Blog

In a way, Alexander Calder is a movement of one—his mobiles, those feats of balance and grace, pretty much own the category. But Calder owes his inspiration to the surrealist movement, and this exhibit places him firmly within that larger context, demonstrating how his work grew out of influences from contemporaries such as Marcel Duchamp, Max Ernst, and René Magritte. Calder’s drawings, sculptures, and mobiles are displayed amid works by other surrealists—Ernst and Magritte as well as Miró and Yves Tanguy—bringing a new perspective to his mobiles (the concept for which Duchamp thought up), and to his overall sense of humor and playfulness. This exhibition coincides with the opening of the institute’s new wing and renovated galleries. 612-870-3200; www.artsmia.org

If the current U.S. government funded art that reflected its ideals, we might see Thomas Kinkade’s cottage scenes take over museums as well as shopping malls. (Then again, Kinkade’s apparently acquired a rep for groping women and urinating in elevators, so perhaps he’s more bad-boy art star than the Bush administration might wish to sanction.) In the former Soviet Union, a system of art patronage led to the establishment of the Socialist Realists, a school of art that, like Kinkade, was none too subtle in lauding home, hearth, and country. But even as the Socialist Realists projected Communist ideals, celebrated Soviet leaders, and stayed well within the bounds of staunchly conservative stylistic traditions, another group that became known as “the nonconformists” was painting a vastly different picture of the Soviet experience—often at extreme risk to their own careers and even lives. Shown together in this fascinating and rare convergence, dozens of works reveal a world that was, and a world that never could have been. 5500 Stevens Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-821-9045; www.tmora.org

It remains to be seen whether Brazilian singer Seu Jorge will perform his own sexy, samba-driven songs, or the set of the David Bowie covers that he played in the film The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou. We’ll hope for more of the former, since the Bowie songs, sung in Portuguese to spare and jangly guitar accompaniment, have overshadowed Jorge’s own noteworthy songwriting. It only takes a brief listen to last year’s Cru to realize that his is hardly a novel talent, one marked by the street influences from a homeless childhood in Rio de Janeiro. 416 Cedar Ave. S., Minneapolis; 612-338-2674; www.thecedar.org

KBEM continues to surprise us—and not just by staying on the air. Amid continued funding threats, this tiny, low-budget, low-profile radio station keeps its programming fresh and relevant. Thursday nights, for instance, there’s “Riverwalk Jazz,” a Texas-produced show that explores the history of jazz through archival recordings, interviews, and performances of classics by the Jim Cullum Jazz Band. In touring and recording, this accomplished seven-piece outfit focuses on New Orleans and Chicago-style jazz, paying homage through a meticulous attention to historical detail. 612-371-5656; www.minnesotaorchestra.org

The Jayhawks seem to split up and get back together about as frequently as Eminem and his wife/ex-wife/wife/ex-wife Kim Mathers. Meanwhile, the individual members of the band have been working on some very cool side projects. There’s a new Golden Smog album, Gary Louris plays on both the new Rhett Miller and the Dixie Chicks’ latest, and now drummer Tim O’Reagan has come out from behind the kit for a solo debut. He proves his formidable skill as a songwriter, arranger, and player of guitar and bass (as well as drums) on this album. It’s a surprisingly polished affair ornamented with accordion, skillful whistling from his dad, and a few predictable guest spots by his Minneapolis pals. Overall, O’Reagan achieves an easygoing lightheartedness that mostly proved elusive for the Jayhawks, what with all their heartaches.

Now that the reanimated Pixies have proved to be an arena-sized success, Black is back to focusing on his solo career, and this double album shows he hasn’t been just counting his cash. He called back several Nashville session players from his last album, Honeycomb, and brought in other guests as disparate as The Band’s Levon Helm and Cheap Trick’s Tom Petersson. The sound, accordingly, is all over the place, burnishing Black’s hard-won rock ’n’ roll credentials with deft folk, country, and soul stylings. His lyrics remain as intriguingly inscrutable as ever, while his voice, though surely seared by screams, is often more warm, relaxed, and inviting than expected.

Aimee Mann has a knack for imbuing her songs with emotional intelligence as well as pop hooks, but her idea of what constitutes a hook continues to move further away from the radio-friendly songs she sang with her old band, ’Til Tuesday. Her recent music is a new animal entirely. She seems to be writing for her own quiet pleasure rather than for any audience, and her songs take time to breathe and follow the arc of their melodies to places of melancholy and euphoria. For instance, the songs on last year’s The Forgotten Arm seem unremarkable at first, but considered listening reveals a masterful, high-concept, almost literary album that chronicles the love affair of a boxer and his honey. 13000 Zoo Blvd., Apple Valley; 952-431-9303; www.mnzoo.org