Blog

By now, you should have given Aimee Mann’s new album, Lost in Space , a few thousand listenings—not because you don’t get it, but because you do. “Humpty Dumpty” was on local playlists for a while, but Mann is the kind of artist who still makes albums you want to listen to, from beginning to end. She’s terrific live, too—casual and comfortable, but a little shy. Like any good cabaret performer, she waits in earnest for the audience to do its part. A nicer, more genuine rock star you’re not likely to see. We just love her, even if she is married to the guy who wrote that insufferable lyric, “What if I were Romeo in black jeans?” (To which we answer, “What if we were Juliet with an oak axe-handle?” Kidding. We’re kidding.) O’Shaughnessy Auditorium, (651) 690-6700

Though he still tours constantly, Bobby Z.’s attention lately has been taken up more and more by the movies. Perhaps inspired by the Oscar netted by “Things Have Changed,” Dylan’s developed a thing for releasing his new songs on soundtracks. His newest, “Waitin’ For You” was in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, so you’re forgiven if it flew under your radar. Hopefully he’ll have better luck with “Crossing Over the Green Mountain,” debuting in the forthcoming Civil War drama Gods and Generals . He’s also going in front of the lens to star as a has-been singer named Jack Fate in next year’s post-apocalyptic fable Masked and Anonymous, which has become one of those buzz-heavy projects that Hollywood’s glitterati take huge pay cuts to get a part in. The past few years have been good to Bob, and that new vitality has carried over into his live act as well. His last two shows in Minnesota have found him in fine form, offering up splendid reinterpretations of both classics and new songs, his voice aged into an expressive, rough snarl like bootleg whisky in an oaken cask. And while he’s famous for radically changing his set lists from one show to the next, he’s been fairly consistent of late in covering the Rolling Stones’ “Brown Sugar” and lots of Warren Zevon, sometimes as many as three songs a night. Xcel Energy Centre, (651) 265-4800, xcelenergycenter.com

Eugene Larkin has been a fixture of local printmaking for more than 30 years, a denizen of both MCAD and the University’s art department. Larkin’s work has a reassuring quality to it—never indulging in gimmicks or trends, but hewing to old-fashioned media and traditional values in composition, tone, and texture. In terms of subject matter, he sticks to the artistic equivalent of comfort food, too: formal nudes, still lifes, and landscapes make up much of his oeuvre. But that doesn’t make it any less appealing. Quite the contrary. Here, the artist shows off his skill with a notoriously difficult medium—woodcut—in such difficult but time-tested territory as myth and scripture. And no, he did not get the game-winning hit in game 7 of the 1991 World Series. That’s a different—though equally beloved—Eugene Larkin.

Mexico’s most prominent photographer turned 100 this year. Sadly, he died just a few weeks ago, before he could join us; the Walker was already bringing to town a Getty Museum retrospective of 100 of Alvarez Bravo’s works covering the many phases of his long career. Born into a family of painters and photographers, Alvarez Bravo came of age during Mexico’s post-revolutionary 1920s renaissance, when dozens of artists from around the world flooded into the country. While working as an accountant, he refined his art and distilled ideas from the creative ferment around him, even briefly working as Sergei Eisenstein’s cinematographer. In the process he became the first Mexican photographer to move past formal realism, using his finely tuned compositional eye to capture meanings more intangible than just the literal images his camera collected. His style was equally hard to pin down. Though he often made use of surreal imagery, he didn’t consider himself a surrealist. Nor was he as overtly political as his peers, although one of his most compelling images shows an assassinated labor agitator lying in a pool of his own blood. His work is deceptively ordinary, largely trained on the everyday events of his Mexico City environs, and yet confidently evokes an array of modernist styles, from crisp formalism to obliquely erotic dream imagery. If he preferred not to confine himself to a single method, it may be because he saw the image itself as his overriding artistic concern. As he put it in an often-repeated motto, “Shoot what you see, not what you think.” Walker Art Center, (612) 375-7622, www.walkerart.org

If Groucho Marx were a brooding existentialist French playwright, he’d be Eugene Ionesco, creator of the Theater of the Absurd. In fact, Ionesco was much influenced by Groucho’s anarchic spirit and irrepressible verbal dynamism, although Ionesco’s creations were far more surreal, not to mention darker and nihilistic. It’s surprising how much humor there is to be had in the theme that life is ultimately pointless, hopeless, and empty. (We know it’s always a hit when we bring the subject up at parties.) The Chairs follows an aging couple, unhappily married for 75 years and growing more decrepit by the day, who hire an orator to help them pass on their collected wisdom to younger generations, so they can die in peace. The audience they hope for never seems to arrive, but the room fills up with an ever-increasing amount of empty chairs. Echoing this total failure to communicate, the never-named man and woman are growing further apart from each other as senility makes him lose touch with the past and her with the present. This is heavy stuff, shot through with humor caustic enough to eat through sheet-metal. This production is directed by Daniel Aukin, on loan to the Guthrie Lab from New York experimental theater Soho Rep. Guthrie Lab, (612) 347-1100, www.guthrietheater.org

After long and dreary years in the comedy wilderness, inflicting duds like like Life Stinks and Robin Hood: Men in Tights on innocent moviegoers, Mel Brooks went back to square one. He took his 1968 cult classic (and still best) film and rewrote it as a Broadway musical; nicely ironic considering it’s about two schlemiel impresarios and a get-rich-quick scheme to stage a deliberately disastrous Broadway flop. Packed with gags, Borscht-Belt quippery, and a vastly expanded set of musical numbers, the result was a less acidulous, more loving send-up of old-time vaudeville, and proof that Brooks hasn’t lost his touch after all. In fact, The Producers was the surprise Broadway sensation of 2001, nabbing a record 12 Tony awards, near-unanimous critical raves, and more sellout crowds than even Springtime For Hitler ever got. Be warned that you won’t be seeing Nathan Lane and Matthew Broderick, stars of the original New York run; the traveling show features non-household names Lewis J. Stadlen and Don Stephenson. The reviews have been no less ecstatic, though. Orpheum Theatre, (612) 339-7007, www.hennepintheatredistrict.com

This isn’t officially a family event—it features the world premiere of three new works by Bill Young, Mark Haim, and Wynn Fricke, undeniably Big People in the world of choreography. But we know from experience that kids love Zenon—not only because the 20-year-old local institution has always embraced the little folks in dozens of awesome dance and movement classes throughout the year, but also because, at its core, the company captures the spirit of youth. An essentially sunny disposition, extreme athleticism, and an easy intimacy—these are qualities children of all ages can vibe on, and what better opportunity than helping observe this landmark event in local dance? Book tickets now for this very limited run. You only turn 20 once! Zenon Dance, www.zenondance.org, (612) 338-1101

If you’re one of the many Lundgrens or Nelsons or Nordbergs living in these parts, some of your ancestors’ belongings might very well be on display here. This traveling Smithsonian exhibit showcasing Old Norse culture and heritage makes its final stop in St. Paul. Encompassing more than 300 artifacts, it’s so large that the Science Museum literally had to knock down walls to make room for it. Artifacts on display include some beautifully crafted Viking jewelry and weapons, including the 1,000-year-old, silver-inlaid Mammen Axe, and some historic Icelandic manuscripts so valuable that their Parliament had to OK their inclusion in the exhibit. In a kid-friendly Viking Village, the littlest Olafs and Sigrids can clamber around a model ship, dress up in the latest in 11th-century fashion, and even find out what Viking bathrooms looked like, which might be more information than we needed to know. The exhibit will also work to show that the Vikings were more than just barbarian raiders, but accomplished artisans and sailors of truly astounding skill who beat Columbus to the New World by half a millennium. (We can think of some other Vikings who could use some image rehabilitation too, but that’s another story.) Science Museum of Minnesota, (651) 221-9444, www.smm.org

For some reason Ebay has inspired more than its share of goofy pranks and not-quite-legit satirical auctions—we still get a chuckle over the guy who tried to sell his soul to the highest bidder. But a few people have crossed the line from prank to performance art, including John Freyer, an Iowa grad student, graphic designer, and snowboard instructor. Tired of the clutter and kitschy junk that was starting to overwhelm his life, Freyer decided to go one step beyond an everyday garage sale and sell off all his possessions on the online auction site—a Slinky, a canned ham, a beat-up green couch, and more. As each item sold, he recorded the details on his own web site, allmylifeforsale.com, capping off the project by selling off the domain name itself. The truly inspired part is what he did next: Using the proceeds from the sales, he took the project off the Internet and on the road, traveling around the country visiting his old possessions and the people who now owned them. Initially he wrote up these experiences as an online travelblog, and those writings have now been collected and expanded into a book, like his website titled All My Life For Sale . Designed by Freyer himself, it’s a quirky look at the American love of material goods, casting a clever eye on the way we define what is junk and what is treasure. If it’s true that the things you own end up owning you, Freyer is a free man. Ruminator Books, (651) 699-0587, www.ruminator.com

The Vikings thought the northern lights were the unearthly spirits of Valkyries pointing the way to the warrior’s afterlife in Valhalla. Eskimos thought they were evil spirits who decapitated the heads of children for sport. A former BBC documentarian tells a true story no less strange and tragic in The Northern Lights . Turn of the century Norwegian scientist Kristian Birkeland was obsessed with unlocking the mystery of what causes the aurora borealis, believing (correctly, as it turned out) that it was the interaction of solar wind with the Earth’s magnetic field. It was a gifted deduction, but after that his career was guided by an unlucky star. Other scientists refused to accept his unorthodox theories, forcing him to scrounge for money as an inventor. Despite some spectacular successes, that backfired when his business partner attempted to cheat him out of his profits, and even scuttled Birkeland’s Nobel Prize nomination out of jealousy. Meanwhile, Birkeland became so fixated on scientific pursuits that he absentmindedly double-booked his own wedding, and began to spiral into drug abuse. Strung out and paranoid, he died alone in a Japanese hotel room, armed with a pistol to protect himself from the British spies he thought were out to steal his ideas. (A fear that may not have been entirely unfounded.) As is so often the case, his ideas were accepted only years later, long after it was too late to halt his downward spiral. Jago’s clear prose, quoting extensively from the letters of Birkeland and contemporaries, is a worthy attempt at posthumous vindication. It’s also a compelling portrait of an archetypal unheralded genius, destroyed by forces both external and internal. Ruminator Books, (651) 699-0587, www.ruminator.com