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  • Downtown Militarized Zone

    Photos by India Bell

    Hard to believe that as recently as Sunday, downtown Saint
    Paul was a bucolic paradise ringed in chain link, the peace kept by strapping
    young men with plastic handcuffs. Sadly, the photos below didn’t jibe with the
    reality of yesterday’s protests.

    While Minnesota’s, and the nation’s, eyes should’ve been
    turned to the potential for yet another
    biblical disaster visited upon New Orleans    , and somewhere between 8,000 and
    10,000 people marched in peaceful protest against the war in Iraq, various
    social injustices, and the lack of proper bagels in the Midwest, a small group
    of asshats were doing all they could to ensure all eyes were on them. And
    sadly, they didn’t feel they could accomplish this by word or crappy bohemian
    performance art, so instead they reportedly lobbed homemade explosives, smashed windows, overturned dumpsters, attacked delegates,
    and generally demonstrated their complete lack of understanding of what free speech
    entails.

    Ignoring, for a moment, the larger issue of how this group
    of irredeemable twats makes it virtually impossible for any of the protestors
    to be taken seriously, they’ve created a significant public safety issue for
    the rest of the convention. The police, having seen what lengths immature
    Marxist wanna-be’s will go to "get their message across to the Capitalist
    pigs," are far more willing to deploy the more unpleasant countermeasures
    available to them. This has already been in ample
    evidence    , with pepper spray used like so much Binaca
    and canisters of caustic gasses that some claim contain tear gas, but are more
    likely to have released Axe body spray into the air – a sure way to disperse a
    crowd. Law enforcement is already being accused of being overzealous, and it’s
    sad that so many well-intentioned and peaceful activists are being caught up in
    the mess that the demonstrations have become – but it’s hard to blame the
    police when they’re forced to deal with hordes of protesters, any one of whom
    may want to cause harm in a variety of ways.

    But on a larger scale, while no one could’ve possibly
    expected protests at the RNC to remain completely peaceful, there seems to be
    precious little thought actually devoted to these demonstrations. Perhaps if
    they were facing down tanks in Tiananmen Square, violence could be understood.
    But marching the virtually deserted streets of St. Paul, it does nothing to
    advance their cause, obscuring it with sensational headlines and stories rather
    than providing an opportunity for public conversation, debate and discourse.
    It’s telling that the protesters engaged in the vandalism and violence wouldn’t
    show their faces or grant an interview. Frankly, it’s profoundly disgusting
    that anyone could consider this an effective, or even acceptable, form of
    political activism.

    The only consolation I can find in this is how
    unlikely it is any of the asshats in question are fellow Minneapolitans, since
    precious few of us can actually find our way to downtown St. Paul.

  • Rake Against the Machine

    Andy Stern, the president of the Service Employees International Union, has the rugged good looks of a guy who’s been in his fair share of scraps. With his bawdy East Coast accent and bulging nose, he’s definitely not a man to mess with. When he got up on stage at the press conference for the Take Back Labor Day rally, a festival of music and activism, you could tell he was ready for a fight. "This is a time when our government awards wealth but not workers," the labor leader told the crowd of journalists, politicians, and union folks. "We want the kids of working parents to be taken care of. We want workers to be able to retire with dignity."

    The Take Back Labor Day rally was taking place on Harriet Island, directly across the river from the Xcel Energy Center which is hosting the Republican Convention. The SEIU had deliberately hung a massive thirty foot long banner promoting "Health Care for All" that was in full view from all points of the convention. The festival was a pro worker rally that promoted universal health care, higher wages that could support families, and the creation of an America that worked for everyone. But with the money grubbin’ conservatives right across the river, Take Back Labor Day was basically a giant stick in the Republican eye.

    A collection of rock n’ roll hell-raisers flanked Stern on all sides. Framed by a beautiful stone arch and high vaulted ceilings, Tom Morello of Rage Against the Machine, alt country pioneer Steve Earle, Imani from rap group the Pharcyde, and world renown protest singer Billy Bragg sat on the stage like a guitar smashing Justice League. While the temperature outside was pushing 90, the tempers inside the Harriet Island pavilion were even hotter.

    "I’m here to physically take back Labor Day," Morello said. No one in the room doubted him for a minute. With his riot inducing rock group Rage Against the Machine, Morello pounds out legendary guitar riffs filled with a sound so angry Molotov cocktails seemingly explode out of his amps. "I find it insulting that the Republicans would choose to start their convention on Labor Day. They support companies that have sweat shops all over the world. And I heard Bush and Cheney aren’t here (in the Twin Cities) because they are heading to the Gulf Coast. I think it’s because they heard Rage was playing on Wednesday."

    The musicians and union leaders discussed how wages for working men and women were steadily going down, all the while CEO and executive salaries have been skyrocketing. Almost everyone in the room – Liberals and Conservatives and tattooed punkers – agreed that the voice of the worker has never been quieter. "In today’s world, standing alone is not an option," Mr. Stern said, his face bristling with emotion. "We are stronger together."

    After a round of rather serious questions, I capped off the press conference with an important one of my own. Since I’m a full blooded blue collar worker and have the scars and early stage arthritis to prove it, I asked a question that the common people of this country would want to know.

    "My name is Todd Smith," I said nervously. "And in honor of Labor Day, I would like to know what the worst job you have had was?"

    The Labor Day Revolutionaries let out an exaggerated groan. "Oh, man," the panel collectively sighed.

    "I worked a horrible shift at a petrol station in England," Billy Bragg said, as he spoke directly to me as I nearly pissed myself in shock. "I was literally living to work. Besides working my shift, the managers would call me at all hours to work for someone that didn’t show. And mind you, I drove a tank in the military once. The petrol station was worse."

    Steve Earle grabbed the microphone and didn’t know where to start. Earle is a former heroin addict and has done serious jail time for drug offenses. Now clean, he just wrapped up his remarkable roll as Walon, a Narcotics Anonymous sponsor on the hit HBO show "The Wire." Earle has lived through a pile of shit and my question was basically for him. "Um, that’s a good one," he grumbled, stroking a hand through his giant woolly beard. "I got to say… the time that I worked at a place where I was both a dishwasher and the ring announcer for the boxing matches that went on in the back."

    Morello went next and everyone in the room buckled their seat belts. He spoke of numerous soul crushing jobs that he has worked over time. Two in particular were awful: a professional alphabetizer and a painter in rooms with no ventilation. "But I think the worst job was when I was working for a Senator in Washington," Morello said. Besides being one the greatest guitar players of all time, Morello is also a Harvard honors graduate. "One time, I answered the phone and a woman was bitching to me about all these immigrants that were moving in to her neighborhood. I told the woman to ‘Go to hell.’ Later, I was yelled at, up and down by everyone in the chain of command. I decided that I didn’t want to work a job that I’d get in trouble for yelling at a racist."

    Stern, the President of the fastest growing union in North America, looked me straight in the eye and simply said, "Digging ditches for the Sussex county mosquito control."

    "You win!" Earle exclaimed. The room erupted with laughter and then emptied. Everyone moved outside to hear some music.

    Backstage, I spotted a man in a pea green Army T-shirt that had the words "Support G.I. Resistance" on the front. The man was extremely muscular, but with his shaggy hair and smooth draw,l he had the demeanor of a surfer/ grad student. He was surrounded by a group of burly men and they all were in various forms of camouflage.

    "Are you an Iraqi war vet?" I asked him. "Yeah," he said. We shook hands. "Names Hart Viges. Served in the 82nd Airborne in Iraq."

    "If you don’t mind, can I ask you why you are here?" I asked nervously. It’s not a regular occurrence that a dumbass like me gets to talk to his musical heroes and his real life heroes in the same day.

    "Not at all," Viges responded kindly. "I’m here because I support unions. I see a direct link between war and poverty. When you provide good wages, health care, and the ability to get an education, why on earth would a city kid join the military? You stop the raft of poverty, you stop the war. These poor kids feel like they have no options and are taken straight out of poverty and put directly into a war." The whole time Viges talked he was measured but passionate. "I talk to kids all over Austin, Texas, where I am from. They always ask me, ‘Are you the guy who is going to tell me not to join the military?’ I tell them that I am the guy that will tell you the whole picture and then let them decide for themselves. They need to know that when they join the military, they are legally the property of the United States Government. Then they have no rights."

    He explained to me that when he got back from proudly serving in Iraq, he immediately filed to be a conscientious objector. "It was the finest moment in my entire Army career," Viges told me. He talked at length about his belief in his country and the words of Jesus. As we chatted, I noticed a large black phone number scribbled across the inside of his forearm. I had also noticed the same phone number written on several of the Vets that were standing around me. He chuckled when I asked him what the number was for. "There is a good chance that I will get arrested this week," he said. "And this is the phone number of our legal team."

    For the rest of the afternoon, Viges stood there soaking in the afternoon sun and enjoying the great music. He was the true American Dream. Hell, he was America. He was a soldier and a pacifist. He loved Jesus but planned for anarchy. He wa
    s a personal guest of Tom Morello and loved every minute of it. There are no parades for our vets when they come back from Iraq or Afghanistan. There are no marching bands meeting them in our airports. Why is that? It was nice to see at least a handful of our vets getting their fair share in the sun. The music rolled on, beach balls bounced all over the crowd, and the cool kids swilled beer under the glorious summer sky. Tom Morello finished his set by ripping into a song titled "The Ghost of Tom Joad," which is cover of a Bruce Springsteen song that has lyrics lifted straight from John Steinback’s classic Dustbowl novel The Grapes of Wrath. As Morello pounded down on a guitar that had the words "Whatever It Takes" scribbled on the face, a small group of B-Boys break danced on a sidewalk and a man on giant stilts bounded across the grass.

    It was freedom at its finest.

  • Sept 2, 2008: Rudy At The RNC

  • Sexy Librarian Makes Me Stupid

    A few days ago I had an allergic reaction to Obama’s acceptance speech. I have not changed my mind about Obama, but I have also quickly learned the perils of speaking out of my butt too fast–which is essentially the origin of most political commentary offered without the baptism of time and experience.

    I should have waited a day.

    I don’t need to know much about Sarah Palin to understand where she is coming from. My first reaction was a devil in a blue dress with sexy librarian shades and a social conservative that will tell me what to do.

    While I have not changed my mind about Obama, the timing of my comments and the central reason why he freaks me out may now be coming from the other side of the political spectrum–and as time may show, it could be cloaked in overtly religious terms.

    Let me tell you what to do, sinner.

    So call me stupid–(and this re-link is by design)

    At least I’ll be smart enough to vote in a way that favors one candidate without actually voting for their ticket. It’s cynical, but I’ve done it before. Politics is not my religion nor is religion my politics.

    I am going back to cars.  

     

     

     

  • A Rakish Interview: Big Quarters

    In the Jasmine Deli, Zach and Brandon Bagaason – the brothers that constitute the rapper/producer team Big Quarters – don’t mess with the menu. Regulars well-acquainted with the selection at this Vietnamese spot on Eat Street, they ordered without consulting the dual-language laminated pages.

    Regularity, it might be said, is what defines Big Quarters – their work ethic, at least, if not their actual music. After the 2007 release of their debut album, Cost of Living, they’ve been working relentlessly on a number of mixtapes and EPs. Now, having devised a producers’ sort of Holy Grail, they’ve found an effective means to release them. On September 5th, they will introduce their monthly subscription system – Big Quarters Direct – where for five bucks a month you’ll get five new tracks a month, sent to your email account.

    “People have been talking about how albums aren’t relevant anymore,” Brandon said. He speaks in a drawl, as if he chews his words a little, flattening them, before spitting them out. “So this is a way to maintain a connection with fans. People who want our stuff will have it instantly.”

    Recently, a number of musical acts – most notably (and most successfully) Radiohead – have been reaching audiences by releasing their work online. Last December, Atmosphere put out Strictly Leakage for free download; earlier this year Big Quarters made the Fall in Love EP, produced in conjunction with Mux Mool, available online for free.

    (An interesting tangential story, paraphrased, because my tape recorder stopped working at some point during the interview: Zach and Mux Mool used to work together at the now-defunct Discount Video on Hennepin [its spot has since turned into a cell phone shop]. On Saturdays, only one of them would be scheduled for a shift, but both would show up, and they’d trade turns clocking in. Then, while one of them helped customers and stocked shelves and did what video store clerks do, the other would be in back, recording audio clips from the in-stock movies to use later for production. The store, Zach estimated, had over 40,000 titles, and they ended up with an unwieldy amount of samples, which they are now turning into a series of Discount Musical tracks, some of which will possibly be released – and now we get back to the main body – on Big Quarters Direct.)

    “It’s the first time we’ve been able to speed up the process of releasing music,” Zach said. He is more soft-spoken than his brother, his sentences maybe dampened by the beard that haloes his face. “We want to put out quality music every month, because now we have that capability.”

    Their compositions aren’t made for passive fans. Rather, they produce with the hope that their music is something to interact with. After Cost of Living, they released the Cost of Living Construction Kit (yours free when you sign up for Big Quarters Direct), which is actually a dissection of the original album, with both a cappella and instrumental versions of the songs laid out for other producers and MCs that might want to use them. Beyond that, though, Big Quarters hopes that people are able engage with their tracks on a more personal level.

    “Everything’s about telling our own story,” Brandon said. “Communicating, storytelling, we like to try and do that through rapping, and through our instrumentals.”

    Fittingly, their lyrics are marked by introspection. They explained that when they write about personal experiences, that’s when fans pay the most attention. The line that’s gotten them the most renown, off their song “Everyday,” is “Home of brown babies and white mothers” – an embrace of their own mixed-race heritage.

    Carrying their music over into their professional lives, Big Quarters try to promote the curative aspects of storytelling in their (our) community. By day, Zach and Brandon work with a number of youth groups – at the Hope Community, at IDDS, at the Minneapolis YMCA – teaching kids to DJ, to put together a song, and most importantly, to unleash their personal narratives.

    “It’s about therapy,” said Zach. “We hope that people can relate to us, find similarities even if their story’s not exactly the same.”

    Discerning a story from their instrumentals is a bit murkier of a task, but certainly there’s a narrative element to their production. None of their beats relies on a simple loop; rather they stoke a melody throughout the track, layering and collapsing it in progressions that never let go a listener’s ear. As far as actual sound, one might compare their production to some of the stuff RZA does for Wu-Tang Clan – full-bodied and sour and vaguely kung-fu-ish – though the recent Fall in Love EP seems to try and crack through this, bordering on pop.

    “The goal for us when we’re producing,” Zach said, “is to take something people might know, and play with it and break it down until it’s not really recognizable anymore. That’s when a beat sort of becomes our own, and we can begin to tell a story with it.”

    (If you listen to this, it’s easy to see what he means.)

    September 3rd, 2008 @ Turf Club.
    Performances by: Big Quarters, Mux Mool and DJ Anton
    21+ / $4 / 9pm

     

  • Sept 1, 2008: Big Monday

  • Spark It Up!

    As activists on the West Side get the shake down from the cops, and St. Paul frets and fusses over last minute preparations at RNC ground zero; Downtown Minneapolis geared up to show its artistic flair at Spark24!

    What is Spark24 you ask? Well, if you haven’t been living under a rock for the past month, you probably already know. This 24-hour extravaganza incorporated music, performance, art, dance, and partying of all varieties. If you missed it, you missed out – the spark was definitely electric!

    6pm: Arriving at the IDS

    The thoughtful peeps of Spark24 have set up an awesome media hub for journalists to not only work from, but also to party from. The ground level is sectioned off, VIP style (that’s right, you’re not invited) with gallons of fancy booze to pour down our throats and fresh fruit and Vitamin Water to get us through the night. The cute and cordial head honcho, Nicolle, flits around putting finishing touches on the space and tactfully bossing around volunteers, who wear matching t-shirts emblazoned with the slogan, "I Got Lit."

    The wi-fi center is set up in the old Williams-Sonoma space on the skyway level, where computers wait for journalists and bloggers to use freely. I’ve brought my trusty laptop and camera and will continue to check in all night long, recappin’ and posting pictures, as I slowly deteriorate into a sleep deprived mess – which you’ll probably be able to detect by the level of inappropriateness and lack of proper English in my posts as the night wears on.

    My first stop tonight will be the super-ultra VIP Media party at Mill City (again, you’re not invited!) where I hope to snap some pics of newsy celebs, or at the very least, Jeff Passolt. Check back later to see what kind of shenanigans I get into to as well as lots of pictures by me and my bff/photographer Stephen Stephens (yes, that’s really his name) who will be my party poppin’ right hand man all night!

     

    8pm RNC Media Party @ Mill City Museum/Guthrie

    Upon approaching the Mill City in Stephen’s beat up 1990
    Toyota, police and party volunteers barricaded the streets, only letting
    credentialed press through to attend the party. Mostly surrounded by black SUVs
    and the like, we eventually got through, parked, and met Rake editor Jill
    Yablonski, who gushed, "There’s so much free food and booze I think I am
    going to die."

    Unexpected "guest star," as Veep nominee.

    The party was awesome. Some of the first familiar faces I
    saw were my pals Greg Jansen and Paul Durham, who were there shooting photos
    for Twin Cities Luxury and Fashion. "Can you believe this shit?"
    Jansen asked. And no, I couldn’t really believe it. Spanning from the Guthrie’s
    patio, through the Mill City Farmers Market and Museum, and even out to River
    Road where the closed off street was tented for a good city block and lined
    with food vendors and bars – all free of course – I can only liken the party to
    a "fancy State Fair." I overheard someone saying that 7 million
    dollars was spent on the party, if that tells you anything. Who paid for it,
    I’m not altogether sure – but they definitely know how to throw a party.

    While the booze flowed and hundreds of media-types from all
    over the country mingled and whooped it up, Stephen snapped pictures and Jill
    and I stuffed our faces and drank mojitos, keeping our eyes peeled for the
    likes of John Stewart, Anderson Cooper and other celebs – who never
    materialized. We did get Passholt though (see first post). And R.T. Rybak. And even an
    all-American Lady Liberty sucking on a Marlboro and texting.

    11pm Northern Exposure Art Show

    Stephen and I met up with Jill again, this time with her
    boyfriend Tim in tow. Our disorganized itinerary was supposed to kick off at
    the Chambers, but we made a pit stop at Steve Sugarman’s latest "pop-up"
    gallery – a short-run show held in an empty commercial space just off 8th
    & LaSalle entitled Northern Exposure.
    The reception technically ended at 10pm, and there were only a couple randoms
    milling around so we made a quick swoop through the exhibit, which included
    work by such local art characters as Scott Seekins and Brant Kingman, among probably 30
    others. Stop in before September 7th to check it out – it’s a pretty
    awesome show.

    11:30pm Chambers Hotel

    We ran into our friend Kristoffer
    at the Chambers and kicked it in the courtyard sipping $10 vodka tonics while
    admiring the extreme douchebaggery of the clientele. Made up of predominately
    Abercrombie-esque young professionals and leggy blondes in mini-dresses trying
    to catch the eyes of deep pocket hotel guests, the crowd seemed oblivious to
    Spark24, the RNC and even life as we know it outside of the swanky bubble of
    the hotel.

    We popped into the 5th floor "Red, White and Fucking Blue
    Bar" where the action was almost cringe-worthy. A DJ played predictable drunken
    crowd-pleasers such as Bobby Brown’s My Prerogative while red-faced
    delegates in hot pink feather boas did dorky jigs and cat-like euro-babes posed
    on expensive furniture that peppered the space. We stood on the balcony patio for about 10 minutes
    and made the decision that we needed to leave as soon as possible, but not
    before taking a spin down the stairwell that is filled with colorful graffiti from top to bottom. All in all, while tonight’s crowd left something to be
    desired, the Chambers is still a beautiful spot, with cool art at every turn. Try checking out an art opening in the adjacent Burnet Gallery some
    time – the crowd is always chic, the wine flows like water and the exhibits are quite impressive.

    12:30am First Avenue: Too Much Love

    Jill, Tim and Kristoffer all ditched us after Chambers, but
    luckily we hooked up with our cute friends Jahna
    and Danielle outside the Ave
    for some Too Much Love action.
    Filled with hundreds of bandana-clad hipsters/college kids, as per usual, TML,
    a huge weekly dance party, always succeeds in making me feel old and
    uncoordinated. Hundreds of fashioned-out 20-somethings dance the night away,
    pressed up against each other in a throng, that to me, looks almost dangerous.
    Once last year I actually got drunk enough to dance (I’m usually a stalwart
    observer) and ended up in an uninvited "man sandwich" with a couple of sweaty
    Belgians – hence the end to my TML dancing days.

    Stephen and I downed a couple of vodka Redbulls, chatted
    some of our dance party-prone friends up and watched breakdancers battle it out
    on the stage. Too Much Love seemed to be the typical weekly crowd,
    though I did see a troupe of unmistakable delegates party-train through the
    club with drinks held high, hooting and hollering and still wearing their power
    suits at 1 am.

    1:30am The Fine Line: Myspace Most Beautiful People Party

    Our first inkling after leaving First Avenue was to hit up
    Club 3 Degrees – an all-Christian nightclub right off of 5th &
    Hennepin. Sadly it was closed, with no young republican bible-bangers in sight.
    Considering the club doesn’t serve alcohol, and good Christians probably go to
    bed at a decent hour, it probably makes sense, though to me it doesn’t quite
    compute. No alcohol? Weird.

    Anyhoo, Kristoffer sent me a text on his way home with a
    message pertaining to the scene outside of the Fine Line, it read, "Regular
    yahoos x 100. Not Pretty." So of course we had to check it out. We talked our
    way in and surveyed the scene – pretty much everyone was drunk as hell, booze
    was spilled everywhere on the floor and no one looked particularly "beautiful,"
    mostly just glazed over and a little snakey. Some drunk chick rammed into me,
    and said "excuse you, bitch," and alternately, a big, muscle-bound black man
    sensually, and randomly, caressed my back as I walked by. The highlight was a
    raging drunk yokel with chest tats, who could only point at another guy and
    repeat over and over "that’s my brother, that’s my bro." No obvious republicans
    in sight here, unfortunately.

    2am: The IDS

    Upon return the media center, we found the doors locked –
    with all our gear inside. No security guard or Spark volunteer in sight. We
    rattled around and finally found a nest of teenage thespians holed up in a back
    office in their pajamas, working on a 24-hour play, (which will be performed
    tomorrow at 4pm in front of the IDS, so check it out). They perked up at our
    arrival, feeding us Doritos, donut holes, carrots and Rockstar Energy drinks,
    and seemed genuinely concerned for our situation. We meandered around a bit,
    then decided to just head to Orchestra Hall where Spark24 was in full swing,
    despite our intention to give you a 2am update.

    2:45am: Orchestra Hall/Peavey Plaza

    We strolled from the IDS to Orchestra Hall, bitching all the
    way about how our feet hurt and how our legs were going to be sore tomorrow. On
    arrival at Peavey Plaza we were greeted by a lively and diverse crowd, ranging
    from glammed-out fashionistas, mangy hippies, scruffy rockers, and even an
    elderly couple. Young flower-child looking chicks twirled sparklers and danced
    around the plaza, drunk jocks stumbled about swearing liberally, and hungry people of all styles
    lined up to pay an enterprising food vendor $5 for a single hot dog.

    We got inside in time to catch the much buzzed-about Cloud
    Cult, and stuck around for Chris Koza, both of whom sounded simply amazing in
    the acoustically dreamy Orchestra Hall auditorium. Two artists painted live as the music played. Stephen snapped pictures
    while I sat sullenly in a seat in the back of the hall, eating a $5 bag of
    mini-donuts and worrying about when I’d be able to get at my laptop, which was still left in the now-locked up media center. Eventually, I ran into Nicolle, who
    assured me I had full access and just needed to find the security guard to let
    me in, which I hadn’t really occurred to me, of course.

    5am: Peavey Plaza

    Stephen had randomly met Rake music writer Erin Roof in the fray, and
    reported back to me that her favorite actor is R2D2. Good to know. We also ran
    into our friends Johann and Enrique
    and chatted it up for a spell, complaining about how cracked-out we were on
    Vitamin Energy drinks, and again, how our feet hurt. Ironically, a few minutes
    later some drunk jackass wobbled by, stomped on both of my feet,
    muttered something, and then fell up some stairs without looking back. That
    was my cue to leave, so Stephen and I slowly trekked back to the IDS where we did
    eventually find the security guard to let us in – and here we are.

    It’s 7:30am and I might
    snooze on a chair for a bit before heading back out. I plan on keepin’ my
    promise (sort of anyway, despite my pending nap) to keep you abreast of the
    sitch down here. Keep your eyes peeled for reports on performance at Peavey
    Plaza and the Liberty Parade – coming soon!

    9:30am: IDS

    After a fitful one hour half-snooze on a particle board slab in the backroom of the media center, with an empty messenger bag as my pillow, I decided to say "screw it" and get up. Strangely rejuvenated, although I didn’t actually fall asleep, I perked up at the thought of hot coffee and possibly something egg related.

    Stephen was still sprawled on the little bank of mismatched chairs I’d left him on before I cuddled up on my slab. He looked super comfy.

    We’re going to get breakfast, then venture out into the wild once more. I think we look like crazy people though; we definitely feel a little crazy.

     

    10:30am: Peavey Plaza

    After fueling up on $16 platters of eggs and plenty of
    coffee at the Marquette Hotel’s restaurant, we set out for Peavey Plaza. The
    crowd was comfortably scattered through out the area, enjoying the smooth jazz
    stylings of a guy with a mohawk and his band. We found a shady patch of steps
    to perch on and settled in to check out the show. Seeing as neither of us had
    slept, our A.D.D. was in full effect.

    Honestly, I really can’t tell you all that much about the
    performers as I was busy doing things like counting hobos and gossiping with
    Stephen in my surreal state of conciousness. We did deduce, however, that at least 8% of the audience was homeless.
    I gave someone a dollar, then got into a very one-sided 20 minute conversation
    with a guy who called himself "Captain Kirk" and claimed to be on methadone. He
    chatted me up about a substance abuse center called Access Works that gives out
    free needles, and also pizza gift certificates to meth-heads who show up to
    Tuesday meetings, lovingly dubbed "Crystal Tuesdays." We also saw a darling
    family with two storybook-cute toddlers wearing "Obama Rocks" shirts, and
    everyone in the immediate vicinity was fawning over them – including Captain
    Kirk who, despite his druggy glow, seemed like quite a decent fellow.

    Other highlights included the Mu Taiko drummers who jumped,
    stomped and beat their way to an exuberant round of applause. Next up came a
    weird modern dance troupe who were literally dressed like they were on their
    lunch break from the Wells Fargo phone bank and had just decided to do an impromptu
    dance routine on their way back from Panera. They were definitely graceful and
    talented, but the whole clothing thing really confused and distracted me, but
    maybe I’m missing some deep point. If that’s the case, Wells Fargo dancers,
    please explain.


    1:30pm Nicollet & 8th

    The Liberty Parade has trumped Pride as my favorite parade
    ever. It kind of reminded me of a traveling politically themed science fiction
    convention – lots of weird shit and an endless stream of bonafied eccentrics
    with their zany meters set to maximum – in other words, awesome. A red,
    white and blue float complete with a sassy broad straddling a huge silver
    rocket and five or six equally bawdy babes with strap-on missile dicks singing,
    dancing, gyrating and talking smack about McCain. A gaggle of moaning zombies
    ambled by, followed by a car sporting a sign that simply said "Brains." A
    charming and cute safe-sex fairy skipped merrily by, covered with
    color-coordinated condoms and waving a magic wand. A gang of nonsensical Ren Fest
    types danced down the street to the theme song from the show, The Fresh
    Prince of Bel Air,     while flanked by faux secret service.

    My fave part, however, was when my other
    bestie Clement rolled up (in a sense) on his "Humping Bike," later dubbed "Tour
    De My Pants" – an exercise machine converted into a bike that requires
    its rider to pump and thrust his body in a "humping" motion to propel the
    bike. Clement only busts out the Humping Bike for special occasions like
    parades or bike fests, and he’s got a whole list of hilarious lines he loves to
    yell out to spectators like, "Are my undies showing? No? Do you want them to
    be?" or "Save a horse, ride a cowboy!" among naughty others. Not sure what
    the Humping Bike actually has to do with liberty, but it sure makes me giggle.

    2:30pm: Loring Park

    Stephen and I are running on empty, laughing maniacally at
    each other’s bad jokes while parked at a picnic table on the fringe of the
    action. All the parade participants have ended up here to celebrate and to set
    up shop for whatever word-spreading, performing or socializing suits their
    fancy. This event, while flanked generously with police in full gear,
    definitely seemed more Mayday Festival than political uprising. Everyone seemed
    to be in high spirits, and parade-goers even chatted up the po-po, who milled
    around the park in packs.

    We ran into tons of our friends, including Vicious Circle
    writer Andy Sturdevant who happily manned the entrance to the Summit beer
    garden in full summer beard. Bands and DJs played, wacky activists hammed for
    their respective causes with humor and creativity, and people of all political
    stripes enjoyed the breezy summer afternoon in Loring Park.

    4:30pm: IDS

    We eventually lugged ourselves out of the park, bedraggled
    and confused, to start the trudge back to the IDS Center, with Clement humping
    alongside us. I swear I felt blisters on my feet pop, as we’d been walking all
    over downtown since about 6:30pm Saturday, and Stephen complained that he felt
    like he might literally keel over at any moment. By the time we hit the media
    center to upload the pictures from the today’s excursion we were crabby and
    snapping at each other, but in a satisfied, "we did it" sort of way. All in all, a fun and crazy 24 hours, and a
    fitting kick-off to this week’s upcoming insanity – which we hope is as
    peaceful and positive as this weekend’s comeraderie insinuates. Thanks to the awesome Spark24 crew who was there with us each step of the way in sleep deprivation.

    Check www.digitalcrushphoto.com for more
    pics! We’ll have even more from our Spark24 shenanigans to share within the next couple days.

    Thanks for reading, I’m going to bed!

     

  • Cocinero Karimi at the Bedlam Theatre

    Robert KarimiOkay, here’s a quick tip for foodies: the "The Cooking Show Con Mero Cocinero Karimi," playing this weekend
    and next at the Bedlam Theatre is very, very funny. I saw the show last year
    when Robert Karimi performed it at Pangea World Theater. I won’t spoil the fun
    by giving away too many details (actually, I don’t remember too many details), but Karimi combines politics, humor and a cooking class in a fast-paced show that
    concludes with a tasting of the Iranian-Guatemalan performer’s multi-cultural
    cuisine. With the Republicans coming to town, I am sure Karimi will add some
    topical twists to the show. When I saw the show, the tasting was nearly a meal,
    but if you are still hungry, you can order from the Bedlam’s dining menu, which
    ranges from pizza to Polish sausage.

    The show runs tonight, Saturday, August 30, and next Friday through Sunday, September 5-7. "All shows at 8:00 pm. Everyone strongly encouraged to come early at 7:30
    for an extra taste, and to BYOB (Bring your own bowl)."

    The Bedlam Theatre is at 1501 S. 6th St., on the Minneapolis West Bank.

  • Chris Koza is Optimistic and Doesn't Care Who Knows It

    Chris Koza is the kind of man who gives cigarettes to homeless people. In person and in his music he is wantonly candid and authentic. Koza and his four-piece band happily loll at mid tempo, blending roots music, twang and a heavy dose of pop to create a giddy sound so large it breaks the boundaries and escapes the snaking sidewalks of this city.

    Koza himself is a New York City/ Minneapolis straddler. On his new album, The Dark, Delirious Morning, he mixes drum machine tones of big-city modernity with the organic sound of Midwestern acoustic guitars. The result gives his classic pop a modern feel that deserves a snug position on radio playlists. Koza’s music is infectiously uplifting and defiantly optimistic. It is luxuriously toe-tapping and a good cure for people who can’t afford Prozac. It makes even those fading summer sunburns feel OK.

    I talked with Koza outside the Triple Rock before his set last Saturday. While I was staring jealously at his vintage glasses, we discussed Ms. Pac-Man, hair metal and the definition of "modern geek."

    Erin Roof: I like on your Myspace page how you have a quirky list of influences, like pocket handkerchiefs and things like that. Is there anything you’ve seen today that particularly caught your eye and inspired you?

    Chris Koza: I’ve got to go through my whole day. I played the Ms. Pac-Man game at the CC Club. It’s the best Ms. Pac-Man game west of the Mississippi.

    ER: What makes it different?

    CK: Well, I’ve played a few on this last tour. It handles great. The ghosts are a great combination of cleverness and stupidity. When they’re too smart, you know, it takes the player out of the game. You should just let it play itself.

    ER: I’m terrible at video games.

    CK: Yeah, me too. Ms. Pac-Man is the only one I ever really liked.

    ER: Were you allowed to play video games growing up?

    CK: Yeah, we had Super Mario, Duck Hunt. I really haven’t done a whole lot today because we got back from tour at 6 o’clock in the morning.

    ER: How did it go?

    CK: It went really well. We were in Missouri last night. We played this outdoor concert an arts society set up. It was in this little town square. So, I guess if there was anything I saw in the last 24 hours, it’s on the drive back. We passed a lot of little, small towns that, if none of us were paying attention, we could essentially think we were driving in circles. They all looked the same at first glance.

    ER: Is there a particular reason that you felt pulled toward pop music, and have you ever felt like you just needed to let loose with some angry chords?

    CK: I used to try to play angry chords. I’m not really an angry guy. I mean, I get disappointed about things. I can feel really damn depressed for several days at a time, or maybe even entire seasons. But I felt when I was writing songs that were more angry sounding it made me feel worse, and it kind of took away some of the joy I found of writing songs. For me, right now where I’m at as a songwriter, it’s not where I get my inspiration.

    ER: If you were to do something completely opposite, like say a hair metal band, what do you think it would look and sound like?

    CK: Well, it would have to start with the main ingredient being David Bowie, ‘cause he’s got the glam. He’s got the fashion, the looks and the abilities. He’s got all the energy. Then I would put a bunch of diesel grease all over everything. And I’d probably tune all the strings on the guitar down to the lowest notes possible and try to belch as much as possible when I sing. And climb up the rafters.

    ER: Tell me about your new album.

    CK: We released The Dark, Delirious Morning at First Avenue on June 7th. I’ll call it adventurous, acoustic-based pop with equal parts classic rock/pop songwriting and modern geek.

    ER: What do you mean by "modern geek"?

    CK: Well, you know, like the nerdy tones or maybe the occasional lo-fi static.

    ER: Can you explain your stage show for someone who hasn’t seen it?

    CK: They can expect a group of people that are into the material, and they aren’t overly flamboyant, but they’re not a bunch of bumps on the log either. It’s very honest. The performance, whatever material we’re playing is rootsy, it’s kind of earthy-like one big pop muscle flexing at the same time.

    ER: What are your plans and goals?

    CK: My goal is to be a touring musician full time. Tour the U.S. Tour the U.K. Tour Japan. Get out there. See the world. Be able to play music and share it with people and be able to do this without going super broke. It’s my livelihood, but I also want it to be my life.

     

    Chris Koza, with The Alarmists, Blue Heels, and The Wars of 1812; Friday, Aug. 29th; 8 pm, Varsity Theater, 1308 4th St SE, Minneapolis

  • Tots, Blood, and a Broken Jaw

    Yesterday, I went to the State Fair with my dad, who is my all-time favorite person to go to the Fair with. Going to the Fair with my dad is like going to Vegas with Paul Rudd’s character in the movie Knocked Up. Except, instead of ingesting hallucinogens and risking pinkeye, we ingest epic quantities of fried food, and beer, and risk death by Midway.

    My love for the Fair goes back to my childhood. Growing up, the State Fair was the one event that could tranquilize my parents’ shit-storm divorce. Every time it rolled around, my folks were inexplicably on speaking terms again; in spite of the failed solar panel hot tub installation company, ensuing bankruptcy, and unpaid bills for my private art school education mom insisted on. For twelve summer days, we allowed ourselves to be one happy family.

    My dad is big. Big hands, big nose, big lips, big gut. He makes loud, dirty jokes and he’s partially deaf in one ear. He likes to eat, a lot. So the first thing we did when we arrived at the fair was hunt for food. Thanks to claims of near-orgasm, I tried Axel’s Tots on-a-stick ($4.00). The potato balls, stuffed with sour cream, chives, cheddar and bacon are worthy of moans. I’ve tried a decent chunk of stick-food at this point, and hot damn, those tots are good! If it were me calling the shots, I’d hire a man to stand beside the Axel’s booth and sing their praises all day long.

    My dad opted for the Walleye-on-a-stick ($3.50), which was predictably okay. Next, due to pure curiosity, (mine; my dad is a Bud man) we tried the wine ice cream ($3.00). At first, it tasted like eating ice cream on a hangover, but before you’ve brushed your teeth. Then, it tasted like nothing at all. Just a good dose of vanilla ice cream. No hint of wine, cardamon or plum, the other flavors it made claim to.

    Because of the whole deaf-in-one-ear thing, when my dad says, "So, what do you want to do?" Everyone turns their heads. When we passed the radio show where the Governor was being interviewed, and he shouted, "Hey, Pawlenty! What’s up brother?" Governor Pawlenty’s security guards turned their heads. Getting my dad to the Midway was purely a selfish choice–drown his voice in the ruckus, and get him to buy the ticket value pack ($20.00), and indulge whatever plush toy winning game captured my fancy.

    At the Midway, we played lots of games to no avail, then rode a ride called the Crazy Mouse. The carnies seemed extra drunk today, were missing more teeth, and the rides looked very unsafe in the gray-glow of yesterday’s stormy weather. One man in particular, working the pool table area, told my dad, "Aw, your daughter’s good looking, sir." Slurring his words, he then pulled me close and whispered in my ear, "I’m drunk, because I had surgery yesterday." I said, "Damn dude, sorry. Shouldn’t you be home?" He shook his head as if this were the most ridiculous question. "Someone punched my jaw out," he said. "See this?" He pointed to his jaw. "All swollen." He gave my dad an extra turn on the house, so he could finish his story.

    The Crazy Mouse is a yellow roller coaster, where little circular cars loop around the track, spinning around while flying up and down the coaster. My dad and I shared our four-person ride-car with a brother and sister, ages six and nine. My nearly-300-pound dad, making his scary-face, leaned over and said to the little boy, "Hey son, you know why that car ahead of us is red? Because someone died on this ride, and that’s where his blood splattered!" The little kid shot back, "I’m not scared. I went on this ride last night. In the dark." This kid’s my new favorite person.

    Impossible to ignore were the people at the Fair. I saw a girl of eighteen, in full goth regalia, wearing a murdered-out baby-tee that read on the front: "Abortion is Homicide," and on the back, "No one can quiet my God."

    I saw a petite, elderly couple making their way around the Fair on matching Segway Personal Transporters. And I saw a number of god-awful tattoos. Among the bad tattoos of the day were a tiny rose, a tiny butterfly, lots of tribal, a tiny leprechaun, and a big portrait of a tiger that looked like a yellow lab with stripes. What specifically made most of these tattoos so bad was their blatant disregard for the laws that govern negative space.

    When an obese man has a tattoo of a leprechaun raising his top hat on his right bicep, and the leprechaun is the size of my pinky, it makes the man look bigger. Now, I’m not knocking tattoos or making fun of fat people. But I am knocking the popularity of the tiny tattoo. Mother of four from Wayzata, that rose on your ankle looks like skin cancer. I know you got it to celebrate the big 4-0, and good for you, honey. But just because it is tiny, doesn’t make it "safe." It makes it stupid. Your PTA friends will still notice it, and judge you, and call you a whore behind your back, even if your tattoo is tiny. Someone tell everyone that small, oddly proportioned tattoos look awful.

    Highlight of the day? Buying my pit bull a kelly green bandana that says, "Don’t Taze Me Bro!" And getting to spend the whole afternoon at the Fair with my dad.