Year: 2005

Al Green’s been boiling in our blood all along, his deep moans and hungry wails laying down soundtracks for everything from lost virginities to Viagra-assisted hook-ups. After that period in the eighties when Green went reverend on us, devoting himself full-time to gospel and God, he returned to R&B in the mid-nineties, but it was a disappointingly lackluster effort. Luckily, in 2003 he came full circle with I Can’t Stop, an album on which he reunites with his old producer, Willie Mitchell, and reconciles his Christian beliefs with the corporeal pleasures his music magically incites. Indeed, he really couldn’t stop, because his new album follows the same earthy path. It’s a raw effort peppered with spiritual energy and Green’s signature Southern soul. Everything’s OK loves all God’s creatures–especially honeys, babies, and mamas.

It’s been ten years since the folks at the Schubert Club brought Minnesota its first gamelan, and in collaboration with the Indonesian Performing Arts Association of Minnesota, they’ve put it to good use ever since. For this concert, Midiyanto, an acclaimed Javanese puppeteer, will shape an evening wayang kulit, or traditional shadow puppetry performance, around the music. The puppet master gathers concertgoers around the fire (Okay, they’ll make do with giant gongs, in this case) to tell the story of the young Bima, a traditional character who sports a conspicuously long thumbnail. The multitasking Midiyanto will guide Bima through the Mahabharata world of demons, giants, and gods, even as he conducts the gamelan players through their mesmerizing sweeps of percussion. Sundin Hall, 1531 Hewitt Ave., St. Paul; 651-523-2459; www.schubert.org

Those darling DJs at the Current have been playing Nick Cave’s profane-to-profound music with such enthusiasm you’d think we’re in Australia, where he’s achieved elder statesman status among alt rockers. Hearing the dark-side crooner so often reminds us of what we like about him–his brooding intensity, his amazing gift for melody, his throwback lyrical style–but we concede that even fans may find this three-CD, fifty-six-song set a lot to digest. It spans a couple of decades and a huge range of styles, meaning listeners might use their “skip” button a wee bit to keep things interesting or to spare themselves abrasions from Cave’s rougher edges. But don’t be too quick to jump ahead: Cave always rewards brave listeners with shining moments of brilliance.

In the wake of the tsunami, some well-intentioned Americans looked into adopting orphaned children. Perhaps they should read Jan Jeong Trenka’s memoir, The Language of Blood, before buying a ticket to Jakarta. “Remember that your joy as a parent is a direct result of your child’s first loss,” Trenka cautions adoptive parents. A Korean-born child adopted into a white Northern Minnesota family, Trenka writes of her search for her birth mother, who was forced to give her up, and her struggles to come to terms with an Asian identity her adoptive parents never recognized. Her story, told in part through one-act plays, dream sequences, and crossword puzzles, won a 2004 Minnesota Book Award. 7001 York Ave. S., Edina; 952-847-5900

Odell takes up the sympathies of two mothers on opposite sides of the racial divide, who are connected by grief as they deal with the loss of their sons and watch the dawn of the desegregation era come to their small Mississippi town. Odell once had a successful corporate career. He tossed it, and almost everything else in his life, aside for a soul-searching expedition to Costa Rica. He came back and wrote this book. 10 E. Exchange St., St. Paul; 651-290-1221

When U.S. publishers give teenagers book deals, there’s usually some hard partying in the pages. Snow White follows that rule–to the consternation of book-loving Poland, which reluctantly nominated the then-nineteen-year-old Maslowska for the Nike Prize, its highest literary honor. Maslowska’s tale of addiction and self-destruction is so brutal it has been compared to Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. In post-Communist Eastern Europe, Andrzej “Nails” Robakoski bounces among women after his girlfriend gives him the boot. He’s even more confused by what’s happening to his country, which becomes comically corrupt as the Russian black market reorders all of society, or so it seems. But who knows Nails’s paranoia might have something to do with all those drugs he’s been taking.

For Chang, hip-hop isn’t just a reigning musical genre; it’s a rising force getting ready to reshape the nation. As a co-founder of the influential hip-hop label Solesides and producer of groups like the Ghetto Prophets, the man knows firsthand the power of the beat to change culture, politics, and society. One of the nation’s most passionate hip-hop historians, he’s analyzed the sounds and the scene for publications including Vibe, The Village Voice, and Spin. His tour for Can’t Stop Won’t Stop, which collects his essays on the hip-hop generation, makes two stops here: a reading and discussion, replete with beats, at Barnes and Noble; and a talk in conjunction with Intermedia Arts’ “Encyclopedia of Hip-Hop Evolution” program, to be followed by breakdancing and spoken word by Twin Cities hip-hop artists. Barnes and Noble, 2401 Fairview Ave. N., Roseville; Intermedia Arts, 2822 Lyndale Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-871-4444;

For those of us who think Tom Stoppard is the greatest English playwright since Shakespeare, the DVD release of the movie of his first play has been eagerly anticipated since that date about six years ago when we put it on our Amazon wish list. The 1967 play introduced Stoppard’s conceit of a play within a Shakespeare play (later used to such great effect in Shakespeare in Love) to take on the big themes of whether it’s better to be alive or dead if you happened to be buried in a box, what we can and can’t know, and, in a great sight gag that was cut off the side in the VHS version, Newton’s conservation of momentum. Gary Oldman and Tim Roth are Rosencrantz and Guildenstern–or is it the other way around?

Every Ramones fan knows the band was made up of weirdos. That’s a big part of why we loved them. Joey was a beanpole geek, Johnny a mop-topped grump, Dee Dee a streetwise cartoon boyÑthey were a lot like the screwed-up teenagers that we were. Of course, they also blew away the reigning “classic rock” genre with their two-minute buzzsaw rants. We laughed at their songs about sniffing glue and beating on brats–then wondered if they were perhaps serious. As End of the Century shows, yes, they probably were. Even fans, though, will be surprised to learn the extent of their dysfunction as revealed in this lengthy warts-and-all rockumentary.

We saw Adrian Brody coming from a long way away, ever since King of the Hill. It’s not just his charm (his ads for Ermenegildo Zegna make us weak in the knees); his talent leads him to play characters who are subject to a heartbreaking array of misfortunes, humiliations, and trials. Here he plays Jack Starks, a Gulf War vet who’s accused of murdering a police officer and sent to a mental institution. And then things get terrifying: his doctor is Kris Kristofferson. Horrors! The creepy doctor’s treatment plan involves stowing Starks in a body drawer in the morgue, where he descends into a madness broken only by the certainty that he will die in four days. The very idea gives us an anxiety attack–but you know we’ll be at the theater on opening day.