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Dear Clint, Glad you took my call yesterday! I can’t tell you how great it was to speak with you in person again. What’s it been, almost 20 years? (Not counting your wedding–sheesh, was I wasted or what?) Anyway, like I said on the phone, I’ll be here in Sydney doing reshoots on this new Matrix picture until early June. As you can imagine, it was a real coup for me (and my agent, ha! bless him…) to get the gig. When Keanu walked, Larry Fishburne was nice enough to let my name slip to one of the Wachowskis (I forget which–can’t really tell them apart, to be honest) as a possible replacement. I was sure Jude Law was gonna get it, but I think they ultimately wanted someone older, hairier, and a little more naturally agile. Bottom line: I’m in primo shape, I’m feeling the material in a really deep way, and PLEASE keep it on the down-low, but Carrie-Ann and I have been really “getting into character,” if you dig. All that said, I took another pass through the Another Which Way We Could script you sent, and while I have my doubts about the anti-terrorism angle (those desert locations are brutal, my friend!), I do believe you’re onto something. Let’s hit the Derby for drinks as soon as I’m back in town. All my best, Clyde

As seen on Amazon.com: “Customers who downloaded songs from this album also downloaded ‘Far Side Of The World’ [by] Jimmy Buffett.” Mr. Margaritaville and Moby sharing fans? So much for any lingering doubts about this dance-rock maestro’s crossover juice. Cynical musicos like to poke fun at Moby for his omnipresence, especially in commercials. Ever since his blues-infused 1999 album Play put him at the forefront of the alt-pop consciousness, his name, music, likeness, and ongoing commentaries have appeared everywhere in everything from prime-time ads to fashion mags to chic fund-raisers to the closing ceremonies in Salt Lake City. With so much celebrity grab-assing, maybe it’s curious that he would cast D-list stars such as Gary Coleman and Kato Kaelin in the video for “We Are All Made Of Stars,” the first single off his new full-length disc, 18. But rather than take the occasion to ponder the twisted and fickle nature of fame in the 21st century (yawn), we’re content to nod along to that lovely, all-too-singable track and thank our own lucky stars for an electronica artist who still cares enough to write a simple guitar-pop gem once in a while. For that matter, cheers to a multi-platinum personality who doesn’t feel the need to disappear for years at a time to recharge his own hip factor (ahem-Prince-cough).

As of last Christmas, no less than 8 million copies of 1998’s The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill had been rung through at earthly checkout lines. We suspect that roughly one-third of that figure represents fans so desperate for a follow-up to that delicious album of hip-hop-soul that they simply ran out and bought the first one again. This new Unplugged disc may not quite be the blockbuster sequel you’ve been waiting for–Hill’s skills at manipulating a studio environment were what sealed much of Miseducation’s instant charm. But among the numerous pop songbirds and rap impresarios who’ve participated in MTV’s ritual sonic striptease, few flaunt the all-around musical magnetism of this former Fugee. Since dropping off the radar at the turn of the millennium, varying reports have had her devoting 98 percent of her time to motherhood, retreating deep into a spiritual self-exploration, and/or suffering at the hands of a label who might be too gun-shy to pit an acoustic Lauryn album against the red-hot likes of Alicia Keys, Missy Elliott, and the ghost of Destiny’s Child. Whatever the full truth is, Unplugged patrons would do best not to expect hit singles–which, in this case, still allows for a damn fine live collection from one of modern R&B’s most venerable figures.

If there are two millennial rock ‘n’ roll bands you need to know about, here they are–in one convenient location for your listening pleasure. Have you been wondering whatever happened to smart guitar rock, and whether there was any gas left in the old engine of creative evolution for the six-string? Spiritualized has been around for more than a decade, led by the bizarre boy-genius Jason Spaceman who somehow manages to combine psychedelic noise-mongering with Baptist brimstone. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club are newcomers cut from the cloth of Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground–yes, it was about time for someone to sound like Lou Reed and the Velvets again, wasn’t it? You’ll hear previews of BRMC on Drive-105. But for some reason they’re not spinning “Whatever Happened to My Rock ‘n’ Roll,” the first song in 15 years that makes us spontaneously pogo around the office like it was Goofy’s circa 1981. First Avenue, (612) 338-8388

Don’t laugh until you remember that this aging Canadian superstar penned memorable classics such as “Carefree Highway” and “If You Could Read My Mind.” These, of course, were staples of late-70s hippie pop that drew a line back to pre-Nashville country and folk –just like our dear departed John Denver. (True, Gord also wrote the heinous signature hit “Sundown,” just the way John cursed us with “Sunshine on My Shoulders.”) Most listeners don’t realize that Lightfoot was and remains an unrepentant Canadian folkie at heart. With any luck, he’ll play a few of his earliest hits unmolested by the schlocky string arrangements–gems like “Canadian Railroad Trilogy” and “Ribbon of Steel,” both of which were recently re-released on a new greatest hits anthology. We’ve seen enough of our friends’ record collections to know that more will show up than will admit it at the water cooler. Still need convincing? Don’t forget “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” a classic Great Lakes ballad as timeless as Gitchee Gummi itself. Orpheum Theatre, (612) 339-7007

Charlotte Church notwithstanding, it seems classical music is still one of the rare showbiz channels where a child prodigy has a better than 50-50 chance of cultivating a long, fruitful, and relatively stable career. Then again, 31-year-old violinist Midori has had her share of detractors over the not-so-many years, alternately criticizing her more eclectic and New Age-y ventures and writing off her athletic interpretations as immature and overwrought. But those of us more attuned to the pure energy of a performance than to technical squabbles over tradition and tone are happy to indulge this worldly musical ambassador for a spell. Especially since she consistently goes to generous extremes as an advocate for music education, promoting the arts as a means toward greater understanding and enrichment for kids of all continents. Over three nights at two venues, she’ll guest with the SPCO under the wand of conductor Andreas Delfs, tackling Samuel Barber’s sumptuous Violin Concerto–a piece that was, coincidentally, recorded just a couple years ago by the SPCO with Hilary Hahn, whom we guess you could say represents the next generation of bow-wielding wunderkind. SPCO, (651) 291-1114

There’s a tradition of proud, passionate folk revivalism and hardcore banjo-on-mandolin action in these parts that predates any George Clooney movie you could name. So forget for a moment that this is the year of Grammy-canonized bluegrass. Recognize that devoted and studious musicians all over the Midwest and elsewhere have been laboring for ages to keep these suddenly trendy high-lonesome sounds afloat in the greater musical ether. While the Minnesota Bluegrass & Old-Time Music Festival is the largest and best known of the region’s large-scale gatherings–the 23rd annual installment is set for August–events like this two-night hoedown-cum-throwdown at the Cabooze offer a chance for city-bound bar crawlers to get a taste of that old-school flavor without the need for sunscreen or a camping permit. The names on display at this fast-picking affair are rock-solid, too, including Chicago’s Cornmeal (equally at home among purists or on the jam band circuit), local act Monroe Crossing (featuring ace fiddler Lisa Fuglie), and Virginia-born James King (above), a true champion of the genre who came up 20 years ago under the distinguished wings of Ralph Stanley’s Clinch Mountain Boys. Can we get a witness? The Cabooze, (612) 338-6425

Woody Allen’s new bi-coastal comedy (take a guess at which big city curries his favor) concerns a tired and temperamental filmmaker who’s on the verge of a big comeback until chronic neuroses, friction with his ex-wife, and disdain for Hollywood convention render him blind as a bat. Any vague parallels to the writer-director’s real life are less entertaining than the movie itself, which wrings some surprisingly big laughs out of Allen’s usual hapless foibles and connect-the-punchlines pacing. It’s not just that old-fashioned, non-fart-related laughs are back in vogue, either. While the chemistry between protagonist Val Waxman (Allen) and his estranged ex (Tia Leoni) could use a little more kick, both Debra Messing and George Hamilton (she of TV’s Will & Grace, he of infomercials and the infamous perma-tan) offer lots of fun. It’s certainly an improvement over last year’s dire Curse of the Jade Scorpion, though not altogether as charming as 2000’s Small Time Crooks. If Allen’s loving ode to New York City at this year’s Academy Awards felt strangely like a prelude to an honorary Oscar, it’s at least reassuring to see that he’s still earning his own legend with smart, silly, relevant pictures about smart, silly, resilient people who somehow manage to put up with him.

Forget all the stereotypes about foreign flicks. If there’s a movie that proves high action and subtitles can work, this is it. We’re not talking about shoot-em-up, crash-and-bash action, but brisk high drama along the lines of Hitchcock and Mamet. Nine Queens is scripted in a mix of Argentinian argot and Castillian Spanish–so even our fluent publisher had to resort to sight-reading. But the beautiful cinematography, flawless acting, and the gothic perfection of the plot speak the international language of film. Set in Buenos Aires, this Argentinian blockbuster stars Ricardo Dar’n as a practiced confidence man who stumbles into the deal of a lifetime. But the resulting whodunnit involves so many other competing con artists that the ending doesn’t really stick until the credits have rolled. Uptown Theater, 1320 Lagoon Ave., (612) 825-6006

Wow, what a name! And an excellent painter as well. Even in these bizarre, cut-and-paste times of new-media saturation, we still crave an old fashioned oil painting with four sides and no pretensions. We’re new to Svendson’s work, but we like what we see. Here, she shows some lush landscapes painted at the southern terminus of the mighty Mississippi to complement a show last year that depicted our end of the storied waterway. These are bold, impressionistic pieces, sure to appeal to grumpy old anachronists who believe painting died the day Manet joined the big academy in the sky. Don’t miss the opening, May 10, featuring–what else?–a festive Cajun theme. Shelley Holzemer Gallery, (612) 824-3902