Author: rakemag

Formed by young, classically trained musicians, Carolina Chocolate Drops aim to carry on the tradition of Southern black string music, which largely died out with the birth of the recording industry and the ascendance of the blues. Most folks today think of old-timey music as bluegrass played by white people from Appalachia, but historically, the music belonged equally to African-Americans from the Carolina Piedmont (central North and South Carolina). The banjo, which originated in Africa, is at the band’s center, but the mix also includes guitars, fiddle, harmonica, and the occasional fife, snare drum, or jug. Some of the Drops’ tunes are slow and soulful, but many are stomping party tunes, designed—just as when the music was born—to keep the audience dancing. The Drops’ performance here will be filmed by John Whitehead, a local at work on a documentary chronicling the black string renaissance. 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-2674; www.thecedar.org

The SPCO hits the road for a three-week tour of the Twin Cities, celebrating the works of that cranky genius Beethoven, a man whose love life was a series of trysts with one married lady after another. Commitment phobic or just unlucky in love? Either way, he died single after channeling his romantic energy into a body of work that seems crafted for the heart as much as the ear. This year’s festival is devoted to his symphonies—all nine get a workout—as well as the piano concertos. For its finale, the SPCO will wrap things up with a performance of Ode to Joy at the Basilica of Saint Mary in Minneapolis, which ought to really get the bells ringing in the old Beaux Arts landmark. 651.291.1144; www.thespco.org

Orphans: Brawlers, Bawlers, and Bastards, CD available November 21
This is what we want for Christmas, even if the leathery, Beetlegeuse-ish Waits is more a Halloween kind of guy, and even if we probably can’t wait that long. A career retrospective (not a greatest-hits collection), this three-disc set compiles twenty-four rarities and thirty new songs by an artist absolutely without peer. In other words, Orphans offers a treasure trove for longtime fans and a splendid introduction for new converts. Many of the tunes from Waits’ catalog of spooky, minstrelesque ballads—concerning such subjects as love, death, dogs, and booze—would sound like sweet little carnival gems if they weren’t sung in the gravelly croak of a well-marinated carny. And plenty manage to be beautiful all the same, wrecked pipes be damned. Then there’s Waits’ version of bonus tracks: his bizarre interpretations of songs by folks like the Ramones, Daniel Johnston, and Leadbelly.

It’s one thing to buy a band’s album; it’s another thing entirely to buy them new instruments. (Isn’t that what parents are for?) But something in the Decemberists, a sort of homely ensemble of indie balladeers from Portland, Oregon, must bring out the inner nurturer in their followers. When the band’s tour van and gear were stolen a couple years ago, fans helped raise cash to get the band back on its feet. And how did the Decemberists repay that generosity of spirit? By signing to a major label and making The Crane Wife, a delicate, multilayered set of songs inspired by history and literature, and influenced by a host of musical forebears, including Robyn Hitchcock, Elliott Smith, Neutral Milk Hotel, the Waterboys, and the Handsome Family. 612-332-1775; www.first-avenue.com

Charity comes in strange packages: Dr. John is raising some cash to aid New Orleans reconstruction efforts by selling his underwear. However, it should be noted that the good Doctor’s briefs are brand new, and emblazoned with a snazzy souvenir New Orleans logo. (He wears size large, by the way.) The Crescent City legend has also undertaken more conventional fundraising efforts; he’s been an omnipresent figure on the benefit-concert circuit, supporting wetlands reconstruction, displaced NOLA musicians, and a variety of other Katrina-related causes. Known to his mother as Malcolm Rebennack, Dr. John’s piano-driven blues is one of the most distinctive flavors of the diverse New Orleans music scene—making him a fine ambassador for NOLA, if not a great underwear salesman. 1010 Nicollet Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-332-1010; www.dakotacooks.com

I lived for a year in a basement apartment with roommates who, despite our subterranean situation, were always switching off the lights. They hated overhead lighting, they explained, and yet no one was willing to invest in even the cheapest floor lamps. I was, for my part, unwilling to fund this improvement on my own, so we dwelled together in an atmosphere of perpetual gloominess, no matter how abundant the sunshine outdoors. As fall turned to winter, one roommate slid into a depression. While several factors were probably involved, it occurred to the rest of us that lack of light could have been a significant one.

Light—or more precisely, the desire for it—is on many minds this time of year as we plod through increasing post-daylight-savings-time darkness toward the solstice. It’s well known that poor lighting strains the eyes, produces fatigue and irritability, and that, in fact, it can be a drag on people’s moods, not to mention their productivity. So why, despite all the studies, are badly lit rooms the norm? Why all the glaring sodium lights, buzzing fluorescent tubes, gloomy corners, and harshly overlit expanses?

Lighting in the workplace gets a fair amount of attention, probably because of concerns about safety and productivity. But residential lighting is another story. Consider that for the next five months or so, free time for people with day jobs will occur mostly after sunset. Leaving the office in the dark, they will return to dark homes that they artificially illuminate—how?

Through purely personal observations, many conducted during a solid year of house hunting, I have identified three types of abhorrent domestic lighting practices. If they were outlawed, I wouldn’t be surprised if the psychological state of our union saw an instant improvement. First and foremost is the low-hanging fixture, common to dining rooms, that has one or more lamps cast downward and shades that expose bare bulbs to diners’ eyes. The resulting atmosphere is more conducive to interrogation than to civil or scintillating conversation. Many so-called vanity bars in bathrooms produce a similar effect: glaring light that rakes down over the face and body, doing no one’s self-image any favors. As for the living room—here, at least, my erstwhile roommates were right not to tolerate overhead lights. Yet stuck to the ceiling like primordial insects, and ruining many otherwise pleasant living rooms (bedrooms, too), are those ungainly ceiling-fans-with-light-fixtures—many of which also have multiple glass- or metal-shaded downlights.

Not that downlights don’t have a purpose. It’s their misuse that’s the problem, and this points to a broader observation: In most homes, lighting is an afterthought. This seems strange, given the vast home-improvement industry developed over the last couple decades, with its attendant TV programming and proliferation of shelter publications. Why don’t we see lighting featured in more magazine articles or addressed in televised home makeovers, “extreme” or otherwise?

Compare lighting to color. Both can drastically alter the mood of a space, not to mention the perception of its size. Using both to their best advantage also involves quite a bit more than merely selecting a pleasing paint swatch or lamp. Good lighting involves balancing and combining sources; considering glare, shadow, and the color of light; planning for different purposes; and so on. There’s decorative lighting, which becomes part of the overall aesthetic of a room; accent lighting, for specific objects or spaces; ambient lighting, for overall illumination; and task lighting. Then there are the numerous fixtures for each lighting type: table lamps, chandeliers, cove lighting, pendants, and tracks, to name just a few.

Using color effectively is no less complicated than selecting the right lighting, and yet this element of décor has been popularized and made to seem quite doable. Take a look, for instance, at the paint department at any Home Depot, which is outfitted with all manner of touch-screen computer displays, videos, books, CD-ROMs, and even design services. Then compare these resources to what’s available over in the lighting department.

Granted, some improvements in the domestic-lighting sector would have to come from changes in the home-building industry—in how homes are designed, wired, and outfitted from the start. But until that happens, the home-improvement industry could exert a lot of influence. It’s not so much a matter of popularizing lighting, but rather encouraging people to stop taking it for granted. Ultimately, lighting that’s not just adequate, but that actually makes you feel good, should become as desirable (and obtainable) as a faux-stainless steel fridge.