST-400x560.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/KehlaniSETLIST-428x600.jpg 428w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 457px) 100vw, 457px\">\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"title": "Sexy Sculpture Fills CULT’s Summer Group Show [NSFW]",
"headTitle": "Sexy Sculpture Fills CULT’s Summer Group Show [NSFW] | KQED",
"content": "\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cb>WARNING:\u003c/b> This article contains a sexually-explicit image.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once you figure out how to pronounce it, \u003ci>SEXXXITECTURE\u003c/i> begins to sound like a lifestyle blog pairing sensuous spiral staircases with trails of lingerie. While this image isn’t entirely inaccurate (and a possible avenue for future internet domination), the title refers to a cheeky group exhibition of works by Alejandro Almanza Pereda, Daniel Gerwin, Rebekah Goldstein, Roman Liška, Max Maslansky, May Wilson and Jake Ziemann at the Mission Street gallery CULT | Aimee Friberg Exhibitions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In keeping with the traditions of interior design, the gallery’s two rooms are color-coordinated. Facing the street, it’s all cool blues and whites. In the back gallery, fleshy pinks rule. Some of the work is quite large — and there’s a lot of it — so the imposing qualities often associated with modern architecture are here transferred to paintings, dominating the arrangement of wall works and sculpture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10862090\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 486px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10862090\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640.jpg\" alt=\"Max Maslansky, 'Interior Storybook (Queen bed),' 2014. (Photo: CULT)\" width=\"486\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640.jpg 486w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640-400x527.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640-456x600.jpg 456w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 486px) 100vw, 486px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Max Maslansky, ‘Interior Storybook (Queen bed),’ 2014. (Photo: CULT)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The first work the visitor encounters, by Max Maslansky, sets the exhibition’s sultry tone fairly explicitly. The artist paints colorful scenes culled from 1970s and ‘80s porn stills on bedsheets and pillowcases, linking his materials to a postcoital tangle of limbs and sheets, the expected result of the scenes he depicts. \u003ci>Interior Storybook (Queen bed)\u003c/i> shows a woman in blue high heels and a garter belt pulling her clothes over her head for the benefit of the man seated splayed-legged before her. The setting is close and domestic, signaling that \u003ci>SEXXXITECTURE\u003c/i> is more about interior than exterior spaces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibition’s sculptural work better captures the immediacy and physicality of sex.\u003cb> \u003c/b>May Wilson’s tubular and droopy sculptures blend formalism and anthropomorphism. The suggestively-titled \u003cem>Hung1 (white)\u003c/em> hangs from the gallery ceiling off an ordinary hardware store ratchet, a contrast to its austere pearlescent vinyl casing, stuffed tight with sand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10862091\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 427px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10862091\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Ziemann640.jpg\" alt=\"Jake Ziemann, 'wont you come down and put it down on me,' 2014. (Photo: CULT)\" width=\"427\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Ziemann640.jpg 427w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Ziemann640-400x600.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 427px) 100vw, 427px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jake Ziemann, ‘wont you come down and put it down on me,’ 2014. (Photo: CULT)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Just below Wilson’s gently swaying sculpture, Jake Ziemann’s \u003cem>wont you come down and put it down on me\u003c/em> is a delicate wooden frame supporting a flopped ceramic oval on its top edge. All precarious balance and taut placement, Ziemann’s piece captures the tension and exhaustion of physical attraction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>[ad fullwidth]\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also in the front room, Alejandro Almaza Pereda’s \u003cem>If you say something see something\u003c/em> features a manila rope frozen in the outlines of the shapes it once encircled. The piece conjures images of rope play and bondage, albeit with geometric shapes rather than human bodies.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pereda’s accompanying wall installation, exhaustively titled \u003cem>the only known complete protection from this event would be to prevent its occurrence, part III, \u003c/em>is a precarious balancing act of bending chipboard shelves, water and found objects. The artist custom built the arrangement for the exhibition and it’s more than a little anxiety-inducing, here conjuring images of both shoddy construction and relationships holding on by a thread.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this exhibition, the sculptural works, with their roundness, heft and built-in humor, carry the show’s theme to the place of actual emotion. In the blending of architecture and sensuality, the two-dimensional pieces take on the appearance of wall-dressings, despite their aesthetic appeal. A titillating gallery experience complete with nervous chuckles and innuendo-filled titles, \u003cem>SEXXXITECTURE\u003c/em> is a summer fling worth pursuing.\u003c/p>\n\n",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003cp>\u003cem>\u003cb>WARNING:\u003c/b> This article contains a sexually-explicit image.\u003c/em>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Once you figure out how to pronounce it, \u003ci>SEXXXITECTURE\u003c/i> begins to sound like a lifestyle blog pairing sensuous spiral staircases with trails of lingerie. While this image isn’t entirely inaccurate (and a possible avenue for future internet domination), the title refers to a cheeky group exhibition of works by Alejandro Almanza Pereda, Daniel Gerwin, Rebekah Goldstein, Roman Liška, Max Maslansky, May Wilson and Jake Ziemann at the Mission Street gallery CULT | Aimee Friberg Exhibitions.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In keeping with the traditions of interior design, the gallery’s two rooms are color-coordinated. Facing the street, it’s all cool blues and whites. In the back gallery, fleshy pinks rule. Some of the work is quite large — and there’s a lot of it — so the imposing qualities often associated with modern architecture are here transferred to paintings, dominating the arrangement of wall works and sculpture.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10862090\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 486px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10862090\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640.jpg\" alt=\"Max Maslansky, 'Interior Storybook (Queen bed),' 2014. (Photo: CULT)\" width=\"486\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640.jpg 486w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640-400x527.jpg 400w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Maslansky640-456x600.jpg 456w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 486px) 100vw, 486px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Max Maslansky, ‘Interior Storybook (Queen bed),’ 2014. (Photo: CULT)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>The first work the visitor encounters, by Max Maslansky, sets the exhibition’s sultry tone fairly explicitly. The artist paints colorful scenes culled from 1970s and ‘80s porn stills on bedsheets and pillowcases, linking his materials to a postcoital tangle of limbs and sheets, the expected result of the scenes he depicts. \u003ci>Interior Storybook (Queen bed)\u003c/i> shows a woman in blue high heels and a garter belt pulling her clothes over her head for the benefit of the man seated splayed-legged before her. The setting is close and domestic, signaling that \u003ci>SEXXXITECTURE\u003c/i> is more about interior than exterior spaces.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>The exhibition’s sculptural work better captures the immediacy and physicality of sex.\u003cb> \u003c/b>May Wilson’s tubular and droopy sculptures blend formalism and anthropomorphism. The suggestively-titled \u003cem>Hung1 (white)\u003c/em> hangs from the gallery ceiling off an ordinary hardware store ratchet, a contrast to its austere pearlescent vinyl casing, stuffed tight with sand.\u003c/p>\n\u003cfigure id=\"attachment_10862091\" class=\"wp-caption alignright\" style=\"max-width: 427px\">\u003cimg loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-10862091\" src=\"http://ww2.kqed.org/arts/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Ziemann640.jpg\" alt=\"Jake Ziemann, 'wont you come down and put it down on me,' 2014. (Photo: CULT)\" width=\"427\" height=\"640\" srcset=\"https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Ziemann640.jpg 427w, https://cdn.kqed.org/wp-content/uploads/sites/2/2015/07/Ziemann640-400x600.jpg 400w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 427px) 100vw, 427px\">\u003cfigcaption class=\"wp-caption-text\">Jake Ziemann, ‘wont you come down and put it down on me,’ 2014. (Photo: CULT)\u003c/figcaption>\u003c/figure>\n\u003cp>Just below Wilson’s gently swaying sculpture, Jake Ziemann’s \u003cem>wont you come down and put it down on me\u003c/em> is a delicate wooden frame supporting a flopped ceramic oval on its top edge. All precarious balance and taut placement, Ziemann’s piece captures the tension and exhaustion of physical attraction.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\u003c/div>",
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"content": "\u003cdiv class=\"post-body\">\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Also in the front room, Alejandro Almaza Pereda’s \u003cem>If you say something see something\u003c/em> features a manila rope frozen in the outlines of the shapes it once encircled. The piece conjures images of rope play and bondage, albeit with geometric shapes rather than human bodies.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>Pereda’s accompanying wall installation, exhaustively titled \u003cem>the only known complete protection from this event would be to prevent its occurrence, part III, \u003c/em>is a precarious balancing act of bending chipboard shelves, water and found objects. The artist custom built the arrangement for the exhibition and it’s more than a little anxiety-inducing, here conjuring images of both shoddy construction and relationships holding on by a thread.\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>\u003c/p>\n\u003cp>In this exhibition, the sculptural works, with their roundness, heft and built-in humor, carry the show’s theme to the place of actual emotion. In the blending of architecture and sensuality, the two-dimensional pieces take on the appearance of wall-dressings, despite their aesthetic appeal. A titillating gallery experience complete with nervous chuckles and innuendo-filled titles, \u003cem>SEXXXITECTURE\u003c/em> is a summer fling worth pursuing.\u003c/p>\n\n\u003c/div>\u003c/p>",
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"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. ",
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"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>",
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"info": "For decades, the process for how police police themselves has been inconsistent – if not opaque. In some states, like California, these proceedings were completely hidden. After a new police transparency law unsealed scores of internal affairs files, our reporters set out to examine these cases and the shadow world of police discipline. On Our Watch brings listeners into the rooms where officers are questioned and witnesses are interrogated to find out who this system is really protecting. Is it the officers, or the public they've sworn to serve?",
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"info": "Political Breakdown is a new series that explores the political intersection of California and the nation. Each week hosts Scott Shafer and Marisa Lagos are joined with a new special guest to unpack politics -- with personality — and offer an insider’s glimpse at how politics happens.",
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"possible": {
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"title": "Possible",
"info": "Possible is hosted by entrepreneur Reid Hoffman and writer Aria Finger. Together in Possible, Hoffman and Finger lead enlightening discussions about building a brighter collective future. The show features interviews with visionary guests like Trevor Noah, Sam Altman and Janette Sadik-Khan. Possible paints an optimistic portrait of the world we can create through science, policy, business, art and our shared humanity. It asks: What if everything goes right for once? How can we get there? Each episode also includes a short fiction story generated by advanced AI GPT-4, serving as a thought-provoking springboard to speculate how humanity could leverage technology for good.",
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"radiolab": {
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},
"rightnowish": {
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"title": "Rightnowish",
"tagline": "Art is where you find it",
"info": "Rightnowish digs into life in the Bay Area right now… ish. Journalist Pendarvis Harshaw takes us to galleries painted on the sides of liquor stores in West Oakland. We'll dance in warehouses in the Bayview, make smoothies with kids in South Berkeley, and listen to classical music in a 1984 Cutlass Supreme in Richmond. Every week, Pen talks to movers and shakers about how the Bay Area shapes what they create, and how they shape the place we call home.",
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"info": "The Snap Judgment radio show and podcast mixes real stories with killer beats to produce cinematic, dramatic radio. Snap's musical brand of storytelling dares listeners to see the world through the eyes of another. This is storytelling... with a BEAT!! Snap first aired on public radio stations nationwide in July 2010. Today, Snap Judgment airs on over 450 public radio stations and is brought to the airwaves by KQED & PRX.",
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"soldout": {
"id": "soldout",
"title": "SOLD OUT: Rethinking Housing in America",
"tagline": "A new future for housing",
"info": "Sold Out: Rethinking Housing in America",
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