the sixth station blog

Old reliables and new preciousness

2012-02-06T21:21:00.001-06:00

Jaems, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

As a citizen of Packer nation, yesterday was just a regular ol snark-fest for me on Twitter, so let's just do a Pre-Super-Bowl weekend arts roundup.

Stella and I are looking at High Schools. A week or so ago, we checked out Ronald Reagan IB and were very impressed by the creative arts department, so much so for a school that doesn't necessarily specialize in it. We'd gone to see their production of "The Boy Friend", a musical I'm not at all familiar with. (I'm more of a veteran of West Side Story, The Music Man, and South Pacific productions....). I'm not a fan of musicals -- you can hear the dialog warming up to a production number, and it's all I can do to hum along with Herbert in Monty Python and the Holy Grail as he starts in with " ...I'd rather... just ... sing!" Still, putting on a musical requires an extreme amount of production, coordination, and guidance, and Reagan IB worked it wonderfully. Also I admit that it was joyful to see
Ruadhan Ward as Mme Dubonnet singing a genre you don't normally associate with her -- and she pulled off some very difficult oldschool musical herione solos flawlessly. Brava! Ward's mom, Christina Ward was in the front row (my mom never missed one of my performances either -- I mean she went to Every.Single.Repeat) and her dad, drummer Dan Niedjiecko and aunt, prog queen Julie Brandenburg, sat more towards the back near Stella and me. We all reminisced about our high school musical days (Julie's companion mentioned he did a production of Les Miz, which pretty much shut me and my "We'll I was one of the Pick-A-Little-Talk-A-Little ladies in The Music Man" bit right up.)

So this past weekend, after touring the Milwaukee High School of the Arts, we decided to check out their recent offering, a Soul Revue that started out with a brief nod to Don Cornelius, and then, as I tweeted, these kids proceeded to kick ass. The jazz ensemble (with both horn and string sections) started off with an instrumental of "The Horse" and suddenly it's 1978 again, and I'm playing clarinet in basketball band at Rich Central. These kids take on Etta's "At Last", Al Green's "Love and Happiness" and others, amidst an auditorium filled with their family and friends justifiably hooting and hollering for them completing this whole "Showtime at the Apollo!" vibe. The encore (they knew they'd get one) turned out to be this kid who barely looked like a freshman, who started out nervously and then pretty much transformed himself into young, still adorable Michael Jackson for an ABC/I Want You Back medley that brought down the house.

After a quick snack, Stella and I headed out to Riverwest for a giant art extravaganza hosted by Flux Design that @Raster called my attention to. In addition to seeing his Drawbot (and Stella got a chance to make her own art with it) we got to see work in progress --literally, they were making it right there -- in metal, wood, painting, ice sculpture, photography, etc. Also ran into a couple friends and gushed about their latest news:

Eric Griswold is jazzed about being one of the finalists for an art project for the bus shelter at the North End of Bay view where Kinnickinnic, Lincoln and Howell converge. Here's his concept, and I like it. He's always been a Riverwest boy as long as I've known him, but at least he's still living in Milwaukee, which distinguishes him from the other three finalists.
Paul Kneevers is jazzed up about one of his (Three! Count 'em THREE) bands putting out another CD -- this one's a new offering from Lovanova, his difficult-to-describe rocking, jazzy, but lounge act. You know, the one with that gargantuan Hammond organ he lugs around.

So, Saturday night I decided to go with reliable. Reliably, the Unheard Of was at the Circle A, and I got there in time to catch about 40 minutes left of a dripping-with-acid psychedelic set. Pity there weren't more fans in the club; it was driving and tight. One younger couple of hipsters came in, tried to get out of paying cover, but seemed to enjoy it anyway. Still, the band pro'd up and payed like it was a packed house. They showed their appreciation for my attendance with some new vinyl, which I carefully put in my car to head to Frank's Power Plant for more reliability -- a non-Zappa set from the Freddie Lee band.

Opening the show was an odd, eclectic act, Jaems Murphy and the Vedic Eden. Here you go: there's this guy in a tight-fitting striped sweater with goat horns on his head and (noticed this after the show in brighter light) dark, almost black lipstick. He's playing (rather well) this steel acoustic guitar thing and he has an endearing, if not flawed, vunerability to his voice. His band includes a stand up bass, some keyboards, a traditional trapset drummer, another guitar, and two background singers who double on percussion. I should have loved it. And I did to some extent. He had a conversational yet airy tone about him, his songs are complex jazz-folk arrangements that the theory snob I can sometimes be loves. I should have loved this. But I wasn't in the mood for it and, well, it all seemed just a bit too precious. First off, really, Jaems, is that how your mom spelled your name on your birth certificate? Second, that sweater. That scoop neck sweater. You're not a girl. And third, (in the same file as You're not a girl) lose the black lipstick. Because all this does not add to your otherwise very very cool musical offering. I could put up with the billy goat horns, but stop it there. All this detracts from your otherwise compelling stage presence and songwriting. My gut reaction to this should have been, "Way cool! What a find!" and instead I was thinking/tweeting "I'm not quite sure what to make of this." And normally, I *like* art that makes me say that, but I found myself listening to Jaems Murphy from the other room, where I could enjoy the music for what it was worth -- and it was worth a lot. Oh, and one more thing (and I'm not alone in this), no offense to you in particular, but I swear to God, if I hear one more cover of Cohen's "Hallelujah" I'm going to apply for a concealed carry license.

Had a lovely chat with Freddie Lee's wife Michelle while the band set up, and we tipped our glasses to Larry Kennedy. Julie Brandenburg was on background vocals tonight, and there were some sound issues. (Freddie kept getting zapped by two different polarities between his guitar and the PA -- OUCH - I've had that happen and it hurts). Beyond that. I already knew that Freddie has a lot of Zappa influence, but this past Saturday I heard very strong nods to Robert Fripp/King Crimson. This was what I was in the mood for; too bad I was starting to run out of gas, but I caught at least a half hour of some strong, bluesy prog courtesy of some of the town's best players. All in all, an interesting night at the Power Plant and I think I'm going to come out again and take another visit to the Vedic Eden to see if that magical wonderboy can rope me in.

Mortality? Family? Milwaukee Music: A Love Letter

2012-01-30T19:37:00.000-06:00

Larry Kennedy died last week. I'm not sure what this post is about, because while it is nudged by Larry Kennedy's death, it's not about him. I met Larry Kennedy once in my life. And judging by the fact that his death spurred an entire Facebook group that is celebrating the 80s Milwaukee music scene, with everybody digging through their boxes of memorabilia, one chance encounter is all one needed in their life, but there were people who knew him well and miss him terribly. As Rob McCuen said, "Everybody has a Larry Kennedy story. Every encounter with Larry was like a film short." Mine involved a party at my apartment, a bunch of half drunk beers, waking up the next day and making breakfast and having coffee with Stoney Rivera before realizing that Larry was still in the exact same position on our couch with the half drunk beers perfectly balanced on his limbs. But that's not what this blog post is about.

Maybe it's about mortality. I went out Saturday night not to the Pablove show (which by all accounts was wonderful, uplifting, fun, inspiring, all those things an excellent fundraiser could and should be), but just to see my husband play with Dr Chow and to get a much needed Floor Model fix. Paul "The Fly" Lawson was there, of course (he was sitting in guesting with Dr Chow) and the topic of Larry Kennedy came up. Of course it did -- somebody had posted a picture of a very young Fly in that thread earlier in the day ("I wasn't even playing lead guitar in that band!" he laughed at himself) and we were all giving him a hard time about it. (something about the longer, actually curly hair might have been it...). I told Fly my Larry Kennedy story and mentioned that I didn't know him well, but that he seemed to be Milwaukee's own Keith Richards.

"Yeah, I really wasn't a part of this scene," I told Fly. "My 80's rock and roll scene was rooted in Champaign-Urbana, and I've already had my reconnection with it and we're just starting to bury our dead. What is it about Larry Kennedy that woke everybody up?"

I think Fly hit it on the head, confirming my Keith Richards analogy: "He was supposed to be invincible. All those guys -- Andy Owens, Tess, Larry Kennedy, you never thought they would really die."

But maybe it's really about family. I've often told my kids (especially around holidays) that we have two families -- the one we're born into and the one we chose. And like any family, we mourn the passing of one of us as though they were our big or little brother or sister, or in some cases our parents or distant cousins. Since these are the people in the family we chose, these are people we weren't arbitrarily supposed to love. They drew us in, they made us love them, not because we were linked by blood, but because we simply found a connection that was just as strong -- maybe even stronger -- than blood. Like a family, we had our loves, we had our fights, we had our function and our dysfunction, our saints and our black sheep. Here we are, finding our "baby pictures" and posting them. I'm seeing pictures of people who have come to be some of my dearest friends, some of the most influential people in my life, as bright-eyed twentysometings -- for all intents and purposes these are baby pictures. And like baby pictures, we see the beginnings (and in some cases, the blossoming) of the parts of these people that will always last, into their old age and even after they die, in our hearts. Oh, there were giants in those days!

I'm looking at these pictures and reading the stories, and in some cases I feel like the girl who married into this gigantic (Kennedy-esque, if you will!) family and listening to the childhood stories of my new in-laws. Kennedy was some distant third cousin twice removed to me. People I've known for years: Stoney Rivera, Andy Pagel, The Fly, Rob McCuen, Steve Schrank, Washday, Bob DuBlon and Miles, the whole Voot/Plasticland/Frankovic crowd, the hardcore crowd, the Die Kreuzen posse, the Atomic Records (formerly Ludwig Van Ear) bunch, Mark GE and the Joy Farm clan, -- the names are washing over me like a tsunami. And people I encountered just in time before they were taken from us -- I only caught a little bit of Presley Haskel's flame as he repaired/tuned/setup my Rickenbaker at the old Baldoni store (and was lucky enough to catch the Haskels/Oil Tasters reunion at Bastille Days to see what the fuss was all about) before I heard the godawful news of his death. There's an entire thread devoted to that moment when we all heard, especially horrified that he was murdered while putting up posters for his band's upcoming show. (I mourned him, at the time, by grabbing that Rickenbaker he'd just fixed, going into my band's practice space in the basement of the old ESHAC building, plugging in and playing that motherfucker as loud and long as I could.) Oh, that wasn't his real name? Or more recently, only catching a glimmer of Lane Klosier's light before he shockingly, heartbreakingly, was taken from us. Damn, doesn't anybody in this town use their birth name?

We found things in common, and in the case of this musical family, it was how happy we were to have found people who shared this obsession with the music that we have. How many times have I said on this blog that I separate the world into two camps, the ones for whom music is simply wallpaper and the ones for whom music is a visceral lifeblood? The need to go see a band. To stand in the audience and watch somebody pour out their soul -- whether in anger, love, joy, bewilderment, satire, heartbreak, beauty or truth -- and unite us all as human beings. To pick up an instrument (and voice is an instrument) and wail out your own blues. I simply do not understand people who are not moved by this. And so, like many of us, I chose a family that is moved, and isn't afraid to say it.

I could go on and on at this point, but somebody else already has and done it better than I ever could, namely Blaine Schultz in his recent memorial of Dave Raeck -- another guy I didn't know so well. But in some respect, maybe I did know him because as I wrote Blaine, he was so obviously One Of Us. I'll leave it at that because, as I write this, I'm still not quite sure what this blog post is about, or maybe I'm not just ready to admit mortality yet. Blaine has very kindly given me permission to reproduce his beautiful eulogy here. Take it away, Blaine (bold emphasis mine):

On behalf of Tammy, Olga and Deb - thanks everyone for coming here today to remember Dave Raeck.Dave was one of the kindest people I ever met. And to be kind and generous is enough to make a mark in people’s memories. But Dave had something more.

See, Dave knew the all about the ancient rituals and the unwritten codes. Dave knew Radio Birdman and the Velvet Underground and the Stooges and Captain Beefheart. He knew that the 45 of “Land of a Thousand Dances” was the best way to hear it and the white label promo mix of “The Red and the Black” made Blue Oyster Cult sound like the MC5. Dave knew Mott the Hoople, the Gun Club and John Coltrane and Pharoah Sanders. … and a whole lot more.

Dave’s passion was music. And he was happy to share it with anyone who asked.

A band can be as cool as a gang or as dysfunctional as a reality show. Each band has it’s own personality. There is an apocryphal story about a band meeting, asking what each member brought to the band besides their musical talent.

Tough question, but simple answer -- easy -- Dave had SOUL. It is not something you can measure or even see – It is something so important yet almost impossible to explain.But if it is there, you know it. And Dave had it.

In the 1980s I lived up north and would make trips to Madison and Milwaukee to see these bands I read about but never got to see or hear. Keep in mind -- those pre-internet days you really had to work to find records or magazines. It was a challenge. Word of mouth, mail order catalogs, used book stores, rummage sales. Certain types of knowledge was worth more. It was a challenge to make a record and sell it. Today anyone can form a crappy band and put a song on a computer.

Life has lost some of its grit.

So-- I noticed a guy at these shows, who -- not unlike myself -- resembled a lost cousin of the Ramones. Black jeans, leather jacket Converse All Stars – the rock and roll uniform. That is how I met Dave.

A few years later when I moved to Milwaukee, Dave and I formed a band. We practiced in a place called The Sausage Factory, just down the hill from Zak’s Rock and Roll Palace appropriately.I worked 10 hr shifts in a factory back then so I REALLY looked forward to any time playing music.Dave played his Thunderbird bass. I think Dwayne Flowers was drumming with us at the time.

We’d worked up a few songs in our living rooms -- and when we finally plugged in with a decent PA it --- sounded - like an airplane taking off . … And the airplane was inside our head.

(Sometimes I think we are still chasing that moment.)

The reason I tell this story is because Dave came up with most of that first set list. Making sure we were all on the same page. And while he was easily the best gtr player in the band, he knew that by moving over to bass we had a better chance of making the band work. That is the kind of guy he was.

That group never played out though we did record some songs at Dave’s folks house – We went on to form other bands that shared gigs. … some us never quit.Back in the olden days of record stores, people who never even knew Dave’s name benefitted from his generous spirit and his musical knowledge. When Dave Szolwinski moved Earwaves a few blocks north to a bigger location Dave could be found working the counter with Pat Cummings.

Like Clancy Carroll said, “when you hear your music -- you will know.”

I wonder if most people know what it is like to get in car and drive 2 hours on a Sunday night in February to see Sylvain Sylvain play at an all ages show in Green Bay? Or the Cynics in Appleton? … and then we’d lament on the way home about how great the show was but only a few dozen fans were there.

… but lamenting helps no one. And driving into the night listening to great music is something no one can put a price on.

Later I worked part time at Record Head with Dave – and I remember one Sunday, Dave’s Mom & Dad stopped in to say hi and drop off some cookies as a snack for us. When they left Dave hugged and kissed his folks. That is the kind of guy he was.

I hope you all have memories as great.

I do, Blaine. And I will do my best to help document them. I think this is another one of those reminders to tell those we love just how much we do indeed love them. As such, this blog has been and will continue to be, among other things, my love letter to the music community and Milwaukee in general.

Zappafest convergence

2012-01-23T12:13:00.001-06:00

freddie lee at zappafest, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

Zappafest takes on a different flavor every year. This year it was at the Y-Not-III, a place I'll admit I haven't been to in years. In fact, I think the last time I was in there was to see Dr Chow's Love Medicine long before Brian had joined. They switched the location of the stage, and there's bars both upstairs and downstairs with an excellent selection. (I chose a very nice weissbier called 312, from Goose Island brewing). Anyway, this year there were only three bands for Zappafest, and I've seen the Dr Chow Zappa set a bunch of times now, so I admittedly heard a muffled version of "Harder than Your Husband" and "Miss Pinky" while I was downstairs, catching up with the queen of Milwaukee Prog, Julie Brandenburg, on some gossip. Nothing to print here, nothing you haven't heard already. We raised a glass to the recently departed Larry Kennedy and headed back upstairs.

Julie's playing with the Freddie Lee Band these days (among other things like composing serious musical pieces, teaching music in the schools, and still wielding a mighty sewing needle) and they were the next act up. Freddie Lee, who used to be known as "Feedback Freddie" has been around Milwaukee for ages and I concurred with Brian on the realization that, "Hey, I don't think I've ever seen him in aclub." And that was a fact. Freddie plays at so many outdoor concerts and shows, I can't believe I've never seen him in a dark club. He was a fixture at Locust Street for awhile, he's always seems to have a slot at Summerfest, and gee, I think we just take him for granted. The Riverwest legend has a lineup of younguns (well, younger than him), but they've got the chops to hold their own, and he's generous with letting them have their musical say, so you have this band that's really good, but hard to pin down. The fact that they could easily pick up their axes and crank out some Zappa classics attests to their variety. It was a nice pick-me-up on a rainy, slushy night when I normally would have just as soon stayed home. Glad I made it out to hear Freddie's smooth voice take on Frank, and it made me realize I need to check them when they're not restricted to one artist's vision. I need to check out his most recent release, "Here's Your Hat, Man." According to his Facebook page, the title came from a "scary experience on the highway retruning from a performance on a snowy/icy afternoon. The vehicle slid and eventually lost control, flipped over on its side and finally came to a stop at the freeway wall. No one seriously injured, yet very shook up." I can imagine that one silent moment when everybody looked at each other in relief that they were still alive, and the tension must have been released when a bandmember said, "Here's Your Hat, Man."

However, Saturday's set was a short one (as tribute night sets tend to be) and thus this is a short blog entry, but there's a matter of convergence I have to point out. Lee, as well as a good portion of the people in the room, is an oldschool progressive, as evidenced by the sentiment on the button he had pinned to his hat. I was -- and still am -- reveling in the wonder that was 1 million (that's six zeros, folks) signatures delivered to the the state to recall Scott Walker, further digging me out of a cynical political bent I've had hanging over my head for years. I've recently reconnected with a lot of my old politico friends, and I'm marveling at the fact that this whole movement isn't based on slick, glam talking points being force fed to an apathetic public. It's a truly grassroots movement. It kills me that the media keep on saying "Democrats presented 1 millions signatures..." when, while the DPW will benefit from this movement, this wasn't a democratic party thing at all. This just came up from the grassroots, oldschool style, people just getting off the couch and saying, "For cryin' out loud, this is ridiculous." It was accomplished oldschool, and it needs to continue oldschool. Everybody's all wondering who's going to run against Walker, but that's not really the next step in this oldschool process. No, folks, I think the big priority --- especially now that I'm living in a state where voter registration is actually going to be a big deal -- is getting people registered to vote and making sure they have their correct identification, because I'm not counting on that voter repression bill to get repealed anytime soon. So the convergence? Here's Frank Zappa reminding us to do it, and in a few cases, why (as if we all need reminding):

This turning 50 thing is coming up on a lot of us

2012-01-20T18:44:00.001-06:00

Surprise! It's Blaine's birthday!, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

Well, among other people who turned 50 this year is Blaine Schultz. Most of my 50 year old pals have been celebrating by booking some bands and invading a favorite bar, and Blaine was no exception. Except that with Blaine, he's not the kind of guy who would call that kind of attention to himself. It's so not his style. Lucky for all of us, his darling wife Kathryn came to the rescue and pulled off a terrific surprise party that wonderfully avoided the Blaine-ish, "Oh, really, don't go through the trouble" that would have come up had he known that a bunch of his friends were going to lug gear, take over a bar, and play several sets of great music in his honor.

According to everybody who was there when the birthday boy showed up (I was characteristically late), he was genuinely surprised when he walked in. So much so that he didn't even realize the decorations were all about him as he made a b-line to the bar to grab some refreshments. I can just see his face now, "Oh this is for me?"

Still, a great night for a terrific musician and honest rock and roll writer. He runs in a different crowd than I do/did -- his was the The Newsletter crowd (I, back in the day, hung more with the Crazy Shepherd folks) but we both agree on the greatness of the vast amount of undiscovered or overlooked music in this town and he's done more than his part to put a spotlight on it. Plus, (and this is my oft-told favorite Blaine Schultz story) he has an unabashed love for American roots rock and he helped me to truly understand the greatness of Neil Young in, of all things, a Trash Fest set at a TF some 10 or so years ago. Looking as grizzled as Young himself, he and his band used their entire allloted 20 minutes to do a 20 minute version of Hurricaine. I approached him afterwards and told him, "Wow. I'm not sure if that was satire, parody, or loving tribute." He 'fessed right up: "Probably a little of all three."

Why haven't I seen
these guys before?
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

And that's kind of how his birthday was. First up, the Carolinas, who I'd just realized I'd never seen before. They get described as alt-country, but that might bring to mind gentle Wilco type stuff. Actually, I think the Carolinas answer the question, "What if the Yardbirds had grown up in the Midwest and took on a country influence?" Really. The songs begin innocently enough, but they pull an unsuspecting listener like me with a subtle rave-up that crashes gloriously within the space of 3-4 minutes. Why haven't I checked them out before? Of course, Blaine joined them for a few tunes, and then there was a short set from a pared-down incarnation of Blaine's consistent band, The Aimless Blades. Then came the jokes, of course, from the Mighty Deer Lick. I missed (again!) the annual Deek Lick Christmas show, so I was really looking forward to this, especially since once again, Dan Franke was back in town to play with 'em. They bounded onto the stage and blasted through "Bitch" and "I Wanna Be Loved" and a couple of others and it seemed like Dave Reinholdt would be in top form. But for whatever reason, it was a disappointingly short set of only four songs. Don't know why, don't want to know, but my bubble burst and I needed more snottyness. So, I bid Blaine a final happy birthday, congratulated Kathryn for pulling this whole thing off under his nose, jumped in the car, and headed north.

It was the final weekend to get Recall Walker signatures in (I'd placed my name on a petition out in Brookfield, just to be funny), so the fine folks at the Riverwest Public House were co-sponsoring "Occupy Riverwest" and Floor Model was on the bill. I needed a Floor Model set. But, between weather and such, I got there just in time to see them breaking down their gear. Danny Price was up next, and I was blown away. Haven't seen The Loose Change in months, and there's been a bit of musician shuffling. He's added a sax, but Paul Setser is still tinkling away on his run-down-saloon keyboards. Price's voice has matured as well, so I was fixated through the entire set. He's also beginning to put very cool, jazz-like arrangements on his songs, so earlier comparaisons to Tom Waits (even with a sweeter voice) should start to come in. Like I tweeted, dammit, I missed Floor Model, but Danny Price and the Loose Change were on.

Looking for Elvis and an elusive medallion in the Garage

2012-01-09T10:05:00.001-06:00

Red Stuff in a pink light, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

Well, I kind of have my own airheadedness to blame -- and thank -- for a nice band night out. I originally was going to pop into Stoney Rivera's Dominium Gallery to see the opening of Patrick Glassel's show. Except, that wasn't last Friday. It's this Friday. I drove past the gallery and all the lights were out and I thought to myself, "I knew he was dark, but not literally!" But since I was in Riverwest, I figured to myself, "Well, somebody's got to be at the Circle A tonight."

Pulled up just in time to see a band called Red Stuff strike their first chords. "Loud and obnoxious," I heard somebody else say three songs in. No, that's really not a good summation. Everybody's fairly loud and usually obnoxious in the Circle A. Red Stuff was something different. Let me see if I can come up with something besides the inevitable White Stripes comparaison that anybody who's going to write about these guys is going to drop. Hmmmmm, well, the Stripes come to mind because it's a guy wailing a garage frosted-psychedelic blues, accompanied by a girl providing rhythm, except that her rhythm isn't on the drums, it's on a lap steel guitar. And Kelly Buros doesn't play it to achieve a wailing country sound, she genuinely uses it as a rhythm instrument that very seductively undermines singer/guitarist Tom Wanderer's work. That's where somebody in the audience said, "Is it me, or have these guys listened to a lot of Wire?" I answered back, "I heard a touch of the Cramps, myself." And that's why the White Stripes comparisons end. The Stripes, despite their Detroit lineage, are not trashy. On the other hand, Paul "The Fly" Lawson, in the audience as well, told me, "I've been trying to get these guys in for Trash Fest for a while." Duh. Red Stuff was wonderfully trashy, right down to the drummer's miminalist kit (and approach). And you know how much I love the trash. They even had a trash attitude, in that they delivered a blistering set inspiring calls of "More!!!!" from the audience, and yet, they forgot to bring their merch. They have merch, and I wanted the take home version of Red Stuff. This was exactly what I was looking for when I resolved this year to see more new, fresh bands.

Despite that, they were not lazy -- the songs are hypnotic in their simplicity, the chord changes, and their delivery. Red Stuff. Good stuff. They opened for an outfit from Chicago called Phantom Works. I thought the Circle A crowd was not exactly welcoming to them, and I felt bad because I needed to leave after just a couple of songs, but I did want to catch a set from the Dick Satan Trio like I said I would. Phantom Works was good, but they didn't grab me. Not quite yet. The couple of songs they did have more of that Wire sound, but they were so similar that I suspected that after three songs of this, I'd pretty much gotten their flavor. I wouldn't wanted to have to follow Red Stuff that night, but I should give Phantom Works another chance.

Listened to Elvis as I made my way back to the south side; I was sad to hear that our local best Elvis, Jon VanThiel (who's a great leather/Jailhouse Rock Elvis -- my preference as opposed to the Vegas Era) did not make it to the finals of the annual Elvis competition at Potowatomie Bingo and Casino. Didn't make it out this year, but was happy to hear it on the PA as I made my way down to the Rocco's on Kinnickinnic. "Where's Roccos?" you might ask. Duh, I'm looking at the addresses and drove past it twice before I realize, oh DUH, it's the VFW post on KK. DST put in a fine set before Ted Jorin and I had an arugment, while listening to Elvis' "Kentucky Rain" over the jukebox, on the merits of said song. Jorin argues that it's the highlight of Elvis' career -- scratch that, the highlight of music. Ach, "Kentucky Rain" is not one of my favorite Elvis moments. In fact, to me, it symbolizes the lameness of Elvis' Vegas years. But people seem to love it, which is probably why Johnny Van Thiel did not win the Elvis competition this past weekend. Oh, the DST show? Wonderful as always. Tonight's moment came from all of us discussing Rick Satan (aka Eric Knitter)'s medallion that he was wearing. Will you look at this thing? His lovely wife Julie told me she found it many years ago at a rummage sale. I couldn't take my eyes off it. I tried to snap a picture of it with my camera phone, and then my regular camera. I couldn't get the light right. It was refusing to be photographed. I will have to hook up with Julie at a later date to see if we can re-photograph this thing, unless some protective spirit doesn't shatter my lens during the attempt.

A list of resolutions

2012-01-04T20:15:00.001-06:00

The Unheard Of, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

Jesus. Has it really been since the Framber Wedding since I've blogged? Guess so. December is always a humongously busy time for me, not the least reason being that its the holidays and I have kids. But it *was* particularly busy. New Year's resolutions are for the birds (and that's kind of cliche to say that), so I'm going to rip off resolutions from friends, and do a quick bullet point wrap up.

Resolution #1: Blog more like I used to.

I used to blog weekly. In fact, I would do a coming attractions midweek, and wrap up the weekend on Mondays. That made sense when I went to see a band or a ball game every weekend. Still, a monthly blog entry is not a blog. That's more like a status report. I write status reports in my day job for a living. Ugh.

To that end, here's some stuff that I did/saw/celebrated:

The Dick Satan Trio along with Crazy Rocket Fuel. This was a nice way to spend a chilly, rainy, crappy night at the Bay View Brewhaus. I'm constantly amazed at how good the sound is there, considering that with the high ceilings, hardwood floor, and general open air it should sound all bouncy and trebly and godawful. The DST improves with every outing. That have a good, dangerous surf sound and they're not afraid to experiment (although they confessed to me that a rather atonal song I particularly liked wasn't necessarily intentionally atonal. They were followed by the always wonderful Crazy Rocket Fuel, who also get better every time I see them. They were in their element here: very comfortable on stage and with their roadhouse gals material. This whole thing was a fundraiser for some animal welfare organization, so there were tables filled with silent auction items and there were animal adoptions via computer happening. Between sets, instead of house music there was the obligatory "Hi I'm the executive director of such and such organization and I'm so happy that you could come out and support the critical work we're doing and I have a bazillion names to read off and thank so that you're not going to be able to have that between set conversation you were hoping to get in" stuff. At least they weren't all preachy about it, like some fundraisers I've been to. I remember one in particular where we were actually scolded for not shutting up and listening to her boring little speech. No, these were animal lovers. They're used to indiscriminate noise.
Brian's 50th Birthday OK, there were rumours about that F/i was going to suit up and play at this, but, uh, Brian is a member of F/i, and it was his birthday, and the last thing he wanted to do on his birthday was suit up and work. Here's the thing. Everybody thinks that being in a band is all fun and games. Well, it is fun. And there's lots of game playing. But (often not much much, but still), you do get paid. Which means it's work. Which means you have to behave like a professional. Who the fuck wants to behave like a professional on their 50th birthday? I sure didn't, and neither did Brian. Brian wanted to sit back, socialize, drink some premium-quality microbrew beers, and enjoy some good bands. He did NOT want to stay sober, haul gear, practice, be there early for load in, tune up, hang out for awhile between load in and when people actually showed up, go up, play, watch the audience talk to each other in conversations he wanted to be in on, break down, load out his gear, and MAYBE socialize a bit after his gear was moved to a safe place. Playing on your birthday is something you do, on say, your 23rd birthday when you're all still "Golly Gee! I'm in a band! I'm gonna score!" When you're 50, married with children and working a day job, you want to sit on your ass and watch somebody else work. That's why I did last year, and that's what Brian ended up doing this year. And the bands? Wonderful. Audacious White Noise, a folkie outfit fronted by Bill White and his friends (Bill is a huge Dr Chow fan) and they were perfect. Sixthstation readers know I'm not the biggest folkie fan around, but I liked these guys. First you think they're just going to do folk versions of Beatles covers, next thing you know, they're doing a really nice blue eyed soul take on Gnarles Barkley. (Regular readers know I'm a fan of genre-bending anyway.). They were a delight to listen to, and Brian could still have a conversation with folks he hadn't seen in years who stopped in to wish him a happy half century.

They were followed by The Unheard Of, who gave a performance that everybody is still talking about. Best they've ever sounded. I was virtually transported to 1968 via fuzztone guitars, garagey songs and psychedelic arrangements, like somebody raided a rummage sale where the MC5, the Amboy Dukes and the Nuggets comp was going for a buck a piece. They were on which means we were all tuned in, turned on and torn up. They were loud, but we could still chat. That's a trick.
Basketball. Well, the NBA got their act together in time for me to pick up some half price tickets for a home game. People are whining about the NBA, but I'm glad they're back. Sammy's been playing basketball at the Y, and he's met a few of the Bucks. Back when we could afford half season tickets, we saw a lot of games. But get this. We only hit a couple last year, but a lot of the Bradley Center still remembers us. The guy at the premium beer stand waved hi. Our favorite beer vendor tipped his hat to us. We sat in seats not far from where our old season seats were. The bucks trounced the Washington Wizards that night. ("It will be interesting to see how they look against a team that isn't crappy" said a twitter friend.) As is my tradition, here's the rundown of the non-game events>
- Anthem: Will Johnson, an operatic tenor, put it out. He really shined on "Land of the Freeeeeeeeeeeeeee...." which he held out to thunderous applause, which made up for the (sorry I gotta say this) flatness earlier in the song. No stupid embellishments, either. Boy Scout Troop 309 from Whitefish Bay presented the colors.
- Opening Montage: I'm not sure I'm into this whole "Be Milwaukee" catchphrase thing. It's not grabbing me. That said, the opening montage ("Hey, my film teacher at Discovery World made this" Stella pointed out) is good, not overblown, and acknowledges that this year (like every other damn year) is a rebuilding year for the Bucks. And thank god, no exploding pots of green and red smoke. I still maintain we have the Chicago Bulls to blame for all this overblown stuff.
- Energee Girls: Less precise. But it's early in the season, so they're still becoming a team. Still, every year there's less emphasis on precision and more emphasis on Wholesome Sluttieness. Yes, I coined that phrase.
- Hoop Troop: It's early in the season, but boys, you can't count on the NBA's best mascot, Bango, to bail you out all the time. Need to hit more of those trampoline shots.
- Halftime show: Now this was a pleasant surprise on a number of levels. First I'd been tweeting with @romke about the game and asking if he was there. @romke and I have been following each other since @gretchen414 introduced us. Among other things, both @romke and @gretchen414 are badass deejays. Turns out @romke is also dad at the kids' school, and his kids are in Sammy's cub scout pack! Also turned out @romke and his turntables were the halftime show! Now, I like a good DJ, but frankly, I didn't think a guy spinning turntables was halftime show material. I was wrong. By a minute into his set, the floor was filled with choreographed dancers of all ages and styles as he mixed up music of all ages and styles. Really fun stuff to watch.
- @vron and the Style Factor: My twitter handle, @vron, spent the evening commenting on things I used to bitch about in this blog: @andrewbogut's hair, which is finally benefiting from the services of a competent stylist. Really. Bogut always used to have the worst hair. Apparently he's taken a tip from a winner and he now has Aaron Rodgers hair. I'm waiting for somebody to get Clay Matthews hair myself but I suspect that might violate NBA dress code. Even Rahne Taylor has good hair. And Andrea Williams is back! She always had good hair. And no tights, or black socks, or weird pencil thin headbands, or stupid facial hair experiments on anybody. Maybe, as I tweeted, this whole NBA lockout did some good by giving the whole Bucks organization a little downtime to get this style thing right.
George's Birthday Party at Linneman's. Truth be told, I don't know George all that well. I've seen him around and needed to be introduced to him. But a public birthday party was being thrown for him, that party included Dr Chow and the Danglers, I haven't seen the Danglers in a while, so I paid the cover charge and went. Got rear ended at Locust and Holton on the way in (car's in the shop now as I type this, the other driver's insurance is taking care of it) and nobody was hurt, but I was quickly soothed by the opening band. I think they were called Midnight Reruns and right when I was trying to put my finger on their sound, they go and cover the Replacements' "Here Comes a Regular" and Brian and I thought to ourselves, "OK, duh! They're obviously fans of the Replacements." Melodic punk, good guitar playing, and a built in fanbase of Riverwest punks. We liked them. Dr Chow was smashing as usual (Brian wasn't with them that night; we weren't sure if he'd have to work or not.) The Danglers didn't get on until midnight or so. I was still crabby from being rear ended: I know it's cliche, but my neck and back were sore. Still, this was the Danglers. I stuck around at least through Aphrodite's Thighs, and I also caught a minor key, almost atonal version of "Spoonful." That's the thing about the Danglers, you know they'll play certain songs, you know the'll throw in covers, you just never know where they'll take them. My goal is to be like that with my writing and photography this year. Let's see how that goes.

Resolution #2: Get more new music back into my life

2012-01-04T20:13:00.003-06:00

I was going to say, " See more and different bands" but what am I doing this weekend? Probably going to see Dick Satan again. Or Andy Pagel has a new band he's playing around in, another Western Swing troupe that is sure to be fun. I've been hearing a lot of garagey bands on WMSE's Local Lunchbox, so perhaps I'll investigate that further.

Resolution #3: Rediscover my camera

2012-01-04T20:12:00.002-06:00

I MUST take more photographs. Last year I was kind of lame with the camera. My computer died the other day, so I upgraded (my old iMac was five years old) so maybe a new machine to process my photographs will inspire me to actually take more photographs. This isn't a new computer I wanted to buy -- when your machine dies, it dies -- but in retrospect it was a blessing in disguise. I only have to eat Ramen Noodles for a week or two before I'm back on my feet.

Resolution #4: Eat less ramen noodles

2012-01-04T20:10:00.002-06:00

But it's fast, cheap and easy. You can get a 12 pack of Maruchan Chicken Flavor Ramen noodles at Woodman's for something like two bucks. I can't imagine that it's even cost effective for Woodman's to devote the shelf space to it.

Life Events

2011-11-16T21:53:00.001-06:00

we'll need to rehearse this kiss, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

Practically everywhere in the working world, it's "Open Enrollment" time. You know what Open Enrollment is. And if so, If you have ever dealt with HR at your company, you know about the term "Life Event." It's usually something that warrants a change in your health insurance coverage that has to go through paperwork, especially if it's not "Open Enrollment."

It's a business term for what used to be called rites of passage (although one wouldn't necessarily call a birth a "rite"), it's still a time when a profound change in life occurrs and is somehow acknowledged. It's just that the term "Life Event," like other bureaucratic terms, seems to reduce things down to just some ink and paper.

I will openly admit that like Framber (Frank Chandek and Amber Chandek nee Lawson), our wedding was originally intended simply to satisfy legal and business paperwork that would make things like health insurance, custody of our (eventual) children (not a Framber issue, but still), ownership of our real estate and other property a lot easier to manage on an administrative level, not to mention an economy of scale. Heck, our invitations even quoted John Lennon: "Intellectually, we didn't believe in getting married. But you don't love somebody intellectually."

And so when Amber told us about a year ago she and Frank were going to make it legal and use it as an excuse to throw the best party they could, I believed that sentiment. Except that, like these Life Events tend to be and often catch us by surprise in doing, it was much more than signing some paperwork here, here, here, and here.

It was downright beautiful.

That Amber was ravishing in her deep blood red Edwardian/Gothic gown, and that Frank was spiffy and handsome in his Get-Me-To-the-Church-On-Time top hat and tails, goes without saying. That the decorations which transformed the Miramar Theatre from a rock and roll showcase into an elegantly glittering ballroom, with subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle) elements of the sci-fi geekdom that Framber (and a lot of their guests) revel in were magical in their detail and scope also goes without saying. But this is also a fun couple. This is a bride whose processional was "Imperial March (Darth Vader/Anakin's Theme) From Star Wars." This is a groom who entered the ceremony to the 20th Century Fox Fanfare theme, and, when asked, "Do you take Amber to be your wife" answered, "Yes!" as if to say, "DUH!" These are people whose musical taste was reflected in the three (count em, THREE) bands they chose for their reception: a big band swing orchestra from Tosa, the wonderfully eclectic Cooler By The Lake from Chicago, and the straight up snotty punk of Floor Model. Oh, and the food rocked too, topped off by a delicious Eat Cake cake.

But this is also a couple whose ceremony readings would include a (potentially stuffy) legal brief, In this case, the Majority opinion of the Massachusetts Supreme Court decision affirming same-sex marriage:

"Civil marriage is at once a deeply personal commitment to another human being and a highly public celebration of the ideals of mutuality, companionship, intimacy, fidelity, and family....It is an association that promotes a way of life, not causes; a harmony in living, not political faiths; a bilateral loyalty, not commercial or social projects..... Because it fulfils yearnings for security, safe haven, and connection that express our common humanity, civil marriage is an esteemed institution, and the decision whether and whom to marry is among life's momentous acts of self-definition."

Yes, these are people who can make a legalese justification of a life event bring me to tears -- on a number of levels and for a number of reasons. Life event, indeed. This is a couple who are indeed not only committed to each other, but to the concept of fairness and justice. Without going into detail and getting more political, let's just say they're pretty high up on Maslow's Hierarchy and leave it at that.

I was too exhausted the next day to make it out to "celebrate" another Life Event, in this case, Matt "The Ratt" Davis' "retirement" party-- his last show with the Uptown Savages. The word is not that he's moving back to England, he's just, in a very Detective "I'm getting too old for this shit" Murtaugh way, decided he's done. Except I'm not convinced he, or anybody else who slams the rockabilly, can ever really be too old for this. Still, it's a life event. Retiring from a successful band you helped found after what, eight years, can't have been an easy call.

I was also too nervous about shooting this life event to make it the night before over to Potowatomi to see yet another of life's events -- this one being Chief opening for their heroes, Thin Lizzy. Chief chiefster Chris Tishler posted on Facebook the next day, "I guess pretty much all that's left now is climbing Everest."

In the meantime, Life Events go on. I bridged a handful of Brownies to Girl Scouts today in a ceremony that includes candles and cake. Sunday my kid will complete his Tiger Cub Scout year and become a Wolf. My good online friend's sister is going into labor any day now. Karmic HR might be getting a bit overwhelmed.

Halloween Mystery Box

2011-11-05T21:44:00.001-06:00

So do you want to go for the Mystery Box?, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

We start the Halloween entry with a visit, on Gallery Night, to the Grand Opening of Stoney Rivera's new Dominion Gallery, featuring dark work from Clive Barker. He's dark. Not all necessarily ghouslish, but this man has some clear demons and it's obvious he's exorcising them through his work. I was actually looking very forward to seeing Kymm Sandum's offerings, but the Londoner's work got stuck in customs, so I will have to come back another day. Rivera has taken the old Acme Agency building in Riverwest (which actually used to be the old Crazy Shepherd offices, back when they were a monthly, then a bi-weekly, then a weekly) and spruced it up. There's beautiful wood flooring I never realized was there (I don't remember seeing the floor on any of my visits to the old Shepherd offices...), the walls have been scrubbed down and painted up, and the gallery shines as homage to the dark side. The artwork-- arresting and interesting -- is reasonably priced. This is Riverwest, after all. I then drove a few blocks north to check out the Art Bar's annual Fear show. Full disclosure, I was part of a group of artists that participated in Fear a few years back. Because it's Halloween, people expect dark shadows and creepy things, but if you want to go beyond that, it's a tricky theme to grab. This year's show did grab it. One artist who worked in oils picked up on the space alien theme and treated it well; others went for creepy characters in dark alleys, and a group of photographers played with exposure and color manipulation to get some great effects.

A weekend later, we're still hitting the high art, this time a viewing of Dracula at the Milwaukee Ballet. Friends accompanied us; and for a few logistical reasons, they were not able to make the 7:30 curtain. Look, I understand that if you don't make curtain, you need to wait until a lull in the performance to be seated, so you don't bother other people. But they closed doors even during artistic director Michael Pink's welcoming speech -- which only the haughtiest of snots would have objected to accommodating latecomers during. And what would have been the harm in putting the latecomers in the rafters (which they eventually did anyway)? And what would have been the harm in being polite to them? My friends weren't the only ones upset by this; a lovely couple who sat behind us during Act 2 told a similar story (and recognized our friends from the disgruntled crowd.) "At least I didn't have to be a raving bitch about it," my friend said, "Because somebody else was!" So that kind of put a damper on an otherwise splendid show.

The Friday night performance is always a toss up, because the opening night cast performs on Thursday and Saturday -- but this year I was mighty impressed with a cast led by Joshua Reynolds, a relative newbie to Thursday's David Hovhassian. Reynolds was downright untouchable as the count-- elegant, intense, somewhat evil, but more like an animal doingwhat he can to survive. Parts of the show where he suggests bat-like movement were amazing to the kids; and fortunately the homoeroticism of a lot of the scenes went over their head. Almost. As Stella told me afterwards, "Uh, that was messed up."

The next day we got up, did our chores, and Sammy delivered the best line of the evening as we set out to Bay View's nighttime trick-or-treat: "Mom, I have a feeling I'm going to get a lot of Kit Kats," he said, grabbing a few from our bowl, "... so I better get used to them." There's a few houses in Bay View that are already are on the famous list: the "scary" house on Lincoln, the "book" house on Homer, and then there's Ted's house, where his annual Mystery Box game turned into a recreation of Let's Make A Deal, complete with stage lights, microphones, and horrendously outdated suit and tie. The kid before us had racked up some three full-sized candy bars and other treats, but gave it all up for What's In The Box. He went home with.... a delicious can of cocktail wieners! Stella on the other hand, did not get zonked. She gave up a couple of Tootsie rolls and ended up with a movie-theatre sized box of Dots. Now for me, that would have been a zonk. But Stella loves Dots, so score!

Now we're into November, and so back indoors for music and mayhem. And probably more punk. I seem to be getting too cultured lately.

Just showing up doesn't cut it anymore

2011-10-24T12:09:00.001-05:00

Stella with Pantene Commercial Hair
and a Pepsi, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

So today, I am officially the parent of a teenager. Actually, I feel like I've been one for quite some time. But today is the day, in fact, as I post this, we're down to the minute, that my boo-boos (don't dare call her that in public anymore) turns 13.

Oy. It's cliche to say how time flies, but it does. It was just yesterday when I was shopping around for grade schools to send her to, (here in Milwaukee, you can actually pick as opposed to "you live here, therefore your kid will go there") and now I have to make appointments to look at high schools. When I was in highschool, you just went to a high school for your district. You didn't have to pick. You didn't have to apply and hope you got in. You just showed up.

Stella's at a point in her life where just showing up doesn't cut it anymore, and that's a hard lesson for a teenager to learn. She's never been a girly girl (well, maybe in kindergarten), but she's mostly been athletic ( but not competitive), tree-climbing, get-her-hands-dirty girl, but she is turning into a young woman. She's trying different hair colors (in my day, you would have never heard of such a thing), but her adversity to needles steers her away from pierced ears (or anything else), tattoos, and other arguments I don't have to make with her. She's been begging for contact lenses, not believing me when I tell her that she's one of those beauties who actually looks good in glasses, so she's got several packs of disposables and has gotten the hang of getting them in and out. She doesn't wear makeup (yet) so my advice about putting your makeup on AFTER the lenses goes in is unnecessary. She has a fashion sense -- not a girly or slave-to-Vogue sense-- but a fashion sense nonetheless and I think I have a good feel for her style. It's part Goodwill finds, part basics plus a flair for accessories, and not tacky ones, part, I'll-splurge-on-one-excellent-piece and augment that with basics, and it's always comfortable. She doesn't wear heels, she doesn't have time for things that she can't lounge around in comfortably. She wishes her hair would stay flat and straight, but I've told her, if she's going to mess with haircolor as much as she does, her hair is NOT going to look like a Pantene commercial. She accepts this.

And yet, some things don't change. We had girls over for a slumber party, and a game of Truth of Dare was taking place, with the dares being having to drink some disgusting concoction that they'd created by raiding my spice rack and that shelf in the fridge where one keeps their bottles of rice vinegar, Worcestershire sauce, hoisin sauce, jerk marinade, some salad dressing I bought that looked better on the bottle than it did on the salad, and those three leftover olives (and their juice) from an old martini party. I'm not sure if I wanted to impart my advice to Stella about how to survive Truth or Dare or not, which is, of course, to lie. "Do I have a crush on Billy Johnson? Of course not. Don't be ridiculous." But the reason that i didn't bother was a) Stella can't lie to save her life and b) it's not like she's going to take my advice about anything.. Maybe about the contacts, but that's about it.

And that's where I have to accept this growing up part. I can give her advice, but I can't make her take it. She has to make her mistakes herself-- they're the only way she's going to really learn life lessons. It's always been this way, but before, the life lesson was, "Trust me, don't spend your money on this stupid Barbie set that's only going to work once." Now the life lessons are harder, and the mistakes are ones I wish she didn't have to make to learn. I'm having to accept this is a time in her life when my ability to protect her is going to be less accessible, yet more needed.

It helps a lot that fundamentally, she's a good kid. She's a whiner, but she capitulates and does her homework and academically I'm not worried at all. She still calls me on it when I -- or anybody-- uses vulgar language, and while she whines about the rules, she follows them. She cares for her animals (she has two adorable rats named Finn and Jake) as carefully as a new mother cares for a child, and the neighborhood kids -- all younger than her -- follow her around like the pied piper. She's not perfect, but she's a darn good kid who's hitting a hard part of life. And she's all of thirteen, on the brink of turning into a young adult. It's scary and exciting, but, deep breath, here goes.

Happy Birthday ~~Boo-Boos~~ Stella! I love you, even though you may not believe me about that, or anything else!

What's a nice Punk girl like you doing in a proggy place like this?

2011-10-21T16:58:00.002-05:00

I'll tell you what I was doing-- remembering my high school years before Devo knocked me upside the head and taught me about deconstructing music, that's what I was doing. And the Rick Wakeman/Jon Anderson show at Potowatomi started out with some deconstuction. The lights dimmed, and we heard this most godawful version of Also Sparch Zarathrustra I'd ever heard, like a grade school band warming up and not quite yet in tune. (The same house music that was played during the intermission and ending convinced me it was willful retardedness, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the Residents had something to do with it). But members of the audience behind us in the rafters were asking "Are they serious?" and that's when I knew I was in a housefull of purists, of fans, of people who never heard of Devo, much less would get anything less than perfect rendering.

That's why I was somewhat charmed when the pair, great as they are, but on whom we can blame Rush, started off their set with a gentle, acoustic guitar and keyboard version of Starship Trooper. These guys know exactly what they're doing, they know how old they are, heck, they know how old we are. Anderson's voice is amazingly intact, what with a severe asthma attack a couple of years back, years of admitted smoking, and, well, heck, he's in his 60s. Aretha can't hit her high notes anymore, but wow--Jon Anderson still can. And Wakeman? He obviously can do his old keyboard runs in his sleep.

They alternated their set between brilliant re-takes on Yes hits (a major highlight for me was a reggae-protest arrangement of Time and A Word -- worked wonderfully) and sappy new stuff. I mean, really sappy sweet new age love songs that would make Barney the Dinosaur look like a support act at Ozzfest. The crowd of fans ate it up, and the only thing that kept me from going into a diabetic coma was realizing that Anderson probably is one of the Nicest Guys on Earth. He really is into all that new age stuff, crystal meditation, "we are the keepers of the garden" philosophy. You get the feeling that he could just as easily slip into Fred Rogers' sweater and furthermore, you'd trust your kids with him. Wakeman, on the other hand, also helped balance out things with gentle ribbing frosted with lots of corny jokes that, as the show went on, streamed into Dirty Old Man territory, reminding me a lot of Les Paul's show at the Pabst a fewyears back. Wakeman's deep british voice, as he told his increasingly corny jokes, brought to mind the kind of banter you hear on Top Gear or something.
The whole thing also reminded me of Les Paul's show in that feeling throughout the gig -- the first on their tour (so everything was as indeed as fresh as it felt) -- that one had been invited to their basement, or barn, or garden, or wherever the hell it is they practice, while they teased each other, told us stories, and played their songs. There was one moment when Anderson completely blanked out on remembering the lyrics to a song, but it came to him, and every musician in the audience panicked along with him (we've all been there.). Particularly touching was Anderson's telling of the story of how he and Wakeman and the other members of Yes had found an old church, spent time in it and the whole (oh, dear, I'm getting new agey about this) karma of the place helped them to write "Awaken" -- the epic suite on my favorite Yes album, Going for the One. Anderson basically said the music was already there, they were simply the catalysts for it. He tapped away this arpeggio on his acoutic guitar that comes in the middle of the piece, and as he told the story his sincerity won me over, and I was in the right frame of mind for the work. Part of me was sitting next to my old college buddies in the rafters of the Northern Lights Theatre who had invited me along to this whole thing to begin with, the other part of me was suddenly in the Chicago Ampetheatre, 1978, slightly stoned from a contact high (I was after all, a teenage goody-two shoes who would have never consciously took a hit), watching Yes In The Round. I remember "Awaken" had hit me then; and it was lovely to see that it wasn't just a WKLH "Deep Cut" to these guys, or obviously, to this adoring audience. I felt all happy afterwards, and duh, it finally hit me that Yes was a very well-named band. As Beavis and Butthead would say, "They're positive." But it was a good positive. I think that's why out of all the prog groups I was into during my proggy phase, they were my favorite.
OK, back to my punk roots. Tonight is the grand opening of Stoney Rivera's new art gallery. I'm on it. Back later.

How 'bout those First Person Plurals?

2011-10-14T06:00:00.000-05:00

Well, this weekend I'm going to be writing about a bunch of things I normally don't write about. Let's start with Baseball. Sixthstation readers know I normally am a basketball girl, but in fairweather fashion, my attention has turned to the Brewers and their postseason performance.

Actually, I used to be a huge baseball fan. My highschool girlfriends and I would pick a few days in the spring to ditch school, ride the IC into the city, catch the L up to Addison, and spend an afternoon in the friendly confines. Anybody from Chicagoland knows exactly what that last sentence was about. It didn't matter that the Cubs sucked. That's just a part of being a Cubs fan. You just enjoyed an afternoon ballgame. And thousands of Chicagoans have that same experience in their memory banks, giving us a commonality that transcends economics, politics or religion.

Wisconsin, my adopted home, is sadly divided. That sumbitch stinking up the governor's mansion is only a small part of it. This economy and war and everything else is making people downright mean. When something unfortunate happens to somebody, all I hear is people grousing that the victim probably had it coming. If something good happens to somebody, I hear those same people resenting it like they didn't deserve it. It's the poor's fault that they are poor; unemployed folk should be happy to get a job making minimum wage to clean up dogshit; we should just let uninsured people die; and let's punish teachers...oh... because we need somebody to blame this all on and it's politically incorrect to use minorities for this purpose like we used to.

The postseason Brewers have done a remarkable job of taking the edge off all this. It's not making me forget that as I write this, there's thousands of folks occupying wall street the way #wiunion occupied Madison last winter, scaring the piss out of right wing conservatives and their purchased media (as evidenced by the smear job they're attempting). But the Brewers are finally giving us some return on our investment in the form of giving us all a common ground.

It was last Friday night when this hit home for me, in that game against Philly. That one inning where we were in danger of throwing it away-- and we squeaked on by. As you know, the Brewers are no longer "They." In the postseason, the Brewers are "We." Amazing how quickly you can go from third person to first when you're winning, eh? After that third out, you could feel a collective sigh of relief across the state. It registered on Twitter and Facebook, and I just had to step outside and catch a breath of crisp autumn air.

And, it seemed, so did everybody else in my neighborhood. Every porch was occupied by folks just standing outside, smoking a cigarette, cracking open a beer, checking on the kids who were running around our collective yards, saying hi to the folks in the old-man-shot-and-a-beer joint next to my house. And it was like we were programmed to know, without looking at our watches, exactly when the commercial break ended and it was time go back into the house and re-clench our buttocks for another excruciating inning. At the end of the game, the neighborhood kids all piled into my living room while I re-wound the DVR so they could see that 10th inning slide into home. (Because of this, I missed the F-Bomb drop, which was probably a good thing with a bunch of kids in my living room).

And so, throughout the week, it's been wonderfully inclusive that wherever I went, I overheard/participated in conversations that had echoes of "How 'bout those Brewers." As much as people claim they think baseball is boring, we all still know all the terminology such that in the evenings, while we're going about our business, we holler to each other across yards, cars, in the middle of classes, at intersections, paying for gas, picking up groceries, getting a coffee, on a bike, in between calls at work, "Middle of the 7th, we're still down." We end conference calls with our cleints/customers saying "How 'bout those Brewers" with our 'Sconnie accents, while our colleagues from Philly and Arizona and St Louis give us a friendly laugh, put themselves on mute and use unprofessional language. I walked into the end of my son's taekwondo class last night after watching the game on the stairmaster. Everybody looked at me, eyebrows raised, and I knew what they wanted to hear: "End of the 4th, tied up!" We hurried to the car to turn on the radio so we wouldn't have to wait until we got home to be updated.

We shared a collective outrage on that call at first base Monday night when he was clearly safe; we all looked at each knowingly, admitting to each other that play at the plate last night could have gone either way. It matters not that the person I agreed about this with was a concealed-carrying Tea Partier. We agreed about something, smiling and finding common ground as we did so.

Gee, I don't remember teaching Sammy all these rules. I remember trying to teach Stella when she was four years old, helping to coach her T-Ball team. Pro tip: you can't tell 4 year olds to "Go to first with it!" You have to say, "Throw the ball to first" or they will run to first base with the ball. No, make that, "Throw the ball to the person at first base" or they will just throw the ball at the bag. No, make that "Throw the ball to the person at first base on our team" or they will throw the ball at the runner. Oh, and you have to add, "Our team is everybody with the blue hats." Oh, fuck it, the runner ("Run! Don't just walk! Run! RUN! RUN! OK, stop at the base. STOP!") is safe. Somehow, though, this season has taught everything Sammy needs to know about baseball. Just watching the games with his dad he knows all the nicknames of the players, he knows what "scoring position" means, he knows what a "sacrifice fly" is. And Stella knows that those oldschool uniforms favored by the Axman and his ilk are classic: the nickers, the belted pants, the stirrups, all giving a classic, and uniquely American feel to it all. These are just kids, and yet they are experts on this complicated game. (And if you don't think it's complicated, try explaining the rules to a foreigner like I had to a few years back. My Russian friend had no clue as I sketched out a field and told her, "OK, the object of the game is to score. But here's the catch...") And our own Wisconsin touch-- not just the sausage races, but a hearty chorus of Roll Out the Barrel after Take Me Out to the Ball Game. Where else but Wisconsin could a polka fit in perfectly with the seventh inning stretch of a ball game?

And I send my kids to school this morning, tired from staying up late to see the Brewers ensure that this series will end in a home game. They will probably not perform well in class today. (Stella has a fever anyway, so she's staying home.)Sammy will be overtired. Heck, I'm overtired. But I spent my life as a Cubs fan. I'm not used to this still playing baseball in October thing. The kids right now probably don't have a sense of how remarkable this is: They've already lived through two Super Bowl wins (one they were too young to remember). They saw the underfunded Bucks in the playoffs (which they blew, but they know who Kareem Abdul Jabbar is). Stella has a feel for the fact that her mom didn't even live in Milwaukee the last time all of this happened in baseball, and that her parents' first date was a Brewers V Cubs game, back when it was exhibition because they were in two different leagues. However, while Stella's not a huge sports fan and normally doesn't give a crap, she was glued as tightly to the TV screen as Sammy and I were last night.

OK, Sammy will get another chance to pass the spelling test he'll probably blow today. But lord knows when he or Stella get another chance to see a postseason game, and share it with us, "Us" being everybody else in Wisconsin. Us includes that knucklehead who usually hangs on every word Charlie Sykes vomits up, but this week it's Bob Uecker who has our attention. Us includes my Wisconsin twitter peeps on my #wiunion list who are virtually standing with the Occupy Wall Street crowd this morning.Us is also comprised of apolitical types who don't give a crap because they're all crooks in politics anyway. Many of Us admittedly whine about the outrageous salaries commanded by Fielder, Braun, et al. But We are giving those guys a pass on the millionaire whing because they are giving Us something We desperately need right now. So Stella and Sammy, you can stay up late and watch the game with Us. Because this is one of the few times We are finding commonality about something, even if it's "just a game" and I won't make you miss it.

So long, and Thanks for All the Trash

2011-09-26T15:15:00.001-05:00

Voot's Last Stand, a photo
by V'ron on Flickr.

It was raining buckets on the South Side, in some places it was hailing. Nevertheless, Brian was readying for a Dr Chow set at Center Street Daze (is now a good time to whine about "clever" misspellings of words like "Days" or "Wings" or whatever?) and the kids wanted to see the annual Pushcart Races, so off we went. And in true Wisconsin Weird Weather fashion, the east side was dry. They hadn't gotten a drop. Not until we arrived, that is. Actually, it stayed dry enough for us to witness this years pushcart winner, Dead Birds, in a close to photo finish. The Art Bar had their annual political entry -- this year a Delorean, a flux capacitor, a disparaging remark about Scooter, and a near win. Actually, I don't think any of the racers (or much of the attendees) have a good thing to say about Scooter, but remember, this is Center Street -- what Locust street used to be 20 years ago. Dreary weather and all, this was where the cutting edge bands were and where the really good jewelry vendors were. I bought three pairs of earrings this year. Interesting, handmade jewelry vendors are back!. There was a stretch there where the jewelry vendors were really sucking -- either piles of factory cranked crap that I could get at Tar-Zhay, or the same old beads strung on some wire that I could teach my girl scout troop how to make. No, I found more than a few great vendors with interesting materials or new takes on standard materials.

an almost liquid pink reunion
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

I wish I could say the same for music, but it wasn't the musician's fault. I didn't see much new stuff this year but that wasn't for lack of available talent at Center Street. Heck, many of my favorite old standards (e.g., The Danglers) and new finds (e.g., Ahab's Ghost) were booked for the fest, especially at the (get this) Quarters stage.
And we took in a set from the wonderful Tim Cook and the Riverwesterners, of whom Stella admitted, "I didn't think I like country music, but I like them." (That's because, and I can't drill this into your head hard enough, they're for real.) But a midafternoon nap (that Sammy asked for, and I was more than happy to oblige) after a slight rain took precedence. Sammy and Stella were kind of bored after sinking the local alderman in the dunk take (emceed by Stoney Rivera), even though he's not our alderman and Stella didn't know who he was anyway, despite her spot-on fastball that landed him in the tank.

wailin'
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

But I'm sorry, new local bands. I did not get to see you, but you need to understand something: You were in competition with what was our crowd's equivalent to Cher's Farewell Tour. Voot Warnings is moving to Maryland, and we're all pretty damn sure this will be his last musical appearance in the Fox 6 Viewing Area (at least for awhile) and we were not going to miss this.

Of course everybody was there, and of course Voot played a great set, filled with mostly his more recent work. In fact, except for obligatory set-ending rendition of Dance Motherfucker Dance, he didn't play anything from his Platinum CD. (I got to proudly tell Sammy that that song has ushered in more wedding first dances than I can remember counting, and it wasn't mine and Brian's first wedding dance, but it was in the set before we sat down). In fact, some of the songs were guitarist Peder Hedman's (himself a splendid songwriter). And Vic Demechi was as potent a drummer as ever. Thus, Voot's set was still as gut-grabbing as that first time I saw him years ago at the Uptowner (and how many people probably said that exact thing to themselves, even though we could all have been referencing totally different nights at the corner of Center and Humboldt) and I was on my feet the entire time.

Special guest stars included Rob McCuen, who looked genuinely surprised to be called to the stage for a duet with Voot (if that was planned, than McCuen's a better actor than I thought) and Steve Whalen, whose absence would have not just been conspicuous, it would have been the source of gossip. But he was there, in his appointed spot at the corner of the stage, and invited up for cowbell and singing and so all is good and well with the world.

There's really not much more to say: the guy so obviously influenced so many great bands in Milwaukee, his combination of trash and heavyness and pro wrestling and pure pop and downright heart touching songs shows up in so much of the underground scene here, that I would go so far as to call his "The Milwaukee Sound." Marriage and fatherhood have obviously been a big part of his slow exit from the scene (hey, we're all getting old, too), but that sound will be here for years to come, and it's one of the reasons I love this scene so much.

the hammerlock
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

And the only person who had even a prayer of even following Voot was Frank Chandek and his Love Medicine (Dr Chow style). Dressed in a T-Shirt and jeans, they delivered a set that Frank didn't have to embellish to be memorable -- Frank can put forth his regular set and hold his own after Voot. Sammy and I ducked into the Uptowner to use the restroom and when we came out, once again, it was raining buckets. "When the hell did this happen?" I asked incredulously. "Just now," somebody on the patio answered, sharing my disbelief. The stage was covered with tarps, and the sun came out almost as quickly. Dr Chow sprung right back into action, and ended their set with a duet with Voot (the pro wrestling tome "Do The Hammerlock!" -- what the hell else could they have done) and right when they were going to strike the stage, the rain struck it for them again. As a result, my drenched husband (and his drenched guitar pedals) called it a night and really regretted not finding Voot to say his goodbyes and wish him well. So Voot, if you're reading this, Brian says hi. And we all say, fondly and sadly, "So long, and thanks for all the trash."

Click here for more photos of the day.

Another milestone year for Sammy

2011-09-24T23:03:00.001-05:00

Sammy, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

I'll write about Center Street Daze and Voot's farewell show and more later, but first things first. Today was Sammy's birthday.

This morning as we went to the car to head out to his birthday breakfast, I looked at Sammy and said (as if he needed reminding), "Today's the day. You're eight years old now. You don't need a little kid car seat anymore."

I'm not sure if he or I are more reluctant or more excited about this him growing up thing. On one hand, God help the waitress who brings Sammy's drink in a plastic cup with cartoon characters on the side topped by a lid and straw instead of a regular glass like the big people get. (Actually, God help us. The waitress just has to see the look on his face, like she'd just kicked him in the head.) And his swim trunks are barely staying on, because he insisted he was a Big Boy when ordering them from Lands End, not a Little Boy. He worked hard to test and pass the Camo Belt in Taekwondo just last week, hollering "Yes Sir" whenever the grandmaster addressed him, with all the determination and dicipline of Richard Gere in An Officer and A Gentleman. And with a year of First Grade under his belt, he is no longer a Little Kid.

But that same ferocious boy was a little edgy when I walked him into the advanced class at Taekwondo a couple of weeks ago. "Are you sure I'm supposed to be here? There's grownups in this class. I'm the only {at the time} orange belt." "Yes, your instructor said you were ready to move up to here. Your teacher believes in you and so do I." He turned on a shyness I haven't seen since he was four. He was intimidated. But after a good hour with camo and blue and black belts of all ages, he came out smiling, knowing he belonged there, with the bigger, more experienced folks. There was my boy, walking tall again (and especially tall when he learned he passed his camo belt exam.)

"He'll need a cup," his instructor advised me. That's when it hit me. He's not a little boy anymore. He doesn't need a car seat. He drinks out of glass in restaurants. He's participating in sports that require him to wear a cup: because (and this is the part I'm not ready for) he might get hurt.

Well, it's not like he's been injury free in the past 8 years. He's wiped out on his bike, he went though a particularly clumsy period that cleaned out my bandaid and neosporin supply, his growing pains are especially nasty. He's a sensitive chap whose feelings get hurt when people are mean to him (or even his friends). I'm convinced that heart of gold of his will shine into his old age. But with all the joy that comes with growing up, I have to get ready for the fact that pains-- both physical and emotional -- grow in geometric proportion to his size.

He's already facing it (and I proudly admit, well) in sports. This summer was the first year for real baseball -- three strikes and you're out. Three outs and the other team bats. None of this "everybody bats" crap. None of this "everybody gets to run all around the bases" stuff. That's for little boys. Ahhhh, I think *my* heart sank more when Sammy's when he finally connected really well with a pitch only to have it caught miraculously by some 8 year old beginning shortstop who'd never caught a fly ball before in his life (and may never again!). Sammy just shrugged it off with a "Aw shucks... oh well, that's baseball!" attitude. But the upside is that when he got a genuine base hit, it meant all that much more. The lows are lower, kid, but the highs are higher.

Sometimes he gets so angry or frustrated or sad, and I as mom am learning to deal with it not by always offering instant comfort (oh for the days when a kiss on the noggin cured all ills) but to provide him with the coping tools he'll need to get through. "Here, take this almost rotten peach and smash it against the driveway wall," I say when he's furious that the neighbor boy is being a douchebag to him. "Go practice your drums and play them really loud" I suggest when he can't figure out his homework.

And the higher highs are just as wonderful. There's nothing like high-fiving a kid, a kid who challenges you to raise your hand by your head so that he has to jump his highest ever to high five you. Oh, the moment when he walked confidently out of that advanced class! And his level of humor gets more sophisticated every day, to the point where he can deliver a joke with perfect inflection that has me laughing genuinely, not groaning from a bad pun.

Oh, and try calming him down this week, as he counts the days until his birthday party where all his favorite buddies will be there. He didn't even want a special theme or anything. He just wanted a time when they could all be together and they could yell and run and wrestle and, well, be boys. And that's the joy of having a boy in your life-- watching him grow and make friends, and have his discoveries and his obsessions (I will jump for joy when this Pokemon thing wears off), watching him conquering fears and obstacles, and seeing him walk tall over it all.

But, I think he, on some level, realizes that there's some things he'll have to leave behind. "Mom," he admitted a couple of days ago, "The car seat is kind of comfortable. We don't have to take it out."

"Well, it's up to you, buddy," I said, knowing that it's not just about the physical comfort. I hugged him, and he let me kiss him on the noggin. He's only eight years old, you know. Happy birthday my little Sammy Buddy Buddinski!

Kultur Shock takes the edge of of Autumn shock

2011-09-23T12:00:00.001-05:00

Gino Srdjan Yevdjevich, Kultur Shock's singer , a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

Fall is here and I'm accepting that, finally. Last weekend our grand plans to go to both days of Global Union, as well as the Bay View Bash, were thwarted by sheer family-fun based exhaustion. We made it to the end of Day of of GU. On our way up the hill, Sammy heard what we've been calling "jamming music"-- (and what both other people call "Gay Bar Music") -- high BPM, electronica, female voice. Trippy, at times. They were called Bomba Estereo and the female singer sound ended up sounding like it was a repeated sample, but it was all live, coming from her, which is exactly what saved this group from being another run-of-the-mill electronic ensemble. The drummer was live. The guitarist was live. They had a keyboardist who actually played these repeating arpeggios himself instead of hitting a key and letting some pre-programming do the work.

Sammy and I settled in with friends of ours and waited for Brian (who was off inspecting bands at the Bay View Bash) to arrive, as well as the band we really wanted to see, Kultur Shock. Brian reports that he saw Paul Kneevers' new outfit, Well Informed Citizens (I would expect no less of a name from him) and he said they rocked. Kneevers had that monster Hammond organ of his, and was backed by a band that was decidedly more rocking than his other project, Lovanova's jazzy lounge rock. Wish I'd seen it.

Then Kultur Shock takes the stage. Last year they were rained out, so many people were waiting to see them and they did not disappoint. How to describe? Soviet/Balkan/Gypsy heavy metal that kicks ass and yet reminds you of your gramma from da old country. The violin, saxophone, occassional clarinet and trumpet saw to that. These people understand how to take that same joy and rage that comes from the eastern bloc and channel it into a heavy sound that still evokes pieorgies and sauerkraut. Lead singer and songwriter Gino Srdjan Yevdjevich (described on their website as a "former Yugoslav pop star turned anarchist" ) is simultaneously warm, friendly, embracing .... and intense. His voice flits back and forth from the sweetness of Youssou N'Dour to the anger of any hardcore death metal singer. He's backed up by a band that gets messed up time signatures, middle eastern and baltic melodies and arpeggios, but never forget the fierce intensity that brought hardcore fans to Humbolt Park. They were simply wonderful and I wont' miss them again. Particulary fun was the two women who flanked Yevdjevich onstage, Amy Denio on sax and Paris Hurley on violin. They looked and sounded exactly like what this band is putting forth-- a punked up version of intense, folkey, metal-y gypsy music. I particularly enjoyed that Hurley looks like she's from behind the iron curtain, a beautiful girl unshaven legs and pits and all, and she doesn't give a crap as she shakes her head's birdlike haircut. Only disappointment was learning that she's actually from Arizona. I wanted her to be from Gdansk or something like that, with a name like "Svetlana." Still, great stuff.

We hit the Bay View bash and it seems like every food truck in SE Wisconsin was there, so i tried some gorumet tacos while Sammy stuck with his mainstay, Streetza Pizza. Stella joined us after a birthday party she had to hit, and we ended up enjoying another round of Dead Man's Carnival, complete with fire stick juggling. Their latest addition turned out to be a viking strong man who could drive nails into a board with his bare hands. It was a lovely way to end the evening, but we were pooped. So much so that we couldn't really brave the rain for the second day of Global union, which I'm really sorry I missed.

Tomorrow is Sammy's birthday, so I have to get ready for that. We'll spend a bunch of it at Center Street Daze, but we'll just be spectators at the kickoff, the annual Pushcart Races. As you may remember, Stella and Sammy won the speed category last year with their Poke-Kart, but Stella has retired from pushcart racing, choosing to go out as a champion. Later in the day, it's a don't miss (likely) last show with Voot Warnings, as the lifelong Milwaukeean is moving with his wonderful wife Rhonda to the Baltimore area (that's where the jobs are for them.) Then I have a young boy birthday party to get ready for.

Who Wants to Be a Space Debris Queen?

2011-09-12T21:40:00.001-05:00

Look at her, look at her, She's your
Miss Space Debris, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

"Mom, what? We drove almost two hours for a street festival?" Stella asked when we pulled up in for the fourth Annual Sputnikfest, a tribute to the anniversary of the event that got Manitowoc mentioned on "Who Wants to be A Millionaire?" The $100,000 question, of course was, "Why is there a brass ring embedded in the middle of 8th street in the town of Manitowoc, WI?" Because, of course, that's where a piece of Sputnik landed in 1962
So now, that's two things that the organizers say are the northern port city's claims to fame -- Cold war-era Russian space debris and a mention on a primetime game show. Next thing ya know, they'll be bidding for an NHL franchise.

Really, though, I *was* expecting something a little big bigger than a street fest. Maybe I came at the wrong time of day to see big crowds. Or maybe the regular folk of Manitowoc isn't as twisted and ironic as such that would normally be attracted to a festival that celebrates the simultaneous wonder and paranoia of a hunk of metal casting a green light falling from the sky, turning out to be some kind of communist plot to beat the Amerikans to the moon. I had big hopes, though. This was taking place, after all, in the front yard of the Rahr-West Art Museum, a hidden jewel of an institution that I've been to a couple of times while heading north, and I say to you this: if you need a reason for a road trip, go to Manitowoc for this museum alone. It's annexed to a historic mansion with an eclectic permanent collection of American and Asian art, but the featured shows have never failed to delight. The two current shows are worth getting in your car and driving up now to see before they close at the end of the month. One is a history of the Manitowoc Fire and Police departments, complete with uniforms through the years, newspaper clippings of their take on events both national and local, and the police blotter from 1903. The other is the UW-Manitowoc Art Faculty show, and if this show is any indication, there is some seriously good (and twisted) art being made and taught in Packer country. I'm a fan of the absurd anyway, and there's a of faculty members who clearly put a dairy state twist on Dali. There's also some lovely abstract work that caught Stella's eye -- pieces made with black paper and "invisible" scotch tape that played well with patterns and loops. "Oy," Stella said, "Can you imagine trying to make that? One mistake and the whole thing is wrecked."

This wonderful exhibit actually pared down our disappointment at the size of the festival and got our brains in the right frame of mind for it. At the ticket window (yes, this is one of those annoying fests where you have to buy food and drink tickets for EVERYTHING) we asked the vendor, "We saw the replica-- so where is the real piece of Sputnik?" She looked at us, half-grin, half-quizzical, and said "Nobody really knows what happened to it."

"Oh, I see," I replied knowingly. "In other words, Top Men are working on it right now."

"Yes," she agreed, her eyes widening. "Top. Men."

With that stage set, we looked around the grounds and settled in for the Miss Space Debris pageant. (We'd missed the animal and human costume contest, as well as the cake decorating tournament.) Miss Space Debris was preceeded by a reenactment of that fateful day, when two Manitowoc beat patrolmen noticed what they thought was just some crap in the middle of the street. It was Community Theatre-style, with low production values, and a radio news-style narrative that included embellishments (if it didn't, it wouldn't be theatre it would just be documentary, right?) in the form of coneheads out sunning, a Russian cocktail waitress, and (almost keystone) cops with distinctive Northwoods accents. It would have been altogether hokey, except it had this certain NPR quality about it, very Prairie Home Companion. These people know exactly how smalltown celebrating a game show question is, and they're wearing it beautifully well.

And if you didn't think they would wear it well, then you dearies weren't there for the Miss Space Debris pageant. First, we were introduced to the reigning Queen, ready to relinquish her crown. This year, only four aliens vied for the title, and I'm not convinced they were all women. (For sure, there was one drag queen in the bunch, but our emcee told us that the didn't do gender testing ... probably because they weren't quite sure how one would intrepret alien gender testing results.) The talent comptition ranged from singing (the Sesame Street alieng song) to "consuming this delicious earthling beverage" (the contestant chugged a can of BudLite -- in special Packer-colored can issue), to, well, let's not discuss this contestant's talent in a family blog. Our winner, all green in face, was radiant upon being crowned, and the paparazzi nearly blinded her with popping flashes afterwards. She strolled the rest of the fest in regal glory, although I was concerned that she might have been trying to abduct the town's young.

The kids had a lovely time searching in a giant mound of sand for space age treasures. Beautifully designed T-Shirts were for sale (I picked up two -- I couldn't resist) and hand numbered and signed posters could be had as well. The kids and I enjoyed some root beer floats at another refreshment stand that offered era-appropriate snacks (Twinkies, Cracker Jack and other space age treats were for sale.) Plus, while I regret not doing so, I could have had, instead of a Root Beer float, a Tang float. "Mom, what's Tang?" Sammy asked. My answer of course was not to describe the drink itself, but rather, its significance: "Why, it's what the astronauts drank!"

It was getting dark and we needed to get on the road, and it seemed more people were arriving, but to see Copperbox, a local roots rock band that's been hitting the Wisconsin festival circuit. Ach, we can see that anytime and as the kids admitted, "At first, this seemed like a bust, but this was fun!" It took having to get out of "Milwaukee festival" mode and remembering why the outliers of Wisconsin hold just as much magic as the city. We got on the highway right as the cooler air rolled in, a full moon showcasing the oddly eerie dusky mist drifting across the sunset and twilight fields -- just the sort of night you would expect an errant meteor or flying saucer to come crashing into a cornfield or street corner in a small town.

Summer Swan Songs

2011-09-07T20:20:00.001-05:00

Roostersocks, a photo by V'ron on Flickr.

We missed it last year, but this year the kids and I once again packed up the car and headed to Chicago to hit a museum and then see the old man play with Dr Chow at the Third Annual FDR American Legion Booster Block Party. It's a great event; one that reminds me that the Chicago music scene should absolutely not be judged by Billy Blowhard and his Smashing Wintersquash or any of the lame-ass crap that came out of the Windy city in the 90s. (No, I'm not a fan of Liz Phair or Urge Overkill either. Give me the old Chicago hardcore that came before that anyday.).Last time I went, I was exposed to the mighty Cooler By the Lake, and became a fan. There's something fun going on in Chicago, a city whose underground mashes up genres as wonderfully as it mashes up neighborhoods. So, settled into Bucktown, the Riverwest of Chicago, is this funky little street fest that brings out these odd little bands (a Guided by Voices tribute band was the headliner) that was like lifting up a rock and seeing all the bugs scurry about.

Admittedly, I only caught one band, besides Dr Chow. The kids hit the one museum on the museum campus that we hadn't seen yet -- the Planetarium. We saw a couple of shows. One explained how the sun, moon and earth worked together to deal with the phases of the moon and such, and the other was this kind of weird deep space thing that showed a few simulated supernovas and such, but was strung together by this odd "seeker" character voiced by Billy Crudup that, while all neat-o and 3D and IMAX-y, wasn't really all that planetarium-specific. Really, the best show we saw-- in my opinion -- was getting in the old globe (the "Historic Atwood Experience"), built in the early 20th century and seeing a sky show, narrated by the museum guide in the globe with the three of us and another family of four (there wasn't room for any more in a 15 foot diameter globe!). It allowed for true interaction -- between real people-- questions and answers about the positions of the stars in the sky, which really haven't changed all that much since the the 1913s. It was also fun to see the museum-ish part: seeing Jim Lovell's flight journal, pieces of moon rocks, and the actual Gemini space craft on loan from the Smithsonian.

We arrived in Bucktown to see the second half of a Dr Chow set, chatted a bit with Rory Lake, and settled in for Roostersocks -- a four piece instrumental combo that featured an organ (set, alternatively between Hammond and Wurlitzer) and apparently featured Men Without Hats' Bruce Murphy, but there was no 80s new wave to be heard. No, they started out with some whacked out bluesy thing, then ripped into that organ intro to Boston's "Long Time", and then before you know it, there was a organ-frosted (but bass/guitar-led) version of "Holiday in Cambodia" that was just made for the local roller rink. This is why I proudly claim Chicago roots! Their self-penned history from their Facebook page proudly claims: "It's an instrumental organ combo that plays the hell out of anything and everything. It's an excuse for some monster players to get together and stretch their chops. It's a show. It's a party. It's a dessert topping....Roostersocks were Chicago's premiere jazz R&B Hammond organ combo of the early 60's, but as rock and roll caught on they found themselves with fewer gigs. In desperation they bought the sheet music for the Kinks, the Stones, the Who, etc. Assuming that these bands were jazz groups, they failed to listen to the actual recordings."

But after a long day of museum hopping (preceded with dinner and drinks the night before with my girlfriends), I knew I had just about enough energy to drive home without killing us all from falling asleep at the wheel, and I moved out. Brian reports that Cooler by the Lake were on top as usual, and the GBV tribute band wasn't bad at all.

Old projector at Hwy 18 drive in
Originally uploaded by V'ron

So, we got caught up on sleep and trudged out to this summer's Chill on the Hill swan song, Tristan Royalty Squad, despite the rain that threatened to wreck things. I'd seen Tristan Royalty Squad before -- in Club Garibaldi with Esh the Singer sitting in. She wasn't around this evening, but really, Tristan Royalty Squad works better outdoors-- this kind of mesh of world music somehow works better in a quasi-festival atmosphere and they weren't as dependent on Esh to keep themselves interesting. Maybe it's because they're such a huge conglomerate of a band that they needed the physical and musical space that the large Humboldt Park band sheel stage provided. Either way, the only reason we didn't stay till the bitter end was that we were tired of the rain.

We escaped the rain three days later when, on a whim, we decided to road trip out to Jefferson for the last weekend of the Drive In season at the Highway 18 Outdoor Theatre. The kids have never been to a drive-in, and Rise of the Planet of the Apes was the absolute correct movie to see there. It was charming to see the old "Show begins in 8 minutes" trailers between sets (complete with hot dog jumping into the bun). A triple feature for $9 a head, (less with kids, but it wasn't a carload fee).

Ach, the school year begins. Enough with summer festivals; I'm gonna have to pay cover for a bit.

Look, I have a new look

2011-08-29T22:42:00.002-05:00

I suppose I needed to GWTFP and redesign my page to be compliant with the latest version of HTML, so I just capitulated and used the Blogger designer and, well, here I am. Have to do the same with my homepage and weightloss blog... but for now, this is what I've got. Hope you enjoy the change.

Everybody I Know Has a Big But....

2011-08-25T16:26:00.002-05:00

Herr Seagull
Originally uploaded by V'ron

So, the end of summer is really creeping up on me. Just last night I went to a Girl Scout organizer kick-off meeting which means, well, we must be kicking off to something, which means, school is coming. Here in Wisconsin, we generally wait until after Labor Day, just like the old days.

The weather got to me this week, meaning I missed the fabulous Robyn Pluer at Chill on the Hill the other night, but I did catch the week before, a three-punch of lush rock. The headliners were the Championship, a band i've been meaning to see for some time, and Chill on the Hill was the right place to see them, because they are not exactly what I could call a street fest party band. They are lush Americana-- a little too hard to be called folk, but not quite rock and roll. They, along with openers Testa Rosa, are what I would call housecleaning music. It's lush, it's bright enough to keep you moving, but it's the kind of thing you want on the speakers to keep you on track to get all those PITA chores you have to do. I've cleaned the house to Testa Rosa before, and like their music, it sparkles from Betty Blexrud-Strigens clear, crisp vocals. The night started with some psychedelic gypsy folk from Luvahl, which happens to be Jason Loveall's new outfit. I talked to him afterwards and he explained that he just wants to go straight gypsy. We'll see about that.

A few days later, Humboldt Park played host to their first movie night, and the offering was perfect for Bay View: Pee Wee's Big Adventure. it brought in the Bay View hipsters who used to get up on Saturday mornings for wake and bakes to watch Pee Wee's Playhouse, and little kids and medium-sized kids love it too. I'm glad they've brought this tradition to the neighborhood-- I used to love the movies at River Rhythms and was sad to hear they're not doing this anymore in Pere Marquette Park. It's just as well -- it's easier to park in the Humboldt Park 'hood and the Bay View Neighborhood Association knew to bring in more vendors for snacks. It threatened to rain -- right during the scene where Pee Wee is in the giant dinosaur with Simone, who wants to explore Paris, "... but...." and Pee Wee cuts her off and says, resignedly, "Everybody I know has a big 'but' ". It's so true. I would have gone out to see Robyn Pluer a few days later, but.... I would really have loved to catch the Eels when they were in town, but.... And I definitely would be writing in the blog more often, like I used to, but.....

It's like this wonderful art installation from Herr Seagull at the Grand Avenue Mall that I missed last weekend. Thanks to Tom Strini at Third Coast Digest, who pointed me to an explanation for this odd, slapped up poster I saw early Monday morning as I made my way to the YMCA, and thought to myself, "WTF is this." It's the sort of thing that a few years ago, I would would have already known about it, and had dragged the kids to it. But.... it was very brief, and now it's gone.

I did manage to drag the kids out to a few cool things. We spent the night the other weekend at Snooze at the Zoo, an annual overnight camping trip on the Zoo grounds, so that you can hear the sea lions snorting at 3 am, and wake up to a peacock strolling by your tent. This was our second year, and we were assigned a lovely spot right near Lake Evinrude, so it really felt like we were on safari. But.... this year none of the buildings were open at night and that's a big but. Last year we got to catch mama kangaroos with their adorable little joeys in their pockets, nursing them and hopping around... and we caught lots of other twilight cuteness too. The official word is that the buildings are never open for Snooze, which I know is false. I ran into a friend who works part time at the zoo and he explained that everybody there basically has their butt cheeks clenched over the lion cubs that were born just this month, so I'll let 'em slide on this.

We also hit a church festival, this time at Our Lady of Lourdes, mostly to catch the surreal concept of seeing the Five Card Studs deliver their seventies' sexy to a bunch of middle aged Catholics, and Lourdes did not disappoint. It was a great church festival: reasonably priced (and long!) rides, real cotton candy that was made right there, bingo, piles of italians and polish festering in giant nescos (um, that's sausages, not people, hence the lower case), throw up on the Tilt-A-Whirl (which Stella discovered AFTER we took our seat on that carnival ride that forces you to work for your fun). And it was a breezy but hot summer night, watching the Studs take on the Doors "Touch Me" and subversivly sequing into "The End" while none of the faithful blinked an eye. We'd have stayed longer .... but....

Random ramblins after a weekend at State Fair

2011-08-12T14:47:00.003-05:00

"Ask for us at your fav
Gas Station" is hardly what I would call
a ringing endorsement.
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Random ramblings over the past few weeks:

Through all the stormy weather, I didn't see much music. I was looking forward to seeing the Aquanots, a trio of adolescent boys playing the blues at Chill on the Hill last week, but by the time I found out that the storm had moved them into the safety of the Bay View Brew Haus, I arrived in time for 1 song and an encore. They were good. I'm always reluctant to even report on kids age because it's always tinged with the "you play pretty good... for kids" and I always have to ask myself, "Was I blown away because they were really that good or was it because they were kids?" Ion the case of the Aquanauts, it's both. Close your eyes, and they sound like a seasoned blues guitar trio, in the vein of Hound Dog Taylor or George Thorogood or that ilk. Open them, and you see an understatedly cocky adolescent boy on top of the tables, showing off stage antics while riffing on standard blues. As kids, they're terrific. As bluesmen, well, from two songs I can say that I hope they broaden out their repertoire as they gain more experience. I mean, what the heck is the blues to a 13 year old? (Then again, adolescence kind of sucks. I can totally understand why a kid need to wail on a I-IV-V now and again.)
I don't get out all that often to see this band my DH plays in, Dr Chow's Love Medicine, but the ripped it up on Brady Street for the festival. They have a slightly new lineup: Ron Turner has moved to lead guitar, Fly is slowly bowing out to attend to other pursuits. Frank, the lead singer, is still the centerpiece and draw for this band and as usual, he did not disappoint. Highlight this evening was a gut-wrenching "I Put A Spell On You" as well as a new one, for the #wiunion movement, called "I Shall Walk."
Down the block there were bands and DJs paying tribute to Cosmo Cruz, who would succumb to cancer two days later. I didn't know ol Pat Cummings personally, and enough deservedly wonderful words have been written about him in the past week. I just know that I loved his voice on the radio-- both soothing and knowledgable -- and listening to him on WMSE was like listening to a cool big brother who would constantly be turning you on to great music. A lot of Milwaukee music greats have been leaving us lately: and all i can do is realize I and my peers are getting to the age where this is going to be more and more common.
Hit the Wisconsin State Fair this past Sunday. Don't worry kiddos, it was peacefully packed with people who want to eat bacon, and that was about it. One thing I noticed though, was the amount of young (and, yeah, older) girls who thought it would be a good idea to wear flip-flops or flip-floppy type sandals. Um, there's horse manure and cow chips and sheep dip and whatever all about, and I saw at least two piles of throw up in the midway (witnessed one being made) from people who didn't wait long enough after eating before going on a ride that was going to twist their stomachs. I can't tell you how many times I told the kids to "More than ever, watch where you're going!" Really, teenagers-- at what point did you think those flip flops were a good idea? Can you tell that while I waited for my kids to be done with a ride, I counted at least seven clueless chicks walk straight into the regurge, and then get grossed out? Even after I tried to warn people?
We sat in front of the WORST family at the movies the other night. This wasn't your average crunching-popcorn-loudly crew. No, they were fidgety kids who liked to kick the seat in front of them (where Stella was stuck), a dad who never shushed the kids even though they had a conversation-level comment to make about Every.Single.Scene. The dad really lost me when his cell phone went off in the middle of a quiet scene. I have to get less passive-aggressive about these things,because just giving them the stink-eye didn't seem to do the trick.
Chill on the Hill continues to be hit-or-miss musically, but always wonderful in terms of a great community gathering. Just this week we had Reilly, an Irish band that chalks up some nice Irish-flavored covers as well. They succeed because they can actually play in time signatures other than 6/8 and they don't affect a faux celtic accent. They do, however, maintain that intimate storytelling feel that makes Irish/Celtic music fun, and turned Chill on the Hill into some neighborhood pub in County Clare or wherever. The Red Hot Chili Pipers are at Pere Marquette next week and I'll want to check that out for sure.
Speaking of Pere Marquette park, they're not doing River Flicks this year and I was quite disappointed about that because it was a wonderful night out with movies, but Veterans Park is, and so is Humboldt Park. The Humboldt Park offering next Saturday night is Pee Wee's Big Adventure and that's perfect for Bay View combination of hipsters, kids, and regular folk. (PeeWee's line in the biker bar, "I'm TRY-ing to use the PHONE" is my cell phone ringtone, BTW.)

Summer Cold Excuses in the Heat

2011-07-19T12:13:00.001-05:00

Taycheedah!
Originally uploaded by V'ron

OK, I'm downing the last of my zithromax prescription to drive out this nasty bug that invaded my head and made my life miserable over the past week and finally I'm able, after working all week, to compose a coherent sentence, so I can report on my activities.

Yes, it's been almost three weeks since that wonderful night at Chill on the Hill, where the fabulous Crazy Rocket Fuel played. This is, unfortunatly for me, only the second time I've seen them, the first being at a local rockabilly festival last year at the Miramar. They were terrific to begin with; they've built on that, gotten even more comfy on stage, and they captured the (sometimes fickle) Chill on the Hill crowd. If they were just a bunch of chicks singing country/americana standards, they wouldn't have succeeded. But the reason why Crazy Rocket Fuel works is they approach the genre with the outlaw feel that seperates them from their contemporaries. These chicks are going to get in trouble (if they haven't already) and what's more, they're kind of proud of it. The obvious hit, "Taycheedah Bound" screams Wisconsin, but it's clear that anybody outside the state that doesn't know it's the local women's prison will figure it out soon enough. Even their name suggests they belong on a bill with bikers, dragstrippers, and whiskey-swillin' guitarists at some roadhouse on highway X. They sing about chevys, drinkin, men, wimmin, with a tough but flirty style that won over youn and old at Humboldt Park. I need to see them more -- Kochanski's seems like the kind of place they'd be at home.

Summerfest? I can't diss it. Lots of good stuff on the bill this year; budget and scheduling prevented me from hitting the five days I would have liked to be there. We stopped at the Miller state to catch Here Come the Mummies, an acceptable substitute for the George Clinton show I had to miss. The Mummies, so the story goes, are actually a bunch of Nashville session men with contracts that prevent them from appearing together under their real identities. So they cover themselves up with medical wrap, splash on some fake blood, give themselves some alias names, and then pull out the James Brown-style tightly wound funk to sing about how immensely terrific they are in the sack. Really-- every single song was about how great they are, how much they will deliver, how satisfying they are-- all in euphanisms and double entendres that kept it (somewhat) family-friendly enough for Summerfest (and Sammy). Stella kept looking at me with that "Does that mean something dirty?" look on her face to which I replied, "No. Not at all. That gentleman really is washing his automobile with a substantial volume of clean, white, frothy soap." (Credit her for not believing me.) Every single song was rendered in funk precision that the Hardest Working Man in Show Biz himself would have approved of, from the tightass horn(y) section to the tuneful backup singers. Great, great fun. Won't miss these guys again.

Walked across the fest with some tasty corn dogs to go catch Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, and I suspect Summerfest did not anticipate their popularity, because the US Cellular stage was way packed, and this was a band youprobably wanted to see. I also suspect they played more of a summerfesty set (read: playin' the hits) rather than the dirgy jams they are capable of. Still, enjoyable and joyous alt-country without a hint of irony. It's nice to see the younguns playing music that is just simply nice fun without a smirk all the time, and further, it was nice to see the young fans totally into it. I had a moment of kindness when, squeezing through the crowd, I put Sammy on my shoulders (and somebody in the crowd recognized us from the Mummies show!). A Summerfest security/bouncer at the 102.1 booth to the side of the stage motioned me over; concerned that in the drunkencrown I might lose my balance and drop Sammy. Instead, she took Sammy into a clear, fenced off part, and had Stella and me join her. We could see, and we were out of danger. Nobody in the crowd seemed to mind.

A few days later, I joined a good friend to see Todd Rundgren at the Potawatomi stage. I haven't seen Todd in years, and frankly, I might have been one of the younger people in this crowd (50). Todd hasn't made himself known to the next generation, except as the guy Liv Tyler thought was her dad when she was growing up. But lots in my generation remember the days when "Todd Is Godd" was a catchphrase; and I would suspect that a good portion of the audience were Utopia fans. So imagine our disappointment when, while Rundgren said at the beginning of the show he would do what he thought would be a representative "request list" of a set, and he basically gave us his Blue Eyed Soul catalouge. Now, let's say this once and for all: fuck Hall and Oates. They're good at the Blue Eyed Soul thing, but listen to Rundgren's wail and range and you'd agree: Todd is indeed the Blue Eyed Soud Godd. And it's refreshing to hear that, even though he's pushing 70, he still has those vocal chops, as well as a energetic athleticism as he jumped all over the stage. But c'mon Todd! Road to Utopia! Trapped! Ra! Trust me, the round-spectacled, gray-hair-in-a-ponytail, D&D-playing, (Visual)BASIC-programming geeks who occupied the first three rows did NOT sit through a yawn-inducing opening act of Tyler Traband just to hear "Oooh Baby Baby" all night. (Actually, Traband wasn't all that bad. But his band was phoning it it to the point of his guitarist, rather than using a cry-baby pedal, SINGING "wah-wah, wah, wah-waaaaaah" though his set-ending guitar solo. Fail.) No, Todd, we needed to hear "Caravan."

Then, my dreadful sinus/throat infection took over and I haven't seen too much music since. This past weekend was South Shore Water Frolics and I dropped a bunch of $$$ at the art fair the next day, on lawn ornaments and jewelry. The fireworks, as usual, were the best in town: the Frolics Fireworks beat everybody out with the amazing ground show that ended with a puff of actual fireballs that had companions wondering if that was intentional. You could feel the heat swarming toward you.

Speaking of the heat, I need to decide if it's going to keep me away from Chill on the Hill tonight. The kids can play in this heat; I suspect my body isn't used to it and that's why I'm wiming out here.

Straight up oldschool at Humboldt Park

2011-06-16T14:14:00.003-05:00

... and if I say to you tomorrow...
Originally uploaded by V'ron

It was country night at Chill on the Hill this week, and not that crappy nu-country, either. No, the good folks at the Bay View Community Association dug up a trio of trios of great old school country that made for a warm night, despite the falling temperatures. Tonight's Streetza Pizza featured variety was Taco pizza, which I heard was good, but for a straight up oldschool country night, I opted for straight up oldschool cheese and sausage.

Starting off the night was the Hoosier Millionaires, fronted by the always ironic Ted Jorin (wearing an English riding outfit to signify his millionaire-ness) and I suspect a lot of the crowd didn't know what to make of them. They found covers to do that most bands wouldn't touch -- and certainly not country-style bands that lead with a ukelele. I mean, who the hell does "Theme from Three's Company"? These guys do. And they touch on some country classics as well, but I've said this before, you haven't heard Led Zeppelin until you've heard it done, ironically, with a ukelele. Thing was, the arey more-than-competent musicians who purposely butcher some of these songs. Bay View is loaded with plenty of hipsters who will get it, but I'm not convinced they're the majority just yet. Still, as I'd tweeted that night, the Millionaires' take on "What Is and What Should Never Be" requires a deep cleansing breath afterward.

Whiskeybelles
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

Right after that, we get Milwaukee's answer to the Dixie Chicks, the Whiskeybelles-- and in keeping with the oldschool theme, they're wonderfully tuneful, loose, but have perfect three part hamonies, no fake accents, and a set list that includes some nice originals along with covering Hank (Senior, that is, do I have to specify Hank Williams Senior when I'm talking about oldschool?) and Loretta. The Loretta Lynn covers especially suited these women -- a bassist, a guitarist and a fiddler -- as they were as sassy and salty as the Queen herself. I mentioned their perfect harmonies. I mean they were perfect. Yet -- and this is their gift-- the Whiskeybelles are wonderfully loose, making it sound and look easy so that the audience is engaged and involved. Really good set. My only complaint is that they may have gone on too long. This is the kind of music that needs to be a 45 minute set, leaving an audience begging for more. They went for at least an hour, and by the end of that, we were ready for something else. But that's a minor complaint. I would have enjoyed two 45 minute sets from them, and they're definitely on my "go see them again" list.

men in black
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

The night ended with a band I've been wanting to catch for awhile, God's Outlaw, a trio that spends a good portion of their time covering Johnny Cash and the rest of the time with originals that sound like the kind of thing Cash would have come up with. Here's the thing about Johnny Cash: how can you not love that music. Everything about Cash is so distinctly American, and this is the American to be proud of. God's Outlaw's lead singer doesn't look a thing like Cash, and his baritone isn't quite as deep as Cash's, but he intonation, delivery and attitude are so spot-on that it works. The bass player gets the rhythm by slapping the neck hard enough to get plenty of boom-chicka-boom-chicka, and their electric guitarist pickes out plenty of crystal clear twang to keep it real. Of course they played "Folsom Prison Blues" and "Get Rhythm" and "Ring of Fire" and their originals ("U-Haul" -- a story of knowing it was over because of the UHaul parked in front of the house -- stood out for me) had enough of that oldschool charm that kept me around, despite the sun going down and a chilly (and for me, underdressed for the weather) night. This is what country music is, kids, not that dreck that gets marketed as country these days. Stella even admitted it was fun, and this is a girl who claims to hate country. "No, girl, you hate nu-country. I do too. These three bands are the real stuff."

I went to Riverwest to see some bands....

2011-06-15T21:50:00.002-05:00

VMR_0300
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Just like I'd tweeted on Saturday: I was at Quaters to see a band. Full stop. I was at Quaters. I was there to see a band. When was the last time anybody said that? I'll tell you when, oh, say about 1998 or so. Yeah, there was a little smattering of bands at The Rock Palace since then, but it was eventually edged out by the Hip Hop Experiment, the Freshening-Up-The-Place project, and others. Finally, a few fights and some tragedy, and the place gave up its cabaret license to save its liquor license, and went down not in flames, but some sad, smoldering smoke.
In the early 90s, Quarters was transformed from a dumpy shot-and-a-beer tap (the cheap beers through lines that were rarely cleaned were a quarter, get it?) into a dumpy hole in the wall punk palace. Ironic nicknames ensued: The Palace. The Gold Mine. It was the inspiration for the "Parabola of Rock." The Quarters heyday produced some of the most pathetic nights of my life and also some of the greatest rock and roll experiences I've ever had. As reported here, rumor had it the Gold Mine was going to be having bands again this year and that's become reality. Lots of great fresh punk are shaking the walls there again, but I have to admit, I needed somebody from the old school to drag me into that place again. And that oldschool somebody was the Grande Dame of Milwaukee Punk herself, Stoney Rivera and her band, the Psychobunnies.

Full disclosure: I played in an incarnation of the Psychobunnies in the early 90s. Some of the funnest eight months of my life. But you can't put two Saggitarian women on a stage together and expect that to last. (Or if it lasted, it would have sucked.) No, there is no sharing a stage with Stoney Rivera, and that's how it should be. She's a presence unto herself, a psychobilly queen with 30+ years of I-IV-Vs under her belt. And if there was anybody who could pull the old crowd into Quarters, it was her.

Opening the night was Dr Chow's Love Medicine, and they were saying farewell to their lead guitarist, Paul "The Fly" Lawson, who's moving on to other things. They must have sensed some of the old school electricity in the room, or maybe Frank Chandek's towering presence really filled up Quarters, but it was one of the better Dr Chow show's I've seen. (More full disclosure: my husband is the other guitar player in this band.) Dr Chow gets tighter and more confident in their originals every time i see them. While listening to them, I looked around and felt like it was 1993 again: most of the crowd was the crowd I would expect from back when I lived in Riverwest (and most of the crowd lived there at the time, too). Steve Whalen at the corner of the stage staring down the band with that shit-eating grin that, back then, could have been intimidating. Now, it's validation rather than intimidation: if he was in the back shooting the shit with friends it would be an insult. Darrell "The Brains" Martin scheming about the next Trash Fest. Paul Setser working the sound and if necessary, the door and the bar. Mark Shurilla, still a bit shy about coming all the way into the door, but still a fixture. The ghost of Tess was definitely present as we all raised glasses to him (and you best believe he still didn't pay cover.) This wasn't June, 2011. It was New Years Eve, 1994 and Stoney Rivera was taking the stage.

And after a long hiatus, (broken slightly by guest spots with Dr Chow over the past couple of years), it's like she hasn't missed a beat. She's clearly comfortable, and nothing shakes her once the lights are up. Even at one point when her vocal mike went out (would this be Quarters if the sound didn't crap out a couple of times?) she just hollered on through until Setser could make things right again. Standard Psychobunnies set complete with her originals and a Holly and the Italians cover that I always enjoyed playing, and some nuggets from her Dummy Club years ("Dancing in the Dirt" pretty much brought down the house.) She has that aura of a seasoned pro who knows exactly what people came to hear/see and gave it to them. She owned the house. And for a couple of hours on a Saturday night, I felt a good fifteen years younger, but wiser enough to order my beer in a bottle, thank you.

That night primed us all for Locust Street the next day. The Locust Street Festival is another of those reunion fests, where I see people I only ever see at Locust Street, but used to see all the time. Being out late (and getting old) prevented me from seeing the Beer Run this year, but Brian reports that he spotted a documentary filmmaker shooting with hi-def equipment and caught a bit ofDr Chow's noontime set, which seemed to carry over plenty of energy from the Quarters triumph overnight. After that was over, the kids and I started the first of many trips up and down the street. We didn't plan on seeing anybody in particular, we'd just walk up and down and see what we could see and eat what we could eat.

Let's get that out of the way right now: WTF happened to Klinger's? The wings are boneless! Yuck! Somebody needs to tell them (and the rest of the world) that boneless wings are not wings. Part of the greatness of wings is the flavor you get from cooking bone-in, and the fatty yummieness of dark meat. If you want white meat, order a grilled chicken breast. Now, these boneless "wings" are still good, but they're not the winged perfection that Klingers usually delivers. On the other hand, that joint at the corner of Weil and Locust that had everything (pizza, falafel, philly steak, and, yes, wings) had wings but get this. They wrapped them in foil and let them sit. By the time I bought them, the foil had caused them to get steamed, so that the outside skin and breading was no longer crispy/distinct. It was just this pile of really spicy mush with wings somehow inside. Next time we'll stick with that wonderful african restaurant that always hits Riverwest festivals. They've never disappointed.

To add insult to injury, we made the mistake of going to the Tracks stage first, where Stella heard that bass line. That godawful bass line. You know, the one that wafts in your ears during festival season: "Don't Stop Believing." There's a terrible cover band at the Tracks stage and they've just wrapped up that annoying Spin Doctors Two Princes thing before attempting the Journey. Unless your singer can wail like Steve Perry, don't trythis at home, or in public, folks. And this isn't even Journey's toughest vocal. God I hate this song, but when you hear it done poorly, you really appreciate what a set of lungs Steve Perry has. Hurry, kids, get thee to Linneman's!

At Linneman's outdoor stage, we're saved by Castle Thunder, a not-built-for-festivals kind of proggy group that inspired me to sit down and check them out. Very sincerely intense band that sounded like a cross between mid-career Radiohead and early Genesis. They had epic (both in length as well as musical theme) songs that Stella and I agreed would sound good as the soundtrack for some Twilight sequel. I liked them, despite the fact that this was one of those bands that would have worked better in the confines of a club, with dim (read: mysterious) lighting and a late-night ambience. Good variety, too, in terms of their dynamics, song structure and overall vibe. I was pulled in by what started out as a tribal beat, and stuck around for what morphed into a very heady lullaby.

Snopek. A Locust Street fixture, across the street from this guy who spray pained fantasy pictures of outer space and Roger Dean album covers-- with a technique that made watching his art be made half the performance. Snopek's just so consistent in his love for things Milwaukee, baseball, beer, brats, that his spot outside Klinger's should just be named Sigmund Snopek Way. Onward.

Ahab's Ghost drummer
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

We stumbled upon my favorite finds of the day at the Lakefront Brewery stage in mid-afternoon. This stage usually gets the experimental, up and coming stuff anyway. You're either going to like what you see there or not. And I liked it. First we came upon Ahab's Ghost, three very tight, very heavy noisemakers. Kind of metal, punk attitude, but waaaay to heavy (and technically competent) to be pure punk. Wonderfully intense, and yet engaging. Sometimes they referred to themselves and their name and referenced seafaring themes, but when they played you got the feeling you were on a ship about to wreck under it's own enormous weight. Sammy enjoyed them immensely-- their drummer was a delight to watch and the three of them were tight.

Crappy Dracula
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

They were followed by a lot of the local tastemakers' pick for the afternoon, a group of snotty, funny no-wavers called Crappy Dracula. Very no-wave -- dissonant chords and messed up time signatures that highlight their dry, dry oh-so-dry sense of humor. One of their songs almost got tuneful, and I could catch bits of their lyrics enough to know that I wanted to hear more, but perhaps on a piece of vinyl, or in an environment where I could really listen to what they were saying, because I'm good for some dissonant no-wave for about 30 minutes and then I need a tune. They had that appearance of regular Joes who happened to start a band, but couldn't wipe that damn smirk off their face for even a minute. Between them and Ahab's Ghose, I found my new discoveries for the day.

This Year's (Floor) Model
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

So off to see a band that reinvorgorates me every time: Floor Model. They have never played Locust Street, and I doubt they ever will. However, they always play off-Locust on the day of the fest, and this year was no exception. They played the patio at the Circle A, and the family settled into a nice corner to watch a nice family punk band spew out their snottyness. Dave was kind enough to let my boy, the beginning drummer,
thrash away between sets and pretend he was Keith Moon while guitarist Jeff Callesen cranked up the Dead Kennedys as house music. Later in the set they got that guy who plays trumpet with them sometimes to, well, play the trumpet, but I really have nothing more to say about Floor Model. Everybody knows I'm a fan; it was just a matter of ending my day with the familiar, as Locust Street itself is a celebration of what was a wonderfully familiar part of my life.

I'm not in this audience

2011-06-09T12:56:00.002-05:00

The Ethan Keller Band
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Tuesday night I told a friend that I hate the Dave Matthews Band.

OK, I don't hate the Dave Matthews band. I just don't like them. No, it's not even that. I just don't have an opinion one way or another about them. I'd rather hate a band/artist, like I hate Katy Perry. At least Katy Perry elicits a reaction from me, it's just not a positive one. The Dave Matthews band is boring to me. They put me to sleep. Their music is like wallpaper to me. It's not even that they're mellow. I like a lot of mellow stuff. But Dave Matthews is right up there with Hootie and the Blowfish and all those "adult contemporary" bands. I think that's what really bores me. "Adult Contemporary." It's like, once you're an "adult" you should strip away any kind of sweat, passion, danger, or beauty from your music. Just be "clever" sometimes, keep the tempo straight, show off your chops now and then (but don't, under any circumstances, startle or catch somebody off guard with your talent). The majority of "Adult Contemporary" artists are, quite frankly, excellent musicians. They're just a crashing bore to me. They are safe. And anybody who reads this blog with any regularity knows that to me, "safe" is the kiss of death.

So, as I trudged out to the first Chill on the Hill at Humboldt Park, I found myself contemplating the Ethan Keller Group, a very safe pick to open the popular public free series. Keller himself is a likable chap, and his band of mellow craftspeople seemed to fit the bill on a temperature-recordssetting hot summer night. We settled down as they did the most risky thing this family-friendly crowd could expect-- removed their shirts to deal with the heat and show us their relatively toned bodies. They lost me after two similar-sounding songs. (Later in the night, my kid even commented, "Do ALL their songs sound justs like this? Yes, they do," she answered herself.). I couldn't put my finger on why they lost me so early, despite some smoking guitar work, until somebody mentioned the Dave Matthews Band.

"I hate the Dave Matthews Band," I replied. And that really cemented it for me, why this talented, competent, pop-sensible, award-winning local answer to the DMB was losing me. They are "adult contemporary." They are "safe." They are in rotation at 88.9, reminding me that while I really like Radio Milwaukee and I'm overjoyed that there are two, count 'em, TWO independent, alternative, listener-supported radio stations in town that are thriving, it's WMSE, 91.7 who gets my money when I can afford to call in a pledge, simply because of that "safety" factor.

All this aside, the Ethan Keller band has an audience. They're mixing a few genres together (folky hip hop, if you will) and they're doing it competently and successfully. I'm actually kind of liking some of the rap/hip-hop bits he does, but he does it so mellow that it almost sounds like he's bored with it. But it works. It works in the summer festival atmosphere with the heat, and the ability to have a conversation with your friends with a glass of wine and a blanket, while the kids run around oblivious to it all. I would expect to hear Ethan Keller on national radio as well, and I'm positive he'll be a headlining act at the Miller or Briggs stage at summerfest in less than a couple of years. Yes, there's a huge audience for this kind of stuff. I'm just not in it.

Inch by Inch, Row by Row

2011-05-28T09:19:00.003-05:00

somewhere over the rainbow....
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I've been spending a lot of time with the kids lately. So it only makes sense that the music review for this blog entry is Stella and Sam's school music recital. What can I say? Especially with the younger classes: Sammy's class of first through third graders, all scrubby-faced with little bandanas around them to suggest the "Down on the Farm" theme. They accompany themselves with Montessori bells, woodblocks, and other simple but still musical instruments, and they add touches of American Sign Language to their hand motions so that the smile of seeing your kid sing his heart out doesn't wipe out until well after the show and your face is hurting. No critique here. I mean, yes, they attempted "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" (and the girl in front of Sammy kept glaring at him because he was really belting it out) but that's a song few adults not named Judy can pull off. It works with little kids, though, depsite the godawful intonation, especially when one of those kids is your kid. Just picture that combination of cringing and pure love and joy when they reached for "That's Where You'll Fiiiiiind Me....." It works because the enthusiasm more than compensates for the pitchiness. I mean, little kids are fearless when they sing. They don't care if they're out of tune. I don't even think they can tell. And their fearless enthusiasm is infectious. I found myself almost singing along, Judy Garland be damned.

The older kids ran a fewtunes on recorders, plastic, untunable recorders. Stella's class did some violin runs. Best part was "Turkey in the Straw" -- these kids, unlike the Ice Cream Man, actually know and can play the chorus. If you knew that song (along with The Entertainer) only from the ice cream truck, you'd be shocked that there was a chorus. And the adolescent kids played guitars, not too many chords, but lots of finger notes. They read sheet music to play, bringing to mind the old joke about how to get a lead guitar player to turn down his amp. (Answer: Put sheet music in front of him.)

But what's been sticking in my head has been the final song they all did, David Mallet's "The Garden Song." I know this song inside and out because I first heard it on a live Arlo Guthrie album back in the early 80s, and then later, sung by Arlo himself, in the later 80s when I was living in DC. In both instances Arlo spends half the song telling one of his brilliantly-timed comedic stories and teaches the audience the song, lyrics and all, for a sing-a-long. It's a happy, childlike song with absolutely no irony to it and it sticks in your head like peanut butter in your mouth. Inch by inch.... row by row... gonna make this garden grow ...... Even the older kids sang it gleefully. And it brought me back to that Arlo show in DC, where I had lawn seats at Wolf Trap, sharing a blanket with a bunch of other mid-20s activists who though we'd been born in the wrong generation. It also brought me back to a great road trip I'd taken on the east coast, listening to Guthrie and Seeger's "Precious Friend" playing in the car and just how happy and hopeful I felt despite everything around me. That song has the same effect on me today, and I was pleasantly amazed about this.

Two days later, I'd brought my Girl Scouts to Grant Park for a service project -- the Weed-Out. It's an event in the spring sponsored by the Park People, to just pull invasive weeds. The really brutal ones are the Garlic Mustard and Burdock, but our concentration was Garlic Mustard. (Apparently, while being an invasive weed, it makes a fine pesto). The invitation page admits "pulling weeds doesn't sound like fun, " but they said it is. And believe it or not, my girls admitted it was indeed fun. Probably something about being all together while doing it. But again, my favorite moment was when they all started, while digging in the dirt, singing, "Inch by inch... row by row." It was spontaneous, it was perfect, and it gave me hope for a lot of things. Mostly, though, it reminded me that music is just as potent in my life as those scientific studies say scent is. One song can bring back so many wonderful memories, and now I've added another precious one to "inch by inch...."

Doing a tour of Madison with Stella's class field trip was especially fun, even on a fairly quiet day when the Senate wasn't in session. So instead the kids got to sit in the senators' chairs themselves, and pretend they were at hearings. I learned that there were over 18 kinds of imported marble to make the capitol building. We had this amazing tour guide ("last year's wasn't nearly as good," the class teacher confessed) who knew all sorts of great trivia and could not be stumped with questions. At one point, she smiled at the kids, after a discussion on who paid for all of this ("A tax on the railroads -- which is why the railroad comission gets its own hearing room" -- fair enough) and told them, "Remember, this is your house. And you're always welcome here." It wasn't a political statement, it was simply a fact. I don't know how deeply that sunk in, but that's all they need for right now. Inch by inch, row by row....

Resurrection of My Optimism

2011-04-26T20:26:00.000-05:00

Single Daffodil, II, originally uploaded by V'ron.

Well, just because I'm this (as John Fugelsang describes himself) recovering cynic who has a general distrust for organized religion doesn't mean I'm not prone to fits of spirituality from time to time, and Easter Sunday is as good a day as any to manifest this. Christmastime seems more of a time to celebrate peace and the hope of it, but most faiths, including the Roman Catholicism under which I was raised, really liturgically celebrate the spring holiday as the high holiday, because it's such a time of rebirth. Easter, Passover, the Spring Equinox, they all converge right about now, and I celebrate that every year not by going to mass, but with my annual Easter Sunday Shakedown bike cruise. I do this every year, no matter what the weather is, I get up on Sunday morning, hop on my bike, and ride at least 20 miles up and down the lakefront, on a route I do every year. Sometimes it's the first ride of the year, sometimes it's not. (This year it wasn't. Too many gorgeous weekends this year to pass up). So this year it really wansn't a shakedown cruise. But it's still highly spiritual to me: I feel most alive and reborn doing it: feeling the (usually chilly) air filling my lungs like it was my first breath, self-baptising with my own sweat.

I do the same route on Easter Sunday every year so that I can just take in the change (or lack of it in some respects) that the seasons and years. (I've even taken to snapping a reference shot of the halfway point of my ride just to compare-- and congratulate myself on a brutal uphill climb. It only occured to me four years ago to do this on a ride I've been doing for almost 20 years.) That to me is miraculous in and of itself: there's trees that have been there for years and never seem to change, there's the same old nesting spots that the geese and ducks congregate in, there's the same patches of daffodils and trillium that start to sprout up. And there's changes: the new patches of wild perennials that creep up along the south shore bike trail, the crapshoot as to whether or not the bubbler at Grant Park Golf will be open yet (so that I can refill my water bottle), the level of fitness I'm at when I take the ride, the erosion along some of the cliffs. And there's always the state at which Spring has manifested itself. Sometimes the geese are followed by those dirty little yellow puffballs of their young; this year I don't think they've even laid their eggs yet (though I saw one goose working on just that), sometimes the daffodils are in full bloom.

And this year, it was kind of weird and cool with the daffodils. I came upon several patches of daffodils where only 1 was in bloom, the early bird out of the bunch, and the rest were just barely budding. Or I'd see just a single solitary plant out in the middle of a field of unrelated plants. That was my Easter miracle this year, I think. Just this single voice yelling out there, that's soon to be followed by a whole patch of voices. It's a hopeful, metaphorical response to what's been going on lately. I've been really, really annoyed and cynical lately, and this year's rebirth is one of optimism, both personally and politically. I've lost weight, I've started a new job, (and just not being unemployed has lifted a huge albatross off my back), my kids are really blossoming, I'm seeing lots of exciting music again and people are FINALLY WAKING UP.

And so I've decided to quit being afraid of speaking my (political and spiritual) mind in the blog. I've spent too many years discussing everything I've been passionate about here except those two things. Part of it is because for some time now, I've been disillusioned, after spending a good part of my young adulthood as an activist, in the "movement." I mean, I knocked and knocked and knocked on doors and Reagan still got re-elected. Newt Gingrich still got power. Both Bushes still got elected. We still went to war for reasons I'm still not clear on. The religious right still successfully usrped anything about what Christ had to say and twisted it into justification for war, discrimination, and budget cuts. So why risk my job marketability (because I've worked in industries dominated by conservative folk) for a lifetime of banging my head against a brick wall? I'm tired of this fear of political retribution.

Well, guess what. I'm rarely political on this blog, but I'm pretty left wing on twitter. And my photography should pretty much tell you what I do in the voting booth. If somebody wasn't going to hire me this year because they're tea partiers, a simple google search would have put the kabosh on my landing a job. Didn't happen.

But when I took Stella to her first major demonstration this year, the one in Madison where over 125,000 showed up, I flashed back to that time I took her to midnight mass and explained to her that the whole point of Easter is to stop being afraid. I explained to her last month that this demonstration wasn't going to change Scott's (Walker OR Fitzgerald) mind. "They why are we here?" she asked "... besides it being fun." (Which it was, despite the chilly weather). That's exactly it. We were there for us. We were there to create our community. We were there to look around and realize that you and me aren't the only people who are just waking up, who are just being reborn, who are just realizing that we can be a part of effecting change if we just stop being afraid to speak up, to pick up a sign, to be counted. We have friends who slept on the floor of the capitol for a week. We have (formerly obscure) senators who were willing to risk their political life by leaving the state so that we could see exactly what was being hidden from us. (If only the Washington contingent had that kind of balls.) We weren't a bunch of slobs or goons (although, to my delight, there were a lot of artists and theatre and hippies!), no, we were part of a huge crowd who politely chanted "Thank You" to any person of note who took time to approach the podium and offer us words of encouragement. We were --and ARE-- part of a majority of good, compassionate people who have finally had enough, but who finally have some hope-- and faith, if you will -- at the same level of hope and optimism I had in my early 20s, to the point where I'm able to tune my cynicism and anger into something positive. Now that's a resurrection! Hallelujah!

Three flavors of Punk

2011-04-10T19:28:00.004-05:00

Andre Williams
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Finally, finally, I finally got to see Aluminum Knot Eye -- a band I've been wanting to see for years -- last night. But first things first. AKE was one of two bands opening for the legendary Andre Williams, and that takes top priority.

Williams is billed as a soft of punk bluesman, a godfather of sorts. I've seen his act advertised as "porn blues" but really, the man is simply a classic, albeit dirty bluesman. He talks dirty (well, dirty for the 1960s where he first made his mark) and that's supposedly his claim to fame. But like all good people who work blue, if you take that away you're still left with a mound of talent and master showman.

After two totally different kinds of punk bands warmed up the crowd of hipsters who packed into the Cactus Club last night, Williams' band, all in black outfits, white shoes and touches of red trim here and there (perfectly tailored, mind you), take the state and play an intro tune, oldschool style and then to the delight of the crowd, Williams makes his way through. He's wearing a three-piece white suit (and the vest is double breasted, mofos) that screamed "Johnny Walkers", looking and strutting like he'd arrived in a 1976 Cadallac Eldorado with a Landau roof. (Nice touch with the spats, Andre). He proceeds to dive into songs that tell us all what a bad mutha he is, how much pussy stank is just like marijuana, and how he begs to just slip it in.

But if that was his entire act, he'd be a tired one-trick pony that would be fun for about two or three songs. That wasn't the case. Frankly, it was early in the set when he poured into a somber blues called "I Can Tell" that he showed his true (and considerable) vocal, stylistic and emotional range. This is a man who's been around, suffered a lot, lived to tell the tale and best of all, still finds the joy of a pretty chick and a twinkle in his eye. What a great fun show, and in his vernacular, an overall satisfying set.

Before his set, Riverwest's The White Faces treated us to some great driving garage rock. They looked liketypical sloppy 90s punks, but had a great driving sound and delivery that bought to mind some old Pebbles compilation. Friends of mine agreed with me that much of this was due to their terrific bass player, who wound his way all over his fretboard through tunes that seemed vaguely familiar, but still fresh. (One moment I was thinking to myself, "Hey, isn't this a Hey Joe ripoff"?) but they fact that the Seeds' version of "Hey Joe" was going in my head should give you an idea of their vibe.

Aluminum Knot Eye
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

The night started off with the aforementioned Aluminum Knot Eye, easily the most musically interesting (and difficult) band of the night. Their lead singer jumps off the stage, argues ironically (but friendly, not off-putting) with the jaded crowd, and keeps us interested by grabbing a chair and using it as a prop the entire set. But it's not all him. He's backed by a band that clearly has listened to a lot of 80s post-punk, no-wave, but not without melody. Think Richard Hell, Television, maybe even Wire (who were in Chicago last night). Grab a hooky little guitar riff, then play the living daylights out of it a bazillion different ways. the way their singer used the floor, I'm actually glad I saw them at the Cactus -- many of their previous gigs were at the Circle A and I think that place must be really confining to them both physically and musically. You can't make that much no-wave noise without a little breathing room, and the Cactus was the right place to experience them. Overall, a great way to drop a $10spot.

A week ago, I popped into Kochanski's to see the always wonderful Exotics who just get better every time. They get tighter and looser, simultaneously -- both good things. Their mix of surf standards and great instrumental originals are drawing me in further every time. I used to not be their biggest fan -- because I thought they were too tight but they've kept their professionalism, brought in a variety of influences, and loosened up to bring in the things I love (and wax poetic) about surf music. They've added fun schtick (choreographed stage moves, etc) and they're a delight to hear, watch and watch the fans.

Which is way more than I can say about the headliners that night, Chicago's Reluctant Aquanauts. I was led to believe they were amazing and would blow me away. Yes, they were precise. Yes, they played the Ventures' songbook. (I'm not sure they had any originals -- I knew their entire set.) Perfectly. But unlike the Exotics, they were massively stoic. Somebody told me that's part of their schtick -- that the surf bands of the 60s were equally stiff and stoic. I don't buy it. I've seen the Ventures, and stoic is not a term I'd use to describe them. And they were musically too perfect. They put me to sleep. Later I realized exactly what it was. When I hear surf music, I want to feel like I'm on the edge of the abyss. I want to feel like I'm going to get in trouble. I want to feel like I'm still a nice 17 year old Catholic girl who's about to lose her virginity to some boy whose last name she can't even remember. I felt perfectly safe and predictable with the Reluctant Aquanauts. Boo. Thankfully, the Exotics took the stage again in the round-robin style favored at Kochanski's -- so i could once again listen to music that made me feel like I was gonna get in trouble. Becasue that's how I wanted to leave that bar that night.

Just Checking In

2011-03-27T08:16:00.004-06:00

Carlos demos to Sammy
Originally uploaded by V'ron

OK, so I'm sitting in relatively good seats withSammy's Cub Scout Troop at the Bucks game Wednesday night -- you know, the one against the Sacramento Kings that theyshould have won -- and while I was taking nots about how the middle school choir from St. Mary of the Virgin Whatever really wasn't ready to sing the anthem in public yet I was asking myself, "Wow, it's really been a long time since I've been to a Bucks game."And that turned into, "Wow, it's really been a long time since I went to see a band.... or taken any photographs.... or blogged." But really, I've not had much to do about any of these. You know how it is when you're out of work...that's your priority. If I have time to write a blog entry, I have time/energy to write a cover letter.

Which isn't to say I've been been completely out of it. One of the funner (is that a word?) things we did was watch Sammy go to a YMCA-sponsored workshop with the Milwaukee Bucks. They pick some kids out of every basketball class, and they get to do an hour workshop with the Bucks. I'm proud, but not surprised Sammy got picked, actually. He really gets into the game; he cheers on his team from the sidelines, he isn't a ballhog, he's down at the other end of the court in a flash when possession changes, and his dribbling is improving every day. So we were thrilled when he got picked. The kids get an hour with five of the Bucks and coaches (Redd, Jennings, Delfino, a few others....) and they rotate around various stations.

Oh yes, I saw music. The Danglers had a three-day stand at the Circle A -- oh lord, that was about a month ago, eh -- and I was able to make it to the third (Sunday) night where bassist Dave Gelting called the shots. (John called it on Friday, and Jason on Saturday). But the thing about the Danglers is that it really doesn't matter when or where you see them, or what kind of mood they or their music is in. It just works. It would have been interesting to see all three nights, and there were people who did -- but its wasn't disinterest that kept me away, tat's for sure. It was child care and just being tired. This being unemployed thing is emotionally -- and therefore physically -- draining.

Thank god for Girl Scout cookies -- they forced me out of the house a couple of weeks later to deliver to Ted Jorin, who was playing with the Hoosier Millionaires at Kochanski's. I knew that-- besides delivering the cookies, I'd get a pick me up in the form of whatever band this turned out to be, because there is no such thing as a competely serious Ted Jorin band. There will always been some level of his twisted sense of ironic humor in it and that's exactly what i need these days. Sometimes it's so subtle it's buried in the musical craftsmanship that goes along with it, sometime's it's not. If a name like "The Hoosier Millionaires" didn't give away the latter, the wonderfully godawful version of Led Zeppelin's "What Is And What Should Never Be" wafting outside the doors amidst the gently falling snow as I approached Kochanski's certainly did. Picture the song being accompanied by banjo, bass, drums and maybe a guitar. They ended up deconstructing everything form Zeppelin to TomJones if I remember correctly. It's the shit eating grin that Ted will never be able to wipe off his face that resassures you that he knows exactly what he's doing. And I sold a few more extra boxes of girl scout cookies to boot, after Ted asked the audience, "Who loves Girl Scout Cookies? Who loves America?" implying, of course that anybody who doesn't buy Girl Scout cookies is a commie pinko terrorist thug. I couldn't agree more.

Anyway, it was Ted's birthday and he asked me to shoot this picture of him with his buddy Peter and publish it. Better late (almost a month) than never, eh? I just went to a lab to pee in a cup yesterday (which is, as you know, the final "No, we really mean it when we say we want to hire you") so with that huge albatross off my back, I can get back to working, paying my bills, and therefore actually seeing a band now and again and writing about it. So, as promised, here's your picture of Ted with his friend Peter on Ted's birthday at Kochanski's:

Ted and his friend Peter, originally uploaded by V'ron.

Oh, one more thing. Before all you busybodies get all bent out of shape about my still collecting unemployment, I don't start my new job until April 4 the earliest, so I'm still legally eligible. But it was satisfying to know that this week and next week will be the last time I have to do this, at least for awhile, or hopefully, never again. Can you feel how relieved I am? And no questions about the job. I'm not one of those people who talks about work in my blog because a) it's the company's bidniz, not mine and b) it would bore you to death. Trust me on this.

Chillin and some gossip

2011-02-05T15:59:00.001-06:00

chillin
Originally uploaded by V'ron

OK, you don't need another person to talk about Snowmegeddon '11 this week, so I won't. Except to say thanks to whoever that angel is that plows our alley, but does it sometimes in the wee hours so that we don't know who, and how, to thank him. It's like Santa or something. Anyway, the kids had off from Wednesday through Friday, so they built snow forts, and I kept in touch with the world via Facebook and Twitter, trading stories of both saints and douchebags through the storm. (Douchebag: guy who plows your alley but only up to their house... dumping the rest of the snow in the middle. Saint: guy with a snowblower who gets the sidewalks of the old ladies who don't have anybody to help them.)

Anyway, a piece of gossip via Facebook: it might, just might be possible that the Rock and Roll Palace, Quarters, might once again be a Gold Mine of Rock. You may remember the past few years it morphed into a hip-hop joint, and then there was a shooting last summer which pretty much killed their live music license (not to mention suspendin gtheir liquor license). And I'd even noticed that as a hip-hop joint, the place got some class to it. They'd cleaned up the disgusting bathroom, they actually washed out the beer lines, they spruced up the furniture.... and then violence closed it down.

Now this all may be just a rumor, and remember, we called it The Rock Palace to be smugly ironic.... but still.... it would be nice to have the Gold Mine back.

Americana sightings before the storm

2011-02-05T15:39:00.003-06:00

Mr.E Lee thanking the audience
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Well, of course the Chop Top Toronados reunion was terrific. Although I'm not sure we should be calling them reunion shows. They seem to drag it out every year (well, this is the second in a row) for Chris "The Colonel" Dant's birthday and it's like they never left. Maybe they're turning into one of those band that didn't really break up; they just don't play out all that often anymore. The fact that Jeff O'Connor trimmed his waist-length beard (disqualifying him for that ZZTop tribute band that would someday scout him) and moved to Chicago probably didn't help much. But still, they sounded like they'd never broken up and rehearsed together twice a week anyway. They were tight, they were brutal, oh, and they were fun. Despite their mastery of their instruments, they still maintained a great punk ethos working the alt-country corner, and it's a shame they didn't get noticed by enough A&R guys to lengthen their existence. Still, I don't think they're really going away anytime soon.
Opening the show was a set from the Pills, a 4-piece, straight up oldschool rocking bar band fronted by a pair of matching black epiphones. I liked them; good bluesy rock songs, a singer with a perfect bluesy but not quite gravely wail. My only complaint is that they could use some more dynamics -- both in volume and harmonics. But they were a good opening for the Chop Tops.

Big Dave Thomas sighting at the Circle A
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

Actually, the warmup for this night came a week earlier: I'd stopped into the Circle Acafe to get in a set from favorites Floor Model, but alas, I was too late. Didn't know there were two bands on the bill, and was really disappointed to learn that I'd missed the band I came to see but I quickly got over my disappointment when I saw Big Dave Thomas strapping on his guitar. Dave Thomas is back! And I obviously wasn't the only one happy to hear his sweet country voice backed by folks like Jeff Lauwasser and friends. The outfit is called the Jackpine Gypsies and they have a mix of originals and country and alt-country standards. They lightened up the mood for me and reminded me of the impending Chop Top show. All this Americana goodness was enough to get me through the storm this past week.

Black and White Winter Ramblings

2011-01-16T14:19:00.001-06:00

white swans black gese and ducks
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Typical winter must-do-something-about-this-cabin-fever-ness:

Finally, finally FINALLY we got snow that was snowy enough to go sledding in. I had a bazillion things to do, but chief among them was getting them all done so I could scoop up the kids after school and hit Humboldt Park, with its Sonny Bono and Kennedy trees frightening me. It's a perfect sledding hill so long as you keep going right between the trees, so the first thing I made the kids prove to me was that they knew how to bail out of the sled should it take a funky turn and head toward a tree. That proven, we had a wonderful time.

I went to my first indoor soccer game last weekend, same day as the Packer game, so I "watched" the Packer game on twitter. It was when we took our seats (good ones, friends had won them in a work contest and didn't want to skip the Pack) that I'd just realized that this was the first tim I'd ever been in the Arena. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the days when NBA ball was played here: what a barnburn that must have been. And I learned whatever happened to the old Bradley Center jumbotron that was replaced this year -- it's here at the Arena. I also have to admit that indoor soccer in person is a lot more exiciting than regular soccer is on TV. Maybe it's because we can see the players more closely. Maybe it's because we can take it in in a single line of sight. Maybe because -- by the size and speed of things -- it's really hockey played on grass. We even got a fight! A bench-emptying, player-ejecting, NHL-style fight! Woo! Still didn't make up for the Wave losing miserably, and apparently (you can tell we don't follow them closely) this game decided the division leaders, who are now Baltimore. Oh well.

Missed the debut of Rose on Fire, Laurie Kern' new group. Well, girl, what did you expect on a Thursday night. Still, the reviews are pouring in and Laurie Kern is BACK, apparently. She was a songwriting-s sauraus in the 90s, and she kind of faded out for awhile and lately, she's gotten a second wind and it shows. She's always had that beautiful clear voice, and could always put a good tune together, and by all accounts, she's also put a good band together. Babysitter and time will allow me to see this for myself, but enough people I trust have good things to say about Rose on Fire, so i'm taking their word for it and putting them out as a recommendation.

Also recommended, the Mummies exhibit at the Museum of Dioramas aka, the Milwaukee Public Museum. It's eye opening because it's not just those "traditional" egyptian mummies, they're from all over the world, and not all mummies are intentional mummies. Worth reading all the side notes too. Of course I had the kids with me, and they were equally fascinated and freaked out. There was one mummy, very clearly male, in an obvious state of rigor, if you catch my drift, and Stella and Sammy were cool enough about it to not say anything. Well, not until some high schoolers whom we decided to call Beavis and Butthead showed up and started in on giggles. So, fair word of warning: the mummies are very interesting, but some of the viewers are who you should be concerned about. Tip: if you were kind of leaning toward an Egyptian experience, check out the "Mysteries of the Nile" IMAX show when you're done.

We grabbed our Zoo Pass card on Friday since the kids had off school and headed to see the animals in winter. How fun! First of all, MPS wasn't off, so the zoo was fairly unpopulated with people. But get this -- the polar bears weren't out. Of all the animals we expected to see out and about, they were inside sleeping. The big cats were quite animated, though, and we got to see animals we normally miss because they're hiding: moose, the dall sheep. And a lot of the small mammals were really jumping about. Even in the nocturnal section. Lake Evinrude had a large non-frozen section, and it was littered with geese, ducks and the swans, who held our attention for a long time. We followed up with skating at Red Arrow Park and came home to sleep up for that wonderful Packer game yesterday.

What was the Chance I'd miss this?

2011-01-06T19:40:00.004-06:00

James Chance at the Circle A.
Photo by Andy Kaiser
Originally uploaded by aeroslipton

OK, I've turned into one of those people, those people who say, "Ah, I don't go out on New Year's Eve...." Partially because the truth of the matter is I can't afford a sitter. Also because I don't feel like paying three times the $$$ that I'd pay for a beer on any other night. Also because it is, well, Amateur Night and I don't feel like sharing the road with some messed up drunk.

Granted, I did go out earlier in the evening. First stop was my traditional stop at the Safe House. I've written about their schtick before: they celebrate midnight around the globe, so the kids can ring in the new year in the Greek Islands at 4 pm, Rome at 5 pm, and London/Paris at 6 pm, with appropriate hors'o'deurves for each city. (Of course, the Safe House picks the glam cities in each time zone -- the sort of locales where JB himself would stumble into to get his latest gadget from Q -- not necessarily North Malden.) The kids are usually good for about two time zones and then they've had it.

Next stop was my friend Mary Jo's -- and she hosted a family freindly New Year's Eve at her house. There were a bunch of kids upstairs, two of the kids are hers and since I've known them since birth there was the obligatory "Oh my god they've grown" exchange. Here's what happens when you send a plate full of bacon-wrapped water chestnuts up to a roomfull of pre-teen and teenage kids. Lots of laughs when the plate came back down. But we didn't stay for midnight. I was kind of tired myself, and we went home to watch a re-run of Seacrest with the husband and kids. (Brian didn't feel like going out at all. Don't blame him, really.)

So, normally, I'd be happy with my holiday and not complain that I'd missed anything until I got an email from my friend, bass player Andy Aeros Kaiser, inviting me to see pictures he took of James Chance at the Circle A.

Wait wait wait whoa whoa whoa! James Chance at the Circle A?!?!?! THEE James Chance? As in "Contort Yourself"? James White and the Blacks James Chance? The Sax Maniac himself?

Andy returned my email to confirm Yes, Yes, Yes, Yes and Yes. "He played along to James Brown & Contortions tracks & ad-libbed vocals for about an hour, " Kaiser reports. And here's kind of the sad part: "Wasn't even that crowded." Well, maybe that's what Chance wanted. Just goes to show you its a good thing the Circle A is back up and running, if that was one of the good things that happened in 2010. Magical moments happen in that little room all the time, and this particular time I wasn't there to see it, but I grudgingly have to say it warms my heart that we have a place in Milwaukee where stuff like this happens. Anyway, here's a set of photographic evidence, courtesy Andy Aeros Kaiser.

I Am The Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

Well, January 1st came along, and it was the first time this season the family got their butts out to a Bucks game, and even without Brandon Jennings, it was good to see the team together. It was a "New Year's Day Party" theme, so they had specials such as $1 hot chocolate (which came in handy since the wind blew in a NASTY cold....) and there was a nice touch in the form of red sparkly sprinkles on the whipped cream. Anthem from a group of middle-aged men called the "Holden On Quartet" which thankfully wasn't a barbershop group. (The tenor DID have the melody) and they didn't have a really high pitched voice, so they didn't go for the gold on "Laaaaaand of the free." But that would have sounded obnoxious. These guys played it safe, and thus it worked. Opening montage was OK, I guess. Not over the top, but maybe the background music could be better. It's some kind of ballad, instead of some stadium-like anthem it needs to be. Because of that, the whole steam stacks (the ones that make you think "I am the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz) they use when introducing the players seem even more ridiculous.

The Bucks did not play it safe. Two men down (and later in the game, that made three when Mbah A Moute had to leave the game with a mild concussion. There was a scare in the third quarter when Dallas actually came ahead, but Bango's team made up for Bucky's embarassment at the Nose Blow earlier in the day. (I watched the Rose Bowl simply because it was on. Sorry, I went to Illinois. I really don't care about the Badgers. Oh, and I don't really care about Marquette all that much either.) But sixthstation readers know I normally will tell you all about the halftime entertainment, which Stella said was terrific, but I didn't get to see. Why not? Well, Sammy and I decided to take advantage of another of the evening's specials, the two-for-one jumbo hot dogs.

Now, you would think the guy running concessions would say to himself, "Let's see. It's two minutes before halftime. We're running a special here on dogs. And in fact, that special expires after halftime is over. There will be a rush on these starting... oh, well about now. Perhaps I should put some on." You would think that, but you would be wrong. Once Sammy and I got to the front of the line (which was rather quick -- it was two minutes before halftime, not halftime itself, after all....) it was at least 10 or so minutes (the guy said "Oh, about five" -- and he told another customer five minutes later the same thing -- when I piped in "Uh, you told us five minutes five minutes ago!" before they were finally up. At least they were hot. Fail.

One final note about the Bucks' entertainment: Why don't you just cut the act, buy some stripper poles for the Energee girls and be done with it already? But it's OK. The Bucks pulled out a win, and it's nice to see that happening more often than not these days. Nice start to the year -- and at least I didn't have to miss that.

Sunday Night Soul

2010-12-24T12:40:00.002-06:00

the Soul Trio at the Circle A
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Yes, I haven't gotten out to see bands a lot, but I did drag myself out to the Circle A last Sunday to catch the Soul Trio, which actually turned out to be a quartet. John Sparrow on drums was enough to guarantee quality, but I was pleasantly surprised to catch Brian Mir (who happens to be Sammy's best friend's dad) on guitar. My understanding is that Mir is a bass player, but I'm here to tell you he's a fine, imaginative guitarist as well.

This whole act is very clearly the brainchild of sax player Aaron Gardner, who I've seen sit in with the Danglers a time or two. Gardner said so himself -- that this band was one of three or four band ideas he'd had in his head, (another being a metal act -- I'd like to see a metal act fronted by a sax man!) but this was the first that hit reality.

And what a terrific reality it was. Started out sounding like a cross between a 70s porno and a Lalo Schifrin-soundtracked Quinn Martin production, but from there it evolved into a jam worthy loungy jazz experience, with touches of spacey psychedelia (courtesy of Mir's guitar work.) A few nice touches by Gardner and some pedals of his that expanded his sax sound (making it sound like a chorus of horns, not just one sax). This band was tight, and well-rehearsed. This being their first time out, I'd say the only thing is that they need to loosen up a bit. Case in point: we were all wowed by the two sets they put out, and being a Circle A audience, we expected an encore. "Ya got one more?" Doorman/Soundman/CircleAman Paul Setser asked, and they shrugged off a disappointing no. C'mon guys. Everybody has one more at the Circle A. You almost plan to get called back for one more. If Warwick himself were there he would have called for it. A few more musical tidbits:

Speaking os Setser, he told me about a new cabaret act that he hopes to debut in February. Eat the Mystery is no more -- and that's just as well -- they'd run their course, but what a course it was!
Speaking of the Danglers, they're doing a whole weekend in February at the Circle A. This is obviously a concept -- and i suspect each night will have a different theme going. Will post more info as I get it.
Last night I missed an IRockZ reunion, and tonight's Christmas eve, so there won't be much music blogging. But it's good to know that Trans Am Dan is still out there with that cool concept of a band -- part prog, part new wave, part straightup rock and roll, part punk. I'd said before, this is a concept that shouldn't work but does. Wish I'd been there. Hop over to my cooking blog if you want to read more of me. Meantime, Happy Christmas friends!

Here's how you can tell I'm getting old

2010-12-19T10:46:00.001-06:00

I'm turning 50. I'm NOT Retiring. Jesus.
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I didn't make it to the Deerlick Christmas show last night for the first time in YEARS. There was a choice, stay home cuddled up with DH and the kids after cleaning out the office and getting a tree and putting lights on it and putting the ornaments on it and making dinner and ... man, I'm getting old.

But not too old to have a terrific party on an otherwise crappy night. Lots of text messages from friends too worried about the weather, which as south siders know, turned out to be nothing but cold wintry rain. Didn't get a flake of snow until well after bar time, well after everybody was home safe and sound, well after plenty of birthday drinks took their toll on my ability to keep my eyes open. (I didn't drive, thank god.)

The Danglers opened the night up on this rainy night with Astronomy Domine, and they were wonderful as usual. Jason brought a guitar which he never ended up playing, but it was there just in case. Plenty of my friends who'd never seen them before were congratulating me on my choice (as well as my ability) to get these guys. Up next was the totally other side of the continum , Floor Model, straight up snotty punk with more than a touch of literacy. Normally you'd put the punk band first, but this worked out well. First of all, they're the only band in town who has the balls the follow the Danglers (NOBODY every wants to follow the Danglers, which means they always have to go on last... and at our age that gets tiresome. Remember when you WANTED to go last? When you WANTED to headline? Another sign I'm getting old. Last few shows I played it was, "You can go on last? Oh no, I'm fine going on first..."). Anyway, it worked out well, because I was good and birthday wasted by the time Floor Model swept into their Ramones and Black Flag covers, and I wasn't the only too-old-to-be-doing-this punk on the floor swaying along with them.

The day before it was high art with the kids; I was a chaperone for my kids' school to see the final dress rehearsal of the Nutcracker. I ended up sitting nowhere near my kids, so I sat with some others and we discussed Tchaikovsky's career other than the Nutcracker ("He was whatcha call a tortured artists, chillen," "What does that mean?" "He never though anybody liked his stuff"), which songs they'll recognize, which songs they're expecting, ("Oh, no, that was Mozart.." "I thought that was Beethoven" "I get him confused with Bach"). Actually, it was uplifting to sit with 2nd graders who even know who Mozart, Beethoven, Bach and Tchaikvosky were much less kids who were actually embarassed that they get them confused sometimes. Makes me feel better, as I enter this second century of my life, about that vapid Katy Perry crap I heard on the radio coming home.

Slice of Gingerbread Ice

2010-12-09T21:24:00.002-06:00

Slice of Gingerbread Ice
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I love hockey. And truth be told, I love the Village People. What a fun concept. And what a fun concept to bring them both together on a winter's night. The kids and i joined Sammy's Tae Kwon Do group on an outing to the Bradley Center last week to enjoy some fun on the ice. unfortunately, this was the first night we'd ever gone to an Admirals game where they lost. But, the Village People concert was supposed to make us feel better. But we were sitting behind the stage so while we got to see their well-toned derrieres, we barely heard a thing. We got the monitor feed. Pshaw. We moved up to seats more in front of the stage, but the sound mix still sucked. And the Village People's music is the kind of stuff you need a great sound mix for. So we didn't even wait for "YMCA" even though it was YMCA night at the Bradley Center. We just left reluctantly.

So of course last Saturday I had "Macho Man" going through my head, an earworm more potent than Eduard Khil. "Hon," Brian said, "Sounds like you need some FZ." And so I did. rounded up a last minute sitter, so I only caught two band at this year's Zappafest, but they were Dr Chow and theDanglers, so all is right with the world again. And the Danglers are playing for my 50th birthday Saturday night, along with Floor Model, so that helped remind me how much I appreciate them.

But today was a lovely day, really. Slice of Ice opened today -- the outdoor skating rink across the street from the PAC -- as I've often called it, our own little piece of Rockefeller Center. And it was, as the kids called it, Hollywood Snow -- just softly floating flakes over a Christmas-lights sprinkled night, with the elegance of a Nutcracker audiences spilling out into the street. (Only downer was just getting there and having to sit through opening day ceremonies which includes a figure skating demo. We didn't come here to watch, we came to skate!) But other than that, once again, the Starbucks there had their A-List crew working (even though I was asked "What would you like sir?" "Uh, I'm a 'ma'am'") and then becuase it was opening night, every mascot in town was there. The Sausages were there, the mascots from the Milwaukee Wave and UWM Panthers -- but get this -- none of them were on skates until Bango the Buck showed up. But Bango's a really athletic mascot anyway. He'd left, and then Roscoe (from the Admirals) turned up -- and being a hocket mascot, he was clearly the best skater of them all. The kids had a good time high fiving them. Sammy had a dreadful wipeout and has a nasty bruise near his eye, but he's sitting on the couch as I write this, with a fresh ice pack, and hoepfully a story to tell. Most likely, that story is about the one skater who we overheard fretting about how she was going to get home in all this snow. Hel-LO: this is Wisconsin and it's December 9. This isn't a blizzard, people. It's snowfall. That tends to happen this time of year here in 43 degrees North. If you're at all deserving of your Wisconsin driver's license, this shouldn't be a problem.

We decided (well, I decided) we/I didn't feel like cooking, so we popped into the Milwaukee Pubic Market where Sammy and I munched on lobster and calamari at the St Paul Fish Company lunch counter ( both were outstanding, and very reasonably priced) and Stella had the always excellent Chicken Soup from the Soup Company. We heard some excitement and applause coming from upstairs; there was a Gingerbread House contest! We went to check it out and found everything from traditional gingerbread houses to gingerbread apartment buildings and log cabins and lodges. My favorite is pictured here: a gingerbread Red Arrow Park, complete with ice rink and Starbucks and 1001 building in the background. It was really good, not necessarily the best, but a lovely little replica of this picture perfect holiday evening spent with the kids: truly a slice of a slice of our ice.

Fiftieth Communion

2010-12-03T17:47:00.002-06:00

First Communion
Originally uploaded by V'ron

This is a picture of me at my First Communion. And, next Saturday the 11th, it will be my 50th. Birthday, that is. And in Sixthstation fashion, I'm going to celebrate with music by communing with two of my very favorite bands. They will help me ring in my next half century at the Port of Hamburg on South Howell.

The bands? Why, could I have picked two more diverse bands, with the thing in common is their excellence in their genres? No, I could not.

We have The Danglers: psychedelic jazz prog free-form blistering emotionally-charged musical virtuosos who have this chameleon-like ability to size up a crowd and deliver a performance that leaves jaws dragging on the floor in shock and awe, making it look easy by seamlessly merging disparate influences (oh dear god I'm starting to sound like Dave Marsh...)

And then we have Floor Model: snotty, loud, tight, radical, clever, sharp old bastards whose rapier wit slices through everybody from CIA-infested political "leadership" to pretentious riverwest punk rock grrrls (that resemble me in my late 20s) who nod in agreement to every word Charles Bukowski belches out.

And the Port of Hamburg? Timmy O'Keefe's Port of Hamburg? (because when you're thinking fine german reinheitsgebot-styled beer auf Hamburg, you're thinking "O'Keefe") Excellent selection of fine beverages to keep your liver pickled for another 50 years.

My birthday's really December 8, but a) that's a school night and b) it's a Holy Day of obligation and I wouldn't want to interrupt anybody's pre-Communion fast.

Well, at least SOMEBODY's back with some regularity

2010-11-27T09:13:00.002-06:00

Trancin' and Dancin'
Originally uploaded by V'ron

And that somebody would be the Trance and Dance Band. Popped by Linneman's the other week to catch 'em. they used to play out a lot, oh, back in the early 90s (and I'm sure before then, before I moved to town) and then they would play rarely, so that it would seem that one of their performances would be an event and then they stopped playing altogether. Now they're back, with an almost completely different lineup. 4TA still is the center of it all, leading off each set with the Buffalo Muskrat Show. His son Reuben is now on keyboards, and Chris Loss is on bass. But new people everywhere else.

Hey the smoke eaters finally work at Linnemans! Oh, wait, its not that the smoke eaters work. It's that they don't have to work anymore. That's a side note in all of this, but it's an important one. Smoke wasn't keeping me out of the clubs, but the lack of it is sure an invitation to get out more. Now, if we could just do something about the sound. 4TA's got a terrific guitar player -- Walter -- but I couldn't hear a thing unless I went up to the stage and stood right next to his amp. I knew he was attempting complex stuff because I could see his fingers flying all over the fretboard, but it was a shame I missed it. I don't know if the acoustics in Linneman's are the culprit or what, or maybe the sound mix favors the singers who are normally the attraction of "Linneman's Bands." (You know what I mean by this, don't you? There's "Linneman's Bands" and there's "Circle A Bands" and there's "Cactus Club Bands" and such. "Linneman's Bands" tend to be very singer, lyrics focused.).

Anyway, they were wonderful. Still coming together but close enough to the old magic that they're worth coming out to see -- and that old magic will come by virture of them playing out and together more often. That was the thing about the Trance and Dance band. They didn't so much as start and stop song, they just kind of drifted in and out of them, like a group of people on a long journey together... and this group has just picked up some new passengers, that's all.

Where have I been? Dealing with lots of personal crap, boring stuff you woulc read about in a bunch of other blogs, I'm sure. Nothing critical, just that mundane old life stuff: broken down cars, getting the kids to and from school and scouts and games and birthday parties and all that. A few "Hey, Doc, what's this weird lump/skin lesion/numbness here"s that turned out to be nothing. Whining about the weather.

Self-righteously avoided shopping yesterday, but ended up buying myself a tow truck ride home from the YMCA anyway. But I really do hate the idea of Black Friday anyway. It used to be the day off after thanksgiving that you might as well use to get your Christmas shopping done. Now it's turned into the freaking Super Bowl. And I'm like one of those outsiders that always said, "Oh, I don't care about football that much." But really, if I have to get up at 3 am to freeze with a bunch of people and risk getting trampled on like I was a Who fan in Cincinnanti just to save $20, I guess I really don't need a new DVD player that badly. In a lot of repects, being unemployed last year was rather healthy for me. It put things in perspective, things like what I need and what I don't need. And I just don't need a lot of this stuff.

But I will admit, I do need to get out more. And that I will do, in a couple of weeks on my birthday. I have one of the best bands in the city agreeing to play for my 50th birthday, and as soon as I confirm the other band, I will let you know about this. My birthday's December 8, but since that's a Holy Day of Obligation (not to mention a school/work night), I'm celebrating it on the 11th. With a couple of bands, of course. How else would you celebrate fifty years of Vron? Save the date.

Confidently, a happy birthday

2010-11-04T18:14:00.001-06:00

Stella Ubari
Originally uploaded by V'ron

It's been more than a week since Stella turned 12. I'm late with her birthday post. Sorry, Boo-Boos.

Especially when we had a really tight month, especially for a 12 eyar old. She's getting at that age where she doesn't want me around so much, claiming she doesn't need me around so much. s the fact that she still likes going shopping with me is HUGE. We still have fun together, mother and daughter, a kind of fun and knowing in-okes together that I hope we continue to have, even as she dives headfirst into this period of life where she's striking out on her own, trying to define just who this Stella person is. But whether she likes it or not, there's still a lot of me in her. Look at her. She dressed up as a Quentin Tarantino character for halloween for chrissakes? And nobody who knows me is at all surprised.

The best part though, was putting together the costume once she decided that's what she wanted to be. She somehow acquired some mode of confidence this year. It was the moxie that allowed her to put on the pieces as we hunted them down at Goodwill and New to You Kids (that's a boy's sportscoat we found for $4! -- she's still the bargain hunter I raised). It was the creativity she sparked as we figured out how we were going to make Gogo Ubari's weapon: "Well, we could go to Menards and get some chain...."

And she found this confidence this year to start swimming in the deep end of the pool ( a fear she's finally conquered), and to decide she really wants to play a musical instrument, and just the other day, she -- yes, the girl with the massive stage fright -- announced she wanted to get involved with First Stage. She even acknoledged as much: "Mom, I have to learn to get over this. I can't live my life being afraid of doing things in front of people." She's conquered so many fears this year that she's inspired me. Last year she would have NEVER agreed to enter a cart race against grown ups, and in those final nervewracking heats, she would have let her fear get the best of her. No, this year she pushed through that fear and she WON. She didn't give up, she gave it her all and she reaped the rewards. I was happy she won, but I was ecstatic that she didn't give up. She's starting to find that wonderfulness and talent in herself that I always knew was there, and both of us were frustrated that she would never let it manifest itself.

So this year's birthday was especially happy for me. I look back and see how much she's grown in just this past year, not just physically, but emotionally. It's a newfound confidence in herself that I think she's kind of getting off on. It's FUN to conquer a fear. So while I'm sure there's parents who are aghast that I have a 12-year-old who even knows who Gogo Ubari is, I'm right there with encouraging her to choose a costume for a character who, while wacked out of her skull, is beautiful, talented, well trained, and best of all, confident. No, she's not cocky at all yet, and she's still a little frightened about some things. Heck, she's only 12. But this was the year that some kind of self-confident spark finally got lit, and that's cause for celebration in and of itself.

Happy birthday, Boo Boos!

Festivals help with the denial

2010-10-09T08:46:00.002-05:00

The Human Coin
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I've not been blogging, have you noticed? I've been too busy in denial that summer's over. I'm actually embracing autumn, and enjoying the fall color show, but still. There's a few street festivals that have helped me with my denial that any day now, it could snow. (Such is Wisconsin life). First off, a almost a full month ago, was the Bay View Bash. It's reinvigorated this year (maybe it helped to not decided to do it at the last minute, maybe it helped that it didn't rain...) but it was a reason to drag myself out of bed, and go see the Dick Satan Trio riff off a pile of lovely, dangerous surf tunes. (You will note in my post today that I haven't seen a single darn band in a club lately.) They're playing tonight with the Eotics, so If I didn't have child care duties, I'd be there.

My boy, photog in training
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

Soon after them was a set from 1956, who heavied up the fest something fierce. 1956 was always damn heavy, and I think they've gotten heavier: or maybe I normally see them in darkly lit bars where the too-heavy-to-be-just-another-emocore-band sound seems perfect, rather than festivals that tend to rely on happy, peppy bands. As you can see, Sammy grabbed my camera phoneand decided to sharpen his photog skills, and, well, he's actually quite good.
Food is always good at the Bay View Bash: it's probably the bst festival food out there becasue they're the most variety. Yeah, you can get brats and burgers and corn, but you can also get soup and curry and penny candy. And its in a neighborhood where there's plenty of fun kids with fun attitudes.The penny candy seemed to go really well with the final act we saw, Dead Man's Carnival, who were part sideshow, part cabaret, all entertainment.The band backing up the sideshow had this Tom Waits kind of vibe to them, with a sprinkling of mischieveness to them -- the juggling act and the sideshow kept the crowd enthralled. Later, they repeated their antics after sunset, which made the fire juggling all that much more fun.

WOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

A week later, I normally would have hit the wonderful Global Union Festival, but after years of being just spectators, the kids wanted to enter the Center Street Fest Art Cart Races, so they put together the Poke Kart (as in Pokemon) and off they were! The goal was to make it just through the first round, and Stella amazingly squeaked it out. Brian gave her racing tips ("accelerate out of the apex....") and she made it throug the third round. But here's the thing. Stella isn't one for calling attention to herself in big crowds. And she's a perfectionist. By the final race, the crowd was chanting her name (who isn't at least impressed, if not cheering for an 11 year old who's beat out a pile of adults?) and rather than pumping her up, it made her nervous. "Mom, what if I FAIL in front of all these people?" I told her if she didn't want to do it, I'd cover for her ("I've made an ass of myself in front of many of these same people before, and I'm perfectly willing to do so to cover for you again....") but she would have none of it. "No, I WANT to do this," she said, nervously fighting back tears. Here's video somebody shot.... you can see in the last race where she pulled ahead and won it -- she was masterful around those turns. (And not to mention, you can see how delightful -- not unexpectedly so -- the other carts were designed and executed.)
After that kickoff, onto music. I was too busy helping Stella come down from the excitement, and forgot to wander on down by the Uptowner to catch what was, by all acounts, a terrific set from Danny Price and the Loose change, but I did at least manage to catch the lovely country stylings of Tim Cook and the Riverwesterners before catching the adult dodgeball tournament (kids were bumbed out they weren't eligible -- "Haven't you had enough adult-beating championness for one day?") and then watched my dear husband play a set with Dr Chow's Love Medicine. It was a lovely festival overall but the kids were pooped and we had to go before sunset.
Which is a shame for me, because that meant missing a set from a new Steve Whalen band, followed by an increasingly rare appearance from Voot Warnings (with a white jumpsuit-clad Peder Hedman on guitar, which apparently nobody called him on being "Peder Townsend" except Brian as he windmilled his way through the set). But I'm in denial about a lot of things, and it being the full thrust of autumn is one of them.Maybe a picture of Bay View Farmers' Market bounty will hammer it home for me:

More squash, originally uploaded by V'ron.

Sammy's still my baby. My 7 year old baby.

2010-09-24T16:04:00.003-05:00

Sammy looks up
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Yeah, the Bay View Bash was last weekend, and yeah, I took lots of pictures, but first things first.

It's Sammy's birthday today. He's seven. He's seven already. How did this happen? I just had him, what was that, last fall? He's seven. And he's come a long way this year. Just two weeks ago we took the training wheels off and he got the hang of riding his bike around the ball field, confidently telling me, "I don't need you to hold on anymore. I can do this!" And he's off.

He's always been tenacious like this. He has this stubborn streak in him that will hammer at some kind of skill until he gets it. Sometimes his stubborness makes me crazy, but overall it will serve him well. But he is, as many of my friends who know him, an old soul. You can see it in the way he gets (and uses sarcasm). You can see it in the way he finds and meets friends. You can see it in the care and gentleness with which he approaches animals. There's a wise old man in there, but he's still my baby.

He doesn't even mind when I refer to him as my baby. He still will accept a hug or a cuddle at night and he cannot contain his thrill at things like amusement parks, surprises, and of course, his own birthday. He's overcome with joy that all his buddies can make it to his birthday party. Joy, I tell you, joy. You'd think Spiderman himself was coming the way he reacted every time a positive RSVP came through. He lives to crack the eggs into the cake I baked for him. (Mostly because that's a skill he masterd this year -- took him forever, but there's that tenacious streak again.)

And what a year it's been. He can ride a bike. He can skate (roller and ice). He's tall enough to ride all but a handful of rides at Six Flags -- and he grew the balls to ride them. (Although that first run on the Viper was a bit dicey...). He's reading well and he can write his name in cursive, so now he has a library card. He can add and subtract, and he can count his money. (Lord, can he count his money!). He can shoot baskets and he understands the game of hoops well enough to enjoy (or not, depending on which game you hit) the Bucks foray into the playoffs this year. He wants to learn how to play the drums, and he wants to learn Tae Kwon Do. But he's still my baby.

He's my last baby, so I savor those moments -- that first time he rode the bike, all wobbly but nevertheless rode it -- by himself; him stepping up to bat and whacking the living daylights out of that T-ball as though he were Prince Fielder himself.

He still has that heart I've bragged about, that heart the size of Lake Michigan, that heart that shows his concern for the well being for any mammal that crosses his path. He's just, fundamentally a good guy. Every night, I tuck him in and tell him how glad I am that he's my kid. And it's not just to give him self-esteem and such. I mean it. I'm really glad he's my kid .Because one minute he's mouthing off and being basass to some bear at the zoo (and he IS a badass), and the next, well, he's still my baby. I just love him.

Happy birthday Sammy! I'm so glad you're my kid!

I'm admitting it's not summer anymore

2010-09-18T11:04:00.002-05:00

Massive Butterflies
Originally uploaded by V'ron

And as it's mid-September, it's about time, eh?I FINALLLY got myself up early enough to see the monarch butterflies nesting at sunrise over at the monarch trail on the old county grounds. Massive, I tell you. Just like those photos you see of the monarch migration in Califronia, but why they stop here, I don't know, but I'll take it. The sunrise shadows are tall, (yes it's fall) and the sunlight gently wakes the monarchs up, slowly, they start to slap their wings, like they're warming up that mechanism.

Cebar's tomorrow sound
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

So we wrapped up Chill on the Hill with the Paul Cebar Tomorrow Sound a couple of weeks ago. Every time I see Cebar, I think of that Woody Guthrie quote about how he hates a song that is out to make you feel that you are no good. Because Cebar does just the opposite. He's all about partying, celebration, but it's the people's party. I've known him and his music pretty much since I've moved to this town and his philosophy has been to dig, dig everywhere and and find great songs out of all sorts of american influences and cook them up together into something that just akes people smile and party and dance. He's like this rocking folkie, except he's not a folkie in the coffeehouse respect. He's more like a guy who understands the "folk" part of music, music that's made by and for the common folk, and he plays it. What a treasure he is. These days, I'm happy to see that he's got Mike Frederickson on the bass. I shamefully missed Frederickson's art opening yesterday, but he's another Milwaukee treasure, between his artwork and his other band, the Moseleys.

Nah, yesterday, I was at Rollaero, an old school skating rink with the kids. Hardwood floor, DJ playing the latest hits (I'm kind of depressed at what is popular hits these days-- OK, it's bad enough that your verses are rather droney but can't anybody write a chorus besides Gaga?), and flashing disco lights. Also a few (obviously regular) hot dogs skating too close to my son the beginner, and trying to impress my daughter the cynic. "Mom, that guy is really starting to creep me out," Stella said. Ah, I told her, in every skating rink there's a hotdog who spends the whole night trying to hit on underage girls (although this rink's hotdog was underage himself, unlike my generation's/rink's hotdot). It wouldn't be an oldschool rink without him. Just ignore him. He won't go away, but oh well.

Clear Cut
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

The final kicker for me that it's not summer anymore is the annual Labor Day parade, and the All City People's parade was out, but it didn't seem as spectacular as last year's group was. Maybe they ran out of steam or something. Yes, there were some good floats, but it still didn't have the same oomph. Maybe they were told not to be as radical last year (like artists would have stood for that), but a few floats -- like this one -- made their point really harsh (like this nation seems to need these days) and some were sweet. But there wasn't AS MUCH. And not as much music. If you're going to make a point with the common folk (which is what Labor Day is all about), you might want to take a tip from Cebar, and start with planning the music FIRST.

Well, if the sun clears, I'm off to the Bay View Bash. I lvoe the Bay View Bash (as well as the Locust Street Festival) because both wait until the fall. We still need a good street festival, but at least it's into the fall, for those of us who aren't ready -- despite the kids being back in school and work hunkering down -- to admit it's not summer anymore.

My friend Van, who loves Elvis even more than I do, rest in peace

2010-08-27T22:29:00.007-05:00

I'm beginning to tire of writing tributes to fallen (local) musical giants. I know that came out bad. I'm shocked and heartbroken over the passing of a Champaign Urbana legend, Van Montgomery Cagle. Maybe I'm getting to be that age where I have to accept that more of my friends are leaving us, but still. I don't have to like it.

Except for fronting a great art rock band in the early 80s for a single song (the band, Mode Zero, broke up shortly after they'd made their point, the song "Punks For God" is immortalized on You Tube somewhere), Van wasn't a musician, but everybody in the music community in Central Illinois knew him, and loved him. And I can tell you why.

Anybody who reads this blog with some regularity knows that I seperate the world into two different camps: those for whom music is simply wallpaper in their lives, and those for whom music is a visceral, crucial life giving force that we cannot live without. Duh, of course, Van fell into the second group, but he didn't just love music and the culture surrounding it. He studied it. He knowledge of it was encyclopedic. He was brilliant enough to string it all together in his (pretty much treatse), "Reconstructing Pop/Subculture: Art, Rock, and Andy Warhol." If it sounds like somebody's PhD dissertation, well, it's written with that same level of academic rigor.

But he was no ivory tower academic. He was a part of the scene, he went to shows, he hung out with the bands, he managed bands,he wrote and wrote and wrote about the music, the people who made the music, the art that inspired the music, the culture that nurtured the music. Van loved punk. Van loved glam. Van loved Elvis. (Oh, how he loved Elvis.) Van loved music. And he could have a conversation about it that was just as plebian as you wanted it to be, or as highfalutin as you needed it to be, but nowhere along that line could you ever believe that we was talking down or up to you. And because of that, he legitimized our love for all things music, art, and the pop culture that brought it together, he validated that this wasn't just some crazy obsession, but that life giving force that makes it possible for those of us who need more than wallpaper to wake up each day. That's why we loved him. Oh, did I mention (as many will) what a sharp dresser he was? Did I mention how wonderfully witty and fun a conversationalist he was? Did I mention that he had one of the kindest hearts I've ever come across? Did I mention was a genuinely sweet soul he was? All of these. All of these are reasons why we loved him.

I actually didn't know him well 30 years ago in Champaign-Urbana. He'd written a brilliantly funny and touching short story about a road trip to Graceland that was published in the Psychedelic Boneyard, a fanzine I helped edit. We didn't touch his piece. It warranted no editing whatsoever. It was perfect. I'm going to dig it up and scan it in, because to this day, I still think of that wonderful piece when I think of him. But I didn't know him well then. I just knew his words. Rather, I reconnected with him via the Vertebrats reunions, and via Facebook. That's when I realized what a gift having him in one's life was. He was constantly turning his friends on to great little tidbits of art and music, you could feel that love and that gift jumping off the page every time he posted.

Two days ago, he'd posted a link to a beautiful version of Lou Reed's "Perfect Day" performed by a variety of artists. I reposted it, bragging to my own FB friends that I knew such a person who "finds the best stuff." I had said, "My friend Van, who loves Elvis even more than I do, finds the best stuff." He'd even posted back, "Thanks for the compliment". Later that evening, according to his beloved sister, Libby, he died peacefully in his sleep. That song and version choked me up when it was just a cheerful exchange and joy of finding and sharing a beautiful piece of music and art. Now it leaves me flat out crying. We loved him because he understood what we loved and he shared -- and most importantly validated -- that love.

Catching up IV: Monarchs and the Moon

2010-08-27T22:26:00.002-05:00

it was at this point that
Sammy decided to mess
with Stella while she baked
in the sunset
Originally uploaded by V'ron

No, I wasn't at Chill this past Tuesday with all the cool kids. I'm sure Decibully was wonderful (I still need to catch them) and I'll bet Juniper Tar has really come into their own (I promised I'd catch them again after they underwhelmed me three years ago on a dingy night, mismatched with the Deer Lick). But no. Tuesday night was the summer night when moonrise is the same time as sunset, and the best place to catch this is out by the old County Grounds, where they have a party to celebrate this fact, and plug conservation of the Monarch Trail.

We'd had dinner at the Genghis Khan Mongolian Barbeque, and boy, has that place slipped. I used to say, it's the kind of place where if you don't like what you got, it's your own damn fault (because you pick out the meat, veggies and toppings), but still. It took forever to get the attention of the grill guys, and they didn't exactly clean the grill off between dishes, so Sammy's bowl had a ridiculous (for him) amount of hot chilis, and mine seemed like not enough. Quite a contrast to the BD's in Bayshore. Oh well, this is what happens when you name your restaurant after a brutal murdering dictator.

I'm still blown away that for whatever reason, the Monarch butterflies choose the spot at the intersection of Hwy 45 and Watertown Plank road as a layover for their migration from Canada to California. Why there? OK, there's a pile of milkweed, but still. Why not, say, I dunno, Burlington? Whatever. The fact that they do makes it a special place, and the sunset/moonrise a special time, and the fact that it's one of the highest points in the county (not to mention north enough of downtown) to be able to see both east and west horizons so that one can enjoy both moonrise and sunset almost makes it the center of the universe, if only for a few moments.

Catching Up III: August Music Roundup

2010-08-27T22:17:00.002-05:00

Red Hot Chili Pipers
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Oh, I did go to see some shows; all outdoor, all relatively child friendly. First up with a night with the Liam Ford band, who get better and better every time, at Chill on the Hill, a perfect venue for them. They're really working a corwd well, and they had finally won me over earlier this year when the turned songs like "I Can Help" and even "We'll Meet Again Some Sunny Day" into what sounded like rockabilly standards. A week later, the Five Card Studs rocked the Hill, but this is a savvy Bay View crowd that seemed to be onto them. So that's why they were able to let loose and go over the top. Cesar Palace even let his alter ego (a metal loving alter ego at that) slip a few high pitched screams toward the end of the night that were worthy of Ronnie James Dio comparaisons -- but somehow he managed to keep them in the lounge lizard context that the Studs have gotten down to a science. The Studs continue to include their progeny in their shows assuring us all that there will be studly action for years to come.
Finally, the kids and I ventured out to Tosa Tonight to catch the Red Hot Chili Pipers before their many Irish Fest Gigs. This is a band that claims more of a bagpipe rock, but they really do encompass many musical styles. The medley of Smoke On the Water (that merges into Thunderstruck -- really, once you've heard it, it seems perfecly natural to play Thunderstruck on the bagpipes) opens the show, but they actually approach jazz, rock, and others with traditional bagpipes, drumline style snare, and other instruments I admit I don't know the names of. I think they sell the "rock" part because, well, that's what sells, but they're just really versitile musicians who don't deny their celtic roots, but aren't trapped by them, either. Oh, and they're tight as all hell. Not one note out of place, almost too perfect. But they're fun as heck, and they work their butts off to make sure that people have a good time. We sure did, and as I've mentioned before, the whole celtic thing isn't usually my cup of tea, but this was a concept i wanted to see to believe, and I'm glad I did.

Catching Up II: State Fair to Good

2010-08-27T22:04:00.002-05:00

Where's George Clinton?
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I love State Fair, but I dunno. Things seemed lame this year. Maybe it was because we'd gone to Six Flags a few weeks beforehand and the kids were underwhelmed by the rides, but I was left with a certain amount of lameness this year. The rides seemed way shorter. And lamer. We'd gotten on the Himalaya and Stella rode alone and Sammy rode with me. Stella turned around and asked me, "Does this seem slower than usual?" Before i answered, I noticed that Sammy was NOT slammed into me from g-force (which he normally would be) and I answered "We shouldn't even be able to have this conversation for Pete's sake."

Half the barns were closed, so we got scant chance to see farm animals and chat with their owners. I'm not shocked by ANYTHING on a stick anymore, and even bad typos don't make me laugh the way they used to. Maybe it all started on the first day of State Fair, where I'd read in the paper that the sky glider broke down and that set the tone. Even the chocolate covered bacon on a stick had lost its luster. However, the kids enjoyed the Starship Ride -- a spin-you-round thing that looked like George Clinton and Bootsy Collins were going to step out of any time.

The saving grace was walking past the Cousins stage and noticing that Robert Gordon and Slim Jim Phantom were playing at 9 pm. How did we miss this in our programme? So we stopped by the former Shakey's pizza tent to share a few beers with The Florida yard Dogs, a NOLA style band that puts smiles on our faces every year, and wandered over to the Cousins stage, to a disapointly small crowd to see a pair of (albeit 80s, not original 50s) rockabilly legends serve up the standards. Gordon still has his rich, could've been country voice, and he still can sing those songs with all the genteel class he always had. His backup band (with the Stray Cats' Phantom) was tight and yet rockabilly loose. I snapped a few pictures, and was really sad to see the small crowd. OK, it was a Sunday night, OK, the weather was kind of dreary, but still. We bought some cream puffs, ceremoniously ate them (I think you get ticketed if you go to State Fair and not eat a cream puff) and dragged our exhausted behinds to our car. 2011 State Fair has got to be better than this.

Catching Up I: Snooze at the Zoo

2010-08-27T21:51:00.002-05:00

Setting up the tent
Originally uploaded by V'ron

OK, time to catch up with August entries. And first off, the kids and I did something we've been wanting to do for years -- the annual "Snooze at the Zoo" event. You sing up way back in April, hope to god you get good weather in August, and then you camp out at the Zoo. It's a lovely fundraiser for the zoo -- but I was hoping for a little more noisy activity.

They put you round Lake Evinrude, probably for precisely that reason -- you're far enough away from the really noisy critters so that little ones don't get freaked out. But that didn't stop the blowhard two tents away who thought it was fun and clever to scare the piss out of his kids by growling at them (causing their screams... at 10:30 at night). Still, it was a cool event. There's nothing like waking up at sunrise and walking over to the bear cave and see them getting up too.

Plus, you do get to see behavior shortly after closing you don't normally get to see: in this case, we got to check out kangaroos, at least four of them, with baby joeys in their pockets. I usually never see this. They're just usually hanging out in the yard, not even bouncing around.

But the coolest part hs been a recent addition to the zoo -- The Language of Conversation, a project to permanently install poetry tucked into nooks and cranniesthroughout the zoo. I haven't seen them all yet, but the poets range from Frost and Whitman types (of course) to native american chants, all about animals and the land we share with them. Its worth it just to look for the poetry amongst the life.

Fairweather blogger

2010-08-08T08:40:00.002-05:00

Fairweather Friends
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Remember when I used to blog at least weekly, if not more often? Now i can just about squeeze out the time to bog once a month. It's those kids, I tell ya. They're keeping me busy, and at this time intheir lives, I'm happy about it. It's been T-Ball season and what kind of mom would I be if I wasn't out there cheering on my buddy? And T-Ball, at least the Milwaukee Recreation version of it, is a fairly sweet game. They really don't have outs, everybody bats, last batter gets to sweep them all off the bases. They're 4-6 year olds, for pete's sake. When you watch, especially the 4 year olds, that's when you realize just how complicated baseball is. If the kids get the point that they're supposed to hit the ball, run to first before the ball gets there, and place nicely as a team together, it's been a good summer. And it was.
But that's taken up my Tuesday and Thursday nights, and the husband has been playing out a lot with Dr Chow, which means either pay a sitter or hang out at home or some other child friendly place on weekends. So I haven't seen as many bands as I'd like to. Instead, there was a Six Flags trip shoved into the month, numerous trips to the South Shore Farmers' market, a couple of stops to places like the Zoo and such. At least at the Zoo, it was one of those "Sunset Zoofari" nights so while we once again got to visit all sorts of wild animals, we also got to take in those musical animals, the Five Card Studs, who, like many of the other animals there, were removed from their natuaral habitat (in their case, swingin' singles lounges.) Nevertheless, they adapted. In a family friendly way, mimicking some of the newborns at the zoo, Cesar Palace brought up his own progeny, the younger Buckingham Palace, for a few songs, while encouraging the other kids to "Scream, Children, SCREAM." Being kids, they gleefully complied. It was a great night at the zoo.

And also, Chill on the Hill is really kicking in for me. Tuesday nights, up until last week, were T-Ball nights, but frankly, Chill's lineup didn't start to excite me until last week anyway. We got there too late for the Band of South Shore (a marching band ensemble from no school in particular, just kids from all over the South Shore area), and I'm sad about that, but I was just getting over this nasty stomach bug.

Speaking of bugs, what's up with the seemingly atomic mosquito invasion? But I digress.

Some folksinger chick who totally bored me and the kids was up next, but she did so some nice youth-oriented things (with a bunch of African-American youth who pretty much saved her act with their energy and enthusiasm), but I was too busy saying hello to people I haven't seen all summer to really pay attention. I told you, this whole raising kids thing has really cramped my style as a local music blogger. But then the band i came to see, the Bikiki Beachcombers, turned up onstage, along with their newest members, Damian and Betty Blexrud-Strigens a music power couple that violates my theory that married couples should never be in a band together. Somehow, they make their projects together work and that observation is displayed with Beachcombers: Damian thumps away in chararastic understated proficiency on the bass, and Betty lends her perfect voice to bring you to a paradise in Honolulu. The rest of the band is having a perfectly good time nailing down this schtick, which was great for the hour or so they were on stage, and their hula dancer, Lady Poi, helped lots of little ones get the basics of the hula. They're a fun novelty band that's really carving out a niche, and i can listen to them for about an hour before I really need something like a good punk band.

Which "Rockerbox, the annual Riverwest-based cycle festival (that's a biker event for the rest of us, not just the corporate-sponsored Harleyfests we normally get) promised to deliver. Another blogger pointed out that Rockerbox's music would be a lot deeper than the usual Steppenwolf/George Thorogood rock that you normally get at these fests and that's what I like. Of course, with all the fun kid stuff I did this month (including another visit to Pere Marquette Park to see the Wizard of Oz on the big screen, accompanied with more of those atomic mosquitoes), I had about enough time/energy to catch one band, and that band was the Fairweather Friends.

Dusty Medical Records ran the single music stage, and from what I could tell, it rocked all day. Fairweather Friends is a relatively new outfit (they debuted at the Circle A earlier this month with another recent find/favorite, Drugs Dragons) and they drew me in quickly. Great garage with two, count 'em two, keyboardists -- one on a rhodes, and othe other one what looked to be a farfisa (or at least something of that same cheap quality), to ensure a true garage sound underneath classic garage guitar playing. A lead singer who had the perfect rasp underneath his bluesy delivery and the aforementioned guitarist who also doubled as a vocal duet (he was more prominent than just a backup singer). They ahd it all -- good ballads, rocken anthems, teen-angst wailing, great classic melodies that swung back and forth. I've already "liked" them on Facebook so that I can make sure I catch them again, if I get time.

At least I got to see a few other of the Rockerbox bands via videos that people posted. Holy Sch!t (name spelled wrong to get through some internet filters) apparently turned in a tight punk set, and I'll be hunting for others. But for now, I guess I'm a bit of a fairweather blogger until I get some more energy and time. In the meantime, I'm hoping that the weather clears up for my planned excursion to that most unpretentious of Milwaukee events, State Fair. I've already waxed poetic about how i love State Fair. It's exactly what it is, and it doesn't try to be more. It doesn't claim it's the "Worlds Biggest Music Festival" even though it gets some bands and sometimes something worth going to see. No, it's rides, food on a stick, mediocre and (sometimes really good) cover, tribute, and rehashed bands, animals, smells, and, well, it's a State Fair. Watching the radar to see if the rain lets up, and packing another bottle of DEET in my purse.

Mom! It's great in here!

2010-07-08T08:13:00.002-05:00

Mom! It's great in here!
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Stella's driving me crazy. She's emotional, she's short tempered, everything annoys her, she doesn't know what to do with herself half the time, she's driving her little brother crazy (and bless him, he takes it in stride). In short, she's premenstrual. And it's not just her. When I'm dealing with that Girl Scout troop she's a part of, there's days I come home and just mumble to myself something about how I wish they'd all get their freakin' periods already. I really don't know how their full-time schoolteacher puts up with it all day during the school year.

What's making it worse for the poor girl is that her little brother Sammy is at the height of 6 year old boy precociousness and cuteness, so everybody just loves him. He's a good guy and he's funny and he's still all bright eyes about the world, and he's Little Mr. Sunshine, but it seems like Stella's worldview is Danny Price and the Loose Change song.

That's why, despite it raining for three days up north on my vacation, it was all worth it for a wonderful moment. (Never mind there were plenty of good moments --playing in the swimming hole we found, setting up our own Diet Coke and Mentos demo and other playing in the North Woods activities. But it wasn't the complete idyllic vacation -- almost all of it was rained out. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I'm supposed to appreciate the elegance of nature and rain and all that live each moment in the zen crap, but this was my freakin' vacation. I've had enough of rain this past month in Milwaukee.

But after a long day road tripping sightseeing, it was finally hot and sunny out, and it was our last night there when STella asked, "Can we go to the reservoir and see the sunset?" I wanted to (because who can resist the cliche photography?) and nobody else did. So we looked around and said, "Hey everybody, we'll be back." Amazingly enough, Sammy wasn't interested.

I'd already showered, changed out of a swimsuit and had fresh, dry clothes on, but Stella still had her suit on. We jumped on our bikes and rode down.

And it was gorgeous. All chimney red and fire engine orange, as Tom Waits would say, except this was a sunset, and not a fire. It was that moment that looked like somebody had spilled orange and blue paint on the normally rust colored water (and this was glow in the dark paint) and Stella just ran right in. She started splashing about and literally washing herself off with that sunset. I stood there in my dry, clean clothes and conditioned hair and watched her longingly, wishing I could join her.

She must have seen that, even with her glasses off, because she even said, "You want to come in, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I'm all in dry clothes and such...." She cut me off. "Were you going to wear THOSE PANTS and THAT SHIRT tomorrow?"

"Well, uh, no....."

"Then what's stopping you from running in?" she asked, sounding like me when I ask her questions like, "What's stopping you from making your own breakfast?"

I popped off my glasses, put down the camera, and joined her. And we saw how cool the sunset looked against the water at water level (it's a great perspective that you have to be there to appreciate-- freakin' Monet couldn't have captured it) and we just laughed together and swam and had little races and there was not one bit of frustration or cynicism or any of that pre-teen boredom crap. There she was -- I found my funny, happy, creative, adventuresome little girl again, and I'm confident that when she learns how to tread water in this swirling cesspool of hormones that nature deals us girls, I'll see a lot more of her once again.

Oh, Brother

2010-07-02T23:45:00.002-05:00

sweatin' out the pipes
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I'm a little behind on my blogging, but I'm getting caught up seeing good music. You'd think this was going to be a Summerfest blog entry, but you'd be wrong. I'm writing about a free show, the kind I love taking my kids to in the summer.

River Rhythms is one of my favorite places to see bands for free. The backdrop of the river itself is nice, but it also happens to be in a part of town where the sunset's reflection on the buildings happens to cast a magical glow, and that somehow literally and figuratively reflects on the bands that play there. Case in point: Brother, three chaps from Austrailia who for whatever reason have flown under my radar all these years, cast an equally magical glow on the people who risked coming out on what could have very easily turned into one of those thunderstorms we've been getting a lot of lately.

Brother's schtick is this: they're Aussies working the Celtic (would somebody please tell the RR emcee that this is NOT a basetball team, and thus pronounced the genre "Kell-tick", not "Sell-tick") genre. That's probably why they fell under my radar -- there's plenty of good Celtic rock in Milwaukee, I don't need to go out of town, and it's not my favorite genre. I can listen to it for an hour, and then I have to leave and beg somebody to play me something in a time signature other than 3/4 or 6/8. But this is why I liked Brother. They have Celtic influences, but they're also Aussies, hence the digeriedoos (yes, plural, and yes, sometimes they play both at once), and they're rockers, hence the electric guitar, and they're also ethnic folkies (hence the squeeze box), and hence, they held my attention for both of the 90 minute sets they played.
What I liked about them most, was not just that they varied their musical style and instrumentation. They also variety their themes. One minute they're singing aussie protest songs. The next, they're singing (wonderfully sincerely) about the joys of hanging out in your backyard with your family -- and they' turned Pere Marquette park into a backyard by tossing out beach balls to play with. Lead singer Angus clearly loves what he's doing, and his enthusiasm comes out when he tells his stories, introduces their songs, and then the whole band chimes in with a passion that had me rethinking the whole Celtic thing. The kids were even up and hanging out near the stage just to be a part of the energy. And that's why I liked most about them. They had a really positive, sincere energy that wasn't at all preachy (like some of these groups can get), even when they're singing preachy protest songs! Now that they're on my radar, I won't miss them again.

A couple of days later I warned the kids, "OK, Blue Oyster Cult will be at summerfest, but they're on a Monday night, and they don't go on until 9pm, so if we want to catch them this year, we're going to be tired. "

Right, like they were going to say "Well, let's be sensible and blow it off."

We went to swimming class, and then hopped on a shuttle bus, got searched, and made our way to the M&I Classic rock stage, tucked in behind the Marcus Amp, and found some wobbly benches after the obligatory sky ride. And BOC, our family favorite, was wonderful as usual. Yeah, they did the huge hits, (Reaper, Burning for You, and Sammy's favorite song EVER, Godzilla). And they slipped in plenty of deep cuts (no E.T.I, or This Ain't the Summer of Love, and as this wasn't a biker rally for once, no Golden Age of Leather), but they did give us Before teh Kiss, a Redcap.

Something that, amazingly enough, we encountered for the first time: "Mom, what's that smell?"

"Nothing," I said, kind of relieved she didn't already know what it was. She went to the port-o-let, though and came back reporting, "Mom, that smell's in the port-o-let. Really strong. It really stank in there."

"Uh, reeks, sweetheart," I said, accepting that she might as well know. "The term is 'reeks'." She wanted to know why nobody was getting arrested since it's illegal.

"Because there are plenty of drunk people around getting in violent fights and the cops have their hands full with that. The thing about potheads is that they don't get violent. They're too stoned. They'll cuss at you if they're pissed but that's about it. Drunks get violent, because they're drunk and they can't feel the bottle being broken over their head."

I had no idea how accurate I was being. This night turned out to be the night that a cop trying to break up a fight near a stage where a rap group (that earlier we'd declared mediocre) was playing. Well, of course. We're all playing air drums to "Cities Aflame with Rock and Roll" along with all the other old farts on the south end of the park, and slowing mixing with the thousands of old farts starting to shuffle out of the Marcus bellowing how great Clapton was. Oh, well, at least I didn't have to explain what that song "Cocaine" was all about.

So, I went back to the old neighborhood

2010-06-20T10:03:00.006-05:00

Southwood School (at night, duh)
Originally uploaded by V'ron

I grew up in a town called Country Club Hills, which is in the South 'burbs of Chicago, about where I-57 and I-80 cross. It was a good place to grow up. Schools and parks within walking distance, but yanno, it was still the 'burbs and I'm fundamentally a city mouse. So, you may remember that I blew off my high school reunion in favor of the Vertebrats' reunion, but when a call for an old CCH reunion was put out, and I learned that a lot of the kids from the mid-70s Southwood Junior High gang would be there, I couldn't resist.

This had potential to be a bust. I'm normally about playing it by ear and keeping things loose, but "Noon to 8, park changed a the last minute, everybody bring a dish to pass!" was just a little too loose for me. No rain plan, only one port-o-let and god only knows when Midnight Express was gonna play, (much less where they were supposed to plug and and who was gonna run the PA and, oh yeah, who was gonna bring the PA....) Who was Midnight Express? Why, they played at my 8th Grade Graduation! They played at my high school Freshman Mixer! They played at every 4th of July right before the fireworks in Wulf Park, which is misspelled in Google Maps, BTW and they brought acoustic instruments (and a small battery pack) to power the keyboard) over to Atkin Park yesterday and they played there too. They played "Smoke On The Water" back then and they played it yesterday. And they played a selection of tunes from the era and we all kind of realized how old we were.

My childhood best friend (who I haven't talked to in 30 some odd years) was there earlier in the day, and in some respects, it wasn't like anything changed. We both grew up and ended up being into (what's now being called) alt-rock (we did run into each other at the Pretenders show in Champaign in '81, agreeing that Chrissie Hynde was the coolest woman we had ever seen) and we both have this affinity (that i can't explain, but regular sixthstation readers know about this) for Blue Oyster Cult. And she gets Hawkwind! I thought my husband was the ultimate Hawkwind fan, but this girl? Flew out to England to see 'em at a festival because Dave Brock couldn't leave the country.

Susan had to leave earlier in the day, right about when all the other kids from our era were just starting to show up. There were probably 10-15 of us scattered through the day, but there were people I was glad to see. It was like trying to get caught up with the plot of Glee when you only just started watching during the second season (Will Schuester was married to some chick who faked a pregnancy to keep their marraige together?!?!? How'd we miss that?) It was like each of us had 30 seconds to summarize 30 years, oh, there were a few uneasy moments. ("Didn't you have a brother/sister named so-and-so?" "S/he died/flipped out/had an operation and has never been the same.") Admittedly, I was more out of it than others -- many of these folks have kept in way better touch with each other than I did, but I was still amazed at the razor sharp memories we all had, and actually, moments that I could still remember from my youth. Some of us had peaks and valleys: one friend suffered a stroke (and he's doing fine, but he admits "it's just not the same after a storke") there's been weddings (and divorces), sudden deaths of people our age, our kids making us crazy. In short, we all lived lives, and we have great memories of what was a generally collectively good childhood.

I think I approached this with some trepidation because, well, I wasn't exactly Marcia Brady, Most Popular Girl, but as I confirmed yesterday, none of that shit matters now. I also learned that I wasn't the only person who remembers certain people as bullies (oh, let's say it, so-and-so really was a major prick!) but we could just as easily laugh it off now. And the stories we collectively told (somebody would start a story and we'd help each other fill in the details) of various notorious classmates, teachers, and other people in our lives. Oh, and that softball league! The Country Club Hills Girls' Softball League! Funny how time clouds memories:
"The Sunshines were great."
"No, the Sunshines sucked. The Pink Panthers were the team to beat."
"And we beat 'em," said a member of the Violets.
"No, the Sunshines were good, really."
"Well you beat us, the Radicals, once," I admitted. "And we were way too ashamed to go to Dairy Queen afterwards because we'd have to tell people we were beat by the Sunshines."
And then there was a healthy dollop of Let's Confirm Once and For All Stories We'd Always Wondered About:
"Hey, whatever happened to Miss Notorious Teacher? Didn't she have a thing with Johnny GoodlookingStudent?"
"Nooooooooo! Are you kidding?!?!"
"I was in a bar once a few years later in High School when Mr. Nerdy Administrator recognized me and tried to hit on me!"
"Ewwwwww!"
"Remember that time we walked out of school?"

That's how it went. We told lots of stories and had a good time, and it was worth the drive down from Milwaukee. And as I had tweeted, I couldn't have asked for a better night to fly my car up the Dan Ryan expy, up the Edens, windows down, stereo cranked, taking in everything I loved -- and still love -- about the Chicago area in general. It was a perfect summer night, capping off one of, come to think of it, hundreds of perfect summer days in Country Club Hills. This one just happened to be yesterday, not 40 years ago.

Start of the Summer Festival Season

2010-06-16T19:47:00.003-05:00

Nighttime Blue Angels
Originally uploaded by V'ron

The scene: it's Friday night, after a long week at work, and my grrlfrien Mary Jo wants to drink. Sorry, have the kids (that's what living with a 2nd shift husband will do for ya) but how about a kid-friendly experience? The nighttime air show! There's a nighttime airshow, follow by (what else in Milwaukee) fireworks! So, what the heck. Brave the lakefront/downtown traffic and see if I can actually get a parking place and let's go, kids! MJ will meet us there. And believe it or not, I secured a close, free, safe parking place. I'm not going to tell you where, but enought to say it was really close to what turned out to be the best place to watch the air show -- just east of the North Point Water tower. The fireworks were right in front of us, and we could see the skydivers and their sparklie things, and watch each of them land on the same spot on Bradford beach. MJ joined us right at the end, and we had a smashing game of glow-in the dark frisbee afterwards. Summer is here!
So we're driving over the Hoan Bridge to get home and there's PrideFest. "That looks fun," Stella observes, seeing the crowd at the main stage, obviously yukking it up with Kathy Griffin. "Can we go?" Hmmmm. I think these kids are ready for PrideFest. I needed to explain to them what a drag queen is, and then I had to have the whole conversation about why PrideFest even exists. So we went on Saturday, a dreary cloudy day decorated up by, as many put it, the best people watching ever. I was amazed that the haters weren't out there protesting. In fact, there were some Christians who were proclaiming their pride in their gay children. (Now that's what I suspect JC had in mind.) There was a band called Shanda out of Brooklyn made up of gay, Jewish twentysomethings (my Jewish companions reminding me that "Shanda" is Yiddish for "Shame") that brought to mind a sort of east cost version of Sleater-Kinney, with an added violin and less harsh vocals. I liked them. Lead singer and violinist were the strong points. Proud mom moment number 1: having to explain to Stella why PrideFest even needs to exist, becasuse as Stella observed, "This is just like a regular festival with regular people and everything," (albeit a bit more colorful). Proud mom moment number 2: Sammy being fascinated by Miss Pride Fest: "That's really a boy?!? I can't tell." He looked for clues, but a six year old does not know what to look for. Instead, we paid a visit to the henna tattoo artist, we stuffed ourselves on festival food and watched a belly dancing troupe. The kids enjoyed the sky glider but were too pooped out to stay for Patti LaBelle, which is a shame. Plus, the opening comic for Patti LaBelle was getting a little inappropriate for kids (this, from a mom who lets her kids watch portions of Tarantino films....). I'd heard Miss Patti was tremendous. Next time.

Snopek Brings His Own Bar
to Locust Street
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

Wake up kids! It's time for Locust Street! We didn't make it to the beer run, but we got there in time to catch a bit of Lovanova's set, and they started the day off on a progressive note. What started as an difficult-to-communicate idea in Paul Kneevers' head is growing into a viable, loungy, proggy act that's fun to listen to, even without a light up organ. (Instead, Kneevers figuratively lit up his head with bright orange hair dye.) Locust Street regular Sigmund Snopek brought his own bar to the Klinger's stage, and we were set.

If I were booking the Linneman's stages, though, I would have swapped some of the outdoor acts indoors and vice versa. Case in point: Heidi Spencer. Talented singer-songwriter with a distinctive voice (think: Amy Winehouse, sober) whose style is more coffeehouse than outdoor drunken hippiefestival. That would have fit in nicely with Jim Linneman's dark, twinkly lit band room, where it would have been protected from the roar of the Blue Angels above. I would have put the honky-tonk sounds of Dyna Flow and Her Roadmasters outside, along with the Outlaws-sounding reverie of the Grand Disaster. The former is definitely a party band that fits the feel of this classic Riverwest festival perfectly. The latter has really come into their own in the past year, finding their voice, and delivering great storytelling punkified western/country (note that I put the W word FIRST). That's their niche: the storytelling angle that makes one recall both the Outlaws (in two-guitar dueling), and Johnny Cash (in their storytelling style). Or maybe even Southern Rock, but that would have you calling for "Freebird" and that's just not their style. But they're all nice punk boys, too, which is why I've been following this band's progress and am a fan. Where would I have put the Danglers in all of this? I could watch them in jail, but they were outside, begging the rain to lay off (and it did!) and taking us on their usual trip through jazz, psychedelia, and acid rock. After the Danglers was another outlawcountry punk band called The Wildbirds whose music fit their scraggly, edgy appearance. I liked them and will definitely check them out again.

Later on on the Lakefront stage there was a dissonant, angry, syncopated combo called Boy With Bosoms that, while not exactly a festival party band, really laid down a groove of intense too-conscious-to-be-emocore rock. Not my thing, but good at what they did and should build a following. An earnest group of chaps called Glenview Lane played in front of Saylece's and had great, hard pop that I enjoyed while the kids played in that little garden park. But I didn't see as many people I knew there. Maybe last year's shooting scared them off, but I'm here to report that (probably as a result of last year's incident) the place was crawling with cops and it was a fairly laid-back time. It's summer in Milwaukee, and it's off to a great start.

feedback, originally uploaded by V'ron.

Funeral for a friend

2010-06-15T21:23:00.002-05:00

She's being modest, but Stonie Rivera has done a lot of the heavy lifting for the memorial to Tess, which will be this Friday night at the Uptowner. Here's the latest in terms of what will be going on during the evening.

8:00 til 9:00......TRIBUTE TO TESS....MUSIC, VIDEO, OPEN MIC FOR MEMORIES, STORIES & LAST WORDS.

There will be a compilation video put together by Dave J of Tess' video moments that will be shown between bands.

Thanks to

Edgar Allen Cash for donating the PA
Dr. Chow's Love Medicine for equipment
Mark Shurilla for equipment, Mics & stands
Steve Johnson for the venue
Stonie Rivera for managing the band lineup and securing venue and incidentals.
Wes Streater for Funeral Arrangements. Tess will be interred on Tuesday, 6/22 at 1:00 pm at Southern WI Veterans Memorial Center in Dover WI (near Union Grove). As he was a US Navy Veteran, he is entitled to be honored with a military gravesite.

The lineup for bands so far for June 18 at the Uptowner is comprised of musicians who have played with Tess throughout the years. It's by no means a complete list of his musical partners, but will be a wonderful and varied backdrop for stories and memories about the man:

9:30: Laurie & Jessie Kern
10:00:.La Ghostra Nostra
10:30: Mark Shurilla Band
11:00: Edgar Allen Cash
11:30: Rob McCuen Band
12:00: Dr. Chow's Love Medicine
1:00: TBA.....OPEN JAM

Come raise a glass, share a story, and remember a Milwaukee music legend.

Quick Tess Update

2010-06-07T17:30:00.002-05:00

Confirmed: a local celebration of James "Tess" Tessier's life will take place at the Uptowner, (Center and Humboldt) on Friday night, June 18. More info as we get it, but I think it's safe to say that it will begin sometime after happy hour and last through to closing time....

Springtime Roundup into Summer

2010-06-07T17:29:00.004-05:00

Light organ
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Gee, just how LONG has it been since I blogged? Too long, friends, but I’ve seen and done some fun stuff:

How much does the Milwaukee Ballet rock? This is how much: their production of Peter Pan was engaging and compelling enough to inspire two six year old boys to exclaim “It was awesome” afterwards. It didn’t hurt that the story was full of pirates, boys who could fly, an adorable puppy dog and a likable Wendy making sense of it all, but still. You had no spoken dialog, music that, while comfortable, wasn’t something the boys recognized, and a story line you really had to pay attention to and presumably already know. (The boys had caught wind of the Disney version.) Yes, I took Sammy and his best buddy and they were wonderfully gentlemanly enough and even said “excuse me” as we slid our way through the row to our seats. We got to see the impish Marc Petrocci play the title role (originally the Friday performance was going to be his off night, but the other guy got sick…) and yeah, this is one of those parts that seems to be written for him. And I’m glad I got to see one of the fabulous Tatiana Jouravel’s last performances with the Milwaukee Ballet, although I didn’t realize it at the time. I looked through next year’s season book, and she’s not pictured. A little digging around, and, well, at least we’re not losing her to some other ballet – apparently she’s retiring from full-time ballet. What a loss for us. Still, this company rocks, and the fact they could attract and keep an elegant, world class talent like Jouravel through to the end of her career pretty much underlines that fact.

I – and a pile of other parents – took our girl scouts camping the weekend before last. That 80 almost 90 degree weekend. That weekend we couldn’t find a red cross certified lifeguard so that we could go swimming. Still, the nights were cool, and we cooked almost all our meals over an open fire, coming home, smelling like a fireplace and exhausted from staying up all night in a tent. I passed out by midnight, but the girls? It was like a weekend long slumber party.

Before the memorial day really kicked in, I ventured out to Club Garibaldi to once again check out the loungy/rocky sounds of Lovanova, this time for a CD release party (oh, and vinyl too – they had it all on a genuine vinyl with an Album Cover and everything!) and they were as wonderfully tight and delightful as they were the first time I saw them. Paul Kneevers has added a touch of fun kitsch to his Hammond organ – this time a screen implanted with lights that went on and off in time to the music. They have a strong element of jazz fusion going here, but it’s good, mid to late 70s jazz fusion, not that sucky jazz fusion the emerged in the 80s that everybody hates. They keep the suckieness factor out by bringing in guests (on sax and violin) that actually add to the music – particularly fun was bringing in the Danglers' Jason Loveall for a piece that ended up sounding like you just got off the plane in Istanbul and turned on a boombox.

Esh the Singer
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

They opened for a relatively new afro-beat group called Tristan Royalty Squad that had peaks and valleys for me. Peaks: Esh the Singer – marvelous voice, compelling stage presence, and flat out physical beauty. She’s got those huge, “Look at Me Cos I’m Lookin’ At You” eyes that make every word she sings pop, even when she’s just tapping percussion instruments together during a break or intro. Also like the huge percussion section (required in an afro beat group) and almost metronome-like unshakablity that delivers on their promise to keep an audience dancing all night. Valleys? I could use a little more dynamics, both in rhythm (pretty much the same tempo and time signature all night) and in volume (pretty much on medium all night, too). As such, since I was a little too tired to dance, they didn’t hold my attention too long for just the music. But again, this is a powerhouse dance party band (an early song had the refrain, “Ain’t Nothin But a Party” – that’s exactly what they promise and deliver. So once you get folks on the dance floor happy, a consistent tempo and volume will keep them there. And it’s the kind of dancing you can do in a niteclub, with your slinky dress and high heels, which made this a really good pairing with Lovanova.

Stayed home on Sunday to watch the Indy 500 and I’ll just echo the thousands who believe that Indycar should have a Green-White-Checkered rule and shut up now.

Hit Cool Waters with the kids on Monday. Monday was a great day to go because it was grey and dreary, but it was still muggy and warmish, so it was a good temperature to go swimming. As such, since it didn’t look like a good day to swim, it wasn’t packed and we could have lots of fun hitting the waterslides and the tube slides without waiting 15 minutes for a turn. They’ve got some helpful lifeguards who would actually give kids a ferocious pushoff the tube slide – I mentioned to one, “You’re gonna have some ferocious pecs by the end of the summer,” which I guess is sort of the point in LifeGuard world, eh?

And finally, I took the kids on a walk near the lakefront that involved climbing down (and back up) a huge cliff. "That was some adventure," Stella said afterwards. It was the kind of thing that reminded me how old I'm getting to be, but how young these kids keep me.

Coming up: a huge summer of really good outdoor, kid-friendly and FREE musical offerings in the country parks and other venues. As far as I’m concerned, the season starts with Locust Street festival, with favorites including the Danglers, Dyna Flor and Her Roadmasters, the Grand Disaster, Matt Hendricks, Lovanova, Drugs Dragons and a bunch others on the stages.

He Was The Walrus

2010-06-03T22:13:00.009-05:00

I was just about to sit down and get all caught up with wonderful Milwaukee culture when I saw the FB posting from Lars -- James "Tess" Tessier, AKA the Walrus, died today. We've lost another Milwaukee music legend to cancer, dammit.

This obit is a bit hard to write for me. Tess and i were roomies in the early 90s (we weren't in a "relationship" -- we just shared the rent in a two-bedroom place in Riverwest over this 100-year old landlady). Let's just say we're not the kind of people who should have been roommates with each other and leave it at that. We didn't part amicably, but we since became civil to each other and even evolved back into friendliness. I'd pretty much lost touch with him in recent years, only hearing about his status every now and then from a mutual acquaintance or friend.

One thing I never lost however, was my respect for his musicianship and admiration for his deep knowledge of my favorite ever genre of rock: garage rock (and all its sub genres -- surf, cycle, psychedelia, etc). His old job in the record department at the old Radio Doctors gave him access to all the Nuggets and Pebbles compiliations and he'd pretty much memorized them all. As such, if a garage band needed a drummer or a guitarist or a singer who knew the most obscure of one-hit wonders by some band out of Akron or Timbuktu or East Troy, he was at the ready.

I first came across him when he was looking to fill out an incarnation of his band, the Silverbeats. He'd recruited my friend Dan Mullen to play lead guitar, and Mullen had rounded up a terrific, metal-rock drummer (who understood the power of garage) named Mike Hughes. (and I sometimes wonder if Tess resented the fact that I pretty much stole his rhythm section -- Mullen and Hughes -- to form the first incarnation of my first "real" band, Loblolly -- but it's not like they stopped being Silverbeats to do so.) I think Tim Kern might have sat in on bass for a while with them. Together, the Silverbeats cranked out sets of great garage rock -- brilliant covers coupled with Tess' own compositions that ranged from angst filled teen anthems to almost folky trippy wonders that would have been Donovan-worthy. (His tribute of Frank The Pepperoni Man remains one of my favorites -- a folky psychedelic paean to that Brady Street denizen hollering "Pepperoni! Cannoli!" over a guitar filtered so many times it sounded like a harpsichord.)

Oh, God, as all Milwaukee "characters" went, he was ripe for parody. We all called him the Salad Tosser when it came to describing how he played the drums. Everybody I know can whip out their impression of Tess, usually sounding like an aging James Stewart on quaaludes. There was even some major skits and sketches devoted to him: the phony radio spots for The Walritis Foundation, the Trash Fest video: The Tess Files (in a very X-Files way, detailing how Walritis had infiltrated the United States). God bless him, he sometimes laughed it off, sometimes he just observed them in that "hmmmm, curious" way. Still, if a person's life can be measured by how many great (and fun) stories he generated, Tess' spirit -- for better or for worse -- will be with us for a long, long time.

I can't for the life of me find the pictures I shot of the Silverbeats, but I'll keep looking, because those represent how I want to remember Tess. At his best, he was a musician ready to pick up and play, especially gifted with the steel guitar and the straight up guitar, but he could get behind a drumkit and toss the salad with a controlled fury. Those Silverbeats days were as a time when I knew him as a gentle soul (who never really stopped being gentle,despite our differences). He'd later gone on to be in a number of equally great bands: Laurie Kern's Petals, or with one of the best overlooked surf bands in town, the Alewives (with Paul "the Fly" Lawson, Tim Kern, and the late, great Davy Jones). He sat in with Nicole and the Educators for some of the most memorable sets you ever saw in Riverwest. This is the Tess I remember, this is the Tess I'm sad to see pass.

I Saw This and Thought Of You

2010-05-06T09:06:00.005-05:00

Pretty much everybody in the Milwaukee Music Community has heard of the passing of Geoff "Stinky" Worman last week. It was sudden to many of us (last Brian heard anything a coupla weeks ago, he was in Flipville and Stinky had told Brian, "Well, I'm gonna have to cut down my hours, so it's probably best to call and make sure I'm here and open") and the next thing we knew, I log into face book and get the awful news. And in the spirit of what everybody has to say about him, he knew his people. Brian walked in that day and Stinky had some terrific Blatz memorabilia waiting for him, as he knew Brian was a Blatz collector. He was the original "I saw this and thought of you" guy.

I'm not going to be nearly as eloquent as Lars Kvan is in this week's Shepherd so I'm not even going to try. I'm the wrong person to write an eulogy or obit for him. I don't go as far back as my native Milwaukee music community friends. All I can offer is a wonderful memory of first moving to Milwaukee and stumbling into The Landing on a snowy wintry night, where three musicians (one of them who turned out to be Stinky) were playing lonely Christmas songs in a surf style, loving the season but musicially wishing it were summer (and that aesthetic was absolutely perfectly rendered in the music), and realizing I'd picked a great town to lay down some roots. Oh, and I'm grateful that -- some 20 years, a wedding and two babies later -- my kids don't seem to realize the difference in "toys" when we would go visit Flipville (as opposed to the stuff you can get at ToysRUs) and the kids called it "the Toy Store." They don't fully get the aesthetic and $$$ value of all those vintage toys (and vinyl, don't forget vinyl) that were collected there. They just appreciated them for what they were ("Hey, look it's a Barbie with short hair"), and I'd like to think Stinky got a kick out of that.

Anyway, go read Lars' eulogy. As he was tighter than me with the man, he captures his spirit better than I -- or I suspect anybody at this point -- could. In the meantime, as as his "official newspaper obit" asks I'm going to go spin some vinyl. Surf music, to be exact. Rest in peace, Geoff. Saying you will be missed is the understatement of the century.

EVERY seat had a towel

2010-05-01T09:44:00.002-05:00

EVERY seat had a towel
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Looks like I picked the wrong year to not be able to afford Bucks season tickets, eh? Oy, and I've been out of this blogging thing too. Too much going on, very little of it (for me) having to do with music or sport. People, I missed the PiL show last night. I've only seen two bands since I last wrote. Middle school drama, jury duty (and I was on a case, too, in Children's Court, so you know it wasn't a happy time).
Last night's Bucks game was (where the hell is my thesaurus) disappointing, even though you can say to yourself, "Look, with two guys on the DL, we weren't supposed to even be here tonight. We were supposed to be out of it after four," it was still Gotta Believe time, so much so that I splurged and got myself and the kids some seats in the corner of the 400 section (these days, that's splurging!) and we had ourselves a time. The party outside was fun, the kids made their own signs, and learned to twirl a basketball a la Meadowlark Lemon. We get inside and the place is RED. Every seat has a towel on it, ready to wave.

So we settle into our seats, grabbing our towels (that EVERY seat had) and took it all in. Anthem from -- wait for it -- Jerry Stackhouse! And he can sing! And going into half time.... oh, I'm not even going to talk about this game. You can read enough about it from the rest of the internet. That third quarter was ugly. (People, it's not like Atlanta was exactly hitting their shots, either. They just hit a few more in that quarter, but both teams had a butt ugly percentage). Ugly, ugly, ugly. And not to sound like a sorehead, but the officiating was butt-ugly. Not that that would have won the game (what happened to Jennings anways?) but it seemed like somebody in the NBA front office decided more money could be made if this series went to 7. And, again, what happened to Brandon Jennings? Who was that guy who suited up and took the court last night? It was like the real Brandon Jennings changed his game as quickly as halftime act "Quick Change" (remember them from America's Got Talent two seasons ago? Still doing the same -- albeit amazing -- schtick.)

A couple of things I noticed: Here's Bogut, looking like Elvis '68, sittin' next to Skiles, and cheering on the team. Yes, conspicuous in that cream colored suit, but very visibly there and with his team. We want conspicuous. Where's the other guy who's on the DL? Was he even there? He was conspicuous by his absence. And the crowd. On a micro level, we were all grousing during the third quarter. (I handed Stella some money and told her to get us all some ice cream or fries or some other kind of comfort food because I was getting some indigestion. But on a macro scale, this crowd did NOT give up on the Bucks, which two seasons ago they would have. Every shot the Bucks did make opened up a glimmer of hope, that they could pull off a repeat of Wednesday, punctuated with waving of towels and an on-our-feet encouraging roar. We didn't give up on the Bucks, but it seemed like they did. By the fourth quarter, they just ran out of gas. But this crowd is the difference between us and Atlanta. Yeah, we pissed and moaned about it on the way out, and the blogs and radio talk are pissing and moaning about the game (and rightfully so) but at least we didn't boo the team off the court at the end and in fact, a LOT of the crowd stayed until the bitter end. Oh well. As I explained to my two heartbroken kids, "Look, we weren't supposed to get this far, this game wasn't even supposed to exist, so let's go home and watch some cartoons."

OK, a quick music roundup:

Conducting
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

On the classical side, or the neo-classical side, the Milwaukee Spectral Chamber Orchestra debuted at Woodland Pattern a couple of weeks back. Last time I was at Woodland Pattern, I must admit, it was to see equally experimental music from Fred Frith and Hans Reichel, and this kind of reminded me of that. The composition was sort of an exercise in taking somthing very basic (in this case, the notes D, D#, and E) and stretching, bending, and taking them as far as it could go. Truly an experiment, using both classical instruments, and made up ones (such as and old piano turned on its side to use as a percussion), and electric instruments (a computer, and a plugged in bass guitar). I brought Stella, who admitted, "Mom, this isn't my kind of music," and I could understand that. At the same time, the musicians in this group come from a waide variety of musical backgrounds -- you had Danglers and Femmes, and everything in between, all trying to see, really, what they could do with three notes. It's stuff like this that makes me happy to live in a town that doesn't really require THAT MUCH EFFORT to dig to get to a very interesting underground. Really, folks, it's not that hard to find good, non-mainstream stuff here.

Secret Asian Man
Originally uploaded by V'ron.
And it doesn't always come FROM here. Case in point: a terrific night of surf music I caught at Kochanski's the other week. Opening the night was a group called Abstract Artemis which, unbeknownst to me, were actually members of the band I would see later that night, Daikaiju. Abstract Artemis was wack enough: they jut hit the stage and played the lifing daylights out of their instruments, in a surf-meets-psychedelic metal kind of thing.
Back to earth with the debut of The Dick Satan Trio an act I've been anticipating for months and they delivered. Eric Knitter likes the same kind of surf music -- dangerous, yet elegant -- that I do and he plays it well. Never saw Ted Jorin playing the bass before, and I'm glad I did. After he broke a string (who the hell breaks a bass string?) the guys from Abstract Artemis helped with their bass, they seemed to hit their stride and played a wonderful mix of classic surf tunes and wicked originals.
But the headliner was Daikaiju, a surf band from Alabama (what's in the water down there?) that dresses -- and plays the surf -- like a bunch of Japanese Kabuki actors, with song titles to match. Wow. Two, count em, two drummers who kept an almost aboriginal tribal beat going. I grabbed their CD and and twittered all night about them. They had precision down, they borrowed bits of metal from their earlier band, yet retained the surf feel (and slipped in plenty of psychedelia). Remembering them made up for last night's disappointment at the Bradley Center.

There and Back and all jazzed up

2010-02-20T08:19:00.002-06:00

evil hammond
Originally uploaded by V'ron

OK, Ok, please don’t tell me how wonderful the Residents show was. I’m still smarting that I couldn’t make it, especially when Marlavous called me at the last minute with a free ticket. But you can’t use a free ticket if you can’t get last minute child care either. So yes, while all the cool kids were at the Turner Hall Ballroom watching the latest incarnation of whatever cool performance art those guys came up with this time around, I sat home flipping between American Idol (and only 7 people put through on Tuesday? Bah! I hate Hollywood Week) and watching Lindsay Jacobellis wipe out at the Olympics.

That’s not to say I haven’t seen a lot of good music anyway in the past few weeks, and I seem to have fallen into this jazz kick. Except this is Milwaukee , and in Milwaukee, we twist it up. Case in point: Lovanova, a four-piece combo that at first glance, looked like a good reason for Paul Kneevers to finally haul that bigass Hammond Organ out of The Compound and play that mutha at Club Garibaldi’s on a cold February night. And so he did. It’s heavy, both in girth and sound, so heavy that running it through a Leslie amp is almost required to take the edge off. Lovanova describes itself as rock/lounge, but I think htat’s just because it’s hard to get a handle on them otherwise. Kneevers himself admitted that as he recruited musicians for this project, it took some time (as in months) to communicate his vision to them. There’s rock, yes (you can’t help that with Jeff Hamilton in the band, this time on bass), and “lounge” sounds a lot cooler (especially to my ears) than the smooth jazz that’s almost implied when somebody says “lounge.” Face it, is it a cool lounge with real hipsters, or some awful place where the clientele doesn’t realize that the Five Card Studs are in costume?

Fortunately, it’s the former: a very cool lounge, populated by people who remember going to see Jeff Beck on the “There and Back” tour; that’s how much skill Kneevers manages on his Hammond – despite its heaviness, you can still hear Josh Tovar’s wonderful, Beck-like guitar runs (played with as much passion). As such, I (along with the rest of the audience) was enthralled, both at the passion, musicianship, and oh, it was plain fun to listen to and enjoy a snappy cocktail to. Like Beck, I was there, and I’ll be back.

Later the same night, I couldn’t tear myself away from another wonderful Danglers set (a band which regular readers know I’ve begun to take for granted). “Never the same set twice” they advertise, and they’re right. Like chameleons, they adapt wonderfully to their environment and did so this evening, starting off with some classic jazz that seamlessly poured into their (getting to be standard) cover of Pink Floyd’s “Astronomy Domine”. You couldn’t tell they were going from jazz to psychedelia, you just all of a sudden noticed they’d taken you there. But I had to leave about 50% through the set; I’d been up since 5 am on a Friday, and was running on fumes. The fact that I even stayed as late as I did was more of a tribute to my fandom for this band.

De La MUY Buena
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

A week later, that same chameleon-like magic struck again at Club Garibaldi, this time with a Latin twist. I’d seen DeLaBuena in a park before and written how much they really grabbed me by the end of a set. And they did it again – they are almost subversive in the way they start out their set with almost garden variety “Ricky Why Can’t I Play In Your Band” Cuban salsa, and as the night goes on, they’re slipping in syncopated jazz (in messed up time signatures), African beats, and by the time you’ve noticed, you’re already on the mothership shooting to some psychedelic planet in space, ready to ask Sun Ra how to say “Arkestra” in Spanish. This is a band that needs to cover Black Sabbath (this time it was War Pigs – again, with a full horn section, cantado en Espanol: Los cerros guerros! ) to bring you back to reality, before sending you home with a comforting and straight up rendition of La Comanchero.

Playing the Kora
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

The whole night was a Haiti Fundraiser, this time for a group called Youthaiti. Opening the set was Yaya Kambaye, a pair of Senegalese brothers (and I believe one of them is living here in Milwaukee) who play the kora – a harp like instrument that most people would recognize by sound – it makes that sound you always hear in “world music” compositions. I marveled not only at their skill in playing it (not to mention what a beast it must be to keep in tune!) but at the skill they had in using these simple instruments along with drums to get a crowd both listening intently and eventually dancing like they were going to start singing in tongues. Members of DeLaBuena would join them occasionally to add more thythm and percussion, but I got the impression it wasn’t because they needed it, but more because the musicians simply enjoyed the camaraderie and universal language of rhythm. It was one of those things that reminded me what a special, undiscovered country the Milwaukee Music scene is. Only downer was the woman from Youthaiti who spoke before the music started. Youthaiti is doing some terrific work: they didn’t just spring up over the earthquake, they’ve been there this whole time and their goal is to build sustainable work and businesses in Haiti. The woman who spoke is obviously doing great work and she’s passionate about her work, but she arrived on stage with a microphone and asked for people’s attention. It’s a Saturday night at a crowded bar in Milwaukee, the slight dip in volume is what you’re going to get, girlfriend. Your disappointment that they didn’t all immediately hush up and turn their undivided attention to you like you were a priest about to deliver a sermon at a Lutheran church didn’t warrant your shouting to the crowd “Shut up! I have something important to say.” Get over yourself: you have a microphone in a bar, and that should be good enough. If your words are that important, people will listen and those who don’t want to don’t have to: they’re in a bar. That said, people who’ve dedicated their lives to helping an impoverished people build sustainable income and lives do tend to get a little preachy, and yes, Youthaiti is doing terrific work but remember, this isn’t church. It’s Club Garibaldi on a Saturday and people came to dance.
Earlier in the evening still, I'd popped into the Cactus Club to catch a set from Floor Model and the Hullmen. I needed a Floor Model fix, and before realizing I'd get preached at later, their no-bullshit approach helped later. The Hullmen are, as predicted, improving by leaps and bounds, in no small part thanks to their passion for what they're doing. That's best evidenced by their drummer, Bridget, who precisely piles away on her set while the melody is held down. Glad I caught them.
Coming up: my band, Loblolly, next Saturday night (the 27th) at the Circle A. More on that later...

Populist Hoopla for Hoops

2010-01-24T00:42:00.002-06:00

Squad 6
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Well, if you're going to only hit one or two games a year (as opposed to as many as I used to go to, back when I had a full time permanent job), you might as well hit a a blowout like the Bucks served up tonight. I daresay, it was almost BOR-ing when the score got to be Bucks up by 20 (and that was by halftime), but you know me. I don't go just for the game itself, even though I could be happy just watching the game.

I know we're halfway through the season, but this is my first game this year, so, bear with me while I run through the kinds of things I would have commented on during the first few games. And that starts off with the pre-game hoopla. It was refreshingly toned down, instead of some ridiculous barrage befitting the first game of the playoffs; no, this was more tones down, and very populist in nature. Even the jumbotron montage was less about flash, and featured photos of fans arriving in the stadium, along with the Bucks themselves suiting up. There's no bombastic heavy metal or rap music -- rather there's "Bucks Wild Drumline" out there, sounding like a high school marching band, providing a basic beat. It's reasonable, not out of control, and it makes the anticipation for the game believable. The Energee Girls seem to have toned down the sluttieness, and pumped up the athleticism, too, which was refreshing to see.

But the fun thing to watch, of course, is good 'ol Squad 6 -- the section of fans organized by No 6 Andrew Bogut -- to specifically keep a promise to be on their feet and rowdy all night. their populist feel spread through the stadium. It's marketing genius. People want to be a part of it, and the rowdyness evokes a feel that's part hockey fans (every time the Mn Timberwolves' Kevin Love shot a free throw, they'd belt out the chorus to that J Geils Band song, "Love Stinks!") and part soccer supporters (especially toward the end, when you'd hear "Olay, Olay Olay Olay"). It especially brought to mind soccer fans as the Bucks' multinational makeup was represented by the flags of Argentina, Turkey, Austrailia, and the good ol USA being waved about.

Anthem tonight from some church choir singer named Dan Forness. Forness has a lovely voice, and he hit the notes perfectly and evenly, almost effortlessly. Only criticism I have here is that it almost came out like a lullaby, it was so sweet and gentle. And get this, halftime "entertainment" was a demo from Jazzercise. That's right. We got to watch an aerobics class. I finished a set of nachos while Stella tried to pick up some WiFi on her Nintendo DS, but to no avail. She can sure multitask, though. One minute, she's playing Pokemon, the next, she's a hair away from catching a T-Shirt. Best part of halftime was the half court shooting contest. The guy who won the chance to attempt a shot from half court (and thus win $10K from Potowatomi Casino) came this close to hitting it; his shot bounced off the rim and almost fell in. Even Bango was disappointed.

Oh, the GAME. What made the game not boring was that it was fun to watch some slick moves on the part of the team, especially in the first quarter when they came out like gangbusters and by the time they'd made mush of some Minnesota turnovers, the steam had been blown out of the MN team just like the Vikings had done to the Cowboys last week. Yeah, they messed up a lot (especially Delfino), but they turned it around a lot too (especially Delfino). After the game, Stella and I had an invitation to have our picture taken with Ersan Ilyasova, the not-so-young Turk. I kind of felt sorry for the nice Bucks' representative girl who offered to take the picture. I keep forgetting that with this young crowd, most have never seen, much less operated a camera that acually uses a viewfinder, instead of a preview window. "It's not on," she said, after I'd handed her my DSLR, turning into Portrait side and telling her simply, "Standard camera, halfway down to focus, all the way to shoot." I confirmed it was in program mode and then it dawned on me: "Oh,yeah, this is an SLR. That's a review screen, not a preview screen. Look through this thing right here....". She did a fine job anyway, and now Stella can go to bed secure in the knowledge that Sammy's not the only V'ron offspring that got to meet a famous athlete. In the meantime, I'm futzing with my camera on the way out, wondering, have I really gotten this old?

Old Nasty Gin

2010-01-21T20:54:00.002-06:00

Forest Home Series
Originally uploaded by V'ron

So much for resolutions, eh? Some friend on Facebook comments that he hadn’t been out since late December, and believe you me, I wasn’t the only one who clicked “Like” for that status (“Like” in this case meaning “Totally Agree This Status Massively Applies to Me Too”.) And even though I haven’t gone out much, much has happened musically and artistically to me and to folks around. In no particular order:

While Sammy was at a buddy’s birthday party, Stella and I snuck over to the third ward to check out a few galleries for Gallery Day. We didn’t have a LOT of time, so we picked the ‘ol Marshall Building. There's always something worth seeing in there. And there's always something worth eating: we had a scrumptions plate of Beef Lo Mein at Jing’s and checked out the galleries within. Elaine Erickson had some provocative work from Erica Spitzer Rasmussen. Rasmussen is basically a sculptor whose work seems to center on commentary of the female condition, or just the human condition overall. I particularly liked a necklace piece made with hundreds of price tags that represented her consumer spending over the years; it looked heavy and thus seemed to be a literal weight on anybody’s shoulders. Another piece was a corset made with (what looked like) papier mache that was coarse and unpolished, but trimmed with a fringe of smooth, golden human hair. Stella, on the other hand, was drawn to the kimonos made from handmade paper. We ventured upstairs to check out two newer galleries – one featured some (again) provocative work from a sculptor named Darlene Wessenberg Rzezotaurs. Great sense of humor wrapped in a sort of impressionistic style, if not horribly ironic: one piece, titled “My Husband is Turning into a Frog” was a commentary on environmental concerns; another, "AIDS Is Killing The Vampires of Europe" spoke for itself. Next door was a newer gallery with photography that an artist took at a concentration camp in Poland – you can almost see the ghosts. As I just (finally) saw Inglorious Basterds, I pointed out to Stella, who was just wrapping her head around the concept of putting people in ovens – “I know this isn’t pretty, but sometimes movies don’t always really drive home how vile the Nazis are. These pictures do, which is why we need to see them.” They also had some other neat work by an artist named Tori Tasch whose medium was stated as "Gin Transfer on Sculpy Tiles." Gallery owner explained, “Well, the process normally uses rubbing alcohol – she prints out the images onto inkjet paper, then transfers them to the ceramic pieces with alcohol – but she was honest to say she used old gin, which was maybe a step up from pure rubbing alcohol. “ They was she described it made me almost taste it: Old gin. Old nasty gin. Old undrinkable nasty gin from the prohibition era. Art-wise, it was great stuff, and the images themselves – photographed at the Forest Home Cemetery – seemed to belong on these found ceramic tiles.

Then, I decided to pop into Gallery 218. Gallery 218 used to be at 218 S 2nd – where Don Nedobeck’s studio is now -- hence the name. I have a bone to pick with Gallery 218 – an old grudge from many years ago, but it should explain my snarkyness. See, Gallery 218 is an artists’ co-op, and they’re always looking for fundraisers to keep it alive. (Hmmmm, how about actually selling your work? But I’ll get to that.) They’d had a silent auction during their “Elvis” show and I bid on a piece by an artist out East. There was no minimum bid, deadline was supposed to be midnight that night, and I was the only one who bid. You’d think this piece would be mine, then, right? Wrong! The gallery head decided she wanted to wait to see if she got any more bids. For how long?, I’d asked. “Oh, a few days.” Days went by. Weeks went by. Months went by. I called and my calls got blown off. Finally, I went to another event, and there was the piece, up there for sale (for way more than I’d bid, but still, there were no takers). Uh, girlfriend, that’s not how a silent auction works. That’s not how any auction works. Sale goes to the highest bidder even if it’s not what you wanted. I chalked it up to deceptive business practices and left it at that. But here’s my snarky part. Every time I go to Gallery 218, there’s a piece on the wall by the gallery co-op head titled “Winter Rice” that’s been there since the old 2nd Street Days. It’s an abstract piece that’s basically a bunch of white and beige paint layered and layerd and layered. “Mom, I don’t get it,” Stella said. “It looks like it would be really nice wallpaper, though.” I shooed Stella out so I could tell her the story. Best part of the story? According to the gallery tag, artist wants –hold your breath -- $5K. That’s Five THOUSAND for it. Uh, it’s been hanging up there for 9 years like a run down bungalow that should just be taken off the real estate market for awhile so the neighbors can forget that’s nobody’s buying. You’re not going to get 5K for it, especially when it’s hanging there, in the middle of the room, for five thousand dollars every single gallery night since FY2000 -- everybody has seen it and seen it and seen it and they're still not buying. Give it up. And while you’re at it, why don’t you finally give up that Elvis piece, too. I bet that’s still in the back storeroom, waiting for whatever price you wanted for it. I’ve held my piece on this for years, but Stella’s comment popped the zit that was my annoyance about this whole thing, and now I feel better, so, OK, snark mode off.

Band hiatuses: I’m in denial that these bands may not be on hiatus, but a very long hiatus but I’m still bummed. The Mighty Lumberhorn are “on hiatus.” Bummer. I blew my last chance to see them, and had I known… at least Ted Jorin is keeping busy with the Bikini Beachcombers and he’s (oooooooooohhhh, can’t wait for this) in a surf band being masteredminded by surf aficionado Eric Knitter, so if I have to give up snarky, hilarious bluegrass, at least I have deadly surf to step in and take its place. Oh, and Chief! Chief is officially on “indefinite hiatus.” That’s another band I loved simply because they were true to their genre (ball-breaking cock rock) but were also conscious of just how closely they teetered on the edge between sincere reproduction and unaware parody. I guess Cesar Palace knows where his paycheck is coming from these days.

Good music news however: Besides the above mentioned surf band coming up, Paul Kneevers’ latest project, Lovanova,is in the studio and if you follow him on Facebook, you know this project is cranking out tracks like crepes. Especially exciting is a post where he mentiones that the Danglers’ Jason Loveall dropped in and laid down some violin that took the song into gypsy wonderland. Waiting to hear the mixdown on that!

And Les Lokey (now calling herself Lulu Lokey) is coming back to town for a visit. Back when she stomped around Milwaukee (in the late 90s, the Tasting Room’s heyday), she was billed as a “fearless folk singer”, but the tracks I’mhearing now on her pages suggest she’s just approaching her craft on a bigger, more psychedelic scale. Can’t wait to hear what she brings back from out West, where she’s been puttering around.

Coming up? I've got tix for a Bucks game this weekend (when you're unemployed as I have been through 2009, you don't get out to the Bradley Center like the old days, eh?) but I'm looking forward to the United Nations Team of the NBA, even if they blow it. I grew up a Cubs fan, remember? I'm used to the home team sucking like a bottle of old nasty gin.

I'm still here

2010-01-01T23:36:00.002-06:00

"Oh, good. They're still there."
Originally uploaded by V'ron

It's New Year's Day, and I suppose I should get caught up. Didn't see a lot of shows, because I had a choice -- either go out, or have a decent Holiday for the kids. I chose the latter. Quick rundown, so I can start the new year right, along with a few artistic resolutions.

However, one of the things we did was our annual Nutcracker outing with our family friend Emily, who treated us to a fabulous lasagna dinner before heading out to our cheap nosebleed seats at the Performing Arts Center. It's a lovely tradition for us now, and Emily's family celebrates her sister's birthday by having lasagne in her honor, even if her sister is 3000 miles away. We agree with Tom Strini who's now writing for Third Coast Digest since he took the early retirement package from the Journal -- it's a terrific Nutcracker, and we in Milwaukee are lucky to have it. As a matter of fact, I ended up watching the whole "Vote for your Favorite Nutcracker" series on the Ovation Channel -- there were five. Two "traditional" ones (from the Bolshoi -- you don't tell the Russians they get Tchaikovsky wrong -- so let's just call that the baseline, and the Royal Ballet of London). There was this French one that seemed more like a paeon to the choreographer's mother than a faithful rendering of the actual story. The American entry was a comedy set in 70s Suburbia -- a fun and interesting concept, but I'm afraid it just didn't work for me. And finally, the Monaco entry answered the question "What if Cirque du Soleil took on the Nutcracker." That ended up being my favorite, because I'm a fan of athleticism. But all of them proved to me that Michael Pink's rendition could definitely hold it's own -- that we have such a strong company for a city of our size makes me happy.

Right across the street from the PAC is the good ol' Red Arrow Park (free) skating rink, and the kids and I have been taking advantage of that. Stella has finally grown out of her old skates, but we were able to trade them up at Play It Again Sports (along with a really older pair) and it's worth it to get a used pair of skates (or even new ones -- they had a half price sale when we walked in, and with our trade ins, it was like getting new skates for a used price!). And it's worth it, if you're going to go skating more than once, because rental at Red Arrow is six bucks! Ugh. But it's such a fun little rink, full of unpretentious people, outside for that lovely wintry chill, a Starbucks staffed with quick baristas, and the cutest little mini-Zamboni you ever saw.

I regretfully missed a lot of great music, including (from what I heard) a terrific reunion show from THe Lovelies at the Mad Planet. Instead, I went cheap and popped into the Circle A to catch a rare set from Bobby Rivera. When it's cold and wintry, I need the warmth of surf music to get me out of a funk. Rivera delivered. Only problem was, I was sitting on the bass player's side of the room, and in fact, next to the bass amp. This meant I didn't get to hear as much of Bobby R as I would have liked. Bass player that night was good ol Rev Johnny Leisure, one of my replacements in the Psychobunnies. He's a great and fun americana guitar player, and let's just say guitar is his primary instrument and leave it at that. Hope to see these guys again soon.

Santa brought the kids a new tube sled and a starter snowboard. Too bad we haven't had enough real snow to test them out.

New Year's Eve is a time I spend with friends -- mostly because it's too expensive to get a sitter that night. So some other blogger will help you sort out how the night went musically. I heard the show to be was the Uptown Savages with Liam Ford at Lulu -- although the Five Card Studs reportedly put on a good set too. I was toasting the new year at a kid-friendly house party, kvetching about this past decade and looking forward to the next.

I'm not one for end of year lists, or even resolutions, but this morning I dragged myself out to Bradford Beach to shoot the annual Polar Bear Plunge. I needed a huge event like this (as opposed to the small, but growing Bicycle Polar Plunge I shot two years ago to kick my photo eye in gear. And it helped. So my resolutions are mostly artistic:

I'm going to get this blog as active as it used to be. Even if I don't see a band every week, I'll still write weekly, and post recommendations, even if I don't practice what I preach.

I'm going to force myself to shoot more. I haven't been shooting lately, and I need a challenge. So to that end, I set myself up with a challenge to shoot at least one photo a day that I would show to others, and I set up a photoblog at Aminus3 to do it. It's set up so that it will be glaring if I skip a day.

So, there's my resolutions. Recommendations for the rest of this weekend? Why, there's the Unheard Of (with WMSE's Dietrich) at the Circle A on Saturday, and Project/Object at the Miramar on Sunday night (doing a Zappa set). 2009, over and freaking OUT.

Covering it up

2009-12-16T07:52:00.004-06:00

I'll give the owner of this "cheat
sheet" a pass because....
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Didn't see a lot of "original" music lately. Well, make that bands that play their own songs -- at least not for the time being. A last minute babysitter fell into my lap the other weekend, and I was able to hit Zappafest at Points East. It was, as many have reported, the last day of music there, and the bands sent the bar out with a bang. A last minute addition to the lineup, a band full of younguns called (I think) the Greitchschlag (oh, I'm probably way off!) started things off, a little wobbly, but then they fell into a pretty good groove and got eh crowd warmed up.

The Tempermentals were up next, and they did what they usually do, took Zappa's songs and waild them as ablues, which worked under this treatment. The Tempermentals are a blues band, but they know how to jam, and they know how to freak out, so they were able to take this to the level of Zappa. It was during the Tempermentals' set that one of the milestones of this back music room closing kicked in: Marlavous got the last tap beer. And they weren't kidding when they told her that. Soon after they poured it, they pulled the tapper levers off.

Dr Chow came on next, and they played what almost sounded like a standard Dr Chow set. Standard, in that many of these Zappa songs they do are part of their regular set anyway. I've heard "Dirty Love" and "Miss Pinky" sandwiched inbetween originals and covers of psychedelic era tunes at other venues, so this wasn't a huge departure for them.

It wasn't a huge departure for the Danglers, either -- the Danglers' own music gets as complex and interesting as Zappa, and tonight they dind't disappoint. I'd commented via Twitter that the Danglers are the band that remind you that Zappa wanted to be remembered as an American Composer -- I didn't hear playing of songs by the Danglers, I heard intrepretations of compositions. They sent this bar off with a good bang.

I think the only thing that helped me get over this closing was a comment in OnMilwaukee.com -- seems I didn't know about this little piece of news -- eeeewwwwwwwww and now that music's gone, I have absolutely NO reason whatsoever to set foot in there and give them my money. Hmmmm, this all explains why they seem to get obnoxiously bent out of shape about kids in the place. It's not that children won't be tolerated. It's that the cops won't tolerate the owner being around kids! The chicken wings at Club Garibaldi are a perfectly excellent (and perhaps excelling) alternative, so there I go.

Last Saturday I went and checked out the Bay View Brew Haus to see the Liam Ford band, who grow on me more each time I see them. I once complained that they weren't pure rockabilly, and that complaint has now turned into a compliment. This is a band that takes songs you didn't expect to hear as rockabilly covers and does them convincingly -- they ended the evening with a take on "We'll Meet Again Some Sunny Day" -- that had me almost forgetting that final scene in Dr. Strangelove. Almost, because fundamentally, the Bay View Brew Haus is a beer hall -- high celinings, long tables for big groups, that wonderful echo of a wood framed building, all ripe for raising your glasses and singing along with some German chanteuse. That sound/mix, along with what a friend pointed out, really drove home something I don't think I've mentioned before about this band: God, is Frank Calarco good on guitar or what? He makes country picking and runs seem effortless. But this whole band hangs together well, enjoys what they're doing, which makes the whole experience enjoyable. I have to admit, I'm getting less snobbish about cover bands -- but only if they offer something new. Liam Ford does just that.

Another One Bites the Dust

2009-12-02T08:01:00.002-06:00

Two Men who built music at Points East, believe it or not
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Ah... Points East. Used to be Brett's (and I always thought it fun that such a frat boy name like "Brett's" would play host to great punk, prog and other kinds of underground rock.) That back room there went through a lot of changes. My band, Loblolly, played its first gig there, when the stage was just kind of crammed in the SW corner (but it WAS a stage by the time we played.). First place I ever saw Floor Model -- and they played in front of that corner stage because they were opening for Dr Chow and there wasn't enough room on that tiny stage to cram all the gear. Too many Trash Fests and Zappa fests to remember. A particularly hilarious Mighty Lumberhorn Xmas show. Debuts of a bunch of great bands, reunion shows of many others, "last show"s of too many long gone bands. And, of course, a bazillion Mighty Deer Lick shows.

It's fitting that the Deer Lick should be the band to officially close the stage. (Zappafest is this weekend, it was booked apparently the "final" decision was made to quit music at Points East.) Bill Brunke, who pretty much built music at Points East, was there, taking it all in and joining Dave Deerlick for a few numbers (which see). And the Deerlick, as they are on my "bands I can't write much more about because they are consistently great" list, put out as usual. I still don't know how Dave does it: every night he's spontaneous, timely, and delivers his stuff with machine-gun rapidity and spot-on precision. And he sent off one of my favorite places to see/hear a band in style. Points East was a GREAT place to see live music. The bar was stocked with cheap and good beers, the restrooms were clean, the kitchen was open late (they made terrific late night bar pizzas), and thanks to Dave Gelting's ear, the sound was correct. According to Points East website, they're instead going to expand the kitchen and dining room, but they're taking great pains to say no kids, this is a bar. Whatever. Another one bites the dust.

Glenn Rehse's vocal chops
are still there.
Originally uploaded by V'ron.

Earlier in the evening, I stopped into Linneman's to see Dr Chow open for "Plasticland." Dr Chow didn't do a lot of their originals; they stuck mostly to the Nuggets-style psychedelic era covers they do so well. Obviously this was a nod to the fact that they were truly warming up for "Plasticland." The crowd, comprised of a lot of people I don't normally see at Dr Chow shows, seemed to like and appreciate it.
OK, I gotta admit, Glenn Rehse's voice still sounds great. Most people lose their upper registers after they cross 45 years on the planet. Rehse's is still there, and possibly even stronger. He doesn't have his old moves, but he has his passion. And those songs, while stamped indelibly with 1969, really are timeless.
But nothing happened Saturday night to inspire me to take those ubiquitous quotation marks off the name, "Plasticland." Andy Aeros Kaiser is a great bass player, and is complex enough to suit Glenn, but he doesn't have the shit eating grin (and accompanying demeanor) of John Francovic. There was a great young turk on drums, but he didn't have Vic Demechi's maturity and thus dynamics. And Leroy on guitar? Not bad, but I know Dan Mullen. I play in a band with Dan Mullen. Dan Mullen is a friend of mine. You, sir, are no Dan Mullen.
I'm sorry, Glenn, but that's the way it is. Glenn Rehse has a powerful enough name/brand that he could bill himself as The Glenn Rehse Band/Experience/Quartet (whatever) and people would come. But this outfit doesn't live up to the old "Plasticland" brand, and that's a shame, because that's what people are going to compare this band to -- the old Plasticland. This band that played Saturday night were worthy enough (they were loud enough, that's for sure!) and if they were billed as "Glenn's new band" people would rave. But as Paul McCartney once said, "You cannot reheat a souffle." Why even try, Glenn, when you're perfectly capable of baking a great new cake?

American Rockabilly Survey

2009-11-27T20:28:00.005-06:00

Half of Crazy Rocket Fuel
Originally uploaded by V'ron

Going to last Saturday night's Rockabilly Showcase at the Miramar Theatre, I felt like it was one of those literature survey classes I took in college in that the lineup was a very good cross section of the whole rockabilly genre working in Milwaukee. Which is to say this town has a great rockabilly scene, if the event put together by WMSE's Jonny Z (frontman for the Uptown Savages) is any indication. I was late and didn't get to catch the Tinhorns, but the very last two songs piqued my interest enough that I might catch them tonight at Kochanski's Concertina Hall, for one of Andy Kochanski's dueling stages events.
But first things first -- a rundown of last week's event. I got a tall boy of Pabst just in time to check out SidecarSteph and the 7-10 Split, a traditional rockabilly band fronted by Sidecar Steph -- a very take-charge broad with a husky voice and growl to match. She's dressed like Andy Taylor's Aunt Bee, but she's a heckava lot more aggressive and flirty. They were the kind of band you'd see outside of Nashville-- a little too whisky-bound to ever hit the Opry, but still very much on the country side of Rockabilly.
Speaking of dress, this was a showcase where even the crowd was dressed to the nines -- as far as the height of fashion would be in Memphis -- say about 1954-1962. Two tone shoes, polka dots, precise makeup jobs, and hairdos that seemed to require a whole day in the beauty parlour (and the accompanying gossip party). This went for the men, too -- embroidered shirts, shined shoes, and not a hair out of place (and some using Vitalis or Brylcream to achieve this look, it appeared.) Perfect night for the music.

Next, the band I really came to see, Crazy Rocket Fuel. These chickies are indeed going places. Kari Bloom has this great sassy stage presence that suggests that she just might get you in a lot more trouble than she'll get into herself. She has great dynamics in her singing -- she moves from a whisper to not quite a scream but there's lots of great flirty drama. It helps that she's got great material to work with -- courtesy of guitarist and apparently chief songwriter Ginny Wiskowski. Ginny's been in enough bands of other genres (from the psychobilly of my breakout band, the Psychobunnies, to the alt-rock of Dropmore Scarlett and others) so not all her tunes are I-IV-V that some of these bands can fall into. That's what kept me riveted to the stage through their set -- besides Ginny's top notch playing: Good songwriting, great playing, good stage presence. They're poised to break out with the right marketing. Only one criticism can be made at this juncture -- they need to live up to their name a little more and get a little more crazy. I think that's something that will come with time and the accompanying comfort of playing these songs together a lot. I saw the seeds of this on their last, eponomous song, "Crazy Rocket Fuel". There were hints of gettin' REAL gone there -- they just need to take it to that next level. Opening for Jonny Z's Uptown Savages in chicago next week will be a good start -- hanging with those guys will certainly rub off. Definitely a band to catch and watch. Plus,I don't know what I like better, Kari's bare feet or her rhinestone beer cozy. Now that's rockabilly.
Now to go completely country, Tim Cook and the Riverwesterners take the stage. Tim Cook has this perfect country stage presence -- a big grin that admits he loves what he's doing while singing those tear-in-your-beer sad country songs with a "My life's in the crapper, but what the hell" resignation. Highlight of his set was his version of "What Made Milwaukee Famous (Has Made A Loser Out of Me)", complete with tear jerking steel guitar courtesy of Tim "Otis" Taylor's beautiful slide work.
Your host, Jonny Z and his Uptown Savages were next, and I can't write much about them anymore, for they are on my They're-Consistently-Great-And-I-Thus-Take-Them-For Granted list. Jonny Z takes the stage and screams into the mike as though he actually needs to get your attention, but the whole band queues up on stage like they're all accused of the same crime and they tear up the joint. They are true to their name, and take the rockabilly out of the country and into the Big City, but keep the wildness intact.
Last band up, the Liam Ford band (formerly Liam Ford and the Band in Black -- not sure why they ditched the quick reference to Mr Cash), and they're another band that's consistently good enough to take for granted. Liam looks like a guy who listens to a lot of Johnny Cash AND Elvis and his band is a team of crack musicians who almost make it look too easy. They do a marvelous, almost swing version of Billy Swan's "I Can Help" that's frosted with Frank Calarco's guitar runs. I and my companions had heard some folk expressing doubt over the authenticiy of bassist Jeff Hoormann because, get this, his bass is an electric stand up bass that doesn't weigh a bazillion pounds. OK, people, you schlep a big ol thing in and out of gigs and tell me that's easy. Hoormann still gets a great hillbilly sound of of his bass. Close your eyes and open your mind, folks. This band has the heart and attitude of country leaning rockabilly and they closed out the night on a very satisfying level.

Speaking of satisfying, I got a chance to see Beatallica at the Northern Lights Theatre at Potawatomi. I've raved about them before and they haven't let me down. This was the correct place to catch them, with the full rockstar treatment and lighting, I was further convinced that the concept of James Hetfield wailing through "I'll Just Bleed Your Face" is not just a joke, it's musically valid.

Oh, what to do this weekend? Tonight I should hit the Bay View Brewhaus to give the TinHorns another chance, since even though they're going to be at Kochanski's later (or so the calendars say -- I don't know what to believe). Tomorrow night is the last "official" night of music at Points East (although Zappafest is next Saturday, the 5th). The Might Deer Lick are the headliners, and I should pop into that. There's also Kings Go Forth at Garibaldi tomorrow, along with the Sandmen, an act I really liked (who wouldn't like a Morphine tribute band?) That bill wraps up with Lovanova, a lounge act that sounds promising only because Paul "Evil" Kneevers is in on it, so I expect some of that rich Hammond sound he can deliver. But I also should catch my hubby playing with Dr Chow's Love Medicine at Linnemann's, because they're opening for "Plasticland."

Now before you go and report me to the "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks, let me justify putting "Plasticland" in quotes. Here's the thing. When guitarist Dan Mullen was let go, it just wasn't the same. Not having drummer Vic Demechi (or even Rob McCuen or Bob DuBlon) makes this "Plasticland" thing questionable. But no John Frankovic? I'm sorry, time to break out the quotation marks and wrap them around "Plasticland." Glenn Rehse is still a great songwriter and performer, and his band is comprised of fine musicians (bassist Andy Aeros Kaiser is one of my favorite four stringmen in town.). But I'm sorry, I can't write the name of this band without the touch of irony that quotation marks provides . So, let's call it the Glenn Rehse Experience and leave it at that. I'm sure they're be terrific, and I'm going to check them out to verify this. But people who know me know I don't fail to take the gloves off when I write about a band, so don't ask me to take the quotes off when I write about "Plasticland."

Mistreated over the weekend

2009-11-21T08:47:00.001-06:00

Mistreater at Stumblerfest
Originally uploaded by V'ron

It's been a week since I stumbled into Club Garibaldi at Stumblerfest, but it's also been one hell of a emotional rollercoaster ride for me this week. Lots of personal shit (and you, dear readers, know I don't say shit all that often. Fuck, yes. Shit, no) going down, not very very least of which was the extremely untimely passing of Brian "Lane Klozier" Barney (see last blog entry). It's the wee hours of the morning as I write this, and perhaps it will do my soul some good to rave wonderfully about a great garage punk show I hit last Saturday. Yes, I still have this blog to do, and I suppose I should wrap up last weekend before I set out for tonight's big rockabilly hoedown at the Mirarar tonight.
I arrived at Club Garibaldi knowing nothing about any of the five bands on the bill that night (except, of course for hometown hosts, the legendary Mistreaters). All I knewabout them was that they were all good garage punk bands. I caught the end of Drugs Dragons' set - they looked to be a tight, but energetic standard lineup fronted by a surly confrontational bastard who stepped into the audience for the end. Good stuff.
Next up was Digital Leather, who had me at the shorts worn by the guitarist. Lead singer/frontman Shawn Foree is wearing an obvious wig, and a winger vest he must have picked up at the sale bin at Sears. He's standing in front of a synth/keyboard, but while these guys have synthesizers, this ain't no Flock of Seagulls. The synth isn't there to make them a synth band. They're still a very tough garage band,- the synth is there to power the sub-bass sound that wakes up the room. They didn't even have to grow on me -- good concept, executed well. Whoda thunk this would have come out of Nebraska!

OK, let's get the obvious thing lots of people noticed about Chicago's Cococoma out of the way now. Guitarist and co-lead singer Lisa Roe (her husband is the drummer and sings too) is a dead ringer for Kim Deal, from her wide open but incredulous grin right down to flannel shirt she changed into after their set. Except that as a guitarist, Roe plays rings around Deal. She's got that clearly confrontational but vulnerable voice, too. Husband Bill Roe -- who's set some kind of standard by NOT putting his drums up on the drum riser, making for a tight fit on stage -- is the chief singer. The band holds together nicely, pumping out a string of songs that have that wonderful danger of sounding like they're going to fall apart at any minute, but they never do. Lisa spastically swings back and forth while picking out her notes, and after their set, it's clear they've (deservedly) earned some new fans.
The drums stay on the front of the stage for the next act, the highly recommended Hex Dispensers, out of Austin, TX. OK, really, has there ever been a band out of Austin that sucked? No, and this band doesn't either. Face it, when your town is home to a top music school -- one that's actually a public university so regular folk can afford to go there, you're not getting out of the basement if you can't play. And as long as I'm comparing garage folk to indie celebrities, the Dispensers' lead guitarist looks a tad bit like Thom Yorke, no? But they're not self-important like Radiohead. They're nothing like Radiohead. They're full of greap garage pop three minute statements, which they make, punctuate, and move on. That might be their only weakness -- that they have a formula (good pop anthem held together with gritty duct tape) but it's a good formula and they're sticking to it.
Finally, the Mistreaters. They put their drums back on the riser, because they're going to need the whole stage for Christreater, who's all over it. 1-2-3-4, they're on. The crowd is moving, fists in air, swaying, the floor is suddenly slippery with spilled beer, christreater is throwing himself into the audience....well bust my britches, I'm in a good old fashioned moshpit! Out go my elbows to protect myself and my camera, out goes my butt like I'm playing defense for the Milwaukee Bucks. And here's the band, pusing through all their "hits" and goading the crowd to cheer for the bands that came before them, fans singing along, fans even firing back at the band. Good clean fun, I say. Wonderful night, complete with bands pushing their wares, including vinyl wares and a DJ keeping us happy between sets. And one of the DJ's had the Sparks "I Predict" on 45 -- a detail I caught early in the evening that pretty much sealed up the credibility of this event for me even before Digital Leather took the stage.

Also seen in the past week: Two night earlier, I caught the Quinn Scharber band in the same venue. Not a huge crowd (it was a Thursday, they were up against the Fiery Furnaces, and they didn't even have Garibaldi's legendary chicken wings) but enough to appreciate Schaber's sweet tenor on his solid pop writings. I'm normally not real big on straight up pop, but this was good stuff: interesting chord changes and turnarounds, good band behind him. I liked him, and I liked the band. Good stage presence-- he understood his crowd was smaller and he worked with it. The band before him, Surgeons of Heat, had a similar thing going (they shared a guitarist/bass player), except they are clearly newer: they needed to get more of Scharber's feel for dynamics. Surgeons in Heat's songs didn't seem to have any dynamics, and after three or four (albeit well written) pop hooks, they kind of lost me. But all is not lost: the Surgeons have a good thing going, their lead singer sometimes breaks into a lovely but strong falsetto that is radio ready with the right production. But hopefully playing with Scharber will teach him dynamics, and building up a crowd. And back to Scharber: Just one thing, Quinn: Lose that hideous scarf thingy around your neck. Unless it was a gift from your mother or girlfriend or something, it makes you look like you're this sensitive poet guy that's needs John Belushi (or Worf) to smash your guitar.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to mentally prepare for Brian Barney's funeral.

Rest in Peace, Lane. Punk Still Remains

2009-11-17T20:29:00.006-06:00

Brian Barney, aka Lane Klozier, originally uploaded by V'ron.

With all the "new" releases of material from The Beatles, and all the documentaries they ran on VH1 and such to "celebrate" this, we're reminded that those boys had a major rowdy streak in them, not just in trying new ideas and taking rock and roll to new ground and heights. But even in their early day, they were rockers who tore up the underground clubs in Hamburg, grabbing the frenzy of Elvis and adding thier British stamp on it. Before Brian Epstein got hold of them and polished them up for mass consumption, before they were considered the pop alternative to the supposedly grittier Rolling Stones, they were leather-clad lads, sweating and smoking and hollering their merseybeat as furiously as any of the Memphis seven did as they banged out hillbilly rock and changed music stateside.

Brian Barney, also known as Lane Klozier, understood this. While some people might have been simply aghast at the concept of his band, The Buggs, all this recent Guitar Hero Beatlemania has reinforced that putting a speedpunk take on beloved Beatles hits was the spiritually correct thing to do. Those songs sounded great in his hands. After a particularly magical night at the BBC almost two years ago I'd written (from the heart):

The Buggs have spoiled me. This punk girl doesn't want to hear these songs 'round a campfire sung by sensitive men who don't trim their beards anymore. I want to hear "Norweigan Wood" played fast and furious. I want to hear Badfinger's "Baby Blue" sung by desperate men who are more pissed than melancholastic about losing their one true love.

Two hours ago, I'd gotten a call from a friend who told me of his sudden passing today. I called around, hoping this was some sort of awful joke, but it's not. Klozier apparently suffered a heart attack and died, at 48. That's too fucking young. Especially for a man who whose heart was destined to stay young, loud and snotty (the best compliment I can give, as those of you who know me will attest) for many more years.

I wasn't tight with him, but I remember meeting him at a party at Chris Lehmann's (who drummed for him in The Buggs) and we hit it off instantly. We had very similar tastes in music, and respected the same sensibilities. We exchanged contact information, I went to see his band, and instantly loved them. I learned that Klozier was also a drummer, and before I knew it, there he was, behind the trapset for the latest incarnation of Guido's Racecar, fitting in perfectly with that band's ravaged punk bluesey burlesque. He viewed my photography and offered support and excellent critique. And one fine day, I saw his praise for my writing, which I have proudly posted at the top of this blog (with his permission). I was touched at his unsolicited words, and was proud that he said something about me that could very well be said about him. He was a great rock and roll writer -- did work for the Shepherd and other publications, but we both agreed that's not going to pay the bills. Not that he was about using his art to pay the bills, but if the $$$ started to roll in, he wasn't going to affect some stupid attitude about it either. And marketed correctly, the Buggs had the potential to bring not only smiles, but some cash. It wasn't to be, but that doesn't detract from some of the most fun shows I saw -- whether an acoustic set (yes, acoustic speed punk covering the Beatles) at Lulu, or just a great cover set at a street festival. And he was a friend of well-played, irreverent but emotionally invested rock and roll, which meant he was a friend of so much that I love.

His passing is a loss for me, a loss for many of my friends who have played with him, and a loss for the SE Wisconsin music community. Rest in peace, Lane.

punk remains amongst the buggs, originally uploaded by V'ron.

UPDATE: According to the Shepherd Express, the funeral has been scheduled 2 to 5 p.m. on Saturday, Nov. 21 at the Hartson Funeral Home in Hales Corners, 11111 Janesville Rd.