Month: January 2003

After the black cloud of hell that is known as the holidays in my family, I came down with the “cruise ship flu,” a name which doesn’t begin to paint this evil in the proper light. Never in my adult life have I been this sick. As god is my witness, I shan’t be kneeling in front of the toilet again, lest I accidentally drop Richard Ashcroft’s 14-carat engagement ring in, and even then.

Cry for help? Probably. It’s the first time in 10 years I’ve looked for a job that doesn’t involve kissing some coke-whore program director’s payola-padded, modern-rock white ass. Pride? You betcha. Mail-order plans for kitchen meth lab looking good? Check. Meds? Plenty. Side effects? Does having evening chats with the Care Bears and losing all interest in food, sex, and the outside world qualify as a side effect?

The yardstick I use to gauge my depression has always been what I refer to as the “summer of the penny.” Several years ago, I noticed one red cent laying on the floor in my apartment and each day I saw it, I told myself I should pick it up. Three months later, it was still there, only now it rested gently on a fluffy bed of cat hair. That was as bad as it got.

Well, there WAS the evening I spent on the phone with a nurse from Medformation. One night, after I had dropped a birth control pill under my desk, I was on hands and knees searching. I popped the first small white object I saw into my mouth. Then I sinkingly remembered that for the last week I’d been administering antibiotics to my sick cat, which he would promptly spit out. Stupid human. Was I being paranoid, or did I really have an urge to lie in the clothes basket and paddle a twist-tie around the floor for 45 minutes? God knows, I DO mean to make light of depression, but I will take a hostage if I hear another smug moron say, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Wrong, Larry. I think what doesn’t kill you now sloooowly eats away at you, emotionally crippling you, and even more disturbing, makes the Style Network seem important.

Finally someone (besides us) has noticed that the expansive area north of the old warehouse district, recently filled with new condos and townhouses, offices and studios, is ready for a restaurant and club appropriate for the crowd that works and lives nearby. Babalu is that, and a certain draw for heat-seeking souls from the entire metro area. It’s new, it’s unique, it’s a hot retreat in an old warehouse up wide Washington Avenue, where the wind used to blow tumbleweeds over wagon-wheel ruts, but will now blow you into a Latin-Caribbean-Spanish glow. Barely open as we speak, Babalu already has character, from original art by Galician artist Xurxo, to live Latin jazz sounds, comfortable bar, and fine cuisine—the combined creation of Spanish and Latin American chefs. (You chef groupies can trace the kitchen’s lineage through various popular restaurants in town. They know what they’re doing, and we hear co-owner Terrence Large can throw a good party, too.) Brush up on your Spanish, order paella in advance, or try any number of great dishes that are rarely seen around these parts. We love the cazuela de mariscos, the red snapper served on a banana leaf, or the mango jicama sea bass on pumpkin-seed sauce. Valet parking for those of you who don’t live or work nearby. Or consider moving. Babalu, (612) 746-3158

Martha Clarke has seldom pursued the linear in her storytelling. Like many of the artists she’s interpreted—Franz Kafka and Hieronymus Bosch, for instance—Clarke has a taste for collaging imagery with such a ravenous appetite that the final product invariably takes on the taste of a three-day acid trip. Vienna Lusthaus (Revisited) is no exception. Capturing the tumult of pre-World War I Vienna requires from Clarke a Herculean effort, not of weaving but juggling. But Clarke pulls it off with the colhelp of some able collaborators—composer Richard Peaslee and playwright Charles Mee. Thirty-two vignettes, including music, dance, poetry, and performance, fly in a seamless flow of recurring symbol and gesture. The intensity of the swirl, a distillation of one of history’s most remarkable bursts of energy, threatens to boil over into chaos, but Clarke manages the operation by enveloping the whole in a dry haze of unmovable estrangement. This is dance for brave—and mature—audiences. Northrop, 84 Church St. S.E., (612) 624-2345, www.northrop.umn.edu

Cool colors and sparse compositions link the two artists exhibiting together at this year-old artists’ collective tucked away in a corner of the quickly gentrifying Old St. Anthony section of northeast Minneapolis. John-Mark Schlink’s work is based around his interest in architectural forms, most obviously in his studies of Minneapolis’ downtown buildings, which reduce the skyline to geometric shapes and smears of color. But the majority of his paintings here are indoor studies of a peacefully Hopperesque vibe—anonymous vacant apartments, bare walls and floors empty of people and furniture. Daniel Buettner, meanwhile, is inspired by his schoolteaching job, embracing the uncontrived simplicity of the elementary school student. Fractured spaces filled with mathematical symbols and formulae are dotted here and there with childlike drawings of globes, giraffes and racecars. Rosalux, 628 Central Ave. N.E., (612) 252-0124, rosaluxgallery.com

This year’s Northern Clay exhibit and forum with an acknowledged master of ceramic art is a twofer, as both the 2002 and 2003 invitees will be here simultaneously, dropping science and throwing pots like there’s no tomorrow. Now in her 80s, Gütte Eriksen has earned her place as one of Denmark’s most important potters, combining ancient European traditions with Japanese forms. Her innovative approach garnered high praise from no less than Sir David Attenborough, who applauded “the delectable way her subtly varied glazes poured and dripped over their bulges and gathered in creamy pools in their gutters.” (Recently we praised the guy at the donut shop the same way for his innovative glazes, and he called us names and told me us to get the hell out of his store.) Australia’s Janet Mansfield is known for her editorship of two international magazines on the art and science of ceramics, and also works to strengthen ties among the world’s pottery community, exactly what the Regis Masters series aims to do as well. NCC, 2424 E. Franklin Ave., (612) 339-8007, www.northernclaycenter.org

Though Disney might sue us for using their copyrighted phrase, it’s a small world, after all. And getting smaller. This three-month, cross-disciplinary exhibit directs your attention to the growing effect of globalization on art, bringing together 27 visual, new media, film, and performance artists from China, Brazil, South Africa, India and that foreign land called New York. There’s a school of thought that all great innovation in art comes from the collision of cultural modes—the way early jazz mixed Western orchestral music with African styles. Culture shock as a mode of progress has been around since the dawn of civilization, but our modern age has pumped it up in both scope and speed. With so many cultures meeting each other head-on and intermingling ideas, does the word “culture” have the same meaning anymore? Should a nondominant culture try to block outside influence for fear of losing that which makes it unique? And what new genres will eventually be spawned from this brave new world? Latitudes surely won’t have all the answers, but it will certainly help formulate the right questions.
Walker, (612) 375-7622, latitudes.walkerart.org

Originally a recording produced in 1999, Caravan is one of the Kronos Quartet’s recent world explorations, this time through the imagery of the Gypsy Diaspora. Pannonia, a name once given to the stretch of eastern Europe where the Mediterranean and European worlds cross paths with the Orient, is the setting and inspiration for an evening that promises a myriad of flavors and spices. Kronos has a knack for creating soundscapes that are as cohesive as its influences are disparate. Caravan is an exceptional example, blending compositions from India, Lebanon, Hungary, Mexico and a half dozen other exotic wellsprings, including Dick Dale, King of the Surf Guitar. Many of the works have been arranged for Kronos by the deft Argentinean composer Osvaldo Golijov, who the New York Times calls a “musical alchemist.” Kronos enthusiasts will remember several collaborations with Golijov in recent years. They share the same bright-eyed curiosity and enthusiasm for contemporary music. Now in its 30th year, the Kronos Quartet has achieved institutional status. Pop stars, so to speak. Yet their virtuosity has never allowed the quartet’s trademark quirkiness to become a cliché. Walker, (612) 375-7622, www.walkerart.org

After three solid albums diffidently supported by three labels, English pop-folkster David Gray got the break he deserved when frat-friendly superstar Dave Matthews chose White Ladder as the first release on Matthews’ own label. True to its title, Ladder kept climbing, reaching multiple platinum on the strengths of its effervescent electronic beats and Gray’s sophisticated, warbling tenor, netting memorable singles in “Please Forgive Me” and “Babylon.” That’s a tough act to follow commercially, and on A New Day At Midnight, released in November, it’s clear Gray’s not letting the pressure screw up his songwriting. This time the digital effects are mostly gone in favor of a mellower, more somber mood, less Wallflowers and more Van Morrison. While it may lack the immediately appealing quality of his breakthrough, it passes the test of repeated listens with flying colors. Northrop, 84 Church St. S.E., (612) 624-2345, www.northrop.umn.edu

Neil Finn has been making the musical progression from reckless youth (he joined his brother’s band, Split Enz, at age 18) to pop craftsman (Crowded House) to, on his last couple of solo discs, melancholy crooner. Finn’s rich, textured vocals and whimsical and songwriting make him one of the most underrated performers of the last two decades. Count yourself lucky to be able to see him in such an intimate setting as the Fine Line, with his teenage son, who is also an adept guitarist in his own right. Finn’s recent sets mostly include later stuff, but you’re bound to get a golden oldie or two from his Split Enz and Crowded House days. Fine Line, 318 1st Ave. N, (612) 338-8100, www.finelinemusic.com

There’s just no way around it, so we’ll take it head-on: Jane Monheit is similar to Diana Krall—but, we hasten to add, in all the right ways. She’s a brilliant retro-jazz interpreter, an incredible vocal stylist, and a very young woman with a very bright future. At the tender age of 26, she’s worked wonders with an unlikely old chestnut: Her recently released version of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” is already a celebrated signature tune that people are raving about. Jazzbos say it’ll be considered the best interpretation of the song ever, which is saying something. Like Krall, detractors worry that Monheit is just too pretty to be taken seriously. If only we had those kinds of detractors! Pantages Theater, 710 Hennepin Ave., (612) 339-7007, www.hennepintheatredistrict.com