Hold Me In Your Sleazy Arms: An Ode To UHF

No question that in the past 5 years or so we’ve entered a new golden age of television. The number of great programs (Sopranos, Six Feet Under, Mad Men, Battlestar, Curb, Peep Show, and yes, even Lost) attests to that. But classic local programming has gone away. I was reminded of that in full the other night when I happened upon a rerun of KOFY’s Dance Party. KOFY was located at channel 20 on the UHF dial in San Francisco and was owned by local millionaire James Gabbert. Channel 20 featured plenty of syndicated reruns, a staple of UHF programming, but also featured some classic, bizarre local programming as well. My favorite was Sunday All Night Movies From The Sleazy Arms. Gabbert created a dive bar on the channel 20 stage, invited local bands to play, had a resident bartender, got a beer company to sponsor the show, and then invited the public to come down to the set and party. During this melee, Gabbert served as host and presented the Sunday night movie (usually a second rate 70s drama featuring Ben Gazzara). The show alternated between the movie and hanging out with the denizens of the Sleazy Arms. It was television programming at it’s finest. It took upwards of 3 hours to get through any movie, with the bar patrons getting more and more wasted as the evening progressed. Here’s a description from the set that I pulled from the I Love This World Blog.

"Before I was allowed into the studios, I had to sign a waver saying that if I got into a drunken car wreck on my way home that it wasn't KOFY's fault. The rest of the evening was a blur. For about an hour, they handed out free beer after free beer. I drank them happily while watching a local asian mummenshanz/comedy group perform. To give you an idea: most of their "skits" involved a skinny guy wearing a giant barrel. I endured this by staring off-camera at the KOFY Kids Club set that was right next to the bar set. I also almost vomited on the fat old tramp in the spandex catsuit that Gabbert had on there every week (Dirty Carol or something?)".

KOFY became the Bay Area’s WB affiliate in 1995 and Gabbert sold KOFY in 1998 and the good times were over. The WB pulled out in 2006 and KOFY is starting to get funky again, re-running some classic KOFY program including Dance Party, a weekly dance show that ran from the mid-80s to the mid-90s. The episode I caught the other night was amazing. It was from 1992 and the people were just delightfully bizarre. They were normal people on tv. They were fat and skinny. Some were balding, some had feathered hair. Some were good looking, some were downright fugly. And clearly they had been told to “dress up.” Not sure what the dress up instructions were, but it looked like there was a run on the Salvation Army. And we’re not talking “Salvation Army-chic.” This was off the rack. Almost like a Salvation Army shopping spree where you had 5 minutes to enter the store, pick your clothes and dress yourself for your tv appearance. While watching the show it was impossible to guess if the show was from 1992 or 1982. It was just off-kilter.

At the end of the day, I guess I’m happy with all the good shows tv has to offer these days, but local personality has all but been eradicated from the tv spectrum. Maybe we should all rent UHF this weekend or watch some SCTV.

Heaven Forfend! They're Remaking Slap Shot

It’s funny. I watched Slap Shot over the summer and at the time it occurred to me that if the NHL brass were smart (which they are not), they would commission a remake of Slap Shot. The NHL barely hangs on to its status as a top 4 sport and the only time the league enters the national conversation is when someone nearly gets killed on the ice. Historically, the only time hockey has really entered the cultural zeitgeist was when Team USA took gold in Lake Placid in 1980 and when Slap Shot burst onto movie screens across the country in 1977. Not that I’m advocating for a remake of a classic sport’s film, but lets face it, the only people who still care about Slap Shot are hockey fans or people no younger than 42. The youth of today don’t know from Slap Shot. From a marketing perspective, it would be a good idea to remake the one movie that might bolster interest in the sport. Right?

Well, now someone is doing it. Will this be a good thing? Probably not. It rarely pays to tamper with a classic. When I watched the movie this summer it occurred to me that if the film were made today it would be transformed for the worst.

If you haven’t seen the movie, it’s set in a failing, Midwest industrial city in the 70s (read Pittsburgh, Cleveland or Detroit). The people of the town have little cheer in their life and their minor league hockey franchise, The Charlestown Chiefs, starring Paul Newman as their player coach, brings them some cheer. But for the most part the team sucks. The team brings in some bespectacled, semi-moronic goons named the Hanson Brothers, who are brawling, idiot-savant hockey players and the team rebounds in a big way with every game devolving into a massive scrum of cheap shots and brass-knuckled brawl fests. The team starts winning and ticket sales soar. But the team’s fate has already been sealed. Because of the failing economy, team owners are planning on shutting the Chiefs down at season’s end. A failing Midwest city with a huge unemployed populous will never make the team a viable business entity. The other major plot point revolves around Newman’s personal life. He’s an aging athlete, semi-lothario, trying to desperately get his ex-wife to reconcile. Mid-life crisis kind of stuff.

As much as the film is a foul-mouthed comedy with heaps of juvenile humor and slapstick hockey fight antics that appeal to the pubescent boy demographic, the film is also infused with that gritty, down and out dourness so pervasive in 70s cinema. A hint of political grim reality mixed with a very adult (not sexy adult, but adult demographic) love story throws a little salt peter on the comedy. In a bizarre way it’s the perfect father/son movie. Undoubtedly the sons were probably bored by the adult relationship mumbo jumbo and political machinations, but couldn’t wait to see the Hansons, the fights, and the bad language. Slap Shot was the kind of movie that made you feel adult if you saw it when you were thirteen. It was an "R" rated movie, but you’d do anything to sneak into the theaters to see it. Comedy tempered by realism is not always a great mix, but seeing something that is clearly verboten is awesome and just heightens the experience.

I hope I’m wrong, but there’s no way in the world the remake is going to be “R” or as dour. I’ve got to imagine this is going to be a no-holds barred "PG-13" comedy aimed straight at the heart of Will Ferrell fans everywhere. How many times is someone going to get hit in the nuts with pucks, sticks, or fists? Place your bets now. Down and out, grim reality won’t be on display, even though we're entering an era of industrial decay similar to that which the Midwest was facing in the mid-70s.

The other thing that maybe a challenge for the filmmakers and the NHL is that in the 70s pro hockey and minor league hockey was riding a wave of on-ice fisticuffs. This was an era when the Broad Street Bullies reigned supreme. This is the era that fueled jokes like “I went to a boxing match and a hockey game broke out.” Har Har. As preposterous as the fighting was, most folks watching the movie then saw some relation to the game as it was played. Well hockey in the ’00s is a different beast. Fighting still exists but it is way down compared to the salad days of the 70s. Will it matter if the movie’s hockey style bares no relation to the on-ice version today? We’ll see.

Finally, I wonder what the NHL will think. Certainly, if the movie is a success, that won’t be a bad thing for the NHL. But the NHL may end up between a rock and a hard place with this one. For years the NHL brass have been very focused on distancing themselves from the goonish brand of hockey played in the 70s. But if there’s one thing that Slap Shot succeeds in doing is glorifying the fighting and violence in the sport. Not sure how pleased The NHL will be if there’s a hit hockey movie out there that reinforces all the old stereotypes of their sport to the casual viewer and potential customer. I mean I can’t imagine they’re gonna take the fighting out of Slap Shot. They wouldn’t dare.

RIP Lux Interior

I could go on and on about how awesome the Cramps were, but given what a fantastic live band they were, maybe the best thing to do is watch some film and remind yourself what a force this band was. If you haven't seen any footage from the Napa State Mental Hospital show or from Urgh! A Music War recently, well here ya go.

Cometbus #51: The Loneliness of the Electric Menorah

I’ve always been a huge fan of Cometbus and I must admit that one of my prouder moments was realizing that my verbiage from an Aaron Cometbus interview I did for Snipehunt magazine in the 90s ended up gracing the back cover of Despite Everything, the Cometbus Omnibus. That said, the last several issues of the zine haven’t captivated me as much as the output from the 90s and early 00s. In more recent issues, Aaron has been expanding his stylistic palette, playing more with both the novelette and various cultural study and journalistic forms. Enjoyable, but not as strong as the diaristic/personal rumination bent he developed throughout the 90s.

That said, I can’t rave enough about Cometbus #51 entitled The Loneliness of the Electric Menorah. #51 is a full-on, cultural history of the booksellers of Telegraph Ave. Moe’s, Cody’s, Shakespeare and Co. take center stage, as do many of the businesses that spring up in their wake such as Rasputin's, Amoeba, Black Oak, Shambala and others. The issue, chock full of Berkeley history and lore from the late 50s to the present, is more than a straight, journalistic investigation. Aaron leaves himself on the page in a big way. This issue is his own ode to books, bookstores, and his beloved Berkeley. A landscape filled not with businessmen, but with larger than life characters and impossible dreamers, petty feuds and gestures of goodwill. The bookstores, their owners and their employees are equal parts intimidating, irritating, and beautiful. Cometbus #51 tries to uncover what drives a person, a place, and an era. At the end of the day, it’s full of reverence, nostalgia, hope, and sadness.

In one review I read of the issue, I saw someone complain that not being from Berkeley and not being familiar with the stores, he just didn’t care about the characters that much. I’ve only been to those stores a handful of times in my life and know nothing about their owners, but I don’t think that matters. I think the writing hits on more universal themes about community—how they’re formed, how they’re maintained, and how they can unravel. Cometbus #51 should connect with anyone who has been part of a scene or who has been trying desperately to break into a scene or is simply trying to make sense of the city around them.

Scott Walker: 30th Century Man

Just had the pleasure of taking in the new Scott Walker doc, Scott Walker: 30th Century Man. I can’t recommend it enough. Lots of great moments, but for music heads out there, the biggest complement I can give is that it’s a music film that is all about the music. Did Scott drink? Don’t know. Did petty rivalries fuel The Walker Brothers break up? Don’t know. The film steers clear of the personality crises, the tales of drink and drug debauchery and focuses solely on the music. Each incarnation of Scott is given a thorough examination—The pop wunderkid of chart toppers The Walker Brothers; The first four solo records with their ornate 60’s production and Jacques Brel-fueled lush melancholia; The Walker's comeback and the re-emergence of Scott as a solo artist; and finally, the newer, darker Scott Walker.

Walker, who has been fairly reclusive for much of the last 20 years, comes across as charming, affable and well spoken in the interview which serves as the spine of the movie. Additionally, the film is filled with incredibly articulate interviews from musicians who were Walker’s peers or who have been influenced by his singing and songwriting. Eno, Bowie, Julian Cope, Marc Almond, Jarvis Cocker, Radiohead and Lulu all weigh in. There are great moments in the film where the music just plays, accompanied by some iTunes visualizer-like effects. It may sound cheesy, but rarely in these kind of docs do you just get to listen to the music. Similarly, there are some nice moments where we see some of the above musicians just sit and listen to Scott Walker records. 15-20 seconds will go by while they listen, enthralled by the sounds, before dissecting the track in question and analyzing the songwriting, the production, or the vocal arrangements. It’s a really nice touch.

The last ½ hour is a bit long for my likes as the film delves deep into Walker’s most recent offerings Tilt and The Drift. These two records are blacker than black, gothic, and melody-free albums that I personally find unlistenable. Their sound is claustrophobic and as a result the film follows suit. Unfortunately, the only time Walker let film cameras into the studio during his solo career was during the recording of The Drift, so it’s no surprise we spend a lot of time there. And to be fair, the recording process is a trip. Percussionists punching sides of beef and lots of weird set-ups to record sounds. Walker seems giddy during these sessions, a far cry from the persona he puts forth on these records. But that said, I’m more of a fan of what Julian Cope refers to as the Walker Brothers “MOR slop”. I’ll take it over the odes to Mussolini’s, strung up, dead lover any day.

But I highly recommend.

NOTE: Great review of the film and a thorough overview of the Walker career at my friend Val's blog Beyond Asiaphilia. And for what it's worth, we saw the movie together.

Inauguration Mania

As someone who came of age in the 70s, whose first political memories revolve around Richard Nixon, and who has ultimately lived in an era defined by cynicism toward politicians and politics in general, the election and inauguration of Barack Obama has been nothing short of energizing, exciting, and revelatory. When boomers talk about the promise and hope offered by JFK, RFK, and MLK and the tragedies of their deaths, those are things I’ve understood in theory, but never really felt. The hope offered by Obama, the hope Obama has offered to so many has finally made me see the legacy of those other figures in a new light.

Watching the inauguration and the festivities surrounding the inauguration has been a blast. The campaigning done, the nerves around the election in the rear view mirror, the inauguration has been a time to kick back and revel in the wonder of it all. Do I care about inaugural balls? Not really, but it’s just exciting to watch so many people excited about politics and bask in the glow at the victory party.

I even watched We Are One – The Obama Inaugural Celebration at the Lincoln Memorial. Though I’m about to say a couple of critical things about that event, I don’t want to be perceived as the little black cloud that rains on the parade. Let it be said, I’m digging the parade. I’m glad this event happened, I dug watching it, but I got to throw my two cents in the ring.

If you didn’t see the event, it took place under the steely gaze of Abe Lincoln and essentially alternated music acts and little history lessons delivered by A List actors. The history imparted conjured up the ghosts of Lincoln, FDR, Teddy Roosevelt, JFK, and MLK.

My only beef with the event was that in channeling the spirit of great American leaders, thinkers, and policy makers, the message was delivered by celebrities. I’ve never understood or related to America’s feverish worship of celebrity, but was somewhat disappointed that an event that served to usher in a transformative moment in American politics had the feel and guest list of an awards show. If you turned the sound off, it would have been hard to tell if you were watching an inaugural celebration or the Academy Awards, Grammys, MTV Music or Movie Awards, Golden Globes, etcetera, etcetera.

As Obama clearly recognized in his inaugural address, this country is in crisis. We’re at a crossroads. The path out of our predicament is not clear. The country will need its leaders, its top thinkers, politicians, innovators, and scientists to help pull us out of this mess. It would have been exciting if people who actually embody the intelligence, the spirit, and the fortitude of JFK, FDR, Lincoln, and MLK had been chosen to deliver the historical message surrounding those great leaders.

No offense to the guy who played a talking panda, the women who played the pole dancing love interest of a washed-up wrestler, the guy who does a good impersonation of Ray Charles, or the guy who got the motherfuckin’ snakes off the motherfuckin’ plane, but they’re not going to be the people that pull us out of our national quagmire. They’re actors. They act in movies. They’ll distract us from our problems. And that’s great. Escapism isn’t so bad. And I’m sure we’ll need it.

At least the musicians got it right. They shut up and played their songs. They understood their role and the role of music and did it right. Well, everyone except Bono of course. Bruce Springsteen, Stevie Wonder, Pete Seeger—did any of these guys use this stage as a platform for their own agenda? No. It’s called class. Bono on the other hand wasn’t content to let the music do the talking. Ego outshines class with this guy. Shout outs to his Irish heritage, to the Israelis and to the Palestinians. Dude. Not the time, not the place. Take a lesson from Little Stevie, From the Boss, from Pete Seeger. A little humility can be a good thing.

Those Clowns in Washington...er...San Francisco Are At It Again

Like many Americans, I was particularly energized by this year’s presidential campaign and overall politicized climate. But rather than just focus on national political issues, I took a little more time exploring local politics. My neighborhood is a working class neighborhood with a lagging commercial corridor filled with 99 cent stores and crime has been a hot button issue with a high profile murder dominating the news earlier in the year. Our supervisor was up for election and I took in my first-ever supervisorial debate back in October. My candidate won, and since I know him in passing, I’m excited to have the ear of someone at City Hall. I had the day off this past Thursday and was therefore excited to go to City Hall for the swearing-in of the new slate of city supervisors.

Boy, did that experience bum my high.

After each of the supes was sworn in, there was a public election of the President of the Board of Supervisors. But before the supervisors could vote on their new President, the floor was open to the public to weigh in on the choice. Now, San Francisco politics often get made fun of on the national stage but I think for all the wrong reasons. I guarantee you that most of those who laugh at our city's political reputation have never been to a supervisors’ meeting. Any topic up for vote is met with a parade of public Joes and Janes weighing in on the topic at hand. First off, let me say, I am glad this is the case. Public debate over civic decisions is a great component of democracy. At these meetings there is always lots of intelligent discussion. That said, there’s always a level of lunatic fringe on display as well—some guy or gal getting up to blow hard and pontificate about the state of things, yet wildly off-topic. You stare at your feet and wonder when their two minutes will be up. That’s a classic SF political moment and ripe for ridicule.

In any event, the public got to weigh in on this election…for about 30 minutes. Glad I brought my book. Not only was it long in the tooth, it really seemed like a waste of time. I honestly couldn’t believe that any supervisor was going to be swayed by what was being said. Come on. They all had to have made up their minds. Right? I’ve seen Milk. I know how SF supervisors handle their business. I know the “you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours” mode of politics. This had to be a done deal.

But boy was I wrong. The actual election was one of the most bizarre and depressing things I’ve seen in a long time. Currently SF has a good method of electing supervisors. Supervisors need to win a majority of the vote in their district to win the election, but because 7-8 people run for each seat, very rarely does a supervisor win the majority on the first ballot. Runoffs are needed and in the past, people have had to head back out to the polls to cast their ballots for the top two vote getters. SF has moved to ranked-choice voting, where you put down your top three candidates on the initial ballot. Once the top two qualifiers are identified, the board of elections can conduct the runoff through the ranked-choice tallies. Simple, yet brilliant.

You would think that voting for the President of the Supervisors would run the same way, but that’s not the case. I’m not sure I can do this justice, but I’ll give it a shot.

In the first round of voting, Sophie Maxwell received 5 votes, and a smattering of supervisors got a couple of votes a piece. You need a majority of 6 votes to win. Nobody got six, so a revote was needed.

In round 2, the roll was called, and Sophie Maxwell got 5 votes and John Avalos (my supe) got 4 votes, and Ross Mirkarimi received 2 votes. No winner. Let’s do it again. People with only a few votes (Ross Mirkarimi, we’re looking at you) were asked to withdraw their candidacy. This request was declined.

In round 3, the supervisors voted the exact same way. Maxwell 5, Avalos 4, Mirkarimi 2.

In round 4, the supervisors voted the exact same way. WTF I was thinking to myself. How long does this go on for?

After round 4, Michela Alioto-Pier makes a passionate plea on behalf of Sophie Maxwell. Fair enough. Let’s try to move out of deadlock with some straight talk and campaigning. Eric Mar of District 1 gets up and makes a passionate plea for considering the candidacy of David Chiu. David Chiu? What? Huh? Did I hear that right? You mean the guy who got no votes through four rounds of voting? (Now to be fair he might have gotten 1 vote in the first round, I can’t be sure). But regardless, What The Fuck? Two candidates have almost enough votes to win, and now we make a plea for someone who hasn’t gotten one vote. What kind of ridiculous political theater is going on here?

It all gets hazy after this. In round 5 Maxwell holds onto her 5 votes and Chiu picks up a couple of votes. In round 6 Avalos votes for Chiu, but other people keep voting for Avalos. Does that make any sense whatsoever? Not to me, especially because Avalos voted 2nd, given his name is at the top of the alphabet. He votes for Chiu and other people are still supporting him? WTF?

In round 6, it moves into a 5 to 5 tie between Maxwell and Chiu. Strangely, the other vote does not go to Avalos. Gadfly extreme Chris Daly casts this rogue vote. Who does Daly vote for? Why that would be himself of course . WTF? Now I don’t know many people who like Chris Daly. This guy seems like the ultimate grandstander. I saw in the paper last week how he bragged about always voting for the winning board president. Well I can see why you can’t lose when you’re playing some dirty pool like that.

In round 8 David Chiu won. You remember him. The guy no one voted for the first 4 times around. Well that guy is your new Board President. I repeat, What The Fuck?

Now keep in mind I didn’t keep copious notes on this, and some of my info might not be totally accurate, but this is a pretty good snapshot of what went down. Now let me also say I know that politics is about alliances and deal making and what not, but this sort of political theater was disheartening. At an event where the city should be celebrating moving forward, where the city should be celebrating the new blood that will run the city, it’s frustrating to see such a blatant display of backroom politics on public display.

And don’t ask me what was proven, what alliances were made, and what factions were formed? I don’t know. I couldn’t figure that out. But it all smacked of politics as usual. The kind of politics that have made Americans so distrustful of their elected leaders. The hope that the Obama election has provided has made it feel like we could be at the dawning of a new era in American politics. With the coming Obama inauguration as a backdrop, I found it particularly disheartening to witness such a public display of politics as usual, especially in a town like San Francisco.

If my take on this is too skewed, jaded, or cynical, please let me know. For another view of the event, one that is more positive and hopeful, check out my good friend Valerie Soe’s thoughts on Beyond Asiaphilia.