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Archive: April, 2012
You know that line between cheesy and classy? Mayer Hawthorne occupies a smiling place smack dab in the middle. If you heard him on the radio, you might assume you’re listening to an old soul record — something in the way of Al Green or Smokey Robinson, hitting all those high notes with an ease that makes you wish all men could sing soprano. If you saw Hawthorne in a magazine, you’d probably think they photographed the wrong guy: young white dude with hipster glasses and a round boyish face. Seeing him in concert last night was a sweet union of the two: It was like that moment in high school when you finally admit to yourself that you have a crush on the biggest nerd in class, and you decide it’s worth it to risk your social status and tell the world because, damn it, that nerd’s got sex appeal and boy can he sing!
Though he certainly doesn’t fit the mold of classic soul singer, Hawthorne’s schoolboy-crush aesthetic works to his advantage. Just as Barry White’s stocky silhouette and mess of jerry curl somehow became acceptable — even appealing — when he proudly took to the stage, Hawthorne’s look works specifically because he lets you know it’s working. The strange thing about sex appeal is that it’s only about 10% looks and around 90% swagger, a formula Hawthorne knows all too well. No matter how much I was tempted to make fun of his velvet tuxedo or the neon broken-heart icon glowing behind him, the confidence with which he carries himself on stage is undeniable, charming the audience into his world of cool cats and rad ladies where it’s perfectly ok to spend an entire afternoon pining after a girl you just met. There’s no doubt that Hawthorne evokes a different era: Hailing from the birthplace of Motown, he’s often been pinned as a “throwback” artist whose music is stuck in the soultrain station. Such claims often paint Hawthorne as somehow phony, attempting to recreate something that he wasn’t around to see. On stage, these references to the past feel surprisingly refreshing. Rather than simply copying singers of old, his music can be seen as an homage, using Motown as a mood board of inspiration for revitalizing the craft of live performance. The connection makes sense beyond the musical element: without the ability to rely on CD sales, contemporary musicians have more incentive than ever to return to the stage. Hawthorne embraces this fact whole-heartedly, giving you a performance in the most thorough sense of the word: his slick moves have that kind of casual ease that can only come from hours of practicing in front of the mirror, his inter-song banter is witty yet genuine, and he flirts with the audience in a way that lets you know he is indeed the master lover depicted in the lyrics of his love songs. This is not an experience that can be shared on Youtube. But people will still try, and Mayer Hawthorne will make fun of you for it.
Perhaps the most striking moment in the show was Hawthorne’s “photo op.” Bringing us fully out of Motown and into the digital age, he told the audience to do it, go ahead, take that picture you’ve been wanting to take, Facebook it, Instagram it, tell the world you’re at Mayer Hawthorne’s show. Everyone looked at each other kind of sheepishly at first, but then, taking their proverbial tales out from between their legs, raised their iPhones proudly into the air. Hawthorne hammed it up, posing with his bandmates and leaning in close to the audience before taking the act to a meta level when he handed over a camera to his bass player, plopped down in a chair facing away from the audience, and told us to “say cheese.” The division between audience and performer, voyeur and viewed, had become officially blurred. By reaching us on our own digital level, Hawthorne effectively let us know that you can be a hip, tech-savvy kid without losing any of that old school swagger. “That’s going on my twitter,” he informed us. “Tag me, dude!” someone shouted.
Last week, UArts opened its doors for the fourth annual ArtUnleashed fundraiser where 300-plus ~11.JPG)
alumni, student and faculty artists hit its marble halls to display and auction their wares for the University's Sam S. McKeel Promising Young Artists Scholarship Fund. Days before the event, UArts president Sean Buffington told me that over 5,000 students had been aided with over $100 million in scholarships so far. Along with alums Adam Wallacavage, Marc Williams, Deb Willis and legendary local illustrator Arnold Roth (Class of 1950) was on board for the proceedings. The now 83-year-old Roth — renowned for his work for TV Guide, the New Yorker, Playboy, Sports Illustrated and Punch — smiled and chatted to all comers. Roth reserved his biggest grin for his old friend, philanthropist Kal Rudman (pictured above left with Roth at ArtUnleashed), a UArts benefactor and head honcho of New Jersey published-music-industry bible, Friday Morning Quarterback. Rudman has lots of irons in several fires to speak of at present and all will be revealed shortly (stay tuned).
Movie critic (and the guy who compiles our weekly repertory film listings) Michael Gold reviews his favorite Netflix Instant flick of the week.
Sometime in the last 20 years, stoner comedies spun off into their own genre. Granted, pot has a long film 
history, stretching from the didactic morality of Reefer Madness to Cheech and Chong’s over-the-top antics. But for the most part, marijuana existed on the hazy fringes of the Hollywood screen, where it was occasionally referenced yet never quite depicted.
In the ’90s, though, the film industry mellowed out when Dazed and Confused burst onto the indie scene. This coming-of-age movie is not as bluntly drug-centric as the comedies that followed (think Friday, Half Baked and How High — none of which, regrettably, are on Netflix streaming). Yet director Richard Linklater’s largely plotless exploration of teenage society struck a chord with stoners everywhere by equating its central jock’s drug use with individuality. At the same time, Linklater’s observational style perfectly captures the listlessness underlying its characters’ substance-fueled actions. It’s that balance between criticizing and celebrating adolescent hedonism that makes Dazed and Confused a trailblazing entry into the stoner-comedy canon.
(michael.gold@citypaper.net) (@migold)
Chris Brown digs into our listings bin and pulls out a little something-something to do every day of the week.This time around? Take a FirstGlance at Hollywood, revel in the hub of activity at Sister Cities Park Café and learn how to be geek chic!
Frommer's travel guide recently dubbed Philly’s park scene one of the ten best in the world. Yeah, seriously. Now get outside, and take advantage.
Wed., April 18, late morning/early afternoon, you pick the spot.
Each week, Michael Gold breezes past those big-name theater companies to turn a spotlight on Philly's indie stages. This week: B. Someday's mature-eyes-only apocalyptic burlesque, bawdy drunkards are blown away by The Tempest and Camden Theatre Co. celebrates The Night of the Iguana.
A day after B. Someday Productions holds a fundraiser for its in-school theater outreach program, the company stages apocalyptic burlesque comedy The End of the World. Managing artistic director Michelle Pauls and actor Ed Miller star as journalists reporting on the Mayan-forecasted end of the world in the off-beat town of Kenzoville. With Philly burlesque staples Melissa Bang-Bang, Cherry Bomb (pictured) and Cookie Cutter on hand, things promise to quickly become both zany and risqué. Leave the kids at home.
April 18 to 22, 8 p.m., $18, Walking Fish Theatre, 2509 Frankford Ave., 215-427-9255, bsomeday.org.
North Star Bar recently tried and barely succeeded to contain a couple potent forces on the national psych-rock scene, including one from the local realm that you'll soon hear a lot more about.
Whoever says San Francisco’s Sleepy Sun is missing something after the departure of Rachel Fannan is just plain wrong. On this night, their earthy neo-psychedelic aura came from driving percussion and jangly maracas, all appropriately outfitted by lead singer Bret Constantino’s Plant-like movements. This was their second stop in Philly, a day after their latest release, Spine Hits. But it was “New Age,” from Embrace that stirred the crowd most.
White Hills came to the stage with the pedal on the floor. The “stoner rock” trio virtually allowed no downtime between songs, giving them the chance to blast jams with a linear feel. But chances are they just didn’t want the crowd to catch its breath and get a chance to rest. Looks like they’re still fueled up from their most recent searing release, Frying on this Rock.
Fishtown’s Harsh Vibes had a density to their sound that could’ve brought you back to that time when you were fighting that bad habit. Their sparse vocals, specifically on “Magic Pentagram,” sounded like a voice that was coming from deep within a well. Combined with phasing synths behind drumming that pushed the whole band, it created a feeling of moving through a giant, endless tunnel.
(brian.wilensky@citypaper.net)
Photos by Brian Wilensky
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Reporter Meg Augustin takes you inside some of Philly's most fab dwellings to showcase our city's unique grasp on design and architecture.
When Veronika and Bryan bought their 1920s Chestnut Hill twin six months ago, the third-grade teacher 
and her engineer husband scored a quiet retreat from city life that allowed them to show off their vintage finds and work on their carpentry skills. The home didn't need much work structurally, but upon moving in, the couple immediately set out to build some of their own furniture. The first project was a farmhouse table — a feat many young homeowners wouldn’t dare tackle. Using pre-cut lumber and a simple chisel, they pieced together a gorgeous ash table with two benches that became their pride and joy.
For Veronika, however, there are many joys in her new home. When not teaching, she antiques, collecting covetable treasures like the ’60s Highlights posters that hang in her hall and a mass collection of vintage heels. To keep track of all her finds and share them with others, she writes a blog by the name of Tick Tock Vintage, a webspace that doubles as a “how to” on antique salvage and vintage shopping. She garnered plenty of experience growing up in Pennsylvania Dutch country, where she developed an affinity for rustic, country living and Amish accents, just like that well-built farmhouse table or the plethora of hex signs she’s collected from old barns and country estates.
“My style is pretty eclectic,” she notes. “I tend to buy larger items in neutrals and then look for little pops of color to add throughout the house.” Her color-scheme planning is evident. The light-filled living area remains neutral with her mid-century Lane coffee and bar tables, as well as handmade Scrabble-esque throw pillows. But greenery and a large eBay-found vintage map add a shock of color. Similarly, the kitchen and dining area use pops of turquoise glass and flower imprints to brighten up clean whites. Upstairs, the bedrooms are softer, with pastel quilts and bright, antique signs. And one guestroom holds Veronika’s OMG-worthy array of vintage heels. One black pair is set apart on a vintage school desk simply for their story: Upon finding them at a local flea market, Veronika found over $3,000 stashed in the original shoe box! That same room works in girly accoutrements like Veronika’s straw-hat collection, an antique dress form, various jewels and baubles, and even old horse show ribbons.
Every Monday, James Friel rounds up the week's sure-bet live shows. This week: Ben Kweller, Dr. Dog Grace Woodroofe and more.
Monday: With a deep, reverberating, spoken-word vocal style and ruggedly emotional narratives, folk musician/poet Robert Sarazin Blake’s songs are tailor-made for an Irish pub or a dusty saloon. 7 p.m., $7, Fiume, 229 S. 45th St., 215-387-2424.
Friday the 13th was hardly unlucky when it came to the Variety Club, the Saturday Night Live legacy and New Jersey’s own Joe Piscopo. Piscopo (who spoke to me about the event in Icepack Illustrated last week) hosted and performed during the 2012 Red Heart Variety Show to benefit the Variety Club of Philadelphia. Cordial to all his guests, Piscopo hung around pre-show chatting with any and all who asked to be posed with him. “I love being in Philly anytime and every time, and I’m always here for the Variety Club” Piscopo told me right before the show. “I even brought my dog, Otis. I love that dog. We travel everywhere together.”
Two of Piscopo’s one-time companions also joined him and comedian/actor Jeff Norris (Boardwalk Empire) for the Variety Club benefit. Victoria Jackson, one of his many SNL cast mates, was the night’s long-announced entertainment for the event. When Piscopo introduced Jackson to me as a journalist, she asked if I was an “objective reporter,” probably due to the hell she’s received for her political leanings. I told her “objectionable, perhaps” and we called it even. The biggest surprise of the night, though, was that at the last minute, their SNL team mate Cheri Oteri — from Upper Darby — joined them as a special guest, performing as her “Barbara Walters” character, hard hair sprayed wig and all. While a sorta-kinda-seemingly nervous Oteri (at least in the green room) opened the show by doing a faux-talk show thing with Fran Naselli (President, Variety-The Children's Charity) Piscopo followed up, singing heartily in front of Philly’s City Rhythm Orchestra (“I love this band”) a slew of Sinatra faves. He mentioned his love of the Phillies and the Flyers but said his heart was with the New York City teams, which got him a few mock “boos” from the audience. He gave shout-outs to guests such as Mia Tinari, the Philadelphia lawyer with whom he’s working on a film project, Sound of Philly engineer and studio owner Joe Tarsia, myself and Square Pegs/Cuba Libre owner Barry Gutin (first time that Gutin and I ever got mentioned in the same speech and for the good yet). Jackson did her comedy routine with its conclusion being Piscopo joining her in swinging song during “All of Me” and the event, at last tally, raised $50,000.
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