Author: rakemag

It seems a local mailman has written a book. Check it; Vincent Wyckoff reads from Beware of the Cat: And Other Encounters of a Letter Carrier tonight at Lyndale United Church of Christ. Of course, the job of a mailman hasn’t exactly been romanticized to the point of, say, a truck driver. (I chalk it up to the regular hours and cushy benefit packages.) But a mailman’s workday does afford the opportunity for exercise and to walk about the world, which automatically makes the profession seem more attractive. Can country western letter-carrier ditties be that far off?

Random thoughts on the Guthrie’s 07-08 season announcement: After seeing that so-so production of Peer Gynt at Orchestra Hall last weekend (thank God for the band and the St. Olaf Choir), I was quite interested to find that Minnesota’s own Robert Bly–famous for Iron John, the Men’s Movement, and other comments on wounded masculinity–will turn his pen to a Guthrie-commissioned adaptation of Peer Gynt, that boys-will-be-boys (or rapists, depending upon the adaptation) of a character.

They’re doing The Seagull, and God bless ’em for it. It’s a beautiful, beautiful play, and a particularly heart-wrenching one, in my humble perspective, and with all my baggage after having had many bad relationships with artists… Nina: “No, that’s not it” is my favorite moment, my favorite line. And I’ll never forget the exceptionally lovely (and tortured) Constantine I came across several moons ago. Only The Guthrie can draw popular audiences to such a downer, I suppose.

I noticed, happily, that Casey Stangl, formerly of the local and now defunct Eye of the Storm theater company, is returning to direct Third, a play I don’t know very well, by Wendy Wasserstein. And they’re lugging in a production of Beckett’s Happy Days (last staged around these parts at The Jungle in 2000) to the Dowling Studio, which means there’ll probably be shit load of dirt, mud, and a buried actress to go along with it. All in all, this strikes me as being a bit more adventurous than their 06-07 season.

Another band that takes me back to my personal indie heydays of, oh, 1992 to 1999–Sebadoh. And they happen to be playing the 400 Bar tonight. Of course, my achin’ back keeps me from the affair. But I’m glad to find Sebadoh making a go at a comeback.

And since we’re feeling nostalgic, I might as well mention The Roots concert at First Ave tomorrow evening. One of my all-time fondest memories is of seeing The Roots perform at The Rave in Milwaukee. On a kick, one member of the troupe (I don’t remember which, as this concert was my introduction to The Roots) accidentally lost his shoe into the audience. He demanded it back from the abyss, and even stopped the show for a few minutes, threatening not to go on until he had his shoe back on foot. But when that failed, he just started freestyling all sorts of crazy rhymes about his lost shoe. It was a tantrum, sure, but the freestyling was sharp and hilarious.

Tonight: Orchestra Hall, Peer Gynt, with performance enhancements provided by a troupe of physical theater-types. Rumor has it that the gray hairs have been complaining about all the “raunchy” material. But it’s Peer Gynt, so what do they expect?

Tonight I’m catching Frank Theater‘s anti-death penalty play The Exonerated, and at the tail-end of its run. Cards on the table: If there’s any residue of my lapsed Catholicism it’s my unequivocal opposition to the death penalty. And I’ve been active on this front, if only as a consumer of art. A few years back however, I did make it to a fundraiser for some local anti-death penalty attorneys; low and behold, that’s where I met the movement’s superhero, Mr. Rubin Hurricane Carter. I just watched the seminal anti-death penalty documentary The Thin Blue Line, thanks to my usual movie hookup. Very recently, the New York Times Magazine ran an article about the various botched lethal injections that have gone on; I read it with interest, occasionally setting down the paper to shout things to the person in closest proximity. I will report back on The Exonerated, but I’m afraid I can’t be entirely objective.

Honest to God, I’m not going out tonight. Probably I’ll just go to the tile shop and pick out my new kitchen floor. (Stainless steel tiles, anyone? Boyfriend is installing…) But if I were going out, here’s what I’d consider: TV on the Radio at First Ave., (my friend Jerry Steller rather likes this band), Bruce Cockburn at the Cedar, oh and let’s not forget the ongoing Country Cabaret by Ballet of the Dolls.

I promise to write something more substantive tomorrow since I’m planning to go do it up old-style just then.

And there’s this other thing: I’m not sure what all to let slip since this involves very personal matters, but as of about 1 a.m. this morning, The Rake welcomed its first-ever baby into the family. We’re happy as all get out, and might even crack some champagne yet this morning. Hooray! And welcome to the world, Mister.

Here’s an interesting music happening for the evening: Pop Wagner, who has been heard on PHC as well as the Morning Show (or, as I call it, “Grandma’s Jukebox”), is playing the Eagle’s Club with The Twin Cities Playboys. I still plan to spend my evening out of doors, though.

Tonight, sadly, is your last chance to catch a show so controversial it needs (wants?) bodyguards: The Pope and The Witch, a University of Minnesota production being directed by my former superior at TJL, Robert Rosen (a nice guy). Unfortunately, this means I’ll be missing the whole thing, since I’m taking the evening off to hang out with my friend Andrea Leap and perhaps watch the DVD of Kenneth Anger shorts Peter Schilling just passed my way. (I’m doubly interested because Schilling also passed me a copy of Anger’s classic dish Hollywood Babylon, in which he pooh-poohs all the rapes and suicides that plagued Hollywood’s early years. Anger is an utter asshole, man! He’s got the sharpest of pens, and so this book has been an absolute guilty pleasure–the perfect pairing for evenings on the sofa with boyfriend as he watches Entertainment Tonight.)

Other stuff: Saturday, last chance to see the David Rathman exhibit at Weinstein Gallery. There’s a Dylan tribute with Martin Devaney and the Rank Strangers at the Turf that same night. And finally, Badly Drawn Boy plays the Fine Line Sunday evening; this band is near ‘n dear to my heart, since my heroin-addicted college boyfriend once offered, with trembling, outstretched hands, an early BDB EP. This happened on the eve of our breakup, and so by then I wasn’t thinking much of the outgoing boyfriend. But I ended up liking the EP very much and have enjoyed the band ever since.

Very busy putting together the April issue, but lookit! Tonight is that Policy and a Pint event you’ve been hearing about on the radio–the one employer-tied healthcare. They’re calling it, appropriately, “healthcare handcuffs.”

Two weeks ago I was at Melrose Antiques with the boyfriend when I spotted something beautiful behind the counter: a long, lime green Bonnie Cashin jacket with toggle closures up the front and at the cuff of both sleeves. I asked the shopgirls if I could please take a closer look. They handed it over. I slipped the thing off the hanger with care and asked: please, may I try it on? Lime green is not my best color, as with most people, but whaddya know that thing fit as would a glove.

Boyfriend’s appreciation of such things rivals my own, and so his response was: “buy it,” “now,” and “who cares how much.”

But then the shopgirls broke the sad news that it was not for sale. They spoke of some-such varmint and local apparel designer who had the thing on hold since December.

So, to make myself feel better, I’ve been cruising the Bonnie Cashin Foundation‘s online gallery ever since. I’ve been ogling the attache and the leather gloves embellished with what seems to have been Cashin’s preferred closure–the industrial toggle. And then, just yesterday, I received an email message about this online exhibition of vintage Cashin editorial coverage.