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Archive: September, 2011
Matt Cantor puts Gen. Y-ers on blast ...
Several recent editions of Generation Why have addressed "Stuff Y People Like", including college, free stuff, and terrible band names. This week, I thought I’d address the opposite end of the spectrum: some things my generation really can’t stand.
Privacy We do not like it when people don’t know our business. That’s why we love Facebook and Twitter — they allow us to make sure everyone knows what’s happening at every moment in our relatively boring lives. We complain bitterly about Facebook’s limited privacy settings, but we keep right on using the site no matter what. We keep blogs revealing our everyday lives in intimate detail, for anyone to read. When we’re seeking apartments, Craigslist lets us visit the homes of total strangers; when we’re trying to rent out rooms, Craigslist lets us invite random people into our homes to see if they’d like to shack up with us.
Man Cave is a testosterone-laden Monday feature that highlights the weekend haps of a pop culture-loving Philly dude.
Primus has a new album out called Green Naugahyde. It features Jay Lane, their drummer from the pre-Frizzle Fry days. Green Naugahyde is their first new material since 2003's Animals Should Not Try To Act Like People, an EP that, while brilliant, was a bridge sometimes too far. Green Naugahyde takes a stylistic step backward to their 1999 Antipop album, but trumps that effort with more inspired compositions throughout.
"The Last Salmon Man" combines Les Claypool's lead-bass riffs with Larry Lalonde's slow-solo "American Life"-style guitar. "Eternal Consumption 
Engine" is one of Claypool's more socially conscious efforts, combining commentary about the value of contemporary money-spending with Primus' signature "Psychedelic Polka" style (to use Claypool's own phrasing).
"Eyes of the Squirrel" is a darker piece in slower "My Name Is Mud" tempo complete with effects-laden bass fills. A tribute to that famous viral squirrel from YouTube, "Eyes of the Squirrel" deals with the entertainment-drenched landscape of modern culture.
"Jilly's on Smack" is the most "Animals Like People"-esque track, complete with delayed guitar, bow-struck bass and an expansive interlude movement. "Moron TV", another socially opinionated ditty, boasts one of Primus' most badass riffs to date, and "HOINFODAMAN" is an aggressive assault on those who are "Ho'in for the man."
"Green Naugahyde" will be available next Monday, Sept. 12. Primus will be in Philly to promote it on Oct. 1 @ Tower Theater.
Pig Iron’s Twelfth Night is true to Shakespeare (a good thing), and truly Pig Iron (a very good thing). This girl-disguised-as-boy romantic comedy soars under Dan Rothenberg’s direction, with near-constant onstage accompaniment by Rosie Langabeer’s gypsy musicians, and remarkably clear, incisive, smart performances by all. I’ve never seen a Feste so caustic, cryptic, yet cuddly as Scott Greer, and James Sugg’s Keith Richards in a pink suit breathes new life into drunken Sir Toby. Maiko Matsushima’s set includes a quarter-pipe slide that adds to the fun — but after all the laughs, something elegant remains. Pure magic.
Through Sept. 17, $25, Suzanne Roberts Theatre, 480 S. Broad St. MORE INFO HERE.
There are as many misses as hits among the two short films and 13 sketches that make up the fifth installment of Wawapalooza, but not everyone will be in agreement over what works and what doesn’t. The difference between what tickles you and what leaves you scratching your head may well come down to which targets hit closest to home: self-righteous parents or self-righteous college kids, abusive baseball fans or weepy Patrick Swayze fans, clueless Mac users or lame Facebook friends. A good rule of thumb: the more twisted the premise, the bigger the payoff.
Through Sept. 17, 8 p.m., $15, Society Hill Playhouse, 507 S. Eighth St. MORE INFO HERE.
Based on the ’70s porno of the same name, Debbie Does Dallas reenacts more than just the money shot. eXposed Theater Company’s take on the musical parody even mimics the low-production values of the era with their community-center-esque backdrops and costumes. Low budgets aside, this risqué piece flaunts a talented cast that sing, dance, act jocularly and even bare all. The singing comedy stays true to the plot and dialogue of the original, only supplementing musical numbers for lengthy sex scenes. As satirical gold, this is one musical that will keep modern audiences coming (pun intended).
Sept 10 and 16, 8 p.m. and midnight; Sept 14, 9 p.m.; Sept 15, 8 p.m; Sept 17, 8 p.m.; $20, Mascher Space Co-op, 155 Cecil B Moore Ave., 2B. MORE INFO HERE.
None of my friends wanted to join me for Smiley, which promised “emotional pornography” because the show featured “audience participation.” They needn’t have worried — the audience, who sat on antique chairs and couches, were required to do little more than give their name and occupation, and do some deep breathing. Most of this intimate four-actor showcase about intimacy and communication featured the quartet of actors talking about enemas and fisting and golden showers, or acting as an animal in heat. Not particularly stimulating stuff — at time it bordered on boring — but the show did boast standout performances from Hilla Ben Gera and Ori Laizerouvich.
Through Sept. 7, $15, Media Bureau 725 N. Fourth St. MORE INFO HERE.
Four vivid characters: the titular serial killer (a superbly creepy Ray Saraceni), the Inspector (Tim Moyer), a Constable (Adam Altman) — and a vestibule at Eastern State Penitentiary’s hub. Getting to it, you feel like a dead man walking. Howard Brenton’s play highlights the grim effects of Christie’s crimes (eight known victims from 1943-53, all stowed in his house and garden) on the emotionally overwhelmed investigators. All they glean is “You’ve got to keep love in bounds,” but we — shaken, despite the resistance built up by countless TV killers — leave with much, much more.
Through Sept. 10, The Centre Theater, 208 Dekalb St., Norristown; Sept. 12-17, Eastern State Penitentiary, 2027 Fairmount Ave., $15. MORE INFO HERE.
Though cleverly staged in a lovely and tiny chapel, Bury the Hatchet tacks secular, as writer Carmela Lanza with actors Janel Bosies and Chris Pfingsten share stories posing the moral quandaries of forgiveness. They reference Simon Wiesenthal’s The Sunflower and other works, but most gripping is Lanza’s tale of her errant older brother, her family’s “Golden Child,” whose epic mess-ups stretch the limits of familial loyalty and compassionate forgiveness. Engaging, thought-provoking, and often funny, Bury the Hatchet wisely resists preaching easy answers.
Continues Sept. 10, 2 and 4:30 p.m., $10, First Unitarian Church of Philadelphia, Small Chapel, 2125 Chestnut St. MORE INFO HERE.
From the start, the whole thing is teetering and levitating. The cheesy set rests upon concrete blocks, Its actors, decked in hair metal mall gear save for the slick-suited Goeff Sobelle (very Sacha Baron Cohen) float oddly and uncomfortably through the proceedings despite the weightiness of porn mustaches and over-pronounced dental fixtures. Though winningly confident throughout their displays of chicanery (some genuinely amazing, some purposely not) it’s when the trio is “off” and deflated that the magic happens. Though they muse mystically and poetically about fantastic L.A. and highway sunsets while tying balloon animals and making Elmer’s Glue Dalai Lamas, wait for the double ending — one inside and one outsider the theatre. It’s tricky.
Runs through Sept. 17, $25-$30, Plays and Players Theater, 1714 Delancey Place. MORE INFO HERE.
This two-act show begins with a gentle courtship between dancers Eleanor Goudiie-Averill and Beau Hancock over mandolin and djembe. It was safe and serene. My interpretation of Act two, titled “City Calm Down,” is a sensual struggle set in the back of a school adjacent to Clark Park, and ending with an awkwardly eyebrow raising embracement between the two female dancers, and some friendly petting of some select female audience members. I am a man, but I get it.
Sept. 3, Clark Park , Woodland Ave and 43 sts.
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