Ad libs

Doctor Noize Beats Truman

2009-06-24T15:09:00.000-07:00

I've finally forgiven Doctor Noize, that big meanie, for making me believe a fake press release. News does break on April 1st, y'know. Anyone could have fallen for it.

Fortunately, we stopped the presses before reporting that kids' musician Doctor Noize (a.k.a. Cory Cullinan, who lives in Colorado but hails from Los Altos) was going to have one of his songs in "High School Musical 4." Man. I could've written a heck of a headline.

Cory swears his latest Noizeletter is true. Lots of good news. I've always found it interesting that he's a classically trained Stanford musician who has woven his expertise into groovy shows and CDs for kids. This fall he's heading back to the concert hall to solo with the North State Symphony at youth performances in Chico and Redding. Nice.

"Herr Maestro and I promise these events will be very solemn and absolutely no fun at all, especially the rockin' tuba solo," Cory says in the Noizeletter.

Another big announcement is that Doctor Noize will be guest-hosting this summer on XM Kids Radio. I am addicted to the ahmaaazing Seth Rudetsky, but perhaps I can be persuaded to change the station every now and then. Hey, how about doing a duet with Seth? Don't all you big important DJs know each other?

Satellite radio isn't exactly raking in the forints lately, but maybe Doctor Noize can help. Or not. As Cory writes in the Noizeletter: "I once wrote a song for the long-running network soap 'Another World,' which had been on air for 35 years. My song was played on the show, and just months later...the show was cancelled. That's power, baby."

Pictured: Doctor Noize and friend; photo from www.doctornoize.com.

Where's our downtown theater festival?

2009-06-11T15:45:00.000-07:00

You can't complain about an evening of Balkan-Yiddish-gospel-postmodern music, really. World Music Day sounds pretty cool (except that you can't call it WMD without thinking of our last president).

But where's the free outdoor theater festival in Palo Alto? The one-acts on the corner? Pinter in the park? That would be my little dream. Music gets center stage in the summer, due to some long-held tradition involving amps over asphalt. But there are days when you want art that's more narrative, telling stories by sunset, highlighting the up-close emotion between two people, talking out that which cannot be sung.

If I ran the circus, there'd be more following in the alfresco footsteps of PACT's Hot Dog Suppertime Shows, or PYT's Theater in the Park, but for big kids. Yes, the Shakespeare is lovely, too. More of that, please. Can we have this also, in an inflatable auditorium, or is that pushing it?

Theater on the corners and in the plazas of downtown Palo Alto would be vibrant, surprising and immediate. As tantalizing as overhearing a conversation in a crowd. You don't need much room to tell a story, just a compelling narrative and people who know they're inside it. Maybe a few set pieces and props, or just a pair of actors, or a whole set constructed in a piazza. Whatever way you make it, I'd go.

Some of the stages in my theater vision:

King Plaza in front of Palo Alto City Hall. A political setting for pieces that tackle thorny issues and times, or scripts sassy with satire. Kushner. "Tomfoolery."
The circle lawn at Gamble Garden, intimate and rustic. I can imagine a collection of one-acts with two or three actors each, the audience sitting all around.
Heritage Park on Homer Avenue. Big enough for some splashy musical theater. Despite the judicious tree-planting that has occurred, the big grassy expanse could still easily accommodate even the gym scene in "West Side Story," assuming you don't mind dancing on the lawn.
Lytton Plaza on University Ave. A busy spot, good for anything fast-paced and urban. The college kids might like that sprightly talker Mamet.

I still haven't figured out a good place for the inflatable auditorium.

Pictured: The circular lawn at Gamble Garden. Photo by Rebecca Wallace.

Being outside inside at CSMA

2009-06-09T12:33:00.000-07:00

Yesterday a.m.: a morning for growing ant strength and carrying my desk into an open field. In June it can be physically painful to be stuck inside.

Since desk wouldn't balance on head, I went to an art gallery. You can pretend to be outside in drawings by Robert C. Schick, but you're an arts editor doing work. Schick is a Midpeninsula lifer with pen-and-ink visions of both landscapes that remain and those that have been plowed under.

Farms and orchards recall life before strip malls, while houses with luxurious porches hark back to times with a lot less street traffic, when people actually talked to their neighbors just outside the front door.

Some watercolor, too, which has a wispy nostalgia but lacks the precision of the drawings. The black-and-white gives the ink landscapes a confidence -- and patience -- that you need if you're going to fight in City Hall. (Schick is a veteran of anti-development wars.)

Eventually I had to go back to the office, but for a while it was good to feel like a kid with the entire day and yard ahead of me, when a hillock of soft grass under a spreading oak was the whole world.

BTW, Schick will be at an opening reception at the gallery, Mohr Gallery at CSMA, this Friday evening from 6 to 8.

BBTW, after I wrote this I found a terrific Judith H. Dobrzynski post on ArtsJournal about cell phones in art galleries. Yep, a Fall Out Boy ringtone would've dropped a giant ant on my dreamy gallery mood. Tell me again why cell-phone dampeners are illegal here?

Pictured: "Proposed Mountain View Heritage Park for the Cuesta Annex," a 2006 watercolor by Robert Schick.

Fridays at the Cantor: 'Metaphysics'

2009-05-26T11:48:00.000-07:00

Every Friday, a different musician climbs the stairs to the Cantor Center balcony to play Mark Applebaum's experimental work "The Metaphysics of Notation." I had previously written about flutist Jane Rigler playing a rippling, percussive version of the piece; last Friday I went to see Sam Adams on electronic keyboard and laptop. (Scroll down for my video.)

How do you play a musical score that replaces standard notes with flowers, wavy lines, human figures and rising lines of dots? Any way your muse takes you. If you're lucky, the composer will come by.

Applebaum was there last Friday, watching while Adams focused on one piece of the score, creating music that used silence and long moments of thought, then intensified. Adams wove in recorded words: "make real sense," "notation," "symbolic structures." A drone created urgency and interest. By the end, the music echoed through the balcony like a plane taking off in a storm. I felt in the center.

Adams' father, the composer John Adams, also dropped by. In my photo above, he's listening so hard to his son playing (at left) that he's barely moving. Applebaum is standing in the pale-green T-shirt. After the performance, he praised Sam Adams for his "studied, ascetic approach" to the music that also allowed in such warmth.

Applebaum's score is on display in panels hung around the balcony; you can view it all week, but it's only on Fridays at noon that it takes on audible life. (My video shows glimpses of a few different panels, not just the one Adams played from.) The free weekly concerts are set to continue through February 2010.

'What would Matt do?'

2009-05-14T14:16:00.000-07:00

A new San Francisco exhibit calls him "Artist and Educator," but Matt Kahn is just as often thought of as "Mentor." You can't read about him without seeing that word.

It's perhaps the best legacy one could have after teaching at Stanford for 55-plus years. Over and over, people say that Matt Kahn taught them how to appreciate the role of design throughout the world. A few years ago, IDEO design firm founder David Kelley told the Weekly that every day when he works on projects he thinks: "What would Matt do?"

Textile artist Jean Ray Laury also called her former teacher "encouraging, demanding, insightful and fun." She added, "I learned more about quilting from him than I ever learned from anyone else, though I'm sure he never held a needle in his life."

As for me, I never studied design. When I interviewed Kahn for another story, I just liked his crinkly-eyed smile.

The current show, held at the San Francisco Museum of Craft+Design, also showcases the ways in which Matt Kahn helped shape the Bay Area's art and design in the 1950s and '60s. Besides teaching at Stanford, he also worked for Eichler Homes, the developer whose houses are ubiquitous in Palo Alto.

The exhibit includes his designs for Eichler homes as well as works in furniture, textiles and metal, with weavings by his wife, Lyda Kahn. Fittingly, special events include "Matt Kahn: Teacher and Friend," in which designers talk about how the professor influenced and inspired them.

Pictured: Two works by Matt Kahn from the exhibit. Top: "Pair of Tripod Chairs," ca. 1965, oak. Above: "Lidded Box," ca. 1965, wood with enamel on copper lid.

Photographer wins global honor

2009-05-08T10:23:00.001-07:00

Another well-deserved honor for Menlo Park photographer Mark Tuschman, whose sensitive and beautifully lit photos let us peer into worlds we otherwise might never see. He won this year's photography contest held by the Global Health Council, an alliance of health-care groups and other professionals. There were 550 entries from various lands.

A set of three photos drew the honors. Above is an image from Bangladesh, where Mark saw many young mothers who seemed totally detached from their newborns. Here, a nurse cares for a baby while the mother sits in the back alone.

Mark, whom I interviewed last year, is a quiet, thoughtful sort with a tremendous social conscience. He's found a way to balance his day job as a commercial photographer with his own creative projects: He travels a few times a year for nonprofits that help the poor, recording the effects of the programs. He took this photo for EngenderHealth, a reproductive-health organization. Check out his blog for some thoughts on microfinance in the developing world.

To life and to live theater

2009-04-21T17:20:00.000-07:00

I got a cute email yesterday from Bridget Summers, who is doing PR for Paly's "Fiddler on the Roof" and had a story to tell from Friday's performance. Apparently the power went out right before Tzeitel's wedding. Pause. Then, in the dark, the cast started dancing and singing again. (Mics, shmics.) The audience cheered, the show went on, and the lights came back up in time for the Bottle Dance.

Why would a publicist want to tell a reporter about something that went wrong? Clearly, my friend, you haven't spent much time in the audience. Messes, near-misses and glitches that get overcome create some of the best moments in live theater.

If you're an actor, nothing gets the adrenaline jiggling like realizing your castmate has missed his entrance -- and you have to stand there ad-libbing and holding a duck. If the audience laughs at one of the lines you made up, you're golden.

If you're in the audience, how great is it when something breaks and you see the cast keep going? Auntie Mame drops her cocktail and the glass shatters. She immediately puts her hand out to Ito and demands, "Another." Sitting in the audience, you're thrilled for her. It's like watching a car crash that didn't happen.

I do community theater. The kind where you go on stage with your tutu held together with gaff tape. So I've seen lots of power outages, mics go out and set doors stick, and even tiny kid actors just keep belting out their songs. You kind of want to hug all those Paly students.

The best part about seeing a near-miss is that it is a near-miss. It's something that no one expected to happen, and so it's perfectly human. It's an unrehearsed exchange, the man behind the curtain, a test of the stage manager's mettle. It can't be Photoshopped away or edited out. And in that moment, you see what that scrappy little theater company's really made of.

When I was in a Sunnyvale production of "Fiddler" a few years ago, one of my favorite times was during that notorious Bottle Dance, when four men cavort with wine bottles balanced on their heads. Everything looked great, and then suddenly two of the guys dropped their bottles. It could have ruined the dance, but instead the guys looked at each other, grinned through their beards, shrugged, and kept going. The rest of us rooted for them like the close community of villagers we were supposed to be.

Later, another actor told me that an audience member had been doubtful about the dance up until that point. The bottles just looked too perfect, like they were glued on. Then the whole scene became real. The dancers, the shtetl. You could even go out on a limb and say the bottles were a metaphor for the precarious position of the Jews in Anatevka. All because a couple of guys slipped. And that's live theater.

Pictured: Alex Nee and Ryan McLeod in the foreground, with Alex Browne, Marc LeClerc and Jovan Bennett in the background, in Paly's "Fiddler" production. Photo by Carla Befera.

A billion potential readers can't be wrong

2009-04-18T10:17:00.001-07:00

Seen at Stanford the other week... A new strategy for the Times?

Photo by Rebecca Wallace

On the beach

2009-04-13T21:11:00.000-07:00

I didn't expect to feel serene in an exhibit about beach trash. But when you've picked up nearly two tons of discarded plastic at your favorite oceanside spot over the last decade, you might as well do something pleasant with it.

Artists Judith Selby Lang and Richard Lang, who spend a lot of time at Kehoe Beach, have brought the fruits of their labor to Stanford in a pocket-sized exhibition called "Disposable Truths." Small plastic objects are the focus. They're glued on a chair, table and lamp like rainbow chicken pox. On the floor, white pieces of plastic trash -- forks, caps, general detritus -- make a clumpy shag carpet.

On the walls are photos of tidy groupings of plastic. One photo is all of toy soldiers; another is of lemon-juice containers. There are also combs, lighters, whistle mouthpieces. You'd never imagine that girls' barrettes came in so many shapes: bows, dragonflies, school buses; even a pig with the word "MONDAY." Red spreaders for snack cheese are bleached by the sun, or have coral patterns on them, or look completely unchanged by their time in the ocean floating who-knows-where.

"We have been sold the myth of disposable plastic," the authors write. "We throw it away but it stays with us for centuries and may ultimately irreparably alter the planet."

Gloomy sentiments, and certainly true, but I enjoyed the beauty and symmetry that the artists created in their patterns of objects. They took trash and created order. It reminded me of being a child and happily sorting buttons from my mother's button jar: by color, size, number of holes, levels of shininess...

Photos by Rebecca Wallace. In my top photo, you can see the neatly lined-up cheese spreaders.

An evening with Adams

2009-04-03T11:10:00.000-07:00

It was a true pleasure to hear the composer John Adams speak last night at the Cantor Arts Center. Kronos Quartet violinist David Harrington conducted a free-flowing interview with his fellow musician and friend -- the two have known each other for 30 years. It was like eavesdropping at a particularly entertaining dinner party. You never knew what turn the conversation would take next.

Harrington confessed to being a novice interviewer, which made my ears perk up. As someone who throws out queries for a living, I was curious to hear what was on his index cards. I may have to steal his most creative question: "What's your favorite note?"

"God," Adams responded, grinning. He finally responded in part: "I'm not a linear guy. I like 'em when they're stacked up." (His 2008 "String Quartet," a piece full of deft, hectic energy that will be performed at Stanford this weekend, certainly attests to that.)

Harrington and Adams talked a lot about the need for better arts education in this country, and about the pure joy of experiencing music. More than all the other arts, Adams said, it's about simple emotion. "Music can't convey ideas; it's raw feeling." He added that after 9-11 many people sought comfort in classical music -- not pop -- because of its "depth of feeling."

(Later in the evening, the issue of classical music's depth arose again when a man asked whether our short-attention-span society is killing classical music. Adams was adamant that it's not. "People love to concentrate," he said. Bruckner's complex symphonies, he noted, are more popular than ever, perhaps a welcome exercise for our brains in these poppy times.)

In a pleasantly quirky moment, Harrington asked what Adams thought about Obama giving an iPod to the Queen of England. Adams said: "I thought it was very cool. The iPod is a representation of what's so great about this country." How so? It's beautiful, and it's optimistic, the composer said. "I only regret that Silicon Valley hasn't dedicated itself more to the arts."

The two men laughed about how the iPod was loaded with Rodgers & Hammerstein, with Harrington suggesting "The King and I" as an apropos selection for the Queen.

Adams quipped, "And probably, 'There is Nothing Like A Dame,'" earning delighted groans from the crowd.

When I had interviewed Adams about his "String Quartet," he had been candid about his concerns about the piece, saying that he had shortened the end because it was too long even for him. Last night, he also confessed to being his own worst critic about his compositions, saying, "People try to keep me away from my babies, because I'm like one of those animals who eats them." Another roar of laughter from the audience.

But Adams was anything but critical in talking about his favorite classical works and composers. At one point, he mused aloud, "I'd love to have a selective lobotomy, a regenerative lobotomy, so I could hear Beethoven's Fifth again, just like the first time I heard it."

Photo by Margaretta Mitchell, from John Adams' website at earbox.com.

Lend me a tenor

2009-03-27T12:14:00.000-07:00

There was a great story this week in the Vancouver Sun about hapless singers from a Canadian choir standing out on a freezing bridge in their tuxes, trying to recruit more tenors. Funny, yes, but sadly timeless. Why exactly is it that choral and theater groups have such trouble finding male singers?

Every time I've written about a local choral group, I've asked if auditions are planned. The answer is always the same: "Well, we could use some more men. Especially tenors." It's true in the theater, too. It's enough to make a woman weep. How many times have I battled my way through auditions and call-backs, competing with a slew of other women who look like me and sing like me, and then after the cast list is up the director is still looking for men? How many guys do you know who get to stroll into call-backs on a regular basis without having to audition?

With reality shows still thriving, you'd think that more men would be encouraged to take the stage. After all, if a rock star can be lifted up out of a crowd, doesn't that mean anyone can sing? I wonder what the comparative numbers are of male and female contestants.

What is it about our society that makes people so shy about singing in front of others? It should be as natural as talking. Besides being a welcome creative and emotional outlet, singing is an excellent way to practice the rhythms of a foreign language, or pass on a forgotten piece of culture, such as a folk song from another century. And yet it can feel like crying in public, even when you're trained.

Male tenors, of course, face the added baggage of -- as the Sun article states -- sounding different from the gruff, "manly" sounds they are taught to think of as cool. Not everyone can star in "Jersey Boys."

What are other ways that choruses, theater groups and other organizations can attract male singers? Do you need to start with boys when they're young, doing performances and other educational programs at schools to show them the joy of bursting into song? Do you appeal to men by pointing out how many girls they can meet? Do you point out that Hugh Jackman is a heck of a singer? Even I want to be like him.

Photo by Ward Perrin of the Vancouver Sun, from the Sun's website.

'Drood' is good

2009-03-16T16:52:00.000-07:00

Every theater person has a favorite show that never gets done, that one you jump at the chance to see. Which is why my actor sig oth plans to be at Gunn High School this weekend (while I'm on stage in the hills). Gunn is doing a musical I'll be sad to miss, the terrific "Mystery of Edwin Drood."

Based on an unfinished novel by Charles Dickens, "Drood" is about choirmaster John swooning over his music student, Rosa Bud, while Miss Bud moons over John's nephew, Edwin Drood. When Drood disappears, who is the murderer?

"The audience members choose who the killer is, which can get interesting at intermission when the characters are all trying to get your vote," says Sig Oth.

It'd be nice if you could choose the endings of other shows, especially ones you hate. I vote to have Eliza Doolittle fall down a mine shaft.

It doesn't know it

2009-03-13T09:22:00.000-07:00

On mornings when I want to write a blog posting, but nothing comes, I can take comfort that at least I'm not an early computer programmed to randomly generate love poetry. Is this the modern equivalent of monkeys at a typewriter? Hilarious.

By the way, what's with the duck? Must be a British thing.

A trio of weekend options

2009-03-04T11:04:00.000-08:00

Nothing to do this weekend? Tsk. There's plenty happening on the Midpeninsula -- here are three events that particularly caught my eye:

Foto Nova 19, reception at 7 p.m. Friday, 3/6, at Modernbook Gallery

Like its predecessors, this fifth annual exhibit is likely to be a good place to get acquainted with promising, up-and-coming photographers. Some of the 19 photogs are local, including Palo Alto psychologist/software manager Steve Goldband. I like his pleasantly seedy peek at the past at Palo Alto's old Easterday Furniture sign, which was revealed last year when the Walgreens building got torn down.

"Schick Machine," 8 p.m. Saturday, 3/7, at Dinkelspiel Auditorium One man and lots of sounds: Percussionist Steven Schick premieres a new "musical theater work" by composer Paul Dresher. Unusual instruments and mechanical sound sculptures tell a story about an obsessive percussionist who is getting evicted from his warehouse loft. He has to choose only a few pieces and sounds to bring with him. Check out this great Lively Arts video here.

Cello Joe & the Midnight Ramblers, 8 p.m. Saturday, 3/7, at Red Rock Coffee
Joe sings and beat-boxes while playing the cello, which is what comes from mixing a classical background with hip-hop. Excellent. Also, the best stage name since Sousaphone Sam (who I just made up). We hope to do a story on him in the Weekly soon. Video upon video here.

Simple gifts of Shrinky Dinks

2009-02-27T10:07:00.000-08:00

It may be bad form for a journalist to say she's sick of bad news. But in the car yesterday, I'd had enough of the recession, and put on Bernstein and the NY Philharmonic instead. "Appalachian Spring" cheers you right up.

It made me wonder why anyone didn't think of playing the actual "Appalachian Spring" at the inauguration, rather than that tepid spin of "Simple Gifts." And really play, not soap-on-the-bows "play." (If we can send a man to the moon, can't we find a way to heat up cold musicians?) It's a piece that embodies all the burgeoning optimism of the day. Plus, for folks who think classical music is highfalutin', there are passages that kinda sound like the movies. Even our previous prez might've dug Copland's "Hoe Down."

Speaking of accessible art, I feel strangely connected to an exhibit of paintings done on Shrinky Dinks, as anyone who spent a portion of her childhood baking suncatchers might.

I was reading the other day about this Palo Alto show, of works by an 85-year-old Russian prince who paints scenes from his exile's life in Windsor Castle on shrinkable plastic. My friend K.K. called. Naturally, he said the whole thing was a hoax. Well, the gallery does bill the artist's work as "fantastical," but apparently Andrew Romanoff is one of those Romanoffs.

Before I'd had a chance to ascertain the truth, K.K. was working it out on his own. At first he speculated that someone had made a bunch of Shrinky-Dink paintings for whatever reason, and was pushing them as "art." But then he stopped himself. If you go to the trouble to make the art, he said, isn't it actually art, regardless of the motive? You can label a painting Folk Art or whimsy or primitive, but not fantastical. It exists. It's hanging on the wall in front of you. Make of it what you will.

The Shrinky-Dink paintings aren't my glass of tea, but I salute the effort that went into creating them. The artist was telling his life story, in his way, in his chosen medium, even if it makes journalists titter. I have more respect for someone who bakes a collection of plastic napkin rings in the oven than someone who stands up in front of the nation and lip-syncs the national anthem. Sing out, Louise. Even if your piano strings are freezing and your voice cracks and you forget your lines, at least it's real.

Pictured: A painting by Andrew Romanoff

Councilman Cohen's canvases

2009-02-13T18:01:00.000-08:00

Some folks in Menlo Park take their local politics reeeeally seriously. I covered the city beat for the Almanac a few years back, and I can still picture that crowd squeezed into a kitchen on election night in 2004, and the roar after it looked like Andy Cohen had won a City Council seat. People expected Kelly Fergusson to win -- and they both did -- but it was Andy's victory that really sparked the tumult.

Menlo Park was the most polarized beat I have ever covered (beating out Woodside, East Palo Alto, Atherton, Hillsborough, San Mateo County and the San Jose Unified School District). Are you for us or against us? Everyone was on one side or another of absolutely everything. It got exhausting.

So it's nice to hear about Andy Cohen in the arts world, fuzzy feature writer that I am. I've always liked his offbeat sense of humor. Oh, wait -- does that mean my coverage of Menlo Park was biased?

Anyway, the Almanac's Sean Howell told me that Andy is having his first public exhibit of his paintings. His landscapes and still-lifes are up at Little House, some from his hiking and camping days. Sean said Andy started painting because he was tired of words (he "learned as a lawyer that words can be used to distort").

Little House reports that Andy's paintings will be up "for another week or two," Monday through Saturday from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. Call Joan Currie at 650-326-2025, extension 229, for details.

Councilman Cohen is also teaching a Little House class on nature journaling Feb. 27 through March 27. Please, don't be that guy who shows up to yell about land use.

Pictured: Andy Cohen's painting of an abandoned farm, courtesy of www.AlmanacNews.com.

Visual art in Palo Alto: I'm still here

2009-02-06T16:50:00.000-08:00

Weren't there a lot more places in Palo Alto to see visual art when I started this job in '05?

I used to visit the hip British canvases at the Chelsea Art Gallery (now closed) . And my old English teacher Joseph Fuchs' oils of Venice at Voshan Gallery (also closed). And Susan Kraft's powerful paintings at the ART21 Gallery (you get the idea).

Lament.

For now I take our new A&E intern, Ashley Ramirez, around to see my favorite PA pockets of art and try to stay upbeat about the Economy of Woe. Yesterday after sampling the Warholesque candy exhibit at Gallery House (edible jewelry by Edith Schneider and giant sugary Gummi photos by Pete Zivkov), we wandered upstairs at Keeble & Shuchat Photography. Hey, if the blandest conference room can be a permanent art gallery, there's hope.

Amanda Kaufmann is showing rural photos with a bathtub-in-the-front-yard kind of charm, but we especially liked the work by Marilynne Morshead. Mainly because we couldn't tell what most of her photos were. The one I've pictured above is "Discovery," also the title of the series. Is it a metaphor for the recession jungle? Wait, we weren't going to talk about that any more. All the photos in the black-and-white series have a half-familiar look, the glow of an old movie you don't remember seeing, or a ghost light in a theater no one goes to any more.

"Orbs" is my favorite (go here and click on "Discovery" to see it, the seventh one down), picturing what looks like engraved glass balls with circles of light at the center, against a dark background. One ball in the back peers over the others, maybe nervous about the future, but still looking.

Giant worms, 'Hella Puppies' and something in a cage

2009-01-25T10:56:00.000-08:00

Friday we had a Weekly editorial retreat at the Palo Alto Art Center. For me, the setting was perfect. It reminded me why I do what I do.

On the way in, we snatched a quick look at one of the current exhibits, "Tales From An Imaginary Menagerie," contemporary art filled with animal imagery. You got your lovely peacocks; your giant worm in bed with a pretty girl; your female artist cross-dressing with live caterpillars for a mustache. I like it when the art center chooses art that grabs you with its quirkiness and keeps you there until you have a deeper thought (or walk away in disgust).

Weekly calendar queen Karla Kane and I had to titter at "Unnatural Selection (Hella Puppies)" (pictured above), a freaky cast of aqua resin characters by Walter Robinson. Cute pugs, I thought. No, hippos. No, the Olsen twins and a subtle damnation of cloning and of Botox -- or any "medical" procedure that makes us all look the same.

In a corner, a video installation (watch my snippet of it below) called "Caged." Artist John Slepian says his work can inspire "empathy, disgust, and fascination." It made me think of that literary fear we all have from time to time: that we'll be falsely accused of a crime and locked up.

As we repaired to a conference room for our meeting, we could hear pianists practicing in the nearby auditorium, as well as the delightful soprano Yolanda Rhodes, whose lush voice rippled through the wall like a spring waterfall. The music added a certain drama to our talk of lead-writing, blogging, and video-shooting for dummies (i.e., reporters and editors).

All in all, not a bad staff meeting, with the art contributing color, quirkiness and beauty to our world. It almost made up for the fact that the only Internet connection we could get at the art center was dial-up.

(In Palo Alto? Really?)

My top ten arts events from 2008

2009-01-08T17:10:00.000-08:00

Each January, it’s a kick to see what films Weekly critics choose as best and worst. This year, I made my own list. While the rundown isn’t comprehensive (I never have time to see everything), it is diverse: plays, concerts, exhibits, etc. Consider it my Top Ten Arts Happenings of 2008, in no particular order. I've limited my list to the Palo Alto area or we'd be here all night.

Theater production: “And Baby Makes Seven,” theatre Q
Pitch-perfect performances by Annamarie MacLeod and Katie Anderson -- and a moving, hilarious script by Paula Vogel -- made “Baby” a devastatingly entertaining evening of theater. Anyone could identify with Vogel’s matter-of-fact portrayal of an unconventional family. But no one could play multiple personalities fighting over a peanut butter sandwich like MacLeod. (Pictured above, from left, are MacLeod, Matthew Lowe and Anderson.)

Painting/print/photo exhibit: Richard Diebenkorn, Cantor Arts Center
This show of Diebenkorn’s views of Santa Cruz Island, rich with unhurried lines, gave us an affectionate look at this renowned American artist and insight into his periods of figurative and abstract work. In a lovely touch, the Cantor included photos of Diebenkorn taken by Leo Holub, who founded Stanford’s photography department.

Basket exhibit: "Intertwined," various artists, Palo Alto Art Center
This traveling show from the Arizona State University Art Museum kicked the notion of a basket on its head. There were creations made from steel nails, salmon skin, staples, bamboo and wire. My favorite was the poker-faced “Stickman,” a 6-foot-tall man fashioned in twigs and plastic ties by John McQueen.

Movies: Bette Davis film festival, Stanford Theatre
More than 75 years later, there’s still nobody who beats Bette. The Stanford Theatre gave us a treat in presenting her earlier works from the ‘30s, such as “Of Human Bondage,” “The Man Who Played God,” “So Big” and “Dangerous.” A Weekly reader wrote in to share a favorite Bette line, from “Cabin in the Cotton”: “I’d love to kiss you but I just washed my hair.”

Sculpture exhibit: Mayyur Kailash Gupta, Aicon Gallery
Whimsical, wistful wood faces fill Gupta’s sculptures. The Indian sculptor held his first exhibit in the United States at Aicon this summer, bringing images with a strong sense of play. (Pictured above is Gupta's "Guardian II.")

Painting/print exhibit: Arthur Krakower, RS Gallery
Krakower’s upbeat personality shines through every example of his considerable artistic skill. Even when his subjects turn melancholy, he uses such rich colors and a generous hand that you have to be cheered. His best title: “The Geraniums Were There When We Fell In Love.”

Scenic design: Kuo-Hao Lo for “Copenhagen,” Palo Alto Players
The tilting black grid of a theater set, dotted with a particle pattern, added tension and perspective to this Michael Frayn tale of two Nobel physicists. Weekly reviewer Diana Reynolds Roome wrote that Lo’s design at the Lucie Stern Theatre “brings the characters in and out of focus as they move about, fading in and out of the conversation.”

Timing: Jason Arias, Jonathan Ferro in “Rough Crossing,” Dragon Productions
I love playwright Tom Stoppard’s silliness and wordplay here. What kept cracking me up in this production was the flawless timing of two of its actors. Arias didn’t miss a beat as a stuttering man who kept inadvertently dropping bon mots at just the right moment. Meanwhile, Ferro, playing a steward trying to get his sea legs, kept up such a convincingly swaying rhythm that I got queasy.

Interactive concert: Sing- and play-along “Messiah” at Stanford’s Memorial Church
It’s amazing to hear your voice, blended with crowds of others, echoing in MemChu. Two other things make this “Messiah” the most fun: an eclectic mix of musicians and their instruments, and conductor Stephen Sano. Stanford’s choral studies director, Sano is welcoming, professional and simply delightful.

Choral music: Chanticleer’s holiday concert at Memorial Church
Exquisite harmonies and the clearest, purest tones imaginable. I go to this holiday concert every year, and this was the best I’ve ever heard. Lovely early music, lively carols and a powerful new soprano, Gregory Peebles. And who can resist the sweater vests?

Music reviews for the rest of us

2008-12-19T10:24:00.000-08:00

I've just started reading Daniel Levitin's book "This Is Your Brain on Music: The Science of a Human Obsession." We ran an interview with the author a few months back when he was speaking at Kepler's about his latest tome, but I thought I'd start with this one. He digs into the science of humans' passionate attachment to music, with the unusual approach of a record producer-turned-psychology professor.

As an arts journalist, I enjoyed a passage about how music critics can turn off their readers -- and how editors shouldn't stand for it. A nice reminder of how we all need to remember who our audience is:

How many times have you read a concert review in the newspaper and found you have no idea what the reviewer is saying? 'Her sustained appoggiatura was flawed by an inability to complete the roulade.' Or, 'I can't believe they modulated to C-sharp minor! How ridiculous!' What we really want to know is whether the music was performed in a way that moved the audience. Whether the singer seemed to inhabit the character she was singing about. ... We wouldn't stand for it if a restaurant reviewer started to speculate about the precise temperature at which the chef introduced the lemon juice in a hollandaise sauce, or if a film critic talked about the aperture of the lens that the cinematographer used; we shouldn't stand for it in music either.

It's interesting that you don't tend to see this rampant use of jargon in other types of arts writing, except sometimes visual-art reviews. Unfortunately, the practice adds to the too-widespread feeling that classical music is inaccessible to the layperson, that it exists in an esoteric plain that the rest of us shouldn't bother to try visiting, even if we wanted to.

As I heard several people say at the NEA Arts Journalism Institute, appreciating classical music isn't so much about knowing the jargon as it is having a good attention span. Today we're used to Polaroids of entertainment that we can process right away. An evening of classical music asks you to concentrate on a creative work that develops slowly and carefully, in a way that gives you pleasure in analyzing the music and listening to it again and again, discovering sparkling new facets every time.

Pictured: Daniel Levitin's website YourBrainOnMusic.com.

An evening with Chanticleer, and PWC

2008-12-11T22:00:00.000-08:00

I’ve seen Chanticleer perform about five times in recent years, and I’m always transported. Last night's concert at MemChu was the best I’ve ever heard.

All evening, the singers had exquisite harmonies and a clarity of tone as pure as the surface of a lake. Every song made me catch my breath. It’s a pleasure to initiate a newcomer, too; my mother had never heard Chanticleer before, and she listened as silently as a rapt child throughout. It was a nice role reversal.

I knew the concert would be special when the 12 singers entered in groups carrying candles, singing the 15th-century “Veni, veni Emmanuel.” Each group had such a flawless blend that at first I thought only one man was singing. Any choral singer can tell you how difficult that is.

Other works of early music, the hymn “Adeste Fideles,” and the syncopated, dance-like Spanish "Serenissima una noche" were among the selections in the first act folding easily together, each piece highlighted by the obvious joy the men take in their music. So many classical concerts are smothered with stillness and poker faces. Here, the men wore smiles or looks of rapture at what seemed like favorite passages. One appeared captivated by three soloists at one point, his eyes half-closed. All the singers do a sprightly toe hop before bowing.

My favorite choral experience anywhere, at any time, is Chanticleer singing Franz Biebl’s “Ave Maria.” Three soloists and the rest of the choir pass the melodic, warm music back and forth as though handling a beloved flag. The piece is a regular in the group's repertoire, but you wouldn’t have known that by last night’s performance. The men sang it with veneration and discovery, as though it were the first time. I didn't think they'd mind that I got choked up.

Here's a taste of Chanticleer singing "Ave Maria":

My only critique of the concert: I wanted more solos from bass Eric Alatorre, he of the elaborate mustache. His resonant voice is such a delightful contrast to the sopranos and altos.

Still, I greatly enjoyed the soprano voice of Chanticleer’s newest member, Gregory Peebles. In “My Soul Magnifies the Lord Op. 40, No. 1” by Pavel Chesnokov, which the program notes describe as “a type of soloistic arioso accompanied by choir,” Peebles set a gentle vibrato free-flying up into heights most men could never dream of.

This was my second choral concert in a week. Last Saturday I was at the Peninsula Women's Chorus winter performance at St. Mark's. A couple of the pieces were a bit quirky for my taste, but I was taken with the seven movements of Veljo Tormis's "Autumn Landscapes." The PWC often sings the works of this Estonian composer.

I enjoyed the atmospheric feel of the pieces. The chorus' deft control of dynamics added to the drama, and I could feel the melancholy of falling leaves, the billowing of the wind.

The PWC repeats the program this Saturday at Santa Clara University at 8 and this Sunday at St. Patrick's Seminary at 3. And Chanticleer is performing all over the place in California over the next few weeks.

Photo from http://www.stanford.edu/group/religiouslife/memchu.html

The beat on the street in 'Metropolis'

2008-12-04T20:53:00.000-08:00

Ever since I wrote a story about the Fritz Lang's classic silent film "Metropolis," I've had that old '80s song by The Church stuck in my head. Does anyone else remember that? "Back in Metropolis, circuses and elephants, where the oranges grew..." It also rhymed "metropolis" with "topple us," and, really, what other options do you have?

Back on topic. I wish I could attend this Saturday's "Metropolis" event at Stanford's Memorial Auditorium. While the film is shown, the Santa Rosa Symphony will play a score to the film written in the '90s by Martin Matalon. All the while, an electronic recording by Matalon will be heard, making life all the more challenging for the orchestra.

The Santa Rosa folk were kind enough to send me the recordings, and the music is delightfully wild. Here are two samples (as .mp3s): Sample 1 Sample 2

Pictured: A film still from "Metropolis" with Brigitte Helm as the Robot. Courtesy Stanford Lively Arts.

Backstage blog: "Meadowland"

2008-12-04T14:07:00.000-08:00

Actor Ian Walker impressed me with his conviction and quiet strength in a San Jose production of Lee Blessing's "Flag Day" in September. Now I see he's blogging about "Meadowland," a murder-mystery play he wrote and is directing in San Francisco. His video diary (scroll down to see the link) ushers readers into life backstage: production meetings, costume sketches, mask-making, and that devilish craft, writing a press release. An interesting site that could be especially useful for other theater companies.

My favorite posting is the one on fight choreography. I usually play the sweet thing on stage and have not yet attempted the fine art of kicking someone in the head. Everybody's got the right to their dream.

Spreading the magic

2008-12-01T21:11:00.000-08:00

Is it me, or is this press release not the wee-est bit tenuous?

Narnia Spreads Its Magic During
The Morning Commute!
Walt Disney Studios Home Entertainment Gives Morning Commuters a Free BART Ride in Celebration of the DVD and Blu-ray™ Release of THE CHRONICLES OF NARNIA: PRINCE CASPIAN

I have now received this press release twice, and I still don't get the connection between public transit and a Disney film. If you want to plug your movie, why not do it in a way that supports the arts and is also vaguely relevant?

Why not fete the mighty Blu-ray™ at an independent bookstore, along with a gift certificate good for one fantasy or fairy-tale book? Why not throw your shindig in front of Smithwick Theatre at Foothill College, where they're actually putting on "The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe," and buy folks their theater tickets?

I have nothing against Disney; I just think gratuitous PR efforts are silly.

Arts and the man

2008-11-25T21:12:00.000-08:00

As January approaches, I've been thinking of this quote more and more:

"I see little of more importance to the future of our country and our civilization than full recognition of the place of the artist. ... I look forward to an America which will reward achievement in the arts as we reward achievement in business or statecraft."
-John F. Kennedy at Amherst College, 1963

How long has it been since we had a leader who put that much emphasis on the arts? Are we finally moving in the right direction?

Here's hoping.