Category: Blog Post

And I do mean everything. My friend and colleague, Jeremy Iggers, is successful, well-traveled, profoundly ethical, and endlessly curious about food, culture, and life. He has a lovely house, a huge following, and an absolutely beautiful wife, Carol, who’s wickedly smart to boot. So what does one get a fortunate man like this on the event of his 56th birthday?

Why, a bottle of Hungarian Bull’s Blood, of course!

He said no gifts. But this is hardly a gift, more like a portent. First of all, it comes from “Eger,” which I — and many others — translate to be an early form of “Iggers.” After all, Jeremy has a robust, Hungarian look. But also, I like the story behind this wine. Actually, there are a few versions, but my favorite goes like this:

In 1552, a fortress in the ancient Eger was under attack and its defenders were outnumbered. To give themselves courage, they drank this thick, locally-made red wine and spilled it on their chests. When the enemy approached, they saw these warriors with what they thought was bull’s blood dripping from their mouths and coats. And they turned and fled before the battle could even begin.

Bull’s Blood isn’t a wine to savor. It’s a haphazard blend of, well, whatever grapes happen to be cropping up in Hungary during any given year: Kadarka, Kekfrankos, Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Kekoporto. The 2003, which we drank last night, had a metallic, slightly sour grape foretaste, then a strange, empty pause, and a finish that was pure funk and barnyard. The first sip was hard to take, but I swear, it got more and more drinkable as the night went on.

By the time Carol served the cake, we all felt fully fortified. Capable of turning back a horde of thieving Turks. Luckily, none appeared under the arbor at Jeremy and Carol’s Minneapolis home, and we ended the night invigorated but peaceable, full of warriors’ wine and an exquisite chocolate cream.

The first generation Mantis. An ugly car from the decade of disco (ugly.) The far better and faster (but still ugly) Mosler is pictured below

While spending over $200,000 for a car is a little steep, this Mosler is about the fastest vehicle on the planet–according to a recent Motor Trend article. It is also very loud and very, very reliable for a supercar, so the magazines say. In other words its all, or make that almost, all good.

The photo does it too much justice. Its ugly, I assure you.

While this is a great car, I have also seen this car in the bare metal and this car is ugly. It is almost as ugly, in fact, as the first two Moslers–the Consulier and The Intruder, which rank among the ugliest cars ever made. Which brings me to the first generation Marcos Mantis.*

I think I saw a Marcos Mantis in Milan, Italy as a boy. How else can I explain this nightmare I still have where I am endlessly devoured by a large insect that taunts me in a garbled Scottish brogue? I am no Kafka. So it must be the car.

* To be fair, this little British company is once again on the upswing. Here is their new site The new car is still, well, I think you get my drift.

Brand Upon the Brain!. Now showing exclusively at The Parkway Theater.

You might find this strange, but here goes: I often wonder if cinema was ruined with sound. That the noise and the clatter wrecked an image that so subtly tapped into your subconscious, made you dream differently, hell, even live differently. Have you ever seen a silent movie? Or even better, watched it on the silver screen? I have, a number of times. That’s all I do, it seems. Watch the silents, enjoy pure cinema. In theaters it’s so different: to sit with that many people, in the quiet, with only a piano tinkling away in service to the story. Once, I even closed my eyes. Piano. And then reaction. Gasps, laughter. The darkness and the silver quaking past my eyelids. Give me the silents–oh, the movies were never better. But I was born too late. I missed it by a long shot.

I’ll tell you something else: benshi. That’s right, a benshi, those crazy Japanese performers who narrated silent film all those years ago in mighty Japan. Live performance, a man in a flowing robe, explaining poetically the scene as it unfolded behind him, or, like a haiku, in few words and timed hush, allowing the image to move you. Often, this fellow would make sound effects. Sometimes he would do a back flip upon the death of a character. Or pull out a sword, its blade glistening in the light of the projector. Each town had its own benshi, their favorite, and I like to imagine great silent films coming to our town, in a painted van, with fanfare, and our favorite benshi doing his thing for our utter enchantment. A piano accompanying. Maybe a cello. I love the cello.

If I told you that there was a silent film in town, with a benshi, you’d go, wouldn’t you? I mean, if I told you to shake that little metal ball in there–tap, tap–in your brainpan, the one that rattles like a can of spray paint, and dredge up all that strange and foggy memory that’s settled in the sludge of daily life, you would, wouldn’t you? I mean, if I told you a movie could do that to you, make you a human being composed of moment and memory, you’d beg me for information, right? You’d say “To hell with the Cineplex, to hell with George Clooney and the Rock and malls!” and you’d drop your plans and go sit in an old neighborhood theater and watch something that, later, made you shiver?

This is Brand Upon The Brain! It is playing in an old movie theater whose front rows are comfy chairs. Painted on this theater’s walls are strange images on billowing, dusty curtains. When the lights go out, they go out, and there’s quiet, not the thump, thump of whatever movie’s blundering about next door.

Brand Upon the Brain! is black and white and silent. Brand gives us music, beautiful music, melancholy and thrilling, and reminiscent of the sea. You can almost smell the brine from the moan of the cello. Isabella Rossellini narrates, breathlessly, ordering us to participate, shouting her entreaties. She is a benshi, and one of the best. Of course, there is only a recording of Isabella, sweet Isabella. But she is our only benshi, sadly, and she wears that international crown with pride. “The past, the past, into the past!” she shouts, and with her we are thrust headlong into that past. We follow Guy Maddin, filmmaker, into his past and discover, simultaneously, that there are some discomforting parallels in all our childhoods.

What is it about? Man returns to island of his youth, called back by his mother, paints a lighthouse, cannot cover the grime, and falls back into the sticky tar-baby of memory. This past involves sexy detective work (with harp-playing shamuses), horrific childbirth, and a plot to drain the youth-giving orphan nectar from the kids who are housed there. There are mad scientists, the Undressing Gloves, the Light-Bulb Kid, a turpentine bath, and the great line, “What is a suicide attempt without a wedding?”

There are beautiful women, rugged men who get caught in their memories like a sailor trapped in a tropical storm, there are orphans, and, as mentioned, orphan nectar. There is science fiction, witchcraft, cross-dressing, and the manic, fearful, joyful and confusedly sexual life of a child.

What… are you scared of the silent film? Worried that you’ll be bored? Oh, you won’t be bored. Do you get bored when you dream? When you reminisce? When some little thing triggers a decidedly uncomfortable memory? That’s not boredom, it’s fear. Confront your fears my friends. Brand Upon the Brain! is a time machine, into cinema’s past, coming to us from Winnipeg, through Japan and American movie history, and somehow pitching its tent on the rocky surface of your own moony memories. As much as I love Isabella, if we were truly lucky, we’d have our own benshi, some lovely actor or actress gesticulating and singing and wielding harpoons on stage as this silver, silent madhouse shines on.

Then again, it’d probably be Garrison Keillor.

Earlier this week, I received a note from a reader who wanted me to recommend a German Riesling for her office Oktoberfest celebration. I was stumped.

If you lined up all the varietals in the world from goal post to goal post on a football field — jammy, dark, South American Malbecs at one end and extra-sweet, sparkly whites at the other — I would drink from the 20-yard-line in on either side. In other words, I don’t have a favorite Riesling.

So I dropped by Sam’s Wine Shop in the North Loop to ask Sam [Haislet] himself. He likes a wine called St. Urbans-Hof Riesling 2006 and described it as a “kabinett-level” German white that’s balanced and not too sweet.

While I was there, he gave me a taste of one of this month’s specials: the Con Class Rueda Blanc 2005, which Sam’s is selling for $8.97. This was a 35-yard-line wine: full and floral with very little acid, the taste of gardenias, ripe melon, and grass. It’s made from 100% Verdejo grapes, a native Spanish varietal related to Sauvignon Blanc, and has 12.5% alcohol (which is hot, for a white).

According to Haislet, the region of Rueda recently passed a law that only white grapes can use the appellation, because it is — apparently — a territory unsuited for growing red. He was impressed enough with the Con Class to buy 10 cases and says it’s so popular he’s about to pick up a dozen more. So if you’re interested in a bottle, act fast.

ART
Bird x Bird

More fun than a flock of starlings! This improbably cool event is a snowballing phenomenon. Artists passionate about something besides art. A show that’s rife with feeling. The only unusual thing is — jeez, Minnesota! — the dearth of collectors in the mix. For God’s sake, people, this show brings together some wonderfully skilled artists. And it doubles as an auction to support bird-related causes (it’s organized by a nonprofit that “links the collective action of artists to organizations dedicated to the stewardship of avian species”). So show up already, get bargains, and meet a lot of interesting-looking folk. –by Ann Klefstad

Friday from 6 to 9 p.m., Northrup King Building, Gallery 322, 1500 Jackson St. N.E., Minneapolis; 952-994-0914.

Landscapes Transformed into Visual Energy

I’m not much for tooting my own horn, but I’ll gladly toot my colleague’s horns if I deem it well-deserved. It’s an easy thing to do here at The Rake with so much creative talent abounding. I’m not just talking about our writers and designers, however. This weekend our very own sales coordinator, Mary Olson, exhibits her work at the O’Shaughnessy. And I have to say, regardless of how good she does her job at The Rake — and, indeed, she does it well — I will never see her as a “sales coordinator” again. This woman is an artist. Her voice, like her lines and her palette, are strong and confident. It’s chaos ordered. It’s landscape deconstructed, reconstructed, and restructured, layered, reflected. Frankly, it doesn’t feel Midwestern to me at all. It’s too bold and textured — feels more like Minneapolis transported to the Caribbean: the textures and reflections of winter seen under the lens of a hot Caribbean sun. Go catch a ray or two of her heat, and experience it for yourself. Mary is one of four artists featured in Landscapes of the Mind. Enjoy these and other great artists this evening as part of The College Art Gallery Collaborative Fall Art Tour, a multi-campus gallery crawl with free shuttle buses arriving at seven locations every 20 minutes. Make a night of it.

Friday from 5 to 8 p.m., O’Shaughnessy Educational Center Lobby Gallery, 2115 Summit Ave., University of St. Thomas, St. Paul; 651-962-5560.

Fall Colors Fine Art & Jazz Festival

Though there’s a chance of rain, this might be the last warm weekend we’ll have for quite a while — probably a good opportunity for an open-window drive along the St. Croix River, with a stop in Stillwater for the Fall Colors Fine Art & Jazz Festival. Nearly 100 artists from Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, North and South Dakota will show their work outdoors and indoors in the various studios and galleries of the picturesque downtown area. You’ll find all sorts of styles in all sorts of mediums: clay, glass, fiber, metal, wood; jewelry, paintings, photography, sculpture, pottery. You’ll find it all, along with great food and live music. Saturday’s lineup features Pickin’ up Steam (10:30 a.m.) and Billy McLaughlin (12:30 p.m.); while Sunday’s features Greg Herriges & Troy Berg (10:30 a.m.) and Suede Baby (2:30 p.m.). Take the kids on Sunday from 2 to 5 p.m. for ArtReach Alliance’s Art in the Park hands-on stations (in Lowell Park).

Saturday and Sunday from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m., Historic Downtown Stillwater; 651-439-4001.

Georgia O’Keeffe: Circling Around Abstraction

This is a strongly curated show — just as the Walker’s recent Picasso exhibition was. Both venture to transform familiar work by presenting it with vigorous scholarship and a fresh eye. In this case, the focus is on the circle — the paradigmatic composition in many of O’Keeffe’s abstractions — and it’s a valuable insight that had been lying there in plain sight but had not been picked up. Through this frame, O’Keeffe’s work is stripped of any potential mawkishness and restored to living status. What’s more, these curator-driven shows are fun even if you’re not a huge fan of the artist, because the thought behind them amplifies the effect of the work — like a lens that suddenly sharpens. –by Ann Klefstad

Opens Sunday from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m., Minneapolis Institute of Arts, 2400 Third Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-870-3131; $8 (students/seniors/groups $6, children $4).

MUSIC
Regina Spektor

I can’t say enough about Regina Spektor, except to say that she’s the only musician who has truly truly impressed and inspired me in the past half decade. The Russian-born American singer-songwriter began her musical training as a classical pianist, was penning her own songs at the age of 16, and writing her own music by 18. Of course, it’s no surprise that she has risen so quickly since then. While she’s often compared to artists like Fiona Apple and Tori Amos, Spektor’s relationship to music seems far more organic than anything I’ve seen (or heard, for that matter). She moans. She buzzes. She gurgles. She whines. She shifts and breaks and begins and stops. Each song seems to create itself on the spot, breaking every rule and every expectation in the sweetest lulling way, never offending, always surprising, always pleasing.

Saturday at 7 p.m., Myth Nightclub, 3090 Southlawn Dr., Maplewood; $23.

Christian Scott

Don’t stop at Regina Spektor this weekend. On Sunday, you have another great opportunity to catch a hot new jazz star: trumpeter Christian Scott. Breaking into the scene just last year with Rewind That, Scott pulled off one of the most remarkable debuts the genre has seen in the last decade. “Steeped in the jazz tradition and intent on participating in the music’s evolution, the New York-based Berklee College of Music grad is indeed a significant new voice poised to make an impact on the future of jazz. Scott has developed his own distinctive and compelling trumpet voice: a breathy tone that has more in common with the way Ben Webster played the tenor saxophone than the piercing, clarion call the trumpet usually delivers.” — a beautifully accurate description, you’ll find, upon being lulled by that breathiness.

Sunday at 7 & 9 p.m., Dakota Jazz Club and Restaurant, 1010 Nicollet, Minneapolis; 612-332-1010; $20 & $15.

FILM
Jane Austen Book Club

Tonight is the opening of The Jane Austen Book Club. “The premise of The Jane Austen Book Club is simple: six variously connected people (five women, one man) form a book club centered on the six complete Jane Austen novels, focusing on one book per month. As the six move through the books, their lives take on echoes of the plotlines and themes of the books that they read.” Be sure to read Danielle Kurtzleben’s review in our Talk about Talkies blog.

1:40, 4:20, 7, and 9:30 p.m., Landmark Edina Cinema, 3911 W. 50th St., Edina; 651-649-4416; $8.25 (children/seniors $5.75).

GREEN EDUCATION
National Solar Tour

Sure, we’ve all heard about solar energy, and some of us even have a basic idea of how it works; but have we seen it in action? Do we truly “get” it? Do we trust it? Is so, then why the hell aren’t we using more of it? Inertia? I suspect ignorance and fear to be the primary reasons, and one is usually a result of the other. Do the socially responsible thing and head out to the National Solar Tour this Saturday (from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m.) to learn about renewable energy. Heck, it may even be fun. The Minnesota Renewable Energy Society has organized free self-guided tours as part of the American Solar Energy Society’s 12th annual National Solar Tour, the largest demonstration of installed renewable energy technologies and energy efficient building practices in the United States. The tour offers an opportunity to learn how your neighbors — 50 homes, business, and institutions — are trimming their energy bills, increasing their energy independence, and taking steps to address global warming. Get site lists and maps here.

It started with Don Lee, my colleague in the English department at Macalester. Don is new to the Twin Cities, author of the novel Country of Origin, and we’re very pleased to have him. So when he told me he was mostly happy with Minnesota but disappointed in the small number of restaurants serving authentic Japanese cuisine, I was concerned.

I sent him to Obento-ya, Sakura, and Anemoni, where the head sushi chef, Kenji Sakomoto, is from Japan. Then I promised to check into Musashi, the new place that was supposed to open downtown, in the old Olive Garden spot on Hennepin Avenue, in summer. This was mid-September.

Not two days later, I got a phone call from a reader asking when Musashi was due to open; he drove by it every morning, he said, and though the signs were in place, it looked like construction had stopped.

I called both the Downtown Chamber and the Greater Minneapolis Convention and Visitors Bureau (now, unfortunately, called Meet Minneapolis); representatives from both responded that they, too, were perplexed. The family-owned Japanese restaurant had been busy with pre-opening activity until suddenly, one day, everyone just disappeared. The man from the GMCVA even offered to walk by on his lunch hour.

“I looked in the windows,” he reported back. “It’s dusty and there’s construction equipment all over. That place can’t be opening any time soon.”

Finally, on the advice of my co-blogger, Jeremy Iggers, I looked up the restaurant’s liquor license and got a telephone number from it. I called and a man answered. “Oh, we’re opening in November now,” he said. “Plans were delayed.” I asked what sorts of items Musashi will serve and the man offered to send me a menu. . . .even asked for my e-mail address and seemed to be writing it down. But no menu ever materialized.

I’m hoping, for Don’s sake — and for the sake of retaining great literary talent in Minnesota — that Musashi opens next month and serves delicious, authentic Japanese fare. But I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.