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Category: Out and About

Oh, so NOW the rain stops

I was starting to think Mother Nature had a thing against summer in Detroit.

Sure, it seems crass to be complaining about a little rain on our parades when the West is burning and the rest of the Midwest is drowning, but it seemed, for a while there, you couldn't take the stroller and fanny pack out for a few minutes without the skies clouding up and washing away all your intentions for a lovely summer day at a street fair.

Case in point: All seemed normal at the River Days festival two Saturdays back, when out of nowhere dark clouds rolled in and pounded the masses with fierce storms that knocked over tents and shredded the huge arch-shaped "River Days" banner hanging over the RiverWalk.

Festivalgoers retreated into the Renaissance Center, where the intercom announced that heavy winds, hail and lightning were coming and to "use caution when leaving the building." Well, at least we were glad we hadn't decided to get there by boat.

Then, this past Friday, downtown got slammed again, right in time to flood freeways and snarl traffic as the Fourth Fridays was kicking into gear at Campus Martius. Saturday was more of the same, as I anxiously watched the skies in hopes they would clear up in time for my band's set at the Stars and Stripes Festival in Mt. Clemens. Luckily, they did, but Sunday came and it was more of the same sogginess.

Finally, today, the skies are blue, the temperatures are comfortable, and most of us are stuck inside in our cubicle farms counting down the hours until the holiday weekend. And crossing our fingers, hoping Mother Nature will give us a break. Just this once?

Category: nopick

And on the sixth day, the DSO drove its audience to madness

What the hell was THAT?

I had to laugh at how many times that question came up last night after the "Lecture on the Weather" performance at the Max. What it was was a chaos, a cacophony, a rush - the kind of thing you don't understand but you're glad you witnessed it, because it'll never happen again.

I had a blast. The twelve of us performers finally met yesterday afternoon, and after a few instructions from director Donna Feore (who was also one of the readers) ran through a quick rehearsal of the John Cage mishmash that we'd perform in front of an actual audience a few hours later. Each of us got a binder with different Henry David Thoreau passages to read, and each was told to pick a certain number to omit, just to keep it random. Squiggly marks interjected into the text indicated musical parts, and it was up to us whether we wanted to play an instrument or "vocalize" - which turned out to be much more than singing or humming.

The timer was set at 30 minutes, and off we went. At times there were four of five people talking over each other, barking, stomping, clapping, squeaking out nonsensical musical blips on a saxophone, violin, melodica and trombone - or in my case, a miniature kalimba and "hand flute." Weather sounds, projected images and periods of darkness added to the madness.

After the clock ran out, we discussed "what the hell that was" with the audience, who you have to credit for having open minds. One woman said it reminded her of giving her fifth-grade class a group assignment - the noise rises and falls, and seemingly makes no sense, but after that half-hour something IS acccomplished. Another man made the point that it could've been just as effective in 10 minutes rather than 30. Most agreed it was a lot of work for the listener, and at times annoying.

Then we performed it again, completely differently. The second time seemed (to me, at least) more flowing and less angry, but somehow both were equally beautiful.

Big ups to all the performers, a varied bunch from the worlds of classical music and theater, who made me feel like quite the poseur when I found out how accomplished they all were. ("You're a composer? Heh. I play in a reggae band," I'd say with a blush.) Even bigger ups to the ones who pulled double-duty - like Kalimah "Locmama" Johnson, who raised some eyebrows hosting the poetry slam afterward; and actor Malcolm-Jamal Warner, who performed with his Miles Long band and slammed along.

There's still time to get in on the 8 Days in June experience - check out tonight and tomorrow's events here. Rest assured they'll be more, ahem, "normal."

Category: Music

A leap into the Cage

Ever been to a musical performance in which the players haven't rehearsed, witnessed the piece performed before, or even met each other? And the "score" bears no resemblance to sheet music? Ever been in one?

Yeah, me neither. That's why I'm both excited and a teensy bit anxious about participating in John Cage's "Lecture on the Weather" on Thursday, Day Six of the Detroit Symphony Orchestra's "8 Days in June" festival.

Cage, the controversial 20th century composer, is a tough one to wrap your head around, and I'll readily admit I don't "get" a lot of his stuff. This is the guy, after all, whose famous 1952 work "4'33" consisted of four minutes and 33 seconds of an orchestra and conductor remaining absolutely silent, the idea being that the sounds around you - a cough, a shuffling foot, whatever - becomes the experience.

For Thursday's performance, I was given several excerpts from the works of Henry David Thoreau to recite, with odd little markings breaking into the lines of text to denote interjected music; and I have the option of making that music with an instrument or vocalization. That's all I know so far, other than that my part is one of the "easy" ones. This is miles away from my usual gig as a keyboardist and backup singer in a reggae/soul band.

I do know that I'll be attempting this among an admirable bunch: Actor/musician Malcolm-Jamal Warner (check out his interview in the My Thursday section), DSO principal guest conductor Peter Oundjian, Stratford Festival alum Donna Feore and festival host Tom Allen are all part of it, along with a bunch of other notables who I'm looking forward to meeting tomorrow.

So I'll just approach it with what I've been telling everyone: I have no idea what to expect, but it promises to be fun, strange and very interesting.

Category: Music

Yes, I'm going to perform in a John Cage piece. Or try to.

Dudes.

I get to be one of the lucky (brave?) participants in the Detroit Symphony Orchestra's "8 Days in June" music festival. I'll be Speaker 2 in the performance of John Cage's "Lecture on the Weather" on Day 6: Civil Disobedience next Thursday, June 19.

I expect I'll be next to Malcolm-Jamal Warner, who's Speaker 1. I know he's an accomplished actor, and will participate in the poetry slam afterward, but I can't resist saying it: It's Theodore!

If you're familiar with John Cage, you know what kind of mad genius he was. If not, sit back and enjoy "Water Walk" from 1960.

Be sure to check out all the other performances coming up at the "8 Days in June" site.

Category: Clubbing

Let this old lady vent for a minute

Been a while, party people.

I've been stomping around over in the Living in the D blog lately and not doing a whole lot of the bar scene. I recently "celebrated" a milestone birthday that I won't disclose (meaning you could probably guess what it was), and with that came the realization that I'm getting too old to be hanging out with the hard-drinking, hard-partying club types until the wee hours. It hurts.

Oh sure, there were telltale signs in the past few years. My reluctance to wear anything other than jeans and sneakers - and thus to go anywhere that jeans and sneakers were unacceptable - was one of the first. Then there was the OMG moment when Van Halen toured last summer with David Lee Roth and I realized I saw that lineup live the first time around. Yikes.

Yes, I've come to realize that while I enjoy hanging out with friends in a comfy pub and hearing some good live music, I have little patience anymore with the pickup scene, bad bands, overcrowded venues, fights, puking drunks and extreme smokiness.

And on that last note, I'll pipe in for just a moment on the raucous debate over banning smoking inside bars, and I promise to be brief, because what could I possibly say that hasn't been said already?

I was really on the fence on this one, having always believed there was a way to reach some sort of middle ground that didn't amount to straight-up segregation. Not anymore. There are many considerate smokers and nonsmokers, and they were never the problem. It was the jerks that made this law necessary.

The considerate smokers already get it and don't mind making a few concessions; and the considerate nonsmokers are willing to put up with a reasonable amount of stank to be able to hang out.

The problem is the people who continue to chain-smoke in a small, crowded room long after the air becomes unbearable; the "vanity" smokers who light one up and hold it waaaay back over their shoulder (even they can't stand the smell) because it's part of their "look"; and the self-centered knuckleheads who say the only acceptable solution is that nonsmokers should just stay home, because it's way too hard to step outside for a few minutes to keep everyone happy. On the nonsmokers' side, unnecessarily snide comments like this one don't help the cause, either.

Let's try this goofy analogy: Ask any woman who's ever been to a concert whether she'd rather go outside to smoke or stand in line for the restroom, and she'd agree that the trip to the restroom is a much bigger hassle. Smokers angrily claim that "drinking and smoking go hand-in-hand," and that may be true for the roughly 20 percent of the population who smoke, but for 100 percent of drinkers, it's drinking and urination that go hand-in-hand. And nobody's ever argued for their "right" to pee on a barstool.

It won't be that hard to adjust, guys, just as it hasn't been in the many, many other places the law has already been enacted. And if those Chicken Little squawks about the restaurant biz shutting down come true (which they won't, gimme a break), smokers will have only themselves to blame for being so selfish that they'd allow their favorite haunts to suffer rather than make a small adjustment to their routine. Again, it would be the jerks' fault.

Who knows, if this thing passes, maybe the joys of being able to breathe in a Hamtramck hole-in-the-wall will bring cranky oldsters like myself back into the bar.

Until then, come visit over in the Living in the D blog, would ya?

Category: Out and About

From Bravo to blues

So many places to drink, so little time, so few appropriate outfits.

For the sheer concentration of Beautiful People and the chance to see the Opera House like it never looks any other day of the year, there was Bravo Bravo on Friday night. It was a madhouse, with more stiletto heels and fauxhawks per square inch than any trendy dance club. The food and drinks were top notch, when you could actually reach them (and let's not discuss the logistics of trying to eat a plate of jambalaya with a cocktail in your other hand - the only way to do it is to put the plate on top of the glass, balance carefully, and go for it.) I made a vow to have a full-size dinner at The Hill soon, and order something involving pomegranate liqueur. Yum.

If the crowd itself was a departure from the usually older and more conservative operagoing types, it was even stranger hearing the Killer Flamingos playing "99 Luftballoons" followed by "Take on Me," straight outta 1985, on the same stage where "Cyrano" knocked 'em dead last fall.

OK, so it's clear that I'm a little uncomfortable in overcrowded places trying not to spill a fluorescent blue Hpnotiq concoction on a stranger's $500 dress. Wow, those drinks were tasty, but my friend Jackie and I lasted only about an hour and a half before heading to the more familiar and laid-back eastside.

Congrats to the Michigan Opera Theater for a sellout event, and I'll be back for the usual opera-type stuff, mos def.

Saturday, I did a 180, and wandered into Nancy Whiskey's in Corktown dressed in jeans and a hoodie. The place is dusty and charming (perhaps the proper term is "historic") and was full of smiling leather-clad bikers, pounding cans of Miller High Life and dancing to the raucous rockabilly of Horse Cave Trio. Not that I don't love wearing stilettos and drinking top-shelf booze in the big beautiful Opera House, but it's always nice to get back to the real.

Category: Television

"Rock of Love II" Season Finale

Is anyone else a fan of "Rock of Love II with Bret Michaels?" I know somebody's watching this show besides me because they brought it back for another season. For those who don't know, it's like "The Bachelor," but with Bret Michaels, front man for '80s pop metal group Poison.

Last night was the season finale. Bret picked Ambre, just like I knew he would. Here's a clip from last night's episode, courtesy of VH1.com.


video.vh1.com

Visit the "Rock of Love 2" blog for interviews with Ambre, the winner and Daisy the runner up, plus more extra coverage.

I can't wait to see the reunion episode this Sunday!

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Category: Music

Dig that Dog

Got a chance to check out that happenin' new jazz joint, the Dirty Dog, the other day, and I must say I left feeling very impressed - and underdressed.

This place is shiny and beautiful in every sense of the word. The decor is right out of a ritzy New York magazine; the food is so pretty you don't want to ruin it with a fork; the baby grand piano sparkled and beckoned me to touch it (which I did, and the keys almost danced on their own.)

Hanging out there with some of the regular eastside jazz cats - the same guys who could be seen in far-less-ostentatious spots like Your Place Lounge and the Cadieux Cafe, where the whole group ended up later - it felt odd to be in such a glamorous setting. It felt odd to have to make reservations and show up at an appointed seating time to hear two half-hour sets by Chris Codish, who plays everywhere in town and generally doesn't wear a tux. It felt odd to have to put on a skirt and some makeup, knowing that the lighting was good enough and the crowd was pretty enough that I'd have to put in a little effort to fit in.

But I'm not whining, I love it. An old-school semi-formal supper club with a valet and $10 Irish coffees? Count me in. But only occasionally; the paper doesn't pay me enough to make it a regular hangout.

Category: Internet

Well if this isn't entertaining...

I was amazed when I saw this video. Watch it and then click here if you want more info.

Category: Out and About

Let's hear it for the corner bars! Part 2

Mom-and-pop corner bar, oh how I love thee. Detroit's full of 'em, and I just love wandering in and feeling that warm "welcome" feeling. You can't get that from some big velvet-roped $6-beer hair-gel-and-lower-back-tattoo joint. Here are three more that made my love list recently:

Your Place Lounge, 17326 E. Warren Ave., Detroit. How, I asked myself, is it possible that there's a hole-in-the-wall bar on East Warren that has such stellar live music, and it took nine years living in the neighborhood to discover it? The free Wednesday open mic night is packed with top-notch jazz players (another blog is forthcoming on that), and barkeep Rick Pinkerton seems as happy to pour 'em as back when he was doing the same at the Music Menu in Greektown (RIP). Dark and unassuming, they don't make jazz clubs more authentic than this.

Roosevelt Bar, 3424 Caniff St., Hamtramck. So it was Friday night at the Blowout, and while trying to make our way from Jos Campau back to Conant, a house fire sent the shuttles off course and the wind was whipping at our faces, so we ducked into the nearest watering hole to warm up. God love ya, Hamtramck, they're every ten yards. And God love ya Roosevelt. While the hipsters were waiting 20 minutes for their Pabst Blue Ribbons and giving up hope on any form of food at the Blowout bars, we were treated to a free second round, complimentary shots of blackberry brandy they called Jezy Nowka (and of course I can't do Polish spelling) and were told to help ourselves to a heaping plate of mostaccioli from an earlier birthday party. I always feel guilty about freebies, but everyone introduced themselves so I wouldn't be accepting them from "strangers." I also felt guilty about missing the local bands for that hour, but Dean Martin was playing on the jukebox. *swoon*

Casey's Pub, 1830 Michigan Ave., Corktown, Detroit. My husband stopped in for a drink while waiting for me to finish up work, then had to step out for a few minutes to pick me up, and when he asked barkeep Patsy to cash him out, she said "nah, I trust you." Yes, folks, this was in downtown Detroit. We returned to feast on a honkin' bar burger and exchange stories about Sunday's parade, and all felt right in the city - well, at least in that little pub.

Again, I'm sending the call out for your favorite corner bars. What constitutes a corner bar? If it has laminated fruity drink menus with trademarked names, nope. If it has a 300-pound goateed bouncer, nope. If the waitress is too busy thinking she's hot to take your drink order, nope. If, on the other hand, your barstool has a few rips in it, your feet stick to the floor, and there's a one-seater restroom with a "please knock" sign on it, that's a contender. Leave a comment or drop me a line at dmcnary@detnews.com.