The Rake Magazine

Month: January 2008

  • There Will Be Blood, There May Be Disappointment

    I finally saw Paul Thomas
    Anderson’s There Will Be Blood last
    week. I was impressed, but the twelve others in the audience didn’t seem to digest
    it as well. Several left during the less exciting last hour of the film. Others
    derisively asked "whose idea was it to see this movie?" as they were leaving.
    It is a divisive movie to be sure, not unlike No
    Country For Old Men    , but it is one with such a beautiful cinematic power
    that I couldn’t help but think the others had sadly missed the point. Here are some notes on the "point" of the film, as I see it.

    The film’s incredible opening
    sequence simply and brilliantly sets up the long story to come, and it burns
    with cinematic genius. The sense of danger in the oil wells is palpable and
    overpowering. The still landscape shots are reminiscent of Antonioni, and like his environments they carry a menacing weight that reflects the characters that inhabit them. There are shocking scenes of violence (not superfluous or overly
    grotesque), that set up the psychic landscape of the film — a place where the
    worst can happen instantly and where men wait nervously for it to happen. The
    stunning soundtrack swells with atonal screeches of orchestral strings and
    textures. Imagine Penderecki’s "Threnody For The Victims Of
    Hiroshima" played against the ominous presence of a Sergio Leone
    desert. Johnny Greenwood (Radiohead’s guitarist) creates a sound world that embodies
    and accentuates the dread and the sense of potential in what Willa Cather
    called “the raw materials out of which a country is made.” PT Anderson’s visionary
    and seemingly effortless direction is enough to carry the film alone, but he
    also has an enthralling script and at least two magnificent performances to
    work with.

    At dualistic odds are self-made oil baron
    Daniel Plainview (Daniel Day-Lewis) and a young preacher (Paul Dano). Each of
    them is drunk with power and self-gratitude. Each of them worships his own self-destructive god. The towering presence of Plainview’s oil derricks even
    mirror that of a crucifix, and they attain a sort of overbearing presence of
    control as all life and activity centers around them. Part of this is thanks to the set
    and costume designers who create an ascetic, yet richly evocative landscape.
    One scene, in which an oil derrick explodes with both tragic and promising
    consequences, is a marvel of cinematic design and direction. The camera moves
    swiftly, in what feels like a single tracking shot but actually isn’t. It captures so many events, right before your eyes and with so many implications — both
    physically and psychically transformative — that we are left breathless.

    The film’s thematic scope is as narrow-mindedly focused as its main character (speaking almost exclusively to the nature of
    power) and yet its breadth seems so epic that it exacts a mesmeric reverence
    out of the land, the oil, the men, the business, and the pursuit of power.
    Unfortunately, the idea that Anderson could have done something with a deeper political metaphor is present. But Blood is a film about a very specific
    man with a single-minded and self-destructive desire for power, not the nature
    of the oil business, capitalism, or even Christianity. The parallel between the two men and the two
    power structures they represent is understated — which may be good, because any greater
    social or political theme would have detracted from the incredibly magnetic
    performances of Day-Lewis and Dano.

    As the film ends, we see the
    natural, logical conclusion that attends a psychopath like Plainview. He emerges out of his alcoholic
    slumber for one last opportunity to one-up his rival, Sunday. Afterward, we are
    left to imagine him crawling back into the alcoholic death that is his huge,
    empty mansion. It’s hard for me to imagine viewers getting upset with
    this ending, although there are sure to be many. It is a pitch-perfect
    transformation of the film’s main subject into the cinematic embodiment of his
    character. Cold, ruthless, abrupt and deceptive, Blood is a dogged parable that
    achieves an awesome power. If the film isn’t perfect (which it isn’t), it
    doesn’t matter because it is awe-inspiringly successful in its execution.

  • Restaurant Redux

    It’s an odd feeling when a restaurant closes. If it had a big-name chef or the affection of local critics, the closing can cause much hullabaloo (as was witnessed one recent winter). If the eatery was not-so-celebrated, as is more often the case, the closing happens quietly, sadly.

    But what of the space? For a while, many of them exist in a ghostly way, hanging darkened signs from former tenants. I remember peeking into the windows of a shuttered sports bar and seeing the napkin roll-ups still set in the booths, just waiting for the big game to begin. I can’t tell you how many pairs of shoes I’ve seen in abandoned kitchens, as if the cooks were shuttled out mid-shift.

    Of course there are the usual post-mortem queries: What happened? Who dropped the ball? Why couldn’t they make it? What went wrong? But at some point my brain starts ticking forward: Who’s looking for a spot? What does this place need? What could this space become?

    It’s so exciting! Aren’t you ready to jump into the most thrilling industry on the planet? There are more than a few potential spots out there right now. There are a few you might never consider (unless you had the passionate, risk-taking hearts of Niver and Fratzke) but there are plenty of safer-bets for the start-up. Even though I usually get paid thousands of dollars for this kind of "concepting" (shyah), in the interest of The Dream and a bit of January-killing, I’m willing to share my million dollar ideas to get you off your duff and looking for angel investors.

    First of all, good luck to anyone trying to open a fine-dining, high-falutin concept in the face of the rumored coming recession. Seriously, it helps to have backers with deep pockets.

    When Cosi closed in Wayzata, it left a relatively clean and newish space but a small kitchen lacking most major equipment. Everyone thinks that area bleeds money, and yet the Punch Pizza and Chipotle that opened last year are the most consistently packed. Filling the void of high quality Asian, the former Cosi could easily become a casual sushi spot like Yumi or better yet a robata/sushi joint like Obento-ya.

    The space on 11th and Harmon that formerly held Willie’s Wine Bar is a tough one. It’s not on a main street and it’s presence is sort of marred by the overhanging skyway. Still, the law school and growing number of neighborhood residents make this a palusible spot, but not for a wine bar. I think that an upscale burger and beer joint might win here. Not big and splashy but cool and easy, cultivating the off-the-beaten-path thing you could make it a worthy hangout for students. Really great burgers and a stacked beer list (featuring hard to find Belgians with a beer club) will draw the neighbors out of their condos.

    The Auriga space deserves to be more than a mausoleum. For ten years it did well as a cutting-edge restaurant, it could do another ten as the same with a new, driven chef. Or it could be lightened up as the modern diner with a killer brunch/lunch, ala the Egg and I meets Town Talk. If there was room for an in-house bakery, I’d even open late-night for post-bar breakfast and cupcakes (our own Magnolia!). There are a ton of young, active people in the surrounding neighborhood, whatever goes in there should do whatever it takes to win those repeat guests.

    If you give me a big bag of money, I’ll share some of the other winners I have rattling around. Of course I can’t gurarantee success with any of these ideas. What sounds bright and shiny to me now, sitting on my couch, could be punched down for a litany of different reasons (permits, liquor laws, recession, tanking real estate values, unruly landlords, etc). But on a blustery winter day, what else would you dream …

  • Tim Finn/Alice Peacock

    Minnesota in early February is the perfect place and time for some intelligent and effervescent pop to quicken our winter-slogged minds and brighten our outlooks across the snow-covered prairie. The chance to hear ex-Split Enz frontman (and Crowded House cohort) Tim Finn spin flax into gold while reprising the magical realism of his latest solo disc, Imaginary Kingdom, fills that prescription better than anything else out there this month. At his best—and much of Imaginary Kingdom qualifies—Finn blends Paul McCartney’s delightful sense of naïveté with Ray Davies’s trenchant eye for social detail. Folk-pop thrush Alice Peacock (a White Bear Lake native, donchaknow) has enough insight and honesty in her mainstream-safe approach to set the stage as a strong opening act.

    Cedar Cultural Center, 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-2674.

  • getdisbugouttame

    I admit that after a lifelong obsession with automotive things, I never really got what the fuss was about Bugatti.

    Until I actually saw one, then sat in it, then started it up at the national automotive museum in Alsace. Its all clear now. Ettore Bugatti was the son of a sculptor who is exhibited in the D’Orsay. His sculptures are macho things, the stuff that one might find in an upscale version of a Tony Montana boudoir–panthers, tigers, that kind of thing. All very emotive, which, in a nutshell defines the classic Bugatti.

    I’ve been so hot and bothered by these cars I have yet to find time to think or write about anything else.

  • The Three Pointer: A Golden Breakthrough

    Copyright 2008 NBAE (Photo by Rocky Widner/NBAE via Getty Images)

    Game # 38, Road Game #19: Minnesota 95, Phoenix 115

    Game #39, Road Game #20: Minnesota 108, Denver 111

    Game #40, Road Game #21: Minnesota 109, Golden State 108

    Season record: 6-34

    First of all, apologies for the near-weeklong absence. I wrote a fairly detailed three pointer on Sunday after the Phoenix and Denver games, only to have it eaten by computer gremlins. Some of what disappeared into the virtual ether needs to be updated or chucked, some of it still stands.

    1. Foul Play

    We’ve got to begin with the whistles. When first Ryan Gomes and then Rashad McCants were sent to the bench with three fouls midway through the second quarter Friday night against Phoenix, the Wolves were down a mere point. By the halftime intermission, the lead was 14 and the ballgame was essentially over. "You saw the momentum change right there," McCants told the Strib. But was he magnifying his own importance or lamenting his shortcomings by once again playing himself to the sidelines due to fouls?

    The next night against Denver, the Wolves lose the game by 3 and the free throw contest by 28, being outshot at the line 43-15 (for made free throws the disparity was 35-12). Al Jefferson got tagged with a technical in the closing seconds arguing an out of bounds possession call. After the game, coach Randy Wittman complained, "All they had to do was yell and get free throws. I guess we still have to teach our guys how to do that." McCants added, "Sometimes we find a way to lose a game. It wasn’t that we found a way. It was kind of taken away from us."

    I have strong feelings on both sides of this issue. First of all, as I mentioned a few treys ago, the Wolves get jobbed by the officials on a regular basis, both due to the relative lack of stars on the team and the relative lack of smart, consistently aggressive play that builds up goodwill on borderline calls. Only one team–Indiana–is whistled for fouls more often than the Wolves, and only one team–Toronto–has its opponents whistled fewer times than the Wolves. Consequently, the disparity of foul calls between Minnesota and their opponent on a per-game basis is +6.15. Six extra fouls, on average, every game. That’s enough to disqualify a player, or automatically land the team in the penalty for a quarter. It’s saddles at least two or three Timberwolves with enough additional "foul trouble" to affect their play, or their playing time. And it is grossly out of line with the other 29 teams in the NBA–Indiana, the team with the second-worst disparity, is just +2.70, or less than half of the onus on the Wolves.

    But the kind of victimization talk voiced after the Denver game is counterproductive for this franchise. The main reasons why the Wolves get screwed by the refs is because they are callow, timid, and inconsistent in their aggression. They reach in with their hands and flap their mouths more diligently than they move their feet, and they simply lack talent. Take Saturday night: The matchups off the starting lineups were Jefferson vs. Marcus Camby, Gomes vs. Melo Anthony, McCants vs. Iverson, Telfair vs. Anthony Carter, and Marko Jaric vs. Linus Kleiza (Jaric was supposedly guarding AI, with Shaddy on Kleiza, but the switches were frequent and appropriate.) There wasn’t one spot on the floor where you could say Minnesota had a lockdown advantage on defense.

    Meanwhile Denver was throwing out two players among their starting five ranked among the NBA’s top ten at getting to the line–Melo and AI. Anyone who saw the Denver game saw that many of Minnesota’s fouls were purposeful, meant to make the Nugs "earn it at the line" after they had beaten the Wolves off the dribble, in transition, or with an interior pass. Yes, there were some tough calls down the stretch–it does seem as if Iverson travelled on a crucial crunchtime possession, for example. But on the three plays that so vexed (and involved) Jefferson–some contact on his strong move to the hoop, a turnover for him stepping on the baseline trying to save a ball, and an out-of-bounds call that earned him the T–were all very close judgment calls that could have gone either way (the drive to the hoop and the confluence of hands on the out of bounds cite) or were correctly called against Minnesota (Jefferson did seem to step over the baseline).

    McCants in particular needs to realize that he either needs to move his feet and commit himself at the defensive end more thoroughly, purposefully avoid either the cheap or, when he’s already in foul trouble, the purposeful, strategic infraction, or resign himself to long minutes on the bench that significantly reduce the Wolves’ chances of winning, and besmirch his reputation. The Denver game is a case in point. He picked up two quick fouls in the first quarter trying to guard Iverson and was sent to the bench. In the second quarter, he played a vital role in sparking Minnesota’s comeback, especially his ability to pass and flow in transition, giving the Nugs some of their own medicine. In the third period, he fouled Iverson again and then Melo, sending him to the bench with 3:20 play in the third period. Then, with 6:32 to play in a one-point game, Shaddy made the wrong pass in transition (he fed to his right, into a defender’s hands, while Gomes was open on the wing to his left), and committed a no-doubt loose ball foul scrambling to atone for the miscue. That sent him to the bench for a crucial three-minute stretch of crunchtime.

    Why was it crucial? Because McCants is a matchup nightmare for the Nugs, having gone off for a career high 34 against them last time the two teams played. He had 23 and was a team-high plus +15 in the 35:05 he stayed on the court. That means the Wolves were minus -18 in the 12:55 McCants was on the bench. Now what was that he said again about the game being taken away from the Wolves? His inference was toward the refs’ bias, but every one of the five fouls that limited his minutes seemed legit.

    Ah, but against Golden State this afternoon, the light bulb finally seemed to pop on in Shaddy’s head. When Monte Ellis beat him off the dribble in the first quarter, Shaddy resisted committing the foul that would given Ellis (a 78% foul shooter) two trips to the line instead of a basket. McCants was also moving more diligently on defense, while continuing his recent offensive contributions–he’s fit into the flow of the team’s offense better than ever the past week or two. Yes, he had some turnover troubles–four, by halftime, after getting four against Denver–but also picked up three dimes and, perhaps most significantly, had the fewest shots of any member of the starting five. And just one foul.

    Got that? McCants was resisting his reach-in temptations on D, and, while being a tad turnover prone, was passing out of the perimeter double-teams Golden State occasionally threw at him and rarely if ever short-circuited the offense by hogging the ball. Despite all this, Randy Wittman still chose to sit him for an 8:22 stretch in the second quarter, When he departed, replaced by Antoine Walker, the Wolves were up ten 37-27, with 10:37 to play in the half. When he returned, with 2:49 to play, the Warriors were up by 1, 48-47.

    Wittman did not learn from the experience, but instead duplicated it in the fourth period. subbing out Shaddy with the Wolves up 4 and 8:42 to play. I figured it was simply a chance for McCants to catch his breath, but Wittman left him on the sidelines until the score was tied and there were just two minutes left. Finally reinserted, McCants zipped a nice pass to Ryan Gomes halfway between the basket and the foul line, forcing Golden State to foul. Gomes made both free throws for Minnesota’s final points of the afternoon, and the difference in the game.

    With McCants demonstrating improvement in key facets of his game–the ability to avoid foul trouble and to foster ball movement–it is
    a mystery why Wittman played the least of any of his starters. Once again, McCants was a team-best plus +15 in 31:39 of play. What that means is that the Wolves have scored 30 more points than their opponents in the 66:44 that McCants has been on the court the past two games, and been absolutely waxed by their opponents, outscored by 32, in the 29:16 he has sat on the bench. While this is a more dramatic outcome than has occurred for most of the season, the fact remains that, relative to their other starters, the Wolves have benefited most by the minutes for McCants pretty much the entire year.

    2. The Mystery of Small Ball

    It is good to see that Wittman and company are belatedly recognizing that the Jefferson-Smith frontcourt pairing is usually not an effective tandem. After playing Big Al and the Rhino together for 6:46 of the first 13:15 of the Denver game–and going minus -9 during their stint–the coach shelved the combo the rest of the game and today’s Golden State tilt besides. It probably seems churlish to mention it in the wake of the competitive loss to Denver and the feel-good win this afternoon, but the next puzzler in the allotment of minutes is the brain trust’s strangely stubborn desire to play Al Jefferson at center.

    According to the 82games.com website, Jefferson is a more accurate shooter at his natural position of power forward than he is at center. He also rebounds better, commits fewer turnovers and fewer fouls per 48 minutes, and has almost exactly the same ratio of blocks and assists. And he dominates opposing power forwards much more than his edge on opposing centers. Not surprisingly then, the Wolves are outscored by an average of 16 points per 48 minutes when Jefferson plays center, compared to being outscored by just 1.8 points per 48 when Jefferson is at power forward.

    If statistics don’t phase you, let’s talk philosophy. What is it that Wolves fans most want to see happen this season? I’d venture that the most popular answer and top priority would involve the ability to evaluate the young talent in challenging game settings as often as possible so determinations can be made on who should be culled, who should be re-signed, and who is or isn’t able to make progress against NBA competition. In other words, this year, the key is to accumulate solid, realistic knowledge on the NBA readiness of the boatload of young players dominating the roster.

    Chris Richard seems to be exactly the sort of player Minnesota would want to toss under the microscope this season. Yeah, he’s just a second round draft pick, but the Wolves aren’t exactly overflowing with quality options among the natural centers on their roster–Michael Doleac and Mark Madsen. It is not like Richard’s ceiling is going to get appreciably higher with patience: He’s already older than four players on the team–Jefferson, Telfair, Gerald Green and his college teammate Corey Brewer–and having stayed in college for three years and two national championships under Billy Donovan at Florida, his overall grasp of the game is precocious, relative to his scant NBA minutes. Indeed, Richard’s greatest flaw thus far–a total lack of offense–would seem best remedied by the boost in confidence some steady NBA minutes would provide, especially if the coaches urged him to look for his shot more often.

    Put it this way: If you are letting Richard languish on the bench *this* year, it is a fairly loud signal he doesn’t fit into the Wolves’ future plans, given the paucity of alternatives.

    But there are at least two other good reasons for putting Richard in the pivot. First, the person you displace from the starting lineup is Jaric, the one player who has been thoroughly vetted by the franchise in terms of his strengths and weaknesses. Is there really that much difference between Marko’s performance this season and what we’ve seen the previousj two years? It is difficult to imagine him changing his idiosyncratic spots this late in his career. Second, sliding Richard in for Jaric in the starting lineup enables no fewer than three Timberwolves currently playing out of position in the small-ball lineup to move back to the place they are most comfortable. Not only would Jefferson go from center to power forward, but Ryan Gomes would become a small forward instead of a power forward, and Rashad McCants would go to the backcourt as an off-guard, where he belongs.

    For those who argue that small ball is the trend of the future, or the best utilization of the Wolves’ current talent, I point to the fast break statistics. Minnesota currently yields more FB points than any team int he league, and ranks 28th, out of 30 teams, in generating FB points of their own. So just because they’re small doesn’t mean they thrive in transition,

    3. Last Thought

    Ryan Gomes takes what the defenses give him, and Golden State gave him a lot this afternoon: Gomes racked up a career high, incredibly efficient, 35 points to go with 11 rebounds, shooting 11-15 FG and getting to the line 12 times while missing the free throw just once. During the telecast, Wolves color commentator Jim Petersen said that over the past six weeks Gomes has been Minnesota’s second-best player. Okay, sure, but for the last month, since December 21, he’s been the best player, period, on the team: Nearly as valuable as Al Jefferson in terms of offensive flow and synergy, and better on defense.

     

  • Of Castles and Kings

    ART

    Drawing Attention

    Bringing
    drawing to a whole new depth, Joyce Lyon and Alexis Kuhr open their
    exhibit, Recent Drawings, at the Nash today. Each artist
    is a master at graphite drawing and has her own sophisticated style
    to offer. Lyon uses dramatic shadows and fine details to tell
    the story of the structure and decay of gardens surrounding the medieval
    town of Otricoli in Umbria. Kuhr, on the other hand, focuses on
    the geometric forms that give shape to our world. Recent Drawings
    coincides with the opening of another exhibit entitled The Practice
    of Drawing    , a collection of more than sixty pieces from the Weisman’s
    permanent collection. If you’re worried that you will only see
    tired old exhibits from the Weisman, fear not. Many pieces are
    fresh off the canvas and making their debut at the Nash today. If you love the simplicity and poignancy of drawing, you don’t want
    to miss this exhibit. Please note: while the exhibit opens today, the official reception will be this Friday from 6 to 8:30 p.m. —Kate Leibfried

    11 a.m. – 4 p.m., Katherine E. Nash Gallery, 405 21st Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-624-6518.

    MUSIC
    A Long Way from Hello

    Soon to be 60, Todd Rundgren has been recording for the past four decades, and oddly enough, he never seems to do the same thing twice. After recording a couple of albums with psychodelic pop rockers The Nazz — with whom he first recorded his iconic "Hello It’s Me" — Rundgren set out on his own in 1970. Starting out with soul-soaked ’60s power pop, he quickly ventured into other arenas: hard rock, jazz fusion, experimental music, you name it. In the ’80s, he did what any smart (albeit confused) musician would do and explored new wave. And in the ’90s, well… welcome to the digital age. The man was way before his time. In the ’90s, he released two interactive albums. What does this mean exactly? The first one, No World Order, contained song clips for the listener to put together for a custom-tailored song experience. Interesting. And the second, The Individualist, brought video into the mix. Don’t think he stopped at rock, either. This was the ’90s, after all; he brought in elements of hip hop, techno, and electronic music, as well. It’s the 21st century now. What is Rundgren up to? See for yourself. Whatever it is, it’s bound to be worthwhile.

    7:30 p.m., Pantages Theatre, 710 Hennepin Ave., Minneapolis; 612-339-7007; $33.


    An Uncrowned     King

    When I first stumbled upon Bernie King at a local dive bar, I was stunned that such a great and captivating musician could remain so buried in our midst. What was this guy doing at a poorly-attended open mic night in a dingy bar? We should be singing his praises o’er the rooftops of the world. Yawp! Yawp! What can I say? He moved me. I’m guessing it was something more than his big beautiful hands, though I must say I simply couldn’t take my eyes off them. King is old-school greatness, the blood and guts of Americana music. Don’t let him pass you by.

    9 p.m., Uptown Bar and Cafe, 3018 Hennepin Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-823-4719.

     

  • Old School Name, Brand New Sound

    When talent and friendship meet on stage, magic is

    bound to happen. And indeed it did. Old School Freight Train left their audience spellbound as they strummed and drummed their way through an energetic and soulful seventy-five minute set at the Cedar last week. For me, the time flew by much too fast. OSFT kept me smiling and tapping my toes through their last measure. Their beaming smiles and playful commentaries, proof that the five band members were truly enjoying themselves, propelled the audience into a good time as well.

    Old School Freight Train’s music is deeply felt and skillfully performed, but what kind of music do they actually play? "That’s a good question," said guitarist and lead vocalist Jesse Harper. "I don’t want to say that we’re folk rock. We’re kind of Radiohead meets all things that are good."

    For OSFT "all things that are good" include a mix of folk, jazz, soul, pop, bluegrass, Latin, and Celtic music. They have even been known to modify the occasional disco tune into a more acoustic number. They are not bound by a particular style or genre of music and see themselves growing and changing as they continue to play. One major change that the band already underwent was the addition of percussionist Nick Falk six months ago. "It’s been great for the band," said bassist Darrell Muller. "It seems like the music has more of a backbone now."

    Old School Freight Train has been going strong for seven years, and most of their success is attributed to the fact that they are self-proclaimed best friends. "You see other bands," said fiddler Nate Leath, "and they don’t even sit at the same table during dinner. We’re not like that at all." It’s a good thing too. The band members, Jesse Harper, Darrell Muller, Nate Leath, Pete Frostic, and Nick Falk, spend hours on the road together while touring all over the country. "It’s always an adventure," says Harper. "The best part of our job is meeting new people."

    It was certainly an adventure just getting to the Cedar. The band’s van spun out of control while driving from Chicago to Minneapolis, and they had to wait two hours while a tow truck came to get them out of the ditch. The band, however, seemed unperturbed as they played their upbeat melodies with heart and soul.

    It is a shame that more people did not brave the cold to see this spectacular band. Their music was so rich and textured that it had an almost tangible quality. The combination of guitar, drums, fiddle, mandolin, and upright bass was exquisite and seemed effortless. It was the type of captivating music that cannot be produced by talent alone, but by feeling completely comfortable with the other musicians standing on stage with you. Everyone in the band has their own life and their own job, but they all agree that the band comes first. It is something very special in each of their lives, and that kind of commitment to music is obvious when they take the stage.

    It is hard for me to sing anything but praises for OSFT, especially when they think so highly of our fair state. "We love Minnesota," said Nate Leath. "Everyone is so friendly and welcoming here. We always have a great time." Unfortunately, the band is still not very well known in this area, but hopefully that will change as more people discover their rich sound.

    The band, however, does have one major problem: its name. They are ready for a change, they say, but cannot decide on a new name. While driving to Minneapolis they were discussing different ideas for band names when their van careened into the ditch. "I think it was an omen," said Jesse playfully. "Yeah," chimed in Nate, "the death of our van was like the death of our band’s name. We need to find a new one." The task is potentially up to you, readers. Go to OSFT’s website, listen to their music, and send them your suggestions. Maybe their new name will hail from the state "that hasn’t always been easy to get to, but has always been worth it."

    *A special acknowledgment should go to Orange Mighty Trio, the band that opened for OSFT while they were making their way to the Cedar. Orange Mighty Trio had an excellent performance and did a commendable job helping out in a bind.

  • What Makes a Man Start Fires?

    The word ‘brain,’ you know, never once occurs in the ancient scriptures of the world. You will not find it in the Bible –the reins, the heart, and so forth were what men felt with.

    …Every man who thinks for himself and feels vividly finds he lives in a world of his own, apart, and believes one day he will come across, either in a book or in a person, the Priest who shall make it all clear to him.

    —Algernon Blackwood, The Centaur

    "Open your heart to the one who’s dreaming of you…."

    In this particular dream, which I did not have but carried nonetheless into the cold, gray morning, worrying it like an ache that was lodged at the very bottom of my throat, I was knocking, knocking, knocking, pounding on a door that no one would answer, until at last I turned away, inconsolable, and curled up in my metal saucer in the snow.

    And that was when I decided it was a dream, because to accept it as an episode from reality was more than I could bear.

    A dream is such a tricky thing, particularly when you reach a point where you can longer distinguish with any certainty a dream from reality. But dreams? The lingering, enduring productions of hope and imagination that have been hard-wired in who we are, often as not seeded by the various forms of enchantment we absorbed as children? Jesus, then you’re getting into even more slippery territory. Big, sometimes destructive stuff, often crazy and maddeningly elusive. It’s hard to pin a dream to the wall and look at it every day and say, "Right there –that’s where this rubber-legged walk on the highwire is leading. That’s where you’ll find me somewhere down the road, happy as a fucking clam and exactly where God intended me to be."

    Some people, I suppose, are fortunate enough to have their dreams play out that way, and able, somehow, to separate the clear singular from the gauzy plural very early on. They put on their blinders and just start grinding along toward the dream on the wall.

    Such people –determined bastards– kill me, really they do. From time to time you’ll meet someone who can actually manage to say with some conviction, "This is what I’ve always wanted. This is exactly where I belong."

    You can take this with a grain or salt or whatever, but I tend not to believe such people. I think they’re hiding something. Most of us, I feel sure, are stuck with just this hazy constellation of images that constitutes our true dreams, many of which as we get older we spend a good deal of time hiding from. And then, occasionally, in some moment of happiness or serenity, we’ll manage to catch a pure, intoxicating glimpse of something concrete and just beautiful enough to keep us lurching along through the clanging days.

    This seeking

    O friend

    is a stupendous task,

    a raging fire

    it is.

    Jump in

    if you wish

    to be baked

    but if you are

    merely curious

    this fire

    would destroy you.

    —Kabir Das

     

    Lord, grant me the strength and agility of those who build sentences

    long and expansive as a spreading oak tree, like a great valley; may they

    contain worlds, shadows of worlds, and worlds of dreams.

    —Zbigniew Herbert, from "Breviary"

  • What Is This Thing Called Cheese?

    OK, I know what cheese is. And I also know — because I researched it once — why it exists.

    In nomadic societies, back when people had to carry their food on their backs as they moved from place to place, and spoilage was a huge and potentially life-threatening issue, particularly in the heat, tribes discovered they could "preserve" their goat, cow, yak, or sheep’s milk by putting it in a burlap sack, throwing it over their shoulders, and walking briskly. Agitation and warm, re-circulated air caused the milk to separate into curds (cheese) and whey. The latter, they would drink immediately. The former, however, would last them through the winter, providing protein, calcium, and fat. This makes sense to me.

    Modern cheese-eating, however, does not. I happen to live with two voracious cheese eaters: men who love triple-cream bries and smoked goudas but will also go through entire blocks of sharp cheddar, Swiss, and monterey jack. Pizzas, enchiladas, quesadillas. Everything the world is hungry for seems to be smothered in cheese.

    From a health standpoint, however, cheese has done an about-face. Whereas once it saved lives by providing sustenance during times of snow cover or drought, now it does little by my estimation than add things to our diets that few Americans genuinely need.

    I rarely eat cheese. I would never choose it as an appetizer or a dessert. One exception: when it will improve my wine. Then I’m all over it.

    I’ve done wine tastings with chocolate, with biscuits, and with fruit. Nothing — and I do mean nothing — brings out the unique flavors of wine better than a perfectly paired cheese. The right blue with a robust Bordeaux. Manchego alternated with a spicy Rioja. Chevre to accompany a dry Sauvignon Blanc.

    This is nearly universal among the serious wine drinkers I know. Jack Farrell, owner of Haskell’s and a staunch Catholic, once told me, "If you have a glass of vintage port and a little bit of Stilton cheese, that’s when you know God’s in heaven and all is right with the world.”

    He also told me that in 38 years of business, his only regret is that he didn’t grow the cheese shop, a tiny mousehole of a store behind the downtown Minneapolis Haskell’s on 9th Avenue.

    Indeed, the cheese business has been very good to other wine sellers, including Surdyk’s and Buon Giorno, as well as grocers that sell wine, beer, and other spirits, such as Byerly’s and Lunds.

    Now, France 44 is getting back into the game. They closed their cafe in December, co-owner David Anderson says, because while the lunch business was booming, evenings were dead. "We needed both to survive," he explains. Right now, workers are renovating the south side of the store, removing the deli cases and putting up more shelves so that come March, the liquor and wine business can expand.

    But the front third of the space will be devoted to cheese — and only cheese. "It’s the only food we’ll carry from now on," Anderson says. "But we’ll go deeper, carrying a much greater selection than we ever have before."

    This is good news for the people of Morningside, that pocket where Minneapolis, St. Louis Park, and Edina meet. It’s a little known fact, but they’re nomads, you know. Occasionally, they’ve been to travel as far as St. Paul or Brooklyn Park. And you need sustenance for something like that: Curds in burlap and maybe a yak to ride, in case you get tired along the way.

  • States' Rights When It Comes to Flagpoles

    I’ve been thinking a bit about Mike Huckabee. Of course, I’ve mostly been thinking about what a disaster for the country it would be to follow the idiot currently in the White House with another. But you’ve got to admit Huckabee would be funny.

    For example, let’s consider his performance on the Confederate flag in South Carolina issue. First, he obviously considers whether South Carolina wants to erect a racist lightning rod over its capitol a states rights issue. I couldn’t agree with him more. But, if South Carolina can have its states rights issues, what’s Huckabee’s problem with, say, Massachusetts permitting gay marriage or California having stricter air quality standards for cars?

    And then there’s that whole remark he made about the flag poles. In case you missed it, here it is: "If somebody came to Arkansas and told us what to do with our flag, we’d tell them what to do with the pole. That’s what we’d do."

    I’m going to take a wild guess as to what Baptist preacher Mike was talking about and say "shove the pole up their ass." Do you think? (Do Baptist preachers really talk like that?)

    Ok, but somebody’s going to have to explain to me why Mike’s so all fired anxious for some people who might be visiting Arkansas to shove a pole up their ass and he’s so dead set against people who happen to live in Massachusetts doing the same thing.