07.31.04 join the clubbo

When people ask me how I manage to run such a fabulously successful independent label, I say, "In this business, you have to keep your ear to the ground. Figure out what people want -- and give it to them!"

One of my role models is Clubbo, which has been around since the early '60s. (Not many "indies" can claim such an impressive track record!) From the 1962 novelty hit "Soda Pop Shop" to 1971's mellow classic "Azure Lady Nightingale" by Devon Shire, straight up through the new wave of Bleep's 1981 dance floor sensation "Rubber Lover" and the computer wizardry of 2004's Lazarus Project, Clubbo has had a knack for staying on the cutting edge of music. And they're not afraid to get experimental -- witness 1984's "Feelingful Mood" by Indonesian pop thrush Tiger Love. I can only hope that 125 is able to achieve 40+ years of artistic excellence.

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07.30.04 the twist

I can't help it -- I did a Google search to find out the "surprise" ending of M. Night Shyamalan's "The Village." There, I just saved myself $7. Because it looks kind of lame. And the Sci-Fi Channel is still showing reruns of "The Twilight Zone."

Joshreads.blogspot.com linked to this site (someone is paying attention to his referrer log!) and my daily readership doubled, from 15 to 30. Astonishing! I hope I sent at least 15 new readers Josh's way, too.

FedEx dropped off four giant boxes of Statuesque CDs this morning. Due to the well-documented problems with the artwork, I nervously looked at the boxes out of the corner of my eye for a while before actually cracking one open. Luckily, they look pretty decent. Not as good as, say, the Jill Tracy artwork, but considering that we spent about $1,000 just for her super-fancy booklet alone, that's to be expected. (Her album has been selling pretty well, so I'm not complaining.) Anyway, the Statuesque discs are now for sale at 125 Records, in case anyone has an hankering for tuneful pop music sung with an English accent.

The CD sounds great -- way better than the demos (today is the first time I'd heard the mastered version!), plus there's a really rockin' song on it ("Touché") I hadn't heard before -- it might even be my favorite track on the album! Stephen had replaced two of the songs from the demo ("It's That Sort of Town" and "Free Berkshire") with this one. Maybe I'll put the two that didn't make the cut up on the web as MP3s or something.

I have no idea whether or not this album will sell. It's all a little nerve-wracking. But I'm very happy with it. I'm proud to have it on my label. I could sell 10 copies and it would still have been worthwhile. (For the sake of the listening public and Stephen's finances, though, I hope we shift a few more units than that.) It feels strangely fragile at this stage -- this moment that I have in my possession every copy of Choir Above Fire Below in existence -- like I'm about to release a beautiful, precious little bird into the wilderness or something corny like that.

I hadn't realized 'til I read the lyrics that there are a couple of very bad words on this album, and we didn't put a "parental advisory" warning on the cover. I hope John Ashcroft doesn't come after us.

rock and, therefore, roll
a QED
a self-fulfilling prophecy
it follows on as night does day
an ending that you must give away
a closed system in a comfort zone with only one direction home
it must be loud it must be live
must be chords I, IV, VI and V
-Stephen Manning

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07.29.04 guilty as charged

As a record company owner, I feel somewhat protective of "my" artists. I believe in their talent! I want them to succeed! Last night, the dazzling Jill Olson enjoyed an out-and-out triumph -- one I had absolutely nothing to do with, but that's not gonna stop me from feeling a glow of pride on her behalf.

Jill organized a benefit at Thee Parkside for Save the Music, which is helping restore music education in schools (it's often the first thing to go in budget cuts). The theme of the evening was "guilty pleasures" performed by some of San Francisco's musical luminaries. Coming up with two hours' worth of songs you're embarrassed to admit you love is harder than it looks, since it sometimes seems that everyone from Barry Manilow to Journey has been coopted by ironic hipsters (SF is, after all, the home of Super Diamond). A few of the songs, like "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" and David Bowie's "Moonage Daydream," seemed to score pretty low on the guilt-o-meter. But many of the tunes were delightfully cheesy.

There was highlight after highlight: Red Meat frontman Smelley Kelley, sans cowboy hat, pouring his soul into Bob Seger's "Turn the Page"; the Naked Barbies' Patty Spiglanin belting out Bad Company's "Shooting Star"; the electrifying Jason Morgan of Harold Ray Live In Concert throwing the packed crowd into a frenzy during BTO's "Takin' Care of Business"; Mike Therieau's powerful rendition of Robert Palmer's "Addicted to Love"; Tom Waits sideman Ralph Carney partyin' down with the McCoys' "Hang On Sloopy."

The incredibly tight band, featuring Jill, her Red Meat cohorts Michael Montalto and Les James, Dave Gleason, and the Plain High Drifters' Scotty Hay performed heroically, going from Billy Ocean to Pink Floyd to the "Grease" soundtrack to Gilbert O'Sullivan without a hitch. Gleason provided some blistering guitar solos along the way -- honestly, you'd think this band played goofy covers together every day of the week.

At the end, a band called Drunkhorse came on and treated the crowd to a faithful rendition of Toto's screamingly awful "Africa." By this time, most of the audience (not me, though!) was so sloshed that they weren't ashamed to scream along to lyrics like, "Just like Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the SER-en-get-eeee." At that moment, I think I truly understood the difference between "so bad it's good" and "just plain bad." Nevertheless, Jill helped raise over $1,000 for Save the Music, and put a smile on the face of everyone in that hot, sweaty little club. Yay Jill!

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07.28.04 today's required reading

joshreads.com

Today's link is for you, if:

• you live in a city with more than one daily newspaper and make your choice on the basis of which one has the best comics pages (the San Francisco Chronicle will never be a world-class paper until it offers more than one measly page of funnies!)
• when visiting someone who only takes the New York Times, you find yourself sneaking out to buy a "real paper" with comics
• you can chart the evolution of Luann's hairstyles and name all of the Pattersons' dogs, past and present
• you feel the day Bill Watterson retired should have been a national day of mourning
• you read all the comics in your paper every day, even the "story strips" like Mary Worth and Judge Parker and the tediously unfunny ones like B.C. and The Lockhorns

I particularly enjoy Josh on The Lockhorns: "I've often wondered why, unlike most dysfunctional couples I know, the Lockhorns don't have any children. Maybe at some level they realize that any child exposed to the venom that flows freely in their household will grow up to be terribly scarred emotionally. But it's more likely that they just can't bring themselves to have sex."

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07.27.04 why americans hate politics

One of my Republican relatives is hot under the collar about the Whoopi Affair -- Goldberg's now-notorious naughty riffing on the president's name at a John Kerry fundraiser. Said relative even wrote a letter to the local paper, decrying this act as typical of the Democrats' crude ways. (Said relative also gave my mom, who is about to become an American citizen, a pin reading, "10 out of 10 terrorists agree: Kerry in '04." My eyes are now rolling so far back in my head that you can only see the whites.)

I wonder how many of the GOPsters pointing fingers at Whoopi are also angry at Dennis Miller, who warmed up the crowd at a Bush rally in Wisconsin by making crude jokes about Kerry and running mate John Edwards, implying the men are having a homosexual relationship? Not to mention Dick Cheney's use of the F-word on the Senate floor (coincidentally, on the same day the august body was voting on the "Defense of Decency Act"). Nobody is Johnny High Ground here, people.

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07.24.04 coffee, tea, or me?

I have been flying all my life -- my first transatlantic flight occurred at the age of five months, and due to my far-flung family, I've been criss-crossing the country and, on occasion, the Atlantic Ocean, ever since. This despite the fact that I hate to fly. It's not so much a fear of flying, although I tend to white-knuckle it whenever there's turbulence, although I know it's basically harmless; it's more that it's an unpleasant experience. I hate being cooped up, and there always seems to be some sort of delay to endure, not to mention crying children, recycled air, and not enough new products in the SkyMall catalog. (I know all the Successories slogans by heart by now, OK?)

My recent flights between Oakland and Dallas exemplified everything I hate about air travel. Delays, check (the computers that generate the paperwork required for take-off were malfunctioning); one baby screaming and one hyperactive child running up and down the aisle, check; no food and only one beverage service (one small plastic cup of juice for a three-and-a-half-hour flight -- fortunately, I pack my own water), check; guy in front of me reclining his seat all the way back, check. Of course, the flights were completely full; the only plane I've flown on with any empty seats in the past several years was on Sept. 11, 2002. (And that didn't last -- it was business as usual when I took to the skies on Sept. 11, 2003.)

Perhaps the little indignities of my cramped CR-7 aircraft wouldn't have seemed so annoying if it hadn't been for the article in the July issue of Delta's Sky magazine about the airline's history, focusing on the 1950s. "Delta was... the first airline to offer complimentary meals on all daytime coach flights and led the way in luxury treatment with 'Royal Service' on DC-7 flights that included, for the first time on any airline, a choice of entrees: steak cooked to order, Cornish game hen and fish on Fridays. Complimentary mints and cigarettes followed the meal," read the article. OK, I'm glad the smokes were outlawed a couple decades ago, and I don't like steak, but still! The article is accompanied by a vintage Delta ad headlined, "Extra hands assure extra luxuries on Delta." The illustration shows three elegantly dressed young flight attendants fussing over their passengers and promises, "Not two, but three alert stewardesses assure you of every attention in the brief span of a Delta Royal Service Flight. So linger over your luncheon or dinner with its complimentary champagne and choice of entreé."

I know flying was a luxury reserved for the well-heeled in those pre-deregulation days, but darn it, did we have to do away with all of the sophistication and flair of air travel in days gone by? Instead of the woman with upswept hair and pearls enjoying a refill of champagne in the Delta ad, airplanes are now filled with an endless parade of people clad in sweat pants and flip-flops, all busy trying to shove their big-ass roll-aboard luggage into the overhead bins. Perhaps if there was more gentility in the air, there'd also be a little more civility.

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07.23.04 not nice

Does there come a point in every blogger's life when he or she asks, "Just who am I writing this for?" In my case, I figured the main audience for these entries is my far-flung friends, the people with whom I don't correspond every day but might actually be interested in what I'm up to; I mean, I love reading my friend Paula's daily dispatches, or catching up on Brianna's home improvements and work woes. Plus, I thought I might get the odd hit from people who Google weird combinations like +"yorvit torrealba" +"snoop dogg" +"precious moments."

From the public at large, I expected indifference. What I got instead was outright hostility.

As many of you probably know, for the past 6-7 years -- an eon in "Internet time," in any case -- I've been posting a list of TV guest lineups online. I started doing it as a favor to my friend Aaron, then a Chicago secretary who started an e-newsletter called Late Show News. The lineups for Letterman, Leno, etc. became an integral part of his newsletter. Eventually, Aaron became a true Internet success story when he parlayed the newsletter into a freelance writing gig, and then a full-time position as the TV critic for the Kansas City Star. He still does the newsletter (since renamed TVBarn), and I'm still a contributor. In the meantime, my lineups site averages over 5,000 hits per day, making it by far the most popular page in the Interbridge universe.

Most people reach the page via a personal bookmark or a link at TVBarn, TV-Now.com, or the inexplicably popular Unofficial Demi Moore Fan Site, which always brings me dozens of hits a day. If you type in "late night TV" at google.com, my site comes up first, so I get lots of visitors from the search engine as well. However, apparently some folks get there via the main page of interbridge.com, which exists mainly to provide a list of links to all of the web sites I've designed over the years; way down the page, there's a link to the lineups.

I use the interbridge page myself at least two or three times a day, every day, to reach my clients' sites. Apparently, several days ago, I mistakenly overwrote the interbridge.com main page with the very page you are now reading. I guess Firefox must have a tenacious cache, since I never noticed it. I did, however, start getting inexplicably nasty e-mails at the Yahoo! account I link to here. At first, they made no sense ("you changed this page and it sucks now" -- just some crank, I figured). Some puzzled me -- "where did the lineups page go," for instance, when it was exactly where it had been for years and years. I responded to most of them, despite the rudeness (one message had the subject line "What the hell is wrong with the lineups page?").

Finally, after days of this, I got a message that actually asked why there was "just somebody's blog" on the interbridge.com main page, with no link to the lineups. I was using Joe's laptop, so now I was able to note with horror that I must have uploaded this index.html page to the wrong directory. Since we were out of town, I couldn't immediately replace it with the "right" page, so I just typed in a message saying the links would be back soon. I added, of course, a prominent link to the lineups page.

However, I'm bothered that many of the people who enjoy the fruits of my (largely unpaid) labors are such a bunch of asshats. You'd think one person could have written politely, "I think there was an error." Yet more proof of the wisdom of that old bumper sticker: "The more people I meet, the more I like my dog."

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07.16.04 divas live

Bay Area theatergoers have a rare opportunity right now to see two productions featuring powerhouse female performers. In San Francisco, "Vagina Monologues" creator Eve Ensler is appearing in her newest play, "The Good Body," while across the bay in Berkeley, my close personal friend Rita Moreno commands the stage as opera star Maria Callas in "Master Class."

Ensler plays herself plus several different characters in "The Good Body" -- she transforms herself into elderly Cosmopolitan founder/plastic surgery junkie Helen Gurley Brown, a teenager at fat camp, an Indian woman at a health club, and gorgeous model/actress Isabella Rosselini. The short, often-hilarious segments make this one-act play breeze by. "The Good Body" was inspired by Ensler's disgust at her flabby, middle-aged stomach, and let's face it, every woman, even supermodels, hates some part of her body. This play, and its knockout of a final scene, may not make you suddenly OK with your tummy or thighs, but it provides plenty of entertainment and food for thought -- vanilla ice cream, to be exact.

Terence McNally's "Master Class" is based on workshops famed soprano Maria Callas gave in the waning days of her career. Unlike "The Good Body," this is not a one-woman show -- Callas interacts with three opera students, an accompanist, and a stagehand -- but let's face it, the reason this show is selling out every night and has been extended is because Bay Area audiences are dying to see Moreno, a genuine legend of the stage and screen, play this meaty role. And she doesn't disappoint; she stalks the stage like a tigress, chiding her students, berating the stagehand, reminiscing about her glory days. The script can be hokey -- once in each act, the action stops dead so a spotlighted Callas can deliver impassioned speeches about her life and career, with a particular focus on her tempestuous relationship with Ari Onassis. But this is the type of role that takes a lifetime of preparation to play, and Moreno owns it. In her large-framed glasses and '70s-chic pantsuit, she disappears into the highly demanding part -- for two hours, she is Callas, and those who have come to experience the artistry of a master actor at work will not be disappointed.

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07.14.04 everything in its right place

I went to a reading tonight by a local author I met via one of the many Janets I know. I got to the bookstore way early, so I browsed the home-design section for a while. Because I'm contemplating doing some redecorating, I always seem to make a beeline to those shelves.

I began flipping through a lavishly illustrated book on feng shui, the ancient Chinese art of placement. It is a very big deal here in the Bay Area -- a lot of developers use feng shui consultants when they are building new homes and apartment buildings, because good chi is such a major selling point for Asian home buyers. In Asia, major commercial buildings are also designed and built with feng shui in mind.

Feng shui books are always loaded with anecdotal evidence about people who redesign their homes or offices to follow the rules and become fabulously wealthy, successful, pregnant, married -- whatever they desired. I wondered if I should try using some feng shui principles in redoing my own home office. Is my computer located in the room's wealth corner? Is the energy able to flow around my desk? Can feng shui make my businesses successful beyond my wildest dreams instead of merely, "well, at least I'm not losing money"?

I was all ready to find a compass and get started until I read that bookshelves cause bad feng shui because "the shelves symbolize blades that have killing energy." Experts recommend purchasing cabinets with doors or covering the shelves with fabric. "Do not have exposed bookshelves behind your back," says this page, warning that it could cause "illness, loss of income, authority, influence." Guess what's right behind my back? And here I was considering putting in an entire built-in wall of shelves there. Darn. I could really use the storage space.

Is there anything to this stuff? Have any of you feng shui'd your living spaces, and did prosperity, health and happiness follow? Or have I lived in Cuckooland so long that my brain is softening?

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07.13.04 in the dark(ness)

I have been busy lately, so I haven't been writing much. The beginning of the summer was really slow, but now I have a couple new clients, and a bunch of old ones who need major renovations to their sites.

I am also trying to wrap up the Statuesque CD project. As usual, the music is the easy part; the album graphics are the hard part. The amazing Tim Walters, who would undoubtedly deserve to be on the payroll of 125 Records if such a thing existed, is trying to get things straightened out. The CDs must be ready in time for the first release party on Aug. 19 (find dates/locations here), but I'm hoping to have them a couple weeks before that, even if it has to come out in a Spinal Tap-esque all-black cover.

Things to look forward to: the prospect of Ben Folds covering "Get Your Hands Off My Woman."

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07.10.04 out-of-context quote of the week

"She gives you the clap once, shame on her. She gives you the clap twice, shame on you."
-Jill Olson to Smelley Kelley at last night's Red Meat concert

Red Meat rules. That is all.

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07.09.04 a disturbing video

Should one of our country's leaders really be acting like this in public -- with cameras rolling?

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07.07.04 bring the noise

There's been some serious tree-trimming going on around here this week. Every day, crews of men with chain saws, leaf blowers and woodchippers have been busily cutting off tree limbs and shredding them. For hours on end, the droning sound comes and goes: RrrrRrrrRrrrRrrr.

Then there are the rest of the noises that are a part of my days: the clang clang clang from the nearby steel mill; the occasional circling helicopter; the distant roar of passing freight trains; even the frequent 15-20 mph winds blowing off the bay. The sounds have never bothered me that much before, but now I feel like I'm constantly on edge. Maybe the tree trimming finally drove me around the bend. I understand why so many city people wish to own weekend homes in the country -- the further away from civilization, the better.

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07.05.04 super-angst

Saw "Spider-Man 2" at the multiplex. I was excited to see Michael Chabon credited as a screenwriter (his next novel, by the way, has been retitled The Yiddish Policeman's Union instead of Hotzeplotz). Indeed, the film is thick with character development and a certain level of realism that most comic book movies never come within a mile of attaining. When the movie opens, Peter Parker is miserable; he can't hang onto his lowly job as a pizza deliveryman, even when he uses his superpowers to help him deliver pies. He's hopelessly in love with his friend Mary Jane. His aunt is about to be evicted from her home, and Peter himself can't pay the rent on his shabby apartment. Oh yeah -- he's also flunking out of college, and Peter's career as a freelance photographer is in jeopardy because the Daily Bugle's editor only wants him to take pictures of Spider-Man, so he can use them in his campaign to smear the superhero in print. I haven't even gotten to the part about the evil supervillain who could destroy New York with his deadly fusion machine!

Yep, Peter is one morose web-slinger. "Spider-Man 2" is all about how Peter has to come to terms with the fact that for better or for worse, he is Spider-Man. It's all very poignant, and, at times, incredibly suspenseful. You get the definite sense that the people who made this movie, including the note-perfect Tobey Maguire, luminous Kirsten Dunst, and especially director Sam Raimi, wanted to make a film that transcended the genre, that was more than a summer popcorn movie. I appreciate their dedication to quality -- a rarity in modern Hollywood -- and for the most part, it paid off.

It's just little things that occasionally nagged at me; because the dramatic parts of the film are so true to life, the implausibilities that are an inherent part of the genre stood out in higher relief. For instance, during Doc Ock's crime sprees, why didn't the police get a sharpshooter to put a bullet in the supervillain's head or torso? His mechanical arms were the source of his powers; they didn't make his body immortal. And so on.

I did appreciate the lack of masks in this film -- Alfred Molina's expressive face allows him to show us the anguished heart of a grief-stricken scientist turned bad guy, and Maguire spends most of the movie without his trademark Spidey headgear. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and that's what this "Spider-Man" is all about -- soul-searching. By the end of the film, Peter has accepted his destiny as a superhero, and the scene is set for "Spider-Man 3." Let's hope it lives up to this installment.

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07.04.04 today's the fourth of july

On the Fourth of July, I attended a barbecue at my friend Janet's. Three of the other guests were also named Janet. I spent time conversing with all four of the Janets.

And now, on to my pet topic: celebrity sightings!

Rita Moreno was also at the party. Because Hostess Janet is bad with names, everyone at her parties has to wear a name badge. Most people wrote only their first names on their stickers, along with their initial, at least in the case of the Janets. I cheekily (dorkily?) wrote my e-mail address on mine. Rita Moreno wrote her full name on hers, as if we didn't all know who she was. I declined to strike up a conversation with her, because I didn't know what to say. ("I grew up watching you on 'The Electric Company'!") Still, how many of you were at a Fourth of July barbecue attended by the winner of an Oscar, Emmy, Tony and Grammy, and four women named Janet? I thought so.

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07.03.04 lullaby of broadway, part ii

Can the musical still be relevant in this day & age? Yes. I've been fortunate enough to see three truly excellent ones in the past couple of years. Skip the latest Andrew Lloyd Webber revival and check these out:

"Hedwig and the Angry Inch." Unlike the inferior feature film version, the original "Hedwig" is essentially a one-man show with a backing band. The conceit of the play is that Hedwig is performing at a shabby nightclub while her onetime paramour, rock star Tommy Gnosis, is playing a huge arena show right down the street, playing songs he stole from his ex-lover. The world-weary Hedwig tells the audience how she came to America -- the onetime East Berliner had a sex-change operation so she could marry a U.S. G.I. and receive permission to escape the Iron Curtain, but it was botched, leaving her with the titular "angry inch." It's a remarkably moving and intimate show, and Stephen Trask's music rocks. The anthemic "Midnight Radio" is one of my favorite songs of all time.

"Urinetown." Words cannot describe how much I love this musical. I saw it twice during its run here last summer, and I'd see it again in a heartbeat. One of the unlikeliest hits ever, "Urinetown" takes place in New York City at a time when a water shortage has forced a ban on private toilets. You have to "pay to pee" at public facilities owned by the evil Urine Good Company. Can two crazy kids start a revolution and break the monopoly? Daffy, lively and funny, "Urinetown" never takes itself seriously, and frequently breaks the fourth wall. "Nothing can kill a show like too much exposition," says one character during the play's first number, titled -- yes -- "Too Much Exposition." "How about bad subject matter?" pipes up street urchin Little Sally. "Or a bad title, even? That could kill a show pretty good." "Urinetown" has an awful title, but it offers its audiences a smashing good time.

"Hairspray." Yes, it's based on a movie, but come on -- who would have imagined that a Tony-winning Broadway musical could be based on a John Waters film? Like "Urinetown," "Hairspray" appeals to a postmodern audience by updating old musical tropes with a wink and a nod. Sure, the characters in "Hairspray" burst into song at the drop of a hat, but lyrics like "The rats on the street/ All dance round my feet" and "Good morning Baltimore/ There's the flasher who lives next door/ There's the bum on his barroom stool" constantly remind you that this ain't "Oklahoma!" So does the big man in drag (in the San Francisco production, a hilarious Bruce Vilanch stepped into the role originated by Divine). The wildly energetic "Hairspray" is more fun than a bushel of Baltimore crabs.

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07.02.04 lullaby of broadway, part i

The Queen musical, "We Will Rock You," will open in Las Vegas next month. The show "uses songs from the Queen catalogue to tell the story of a 'rebel band fighting in a futuristic world where musical instruments are outlawed.'" (When guitars are outlawed, only outlaws will have guitars.) It also features characters named Scaramouche and Galileo. That certainly sounds like it's worth the $80 to $113 tariff, doesn't it?

Most hit musicals today seem to fall into two categories: those relying on ubiquitous pop songs ("Movin' Out," "Copacabana," the overrated "Mamma Mia"), and ones based on films ("The Producers," "The Lion King"). San Francisco's 2004-05 Best of Broadway series features brand-new shows in both of those categories: "Lennon," which features "ten actors, all portraying John Lennon at different points of his life" and incorporates many of his post-Beatles hits into the storyline; and "White Christmas," based on the 50-year-old Bing Crosby/Danny Kaye chestnut. (Luckily, we also get one innovative production, the only one of these three I'm remotely interested in checking out: the English smash "Jerry Springer: The Opera.")

No, they don't write 'em like they used to back in the days of "Fiorello!" (a musical biography of New York mayor Fiorello LaGuardia) or "Out Of This World," with its hit "Cherry Pies Ought To Be You": "You are so enticing, I'm starting to shake/ You are just the icing to put on my cake."

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All content © 2004 by Sue Trowbridge