Month: September 2006

  • LOCAL MUSIC: Cubano Libre!

    At times during his monthly performances at the Dakota Jazz Club & Restaurant in downtown Minneapolis, Cuban-born Nachito Herrera seems less intent on playing the piano than on consuming it—greedily, octave after octave—his thick, muscular fingers tenderizing the keys under a barrage of powerful yet precise blows, his stocky frame bouncing up and down on the bench like a little boy waiting to rip open presents on Christmas morning. This is the Nachito described as “Explosive. Crowd pleasing … Jaw-droppingly good” by music critic Tom Surowicz in the Minneapolis StarTribune.

    But there’s another side to Herrera’s playing, a dimension that reflects decades of formal training in classical music. The delicate lyricism and sensitivity he brings to the passages of, say, Bach or Chopin, he weaves unexpectedly into jazz medleys, as he did in a recent show dedicated to the music of Duke Ellington. This is the Nachito Herrera whose virtuoso riffs moved Latin Beat Magazine’s Jesse “Chuy” Varela to marvel at Herrera’s “unbridled freedom,” at the “solos that can melt snow off the sidewalk.”

    “It’s hard to believe,” Varela declares, that Herrera’s music is “coming from St. Paul, Minnesota, and not La Habana, Cuba.

    Hard indeed.

    Long day’s journey to White Bear Lake

    Herrera’s story has a fairy-tale quality to it—a gifted protagonist rescued from the grip of some dark force by a fairy godmother. Only in this case, the fairy godmother was a fairy godfather: Lowell Pickett, owner and founder of the Dakota. It wasn’t Pickett who first brought Herrera to Minnesota, but he’s largely responsible for the fact that this Latin jazz prodigy now resides among stolid, northern European types in a modest ranch-style house in White Bear Lake.

    Like the nineteenth-century graduates of the traditional atelier system in France, who went on to invent modern art, Herrera earned his chops the old-fashioned way, studying classical piano for 16 years before making his name in jazz.

    The pianist was born Ignacio Herrera (“Nachito” is the diminutive of “Ignacio”) on May 31, 1966, in Santa Clara, his mother’s small Cuban hometown. His parents, Ignacio and Romelia, met in medical school but never became doctors. Both were pianists and outstanding musicians in their own right. As Nachito puts it, “My mother had very good ears.”

    Like his son, Herrera’s father was a performer, who also conducted, arranged, and composed music. His father’s pursuit of a music career led to the family’s move, not long after Nachito was born, to a suburb of Havana offering many more performance venues and opportunities than Santa Clara. The family home was also Ignacio’s rehearsal space, and it was here that Nachito first encountered many of the greats of the Cuban jazz world.

    “Through my father, I was exposed to all different styles of music,” Herrera recalls. “He had working relationships with Rubén González, Chucho Valdés, Joseito Gonzales, and the like. Watching them perform, I realized I would be able to play classical and Cuban music, too, if I wanted.”

    At the age of five, Nachito was enrolled in one of Cuba’s top music schools. From there he went on to the National School of Art, a highly competitive institution, and then to the Superior Institute of Art, where he studied piano with a focus on classical training and technique. “Chopin, Liszt, Bach, Gershwin, Beethoven, Rachmaninoff, you name it,” he says. “We were immersed in them all.” Even before he finished school, his prodigious talents stood out. Herrera’s first taste of fame came at the age of twelve, when he performed Rachmaninoff’s notoriously difficult “Piano Concerto No. 2” with the Havana Symphony Orchestra. Today, his extensive classical training is evident even when he’s playing jazz, in the extraordinary touch and precision he brings to the music’s quiet moments.

    After graduation from the Superior Institute of Art, Herrera toured with a number of jazz groups and served as musical director of the Tropicana Club in Havana. His big break came in 1996, when the lead pianist of ¡Cubanismo!, Cuba’s foremost Latin jazz ensemble, fell ill; Herrera was asked to sit in for him at the Montréal Jazz Festival and on a subsequent two-week tour of Europe. A year or so later, he ended up as the troupe’s musical director, traveling around the world (the group performed in the U.S. two or three times a year) as well as arranging music for the ensemble. In the meantime, he met and married Aurora Gonzales, a law student at Havana University. The couple has two children—sixteen-year-old Mirdalys, a vocalist who regularly performs with her father, and David, age twelve.

  • LOCAL MUSIC: The Audiophiles

    Chris Osgood
    Age: 52 Background: Formed the seminal Minneapolis punk band, The Suicide Commandos, in 1974 and then went on to serve as label manager/producer for Twin/Tone Records. Currently serves as director of artist services for Springboard for the Arts, a St. Paul-based nonprofit dedicated to helping self-employed creative folks earn a living.

    Name some of the local bands you’re listening to.
    The three newest things in my purview are Tim O’Reagan’s new record—I was listening to that just today. I was listening to the Mad Ripple, which is Jim Walsh’s new project. I’ve also been listening to a new band called Texatonka. I listen to a lot of local music because of my gig at Springboard.

    Where do you go to buy music?
    I try to support the indies out there as much as possible—the Roadrunners of the world and, of course, Treehouse. I give a plug to both of them. And a plug to the [Electric] Fetus as well. I throw as much of my business to brick-and-mortar stores as I can.

    What’s your concertgoing schedule like these days?
    I’m not the inveterate concertgoer I used to be. Back when I worked at Twin/Tone, there were years I was out at concerts three hundred days out of the year. These days, there are other things I like to do. I like to fly-fish, and fly-fishing is exactly the opposite of being at First Ave.

    Ryan Cameron
    Age: 46 Background: Owner of Let It Be, the record store that stood on Tenth Street and Nicollet Avenue in downtown Minneapolis from 1987 to 2005. The store hosted many notable in-store performances by local and national bands. Since it closed, “I’ve just been concentrating on selling things online and a few other places—collectibles, out-of-print stuff, and rarities.”

    How do you find out about new music?
    By reading the couple of magazines that I read. Mojo is a good one. Uncut is another good one. The Wire is good for electronic music, although that’s not my forte in terms of what I listen to.

    So, is the good stuff still out there?
    There’s always been really, really good music; there just always has been! Sometimes you just have to dig deeper. And now it’s gotten to be a little confusing. Do you go to a record store? Do you download it?

    Do you have any local favorites?
    I have to be honest and say that I don’t listen to a lot of local stuff. I just don’t. It’s a fault of mine. I just don’t go out and see a lot of local shows, and I think that’s the best way to experience local music.

    Lindsay Kimball
    Age: 23 Background: Intern at 89.3 The Current; former music director at Luther College’s KWLC. She also booked all the campus concerts and wrote all the music reviews for the student newspaper. “They called me the ‘music monopoly.’ ”

    How do you go about finding new music?
    A lot of it is talking to friends and people I run into at shows, just seeing what they’re listening to. The other two ways are, one, going to shows—whether it’s a small local show or a national show—and two, MySpace.

    Name some of the local bands you like.
    I was just listening to the Get-Up Johns this morning—for a completely different style of music, more of an O Brother, Where Art Thou? sound. The Duplomacy disc is pretty good. I’m still digging Coach Said Not To, the Alarmists. At first I wasn’t sure about the Alarmists, but then I saw them live and thought, yeah, they’re pretty fun.

    Warm fuzzies for the Minneapolis music scene:
    The cool thing about the Minneapolis scene is that there’s a huge sense of community. You see the same people at all the shows. The bands go out of their way to support each other. I’ve made tons of friends just by running into people at shows. I don’t want to say it’s a quality-of-life thing—but for me, it is.

    David de Young
    Age: 42 Background: Publishes HowWasTheShow .com, a website that, since 2002, has featured reviews of concerts by local and national acts. “When I go out, say, on a Saturday, I might see ten different bands because I go to four different venues. I try to go to as many shows as possible.”

    Local music scene: alive or dead?
    I’m not one of those people who says these are the heydays as opposed to five years ago, because I’m kind of old and I’ve seen it all—and it’s always kind of been the same.

    Where do you go to hear new music these days?
    For brand-new bands I’ve never seen before, I’ve probably seen more new bands at the Hexagon than I have at First Ave or the Turf Club, because crazy stuff, unexpected stuff, just happens there more often. But the answer is not venues, it’s people. I’d have to say that I hear about new bands from other musicians faster than people who just go to shows.

    What are some of your favorite local bands?
    The Alarmists, White Light Riot, Stook, Espionage! … which I guess includes some former Man Planet guys.

    Are there any bands you haven’t seen yet but plan to?
    Middlepicker, I’ve heard good things about. I haven’t seen ’em but I know I’m supposed to.

    Any local discs people ought to hear?
    I think everyone should buy Tim O’Reagan’s new CD because it’s amazing. For people who like the Minneapolis sound, Stook’s Soundtrack to My Minneapolis is good.

    Sonia Grover
    Age: 31 Background: Started working at First Avenue as a booking assistant in 1998; has since been thoroughly entrenched in the process of booking Minneapolis’ most prominent club.

    How often are you out hearing live music?
    I’m here [at First Avenue] like four or five nights a week. So if I go to another venue, it’s probably just one or two nights outside of First Ave. Sometimes if you get a night off, you just don’t want to go see another band.

    What are some of your favorite local bands right now?
    Well, I’ll always check out Mark Mallman’s shows. I’m a big fan of Chooglin’, or someone like the God Damn Doo Wop Band, or the Dad in Common.

    Any favorite local discs?
    We [at First Avenue] get a lot of music sent to us, so we’re lucky that way. And then I have friends who are experts with downloading, so I tend not to buy a lot of music. But I listen to it. I see most of these bands live or maybe listen to them on MySpace, but I’m not listening to any one local record right now. And you know, there are a lot of stations in town with good local shows, so I just tune into those anyway—like the Homegrown Show [KQRS], Jason Nagel’s show on Cities 97, and the Local Show on The Current. Radio K tends to play local music throughout the day, but also on Off the Record.

  • LOCAL MUSIC: It's Different for Girls

    Excerpted from the forthcoming memoir, Petal Pusher (Atria, June 2007).

    Part 1: Tired of Being a Spectator
    1985—Madison, Wisconsin

    I’m going to start a band with my girlfriends, and we’re all planning a move to the current, or at least closest, music capital of the world, Minneapolis. About that small issue of not having spent our teens locked in our bedrooms jacking off with guitars, but rather, cheerleading and memorizing the choreography from Grease: No problem. We look the part. I can carry a tune. And I know all three chords to “Wild Thing” on guitar, so I’m almost there. As a woman, it’s taken me this long to connect my interest and longing (I’m a twenty-three-year-old college dropout) to something I could actually do—rather than spend the rest of my life just watching.

    We’re keeping our band project a secret until we can acquire skills, equipment, and write some songs. No boys allowed. I want me and the girls to be coddled, protected, and admired like the rock boys I’ve been watching. We will rock you—and all we have to do is jam, fiddle with song ideas on a tape recorder, practice a couple times a week, play a gig now and then, record an album a year, and be wry, clever, and funny. In exchange, we’ll have our choice of the cream of the opposite sex as well as the protection and admiration of our peers. Everyone will want us; everyone will want to buy us drinks. Keep in mind that my favorite song as a little girl was “Daydream Believer.”

    Part 2: The Birth and Toddler Years of Zuzu’s Petals
    1988–1994—Minneapolis

    Another all-women three-piece band in town, Babes in Toyland, has become instantly popular. They regularly sell out local venues and are making records for an ultrahip label out of Seattle called Sub Pop. They’re already touring and garnering international attention. Unlike Zuzu’s Petals, they did a good job when they opened for Soul Asylum .… While Babes lead singer, Kat, spits “Vomit my heart/ Spread my legs apart,” my bandmate, Coleen, hiccups, “Boy, you better buy yourself a spine, ’cuz you ain’t wearing mine.”

    Nationwide, there’s a ton of all-women bands at the moment: Babes, L7, Scrawl, Calamity Jane, The Friggs. There’s also a lot of women singer-songwriters (Brenda Kahn, Victoria Williams, Shawn Colvin) and even more female-fronted bands with ringer dudes filling in on guitar or drums (Hole, Throwing Muses, The Breeders, Salem 66). The word used to describe the hot, hardcore babes making rock is “foxcore.” Their most noticeable fashion statement is the naughty-Lolita look—a phenomenon, perfected by Kat Bjelland of Babes in Toyland, of wearing too-tight schoolgirl dresses. The look is known simply as “kinderwhore.”

    …The music-loving women who are not in bands work for record labels, music publications, radio stations, and in nightclubs. On occasion, we sense a minor backlash from them. Some dislike our lack of in-your-face politics. Some don’t care for our music. Some respond unfavorably to those we date or befriend. When we invade their turf, they glaze over with an icy reserve or they warily just tolerate us. One night, a soundman breaks the news that Zuzu’s Petals will never get another gig in one of his clubs because, for one of the above-mentioned reasons, its female booking agent doesn’t like us.

    Part 3: Why It Doesn’t Last
    Winter 1994—Minneapolis

    “You guys [meaning gals],” says the president of Restless Records, “need to strike while the iron is hot. You need to get into the studio and crank out a new record.”

    “Okay,” I say, not mentioning that our once-prolific songwriting has dried up after a year on the road.

    “I want to get together with you alone before we begin recording,” our new producer, Albhy, requests of me over the phone. I meet him at his hotel’s restaurant in downtown Minneapolis on a frozen January afternoon.

    “How do things work with you chicks?” he asks.

    “We’re a democracy,” I utter weakly, unconvinced of the possibility.

    “It never works, believe me,” he says.

    Part 4: Summer 1994
    —somewhere in the parched Midwest

    I used to envy my bandmates Co and Linda for being sexy brunettes. Now I covet their ability to make the most of our situation by insisting we have a good time. What’s not fun about having larger, more receptive audiences? (Nothing.) We’re more functional onstage than we are during the rest of the day, when we’re left staring at the passing highway, lost in private thoughts. There’s a small chance that we’re about to break through to the next level. But it’s not happening fast enough. I keep comparing our progress with other femme bands like Hole, Belly, and L7; they’re all on major labels while we’re schlepping away on an indie. What if we’ve hit our ceiling, like this is the best it’s ever going to be? That would suck. What if I missed my childbearing years while on the road, forgoing a home and a family? Then my greatest fear would become reality: I would become a rock hag, holed up in some crusty apartment filled with cats and a revolving cast of vaguely impressed (yet apathetic) younger lovers. That would really suck.

  • FROM RAKEMAG.COM/TODAY: Got Me a Movie, I Want You to Know…

    Got Me a Movie, I Want You to Know: The Best Songs About Movies and the People Who Make Movies

    A bee got into my bonnet the other day, and I started thinking about my favorite songs about the movie industry. Not songs from movies—those are a different beast altogether. No, I want songs that celebrate or lament Hollywood, tributes to the stars or reminiscences of some actor’s tragic demise. In no particular order:

    Debaser, The Pixies. A tribute to Buñuel.

    Take, Take, Take and The Union Forever, The White Stripes. The first, about an obsession with Rita Hayworth; the second, about an obsession with Citizen Kane.

    Lon Chaney, Chickasaw Mudd Puppies. Great song that you’ll never find—these guys (a guitarist and a guy in a big rocking chair, singing and keeping the beat with his boots) are long gone. All about the Man of a Thousand Faces. Nearly indecipherable lyrics, most of which are references to his many films.
    The Right Profile, The Clash, and Monty Got a Raw Deal, R.E.M. A pair of songs about the tragic life of Montgomery Clift.

    Act Naturally, Buck Owens (and later sung by Ringo on Help!). “They’re gonna put me in the movies…”

    David Duchovny, Bree Sharp. She’s probably regretting not going with Gillian Anderson on this one.

    King of the Mountain, Southern Culture on the Skids. Fab song about a backwoods pornographer.

    Martin Scorsese, King Missile.

    Lost in the Temple, by Peter Schilling

  • FROM RAKEMAG.COM/TODAY: September 04, 2006 A Sort of Requiem

    The summer is fading. The moon is easing down to sleep in the trees, even as the stars step back into the dark country of heaven. They look like a small cluster of island villages in the North Sea, seen from an airplane at night.
    A fox, interloper here in the middle of a city overrun by the swelling chorus of cicadas singing summer’s requiem, does its solitary, long-legged Mardi Gras dance down an empty street.
    These are, I suppose, precious days in the middle of a man’s life. If you’re going to find yourself at the crossroads it’s nice to have such pleasant diversions while you mull your options, nice to still have options, to still sense the road forking off in so many directions wherever you happen to find yourself.
    Take your time, the night says, it’s yours, even if there’s less of it now than there was yesterday, than there was last September. Take your sweet fucking time.
    It’s hard to imagine, on an evening like this, that there’s a single thing out there to be afraid of, or that all your failures add up to anything but a series of minor follies. It’s all frankly hard to imagine, this life, this world, the world stretching to the horizon in the darkness and out into space beyond even the most distant stars.

    Yo, Ivanhoe!, by Brad Zellar

  • Puppy Love

    I had to laugh at your article, “The Dog’s Lover” [July]. You see, I, too, have a similar problem with my male Yorkie. His toy, a poor stuffed animal, is now missing an ear, eye, and portions of his head, which I have had to stuff and sew numerous times. I made the mistake of bringing it out when we had company—yes, he certainly provided the entertainment. Unfortunately, I have not been able to find a replacement, but my Yorkie has occasionally made do with a stuffed porcupine (ouch!).

    Deb Hammer, Edina

  • Burning Up

    I had no problem keeping warm in my air-conditioned office as I read Kirsten Major’s article, “Sun So Hot I Froze to Death” [August]. In fact, I was burning up with rage, as I became nauseous at the idea of using a personal space heater in order to keep warm in an air-conditioned office. While reading Vanity Fair the author must have missed the widespread alarm raised by contemporary scientists, proclaiming that we are causing irreparable damage to our home, planet Earth. Such behavior perhaps is emblematic of her patriotic American attitude, which on a national scale wastes a quarter of the world’s energy yet ignores the Kyoto Protocol. Why carpool or use public transportation when you can drive a large SUV alone? Why ask the building’s management to turn up the thermostat when you can just plug in a heater and waste away? Well, it’s nice to have your own freedom and why not just ignore the fact that electricity is vastly inefficient at heating and sixty-two percent of it is generated by coal. Unfortunately, Ms. Major won’t be the only one going to hell; our sick lungs and children, who won’t enjoy a moderate global climate, will have to burn in hell for her fashionable attire as well.

    Vladimir Makarov, Edina

  • Left Wanting More

    I’m 45 years old, teach remedial Reading in an elementary school, and am a voracious reader. I turn to your mag for the kind of writing I crave and can’t find in any other Minneapolis mag. Never before have I written to a publication, but also, never before have I felt such a craving. I was riveted by Jeannine Ouellette’s story, “Daughter of God” [September]. I want, need, and strongly hope this was just a taste of the full book that is to come on Grace’s life. Extraordinary. Please tell me there’s more.

    Editor’s note: Indeed, Grace Kolenda Deters and Jeannine Ouellette are working on Grace’s story, and “Daughter of God” is actually just a taste of what is to come.

    Liz Johnson, Waconia

  • Iraq

    Dear Rake Staff, Attached is a photo of myself and a fellow soldier in Iraq holding the current issue of the Rake magazine. “Here we are standing next to our Hummer located near the Ziggeratte of ancient Ur. We’re currently stationed at Camp Adder, Iraq with the Minnesota Army National Guard. We were so thrilled to see an issue of the Rake! It brought a touch of green to this hot, dry and very dusty land. By the way, it’s 120 degrees today.”
    Thanks Rake!! from the troops

    Master Sergeant Pederson and Staff Sergeant Horgan

    Mary Horgan

  • Argentina

    We took the Rake on our Builder’s Club trip to Argentina in January. These photos were taken at Iguazu Falls located on the border of Argentina and Brazil. Our guidebook stated that “Even the most hardened of waterfall yawners will be taken aback by the Iguazu Falls.” They were right! Pictures do not do justice to its magnitude. Our magazine got soaked from the spray at this portion of the falls known as the Garganta del Diablo (Devil’s Throat).

    Kathy Kraulik and Greg Johnson